A Phone Call

When my cell phone rang this morning I didn't recognize the number so I almost didn't pick up, but at the last second I did. I was surprised to hear my good friend's voice on the other end. She had just read my blog and was in tears. I seem to get this response a lot. We talked for a few minutes and made plans to see each other face to face.


After I hung up, I started thinking about an email I had gotten a few days ago from another close friend. She was sharing the pain that was stirred in her when she had read my blog. I wasn't exactly sure how my friends' responses were making me feel but I realized it did stir a longing in me to reach women through my writing. I began to say to Jesus, "Whatever you want to do with all this is fine. I give it to you."

But wait! My heart began to pound. This was so familiar. I couldn't finish the prayer and the words were stuck in my throat. I had to choke them back. I realized I didn't mean this prayer. And, I knew why.

Instantly, I was back in our first apartment. Steve had just dropped me off after THE doctor visit. The one where we found out we were having twins. I remember coming into our apartment, alone. It was early afternoon and Steve had gone back to work. As I stood there in our small den I found myself kneeling by our second-hand couch and praying. I prayed, "Thank you, Jesus for this miracle. It's not what we expected but I give them to you. Whatever you want with them is fine with me."

This morning, with my cell phone still in hand, I knew I couldn't pray that same prayer over my blog. I couldn't pray that over my kids, my husband, even myself.

But, I have prayed this prayer over the years. Of course, I have. I've prayed many times "not my will, but Yours be done." But, as I sat there this morning I knew- I knew in the deepest place of knowing- I've never meant it. Not one word of that prayer have I meant since the day I prayed it over David and Ruth. Whatever God chooses is not okay with me.

He let me down. He chose something no loving heavenly father would ever choose. He chose death for them. He chose to allow them to die. He allowed it. He could have stopped them from dying. He could have stopped the infection that was raging through my body and killed them and almost killed me. He didn't. He looked the other way.

So many disappointments over the years, so many broken dreams and dashed hopes. It's not just the twins, it's everything. It's the moving 8 times, the leaving behind and the starting over. It's the broken friendships, the financial strain, the thoughtless words spoken between Steve and me. The angry teens and the whiny toddlers. It's the sleepless nights and the lost vacations. It's the looks of disappointment on our parishioners' faces. The so many "No's" we've heard, and the so few "Yes".

Where has God been in all of this?

On a dark night, not too long ago I lay on my bedroom floor railing against the Lord. I cried out from a place within me that was so deep I wasn't sure I could return from it. It was so raw, so honest that there was a big part of me that was afraid. Afraid to go there, afraid to be so real with God. It gave new meaning to Psalm 42. "My tears have been my food day and night."

I feel as if I've feasted on my tears for so many years.

That night, after my tears ran dry and exhaustion began to set in, I still lay there on the floor, straining to hear a word from the Lord. No explanations came. No answers. But an invitation.

I heard my heavenly Father invite me to take communion. I held my breath. I must have heard wrong. How could He extend himself to me in that way after all the accusations I had just hurled at him?

Then an answer came. Forgiveness.

I sat on our front porch with the wine and the bread, and with renewed tears took communion. Nourishing tears this time. The food of forgiveness. The drink of Love.

I will pray those words again, "Your will be done." And, I will mean it. I know God doesn't have to answer to me for anything. I know I will never understand many of the things that have happened in my life. Much of the pain and grief will always be a mystery. Even the small day to day disappointments that may seem to much to bear are in the hands of my Savior. And I believe, if not all the time, then most of the time, that that is exactly where it all belongs.

In the bruised hands of Love.

Mom in Training

It's 5:30 a.m. and I'm up giving goldfish to Noah, my three year old. The time change is a bear. I like getting up early to have some quiet time to start my day. To gather my thoughts and pray. It was difficult before the time change to beat Noah out of bed but now it's impossible. He's the lightest sleeper we've ever had. If I breathe while walking past his room then his head flies off the pillow and he's at the door. He doesn't sleep well either. He's up 2 or 3 times a night. Our last two kids have been terrible sleepers, so basically I haven't slept since 2004.

If I wasn't so sleep deprived I'm sure I'd think it was funny in a weird kind of way. In my twenties I'm sure I could have handled this lack of sleep better but now, twenty years later and many children later I need some sleep! What was God thinking giving me a strong willed, energetic, extroverted boy at 40? I'm tired. I'm sure there's some irony here, some lesson to learn but it's hard to learn anything when you can barely think straight enough to tie your shoes.

In bible study the other morning my group was having a deep, theological discussion about Paul. I swear I sat there thinking about what I had put in my kid's lunches that morning. The conversation bounced around me like a one of those small bouncy balls you get from a gum ball machine. All crazy and out of control. I admire that these women can be so fresh and insightful at 9:30 in the morning. I decided right then and there if anyone wants any deep and penetrating idea from me it needs to be in the 11 am. hour. That's my good hour. Any time before and I'm fuzzy from the lack of sleep and the frenzied morning pace. Any time after and I'm already starting my wind down for the day. The slow descent into housework, laundry, carpooling, homework, dinner, baths and finally bedtime.

I worry sometimes that my life will never return to "normal". I wonder if I will one day get back to a rational way of thinking and talking.

Last night in the car, on the way to soccer practice my daughter asked me, "what time does practice start?" My response was, "what practice?" Unfortunately, my two teenage daughters were in the car. You'd have thought I was on stage at Comedy Central. I started to yell at them, tell them I'd like to see them sit in a chair and have six people talking to them all at once, asking questions, demanding things and see if they could utter a sane syllable. But, I didn't. I stopped myself because honestly, it was funny. And too, I thought about my mom and how she'd said crazy things that never made sense like, "for crying out loud someone go unbark that dog!" We, all five of her children, laughed at her and even wrote down her sayings so we could remember them and laugh again one day at her absurd words.

Maybe I am befuddled and a little mentally hectic these days. But, if I allow myself I can also be full of laughter and whimsy. Letting go of the expectation that I might have something meaningful to say at bible study or go a full day without jelly on my shirt could actually put me on the right track toward, if not lucidness, then at least some good humor.

I love being a mom but I haven't always loved the journey. Late night feedings, scraped knees and sore throats are some of the things that have worn me out and made me stumble. And there have been too many days spent in depression, anxiety and loneliness. Grief has made me want to run ahead and not "sit" in the pain, allowing it's power to transform instead of cripple.

So, maybe at 40 I'm not completely "with it" but I do believe I'm a little wiser and a little more emotionally stable. And that counts for something. That counts for a lot.

This morning after dropping Steve off at the airport I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that Noah, with the sun in his face and his cheeks flushed bright red was asleep. Asleep! At 10:45 in the morning. I sighed. Poor guy, he just doesn't know how to pace himself.