Let Me Tell You a Story - Part 5

As I said in the beginning of this series, I have no nice little bow to tie this up with. I wish I did - I wish I had answers, for my sake and that of my family. It would be so nice to know what to expect, what to plan on. It would be nice too for a reader, like you, to see how God carried things to completion in a well-written ending.

But the truth is, He isn’t done writing the story.

The last year+ has felt like a stripping of many things. Freedoms, in the world outside our door; plans, as Josh and I have made plans and watched them be thwarted time after time; foods, we make significant changes and rework our diet. I get exhausted mentally from adjusting and readjusting, researching, planning, budgeting, fighting fear. I get exhausted physically from fighting this disease and keeping up with littles.

There are so many questions; you may have wondered them too. How will we care for more children, with me being sick? What if I’m not healed of Lyme? How will we raise and earn enough money to adopt? When will we adopt? What if we face another medical emergency? When will we be able to have a larger home? What if He doesn’t give us the many children we have hoped and prayed for?

If we were talking in my living room, I’d open my Bible for you and tell you two things:

1) I don’t know!
2) But: “…we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).

God has seen fit to allow our family these hardships. They could have been a lot worse. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, if it will be easier or if it will be harder. But I do know that my husband and I love the Lord with all of our hearts, and He is working all things in our lives for good. He determines what is “good” - not me. (Hallelujah, because I’d make a terrible god!) I can trust Him with all of these things, and with whatever is to come.

Would I have asked Him for all of these hardships? I can’t say that I would. Yet at the same time, I wouldn’t change it because He has grown my faith immensely through the struggles. Walking through challenge after challenge is very sanctifying if we allow it to be. If we press into Scripture amidst trials, He will shape us to be more like Himself. There are lessons from the last year that I wish I’d learned sooner, and others that I wish I knew better. But I am thankful for the growth He has given me.

We are still walking forward with adoption, and He will show us how it all will look. We know He has called us to it. We’re taking days one at a time, doing what we can, and working to leave our worries at the door. He can handle them.

We are doing the same with Lyme, treating it as best we can and praying that He heals me. He has sustained me thus far, and He is capable of continuing to do so.

These posts may have made it seem like our family’s life is one big rollercoaster ride, and it kind of is. But it’s also very full of the mundane. Josh goes to work, I homeschool the kids and get meals on the table, we play in the yard and go for walks. We read Scripture and sing and wash dishes and play a million games of Connect4. There are fights and squabbles, and daily discipleship as we teach our children (and remind ourselves) how to become Godly adults. There’s joy, forgiveness, peace and contentment. He is a giver of good gifts.

So we wait, and we learn to trust better. We know that someday, in Heaven, life’s pieces will all make sense. It’s that analogy of a beautiful tapestry - He sees the front, the glorious picture; we see jumbled, messy threads in the back. For now, we rest in the fact that He knows what He’s doing and He cares for us.

“Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you. Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world. But may the God of all grace, who called us to His eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after you have suffered a while, perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle you. To Him be the glory and the dominion forever and ever. Amen.”
1 Peter 5:6-11, emphasis mine

I pray that through this series of posts, you are able to see this reality I mentioned at the start:

Pain is not bad, and God is always trustworthy.

He never leaves us in the pain, He uses it for our good. He knows and He knows what is best.

And though this completes this particular group of blog posts, it is all to be continued…because God is not done. :)

Thank you for reading along. May He receive glory!

Read all the segments:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

Let Me Tell You a Story - Part 2

Sirens screeched as blue and red flashes lit up the street. I held him tighter and looked outside, wishing it was just a nightmare and the vehicles were really there for something else.

Please Lord.

Everything was a blur. Vitals. Papers. Phone calls. Find clothes, pack a bag. No, I’m not letting go of him. Yes, look wherever you need to. Lights. Doors open, doors close. Are we going?

Lord, please…

A whole town watching, on edge. Tears. Here comes the chopper. Please, let me fly with him. A reluctant nod, ear protection, tighten the belt. Off we go – food, stay down.

Lord, thank You for this provision.

Landed. Searching for a railing - there isn’t one, don’t trip.

What happened? Here’s his mother - I can tell you what I know. His frantic eyes, searching, found me: locked. Can I sit with him? Sure, then tests.

Scans, needles, questions. A smile. Thank You, dear Lord.

Daddy. Another smile. Scans, needles, questions. Texts, prayers.

The agony of waiting, feeling his heartbeat.

Lord, thank You that I can be here to hold him. Thank You for holding both of us. What time is it? I’m so exhausted. My arms are shaking but I’m not about to move him. Sustain me, Lord.

Nurse arrives, he’s clear.

What?

He’s good. We didn’t find anything.

Nothing?? How?

Not sure…but you can go.

Catch my breath, the shaking pauses. Relief. Awe. How?

---

I’d never prayed so hard. Never cried out to the Lord in such desperation, begging Him to hold my boy and let him miraculously be alright. Never have I held my little one so tight. I lived on edge weeks after the accident, waiting for something to take a turn for the worse. Waiting to see that everything wasn’t actually alright. What if this? And what if that?

We can’t live in what-ifs.

Live in thanksgiving.

How? How do you live in thanksgiving, when life is fleeting before your eyes? How, when you don’t know if your son will be here in the morning?

Praise.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy - meditate on these things. The things which you learned and received and heard and saw in me, these do, and the God of peace will be with you.”
Philippians 4:6-9

I knew this section of Scripture. Memorized it from a young age. And here I was, in a prime situation to use it. Written from Paul, who faced imprisonments, beatings, shipwrecks. He knew challenges, and here he was saying it was possible to have peace in the midst of them. I had thought for sure I would be firm and steadfast in the Lord when hard-pressed, someday, somehow. Yet now, I was turning the other way and clinging desperately to fear.

I fought what He says in Philippians.

No, You can’t tell me to be calm. I might lose my child. Or he might never be the same. And You want me to think about things that are true and right and virtuous and lovely and praiseworthy?

Yes.

So I tried, and my husband helped me daily.

True: our boy is home. The scans didn’t indicate anything abnormal.

Just, right: he was seen right away, doctors listened and everyone worked together.

Virtuous: many people helped us through all stages of the accident, caring and going out of their way to serve.

Lovely: somehow, there was an element of beauty below as I flew over towns in the eerie, loud silence of the helicopter. Is that even worth mentioning?

Praiseworthy: all of the above. And most, that he is healthy.

Little by little, I began to experience something I’ve never understood to this depth. This Scripture is true, and it is truly comforting. The peace that passes all understanding? That - that is indescribable, and it only comes from the Lord.

I forced myself to praise Him even as I shook with fear. I praised Him for the little things in front of me, and I thanked Him for knowing all the big things around me. As I gave Him thanks, He reminded me that I do not hold control. What could I have done, really, to have any control the night of the accident? What could I have done, really, to control things in the helicopter or hospital? Nothing. We don’t control things.

The what-ifs come and I can think through scenarios, but then they must go because they aren’t mine to determine. He is trustworthy. The next step may be terrifying or it may be easy. It may be another degree of pain, or it may be a relief. God knows, and He gives the strength and peace necessary for each moment. He is not absent! He knows, and He is so ready to help us and heal our broken hearts.

I wish I could describe this better for you, but you won’t know it by my words. You’ll only know it by His. Practice it in the simple things - give thanks when it’s easy, find virtue and honorable things out of habit. And when harder things come, employ the same routine. You will learn of His peace, and you will never want it to leave.

…to be continued…

Psalm 40

Psalm 40 dropped a truth in my lap in the span of three little words. It starts with an example of patience and went on to list several promises of being heard by God and being saved by God and being protected by him as well. Then, in verse two, it says, “He set my feet on solid ground.”

Did you catch that? “He set my feet…” I don’t know about you, but my whole life I have read this scripture with the emphasis on the end—on the solid ground part. And I was grateful. Solid ground sounds about where I need to be. A safer place than sandy shores or sinking mud, which are the two places I seem to land when left to my own devices, or when I let fear take over. So, at least once a week.

It’s about different things, but it’s the same old fear. I am fearful to be known. I have fear my kids will turn crazy once they get enough freedom. Somedays I am scared I will never be healed. Other times fear comes in when I think too deeply about what my husband is looking at on his phone. I mean, I think it’s on the up-and-up, but I don’t really know. It could be anything. I go through panic and extreme faith like I am on an endless roller coaster. I don’t want to function this way, but I am human, and my imagination is too big for my own good.

It’s in these chaotic spaces that God nudges me in scripture or through prayer and reminds me I am not a pawn—moved here and there at the enemy’s whim. I am actually a daughter of the most-high priest; a warrior meant to change a nation as I take each thought captive and replace it with God’s truths. A woman after God’s own heart. Made in God’s image and capable of bringing glory to God with my story.

So, while solid ground is really important, what really matters here is that he sets my feet. God sets my feet. He pulls me up and out and closer to him and sets my feet exactly when and where he wants me.

This psalm goes on to make another amazing claim. In verse three, it says that others will be changed because of what I allow God to do in my life. I have to choose to let him place me, but then he takes care of the rest—including the parts that bring others to his kingdom because he’s miraculous in my story. And isn’t that the point of everything we go through—good and bad? For God to be glorified, so others are drawn to him.

Take a look around and ask God, “where have you set me? Am I open to letting you use my story any way you see fit? Lord, show me where I need to surrender a little more. Help me set fear behind me and choose you who are the same today as you were yesterday and will be tomorrow. Set me feet as you see fit.” Amen

Written for Strength & Song by Shontell Brewer.

On Guilt and Grief: Loving A Longing Sister In Your Season of Abundance

I have found myself seated on both sides of the fertility table. I have peered over my full plate into my sister's tear filled eyes, grieved by the emptiness of her womb and the pain of loss. I have also stared longingly at what my sister has been given, questioning why the tiny life I carried was not sustained while the one within her grew and flourished.

My nephew is a sort of marker for me of where our little one would be had he or she not died in the womb. My sister and my due dates were 3 weeks apart. Every milestone he hits, though I rejoice over his development, is a reminder of the milestones we will never experience with the child we lost: smiling, rolling over, sitting up, laughing, starting solids. As time has passed, the sting has lessened, but I have a feeling the sorrow will never fully subside. Because death is tragic. Because life is precious.

My first born son is a marker of this kind for someone very dear to me. I ached each time we were together while I was pregnant with him because I knew that my growing belly was a trigger for her, a reminder that her womb was empty. Even now each time I watch her playing with my son, who simply adores her, my heart aches for her over her loss. I miss her baby too.

To this day, these women are two of my dearest friends. But those initial weeks and months following each of our losses were admittedly painful and awkward, on both sides. The "survivor's guilt" that so often seems to plague the woman with full arms and a flourishing womb in the wake of her sister's grief can be a terribly lonely emotion.  It can also be accompanied by a feeling of responsibility for her sorrow, a desire to "fix" the pain of your sister, or even self-loathing or feelings of unworthiness. 

I fumbled to love my mourning sister in the wake of her loss as my belly grew. My sister who gave birth to her baby near the due date of the little one we lost has loved me so well in my grief and pain. If you, like me, find yourself plagued with guilt, at a loss for what to do to comfort your sister, or wondering how to share the news of life within you as she grieves the loss of hers, perhaps these suggestions, gleaned from my experience on both sides, may be of help. 

Let Yourself Off the Hook

You are not sovereign over life. God alone opens the womb and he alone numbers our days. You did not bless yourself with the gift of children, and being faithful to carry them to term and care for them is not a sinful stumbling block, its an act of obedience.  You are also not responsible for the loss of your sister. It was an effect of the fall allowed by God for purposes we may never understand. But we can have confidence as we see his authority over history that God knows what he's doing. Throughout scripture, fertility is so mysterious (barren women conceive in old age, the savior of the world is born to a virgin…), but what is clear is that God is sovereign over the womb, that he works all things together for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose, and that nothing happens apart from his loving and watchful eye. 

While it is true that in bearing one another's burdens we fulfill the law of Christ, weeping with those who weep does not require that we feel guilt over what we have been given in light of what they have not received. God is sovereign over the events of both of your lives, and will use you both in the life of the other. You can trust him. Let yourself off the hook as you ascribe to him the sovereignty, power, and might he possesses.

Don’t Add to Her Burden

The woman struggling with infertility or mourning the loss of life in the womb is walking through true grief. While it may very well be true that the flourishing of your family is a difficult thing for her to behold because it highlights her own lack, you do not need to be forgiven. Do not place upon your sister the burden of helping you feel at peace with the situation. Don’t cause her to feel like she needs to tell you that "it's okay" or that she's not mad at you. You are responsible for your own faithfulness to weep with her, not enforcing the commandment to rejoice with you upon her. Should she celebrate you, however, let her. Don't make it weird. Just communicate your gratitude for her role in the life of your family.

My own discomfort with my grieving sister caused me to want to rush her grief. I wanted her to be better and feel better so that things wouldn't be so awkward or feel so sad. This led to me saying unintentionally dismissive and belittling things. You don't need to burden her with a timeline that you're comfortable with for her grief. Your role is to support, encourage, and pray for her for as long as this season may last. Her grief, however uncomfortable it may make you feel, is not sin. You can affirm her lamentation as biblical. You can agree with her in her outrage over death.

Accept the Role You're Allowed to Play

We don’t always get to play the role we long to play in the grief of others, and the reality is, the fact that you are a walking trigger for the pain and trauma of your sister may mean that you are not the best person to minister to her during this season. Ask permission before acting. Don't pretend to know what she would want. Give her the opportunity to tell you.

You also should not assume that you're the person she most wants to confide in and share with, even if you have been in the past. If she asks for space, send her a resource, then respect her wishes. Loving through non face to face actions like mailing a resource or sending flowers is a great way to communicate your availability without  placing pressure on her to respond.

Entrust her to the Lord

When you don’t feel the freedom or cannot figure out how to talk to your sister, you may be tempted to talk about her. Perhaps with the intention of seeking advice or the desire to feel more involved or closer to her, you may betray details of her story or add to the drama of the situation by making the perceived chasm between you feel even wider. But rather than talking about her or strategizing to fix her situation, a better course of action is to intercede for her, and to let her know you're doing so. Praying for her is the most powerful thing you can do to love and practically help her. God knows her intimately and is able to care for her perfectly, even when you find yourself at a complete loss.

A Final Word 

Nothing about this situation is simple, but refusing to take things personally or think too much about yourself are two of the best courses of action you can take. The truth of the gospel enables us to selflessly love others. I would encourage you to move beyond these words and ask your Father for wisdom on how to love your sister well. His word tells us that he is faithful provide it when we ask.

Originally written by Abbey Wedgeworth of Gentle Leading. Used with permission.