Another Year

Unsure of my words. For a person who has spent the majority of her life being an avid talker and one who had to learn to listen (and often still offends in this way), being unsure of my words is a fairly new sensation. It started happening about 4 years ago and has only increased in frequency. Thelo just celebrated his fourth trip around the sun at the end of June. I spend his birthdays staring at him with immense and unspeakable gratitude to the One who made him. Mingled with this gratitude, inseparable; forever fused is, sorrow. Sorrow for what has already happened and sinful sorrow about what tomorrow will hold. I know that each day has its own trouble and I need not ponder tomorrow with contempt, but “future” doesn’t have the same allure it once had for me. As Thelo has gotten older, people have correctly reminded me that his life and struggles aren’t all about me. It’s about him. It’s his life, his sorrow, his struggle, his joys, his triumphs, and his faith.

This self-centered gratitude and sorrow combination are often what leaves me with my mouth shut. My mom always taught me, “If you can’t say something nice, then shut up.” (This phrase was more nicely stated when I was young, but it evolved and became more, um, “direct” as we grew up.) I often find myself with nothing nice to say, nothing eloquent to write, so in the blogging sphere, I’ve been silent for over a year.

My handsome little man.

A couple months ago, Thelo gave himself to Jesus. It was a moment in time, leaving Food Lion with all four kids in tow, that he looked up from his perch in the grocery cart, and asked me a question I can’t recall. Though, my response defaulted to the same statement and question I had asked him occasionally for the last 6 months. “Well, first you have to admit that you’ve done something wrong in order to ask God for forgiveness. Have you ever done anything wrong?” Until that moment, he had always given me a cheeky sideways grin and reply, “Nope,” with nothing but assurance. This particular moment, he looked off and calmly said, “Yes, I’ve done wrong.” Surprised, I think I chuckled. “Oh yeah?” I said, smiling. “Well, then you would have to ask God to forgive you… IF you think Jesus dying and taking your place was enough.” It’s not that I was trying to shut him down or that I want to make a child believe that salvation is too complicated for them, but they need to understand that it is an important decision they are making for themselves. And since I can’t make the decision for them, I don’t want to coax it out or placate them with feelings of misdirected accomplishment. Salvation isn’t some prize to be won so that they can have my approval. “I did,” came his simple reply. “You did? You asked God to forgive you?” “Yep,” he said confidently. “Did He forgive you?” I challenged. “Yep, He forgave me,” he emphasized. “Well, then you’re His and His Spirit lives inside you!” The conversation was finished before we had made it to the car. As I drove home, I asked the Lord to make it true. That his faith would only grow, that the Lord would take him through his life, comforting and providing for him in ways that I won’t be able to.

As Thelo’s physical heart function continued to improve, the urgency of his salvation highlighted my prayers. I know it might sound crazy to ask God to save my three year old, but God did. As his heart has continued to heal since coming back to the US from South Africa in 2015, his third open-heart surgery suddenly popped into view on the horizon. Warily looking forward to Thelo’s pre-surgical heart cath and MRI at the end of this past April, I had a tumultuous journey with the Lord. One night, blind rage folded in over me like a wave for what felt like hours of struggling with the Lord. When I came up for air, had only been 15 minutes. My hope was restored and my feet found solid ground as I begged the Lord for the salvation of staff at Duke and salvation for my son as he was preparing to embark on his own painful and complicated journey as a much more aware child with congenital heart disease. I knew Thelo was growing up and will soon begin to own his heart disease, I asked that the Lord go with him.

In the process of dealing with my own grief, I picked up two books by C. S. Lewis. One called The Problem of Pain and the other, A Grief Observed. They are both small writings, but I have taken great lengths of time to wade through the content, making it only three quarters of the way through the one about the grief he experienced during and after the loss of his wife to cancer. What I have found so refreshing about this book is that it was originally published under a pseudonym because it was simply the unrefined musings and groanings he had scribbled in a personal journal. Because of its origins, it is profoundly honest and often contradictory as a person in grief often is when going through suffering. Lewis, a man of faith, makes no great leap as he connects the relationship between physical and spiritual. This truth pushed him again to the solid ground of God’s goodness and faithfulness amid the reality of God’s loving infliction of severe spiritual and physical suffering (even when we can’t divine its purpose). When talking about the character of a God who inflicts such suffering, he explains it like this,

“The terrible thing is that a perfectly good God is in this matter hardly less formidable than a Cosmic Sadist. The more we believe that God hurts only to heal, the less we can believe that there is any use in begging for tenderness. A cruel man might be bribed – might grow tired of his vile sport – might have a temporary fit of mercy, as alcoholics have fits of sobriety. But suppose that what you are up against is a surgeon whose intentions are wholly good. The kinder and more conscientious he is, the more inexorably he will go on cutting. If he yielded to your entreaties, if he stopped before the operation was complete, all the pain up to that point would have been useless. But is it credible that such extremities of torture should be necessary for us? Well, take your choice. The tortures occur. If they are unnecessary, then there is no God or a bad one. If there is a good God, then these tortures are necessary. For no even moderately good Being could possibly inflict or permit them if they weren’t. Either way, we’re in for it. What do people mean when they say, ‘I am not afraid of God because I know He is good?’ Have they never even been to a dentist?”

Lewis goes on to have inexplicable return of joy the following morning. His pain would continue as he grieved. He would not forget the sorrow of watching his wife waste away in pain and be overtaken by death, experiencing separately her own suffering and grief, but his perspective had shifted.

What I continue to be amazed and thankful for is that God’s spiritual, surgical intervention into my heart is not unique to me. He intervenes on behalf of all those who come to know Him as their Lord and Savior. This also means that His incomparable comfort comes to those who wait on Him as well. Thelo may not ask his cardiologist why he was made this way. He may not scream at his surgeon, “Why are you hurting me?!” Why would he ask them? His cardiologist didn’t fashion his heart; he only studies and monitors its delicate condition. His surgeon wouldn’t intend to torture him, but only attempt to better his life. Instead, Thelo will ask these questions to the One who can answer: God. Amazingly, the God that hears and answers is the same One who has rescued Thelo’s soul and sealed him for all eternity. No matter what.

 

Please keep our family in mind as we approach this surgery on August 24th*, 2017. Keep Thelo in mind as he learns what it means to trust in the Lord. His faith is so new, but that doesn’t mean it must be weak. Pray for those who will be attending to his and our family’s needs. Pray for opportunities people will have to respond to the Good News of Jesus Christ.

*This date was changed from July 27th to August 9th, and then to August 24th.  The first change was made in order to accommodate the urgent surgical needs of other patients.  This second change is due to a respiratory illness (a.k.a. cold) Thelo picked up last week at VBS.  The pushing back of his surgical date will hopefully allow for complete resolution of his virus and put him in the best condition for surgery.  Thanks for continuing to pray.

Choose Love

I have four children. Lots of people I know have children. Some of them have a lot of children. If you ever get into a deep conversation about the love of a parent, you may find something surprising. Not everyone falls in love with their children at the first knowledge or sight of them. Sometimes love has to grow. My love grows for my children. Certainly I’m not talking about “loving” them by the definition of how I care for them and protect them. That type of love comes with the responsibility to care, which is and should be instinctual. What I’m talking about is the choice a parent makes to love. It’s not based on tangible factors, because, let’s face it, babies don’t do anything for their parents. It’s a one-way, parent-directed relationship for a long time. The first thing our kids give us is their incessant need. Their need of us is all they can give us when they are little. These needs are and should be satisfied by our parental responsibility to provide care. Choosing to love a child is something entirely different. When choosing to love, love can grow.

Thelo spent the first two months of his life in the hospital. Nights, days, and weeks all became blurred and I still have no concept of time when thinking back to the first year of Thelo’s life. Somewhere in-between his first (nine days) and second surgery (four months), I remember a critical conversation with God.

Thelo was laying in his clear acrylic bassinet, awake and content. His monitors were awake and fairly content, as well. I sat on the bed and looked out the window. Our TV, as usual, was off. It was a rare quiet moment that hospital stays rarely afford. I had been learning a lot about Thelo’s health. I had become proficient at caring for him, or at least able to note when he needed help I couldn’t give. If that was the case, I was quick to ask for help from the staff, making sure to ask ample questions so that I could learn more about his condition and circumstance. By all means and purposes, I surpassed the requirements of being responsible for him. I cared for him and loved him. But, as I sat down on the bed, a familiar feeling washed over me. I felt like I was supposed to be doing something significant, like I was forgetting some important task. I glanced anxiously around the room, checked Thelo’s parameters, and uncomfortably settled back down on the corner of the bed. “Shouldn’t you be holding your baby?” begged a question in my mind. “No,” I thought, “he’s happy and there is no reason to mess with him.” “Why don’t you want to hold your baby?” came a slightly different question. Somewhat defensively, I replied, “It’s not that I don’t want to hold him.” “Then why aren’t you?” came the retort. I was stumped. I couldn’t give a good reason not to hold him, but I felt no motivation to actually go and lift him from his bassinette during an uncommon comfortable and awake moment. I continued to sit there, bewildered by my indifference.

Did I want to know why I felt the way I did? I don’t know if that came as a question to prompt my question, or if I simply became curious enough to actually ask, but I asked Him nonetheless, “Alright, God, why don’t I want to hold my baby?” I don’t remember if I asked the question out-loud or in my head, but my words soaked down deep inside me, like the warmth of liquor moving down through my throat and rolling in my stomach. My answer surprised me not because it wasn’t true, but because of how incredibly honest it was. I told God, “I’m not holding my baby because he might not live through his next surgery.” I shrugged and slumped my shoulders, resigning myself to this true and honest confession not expecting that God could do anything about my intentions or motivations, because neither of those things could or would save my child’s life. The room was quiet. “Shouldn’t you love your baby?” came a soft and difficult question. “Why should I? If he’s not going to live (which I have no control over), isn’t it better if I love him less so that it doesn’t destroy me if he does die?” Then, amazingly, came these severing and distinct questions, “Which would you regret more: Losing him, never having loved him, forfeiting his value for self preservation? Or: Loving him completely, valuing him enough to lose some of yourself if you do lose him?” I realized that my indifference was selfishness. I was choosing me over him. I was sinning against God and failing my child. God had directed a spotlight into my heart and showed me that my attempts to be responsible, attentive, and caring meant nothing if I didn’t love with the love that God was capable of providing in me and through me.

In light of the discerning questions that He had asked me, aware of the bad choice I was making, I still sat, unmoving, unable, on that hospital bed. “I can’t, God. I can’t love him, knowing he might die. But, I know You can. Will you help me love him?” I leaned forward and put weight on my feet. I walked to Thelo’s bedside, I intentionally lifted him from his place, redirected his leads, and brought him to my side of the room we shared. I prayed for him. The Lord loved through me. At that point, by the grace of God, I chose to love my son. That love has only grown. It has thrived to the point where, each moment I look, hold, listen, or scold, I’m begging God for the kind of love that I am naturally incapable of. The kind of love that has no regrets. The kind of love that lays its own needs aside so that it can be complete in us both. Jesus has that kind of love for me. While I was broken, unlovely, nearly dead, and incomplete, He alone interceded for me. While I offered Him nothing but my neediness, He laid down His life, took my place, healed me, and brought me into eternal life. I only needed to put all my trust in Him. Thelo wasn’t old enough to understand his need for Jesus. I was responsible to love, as a representative of the love that God has for us both. God chose to love. Those who are IN Him, choose to love because they have the love of God in them, not of their own selves, but from God whose supply of love is unending.

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Rain

We could see the rain approaching. A few scattered drops had begun to fall, but the wall of water, appearing like fog beside the church just across our back yard, was slowly making its way to us. The sound of it, as it showered our roof, caused our kids to become silent. Clara quietly expressed concern about a baby birds’ nest. It was attached just outside our kitchen window, hidden in the remaining hood-vent from an old oven. The rain intensified and the sound grew louder. Isabel expressed the same sentiment. The kids were silent again. “Let’s pray for the birds,” Thelo simply said. As he clasped his hands and closed his eyes, we followed suit. He prayed for the “baby birds” and the “mamma bird.” He asked God to “keep dem safe.” He also prayed for me. He prayed for his toys and even asked the Lord if He remembered when we were with Daddy at the zoo. As he closed, he said, “in Jesus’ name.” Roman snickered a little bit, Isabel smiled, Thelo went back to eating his noodles, and I sat and stared out the window. Clara had already left the room.

How often do we “express concern” about things but never actually pray?

We don’t pray often as a family, but when we do, it’s not pretend. Thelo’s prayer wasn’t pretend either. Those birds are real and Thelo’s concern is real. God is real and the conversation Thelo had with Him was real. As you consider things you are concerned about and that consideration becomes worry, take it to the Lord in prayer.

Personally, I’ve been burdened for years (transition, sickness, loss, etc). Much of that burden has been made light in the simple act of taking it to the Lord in prayer. The past day, though, my burden has grown inexplicably heavy. I’ve taken it to the Lord, but He hasn’t seen fit to lighten it, yet. I feel sad, irritable, and like I want to dig a hole and hide in it. I don’t feel depressed like this very often, but when I do, I’m not much fun to be around. Would you join me in praying for our circumstances? (Yes, again.)

We are waiting for the right job for Jay. There have been several jobs that we thought would be a good fit for us, but apparently we weren’t a good fit for it. When this eventual, invisible job appears, we will finally have a clue where we will live. (We leave our current home in May.) Each job we consider, has a place to consider. Each place to consider, has a hospital to consider. Thankfully, the staff at Duke is incredible and willingly looks into each place we have presented as possibilities. All of our belongings are still in storage in Houston, TX where they were delivered upon our return from South Africa in August. Some things are in my parents’ attic in Siler City. Some things are at Smoot’s in Florida. The rest is here with us in Raleigh. Up until now, knowing that all of this is out of my control, has been fairly easy to set aside and leave to the Lord. The uncertainty of it all normally emphasizes how glad I am that He is in control. Right now, at this exact moment, I am completely overwhelmed. So overwhelmed there aren’t even tears. So overwhelmed I feel a little angry, a little unhinged.

If I were Gideon, my fleece would be out and I would also be glad to have an enemy camp to sneak into to hear about impending victory. If I were Joshua, I’d be glad to have specific directions on how to march around this wall, no matter how ridiculous and seemingly pointless the activity was. If I were Ruth, I’d be glad for Naomi’s crazy instructions and thankful for Boaz’s virtue and provision. I don’t have a fleece. There is no identifiable enemy encamped. There is no actual wall. No kinsman redeemer with provisions of a home. Instead, we simply have a “missionary call” and no mission. More like David, anointed as king, but sent out to shepherd sheep instead of lead his people. We aren’t kings, mind you, but we have the same God dwelling inside us and we have no idea how long we will have to wait. Although we were there for the sermon J.D. Greear gave on Saturday night regarding waiting as “par for the course,” it’s not like we identify ourselves as one of those “faithful Biblical characters,” so it’s a little harder when taking into consideration that there is a distinct possibility that we are just flat out wrong and have no idea what we are doing. We have those Bible characters’ complete stories in hand. And while I know God has our story in hand already (and always has) this faith-growing process is blindingly hard.

The rain has stopped now. I always imagine the plants after rain stretching out their leaves and branches, sighing with relief from the moisture. Right now, I don’t know if I’m parched or drowning, but I’m begging God for relief, thankful for kids, family, and friends who pray.

This is Mercy

Keep climbing, Thelo. Keep climbing.

As sure as the sun. There are few things in this life that are as sure as the rising and setting of the sun. Its dependability is in stark contrast to many things in our ever-shifting lives. It’s easy for me to compare my God to the reliability of the rising and setting of the sun. Even when all else around me is as unstable as quicksand, His presence, peace, and mercy in the midst of it are certain.

I have good news. I have a good truth. God’s mercy is not at an end.

About three months ago, I looked at Thelo’s echocardiogram and saw an unexpected image: a very symmetrical-looking heart. I immediately thought back to the image I saw in South Africa of the first time I had seen Thelo’s heart with a symmetrical shape when it was hardly moving and full of fluid. This time, I gazed at it with curiosity as it jumped and pulsed on the screen. When I mentioned it to Thelo’s cardiologist with a question in my tone, he simply stared at me with a look of concern. “It is [symmetrical]. And I’m not sure why. It’s a puzzle, but in a good way.” Six weeks later, he was more enthusiastic when he reported Thelo’s left ventricle had not only maintained its shape, but also its strength. Its function had surpassed the function of his right ventricle, which had always been the healthier of the two. The cardiologist tempered his report with a reminder that Thelo’s heart was still not functioning as well as a normal heart.

Thelo has a variant of HLHS, born with a portion of his left ventricle, in a disproportionate shape; long and narrow. Thelo’s left ventricle is not disproportionately long and narrow anymore. Compounding this miraculous change in shape, it has also changed in function. Prior to our departure from South Africa, through the addition of two new medications, Thelo’s poor heart function was stabilized. The medications can partially explain why his heart didn’t fail altogether, but can’t explain his ventricle’s change in shape or overall improvement.**

At our recent clinic visit to Duke last week, Thelo saw his transplant team. Everyone was all smiles and very excited about Thelo’s increase in function and overall improvement. By overall improvement I mean this:

Thelo has gained a pound of weight in the last 4 weeks. This means he has gained an average of 16 grams per day over the last month. Up until now, he had gained an average of four grams per day since we returned in August, which was inadequate.

His appetite has increased dramatically. He’s still a picky two year old, but compared to when we were in South Africa, where he was vomiting upwards of 2 times a day and unable to eat more than a few bites per meal unless it was blended into a liquid, it is a night and day kind of comparison.

We have had to decrease his diuretic medication. His normal dose has been cut in half because his normal dose started drying him up too much.

Thelo’s blood test also showed this:

For those of you versed in this terminology, my explanations, research, and the like are severely inadequate. For those of you like me, not versed in this, this picture is simply showing the markers in his blood for severe heart failure have gone from over 1000 (really bad) to right around 200 (fantastic for a kid with his heart). What this also means is this:

This month, he moves to inactive status on the heart transplant list. This means, if a heart match were to come available, we wouldn’t take it because right now, he doesn’t need it. WOO!

I don’t claim to know the future or what Thelo’s heart will be doing in a month from now, but I’m personally begging God to let me rejoice. To allow me not to dread the future, but to praise Him in this day of health, to marvel at the goodness of His ability to sustain even a broken little heart like Thelo’s, because today, it’s a little less broken.

The good news in this update isn’t as reliable as THE Good News of the Gospel. Its truth isn’t eternal like the Truth proclaimed from God’s Word in the Bible, but, quite simply, it’s amazing and an answer to prayer. The prayers you ask on our behalf haven’t gone unheard. Rejoice with us!

 

**After a more in-depth discussion with Thelo’s cardiologist, I’m amending this post:  This past week, the doctor showed me several echocardiogram images;  One dating from shortly after Thelo’s birth, another during his illness in South Africa, and his most recent healthy one from February.  (I really appreciate him taking the time!)  As an inexperienced viewer, I can definitely see the varying increase and decrease in function of Thelo’s heart, but I am unable to quantify/qualify a definite change in shape or symmetry.  My initial impressions and interpretation of subsequent conversations with the sonographer and cardiologist led me to believe there was a definite change in the symmetry of Thelo’s heart, but this may or may not be the case, depending on the position of the “camera” and his heart at any given moment.

This is Trauma

This is trauma. May/June of 2012 I almost lost my husband to a hemorrhage in his stomach. What had already been a difficult time at a missionary training facility, turned into a nightmare one afternoon. Jay had already been feeling crummy after taking typhoid immunity medication, but so had a couple other people. He spent one night regretting having eaten an entire hamburger at dinner, experiencing vomit-worthy reflux which kept him from sleeping. He was just as miserable the following day, only eating because our schedule demanded we eat at specific times. He assumed he would feel hungry eventually and didn’t want to miss an opportunity at the cafeteria. By lunch, though, sitting down to eat again was torture. He went to our room at the quad to lay down. Our second oldest was also feeling sick that day and needed to be picked up for having a fever. (Something our kids just traded around almost the entire time we lived in there.) He went and picked up Isabel and they both took a nap. A couple hours later I dropped off our other two children with him while I took a required computer class. I saw the strained look on his face when I brought the kids in, but he and I both knew I needed to take the class on computer encryption and that I had no option. I came back as quickly as I could and found him sitting on the toilet, and the kids up from their nap. I asked him what color his poop was and he said, “Green?” “Like yesterday?” I asked. “I guess?” came his short reply. “I’m sorry, just let me see it,” I demanded. “You think that’s green?” I asked, pointing at it to make him to look, “Is that the same color it was yesterday?” “Yes, I think so?” came his sheepish response. “Jay. That’s black. You are bleeding somewhere inside.” He just looked at me, expressionless. I told him I would be back in a minute and told him I was going to go find someone to ask them about him going to a doctor. What I was really doing was finding someone to take our kids so I could MAKE him go to the hospital. I was gone for a few minutes and came back to the room to hear a horrible retching sound. “Jay?!” I called, “What is THAT?!” referring to the sound. I ran to the bathroom and found him naked and on all fours in the bathtub, vomiting black chunks and liquid. It was filling the bottom of the bathtub. I ran out and asked some friends to make sure he didn’t pass out and aspirate while I found some medical help and get that friend I found to watch the kids. By the time I turned and ran back toward the quad, Jay’s babysitters were running out and telling me that they were calling 911. My heart dropped, thinking he had started vomiting fresh blood, but was later relieved to find nothing much had changed. He was still actively vomiting black, digested blood. Apparently that was what had been making his stomach feel so full and giving him reflux. Finally one of the nurses and medics showed up to evaluate the situation, and a few minutes later the paramedics showed up. Jay had stopped vomiting and I was busy cleaning him off and unclogging the drain. He hands, knees, face, and stomach were covered in what looked like water logged, black, soot and coffee grounds.

Jay’s face was gray. There was no line of distinction separating the hue of his lips from the rest of his face. By the time the paramedics had come, our small quad bathroom was full of people and Jay had kindly been given a washcloth to keep him decent. (That was a joke for a long time.) Since he had stopped vomiting, he was back to acting light hearted, albeit nude and colorless. He and I were loaded up into the ambulance and away we went. I had an amazing opportunity to share the Gospel with the ambulance driver after hearing how the Lord was wooing him. Later, I found out Jay was doing the same from the stretcher in the back as he witnessed to the other paramedic. I happily thought, “That’s exactly why we are going through this mess. Those guys needed to hear about Jesus’ love for them. (Now Jay will be fine andwe’llgettogohome.Amen.)” The trailing off of my conversation with myself is intentional. I didn’t know what still lay ahead.

Having gotten all that pressure off of his stomach, Jay felt amazingly better. He was scheduled for an endoscopy in the morning, I would go home to sleep, and return in the morning for his procedure. As I stood there and reviewed the plan with our coordinator, Jay called my name. I turned to look at him and saw sweat dripping from his beard and hair. “He’s going to vomit,” I said to myself as I swiftly grabbed the large gray trashcan from the wall. And he did. He vomited bright, red, fresh blood. Even as I type this, my eyes well with tears. “NO,” was the only thought or word I could muster and I left him there, holding his own cumbersome trashcan, as he emptied his life into it, one heave at a time.

Our coordinator had left the room to call for help and conveniently caught me as I ran out. She started to pray for me, boldly and bravely, when suddenly I realized that I had left Jay alone to hold his own trashcan and I panicked at the thought of him fainting. What I felt momentarily was guilt. What overcame me next was despair. There was no room for self examination. No time to think about how I looked to those coming and going from the room. In my mind, it was just God and me, and I was telling Him exactly what I thought. Out-loud and LOUD. “You can’t make me watch him die. You can’t! Please God, NO, you can’t make me watch him die!”

You will never hear me say that I can hear the voice of God. In some ways “voice” seems too normal, too small. No, what I heard was Him; the Holy Spirit, in all His simplicity and clarity, “What would you like Me to do?” Desperately I shouted my reply, “OH! Save him! Please save him!”

What happened next, I have only inadequate words to describe. The presence of God came and stood on my right side. His warmth seemed to touch me as He leaned in and whispered, “Am I enough for you, Lori? Or do you need him?” “Him” was my husband. “Him” was my most prized possession. “Him” was who I had put in the way of me leaning on and trusting my Savior. Peace flooded my heart, soul, and mind as I watched my husband continue to die. I had flipped from absolute, blinding desperation to holy sight! I reached for a paper towel, wiped blood and spit from my husband’s beard and calmly said, “This is a really bad color on you. Let’s do something else tonight.” Now knowing the presence of my Comforter, I comforted my husband.

Know this: The Lord didn’t promise to heal my husband. No, that peace came from the presence of God ALONE. He ALONE can do that to Not just for us, but TO us. Trying to put my husband second to God wasn’t something I could accomplish after years of trying, yet God accomplished it in an instant. Suddenly I knew, and will know forever, that no matter what happens in my life, the presence of God is enough. HE IS ENOUGH. By the grace and mercy of God, may no one ever come before Him ever again.

Jay got worse after that moment with the Lord. An emergency endoscopy was performed. The artery with a PIN-HOLE ulcer that had poked through his stomach lining was shot with epinephrine and clamped. He got worse. His blood tests showed he was still bleeding, somewhere, somehow. Crazy things happened and kept happening, but two days later, Jay got suddenly better and we suddenly went home to the training facility, our heads still spinning with what had happened. Jay didn’t remember most of it and even admitted forgetting it had even happened about a year later. I never forgot.

It ruined me. Not ruined me like a stain on a white cloth. Ruined like a wild horse when broken. It ruined me for my benefit so that I could be driven and directed by the Lord. It ruined me so that I wouldn’t single handedly ruin my marriage 5 months later, when I found myself in an unwanted pregnancy. It ruined me so that the Lord could take MY will and crush it, replacing it with HIS will so that I would be completely dependent on HIM and not my husband when we found out that unborn baby was very sick. When that pregnancy took us from the city we loved in North India to the lesser loved Delhi, I was so broken and humbled by the process that my husband was able to be furious, selfish, disappointed, and in turn broken, too. The Lord got me out of the way so He could do a good and holy work on my husband. My God loves him, too. I watched, prayed, and waited as this same God that loves us took everything from us. I hid in Him on our flight back to the US that would save our unborn child’s life. I finally knew what it was the Bible meant when it tells us to rest in Him. I became enveloped in His love for the next year and a half as He fought for our son’s life. I was guarded in Him as the Lord did a mighty work on my heartbroken husband.

I never knew all that the Lord would do through a stomach hemorrhage. The blessing that He placed on us as a family, that we would survive what lay ahead… how could I not trust Him for everything now? Lord, make me faithful. Keep me humble. I am a beast that has been broken, for my good and Your glory. Praise God.

Murmurings from South Africa.

04/22/15

I’ve been having opportunities to watch the “difficult” play out in people’s lives. My investment is shallow. I don’t know them very well. Their versions are one-sided. My versions of my story are one-sided, too. Heck, if even our language couple can’t decide on the best way to say, “I’m thirsty,” how can any of us hope to reconcile the two sides of a multi-faceted life-storyline? Today I got to talk with Heather about painting. The old stuff. Art college days. As I chatted with her about it, I remembered inwardly the battles that would go on during in-class critiques of each others’ works. How students who didn’t paint portraits would get so upset about another student that would depict a person a certain way, sometimes in seemingly cliché ways.

Remember those amazing sheet/dream paintings? Life-sized portraits of sleeping people with their actual bedsheets as the canvas. Man, how I loved those! They were so intimate. A moment in time, captured by the artist, depicting the deep sleep of people and their inward thoughts/dreams, as he imagined them.

What made these paintings seem cliché at the moment was the fact that there was a painting of an Indian woman which showed primitive drawings floating through her dreams. Despite the negative comments, I immediately connected in my mind: “This guy must have a deep and meaningful relationship with this woman. She allowed him to observe her at the peak of vulnerability. He’s not just any artist, he is a trusted friend.” As a friend observing an intimate and personal moment, he painted what was most important to her. To others, he was a stranger gawking on a brown, sleeping woman and he simplified and objectified her by painting her juxtaposed with stereotypical images of things that went with her brown skin. It was shocking to me, the lack of insight and hairline depth of their interpretation. He had painted her sleeping among those images, because he knew those images mattered to her. His intimate knowledge of her made those images meaningful, even if those dissecting his painting didn’t have a clue.

So, here I sit, 3 cups of coffee into thoughts about my own limited observations of real peoples’ lives. I don’t really know them. God knows, I’ll never deeply understand them. As simply a person created in God’s image, it’s literally impossible to delve into the hearts and minds of people created in God’s image. We are a reflection, folks. Apart from reflections, we don’t even see our own faces, let alone the struggles, joys, and beliefs of the inner person.

People love those Dove commercials that make the case for treating ourselves as valuable and seeing ourselves as beautiful. It’s all the rage to try and lift each other out of the mire of Facebook/Twitter comments and blog post commenters who seek to destroy anyone that doesn’t live up to the haughty standards they feel everyone should be living up to (even if they themselves don’t abide by their own standards). But why? A secular society, who continually distance themselves from God, seek to find internal and external value beyond their outward appearance and cheer for those trying to do the same. But, aside from voiced and typed thoughts, all we know of each other is an outward appearance. A mixture of signals received by the eye and interpreted by the brain. What are people or their opinions worth?

Immediately, my mind races to the subject of “population control” and all the turning of humanity’s focus to the number of people in the world versus the number of resources available for sustaining said population. Those who feel we are being “irresponsible” by allowing more and more people to overtake the earth write their opinions juxtaposed with images of human sprawl. Shanties, poverty, pollution, etc. It’s like taking a mass of unknown, unknowable, and unimportant humans and drawing math equations to show they have no value. Area + people + pollution = “Not cool.” (According to Ashton Kutcher.) Take out “area” and “pollution” and what you end up with is people = not cool. What are we doing?? If my heart can be overwhelmed by the depth of a single person, who am I to say people I’ve not even met have no value? Or their future offspring? I can’t just post pictures of empty and vast fields and valleys and drum up this conclusion: “world half empty, divide and conquer.” Either conclusion turns people and the earth into shallow game pieces that can be rearranged to satisfy personal opinions.

Ultimately, our opinion about it doesn’t amount to anything. My opinions about heartache heard though ears coming from one-sided mouths, doesn’t amount to much. Class critiques on a guy’s paintings usually don’t illicit the value of the experiences he’s had in the relationships with his willing subjects. It’s personal and it’s largely invisible. To quote a Sara Groves song, “Who can know the pain, the joy, the regret, the satisfaction? Who can know the love of one life, one heart, one soul, until you’re at abstraction?” (Abstraction) Why does it matter if I think I’m beautiful and why does Dove care? Why does it matter that mean people say nasty things to a woman who blogs about fitness? Why get offended if a man paints a brown woman next to cave paintings? Why tell a mom of six boys that she’s being irresponsible for having a seventh child that happens to be a girl? Why look at population sprawl and think it’s a shame there are so many people living? Why do I care about a person’s disadvantages in life and the good or bad decisions they have made on top of it all? Why care when a virtual stranger’s marriage is falling apart? Why not care? Why care?

Where is the baseline? Does it exist? It does. The baseline, the starting point, it’s the Person responsible for my beauty, my friend’s sorrow, that guy’s artistic talent, those peoples’ poor interpretation skills, that mom’s love of her children, all those people living in jaw-dropping sprawl, and the demise of a person’s marriage. He doesn’t just know about these things. These things didn’t just happen to people. He made this world and everything in it, He even planned it all out before He laid the foundations of this earth and before He filled it with amazing resources. He made the earth, filled it, and then made us. People. He made us in His image. THAT gives us value. Jesus gave us value, His value. When the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit planned all things, He planned us and made us image-bearers. He loved us. I won’t get into sin right now, nor the consequences of it, but I do know that all of it, ALL OF IT, was planned and has been implemented with precision. He knew we would push Him away. He knew that when we did, we would forget that we are made in His image. We would prioritize ourselves over others like ourselves. He knew we would live selfishly and shallowly, serving and worshiping ourselves at the detriment to everything around us: our resources, our planet, each other, and our unborn. That we would devise ways to make our lives convenient, even if it meant hiding our trash. That we would even kill our own children to put off personal responsibility. To the point of crunching numbers to figure out a way to keep humanity small and our resources big (as if those two things are exclusive of each other). In prioritizing creation above Creator, resources over image-bearers… what do we accomplish?

We accomplish NOTHING. We submit and surrender ourselves to our half-baked plans for saving ourselves and creation and end up with nothing. Empty hands, broken hearts, a groaning earth, and a lot of dead people. In seeking self deliverance, we acquire eternal damnation.

Does Jesus have a plan for all those people in those sprawling photos? Does He have a plan for my friend who has suffered so much? Yes. Will He deliver them all, rescuing them in His eternal salvation through the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus Christ? No. He won’t. Do I understand that? No, I don’t. Do I have to understand it in order for His purposes and ethics to be good? No. My perception and comprehension of His plan doesn’t make His plan good. My thoughts on my own appearance doesn’t make me more or less beautiful, sorry Dove. My interpretation of a friend’s choices, even if I can offer good advice based on those interpretations, won’t actually speak to the depths of it that I will never know, because I’m not her. Ashton Kutcher’s opinion about the need for population control can not take away the value of those people because God made them valuable even if Ashton disagrees. God’s plan is good, and there is nothing you and I can do about it. It’s impossible for us to grasp it, but all those things that I mentioned above, they matter because people matter, and people matter because people matter to God.

It all comes back to Him. It comes to this: Are you His? Have you surrendered to Him? Are you His child, or are you His enemy? We are all made in His image, but we all need to be born again into His salvation. We are loved as we are, still in our sin, but we are not good enough to stay that way. We have to be born once, into death, and born again into life. Everlasting life. In salvation, the circumstances of our friends lives may not change. With Jesus, the lifestyle of poverty lived by those people in those photos may not change. This is a harsh reality here on earth. But, what does change is their eternity. With God, nothing is impossible. What effect does hope have on a mass of hopeless people? Even population-poster-boy would agree that hope changes a lot of things. My prayer is for every person on this planet to hear about the greatest Hope that ever walked the earth, Jesus Christ. That their ears and eyes would be opened to the only Truth that can save us all.

Slow to speak. James 1.

11/05/14

Almost nothing is quite as hard as weeping silently. I feel as though I could vomit from grief. We leave in 13 days. Supposedly. Either way, our time here ends. The hardest 1 year and a half of my life, goes to another chapter, in which I only see more heartache. Alone. “Lord, take me anywhere, only go with me.” It is more than sentiment. It is essential for life. If I go to this dark place, absent of relationships and family support, left to sort out Thelo’s health, while Jay ventures into a new role that takes him out of the home, if I go to this place with these new realities, I will surely come to my end, if Jesus doesn’t go with me. Lord, end me. Take up residence in me where these fears reside. Remove them and replace them with Yourself. Your boldness, giving me faith only You can provide. There is no place for wishful thinking. You have freely given me more than I could have hoped or wished for. Your purposes are perfect, yes, in suffering. In anguish. In sorrow. In pain. In futility. Only when I have come to the end of myself, do You become most magnified in me. I felt poured out before we even had Thelo. To describe what I feel now, nothing short of being poured out again. Jay’s sickness brought me to my end. It poured out of me, all that was left. At that moment, my faith intensely deepened like a piercing through my very soul. And then suddenly, clarity. All fear was gone. Jesus was there with me. I didn’t have to pretend to be strong. I already knew I was a failure as I watched my husband’s life draining out of him in front of me. I knew I was a failure each time a baby came from my womb. I knew I was a failure when I came to North Carolina, robbed of peace for the previous 2 and a half years. I knew I was a failure at 4 years old when I cried out for Jesus to save me. At each point of failure, Jesus was there. Each time He filled what had been emptied. I had been stretched and broken, He took that ruined thing and added Himself, binding what was broken and filling what had been stretched. He made me new. Always new. Make me new again, Lord Jesus. I am stretched and torn, broken and ruined, again. Please bind me and fill me, I am once again ruined but can be remade, more like You.

This is us.