It's strange (and wonderfully nice), being in a place with less grief. Well, suppose I mean to say, less potent grief. There is much about my life now that is good and happy and joyful.
And yet grief is still all around.
In the last few weeks, a former co-worker emailed to say her 10 month old nephew has leukemia, a lifelong friend underwent the surgeon's knife to undo a tumor in/around her spine, and a co-worker's 12 year old autistic son went in to have a routine tooth extraction and never woke up from the anesthesia.
I saw my coworker as he return to work this week and and spoke with him. He teaches both at the school I work at as well as Covenant. (He's a very, very kind man who once responded when introduced to Adam, "Oh, you're Hannah's husband! Good to meet you!" Since we live at the college where Adam works and graduated from, I'm usually introducing myself the other way around. He was so thoughtful about affirming my identity outside of "The Covenant Circle.")
He was gentle and gracious and the pain of losing his only son was there on his face, welling up in his eyes. We talked about the pain of grief - death, stroke, cancer, infertility.
We agreed that there is a place for healing - we get there sometimes on this side, but there's a wounding that will never heal this side of heaven. We long for Heaven.
He said that it's called The Argument from Desire.
We parted. He turned and thanked me for the note of scripture I had written in a card. I thought about that scripture. It was given to me as a gift, from a friend, left for me on a sticky note in my desk, shortly after my father's stroke. It has always stayed with me.
The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with singing.
(Zeph 3:17)
And so I had given it to him - the one thing we can give to one another when words fail- the gift of the Holy Spirit speaking love and compassion through his Word.
Tuesday, June 11
Saturday, May 18
Still Infertile
I realize I'm pregnant. The little thumper kicking away right now reminds me of the fact as she pummels the inside of my body with her little knees, elbows, feet, and fists!
But as mother's day came and went, and as we have heard more news of friends who continue on the road of IVF, infertility and/or adoption, I find an unusual response occurring in me.
I still feel infertile.
I think this makes sense personally:
First, I'm still somewhat in the same emotional place I was 5 or 6 months ago. After all, when you get to the point in the road that we were coming to (acceptance of our situation, acceptance of not having biological kids, years of the same answer, "no"), 5 months of knowing we're no longer on that road is not a particularly long time to change your emotional perspective.
And secondly, the Fear of revisiting the same infertility experiences is real. We have no guarentee that we'll get pregnant again after this one. Statistics are good, but as John Piper writes in his essay, Don't Waste Your Cancer, "You will waste your cancer if you seek comfort from your odds rather than from God." I thought a lot about this principle as we were going through treatments. After all, Dr. Scotchie gave us about a 5-10% chance of getting pregnant on our own. Odds? Terrible. Christ? Powerful.
And while God is powerful to do as he wills when he wills, he is never manipulated by my desires or my recitation of odds and statistics his direction.
And I think there are two main origins to the feeling.
First is compassion and empathy for my infertile friends: All of this - the realization that I still feel infertile, still categorize myself as such - came as a friend wrote a letter to me a few months ago. They are beginning the process of infertility testing. She knew I was pregnant and I wanted with all my heart to express to her, "But I'm still with you! I'm still there, in Infertile Land with all it's pain and confusion, even if I have a baby growing in me. It doesn't change it!"
(Of course, it does change it.)
The second origin is a bit more, well, controlling. I found an author had written a post titled "Pregnancy doesn't cure Infertility." I deeply appreciate her overall expression of the experience and her final point is the essential one:
And while I do want more babies, she writes what my heart cries: To have control. To know what the future holds. To be Omniscient and Omnipotent.
And as I am not God, I am still infertile - infertile to do as I will.
But he calls me to trust. As I was called to trust while going through infertility treatments, as I was called to trust as I wrestled with the fear of losing this pregnancy, as I am called to still trust that through all that life has to hold, Whate’er my God ordains Is Right.
But as mother's day came and went, and as we have heard more news of friends who continue on the road of IVF, infertility and/or adoption, I find an unusual response occurring in me.
I still feel infertile.
I think this makes sense personally:
First, I'm still somewhat in the same emotional place I was 5 or 6 months ago. After all, when you get to the point in the road that we were coming to (acceptance of our situation, acceptance of not having biological kids, years of the same answer, "no"), 5 months of knowing we're no longer on that road is not a particularly long time to change your emotional perspective.
And secondly, the Fear of revisiting the same infertility experiences is real. We have no guarentee that we'll get pregnant again after this one. Statistics are good, but as John Piper writes in his essay, Don't Waste Your Cancer, "You will waste your cancer if you seek comfort from your odds rather than from God." I thought a lot about this principle as we were going through treatments. After all, Dr. Scotchie gave us about a 5-10% chance of getting pregnant on our own. Odds? Terrible. Christ? Powerful.
And while God is powerful to do as he wills when he wills, he is never manipulated by my desires or my recitation of odds and statistics his direction.
And I think there are two main origins to the feeling.
First is compassion and empathy for my infertile friends: All of this - the realization that I still feel infertile, still categorize myself as such - came as a friend wrote a letter to me a few months ago. They are beginning the process of infertility testing. She knew I was pregnant and I wanted with all my heart to express to her, "But I'm still with you! I'm still there, in Infertile Land with all it's pain and confusion, even if I have a baby growing in me. It doesn't change it!"
(Of course, it does change it.)
The second origin is a bit more, well, controlling. I found an author had written a post titled "Pregnancy doesn't cure Infertility." I deeply appreciate her overall expression of the experience and her final point is the essential one:
I really want control: My shameful secret is that what I most want isn’t another baby, it’s control. I want to imagine a world where I could pick how many kids I’m going to have and then I could make it happen. I wouldn’t have to wait through times of “trying” or lengthy adoption processes. I could be in charge. Of course, it’s such a false sense of control to imagine that being fertile means you make your children happen. Every conception is an act of God, but I admit I’m envious of those who seem to be able to make it happen (or not happen) at will.
(See more at: A Musing Maralee)
And while I do want more babies, she writes what my heart cries: To have control. To know what the future holds. To be Omniscient and Omnipotent.
And as I am not God, I am still infertile - infertile to do as I will.
But he calls me to trust. As I was called to trust while going through infertility treatments, as I was called to trust as I wrestled with the fear of losing this pregnancy, as I am called to still trust that through all that life has to hold, Whate’er my God ordains Is Right.
Sunday, May 5
An Exceptionally Good Year
Today is the last day we will see our RA 2012-2013 staff. They will be wandering in for breakfast, after a full Turkey Dinner last night and a full night of cleaning a dorm building that used to be a hotel - 150 rooms!
And cleaning this building is quite a feat, considering I heard from 3 separate college students during cleaning day last week, "Why do we have to clean? Isn't there a cleaning service?" (Adam and I could write a book on examples of entitlement from this generation....) That aside,
It has been an exceptionally good year.
A year full of depression, struggle and learning. A year full of laughter, mentoring and connection. These RAs, more than any other group, walked with us through our fertility struggles: They were 3 months into their job when we told them what the past years had held for us personally and shared with them that we were likely never to have kids.
When we came back from Christmas, they were the first people we told that we were pregnant. I thought I knew which ones would cry with happiness - I wasn't ready for all of them to tear up and shout with joy! (Which may explain this video a little!)
We've been with them as two of them became engaged, another start dating seriously and others struggle with longing and disappointment. Adam has counseled each as they've gone through the difficulties of leading college students - sometimes being in the place on confidant and "older brother or sister," sometimes being rejected or the object of anger by those same students weeks later.
They have been a good team. I will miss them!
And cleaning this building is quite a feat, considering I heard from 3 separate college students during cleaning day last week, "Why do we have to clean? Isn't there a cleaning service?" (Adam and I could write a book on examples of entitlement from this generation....) That aside,
It has been an exceptionally good year.
A year full of depression, struggle and learning. A year full of laughter, mentoring and connection. These RAs, more than any other group, walked with us through our fertility struggles: They were 3 months into their job when we told them what the past years had held for us personally and shared with them that we were likely never to have kids.
When we came back from Christmas, they were the first people we told that we were pregnant. I thought I knew which ones would cry with happiness - I wasn't ready for all of them to tear up and shout with joy! (Which may explain this video a little!)
We've been with them as two of them became engaged, another start dating seriously and others struggle with longing and disappointment. Adam has counseled each as they've gone through the difficulties of leading college students - sometimes being in the place on confidant and "older brother or sister," sometimes being rejected or the object of anger by those same students weeks later.
They have been a good team. I will miss them!
Friday, April 12
Big News
If you're curious, there's an announcement here!
I'll write more about the visit later on, right now it's a crazy time for both of us, so I haven't had a lot of time to sit and write it all out yet....
I'll write more about the visit later on, right now it's a crazy time for both of us, so I haven't had a lot of time to sit and write it all out yet....
Saturday, March 30
A Holy Saturday Post
On Dec 1, before I was pregnant, I wrote this: Lamenting in the Barren Land. I was not looking forward to Christmas - for the first time ever. Having gone through a year of failed infertility treatments and struggling with my sister's spontaneous pregnancy, presuming I would hear all kinds of "So why aren't you starting a family" kind of comments from friends and extended family. Believing I would walk through all of it raw and vulnerable. It made me want to hide.
As I wrote "Lamenting", I assumed that the road ahead would lead toward healing, but in the form of contentedness years in the making.
At the time, I believed I would write a bookend to "Lamenting." I didn't know when, but I thought it would go something like this: "God didn't abandon me, and this is how I know, etc, etc." I also thought it would be something along the lines of "look at all he has done, though he never gave us children."
Which brings me to this Post: We are not Forsaken. I think it is a better bookend to "Lamenting" than something I could write.
What I didn't think about during my own post was the effect on God as he watched his only son suffer and die. Which is why the post is so fantastic. I, myself, couldn't wrap my brain around any other perspective but mine (and Jesus from the cross).
I forgot that parents suffer as their beloved child suffers.
My mom and sister (who has now had her baby) have both made comments recently about how painful it is to love someone as much as a parent loves their child. I cognitively believe it, but I don't understand it - yet. I know I will when our own little peanut comes I'll know experientially.
As I wrote "Lamenting", I assumed that the road ahead would lead toward healing, but in the form of contentedness years in the making.
At the time, I believed I would write a bookend to "Lamenting." I didn't know when, but I thought it would go something like this: "God didn't abandon me, and this is how I know, etc, etc." I also thought it would be something along the lines of "look at all he has done, though he never gave us children."
Which brings me to this Post: We are not Forsaken. I think it is a better bookend to "Lamenting" than something I could write.
What I didn't think about during my own post was the effect on God as he watched his only son suffer and die. Which is why the post is so fantastic. I, myself, couldn't wrap my brain around any other perspective but mine (and Jesus from the cross).
I forgot that parents suffer as their beloved child suffers.
My mom and sister (who has now had her baby) have both made comments recently about how painful it is to love someone as much as a parent loves their child. I cognitively believe it, but I don't understand it - yet. I know I will when our own little peanut comes I'll know experientially.
Saturday, March 23
Marriage
I like to steal ideas from my blogging friends. So, today, I present the theft of an topic my friend Deanna Davis regularly blogs about: Healthy Marriage Practices.
(You'll hear a - shorter - version of this post at my brother's rehearsal dinner in two weeks, if you are attending. For all of you others, these are the thoughts that have been rolling around in my mind during the past few months.)
Our marriage began as every marriage does: with about 3-5 months of bliss (with some little blips) and then BAM: The Argument. The fight. If you are married, you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's the one where at the end of it you feel both bewilderment that this got out of hand so fast, mixed with a significant amount of "I DO NOT want to be married to you anymore. This is NOT what I thought it would be. Screw this."
Simultaneously, I was finishing my graduate degree in Counseling, and was required by my Internship Supervisor (and Professor) to read a number of different books, and write response papers applying them to a) me or b) my practice.
I clearly remember what my professor wrote on one response paper ( I don't remember what I wrote, but it had to do with words of affirmation in a marriage). He wrote, "John Gottman states that the Magic Ratio for a healthy relationship is 5 positive comments for every 1 negative comment."
This blew my mind.
I remember thinking about our short marriage (about 8 months old at that point) and saying to myself, "How can I ever POSSIBLY remember to say 5 positive things to my husband before I bring up something difficult or critical?"
So, I got into a habit. I realized that when my husband does chores (the items of life that he said he'd take care of - laundry, the dishes, etc), he is doing a favor for me. If he were not here, I would have to do those things. By myself.
So I began to thank him.
For everything. For The smallest things.
Now, he also would thank me for doing certain things in our marriage, so it was a fairly easy habit for me to get into. But now, nearly 5 years into our marriage, we show gratitude for one another all the time. For miniscule things. The last time I thanked him, it was for filling up the gas tank. I hate doing that. It's so nice when he does it, so I texted him at 9 am when I got to work: Thanks for filling up the gas. I was so appreciative of it this morning!
I'm sure other couples may find it almost too saccharine to bear, but the consistent, little moments of gratitude make the marriage connection much more stable when the difficult conversations are addressed. You have something to draw upon.
Does everyone have to implement this particular habit into their relationship? No, of course not. I see many relationships that are healthy and thriving and they don't do exactly this.
But in one manner or another, they specifically encourage their spouse with positive, affirming actions and words. Because it is the lifeblood of a marriage together.
(You'll hear a - shorter - version of this post at my brother's rehearsal dinner in two weeks, if you are attending. For all of you others, these are the thoughts that have been rolling around in my mind during the past few months.)
Our marriage began as every marriage does: with about 3-5 months of bliss (with some little blips) and then BAM: The Argument. The fight. If you are married, you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's the one where at the end of it you feel both bewilderment that this got out of hand so fast, mixed with a significant amount of "I DO NOT want to be married to you anymore. This is NOT what I thought it would be. Screw this."
Simultaneously, I was finishing my graduate degree in Counseling, and was required by my Internship Supervisor (and Professor) to read a number of different books, and write response papers applying them to a) me or b) my practice.
I clearly remember what my professor wrote on one response paper ( I don't remember what I wrote, but it had to do with words of affirmation in a marriage). He wrote, "John Gottman states that the Magic Ratio for a healthy relationship is 5 positive comments for every 1 negative comment."
This blew my mind.
I remember thinking about our short marriage (about 8 months old at that point) and saying to myself, "How can I ever POSSIBLY remember to say 5 positive things to my husband before I bring up something difficult or critical?"
So, I got into a habit. I realized that when my husband does chores (the items of life that he said he'd take care of - laundry, the dishes, etc), he is doing a favor for me. If he were not here, I would have to do those things. By myself.
So I began to thank him.
For everything. For The smallest things.
Now, he also would thank me for doing certain things in our marriage, so it was a fairly easy habit for me to get into. But now, nearly 5 years into our marriage, we show gratitude for one another all the time. For miniscule things. The last time I thanked him, it was for filling up the gas tank. I hate doing that. It's so nice when he does it, so I texted him at 9 am when I got to work: Thanks for filling up the gas. I was so appreciative of it this morning!
I'm sure other couples may find it almost too saccharine to bear, but the consistent, little moments of gratitude make the marriage connection much more stable when the difficult conversations are addressed. You have something to draw upon.
Does everyone have to implement this particular habit into their relationship? No, of course not. I see many relationships that are healthy and thriving and they don't do exactly this.
But in one manner or another, they specifically encourage their spouse with positive, affirming actions and words. Because it is the lifeblood of a marriage together.
Thursday, March 7
Stubborn or Mysterious. You choose.
Well, my friends, I'm sorry to say that there is no news on whether we have a Santiago or a Santiaga (as our RA Grace calls her...since she's sure baby is a "her.")
The ultrasound was from the top of the head down...sometimes we got a shot of the body, but it was not the traditional perfect "laying on a chaise lounge sofa" profile shot other babies are keen to give.
Adam said baby was Stubborn. My sister said both our babies were frustratingly mysterious.
Dr. Harnsberger pointed out baby's two kidneys, stomach and the heart was beating strong at 140 bpm. We could also see the baby's hands very clearly, and it likes to have its hands next to its face (twice in the last two months - hands near face). We were also able to see a partial profile (mouth, eyes, nose), but baby moved right as he was taking the picture. So the photo's not that clear.
I learned something new, too: Apparently the sound of a sonogram is audible to the baby, which is why he/she moves around so much during the sonogram. It's not super pleasant, being the loudness of a subway train, with the tonality of the highest keys on a piano.
Listen, baby. Show us the goods, and we'll stop bothering you with that subway train sound! ;)
The ultrasound was from the top of the head down...sometimes we got a shot of the body, but it was not the traditional perfect "laying on a chaise lounge sofa" profile shot other babies are keen to give.
Adam said baby was Stubborn. My sister said both our babies were frustratingly mysterious.
Dr. Harnsberger pointed out baby's two kidneys, stomach and the heart was beating strong at 140 bpm. We could also see the baby's hands very clearly, and it likes to have its hands next to its face (twice in the last two months - hands near face). We were also able to see a partial profile (mouth, eyes, nose), but baby moved right as he was taking the picture. So the photo's not that clear.
I learned something new, too: Apparently the sound of a sonogram is audible to the baby, which is why he/she moves around so much during the sonogram. It's not super pleasant, being the loudness of a subway train, with the tonality of the highest keys on a piano.
Listen, baby. Show us the goods, and we'll stop bothering you with that subway train sound! ;)
Monday, March 4
All over the place
I have been trying to think up something very interesting to write about, and I really haven't come up with a whole lot that is coherent. So, in scattershot fashion:
- Things apparently are going well with the pregnancy. The doctor is fine with me coming in every month, as opposed to the every two weeks I was accustomed to, so there's not a lot to share. I could update about how "big" the little one is, but I don't want to simply regurgitate app information on my blog without additional info.
- I'm 14 weeks. I look pregnant after I eat, I don't look preggo when I wear my normal clothes and sit up straight. So I have no idea. Maybe in a few weeks we'll go: "THAT'S a baby bump."
- I pray every day for my friends who have yet to conceive.
- We aren't updating Facebook with updates, because we don't know how painful it might be for those around us, those who might not have shared with us their struggles. Our child will rarely get posts on FB when he/she does arrive. I'll probably keep updates here or at Santiago Chronicle.
- We (hopefully!) will find out the gender this Thursday. I may or may not post it immediately, since the RA staff is on Spring Break, and we want to tell them all together when they return. (I have no idea how many of them know about my blog).
- I think we're keeping the baby name a secret, but we've secretly flown it by some people to see their reaction (nestled in among 5 other names so they couldn't figure out which one we're really interested in.) Adam's set on one particular name and I'm fine with it as long as it's paired with a family name from my side.
- My brother is engaged! The wedding is in 4 weeks, Adam is going to be a groomsmen. They were thoughtful enough to consider when I wouldn't be able to fly and significantly moved up their wedding plans.
- My sister is due in 3 weeks - I'm praying baby comes early so she'll have weeks to recover, but also for the baby to be full term, making it easier for her to be able to attend my brother's wedding (she lives in the same town, as opposed to us, who live 1700 miles away).
- I'm pretty moody lately - I was irritable all day for little reason. Came home kinda pissy, and am still trying to snap myself out of it. I'll just blame it on the pregnancy and eat one of the 5 boxes of Girl Scout Cookies I bought.
- Yes, I used the excuse "I'm pregnant" when I bought the 5 boxes of Girl Scout cookies.
Saturday, February 16
Onto something completely different - Movie Reviews!
I rarely see enough Oscar-nominated films prior to the Acadamy Awards to have a decent opinion regarding who ought to win. Strangely enough, many of the movies that are nominated are also popular this year, so I actually have now seen 3 of the Best Actor Nominated performances.
___
I'm sure that Daniel Day Lewis will win - as he has won everything else. I ended up being pretty bored by the end of the movie, but perhaps it is because everyone around me said, "Oh, My Gosh, you have to see Lincoln!" and "Lincoln is Amazing!" and I unintentionally I got my expectations up. The travesty is that Sally Field wasn't nominated, because she actually turns in a more accurate and nuanced portrayal of Mary Todd Lincoln. (updated to say - she is nominated for supporting actress....and should win it.)
Unfortunately, Adam and I left the theater saying, "That was a 3 hour version of an non-witty episode of "The West Wing." What would have been Fantastic is to have bombastic Toby Ziegler stomp his way into Lincoln's office and tell him what for. Why can't I find a mash-up of That?
___
Les Mis has some fantastic turns at acting. The singing was about how bad I thought it would be (Thank the Lord Almighty for Hugh Jackman's training on Broadway prior to this movie). Anne Hathaway was great, made me cry, all the same as everyone else. Marius and Cosette,who cares about? As usual, I love Helena Bonhome Carter will all her Real-Life Wierdness coming out on screen. That woman can act! And not a bad voice, either!
The thing I will say that I loved was the change at the end. How fitting to have the Bishop and Fantine guide Valjean at the end? So fitting.
Otherwise, Les Mis was more entertaining than Lincoln, but the acting was far more spotty overall.
___
The movie I will recommend with a huge caveat - is Flight. What a dark and depressing movie! What a wonderful morality play about alcoholism, the utter inability for people around an alcoholic to save him, and the need for something - or someone, hint hint - more than human to save a man so determined to be an arrogant, self-righteous, narcissistic ass.
Denzel should win the Oscar, but he won't. But he should. His performance is nigh unto perfect for the character.
Here's the huge caveat, that you must know (Hi Mom!) : There is full frontal - and somewhat unnecessary - female nudity for about 3 minutes at the beginning of the movie. It sets up the question "Do I even like this guy?" but yeah. I hate nudity in movies, so there you go.
This is not a movie to watch with the eyes of entertainment. It's a movie that you have to slog through, watching for God to pluck a man out of his own filth - and not all of the Christians in the movie are portrayed in a "normal" way - the wife of the co-pilot says "PRAISE JESUS" in a way that turns me off to Christianity. But I guess that's how an Alcoholic Narcissist would see her.
The end of the movie is moving and appropriate for a man saved from his own lying, sinful, arrogant ways.
___
I'm sure that Daniel Day Lewis will win - as he has won everything else. I ended up being pretty bored by the end of the movie, but perhaps it is because everyone around me said, "Oh, My Gosh, you have to see Lincoln!" and "Lincoln is Amazing!" and I unintentionally I got my expectations up. The travesty is that Sally Field wasn't nominated, because she actually turns in a more accurate and nuanced portrayal of Mary Todd Lincoln. (updated to say - she is nominated for supporting actress....and should win it.)
Unfortunately, Adam and I left the theater saying, "That was a 3 hour version of an non-witty episode of "The West Wing." What would have been Fantastic is to have bombastic Toby Ziegler stomp his way into Lincoln's office and tell him what for. Why can't I find a mash-up of That?
___
Les Mis has some fantastic turns at acting. The singing was about how bad I thought it would be (Thank the Lord Almighty for Hugh Jackman's training on Broadway prior to this movie). Anne Hathaway was great, made me cry, all the same as everyone else. Marius and Cosette,who cares about? As usual, I love Helena Bonhome Carter will all her Real-Life Wierdness coming out on screen. That woman can act! And not a bad voice, either!
The thing I will say that I loved was the change at the end. How fitting to have the Bishop and Fantine guide Valjean at the end? So fitting.
Otherwise, Les Mis was more entertaining than Lincoln, but the acting was far more spotty overall.
___
The movie I will recommend with a huge caveat - is Flight. What a dark and depressing movie! What a wonderful morality play about alcoholism, the utter inability for people around an alcoholic to save him, and the need for something - or someone, hint hint - more than human to save a man so determined to be an arrogant, self-righteous, narcissistic ass.
Denzel should win the Oscar, but he won't. But he should. His performance is nigh unto perfect for the character.
Here's the huge caveat, that you must know (Hi Mom!) : There is full frontal - and somewhat unnecessary - female nudity for about 3 minutes at the beginning of the movie. It sets up the question "Do I even like this guy?" but yeah. I hate nudity in movies, so there you go.
This is not a movie to watch with the eyes of entertainment. It's a movie that you have to slog through, watching for God to pluck a man out of his own filth - and not all of the Christians in the movie are portrayed in a "normal" way - the wife of the co-pilot says "PRAISE JESUS" in a way that turns me off to Christianity. But I guess that's how an Alcoholic Narcissist would see her.
The end of the movie is moving and appropriate for a man saved from his own lying, sinful, arrogant ways.
Saturday, February 2
It should be easy, now, right?
So. I got what I wanted.
God did as he pleased, when he pleased. He surprised us with a wonderful surprise, and I sometimes imagine the delight he must have felt when Adam an I found out, prayed in awe and amazement to him, and then commenced telling friends and family who had prayed for so long for us to become pregnant. Loved ones who had prayed for so long that when they were told they wept, danced or exclaimed with delight!
When my sister became pregnant (before me, when I was thoroughly convinced we'd never have our own child), Addie reminded me of the anxieties and fears that come along with pregnancy. And, truthfully, I took her seriously. But in a way that was unable to "experience-know" what she was talking about. I cognitively agreed. "Yes. That makes sense," I thought to myself.
I had no idea.
Would you all agree that if there was something that engendered me to full and utter Trust of The Lord and his ways, it would be this pregnancy? Look at what he has done! I "should" simply believe that God is good and that whatever comes we will look on with satisfaction in his doings. (Because I believe that for the 5 other friends who are pregnant and will give birth within a month of me.)
Oh, my friends, Trust is so fleeting. I have wondered to to the Lord, "God, when will I just simply TRUST you?" Will it be when I finally feel the little bean? If we get tests and find out all is developmentally ok? When I give birth to a healthy little baby? When will I, with full abandon, simply trust you?"
I'm currently going through a counseling class on Dialectical Behavior Therapy, and we talked a lot about mindfulness - paying close attention to things happening in the moment (Examples of Mindfulness exercises). But what was emphasized over and over is that mindfulness is a practice - it takes time, effort and discipline to be mindful.
As I re-read my notes from yesterday, this thought occurred to me: Perhaps Trusting God is less about feeling the emotions of trust and peace, and more about practice - the time, effort and discipline - of paying attention to the smallest details of what God does and his goodness. In all things.
God did as he pleased, when he pleased. He surprised us with a wonderful surprise, and I sometimes imagine the delight he must have felt when Adam an I found out, prayed in awe and amazement to him, and then commenced telling friends and family who had prayed for so long for us to become pregnant. Loved ones who had prayed for so long that when they were told they wept, danced or exclaimed with delight!
When my sister became pregnant (before me, when I was thoroughly convinced we'd never have our own child), Addie reminded me of the anxieties and fears that come along with pregnancy. And, truthfully, I took her seriously. But in a way that was unable to "experience-know" what she was talking about. I cognitively agreed. "Yes. That makes sense," I thought to myself.
I had no idea.
Would you all agree that if there was something that engendered me to full and utter Trust of The Lord and his ways, it would be this pregnancy? Look at what he has done! I "should" simply believe that God is good and that whatever comes we will look on with satisfaction in his doings. (Because I believe that for the 5 other friends who are pregnant and will give birth within a month of me.)
Oh, my friends, Trust is so fleeting. I have wondered to to the Lord, "God, when will I just simply TRUST you?" Will it be when I finally feel the little bean? If we get tests and find out all is developmentally ok? When I give birth to a healthy little baby? When will I, with full abandon, simply trust you?"
I'm currently going through a counseling class on Dialectical Behavior Therapy, and we talked a lot about mindfulness - paying close attention to things happening in the moment (Examples of Mindfulness exercises). But what was emphasized over and over is that mindfulness is a practice - it takes time, effort and discipline to be mindful.
As I re-read my notes from yesterday, this thought occurred to me: Perhaps Trusting God is less about feeling the emotions of trust and peace, and more about practice - the time, effort and discipline - of paying attention to the smallest details of what God does and his goodness. In all things.
Thursday, January 31
That's what they said
(Taking a page from my friend, Addie)
RAs During Super Mario Brothers
"Wait, is that a horse?"
"No, the turtle is bad!"
"The turtle is not a horse?"
"Someone pop me! popmepopmepopme!
"Go play with those guys"
"I just did, and they ate me!"
"How can I turn into ice?"
"What is WITH THESE FISH?"
"You are bubbling like a champ!"
"Ooh! are those horses?"
"No, Turtles are not horses."
"Remember, I'll tell you when they're horses"
"Ok, Purple lava: no fun."
"That was terrifying!
"Oh, Gosh! Oh Gosh, Oh Gosh!!"
"WE GOT FIRE AND ICE!"
"oh. we lost our powers."
"I think he ate me, and then I was frozen inside of him"
"Ok, someone jump on the bomb..."
"Are the mushrooms our friends?"
"No, the mushrooms are not friends!"
"The guys with the blue spots?"
"Oh. Yeah. that's your friend"
"Ahhh! Ooohkay! That was my face."
RAs During Super Mario Brothers
"Wait, is that a horse?"
"No, the turtle is bad!"
"The turtle is not a horse?"
"Someone pop me! popmepopmepopme!
"Go play with those guys"
"I just did, and they ate me!"
"How can I turn into ice?"
"What is WITH THESE FISH?"
"You are bubbling like a champ!"
"Ooh! are those horses?"
"No, Turtles are not horses."
"Remember, I'll tell you when they're horses"
"Ok, Purple lava: no fun."
"That was terrifying!
"Oh, Gosh! Oh Gosh, Oh Gosh!!"
"WE GOT FIRE AND ICE!"
"oh. we lost our powers."
"I think he ate me, and then I was frozen inside of him"
"Ok, someone jump on the bomb..."
"Are the mushrooms our friends?"
"No, the mushrooms are not friends!"
"The guys with the blue spots?"
"Oh. Yeah. that's your friend"
"Ahhh! Ooohkay! That was my face."
Thursday, January 24
Well, and then THAT happened....
So, I was supposed to get my period on a Thursday - the Thursday before Christmas. Nothing happened. I was pretty happy, actually, to simply not get my period on that day, because it was a crazy busy day in the office, and I had vacation starting the next day and then we would be flying out on Sunday. So my plan was to hope it would come on Friday, and then I'd be done with it by Christmas.
Friday, Saturday come and go, and I'm packing for Christmas. I think to myself: "Well, I'm pretty regular, but I have had longer cycles and of course, I can't really get pregnant." So I throw in all of the tampons I have on hand, all the ovulation sticks I have (because if I do get my period, then I need them) and just for good measure I threw in a couple of pregnancy tests.
Sunday, Monday. Monday is Christmas Eve. We go to church. I dreaded it. (I love you, church friends! You are not why I dreaded it!) Church has been a hard thing for me for two years, and rarely do I feel at ease when listening to a sermon. Most sermons don't deal with depression and grief that lasts years, so I'm usually left trying to get myself into a different spiritual and emotional place so I can appreciate what the pastor is saying and how it might apply.
I figured I'd be crying for most of the service. I did ok, being as I only lost it at "O Holy Night" at the lyric "He knows our need, to our weakness is no stranger." I felt angry and sad and reassured all at the same time. (Hello, Ambivalence!) Angry because, "Do you God? DO YOU know this weakness? Cause it doesn't seem like it" and Sad because "Of course, he knows it, Hannah, baby Jesus eventually dies on a Cross. You can't look at the manger and not see the cross" and reassured because, if there's anything I hope and pray with all my might, it's that Jesus knows my weakness and forgives me even so.
Christmas Eve and Christmas day. At this point, I am all, "What the....?" I won't go into detail, but lets just say I went to the bathroom A LOT trying to figure this thing out. Where are you, little pink streak? I emailed a couple of friends, telling them about my flummoxedness (it's a word, really), trying to induce Murphy's law. Usually whan I say things like, "I'm late," my period comes the next day.
I decide on Christmas Eve that Christmas day and after I'm late enough to warrant a pregnancy test. I decided to wait until after Christmas day because I think, "what a horrible way to start Christmas, hoping that being late means a baby and finding out, no, you're not. Because THAT is what ALWAYS happens. And then thinking, "Oh, s*** I have cancer." (How did I get to cancer? I googled 'reasons you don't get period not pregnant.' Cancer came up. Good times!) The entire time, though you can't suppress the hope that a late period means a baby, reason and experience tell you, "Gurl, how stupid you be? You knows how this ends."
So Wednesday, the 26th, I take a pregnancy test. 6:15 in the morning. Hating every minute, because hope is buried way down there, but fear is ruling the moment. But I know it won't be....
Positive.
Crazy news, people - we're pregnant!
Sunday, January 6
Alone
(I started this post in October and finished it in January, if it feels a little disjointed to some of you. But the thoughts have been ruminating for the last few months, and I think they are worth writing.)
Since pondering the prospect of life without kids, I find myself keenly aware of how I fear to be alone.
I don't think that it's previously been a motivation of "hey lets have kids so we're not alone when we die." Certainly I don't think anyone thinks that when they first begin to try to have kids. We all think of newborns cooing with unadulterated love, little toddlers toppling over while taking first steps, the first bike ride, the panic of helping pay (or completely paying!) for college. The hope of more generations.
Having kids may help you stay in this moment, instead of looking down toward the future.
Not having kids? your life - and the end of it - comes rushing toward you, because it seems that all you have and all you will have is the same today as it will be tomorrow and ever shall be.
At one point, as I was thinking about being alone and how I frequently seek out others (as both a function of my extroversion, and as a function of fear) I wondered if my husband or friends were afraid of being alone at the end of life. I thought, "Well, that is MY fear, but perhaps those who are not as avoidant of being alone fear other aspects of death that I don't?
As the Christmas season descended upon us, I began to meditate on Christ as Emmanuel, God with us. Obviously, I have always thought of Emmanuel in a historical sense - God came down to be with humanity for 33 years. But in the emotional sense of "God is with us" when struggling through the pain and difficulty of life. "God with us" when pondering the things that cause us anxiety. "God with us" in joy and in sorrow.
Because of all the disorienting things about infertility, the worst is the feeling of being abandoned by God. Yet, God promises to be with us. Emmanuel.
As the Christmas Eve service choir sang "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" in variation, the understanding came upon me. It was something that came when I was a little girl, feeling rejected by others, as a teen when I tried and failed to fit in, and now, as an adult, fearful of being alone: God is with me. Emmanuel. He will be with me when I die, and he is with me when it doesn't feel like he is near. He is with me when I am anxious, and when I am angry, and when I am grieving. He will be with me when I am joyful.
His very name is the remedy for my fear.
Since pondering the prospect of life without kids, I find myself keenly aware of how I fear to be alone.
I don't think that it's previously been a motivation of "hey lets have kids so we're not alone when we die." Certainly I don't think anyone thinks that when they first begin to try to have kids. We all think of newborns cooing with unadulterated love, little toddlers toppling over while taking first steps, the first bike ride, the panic of helping pay (or completely paying!) for college. The hope of more generations.
Having kids may help you stay in this moment, instead of looking down toward the future.
Not having kids? your life - and the end of it - comes rushing toward you, because it seems that all you have and all you will have is the same today as it will be tomorrow and ever shall be.
At one point, as I was thinking about being alone and how I frequently seek out others (as both a function of my extroversion, and as a function of fear) I wondered if my husband or friends were afraid of being alone at the end of life. I thought, "Well, that is MY fear, but perhaps those who are not as avoidant of being alone fear other aspects of death that I don't?
As the Christmas season descended upon us, I began to meditate on Christ as Emmanuel, God with us. Obviously, I have always thought of Emmanuel in a historical sense - God came down to be with humanity for 33 years. But in the emotional sense of "God is with us" when struggling through the pain and difficulty of life. "God with us" when pondering the things that cause us anxiety. "God with us" in joy and in sorrow.
Because of all the disorienting things about infertility, the worst is the feeling of being abandoned by God. Yet, God promises to be with us. Emmanuel.
As the Christmas Eve service choir sang "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" in variation, the understanding came upon me. It was something that came when I was a little girl, feeling rejected by others, as a teen when I tried and failed to fit in, and now, as an adult, fearful of being alone: God is with me. Emmanuel. He will be with me when I die, and he is with me when it doesn't feel like he is near. He is with me when I am anxious, and when I am angry, and when I am grieving. He will be with me when I am joyful.
His very name is the remedy for my fear.
Thursday, December 20
What We've Been Up To
Well, first off, we had Thanksgiving with friends, Old and new.
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| We loved seeing our St. Louis friends again |
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| And The RAs all dressed up for "The Hobbit" and the midnight showing! |
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| And some were pretty darn accurate. |
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| Anyone guess what Jess went as? Here's your hint: David is Frodo : ) |
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| Appropriate Snacks |
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| And I couldn't get one without weird faces...I wonder if any of them thought they'd be on my blog...?! |
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| Today we had our good friends and little Margaret over...I loved her captivated looks at the tree.... |
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| And then she proved once again to be the best natured child I've been around... |
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| ....As these photos were taken 2 hours past her bedtime... |
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| ....And she was still giggling |
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| And one to leave you with...that crazy blur is me |
Saturday, December 8
Advent
Advent (definition)
1.a coming into place, view, or being; arrival: the advent of the holiday season.
2.the coming of Christ into the world.
Advent is a season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas. - Wikipedia
When I refuse to hide my honest questions, the things I’m really thinking, the places where I am most afraid and really need His help…He meets me there. And it not only doesn’t scare Him off like it does some people, it seems to please Him. That I am willing to go deep with Him. To wrestle. To endure and embrace uncertainty, recognizing it is such a powerful door He walks through. The longer I walk with Him, the more this is how I have to relate to Him.
Deanna Davis
Deanna Davis' last few (ok...I really mean ALL of her) posts have been a most profound experience for me. She is struggling through something very different than my struggle, but as she thinks and wrestles out loud, I think to myself, "Is the woman watching me? does she have ESP? How could she possibly write something that is exactly what I am thinking and experiencing?
Today she tackles the issue of "Ew. Messy blog. Messy life. Messy relationship with Jesus" and the inability sometimes for people to understand a Jesus who makes and meets us in a messy life.
Really, what I'm telling you is to read her blog. And espeically this post.
But I also thought this: She makes this point, "Not hiding the mess invites Jesus to speak into the mess. And sometimes heal it so beautifully, so personally…it defies description."
And I thought to myself, "Jesus I am waiting. Waiting for you to heal this mess, this disaster area that is my spiritual life. Come, Lord Jesus. Come Quickly. Heal me and clean it up."
And isn't that the heart of the advent? Not only calling out to the Lord to come to us physically, but also spiritually and emotionally.
Especially when your spiritual life feels chaotic and questioning and weak.
Come, especially then, Lord Jesus.
1.a coming into place, view, or being; arrival: the advent of the holiday season.
2.the coming of Christ into the world.
Advent is a season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas. - Wikipedia
When I refuse to hide my honest questions, the things I’m really thinking, the places where I am most afraid and really need His help…He meets me there. And it not only doesn’t scare Him off like it does some people, it seems to please Him. That I am willing to go deep with Him. To wrestle. To endure and embrace uncertainty, recognizing it is such a powerful door He walks through. The longer I walk with Him, the more this is how I have to relate to Him.
Deanna Davis
Deanna Davis' last few (ok...I really mean ALL of her) posts have been a most profound experience for me. She is struggling through something very different than my struggle, but as she thinks and wrestles out loud, I think to myself, "Is the woman watching me? does she have ESP? How could she possibly write something that is exactly what I am thinking and experiencing?
Today she tackles the issue of "Ew. Messy blog. Messy life. Messy relationship with Jesus" and the inability sometimes for people to understand a Jesus who makes and meets us in a messy life.
Really, what I'm telling you is to read her blog. And espeically this post.
But I also thought this: She makes this point, "Not hiding the mess invites Jesus to speak into the mess. And sometimes heal it so beautifully, so personally…it defies description."
And I thought to myself, "Jesus I am waiting. Waiting for you to heal this mess, this disaster area that is my spiritual life. Come, Lord Jesus. Come Quickly. Heal me and clean it up."
And isn't that the heart of the advent? Not only calling out to the Lord to come to us physically, but also spiritually and emotionally.
Especially when your spiritual life feels chaotic and questioning and weak.
Come, especially then, Lord Jesus.
Tuesday, December 4
Balance
It's hard, sometimes, to write a post when I'm happy. If things are going ok, well, then, all the better. And If they're going well, or I'm feeling good, then I probably have the energy to clean the bathroom. Or exercise. Or do Yoga. Or finish some of the shopping that needs to be done. Or call one of the 10 friends that I haven't talked to in a month.
But I've been realizing how unbalanced my blog has been during that past few months. Yes, it's been honest. Brutally honest at times.
A comment on the following picture by my mother reminded me of something. Mom said it was so good to see me smile. I realized that so much of what she hears, and what my friends hear - what you read - is the darkness, the sadness and the confusion that is often all mixed up in me.
But this is what I usually look like on Thursday Nights:
(Too bad Emily looks like she's just about had enough of this night. She wasn't - and played some darn good hands!)
Ok, we don't play poker EVERY Thursday night - although that would be a Great tradition! But the RAs come over for their weekly meeting, Adam gets through the necessary business of managing the building, and then we usually have some form of fun. And Adam and I get to love a bunch of 20 year olds.
But I've been realizing how unbalanced my blog has been during that past few months. Yes, it's been honest. Brutally honest at times.
A comment on the following picture by my mother reminded me of something. Mom said it was so good to see me smile. I realized that so much of what she hears, and what my friends hear - what you read - is the darkness, the sadness and the confusion that is often all mixed up in me.
But this is what I usually look like on Thursday Nights:
Ok, we don't play poker EVERY Thursday night - although that would be a Great tradition! But the RAs come over for their weekly meeting, Adam gets through the necessary business of managing the building, and then we usually have some form of fun. And Adam and I get to love a bunch of 20 year olds.
Sunday, December 2
Lights
Every 3 or 4 weeks (in this sad case, it was six before we saw each other), my very good friend Laura and I go out for coffee, catch up, support each other, laugh a little sardonically, and usually I cry a little. I'm a weepy one. (She's good with the tissues).
Today we talked about darkness. The darkness that visits every Christian who truly knows the pain of discipleship. The Darkness that visited our Lord. She shared a part of a fantastic book that I totally want to read. (After I finish with Henry Nouwen, CS Lewis and a history book on the royal cousins that started WWI. So many books! So little time!) The book - written by a homosexual Christian - touches on the feelings of loneliness and exclusion each person feels as they follow the Lord's call on their life.
We talked about the groaning that comes from discipleship. About the comfort that happens when you know someone knows the grief you're going through. And the ambivalence, the outsider-ness, the feeling of exclusion when you interact with others who do not know what the darkness of deep, soul-rending grief is like. And the thought occurred to me:
I'm now looking at our Christmas tree. It's 4:30 in the afternoon, and daylight is flooding our apartment. The lights are glinting on the tree. But the sunshine - the streaming sunshine - it overwhelms the tree.
Now, I love the tree all the time. It represents Christmas, it represents the hope of a promise fulfilled. The ornaments sparkle. And the lights, they are there. And it's nice.
But the lights change when it's dark.
When it's dark, I sit. I ponder. I am calm.
Its my favorite time, and I've been excited for sunset, as of late. I take my cup of tea or cider and am still in the quietness of the dark.
Those little Christmas tree lights, they shine. They illuminate, even though the shadows, too, are deeper and darker.
To feel the joy of the light, we must be in darkness. And the comfort in the darkness, the pain, the grief of life is that the lights may be small and unassuming.
But they are more beautiful in the dark than in the daylight.
On those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
Isaiah 9:2
Today we talked about darkness. The darkness that visits every Christian who truly knows the pain of discipleship. The Darkness that visited our Lord. She shared a part of a fantastic book that I totally want to read. (After I finish with Henry Nouwen, CS Lewis and a history book on the royal cousins that started WWI. So many books! So little time!) The book - written by a homosexual Christian - touches on the feelings of loneliness and exclusion each person feels as they follow the Lord's call on their life.
We talked about the groaning that comes from discipleship. About the comfort that happens when you know someone knows the grief you're going through. And the ambivalence, the outsider-ness, the feeling of exclusion when you interact with others who do not know what the darkness of deep, soul-rending grief is like. And the thought occurred to me:
I'm now looking at our Christmas tree. It's 4:30 in the afternoon, and daylight is flooding our apartment. The lights are glinting on the tree. But the sunshine - the streaming sunshine - it overwhelms the tree.
Now, I love the tree all the time. It represents Christmas, it represents the hope of a promise fulfilled. The ornaments sparkle. And the lights, they are there. And it's nice.
But the lights change when it's dark.
When it's dark, I sit. I ponder. I am calm.
Its my favorite time, and I've been excited for sunset, as of late. I take my cup of tea or cider and am still in the quietness of the dark.
Those little Christmas tree lights, they shine. They illuminate, even though the shadows, too, are deeper and darker.
To feel the joy of the light, we must be in darkness. And the comfort in the darkness, the pain, the grief of life is that the lights may be small and unassuming.
But they are more beautiful in the dark than in the daylight.
On those living in the land of deep darkness
a light has dawned.
Isaiah 9:2
Saturday, December 1
Lamenting in the Barren Land
A year ago Thursday I had surgery for endometriosis. Oh, what the year has brought.
Not that I really believed that I would be pregnant by this time - after a while, when 15, 16, 17 months of "not pregnants" show up, you enter a strange place. A place where you can't even imagine what it would be like to see "pregnant" appear on that little stick. Grief also comes each month.
I guess you enter the place of the Barren Land. You look around and see nothing able to grow. It is unfathomable that anything can grow in the barren land. It hasn't for years. Years. Actually, in this land, it's apparent nothing has grown in centuries.
Hope is there in the Barren Land. But it's not the peaceful expectation that things will eventually go the way you desire. This is a Terrible, Desperate Hope: "Please God, please overcome the fallenness of my body. Please do the thing you have refused to do. I'm begging. I have nothing to give you. I can't do it, so you have to. Please. Please do it."
CS Lews in his book, "A Grief Observed," describes the feeling: "But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence."
I am comforted by Christ: "Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which is translated, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Mark 15:34; Matthew 27:46). What a dark comfort it is. Yes, Jesus. I know that cry. You know that cry. We are in this together. Abandoned by God.
Or so it seems.
And if I stop here, two thoughts rise up: "Wait a minute, Hannah. What happens after Christ's cry? Aren't you stopping in the middle of the story?" Or "Wow. You are seriously depressed, girl. That is dark. stuff. Is that really what you think?"
Well, both of those reactions are good - because they are both true! Yes, there is more to the story - how horrid would it be if God's forsaking of his Son was the end of the story? Ugh.
And also, Yes, it is dark stuff. To know what it means to experience God's silence- it is not fun. But it happens (from our perception). It happened to Christ.
Psalm 44 and Psalm 88 and Matthew 27 are all in the Bible for a reason. They stop in the middle of the story to offer us the knowledge that, sometimes, we pause in the middle of the story.
And I pause here - not because this is where I will stay. I will keep walking through the Barren Land.
And maybe there is someone out there who needs to know that they are not alone in this long, terrible Trek. And that they are exactly in the middle of the Barren Land, with seemingly nothing else on the horizon.
And that Jesus has been here.
Not that I really believed that I would be pregnant by this time - after a while, when 15, 16, 17 months of "not pregnants" show up, you enter a strange place. A place where you can't even imagine what it would be like to see "pregnant" appear on that little stick. Grief also comes each month.
I guess you enter the place of the Barren Land. You look around and see nothing able to grow. It is unfathomable that anything can grow in the barren land. It hasn't for years. Years. Actually, in this land, it's apparent nothing has grown in centuries.
Hope is there in the Barren Land. But it's not the peaceful expectation that things will eventually go the way you desire. This is a Terrible, Desperate Hope: "Please God, please overcome the fallenness of my body. Please do the thing you have refused to do. I'm begging. I have nothing to give you. I can't do it, so you have to. Please. Please do it."
CS Lews in his book, "A Grief Observed," describes the feeling: "But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence."
I am comforted by Christ: "Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’ which is translated, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Mark 15:34; Matthew 27:46). What a dark comfort it is. Yes, Jesus. I know that cry. You know that cry. We are in this together. Abandoned by God.
Or so it seems.
And if I stop here, two thoughts rise up: "Wait a minute, Hannah. What happens after Christ's cry? Aren't you stopping in the middle of the story?" Or "Wow. You are seriously depressed, girl. That is dark. stuff. Is that really what you think?"
Well, both of those reactions are good - because they are both true! Yes, there is more to the story - how horrid would it be if God's forsaking of his Son was the end of the story? Ugh.
And also, Yes, it is dark stuff. To know what it means to experience God's silence- it is not fun. But it happens (from our perception). It happened to Christ.
Psalm 44 and Psalm 88 and Matthew 27 are all in the Bible for a reason. They stop in the middle of the story to offer us the knowledge that, sometimes, we pause in the middle of the story.
And I pause here - not because this is where I will stay. I will keep walking through the Barren Land.
And maybe there is someone out there who needs to know that they are not alone in this long, terrible Trek. And that they are exactly in the middle of the Barren Land, with seemingly nothing else on the horizon.
And that Jesus has been here.
Thursday, November 29
Waiting and Watching
Charles Spurgeon has been hitting them out of the park during the last week or so. Here is today's:
He shall not haste to run away, for he shall not be overcome with the fear which causes panic. When others are flying hither and thither as if their wits had failed them, the believer shall be quiet, calm, and deliberate, and so shall be able to act wisely in the hour of trial.
He shall not haste in his expectations, craving his good things at once and on the spot, but he will wait God's time. Some are in a desperate hurry to have the bird in the hand, for they regard the Lord's promise as a bird in the bush, not likely to be theirs. Believers know how to wait..
He shall not haste by plunging into wrong or questionable action. Unbelief must be doing something, and thus it works its own undoing; but faith makes no more haste than good speed, and thus it is not forced to go back sorrowfully by the way which it followed heedlessly.
How is it with me? Am I believing, and am I therefore keeping to the believer's pace, which is walking with God? Peace, fluttering spirit! Oh, rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him! Heart, see that thou do this at once!
I have so many thoughts, but no time to write. But soon.
November 29
Know How to Wait
He that believeth shall not make haste. (Isaiah 28:16)
He shall make haste to keep the Lord's commandments; but he shall not make haste in any impatient or improper sense.He shall not haste to run away, for he shall not be overcome with the fear which causes panic. When others are flying hither and thither as if their wits had failed them, the believer shall be quiet, calm, and deliberate, and so shall be able to act wisely in the hour of trial.
He shall not haste in his expectations, craving his good things at once and on the spot, but he will wait God's time. Some are in a desperate hurry to have the bird in the hand, for they regard the Lord's promise as a bird in the bush, not likely to be theirs. Believers know how to wait..
He shall not haste by plunging into wrong or questionable action. Unbelief must be doing something, and thus it works its own undoing; but faith makes no more haste than good speed, and thus it is not forced to go back sorrowfully by the way which it followed heedlessly.
How is it with me? Am I believing, and am I therefore keeping to the believer's pace, which is walking with God? Peace, fluttering spirit! Oh, rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him! Heart, see that thou do this at once!
I have so many thoughts, but no time to write. But soon.
Tuesday, November 20
The Wonder of *Not* Being Blown Off the Earth
For sin shall not have dominion over you: for ye are not under the law, but under grace. (Romans 6:14)
Sin will reign if it can: it cannot be satisfied with any place below the throne of the heart. We sometimes fear that it will conquer us, and then we cry unto the Lord, "Let not any iniquity have dominion over me. This is His comforting answer: "Sin shall not have dominion over you. " It may assail you and even wound you, but it shall never establish sovereignty over you.
Charles Spurgeon
Sometimes God chooses to speak to us through pain. He either causes or allows things in our lives that are leading us to something. To Him. To more of Him. To wholeness. To relational restoration. To character development. He leads us into the dark so we can learn to follow His voice, to grow our faith, to strengthen us from the inside out. Pain can focus our attention in a way nothing else can.
Deanna Davis
During the past year, I have not thought much about Sin. I've pondered often brokenness, healing, pain, growth. But there are seasons of my life in which I just cannot identify sin in my life.
I'm speaking really about the big sins - the ones that are hard to see, that keep me from God. Those sins. Sometimes, people, it's hard to see the big sins.
Maybe because they aren't there.
Or maybe they are buried so deep that God has to get the big guns out to eradicate them. Maybe he sends a season of pain - of infertility - to root out the sins that are so big, so deep that I can't see them.
I've been a bit circumspect about the interactions I've had with God during the past 4 months. Yes, I've shared with many that I've had arguments with, angry outbursts at, and tried to manipulate God. But to very few have I shared the choice words that I chose for him.
The words that Satan gave me.
I have stood with The Accuser and accused. You are not good. Don't even lie to me and tell me this will be good for me. This is NOT good. and YOU are not good.
My friends, they were even more choice than that. Straight from this sailor girl's mouth.
And yet I was not blown off the earth. (So much grace!)
God surfaced my Sin - my sin to stand with The Accuser and Accuse wrongly. To readily repeat a lie after the Father of Lies. And to believe those lies. And to despair.
And instead of immediately blowing me off of the earth, The Lord paused to help me identify the Sin that sits on the throne of my heart: That when things do not turn out the way I want, I immediately betray God. It's my first and last inclination. It is who I am, on my own. When the pressure is on, betrayal and unbelief and accusation come out.
Oh! But for the Grace of Jesus becaming my sin (2 Cor 5:21). Just as I am a betrayer, an accuser, Jesus became my betrayal and put it to death.
And that he promises that Sin will not have me. That it may wound me, that it will assail me.
But never have sovereignty over me.
Praise the Lord.
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