My banner this Easter

As I begin to spill words, it is 5:30 on the morning of Easter 2012. The boys are sleeping through the last bit of serene darkness, but I wanted to revel in the celebration of the day ahead before it picks up steam with the sunrise.

In my last post, I shared my prayer that God would provide for us. We were waiting for some income to arrive. First it was a week late, then a month late, then two months late. And then we had bills, and were wondering why God hadn’t shown up for us financially. But He did. In the perfect moment, provision came, and we paid all of our bills. It came in a way that only God could have provided, in one of those ways that not only replenishes the bank account, but replenishes our hope and reminds us of the depth of His gifts. We have a roof over our heads (I love this house…). We have never missed a meal, done without things we need, or even accrued any debt, not even once, since Steven’s unemployment began. We have more support from our friends and family than we could ever exhaust. And the foundation, structure, and binding of our lives is the Gospel. As exciting as all the tangible provision was, our daily spiritual renewal is the most exciting.

The Lord has been whispering something specific to me for the past few weeks, bringing me back to life in areas I thought were simply decaying. It is good to be His child, to be a Christian, to hear from His Holy Spirit. It is good to draw from the deep well that is His grace. This is what I continue to hear, multiple times during the day: Live out of My fullness.

I had not realized how habitually I had been living out of obligation, out of fear, out of shame. It has been one of those times in life when I wake up tired, and not just physically. I am so deeply tired. And so this Divine whisper is so timely. I am unpacking the idea of living out of fullness, day by day, and I have come to anchor my calling of late to the passage in the Bible in which Jesus invites the woman at the well to partake of Living Water, John 4.

Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.

He is the source, and He provides us a way to live that actually has such depth and life that it bursts out of the earth in a way no other well could. I love that. I love that! Day to day life on a broken planet can be monotonous. Like the woman at the well, I gather water jar after water jar working past the weight of shame that is the life of a Samaritan sinner. And I thirst and continue to gather water to quench it. It is both over- and underwhelming, and it feels like quiet agony.

And then Jesus whispers, Live out of My fullness, and invites me to partake of His love, His grace, His mercy. Draw from the well that has no bottom, and even surpasses the surface of the earth. This is the life of the believer. We draw from an unending and unreserved Source. Thank you Jesus.

It is Easter. This is the day we remember. He is alive. And so are we.

Two years ago

Life has been so busy and full and good lately. Our old routine was put through a Bingo cage, and what has fallen into place, our new jobs, our new schedules, our new routine, is just what our weary hearts needed. This is why, for the last week or so, I would have moments of panic. “What is today’s date?” I would ask frantically. It’s only the 12th. It’s only the 15th. It’s the 16th. I was afraid I would forget somehow. So it is comforting to me that, without alarm clocks or calendar reminders, the tears came gently at around 9:00 tonight. Two years ago at that time, I began to go into labor with Samuel Evan, my first son.

I wonder if I had known, two years ago, that on February 18, 2012, I would be living here, would be doing what I’m doing, would be as much in love with Steven as I am, would be as happy raising Ezra, would be at this point in my grief… would I have been able to fathom it?

I think it is important to me to remember February 18 because it is the day to celebrate the little boy who made me a mama. If I forget him, I forget the good part of the loss, and all I’m left with is the trauma, anxiety, and grief that comes with this kind of loss. These thorns still surface two years later, but they so easily get lost in the comings and goings of life. Samuel… my sweet boy… his memory surfaces involuntarily and it refuses to be lost in the din, like a gift I didn’t earn. A gift that is not taken away. Like grace.

I have friends who have also lost children who do really creative things on their baby’s birthday. They release butterflies or balloons. They bake a cake. They sing happy birthday at the cemetery. So beautiful. These things are healing to their hearts. I thought about visiting the butterfly pavilion on his birthday, but decided against it and we went a few days ago, just to go. I realized I actually prefer celebrating him in the quiet, like I have a secret dream that is waiting to be fulfilled.

My secret dream is not Samuel, as much as I miss him. My dream is wholeness, and I love that Jesus makes it so, and that Sam will meet me there.

Tomorrow, I will go about my day, tending to Ezra, working on home projects, enjoying our Saturday. I will wear my memorial necklace, and I will take a moment to look through his photos and belongings and cry a little. Mostly, I will celebrate that Sam happened, that God picked me to be his mama, and that, though the sadness has changed from a gaping wound to a sore scar, Sam’s memory is still with me, even down to the very hour of the beginning of his birth. The blessing stays with me.

Shed the Ill-fitting Armor

Confession: I’ve never been one to gossip, but I fell into it recently. Maybe it was the need to feel like I am part of a group. Maybe it’s my insecurity. There is something about gossip that makes me feel included, but it’s a false inclusion. The thing about gossip is that you never know when it’s going to be turned around on you. You never know when you’ll change from included to excluded.

I am ashamed to say that it was not until I realized I was on the other side of the gossip that I felt convicted. It is disappointing to be gossiped about, but it is more disappointing that I participated. I humiliated someone behind their back in order to bolster my own insecurity, and now I know what it feels like. Instead of going to my Maker to find my identity, to soak in His acceptance, I tore someone down behind their back to feel good about myself.

Oh, conviction. I crave it, and I wince at it. It is so clarifying, so refreshing, but it’s like looking in the mirror and realizing you’ve let a really long, black hair grow out of control for about a month. So glad I noticed it finally, but GROSS.

A great deal of my willingness to sin is because I am ridiculously insecure lately. There’s just a lot going on. It’s where I’m at. I read the story of Goliath to Ezra this week from his little illustrated Bible, as I was mulling over this new conviction. There is a picture of David, wearing Saul’s armor, peeking over the top of it, barely able to move much less fight a giant.

From The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones & Illustrated by Jago

That’s me lately.

But I’m not a victim. I let my Saul(s) put ill-fitting armor on me. It seems like a kind gesture, but instead of protecting me from harm, it leads me to danger. Instead of convicting me it shames me. Instead of humbling me, it humiliates me.

1 Samuel 17 describes King Saul and David’s interaction before David went out to meet Goliath. Then Saul dressed David in his own tunic. He put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head. David fastened on his sword over the tunic and tried walking around, because he was not used to them. “I cannot go in these,” he said to Saul, “because I am not used to them.”

This is my favorite part:

So he took them off. Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd’s bag and, with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine.

He takes off Saul’s attempt to make him feel small, the oversized armor, and he decides to be himself. He takes his staff in his hand. How comfortably and confidently he must have held it. As a shepherd boy, it felt familiar to him. He selected his weapon, 5 smooth stones, put them in his shepherd’s bag. They were a bearable burden. He approached the Philistine in his own skin, and his confidence was real.

You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, said David. But I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied.

This day the LORD will deliver you into my hands, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head.

This very day I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds and the wild animals, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel.

No one can make me feel small. No one gets to belittle me in the task God has put before me. Maybe I won’t do it in bronze armor. Maybe I won’t run out with my sword swinging, but God will equip me to get the job done. I am confident because God has made me confident. And the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel.

So this is me confessing my sin. And this is me watching Jesus send it down to the pit of hell and commanding it to stay there. This is me accepting his bid to, “Go and sin no more.” And this is me facing my own battles, my own Goliath, in my very own skin. I don’t need to wear Saul’s ill-fitting armor. No one gets to make me feel small anymore. And because I find my confidence in my Maker, I don’t feel like I need to make anyone else feel small either.

Redemption. The Living God has made it so.

Seasons

Four Seasons by SW Gillen

It’s been eight months since Ezra was born, two months since we moved, and one month since I got my very own washing machine.

Washing is going well, and it sure beats handwashing. We enjoy sunshine almost every day throughout the year, so even the snow can’t stop us from drying clothes outside. It sounds ridiculous, but the few minutes I spend outside, pinning clothes to the line are like a moment to breathe. So therapeutic. There is something about moving slowly that makes me conscious of my breath, and the fact that each one is God-given.

The move… has been an uncomfortable transition. Ezra stopped sleeping through the night. Woe. Is. Me. Landing midwinter has proven to be a difficult time, but we have made the best of it. We have a few boxes of decorations to unpack, but everything else is in its place. The walls are bare, but every room is functional except for the sunroom, which is FREEZING this time of year. It can wait. We are settling in.

This house… it is like God had us in mind when He inspired the floorplan back in the 1920s. There is so much about it that is perfect for us, so much that speaks to God’s perfect knowledge of our needs and desires. We are dreaming of a ping pong table for the basement, organizing the sunroom for our creative endeavors (Steven has model airplanes, my art), collecting woodworking tools for Steven’s work shed in the back, hosting dinners in the dining room once we find the perfect chairs to go with our table. It’s fun to make plans and watch them unfold…. it’s patience as they unfold that gets tricky. Everything in its season.

Steven’s job has not been what we expected in so many ways–the most blaring of which is the fact that he and his coworkers haven’t had as much work as anticipated when he was hired. This left us reeling for a week or two. We wondered, Did we make this move in haste? Should we even be in this city? We had such hopes that this move would usher us into a time of rest, and we felt tricked into hoping. But as we regained our balance, we realized the Lord is redirecting our path in a way we were not expecting.

Isn’t that how He always works? In an unexpected way?

We shed some tears, I threw a fit (or two… or three…), and we stood up and dusted ourselves off. “We are supposed to be here,” Steven insisted, after much time in prayer, and I began to believe him. We had landed at a church that, we found out later, had been praying for young families to join its membership. It was the first and only church we had visited, and we knew after two visits that God would have us stay. There is something there for us, and something in us for it.

As Steven processed the turn of events, he too found a previously considered but untried path lit before him. This blog is about my own endeavors and musings, so I won’t go into his personal journey through this. I will say that his own dreams and callings are before him, beckoning him to step out in faith. I am excited for him. This disappointment was such a blow for us at first, but God’s hand was in it calling us to more.

We came here thinking we would find rest in steady employment, a break from trial after trial. Instead, we found our expectations shaken up, and rest came in a different form, but came anyway when we began to accept it. On the days Steven didn’t have work, the three of us spent winter mornings snuggling in bed, leisurely breakfast and coffee in our sunny little nook off the kitchen. We went on adventures, exploring our new city together with time we had never had before. And we began making peace and finding joy in this restructured plan.

As I reeled, I wondered if I should go back to work. Steven and I had so deeply desired that I stay home with Ezra. It felt like a God-given desire, but maybe I was being called to hold it loosely. Then, at just the right time, my desire to stay home was preserved. It occurred to me to dust off an offer made a few months prior and was unable to accept, a part-time job redesigning my family’s business website, among other responsibilities. I feel gifted for this task in this perfect timing. I enjoy the chance to venture outside motherhood for a few hours, to see the fruit of my labor.

It’s for this reason that I redesigned my blog–to keep things simple as my life has gotten busier and my need for an outlet ever stronger. I began this blog as a chance to share with others who are interested in our story, as well as a way to document the evolution of our home. Even through the busyness, it needs to evolve to suit the season so that I can continue to document our lives. And what a season we are in.

Just as all of this was happening, I noticed that after playing with other babies in church nursery, Ezra was so excited and energized, he would hit a new milestone almost every Sunday. I am a homebody, so I tended to create fun and quiet activities mostly at home for us. Time to rethink this, I realized, and I began to overhaul my home-centered habits. I began to seek opportunities for our little social butterfly to be out and about as often as possible. He almost jumps out of my arms at nursery, loves to take in his surroundings and observe people while we walk or run errands, LOVES the library and storytime, enjoys the baby area in the museum.

I cannot believe my sweet boy, my rainbow after the storm, is eight months old. With wonder, I watch his confidence blossom day by day. He loves to eat (babyled weaning is still going well), loves to nurse, loves bedtime (I’m not kidding–he laughs all the way into his crib), loves to get up in the night to nurse or snuggle (I’m grateful… really I am… just not for these dark circles under my eyes). He is such a funny little guy, my little snuggle-baby.

I secretly hope some of my prayer warriors from when I was carrying Sam are still reading. If you are… do pray for us in this transition. Pray that we would see the bigger picture, see His provision, and continue to find joy in this shaking up.

Held Down Thank God

Today was Steven’s last day at a really horrible job. We have been praying that God would deliver him from that job for almost four years now, since a few months after we got married. God kept him there, delivering him instead from unemployment in this difficult economy, delivering him unscathed through rounds and rounds of layoffs. We don’t know why, but this is where God wanted Steven.

The day Sam died, his boss said, “So, you’ll be in for work tomorrow.” Though he shows up at 6:30 faithfully, and has taken fewer sick days in the past five years than I can count on one hand, the time he took off to care for me in the hospital and then bury our son was given begrudgingly. When Steven, my hard-working, callous-handed man, spoke with his boss yesterday, his boss warned him that he “might actually have to work for once,” and indicated that he did not expect this new job opportunity to work out for him.

There is something sort of dark about it all. Too many things Satan likes to whisper in our ears. Ironically, his work building is located next to a crematorium. Death. Death. Death.

He walked into that place this morning, and clocked in for the last time. I’d like to say that when he left, some kind of chain fell off, but the truth is that Steven walked into his workplace this morning the same man he walked out. And he will clock in at his new job the same man.

This is why I am proud of him.

He walked with integrity. He did the right thing. He worked for God. He worked for his family. The whole time. He did not serve the discouragement. He never took on their chains, so there were no chains to fall off today.

I sat on the floor today, and prayed because everything feels so vulnerable. We’ve been praying for this, and so many times, it looked like he might get the chance to leave this job, and every other time, it didn’t work out. Hope deferred makes the heart weary. I told God that I did not feel like His wing was over me. I do not feel like He is my fortress. Will this good thing be somehow plucked away? We were told Sam’s triploidy was a fluke, some wild statistic, some accident, and my heart has been fearful ever since. Am I on the outskirts of His care? Was He looking the other way when all these things were happening? When Steven was going through his trials at work? When Sam’s cells were dividing in such a statistically unlikely way? When there was blood everywhere, and I was all alone in our house? Where was He?

This afternoon, we drove to our new city to line up details on the house we are moving into in December. Finally a house. I have to confess that I felt like we were bursting at the seams in this little apartment. I kept telling myself that this is what God has given us, so it must be enough. But then I wondered… had He forgotten us again? Had I fallen into the fringe of His care again? I know it isn’t the truth, I prayed, but it’s how I feel, and I don’t know how to feel any different about You right now.

After we finished things at the house, kicked around the yard, and wondered what things might look like in the spring, we got in the car and headed back to our cozy apartment, and the fear of everything coming unraveled crept upon me again, as it always does. What if He doesn’t know that this is happening, and somehow this is snatched away from me?

On our way home, traffic got heavy, as it always does. I was sitting in the back with Ezra. Steven was driving. And suddenly we were fishtailing. And suddenly we were skidding sideways. From 75 miles an hour. I looked out my window and saw headlights, and grabbed Ezra’s little hand because I knew we were about to be hit. When we stopped skidding, we were on the side of the road, like we had pulled over to take in the view of the mountains, and I don’t know how we ended up there. We sat on the side of the road for a few minutes, shaking, and wondering how we were right side up. How did we not flip? I’ve witnessed a car flip from far less of a loss of control than that. How did we not flip? How did we not even raise up on two tires? It was like there was something holding us down, planted firmly onto the road.

Nothing is out of His awareness. Nothing happens apart from His approval. Nothing.

This was not exactly what I had in mind as an answer from God when I was praying this afternoon, but it was indeed an answer. When we finally got home, we got out and the car reeked of burnt rubber. I checked the top of the car for angel hand prints, halfway expecting to see the evidence that they had held the car down, but I don’t need sight. God was with us this evening, and He not only spared us from a car accident, He answered my heart’s need to know He is sovereign over everything.

Thank you to those who knew about Steven’s job troubles, and about my difficulties with anxiety, and have been praying. God has brought Steven a new job, has brought me a little house to keep, and is blessing me with the heart ability to accept these good things with joy rather than fear.