Of Obstacles and Birdsongs

In all my experience with obeying Christ - and with disobeying Him - I have become convinced that when we get serious about following Him, things get harder. Life gets uglier. Obstacles appear out of nowhere, and we wonder if maybe we messed up or maybe it isn't worth it to keep going.

This has become all the more true since I've fully committed to the ministry my Shepherd called me into. A friend of mine recommended I write about it, but I'm in the middle of it all right now, so all I can do is give a brief description of where I'm at in this dark valley.

I had a dream when I was in my early 20s that I had two blond children, a boy and a girl, whom I loved very much. Often when I gaze at my towhead daughter and son, then over at my brunette boy, I wonder where he was in my dream. Perhaps that slight superstition has made me more vulnerable to concerns regarding him, which came to a critical point this past week.

After three weeks of nighttime sleeplessness, crying, screaming, and thrashing about in his crib, last week he developed the inability to walk on his left leg. As a mom getting fewer than five hours of sleep per night - all non-consecutive - I was running out of both sanity and options of providers to visit.

By God's incredible timing, He brought Bob's aunt into town for a scheduled visit just as I was going into a fever, and my parents into town for a conference just as she left. Even when I felt most desperate, I knew I was not abandoned.

And as I futilely tried to calm my sweet, hurting boy one night at 3:00am, I gave up my "Shhh"-ing and "Nighty-night"s, and just started sighing, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." And he finally slept. I knew my God was stronger, that He was in control even in this interminable storm.

When the pediatrician announced it was time to admit him to the hospital, I wept. I felt like a failure, but even more so I worried we were wading into an ocean of uncertainty. At least at home we had control over what could happen to him, what we would consider for disorder and treatment; at the hospital, they may want to explore avenues I wasn't ready to walk down.

But it was time. I hadn't been able to fully rest for way too long, and our family's collective health was suffering. So when he awoke with screams and wakefulness just before midnight, I packed up an overnight bag, waited an hour for the police situation and circling helicopter in our neighborhood to resolve, and then drove to Phoenix Children's Hospital. We were a direct admit, and within an hour my boy and I were semi-comfortable in a crib and recliner, respectively.

Over the next two days, I heard a lot of screaming, but I also began to witness healing - for him and for me. After six days of leg pain, he began to walk again. When he awoke at night, there was someone else to help so I wasn't alone in trying to observe and provide care for his ambiguous pain. The hospital provided the food, the cleaning, and the space, and we just had to get better.

I got a text from a friend reminding me to listen to the birds, something I often forget to do when I'm stressed. I stepped outside the cafeteria for a few moments and soaked in their harmonies. "Thank You," I silently prayed.

Bob was amazing with the other two kids, who were also incredible in coping with this strange situation. We were lifted up by family and friends. And when the final test - an MRI of our little man's head - came back perfect, we were able to go home.

He still awoke at night, but it didn't induce a panic attack in me as it had before our hospital stay. I now had medicine and hope. We had walked down some avenues I'd previously labeled "off-limits' and spelunked some dark caves, and I was able to cling to the Shepherd's hand throughout and trust His heart for us.

I've had to put some ministry stuff on hold, but it has allowed others to step into their giftings in my absence. I love that. I love how the Body works together, and it never depends on just one member. I love being part of a system, not a satellite or a cornerstone. And Daddy has been reminding me of this as I have rested and received renewed strength.

There isn't a good way to end this post. As I said, I'm still in the middle of it. It's still messy and uncertain, and I don't have a clean moral to the story. But maybe that's the point. This is where I am simply supposed to "Be still, and know God is God." And then listen for the birdsongs.

day #2

it's not so much that i was craving tea.

often my cravings force me into a no-nonsense beeline, and, since this was more of a leisurely sunday drive on a friday afternoon, all signs point to no craving.

no, what i was after was more the process than the result. so i embarked on a mini-adventure up the 51, next to the mountains that pop up & appear to swallow cars at shea, heading toward the artsy pedestrian bridges south of greenway. my moonroof was open as the sun warmed my shoulders, and i don't recall what i was listening to on the radio.

i was the only one in the parking lot at my favorite tea place, white august, and the tattooed woman who helped me select a white dessert tea called "ciao bella" didn't mind a customer to interrupt the non-busyness of the day. we chatted as my leaves steeped, and then i departed again, no real plan in mind.

and as i rounded the bend & saw a hazy downtown on the horizon framed by south mountain, i was grateful for this reset. passion came not in the accumulation but in the absorption.

one hour rejuvenated me for one week. now that's an equation i can embrace.

in motion & out of strength

i heard a comment today that really stuck with me:
God doesn't give strength to us when we're in motion.

the context of this is NOT that God doesn't help us when we have a lot going on.
in fact, the person who said it remarked that God always makes sure we won't run out of steam when we are under pressure.

the context of this statement IS that we need to be taking time to be still before God,
taking time to listen to Him & accept His strength as He works within us.
He doesn't toss strength as us as we run from starbucks to our car while we're on our cell phone.

our God is an intimate God.
His strength comes from those focused, intimate moments together.

title of the song

why would someone who is allergic to cottonwood consider it a blessing?
that's what i asked in order to get this exclusive interview...with myself.

Q: what's the story behind the title?

A: i was on a walk in my neighborhood several years ago, frustrated with the pain i was in & my perception of God's lack of intervention. i kept chasing after His approval & His gifts, and i came up empty-handed. i am a recovering type A, so this was not a pleasing result to me. as i argued with the Lord on this walk, i saw a cottonwood fluff float by me. i grabbed at it...& missed. bad aim. i tried again, closing my fist around the target. i opened it. empty.

Q: i think we get the picture.

A: well, i didn't. i was a bit too steeped in my own anger & hurt to think clearly, and i kept on chasing that fluff & grabbing at it. every time, i ended up with nothing.

Q: did you give up?

A: technically, yes. i reached a cul de sac, and i had to turn around. i was so upset at this point; nothing i was striving for was coming to me. and then i started to walk with the wind to my back, not reaching for the fluffs -- and a shower of them landed on me. i didn't even have to open my hands to grasp them. it was like God was saying, "I will provide. cease striving, my child."

Q: did you?

A: it took some practice (it still does), but i'm getting better. with the help of the One who makes the cottonwood, of course. i'm learning to rest and trust that He will bring the right blessings by His grace & in His time.