Finding the "beloved" in the broken

First bare feet of spring on the wood shavings and gravel.

Cuts and bruises wait to be washed tomorrow.

Two pots of maple syrup kiss in the black and white eye of the camera.

The world goes black and white and I only see black,

the smudge of smoke, the blackened pots, the grill sagging

with years of tending syrup chalky with dust and dirt.

The wind whips and whirls and the steam flows fast out of my pots.

The wind draws the last lonely aching breath from my lips,

and I put down work and sit - slump - in a chair by the fire.

The pain of the past few weeks comes to the surface 

like dross in my syrup pan.

I am drowning in dross.

Yet below, the clear brown liquid, the sweetness of surrendering days

to vigilance and artistry with the works 

of Creator God as instruments in hand.

The dross drifts away and I dip for a sip of reminder that

this too shall pass.

The tears, the sorrows, the terrors of the night,

the torment of the day, the faces floating like a mirage of bitterness

where before were faces of mirth, beauty, simplicity, joy.

Just dross.

Dross I nearly drowned in.

Dross that is forever defeated at the Cross.

And afterward, in the sour way a meal tastes after you've vomited,

joy returns, and laughter buzzes through my lips again.

For He saved me, from this too, a sea of depression

so wide no boat could traverse.

Only on eagle's wings could I mount high above

and see it little, like He sees it,

a blurry mass of blue on a spinning earth filled with green.

I can't lie.

The past few weeks have been some of the worst of my life.

I have to sit down and pray about how to write it out,

what details are important, what sections to keep filed

forever lonely in my own memory bank.

Bear with me

and please keep praying as I continue this slow emergence

~ butterfly from chrysalis ~

from the valley of the shadow of death.

Too long I have lived

In the shadows of shame

Believing that there

Was no way I could change

I am not who I thought I was

And who I thought I had to be

I had to give them both up

Cause neither were willing

To ever believe

But the one who is making everything new

Doesn't see me the way that I do

He doesn't see me the way that I do

Forgiven beloved

Hidden in Christ

Made in the image of the Giver of Life

Righteous and holy

Reborn and remade

Accepted and worthy this is our new name

This is who we are now...

~ I Am New, Jason Gray~

The replacements

The cheerful girl with the moody brunette hair was almost five. Waiting with her mother at the checkout stand, she saw them: a circle of glistening white pearls in a pink foil box. "Oh please, Mommy, can I have them? Please, Mommy, please?"

Quickly the mother checked the back of the little foil box and then looked back into the pleading blue eyes of her little girl's upturned face. "A dollar ninety-five. That's almost $2.00. If you really want them, I'll think of some extra chores for you and in no time you can save enough money to buy them for yourself. Your birthday's only a week away and you might get another crisp dollar bill from Grandma."

As soon as Jenny got home, she emptied her penny bank and counted out 17 pennies. After dinner, she did more than her share of chores and she went to the neighbor and asked Mrs. McJames if she could pick dandelions for ten cents. On her birthday, Grandma did give her another new dollar bill and at last she had enough money to buy the necklace.

Jenny loved her pearls. They made her feel dressed up and grown up. She wore them everywhere-Sunday school, kindergarten, even to bed. The only time she took them off was when she went swimming or had a bubble bath. Mother said if they got wet, they might turn her neck green.

Jenny had a very loving daddy and every night when she was ready for bed, he would stop whatever he was doing and come upstairs to read her a story.

One night when he finished the story, he asked Jenny, "Do you love me?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. You know that I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh, Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have Princess - the white horse from my collection. The one with the pink tail. Remember, Daddy? The one you gave me. She's my favorite."

"That's okay, Honey. Daddy loves you. Good night." And he brushed her cheek with a kiss.

About a week later, after the story time, Jenny's Daddy asked again, "Do you love me?"

"Daddy, you know I love you."

"Then give me your pearls."

"Oh Daddy, not my pearls. But you can have my baby doll. The brand new one I got for my birthday. She is so beautiful and you can have the yellow blanket that matches her sleeper."

"That's okay. Sleep well. God bless you, little one. Daddy loves you." And as always, he brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss.

A few nights later when her daddy came in, Jenny was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed Indian-style. As he came close, he noticed her chin was trembling and one silent tear rolled down her cheek.
"What is it, Jenny? What's the matter?"
Jenny didn't say anything but lifted her little hand up to her daddy. And when she opened it, there was her little pearl necklace. With a little quiver, she finally said, "Here, Daddy. It's for you."

With tears gathering in his own eyes, Jenny's kind daddy reached out with one hand to take the dime-store necklace, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet case with a strand of genuine pearls and gave them to Jenny. He had them all the time. He was just waiting for her to give up the dime-store stuff so he could give her genuine treasure.

Jenny's father is like our heavenly Father. He also is waiting for us to give up our dime store stuff and seek Him first... so He can fling open the windows of Heaven and pour us out such a blessing that we will not have room enough to hold it.

What are you hanging on to?
~ Author Unknown

Do you have a hard time believing God will exchange those fake treasures you hold close to your heart (your secrets, your joys, your hidden sorrows) for the real thing?

Laying it down

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)

So here I am, embarking on a weekend to tend to those friends needing healing and help, embarking on a weekend full of work to prepare for dissertation proposal defense, and I am thinking about these big things. The obvious, yes - laying down the dissertation proposal for the sake of these friends who need us today. The less obvious - going silent on Twitter and Facebook so I am not the one throwing logs on the fire of conflict.

Pets. Children. They hustle around your legs just for the contact. They grip your hand just for surety. They pull at your arms to dissuade you from the task at hand. And for what purpose? Love. And what greater love can one have, but to lay down one's life for friends? Not like I'm on a suicide mission for friends. But I am on a sacrificial mission for friends. If I need to stop tweeting, I will. If Facebook grows quiet of me, so be it. If I squeeze proposal defense between the margins of caring for friends who need us deeply, sign me up, Jesus. But I will not let go healing. I have shaken off the dust, and I am moving into a healthier place. There is no turning back, no "reconciliation" that brings me back to a place of shame and dispute. God is drawing me out of there and sweetly, sweetly, into new surrender and new hope.

Hope you have a great weekend filled with love, sacrifice, and hope as well, my friends!

In the drifts of the soul

And maybe the answer is that, whether we realize it or not, every moment is our testimony before a world who has Christ on trial. (Ann Voskamp of Holy Experience)

I don't have energy for every moment being a testimony. I am picking a dried-up soul up off the floor today, dragging it around to do dishes, sort winter and summer clothes, tidy up the house. Trying to find something edible for dinner. Why, why, why, Father? The world is bursting with the green that comes after the storm. And my heart is still cold, in the drifts, the pale yellow of last summer's dried husks like the memory of a different life that swells within.

Read Psalm 22 today and felt a bit better. I wonder if it is coincidence that Psalm 22 is followed by Psalm 23? According to the Jewish oral/textual tradition, both the order and text of the Ketuvim (3rd and final section of the Hebrew Bible, or Tanakh) are divinely inspired. In the text version of the Sifrei Emet (poetic books), the words are presented in a two column format that highlights the corresponding "stitches" between the two columns of words, making the books even more poetic. After pondering this, I went back and read Psalm 23 with Psalm 22. And I was comforted.

Reflection from the trenches

Each time the mystery of suffering touches us personally and all the cosmic questions arise afresh in our minds we face the choice between faith (which accepts) and unbelief (which refuses to accept). There is only one faculty by which we may lay hold of this mystery. It is the faculty of faith, and "faith is the fulcrum of moral and spiritual balance". It helps me, at such a time of bewilderment and sorrow, to go to some of the simplest words, such as I am the good shepherd. My Lord chose that description of Himself, and He does not change. He was and is and always will be my shepherd. The word fits my need, for I am a sheep, helpless and bleating. He cannot foget one for whom He lays down His life. I bank everything on that.

~ Elisabeth Elliot, A Path Through Suffering: Discovering the Relationship between God's Mercy and Our Pain

Choices of the magnitude of those facing Aaron and I today are unfathomable. It is as if I have suddenly become blind, and must navigate using unfamiliar senses bolstered by a hefty dose of trust in those around me who offer help. We know that Amelia is not getting better; we know that we don't have a good explanation for her illness; we know that the pressure surrounding her brain is climbing. So we step forward, and accept terrible, wonderful medical intervention. I am uncomfortably familiar with the altar that is the operating table. I have walked up to it myself praying for salvation in the temporal sense: excise my cancer, carefully please, that, by God's grace and your skill, I might live. Today I walk up to that table with precious cargo laid gingerly there. I dwarfed the thin table on which I laid; the tiny form I lay on the table is dwarfed by it. I try to subdue my eyes, which would plead with these doctors and nurses for extra care, for divine intervention that would forestall their mistakes and enlighten their misunderstandings. Try to dose them with just enough of my faith that they see my belief and are strengthened by it. Internally, staying in constant communion and pleading: spare her, heal her, keep her, Father.

I am encouraged that Jesus trod this path before me. I look down and see His footsteps, and the pools of His tears. During the days of Jesus' life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. (Hebrews 5:7) And, though I tremble, I am borne up as I remember to such comes the Master's voice, 'Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer.' (Revelation 2:10)

Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you wholly...

He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.

~ I Thessalonians 5:23-24 ~

Sustained

Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud:

Yes, Lord, my soul cries out to you. My heart is screaming

Grant me courage to make words of faith audible.

He shall hear my voice.

Silent or not, He bends from the Throne to listen.

He hath delivered my soul in peace...

The tumult surrounds again, and again I feel

the peace that passeth understanding!

Cast thy burden upon the Lord -

throw, fling, heave all this heaviness onto His wide shoulders.

He shall sustain me.

Hunger, exhaustion, anxiety, desperation.

He fills me, rests my soul, soothes, and quiets.

He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.

I feel the pull of tides and waves and currents all around.

But on the Solid Rock I stand.

Unshakable.

Unmovable.

I may be undone; I may be unkempt.

But He is unbelievable, and so I am not just a survivor,

I am sustained.

Psalm 55 rings true for me today.

And God's peace shall be Genevieve's, that tranquil state of her soul, assured of its salvation through Christ. Genevieve, fearing nothing from God and content with her earthly lot of whatever sort that is, finds that peace which transcends all understanding garrisons and mounts guard over her heart and mind in Christ Jesus.

~ Philippians 4:7 Amplified ~

A word for 2010

abide.
To stay; to continue in a place; to have one's abode; to dwell; to sojourn;
To remain stable or fixed in some state or condition;
To endure; to sustain; to submit to.
To bear patiently; to tolerate; to put up with.
To stand the consequences of; to answer for; to suffer for.


This year I will stay with God, continue in this place, take up my dwelling as a sojourner in a land of suffering; fix myself in a state of submission and endurance; bear cancer patiently, learn to tolerate it, stand the consequences of.
I will suffer for Christ.
Cancer is the mirror in which I see glimpses of bittersweet glory on earth. The reflection of Christ's love in a million small ways. The image of submission in my life. Cancer turns my imagination toward heaven, that blessed and everlasting healing of my mind, body, and soul. The pool of deep thoughts. This year, I will learn to abide with cancer - with God - in a new way.

I challenge you: pick a word for 2010?

idea culled from Ali Edward's resolution

Pain doesn't lie

Chalk the typos up to an oxygen probe on my pointer and a lot of Dilaudid along with a cocktail of anesthetic, anti-nausea, and narcotic medications. Yesterday my pain - the pain that was supposedly resolving - flared up in a big way. I went from pretty active, living with mild chronic pain, to on my knees in the kitchen, vomiting, hyperventilating and feeling like perhaps I was dying. We spent yesterday in our vacation home (a.k.a. The ER), and underwent some very gruesome and painful tests. My small group will no doubt recall my memorable description of certain types of ultrasound that shall remain unnamed here. In addition to that, I had a CT scan with triple contrast. The contrast is given I.V. and you are also asked to drink 1 liter of it. And then there is one more hole that must receive contrast. If you wish to know the gory details, visit this link. *I do want to note that the contrast given via the 3rd orifice is 1,000 cc's - think one Nalgene bottle. Yeah. NOT pretty.* Suffice it to say it is very painful, especially with so much pain in your abdomen already. I have added that procedure to a long list I falsely, cheerily reassured patients about: I won't be quite so cheerful next time I describe this "simple" procedure to another patient!

All the tests showed very little: some thickening on one side of my uterus, a dark area where one of the tubes was removed, and a small amount of blood in my left lower abdominal cavity. Nothing that could explain the pain I was having, nor indicate a clear treatment plan. I was put on a narcotic drip, medicated for nausea, and admitted overnight for pain control with no real plan of action. This morning, the doctors all concurred that surgery was necessary, even though no clear-cut cause could be identified with less invasive testing. I was getting septic again - meaning whatever was causing the problem was now invading my blood stream - and just generally felt miserable. I still had that familiar moment of panic when they laid me out on the "cross" that is an operating table. I always want to get up, start pulling wires off, and say I've changed my mind. Today a simple verse sustained me: What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee. (Psalm 56:3) That, and my anthem of late, Never Let Go:

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
Your perfect love is casting out fear.
Even when I'm caught in the middle of the storms of this life,
I won't turn back, I know you are near.

I will fear no evil,
For my God is with me,
And if my God is with me,
Whom then shall I fear? Whom then shall I fear?

Oh, no, you never let go,
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh, no you never let go,
In every high and every low
Oh, no, you never let go,
Lord, you never let go of me.

I can see the light that is coming for the heart that holds on,
I can see an end to these troubles, but until that day comes,
Still I will praise you, Still I will praise you, Lord.

I sang the song aloud to my operating room staff after praying aloud for their skill and wisdom. I am always uncomfortable doing that - but it eases my fears and allows me to connect in a personal way while in a very impersonal environment. There are invariably tears on my part and theirs. I won't just be a chunk of nameless flesh on the operating table, draped into oblivion. I won't pretend that "routine" means "easy". Surgery is a very big deal to me.

So, what did they find that wasn't showing up well on the many ultrasounds and CT scans that were ordered? Some necrotic (dead and infected) tissue on the side of my uterus and throughout the area where my left Fallopian tube was removed. They cleaned out the black stuff, washed out my abdomen with antibiotics, and started me on a very specific, strong antibiotic. I am expected to be in the hospital at least through tomorrow noon-ish. Possibly longer as my pain may not be well controlled for a few days yet.

I woke up after hours and hours of blessed, restful sleep. The anesthesiologist put a wonderful little Scopolamine patch behind my ear, which seemed to completely prevent my normal vomiting post-surgery. My pain persists, although the highs aren't quite as excruciating and the lows even lower than before. I am praying for an easier recovery than last. I did have another Foley catheter for most of the day today, which puts me at risk for another kidney infection. Please keep my recovery in prayer. I am also still praying that this will be the 'magic bullet' that ends this long 3 month battle with my health. I start school again tomorrow, once again logging in to class from the hospital. Praying it is the last time I do that.

Spinning in the circle

I'm still searching for answers. What purpose do suffering and death serve? It is the deep moan of a cello reverberating through my heart, sighing out a rumbling question as this new experience, this living with cancer business, draws it's bow across the strings of my soul. I see the circle of life all around me, in the Wisconsin spring. Out of last summer's leaves and grasses, now dead and rotten, burst a new vista of johnny jump-ups and lily shoots and iris stalks. The manure from the winter milkings spread on the field across the road is still rich with life, and the crows pick happily in the fecund new soil from dawn till dusk. Where slippery black mold formed on the chilled forest floor in November now lies light, dusty soil, formed out of the death of last autumn's flaming maple glory. From death comes life, and from life comes death. It circles and hums all around me and from it resounds those aching questions: why cancer at 29? Why would any baby, anywhere, have Down syndrome? Why do children die in Eastern European orphan institutions while they grow fat on fast food and video games here? Why all this unevenness, and unfairness, and unhappiness?

I found an answer, for the moment, half way through Romans, one of my pet books of the Bible. Romans and Hebrews read like a great debate: all the big questions get asked, and there is a logical response in almost lawyer-like exposition.

For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. (Romans 8:20-21)

...subjected to futility...
Useless. Frivolous. Helpless. That's what we see all around us...things that don't work right; things that are broken; things that are malfunctioning. Things that seem to be completely without purpose or plan.

...not willingly...
This assures me that God does not hand down suffering and brokenness like a cruel father bent on teaching His children painful, necessary lessons.

...but because of Him who subjected it, in hope...
There is a reason behind all of this. Cancer isn't a cruel punishment and it's not a turn of bad luck that struck randomly, either. It was designed with hope by a tender, merciful God who bends to this earth and calls softly to each of our hearts.

...will be set free from its bondage to corruption...
The purpose of it all is so stunningly clear. We suffer to be set free. Just as Jesus suffered to set us free. Suffering is what brings me to a place of need. Suffering is what teaches my heart humility and opens my eyes to the real purpose behind it all. Only in infinite grace and wisdom would the Creator set this world spinning in such a way that even the bad things, evil things, despicable things, and painful things can be turned into beauty and treasure and glory. When I take the smudged, smoking embers of the physical beauty of the body He gave me and turn the very fire of my pain into glory for His name, what is ugly becomes beautiful. Dust becomes diamonds, agony becomes emeralds, rags become rubies. For I have obtained the freedom of the glory of the children of God!

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:22-28)

My hands hold safely to my dreams
Clutching tightly not one has fallen.
So many years I’ve shaped each one
Reflecting my heart, showing who I am.
Now you’re asking me to show
What I’m holding Oh so tightly.
Can’t open my hand; can’t let go
Does it matter?
Should I show you?
Can’t you let me go?

Surrender, surrender
You whisper gently
You say I will be free
I know but can’t you see
My dreams are me, My dreams are me

Say you have a plan for me
And that you want the best for my life.
Told me the world has yet to see
What you can do with one
That’s committed to your call.
I know of course what I should do
That I can’t hold these dreams forever.
But if I give them now to you
Will you take them
Away forever?
Or can I dream again?

~Surrender, Barlowgirl

Keeping my hand to the plow

...visible things are signs of an invisible reality; that common duties may be "an immeasurable ministry of love." The spiritual training of souls must be inseparable from practical disciplines, as Jesus so plainly taught; "The man who can be trusted in little things can be trusted in great; the man who is dishonest in little things will be dishonest in great. If then you cannot be trusted with money, that tainted thing, who will trust you with genuine riches! And if you cannot be trusted with what is not yours, who will give you what is your very own?" (Luke 16:10-12, JB). (The footnote to "your very own" says, "Jesus is speaking of the most intimate Possessions a man can have; these are spiritual.")

~ Elisabeth Elliot, Keep a Quiet Heart

I have been asked many times whether I will be taking a leave of absence from school, seeking help with my housework or childcare, giving up this commitment or that one. I haven't yet. It is a little more difficult than it used to be to fit everything in, but I feel as though the duties I perform as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, part of the body of Christ at my church...it is these things that define me and bring my life purpose. Keeping hands and feet busy is a sure way to avoid pity-parties, my mother always used to say. She was right! When I am focused outward - on my children, husband, family or friends - it is impossible to be too introspective, brooding, anxious, wracked by sorrow. There is no room in a busy mother's day for more than a few tears, a few moments of aching in the heart. I must go on, and it is so wonderfully freeing to do so.

This from the "Mother's Topical Bible" on the topic When You Feel Overwhelmed by Your Responsibilities...reminds me that no mere physical ailment or emotional sorrow can possibly overwhelm me - for I have all the tools and strength of my Savior at my disposal, if I will only ask! That is the "reason for my hope" (I Peter 3:15) in these difficult days of lacking something my physical body needs to live and work. I am trusting that God is sufficient in this, as in every human struggle I will ever face.

"For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war after the flesh: for the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds; casting down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ." ~ II Corinthians 10:3-5