'Twas the Night Before Matthew

‘Twas the night before Matthew and all up the shore

the people were worried like never before.

The storm that was brewing was truly gigantic!

It left the forecasters and locals quite frantic.

The storm, it was growing, it was up to Cat 4;

People were praying it wouldn’t grow any more.

They prayed for a west wind; that the storm wouldn’t wobble

to the west - for that would be truly horrible.

Haiti, Cuba, and Nassau had already been hit

Folks in South Florida screamed, “This is it!

It’s the one we’ve been warned about, it’s the largest storm ever!

No one alive has seen this kind of weather!”

“This is the worst; you all gon’ die!”

Said the meteorologists with fear in their eyes.

The gas lines were long, there’s no milk and no bread.

Water was hoarded with feelings of dread.

While people evacuated to the northwest,

First responders stayed behind to do their best

at keeping folks safe as they rode out the storm.

Their families alone as they worried at home.

The forecasters try to prepare for what’s coming.

They recall all the past storms’ names they can summon.

There’s Dora and Wilma, Andrew and Bonnie,

Katrina and Ivan, Sandy and Charley.

We’ve decided to stay. Our generator will run.

Everyone staying will just hunker down.

We have food and water, our pets just belong.

We just hope that we don’t lose our power too long.

God’s in control, and He can calm storms.

It’s up to us to put this worry in his arms.

Please pray that we live through this storm that’s off shore.

And pray that we don’t see Jim Cantore!

The Problem with Prayer

It's been about two months now.  

My cousin's daughter was pretty fussy before bedtime, and her parents, knowing that she was cranky with tiredness, put her in her bed and left her room.  When my cousin's husband went to check on his daughter later that night, he found her tangled in her window blinds.  She was already non-responsive.  She was resuscitated, whisked to the nearest children's hospital, and put on life support.  Family members were called - including myself.  Prayers chains were called - and formed - to pray for this precious girl and her family. 

I contacted the most spiritual women I know.  All of them.  I begged them to pray on their faces on behalf of my cousin's daughter.  I prayed in faith myself.

I truly believed that God would save my cousin's daughter. I prayed in complete faith. Here's one of the verses that I meditated on while I prayed: "Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing (healing), and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it." John 14:12-14 (emphasis mine)

And also this one, which speaks of a father trying to save his beloved son: "And Jesus said to him, ‘If You can? All things are possible to him who believes.' Immediately the boy’s father cried out and said, 'I do believe; help my unbelief!'" Mark 9:23-24 (again, emphasis mine)

I also remembered the story of Lazarus, Jesus's friend, who was *dead* for FOUR days. Jesus felt compassion for their family; he even wept with them. Then, just before his own crucifixion, Jesus raised Lazarus from the DEAD. Couldn't God do even more with a child who hadn't even died yet? I absolutely and with all certainty believed so.

After constant prayer, and complete belief that God would save her, she was taken off life support while surrounded by her parents and grandparents. 

And she left this earth.

They held their daughter's memorial service on what would have been her second birthday.

The very same week that my sweet second cousin died, I received news that my best friend's mom had been diagnosed with advanced Leukemia.  Still dazed with grief, I prayed for my friend's mother. This same woman who asked me to call her "Mama" when I was in her home.  The same woman who wrote me messages of encouragement when she knew that I was going through a rough time. I was able to visit with her once before she, too, passed into her eternal reward.

And the very same week that sweet Mama Karen was ushered into heaven, another dear friend wrote that her mother had suffered a sudden aneurysm. I prayed heartfelt, fervent requests again.  And again, after just a few hours, my friend's mother passed from this earth into eternity.

Consequently, I went through a period of anger and a crushing disappointment after each time.  I just didn't understand why God didn't answer my prayers like I wanted him to.  It seemed to go against the scriptures that I mentioned before as well as the other "prayer" verses that I've known for so long.

James 5:15-16 says this: "And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective."

And when Jesus's closest friends had issues with not being able to cleanse a man from demons, Jesus had this to say to them: "He replied, 'Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, "Move from here to there," and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.'" (Matthew 17:20)

So, if I believe these verses to be true, and I do, what do they say if the opposite is true?  What do these verses tell me about my own righteousness - my own faith - if my prayers received a "No."?

I'm not a stranger to unanswered prayers.  I understand that everyone gets a "no" from God every once in a while.  When I railed at God when a dear friend's baby died a few years ago, I remembered when He spoke to Job after Job lost everything and then wanted to question God.  And God pretty much told Job to check himself before he wrecks himself. Okay, I'm paraphrasing a bit here.  In all seriousness, God told Job that He Himself created everything and was sovereign. Which I completely believe to be true. And Job went on to praise God anyway, even though he didn't understand why God chose to do the things He did.

And that's where I am now.  Talking with my husband, I had to admit that I just don't believe in the power of prayer anymore. At least not my prayers. I just don't.  This hasn't changed my belief in God.  On the contrary, I believe more than ever that God is in control.  He's going to do what He wants to do. He gives and takes away. Regardless of the outcome, I will praise His holy  name.

I've heard that prayer doesn't necessarily change God's plans, but it changes our hearts to correspond to God's will.

Ask me to pray for you, your child, your marriage, your sibling, your pet, your job, etc., and I will.  I really will.  But, honestly, my prayers won't do a thing to help you.  God loves you.  He's good. He wants what's best for you.

It's only God who can help you and your concerns.  While I'm honored to go to the throne of God on your behalf, please let me reassure you. While I don't have any confidence in my prayers at all, I have ALL confidence in God, who made heaven and earth, who knows you and me, and who loves us enough to send His son to die for us. While that might be frustrating, on this side of heaven all we can do is trust the One who knows exactly how the story of our lives ends and is eventually redeemed.

Something Profound

"I keep waiting for him to say something profound.  But it just hasn't happened."

My oldest son was promoted this past Sunday to the youth group.  He's going into sixth grade this fall.  Granted, he's always been a very bright kid.  He taught himself how to read, and was reading fluently by the time he turned three. He begged me to let him start school work when he was nearly four, and he finished the Kindergarten curriculum that I got for him before he was five. (In hindsight, I wish I hadn't let him start so early, but that's a different story for a different day.)

He can currently read on a college level, but most days he can't be bothered to read anything that I give him. He'd much rather do something "fun" than read. He can understand some fairly complicated math, but he hates sitting down to do it.  In fact, it's a fight to get him to do any work at all.  If he's not being paid for it, and it's not fun for him, he just doesn't want to do it.

As a homeschooling mom, who also used to be an elementary teacher, this almost literally hurts my heart.  I really wanted to be able to sit down and have deep conversations with my children about politics, literature, and science.  I know that many eleven year-olds aren't interested in talking with their parents about such things, especially in depth, but a teacher can dream, can't she?

This Sunday, when my husband picked my son up from his final elementary Bible school class at church, he talked with my son's teacher before leaving the classroom.  There are four kids, including our son, who are moving up to the youth group this upcoming Sunday.  She remarked how immature this group seems to be - including our son. She's unsure how this group of four is going to fare in the youth group. That's when she said, about our son, "I keep waiting for him to say something profound.  But it just hasn't happened."

When my husband told me what she said (out of earshot of our kids, of course), it was like I got punched in the gut.  Knowing what I do about my son's work ethic, this shouldn't have surprised me.  I know that he doesn't think very seriously about a good many things. I definitely don't think that he's sitting around contemplating things Biblical in nature.

But his teacher, as well as myself, remember the brilliant little boy.  The one who knew scads of Bible verses, the Lord's Prayer, and the Greek alphabet. (I'm pretty sure he still knows these things, but it seems so much more impressive when they're coming out of the mouth of a three year-old.)  It honestly seemed at the time when he was so young that he was going to grow up and be able to talk with the teachers and scribes just like Jesus did when he was twelve.

So, knowing his poor work ethic and disdain for all-things work related, why am I surprised and disappointed when a teacher mentions to us that she sees the same thing?  Is it simply because she noticed?  Someone found me out for a fraud of a Christian mother and teacher? Or am I disappointed because I wanted something more for him than just the love of pleasant diversions? Or did I find PRIDE in my son's abilities, and God wants me to learn to be humble?

To be honest, when I was expecting my son, my husband and I would pray over him.  We asked God to make our child caring and loving.  Looks and brains just didn't mean as much to us.  And, if I'm honest with myself, I think I am disappointed that he turned out handsome and smart with little or no empathy for others.

Regardless, it's been a bit of a wake-up call.  I know that he's young.  He really does have time to change his work-ethic.  One of the things that I'll be working with him the most this upcoming school year is how to change his attitude as well as his view on work.  I want to have conversations and not lectures.  Helping him find joy in his work as well as loving on him (and helping him learn to love on others) is what I'll be focusing on this year.

A Little Love For You and Me

A few nights ago my youngest, who has just turned two, begged me to rock her before I put her in her bed to go to sleep.

"Pweese, Mommy? Pweese rock? Pweeeeeese?"

It had been a long, rough day in our house.  Nothing too bad, just everything seemed to happen all at once.  Our dog had an accident on the floor. While I was trying to keep my youngest two away from that mess, one of my boys ran inside after falling off of his bike.  He had scraped his elbow and knee pretty badly, and I needed to clean and bandage him up as well as clean up the blood that had dripped on the floor. One of my other sons was having trouble with a math concept and needed me to sit next to him while he worked through it.  And yet another was refusing to be kind about most anything at all, choosing instead to skulk around the house throwing negativity where he walked.  I was feeling overwhelmed.  And, honestly, I was touched out after a day of kissing boo-boos, hugging and comforting older kiddos, and cleaning up the little messes throughout the house.  I desperately needed some time alone, and I had waited all day to get it.

But I heard my baby girl pleading to be rocked. I almost kissed her goodnight and walked out of her room.

Almost.

Instead, I closed her door, picked her up along with her fuzziest blanket, and carried her to the rocking chair.

She was so excited and pleased that she laughed her sweet giggle.  She immediately laid her head on my shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth. I sang a few little songs to her, and at first, she sang along with her sweet, soft voice. She patted my arm and, after each song she would say, "Wuv you, Mommy.  Sing?"  And I would start another little song.  But as I rocked, she grew more content with her thumb and listened.  After a few minutes, I felt her body get heavier and her breathing slowed and deepened.  She was finally asleep.

Instead of immediately putting her in her crib to get to the me-time that I had been craving before, I lingered listening to her deep breaths with her soft little hand curled around my arm.  As I rocked this sweet baby of mine, I started thinking about lots of things: how quickly she was growing, how her arms and legs were still soft and squeezable, how much I wanted to remember how it felt to rock this baby of mine.  But the thing that I kept coming back to was how many moms I knew who would give their last cent to be able to rock their babies again.

No matter whether their babies had grown too big to rock or whether their babies were taken away from them too early, I know what it feels like to have empty arms and an empty rocking chair.  Once a mom has felt that sweetness, there's an ache when it's not available.

So, for all of you moms experiencing baby-loss (whatever that might look like to you), I rocked this baby of mine tonight.  I rocked her for me and for you.  For us.

Backwards

I'm preparing the lamb roast for Passover. The air is thick with the scent of rosemary from our garden and honey from my husband's bees.  As I inhale, I remember the year that we've had since our last Passover. My husband is a year farther along in his job.  My kids are a year older.  I'm a year... wiser?  Not really.  A year more patient?  Nope.  A year more loving?  More kind? More understanding?  Not even close.

I'm definitely a year more confused. More angry.  More desperate. More hopeless.

Our family is Christian.  We try to follow the ways of Christ.  We celebrate "regular" Christian holidays like Christmas and Easter.  But other holidays are special to us for different reasons. We celebrate Hanukkah and Purim and Passover for the lessons that they teach us and the celebrations that they are.

Passover, in particular, is a beautiful holiday.  It's a way for our family to reflect and remember Christ's death for us, and how that pertains to the angel of death as the 12th plague of Egypt. We celebrate it as a way to ready our hearts for Easter; or Resurrection Sunday.  Passover is usually either right before or right after Easter.  This year, Passover is nearly a month after Easter, and it just feel backwards somehow.  It's hard to reflect on something that is yet to happen.

But, that seems to be the case this year.  A couple of weeks before, my cousin's almost two year-old daughter was killed in a freak accident.  It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did.  That same week, the mother of one of my best friends was diagnosed with leukemia.  She has since passed away - she went quickly.  And that exact same week, another friend's mother died suddenly after having an aneurysm.  And I'm stunned.  And broken.  These were all innocents.  The baby girl was supposed to celebrate her 2nd birthday just a few days after her death. The two mothers were loved figureheads in their families.  They were upright Christian women, who lived wholesome, clean lives. They undoubtedly went on to their reward in heaven.  But what about the heart-broken families that were left here to grieve their loss? What about their lives that were cut short?

Doesn't life seem backward lately?  I know the adage "the good die young."  But that's not quite the same thing here. I have complete assurance of all of these new souls in heaven.  But that doesn't help the hopelessness that I feel about the unjustness of it all.

One thing that isn't backward is that life is a vapor. We're not promised another single day here on earth. I've known that since I was little.  But I've only just begun to *feel* how true that is.