By the time I had adjusted my book and my favorite candy just so, taken a picture, readjusted the book, taken a few more pictures, uploaded to Instagram, played with a filter, posted to Instagram and Facebook... both children were begging for attention. Nap time - "Me Time" - was over. Already. Before I had a chance to indulge in some sugar and fiction. I felt that irony then, and find it more amusing now. It's not even a great picture.
That was nearly two months ago.
Now, with a two month old and an almost two year old, I feel like I'm constantly CONSTANTLY constantly running. Running behind Daphne trying to grab the remote from her before she screws up all our settings (which has happened twice, and takes almost an hour to reconfigure). Running over to Charles in his bouncy seat, who has had an enormous diaper blow out that has - impressively - gotten into his hair (that happened this morning, no lie). Running to take a sock from Bilbo before he bolts under the bed to rip it to shreds (happens all the time, and frankly I've quite given up on chasing him on this one).
I truly think this season of my life is a perpetual enactment of the chicken-fox-grain puzzle. You know the one. I think we learned it in 7th grade math class. You have to get all three items across the river in one small boat without the chicken being eaten by the fox, or the grain being eaten by the chicken. Naturally, you can't take them all over at once, so you've gotta make a few well-planned trips. That's my life. Keeping Daph away from the baby. Keeping Bilbo from growling at Daphne near his food. Keeping everyone occupied and relatively content while I manage to get just one thing done off my list for the day. It's a puzzle. It's like a really complex and exhausting riddle. That lasts all day, and never ever ends.
So, when I finally get a chance to sit down and have a moment (just a moment!) to myself when both of the children are napping, and Bilbo is quietly laying at my feet... why on earth would I waste those minutes taking a picture of what I'd like to be enjoying?
We welcomed Charles Ender Trivits into our world just two weeks ago, but it's difficult to imagine life again without him. He is as consistently calm and charming as Daphne was at this age. This bodes well. I don't want to jinx myself, but it's seeming as if we have twice struck gold. We feel so very blessed.
His birth, as you may or may not have heard, was not without incident. I labored for 24 hours (when Daphne's was, from start to finish, just SIX hours). He was nine pounds (when my doctor told me he'd be about the size of Daph at birth, who was almost three pounds lighter). All that is excusable, though. The part that gets me about his birth was that a few things went wrong right at the end. He was coming out at the wrong angle. The cord was wrapped around his neck and arm. The doctor's expression changed from excitement to concern, and she reached in and yanked him out by the shoulder. He laid there for a moment or two without moving or breathing.
These moments, though probably only a matter of seconds, must have felt like an eternity to Kevin (who was watching and experiencing this trauma in a way that I, strangely, was spared). After Charles finally began to cry, the nurses quickly cut his cord and whisked him to his little warming station. I knew something was wrong at that point, because Kevin had been asked if he'd like to cut the cord. At that point, the doctor and nurses were calm and tending to me, so it seemed to me all was fine. Kevin, though, had seen something that left him in shock, filled with horror. It took a while for him to realize that our child was alive and well, and not dead, as he must have looked when the doctor laid him down after pulling his arm (and eventually, his body) free.
Later that night, as I sat holding Charles and listening to Kevin process what he had experienced, I remembered Charles' passage of scripture.
Side note: When Daphne was born, we did the same thing -- prayerfully consider a passage of the Bible that we believe applies to the life she would lead. Hers is Isaiah 55, which says, briefly, "You shall go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and the hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." We believe she is a ray of joy, beaming into the world, for the purpose of spreading the love and peace of God wherever she goes.
The scripture we had chosen for Charles is also from the prophet Isaiah, based on the meaning of his name. Charles means "freed man", and Ender (or Andrew) means "strong man". His passage says, in Isaiah 45:
Thus says the Lord to his anointed,
whose right hand I have grasped;
to subdue nations before him,
and to loose the belt of kings,
to open doors before him
that gates may not be closed.
I have stirred him up in righteousness,
and I will make all his ways level;
he shall build my city
and set my exiles free.
As I recalled those verses, I was struck by the phrase, "Whose right hand I have grasped." The doctor had pulled him, yanked him free, by his right hand. I don't mean to get all mushy and sentimental here, but I am truly convinced that God led us to this passage for a reason, and I have full confidence that God has a life of freedom and redemption in store for Charles Ender, little though he may be. It begins now. God's purpose and his plan are already established. And I find incredible comfort in that.
I think about this quote a lot. I've actually written about it before. My friend Jack says, "There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable." Think about that for a second. A few years back, I wrote about this quote in the context of marriage and the relationship between two broken people who have bound themselves to one another, and what a scary thought that is. I called it marriage is risky.
This past week, it has struck me in a new way. CS Lewis's sayings tend to do that to me, I think. Not only because he was a genius, but because he was gifted with the ability to take the wisdom found in scripture and rework, repackage it in a strikingly poignant way. And, like the wisdom found in scripture, his speculations find application in so many stages of life and circumstances.
So, as I found his To Love Is to Be Vulnerable teaching to be relevant in reflecting on marriage, I now find it to have much to say about parenthood. It may have even much more to say about parenthood.
Here's a bit more of the quote, so we're all on the same page:
There is no safe investment.
To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart to no one,
not even to an animal.
Okay. So. Surely you can see where my thoughts went with marriage. Romantic relationships are hard enough when people are in the dating stage... Can you see how the fear could escalate when you've pledged your whole self to another person for the rest of your life? To be loved is to be known, I conclude in my earlier post. What a risky thing to fully put yourself out there, with all your quirks, secrets, imperfections, insecurities... and say, "Please know and accept and love me - all of me."
Imagine, then, how this could affect parenthood, the other most important relationship a person can have with another in this life. While I personally fear less of my daughter 'accepting' me and loving me despite my faults (though I am fully aware of future fears with this, when she's more 18 than 18 months old), the riskiness of love only increases when a child comes into the picture.
I love Daphne with all of my being. It's actually useless for me to compare the way I love Daphne to the way I love Kevin, because it's apples and oranges. Kevin and I have chosen each other. Daphne has been given to us, and she is us. The fruit, the blessing of our togetherness. So, I love her with the love only a mother can have. It is fierce. It is fiery. I will love and I will protect my baby girl, because she is equal parts me, and equal parts Kevin, and yet completely her own unique and dynamic little person.
And even this is not a "safe investment", though all the forces of nature and God himself conspired to place her in our lives. She is no less risky to love than a significant other. Perhaps, she is more so. A child, though a gift from God, demands your heart and your protection and so much responsibility. Yet, a child's life cannot be controlled, from her circumstance to her very will.
This terrifies me more than anything, when I wake up nights with this new baby squirming and kicking inside me. Right now, my body is all the protection little Charles Ender needs. I can fully control his environment, because it's me. I know where he is, what he's doing, and can protect him in a way that I no longer can with Daphne. Daphne is out in the world. I cannot protect her from every bump and bruise she will inevitably receive from experiencing that world.
I fear I am not strong enough to give her back to God, to surrender control of her life to him, to see her as first a child of God and second a child of mine. I feel conspicuously vulnerable as a mother. I am utterly invested in this little life. My whole heart is on the line here. I fear I cannot protect my heart in regards to her no more than I can protect her against the world. Anything, it seems, could happen. This is not a safe place to be, parenthood. It is profoundly risky. It is risky to consider God as capable and trustworthy and faithful, not for my own life or relationship with Kevin, I'm finding... but for my children. Do I trust him with these little lives?
Making myself vulnerable before him, completely offering up my all in surrender, with the knowledge that that must include my babies, is his hardest lesson yet.
"Think about the things you can do - how flexible your life is right now!
Do you really think you're financially stable? You've only been married two years!
"This is how I imagine people will respond to me saying that my heart breaks when each month rolls around, and I am still not a mother. When I see pictures of new moms and their babies, expectant ones with their enormous tummies, I despair. I know I'm not alone in this feeling of sorrow, but good discussion is not really happening, either. But it's starting. Think of this as a companion piece to this one, written by my best friend and true confidant through times like this. I'm following her lead.
"On this topic, I don't speak up; I'm not brave. It's as if I'm ashamed of this "inability". There shouldn't be shame: it's a godly sorrow. I'm like Hannah in 1 Samuel. She went to the temple "deeply distressed and prayed to the LORD and wept bitterly." Month after month, I feel as though I am literally pouring out my soul to God, with the assurance of faith that He will answer. Months come and go, yet I have no reply except to wait. So, we wait."
I wrote that last year... the day before we found out we were pregnant with Daphne. And now, as I read it, aching and weepy due to the memory - and the fact that I'm eleven weeks pregnant with Baby Triv #2 - I'm overwhelmed with the fact that life is full of mystery and anticipation.
What an appropriate theme for this season. Anticipation and Advent go hand-in-hand. The mystery of the coming of God as a tiny infant human; the anticipation of the universe as all is to be set right. As this is the first time I've lived the Christmas season expecting a child, the beauty is remarkably real to me.
2014 has not been an easy year for us. There have been extreme highs (primarily because Daphne radiates joy) but also significant lows and disappointments. Events have made us despair of our desire to live in an often cold and distant state (emotionally and geographically, haha), caused us to doubt God's purpose and calling, and feel like failures in ministry and relationships. When our things were stolen (though some were eventually returned) we lost hope in the justice system and felt the despair of not having our cause heard and upheld. I hope I'm not overdramatizing the year we've experienced - I realize we are better off than others - it's just that the hardships we've been through are nothing like I imagined life to be. God answered our heartbroken prayers for a child, and now we anticipate His healing of this past year. He will continue, mysteriously, to works things out for our good and His glory.
So, we wait.
We wait for this chapter to end.
We wait for the day when we will be taken care of as a family, protected by a community if not by the law enforcement, acknowledged for our obedience to a call to ministry. This may not be what God has in mind for us, even in this lifetime, but still we wait. We anticipate the day that all is to be set right. Come, Lord Jesus!
Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry,
we do not lose heart.
...
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed;
perplexed, but not in despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed.
...
Therefore we do not lose heart.
Though outwardly we are wasting away,
yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.
For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us
an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen,
since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
No, this isn't my journal... but just imagine if it were...
The title of this post is misleading; it's a lyric to one of my favorite songs. Truth is, I look back fairly often. I like to read and reread my old diaries. A lot. Much of it ranges from incredibly irritating... to embarrassing... to outright disturbing, but on occasion, it reminds me of a happy memory that would have otherwise stayed unrecalled.
Such is the case with this entry from September 23, 2008. It's pretty sweet, and as we are coming upon our third anniversary at the end of this month, I thought it appropriate to share: the day I realized I was supposed to marry Kevin. And this, five months before we even started dating, when I was on a self-prescribed "boy fast". It's titled, First Day of Autumn. Enjoy!
Mmmk... so I'm definitely smitten - which isn't at all what I want or need. But Kevin is such a great guy! He helped me out by coming with our group to NYC this past Friday (so I wouldn't have to third-wheel), and all Sunday, I hung out with him and his band... which was awesome. But honestly - if I can flesh this out - he's everything I could want in a boyfriend. I know that's quick judgment, but I'm just so impressed! And I also know that he's very friendly and very comfortable with people - girls especially. But he's such a protector. And I just want to keep getting to know him - and he's so stinkin cute!
I need to prevent myself from being needy. Confidence in myself - who I am as me. Not that when this boy fast is over, I won't have a chance... I just worry so much that if I don't make a move, I'll lose my chance with him. And the thing is, that's not the way God planned it. If we're meant to be together, it's going to happen. How dare I think I can manipulate God and make things work my way?!
I need to calm my childish self down and dwell on what I know to be true. God is in control. There is a cute guy who happens to be my friend. I shouldn't change my behavior in the least. I want the type of guy who is attracted to the type of girl I am - who I am, not what I might change myself to try to be. Sigh. I just want him to be part of my life.
For your viewing pleasure, two pictures taken the week we started dating. As it turns out, we lived happily ever after.
I know it's typically at the end of the year that we reflect and "see how far we've come" and all that, but it seems all too appropriate to express thanks on the day that's set aside specially for giving thanks. We have been so very blessed this year - in some crazy and unexpected ways.
It has been monnnnnths since I've posted, and that's because I was in the midst of transitions. A lot of 'em. And I've been processing through them. Mostly to myself. Or, mostly to Kevin.
Some of these transitions you probably know about. Like being me being pregnant. It was a textbook pregnancy (barring that hiccup of PUPPs at the end that seemed to signal my imminent labor). But in the span of those nine months, Kevin and I have moved twice; had a total of three roommates, a slew of visitors; had issues with finances tax-related, tire-related, rent-related; had changes in our work situations, good and bad; had highs and extreme lows in ministry; and have strained to keep our marriage a priority throughout it all. Bear in mind, all this with my overload of hormones and a natural bent toward deep introversion.
I stopped singing. I stopped reading. I stopped journaling. I stopped trying. I watched Friends for hours upon hours. I cleaned like I was certifiable. I sulked and whimpered and lamented the state of things. I tried to buck up. I tried to power through. I tried to submit to God's will, which clearly all of these transitions were. I tried to be transparent with Kevin and my close friends. I tried to be an understanding, gracious, loving person. But I just wasn't… feeling it. During this time of huge transition, in this regard, nothing changed. I had a bad attitude, secretly or not-so-secretly, for nine months.
Then, a week before our precious miracle, Daphne Rose, was born, I realized that none of this was me. None of this was mine. Not my house(s), not my time, not my money, not my job, not my ministry, not my friendships, not my space, and not my will. These are things that are given to me; I'm a sort of steward not owner of these gifts, responsible for using them for others not selfishly hoarding them till I see fit. Nothing is mine.
And for this, I am grateful. It takes all the pressure off, doesn't it? When I don't have to question how I "use my resources"? It's answered for me. Use them for others. God gives me permission to bend over backward for people: it's not just something I'm allowed to do when I'm on the clock at Starbucks, where customer service is actually everything. I'm allowed to serve others without reservation, without expectation of return, and without thought for my personal convenience, or even happiness.
I'm grateful for a husband who stands up to me, prods me, but doesn't take my feelings for granted.
I'm grateful for a healthy, beautiful, precious baby girl (I can't get enough of her! Thanks for letting me plaster your newsfeeds with so many pictures)!
I'm grateful for learning experiences: roommates, financial decisions, and communication with friends.
I'm grateful for supportive family members and friends who in turn encourage and admonish me.
I'm grateful for times to reflect, evaluate, redirect, and move forward.
Now, as I look toward the end of the year, Kevin and I are settling down in our home sans roommate, avec baby. After nine months of transition, we are landing somewhere. Settling down. And we are receiving blessing upon blessing with the understanding that it's all for the purpose of giving it away.
And now, another picture of my adorable little pink princess. Just for fun. :)
As you may or may not have seen or heard, Kevin and I are expecting! We are incredibly excited and are absolutely overjoyed/overwhelmed that God would bless and trust us with this enormous responsibility.
I realize a blog post is neither necessary nor consequential to many/most/all of you... but I wanted to give a heads up as to what you can expect from me, an expectant mother (oh, wow). Or maybe, rather, what you can not expect.
Please do not expect me to post:
Tummy pictures...(monthly, or ever - yuck! I'm doing you a favor.)
Ultrasound pictures... (although I know my mom already posted one... I'll let that one slide... haha)
Any gratuitous statuses about cravings, morning sickness, and babies babies babies...(one of my goals for this year was to cut down on "public" complaining/whining, and I know no one cares that all I really want to eat is apple sauce and oatmeal.)
Don't get me wrong, I realize that it is good and healthy and appropriate and exciting to gush your newfound joy over being pregnant and the thought of having a child in the near future. But seeing friend after pregnant friend plastering their news (and, may I say, rather personal and private business) all over facebook while until very recently, Kevin and I had struggled with the fact that we - seemingly - were not able to have a baby... it's actually rather hurtful. I know I still have plenty of friends in that stage (waiting to conceive), and those who are struggling through/with infertility. I want to be so very, very sensitive to that.
It's ironic that two weeks ago, I was in the process of writing a blog about our inability to conceive, addressing those of you who rather indiscreetly and carelessly (however unintentionally) "gloat" over your blessed news... and the day after, I discovered I was pregnant. So, while that blog will not be posted, I hope that the spirit of it is clearly established.
Basically, I don't want to be an annoying pregnant girl who rubs it in the faces of all I'm friends with. I don't want to clog up a newsfeed. I don't want to cause anyone to despair because I'm in a different situation than they are.
But, all that being said, PLEASE: Congratulate us! Pray for us! Rejoice with us! But... do it in person. Or send me a text or email or handwritten card! Let's be more personal with all this personal stuff.
While hugely entertaining, and a rather incisive view into our generation's view of relationships and dating...
Angers me on so many levels.
The dating stuff, I think, is true. Accurate, and relatable.
But the view portrayed of marriage is disheartening.
(Understatement.)
Just two quotes to consider:
People who get married are not to be trusted. You know why? Because if you were legitimately happy, honestly you wouldn't feel the need to make a big show out of it. You wouldn't have to broadcast it. They do it because they're insecure and because they think that getting married is what they're supposed to be doing now. And so they're lying to themselves and they're lying to others.
OK. There was this guy who worked in my dad's printing business. Married for 15 years to a nice lady. And then he meets this woman at some church event. And he told my dad he just had never felt anything like it before. I mean, he had finally met the love of his life. So, he divorced his wife, and he's been with this other woman for 22 years and they are blissfully happy. I mean, what if you meet the love of your life - but you already married someone else? Are you supposed to pass them by?
As a young-married that sees and experiences the sometimes daily struggle to remain faithful in marriage, I find this generation (and the generation or two before us) just doesn't get it. That marriage means commitment. Faithfulness. For life.
It's not about finding personal happiness.
It's about making a choice to stay with the one you've committed to, to contribute and work towards one another's personal happiness.
It's not a selfish thing.
It's not about giving up once you've found the 'love of your life' after you say I do.
It's about forsaking all others.
And it's difficult.
It's hard in this day and age when we're bombarded with movies like this that glamorize sexy affairs and selfish relationships. It hurts my heart, and causes me to despair. Because I, too, selfishly want that. Romance that is forbidden. New and exciting relationships.
But I'm not stupid. And I'm not lazy. I truly buy into the idea that my husband and I have made a lifetime commitment to each other. And though it will most certainly take work to keep our relationship exciting and new, I believe that it is worth it. It makes me sad that other people don't see that. That marriage is undervalued and misunderstood.
That all being said, the movie ends well. The dude who has an affair is left by both his mistress and his wife. And the couple who has been together for years and years finally decides to get married. "The good end happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means," to quote my friend Mr Wilde.
I, however, fear that the truth is stranger (rather, sadder) than fiction. In real life, marriage is treated as a temporary institution, one of convenience or fleeting romantic ideals. But it isn't. Marriage matters. Real, life-long commitment and faithfulness matters.
But seriously, I have such a hard time with goals. Meeting goals, that is. Making them is fairly easy. I get distracted. I unprioritize and reprioritize. I get lazy. I don't wanna read x amount of books, or write x amount of sonnets. Let's see how this year goes, then, when I make goals that are less easily measured.
Talk on the phone more, and in doing so, defeat my fear of the thing.
Stop saying the word "annoying", and in doing so, be less easily annoyed. (It's good in theory.)
Do not complain, whine, or gossip. Ever. (Except maybe to Kevin. That's basically like talking to myself.)
Finish all the books I left half-done in 2012. There are quite a few of 'em.
Read more fiction.
Read more classics.
Play and teach piano. (Seriously. This one is happening, and I'm a bit nervous about it!)
Take voice lessons again. (Yikes! If I can find the time for it, I wanna make this one happen!)
Move into a house!
Be a better wife and friend.
Support and encourage Kevin. (Sometimes I forget he has to verbally process and dream.)
Write more letters.
Spend more structured time praying and in the Scriptures.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.
So says Jack, my friend and pedagogue, in his The Four Loves. And I find this to be true. You may have read one of my previous posts sharing part of my story about finding God and what it means to let Him love me. It is one thing to be vulnerable before the Almighty God, who will never leave or forsake, but another thing altogether to be vulnerable before another fallible, faulty, and self-serving human being.
Marriage is risky.
I am a messy person. Not externally - like in our home, leaving clothes everywhere, dishes undone, the bathroom mirror ajar - that's his specialty. Inwardly, privately, though, I am a mess. There are unresolved issues that I like to keep to myself. Marriage doesn't really allow that. Not really. All I am is his - including my mess. And vice versa.
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Vulnerable can mean "to be open to attack." Completely exposed. Messes bared. Wholly at the mercy of someone else. What a risk.
What a risk to place yourself in dependence of another, to willingly subject yourself to someone who is not you. Who does not think as you do. Who has not experienced what you have, and may not understand that.
What a risk to invest your energy, will and emotion, and your very life to a person who will break your heart without trying or thinking.
What a risk to know that you are in that same position to him, in a position to so easily break his heart, though he may not ponder the situation as analytically as you do.
Let me finish the paragraph I started at the top:
There is no safe investment.
To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,
you must give your heart to no one,
not even to an animal.
Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries;
avoid all entanglements;
lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.
But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change.
it will not be broken;
it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.
The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation.
The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe
from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
You see? The opposite of vulnerability is impenetrability. Refusing to be vulnerable is refusing to be understood. You are completely inaccessible. The fear of being vulnerable is similar to the fear of being unloved, but at the expense of being known. If you are unknown by the one that you love (or fear to love), there is no hope for love in the relationship at all. And this shortcoming is magnified in marriage.
Marriage is a religion. It is a devotion founded on faith and trust and love, but based upon the love of Christ for each individual rather than the individual's ability to love on his or her own. Perhaps, then, it is a parable for religion. It is not safe; it is profoundly risky. And that's love. That's life.
I'm going to let you in on a little piece of Anna Trivits history here. It's strange because as a sort of chronic over-sharer in my early years of college, there are not many people nowadays that know my story. Or the importance of this day - October 11 - five years ago.
Five years ago, I was a freshman at Philadelphia Biblical University (now Cairn University). There's more backstory that I won't bore you with, but suffice it to say I was floundering.
My heart had been broken that summer, a traumatizing experience for an eighteen-year-old girl, and I entered school not knowing who I was, what I was worth, and I had about had it with God. You see, during that summer, when my heart was broken, I determined to (in my own words) "see what I was saved from". That meant nearly open rebellion against my parents, against my standards, and against my faith. I felt I hadn't yet lived, so I set about living.
Apparently what I thought that meant, though, was destructive relationships. I'll gloss over details, because in truth you can probably imagine what that entailed.
And five years ago, I realized I was reaching my limit. I was being stretched too thin. And it was beginning to show. Here's an excerpt from my journal:
I've been struggling with an eating disorder for a few years now... and everything's just coming to a head (at this point, I had passed out in the shower twice). What it boils down to is how much I value other people's opinions of myself. If they don't approve of me, I don't approve of me. And this new environment has just intensified my insecurities. I wish I just had the strength and the confidence to be just unapologetically ME.
Later:
I've been so encouraged by the response of family and friends - my mom called Oasis Counseling Center and I'm meeting with the Baron today... in about 40 minutes. This should also be a good thing, although I'm incredibly nervous and embarrassed to be seeking help for this.
And later:
Well, much has happened, I guess. I've met with my counselor twice now, and according to my intake survey, I have clinical depression. I may be seeing a doctor in a month or so, if things don't improve. I'm just not really sure how I'm supposed to respond to this information.
After several sessions, it became more and more apparent that my depression stemmed from standards that I felt I could never measure up to, and from ever-increasing guilt because of those standards and my decisions the past summer. I knew in my heart of hearts that I was Just Not Good Enough. In another journal entry, I wrote about when I told my counselor The Story of my heartbreak. She asked me how I could tell such a story and remain so calm and composed, but as I processed that, it seemed to me that I deserved much of what heartbreak came my way. I had put myself into those situations knowing full well what I was getting into. And this mentality continued for me, for a little while.
Five years ago, the weekend of the PBU Homecoming (which was this past weekend, in fact), I was about ready to end it all. Another failed and foolish relationship pushed me beyond the limit, and I wanted to punish myself for my stupidity, for once again not being good enough. Fortunately, I had the good sense to tell someone about what I felt prepared to do. This friend may never know that he rescued me from the brink that night, but I am ever grateful to him.
A few days later, my journal read: Yesterday was good. Today is better. I am so thankful for amazing friends and godly examples and advice. I want, more than anything in the world, to give my life to Him.
You see? I still hadn't figured it out. I was still living apart from God, from the One who so desired to fix me, heal my broken heart. My identity, my morality, and my very self was yet unsurrendered to Him. Because, of course, I felt I could never be good enough.
And that's when it all changed. Almost on a whim, two new friends invited me to a concert with them and their circle (the Heritage Hall loungers, as I once referred to them before I was a part of their group). It was a Bebo Norman, Bethany Dillon, and Shane and Shane concert at the University of Delaware. I felt a bit out of my element, new people, new friends and all, and my ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend was going, whom I still "hated". But it was music, and it was getting out of my dorm, so I went. I needed it.
The show was good (if you know anything about the musicians I mentioned above, that is understatement), but at the very end of Shane and Shane's set, they played their (then) new song: Embracing Accusation. And I wept. I gave my heart, wholly, to the Lord. I began to believe the truth that they sang, scripture.
You'll understand once you hear the song.
I'll let Shane Bernard explain the rest.
Listen to his story. The full song, with lyrics, is the second video.
-- In 2008, I had the pleasure of meeting the Shanes and letting them know what their song means to me, and how it changed my life. --
Galatians 3:10
For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse; for it is written, "Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and do them."
Galatians 3:13
Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us - for it is written, "Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree."
On this day in history: October 11, 2007, I surrendered. I raised the white flag and leapt into His arms. And now I'm free.
I'm out of alignment. I ought to see a chiropractor - apparently, for "tune ups" - for the rest of my life to consistently be readjusted. Made straight.
This is the first post I've written in a few months, and I realize that all too often I feel the need to blog when something's up. Something wrong. Something I've got to process. Sometimes journaling and praying don't cut it when I have to process actively.
And it's because I'm out of alignment. I need readjusting.
My back, yes.
My heart, also yes.
Not many people know that I went to counseling my freshman year of college. For depression. So much healing took place in that office, on that couch, pouring out my struggles to what may as well have been a complete stranger. At the end of that year, I felt whole. Put back together.
Over the next five years, big things have happened in my life. Good and bad. Relationship ups and downs. Periods of peace in feeling the gladness of God, and dry spells. Little by little, emotionally, I drift out of being perfectly aligned. Each jolt in the road disturbs my vertebrae.
Do I allow time for myself to be restored? Do I devote proper time to the things in my past that still require dealing with? Daily allowing the Lord to redeem my mistakes, my hurts? Do I still trust in the truth that I've learned to trust and believe as truth?
It is time for those engaged in contentious debate to put the pitchforks down, pick up some coffee cups and have some messy conversations. Messy conversations lead to healthy conversations. Healthy conversations lead to understanding. Understanding those whom we disagree with leads to pure tolerance.
I read two articles today.
They happened to be on a topic I am wrestling through as I hope to find the appropriate, loving, Christian response.
Read them. Think through these things with me. Pray about it. I'm going to, too.
I wrote this somewhat depressing post a couple of weeks ago... and thought it would be all right to share now. I think it's important to see that other people struggle, too. Have you ever felt like this?
.
.
.
I asked God for something. He answered. And I'm... disappointed.
Has this ever happened to you before? Do you know what I'm talking about? Let me explain.
Sometimes I pray for things, with a certain expectation in mind. He responds with 'yes', 'no', or 'wait', right? That's what we're trained from an early age to receive from God. Well. What are you to do when He responds yes, but that yes looks absolutely different from the yes you had in mind?
Lately, I'm struggling to adjust to that idea: that this must be for the best, because God gave it to me. And yet, I'm so incredibly hurt. There are (give or take) a million verses that I know by rote that fill my mind - almost literally, like pop-ups on the desktop of my brain. But they advertise something that I don't want to buy, or am not interested in, or will not bring satisfaction into this situation. I believe them, because they are true... but I believe them in the sense that I believe Washington was America's first president, that Shakespeare wrote histories and tragedies and comedies, that Michigan became a state in 1837. I know these factoids to be true, but what does it matter? The verses that pop up are just factoids.
Did you know?
In all things, God works for the good of those that love Him
and have been called according to His purpose!
Guess what!
God knows the plans He has for you!
Plans to prosper you & not to harm you!
Plans to give you a hope and a future!
Hey!
God gives good gifts!
Yes, thank you, I did know that. Fascinating. Thanks for the reminder. But what does that look like for me right now, today, in my life that is undergoing tough and unexpected change?
I realize this sounds cynical. But I am all too often the optimist. I am really good at relying on God. Truly. But particularly when I ask Him for something specific, and He delivers, but... it's either not what I really wanted, or He, strangely, gave me the wrong side of the coin. Those of you reading this who know me know this isn't me. And that's half the struggle. I don't feel like myself.
Another teaching that's been ingrained in me since before I could grasp any of the reality of the Gospel is that faith is not a feeling. Yes, right now, I feel somewhat empty and bare. Like a vacuum, really: any truth that I read or hear or feel just doesn't seem to stick. It gets lost. I know that what God requires is obedience, faithfulness despite the obstacles and the feelings that come along with living in a broken world, in broken bodies, with broken minds and hearts. It's about obedience, blindly following Him and His word. But, God... it hurts. You answered yes, and I wanna take it back.
