love stories: the purse - part II

Thursday, April 8, 2010


These stories-in-parts challenge me. I leave my thought half-written for a week or two, and mentally continue to write and think through the topic. I can't dismiss it, and the waiting-on-the-writing grows me. Before you read this post, you may want to read Love Stories: The Purse - Part I. I'll be picking up from there.


Need-meeting isn't always love. And it is love that fills us up, that nourishes relationship, that changes a life.

There is a breaking that happens when you love. A shattered vessel, a broken heart, glory poured out into dust, soaked up, spread around.

Love is not need begging need. It is not a well-stocked Purse designed to secure fulfillment - for self or for others. Love is a giving that expects no return and wildly hopes for a response.

Love is not being God to others.

We love because He first loved us. When we do love, really love, we love others as He loved us. It has something to do with falling into His love, with being full up with Him who is Love.

A purse can be dropped, emptied. There is no end to Him.

God's heart, my greatest gift

Tuesday, April 6, 2010


I was sure by now,
God, you would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining...

As the thunder rolls,
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain,
“I’m with you.”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm


-Casting Crowns, Praise You in This Storm

About that love. About that God who is God in spite of me. About my fear. About the pain that life inflicts indiscriminately. About that holding on...

So many times, in the middle of the storm, I've been here. Begging Him to speak, telling Him He should have done something by now, being good and praising Him in spite of it.

Today, I'm not in the middle of a storm, not a physical or emotional storm, not really. The sun is out, and we have some happy. I can count the gifts He has given, because I can still see them, hear them, hold them, touch them, talk with them.

But I have seen storms. I have lived through storms. Every day I encounter someone else who is walking through a storm I cannot imagine enduring. And sometimes, I can imagine it, and I begin to be afraid. I look down at the waves I've been walking on while I have been looking at Jesus, and I think, "How could He ever be enough for me to endure that?"

Love Stories: God and Me, Part V

Thursday, March 18, 2010


For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

- Romans 5:6-8

God never had to prove His love to me. When you are Love itself, I suppose simple existence is enough. I Am, He calls Himself to Moses. Even I can't explain the depth of who I am.

Some things you just have to know.

...

I was in the dark again.

This time it was postpartum depression. It was financial stress. It was months of processing backlog. It was Pete not passing the Bar.

It was me trying to live without God.

My prayers were falling flat. I tamped down my desire. I grabbed hold of every gift I'd been given, refusing to open my hands and my heart to Him. To give Him place in my life to say "no."

To my understanding, there was nothing different about living my life with God than there was living without Him. Nothing except dashed hopes and expectations I couldn't meet.

There were things I didn't say then to anyone, but in my heart, I was building my case against God. I felt betrayed. Brokenhearted. I wanted to pay Him back.

...

Pete had retaken the Bar in February, 2008. Our financial limitations had driven us two houses from the home I loved, the home where we spent our wedding night, the home where I had my first baby.

I couldn't settle anywhere. I pushed Pete and Piper away from my heart, weeping silent in quiet dark hours, knowing God made no guarantees, knowing that I had lost deep once - nothing would stop me from losing again. I couldn't love and lose again.

My health had taken another turn downhill. The lack of sleep after Piper's birth (she didn't sleep through the night for two years) was too much for my system, and my depression cycled downward with the return of the collapsing and convulsions.

His whispers were the familiar broken record "I love you."

Yeah right, God. Sure You do.

...

Pete passed the Bar, and his office hired his replacement under him. He was working as a floating assistant for several different attorneys - too much work for too little money. We were looking for jobs in California; nothing was coming. I ate the stress, retreated deeper into my shell.

Our house didn't have any light. I hated it. I hated me there. I hated everything.

I refused to pray.

A job opportunity opened up in Charleston. He pursued it. Interviewed via phone the day after he'd queried back. Flew down for an interview a couple of days later. By the end of the week, he had an offer.

And it was too low for us to accept.

...

I was trapped.

When Pete called me to tell me the offer was too low, I clawed at the strictures of my life. I hung up on Pete when he tried to talk to me about God after telling me the news. I remember screaming into the woods around our house, looking into the trees and asking God where He was, if He bothered to care about me.

I remembered His "I love you."

Love?

No, He was God. He was going to do what He was going to do. He wanted me to lay down my life for Him, and guaranteed nothing in return. Nothing but Himself. I wanted to spit on His offer. Why would I want Him?

I told Pete that I was done with God. I couldn't un-believe His existence; it was the only thing that made sense. But I was as close as I had ever been to hating Him. I didn't want to have anything to do with Him. I didn't want Him to use me anymore. I felt manipulated and betrayed and... dead.

God didn't care about me. And if He did, I didn't want it.

He was nothing more than a concept to me. A concept I was supposed to believe. A concept that was supposed to change my life.

...

A day later, Pete was given a second job offer. We were moving, in a week's time. Our landlord flipped out. The landlord who had been okay with our five-times-telling-him that Pete was between jobs and we might need to break our lease. The landlord I'd respected and liked. The landlord I'd hand-picked to stop the freak-out from happening.

I succumbed to the shock and anger that day.

I screamed at God. Screamed and screamed and screamed. The events of the last several years, the bottled anger, the disappointment, the sense of betrayal, the obligation I had felt to be godly, my constant sense of shame, the repeated "I love you" in the face of my fear of loss - I threw it all up at Him with all the passion I possessed. I shook my fist at Him from my knees. I shook both fists.

And I curled into a ball and wept.

It was like a defibrillator. My deadened heart was shocked back into life and everything I had shut down and pushed poured out into real again. I dumped all that I had been holding against Him out that day. My case was big enough to convict Him of not loving me now.

...

Pouring my heart out before the Lord left me empty. Clean. My accusations had been flung at Him. My anger had finally been spent. Giving voice to my complaint against Him had freed me from it.

The next day in the car, I quietly tried to apologize to Him for my anger, embarrassed over my loss of control.

He surprised me with His response. "You were in pain."

All that anger, and that was what He got?

It was like He hadn't been listening. It was as if He hadn't heard. It was as if He had been with me in it all along, aching with me, dying with me, waiting for me to bring it into His love.

...

I had nothing left to hold against God. I spent the next months waiting, quiet, learning my dust, learning His Godness.

We moved to Charleston; I didn't like the house we moved to, but there was light here. The depression wasn't so bad as it had been. I began to give shy thanks for His provision.

Pete was home more than he had been. His commute was ten minutes long instead of forty. We got a chance to be a family, to get to know one another again.

I didn't say much about God. I listened. I filled my time with pictures; a Flickr addiction came and went; I learned what exactly it meant that Jesus had died for me.

...

It was morning. I can't tell you the date. I can just tell you the way the morning sun came through the window at the house I didn't much like. I had my camera, but I didn't photograph it.

It came deep, still, like a breath into the core of my soul.

God loves me.

You know how they always say that when you fall in love with someone, you "just know" you were meant for each other? I always hated that. I always wanted the explanation, the how, the why.

But it's true. The deepest love can't be defined, because God Himself is Love, because He is infinite, because He has no beginning and no end, because He is Beginning and End.

God loves me.

I just knew.

...

Once upon a time, in a time before time, a perfect, holy God loved me. Before I existed, before I knew I needed Him, He made a way for me to know His love.

I ask Piper when we go to sleep together if she knows who loves her. She gives her answer: "God loves you, and Jesus loves you, and Mama loves you, and Daddy loves you, and Uncle Kate loves you and Mickey Mouse loves you..."

He sent His Son Jesus, God-in-flesh, to be broken for me, to wear my dust, to be my sin so that I could wear His righteousness and approach Him in His holiness to obtain mercy.

I ask Piper if she knows how we know God loves her. She doesn't yet, but I tell her: "Jesus died for you." She doesn't know what that means yet.

This great God who loved me sealed my heart with His Spirit for the day that Jesus will come for me, to bring me finally into His presence to be one with Him.

I wonder what Piper's love story will be; how will God teach her heart His love for her? I can't wish my story on her; I can't wish away His love.

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

Then He who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.” And He said to me, “Write, for these words are true and faithful.”

And He said to me, “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts. He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God and he shall be My son


- Revelation 21:1-7

And they will live happily ever after.

...

Love Stories: God and Me, Part I
Love Stories: God and Me, Part II
Love Stories: God and Me, Part III
Love Stories: God and Me, Part IV

...

On Thursdays in February (because I never know quite what to post on Thursdays), I was writing out my love story. Not the one about my crushes or my first love or even my love for Pete - though those stories all play a part. Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista and Holley Gerth at (in)Courage challenged us to write out our God love stories, and I had one to share.

This is my last official installment on this particular series. More love stories to come, though, as inspiration hits... Thanks for sticking with me.






(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Love Stories: God and Me, Part IV

Thursday, March 11, 2010


There was still the matter of the vow.

I hadn't made it lightly. And I had made it to God - a God of whose love I was no longer certain.

The months after the hospital passed under a cover of grace, grace I recognize in the looking back, seeing now the fear that stalked me then.

Pete's and my friendship deepened; I sought God with him, co-teaching a Sunday School class for the teens at our church. My pursuit of Him was rote, something I knew to do, something I'd always done.

I tried not to think about my friend, about the outstanding question of his return to me. I tried not to hope - for his return, for the return of my health, for anything at all. After several years of unresolved health issues I knew this: God was sovereign, and He would do what He wanted, regardless of my desire.

...

God told Pete to ask Him for me.

Not in the "ask Me so that I have the place to tell you no" sense. In the "ask Me for a sign and I will give it to you" sense.

So Pete obeyed and asked and fell in love with me.

I was not in love with him. But I knew I was no longer in love with my friend either. That wasn't something I shared with anyone. Not even with God. The inside jokes I'd shared with Him earlier in my story were over, the ready trust, the easy surrender, the passion behind my vow, the vow that kept me from returning Pete's love. The vow that depended on God's work in the heart of my friend.

Work that wasn't happening.

...

Christmas came. Questions about our friendship had arisen for both Pete and me. His family didn't know what to do with our relationship. They counseled him strongly against it; he shared his heart with his dad. His dad prayed.

My parents couldn't understand why I was still holding out for my friend's return. I explained the vow I had to keep. I told Dad that I'd shared the vow with him, that he hadn't said anything, that because of it, I was bound to it, for the sake of keeping the vow to the Lord.

My dad stared. "I never heard you. And if I had, there is no way I would have said you should keep it."

Humbling words. Frightening words. Freeing words.

...

I spent the New Year at a bed and breakfast retreat Pete had given me for Christmas. I intended to pull out my Bible and repeat the last year's New Year retreat - Genesis through Job seeking and discovering God. Pete figured if I found Him, he'd never see me again.

My heart wasn't in it. After my dad's words to me releasing me from my vow, I couldn't open my Bible. I was scared to find myself that alone with God. But He was pursuing me. He was so close, I felt if I turned and looked, I would see Him.

I ran.

I rented a movie. Hit two rental places looking for a VCR on which to watch the movie. The one in my room was broken. I bought one.

I didn't make it back to the bed and breakfast to hook the thing up and turn on the movie before He caught me in the dark of my car, so present, so real I couldn't escape Him.

"What do you want?" I remember asking Him, a little annoyed, a little afraid, gutsy enough to be the one to speak first, take the bull by the horns.

He didn't say anything. Not yet. I could feel Him looking at me, the pointed kind of look that says, "are you actually serious, asking Me that? You know."

I tried leaving Him in the car. Went inside. Set up the VCR. Put the movie in.

Turned it off.

"What do you want?"

It was Him this time, asking me.

...

Pete and I were married in October, 2005.

I had been freed from my first vow to make a new one, but I'd not been freed from my fear. I clutched Pete almost wildly to myself, waiting for the ball to drop, waiting for the inevitable loss that I was sure must come if I loved anything or anyone too much.

God wanted all of me. After I'd admitted my love for Pete to Him, I dived for cover, and He let me go, for a time. Let me live. During my first year of marriage, He spoke still and small His "I love you," over and over and over.

I acknowledged. "Yeah, God. I know."

"I love you."

...

Piper was born in July, 2007. A year of "I love you" culminated in faith to cling to Him during her birth.

I was ready to move on with life. I figured it was time to start growing spiritually again. Trying to find God again. Trying to love Him again. Which meant laying down my life for Him. And figuring out what it meant to lay down my life. I wanted to get to the "life abundant" on the other side of that "nevertheless."

Somehow, I thought I might be able to manage it without letting Him into my heart again. Without being so vulnerable as I had been. Without facing the fear that held me captive.

Somehow I thought I could lay down my life for Him without Him.

...

Love Stories: God and Me, Part I
Love Stories: God and Me, Part II
Love Stories: God and Me, Part III


...

On Thursdays in February (because I never know quite what to post on Thursdays), I was writing out my love story. Not the one about my crushes or my first love or even my love for Pete - though those stories all play a part. Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista and Holley Gerth at (in)Courage challenged us to write out our God love stories, and I had one to share.

It's been on hold for a couple of weeks, and here we are in March with what should have been the final post - but I discovered this morning that it won't be the final post. There is too much more that I cannot share today.

Thanks for your patience. More to come next Thursday.







(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Love Stories: God and Me, Part III

Thursday, February 18, 2010

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, But when the desire comes, it is a tree of life."

- Proverbs 13:12
I am told I met my Pete in February, 2004.

A coworker wanted me to go on a blind date with an online schoolmate of hers who was coming to town. There was no way I was going to subject myself to that. Not with everything that had already happened relating to boys and dates and the rest of my life spent waiting, because at the rate he was going, my friend was never getting married, and he sure wasn't coming back.

He told me so. I got the "never" to my face. And I was told not to expect God to change his mind.

I vaguely remember one day in the midst of the dark when I walked into the dining hall at the campus where I still worked after dropping out of school. I had a question for my coworker; really, I was looking for an excuse to be there. I knew I wasn't wanted by anyone in the room.

I asked my question; my coworker answered my question. I can remember a shadow behind her, someone moving quiet out of the light. I heard a familiar laugh across the room, too loud, too painful. I left as quickly as I could.

...

Pete told me much later that he went home to Connecticut and couldn't get me out of his mind. He said he'd never seen someone in so much pain. He said he'd prayed for me. I still say if I'd met him then, I'd never have fallen in love with him.

...

The spring came and went that year with me watching a calendar with silly hope. Each month had a focus on something beautiful, and for the life of me I can't tell you now what the themes of the months were, except June. I know what June was.

It was love.

Every month before, something had happened to fulfill the monthly theme. I was on a high with God, giddy that He cared to involve Himself in my life, giddy that anything could happen, that He could bring my friend back in spite of everything. He had told me to love him, after all.

There was only one thing that could happen in June that could meet the requirements of my love theme.

During the last week in June, I completely collapsed at the office with convulsions that sent me into the hospital. In the ER, I was given an IV containing what I was told was the same fluids that were in my body. I didn't realize it carried 5% dextrose into my bloodstream. I didn't realize it was going to make me weaker because of my sensitivity to sugar.

The first few days saw me accepting my suffering with hope. I read my Bible. I thanked God for the window in my room. I had landed in the old maternity ward. It was a safe place. I felt surrounded by love. I knew I was where God wanted me.

I had visitors, and the nurses were kind. They woke me every morning to draw blood, testing for God-knows-what. The person who got my room after I was moved was rather annoyed by all the callers for me.

Oh yes. I was moved.

And that is where the nightmare began.

...

I had known Pete for about a month at that point, but the month had opened such a friendship between us that I risked a call to him from the ER. I didn't know who else to call. I was still a kid in so many ways. I think it takes growing up to recognize how much you need your parents still, and too often, they're gone before you realize it.

He came. Every day except the three that he was gone on conference.

It was on one of those days that the hospital staff moved me. The nursing staff came in wearing masks at about 11:00 p.m. of the third day of what would be my nine-day stay. They were testing for something highly contagious, they said. I was being moved to isolation.

I was terrified. My sister had gone home that night, something she wouldn't do again for the rest of my stay.

Knowing he would still be up studying, I called Pete from my new room and talked until we were both too tired to stay awake. The room with a window that looked into a wall. The room on the hall where everyone was throwing up. I could hear them through the walls. It was in this room that I met Fear. It was in this room that he seared my soul with a perspective change that would forever challenge my childish view of God.

...

During my time at the hospital, I had been praying, begging God, really, to send my friend to see me. I asked Pete to ask him to come. I thought he might take it better from him than from me.

I wanted to ask his forgiveness. For what, I don't know. Loving him against his will? I still don't really know. I just wanted my friend back. At that point, I didn't care whether I "ended up" with him or not.

Every day I battled within myself over whether I should ask God for him to come. I expected him around every corner, waited for him to appear in my room - always looking, always waiting.

As I grew weaker and weaker with the dextrose in the IV compromising my blood, I began to wonder if I'd ever see him again. Finally one night, I fell to my knees, surrounded by fear, surrounded by the awful sounds of retching, by the weeping and the eerie hospital-quiet, and I begged. I begged God to send him. I turned my hands upward and surrendered my desire to God, for a final yes or no.

Pete found me beside the bed that night, too weak to climb back in. He helped me up and tucked me in as I faded into oblivion.

The last thing I remember from that night is his tender kiss on my forehead.

...

To my knowledge, my friend never came to the hospital. It was the closing of a door I didn't understand then, the opening of heart-questions for me that that simultaneously pulled me to God and drove me from Him.

How could He love me? What proof did I have that God really cared about me? What proof would I ever have?

In the weeks after the hospital, I cried through Job. I begged my friends for answers about God's love, about what it looked like, about what He meant. Pete stood firm that God loved me, that He didn't have to prove His love.

But how could I believe that?

...

I left the hospital with Fear, who would become my constant companion. Before I left, God had asked me to speak the name of Jesus to one of my doctors. I did. Before I left, one of my nurses came to me and told me that she was a Christian, that my witness had challenged her to live more loudly for Christ there in the hospital.

Before I left, the doctor told me I still had no diagnosis.

I left the hospital angry with God. How could He? How could He use me like that and leave me weaker, broken, without answers, without love?

The anger frightened me. As the days passed, I slowly shoved it away, behind the safer "Praise God, I'm out of the hospital. I'm in a wheelchair again, but it's okay. I'm not there anymore. My friend didn't come, but God is still bigger." The habits were there already. The patterns were set. I could act God, if I had to. And I had to, because nothing else made sense to me. "God" was all I had ever known.

I didn't know what else to do.

It would be years before the anger would surface again. It would be years before I faced those doubts and asked those questions, years before I opened my heart again.

It would be years before I faced God again.

I canned the calendar.

...

Love Stories: God and Me, Part I
Love Stories: God and Me, Part II

...

On Thursdays this month (because I never know quite what to post on Thursdays), I am writing out my love story. Not the one about my crushes or my first love or even my love for Pete - though those stories all play a part. Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista and Holley Gerth at (in)Courage challenged us to write out our God love stories, and I had one to share. BOY, do I have one to share.

So I know it's a little canned, being the "love month" and all, but I thought I'd take some time to write it out anyway. It's good for me to dwell on His love for me.






(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

All My Heart

Monday, February 15, 2010

There is a school of thought that says it is possible to love your husband more than you love God. It says it is possible to make an idol out of your husband. Logically speaking, this line of thought holds that it is actually possible to sin against God by loving your husband.

No way. I don't think so.

Eve's overwhelming desire for her husband may have been something God explained to her when He leveled the Curse against the snake and the ground, but He never said it was a sin to desire Adam.

He said Adam would rule over her.

In the head-of-the-house sort of way. In the Eve-you'll-submit sort of way. In the half-of-your-heart-walking-out-of-the-door-every-morning sort of way.
...

I'm guest-posting at Deidra's blog today. Head on over to Jumping Tandem to read just exactly what I wrote about this whole "loving your husband more than God" thing.

I'll give you a hint: I can't love him enough...





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Love Stories: God and Me, Part II

Thursday, February 11, 2010


The journals.

They witnessed it all. They caught the tears, the dark-etched pencil (I never use pen for my handwriting), the play-by-play of my first love, my first deep heartbreak. I don't know now how many I filled.

...

As a teenager, I asked God to guard my heart for the man He had for me. I had as many (or more) crushes as the next girl, growing up. Maybe it was because we moved so often. There were plenty of new rooms with new faces for me to walk into and select which face to dream about. Dreaming about a Prince Charming is an occupational hazard for a teenage girl. At least it was for me.

During my first year at my second college, I got serious about God. More serious than I had been when I gave my life to Him for missionary work in the third grade. More serious than I had been when I rededicated my life for full-time Christian service at camp when I was eighteen. More serious about Him than I had been a full year at Bible college.

Wanna know why?

Because there were other people around me who were more serious about Him than I was. My competitive streak was up.

He'll use anything to draw us in.

But I was serious. So serious that September 12, 2001 saw me on my knees, finally giving my whole life to God for real, to do whatever, go wherever He would ask. At the time, I fancied New York City. A switch to a nursing career. Saving lives. Helping orphans. Even going to Africa. You know. The obvious ministry stuff. I was determined to want God more than I had wanted anything else, ever.

Two weeks later, I got my "whatever, wherever" from God when I started collapsing without explanation or diagnosis. There would be no glamorous occupation for me. Things were going to get messy.

...

Questions began to surface. The questions that come from suffering. The whys. The constant search for explanation. Little victories that I had performed well rejoicing in suffering crashed down as the suffering intensified. My circle of friends dwindled. They were tired of trying to answer my questions, I think. They were trying to survive their own Freshman year.

But there was one friendship in particular that would forever change my life. He was probably the fourth real guy friend I had ever had. And he was a good friend. A true friend. He was the first person I ever loved with God's love.

And my girl's heart fell in love with him. Hard.

He loved me too.

The logical end of the love that grew out of our friendship should have been a happily-ever-after.

I looked in the mirror one day after he left on a school trip, and I saw it there, the thing I'd read about but never quite believed. I was glowing. I looked in the mirror and I saw what he saw. I was sparkling. I was beautiful.

I never wanted to lose that feeling. I was amazed at the love God had given to me. Of course it had been Him. I had asked Him to guard my heart for the man He wanted for me. I simply assumed He had kept me for this one.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

...

My second year at my second college was the loneliest year I have ever lived.

My friend who I loved, who loved me, rejected me out-of-hand. He ignored me. He "was over it now." He pursued my best girl friend.

His reasons were many and complicated, but I watched that year as he systematically destroyed every part of himself that reminded him of me. I felt as if he were deeply ashamed of me, of my feelings, of my love, of our friendship.

My heart shattered.

...

God asked me to love him anyway. He wanted me to speak to Him the truth that was in my heart about my feelings. He wanted me to love my friend as He loved him. He wanted me to see him as God saw me, to give him the same grace I was learning to receive myself.

My sister listened to numerous friends who questioned my choice to love, who questioned my motives and my confusion, but instead of counseling the end of it all, she encouraged me. It was the first time in the whole of our lives that she had seen me reach outside of my own self-centeredness to care for the heart of someone else.

And the love God placed in my heart for my friend was a lifeline that drew me through my pain and confusion into God's heart.

I learned that love doesn't always look like hearts and flowers and sparkling eyes and the honeymoon stage.

I learned how incredibly we can hurt God when we rebuff His offer of relationship.

I learned how deeply He could love someone. I learned how deeply He could love me.

I learned that love - real love - cannot be killed.

All these lessons I held to my heart, waiting until God would be finished teaching me what He wanted to teach me, waiting for Him to answer my prayer and bring my friend back to me, give me the love and the wedding I longed for.

I journaled and I journaled and I journaled, hoping that one day my friend would read the words that told the story of my walk with God through the pain, hoping that he would be able to see how much I'd loved him in spite of it all, praying that one day I would pick up a pencil and write on the page how amazing God had been to bring us together, finally.

I wanted to believe God would give me what I wanted. But I never could quite bring myself to it. Something inside could not be released.

...

God had told me to ask Him for my friend, so that He could say "no" to me if He wanted.

I really, really hoped He would say "yes" if I surrendered. I even made a vow to Him. My part of the bargain, if you will. Just so He'd know I was serious. I intended to keep it too.

I vowed that I would wait for my friend until he was married to someone else. I knew then what I'll admit now - I just didn't want to hurt him more than he'd already been hurt through his own choices. I hoped one day to offer him my love, full and free - no bitterness, no hard feelings.

Still, a vow was a vow, and keeping a vow made to the Lord was terribly important to me.

So I vowed. And I ached. Oh, I ached. And I waited.

I would still be waiting now, but for God.

I had learned much about His love, but I didn't know it. Not deep. Not yet. I needed to know Him.

...

NOTE: For some of you who read, this post will be quite a throwback to conversations and old places in my friendships with you. For some who didn't know, it may explain a bit why I was the way I was during this period of time in my life. Please bear with me. It is a part of my story I cannot erase. I have written as much from my own perspective as I can; I have shared here what I may not have shared with some of you. Thank you, real people who have walked with me, for being in my life on many sides of this.

...

Love Stories: God and Me, Part I

...

On Thursdays this month (because I never know quite what to post on Thursdays), I am writing out my love story. Not the one about my crushes or my first love or even my love for Pete - though those stories all play a part. Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista and Holley Gerth at (in)Courage challenged us to write out our God love stories, and I had one to share. BOY, do I have one to share.

So I know it's a little canned, being the "love month" and all, but I thought I'd take some time to write it out anyway. It's good for me to dwell on His love for me.






(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Love Today

Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Wednesday.

The week is blurred on both sides; it is only the moment that comes into focus, like a permanent shallow depth-of-field.

I hear the windchimes outside the house that will be ours for only a few more weeks. Already, we are moving stuff three streets over to our new/old/new house. Pete needs to put in the lighting there. We need more hours in a day.

But the windchimes are singing here today. Loudly. The wind that blew out the clouds overnight and brought the sun in this morning is determined and cold, frolicking as if spring is here, teasing.

I'm a little disoriented. Wistfully disoriented, I think. I feel a bit trapped inside my body today; I am annoyed with my physical limitations. The world is blurred. I am awkward. My legs don't work very well. Neither does my voice. I am weak today.

I've cleaned my inbox, quieted enough to string answers together and reply to a few letters. I don't sleep well in daylight so I haven't napped; I slept until 9:30 this morning, because Pete stayed home to help with the little ones. Now he is feeling ill, and the babies are sleeping.

Finally, I am alone with my thoughts.

...

Wednesday.

Ann Voskamp is hosting her "Walk With Him Wednesday." I have been thinking of how to love like Jesus, but all I can scribble here (is it scribbling to type the words, really?) is vivid memory-etching from Sunday's dim-lit worship, nameless faces, hearts indwelt by Christ.

He came to be me, came to be them, that we might all be washed in grace, clothed together in His righteous. I don't know them. I didn't have to know them. I didn't have to be hurt by them or forgive them to recognize Him in them.

The Motrin has eased the throat-pain now. I try not to be distracted by the fresh chill. I turn up the heat.

Ann has written of love during her family's sick time. I didn't know when I began this post. "One can't love too much," she says. But one can love too little. I am not good at this sort of love. Giving or receiving it. Both require stepping outside of oneself. And that is hard to do, when I am falling apart, body and mind.

But not soul. I can't remember the last time I felt well. I pull myself up, remember my mom's encouragement - "endurance," she has offered me many times. "Sometimes, you just have to get through it."

She is right. The living cannot just stop. Time goes on. Needs don't go away.

I wish for someone to bring a meal tonight. I think I can manage it, though, if I stand long enough. I need to get it before the baby wakes again to eat.

The loving can't stop for weakness.

It endures, doesn't it?

I remember the strep infection I got when Piper was four weeks old. I had a fever, 104 degrees. I was barely conscious, still waking to nurse her, burning hot flesh against my husband in bed, freezing too deep to get warm.

This is not so bad as it was then.

The sun is setting. Day is nearly finished. We'll be up for a few more hours with Bredon's colic now.

...

Wednesday.

Loving like Jesus. It must be done here, in the now - whether I am ready or not. This is how He loved. His eternal God-love met with flesh-limitation, and He sought rest too, bearing burdens, yielding His body to meet our desperate need, giving His life as He traveled with no place to lay His head.

It must be done in today, this loving like Him, leaving yesterday's failures there, taking no thought for tomorrow's grace not-yet-measured.

This love seems stronger than all the other times I love. It is life-giving, life-laying-down. It requires much, more than I know how to give; I grasp what strength I have and hope He will bridge the difference.

And if He doesn't? Well, I know about that. That's when I free-fall. That's when trusting His heart gives me strength to say anyway that "God is good, isn't He?" Sometimes that is more of a question than a statement. And sometimes it is just what I know, because I know His love deep now.

...

Wednesday.

The learning to love like Jesus happens quiet. It is not glamorous like I'd hoped. It is daily, kairos framed in chronos.

Kairos because it is outside time, because Christ-love never fails. Kairos because Jesus is God, God has no beginning or end; God is Love - I cannot fathom the infinite.

I grab another water bottle from beneath my desk. I need to keep drinking, swallowing help over my sore throat, so Bredon can have enough to eat. It is nearly dinner time.

Time to love, I think.

------------------------


This post also linked at Holy Experience for Walk With Him Wednesday.





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Patience to wait when there is nothing clear

Monday, February 8, 2010

The morning was unusually quiet. Purposefully scheduled. A week's intention rising from months of wishes, years of preparation - reparation, really.

It was time.
Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea:
A great High Priest, whose name is Love,
Who ever lives and pleads for me.

My name is graven on his hands,
My name is written on his heart;
I know that while in heaven he stands
No tongue can bid me thence depart.
Clothing myself in this grace, and fixing make-up, hair, and nice-ish clothes that fit my post-pregnancy frame, I climbed into the car with husband and babies, trembling a little in soul.

I'd not faced this yet. Was I ready? I had known forgiveness myself; had I forgiven yet? Could I even acknowledge the hurt that had driven me away, acknowledge its source, open my heart again to the possibility?

Yet I had gained so much from my time away. I found Jesus. I learned to speak His name, albeit quietly yet - still I am so tentative to stand fast in Him. I learned deep what the Gospel is, what it is to me.

Maybe I could just stay where I was, leave off the horizon that drew closer the longer we drove.

I shed a few tears past the lump in my throat, trying to talk, listening, strengthened, quietened by worship, by heart-vision:
When Satan tempts me to despair,
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look, and see him there
Who made an end of all my sin.

Because the sinless Savior died,
My sinful soul is counted free;
For God, the Just, is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.
My hunger deepened, fellowship-hunger whetted and refined over months of interaction with people who know Him, people who live in different places than I live, who receive the same grace I have come to know.

They had not inflicted the wounds I had suffered.

There were others who had not, either. We were going to meet them. There was fear, rising, falling, like heart-palpitations.

Then we were there, and there was noise and greeting and hasty introductions echoing too loud around foyer and fainting, determined heart. Piper was happy to stay and play - a change from her must-have-Mommy cries of the past - and I slipped into a seat, with my hand in Pete's, my baby at my feet.

I didn't know the songs; had I been gone too long? No, I wouldn't have chosen or remembered them - they were a bit wishy-washy for my taste. The lump in my throat was too large for singing anyway. I looked around, wishing for a familiar face.

And I encountered Jesus.

There He was, Immanuel, God come in flesh, Holy Spirit templed in the dust around me, in the dust in me. I was not the only one in the room receiving His grace. I was not the only one who knew Him. He was here.

There were tear-tracks in my make-up now; Pete gave me a tissue. I had forgotten my purse.

"Humble us... Show us what You want us to see today." A prayer I prayed, because my spirit knew I must, because His Spirit in me responded where I had no courage. And show me, He did.

It wasn't the sermon about money, preached by a pastor younger than me. (Oh, I felt old!)

It was this: that I could not say that "I adore" Jesus, when others were singing and saying they did, truthfully from their hearts; I still measure my love for Him - I know much; I consider myself accountable, because with me it is all or nothing. There is no in-between.

It was this: that I could not look down on them because of the grace I myself had received, in which I was that moment dwelling silent on holy ground.

It was this: that I had dismissed. (It hurts to write these words.) That I had judged. That I no longer had to judge, because I was no longer judged - not by Christ, not by the One who could judge me.

I was confronted with Love, the love that sent my Savior - their Savior - to cover me in His righteous. My reactionary fears were shattering, left as ashes in my mouth, the tears I was shedding, healing tears, welcome restoration.
Behold him there, the risen Lamb,
My perfect, spotless righteousness,
The great unchangeable I Am,
The King of glory and of grace!

One with Himself, I cannot die
My soul is purchased by his blood
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ, my Savior and my God
!
And He had not wasted my fear-time, wasted me. Instead He had come to me, met me where I was, afraid as I was, opened me to His heart and given me brave grace to live and to give what will be my whole life one day when I wake satisfied in His likeness. He had taught me to worship, to joy in His goodness, to labor and live and deliver my work for His glory, learning to do the will of God from my heart.

He was more than a Sunday morning worship time, more than a sermon application, more than small group and potlucks and Sunday School. He is more. He is Life. He is my life.

I am not yet what I will be. How can I be less patient with others than He is with me?

We have none of us arrived, but when we see Him, when we see Him as He is, then... Then we will be like Him.

Twila Paris sings, "This is the Faith, patience to wait when there is nothing clear..."

With faith not my own, I waited on God; here He bent low to wait on me.

...

Shared in this week's "One Word at a Time" Blog Carnival at Bridget Chumbley's blog.





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Not Yet Ready, But Love...

Friday, February 5, 2010


Having a little driving time is good for me. I think better as the world passes by, with the movement of car on pavement, with music and lyrics of God-songs telling and retelling about Him, about life, about me.

On my way from my midwife appointment yesterday (at which I discovered that all the contractions I've had haven't been for nothing - I was 4cm dilated!), I was listening again to Vicky Beeching's song, Captivated.

"May my life be one unbroken gaze fixed upon the beauty of Your face..."

Her lyric got caught in the web that is my pregnant brain and took a rabbit trail into the video I shared in the link above.

Instead of seeing myself gazing at Jesus, I saw Him living His life, engaging with others, pursuing and treasuring relationship. I saw how much He valued the ones He loved.

I'm not one to rush out and do things for the sake of doing them. Most of the time, I simply don't have the resources to pour me out the way I often feel that I must. But sometimes, I hold myself back from giving of myself, unready in my heart or in my sense of the proper timing, unwilling to be a hypocrite for the sake of appearances, willing to sacrifice my image for authenticity.

As I looked at Jesus' interactions with those in His life, I couldn't help but acknowledge how little I look like Him sometimes. He poured Himself out ALL the time, it seemed. I am lucky if I can admit to doing it at all for my family.

Mentally, I was ready to check out from this train of thought. There was too much room for guilt, for inadequacy, for failure, for condemnation.

But in His way (God is so gentle with me, it's astounding...), He brought my vision to Cana, in view of Jesus' face when His mother brought the wine situation to Him. I heard His voice, a little strained, unready and uncalled to display Himself in the ministry that would soon consume His whole life.
On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Now both Jesus and His disciples were invited to the wedding. And when they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have no wine.”

Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.”

His mother said to the servants, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”

Now there were set there six waterpots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty or thirty gallons apiece. Jesus said to them, “Fill the waterpots with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. And He said to them, “Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.” And they took it.

When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom. And he said to him, “Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior. You have kept the good wine until now!”


- John 2:1-10
"My hour has not yet come." It is not yet time... I'm not ready...

Yet for love of her, for her trust in His provision, He gave of Himself in spite of it.

I am too often afraid of Jesus until I look into His love.

I may not have much to give right now; I may be unsure of timing, uncertain of my own heart, of the depth of my love for God and for my family.

But I have been given an earthen-vessel Treasure that He means to pour out - how do I know it won't be the best wine at the wedding?

...

Today is my second "Leftovers" post, and MckLink-up for readers to share your own reposts. I posted the above post at 2:00 a.m., December 17, 2009, two hours before my water broke for Bredon's birth. Obviously, this post got a little overlooked in the "I'm in labor" and "We had a baby!" hoopla. It is one that keeps coming back for me, though so I thought I would post it a bit more currently.

NOTE - I am offering "Leftovers" as an opportunity to justify reposting a post you love. You're welcome to join this carnival of original unoriginality (since you've already said it!) here at my blog - just follow the steps below:

*REPOST a favorite blog post at your blog
*Please kindly INCLUDE A LINK to my blog in your repost ;-)
*LINK the direct link for your repost (not the original post) into the McLinky I will provide here.
*LEAVE A COMMENT so I know you're there.

Hopefully, in two weeks, when I host "Leftovers" again (yeesh, people, if you have a nicer, more poetic, romantic name for it, leave a comment - NOBODY likes leftovers, right?), I will try and have an irresistible button for you (with CODE!) to add to your repost.








(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Love Stories: God and Me, Part I

Thursday, February 4, 2010


Once upon a time...

That's pretty much the way all good love stories begin, isn't it? The fairytale kind, the ones that star a beautiful princess and a handsome Prince Charming. (He is always "Prince Charming," because giving him a name humanizes him, and we can't have a Prince with flaws, now can we?)

Here I must dispense with my Dickensian rambling and begin my love story. Which does not require a once-upon-a-time. The princess is a normal gal with beauty issues, and the Prince - well, He has a name, a human name. "God with us."

...

I never know quite where to begin this story.

Sometimes, it seems that it must begin way back before I was ever born, in my mom's desire for a baby girl, in her long wait, the womb-knitting, and the beginning of her birth pains. Sometimes, it goes all the way back before the foundation of the world, with a Father's love for His Son, with a God-love for the world that gave.

But all of that happened long before I was aware of God, long before I was old enough to suspect His love. No, I first encountered the love of God between my year at Bible college and my Freshman year at the four-year school I attended until my health forced me to drop out.

Not that I hadn't been taught about its existence before. There is not a time in my life that I can pinpoint that I didn't know intellectually that God loved me. I grew up with God. I grew up with parents who loved me, and who taught me that God loved me. I grew up in church, and if there's one thing they teach you in Sunday School, it's that "God so loved the world..."

I memorized John 3:16 forty-eight times.

I knew that "the world" God loved was me.

But there is a difference between knowing someone loves you and knowing you are loved, and all the head knowledge in the world isn't enough to span that eighteen-inch gap of sermon-illustration fame.

I said a salvation prayer when I was a young child, on a day my parents never recorded, sometime around four years old. I remember kneeling beside a bed - it had a hush puppies bedspread; I remember the butterflies playing with the puppies on it - and asking Jesus to be my savior. I knew enough at that point to understand that sin was something I didn't want to have, so the expedient thing to do was ask Jesus to forgive me, which I figured would pretty much take care of things.

Such was my faith as a child.

It seems that from the beginning of my life, I was meant to be God's. I can't explain it, His pursuit of me that has spanned twenty-eight years and eternity past. In many ways, it has been for me a consistent deconstruction of what I thought I knew about God.

I used to think He displayed His love for me by answering my prayers.

There was the time I sat down under a tree on our 25 acres and asked God to send a deer walking by after dinner. I was putting out my fleece... or hunting for venison? The deer didn't come the first night, so giving God a second chance, I changed trees. I went a little further down the path toward the back of our 25 acres. Still no deer.

I figured at that point that God wasn't too interested in proving Himself by answering my prayers.

So I began to think that He loved me by indulging me. Maybe He wasn't actively answering my requests, but as long as He didn't interfere with what I wanted, I felt loved enough.

I never expected Him to let my heart break...

...

On Thursdays this month (because I never know quite what to post on Thursdays), I am going to write out my love story. Not the one about my crushes or my first love or even my love for Pete - though those stories all play a part. Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista and Holley Gerth at (in)Courage challenged us to write out our God love stories, and I had one to share. BOY, do I have one to share.

So I know it's a little canned, being the "love month" and all, but I thought I'd take some time to write it out anyway. It's good for me to dwell on His love for me.


...

Tomorrow will be my second "Leftovers" post, complete with a McLink-up for readers to share your own reposts.

NOTE - I am offering "Leftovers" as an opportunity to justify reposting a post you love. You're welcome to join this carnival of original unoriginality (since you've already said it!) here at my blog - just follow the steps below:

*REPOST a favorite blog post at your blog
*Please kindly INCLUDE A LINK to my blog in your explanation for your repost ;-)
*LINK the direct link for your repost (not the original post) into the McLinky I will provide here.
*LEAVE A COMMENT so I know you're there.

Hopefully, in two weeks, when I host "Leftovers" again (yeesh, people, if you have a nicer, more poetic, romantic name for it, leave a comment - NOBODY likes leftovers, right?), I will try and have an irresistible button for you (with CODE!) to add to your repost.






(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

About Dad: How God Fathers Me

Thursday, January 21, 2010


I've been thinking about my dad this week. Trying to remember what I know of him that I haven't been told. Wondering what relationship do I have with him, really?

I've always been pretty independent. As a child, I had my own ideas about life. My own decided way of doing things. It was usually the hard way, my dad would say.

But I remember needing him. He was the only one who could take out the splinters I got in my fingers and toes. "Pop's Splinter Shop," he called it, teasing me every time that he was gonna charge me a nickel I didn't have for his services. As if I would have paid him for doing something he was supposed to do. I knew he was joking, but part of me always wondered...

When I got older, Dad tried teaching me to let my teenage emotions roll, "like water off a duck's back." It never really worked with me. I was determined to have my emotions. I learned instead to control them when needed, then process and deal later. I'm a venter, a rambler, and once I get stuff out, I don't feel it anymore.

But I was talking about Dad.

...

In college, I called Dad a lot. So much so that Mom thought I just didn't care about her. I just didn't have much to say to anyone in college. There was so much going on internally. Most of the time I already knew what I needed to do to fix the thing I was calling about. I just needed Dad to validate my decisions.

I have realized in recent years that I was a pretty decent manipulator. I could talk Dad into just about anything - or he simply let me have my head, figuring he couldn't tell me what to do. He and Mom tell me they never really could.

Relating to my dad on any sort of emotional level is difficult. My dad is so pragmatic. It's the Langner in him. I know it, because I have the same pragmatism. I learned it from my grandma, his mom. There are places he reserves for Mom, feelings he just can't find a place for, things he just doesn't feel at all.

Just before he walked me down the aisle at my wedding, he leaned in and offered, "this is your last chance to back out." It wasn't what I wanted to hear. But it was definitely what Dad had to say. He wouldn't have been Dad otherwise and that would have been weird.

When I was in labor with Piper, Dad was cracking jokes that I wanted to hear, but you can NOT laugh in labor. Ask anyone who has done it. You need those laugh-muscles to end the pain. I asked him afterward what he'd been feeling. He said he was fine. He'd done it eight times with my mom. I found out from my mom recently that he loves babies.

I look at pictures of Dad and me when I was a baby. I see things in his eyes, in his smile that I don't recognize. Things that Mom said she saw again after Pete called to ask permission to date me, court me, marry me. She said he was walking around the house, happy.

I had a hard time picturing it.

...

Bonnie at Faith Barista wrote yesterday of "Looking for My Real Father." She shared excerpts from a book she has been reading about how children tend to view God through the lens of what they have known from their parents, from their dad.

I never call God Father. Not in relation to myself anyway. Jesus is God's Son, God is Jesus' Father. I simply don't consider the fact that I figure into that equation.

But I do, whether I realize it or not.

For years, I lived believing God loved me on a purely intellectual level. My response to this love was duty, and the sense that if I performed well, He would give me what I wanted. It was a rather detailed system I had worked out to manipulate the God of the universe into being what I thought He should be.

It wasn't that coherent. But it was how I lived.

God shattered my illusions with the reality of His deep, consuming love, love that wouldn't let me live in my misunderstanding of Him, love that required me to accept Him on His terms, the Truth of Him, the all of Him that spoke out of the whirlwind to Job and asked him if he really knew who God was, the God who came to Job as a man to show him the man wasn't enough to comprehend God's ways.

I can't yet call this God Abba.

...

When I go home, I know my dad is happy to see me. He holds my children, asks for hugs once in a while, and his eyes smile when he looks at me. If I dare to look into them, I see a question that is never asked, a little bit of awe, a deep affection that is never voiced.

I see my "Daddy."

But I'm grown up now. I'm not supposed to need a Daddy when I'm grown up.

And I'm good at being grown up. Most of the time anyway.

But sometimes when I cry, I miss knowing that things were okay because Daddy said they were okay. Because he was home or he was at work and things were normal and under control and Mom could call him and make things better during the day and he could help when he was home at night.

Suddenly, I realize that this is what I can't release when I think about God. This childlike understanding and trust of His sovereignty. The hope beneath my tears that everything is okay because He is God and He is at work and I can call Him and He will come for my heart.

He'll dig my splinters out free of charge, and put a band-aid on it to help me feel better. He'll whisper His words to me when I wished for something else. And because they come from Him, they will come to mean more to me than I could have known when He said them.

...

I pulled Dad out onto the dance floor with me at my wedding. Dad doesn't dance. I knew he felt awkward. But he came with me and went around a few times and smiled and cracked a few jokes I don't remember, in his way.

He offered me himself with that gracious acquiescence to my heart.

This is why grace means so much to me.

...

God loves me and gives to me and fills me with good things in spite of me, in spite of my frequent, childish misunderstanding of His Person.

This is why Jesus' life and death and resurrection is so vitally important. His condescension of God into flesh was driven by an incredible love, a deep Father-affection revealed in the setting aside of His God-glory to become like me, to dance with me where I am. This is grace, His Father-waiting and teaching and helping me to comprehend what I will never fully know until I meet Him face to face - when I will see Him as He is.

I get only glimpses of my dad that I can know as an adult. As a grown-up, I am learning to relate to him on an adult level. But my child-heart still thinks of him as "Daddy." I wonder if I will ever grow up.

With God it is backward. The growing-up means becoming more childlike, becoming like Jesus, the Son of Man who deeply trusted His Abba, Father.
"Abba, Father," he said, "everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will."

- Mark 14:36
Greater love...

...

I watch Pete forming a relationship with Piper now, listen to her "Daddy!", laugh at the giggles and excitement only he can produce from her, and I wonder what questions she will have about him someday. I wonder how she will be disappointed by him. I wonder what she will learn of God through her relationship with him.

I hope she will know how much they love her.

------------------------


This post also linked at Holy Experience for Walk With Him Wednesday.






(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

In His Love

Friday, January 15, 2010


I do not love easily. My devotion to anyone is probably best described as "cautious." Sometimes I think this is because I am self-absorbed and I just don't notice others; sometimes I recognize my human tendency to shield my heart against pain.

After Piper was born, I wrote the following while I was reading through L'Engle's Two-Part Invention, the story of her love for her husband, Hugh.

------------------------
"I write in my journal that the more people I love, the more vulnerable I am.

"Vulnerable--the moment we are born we are vulnerable, and a human infant is the most vulnerable of all creatures. The very nature of our being leads us to risk."

"When I married, I opened myself to the possibility of great joy and great pain and I have known both. Hugh's death is like an amputation. But would I be willing to protect myself by having rejected marriage? By having rejected love? No. I wouldn't have missed a minute of it, not any of it.

"The girls and I have acquired two kittens. They are vying for my attention. One of them starts diligently grooming me. The other bats at my pen. This is less an invitation to play than an announcement that it is time for bed. Even with the kittens I am vulnerable as they curl up trustingly beside me and hum their contented purrs."


~Madeleine L'Engle

"Then another came, saying, ‘Master, here is your mina, which I have kept put away in a handkerchief. For I feared you, because you are an austere man. You collect what you did not deposit, and reap what you did not sow.’ And he said to him, ‘Out of your own mouth I will judge you, you wicked servant. You knew that I was an austere man, collecting what I did not deposit and reaping what I did not sow. Why then did you not put my money in the bank, that at my coming I might have collected it with interest?’"

~Luke 19:20-23
I finished Two-Part Invention on Tuesday morning. I cried as I read the above passage, almost the last in the book.

Suddenly in my focus was the fact that I am human. No matter how I have lost in the past or may lose in the future, there is no way I may protect myself entirely from the vulnerability that comes with opening my heart to love. And God is still God, and I can't decide that I know His ways, putting Him in a box and hiding even the one "mina" of love and faith He has given me.

At least put it in the bank...

That line has been going through my head all week. I don't even have to go out and invest my love in some huge project. I can let it grow. I can stop hiding. I have a husband and a baby who need my love. I just need to live it where I am, and let it go, instead of holding it to myself for fear of loss.

And I can love God as He is too. He doesn't want my fear. He wants me to know Him. This is eternal life, to know God and Jesus Christ whom He has sent. I don't have to store up my dreams for when He returns. I can love Him now, stop ducking His radar. Stop running.

No matter what I do, I will never stop being vulnerable. Better to risk pain than to refuse joy.

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Now I have a husband and two babies, and I cautiously embrace joy. My heart is not ready this love, for the loss that must come because we are Adam and Eve and hold only the hope of redemption in Jesus just now. And we are never ready, are we, for we were not meant for this.

But even the loss I have lived before comes to fruition now, with comfort to share, with this alive that keeps me connected to the hearts in my home. I am not the woman I hear myself being these last few weeks. I'm the fearful one, not the brave one. I'm the angry one, the patient one. I'm the "safe" one, not the one who takes these risks to hold and cuddle and kiss and smell and invest my heart where it may be broken.

But if this gentling, this love, is what comes of knowing God and being moved by His love, then I am this woman. I am a redeemed one - Eve undone, Eve now-held.

It is quiet wonder.

Who am I that He should choose me to bear this fruit?

Who are any of us?





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Do I Really?

Friday, January 8, 2010


The deep depression I experienced after Piper has made me consider more this time how much I need to be connected. I've been on my guard against it, taking my pills, using some gentle hormone therapy. The writing is a guard as well, a way to push out of the anxiety, put swirling thoughts down, get things out of my system. I try to remember so I don't forget the ones I love this time, so I don't miss them.

The thought crossed my mind yesterday, "do I really love God?"

I spend so much time thinking about Him, I must at least have a crush. But just as with my crushes, I am reluctant to come out and say it, say that I love God. It sounds funny coming out of my mouth.

I hardly say that I love my husband sometimes. I get embarrassed.

But sometimes when the days are hardest and nothing seems to be going right, I look up, and there he is Pete giving, or doing, or being - a good and perfect gift God told me he was long before I fell in love with him - and my heart would explode if I didn't at least whisper to him of my love.

And I've been saying it a lot lately.

I wonder if he will be there when we come out of these early days with little sleep and lots of change. I know neither of us will be the same. I think many people just live their way through this and accept the changes that come. We think about it as we go, though, and cling a bit harder to what we were.

But we're parents of two now. Last night, Piper was in her own bed for a while, and for a few short minutes before sleep claimed us, Pete and I laid together and held one another without a baby in between. I felt like a married woman.

How does a woman go about being a helpmeet for her husband when there is a new baby in the house, when her heart is going through so much, when she feels fragile and shell-shocked and uncertain? When he is at work and she is at home, when the babies have needs even at night, how does she make a place for him, give him the life she longs to give?

I realize I have been unconsciously setting me aside; I am afraid to need my husband - he is doing so much, and I want to offer him a place to rest that seems impossibly out of reach. But oh that ache for him that is constantly there...

I think it is something like the ache I know for God sometimes when He seems far away, the one that draws me near to Him to look up into His face for a moment, just to be sure of Him.

My love is so very limited in its scope. God Himself is love; how can I expect that any real love would be comprehensible, reproducible? No, I think the only love I can have - for God or for my husband or for my children or for anyone in my life - must come by way of His Spirit in me, and I wonder if perhaps I will never be able to define the why or the how behind it all.

Today, I'm okay with that.

I'd rather be in survival mode with a little God-wonder left than fighting it out with the anger and empty I've lived before.





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Realizing the Baby

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


Every year at Christmas when we were growing up, my sister and I set up our family nativity scene together. We argued out which figurine needed to stand where, spent hours figuring and refiguring the perfect set-up, complete some years with leftover pine needles, stuffing-snow, and Christmas lights.

I own it now, because I'm the oldest of our eight. Because Mom got a new nativity scene. Because I have a home and a family of my own now.

There's not so much drama over where to put things. I finally repaired the broken-winged angel with superglue, fixing my old clay-and-Elmer's patch job. I don't worry about things like pine needles or stuffing-snow. I simply put things where it makes sense for them to stand - no analysis needed.

When I set it up this year, Mary caught my attention. Mary, whose heart-pondering celebration of her Baby's birth left her kneeling before her Son, cradling God.

This year as I wait for my own baby boy to come during the Christmas season, I find myself kneeling quiet with her, pondering all the joy and sorrow and love and pain that must be with this new-life-coming. It is a soft-spoken celebration, a tender God-reminder of Immanuel, God with us, God with me...

As I weigh my own desire to clasp my new baby to my heart, I find Him stirring the same tenderness in my heart for Him, and I begin to understand how precious He is, how love for Him begins for me not at a Cross, but at a manger, where a mother once touched and smelled and kissed and caressed God-become-flesh for me.

I find this waiting time His gift to me, a reason to celebrate.

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This post also linked at Holy Experience for Walk With Him Wednesday.





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Trusting Love: A God-Ramble from a Broken Heart

Friday, November 6, 2009

I didn't always doubt love.

Once, I trusted easily. Too easily, it seemed.

That was before God let my heart break, before I knew the reality of loss, that choking, heart-wrenching physical pain of chosen vulnerability shattered, crushed, left for dead.

That was before I learned about God's sovereignty, His uncompromising, inevitable comforting ways that are higher than mine.

The story is not an easy one to tell. I was younger then, not so cynical as I am now. I don't want to think of myself as cynical, but I know that I am. Back then, it was a chosen cynicism, confirmed through minor experience that turned out to be my own misunderstanding of the situation. Now, praying for exceptions to what has become the rule of my experience yields little but disappointment.

Tuesday's post surprised me as I was writing it. When I began writing, I thought I was just frustrated with God for being God again. By the time I finished, the realization that I'm still aching for His love - in spite of everything I've been through with Him! - left me bemused, disillusioned.

I'm embarrassed to admit it. Embarrassed that He still looks like you-didn't-bring-K-back to me, embarrassed that He still seems only like God-who-takes-away to me, embarrassed to admit my non-thankfulness because I don't trust His giving. I half-laugh at my concept of Him - "God, the Indian Giver."

Pain changes things. Not always for the better; not always for the worse. My initial suffering (my health problems, work issues, dropping out of school) was minor compared to the soul-questions I have asked - no, screamed at - the God of the universe. See, I get that He is that. The God of the universe. That He is I Am. That He is higher than I.

What I don't understand in the deep of me is His care for me. I don't understand that from anyone. Not after once accepting, believing, trusting it, and having it crushed by the very person who once offered it.

I know God is not a man. I know God is Love itself - Himself.

I was good at Geometry. I loved having the solutions to my problems pre-defined. Just plug in the right postulate (this is this, then this must be that, now that must be this) and you can understand the problem. Similarly, there is much about God I can accept as fact, build a doctrine, craft my system of belief.

But in relationship with Him, the postulates only go so far. Because relationships are not pre-defined. They are not solution-driven. They are often a morass of miscommunications, misunderstandings, misconceptions - and emotions gone haywire over much of the above. Since my heart broke, simply "doing the right thing" when it comes to God has become nearly impossible.

I wonder if I have enough faith; then I wonder if the faith I have is misplaced. Is faith for something like moving mountains, or in Someone, the Person of Jesus Christ? And what does having faith in Him mean for accepting love in relationship with God?

Sometimes, I think if I just made up my mind to believe it, it would become real to me. But I know from long experience - that's not the way it works for me. I'm not really sure it's the way it works for God:

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, to those who believe in His name: who were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. (Jn. 1:12-13)

You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and that your fruit should remain, that whatever you ask the Father in My name He may give you. (Jn. 15:16)

The Psalmist speaks often of waiting on the Lord. I can make up my mind about what I'm going to do in regard to Him, ask Him for help, and wait for His response - if it doesn't come in my time, does that mean He has abandoned me, does it mean He doesn't love me or care about me? I don't believe it does - I clutch at His faithful, knowing He is stronger than I, that for all my struggle to comprehend faith that is solid evidence of the unseen, He yet holds my heart in His hand.

I am so afraid He will allow it to be broken again, and I know I do not yet comprehend His perfect love that casts out fear.

I fear God. I reverence and often rejoice in His higher ways, His immutability, His God-prerogative. Yet, this holy fear often caves to very human fear, the kind that has me hunkered into my corner trying to protect myself from being hurt again by Him, by others.

I am so out of control. I have often heard that trust is a command, but I wonder perhaps if it isn't more of a plea: "Trust Me. I am so good, if you will just believe Me..." He is not so helpless - He could force His hand, MAKE me trust Him. Just like He could MAKE my life go perfectly as I wish.

In both cases, though, relationship would be broken. In the first, His will would dominate and destroy - where my transformation through deeper knowledge of Him would serve better to strengthen mutual love. In the latter, my wishes would control, and God who is I Am would be subject to the whims of someone who doesn't see what He sees, no matter how much foresight the fruit from that tree gave to me. There would be no unity of thought, no oneness, no submission that fosters trust.

The strongest faith, I believe, is faith that does stand in the face of my why, that is solid in spite of my fears, faith that carries my heart beyond my shattered conception of God into the reality of Him and His real love. Twila Paris sings, "This is the faith, patience to wait when there is nothing clear..."

Wait when I decide to listen and He doesn't say anything. Wait when I ask Him for help and make up my mind to do better and fail miserably. Wait when His love for me doesn't appear to be the love I want.

Piper doesn't trust us for the "no" yet. Oh, when she's scared and wants to cuddle, she's all over us. But when we tell her "no" she doesn't yet understand that we have reasons we can't explain for our "no." She can't see what we see, hasn't seen what we've seen. She breaks relationship with her "stop eet, stop eet, stoppp eet!!!" and runs to hide from us.

She looks a lot like me relating to God sometimes.

Only I assume that even His "yes" will eventually become "no," so even the good gets rejected, and I am afraid to accept what He gives. The bad lesson pain too often teaches.

Years ago, when I chose to love at God's request and direction, I stepped out believing that God was capable of completely healing my heart, even if He never fulfilled all my wishes.

I would ask why the healing takes so long. I know the answer lies in His care for me.

He is incredibly patient, isn't He?

I learned this week that autumn leaves don't simply fall off trees. The trees must actually throw the leaves off, for the risk of blooming too soon and being killed during a warm winter spell would be too great if they remained.

He knows when my time to bloom will be. He knows how much of Him I can handle now, what must be shed from my soul for me to rest in His love.

This is what trust is about, I think; living as He created me to live, believing He will do what is best to sustain the life I now live in the flesh by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.

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*This photo of mine got featured over at High Calling Blogs today! So exciting!
*Need an earlyish Christmas idea? Check out these images for prints - available for a limited time only!






(Image © SXC)