Does It Make You Cry?

This time last year we mourned the early homecoming of our little nephew, Augustav. He was born at 24 weeks old and taken Home after one week of living, leaving his parents (Jon's brother and sister-in-law) with a hole in their hearts and hands. But as we remember this loss and others, we look to Him who sacrificed his life that we All may live. And we must ask ourselves: do our hearts swell with the beauty of Christ's sacrifice for us?

Thursday, March 24, 2011 (re-post)

3pm I hear kid fingers fumbling with the front door, and I nearly trip over myself reaching for the handle before the little guy on the other side rings the doorbell twenty times, announcing his red haired, freckle-faced presence, nearly waking the sleeping baby, and making me nuts because I missed my last thirty minutes of divine silence.

I open door, whisper, “Hey kiddo. Home from school?” He nods. “Want to play with Micah?” He nods, reddish curls blowing in the wind that rattles our flimsy black metal porch railing. “Ok, you can go down in the basement. Take off you shoes and be quiet—the baby’s sleeping.”

“I know. I know. I remember,” he says, pulling off his Pumas as Micah calls up the basement steps, “Is that Ben? He can come play Star Wars with me. Come on, Ben!”

And so begins another afternoon, neighborhood kids coming home to no one . . . come home to us, looking for a friend, a pat on the head, a “how was your day, kiddo?” They tell me our house is “heaven” because we don’t “scream at each other,” and we have “family time.” Their words make me sad and thankful and scared—sad for the pain of a five year old neighbor boy (and others), thankful for the gift of three boys, scared because I too hurt my boys with wild words.

Boy words drift up as I stand at kitchen sink, sudsing lunch dishes.

“Ben, are you thankful I let you play with Darth Vader? If you’re not, you’re not gracious.”

I smile. The blunt words of a five year old, tact not yet learned.

“Ben, do you want to be like Dietrich Bonhoeffer or Satan?”

What? Holding yellow plate with painted blue flowers, suds floating down into water. I pause.

“Cuse Dietrich Bonhoeffer died for Jesus. Do you know ‘bout Jesus?”

“Yeah. I know. I know.”

“You know he died for you?” pressing . . . pressing. (I wonder where he gets that, the pressing?) I smile.

“Duh! I know! I saw a movie ‘bout it. He died and went up in the air,” tone harsh, saying “get off my back,” without actually saying it, and the kid’s only five. Only five.

Micah won’t let up: “Did it make you cry? When Jesus died? Did it?”

Silence.

 

Voice of red haired, freckle-faced five year old Ben, “Are you gonna let me play with your Star Wars legos or what?”

Deflection. Avoidance. My soul swells—with joy that my Micah sees, with sorrow that Ben does not . . . then I think . . .

Does it make me cry? That Jesus died? . . . .

Does it make me cry?

Peace in the Storm

Here in the Midwest we weathered one blizzard—13 inches of snow dumped in a few short hours, white-out winds, and closed highways. When the gusts slowed to breezes and flakes fell soft, we celebrated no school, no work and all-day play. The snow forts and snowmen were built as Daddy shoveled and tthen shoveled again after the plows plowed.

And now, as three-day-old piles of grey-white snow melt into dry Midwestern earth, the weatherman warns: another blizzard’s coming.

On this grey Monday morning the news anchors showed grocery isles empty of bread and milk and the hardware stores low on salt. And everybody showed up at the gym today, even the once-a-weeker’s. And at 10:30am the library parking lot was full of last-minute-checker-outers.

And now we sit at home with our bread, milk, salt, and library books waiting for the second storm. And some, like me, wonder if that weatherman’s forecast is all it’s cracked up to be. But one thing is sure: if the storm rails in the night, we are ready to face it with our bread, milk, salt, and library books, or so we think.

As we wait for second-storm, I can’t help but think about real-life storms, the kind you can’t predict and aren’t prepared for, can never prepare for. The kind of storms that sudden-fall in the Dr.’s office, or with a phone call in the night, or the unexpected email in the inbox, or that meeting with the boss, or when your child scary-cries in the night . . . .

And how do you stay calm, when you’re in the eye of the storm and you didn’t see it coming?

I’ve tried throwing scripture at the storm—telling God what he should do for me— as if I could control Him. You said you would protect me . . . you said that if I obey your commands I’ll enjoy peace . . .

I’ve tried fighting the storm by researching the living hell out of it—thinking that if I just know all there is to know, I can beat it or find a way out.

And I’ve tried the grin-and-bear-it-till-the-end approach, which left me weak and bitter in the eye of the storm.  

It wasn’t until I came to the end of myself that I realized: self-striving won’t calm the storm ‘cause only Jesus calms storms.

And I realized: in the midst of the storm, this wayward heart forgets that Jesus is beside me, inside me. My I-can-fix-this self-reliance blinds me to the only real solution to raging storms: lived-out faith in the storm-calming power of my Father-God.

And this lived-out faith relinquishes pride and lets Him calm the storm , ‘cause even the wind and the waves obey Him.

And even when He’s silent in the midst of the storm—when I think He’s sleeping or ignoring me--He’s there and he’s saying, “Take courage. I am with you. Don’t be afraid.”

It’s only when I let go of self that I hear His voice in the midst of the storm.

It’s only when I call “Lord save me!” that I feel peace in the midst of the storm.

It’s only when He saves me that I stop fighting and accept the storm, “considering it pure joy” because I know storm-testing produces perseverance and perseverance Hope.  

So in the midst of today’s and tomorrow’s storms, let’s humble ourselves and hope in Him who holds the power to calm the storm in His time, in His way, when our hearts are fully His.

“Let us learn the lesson: the highest holiness is the deepest humility . . . It is indeed blessed, the deep happiness of heaven, to be so free from self that whatever is said of us or done to us is lost and swallowed up in the thought that Jesus is all.”

(Andrew Murray in Humility)

When Loss is Gain . . .

I woke up before my 5am alarm this morning and lay coverless in the dark of a warmer-than-usual winter morning. It had been another one of those my-brain-won’t-turn-off kind of sleepless nights. So I rolled out of bed, pulled on my Nikes, and drove to the gym in Jon’s little green Geo.

As I pulled my sixteen week preggo body onto the treadmill between college girl running six minute intervals on my right and 85 year old Dick hunch-walking on my left, I pressed buttons and started moving my feet. As my feet flew faster, I looked down at my baby-belly, remembered my OB appt. in a few hours, and I wondered, as I’d been wondering all night long:

 Will God-grace keep little heart beating, or does He have other plans?

Over eight years ago, when I was preggo with #1, I never wondered if God would take un-named baby Home. Back then I didn’t fear loss because, for the most part, life had gone as I thought it should.

Then REAL life happened and I learned the hard way: life doesn’t always follow my plans because God’s ways are not my ways and His thoughts are not my thoughts. And in the midst of real-life-sorrow I asked myself for the first time: Is God good when he allows loss and pain? How on earth can I live God is Good when I don’t see any good?!

And as I ran this morning I asked myself—What if good is taking baby #7 Home at sixteen weeks? Will I know this loss as God-grace, God-goodness?

 In morning light, I realized this: my sleepless night revealed my heart’s struggle to rest in God is Good—all the time!

 And in morning light God whispered soft: in moments of doubt, of fear—remember.

 Remember how I showed mercy, turning loss into gain—

♦giving you and Jon mentors—Dawn and Mike—when you’d lost family and church and reputation and thought the weight was too heavy to bear;

♦blessing you with Shari—that rare kindred-spirit friend—who listens and loves with her life;
♦freeing BOTH you and your sister Rachel from the pain of the past, freeing you to love each other unconditionally as blood-sisters.
♦protecting you and Jon—just last September—from hell-bent-on-hurting-you family members.
♦blessing you and Jon with three wild, healthy boys.
♦revealing to you—again and again—the true nature of your wandering heart so you can turn to Me.

And so much more . . .

So when dark clouds gather in my brain—when self-pitying what if’s and if only’s  threaten to drown God is Good I echo the Psalmist’s words:

Will the Lord cast off forever? And will He be favourable no more?  Has His mercy ceased forever? Has His promise failed forevermore?  Has God forgotten to be gracious? Has He in anger shut up His tender mercies?  And I said, "This is my anguish; but I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High."  I will remember the works of the Lord; surely I will remember Your wonders of old. (Psalm 77: 7-12)

And I claim this promise as my own: “I remain confident of this--I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the Living.” (Psalm 27:13).

And this afternoon, as Jon and I and our three blond-headed boys sat still in tiny Dr’s office, praying for the swoosh-swoosh of baby #4’s heart beat, we heard the goodness of the Lord in the land of the Living:

 Swoosh-swoosh, swoosh-swoosh, swoosh-swoosh.

Only 14 and 1/2 weeks here--need a new photo! But you can see the belly!

And we sang out loud: Praise the Lord! He is good!

Husband Love

To Jon on Valentines Day

Husband-love, this is God’s
Grace-gift to me,

For husband-love lives Father-God’s love,
making God real to me.

Before husband-love,

I knew pseudo-love—
Love that says “I love you”
But lives “I love self.”

I knew false-love in the name of Love.

I’d never felt Fearless love,

Love that sacrifices Self for the Soul of another,
Love that mirrors God-love: perfect love
That casts out fear.

So when You lived patient love,

waiting for this foolish-fearful heart,
to trust in real Love,
waiting five years,
weathering three break-ups,
two “Dear Jon” letters,
and my sloppy-hurtful words,  
always pointing to the One
who loved me best, loved me perfectly,
Slowly, I began to see:
this lived-out Love,
Rooted in sacrifice of Self,
Rooted in trusting God,
casting out fearful
grasping, pushing, pulling,
forcing of Self before Soul is ready,
this was
Real Love.

So when we finally said “I do” on that

Bright June morning, in 2002, this I knew:
I trusted You because You first Loved me,
And I wanted to love You too.

And you’ve lived Love through good times
And bad: through seminary days, joyful
birthing days and weary new-born-baby days,
through three miscarriages and the
shattering of family,
through joy and through pain, 
through this broken-fearful heart
learning
how to let go of Self
and love you,
love our sons,
love the God
who sacrificed his very own Son
for Love of me.

And it’s Your love—

Husband-love—
That points me to this greatest
Love.

And You—

my husband, my Love,
Are God’s
most precious
Grace-gift to me.

I John 1: 9 This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. ¹⁰ This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.

1 John 4:18 There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

Grommets and Grace

I’ve been on a mission to get our little town home in the ‘hood ready for baby #4. Fitting a fourth in this two-bedroom place will require creative genius. So I got on Pintrest looking for space-saving solutions, and after seeing the simple genius of removing cumbersome closet doors, I decided to replace most of our bi-fold closet doors with drapes.

After hours of searching for the perfect drapes for the basement, I finally found them in the “catalog returns” section of an outlet store. But the drapes had a major issue: a missing grommet (see pic on right). But since the manager was willing to give me a smoking deal, I bought the drapes hoping I could find a lone grommet to fit the naked hole.

So yesterday afternoon I spent two hours running from Home Depot to Michaels to Jo-Ann’s hoping to find a lone grommet for sale. (They only sell them in sets of ten—imagine that!)  In the midst of my hunt I called Jon to ask if he knew of any other places to look for my lone grommet, and he didn’t pick up his phone. I called again. No answer. Frustrated at my fruitless search, I stooped to desperate measures:  I went to a couple thrift stores hoping to find a rejected curtain with a grommet hole I could pry off with a screwdriver. As I wandered around the Salvation Army thrift store, I called Jon five more times. No answer.

I could feel the frustration boiling under my skin. My “smoking deal” was turning into a pay-a-lot-of-money-in-gas-for-no-reason disaster.

So after calling Jon about ten more times. . . I gave up the hunt and drove home, and as I drove, I fumed about the fact that Jon didn’t answer his dang phone!

When I walked through the front door, I threw my purse and keys on the buffet, stomped into the kitchen, and found Jon wiping down the table. I snapped at table-washing hubby: “Why didn’t you answer your phone! What if the van broke down?!  I –your pregnant wife--would have been stranded on the side of the road. ”

 Jon just looked up at me with blue-eyes laughing, sponge in hand: “Well, did you break down?”

 I stared into his laughing-at-me eyes and tried to stay mad: “You should ALWAYS answer your phone when I’m gone!”

 “What’s got you so worked up?”

“A missing grommet.”

 That’s when laughing-blue-eyes chortled loud: “A what? You mean like, Wallace and Grommet the movie?”  

 “No!” I huffed: “Grommets are for curtains! I’m missing a grommet in my new curtain!”

Jon: “So. . . . you’re biting my head off because you can’t find a grommet . . .” Snicker-laugh, “ Grommmmmeeetttt. . . . Sorry, can’t help myself. Just like saying that funny word: grommet. So you’re telling me that you’re all worked up because you can’t find a grommet?”

His snicker-laugh turns to belly-laugh and I can’t stay mad anymore. I laugh with him, and I see: I’m being selfish-silly about this missing-grommet thing!

 And laughter reminds me why I love this man: when I’m selfish-silly, he doesn’t lecture or scold. He just states the obvious:

 I’m giving missing grommet joy-stealing power.

Jon’s laughing-eyed correction of my selfish-silly heart, this is grace. A gentle correction from God through my hubby. 

And I realize: missing-grommet moments happen every day:  jam on the couch, legos on the floor, gum on the carpet, lost keys, burned dinner, tough Math lesson, sibling spats. And everyday I have a choice—to extend grace through patient cleaning, correcting, and training, or to receive grace—the gentle correction of my own selfish heart when I respond with angst and sloppy-hurtful words.

So today I choose the grace that brings JOY, and when I mess up (which happens every day!) I choose corrective grace which molds this wayward heart to my Savior-God.

So, this morning, this afternoon—let’s choose grace.