Joining in the Song

Moving is a lot like erasing an Etch a Sketch.  You can spend hours drawing a web of intricate details only to have it wiped away in seconds with one swipe.  On the one hand, losing all of that hard work can be a bit of a shock.  How many parents have had to console a distraught child who lost a precious masterpiece to the quick hand of a mischievous sibling?  On the other hand, the blank slate that is left behind whispers of endless possibilities.  Especially after the hectic weeks of moving preparation and the move itself, facing a nearly blank slate of a life can feel a bit surreal. 

The days since we finished the bulk of the unpacking (I can't stand living out of boxes, and clutter in my own home makes me crazy, so we made quick work of the task) have been fairly relaxed and quiet.  Worship team has taken off pretty smoothly so far.  We have a lunchtime meeting this Sunday so that Jon can introduce the team to Planning Center and share his vision for the ministry.  Youth group doesn't start up until September 10th, and so even though Jon has had some preparation work to do for that, we have had some room to breathe and take it all in.  A friend recently told me that her mom calls times like this "built-in breaks."  They aren't necessarily planned or expected on our part, but God gives them to us when He knows we need them. 

During my "built-in break," my readings in the Psalms have all seemed to say the same thing (usually an indication that I should probably pay attention).  For the past six days, I've read over and over again in Psalms 95-100 about joining all of creation in joyfully praising and worshiping my righteous, holy, faithful, loving, mighty, exalted, and just Creator.  I've always found it easier to quiet my mind when I am in a solitary place outdoors.  Something about watching the water from a small lake sparkle and dance in the sun and hearing leaves rustle gently in the breeze draws my heart closer to my Creator.  He truly has left evidence of Himself in His work, and I love the pictures that these Psalms paint of various parts of creation joyfully worshiping the One who made them.  I love even more that I am invited and called to join in their song, which cannot help but produce joy, peace, and healing as I allow my heart to bow and to exalt God to His proper place. 

God has been using a couple other vehicles to get my attention in this area as well.  The first is a Facebook support group that I recently joined for women who are waiting to become mothers.  The leader of the group is a Christian blogger and author whom I was first made aware of by a friend from Marysville.  The group as a whole has a much more positive atmosphere than some of the other support groups I've looked into.  It has several conversation threads under all sorts of topics.  There are places to share everything from our dreams of what type of baby announcement we would like to use to questions we have about infertility testing and procedures to date night ideas and beyond.  One thread that was encouraging and challenging to me this last week was the "Praise Report" thread, in which women simply shared praise reports of what God is doing in each of their lives, whether related to infertility or not.  It was such a cool way to stay positive, to see that God is still in control, and to connect with other ladies who are experiencing the same struggle in ways that are beyond the struggle itself. 

{p.s. If any of my reader friends out their who are also struggling with infertility or secondary infertility are interested in the group, let me know, and I'll get you connected!}

The other vehicle God has been using to draw my heart to worship, oddly enough, is a book written by two doctors titled Making Babies: A Proven 3-Month Program for Maximum Fertility. I've already researched a ton and learned way more about the human body, hormones, female cycles, and the process of conception than I ever really cared to know before, but so far this book presents it all in such a clear, systematic, and in-depth way that it has given me a new appreciation for the miracle of life and the Designer of it all.   

In all of this, I've been reminded once again that I have a choice.  I am free to soak in misery, fear, and worry.  I am also free to find joy in worshiping my Creator regardless of my circumstances.    After all, if worship has become about me and my feelings, then the object of my worship is no longer God, is it?  I can join in the racket of moaning and complaining or I can add another harmony to the glad song that echoes through the mountains, rivers, and trees and rises to exalt the One who started it all. 

Praise Him, for He is good.  He is the God who sees and the God who provides.  He is the holy Creator who is coming to judge the world in righteousness and faithfulness.  He reigns, and He is clothed in strength, beauty, splendor, and majesty.  He is so worthy.  

When the Moon Blocks the Sun

For the past several weeks (in the midst of moving), I've been mulling over Psalm 73.  In it, Asaph (the writer) wrestles with the goodness of God; specifically, he seeks to resolve the tension between what he knows to be true and his seemingly contradictory experiences.  The gist of the Psalm goes something like this: "God I know You are good to Your people, but I've gotten so tripped up by what I've seen.  So many people who do horrible, wicked things and have no regard for You or Your ways have trouble-free lives.  Yet, those who love You and seek to obey You can't catch a break from hardship.  What's up with that, God?  What's the point of doing right if it only leads to more heartache and struggle?"  Then, Asaph turns his eyes from other people to his God, and he sees that in the end, his lot is far better than that of the godless who will be destroyed violently, swiftly, and suddenly.  He admits that in the midst of his pain and jealousy, he was stupid and lacking in understanding.   Yet, God still guided and counseled him gently through all of that.  He concludes the Psalm by reiterating what he declared at the beginning, but this time with more personal conviction: "But as for me, the nearness of God is my good; I have made the Lord GOD my refuge, that I may tell of all Your works." 

Less than a week before we moved, I found out my thyroid levels were messed up again, and I had to have my Synthroid dosage increased again.  I went through another round of asking God the same questions Asaph asked and the same questions I know many others in the infertility community have asked:  I know I'm not anywhere near perfect, but why is this so hard for me when so many people who are not at all ready or fit to be parents can conceive a child instantly?  If teenage girls can get pregnant, why can't I see a positive pregnancy test?  If child abusers, drug addicts, and rapists can have children, why are my arms still empty?  If hundreds of thousands of unwanted babies are aborted each year in the U.S., why is the child I so desperately want still nothing more than a dream?  God, do You really have my good in mind if You are withholding what You say is a good gift and reward from me?  Like Asaph, my pain and bitterness clouded my understanding, and before I realized what was happening, I experienced another spiritual eclipse with the moon of my circumstances blocking out the sun of God's presence. 

The same God who guided and counseled Asaph in the midst of his pain-induced ignorance and senselessness guides and counsels me.  I've written so many times before that we have to align our perspective with God's perspective to find peace and understanding in the midst of difficult circumstances.  We have to fix our eyes on eternity instead of this temporary life.  I know this to be true, but I still have to choose it on a moment-by-moment basis.  I have to fix my eyes on Jesus and refuse to look away.  When the darkness falls around me, I have to remember that the Son has not changed or abandoned me.  He is still there, and it is only a short while before I will be able to see His glory clearly all around me again.  

The nearness of God IS my good.  That phrase leapt of the page the first time I read this Psalm, and it has lodged itself in my mind ever since.  I fall into the trap of thinking that "my good" equates to having a perfect marriage, a vibrant ministry, a great house, and children to call my own.  If those things don't fall into place, then how can I say that God is really good to me?  This type of thinking expects God to perform before we will accept Him as He is.  Yet, God accepts us and loves us without any regard for our performance.  Why do we assume that we can impose our own requirements on the God of the universe?

As my husband has taught several times to various groups of youth, God is the scale to measure goodness.  We can't weigh Him against other good things in order to draw comparisons.  He is the scale, the ruler,  the standard, the very definition and essence of goodness.  He just wants us to trust Him.  He is trustworthy because He is good and He does good.  The nearness of God is my good, and it is all I really need. He wants my heart, and He has already given me His.  There is no greater good than being near to God.  It's what we were made for.  All else in this life pales in comparison to knowing Him and walking with Him.

Lessons on Leaving

The News

            For those who missed my husband's post: part of our waiting season is over!  A couple of weeks ago, Jon accepted a position as the youth and worship pastor at The Crossing Fellowship in Gothenburg, NE.  Now, we are working hard to finish out our current jobs and working through my somewhat daunting moving to-do list.  We are incredibly excited to be returning to full-time ministry and to be developing a whole new set of relationships.  However, this transition, like most transitions, is bittersweet.  

The Background

I've mentioned before that embracing change has always been a struggle for me.  Uprooting and starting from scratch 3 times in the past 3 years is not at all something I would have chosen for myself.  Yet, God has worked and is still working through it all.  By His grace, I'm learning to be a more flexible and willing follower.  Even so, saying goodbye is not any less painful. 

My family has always been pretty deeply rooted in Colorado.  I lived in the same house from the age of 2 to 20, and many of my relatives lived in the same town or close to it.  I still get together with friends I met in elementary school.  My network of relationships was pretty stable and unchanging for the most part throughout my childhood.  It wasn't really until high school that I began to experience what it was like for people to leave. 

As my older friends graduated and left for college, I started questioning the point of fostering deep relationships.  The more I cared about someone, the more it hurt to lose them.  Even if I knew I would see them again, the relationship still had to change to some extent, and it was still painful.  Why should I put myself through that?  Then, I started going on short term mission trips, and I got a taste of what it was like to be the one leaving behind people whom I had grown to love in just a short couple of weeks.  Leaving wasn't any easier than being left, and the older I got, the more frequently I experienced the heartaches of leaving and being left.  I started to really see just how transient relationships could be. 

When we moved to Scottsbluff, we had just endured the most painful leaving experience of my life.  The faces of those we left behind haunted me.  My heart was horribly mangled and my trust was shattered. Not only that, but I was embarrassed about having to leave full-time ministry after a short year and a half, and I really didn't want to talk to anyone about it.  That was strike one against investing in relationships in Scottsbluff.  I am naturally an introvert who was painfully shy as a kid.  As I grew up, I learned to branch out more, but in my pain, I still often give in to my natural tendency to withdraw.  Strike two.  I also knew that our move to Scottsbluff was likely a temporary time of healing until God called us back into full-time ministry.  Strike three.  With a few exceptions, I largely held back from people and remained guarded for the first several months of our time in Scottsbluff. 

The Lesson

We were not made for isolation.  God made us to be social creatures who need each other.  With any relationship, there is an element of risk involved.  The closer you get to someone, the more the risk for great pain increases.  However, relationships are worth it, even if they end up bringing some measure of pain.  A life of isolation and fear is no life at all.  I remember having this very conversation with my spiritual mentor when I was struggling with the whole concept in high school.  We cannot experience the blessings of relationship or impact others in any way if we hide behind a safe wall of solitude. 

The Application

Gradually, as I healed, I remembered these truths, and I began to let myself connect more.  A part of me still hesitated with the knowledge gnawing at the back of my mind that there was a good chance we might be leaving again in a year or two.  Nevertheless, over time, we joined a life group, we started playing on the worship team, and we started helping with youth group.  We helped prepare and lead the church's annual marriage conference, and I joined a ladies' Bible study.  We stayed longer and longer after the church service, and we started spending more evenings with friends. 

Now, after becoming deeply attached to so many people, the dreaded goodbyes are taking place.  As much as it hurts, and as much as I hate being the cause of the mix of hurt and disappointment in some of those we are leaving (for example, the mob of choked up and tearful teen girls who dog-piled me when we revealed our plans for departure at youth group and told me repeatedly that they didn't want us to leave), I know two things to be true.  1) The relationships were still worth it.  2) God has called us to take this step, and He will continue to take care of both us and those we leave behind.  Though we will grieve as the relationships change, we are thankful for our Scottsbluff family, and we are glad that we will still be able to visit occasionally.

A God Thing

After the heartache of announcing our new life transition to several groups of people, I was feeling pretty down and discouraged about our move.  I was also worried that we might have to give up our dogs in order to find a place to live.  I know that may seem silly (I know they are just dogs), but they were such a tool that God used to comfort me in the times when I felt completely alone, and they have been one outlet for my nurturing instincts in the midst of our infertility journey.  The thought of having to give them up made my chest tie up in knots.  I started praying that God would make His provision clear, and I asked that He would allow us to keep the dogs.  Still, as I ran into dead end after dead end with landlords over the phone, I couldn't help but wonder if God was ultimately going to say, "No."

This weekend we went to Gothenburg to look at the few housing options that we were able to scrounge up.  You guys, God absolutely blew us away!  The rental He provided is owned by fellow FSB (Frontier School of the Bible) grads and managed by the mother of one of Jon's FSB classmates.  The previous tenants are also in ministry in Gothenburg and are related to a family that goes to the church where I grew up and who used to coach Jon for soccer.  The house has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a nice sized garage, and all the appliances we need, including a dishwasher (which we haven't ever had!).  It has central heat and air conditioning, and it is beautifully updated.  In addition to all of that, they are going to let us have the dogs and are even willing to put up a fence!  It's still hard for me to believe that it is all real!  I am so humbled, thankful, and encouraged.  This over-the-top provision is just one more confirmation to me of our calling to Gothenburg.  So, even though leaving hurts, I find comfort in knowing that we are obeying God's leading.