Minismith

I may not feel it. I may not even believe it. But it is true regardless and that is what I cling to…

“Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
HE REIGNS,
He reigns.

And all the powers of darkness
Tremble at what they’ve just heard
‘Cause all the powers of darkness
Can’t drown out a single word

When all God’s children sing out
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
He reigns…”

At times I may feel defeated. I may feel like the darkness is winning. But the reality is that Jesus has already won. He HAS conquered sin and death and darkness. He IS the Mighty Warrior King. And while I still feel the effects of living in a broken, fallen world for now, I have the opportunity in every circumstance to declare the truth – HE reigns.

And while the powers of darkness can lie to me – tell me I’m alone, tell me I’ve been abandoned in my hard circumstances, tell me He’s not strong enough to save me – without having to feel it or even believe it, I can declare the TRUTH is that He reigns, not the lies. And they can’t take away those words or that reality. Which feels pretty dang good. The most powerful weapon I have in my arsenal right now. The declaration of truth. 

Little Lucia Eloise Smith joined our family at 3:40pm on Monday, August 28th. Weighing in at 7lb 8oz and 20in long, she was absolutely perfect. After a relatively quick and easy birth, we were suddenly staring at our new, beautiful daughter. We fell hard and fast for that little dark-haired bundle.

We loved that Lucy’s name meant “light”, as that’s what she is to our family after these past years of much loss. She is our little gift of light from Jesus and we believe that’s what she’ll be to many others in her life, beyond just our family.

Her middle name, Eloise, is a combination of both my maternal great-grandmother and grandmother’s names. The first, who was Elsie Louise, and the second, Louise Elsie. When we found out the meaning of Eloise was “famous warrior”, that seemed fitting as well. Our little famous warrior of light. Just like Lucy, in the Chronicles of Narnia, we believe our little girl will be a tender, strong warrior in the kingdom.

I realize that this post is long overdue. With almost two weeks past since her arrival, it’s been a bit of a unique whirlwind here at our house. As with all newborn arrivals, the house is turned upside down quite a bit, which we were expecting. What we were not expecting was the degree and intensity to which serious post-partum depression and anxiety would hit me with within a day after Lucy’s arrival.

You would think by baby #3 you’d have it all figured out and know what to expect. But the first night I woke up with a severe anxiety attack, the first one I’d ever experienced in my life, I knew this was not going to be the same road to recovery after a newborn that I’d walked two times previous.

It has been an uphill climb the past two weeks, but we are slowly starting to see some hope, thanks to the amazing support of Matthew, the incredible help of my family, an amazing post-partum doula, and the help of my doctor.

As Jesus leads our family through this difficult season, we would love any prayers you would be willing to offer up on our behalf.

- for complete healing, mentally & emotionally, for myself

- for deep, anxiety-free sleep at nights to promote that healing

- for energy, strength and hope for Matthew as he carries our family – me, the boys, Lucy – through this season in the midst of a heavy work load. He has Lucy from 9-2am (usually even later) every night the doula is not here and has had many rough nights of trying to get her calmed to sleep for hours. Pray in the nights for mercy and grace for him…and sleep for Lucy!

- for energy and strength for my mom & dad as they support & help us after just moving to Greenville to start a church plant. A lot on their plates as well.

Thank you all for your love, prayers, and encouragement as we walk through this season. As everyone keeps reminding me, it is just a season. Jesus is faithful and will “gently lead those that have young” (Is.40:11).

For those of you who’ve experienced mental illness, it can be a brute beast, and sometimes you just need everyone to believe and speak the truth to you over and over when it doesn’t seem true in your own weak mind.

A song I’m clinging to these days by Rita Springer, I Have To Believe:

I have to believe
That He sees my darkness
I have to believe
He knows my pain
I have to lift up
My hands to worship
Worship His name

I have to declare
That He is my refuge
I have to deny
That I am alone
I have to lift up
My eyes to the mountain
It’s where my help comes from

He said that He’s forever faithful
He said that He’s forever true
He said that He can move mountains
If He can move mountains
He can move my mountain
He can move your mountain, too

Oh, I have to stand tall
When the wind blows me over
I have to stand strong
When I’m weak and afraid
I have to grab hold
Ahold of the garments
The garments of praise

Cause He said that He’s forever faithful
And He said that He’s forever true
He said that He can move mountains
If He can move mountains
He can move my mountain
He can move your mountain, too

I have to sing praise
When the hour is midnight
He unlocks these chains
That bind up my soul
My sin and my shame
He has forgiven and made me whole

I have to believe
He’s got everything under control
I have to believe
Lord, I believe
Help my unbelief
I have to believe in You.

It has been a famine-like day.

Plans of waking early for some alone time before the demands of the day begin. Plans of escaping to the gym for some endorphine-release. Plans of happy, healthy children enjoying our various outings. Every one of these “grand” (for a mother especially) hopes for my Friday was quickly tossed aside as the alarm failed to go off, a visit to the Charter office was more tedious and drawn-out than expected, a flat tire landed us at Firestone for two hours, and my boys continued to hack up a storm, run fevers, and bicker with each other constantly. Even the sweet relief of nap time was an epic fail.

A typical day in the life of a mom. But today, for some reason, the normalcy of interruptions feels unbearable. I am tired. Tired of my overly pregnant body. Tired of of the heat. Tired of full days of bickering kids. Tired of cleaning. Tired of cooking. Tired of laundry. Just plain tired.

I want escape. I want to go to Starbucks and drown my annoyance with the day in a Venti iced mocha. Or a new pair of shoes that I can’t afford from Piperlime. Or a stupid movie I can escape from life in for at least two hours. The immediate appeasement is a guarantee. And for a few moments I know I probably would find relief…of some sort. Yet also guaranteed is a soul that is still left aching and empty. Because sometimes life is just plain hard and there is no escape, bevergage, food, or masseuse that can replenish what’s been stolen by the fall.

In these famine-like days, I want to just grit my teeth and survive until I can fall into bed. And many days, that’s just what I do. But there is another option. Another promise I can claim. A guarantee I’ve been given to feast in the midst of what feels like a famine.

They feast on the abundance of your house;
you give them drink from your river of delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
In your light we see light.

Psalm 36:8-9

Feasting on the abundance. When I think of the house of God, I think of a wildly, extravagant party. Where the love flowing around the Trinity is as overwhelming and uncontainable as a stormy ocean. Where that wild love for each other flows in abundance. Love that can be feasted on by their weary children. A river of delights that can refresh souls worn out by the battle of life, in a way that no other earthly thing could.

A fountain of life. I don’t know about you, but I have yet to find anything of this earth that fills these aches and voids in my soul for more than a passing moment. As sweet as marriage, mothering, and friendship can be they still have their cracks and painful qualities that remind us that we’re all living in a broken world as broken people. And with that unfulfillment, we hear this whisper that there is another way. A way for our souls to find actual rest. Tangible nourishment for our deprived souls. Peace in the midst of a day or month or years of chaos and disappointment. This does not mean plastering on a fake Pollyanna-esque Christian smile and robotically repeating, “God is good ALL the time!” to ourselves. Instead I think it means admitting the exhaustion of life. Recognizing our fallen state. Admitting we want cheap fixes…that aren’t always a bad thing! And in that weary state, looking to one place we can be refreshed deep down. In the Fountain of Life, the overflowing abundance of love that Christ has for us. That is unchanging, regardless of what our circumstances are screaming at us. In His light, we see light. I see cheap fixes for what they are…cheap. Bandaids over wounds too deep to be patched up by earthly things.

These past few days, I haven’t felt too intimate with Jesus. I haven’t wanted to wake up early or spend time with him. And yet these are the very best moments to soak in His love and enjoy Him for who He is. When feelings are gone and the thrill just isn’t there. These are the days training my soul to claim what is true, regardless of what I feel. That when I feel alone and defeated by the tiring routine of life, He is with me, He is a Mighty Warrior who saves, He is taking great delight in me and rejoicing over me with singing. (Zeph. 3:17) That in my weakness and failure to get a grip some days, He still declares me lovely. That he isn’t waiting for me to have an emotional response to him, he just wants me. And today that looks like a me who is cranky, irritable and feels like a pathetic excuse for a mom. Who is using every last bit of energy to crawl in his lap and flop my head on the shoulder of my Daddy. I may not experience a rush of emotional relief, but my soul finds rest. I’m reminded of the ocean of love accessible to me even in the pit of today. The soul-quenching waters of His fountain of life. A deep rest in being Loved by the One who fought for me before I was even born.

Starbucks still sounds pretty dang good right now, but as He comes this afternoon, an even deeper place in my soul is slowly been quenched. There are still 5 long hours left in this day, but for now I’m reminded again that don’t face them alone. And with that guarantee, my day has turned.

Wow. Nearly two months. My writing…or lack thereof…is seriously sucking wind this season. Until I force myself to sit down and put together some coherent thoughts, I wanted to post a super short video Matthew shared with me the other day. Worth the two minutes of your time.

Are you a trader

“Even while you sleep among the campfires, the wings of my dove are sheathed with silver, it’s feathers with shining gold.” ~ Psalm 68:13

I was prompted to read Psalm 68 this morning, after a difficult week of overtime, illness, and generally rough circumstances. David writes about the strength of God providing and fighting for ‘his dove’, Israel. He starts in verses 1-2 with,

“May God arise, may his enemies be scattered; may his foes flee before him. As smoke is blown away by the wind, may you blow them away.”

I may be the only bizarre one, but I used to have a hard time reading the Psalms. Unable to put context around modern-day enemies, that didn’t put me on a pedestal of just whomever I didn’t like at the time or had hurt me was an “enemy”. I don’t believe that’s God’s heart. I do believe there are modern-day enemies of God, but the enemies I wage war with on a daily basis are the spiritual ones.

The liers, the accusers, the voices that want me to believe my weaknesses are more powerful than the cross. The enemies that distort the reality of who God is as my loving, tender, overcoming Father and instead twist Him into a wary, disappointed, puny god.

These enemies often plan surprise attacks out of nowhere. Suddenly I feel surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke…

My son wakes up for the 30th night in a row with bad dreams. My husband falls sick after weeks of overtime again. I bash my head on a cabinet door left open and later step on a rusty nail. I have to place that call yet again to a less-than-friendly customer service department about our utility bill being wrong. A casual cold turns into a gnarly lung infection within two days time. We receive a notice about our checking account going into overdraft protection for the 3rd month in a row.

I am suddenly all alone. I have to fight this nasty battle of life by myself. If I don’t do it, no one else will. I have to protect my kids. I have to run my home with precision. I have to be what my husband needs. I have to coordinate our finances.

The lies spiral me down into a paralyzed, fetal-postion at the bottom of the soggy trench of life.

But then,

God arises…

“When you went out before your people, O God,
when you marched through the wasteland,
the earth shook,
the heavens poured down rain before God…” (vs.7-8)

He arises and the smoke is blown away by His wind that has already overcome. And I suddenly see, I am not alone. I have never been alone. Since the day I was conceived, His eyes have been on me. His love has been declaring my greatness, in the face of lies that my weaknesses and daily failures define me.

This was the beauty to me of vs. 13 that I wrote out at the top. The NIV notes that Israel, God’s “dove” is “enriched with the silver and gold of plunder from the kings of Canaan even though she still remains in camp. This poetic hyperbole celebrates the fact that God had defeated the kings even before Israel met them in battle.”

A powerful reminder this morning that He fights for me. Even while I’m “resting” in the good seasons of life – easy circumstances, easy friendships, easy parenting – that He is fighting ahead of me the battles to come. The rough weeks of illness, exhaustion, ornery kids and an even more ornery mom.

I may feel alone, but he has already been there, fighting those battles for me. And has fought the ultimate battle on the cross. Taking back the gold & silver of being an heir that sin had stolen, and placing it upon me. The ultimate inheritance. Positioning Himself to be my Overcomer daily and blowing away the smoke and lies I start to believe, as I fix my gaze back on Him.

Which does not mean attempting to give myself a pep talk and a “suck it up” speech, like it used to. That’s still MY strength and MY energy. Which, in really rough seasons, I have NONE of. I need his endless strength, his storehouse of energy. Where is that found? In adoring the God that arises. In rejoicing in who He is, not what this life is not.

“…May the righteous be glad and rejoice before God;
may they be happy and joyful.
Sing to God, sing praise to his name,
extol him who rides on the clouds -
his name is the Lord –
and rejoice before Him.” (vs.3-4)

If that rejoicing were dependent on what my circumstances were indicating, then it would be futile. But if songs are sung to the One who has defeated and conquered death, that will one day wipe every tear from our eye, that is the living, personal God whose presence is very real, visceral and accessible to me on a daily basis, then I am free to adore Him despite the intensity of the battle raging around me. Because I know He has won.

The struggle of life may not be over yet, but He has overcome and is therefore the only safe place to nestle my heart. An adoring heart begins to reverse the damage done by years of living as a seemingly-defenseless orphan. I have a Father who has fought every battle, great and small, for me. I am not alone.

Take a moment this week to check out Psalms 68. I’m going to keep it on my morning rotation for awhile. I have a lot yet to learn about enjoying this Man who has promised to fill me with joy in His presence, with eternal pleasures at His right hand. (Ps.16:11) If I truly believed that, I think this world and all it’s false promises would quickly lose their luster. Praise of men, beauty, perfect children/husband/friends, togetherness, competence. In the face of the One whose eyes burn with love for me, those things are gone in an instant.

“I have not spoken in secret,
from somewhere in a land of darkness;
I have not said to Jacob’s descendants,
‘Seek me in vain.’
I, the Lord, speak the truth;
I declare what is right.”
-Isaiah 45:19

You, Jesus, have been reclaiming the stolen territory of my heart. You have been taking back the land ravaged by the war of life. You have been bringing freedom to the dark places once chained to old lies, fears and insecurities. You have been speaking the truth about who I am into the chasm that years of lies had created. Lies I spoke to myself and lies spoken over me by the enemy and others.

But with as much freedom as you have graciously offered me of late, there are days the old lies come slinking back in. Old insecurities, old doubts and fears around my purpose in life, old neediness to be somebody great. On these days, the mental spiral downwards seems impossible to stop. Until I find myself paralyzed by anger about my circumstances, insecure about my role as a mom, and overwhelmed by shame and guilt that I just can’t seem to get my act together and regain my sanity. I count the hours until I can fall into bed and start another day.

Yesterday was a day my mind felt as if it were slogging through mud in an attempt to ask You for rescue. The battle in my heart so intense, it felt as if something were physically holding back my tongue from asking Matthew to pray for me as we ended our day. But I was desperate.

As he prayed, you showed me your gentle face. You pulled me into your lap and pressed my head against your chest. As I wept, you asked me, “Am I enough? Is my fierce love and desire for you enough? Is my voice loud enough to silence every other voice, or lack of voice, you hear in your life?” I knew the right answer in my head, but the chasm in my heart felt too deep and wide. All I could reply with was a defeated, “No.” Yet I felt you pull me tighter and kiss my head as Matthew’s prayer ended and I fell off to sleep. Where I would have expected condemnation for such a brutal answer, I fell asleep with only one picture in my mind…your eyes of tenderness, free of shame or guilt.

In the dark of the morning, you woke me. I felt the waves of despair from the previous day sweep over me. Sadness, frustration, guilt. Then I heard it. Not earthly audible, but audible to my soul. “I am here”. My eyes open wide. I heard it again. “Then why do I still feel this way?” was my only response. As I rose and settled in to my time with you, I wrote out my pain, but there were no answers. There was nothing I could do to take it away. To relieve myself of the brokenness I knew I carried. “I have nothing left to give. I don’t know what else to do or what else to believe. You must speak to my heart.”

Then again, in the stillness of the morning. I heard that same voice. The voice of my Shepherd, the voice I am beginning to recognize.

“You are great in MY kingdom, my daughter”

Sobs began to shake my body. I didn’t feel great. I felt puny. I felt whiny. I felt unable to believe in my heart the truth that I knew in my head. Over and over you spoke this to my soul. Kneading the harden mass of my heart into something soft and pliable in your hands. Then lies began to fall off.

Look how worthless your life is. You clean, you cook, you refill sippy cups, you wipe pee off the bathroom floor. No one sees and no one cares.

You are great in MY kingdom.

You spend hours shepherding these little boy’s hearts and look how little it matters. They aren’t changing. You’re wearing yourself out for no reason. Look at what a thankless job you do for them.

You are great in MY kingdom.

Your husband is at the top of his industry. He’s praised daily for his creativity and skills. He has more friends than he knows what do to with. No one sees your gifts. No one cares about your talents. Do you even have any worth sharing? Right…I didn’t think so.

You are great in MY kingdom.

What do you really have to offer anyone? Look at all the people you’ve hurt. All the relationships you’ve screwed up. You are a pathetic excuse for a friend. You aren’t worthy of anyone’s praise or loyalty.

You are great in MY kingdom.

The lies that felt so real, so LOUD, so overbearing just hours ago began to fade into the background. You, the Creator of all that is good and beautiful and praiseworthy in this life, believe that I am great in your kingdom. That my worth to you is priceless. But this wasn’t just a truth I was reading and trying to get my mind around again, You spoke it to my heart. The Living, speaking God. You were the power that broke in. What I could not believe last night, you declared out loud for me this morning. In a voice that silenced all other voices. I did nothing, but you came.

You do not speak in a secret, hidden place where your children cannot gain access. Your voice is not hidden from me. For as many years as I believed that, you are proving me to be wrong. I, your little lamb, know the voice of my Shepherd. And when I hear it, I am undone. For you always speak THE truth. You declare what is RIGHT. In the face of a dying world and a vicious, prowling enemy that wants to declare death and lies over your children, Your voice overcomes. It reclaims what has been stolen. Your love leads me to repentance and away from my orphanhood, into the honored stance of a daughter.

Your Love speaks a better word. It is the defining banner that soars over me. I am my Beloved’s and He is mine.

I obviously don’t have time to do much of my own writing these days as much as I would love to. And even less time to be on the internet reading other people’s thoughts, as enjoyable as that pastime used to be. But there are a few people I can’t afford to miss out on. People I don’t personally know all that well, but whose hearts resonate with mine. To be honest, I rarely read linked-to blog posts myself, but these two are worth it.

The first, from Sarah at Every Bitter Thing is Sweet, on why we have to learn to adore in the face of daily life attempting to convince us we’re nothing but victims.

And the last, from Marisol of the Zoe Foundation, a fire-under-your-rear call to the church on why we’re all dragging our feet or defaulting to “someone else with more energy/money/patience/mothering skills” to open our homes to the fatherless.

Both are well worth the 15 minutes it would take you to read them.

As for the Smith clan, we’re plugging along. The baby is starting to make his/her presence know with sweet little kicks at 15 weeks. Our ultrasound is schedule for April 5th…minismith or minismithette, to be determined.

Brighton lost his first tooth today…or rather I popped it out for him. What a brave little man…and mama. Blood and popping sounds give me the heebie-jeebies.

Levi is recovering from yet another ear infection. And this mama is wading through some sort of virus. But we’re all alive and kickin’, anxiously awaiting the warmth of spring…the first signs of green in our new raised bed, the hydrangeas and peonies to start blooming, and the weary cover to be rolled back to reveal a sparklingly blue pool again. The weekend ahead promises 80 degrees, so we’re slowly beginning to believe spring is really here to stay.

The way of stillness is no mere escape into illusion. In fact, it is the way to the greatest confrontation of all – the confrontation with the darkness that lurks within our self-obsessed hearts.

These two excerpts I’ve included are from J.M. Talbot’s The World Is My Cloister: Living from the Hermit Within that particularly stuck out to me this morning. As a typical planner and a do-er and a go-er, this recent season Jesus has brought me to in my life has been all about letting go. Letting the plans rest. Quieting my insatiable need to feel wanted and needed and competent. Standing up against the raging bully in me that demands the Known and is secretly terrified of what might happen if I simply started each day still before Jesus and let Him speak to me about His plans and heart for me, however seemingly lowly and quiet they may seem. The crazy paradox of our culture is that the ease of distraction comes so naturally, yet stopping to purposely put oneself in stillness takes effort and work.

I thought I didn’t like stillness because it was boring. Yet I’m learning, I don’t like stillness because I’m scared of what I’ll see about myself when I just stop. Closing the gate behind me to all other voices – good and bad. And turning to find The Voice of the One who knows me deeper than anyone and yet is captivated by my heart…right where it is, this morning. These moments of quiet and solitude are doing something radically beautiful.

[We] can become very creative in finding even small things to distract [us] from God and the quest for truth and reality. Things we would have thought trifles in the world now become important to us. We can end up frittering our time away as we fly from on thing to another all day without accomplishing anything of spiritual value. We can even use theology or reading to distract us from the deeper work of simple prayer and meditation before God. It is funny how we can use the things of God to hide us from God when we are really afraid to face God in solitude and silence.

When the futility of hiding behind such things is released, we can begin facing God and ourselves in the crucible of deep solitude and silence. It is there that we often discover how much of our self-image, even our religious self-image, has been an attempt to cling to our false self and ego triumphs. The healing is in letting go.

Letting go is simple, but it is also difficult. It takes much meditation and prayer. Breath after breath, prayer after prayer, and year after year as we approach some greater measure of peace and insight. God’s grace accomplishes this, but we set the state by taking time from our day to cultivate solitude and silence in our cell.

Saturday morning is in full swing here. The boys enjoying their treasured one-hour of Disney Junior. Pancakes, coffee and eggs. Plans for getting our garden up and running as the day warms up. The rest that comes from simply being a family is something I took for granted for too many years as I longed for a “purpose”. But in this upside-down kingdom, something has begun shifting in my understanding of our Purpose in this life. I’m beginning to think it has absolutely nothing to do with anything the world praises. And there is such a mysterious freedom in that.

“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

Even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.”

-Psalm 139:7-10

Silence creates a clearing in our minds so that our hearing can become acute. We learn to listen, we learn to wait, we learn to hush our restless, busy selves and attend to what God might long to say to us. ~ W. Wright

Yesterday afternoon I sat bundled up in the front yard, as the boys ran around playing their imaginary games. Brighton had found a walking stick and was Yoda. Levi had found a broom and was “sweeping” the car and trees. It was blustery and cold, but the sun was shining, which does a lot of good for this winter-weary soul. In that moment, I felt an unusual-for-me sense of rest and peace. Instead of just surviving the post-nap, outdoor time that the boys so desperately needed…I felt something very different, a simple rest in the mundane.

For much of my life, and particularly of motherhood, I have wanted to get out and do. Sometimes it’s as light as my constant need to to get out of the house and do errands, sometimes it’s as intense as wanting to get a job to feel like I’m using my brain again. The routine of life makes me antsy. I’d see other moms who seemed to just enjoy being around their home, loving their family and friends, feeling settled and safe there, and I’d secretly think there was something wrong with them.

My take had always been that I’m just an adventuresome person and need change. Every day. Something about being at home made me feel anxious and unsettled. While the former is true, change is not what I need. Change is what I want. And while sometimes that aspect of my personality is a good thing, most of the time, stillness and rest in the routine of life needs more practice. Because this year is already showing me how little I know how to do so…and how detrimental it’s been to my soul.

To the world, and unfortunately even the majority of believers, rest equals laziness. Because supposedly rest means not doing things and focusing too much on yourself. Yet in His very upside-down kingdom, I think rest is less about doing fewer things and is more about the state of our souls. Living out of a restful spirit. Unfortunately, it seems for the most of us, we aren’t sure how to untangle those two. For me, that has recently ushered in a season of stopping. Which has involved a variety of changes.

It has been scary to stop. To turn down the noise of social media. To be forced to be homebound (through snow storms, kid’s illnesses, pregnancy nausea). To realize just how hard it is for me to be still and at ease with myself and this stage of life I’ve been given. To relinquish all the props the praise of man might offer to discover my true identity only found in the face of Jesus. To face the reality of just how terrifying it is some mornings to simply sit and be quiet with Him. Not to have a study planned or a list of prayer needs. But just to sit before the One who knows me inside and out and let Him speak to me. Through words and pictures, He’s showing me in ways I never believed possible, who I am to Him. And that is what’s changing me. That is what’s making me hungry to be a woman who knows when it’s time to turn down the noise of life and just be still.

He’s helping me see the living, breathing, tangible reality that He is in the stillness of normal life. In the seeming monotony of routine. In the day-in, day-out tasks of unloading the dishwasher yet again, doing the 4th load of laundry, wiping down the boy’s pee-soaked toilet, making beds and straightening the house. Churning out breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks and juice cup after juice cup. These things I do over and over all throughout the day.

For so long I feel I’ve just endured these things, waiting for when Jesus would really use me to do something “important” for His kingdom. But yesterday Jesus gave me a tiny glimpse of what it means to see these low things as my domain in that very kingdom. Where He meets me. Where I find rest in doing the un-glorious tasks he’s called me to that day. It doesn’t seem as sexy or exciting as what I see going on around me, but this is one of the first times in my life where I have felt Him this intimately and heard His tender love spoken over me. And I’m quickly becoming hooked.

…at some point all of us begin to hear the faint but deep whisperings of the Spirit of God, calling us to something less that is in fact something much more. ~J.M. Talbot

When we found out I was pregnant, what had been a year-long frantic race to the adoption finish line suddenly came to a startling halt. I found myself floundering. Now what? 9 months of simply waiting? I began to ask Jesus what He wanted this season to be about and I kept hearing the word “rest”. I didn’t think I needed rest. I felt lost without a defined purpose (adopting a baby, starting newbornhood again). What kind of purpose is resting? A highly underrated one in my own culture-shaped mind. I didn’t want to rest, because I had no idea what it truly meant and no concept of what waited me on the other side. But Jesus has been confirming over and over again that this is my calling for a season, and has been, as I shared above, dispelling the fear and meeting me in ways I never expected.

I’m thankful for the many of you women who are there. Who’ve settled into the role of being a Daughter, and then a wife, mom, and friend with joy and rest. You’ve challenged me, encouraged me and helped me begin taking these baby step towards healing. I’d love to hear more about your own journeys if you’d be willing to share. Partnership in taking the low road is a sweet thing.

There is nothing casual about silence. In its peace it is productive. It prepares us for whatever is to come. Our bodily eyes may or may not be shut, but the eyes of the spirit are wide open and watchful. ~W. Beckett

I look back on the beginnings of our adoption journey in the fall of ’09 and I see myself, in some ways, like a starry-eyed teenager. Feeling invincible, adventurous, and running full steam ahead with an idealized ambition. Yet even in my immaturity, I feel Jesus’ delight and joy in that. Not shame, not annoyance, but delight in my innocence and my heart gushing with hope and wonder. We didn’t start this process perfectly, but we began it the best we knew how. We’re always a mixed bag. Woven with together with the threads of redemption and God’s own glory, and the threads of our humanity and weakness.

reality

Over the past year we’ve faced many twists and turns in our adoption journey. As well as skinned knees, face-plants over hidden roots, and snagging thorn bushes along the way. Some have been fierce blows, while others have been simple nuisances. But as our adoption counselor wisely reminded us a few weeks ago, “Adoption is not for the faint of heart.” I believe it’s even bigger than that. Life is not for the faint of heart, but we don’t typically get a choice in that matter. So what are we left with in the face of that reality? I believe we’re left staring into the eyes of the One who has promised He will never leave us. The One who dances over us each and every day. The One who promises to lead us. The One who is good all the time and never changes. The One who pursues the fatherless with reckless abandon. The One whose very real, very powerful presence is our haven of rest each and every day if we’re simply willing to fall into it.

And that is where Matthew and I stand right now. His gentle shepherding of our family. His perfect leadership that at times utterly confuses our earthly-minds. The strength of His love that is our only constant in this life. For here we are, in a swirl of emotions and a daily paradox of both grief and joy, that would utterly sweep us under if our gaze wasn’t firmly set on His.

hope and pain…

In October, we were matched with a birthmom and her little girl, due Dec. 21st. We were unprepared for how hard we would fall for that little girl, whose face we had yet to see. Early in the adoption process, I wrestled with new-to-adoption fears. Wondering if it was really possible to love your adopted children as much as your birth children. Wondering how bonding would occur. Wondering how long it would take. So I was completely unprepared for the floodgate that let loose in my heart when we received the call that D, the birthmom, had chosen us and that we would be meeting our new daughter, whom we named Maisy, in a few short months. I began to see her face everywhere. I poured my prayers into her little body and her mother’s womb. I woke up thinking about her and fell asleep with her on my mind.

And then we received “the call” on Dec. 14th, one week before we were to fly out for her birth, that D, our birthmom, was gone. Never to be heard from again. We were devastated. In some ways we were ashamed at ourselves for so wildly loving this little girl that wasn’t yet ours and yet to withold love felt foreign to us. We had to believe all our prayers and all our love we poured into her was for a reason, that may never be known to us.

the joyful twist…

On Christmas Eve, after a rough week of grieving, we received another call from our adoption agency that a new birthmom was letting the agency chose her family…and they wanted to chose us, after what had happened. News that we held close to our family just to wait and see how things progressed. Another precious girl, due January 28th. We were in shock and overjoyed. Even in the midst of our sorrow and confusion over losing Maisy, we slowly began to let our hearts open to the possibility of this baby. And ever so slowly, begin to hope again.

trumped…

A week later, Matthew walked into our bedroom to find me sobbing on the edge of the bed. A positive pregnancy test laying beside me.

Despite our ramped-up protective measures during this adoption process, it was “against all odds”, in the beginning of December, that God created this little life in me. His plans trumped ours. He ordained this little soul into our family and that is a blessing and a gift. We were overjoyed by this little life. And yet we still found ourselves caught in a paradox of emotions almost daily.

On that day, there were just no words. I found myself spinning out of control. I felt utterly and devastatingly confused. Over the course of the next few weeks, I’d find myself daily, nestled up in God’s arms, just crying and asking why. Why was this seed of adoption planted in my heart? Why had it grown into such a living, breathing part of me only to be put on hold again? Why had my heart been opened and so completely captivated by having a daughter, when I only ever wanted boys? Why yet another unexpected pregnancy? Why now? What if this baby doesn’t make it like the other one last year? Could my heart handle any more loss? In the darkest moments of those weeks I would hear over and over….

His leadership is perfect. He is trustworthy and good ALL the time.

a new, unexpected season

For so many readers, this might bring up a surge of unpredictable emotions. From your own story. Your own heartache. And I don’t want to be callous or careless in my response to this news. I simply want to share my heart as an adoptive mom. Because I don’t think I would have understood the pain this story held a few years ago. But for me, I feel as if I’m grieving the loss of two little girls. Two little girls that we were not yet mine, but that I had fixed my love on. Grieving the loss of a dream for now. A hope for adoption to be woven into our family. For the past few weeks I’ve felt each day holds a mix of both joy and sadness. We have life, a little soul with it’s body forming. This is a gift and delight. We also have a broken, delayed dream to adopt and two girls we’ve had to say goodbye to. This is heartache deep and unexplainable.

We want to whole-heartedly thank all of you for your prayers, your support, and your gifts throughout this year as we moved through the adoption process. We do not feel this new path God is leading us down means an end to that journey. We fully believe he planted the seed of adoption in our heart and made it flourish for a reason. All of our adoption funding has been transferred to a savings account until we are able to begin the process again in another year or so. We jokingly believe this might just be God’s way of helping us have a larger family than we had planned for. Four kids seemed manageable with the hope of two adoptions in our future. It might eek up to five now, but we’re letting God lead all of those decisions, as He inevitably will anyhow.

prayers

Please pray for us over these coming weeks. For freedom from fear about this pregnancy. Not all of you may know that last year at this exact same time, we also had an unexpected pregnancy and then lost the baby at 8 weeks. We’ve thankfully passed that mark and are heading into week 10 with an ultrasound last week that looked great. Yet we need to keep our gaze set on Christ and His love for us individually and as a family. For healing, as we grieve the loss of these two baby girls. For overflowing joy, for this baby God has given us. For the gift that he or she is. For our hearts to be aligned with God’s plan and purpose for why now. And most importantly, for Jesus to be the bedrock of our souls in this weary, wild season we’re in.

p.s.

On a completely different side note, yes, the blog is new. We had been working on it with the impending arrival of the newest minismith. I’ve yet to categorize anything pre-2011 and probably won’t. As you can see, there are archives dating waaaay back though. And if you have any desire to go back that far, you’ll quickly see just how far Jesus has brought us. Those were some rocky years.

Enjoy the new look. Give my amazingly talented web designer / business owner husband a shout out for his beautiful and inspiring design skillz.