Learning to Walk

Photo by Rebecca Cravens - P.S. This is not our current neighborhood. 😊

            Our neighborhood isn't the worst in town, but it is sketchy at times.  I'm not overly comfortable walking the dogs by myself, though I have done it occasionally.  When I do go by myself, I am tense and easily startled.  I much prefer to have my husband at my side.  His presence offers a sense of security that allows me to rest at ease and enjoy the walk.

My Friend and Her Son

In a similar way, I can sense a difference between when I am consciously walking with God throughout my day and when I have wandered off on my own.  In Psalm 16:8, David writes, "I have set the LORD continually before me; because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken."  When I cling to Jesus's hands in each moment like a child clings to his parents when he is first learning to walk, I have no reason to fear, worry, or be shocked at whatever comes my way.  He's holding, directing, and shielding me, and I am free to learn, explore, and laugh.  However, the moment I let go of Him and try to do it myself, I quickly learn that I don't know what I'm doing, and I find myself shaken and bruised as I smack into the ground.

Gently, with my own pain etched across His face, God picks me up again.  He asks, "Dear child, why did you let go?"  Unlike the child whom we hope will mature and learn to walk on his own apart from the help of his parents, we weren't made to outgrow our dependence on God.  John 15:5 confirms this when it says, "I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing."  As we dwell in His presence, step by step, He produces vibrant life and rich fruit in our souls.  On the other hand, pulling away from the Source of life reduces us to chaff: useless, dry, abrasive, cracked, and empty shells of what we could be.  Not only that, but the longer we stay cut off from the Giver of life and good gifts, the more we become enveloped and consumed by the dry, deceptive, and arid land around us that constitutes the world and everything it offers. 

Abiding in Jesus isn't drudgery.  It isn't a rigid adherence to a dreadful and eternal list of impossible do's and don'ts.  Neither is it a suffocating and stifling insistence upon keeping oneself bound up in chains of false shame and guilt.  Walking with the Most High does not mean that we are doomed to robotic lives of joy-killed misery.  It certainly does not describe a life of stubborn, apathetic, or comfortable independence that only turns to Jesus when He seems appealing.

Abiding in Jesus means we stick with Him in every moment and in every circumstance.  We cultivate our relationship with Him by talking to Him and listening to Him as we go about our business, by remaining aware of His presence throughout the day, and by obeying His leading.  To abide in Christ, we must make time to be still before Him and to wait on Him.  We must realize that our relationship with Him doesn't affect just one part of our life, but that it transforms every aspect of our life.  Abiding in Christ is about a relationship: a relationship that is absolutely vital and apart from which we will certainly find ourselves shaken. 

We need Him desperately.  I need Him desperately.  Clinging to Him sets me free, fills me up, gives me purpose, and causes me to flourish.  That's what He wants for us.  He wants us to be green, lush, and wild with His life that springs up from His Spirit within us.  Why would we ever choose to grieve Him by letting go?

Feeling Forgotten: Photography & Psalm 13

            One photography skill I learned through 4-H was how to adjust the depth of field (DoF) in a photo.  To put it simply, DoF is the term used to describe the portion of the picture that is in focus.  A picture has a shallow DoF when the areas in front of and behind the subject are blurry.  In a picture with a deep DoF, the foreground and the background appear sharper.  Here are some examples to illustrate DoF:

            On Wednesday, my Scripture reading for the morning was Psalm 13, and I quickly discovered that the shift of focus in the Psalm is much like a shift in the DoF of a picture.  In the first four verses, David seems to be fixated on his current circumstances and feelings.  He expresses a deep sense of abandonment in his blunt questions and fervent entreaties.  While he focuses on his immediate and tangible sorrows and needs, the truth (along with the Source of truth) seems hazy and out of reach.  However, he takes a step back in verses 5 and 6 to bring the entire picture into a sharpened view, and we see a drastic and abrupt change in the tone of his writing.  He remembers God's trustworthy lovingkindness and joyous salvation, and he chooses to sing praises to God because of the truth that God "has dealt bountifully" with him. 

            I was so challenged by that sudden shift in perspective.  I think we all feel forgotten by God at times.  I know I do.  My doctor's appointment on Thursday didn't really yield any new information, good or bad, but as I walked back to my empty minivan in the rain with the options for our next steps swirling around in my head, I lost it.  I don't remember the last time I cried so violently or for so long.  Thankfully, my husband was super sweet about taking care of me for the rest of the evening, and I had Psalm 13 running through my mind from the day before. 

            I know God has shown me immeasurable grace.  I know He has given me every spiritual blessing.  I know He has given me His Son's precious blood and pure righteousness in exchange for my wretched sinfulness.  I know He cares, He has a plan, He has His own timing, and He can do the impossible.  I know He has dealt bountifully with me.  But can I let that knowledge sink into the depths of my soul, resulting in songs of praise, even when I feel abandoned and forgotten by God?  In those moments, can I really say with full conviction, authenticity, and rejoicing that God has dealt bountifully with me?  David could.

            There is a time for expressing the anguish, the questions, and the honest desperation of our hearts.  The key is to avoid getting stuck with only a shallow DoF.  We need God's Word and God's people to adjust us and bring us back to a deeper DoF where we can see the big picture, the truth, with clarity.  I am thankful that God could see the breached dam that would flood over me on Thursday and that He strengthened me with His Word ahead of time and through my husband afterwards so that I wouldn't be completely swept away.  Like He did with David, He held all the little shattered pieces of me together until I could once again make out the light.  His Word is life and light, and because of that Word, I know He will carry us through on both the good days and bad.  I have not been forgotten.

NIAW 2017

            This week is National Infertility Awareness Week.  For those who may have missed my post in which I first shared a little piece of our story, you can check out Part 2 of my series titled “A Life Unexpected" by clicking the following link: ALU(P2).

            I am the one in eight. ········

When we first started trying to get pregnant, I often found myself lost in daydreams.  I spent hours looking up and pairing first and middle names, imagining what our child might look like, crocheting baby afghans (one for a boy and one for a girl), and brainstorming ideas for nursery color schemes and pregnancy announcements.  As I imagined what it would be like to see a positive pregnancy test, to witness my husband's reaction to the news, to experience the process of growing a human being inside my body, and everything else that goes along with bringing a life into this world, I could feel a foreshadow of the emotion that would come with it all.  Have you ever thought of something sour (like a Warhead or a lemon) and felt the sensation of the taste overtake your tongue without actually eating anything?  It was sort of like that.  I entertained my hopeful fantasies without restraint for the first few months, though they were dampened briefly by mild disappointment at each new start of a cycle. 

Then, the disappointment began to grow, and the more I allowed myself to dream, the harder the blow came when I realized we had to wait yet another month.  Gradually, I finished my afghans, I stopped looking at Pinterest ideas, and I put my baby name list away.  Still, there were some months when I got my hopes up because of unusual signs and allowed the dreaming to flicker again.  Once, I randomly got sick in the middle of the night.  Another month, I had horrible acid reflux for the first time ever. There are so many possible early pregnancy symptoms (most of which resemble PMS) that I could almost always find at least one that was true for me in any given month.  Still, I kept finding myself staring through blurry eyes at a little strip with only one line. 

Blood Draw #4

Finally, we decided it was time to see a doctor.  My husband’s test came back normal.  My first tests included blood work to check for thyroid disease and diabetes.  I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and was started on medication.  Again, I felt a new wave of hope.  At least we had some sort of possible answer.  Six long months passed with rapidly waning optimism, and another blood test revealed that my thyroid was still out of whack.  The doctor increased my dosage, and another two months have passed.  Ironically, I have an appointment with my doctor this week to ask a few questions and to talk about what the next steps might be.  All in all, we have been waiting for about twenty-seven months now.      

During the wait, I have found myself jerked around by excitement, hope, anticipation, doubt, discouragement, disappointment, anger, fear, jealousy, confusion, frustration, and numbness.  I've stonewalled, rested in, reasoned with, and pleaded with God.  I've been crushed by certain questions and comments, but I've also been encouraged by loved ones in various ways, both those who understand what we’re going through and those who don't.  Each day is different.  I try to focus on enjoying the life God has given me right now.  I must choose to be thankful that I have the time and freedom to help take care of children who are not my own.  I must choose to enjoy the extra time I have to invest in and enjoy my marriage.  I must choose to trust God and to follow His will for me today.  Still, the longing never entirely leaves my heart.  The dream may be polluted with uncertainty and sorrow, but it is not dead.

            Thank you to all those who are walking this road with us.  Thank you for listening ears, for your generous spirits, and for your genuinely good intentions.  Thanks to those who have been understanding even when you don’t fully understand.  Thanks to those at all different mile markers of this same road who have provided so much support and encouragement.  Thanks to those who have allowed me the privilege of being a part of your children’s lives.  I don’t know what the remainder of our family-building journey looks like, but I am grateful to have such a supportive community of family and friends and for a God who will not abandon me to hopelessness and despair.    

            To close, I wrote a villanelle to more succinctly express what I just shared in recognition of National Infertility Awareness Week:

Reverie of Light

Desire of my heart, tainted reverie of light

For you, I continue to wait 

I must ward off the night

I picture your eyes, your hair, your height 

I hear echoes of laughter, see what beauty you’d create

Desire of my heart, tainted reverie of light

How I ache to hold you tight

My spirit yearns with an ardor so great

I must ward off the night

I’ve pondered your name, if it will be just right

To capture your temper and each quirky trait

Desire of my heart, tainted reverie of light

Your afghans I made lie hidden from sight

Offering no warmth to my fragile state

 I must ward off the night

Oh how my mind must not succumb to this plight

Taunted by apparitions of an uncertain fate

Desire of my heart, tainted reverie of light

Please Lord, ward off the night