Fearless

When I watch my son play, I imagine a future of X game tournaments, filled with bikes flying high and flipping over 8 times while on a snowboard. This week, I watched him make a ramp out of books in an attempt to climb onto the living room table and had to grab him before he crawled over the arm of the couch, to get on the air conditioner. He also realized he could climb onto the foot rest of his stroller and throw himself inside. Every stunt begins almost the same: He looks around for my husband or I, creates his method and then he goes for it. Most of the time he falls or gets taken down before he has the opportunity to achieve his goal, but he gets right back up and tries again. When I see his stunts, I always wonder if this will be the time we end up going to the emergency room, but his laughter says he'll be just fine.

There are times, though, when my little daredevil isn't so fearless. It generally happens between 12:30 and 3:30 am, when I hear through the monitor a panicked whimpering. It quickly transitions to insistent crying, as if to yell into the darkness, "Mama! Dada! Where are you??" The last thing our son remembers at the end of any day is falling asleep in our arms, and when he doesn't wake up there, it's almost like he can't even process our absence. Tonight, he was so upset when he woke up, that when I tried to hold him in my lap, he tried to throw himself on the floor. All I could think to do was put on his favorite music, Bob Marley, and walk him around the room. After rubbing his eyes into my shoulder, he eventually shifted downward, and with the sound of my heart beating in his ear, he fell asleep on my chest by the end of "No woman, no cry."

God told his people not to fear, and it was always with the caveat, "For I am with you." (Isaiah 41:10) I'm finding that fearlessness is only something we can achieve if there is something greater than what we fear with us. I've been reminded of the story of Daniel, when he was put in the lions den. King Darius came to him and said, "May your God, whom you serve continually, rescue you!" The next morning, after a restless night, the king ran to the lion's den and in an "anguished voice" cried out, "Daniel, servant of the living God, has your God, whom you serve continually, been able to rescue you from the lions?!" (Daniel 6) Even a pagan king, like Darius, who had decreed that he would be the only entity within the kingdom that would be prayed to for 30 days understood that lions were less fearful than the God Daniel served. This situation is exactly what John was trying to illustrate when he said, "Greater is He who is in us, than he who is in the world." (1 John 4:4)

I imagine Daniel was still terrified. Fear is usually legitimate when faced with hungry lions. What if God didn't come through? I think that's a question we all ask, and so did many others throughout the bible. Right now, my church is doing a series called, "Leap of Faith," where we're supposed to very specifically ask God for something big that's on our heart. If I was going to be honest, I hate stuff like this. There is such fear in the risk of jumping and not being caught, or hitting a few cliffs along the way. What if I ask for help, like Daniel did, and end up being fed to lions? Will God protect me? Will God let me get eaten? How do I know for sure? If I was Daniel, I probably just wouldn't have outwardly prayed for a month, and believed God would understand. Approaching this series fills me with not only fear, but absolute dread. It's no wonder God says he doesn't give us a spirit of fear, but of power, love and a sound mind, (2 Tim 1:7) when you think about what fear does to you. Fear makes you feel powerless, angry, sometimes to a volatile point, and paranoid. Nothing has even happened yet, and this fear has already convinced me that God isn't going to change our circumstances and I'm already angry about how my faithlessness is going to be exposed.

The church has very neatly wrapped up this crisis with saying at the end of the Lenten season, by doing Leap of Faith, we will, at the very least, have spent more time in God's presence, and established a greater connection. We'll get him, and that will be enough. I again, think about my little one, and how sometimes, all he wants is me, and that's enough to drive his fears away. I think of how the fears get bigger as he does, and some day soon, I'll be trying to convince him that there's nothing in his closet, or under his bed. I wonder how I will reassure him, and I find myself leading him to the same place our church is attempting to lead me, to the feet of Jesus; Promising that there's nothing in existence bigger than Jesus, and that Jesus lives in us, so we have no reason to be afraid. How can I encourage my son to face his lion's den and cliff face if I won't do the same? I guess it means I have to leap.

("Leap of Faith," Ben Templin, Wolf Tribe Photography, NJ. Used with permission)

Hope Deferred

About 3 weeks ago, my husband and I found out we were expecting again. We were shocked, to say the least. A number of my friends have been trying to get pregnant, unsuccessfully, one just lost their son, and another had a miscarriage. I didn't understand why God would give us, people perfectly content with our 1, another, and not give to those who wanted. Some friends sympathized with being thrown a loop, some friends were angry and called me ungrateful. I was just proud that I was reacting 1000% better than when I found out I was pregnant the first time. After about a week, we accepted that we were having another child, and even felt that God had told me this child's name was Hope. We started scheduling appointments for the next few weeks, and went on like we did with my pregnancy with my son.

Then on Valentine's day, after work, I found myself bleeding. I went to the e.r. and was sent home a few hours later, being told that I was threatening miscarriage, and to go home and rest. I called out of work, and was hanging out with my son and husband, when I felt something happening. I lost our baby at 9:30pm on Sunday. I lost Hope.

That may sound dramatic, and some friends have even told me that I must have heard wrong about their name. However, in a metaphorical sense, there's nothing closer to the truth. Pregnancy is something hoped for, the promise of a life and the impact it will have. Miscarriage is the loss of all that potential, and the hope that was built into it. The cocktail of emotions that come with is a roller coaster of guilt, sadness and confusion. Why would God give me something I wasn't prepared for, ask me to accept and make space in my heart for, to then let it die? It feels like I've asked this question again and again, in various circumstances, as I've felt hope rise up in my spirit, only to have the result be dashed to pieces.

Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." I've spoken to a few friends who have also recently lost their pregnancies, and they all speak of heartsickness. I've seen that heartsickness develop into hopelessness and heard believers doubt that God even could fulfill their heart's deepest longings.

Abraham and Sarah laughed at God. Sarah was 90 when God told Abraham that she would have a child. She had conceded to hopelessness to the point that she handed her maidservant over to her husband, so that at least he would have an heir. 13 years had already passed since Ishmael had been born, and every day, he was a reminder of Sarah's barrenness. First, Abraham fell on his face, laughing at God, asking will two very old people suddenly become parents? He even asked that God just bless Ishmael, his existing son, rather than give him another. Sarah, when visitors had come, laughed when she heard them tell Abraham she would have a son, and said, "After I am worn out, and my lord is old, will I now have this pleasure?" Her hope had become sarcasm and bitterness. God responded with asking, "Is anything too difficult for me?" (Genesis 17 & 18) Later on, in Genesis 22, God asked Abraham if he was willing to sacrifice Isaac back to Him. I imagine the absolute torment in his soul, having to choose between the promise and security of his future, and all the dreams and aspiration built into Isaac and faith in the promise of his God. As I look at my own little one, if I am honest, I would not have been so obedient to go as far as he did.

The disappointment that leads to hopelessness is a tool of Satan that attacks at our most vulnerable. It attempts to convince us that everything God said about hope being one of the things that lasts isn't true, and to believe otherwise is foolish. It tells us that the only way to protect our heart is to not let it want or dream or chase the things it has longed for. It tells us not to make space for things that make our blood pump a little faster, because they, too, will become like dust and be gone before we know it. Sarah tried for years to bear Abraham a child before she gave up and threw another woman into his arms. It seemed utterly foolish to believe, even from the mouth of God, that this joy could be hers. It was too big of a dream, with too much risk to her heart and too much potential for disappointment. Hopelessness feels safe, and many of us cling to it in times of heartbreak.

So how do we break free from hopelessness? David, Jeremiah, and Paul, all tell us to hope in the everlasting love of God. We are told they who put their hope in God shall never be put to shame; that they whose hope is in God will be filled with joy and peace; and that faith and love spring from hope in God. (Psalm 25:3/Romans 15:13/Colossians 1:5) If I was going to be perfectly honest, none of that makes me feel better, or the safety of hopelessness less appealing. But as my friend Jenny said, there is "brutal truth [in Jesus] [that] breaks barriers to let hope in." As I follow Christ, I am inclined toward hope. When there is a choice between the glorious and the safe, my spirit reaches for that which is lasting, full and awe inspiring. It doesn't care if the circumstances make sense, or if the risks are high, Hope arises. The only thing I can do is let it happen, and trust that the things that don't work out the way I expect them to are being held by my Abba, who makes beautiful things out of my brokenness.

Where can I go from your presence?

So, this post takes parenting back a little bit, to my pregnancy with our little guy. Something was happening and I was asked to intercede for someone. As I was in worship, he started kicking me. When I was praying, he kicked me harder. I touched my stomach and said, "Oh... you feel that too. That's Abba. He loves you so much." I was immediately immersed in the presence of the Holy Spirit, and goosebumps overtook me while the little person growing within me did somersaults, dancing in His presence. It's something I remember often, with great joy.

His presence, lately, isn't something I've been able to revel in. I've been upset with the way things have turned out this last year. I've been upset that all my plans have been circumvented. Even since 2015 has started, we've experienced death, major illness, financial difficulty, the loss of dreams that were so, so hoped for, and have sat with those we love in the midst of the own struggles and pain. We've been met with grace and understanding, have been extended peace and comfort, and have even been supported. We've been shoulders that have kept the precious tears of those we hold closest, and arms that have embraced the broken and contrite. However, an old, familiar voice tells me that it's "obvious" God doesn't care about what I want. God isn't interested in what makes me happy, and that all I am is a "worker bee."

David, in Psalm 139, asks, "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 of Sheol (which we know as hell) You are there." That being the case, I've had a hard time telling God I don't want to talk right now. He reminds me, in previous verses, that he knows my lying down and getting up, when I sit and when I rise, that He perceives my thoughts from afar and that before a word leaves my mouth, He knows it completely. He has searched me, and knows me. As a matter of fact, it was He who knit me together in the secret place, the same way I felt him interacting with my little one when I was pregnant. (vs 1-16)

I think of all this and wonder how it's even possible that He wouldn't care what makes me happy. Why go through the effort? Knowing someone as intimately as having knit them together, gives you this access to their personality where you know what brings them the deepest joy, and the knowledge of how to meet their needs in their deepest sorrow. My favorite sound in the entirety of creation is my son's laughter. It's something I'm passionate about, and go after regularly. His joy is contagious, and I am jealous for it and protective over it and believe it will change lives. I know what he wants before he goes after it, and I can feel the glances he gives me when he wants me to chase him without having to make eye contact. When he is sick or in pain, it is the worst feeling I've experienced. Only having had a part in knitting him together, and getting to know who he is from his creation can give me this level of passion.

I still don't understand why my plans weren't good enough (I made them... I thought they were pretty awesome,) or why so much has happened that seems to disregard the impact to my heart. I don't believe that "everything happens for a reason," but I also don't believe that a parent who puts forth the effort that Abba does can just turn around and not care about His child. There are familiar voices who would tell me otherwise, but He knows me, and has known me from the pinpoint of my creation. He calls me fearfully and wonderfully made. He thinks better of me than I do of myself. He's my Abba, of course He cares.

Breaking down boundaries and expanding territory

My husband and I were told last week that our 9 month old should be walking any day now. He's been cruising for awhile, and for a long time, our living room was cut in half by a makeshift barricade, to keep his activity contained. Parents are typically told not to give their kids too much space at first, because they can get "stuck" where they are. Stuck in the sense that they've ventured further than they're comfortable and aren't quite sure how to get back. Keeping their spaces small at first will give them a sense of security and keep them from getting stuck too far away. Our little guy started trying to climb our barricade, and even one point squished himself between the boxes and wiggled his way to the other side, and we knew it was time to change the boundary. We finally moved the barricade to between the kitchen and living room, and have expanded his territory by double! He still gets stuck, usually when he's tired, and will fall on the floor, face into the carpet, and cry. One of us will rescue him and bring him back to the familiarity of the toy box or the book shelf, but it's never long before he crawls or cruises away.

I think sometimes, we look at the boundaries in our lives and see them as permanent fixtures, which we've grown accustomed to. Some of these boundaries are comfortable for awhile, but eventually, we ask God to break them down and expand our territory, and then when He does, we're not really sure what to do. This sure happened with Peter, in Matthew 14, when he saw Jesus walking on the water. It says that the disciples were terrified, and cried out, thinking Jesus was a ghost. Peter was the only one who said, "If it's you, tell me to come to you on the water." "Come," Jesus replied. Knowing that Jesus had the authority to break down the boundary between the floor of the boat and the fluidity of the water, and expand his territory, he stepped onto the water, and out of the boat. He was walking on water toward Jesus! The account goes on to say that as he was walking, the wind picked up, and he became afraid, and he started to sink. He cried out, "Lord! Save me!" and Jesus immediately reached out his hand and grabbed him. Lifting Peter to his feet, I can imagine the disheartened tone Jesus had when he said, "You of little faith, why did you doubt?" (Matthew 14:22-33)

Peter is a great example of how we'll move into expanded territory, become afraid of the unknown and unfamiliar and get stuck. He was given brand new territory that signified so much: an authority over the basic understanding of how life worked. He trusted that Jesus could give him that authority, and stepped out into the unknown. When he got too far from what he was accustomed to, he became afraid and got stuck. All he could do was cry out to Jesus to be saved. God is always matching our maturity with relocating boundaries and expanding our territory into spaces we never thought we'd go. They can be at work, within relationships, in ministry, or even with our own kiddos. As we're traversing this new territory, it's easy to see something that was benign or manageable from our former boundary, like wind from inside of a boat, and become terrified. What can this exposure cost me? What could these factors do to me over here as opposed to over there? We freeze and get stuck and start crying out, the way my son does, when he loses his confidence in his ability to get back to us. In those moments, we have to believe that Jesus isn't standing over us, berating us, calling us a loser and telling us to just get going, or kicking us when we start going down. He is there, full of compassion, and almost hurt that we doubted him; That we doubted expanded territory comes with greater authority.

I'm being called into a new season, and let me tell you, I am not prepared for this. It seems the things God is entrusting me with, or giving me authority over I either never wanted or had other plans for. The circumstances that surround this territory can be absolutely terrifying, and often I wonder what I'm doing, or if I go too far, if I will find my way back. There are days I long for my old boundary, and would feel so much safer and happier behind my wall. If you are in a similar place, I encourage you, listen for Jesus, and throw your hands up. In the same way I rescue my son when he gets stuck, He will rescue us. But if we're not afraid (of the wind and waves) and just believe (in the authority He gives us, and His ability in and though us) as were the words of Jesus so many times to those who walked with him, we will find ourselves running before we know it.

Give us this day our daily bread

I think my son's favorite activity is eating. You'd never tell by all 19 lbs of him, but if he sees someone with food, it's only moments before he'll be standing boldly at their feet, giving the biggest smile he can muster, and with all his charm, attempt to mind trick them into sharing. When charm fails, he transitions to grunting, stomping, grasping and perpetual whining and wailing until he is fed. His hunger is insistent, and he will be as vocal as necessary until it is satisfied.

Too often, I'm in prayer circles with people who either a) refuse to pray for themselves, claiming that they are blessed with what they have and that God has more pressing concerns, or b) go to God with something like this, "And God, if you remember my job situation, please help me be happier there. I know that I'm lucky to even have a job, and just because it doesn't pay the bills, doesn't mean I can't be grateful. Help me to be grateful. Amen." These anemic prayers butt up against the image of my son asking me for what he needs.

The author of Hebrews says, "Let us approach the throne of grace with confidence, that we may receive mercy and find grace in our time of need." (Heb 4:6) What makes him think we can or should approach the throne with confidence, translated in some bibles as "boldness?" Jesus does. In Matthew 6, Jesus illustrates that pagans of the day went on and on, because their gods liked the flowery language, but says that our Father in heaven knows what we need before we even ask, and led us in the prayer model we call "Our Father," where he encourages us to ask for our daily bread. He goes on in Matthew 7 saying, "Ask, and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened to you." He then asks the crowd if any man whose son asked for bread would give him a stone, or if asked for a fish, would give him a snake? He said that much in the way we want to give good things to our children, God desires to give good gifts to his. (Matthew 7:7-11)

He is OUR FATHER. What parent would be happy if their child came to them saying, "Umm, Mom/Dad, it's been a few hours since I ate, and I'm starting to feel a little rumbly, but I know that you're busy, so whenever you feel like feeding me, that is, if you even want to feed me, that would be awesome. But if you're asking me to fast by not feeding me, I totally get it, and I'll stay happily hungry until you decide I should eat"? None of us! So why do we think that makes God happy? Much as I want my son to come to me plainly and with confidence and not have to guess what he wants, our Father wants us to come to Him plainly, and believe that our needs are important to him. For if we would meet the needs of our children instead of playing a cruel prank on them, how much more does God want to meet our needs when we ask Him?