I felt everything grinding to a halt. Especially the creativity and the ability to move from thought to page without great effort. For the past several months, the inconsolable, bound-to-pour-out-onto-something part of me nestled into a section of my soul reserved for another season, another time. It hasn't been without attending, but the functional, do-only-what-is-necessary part of me kept it quiet while the hourglass sand poured on, seemingly very slowly. I have missed the part of myself that breathes so freely though. I have tried to make peace with it, and in retrospect, physical exhaustion made peace all the more possible;)
I have needed what only adequate time can give. I have needed moments to drink deeply the well dug for our family-- our new family, completely intact. And to assess, without publically processing.
Finally sensing some open space to type, I realized just moments ago that I have troubled through the past several months trying to be honest with myself. As a person who tries to move toward truth, praying grace and mercy live there too, I have needed time to even begin to head in that direction. If I haven't been able to be honest with myself, I suppose it has been darn near impossible to be honest with anyone else.
Maybe some of that will change today? In a moment of some kind of bravery, I decided to start writing again. Here goes.
Well, just another thought first. I am well aware that I write a lot about my children. And in that vein, I am creating for them an online/in-print story that may have some affect later on. I am constantly thinking through this and want to be kind and careful. There are their stories and there is mine. The two are connected--- yet I do try to disconnect mine and address it with as little known implication on their future selves as possible (who even knows what this might mean anymore?). I may do well and other times, not so well. However, I am aware and I do try. My main desire is to connect with others who, first and foremost, are people who have an awareness that the Gospel is taking hold of them. I am on this road praying I see signs of the vertical Word coming down to me in the finished work of Jesus, staying near by the attending of the Spirit. Secondarily, I wish to connect with others horizontally in shared experience, pressing in to all that is good and all that is hard this side of eternity.
That said, I will give this a go again.
When our last little one came to be with us, there was a lot we knew. We prepared and prepared. I remember that God-forsaken adoption form--- the one that identifies the needs of the child you are willing to love and call by your name. That form is terrible. I get it though. I do remember filling it out, trying to come to terms with my own limitations, praying in advance for the child on the other side of all those checkboxes. Micah and I both did. You never really know-- just like waiting during gestation-- how the boxes will take shape in a real, living, complex human being. This whole person is a soul adoptive parents seek to know as best they can, even though they may have had years apart.
I know Micah and I expected somethingto be hard. I know I have mentioned this before- but just as in everything, there are varying degrees. I don't think anyone can be prepared for the day-in/day-out and how it affects everyone else. Its kind of like having a seasoned mother explain sleep deprivation to a first-time mom. It can be well articulated, yet falls short the first time she brushes her teeth with hemorrhoid cream or feels the cloud descend on her every thought due to no stretch of real rest over 1-2 hours for weeks (sometimes months) on end.
The prepared-for things have been okay. There is always--- always--- a measure of brokenness that must be attended that is unknown. It should be expected. As I have said before and will well maintain, adoption comes from brokenness. It begins with brokenness and it exposes it in everyone involved, even and especially in the lives of those called to press in. It requires measures of self-awareness that take the forms of moments of confrontation, assessment, explanation or resignation, and adjusted expectations. I consider the scars on her little body as an example. As I run my finger tips over them, I wonder, How did this happen?I contemplate the possibilities. Then I realize, I will never really know. This brings me to consider the way this scar has changed her, and the consideration of it changes me. It is easier to assess external scars. The internal ones are much more complicated. Some of them are tucked away under layers of defenses. It takes ~again~ time.
When I first heard of our little girl, I knew she was my child. Her needs made sense to me. And honestly, she and I together have seen our way through many moments in learning to love one another. And like all parent/child relationships, we have learned how we don't always do it so well. It has taken longer, much longer, to discern what I don't know, how it affects her, and (most importantly) what to do about it. Again, confrontation, assessment, explanation, and adjusted expectations.
The biggest example of this and what we are still working through is Tallie's initial diagnosis. She has microcephaly, although not the "garden variety" as we have been advised. In many ways, you'd never know it. She is verbal. She is potty-trained. She understands so much of what we are saying. Yet, she has real limitations. It has taken a long time to try and wrap our heads around what she is able to do and what she is not and why. Her doctors cannot give us a prognosis for her. They are astounded at what she has proved capable. Since she does what is unexpected, there isn't any way to project what is to be expected. Each stage of development is a mystery. I love a good, God-granted anomaly. It is also a challenge.
While her needs are important, I don't want them to define who she is. They are a part of who she is, and parts I want to honor. She is a whole person, both/and, just like us all. She is made in the image of God. She is my daughter. She is so much more than a diagnosis or her abilities. She is a little ray of light, pointing to the Father of Lights who gave her life and has sustained it.
I have also been learning about her created gifts, favorites, and loves and she, ours. We learn the way we tick and work together in created cooperation. Empathy has offered healing and loving correction has led the way to trust. Praise God he grants us some complementary giftings as well as steady opportunities for apologies and forgiveness that equip us for each new day.
Then, there are her siblings. Adoption is a shared experience for every member of a family and mine is no different. Each one of my children has led me at different times and in different ways in loving Tallie. Her sisters are so sweet to her. At the same time, it has taken adjustment for everyone. And my attending to each of them and being aware of their needs has been paramount. Yet, this has brought me to my own limitations. There are certain things I keep having to learn to leave to the Lord. I cannot be who He is for each of them. And only He knows the stories He is writing in their lives.
In a day when strategies to thrive vs. survive is all over my news feed, I can tell you with heaven-pointing, teary eyes that we are surviving. And I am thankful. Forget the over-realized eschatology of the self-declared thrivers! The truth is, the past several months have been really hard and they have really been good. The truth in accepting the hard makes the hope of the good (both temporarily/imperfectly and eternally/perfectly) all the more profound. In the recent past and ahead on the horizon, there are days when deep joy bubbles over. Usually, those happen with our new one around dance parties, cake, noodles, or the communication of a new thought. I have had to be more patient than ever, more prepared for anything, more organized, more proactive, and more kind to myself. It has been good to remember where we were months ago and enjoy the blessings of today.
And it is very good for me be reminded of the hope of heaven, where the broken is not merely mended, but completely remade, and adjust my expectations toward the trouble of this world. I just cannot -- cannot -- hear enough that the same Gospel God brought into my view through adoption, considering my own separation from my Father and His work to reconcile me in relationship with Him that is completely based on the work of His Son, is the same today as it was yesterday and will be tomorrow. Neither my failures or successes as a mother will compromise His affection for me. That's a tough one to believe on the hard days and easy to forget on the good ones! The same is true for each of the Childs children. In a world where there are thousands of ways our relationships break apart, praise God for a Savior who steadily speaks the promise of resurrection and eternal, familial, holy-connected peace. I am thankful that in this family, there are reminders {as heaven breaks through} behind the eyes of my children.
- Micah, Tiffany, Andrew, Elijah, Isaac, Eliana, and Isabella
- We are a family of fifteen: eight already with Jesus and seven in desperate need of Him. This is the story God is writing in our lives. Proverbs 16:9
Friday, October 26, 2018
When Rest Finds {you}
Do you know the most fulfilling moment I have had between me and my newest little one? You might guess that it was when she pointed to me and affirmed "mama". Maybe when she first said "my love you." Maybe it was when I had been away for a couple of days and returned home to her enormous, crescent-moon-eyed smile and shrill screams of excitement. Those things are precious to me, like jewels.
Those things tenderly noted, the most profound, fulfilling, moment ~hands down~ I will always remember in these early days is when I looked back in the van and saw my girl asleep. We had been out and about that day and in the middle of all the activity, she gave up her no-nap policy, closed her beautiful eyes and slept. Then again, voluntarily, a few days later at home~
There is a lot of hard mixed in. As I have written before and will say again, adoption is a result of brokenness-- the kind of brokenness that affects the way a brain is wired. It can, and many times does, cause defensiveness and insecurity that might follow for a lifetime. It makes complete sense that would be the case. It would be unkind for me to assume otherwise.
For weeks she had been testing me. She wasn't sure what to think of this arrangement. All of her faculties had been telling her that she needed to make sure nothing was going to fall apart. She thought she needed to prove her worth half of the time and the other half, wanted to see what I would do if all of her brokenness spilled out in all the worst ways. She needed to measure my response and know, with as many senses engaged as possible, I would always be there-- Micah too. Sleep was not her friend in this endeavor. Anything could happen during the dreaming hours. If she wasn't holding this all together, who was?
But this child of mine, she laid it all down-- the control, the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, the illusion of need for panic-- and my little one rested. What an honor to be privy to such a sacred, healing, space.
This child. She teaches me so much about the way I am loved. Not because I am particularly good at loving, but because I so identify with her struggle. It is easy to say, "Jesus loves me." It is much harder to believe it when I am experiencing all the things she doesn't have the sophistication to hide. We all carry varying degrees of the same struggles.
There is something beautiful and holy about true rest-- even aside from the pursuit of it. It is a part of self-forgetfulness (T. Keller) only grace gives. When it just happens, whether it is because we reach the end of ourselves or because it is so contrary to the way that everything else works in the world, it evokes a peace that is beyond what I may find the words to describe. What I can do, is point to its shadow and appreciate, rejoice even, its presence. I know that behind the presence is a Person- three to be precise.
You could take a thousand of my struggles and sins and line them up. You could name them for which lines they cross. But this is sure of each one: every visible and invisible sinner-side of me is barred with temporary, "I am His, I can rest" amnesia. My problem is not finding and remembering all the ways my relationship with Him should go sideways. It isremembering that He remembers my sins no more and has done everything--- everything--- to make me His.
I imagine that, after all has been done for Him to say, "You are Mine", coming to the end of control, fear, anxiety, reasoning, and trying so hard to make sure it doesn't all fall apart then finding rest in the comfort of His work, His peace, His mercy, and His grace gives Him a glory due my Abba, Father, by the work of His Son, and in the abiding of the Spirit. Lord I believe, help my unbelief.
Those things tenderly noted, the most profound, fulfilling, moment ~hands down~ I will always remember in these early days is when I looked back in the van and saw my girl asleep. We had been out and about that day and in the middle of all the activity, she gave up her no-nap policy, closed her beautiful eyes and slept. Then again, voluntarily, a few days later at home~
There is a lot of hard mixed in. As I have written before and will say again, adoption is a result of brokenness-- the kind of brokenness that affects the way a brain is wired. It can, and many times does, cause defensiveness and insecurity that might follow for a lifetime. It makes complete sense that would be the case. It would be unkind for me to assume otherwise.
For weeks she had been testing me. She wasn't sure what to think of this arrangement. All of her faculties had been telling her that she needed to make sure nothing was going to fall apart. She thought she needed to prove her worth half of the time and the other half, wanted to see what I would do if all of her brokenness spilled out in all the worst ways. She needed to measure my response and know, with as many senses engaged as possible, I would always be there-- Micah too. Sleep was not her friend in this endeavor. Anything could happen during the dreaming hours. If she wasn't holding this all together, who was?
But this child of mine, she laid it all down-- the control, the anxiety, the fear, the uncertainty, the illusion of need for panic-- and my little one rested. What an honor to be privy to such a sacred, healing, space.
This child. She teaches me so much about the way I am loved. Not because I am particularly good at loving, but because I so identify with her struggle. It is easy to say, "Jesus loves me." It is much harder to believe it when I am experiencing all the things she doesn't have the sophistication to hide. We all carry varying degrees of the same struggles.
There is something beautiful and holy about true rest-- even aside from the pursuit of it. It is a part of self-forgetfulness (T. Keller) only grace gives. When it just happens, whether it is because we reach the end of ourselves or because it is so contrary to the way that everything else works in the world, it evokes a peace that is beyond what I may find the words to describe. What I can do, is point to its shadow and appreciate, rejoice even, its presence. I know that behind the presence is a Person- three to be precise.
You could take a thousand of my struggles and sins and line them up. You could name them for which lines they cross. But this is sure of each one: every visible and invisible sinner-side of me is barred with temporary, "I am His, I can rest" amnesia. My problem is not finding and remembering all the ways my relationship with Him should go sideways. It isremembering that He remembers my sins no more and has done everything--- everything--- to make me His.
My soul finds rest in God alone. My salvation comes from Him. Psalm 62
Thursday, April 19, 2018
Many Questions {and then a beautiful answer}
Back in January, I started hearing that things weren't moving as we had hoped. We knew from the beginning that adopting from Haiti could be a long process. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe things slowed down. Maybe I am just beginning to feel my age. Maybe I am coming to terms with the ages of the children around here who are growing at easily noticeable rates. Whatever the catalyst, we knew something was off. We asked some questions and the information we received made us believe it would take even longer. As we looked again at the timeline and studied the shortest and longest possible scenarios, Micah and I knew something was going to have to change. Knowing that we still felt called to adopt, we began exploring what that change could be.
After looking toward other options, we learned we could adopt from Asia. The timeline seemed more feasible. We began getting used to the idea and at the same time, began grieving the loss of what we hoped for in Haiti. After a couple of near matches, I wasn't sure where things were going.
Then, I got a phone call. Apparently, the reason all the maybes began to pile up, questions swirl, and unsettled thoughts and feelings rushed in at just the right time was because our child was here. There was a little girl originally from Asia, already living in the United States, who might be a fit for our family. Honestly, we knew she belonged here from that first conversation. It wasn't a question of how but of when.
Within just a few weeks, everything was in motion. The more we learned about her, the more we realized her life was being born into our lives. Everything has happened so fast. The Lord has been before us all the way. I have no other explanation for the way so many details have come together. Bedrooms were moved around, books read in preparation, pertinent, appropriate conversations were had among friends and advisors, shopping was done--- all in the service of making us and our home available and ready for this little girl--- and all of it in a time frame that, looking back, almost seems impossible. Then, we received an incredible placement timeline that moved her from the state she resided in to ours. The hard work of our agency and the blessing of officials has been both humbling and simply amazing.
This evening as I type, she is with us. She is home.
Over the past year and a half, the Lord was readying us for her and her for us. Now, we cannot wait to be "officially" a family in the eyes of the law. Prayerfully, it is only a matter of time. I can't wait for you to meet her. She is a delight.
God bless the orphans in Haiti, Asia, chryo-preservation units, and all over the world. God bless the families willing to love them into their homes. God bless them for the days, months, and years they wait for each other. May He continue to call us by His name and weave our lives together.
After looking toward other options, we learned we could adopt from Asia. The timeline seemed more feasible. We began getting used to the idea and at the same time, began grieving the loss of what we hoped for in Haiti. After a couple of near matches, I wasn't sure where things were going.
Then, I got a phone call. Apparently, the reason all the maybes began to pile up, questions swirl, and unsettled thoughts and feelings rushed in at just the right time was because our child was here. There was a little girl originally from Asia, already living in the United States, who might be a fit for our family. Honestly, we knew she belonged here from that first conversation. It wasn't a question of how but of when.
Within just a few weeks, everything was in motion. The more we learned about her, the more we realized her life was being born into our lives. Everything has happened so fast. The Lord has been before us all the way. I have no other explanation for the way so many details have come together. Bedrooms were moved around, books read in preparation, pertinent, appropriate conversations were had among friends and advisors, shopping was done--- all in the service of making us and our home available and ready for this little girl--- and all of it in a time frame that, looking back, almost seems impossible. Then, we received an incredible placement timeline that moved her from the state she resided in to ours. The hard work of our agency and the blessing of officials has been both humbling and simply amazing.
This evening as I type, she is with us. She is home.
Over the past year and a half, the Lord was readying us for her and her for us. Now, we cannot wait to be "officially" a family in the eyes of the law. Prayerfully, it is only a matter of time. I can't wait for you to meet her. She is a delight.
God bless the orphans in Haiti, Asia, chryo-preservation units, and all over the world. God bless the families willing to love them into their homes. God bless them for the days, months, and years they wait for each other. May He continue to call us by His name and weave our lives together.
Sunday, January 21, 2018
In Pain and Providence
Everything happens for a reason.
These words cut into me as deeply as the pain I felt in my back, but sliced into soul instead of skin. "Okay, you got me," I thought. I fantasized about switching places with the bearer of ill-communicated words of God's providence. The pain overrode my response and kindly kept my mouth shut.
I had spent the better part of the previous week preparing for a trip away with Micah. He and I don't get away alone very often. And when we do, there is so much planning that goes into it. Making sure our five left at home are covered as well as whomever is kind enough to come spend days with them, taking on the pressures of their care and schedule, is a days-long process.
There was so much to consider, plan, and prepare. Yet, come the morning we were to leave, everything was done. The biggest problem on my mind was the over-packing of heavy books I had done in the excitement of having some extra reading and writing time. I had spent a few minutes feeling relief, even journaling a few notes of thankfulness. I had one errand to run, and with a short flight delay, there was plenty of time to get it accomplished before heading to sunny Florida.
That morning, there was a school delay. Even as sleet had affected roads the night before, it seemed largely inconsequential compared to the sum of the life-negotiations I had finally ceased navigating. Buses were still running. Schools gave extra time but did not close. I gathered several items in my arms, including my purse prepared with traveling necessities, and headed out. I opened and closed the front door without a pause in my movement thinking only of the last task before the trip.
My next thoughts were, "What is happening. I am falling. There is nothing I can do." It seemed to last a long time--- the falling down part, even though it was only a couple of seconds at most. Because my hands were full, I didn't get them behind me. I was quite sure I had hit the concrete stairs, but I couldn't tell exactly what was injured, at first. As I fell, I somehow yelled for Micah who was just inside the door. I didn't think he had heard me, so I raised my phone, already in my hand, and tried to activate it. I knew something was awry and I needed help. As my husband barreled out the door toward me, sliding too and landing to my right, I tried to turn and help him. My body wouldn't comply. It took him a minute to shake off his injuries.
Now, I have watched funny videos enough to know that if you had been a house or two down watching this craziness, it might be reasonable to snicker at what appeared to be a pile-up of people at the mercy of icy stairs. I saw the viral video of the jogger who bragged and busted it on live news in 2014 and while I hoped the poor gal wasn't seriously injured, I laughed. It was funny. The trampoline, piñata, "watch this" people who have walked away with $$$$ for their pain know, as much as it hurts, our mistakes sometimes induce the best laughs.
Speaking of mistakes, I have never wanted so badly to go back just a few minutes and consider for just a second the fact that icy weather conditions equal slick stairs. I had a lot of time to desire a do-over in my desperate situation. I was immobile. Micah tried to get me up but it just wasn't happening. My back had gone into some kind of spasm. The pain oozed in and had taken over. He tried again to lift me. Nope. So he called an ambulance.
I had 10-15 minutes of laying in the sleet on the concrete landing before they came. I had 1,000 thoughts. The overriding one orbited around the feeling that I just couldn't believe this was happening. And what had I done? What in the world hurt so bad that I couldn't move? And--- would I even be able to move?
The next hours were full of pain... so much pain, particularly as the ambulance bumped and swerved its way to the hospital in terrible traffic, then as the medical professionals moved me from board to stretcher, stretcher to ER bed, bed to CT, back to bed, bed to X-ray, back to bed. Coats and clothing had to be maneuvered. Every movement was excruciating. I cried a lot.
In the midst, enter lady with the untimely truth.
Sometimes, we are untimely with our words.
We are so uncomfortable entering into suffering, sometimes (shall I say many times if we are brave?) even our own. We want to smooth things over, even with holy things. But what if the pain is just as holy? What if this road, the way of the cross, is the one we absolutely cannot avoid? And we stay on it all the way until we meet the day we arrive at our physical end? Then and only then do we awaken in complete, never-going-back, whole resurrection. What if the suffering, both physical and spiritual, ushers in truths that shine a spotlight full-on the state of our bodies and souls and is what brings us to God?
This is the way of the cross. It is the way of suffering.
Words that go around suffering feel more like weapons rather than truths that support space for all the real pain of this broken place. What is ironic is that my Providential, Sovereign God was with me every moment, not forcing unrealized redemption of as a way to anesthetize the suffering. The promise that it would come to an end--- that Jesus came to defeat all that is hurt and pain and secured the promise of an eternity absent every bad thing (most importantly my own sin and rebellion)--- was just as true unspoken as heard aloud every minute. It reached in in the cross and proved Immanuel once again. The Holy Spirit, Comforter prays for me. The One known as the Man of Sorrows, acquainted with grief, now seated at the right hand of His Father, hears. He always has the ear of my Father. He ever-lives to intercede for me, as I writhe and cry, feel the limitations of a body, finite and frail, knowing how it felt to have bones that cracked and broke, flesh that was bruised and torn. He sees His scars and knows--- being human hurts and He prays accordingly on my behalf.
He waited with me on the stairs. He was there with Micah as he made decisions and moved to care for me. He was all around when my consciousness was lost. He was there as the IV tore open my vein and as meds were administered that helped with the pain. He was there as the nurses attended and anticipated my needs. He was in the assessment and treatment given by a seasoned physician, knowing all that was wrong, even before the viewers of the scanning machines. He was there as I sat up for the first time, feeling the weight of the pain settle in muscles that would remind me of the injury even to this minute. He was behind and before as the Physical Therapist taught me to walk and climb and descend stairs. Every second of pain, every minute of question, every hour of recovery since... Never moving out of the discomfort but abiding with me in it, the Incarnate One, Emmanuel, was mine. Not because of who I am, but because of who He is.
I have spent the last almost two weeks knowing what it means to have part of my spine break. It is astonishing the pain two fractures of the transverse process of one's L1 vertebrae inflict. The bone is one thing--- the muscles responding are another. I was fortunate to avoid worse injury and paralysis. I was fortunate to not have damage to organs. I have re-learned how to do things I haven't thought about being able to do ever. My baby sister--- the little one I was so proud to care for some as a baby, now grown with a baby of her own--- came in to care for me this time. Before her, Micah's parents kindly held down the fort. Folks have brought meals and flowers. I have received prayers and cards. I treasure them. I have come to appreciate well-honed skill of my Physical Therapist. I am making progress! I am so thankful that God brings temporary healing to shadow the hope of heaven. Micah and I have added a new season of knowing in a way that will be woven in the tapestry of our marriage forever. I am a dependent being, made more aware of all the outside-of-me help.
My eternal hope, and yours, is not that we always share truths in timely ways. God knows I have tried to avoid sharing in the sufferings of my friends and neighbors by forcing an over-realized eschatology instead of weeping with them in their very real pain. I do have a desire that I grow in bearing with one another well, loving as I have first been loved--- but that is not my hope. It rests in the One who ever lives and pleads for me. Jesus lived a life marked with timely words uttered from human lips, emanating from His omniscience and perfect compassion, for me. He submitted to suffering and death for my sake. He rose again to bring the promise of resurrection--- for me.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
I don't know the reasons why this happened. I suspect they are good ones. They don't change how hard this has been and may be for a while. I may never know the whys. And that is okay.
These words cut into me as deeply as the pain I felt in my back, but sliced into soul instead of skin. "Okay, you got me," I thought. I fantasized about switching places with the bearer of ill-communicated words of God's providence. The pain overrode my response and kindly kept my mouth shut.
I had spent the better part of the previous week preparing for a trip away with Micah. He and I don't get away alone very often. And when we do, there is so much planning that goes into it. Making sure our five left at home are covered as well as whomever is kind enough to come spend days with them, taking on the pressures of their care and schedule, is a days-long process.
There was so much to consider, plan, and prepare. Yet, come the morning we were to leave, everything was done. The biggest problem on my mind was the over-packing of heavy books I had done in the excitement of having some extra reading and writing time. I had spent a few minutes feeling relief, even journaling a few notes of thankfulness. I had one errand to run, and with a short flight delay, there was plenty of time to get it accomplished before heading to sunny Florida.
That morning, there was a school delay. Even as sleet had affected roads the night before, it seemed largely inconsequential compared to the sum of the life-negotiations I had finally ceased navigating. Buses were still running. Schools gave extra time but did not close. I gathered several items in my arms, including my purse prepared with traveling necessities, and headed out. I opened and closed the front door without a pause in my movement thinking only of the last task before the trip.
My next thoughts were, "What is happening. I am falling. There is nothing I can do." It seemed to last a long time--- the falling down part, even though it was only a couple of seconds at most. Because my hands were full, I didn't get them behind me. I was quite sure I had hit the concrete stairs, but I couldn't tell exactly what was injured, at first. As I fell, I somehow yelled for Micah who was just inside the door. I didn't think he had heard me, so I raised my phone, already in my hand, and tried to activate it. I knew something was awry and I needed help. As my husband barreled out the door toward me, sliding too and landing to my right, I tried to turn and help him. My body wouldn't comply. It took him a minute to shake off his injuries.
Now, I have watched funny videos enough to know that if you had been a house or two down watching this craziness, it might be reasonable to snicker at what appeared to be a pile-up of people at the mercy of icy stairs. I saw the viral video of the jogger who bragged and busted it on live news in 2014 and while I hoped the poor gal wasn't seriously injured, I laughed. It was funny. The trampoline, piñata, "watch this" people who have walked away with $$$$ for their pain know, as much as it hurts, our mistakes sometimes induce the best laughs.
Speaking of mistakes, I have never wanted so badly to go back just a few minutes and consider for just a second the fact that icy weather conditions equal slick stairs. I had a lot of time to desire a do-over in my desperate situation. I was immobile. Micah tried to get me up but it just wasn't happening. My back had gone into some kind of spasm. The pain oozed in and had taken over. He tried again to lift me. Nope. So he called an ambulance.
I had 10-15 minutes of laying in the sleet on the concrete landing before they came. I had 1,000 thoughts. The overriding one orbited around the feeling that I just couldn't believe this was happening. And what had I done? What in the world hurt so bad that I couldn't move? And--- would I even be able to move?
The next hours were full of pain... so much pain, particularly as the ambulance bumped and swerved its way to the hospital in terrible traffic, then as the medical professionals moved me from board to stretcher, stretcher to ER bed, bed to CT, back to bed, bed to X-ray, back to bed. Coats and clothing had to be maneuvered. Every movement was excruciating. I cried a lot.
In the midst, enter lady with the untimely truth.
Sometimes, we are untimely with our words.
We are so uncomfortable entering into suffering, sometimes (shall I say many times if we are brave?) even our own. We want to smooth things over, even with holy things. But what if the pain is just as holy? What if this road, the way of the cross, is the one we absolutely cannot avoid? And we stay on it all the way until we meet the day we arrive at our physical end? Then and only then do we awaken in complete, never-going-back, whole resurrection. What if the suffering, both physical and spiritual, ushers in truths that shine a spotlight full-on the state of our bodies and souls and is what brings us to God?
This is the way of the cross. It is the way of suffering.
Words that go around suffering feel more like weapons rather than truths that support space for all the real pain of this broken place. What is ironic is that my Providential, Sovereign God was with me every moment, not forcing unrealized redemption of as a way to anesthetize the suffering. The promise that it would come to an end--- that Jesus came to defeat all that is hurt and pain and secured the promise of an eternity absent every bad thing (most importantly my own sin and rebellion)--- was just as true unspoken as heard aloud every minute. It reached in in the cross and proved Immanuel once again. The Holy Spirit, Comforter prays for me. The One known as the Man of Sorrows, acquainted with grief, now seated at the right hand of His Father, hears. He always has the ear of my Father. He ever-lives to intercede for me, as I writhe and cry, feel the limitations of a body, finite and frail, knowing how it felt to have bones that cracked and broke, flesh that was bruised and torn. He sees His scars and knows--- being human hurts and He prays accordingly on my behalf.
He waited with me on the stairs. He was there with Micah as he made decisions and moved to care for me. He was all around when my consciousness was lost. He was there as the IV tore open my vein and as meds were administered that helped with the pain. He was there as the nurses attended and anticipated my needs. He was in the assessment and treatment given by a seasoned physician, knowing all that was wrong, even before the viewers of the scanning machines. He was there as I sat up for the first time, feeling the weight of the pain settle in muscles that would remind me of the injury even to this minute. He was behind and before as the Physical Therapist taught me to walk and climb and descend stairs. Every second of pain, every minute of question, every hour of recovery since... Never moving out of the discomfort but abiding with me in it, the Incarnate One, Emmanuel, was mine. Not because of who I am, but because of who He is.
And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. Matthew 28:20
I have spent the last almost two weeks knowing what it means to have part of my spine break. It is astonishing the pain two fractures of the transverse process of one's L1 vertebrae inflict. The bone is one thing--- the muscles responding are another. I was fortunate to avoid worse injury and paralysis. I was fortunate to not have damage to organs. I have re-learned how to do things I haven't thought about being able to do ever. My baby sister--- the little one I was so proud to care for some as a baby, now grown with a baby of her own--- came in to care for me this time. Before her, Micah's parents kindly held down the fort. Folks have brought meals and flowers. I have received prayers and cards. I treasure them. I have come to appreciate well-honed skill of my Physical Therapist. I am making progress! I am so thankful that God brings temporary healing to shadow the hope of heaven. Micah and I have added a new season of knowing in a way that will be woven in the tapestry of our marriage forever. I am a dependent being, made more aware of all the outside-of-me help.
My eternal hope, and yours, is not that we always share truths in timely ways. God knows I have tried to avoid sharing in the sufferings of my friends and neighbors by forcing an over-realized eschatology instead of weeping with them in their very real pain. I do have a desire that I grow in bearing with one another well, loving as I have first been loved--- but that is not my hope. It rests in the One who ever lives and pleads for me. Jesus lived a life marked with timely words uttered from human lips, emanating from His omniscience and perfect compassion, for me. He submitted to suffering and death for my sake. He rose again to bring the promise of resurrection--- for me.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
I don't know the reasons why this happened. I suspect they are good ones. They don't change how hard this has been and may be for a while. I may never know the whys. And that is okay.
Who Am I?
The internet is a place where we can design what the world sees us to be. As much as I'd like to think I am real out here, the truth is that you know me from a lot of words filled with truth and typos and some glimpses into my life via the one-second snapshots I have probably edited and posted. Sometimes I get brave and try to be as truthful as I can. But I know, as much as we'd like to think we are who the internet thinks we are, we only scratch the surface out here.
I think about the thing for which I'd like to be known. I'd like to be known for being a person in process--- loved by God and wanting to know more of what that means. A person with real flaws, real gifts, real pain, and real joy. A person with questions and thoughts. I'd like to think myself a writer. And not just a writer, but a good one!
Every real relationship, either face-to-face or screen-to-screen, i.e. wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, friend, neighbor, acquaintance--- begs the question, who am I to {you}? Am I liked? Loved? I want you to see me as a positive adjective noun. It isn't entirely satisfying for me to define who I am either. I want you to agree with and affirm me. This is powerful--- because who we say we are is confirmed if someone agrees with us--- and not just someone, but someone with some authority. Or maybe if enough people say it, then it will be true. But what if there is one dissenter? One who point out the flaws and says I am a negative adjective noun? And what if deep down I know they are right? Facts and opinion, founded or unfounded, tears at the peace of the hope of positive identity.
Who am I? Who do all these people think I am? But who am I really? What is my identity? Where do I belong? If I put this upon you to answer for me, I am certain this question will never be put to rest.
Deitrich Bonhoeffer wrote this verse, still applicable today:
We cannot talk about who we are without first talking about who God is. It is He who made us--- not we ourselves. I am growing in my awareness of how controversial beginning here is these days. Yet, I come from the starting point of scripture and I desire to maintain the integrity of its assertions. From there, we begin as God reveals Himself. The Old Testament is full of stories that reveal the One True and Living God.
First, God is not some amorphous, out-there deity. He reveals Himself in particular ways and He relates to His creation in particular ways as well. At the beginning, He is Creator. He also relates closely with Adam and Eve, walking with them in the garden. But very quickly after the fall, God reveals Himself to be I AM- the One who was and is and is to come. His authority is swiftly established as He asserts His judgement and dominion over the earth and its inhabitants. As the Law is added, we learn I AM is not one with whom to be reckoned alone. No one comes to God in their own way. He also chooses to reveal Himself by name in terms of His attributes as well as His covenants. Among those, there is El-Shaddai. El is a generic term for deity that "instills with mankind a mysterious dread or reverence", with -Shaddai meaning "God of the Mountains" or "The Almighty God". El-Roi means "God who sees me". Yahweh-Jireh combines the covenant name for God with the place God provided the lamb in the place of Isaac and means "The LORD will provide". There is Adonai which shows honor and "took on the connotation of God's absolute lordship". {reference, Holman Illustrated Bible Dictionary, pp. 1171-1172} God has many names and these are only some of the ways God chose to reveal Himself for years and years. These names are the ways those with faith called upon Him. They would have thought themselves "Sons of Abraham", the ones who were the fulfillment of the Abrahamic covenant. Yet Abraham was not their ultimate father.
Woven throughout scripture are promises of the One who will bridge the chasm between God and man. There are prophecies that speak of Him. His identity is woven in and through the Old Testament. He will be a child; one called a Son. He is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets. He is the child born to us (Isaiah 7:14; 9:6) Immanuel, God with us.
This Son comes to earth, making the claim to be the fulfillment of the prophecies. He says and does many things to prove His divinity and, at the same time, displays His humanity. One of the things He does is teach the disciples how to pray. Yet, after all the descriptive names that reveal the person and character of God in the Old Testament, Jesus tells the disciples to pray in this way (Matthew and Luke's gospels), and calls out to God saying our Father, or Father. He has spoken of their Heavenly Father, yet speaking of and speaking to are different things. Jesus speaks directly to God as Father and admonishes those around Him to follow suit. Of all the names the disciples would have known to address God, Dad was the way Jesus wanted them to know Him.
Jesus introduces us to God--- our, His, mine, your Everlasting Father.
Scripture is first a book about His rescue plan, to borrow a phrase from Sally Loyd-Jones. His plan, His person, His Son, Jesus is the main narrative. And who needs to be rescued? The first chapters of the book of Romans answers this question as does other scriptures which describe those apart from God. This must be acknowledged if I am to begin to settle the question of who I am in relation to Him. We are first made aware that we are people following the prince of the power of the air, hopeless, dead in trespasses, orphans, exiles--- all the negative adjectives nouns--- We are those who need rescue. I feel all those adjectives deeply as they give voice to the part of my soul that longs to be pulled from despair. Clearly, we need a new identity if there is to be peace in all the parts of our souls that ask, Who am I?
After a rich explanation of our need in the first several chapters of the book of Romans, Paul voices a response to God after having his eyes opened to his own sin. I have written about this before, yet I feel my soul repeating it when I continue to come to terms with the depths of my own need. When we become aware of who we are before God, our response isn't, Sovereign Lord. It isn't Righteous Ruler. Not Deliverer. It is, "Abba! Father!" We look to Him as a child looks to his or her dad, knowing the only real help comes from Him. Our hearts are like lifted arms, only to be made aware that He has been pulling us up by our hands all along. This is the chosen way God shows Himself to a people who are made aware of exactly who they are. There is nothing more to say, nothing to explain, nothing to do but see Him and press in to the awareness that He is our Father.
God is I AM, our Father, one with authority and paternity. In the way He chooses to reveal Himself as Father, He relates to us and by default says you are.
But God--- being rich in mercy made those lost to Him, found. He sent Jesus to seek them, to live for them, to die for them, and to be raised again for the hope of eternity--- all so He can name them. The adjectives and nouns no longer change in relation to Him. The title is no longer up in the air. It is settled once and for all.
The one who carries the name above all names has named us. He has initiated, maintains, and promises to wholly ~body and soul~ restore our relationship, complete with the benefits of the only righteous Son and rightful Heir, who gives His righteousness and rightfulness to His inheritance to us.
We all want to be called someone significant who is loved and cherished, who is accepted and forever belongs. And because God calls Jesus, Son, and because we are in Him, we are sons and daughters. And not only are we sons and daughters, but we are heirs, beloved, and forever belonging. The blanks we seek to fill-in with all the relationships we have in our lifetime will vary. But we no longer have to ask the question, Who am I? If God, our Father, is who He says He is, then we are who He says we are.
Hearing His word settles me down--- as only the voice of a loving parent can settle and sooth, because His words do not hang on anything other than who He is and what He has done. The struggle now is to believe--- to convince my mind, not yet whole, that I am becoming who I already am. I can hear it a thousand different ways today and need to hear it again tomorrow. Sinner and Saint. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.
I think about the thing for which I'd like to be known. I'd like to be known for being a person in process--- loved by God and wanting to know more of what that means. A person with real flaws, real gifts, real pain, and real joy. A person with questions and thoughts. I'd like to think myself a writer. And not just a writer, but a good one!
Every real relationship, either face-to-face or screen-to-screen, i.e. wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, friend, neighbor, acquaintance--- begs the question, who am I to {you}? Am I liked? Loved? I want you to see me as a positive adjective noun. It isn't entirely satisfying for me to define who I am either. I want you to agree with and affirm me. This is powerful--- because who we say we are is confirmed if someone agrees with us--- and not just someone, but someone with some authority. Or maybe if enough people say it, then it will be true. But what if there is one dissenter? One who point out the flaws and says I am a negative adjective noun? And what if deep down I know they are right? Facts and opinion, founded or unfounded, tears at the peace of the hope of positive identity.
Who am I? Who do all these people think I am? But who am I really? What is my identity? Where do I belong? If I put this upon you to answer for me, I am certain this question will never be put to rest.
Deitrich Bonhoeffer wrote this verse, still applicable today:
WHO AM I?
Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell`s confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell`s confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
~
We cannot talk about who we are without first talking about who God is. It is He who made us--- not we ourselves. I am growing in my awareness of how controversial beginning here is these days. Yet, I come from the starting point of scripture and I desire to maintain the integrity of its assertions. From there, we begin as God reveals Himself. The Old Testament is full of stories that reveal the One True and Living God.
First, God is not some amorphous, out-there deity. He reveals Himself in particular ways and He relates to His creation in particular ways as well. At the beginning, He is Creator. He also relates closely with Adam and Eve, walking with them in the garden. But very quickly after the fall, God reveals Himself to be I AM- the One who was and is and is to come. His authority is swiftly established as He asserts His judgement and dominion over the earth and its inhabitants. As the Law is added, we learn I AM is not one with whom to be reckoned alone. No one comes to God in their own way. He also chooses to reveal Himself by name in terms of His attributes as well as His covenants. Among those, there is El-Shaddai. El is a generic term for deity that "instills with mankind a mysterious dread or reverence", with -Shaddai meaning "God of the Mountains" or "The Almighty God". El-Roi means "God who sees me". Yahweh-Jireh combines the covenant name for God with the place God provided the lamb in the place of Isaac and means "The LORD will provide". There is Adonai which shows honor and "took on the connotation of God's absolute lordship". {reference, Holman Illustrated Bible Dictionary, pp. 1171-1172} God has many names and these are only some of the ways God chose to reveal Himself for years and years. These names are the ways those with faith called upon Him. They would have thought themselves "Sons of Abraham", the ones who were the fulfillment of the Abrahamic covenant. Yet Abraham was not their ultimate father.
Woven throughout scripture are promises of the One who will bridge the chasm between God and man. There are prophecies that speak of Him. His identity is woven in and through the Old Testament. He will be a child; one called a Son. He is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets. He is the child born to us (Isaiah 7:14; 9:6) Immanuel, God with us.
This Son comes to earth, making the claim to be the fulfillment of the prophecies. He says and does many things to prove His divinity and, at the same time, displays His humanity. One of the things He does is teach the disciples how to pray. Yet, after all the descriptive names that reveal the person and character of God in the Old Testament, Jesus tells the disciples to pray in this way (Matthew and Luke's gospels), and calls out to God saying our Father, or Father. He has spoken of their Heavenly Father, yet speaking of and speaking to are different things. Jesus speaks directly to God as Father and admonishes those around Him to follow suit. Of all the names the disciples would have known to address God, Dad was the way Jesus wanted them to know Him.
Jesus introduces us to God--- our, His, mine, your Everlasting Father.
Scripture is first a book about His rescue plan, to borrow a phrase from Sally Loyd-Jones. His plan, His person, His Son, Jesus is the main narrative. And who needs to be rescued? The first chapters of the book of Romans answers this question as does other scriptures which describe those apart from God. This must be acknowledged if I am to begin to settle the question of who I am in relation to Him. We are first made aware that we are people following the prince of the power of the air, hopeless, dead in trespasses, orphans, exiles--- all the negative adjectives nouns--- We are those who need rescue. I feel all those adjectives deeply as they give voice to the part of my soul that longs to be pulled from despair. Clearly, we need a new identity if there is to be peace in all the parts of our souls that ask, Who am I?
After a rich explanation of our need in the first several chapters of the book of Romans, Paul voices a response to God after having his eyes opened to his own sin. I have written about this before, yet I feel my soul repeating it when I continue to come to terms with the depths of my own need. When we become aware of who we are before God, our response isn't, Sovereign Lord. It isn't Righteous Ruler. Not Deliverer. It is, "Abba! Father!" We look to Him as a child looks to his or her dad, knowing the only real help comes from Him. Our hearts are like lifted arms, only to be made aware that He has been pulling us up by our hands all along. This is the chosen way God shows Himself to a people who are made aware of exactly who they are. There is nothing more to say, nothing to explain, nothing to do but see Him and press in to the awareness that He is our Father.
God is I AM, our Father, one with authority and paternity. In the way He chooses to reveal Himself as Father, He relates to us and by default says you are.
But God--- being rich in mercy made those lost to Him, found. He sent Jesus to seek them, to live for them, to die for them, and to be raised again for the hope of eternity--- all so He can name them. The adjectives and nouns no longer change in relation to Him. The title is no longer up in the air. It is settled once and for all.
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his son into your hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God. Galatians 4:4-7
The one who carries the name above all names has named us. He has initiated, maintains, and promises to wholly ~body and soul~ restore our relationship, complete with the benefits of the only righteous Son and rightful Heir, who gives His righteousness and rightfulness to His inheritance to us.
We all want to be called someone significant who is loved and cherished, who is accepted and forever belongs. And because God calls Jesus, Son, and because we are in Him, we are sons and daughters. And not only are we sons and daughters, but we are heirs, beloved, and forever belonging. The blanks we seek to fill-in with all the relationships we have in our lifetime will vary. But we no longer have to ask the question, Who am I? If God, our Father, is who He says He is, then we are who He says we are.
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.
Our Relational, Triune God
This past summer, my second oldest son and I were debriefing after he had spent time in VBS. "How was your day?" I asked.
"Well, (short pause) I detected a bit of trinitarian heresy," he replied.
I burst out laughing. I vacillated between being curious, proud, and sincerely hoping he had not called out the teacher in front of everyone in the middle of lesson time! This child--- His parents. He gets it honest people.
I have spent years trying to fight the fact that I love theology. Once, I joined a women's book club. When the group voted on future recommendations, I was a tad (okay, more than a tad) disappointed my choice, The Doctrine of God by John Frame (which I was lightly reading at the time), wasn't a shoo-in. I just can't fake it. I am not a Janette Oak reader. Never have been--- never will be. And maybe it is okay that I am okay with that at this point in life. Perhaps you have known this all along and you are okay with that too.
We all have a theology, whether or not we are aware of it. Our thoughts about God permeate our conscious and subconscious. Even those who wouldn't claim belief in a higher power take great pains to defend their position and disprove others. I find that... interesting.
Our theology shapes us. It reaches into the everyday and gives a foothold when everything else seems to be shifting. The way we know God changes the way we see Him, clearly, but it also shapes the way we see ourselves and others. It matters for me when I kiss my husband. It matters when I look in the eyes of my children, love, and lead them. It matters when I wait and wonder about our two Haiti babies and the hearts of birth parents. It matters when I glance in the mirror and see an aging face. It enters into chores and rest. It speeds and slows the diffusing of all the experiences that seem like such a big deal.
Particular in this internet space, I find myself sometimes uplifted, other times discouraged, and often sad. The internet seems to be, in its expanse, a readied means for invoking and revealing the soul. From stern warnings, social media conflicts, and new stories, creating awareness of all the broken things on one side--- then to the positive heart-warming stories, "how to's", reminders of grace, and unification for a cause, there are so many feelings out here! Regardless of the theme, the affects of "likes", "loves", "reviews", and "shares" make me painfully self-reflective.
Outside the cyber world, the real world offers an incessant dialogue between head and heart, mind and soul. When I find myself reacting strongly or feeling down, there may be surface questions that roll around my head, but if I could reduce all of them, they would originate with these three thoughts:
"Well, (short pause) I detected a bit of trinitarian heresy," he replied.
I burst out laughing. I vacillated between being curious, proud, and sincerely hoping he had not called out the teacher in front of everyone in the middle of lesson time! This child--- His parents. He gets it honest people.
I have spent years trying to fight the fact that I love theology. Once, I joined a women's book club. When the group voted on future recommendations, I was a tad (okay, more than a tad) disappointed my choice, The Doctrine of God by John Frame (which I was lightly reading at the time), wasn't a shoo-in. I just can't fake it. I am not a Janette Oak reader. Never have been--- never will be. And maybe it is okay that I am okay with that at this point in life. Perhaps you have known this all along and you are okay with that too.
We all have a theology, whether or not we are aware of it. Our thoughts about God permeate our conscious and subconscious. Even those who wouldn't claim belief in a higher power take great pains to defend their position and disprove others. I find that... interesting.
Our theology shapes us. It reaches into the everyday and gives a foothold when everything else seems to be shifting. The way we know God changes the way we see Him, clearly, but it also shapes the way we see ourselves and others. It matters for me when I kiss my husband. It matters when I look in the eyes of my children, love, and lead them. It matters when I wait and wonder about our two Haiti babies and the hearts of birth parents. It matters when I glance in the mirror and see an aging face. It enters into chores and rest. It speeds and slows the diffusing of all the experiences that seem like such a big deal.
Particular in this internet space, I find myself sometimes uplifted, other times discouraged, and often sad. The internet seems to be, in its expanse, a readied means for invoking and revealing the soul. From stern warnings, social media conflicts, and new stories, creating awareness of all the broken things on one side--- then to the positive heart-warming stories, "how to's", reminders of grace, and unification for a cause, there are so many feelings out here! Regardless of the theme, the affects of "likes", "loves", "reviews", and "shares" make me painfully self-reflective.
Outside the cyber world, the real world offers an incessant dialogue between head and heart, mind and soul. When I find myself reacting strongly or feeling down, there may be surface questions that roll around my head, but if I could reduce all of them, they would originate with these three thoughts:
- Who am I? Who do all these people think I am? But who am I really? What is my identity? Where do I belong?
- Does anyone understand what I am going through? Does anyone see and understand me?
- Am I all alone?
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