Daughter of Eve

I am Eve's daughter in all of the obvious ways. I have walked unashamed in the garden with God. Shared all of the ugly, broken pieces of my heart with Him. And I was becoming comfortable with my brokenness, trusting He was fashioning something beautiful out of the chaos.

Then some really shitty stuff happened. And my trust wavered . . .

There are moments when I know He is here. Moments when I know there are things I can learn from all of this. Things that are necessary for me to learn. There are days I find myself walking alone, wondering where He is. Wandering aimlessly, waiting to hear His voice again. Needing to know why this is happening. And much like Eve, I find myself listening to the serpent.



All this shit that's happening? It's your own fault. You deserve every hurt, every heartache. None of these things would have happened to you if you had been more attractive. More desirable. More talented. More creative. More willing to love. More trustworthy. More apt to give grace instead of judgement. 

You. Are. Not. Enough.

And like Eve, I have believed the lies the serpent has told me. So thoroughly that I have let my hurt turn to bitterness and my bitterness, shamefully, to hatred. A hatred so fierce that it has consumed my every waking moment. Even though I know better. And yet, as I write this, I have to confess to giving in to the hatred once again. All because I am allowing the lies of the enemy to carry more weight than the truth of my Father. Because, like Eve, I find it easier to run and hide when He calls. Easier to hide than to trust He can handle my doubts. Easier to hide than to trust He can handle my fears. Easier to hide than to trust He can handle my insecurities. Easier to hide than to trust that He is always good. 

So, like Eve, I am hiding in the garden. I know He is out there. Calling me. Thankfully waiting patiently. And maybe, just maybe, this is my first step out of the shadows . . .

"Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"

even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is light to you."

Psalm 139:7,11-12

Reflections Of God

Have you ever felt totally alone? Have you ever wondered why God would seemingly abandon you when you needed Him the most? And why in those times is it so hard to pray?

I get up from my chair and walk over to the large plate glass windows overlooking Children's Way. Cars zip by, others turn into the hospital where we are, all oblivious to this woman at the window. I can't make sense of what is happening and why we are here. {see When I Am Afraid and Be Still And Know for the backstory} I'm angry. I want to reach out, to cry out to God but He is the one I am angry with. I blink back tears. I want to beat on these windows until they break, much like I am breaking inside. Maybe if they shatter I can escape all of the thoughts screaming inside my head.

Why does she have this thing growing inside of her? Why couldn't you just do one of those miracle things and make it disappear? The surgeon is 98% sure it is just a lipoma - a harmless, benign, fatty tumor. Why is that 2% so worrisome? Why such a big deal? That 2% is why we are here. Why it needs to be removed. Yes, I read all about what that small percentage could mean. Damn that 2%! Just damn. And seriously, where are you? Why aren't you here with me? Why have you allowed this?

But not once have I said, "Lord, I need you. I can't do this." Why am I so afraid to let go? To admit I am not strong enough on my own. To accept the fact that He is good all the time, no matter what the outcome. When will I learn, dare I say it, that I can trust Him? Yes, there it is again. My struggle with trust. Will it ever get any easier for me?

True to form, I have been doing this all by myself for the last two months. Staying strong, acting like it's no big deal so she won't worry about it, so her brothers won't worry about it. Shouldering all of the anxiety and stress all on my own. I have brushed it off with a 'no need to borrow trouble until we know something for sure' kind of attitude. And it's taken its toll. I'm at the edge and feel like the very next breath will send my spiraling out of control. In my hurry to lay blame I forgot to look around and see that He was with me all along. Maybe not int a 'Jesus came and spoke directly to me' kind of way, but He was always here.


In the cafeteria when I had to text my husband not to talk to me right now because I would have totally lost it. You know - the sobbing, mascara running, ugly cry kind of losing it. He simply texted back, "I'm here."And in his words here the night before.

In Audra's calm assurance when she told the doctor, "I'm ready. Let's go."

In the prayers that covered her from 22 women on a bus as they made their way to a women's retreat.

In the thoughts and prayers of friends far and near.

In these words from one of my oldest and dearest friends. "Picture our embrace. My breath in your hair, your breath on my shoulder. Intimate friendship. Sharing space that we are both so thankful for. Life shared; the good and the bad, the fears and the triumphs, the strength and the weakness. And if we breathe together in this embrace, please hear me utter a prayer... God cover us, surround us, strengthen us. Our hearts hurt. We are weak. Together make us strong."


Yes, His breath in my hair as He simply said, I'm here.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms 

and carries them close to his heart; He gently leads those that have young."

Isaiah 40:11 

Linking up with Duane Scott at Scribing the Journey 

The Good In All This

This week I had a birthday. My 51st birthday. Not one of those milestone birthdays. Just plain old 51. Some people have those milestone birthdays that are hard to accept. Age has never really been a big deal to me. Well, not until I turned 35. I recall thinking when my own mother was 35 that she was really old. Ancient in fact.

Then when one of my oldest sons was in middle school he came home one day talking about a really bad wreck in front of the school that morning. Apparently, an older lady's car was hit and she was pretty badly hurt. I asked how old he thought she was (of course I'm thinking 'older' as in elderly) and he pipes up and says, "oh, you know, like 35." Age apparently is one of those relative things!

50 was another one of those years for me. I have two grown sons and two sons in high school. No big deal at my age right? Well, I also have an 8 year old daughter. Again, no big deal right? Unless you count the seemingly endless times I've been referred to as her grandmother. And I guess we can attribute that to the fact that I have old hair. Something I was told by a cute little 5 year old in the pre-K class I was teaching about ten years ago. Again, no big deal right?

Well, bear with me on this one. My daughter is 8 and I'm 51. She's not too far away from having her hormones kick in and you know what happens to women of a certain age with old hair! Now panic has begun to set in! Puberty and menopause happening at the same time? Oh Lord, save us all! It is ok to ask God to go ahead and let me go through menopause is it? I mean seriously. It can't be that bad can it? Again, no big deal right?

Except that when you pray for something specific you better be prepared to get what you ask for. So, welcome to the process of menopause. Of course it can't be as simple as just being done with all that womanly stuff. God's kinda sly like that. I'm pretty sure he enjoys a good joke just like the rest of us.

Just so you know, this is when I venture into the 'too much information' category.

Sometimes your period will last 2 or 3 days. Sometimes almost 2 weeks. Sometimes it's very light and sometimes you bleed like a stuck pig! Sometimes there are 60 or 70 days in between and sometimes only 4 or 5. Then there's the depression and the lack of sleep. And the mood changes or mood swings if you will. {or we can just say crazy} And the lack of sleep which causes its own mood altering depression! Welcome to my world y'all.

Let's not forget about my all time favorite. The Hot Flashes. I'm not talking about the kind of heat you want to share with your special someone either. This is the 'someone turned my internal heater on full blast sub-zero fighting, strip your clothes off as fast as you can, don't touch me kind of heat!'

My new mantra is, I will look for the good in all of this. I will look for the good in all. of. this! My hormones are the only ones we are dealing with at this moment. I know my husband and my boys appreciate this. Well, my husband probably not so much! So, when the time comes for puberty to make an appearance all I have to say is bring it on! And if you see the guys fleeing from the house don't worry about me. I will be mercifully hormone free and sitting back enjoying a bottle glass of wine!

"To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

All Things New

What would this week have been like for Mary? Holy Week. Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem had to have been bittersweet for her. Her people seemingly embracing what she had know all along. But, she knew more. Knew that it would be short-lived.

She saw Judas with the silver . . .

I bet she was pretty angry with God, also. I know I would have been down right pissed! I can imagine her prayers, her pleadings . . .

This is not how this has to be. You can fix this. With a word. A flick of your wrist. You have the power to stop this don't you? Aren't you who you say you are?   

I can imagine she did have her doubts about God and His sovereignty at this moment. Doubted whether He cared about her. Cared about Jesus. Doubted He knew what was best because this couldn't possibly be for the best.

He's my son! It's not fair that he should have to endure this. Do something. Aren't you bigger than this? More powerful? More compassionate? Don't you even care?

I imagine at this moment she was having a really hard time trusting God with her baby. I know I do. All the time. I have a son who's almost 29 and I still plead for him at the Father's feet when he is in trouble. Even though as an adult he is more that capable of doing that on his own. He is still my baby. My firstborn. Even though I know God ordered his steps and loves infinitely more that I. And Mary - she intimately knew God's plans for her son but it didn't make her any less his mama with a fierce mama heart.

Why God? Why this? Is there not another way? He has so much more life to live. So much more to offer. Please Lord, let this pass from him . . .

Yes, I think her prayers were very much like her son's in the garden. She knows him, after all. She is his mama. Friday comes and she is so weary. Tired of prayers falling on deaf ears. Tired of no answers. Her heart is shattered. Nothing is ever going to be the same again.

I can't bear to see him like this. On the road to his death. Beaten and bloody. Disfigured and disgraced. Despised by the very people who celebrated his coming. But how can I not be there for him. I am his mama. He needs me. . .

I find him just as he falls under the weight of his cross and all I can see is my little boy. I run to him to wipe his tears, to soothe his scrapes. But it's not the boy who looks up at me but this man, my firstborn, who looks through the blood running down his face and says, "Mama, I make all things new."
 

 “And I will pour out on the house of David and the inhabitants of Jerusalem a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on me, on him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps over a firstborn…”

Zechariah 12:10

 

The Prodigal's Father

I got on the church bus every Sunday morning. It was part of their outreach to the unsaved in the area. I was probably 13 or 14. But just because I got on that bus didn't necessarily mean I actually went to church. I did go to my Sunday School class but when it came time for church I would more often than not find myself at the nearby Burger King having french fries and chocolate milkshakes. I just couldn't buy into this whole God thing.

Then one summer night the year I turned 15 I attended a youth emphasis night featuring a concert with George King and the Fellowship. It was upbeat and fun with good music and cool lighting. The only thing I really remember about that night is that they did "Carry On Wayward Son" by Kansas. (Yes, I know I am dating myself!) Something about that song in that particular setting spoke to me. It was the first time since going to church that I was told that the Father loves me. It didn't matter that I had squandered all He had given me. He was waiting with open arms. Waiting to welcome me home.

After that night my eyes were opened. The God I met on Sunday mornings was not the same God I met that night. Sunday morning God was harsh and judgemental. Ready at a moments notice to punish me for my sin. Apparently that was all I had to offer. Sin and wrongdoing. I literally had the hell scared out of me every time the doors were opened. I found myself crying at the altar, begging forgiveness for all of the things I was doing wrong. I was going to hell. A hell full of fire and brimstone where I was destined to spend eternity.

I began doing everything I could to buy myself a ticket out of hell. I went to church every time the doors were open. I became active in the youth group, the youth choir and drama group, joined the adult choir and worked in the nursery. Surely I was doing enough.

Through the years I saw hurting people cast aside because they would tarnish the reputation of the church while other things were hushed up and covered up to protect family. The prodigal's Father was only a distant memory. I wasn't even sure He really existed.

Fast forward 10 years. I'm a young mother with a 3 year old and a newborn. My life is crashing and burning all around me. Apparently, all those good things were not enough - were never enough. I had already walked away from church because I was so weary of doing. I was told in no uncertain terms that this was the reason my life was falling apart. I had no safe place to turn so I then walked away from God. I was tired of the demands and tired of the works that were never enough. I guess all those years I was told I was going to hell it was true. I just never realized it would be hell on earth. I was so weary. And I just didn't give a damn any longer.

I wanted the prodigal's Father. The Father with the open arms. The Father that didn't demand works and didn't care that I had squandered what I was given. I wanted the Father who loved me and was waiting to welcome me home. It took a whole lot of years and a journey through hell to find my way home. That journey brought me full circle - back to church. This time I found the prodigal's Father waiting with arms wide open and a love for me that was full of grace and healing and peace.

We are damaged. We are broken. We are hurting. We are scared.

We are victims of the church.

We are desperate for open arms. Desperate for grace. Desperate for love. Desperate for peace.

We are desperate for a safe place.

Carry on my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry, don't you cry no more.

 "Carry On Wayward Son"

Kansas

"But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion,

and ran and embraced him and kissed him."

Luke 15:20 

A Letter To My Daughter

Linking up with Sarah Bessey

Audra, today is International Women's Day and I want to celebrate you. Yes, you, in all of your 8 year old glory. You are already so much stronger than I am even now. And fiercely independent. And kind. And compassionate. And empathetic. All things we want to encourage in you. All good things that will serve you well into adulthood.

The night before you started Pre-K, I told you I was going to be sad that you wouldn't be with me all day. You came back later and said, "Mama, I have lots of princesses you can play with so you won't have to cry while I'm gone." You went right into class that next day, never looking back. I, on the other hand, was a blubbering mess! That afternoon when we picked you up, we asked if you missed us. You said, "No, I was too busy!" While it broke my mama-heart, I was so proud of you.

Don't lose that sense of self and independence.

Just last year while watching American Idol, one of the contestants dedicated a song to his sister who was cut in an earlier round. You were sobbing by the end of it saying, "that was so nice, his singing that for his sister."

Don't lose that tenderness. Don't let anyone tell you it is weakness.

A few weeks ago you broke your arm in two places and never really cried or let it slow you down. You practiced writing with your left hand that weekend so you could do your school work by yourself. Toughness you have acquired growing up with 4 older brothers.

Don't lose that strength. Don't let anyone tell you a girl can't or shouldn't be strong.

When there is 'girl drama' (and oh my goodness there already is at this young age), you just let it roll off your back. While we as women can be our greatest advocates, we can also be our worst enemies. Stick up for your sisters. Support them. Be happy for them. Cry with them if they need it. Always be for them.

Don't let someone else's pettiness or jealousy define who you are. They are not worth it.

You have a voice. Don't ever be afraid to use it. Don't let anyone tell you that because you are a woman you can't be heard or your opinions have no value. You are a child of the King. He created you for His purpose. You can do all things through Him.  All. Things.

Don't let anyone make you less than that.

You are strong. You are independent. You are fierce. You are compassionate. You are tenderhearted. You are worth it. You are loved. You are cherished. You are celebrated. You are already, at 8, so much more that I am and I am so proud of you for that. You make me more by being who you are.

You. Are. Woman.

"Blessed are the merciful,  

for they will be shown mercy. 

 Blessed are the pure in heart,  

for they will see God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers, 

 for they will be called children of God."

 Matthew 5:7-9

  

Be Still And Know

God has once again put me in a place where I have no choice but to trust Him. This is my Year of Trust and I knew when he gave me that word there would be difficult days ahead for me. Trust and I aren't always on the best of terms! Tuesday was one of those difficult days.

We spent the afternoon at our children's hospital while our daughter had an MRI done. Read 'When I Am Afraid' to see what brought us here. The two hours spent in that room made me realize that I have no control over things.

A very sobering thought for a parent whose child is bundled up and strapped to a table then mechanically moved into the mouth of the monster. I could be in the room but I couldn't be by her side, couldn't hold her hand, couldn't take her place. I had no control.

If you've ever had an MRI or been in the room while someone else has, you know that I wasn't even able to comfort and encourage her with my words. The noise is deafening. The knocking and buzzing and beeping make you want to run screaming from the room. They set her up with headphones and a Lady Antebellum Pandora station while her father and I got earplugs and old magazines to keep us company. I read two different magazines cover to cover in an effort to distract me from my helplessness. For the life of me I can't tell you which magazines I picked up or tell you about any of the articles I read. Between the noise and the earplugs I just couldn't concentrate. I had no control.

I was left alone with my thoughts. Alone and completely helpless to do anything in this situation. Isn't that where trusting really begins? Embracing our weakness. Letting go and relying on someone else. I had to trust in the fact that our pediatrician felt this was the best course of action. That the MRI tech and the radiologist knew what they were doing and we would get the results we needed to be able to make good decisions moving forward. I had no control.

But most importantly, I needed to be still and listen to the persistent whisper, "Trust me. She was mine before she was yours. Abide in me. Rest in my goodness. She is protected, embraced and surrounded by my compassion and favor. You can trust me with your heart, with her."

I love how even with all the noise of this life He is still whispering. All we have to do is be still and know that He is who He says He is and that we can trust Him. Always.

"Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.

Show me the way I should go, for to you I entrust my life."

Psalm 143:8