In Which This is Saving My Life Right Now

I came across this blog a few weeks ago. The concept of it and the words filled me up. Maybe because my life saving moment was similar to the original poster’s. Or maybe because she quoted the song that has lived in my heart the last 4 weeks, making my soul move to its rhythm and breathe in its words. Or maybe because her writing elicited a deep emotional response in me as most things seem to do these days. For whatever reason, her urge for her readers to consider and write out their own life saving moments stuck with me….

“And we know that God works all things together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose” Romans 8:28  This verse. The verse I have known for so many years, have quoted so many times. It is saving me. So many times a day, over and over again. The things that happen in this life, they are not always good. This world that we live in, it is coming undone. Even creation, as it groans and waits for redemption, groaning as with the pains of childbirth. I know that pain intimately. Those deep, guttural groans as you wait for the close. The brokenness of this world can and does flow into our lives. Into my life. I have struggled and wrestled for almost three months, working out my faith with literal fear and physical trembling. And in the last 10 days, this verse is what has been laid on my heart, over and over again by the Spirit. The brokenness that happens in our lives as a result of sin entering the world so long ago-- that is not good. But the work the Spirit completes in us through those hard events-- THAT is the good. And oh, how sweet that realization has been. The reminder that God brings life through death. It is the gospel pattern playing out in my life. The bitter death we tasted in May, it was the antithesis of good. But the life He has brought to us through that death, the deepening of our faith, solidifying our rest in Him-- it is so good. Sitting in class on Sunday morning, hearing this message repeated again after hearing it whispered all week in my heart-- it was confirmation for me. This verse, the gospel that persists past salvation, bringing me into a deeper understanding of the rescuing love of Jesus… it is literally saving my life right now.

And these quiet moments with my daughter. Nursing her in the quiet of the morning. Sleepy eyes and her daddy’s long lashes. The war I have waged against myself, certain that my body is broken when I was once so confident in my body’s design-- these moments with her undo that lie. No broken body could carry such a healthy baby, could so efficiently birth her with gentleness. No broken body could produce such a precious intelligent child. No broken body could literally sustain her life and health for so long…18 and a half months. In these moments, I am completely certain of my divine design. In these moments, there are no questions. I am completely confident in my decision and my capabilities. She is completely certain of me in these moments-- there are no judgments of my character, no “helpful” words or intrusive statements. There is just us, giving everything I can to benefit her.  And in these quiet moments with her, fewer and far between these days, the Spirit speaks love over me… He created my inmost being…I am fearfully and wonderfully made. This body, His creation, it is not broken. It was knit together  in His perfection. And as I nurse my sweet girl, the enemy’s lies simply fall to the wayside, exposed as the deceptions they are. These moments with her, however much longer they last, they are saving my life right now.

These two things, tangible and intangible, calling me outside of myself and into the heart of the Father...

You are all glorious. My heart leans in. My soul must sing. You are all glorious.

Where Peace Abides

Life has been loud for me lately. From the ongoings of our world to the opinions of others. My thoughts have been loud. My heart has been unsettled. Even social media has had a lot of volume. (I’m not suggesting anything people should post and not post. Your page, your choice. It’s just, overall, been loud). Sometimes even the things that aren’t said, actions left undone-they have shouted through the silence. And honestly, I am exhausted. Worn down from over analyzing, emotionally spent from thinking and feeling, and craving deep solitude.  I’ve found myself in a new place in life, and in this new place I literally hunger for the peace of Christ. It is a good place, this new season. It’s been filled with more challenges than ever before but the victories have tasted sweeter than ever before. 

I have such a tendency to dwell. To linger. To toil over people, circumstances, and situations that I have no control over. It’s usually unprofitable for me, causing me only to despair and not leaving me with much more clarity than I entered with. So, I’ve found myself choosing to settle my thoughts on the beauty and sweet moments in this life. It’s not that I don’t continue to struggle to bring my thoughts and emotions under control. I do. Thankfulness has simply offered me rest in the moment. It has reminded me to take captive every thought & make it obedient to Christ.

So while the noise around me has continued, I’ve found the quiet in gratefulness for:

• The sound of toddler feet running through my house
• Hearts that are responsive to the Spirit’s leading
• The tender reminder from a friend that God does remember me
• Holistic healing
• Finding myself still hemmed in by the patient love of those who have suffered well with me
• Relaxing naps
• Easy days
• Shopping for girly fall clothes
• Really good coffee
• Forgiveness & restored relationship
• Celebrating the sweet lives of friends’ children
• Days spent with Tommy at home
• Friendships that pick up where they left off
• Hearing “Tank too, Momma” multiple times a day (aka Thank you, Momma)
• The gospel poured out over my life
• Family that loves and doesn’t divide
• Sharing life with others
• Good worship music courtesy of my sister
• The knowledge that what is fractured will one day be made completely new & right as Heaven comes to earth
• Late night conversations on the couch
• The life-giving power of Scripture
• Watching my little girl enjoy the company of others
• The anticipation of Fall’s arrival
• Having a husband who is rooted in the assurance of good things in our lives

Big things and small things. Some important and some not, yet all equally capable of providing reprieve and solace. As I walk through these days, I hope this is where I choose to dwell….in the quiet, where peace abides. 

What Loss Has Taught Me About Life

It has been two weeks since we learned that our baby was gone. 14 days doesn’t seem like a long time until you’re on the road of loss. I told someone the other day that it feels like walking on a road filled with rocks and shards of glass and you lost your sandals a few miles back. It feels like walking towards an unknown destination, with no particular end in sight. Every step hurts and makes you bleed, but then your feet start to toughen against the sharp pains and so the steps begin to feel less breath-taking, less raw. And you start to think you’ve gained some leverage and maybe you can just keep walking, but then one of those rocks finds a place on your foot that hasn’t toughened yet and it sends you reeling back down and it’s just as breath-takingly painful as the first step was. It is a hard road because there are constant ups and downs.

I’ve been a believer for 17 years, but this experience has made me feel like I’ve been a believer for more like 17 seconds. It has shaken the very foundations of my soul and made me come face to face with the reality of my faith in Christ. It’s put my faith up against a measuring scale to test it, to weigh it, to see if it’s true and accurate, and to measure how deep it runs. And I wish I could say that it’s been easy, that no questions surfaced, and that my humanity didn’t interfere with my spiritual certainties in this life, but I’d just be lying. It’s made me stop and re-examine the theological truths that I’ve held for years. And it has refined them.

I believe in praying specifically. It’s a large part of my testimony in Abi Kate’s pregnancy & birth. We prayed specifically in faith for things and against things, and every one of those things came to pass. We trusted that He would answer, and while I certainly had fears during that time, I clung to Matthew 21:22, that faith the size of a mustard seed was enough. He answered, and He And He was faithful. We approached this pregnancy in the same manner. Every single night, Tommy and I came together to pray over the life I carried, to pray for their health and mine. And one of the things I prayed specifically was that I would not miscarry this baby and that their little heart would just continue beating. And He answered…. I want to say that this didn’t throw me for a loop and that it didn’t make my heart fear, but again, I’d just be lying. It really made me consider what I believe about faith, the provision of God, and where exactly my faith comes to play in the perfect will of Christ. I was so grieved in the days that followed that as this spiritual battle ensued, I really struggled to make sense of things. This is one of those times that I was incredibly grateful for the gift of my husband and for the wisdom he offers. I also talked with a friend who has an incredible heart for the Lord, who possess a deep understanding of the things of Christ, and who understood my loss because she had walked this road before too. I have learned that it times like this, it is good to have spiritual truths spoken over me, even if I already know them and believe them, because they are reminders that hold my heart steadfast.  Some of the best wisdom I received from her was to be desperately honest with the Lord in my prayer life, to be honest with Him about my struggles. In the midst of grief, I was so afraid to be brutally honest because I feared where it might lead me. That it might take me down the road of resentment or anger towards God. So I hung on to biblical truths and told them to myself over and over again because they were healing. But nothing was as healing as being honest about my confusion to my Creator. It was liberating, and instead of pulling me towards human emotions, He pulled me in closer to His heart. I can’t say that I’ve felt angry at God throughout this process at all. I just haven’t. He is sovereign, so His will is right. I know it, and I believe it. But I felt such sadness that He hadn’t answered as we’d asked, confused about why He had penned this into our story, unsure about why He had delivered each request for Abi Kate’s life but not for the life of this baby, and fearful of praying in faith in the future. Her words have resonated in my heart- “I think God longs for us to be intimately involved in the daily ongoings of our lives and His role in them. But in the end, His will rules over us all.” It was such a simple truth, truth I’ve believed, but truth that I had lost sight of in the face of sadness. I’ve learned in these days that nothing will remind you of your position in reference to His Holy position as quickly as sorrow. It is easy to accept His will and walk in faith when the road is smooth and filled with blessings. It is harder to walk in faith when the road is bumpy, where there is little light, and it is filled with sadness.

 There are still many fears that sit near to my heart, but I try to remember my husband’s wisdom, too. I sat at the kitchen table one night in the middle of dinner and just cried uncontrollably while I told him my fears. He said, “Katie, this is faith…. We will just keeping trusting and keep praying earnestly and keep believing that He will answer those prayers. And we will know that He is in control and His perfect will will prevail… but we will continue to trust. We have to. This is faith.” So, as I’ve worked through this and processed it all, it has been exactly as Philippians 2:12 says, “Continue to work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” Nothing will make your heart tremble as much as grief. Nothing makes a mother’s heart tremble more than loss. But I am thankful that Christ has brought me to a place in these hard weeks where I can say, that even in this pregnancy, He didn’t just give us an answer to our prayers, but He answered and He was faithful. Just like He was in Abi Kate’s. Different ending, same provision.

In the days after delivery, Tommy and I talked a lot about the way the Lord had provided for us in this situation, the ways he’d been faithful. The ways that He had prepared us and was holding us up. I almost didn’t go for that ultrasound, almost talked myself out of it and told myself I was simply being paranoid, told myself to wait until my scheduled appointment with my midwife that was just a few days away. But I woke up that Wednesday morning with great concern and couldn’t get a peace in my heart about my pregnancy all day because I just felt that things were “off” with my body. The years of Natural Family Planning had given me a great awareness about my body that would’ve been so easily missed otherwise. And miraculously, when I called the ultrasound tech, he was able to squeeze us in that night just 2 hours later despite his previous appointment. Tommy was able to make it home just in time for us to make that hour long trek out to his house. And because I knew ahead of time that our baby was gone, once the process of birth began, I was not afraid. I cannot imagine the fear I would’ve had when those contractions started otherwise, if I hadn’t known. I would’ve been in a hospital ER, having an ultrasound where I’d have to wait to hear the results from a doctor I didn’t know. And the fear of the unknown would’ve made the pain worse. That's horrifying for me to consider. Had I been in the hospital, it is almost certain that I wouldn’t have been offered the choice of waiting because I was past 10 weeks pregnant, but would have been encouraged to proceed with surgery with a checklist of reasons about why it was dangerous to wait.  But because of where I was and the midwife I had, she knew that it was perfectly safe to wait. Controlled risk and medical liability weren’t on her radar-- my health, my future pregnancies, and my need to see this journey from beginning to end were. I didn’t know what to expect in terms of pain, but I knew I had labored & delivered naturally before with a full-term baby, so I knew my body was capable of doing this, too. Tommy had the foresight to take off work that day even though we were still just waiting. My labor started and ended almost entirely during Abi Kate’s nap. She slept much longer than she normally does. I was incredibly thankful because I needed Tommy during that time just like I did in my previous labor. It would’ve been so much harder to have been alone or to have him splitting time between me & Abi. If I’d never labored & delivered unmedicated before, I would’ve struggled so much with the pain. I feel like I could keep going on about all the small things that made this road softer, but even in the unfolding of such sorrow, Christ provided for us. All those nights when Tommy had prayed over me, he had said the same thing, “We ask for these things, but we will make our will submissive to Yours.” We had no clue what depth that would hold weeks later, but even though God’s will wasn’t what we anticipated, He was still faithful to give us what we needed.

Loss teaches us a lot about life, but one thing that it has solidified in my heart without a doubt is that even in those earliest weeks of pregnancy, there is life. There’s no mistaking it, friends. We live in a culture of convenience. Sometimes it’s convenient for a woman to carry a baby, and when a baby is not convenient, it’s a "cluster of cells". It’s always baffled my mind how people could refer to a baby as a “mass of tissue” or “cluster of embryonic cells”, and yet that same person can cry and feel such sorrow if they miscarry a baby. And it is simply because there is life. And losing life hurts. It’s not the loss of dreams or hopes. I’ve lost those things before, and they don’t cause this type of pain, the ache that persists. We can call that life whatever we want to pacify ourselves and our needs and our “choice,” but I have carried, delivered, and held my baby at 39 weeks in my arms. I have carried, delivered, and held my baby in the palm of my hand at 11 weeks. And once you have lived that, have seen it with your own eyes, have held that precious being, there can be no mistake. There is no going back. There IS life, even in those early weeks. It is not a cluster of cells. It is not a mass of tissue that will turn into a human. It is a tiny baby, being knit together with distinguishable body parts just like a full term baby. I’ve seen proof of both of my babies’ vitality, their movements, and their strong little hearts beating rapidly on a screen even at the earliest of weeks-- at 6 weeks with Abi Kate and 8 weeks with this baby. And I have held both of their intricately formed bodies, tiny toes and little arms--one bursting with life and one that was quiet and still.  I have always believed that life begins at conception, but after this experience, I don’t just believe it. I know it.

I’ve learned that things don’t have to “be back to normal” and probably never will. I’ve received much encouragement in recent days, particularly from women who have experienced such a loss. For many of them, even though years have passed, they still cried when they talked with me about their babies. And they assured me that even all these years later, when they have all their children in their lap or in the same room with them, they still feel like there’s one that is missing. And that has helped me in so many ways. To know that they have carried those little lives with them all these years. They haven’t been forgotten or replaced as their families have grown. And even years later, these mothers still miss that tiny life that they carried, so much so that the tears flow when they talk about it. It is still difficult for me to be around other people because it all feels like pretense for me. I tend to wind up crying for several hours after being “fine” just for one hour out in public. And I still can’t talk about it in person. Writing is incredibly helpful, but speaking about it is just too much. There is a phrase I’ve heard used for years, and one that I wasn’t sure that would apply to me in this situation, but after talking with a friend she assured me that this would simply be a “new normal” for me. And I think she’s right. One day, it won’t be pretense to be around others.  And one day I will be able to speak about this. It will get easier. But there will always be a sadness when I look back, and that’s ok.

I’ve learned that even if one of your biggest fears comes to fruition, God is still present when you’re shattered. I was afraid that if I lost a baby I’d never be ok again. And while things will always be different from here on out, He has been faithful to begin mending that which is broken. And life keeps going. There may be dark and sad times, but I am not alone in my grief.

I’ve learned that this is why God designed us for other people, why in Genesis 2 He said, “It is not good for man to be alone.” And I believe this reaches beyond just a marital relationship. People need people. I know people who think they only need their spouse, their immediate family, and that’s it. An idea based around selfishness, fear, or just plain foolishness. I am social by nature, so my new longing for seclusion has been a harder part of this process for me to embrace. While I haven’t been able to be around others during this time, they have made themselves available to me, and that has made such a difference. I can’t count the number of emails, Facebook messages, texts, calls, letters in the mail that we’ve received. People who have just checked in, weeks later, to let us know we aren't forgotten & that they are there. And every single one has served to encourage my heart in some way (and if I haven’t responded to yours, please know it’s just gotten lost in the shuffle, but I promise I’ve read it. And I guarantee I cried when I read it).  It is good to not grieve alone, to have others share in your burden. It truly makes the load lighter. It was a blessing to share in the joy of this new life with others and it has been a blessing to grieve this loss with others.

I wish this were an easy process. That I could say I’d never doubt again or fear again. But that’s not true. I feel strong at moments in my faith and equally weak at other times of the day. I’ve shared the verse that was placed on my heart throughout pregnancy-- Joshua 1:9… And I have learned that I don’t have to feel strong and courageous. Scripture simply says to be strong and courageous. And never in scripture have I seen it referenced to be strong within myself, but instead to be strong in “Him and His mighty power.” So even though my pregnancy with this baby is over, the scripture that Christ placed on my heart so many weeks ago is still relevant weeks later. And the same God that was strong when I heard our baby’s heart beating remains strong weeks after it has stopped beating. So even though I am weak, I can be strong in Him.

I’ve learned that even though the circumstances of this life can shake you to your core, so deep that you aren’t sure the quaking will ever stop, that God is present in those moments. And the foundation that He lays remains firm and unmovable. I have prayed that this truth will overtake my present thoughts and my fears. That its truth will pour over me in excess, and I will soak up every drop.

And I have remembered, just like Christ revealed through Abi Kate’s birth, that He does make good on His promises, even in the face of death. A friend who has lost babies messaged me and assured me that one day I will laugh out loud again and that I would smile instead of wiping tears. And oh, how I needed that reminder. So desperately. Because I remembered that “weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” So we wait in anticipation for the day where we rejoice for this sweet, short life more than we grieve for their loss. We miss our baby every day, cry every day. But we wait in anticipation for the morning, because we know it is coming….

Even in the Darkness

Realizing a fear is hard. Having that fear to come light in your life is often more terrifying than the fear itself. In the midst of joy and excitement about our pregnancy, with my own anxieties lightly looming at the surface, my biggest worry came to life. We learned the day after my birthday that our sweet little baby, the one whose heart we listened to and watched beat, the one we prayed for and dreamed about…that same sweet baby was no longer with us. It was incredibly unexpected and the shock and grief that accompanies is almost inexplicable.

I will never forget that night, lying on the table. And as soon as he swiped the wand across my stomach and I looked at the screen, I felt it. I looked for that familiar little flicker, proof of vitality, and I hoped that I was just missing it. That my eye was untrained or that he was struggling to get a clear view. I could tell that the ultrasound tech was searching, and I finally stopped looking at the screen because I felt in my heart what he hadn’t said yet. I felt all of those fears of loss and tragedy becoming a reality in my life, and I felt all of those dreams we had slipping away, but mostly I felt the depth of loss creeping in, the loss of one you love.

We had planned for a home birth with this baby, so instead of being in a clinical setting, we were in the home of our ultrasound tech. And I am so grateful for that. Grateful for the intimacy and the warmth of a house where real people live, not just a place where people work and hand out good or bad news. He was so kind, so gentle, and so sincere. His words have replayed in my head for days, hundreds of times. “Honey, I’m sorry I’m just not going to have good news.” They’re like a CD that keeps skipping at the same part over and over again. But instead of a sterile attitude, it was much different. While Tommy and I cried on his table, he spoke to us of he and his wife’s own loss, he shared positive experiences after loss, and he told me at least a hundred times that this was not my fault, that there was nothing I did wrong or nothing that could’ve prevented this. He told me statistics and spoke to me about his own experiences-- that in the 400 scans a month he does, with his knowledge of chromosomes and their formation in pregnancy, he said it was simply a miracle that loss and tragedy don’t happen more often than they do. And while the statistics and reassurances of my lack of fault didn’t comfort in that moment, they’ve been a healing balm in the days that have followed as I have questioned myself and my actions. And instead of just the typical  “I’ll give you a moment,” he quietly walked out and called my midwife whose number he had in his personal cell phone and let her know so I wouldn’t have to speak it out loud yet. I spoke with her too, listened to the compassion in her voice, and knew immediately that even though this was not the ending we wanted, we had picked the right care providers, the ones that we needed. I couldn’t stop the tears from the moment that he spoke until the moment that we left. He hugged me before I walked out the door, and as I’ve remembered those moments-- moments filled with shock, and excitement turned to sorrow, I have been grateful for this man’s presence there with Tommy and I as we mourned. He was not uncomfortable with our grief, and that made a difference.

Before we pulled out of his driveway, we prayed. We cried out for ourselves and the precious life we so desperately missed. And even though I couldn’t speak much in that moment, Tommy did, and he prayed through his tears and his faith was steadfast. The car ride home was hard and filled with waves of sadness and grief so deep I felt like I would drown. And yet, there was God’s faithful hand in that moment too. Because when we pulled up in the driveway and walked in the door, utterly changed and different people than who we were when we crossed that threshold just hours before, there came a little girl in pink pajamas. Running to me and yelling, “Mama!” with a smile. And there was comfort in those moments, when everything else felt wrong and the heartache was so heavy I could hardly breathe, she was there too, this living proof of God’s provision in our lives.

Much like with birth, we felt that my body just needed time. So we opted out of any medical procedures and waited. The waiting was hard. Too difficult to explain.

It was my birthday the day before we found out. We had gone shopping all day, bought all sorts of summery maternity clothes for me to wear to our upcoming beach vacation. And even though this little life was no longer with us, I still looked pregnant. And that was hard too. My regular clothes didn’t fit and still don’t. But I ached to look at my maternity clothes, to put them on, because it felt like a lie.

But the waiting period ended. I had feared that I would be alone, but I was not. Tommy was with me. I will spare details because they are just too personal, and memories that only we share of our final moments with our precious baby. But again, I was thankful that I had labored before. I felt that God had prepared me for this moment physically. So when the pain began, it was more like a familiar friend. And because Tommy and I have labored naturally together before, he knew what I needed and what comforted me. They were painful hours, physically and emotionally. Unlike my previous labor that left me with a baby in my arms, this left me with what felt like a gash in my soul. But like my labor with Abi Kate, even in the midst of pain, there was a gentleness that prevailed. She was asleep for a good portion of the time, and her monitor was on in our room. And while contractions crashed over me and all the sadness that they brought, I heard the music playing in her room. "Blessed Be Your Name"--the timing of that song playing in that moment….The bridge, “You give and take away. You give and take away. My heart will choose to say, ‘Lord blessed be your name’….”   filled up our room during an intense few moments, and I knew that God’s plan was unfolding. The plan that we didn’t expect, and the plan that we don’t understand and won’t try to. And even though I felt alone and broken, I knew He was there. Even if I couldn’t feel it. While it wasn’t the ending we had prayed for, our pregnancy did end where it began- in the quietness of our own home-- and that is what we planned from the beginning.

I have been overcome in following days, by so many emotions and memories. The necklace that we ordered for Mother’s Day arrived in the mail the day after our loss, a nest with two little eggs to symbolize our babies. It hurt, to see the two and know that only one would share our physical home. But when we bought it, Tommy had suggested that we choose the birthstones for the month not that they were born, but the month that we conceived them-- because that’s really the moment that they joined us. And so, it was perfect, even though we had no clue when we ordered it that we would be without life when it arrived. Even though this baby will not share our home, they will always share our hearts.

The new breastpump that I ordered two days before will arrive soon, and with it will come deterred dreams, knowing that I will never nurse this baby late at night like we’d planned. And packing away the new maternity clothes, the cute dresses and shirts I’d planned to wear, that was hard too. Knowing that this baby will not make my stomach swell and my skin stretch... It is painful.

I teach pregnancy and childbirth. I am familiar with statistics and both processes. And yet, despite my knowledge, the questions arise. It’s just different when it is you and not someone else. I fall into this small statistic of loss. Less than 10% in fact. Having had a strong heart beat at 8.2 weeks, a correctly measuring, intact, and well-implanted gestational sac and baby. We are much more diligent about eating organic, whole foods now than we were 2 years ago. My house has been free of chemicals for over a year. I haven’t stopped taking prenatal vitamins since January of 2010. I rarely, if ever, take medication. Most people who know me know that I am a Nazi about my water intake, particularly during pregnancy. I had very few food aversions with this pregnancy in comparison to Abi Kate’s, so I ate much more often and much healthier foods. I continued walking for exercise during this pregnancy. And instead of losing 8 pounds in the first few weeks, I gained weight. For all intents and purposes, this was a healthier pregnancy than Abi Kate’s from the outside looking in. This baby was more likely to be healthier, stronger. I am young and I don’t fall into any risk categories of miscarriage.  And yet, against all odds of their health and survival, 11 weeks is all we received with this little one before their heart simply stopped beating.  It is hard to embrace and confuses the mind. I’ve always been afraid of miscarriage, simply because I know so many people whose lives it has touched and hurt. It’s one of the reasons why we wait to announce my pregnancies until a bit later, until my pregnancy is visibly obvious (which with both my babies has been sooner rather than later). In both pregnancies, once we reached double digits, I started to feel relief. To be a week out from completing my first trimester and to experience a loss-- we just never saw it coming. We were counting down the weeks until we went for a gender scan. Only 4 weeks away. Announcing a loss publicly was hard, and something I’d always hoped to avoid by waiting to share that we were pregnant. But in some ways, I was grateful that others knew about our baby because this little life was celebrated. Others rejoiced with us in their arrival and grieved with us at their loss. And it helped me to feel that even though I wouldn’t have tangible proof of this baby’s life, they were not forgotten. Their short little life was celebrated and welcomed by many.

From the moment I saw our still, little baby on the screen until now, Job 2:10 has run through my mind. “How can we accept good from God and not adversity?” Even though it hurts, I know that God is good and that is plans are not only right, they are perfect. And while this is what we prayed against, His way has prevailed. Throughout the process, we knew that His plan was reigning over us, but it is hard to accept. It will never make sense to me, and so I’m trying to be content with accepting that I will simply never understand. And that’s ok, because His ways are higher than mine. We don’t know why God chose to write this into our story. But we offer Him praise for giving us this life anyway. Psalm 139:16 says that he knows the number of our days before a single one comes to be. And while we thought our baby would have many more days, God gave them to us, in full knowledge that a few short weeks was the number of this baby’s life. And I am blessed to have been chosen to carry this little one, to love them, to be their mother. It is hard to offer praise in the midst of grief, but even if it feels monotonous, I choose to. To search for and grab hold of the tiniest fabric of praise. I have to. Because it heals my heart and I know that God is still good.

The thoughts of what if’s and fears for future pregnancies swirl close to my heart and mind. But in the midst of such sadness, I can’t give them too much thought or leeway. Otherwise they would overtake me.

It is cruel to experience such a loss, and for me, especially now that I am a mother. When I birthed Abi Kate, I birthed my motherhood. And so I approached this pregnancy differently than hers in some ways, simply because I was already a mother this time and I hadn’t experienced motherhood yet when I was pregnant with her. I loved this baby deeply, spoke to them and prayed for them, intimately connected to this life from the earliest of days. There were things I felt I already knew about how their personality would be, because I am a mother and a mother knows their child, even from the beginning. And now that they are gone, I know exactly what I will miss with them-- I know what it is to carry life for 9 months, to feel the love that labor brings, to hold a baby in your arms for the first time and examine their face, to learn who they are and what they like, to watch them grow, to nurse them and comfort them. I know exactly what has been lost with this child. So, we didn’t lose just our baby but our plans for them inside this family as well. It is an ache that is hard to describe.

I have known grief in my life, though nothing this deep and heavy. Sometimes it feels so encompassing that I feel almost hollow. And I know that it will take many more weeks than this life was with me to fully mourn their loss. That the lives of others will go back to normal quickly and mine will still be shattered and rocky.  That people will be talking about other things around me, but my mind will be fully fixated on the child I no longer carry. It is too fresh to feel anything other than sorrow right now, but I fear anger and bitterness. I know for some these are healing emotions. But for me, in any grief, they’ve only served to be what they are and have offered no healing-- just the stagnancy of frustration. It is so easy for me to turn to them, but I know they will do me no good. So I am praying against them, and longing to flee from them when they creep near.

This is not what we wanted. Not what we anticipated. Not what we prayed for. But I have seen the evidence that God was with us, lightening the load and giving us peace in these moments. Though it would appear to be a constant reminder, I feel blessed to teach in the birth community. Because these women understand how sacred the journey of pregnancy is and how valuable each life and experience is, even if it is only for a few weeks. They understand these things in a way most people, even most women, do not. They are not confused about why my grief would run so deep and last so long, why a week later the agony feels just as fresh as the day it happened. So to have them grieve alongside me has been like water for my soul. And the outpouring of love and prayers we have received from friends and family and acquaintances alike has touched our hearts. I haven’t even had to cook dinner in a week because others brought it to us. As a people, we often don’t know what to do or say when others grieve. I’m guilty of that. Some people say too much or the wrong things, but they are trying. Some people say nothing at all, and that’s harder for me to digest. It is such a unique, personal loss and grief that it’s hard to understand unless you have walked through it. And even then, we all mourn differently. But I am so thankful for the people who try, and mostly for those who’ve prayed.

In the hours before our baby was born, a sweet friend sent me a song, knowing that music ministers to my soul. A song I had forgotten about. It was on an album that I had listened to driving to work for months while I was pregnant with Abi Kate. It was a song I skipped every time it came on during that time frame because I was terrified of losing her. But this time, as I listened to it, it ushered in healing and comfort. It spoke to the truth that this baby, though with us for a short time and small in size, is now part of our lives forever, etched into the very fabric of our souls. That we will never “get over” the life and loss of this life, but we will carry them with us always. They will always fill the spot of our second child, the one who made our number 4 instead of 3.  “…I will carry you all my life… I will praise the One Who’s chosen me to carry you.” And because I couldn’t do anything else, this is the song I sang to our baby in the last hours.

We don’t really have good days yet. They mostly feel the same, and the crushing sadness comes in waves. But I know there will be good days in the future. Joshua 1:9 stayed with my heart during this entire pregnancy, especially in times of anxiety. It is so applicable now, and I didn’t realize in the previous weeks how relevant it would be. “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Even in the darkness, He is indeed here.

Bring On the College Years

Oh, adulthood. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? I think as little children we’re always chasing after it, or at least what it has to offer. Freedom from bedtimes and rules, being able to do what you want when you want-- choices. And then you go to high school where you’re ready to get out and move away to college and start your life. But so many people in the background are saying, “These will be the best years of your life! You’ll be dying to return.” And then there’s college, and you spend those four (sometimes five…oops!) years thinking that it is real life. Until you graduate. And you realize college was not reality but you have now, finally met real life face to face.

I can’t say I’ve fallen into the “high school was the best time of my life” group. Like at all. Every time I drive past my old high school, I feel like shouting, “Freedom!!” You know, the Mel Gibson version from Braveheart. I didn’t have a bad high school experience, just the opposite. But I always felt that people were so dramatic and mostly disingenuous with their thoughts and their friendships. And when I look at the Facebook pages of many current high schoolers, I see that this is still the case. I guess it’s true- “the more things change the more they stay the same.” And just like every high school teenager, I said, “Oh I’m going to move away to college as soon as I graduate.” False. This did not happen, and I’m so not sad about it. Word of the wise-- there are very few careers that consider the school that you received your undergraduate from. Do yourself a favor-- go to the state school. You’ll thank yourself later when you aren’t swimming in student loan debt, and you can use your salary for whatever you want.

While it’s true that I drive past the high school and don’t miss it, driving near campus is an entirely different story. It’s funny because I thought I’d never miss college either. Wrong. I remember the first week of classes as a freshman, I was so overwhelmed and thought I’d never enjoy it. But time passed, and I began to appreciate the independence college lends over your schedule, the love affair it spurned with coffee. I became a fantastic parking place stalker (if you’ve been a student at MTSU, you completely understand this statement), managed to enjoy the downtime between classes when I had a sucky schedule by treating myself to Starbucks on campus, and I even narrowed down the walk between the Honors building and Peck Hall to a quick 8 minute trek (P.S. WHY on earth did I schedule myself that walk for 3 semesters in a row?!). It really was a time of responsibility without the immediate consequences--- definitely NOT real life. Stay up too late the night before? It’s ok, just skip class the next morning and sleep in. There’s no attendance policy. Sure, you might scramble to make up what you missed, but really no big deal. Spend 8 hours studying for an exam the day before because you haven’t looked at the information at all in the previous weeks? Passed test. It’s funny because I kinda had this sense I was living in the real world. There’s lots of people who are all busy and consumed with what they’re doing at the moment. You walk past them in herds, say thank you to the person who holds the door for you, eat near them in the University Center while you both study different course work, and then you sit in class and form an acquaintance based on your mutual dislike for the professor who reads his lecture notes from a legal pad that is older than you…. If you compared the picture, it looks a lot like people passing each other in a work building, being busy with some task, living in the real world. But it’s not really-- the people are different and the consequences aren’t the same. You’re accountable, but only to yourself. Things are easier in college. More free. Some of my closest friendships were formed there. In fact, I have fond memories of going to a friend’s apartment on campus in between classes while we both trudged through the chaos of 18 hours and 2 teaching practicums, case studies and observations… Swear, what was I thinking?! I met her my first day of class after switching majors in my junior year. I sat down beside her in an Educational Psychology class (which I was always chronically late for). I’d been married for a few months and she was planning her wedding. We became friends and stayed friends, through marriage and graduation, new jobs, new homes, and now as we build our families. And naively, I have thought that all my relationships would be this way if I just wanted them to. That the time you spend investing in others spills out into friendships that lasts, friendships that allow you to talk about the hard things, that challenge each other with confrontation, that are vulnerable with honesty, that are transparent and don’t hide the brokenness that exists in each person’s life. Sharing life with each other. But I am learning that this is not always the case, not in the real world. Not in a world where even other believers are broken and incapable of transparency, of showing the ugliest parts of themselves.

It’s been hard for me, and it’s had me missing my time in college-- when things were easy and relationships were soft. When I was unaware of the cost of pouring your life into others. When the responsibility of choices felt light. I’m learning that you just can’t lay down roots in every friendship, even if you wanted to so badly. Not all people are open to that.  In fact, many of the people that you pour yourself into will walk in and then walk out of your life. It might not be immediately. It might be years down the road, which makes it harder I think. Some people enter your life, take what they need, and exit as quickly as they arrived. Some people throw themselves into and out of friendships whenever things get difficult or whenever it’s time to move to the next level of honesty of vulnerability, making a slow exit, leaving you in the wake to figure out where things stand. It’s a messy picture, but relationships are messy. Sharing life with other people is messy, and I’ve found that many people just aren’t ready for that type of commitment.

I talked about this with Tommy the other day and with my sister. They are always who I seek when I need counsel. Tommy always speaks directly to my heart. I never have to say much for him to already understand where I’m at and why. He knows me well. And my sister encouraged me to think on the example set by Christ-- the commitment Jesus had to His Father, and His disciples- his friends--just lagging along half-heartedly as He was deeply invested, taking what they needed from Him…. She reminded me that this is the model for our relationships. Except we aren’t the Perfect loving the imperfect. We’re the imperfect soul loving other imperfect souls, which complicates things. That the investment isn’t what matters as much as bringing glory to God through loving others rightly. Because really, it just isn’t about me. Even though I want it to be, to be about my friendships and the closeness that I feel to others. Even though I think I cast that off, my needs and my wants…. There I am again, with all my expectations wrapped up in other people. But what happens in this life in terms of relationships has much more to do with the Kingdom of Christ than it has to do with me.

Sometimes the cost of investing in others to not have it reciprocated is high. To think that there is a mutual sacrifice and sharing of life together and then find out that isn’t it the case-- it’s hard. And it hurts. But this…. THIS is real life... Where people hurt and aren’t whole, where communication failures abound, where the façade of perfection reigns over the realities of brokenness.  Where people put up walls and keep others out. Where people aren’t kind and are sinful--even me. The consequences and realities are much harder than that in college. Real choices lead to real effects.  The accountability is heavy. It is the reality of adulthood.

Of course, no child knows that this is what they are chasing after. Otherwise, they’d happily accept their naptime, orange juice, and the little friend that keeps demanding they share the toys. But it is real. And even though there’s sadness involved, there’s hope too.  “.. Behold, I am making all things new…” Rev. 21:5. I believe that extends to hearts and people, even to relationships.  I am trying to remember this, so when people disappoint me (and they will, just like I will disappoint them), I can keep a better perspective on my calling and my purpose. That I will choose to find my expectations in the person and completed work of Jesus Christ instead of in others.  It’s a hard road to walk, but one I do not walk alone. And as I’ve entered into adulthood, I’ve become abundantly grateful for friendships that are real. Ones that are open and honest, capable of weathering hard conversations and reveling in one’s accomplishments without envy. The ones where they walk beside you and live out the Gospel, where the ebb and flow of the relationship looks like constant sacrifice and service-- mutual care. I’m finding these are very rare relationships indeed, but worth pursuing. They might’ve been friendships forged in childhood or adulthood, out of mutual like or necessity, but no matter how they were created there is potential to spur one another on to good works. I’ve always been grateful for friends, but I think this realization has pushed me over to a new level of gratitude. Maybe that was the point all along…..And for these people in my life, the ones who stay and wade through the darkness and celebrate in the joys of life, the ones who check-in when others check-out, for you all…. I am so incredibly thankful. 

Spring, Easter, and Everything Else

I’m loving this weather. Loving it. Like I just want to gather it all up into a big ball and give it a hug. I love living in the South, particularly in Tennessee. There’s a host of reasons why, but one of the big ones is that we get to experience every season. And yes, I know our weather has been a bit stranger this year-- an almost snowless winter and a warm Spring-- but we still get to watch the seasons shift and fade from one into another. And that is good for my soul. At the risk of sounding like I’m a BFF with Mother Nature, I really do love when a new season begins. I love that it’s new, a fresh start. I feel that way at the beginning of every season.

Because the weather has been so lovely, it’s afforded us the chance to do some outdoorsy things with Abi Kate. And she has proven thus far that she is not her mother’s child. She loves being outside. I often open up the back door in our kitchen in the morning while she eats breakfast, and as soon as the child is done eating she runs to the door and shouts, “Down! Down!” (Safety Sally won’t go down the steps by herself yet). She just wants to be outside all the time. So much so, that my closing the door this morning so we could get dressed ended in an official toddler tantrum. I like being outside. I really do. I just like it better from the porch, in a rocking chair, with a drink, hiding from the bugs. Since she seems to be a big fan of this new season, too, it made this next part an easy choice…

Easter is just a few days away. This significance of Resurrection Day is huge in our home-- it’s the source of our salvation. But I always feel like Easter gets left out in our culture. Stores spend forever on Christmas. Christmas Eve, Day, Week, Month-- it’s ALL a big deal. But Easter seems to be looked over. An egg hunt, a new dress, church, Easter dinner, and it’s done. Forgotten until the next year. The truth is, without Easter, sweet little baby Jesus’ birth would’ve meant something different on Christmas Day. The purpose of His birth was ultimately His death our forgiveness. I know there’s a big push amongst most believers I know to make sure that their children understand the true meaning of Christmas, the importance beyond the materialism, why we give the gifts that we do. And I think because the celebration of Christmas lasts for essentially a month (or earlier if you’re Walmart), there are so many opportunities to bring things back around to Christ’s birth. It’s easier. With Easter, there’s no big preparation. I realize that’s part of the purpose of Lent- but even with that, it often seems to be only a personal and quiet sacrifice, which is great. But there are no company parties, no dinner celebrations/gift exchanges with friends leading up to it, no outward preparations made in the culture. Because of that, we wanted to make sure that Easter morning is understood by Abi Kate for what it is, so we opted to do a Spring Basket instead of an Easter basket from the Bunny. When she wakes up on Easter morning and we get ready for church, it will be a big deal-- the cross will be a big deal. And P.S. I totally think you can do Easter baskets and make Jesus a big deal in your home. We just wanted to be sure that WE didn’t skip over the real meaning in our home. We aren’t anti-Easter bunny, or anti-Santa people. We like Santa and the Bunny. In fact, my mom always does Easter baskets, so the Bunny will just go to her house and Abi Kate will have a basket whenever we see them. We just want that morning as we prepare for worship, the days leading up to it, to be all about Jesus and nothing else. And since I love new seasons, it was easy to pick a Spring Basket. She gets to open her basket on the first day of Spring, which was March 20 this year. (We were late by a few days. Oops! Good thing she has no sense of time.)

Target $1 bins were good to us this year and I got a host of her things from there. Bubbles (hence her new word which she pronounces “bo-buhls!”) Sand and water toys for the new sand and water tables gifted to us from some sweet friends. A Praisebaby DVD for rainy days (this has been a source of much hilarity as we watch her dance). A new diaper-- seriously, there’s always a reason for a new diaper. Besides, it’s getting hot outside and she’ll be running around in just them soon. Like I how justified that one?! Books for her car book basket (she looks at books while I drive so I keep a basket of her books in my car). 

 Going after the snacks first... Smart girl

 And immediately taking them to Daddy to open

 Her current favorite pasttime-- reading. She's my child for sure!

So far, I think her favorite thing has been the bubbles. She figured out really quickly they were a necklace, so she wears them around the house all day and quacks when she finds them since they’re in the shape of a duck. Best $1 purchase ever.

 Bubbles with Aunt Ra

Safety Sally strikes again... Despite the fact that the patio is flush with the ground, knees are needed to get down ;) 

Love this sweet giggly girl.

Easter always elicits sweet memories for me. Every year we dyed eggs, made Jell-o jiggler eggs and rabbits, hunted for the golden egg. You know what else I remember a lot about Easter? The clothing.

 My mom made our dresses very often. Sadly, I did not inherit her domestic goodness in the sewing department. We almost always wore white hats and white gloves and usually a corsage. Thank you, Southern living. I’ve always been a girly girl, so I loved it. I remember spinning in the dresses to make sure skirt twirled when I spun, obviously the most important part of any dress. And I remember my sister going, “Mom, this is so scratchy. I don’t like it. Mom, do I have to wear these gloves? This flower is poking me.” Despite our close friendship, Rachel is about 180 degrees the opposite of me. She did not heart the dresses, the white hats, ribbons, or flowers. She did, however, make out with fabulous Easter gifts, which I very obviously NEEDED. 

The significance of Easter was never lost in our home, and I’m grateful for that. I really love all holidays, and I love the old memories and new ones that we’re making.

I especially love that my sister got the dress with the collar, extra lace, high neck, and puffed sleeves. She loved it, too. Just look at her face. And have no fear, there WERE gloves with these dresses.

I thought of our “Easter best” because when I was shopping for Abi Kate’s Spring basket, guess what was in their $1 bin?! White Easter hats. I almost bought one, just for good measure…..

And just to throw in one more flash back--

 What a difference a year makes! (We deemed this the Easter dog as he kinda didn’t look so much like a rabbit in the picture.)

I hope your Easter is filled with sweet memories, white gloves or not, and that the message of the cross and the life it gives echoes throughout your home. Happy Easter, friends! 

Redemption at its Best

A week or two ago I passed the 17 year mark. 17 years of redemption. 17 years of following Christ. I thought a lot about those moments leading me up to salvation. I remember sitting on the 2^nd pew of the middle section at church. I even remember what I was wearing-- a really fantastic pink and black sweater with teddy bears on it and some even more fantastic black Chic jeans (please tell me you remember these too?!) It was a Sunday night, our pastor wasn’t there that night and one of the men in our congregation was leading service in his place. I know it had been building for several weeks because I remember the previous weeks, the tug at my heart while I sat in the sanctuary. The nervousness I felt at the benediction because I didn’t want to go forward. I even remember my own reasoning against it, trying to harden my heart even as an 8 year old. Outstanding how even at that young of an age I didn’t want to admit that I was a sinner. But that night, I felt that familiar tug. That night Christ called me, and because He loved me first, I responded. I sat in the pew crying during the prayer, acknowledging my need for Christ, and immediately made myself stop crying when we stood up to sing. I didn’t want to anyone to see me crying. It’s the first time I can remember feeling shame about my spiritual condition- shame because I knew what I was. I knew what Christ had done. And I was embarrassed, embarrassed for other people to know I was a sinner (as if they didn’t know that already ha!) So when service was over, I ran to the water fountain and acted like I’d gotten water in my eye just in case anyone asked why my eyes were watering, in case they noticed I’d been crying.(Obviously, my skills at deception have never been particularly fabulous.) I remember thinking in my mind that I’d tell them I was thinking about my grandfather who’d died years before in case they pressed me on it. Funny how we go to such extremes to hide who we are when we are confronted with it, even as a child. I remember talking with my parents that night in my bedroom. I was even nervous to tell them because they’d know that I had been lost (which is even funnier to me now. Seriously, they KNEW I was lost. As if there was any doubt after my first tantrum as an infant.)

These years of faith have brought me through life’s journey with clearer perspective and with countless lessons. I guess I thought there’d be fewer things for me to learn as I aged. It’s been just the opposite. One of the biggest struggles for me throughout my faith has been for me to understand grace- it’s been easy for me to apply it to my own life but not to others’. I’ve written about that before. But God has been diligent in ushering me to the things of Him in spite of my arrogance and ignorance. I’m not sure if I struggled with this because of my age when I gave my life to Him, that outwardly I hadn’t committed all these “stereotypical sins” that would leave me hollow, or if it’s just because I particularly have an inclination towards pride. I tend to side with the latter. It’s taken me a long time to understand the cost of redemption, and I’m still not there, so to speak. It’s taken me a long time to realize that the sins of the heart and of the mind had left me just as hollow as any outward misgivings.

It usually takes me several days to write a blog in its entirety. One, because I have a one year old who keeps me busy. Two, because I write then rewrite and take forever to compose my thoughts. I’ve come back and forth to this particular post for 2 weeks. Occasionally, I start from the end of a blog and work backwards. At least that’s how this one has panned out. Timing is funny sometimes, because last Sunday, our pastor preached on part of this next section-- the section that I’d written weeks ago. It affirmed in my heart that the Lord has indeed been working on me in this area. That said, here’s the struggle I find within our culture and within myself--

We forget about God’s wrath towards sin and want to dwell only on the love and the forgiveness. I see it all the time in our culture, even renowned pastors preach that “feel good” theology. Christians who claim grace on their lives, claim to love Jesus, but refuse to call sin “sin.” But if we skip God’s wrath, we skip the grace. We miss what a great gift it is, the sacrifice that was involved, and the heart of the Father. Ever offered grace to someone who has repeatedly sinned against, offended you, and will continue to do so even after they apologize and say they love you? Ever given up your priceless child for those who would water down the message in His arrival? This is the picture of God’s mercy and grace towards us. His wrath is righteous, and we deserve it. Romans 5:10 says we were His enemies-- Not sweet, lovable creatures that He just couldn’t live without. It’s really easy to have this lofty view of ourselves, that we’re a lovable people. But that is simply falsehood in the sight of a holy God.  We earned His wrath, yet He offered something else. He offered mercy. And He didn’t just stop there-- He adopted us, He rescued us, He made us His own and brought us into His family, pouring out the riches reserved for His perfect Son onto us.  If we skip that or gloss over how justified God was in offering us nothing but destitution, then we can’t fully understand the magnificence of His grace and the extravagance of His love.

And if we understand the picture of His sacrifice, of the wrath and then the grace, then we are a changed people.  Our lives cannot be the same, and they won’t look like the world’s. It will alter the decisions we make, the way we think, and the company we keep. I can speak whatever I want, but unless my words are backed up with actions and life-change, it looks like foolishness to the world, hypocrisy at its best. A real encounter with Grace demands change, not just words. Simply dwelling on God’s mercy, letting it make us feel good, just isn’t enough.  

I think this is where it’s an easy spot to get hung up. It’s easy to look upon the baby in the manger. It is warm and tender, innocent and full of life. Jesus the baby is proof of God’s love, the evidence of the pursuit of His Creation. But Jesus, the man, on the cross-- that is something else to behold. It is proof of our sin and proof of God’s justice. It acts like a mirror when you look upon it, and what it reflects is truth-- the reality of who we are and what we are apart from Christ. It is offensive, and I suppose it should be-- the gospel offends. I think that’s why the world struggles to accept this image, of Jesus’ ministry and sacrifice. It demands a second look at ourselves, introspection that reveals our depravity. We are exposed as less than adequate at the foot of the cross, and this goes against our inward love of self. It is why people are angered when you mention the name of Christ. It is why Christians don’t like calling sin by its name, instead we call that ‘judgment of others’ to make it feel and look a bit easier because otherwise, we might end up identifying the sin in our own lives. The cross of Christ is where horror and love collide, where grace intertwines with righteousness, where the realities of sin meet the riches of mercy. And it is hard to embrace because it pictures death-- an agonizing, selfless death. But right alongside that picture, there is life. And if we don’t look at the cross, if we turn our eyes away because it’s too much to look upon, then we also miss the life-- life that erupts as a result of the death of the Perfect One. The blood that runs down the cross isn’t just evidence of the death of Christ, it is evidence of our life in Him. It is punishment intermingled with freedom. I read once that when Jesus cried out from the cross, that the Greek term suggests that it wasn’t a quiet whisper or a whimper of emotion-- it was a scream. A guttural death cry, echoed for all to hear. How could it be anything else? Jesus’ sacrifice was extreme, and His life far from mediocrity. Why should the final cry to His Father be any different? Why should my life reflect anything different?

I’ve never seen anyone justify their own mediocrity, their own wrong actions like a believer, myself included. We have a way of picking out what we like in scripture and saying that we fully accept this idea, but we don’t really embrace another idea. That’s not what scripture “really means.” The reality is-- who am I to choose? I don’t get to choose what is valid and what isn’t in the living words of a holy God. I have a call to obedience-- I am the creation not the Creator. Either we believe in the sufficiency of the gospel or we don’t. We either believe it’s inerrant or we don’t. It isn’t a gray area to be washed down with our own pretty theology or science or morals. Oh we cling to salvation, to the blessings promised, but when that same Scripture requires a sacrifice on our part and demands that we live differently than we want or what is acceptable or comfortable, we push the opt-out button.  I know because I am far too familiar with that button.

See, I am so many of these things mentioned above. I’ve dwelt in so many of them- - easily slipping into complacency, easily glossing over the realities for a more acceptable picture of forgiveness, easily speaking of His grace in my life but struggling when it’s time to apply it to my actions. It has taken me 17 years to get a true glimpse of what grace actually means, of the price that it cost; and somehow, I know I still don’t get it all. I know the coming years will bring it to light and life more fully. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not encouraging judgment of others, but that is different from calling sin what it is. I don’t have an image of an angry God lacking in love, handing out punishments with pleasure.  Quite the contrary, in fact. But I believe in the holiness of God, and I believe it’s more than I can comprehend. In fact, this holiness that makes it “right” or “ fair” (for lack of better words) for Him to pour out His wrath, it is what makes His love so significant to me. How easy is it to love the lovable?! The kind hearted. The thoughtful. The compassionate and sympathetic. People who place you first always and themselves last. It is SO easy to love them. It takes almost no effort whatsoever. But to love your enemy, to bring them into your own family, to ransom them when they will continue to do wrong by you but shout your praises while they offend-- to love THAT person…. That is real love. It is sacrificial and has depths that are unreachable. That is the love that Christ has for me, for us. It is Redemption at its best. So I’m not going to water down His righteousness and His perfect justice and His call for obedience, because I would simply be watering down His love along with it.  

I still struggle with obedience, with letting go. There’s a line in one of my new favorite songs (courtesy of my sister) that says “Father, use my ransomed life in any way you choose.” I often stop at that line and don’t sing it out loud because truthfully, I’m afraid of it. I don’t want to simply say the words and sing it without meaning- that’s empty worship. But meaning it in my heart means embracing anything--things that might be hard, sorrowful; and they might bring great change. And I tremble at the thought sometimes. This is where the heart of the Father is precious to me-- He is patient in growing me, in stretching me. And even though I should I have no trouble releasing my life to the One who gave it to me, there is grace as I strive towards knowing Him more, in losing parts of myself as I press on into Him. 

Sovereign Grace said it better than I did, and more fluidly:

  

“But as I ran my hell-bound race 
Indifferent to the cost 
You looked upon my helpless state 
And led me to the cross 
And I beheld God’s love displayed 
You suffered in my place 
You bore the wrath reserved for me 
Now all I know is grace."

Thank you, Jesus.

Sinners in the Hands of a Merciful God

Sorry, Jonathan Edwards. I  know I stole your idea, but I like my title better.  ;) 

 I’m increasingly impressed by the things the Lord uses inside my new role as a mom to train me up and to bring me to a greater awareness of my need for Him. Abi Kate is definitely an explorer, like most babies her age. It seems like a second ago I could sit her on the floor with some toys and she’d play FOREVER just sitting there. Oh my, are those days gone or what?! Do they make baby sticky pads?! This mobile babyhood stage is exciting and filled with fun but also filled with exhaustion. I think she’s just making sure I stay young for a long time. I’m ok with that. :) If there is a pile of toys on the floor, be sure that my daughter will find the lone crumb in the carpet to snack on instead. Flashing toys, wooden blocks, and baby dolls just can’t compete with a pile of dog hair in a corner that the vacuum missed. Thankfully, her colon works just great so it all “comes out in the wash” so to speak. ;)

When she started really getting around at about 8 months, she was introduced to the wonderful world of “No, No.” I was fairly convinced for awhile that I’d given birth to one of those kids with defiant disorder. She totally laughed whenever I said “No”. So, I put on my serious “teacher face” and made sure to drop that playful tone out of my voice and this elicited nothing but a fit of giggles from her. I was starting to sweat it. Everything I’d learned about a baby’s learning timeline flew right out the window & my fear of having “that kid” became paramount. I believe at one point I told Tommy, “What were we thinking?! Spending all that time praying about her birth and breastfeeding and sleep. We should’ve been praying about her behavior!”  Thankfully, that moment of drama on my part ended. He’s a good stabilizer ;). It took her a few weeks, but she slowly started learning what the word “no” meant. Now that she’s 11 months old, she definitely knows what it means.  But what’s funny is that I watch her, even at such a young age, struggle with sin. Our laptop has to stay plugged in at all times or it dies (thanks, crappy battery). There’s nothing Abi Kate would rather chew on than a plugged in laptop cord. She has been redirected and told ‘no’ more times than I could possibly count regarding this cord. We’ve moved it, lifted it up, blocked it, etc. But she will pursue it until the ends of the earth. She has climbed pillows, gotten herself wedged in between an ottoman and side table to reach it. And every time she gets near it, she looks at it, says “No No” and looks back at me. I can literally watch her contemplating her choice. I remind her no with a shake of my head. And she shakes her head at the cord and repeats “No” again.  She’ll often look back one more time and barely reach out and put one lone finger on it, and look back at me to see what my response is. She did this with the Christmas tree, too. Doing whatever she had to do to get close enough to the tree to barely reach an ornament. Sometimes, she’d cruise her little self away from the tree after telling herself “no no.” But more often than not, she’d try to reach it, sometimes even drawing her hand back when she saw I was watching. And sometimes, she even hurried to try and snatch an ornament, crawling away as fast as she could when she saw me coming. Here’s an unpopular idea that most of our culture and even lots of believers don’t like:

My baby is a sinner. Even at her sweet, loveable & innocent age of 8 months, she was a sinner. And like all sinners, she needs a Savior.(And yes, I do believe in the age of accountability, but I’m not covering that in this post). She does what she does because, yes, she is curious and learning and this is how she grows. However, she also does what she does because she was born into sin, a fully fledged flesh nature ingrained in her from the moment of conception. I believe that children do see examples of poor behavior and mimic it, but I also believe that they choose to mimic it because they are “tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.” (James 1: 14) They absolutely have the option not to mimic poor behavior, not to disobey, not to hit, not to respond disrespectfully, but they don’t. And it’s not simply because they’re innocent or learning and have been influenced by others.  It is because they were dragged away by their own desires. Like it or not, it’s biblical. Don’t think kids are sinners? Go hang out in a Kindergarten class for a few hours.

    I don’t think any believer likes to think of their child as a sinner. I certainly don’t. But I believe when we do acknowledge it, it changes our response to them. It allows us to speak biblical truth into their lives, even from a young age, to model and teach Christ-like choices and holy living. To blame other people or other things for our own child’s misgivings perpetuates a victim mentality and teaches children to blame other people and other things for their poor choices. That’s not something we plan to teach our daughter. It’s a hard scenario, and it will only become harder as she grows, I know. At her young age, she isn’t really influenced by others yet (whew, not ready for that stage yet!). It is her own nature that drives her. And trust me, it does drive her!  I certainly give credence to the idea that yes, children do see behaviors from others and they act upon them. I believe in environmental exposure and the way that affects a child’s upbringing, behavior, psyche, etc. But I don’t believe that knowing and agreeing with those secular ideas releases me from the realities of spiritual reasoning and from our role as Abi Kate’s spiritual leaders. We want to teach her to look at things from a biblical perspective, to evaluate choices, behaviors, and attitudes of herself & of others with the view of Jesus, not with the view of our culture. Will this look different at every age? Of course it will. Obviously, a 10 minute sit down conversation about sin nature isn’t going to happen with a 15 month old. Nor is a discussion about another child’s home environment going to happen with my 3 year old. I’m a fan of age appropriateness in all situations, including this one. But that doesn’t mean that my theological beliefs shouldn’t color the way that I respond to her when she is disobedient. It means that I acknowledge that biblical truth is applicable not only to adults but that it applies to my baby as well. It means that I drop the attitudes of “it’s not her fault” or “she wouldn’t do that on her own accord” or “she’s just kind and innocent and learning” and accept that yes, it was her choice whether she’s young and learning or is repeating what another child did. We can’t train her up to acknowledge her sin and need for a Savior if we’re busy putting off her choices on someone else or something else. Those two things stand in opposition to each other. It’s important that I submit to this idea, and not just with my words, if I want to see an eventual heart change in my child. Think little kids don’t pick up on your attitudes regarding their choices? Wrong. Go ask a teacher whose dealt with kids who have parents that make excuses for their preschooler. They’ll be happy to enlighten you. I don’t want my love and adoration for her & her innocence to gloss over her need for accountability. She will pick up on that. As she grows I’ll have to consider what I’m doing-- Maybe I’ll need to model better choices, maybe I’ll need to engage her in role play activities to help her understand, or maybe I’ll just simply need to hit my knees a little bit harder and ask that God would give her a soft heart and an awareness of wrong choices.  Our prayer now is that God would give us the wisdom to accept that her choices result from a sin issue, to know how to gently but effectively respond to that at each age, and to know how to lovingly steer her towards the cross. When we pray over her every night, Tommy always prays that God would give her a soft heart towards the things of the Lord even from the earliest age. I believe that God honors the prayers of the righteous, so I’m claiming that for my daughter, for her salvation.

Sometimes it is hard for me to accept the current condition of her soul. I am absolutely in love with this baby girl. I adore everything about her. She has my heart completely wrapped up in every little action, smile, and giggle. I don’t like to think about her having any traits that are less than lovely. But I know that she does. In fact, for awhile as a newborn, we really thought she was Tommy made over; and in a lot of ways she is. However, as her personality began to develop, it was clear that she is also my child, and unfortunately some of those less than lovely traits I was talking about stem right from me. I kid you not when I say she has thrown her little body on the floor, leaned over with face in the ground, and screamed and kicked her feet when I have removed her from something she shouldn’t be playing with. It was an impressive fit for a 10 month old, though I’m pretty sure I could’ve given her a run for her money at 10 months. What say you, Mom?! Abi Kate has never seen me do that (Whew! Thank the Lord, huh?!). It isn’t a learned behavior. It is her response to not receiving what she wants. A sin nature. Even though I don’t act on it in that manner, that’s the way I feel now as an adult when things aren’t going well. It’s the way I feel when the Lord disciplines me. And much like she just has to tread along the edge of things she knows she shouldn’t do, I often find myself in the same situation spiritually. For me, this usually manifests itself in thoughts and attitudes which then overflow into my conversation.  Even when I know that dwelling on a situation where I feel wronged or upset will only fuel the fire for me, I do it anyway because I feel entitled. Entitled to “getting it off my chest” and speaking my mind. That’s not to say I should never vent. There’s definitely a time for that. But in certain times or circumstances, I know when it’s best for me to claim my inadequacies in dealing with the situation in a Godly manner and ask for help. Too often, I don’t do that.  I just have to scrape the edge, which leads to a cascade and gives birth to full blown sin instead of just temptation.  Sin is such a slippery slope. I wonder how the Lord looks at me, as He watches me wrestle with choices the way I watch my daughter…  when I place myself in a situation  that easily leads to sin instead of running from it, running for my life, for my soul- be it physical, mental, or emotional.

We long for Abi Kate to desire the things of the Lord. There is so much fullness & hope in this life because of the cross. Tommy & I have experienced this hope and the mercy that was willingly offered at the hand of our Creator. This makes the wait for her salvation a little harder I think. As I mentioned before, I do believe Christ shows much grace & mercy to young children who haven’t reached an accountable age of realization. It is His nature. But sometimes I still get antsy at the thought of her responsibility. I can make a lot of decisions for her- but not this one, not salvation. It helps to know that He is the lover of her soul, that His love reaches levels of extravagance for her that I couldn’t even begin to dream up;  that He pursues her, even now when she’s too young to comprehend that. It is humbling to me to think from a new perspective-- that the cross wasn’t just for me and my sin, but for my child’s as well. That He extends forgiveness coupled with a reward in exchange for our destitution. I pray that we are able to offer her that reality and truth in the words we say and mostly in the lives we live. That she would “grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love Christ” for her (Ephesians 3:18),that her mind and heart would understand and fully comprehend, and that we would know the right ways to guide her-- this is my desire. There is sweet freedom in the blood of Jesus.

As we evolve in our parenthood and reach new stages, like discipline, that we haven’t encountered before, we realize more and more of our great need for Christ to be ever present in our lives, in every moment and every situation. I hope that we are moldable and attentive to the leadership of the Spirit, that we would help lead our daughter to the ”way everlasting.”