Hold my heart

A lot of people told me this year would be better.  Well-meaning, caring people who believed and hoped for that ... as did I.  Here we are in July, and I lost my precious mother last week, watched and have helped care for my dad as he recovers from the extensive cancer surgery he had two days after Mama broke her earthly shackles for an eternity with her Savior.  Better?  Would you believe me if I said yes?  Heartbreaking, devastating, surreal, exhausting from every possible standpoint - all true.  The absence of joy and hope - absolutely not.

The real question is do those of us who profess to follow Christ acknowledge him with our words only and deny him by our lifestyles, or do we cling to the hope that we have been promised?  When I was young, my mom would often sing an old hymn about our true home:

This world is not my home, I'm just a passing through 

My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.  

The angels beckon me from heaven's open door,

And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

~This World Is Not My Home, by Albert Brumley, 1937. 

In the midst of the storms, through the seemingly endless desert, when the flood waters threaten to drown or the fires overtake us - do we live what we believe?  Do we actually even believe the promises of God, the one who created and formed us and called us by name?  He tells us unequivocally to "Fear not," and "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you."  Isaiah 43:1-2.   In the long healing process after my miscarriage, there came a point where God pointedly pressed in on my heart the following question: "Do you want to be like Job, who even after I allowed Satan to take everything from him still worshiped me, or like Job's wife, who told Job to curse my name and die?"  My husband often calls these "Hey, stupid!" moments where God is smacking him "upside the head."  And yes, I do have those moments, but God was so gentle and gracious when putting this question before me.

The past few years, and especially the last year that almost defies imagination (at least in my limited imagination), have ignited a passion for understanding what it means to be blessed.   Whether we are professing Christians or not, we all want to be blessed.  At least, I think so, since I can't recall anyone saying "Curse me, please!"  lately - or ever.  That said, there is a frightening amount of confusion, bad theology, wishful thinking, etc., regarding what it means to be truly blessed.  If you're thinking that means life will be easy, everything will turn out just like planned, there will be no hardships, trials, pain, suffering, etc., then first of all I would desperately want to know what planet you're living on, because that has never, ever been the case here on Earth.  At least not since perfection was shattered in the Garden of Eden, the world was fractured and all of creation has subsequently been groaning under the weight.  Second, and applicable only to believers in Jesus, is the question of where that idea came from, as it most assuredly did not come from Jesus when he took on human form and walked this earth to be our substitute and become our righteousness.  He did not say, "If you have trouble," or "You might have a few bumps in the road."  In a lengthy conversation with his disciples in John 16, Jesus told them of the sorrow they would endure that would turn to joy, and in verse 33 said, "I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace.  In the world you will have tribulation.  But take heart; I have overcome the world."

Not "might have," but you WILL.  And in all honesty, tribulation, suffering, the feeling of persecution (or actual persecution) is far from enjoyable, and pretending that everything is okay and "happy, happy, joy, joy" comes off as infinitely fake and insincere.  Mama left this earth on what would have our baby's due date.  There is both joy and sorrow in knowing that - renewed sorrow for the babies I will never hold in my arms this side of eternity and incredible joy knowing that my mother is holding her grandchildren; deep sorrow every time the thought springs up, usually unbidden, that never again on this earth will I see my mother's beautiful face or her welcoming smile, or feel her arms around me  - the arms that made me feel so understood, loved and accepted.  But there is incredible joy knowing that she is dancing in heaven with her sisters and the other saints who have gone before her, at the feet of the Jesus she loved and followed so faithfully, and that she is no longer limited or restrained by physical pain and disease.  There is joy in the encouragement and love poured out from so many family members and friends and the steadfast love of my husband, the memories that they have of her, and the hope we share knowing that we will be united again in a new heaven and new earth, free from sin, free from tears of sorrow, heartache, disease and suffering.   And as my dad heads down the road of chemotherapy and radiation, along with the emotional healing from losing his wife of over 40 years, there is joy in loving him and letting him know that he is not alone - not by a long shot.

People have asked from time to time how I am "so strong."  There is a very, very simple answer: I am not strong, not in the least.  And though I decided a long time ago to follow Jesus, he has allowed suffering into my life to prune me and mold me - to detach my hands from the things of this world and attach my hands to Himself - and it is the most amazing thing to discover as another trial looms that falling into his strong and loving arms has become a reflex rather than a last resort.  The funny and frustrating thing about pruning and molding is that they are processes.  There is nothing instantaneous about the process - in fact, even today I found myself teetering on the edge of despair after receiving a spiteful and hurtful message from someone who has experienced suffering and was lashing out at me, much like a wounded animal tends to do.  Did it wound me?  Absolutely.  Did it make me angry?  Unfortunately, yes, especially the untrue statements that were made.  Did God waste any time "smacking me upside the head?"  Ummm, no.

Back when God so gently asked me about being like Job or Job's wife, my response was ultimately that of Job's:  "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return.  The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."  Job 1:21. So what to do when I feel "persecuted" or wrongly accused, or when my heart feels like it is breaking into pieces all over again because I miss my Mama so much, or when I see my dad in the hospital bed and know that he is in for a hard and painful battle ...  well, often times, I mess it up and my response (at least inwardly, if not outwardly) is anything but God-honoring.  But usually the next step is to preach the Gospel to myself, and that step is getting easier to remember.  Jesus has paid it all - the other person's sin and my sin in getting angry, along with thousands of my other sins.  Remind myself that God gave me an incredible mother who, while not perfect, continually pointed me and so many others to Christ - I had her for 37 years, almost exactly.  She was and is His daughter, and though she was a gift to me in ways that I now only realize in part, she is exactly where she has longed to be.  The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away - blessed be the name of the Lord.  There is nothing - and I do mean nothing - that does not pass through His hand; and everything that God allows into my life is for my ultimate good and for His glory.  And I remember that when I am weak, that is when I am truly strong.  As Paul said after struggling with the thorn in his flesh, "a messenger of Satan" sent to harass him and keep him from being conceited, and after pleading with God to remove the thorn:  "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me." II Corinthians 12:9.

I didn't realize, probably because my mother didn't know or sing this verse, that verse three of the hymn goes like this:

I have a precious mother up in glory land,

I don't expect to stop until I clasp her hand;

For me she's waiting now at heaven's open door,

And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

But I do know the refrain:  "O Lord, I know, I have no friend like you."  And with God's grace, mercy and love, it will be my refrain for all my days on this earth until I meet Jesus face to face.  In the meantime, that oh-so-hard-and-painful-in-the-meantime ... the maker of my soul is the one who holds my heart.

Blessed.  Oh, so blessed. 

Hope, desire and the best laid schemes of mice & men

Going back to the blogging pen after a five month absence is like jumping in the pool really fast (versus one toe and limb at a time) to get the shock over with.  It feels ever so unfamiliar at first ...

A new year has come, and it could not have come soon enough.   A majority of 2011 will, for me, be remembered as a very long dark night of the soul.  "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." (Proverbs 13:12)  This, along with other verses in the Bible about hope and desire, have lately left me chasing my own theological tail, running in circles and becoming spectacularly dizzy in the process.  Did I survive a car accident where my car flipped two and a half times and landed upside down for a purpose?  Was it just sheer irony that a neck injury surfaced a month later, along with debilitating non-stop migraines, right after finding out I was pregnant and could not take anything but Tylenol?  Did I have an early ultrasound only to find out that I had been carrying twins but one had stopped developing?  And three weeks later, being devastated to find out that our other baby no longer had a heartbeat ... what, in God's name, was the purpose and meaning in that?  I've lost people close to me before and dealt with my own grief and others' grief.  Miscarrying two babies has been in an entirely different universe of grief and loss, and there have been times I wondered not only if I'd ever find my way home, but if I even wanted to.

God knows I've been angry at Him.  The anger has mostly passed, and now there is a gaping, cavernous hole in my heart.  It's oh so childish, but now I can't talk to Him - which is better, yelling at God, or "ignoring" Him?  Through the surgeries for cancer, the diagnosis of MS, and other health problems, I really have never asked or wondered, "Why me?"  Apparently there was a profound shift when the other shoe dropped this time and it encompassed not just me, but the life inside me that was a part of my husband too.  Just after seeing my husband's face light up at the picture of our baby on the monitor, I glimpsed the chagrined look on the ultrasound technician's face.  I'm pretty sure shock/numbness was the first wave to hit after she told us she was so sorry but she didn't see a heartbeat.  But it was not long at all before I was angry, and it was all directed at the One who had shaped and formed those babies.  Why let me hope??  Why let me be pregnant at all and create and shape that desire???  When is it enough, enough heartbreak, enough physical pain????  Why was I such a fool to believe that surely God knew I had been through enough and wouldn't allow the additional pain of miscarriage?  I'm pretty sure some form of that last question was the one I asked aloud to my husband.  My husband, who was also grieving, mourning and dealing with his own emotions. 

As odd as it may sound, none of this shook my faith.  Nor did my faith stop me from biting, kicking and hitting the loving arms that were wrapped so tightly around me and have never, ever let go.  I have wanted to scream at people for being marvelously insensitive, full of drama or just plain annoying, even though very few people knew what was going on and, despite the tone of this blog post, I do know that this life is not about me.  I seriously contemplated breaking the radio whenever I heard Christmas music since, as it turns out, many Christmas songs are about a baby being born.

I know that God is still God and God is still good.  There are days, and have been many since that fateful doctor's visit on December 1st, where I simply have not cared.   I know that what is allowed in my life is allowed by God for my good and for His glory.  While I don't doubt the truth of that and know better than to think I could possibly imagine how this situation will be used for my good or His glory, still ... I am finding it incredibly hard to feel anything but apathy.  We are still grieving.  It is a process, and does not proceed according to anyone's timetable.  My mother had four miscarriages, and I have many friends and family members who have gone through miscarriage - your heart breaking for them does not in the remotest way prepare you for that maternal or paternal instinct that envelops you when you realize you are going to be a mother or father.  We know that our babies are in the arms of Jesus, we know all the medical reasons that are true but sound horribly prosaic or condescending as you're going through it, but for my part at least, I can't even come up with the faintest guess as to why God let me become pregnant in the first place. 

I desperately fear becoming a fatalistic narcissist, and all the more so after writing this particular blog.  And maybe this is narcissistic because writing provides a cathartic release for me, but that is a chance that simply must be taken.  A very long time ago I learned that I could plan and scheme and dream all the day long ... and that all those plans and schemes and dreams are subject to the will of the sovereign Creator of all things.  If my desire is not for God and to bring Him glory, then almost certainly there will be a necessary rearrangement, readjustment or scrapping of my plans to align with His.  David says this in Psalm 37:4:  "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart."  When to hope, what to hope for and desire, those are still very tricky questions for me.  It is a terrifying prospect to hope for something anymore.  Almost as terrifying as having no hope at all.  I have also realized that within me lies a predisposition to assume that if I desire something, God probably has other plans.  Which leads to an absurd game of trying to use reverse psychology of a sort on God - "if I don't really want to get married, then maybe I'll meet the right guy ... wait, don't think that last part ..."  Truly absurd.  God did wait until I had absolutely turned my back on marriage and had wholeheartedly embraced a life of singleness before informing me that He had other plans.  Much, much, much more and better plans, and we will celebrate five years of marriage in June. 

I must also remember the lampposts along the way during this dark night of the soul, and there have been many rays of light.  Empathy from the unlikeliest of places, support and friendship from acquaintances, friends and family, random acts of kindness that brought an unexpected smile ... belonging to a church where it really is okay not to be okay (just not okay to stay there).  And it must be said that while my husband has been an incredible support in dealing with cancer and MS, this shared experience of joy, followed by excruciating grief and loss, has united us in a way I never before knew was possible.  I am not okay, I have not been okay for many long months now, but I am, by the grace and mercy of God and the patient understanding of my husband, getting better.

The Art of Sacrifice

Confession time:  earlier this year, I signed my husband and myself up for a 100-150 mile bike ride with our local chapter of the Multiple Sclerosis society.  My desire? To be able to ride with him, and both of us ride with my Dad, who rode 150 miles in the MS Ride for me last year.  How it came across (or even the real motivation behind it)?  Me manipulating my husband to do what I wanted him to do, something I find myself guilty of in a thousand ways - though with God's grace, he is helping me become a better wife.

With that said, it has been stunning to see the commitment and, while he would never call it this, PASSION my husband has developed over the past few months training for this ride.  Even with the immense responsibility he has at work, watching him put his bike on the rack to head out for a training ride with my dad and others, or riding for hours on the stationary bike when it's 175 degrees outside or weather doesn't permit, eating healthier ... all of it creates in me a sense of awe, pride in my husband, profound humility that he, my dad and others would commit to such a grueling endeavor to support those living with MS, and an overwhelming thankfulness that I am not the point of the story.  My husband's desire is to bring glory to God through this ride - and while loving and supporting his wife in the pattern of Jesus loving his bride, the Church, is absolutely God-honoring, as is taking care of his body - it is wonderfully freeing to release my husband from my burdensome expectations and, instead, support and respect him as he pursues Christ.

It's a near certainty that if I say to my husband, "I'm so proud of you!!!" one more time, he may actually crack/explode/spontaneously combust.  Not entirely sure of the psyche behind it, but he just doesn't do all that well with compliments.  So I'll say it on here, and then I don't have to witness the fallout ... I am so, so, so proud of my husband.  Not because he is perfect, but because he is my husband.  And because he is willing to engage the holy discontent that God's Spirit puts in all of our hearts, and strive - through Christ's strength - to run the race with perseverance, whether that means becoming more and more of a servant husband or simply refusing to remain static and instead pursue maturity as a follower of Jesus.

And now comes my shameless plea for your help.  I hoped to be able to ride as well, but it seems that that is no longer a possibility.  There is a link at the bottom of my blog to click on my page for the MS Ride on September 24 & 25, which will soon be changed to a link to Brad's page.  I am also including it here, and making a heartfelt request that you check it out and consider supporting him if you are able.

MS Society - Bike MS Breakaway to the Beach

Even more shamelessly, I ask for your prayers - for Brad and my father's safety during the ride, for our marriage, which is touched by the effects of this disease daily, and for my husband and myself, that we would continue to grow in our love of our Savior and for each other, and that in ALL things our lives would boldly proclaim, TO GOD BE THE GLORY.  

Time Stand Still

It's July already?  For real, though??  And before I blink my eyes we will be into August already ... it does seem an inescapable aspect of getting older, no matter how gracefully you do it, that the passage of time seems to move at supersonic speeds and we find ourselves saying phrases like, "Was that REALLY a year ago?" or "We've been married FOUR YEARS ALREADY?"  That last one is actually a statement expressing excitement and thankfulness on my part, just to be clear (though I shall not presume to speak for my husband :) 

So I missed the month of June, from a blogging perspective, but my beloved and I did celebrate four years of marriage (just the beginning!); Father's Day with my daddy who is precious to me - I love opportunities to honor him for being such a good father; and reluctantly, it must be said, my birthday that took me yet another step closer to the looming BIG 40.   

The end of June marked two years since I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  What the future holds for me, for my husband, whether we will be able to have a family, I do not even pretend to know.  The other day, I had an unexpected conversation with a lovely lady who told me that her husband has been living with MS for almost 40 years - he is now in a wheelchair and has been declared legally blind.  Have thoughts of that happening to me crossed my mind?  Yep.  She asked me, very matter-of-factly, "Do you ever wonder, 'Why me?'", telling me that she has wrestled often with that very question when she looks at her husband.  My honest answer in response was simply, "No."  I told her that from the time I was diagnosed until now, my thought has always been, "Why not me?"  If Jesus could step into time and onto this mortal earth in its fallen, broken state and submit himself willingly to his Father's will, go to a horrific death by the infamous Roman torture device of crucifixion to be slain for my sins, how could I possibly complain about having MS, cancer, or anything at all?

Has it been a struggle?  Absolutely.  Does it grieve my heart to know the burden it places on my husband?  Without a doubt.  Do I know, barring a miracle cure or a new heavenly body, that this body will continue to deteriorate in ways that I simply have no control over?  Certainly.  What simply takes my breath away is that when Jesus hung on the cross for six hours, bleeding, suffocating, dehydrated beyond imagination, gasping for air as he pushed himself up on the nails driven through his feet, he CHOSE to take all my sins and provide the restitution that I could never achieve on my own.  Nearly 2,000 years before I was even conceived, he chose to be the sacrifice for me, knowing that I would sin against him - the perfect and holy God of the universe - and yet loving me so much that he offered me a way to be reconciled to my Heavenly Father.  I really can't get over it (and hope and pray that I never do) - though I had not yet sinned, being not yet born, he paid it all ... my past, present and future sins.  What astounding love, what breathtaking mercy and such amazing grace.

So I do "boast" in my weakness, insomuch as it brings glory to God - and continue to be humbled that he trusts me to point to his strength at work in me, his joy magnified in me, and his transforming work in my heart that allows me to grow more and more into the image of Christ.  And there is joy - oh, so much joy.  Not to be confused with happiness, as joy and happiness are not synonymous terms.  There is happiness too ... laughing with my husband, sharing our hopes and dreams for the future, finding pleasure in the things that we were created to enjoy.  There are also "dark nights of the soul."  Will I ever experience the joy of motherhood is a question that can easily push me into one of those dark nights.  But always, always, there is joy in all circumstances.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.   

~Hebrews 12:1-3

It is my prayer that, as time marches on and the earth keeps spinning on its axis, we who live in this fallen world with all its discouragement, happiness, disappointment, treasured moments, betrayal, friendship, anger, forgiveness, hate and love, will take hold of the joy set before us - with Jesus as our source and our example - and never, ever let go.