On Trails and Towers

Elisa, 

I was convinced this day would be a disaster. I had mumbled and grumbled out of the driveway that I sure hoped the trail was covered so you wouldn't bake in the sun while I wallowed in guilt. We didn't know exact directions. I had read something about a 40 minutes to the tower, and now that I thought about it, that was an eternity. Why didn't your daddy think about these things? It took a winding river of a road and a face of a black bear until I could relax. 

Sometimes, I crush the life out of things because I believe the tight fist of control can save. I've bought the lie that if you plan well enough, you'll never have mistakes, whether or not you can learn from them. It is fear masquerading as provision, protection. 

May you never inherit your mother's white knuckles. You'll miss so much if you do. 

You'll never see mountain laurel if you stop at loose rock steps. 

  

You'll miss flame-bursts of columbine if you step back from bees.

You won't even reach towers if you stop where the trail slants.

And it'll take faith in worn steps to see views like these:

You're the reason I want to keep climbing what scares me.

You're teaching me how to live wide-handedly. May you plan only to be amazed and delighted. And rest knowing He's good, good wherever he leads.

Love,
Your Mama

Hammering New Nails...

I had first read these words by Erasmus in Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts: 

"A nail is driven out by another nail. Habit is overcome by habit." 

She had used it to describe her new quest to breathe thanksgiving, no matter what circumstances brought her. Voskamp explains that you can't positive think yourself to joy. You have to drive out a habit of anger or of worry or of despair with another habit, in her case, writing down the gifts God had given her as a discipline of chronicling his care. 

Voskamp notes as well that a habit is something you wear. Well, if that is true, I wear fear, am riddled with nails of fear that have long rusted from being lodged deep. 

This week, fear came creeping up out of nowhere really. Blindsided me. Thoughts I hadn't worried about in weeks became all-encompassing mind games. The paradise I'd created in waiting for this baby to arrive turned out to have some pretty hostile creatures, ones that I've met before and before. 

As I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep, my mind starting playing tricks again. I was worried about a particular circumstance being meaningful in a scary way. It is... my mind said. It isn't... it said again. It is... It isn't...

My eyes flew open in exasperation. Which were my thoughts? Which the words of the Holy Spirit? What are you telling me, Holy Spirit? Which is it? 

Now it doesn't happen really often, but sometimes I feel like the voice of the Holy Spirit comes in gentle, but razor sharp into my jumble of thoughts. This time it did. 

Not, "it is," but "I AM." 

I suddenly felt the disgusting pit of fear in my stomach settle. I had missed the mark entirely. Not, "it is...." but "I AM." I had been chasing after the wrong nails, wrong habits. 

A friend once told me that fear is the opposite of meditation, because you focus all of your thoughts on what could go wrong instead of on God's peace and presence. What we meditate on is a nail. If we meditate on fear, we must drive in a new nail by meditating on who God is. 

Patrick and I pulled out the book of John. I remembered from college that John had Jesus' seven "I AM" statements. I suddenly wanted them, like thick stones to turn over in my hands and to hold down my anxious thoughts. 

I am the bread of life. I am the light of the world. I am the gate for the sheep. I am the good shepherd.  I am the way, the truth, and the life. I am the resurrection and the life. I am the true vine. 

These concrete words are solid nails that won't rust: bread, light, gate, shepherd, way, resurrection, vine. Words that you can taste, touch, see, and explore different facets of in your mind. These words will be fresh for the next days, months, years. 

I don't know what your nails are. Maybe you focus on "It is a failure" or "It's not." Or "She is a failure" or "he's not." "It's going to be enough this month." or "It's not." "It is what I deserve." or "It's not fair." 

I encourage you today to grab the hammer of your mind and calmly place it over the head of your "It is..." thoughts. Write a poem, listen to a song, scan the scriptures, write out posters. Swing down with thoughts of who God says he is. These nails, they can hold. No matter what is or will ever be.

Supernatural...

I don't have a lot on my mind today, so I'll keep it short (I think).

My sister sent me a bunch of hilarious bibs she made for our little one. Here is one of my favorites:

Since it appears we'll soon be hosting Super Baby, I thought I'd share some recent thoughts on what is actually supernatural.

We're fascinated as humans by supernatural abilities. From The Incredibles all the way to The Avengers, we can't get enough of average people who suddenly can save the world with their flying, future-seeing, shape-changing, brick-breaking-strength skills.

The same seems to be true for Christians. We are drawn to those who seem super-holy, super-courageous, super-self-sacrificing, super-wise, etc... We wish (at least I do sometimes) that we could have the flashier gifts, more steady discipline, less cracks in our super-faith armor.

It's not a new obsession either... Paul addressed the early church this way:

"But it’s obvious by now, isn’t it, that Christ’s church is a complete Body and not a gigantic, unidimensional Part? It’s not all Apostle, not all Prophet, not all Miracle Worker, not all Healer, not all Prayer in Tongues, not all Interpreter of Tongues. And yet some of you keep competing for so-called “important” parts.

But now I want to lay out a far better way for you." -End of 1 Corinthians 12 (Message)

So it seems like we're not called to compete to have more of the supernatural gifts in the Body of Christ. So what then?

God has been gently whispering to me lately that "supernatural" means exactly that, "Above, Beyond the Natural."

What's natural?

For me, it seems to be fear. Fear has been my autopilot mode since I was small. And to be honest, isn't fear natural in a world with nuclear bombs, hurricanes, serial killers, job loss, and dividing cells that eat away life? Fear is a huge money maker, decision driver. It's what causes us to shop for insurance, vote in certain ways, avoid deep relationships, stop opening our homes to strangers.

I realized today that choosing to lay down fear is a supernatural act. Fall seems an apt name for this season. It seems like a huge leap for me into an abyss of uncertainty. But if I choose trust over fear, I am doing something more profound than leaping buildings in a single bound. I am testifying that there is a God. A God who enables me to go beyond what I'm naturally programmed to be.

I don't know what "natural" tendency you struggle with: selfishness, ambition, materialism, protecting a strong or religious appearance, striving, rebellion, resentment... I do know that whenever we choose to go against, above the ways humans have been since we got broken and busted, we are standing in defiance against evil, quietly defeating it with a greater power than any light-saber. 

We can't do it on our own, but that doesn't mean we are not powerful. No, we have this promise:

^" I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." -Galatians 2:20

We've got a secret. We're not who we appear today. When we call on Jesus, he lives through us. And because of that, ordinary acts of love, courage, and forgiveness are supernatural. Just make sure your cape is on correctly :)

He Knows My Name...

You would think with a name like "non-stress test," there shouldn't be any anxiety produced. You would think! Our normal, scheduled appointment yesterday turned into a bit of adventure for us, another chance for us to learn who God is and who we are.

 I had woken up yesterday morning after bad dreams. The night before I had been stressed again about the world/politics, preparations for the baby, juggling responsibilities, etc... I felt like God wanted me to turn to Isaiah 40, a chapter that had been brought up a couple of times at my baby shower because of the amazing promise that God "gently leads those who are with young."

Yesterday morning, I felt the peace of other promises: God doesn't grow tired or weary, to him the rulers of this world are like wind-blown chaff, he sits enthroned over the circle of the earth. Yes.

 The rest of the day was normal, until our non-stress test. The baby's heart-rate was fine. What was concerning was that I was having contractions about two to three minutes apart. No prenatal class for us!

We were sent to the hospital by the midwife to get further tests/monitoring. As we drove, I tried to keep down the panic. At 33 weeks, your body shouldn't be doing this. Our baby is breech, so she's in no position (pun intended) to be born. We were not expecting this.

As we pulled into the hospital, my phone beeped. I had received a text from my friend Melody. It read, "I've been praying for you. Do you guys need anything?" I was blown away. God knew! He knew exactly what was going on and more than that, had prompted a friend by the Holy Spirit to be praying. We went in with a sense of peace, despite the uncertainties.

 After some tests and observations, the contractions stopped, and we got the go-ahead to go home. What a whirlwind!

 Late last night and this morning, I felt like returning to Isaiah 40 again. This time, a new section stood out to me:

"Why would you ever complain, O Jacob, or, whine, Israel, saying, “God has lost track of me. He doesn’t care what happens to me”? Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening? God doesn’t come and go. God lasts. He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine. He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath. And he knows everything, inside and out." (Isaiah 40-27-30, Message)

I was also struck by the position of the promise about God leading those with young. It is right before "who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand" (verse 12).

We serve a powerful God. He is magnificent, mighty, all-knowing, never-ceasing. And yet, he leads us like a shepherd, knows when we're headed into the hospital, knows our names. He hasn't lost track of us. Not a one.

All day, I've been thinking of the song, "He knows my name." This afternoon, I thought, "He knows my baby's name, too...that means he must know everyone's name...yikes." We have the comfort of God knowing us intimately. This we like. We also have the knowledge that God cares just as intimately for those whom we find hard to love. This. is. hard.

The political candidate we don't like? He knows his name. 
The co-worker we struggle to respect? He knows her name. 
Those who have injured us, behind our backs or to our face. He knows their names. 

He hasn't lost track of them either. Not a one. 

One of the most powerful exercises I was ever asked to do was to read Psalm 139 aloud, changing every "me" to a name of a person or group I struggled to accept.

I don't know what you need today. Maybe you need to remember that God is real and really present. The text I received proves that. Maybe you need to look at someone else with eyes of an all-powerful God who still choses to love. Scripture is pretty clear on this, too. He knows us. He knows. 

Another song to listen to this week...may it speak to you the way it speaks to me. Until next time!


 

Faithfulness

“Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of ‘not knowing.” 
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

I kind of hate these words. Really. I mean, they sound wise, wise enough for me to pick them out of a page full of quotations about uncertainty. He uses the word "one," so it rolls off the tongue. The book they come from even sounds poetic. However, I'm learning that maturity, acceptance, not knowing are some of the least poetic, most difficult things for someone who has lived her entire life desiring the illusion of control. 

Election years always leave me feeling uncertain. I avoid newspaper stands because the fragility of the world in black headlines shouts, "uncertain." This last leg of the pregnancy has been unexpectedly uncertain. 

We're still dealing with low amniotic fluid levels here. I've a few more restrictions, a few more ultrasounds, and a whole lot of water. I know God is completely able to heal me. He healed my autoimmune issues, he healed my blood pressure that had been high for several weeks in a row. My fluid levels might rise and our journey will continue "normally" (what in the world does that actually mean when you're pregnant?!) Or, they might not. What are we to do with these increasing layers of uncertainty? 

I love that we have a Bible with laments. We even have an entire book of them. Lamentations 3 is one of my favorite passages, especially when things seem tight-rope tipsy. I see in it some ways to move forward each day: 

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, 

the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,

and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind    

and therefore I have hope.

Because of the Lord’s great love 

we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness. 

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;

therefore I will wait for him.” -Lamentations 3: 19-24, emphasis mine)

We are, I am, not called to forget about the uncertainty, to spring up to thanksgiving while ignoring the fact that things are not as we would wish them to be. We are able to remember, to give voice to our mourning, our wandering, our dissappointment and pain. BUT, we are not called to stay there. 

I can wallow in the discomfort of an uncertain future, or I can call to mind God's love, the fact that we are not consumed, his unfailing compassion, his great faithfulness. I can say to myself, "God is enough. I will wait for him." 

This week I've listened to this song over and over. I think Brian Doerksen puts it into more beautiful words that I could have. I hope, no matter what uncertainties you might be facing, that it brings you as much peace as it has me: 

A Black and White Girl in a Gray World

When I was little, we had a dish with a little chick in the middle and a ring of half-egg shells around her. It was probably for hard-boiled eggs, but we always used it to hold jelly beans. I remember taking out the beans and sorting them by color, putting them back in neat monochrome sections. Ahh, that's better.

When I was in high school, I'd babysit for some spending money. After the kids had gone to bed, I would sometimes straighten up. No, not just dirty dishes: literally I would straighten crooked picture frames, piles of magazines on tables, etc... I felt so much better when everything was exactly right, exactly how it should be.

I've been the same way about thoughts: constantly straightening, adjusting, perfecting. I've wanted my beliefs to read like mission statements: Well, what I believe about caring for the environment is precisely... Why, I'm glad you asked what I believe about prayer. You see, I know for sure that...

I am learning that whatever extremes in personality I had before pregnancy are amplified by the large amounts of hormones that are currently running through my veins. If my thoughts were vying to escape any gray areas before, my brain now feels like a middle school cafeteria dismissing. It's not pretty!

The day after our stay-cation, Patrick had to work and I cleaned up at home. I was bombarded with seemingly life-altering dilemmas. I read Matthew 5 for my quiet time. When I got to the part about "turning the other cheek," I was torn. But what if someone attacks me on a dark night? What then? This one had my mind running for hours.

That is, until I heard a radio broadcast about how homeschooling is a great way actively parent and disciple your children. I hadn't even thought this far yet, I despaired, and now I have to figure out what I believe about educating a baby I haven't even met yet! 

The broadcast also brought up how we need to teach our children why we do things like get jobs, play sports, study hard, etc... This is a great point, something I want to remember. As I put things away in the bathroom, though, my eyes locked on my makeup bag. What would I tell a daughter about wearing makeup? Oh, no! "Patrick, why do I wear makeup?," I asked him desperately when he got home. Poor man!

 This frantic kind of thinking, this desire for a cut-and-dried response ready for anyone who'd ask what I believe about spiritual warfare or eating well or solutions to poverty, leaves me harried and stressed. It leaves me joyless and worried. And guess what? It leaves me trying to be GOD. Yikes.

God has been speaking gently into this black and white girl's heart about my fear of existing with a degree of grayness. At church on Sunday, Pastor April read this from Psalm 131 (NIV, emphasis mine):

"My heart is not proud, Lord,
    my eyes are not haughty; 
I do not concern myself with great matters 
    or things too wonderful for me. 
² But I have calmed and quieted myself, 
    I am like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child I am content."

I do not have to have a tabulated manifesto of everywhere I stand on every subject. Let me see, FASTING, that's page 23. I believe... Doing so reveals a fear that the Holy Spirit will not speak to me, that I need to know all and NOW! Jesus didn't even expect this of his disciples, “I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear. But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth. (John 16:12-13, NIV, emphasis mine). 

I might not know exactly what to tell you about great matters, things too wonderful for me, but the Holy Spirit does. I might not know how I will react to one of the thousand hypothetical situations I can imagine, but I do know I can rest, contentedly, on my Father's lap. When the time comes, he will whisper what needs to be done, he will guide. My job is simply to listen. That is black and white enough for me. 

Gifts That Didn't Make the List

My birthday is coming up on June 17th. As people have started to ask me what I want, I've come up with a few things: supplies so I can learn to knit, a pedicure, a bathrobe. I love gifts, giving and receiving them, so these lists are fun to make. I'm learning, however, that sometimes, the gifts that are the most precious, the most necessary, are gifts that didn't make the list: gifts that are cut-to-the-bone painful and ones that I would have never asked for myself.

Yesterday we had our second trip to the hospital for unexpected and very scary bleeding. The first trip was last Tuesday, 3 hours away from home in Williamsburg. I was with some friends at a timeshare, resting after a girls' day out shopping. I was terrified and shocked. But the gifts were there, equally surprising: friends holding my hands in an ER at night, my first ultrasound and the baby moving wildly, Patrick making the drive fast enough to be with me as I was released, a friend who had woken up in the night to pray for me--moved by the Spirit to remind me He was aware, a message from a former teacher praying for us.

The days that followed were a blur: a lot of resting, reading, crying out to God, and experiencing various degrees of pain. A group I'm part of is currently reading 2nd Corinthians. Reading it for the first time in the Message, I found my next set of gifts:

We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives. That's to prevent anyone from confusing God's incomparable power with us. 

So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace.

And now, isn't it wonderful all the ways in which this distress has goaded you closer to God? You're more alive, more concerned, more sensitive, more reverent, more human, more passionate, more responsible. Looked at from any angle, you've come out of this with purity of heart.

 I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations...I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ's strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become. (All from The Message, 2nd Corinthians)

That brings me to yesterday. We had our follow up appointment in the morning. The gifts there were evident: clearance to go back to my normal routine, a wonderful midwife setting up a consult with a specialist at UVA who knows about autoimmune diseases and pregnancy, my first walk in almost a week under the trees at the Arboretum. We had a restful, hopeful day.

Right before Patrick went to work (another gift), I began bleeding again...a nightmare on replay. We were checked out at the hospital and sent home to rest. I have another follow-up this afternoon. We are feeling a little like shipwrecked sailors: battered and worn, waiting for a break in the storm. YET, there are gifts still. Today as I rest while Patrick is away at work, I hold on to a special gift from prayer-gifted Kate, the amazing sister of one of my best friends, Kristen. In praying for me, she was given three images: the word Elohim (the name of God that means Creator, strong one), a light bulb, and a house with three roofs. She wanted to let me know that I am sheltered, extra protected by the strong God we serve. When I shared this with Luke, my father-in-law, he said quickly, "The three roofs-- The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!" What a merciful God we have!

I thought about writing this post later today, after we know more at our appointment, after things were more stable. But I felt led to give God glory NOW, in the midst of another scary day of waiting. I have been given another day to be this sweet baby's mama. I will thank God for that, and whatever other gifts that might be coming my way, asked for or not.

Expectations

I recently bought a brand-new teal planner. As seems fitting with my transition at work, my Skyline planner is about to run out. In July, I can start scribbling dates on pages topped with little tropical scenes. It was the best $6.97 I've spent in a long time. As I started to fill in appointments for the next several months, I was struck by how far away December seems. Some days it seems as if we'll never make it. For those of you who don't know, I've struggled since winter with unidentified connective tissue issues, mainly pain/numbness in my hands, feet, and/or chest. I'm working with a rheumatologist, but it has been a scary journey for someone so high control (and high anxiety!). Pregnancy has made some of the symptoms and a lot of the fear worse. My body no longer "plays by the rules."

As many pregnant women probably do, I began thinking about Mary. About how she was a mother, yes, but more how she was a teenage Jew. She had grown up hearing whispers of the Messiah, the one who would restore the oppressed nation of Israel to the glory intended for it. God had been silent for 400 years. Now, she and Jews everywhere were only nine months away from the realization of their dreams. She was not awaiting just her child, but the birth of an entire new era. How long those months must have seemed!

However, as I kept reflecting, I wondered how Mary felt when she held an impossibly fragile Messiah. When she fled to Egypt with his hot cheeks against her chest. When she watched her son executed, blood of her blood draining from a hole in his side. I wondered if she longed for the days she had wished to pass quickly, the days when the Messiah spun quietly in the safety of her womb. Did she wish then for the nine months of waiting, seeing the time as blessing instead of curse.

I wonder if I will wish the same when this time of pain and anxiety is over. Is there blessing in this time that I will long for? Will I miss the nearness of God, the knee-bowing humility that has fallen over me, the feeling of smallness and desperateness that has helped me understand for the first time in my life Jesus as burden-bearer and man of sorrows? I've noticed it already. On days when I have been pain free, I often did not think of Jesus until the end of the school day. He can slip to the fringes of my consciousness. On days when fear comes thick, his name is on my lips almost constantly.

I told Patrick last night that this was a scary ride and that I wanted to get off. But, I think God has more for me than this. My friend Kristen once told me a story of her friend who had lost her husband. A mutual friend of theirs had asked the woman what the hardest time of the day was for her. She replied the nighttime, when the kids had gone to sleep. The friend had said, "Then God has something special for you in the nighttime. Don't miss it."

I am going to believe that God has something special for me in this time of pain, of waiting, of uncertainty and  lack of control. Instead of praying for this time to pass quickly, I am going to ask for eyes to see what gift God is giving me right now. I do not, do not want to miss it.

His Eye is On the Sparrow...

As I backed out of the driveway, the faded garden flag that Sylvia (my mother-in-law) had gotten for me last year caught my eye. I could barely make out the words, "His eye is on the sparrow..." over the towering green mint we had tried to pull up last year. What a nice reminder, I casually thought.

I drove down the street and started humming the song, Why do I feel discouraged? Why do the shadows fall? Why does my heart feel lonely and long for heav'n and home. When Jesus is my portion, my constant friend is He. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. 

All of the sudden, the song hit me sweetly and deeply. His eye is on the SPARROW, and I know he watches ME. We had known for about a week that I was pregnant, and I had been struggling with anxiety over my health. I was fearful for this tiny new life and my body, still challenged by inflammation from the winter, seemed out of control. God spoke powerfully to me in the car that day. He promised he would care for our baby, the sparrow, whom he would not let fall without him knowing it. Even more amazing though, he was watching ME, caring for my uncertainty, my feelings of vunerability, and my well-being. I struggle sometimes with believing that God cares for me, so these words were deep comfort for my heart.That week we bought a sparrow bracelet, a daily reminder I wear that God sees and cares for each step that we take.

I'll be twelve weeks pregnant on Monday, and we are crazy grateful that God has sustained us through one trimester already. We anticipate our little "sparrow" arriving December 10th!

Today was my first real exam, and again, I was nervous. I have known enough friends to know that sometimes God sees us in pain, not only in joy. However, God gave us an incredible gift. We listened to our baby's heartbeat, fast as a bird's and strong (165 beats a minute!). It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. To celebrate, we stopped by Bruster's for some ice cream. A group of sparrows hopped by our feet. And I know He watches me.