8/10/2015 0 Comments Wesley PaxWhen Paco and I first found out we would be parents, gender wasn't an issue. We didn't feel the pressure of needing a certain sexed baby until we had two girls at our house. When we found out Wesley was a boy, I remember breathing a sigh of relief and saying "Oh, good. The pressure is off now!" Three years ago today, I was sitting in my bathroom sobbing big crocodile tears. I was 42 weeks and 5 days pregnant with my third baby. And he wasn't showing any signs of "progress" as far as labor was concerned. Everyone kept telling me that babies "come when they're ready", but that offered me nothing. Regardless, he had less than 48 hours to debut before my midwife would induce him - and me - and perform a scheduled birthday. My contractions started that night at midnight on the dot. Just after 5 am, Wesley Pax was born. The only boy at our house, he made his daddy proud. I've watched this soon-to-be man grow in both stature and favor with man, and I'm praying that soon- one day very soon- I'll see His favor in the sight of God far surpass my own. Wesley is a hand full. He is full of energy from sun up to sun down. Sometimes long after sun down. He is sensitive and emotional, and can turn into a basket case over the smallest of things. He is genuine and honest and always willing to tattle on one of his sisters. But I have watched his weakest areas, and can already see how God can and will groom him to become a man with such gentle-man like attributes. His sensitivity will be a great asset for loving his wife and children one day. He will understand their heavy emotions on the best and worst of days. He will no doubt rejoice and mourn with those he loves, when appropriate. His honesty- as Wesley means "fields of honesty"- has proven to be a chore at two years old. But at 12 and 22, and all the way to his gray-haired days of 62, I know it will be a highly desired characteristic not readily available. He will be loyally truthful to a fault. His nature that cries and whines at the smallest of things will prove to be a strength, when he is broken before the Lord and completely undone with emotion. Emotions that no doubt the Holy Spirit will bring about. When sin or simply sitting in the presence of Jesus take place, Wesley will easily be moved to a place of brokenness. And as a mother, my blessing will certainly be seeing a child of mine, in such a position. Because I know that a heart that is contrite and broken is what God longs for in Wesley. As Wesley turns three tomorrow, I'm reminded of the best and worst moments we've shared so far. Time has flown by, and yet passed all too quickly. The saying "the days are long but the years are short" carries immense understanding when living with my Wesley. He has been the most difficult child to raise in the sense that he talked so much later than the girls ever did. It made communicating his needs and wants nearly impossible, and a daunting chore at best. He was and is still relentless in defiance. His sisters often required one or two stern warnings, and Wesley has required much more than that to see little improvement in his behavior.
Today, as you're reading, pray for Wesley. Pray that he becomes all God has prepared for him. Pray that He is a true follower and disciple of Christ- and not a religious, hypocritical, and legalistic "church goer" set in self-righteousness. Pray that the Holy Spirit would arrest his heart at a young age, to be made into the image of Christ and that he is characterized by disliking to lost to make more disciples.
- when pregnant with Wesley, Paco asked what I thought he would look like. Obviously, I had zero knowledge of the answer, and the same amount of control- but I told him if I could pick, I would have a boy with blonde surfer hair and big blue eyes. With Paco as my husband, you know that's a far-fetched dream. But God is the fulfiller of dreams and the Master creator who gave me all my heart ever desired in those seemingly trivial moments! God is so good, and gives such good gifts to His kids! - Wesley's favorite phrases right now are: "pet the pooch!" (A line from beauty and the beast which his sisters relentlessly make him watch.) "Yeah me too!" (My favorite is when I say "Wesley I think you're so handsome!" To which he replies "yeah me too!") "I'na close da gate!?" (His almost-three-years-old way of asking if he can close the baby gate for me.) "Ok I'na cannie? OK? OK." (His asking for candy and declaring it OK to everyone else after using the potty successfully!) -Wes's current favorite foods include spaghetti, pizza, dinner rolls, any kind of juice, broccoli, and Despicable Me Gummies. -Wesly's favorite movies as of now, are Big Hero 6, Despicable Me (1 & 2), The Toy Story Trilogy, any of the Superbook DVD stories, and "da wiiiitch!!!" As he calls it- which is Snow White to most people, but he picked up on the witch part when McKenna called out the old lady once. -Wesley is taller than most kids his age. -He loves to swim, ride the scooter, jump from high heights, and use the iPad. -Currently, Wesley is a push over to the smallest person in our home: Adalynn Mei. She will steal his sippy cup, steal his toys, or use her tiny hands to touch him, and Wesley screams in terror and shrinks back with giant tears. He has yet to realize he is almost three times her size.
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6/26/2015 0 Comments Give Them UpRights. Yours, mine, his, hers....My mind feels like a driving range. Thoughts like golf balls are flying around, at ridiculous speeds, and going every which way. There's not a clear target for them to land, just a broad idea that's in the distance, where they hope to travel. This past week, month- heck 2015- has been a whirlwind. Like a hurricane of disbelief and confusing waves that rip and curl and catapult all living things up from the root and churn them over flat on their backs, beaten into coarse gravel-like sand. I've watched as racism surfaces, terrorism lurks, human-rights of all kinds are bannered and then those same banners are taken down with flame-throwers of hate and "superiority". I've watched as my daughter was ripped from my hands, fellow church friends mourn their daughter's loss, and mass-murders take place daily. Today, social media is exploding with LGBT posts, some harsh and others hoo-rah filled. And in every instance, be it left or right, conservative or liberal, just or unethical- all share a common thread: unbridled tongues. It starts as parents who say "this is the best" for parenting, and shunning others who choose different. It begins with people who hurl hissing words through Twitter, like that will really make a difference. It builds when people like you and I start swinging with our lips, and attacking the wrong enemy. Church: you need to shut your mouth if you've nothing nice to say. And the nicest things we can say- are prayers where we can't understand the language and the Holy Spirit has to do the interceding. (Some of you don't even know what I'm talking about, or you're forming a three-point argument about why that theology is dead today.) I hope you're reading your bible. Because it's a little late to get on board now. There too much to catch up on, and it's only going to snowball beyond what is currently. (I'm only partially kidding. Please read your Bible. Start today if you have to.) Ps- when I'm angry I get sarcastically indignant. Just in case you couldn't tell. The idea of "marriage equality" and "love wins" is a counterfeit. The world is trying to find love in ways they create, because they couldn't find Love - be it because of you and I- initially. I don't know why all these Christians walk around pointing fingers and shaking their heads in disgust. It's the world. This is what the world does. It shouldn't be shocking or appalling. Pick your mouth up from the floor, and start praying for these people. Gay marriage is just the surface. It's pretty and neat and the least of the problems. Because it's bound to get a whole lot worse. So if you're sickened and disgusted now, you'd better close your eyes and just hold on tightly for the remainder of your earthly life, because it has to get darker before the dawning of His new and glorious light! Today is my parents' 28th wedding anniversary. Irony? Eh- I don't think so. I see believing parents freaking out now: "what about my little kids? How can we send them to school? What will become of their generation?" Haven't you read Matthew 24? About how terrible the end will be for those with young children? It's in there, in case you forgot or missed that part. I'm reminded of the Israelites who had to endure the plagues of Egypt. The innocent, called, holy people of God- and there they were among the sick and twisted plot that was created for the Egyptians. They surely had children. Surely there were young preschoolers and elementary aged and teens. All ages, faced the same torture. Can you imagine the first few days, when blood was exchanged for water, frogs were in every crevice, and lice were given free reign? I'd be a little shocked and taken back. I think I would be asking the questions like so many people are asking today: "God now what? Where are you? Have you forgotten your people? It's getting pretty bad out here!" They still had quite a few disasters to go though: flies, death of livestock, and boils to name a few. Utter darkness would follow. Complete and utter darkness. When the Bible says dark, I don't think it means "kinda dark, uneasily seen". No. I'm pretty sure when God said "darkness", that it meant ridiculously pitch black. The kind where you can't even see your hand in front of your face. The kind where fear looms and devours. Especially given the plagues preceding the darkness, which meant, your mind could trick you into thinking anything and everything was a frog, a fly, or infestation of some sort. How do I know? Because when God said "light" in Genesis, it wasn't mediocre either. It was a blast and a bang and all of a sudden light filled the existence of space. (God is light. Only light can create light. You can't create light from something that's dark. So as the world gets darker, just remember, it's because there's less of the true Light in it.) But the Israelites were not forgotten. God was delivering them from the hands of their enemies. And one day, they would receive freedom, and be welcomed to the promised land. Friend, we are amidst plagues of darkness. Not the kind that is kinda bad. Where lying and cheating people run amuck. No- we are at only the beginning of a very dark and fearful time. Death and darkness and the enemy of both are looming and prowling and will devour at every chance they get. But don't be afraid. Hold on to the end. Because the day is coming when He delivers us from the hands of our enemies, and we run as a freed people, and are delivered to a Promised land. When fear creeps and makes you worry, press in. It's a reminder to get deeper with your walk. Take your kids there too. They are more than happy to go with you, if only you'll show them. And the more often you take them, the more they'll want to go. In fact, they'll start to take you and show you the deep things of God, because He is so faithful to reveal Himself to children. At times like this, it's easy to throw stones of accusations. But we need to remember the person above the philosophy. No- I don't agree with marriage between a man and a man, or woman and a woman. No, I don't agree with transgender lifestyles. No I don't believe "love wins" when the Supreme Court rules in favor of such unions. Because I know that's not what real Love looks like. But it doesn't mean I hate or scrutinize the people who do. Or those who signed such legislation into existence. It means I pray for them. It means I beg God to forgive them. It means I mourn the sin and filth of my nation more than I mourn the death of my own child. Why? Because someone else died for those sins. Someone who shouldn't have. And He longs to restore the real Love that's longed for, to the community of people who are trying to create a man-made version. The humor in it is the rainbows being plastered everywhere to promote such love. But there goes another counterfeit. Because the rainbow is the reminder that True Love keeps His promises. The kind that say Love is not self-seeking, and lays itself down for another. If there's ever been a time to pray, it's now. If there's ever been a time to show the lost what Love looks like, it's now. But we can't possibly show them the accurate picture of a Love worth dying for- if we ourselves know nothing about it. So we must dig in, and learn Love. Dig in and be loved. Because when He lavishes His love on me- through His word- then and only then, can I pour out the same love to the broken people in my community. It's time we bridled our tongues and trained them to pray and encourage. We don't have time to waste. He's coming soon. There will be negative Nancy's along the way, undoubtedly. People who harass your stance, and negate your wisdom. People who think the church is crazy for not being "current", or ridiculous for talking about the "end of the world". But our best response in those moments is to either show them the Words of Jesus- verbatim- or to Love them with silence. You don't need to answer the mocker with words. But don't become a coward to taking a stance either. Be encouraged. Jesus is coming. I pray it's soon, but either way, I will pray. Praying His kingdom come- come to earth. Soon. Please Jesus do it. Please Jesus, forgive us. Forgive me- forgive America. Because we need you. There's a hard line being drawn, and it's clearly seen on Twitter and the like: either you are for Love, or you're for love. Don't be confused. Love wins. The other stuff is just temporary, and feels good right now. But it's the same fruit that was picked long ago in the garden, that says "my way is better" and "I know what I want". Lay down those rights. Human rights across the board. Because the human rights this world gives, are man-made. And therefore, can be broken and revoked by man. But when we are given rights through Love Himself, He does not remove them, they only produce life and lasting, and they're more freeing than any Supreme Court ruling for or against your opinions. 6/24/2015 0 Comments Burn, Baby, Burn.We went to the beach. And I'm sunburned. Not the kind that's slightly pink and kinda cute on your face- the kind that is red and horrid, and feels as bad as it looks. My skin basically thinks all my clothes are hot magma being poured down over my person at all times. My bra straps like knives, digging into my shoulders. I have a doctors appointment this afternoon, so during Adalynn's morning nap, I had to get dressed and such while writhing in pain. As I flat ironed my hair, the residual heat was melting my face off. So, so, hot. As I sat there thinking, like I always do, God started talking, like He always does when I'm quiet enough to listen. Like a good teacher, since He is, the rhetorical questions flowed: "Bri do you feel burned?" My flesh, there in the mirror, red hot, screamed out "Yes!!!" But my heart cringed because I knew His probing was more than skin-deep. "Bri do you feel burned?" As I write this now, my eyes well up with tears. Not because my skin hurts from irresponsible behavior at the beach yesterday. Or even because my soul feels "burned" by God. But because I know that He burns us for our best interest, and there are far too many of us who can't understand that. There are plenty of people- maybe even you- who have been burned before in life. Often it's someone we loved dearly, who now holds the flame-thrower, and we know well enough to stay far away now. Maybe a boss burned you out with relentless shifts, less than par paychecks, and cynical words to cut you out of promotions or even affirmation during a job well-done. Maybe a friend burned you with the lies of deceit and manipulation that caused scars you'll never be able to un-see. Maybe a spouse left you burned, as they walked out of your life- taking all the things you had ever accumulated and achieved for years together, just because the grass appeared to be greener elsewhere. Or maybe God Himself, burned you- in church or through unanswered prayers you prayed. Maybe someone is now lost or gone forever, even though you spent hours crying out to a God you thought would never leave you, and now you've nothing to show for it. I've prayed those same prayers. The kind that seem unanswered, and forgotten, and like you, I too, have been left burned. More than that, my heart has been charred black, and soot and debris swirl above as all that's left smolders to nothingness. I've been burned. Bad. By God. But I'm not giving up. I'm not throwing in the towel. I'm not placing ever-growing distance between Him and I, even though the heat is up, and the flames are hot. No. That's what the enemy wants after all. To place distance...sin in short...between me and my Maker. Between you and the Savior. What if we looked at being burnt in a new light? What if we embraced the heat, rather than crawling away from it? Because the hottest fires are the ones that burn away everything that's dead and terrible and not of value in me- and leave only what He has carefully crafted left. Only what is eternal remains. Gold can only be refined through intense fire and heat. Friend, our tendency is to back away when things get hot. Like my skin now reminds me, the sun is bright- and even in some partial shade, I still feel the scathing heat from its rays. In life we often do the same. When circumstances become hot and unbearable, and the feelings too strong and overwhelming, we seclude ourselves far away from the source of the heat and trouble. But I would encourage you to press in. Get close. Let the fire that feels like it's overtaking you, do just what it wants to do. Because amidst the blazing furnace is the Great I Am who will never leave. Isaiah 43 tells us that He will be with us when we go through fire, and we will not be burned. How can He be with us if we never experience such fire? We must dare to travel to such a place of discomfort, that He can be with us, and rescue us from the burn. If you've been burned, he can, like sweet cooling salve, wash over you and treat your wounds and make them new. Or if you're unsure, and you now say you'll dare to go to that place of fire, try Him, because He will not fail you. I'm not nearly done yet, but I can assure you that I've come too far to go back. I've experienced too much fire, too much heat, too much pressure to want out now. I have only the choice but to continue to allow Him His perfect way in me. I've been burnt- my flesh and my strength and my attempts at righteousness are now burnt to nothing but dust. But I've been burned- on an alter of sacrifice, where dross is purged and gold remains. Where eternal is lasting and the unseen is forged. And I'm so very thankful. Thankful that amidst the fire, He has been there. Thankful that against my will, He continues to make me more like Him. Thankful that He burns away everything that's vain and unworthy to make me worthy of bearing His name. Thank You, Jesus, for the fire. There is beauty in the burning. So burn, baby, burn. 6/19/2015 2 Comments Empty to FullThere's an empty car seat that sat in our master bedroom for the last few weeks. It's not because I was creating some sort of "memorial" out of it, but rather that my bedroom in general is the last place I clean and tidy, since my door can be shut and everything hidden behind it in a hurry. The car seat was moved to the garage today. Part of my flesh wanted to scream that life isn't fair. It shouldn't be empty. It should be full and heavy and awkward to carry because a small baby should've been inside. But there isn't. Its empty. So. Very. Empty. It reminded me of words I've heard often as I've grown up in church. Words said by the angel that guarded the tomb as the women came to see Jesus' body. Expecting to find the one they loved much, and instead they found the same: emptiness. Don't be afraid. He isn't here. He has risen, just as He said. The thoughts and feelings of those girls were probably a lot like mine have been some days. Where life seems unfair, and someone they loved dearly and felt as though He wasn't around long enough, was gone. Their hearts undoubtedly as empty as that tomb. Often, we can't rationalize such feelings of emptiness, because we weren't supposed to feel them to begin with. If death entered the world through the sin of one, we weren't really ever made to experience the process of grief in the first place. A lot of people can't handle it. Or they think they can, and they try to fill the "empty" with something. I don't have the energy nor the digital space to write out how, in detail, to be someone who actually supports someone through loss. But I can give you some general thoughts on the topic. The last few weeks, both Paco and I have received an outpouring of sympathy, empathy, apathy....the list goes on. Gifts and words of encouragement, and words not so encouraging. We've had a lot of people who have tried to put something in a place where "empty" now rests. First and foremost- I want to say this post is not targeted at any one person. And we are not angry or upset with anyone. Honestly, we've done everything we know to do, to assume the best in everyone. Knowing full and well that you each have our best at heart- or at least we are trying to be naive enough to think so. But as someone who has so recently walked a road of hardship, and knowing others have, and are, and will certainly also go along the same way, I wanted to communicate some of the do's and dont's of "comforting" others. We all- myself included- have no idea what to say or do when someone experiences death, loss, tragedy of any kind- and rightfully so- because we are foreigners to this process. But in light of the last few weeks, I wanted to encourage us all in how to handle such scenarios, with extra grace and frailty. I am by no means an expert. I still have much to learn. But I can offer some respite for the people who've lost so much, by offering everyone else around them, insight into what is really needed, and really not needed in that season. So here it goes! 1.) As believers, we DO NOT COMMUNICATE WITH THE DEAD. I don't care who or what or when you felt prompted by the spirit to think that was ok, but let me tell you, that according to the Bible, communication by anyone, through any means, to anyone, and for any purpose, is NOT of God. The spirit that would try to tell you that you have a message from a person who has passed away, for someone else, is a spirit that isn't of God. As much as I miss my daughter, as much as I wish I could still hold her and nurture her, I do NOT worry or wonder about her care and condition now. I rest assured in the faith and hope and promise of Jesus Christ and His redemptive work on the Cross, that says she is whole and worshipping in the inner courts of the Father Himself. Please, please, PLEASE do NOT allow yourself to be caught up in such a false and evil scheme of the enemy. He is lurking around waiting to bait you with hyper-emotional and hyper-spiritual experiences, in hopes that you'll feel temporary comfort. This does NOT comfort a believer in the slightest. Rather, they are left to think you are crazy, and need a serious intervention through prayer and fasting. 2.) If you suck at cooking, don't cook. Yep. I went there. But seriously. If preparing food isn't your thing, there's always a delivery or take-out service, if you insist on food being the vehicle for your comfort and thoughts. There is nothing worse than having a terrible day, mourning the loss of a loved one or horrible event, and having to stomach down terrible food that tastes pathetic and choking it down because you know you "need" to eat, even though the best food in the world would be unappetizing in those moments. Do everyone a favor, and just don't. 3.) Don't TRY to be there if you're not usually there. I can't tell you how irritating and annoying and genuinely repulsive it is, to have long-drawn-out hugs from people I have no relationship with. It's one thing to hug someone who has been walking through hardship, it's another thing entirely to hold them against their will, and "whine" out a "how are you? Really?" As if to expel emotions that aren't there. If we didn't have a real, and ongoing relationship prior to the heartache, my life-crisis, isn't the time for you to join into my life-journey. FYI- It screams "I'm nosey and curious and just have to get a piece of this pie!" Just don't. 4.) BE IN THE WORD. Finally, something you can do. I know, I know- it seems like it's counter-productive. But honestly, as a believer who has been walking through some rough days, I can tell you, discernment levels go through the roof. If you've offered words of encouragement or hugs or conversation, and you're not regularly in the word, your words are draining the life out of me and my family. It sucks our energy, like a leach sucking blood from our veins. When someone is full of the Holy Spirit and has the Word of God permiating their physical self, it's like an intravenous breath of fresh air. Get your face into His word, He will give you the words to say- directly from His book of Wisdom, and they will be LIFE to whomever you're speaking with. 5.) GET ON YOUR KNEES. The same is true about prayer as it is about the word. When you genuinely take time to pray for us, the Holy Spirit does a supernatural knitting of our hearts. Don't ask me how, but I know it to be true. People I don't normally relate well to, people who typically annoy me because of differences in personality- it all fades and the Spirit of Christ- which dwells in them RICHLY encourages me. The opposite happens when you say "we are praying for you guys!" And you're really not. Don't worry, you don't have to say it or admit it, because we know. Not because we can judge your heart or read your mind- but because the Holy Spirit is seriously the giver of Life, and unless He builds us up- you're laboring in vain. 6.) Just ask. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to scream at people for beating around the bush with Esther. She was real, ya Know. She lived and was with us. She has stories and things for us to share. There is nothing worse than someone hunting around out of curiosity, and blatantly ignoring reality to "tread light" for our sake. It's more of a disservice to us, when you think we can't tell you or don't want to acknowledge her. If you want to know what happened when she died, just ask me. If you want to know how I'm feeling today, just ask me. If you want to know what my favorite thing or least favorite thing about her was, just. Flipping. Ask me. I will gladly tell you. Because just like my other kids, she is near and dear to us, and we love to share all of her stories just like we love to share the stories of the other kids too. It's really ok. Don't be scared. Just ask. 7.) Not every day is a bad day. I think people assume I will be walking around with my head hung low, for a good, long time. I suppose some people do this longer than others, but I don't have time to go into why. But I will say, that I am honestly alright. Most days I am fine. Yes it was tragic. Yes it sucked. No I would never want anyone ever to have to bury their kid. It's terrible. But life goes on. I will still have to get dressed and take care of my self and my kids and our home and our lives. If not, I would be seriously medicated at this point, and thank God I don't have to be! Solomon said it best- there is a time to mourn, but there is also a time not to mourn. So please, when my hands are full of four other kids, and I'm rummaging in the diaper bag for a snack for one of them, and my phone is ringing and the baby is crying, don't try and get me to have a "sit down" with you about my feelings. I'm really not going to even try to cry and be upset in those moments. Because honestly, I don't have the time. 8.) not every day is a good day. It's funny the things that become triggers. But usually, at least for now, when something triggers my emotional heartache, I'm gone. Like for the rest of the day. I become a basket case. Everything makes me cry from there on out. If I'm crying because I spilled coffee on the floor, or because it's raining, or because we are two seconds late, or because I'm tired, or because I don't like my shirt color- it's more than that. It's because really, deep down, I'm having a pitty- party, and am just all around sad or angry or both. I will dig myself out. But seriously- don't start asking about it. I'm really trying to get it together and maybe salvage whatever mascara is left on my lashes, and your probing makes it worse because my answers come out in the form of tears. Just shut-up. Because 9 out of 10 times, I will probably just start talking and blabbering on and will eventually tell it all to you anyways. 9.) I don't want to hear your glorified grief story. Seriously. I hate it when people feel like now you're in a "club", because all of a sudden you've both been through something tragic. If that's the case we should all have sashes and badges and a handshake and a pledge. But we don't. Because that's sick and demented. They have groups for people like that, at shrink offices and AA groups. But not for me, and not in public. Just because you've experienced hardship or death or any sort of pain doesn't mean you have the right to go around gloating about it. Me either. We should be glorifying Christ THROUGH the pain. I can't even write all the details here, but I will say this: when your circumstance becomes bigger than the God who delivered you from said circumstance, you're really in idolatry. Get over it. And praise Him. 10.) Praise Him. I know, I sound like a broken record. But really. When things seem hard, for me or you, praise Him. When death seems big and impossible, praise Him. When sadness or sorrow overtakes you, praise Him. Because when we do, things change. You, me, the person next to you, all have the same resurrection power inside of us, and it can bring a weary soul from death and grief and loss, to rejoicing and gladness and life again. When all hope seems lost, praise Him. When I see things like that car seat, or even people and their hearts, it can seem hopeless. Because it's empty. And I'm sure that when Mary got to the tomb that day, she was feeling much the same. But because of the empty grave, there is also an empty cross. And I am so very grateful that the cross is empty. Without the empty cross, I would still be hanging there. Dead to self. But instead, I'm alive in Christ. No longer empty, but full- full of His love. Full of His joy. Full until He comes again. 6/9/2015 0 Comments From the DirtI had just washed my hair, and blown it dry, AND flat ironed every last wrinkle out of it. Now, it was drenched in sweat, and dirt, and full of frizz from steamy humidity that surrounded me as we worked. Yard work is difficult. It's strenuous and it requires all sorts of energy that I just do not possess. I typically don't do yard work. I typically don't do any kind of physically exhaustive work, to be honest. I get plenty of "activity" while parenting four small children at home all day....every day. Sometimes I wonder how many miles I walk, or how many pounds and reps I lift in the course of a typical day. But I don't think I really want to know. It would either be completely too low of a number, or much too high. Either would add another element of stress to my life that's neither wanted, nor needed. The girls and I had gone to Lowe's to get a few things for the front of the yard. I'm not a landscaper by any means, nor do I try to be. In fact, it was more of a "thing to do" for the kids this summer. I had a gift card to the store, so I didn't really feel as though I would be loosing much if the investment turned out to tank. I let the girls pick their "own" flowers (from the cheap section of course) and that was a story in and of itself. We must've walked every aisle of the garden center, nearly 17 times. Teaghan could not choose a plant if her life depended on it. Maybe one day she will create a hybrid flower that's just the right shade of purple. Because Lowe's apparently did not meet her criteria in all of its selections. "Not too dark and not too light" she said, "with just a little blue at the bottom." I shook my head as I wrangled her away from the giant trees and shrubs, costing well over the amount on the gift card I carried in my mint, leather wallet adorned with a giant bow (see I'm not really the yard-working or outdoorsy type). She searched high and low finding the perfect flowers, and eventually settled for what I think is heinous and ugly, but I was so beyond walking through the hot outdoor section of the store that I quickly agreed, and marched to the cash-register...located inside with the AC. This morning after breakfast, we changed into grungy clothes, acceptable for working with dirt, and pulled back our long tresses, and went outside. Wes followed with a bag of toys, and Adalynn sat in her canopy-covered pack-n-play with a water-juice cup in hand. I was envious of her the whole time. We drug all the plants we had purchased to the section of the yard where we would be planting, along with the tools we needed: a few shovels, the 16 quart bag of miracle grow potting soil mix (for all of us brown-thumbs), and a large container to water. ( we don't even own a watering can, nor would I spend the money on one at this point!) I started to dig. The area for flowers at our house is mulched, and like most SW Florida homes, the dirt beneath is mostly clay, rocks, shells, and sand. The shovel wouldn't budge. I pressed harder and still to no avail. Thick roots from all directions prevented the spade from penetrating the earth. I searched for a branch-clipper-thingy in the garage, and found a pair of wire cutters that would suffice. Clipping and picking at the tangled mess of wire-like roots, finally, shell and rock were the next obstacle. The girls quickly tired of the task of digging, and Teaghan and Wes went inside to watch TV, and cool off with a drink. Adalynn was ready for her nap, so McKenna and I finished the seemingly, never-ending job. One hole after the next, sweat poured out of me. I didn't even know I was capable of such fluid perspiration. McKenna had drips falling from her nose. Our hands were tired, and covered in dirt. My manicured nails looked like they'd been used by a mechanic, with dirt and filth under each one and between the folds of my skin. McKenna had sand and dirt brushed across her red-heat stricken cheeks, in her hair, on her clothes. We were finally ready to actually "plant" now. The holes had been dug, and around us lay eight, 6-inch-deep holes, barren, and waiting to be filled. McKenna scooped fresh, self-feeding-soil into them, and then carefully selected a plant for each hole. One at a time, she carefully grasped the plant- firm but gentle, and began to tug. It would slide from the transport container from the store, and into her hands. She then broke up the roots that had been trained to grow only in a small space, and to the shape of the disposable containers, as the soil they clung to, fell to the ground. Into their pre-selected hole they went, and then she filled all around them with more nutrient-rich soil. "Pack it down, and make sure they're good and tight" I said. "We don't want them falling over when the rain comes later." Cape Coral has thunderstorms with big rains in the late afternoons, through the summer. If we didn't pack the dirt tight enough around the new plants, they'd surely wash all over the yard in a few hours, like the mulch in the areas near the driveway. Something neither her, nor I, wanted after all the work we had done. She pressed and forced dirt down onto the plants base, and at one point shrieked and quickly jumped back. "AAAAAHHHHH!" She screamed. A small bug was burrowing in the dirt she worked with. I explained that the bugs were needed to help break up the parts of the dirt that aren't best for plants, and how they then return the better "goods" to the soil when they poop. McKenna winced at the thought of bug poo on her hands. But quickly realized how perfect the system was. "God made them do that, huh?" I nodded. He certainly thought of it all. I sit now, staring through the front window near the door, waiting. I know it won't happen tonight, or even this week, but like any good gardener (if I can even call myself that) I check on the hard work, and hope and pray it's fruitful. The Holy Spirit, faithful as always, spoke to me today while toiling in the soil. Even the Bible gives us the analogy of a sower and his seed, and the example of God as the Vine and also the pruning gardener of the vineyards. But today, I was nothing more than a clump of dirt, and He was gracefully reminding me that His ways are always, always good. Like those plants, selected especially for a specific place and purpose, we are hand-picked. He knew and still knows the plan He has for us. At some point, and probably again for all of us each day- our hearts have hard, clay and sand filling. Full of shells, and debris not good for growing anything. But God in His loving kindness, digs away at them. He doesn't tire, He isn't sweating like I was today- he just keeps at us. And I'm so grateful. Even when roots cover the places He wants most- and usually from things not even related to where He's working. Like the roots systems today that covered yards of ground before ever finding the source. He works hard to trace and remove even the most complex of strongholds in our lives. Then, like those holes, we can feel barren, and empty. Naked. With nothing inside. Like He has stripped us of all we had, and for what? But in His goodness, He comes along with His word, and He fills the holes with nutrient rich soil, that's good for growing things. He deposits something new inside of us- and not just a wimpy small container-sized plant. Nope. He starts shaking us so we can expand and grow into something much more grand. Sometimes it feels like He's shaking us and ripping us up. There are times when he is pouring dirt down over us, and it seems unfair. There's times when He presses and presses and won't relent until He has pressed dirt all around us. In our human-ness we complain and struggle with understanding why He would ever do such a thing. Or why He would allow the pressure to continue. "God why me?" "God why now?" "Why not the other way?" "What is the point?" "How can this ever become good?" "This is Your plan?" But He knows that when the rain comes, we will be standing firm through the storm, because He has pressed all the weakness from around us in His time. We can feel like there are pests and enemies scurrying through our life and taking all the things we need from us, like those bugs in the dirt. But God has a system all worked out. And once again, it's so very good. He uses ALL things- even the things like those pesky bugs, the scary bugs, the harmful ones- to make us into something even more beautiful. And He sits back, like any good gardener would, and He admires His creation, and He waits for us to grow and produce much fruit. Maybe you're lacking fruit today. Things like love and joy and peace. They're all things that He plants within us when we give ourselves to Him. If we are lacking in any of these areas, we've not fully allowed Him to work in us. Allow Him to prune you. I know I need to allow more always. Allow Him to press you. Allow Him to dump His word on you and make you lack no good thing. Maybe you're dry. Drink up. He made water come from the rock for the Israelites. He will certainly shower down rains of refreshing on you in seasons of drought. He sees and He knows and He is not far off, as high and lofty as He is. He is good. Maybe you're being pressed on all sides. Maybe like me, you're being pulled and prodded and adjusted and bruised, wondering if it will ever end. But friend, we are just being planted, that we might be able to weather the storms of life when they come. He won't allow us to become uprooted, if we allow Him to have His perfect and complete work in us. Oh God, complete Your work in me. Only when we deny His Lordship and resist His work do we spread across the pavement in the midst of adversity. Like mulch that's good for nothing and wasted after a heavy rain. It's swept from the walk-ways, and pushed down into a gutter and forgotten. Heaven help me never deny You, Jesus. He is the Master gardener, and His investment is much more steep than that of a measly gift card at Lowe's. He gave flesh and blood for you and I, and sent His son to pay the price for our freedom, that we could be planted and bloom in His garden. That one day, the world would see such beauty and smell such fragrant scents that they'd stop and take notice of His work, and His workmanship, and give honor and glory to the One who is worthy of it all. Thank God He is so good! He has a plan. He is working it out in you- and certainly in me. We are nothing more than dirt. Piles and piles of filthy dirt. But with Him- and only with Him- can we produce something more and of worth, like the flowers sitting outside of my house. One day, we will return to dirt. And the only things we will have to show for our lives, are the things we allowed Him to grow in us. Allow Him. He wants to. So allow Him. If you're reading this: allow Him. If you're typing this: allow Him (that's me!). We all need to allow Him His way, because it's so, so, so very good. “I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn’t bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken. "Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me. “I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can’t produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples....“I’ve told you these things for a purpose: that my joy might be your joy, and your joy complete....You didn’t choose me, remember; I chose you, and put you in the world to bear fruit, fruit that won’t spoil." -Portions of John 15 Unless you're blind, you've seen the flood of images and headlines on TV, social media, magazines, regarding two of the biggest "controversies" today. One is a man who thinks he can "buy in" to being a woman. (And all the women laughed.) The other is also a man, who is being scrutinized for offenses committed over a decade ago. I won't post my thoughts about either here- though I have lots of them. Because the point is not for me to judge one or the other. My job is to weigh my own life, my own actions, through the weight of the Word. Does it mean I disregard either? No. Far from it. I can get the information and knowledge, and I can apply it to my own life, my marriage, my parenting. And that my friends is called wisdom. Because Paul the apostle tells us that knowledge can only "puff up". And that's what has happened to the media, and all the people engaged in either story. Everyone has acquired buckets of "knowledge", be it true or not (since the web is so reliable), and opened their mouth about their opinions, and has stopped there. The real question we should be asking ourselves, is "what about me?" Bruce Jenner (nope I won't even entertain the spirit behind the "change" by calling him another name), and Josh Duggar are modern-day mirrors, if we will let them be. Regardless of your stance, regardless of your religious affiliation, or your die-hard conscience, they are examination "tables" for you and I. But instead we've all made them spectacles. We can see an example of this in John 8, where people of all kinds, the religious elite and the business lay persons, encircle a woman. She's caught in an "act". What her "act" is called, means nothing. The point is Jesus gave us the example that none of the persons standing around throwing accusations, or stones, was in the right. Whether it's a woman from John chapter 8, Bruce Jenner, Josh Duggar, or you and I, the point is, we should be reading our own hearts before someone else's, since proverbs makes it clear that they are "deceitful and wicked" and none of us can even know them. I'm sure at one time or another, you were in that circle yourself. I know I've been. My "act" was a big red letter and my sin on display. The enemy likes to make billboards of shame and draw circles around us of accusations, to paralyze us. That's one of the biggest reasons the church is ridiculed by the world: because typically we line up with words in hand like stones ready to heave. And the non-religious do it too. In fact they're aim is actually better. They don't throw quite as many into the ring, but when they do, it's sharp and to the point, and it cuts like knives. I remember standing there, alone, with all types, "Christ-followers" through atheists, with rocks in hand. And I remember when Christ broke through and made the circle dissipate. And if we are true followers of Christ, we should do the same, and walk. Walk away. And say nothing. Maybe Bruce needs Jesus to enter into his circle. Not maybe- I know he does. And Josh the same. Because shame and accusation and guilt show no partisanship. But you and I now on the outside of the circle need to drop the stones, and examine ourselves. Because but for the grace of God, there go I. Or you. Or any of us. It doesn't mean I agree with everything that is done or that the "acts" in the center of the circle are excusable. Far from it. It just means my shame was no different, and I'll be the first to clear a space for them to walk away from the circle. The enemy will torment them enough. He will bruise and rip and tear and slice away at the dignity of both men, until they've reached nothing but a bottomless pit of hopelessness and depression. And God will be the only source to rip them from such a place, and I pray they both, find Him there. But in times like these, my job, and your job is to examine the hearts in ourselves in hopes that we not fall into the same traps and demise as they. Ask yourself the hard questions. Face the hard reality. Because none of us is exempt from either. Their sin may look different than yours, but it falls into the same three categories of them all: the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life. I guarantee Bruce didn't wake up one morning to say "I'm a woman". He gradually broke down through many mornings, until one day he grappled with such a question. Josh didn't wake up one day and say "today I'll molest my sisters." He thought about and made choices one by one that lead to a road of destruction. What is the small step you've taken today, yesterday, that's put you in the motion towards sin? Because anything gratifying self, and contrary to the Word, is a step in the wrong direction, and the start of a road that leads to waking up one morning with a giant revelation of who you've "become". Don't be fooled, or you've come to the edge of a dangerous cliff that points directly to where these two men are. Jesus forgive me for reading and talking about it all and not questioning myself and my heart. And forgiveness for you. Lord help us to look inward before throwing rocks at people just like us. 5/31/2015 1 Comment The Great CloudWe had spent all day at the beach, playing in waves of crystal blue water, and building sand castles from dust. The day was nearly over, and I sat washing the seaweed and tangles from Mckenna's hair. Her sun-kissed cheeks, glowing hot-pink, and her soft, green eyes - held in a rim of blue- peered up to me, as she said, "Mom, you're super good at washing long hair, how'd you get so good at it? Who taught you?" As a mom I wear many different "hats". If you're a parent, or have ever supervised a group a people- regardless of age- you understand this concept on some level. My kids call to me for meals like a chef, and then can quickly call on me as referee when a tussle breaks out. But my kids will never know me as nurse if they don't fall and scrape their knees. They won't know me as a trusted person of council if I never lend my ears to their small voices. McKenna has known me as a lot of things, but this particular day, she was seeing me as "expert hair-washer and tangle-getter-out-er". I've been learning new things about myself too, these last few weeks; and I've been learning a lot more about the One who created me, as He reveals Himself in different ways. Much like McKenna, I find myself sitting, sometimes with the same hot-pink cheeks, though full of rage, and eyes full of tears, as I ask Him how He ever got so good at doing all the things He does. We are all running a race, some of us for a prize, and others are completely unaware as they walk leisurely around the course. But none the less, we will all reach the end, and see Him face to glorious face. Some of us have been running and the road is paved with beautiful rubber tarmac. A pristine track and field course, with neatly mowed grass, and crisp white lines marking the course. Others of us have dirt roads, gravel and loose stone, pot holes deeper than our own height, and hills of sand. If you've been running for a prize, like the crown of life, your course probably has had a few, if not many of these types of "obstacles". Like me, maybe you've encountered great heights and lowest of lows. I want to encourage you: keep running friend. There is a great prize ahead. Keep running. If you're weary and worn and relentlessly tired, keep running. Overcome. He has already overcome, and you can too. No matter the difficulties, keep running. As I've been running these last few months, the last few weeks and days have been grueling. Some of the most difficult pathways and roughest terrain have I encountered. But in the midst of each new patch of track and course: He has been there. And at each juncture, every turn, and all increments, He is enough. If mine and your course is always paved neatly, He will only ever be our coach. The one standing at the end, with a whistle and Clip board in hand, marking scores and times. You may hear "well done" at the end, yes, but how ordinary. There is so much more of Him to be seen, and revealed, and He is begging, creation is desperate even, for Him to reveal it to us. To me. To you. While in the dirt, He becomes cleansing grace. While in the hot and humid, He becomes the cool breeze and refreshing water of life. While in the valley and in the deepest holes, He becomes the redeemer who pulls up from the pit and sets our feet on the Solid Rock. Just days before having Esther, I listened to a podcast, and the same idea keeps coming up in my personal study times, in church messages, in encouraging readings and talks with friends. The idea that God wants to reveal Himself to His people. The story we read of Jesus feeding the multitudes in Mark chapter 6, reveals Jesus as a provider when people were hungry. Even the disciples needed food for their bellies. Jesus being greatly filled with Compassion, blessed a small boys' lunch and feeds them. The disciples have seen Jesus do something remarkable! After which, Jesus commands them to gather the remaining food into baskets, and take it with them into the boat they enter to cross the sea. The story turns into another "famous" Jesus story- but for the disciples the story is only continuing. See, they get into the boat, and Jesus is sitting up on the shore watching from a distance. The wind and waves begin to pick up, and a storm brews. The disciples are working hard: rowing oars in their own strength to press against the wind. And next to them sits the baskets of food Jesus provided moments before. The disciples don't need a Jesus who can turn bread and fish into a buffet at this point. Jesus could've stood at the shore with a smorgasbord of entrée selections, and it wouldn't have done them any good. They probably would've been angered or frustrated at His attempts to solve their "ocean" problem with a "food" solution. But Jesus doesn't do that. He never would. He doesn't give stones when His kids ask for bread. No. Never. He begins to come to them. He begins to walk out on the water that is so tempest and trying, to be near them and be the solution to the problem. And what happens? The disciples, His dearest and closest friends, The people who walk, and talk, and touch, and stand, and minister, and pray with, and see miracles, and do everything with Jesus- panic. They think He's a ghost. They don't recognize Him. He's never done this before. He's walking on water. And they are terrified. Jesus is coming in a new way, the way they need amidst the "ocean" problem, and they freak out. God is trying to reveal Himself. Don't be afraid of the new revelation. If you're running and the race is easy, you may need Him to be coach with a stop watch and a whistle. Telling you to "keep it up". But if your race gets hard and the terrain gets hard, He won't stand back and watch you struggle. No- He will reveal Himself as the helper. The healer. The great I am. The redeemer. The rescuer. The comforter. The very thing you need, He will become. Don't be afraid. If you're like me, the thought of Jesus revealing Himself as something new is far less terrifying than the terrain ahead. People have warned me about the "hard days" that would come, but they never mentioned the nights. Sometimes my view of what's lying ahead on my race, seems more dreadful than where I am or the revelation of who He can be in those times. But I will never experience or know the depths of His person and character if I stay where I am. I've already known Him as coach. I've already known Him as friend. I've known Him as Savior from sin. I've known Him as comforter. But you can't know Him like I've come to know Him, unless you find yourself in the valley of the shadow of death. Unless you go to the depths, you cannot know Him there. As terrifying as the "ahead" may seem, His revelation is that much greater. People who've lost a child say they find comfort in symbols reminding them of their child. While I'm not into "butterfly babies" or "rainbows" or whatever- I will tell you this: As we drove home from the beach that day, blue and could-less skies were above. And in true SW Florida fashion, just two exits ahead, dark storm clouds appeared out of nothing. The car stared down the highway, with dark, gray, thundering swirls ahead. But the side mirror of the car held the bright blue cloudless color, as if taunting me as I looked ahead at the storm, to go back. Back to the bright, and easy day of the beach. But it was more than that. For me, it was a reminder of what was before the day of May 14th, before January when we got Esther's diagnosis, before 2015 when everything seemed to spiral into "rough terrain". "Go back...please just let me go back" my heart ached inside. If only time travel were possible. But my spirit-man piped up and began to remind my frail and failing heart, that behind is former and temporary. And that the journey and the reward is in the beyond. In the latter. In the eternal. "Press on...Keep going....Come nearer....Don't quit....keep running the race." The words pounding in my chest. They began to drown out the voices of my heart and my head that said to give up. So loud I thought Paco would hear it as He sat next to me driving into the dark storm ahead. And there in the clouds of gray, there in the pouring rain and booming thunder, He washed over me, like the water washing over the car. His spirit giving new life and a fresh filling, like the fresh rain water that fell from above. The clouds will always be a reminder for me. Not that Esther is in the clouds by any means. But that she is now part of the great cloud of witnesses who have run before us, and is cheering me on as I run into the great beyond ahead. The terrain may be terrible. The clouds may be full and dark ahead. But press on. The reward is in the revelation that is to come. Don't be afraid. Don't turn back. Run the race set before you, and attain the prize as you overcome to the end. He's cheering you on. And so am I. "Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame,and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." Hebrews 12:1-3 5/26/2015 1 Comment Black MarksThere are things as a mom, that make me cringe. Or angry. Or cry. Like when the girls flushed the toilet nearly 100 times because it "wouldn't go down" and water flooded the bathroom. I think I cringed and laughed at that one. When jelly-stuck hands smear across the couch cushions, I get angry. When everyone is having a melt-down at 5:35pm, and Paco is running late, and dinner isn't working, and I'm stressed and exhausted from the day, I want to cry along with the kids. Or when Wesley took his diaper off to smear poo on the walls. That made me angry, and cringe, and cry. I remember that morning clearly. And when people say "enjoy them while they're small, it goes so fast" I pray it goes faster because that is the memory I think of. I remember thinking nothing in my cabinet of "cleaning products" would be good enough to erase those marks. In the textured stucco walls of his room, dark brown streaks covered the wall behind his bed. The stench ungodly. The scrubbing and effort and process that went into cleaning those marks away was lengthy, and taxing, and something I hope to never do again. It's funny what grief looks like on the outside and how it compares to the reality of what actually transpires inside the process. The questions and phrases from average people aren't the things that make you crazy. Maybe it's just me, but I'm almost numb to the "I'm sorry"'s and the "We are praying for you"'s. Not because I'm not grateful for the support we have around us, but because I've heard it so many times in the last two weeks that my ears are nearly bleeding from the sound, or that my mouth is forcing out the same few responses to those words, with clichés and redundancy that make me cringe. It's the stupid, small, less obvious things that make me want to curl up and join my daughter, in the only place where there's no pain or tears. I remember going to the funeral home and thinking I wouldn't be able to even go inside without loosing it. Ironically, it wasn't the location or the talk of "options" that made me sob, it was the questions for the death certificate, like "she was never married?" And "she never had a job?" That had me weeping and barely able to answer. Thinking of how my daughter, a frail, and innocent baby girl, would never get to go to school or meet the man of her dreams. I remember thinking the walk from the hospital to the car would be hard. And it was. But it was a harder walk from the small infant bassinet in our room to my bedside at 2am, when no baby would cry or need attending to. I remember thinking the day we told masses of people at church about Esther's life and death would be difficult and full of tears. But it was easier than getting the call from the funeral home to come pick up the remains of what had been burned of our little girl. I know there will be a day when it happens, but for now I've been sending Paco into the local stores and shops we visit often. The places where people will recognize me and that I'm no longer pregnant, and ask about our new baby. I am trying to picture how my aching heart will tell them in such short passing time, of how Esther passed away and went to be with Jesus, without loosing my mind, and also while sharing the gospel with them and not making a fool of Him. I was talking with my sister-in-law, and one of my best friends. She said something that hit home for me, as it was also doing the same for her: I was preparing and so confident of the miracle, that I am finding I have to deal with the loss all over again as if I don't know or didn't know it was coming. Regardless there are things that make me more upset than others. And it's always a surprise. Like that day with the poo. Each of these parts is like smears, like dark and tough stains etched in my routine. They're etched deep and pain deeper, and seem so difficult to manage. The task itself seems more daunting than the reality. Some of the things make me sad, and I cry. Some things make me lonely, and I retreat. Some things remind me of the faithfulness of God and I smile and am filled with exceeding joy. Other things make me angry, and mad, and full of rage. Things like the words printed beneath "CAUSE OF DEATH" on the death certificate. It reads "ANENCEPHALY" as if to name a power source. Another black mark smeared in my face. But the thing that makes me so angry with that, is knowing truth, and the Truth. While anencephaly is the medical word used to describe Esther's condition, it isn't the cause of death. The source of death and destruction is in the pit of hell, and goes by the name Lucifer. And seeing the type there on the paper, calling it something else, makes me want to "sharpie" all over the page to identify the true cause. But all the black marks in the world won't cover or erase or fix what's been written or what's been done. But red ones will. The red marks of Jesus on the cross offer the hope and promise that says "Esther is home". And complete. And perfect. And healed. And resting in perfect peace. If death is knocking at your door, or your child's door, or hopelessness and the black marks of sin or this world surround you- there are red marks for you. The red marks that scar His hands are for you and I. And they offer life and peace and hope and joy. While they don't fix the temporary and seen things of right now, they will redeem what's been lost in time. And one day I will see her again. I will hold her again. As McKenna says "Esther has already seen my crown!" So when my heart hangs low, or triggers replay the few brittle moments I shared with my daughter, the red marks stay true and lift me to the place where I belong. Who would've thought, that black marks covered by red marks make perfection? See the black marks I have to face amidst this journey, have a stench far worse than that morning with Wesley and his diaper mess. They stink of rot and decay of hope. But the red marks that hold my daughter and my very own redemption erase them, with no effort, and freely. It takes the hard out of hardship. He is strength for the weary and power for the weak. And those red marks saved my life, and are the things that saved Esther's life too. So instead of shying away from difficulty, I've learned to embrace it. I'm seeing red. And everything looks good that way. 5/21/2015 0 Comments Breaking the BoxHave you ever purchased a gift for a child, and they preferred the box over the gift? We have. I think it's happened with every one of the kids, but specifically, I can remember buying a dancing Mickey Mouse doll for McKenna, online, for an absurd amount of money. It had been sold out for months in the stores, and it was her first Christmas where she could understand opening gifts. The suspense of waiting for Christmas morning was killing me, more than her. I would stare at the big shipping box, wrapped up in Christmas paper, waiting and waiting for the moment when I knew she would be enthralled with excitement. As a parent, you live for those moments. The ones where you're certain the smile on your kids face will be permanently affixed. Or so you think. The price is never too high, the cost never too crazy, because you're so sure they'll swoon over the contents and remember and treasure that gift the rest of their life. Even a Mickey doll at 18 months! When Esther had to leave us, the hospital gave us a box. It's a little red box painted with a pink and white giraffe on the lid. I remember my first carnal thought as they brought it to us, "I hate the color." But now the color really doesn't matter. They put things in it, like the bracelet she was wearing in the hospital, the outfit we dressed her in, the cozy pink hat that covered her head. They took impressions of her hands and feet, and placed the now hardened trinkets in with the blanket she was wrapped in, and a lock of her hair. It's funny how as mortal people, we would assume a box like that brings comfort. And I suppose for some, and even on some level for me, it does. But it's a temporary and nearly counterfeit comfort. There's nothing wrong with remembering the sweet details of my daughter, and tracing the tiny fingerprints she left behind. But now as the days pass, I find myself getting more out of control upset when I try to find memories and glimpses of hope in a tiny, little, painted ( ugly for that matter) cardboard box. And rightfully so. I was reading today, in Matthew, about the woman who brought the alabaster box in to worship Jesus. Alabaster was considered at the time the most beautiful and most sacred of storage containers for pricey items. It was the rubber-maid-on-steroids in bible times. They didn't have Tupperware parties, they had Alabaster parties. As I read and did some digging, the word that says "broken" doesn't necessarily mean shattered. Although she may have shattered the box to release the costly contents. The word literally translates to "breaking the seal". The box was sealed tight and therefor wouldn't leak, wouldn't expose the expensive ointment to any outside elements, no tampering with, nothing to escape. The box was sealed tight until the moment she chose to open it. And when she did, the whole room notices. The whole room smelled the incredible smell that filled the air: smells of great worth. It made the people in the room angry. Angry that she of all people was allowed to do such a thing. After all, she was "that" girl. And angry that she would waste such costly perfume to wash feet. These people washed feet all the time. Or at the very least had their feet washed often. In a time with dusty roads and sandals at best, feet washing was a norm upon entering a home. Jesus himself even proved the position of a servant with the example. Ironically, because Jesus had not yet died on the cross, every person sitting in the room was "that" person. They criticized her sin, but in fact, they were all as guilty. Their sin stacked against them like bricks building a wall. Their finite minds tried to "better" themselves by rationalizing use of such expensive perfume for "the poor". But Jesus rebuked them. I find myself sometimes in all of the places of this story. At some times, certain places more than others. I remember 6 years ago, when sin had me trapped behind closed doors, and my soon-to-be-daughter was a reminder of my failure. I remember thinking I wasn't worthy enough to "open the box". I remember being just a few years before then too, thinking I knew better than most people, and did better than most people, and would always be better, and found myself criticizing others for thinking they could dare to "open their box". And days like today, when I know that opening a box will really do nothing. That maybe it's not worth it to open the box and break the seal. You may not have a box like I do with the contents of memory and the loss of a baby inside. But we all have a box inside, made of something more valuable than Alabaster. It contains the most precious ointment for burial. But not the burial of Jesus. See, when we break the seal on what's inside of us, and begin to worship at the feet of Jesus, the seal of hopelessness, of insecurity, doubt and fear, is broken. And the healing ointment that flows out of that worship, prepares our flesh and our carnal thinking for burial. It brings us closer to Him, and eliminates more of ourselves. While walking through this season of "grief", I can tell you that days can seem long, and my heart can seem heavy. But the trading of my burden for His comes through worship. When my feelings and my thoughts say different than what His promises are for me, and my flesh begins to feel numb to any thing and event of the day, I know I've gone too long without His presence. When I worship, my heart begins to change and my spirit begins to soar. If you find yourself unsure of the future. If you're insecure about your looks, your status, your position. If you're lost in stress and worry and anxiety. If you're sad and lonely and depressed. If you're burdened, heavy, and oppressed and looking, begging, screaming out for relief, the only true relief is found in opening the box of your heart in worship to the Maker of it. You can open a box of pills, or open a box of razors. You can open a box of alcohol, or drugs, or pornography. You can open a box of sex, lust, or materialism. You can open a box of isolation, or a box of busy-ness. You can open a box of photos or memories or a box of painful regrets or joyous achievements. But those boxes won't ever really give you the smile or the contentment or the peace you need. It may sound silly, or sound wasteful, or sound like it's not worth it, but just like Mary that day, it is. And it's the perfect response that brings honor to the King of All, and others will notice the fragrance too. Once McKenna had opened the present, of course, she only wanted to play with the box. As a parent I was crippled with disgust over the money spent, the time invested, to get this dumb Mickey doll for my daughter who couldn't care less. But when we open the box inside of us, and pour it out before Jesus, he is pleased more than us. His face beams with pride, his heart delights, and His spirit descends. And we find true hope, true happiness, true fulfillment - not in the contents of the box, but in the exchange of what's in our box, for what's in His. 5/18/2015 3 Comments A year laterToday is a special day. It's a bookend of sorts, that caps off God's faithfulness story. That doesn't mean His faithfulness ends by any means, but it proves His faithfulness in a way that's hard to believe. In August of 2013, I was devastated. Or so I thought. My husband had been let go from yet, another job, a seemingly endless struggle at the time; our house which we had purchased just months before, was nearly being foreclosed on because of the job situation, and Paco's insurance had now expired, which meant his planned and scheduled vasectomy would be postponed. At the time I was also taking birth control, but in July, just a few weeks prior, my last booster pack had run out. I sat in the bathroom waiting for the little pink hash mark to appear, hoping to goodness it wouldn't read "pregnant". All the emotions from Mckenna's pregnancy filled my heart again, except the shame had been replaced with over-bearing responsibility and exhaustion. I was tired. As a mom, as a wife, as a legal guardian. And I didn't have the energy to do this again. Not to mention all the things that go along with it, like being sick for months, the doctor offices (and bills for that matter), the strain on my body, the interrupted sleep. I cried, saying "Please God. Please. I don't want to be pregnant. I really really can't handle another baby. " The minutes passed, and the bright pink indicator was clearer than a headline story on the evening National news. Sobs now. "God what are you doing? You know I can't do this. You know we don't need this. There are people who try and try for a baby and never get one, and I have more than I know what to do with, and don't want another." Little much afraid: me. Fast forward, to today, and I will tell you, God is so so good. Even when you think it's hard or wrong or not so good, He knows better. And He knew better that hot August day when I questioned His goodness amidst an "unplanned" pregnancy. Adalynn was the baby that empowered me as a mom. She is the reason we chose a home birth. Which lead me to finding one of the sweetest and most caring midwives I've ever met. While I'm grateful for all of the care I've received with each baby, Adalynn's prenatal appointments were low stress, and easy going. They were educational, and equipped me with information I would need later. But I had no idea then, what I know now. Adalynn was born in our bedroom, with ease, and intensity. Her labor and delivery combined were only 2 hours long. When I told Paco about my first contraction at 4:15, and then told him to call my mom just minutes later, he doubted and said to try and sleep some. I couldn't. Everything was hard and fast. She was posterior, so labor was really hard. But it was more peaceful than any of the others by far. I remember being tired and thirsty (I was allowed drinks I just threw up every time I drank and couldn't do that anymore!) and so drained, and Kristen (my midwife) knelt down, as petite and sweet and soft spoken as she is, and quietly said to me "you're doing so great Bri! Just keep doing what you're doing, I'm here and will help you do what you need to do". Within about 15 more minutes, Adalynn was born.
She started sleeping well from the first day, going about 4 hour intervals initially. Today, she goes to bed by 7pm, and sleeps until 9 or 10am uninterrupted. She still takes two naps most days, depending on what we have to accomplish. She walked long before her first birthday, and seems to be a conqueror of difficult things at an early age. She wants to do and be with the older siblings always. This past week has been an emotional roller-coaster. And Adalynn Mei, as sweet as she is, has been my best medicine. Her sweet smiles and irresistible cuddles make it easy to laugh through pain or smile through tears. She's a reminder that God knew and still knows exactly what He is doing. When my heart longs to hold the baby girl that was supposed to come home with me, and couldn't, Adalynn is there to hold and rock and sing to. Sometimes I feel as though she gets memos from the Holy Spirit to love on her momma, and she does, and I pray she's always obedient to His voice- be it now and into adulthood.
So Happy Birthday Adalynn Mei, momma loves you more than you know! |
AuthorBri is the mom to four little people, the wife to a gentle giant, and a lover of Jesus. She's figuring out the best ways to parent by trial and error, and sharing her struggles, successes, and stories with you! Archives
June 2018
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