Memories of nightmares

My mama always sighs when the sunshine beams out from all around a cloud. Tonight it was a cool lemon yellow, the shadows all lavender and gray. I was bone tired, lazily listening to the children's chatter about their day, their art projects, watching the fields go by: corn 5 feet tall in the low ones, then a rusty sun burnt patch of soybeans, more corn, but this only up to my knee. The wind bounced off the mustardy corn tassels, almost like thousands of invisible fairies running across them. We were belting out "Jesse's Girl" to the classic rock station, and it was the fourth song I remembered. In a row. My thoughts caught a ride on that memory, how old I'm getting when my kids relate better to pop songs than I do, and all my favorites are on the oldies station. Then the mind swings and hooks on to the lyrics again. I am suddenly back in reality with a jolt, still singing along with all the rest. Except somehow I don't feel old any more; I feel like I'm sixteen.

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I am awake with the stars, my loves all heavy with black velvet slumber, as if the night sky had descended and covered them in the dark. I'm running through memories that won't stop coming. Trying to fly and float simultaneously, for I could feel the undertow of the funneling brain dragging down into the darkness. I remember floating down rivers in gangs of high school and college kids, and going through the whitewater sections, we all would lift our arms and legs out of the water, pointing our toes, clutching tubes so that we wouldn't be caught by a sudden drop or a deadfall's rotting branches.

As each thought spins and catches the next, springs that and the next, and so on - one memory latches on to another. I am sixteen and singing with my best friend and driving way too fast. Then I remember doing my penance on the way home, trying to somehow defeat what fun or happiness I'd experienced. Emotions churned unnamed, almost unnoticed, the steel of my mind's resolution to contain emotion slowly descending like ice through my veins. Numb, I remember putting my hand to my face slowly, and I thought, this is what they mean when they say "her eyes glinted". My other hand slowly grips the steering wheel harder, I set my jaw, I swerve to the left into the oncoming lane, go over a hill almost flying. Then squeal back into my lane after playing chicken with the first car. That sudden, visceral mixture of extreme pain and extreme pleasure that burns up intensely and quickly, then suddenly is receding from your core. Sixteen has been gone eighteen long years and still the memory brings back all that sensation - WHAM! Just like that.

You ride out the adrenaline and rush of the memory of sixteen, fastforwarding lackadaisically through your life. You hit on twenty-one, when you graduated and moved to Minneapolis and bought your first house. You remember the numbing effect of work on all those vagrant thoughts and sensations, the more you could throw yourself into technical details, the quieter were the longings and the broken heart. And there the memories finally stop flowing. You pause, catching your breath. Yes, they're gone.

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I wish I could sleep, shut off, rest. The hours creep by and the panic builds..."How can I live on 4 hours of sleep..." "oh, now we're down to 3 hours! Hurry up and go to sleeeep!" Often these days the gray dawn begins to creep into the bedroom, and I haven't yet slept. So I sigh deep and aching, shuffle out to the kitchen, have a cup of coffee with you. Some kind of mania or hyper-awareness comes occasionally. Almost as if my wires are too finely tuned and respond to the slightest signal. Vascillate rapidly between almost-awake and almost-asleep. Funny, I've always thought it odd to wish someone "golden slumber"; I crave complete blackness, unconsciousness, completely isolated from my mind and body, suspended in some netherworld of sometime dreams or nightmares and long periods of silence when the brain waves slow and the deep whir swelling from their revolutions lulls you into spellbound, still and staring.

Is it wrong to be looking for a shut-off switch for memories and ruminations? Could I dull myself to passive somehow, be less complicated? There is no manual for one's own deconstruction. 

The Golden Ticket

The devil, who has for the most part ignored you up to that point since you weren't a threat, starts to take notice. And so do other people. Believers and unbelievers alike may become your adversaries. Remember what happened to the boy David when he decided to fight Goliath? His brother attacked him angrily. Then Saul, the king, challenged him, "You're just a boy." Then Goliath himself mocked David. In that moment, David had no supporters except the Lord. Get in the battle and see what happens. ~Tim Haring, April 30th devotional for Faithwalkers journal, available in it's entirety here

This has definitely been my experience. At certain points along this difficult road, as I follow God like a blind woman down a path I didn't choose that leads to a destination I am totally unsure of, I have felt overwhelming support and love from my community. At other points, that support has fallen away and I have been forced to wonder, "Am I even on the right road any more? Did I slip up somewhere?" I have to re-examine everything - my motives, the reasons I have faith I am on the right path, the signs God provided along the way, and most of all, my relationship status with God. Cancer, initially, was a huge wake-up call. All my priorities were shaken up like papers in a raffle basket, and, since the dust settled, nothing has ever been the same again. What I knew in my heart has become what I do with my hands: 1. God; 2. Aaron; 3. children; 4. blood family; 5. church family; 6. the lost. The challenge has been to sort through the various activities that fill my days and put them in their correct slot on the priority list. School, for instance, is particularly challenging. I believe it fits somewhere between church family and the lost - my reasons for going to school are to witness to the lost and to build the church family by going on mission as a nursing professor and being a voice of the church in the broader community. Adoption is another challenge - is that up there with children, blood family, church family, or is it an edict from God and something that should take top billing as Aaron and I pursue it together? These are the two activities that have undoubtedly drawn the most "heat" in the battle surrounding my life and my time and my service to Christ. School and adoption are two aspects of my life many people do not understand. Yet they are part of what Christ has called me to do, and I must "enter the battle and see what happens". I cannot, in good faith, table these things because it doesn't make human sense to pursue them. Aaron and I are in agreement, after long, hard examination, that these two things stay in our lives. We have to keep stepping forward on that, even if brothers, kings, and enemies oppose us and question our sanity.

A little book of collected writings on suffering, edited by Nancy Guthrie (who definitely knows her subject), has been a comfort through the latest onslaught. Corrie ten Boom recalls a conversation she had with her father when she was a child:

When I was a little girl, I went to my father and said, "Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ." "Tell me", Father said, "when you take a train trip from Haarlem to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?" "No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train." "That is right," my father said, "and so it is with God's strength. Our wise Father in heaven knows when you are going to need things too. Today you do not need the strength to be a martyr; but as soon as you are called upon for the honor of facing death for Jesus, He will supply the strength you need - just in time."

God has called me to face cancer, various other health difficulties, a child with special needs, graduate school, homeschooling my children, homemaking for my family, and pursuing adoption - all at the same time. He has given me the money for the ticket. Only He know how much strength I need to survive this - nay, to shine for His glory while doing these tasks. From the outside looking in, to friends and family and strangers who don't have the ticket for this train in their pockets, it seems impossible, improbable, unwise, fool-hardy even. But I have the ticket in my pocket - my Father has given it to me just in time to board the train. Now that I am on the train, jumping off would be the fool-hardy action! God is holding my hand and we are steaming along just fine.

I plan to type up an entire article by D.A. Carson titled "Dying Well". The verses he opens the essay with remind me to number my days and resolutely press on if I am sure of what God has called me to do. The entire passage is Psalm 90:3-4, 9-12, but verse 12 is what gets my attention: So teach us to number our days, that we may get a heart of wisdom. The wisdom and strength God is pouring into me is probably very different from the wisdom and strength He is pouring into you. We have different tasks for which He is preparing us!

Having your faith tested is not all sorrow, misery, tears, torment, agony! Charles Spurgeon states, "It is as great a mercy to have your salvation proved to you under trial as it is to have it sustained in you by the consolations of the Spirit of God." The old adage, what doesn't kill you will make you stronger, comes to mind. It's true in our marriages, isn't it? When our vows are tested by sin in our spouse, or sin in ourselves, we walk through that fire begging for the trial to be over, only to emerge on the other side realizing we can now trust those vows. We know now that they stand up under fire! So is faith that has been tested by suffering - I know now that I will not lose my faith, that I can walk bravely (albeit with tears and sweat and begging for grace and mercy) toward the day He has fixed for my death. I will not crumble. His strength holds me up. I have tested it now, and so I can believe all the more.

Finally, the story of Manoah and his wife - Samson's mother and father - keeps coming up in various conversations and books. I think God is teaching me immensely through that story, found in the book of Judges. God speaks to them, and their reactions are polar opposite. They hear from God, and develop a set of expectations. When life fails to meet those expectations, Manoah falters, and his wife ponders the whole situation and arrives at a conclusion on which she acts. Martyn Lloyd-Jones puts it this way:

Suddenly, everything seems to go wrong. The situation is perplexing and baffling and quite the contrary of what we had expected and anticipated. We seem to break down altogether and to lose hope entirely. We jump to conclusions, and almost invariably, to the worst conclusion that is possible in the given circumstances, the same assumptions as that which led Manoah to his worst conclusion, (namely) that somehow or other, God is against us, and that all we had so fondly imagined to be an expression of God's goodness and kindness was nothing but an illusion. In the midst of disaster and trying difficulties, the Christian religion, instead of acting like a charm or a drug, and doing everything for us, and suddenly putting everything right, asks us, nay rather commands us, to think and to employ logic. Manoah's wife understood that God is never capricious; God is never unjust in his dealings with us; God never contradicts himself and his own gracious purposes.

Finally, Lloyd-Jones concludes with lines that bring me such peace in this time when everything seems questionable, chaotic, unsupportable. You may not understand what is happening to you; it may seem, to you, all wrong. Trust yourself to him. Believe when you cannot prove. Hold on to his constancy, his justice, his eternal purposes for you in Christ. Regard these as absolutes, which can never be shaken, build your case logically upon them, remain steadfast and unshaken, confident that ultimately all will be made plain and all will be well.

For now, we are staying in the battle, and seeing what happens.

The things that define us

I first fell in love with the Barefoot Contessa in my friend Amy's kitchen, with it's filtered northern light in morning, harsh western light in afternoon, yellow bowls stacked on shelves and the scent of lemons strong in the hot spring air. To me, certain things are tied to certain people, and the things themselves take on such meaning when I see them, touch them. I know that man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. (I Samuel 16:7) What about things, then? Can they be a reflection of our heart?

Amy and the Barefoot Contessa, her yellow bowls, her farmhouse in the desert, her 1950's color scheme and the way she warms tortillas in a pan on the stove. Their family is on my mind these days because it is the anniversary season of their son Caleb's death, at age 5. Some people react to that sort of tragedy by eschewing the things in our world, taking a completely utilitarian approach to the life that intervenes between the loss of their child and the eventual reunion in heaven. I suppose you could even call that reaction Godly, "kingdom minded" in a way. Matthew 6:33 tells me, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you." What things, I wonder? The preceding verses say that the "things" Jesus meant are food, drink, clothing. Matthew 19 tells of the rich man who, having kept the commandments, asks what more he must do to gain eternal life. I have heard this passage used over and over again as argument that we should sell our belongings, as Jesus instructed the rich man to do, and follow God onto the mission field instead of making homes for ourselves. For some this is, of course, the right decision. On the other hand, the key point of the passage is not the command to sell belongings and follow Christ - what Jesus is after is the willingness to do so. Matthew Henry addresses this in his commentary on the passage:

Christ knew that covetousness was the sin which most easily beset this young man; though he had got honestly what he possessed, yet he could not cheerfully part with it, and by this his want of sincerity was shown. Christ's promises make his precepts easy, and his yoke pleasant and very comfortable; yet this promise was as much a trial of the young man's faith, as the precept was of his charity and contempt of the world. To sell all, and give to the poor, will not serve, but we are to follow Christ. The gospel is the only remedy for lost sinners. Many abstain from gross vices who do not attend to their obligations to God. Thousands of instances of disobedience in thought, word, and deed, are marked against them in the book of God. Thus numbers forsake Christ, loving this present world: they feel convictions and desires, but they depart sorrowful, perhaps trembling. It behoves us to try ourselves in these matters, for the Lord will try us.

Isn't it possible that the yellow bowls stacked on the counter - the beautiful things we eat from - are one of the "things that shall be added unto us", blessings from the hand of God? Isn't it possible that favorite recipes in a favorite cookbook are one of the things God provides us when we seek His kingdom first? Is it possible to spend time perfecting a homemade potato chip recipe while seeking God's kingdom first? If we cannot fathom giving these things up...then they are the "things" that stand as barriers in the narrow path of God's will, so hard to find and even harder to walk. Yet if they are things that light our souls with joy, easily given up if we are so asked, things that bind us together and express love and reflect Truth in beauty...

Matthew 6:33 teaches me that it is not the things that matter most - it is what we are seeking. The shared joy of my memories of Amy's kitchen glue us together, as saints seeking the kingdom of God. The shared memory of trial and error as we perfect our family recipe for potato chips binds my children to me in joy and shared mission. The cookbook that started it all is consequently part of that picture - whenever they see "Barefoot in Paris", they will think potato chips in an unseasonably warm, sunny spring kitchen on an April day. They will recall Mama in her favorite apron, the sizzle of the chips frying, the paper bag and towel service, the sea salt crystals catching light like diamonds in the sun.

I could feed them boring food. I could give away the lovely things that will be irrevocably tied to my memory. I am so thankful that the God I serve is not that harsh. I am thankful that He does not only call me to utilitarian service. I am thankful that He lights the path with joy, and pleasure, and memories, and friends. I agree that heaven in the point on which to focus, the end of the journey that matters more than anything inconsequential along the way. But if life didn't matter, if the way in which we live, the things that define us, reflect the way we live did not matter at all, wouldn't we be in heaven already?

What are little girls made of?

“Manhood, once an opportunity for achievement, now seems like a problem to be overcome.”
~ Garrison Keillor, The Book of Guys

I've known boys and girls were different ever since my brother started knocking me over to steal my toys when we were toddlers together on a farm in rural Minnesota. It was brought home to me again and again while playing war games, rocket ship, frontier explorers, cowboys & Indians, 2-against-1 football, and never, ever (and I do mean ever) playing house. Then there were also the toads that could be squeezed and made to pee all over my bedroom carpet; the jokes and guffaws issuing through the closed door when I spent too much time primping in the bathroom; the daredevil antics on bikes and skates; the endless competition to be the fastest, strongest, or most daring at anything (even card games and Monopoly). This idea of differences seems as though it is fast disappearing in our current culture. Yet I saw it in action through my camera lens last night, when we babysat Susan Fern for a few hours of cousin play time. Caleb and Susan, 10 days different in age and nearly the exact same size since birth, are kind of like twins born to two different mothers. They are ecstatically happy playing together, evidenced by the squeals of Susan and the equally high-pitched squeals of Caleb when they are together. They make great companions. Yet they approach all of life so differently. This progression of photos, showing Caleb sitting in one place on the floor, entrenched in a Thomas book, shows what I have been observing for months now. Susan, trying desperately to connect; Caleb, oblivious. Susan, more oriented to relationship than things, changing toys constantly and paying little attention to them. Caleb, giving rapt attention to whatever skill he is mastering at the moment or whatever curious object is currently occupying his fancy. I include these photos here because I think they are both hilarious and enlightening!

I enjoyed this balanced chapter, which reflects both the testosterone-driven character qualities of boys as well as more sensitive traits that have been undervalued in the past. This is from Building Strong Families, a book from Crossway available for free online:

Then finally in this passage we read, “Then the LORD God said, ‘It is not good for the man to be alone’” (Gen. 2:18). Adam needed help. He needed a companion. A man is made to connect with others. I call this the Friend Pillar. So along came Eve, to complete God’s image as male and female. She brought relational genius to the human race. Women generally are much more alert to and adept at relationships than are men. Adam would learn how to relate from Eve. Of course the ultimate attack against aloneness occurs in the magnificent relationship of marriage, but men need help and friendship in every context, whether single or married.

So I see these four “pillars” as a man’s core components: the king to provide, the warrior to protect, the mentor to teach, and the friend to connect. These are the qualities we seek to develop in boys who would become mighty men.

~ Stu Weber, How to Raise Masculine Sons