Guarding the Gates

Today I am strong in the power of the Lord. Satan has repeatedly attacked me with memories of past sins and present shortcomings, both in my own mind and through the mouths of others, but today I shut him off. Like a faucet. I'd wrench off the knob if I could, but God will require that I press into Him and trust Him to overcome that idiot. God will provide the shield around my heart. Any voice that tells you that you are the sum of all of your sins, shortcomings and failures is NOT the voice of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit gently convicts. It is a conviction laced with HOPE, because it carries the promise that He will do the heavy lifting if you'll let him. Discouragement comes in when we begin to listen to what the Father of Lies (Satan), as the scripture specifically depicts him, is saying about ourselves and our situation. If you are in Christ, you are a new creature. The old has gone, the new has come, according to my Bible. I was recently reminded that I need to guard the gates of my heart. I am a news-junkie. I love all of the newsmagazines that feature dramatic who-dun-it crime stories. I have decided that, for me, those stories are now off-limits. They fill my mind with the things Satan is up to in people's lives. If I am bored, I will seek a life-affirming challenge to fulfill my wandering mind (with God's help). I want to overhaul the spiritual atmosphere in my home by playing praise music and speaking the Word over my life and my husband and children's lives. I'll tape scriptures up all over the house if I have to. God's plan for me is good. I will cling to that. I think it's interesting that I started this blog post with the sentence "I am weak in body and spirit today." As I typed on, my cursor went back to the beginning and the negative sentence disappeared. I got the message.

What Really Matters

Lately I have been reading the Caring Bridge posts of Cheryll Scruggs, mother of the beautiful model/blogger/online fashion magazine editor Lauren Scruggs who was hit by a private plane's propeller on December 3rd and gravely injured. Lauren lost her left hand and her left eye. The Scruggs family has been plunged into a time of deep intercession, keeping a prayerful vigil at Lauren's bedside as she struggles to recover. The result has been a moving story of faith against the odds and daily miracles as Lauren, who probably should not have survived, continues to amaze doctors with her progress. Cheryll recently made a plea to Caring Bridge readers that they not spend time focusing on what is not important. "It's not worth it," she writes. How true this is. There are certain sins that I am well familiar with in my own life. I know that I fail to control my temper. I know that I am not always careful with my language, a shocking admission for a Christian woman, but there it is (incidentally, this admission is accompanied by shame and an acknowledgement that I can do better if I will let God help me). I know that I frequently fail to do the very things I know the Lord wants me to do, when He wants me to do them. Lately, however, I have felt God calling me to analyze my life even further. I believe in healthy boundaries in relationships. Sometimes, though, I have carried that standard into the realm of selfishness, pettiness, and childishness. Love means not always having to be right. Love means giving up the notion that I will always be treated fairly. Love means always turning away from the idea of making other people feel the way they have made me feel. The Bible tells us to "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Nowhere in scripture does God endorse the idea of doing unto others as they have done unto you, or, as is often the case with people like me who reject before they can be rejected, doing unto others before they have a chance to do unto you. How does all of this rumination tie into Cheryll Scruggs' posts? Well, the notion of focusing on what really matters strips away a lot of the petty pride issues that lead to unrest, anger, and broken relationships. I would never want my last conversation with a loved one to center on some meaningless comment they made to me or how they have overlooked me in some small matter. How would I feel if my last conversation on earth with one of my children was an angry tirade about a math grade or a messy room? These are points to ponder. It's interesting that we cannot grow as Christians without feeling the Holy Spirit tap us on the shoulder and remind us that it's how we react in DIFFICULT situations with difficult people that determines how much we love God. The Bible makes it clear that if we do not love, we do not know Him.

Good Morning World!

Good morning, world. Today I take what the Father has given me and I submit it back to Him. I may be starting over a little late in life, but, then again, I may only be halfway through this life. Perhaps the rest of my life can be lived in front of my children in a state of total submission to Christ. Today I consciously take off the coat of Self. I lay it aside. I bow down before the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, bending under the shower of his mercies. I am so thankful for the opportunity to serve Him full-time! I ask Him to work today in my heart to transform me to His image. May all of my fulfillment come from Him alone. May my heart be so full of my love for Him and His for me that everything else that happens is gravy on the top! That's where real living begins. How blessed it is to know this...how much more so to live it every single day. Lord, I will see You in the sunrise. I will feel You in the beat of my heart. I will see You in the faces of the people whose lives I touch today with perhaps nothing more than a warm smile or a kind word in passing. I will love you with my life today.

The Unseen World

I have seen so many deer up close and personal here in Williamson County, Tennessee, one would think the sight would have lost its magic. It simply has not. The sight of the beautiful, graceful creatures is as appealing in an urban landscape, where it takes my breath away to see something so large, and yet so wild and gorgeous, tipping around in our man-made world full of exhaust fumes and Blackberry phones as it does to see them feeding in a cluster on a gently rolling Tennessee hillside. So it wasn't very odd for me to look up the exact hour that the sun should be setting last Sunday, pack up my camera, and ask my husband to go for a deer-appreciation tour (can't call it a "deer-sighting" tour, because that would imply that we might not see some, and I nearly ALWAYS do).A tiny bit past our subdivision, we turned onto Royal Oaks (the worst speed trap in town, but that is a story for another day), a short four-lane road lined with office complexes and turnoffs for two subdivisions. Just before the turnoff for Home Depot, three deer were feeding in the limited cover off to the right. My expedition was successful before it had even begun, yet God had much more in store for my road-weary heart. We headed off in the direction of Arno Road, sailed on through the countryside past Page Middle School, where my youngest child is a sixth-grade student. As we passed under 840, I had the feeling the tour was not over, though I would have been happy with what we had already seen. Sure enough, a mile or two down the road, I gasped out loud. To my right I saw eight deer grazing in a field. My husband noticed the ninth one, who was on the fringe. She was a snow white albino. We pulled into someone's long, winding driveway and I pointed my camera at her at a range that would have yielded an excellent photo. "No SD Card" was the message that popped up. I later discovered that the card was in there, just not fully engaged. My husband took some shaky, blurry video with our old-fashioned video camera. To say I drove home excited is an enormous understatement. According to sources I found on the internet, only one in every 30,000 whitetail deer are born albino. I went back Monday night at dusk and saw her again. I trespassed again, this time boldly driving halfway up another gravel drive, the owner looking at me from the back of his tractor as I popped out and took photos of the doe. She eyed me warily from her cover. My photos were terrible. My lens did not magnify enough and I did not hold the camera steady enough. Tuesday morning dawned in a gauzy, foggy haze. I knew I would see her again, and I did, in the same area. As I drove away from the albino doe, my heart overflowing with the wonders of nature, I hoped God was not finished showing me his hidden world. Coming down Lewisburg Pike in heavy, fast-moving traffic, I saw a large coyote in the big, open field behind Sullivan Farms, an 800-plus home development in Franklin. He was bouncing up and down on his prey, which was unseen. I swerved into the mouth of another subdivision opposite him and crossed the busy highway with my camera in one hand and my cell in the other, my sister on speaker hollering "What on earth?!?" I took his picture several times, his yellow eyes trained on me cautiously. After scurrying back across the highway, dodging on-coming cars from both directions, I got back into my car and headed into Sullivan Farms. The coyote headed up the hill toward the subdivision. He was on a small ridge just above the sidewalk at the front of the neighborhood and I got out again. We locked eyes again as I snapped his picture several times. He started to trot away from me. I drove into the first street he would come to and took his picture as he started to run across the street in front of me, toward a row of homes. I pulled out, hit the main neighborhood parkway and pulled into the next street. He looked at me again and took off behind a home and into a creek bed. In my 43 years of life, I have only seen a coyote up close two times. The only other time was about five years ago, in the same neighborhood. A large coyote ran across the street in front of my headlights. He, like the one I saw yesterday, was larger than I expected a coyote to be. I hear the local coyote packs howling at night, have heard them for years. But the sight of one in the daytime is a rare, special treasure for nature lovers like me. It was like, on three consecutive days, God opened a window into his beautiful, intricate, hidden natural world and let me look in. With the onset of winter, a season in which I usually suffer so terribly with depression, I may just have found my way of escape from the sadness that normally envelops me. There is another window that I plan to look through this winter. That is the window into the unseen world of the supernatural, which is opened only to those with a close connection to God through Jesus Christ. "Postcards from heaven," my term for events which I know are messages to me from God, are frequent occurrences when I am walking in repentance and open gratitude and humility. This will be my most effective defense against discouragement and despair this winter season.

Time to Confront My Old Nemesis: Old Man Winter

Some days are just hard to get through. I think you know what I mean. They are gray, emotionally. Certain hard realities hit you straight between the eyes...your children will grow up and leave, you're going to lose your parents one day, other things you cherish are slipping through your fingers like sand on a beautiful summer day. Today was like that for me. If I were not a Christian, I would call what I am feeling a "midlife crisis." But I know I will live forever. Winter is just a ferocious, hateful foe. I fight a bitter war with it every year. I hate the barren trees, the gray skies, the temperatures so frigid you don't want to open your door. I hate everything about winter, except snow days with my kids home. I love to make hot chocolate, fire up the gas logs, watch the school closings rolling in on the local news. I like knowing they'll be excited when they finally wake up and I tell them they can just go on back to sleep. I love the way my house looks with a blanket of snow on the roof and landscaping. Our neighborhood becomes magical to me, the homes, already so cozy-looking to me, each one entirely of brick and each a bit different from the next, take on a story-book quality under all of that silent white. I also love winter Sunday afternoons with my husband at home watching his westerns while I intermittently remark on the poor quality of the acting. It's fun. It's comforting. I  like coming home to a warm house after running errands and getting into and out of the car so many times I feel like a popsicle. It's nice to throw on sweatpants and curl up with a good book under a warm blanket. These little things are the bright spots in a bleak seasonal landscape. I keep telling myself I am going to find new things to do in the wintertime to stave off the horrible depression that always comes sailing in long about now. I get so tired of doing battle with it. There's got to be a way to build a little moat around my heart and keep that bloodsucker out. I will form a battle plan for this winter soon. It's just that it always seems to sneak up on me, lurking right out of sight behind Christmas, a wonderful time when I get to see everyone I love. Prayers welcomed!

We Need Him...and He Loves Us.

Yesterday I watched what amounted to a beautiful, moving video greeting card for Billy Graham on the occasion of his 93rd birthday. I happened to be channel surfing, and there it was. I have never really watched him speak, as I know he is an evangelist and I have been a Christian since the age of four. But there, interspersed between the birthday messages from actors, professional athletes and Graham family members, were snapshots of his commanding altar calls and messages from over the decades. In that arresting voice that has called millions to faith in Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit, Billy Graham said things that moved me to tears. One thing stands out, and I hope it will for the rest of whatever days I have left on this earth: (I am paraphrasing from memory) "I would like to go to my mountain house and live there and have a small church. But God has called me to be a warrior to five continents and that is what I will be until He gives the command to stop." Tears streaming down my face I sat on my couch and envied Billy Graham. I envied his devotion to Jesus Christ. I envied his complete commitment to obeying God's call. I watched, mystified and understanding all at the same time as grainy, black-and-white video portrayed the masses streaming to the alter. In another clip Brother Graham preached in a prison yard, heads turned up in anticipation, while others watched from barred windows. It struck me that all of humanity in its diversity and wilfullness, each one of the billions of us who have ever lived, has a God-shaped hole in our hearts and we yearn for Him. The message of grace and forgiveness is not only welcome in the prison yard, where sin led to physical imprisonment, but also in Manhattan and L.A. and Hollywood, where emotional prisons built by condemnation, guilt and feelings of unworthiness have isolated hungry souls from God. What Jesus did cannot ever be replicated. We need Him, and He loves us.

Waiting Quietly

"Let all that I am wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him...My victory and honor come from God alone...O my people, trust in him at all times. Pour out your heart to him, for God is our refuge." (Psalm 62: 5-8, NLT). Someone I love more than life itself assaulted me with some of my failures and shortcomings, as loved ones sometimes do in a few, short moments of anger. That quickly, I felt the life drain from me. I felt a hopelessness creep in that drowned my joy. I felt the weight of regret of lost opportunities and years-long failures in certain areas of my life. I felt, as David did in the Psalms, as if the cords of death were entangling me. Though my husband discounted some of what was said to me (the part I shared with him), I felt so heavy of heart. I crawled to my Bible. I knew that, though there are people who love me, God is my only hope, the only one who will never leave me, never forsake me, never cast me aside, never devalue me, NEVER HOLD MY PAST SINS AGAINST ME! Pretty quickly, I found comfort in the Psalms. It is wonderful to know that any time I come into the presence of God, he has found me valuable, he is loving me, he is honoring me, he is cherishing me. "You satisfy me more than the richest feast," David says of God in Psalm 63:5.  "The godly will rejoice in the Lord and find shelter in him," he says in Psalm 64:10. I believe that is an emotional as well as a physical shelter. "Because you are my helper, I sing for joy in the shadow of your wings. I cling to you; your strong right hand holds me securely," he observes in Psalm 63:7-8.  David found that being transparent with God kept everything right between them. "Come and listen, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what he did for me. For I cried out to him for help, praising him as I spoke. If I had not confessed the sin in my heart, the Lord would not have listened. But God did listen! He paid attention to my prayer. Praise God, who did not ignore my prayer or withdraw his unfailing love from me," he exults in Psalm 66:16-20. That's what I am counting on, both now and in the future, which stretches out before me, as uncertain as it is for every human being. I am BANKING on that unfailing love. I know that, if the whole world goes out, GOD will COME IN. He will bless, he will affirm my value, he will forgive my sins, he will restore the dinged up places in my heart, and, best of all, he will love me UNFAILINGLY. No human being will ever do all of those things. I am thankful that I will be rewarded for seeking God ("There truly is a reward for those who live for God; surely there is a God who judges justly here on earth." Psa. 58:11). He cares for EACH of us. I will continue to draw near to him. "His name is the Lord - rejoice in his presence! Father to the fatherless, defender of widows - this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy. But he makes the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land."( Psalm 68: 4-6) If I am in a sun-scorched place, I can know for sure that I can search my heart, submit to God, and he will lead me to a fruitful, well-watered place, hearing and answering my prayers.

No Risk, No REWARD!

In evaluating my life at 43, I find so many things about my current way of doing things to be totally lacking. For years loved ones have asked me to stop looking at life through an "all or nothing" lens. This is the reason I stopped writing. I couldn't get a Pulitzer Prize so I pursued nothing. Same thing with socializing. I hit a few dead stops, let the dining room get dusty and stopped shopping for serving dishes. Finally, I allowed my depression to rob me of just about everything. I became (for the first time ever) a homebody. For so many years, I would get out, even if I was carrying a toddler who got into everything, absolutely every day. At least once. Now, with my kids in school, I have gotten into the habit of staying at home all of the time. Time to make a change. My depression has a spiritual dimension, and is rooted, at least in part, to isolation caused by an aversion to rejection and failure (sometimes a failure that is only perceived) which leads to running into a safe place. No risk, no disaster. I need to re-write that line in my head to read "No risk, NO REWARD"!!! While on a coffee-sipping/deer sighting tour (saw three beautiful deer in an open field, all three of which summarily fled as soon as I parked and popped my lens cap) this morning, I thought again of how I will begin to live again, begin to take risks again. I hope I never forget all that Satan robbed me of in these last, oh, 10 years or so at home during which I became paralyzed by disappointment and fear. I am going to become a woman of prayer and faith again. I will choose to see problems as challenges, opportunities for God to show himself strong on my behalf while I watch in amazement, dazzled by his love and care. If my blog posts seem to be redundant lately, please bear with me. I have to chew on things before I pack my bags and roar out. It's just my way.

God is in the Details

This morning, I thought I would encourage someone who is facing cancer treatment. I believe in healing, and I am praying and believing for that person's total healing. I had ordered this person a CD of healing scriptures read by a San Antonio pastor. Accompanying this CD is a companion CD detailing the healing of a ten-year-old girl who was given only months to live after being diagnosed with a massive, inoperable brain tumor. I made the pivotal decision to listen to that testimony on my way to get breakfast. I hope that my life will be different going forward. I have been saying for a very long time that I have, over the last decade, given Satan so much ground in my life. I have let him steal so much from me personally and from my family. The thing that impressed me so much about the parents of the little girl who was healed was their dedication to knowing the Word of God, to meditating on it, and to believing it. The mother remarked that for many years she had gotten up around 4:30 a.m. to spend time in the Word. How powerful. How earth-shatteringly powerful. Satan is a liar. His only power over us centers on the lies he can make us believe about ourselves, our situations, our futures and God's feelings toward us. The truth is, believer, that GOD IS FOR US! No, He is not for our sin. However, He longs to help us up when we fall down. He wants in on everything concerning us. By His own declaration in scripture, He is our ever-present help in trouble. He is our all-in-all!!! If He can make cancer disappear, He can formulate a fulfilling life plan for each of us, guide us into it, and provide for all of the details, all while gracing us with rainbows, mind-bending sunsets and moments with him so personal I call them "postcards from heaven" (I am sure I am not the first to do so...sorry if there is a copyright infringement). I guess I was so bowled over by the extremely personal testimony of this couple, especially moments therein like the statement from the father that, while the girl was sick, they pretty much tuned out the world and spent every spare moment meditating on the Word of God, that I became challenged in my spirit to draw closer to the Lord and believe Him for more for my life and the lives of my loved ones. God is in the details. Let Him be Lord of yours.

God is Near! Let that fact engergize you!

The nearness of God is on my heart this morning. His presence permeates every aspect of our lives when we allow him into absolutely everything that touches us. When we do this, we can expect that our focus will shift from temporal problems and from our ego issues to things that really matter. We can then begin to live a life of significance to God's eternal kingdom, rather than a life lived for self. I have found that as I go along in my day with Jesus, aware of his presence and asking for his help, I am frequently reminded, through collisions with Satan (who despises spiritual progress), my own flesh, and the world in general, that I have such a long way to go. Good intentions simply will not get me there. However, I can be excited by the fact that Jesus has promised to complete the good work he began in me. I can also know that, according to the scriptures, he has work for me to do and he will carry me through it, supplying my every need as I fulfill that work. ("For we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." Ephesians 2:10, NLT) I know that holiness and sanctification (the Bible says I am already a saint, washed clean by the blood of Jesus Christ on the cross) ARE possible. Perfection, no. Continual upward progress in my goal to be more like Jesus, YES. By the power of the Holy Spirit. "Those who live only to satisfy their own sinful nature will harvest decay and death from that sinful nature. But those who live to please the Spirit will harvest everlasting life from the Spirit. So let's not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up." Galatians 6:8-9, NLT

Snagged

It is awfully humbling to be skating confidently down the path to spiritual wholeness and productivity only to hit a hidden snag in the ice that sends you flying, face down, arms spread. As you lay sprawled on the ice, you look up and realize that your skating still has, well, issues. Every time I make a concerted effort to please God, learn to walk in His ways, not my own, and to become closer to Him, something happens that reveals to me the selfishness of my own heart. Sometimes it's God pointing this out to me, other times, like yesterday when someone hurt me terribly, it's simply the case that my reactions reveal something to me about myself that I would rather not acknowledge. I really do love God. I also pray that He will help me to love Him more. And He can do that. The way that we react when others are selfish and unkind is a true barometer of our spiritual health. God didn't call us to continually climb up a spiritual mountain so much as He called us to continually climb into His arms. He wants us to draw so close to Him that we are able to discern His will right away because we are continually doing away, by the power of the Holy Spirit, with anything and everything that comes between us and our Father. I suppose giving up my right to retribution and control is going to be the hardest thing for me to come to terms with. This does not mean that I have no boundaries in relationships. This also does not mean that I allow others to hurt me again and again, continually offering myself or my loved ones as emotional sacrifices on the altar of another's ego. What it does mean is that I avoid doing things for spite, to make another person understand or feel the same pain that they have visited on me, or for control or manipulation. This is a tall order, especially where family members are concerned. They can hurt us the deepest because we are always hoping for something different from them, for a devotion to us that leaps up higher and lasts longer than what other people will offer. Truth is, only God will give us what we need WITHOUT FAIL. "The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him." Psalm 103:13

Lovely Fall Morning

This morning, as I drove the winding country road to the middle school with Jonathan, my youngest, a full-sized deer dashed across the road just ahead of us. He joined two others standing in someone's side yard, looking for all of the world like those stiff statues people decorate with. Seconds later I noticed a hotair balloon already soaring in the morning sky. A few miles down a basset hound trotted through a front yard, his endearing, thin ears flopping in the morning chill. Everywhere I looked there seemed to be markers of God's grace, His presence, the beauty of his creation merged with man's invention, which is really just an extension, or shadow, if you will, of the genius of God. Dark days always seem to be bookended by mornings like today. I am amazed by this. Though we live on a planet that will, according to scripture, pass away, we are continually reminded that, through the darkness of Satan's plans and his interference in this present natural world, the glory of the Lord shines bright and strong. God's presence is constant, especially where his children, believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, traverse. Let yourself revel in His loving arms of protection today. Make yourself aware of the myriad ways He is showing his love for you, ways you might normally attribute to coincidence.

Scattering the Vultures...Emerging Victorious!!

I was just reminded, as I was logging on, that something that devastated my heart, literally ripping it to shreds, sending pieces into the stratosphere, got me writing again. The reason that outcome seems so miraculous to me is that, for whatever divine reason our loving heavenly Father ordained, writing is the one thing I feel I may have a passing talent for. I had neglected my writing for so many years, because as some of you know, it's easy to run from your calling. There is a whole world of distraction waiting for each of us. Satan absolutely hates for a believer to understand and function, by the power of the Holy Spirit, in his or her calling, following closely in the footsteps of Christ through God's plan for his or her life. Why? Because then we are dangerous to his destructive purposes. We are always feeling full, built-up and strong, and we turn and offer a hand-up to the person behind us. What follows is victory upon victory for the Kingdom of God. So, if he cannot outright intimidate us by placing obstacles and competition in our paths,  run us ragged through rejection and defeat, or sideline us with condemnation and guilt, he will offer shiny baubles of distraction designed to keep us from focusing on what God wants us to do. So my miscarriage of last January, a portal of pain I at first felt I would not survive, has served a very, very healing, redemptive purpose in my life. I cannot believe I just wrote that. It goes to show that, indeed, "...we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (Romans 8:28, NLT)

I was really struggling the other day with the more mundane aspects of my existence. I was just plain bored with my duties! I pulled into the middle school carline, turned on the radio and there was Steven Curtis Chapman with a song about doing everything, whether caring for babies or flipping burgers, to the glory of God. "Thank you, Lord," I prayed. When you begin to close the gap between yourself and Jesus through conscious awareness of His presence, you begin to realize that a lot of the things you throught were coincidence, or perhaps wouldn't even have noticed before, are actually markers of God's grace in your life and His hand on your path.

Now to the part of this post I could hardly wait to tell you. I struggled against the world, the flesh and the devil all week. I have habits I want to break, and I have new habits I am fairly desperate to adopt. Mostly I just want to draw near to Jesus and empty myself to Him. Just empty me, and take His hand and love on Him. I want knowing Him to be my one chief aim in life. So, I take my depression-prone self on down the winding road to Page Middle one afternoon. It was gray out, and I was under a load. I looked to my right and spotted some jet-black vultures in a ring, feasting on carrion. I shivered inwardly. They appear so vile to me, just sitting around and waiting for something bad to happen to another creature so they can capitalize on it. Just up ahead, at the small methodist church, there was symbolic sight if ever I have seen one. Several black vultures perched on the large cross that crowns the church. The symbol of my redemption rising high into the sky was starkly compromised by the image of those death-seekers weighing it down. It reminded me that the church of Jesus Christ, and that is me and you, believer, is always under spiritual attack. We must ever be at the ready. The good news is that Jesus Christ is not on that cross anymore. He is seated in the heavenlies at the right hand of God and He is always interceding for me and for you. He has defeated our foe and all we must do is focus, not on the battle (except that we must keep our armor on), but on Him and all of the wonderful things He is always doing in our lives and in our behalf. The blood of Jesus means that though those demons may perch on my shoulders from time to time, their smelly feathers clouding my thinking, their talons pinching my dreams, they will never weigh me down. Best of all, they can be scattered at the mention of His Name. "And they have defeated him by the blood of the Lamb and by their testimony..." Rev. 12:11.

Well, I am finally here. (Sets down battered suitcase.) The "proverbial" end of the line. I held on pretty good to my course for, oh, a bit over forty-three years. That's a long time, in human years. (In dog years it's an eternity.) How does it feel to be here? Oh, well, quite liberating. I don't have anywhere else to go. It's not very scenic. Not yet. Actually, It looks like the dead end of a sterile corridor. Hope it's a hospital, because I need a rest. A rest from the epic struggle of resisting God and His plans for my life. Resisting good things that come with a scarlet "R" for risk. It was just so much easier not to get my heart broken, not to have my joy stolen after those pursuits ended in defeat, after all of those potential relationships ended in betrayal. Nice, comfy little path I was on. Sure, my way was monotonous at times. Boring. Lonely. But hey, my battle scars are minimal. My, well, my heart feels numb.

Something tells me that, if I were to turn around, behind me I would find a vast, colorful, varied landscape marked by the presence of God. He created me for something deeper than that dead end view. The Holy Spirit would beckon in the ripple of a wind playing over the treetops, in the babble of a mountain stream. He is everywhere in the dynamic picture, calling, loving, protecting.

Today's blog entry marks the beginning of a journey that I will share with you. I am stepping out of the shadows. I have started writing again, with the expectation that I might be rejected. I am going to make an effort to make new friends, with the expectation that some will not be interested. The most important thing that I will do in my new journey, however, is give ALL of my heart to God, holding nothing back in an act of total devotion that will expose me to the risk of His rejection. The ultimate act of trust. His word assures me that I will not be cast aside. Still, I must trust Him in this. If He asks me to sit still on this couch for the rest of my life I must be ready to do so. But I suspect He has far, far richer adventures in store for me! Hang on, reader, because I fully intend to share them.

Give me a Revelation

Last night I looked up at the stars from my back porch. I saw the Big Dipper, saw many other stars in crisp display. The hand of God on a dark canvas. I told God about all of the sad things that had happened in my life that I had never expected to. I asked him to forgive me for so many things. I came inside and read the Bible to help me sleep. Just now I tried unsuccessfully to watch a Third Day video of the song "Revelation," but couldn't really make it far past the song's opening line..."My life, has lead me down a road that's so uncertain, and I am left alone and I am broken"...tears flooding my face, my heart breaking hard in two along a fault line left there by so many nightmarish events. I am sure many could read this and say "Lady, you haven't seen a nightmare." I know. It's just, well, where to go from here. I can't heal myself. I can't fix everything for my kids that will need fixing over the course of the rest of my life. I know it's all about trusting God, but I can't even do that in my own strength. I don't even know how to lean on him properly! For crying out loud!!! Here's to mercy (raises coffee mug)!

I really like this line from an old Andrae Crouch song: "If I'd never had a problem, I'd never know that God could solve them, I'd never know what faith in his word can do." Incidentally, the song's title is "Through it All"... I know I will meet God face-to-face in heaven one day. I also know I can know him in the now (like Michael Card says). (Wow, you singers and songwriters don't realize your impact, I tell ya!). Several times over the course of the past week I have had the thought that I cannot live the rest of my life the way that I am living it now. I am miserable with worry and grief. I don't really know anyone who has it easy. Life is simply hard. But it is beautiful, too. I really want the peace that passes understanding, that is promised in scripture to those of us who are in Christ and who submit everything to him in prayer with a thankful heart.  Someone was kind enough to say to me this week that the storms will come, but there is usually peaceful water on the backside of the waves. That comforted me so greatly and proved to me that God has his people strategically placed all throughout our lives, like spiritual guerrilla soldiers helping us through to the finish line!

Chimes

Been thinking about something else lately...something that might set off chimes in the hearts of other middle-aged women, and a few men, too. The idea that sometimes we feel so far off of the divine script that we don't recognize ourselves anymore. My identity has, all of my life, been so meshed with Jesus and what I believe He is doing in my heart and life that now, with several years of arms-length distance between us, something like a frozen lake has developed between myself and that safe, familiar, heart-warming love of Christ. If you are a Christian, you know exactly what I mean. That dazzlingly pure, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, strong, full, fulfilling love and acceptance and PEACE that comes from being totally provided for, guided, and cared for in a mindlessly meaningless world. I have stopped practicing the presence of God, to borrow a phrase from a famous author. I want to start again. As I set off, adjusting my sails, borrowing my courage from the Holy Spirit, I cannot let myself drop the anchor of fear anymore. So many, many sidetrips have I made, my little craft held fast on foreign islands, anchored by FEAR! I have to move on, safe in the love of God, my face pressed to the carpet as I pray for direction. God has never failed me. I have failed to cling to Him.

So Exciting...

Took my son, who is a high school freshman, to school this morning as always. He is in his first nine-weeks of this new adventure. Suddenly, it occurred to me, the way it might dawn on someone that the sun is rising, that he is now nice to me more often than he used to be. A tiny wave of (cautious) relief washed over me. He is actuallly going to grow up, and we will be friends. Thanks, Lord. I needed that. Realized that I had a knot in my gut from the moment I woke up this morning. Think it might have something to do with yesterday's blog post, with musings about the validity of all of my choices. You know that commercial running now that says "What if all of your missed opportunities were all grouped in one room"? Well, this morning it has been as if they were all tied to my back and somehow my stomach got involved. Had to dump out my coffee at a redlight on the way to Centennial High. I'm sort of excited, actually. I think I might actually respond to such heavy stimuli and, well, TAKE A RISK. I have started two novels, both of which were summarily wiped out by a computer crash. Isn't it interesting that I reacted to their loss with a yawn? They were not the ones. The Bible makes it clear that life is an adventure and, for the Christian, one lived through the limitless resources of Christ. He is also limitlessly creative in the ways He brings about change and momentum in our lives. Lastly, He is the source of all creativity so, if it's an idea you need, He'll bring one or three to the table. It's so exciting to know Him.

Choices

Today I did something no suburban housewife in the throes of a fully-developed midlife crisis should EVER do. I googled a classmate (I will not divulge whether she was a classmate in elementary, middle, high school, college or grad school) who pursued a career path similar to the one that I would have chosen had I not decided to stay home with my sons. Suffice it to say that, in the career realm, she rose directly to the top. I cannot list her achievements because you may know her, or at least know of her. It's that big. Sooooooo. Googled her. Depressed all afternoon. Felt the weight of my choices. I don't regret staying home with my sons. Would have regretted abandoning them for a high-flying career. Really. I am serious. Today's little foray into the outside world via my laptop did not pay off for me, though, despite my pride in the decision to stay home. I once again reflected on some forks in the road at which I have to wonder if I took what appeared to be the risk-free choice. I remember the Public Relations Director at LSU saying to me "We hope we can say we knew you when," when he was telling me he had found a way to raise my graduate assistant salary (I was a newswriter) so that I wouldn't take a job at a local magazine and leave his department. I am not bragging. I'm just admitting that I had choices at the outset of my adult life. I could have worked somewhere, written some things people would have read. Met some seriously interesting people. Sometimes I believe I would have garnered some more respect than the level I currently enjoy as head servant at 209 Jaclyn. Other times, I look at photos of my kids as babies and I am instinctively, over-the-top thrilled that I was always there. Always. This blog entry reads like a last will and testament. It's not. My life is only half over. I can still write (question in my voice). Actually, on a serious note, sometimes I truly believe that I didn't have anything to say until now. Not until I had ridden life's roller coaster up one side of laundry hill and back down into the valley of flea treatments for soda-stained playroom carpets, around the hairpin turns of progress reports, the loop-de-loops of middle-school drama, the angst of SUDDEN sleepover wakeups at 2:00 a.m. (WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAVE MADE THAT NOISE?), and the rush of a thousand carline "go-ahead" gestures. Okay. So maybe I simply cannot be serious. Maybe hidden somewhere in my future is something related to my propensity to laugh my way from tragedy to triumph and right back again. Oh, and note to self: "Google child stars that fizzled out, or dot.com failures in the future."

What if...

Gene Simmons, famous rocker best-known for moral turpitude of every stripe, said something pretty interesting lately on his horrific little reality show. "What if," he said (and I am strictly paraphrasing here) everything I did in all those years that I was building myself up was wrong?" He was supposedly desperate to mend fences with his common-law wife, who had briefly dragged her designer suitcases over to a hotel. Many of you may be asking yourselves why I would have been watching such a television program. The answer is that I do not know. It stands for everything I oppose. Gene's remark, however, did give me pause as I channel-surfed that afternoon. "What if," I asked myself, "all of my escape-oriented behaviors have added up to one big wrong life? What if all of the things I thought I could get away with not doing I will now pay for for the rest of my life? What if I made a wrong turn at some point in my life's history and now nothing will ever really fit right for the rest of my days on this earth?" These are questions I have wrestled with a lot lately. They are classic mid-life queries for which I have no real answer. I do know that in every case in which I ran for cover into my escape activities (and they were all legal and "moral") it was because I was overwhelmed by a depression and anxiety as powerful as the undertow of a storm-tossed sea. I just have never let God free me from those two ultra-ugly destroyers. I know He wants to. I know He loves me. Maybe what I should focus on for whatever time I have left on this broken sod is just letting Him be my strength. Maybe I wouldn't stumble and fall so heartbreakingly hard if I weren't looking back while running from my fears. I am a lonely person. I have a lonliness that opens like a cavern in the desert, miles deep with nothing but sand tumbling in. The only antidote for that is Jesus. I know that. He's the only one who comes in when all of the users go on out. If it were not for my husband and children, the three people I love most on the earth, I would be lost. As much joy as they bring me, I still wonder if I would have been a much better wife and mother had I made myriad different choices in my relationships with them. Been a better example for the kids. Contributed more to the world through my talents, time and energy. Been a better friend who didn't reject before she was rejected. Brought more to my marriage through income rather than food no one wants to eat. You get the picture. I don't get a do-over. I guess I'll have to settle for a do-better. From this point on, of course.

Queen Bee

I am learning something about slowing down and listening to my heavenly father these days. Sometimes that means ignoring the way others are treating me or reacting to my decisions and getting still in my spirit. I had a dream on what would have been my grandfather's 95th birthday. I don't feel led to share it yet as I feel it was given to me by the Lord and I don't fully understand the meaning of it. I am still praying over it. My grandfather was a godly man. Period. His entire existence, especially for the last forty years of his life, when he was walking in a deeper understanding of the Holy Spirit, was centered on God. What an example. I am just backing up and trying to soak everything I am feeling in prayer. I'm also going to hold it up against the passages of scripture I am reading and make sure my thoughts and feelings are measuring up to the truth of the Bible. Sometimes when we are hurt, especially when it is other Christians who are hurting us, we make emotional choices, not sound, godly ones. I am the queen of that. The absolute queen bee. I would like to step down from that role and become the queen bee of humility (is that an oxymoron?), steadfastness, quietness, peace, and gentleness. (I WANT EVERYONE IN MY FAMILY TO STOP LAUGHING RIGHT NOW. I know the "quietness" and "gentleness" really got you there.)

As the Praise Goes Up

Just after my miscarriage, a Facebook friend in-boxed me the entire lyrics to a song. Today, as I surfed for praise music on YouTube, I happened upon the song and clicked "play." In a second I was thrown back in time to January of this year and the horrific pain that was, just as other people who have endured tragedy have said, so bad it could be felt physically. Wow. Closed that video pretty quickly. But not before understanding and absorbing one thing: Jesus suffered and he understands what I went through. Hit two television programs back-to-back in which the speaker was mentioning the fact that Jesus prayed all night long. I asked God what he was saying to me. I think the key to reconnecting with God, as I am so desperate to do, is prayer. Lots and lots and lots of it. And (as one of the T.V. pastors pointed out this morning) EMPHATHIZING with Jesus, both his victory and his suffering. Look, he was the God of the universe and he was IGNORED and persecuted by the religious leaders of his day. Maybe the fact that certain people don't speak to me at church, even as they pursue religious activities, should not gall me as much as it everlastingly does. If Jesus loved them all, I, under His power, can too. Another key: forgiveness. This one is really, really hard for me. Well, not so much if the person is seeking my forgiveness. What if they not only are not seeking my forgiveness, but are totally indifferent about it? What if they are continuing to offend and the target is one of my children? What then? What makes me different from the rest of the world? The answer lies therein. I know, however, that I cannot achieve this difference on my own. So out comes my Bible, to renew and transform my mind. Next, I WILL spend time in prayer, drawing close to the sweet, sweet presence of Jesus Christ, clinging to his garments, fellowshipping with the precious Holy Spirit. Last, but certainly not least, I will seek out praise and worship music to regularly feed my soul with the words that lift up my Lord, feeling Him enter my home as the praise goes up.

A Certain Healing

I believe in prayer for physical healing. You tell me you have cancer, I pray for complete healing. Jesus never turned anyone away. All who came to him for physical healing were restored completely. It is biblical to pray for healing. I understand that sometimes the physical healing does not come, but I still feel it is appropriate to petition the Father for it. I also believe that things happen when you pray that won't happen if you don't. Miracles of all kinds.

While, for reasons only understood by God (who I wisely give wide latitude to be God), some physical ailments are not healed, and some people are called home to heaven at a time that seems early to those with an earthly perspective, there is a certain kind of healing that is guaranteed to every believer.

I firmly believe that it is the absolute birthright (or re-birthright, as it were) of every believer in Jesus Christ to enjoy full, absolute emotional, spiritual and mental healing. A right mind is the product of the healing touch of Christ upon our flawed flesh in a fallen world. The peace that passes understanding comes from Him, and can radiate into all of our circumstances, transforming our daily lives and bathing us in a beautiful, whole and healthy pure light that all can see. When those of us who are prone to depression and anxiety return again and again to the well of comfort and wisdom in the Bible and the steadfast anchor of the presence of the Holy Spirit, we react with hope and faith to circumstances that used to make us crumble. We CAN enjoy our lives, despite what the enemy of our souls would have us to believe. Sometimes I fall back into the arms of God when something comes up to make me anxious, remembering that He is my heavenly Father, and I can trust Him to work out every detail. He is a protective, loving, caring, grace-filled (gives us what we haven't earned) parent whose love for us far surpasses anything our minds can understand. We can trust Him. "The Lord directs our steps, so why try to understand everything along the way?" (Proverbs 20:24, NLT)

Crazy Weird

Sometimes life feels like a crazy, weird journey. Just yesterday I was forcing two-year-old Matthew away from me, removing him like a clinging, caterwauling kitten as I dropped him off in the church nursery. Today he arranged, mafia style, by use of the phone I AM PAYING FOR to get everyone a ride to and from football practice in a way that would cut me and my scratched-up Impala completely out of the picture. I guess I embarrass him. Pardon me as I completely resist the urge to morph myself into a cool mom. I'm just gonna go ahead and be the same old latch-hooking me. Every single day it becomes abundantly ever more crystalline that I must move ahead into the second half of my life. I would like to embrace it, as it were. All of that wonderful freedom (read lonliness). All of that glorious silence while the kids are at their activities (read barren stillness). Oh, heavens, it's coming anyway, whether I want it to or not. I suppose it is time for me to take another look at me. What do I want from the next four decades? What would I like to contribute? Who would I like to get to know? What old friendships would I like to strengthen? What is my identity now that my children are batting their little wings around, trying to hop up off of the familial perch? When they were small I used to (don't laugh now) imagine that I would raise dachshunds once they were no longer careening back and forth between clinging to me for dear life and toddling off to fall down the stairs lest I hold their hands at all times. I actually believed that I would have a thriving kennel with every dachshund color in the dachshund rainbow. I saw myself handing care packages to satisfied new owners, their puppies sporting tiny bows. I guess I figured the purchase of a low-slung 70s era rancher with three acres and an air-conditioned kennel out back that would house the generations of champions I would produce from my award-winning stock was somewhere in my unsuspecting husband's future. I am in a cul-de-sac in a tidy neighborhood in Franklin, TN. I have one-third of an acre. I have only one dachshund. Not very close to that goal. I also imagined that book after majestic, best-selling book would issue forth from my computer. I would be so busy, what with the book-signings and new litters of glistening puppies, I would be fine, just fine, thank you, if my children had a mind to neglect me. To be continued.

Pride and the Slip-N-Slide

Yesterday I walked the tiny, narrow, hard-to-see line between taking up for myself and falling into pride. Pride is aptly named because it is a pit filled with demons behaving like a pride of lions. It will eat you alive, shredding all of the spiritual fruit off of your bones. It occurs to me that when I turn and look at something I have done for God, or, heaven forbid, stop to gauge how others are reacting to it, it de-materializes before my eyes. God does not share his glory with mere human beings. Anything I do for God must be done with a pure heart. I can't manufacture that purity, but I CAN call on God for cleansing and renewal of right motivation. "I am counting on the Lord; yes, I am counting on him. I have put my hope in his word." (Psalm 130:5) "People may be pure in their own eyes, but the Lord examines their motives." (Proverbs 16:2) Yesterday I was walking dogs with my youngest, Jonathan, at the humane society. The animals there remind me of the human race, lots of variation in appearance and personality. Some follow willingly on the lead, others wander a bit, distracted by everything around them. Still others jump on us, happy to be alive, out of their kennels and in the presence of someone who will love them. There is the occasional dog that will fight the leash altogether, writhing on the ground, biting at it. Some will lay down resolutely as we tug and cajole. It's a picture of how we walk with God. May I learn to patiently heel! I don't want to miss out on the journey, or stick my nose in an ant bed while my heavenly Father lovingly steers me clear of such disaster. While we walked I silently prayed that my efforts that day would be fruitful, not frustrating. I felt perfectly comfortable believing God for that as He has not designed us for failure and defeat, but for productivity and prosperity along the lines of His perfect plans for our individual lives. "Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed." Proverbs 16:3 May I walk confidently forward today, hand-in-hand with the Lord, knowing that, as my friend Emmanuel Chekwa once said, He will even annoint my failures as long as my heart is turned toward Him.

Lighthouse

At some point in my foggy past I came across a poster of an interesting photo. I was probably mindlessly drilling through a display at a store like Hobby Lobby, my thoughts miles away from whatever strip mall I stood in. And there it was: a stony lighthouse with a tiny human figure standing in a doorway. The entire backside of the lighthouse was engulfed in a massive wave that curled itself around the structure. The image was arresting to me because it reminded me of how God holds us, unwaveringly, in the midst of life's storms. Even the storms we stir up ourselves with our ingrained sins and self-destructive missions powered by obsessions even we do not understand. I enjoyed an object lesson in this grace-fueled love and care only yesterday. A few weeks ago I snapped up a plaque at a neighbor's yard sale with this very photo on it. Underneath the photo, Psalm 94:22 is inscribed. "But the Lord has become my fortress, and my God the rock in whom I take refuge." The owner had passed away, the plaque a gift given by friends upon the owner's cancer diagnosis, a disease which claimed his life. I took the slightly banged-up prize home and hung it on my bedroom wall. This year has been particularly hard for me. Yesterday I found myself simply begging God as I wound my way down the blistering hot pavement of a sweltering Franklin, Tennessee en route back home from an auspicious errand to Wal-Mart. "Please, please help me," I implored through my tears. I just needed peace, a break from unrelenting fears for my children, my husband, everything that I hold dear. I had been home for mere minutes when I found myself pulling out a bookmark that my youngest, Jonathan, had given me after church. The bookmark had all of the names of the kids, including himself, who are participating in a home missions project this week. The idea was for church members to see the bookmark and pray for each one this week. There was a small photo at the very top of the bookmark. You guessed it. It was the photo of the lighthouse with the massive wave assaulting it. I felt loved and reassured to my core!

Defined by the Cross

Our failures, losses, broken relationships and missteps do not define us. What this means is that we are free to move forward in the light of God's love and in the assurance of Christ's complete work on the cross to enjoy our lives, come what may. The only thing that truly matters cannot be stripped away from us, that being the intimate fellowship with our heavenly Father that feeds our souls and makes us aware that we are of infinite value. I take great comfort in the fact that every human being has a unique fingerprint. This underscores for me the idea that God sees EVERY single one of us as individuals. Why would I spend one moment working for the approval of people? "I, yes I, am the one who comforts you. So why are you afraid of mere humans, who wither like the grass and disappear? Yet you have forgotten the Lord, your Creator, the one who stretched out the sky like a canopy and laid the foundations of the earth. Will you remain in constant dread of human oppressors? Will you continue to fear the anger of your enemies?" (Isaiah 51:12-13, NLT) I have found that if I can shed the fear of human disapproval, I am free to pursue God's will for my life clothed in a peace that truly does pass understanding, as the scripture describes. All throughout my adult life, Satan has tormented me with the thought that I was absolutely unworthy to serve God. He has always told me that if others were to find out about my past sins, my present struggles, my overarching weaknesses (self-discipline is like an iron tower that I have to pray my way over), I would be discounted as a soldier in God's army. During one period of amazing spiritual growth I short-circuited Satan's relentless attacks in this arena by saying to myself, again and again "If all God tells me to do is stand still and love Him, I will do it." The point is for me to submit to Him.

Waves of Hope

If you have suffered a bone-crushing, mind-numbing loss, there is hope for joy and peace again. Sooner than you think. If you are laboring under the weight of that loss compounded by the idea that you did something to cause it, you may feel as if there is no remedy for the futility, emptiness and pain that cripples you. While I did nothing to cause my miscarriage (I don't drink or smoke and was on no prescription medications and, unfortunately, there was no strenuous exercise involved), there have been other losses in my life, including broken and strained relationships, that I feel partly or wholly responsible for. Today as I watched the little panhandle waves break as the sun began to beat down, making the water sparkle and the sand bleach out into the "sugar white" it is advertised for, I prayed for peace about a few of those things. A couple of things came to mind. First and foremost is the fact that I don't need anyone but God. Not really. His is the only approval I must obtain, and that was done the moment I accepted Christ. His is the only help that is reliable. ("The Lord of Heaven's armies is here among us; the God of Israel is our fortress." Psa. 41:11 NLT) Second of all, His love is enough to supply all of the fulfillment, joy and strength I need to live a meaningful, fruitful life as I follow HIS plan for me (not MY plan, and, thankfully, not my my enemies' plan for my life or Satan's plan, which involves torment, fear and futility). "All who confess that Jesus is the Son of God have God living in them, and they live in God. We know how much God loves us, and we have put our trust in his love." 1 John 4:15-16. Finally, this passage of scripture which was referenced in the "Jesus Calling" devotional book I am reading underscores my heart's desire to learn to take life one day at a time, hand- in- hand with the Lord: "The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives. Though they stumble, they will never fall, for the Lord holds them by the hand." Psalm 37:23 (NLT). THE LORD HOLDING ME BY THE HAND?!?  Are ya kiddin' me? What have I got to be worried about?

Back on the Narrow Path

Some time before grabbing the cheap lifeboat of empty diversions as I flailed in a sea of sorrow, I had an epiphany that remains with me, burned into my soul for the rest of my natural life. Everything on this earth is passing away. One reason my miscarriage had turned my heart upside down, scattering my joy in all directions like the feathers of down pillow is that I was desperately in need of something wonderful to look forward to. I needed hope. In the wake of this tragedy, God reminded me that Jesus is my hope, both now and for all of eternity. From the moment we are born we begin to die, at least in the natural, physical sense. The Bible, however, offers this hope for followers of Jesus Christ: "And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God's love. Neither DEATH (emphasis mine) nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow-not even the powers of hell can separate us from God's love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below-indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 10:38-39 (NLT). I don't have to hang onto my children's childhood and the precious passage of early motherhood, or any other phase of life that is dear, clinging madly to something that is slipping through my fingers like sand, because that which is of greatest value will NEVER be stripped away from me. To know and love God deeply and to walk with Him intimately, enjoying his loving favor is the pearl of great price spoken of in scripture. Now that I have detoured into escape and then found my way back to the path of acceptance, I can face head on the beauty of this truth and, hand-in-hand with Jesus, walk into eternity, day-by-day stripping away my love affair with this world.

Grief Closet

Within a few weeks of my miscarriage, I made the executive decision that, as I was tired of the relentless heartache swinging out of nowhere and knocking me flat over and over, I would therefore pull the proverbial plug on it. I put my grief in a closet of my heart and shut the door. The image that comes to mind is my "seasonal" closet, which is piled floor to ceiling. You're usually in danger of getting whacked by falling items if you open the door too recklessly. It was great. I was able to function without feeling socked in the gut by the memory of my sweet hopes, because I simply shut the door. Any time I would feel the sorrow rise, I would slam the door again and hold it tight. Pretty soon I had a lovely barricade of new hobbies, things like cross-stitch and latch hook, holding the door to my grief closet shut. I especially favored latch hook because it gave me a level of control that was off the charts. If I simply followed the pattern, using the pre-cut yarns provided by the kit manufacturer, I got a beautiful completed rug. It was a no-fail proposition, unlike daily life in the real world. Latch hook patterns and kits depict the things in life that offer joy and comfort. Unlike books or movies, latch hook rugs never portray the unseemly, uncertain side of life. You'll never see a pattern of a person in a shrink's office, head in hand, tears staining the carpet. I made a rug depicting a butterfly landing on hibiscus blooms and one of a row of cats lined up and looking out of a window. These diversions worked seamlessly for a period of months. In due time, however, the act of pursuing them maniacally night and day became empty, and the same websites that had provided the comfort of escape into worlds of beautifully colored yarn and embroidery floss, cuddly animals, and steaming teacups felt hostile and dead. It was time to turn back to God for fulfillment and, rather than escape, healing.

Amputation

The D & C is one of the most emotionally barbaric of all medical procedures. Just as the amputation of an arm takes with it all of the intricate life pursuits which require the dexterity of two hands, in the same way that the amputation of a leg is less the removal of a limb and more the removal of rich life experiences such as running, swimming, kicking and dancing in a normal rhythym, so too the D & C procedure represents the amputation of something precious. The permanent (on this side of Heaven) cessation of hope for one particular new life. I wasn't losing my arms, but I was losing the ability to use those arms to cradle the new life I had so desperately hoped for. In a sense, I felt I was going into the hospital to have everything that had breathed new life into my lonely, battered heart sucked out in one fell swoop. I registered on the first floor of the hospital. My mom, who I was so grateful to have with me, and my husband were there with me. We three have been bonded in joy and were now being soldered together in sadness, too. I was called for escort to the floor where the surgery would take place. The male hospital staffer punched the elevator button and away we went. There was another woman in the elevator with me, standing silently with her husband. As the doors opened onto the maternity ward, we stood aside for a couple of nurses to pass pulling babies in their little hospital cradles. One baby had jet black hair. This one caught my attention because, before the ravages of life gripped my husband's head, he did, too. One of the sweetest things about having a child with someone you love is mixing your genetics with theirs. My heart spilled out onto the cold tile floor of that hallway and I felt as if our little procession was just walking right over the brittle shards as we made our way toward the surgery waiting area.

Empty

The five-day wait for the D&C procedure was like a long, gray corridor with death at the end. Though I had already miscarried, this procedure seemed like a barbaric cleansing of all hope from the womb. At some point during this week my husband told me that the doctor had said that he didn't believe there had ever been an embryo. I did not remember hearing that. But then again, an awful lot of what had transpired during my visit was muted for me, as if the whole thing had occurred underwater. This particular idea made me feel like the object of a horrible practical joke. Should I be relieved that there was no person to mourn? Should I feel even more sorrow that there was no child to be reunited with on the other side of this fallen Earth? I didn't know what to think, let alone feel. I finally summoned the courage to call the nurse for more information that might lead to closure. "Your gestational sac was completely empty," she said. Hmmmm. The word "empty" telescoped through the phone and down the miles of roadway connecting my OB's office to my own home and crawled right into my aching heart. My gestational sac, which had housed a yolk sac on that first visit, measured at six weeks. Maybe that was when the pregnancy ended due to what was probably, based on my own internet research and my doctor's guess, a terribly flawed chromosomal brew. What tortured me then and leaves a twenty-story question mark now is the fact that no one but God  knows when that life ended. Was there a collection of cells? If so, would that qualify as a human life? I know that, as a pro-life person, I have always believed that life begins at conception. Conception is the moment that a human history, with all of its ebbs and flows, glories and defeats, birthdays and final passage into eternal life in either heaven or hell has its genesis. What if conception is the beginning AND the endpoint? Is there a person on the other side? I wouldn't have mourned any less had I been given a definitive answer of "no" to this question. Someone said to me recently "If there was no baby, then I could understand a sense of disappointment, but not the continuing sadness that you feel." When a woman is told that she is going to have a baby, a universe of possibilities for love, life and hope open up before her. She is affirmed as a human being, her place and purpose in the world locked in a certain direction for life. Mine was locked onto two beautiful sons. The addition of a third child meant that that purpose widened by one-third. "Disappointment" is a word I would reserve for events such as a flat tire, not getting the job you applied for, a traffic ticket. What I experienced was a wounding. I would grow as a person, come to truly understand the comfort of God, and move on to praise Him for all of the myriad ways He had blessed, protected and favored me and my family for forty-two years, dangers I was aware He had sheltered me from as well as countless threats only He knew about, in the months to come. But I also had to ride the train of grief into the shadows of night before emerging into the sunlight of the future. It was necessary.

Thunderheads of Condemnation

My world turned dark as I contemplated the most unpalatable scenario of them all: that God had set His face against me. Since I had originally been convinced that the pregnancy was His way of reaching out to me in love, of knitting us back together as the team we had been since I was four, the miscarriage became a sign that He hated me. I just couldn't understand how He could have let me go through the brief phase of ecstasy and planning, all the while knowing that I would be deeply devastated by the loss. I was not then and am not now trying to blaspheme God or question His perfection. I just did not understand. The logical conclusion, at least to my grief-muddled head, was that the bill had come due. I was paying for the many sins I had come to walk in as the gulf between me and the Lord had widened. Some of these sins were so familiar, I swerved into them without thinking and with only occasional compunction. The only sign that I labored under them was a dark cloud of condemnation that hovered over my head pretty much everywhere I went. On the heels of this crushing wave of perceived rejection by God came a second wave ever more deadly to my tortured psyche: fear. If my dreams of a baby had been summarily washed out with the tide, what might happen next? These juvenile ways of looking at my situation and my heavenly Father would be resolved in the coming months as I felt His presence in my life and my home, but directly after my miscarriage they tortured me and dominated my thought life. The emotional pain I felt was almost physical. It was as if I had a gaping wound in my gut that poured forth blood day and night without ever, mercifully, letting me bleed out and die. It was bad, reader.

Tornado of Emotions

The drive home from my doctor's office is another streak of a memory, the colors blended, mostly gray, punctuated by calls to one of my sisters and my mother. "I cannot say that nothing bad will ever happen to me, because something just did," I said to my mom. This childish statement simply underlines the innocence that, at forty-two, I should not have had but did thanks to God's overwhelming grace throughout my life. I found myself yelling at her, then apologized, because I was not angry with her, just slammed by a grief that was instant and almost physical in its power over me. I mentioned to one of them, either my mother or my sister, that I would like to drive my car into a power pole. I am sorry they had to hear such irrational and immature statements. I wish I could take them back, but I cannot. I was like a wounded dog, yelping, barking, sobbing. Over the next few days, as I bobbed around from acceptance, to neutrality to unbelief (when I stumbled upon a website filled with stories of misdiagnosed miscarriages), I was a hard person to be around, to talk to. Well-meaning friends and loved ones tried to help, but their words lit a flame of anger under me as quickly and violently as a match to dry timber. "God allowed this," became "God did this to you," in my mind. "Everything happens for a reason," became "God did this to you." At my age, many miscarriages occur because there are chromosomal abnormalities. "It was probably for the best" became "Your baby would have been sub-par so isn't it great that you are not having them" in my mind. I know that the people around me were simply trying to help me frame what had happened in a productive manner, to get a lasso around my tornado of emotions, but I was beyond help in those early weeks. 

Hope Hard Lost

Hope is an interesting thing. No matter how hard you try to tamp it down, it springs up again somewhere else, like a flower through the cracks of a sidewalk. I tried to prepare myself for Monday's ultrasound, tried to begin re-orienting myself to life again with two kids, both growing and moving on. I tried to make sure that I left no room for disappointment. But even if I could have accomplished that, the sight of my husband in his suit, worn in case all was well and he could go straight to work after my appointment, would probably have let in enough light to give my heart a little room to float. When we got to my doctor's office, I felt downright awkward, sitting there with another, much younger couple in the room. Then they called my name, and I entered the hallway that would lead me to a new chapter. Amazing how three little weeks can alter you forever. My doctor's nurse, an exceptionally kind person who had shared my joy on that first visit, greeted me happily. When I told her what had happened over the weekend, her face fell. "I have seen it go both ways," she said, though her expression had underscored what I already knew was the case. During the ultrasound, I never looked at the screen. Not once. I will never forget the doctor's voice punctuating the silence with the word "Unfortunately..." At that moment, I felt as if someone had ripped my heart out and thrown it against the wall of the tiny exam room. The rest of the visit is very much a blur. I remember meeting the doctor in his office, remember his telling us to let ourselves grieve, remember that I said "At least I didn't lose a child that I had actually known," remember the doctor responding that God doesn't look at grief that way, that He feels for us each individually, looks at our situations uniquely and with compassion. Then I remember, to my horror, that he wanted to schedule a D & C for the end of the week. For some reason I had thought that I was early enough along to skip that procedure. When we were finished, I remember stumbling forward to have blood drawn, tears flowing continuously. Then I ran from the office building, barely conscious that Gary was behind me, saying that he was going home to be with me.

A Daisy in My Hands

The way I view Satan, the enemy of our souls, is pretty elementary. Suppose I am skipping along, holding a daisy in my hands. It's pretty much his job to rip it out of my hands and tear the petals off. He cannot abide goodness and joy. As long as I am on this side of heaven, I will encounter him, especially since I bear the name of Jesus Christ. One afternoon in car line at the elementary school, I was gripped with fear. I called a friend and said "I REALLY need this baby. I don't need for anything to happen." She told me to speak to the fear, which had a demonic source. The Bible says the thief (Satan) only comes to "steal, kill and destroy."  Friday, January 21 rolled around. Matt had asked to "have a couple of friends" spend the night in honor of his birthday. Five showed up. It was fine with me, just as he had suspected. I was like a little kid at Christmastime, looking forward to my Monday ultrasound, having finally convinced myself that all of my fears were completely unfounded. When his friends left on Saturday, I spent the day in a mood of self-satisfied joy. Monday was on the way. I would get my pictures and my confirmation of the miracle that would knit our family closer together in ways all of my hokey ideas and scrapbooking could never do. I woke early on Sunday morning, still awash in the joy of my situation and the impending ultrasound. It was January 23, the one date on which both of my children had entered the world. A date that had altered mine and Gary's lives forever...binding us together with cords of maternity and paternity that wouldn't be ripped apart on either side of eternity. On this date, still giddy with joy, I got the evidence that I would not be having a baby, after all. I called my doctor's office. The on-call physician, whose name and voice I did not recognize, tried to console me. "How old are you," he asked in a soft southern drawl that I will never forget. "Pretty old. Forty-two," I choked out. "Honey, honey, look, you are not old. You are talking to a man sixty years old. You are just barely old enough to have a baby," he said, laughing outright. I laughed through my tears. "It could be a bad egg. Don't be upset, this does not mean you can't have a baby." He had mistaken me for one of the hopeful moms in fertility treatment, earnestly trying to conceive at an age at which it feels like lighting a fire from scratch out in the wilderness. I knew that I would not be trying again. I knew that U.S.S. Motherhood had slipped on past, some time in the preceding three weeks while I planned my child's entire future, from kindergarten through college. "You may be alright. We don't know anything at this point. Put your feet up for the rest of the day," the very kind doctor said. I have never met him, and I still don't even know his name, but his voice will be with me forever. 

Timing is Everything

While I cannot remember the exact date, my OB/GYN's nurse gave me a projected due date after that first "look-see" ultrasound on which only the yolk sac was clearly visible. I only know that it was between my birthday (August 29) and my anniversary (September 4). Didn't feel like a coincidence to me. My sons were both born on January 23, exactly three years apart. I'll never forget putting together my clothes for the hospital, walking down the hall in our home as my husband said "I can't believe this is happening." My water had broken at 11 p.m. on January 22, just an hour before my oldest son Matt's third birthday. The doctor gave orders for Pitocin to be adminstered when I got to the hospital. Jonathan was born with Matt in the room. "Hush," Matt said to Jonathan as he uttered his first loud cries. "That doesn't usually work," the doctor piped up. (It's still not working, eleven years later.) One night during my three weeks of waiting for my "follow-up" during my most recent pregnancy, I read a book by the wife of a contemporary Christian musician. She explained why she had named her daughter Hannah. She wrote that the name means "gift of God's grace." Tears flooded my face. I closed the book and asked my husband whether if this child were a girl he would mind my naming her Hannah. If ever a human being felt called upon to revel in God's grace, it was me. I felt I had made every mistake known to parenting and weathered every emotional storm on the planet.

Close to Heaven

While I waited for my follow-up appointment, I felt pretty good physically. I had initially been put off by coffee, the very symptom that had sent me speeding to the dollar store for pregnancy tests. For the coffee addict, a coffee aversion means one of two things: pregnancy or impending death by swazicki-zooloo virus. It bothered me that I felt I was gradually warming up to coffee again. I let a niggling doubt about the health of my pregnancy take root in the corner of my heart. I refused to water it, however. Overall, I have enjoyed a very blessed life. God has always had my back. When the chips have been down, He has ALWAYS come through for me. I have never lost someone I really loved, except my grandparents, and they lived long, healthy lives. I went to college on scholarships twice. I have a stable, dependable husband with whom I am still in love. We live in a nice home. Our children are handsome and healthy. I kept going back to this track-record of God's favor and to the fact that this baby was the very thing that my heart was yearning for, though I hadn't known it until I found out that he/she was coming. It had to be a part of a divine plan that would dovetail into healing and wholeness for my broken heart. I had suffered for so long from depression, disappointment and lonliness.  I knew that God cared, and that there is a scripture in the Old Testament which reads that he drew the wayward Israelites to him "with lovingkindness"...which always struck me as at odds with the harsh religiosity I have always shied away from. As I sat in my formal sitting room one afternoon, it struck me that my home, which had housed the pain of emotional brokenness for so many years, would now be the site of the kind of joy that is so far off of the charts, no one can contain or adequately record it.   

Three Weeks of Hope

For three weeks between my first ultrasound and the "follow-up" which would determine whether or not I would become a full-fledged "OB" patient, I walked with a purpose in my step I had not felt for a very, very, very long time. People, even Christians, who suffer from chronic depression, have deep valleys which others cannot relate to. We have to keep going, but it's kind of like we are walking underwater with weights on our toes. Everything is muffled. In my case, motivation comes in fits and starts. I don't use medication, so I have my dark days. Staying in the Word of God, the Bible, is absolutely essential for me, yet I have always fought the demon of Lack of Discipline. When I try to fight that demon without Christ's overcoming, resurrection power, I always fail, pulling me further under. While I was pregnant I felt that God was reaching out to me across a divide of my own making over the last six or so years during which I had allowed various disappointments to come between myself and my Creator. I believed He was reaching out to me with grace and lovingkindness in giving me the one thing I truly needed...reaffirmation in my role as a mother. I remember looking out at the wooden playset in my backyard...now instead of reminding me that a precious chapter was coming to a close as my sons reached middle and high school age, that playset signified new life and hope. I thought about a few of my neighbors who had rejected me and my kids...and I felt God had given me the ultimate vindication...he had sent me another baby.

I Let Myself Rejoice

I am old enough to realize that most women wait until they are thoroughly out of the miscarriage "danger" zone before sharing the good news with friends and family. I am not wired that way. I did not wait. Barely five weeks pregnant, I called my OB's office immediately. "We do not see patients this early," was the calm reply. "NOT EVEN THE OLD ONES?!" I retorted. "I mean, I am reaaaalllly old! Anything could happen here!" A couple of hours later my phone rang. My doctor had seen the message from me and he would see me right away. Meanwhile, my husband informed me that he was really embarrassed that we had found ourselves in this situation. Rather than offending me, his comment made me laugh. We had been married for seventeen-and-a-half years. We were hardly two unwed teens trying to hide the news from our parents. Every single thing about this pregnancy was legit, right down to my continued stay-at-home mom status. We had the template in place. All we needed now was our little bundle of joy. I went to the first OB visit alone. The ultrasound proved that all was well. I could even see the yolk sac, although, at five weeks, it was too early to see much else. I was completely overwhelmed with joy. Though a bit intimidated by the prospect of giving birth at almost forty-three years of age, I could not help but begin to plan, and dream, immediately. Compounding my joy was the fact that my youngest sister had told me she was expecting one week prior to the discovery of my own pregnancy. I was convinced of three things: God was doing something special for me and my sister, timing things this way, God had seen my horrific struggle with depression and defeat and He was healing me in this miraculous way, and that all would be well because He never writes checks He cannot cash. I was leaning into Him. Still, when, near the end of my appointment, my doctor mentioned that the next visit would be a follow-up, and then the one after that the first actual OB visit "in case this ends up as a pregnancy that didn't go anywhere," I felt a cold flash of fear. Could a gift so precious as accidental conception after forty be uncermoniously snatched from me? I didn't think it would go that way, but couldn't help reaching out to family for comfort on that point.

My Journey Begins

I will never forget glancing down at the results window of the dollar store pregnancy test, expecting the typical negative indicator. What I saw instead read positive and yet, it was kind of like when you have your mouth set for water and you take a drink of milk. It takes your brain a minute. Almost like my eyes couldn't get the signal to my brain right away. When they did, I sat down on the toilet lid and let everything sink in. Wow. Forty-two years old, I wasn't trying to get pregnant and I thought this supreme joy in life was over for me. Would never come around again and yet, like a crocus bloom in a Wyoming winter, here it was. Several dollar store tests later, I settled into the possibility that, for women like me for whom motherhood is the greatest joy in life, I had just hit the $300 million lottery jackpot. I was going to have another baby. My oldest was soon to be fourteen and my youngest, eleven. A mother of boys I cherished and enjoyed, I yearned for the experience of mothering a daughter. Maybe this was it. Maybe God had seen my clinical depression and lonliness and this was His way of affirming me as a parent, though I frequently felt like an abject failure. This was a new chance to correct every mistake I had ever made as a mom, to start over and to do things exactly right this time.