A song of safety

Today was another day in a string of days carrying professional disappointment.  As I sat in my quiet house while the littlest two slept...the elder two spending a week with Grandma up north...I resized some photos from a fun-filled weekend and sat reflecting.  Because I am blessed with a wonderful father here on earth, the use of "Father" as allegory in Scripture is so comforting to me.  In this disappointment, in all disappointments, I can rest content that my Father knows best.  These photos of Rosy and Caleb interacting with their grandfather shows that trust...the trust I am supposed to emulate now, as an adult. (Jesus said, "Let the children alone, and do not hinder them from coming to Me; for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14)

Suspended ten feet off the ground by ropes Grandpa himself strung in the tree, they fly on the tire swing completely unaware of danger or risk or fear.  It isn't on their radar.  Why?  Because Grandpa so obviously shows them that it is safe to be flying through the air on his DIY swing.

After all, it is his trustworthy hands that built the swing...this world in which they whirl.  And his capable hands lift them up and let them go on this pendulum of rubber and rope.  Why would fear enter into this safe world where Grandpa watches their every move and sends them on each giddy flight?

Sunlight glints like glitter through the cedars at dusk, and lights smiles as laughter floats through the yellow air.  As I look back through the camera lens and the space of a few days time, my own life events are the pendulum set in motion by the Father-figure, my career is being let fly from the capable hands, and instead of giddy flight, I feel trepidation and anxiety??  That isn't the right response.  So this evening, I retune my heartstrings to sing a song of safety in the swing of my Savior.

Nothing about the tens of thousands of dollars of debt changes the fact that I can trust Him totally.  So I walk away from the screen tonight, to housecleaning and cooking and an alphabet lesson for Amelia, and leave career, at this juncture, scurrying down whatever path He has chosen.  I stand at a crossroads and feel the tug, dizzying, of choice impending...yet I do not need to fear this as a precipice.  It is just another swing on the pendulum of life, just like the millions of flights He's directed before, and the millions more He may send me on before calling me home. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God (I John 3:1a).

His love has no limits, His grace has no measure,
His power no boundary known unto men;
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again.

~ He Giveth More Grace, Annie Flint, 1866-1932

Astigmatism: reveals

The shape of my eye changed because of a physical hardship: I hit a toilet with my head, with my eyes open, and my eyeball got smashed.  I don't know yet if the effects are permanent, but I do know one thing: it has changed my focus.  Literally.  I focus my camera just as I always have, but because the "perspective" in my eye itself has changed, what I see looks...different.  There is more blur.  Almost like I am less attached to the subject.  Yet more art?

I've admired a few photographers for years: the one I love most is Amy Glover, first a professional alliance, then friend, then the woman who discipled me, and now fellow artist.  The allegory between art and soul is so complete, it's almost too good to be true.  Just as I've followed the "perspective" of her soul, that complete lack of anchor to the here and now, the throwing of herself completely toward heaven, laying up treasure only there...now I also follow her art, and see things in her photos I try to emulate, to this point very unsuccessfully.

Just as her life conformed to Christ through searing loss, so Christ draws me closer through all these trials that He says to count as joy.  My eye changes shape, and headaches persist, and I am brought to my knees.  But here, on my knees through the very results of this painful event - hitting that toilet with my skull - I am changed and the treasures I lay up here are less, and the treasures I lay up there are more.  It even shows in my photos: a blurriness, lightness, whiteness, that wasn't there before.  It's not something I could do by myself.  I tried and tried.

Here, on this terra firma, toilets collide with heads and eyes are smashed and blood vessels explode; brains are infected, and electricity goes wild, and seizures steal synapses (moth and rust destroys, and thieves break in and steal).  Even on this cursed clod, I see His redemption as He shows me beauty through the smashed eye and in the seizing girl and the life of chaos and calamity.  Yet, in heaven, with each day of bent knee and bowed head, with each day of silently acquiescing and calmly submitting, the rubies there in heaven pile up (where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves cannot break in and steal).  Whether it is

not cursing the pharmacist who dispensed the wrong medication and caused my blood pressure to drop and my head to hit that enameled toilet tank; 


admitting I failed my comprehensive exam because I didn't write well enough and refusing to resent a committee that did me justice; 


praising God for each of the 1,000+ days I've had with Amelia as I scoop vomit from her throat and beg that she be spared, refusing to curse Him for allowing this seizure, this pain...

I send my heart to heaven along with the treasure I lay up there.  I loose my hold on earth and eyesight, dreams and jobs, children entrusted for now to my care,  and children I dream of someday caring for.  He knows, and He knows best.  I only see darkly, as through glass.  I thank God for the times He gently changes my perspective through days and weeks spent quiet in study; and for the times He sends change abruptly, through emergencies and sudden events.




::
I completely realize that I was wrong yesterday.  Apparently, I still need to write, even in a week packed with academic work.  :-)

Take this cup

The gift that God gave to His only begotten Son was to crush Him. The gift that God may be offering to you in His loving hands may be a thorn--something about which you cannot imagine why God is doing this. Yet He is saying, "Will you love Me? Will you trust Me? Will you praise Me?" The Bible tells us in Romans 8:17 that we are heirs with Him if we suffer with Him. We become co-heirs. He wants us to be with Him in our sufferings. He wants us to understand the sufferings that He went through for us. Of course, we can never understand it. Of course, it is beyond any of our wildest imaginings. But we know that because of that shameful cross you and I receive redemption. I don't know what the gift may be that God is handing to you today, but there may be bitterness in the cup. There may be a thorn. Now when you and I begin to feel sorrow for ourselves and we think, "Poor little me. Why does God do this to me? I don't understand why God is allowing this to happen to me," go back to Isaiah 53:10. It was the Lord's will to crush Jesus Christ, His Son, and to cause Him to suffer. Why? "Though the Lord makes His life a guilt offering, He will see His offspring and prolong His days; and the will of the Lord will prosper in His hand because He poured out His life unto death and was numbered with the transgressors. He bore the sin of many and made intercession for the transgressors." ~Elisabeth Elliot

I found some of the most succinct and truth-filled words on suffering today at the blog of a fellow Christian who just died of cancer yesterday. He states that Christians going through great suffering must first "focus on being still and developing our relationship with God. Second, we can focus on ministering to others through the pain." (from Zac Smith's blog of his last days - well worth the read) Finally, he focuses on how to survive suffering well - concluding that we can

1. Focus on our eternal destiny in heaven & the relief it will bring
2. Focus on the surprises God has planned out along the way, and let your frustration go
3. Be obedient and live in the moment God has you in: do not lose sight of today because you are focusing exclusively on the future

I would say that these three ideas are great ideas, but they are also extremely difficult to live out in real life! Focusing on eternity and the relief it brings almost always make the bittersweet grow ever more bitter, at least for me. I get distracted thinking about all that I will lose touch with once I die. I start thinking about the ensuing pain that will have to occur before I die (cancer isn't an easy way to go, especially if you are young and your body has a lot of "fight" left in it). Zac's second point, to focus on the surprises, can be a great distraction from frustration and pain. But sometimes the surprises are not what you'd hoped, and you wallow on in ever worsening disappointment as there is sometimes little or nothing to rejoice in the situation, and your rejoicing must simply be because of God. Because He is and was and ever will be, and you can rejoice because you know Him. Which brings me to Zac's third and final point. This, I think, is the heart of how to suffer for Christ rather than just because of Christ. By bowing to His plan, and finding out how to serve Him in the moment, we can be the hosts of His glory, as His sovereignty, grace and extravagance shines out from our pain.

Aaron and I were recently counseled that God must be trying to get our attention through all of the suffering and health issues we've had as a family in the past two years. We believe, wholeheartedly, that this is true: the initial cancer diagnosis definitely served as a wake-up call to both of us. Zac Smith talks about the same process for him and his wife: get cancer, be woken up, realign yourself with God, get cured, get busy planning for the future. BUT sometimes you do all that, and cancer comes back. Other trials crop up. Then you are faced with a situation like Acts 28: Paul, the thorn still in his side even after fervent prayer for healing, is busy healing others. Rather than focusing inward as a family, trying to determine what God is trying to do in our lives, Aaron and I both feel this is the time to focus outward - to minister to others through our suffering.

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.

Can I keep singing?

When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve. And while they were eating, he said, "I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me." They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, "Surely not I, Lord?" Jesus replied, "The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born." Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said, "Surely not I, Rabbi?" Jesus answered, "Yes, it is you." While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, "Take and eat; this is my body." Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it anew with you in my Father's kingdom."

When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives. ~Matthew 26

The evening prior to His death. The long night lay before Him, He had beads of bloody sweat to be wrung from Him in His agony. What did He do, that very last night of normal? He reclined at a table with His friends. He helped them understand the suffering to come. And he sang. Jesus sang?!! I read that this morning in a little book I picked up for $2 at a used bookstore yesterday - "How to Meet Your Troubles", the slim brown volume is titled. I never noticed it before - but He did! The very last thing He did before walking to the garden was sing in worship.

I didn't feel like singing last night, when I typed up the words to this song - "How Can I Keep from Singing?". It has been ringing through my heart for days, as I practiced it for Sunday worship. But I just didn't have it in me last night to post these words...they seemed falsely joyful.

For eight weeks, something has been troubling me. I went to the doctor once and my vague symptoms were dismissed. Since then, they've worsened, and I took to doing a breast exam every day in the shower, looking for what I thought was an infection brewing. On Saturday, I found a small lump, like a pebble under my skin. I found it late at night, after finishing writing on a paper. Aaron was asleep, my mother was asleep. So I spent most of the night in prayer, and woke after just a few hours of sleep to go sing, play my harmonica, play the keys for worship at church on Sunday. Sunday afternoon, I was able to tell Aaron and my parents. We just accepted it. Okay, that's what we'll do next. Figure out this lump business. On Sunday night, again in the shower, I thought I found a larger lump, too.

I went to the midwife yesterday. She has been doing my physical for six years now. She found my thyroid cancer because of her carefulness and knowledge of my body's normal. I hoped she would say I was imagining things. Instead, she carefully measured the lumps - 1/2" for the small one; over 1" for the large one. (that's about the same size as my thyroid tumor when it was removed - between 4 and 5 centimeters) She checked her computer. With normal risk factors (mine are anything but) and only one of my symptoms, the risk of cancer is probably 15%. My own check, combining the three symptoms I have with my risk factors, is around 75%. Oddly enough, that cheers me - the more probably it seems, the less likely it will be true, in my experience so far. The less probable - well, then of course it will be! I know it doesn't sound logical, but it is a small comfort to me that all my previous experiences have gone this way.

Because of my risk and the other potential problems that could cause these particular symptoms, I am already scheduled to meet with a surgeon, regardless of the outcome of my diagnostic tests tomorrow ("smashogram" and level 2, high definition ultrasound). I will probably require surgical removal of the lumps, if nothing more. I will go to sleep knowing I am having lumps removed. They will test the lumps for cancer while I am still under anesthesia, and remove one or both of my breasts and lymph tissue if it is cancer. Going to sleep not knowing is one of the hardest parts of the trial for me to face again.

I don't know what to ask for. Instead, I am back to basics: praying the Lord's prayer. Give me the food I need today, Lord. Forgive me, I am weary. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in my body as it is in your heaven. For thine is the kingdom and the glory forever and ever - so be it.

And yes. I will keep singing. I will keep praying. Words I wrote myself in long-ago days of trouble are echoing in my soul today.

Lord, lead me safely through the path of today,
Reach down and rescue me from hate and from pain,
Set Your laws before me, That I may have a lamp for my feet,
O Lord, guide me.
In this place,
Surrounded by a thousand fears,
Temptation and weakness,
Hatred and lies,
He promised me faithfulness, integrity,
A way that is perfect, a light for my life.
~"Guide" from Psalm 18, 10/02/98

I struggle, God,
You hold me up, I stand.
In your all-surpassing power, not my strength.
When trouble overcomes me, I turn my eyes to You.
For though I may crumble, You endure.
I do not lose heart,
I do not lose faith.
Your promise is my hope, day by day.
I fix my gaze on You, I am renewed.
~"Renewed", 2001

I can sing when I lose my step

And fall down again

I can sing 'cause You pick me up

Sing 'cause You're there

I can sing 'cause You hear me, Lord

When I call to You in prayer

I can sing with my last breath

Sing for I know

That I'll sing with the angels

And the saints around the throne

~ How Can I Keep from Singing,

sung with beauty by the random self-deprecating guy, below,

and words by Chris Tomlin (2006) and Robert Lowry (1860)

At the end of the day

It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees.

My soul faints with longing for your salvation,

but I have put my hope in your word.

(Psalm 119:71 & 81)

Let me first say that, because of the many who are serving our family out of love during this time, I have the energy and emotional fortitude to write tonight. Thanks, Pam, for sitting with Caleb so I could shower and see my girls. Thank you, Mom and Dad Thul, for canceling all your other plans and staying with the healthy kids at home. Thank you, Kanzes, Bergs, and Greenes, for the Thomas videos, snacks, and toys. Without all of that...I wouldn't have had energy to do anything but flop into bed today! I was a little like a limp dishrag after 24 hours without food, few hours of interrupted sleep last night and no shower for days. I feel very refreshed this evening.

Caleb is doing about the same. All of his lab tests are slightly improved at the end of the day, probably because he is rehydrated again. He is still pretty lethargic and sleepy. He also hasn't had any diarrhea since 2 p.m., which is amazing! The doctor thinks that giving his stomach a rest by hydrating him using IV fluids is doing the trick to slow down the diarrhea. Unfortunately, if his case is like Aaron's, when liquids are re-introduced, he will still have trouble. Aaron tried some clear broth this afternoon and is in horrible pain this evening because of it. Another day in the hospital for him tomorrow. He was so weak today, his shower was too much for him. Caleb is feeling about the same - he won't even sit up in his wagon for rides in the hall anymore, preferring to lay flat and watch the ceiling go by.

I am constantly in prayer, for my friend, recently widowed, for my grandmother, recently widowed, for my family, wasting away without food or drink. I am clinging tooth and nail to the promises of God - praying it is those good promises that come true for our family. Psalm 1 - the man planted like a tree by living water; Jeremiah - God's good plans for us; Job - the double blessing poured out after the test of suffering was weathered. I am waiting desperately for the double portion. I am trying to be spongy and soak up all the life-altering lessons God is proffering through this season of sorrow. I am begging to know just a taste of Christ's willing obedience, not my will, but Thine be done, Father!

Humbled, tested, blessed

Life is hard and life is good. "That he might humble you and test you, to do you good in the end" (Deuteronomy 8:16). ~ John Piper's tweet today at 1:30 p.m.

That morning, we watched two friends hands run the length of a tiny casket, draped in a blue knit baby blanket, that final touch symbolic of the life and death the casket held: short and sweet. It's the second time we've watched them walk this road of sorrow, the second baby they lost the same day they met him. Two sons - Josh and Jake - arrows now around God's table in heaven instead of around theirs here on earth.

We passed through their darkness on the way to our own. A side trip on the way to Mayo to find out what was wrong with Amelia. The pale turquoise of the spring sunlit sky belied the shadow of the valley we felt deep inside. Yet walking a road of suffering nearly unbroken for two years has taught us that you still feel the sun on your shoulders when your heart is breaking. It feels paler, somehow, less vibrant. But you still see the beauty in the day. Sometimes I can feel the wrinkles forming deeper around my eyes, as if time has switched to fast forward and wisdom and age are overtaking me by leaps and bounds.

We froze the frames of the day for a few hours at a favorite park, Minnehaha Falls. I could almost feel the lift of the swing chains as I looked up at the children from the ground. Remember when you were light enough that the chains curved as your weight pulled the swing up just to the point of the pendulum where you became weightless? I remember that - the curving of the swing chains, and the sudden snap of them as my weight pulled straight down to earth inevitably. It is a picture of the state of the soul of suffering: brief moments when you are weightless and the grin goes from one ear to the other; and the sudden snap and flying heaviness as the weight of trouble and despair pulls you straight back down into the dark curve of the arc.

We all gripped tight to the chains that carried our hearts to joyous freedom that day, flitting back and forth from sorrow and darkness to light. We watched Amelia closely and I thought deep about how many of these moments have been lost to cancer, encephalitis, fear and forboding. Much of that fear stems from the fact that I am not yet ready. (Does anyone ever feel ready?) I feel like I have my claws into the lessons of life God has placed before me, but the book is still in the shadows and I haven't read it yet. There is a hint of desperation to the grip I have on these truths He places before me. Suffering, especially, I have not understood yet. I see hints of the why every so often. But the gestalt of the picture still escapes me.

As Philippians 2 says so eloquently in the King James,

Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure. Do all things without murmurings and disputings: That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world;

It is the essence of the lessons I am in the midst of right now: I am Beloved. I must Obey. Work out salvation with fear and trembling. God works in you. For His purpose and pleasure. Don't murmur or dispute. Your goal is to be blameless, harmless, identifiable as a daughter of God, without rebuke, shining as a light. It is in these days of walking with God in faith when all that is in me screams for a better answer that I work out - understanding, becoming reverent, learning tenacious, trusting, defending faith - my salvation. I come to grips with what happened to me, the new creation I became, the day I believed. I decide, over and over and over again, to live this life to which I am called.

Even with cancer. Even with life-threatening infection that appears out of nowhere and threatens to swallow up the one thing I still call beloved and cannot loosen my grip on: my family. Even when it is epilepsy. Even when all of life changes in an instant. Even then...He is good. He is holy. He knows. He loves. He lavishes. He sustains. He is never gone. He never quits caring. He never quits drawing me closer. On this the solid Rock I stand...all other ground is sinking sand.

A corner is where two walls meet

"Don't eat soap."

"No washing rocks in the bathroom sink because it wastes soap and makes a mess."

"Smearing your dirty hands on the wall is not a net gain in cleanliness."

"Paint does not make good lipstick."

"Papa's CD is not a mirror."

"You may not wash anything in the toilet."

"Hiding something doesn't make it go away."

"No, you cannot taste the kitten's milk."

"Sitting on someone does not make them any less angry."

"Toads can't swim. That's why they die when you put them in the pool. Now pick them out, please."

"You are wet because water goes down. It's called gravity. Everything goes down."

These are just a few of the lessons I've had to teach my children this week. Prior to having children, I assumed that, like any good machine, they would come pre-programmed with at least some basic information. Like what to eat and what not to eat; what is clean and what is dirty; perhaps a basic vocabulary of English. It sounds silly when I type it out, even to me. But that's really what I thought! Come to find out, children have to be taught everything. And the parents reading this know that I really mean that - completely, totally mean that.

I wonder sometimes if God throws His hands up in exasperation at my stupidity. After all, I've been through this very same thing before. As I say to my children, "Why can't you remember??" God would certainly be excused if He were sitting up in heaven right now, saying to us all, "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times!" Trust me, He says; find peace in me. Don't buck this burden alone! I am here to help! Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28). Part of the difficulty of this recurrent trial, this heart condition, is that I feel like I am still missing part of the lesson. I don't think I've absorbed it in it's entirety. That frustrates me. My humanity frustrates me. I see...perceive...what I should be, yet my reflection in the mirror every morning is something quite different. I am still a work in progress. And let me tell you, this masterpiece God is painting is in a very awkward stage at the moment! It is at that stage where the observer tilts their head, scratches their scalp, completely baffled as to what the final product will look like.

I feel very like my toddler, Amelia. Yesterday, I sent her to sit in a corner when she disobeyed, our family version of "time out". She stood, in a corner, staring directly at it. I said, in a measured tone, "A corner is where two walls meet. Find a corner, and sit down." (If I've told her once, I've told her a thousand times!) Here I am, staring at my own corner with no sense of recognition. This familiar trial I am facing seems like an alien experience. Something entirely new. Hopefully God has yet to tire of describing it for me! Because I still haven't got it.

Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord. See to it...that no one is unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal. For you know that afterward, when he desired to inherit the blessing, he was rejected, for he found no chance to repent, though he sought it with tears. (Hebrews 12:12-17)

For a good laugh on the topic of hilarious things we moms utter, listen to this song.