Like Always

Last week, on Leap Day to be exact, I awoke at 6 am like I always do.  I put on my house shoes, and went to the kitchen to warm a bottle for Melody like I always do.  I changed her diaper and said “Good Morning, would you like some breakfast?” like I always do.  Then, like I always do, I turned on the computer so that I could stay connected with my “Far Away Friends.”  But that morning, for my hometown of Harrisburg, Illinois, life was not like it always was.  

Facebook updates generally consist of a quote of the day, a little sarcasm, what’s for dinner, or what stupid thing someone said or did.  Not this day.  This day was not like always.  Instead of the quotes and sarcasm, I read of my Far Away Friends in the midst of a tragedy, a disaster.  A tornado bringing 180 mph winds swept through Harrisburg at about 5:00 am, when most residents were still asleep in their beds.  After looking at the photos a hundred times, I still can’t help but cry and mourn for the loss so many have suffered.  Six people lost their lives, and many more were injured or lost everything they own within a matter of seconds.  And now their lives are not like they always were.

I went to work the next day and was approached by a co-worker.  I could tell by the expression on her face that she was sad, or mad, or perhaps both.  She explained that she had just discovered that her husband has been addicted to prescription pain killers after having back surgery over a year ago.  He’s now trying to quit “cold turkey,” and is going through severe withdrawal.  In this moment, their marriage isn’t like it always was.

Then last night I received a phone call from one of my dearest and oldest friends.  She explained that she had just undergone an emergency surgery because she’d experienced an ectopic pregnancy.  She knew that in such circumstances, the baby could not be saved.  What she didn’t expect was that complications would arise, she would lose one fallopian tube, and that doctors can’t yet tell her if the other tube is functional.  Her life is not the same as it always has been.

I lay awake last night thinking of the tragedy and strife so many experience.  I don’t understand why people experience such horrific things.  It doesn’t seem fair to me.  Then, I roll over in bed and look at my daughter, sleeping five feet away from me.  According to the doctors, she’s not supposed to be here, alive, sleeping in her swing.  And I sometimes feel guilty that I’m here, living life like I always do, in my warm house, with a wonderful husband, with my baby that was miraculously healed of so many defects.  Sometimes the fact that my life is so good seems just as unfair as those who have experienced all the bad things.  And I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such favor.

But here’s what I do know.  There’s One Thing that will be the same, like always.  That One Thing’s name is Jesus.  He’s the same as always; yesterday, today, and forever.  If we invite Him to do so, he will always be with us, wherever we go, whatever we walk through.  Always.  I don’t understand it, but I know it’s true.  And I resigned myself long ago that this is just how most things are going to work in my Christian faith: I won’t understand, but I have to believe.  That holds true today.  Even though I don’t understand the reason behind all the tragedy that we experience, I do understand that God is kind, and good, and fair.  I must trust Him to be like He always is, to do what He always does.  Because He has everything under control, just like always.

Remain Calm and Carry On.

Since I only have five followers, I'm assuming all of you know that I now have a beautiful, miraculous, 10-week-old baby girl named Melody.  It's amazing what such a small human can teach you about life.  More accurately, it's amazing what God can teach you through a small human.  I must first admit that this particular lesson didn't come to me without the help of a motherly mentor.  I always appreciate it when she thinks outloud...

This little human that I gave birth to is very, very picky.  She likes to be fed a certain way, burped by a specific technique, and sleep in only one position.  And then there's the holding.   As adults, our natural tendency is to grab a baby and either cradle him in the crook of our arm, or lay him against our shoulder, chest-down.  Not the case with Melody.  She'll have none of the traditional holding.  With Melody, you have one of two options.

1)  Place one hand under her neck, and the other under her bottom.  Hold her at arms length in front of you, and begin to bounce and swing her until it feels like your arms are going to fall off.

2)  Place the right side of her body against your abdomen.  Place your left hand on her arm, and then hold her feet with your right hand...DO NOT RUB her feet.  Simply hold them with firm pressure.

Like I said, the girl's picky.  But she (along with God and the motherly mentor) has taught me something while I was holding her.  You see, when I'm bouncing her so hard that it makes me paranoid that social services is going to come barging through my front door at any minute and accuse me of child abuse, she remains calm.  If someone were holding me like that, I'd be a nervous wreck.  But Melody's entire body relaxes, and she just looks at the ceiling fan while I bounce and swing her around the living room.  And then there's the "foot holding"position.  Again, she relaxes.  And the whole time I'm holding her, she's not looking around the room.  No.  In this position, she likes to look at me.

And here's today's lesson:  We, as Christians, are held by our Father.  Sometimes, when He's holding us, it feels like we're bouncing and swinging so chaotically, that He could drop us at any minute.  Relax.  Just like when we're holding a baby, things are fine until they start to squirm.  If Baby relaxes, it makes it so much easier for everyone involved.  As humans, we want everything to be easy, to roll along smoothly, to know what is ahead.  But God is holding us.  He sees our surroundings.  He is completely competent, and He won't drop us.  And sometimes, He holds us closely to His heart and holds our feet in His hand.  Remember to look at his face when He's holding you.  He's got your feet under control.  Trust what He's doing.  Remain calm, and He'll carry you on.

Still Existing

I haven't posted in several weeks.  Since before Memorial Day.  That's because on Memorial Day weekend, my husband and I found out we were pregnant.  I figured if I posted anything, I would accidentally spill the beans.  Better safe than sorry....

And today, I am 17 weeks, 3 days into my gestational adventure.  And an adventure, it has been.  When I created this blog, I wrote that life typically does not follow my plans.  I just have to "live it out."  And this pregnancy has been no different.....nothing has gone according to plan.  The first 12 weeks of pregnancy were glorious.  No morning sickness or hormonal outrages, and minimal fatigue.  Then week 13 came along.  Morning sickness?  Not exactly.  I was sick all day, every day.  I lost 10 pounds in my fourth month of pregnancy.  I assumed this wasn't normal, so I called my OB, who scheduled a 15 week ultrasound, just to check things out.

During the ultrasound, the doctor found several problems with the baby my husband I affectionately refer to as "Penny."  (No, that will not be the legal name.)  The most frightening of these problems was the severe dilation of the third brain ventricle.  Along with all the other problems presented, the doctor still isn't sure Penny's diagnosis (yet to be given) will be compatible with life.

I am still confused and scared and sad.  We can only wait and wonder.  I had been waiting and wondering for two weeks when another unplanned even came along.    I awoke from a nap bleeding severely.  I was convinced I was having a mid-term miscarriage, so my husband drove me to the ER.    Much to my amazement, the nurse found a fetal heartbeat right away.  An ultrasound also confirmed the baby was active and well.  Through all this, Penny has been a tiny little fighter!  I'm currently on light bed rest, awaiting an appointment with my OB next week.  I am still waiting, and wondering, and existing.

I friend and mentor of mine recently gave me an word of encouragement.  She reminded me of the Bible verse in Psalm 139 that explains how we are knit together in our mother's womb.  Now, I'm not much of a knitter.  I've never actually knitted anything in my entire life.  But my friend explained that in knitting, mistakes are often made.  And that if a mistake is made, all you have to do is unravel the mistake, and start over.  She (and I) are praying that this baby is being slightly unraveled, and that a few imperfections are being made perfect again by the Great Craftsman.  And, until then, I can't wait to see what he is knitting.   No matter what it appears to be, I must remember that it will be a perfect fit for me.

The Gardener

The great thing about being the sole groundskeeper to a forty-acre campus is that I spend a lot of time alone...time that I use to listen to what God has to say to me.

A few weeks ago, my pastor spoke about the necessity of pruning....a very basic sermon; one that, as a horticulturist, I tend to 'zone out' during because I know all the parallels pruning presents to our spiritual lives.  Get the bad stuff out, let in the light....yada yada yada.

But this week, I spent several hours pruning a few dozen overgrown rose bushes.  Since I know what a rose bush is 'supposed' to look like, I know that these particular specimens were in dire need of a hard pruning.  I know that.  I'm the gardener.  I'm the one who's responsible.  I'm the one who looks at these plants every single day, seeing how they look from afar, and from close-up. But last summer, do you know what people were saying about these rose bushes?   The residents and employees were raving about how beautiful the roses were, and how they had so many blooms.  These were all true assessments.  But these compliments all came in the middle of the summer, when the leaves and blooms camouflaged the inner structure of the plants.  I knew that winter would come, and the leaves would fall off, and then I could visualize what needed to be done.

So last week, I dug in.  I started cutting away at some of these 'beautiful' roses.  Only to find that under the beautiful, fruitful exterior was a framework that was riddled with death and deformation.  Instead of being vigorous and healthy, I found lots of brittle dead branches and many healthy ones that were fighting for light and air.

Cutting out the dead part is the obvious thing to do.  Even a 'non-gardener' could figure that out.  A good gardener knows when it's necessary to cut out some of the good parts.  Two good branches will cross one another, rubbing away the tender new flesh, which leads to disease of the entire plant.  And sometimes a branch is growing and flowering, but it's growing in the wrong direction.  As a gardener, I must analyze which of the branches to cut, and which to leave.

Getting the bad stuff out of my life is the no-brainer.  Sinful, indulgent, undisciplined behavior has no place in the life of a Christ follower.  But what about all the good stuff?  What about the stuff that looks beautiful...  the stuff that has lots of blooms  ....  the stuff that everyone is complimenting?  I have to leave all of those things to the Gardener.  Because the Gardener sees the big picture.  He sees if one good thing is suffocating another.  He knows which good things should stay, and which ones should be cut out.  And I must remember that in the spring, I'll be a healthier, more fruitful plant if I let the Gardener do His job.

Deletable

     I currently work at a retirement community.  There are about 200 residents, all over 65 years old.  When a resident moves to into the community, they are given an 'emergency pendant.'  This pendant is wired so that, if pressed, it will transmit a signal so that the proper personnel can attend to the emergency.  I am responsible for programming these pendants, making sure they work properly, and updating information into our main computer.

     When a resident moves into a facility with a higher level of care or (more often) passes away, their name must be deleted from the system, and the old pendant is reset for the next resident who may use it.  Last week, it made me unbelievably sad to 'delete' a resident.  This particular resident was never married, had no children, and was old enough (93-years old) that all her friends had passed away before her.  Nieces and nephews came in the day after she passed and threw away most of her belongings, taking only things that they could utilize.  Nothing seemed to be sentimental to them.  They were only acting as a clean-up crew.  After the 'family' was finished, they gave me her emergency pendant.  I logged onto the main computer, selected the resident's name, and hit delete.  Finished.

    The scenario made me sad.  And then it made me think. When I'm 92, or 72, or 32, I don't want to be deletable.  I want to make an impact on someone or something that can't be erased.  I want to exist beyond death.  My Christian faith screams that I should be making a bigger impact in the name of Jesus.  My philanthropic heart tugs inside me, nudging me to adopt an orphan or mentor a delinquent. My aspiring intellectual brain tells me I should contribute to medicine or science, or some other worthy cause.  It doesn't really matter what the effect is.  It just matters that I do some affecting.  That I etch my name onto this planet in some way, shape, or form.  Because I don't want to be deleted when I'm gone.