Almost one year ago…
I’m sorry.
I’m feeling profoundly sorry for myself. And I’m sorry that I feel sorry. I feel ashamed for feeling this way. I want to be more faithful, more spiritual. But all I feel right now is pitifully sad and sorry…and, of course, guilty for feeling this way.
So many say we’ve been blessed with a baby who has Down syndrome because we’re so loving and can “handle” it. I know they’re being sincere and kind, but I want to scream that I can’t handle it. I’m no different from anyone else.
Perhaps God forgot that he has already blessed me with a special needs child, one who I love like crazy but whose present is more challenging and whose future is less sure. Can’t we spread out the love a bit? I mean, haven’t I already received my share?
I feel like a big, thick, black line has been drawn: my life before Down syndrome and my life from this point forward. I’m grieving. Life didn’t feel easy or uncomplicated before…but I was managing. I feel confident that I will now be cheating my other children. I just know I’ll be tired, more overwhelmed, busier. Less of me for all of them. It doesn’t feel fair. It makes me cry harder…and feel guiltier.
I’m given some helpful, good books to read on Down syndrome. None of them are bleak or pessimistic, but they are realistic. There is a whole myriad of possible medical and developmental issues Jesse could have. I’d like to believe that somehow we’ll dodge them all, that these problems will be the things other families go through, not us. The thought of all the doctors and therapists that will surely become part of our life now is beyond overwhelming. Just fitting time into my schedule to call and make these appointments is too much to think about.
Jesse quit nursing soon after we got home from the hospital. By the day after Thanksgiving (what a blur that was…did I even cook a turkey?) I knew he was in serious trouble with dehydration if we didn’t do something right away. Great…now I can add pumping AND bottle feeding to our schedule. How am I fitting eight plus hours of feeding time into our day? There’s no better time for a full blown pity party than at 3:00am in my freezing cold family room, all alone with my pump, trying to find something on our non-cable television besides the infomercial for the Jack LaLlane Power Juicer. My world felt very dark during those early morning hours. (But, wow, what a powerful juicer!)
I think about how Mary, the mother of Jesus, reacted when told by an angel of His coming birth, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” Again, I’m sorry. I’m still struggling. Would Mary have said that if the angel had just told her she was going to give birth to a child with mental retardation, possible serious medical problems, and a shortened life expectancy? Maybe she would have. I guess I’m no Mary. Or…maybe I’d do better if an angel had actually visited me with the news. Or…maybe I’m just making excuses for my weakness and spiritual immaturity. Sorry.
I’m not new to hard places. By this time I’ve been through the loss of two pregnancies, one where I had to deliver the tiny baby girl at the hospital. I’ve cried buckets while panicking over the slow development and autistic tendencies of Carle, and just before Peter was born I buried my mom after her ten year battle with ovarian cancer. I’ve been down the “Why me?” and the “Why God?” road before and found it a very unhealthy place to camp out. I’m trying so hard not to return…but some days I feel like I’m being sucked under, completely out of control.
We attend a variety of churches as we raise support for the mission field. One Sunday finds us at a new church, and the pastor and his wife want to lay hands on and pray for Jesse. They started praying and then telling Jack and me what they believed God was telling them, in their spirit, about him. I don’t remember anything they said. I found myself having to concentrate so I wouldn’t start sobbing uncontrollably. I wanted to scream, “Did God happen to tell you that He loved ME?” I felt desperate to hear it. I knew, by faith, that He did…but I was desperate to FEEL it.
The cold, dark winter of infomercials passed. Life trudged onward…and upward. Jesse has seen the geneticist, the ENT doctor multiple times, had ear tubes placed, two eye exams, several echocardiograms and visits with the cardiologist, repeated sedated hearing tests, a cardiac catheterization, started continuous oxygen therapy, surgery on his larynx, a sleep study, and too many pediatrician visits to count. Somehow we’ve made it through.
And somewhere along the line I have fallen head-over-heels in love with my baby. I can’t imagine living life on the other side of that black line again. And the line itself no longer looks thick and black but resembles a shimmering, flowing rainbow of colors reflecting the light of the sun. It’s beautiful.
My nine year old daughter Betsy recently asked me, “Mom, I know we’re born sinful, but how does Jesse sin? I don’t see how.” I’m not totally sure how to answer her. I mean, I know his sin nature is there…but if you’ve met Jesse, you know it’s hard to see. A woman from the Cincinnati Down Syndrome Association told me about her grandson with Down syndrome, “My daughter says that her other children wake up in the morning wanting and waiting for her to please them. Her son with Down’s wakes up wanting to please her.” I see this in Jesse already. He makes people happy. At first, I thought the nurses were just being polite. But repeatedly when we’re at the hospital, strangers come to our room to meet the “adorable, sweet baby” they heard about. People laugh and smile when they meet him. It’s wonderful.
Jesse’s birthday is coming soon. I can’t believe it. The emotional roller coaster of the last year brings tears to my eyes…but they are mostly tears of joy, and maybe a little from exhaustion. It’s been a lot. And I have no idea what the future holds for him. He’s not yet sitting up or crawling, and as he hits the one year mark these delays become more pronounced. Don’t tell the therapists, but I don’t really care. Of course, I want the best for Jesse, but what I really want is just him. I love him.
Almost a whole year has passed and I’m still sorry. But now I feel sorry for everyone else. I’m sorry that they don’t have Jesse.
Sorry, but this Jesse is mine.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
A Preemptive Strike
I wrote this awhile ago, and it's written from the perspective of a homeschool mom, but I think any parent can relate!
I’m not sure the word preemptive was really a part of my vocabulary before the war in Iraq. Now, however, I’ve heard the media use the word so many times that I’ve subconsciously made it part of my vocabulary. As a matter of fact, it’s become one of my favorite words. President Bush’s decision to war with Iraq before they could strike at us or our allies continues to be controversial, but I believe a valuable lesson lies here for us as homeschoolers.
A preemptive strike to our schools may be just the key for every homeschooling mother out there. We must strike first before they are able, and you know they are quick! It will take some forethought on our part and a little planning, but in the end we can sit back and know that we dealt the first blow.
Let’s start with preparing our homeschool room for the start of the school year. I know not everyone has the space to actually have a whole room designated for their school, but I think the principles that will be suggested are easily adaptable.
One of the first things we must think about is equipping our schools with adequate supplies. Once the 4th of July is past, you know the retailers are going to begin running their “Back to School” ads. I choose to ignore the first several weeks of these, putting my sanity first at the risk of missing some great deal on ball-point pens. Eventually, however, as August approaches, I start to peruse the weekly ads. Look for the stores offering the box of pencils for 2 cents, the washable markers for $1.99, and the spiral notebooks for a dime. I usually find myself dashing off to several stores to get the best bargains during a weekend afternoon. Be sure to mentally prepare yourself for when you arrive back home because the older children will have used up any computer or video time allotted to them in your absence and the little ones will be awakening from their naps. Of course, dinner will need prepared soon after you get your foot in the door with your packages so you don’t have long to make your first preemptive strike!
Step number 1: Remove the pencils from the boxes and throw all but three into the trash can. They are all going to come up missing within the first week or two of school. This way at least you’ll know what’s happened to them. Take two of the remaining pencils and sharpen them to a fine point. Then break the lead out completely and chew off the eraser. Place these two pencils in your school room to be shared by your four children. If you are only schooling two children it will be necessary to only keep one pencil for them, and be sure it gets sharpened till it is only 2 ½ inches in length. Finally, take the remaining pencil, sharpen it and toss it in the crib with the baby. After all, you know that the baby will be the only one in the entire household to be able to consistently find a sharpened pencil. Strike first! Just give it to him.
Step number 2: Take your electric pencil sharpener and jam something down into it until it is either clogged beyond use or the motor burns up. If you don’t have an electricl sharpener, consider purchasing one and then begin step two from the beginning. If you only have the small hand-held sharpeners, just throw them all away. They will end up missing-in-action soon, it’s best you make the first move.
Step number 3: Open all the large pink erasers you’ve purchased. Hide several in the deep crevices of the couch and easy chair. Throw a few into your son’s LEGO collection, one into the recesses of the hall closet, open the lid of your printer and drop one in, and finally throw one in the guest toilet for good measure. Keep one and see if you can get it to break, or better yet, crumble into pieces too small to be usable. I know it’s a lot of work, but keep pace! Remember, it’s your sanity that’s at stake.
Step number 4: Remove the lids from all the markers you purchased. Scatter the lids over the floor and desk top. Leave this way for at least 2-3 days until they are adequately dried out and then just pitch in the trash. Oh, I almost forgot something very important!! Before this step is complete you’ll need to take out all the new curriculum you purchased for the children. Lay the crisp, new workbooks, literature guides and big expensive text books on the floor. Invite all the children in the home ages three and down into the room to color with the new markers.
With this success behind you, find your “To-do” list and relish in crossing out “purchase school supplies.” I’d say sit back and enjoy the moment, but remember, they’re waiting for dinner.
A Preemptive Strike
I’m not sure the word preemptive was really a part of my vocabulary before the war in Iraq. Now, however, I’ve heard the media use the word so many times that I’ve subconsciously made it part of my vocabulary. As a matter of fact, it’s become one of my favorite words. President Bush’s decision to war with Iraq before they could strike at us or our allies continues to be controversial, but I believe a valuable lesson lies here for us as homeschoolers.
A preemptive strike to our schools may be just the key for every homeschooling mother out there. We must strike first before they are able, and you know they are quick! It will take some forethought on our part and a little planning, but in the end we can sit back and know that we dealt the first blow.
Let’s start with preparing our homeschool room for the start of the school year. I know not everyone has the space to actually have a whole room designated for their school, but I think the principles that will be suggested are easily adaptable.
One of the first things we must think about is equipping our schools with adequate supplies. Once the 4th of July is past, you know the retailers are going to begin running their “Back to School” ads. I choose to ignore the first several weeks of these, putting my sanity first at the risk of missing some great deal on ball-point pens. Eventually, however, as August approaches, I start to peruse the weekly ads. Look for the stores offering the box of pencils for 2 cents, the washable markers for $1.99, and the spiral notebooks for a dime. I usually find myself dashing off to several stores to get the best bargains during a weekend afternoon. Be sure to mentally prepare yourself for when you arrive back home because the older children will have used up any computer or video time allotted to them in your absence and the little ones will be awakening from their naps. Of course, dinner will need prepared soon after you get your foot in the door with your packages so you don’t have long to make your first preemptive strike!
Step number 1: Remove the pencils from the boxes and throw all but three into the trash can. They are all going to come up missing within the first week or two of school. This way at least you’ll know what’s happened to them. Take two of the remaining pencils and sharpen them to a fine point. Then break the lead out completely and chew off the eraser. Place these two pencils in your school room to be shared by your four children. If you are only schooling two children it will be necessary to only keep one pencil for them, and be sure it gets sharpened till it is only 2 ½ inches in length. Finally, take the remaining pencil, sharpen it and toss it in the crib with the baby. After all, you know that the baby will be the only one in the entire household to be able to consistently find a sharpened pencil. Strike first! Just give it to him.
Step number 2: Take your electric pencil sharpener and jam something down into it until it is either clogged beyond use or the motor burns up. If you don’t have an electricl sharpener, consider purchasing one and then begin step two from the beginning. If you only have the small hand-held sharpeners, just throw them all away. They will end up missing-in-action soon, it’s best you make the first move.
Step number 3: Open all the large pink erasers you’ve purchased. Hide several in the deep crevices of the couch and easy chair. Throw a few into your son’s LEGO collection, one into the recesses of the hall closet, open the lid of your printer and drop one in, and finally throw one in the guest toilet for good measure. Keep one and see if you can get it to break, or better yet, crumble into pieces too small to be usable. I know it’s a lot of work, but keep pace! Remember, it’s your sanity that’s at stake.
Step number 4: Remove the lids from all the markers you purchased. Scatter the lids over the floor and desk top. Leave this way for at least 2-3 days until they are adequately dried out and then just pitch in the trash. Oh, I almost forgot something very important!! Before this step is complete you’ll need to take out all the new curriculum you purchased for the children. Lay the crisp, new workbooks, literature guides and big expensive text books on the floor. Invite all the children in the home ages three and down into the room to color with the new markers.
With this success behind you, find your “To-do” list and relish in crossing out “purchase school supplies.” I’d say sit back and enjoy the moment, but remember, they’re waiting for dinner.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A Tale of Two Trains
My husband moves at one speed: slow. I’m not sure I’ve ever truly seen him hurry anywhere. He is thorough and calculating…but one would never say quick. I think the house could be on fire and he would first take a shower, clear his throat, blow his nose, brush his teeth, and get dressed before going to grab the fire extinguisher. He would then want to know which child tore the inspection tag off of the extinguisher as he fluffed the internal contents by turning it upside down as per manufacturer’s protocol. After putting out the fire, which was probably caused by his wife being in a rush and setting the diaper bag on the stove (true story), he would proceed to have his morning yogurt.
They say opposites attract. That may be true when love is new. Eventually opposites annoy.
Jack is like one of those lovely tourist trains that meander through the countryside on the Rick Steve’s European travel program on PBS. (Jack loves that show by the way…I never have time to watch it because I’m in a hurry). Jack enjoys the process; he doesn’t mind how long it takes to get from point A to point B. He enjoys the journey.
I, on the other hand, have too much to do. I have little use for the process; just give me the product. I’m like the Japanese bullet train that travels 275 mph. (What’s wrong with them that they can’t make it go faster?) Just get me from point A to point B as quickly as possible so I can check it off my list and move to the next item on my agenda.
Last year at family camp there was the opportunity to sign up for a pontoon boat ride. I was pregnant and couldn’t do many of the other activities so I figured I’d at least take some kids on the boat ride. I was miserable. What a whopper waste of my time. Sure I was interested in seeing the lake, but I didn’t need every angle with an explanation. I hate to be a downer, but I must say the east end of the lake looked pretty much the same as the west end. I would recommend that the ride be shortened from an hour down to about 10 minutes. At least send a motor boat out to get the bullet trains off the tour boat so we can get on with our lives.
This year I signed the kids up for the pontoon boat but put down Jack’s name instead of mine. I couldn’t afford the strain it would put on my vacation by having to sit idle on that blasted boat for an hour. I’m sure it will come as no surprise that Jack, AKA the tooling tourist train, had a grand time out on the lake.
Jack has been making his own drum set…for the past eleven or twelve years. At one point we had a large steel shallow container on the deck where he was going to heat water for steam bending wood. For the last several years he has asked for a gift certificate to a drum building web site for Christmas. He slowly purchases the items he’s interested in. Some of the hardware he bought has silver chrome on it and he prefers black. So, for the last two years or so he’s been researching how to remove the silver using some chemical reaction. And, he’s found someone willing to repaint them black for a reasonable price. Apparently there’s no rush to actually make any of this happen…he’s just enjoying the experience. I could also tell you about the large “spray booth” he built in the garage that was erected to give the drums the right finish. This structure took up about ¼ of our total garage space for about a year or more. I think it was large enough for him to have lived in…but I’m not suggesting that or anything.
In contrast, I sew. I can’t bring myself to say I “enjoy” sewing. What I enjoy is the end product. I made curtains for our kitchen. One afternoon I went and purchased the pattern, fabric and other needed supplies. That afternoon I cut out the pieces; then I stayed up until 2:00 in the morning sewing the curtains. If it wouldn’t have been completely out of line, I would have woken Jack up to come hang them right then and there. I restrained myself and waited until he woke up, showered, cleared his throat, blew his nose, got dressed, and ate his yogurt. Pretty nice of me, huh?
OK…I don’t know who actually has the bigger problem: the tourist train or the bullet train. They both serve a purpose, but can they peacefully coexist? I mean, can they share the same rails? Won’t the tourist train get in the way of the highly efficient bullet train? Will the speeding engine ruin the experience of the sightseeing train? I honestly wouldn’t wish to live in a world with exclusively one or the other…I don’t think. I like to believe that eventually one rubs off on the other resulting in each of us being more balanced. I’m not sure that’s happening.
I know as Jack’s wife that I’m called to be his helper (Gen. 2:18). So why do I get so aggravated when his weaknesses are my strengths and vice versa? Isn’t that a clear sign that those are the areas where God wants us to complement each other? The bullet train must learn to come alongside the tourist train and urge it forward without trying to make it into another bullet train. (After all, we already have one annoying bullet train.) In it’s urging, the bullet train must not run over the tourist train…not always an easy task.
“Therefore…I implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (Eph. 4:1-3)
There you have it, the final word, God’s word. To walk worthy of Christ’s calling on our lives we must submit to one another. I’ve gotten pretty good at submitting on the outside, now I need to work on the inside. I don’t usually say anything while we’re driving up and down the parking isles looking for the “perfect” spot while passing by plenty of suitable ones on the way, but I wouldn’t want to see my blood pressure reading at that moment either.
My first thought was that maybe we should just have tandem rails that we ride on. You know, sometimes we’re side by side, but I’m not held up and he’s not rushed. We can do things our own way and just come together and get close enough for a high-five when it works out. It sounds easier that way, but anything easy is almost always code for “not God’s way.” God’s way of submitting to one another with patience, gentleness, and tolerance sounds tough. And it also sounds like He expects us to share the rails.
Alright, I admit it. I do like Rick Steve’s Europe program. The rolling countryside is charming and quaint. I dream of jetting off to Europe someday (hopefully in a super-sonic jet) and wandering around small historic villages and towns with the love of my life. Just please don’t buy me a ticket and stick me on one of those tourist-trap, slow-moving trains.
They say opposites attract. That may be true when love is new. Eventually opposites annoy.
Jack is like one of those lovely tourist trains that meander through the countryside on the Rick Steve’s European travel program on PBS. (Jack loves that show by the way…I never have time to watch it because I’m in a hurry). Jack enjoys the process; he doesn’t mind how long it takes to get from point A to point B. He enjoys the journey.
I, on the other hand, have too much to do. I have little use for the process; just give me the product. I’m like the Japanese bullet train that travels 275 mph. (What’s wrong with them that they can’t make it go faster?) Just get me from point A to point B as quickly as possible so I can check it off my list and move to the next item on my agenda.
Last year at family camp there was the opportunity to sign up for a pontoon boat ride. I was pregnant and couldn’t do many of the other activities so I figured I’d at least take some kids on the boat ride. I was miserable. What a whopper waste of my time. Sure I was interested in seeing the lake, but I didn’t need every angle with an explanation. I hate to be a downer, but I must say the east end of the lake looked pretty much the same as the west end. I would recommend that the ride be shortened from an hour down to about 10 minutes. At least send a motor boat out to get the bullet trains off the tour boat so we can get on with our lives.
This year I signed the kids up for the pontoon boat but put down Jack’s name instead of mine. I couldn’t afford the strain it would put on my vacation by having to sit idle on that blasted boat for an hour. I’m sure it will come as no surprise that Jack, AKA the tooling tourist train, had a grand time out on the lake.
Jack has been making his own drum set…for the past eleven or twelve years. At one point we had a large steel shallow container on the deck where he was going to heat water for steam bending wood. For the last several years he has asked for a gift certificate to a drum building web site for Christmas. He slowly purchases the items he’s interested in. Some of the hardware he bought has silver chrome on it and he prefers black. So, for the last two years or so he’s been researching how to remove the silver using some chemical reaction. And, he’s found someone willing to repaint them black for a reasonable price. Apparently there’s no rush to actually make any of this happen…he’s just enjoying the experience. I could also tell you about the large “spray booth” he built in the garage that was erected to give the drums the right finish. This structure took up about ¼ of our total garage space for about a year or more. I think it was large enough for him to have lived in…but I’m not suggesting that or anything.
In contrast, I sew. I can’t bring myself to say I “enjoy” sewing. What I enjoy is the end product. I made curtains for our kitchen. One afternoon I went and purchased the pattern, fabric and other needed supplies. That afternoon I cut out the pieces; then I stayed up until 2:00 in the morning sewing the curtains. If it wouldn’t have been completely out of line, I would have woken Jack up to come hang them right then and there. I restrained myself and waited until he woke up, showered, cleared his throat, blew his nose, got dressed, and ate his yogurt. Pretty nice of me, huh?
OK…I don’t know who actually has the bigger problem: the tourist train or the bullet train. They both serve a purpose, but can they peacefully coexist? I mean, can they share the same rails? Won’t the tourist train get in the way of the highly efficient bullet train? Will the speeding engine ruin the experience of the sightseeing train? I honestly wouldn’t wish to live in a world with exclusively one or the other…I don’t think. I like to believe that eventually one rubs off on the other resulting in each of us being more balanced. I’m not sure that’s happening.
I know as Jack’s wife that I’m called to be his helper (Gen. 2:18). So why do I get so aggravated when his weaknesses are my strengths and vice versa? Isn’t that a clear sign that those are the areas where God wants us to complement each other? The bullet train must learn to come alongside the tourist train and urge it forward without trying to make it into another bullet train. (After all, we already have one annoying bullet train.) In it’s urging, the bullet train must not run over the tourist train…not always an easy task.
“Therefore…I implore you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love, being diligent to preserve the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.” (Eph. 4:1-3)
There you have it, the final word, God’s word. To walk worthy of Christ’s calling on our lives we must submit to one another. I’ve gotten pretty good at submitting on the outside, now I need to work on the inside. I don’t usually say anything while we’re driving up and down the parking isles looking for the “perfect” spot while passing by plenty of suitable ones on the way, but I wouldn’t want to see my blood pressure reading at that moment either.
My first thought was that maybe we should just have tandem rails that we ride on. You know, sometimes we’re side by side, but I’m not held up and he’s not rushed. We can do things our own way and just come together and get close enough for a high-five when it works out. It sounds easier that way, but anything easy is almost always code for “not God’s way.” God’s way of submitting to one another with patience, gentleness, and tolerance sounds tough. And it also sounds like He expects us to share the rails.
Alright, I admit it. I do like Rick Steve’s Europe program. The rolling countryside is charming and quaint. I dream of jetting off to Europe someday (hopefully in a super-sonic jet) and wandering around small historic villages and towns with the love of my life. Just please don’t buy me a ticket and stick me on one of those tourist-trap, slow-moving trains.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Why Isn't it Enough?
We opened the door to the pediatrician’s office, me carrying the baby seat and Betsy holding Peter. As I went to sign in at the window, I saw Betsy struggling with Peter. He desperately wanted me to hold him. When I looked down at my cute little two year old’s round face, I saw fear in his eyes.
Peter has had a fairly healthy life thus far and certainly hasn’t had any scary medical procedures done, but he had been to see the doctor just two weeks ago for a double ear infection. Apparently the visit didn’t leave him thirsting for more.
I set the baby carrier down and scooped up Peter. He had tears in his big brown eyes. Throughout the appointment he was frightened, cried on and off, and hollered if I tried to put him on the exam table. I kept telling him, “It’s OK Peter, mommy’s right here! I’m not going anywhere!” After saying that for the umpteenth time, I frustratingly thought to myself, “Why isn’t knowing I’m here enough for this kid? Doesn’t he trust me?”
Immediately, in my spirit, God asked me the same question. “Alysia, why isn’t my presence enough for you during difficult times, when you’re unsure and frightened? Don’t you trust Me?”
I found myself, still in the doctor’s office with my tearful two year old, thinking of Moses and how he responded when God told him to return to Egypt and free the Israelites from bondage. He came up with a lot of reasons why the job was too big for him, and God’s response was, “I’m going with you!”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how often God’s presence is our provision. Remember when Joshua had taken over the leadership of Israel after the death of Moses? He was to be the appointed one to actually enter the promised land and begin the daunting task of occupying it as God had foretold. The inhabitants of the land were fierce, with advanced weapons and fortified cities. God admonished Joshua, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of a good courage! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)
After I got back home, I spent some time looking. You’ll find God promising his presence to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Gideon and others. He asked big and difficult things of them, but He assured them that He was going with them. His presence was the peace, power, and protection they needed.
So…why isn’t it enough for me sometimes?
I’m left with the sad realization that I don’t trust Him. I want to…on some level I do…but when it comes to the hard things in life I prefer to take the reigns myself. I believe I can control myself and sometimes my circumstances. I might not like the outcome if I leave it up to someone else. My mom always said, “If you want something done right, you better do it yourself.” I guess I’ve adopted more of her philosophy than I’d thought.
Well, sometimes we find ourselves at a point in life where we, despite our best efforts, are hopelessly out of control. I’m definitely there. And I’m stressed.
Proverbs 3:5 says, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight.”
I can imagine Jesus wanting to hold me close and telling me He’s with me…asking me to trust Him, just like I wanted Peter to trust me in the doctor’s office. He wants his presence to be enough for me. He wants me to quit looking at my circumstances and fix my eyes upon Him.
As a matter of fact, Jesus’ last recorded words on earth, after giving his disciples a pretty big assignment, was the promise of His presence, “And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Mt 28:20)
Lord, I know your presence is enough. Help me to stop struggling, climb onto the exam table, lean back into your arms…and trust.
Peter has had a fairly healthy life thus far and certainly hasn’t had any scary medical procedures done, but he had been to see the doctor just two weeks ago for a double ear infection. Apparently the visit didn’t leave him thirsting for more.
I set the baby carrier down and scooped up Peter. He had tears in his big brown eyes. Throughout the appointment he was frightened, cried on and off, and hollered if I tried to put him on the exam table. I kept telling him, “It’s OK Peter, mommy’s right here! I’m not going anywhere!” After saying that for the umpteenth time, I frustratingly thought to myself, “Why isn’t knowing I’m here enough for this kid? Doesn’t he trust me?”
Immediately, in my spirit, God asked me the same question. “Alysia, why isn’t my presence enough for you during difficult times, when you’re unsure and frightened? Don’t you trust Me?”
I found myself, still in the doctor’s office with my tearful two year old, thinking of Moses and how he responded when God told him to return to Egypt and free the Israelites from bondage. He came up with a lot of reasons why the job was too big for him, and God’s response was, “I’m going with you!”
The more I thought about it, the more I realized how often God’s presence is our provision. Remember when Joshua had taken over the leadership of Israel after the death of Moses? He was to be the appointed one to actually enter the promised land and begin the daunting task of occupying it as God had foretold. The inhabitants of the land were fierce, with advanced weapons and fortified cities. God admonished Joshua, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of a good courage! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)
After I got back home, I spent some time looking. You’ll find God promising his presence to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Gideon and others. He asked big and difficult things of them, but He assured them that He was going with them. His presence was the peace, power, and protection they needed.
So…why isn’t it enough for me sometimes?
I’m left with the sad realization that I don’t trust Him. I want to…on some level I do…but when it comes to the hard things in life I prefer to take the reigns myself. I believe I can control myself and sometimes my circumstances. I might not like the outcome if I leave it up to someone else. My mom always said, “If you want something done right, you better do it yourself.” I guess I’ve adopted more of her philosophy than I’d thought.
Well, sometimes we find ourselves at a point in life where we, despite our best efforts, are hopelessly out of control. I’m definitely there. And I’m stressed.
Proverbs 3:5 says, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight.”
I can imagine Jesus wanting to hold me close and telling me He’s with me…asking me to trust Him, just like I wanted Peter to trust me in the doctor’s office. He wants his presence to be enough for me. He wants me to quit looking at my circumstances and fix my eyes upon Him.
As a matter of fact, Jesus’ last recorded words on earth, after giving his disciples a pretty big assignment, was the promise of His presence, “And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Mt 28:20)
Lord, I know your presence is enough. Help me to stop struggling, climb onto the exam table, lean back into your arms…and trust.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Don't Lick the Lawnmower!
Every once in a while I’ll have one of those reflective moments where I look at my life almost as though I’m on the outside looking in. Strange things usually trigger these times, and so it was that warm spring day. The kids were outside playing. One was in a tree and another was begging to get in the sprinkler. (They believe any day with a temperature over 60 is fair game for water play). I was working in my garden and keeping an eye on the toddler. I’m sure I was saying a lot of things, but as I turned my head and called out, “Don’t lick the lawnmower!” a reflective moment was born.
Did I really just say, “Don’t lick the lawnmower?” Is this seriously what my life has been reduced to? I mean, I’m a smart, capable woman. I’ll have you know I graduated Summa Cum Something or Other with a degree in nursing. I was going to be a valued member of a health care delivery team—at least that’s what my resume said my goal was. Yet here I am advising my young son to keep his tongue off the old John Deer. There has got to be something more important for me to do in life. Not that dispersing lawn mower safety tips to children isn’t important, it’s just frankly not what I had in mind for myself.
Another one of these moments happened recently. Out of my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of one of my sons picking his nose. But what caught my eye and caused a closer look was the appearance of the offending finger—it was slightly discolored and unusually shiny. I immediately knew what he was doing and called out, “No, you may not pick your nose with one of your fake fingers either.” He had received a magic kit a few years back for Christmas and had just revived an interest in it. He’d been amazing us with his new tricks that had been too difficult for him to learn when he’d first gotten it, especially the ones using the fake finger. I’m pretty certain what I observed was not in the instruction guide.
I’m actually embarrassed by the feelings these moments create. Do I think I’m too good to be “just a mother?” I’m among the first to express righteous indignation when someone else suggests mothering isn’t worth the sacrifice. I remember sharing an evening with friends we hadn’t seen in awhile. They had no children and were both experiencing exciting job changes. The entire evening was spent talking about their interesting careers as they exchanged stories with my husband. Not once did they see fit to ask about my days or how I spend my time. I left feeling a little hurt and even offended. "They don’t understand how valuable mothering is," I reassured myself. But, I admit, nagging feelings remained.
Let’s face facts. We’re raised in a culture all about self-fulfillment. As Americans, we do whatever we must to seek out and attain that end. On a daily basis, mothering just doesn’t fit the bill. We want to put our signature on important documents, emerge successful from a new-client meeting, make a big sale or simply have our boss pat us on the back and say, “Well done.” I don’t know about your kids, but mine just aren’t quite old enough to say thank you and pat me on the back. I’m still in the stage where at least once a week some friend or stranger points out that I have spit-up running down my back. It’s easy to feel discouraged.
It would be one thing if we spent our days passing out proverbial wisdom to our children. Saying things like, “I’m going to teach you how handle your finances,” or, “Let’s talk about the allegories from Pilgrim’s Progress,” is one thing. “Please turn your head away from the bowl of cookie dough and cover your nose next time you sneeze,” is another.
I have diligently spent hours of my life teaching my three boys that the little opening that looks like a pocket in their underwear goes in the front, but tags go in the back. (The almost twelve year old is just now catching onto the difficult “tag” concept. Someone who works for the clothing industry can let them know they’ve done mothers no favor by removing all the tags from our clothing.) Lucky me though, I still have yet another boy to instruct and pass on my great wisdom to.
I used to look at my friend’s five children and inwardly think, “Come on now, couldn’t you have combed their hair and at least made an effort to match their clothes?” Aah…humbled again. I told my seven year old daughter to go put on traveling clothes last weekend for our trip to Columbus. She astutely asked, “What are traveling clothes?” I told her to put on something comfortable for the ride in the car. She appeared ten minutes later in her plum colored jeans, the ugliest shirt she owns (the one I only kept thinking perhaps she could paint in), brown knee high boots, a dilapidated black straw cowboy hat, and a bandana with paw-prints on it tied around her neck. I looked at her. She looked back and announced emphatically, “THESE are the clothes I prefer to travel in.” Issue dismissed. I would have intervened a few kids ago, but not now.
Mothering is teaching how to wipe your own bottom, how to squeeze the lotion bottle so 1/3 of the moisturizer doesn’t come squirting out, the pitfalls of twisting the glue-stick all the way up, how to peel an orange, flush the toilet, and use the mouse on the computer (debatably one of the most painful aspects of mothering a toddler in the 21st century). Mothering is correcting for using Sharpies on the furniture and the new white board, leaving every light on in the second-story of the house, and for not rinsing out the sink after spitting.
Simply put, mothering is the antithesis of glamour. And as trivial as it all seems at times, it is THE God-ordained way of taking our little impressionable bundles and turning them into adults of character. Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln were once taught that the little pocket of their underwear goes in front. Or can you imagine the horror if Bill Gates tried using a Sharpie on the new company white-board in the conference room? Somebody must teach the young, somebody must impart life wisdom!
Galatians 6:9 says, “And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” God’s word always says it best. We must wear those long-range spectacles for child rearing. The rewards and the harvest are not just around the bend. The world-renown heart surgeon was first taught to wash her hands by her mom. The counselor out there helping to save marriages was more than likely first taught to listen by his mom. The electrician wiring up your new home was taught not to stick his finger in a light socket under the loving care of you, mom. And that young lady down the street hollering at her son not to lick the lawnmower, I bet she learned that from a special woman too.
Did I really just say, “Don’t lick the lawnmower?” Is this seriously what my life has been reduced to? I mean, I’m a smart, capable woman. I’ll have you know I graduated Summa Cum Something or Other with a degree in nursing. I was going to be a valued member of a health care delivery team—at least that’s what my resume said my goal was. Yet here I am advising my young son to keep his tongue off the old John Deer. There has got to be something more important for me to do in life. Not that dispersing lawn mower safety tips to children isn’t important, it’s just frankly not what I had in mind for myself.
Another one of these moments happened recently. Out of my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of one of my sons picking his nose. But what caught my eye and caused a closer look was the appearance of the offending finger—it was slightly discolored and unusually shiny. I immediately knew what he was doing and called out, “No, you may not pick your nose with one of your fake fingers either.” He had received a magic kit a few years back for Christmas and had just revived an interest in it. He’d been amazing us with his new tricks that had been too difficult for him to learn when he’d first gotten it, especially the ones using the fake finger. I’m pretty certain what I observed was not in the instruction guide.
I’m actually embarrassed by the feelings these moments create. Do I think I’m too good to be “just a mother?” I’m among the first to express righteous indignation when someone else suggests mothering isn’t worth the sacrifice. I remember sharing an evening with friends we hadn’t seen in awhile. They had no children and were both experiencing exciting job changes. The entire evening was spent talking about their interesting careers as they exchanged stories with my husband. Not once did they see fit to ask about my days or how I spend my time. I left feeling a little hurt and even offended. "They don’t understand how valuable mothering is," I reassured myself. But, I admit, nagging feelings remained.
Let’s face facts. We’re raised in a culture all about self-fulfillment. As Americans, we do whatever we must to seek out and attain that end. On a daily basis, mothering just doesn’t fit the bill. We want to put our signature on important documents, emerge successful from a new-client meeting, make a big sale or simply have our boss pat us on the back and say, “Well done.” I don’t know about your kids, but mine just aren’t quite old enough to say thank you and pat me on the back. I’m still in the stage where at least once a week some friend or stranger points out that I have spit-up running down my back. It’s easy to feel discouraged.
It would be one thing if we spent our days passing out proverbial wisdom to our children. Saying things like, “I’m going to teach you how handle your finances,” or, “Let’s talk about the allegories from Pilgrim’s Progress,” is one thing. “Please turn your head away from the bowl of cookie dough and cover your nose next time you sneeze,” is another.
I have diligently spent hours of my life teaching my three boys that the little opening that looks like a pocket in their underwear goes in the front, but tags go in the back. (The almost twelve year old is just now catching onto the difficult “tag” concept. Someone who works for the clothing industry can let them know they’ve done mothers no favor by removing all the tags from our clothing.) Lucky me though, I still have yet another boy to instruct and pass on my great wisdom to.
I used to look at my friend’s five children and inwardly think, “Come on now, couldn’t you have combed their hair and at least made an effort to match their clothes?” Aah…humbled again. I told my seven year old daughter to go put on traveling clothes last weekend for our trip to Columbus. She astutely asked, “What are traveling clothes?” I told her to put on something comfortable for the ride in the car. She appeared ten minutes later in her plum colored jeans, the ugliest shirt she owns (the one I only kept thinking perhaps she could paint in), brown knee high boots, a dilapidated black straw cowboy hat, and a bandana with paw-prints on it tied around her neck. I looked at her. She looked back and announced emphatically, “THESE are the clothes I prefer to travel in.” Issue dismissed. I would have intervened a few kids ago, but not now.
Mothering is teaching how to wipe your own bottom, how to squeeze the lotion bottle so 1/3 of the moisturizer doesn’t come squirting out, the pitfalls of twisting the glue-stick all the way up, how to peel an orange, flush the toilet, and use the mouse on the computer (debatably one of the most painful aspects of mothering a toddler in the 21st century). Mothering is correcting for using Sharpies on the furniture and the new white board, leaving every light on in the second-story of the house, and for not rinsing out the sink after spitting.
Simply put, mothering is the antithesis of glamour. And as trivial as it all seems at times, it is THE God-ordained way of taking our little impressionable bundles and turning them into adults of character. Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln were once taught that the little pocket of their underwear goes in front. Or can you imagine the horror if Bill Gates tried using a Sharpie on the new company white-board in the conference room? Somebody must teach the young, somebody must impart life wisdom!
Galatians 6:9 says, “And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” God’s word always says it best. We must wear those long-range spectacles for child rearing. The rewards and the harvest are not just around the bend. The world-renown heart surgeon was first taught to wash her hands by her mom. The counselor out there helping to save marriages was more than likely first taught to listen by his mom. The electrician wiring up your new home was taught not to stick his finger in a light socket under the loving care of you, mom. And that young lady down the street hollering at her son not to lick the lawnmower, I bet she learned that from a special woman too.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Dollar Store Faith
I've never read the popular book about learning people's love languages, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that for my daughter, Betsy, love is communicated with gifts. (This is a valuble hint for future admirers!) To her credit, she likes to give gifts as much as she likes to receive them. Not a birthday or holiday passes without her wanting Jack or me to take her shopping. It was probably about two years ago that Betsy approached me about my upcoming big day.
"Mom, what do you want for your birthday? You can have whatever you want. Think about it, Mom, what is the best thing you wish for this year?"
There was a long pause as I was trying to think of what to tell her, and then came the gamechanger, "Mom, whatever you'd like from the dollar store, I'd be happy to buy for you."
Not that I thought my daughter, at age six, could afford much more, but I have to admit that when challenged to come up with "whatever" I want for my birthday, the dollar store hadn't figured into the equation.
Let's consider the modern day dollar store phenomena. On one hand, I love them. It's the greatest place to go for cheap party supplies, cards, and especially stuff to fill kid's Easter baskets and Christmas stockings. But the sad reality is that most of my $1 purchases end up in the trash can within days of leaving the store. They create an initial thrill in my children's lives but are quickly broken, used up, or cast aside for me to trip over or the toddler to chew on. The dollar store is great if you have your expectations appropriately placed (low).
Expectations are everything, they say. When Abe was less than one year old, our family decided to make our first family vacation to Florida and surprise my parents who were spending time there at a state park. We wouldn't have normally made the trip. It seemed too expensive, too long of a drive with four young kids, basically too much work for us. But my mom had terminal cancer and we were afraid this may be her last vacation to this long-time Zeller family favorite spot. We decided to go for it, and just adjusted our expectations accordingly. Jack and I figured we'd spend our time keeping our kids from drowning in the Gulf of Mexico, making sure our condo beds are sand-free, and return home more exhausted than we were now. So, when Abe screamed for the first oh, say nine hours of the trip, it pretty much just met our expectations. When we got turned around in the Florida panhandle and added several hours to our drive, we kept our cool and kept going. Things were happening according to our expectations, so we weren't upset at all. In the end, we actually ended up having a wonderful time. The kids had a blast, my parents were surprised and thrilled to see us, and Jack and I had some nice down-time. In retrospect, we seriously aren't sure if it was really that great of a time, or if it just exceeded our terribly low expectations!
It's rather tempting to go through life setting our expectation dial to low. It seems easier and less stressful. I won't get my feelings hurt so much if I just expect less from my relationships. I won't get so angry with my kids if I lower my expectations and I'll be pleasantly surprised when they do more. Reigning in our expectations certainly seems like a safer and more secure way to navigate life.
I've realized there are times I've taken this approach to my relationship with God. The disappointments and hurts of life are sometimes too much to reconcile with a loving God. If I expect from God what I expect from my dollar store birthday gift, those difficult and heart-wrenching life experiences don't hurt quite so bad. After all, I didn't expect much from Him.
It's playing it safe with dollar store faith. But I'm afraid the quality of my faith and my relationship with God suffers from the same low standard as the $1 kite stuck out in my oak tree.
The apostle Paul says in Ephesians 3:20, "Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, Unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen."
If God's word is truth (John 17:17) then I have to believe that playing it safe with low expectations isn't His plan. I'm coming to see that the times I've done this, I may have succeeded in protecting myself, but I've also missed out on seeing God's power. God sets the bar high when it comes to His character and reliability, and He wants us to have the faith to believe it and expect it.
Paul was so bold as to say, "According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life or by death." (Ph 1:20)
I don't think that kind of faith was purchased for a buck.
"Mom, what do you want for your birthday? You can have whatever you want. Think about it, Mom, what is the best thing you wish for this year?"
There was a long pause as I was trying to think of what to tell her, and then came the gamechanger, "Mom, whatever you'd like from the dollar store, I'd be happy to buy for you."
Not that I thought my daughter, at age six, could afford much more, but I have to admit that when challenged to come up with "whatever" I want for my birthday, the dollar store hadn't figured into the equation.
Let's consider the modern day dollar store phenomena. On one hand, I love them. It's the greatest place to go for cheap party supplies, cards, and especially stuff to fill kid's Easter baskets and Christmas stockings. But the sad reality is that most of my $1 purchases end up in the trash can within days of leaving the store. They create an initial thrill in my children's lives but are quickly broken, used up, or cast aside for me to trip over or the toddler to chew on. The dollar store is great if you have your expectations appropriately placed (low).
Expectations are everything, they say. When Abe was less than one year old, our family decided to make our first family vacation to Florida and surprise my parents who were spending time there at a state park. We wouldn't have normally made the trip. It seemed too expensive, too long of a drive with four young kids, basically too much work for us. But my mom had terminal cancer and we were afraid this may be her last vacation to this long-time Zeller family favorite spot. We decided to go for it, and just adjusted our expectations accordingly. Jack and I figured we'd spend our time keeping our kids from drowning in the Gulf of Mexico, making sure our condo beds are sand-free, and return home more exhausted than we were now. So, when Abe screamed for the first oh, say nine hours of the trip, it pretty much just met our expectations. When we got turned around in the Florida panhandle and added several hours to our drive, we kept our cool and kept going. Things were happening according to our expectations, so we weren't upset at all. In the end, we actually ended up having a wonderful time. The kids had a blast, my parents were surprised and thrilled to see us, and Jack and I had some nice down-time. In retrospect, we seriously aren't sure if it was really that great of a time, or if it just exceeded our terribly low expectations!
It's rather tempting to go through life setting our expectation dial to low. It seems easier and less stressful. I won't get my feelings hurt so much if I just expect less from my relationships. I won't get so angry with my kids if I lower my expectations and I'll be pleasantly surprised when they do more. Reigning in our expectations certainly seems like a safer and more secure way to navigate life.
I've realized there are times I've taken this approach to my relationship with God. The disappointments and hurts of life are sometimes too much to reconcile with a loving God. If I expect from God what I expect from my dollar store birthday gift, those difficult and heart-wrenching life experiences don't hurt quite so bad. After all, I didn't expect much from Him.
It's playing it safe with dollar store faith. But I'm afraid the quality of my faith and my relationship with God suffers from the same low standard as the $1 kite stuck out in my oak tree.
The apostle Paul says in Ephesians 3:20, "Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, Unto Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus throughout all ages, world without end. Amen."
If God's word is truth (John 17:17) then I have to believe that playing it safe with low expectations isn't His plan. I'm coming to see that the times I've done this, I may have succeeded in protecting myself, but I've also missed out on seeing God's power. God sets the bar high when it comes to His character and reliability, and He wants us to have the faith to believe it and expect it.
Paul was so bold as to say, "According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life or by death." (Ph 1:20)
I don't think that kind of faith was purchased for a buck.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
What’s on (what’s left of) Alysia’s Mind…
Pet peeves…we all have them. Jack and I attended a Valentine’s Day party with our homeschool group and played a couple’s game reminiscent of the old “Newlywed Game.” One of the questions we were both asked was, “What is your spouse’s biggest pet peeve about you?” A dangerous question, no doubt. A few of the men took the easy way out and answered dishonestly, “Nothing.” Not one of the wives took this route, and we all quickly used the opportunity to voice those little idiosyncrasies that drive us nuts. Jack’s answer was that I swallow too loudly at times. (Seriously?) Mine was that if I’m watching TV, he’ll come in the room, turn the sound to mute, and then leave. Sometimes he’ll watch TV with no sound. When asked why, he told me he just knows what they’re saying. (Maybe if he’d stop using his mind-reading skills and leave the sound on he wouldn’t have to hear my obnoxious sounding swallow.)
By now I’m sure you’re wondering what in the world my point is. All that to lead up to sharing my biggest pet peeve about Christians, and, at times, this includes me. Why is it Christians have decided that the ease with which something is accomplished is the litmus test for whether or not God is blessing it? The idea that God is only behind the endeavors that happen quickly and easily seems a trap of our modern-day anemic faith.
I see little to support this mindset in the Scriptures. As a matter of fact, what I see is quite the opposite.
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” (James 1:2-3)
“Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ.” (I Peter 4:12-14)
Words like stand firm, perseverance, trials, discipline, patience, and longsuffering dot the landscape of God’s word. But despite this, we expect ease and convenience in our endeavors even to the point of quitting in the face of difficulty…because if it’s tough, it must not be God’s will, right?
It would be dishonest if we told you the trials faced while raising support have never caused us to doubt. We have. The journey has been long, and it’s not over. God has been busy humbling us, teaching us and growing us. We see our faith being exercised, sometimes in painful, strenuous ways.
Paul, the apostle, tells Timothy to “Fight the good fight of the faith.” (I Tim 6:12) Although prize fights are characterized by hard work, sweat, endurance, getting back up when knocked down, and intense determination, we want to stay in the ring. So ring the bell, and count us in for the next round.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” (II Cor. 4:8-10)
Pet peeves…we all have them. Jack and I attended a Valentine’s Day party with our homeschool group and played a couple’s game reminiscent of the old “Newlywed Game.” One of the questions we were both asked was, “What is your spouse’s biggest pet peeve about you?” A dangerous question, no doubt. A few of the men took the easy way out and answered dishonestly, “Nothing.” Not one of the wives took this route, and we all quickly used the opportunity to voice those little idiosyncrasies that drive us nuts. Jack’s answer was that I swallow too loudly at times. (Seriously?) Mine was that if I’m watching TV, he’ll come in the room, turn the sound to mute, and then leave. Sometimes he’ll watch TV with no sound. When asked why, he told me he just knows what they’re saying. (Maybe if he’d stop using his mind-reading skills and leave the sound on he wouldn’t have to hear my obnoxious sounding swallow.)
By now I’m sure you’re wondering what in the world my point is. All that to lead up to sharing my biggest pet peeve about Christians, and, at times, this includes me. Why is it Christians have decided that the ease with which something is accomplished is the litmus test for whether or not God is blessing it? The idea that God is only behind the endeavors that happen quickly and easily seems a trap of our modern-day anemic faith.
I see little to support this mindset in the Scriptures. As a matter of fact, what I see is quite the opposite.
“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” (James 1:2-3)
“Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ.” (I Peter 4:12-14)
Words like stand firm, perseverance, trials, discipline, patience, and longsuffering dot the landscape of God’s word. But despite this, we expect ease and convenience in our endeavors even to the point of quitting in the face of difficulty…because if it’s tough, it must not be God’s will, right?
It would be dishonest if we told you the trials faced while raising support have never caused us to doubt. We have. The journey has been long, and it’s not over. God has been busy humbling us, teaching us and growing us. We see our faith being exercised, sometimes in painful, strenuous ways.
Paul, the apostle, tells Timothy to “Fight the good fight of the faith.” (I Tim 6:12) Although prize fights are characterized by hard work, sweat, endurance, getting back up when knocked down, and intense determination, we want to stay in the ring. So ring the bell, and count us in for the next round.
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” (II Cor. 4:8-10)
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