Another Sunday

You know, right now I am tired. (And so, apparently, is Grantopatomus.)

Sundays are exhausting. 

The babies wouldn't eat their special Sunday banana-chocolate-peanut butter muffins. My shirt was wrinkled. My kitchen looks like a well-intentioned bowling ball tried to make lunch.

Sundays are fun. 

I pounded my way through the worship set today. My son told me that salmon and alfredo pasta was yummy. I was encouraged as I chit-chatted and prayed with my sisters in Christ. 

And in this swirl of exhaustion and fun, I'm reminded why. 

Psalm 116:16-17 O Lord, I am your servant; I am your servant, the son of your maidservant. You have loosed my bonds. I will offer to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the Lord. 

God is my master. He has the right to ask for my service. Sometimes that's exhausting. 

But he has freed me. So I stand forgiven and thankful. And that is fun. 

Happy Sunday. 

Uncover To Find Cover

So, I'm usually pretty honest with you, right?

(insert multiple head nods from my three readers)

In fact, back in April, I wrote this scary confession owning up to years of gluttony. I was counting years the other day, and realized that I've been in bondage to my taste buds for over 2 decades. (Yes, I am old enough to measure time in decades... also, my dear husband informed me last night that I looked like I was old enough to measure time this way. Thanks, honey.)

Well, there has been no update on the gluttony front for months, largely because I wasn't sure what I was learning. But I knew one thing. I finally realized that a sin which had dictated my behavior for 20+ years couldn't be eradicated by a week or two on SlimFast and a clever Bible word study on self-control.

So, I decided that I was going to slow down and simmer on this problem. Not move. Let it soak in. Really think about it.

Here's my tendency with sin: I vacillate wildly between shoving it under a rug and never recognizing it, or pulling it out, hosing it down with guilt, and then wallowing in shame and remorse. The problem with the denial rug? It fills up eventually. It can't hide everything. The wallowing shtick? I've tried it. It just leads to more wallowing and more shame. In fact, it can become just as much a habitual sin as the original sin which plopped you in the wallow pit.

In Psalm 32, David says, "I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,""

Three times. Acknowledge, did not cover, and confess.

In the CAV Bible translation (Courtney Allison Version) it would be written: "I see the sin, I stopped hiding it, and I'm laying it in gory detail at my Savior's feet."

And I did just that.

Rather than rerun the sin in my mind, become wrapped up in shame, or act horrified about what I had done, I acknowledged: "All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God." (Romans 3:23). I'm not sure why my own depravity continues to alarm and surprise me. It's not like God keeps me guessing about my true nature. The psalmist stated, "No one living is righteous before [God]." (Ps. 143:2)

I journaled. I read books. I buried myself in my Bible. And I looked at my sin in all it's slimy, vile darkness.

And that's when peace came, and the shame began to dissipate.

David acknowledges that silence about sin is deadly to both spiritual and physical health. "For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away... your hand was heavy upon me...." (Ps. 32:3,4) Both physical pain and emotional pressure are present when there is unacknowledged or minimized sin. I'm sure David knew he had sinned. Perhaps he just down-played it in his mind. Or denied it. I am capable of doing both simultaneously.

But then comes the verse I quotes earlier. Acknowledging sin. It brings the freedom that God promised in the very first verse of this psalm, "Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity..." (Ps. 32:1,2)

See? This psalm of contrition and confession begins with the hope of this outcome. God didn't make us wait to find out the benefits of repentance (which He would be totally justified in doing). He laid it out for us. My sin. Forgiven. Covered. No iniquity.

I can't cover my sin.

But Christ can.

I sweep it under a rug of denial. Christ dips it in His precious blood. It is covered in his sacrifice. It is forgiven. He will never count it against me again.

When I stopped denying, trying to rush past my sin, or being overwhelmed at its sheer enormity, my struggle became less about me, and more about my Savior. Nothing is too big, too scary, too horrible. And conquering even the most debilitating sin is feasible.

And from that place, God gave me clarity and purpose in my fight.

Repentance.

Sometimes it takes a while.

Don't rush it.



**************


I utilized several tools (aside from prayer and my wonderful Bible) in this endeavor. Journaling was amazing. Writing down all my thoughts helped them to crystallize and made identifying the lies I was believing very tangible. Also, I cannot recommend this book enough. Ed Welch does an amazing job with this book. Be warned: it's a treatise on shame. That means it is long. It gets into the nitty gritty. And it takes commitment.

I snagged it on Amazon during a freebie Kindle sale. It's not free at this moment, but keep your fingers crossed. The Kindle version is very reasonably priced: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00F5KX7AU/ref=oh_aui_d_detailpage_o05_?ie=UTF8&psc=1

I know now that this free sale was an amazing gift. I did not realize the magnitude of my shame until I began unpacking it. Seriously. This book is incredible.

Elizabeth Wynne {Newborn Photo Gallery}

When each Blake baby was born, my parents selected a psalm. We children referred to these psalms through the years as "our psalms." I have mine (Psalm 103) memorized, not so much from personal discipline, but rather from constant turning to this passage during the past 25ish years.

When Scott and I became parents, we continued this tradition with Grant. I chose Psalm 145. When Bets announced that she was coming, Scott chose Psalm 16.

As I walk you through these pictures of our adorable new package, I've coupled the pictures with a verse from "Bets' psalm." These verses have been a very present help during pregnancy sickness and late night feedings. I pray they may be "Bettina's" life cry.


{As a side note... I love the varied facial expressions of my baby girl. She was not designed to do the classic "sleeping newborn" poses. She has loved performing almost from birth... and her faces provide almost constant amusement to her parents. Hope you enjoy as well!}

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge.

I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord;
    I have no good apart from you.”

As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones,
    in whom is all my delight.

The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply;
    their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
    or take their names on my lips.

{Her face of terror just happened to be paired with this verse... hilarious!}

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
    you hold my lot.

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
    indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;
    in the night also my heart instructs me.

I have set the Lord always before me;
    because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
    my flesh also dwells secure.

For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
    or let your holy one see corruption.

You make known to me the path of life;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

Bets: our tiny package of joyful drama.

Through the Tears...May You Taste and See

My heart is breaking.

Aching sorrow, tears, and sleeplessness... 

"...weep with those who weep."

A friend is grieving. The heaviness of grief makes my breath stop. I want to wrap her in a hug that will never stop. To rage, question, sob, and mourn as she walks through this dark, terrifying, and often debilitating forest of grief. I want to be there... to make cups of tea, to take care of necessary chores, to encourage or to quiet the sobs.

But most of all, I want to hold her hand. 

And pray.

Silently.

To myself.

A painful prayer.

I will not pray this prayer out loud. I will not speak my request to her. For now, she must cry. Now she needs to mourn. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...a time to weep... a time to mourn." Tears help. Tears are good. 

But I will pray.

I pray that she will see... that she will taste and see the goodness of the Lord. That the beauty and glory of this truth is not spoken from a place of safety, goodness, and blessing, but that it is shouted in a moment of fear and desperation.

This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him

    and saved him out of all his troubles...

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!

    Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!

He is here. In this moment. In this trial. In this loss. I have no idea why.  But I know that he is still good. I don't see it. I don't understand. I know that this only happened because He allowed it. And I don't know why He allowed it. I can't see. I've tried. Tears streaming down my face... I've asked. I just don't know.

But he's good. You can taste it. You can see it.

"The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry." He weeps with our grief, and that one of the first things he will do, in a perfected world is to "wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Before the Hero of the universe proclaims His own glory, even before He announces that He has made "all things new," He stops to tell us, "you will not cry. I will erase this pain. I will make you whole."

But tonight, the tears come. And as my heart aches to reach across the miles with a long, never-ending hug, I cling to this promise, 

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good... [for] The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."*

Oh, Lord, please.... let it be so.

*Psalm 34

Rain Will Be Provided, A Shelter is At Hand

This is our faith journey.

Our great walk through an unknown desert.

Recently a friend asked me about our adoption finances... the feasibility of adoption... how we planned.

And my answer was a blend of laughter and fear.

You see, dear friend, when we set out on this great adventure, we knew two things: we knew that we could cut certain cost areas in our life to add to our savings, and we knew that we had to adopt, even if we didn't have the money, in-hand, at the outset.

Adoption is incredibly, painfully, back-breakingly expensive.

So we cut corners, told ourselves "no," and lived on approximately half of our annual income. 

But it wasn't enough. We consistently, every step of the way, came up short. Every time. We would plan it perfectly down to the penny, and suddenly an extra fee would emerge, or another check would be needed. For example, while we were in  the hospital with our son, we were given a $4800 lawyer bill. We had been told that bill would be $3000. We were asked to pay it right away. We had been told that it wouldn't be due until March.

Our agency was wonderful. There was nothing in the process where they intentionally tried to mislead us. It's just the name of the adoption game.

But when you're living on nothing, when you have nothing, when you have no idea how to make something from nothing... that's when God's work is displayed in technicolor.

We would clean out our bank account, and someone would give us a gas card so we could get to work. We would write a massive check and have no idea how we were going to buy groceries, and someone would hand us a Visa gift card. We needed a $500 payment, and someone, who we barely knew, gave us a check for $535 dollars.

Unbelievable.

Rain in abundance, O God, you shed abroad;

    you restored your inheritance as it languished;

¹⁰ 

your flock found a dwelling in it;

    in your goodness, O God, you provided for the needy. (Ps. 68.9,10)

God provides for the needy. And watching Him work was life-changing.

Don't ever tell yourself that you can't adopt because of finances. If God has laid on your heart a passion for parentless children, then do it. Adopt. Blessings untold will come from walking out in faith, towards a truth you know, but don't have the strength to complete in your own human effort.

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world. (James 1:27)

But, despite His magnificent attention to the details of my life, I'm writing this right now to remind myself. You see, the adoption money woes aren't over. I think I was mentally prepping myself for an easy slide back into normalcy. 

That hasn't happened.

We have no savings. We have no checking. And every paycheck, a massive amount gets cut out to pay the lawyer fees. And I had let my guard down. Or rather, I had taken back up the responsibility of providing for my family. I assumed that having a baby in my arms meant that my rigorous trusting of God was over.

How foolish.

God provides everything even when I'm resting in my own financial security. He is just as constant in his provision then, as he is when I'm not sure where the money will come from.

So today, rather than opening (again!) at my rather empty bank account, I'm opening my hands to pray, and my heart to repent... 

For there is beautiful peace, in the midst of rain... when you are trusting in a God who does not forget, nor does He fail.

"I will never leave thee..."

 Waiting is hard. And scary. But God's "steadfast love is great to the heavens, [his] faithfulness to the clouds."

"Thou art all I need.
Let me continually grasp the promise,
'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'''
"I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills his purpose for me.
God will send out his steadfast love and his faithfulness."











(Valley of Vision, Psalm 57)

I'm learning the power of prayer... not in changing my circumstances, but rather, in changing my attitude in the midst of these same circumstances.

We're in a holding pattern with our adoption, with our plans for next year, with work, and I had begun to feel like my very growth and development was in the same, ever-circling, never progressing pattern.

Waiting will give you that sensation.

But then God reminded me of prayer... An avenue to my great God. A place where I can bare my soul, cry for help, rejoice with laughter, and sit quietly with no words.

So.

I began to pray. For real. In earnest. Every day. Hour after hour. Consistently.

I hope I never stop.

Nothing on the outside has changed, but God has given amazing growth. God has shown His character in astonishing ways.

God has become my friend.

"The friendship of the Lord is for those who fear him." (Ps. 25)

Holding Loosely, Clinging Tightly

Plan. Don't plan. Think of the future. Don't do that. Wish for something. Stop wishing. Live in the moment. What about tomorrow?

Hello, conundrum:
\kə-ˈnən-drəm\

a) a question or problem having only a conjectural answer  

b) an intricate and difficult problem 

 

This is where I live. And it's where I've always lived, but this adoption process has just made that all the more evident.

  

As a human, (and a person with slight OCD tendencies!) I like to have a plan. I like to map out my future. And I often deviate from my map, but at least I made it and I'm typically somewhat in control of the deviations. When I was about 6 (i.e. could independently hold a pencil) I started goal setting every January 1st with my dad. Some people laugh at the proverbial "New Years' Resolutions," but for me they're an excellent re-orientation towards what I should be striving to be: more like Christ.

 

So, the adoption...

 

The thing is, there's no plan.

 

Oh, we filled out all the paperwork. We've paid our first chunk of change (goodbye, $$$$$), and we've completed the homestudy, the classes, and the interviews.

 

But now there is no plan.

 

 With everything that is in my heart, I want to hold a baby. I want to cuddle it, and soothe it. For years I've babysat screaming babies who quieted at the sound of their mom's voices. I'm ready to be the mom. 

Adoption isn't like a nine-month gestation period. While it may not have the swollen ankles (yay!), it does not have the degree of certainty. While I understand that literally anything  can happen at any birth, we're facing an additional hurdle. 

We may be chosen by a birth mom. I may go with her to all her appointments. I may stand in labor and delivery holding her hand. I may get to hold the screaming, brand-new baby. I may cuddle it, feed it, love it...

And then we may leave the hospital without a baby.

Until the birth mom signs the papers, that is still her baby. As it should be.

So I can't plan. I can't nest. I can't buy baby clothes. I can't have a shower. Because we may go through an entire 12 months and never get a baby. And then we have to decide if we'll pay another chunk of change, go through another home study, and complete more paperwork in order to try for another 12 months.

Because I may not have a baby.

To me it is  important that I not accumulate baby things, plan my baby schedule, and dream of baby-baby-baby.

Because then I will make an idol out of motherhood.

I want it dearly. I want it desperately.

But it may not be my plan. And if that is the case, I want to drift into that knowledge with a heart free of bitterness towards my God. I want my satisfaction to rest wholly with Him, and I know that "at an acceptable time, [He], in the abundance of [His] steadfast love [will] answer me in [His] saving faithfulness."(Ps. 69:13)

So I'm standing (perhaps) on the brink of motherhood. Trying not to get excited, but still trying to delight in this process. Trying to hold it loosely, while simultaneously passionately pursue it. Trying to rejoice in this opportunity, and rejoice if it is taken away.

For the only way I will be truly joyful, is if I believe that God alone can satisfy, and I must cling to Him. As Psalm 63 says over and over, "My soul thirsts for you....because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you... My soul will be satisfied... for you have been my help. In the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you." God's hand will not let me fall. His plans are better than mine.

My baby (if they're out there!), and all babies, rest in the same hands that I do... For my God is a big and loving God.

Same lesson as always... I just had to fill out tons of paperwork to arrive there this time...

Of Heartache and Hope - Psalm 66

Okay.

I’m ready. I have been waiting for that time when the tears come less quickly, waiting for a time when
the pain won’t leap out with startling rapidity. Waiting for healing from grief. But it hasn’t come. Not
now. Not yet. Maybe never.

December 26th.

My life forever changed.

Our baby died.

Scott and I were only a few weeks into being parents. Almost to the end of the first trimester, we were
prepping ways to tell families and friends about the little surprise that we were welcoming into the
world. And then I began to experience excruciating pain.

A series of tests. Two ER visits. I was told that my baby was dead. Then told that my baby was alive.
Finally—that my baby was growing outside of my uterus—and that my baby and I would both die if
the pregnancy continued. There was no question. No possibilities. Only certainty. We would both die,
probably in the second trimester.

Chemo treatments to end my baby’s life. The pain, the shaking, the nausea—knowing that my baby was
dying.

On Christmas day. An ultrasound. My baby’s heartbeat—still. Unspeakable pain. Surgery.

A blur of agony and hard choices. Tears. Lots and lots of tears. Brokenness.

And my Savior. God’s grace.

Bless our God, O peoples; who has kept our soul among the living and has not let our feet slip. For you, O God, have tested us… you laid a crushing burden on our backs… we went through fire and through water; yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance. (Ps. 66)

My sustenance was Psalm 66 and constant thanksgiving. “I’m thankful for nurses who work on
Christmas. I’m thankful for a husband who brings me cold water. I’m thankful for excellent medical care. I’m thankful for Dr. Wickert. I’m thankful for eternity and heaven…Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“Thank you, Lord for letting my baby spend eternity praising you. I asked that they may live for your
glory all their lives. You have granted my prayer in a way I did not expect, but a way which is so loving for my baby.”

Grief doesn’t go away. Instead, it’s like a deep dye, saturating the weave of your life. As time goes, it
lightens, it washes, but it never leaves. Your fabric has been changed. Permanently altered. And by
God’s grace, it becomes beautiful. Beautiful, but different.

By God’s grace, I battled bitterness, discontent, insecurity, worthlessness, depression, fear, and anger.

I have not emerged victorious. I am still battling, but such is life. Fortunately, the intensity of the battle is waning. Rest comes frequently. Tears don’t rain as often. God has led me to a land of sunshine.

Come and see what God has done:
he is awesome in his deeds toward the children of man. (Ps.66)

I do not know why God orchestrated my first venture into motherhood in this way. But I can see the
blessings: I can see increased compassion and sensitivity, a continual focus towards heaven. The blessings which come after the pain are much sweeter.

And a new blessing is coming…

Building a family is not about splitting and combining DNA. It’s not about biology. It’s not about
procreation. It’s about love. God’s family is a beautiful amalgamation of different backgrounds, different skin colors, and different gifts.

But it is a family—knit together by passionate, all-consuming love of our great God and faithful Savior.

We want our family on this earth to model our eternal family.

With that in mind, we are in the process of adoption.

Because we wholeheartedly believe that this is the best way for us to bring God glory and praise… and
because He deserves it all and so much more, we are venturing into another adventure of parenting.
The waters are choppy. The sea not as quickly navigated. Some of the unknowns are terrifying, but
God’s grace continues to amaze.

“Shout for joy to God, all the earth;
sing the glory of his name;
give to him glorious praise!
Say to God, “How awesome are your deeds…
All the earth worships you
and sings praises to you;
they sing praises to your name.”
(Psalm 66)

Psalm 16:11

"You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

 This week, I'm starting a new series on the blog. Born of countless hours battling for joy, studying God's word, and organizing information, I developed a very short summation of joy.

Joy is listed as a fruit of the Spirit, meaning it ranks with self-control and kindness in terms of developed, faithfully practiced actions. Joy is a discipline born of conscious work and effort. However, we frequently view joy as something which ebbs and flows. Something incontrolable that we just hope to fall into. Those are our "good days"-- when we're joyful. And I would argue that it's possible to have "good days" every day.

Welcome to the "Discipline of Joy"!