What to say when words are hollow

I'm supposed to be heading out the door to take my two youngest on a lunch and Christmas shopping date.  We've looked forward to this with anticipation, but my heart is no longer in it.  Instead my mind, still reeling from the shooting at Clackamas Mall, is with all those families in Connecticut.

Something changed in me when I became a mother.  Senseless crimes involving children became personal.  I can't fathom walking through such a tragedy as a parent.  My mind can't wrap itself around that kind of horror.  It makes me want to take my family and run for the hills.  Live a life like Heidi and Grandfather tucked away with some nice goats on a rural mountainside.

I have no answers to the whys of such events.  I know my God is faithful, sovereign.  That nothing happens without passing through His loving hands.  But this?  Even this?  In a letter from my kids' principal, he reminded us that God is no less sovereign now than he was this morning when the event occurred, and He will use events like these to draw us nearer to Him.  I needed that reminder.  

My eyes have been reopened to the gift of each moment.  Sometimes we need to be reminded that the petty things which are so adept at raising our ire are of little significance in the big picture.  That sending kids out the door in the morning with a hug and prayer is more important than railing over unfinished homework.  That whispering "I love you" to a spouse is more valuable than nursing hurt feelings.   Treasure what God has given you.

Though the fig tree does not bud

    and there are no grapes on the vines,

though the olive crop fails

    and the fields produce no food,

though there are no sheep in the pen

    and no cattle in the stalls,

 

yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

The Sovereign Lord is my strength;

    he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,

    he enables me to tread on the heights.

Habbakuk 3:17-19 NIV

What If -- A Christmas Challenge

My laptop tried to retire today.  The screen blinked black and grey, offering well-wishes before its departure, and then became unresponsive.  I knew when my technological genius of a husband encouraged me to go see the Apple guys, I was in trouble.  And while I held my composure on the outside, inside I was panicking.  How could this be happening now, when I'm knee deep in Christmas preparations and half of them are on my computer?  What about my email?  How am I going to stay in touch with people?  And all my pictures ....!  The fact that I still had an operating Android, and thus access to the outside world, assuaged my panic just a bit, but I made an immediate appointment at the Genius Bar nonetheless, hoping I wouldn't have to leave my laptop overnight.

A short hour later, as I carried a revived computer back out to my car, I sheepishly reflected on my earlier panic.  When had I become so dependent on my gadgets?  I thought I was about the most technologically apathetic person around.  Apparently not.  My reliance concerned me.  Where were my priorities?  I was afraid I'd have to be without my computer for a day.  Or, gasp, longer.

Am I equally as dependent on God?  (Don't you love how God uses every opportunity to get His point across!) What would be my reaction if I got an auto-reply from God to my prayer:  "I'm sorry.  I'm away from my desk for a while.  I will return a week from Tuesday.  ~God"  Would I panic?  Or would I breathe a sigh of relief because I wouldn't have to worry about my prayer and Bible study time for a while?  The question, even without considering the answer, makes me squirm.

May I be so bold as to offer a challenge to you (and me) as we enter this Christmas season?  Let's honestly examine our priorities.  Is our quiet time just another check box on the to-do list, or food to nourish our spirits and realign our perspectives? Is it the one thing that gets us through our day?  Do we check our Facebook status or our status with God first in the morning?  Sobering, isn't it?  The pressure of the must-be-dones, the craving for milk over meat, the glitz of the world speak so loudly into our lives it is easy to miss that still, small voice.  Yet it is in that voice that we find peace in chaos, grace for each moment, purpose in the to-dos.  I encourage you to quiet the noise, seeking His voice in the stillness.  Merry Christmas.

November 6

Happy Independence Day

"It's time we asked ourselves if we still know the freedoms intended for us by the Founding Fathers." 

~Ronald Regan 

Deuteronomy 8:11-14, 17-20

Be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day. Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You may say to yourself,"My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me." But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today. If you ever forget the LORD your God and follow other gods and worship and bow down to them, I testify against you today that you will surely be destroyed. Like the nations the LORD destroyed before you, so you will be destroyed for not obeying the LORD your God.

The Song in my Heart

Life has been full lately.  Is it ever not?  Death and major surgery, birthdays and VBS ...  from the significant to the mundane, never a moment is dull.  Sometimes a dull moment would be nice, wouldn't it?  And yet, in the fullness, God provides ample opportunity to see His hand at work, the gifts He's scattered in my days.

Last night's adventure, in the midst of birthday festivities, was getting slammed out of the blue with a stomach bug.  As I lay miserable throughout the night, I continuously asked God why He allowed this now.  Never really did get an answer.  But, as seems to be His mode of speaking to me lately, He gave me a song.  Started with just the chorus "for you are good, for you are good, for you are good to me..."  It ran through my head a few times before I realized the rest of the song.  Timely, wouldn't you agree?  And finally something to be grateful for.  I had been struggling to find something in those ill hours!

He's given me more to add to my growing gratefulness list today -- parents who willingly came down to help, a husband who pitched in to play both our roles, rubs on my shoulder with "mom I hope you feel better" wishes, God watering my flowers with a rain shower so we didn't need to worry about watering today.

I pulled out my journal to number them with pen when I realized a new song was playing through my head.  We sang it in church last Sunday and the lyrics resonated.

Ten Thousand Reasons

Mark Redman

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing your song again

Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes.

Bless the Lord oh my soul

Oh my soul

Worship His holy name

Sing like never before

Oh my soul

I worship your holy name

You're rich in love and You're slow to anger

Your name is great and Your heart is kind

For all Your goodness I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find

It's easy to number God's gifts when life's sun is shining and the birds are singing.  That grateful heart doesn't come so readily when the skies are dark and we are travel-weary.  Yet my soul's desire is, like in the song, to be singing no matter what lies before me.

In his biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eric Metaxes quotes the hymn Paula Bonhoeffer, Dietrich's mother, chose for her son Walter's funeral.  Though greatly suffering from the grief of losing a child, Metaxes notes that she took the sentiments of the hymn seriously.  May I, in the darkest storm, be able to sing, from my heart, such lyrics as well.

What God has done, it is well done

His will is always just.

Whatever He will do to me,

In Him I'll ever place my trust.

Memories, Lessons, and a Legacy

My grandfather passed away Saturday.  I knew it was coming, said my good-byes back in March.  Still, the tears sneak up on me at the oddest times and memories I haven't considered in years randomly crackle across my mind like an old film.

He was a strong man, had broad shoulders and working hands - big, heavy hands that, when laid on my shoulder as a child, made me wonder if my knees would buckle.  He wasn't effusive in his affection, yet that simple act of laying his hand on my shoulder said everything it needed to.  That he approved of me, enjoyed me, loved me.

I learned a lot from grandpa....

...that God has given us much to be thankful for...that ham and cheese sandwiches taste best on Grandpa's homemade bread, eaten in a boat, fishing pole in hand....that it's unwise to slow a 32 foot motorhome for a crow in the road....that "dingbat" can be a term of affection...that sometimes love is cloaked in gruffness.

The older I got, the more I appreciated him for the man he was, the more I was able to see through the gruff exterior to the heart underneath, the more I recognized the twinkle in his eye.  One summer when I was in junior high or high school, he injured his index finger in a table saw.  The injury made his usual activities - gardening, baking, canning - challenging, and I became his sidekick that summer.  My phone would ring early in the day and the conversation would be brief, "Wanna go for a ride?  I'll pick you up in 30 minutes."  -click-  (Grandpa didn't see a need for ending phone conversations with the expected "goodbye" and on the few occasions he did, my mom and I would bemusedly make note of it.)

He and his little terrier would pick me up and away we'd go, sometimes to Costco to buy butter and sugar, other times to go back to his place.  That summer he shared the art of making his famous peanut brittle, demonstrated that scalding tomatoes takes the skin right off, showed me how to knead and pinch and shape the perfect loaf of bread.  He told me stories of being in the war, of growing up on the farm in North Dakota.  And he taught me generosity, always making enough of whatever we were concocting to share.

Grandpa had a beautiful bass singing voice.  I loved sitting next to him in church.  It wasn't a safe position, as he would usually instigate some sort of silent game that would get us both in trouble with Grandma.  He'd poke me with his thick fingers and then feign innocence when Grandma would raise her eyebrows and whisper sternly "that's enough."  I think part of his fun was watching Grandma get riled up because when she'd look away he'd smirk, his eyes twinkling.

After I got married, Grandma and Grandpa came and visited us for a weekend.  I sat next to Grandpa in church that Sunday.  We were singing Jesus, be the Center.  The alzheimers hadn't yet come to steal his voice.  And he was harmonizing.  I can't hear that song anymore without closing my eyes and going back to that moment.  It's been twelve years, and I can still hear Grandpa's voice as clear as if it were yesterday, his rich notes filling the air around us.  This week, I've been so aware of Grandpa in Heaven, free from the clutches and bondage of that horrid disease.  But it wasn't until yesterday that something clicked, that I realized he once again is able to harmonize, to lift his voice in praise.  And that the lyrics of the song he sang those years ago have been truly fulfilled.

Jesus, be the center

Be my source, be my light, Jesus

Jesus, be the center

Be my hope, be my song, Jesus.

Be the fire in my heart

Be the wind in these sails

Be the reason that I live

Jesus, Jesus

Jesus, be my vision

Be my path, be my guide, Jesus.

Happy Mother's Day!

Dear Mom,

For 

ankles swollen,

sleep sacrificed,

vegetables served,

prayers submitted,

example lived,

verses spoken,

patience kept,

time given,

morals taught,

lines in sand drawn,

jokes made,

dances fluttered,

husband adored,

pets endured,

guests welcomed,

classics read,

poetry memorized,

brokenness comforted,

praise offered,

grandchildren nurtured,

beliefs defended,

Bible instilled,

gratitude perpetuated,

kindness required ...

Thank you.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you.

The 1000 Mom's Project

Miracle Baby

The following is an email I wrote several years ago in response to a miracle God did in the life of our youngest.  Recently, several people have asked about her miracle.  In an effort to answer questions and perhaps share her story with more people, I'm posting it here.  I will say, to many her story is unbelievable, improbable.  Most miracles are.  But those who walked with us that day agree that the events have no explanation beyond God's supernatural touch.  There is some part of me that would like to clutch this close to my heart to avoid the scoffing that inevitably accompanies things physically unexplainable.  However, since the beginning, I have been aware that her story is not mine to keep and so, I pray that God uses this for His purposes.


Left my kids with a friend so I could go to my 12 week prenatal appointment.  The appointment was routine until my OB tried to find a heartbeat with the doppler.  When she couldn't find it, she opted for an internal ultrasound.  I could tell by her expression that something wasn't right, but she continued to look and punch buttons on the ultrasound machine.  Finally, she asked me if I'd had any cramping or bleeding (no).  After what seemed like forever, she turned the monitor so I could see it and said, "Chloe, this is your uterus.  There's nothing there.  Maybe the fetus wasn't forming properly so your body reabsorbed it.  The only sign of pregnancy is thicker lining of the uterine wall."

She went on to ask about my previous appointment which had been with a nurse practitioner who had found a bean-sized baby and cardiac activity with an external ultrasound around eight weeks.  I had witnessed it on the monitor myself.

My doctor left the room to talk to her nurse, and I sat there in shock.  It's a very surreal feeling to enter a doctor's office with a blooming tummy for a 12 week prenatal appointment and hear that you have no sign of pregnancy, especially when you've had no sign of miscarriage.  The nurse returned saying she could get me a radiology appointment for 4:15 that afternoon.  I had four hours to wait, to wonder, to agonize.

I headed downstairs for bloodwork, feeling like a character in some sort of "twilight zone" type show.  By then the reality was starting to sink in, and I was having an increasingly hard time keeping my emotions in check, although my ongoing thought was "God, I know You have a plan in this."  I didn't really pray, just kept saying, "I know You have a plan."  Eventually, though, I had to flip open the funny pages of a dated Reader's Digest to distract myself.  Thankfully the nurse called me ahead of others waiting before me, one of many fingerprints of God in my day.

Finally, I made it back out to my car and lost it.  I called my husband and scared him because he thought I had lost our middle child, so choked was I with emotion.  (The ugly cry has garnered that name for a reason!)  I cleared that up, and he promised to come home early to go to the radiology appointment with me that afternoon.  I was so emotional, I was in no condition to drive, so I called my MIL to pray with me.  Unbeknownst to me, she had just finished a prayer meeting when her phone rang.  When she found out what was going on, she immediately started praying over me.  After she hung up, the ladies in her prayer meeting prayed over her as she stood in proxy for me.

I regained enough composure to finish the conversation and get to my friend's house.  I distinctly remember walking in and saying "they said I lost the baby."  To which she responded, "but your tummy is growing!"  I cried with her, prayed with her, and gathered my kids to get them to their own doctor's appointment.  It was a God-thing that my eldest had her little friend to distract her from Mommy being distraught.  Before leaving, my MIL called me back and told me to not lose hope.  My friend's parting words were a promise to pray for green lights on the way to the pediatrician.  Amazingly, I think I only had to stop for one or two.  That's unheard of on the road I was traveling.  Another touch of God.

Sitting in the ped's waiting room thinking I'd lost my baby was awful as I watched all the moms with their new babies.  Again, my cry to Heaven was "God, I know You have a plan.  Please help me trust You in this." Numerous things crossed my mind:  Intense gratitude for my two healthy children, replaying the last 3 months - did I somehow imagine being pregnant?, did I lose the baby unknowingly in a midnight trip to the bathroom?

Kids' appointment finished, I picked up DH and we headed to radiology.  The receptionist had to have been placed there by God Himself.  I got the impression she had squeezed me in at the end of the day.  She was kind, compassionate, sensitive, personable.  The technician called me back and placed the wand on my belly.  Immediately, a busy, healthy baby, appeared on the monitor.  She didn't have to go searching or prode for signs of life.  I could count baby's fingers and toes, watch her do somersaults, and hiccup.  If I had any tears left, I would have wept.  We left with pictures of a properly developing 12 week old little girl.

Out in the car, I called my MIL to tell her the good news, and she got the giggles.  Not exactly the response I expected!  She said she had been waiting for that call.  One of the ladies in her prayer group felt God laying things on her heart to pray for, including an assurance that the baby would be healthy.  MIL said she had never left a prayer meeting with more assurance that God had everything handled.

My doctor called later, apologizing for scaring me.  All she could say is "this is just so bizarre."

I am still in awe.  I suppose there are those in the medical community who could come up with an explanation of what happened, although a dear friend from said community smiles with the confidence that only God can explain such an occurrence.  My doctor sure can't come up with a scientific explanation beyond that the baby must not like her!  ;-)  In my heart, there is no doubt that God gave my sweet one back to us that day.  I don't know why.  Have no way to explain why I would be given a second chance when thousands of others are not.  It is humbling. I feel unworthy.  And yet, I trust that God has a perfect plan, and I am honored to be a part of it.

Trusting

God painted the sunrise and lined the clouds gold just for me the other morning.  Sounds a bit presumptuous, I know, but He did.

I was driving to an early appointment, leaving #2 sick to his stomach, in the fetal position on the bathroom floor at home.  And I was fighting to put puzzle pieces together and begging God for insight.  See, my dear one has been having unusual tummy problems.  First I just assumed he picked up a stomach bug.  Now, eight months later, I'm not convinced.  Whatever the nasty thing is, it leaves the poor kid sobbing over the toilet wishing he could go to Heaven.  Yep, he's asked.  Several times.  Leaves this mama feeling beyond helpless.

As I drove through farmland in the early hours, symptoms and scenarios ran through my head.  I struggled to find commonalities while I kind-of prayed for wisdom, but more fought the what-ifs and formed battle plans of how to fight this unnamed enemy.  Then I glanced to my right.  It was a typical overcast morning.  Light was dawning, but the source was hidden.  Until God took his finger and touched the clouds and they parted, just a little, in front of the sun.  And he dipped his paintbrush into the most ethereal gold paint you've ever seen and lined the clouds with thin, brilliant strokes.  The result was breathtaking.  

How precious of God to add some beauty to my messy morning.   No sooner had I whispered thank you when He spoke to my heart, "If I can do this, don't you think I can take care of your son?"

We still have no answers, no concreate reasons an unhappy stomach randomly interrupts his sleep in the wee hours.  But time after time when the what-ifs start to whisper their lies, when exhaustion and impatience threaten to overtake gentleness and compassion, I picture that sunrise, recall God's voice, and remember that the One who rims the clouds golden holds my son in the palm of His hand.  And peace returns.

Growing Up

"When does a woman become an adult?  Perhaps it's when she stops comparing her life to other women's.  When she stops waiting for 'Mr. Right'.  When she stops wishing she'd married someone else or that her children were at an easier stage.

"We grow up when we see our life and role from God's perspective; when we thank God for the role He has assigned us and begin to see our cup as a gift instead of a cross; when each morning we ask, "God how can I glorify You today in my given role?"

from Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow

Hymns

I had awful post-partum depression with my first babe.  Fear and self-doubt shrouded the joy of new motherhood with their lies.  For months, I hid the misery until I couldn't stuff it anymore.  Then, tentatively, I started to share it with people.  At the time, I was attending BSF, the John class.  When I hinted at the torture I was going through, my discussion leader suggested I sing hymns.  That advice became a lifeline and in the dark of the night when the voices threatened to overwhelm me, I would go into the bathroom and weep and cling to those hymns as a drowning man clutches a life ring.  I would stand on the promise that God inhabits the praises of His people (Ps 22:3), and in desperation lift those ancient words.  And the voices would fade and peace would return and I began to heal.*

As I read Ann Voskamp's post for today, I was reminded of that time and of the wealth of truth and comfort and strength found in these songs.  Songs written by brothers and sisters of faith who struggled and ached and broke and proved the faithfulness of their God.






*Please know that I am not suggesting that hymns can cure PPD, although they were incredibly instrumental in my healing.  PPD is a serious condition and can require counseling, medication, and/or professional help.  Please do not hesitate to pursue such avenues.  There is no shame in seeking help.

Cheer Up!

I've been overwhelmed the past couple days. My to-do list is lengthy, my prayer list longer. Many of the needs are weighty, serious. Some seem like I've been laying them at His feet for ions. My heart throbs with impatience, longing to see an answer, wondering how much longer I have to plead. Yes, God has granted peeks at answers, literal "glimmers of hope" to remind me that He hasn't forgotten, that He's still at work. But for whatever reason those glimmers have dulled and keep slipping from the forefront of my mind where they ought to be.

Last night I hit the breaking point. Funny how it's the little things that push me over the edge. The pup -- yeah that cute little thing from a couple posts ago -- decided to dig in the mud at bedtime, track it all over my new carpet, and initiate a rousing game of keep away when I tried to hose off his feet. I thought labs were supposed to like water ... ? Someone forgot to tell Koa. As I knelt and scrubbed carpet, my eldest, who should have been fast asleep, softly crept next to me and told me to close my eyes and open my hands. I resisted the urge to tell her I wasn't in the mood and send her back to bed. Instead, I complied and felt a piece of paper fall lightly into my palm. On my knees, emotional, I opened my eyes and saw evidence of a child who hadn't yet considered sleep. Instead she had been making a card.

Dear Mommy,

Cool down, I love you.

I hope you feel better in the morning.

You know, have a fresh start. :-)

I love you lots,

A----

Of all my children, this is the one I fight to understand. She is an anomaly to me and we have had our share of duels. In my struggle to relate to her, I haven't always been nice. (Or I could say, in our struggle to relate to each other we haven't always been nice.) I get frustrated, impatient, desperate for simple obedience without the constant questioning the brilliant mind she got from her daddy demands. Her compassion, empathy, concern for this undeserving mama humbled me. No, that's not completely accurate. It simultaneously warmed and broke my heart.  Grace does that.  Is mom-guilt part of the gig? Does it have to be? I'm not particularly a fan. If I could just achieve perfection, it wouldn't be an issue, but alas, I can't seem to get there!

Sometimes I read Peter's promise that "love covers a multitude of wrongs" (1 Peter 4:8) and it seems too good to be true. That there can't be enough grace to cover the days that I'm rotten. Tender moments like last night make me think that maybe there is. That maybe my kids know, despite my tantrums and faults and failures, how much I love them. That just possibly, by God's grace, I'm doing something right and they are learning to look beyond themselves, love, empathize, forgive. Huh. Maybe in that little card that now hangs on my refrigerator, God was giving me another glimmer of hope. A message to remind me He's still working.

Paper Snowflakes

I have these paper snowflakes hanging from the chandelier over my dining room table. They are tiny, delicate, delightful.  And they remind me of my mum.  When I was pregnant with #3 and the hospital was too full to induce and babe had no intention of forcing their hand by coming on her own, I was restless. It's amazing the things you have time for when it hurts to move and your body is swollen past what seems to be the bursting point. So we entertained ourselves with jigsaw puzzles and answering strangers' "when are you due" questions (their alarmed "oh no is she gonna deliver right here" reactions were great!)...

...And cutting snowflakes.  My mom, my eldest, and I.  Three women, three pairs of scissors, three kinds of snowflakes.  Some boxy and awkward from little hands still learning the art of handling scissors.  Mom's, lacy and small and beautiful.  And mine, ever so wanting to be like mom's but never quite losing the squarish look of a grammar school snowflake.

As I glance at the intricate paper slowing spinning above my table, I am lonely. I miss the camaraderie and companionship of doing something as simple as snipping snowflakes together. I'm disappointed that distance prevents us from enjoying such activities.  The longing makes me ponder days gone by when ladies would gather around a big farm table and quilt and chatter. Or can the harvest and chatter. Or whatever ... and chatter. See, while I like the handiwork, it's the chatter I miss, long for. I was reading one of Ann Voskamp's recent blog entries about generations gathered around a sewing machine and that same yearning nerve was touched.

Doesn't it seem like the Titus 2 thing would happen so easily in such a setting?  That the younger women would naturally learn from the older?  That not only would the art of keeping a home be handed down, but that that big comforting table and the ladies around it would offer wisdom and respite and reassurance for the young mom, whose quiver is full not only of kiddos but laundry and interrupted sleep and middle of the night self-doubt.

Somewhere with all our women's rights and equality, we've lost something valuable. While we were fighting for equal rights and recognition and gaining the opportunity to pursue dreams once unreachable, we abandoned the days of gathering over fabric and needles, wood stoves and canning jars.  The super-woman complex was born, and we proved we could do it all and do it better.  And we walked away from the support and camaraderie of that big table.  

I desperately wish we could find our way back.

A Girl's Best Friend

I sat down to blog about something completely different, but I ran across this pic and had to brag about this guy who's stolen my heart.

As an only child, my siblings were my two dogs. Unlike true siblings, though, there was no rivalry; we were best pals. I remember as a little tyke, perched on the deck in my back yard, ice cream cone in hand, between my two terriers. I'd take a lick, pass to the right, take another lick, pass to the left. Doesn't get much better than that!

When my husband and I got married, I knew we needed a dog. 12 years, 3 kids, new furniture, and lots of hemming and hawing later, we finally got one. By then I was hesitant. I still wanted a faithful side-kick, but was fully aware of the work the new family member would bring (and was mindful of my long-anticipated new furniture!). Not for a minute did I believe all the "but mo-0-0-0-0-m, I'll do all the work. I'll clean poop and walk him and feed him and and and..." I knew when we got a dog I needed to be ready for a fourth kid. It took watching #1's grief after the death of her frog to convince me it was time.

It might sound funny, but I immediately started praying. I don't deliberate well. Once I make a decision, I'm full speed ahead, let's get this thing done. I accomplish a lot with this mindset, but I also have a tendency to run ahead of God. With last winter's depression and overwhelmedness still fresh in my mind, I did not want to get wrapped up in the romanticism of a new puppy and miss a possible "wait" whisper from God. So I prayed and looked at newspaper ads. Long story short, we found a breeder that had pups available. And a short few weeks later we brought home a 10 pound yellow fluff ball we named Koa. Isn't he the handsomest thing you've ever seen!