So you can guess from the lack of posts that so far 2013 has been one crazy year for me and my family. During the first week of January, we found out that our son Caleb had two different irregularities with his heart (a murmur and a fistula...thankfully we would find out later that both were pretty benign). A week later, my husband was let go from his job. A couple weeks after that, I found out I was pregnant. And that was all just during January!
But God took care of us. A couple days after I found out I was pregnant, my husband got a call from a district attorney's office where he had interviewed a few weeks earlier. He received this call on a Saturday (a day where most people aren't taking care of work-related stuff!), so right away I had the feeling that this was big. He scheduled a second interview for early that next week, and within a week's time of finding out another baby was on the way, he had secured a position with that office.
Meanwhile, I was going to my obstetrician's office for blood tests and was experiencing the normal anxiety I get when I first find out I'm pregnant. Thankfully when my husband was let go from his job, he received some severance pay as well as continued insurance coverage for a couple of additional months while he looked for another job, so again, God took care of us. I had an ultrasound at 7 weeks, and for the first time since 2009, it was a good one! We then decided to tell immediate family our happy news, but I hesitated to tell anyone else. I was still afraid to get really excited about this little one, plus my mind was already reeling with the idea of having to pack up and move to a strange new town soon.
We found a house to rent in the new town, and I managed to get a couple more appointments in at my old OB before we moved. Unfortunately our insurance ran out by the time I went in for my 10-week exam, and the doctor I saw at that appointment expressed concern about my past miscarriages. I told him my normal doctor didn't think additional tests were necessary since my three miscarriages weren't consecutive. He then told me his rule of thumb is TWO consecutive miscarriages and went ahead and ordered more labwork. I was nervous since I knew we didn't have insurance to cover the cost, but something in me told me that I just had to get those tests done. The doctor assured me that everything would most likely come back normal; this was just to rule out any chance of a late-term miscarriage or stillbirth.
We moved a few days later, and after we had settled in I received a call from my old doctor's office. My tests had come back and apparently I had a protein-S deficiency. The nurse told me that may have caused my miscarriages before and that I should get checked out up here as soon as possible. I spent the rest of the day crying off and on, both for the babies I had lost and for the baby I was now carrying. I still was unfamiliar with the area, but I managed to find an OB five minutes away from our house, so I got in that next week. They referred me to a specialist to get the protein deficiency checked out, but also told me that those tests shouldn't have been done while I was already pregnant because the results may not be accurate. I left their office with more questions than answers. Was there really a problem with my body? And if so, what was I supposed to do about it?
After prayer and some research, my husband and I decided that I should call the specialist and ask to postpone the appointment until we had insurance. I was glad I did; the person I spoke with said that in the first trimester they don't do much for you, so we would have had to pay out of pocket for just some "counseling." She said I could call back and reschedule once we had the insurance straightened out. I hung up the phone and a peace came over me. I knew I did the right thing. And when I went back to the OB a few weeks later and spoke with an actual doctor, she said it was fine that I waited. She said it would still be good to get checked out by the specialist, but since I didn't have a history of blood clots and the pregnancy had already lasted past the point of when I miscarried the other babies, it probably wouldn't be a major problem. I would most likely need to be monitored a little more closely toward the end of the pregnancy, and if I needed to take anything, it would probably just be aspirin.
So here I am...17 and a half weeks pregnant. I'm proud to say I'm more peaceful that I thought I'd be, but I think the hardest thing about it is just being lonely. I don't have friends up here yet, and though I keep in touch with the old ones, it's not as good as having someone in the flesh to talk to. Add pregnancy hormones to the mix and what I got was just sadness over the last week or so. Whenever I get that way, my husband asks me, "When was the last time you read your Bible?" So this morning I picked it up and read. And for once our three-year-old didn't want to turn the pages for me. :o)
I found myself reading Psalm 42. While my situation probably isn't as serious as what the psalmist was going through, I found myself relating to some of what he said. One phrase that struck me was "I pour out my soul within me" (verse 4). To me it sounded like an offering of sorts. The footnotes in my Bible led me to both 1 Samuel and Job for other uses of the phrase. Turns out Hannah and Job said the same thing when they were in distress. In Hannah's case (1Samuel 1:15), her affliction had to do with being childless, and as a result she prayed continuously to the Lord (even to the point where her husband asked her if she was drunk!). In Job's case, he was lamenting over his current state of loss and humiliation (30:16). In both cases, they were sad and the situation was weighing down on them...much like myself. I found myself relating more to Hannah since her situation had to do with getting pregnant. I find my sadness has also made me feel guilty since I think, "I wanted another baby, and this pregnancy is going well...I have no right to be sad!" I also relate to Hannah because despite her sadness, she was doing what I ought to be doing more of....praying before the Lord. Even the psalmist asks himself, "When shall I come and appear before the Lord" (verse 2b) and also instructs his soul to hope in the Lord (verse 5) because he must know that's the only way.
It dawned on me that when one pours out their soul within them, something must fill it back up. Things like joy and thanksgiving that can only come from being in His presence (verse 4). And worshipping and hoping in the "help of His presence" (verse 5). And what I'm choosing to call active recall of all He's done before (verse 6b). So I'm trying to pour out the junk and fill my soul with better things. And when the loneliness creeps back up, I will do my best to remember:
"The Lord will command His lovingkindess in the daytime, and His song will be with me in the night." (Psalm 42:8)
April 29, 2013
January 15, 2013
extraordinary
We were just going in for a simple check-up. My little boy had just turned three, and had endured nothing more than an occasional cold or scraped knee over the past year. We drove to his pediatrician and I rejoiced that God had blessed Caleb with such wonderful health.
He charmed the nurses and hardly fussed at all when they pricked his finger to checked his iron. He even thanked them for it. We were sent to an exam room to wait for the pediatrician. "Tangled" was playing on the TV in the corner of the room, which Caleb was excited about. The doctor came in, declaring how much Caleb had grown over the past year and how he had the iron levels of a teenager.
Then he listened to Caleb's chest.
I didn't even notice at the time how long the pediatrician lingered doing this particular part of the exam. I guess I just figured he was being thorough. So I was caught off guard when he commented that he heard a murmur.
A murmur?! Where did that come from? And why now?
Looking back I'm impressed with how calm I stayed even with this startling piece of news. The pediatrician assured me that murmurs were quite common in children, that most of them are benign, and sometimes they even go away by adulthood. But since he hadn't heard this murmur with Caleb before (even with all the times we went to him when Caleb was a baby), he wanted to get us in at the hospital for an echocardiogram as soon as possible.
He finished the exam, and we even joked about how slow boys were with toilet training and how they laugh at their own body noises. It was only when he left to call over to the hospital when I let everything sink in. I called my parents, who were in town and waiting at the Starbucks next door, and calmly told them why we'd be a little later meeting them. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came in with a piece of paper. It had our appointment time on there (2:30 that very afternoon); I noted that the doctor had secured the "good" tech with over thirty years experience.
We left the office and went across the parking lot to Starbucks. Poor Caleb was starving by then, so my mom bought us a blueberry scone to share. As we sat and drank our coffee, my dad comforted me by reminding me that he too had a murmur when he was a child, but by the time he was examined by the draft board, they couldn't detect it anymore. We wondered if these kind of things were hereditary or just a coincidence.
I had already called Randall about the news, so he informed his boss that he wanted to meet the two of us at the hospital later on. Caleb and I got there a little early, so I let him check out the fountain by the main entrance; the kid loves anything having to do with splashing water. As I sat there watching him, I thought about the last time we took him to that hospital. He was just under two weeks old and was so lethargic the doctor was worried he had gotten some kind of infection. I remembered how helpless I felt seeing my baby hooked up to so many machines and asking God what in the world He was doing. Thankfully everything turned out okay, and a few months later, we were blessed with good health for Caleb from then on.
Until now, seemingly.
Once Randall got there, the three of us went in to check Caleb in and get the test done. He was remarkably still and calm during the test (which is basically just an ultrasound of the heart and surrounding areas), and once again, thanked the tech when she was done. Guess we've really beat saying "thank you" into his head! Caleb and I then drove back home and waited.
I honestly didn't expect to hear anything back since it was a Friday afternoon. But the pediatrician had written "STAT" on the referral, and I heard back from him that very evening.
He opened by saying Caleb's case was "interesting." Not quite the word you want to hear when you're talking about your kid's heart. He followed up quickly, saying that he was using the word "interesting" because what Caleb has, they don't see all that often. In fact, they hadn't seen those findings around here in at least ten years. A lesser experienced tech may have even missed it.
Turns out Caleb has a "fistula" on one of his coronary arteries. The pediatrician explained to me what it looks like, but honestly, I didn't quite get it. I'm a visual person so unless I can see some kind of illustration, it's lost on me. My husband looked it up later (as an attorney he's used to reviewing medical information), and tried to describe it to me. Basically it's an "abnormal connection" between a coronary artery and the heart. Kind of an extension of the artery that's not supposed to be there.
The pediatrician assured me that in Caleb's case, it's not a cause for major concern. The tech hadn't seen any weakening of the arterial wall or an aneurysm, so likely it wouldn't cause him any problems. He had arranged for his echo to be sent to a pediatric cardiologist to confirm the tech's findings, and we'd go from there. It took almost a week to hear back, but the news was good. Yes, he does have a fistula, but it's not doing any damage to his heart. The cardiologist recommended we get Caleb in to see him or another pediatric cardiologist at some point, but it wasn't a major emergency. And likely, this is something we'll have to get checked every year for awhile as Caleb grows, to make sure nothing changes. In the meantime, there are no physical limitations placed on Caleb, and the possibility of any surgery or other procedures seems remote.
I have to say, this whole thing has just been crazy. The day after Caleb's checkup and getting the initial report back, we had his birthday party. Seeing him run around with his friends and blowing out the "3" candle on his cake made me so thankful for all the time we've had with him and all the good years that are to come. Seeing the pure joy on his face reminded me of what a joyful little boy he actually is. He really has no idea about his heart and why it's different; he only knows he loves to run around and play, and that birthday parties are the most exciting times ever!
The other night my husband I were watching "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." At one point in the movie, the spoiled cousin Eustace transforms into a dragon. He is unable to speak, and though his cousins and the crew of the ship stay by him, it's unclear to everyone if he will ever change back into a human. That first evening, Reepicheep the mouse sees that Eustace is crying, clearly upset about his fate. He reassures him, saying that extraordinary things happen to extraordinary people, and based on what has happened to him, he must have a great destiny ahead of him. May be cheesy, but it made me think of Caleb. This fistula thing, it's rare. And while it seems so random, God wasn't surprised by it like we were. Rare and random can also mean extraordinary. Caleb's heart is different, but it's also big and full of love. That's extraordinary enough for me. I can't wait to see what kind of great destiny God has planned for him, and I'm excited that I get to be a part of it.
He charmed the nurses and hardly fussed at all when they pricked his finger to checked his iron. He even thanked them for it. We were sent to an exam room to wait for the pediatrician. "Tangled" was playing on the TV in the corner of the room, which Caleb was excited about. The doctor came in, declaring how much Caleb had grown over the past year and how he had the iron levels of a teenager.
Then he listened to Caleb's chest.
I didn't even notice at the time how long the pediatrician lingered doing this particular part of the exam. I guess I just figured he was being thorough. So I was caught off guard when he commented that he heard a murmur.
A murmur?! Where did that come from? And why now?
Looking back I'm impressed with how calm I stayed even with this startling piece of news. The pediatrician assured me that murmurs were quite common in children, that most of them are benign, and sometimes they even go away by adulthood. But since he hadn't heard this murmur with Caleb before (even with all the times we went to him when Caleb was a baby), he wanted to get us in at the hospital for an echocardiogram as soon as possible.
He finished the exam, and we even joked about how slow boys were with toilet training and how they laugh at their own body noises. It was only when he left to call over to the hospital when I let everything sink in. I called my parents, who were in town and waiting at the Starbucks next door, and calmly told them why we'd be a little later meeting them. After what seemed like an eternity, a nurse came in with a piece of paper. It had our appointment time on there (2:30 that very afternoon); I noted that the doctor had secured the "good" tech with over thirty years experience.
We left the office and went across the parking lot to Starbucks. Poor Caleb was starving by then, so my mom bought us a blueberry scone to share. As we sat and drank our coffee, my dad comforted me by reminding me that he too had a murmur when he was a child, but by the time he was examined by the draft board, they couldn't detect it anymore. We wondered if these kind of things were hereditary or just a coincidence.
I had already called Randall about the news, so he informed his boss that he wanted to meet the two of us at the hospital later on. Caleb and I got there a little early, so I let him check out the fountain by the main entrance; the kid loves anything having to do with splashing water. As I sat there watching him, I thought about the last time we took him to that hospital. He was just under two weeks old and was so lethargic the doctor was worried he had gotten some kind of infection. I remembered how helpless I felt seeing my baby hooked up to so many machines and asking God what in the world He was doing. Thankfully everything turned out okay, and a few months later, we were blessed with good health for Caleb from then on.
Until now, seemingly.
Once Randall got there, the three of us went in to check Caleb in and get the test done. He was remarkably still and calm during the test (which is basically just an ultrasound of the heart and surrounding areas), and once again, thanked the tech when she was done. Guess we've really beat saying "thank you" into his head! Caleb and I then drove back home and waited.
I honestly didn't expect to hear anything back since it was a Friday afternoon. But the pediatrician had written "STAT" on the referral, and I heard back from him that very evening.
He opened by saying Caleb's case was "interesting." Not quite the word you want to hear when you're talking about your kid's heart. He followed up quickly, saying that he was using the word "interesting" because what Caleb has, they don't see all that often. In fact, they hadn't seen those findings around here in at least ten years. A lesser experienced tech may have even missed it.
Turns out Caleb has a "fistula" on one of his coronary arteries. The pediatrician explained to me what it looks like, but honestly, I didn't quite get it. I'm a visual person so unless I can see some kind of illustration, it's lost on me. My husband looked it up later (as an attorney he's used to reviewing medical information), and tried to describe it to me. Basically it's an "abnormal connection" between a coronary artery and the heart. Kind of an extension of the artery that's not supposed to be there.
The pediatrician assured me that in Caleb's case, it's not a cause for major concern. The tech hadn't seen any weakening of the arterial wall or an aneurysm, so likely it wouldn't cause him any problems. He had arranged for his echo to be sent to a pediatric cardiologist to confirm the tech's findings, and we'd go from there. It took almost a week to hear back, but the news was good. Yes, he does have a fistula, but it's not doing any damage to his heart. The cardiologist recommended we get Caleb in to see him or another pediatric cardiologist at some point, but it wasn't a major emergency. And likely, this is something we'll have to get checked every year for awhile as Caleb grows, to make sure nothing changes. In the meantime, there are no physical limitations placed on Caleb, and the possibility of any surgery or other procedures seems remote.
I have to say, this whole thing has just been crazy. The day after Caleb's checkup and getting the initial report back, we had his birthday party. Seeing him run around with his friends and blowing out the "3" candle on his cake made me so thankful for all the time we've had with him and all the good years that are to come. Seeing the pure joy on his face reminded me of what a joyful little boy he actually is. He really has no idea about his heart and why it's different; he only knows he loves to run around and play, and that birthday parties are the most exciting times ever!
The other night my husband I were watching "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." At one point in the movie, the spoiled cousin Eustace transforms into a dragon. He is unable to speak, and though his cousins and the crew of the ship stay by him, it's unclear to everyone if he will ever change back into a human. That first evening, Reepicheep the mouse sees that Eustace is crying, clearly upset about his fate. He reassures him, saying that extraordinary things happen to extraordinary people, and based on what has happened to him, he must have a great destiny ahead of him. May be cheesy, but it made me think of Caleb. This fistula thing, it's rare. And while it seems so random, God wasn't surprised by it like we were. Rare and random can also mean extraordinary. Caleb's heart is different, but it's also big and full of love. That's extraordinary enough for me. I can't wait to see what kind of great destiny God has planned for him, and I'm excited that I get to be a part of it.
November 13, 2012
in His arms
This time last year, I was saying good-bye to a child whose face I'll never see this side of eternity. This time six months ago, more good-byes were said. Makes me wonder where I'll be in another six months. I truly don't know the answer to that, but I'm trying to rest in His love and goodness.
I've been corresponding with another Anne, who I'm sure is also struggling to live up to her "full of grace" name. She recently lost twins to a miscarriage and we've been sharing thoughts, prayers, and advice for awhile now. Reading her latest email, I realized she's where I was six months ago. That place where you doubt God's goodness and you find yourself asking Him, "I know You had the power to save my babies, why didn't You?" And you feel horrible for asking Him that.
I still don't have all the answers for her, much less for myself. But I think it helps both of us to know that given time and prayer, it does get easier. I can look at where she is and see how far God has brought me, and she can look at where I am and know that He will be faithful to do the same for her.
I read in a novel recently about a shepherdess who searches for her lost lamb. She finds it with a broken leg, so she scoops it up in her arms and comforts it. The lamb protests at first, since the comfort jostles its broken leg and brings pain, but the shepherdess tells the lamb that it's all right; pain means more time in the Shepherd's arms. That really spoke to me. Even when God allows pain in our lives, His arms are always open. When we're in pain, we can also rest. The thing is, we have to learn how to do both at the same time. If we despair when we're in pain, if we bustle around and keep busy rather than deal with the pain, or if we shake our fists at God and refuse His comfort, then we can't rest in His arms.
Don't get me wrong, I'd much rather not have any pain in my life at all. But in this fallen world where pain and sadness are inevitable, my only comfort can be in His arms and in His constant presence that never leaves me. In His arms, I can learn how to be content and peaceful even when I don't know all the answers.
There are still times when the pain finds me and I remember all that I've lost. I start asking God the same questions my friend is asking Him now. When that happens, He calls me to rest in Him and to spend more time in His arms. I find once I'm there, all those questions fade away and I remember that He is good no matter what state my heart is in that day. And I also find that He never was disappointed in my weakness of faith, and that finding my way into His arms does His heart good too.
I heard this song the other day for the first time in awhile. The lyrics really made me think about the state of my mind and heart when I was in the darkest part of the pain. I wanted to come rest in Him, but my flesh told me that I couldn't as long as I was questioning what He was doing. I eventually came to understand that I can always come to God no matter what state I'm in. He just wants to love on me. :o)
Could I talk to You? Are You listening?
Would You let me ask the questions that burn inside of me?
I am reaching out, I am holding on
Feel like one of Your affections, but not quite like I belong.
I am numb today, everything's a blur.
I've seen too much to deny, too little to be sure.
Like a prodigal, like a distant son,
I can see You from a distance but I'm too ashamed to come.
Will You see me through this valley?
Will You hold my outstretched hands?
As the world caves in around me, help me understand.
~ "Outstretched Hands," Starfield
I've been corresponding with another Anne, who I'm sure is also struggling to live up to her "full of grace" name. She recently lost twins to a miscarriage and we've been sharing thoughts, prayers, and advice for awhile now. Reading her latest email, I realized she's where I was six months ago. That place where you doubt God's goodness and you find yourself asking Him, "I know You had the power to save my babies, why didn't You?" And you feel horrible for asking Him that.
I still don't have all the answers for her, much less for myself. But I think it helps both of us to know that given time and prayer, it does get easier. I can look at where she is and see how far God has brought me, and she can look at where I am and know that He will be faithful to do the same for her.
I read in a novel recently about a shepherdess who searches for her lost lamb. She finds it with a broken leg, so she scoops it up in her arms and comforts it. The lamb protests at first, since the comfort jostles its broken leg and brings pain, but the shepherdess tells the lamb that it's all right; pain means more time in the Shepherd's arms. That really spoke to me. Even when God allows pain in our lives, His arms are always open. When we're in pain, we can also rest. The thing is, we have to learn how to do both at the same time. If we despair when we're in pain, if we bustle around and keep busy rather than deal with the pain, or if we shake our fists at God and refuse His comfort, then we can't rest in His arms.
Don't get me wrong, I'd much rather not have any pain in my life at all. But in this fallen world where pain and sadness are inevitable, my only comfort can be in His arms and in His constant presence that never leaves me. In His arms, I can learn how to be content and peaceful even when I don't know all the answers.
There are still times when the pain finds me and I remember all that I've lost. I start asking God the same questions my friend is asking Him now. When that happens, He calls me to rest in Him and to spend more time in His arms. I find once I'm there, all those questions fade away and I remember that He is good no matter what state my heart is in that day. And I also find that He never was disappointed in my weakness of faith, and that finding my way into His arms does His heart good too.
I heard this song the other day for the first time in awhile. The lyrics really made me think about the state of my mind and heart when I was in the darkest part of the pain. I wanted to come rest in Him, but my flesh told me that I couldn't as long as I was questioning what He was doing. I eventually came to understand that I can always come to God no matter what state I'm in. He just wants to love on me. :o)
Could I talk to You? Are You listening?
Would You let me ask the questions that burn inside of me?
I am reaching out, I am holding on
Feel like one of Your affections, but not quite like I belong.
I am numb today, everything's a blur.
I've seen too much to deny, too little to be sure.
Like a prodigal, like a distant son,
I can see You from a distance but I'm too ashamed to come.
Will You see me through this valley?
Will You hold my outstretched hands?
As the world caves in around me, help me understand.
~ "Outstretched Hands," Starfield
September 17, 2012
bondservant > SuperMom
So this past weekend I took a little time for myself to read an actual BOOK. And it didn't feature a singing cucumber or a little red caboose. It was glorious. I really need to make a point to read more. Anyway, the book was The Homeschool Experiment, a novel my sister loaned me. Even though it's fictional, it has a Christ-centered focus and a lot of great resources.
The book is told through the point of view of Julianne, a stay-at-home mom who has been called to homeschool. Throughout the book, Julianne struggles with self-doubt, as well as veiled (and not so veiled) criticisms from some family members about her ability to teach her children. But in the end she learns that she only needs to please God, not others. One verse that is repeated a lot in the book is Galatians 1:10: "For am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ."
I read this verse again today, and it really struck me. As moms, we really try to do it ALL. Face it, we invented the WORD "multi-task." We need a clean, sparkling house adorned with DIY projects from Pinterest. Our children must be well-behaved and brilliant at all times. And some of you moms have to do all this while also holding down a job outside the home. We fear there's a stigma involved if we don't try to be SuperMom. And this attitude simply isn't from God.
Check out the last part of that verse: "If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ." I looked up the word "bondservant" in the concordance of my Bible to see what exactly is involved with being a bondservant of Christ (Paul called himself one, so I'm thinking it's a good thing to be). :o)
"The Lord's bondservant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God might grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will." 2 Timothy 2:24-26
Those are all really good qualities. Especially for moms. Being kind, patient, and "able to teach" are all qualities of the mom I want to be. But I can't be those things, and everything else involved with being a bondservant of Christ, if I'm doing what I'm doing for the wrong reasons. Even if I'm kind while disciplining my son, if I'm doing it to please those watching me then I'm not a bondservant of Christ. I'm a slave to their expectations instead of to Him and His will.
God has also showed me that being a bondservant of Christ is a powerful thing; not just for me, but for my son as well. Caleb loves church, worship music, and praying cute toddler prayers that consist of "Thank You Jesus, Amen!" But I long for the day he accepts this Jesus he keeps hearing about into his heart and truly lives for him. According to 2 Timothy, being a bondservant for Christ can help others "come to their senses" (verse 26). My son is still young, not quite three years old. But when I gently correct him when he misbehaves, I may very well be helping him come to his senses. I want to be an example of that "knowledge of the truth," and help lead him to repentance so he may also become a bondservant of Christ. And this cannot happen if my focus is pleasing men (or other moms) instead of God.
I want to be able to look back and know that I did all I could to please the Lord, and in turn helped lead my son to Him. Because when I'm not acting like a bondservant of Christ, I really do end up being quarrelsome, unkind, impatient, and not so gentle. If I hand over each day to God, He can give me the strength and mercy to be all those things that Paul describes, even when I encounter food spills, temper tantrums, and burnt dinners.
So I need to learn to wait on the dirty dishes and read with my son instead. To hold off on mopping the floor so we can go exploring outside. To get off Facebook and let him sit in my lap, because all too soon he'll be too old for cuddling. To trade off what I think (and what I THINK others think) should be done for what God calls me to do.
And thinking about all this is actually freeing. I feel liberated from the unrealistic expectations I put on myself all the time. Instead of thinking "I have so much to do today," or "What would so-and-so say if they saw this mess?!" I really should be asking "Lord, what can I do to please You today?" On days when I actually do the latter, I find that all that other "stuff" still gets done, or else it just doesn't seem all that important anymore.
So I'm letting go of the whole SuperMom mentality. I'd rather be a lowly bondservant of Christ instead. :o)
The book is told through the point of view of Julianne, a stay-at-home mom who has been called to homeschool. Throughout the book, Julianne struggles with self-doubt, as well as veiled (and not so veiled) criticisms from some family members about her ability to teach her children. But in the end she learns that she only needs to please God, not others. One verse that is repeated a lot in the book is Galatians 1:10: "For am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I striving to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ."
I read this verse again today, and it really struck me. As moms, we really try to do it ALL. Face it, we invented the WORD "multi-task." We need a clean, sparkling house adorned with DIY projects from Pinterest. Our children must be well-behaved and brilliant at all times. And some of you moms have to do all this while also holding down a job outside the home. We fear there's a stigma involved if we don't try to be SuperMom. And this attitude simply isn't from God.
Check out the last part of that verse: "If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ." I looked up the word "bondservant" in the concordance of my Bible to see what exactly is involved with being a bondservant of Christ (Paul called himself one, so I'm thinking it's a good thing to be). :o)
"The Lord's bondservant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all, able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are in opposition, if perhaps God might grant them repentance leading to the knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will." 2 Timothy 2:24-26
Those are all really good qualities. Especially for moms. Being kind, patient, and "able to teach" are all qualities of the mom I want to be. But I can't be those things, and everything else involved with being a bondservant of Christ, if I'm doing what I'm doing for the wrong reasons. Even if I'm kind while disciplining my son, if I'm doing it to please those watching me then I'm not a bondservant of Christ. I'm a slave to their expectations instead of to Him and His will.
God has also showed me that being a bondservant of Christ is a powerful thing; not just for me, but for my son as well. Caleb loves church, worship music, and praying cute toddler prayers that consist of "Thank You Jesus, Amen!" But I long for the day he accepts this Jesus he keeps hearing about into his heart and truly lives for him. According to 2 Timothy, being a bondservant for Christ can help others "come to their senses" (verse 26). My son is still young, not quite three years old. But when I gently correct him when he misbehaves, I may very well be helping him come to his senses. I want to be an example of that "knowledge of the truth," and help lead him to repentance so he may also become a bondservant of Christ. And this cannot happen if my focus is pleasing men (or other moms) instead of God.
I want to be able to look back and know that I did all I could to please the Lord, and in turn helped lead my son to Him. Because when I'm not acting like a bondservant of Christ, I really do end up being quarrelsome, unkind, impatient, and not so gentle. If I hand over each day to God, He can give me the strength and mercy to be all those things that Paul describes, even when I encounter food spills, temper tantrums, and burnt dinners.
So I need to learn to wait on the dirty dishes and read with my son instead. To hold off on mopping the floor so we can go exploring outside. To get off Facebook and let him sit in my lap, because all too soon he'll be too old for cuddling. To trade off what I think (and what I THINK others think) should be done for what God calls me to do.
And thinking about all this is actually freeing. I feel liberated from the unrealistic expectations I put on myself all the time. Instead of thinking "I have so much to do today," or "What would so-and-so say if they saw this mess?!" I really should be asking "Lord, what can I do to please You today?" On days when I actually do the latter, I find that all that other "stuff" still gets done, or else it just doesn't seem all that important anymore.
So I'm letting go of the whole SuperMom mentality. I'd rather be a lowly bondservant of Christ instead. :o)
September 13, 2012
lessons from the transfiguration
I recently re-read Luke's account of the Transfiguration of Jesus (9:28-45). Here are some things I learned that had not jumped out at me previously:
- Jesus' appearance changed while He was praying (verse 29, italics added for emphasis). He had taken Peter, John, and James up to the mountain to pray, and God's glory fell on Him once he started praying. The same verse says Jesus' clothing became "white" and "gleaming." My Bible says that the word "gleaming" here literally means "flashing like lightning." So pretty much VERY glorious. :o) The take-home lesson I got here? Miraculous things happen when we pray. The very atmosphere can shift, as well as ourselves. But we can't expect God to move if we're not praying for Him to do so.
- Peter and the other two disciples had fallen asleep while Jesus was praying (is it just me or do they seem to do that a lot in the Gospels?). It wasn't until they were fully awake that they saw God's glory manifested in Jesus' appearance as well as in Moses and Elijah who had appeared and were talking with Him (verses 30-32). So we can't be spiritually "out of it" if we want to see God's glory. There's no way around it...you have to be fully awake to see.
- "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three tabernacles..." (Peter, verse 33). It had to have been indescribably amazing and wonderful to be on that mountain during the Transfiguration. Why else would Peter want to stay there permanently? Getting even a taste of God's glory always leaves us wanting more.
- In verse 37, they "came down from the mountain." In the verses following, Jesus heals the demon-possessed boy when the disciples were unable to do it. In verse 38, the boy is described as the only child. In that culture and time, having boys was important and preferred; I bet having just one boy made for one very over-protective parent! My translation says another word for "only" in this case is "begotten." Which of course made me think of John 3:16; Jesus was, and is, also the "only begotten son." Perhaps that's why the demon held on to the boy so tightly.
- When Jesus rebuked the demon and healed the boy, the people watching were "all amazed by the greatness of God" (verse 42). God shows His glory everywhere, not just on the mountaintop. Even in the worst of circumstances, His majesty is there. Prayer can change the appearance of the situation so that His glory can be found in the difficult and the ugly.
August 28, 2012
raising the dead
"Lord, I thank You that You have heard Me." ~ Jesus (John 11:41)
Right now I'm rereading Ann Voskamp's book A Thousand Gifts. With the events of the past year, a lot of her insights, and even Scripture itself, have taken on more significant meaning this second time around.
Take the resurrection of Lazarus (John 11). One of the main points Voskamp makes in her book is that every miracle Jesus performed was preceded by giving thanks. Raising Lazarus from the dead was no exception. Lazarus' death seemed unfair to his sisters; Mary herself had anointed Jesus in a previous chapter, and Martha served Him with her whole heart. This fact reminds me that even when we sacrifice and follow God's will, calamity can still occur.
Jesus also told the sisters that God would be glorified through Lazarus' illness and death and that others would believe in Him because of it (see verses 4 and 14-15). Shouldn't this be the purpose of all troubles that come our way? To glorify the One who holds us during the storm? I've learned that it's okay to grieve when things don't go as planned; even Jesus wept for his friend Lazarus despite knowing that He could and WOULD raise him from the dead (verse 36). What really matters is our trust in Him, not whether we understand why disaster strikes.
Finally, Jesus gave thanks to God before calling Lazarus to come forth (verse 41). I find it interesting that He waited to raise Lazarus up until after others removed the stone from the tomb. Even when every obstacle is removed from our path to finding Him, we still need to give thanks in order to see a miracle.
Here's what I take home from all this....thanksgiving can raise the dead. Not just the physically dead (because I do believe God still performs these miracles even today), but the spiritually dead and the emotionally dead. I felt more than a little shell-shocked after my miscarriages this past year; I literally felt like part me died along with the children I lost. But I found when I forced myself to find something to give thanks for, I felt a little more alive each time. And soon the thanksgiving didn't feel quite as forced, but more like a natural response to His goodness that I found everywhere once I started looking for it. I starting making lists just like Voskamp does in her book:
1) cloudy afternoons under a blanket
2) Caleb laughing
3) getting goosebumps during worship
4) waking up next to Randall
5) Caleb's face when he discovers a new book
I'm nowhere near a thousand yet, but giving thanks even in the seemingly mundane has helped me tremendously. I can still grieve what I've lost just as Jesus the God-Man did. But I can also help raise what remains by giving thanks for it all.
Right now I'm rereading Ann Voskamp's book A Thousand Gifts. With the events of the past year, a lot of her insights, and even Scripture itself, have taken on more significant meaning this second time around.
Take the resurrection of Lazarus (John 11). One of the main points Voskamp makes in her book is that every miracle Jesus performed was preceded by giving thanks. Raising Lazarus from the dead was no exception. Lazarus' death seemed unfair to his sisters; Mary herself had anointed Jesus in a previous chapter, and Martha served Him with her whole heart. This fact reminds me that even when we sacrifice and follow God's will, calamity can still occur.
Jesus also told the sisters that God would be glorified through Lazarus' illness and death and that others would believe in Him because of it (see verses 4 and 14-15). Shouldn't this be the purpose of all troubles that come our way? To glorify the One who holds us during the storm? I've learned that it's okay to grieve when things don't go as planned; even Jesus wept for his friend Lazarus despite knowing that He could and WOULD raise him from the dead (verse 36). What really matters is our trust in Him, not whether we understand why disaster strikes.
Finally, Jesus gave thanks to God before calling Lazarus to come forth (verse 41). I find it interesting that He waited to raise Lazarus up until after others removed the stone from the tomb. Even when every obstacle is removed from our path to finding Him, we still need to give thanks in order to see a miracle.
Here's what I take home from all this....thanksgiving can raise the dead. Not just the physically dead (because I do believe God still performs these miracles even today), but the spiritually dead and the emotionally dead. I felt more than a little shell-shocked after my miscarriages this past year; I literally felt like part me died along with the children I lost. But I found when I forced myself to find something to give thanks for, I felt a little more alive each time. And soon the thanksgiving didn't feel quite as forced, but more like a natural response to His goodness that I found everywhere once I started looking for it. I starting making lists just like Voskamp does in her book:
1) cloudy afternoons under a blanket
2) Caleb laughing
3) getting goosebumps during worship
4) waking up next to Randall
5) Caleb's face when he discovers a new book
I'm nowhere near a thousand yet, but giving thanks even in the seemingly mundane has helped me tremendously. I can still grieve what I've lost just as Jesus the God-Man did. But I can also help raise what remains by giving thanks for it all.
May 17, 2012
cleaning house
I've been on a real cleaning and organizing kick lately. I kind of neglected a lot of housework over the last month or so since I was dealing with the miscarriage, so I've been playing catch-up. It's a lot of work, but the sights of freshly vacuumed carpet, an organized closet, and a squeaky clean bathtub have reinforced me enough to keep going.
But I've neglected the most important "house" for a long time. For the last six months or more, I've prayed for others, spent long hours listening to worship and having conversations with God, and have begun teaching my young son how to praise God and talk to him as well. But I've avoided the really deep stuff. I'm ashamed to say I've barely cracked my Bible open for all that time, except at church or at a group setting where we're studying and discussing Scriptures. I'm relieved to see that God has still used me during this time to bless others; I've helped counsel others and have laid hands on friends to pray for healing, but I never really did try to build myself up.
I'll be even more honest and say that my depression is back. I've struggled with it on and off for several years, and as expected I still feel sadness about this last miscarriage to the point where I hate leaving the house and have reverted back to wearing sweat pants all day, something I swore I would never do again! My husband saw how sad I was today and asked me to do him a favor. He asked me to read my Bible and remember who God is.
I complied even though the request scared me a little. In a way I was afraid of opening the floodgates of emotion even further, and maybe I would never stop crying. And worse, I had the fleeting (and ultimately ridiculous) thought that maybe God wouldn't take me back. I could almost hear Him say, "I showed up for our time together every day, where were you??" Despite my nervousness I retrieved my Bible and journal and without much forethought turned to Psalm 86. And decided that no matter what, I would "clean house" within my own spirit this time.
I read the entire Psalm, but decided to focus on one verse a day until I had dissected all 17 verses. The first part of the psalm is more centered on the situation rather than the character of God, and really, isn't that how a lot of our own prayers start? We recount every detail about why we're hurting or scared, ask God what we should do or how He's going to help us, and THEN maybe we get around to recalling His loving and perfect attributes and what He's done for us already. At least, that's always been MY problem!
Despite this, I still learned a lot just from the first verse, which reads, "Incline Your ear, O Lord, and answer me; for I am afflicted and needy." Yep, that about sums up my daily prayers right now. What hit me was the very first word, "Incline." We normally use that as an adjective, like when we say someone is "inclined" to do something. I only really see it used as a verb once in awhile, and usually in the Bible. Using it as a verb is wonderful in this case though. Here, the psalmist (David) was asking God not only to turn His ear toward him, but to make it a tendency, a habit, something common and pertaining to His nature. And that's what God does! You know how a lot of times we ask God to do something that we already know He does because it's part of His nature (like love us, minister to us, heal us, etc.), but doing so just strengthens our own faith and praises Him for being the way He is? I think that's what David was doing here. Almost as if he sent up this prayer if only to remind himself that God's ear was already inclined toward him, and had been the whole time. Thank You, Lord!
Next, the word "afflicted" hit me. I think when the word "affliction" is used it should mean an actual disease or some other condition we can't help having, can't control, and can't heal on our own. Not just a sin we struggle with, but an actual circumstance that has really thrown us and there's no way we can get through it without His intervening. Yep, that's where I am now. I have (at times) a very intense sadness about what I've lost, as well as a fear that something is wrong with my body and that's why I've had multiple miscarriages. I feel afflicted, and honestly can't see a way out of this that doesn't involve leaning on God and depending on Him for His help.
Which leads me to the word "needy." Kind of goes hand-in-hand with "afflicted." When we're afflicted, we realize our ultimate need for God. We can't cure this affliction alone, and sometimes even other humans can't help. Now, God can use my doctor to figure out if there's anything wrong with me physically, and he might even be able to find a way to help me so we can have a healthy pregnancy next time, and that would be amazing. But if I don't recognize that only God can fill that need inside of me, I really think the depression and fear would remain. Let's face it, even when times are great, we can still think of what could go wrong and keep ourselves from fully enjoying our lives. And if my worst fear is realized, and we can't have any more children, God is the only One who can truly comfort me and tell me He still has good plans ahead for me.
And that's basically what He told me today when I repeated the prayer in verse 1 and asked Him to answer me. Part of me wanted Him to take my sadness and fear away instantaneously, and to also give me a guarantee that all other attempts at having children in the future would go off without a hitch. But He reminded me that He doesn't always answer that way. Today He told me He hurts right along with me. He doesn't want me to be sad, but He also gently reminded me that I can use the sadness and fear to draw closer to Him and dwell in His presence. Because if I'm truly dwelling in His presence, there's no room for fear anymore. I want to get to that place where even when everything is uncertain (or worse, going horribly), I can still have peace and joy in Him. And I think that's what "cleaning house" is all about. Time to clear out the clutter and fix up a wonderful place for God and me to dwell together. And, verse by verse, I hope that Psalm 86 (along with the rest of His Word) will teach me how to do that.
But I've neglected the most important "house" for a long time. For the last six months or more, I've prayed for others, spent long hours listening to worship and having conversations with God, and have begun teaching my young son how to praise God and talk to him as well. But I've avoided the really deep stuff. I'm ashamed to say I've barely cracked my Bible open for all that time, except at church or at a group setting where we're studying and discussing Scriptures. I'm relieved to see that God has still used me during this time to bless others; I've helped counsel others and have laid hands on friends to pray for healing, but I never really did try to build myself up.
I'll be even more honest and say that my depression is back. I've struggled with it on and off for several years, and as expected I still feel sadness about this last miscarriage to the point where I hate leaving the house and have reverted back to wearing sweat pants all day, something I swore I would never do again! My husband saw how sad I was today and asked me to do him a favor. He asked me to read my Bible and remember who God is.
I complied even though the request scared me a little. In a way I was afraid of opening the floodgates of emotion even further, and maybe I would never stop crying. And worse, I had the fleeting (and ultimately ridiculous) thought that maybe God wouldn't take me back. I could almost hear Him say, "I showed up for our time together every day, where were you??" Despite my nervousness I retrieved my Bible and journal and without much forethought turned to Psalm 86. And decided that no matter what, I would "clean house" within my own spirit this time.
I read the entire Psalm, but decided to focus on one verse a day until I had dissected all 17 verses. The first part of the psalm is more centered on the situation rather than the character of God, and really, isn't that how a lot of our own prayers start? We recount every detail about why we're hurting or scared, ask God what we should do or how He's going to help us, and THEN maybe we get around to recalling His loving and perfect attributes and what He's done for us already. At least, that's always been MY problem!
Despite this, I still learned a lot just from the first verse, which reads, "Incline Your ear, O Lord, and answer me; for I am afflicted and needy." Yep, that about sums up my daily prayers right now. What hit me was the very first word, "Incline." We normally use that as an adjective, like when we say someone is "inclined" to do something. I only really see it used as a verb once in awhile, and usually in the Bible. Using it as a verb is wonderful in this case though. Here, the psalmist (David) was asking God not only to turn His ear toward him, but to make it a tendency, a habit, something common and pertaining to His nature. And that's what God does! You know how a lot of times we ask God to do something that we already know He does because it's part of His nature (like love us, minister to us, heal us, etc.), but doing so just strengthens our own faith and praises Him for being the way He is? I think that's what David was doing here. Almost as if he sent up this prayer if only to remind himself that God's ear was already inclined toward him, and had been the whole time. Thank You, Lord!
Next, the word "afflicted" hit me. I think when the word "affliction" is used it should mean an actual disease or some other condition we can't help having, can't control, and can't heal on our own. Not just a sin we struggle with, but an actual circumstance that has really thrown us and there's no way we can get through it without His intervening. Yep, that's where I am now. I have (at times) a very intense sadness about what I've lost, as well as a fear that something is wrong with my body and that's why I've had multiple miscarriages. I feel afflicted, and honestly can't see a way out of this that doesn't involve leaning on God and depending on Him for His help.
Which leads me to the word "needy." Kind of goes hand-in-hand with "afflicted." When we're afflicted, we realize our ultimate need for God. We can't cure this affliction alone, and sometimes even other humans can't help. Now, God can use my doctor to figure out if there's anything wrong with me physically, and he might even be able to find a way to help me so we can have a healthy pregnancy next time, and that would be amazing. But if I don't recognize that only God can fill that need inside of me, I really think the depression and fear would remain. Let's face it, even when times are great, we can still think of what could go wrong and keep ourselves from fully enjoying our lives. And if my worst fear is realized, and we can't have any more children, God is the only One who can truly comfort me and tell me He still has good plans ahead for me.
And that's basically what He told me today when I repeated the prayer in verse 1 and asked Him to answer me. Part of me wanted Him to take my sadness and fear away instantaneously, and to also give me a guarantee that all other attempts at having children in the future would go off without a hitch. But He reminded me that He doesn't always answer that way. Today He told me He hurts right along with me. He doesn't want me to be sad, but He also gently reminded me that I can use the sadness and fear to draw closer to Him and dwell in His presence. Because if I'm truly dwelling in His presence, there's no room for fear anymore. I want to get to that place where even when everything is uncertain (or worse, going horribly), I can still have peace and joy in Him. And I think that's what "cleaning house" is all about. Time to clear out the clutter and fix up a wonderful place for God and me to dwell together. And, verse by verse, I hope that Psalm 86 (along with the rest of His Word) will teach me how to do that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)