As Levi's 2nd birthday approaches, and we've been processing the difficult reality that our sweet foster son is facing some delays - It has been a lot. A dear friend reminded me recently that when your Plan A gets shattered and you are living your Plan B or even your Plan D, every new setback can be weighty with past disappointment that lurks close to the surface.
I'm going to be honest - because I think honesty is where healing lives and because I'm just a really bad faker... but when you have lived through multiple tragedies and worst case scenarios playing out despite your desperate pleas for God to heal and spare you from something awful, it is hard to face something uncertain and believe that everything will be okay because I ask God to make it so. I don't mean to imply that I don't believe in prayer or the healing power of God, because I know that there will be enough grace to keep going, but that is really the end of my certainty about the future.
It has been 2 years since Levi was stillborn without any explanation or defect. The sense of loss still feels fresh and deep while no longer gaping open. It is like a slow leak that seeps out of you always. I am still being filled and still experiencing life and joy, but there is part of my heart that isn't with me anymore. It is the torment of separation that never really goes away - its edges get duller, but I still ache to be with my babies.
October 6th - there is no 'happy birthday' I can utter on this day that was so dark. But there is peace in knowing that the torment is mine (and shared by those who love me) and never Levi's. He didn't have to face loss, pain, or disappointment of this life. He has only known perfection and unity with the Father; and who better to truly understand this gaping hole that loss can leave?
"He was despised and forsaken of men. A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief... surely our griefs He Himself bore and our sorrows He carried." Isaiah 53:3-4.
This was not my plan A, and I reject the idea that this was all God's Plan A for me - but that's another conversation. I am in the middle of my Plan B and sometimes it is a struggle to find joy here, but it is never a struggle to find Jesus here. That's the thing about not getting to live out your Plan A. It becomes apparent that the person you have become as a result of the abrupt changes to your plans is an entirely different person than you would have been if everything had gone according to plan. I don't mean to imply that I am unhappy with my life - I am living a really beautiful life right now and there are so many things to be grateful for and I am more blessed than I deserve.
It is hard for me to pray that God will make everything according to my plans, so I try to be honest with Him about my heart and ask Him to help me have open hands to receive whatever it is He will give me- even when it isn't what I wanted. I would love for things to be 'easy' for baby and for him to not have to struggle and hurt and have life long issues that will be complicated, but I also know that there are so many 'atypical' children who get to teach the rest of us about love and life in ways we may not see without their unique voice and perspective.
I know a lot of us are living our our Plan B's and that can sting sometimes. My plan B has given me the privilege of seeing with my own eyes how God can make beautiful things out of dust and how He never stops pursuing us even if our pain takes us to the deepest depths - He doesn't shy away from pain or anger. Letting go of the plans I had is sometimes still a struggle, but when I can focus on what I have right now - I see full hands, full hearts, and a Good Father who is not distant, but very near us in defeat and near us in triumph. Plan B isn't just okay.... it is good, there is still abundance and blessing here beyond what I imagined.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
Sunday, July 1, 2018
FAQ - foster care edition
For those of you who have been following our family, you know that we initially submitted our application to be foster parents back in October. We have completed months of classes, our home study, home inspections, and all. the. paperwork! We are still waiting for the state to push the 'approve' button to be officially opened, but I'm expecting that to happen very soon.
I thought it might be helpful to address some of the common questions/concerns about foster care that I have heard as we have been working towards becoming a foster home. I love to dialogue about foster care, so if there are questions that I have not addressed, please feel free to ask me!
# 1 - Why would you do this? Isn't life hard enough?
I think maybe the biggest misconception about foster parents is that they are either super-human or they are in it for the wrong reasons. Yes, you do get a monthly reimbursement from the state for being a foster home. While the amount varies based on the type of child and the state, my personal feeling is that the money is very unlikely to cover all of the expenses involved in caring for the child and so I have to believe that most people who are choosing foster care, are doing it to provide a safe and loving home to a child who needs one. Regarding being super-humans - Nope. You don't have to be around my family long to determine that we are pretty ordinary. We try to be intentional about the ways we discipline and care for our children and our marriage, but we are just two parents who work full-time jobs, love our roles as mom and dad, and can't ignore the fact that there are hundreds of children in our city who need safe homes. We have room in our hearts and room in our home, and while I know it will be hard, I also believe it is going to be really wonderful for all of us.
#2 - I could never do that. I would get too attached.
I totally understand where this is coming from - I may have even uttered these words myself when I first began thinking about foster care. The underlying implication here though is that foster parents must in turn be robots who do not experience attachment and love, but are really just mechanical care-givers. I will get attached to our foster children. I will love them the way I love my own children. I will care for them, nurture them, advocate for them, and believe a bright future for them of healing and restoration for their families. Many of these kids have not yet experienced healthy attachments, so it is absolutely vital that they experience a trusting, loving, attachment to a care-giver. As someone who has known and experienced deep grief, I know that it will hurt terribly when these children leave our home, but I also know by experience the incredible well of grace that is deeper than the deepest hurt. I am the adult. I can love deeply and hurt deeply so that these children get to experience a healing, loving home.
# 3 - What about your kids? Aren't you worried about how this is going to impact them?
Yes, yep, for sure, absolutely. I think about my sweet children and worry about them ALL.THE.TIME. We are not just going to be foster parents, we are going to be a foster family, that means all of us are invested in being a healthy, thriving home for a hurting child. Foster care is a place of trauma, it is inviting brokenness into your home and saying - "you can stay here, it is safe." We have had months of conversations about foster care with our children and honestly, there have been tears (from both of us) and it still feels fragile as we don't yet know what it will feel like to do this everyday. But, I have SO much faith for my family with foster care. I believe that they are going to see first hand what it looks like to serve, to think beyond yourself, to give even when it hurts, and to love without guarantees. I believe that my kids can handle the trauma of foster care because they come from a place of safety and security, they know that we can do hard things. We will always be looking out for our children, re-evaluating the health of our home, and trusting Jesus to take the next steps.
# 4 - Why don't you just adopt?
We thought about adoption and prayed a lot about that route. Honestly, the price tag was the biggest deterrent, but as we begin to learn more about foster care, the more I felt drawn to this particular pathway. I would love to have more forever children in my home, but I see foster care as this precious space to stand in on behalf of children and families who are broken. I'm not doing this so I can adopt all of these children, I don't even expect to be able to adopt right now. I don't want these mama's who are hurting and broken to feel like I am trying to take their kids. I want to be for families - I believe that whenever possible, families should stay together. I want to love these birth parents, advocate for their family, and care for these kids for as long as that is the plan. I've seen a lot of children in my line of work who were in foster care for a period of time and went back home. For some of them it was a solid reunification, and for others it led to lots of bouncing around. The goal of foster care is ALWAYS reunification, until it is not. My heart is to love these kids, give them the care they will need to build skills when they are at home and help them develop positive attachments. None of that is wasted, even if the placement does not end in adoption, none of that time loving a child is wasted.
#5 - So does this mean you are saying 'yes' to anything?
Nope. We have given our agency certain parameters to work with when it comes to placement. For us, we want a baby, so ages 0-2. We don't care about gender or race, but that is something that you could give specifications for. We also asked for a 'basic' child, that means no obvious medical problems or special needs. Also, our plan right now is just to take 1 child. We are being licensed to have 6 children in our home (that means 4 potential foster kids), but we really feel like we need to ease into this one 'yes' at a time. An important part of helping Jeff shake off some of his reservations regarding foster care was setting parameters and agreeing that this is not an open ended 'yes' to all things. It is just the next yes. There will be more phone calls, more kids who need homes, and when the time comes, we will say yes together, or the answer is no.
I think those are the biggest questions that I've gotten so far about foster care. Thank you all for your prayers and support for us as we have started this journey. Foster care takes a village... like an actual village of people, so I'm so grateful to have friends and family who are willing to be certified as respite providers, take CPR classes and keep our own children so that we can do the things we need to do in order to be ready. I'm so excited and eager for this journey to start. Please pray with us for our first placement and stay tuned!
I thought it might be helpful to address some of the common questions/concerns about foster care that I have heard as we have been working towards becoming a foster home. I love to dialogue about foster care, so if there are questions that I have not addressed, please feel free to ask me!
# 1 - Why would you do this? Isn't life hard enough?
I think maybe the biggest misconception about foster parents is that they are either super-human or they are in it for the wrong reasons. Yes, you do get a monthly reimbursement from the state for being a foster home. While the amount varies based on the type of child and the state, my personal feeling is that the money is very unlikely to cover all of the expenses involved in caring for the child and so I have to believe that most people who are choosing foster care, are doing it to provide a safe and loving home to a child who needs one. Regarding being super-humans - Nope. You don't have to be around my family long to determine that we are pretty ordinary. We try to be intentional about the ways we discipline and care for our children and our marriage, but we are just two parents who work full-time jobs, love our roles as mom and dad, and can't ignore the fact that there are hundreds of children in our city who need safe homes. We have room in our hearts and room in our home, and while I know it will be hard, I also believe it is going to be really wonderful for all of us.
#2 - I could never do that. I would get too attached.
I totally understand where this is coming from - I may have even uttered these words myself when I first began thinking about foster care. The underlying implication here though is that foster parents must in turn be robots who do not experience attachment and love, but are really just mechanical care-givers. I will get attached to our foster children. I will love them the way I love my own children. I will care for them, nurture them, advocate for them, and believe a bright future for them of healing and restoration for their families. Many of these kids have not yet experienced healthy attachments, so it is absolutely vital that they experience a trusting, loving, attachment to a care-giver. As someone who has known and experienced deep grief, I know that it will hurt terribly when these children leave our home, but I also know by experience the incredible well of grace that is deeper than the deepest hurt. I am the adult. I can love deeply and hurt deeply so that these children get to experience a healing, loving home.
# 3 - What about your kids? Aren't you worried about how this is going to impact them?
Yes, yep, for sure, absolutely. I think about my sweet children and worry about them ALL.THE.TIME. We are not just going to be foster parents, we are going to be a foster family, that means all of us are invested in being a healthy, thriving home for a hurting child. Foster care is a place of trauma, it is inviting brokenness into your home and saying - "you can stay here, it is safe." We have had months of conversations about foster care with our children and honestly, there have been tears (from both of us) and it still feels fragile as we don't yet know what it will feel like to do this everyday. But, I have SO much faith for my family with foster care. I believe that they are going to see first hand what it looks like to serve, to think beyond yourself, to give even when it hurts, and to love without guarantees. I believe that my kids can handle the trauma of foster care because they come from a place of safety and security, they know that we can do hard things. We will always be looking out for our children, re-evaluating the health of our home, and trusting Jesus to take the next steps.
# 4 - Why don't you just adopt?
We thought about adoption and prayed a lot about that route. Honestly, the price tag was the biggest deterrent, but as we begin to learn more about foster care, the more I felt drawn to this particular pathway. I would love to have more forever children in my home, but I see foster care as this precious space to stand in on behalf of children and families who are broken. I'm not doing this so I can adopt all of these children, I don't even expect to be able to adopt right now. I don't want these mama's who are hurting and broken to feel like I am trying to take their kids. I want to be for families - I believe that whenever possible, families should stay together. I want to love these birth parents, advocate for their family, and care for these kids for as long as that is the plan. I've seen a lot of children in my line of work who were in foster care for a period of time and went back home. For some of them it was a solid reunification, and for others it led to lots of bouncing around. The goal of foster care is ALWAYS reunification, until it is not. My heart is to love these kids, give them the care they will need to build skills when they are at home and help them develop positive attachments. None of that is wasted, even if the placement does not end in adoption, none of that time loving a child is wasted.
#5 - So does this mean you are saying 'yes' to anything?
Nope. We have given our agency certain parameters to work with when it comes to placement. For us, we want a baby, so ages 0-2. We don't care about gender or race, but that is something that you could give specifications for. We also asked for a 'basic' child, that means no obvious medical problems or special needs. Also, our plan right now is just to take 1 child. We are being licensed to have 6 children in our home (that means 4 potential foster kids), but we really feel like we need to ease into this one 'yes' at a time. An important part of helping Jeff shake off some of his reservations regarding foster care was setting parameters and agreeing that this is not an open ended 'yes' to all things. It is just the next yes. There will be more phone calls, more kids who need homes, and when the time comes, we will say yes together, or the answer is no.
I think those are the biggest questions that I've gotten so far about foster care. Thank you all for your prayers and support for us as we have started this journey. Foster care takes a village... like an actual village of people, so I'm so grateful to have friends and family who are willing to be certified as respite providers, take CPR classes and keep our own children so that we can do the things we need to do in order to be ready. I'm so excited and eager for this journey to start. Please pray with us for our first placement and stay tuned!
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
The next 'yes'
A year ago, I read a book called 'The Lucky Few' and it spoke such courage and healing to my soul about finding God's best in the hardest places. Read this book... I mean, don't read this book if you don't want to say 'yes' to the hard places, but read this book because the 'yes' is so worth it. We have been praying about the future of our family, whether we should continue to pursue having another biological child, whether we should pursue adoption, whether we should do any of this at all. As we have prayed and cried and sought counsel among our close family and friends, we have felt drawn deeper into God's heart for orphan care. It has ignited my soul in a way that makes me feel alive, excited, eager, and full of hope. In October we submitted our application through a local foster care agency, we have completed our classes, are in the middle of our home study and are checking off the final boxes to be licensed as a foster family.
This hasn't been an easy decision, and most days I feel equally eager and terrified. I'm reading all the books, listening to the podcasts, reading the blogs, revisiting TBRI, trying to be "ready." The truth is that getting the room ready, locking up the medicine (and the laundry detergent), and talking to my kids about why we are choosing this 'yes' right now will not make me ready for the life and/or lives that will be present in our home and in our hearts in the coming months. We have chosen the foster care system instead of private adoption for several reasons, but one important one is because of the brokenness inherent within it. Saying 'yes' means inviting brokenness to come into your home and live alongside and within us. While I won't pretend I don't feel some fear about that, I also feel like it is a sacred and beautiful privilege to care for vulnerable children when they are most in need. I don't know if our placements will end in adoption, that is our hope, but there are no guarantees. We can't be sure of what this will look like, how it will shape our family, or in what form hardships will come, but I am sure that it will hurt - like everything that is worth having.
As we have waded into these waters of fostering to adopt I have prayed so many prayers and I have wrestled with wanting a guarantee from Jesus that it won't shatter me - He didn't give me that. What He did give me, was the peace and courage to say the next 'yes.' Right now that is the dozens of checked boxes on the licensing form saying we have done everything required. Then we wait for the phone calls saying there is a baby in need of a home and we will have an opportunity for the next 'yes.' I can't see what 'yes' will look like to the whole of adoption... so I'm going to take it one step at a time knowing that there will be both 'yes' and 'no' from me and from the Lord as we walk down this road. The ultimate goal here is not to say 'yes' and get to adopt a child. While I would love for that to happen, what I want even more is to leave a legacy of faithfulness for my family - that we have listened to His voice, felt His heart, and we have lived out a thousand 'yes's to Him each day.
I don't know what this journey will hold for us, but I know this:
"I did not cover my face from humiliation and spitting. For the Lord God helps Me, Therefore, I am not disgraced; therefore, I have set my face like flint, and I know that I will not be ashamed." Isaiah 50:6-7. There will be some pain and humiliation in this journey, but it is not disgrace and I believe God gifts us mothers will the steel required to set our face like flint and fight on behalf of our children. I also believe that God's strength does not disappoint - "Though the fig tree should not blossom and there be no fruit on the vines, though the yield of the olive should fail and the fields produce no food, though the flock should be cut off from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls, yet I will exult in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and he has made my feet like the hind's feet, and makes me walk on my high places." Habakkuk3:17-19. I expect that at times this will look a little (or a lot) like failure, and it will be easy to wonder, 'Where's all the fruit?! I did all this work! Where is it?' May I remember that saying 'yes' does not mean I will get what I think is being asked of me, but rather it is trusting God's good, Father heart and rejoicing in Him even when it feels like failure because He is working together a masterpiece in the lives of many and I'm only getting a glimpse of it from my own perspective.
We have heard God's heart for orphans in our community, and God bless my sweet husband - we are saying 'yes.'
This hasn't been an easy decision, and most days I feel equally eager and terrified. I'm reading all the books, listening to the podcasts, reading the blogs, revisiting TBRI, trying to be "ready." The truth is that getting the room ready, locking up the medicine (and the laundry detergent), and talking to my kids about why we are choosing this 'yes' right now will not make me ready for the life and/or lives that will be present in our home and in our hearts in the coming months. We have chosen the foster care system instead of private adoption for several reasons, but one important one is because of the brokenness inherent within it. Saying 'yes' means inviting brokenness to come into your home and live alongside and within us. While I won't pretend I don't feel some fear about that, I also feel like it is a sacred and beautiful privilege to care for vulnerable children when they are most in need. I don't know if our placements will end in adoption, that is our hope, but there are no guarantees. We can't be sure of what this will look like, how it will shape our family, or in what form hardships will come, but I am sure that it will hurt - like everything that is worth having.
As we have waded into these waters of fostering to adopt I have prayed so many prayers and I have wrestled with wanting a guarantee from Jesus that it won't shatter me - He didn't give me that. What He did give me, was the peace and courage to say the next 'yes.' Right now that is the dozens of checked boxes on the licensing form saying we have done everything required. Then we wait for the phone calls saying there is a baby in need of a home and we will have an opportunity for the next 'yes.' I can't see what 'yes' will look like to the whole of adoption... so I'm going to take it one step at a time knowing that there will be both 'yes' and 'no' from me and from the Lord as we walk down this road. The ultimate goal here is not to say 'yes' and get to adopt a child. While I would love for that to happen, what I want even more is to leave a legacy of faithfulness for my family - that we have listened to His voice, felt His heart, and we have lived out a thousand 'yes's to Him each day.
I don't know what this journey will hold for us, but I know this:
"I did not cover my face from humiliation and spitting. For the Lord God helps Me, Therefore, I am not disgraced; therefore, I have set my face like flint, and I know that I will not be ashamed." Isaiah 50:6-7. There will be some pain and humiliation in this journey, but it is not disgrace and I believe God gifts us mothers will the steel required to set our face like flint and fight on behalf of our children. I also believe that God's strength does not disappoint - "Though the fig tree should not blossom and there be no fruit on the vines, though the yield of the olive should fail and the fields produce no food, though the flock should be cut off from the fold and there be no cattle in the stalls, yet I will exult in the Lord, I will rejoice in the God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and he has made my feet like the hind's feet, and makes me walk on my high places." Habakkuk3:17-19. I expect that at times this will look a little (or a lot) like failure, and it will be easy to wonder, 'Where's all the fruit?! I did all this work! Where is it?' May I remember that saying 'yes' does not mean I will get what I think is being asked of me, but rather it is trusting God's good, Father heart and rejoicing in Him even when it feels like failure because He is working together a masterpiece in the lives of many and I'm only getting a glimpse of it from my own perspective.
We have heard God's heart for orphans in our community, and God bless my sweet husband - we are saying 'yes.'
Sunday, October 1, 2017
birthday
Tragedy is tragic because it is generally the loss, the pain that you never saw coming, the one you believed yourself invincible from. There has certainly been tragedy in the last few months, natural disasters on a far reaching scale that have impacted millions. I have been anticipating (with a fair amount of dread) the milestone that is Levi's birthday - my own personal tragedy. There are so many details of that day etched into my mind that can play back in a traumatic feedback loop if I allow it. Levi deserves to be remembered, in all of the agony that comes with choosing to sit with the greatest hurt of your life. So, as his birthday approaches - October 6th, he was stillborn at 2:38 AM. I will remember and grieve that this is the last milestone. When you lose a baby, you lose all of the future milestones you imagined you would share. There can never be a first smile, a first food or a first birthday. All that remains is the time from the last time you held him, the time you said good bye.
As I have thought about this day and wondered how to do it 'right', I have come to the conclusion that the best we can do as grieving people is to show up. We can gather our people - the ones who have been willing to wait out the long, dark night, the ones who haven't shied away from pain, the ones who will bear witness because they see it is sacred - and together we will remember. I think the reason so many platitudes follow tragedy is because we need to believe in goodness, we need people to not be in pain and to feel better, we need hope. This journey over the last year of grief and this journey of accepting that dreams can die and be remade has helped me to see that we don't have to fear pain. We don't need to feel better, at least not right away. The experience of pain, of great loss, of tragedy is not one that we could choose, but when it chooses us, we can lean into it rather than fighting it and it will break and shatter and hurt.... and then it will build resilience, trust, and hope that is not easily disappointed.
It is hard for me to even put into words what has unfolded in my heart over the last year (I know - me, speechless?), but I am confident that my hope is stronger than ever. Not hope in the worldly sense, that I hope I will achieve or receive something, because this journey instructs us that to hope in those things is empty. But hope that is eternal and rests with the Good Father, who walks near us in our defeat and near us in our triumph. "I relieved his shoulder of the burden, his hands were freed from the basket. You called in trouble and I rescued you; I answered you in the hiding place of thunder." Psalm 81:6-7. Rescue does not mean that we will be spared from pain, it does not mean we will get the ending we are desperately praying for, but it means that even when tragedy strikes, we can trust that God is exactly who He says He is and He will show up with us in our pain. He will shoulder the burden of sadness with us, He will carry the basket of broken dreams with us, He will sit with us in the storm of anger and confusion - and He will answer.
I am grateful for the life of Levi Robert Priour. I wish it had been longer, I wish the milestones weren't in remembering - but his life, however brief, has made me more resilient, compassionate, hopeful, alive, willing to take risks, and certain of the treasure I have in heaven. I am also more certain that the courage required to live a life of purpose doesn't come from fearlessness or maintaining control; but rather it comes from confronting your fear, leaning into your pain, and knowing that even in the deepest darkness - you will never be alone. You don't get to know those things in the core of your being until you have to go deep in darkness and when you do emerge from the darkness knowing that there is hope, goodness, and abundance for you - what is there to fear? You will live courageously.
I can't bring myself to say, "Happy Birthday." It doesn't feel authentic, at least not yet. But I can say, I'm so happy you were born. I'm so happy I got to see you, hold you, and I will love you forever.
As I have thought about this day and wondered how to do it 'right', I have come to the conclusion that the best we can do as grieving people is to show up. We can gather our people - the ones who have been willing to wait out the long, dark night, the ones who haven't shied away from pain, the ones who will bear witness because they see it is sacred - and together we will remember. I think the reason so many platitudes follow tragedy is because we need to believe in goodness, we need people to not be in pain and to feel better, we need hope. This journey over the last year of grief and this journey of accepting that dreams can die and be remade has helped me to see that we don't have to fear pain. We don't need to feel better, at least not right away. The experience of pain, of great loss, of tragedy is not one that we could choose, but when it chooses us, we can lean into it rather than fighting it and it will break and shatter and hurt.... and then it will build resilience, trust, and hope that is not easily disappointed.
It is hard for me to even put into words what has unfolded in my heart over the last year (I know - me, speechless?), but I am confident that my hope is stronger than ever. Not hope in the worldly sense, that I hope I will achieve or receive something, because this journey instructs us that to hope in those things is empty. But hope that is eternal and rests with the Good Father, who walks near us in our defeat and near us in our triumph. "I relieved his shoulder of the burden, his hands were freed from the basket. You called in trouble and I rescued you; I answered you in the hiding place of thunder." Psalm 81:6-7. Rescue does not mean that we will be spared from pain, it does not mean we will get the ending we are desperately praying for, but it means that even when tragedy strikes, we can trust that God is exactly who He says He is and He will show up with us in our pain. He will shoulder the burden of sadness with us, He will carry the basket of broken dreams with us, He will sit with us in the storm of anger and confusion - and He will answer.
I am grateful for the life of Levi Robert Priour. I wish it had been longer, I wish the milestones weren't in remembering - but his life, however brief, has made me more resilient, compassionate, hopeful, alive, willing to take risks, and certain of the treasure I have in heaven. I am also more certain that the courage required to live a life of purpose doesn't come from fearlessness or maintaining control; but rather it comes from confronting your fear, leaning into your pain, and knowing that even in the deepest darkness - you will never be alone. You don't get to know those things in the core of your being until you have to go deep in darkness and when you do emerge from the darkness knowing that there is hope, goodness, and abundance for you - what is there to fear? You will live courageously.
I can't bring myself to say, "Happy Birthday." It doesn't feel authentic, at least not yet. But I can say, I'm so happy you were born. I'm so happy I got to see you, hold you, and I will love you forever.
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Piece by piece
I can't believe it has been 6 months since Levi was born and almost a year since I found out I was pregnant. It feels like that was another lifetime... and maybe it was. When I see myself now, I feel hardly recognizable, but not because I see the grief stricken mother wondering how to keep living in a world her children won't get to see (although I do still see images of that mother at times). But, I see a woman who has been rebuilt after brokenness into something that is strong, but flexible, tender, but fierce, and most of all full of hope with hands open to receive whatever may come - joy and heartache. It is hard to put into the words the shift that has occurred inside my heart as I have wrestled with the Lord and with myself over why I have to belong inside this story I never wanted. But I have learned some valuable lessons along the way that I want to memorialize so I won't forget what God has done.
1) There is no healing in pretending, there are no short cuts to grief. It doesn't unfold like a neat 5 point pathway that you naturally progress down and then you reach the end and it is finished. It is like a violent and unpredictable ocean that you can fight against or learn to lean into so that you can find the surface again. God doesn't take the pain away just because we ask him to. I didn't experience perfect peace just because I wanted it. It wasn't until I allowed myself to feel each moment authentically and process those feelings and thoughts taking them to the feet of Jesus and just telling Him whatever my truth was in that moment, that I began to feel the weight of grief lessen. When I experienced those moments with Jesus, I discovered that He had feelings too and was not simply observing my pain from a distance, but actively experiencing it with me. I so desperately needed to know that my Father hurts too and suffers alongside us. Pretending the pain away by quoting scripture at it or chasing after the multitude of platitudes that inevitably follow a disaster didn't do anything to heal the deepest brokenness of my soul. Showing up in your pain matters, being authentic about your struggle matters and it was only when I decided to keep showing up and telling the truth of my heart that I began to experience hope again.
2) We can do hard things, but we don't have to do them alone. It is easier to hide our pain, to distract ourselves from experiencing it's weight, to smile because we think we're supposed to. It is uncomfortable to see someone in pain. Our human instinct is to heal it, to fix it, to make the pain stop. But, what if the only way to heal is to hurt deeply? I've learned in this journey that not everyone can walk next to you - and that's okay, you don't need an army. But you need a few trusted soldiers - who will go to war with you and will sit in the darkness with you for as long as it takes. By being open about my journey I have had the privilege to show up for others, to walk into their darkness, and to hold the hands of hurting women in need of hope. I am so grateful for that. God often brings deep healing in community, and I'm thankful for those who continued to show up, to listen, and to trust God's work in my life. What hurting people need most is for others to not be afraid of their pain or try to fix it, but to be embraced in the midst of it and to experience the validation of others who will hurt with you.
3) Fear only feels like the truth. To have some of my worst fears realized more than once made those fears feel much more real than the Truth of God. Fear is a normal human instinct, one that has enabled survival and can be adaptive for us to respond to. Fear is real and its visceral expression only solidifies the feeling that it is the truth. To deny it or try to stifle it seems a little delusional, because it tends to show up even when we don't acknowledge it - nightmares, anxiety, feeling out of control - all of these physical experiences are rooted in fear. For me, the only way to overcome the feelings of fear that I experienced when I thought about the future was to chose to trust God's heart. This was actually the most difficult part of my healing. I wrestled intensely with what it means to trust a Father who doesn't promise to prevent this and then doesn't rush in to fix it. I can't even pinpoint exactly what shifted for me, except that I quit trying so hard. I prayed and wrestled and begged God to repair the broken trust I felt between us, but He didn't - at least not right away. He gently reminded me that it is His job to repair the brokenness and to quit trying so hard - and I did. I continued moving forward in this journey, but chose to operate on an underlying belief that God is exactly who He says He is. I began to experience this hope that was coming alive in my heart that God was building something much more beautiful than the tiny dream I was holding onto for myself.
4) Brokenness is beautiful. When I finally quit clinging to the life that I felt was robbed from me, the dreams that seemed to shatter the moment I reached for them and started living in my present life - I realized that it was so beautiful. As I began to lean into this life, appreciating the moments with my children and experiencing joy again with the recognition that it was truly joyful - I realized that this is an abundant life and that I was living this life because of my brokenness. Without the darkness, the pain, the terrible suffering, you can't experience the power of hope. Who hopes for what he already has? Suffering has a way of bringing life into focus and it allowed me to feel joyful, and alive because I could recognize it and because I have a hope that is not rooted in the things the world says will bring happiness. Opening my hands and trusting God doesn't mean that He is going to grant my wishes or that I will be spared from more pain. But it means that until I can let go of my fear and hurt I can't be open to receive whatever good things He has for me - even when it doesn't look good. I am so grateful that God has taken me off the nice, neat, normal path where I don't experience my need for Him and I got everything I ever wanted - I would be an entirely different woman. This story, the one I never would have written myself, it has led me to my Great Inheritance, the one that cannot be destroyed and where hope is anchored so deeply that it can always be found.
I didn't think this place existed, I had no clue how to get here and I certainly couldn't imagine living in a place that felt full, joyful, and abundant. God's grace is deep and his promises are true, we can give God the glory and it can still hurt. But when I look back, I don't see the tragedy that I expected, in fact, it looks pretty damn beautiful. He has brought so much restoration, piece by piece transforming me into something whole again. Thanks be to God - I know He's still working.
1) There is no healing in pretending, there are no short cuts to grief. It doesn't unfold like a neat 5 point pathway that you naturally progress down and then you reach the end and it is finished. It is like a violent and unpredictable ocean that you can fight against or learn to lean into so that you can find the surface again. God doesn't take the pain away just because we ask him to. I didn't experience perfect peace just because I wanted it. It wasn't until I allowed myself to feel each moment authentically and process those feelings and thoughts taking them to the feet of Jesus and just telling Him whatever my truth was in that moment, that I began to feel the weight of grief lessen. When I experienced those moments with Jesus, I discovered that He had feelings too and was not simply observing my pain from a distance, but actively experiencing it with me. I so desperately needed to know that my Father hurts too and suffers alongside us. Pretending the pain away by quoting scripture at it or chasing after the multitude of platitudes that inevitably follow a disaster didn't do anything to heal the deepest brokenness of my soul. Showing up in your pain matters, being authentic about your struggle matters and it was only when I decided to keep showing up and telling the truth of my heart that I began to experience hope again.
2) We can do hard things, but we don't have to do them alone. It is easier to hide our pain, to distract ourselves from experiencing it's weight, to smile because we think we're supposed to. It is uncomfortable to see someone in pain. Our human instinct is to heal it, to fix it, to make the pain stop. But, what if the only way to heal is to hurt deeply? I've learned in this journey that not everyone can walk next to you - and that's okay, you don't need an army. But you need a few trusted soldiers - who will go to war with you and will sit in the darkness with you for as long as it takes. By being open about my journey I have had the privilege to show up for others, to walk into their darkness, and to hold the hands of hurting women in need of hope. I am so grateful for that. God often brings deep healing in community, and I'm thankful for those who continued to show up, to listen, and to trust God's work in my life. What hurting people need most is for others to not be afraid of their pain or try to fix it, but to be embraced in the midst of it and to experience the validation of others who will hurt with you.
3) Fear only feels like the truth. To have some of my worst fears realized more than once made those fears feel much more real than the Truth of God. Fear is a normal human instinct, one that has enabled survival and can be adaptive for us to respond to. Fear is real and its visceral expression only solidifies the feeling that it is the truth. To deny it or try to stifle it seems a little delusional, because it tends to show up even when we don't acknowledge it - nightmares, anxiety, feeling out of control - all of these physical experiences are rooted in fear. For me, the only way to overcome the feelings of fear that I experienced when I thought about the future was to chose to trust God's heart. This was actually the most difficult part of my healing. I wrestled intensely with what it means to trust a Father who doesn't promise to prevent this and then doesn't rush in to fix it. I can't even pinpoint exactly what shifted for me, except that I quit trying so hard. I prayed and wrestled and begged God to repair the broken trust I felt between us, but He didn't - at least not right away. He gently reminded me that it is His job to repair the brokenness and to quit trying so hard - and I did. I continued moving forward in this journey, but chose to operate on an underlying belief that God is exactly who He says He is. I began to experience this hope that was coming alive in my heart that God was building something much more beautiful than the tiny dream I was holding onto for myself.
4) Brokenness is beautiful. When I finally quit clinging to the life that I felt was robbed from me, the dreams that seemed to shatter the moment I reached for them and started living in my present life - I realized that it was so beautiful. As I began to lean into this life, appreciating the moments with my children and experiencing joy again with the recognition that it was truly joyful - I realized that this is an abundant life and that I was living this life because of my brokenness. Without the darkness, the pain, the terrible suffering, you can't experience the power of hope. Who hopes for what he already has? Suffering has a way of bringing life into focus and it allowed me to feel joyful, and alive because I could recognize it and because I have a hope that is not rooted in the things the world says will bring happiness. Opening my hands and trusting God doesn't mean that He is going to grant my wishes or that I will be spared from more pain. But it means that until I can let go of my fear and hurt I can't be open to receive whatever good things He has for me - even when it doesn't look good. I am so grateful that God has taken me off the nice, neat, normal path where I don't experience my need for Him and I got everything I ever wanted - I would be an entirely different woman. This story, the one I never would have written myself, it has led me to my Great Inheritance, the one that cannot be destroyed and where hope is anchored so deeply that it can always be found.
I didn't think this place existed, I had no clue how to get here and I certainly couldn't imagine living in a place that felt full, joyful, and abundant. God's grace is deep and his promises are true, we can give God the glory and it can still hurt. But when I look back, I don't see the tragedy that I expected, in fact, it looks pretty damn beautiful. He has brought so much restoration, piece by piece transforming me into something whole again. Thanks be to God - I know He's still working.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Saying goodbye before hello
" To the bereavement of my soul. I humbled my soul with fasting and my prayer kept returning to my bosom. I went about as though it were my friend or brother; I bowed down mourning as one who sorrows for a mother." Psalm 35: 12-14.
I held my breath reading this a couple weeks ago. It reads like a dedication to grief, which admittedly seems a little strange - and yet, when you lose, grief is what you have left. To consider grief a friend or a brother - I can relate to that. It feels authentic and true when your heart is broken and you need something that won't betray you - grief will show up with you. The end of those verses talks about sorrowing for a mother... It seems there is no greater grief than a mother mourning for her child or a child mourning a mother. God designed it such that mother and child are bonded from conception, intricately linked in a relationship that is beyond understanding.
There is so little left to show of Levi. So few of us got to see his face, hold his tiny frame, see his small white coffin. Those memories are treasured and haunting at the same time. There is nothing else to look forward to, nothing that will grow or change with him. All that physically remains of his life is contained in a silver box of ashes and a box they give you at the hospital when you don't get to come home with a baby. I will never forget the feeling of being wheeled from labor and delivery holding a box of pictures and the few items that touched him instead of a baby. This kind of loss, pregnancy loss, stillbirth, infant loss, infertility - it seems it is inheritently an invisible loss. It is saying goodbye before you get to say hello - which makes goodbye even harder somehow.
I know so many women have and will experience this invisible loss and while each experience is unique, what I wish others understood is that while I keep moving and living, this person I am missing exists as an invisible extension of myself. He is never far from my thoughts, his name forever written on my heart - you can speak his name - I long to hear it again. Knowing and loving Ethan and Levi in the time I was granted to be their mother... it has shattered my heart such that the pieces will never go back together the way it was before them. Yet, my heart keeps on beating in this new assemblage of parts. I find that rather than only seeing the missing pieces, it has somehow made my heart larger. It certainly has some jagged edges, but the brokenness didn't destroy my heart, rather, it made it a vessel that can pour out more easily because of all the cracks.
The baby I hoped for and expected is not coming soon. He has come and left me too soon and although his life is invisible to the watching world - Levi Robert Priour will forever be celebrated in my heart and his memory alive in the way I remain "attached" to Jesus in hope and expectation. It is tempting to believe this is an ending - I can't see him anymore, so it is over. But, I know that with God as the Author, Levi's death is not the final word. I am committed to pressing in and holding on and showing up - each day - even when it feels impossible. I have continually experienced in these 'darks nights of the soul', that when I lift my eyes, dawn is just on the horizon. I don't need a fairy tale, or even a happy ending - although, sometimes I would really like that. What I really want is a story that matters. A story of courage and truth and redemption. Those are exactly the kinds of stories that Jesus loves to tell - that's how I know this one isn't over yet. I am learning that somehow, it is not about the outcome - it is not the happy ending that matters - it is about the encounter and the transformation and continuing to tell my truth.
I held my breath reading this a couple weeks ago. It reads like a dedication to grief, which admittedly seems a little strange - and yet, when you lose, grief is what you have left. To consider grief a friend or a brother - I can relate to that. It feels authentic and true when your heart is broken and you need something that won't betray you - grief will show up with you. The end of those verses talks about sorrowing for a mother... It seems there is no greater grief than a mother mourning for her child or a child mourning a mother. God designed it such that mother and child are bonded from conception, intricately linked in a relationship that is beyond understanding.
There is so little left to show of Levi. So few of us got to see his face, hold his tiny frame, see his small white coffin. Those memories are treasured and haunting at the same time. There is nothing else to look forward to, nothing that will grow or change with him. All that physically remains of his life is contained in a silver box of ashes and a box they give you at the hospital when you don't get to come home with a baby. I will never forget the feeling of being wheeled from labor and delivery holding a box of pictures and the few items that touched him instead of a baby. This kind of loss, pregnancy loss, stillbirth, infant loss, infertility - it seems it is inheritently an invisible loss. It is saying goodbye before you get to say hello - which makes goodbye even harder somehow.
I know so many women have and will experience this invisible loss and while each experience is unique, what I wish others understood is that while I keep moving and living, this person I am missing exists as an invisible extension of myself. He is never far from my thoughts, his name forever written on my heart - you can speak his name - I long to hear it again. Knowing and loving Ethan and Levi in the time I was granted to be their mother... it has shattered my heart such that the pieces will never go back together the way it was before them. Yet, my heart keeps on beating in this new assemblage of parts. I find that rather than only seeing the missing pieces, it has somehow made my heart larger. It certainly has some jagged edges, but the brokenness didn't destroy my heart, rather, it made it a vessel that can pour out more easily because of all the cracks.
The baby I hoped for and expected is not coming soon. He has come and left me too soon and although his life is invisible to the watching world - Levi Robert Priour will forever be celebrated in my heart and his memory alive in the way I remain "attached" to Jesus in hope and expectation. It is tempting to believe this is an ending - I can't see him anymore, so it is over. But, I know that with God as the Author, Levi's death is not the final word. I am committed to pressing in and holding on and showing up - each day - even when it feels impossible. I have continually experienced in these 'darks nights of the soul', that when I lift my eyes, dawn is just on the horizon. I don't need a fairy tale, or even a happy ending - although, sometimes I would really like that. What I really want is a story that matters. A story of courage and truth and redemption. Those are exactly the kinds of stories that Jesus loves to tell - that's how I know this one isn't over yet. I am learning that somehow, it is not about the outcome - it is not the happy ending that matters - it is about the encounter and the transformation and continuing to tell my truth.
Tuesday, December 20, 2016
Courage
The imparting of courage is something I have thought carefully about as a parent, as a clinician, as a follower of Jesus. Encouragement is simply not what I thought it was. I assumed it was being nice, giving compliments, giving an 'atta boy' or acknowledging another person's effort. Those things make you feel good momentarily, but they don't do anything to the well of doubt or fear that exists in each of us. I am learning again that I am in the middle of encouragement. God is taking my brokenness, pain, anger, and it is giving me courage.
The human condition guarantees that we will encounter disappointment and at some point we will most likely endure some type of disappointment that cuts us so deeply we will feel as one who should never hope in anything again - lest we have to endure this type of pain again. It is in those places, the places without answers, the places without a clear path, the places without a promise of security that we need real courage; a pat on the back or a 'go get em' is just not going to cut it. As I have wrestled with God - and this is still an active process - I am finding that He does not rush in and make everything okay, but instead allows struggle and patiently joins me as I cry out to Him. Somehow, I am finding that the struggle makes me stronger, more whole, more joyful... I can't explain that. It isn't that I have experienced a supernatural peace or am at a place where I really accept my circumstances - I am not there yet - but, the struggle is making me stronger and I know that is building my faith.
When I look at the heroes of faith in the Bible, they all struggled intensely with personal circumstances that produced some kind of doubt and struggle where they had to choose to hold on to God and trust Him anyway or give up. They are heroes because they all chose to hold on and in that choice God gave them the courage to follow him, even when they couldn't see the promise, and most of them didn't - they endured years of waiting for a promise they didn't get to see. I feel like I am in that place where my choice has already been made and now I wait. Faith is the evidence of things unseen, not the 5 year plan of your life falling perfectly into place. It requires courage to keep hoping when what you see in front of you feels like broken promises and failure. I am still figuring out what it means to trust God when that trust is not tied to my circumstances or getting the outcome that I want. But I know that He is still exactly who He has promised to be.
I could not have believed God any more that Levi would live. I really trusted God with his life. I know many others who have believed God for miracles that weren't granted the way they believed it would be. But I am not afraid of facing this pain or asking these questions without answers. God gives courage and counsel and I know it, because I have been here before. I have walked in the valley of the shadow of death and He has been there, so I know that when our greatest fears become the reality we are living - we can take courage and not be afraid. It takes a deeper well to love one another and that is what Levi's life is producing in my heart - a well that is deeper, braver, and hopefully, more able to give life to others. I am beginning to understand what James was talking about when he said "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James1:2-3. There is a freedom and fearlessness that comes from pain and trial. It isn't 'fake it till you make it' and it isn't 'put on a happy face', it is the imparting of courage that comes from the Lord. I can be absolutely grateful for that, because it certainly didn't come from me.
Maybe you are facing a trial today, or you are in a place of waiting on a promise that you cannot see. There is enough grace for today, to face whatever it is, to love without fear, to give ourselves away... and the courage is coming. Whatever courage is needed to approach this challenge and not be overcome - it is coming. Take heart today, your God has overcome the world.
The human condition guarantees that we will encounter disappointment and at some point we will most likely endure some type of disappointment that cuts us so deeply we will feel as one who should never hope in anything again - lest we have to endure this type of pain again. It is in those places, the places without answers, the places without a clear path, the places without a promise of security that we need real courage; a pat on the back or a 'go get em' is just not going to cut it. As I have wrestled with God - and this is still an active process - I am finding that He does not rush in and make everything okay, but instead allows struggle and patiently joins me as I cry out to Him. Somehow, I am finding that the struggle makes me stronger, more whole, more joyful... I can't explain that. It isn't that I have experienced a supernatural peace or am at a place where I really accept my circumstances - I am not there yet - but, the struggle is making me stronger and I know that is building my faith.
When I look at the heroes of faith in the Bible, they all struggled intensely with personal circumstances that produced some kind of doubt and struggle where they had to choose to hold on to God and trust Him anyway or give up. They are heroes because they all chose to hold on and in that choice God gave them the courage to follow him, even when they couldn't see the promise, and most of them didn't - they endured years of waiting for a promise they didn't get to see. I feel like I am in that place where my choice has already been made and now I wait. Faith is the evidence of things unseen, not the 5 year plan of your life falling perfectly into place. It requires courage to keep hoping when what you see in front of you feels like broken promises and failure. I am still figuring out what it means to trust God when that trust is not tied to my circumstances or getting the outcome that I want. But I know that He is still exactly who He has promised to be.
I could not have believed God any more that Levi would live. I really trusted God with his life. I know many others who have believed God for miracles that weren't granted the way they believed it would be. But I am not afraid of facing this pain or asking these questions without answers. God gives courage and counsel and I know it, because I have been here before. I have walked in the valley of the shadow of death and He has been there, so I know that when our greatest fears become the reality we are living - we can take courage and not be afraid. It takes a deeper well to love one another and that is what Levi's life is producing in my heart - a well that is deeper, braver, and hopefully, more able to give life to others. I am beginning to understand what James was talking about when he said "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James1:2-3. There is a freedom and fearlessness that comes from pain and trial. It isn't 'fake it till you make it' and it isn't 'put on a happy face', it is the imparting of courage that comes from the Lord. I can be absolutely grateful for that, because it certainly didn't come from me.
Maybe you are facing a trial today, or you are in a place of waiting on a promise that you cannot see. There is enough grace for today, to face whatever it is, to love without fear, to give ourselves away... and the courage is coming. Whatever courage is needed to approach this challenge and not be overcome - it is coming. Take heart today, your God has overcome the world.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Something out of me
This song came on the other day and captured where my heart is at this moment. These are the lyrics:
"Something Out Of Me" by: Nichole Nordeman
"Something Out Of Me" by: Nichole Nordeman
Just You and me on a hillside
And 4,999
If You could see on the inside
What I brought, what I need, how I’m caught in between
You lifted bread to the blue sky
They said they watched it just multiply
But in the back of a long line
Oh, I want to believe there’s enough left for me
Cause by now it really shoulda been long gone
And somehow it keeps going on and on
On and on an on ‘cause
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
It’s not the story that moves me
It’s not that I don’t believe You could
It’s just my heart is so hungry
Is there enough to fill me up
Or will You run out of love
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
Something out of me
By now Your love could have been long gone
But somehow it keeps going on and on
And...
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
Something out of me
And 4,999
If You could see on the inside
What I brought, what I need, how I’m caught in between
You lifted bread to the blue sky
They said they watched it just multiply
But in the back of a long line
Oh, I want to believe there’s enough left for me
Cause by now it really shoulda been long gone
And somehow it keeps going on and on
On and on an on ‘cause
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
It’s not the story that moves me
It’s not that I don’t believe You could
It’s just my heart is so hungry
Is there enough to fill me up
Or will You run out of love
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
Something out of me
By now Your love could have been long gone
But somehow it keeps going on and on
And...
You take all kinds of nothing
Turn it right in to something
I see impossible, but You see a basket full of
A little bit of this sounds crazy
A little bit of just maybe
You take every doubt and
You make something out of me
Something out of me
I have struggled with feeling like there is not enough, or that maybe there is just enough, but not any more than that. Like God's blessing may have run out in my life and now there will be crumbs or morsels here and there, but the abundance is over. I love this story in song about when Jesus fed 5,000 on the hillside. I can imagine what it must have felt like to be there - you are hungry and thirsty and eager to get your share. Sure, this Jesus guy seems legit - but can he give me what I need right now, will there be enough for me? I bet there were some on that hillside that felt a similar desperation to what I feel now - the grasping, the striving, the feeling that time is running out and you aren't going to get your share. Not only did everyone get what they needed, but there were LEFT OVERS! Jesus didn't just give enough- he could have done that. Produced exactly what would be consumed, but He didn't; He gave more and gave abundantly. I think our culture especially, perpetuates this lie of scarcity. That there will not be enough, so you must get there first and get the most. It isn't that way with Jesus - He doesn't run out and the well never runs dry. There will be enough, it may not always feel like abundance or provide the feeling of fullness that I expected, but it will be enough.... And then the next day there will be more and it will be enough.
I am learning to take a deep breath, shake off the lies of the enemy about scarcity and really look at what is in front of me. When I can really look, and see with eyes that are ready to see - I see the goodness of God all around me and my family. I would argue that it could be better - but, I am not God and I cannot see what He sees. All I can do is choose to see goodness in what is in front of me and some days that will be easier than others. I am also learning that in those moments of truly seeing, I am able to experience some measure of joy. I have felt joy and happiness again and been grateful for those moments. Someone wise told me recently - that those moments of joy, those are the most that we get. We need to be able to see, experience and appreciate that moment of joy because it will end, but there will be another one nearby. I think we put so much emphasis on happiness and even in Christian circles, this experience of joy that we assume everyone is walking around feeling joyful or happy most of the time. I know I have felt this pressure to manufacture some of kind of joy because the Bible is always talking about rejoicing and so walking with Jesus must mean that I should feel like that. But, the truth is, if you really look at the people who followed Jesus in the Bible - they suffered - a lot - and called it suffering. Maybe that is why they were always talking about joy because when life is hard and circumstances bleak, we need to be intentional not about creating joy, but recognizing the things around us that still produce joy in our hearts. I have learned that when your heart is full of sorrow, there is still room for joy - and you actually recognize it and feel it in a way that you can't when your heart is not broken. I don't have any more answers this week than I did last week, but I am believing, like with true belief, that God is making something out of me that wasn't there before the life of Levi. I want to be a woman who pours out abundance to others because of the abundance I have received. I want to believe that I don't have to cling so tightly to what is 'mine' because I know that there is more than enough for everyone.
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Unanswerable Questions
As the shock dissipates and the reality comes rolling in like a giant wave of destruction that one could never outrun - I am overcome. By pain, by disappointment, by a cacophony of questions that seem to pour out of my heart and are received only as an echo in the darkness. There is no answer that comes, no response, just their echo that seems to go on forever.
The spiritual struggle that is at war within me right now is more intense than any struggle I have faced with the Lord before. I think in the past it felt like I was a disappointed child. I wanted something and my Father said 'no' and I wailed and wrestled against him and it was a real struggle. But ultimately, I trusted my Father, I trusted His care for me, the goodness of His heart and I submitted. I finally relaxed into him and quit fighting and I felt better, I was able to accept whatever it was that He would give me, even if it wasn't what I wanted. Now, this place is deeper and darker. It feels like the distrust and betrayal of a child who has had her Father promise he will come and then he continues to not show up when he said he would. The sadness, rejection, betrayl and hurt are real barriers to being able to trust that father again. I don't mean to imply that this is a crisis of faith for me in the sense that I may choose distrust and walk away from my Father because I did not get what I wanted. I just mean that this crisis of struggling with, who is the Good Father when things unfold in a way that does not feel like it could possibly be the most good, the most kind or the most loving - it is real. I will not pretend like I understand this or like the answers don't matter. I believe that walking through this valley with honesty and earnestness is part of the spiritual journey.
The truth is that in the depths of my despair, I am not experiencing this supernatural protection or comfort from Jesus that makes it feel better. In some ways, God feels far off and I don't think that is an accident. When I look at the scriptures, it seems that there are definite times when God hangs back and does not rush in with the answers to make everything better right away. "Truly you are a God who hides himself." Isaiah 45:15, "As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. " Ecclesiastes 11:5. The Psalms are full of David crying out to the Lord asking "How long will you forget me?" And "Will you reject me forever?" Even Jesus uttered similar words as he hung on the cross. I think the place I am in is not unique - I think it is exactly the place where God builds faith - the place where it looks like a wasteland and hope is nowhere to be seen, not even on the horizon.
I am learning that it is not the suffering, the loss or the pain that threatens to destroy my heart. People have a remarkable capacity to endure hardship and suffering when it makes sense. Men and women choose to die for the sake of their country, to protect their children, to be martyred for their faith. It is the confusion, the circumstances that cannot be explained that threaten to crush the spirit most acutely. I can understand suffering as a result of my own sin or even the sin of someone else that impacts me... But when you did nothing and you had nothing to do with or no control over what happened; those are the situations that shake our foundations so deeply we cannot simply get back up and move on. As I have been reading the book of Job, I have been struck by what appears to be the source of Job's most intense frustration. It is not the suffering that God has allowed to be inflicted upon him, it is his inability to find God in the midst of it. Job says, "Oh that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come to His seat! I would present my case before Him and fill my mouth with arguments... When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him; He turns on the right, I cannot see Him. But He knows the way I take; when He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:3-4, 9-10. Over and over Job laments that God feels far off and talks of how he longs to be able to communicate with God about this disaster. I feel this way right now. I want God to rush in and make this better, help me understand what He is doing, affirm that He sees and cares. It isn't that I don't believe the things that I know to be true about God. It is this seemingly incompatible place of my knowledge and beliefs about him and my actual reality. I have to believe that it is in this place of incompatibility, this place of impossible questions that real, enduring faith is born. As Dr. Dobson puts it in his book, When God Doesn't Make Sense, "What is faith? It is 'the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen' (Hebrews 11:1). This determination to believe when the proof is not provided and when the questions are not answered is central to our relationship with the Lord."
I know my questions are mostly unanswerable, but that doesn't stop them from pouring out of my broken heart. And that's okay - it is okay to struggle and not be able to accept a simple - God is good all the time. It doesn't mean it isn't true, but my heart needs to get there and for me that takes time and learning what it means to trust God when your dreams fall apart. I would rather have that kind of faith - the kind that can withstand unanswered questions and dead children- than the kind that says the right words but doesn't believe them.
The spiritual struggle that is at war within me right now is more intense than any struggle I have faced with the Lord before. I think in the past it felt like I was a disappointed child. I wanted something and my Father said 'no' and I wailed and wrestled against him and it was a real struggle. But ultimately, I trusted my Father, I trusted His care for me, the goodness of His heart and I submitted. I finally relaxed into him and quit fighting and I felt better, I was able to accept whatever it was that He would give me, even if it wasn't what I wanted. Now, this place is deeper and darker. It feels like the distrust and betrayal of a child who has had her Father promise he will come and then he continues to not show up when he said he would. The sadness, rejection, betrayl and hurt are real barriers to being able to trust that father again. I don't mean to imply that this is a crisis of faith for me in the sense that I may choose distrust and walk away from my Father because I did not get what I wanted. I just mean that this crisis of struggling with, who is the Good Father when things unfold in a way that does not feel like it could possibly be the most good, the most kind or the most loving - it is real. I will not pretend like I understand this or like the answers don't matter. I believe that walking through this valley with honesty and earnestness is part of the spiritual journey.
The truth is that in the depths of my despair, I am not experiencing this supernatural protection or comfort from Jesus that makes it feel better. In some ways, God feels far off and I don't think that is an accident. When I look at the scriptures, it seems that there are definite times when God hangs back and does not rush in with the answers to make everything better right away. "Truly you are a God who hides himself." Isaiah 45:15, "As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother's womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. " Ecclesiastes 11:5. The Psalms are full of David crying out to the Lord asking "How long will you forget me?" And "Will you reject me forever?" Even Jesus uttered similar words as he hung on the cross. I think the place I am in is not unique - I think it is exactly the place where God builds faith - the place where it looks like a wasteland and hope is nowhere to be seen, not even on the horizon.
I am learning that it is not the suffering, the loss or the pain that threatens to destroy my heart. People have a remarkable capacity to endure hardship and suffering when it makes sense. Men and women choose to die for the sake of their country, to protect their children, to be martyred for their faith. It is the confusion, the circumstances that cannot be explained that threaten to crush the spirit most acutely. I can understand suffering as a result of my own sin or even the sin of someone else that impacts me... But when you did nothing and you had nothing to do with or no control over what happened; those are the situations that shake our foundations so deeply we cannot simply get back up and move on. As I have been reading the book of Job, I have been struck by what appears to be the source of Job's most intense frustration. It is not the suffering that God has allowed to be inflicted upon him, it is his inability to find God in the midst of it. Job says, "Oh that I knew where I might find Him, that I might come to His seat! I would present my case before Him and fill my mouth with arguments... When He acts on the left, I cannot behold Him; He turns on the right, I cannot see Him. But He knows the way I take; when He has tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:3-4, 9-10. Over and over Job laments that God feels far off and talks of how he longs to be able to communicate with God about this disaster. I feel this way right now. I want God to rush in and make this better, help me understand what He is doing, affirm that He sees and cares. It isn't that I don't believe the things that I know to be true about God. It is this seemingly incompatible place of my knowledge and beliefs about him and my actual reality. I have to believe that it is in this place of incompatibility, this place of impossible questions that real, enduring faith is born. As Dr. Dobson puts it in his book, When God Doesn't Make Sense, "What is faith? It is 'the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen' (Hebrews 11:1). This determination to believe when the proof is not provided and when the questions are not answered is central to our relationship with the Lord."
I know my questions are mostly unanswerable, but that doesn't stop them from pouring out of my broken heart. And that's okay - it is okay to struggle and not be able to accept a simple - God is good all the time. It doesn't mean it isn't true, but my heart needs to get there and for me that takes time and learning what it means to trust God when your dreams fall apart. I would rather have that kind of faith - the kind that can withstand unanswered questions and dead children- than the kind that says the right words but doesn't believe them.
Thursday, October 20, 2016
If I am honest
I write not just because it helps me process my pain, but because it makes me feel braver and less alone. I am learning to be honest with myself, to not rush towards the silver lining, to tell the truth - even when it is hard. I guess that is one side effect of suffering. You quit caring about all of the crap that doesn't matter, you only have room for what is important. When you are broken, when you are shattered into a million pieces, when the fire burns the fiercest and threatens to consume everything… this is where love is born. I don't want to be here, no one chooses the furnace, but when it chooses you - you will either be consumed or you will fight like one who overcomes hell and somehow light will pour out of all those broken pieces and create a radiance that is not your own.
I am not there yet, not to the place of the broken pieces coming together to form anything from which light can pour forth… but I have hope that the radiance exists, that there is still joy, still hope, still healing. I'm still in the midst of the disaster, the one that strikes and you know that sometimes good people get screwed for no reason. Sometimes you get something so awful that you never deserved. You cannot 'win' your way out of it by working harder or being better - sometimes life is really unfair. Having suffered similar losses before, I know what it is like to cling to Jesus like the life jacket He is and somehow find dry land again and after careful examination realize that you are 'okay.' You are not the same, you will never be the same, but you faced your greatest fear and survived. It was easier for me to see good, to see the ways that those experiences made me richer, deeper, more compassionate and present. It was easier to look back and see that God had made something good out of my pain.
Now…if I am honest - which I will be… I don't care. I don't care about all of the fruit that grows out of suffering. This coming from a person with a well developed theology of suffering. I'm just over it. I don't want to grow, it isn't enough to lose another child just to learn a lesson of some kind. I have to believe there is more, that God's redemptive purposes are greater than that. I am learning to be gentle with myself, to quit running away and striving so hard, to just accept that this is my heart right now. To acknowledge that while I know all of the true things about God, it is a million miles from my head to my heart at this moment… and that's okay. Hope will come, but it is a door that each person must open on their own - no one gets to do it for you.
I was praying today and just telling my Father about my deep hurt and disappointment. I had this vision of myself with my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces and I carefully gathered them and put them in this hard, protective shell and I cradled it carefully in my hands. Jesus put his hands around mine, He didn't say anything but I could feel him beckoning me to look at Him, to open my hands… but I couldn't, even when I tried, I couldn't see His face, I couldn't meet His eyes, I couldn't unwrap my hands. I was desperately holding onto what is left of my heart and feeling so fiercely protective of my hopes, my pain, my dreams… how can I open my hands and truly let go when I know that even if He holds it all, it doesn't mean that I will receive what I want?
That is where I am, this is the truth. I know that God won't leave me in this place, that He won't give stones when I ask for bread, but He can handle it. He can handle my heartbreak, my unbelief, my pain … whatever I bring Him - He can take it. I may not be ready to hand it over yet, but I know He's there, hands gently cupped around mine, waiting for me to be ready to let go.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
playlist
When I was in labor, I made a playlist that I don't like to look at now. I have been listening to a lot of music these days, mostly songs of truth that I need to wash over my soul. I have been revisiting this playlist recently - because it is made up of songs that give me courage, that remind me to be brave, to choose love. Here is some of that playlist, simply titled 'Hurt'.
Lord, I need You by: Matt Maher
Our God is in Control by: Stephen Curtis Chapman
Trust in You by: Lauren Daigle
Even Unto Death by: Audrey Assad
Lord, I need You by: Matt Maher
Our God is in Control by: Stephen Curtis Chapman
Trust in You by: Lauren Daigle
Even Unto Death by: Audrey Assad
Monday, October 17, 2016
Choices
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Somewhere along the way, approximately four years ago when
the journey to grow our family began, this blog quit being a place where I
would post family pictures, stories and updates and began serving as a window
into the pain that was ripping apart my soul.
I still rarely post about all the good things that are happening and
tend to come here mostly to unload the burden of my heart. I have learned in my suffering, that even if
no one else hears it, my pain needs a voice – it needs to flow forth from my
heart onto a page.
This time around I can’t seem to find my voice, and even
when I do find it, I can’t authentically speak the truth that my heart knows. I am grateful for the prayer warriors that I
know continue to speak truth over my life right now – sometimes we all need a
voice when we cannot trust our own.
Having walked this road before, I expected that I would have the road
map; I would know where we are going and have the tools to get there. I don’t.
It is strange to go back and read my words about grief and what it felt like at that time. Many of the same feelings are there and it does bring me some comfort to remember that I can do hard things and that God will ALWAYS meet me there, no matter how dark or how painful, darkness and light are the same to Him (Psalm 139:12). This loss was startling in so many ways. I will never understand how a strong heartbeat turns into no heartbeat in a matter of hours. Even as initial pathology reports return indicating nothing abnormal - there is nothing normal about losing three babies in less than four years. I want so badly to be able to point to something and say "It is this, this is what went wrong." Because if I can say that then maybe there is a way to fix this, some measure of preventative strategy to be taken. Even though there are more tests to be done, more doctors to see - I don't expect that we will find any medical explanation for why we are facing this reality.
I am realizing again that part of me has believed the lie that is so prominent in our culture. We can do anything, be anything, achieve anything. If we work hard enough, give enough, sacrifice enough, desire it enough, if we are good enough - we will earn it, we can do it. The truth doesn't look like that however; the truth is that we can do all the right things, make the right choices, work our hardest, and we can still fail to achieve the outcome we so deeply desire. As a 'fixer' by nature, that is maybe one of the hardest things for me to surrender - I cannot earn my way out of this or work hard enough to prevent this kind of pain from happening. It seems that at this juncture, I am left with few choices. I can't control the future of my family, but I sense that these next steps that I am taking are on holy ground and will shape the future of my family. I can choose to surrender to the bitterness of my soul, to let the injustice and agony define who I will become. I can choose to put on a brave face and stuff the pain away while I recite scripture about how God is good to us all the time. But neither of those responses honor the life or death of my Levi. That means the only choice I am left with is to choose to face the pain as it comes, to not run away, but feel its full intensity and stay present - to choose love. The song that keeps resounding in my heart in these moments is the hymn, 'O love that will not let me go.'
O Love that will not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.
This is the love that can heal and can fill the giant emptiness that I feel inside my soul. Somehow there is always enough, enough grace, enough strength, enough love, enough comfort. Levi deserves the best of me, all of my earthly and heavenly babies do. So I will keep showing up, I will keep bringing my pain and emptiness, and uttering the only words I can say right now, "Jesus, help." I don't want this story and everything in me wants to run away from here, but that is not love. Love holds on, it wrestles, it turns black and blue and breaks apart sometimes. But love always wins, it always beats the darkness, always overcomes the enemy, always fulfills its purpose - love never fails. I can choose today, as many times as needed, to believe there is hope and to love greater than my fear. To say like Job, "Though He slay me, I will hope in Him." Job 13:15
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Processing Pain
I have always been an external processor. I need things to come out of my heart and my mind in order to think and feel deeply about them. This past week has been the absolute worst of my life. It seems impossible and like I must be watching these events unfold in someone else's life - this can't possibly be my story. But it is. We will lay our sweet Levi to rest today and to think about it fills me with anguish that is indescribable. I have so many questions, ones that I know will likely remain unanswered until I am united with my babies and our Creator - I have a feeling that the answers won't matter so much at that point.
I have been spending a lot of time in the Psalms and in Job because God's word promises that it will not return void but will accomplish the purpose for which He sent it and I need something to be successful right now (Isaiah 55:11). Psalm 56 says "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You. In God, whose word I praise, in God I have put my trust; I shall not be afraid. What can mere man do to me? (vs 3-4). It goes on to say "You have taken account of my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book...This I know, that God is for me." (Psalm 56: 8-9). When I think about that, I think that my bottle must be overflowing, there can't possibly be room for more tears. I want it to be such that when your bottle has collected all the tears it can hold, you are safe - you can no longer experience great tragedy. But, I look at the world - at the suffering of those in Haiti, the refugee crisis, and the loss of those close to me and I know that this isn't the case. Learning to live with sorrow and with loss is part of our human experience because we are fallen and this is not Heaven.
I still feel somewhat frozen in this place. I am aware that there is a long road ahead that leads to healing; it is full of valleys, some deep, dark caves, impossible hills, and when I look at this road it seems like a journey that I could never survive. I can't stay here though, I know I must start walking and it will hurt like hell... there are no shortcuts to healing. As I read the book of Job, a man well acquainted with suffering I am struck by his responses. He is thought of as a holy man who did not sin and refused to curse God, even when God allowed Satan to afflict him. "Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity? In all of this Job did not sin with his lips. Job 2:10" When Job's friends came to visit him after his children had been killed and after he was stricken with illness, they did not recognize him. I wonder even without the physical ailments if he would be recognizable. I feel so unlike myself right now, a little hard to recognize, because that is what great pain does to you. Job did not sin and did not curse God, yet he carried tremendous pain that altered him to his core. I don't know what it looks like to worship in the midst of great pain. I feel like it should look like some kind of peaceful surrender and acceptance, but that is certainly not the state of my heart. Maybe my act of worship is just to show up, and keep showing up, being present with God in the midst of pain, questions, anger, confusion.
Job certainly wasn't afraid to express his pain. "For what I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet, and I am not at rest, but turmoil comes. Job 3:25-26" "Therefore, I will not restrain my mouth; I will speak the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. Job 7:11" I have learned through my journey of suffering that people will do just about anything to avoid suffering and to watch someone else suffer is painful. We want it to end, we want to make it better, we want everything to be okay. But, the truth is - it isn't okay and it will never be okay. If we are going to experience healing, we have to stop trying to escape pain and we have to be present by being true to the moment and experiencing our feelings as they come and not trying to escape. For me, that means a battle to stay present, to be wounded, but to stay present with the pain and trust that Jesus will meet me there. He is well acquainted with suffering and grief. Our Father knows what it is like to lose a child. So, I will be brave today and I am so grateful for those friends and family members who are choosing to be brave with me - to sit in the darkness with me, to be present in the pain and not try to make it better. Thank you all for your prayers and expressions of love for our family, we have felt Jesus carry us and it means so much that Levi's life and his death - they carry an eternal significance.
I have been spending a lot of time in the Psalms and in Job because God's word promises that it will not return void but will accomplish the purpose for which He sent it and I need something to be successful right now (Isaiah 55:11). Psalm 56 says "When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You. In God, whose word I praise, in God I have put my trust; I shall not be afraid. What can mere man do to me? (vs 3-4). It goes on to say "You have taken account of my wanderings; put my tears in Your bottle. Are they not in Your book...This I know, that God is for me." (Psalm 56: 8-9). When I think about that, I think that my bottle must be overflowing, there can't possibly be room for more tears. I want it to be such that when your bottle has collected all the tears it can hold, you are safe - you can no longer experience great tragedy. But, I look at the world - at the suffering of those in Haiti, the refugee crisis, and the loss of those close to me and I know that this isn't the case. Learning to live with sorrow and with loss is part of our human experience because we are fallen and this is not Heaven.
I still feel somewhat frozen in this place. I am aware that there is a long road ahead that leads to healing; it is full of valleys, some deep, dark caves, impossible hills, and when I look at this road it seems like a journey that I could never survive. I can't stay here though, I know I must start walking and it will hurt like hell... there are no shortcuts to healing. As I read the book of Job, a man well acquainted with suffering I am struck by his responses. He is thought of as a holy man who did not sin and refused to curse God, even when God allowed Satan to afflict him. "Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity? In all of this Job did not sin with his lips. Job 2:10" When Job's friends came to visit him after his children had been killed and after he was stricken with illness, they did not recognize him. I wonder even without the physical ailments if he would be recognizable. I feel so unlike myself right now, a little hard to recognize, because that is what great pain does to you. Job did not sin and did not curse God, yet he carried tremendous pain that altered him to his core. I don't know what it looks like to worship in the midst of great pain. I feel like it should look like some kind of peaceful surrender and acceptance, but that is certainly not the state of my heart. Maybe my act of worship is just to show up, and keep showing up, being present with God in the midst of pain, questions, anger, confusion.
Job certainly wasn't afraid to express his pain. "For what I fear comes upon me, and what I dread befalls me. I am not at ease, nor am I quiet, and I am not at rest, but turmoil comes. Job 3:25-26" "Therefore, I will not restrain my mouth; I will speak the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. Job 7:11" I have learned through my journey of suffering that people will do just about anything to avoid suffering and to watch someone else suffer is painful. We want it to end, we want to make it better, we want everything to be okay. But, the truth is - it isn't okay and it will never be okay. If we are going to experience healing, we have to stop trying to escape pain and we have to be present by being true to the moment and experiencing our feelings as they come and not trying to escape. For me, that means a battle to stay present, to be wounded, but to stay present with the pain and trust that Jesus will meet me there. He is well acquainted with suffering and grief. Our Father knows what it is like to lose a child. So, I will be brave today and I am so grateful for those friends and family members who are choosing to be brave with me - to sit in the darkness with me, to be present in the pain and not try to make it better. Thank you all for your prayers and expressions of love for our family, we have felt Jesus carry us and it means so much that Levi's life and his death - they carry an eternal significance.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Verse 5
My first verse for March is one that I have loved for a long time. It is from the book of 1 Samuel. I love the story of Samuel. From the once baren Hannah pleading to the Lord for a child, to dedicating that child to the Lord as she promised - Samuel was born out of a faithful holding onto the Lord and he continued to live his life in that same steadfast manner until his death. Before he died, Samuel addressed the people and summed up his message with these words:
"Only fear the Lord and serve Him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you." 1 Samuel 12:24 (English Standard Version)
I love that He points out that our only fear should be the Lord - there are many earthly things that can cause us to be fearful, but the only thing worth fearing in the end is the Lord - not man. He also makes it clear that a life well spent will be spent serving the Lord faithfully, not out of duty or obligation, but with your whole heart. To sum all of it up, Samuel points to gratitude - an attitude of remembering the greatness of God and all He has done in our lives. This one verse sums up so many truths that I want to write deeply on my heart.
"Only fear the Lord and serve Him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you." 1 Samuel 12:24 (English Standard Version)
I love that He points out that our only fear should be the Lord - there are many earthly things that can cause us to be fearful, but the only thing worth fearing in the end is the Lord - not man. He also makes it clear that a life well spent will be spent serving the Lord faithfully, not out of duty or obligation, but with your whole heart. To sum all of it up, Samuel points to gratitude - an attitude of remembering the greatness of God and all He has done in our lives. This one verse sums up so many truths that I want to write deeply on my heart.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Verse 3 and 4
Well, that didn't take long to get behind... such is life, I guess! I will be posting the two verses I selected for February - even if it is a litle late.
The first passage is from James. I was having a particularly frustrating day in parenting, when I realized that I hadn't been praying (duh!) and was directed to the Word. As I was praying and reading the book of James, not only did I feel peace that had been eluding me, but I also felt assurance that these trials of parenting are producing for me a harvest of righteousness that I have the opportunity to impart to my children. Ironically, or maybe that is just how God intended it...my complete exhaustion and inability to 'fix it', leads me to the the lap of Jesus. There I find the strength I need and the comfort I need to in turn give to my children the patience and grace that they need.
From the English Standard Version:
" Know this, my beloved brothers, let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger. For the anger of man does not produce the righteousness that God requires." James 1:19-20
I pray that this is true of me not only in parenting, but in all of my relationships. I want to be the one who hears others, which requires patience and intent to listen. I also want to have a temper that in line with the spirit. I don't want to yell, speak harshly, or be rude to others simply because I am not in a good mood or things did not go my way - those behaviors do not produce the 'righteousness that God requires.'
The second verse I selected is from Psalm 91. I taught a lesson about God's protection from this passage to my girls in Sunday School and I loved the imagery from one of the verses.
" He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection." Psalm 91:4 New Living Translation (NLT)
I love this picture of God covering me with his mighty wings as I arm myself with promises of his faithfulness. That is truly God's protection. It is not the absence of danger or risk, it is not the removal of pain or suffering, it is not the promise that those things will not come... it is the promise, the assurance, that when it does come - He will be there and even in the midst of it, His feathers will cover me and his faithfulness will remain. So often we focus our prayers on the prevention of pain or illness or the alleviation of existing pain or suffering, when God's protection does not exempt us from these realities, but offers us hope and peace in the midst of them. It is the assurance that He will be enough.
The first passage is from James. I was having a particularly frustrating day in parenting, when I realized that I hadn't been praying (duh!) and was directed to the Word. As I was praying and reading the book of James, not only did I feel peace that had been eluding me, but I also felt assurance that these trials of parenting are producing for me a harvest of righteousness that I have the opportunity to impart to my children. Ironically, or maybe that is just how God intended it...my complete exhaustion and inability to 'fix it', leads me to the the lap of Jesus. There I find the strength I need and the comfort I need to in turn give to my children the patience and grace that they need.
From the English Standard Version:
" Know this, my beloved brothers, let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger. For the anger of man does not produce the righteousness that God requires." James 1:19-20
I pray that this is true of me not only in parenting, but in all of my relationships. I want to be the one who hears others, which requires patience and intent to listen. I also want to have a temper that in line with the spirit. I don't want to yell, speak harshly, or be rude to others simply because I am not in a good mood or things did not go my way - those behaviors do not produce the 'righteousness that God requires.'
The second verse I selected is from Psalm 91. I taught a lesson about God's protection from this passage to my girls in Sunday School and I loved the imagery from one of the verses.
" He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection." Psalm 91:4 New Living Translation (NLT)
I love this picture of God covering me with his mighty wings as I arm myself with promises of his faithfulness. That is truly God's protection. It is not the absence of danger or risk, it is not the removal of pain or suffering, it is not the promise that those things will not come... it is the promise, the assurance, that when it does come - He will be there and even in the midst of it, His feathers will cover me and his faithfulness will remain. So often we focus our prayers on the prevention of pain or illness or the alleviation of existing pain or suffering, when God's protection does not exempt us from these realities, but offers us hope and peace in the midst of them. It is the assurance that He will be enough.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Verse 2
Time for Verse 2 of the scripture memory challenge. The goal is to memorize two verses per month so at the end of 2015 we will have memorized 24 verses. I came across this verse during some reading last week and knew it was one I needed written on my heart.
" O God, You are my God; I shall seek you earnestly, my soul thirsts for you, my flesh yearns for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water." Psalm 63:1 - English Standard Version
This verse is vital to true soul satisfaction. I have found/created 'God substitutes' at various points in my life, not intentionally, just through exaulting and relying on my husband, friends, or family to make me happy, to understand me, to support me. None of those things are inherently bad, but when I quit looking to God to meet my needs and instead placed that burden on other people, I found that ultimately, each one left me disappointed, hurt and frustrated. Why? Because they could never love me enough, understand me enough, encourage/support me enough - I always felt some twinge of human disappointment.
Was this their failure or lack of caring? No, it is a reflection of the deep desire in our souls, created by the Creator, to be fully known and fully loved... and yet, we are surrounded by imperfect beings that are not capable of that kind of perfection. I am not capable of perfect love - I can be short tempered, forgetful, self-centered, busy. But, there is One who loves perfectly, who will never disappoint, never turn away, who knows and understands us more fundamentally than we know ourselves; that is our Heavenly Father and none was meant to ever replace Him.
So, this is my reminder to press into the one who satisfies fully and not place that burden on other relationships that were not intended to fill me up. This is where we find fulfillment and lasting satisfaction. It also frees us up to appreciate and enjoy our human relationships with friends and family without unrealistic expectations that they will meet our every need and make us happy all the time, because that is just not reality. When I'm feeling disatisfied, disconnected, or easily frustrated with others, that is usually my cue that I'm looking in the wrong places and I need to quit trying to find water in the desert and instead go to the spring.
What verse is on your heart? Share your memory verse in the comments below!
" O God, You are my God; I shall seek you earnestly, my soul thirsts for you, my flesh yearns for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water." Psalm 63:1 - English Standard Version
This verse is vital to true soul satisfaction. I have found/created 'God substitutes' at various points in my life, not intentionally, just through exaulting and relying on my husband, friends, or family to make me happy, to understand me, to support me. None of those things are inherently bad, but when I quit looking to God to meet my needs and instead placed that burden on other people, I found that ultimately, each one left me disappointed, hurt and frustrated. Why? Because they could never love me enough, understand me enough, encourage/support me enough - I always felt some twinge of human disappointment.
Was this their failure or lack of caring? No, it is a reflection of the deep desire in our souls, created by the Creator, to be fully known and fully loved... and yet, we are surrounded by imperfect beings that are not capable of that kind of perfection. I am not capable of perfect love - I can be short tempered, forgetful, self-centered, busy. But, there is One who loves perfectly, who will never disappoint, never turn away, who knows and understands us more fundamentally than we know ourselves; that is our Heavenly Father and none was meant to ever replace Him.
So, this is my reminder to press into the one who satisfies fully and not place that burden on other relationships that were not intended to fill me up. This is where we find fulfillment and lasting satisfaction. It also frees us up to appreciate and enjoy our human relationships with friends and family without unrealistic expectations that they will meet our every need and make us happy all the time, because that is just not reality. When I'm feeling disatisfied, disconnected, or easily frustrated with others, that is usually my cue that I'm looking in the wrong places and I need to quit trying to find water in the desert and instead go to the spring.
What verse is on your heart? Share your memory verse in the comments below!
Monday, January 5, 2015
Verse 1
This year I am participating in Beth Moore's Scripture Memory Challenge and inviting my favorite 7th and 8th graders to join me in memorizing two scripture passage each month. I am going to post on here at the beginning and middle of each month the verses I will be memorizing and why. Those joining me in the challenge are welcome to leave a comment sharing the verse you will be memorizing as well. You can choose the same verse or a different verse that is meaningful to you. Sharing with each other is not only a way to help hold each other accountable, but is also encouraging to see what Scripture is meaningful to our Sisters in Christ.
So, verse 1. It is actually 2 verses, but you can choose to just do the first one if you want to use this passage as well. I am using the English Standard Version, but feel free to use whatever version you have or like best.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (10) For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
I am also keeping a small journal where I m writing my verses down. I think something about physically writing out the scripture passages helps with the memorization. So, I encourage you girls to write down your verses and keep your journal with you to help with memorizing. FYI, I will be bringing journals to church next Sunday for each of you =)
So, why did I choose this passage? Well, I frequently need to be reminded that it is not my own ability or awesomeness that makes anything good happen, it is by the grace of God. Even more, no matter what I am facing, His grace is enough.... especially when I feel like I am at the end of myself and I can't do anything else... great! That is exactly where He will meet me if I will turn to Him, embrace my own weakness, and say 'Help!' I chose to include verse 10, because it talks specifically about embracing weakness and hardship - things our human nature rejects. I know from experience though that when facing hardship and calamity, fighting it makes it worse, embracing and allowing brokenness is where growth begins. Praying for my girls, that you will join me on this journey and we will get the privilege of encouraging one another and growing together! So, what verse are you choosing? Let me know in the comments!
So, verse 1. It is actually 2 verses, but you can choose to just do the first one if you want to use this passage as well. I am using the English Standard Version, but feel free to use whatever version you have or like best.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. (10) For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
I am also keeping a small journal where I m writing my verses down. I think something about physically writing out the scripture passages helps with the memorization. So, I encourage you girls to write down your verses and keep your journal with you to help with memorizing. FYI, I will be bringing journals to church next Sunday for each of you =)
So, why did I choose this passage? Well, I frequently need to be reminded that it is not my own ability or awesomeness that makes anything good happen, it is by the grace of God. Even more, no matter what I am facing, His grace is enough.... especially when I feel like I am at the end of myself and I can't do anything else... great! That is exactly where He will meet me if I will turn to Him, embrace my own weakness, and say 'Help!' I chose to include verse 10, because it talks specifically about embracing weakness and hardship - things our human nature rejects. I know from experience though that when facing hardship and calamity, fighting it makes it worse, embracing and allowing brokenness is where growth begins. Praying for my girls, that you will join me on this journey and we will get the privilege of encouraging one another and growing together! So, what verse are you choosing? Let me know in the comments!
New Year
Wow... it has been a while. 2014 was a significant year in our household. The year began in the wake of significant heartbreak following the loss of our sweet Ethan. That loss really opened up something in my heart that freed me to quit trying to hold it together or work hard enough to earn God's favor. It was simultaneously painfully difficult and wonderfully freeing to come to a point of real brokenness, allow myself to feel hurt, anger, disappointment, and deep grief.
In His mercy, God did not leave me there. He showed himself to be ever-present and no matter how I came to Him - angry, defeated, hopeless - He did not withdraw His hand and continued pour out kindness. In the Spring, shortly before Jeff's birthday, we found out that we were pregnant again. I remember feeling immediately terrified and not very joyful. Through each doctor's appointment and ultrasound, God carried me, despite the terror and the uncertainty - He was faithful. I was consistently reminded that no matter what the outcome of this pregnancy was - I would be okay. That is a benefit to facing your worst fears and coming out on the other side ... there isn't anything to be afraid of anymore.
On November, 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM after just a few hours of labor, we welcomed our daughter, Lydia Grace Priour to the world. She is perfect. She has a ton of hair, a beautiful smile, a sweet and easy going nature. She is all we prayed for and hoped could be ours.
While this is certainly what we prayed for and we were overjoyed to bring our daughter home, it doesn't re-write our story. There is a Lydia because there is not an Ethan, there was an Ethan because there was not a baby conceived before him. There has been significant loss that will always be a part of our family. I couldn't have chosen this path and having a healthy baby right now does not erase the pain of the years prior. However, having been through that pain I learned things about myself and my family that I can't imagine we would have learned otherwise. I am certain now that God will be enough ... no matter what. When Lydia won't go to sleep, when she screams at me and I don't know why, when being Mommy is hard, it is much easier to choose gratefulness and patience. I am grateful for our family, and I am also grateful for the journey to this point - even the painful, terrible parts. It has shaped each of us - Jeff, Haydn, myself. I don't pretend to understand why for some the journey to grow a family is difficult and painful and for others it is seemingly effortless, but I do know that no matter what your story is - God wants to use it, if you will let Him. I am excited about 2015 and the new adventures God has in store for us. One day at a time, that is all we have been given and what is entrusted to us... one day. Live it fully, whether rejoicing, grieving, or waiting, God has a purpose for this day.
In His mercy, God did not leave me there. He showed himself to be ever-present and no matter how I came to Him - angry, defeated, hopeless - He did not withdraw His hand and continued pour out kindness. In the Spring, shortly before Jeff's birthday, we found out that we were pregnant again. I remember feeling immediately terrified and not very joyful. Through each doctor's appointment and ultrasound, God carried me, despite the terror and the uncertainty - He was faithful. I was consistently reminded that no matter what the outcome of this pregnancy was - I would be okay. That is a benefit to facing your worst fears and coming out on the other side ... there isn't anything to be afraid of anymore.
On November, 18, 2014 at 11:58 AM after just a few hours of labor, we welcomed our daughter, Lydia Grace Priour to the world. She is perfect. She has a ton of hair, a beautiful smile, a sweet and easy going nature. She is all we prayed for and hoped could be ours.
 | ||||||
| Our first meeting |
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Goodness
It has been a while - there is much to say, not all of which I'm ready to say here. I did want to take a few minutes though and talk about goodness. It has been a difficult two years, two years ago we began the journey to grow our family and never could have foreseen the grief and trauma we would experience in going through multiple miscarriages. This is not the story I would have written for my family - but I can say that it is still a love story, still a tale of passion, hope and goodness.
I remember very clearly feeling like I would never be able to look at these losses and call it "good", never be able to accept that this lot was God's goodness towards me. Just recently I've found myself realizing that all along I've been wading through the goodness - whether it was pain that ripped me open, despair that felt crushing, hope that began to bloom, or joy that came in the morning - it was all goodness.
Right now, life is good. But part of what makes it so good is that I can experience it as good, because I have walked down roads that did not feel good. I think a massive blessing that has come from all the grief is that my heart has been turned towards gratefulness and recognizing the million tiny mercies that sustain us each day. So, today I am grateful and life is good. It isn't the goodness of the moment right now that motivates my gratefulness. Even if darkness were to surround me once again, I know that there would still be goodness.
But, right now, while there is light and life feels good - I am grateful, I rejoice, I enjoy and drink deep the blessings of God. And tomorrow - if the darkness returns - I will do the same because God's goodness will not be removed.
"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose trust is in the Lord. For he will be like a tree planted by the water, that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes; But its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of drought nor cease to yield fruit. The heart is more deceitful than all else and desperately sick; who can understand it? I, the LORD, search the heart, I test the mind, even to give to each man according to his ways, according to the results of his deeds." Jeremiah 17: 7-10
I feel like I have lived this in a way that has unfolded my heart to become like the tree planted by the water. Goodness doesn't always feel good, but the heart is deceitful and feelings can lead us to grow cold towards the difficult Goodness of God. I'm grateful that in my pain, in my 'sickness' God guided my roots towards the water. I didn't make things 'good' - it has been the glorious and merciful work of God through difficult times. So, even when the heat comes, when the drought lingers, by His grace I will not be anxious or fearful because I know that there will still be fruit. That is Goodness.
I remember very clearly feeling like I would never be able to look at these losses and call it "good", never be able to accept that this lot was God's goodness towards me. Just recently I've found myself realizing that all along I've been wading through the goodness - whether it was pain that ripped me open, despair that felt crushing, hope that began to bloom, or joy that came in the morning - it was all goodness.
Right now, life is good. But part of what makes it so good is that I can experience it as good, because I have walked down roads that did not feel good. I think a massive blessing that has come from all the grief is that my heart has been turned towards gratefulness and recognizing the million tiny mercies that sustain us each day. So, today I am grateful and life is good. It isn't the goodness of the moment right now that motivates my gratefulness. Even if darkness were to surround me once again, I know that there would still be goodness.
But, right now, while there is light and life feels good - I am grateful, I rejoice, I enjoy and drink deep the blessings of God. And tomorrow - if the darkness returns - I will do the same because God's goodness will not be removed.
"Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord and whose trust is in the Lord. For he will be like a tree planted by the water, that extends its roots by a stream and will not fear when the heat comes; But its leaves will be green, and it will not be anxious in a year of drought nor cease to yield fruit. The heart is more deceitful than all else and desperately sick; who can understand it? I, the LORD, search the heart, I test the mind, even to give to each man according to his ways, according to the results of his deeds." Jeremiah 17: 7-10
I feel like I have lived this in a way that has unfolded my heart to become like the tree planted by the water. Goodness doesn't always feel good, but the heart is deceitful and feelings can lead us to grow cold towards the difficult Goodness of God. I'm grateful that in my pain, in my 'sickness' God guided my roots towards the water. I didn't make things 'good' - it has been the glorious and merciful work of God through difficult times. So, even when the heat comes, when the drought lingers, by His grace I will not be anxious or fearful because I know that there will still be fruit. That is Goodness.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Better
I am not okay. As much as I try to be, appear to be, sometimes want to be - I am not. I am still a person in pain, a broken vessel pouring out tears and shattered with grief. I don't want to feel that kind of pain, it hurts - like hell. I want to be a 'strong' person, someone that I imagine doesn't cry or fall apart after a bad day. But, that kind of person also seems rather unfeeling and cold.
I have felt 'better', have spoken about my peace, my hope, my joy and it is true, but I fear that I may have deceived myself, at least in part. Because the truth is, counting blessings, finding joy, being grateful is real and it matters, but so is the pain, the loss, the grief and it also matters. Four months have not erased it, counting blessings does not take it away.
No one really wants to see it, there is no nice place to put it where it can be admired, and there is no cure that will fix the terrible wrong. So, I carry on, I move forward, I live - and some days it is really good, really, truly good. And some days, it is bad...grief so close to the surface I can't understand how everyone else can ignore it.
In spite of peace that is real, there exists sorrow that is also real. As someone in the business of evaluating and caring for the mental health of others - I get it, we want others to feel better. But, I would argue that 'better' doesn't mean the wound heals, there is not a scar, and that on occassion it doesn't rip open fresh with pain.
Ethan has been gone now for almost as long as he was with me - but just because I didn't hold him doesn't mean I mourn him less. Maybe this IS 'better', that I have a bad day that feels bad and is called bad. Tomorrow is another day and by God's grace, good or bad, He will be enough. Maybe better is being brave enough to face the pain and feel it with each tear, rather than distract, escape, or disguise it. Maybe better isn't always better...
Could it be that being real with our hearts, whether in joy or pain, even when it hurts, is better than being 'okay' all the time? I don't have a desire to be just 'okay', I don't need for my life to be better, to feel better, but it seems too few are willing to tread onto that ground. To sit in the pain, not to fix, cure, brighten, or explain, but just to let it be okay that everything is not okay.
I have felt 'better', have spoken about my peace, my hope, my joy and it is true, but I fear that I may have deceived myself, at least in part. Because the truth is, counting blessings, finding joy, being grateful is real and it matters, but so is the pain, the loss, the grief and it also matters. Four months have not erased it, counting blessings does not take it away.
No one really wants to see it, there is no nice place to put it where it can be admired, and there is no cure that will fix the terrible wrong. So, I carry on, I move forward, I live - and some days it is really good, really, truly good. And some days, it is bad...grief so close to the surface I can't understand how everyone else can ignore it.
In spite of peace that is real, there exists sorrow that is also real. As someone in the business of evaluating and caring for the mental health of others - I get it, we want others to feel better. But, I would argue that 'better' doesn't mean the wound heals, there is not a scar, and that on occassion it doesn't rip open fresh with pain.
Ethan has been gone now for almost as long as he was with me - but just because I didn't hold him doesn't mean I mourn him less. Maybe this IS 'better', that I have a bad day that feels bad and is called bad. Tomorrow is another day and by God's grace, good or bad, He will be enough. Maybe better is being brave enough to face the pain and feel it with each tear, rather than distract, escape, or disguise it. Maybe better isn't always better...
Could it be that being real with our hearts, whether in joy or pain, even when it hurts, is better than being 'okay' all the time? I don't have a desire to be just 'okay', I don't need for my life to be better, to feel better, but it seems too few are willing to tread onto that ground. To sit in the pain, not to fix, cure, brighten, or explain, but just to let it be okay that everything is not okay.
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