What's going on outside your window?

So much of my days are filled with this: 

 And this:

 

And this:

And this (which is so much more fun than the first three pictures!):

 

My life is lived tight within the walls of my little house--the cleaning, the cooking, the grading, the kids. Sometimes it is easy to get wrapped up in my own little world and forget that there is a lot going on outside the walls of my house. 

This past week, my sweet neighbor and friend Amanda reminded me of the need to look outside myself--just by a simple text. All she did was remember that I had an important event in my life, an event that I was worried about and one that was going to have a large impact on my family. But it was the remembering that was huge. I thanked her for the text the next day and she brushed it off as if it was nothing. 

"I was just going to bed and I stopped and thought, 'What is going on in the world outside my house that I should be remembering?'" 

She thought about me so she let me know. She took the time to think about the life outside her windows. Her text made me feel loved and cared about.

Her thoughtfulness really meant something to me and it challenged me to look outside the windows of my house, beyond the dishes, the messy living room, the endless emails, and the play-dough playtime. My life is FULL and BUSY and STRESSFUL at times. But while there is a lot going on inside my world, there is even more going on outside.

Who is getting cancer treatment?

Who just had a baby?

Who is homesick?

Who just had a breakup?

Who is struggling?

Who needs encouragement?

 It only took my friend a few seconds to send me a text but her simple act made a world of difference to me. It encouraged me on a day that I was struggling...and also encouraged me to look outside my world to see where I can be an encouragement to others--it only takes a minute to send a text, an email, a facebook message, or make a call.

What's going on outside your window?

When Holy Desire and Motherhood Colide: A story of how God answered my unspoken prayers

When I was a teenager, I dreamed of doing “something big” for God. I would write that book; I would travel the world; I would speak before thousands at seminars; I would become the mentor that would impart godly wisdom. I was ready to soar for God’s glory.

Fifteen years later, married with four young sons, I sometimes feel that I am grounded, both physically and spiritually.

My aspirations are much less grandiose (and self-glorifying) now, but my desire to serve the Lord is still deep. Yet I often feel frustrated that my heart wants to offer so much more than the reality of my life allows me to give. After all, husband, home, and children take up most of my daily effort and energy.


I know I'm not alone. As I listen to my friends and read in the blogging world, I know that many women feel as I do. While I recognize my God-given roles as a wife and the mother of four young boys, I still have the ache to do something more.

Shouldn't I just be content with the ministry of my family?  What do we do when our desires to serve God are harnessed by the responsibilities of domestic life and motherhood?

I often don't even know how to pray about this desire. So I don't.

But God knew it anyways.

Unexpectedly, my old college roommate contacted me: “Let’s get together for coffee! I have something that I want to talk to you about.

During Silas' naptime, we sat at my kitchen table and Sabrena told me about her MFA thesis, “The Lucky Ones” project: a set of three graphic novels, a la comic book style, to address human trafficking of American girls in the USA. The project, focused on education and prevention, was unique and inspiring. I was so excited for her.

But then, she asked me a surprising question.

“Would you consider being my writer for this project?”

I felt a shocking holiness in her question, almost like God was saying, "I see you. I know you can't go overseas, or travel the country, or work for a non-profit, or do midnight counseling sessions in jail cells...but this. You can do this. I know your heart. I haven't forgotten about you." 

That was two years ago. Since then, I have learned about the sobering, wretched reality of the human trafficking sex trade. I've written two stories for her project, and our team is hoping to do a third story in the future.

The Lucky Ones team: Me, Sabrena, and Mike (our illustrator)

It has been the most challenging project I have ever done. In fact, after writing two stories, I feel my psyche resisting, because plunging my mind and heart into this type of story telling once again is soul shocking, like jumping into the deep end of a freezing swimming pool and getting the wind knocked out of you as you struggle to keep your head above water.

During the research and writing process, my husband has shaken his head out of concern for me, saying, "I can tell you're researching again. You're in a dark place."

The project has been difficult, but it has also been Good. Sabrena is about to defend her thesis. "The Lucky Ones" is a beautiful, powerful project that I pray will bring education and prevention to many, many people.

I got to be a small part of "something big."

So what is the point of this story? I guess it's this: God has not forgotten you.

This opportunity opened my eyes to the unique and unexpected ways that God can fulfill my desires to serve him (Psalm 37:4), even when, in my life as a busy mom of young children, it seemed impossible.

As mothers, we often feel like our duty is to constantly meet the needs of others. There is holiness in this act of selflessness. Yet God cares about our needs as well.

He also cares about our desires.

 As Jen Pollock Michel writes in her book Teach us to Want, “we discover that our desires are given by God—not in the sense of granted, but more in the sense of confided.”

I'm becoming more brave in telling God my desires these days. But, in reality, he already knows them, and he wants to give me so many Good Gifts. 

In wrestling with my own frustration of balancing my personal wants and trusting God for his timing, I have quietly learned that God has not forgotten about my youthful desires to serve him. The first act of service is trust. As Michel writes, “Holy trust believes that whatever God chooses to give is enough.”

And God does give. The only thing left to do is say "yes" to these unexpected, surprising opportunities to serve, small as they may seem, in this season of limitations.

________________________________

Want to learn more about "The Lucky Ones" Project? Click here! 

Planting Seeds

I am terrible at growing plants. I have killed every plant I have ever tried to nurture.

I mean, I KILLED A CACTUS, ya'll. True story.

I am a terrible plant mother. I am a better real mother. I mean, the jury is still out...but to date, all my kids are still alive. ;)

I think a lot about being a good mother, not just in the clothes/food/exercise/school/sleep departments but in raising my boys to be good men, men that love others and love God.

I want them to know God and follow Jesus when they're ready. So I take them to church, and we fold our hands before meals, and talk about how Jesus lived and loved, died and rose again.

Most of the time, I feel like they aren't listening, like somehow my "preaching," and praying, and showing The Way isn't reaching their hearts.

But I keep trying.

Like for Easter this year, I decided to try Something New. I had high hopes for Something New, like the Something New would result in this special moment in my sons' spiritual education and relationship with God.

This is how it went:

Our church put together a contemplative walk for Easter Week. A couple from our church invited families to walk the trails in their woods marked with 14 stops, each with a chair for sitting, thinking, praying, and reading selected scripture from the last hours of Christ, ending with his death and burial. The story, of course, would be finished on Easter Sunday. Our pastor put together booklets with the scripture and invited people to come walk the trail.

Since my boys really are not huge fans of sitting still (or traditional church stuff), I though, "Wow! This could be great! It is really active. We can read the Bible! This is gonna be good."

So on Good Friday, I loaded up all 4 of my little guys in the car: two 7 year olds, a 2 year old and a 3 month old.

The boys were ready to RUN! The pastor greeted us when we got there and tried to explain the walk  as I squished the baby into the front carrier, kept one hand on Silas, and kept telling Micah and Benji to WAIT FOR ME! THANKS FOR THE PAMPHLET! K' BYE!

And we were off!

We made our first stop. The boys fought over who would sit in the chair while I quickly scanned the scripture passage (wow! This is really long...ok! Paraphrase! Paraphrase!) Whoops! Ok, we're off to stop #2!

And speaking of #2....before we were even 10 minutes in the woods, I hear this phrase from my 7 year old:

"Mom. I gotta go."
"Honey! Pee or poop?" Please be pee...!
"Poop."

Gah! NOOO! This is the child who coined the frantic phrase "IT'S COMING CLOSER!!!"

I thought we were going to have to squat by a tree while other church members passed us by, contemplating their Good Friday in silent prayer. Don't mind us! Just a little pooping going on here! But...a miracle happened.

"Don't worry. I can hold it."

After asking "Are you sure?" six times, we continued our walk.

Or run, I should say. The boys were going FAST. We kept catching and passing people on the trail.  "Ok, boys." I reminded them. "People are thinking about Jesus and praying. Let's....ok! Listen! Let's BE QUIET!!!"

We got to stop 6....and it started to rain. Oh....great.
It was just sprinkling. BUT I was alone in the woods with four children and we had 8 stops left to go.

"Uhh...I think we should go back, boys. It's rain--"

"No, Mom! No! It's ok! Let's go!

So we went. I kept going, the rain-spattered scripture pamphlet in one hand, and a yellow race car and snack cup full of goldfish--compliments of Silas--in the other hand.

Despite the rain, it was a beautiful day and a beautiful walk.
There was a stream.
There were trees.
There were rocks.
There were big splashes.
There was dirt.
And sticks.
And sword fighting....all while I struggled to read them Bible verses about how Jesus prayed in the garden, was kissed and betrayed, then beaten and mocked, taken to the cross.

"Listen." I urged. "Let's listen!"


It started to rain a bit harder. The boys found a big rock and threw it in a mud puddle. SPLESCH! It made a great noise.

This is hopeless. They aren't hearing anything I'm saying.

Silas kept falling down. Eli was slobbering all over the wrap because he wanted to nurse.

The boys kept running. "Woo hoo! This is the best day EVER!"

I was struggling to keep up. Why did I wear skinny jeans and nude flats for a walk in the woods? What is wrong with me?!

It was really raining now. Silas was crying because he fell down...again.

"Ok, boys. Ok. Alright...here. Last stop! 'And they...um..they laid him in a tomb.' That's like a cave where they put people when they die. A man named Joseph gave the tomb to Jesus...ok...and we're off again!"

We made it back to the car. The pastor asked, "How was it?"

I laughed a little bit. "Well, it was a little--DON'T GET MUD ON THE SEATS--it was a little crazy. I am not sure how much they heard. But they seemed to enjoy it."

He smiled. "Well, you're planting seeds."

And I smiled back and nodded. And then I dashed to put all those little boys in the car because it was REALLY raining by this time.

Planting seeds. There must be a reason Jesus used that metaphor in his parables. Planting is dirty work, and pretty boring. There's a lot of waiting, and hoping, and wondering if anything is going to come up.

There is nothing super-spiritual about the act of planting a seed.  Just poke a hole, push the seed in, cover it up, brush the dirt off on your skinny jeans, and hope for the best.

I turned on the windshield wipers and backed out of the drive way. I glanced at the clock: we walked for almost an hour.

"That was awesome, Mom!"
"Yeah. This is my favorite day."

I decided to gamble a question: "Do you guys remember anything we talked about while we walked?"

"Uh...about how Jesus died on the cross?"
"Yes! That's right! Anything else?"
"Yeah, he healed that guy's ear that got cut off with the sword! Right?"
"Yes! Right!"
"And he wore a crown of sticks on his head."
"Thorns...!"
"Yeah, thorns. And then he went in the cave. And then he rose from the dead!"
"Anything else?"
"Uh...no. That's all."

I smiled. That's all.

It wasn't some big spiritual breakthrough or deep conversations or special prayers or warm fuzzies. There was dirt and rocks, sticks and slow-down, crying and falling, yellow cars and goldfish, shushing and slobbering, poop-scares and rain. There was so much...Human.

And that's what He came for.

That's all.

Planting seeds...it's enough.

Two {tough} Solutions for My Every Day Jealousy

I felt the familiar, gnawing feeling as I skimmed the college newspaper article.

The story was about some precious college senior who had just published her FIRST NOVEL, some little "love story" with a cute title. The cover of the book was pictured, showing an 18 year old beauty who was looking pensively off into her perfect future. So predictable....I wanted to gag. My lips twisted into a sneer and I rolled my eyes.

Then I sighed, feeling defeated....because I hated how I felt at that moment: Crazy, stupid jealous.

Wow. She wrote a novel. Good for her, seriously! I'm thirty...! And I haven't even done that. 

And I'm insanely jealous of that fact. Yep, I've been bitten...no, devoured by that green-eyed monster (Thank you, Shakespeare for providing perfect metaphors for my basest feelings).

If I'm really honest with myself, I get jealous a lot.

I'm jealous of:

• Women with recent highlights and pedicures
• People who sleep through the night (like my husband)
• My students (college students) with their stylish outfits and perfectly curled hair
• Blog posts that go viral ("I could have written that"!)
• Mom friends who have flat tummies
• People who get to nap everyday (like my two year old)
• My English colleagues who get to travel and present their papers at conferences 
• People who get to eat a full meal without nursing a baby, filling milk cups, mopping spills, or picking up dropped (or thrown) forks. 
• My single friends who get to do fun adult-things, like road trips

And MOST OF ALL....I am jealous of my husband's ability to fall asleep anywhere at anytime (the sleep jealousy is real, my friends).

Most of my jealousies are petty and fleeting--after all, I am not a 19 anymore with the luxury of thirty minutes of hair-curling time. I don't really care about pedicures that much. And, let's face the facts...I've had four kids, including twins. There are some things that crunches will not fix.

But my other jealousies bother me, like the fact that I disparaged a fellow-writer's success when I read that newspaper article. I should have rejoiced for her...but I couldn't because I was so stupid-jealous of her.

The truth is, I had no right be be jealous of her because she had done the work...and I hadn't.
I had an ah-ha moment. There are just two solutions to my every day jealousies:

I can be jealous of women who have flat stomachs and toned arms....or I can Do The Work and start exercising.
I can inwardly sigh about about my pathetic social life...or I can text a friend and make plans to get together.
I can mope about the success of other bloggers...or I can steadily work on my own blog because consistency and commitment come before success.

I can Do The Work.

But sometimes, I am jealous about things I can't change....so I have to be content.

I may be jealous that the girl I went to grad school with just presented a paper at an amazing Jane Austen conference...but I have a newborn and conferences are not realistic right now.
I may feel a twinge when I see friends with their daughters...but I can choose to be content with my 4 wonderful, beautiful sons.
And I may want to smoother my husband with a pillow when he falls asleep in 2.3 minutes on the couch...but I can choose to be content with a 30 minute rest before the baby wakes up to nurse (And I really don't want to smoother my husband. I really like him. I am just really tired...Sleep-jealousy. It's real).

So after throwing my jealousy-fueled pity-party about my lack of literary success at the ripe old age of thirty, I decided to crack open an old file entitled "Story Ideas" and actually, well...Do The Work.

Doing the Work or Being Content is hard...but it feels a whole lot better than being jealous, right?

What about you? What makes you crazy-jealous? 
Which is harder: Doing the Work or Being Content?
How do YOU handle every day jealousy?  

If you're heartbroken on New Years Day...hold on.

I wonder if God peers into our man-made New Years traditions, and in his omniscience says to himself, "Oh, dear child, this year...this year you will grow so much. I only wish I could spare you the pain of such growth. Hold on...I am with you."

On January 1st 2014, I spent the day in the bathroom, praying and crying and telling myself that this was not happening, that I was not having a miscarriage.

Happy New Year, right? All my hopes, expectations, and plans for the year were shattered. All I could think was, "No new baby in August. No new baby. No baby."

The only verse that brought me any sense of comfort during this time was this:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me..."

You are with me. 
You are with me.
You are with me. 

THAT was the only guarantee I had for 2014.

Now it is January 1st 2015. As I look back at last year, I am amazed at how my miscarriage shaped my whole year, overwhelmed with the good that was directly related to my miscarriage. In fact, this heartbreaking experience even fulfilled desires of my heart in three specific areas: Counseling, Volunteering, and Writing.

Interestingly, at one time, I was going to pursue a Masters Degree in counseling (I even took a Statistics class in preparation for grad school. eek!). My own grief allowed me to help others grow and heal by becoming a peer counselor to women who were walking through the grief of miscarriage, still birth, and infertility. I have grown so much in knowledge, compassion, empathy, and sympathy by being a co-leader of this group.

The grief group is under the umbrella of The Motherhood Collective, a non-profit organization in Lynchburg whose purpose is to "Nurture the Mother to Grow the Child." I had secretly wanted to be a part of the leadership of this organization in a "that'd be really cool" kind of way, but had no idea what I could/would do. The miscarriage opened this door too. I feel very privileged to serve with the amazing women in this organization.

Looking back at 2014, I see how God was able to marry my life experience and clarified beliefs with my desire to develop professionally as a writer. As I blogged about my miscarriage throughout this past year, I was not only able to work through my own grief, but I was also about to develop my theology about  God's providence and sovereignty when it comes to pregnancy and the gift of children.

At the end of November, I wrote "Say 'Congratulations'--It's the Christian thing to do" and it got over 500 views overnight! To date, it is my 2nd "most-viewed" post on my blog, with over 7800 views (in reality, this is not a lot of views in the "blog world" but is a LOT for my little blog!). Even more exciting though, is that this blog open the door for me to be a guest writer for Christianity Today's blog, Her.Menutics. My article was published on December 10 and has received over 3000 shares on social media. These publications have been huge for me as a writer. I hope it is just the beginning. But I know that without the heartbreak at the beginning of the year, the victory at the end most likely would not have happened.

So what is the point of this post? I guess it is this: If you are heart-broken today, on New Years Day 2015, and your life is taking a completely different, unwanted, horrible path than you would have ever chosen...I pray you can find hope in my story.

God had plans for my 2014, ones I never would have chosen but plans that ultimately helped me to grow, learn, love others, and even brought me the desires of my heart.

And even though I was never promised the gift of another baby, He gave me that too. I sit here typing with my 10 day old baby boy sleeping on my chest. What a gift of grace, complete unmerited favor. 


So, hold on, friend. He is with you.

Symbols of Hope: Remembering Loved Ones at Christmas time

"Here, I made you something," my husband handed me an object one night before dinner.

It was a few weeks after my miscarriage.

"Do you know what it is?" He asked eagerly.

I smiled, confused but pleased by his gift. My husband is not typically crafty person. Nor a gift-giving person.

"Uh...key chain?"

"Well, yes." He rolled his eyes. "But look at this pattern. Do you recognize it?"
 
I shook my head.

I watched, bemused, as my husband dashed through the house and found a plastic pirate doll.

"Look!" he pointed. "It's Izzy! See the pattern on her bandana?"

Source

 And then I did see and...Oh. 

 I made the connection and my eyes filled with tears.

You see, our 7 year old son named the baby we lost, Izzy, after the pirate from one of his favorite Disney shows. Before the miscarriage, I rolled my eyes at the name, chuckling and shaking my head, thinking, "I would never name my baby Izzy."

But that was the only name the baby got.

I clutched the keychain in one hand and gripped my husband's hands with the other...callused hand with strong, square fingers, hands that held me when I wept for the loss of our child, hands that wove a pink and white key chain.

"I made this for you so that you can always have Izzy with you."

My husband, like many men, didn't have many words when we went through this time of grief. He felt and grieved in his own way, a way that was different from my way.

But he made a key chain for me, in memory of our child.

It was a symbol of loss, of acknowledgment, of remembering.

Christmas is usually a time of hope and happiness for most families. But it can also be a time of grief as we remember loved ones who are no longer with us.

We bought an ornament for our tree this year--a plastic pirate doll: Izzy.

I was hesitant at first.

"It's really expensive." I told my husband as my mouse hovered over the BUY icon.

"It's doesn't matter." He told me. "Get it."

So I did. And Izzy came in the mail in a little white box and we hung her on our tree.

It's been almost a year since I found out I was pregnant: it was December 14. And instead of cradling a 4 month old baby (boy? girl?), I am hanging an ornament on our tree.

It is sobering....but, by the grace of God, not sad.

And I do not use that phrase lightly. His grace has carried me, buffered me, pushed me, grown me...in agonizing ways in the past year. 

This has been one of the hardest years of my life, but it has been one of soul-wrenching growth as well, growth that has been fostered by faith and has led to hope.

"And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance;  and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope;  and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our heart" (Romans 5:3-5).

I've carried my key chain this year, just as I've carried Izzy in my heart.
We put an ornament on our tree, not as a symbol of loss, but as a symbol of Hope.

Because His hope has not disappointed us.  His love will continue to carry us through every season.

How do you remember your departed loved ones at Christmas?
How do you seek hope, even in time of intense grief?

You can read more about our miscarriage journey here: 

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness
Miscarriage and Faith: Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley
Miscarriage and Faith: Searching for Beauty
Pregnancy after Loss: Survivor's Guilt
Remembering Izzy: Pledged to God

Say "Congratulations!"--it's the Christian thing to do.

When I was 13 years old, my mom took my older sister and me to a meeting for a para-church organization that did puppet ministry. We were introduced to the leader and a few of the other teens.

One introduction shocked me, mostly because of my mother's reaction.

"And this is Stephanie," the leader said, gesturing to a pretty blond girl. "She's 16 and she's pregnant."

"Oh, congratulations!" My mom exclaimed.

There were a few other details shared about the pregnancy, though I can't remember if the girl was going to parent her baby or place the baby in an adoptive family. Either way, she was 16. She was pregnant.

And my mom told her "Congratulations."

To my 13 year old self, this was really weird...no, not weird. Wrong. How could my mom congratulate this girl?
She was a teenager.
She was pregnant.
Everything in my narrow, black and white mindset judged this girl for being pregnant when she should NOT HAVE BEEN PREGNANT. 

It wasn't until this week that this event crossed my mind again and I realized the amazing example my mother gave me when I was 13 years old.

You see, my mother is pro-life. She told that girl "Congratulations" because she was pregnant...and she was choosing life.
LIFE is something to affirm and uphold. LIFE is given by God, no matter the circumstances.

Even though I didn't understand the example she was showing me at the time, I am so grateful for and inspired by my mom's reaction to this unexpected pregnancy announcement.

Mostly because I have been disheartened and down-right confused by the negative comments and tone I have received on my 3rd and 4th pregnancies (I am pregnant with my 4th baby right now):

"Are you pregnant AGAIN!? How many is that now?
"Another baby? Oh no!!"
"You're having another boy? I am so sorry!"
"Do you know how that happens? Oh, honey. I need to take you out to coffee and we need to have a little chat..."

Whenever I get these comments, I smile and say proudly,
"Yes, I am! 4!"
"No, we're happy...really!"
"I'm excited to have another boy...yes, really!"
(And yes, we know. We like it a lot).

The odd thing is I feel like I am trying to convince these people to be happy that I am having another baby. (?!?!?!?)

I was struck by the similarities in judgment voiced by the author of this article, published earlier this week.  In "Your Mother is Destroying the Earth," the author describes her constant need to justify her existence as the 5th daughter in her family, citing that it is the WACO (Warriors against Child Overpopulation) feminist leftists that give her the most grief, stating:

Content to bear their own children, they avidly seek to restrict childbearing for other women whom they apparently deem less worthy of free choice.

The thing is, none of the people who said these things to me would probably ever classify themselves as a feminist, leftists WACOs...because all of these comments have come from Christian women.

Our Pregnancy Announcement for Silas, our 3rd son

 One of the foundational elements of a Christian worldview declares this truth: Humans are made in the image of God.

And because of this truth, a Christian worldview declares life to be precious, worth saving, worth dying for, worth celebrating.

 While the comments directed at my 3rd and 4th children gave me a chuckle (and an inner "seriously?" moment), good anecdotes for facebook, and food for thought, these comments also made me mad. But more than feeling self-righteous anger,  I am deeply saddened that this attitude toward pregnancy and new life pervades our culture, even in the Church.

And even at times in me.

My 13-year-old judgmental attitude lasted well into my adulthood. I know that it has taken 3...no, even 4 pregnancies, including my miscarriage, to break the "pattern of this world" and begin to be "transformed" and "renewed" in my mind (Romans 12:2).

I've rolled my eyes when family and friends announced their 3th, 5th...8th pregnancies.
I've thought, "Good grief! Honeymoon baby? They didn't waste any time "getting busy" did they?
I've dismissed the grief of miscarriage as something that "would never happen to me" instead of extending real comfort to these women during a devastating time.

Until this year.

God has been transforming my mind to truly understand what it means to value life, family, pregnancy, and babies.

Every pregnancy is a miracle (Psalm 139:13-16).
Every baby is a gift from God (Psalm 127:3).
And every baby, no matter if it is the first, third, sixth, tenth, or more, should be accepted as a miracle and gift.

Without judgment, without eye-rolling, rude comments, or snide remarks. Just celebration.

Just "Congratulations."

Have I buried my "talent" in the ground?

When I was in Jr. high and High school, I remember hearing numerous sermons preached on The Parable of the Talents. (Click on the link to read from Matthew 25).

Source

The parable challenges listeners to consider how they are using the "talents" the  master has given them: Are you investing two fold, five fold, ten fold? or are you the wicked servant buries his master's money in the dirt?

I remember fervently praying, searching my soul and heart's desires: What were MY talents? Was I using what God had given me?

Many of my youth pastors and summer camp speakers transliterated "talent" (a sum of money) to the modern day English version of "talent": a gifting, or natural ability. Clever, right?

Well, sort of. In my adolescent mind, I squished this parable neatly into the definition of "how am I using my gifting or natural abilities to serve the Lord?"

As a teen, I eagerly identified my talents as musical so I played the piano for the offering and sang specials during the service.

In college, I used my leadership abilities to become a prayer leader on my dorm.

As an adult, I have honed my creative writing skills and answered the "call" to write graphic novels to help end Human Trafficking in the USA.

I was (and am!) using my "talents" for the Lord, just like this parable says!

But this thought struck me this Sunday at church during the sermon: Am I really using ALL that the Lord has given me for his glory? Or am I burying the uncomfortable parts of my life in the ground, parts that are painful and messy?

Can my pain and suffering be used for his glory?**

Sometimes we think that God could never use pain and suffering like:

An eating disorder
An unplanned pregnancy
Filing for bankruptcy
Divorce
A boring job
A car accident
Chronic health problems
Estranged family members
Miscarriage 
And so much more….

So often, my response to pain and suffering is to complain about it, wish my life was different, or "bury it" in the ground, wanting to forget it ever happened.

But God has shown me recently that, if I ask him, he will show me how he can using anything to serve him, if we are actively looking for the redemption of our suffering and pain.

What if we looked at everything we have been "given" in life as a way to bring glory to Lord?

We can "bury" these "talents" in the ground; or we can pray and seek and search and invest in life, and hope, and redemption, seeking to return two, five and tenfold to our Master when He comes, our ears longing for these words: "Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master" 



**The unanswered question here is "Does God bring pain and suffering into our lives?" I don't know. Perhaps. Perhaps not. The real question is, can I use what I have been "given" in my life for His glory?

Miscarriage and Faith: Searching for Beauty

It was January 15, only about two weeks since I learned about my miscarriage. I hadn't even shared about our miscarriage publicly yet, only privately. My prayers were still raw and desperate, crying out, "Why did this happen, Lord? Why? Is it something I did? What are you trying to teach me, show me?"

There was no answer.

Then, that morning, I got this email:

Hi friends.

So it's been heavy on my heart to launch a Mother Grief Support Group. Once a month. No heavy pressure. No agenda. Just honest leading, sharing and experiences surrounding miscarriage and child loss. The Lord has put you two on my heart as co-leaders. The Motherhood Collective would do all the behind the scenes leg work (leader manuals, location, publicity, etc) you would just be asked to guide, listen, share and lead.

Would you think/pray about this?

I know there is a need.

I stared at my computer, shocked, stunned. I didn't even know what to think.

I remembered a story, the one about the man born blind. The disciples asked, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” And Jesus said, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him" (John 9:2-3).

In thinking about this story, I bitterly scoffed, wondering if the man was angry--I had to suffer my entire life JUST so God could get the glory?!

Did my baby die so God could get the glory? 

This thought just makes me feel ill, and really, I don't think it is true. I don't believe God makes bad things happen just so he can swoop in, save us, and get the glory. 

Ultimately though, bad things do happen, like the man born blind. The man didn't cause his blindness; the parents didn't cause his blindness. The blindness simply happened. It was bad, evil; it caused great suffering in their family. 

But Jesus gave them a new perspective. He showed this family how suffering could be used to bring glory to God. 

As I stared at my email, I realized that this was more than an invitation from The Motherhood Collective: this was an answer to my prayer, my prayer of "why?" 

Maybe it wasn't the answer. But it was an answer. 

It was also an invitation to deeper trust, deeper faith, deeper love. An invitation to life in the midst of death.   

I felt conflicted.

If I was really honest, I would much rather be pregnant than be the leader of a miscarriage support group. Selfish, but true.

But I felt a stir of life and of hope. I felt like I should say yes but not in a I-know-this-is-the-right-thing-to-do kind of way.

I wanted to say yes because my heart and soul were desperate for "right." And saying yes, to walk with other women as they journey though the valley of grief, seemed right.

I told one of my best friends about the invitation to lead this group and said, "I am thinking of the verse 'He makes everything beautiful in his own time.' So, maybe this is the start of something beautiful, even though it really, really sucks right now. How's that for honest?"

Someone once said, your calling is where your passion and burden meet. 

Source

The email was a call. So, I wrote a reply, and this is what I said: 

I would be honored to be a part of leading this group. I would prefer to start in March though as my miscarriage was very recent and I still need some time to grieve and find perspective myself. Thank you for asking me. I hope the  Lord will use this heartache to help bring healing to others.

So, now it's March. And through much prayer and planning, our first meeting of The Motherhood Collective Grief Support Group will meet tomorrow afternoon. I don't know who will show up or exactly what I will say but I, along with my co-leader, Julie, am happy excited honored humbled to be part of this. God is showing me many things, including how this truth is starting to manifest itself in my life: 

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,  who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Cor. 1:3-4)

My pain, my heartache, my suffering is real, but God is at work in my life.  He has promised to make "Everything beautiful in its own time" (Ecc. 3:11) and I am walking with him, searching for beauty. 

_________________________________________

You can read more about my journey here: 

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness
Miscarriage and Faith: Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley

Miscarriage and Faith: Walking through the Valley

Note: Candid discussion of miscarriage. 

Grief is a strange land.

Before I miscarried, I thought grief was kind of like sadness: a feeling that overcomes a person but a feeling that can be analyzed and dismissed when one is ready to move on.

But grief is not like that. It is a destination that you are thrust into, a place that you can't leave no matter how much you want to leave until your grief slowly releases its grip on you.

When I first learned that I had miscarried, I felt numb. I remember laying on my bed and trying to pray but I had no words.

Psalm 23:4 came to my mind: 

Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me…

In my mind's eye, I saw this Valley: razor sharp mountains, void of any vegetation, pierced the sky. The Valley was dusky, dark, grey. The path jutted sharply into shadows--I couldn't see beyond a few steps. But I knew the way was full of pain, deep physical and emotional pain.

Source

I DON'T WANT THIS PATH! I DIDN'T CHOOSE THIS PATH! My mind screamed. I mentally dug in my heels…
I wouldn't go.
I would not walk.

But there wasn't another way. I couldn't make my HCG levels rise. I couldn't make the bleeding stop. I couldn't make the baby live. The baby was dead.

This was The. Only. Way.

...I will fear no evil, for You are with me.

Brittany, He whispered to my soul. I am already there, in the Valley.

But this did not comfort me. The Valley was an evil place; God's presence could not change that. All I could think was if God is already there, I didn't want to follow.

My lowest point was the day I filled a prescription to induce the miscarriage. A week had passed and though I was still bleeding lightly, my numbers were falling very slowly. My midwife recommended that I use misoprostol to "help the process along."

After we went to CVS to get the drugs (and a strong prescription pain killer), Aaron and I stopped by Kroger to get some Motrin. From what I had read online about other women's experience with misoprostol, I couldn't have enough pain killers.

I numbly bought the medicine and started walking back to the car, waiting for a bus to pass before I crossed the street.

This thought entered my mind, unbidden: If I got hit by a bus then I wouldn't have to go through this.

Then: Wow! I just had a suicidal thought. I am in a really, really bad place.

I really didn't want to get hit by a bus, or die. But I cannot express more clearly how much I did not want to go though this, to walk this path, to go through this valley.

Please be with me. Please be with me. Pleasebewithme….

The misoprostol didn't work.
The midwife called in a second dose.
I took it again the next day.
It didn't work.

By this time, I was so messed up with drugs and grief that my whole GI system rebelled against me for a few days. I felt terrible.

I went in for another blood test (number 3? or 4?).My HGC levels had dropped over 100 points. Finally, some good news (so ironic..)!  It had been over two weeks since I first found out. From everything I read online, the miscarriage would be over soon.

The new semester started at Liberty and I started teaching again.
I went grocery shopping.
I took my boys to school.
I publicly shared about our miscarriage.
I wrote about suffering and thankfulness in the midst of grief.

I had days where I laid on the couch all day.
I had functional days.
I had bad days where I cried my eyes out when I saw ANOTHER freakin' "we're preggo!" announcement on Facebook.
I had good days when I smiled and laughed with friends and talked objectively about the miscarriage and my grief.

I was ready to move on. I wanted to move on. I wanted to leave the Valley.

But the bleeding went on and on and on. Two weeks slipped into three. Then four. Then five.

It was now February, over a month since the miscarriage began.

I snapped.

"I can't stand it!" I screamed to my husband. "You don't understand. This has to end! I can't move on until it ends! You don't know what it's like to bleed and bleed and bleed and see red every time you go to the bathroom!  When will it END?!"

I felt utterly alone. My pain was bound up in my body, without any meaningful release. I couldn't give it away if I wanted to. No one could carry this burden with me. NO ONE understood.

Even though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death . . . You are with me…

The verse had become a mantra, playing over and over again in my mind. At times it comforted me. Other times, it frustrated me. 

On the night of my outburst, I saw this verse in a new light. God wasn't just with me, beside me. He had promised that his Spirit was within me, inside my soul--inside my body, my body that was filled with so much pain, physical and emotional. 

He was with me, inside my body--feeling, suffering, mourning, grieving, walking with me.

I used to think that when God walked with a person through hard times, the darkness of that person's path would somehow be filled with His light. 

My path through the valley was not filled with light.  It was very dark, and at times, I didn't feel God's presence at all. But in the darkness, along this journey of death, He was there. 

Three days after I said "I can't stand it any more!" my bleeding stopped. Two weeks later and another blood test later (7? 8?), I found out that my numbers were at 0.

It was finally over. 

I will fear no evil, for You are with me…

At the beginning of my miscarriage, I was filled with fear: fear of pain, fear of grief, fear of loss, fear of hemorrhage, fear of the disgusting horror that is miscarriage. 

At the end, I realized that the evil I feared did not ever manifest itself.  My bleeding was long, but never heavy. I had cramps but they were mild when compared to the worst menstural cramps I had experienced in my life. My emotional pain, though debilitating, was not devastating. 

I would heal. 

I am healing. 

Today is March 1st. I am wishing myself a Happy New Year.

Because on January 1st… and then on February 1st I was going through hell.

The Valley is a place that I had to travel through. Sometimes I think I have reached the other side; other days, I know I am still there. But there is light.

Source

Because You are with me…

Miscarriage and Faith: Giving thanks IN…not FOR.

I shuffled into the kitchen, pushing the Kreuig button and my greasy hair behind my ear.

I was awake. I was functioning. I could make eggs. I could feed my kids breakfast before school...

…before I went to lay on the couch for the rest of the day.

It was a few days since "the phone call" and I was in the "wait and see" days of what they call "miscarriage management."

Micah pushed play on our kitchen CD player and Psalty the Singing Songbook's perky voice and camping exploits filled the air.

"In everything give thanks! In every situation! Sing of song of thanks…and praise him from your heart!!!"

"This is such a stupid song," I thought. "There is nothing, NOTHING to be thankful for in this situation. Everything about this sucks. Miscarriage SUCKS!"**

I put plastic plates of eggs in front of my kids and sat down heavily at the table, wincing from pain in my womb and pain in my heart.

Then I glanced over at Silas and he smiled at me...

...and I felt a little nudge in my soul.

Precious little boy. You are such a comfort to me.

I pushed through the fog in my brain and tried to plan my day…dinner tonight? Oh! That's right. Another dear friend was bringing us a meal.

I'm so glad I don't have to cook tonight. Thank you, Lord, for friends and the meal. 

Aaron came into the kitchen and kissed me on the forehead. "Ready to go, boys?"

Thank you for my husband. He has taken such good care of me and the kids. 

"Bye, Mommy!" My twins said as four skinny arms encircled my waist. "See you after school!"

Photo by Sabrena Carter Deal

Thank you for my children. I have three beautiful children who love me. I am blessed. I am blessed. 

The realization washed over me: 1 Thessalonians 5:18 (and Psalty!) says, "In everything give thanks…." not for everything.

I couldn't be thankful for…but I can be, no, I need to be thankful in. 

I need to be thankful….because thankfulness is ultimately trust in God.

In order to be thankful, I must look outside of myself--my pain, my grief--and see that God is still taking care of me. He has still blessed me with so many good things.

He holds my whole life in his hands, both the good and the bad. Thankfulness is recognizing this truth.

I can still give thanks in this situation, and really, in all things. This is the will of God for me.

**I actually googled "Miscarriage Sucks" and came up with some comforting blog posts that used lots of swear words that summed up my feelings quite nicely.

Miscarriage and Faith: Suffering and God's Goodness

It was 20 minutes after I received the phone call that we got the expected knock at the front door. A friend from church was bringing us dinner.

I was still numb from the news: "Your numbers are dropping. I'm afraid…this confirms a miscarriage."

As our friend set the food on the table, we told her what happened.

She was so sorry. She had been praying for us fervently. She had even shared that she had seen a vision of God cradling my womb during her prayers. This had been a great comfort to me.

"Can I pray for you?" She asked.

She slipped her arm around me in our kitchen and we bowed our heads.

"Oh, Lord," she began. "We thank you for your goodness…"

Everything in my soul recoiled.

How could she thank God for his goodness?
This was not good! This was bad, evil,  horrible, a nightmare!
If God was good, then why did my baby die?
I begged God to let the baby live, let the bleeding stop, let the midwife say "We have good news!"

That was the phone call I played over and over again in my mind. I couldn't imagine the alternative.The pain was beyond my imagination.

Yet here I was, in the midst of it.

And she was thanking God for his goodness?

God was not good. Not to me.

Her prayer and God's presence hovered over my soul at that moment and I shoved them away as hard as I could.

I couldn't pray. I had no words. Only deep pain and suffering that I had never experienced before.

Oh, I had suffered, of course. But as a result of my sin, or someone else's. That suffering had a reason, a purifying effect, a course that led me to repentance.

This. This was new. Stark, and bleak, and shocking, numbing and white hot. Suffering that hit me physically and spiritually.

"We know you are a good God…" she prayed.

I almost wanted to laugh. But I couldn't and so I cried.

We know you are a good God. 

I don't remember anything else from her prayer in my kitchen that day. But her words about God's goodness both shocked me and have stuck with me.

We know you are a good God.

I knew, in my head, that God is good. I had repeated those words since I was a child. I had memorized hundreds of verses, could recite every Bible story that spoke to this fact. I had prayed these words myself. I had never doubted God's goodness.

Until now. I doubted in my heart because it was filled with so much pain that there wasn't room for my faith.

But my head knew that God was good. The scriptures came rolling in, the ones I had tucked away for such a time as this.

I heard a song a few days later, a familiar hymn: "His eye is on the sparrow, but I know he watches me."

Source

I basked in the comfort of this image but a moment later was slammed with this truth:

His eye is on the sparrow….but the sparrow still falls. 

And all I can ask is why? Why did he let the sparrow fall? Why did I have a miscarriage?

That was my only prayer: Why did this happen, God?

I don't know why. But I do know he is with me, watching me. And weeping with me.

This is faith--horrible, hard, gut-wrenching faith: God is good.

______________________________

I'll be sharing more of my spiritual journey through suffering and grief in the coming weeks and how God had brought comfort to my heart through this difficult time.

UPDATE: Click on the links below to read about more of my journey.

Sweet Iz: Our Miscarriage Announcement
Giving Thanks IN…not FOR
Walking through the Valley

Why I can't raise my children to be Christians

"But why, mommy?" My five year old cried, his head on my shoulder. "Why did Jesus die on the cross?"
"Well, honey, he died so that we can have a relationships with God." I smoothed the hair back from his forehead, thinking back to the crucifixion scene we let our twins stay up to watch on The Bible mini-series.
I had been hesitant. Are they ready for this? I wondered. Maybe. Maybe this is going to be the moment!
I took a deep breath and moved forward.
"We are all sinners; this means we do bad things and our sin keeps us from God. But Jesus took the punishment for our sin when he died on the cross." 

I paused, looking into my son's tear filled eyes, amazed at the tenderness of his heart in this moment. "Do you want to thank Jesus for dying for your sins? Do you want to tell him that you want a relationship with God?" 
My son shook his head. "No."

*************************

In the past few weeks,  a blog post has been floating around the internet and has been reposted on my Facebook wall several times over. The article, How to Raise a Pagan Kid in a Christian Home, resonated with many of my friends, and with me as well. The message of the blog post was this: 

"If we teach morality without the transforming power of the gospel and the necessity of a life fully surrendered to God's will, then we are raising moral pagans."

While this post did resonate with me, it left me unsettled as well. Because I do teach my kids to be moral. I teach them that when you hurt someone, you say you are sorry. When you take something that's not yours, that's called stealing; you take it back, you apologize, and you don't do it again. I have said, "The Bible says we don't steal. We should not lie. That is unloving. This is not the way God wants us to live."

I say these things and I know I am teaching them to be…well, according to the wording of the linked blog post, "moral pagans." 

Because this is all I can do. 

I cannot teach my children to be Christians. 

I wish I could. I wish I could make them be followers of Christ simply by teaching them the ways of Christ, by making them "pray the prayer," by teaching them to be moral. 

I wish I could say, "In our family, WE believe THIS!" 

I probably have said this. But it is not 100% true. My husband and I believe that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. We humbly accept Christ's righteousness in place of our sin. We choose to walk in His ways. 

But I shared the story at the beginning of this post to demonstrate the difficult truth that I can teach my children about Jesus, all about his atoning sacrifice on the cross, his miraculous resurrection, his forgiveness, his life and teaching, and the amazing new vision of life that he gives those who say, "Yes, Lord! I trust in you."  

I can teach them all of this. And I do teach them these things and will continue to do so. 

But I cannot raise my children to be Christians. A child does not become a Christian because he matriculated through a "Christian" home, because he has listened to his mother reading the Bible, because he heard his father pray, because he was in Sunday school every week, because he memorized scripture, because he prayed a prayer at Bible School, or because Mommy and Daddy are Christians. 

I can teach and demonstrate all these things but none of them will make my child a Christian. 

Because to be a Christian, my child must choose Christ for himself. 

My children are sinners. Without a transformed heart, every scriptural mandate I teach them is a moral code, a law. 

But it is my hope and deepest prayer that Galatians 3:23-25 will be manifested in their lives: 

But before faith came, we were kept under guard by the law, kept for the faith which would afterward be revealed. Therefore the law was our tutor to bring us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith. But after faith has come, we are no longer under a tutor. 

So, all I can do is teach my children to be "moral pagans." My efforts fall far short of their salvation. 

But where my efforts stop, God's grace begins. Christ died for my children the same as he died for me. I can only trust that his Spirit is at work in their lives, as he is in mine, and pray that when Jesus whispers to their souls, Come follow me! at the right time, they will say YES.