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.