Death and Taxes

It was breezy, hazy under the new summer sun.
The water sparkled, gulls called shares greedily when they spied a fisherman, the rumble of small motors echoed over the expanse of the bay.  I inhaled the fishy smell of the dock and peered up at my husband over the two year old's warm blonde head.
A sharp intake of breath beside me made my spine straighten.
"I got one!"  The seven year old gasped unbelievingly.  He jerked on the line; the pole bent against sudden tension.  He started to reel in quickly, prancing in a rather ungentlemanly excited jig.  "I got my first fish!"
Daddy laid a big hand on the small quivering shoulder.  "Ok, ok.  Slow down.  Steady."  
Gavin focused.  He cranked the handle methodically.  We watched for the flash of scales beneath the dark ocean.  
Suddenly the water parted in perfect shimmering circles.  A very unwilling fish broke the surface.  It hung, suspended, dripping, from the monofilament line.  A seagull wheeled overhead, nasally voicing approval.  Father bent over son and held the squirming fish so young fingers could extract the hook.  And there it was.  Flopping, ungainly, silver scales foreign against the worn paint of the dock.  Gasping silently.  Fish don't cry.

The two year old pulled back against me, uncertain.  Everyone was so excited.  But he watched wide-eyed.  Witness to something new - the first death.  Is this right Mom?

They took the catch to the beach.  Gutted, cleaned.  Then to the kitchen.  Fried in butter, salt.  Consumed proudly.  Full of fresh protein, boys raced off to the sand to dig holes for the tide to find.  Ben pulled himself over to the window to watch a moth trapped on the wrong side of the clear pane.  He reached for it.  "Butta-fwy!"  The crumpled insect left a dusty trail against the glass.  Little conqueror had vanquished his conquest.  He poked at the lifeless wings, then looked up at me innocently.  "Mom, hewp it."
"Ok."  I quietly scooped up the remainder of the bug and flipped it quickly out the door into a bush.  "Ok, bug's outside."
Satisfied, he pulled himself under the table to get a kiss from grandma's little dog; the moth's sudden demise was dismissed.

Reeling 'em in.

In the New Living Translation, Psalm 29 calls us "heavenly beings."  We are "sons of God."  The "real" part of us isn't from around here.  It hails from heaven.  It is eternal.  Forever young.  Death to a soul is a foreign concept.  Souls don't end.

And yet we're in these bodies that degrade with time.  My two year old doesn't know that yet; he's still discovering how much this limited body can do.  It's all exciting.
It can feel kitten fur.
It can move fast.
It can taste ice cream.
It can feel the exhilaration of a mud puddle, the warmth of a deep bath.
It can interact with other bodies, and tickle and laugh and snuggle.
He doesn't know how much it can't do yet.  And I don't mean just because he has a wheelchair or can't feel his toes.

Perhaps he just chalks up pain and physical failures to immaturity or the fact that mom wasn't there to be an extension of his limbs.  He doesn't know his body's not invincible.  It's not like his soul.  I don't think he understands mortality.  He's so busy living that death doesn't have any weight yet.

I hope I am never too comfortable with death.
Video games perpetuate it.
Movies glorify it.
Even newspapers dull my senses to its commonness.
But it doesn't mean I should ever just accept it.  Death, sin, taxes, degradation and dirt are part of earthly existence, but our actual existence is so much deeper, longer, more purposeful...  I hope I always question, humbly, like my toddler, "Is this right?"  

Oh, I'll still kill ants with abandon if (ok, when) they dare cross the threshold of my kitchen.  And spiders...  But they don't have souls.  They were made for this world, and to the dust of it they return (or at least to the depths of my trash can.)  And if I can get my manly little sons to do the deed, believe you me, I will.  Death is a natural part of reality.  For now.  But we won't always live in the "now".  We'll live in eternity, where there will be no blood, no pain, no fear.  No death.  

A wise man once realized he had desires that nothing in this world could satisfy.  He concluded that he must have been ultimately made for a different world.  He was C.S. Lewis, a staunch atheist, who lived through World War II.  Eventually though, he turned to Jesus, the Heavenly Man, to fill that hole.  Nothing else would.

We're not from around here.
I've gotta remember that.

But I'll certainly enjoy the fresh meat while I am here.  This physical body should eat well as long as I have sons around.  There are certainly worse things about being mortal.

Proud little mortals.

Just a Season

I went ice skating today.  The first time in over ten years.  My feet hurt now; I think they've widened (or my skates got narrower in storage in grandma's basement...)
I remember the cold January afternoons, trudging across the field from my house to the frozen pond in the neighbor's horse pasture.  I was fifteen probably; my little brother ten.  Second hand skates slung over our shoulders, and maybe warped old hockey stick tangled through the laces.  We'd lace up, quickly, fingers numbing.  I'd try to figure out how to glide backwards, fast, or spin on one foot like they did so effortlessly at the Olympics.  I wasn't so effortless.  My tailbone would ache after some afternoons of hard falls.  Still, we'd be back out in another day or two.  Sometimes we'd bring shovels after an overnight snow.  Sometimes the sun warmed the top layer and we'd carve through a layer of slush around the edges.  Our boots would serve as goal posts.
I met my husband, a hockey player up through college.  We bought a house close to several rinks.  He played a few pick up games from time to time, but we got busy.  Jobs, new house projects, then I was pregnant, then the baby, then another and another and another...
Suddenly it has been more than ten years since I laced up my skates.  Maybe twelve.  And I'm pregnant again, of course.  But today was my husband's day off.  My six year old, my five year old, and my three year old convinced grandma to bring over her stash of yard-sale-find-kid skates, and to watch the two year old for an hour.  And we went to a local rink so my kids could feel ice beneath their blades for the first time.

They tell me it's just a season.  This time when the kids are small and so needy; it won't last.  But I've been hearing that for seven years.  I'll keep hearing it for at least several more.
"You'll sleep - when they're older."
"You'll have date nights - eventually."
"You'll go out shopping with your own friends - when they can be home alone."
"You'll go out for coffee - when they are all in school."
"You'll have time to do all those things you can't - when the kids are grown."

I know they're right.  I'll miss these days, the days of small things.  The cuddles, the funny quotes, the innocent giggles, the early mornings when I don't get my coffee until I've gotten everyone else dressed and fed - they won't last.  I'll reminisce.  And I'll do things on my own - like go to the bathroom without interruption - and it will be quite pleasant.  
But this season, it is somewhere between long and endless for me.  I keep having kids.  I homeschool.  I don't work outside the home.  I have a child with a handicap.  So this season, I can't treat it just like a summer or a winter that will pass with a spring thaw, or when the school bus comes to pick up the youngest for kindergarten and leaves me suddenly alone on the doorstep.  I can't look at it as an interruption to my real life. It IS my life, the fullest part.  It is not incidental.

I don't want to just endure these humble years, counting the minutes till I'm "free."  I might almost claim to have more purpose to living now than in any "season" previous to little children.  There are moments it feels like diapers will never end; when their bedtime can't come soon enough for me to get to the quiet "me" time after it; when I can't imagine life beyond Cheerios under the table.  But I'm not living each of these moments just to pass the time until I can take up my "real" life again.  This is it.    
It is true I can't do everything while I have little ankle biters.  But I couldn't do everything even when I had no kids.  So instead of considering all the things I'm unable to do, it is time to get creative to figure out what I can.
I always used the excuse that I was too pregnant or had a little one so I couldn't go ice skating.  I can't carry a baby around the ice safely, and if I fall hard, it could be damaging for the bun in the oven.  But I'm always pregnant, and I always have a little one.  So today, grandma happily watched the 2 year old at nap time.  And I was always holding a little someone's hand on the ice so a tumble involving dangerous speed or force was more unlikely than getting in an accident in the car on the way to the rink.
It was fun.  It wasn't like it was fifteen years ago, but I don't want to go back in time and miss the joy on my five year old's face as daddy guided him all the way around the rink.  Or the three year old's excitement when the zamboni past the glass just inches from his upturned face.  Or the sparkle in my husband's eye as he grabbed my hand and told the six year old to take a picture of us on this long awaited "skate date."

No, I can't just sleep in whenever I want these days.  I can't just take a long road trip (the potty breaks would be maddening).  I can't just stay out late with friends.  I can't just live for myself.
That's good.  Enough with the "I can'ts."  I can live for others.  I can do a lot of stuff that I don't consider when I treat this as "just a season."
This is life.  Time I figured out how to live it fully.  And see if I can cajole a foot rub out of my very sweet husband.
We'll just have to see if I can manage that.

The depths congealed

Wrote this the day after Hurricane Sandy inundated the East Coast of America.

The rain is hard.  So hard, the window looks covered in a sky-grey oil slick.
There's probably a river flowing through the basement.  I hope it doesn't stop.  As long as the water keeps flowing through and the drain stays unclogged, all his tools, all the baby scrapbooks, all the Christmas boxes stacked on pallets won't be destroyed.
Two children are napping, oblivious to the thunder shaking the sky and the lightning splitting it.  Safe.  Warm.  Imperviously hugging a stuffed cookie monster.  The other two are at grandma's, probably schlepping tools for Grampy in the garage or building precarious block towers on the living room rug in front of the wood stove.
But I know nearly 8 million people lost power last night.  Many were neither safe nor warm.  They were scared and helpless compared to that 900 mile superstorm.  The anxiety grew as the water rose; they know it will cost them far more than some new Christmas decorations this winter.
It was an inconvenience to some.  It was deadly destruction to others.  It renewed an impetus for us to pray for many whom we know were impacted.
But why would God send this storm?  How could he?

He could, because He is in absolute control of every little molecule in time and space.
He can stick His finger into a cloud and swirl it the way a three year old can make eddies in a mud puddle.
With a breath, He can direct the wind along the exact swath of land it was intended.
He sets the time of the tide and the heave of each wave to the exact millisecond.
He made the rules of science, and chemistry and meteorology and astrophysics, and can, in complete knowledge of how they function, write the equation that sets each atom spinning and each hydrogen bond forming.  He forgets no detail.  No atom left behind.

For He looks to the ends of the earth, and sees under the whole heavens,
To establish a weight for the wind, and apportion the waters by measure.
When he made a law for the rain, and a path for the thunderbolt.
Job 28:24-26

I personally don't know the science.  (That's just one reason why I write a blog rather than work a job as a rocket scientist.)  It is fascinating, but beyond me.  So I won't try to explain it beyond that.

But still, why the storm?

I can not explain love.  Or migration.  Or why only some babies sleep through the night.
I do not know why.
But I wonder...

I was reading Exodus this week.  The Israelites were at the edge of the Red Sea with the Egyptian army closing in behind them.  You know the story.  God parted the waters.  They walked through on dry land.  The soldiers behind them were crushed and drowned when the water closed back up.
Again, I haven't studied the science.  I'm not sure how the wind God sent made the water pile up, or how He dried the muddy sea floor.  That was some wind.  In the song of Moses in Exodus chapter 15, he says "the depths congealed."  I imagine Red Sea jello.
What were the fish thinking at that moment?
In this story, it tells us why this happened.

Then the Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD, when I have gained honor for Myself over Pharaoh, his chariots, and his horsemen.
Exodus 14:18

In that moment when the jello turned back into deadly liquid, those Egyptian soldiers knew the Lord in His terrible power.  When the army didn't return from their conquest, the mothers and wives - who had already lost at least their oldest sons, all their winter grain, the animal food supply, their wealth - knew the Lord had made them widows and childless mothers.  They wept, and they knew.  Pharaoh, finally, knew the Lord was truly and completely in control.  He'd been raised to believe that he, as ruler of the great nation of Egypt, was a god.  Humbled, he knew.

I hope it doesn't take such lengths for us to know.  As a nation, we have enjoyed the Lord's mercy and blessing.  Four hundred years prior to the Red Sea crossing, God had blessed Egypt when Joseph taught the young pharaoh that God could and would provide.  But the morals of the nation had degraded until they allowed the murder of babies and warped justice so that men who did not work ate well while those who worked the hardest provided for them.  They forgot God.

From the chamber of the south comes the whirlwind, and cold from the scattering winds of the north...
With moisture He saturates the thick clouds;  He scatters His bright clouds.
And they swirl about, being turned by His guidance,
that they may do whatever He commands them
on the face of the whole earth.
He causes it to come,
whether for correction,
or for His land,
or for mercy.
Job 37:9,11-13

I have known God in His mercy this time.  Perhaps you have known Him in a different capacity.
He will go to great lengths to get your attention.
He knows you.
He wants you to know Him.
No atom is out of His hand.  No speck of matter will move unless He commands it.  No person, created  for the very purpose of knowing God, will He ever forget or ignore.
He who moves mountains, who makes the Red Sea into jello, who sent His beloved Son from heaven to earth to die a horrific death, He would send a 900 mile hurricane just to reach your heart.
I hope you know Him.
Because He'll do it again.
He loves you too much to leave you alone.
Ever.

Hypothetical

Ever imagine what it would have been like to have been born in another time period or place?  I wonder why God chose here and now for us.  Why did God choose this era of expensive gas, ridiculous political jargon, frustration over health insurance, too-busy lifestyles, consumerism, and cable t.v.?  Why didn't he choose to have us exist 100 years ago, or 1,000?  What if we'd taken a different road?

I don't know. I won't know.

Certain things might have been very good in a different time.  

I would probably be more prepared to run a home and family if I'd been raised for that specific purpose.  

I'd be better at making bread.

There would be far fewer distractions.

I wouldn't own so much stuff, or feel the need to.

I'd be ok with being dirtier.

I might know the worth and the cost of knowing God, and be closer to him.

But today I am thankful.

Long ago, I wouldn't have been granted an education.  I might not know how to read.

My vision would be so terrible without glasses or laser surgery that I'd barely be able to see.

My teeth would be crooked.

If I'd been born in China, they might have bound my feet.

If I'd been born in India, I might live in a garbage dump.

If I'd been born in parts of Africa, I might be circumcised and married by adolescence.

If I'd been born in the Middle East, my arms and legs would always be hidden from the light of day.

I would never have traveled far.

I wouldn't have friends all over the world.

My parents would have chosen someone else for me to marry.

My youngest would have died soon after birth without surgery.

Without antibiotics, my four year old might have died when the splinter in his finger got infected.

My husband might have died from dehydration when he got a bad case of the flu.

I wouldn't know how to drive.

I wouldn't know how to blow a bubble with bubble gum.

I might not know how to swim.

I wouldn't have named my blog Teenage Mutant Ninja Toddlers.

I might be burned at the stake for owning and reading a Bible.

We are here, now, for a reason.  I could sing the shoulda, coulda, woulda's.  I could wonder "what if?"  But I could be content; get on with living.  Purposefully and fully.  And I've had my morning coffee.  Praise God for the era of morning coffee!  Time to go live the day.  

Exhale sharply

My two year old fed my one year old baby a piece of his bread and jelly.  Baby was sitting on a library book.  On the rug.
I sighed.

Somebody unrolled the toilet paper to find their perfect piece.  It was apparently at the end of the roll.  I re-rolled it.
I sighed again.

There was dried yogurt on the window.  The baby got stuck under the piano again.  Three pairs of muddy boots were shaken off on the freshly vacuumed rug.
I breathed out in despair.

My husband asked me if I could make him a cup of coffee as he sat down to start a homeschool lesson with the kids.  Navigating blindly behind the ample laundry pile in my arms, I responded with a muffled "Uh-huh."  Sure I'll  be the good little housewife and add one more thing to my to-do list in the next five minutes.  He caught the exhale that followed.
"Sigh!" He mimicked emphatically.  "Your life is so miserable, huh."

I frowned as he hit the nerve, but let the sensation linger.  I was sounding pretty depressed with life.  A few minutes later, bearing a warm mug of coffee as a peace offering, I plunked down next to the boys as he finished reading their Bible story.  He accepted the cup, eyeing me gently.  "You didn't spit in it, did you?" he smiled at me.
"No." I returned.  "I guess its not so bad."
"Bad?" One of the minions questioned.  "Its bad to spit?!?"
"Only outside!"  Mommy started the etiquette lesson and the day moved on.

Do not grow weary in doing good.  2 Thessalonians 3:10
I read it this morning; it was a reminder, but I should have taken it as a warning to be more careful.  I know sighing can be destructive and sapping.  I sigh to celebrate a pity party.  It robs me of joy as well as anyone else who is the recipient of my attitude.  And I let it.  

My home should be a peaceful haven for my family.  Its not always happy, light and bubbly.  Its definitely not always (well, ever) quiet and clean.  But I can, and do, set the mood of the busily humming life within these walls.  Its my great and sacred purpose as a housewife to be the heartbeat of the home.  Thats not easy, but it is a wonderful job description.  I am not a slave or a prisoner in this house.  I am Mom, and I wouldn't trade that title for any position, wealth, or power.  

But if I forget how noble and sweet even the menial parts of my work are, bitterness seeps in.  Eventually, it seeps out too, and it poisons the whole atmosphere of my home.  No matter how much laundry I do, or diaper changing, or vacuuming, or homeschool teaching, or meal planning, or even planning quiet evenings with my husband, it is not particularly helpful if my home is still full of bitterness, unrest, and oppression.  

Jesus, the king of the universe, served His friends and family daily, in menial ways.  Was he any less a king because he washed his disciples' grime-crusted feet?  He touched the lepers, the dead bodies, filthy demon-possessed men, the bleeding women, the snotty children.  He hung out with smelly, sweaty fishermen.  Did they feel his bitterness at his servanthood?  

No, he didn't sigh at their neediness.  Daily, even when he was tired, hungry, hot, frazzled by the crowds, he loved them.  He served them.  He died for them.

I should be able to re-roll toilet paper and make my husband a cup of coffee with a joyful heart.  Jesus would do it for me, King of heaven, Lord of all men.  I, queen of my castle, can do it for my own ankle biters.  And I get to teach them to spit.  Who else can?  That's just special. 

Arose a mother

Shiloh, learning to drive.

My four year old woke up before the others yesterday morning.  He padded into the kitchen where his daddy was stoking the wood fire while I sat with Bible and coffee in the pre-kid morning lull.  He is most talkative in those minutes before he has to compete for our full attention.  He started chattering about his agenda for the day; fixing the roof over the kitchen was apparently priority (this is my son; not my husband talking.)
"Shiloh, what do you want to do when you grow up?"  My husband asked, poking at the coals and enjoying the prattling from his usually reserved son.
"Bigger."  Shiloh returned practically.
"What job do you want to do when you are bigger?"  He pressed.
"I want to drive big trucks."  No surprise there.  He lives and breathes in diesel.
"But I am not bigger now." Shiloh continued the thought.  "Well, I am not bigger than Daddy now, but I am bigger than Mommy."
We laughed.  Daddy is much bigger than Mommy, but my four year old definitely hasn't surpassed me.  Not yet.
Mommy's apparently not the imposing figure I used to be in my little man's life, though we both know he will still fit over my knee for some time to come.
"Can I have milk?"  He asked, not skipping a beat.
"Please." I remind him automatically, smiling.  I'm just mom.  I'm not formidable or remote.  I'm simply necessary for basic sustenance, even for the future big rig driver swinging his legs from the stool.

Now Deborah, a prophetess, the wife of Lapidoth, was judging Israel...
Judges 4:4

My friends and I joke about being known as just "the wife" to our husbands in some circles and "the mom" of our children to their peers.  Our identity is bound up in them.  Most of the time, I'm OK with such infamous notoriety (except at the library, where I know they look at me as "that mom" when we burst vivaciously through the door to return en masse our stroller load of truck and dinosaur books...)  Its the season of my life when I haven't time to worry about a name for myself because I'm too busy humming baby's name to him while hollering the older brothers' names too loudly, too often, and generally in the wrong order.  We stay within a tight orbit between home and the grocery store, with occasional outings to church and grandmas'.  I'm on call 24 hours a day with this job; it's the only hat most people see me wearing.  And yes, it probably is on backwards, and flecked with glitter, and smeared with oatmeal on the brim.  I wear it proudly.

In the Bible, most females you read about are known as "so-and-so's wife."  Lapidoth's lot was different.  His wife was a renowned prophetess in Israel.  She even had a tree named after her, where she would sit so people could find her when they needed a judge.  She was the person everyone in the country knew they must listen to if they wanted to hear the words of the Lord.  Through her, the Lord called up Barak (not Obama) and a militia to rout a huge army of the bad guys.  She was the leader of God's chosen nation.  Lapidoth must have gotten used to being called "Deborah's husband."
What did she call herself?

"Village life ceased... until I, Deborah, arose, arose a mother in Israel... My heart is with the rulers of Israel who offered themselves willingly with the people."  
Judges 5:7-8

A mother in Israel.  Not the "leader."  Not even "the" mother.  She was simply another mother in her nation.  Out of that job description, she was a leader, a judge, a prophetess, an advocate and good advice-giver for hundreds, maybe thousands of the sons of Israel.   Ten thousand men followed her into what looked like a losing battle.

I don't ever plan to spend my days sitting under palm trees while people come up to me for tidbits of wisdom.  Nor do I expect 10,000 men to follow me into war.  Heavens, I hope not!  I'm just a mother in America.  My job is to be leader, judge, advice-giver, booboo-kisser, discipliner, mitten-and-boot-puller-on-er, snot wiper, sandwich maker, chauffeur, artists' helper, flashcard holder, dictionary, diaper changer, confidante, bathroom attendant, tickler and spell checker.  Among other things.
I do help plan strategy for battle.  I do hand out swords.   I guess sometimes I even hold the little leaders by the hand while they lead the charge against the bad guys (at least when it involves going upstairs into the dark where they need help turning on the light.)
Perhaps my job isn't so different from Lapidoth's wife's.
Just a mother.
Just mom.
Nothing grand or huge.  I'm not aspiring to be voted into any office; quite the contrary.  Many days I'm not aspiring to anything more than basic survival till bedtime!  But I look over my little nation with a maternal hope for their future; my heart is with them, supporting them as they learn to do what is right and good.  Until you are able to stand on your own two feet, Son, I will hold your hands.  You will have to go to battle, sometimes, you will have to fight.  But until you can stand alone, I will stand next to you.
That's the funny part of motherhood.  If I do it right, I should work myself out of a job.
You, child, won't always need me to tie your shoes, feed you, or tell you what the Bible says.  Someday, you will put on your own footwear, get a job to support your food habit, and choose for yourself whom you shall serve on a daily basis.
And you will be bigger than me.
Maybe then I will go find that palm tree to sit under.

United Pirates

6:45 a.m.
The monitor lights sparkled and I heard a rousing rendition of Veggie Tales' The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything coming through it from the boys' bedroom.  Three boys, united, for a cheery dawn moment in high-pitched melody.
I was drinking coffee with my Bible on my lap, sitting on the living room couch.
I smiled.

This was yesterday.  Ahead of me was much to do.  My husband and 2 year old were sick the day before, and little got done.  There were sheets to wash, floors that desperately needed stickiness mopped off, an ominous pile of laundry already hulking in the corner.  I needed to plan the menu for the week ahead, look over school plans, find a good used wood stove for winter.  I had pain to deal with.  I had tried to pick the iron up on the wrong side the previous evening.  (Reason number 83 that I don't like ironing.)  My four year old had stuck his foot through the glass aquarium tank that was going to be a terrarium.  He was gingerly sporting a "crack" in the side of his foot.  There would be stubbed toes, squabbling to avert, and tattling incidents to control.  There would be noses to wipe and handfuls of clean tissues to stuff back into the emptied tissue box. It would be so easy to feel pulled in a thousand different, needful, directions.

Teach me Your way, O LORD; I will walk in your truth: unite my heart to fear Your name.  Psalm 86:11

Unite my heart.
Let everything else fade into the background that I might simply adore You.  But I am learning, oh so slowly, that doesn't mean I must go find a beautiful mountaintop and sit on a rock in the quiet early dawn light till I am fully in awe of my God.  Where I live at the moment, there are no mountaintops within range of my baby monitors.  A sagging sofa cushion must be my pinnacle.  The dawn noise that day wasn't birds chirping in the trees, it was the carefree chatter of toddlers.  This is where I must learn to abide in the Lord.
I have often prayed that God would give me His heart to minister to others.  I have prayed for His vision in my eyes, to see as He sees.  I want to hear with His ears, to touch with His hands, to walk with His feet.  Sometimes, when there's a mess on the floor, I can see the creativity He has endowed my scissor-happy preschooler with.  Sometimes, when I am cleaning the backside of the toilet - a truly humbling place to visit - I giggle out loud knowing that God Himself is right there with me, delighting to be with me.  That's amazing.  Sometimes, when I walk through the grocery store, I slow down, knowing humbly there are six little feet trying to follow (often literally) in my footsteps.  Sometimes, when I hear singing coming from bunk beds and cribs too early in the morning, I know that their Creator is blessed by their hearty, joyful noise - and I am blessed by it too.

 Blessed are the people who know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O LORD, in the light of Your countenance.  Psalm 89:15

My little pirates and all their messes and mayhem could easily distract my heart.  I could endure the noise, or enjoy it.  The multitasking required of my motherhood could divert the purpose of my heart, or fulfill it to the glory of God.  What a joy to have united heart!     

  

Just as I am

Can you imagine getting sick at the age of thirty, and being bedridden for the next fifty years?
Charlotte Elliott was a bright, vivacious young woman who lived in England at the turn of the 19th century.  Just after her 30th birthday, she became ill.  Fatigued and in constant pain, Charlotte was confined to her bed.  She would remain an invalid until her death at age 82. 
One day, as the story goes, several years after the onset of her condition, Charlotte visited with a minister.  She expressed her frustration with her state of helplessness and feelings of wretchedness.  He urged her to commend herself to the Great Physician.  She responded, "I would like to come to Christ, but I do not know how to find Him."  The pastor said simply, "Come just as you are."  She did.
Charlotte still struggled to feel useful within her physical confines. One night she wrote a poem. It was published anonymously several years before she became aware of it. You may have heard it.  The words were later put to music.  
Years later, a young man named Billy Graham heard it and committed his life to Christ.  He also had it played after presenting the gospel at hundreds of meetings himself.    


Just as I am - without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee, 
-O Lamb of God, I come!


Just as I am - and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee, whose blood can cleanse each spot,
-O Lamb of God, I come!
 
Just as I am - though toss'd about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without,
-O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am - poor, wretched, blind;
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yea, all I need, in Thee to find,
-O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am - Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
-O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am - Thy love unknown
Has broken every barrier down;
Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
-O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am - of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,
Here for a season, then above,
-O Lamb of God, I come!

Purpose - or, Here's mud in your eye.

Now as Jesus passed by, He saw a man who was blind from birth. 

And His disciples asked Him, saying, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"

Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God should be revealed in him."

It was one year ago that we found out the twenty week old baby growing in my womb was a boy.  We also found out that he had Spina Bifida.  We could see a bubble on his lower back.  His spine hadn't formed completely on the end, and the spinal cord was growing into that bubble.  One foot was twisted almost backwards.  He had too much fluid (or too little brain) in his head.  It was a shock.  The prognosis was uncertain.  He could be born and live almost completely "normal." Or, he could have massive problems and maybe not even be able to see or breathe or eat after birth.  

We searched for answers.  Had I done something during pregnancy to cause this?  Was there anything I could do now to fix it?  And why?  Why?

Honestly, I don't know why.  Not exactly.  

I recently read John chapter 9.  The entire chapter is devoted to Jesus' miraculous healing of a blind man.  This man gets a lot of "air time" in a Book where quotes are at a premium.  Why?  He isn't the first blind man Jesus ever healed.  In fact, its a fairly "routine" miracle (as much as that is possible - which is part of the point).  It is actually kind of a yucky miracle (as much as THAT is possible) - spit, mud, finger pointing, libel, and ostracism.  Jesus walked by a blind beggar, spit on the ground and made mud, rubbed it on the man's eyes, told him to go wash it off, and left.
I am amazed by his willingness to obey the Stranger who basically just spit in his face.  Jesus didn't tell him when he washed his eyes he would be able to see.  Yet he willingly found his way to the pool of Siloam and rinsed off the mud (certainly breaking several Sabbath rules in the process).  Suddenly, for the first time in his life, he could see.

Now, I'm not expecting someone to come up to little Beniah, rub mud on his back and head and erase all his physical difficulties.  And if you read this and feel so led, be forewarned I will probably, at the very least, spit on you.  Sure, it would be swell if my baby would be able to play soccer and drive a car and have his own children (well, not yet, but eventually).  Maybe in 20 or 30 years, God will heal him.  Maybe He won't.
In the meantime, I am encouraged by this man.  He had the wisdom to somehow know that this Man with the mud, whom he couldn't even see, should be obeyed.  He wasn't distracted by the politics and drama surrounding his healing; in fact, Jesus apparently gave him very good vision.  He seemed to see things clearly in black and white.

"One thing I know; that though I was blind, now I see...
"Now we know that God does not hear sinners; but if anyone is a worshiper of God and does His will, He hears him...
"If this Man were not from God, He could do nothing."


I love this man's boldness!  Perhaps it is easier to stare your enemies in the face when you've never seen a single face before in your life.  He had doubtless prayed every day of his life that God would take away any sin that had caused this handicap.  Finally, finally, God answered by sending the only sinless Man on earth to touch this man's eyes.
The very men who should have been rejoicing that God was there among them didn't even want to believe the man had been healed.  They questioned his very blindness.  They questioned his willingness to be healed by a man who would break the rules of the sabbath to do it.  Ultimately, they ostracized him from their whole culture for simply believing his healing came from God.  The man defended the mud-Maker against the mud-slingers.  It cost him.  But he got to know Jesus face to face.  

Beniah is 8 months old.  Many of the nerves below his belly button don't work.  He had back surgery the day after he was born.  He had brain surgery two weeks later to put in a shunt (which diverts excess fluid from putting too much pressure on his brain.)  He is followed by a bevy of specialists.  He can't wiggle his toes.
I love him and find him adorable.  I don't like that he has so much suffering and difficulty in his life.  I don't understand it.  Maybe this is how he will know Jesus Himself.  Maybe this is how God will use him to teach others about Himself.  Maybe my job is to raise him to fulfill whatever purpose God clearly has in store.  One day, I hope, we will see it as clearly as that man with the mud on his eyes.  Even if it seems like God is just spitting on us, it could be a miracle in the making...