When fear takes hold

She was 6 lbs. 8 oz. of perfectness. Big brown eyes. Dark hair that covered her entire head. Long "piano fingers", as we like to call them. Clara Esther Little. It was love at first sight. Looking at this sweet baby, you would never know what it took to get her, but we did. It took trust. It took hope. It took a true miracle.

 

When Clara was born, I had a scheduled c-section. I had already been in this type of operating room before... twice. I had an uneasy feeling within which turned to difficulty breathing and in the end vomiting. I knew something wasn't right. But we proceeded forward. In the end, the complications were so great that it was obvious that God's hand was in the whole ordeal. Seven hours later, with 17 new units of blood in my body, I ended up in ICU. God saved my life that day and I can honestly say I do not take that miracle for granted. The doctors and nurses all said they were shocked that I was alive and really should not have made it. I'm not surprised. There were so many praying. And I am in the hands of the One who made me.

But for some reason, I have a hard time always applying this blind faith to my Molly. In two weeks, Molly will be having an experimental, 15 hour surgery that will involve the most important part of her body to survive. And when I allow myself to go there, my whole being is enveloped in this fear that November 6th may be the last day I lay eyes on my precious girl. You see, surgery is just not surgery to our family anymore. For Peter, it's waiting in the waiting room for hours, holding his new baby girl, wondering if her mother will make it out. For me, it's knowing that things are going wrong and with tears in my eyes begging the anesthesiologist to make sure I wake up moments before she puts the mask over my mouth. 

But for God, surgery is another way to show His power. His presence. His glory. I try so desperately to bring myself to that realization when my mind wanders to the other side. But I can't will it on my own. I can't wish away my fears and anxiety. I can only run to truth. And truth tells me, 

"For I the LORD thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee."

He's going to help us get through this. He will help the doctor as he masterfully does this procedure. He will help Peter and I as we wait all day to hear what the outcome is. He will help Molly to breath, heal, awake. He will help others see He is a God that can do all things. 

I can't promise that fear will not creep up again. I'm being realistic in the fact that I am human and this is a natural emotion. But I am so very grateful that we as a family do not have to be alone. What an amazing thing that the God of all things knows every small detail and is working things for good. (Romans 8:28)

So this morning, I breath. I rest in the fact that He's got this. And Molly is in the best care of the Greatest Physician ever... Jesus. 

Weapons of mass destruction

It's amazing how little things can do so much damage. Think of termites. Only milometers long, but packed full of trouble. The amount of destruction that a little insect can make is amazing. Thousands of dollars are spent to get rid of these little critters, to replace ruined goods or to repair what has already been damaged. The same is true with the tongue. At least this is true for me, I really don't know about you.

 The book of James has always been one of my favorite books. Maybe it's the writing style that pulls me in. Maybe it's the flow of words that entice me. Or maybe it's because he speaks so much on the tongue and the need to control it. 

"Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth."

We all know how an unkind word can linger in our hearts for years to come. In fact, I remember when I was six a certain uncle made a comment about me eating too many crackers and to this day I feel the sting. 

I struggle with my tongue. Small it may be, big is the ruination it causes. My words can be used for good to encourage a friend in need, or for bad to tear down my husband in a heated moment.It truly can be like a weapon of mass destruction. When I use my tongue to criticize my husband in front of the kids, not only do I deflate him, I show my girls that he is not worthy of respect and love. 

When I hold back my mouth from speaking a word of encouragement to a friend in need because I simply "don't have time for a phone call", I lose an opportunity to love someone in need of love and the ability to put things into perspective that I am not as busy as I think I am.  

I fully believe God gives us the ability to overcome our tongues, I just haven't submitted fully to the idea yet. It feels good to be mean, yell, snark. But there are two questions to ask myself when I feel the urge: 1. Who am I helping by saying this? 2. Is this truly God honoring? I already know the answer...

I'm not there yet. But I think the fact that I want to be is a start. I prayerfully continue to entreat Him and ask Him to help me. In the mean time, I am so thankful that I have a husband that forgives 70 times 7. And children who see the good in me, despite the bad. 

The Warrior within

"I am woman. Hear me roar!" This expression makes me laugh. It's true that women are tough. Everyone has to be in this life. It's truly a battle. Just fighting against our own bodies is exhausting. The alarm goes off and your eyes just will not open. You finally do arise and your back is tight, your knees creak, and your head is screaming, "GO BACK TO BED!!" You have only been awake for 5 minutes and already you are battling your mind and body.

This battle continues throughout all our days. I don't know about yours, but I know that in our home, it's intense. And so many times, I find myself drowning in the "blood and gore" that I encounter. The constant needs, the demands, the interruptions, it's just too much to bear at times. I flounder. Beginning to feel wronged in some way that I have to deal with all that life throws at me, I take it out on my family. I'm not a screamer. Never was. Never will be. But the snark, the mean looks, the sharp tone all add up to, "Mom is mad. You better watch out."

What I fail to remember is what Ephesians says:

"Finally, brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might." ~Ephesians 6:10

Last year I did a word by word study on Ephesians and this familiar text looked so different to me. When you read the original text, it's really saying to be strengthened with/by the Lord. It's not saying that God will help you find your inner strength. It's not saying that YOUR "roar" will come out. No. It's saying that our Master, the one who owns me forever and always because He purchased me with His blood on the cross, He will be the one to supply the strength. He will fight this battle for me.

"He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief: but was strong in faith, giving glory to God." ~Romans 4:20

So why won't God just give us our own strength? Better yet, why isn't it just easy? Why does our family have to endure this battle? Why does Molly have to go through all this pain? The answer is right in that verse..."giving God the glory".

It's easy to be a polished up Christian when things are going great. We smile and look all nice at church. But when we have to get down in the trenches, that is when faith is tried. And I so desperately want to come out of this life hearing that God was pleased because all glory went to him. We were not seen. Only He was. His goodness. His grace. His mercy.

So as my day begins and I begin to think how hard this battle is, I am reminded that my strength (very little that it is) is not even needed today. Only His. My only job is to allow His strength to shine through and to let Him be praised for it.

They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy.

Cursive. Samantha's nemesis. It's as if the torture gods concocted up the most painful torment for Sam to endure every day in school. (I think it was meant to torture me as well.) Everyday, we sit down for school and the question pops up. "How many cursive sheets do I have?" I would like to say I cheerfully reply,  but honestly, I usually loudly sigh and then give her the answer. The girl LOATHES cursive. And I am being 100% honest in saying that she cries over her sheet. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

So why continue? Why do I keep teaching it to her? Well, I could use the defense that child education Psychiatrists agree that cursive is good for the brain. Not only will find motor skills improve, but it helps with overall brain development. I could say that there is nothing like receiving a beautiful hand written letter from a friend. I could even throw out there that my pride won't allow me to stop. I want my child to be able to say "I have been writing in cursive since kindergarten." ( Honestly, who really cares...)

The reason I don't stop teaching her is because I know one day those tears will be worth it. Through this "AWFUL" subject, I am teaching Samantha perseverance, that life is hard and you must work hard, that in the end, you will be thankful it was taught to you.

When I sit there, watching her huff and puff over her sheets, my reactions are beginning to change. No longer to a see a whiny girl who hates hard work. I see the Psalm coming to life. "They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy." Those moments when she got it right and she is so proud, she sees it was worth it.

The same is with our family. We are sowing in tears daily. The future unknown. The road dark and unseen. Heartache. Backache. Sweat. But I am so blessed to be able to cling to the truth that at the end of it all, I can reap with joy. I already see glimpses of this.

Before, a bad breathed, crazy haired, demanding 6 year old may have made me cranky at 6am. But now, I am so joyful to see her beautiful little face when she rises. This means we have another day together! We have another morning that she is walking, talking, fighting. I am reaping in joy the fact that God's glorious truths are laid out on a path that I crawl on every day. I grasp that ground work through out my whole day and bask in the Hope that is my Lord. Would I have seen this before? Probably not.

God is so good when He allows us receive joy from what is otherwise full of sorrow. Cancer is bad. But from my tears, from my turmoil, God is bringing joy. A joy I have never had. Is it always apparent? Well, you can ask my husband... no. He sees the worst of me. But it's there so much more than ever before. The joy I am receiving is not fake. It's not forced. It's real. And I am so thankful for that.

As for Samantha and her cursive, all I can say is that we continue forward. And I know that with more hard work ( and tears), she will soon have more joy in her accomplishments. Her work. Her dedication.