The world is full of people, and each of us has a different perspective and a different role to play in God's glory. With 7 billion + (Is it more now?) people sharing one planet with that many different viewpoints, skills and beliefs, one sighs thinking about the wonder of it all. God's grace really is all that can be holding everything together (Colossians 1:17).
We have a 3.5-year-old and an almost 7-month-old. Every day we have to remind the toddler that just because his brother grabbed his hair and pulled that does not mean that his little brother was trying to harm him. In fact, his infant brother was showing his love and desire for his big brother -- he just doesn't know the correct way to do it yet because he has only the perspective of a brand-new person. As he grows and learns, and we communicate with him, improvements will happen.
Those instances have become a good reminder to me that each of us has different perspectives, and, most of the time, when we cause strife or disagree with others, it is more about the distance in communication than an actual attempt to cause hurt.
How we treat each other through disagreements is significant, though.
This post is an emotional one for me that has been building for months, so I have been praying that God will help me be gracious in my expression of these feelings. It's more for me than others, and to y'all it may be of no consequence, but I know it is a necessary step for me in a current struggle within myself. And, hey, if any of y'all have gone through something similar, let's connect and support each other.
I am introverted, in the sense that being around others drains my energy, but I crave a few deep, quality friendships. The nature of friendships has changed for me since schooldays have ended. I don't see the same people for hours of every day anymore, so being one who needs time to warm up to others in order to feel safe opening up, those connections aren't happening. I've tried blaming how busy everyone is or social networks or the distracted, constant attention required of me as a mother (which I love; being a mommy is my calling; it naturally demands very much attention). But I really think the issue is my own confusion with my own identity. Introspection, always thinking and always processing what is happening around me, is also a large part of my own introversion.
So I'm lonely and I think too much. Thus -- this post.
(My husband is my best friend and a constant source of support for me. He listens to me rant and cry with the utmost patience regularly, and then he reminds me of God's sovereignty in the ways I need, so when I say I am lonely, I mean as far as interactive relationships with other Christians are concerned.)
So when did my identity go blurry? My dad died a little more than eight years ago, while I was in college and before I met my husband (which makes me sooooo sad; I wish they could know each other; I think they'd really enjoy each other's company). He was my favorite person. He made me feel loved and safe and led. He knew what he believed, and he felt passionate about all of it. Following Jesus Christ was most important to him. He left the church for twenty years after someone offended him as a 17-year-old. I don't know all the details, but I know he dealt with a lot through that time apart from God's people, and I am sure it fueled his dependence on Jesus and deep gratitude for salvation (in this life as much as the next). He was patriotic and served with the Marine Corps in Vietnam long before I was born, and passion for the freedoms of this country were deeply engrained in him based on the experiences he would never talk about. He was confident of good versus evil, and he had a clear, distinct sense of the difference between the two in many situations. And, of course, he loved his family. He was a constant, meek (which to me means gentle + firm) disciplinarian, and his goodnight kisses through his scruffy beard and his strong hugs reached my heart. He loved my mother fiercely and encouraged and supported her. I still remember the way he would hug her in the kitchen every evening, like they were the only two in the world. Sigh... I felt so safe and cared for by a leader with a strong, good heart.
I was 21 the day he died, already experiencing how different the world is through a child's eyes versus an adult's eyes. So much more complicated. The loss and grief of death turn things upside-down. Everything changes. My sister and I were already away at college when Dad died (but we were home for a summer break). My mom was an empty-nester and a widow -- so many whammies to peace. I relied on the strength of my dad's beliefs to fuel my own, and that presence all of a sudden disappeared at the time it seemed I needed it most. The thing I liked about talking to my dad when an event of social or political importance occurred was his assurance of right and wrong. He was certain. Where I had a strong role model -- with the perspective of nearly 60 years of life with and without Jesus, as well as war experience -- to answer my questions as I processed events, I now only had cynical 20-somethings with the perspectives of pampered children to tell me how I should feel about things in the world. ... And since I was at a Christian college, pretty much just big church camp for almost-adults, it not only made my sense as a world citizen blurry, but also my identity in the church. And social networking, in which we learn people's opinions before we really get to know them (YIKES!), has continued that fog for me.
Thankfully, my parents did an excellent job of teaching me that God loves me and I should stick with him through all my questions and mistakes. That has never been in question. But today's world is really active, and the global connection we have through the Internet puts Romans 12:2 into overdrive, "...that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." And it's exhausting.
Many examples could be pulled from my memory to illustrate how lost I feel as a member of the church, but this one will be the most effective: Phil Roberston of "Duck Dynasty" is a person I like. A lot. He knows what he believes, and he is sure of Whose he is. Not only that, he has experienced life without and with Jesus... and his heart has changed. I have heard him speak in person, and I've seen him interact with others on a couple seasons of his show. He loves Jesus. And he loves people. It's part of his heart. Now, I am sure most of you remember that a few months ago, Phil didn't think about the expression of some particular words in an interview and how they would affect some very dear humans, who he himself said he respected as creations of God's, before he stuck his boot in his mouth. Yes, he said something stupid that took away from the message of God's love he was trying to express. But all of us say something stupid every now and then; and, if you don't, continue that vow of silence. It's working for you. And if you argue that those words revealed a disrespect from his heart level, I think you need to take a step back and remember who the Judge of hearts is, Who the only Judge of hearts can be. We all have black spots on our hearts, subject to limitations in perspective and personal biases. Jesus had to save us, remember? We can remind each other to put ourselves in the shoes of others without disrespecting each other, or without paying disrespect for disrespect.
Why am I talking about Phil, you ask? Get on with it, Nicoll.
Well, not only did a world that has no knowledge of his perspective from the Bible turn against him, but Christians, who I pray read our Bibles, did too! The tolerant ones, who usually have a good head about them when people make mistakes or become victims of bullying. Uhhh!!! Yes, please continue loving the people lost in sin and seeking to show them God's love and grace, but don't forget to show that to your brothers and sisters when they mess up too. Yes, lovingly correct your brothers and sisters when they make a mistake, but please do so patiently, as God does with you daily. (And one of my favorite things about Phil is that he doesn't need anyone to stand up for him. He is confident. This is not about standing up for Phil. This is about loving each other, as we seek the lost by loving them too.)
As a Christian, I always imagine sitting at this huge table with all of my brothers and sisters in Christ. Jesus is at the head with Father-God, and we are feasting and communing, sometimes laughing and sometimes talking seriously. Growing up, my family always used supper-time at the table to talk about our days and our thoughts together. So I imagine every day that I am a part of this big family, processing God's love as it relates to this crazy world that needs him so badly, discussing the reminders we each receive about WHY WE STILL NEED HIM SO BADLY. And when my brothers and sisters turned on Phil Roberston (and, remember, I could pull out more examples of this, not just Phil. This isn't about Phil.), I all of a sudden felt like a scared little sister. "I can't make a mistake," I thought. "My really cool siblings, who are so good at everything and have awesome gifts, will turn on me if I say or ask something stupid because I should know better. It doesn't matter that I don't know better because of my limited perspective, I HAVE TO know better!"
Feeling that way makes it difficult to invite someone from outside to the table.
Everyone always says "Actions are louder than words," IF only the words are good and the actions are missing. BUT if someone says something stupid, even if their actions are good, the meaning of that saying goes out the window. Double standard. Obviously, words AND actions both play important roles in our service to the world. But we're all human, and Jesus came to save Christians too. We aren't perfect yet, although we strive for it in Christ's example -- constantly.
If you're someone who can't stand Phil, watch this "I Am Second" video, not because Phil needs support, but so you feel better about the world. He is DOING good things for people in need, not just sitting in his ivory trailor saying "dumb redneck" things.
I said that is just one example of many of how I am afraid to hold my opinions and share them, which makes it really difficult to relate to people. And I admit I am more sensitive than I should be. This is one step of many to respect myself and my own opinions and claim my place as a daughter of God in the Kingdom that my brother Christ has saved. My place is already there, whether or not I state my opinions, and most likely you don't need this, but this is my helpful self-talk. It can be very wise to keep your mouth shut, which is why none of this has been posted as a Facebook status (I learned that lesson the hard way)... but have you ever tried to be friends with someone who doesn't ever share anything about who they are??? It doesn't really work. Relationships go both ways. This is where my voice is, on the Internet. Yeah, distracted mothers 100 years ago survived without their "voice" on the Internet, but they also didn't know about all the icky things the Devil is trying to do all over the globe, thus creating all this mind poop!
Okay, to be more positive: This is an excellent situation for my husband and I to find OUR identity in Christ, to rely on Father-God's Word and providence, and figure out specifically how we want to teach our children to begin expressing His love to the world. I can be proud of my American heritage and my family's patriotism and my Christian faith, regardless of the mistakes some of my ancestors made. I can be proud of good things -- because they do exist -- and humble enough about the bad things -- because they do exist -- to seek improvements and solutions without throwing people under the bus. Morals are still as important as service and acceptance. Discernment is needed always to distinguish how Jesus Christ would act and who moves his heart. And, I can't forget Proverbs 27:17 -- when iron sharpens iron, sparks fly; it isn't a quiet, passive chat by the fireside. We shape each other, for better or worse, as each of us attempts to impact our world..
The Internet has been around for years, and social networking has too, but I would say we're all still getting used to this burden of knowing ALLLLLLLL the problems of ALLLLLLLL the people in ALLLLLLLL the places on the globe, so let's be as patient as possible with each other when our perspectives clash.
Let me be patient with myself when perspectives clash.
Jesus loves ALLLLLLLLLL the people in ALLLLLLLLLLL the places. When we want each other to respect others, let's remember to respect each other as we communicate. I think of the Parable of the Talents from Matthew 25. Some of us can make a global difference, some of us have been given a place in our communities or our churches, or maybe just our families. But I am gonna pull out that one talent I have been burying and let Jesus do something with it, instead of hiding like a blemished idiot who is afraid of others, who are just as blemished and limited as I am -- without Jesus.
Jesus has cleaned me and helps me learn more each day. The same goes for you.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Thoughts On Running, Pregnancy, Mother/Servanthood and Identity
(Whoa, y'all, it's been six months since I wrote anything of this volume. Forgive grammatical errors and nonsensical babbling, please. And it's late, and I have only slept through one whole night in six and a half months (to my happily breastfeeding pleasure; I like getting up for quiet time with my littler one! The mention of only one night of sleep is NOT to complain -- it is just to explain the odd stream of consciousness that may lose you.)) :)
The feel of the shoes' soles patting the pavement with each step, the motion of my L-shaped arms swinging beside me and my hips twisting with step-by-step progress, and, most of all, the sound of life coming in and out of my lungs through the blessed holes in my face -- somehow these physical motions route my multitude of distracted, misguided thoughts into a convergence of focus that leads a song of praise from my vital, beating heart. I become one with myself when I run. And when the different parts of my being (physical, mental, spiritual) align, God comes into focus, in all His nearness.
Running is therapy for me. Sure, I like its weight-loss properties. But the endorphins and confidence that follow covering miles of ground at a running pace attach me to this pasttime, regardless of my physique's appearance. Exercise has always affected me positively. Lack of exercise has always affected me negatively. Some of us are more sensitive to certain things than others. I've known for half of my life that if I struggle with fatigue or aggression, I need to get active and sweaty. At least I have started heeding that knowledge in the past several years. I have tried ignoring it before.
The last long-distance run I ran was 15 months ago. I was seven-ish weeks pregnant with our second baby (after a year and a half of praying and trying (HALLELUJAH!)). Some friends and I ran 5 miles together after playing basketball games with our church family. I knew I was pregnant. And I knew that running while pregnant was okay to do in my condition. I had been running for almost two years (after our first son's birth), training really hard toward a half-marathon. Five miles should not have been an issue. BUT I started spotting the next night. TERROR! Running does not trump the life of my baby, so I stopped, immediately. Thankfully, THAT wonderful, amazing, sweet soul is now a healthy 6 1/2-month-old, who is blessing our lives with his eagerness for adventure with all the walking, talking people at whom he smiles constantly.
*I know many pregnant women can successfully run without harming their unborn children. Good for them, sincerely!
Since our second son was born, I have been walking three to four times a week with 56-pounds (and growing) of boys attached to me (by Ergo carrier for the infant and stroller for the toddler). I attempted running three times since then. The breathing felt good, but my knees, which never bothered me before, were crying, "Old, old woman! What are you doing to us?!" My knees are valuable to me for their walking attributes, so I have been babying them for a couple months by avoiding running. But I have kept at my walking with my boys.
Well... a couple of weeks ago, we discovered a beautiful state park within 20 minutes of our home for a family outing. And, in that park, is a 2-mile loop. Two miles of winding, flat concrete trail, closely guarded by tall but comforting trees, began calling to me, "Come, Nicoll, this is the place, the place where you can get your run on again!"
Thanks to my sweet husband, I got a few hours of needed alone-time (I am an introvert) in a breastfeeding-free window this afternoon. Y'all, I am SO thankful I chose to return to the state park and let the trail's siren-esque call drag me in even further.
Since I had never completed the loop, I chose to walk the shaded two miles first and discover some of its secrets. Because of its constant curvature and the closeness of the trees, I felt like I was the only one out there with God and His creation. So quiet. But so alive with noises and movements. For the first time in a long time, I pretended, like I suppose I once did as a little girl, that I was the timid heroine in a story of my own design. Yep, I had a whole scene going on in my head. That is all I care to share about that. I walked to the stagnant frog pond and listened to the interesting noises that come out of those surprisingly well-hidden, croaking, amphibious blobs. And then the mosquitoes who like the standing water hurried me on my way. Later in the walk, a doe was drinking from the enclosed lake, 25 feet from me. I paused to watch her for at least five minutes, until she heard the couple behind me. So gentle and feminine she was. I saw three herons, or maybe I saw one heron three times, taking flight and landing near their homes on the shore. Wooden docks and a beautiful bridge adorned the loop, and I paused on some to peer in the water. I didn't see any fish.
Being outside. Moving outside. Thinking outside. Connecting to what has been here since the beginning of time and pausing to breathe it in invigorated me.
I was ready.
Two miles, baby, in less than 20 minutes. I still feel good, six hours later.
Two young men on a canoe may have witnessed an odd young woman with blonde hair in pig tails holding her hands up in worshipful gratitude to God as she crossed the sunbathed bridge. But I barely noticed them because that was the only point in my run without trees blocking me from the sky, and the sun felt like God looking straight at me, enjoying my joy -- like I enjoy my 3-year-old's cutely sloppy running or my 6-month-old's happily frantic almost-crawling.
When can I return? Seriously, y'all. So GOOD!
I thought I would continue this post with some of the thoughts that came to focus out there on the trail. How long can this possibly be? If I placed each letter thus far typed in this post in a line on that trail, would it stretch farther than the 2 miles already? Ha-ha!
Most of the thoughts that have been pinging around in my head for months (and then found receptors this afternoon) deal with identity: Each of us must get to know ourselves and love ourselves while we interact with and serve others. Like breathing, a constant flow of air in and out of us to keep us alive, we have to keep reflecting within ourselves to let the Light shine out. Reflection points to the need for humbling changes and/or empowering changes to what God is teaching us about His love. Mothers, just as one example amidst the hundreds of servants in humankind, stay constantly busy caring for little ones. The simple acts of feeding and cleaning humans, not to mention enriching them as emotional and relational and spiritual beings, are demanding and constant. Thank you, God, that we live in a time where the emotionally misguided gospel of self-deprecation and doormat service is being challenged. Empty vessels have nothing to give; drained servants can help no one.
My husband and I do our best to help each other engage in activities that fill us, especially when we sense the other is feeling drained. (Yes, I am so blessed and appreciative of my good partner!) Yes, prayer and Bible study and fellowship with other Christians are necessities in filling us with God's good things, to remind us Whose we are and why we're here. But so are our hobbies and goals and the various relationships we have with others. Alone-time and personal interests and different levels of friendships shape me into Nicoll; all those things help me figure out who I am and what I care about. Those individual interests connect me with the people I can serve and love. Struggles and obstacles prune me and help me reach for the sky. Make me a servant, Lord, and thank you for providing me with the freedom as a citizen, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to discover the servant's heart you have buried inside me.
And thank you for the ability to enjoy the run today. I love serving my husband and our two boys, and it is nice to be operating on a full tank of servant fuel.
The feel of the shoes' soles patting the pavement with each step, the motion of my L-shaped arms swinging beside me and my hips twisting with step-by-step progress, and, most of all, the sound of life coming in and out of my lungs through the blessed holes in my face -- somehow these physical motions route my multitude of distracted, misguided thoughts into a convergence of focus that leads a song of praise from my vital, beating heart. I become one with myself when I run. And when the different parts of my being (physical, mental, spiritual) align, God comes into focus, in all His nearness.
Running is therapy for me. Sure, I like its weight-loss properties. But the endorphins and confidence that follow covering miles of ground at a running pace attach me to this pasttime, regardless of my physique's appearance. Exercise has always affected me positively. Lack of exercise has always affected me negatively. Some of us are more sensitive to certain things than others. I've known for half of my life that if I struggle with fatigue or aggression, I need to get active and sweaty. At least I have started heeding that knowledge in the past several years. I have tried ignoring it before.
The last long-distance run I ran was 15 months ago. I was seven-ish weeks pregnant with our second baby (after a year and a half of praying and trying (HALLELUJAH!)). Some friends and I ran 5 miles together after playing basketball games with our church family. I knew I was pregnant. And I knew that running while pregnant was okay to do in my condition. I had been running for almost two years (after our first son's birth), training really hard toward a half-marathon. Five miles should not have been an issue. BUT I started spotting the next night. TERROR! Running does not trump the life of my baby, so I stopped, immediately. Thankfully, THAT wonderful, amazing, sweet soul is now a healthy 6 1/2-month-old, who is blessing our lives with his eagerness for adventure with all the walking, talking people at whom he smiles constantly.
*I know many pregnant women can successfully run without harming their unborn children. Good for them, sincerely!
Since our second son was born, I have been walking three to four times a week with 56-pounds (and growing) of boys attached to me (by Ergo carrier for the infant and stroller for the toddler). I attempted running three times since then. The breathing felt good, but my knees, which never bothered me before, were crying, "Old, old woman! What are you doing to us?!" My knees are valuable to me for their walking attributes, so I have been babying them for a couple months by avoiding running. But I have kept at my walking with my boys.
Well... a couple of weeks ago, we discovered a beautiful state park within 20 minutes of our home for a family outing. And, in that park, is a 2-mile loop. Two miles of winding, flat concrete trail, closely guarded by tall but comforting trees, began calling to me, "Come, Nicoll, this is the place, the place where you can get your run on again!"
Thanks to my sweet husband, I got a few hours of needed alone-time (I am an introvert) in a breastfeeding-free window this afternoon. Y'all, I am SO thankful I chose to return to the state park and let the trail's siren-esque call drag me in even further.
Since I had never completed the loop, I chose to walk the shaded two miles first and discover some of its secrets. Because of its constant curvature and the closeness of the trees, I felt like I was the only one out there with God and His creation. So quiet. But so alive with noises and movements. For the first time in a long time, I pretended, like I suppose I once did as a little girl, that I was the timid heroine in a story of my own design. Yep, I had a whole scene going on in my head. That is all I care to share about that. I walked to the stagnant frog pond and listened to the interesting noises that come out of those surprisingly well-hidden, croaking, amphibious blobs. And then the mosquitoes who like the standing water hurried me on my way. Later in the walk, a doe was drinking from the enclosed lake, 25 feet from me. I paused to watch her for at least five minutes, until she heard the couple behind me. So gentle and feminine she was. I saw three herons, or maybe I saw one heron three times, taking flight and landing near their homes on the shore. Wooden docks and a beautiful bridge adorned the loop, and I paused on some to peer in the water. I didn't see any fish.
Being outside. Moving outside. Thinking outside. Connecting to what has been here since the beginning of time and pausing to breathe it in invigorated me.
I was ready.
Two miles, baby, in less than 20 minutes. I still feel good, six hours later.
Two young men on a canoe may have witnessed an odd young woman with blonde hair in pig tails holding her hands up in worshipful gratitude to God as she crossed the sunbathed bridge. But I barely noticed them because that was the only point in my run without trees blocking me from the sky, and the sun felt like God looking straight at me, enjoying my joy -- like I enjoy my 3-year-old's cutely sloppy running or my 6-month-old's happily frantic almost-crawling.
When can I return? Seriously, y'all. So GOOD!
I thought I would continue this post with some of the thoughts that came to focus out there on the trail. How long can this possibly be? If I placed each letter thus far typed in this post in a line on that trail, would it stretch farther than the 2 miles already? Ha-ha!
Most of the thoughts that have been pinging around in my head for months (and then found receptors this afternoon) deal with identity: Each of us must get to know ourselves and love ourselves while we interact with and serve others. Like breathing, a constant flow of air in and out of us to keep us alive, we have to keep reflecting within ourselves to let the Light shine out. Reflection points to the need for humbling changes and/or empowering changes to what God is teaching us about His love. Mothers, just as one example amidst the hundreds of servants in humankind, stay constantly busy caring for little ones. The simple acts of feeding and cleaning humans, not to mention enriching them as emotional and relational and spiritual beings, are demanding and constant. Thank you, God, that we live in a time where the emotionally misguided gospel of self-deprecation and doormat service is being challenged. Empty vessels have nothing to give; drained servants can help no one.
My husband and I do our best to help each other engage in activities that fill us, especially when we sense the other is feeling drained. (Yes, I am so blessed and appreciative of my good partner!) Yes, prayer and Bible study and fellowship with other Christians are necessities in filling us with God's good things, to remind us Whose we are and why we're here. But so are our hobbies and goals and the various relationships we have with others. Alone-time and personal interests and different levels of friendships shape me into Nicoll; all those things help me figure out who I am and what I care about. Those individual interests connect me with the people I can serve and love. Struggles and obstacles prune me and help me reach for the sky. Make me a servant, Lord, and thank you for providing me with the freedom as a citizen, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, and a friend to discover the servant's heart you have buried inside me.
And thank you for the ability to enjoy the run today. I love serving my husband and our two boys, and it is nice to be operating on a full tank of servant fuel.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Birth story: All-natural VBAC
Our second child arrived one week ago. How have seven whole days --now eight, in the time it took me to write this -- passed since?!
Before the details blur into all-night nursing marathons, I'd like to record the birth story. And because God answered our prayers regarding this birth, I would like to share the story of what he did for us with those of you who care to hear.
Our first child arrived in late October a little more than three years ago. My whole pregnancy, I wanted to give birth naturally (no pitocin, no pain killers) because of spiritual insights I hoped to gain from the experience -- not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. Our firstborn was a week overdue, and because of last-minute high-blood pressure, my doctor recommended an induction. Only a few hours into the birth, I asked for an epidural because people had convinced me pitocin made contractions more painful than they otherwise would be -- which psyched me out. (After experiencing contractions with and without pitocin, YES, pitocin makes them more intense.) Long story short: Our baby had to be delivered in an emergency c-section because of what turned out to be a cord issue -- it was wrapped around him, squeezing him to death during every contraction. The events of that day and the way they played out gave us a healthy, happy child we may otherwise have lost... so I am beyond grateful for modern medical procedures. However, I felt disappointed I didn't get to experience giving birth naturally, and it remained a hope of mine for another time. I also realized I had not prepared myself mentally for attempting the pains of childbirth with no pain killers and knew I would have to be less naive the next time.
When we got pregnant this second time, my husband and I began praying and preparing for the possibility of an all-natural VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section). We really like our doctor and trust our care to her medical knowledge. She was on-board with the plan. We also read a book called The Bradley Method: Husband-Coached Childbirth to help us prepare mentally for making it through contractions. My favorite part of the book was a repetitive mention of how important relaxing one's body, especially the jaw, through contractions is to experiencing the pain in a less terrifying way. We practiced relaxing together many nights... I am NOT good at it. But that jaw part was a practical. helpful tool for me when it counted.
As the due date approached, I tried to retain a realistic view of my own courage, knowing I might very well wimp out, but praying God would have sovereignty over the timing and circumstances to make me stronger and braver than I felt. (Reading Bible stories with a little boy over the past few years really helped me find courage... because I really feel like I am a wimp... but God provides the bravery.)
Another potential obstacle: My body does not like to let go of my babies. My period predicted our second baby's due date as November 23... but an early ultrasound (because of scary spotting that thankfully revealed no harm) predicted the baby as due December 2. Talk about a letdown in the nauseous, anxiety-filled first trimester. I really felt like I'd been pregnant forever by the end, but who doesn't? Anyway, at my 40-week checkup, December 2, my body showed no signs of releasing a child, not even contractions. My doctor and I decided that by a certain date, December 10, if my body had not delivered a baby on its own, we would do a c-section. I did NOT want to do a pitocin induction because I believe it messes up a lot of the flow of labor, and my doctor agreed that with a VBAC and my seemingly reluctant body that pitocin would lead to nothing but a c-section anyway. The issue with a VBAC is the scar from the previous c-section. An internal contraction monitoring device, in addition to monitoring baby's heart rate, is important to provide reassurance the scar does not tear during labor.
Well, the week before December 9 (a week past due date) I started feeling some contractions at bedtime. Then, on Saturday night, they came about every 10-12 minutes and continued at that consistency throughout Sunday and Sunday night. At our checkup Monday morning, I was so excited to share that I HAD actually felt contractions... and my doctor was excited too... but my body hadn't changed a whole lot. SO -- we scheduled the c-section for the next morning but kept hoping and praying for the VBAC. (I know, I know -- what a contrast -- c-section or all-natural VBAC.) I felt very conflicted, but prayed God would make the path clear for us.
Well... God rescued! Throughout that afternoon my contractions became more intense and closer together. My husband took me to the hospital at 5:30, where I timidly said, "I think I'm in labor." They checked, and an hour later we were admitted for a VBAC, with a requested nurse who would serve as my advocate against pitocin or an epidural. I felt so thankful... and so TERRIFIED!!! God gave me what I asked for -- at THE perfect time. I felt like a little David approaching a huge giant. Well, no... maybe Moses approaching Pharoah. God had confidence in me. GULP! WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO IT?!
God provided strength through my wonderful husband, who stood by my side the entire time. Through every contraction, he held my hand and looked in my eyes and counted. I knew I could make it through because by the time he got to 25, I came to realize the pain would dissipate. As the pain intensified, he continued to reassure me of his confidence in me and my hopes to overcome the labor and delivery. He never gave up or weakened in encouragement.
God made me courageous by providing the perfect nurse for our situation. She had a child via VBAC. Her son's birthday was the next day, what we assumed would be our child's birthday (but he came on the forward side of midnight, so it wasn't). That "coincidence" assured me God provided her for this right time. God was with me. She brought me pillows and a heating pad. She helped me get on all fours and told me to wiggle my hips to get through the contractions of back pain. (Awesomely effective position) By the time I felt the unbearable pain of transition contractions, I was discussing an epidural. Okay, not discussing -- pleading for one. Haha -- The nurse and my husband told me they saw the change in my eyes once transition started. I felt possessed by a demon of pain. The pain was so strong and returned so quickly; I was TERRIFIED! She squarely said, "Nope, you're almost done, and you'll regret it if you get an epidural. Just take it one contraction at a time. Most women feel better when they can start pushing because it'll feel like you're fighting back." I latched on to that last part. Oh, Lord, I sincerely prayed (and screamed several times), please get me there soon! (I remember asking if it was okay to scream. Ha! Ha!)
God delivered me. We were admitted into the hospital about 6:30, an hour after we arrived and they confirmed my labor. Shortly after, they broke my water. I was unaware of the time, but when I measured at 6 centimeters (and not yet in total misery) the nurse told me that our baby didn't have a lot of hair. I think it's cool she could touch our baby while he was still in my tummy. (And we didn't yet know his gender.) That gave me momentum. At 10:15, when I was in utter AGONY from the clenching pain of transition contractions, the nurse checked me and determined I was 8 centimeters dilated. She estimated I would be able to push in an hour or two. That much longer with the pain?! I began to doubt my courage. Our second son ("It's a BOY!) was born at 10:33 -- less than 20 minutes later!!!
Right after she said I was at 8 cm and that the on-call doctor would arrive soon, I told our nurse I felt like I needed to push and poop (sorry--part of it). I remember a look of skepticism on her face. She checked. Yep! I was already complete at 10 cm and the baby's head was right there!
She and the other nurses told me several times to blow instead of push (which I may have rebelliously ignored a couple times closer to go-time), and got on their hustle, wheeling in all kinds of equipment (including a spotlight. That cracks me up.) Becky, our nurse, told me that the on-call doctor would not make it in time, so Dr. Sahini, the little Indian MAN serving as the hospital's laborist, would have to catch our baby. People, this is the most amusing part for me... There is a reason I chose a doctor in a medical practice of solely female physicians. I am so thankful God gave me a sense of humor about it. I am still chuckling about how the throes of labor helped me let go of lots of my anxieties. One thing mattered in the moment: GET THIS BABY SAFELY OUT OF ME AND STOP THE PAIN! God bless Dr. Sahini.
I won't go into details, but pushing and delivery were pretty amazing to me. I pushed only about 10 minutes. One time I let out an Amazon scream. It felt so good to yell that loudly in the most intense action of my life. "I AM WOMAN!. See what God made my body able to do!" it roared. -- But then Becky brought me back and told me to take a breath, hold it, and push again.
They placed our baby in my arms. JOY. TOTAL JOY.
They had already prepared my husband to call the gender. I saw at the same time he said, "It's a boy! Oh, look at our precious boy!" I laughed. I cried. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. My husband held me and gazed in amazement at our newest child too.
"God is good. God is so good." I couldn't stop feeling it and saying it. "Thank you, Father-God."
After that, I was in paradise. The pain was gone. My baby was in my arms, healthy and whole.
They took his APGAR score and made him less slippery and handed him back to me. I remember the nurses all commenting on how pink and healthy he was -- something we read in our Bradley book. I got to breastfeed him for 40 minutes before they took him to weigh and bathe. I nursed his older brother until this past September, when he was 34 months old. It is one of my favorite things to do/be/experience.
I still have to process this experience to glean those spiritual insights I craved. In the meantime, I just feel blessed by God's strong presence in the circumstances and his amazing quality of providing an abundant amount of success in courage and generosity in advocates (my husband and nurse and praying friends) where I had only a meager willingness to attempt it.
Before the details blur into all-night nursing marathons, I'd like to record the birth story. And because God answered our prayers regarding this birth, I would like to share the story of what he did for us with those of you who care to hear.
Our first child arrived in late October a little more than three years ago. My whole pregnancy, I wanted to give birth naturally (no pitocin, no pain killers) because of spiritual insights I hoped to gain from the experience -- not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. Our firstborn was a week overdue, and because of last-minute high-blood pressure, my doctor recommended an induction. Only a few hours into the birth, I asked for an epidural because people had convinced me pitocin made contractions more painful than they otherwise would be -- which psyched me out. (After experiencing contractions with and without pitocin, YES, pitocin makes them more intense.) Long story short: Our baby had to be delivered in an emergency c-section because of what turned out to be a cord issue -- it was wrapped around him, squeezing him to death during every contraction. The events of that day and the way they played out gave us a healthy, happy child we may otherwise have lost... so I am beyond grateful for modern medical procedures. However, I felt disappointed I didn't get to experience giving birth naturally, and it remained a hope of mine for another time. I also realized I had not prepared myself mentally for attempting the pains of childbirth with no pain killers and knew I would have to be less naive the next time.
When we got pregnant this second time, my husband and I began praying and preparing for the possibility of an all-natural VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section). We really like our doctor and trust our care to her medical knowledge. She was on-board with the plan. We also read a book called The Bradley Method: Husband-Coached Childbirth to help us prepare mentally for making it through contractions. My favorite part of the book was a repetitive mention of how important relaxing one's body, especially the jaw, through contractions is to experiencing the pain in a less terrifying way. We practiced relaxing together many nights... I am NOT good at it. But that jaw part was a practical. helpful tool for me when it counted.
As the due date approached, I tried to retain a realistic view of my own courage, knowing I might very well wimp out, but praying God would have sovereignty over the timing and circumstances to make me stronger and braver than I felt. (Reading Bible stories with a little boy over the past few years really helped me find courage... because I really feel like I am a wimp... but God provides the bravery.)
Another potential obstacle: My body does not like to let go of my babies. My period predicted our second baby's due date as November 23... but an early ultrasound (because of scary spotting that thankfully revealed no harm) predicted the baby as due December 2. Talk about a letdown in the nauseous, anxiety-filled first trimester. I really felt like I'd been pregnant forever by the end, but who doesn't? Anyway, at my 40-week checkup, December 2, my body showed no signs of releasing a child, not even contractions. My doctor and I decided that by a certain date, December 10, if my body had not delivered a baby on its own, we would do a c-section. I did NOT want to do a pitocin induction because I believe it messes up a lot of the flow of labor, and my doctor agreed that with a VBAC and my seemingly reluctant body that pitocin would lead to nothing but a c-section anyway. The issue with a VBAC is the scar from the previous c-section. An internal contraction monitoring device, in addition to monitoring baby's heart rate, is important to provide reassurance the scar does not tear during labor.
Well, the week before December 9 (a week past due date) I started feeling some contractions at bedtime. Then, on Saturday night, they came about every 10-12 minutes and continued at that consistency throughout Sunday and Sunday night. At our checkup Monday morning, I was so excited to share that I HAD actually felt contractions... and my doctor was excited too... but my body hadn't changed a whole lot. SO -- we scheduled the c-section for the next morning but kept hoping and praying for the VBAC. (I know, I know -- what a contrast -- c-section or all-natural VBAC.) I felt very conflicted, but prayed God would make the path clear for us.
Well... God rescued! Throughout that afternoon my contractions became more intense and closer together. My husband took me to the hospital at 5:30, where I timidly said, "I think I'm in labor." They checked, and an hour later we were admitted for a VBAC, with a requested nurse who would serve as my advocate against pitocin or an epidural. I felt so thankful... and so TERRIFIED!!! God gave me what I asked for -- at THE perfect time. I felt like a little David approaching a huge giant. Well, no... maybe Moses approaching Pharoah. God had confidence in me. GULP! WOULD I BE ABLE TO DO IT?!
God provided strength through my wonderful husband, who stood by my side the entire time. Through every contraction, he held my hand and looked in my eyes and counted. I knew I could make it through because by the time he got to 25, I came to realize the pain would dissipate. As the pain intensified, he continued to reassure me of his confidence in me and my hopes to overcome the labor and delivery. He never gave up or weakened in encouragement.
God made me courageous by providing the perfect nurse for our situation. She had a child via VBAC. Her son's birthday was the next day, what we assumed would be our child's birthday (but he came on the forward side of midnight, so it wasn't). That "coincidence" assured me God provided her for this right time. God was with me. She brought me pillows and a heating pad. She helped me get on all fours and told me to wiggle my hips to get through the contractions of back pain. (Awesomely effective position) By the time I felt the unbearable pain of transition contractions, I was discussing an epidural. Okay, not discussing -- pleading for one. Haha -- The nurse and my husband told me they saw the change in my eyes once transition started. I felt possessed by a demon of pain. The pain was so strong and returned so quickly; I was TERRIFIED! She squarely said, "Nope, you're almost done, and you'll regret it if you get an epidural. Just take it one contraction at a time. Most women feel better when they can start pushing because it'll feel like you're fighting back." I latched on to that last part. Oh, Lord, I sincerely prayed (and screamed several times), please get me there soon! (I remember asking if it was okay to scream. Ha! Ha!)
God delivered me. We were admitted into the hospital about 6:30, an hour after we arrived and they confirmed my labor. Shortly after, they broke my water. I was unaware of the time, but when I measured at 6 centimeters (and not yet in total misery) the nurse told me that our baby didn't have a lot of hair. I think it's cool she could touch our baby while he was still in my tummy. (And we didn't yet know his gender.) That gave me momentum. At 10:15, when I was in utter AGONY from the clenching pain of transition contractions, the nurse checked me and determined I was 8 centimeters dilated. She estimated I would be able to push in an hour or two. That much longer with the pain?! I began to doubt my courage. Our second son ("It's a BOY!) was born at 10:33 -- less than 20 minutes later!!!
Right after she said I was at 8 cm and that the on-call doctor would arrive soon, I told our nurse I felt like I needed to push and poop (sorry--part of it). I remember a look of skepticism on her face. She checked. Yep! I was already complete at 10 cm and the baby's head was right there!
She and the other nurses told me several times to blow instead of push (which I may have rebelliously ignored a couple times closer to go-time), and got on their hustle, wheeling in all kinds of equipment (including a spotlight. That cracks me up.) Becky, our nurse, told me that the on-call doctor would not make it in time, so Dr. Sahini, the little Indian MAN serving as the hospital's laborist, would have to catch our baby. People, this is the most amusing part for me... There is a reason I chose a doctor in a medical practice of solely female physicians. I am so thankful God gave me a sense of humor about it. I am still chuckling about how the throes of labor helped me let go of lots of my anxieties. One thing mattered in the moment: GET THIS BABY SAFELY OUT OF ME AND STOP THE PAIN! God bless Dr. Sahini.
I won't go into details, but pushing and delivery were pretty amazing to me. I pushed only about 10 minutes. One time I let out an Amazon scream. It felt so good to yell that loudly in the most intense action of my life. "I AM WOMAN!. See what God made my body able to do!" it roared. -- But then Becky brought me back and told me to take a breath, hold it, and push again.
They placed our baby in my arms. JOY. TOTAL JOY.
They had already prepared my husband to call the gender. I saw at the same time he said, "It's a boy! Oh, look at our precious boy!" I laughed. I cried. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. My husband held me and gazed in amazement at our newest child too.
"God is good. God is so good." I couldn't stop feeling it and saying it. "Thank you, Father-God."
After that, I was in paradise. The pain was gone. My baby was in my arms, healthy and whole.
They took his APGAR score and made him less slippery and handed him back to me. I remember the nurses all commenting on how pink and healthy he was -- something we read in our Bradley book. I got to breastfeed him for 40 minutes before they took him to weigh and bathe. I nursed his older brother until this past September, when he was 34 months old. It is one of my favorite things to do/be/experience.
I still have to process this experience to glean those spiritual insights I craved. In the meantime, I just feel blessed by God's strong presence in the circumstances and his amazing quality of providing an abundant amount of success in courage and generosity in advocates (my husband and nurse and praying friends) where I had only a meager willingness to attempt it.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Envy: Don't hate because they have *different* good things
As frustrating as it can be, and as easily as one can become brain-washed by its never-ending updates, Facebook can be a really good teacher of human insecurities... which, in my opinion, are revealed in pride more than doubts.
A trend I have noticed in our culture, and one I still struggle against, has me asking questions. I really think that because I am now a mother and understand personally how precious a child is to his or her parents simply because he exists, answers people have adhered to regarding beauty versus abilities cannot be conclusive and are errant.
Our continual societal perversion of lust for beauty has resulted in an extreme reaction. And I want to ask questions because I want all of our children to feel worthy of love simply because God made them because God loves them -- regardless of anything they can or cannot do.
I keep seeing expressions of thoughts that go something like this:
"I want my son to be proud of how smart he is, not how strong or handsome he is."
"My daughter's achievements are more important than how pretty her face or her body are."
"Applaud my body for its abilities, not the way it looks."
Well... what about that precious child with severe cerebral palsy in the wheelchair? Where does he fall in that hierarchy of supposed "better" thinking?
I see people saying mean things to others (not directly, of course, just in that wonderfully passive-aggressive outlet of a Facebook status) that reveal hate. Of course they are not this simple, but basically the thoughts are: "You don't like me because I'm ugly. Well, I don't like you because you're pretty."
...
Hmmm.
...
It seems to me that hateful emotion could be broken down even simpler to reveal its faultiness. "You don't like me because of how I look? Well, I don't like you because of how you look."
My husband told me a few months ago about a podcast sermon he heard discussing envy. It impacted me because the speaker said that envy is not just simply wanting what someone else has; envy is wanting what someone else has so badly that you hate them because they have it and you don't. If that didn't stop and make you feel something icky, then please re-read it. Ick. Just ick. It's true and it stomps on my toes. How hateful.
A never-ending cycle of comparisons to make others feel less than equal to ourselves because we aren't placing our worth in the right Light -- that's what I want to address with this post.
We live in a world of tangible things. That can't be disregarded or ignored, and it will result in losing focus on eternal matters we can barely imagine in this realm. This post won't change that. Nothing will, until Jesus takes us Home.
However, my hope as a parent is to teach my child that God makes each person unique -- with different looks, different abilities, different achievements. And I don't want him to get distracted by comparisons and envies that separate him from others. I want him to learn to use whatever unique position God has put him in (encompassing his looks, talents, achievements, failures, AND especially how he treats others) as a tool to show God's love, not as an outlet to pervert God's glory into self-worship or distractions. I certainly want him to become the most excellent version of himself to give God's glory every room for opportunity, but his excellence will be different than any of yours.
Isn't appreciating a physicist for his unique brain the same thing as appreciating an outstandingly beautiful woman for her unique attractiveness? Isn't being proud of a man whose bodily proportions help him swim faster than anyone in the world the same thing as lifting up a professional football player whose unique experiences have helped him lead his team to win every Sunday?
God made all good things. People pervert them for their own lust. That's not God's fault. And I am sick of being angry at people because God gave them different good things than he gave to me.
As a teenager I thought Brad Pitt hung the moon. I knew everything there was to know about him. I remember reading an article about his childhood. His father is a Baptist preacher, and people said as a child Brad was one of the most passionate Christian young men -- you could see the emotion in his body during every hymn. One thing his mother told him as a little boy was that his good looks would require a lot of responsibility because people would be drawn to him. Even with all his philanthropic ways, he'll be the first to tell you now that he is NOT a Christian. (I always wonder how much impact he could have if he returned to his First Love (Jesus -- not Jennifer) with those good looks AND passionate heart for others.)
BUT... that makes me think of Esther.
The reason she was in the position to save her people is because the king thought she was so beautiful and chose her to be his wife. Beauty in and of itself cannot be hated or disregarded because God has a purpose for it. You may be saying, "Well, yeah, Nicoll, but we're talking about child beauty pageants and airbrushed models who are half-naked on magazine covers." Well, my response is a plea for you to more specifically target your distaste for the perversion of a good tool God intended when creating that precious person's beauty, instead of making your children believe that beauty is irrelevant. Esther proves it is not.
These thoughts come from a woman who has struggled with feeling insecure all my life. I know what it's like to feel like the ugly duckling among the pretty girls, and I understand wishing for some above-average talent or ability that could set me apart from the crowd when I feel invisible. When I complete a long run or create some art piece that makes me feel good about my talents, it is always a temptation to take the glory and forget that God gave me those abilities for some reason, little or big. The truth is, though, one day my body may be unable to run because of old joints, my eyes may be too dim to paint or knit, my mental faculties may prevent me from forming coherent thoughts...
And, then, the ONLY thing that will matter is that God made me because God loves me. It is all that matters now.
[Added later:] And Jesus has promised to remake me. And you.
You are loved.
A trend I have noticed in our culture, and one I still struggle against, has me asking questions. I really think that because I am now a mother and understand personally how precious a child is to his or her parents simply because he exists, answers people have adhered to regarding beauty versus abilities cannot be conclusive and are errant.
Our continual societal perversion of lust for beauty has resulted in an extreme reaction. And I want to ask questions because I want all of our children to feel worthy of love simply because God made them because God loves them -- regardless of anything they can or cannot do.
I keep seeing expressions of thoughts that go something like this:
"I want my son to be proud of how smart he is, not how strong or handsome he is."
"My daughter's achievements are more important than how pretty her face or her body are."
"Applaud my body for its abilities, not the way it looks."
Well... what about that precious child with severe cerebral palsy in the wheelchair? Where does he fall in that hierarchy of supposed "better" thinking?
I see people saying mean things to others (not directly, of course, just in that wonderfully passive-aggressive outlet of a Facebook status) that reveal hate. Of course they are not this simple, but basically the thoughts are: "You don't like me because I'm ugly. Well, I don't like you because you're pretty."
...
Hmmm.
...
It seems to me that hateful emotion could be broken down even simpler to reveal its faultiness. "You don't like me because of how I look? Well, I don't like you because of how you look."
My husband told me a few months ago about a podcast sermon he heard discussing envy. It impacted me because the speaker said that envy is not just simply wanting what someone else has; envy is wanting what someone else has so badly that you hate them because they have it and you don't. If that didn't stop and make you feel something icky, then please re-read it. Ick. Just ick. It's true and it stomps on my toes. How hateful.
A never-ending cycle of comparisons to make others feel less than equal to ourselves because we aren't placing our worth in the right Light -- that's what I want to address with this post.
We live in a world of tangible things. That can't be disregarded or ignored, and it will result in losing focus on eternal matters we can barely imagine in this realm. This post won't change that. Nothing will, until Jesus takes us Home.
However, my hope as a parent is to teach my child that God makes each person unique -- with different looks, different abilities, different achievements. And I don't want him to get distracted by comparisons and envies that separate him from others. I want him to learn to use whatever unique position God has put him in (encompassing his looks, talents, achievements, failures, AND especially how he treats others) as a tool to show God's love, not as an outlet to pervert God's glory into self-worship or distractions. I certainly want him to become the most excellent version of himself to give God's glory every room for opportunity, but his excellence will be different than any of yours.
Isn't appreciating a physicist for his unique brain the same thing as appreciating an outstandingly beautiful woman for her unique attractiveness? Isn't being proud of a man whose bodily proportions help him swim faster than anyone in the world the same thing as lifting up a professional football player whose unique experiences have helped him lead his team to win every Sunday?
God made all good things. People pervert them for their own lust. That's not God's fault. And I am sick of being angry at people because God gave them different good things than he gave to me.
As a teenager I thought Brad Pitt hung the moon. I knew everything there was to know about him. I remember reading an article about his childhood. His father is a Baptist preacher, and people said as a child Brad was one of the most passionate Christian young men -- you could see the emotion in his body during every hymn. One thing his mother told him as a little boy was that his good looks would require a lot of responsibility because people would be drawn to him. Even with all his philanthropic ways, he'll be the first to tell you now that he is NOT a Christian. (I always wonder how much impact he could have if he returned to his First Love (Jesus -- not Jennifer) with those good looks AND passionate heart for others.)
BUT... that makes me think of Esther.
The reason she was in the position to save her people is because the king thought she was so beautiful and chose her to be his wife. Beauty in and of itself cannot be hated or disregarded because God has a purpose for it. You may be saying, "Well, yeah, Nicoll, but we're talking about child beauty pageants and airbrushed models who are half-naked on magazine covers." Well, my response is a plea for you to more specifically target your distaste for the perversion of a good tool God intended when creating that precious person's beauty, instead of making your children believe that beauty is irrelevant. Esther proves it is not.
These thoughts come from a woman who has struggled with feeling insecure all my life. I know what it's like to feel like the ugly duckling among the pretty girls, and I understand wishing for some above-average talent or ability that could set me apart from the crowd when I feel invisible. When I complete a long run or create some art piece that makes me feel good about my talents, it is always a temptation to take the glory and forget that God gave me those abilities for some reason, little or big. The truth is, though, one day my body may be unable to run because of old joints, my eyes may be too dim to paint or knit, my mental faculties may prevent me from forming coherent thoughts...
And, then, the ONLY thing that will matter is that God made me because God loves me. It is all that matters now.
[Added later:] And Jesus has promised to remake me. And you.
You are loved.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
'Jesus, help us so we not be mean'
While I was rearranging some furniture in our home today, my little boy was playing with his Cars 2 characters on our couch. If you have not seen that movie, some villainous cars try to harm (and even kill in an unexpectedly disturbing scene for a kids' movie) other cars in hopes of keeping their "big oil" companies productive. Plot aside, you now know there are some really mean characters (maybe we adults would call them "bad guys" or "evil.")
In his role playing with these cars, I heard my child fervently saying, "Jesus, help us so we not be mean!!! Help us so we not be mean!"
My heart melted as I stopped to saturate this precious moment from my amazing little boy. He steals my heart multiple times a day.
We try not to use terms of "good" or "bad" when discussing characters in stories. The heart behind behavior is more what we want to spotlight than a "bad person" or a "good person." And, more than that, we want to call attention to the power of God's love over a heart. We haven't read this story in a few weeks, but I think my little boy got this specifically from the story of Zacchaeus in The Jesus Storybook Bible. The story in this particular Bible highlights how Zacchaeus had no friends because he stole money from them when collecting taxes. (And I think everyone, even Jesus, would agree that it's okay not to befriend a thief. Remember, sharing love and befriending are two totally different things.) And then it shows that when Jesus treats Zacchaeus, even as the jerk he is, as the somebody special he is to Jesus that Zacchaeus has a heart change. He makes right what he did wrong. He wants to make right what he did wrong. So, as we say when we talk about it, when Jesus revealed his love to Zacchaeus, it helped Zacchaeus "not be mean" to others.
Every day it strikes me that I put way too much stock in my ability or my control. I convince myself it is somehow up to me to save the world or change hearts. Nope, it doesn't work like that.
"Jesus, help us so we not be mean."
I suppose an adult's version of this plea could be, "Jesus, help us to love like you do."
I like being around little kids these days because things are simple. Adults complicate things that I sincerely believe shouldn't be so complicated.
Yes, it is natural to have disagreements. And, yes, it is good to be honest about disagreeable circumstances. Arguments aren't inherently bad.
Yes, it is okay to dislike someone. Disliking someone has nothing to do with loving or not loving someone. It may prevent a friendship, but it doesn't prevent loving service or kindness.
But I think adults go out of our way to be unkind when we dislike or disagree with someone else. We get caught up in the illusion of control we want over someone else's decisions or thoughts.
I can dislike and disagree, but I never have to be mean.
I cannot change anyone's heart, but I can choose to be kind.
If I cannot change my own heart, and I honestly believe I cannot, Jesus can.
I am trying to remember this. Because it is difficult for me. Especially in this world that is so bent on having control.
"Jesus, help me to love like you do."
In his role playing with these cars, I heard my child fervently saying, "Jesus, help us so we not be mean!!! Help us so we not be mean!"
My heart melted as I stopped to saturate this precious moment from my amazing little boy. He steals my heart multiple times a day.
We try not to use terms of "good" or "bad" when discussing characters in stories. The heart behind behavior is more what we want to spotlight than a "bad person" or a "good person." And, more than that, we want to call attention to the power of God's love over a heart. We haven't read this story in a few weeks, but I think my little boy got this specifically from the story of Zacchaeus in The Jesus Storybook Bible. The story in this particular Bible highlights how Zacchaeus had no friends because he stole money from them when collecting taxes. (And I think everyone, even Jesus, would agree that it's okay not to befriend a thief. Remember, sharing love and befriending are two totally different things.) And then it shows that when Jesus treats Zacchaeus, even as the jerk he is, as the somebody special he is to Jesus that Zacchaeus has a heart change. He makes right what he did wrong. He wants to make right what he did wrong. So, as we say when we talk about it, when Jesus revealed his love to Zacchaeus, it helped Zacchaeus "not be mean" to others.
Every day it strikes me that I put way too much stock in my ability or my control. I convince myself it is somehow up to me to save the world or change hearts. Nope, it doesn't work like that.
"Jesus, help us so we not be mean."
I suppose an adult's version of this plea could be, "Jesus, help us to love like you do."
I like being around little kids these days because things are simple. Adults complicate things that I sincerely believe shouldn't be so complicated.
Yes, it is natural to have disagreements. And, yes, it is good to be honest about disagreeable circumstances. Arguments aren't inherently bad.
Yes, it is okay to dislike someone. Disliking someone has nothing to do with loving or not loving someone. It may prevent a friendship, but it doesn't prevent loving service or kindness.
But I think adults go out of our way to be unkind when we dislike or disagree with someone else. We get caught up in the illusion of control we want over someone else's decisions or thoughts.
I can dislike and disagree, but I never have to be mean.
I cannot change anyone's heart, but I can choose to be kind.
If I cannot change my own heart, and I honestly believe I cannot, Jesus can.
I am trying to remember this. Because it is difficult for me. Especially in this world that is so bent on having control.
"Jesus, help me to love like you do."
Saturday, July 27, 2013
In the Tension Between Emotions and Commitment...
I do not always want to do the right thing.
Following rules has always been relatively easy for me, but even with that characteristic in my personality, at times every feeling I have pulls and tugs and fights against doing what I know I should do. My thoughts try to rationalize destructive behavior, my heart isolates itself from sources of Light that may thwart my selfish ambitions, and I argue with God like Moses did -- "No, I don't want to do this. I'm a loser. Even with Your help, I cannot do what You want me to do!"
And then... my amazing Helper, the Spirit of Christ, comes to my aid. He calms down my spiritual tantrums and has me listen as He brings me into the Light that will thwart my selfish desires. Before He comes, though, I wrestle with my emotions, hating myself. Would it not be easier to either totally abandon myself to my desires or totally commit myself to duty (not wholly possible for emotional beings) and just follow the rules without thought, harden my heart? The answer cannot be either of those; it must be in the tension... and only Christ can reconcile it in each moment.
Blaming a recent weeks-long bout of temptations on my pregnant hormones might work, but I'll be honest (and obvious)... I am human; that is the reason I face temptations. I won't go into specifics, but I was in a dark place, and in the past week, God began my current rescue. (It still continues.) He reminded me that I need Him.
The first thing that cracked my hardened heart was a new song by Matt Maher called "Lord, I Need You." Every combination of words in the song is equally as beautiful as the others, but this verse and the chorus brought me to my figurative knees... and since I was driving and could not safely fall to my knees, that means I started weeping. Here are those words:
"Teach my song to rise to you when temptation comes my way / And when I cannot stand I'll fall on you / Jesus you're my hope and stay / Lord, I need you, oh, I need you / Every hour I need you / My one defense, my righteousness / Oh, God, how I need you...." (You can listen to the whole song, which I highly recommend, here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuvfMDhTyMA)
After a few days of meditating on the very simple but necessary truth expressed in that song, one of our son's Bible stories cracked my stubborn heart a little bit more. If you have never heard of The Jesus Storybook Bible, I recommend it for children AND adults. The author uses beautiful language to interpret the beauty of the world's need for Christ's rescue in Old Testament and New Testament stories. Every time I read from it, I start weeping... and my 2-year-old looks at me like I am from outer-space...
Well, I read him the story of the sinful woman washing Jesus' feet and anointing him with her expensive perfume (Mark 14, Luke 7). Jesus had been invited by a pharisee, an important leader, to eat in his home with some other important people. In those days, people needed to wash their feet when entering a home because they walk in the same dirt where the animals urinate and poop in the streets. Jesus was in an important person's home, and no one had offered him water to wash his feet. All of a sudden, this woman whose sins are public came into the house, to Jesus, and bent down over his feet. She started weeping, and she used her tears and her hair to wash the crap off His feet. And then she broke a very expensive jar of rare perfume (not a store-bought trinket like ours today) and anointed His feet. She knew He was from God, and she knew He was going to die and be buried and rise again to rescue her from her sins. Of course, while this is happening, all of the important people are griping about how sinful she is and what a waste it is for her to break that priceless jar of perfume to put on someone's feet... Someone's feet... The Son of God's feet!
This is the wording in this particular Bible about the exchange: "'That woman is a sinner!' they grumbled. 'We're the good ones.' (And it's true, they did look good -- from the outside. After all, they were keeping all the rules.) But Jesus could see inside people. And inside, in their hearts, Jesus saw that they did not love God or other people. They were running away from God, and they thought they didn't need a rescuer. They thought they were good enough because they kept the rules. But sin had stopped their hearts from working properly. And their hearts were hard and cold. 'This woman knows she's a sinner,' Jesus told them. 'She knows she'll never be good enough. She knows she needs me to rescue her. That's why she loves me so much.'
What struck me about the wording is that I most often identify with the "important people" who think they are good because they follow rules, totally missing that they have no love in their hearts. I get so angry at myself when some of my emotions lead me astray because I have convinced myself that I am capable of my own salvation... and realizing I am not that powerful makes me angry and hateful. But because I know how destructive my behavior could be, if I made the rules, Jesus brought me to my knees, and kindly reminded me that my emotions and the rules are not where I will find salvation... but that I will only find rest and security by falling over Him and letting Him rescue me, every single day. He loves me that much. And He is the only One with that power.
"Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are your bothering her?She has done a beautiful thing to me." Mark 14:6
(And, like all of my writing these days, I feel rushed to completion, feeling it is incomplete, but hoping a good message of some sort can encourage others. Good day.)
Following rules has always been relatively easy for me, but even with that characteristic in my personality, at times every feeling I have pulls and tugs and fights against doing what I know I should do. My thoughts try to rationalize destructive behavior, my heart isolates itself from sources of Light that may thwart my selfish ambitions, and I argue with God like Moses did -- "No, I don't want to do this. I'm a loser. Even with Your help, I cannot do what You want me to do!"
And then... my amazing Helper, the Spirit of Christ, comes to my aid. He calms down my spiritual tantrums and has me listen as He brings me into the Light that will thwart my selfish desires. Before He comes, though, I wrestle with my emotions, hating myself. Would it not be easier to either totally abandon myself to my desires or totally commit myself to duty (not wholly possible for emotional beings) and just follow the rules without thought, harden my heart? The answer cannot be either of those; it must be in the tension... and only Christ can reconcile it in each moment.
Blaming a recent weeks-long bout of temptations on my pregnant hormones might work, but I'll be honest (and obvious)... I am human; that is the reason I face temptations. I won't go into specifics, but I was in a dark place, and in the past week, God began my current rescue. (It still continues.) He reminded me that I need Him.
The first thing that cracked my hardened heart was a new song by Matt Maher called "Lord, I Need You." Every combination of words in the song is equally as beautiful as the others, but this verse and the chorus brought me to my figurative knees... and since I was driving and could not safely fall to my knees, that means I started weeping. Here are those words:
"Teach my song to rise to you when temptation comes my way / And when I cannot stand I'll fall on you / Jesus you're my hope and stay / Lord, I need you, oh, I need you / Every hour I need you / My one defense, my righteousness / Oh, God, how I need you...." (You can listen to the whole song, which I highly recommend, here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LuvfMDhTyMA)
After a few days of meditating on the very simple but necessary truth expressed in that song, one of our son's Bible stories cracked my stubborn heart a little bit more. If you have never heard of The Jesus Storybook Bible, I recommend it for children AND adults. The author uses beautiful language to interpret the beauty of the world's need for Christ's rescue in Old Testament and New Testament stories. Every time I read from it, I start weeping... and my 2-year-old looks at me like I am from outer-space...
Well, I read him the story of the sinful woman washing Jesus' feet and anointing him with her expensive perfume (Mark 14, Luke 7). Jesus had been invited by a pharisee, an important leader, to eat in his home with some other important people. In those days, people needed to wash their feet when entering a home because they walk in the same dirt where the animals urinate and poop in the streets. Jesus was in an important person's home, and no one had offered him water to wash his feet. All of a sudden, this woman whose sins are public came into the house, to Jesus, and bent down over his feet. She started weeping, and she used her tears and her hair to wash the crap off His feet. And then she broke a very expensive jar of rare perfume (not a store-bought trinket like ours today) and anointed His feet. She knew He was from God, and she knew He was going to die and be buried and rise again to rescue her from her sins. Of course, while this is happening, all of the important people are griping about how sinful she is and what a waste it is for her to break that priceless jar of perfume to put on someone's feet... Someone's feet... The Son of God's feet!
This is the wording in this particular Bible about the exchange: "'That woman is a sinner!' they grumbled. 'We're the good ones.' (And it's true, they did look good -- from the outside. After all, they were keeping all the rules.) But Jesus could see inside people. And inside, in their hearts, Jesus saw that they did not love God or other people. They were running away from God, and they thought they didn't need a rescuer. They thought they were good enough because they kept the rules. But sin had stopped their hearts from working properly. And their hearts were hard and cold. 'This woman knows she's a sinner,' Jesus told them. 'She knows she'll never be good enough. She knows she needs me to rescue her. That's why she loves me so much.'
What struck me about the wording is that I most often identify with the "important people" who think they are good because they follow rules, totally missing that they have no love in their hearts. I get so angry at myself when some of my emotions lead me astray because I have convinced myself that I am capable of my own salvation... and realizing I am not that powerful makes me angry and hateful. But because I know how destructive my behavior could be, if I made the rules, Jesus brought me to my knees, and kindly reminded me that my emotions and the rules are not where I will find salvation... but that I will only find rest and security by falling over Him and letting Him rescue me, every single day. He loves me that much. And He is the only One with that power.
"Leave her alone," said Jesus. "Why are your bothering her?She has done a beautiful thing to me." Mark 14:6
(And, like all of my writing these days, I feel rushed to completion, feeling it is incomplete, but hoping a good message of some sort can encourage others. Good day.)
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Questions About Modesty and Cultural Relativity in Space and Time
I do not believe this is a pressing issue in the Christian community considering a lot of other issues in our world, but I do believe it is important and worth discussing -- especially since this is the time of year when some of my Christian siblings are reminding everyone to be modest in social media posts, while other followers of Christ are posting pictures of themselves in bikinis on the beach. The tone is not meant to be judgmental, simply interrogative, because modesty IS a relative thing. I want to collect perspectives from other believers, women AND men. And I hope we all think a little deeper. Please read it all. I will probably say some things you do not expect (and some you do). What standard shall we hold to?
In high school I was on the swim team for one year. Many mornings before school I went to the city's Swimplex to practice. On one of these mornings, while I was swimming laps, after I reversed myself with an underwater turn to go back down the lane, I saw something that surprised me in the lane next to me: a lot of fabric had just landed in the pool, swirling, as the large Mennonite woman in the lane beside me gathered her bearings for her morning exercise. For many reasons this is something that I come back to through the years. How impractical to wear a long dress with lots of undergarments as she swims through the water, BUT how beautiful that she was so committed to her standards of faith that she didn't let practicality or ease change her dress? (And, let's be honest, she got a REALLY GOOD workout wearing all that heavy, wet fabric as she swam her laps.) I have so much respect for that woman.
I have grown up in a Christian group that wears the same clothes as society around us. In the southern United States, though, this group has a pretty strict -- but not absolute -- dress code to regulate modesty as fashions change. At church camp and the private Christian college I attended, shorts and skirts could not be more than three inches above the knee, no spaghetti straps, no cleavage, no tight-fitting clothes, etc.
Moving to a big city after college, it became apparent pretty quickly that modesty was not the same to all believers. The shorts and skirts are shorter, and I've seem more back skin than before. And, honestly, my own modesty has adjusted some.
So WHAT do we hold to? What is our motivation with the clothes we wear? I really think the answer lies somewhere in the heart of our motivation.
A friend took my son and I to the pool the other day. She and I were wearing our skirted swimsuits, and I had a T-shirt on over my top the whole time. We feel that it shows respect to our Christian brothers to reveal less of our skin, and it shows respect for ourselves not to display ourselves in a cheap way. (If you have no problem with bikinis, and I just lost you because I am a prude, please keep reading. I am moving along my thoughts, and I have others.) My friend told me about this cool video (which a lot of you have probably seen) where this woman showed the science in a man's brain when he sees a naked or almost naked woman. The brain scans show that areas of his brain controlling empathy and those other good characteristics totally shut down. A typical man, even one of the best, sees an object, not a person, when he walks by a woman in a bikini at the beach. How do you feel about that? Especially if you're married? Especially if your gorgeous teenage daughter is at the pool in two very skinny strips of cloth?
Another thing that is important to remember, especially for me, because I am very concerned with having a nicely exercised body -- and all the pride and vanity that accompanies that -- is our motivation for what we wear. The friend I mentioned above is pregnant, and so am I, so we don't really feel attractive right now. It is really easy to hide under a skirt and T-shirt at the pool when you feel heavy or gross. And it is also really easy to gripe at attractive women with airbrushed bodies for making us feel inferior. (Remember, no one makes me feel inferior but me.) As much as I hate seeing a woman in a bikini (Seriously, I would rather see a 300-pound woman in a bikini than a fit woman in one.), IF I actually thought I looked good in a bikini, and I actually had skin that tanned, I would like to wear a bikini. People would see me, envy me, worship me -- all really righteous reasons to do something, right?! Me, me, me. (rollin' my eyes)
Reading the Bible raises questions too. I am not going to write out the verses here. What about the reasons a woman should cover her head in 1 Corinthians 11? That chapter confuses me like none other, and I know it is because I am uneducated about ancient cultures... but one of the reasons given for a woman to keep her head covered is the angels (verse 10). Whether Paul is talking about fabric or long hair, angels are eternal, so I am confused about whether I am distressing angels because I don't wear hats when I worship... and because I have really short hair -- because the culture I am in doesn't see those as issues. (I would appreciate educated answers about this verse.)
And what about other cultures? Some women in African tribes wear no covering over their breasts, but every inch of their legs is covered because legs are the sexual icons to their men.
I could go on and on, but I will leave you with this:
1 Timothy 2: 9 instructs women not to wear fancy or pretty things to worship, but to adorn ourselves "with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God."
The answer lies somewhere in our motivation and where the desires of our hearts lie. Do we love God and people before we care about meaningless praise to our own materiality? I do not think this verse is saying we must dress plainly to please God, but that we first consider how our dress affects our love and service to God and others. I believe it really has to be a personal answer. I hope we consider others in our decisions with our love. But I also hope we give each other the benefit of the doubt and pay attention only to what we are doing, as we encourage each other in truth and kindness, instead of griping at others.
[added later: After I shared this initially, someone shared a link to another post in the comments section. This other post covers a lot of really important issues in a much more efficient way than I did, if you want to take the time to read it. http://www.qideas.org/blog/modesty-i-dont-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means.aspx ]
In high school I was on the swim team for one year. Many mornings before school I went to the city's Swimplex to practice. On one of these mornings, while I was swimming laps, after I reversed myself with an underwater turn to go back down the lane, I saw something that surprised me in the lane next to me: a lot of fabric had just landed in the pool, swirling, as the large Mennonite woman in the lane beside me gathered her bearings for her morning exercise. For many reasons this is something that I come back to through the years. How impractical to wear a long dress with lots of undergarments as she swims through the water, BUT how beautiful that she was so committed to her standards of faith that she didn't let practicality or ease change her dress? (And, let's be honest, she got a REALLY GOOD workout wearing all that heavy, wet fabric as she swam her laps.) I have so much respect for that woman.
I have grown up in a Christian group that wears the same clothes as society around us. In the southern United States, though, this group has a pretty strict -- but not absolute -- dress code to regulate modesty as fashions change. At church camp and the private Christian college I attended, shorts and skirts could not be more than three inches above the knee, no spaghetti straps, no cleavage, no tight-fitting clothes, etc.
Moving to a big city after college, it became apparent pretty quickly that modesty was not the same to all believers. The shorts and skirts are shorter, and I've seem more back skin than before. And, honestly, my own modesty has adjusted some.
So WHAT do we hold to? What is our motivation with the clothes we wear? I really think the answer lies somewhere in the heart of our motivation.
A friend took my son and I to the pool the other day. She and I were wearing our skirted swimsuits, and I had a T-shirt on over my top the whole time. We feel that it shows respect to our Christian brothers to reveal less of our skin, and it shows respect for ourselves not to display ourselves in a cheap way. (If you have no problem with bikinis, and I just lost you because I am a prude, please keep reading. I am moving along my thoughts, and I have others.) My friend told me about this cool video (which a lot of you have probably seen) where this woman showed the science in a man's brain when he sees a naked or almost naked woman. The brain scans show that areas of his brain controlling empathy and those other good characteristics totally shut down. A typical man, even one of the best, sees an object, not a person, when he walks by a woman in a bikini at the beach. How do you feel about that? Especially if you're married? Especially if your gorgeous teenage daughter is at the pool in two very skinny strips of cloth?
Another thing that is important to remember, especially for me, because I am very concerned with having a nicely exercised body -- and all the pride and vanity that accompanies that -- is our motivation for what we wear. The friend I mentioned above is pregnant, and so am I, so we don't really feel attractive right now. It is really easy to hide under a skirt and T-shirt at the pool when you feel heavy or gross. And it is also really easy to gripe at attractive women with airbrushed bodies for making us feel inferior. (Remember, no one makes me feel inferior but me.) As much as I hate seeing a woman in a bikini (Seriously, I would rather see a 300-pound woman in a bikini than a fit woman in one.), IF I actually thought I looked good in a bikini, and I actually had skin that tanned, I would like to wear a bikini. People would see me, envy me, worship me -- all really righteous reasons to do something, right?! Me, me, me. (rollin' my eyes)
Reading the Bible raises questions too. I am not going to write out the verses here. What about the reasons a woman should cover her head in 1 Corinthians 11? That chapter confuses me like none other, and I know it is because I am uneducated about ancient cultures... but one of the reasons given for a woman to keep her head covered is the angels (verse 10). Whether Paul is talking about fabric or long hair, angels are eternal, so I am confused about whether I am distressing angels because I don't wear hats when I worship... and because I have really short hair -- because the culture I am in doesn't see those as issues. (I would appreciate educated answers about this verse.)
And what about other cultures? Some women in African tribes wear no covering over their breasts, but every inch of their legs is covered because legs are the sexual icons to their men.
I could go on and on, but I will leave you with this:
1 Timothy 2: 9 instructs women not to wear fancy or pretty things to worship, but to adorn ourselves "with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God."
The answer lies somewhere in our motivation and where the desires of our hearts lie. Do we love God and people before we care about meaningless praise to our own materiality? I do not think this verse is saying we must dress plainly to please God, but that we first consider how our dress affects our love and service to God and others. I believe it really has to be a personal answer. I hope we consider others in our decisions with our love. But I also hope we give each other the benefit of the doubt and pay attention only to what we are doing, as we encourage each other in truth and kindness, instead of griping at others.
[added later: After I shared this initially, someone shared a link to another post in the comments section. This other post covers a lot of really important issues in a much more efficient way than I did, if you want to take the time to read it. http://www.qideas.org/blog/modesty-i-dont-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means.aspx ]
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