Be Still

In the dark I sat unmoving
Blinded more from pain than lack of light
I cry out to You God
For reassurance, for guidance
As the realization of what place I'm in
Begins to dawn
I am lost, my navigation pointless
Hope in me, You say
I pause...I know I am desperate
I know there's no other way through or around
I say, ok.
Dread makes a lunge, I try to move out of the way
Stumbling to the window I pull back the curtain
Searching desperately and longing for the tiniest bit of You
Trees bend and sway with impending storm
Clouds dampen what might have been early morning light
What might have been hope in my heart
But I trust You God
Or rather, I'm trying despite-
Slumped, back in my chair
Praying in broken fragments for peace
The air disturbed by cries of a child wanting mama
I'm so weary Lord
I don't have it in me to comfort my girl
Down the stairs I hear her steps
My arms surround her anyway
Another sleepyhead wanders down, another gift from God
Another babe who wakes with the sense
That I am not near
That there's disturbance in our walls
Bundled and surrendered, we three lay quietly under the large blanket on the couch
Deep sigh, I feel a little hand in mine
And then another, even smaller hand wriggles in too
Oh Lord, thank You that right now I'm not alone
I allow my eyes to close in brief respite
Aware of pain still present from tears that burn
I lift my head, exhale an unexpected breath of peace
My worn out eyes adjust
A faint shift has begun in the contrast of shapes and shadows around us
You're here
Despite what obscures our view
If we throw open the curtains, even in the night
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain
We will see your goodness
You faithful will remain
Be still my soul

There Is A Fountain Filled With Blood - Thoughts On Suffering

There is a fountain filled with blood....

Suffering is as distasteful to me as this image from a well-known hymn. My sister once told me that all anxiety is rooted in the desire to escape what is uncomfortable. In essence, we cannot cope with the broken reality of ourselves, others, our environment. We seek to escape, desperately trying to regain some sort of false comfort, false security. And in our fruitless efforts, anxiety is born. I find this to be very true of myself.

William Cowper* is the author of the hymn above, and maybe not surprisingly, was a man well acquainted with sorrow, depression, and suicide attempts. A very tortured soul, desperately trying to find and hang on to God despite very tragic and unjust circumstances that plagued his life from the time he was born until the time of his death some seventy years later. His hymn is the only "modern-day" worship song I've come across that leaves the same distasteful feeling as the words of Jesus at the Last Supper when Jesus shockingly told His disciples to eat of His body and drink of His blood. But I think because of Cowper's demons, he understood what a gruesome and shocking reality Christ was calling His disciples to, and was unafraid to go there...hence his rather profound imagery.

It is with great DISCOMFORT that I am realizing that ultimately with Christ we are accepting and diving headlong into that blood-filled fountain, drawn from Emmanuel's veins. A fountain of suffering, overwhelming and deep pain. It makes me sick! My stomach turns at the thought! But every time I try to outrun the discomfort, it finds me. It mocks and then devours me. I will never outrun it and instead the anxiety that I hate grows even stronger.

And sinners plunge beneath that flood

To turn and face head on- no not just face but to EMBRACE suffering as Christ did.... Can I? I am struggling through a very unexpected fifth pregnancy, and for weeks now I've endured fatigue and morning sickness along with scattered thoughts and overwhelmed feelings. Can I stop running, turn and embrace this surprising turn of events? I am fortunate that a baby is the likely outcome of this current struggle..But what about the struggles that do not have such a joyous and likely outcome? An acquaintance of mine but dear mentor to my sister is in her eighties, recently widowed and now facing an horrific surgery to remove portions of her mouth and jaw because cancer is eroding and overtaking what once was healthy and good. Can she trust Him through that pain and fear and doubt and darkness? Can she plunge beneath the flood? Accept and embrace and count it all as joy? Is she expected to?

I spoke with a friend this last Sunday after a worship service that I help facilitate at one of our local retirement homes. My friend has a wheel chair bound son with many health issues who was given a very bleak prognosis at birth and yet is miraculously enjoying his third decade of life. I wondered aloud if she had always been this strong, this resilient, taking him to theme parks and vacations and connecting with many families in the community. She told me that she had struggled with debilitating anxiety, and that a few years ago my mom had told her she needed Jesus and His Word, to turn to Him first to get through the waves of depression and despair. She said that is when her life began to change and she began to live again, which in turn overflowed to her son, and began the amazing adventure they are now living filled with friends and experiences that many 30 year olds today do not have! It left me speechless as I really considered what this woman and her son daily choose to do- the bravery displayed in turning from trying to avoid the pain and reality, (which was more than understandable!) and embracing what was, and then unexpectedly finding joy and hope and life and peace despite their circumstances.

Lose all their guilty stains
Lose all their guilty stains
And sinners plunge beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains

What a picture, a fountain of blood wherein the one who submerges herself in a life drained of it's life-blood, arises, no, RESURRECTS cleaner, whiter, freer than before! It is counter intuitive and horrifying and yet it is what this life in Christ's footsteps beckon us to. There is life unseen beyond death and we are forced to embrace and foreshadow this reality now in this death-trapped world as we call hope and attention to that glorious day when all will be made right but also as proof that His Kingdom has in fact now come, that there is life to be had after death HERE.

So many places in my life I run from suffering, big and small. Can I stop and turn, embrace the cross before me? Christ-like in my trust that suffering will yield obedience and obedience will yield freedom from well-worn worry and result in life? At the very least it will yield greater capacity to handle the trivial annoyances and interruptions of my day to day that unhinge and frustrate me. A change of perspective, a change of direction. A full submersion and acceptance in the fountain of Christ before me.

1. God Moves In A Mysterious Way
   by William Cowper
   
   
   God moves in a mysterious way
   His wonders to perform;
   He plants His footsteps in the sea
   And rides upon the storm.
2. Deep in unfathomable mines
   Of never failing skill
   He treasures up His bright designs
   And works His sov’reign will.
3. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
   The clouds ye so much dread
   Are big with mercy and shall break
   In blessings on your head.
4. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
   But trust Him for His grace;
   Behind a frowning providence
   He hides a smiling face.
5. His purposes will ripen fast,
   Unfolding every hour;
   The bud may have a bitter taste,
   But sweet will be the flow’r.
6. Blind unbelief is sure to err
   And scan His work in vain;
   God is His own interpreter,
   And He will make it plain.
   
   
   *For an excellent read on more of William Cowper's life, check out this article by John Piper Insanity and Spiritual Songs in the Soul of a Saint

My Mother's Habits {Facebook Deactivation - Day 30}

There are effortless routines and patterns
From my mother
Embedded deep into my memory
Flashes which produce a mixture
Of longing, warmth, ...and guilt
That I remember well
And struggle desperately to imitate

How strange to acknowledge the damage
Of a distraction I entertained
Who along with my natural weakness, stole my ability
To emulate that which was sown deep
And once yielded much contentment

Did we ever think we'd battle distraction
To this magnitude?
There was once caution against the amount
Of advertisements children saw in commercials
Billboards and radio announcements

But those voices pale in comparison
To what we and our children are encouraged to digest and balance now

I'm grappling all the time
With time
This fleeting yet stretching and pliable thing
Given to me to use at my will
In the face of new technologies,
Sometimes the responsibility feels impossible!
A healthy balance always just beyond my reach

For now, I've had to disconnect
But with more disconnection
Comes re-connection to my roots
I'm clawing my way back to mom's habits
That I lived and enjoyed so long ago

To engage with life
Without interruption
The recreation, the resting
The working and creating
The in-between times

The clear space in my head
Long cluttered with matters and events
I could do nothing about

Replaced with space and stillness
Without compulsory interruption

A space to breathe, to be at peace
Sitting with my God, my husband, my children, my friends
My self
Something my mama
Did so well

Facebook deactivation: day 5

To me he said mama
Tap tap tap
Mama
In distraction I shooed
Another tap, oh, yes?
Mama, come play
Feigned busyness responds
Oh soon, not just yet
Run along
I'll be along soon

To me he said mama
As I sit stoically staring
I turned to look him
Quietly in the eyes
Yes?
Mama, come play
Deep into browns I pondered
My answer
No I said softly
He turned away

Would this gut wrenching scene
Be false
But is played out time and again
Only worse
Against my God
Who asks of me
To sit with Him
And in response
Without distraction
I decline

Today I feel like I'm becoming more aware of my spiritual surroundings.
I also am learning this lesson:
The Lord desires obedience, not sacrifice.
I can sacrifice fb but it still doesn't get to the heart. It's one less huge distraction but it's absence doesn't help me anymore to sit in the presence of God and commune with Him. The only thing that does that is obedience. It's strange to realize  that the heart of the matter is still my heart. Even in the quiet I have to willfully and obediently invite God in.

Next

I know what I've said you are

I know what they've said you are

I know what you've said you are

But this kind of knowing 

Only takes us so far

And I love you

And you're still you underneath all those words

I'm worrying tonight

Connecting dots and making patterns

But I can't make out the design

In the dark

So I go back to the one who knows you

Better than anyone

To ask him 

How to love you, support you

In the best way I can

Cause he made me too

He'll know how we can be best of friends

He can make our hearts fit

In a complimentary design 

No Matter How Small

My children do not yet know what abortion means.
I am dreading the day they find out.
They will be heartbroken.
Why would anyone kill their own baby?

I remember when I first found out. I was profoundly saddened and outraged. I remember that for a season, it was the hot topic to debate in speech class. And I also remember when people began to tire of hearing about it, on both sides of the fence.

They were hushed.

I've stayed pretty quiet on issues of today. Not wanting to alienate. Wanting to be understanding. Realizing I don't have everything figured out. Realizing I can't be so black and white.

But in raising my kids, I've also come to re-value when it's time to just speak plainly. To have the courage to say "It's wrong".

It's wrong to kill babies.

Who would have thought it would take courage to make a statement like that?

I think maybe in part because of who "it" was. Who it is. A huge monster that took on the appearance of our friends and sisters and ourselves that we didn't know how to fight.

Why would anyone kill their own baby?
The answers are numerous. Deemed complex.

How must children feel...to get these conflicting messages...children should be invested in...children deserve better...women should get to chose whether or not the humans within live or die....children should be protected....children might be a mistake....children may not be born with the correct genitals....children can't get tattoos or drink till their older....children are mature enough to have their own abortions....children can choose. children can't choose.

The answer my children, your children will hear, will nag at them. It did me.
Their sense of self worth and the worth of their children
Begins to hinge on the answer to the question,

Does your life matter if it inconveniences mine?

Despite the fear, the injustice, the inconvenience

I know I will say, as I have always said
'You child, are a gift. Every child is a gift.'

It is not a choice that should be given to extinguish
It is a murderous evil that has gone largely unchecked
It is vile and sad and horrifying

We are killing ourselves.

Of even more bewilderment to me are the doctors and nurses who kill the babies. They are not the ones who feel trapped or have been left to make this decision on their own. They come to work. They do not have an emotional connection to what is happening. They go home to their own children. Do they take maternity leave? What kind of insane compartmentalizing is happening here?

I remember sitting in "Horton Hears a Who" when Clover was just a few weeks old and found a lump growing in my throat during the rising chant, "A person's a person no matter how small." I wasn't expecting this children's narrative to take such a simple and obvious stand against a mother's right to choose. I don't even know if it was what Dr. Seuss originally had in mind. Yet I cried nonetheless. And then I had these heavy thoughts as I picked up my daughter's carrier and maneuvered through the theater aisle to the exit.

We teach our children not to kill. To be responsible. And then we teach them when it's ok to kill. And that bad people get punished for killing the innocent. But not always. Because sometimes, we are the bad people.

Let me be clear. I am not throwing stones. I was one of the young ones given a choice to swallow a life stopping pill just in case my future was threatened by inopportune timing. I wish I hadn't even had a choice. All I knew as a kid was fear of getting in trouble. Eventually, had I not taken that pill I would have seen on the other side- grace. But I didn't know.

We say "It gets better" to those struggling with gender and identity and sexuality. But why does it get better?

We say it's get better because growing older is half the battle. Usually the older you get you see how life offers the most unexpected twists and turns, and they aren't all bad and they most certainly are not all predictable. We say it gets better because we realize that part of feeling normal and surviving happens when we find our true friends and are accepted by either a nominated family or our biological family. We find community. That's part of the amazing component to making it that the LGBTQ have going for them, they offer an instantaneous, all accepting, far reaching community.

Can't we say to the young teenage mom, 'It gets better'? Can we be ready to offer instantaneous, all accepting community? Do we know how to be there if they chooses to give their child up for adoption? Can we sit in the emotional trenches of parenthood alongside them, can we celebrate the joys with them?

Can we offer legitimate hope to the mother and family swamped by financial stressors, who cannot even begin to imagine how they would go about caring for one more mouth to feed? Can we help continue to guide and encourage them as they struggle to figure it out?

Can we speak with confidence about our God who provides? Who wroughts abundant life from sacrifice? Who redeems time and dreams? Who gently leads the mothers of the young? Who has plans for and loves and knows well both mother and baby and wants to give good gifts to them both?

Can we offer grace? Can we offer hope?

I want to be part of the solution. I do not want to sit idly by. I do not want my kids to find out about this practice of abortion and look at me and wonder if my inaction meant it was not that big of a deal.

We have had teenage and unwanted pregnancies in my family. Quite a few actually. We've had a few such pregnancies in our church community too. I wonder as I sit here reflecting if we have done enough? Baby showers and hand me downs are helpful, but are we really helping beyond the superficial?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The article below by Ann Voskamp outlines a great way to be part of a proactive effort to support all human beings, whether in-utero or out.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2015/08/an-honest-conversation-about-abortion-that-asks-us-not-to-turn-away-from-anyone-the-emmaus-option/

Spilled Milk

When my mind is fixed fully on Him

With space to allow us, God and I, 

To sit in silence

To pause, to breathe

I find the harder parts of child growing

Cannot weaken my resolve

...But I'm still learning 

See yesterday, the milk spilled.

So I sent daggers from my eyes 

To silence what was left of their joy

Subconscious expectations 

Daily invade my thoughts 

And weigh heavily on us both

Draped-gloom on tiny shoulders 

But He's creating a buffer for them

Around my old heart with His new 

He is stitching space to be

For when my mind and heart and strength are fixed

He supplies

My God supplies all of my needs

Not my children, they are free

It is my God

Come my darlings, 

Move freely around me despite the cup on the table ledge 

Because spilled milk, 

Really isn't so bad.

Pour out the cup that is grace-laced love 

Share in its abundance

For it's what grows the children up strong

It's what grows us up strong too

three miles per hour

the very old and the very young
are strategically placed
impediments to speed

the wise relinquish accelerating
taking their cues
to savor the view

weather watchers

for my mama, thank you for teaching me to see our home through your eyes

my family, on my mother's side, we are weather watchers. we storm chase with the best of them. straining daily to see spun cotton in the timeless desert blue. we are loyal to the chance of rain the way my father remains loyal to the team. talking statistics and that one great snowfall years ago.

i am teaching the art to my daughters. we don't use words like nimbus or cumulus, but we've come to know them. we can anticipate their moods. this farmers' intuition, traveling across time and land from beyond our southmost borders, to the adobe walls that framed my mother's days. weather wisdom passed down through my grandfather. see him there tending to the cherry trees.

come and listen.

there's the wispy and wizened tendrils of hair-clouds that stretch across fall to early spring. in this hemisphere, the sky looks colder than she actually feels.

in the mornings, we check west. if ocean-wave-clouds possessively hover over that mountain range, we know. it's the calm before the wind storm. the unrelenting wind that has italicized our trees.

sometimes a flock of clouds migrate across our large expanse of sky; the shape shifters. the ones whom reflect what the imagination projects. the ones the children love.

we hit and miss with thunder-clouds. for them, we look east. the gang gathers together, imposing, dark and roaring. yet despite their day-long agitation, patience strained by blistering sun, they can be dissuaded. western winds breathe deep, then blow. dismayed, their temper cools. below the eastern deck sulkily they return.

but sometimes, the humid stress compounds. the gang refuses to disarm. it's Westside Story played out in the skies! these are the best of times, and the girls and i and my mother and sisters are ringside, anticipating the fight. the sharks and the jets begin their dance, round and round the ring on tippy toes, sinews flexed and ready. when suddenly the tense calm erupts. the clash! the rumble! bernstein would be proud!

i have come to realize our scrappy brawls pale in comparison to the heavy weight fights of the further east, but for us, it is five-star entertainment all the same.

...this drought. it beckons the imposters. lock-jawed and tightfisted, they tease across the sky.  their saunter invites onlookers but don't be taken in. precipitate they will not. no sense wasting hope or time.

a desert's thirst is rarely quenched, but to withhold even a drop this long has cracked our lips and dried our imaginations. we cry out over days and weeks and months and years. and God will send them, though we know not when. and they will come. in phalanx formation they will block the circle of the sun.  they will fill in the valley gap. and they will rain. and they will snow. grace-filled clouds...our relief. and our landscape will be transformed! her capabilities and ours regenerated from sight to sound to smell to taste!

it is with any of these characters, A-list or not, will give a stellar performance come sundown. there is no equating what pictures in our skies when the colors begin to mingle on the clouds and on the earth. our sunset filter. unparalleled beauty.

we live about as far west as you can go on this great northern continent, our sky lives above a patch of sandy ocean-less soil. our concrete river and man made pond often lack the reserve to fill our sky and yet-

the clouds, they've been as faithful to my family as we have to them. our unobtrusive mediator, our common denominator. maybe they will become the same to you.

for one but has to ask, what's the weather? to unite our gaze upward and beyond.

this long awaited rain, 1 & 2

1.
the young one asks
God make it rain?
the cloudburst
in response
the simple thanks
of answered want
faith and joy
intertwine

2.
the pitter patter
of little feet
in the pitter patter
of the rain

one and the other
that can't be made
without the Creator
God