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Secret Scars

This is a piece I wrote several years ago as part of my own healing process. I did not share it at the time because it felt too raw. A few weeks ago, I was reminded of it and the very next day witnessed an incredibly brave public admission of addiction by a young man I know. His willingness to shine a light on his own struggles convicted me that if I mean what I wrote in this piece (and I do), then I am compelled to share my story in hopes of encouraging others who are trapped by shame. Truth and light dispel deception and darkness every time…

As the last parent exited the classroom, I gathered my belongings and quickly headed to my car. Pleased with how the evening conferences had gone, I was equally excited to surprise my husband with an early arrival home. Married eleven months, half of which he had been deployed, we still basked in the newness of marriage. Near the end of the twenty-minute drive, the causeway dumped me right into our apartment complex. I bounded up three flights of stairs to our apartment and turned the doorknob. Surprised to feel the door open slightly and immediately meet resistance, I looked up to see that it had been chained from the inside— by my husband.

Twenty-five years later I sat at a table at my local Starbucks and learned the truth of that night—the whole truth. He dropped it casually into the air as a matter of simple fact— something only a fool wouldn’t have known. A fool like me.

And everything that had seemed fuzzy came slowly into focus as he expounded— “40-year pornography addiction…indulged every year of our marriage…pervasive problem the entire time we were dating and engaged.”

And the memories began to swirl around me like a dementor threatening to suck the very life out of me. The increasing distance, detachment, lack of empathy. The constant need to battle his smartphone for attention. The isolated “incidents” that apparently weren’t isolated—followed by tears and declarations of “I don’t know what came over me.” Lies.

Accusations of being distrustful and unforgiving. Angry outbursts that escalated to abusive verbal and emotional assaults. And then the blame—how powerful I must be to have caused a problem in someone ten years before I even knew him?

And because it numbed him, killed his feelings, and stole his empathy, he easily flicked the crumbs of me off his hands, walked away, and walked straight into another relationship before we even had separation papers. Years of practice gawking at the wives, sisters, daughters of other men seemed to make it easy to take one for his own.

I don’t pretend to know what it did to him internally—only what it did to his interactions with me.

The statistics on pornography use are staggering. Its negative effects on its users are well-documented by scientific research. And for every statistic there is someone bearing secret scars—like tattoos etched on your identity that say Not enough.

Years of dressing in the closet because my body that carried and bore five little souls doesn’t compare to the ones he sees on the screen in his palm. Years of emotional rape…he is with me physically but mentally detached. In his mind I could be anyone—or no one. And I know but I don’t know. And I don’t really want to.

Like most women with secret scars, I try to contain it—control it away. We do all the wrong things. We put up walls, protect our heart. We close our eyes and go through the motions. And we desperately want to protect our children—our sons AND our daughters, but in different ways. Only it’s nebulous and uncontainable, and protection only comes from within.

So we tell ourselves it doesn’t matter. It isn’t about us. But then we are lying too. Because it does and it is.

And when the grief and the pain finally take us to the end of ourselves, we find truth.Created in his own image. Fearfully and wonderfully made. Loved…with an everlasting love. Temple of the living God (Gen. 1:27, Ps. 139:14, Jer. 31:3, 2 Cor. 6:16).

And we realize that even though it seems that he betrayed us by giving himself to thousands of others, he is really the one betrayed. Sold a lie by the enemy—that momentary, physical pleasure is supreme. That deception and intimacy can coexist. That a covenant is not a covenant.

And though it seems that we saved ourselves for the wrong man—that we have been deprived of a pure, true love—that too is a lie. Because “as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you” (Isaiah 62:5, ESV). The gift of ourself, our body, our love was not wasted. It was received and cherished by the one who created us and set us apart for His purpose and His glory.

But the scars don’t need to be secret. Shame and embarrassment and regret make us wrap our scars up tightly in shiny smiles and shallow words and pin them shut with pride. But uncovering the wound—exposing it to light and air—not only brings healing; it also speaks the truth to other women with secret scars who need to know they aren’t alone and they aren’t to blame.

Only when we are transparent—about the betrayal and rejection, about our tattooed identities—can others see Jesus through us. See Him hanging there on the cross, painting our secret scars with His blood—like liquid skin—permanently healing our deepest wounds.

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Dear 2020,

I’m sure you’ve heard all the jokes going around about you. You definitely caught us all by surprise. You came in so hip and fun with your double 20s—and the vision pun potential was tremendous. But with the roar of a March wind, you shifted on us, and we’ve all been kind of stumbling round in the whirlwind of you ever since. Our eyes are clouded by the debris and dust, and we all have wounds of some kind. Some of us died literally; others died emotionally—or lived but lost our will to live. We witnessed things we never expected to see in our lifetimes—piles of pandemic body bags, horrific acts of racial injustice, and an embarrassingly polarizing national election filled with hate and judgment. 

Our usual media feed of sports stars and Hollywood celebrities was replaced by images of mask-scarred medical workers, first responders, and teachers—the true heroes in our world finally being recognized for the sacrifices they make every day of every year. That act of service alone makes you a year worthy of praise.

Personally, 2020, you felt like an ordinary year with a few bizarre circumstances thrown in the mix. Granted, it was one of my more challenging years, mainly because of seven surgeries and four hospital stays for Tess, my sweet, strong overcomer. It was heartbreaking to watch two of my children lose their high school and college experiences like prom and graduation, and I felt the loss of not seeing much of my friends and family in person. I dearly missed our usual activities like Special Olympics and the Broadway tour season and simple acts like going to movies in the theater. It does irk me to leave 2020 still married with no end in sight, but God has promised to redeem my years of waiting for court dates and closure. Thankfully nothing about this year has changed the fact that God always keeps His promises. 

On the brighter side, 2020, you brought me a new son-in-love on the most beautiful wedding day imaginable, a day I have already and will continue to replay in my mind over and over because it was truly filled with nothing but joy! And the way our friends came together to make that day happen amidst COVID challenges is something I will always cherish. I had the opportunity to develop a new course this year, something I enjoy so much despite the stress of it. You will also be remembered as the year I finished my doctoral coursework, the fruit of two and a half years and countless hours of labor that I enjoyed with all my being. (Though I cannot say I’m sorry to start my dissertation in a different year—just to be safe.)

So many things actually stayed the same for me in your presence—I worked online from home, went to school online from home, schooled my kids from home, shopped mostly online, and had my groceries delivered—things I did well before you normalized them. I honestly appreciated the slower pace of having less places to go and more time to savor the experiences I did get to have. I think I connected more deeply with my kids and other family and friends because we talked more and did less. My house stayed (a little) cleaner, I think. And I even found a wellness plan I love and want to do consistently—a first in over twenty years (really in my whole life if I’m honest). 

For me, the main difference in 2020 was feeling less isolated, which I realize is counter to most of the world. Some of the “hardships” that are normal for me—living on the edge of medical crisis and living and working in ways that allow for the constant possibility of the unexpected—are now experiences that literally everyone in the world can relate to on some level. While I would never wish hardship on anyone, the mutual understanding has made me feel a little less alone.

For all your ugly divisiveness, 2020, my chosen optimistic view of you is that ultimately, you will be the year that unifies us like no other. That maybe not now, but in five or ten years we will all look back on you with pride for the perseverance and grit and courage it took ALL of us to endure and overcome some parts of you. The myopia will fade with time, and we will see the whole beautiful picture of you, 2020, and know that we are not alone, we are not weak, and we are not defeated. 

Farewell, 2020. I will savor these last few days of you—days of Christmas and the birth that gives all years meaning. And yes, I look forward to the promise of a new year, albeit a bit more skeptically than last year—but not bitterly or without hope. 2020, you are unforgettable for sure, but you are also beautiful in your own way, and I think the very best thing we can all do is to be grateful for you. 

Love,

Melissa 

“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

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Teaching and Learning

Over the past week, school boards across my area have been voting on their plans for the start of the upcoming school year, almost exclusively opting for virtual learning for at least the first quarter of the year.  This morning, a local news service reported on the outcome of one school board decision rendered late last night.  This quote sprang off the page and smacked me in the face:

“‘Posting online assignments is not teaching and sitting in front of a computer screen is not learning,’ said one parent.”  

And with 17 words, a nameless, faceless parent completely invalidated my current professional life.

I am a teacher. I have known I would be a teacher since the first day of first grade when I came home from school and set up my little Fisher Price chalkboard with magnetic letters and CVC word cards on the floor in my bedroom.  Thanks to my parents’ support, my “classroom” expanded in the coming years until our entire playroom was transformed into a mock classroom, complete with a teacher desk, student desks, and a large chalkboard hung on the wall.  I spent hours creating worksheets, filling them out with varying degrees of accuracy, and then grading them with a fine red felt-tip marker.  My “students” were usually stuffed but often included my younger brother and my grandmother who sat hours under my tutelage.

When I graduated from college with a degree in English education, I anticipated a traditional career in teaching and administration, but a combination of my husband’s military career and my own desire to be home with our children, led me down a beautifully alternative path that included a school for children in a group home, two traditional public schools, an alternative public night school, a homeschool co-op, and my own family’s homeschool.  I eventually settled into a career as an online high school English teacher and course developer, first for an online school that held scheduled live class sessions and for the past three years as an independent contractor for an online school that offers asynchronous Advanced Placement (AP) courses.  I teach a diverse and extremely engaged group of students each year through our virtual classroom, which includes many types of interaction, including “posting online assignments.” Those assignments often take me hours to create and lead to a variety of challenging responses from my students, requiring them to interact with the written word, other people, and their environment. This past year, even with an unexpected, modified AP exam that measured a fraction of what they had studied all year, 43% of my students earned a 5 on their AP English exam. The global average was 13%. But more importantly, my students and their parents report growth in their writing, their love for reading, and the way they think about and respond to the world.

I am a learner.  I absolutely love education and will be a student of something my entire life.  As with teaching, I have been blessed to have a variety of learning experiences in my life.  I attended public school for twelve years, earned my BA at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in the days when we typed our papers on “fancy” word processing machines or on IBM computers in the computer lab.  A few years later, I earned my MA and EdS at the University of Michigan where my husband and I shared a new and exciting piece of equipment called a “personal computer” to complete our research and assignments.  All of that education was conducted traditionally and in person.  In my twenty-five years since graduate school, I have participated in numerous live and virtual professional development workshops and conferences and taken at least two college-level virtual courses every five years to keep my teaching certificate current.  I took five graduate-level courses online to become qualified to teach English at the college level, and I am currently just over halfway through an entirely online, exceptionally informative PhD program in Special Education through Liberty University.  I learn a great deal “in front of a computer screen.”

Through this myriad of teaching and learning experiences over my fifty years of life, I can confidently say that neither teaching nor learning is confined to a particular context or restricted to a particular methodology.  Students learn and teachers teach when their hearts and minds are engaged in the pursuit or transference of a skill or knowledge or understanding. Educational philosophers, theorists, and researchers have spent lifetimes engaged in describing and labeling the phenomena of learning and teaching, and I have dedicated my life to studying and practicing the best wisdom I can glean from them.  What I have learned is that every student is different, not only from each other but from themselves–day-to-day and even hour-to-hour.  I have also learned that any situation or circumstance can be conducive to teaching and learning if the people engaged want it to be.  A gifted teacher can teach his or her student in a cardboard box with nothing but his or her mind and body.  Likewise, a child can learn as much, if not more, from his or her parents, siblings, and friends as from a certified teacher.  Mentorship and experience are often far superior to structured lessons.  Nature and play teach what textbooks and workbooks cannot begin to capture.  Music and art have the capacity to break language and cognitive barriers to expression and understanding. History has proven that a motivated student can learn in a jail cell or as a slave on a plantation or in the most desperate, deprived situation imaginable.  

After a lifetime of formal education, training, research, reading, writing, and experience in many educational fields, I have grown to become a huge proponent of the most individualized, personalized education possible and of mediated learning experiences that have the potential to not only educate a child but transform his or her cognitive abilities, no matter what biological or environmental challenges he or she may face. To me, the educational goal for any student with whom I work is to do everything I can to maximize his or her potential.  That looks different for every child and changes as the child grows and develops, and it includes a wide variety of learning resources and contexts.

Reading the words “Posting online assignments is not teaching and sitting in front of a computer screen is not learning” first stirred in me a fiery defense of my current professional life but eventually transformed into a pity for the closed mindedness of anyone incapable of seeing beyond tradition and expectation regarding what teaching and learning are “supposed” to look like to embrace the myriad of possible learning contexts, venues, and methods available to teachers and students today.  Virtual learning has been an amazing opportunity for me and my students for almost ten years now—well before COVID and the current educational crisis.  I could tell countless stories of the benefits of virtual learning and have found it just as effective as my face-to-face traditional teaching and learning environments, though in different ways. Is it the ideal educational setting? No, but not because of anything intrinsic to virtual learning but because there is no learning environment that can be elevated above another. The “ideal” teaching and learning environment is the environment in which the teacher teaches and the learner learns.  That can change year-to-year and even day-to-day.  

In this particular season of my life, virtual learning and teaching work for me.  Because of online education, I was able to sit beside my daughter’s bed in the local Pediatric ICU last month and provide feedback on my students’ final writing assignments of the year as well as watch lectures and conduct research for one of my PhD courses.  Was I teaching?  Most definitely.  Was I learning? Undoubtedly.  But I would venture to say that I learned just as much that week from the hospital staff and from my daughter herself.  Because you see, to a true teacher and a motivated learner, education is quite simply life.  It is watching, listening, reading, thinking, seeking, discussing, and understanding. It can be either facilitated or inhibited by technology, people, and circumstances.  That is an individual choice, not a fixed reality.

There is no utopic solution to mitigating the pandemic, navigating the upcoming school year, ending racial injustice, or addressing any of the other crises facing our country right now. The bickering and judgments that litter social media and the news only make all of those situations worse.  Our children are watching and listening. Whether knowingly or not, we as their parents and educators are mediating their learning—about how to handle a crisis, how to treat people who seem different from us, how to disagree with one another, and how to make the best of a situation we did not choose.  Our children WILL learn and progress this year.  A sudden and unexpected break in what we are accustomed to CAN be an opportunity to think creatively, to try something new, to be resourceful, and to simplify.  It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. It may not be as defined or structured as we like, but discomfort and inconvenience often birth unprecedented resourcefulness and innovation.  Hardship and trial foster resilience and perseverance that cannot be explicitly taught.  Embracing circumstances and seeking to make the best of them will teach our children a priceless lesson that cannot be measured or quantified.  

Now I will get back to creating and posting online assignments for my classes that start next month and sitting in front of a computer screen to research and write about current special education practices. Teaching…and learning.

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This IS living.

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I rarely engage in political dialogue or debate because I lack the knowledge and desire to participate in conversations that rarely seem to end well.  For those reasons, I preface this entire post with a disclaimer:  Even though it was prompted by a politician’s comments, this post is not a political commentary but a simple reflection.

Earlier this week, the Texas Lieutenant Governor, Dan Patrick, was quoted as saying, “I’m not living in fear of Covid-19. What I’m living in fear of is what’s happening to this country….My message is…let’s get back to work.  Let’s get back to living.”

With all due respect to Mr. Patrick, this IS living.

Living is waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.  Some of us plan our days to the minute; others take each day as it comes.  However, none of us can predict what a day will bring, no matter what plans or desires we may have for it.

Some of our days are beautiful.  The weather cooperates, we are productive, our relationships are rewarding, our work is meaningful.  Maybe we are praised for something we accomplished or thanked for a kindness we extended.  Perhaps we attended a wedding or took our kids to the park.

Some of our days are tragic. A tornado ravages our neighborhood, we are in a terrible car accident, we receive a devastating diagnosis.  Maybe we failed an exam we had spent a year preparing to take or we closed the door to our failing family business.  Perhaps we attended a funeral or said goodbye to a dying parent.

Every single day for the past few weeks, every single person in our country has had to sacrifice something, from the tiniest newborn baby to the eldest citizen.  Every child, every adult.  Some have lost time to play with a friend, a visit from a grandparent, a high school prom.  Others have lost a job, a friend, a spouse.  Many have lost their lives.  There have been no exemptions, no waivers.  No preferential treatment has been given.

I am the daughter and sister of parents and a brother whose age and health place them in the highest risk categories. I am the mom of a graduating senior who is unlikely to walk the stage in May as planned for four years. I am the mom of a daughter whose school year just ended abruptly and a son whose job is at risk.  I am the mom of a physician assistant who works with high risk patients in a hospital setting.  I am the mom of a little girl considered “the vulnerable among us,” who would likely be viewed by many as “dispensable” because of her limited ability to contribute to society (something with which I, and every single person who knows her, would vehemently disagree).  I feel the ramifications of our current situation deeply every single day and suspect that will only grow over the coming weeks.

Medical experts and leaders are gathering as much information as they possibly can and making decisions based on that information.  Those decisions have been hard to hear and difficult to implement. Some of them will prove to help and some will harm.  Only time will tell.

One thing is certain. We will all lose a lot in this situation.  We will lose time, money, experiences, jobs, and people.  Some of us will lose our lives.  But we are very much working.  We are working to protect as many lives as we possibly can.  We are working to educate our children.  We are working to maintain our mental health.  We are working to find unique ways to connect with others, share our gifts, and continue to earn a living.  We are working to find toilet paper.

And we are very much living. We are waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.  Hopefully we are praying and seeking God as never before.  Hopefully we are loving Him with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength and loving our neighbor as ourselves, even if that means simply waving to him from our front porch or dropping some groceries off on hers.

In his interview, Mr. Patrick was also quoted as saying, “As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival, in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?” The America I love is one that values every single life and is willing to sacrifice any perceived sense of normalcy to save as many lives as possible.  All the lives.  Not just the young lives or the rich lives or the “valuable” lives.  The America I love is going through an unprecedented crisis that has the potential to unite its citizens as nothing before.  The America I love will rebuild no matter what devastation exists when the vaccine or cure or treatment is finally found and Covid-19 is rendered powerless or at least less powerful.

In reality, what we are experiencing on a grand scale happens to many people every single day of every single year.  I think of our son Timothy whose little heart and lungs failed unexpectedly, sending our family’s lives into a tailspin only days after we adopted him.  The next sixteen months brought one crisis after another.  Every member of our family sacrificed something. The things we lost, we never got back. And in the end, Timothy died, not of his heart and lung conditions but from a rogue infection that took his life in 48 hours.

Many others could tell similar stories of devastation of life, home, business, property.  It happens every day.  It is part of living.

The difference now is that it is happening to all of us at the same time.  It is shaking up society as we know it.  It is wrecking financial havoc.  It is creating uncertainty.  We cannot control it, and we don’t like that.

How about instead of bemoaning that and trying to carve out subsections of society that can somehow slip out of the circumstances and “get back to work” and “get back to living,” we see the amazing opportunity our nation has to unify, to empathize, to love each other well? How about we unite in the battle against this virus and defeat it?  And then how about we work together as a nation to rebuild—whatever that takes and whatever that looks like?  That would be the America that I love.

Will our lives look different?  Yes.  Will some things and people be gone forever?  Yes.  Will that hurt?  Yes.  Does that have to be catastrophic?  No.  It’s going to be whatever we make of it. Because that’s living—waking up each morning, grateful for the gift of another day, and facing whatever happens to the best of our ability.

 

“And the Lord your God will circumcise your heart and the heart of your offspring, so that you will love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, that you may live.” (Deuteronomy 30:6, ESV)

 

 

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Questions

IMG-7113A month ago I awakened especially early to the news that one of my closest friends’ son had been in a horrific car accident just after midnight.  The picture she sent from the accident scene and the news that he was being transferred to a local trauma unit painted a dismal picture.  I hurriedly prepared to go to the hospital, fully expecting to give solace for the unthinkable nightmare every mother fears.

The next few hours revealed miracle after miracle as news of what could only be supernatural intervention in that airborne vehicle emerged.  His breathing tube came out, and his CT scan revealed no brain bleed, no internal injuries, and no broken bones.  He knew his name and responded to some commands as he drifted in and out of consciousness.  He was not unscathed—he suffered a traumatic brain injury much like an adult-version of shaken baby syndrome.  But he was miraculously alive and that superseded everything else at the moment.

Tragedies and miracles produce extreme emotions of grief and joy, but they can also bring guilt and bitterness to those on the either end of the two extremes.  Often they are accompanied by the question, “Why?”  For those on the receiving end of an unexplainable miracle, it is “Why me?” and the joy and gratitude are laced with a tinge of guilt.  For those facing tragedy, it is just a solitary “WHY!?!” shouted into the void and when no explanation is received, seeds of bitterness can be planted.

“Why?” must be the most commonly prayed question of all-time.  We ask so many variations of it, depending on the circumstance.  432 times it appears in Scripture.

Moses to the Lord:  “O Lord, why have you done evil to this people?  Why did you ever send me?” (Exodus 5:22)

The people to Moses:  “Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?” (Numbers 21:5)

Job to the Lord:  “Why did I not die at birth, come out from the womb and expire? (Job 3:11) and “Why do the wicked live, reach old age, and grow mighty in power?” (Job 21:7)

Gideon to the Lord:  “Please, my lord, if the LORD is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the LORD bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the LORD has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian.” (Judges 6:13)

Even the Lord Himself asks the question: 

The Lord to Moses:  “Why do you cry to me?  Tell the people of Israel to go forward.” (Exodus 14:15)

Jesus to the crowd: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?” (Luke 6:46)

Jesus to the disciples:  “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?” (Luke 24:38)

Whatever the context, “Why” is a search for understanding. It is typically one of the last interrogatives that children learn because it is so abstract.  “Where” and “Who” are usually first.  “How” and “Why” come much later, and then they are asked with a vengeance.  Because of her delays, Tess, though six-years-old, has only recently acquired basic understanding of the “Why” question, and so she asks it frequently and repeatedly. This means she not only asks it often, but also over and over and over again—even after receiving a response.  This is how children learn.  They overgeneralize concepts, practice them, and conduct their own subconscious experiments in an attempt to nail down the true meaning and use of the concept they are acquiring.

In the case of miracles and tragedies, asking “Why?” makes complete sense.  In his moment of greatest despair, it was the question Jesus asked of His heavenly Father: “And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, ‘Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?’ that is, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’” (Matthew 27:46).

The danger isn’t in asking the question; it is in dwelling on it.  When I faced separation from my spouse, it felt like the ultimate failure in light of what I had chosen to center my life upon.  Only after our marriage counselor suggested that separation could make space for reconciliation did I finally take concrete steps in that direction.  Around the same time, a Christian author I have respected over the years announced that she and her husband who had also been married for over twenty-five years were separating.  Even though I did not personally know her, the news made me feel somehow less alone—less of an anomaly in a community where separation is frowned upon.  But as the months unfolded, my story went much further south than even I could have imagined and hers became a story of repentance, reconciliation, and restoration.  She made it very clear that it was a brutally difficult process that required two incredibly committed people, a great deal of outside support, and miraculous grace.  But as I watched her story go one direction and experienced mine going the opposite direction, I posed the WHY NOT ME question—on more than one occasion with varying levels of disrespect and even the occasional expletive for punctuation.  And truthfully, it never helped.

Our perfect Father patiently entertains our “Why” questions, no matter how frequent, how often repeated, or how out of context we pose them in our attempts to make meaning of the events of our lives.  But like our little children who struggle to understand abstract concepts, there are some things our minds are just not capable of grasping in the temporal world. It isn’t that God doesn’t hear the question we shout into the void or that He hears it but ignores us.  It is that we cannot fathom the answer to the question.  Because children dying, marriages failing, innocent people being violated, natural disasters, and acts of evil will never make sense.  They weren’t part of the world God created; they are part of the broken world that exists.  But that world is temporary and the God who rules it is eternal, so He sees everything from an eternal perspective that our finite, earth-bound minds are just not capable of fully grasping.  So after we cry out our Why? because we can’t NOT cry it out, the question we need to ask most is WHO?  Who do we trust to bring good of this?  Who will carry us through it?  Who has never left our side even when it feels like the bottom has dropped out and all the walls have come crashing down around us?  WHO?

Then we need to remember all the answers He has given us to that question:

“Behold, I am with you and will keep you wherever you go.” (Genesis 28:15a)

“I am the Lord, your healer.” (Exodus 15:26b)

“I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.” (Exodus 20:2)

“Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, declares the Lord.” (Jeremiah 1:8)

“I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:29)

“I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.”  (John 6:35)

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”  (John 8:12)

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep…I know my own and my own know me.” (John 10:11. 14b)

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” (John 11:25)

“I Am the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.” (John 14:11)

“I am in the Father and the Father is in me. The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own authority, but the Father who dwells in me does his works.” (John 14:10)

“I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.’ (John 15:5)

“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.” (Revelation 21:6)

I am grateful for the miracles I have witnessed in my own life and the lives of friends and acquaintances.  I am sorry for the tragedies that I and others have experienced.  I don’t pretend to understand how or why they occur in the way that they do.  But I am certain that God is present in every miracle and every tragedy with whatever is needed and that He is weaving a beautiful masterpiece out of every mysterious thread.

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Wait

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I have a playlist called Motivate Me.  It’s pretty short so far—only five songs—but I play it so often that the kids know all the words to all five songs.  Hearing Titus blare, “This girl is on fire” always makes me chuckle.

Lydia’s favorite song on the playlist is “Speechless,” the song Disney added to the new live-action Aladdin soundtrack, one of our absolute favorite albums this summer.  At the top of her lungs, Lydia belts Jasmine’s lyrics:  “I won’t be silenced; You can’t keep me quiet!”  And I hope she believes that with everything in her.

That sentiment is also why I can’t postpone writing for another week!  I took the summer off of personal writing to knock out four grad classes in two eight-week terms that overlapped by two weeks (oops…didn’t see that in the schedule when I registered).  My summer writing consisted of annotated bibliographies, research papers, article reviews, and case studies.  I survived, and I loved (almost) every minute.  But I am more than ready to break out of academic writing mode and resume the personal writing that had become such an important part of my life last winter and spring.

I’m sure the accumulated summer stories will trickle out slowly over the coming weeks.  As the highlight reel runs through my mind, it contains such a varied collection of memories:  Maya’s PA school graduation and party; another amazing (partial) week at Sandy Cove Family Camp; the rebirth and tragic death of my vegetable garden; cherished outings and visits with my older kids; surgery and a terrifying incident involving Lydia (she’s fine now); a beautiful wedding in northern Virginia; a trip to see my family; hours upon hours of studying and writing in various Hampton Roads coffee shops; two meetings of my new book club; countless outings to the aquarium, children’s museum, CFA, Sweet Frog, and other favorite spots with Lydia, Titus, and Tess; seeing Jonah work incredibly hard at a full-time job AND complete high school early; health issues for some dear friends and family; yet another custody and support hearing delay; celebrating the one-year anniversary in my beloved home; and the addition of Emet, the cutest—and most exasperating—little Cavadoodle puppy in all the world, to our family!

I was a little nervous about the summer because our temporary custody order gave the kids an extra day at their dad’s house each week.  When they are gone, the house is eerily quiet—and clean—but mostly quiet.  What would I do with that extra time without them?  My first instinct was to travel and reconnect with several friends I hadn’t seen in awhile, but schedules are difficult to match up, so only three trips made the calendar.  The extra time alone intimidated me at first.  When I am alone with my thoughts and feelings, I can either face them or numb them.  Numbing is decidedly easier and more fun, but taking that deep breath and facing them brought a freedom and joy that will last far longer than any numbing techniques ever did.

If I had to sum up what God revealed to me over the past summer (and really the entire last year) in one word, it would be WAIT.  He has told me repeatedly to wait.  And not just to wait but to do it patiently, quietly, and in stillness. All my years of trying to fix or fight or emote in response to trials or injustices or hurt, and He just keeps saying “Wait.” Where’s the power in that?!?

Scripturally, waiting is a common theme…Elijah and Noah waited for rain.  Ruth waited for a redeemer.  Hannah, Elizabeth, and Sarah waited for a child.  The bleeding woman waited for healing. The Israelites waited to see the Promised Land.  Anna waited to see the Messiah.

But practically, it seems that waiting is one of the hardest things for us to do, especially in our modern culture when we literally have instant access to pretty much everything we want or need.  Google, Amazon Now, Instacart, Door Dash, and Uber seem to have us covered. But some things are not instant. Fighting for justice requires a perseverant strength.  Grief cannot be rushed.  Teaching a child is a slow, deliberate process.  Educating yourself takes hours of committed study and effort.

This summer—and all year—I have discovered that the power in waiting for the Lord to move is a deep, abiding power.  It is unlike anything I have experienced before, and once again I am left thanking God for unthinkable circumstances because they have driven me to Him in ways I would have never gone instinctively or willingly.  I recently discovered the song “Scars” by I Am They.  I cried every time I heard it for the first few weeks because it resonated so deeply with me. If I was remotely musical, this is the song I would have written because it so perfectly tells my story:

“Waking up to a new sunrise
Looking back from the other side
I can see now with open eyes
Darkest water and deepest pain
I wouldn’t trade it for anything
‘Cause my brokenness brought me to You
And these wounds are a story You’ll use

So I’m thankful for the scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart
And I know they’ll always tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful for the scars

Now I’m standing in confidence
With the strength of Your faithfulness
And I’m not who I was before
No, I don’t have to fear anymore

So I’m thankful for the scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart
And I know they’ll always tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful for the scars

I can see, I can see
How You delivered me
In Your hands, In Your feet
I found my victory
I can see, I can see
How You delivered me
In Your hands, In Your feet
I found my victory

I’m thankful for Your scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart
And with my life I’ll tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful

I’m thankful for the scars
‘Cause without them I wouldn’t know Your heart
And I know they’ll always tell of who You are
So forever I am thankful for the scars
So forever I am thankful for the scars” (“Scars” by I Am They)

Because of His faithfulness and the confidence it brings, because of His deliverance and the victory it guarantees, because of His sacrifice and the salvation it offers, I can obey Him without reservation or hesitation.  And so I wait.  I wait for resolution in my marriage and while I wait, I honor the covenant, not for him but for HIM.  I wait for justice, knowing it comes not through legal courts but through the perfect JUDGE.  I wait for healing, taking the quiet spaces He has gifted to me and being willing to feel the pain and offer it up to Him bit by bit, trusting Him to build something beautiful out of all of my broken pieces.

And while I wait, I treasure every moment with every child because in my children, I see God’s redemption of all the mistakes I have made.  I cherish every friend because in them I feel tangible evidence of His loving care for me.  I value the places He has provided for me to live life because they are full of joy and beauty and people who make me smile.  I relish my church community where I can worship with genuine gratitude and a newfound freedom, hear truth, and share life with a lot of other imperfect people.  I serve with a desperate desire to make a difference in people’s lives.  I study and write because I want to learn and grow and nurture the gifts and interests He gave me.

It’s a new experience for me to not think much about the future—what it will look like, how timing will play out, how needs will be met.  Instead, I mostly think about what He is doing and revealing while I wait.  And I marvel at the fact that knowing that it is all in His hands is actually enough for me. While it seems entirely counterintuitive, one of the best things that happened to me was having some of my greatest fears realized and then recognizing that I’m not only still standing, but I am better for it.  “Darkest water and deepest pain, wouldn’t trade it for anything, ‘cause my brokenness brought me to you”—a place where waiting is the most powerful thing I can do.

 

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:29-30, ESV).

 

 

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All the Light We Cannot See

 

 

 

In honor of Titus and Tess’s 6th birthdays, I had planned to repost the inaugural entry from this blog because 1) it tells the story of their adoption, and 2) I am swamped with academic papers and haven’t found much time for personal writing lately.  But before I could do that, I read a post on Facebook from someone I consider to be part of our family.  Once I stopped sobbing, I asked her permission to share it here, and she agreed.  So in her own words, here is the story of June 8, 2013 from Crystal, the twins’ surrogate mom:

 

This is long and I am sorry but I just can’t believe it was 6 years ago, how can it be? I remember sitting at the karate studio having the strangest pain nothing like any labor. Called the Dr and I just knew within minutes there was nothing I could do these babies were coming!! The worst part is I knew I couldn’t stop it now matter how hard I tried!

From the moment I was 13 I knew I wanted to help families that couldn’t have babies. After I had Kailynn I knew our family was complete and I decided I wanted to give families something they have yearned so hard to have for themselves! It wasn’t an easy process matching cycles, lots of hormones, shots and Dr visits every week, but I didn’t care, even if I didn’t get paid ONE dime this was something I wanted to do.

After being a surrogate with my first Surro baby, my heart still felt incomplete in my journey. I just felt that tug from God saying “Crystal your not done yet”.

I listened to the whisper and met with my consultant and was told there was a family from France that would love to meet with me and discuss be being their surrogate.

We connected and I was so excited to be helping a family again and I just could not wait to get this process started again. We talked every day even through such a language barrier, we had a bond that I thought nothing could separate.

I became pregnant with twins and we were all sooooo excited I had two beautiful babies that I got to help bring into this world for a family that otherwise would not be able to have.

We spent everyday talking, I would record every heart beat and send them videos, I would record my belly to show them their babies moving. This was their pregnancy I wanted them to experience everything no matter how far the distance!

We found out it was a boy and girl just what they wanted! Names were decided within minutes and me Chad and the kids were beyond happy for them.

I went about my pregnancy like normal, loving food, swollen feet, dr appointments and the daily grind. About 27weeks I went in for some labor pain turned out to be a UTI and was sent home with an antibiotic. All was good and I felt back to my normal self

Two weeks later a whirlwind in my life I had never prepared for came!! I’m sitting in the karate studio when Logan was preparing for his black belt exam and this crazy burning sensation came I thought ok this UTI is back, I call the Dr and they suggested I come to the office. I started gathering my things and within seconds of getting off the phone I KNEW something was wrong! By the time I got to the car I was begging chad to hurry just speed up, just get me to the hospital these babies are coming and something isn’t right! He rushes me there I tell him don’t even park the car leave the kids In it at the front door and just throw me at the desk with my wheel chair and I’ll take care if it so he could get the kids.

I remember the lady at the desk saying don’t worry mom this happens all the time and it isn’t the real thing yet so don’t worry. I remember looking at her and saying run lady I know this is real as I’m literally starting to undress knowing what was to come. As we raced through the halls I’m just at a loss trying to keep these babies in, praying nothing is wrong, and just wishing this lady would hurry up!!!

We get up stairs and the door and as the nurse comes she looks at me and says don’t worry we will have a room soon I said NO NOW!! As at this point I cared less who was there. I still remember the looks from the nurses like this isn’t real it’s the typical mother lol until that moment of them checking me saying “oh no she is ready to go baby is coming”!

I was devastated what did I do wrong why is this happening? These babies are too early, I failed the parents etc.. I got to the c-section room and I just prayed please God let these babies be ok!! I was going to try and deliver until the ultrasound showed that Thomas (Titus) didn’t have a heartbeat.. so emergency C-section was the only option. I remember my Dr rushing. So many nurses and me just praying with all my might! Minutes felt like hours and all I wanted was to hear babies cry! Just cry, cry like all my others then I know it’s ok…. there was nothing worse then hearing nothing but nurses and waiting, then finally I heard the faintest cries which at least gave me a moment of security.

The moments to follow were the hardest moments of my life!!! I sat with my Dr and we talked about the babies, the love the compassion and the care he showed me was a moment I will NEVER forget. He sat by my bed side and talked to me not as a patient but as a friend. Which is what I needed, I was told that they are ok but with the tough delivery and how hard it was to get them out we were sure not the extent of damage. I was told that Thomas(Titus) would have to be immediately taken to Illinois masonic and Tess would remain with me at Sherman.

Before they transferred Thomas (Titus) I was able to see him and he was so precious and soon after I got to walk to meet Tess. While all this craziness was happening I made sure that chad called the parents and told them what was happening so they could hurry and get here!! Their babies needed them, I was would of course take care of them but they needed their mommy!!

In the mean time of waiting, Tess also needed to be transported they both were showing signs of brian bleeds. It was the worse feeling knowing that there parents weren’t here and they were alone in another hospital with no one.

And then the moment I NEVER thought could even happen did!
The parents came and visited me and we did all the legalities. Ate lunch and I told them everything, showed them pictures and told them how beautiful their babies were!! They were so happy. They left the hospital and went to go see them! I was so excited for them, even though this wasn’t an ideal situation and we didn’t know what was to come they were going to see their babies.

Well instead of loving their babies they looked at them as not perfect and no longer wanted them:( they literally told the drs that they were imperfect and to pull the plug on them and let them die! The Drs told them your babies are sick, but they are not dying! Miles away when I heard this I fell to my knees sobbing. How!!! How could a mother who wanted children so badly look at her two beautiful children and GIVE UP! How could you tell them to let them DIE!!

After they met with the counselors they said well we will see what happens.. the hardest part was that I continued to have to convince this family to LOVE there children, convince them to want them, how do you do that?? it was the most heartbreaking moment in my life!! They told me they were going to keep the stronger one which at the time in their eyes Thomas (Titus) and put the other one up for adoption, which at the time was I told them No don’t do that they can not be separated! If that was the case let us adopt Tess so they can have some type relationship. They seemed on board with it and then all the sudden we never would see them. I would drive breast milk every other day for them and never see them, the nurses would tell me they would only come for a few minutes and leave.

About two weeks later, I get a call saying that they put both up for a closed adoption and left. They didn’t text, call or anything. All I knew is that I could never talk to anyone about them… and the fact of explaining all of this to my children, which is a whole other book haunted me!

I continued to visit and bring them milk and prayed that these parents would understand that these babies are beautiful, prayed that I had the means and could adopt them, prayed that they would not become part of the state. I spent months in agony just wanting these babies loved and trying to convince myself I didn’t do anything wrong! I had so much guilt and pain.

Then God answered my prayers!!! While the hospital couldn’t give me information on the adoption or anything. They knew how much I loved them and how much I dedicated time to them and visited them multiple times a week! They told me that a wonderful family had chosen to adopt them BOTH!!!! I was not allowed to have any other info but in that I was happy and relieved. Still heartbroken at these parents who have lied to me and betrayed my family but happy that I know the babies would be loved. I asked the hospital if I could at least give them a letter from me and the kids for them to have. Which they allowed I never thought I would receive anything back what we did!!!

This family was perfect and it allowed my heart to heal and took every worry I had ever had away!!!

I know that the journey was hell and even with what I wrote here it doesn’t even cover nearly 10% of my emotions or the full experience, but I know that my journey was not invain and there was a bigger plan from the beginning that I knew nothing about!

People ask me would you go through this experience ever again and my answer is Absolutely !!!! Some parents go through many obstacles to have children and will do anything for them! While I started this journey for a French couple it turns out the journey all long was for someone else longing and hurting…. it is crazy how life’s plan works and how you can be tested to trust the process!

I know these babies are well taken care of and loved and have EVERYTHING they need!!! I know they are having a great day celebrating how wonderful it is to be 6!!!!!

I know this was a crazy book, but such a part of my life that has for ever changed me!

Happy 6th birthday Beautiful babies!!!

 

My book club recently met to discuss the masterfully crafted novel, All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr.  We discussed the title at length, contemplating what the light we cannot see represents.  This morning as I reflect on Titus and Tess’s birthday, the phrase seems to fit their lives so perfectly.  I could not see why Timothy had to die. Crystal could not see why the twins’ biological family made the choice they made.  But when the Lord intersected our lives, we both saw what we had not been able to see before.  And it was a beautiful story filled with light–the light of Jesus who provides heavenly homes for little boys whose bodies are worn out on earth and earthly homes for orphan babies who need a forever family.  And I cling to this idea of the light I cannot see when my heart breaks that the marriage of this forever family seems broken beyond repair because it doesn’t make sense that God would give such a broken gift to little babies in need.  But I had the same question when God placed Timothy in a family that couldn’t keep him safely at home.  And God’s response then was, “You can never adopt the wrong child.”  So I have to hope that He also says to Titus and Tess, “You can never adopt the wrong family.”

He is sovereign and He is good, and no matter what pain or desperation or dismal circumstance we face, He will bring light to darkness and joy from mourning and love from pain.  Sometimes we are privileged to see it and sometimes we just have trust that it is there–invisible to us but crystal clear to Him who sees all.

Happy Birthday to my beautiful babies, Esther “Tess” Moriah and Titus Asher.  You were chosen.  You are gifts.  And even when I question hardships and circumstances, I never question you or your places in our perfectly imperfect family–the light we could not see–that shines on so many lives every single day.

 

Related post:  A New Call

 

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Treasured Things

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In honor of Mother’s Day, which always triggers memories of his last four days of life, this post is a reprint of the message I shared at the Celebration of Life for Timothy José Barnes….my son…a world changer.

In October 2008, as I sat rocking my newborn baby daughter who had been born with Down syndrome and a congenital heart defect, God first put it in my heart to adopt another baby with similar issues. Over time that leading became a call for our entire family.

From the moment we were contacted about “baby José,” I wanted nothing more than to bring him home and fill his life with love and opportunity. I remember sitting at the desk in my office looking out the window into our backyard. I could just see this sweet little boy running around chasing chickens and playing with his siblings. Sure, there would be hurdles to overcome—a heart surgery his first spring and certainly some developmental challenges, but nothing we couldn’t handle. We knew that he and the other kids would enrich each other’s lives so much and that he and Lydia could grow up together and be lifelong companions. That was our dream, and I believed it to be our call.

But as the days and weeks and months unfolded, nothing went according to plan. Surgeries, ventilators, trachs, and g-tubes came into the picture. I resisted all of them with a vengeance until it was obvious they were the only option. Still I was sure that the turning point was just around the corner. Each week I told the kids, if we can just make it through this week, he’ll come home, and everything will be better. Those weeks turned into months, and yet I clung to the call I believed God had placed on us, and I fought with all of my being to get Timothy home. I was certain that a home and a family were the things he needed most of all.

When Timothy finally did come home in May of last year, we quickly realized that he was a much more fragile baby than we thought. He almost lost his life on the floor of our family room. I had never before seen death hover over anyone, and it scared me. For the first time, I realized that what Timothy needed most could not be found in our home…that he had a lot more healing to do. This wrecked me for a while. I questioned God, asking why he would place this precious boy into a family who could not give him what he needed most—24-hour one-on-one medical care. It seemed like a mismatch—Timothy and his siblings were supposed to enrich each other’s lives, yet they couldn’t even live in the same home. It just didn’t make sense. At one point, I even told God that I was willing to let Timothy go if he had a better family for him…one that could give him the medical care he needed at home or could stay in the hospital with him all day every day. But God said, “No, he is yours, and you are his. Trust me.”

I finally accepted that, as much as I wanted otherwise, Timothy was not ready to be in our home… YET. This realization brought a new level of trust, calmness, and peace. I let go of my need to control every aspect of his care, and God filled the gap with countless medical providers and friends who cared for Timothy as if he was their very own. We were able to settle into a “new normal,” and we did our best to balance the needs of all of our children. We knew that Timothy was getting what he needed to come home to stay, and we tried to let go of the guilt of all that we were not able to give him. We trusted God’s perfect timing and walked patiently behind Him one week at a time.

Timothy began to make slow but steady progress. He grew. His lungs began to heal. He became more stable and so interactive. He loved to play wildly with his toys and amazed everyone with his impressive yoga poses. He blew kisses, made raspberries, and gave away big, toothy grins. My best memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas last year were the times we spent with him in the TCU altogether as a family. When I visited him in the evenings and on the weekends, we would sing songs together or cuddle or read stories. I would always rearrange his toys before I left and turn on his music. Somehow that made it easier to leave, thinking I had left behind surprises for him. This spring he finally came off the ventilator and was doing so well that his doctors agreed to attempt to wean his trach before sending him home. They began that process and things looked SO promising.

The call we received at 6:24 a.m. on Tuesday, May 14, came out of nowhere. He had been just fine the day before, just a little fever, which was commonplace for him. I had visited him the night before, and I knew he was coming down with something because he fell asleep almost as soon as I picked him up. I just enjoyed the time holding him because he is usually such a wiggle worm. In hindsight, I should have known something was more wrong than usual because when I put him under his play gym that he loved so much, he did not reach up and pull his monkey toy that plays music. He ALWAYS pulls the monkey toy. I should have known then, but I didn’t. Exactly 36 hours later, our sweet Timothy was gone. We were left reeling with questions of how and why this could have happened. He was so close to coming home and living out the dreams we had for him. How could this be?

I confess that my first thoughts were wrong thoughts…I wondered if God was punishing me for all of the ways I had sinned over the past year and a half. Stress brings out the best and worst in us, and I was heavy in the worst department, especially with my own dear husband. But we serve a forgiving and loving God, and “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus,” so I knew there had to be some other purpose.

Several days later God brought to mind a passage of scripture that I knew contained the answer. It is from Luke, Chapter 2, Verses 41-51:

‘Now his parents went to Jerusalem every year at the Feast of the Passover. And when he was twelve years old, they went up according to custom. And when the feast was ended, as they were returning, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem. His parents did not know it, but supposing him to be in the group they went a day’s journey, but then they began to search for him among their relatives and acquaintances, and when they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem, searching for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when his parents saw him, they were astonished. And his mother said to him, ‘Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been searching for you in great distress.’ And he said to them, ‘Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business?’ And they did not understand the saying that he spoke to them. And he went down with them and came to Nazareth and was submissive to them. And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart.’

The dream we had for Timothy to come home and run in our yard and play with our kids and grow up to be Lydia’s life companion was a good dream, but it was too small for this little boy. He was a world changer, and to be a world changer, he needed to be out in the world rather than confined to a 3-acre lot in Chesapeake.

‘Son, why have you treated us so? Your father and I have tried everything in our power to bring you home, to love and raise you with your brother and your sisters and to give you the life your birth parents wanted you to have.’ And he said to them, ‘Why did you want me to come home? Did you not know that I must be about my Father’s business? There were doctors and nurses and therapists and janitors and old friends and new friends and complete strangers who I would have never met in the confines of our home. But my Father set me apart to touch their lives and hearts. He loved and spoke to others through me, and they are better for knowing me.’

And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart and realized that she was one of those people that Timothy’s heavenly Father loved and spoke to through him. And that yes, the road had been hard,and she had made plenty of mistakes along the way. And no, her dreams for him did not come true. But she wouldn’t change anything…even the hard parts. And he taught her many things that amazed her.

From his birth parents, she learned that sometimes the most loving thing you can do for someone is to let them go.

She learned that God can use the broken—even the very broken like herself—to do His work.

She discovered that we are called to do hard things, things we never wanted or expected to do— and that the harder the thing we are called to do, the more God meets us in the midst of it.

She learned that the least of these are indeed the greatest. And that those who care for the least of these—especially the medical community—are serving the Lord Himself.

And perhaps the most powerful lesson of all, she learned at the very end of his life as she reflected back on it in its entirety…She learned that no matter how many wounds we suffer, we still have the capacity for love and joy—we just have to choose to walk in them.

And then God told her that He had released ‘our brother Timothy’ from his call…that his work was done and it was time for him to run and play and dance and sing just as she always wanted him to do…only not in her physical home but in her eternal home.

“And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart”…and she knew that she would never be the same.  

 

Related post: Nothing Can Separate Us

 

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Stepping Stones

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The first time I met Frances, I was a (relatively) young mom of three who was in the process of having my faith slowly thawed out after many years of confusion and anger at the God I had concluded must exist but couldn’t possibly care about me.  Frances taught a discipleship Sunday School class at the church our family had recently started attending, and I don’t remember a word of what she said that first morning because I could not stop staring at her Bible.  The cover was tattered and the pages were filled with markings—highlights and underlines and notes scribbled in the margins of what seemed like every single page.  In my naïve state of awe, I vividly remember assuming that she must have lost her husband or a child or endured some terrible hardship to have spent that much time reading her Bible.

Frances went on to become a spiritual mentor to me during our years at that church and even after we moved away, until hardships in both of our lives stole our opportunities for long telephone conversations.  But I have never forgotten her Bible, despite accepting that my love for having multiple Bibles—one in my book bag, one in my church bag, one from when I was thirteen, one by my special chair…—means that I will likely never have a Bible quite like Frances’s.

But because of the testimony her Bible spoke to me that Sunday morning almost sixteen year ago and some internal vow I likely made to seek that kind of “relationship” with my Bible, I constantly write notes in all of my Bibles.  Sometimes they are from messages or sermons I hear, but more often they are notes about what God says to me individually through particular passages.  Often I will write people’s names and dates in the margins so that I will remember a word someone shared with me or that God gave me to share with someone else.  Frances taught me to do that all those years ago, and the older my memory gets, the more I appreciate it.

After Easter a few weeks ago, I was trying to determine what to do for a devotional since the one I had used for Lent was (technically) over (even though I somehow managed to not finish the last three days of it!?).  I felt the Lord leading me to spend some time reading through the margin notes in my most marked up copy of the Bible, the one I bought while Frances mentored me.  I had never done this in a deliberate, systematic way, and the experience captivated me!

First I realized that the name at the front of my Bible was no longer accurate, so I crossed through it and symbolically dated the corrected surname as I wrote it onto the page.  I saw my “cardboard testimony” from 2011:  “Once a hopeless sinner; now a hopeful sinner hidden in Christ.” Yep, still true!  I read a note I had written on the title page after taking a two-year Bethel Intensive Bible Training course with my pastor: “The Bible teaches what it means to teach.” (Bethel 2003-2005)  I read life-giving words of prophecy and encouragement that had been spoken over me throughout the decade and a half that I had used this Bible, including most of chapter 14 of the book of Exodus that I have written so much about these past few months.  I remembered people and events I had not thought of in many years and read their cards and notes that had meant so much to me that I had placed them into the pages of my Bible for safekeeping.

Eventually I stumbled upon a piece of notebook paper neatly folded and tucked into the Book of Ezekiel.  At the top of the page, I had written “For Mother’s Day 2015…”  As soon as I began to read, a flood of negative memories filled my mind.  I recalled sitting in my car by a lake, sobbing and scribbling my heart out to the Lord that Mother’s Day afternoon.  My marriage had slowly and quietly become a place of deep darkness, and the toxicity that resulted in both of us had finally started to spill out over the entire family.  Knowing my children were now experiencing the pain of our mistakes broke my mother’s heart.  Words like failure and poison and darkness and details I would never want anyone else to read filled the front and back of that single sheet of notebook paper.  As difficult as it was to read and remember that day, I am so grateful that I captured and saved my desperate outpourings. Near the end of the back page, I had written a prayer…”Come Holy Spirit, come!  Send angels to minister to my broken heart and to bind the wounds.  Fill me anew and let me focus my eyes upon you, and soften my heart toward those who have hurt me. Redeem my days, oh God.  Let them not be in vain.”  And alongside the prayer I had written this Scripture that the Lord had immediately shared in response:

“For this is what the Sovereign Lord says:  I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep.  I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness.” (Ezekiel 34:11-12, NIV)

I then turned to that passage in my Bible and saw a note in the margin dated 12/16/12—just before Timothy’s first Christmas with us—a Christmas we spent in the Transitional Care Unit at the Children’s Hospital.  The note in the margin said, “I am the Lord’s precious and loved sheep and He will always care for me (vision in prayer time).”

The Lord had given me that vision two-and-a-half years before that miserable Mother’s Day in 2015.  I may not have known all that was to come—the death of a child, the adoption of twins, the destruction of a marriage, the unraveling of a family—but He knew, and He promised in advance to search for me and to look after me and to rescue me.  And He reminded me of that promise when the darkness became so thick that it overwhelmed me.

Turning page after page of my Bible, I could see so clearly how He has kept His promise to me and to my children. It may not have been in the ways I expected or even wanted, but He is faithfully walking me THROUGH (not around) the dark valley to a place of light and abundance.

1 Samuel 7 recounts the story of Samuel calling people to abandon their idols and false gods and return to the Lord with all their hearts.  He then sacrificed and interceded on behalf of the Israelites, and God delivered them mightily in a battle with the Philistines. Samuel responded by setting up a stone.  “He named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far has the Lord helped me.’” (1 Samuel 7:12, NIV)

As I flipped through my Old Testament notes, I realized that the value of capturing them isn’t just to remember the past.  It is so much more. Every time I remember His faithfulness, I lay an Ebenezer stone.  The stones not only represent the Lord’s provision in the past, they provide a place of sure footing for walking forward.  Some are boulder-size, representing major deliverance or miraculous provision.  Others are small but much-needed gifts of a timely word of simple truth spoken just when I needed it most.  No matter the size of the stones, I can stand on them, resting in His kept promises and gaining strength for that next step.  The path He has for me is not visible for miles ahead but is revealed one stepping stone at a time.

I call upon Him. He answers. I remember.  And another stone is laid, ready for my next step of faith.

 

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm—my great army that I sent among you.  You will have plenty to eat, until you are full, and you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you; never again will my people be shamed…And everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved; for on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem there will be deliverance, as the Lord has said, among the survivors whom the Lord calls.” (Joel 25-26, 32, NIV)

 

 

by

Risky Business

IMG-5261Two years ago, I stumbled up the stairs of a counseling center in Norfolk. I had not slept or eaten in days. My hair stuck out all over my head because that morning, I had tried unsuccessfully to lift my hairdryer to my head—not because I was too physically weak but because I could not stop crying. A friend had come over to step into my day so that I could find a way to breathe again. When I climbed those steps, I went seeking my way through unthinkable circumstances that had shattered my life. Over the course of that summer, what I found was myself. I did not even know I had lost her.

A little over a month ago, I took a series of “tests” my counselor recommended to help me find focus in my new season of life.  She thought it would help me to better understand my identity that had somehow gotten buried under decades of debris.  Who expects to “start over” just shy of their fiftieth birthday?!? The sense of urgency to “get it right” is a whole lot greater than it was at twenty, so I very willingly engaged in this process designed to help me better understand myself—my needs and values, my passions and strengths.

One of the assessments measured competencies in my life—things I am good at. When the counselor who conducted the assessment shared my top three competencies, I almost choked on my laughter. One of them was “Taking Risks” and it said, “You are motivated to go on adventures and explore new territories. Your desire for excitement and competition will involve you in entrepreneurial and challenging circumstances so you can overcome obstacles and enjoy the rewards of victory” (Pro-Development assessment report).

“That’s not me,” I told the counselor. “I am not a risk-taker.”

He raised his eyebrow at me, “Oh, really? When I first heard your adoption stories, my immediate thought was, ‘That was risky.’”

Right then and there in that small counseling room in Norfolk, Virginia, my reality crumbled. This girl who hates flying in airplanes, who doesn’t swim in the ocean to guarantee she will not be eaten by sharks, and who would not take a million dollars to hang-glide or parasail or jump off a diving board at the YMCA (okay, MAYBE I would jump off the diving board for a million dollars, but it would also require medication of some sort)….this girl is a risk taker?! My mind was blown.

I played with the thought for days, turning it over and around to consider it from different angles. I looked for evidence of it in my life, and slowly I began to see that the problem wasn’t that the test misunderstood me to be a risk taker but that I had a very narrow view of risk. I thought of risk as a physical act—doing things that required signing extensive waivers because they may result in death. And those things ARE risky, and I have absolutely no desire to do any of them. Not one. Ever.

But not all risks are physical—some are emotional, financial, or spiritual. And when I examined my life through this new lens, the past ten years were littered with evidence of risk in all of those areas. And when I scraped away the acts and looked underneath, I saw no innate desire for adventure in myself but a simple longing to live a life of trust.

Today is Easter and we are celebrating the most miraculous event in the history of the world. Yet one of the first things we awakened to was news of the deaths of hundreds of innocent people worshipping and living life in Sri Lanka. And just like that, the darkness threatened to overshadow the joy. I felt darkness try to overshadow my joy before I even heard this news. It was thick like a cloud that surrounded me—blinding, choking, and suffocating me. I can only imagine the thickness of the cloud covering the people of Sri Lanka right now—and of anyone else who woke up on Easter Sunday to devastating news of death, cancer, divorce, or personal despair.

There is only one way to dispel the darkness, and it is risky. It is what motivated Mary Magdalene to go to the Jesus’s tomb before the sun even rose on the day after the Sabbath. It is what emboldened the disciples, despite their gripping fear, to gather in the upper room instead of dispersing and scattering to protect their individual lives. Underneath every risky act is a trust in something—or Someone.

The tomb was dark. Jesus entered it having been physically crucified, one of the most torturous forms of death. Worse than that, He felt utterly forsaken by His father. He descended into hell, the darkest place imaginable. All because He trusted the plan of God the Father and knew the sacrifice required to atone for the sin of every person who has lost him or herself and needs to be found.

So all I know to ask myself today and everyday in the face of personal darkness and international tragedy is, “Do you want to stay in the tomb or do you want to live?”

The tomb may be dark, but it feels safe and familiar. It also holds nothing but death.

To live is to trust the goodness of God in all circumstances—even evil and unjust ones. And when we trust, we risk everything. We hand over our control, our agenda, our feelings, our will, and our very lives. We walk with no view of the end of the path, no sign of the shore, no vision of the story’s ending. And sometimes we experience great pain, disappointment, or loss. It is then that we join in the fellowship of Christ’s suffering, which is both the greatest risk and the greatest reward.

Paul wrote about this risky business in his letter to the Philippian church, “But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. (Philippians 3:7-11. ESV)

I may never swim in the ocean or parasail or even dive off the diving board at the YMCA, but I am a risk taker. The biggest risk I ever took was trusting Jesus—following Him, losing my life, and finding my lost self. Dangerous business. But the alternative is worse than dangerous—it is deadly.

 

“For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:25, ESV)