Rocks In My Dryer

Stormy

A couple of nights ago, I was awakened at 2:30 a.m. to the shrill whine of tornado sirens outside my window.  Ah, springtime in Oklahoma.

Giant chunks of hail hit my window, and my daughter came careening down my hall in a fit of fear before I could even sit upright in my bed.  (My boys, incidentally, did not wake up.  I suspect that if the roof lifted off our house and some tree branches reached in and picked the boys up and shook them upside down, they might wake up.  Might.)

As I held my daughter and tried to awaken, I noticed the room was illuminated by the soft glow of our tiny television, and my husband was silhouetted, sitting at the foot of our bed.  His eyes were honed in to a scary-looking radar screen. 

"Shhhh," he whispered.  "Go back to sleep.  I'll keep an eye on things, and I'll wake you up if we need to go to the shelter."

For about 2.4 seconds I considered arguing with him.  Then I looked at my daughter, who had already fallen back asleep in my cushy bed, and I just nodded.  I was horizontal and sound asleep before I could think another thought.

The night dragged on, storms ravaging our city.  I awakened several more times to thunderous, howling noise, but my sleepy eyes always saw, first of all, my husband at the television.  And every time, I relaxed instantly, dropping back to sleep.

The visual image is staying with me powerfully:  my strong husband, quietly yet sharply keeping watch over his family, while the rest of us were sleeping too soundly to know to be thankful.  We just slept, because it's what you do at nighttime, and we left all the safety issues to him. 

And I wonder, as I navigate other kinds of "storms"--will the day ever come when I rest quite as easily in God's watchful care?  His silhouette may not be as visible--to my eyes, anyway--as that of my husband's, but He is surely perched just as soundly at the foot of my bed, on the hood of my car, on the shoulder of my children, on a dusty road in Uganda.  May I trust, and rest.

Matt Maher

(Stay to the end for a gigantic giveaway!)

I approach contemporary Christian music the same way I approach my jeans (and yes, I realize that is an especially unholy analogy, but work with me).  I'm super-picky (is the theology good?  is the music pretty? does the waistband have a little give to it?), I don't choose very many, but I wear out my favorites and become a loyal fan for life.

That's a lighthearted way to say, in all seriousness, that the lyrics, the writing and the thought behind each song all matter to me.  I like artists who seem to be really grappling with the deeper issues of faith.

I've added a new favorite to my ultra-selective repertoire of favorites:  Matt Maher.   I got a sneak peak of his new CD, and I'm not kidding that it's the ONLY CD I've listened to for the last three weeks.  It's named after track 7, "Empty and Beautiful", which is an ironic title--although this CD is deeply beautiful, it is the opposite of empty.  There is some meaty stuff in there--this guy is an amazing musician and writer.  (Check out his bio here for his story).

My favorite song on the CD is...um...all of them?  If I had to pick a favorite, I'd say it's the title track, "Empty and Beautiful":

You fought the fight in me;
You chased me down and finished the race.
I was blind but now I see.
Jesus, you kept the faith in me.

Or possibly "Leave a Light On," since it has a little vignette (is that the right word?) in the middle referencing one of my favorite old Southern Baptist children's songs.  "Lay It Down" is a simple and precious worship chorus that will probably be sung in church camps for generations.  Many of the songs on this CD come, at least in part, directly from Scripture.  "Great Things", for example, comes from the Magnificat, and "For Your Glory" comes from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8.

This CD hits stores today, and Matt's record label is offering 100 bloggers a free copy.  Hurry, because it's limited to the first hundred participants!  (If you miss it, you can buy his CD here for only $8.97.)  Go here to read the details of the mega-giveaway--the only requirement is that you have a blog with a minimum of 50 page views a month.  You're going to love this CD, seriously--let me know what you think once you hear it.

Remembering

I remember the early days of my very first pregnancy, blissfully cloud-walking at the thought of becoming a mother.

I remember the sound of my parents' voices when they heard the news that I was expecting their first grandchild.

I remember looking at nursery furniture and baby clothes, with a grin that simply would not wipe off my face.

I remember the crushing weight that collapsed onto my chest in that ultrasound room at 10 weeks--not only had the baby died, but the baby had died 5 weeks earlier and my body simply didn't "get it".

I remember waking from the anesthesia crying and calling out my husband's name, and the nurses' gentle assurance that I would see him soon.

I remember lying in my bed, blinds drawn and phone off, wondering how I would ever face the world without that little person inside me. 

I remember that I couldn't put my hand on my belly for weeks.

I remember the painful things that well-meaning people would say, and how I would physically cringe:  "At least you weren't attached to the baby yet,"  "You can always have another one,"  "This is actually a blessing"...

I remember marvelling that I could feel such pain and such peace at the same time.

I remember learning that the hole left in my heart wouldn't be filled by another baby, or anything else--that it might just stay there.

I remember rocking Adam, my next-born, and realizing with wonder that if the first baby had been carried to term, we wouldn't have conceived Adam.  And I remember being flooded with assurance that our God is sovereign, and He is very good.

It was twelve years ago this week, but I still remember.  That little hole in my heart is still there, but it no longer hurts--it's more of a souvenir of experience I don't want to forget.  My home and heart are full of happy, noisy, funny memories--enough to mull over for a lifetime.  But with my treasured box of few tangible reminders (sympathy cards, hospital records, and even a faded pregnancy test) I remember--I will always remember--my few short weeks as that little baby's mother. 

And I smile.

(This post was originally published in April 2006.)

 

New Every Morning

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:22-23

I don't know about you, but tonight I needed to read that.

New every morning.

Every morning.  A new big batch of God's compassions for this messed-up, funky heart of mine. 

I'll sigh, and I'll rest in Him tonight.  And tomorrow I'll start over.

Breathing

There is a pile of grass-stained soccer cleats in the floor of my van.

The leaves we never got around to raking last fall are cheerfully decomposing, revealing their hidden treasures of rusty Hot Wheels cars and Legos underneath.

Strange contraptions are appearing in my backyard, contraptions made of a stick, curling ribbon, a deflated ballon and Scotch tape:

Curious holes appear around my backyard, most likely dug using my good spoons.

My daffodils bashfully reveal their color, while the hyacinths get ready explode right into theirs.

Something in me stretches, and yawns, and breathes deeply.

It must be spring.

Unfogging

I love y'all.  I really do.

The comments you made on my post yesterday (as well as the private e-mails many of you sent) have been a bigger encouragement than I could possibly tell you.  Thank you, thank you.  I urge everyone to read through those comments, when you have time, because there are some seriously wise women out there in bloggy-land.  How'd you get so smart?

The truth is, while there are plenty of foggy, anguished moments like the one I wrote about yesterday, there are some very sweet moments as well, moments in which I feel God bringing some things into beautiful clarity.

My emotional response is to sell everything I own and move to Uganda and disdain America, etc.  The less-glamorous reality is that there really is much I can do here.  I've hesitated to say it, because it kind of sounds like a cop-out--but there is something to be said for the "givers", the people in America whose life situation is such that they can give, and give, and give to those doing the work in the field.  One of the things I most love about Compassion is that they're not an organization of Westerners swooping in to "rescue" the locals.  They're a funding arm that empowers the locals to rescue themselves.  Big difference.

(And by the way, I know my FAQ on Compassion details is long-overdue.  I'm working on it, I promise.)

Furthermore, God offers grace and compassion to wealthy, misguided Americans, too.  Shouldn't I?  The blindness caused by too much stuff can be a very powerful trap (oh-have-mercy, I'm speaking from experience).  African children aren't the only ones who need deliverance--rich people do too.

Still furthermore (I'm on a roll, baby!), I think it's important for us to acknowledge that God is not limited, but we humans are.  My husband and I feel very convicted to determine very specifically what God is calling us to do right now--we want to follow Him with maximum obedience.  But when we're doing that--when we're faithfully obedient to do what He's leading--there is great freedom to rest and live in joy.  There is room to gratefully and humbly laugh with my kids and love on my husband.  Dare I say it?  I think there's even room to enjoy my hot showers and my Sam's Club lasagna and my Lost. 

Reader Sherry shared the most wonderful quote (thank you, Sherry!):

Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.

- St. Augustine of Hippo

I have officially gotten off my duff.  I'm not sure yet what my life will look like in six months or ten years, but I know Who does.  Both in the fog and out of it, I'm going to take it a step at a time, knowing that my comfort zone will likely get smashed a few more times. 

Get off your duffs with me, my friends!  You can start right here.  If you haven't stepped outside your comfort zone lately, I'll tell you, the view from here is pretty fine. 

Wonder Woman Is Just a Chick In Tights

I think the "momosphere", as the mom-blogging world is sometimes called, is a lovely place.  It's a fantastic way for women to connect and gain ideas and encouragement.  It's an especially sweet tool for moms of preschoolers.  That is a precious stage of life, but it's an isolating one.  As we peek into each other's homes via our blogs, we get a glimpse of women who are struggling with the same things we are.  We can urge each other on to be better, to try harder, and this is mostly a beautiful thing. 

Mostly.

But I think it can also lead us down the well-traveled road of comparing ourselves to other women.  I've walked that road myself.  A lot.  Considering that each woman is facing unique challenges, unique life situations, unique marriages, unique socio-economic issues, etc., comparing yourself to another woman leads only to heartache and frustration. 

We're not the same.

And the momosphere, for all the good it does, makes it easy to fall into the trap of wondering why we can't do such-and-such the way so-and-so does it.  We peek into each other's homes without knowing the whole story.  Despite how it sometimes feels, reading a woman's blog is NOT an extended look at every detail of her life.  It's a brief glimpse.  Even those of us who value transparency in our blogging couldn't possibly share every detail, every struggle, every sin that sometimes knocks it down.  It wouldn't be practical or wise. 

Take blogging for what it actually is:  a brief glimpse.  Say it again with me: It's just a brief glimpse.  Know that there are factors at play in that blogger's life you will probably never now.  Some have husbands with flexible and helpful schedules, others have husbands who are gone for days or weeks on end.  Some women don't have husbands at all.  Some women have unusually high energy levels, others simply do not (and that's a biggie--don't discount it).  Some women have children in school for hours a day, others are educating their kids themselves.  Some have a great deal of financial freedom, while others are struggling. 

And I do not mean to say that it's acceptable to make excuses for areas where we need to improve.  We should all be seeking excellence in every area of our lives.  But excellence will look different in each woman, based on her own abilities and challenges and calling. 

So if you're reading a blog--any blog--and you're feeling you don't measure up, then pause for a deep breath.  That particular blogger may seem to have the world at her feet, but those feet may be covered in blisters.  Love her, send her your best wishes, and learn what you can from the things she's doing well.  But know that ultimately you are accountable not to the blogosphere, but to the people you love best, and your God. 

What If

I am a fearful person.  I can fake it pretty well, and I act confident much of the time.  I'm usually able to engineer circumstances so I'm taking as little risk as possible.  But at the core of it, I'm a trembly mess.

Add to this an over-active imagination, and you have a recipe for some very vivid, irrational fears.  Think "Ally McBeal", except without the law degree, tiny waist, pouty lips and dancing baby.

Scratch that, I even have the dancing baby.  She's sleeping upstairs in pwincess pajamas.

I've learned to cope with this over the years by verbalizing these fears (usually to Hubs, the poor man), and then I can see how ridiculous they are.  We get a good laugh out of it.

As you might imagine, this Africa trip has kicked my imagination into overdrive. 

What if we're driving toward a village miles across the desert and our jeep breaks down and we're kidnapped by a band of marauders (do they really have bands of marauders these days?) and we're headed to their village but are intercepted by a hungry horde (troop? tribe?) of elephants and I am trampled to death, with my last thoughts being the looks in my children's eyes?

And that's on the good days. 

There are plenty of fantasies involving the plane trip, as well.  I'd rather not even verbalize those, if you don't mind, but they generally involving plunging from the sky in a fiery ball of death toward the Atlantic ocean. 

When I spoke about not being the adventure sort, I wasn't lying.  And I do not mean to make light of Africa or the people that work there, or the people who are facing their mortality in more serious and immediate ways.  I know my fears are silly in the grand scheme of things.  But to me, they're a real stumbling block. 

The other night Hubs and I had a real-live honest-to-goodness date, and it ended where all truly fantastic and passionate dates do:  walking the aisle of Wal Mart Supercenter, hand-in-hand, picking up some Pull-Ups on the way home. 

As we walked through the baby section, we passed the little girls' pajamas.

"See?!" I said suddenly.  "This is what I mean."

"What?" Hubs said.

"If I die in Africa, how will you know that Corrie prefers gowns to pajamas, but it's hard to find gowns anymore, so when you do find one in her size, you need to go ahead and buy it."

I am sure this is a date that will live in his sweetest memories for a long time.

"Well," said my rational man, "first of all, you're not going to die in Africa.  Second of all, if you did, pajamas would be at the bottom of my list of concerns.  And third, ultimately we'd just manage."

"But life would be very, very hard for you, wouldn't it?  You'd barely be able to go on, right?"

"I'd be a shell of a man," he assured me.

I was satisfied for a moment, and we continued our shopping--until something else spurred my thoughts.

"I know I always tease you for watching those survival shows, but what if I get stranded on the plains of Africa and I have to actually implement some of those awful Bear Grylls techniques?  Wouldn't that just be so ironic?"  [Nervous laugh].

In a moment of sudden seriousness he looked me square in the eye.  "If you get stranded on the plains of Africa, I will come for you.  I will find you."

I think I need to go kiss that man again.

The truth is, I know that this trip is not about me--not at all.  It's entirely about those sweet African children, and doing whatever we can to gain more sponsorships to improve their situation. 

But as it often happens, God is using a primary thing to work a secondary purpose in my heart.  It's like he's grabbed my brain and is wringing it until all the fearfulness has bubbled up to the surface.  It's ugly.  It's even funny.  But it's terribly necessary.

Many of you asked how you can pray for us.  Of course, pray for the kids of Uganda, and that hearts all over the place will be opening up to sponsor one.  But if you think of it, pray that this silly housewife will learn a thing or two about stepping out--really stepping out--to trust in God's plan.  Marauders, elephants, and all.

Wherein My Comfort Zone Gets Blown To Smithereens

Hello, Internet.  Welcome to my Comfort Zone.

It's a cushy little place, with soft pillows and high-speed internet access.  The remote control always works, and there is always a Diet Coke from Sonic just around the corner. 

Not too much is expected of me in this Comfort Zone.  I know my way around quite well--I've spent most of my life here, in fact.  No mosquito netting is required, no special immunizations are needed, and for the love of Pete, no children are ever hungry.  Or orphaned.  Or afraid.

And so it was, a couple of months ago, that I was having a fairly leisurely morning in my Comfort Zone, checking my e-mail, munching my breakfast and listening to some cable news.  A nice and cushy and comfy morning.  Just like always.

And then a little e-mail popped up on my screen.  It was from Compassion International, the highly-regarded relief agency that works all over the world.  I'd known of them for years.  We'd even been planning for a few months to sponsor a Compassion child--we just hadn't gotten around to it yet.

But they weren't asking me to sponsor a child.

They were asking me to go to Africa.

They're taking a team of bloggers to Uganda for ten days in February, to live-blog the relief efforts going on over there.  And would I like to go?

Oh-how-kind-of-you-to-ask-there's-absolutely-no-way-I-have-four-kids-but-thanks-anyway.

I forwarded the e-mail to Hubs.  My solid, logical, ever-rational Hubs, who never makes an emotional or impulsive decision.  I just knew he'd agree with my assessment that this was a huge impossibility.

Except that the minute he got my e-mail, he called me from his office.  "I think you should go," he said immediately.

Um-yes-excuse-me-did-you-know-there-are-lions-there-and-you-have-to-fly-a-very-very-very-long-time-over-an-ocean-or-two?

"Yes," he said, "and I think you should go.  Let's talk about it tonight."

I wrote back the Compassion folks and told them their offer was very kind, and I'd need to pray about it and talk with my husband. 

But instead, I started making a list of all the reasons this wouldn't work.  And there were a lot of reasons.  I'm a mother of four kids, for Heaven's sake--who on earth would check their backpacks if I went trotting across the globe?  And I'm terrified beyond words of flying, even going just a couple of states away.  Flying across the ocean?  Alone?  And I know there are many, many people doing very heroic and brave work in Africa MUCH more demanding than what I was being asked to do, but I am not at all one of those heroic and brave and adventure types.  Not at all.  And did I mention there are lions?  And airplanes?  And that the only international travel I've ever done was going to Cancun and staying across the street from a PLANET HOLLYWOOD?

I did actually pray about it, and a surprising thing happened.  All the reasons I couldn't do this began to fall away one at a time.  Friends and family eagerly lined up to help with kids and logistics.  It turned out I wouldn't be going alone--Sophie was going too, and she promised to faithfully coach me through the bazillion hours on the airplane.  The passport and immunization stuff was do-able.  The reasons not to go kept falling away until there weren't any left. 

Well, there was one left.  It was the one that had been there, sitting beside me in my Comfort Zone for a really long time. 

I'm not sure I want to be changed that much. 

My well-intentioned ideas about sacrifice and making a difference are well and good, but those things are easy to say sitting in your carpeted, air-conditioned living room with your well-fed children.  I'd be going to Africa specifically to see the vast and overwhelming need there, so that I could in turn write about it.  We'd be going out into the villages, and the hospitals, and the orphanages.

A person doesn't see something like that and just stay the same. 

To make a very long story (sort of) short, the last two months have been a time of wrestling with some ugliness in my own heart, not wanting to admit how dependent I am on being surrounded by loveliness and convenience.  And let's just say it:  I'm afraid.  I'm afraid to fly, I'm afraid to be away from my family that long, and most of all, I'm afraid to see the kind of suffering I'm going to see.  And while I've come face-to-face with a whole heap of my own fear and selfishness, I've seen more of God's grace than I ever have before.  He's already used this whole experience to turn my heart upside down.

And I haven't even gone yet.

So yes, I'm going.  The passport is on my kitchen counter, and the immunizations are scheduled for later in the week.  I'm hammering away at all the logistics, and I plan to be taking you all with me every step of the way.  I'm excited and nervous and terrified and humbled and--dare I say it?--ready to be changed.