Refine us

She is better today, fevers persisting, but with a dose of energy from the spinal tap and the antibiotics flowing every 3 hours. Dark circles under her eyes, she shuts them against the fluorescent light, showing off her new owl teapot with eyes squeezed shut.

The flurry and adrenaline of the initial decision making fades on hospital day 2, and we and the doctors begin to contemplate those hard questions that still persist without answer. Why does she get infections in her brain repeatedly? It's nothing like the question "why does Caleb have allergies all year every year". This has such significant consequences to her health, intellect and quality of life that we must find an answer.

Aaron says it, anguished, as we walk to the hotel for a few minutes alone, kids happy in hospital with Auntie Rosalie. "Why, whenever we start to thrive, why does something like this always happen?" I don't know. I can only offer what I'm learning about accepting your cross without fighting it. Carrying one cross - the one given - instead of two - the one given paired with the anxieties we let sneak in like foxes in the vineyard.

I don't ever want to lose this little life. I don't ever want to wait too long, or miss the symptoms, or run into doctors again who refuse to treat in the early stages. How do we function like this? The older girls and I have a long talk after Caleb sleeps this evening, and talk about refining gold and silver. How it requires high heat. How God is allowing that high heat through trials into their young lives. We read the verses in Malachi that were like timber beams holding up the sagging sanctuary of my heart this morning, before I headed out to the hospital, head shiny and cold in the winter-like winds.

Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me: and the Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple, even the messenger of the covenant, whom ye delight in: behold, he shall come, saith the Lord of hosts. But who may abide the day of his coming? and who shall stand when he appeareth? for he is like a refiner's fire, and like fullers' soap: And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver: and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the Lord an offering in righteousness. Then shall the offering of Judah and Jerusalem be pleasant unto the Lord, as in the days of old, and as in former years.

The truth remains. He has always rescued us. We are all alive together still. The needleprick on Amelia's back is just a dot, no bleeding, no complications. The antibiotics seem to be working. We have every cause for praise in this, as in all the previous trials. God is great and good, here in this day of suffering. What a lesson to learn, at 6 and 8! May these children grow up with a deep, visceral understanding of what it means to wait on the Lord, trust in His mercy and grace in the most difficult of circumstances.

Come, come and meet us here 

Come and touch our tears 

That we may weep no more 

Come, come and meet our pain 

Come and lift our lame 

That we may limp no more 

Come that we may want no more 

The doubters pray for your signs and wonders 

All the cynics say 

You’ll let us go under 

But we’re here to stay
God, will you come by here? 

Come, we have nothing else God 

And having You we want for nothing 

No death, life 

Angels or demons 

No depth, height 

Can come in between us 

And Your love, Your love, Your love, love

The other gold

Make new friends,

but keep the old.

One is silver

but the other gold.

You go through seasons in this life, droughts and times of plenty, harvests and times to plow and plant. What I like about the concept of seasons is that you are never in one place for long. I don't want to be here long.

This season of my life has been a hard one. Sometimes it's a hailstorm, here and there a few tornadoes; when it's calm it's a famine, a drought, a desert. Yet down comes the manna, in the old friend who sits in a worn chair, her hands hard-working hands, sore hands, just like mine. Sore from the cancer, worn from the constant opening of those stiff fingers to offer the precious treasures, to say, "God, yes, you can have this, too." Weary from the living out of the constant task of giving and releasing and suffering that means treasure in heaven instead of on this earth.

It's easy to lose focus in the dust storm. As all the landmarks of your world are picked up by the dust devil and your eyes sting with tears, you look out on an alien landscape that looks like it can't be traversed. Not with the supplies you have on hand, not with the skills you possess, not all alone like you find yourself. Where are you, God? you cry out with the Psalmist, and you skip the hallelujah at the end of the Psalm and read right on into the next wrestling match with God in the beginning of the next chapter. Do you see what is happening? Do you care about what I am losing? Will you really sustain me?

You read that joy erases the memory of pain (John 16:21). Your friend's smile brings laughter bubbling to your lips, and even days later, as you look over the pictures you took of her, awkward, self-conscious dear one sitting in the sunny bedroom corner, it is joy that mounts victory in your heart and wilts the weed of helplessness that dust devil planted in your heart just hours ago.

The power of the Gospel is that, no matter what the landscape of your life, no matter what you lose or gain, weep for or laugh about, you no longer have to spend time or energy thinking about or trying to control what others think of you. Only one person matters. And He is the one who is lavishing joy, squashing sorrow, paving your way, and showing you the road that you - you, and no other - are to walk in. He is the one to whom you repent, He is the one who not only forgives but forgets and rebuilds, He is the one who whispers so deeply of love that the lying dust devil is drowned out. He is your map through the wilderness. Your lover when others wound. Your comfort when the world is comfortless. Your Father, your Friend, your Redeemer. 

So crawl in. Crawl in to the redeeming love of Christ, be covered by His sacrifice and hidden in His grace. You don't have to take these darts to your soul. It is His shield that covers your soul. Have faith. Wield that shield. You carry His voice inside you where no dust devil can drown it out.

...be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should. (Ephesians 6:10-20)

Stand up, stand up for Jesus!

I wrote about the cost of survival 2 years ago.  The need to give up fighting to save our lives...even the minutiae of them - the clean house, or the finished project, or the kid's baths, or the church task.  To always keep in mind the end goal...not just the daily grind.  I think that is why I want to go to the Relevant Conference.  Because I really want to be in this fight, this battle for souls.  I take up the "armor of God", and I want to wield it as best I can in an age where 90% of communication occurs online.  I read about another give-away - a free ticket to the conference from A Million Boxes.  So far, I have received gracious, mind-blowing donations to the tune of $300, which would almost cover airfare.  I'll take a stab at the free ticket...and book my flight in faith if I get it.  I think it could be a transforming weekend.  A weekend where I better learn to communicate myself...my true self, the self that it is so tempting to hide in person and ever-so-much-easier to hide online.

Masked as the "silly spider", playing a tune in late afternoon sun.

"Consequently, I have been thinking about holiness, not so much in terms of reading my Bible more, or praying more, or doing spiritual things; rather, I have been examining the sin in my life and considering what it says about my holiness. Holiness is not an addition of Godly things to my life, or a subtraction of worldly things from my life, but rather a transformation of my life to look more like Christ." (from Beneath the Crust)

Be especially careful when you are trying to be good so that you don't make a performance out of it. It might be good theater, but the God who made you won't be applauding. Why am I so dramatic? Is it to get my point across? Who am I trying to convince? Here's what God wants me to do: "Find a quiet, secluded place so you won't be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. (Matthew 6:1-6 The Message)

Amy - unmasked - sleeping in the noon sun after a night of seizures.

Callouses

cal·lous [kal-uhs]
1. made hard; hardened.
2. insensitive; indifferent; unsympathetic: "They have a callous attitude toward the sufferings of others."
3. having a callus; indurated, as parts of the skin exposed to friction.

The hardening of the skin is inevitable: handle the tool long enough, work enough hours with it, and your hand will shape to it, the dense patches of yellow skin forming a glove for that tool, that work.  First, the pain as skin pulls, fluid collects in the little blister there where the rub is, it bursts open and bathes your hand in the white fire of exposed flesh.  You keep swinging, and the burn becomes an ache, and then fades to nothing, and in a few days you pick up the tool and find that your hand likes this shape.  Remembers this shape.  Is made for this shape.

You can stall a good thing, pretty early in the game.  Toss the tool aside when the blister pops.  If you leave the work, walk away in a huff, it is your soul that grows a callous instead, a selfish callous, a callous on the heart that shirks pain for an easier path.  And every time you pick up the tool and set to work again, days later, the pain returns, the fire-brand pain of a tender layer of skin that has never grown into this work.

There are parts of my soul that have done this work before, the work of suffering physically and spiritually at the same time.  I go back to this work and find that there is a callous, that I am prepared, ready, and able for this task.  I am reminded that I carry not only the life of Christ in my soul, but also the death. (II Corinthians 4 again...we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.)

Let me die quickly to self in this matter, as in all others.  Let me shoulder the work at hand without frustration, lethargy, paralysis of the spirit or the hands as I am called into battle.  Give me strength for this round, God.  I am in the part of the match where I'm almost praying someone knocks me out.  Help me to stay present in this day, this week, this situation, this life.  Help me accept it as a gift from you, God...despite the pain of today and the pain looming large tomorrow.

I am reminded, by the words of an old hymn echoing in my synapses, that you have not forsaken me, and that your grace is shown for it's glorious perfection when I am weak and tired.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;

As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

~ Great is Thy Faithfulness, Thomas Chisholm, 1923 ~

Silence

For what words carry any weight into eternity except the ones quietly lived? The ones spoken with hands and the silent scars of sacrifice.  There is a time to be silent and a time to speak and we must pray to know the order of things; I can lose track of seasons.  I beg forgiveness for the many words with the many sins... And pray for knees that will bow lower and a face that will touch the ground in hiddenness --- for a heart that will forget itself and all its stream of words --- so it can simply drink of His. ~Ann Voskamp at Holy Experience

The worn edge of Grandma's tablecloth flits in the breeze among the pines on our last day camping last weekend.  The week that followed is like this sunshine strained through cloth, a glimpse of glory clouded by the weight of a world full of sin and sinners.  There are some things in life best left unsaid, and this week is one of them.  This much I know - and will share: Satan loves to attack us.  His most fervent, frequent, and fierce attacks come when we are already at our weakest.  The attacks that hurt the worst come from those we love the most.  A verse - put to song by my mama - keeps flowing through my heart this week: let the words of my mouth, and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight, O Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer (Psalm 19:14).  That is the cry of my heart this week.  And so I, silently, prayerfully fix my eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (II Corinthians 4:18).