Trust

Wednesday night on the way home from church, I decided to take a different route. Our usual way was backed up by construction, so I took the opportunity to drive down some back roads. Some I'd taken before, and some not.

I had my GPS in hand and followed the map. I knew technically where we were, though it looked unfamiliar.

My three-year-old said, "Mommy, this is not the way home! We have to turn around!"

I assured him I knew what I was doing, but he was adamant.
"Mommy, we're going the wrong way!"

A few more times, I reminded him "Trust mommy! Mommy knows."

It did take a little longer than I expected, and the sky was growing dim, and I even had to turn around once after taking a wrong turn, but by the map I found my way.

It was not until he saw the lights of our street that he was satisfied. He didn't trust that mommy knew what she was doing.

As He so faithfully does, God used this to remind me of something.
I have repeatedly found myself in a spiritual place where I've questioned, "Why am I here? Am I going the wrong direction? Should I have turned back there? If only I was the one driving the car..." (heaven forbid.)

I do not realize that unlike the mommy driver, my Driver knows every road, every bump, every hairpin turn, every rough spot.

"...He knoweth the way that I take..." (Job 23:10)

And as long as I don't eject myself out of my secure seat, I can trust Him to keep me safe and to get me where I need to be...Home.

Legalism

..the averting of one’s focus from the God of the Law to the Law itself.

It is Jesus who saves, and His salvation is personal, direct. It is not a business transaction, where one racks up enough ‘obedience points’ to make it to heaven.

If heaven is my goal, and not Jesus, I might have grown a bit cold in my love for Him and shifted my gaze to what I get out of the exchange.

Another word about ‘legalism’…it’s the war cry of many who want no rules, no guidelines, no limits. God is a God of limits, for our own good. What good shepherd lets his sheep wander without sheepfold, without crook and staff?

So with this in mind, I leave the subject of legalism. I’d rather not focus on the blind spot…much better to walk in the light, with my eyes on Jesus.

Pruning

I am growing tomatoes this year. Or attempting, in my own amateurish way. I have had mediocre results for the past two years, and true to my stubborn nature, I’m trying again. :)

One thing (possibly the only thing) I’ve learned about tomatoes is that they require vigorous pruning. Otherwise, they shoot leafy branches in every direction, and though full and luxurious-looking, they don’t give up much by way of edibles.

(My 3-year-old would disagree; he thinks that since we eat the leaves of our herbs, he can munch on all the foliage in the yard. I’ve caught him grazing several times.)

Many a day last summer found me hacking away at my little ‘mater plants, leaving stark, wounded stalks behind. But we got a lot more tomatoes out of them!

Once again, nature reminds us of a spiritual truth: like a tomato plant, we all need a little ‘pruning.’

What do I mean? Well, when I am making a fool of myself, I’m counting on you, dear friend, to give me a kind but jarring smack-in-the-face to wake me up.

This we should expect of our friends, and this we should also commit to those we love.

“Faithful are the wounds of a friend…”(Prov 27:6a)

What would the world be like without mirrors? What would we know of ourselves?

We’d likely dress for comfort, and not to impress. My hair would be sloppily blobbed on the top of my head—always—and secured with a scrunchy. The term “fashion faux pas” would not exist, though it would probably apply more than ever.

We need mirrors. And when we don’t have a full-length mirror to carry around with us, we need true friends. Loyal. Kind, but honest. Unafraid to oppose you for your own sake.

It is the loving parent who says, “you’re not going out in that,” or, “you’ve really messed up here. You need to fix it.” But why leave this hefty job to parents alone? It’s obvious we still need some pruning at this point: do we all don the Underpants of Profound Wisdom, or receive a full varnish of Dr. Miracle’s Mistake-Repellent Spray-Tan, the second we turn 18? Uh, I know I didn’t.

If I’m being honest, the majority of serious mistakes I’ve made have happened since I left home, while my parents weren’t close by to knock me back into the middle of the ’straight and narrow’…and frankly, the kind but searing words of a friend have been my saving grace. Literally.

“Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness; let him rebuke me—it is oil for my head; let my head not refuse it.” Psalm 141:5, ESV

A faithful friend loves you enough to let you know you’ve tucked your skirt into your pantyhose before you leave the bathroom, or that your breath rivals the stench from the monkey house at the zoo (what IS IT about that place? Is it the flinging of …er, stuff… that produces the wretched fog? Perhaps there’s a lesson in that, too…). Or that you’re really going to mess up your life if you do _____________. (Hint: a scripture or two would be helpful for backup; just don’t prepare a sermon. Perhaps a sermonette, or exhortation. Poetry or a vigorous round of Charades would work nicely, too. Scripturally sound, of course.)

A true friend will risk offending you for the sake of a heartfelt warning.

Just between you and me, I will admit (don’t tell anyone) that I actually crave a little honest rebuke once in a while. Not the kind where we’re yelling at the top of our lungs and the truth comes out with crushing, brute force… but sometimes I yearn for someone to gently remind me how obvious my flaws are, and that I need a little self-control/Binaca.

To me, even negative feedback is better than none at all. And honest criticism is far better than insincere compliments slathered thickly on the ego.

“…deceitful are the kisses of an enemy.” (Prov 27:6b)

So, get out those pruning shears and be a friend today. :)

--what's that? "Not my job," you say? Hmm.. Are we the Body of Christ? (Yes.) Paul spoke in Galatians 2:11 of his uncomfortable, yet necessary job of confronting Peter, his fellow apostle, for hypocrisy. Peter seems to have taken the rebuke well, since in his own epistle, he calls Paul "our beloved brother." (2 Peter 3:15) It may not be the initial example that comes to mind when one asks to be used of God...yet it is just as valid and needful as other, more glorious operations of the Body.

Oh, and one last word: if it’s not spoken with humility and kindness, it doesn’t count. (Many thanks to you, dear friends. You know who you are.)

He lives, and so shall you!

It takes a lot of faith to believe someone who is dead will live again.

Lazarus was not only dead, but stinking. Any hope of healing was gone. Martha said, "if only you were here a few days ago, my brother would still be alive.."

But that's just it. Sometimes we want God to heal us, heal our situation, fix the problem. But God knows it is impossible to be healed from 'sin sickness' without dying first. "Without shedding of blood is no remission (of sins)" (Hebrews 9:22)

For if we were healed without dying first, we could still live on unto ourselves, not having crucified the 'old man' of sin. The real problem would remain.

Life lived unto ourselves is no life at all. Jesus replied to Martha, "I AM the resurrection and the Life." True life, as Adam and Eve experienced before the fall, can only be where sin is absent, and this only happens in Jesus. So when we are resurrected with Christ, it is His life we live, not our own.

"God commended His love toward us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."
'Commended' here means "brought together." So God brought His love and us together. But since He cannot abide with sin, sinless blood was required for us to be brought together with Him. He shed His own blood to cover our sin, erasing the curse of death that separated us from Him. "God was in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself" (2 Cor 5:19).

But blood can only be transferred where there is an open wound.

In Isaiah chapter 1, the people of Judah were brimming over with sin, filthy, with hands 'full of blood' (bloodguiltiness). God described them as full of sores, open wounds, "putrifying sores," from head to toe. But it isn't simply the presence of sin that brings His forgiveness; if that were the case, we'd all be saved already without repentance.

In Galatians, where Paul said, "I am crucified with Christ," the words literally mean "impaled together with Christ," as if the nails and sword that pierced Him pierced us too in the same thrust. This requires something of us. Something voluntary. It isn't just the sickness of our open wounds that readies us for His blood...it is the voluntary nearness to Jesus in the act of dying to our sins that prompts Him to bring His love to us. "Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to you" (James 4:8). And when we are crucified with Him, "mortifying the deeds of the flesh," the blood shed in His death flows to our open wound, annihilating the poison in our blood, abolishing the bonds of death. Praise God!!

When death occurs, the first thing to decay is the blood. The curse of sin was passed to us through the 'bloodline' of Adam. Leviticus 17:11: the life of the flesh is in the blood, and when diseased, that means the death of the flesh is in the blood.

Why is Jesus the only one who could save us? Whereas sickness is spread among man by infected blood, Jesus' sinless blood is not subject to this. Rather, healing is spread by His blood...a reversal of the curse of sin. This could only happen outside the paternal bloodline of Adam. Jesus, Son of God, was the only one who could conquer sin.

How imperative that we have His blood cover us! There truly is no hope, as Martha felt, otherwise. The disease will not be cured without death to sin...for if sinful man is not killed, he will yet have his reward: 'the wages of sin is death' (Romans 6:23). Our choice is either death now, voluntarily, being crucified with Christ, that we may LIVE with Him...or death later, without hope of resurrection.

What is that hope? David said, "Thou wilt not leave my soul in hell." Our death (repentance) and burial (baptism in His name) is our step toward Him. It is the "draw nigh to God" part. And because He will not leave us buried in the ground, "He will draw nigh to you." He brings us to life, not just a cleaner version of our former selves, but NEW, as if the sinful man had never lived!

The mark of this is evident: "The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are the children of God" (Romans 8:16). This happens with Holy Ghost baptism, evidenced by speaking in other tongues (Acts 2).

Because He rose again, so shall we! Not only in this New Birth, but even more to His glory on That Day!

So, what shall we do? Shall we choose to live on in sin, asking again and again for healing, when what we need to do is die? Or shall we choose to die now, and find true life in Jesus?

I choose now! Now is the day of salvation. While it is yet day, let us draw nigh to God with repentant hearts, crucifying the old man, that we may live in Him!

"I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me."

Happy Easter!!

Do you smell smoke? Where's my fiddle?

I watched history being made tonight as our lawmakers voted on behalf of tyranny, and not liberty. The evil designs of a few poisoned and clawed and bought their way into the minds of others, and the will of the people of our nation was ignored. I shudder to think of the price the innocent will pay for this crime.

Before I get too dramatic (too late, right?), I will say this: there is nothing new under the sun. This is not the first time evil has torn to shreds the fluffy blankie of blissful ignorance under which many of the fearful--ahem, faithful--few are hiding. They're whispering, "Is it over yet?" Um, it's just begun. And yes, I can see you under there.

Israel begged to be ruled by a king rather than God. God, who knew their frame, understanding their tendency to worship tangible things (or people), knew the danger of this prideful prospect. Yet He gave in because they whined long enough. "Don't say I didn't warn you." was His response.

Sorry, but that rag you're hiding under--that sand you buried your head in--will not keep the floodwaters out. You will get wet.

What can we learn about the tumultuous history of Israel?
Two things are true:

Anything governed by people who have separated themselves from God will be corrupt.

God will always have a bloodline, a people, a church, for His own namesake, not because we're so great. Let's thank God for this before we start patting ourselves on the back.

One thing entertainment has done to us is to have removed any sense of outrage at something truly abominable. Our sensitivities have become so twisted that for most, a vote like tonight's, which will adversely affect the life of each man, woman, and child in our country (if they even have the privilege of being born), hardly hits the radar.

Yet basketball brings such a rise out of people, they can't stop tweeting about it. Even at a time like this.

This brings new meaning to the term 'March Madness.'

I have nothing against basketball. Unless you choose to watch it 'while Rome burns.'

But this isn't about sports. It's the profound consequences we have brought upon our children because we have forgotten God.

The children of Israel found themselves enslaved every time they chose to worship pagan gods. A good king, then an evil king. Then a good king, and an evil king. Suffering, repentance, brief relief, neglect of the things of God, and more suffering. It's a predictable pattern. You'd think we'd learned from it by now.

"I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore, choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live." (Deut.30:19)

Well, we've chosen. God help us.

Don't mention it

Exodus 23:13: "And in all things that I have said unto you be circumspect: and make no mention of the name of other gods, neither let it be heard out of thy mouth."

And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them. (Eph. 5:11)

Talking heads, everywhere. About everything. Nothing is taboo, even in the pulpit (gasp).

Oh, that unruly member, the tongue!

Nay, though nature has hedged it in with a double barrier of the lips and teeth, it bursts from its barriers to assail and ruin men [ESTIUS].

You brood of vipers, how can you, being evil, speak what is good? For the mouth speaks out of that which fills the heart. (Matthew 12:34)

If anyone thinks himself to be religious, and yet does not bridle his tongue but deceives his own heart, this man's religion is worthless. (James 1:26)

Oh, be careful, little tongue, what you say...

Thankful

On a bulletin board in my closet, there is a card that accompanied these flowers for Valentine’s Day. I will not cheapen its beautiful message (or elicit awkwardness) by relaying it. But it was sweet, and perfect, and I will keep it forever. Because it came from a loving, living, breathing, healthy man who holds my heart.

In numerous recent conversations, we have contemplated with awe the ordeal that now feels like a dream, or a trip to an alternate universe.

It was as if the heavy curtain of normalcy was lifted for a few months, and passage was granted–forced–into a world thickly clogged with hospitals, sickness, uncertainty, struggle, and tears, and where that wrenching hollowness in the pit of your stomach reminds you that your life is but a feeble flicker and could be snuffed out any minute. Funny...about nine months ago, I had thought that curtain was a concrete wall. Not so.

Even as I write this, it occurs to me that in a moment, we could be catapulted back into that world, but by the grace of God.

What is it that compels me to trust the curtain and its predictable pattern more than the everlasting Arms that hung it? My comfortable, expected daily existence may vanish in a moment, but He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Here I must stop and lift my hands to thank Him once again for His grace. Come what may tomorrow, His plan is perfect, He is our hiding place, our place of rest and peace, and there is no dark crevice in the rough terrain of human experience where He cannot be found. “Though I make my bed in hell, thou art there,” David said.

Tonight, in the midst of evening routine and preoccupied thoughts about tomorrow, I glanced at that little card and was struck by the unfathomable mercy of my God. He has kept us, protected us, provided for us, healed our broken hearts, and supplied supernatural hope, strength, peace… I will not forget His benefits!

I am not a widow, but by the grace of God.

My husband is not confined to a wheelchair, or walker, or cane, and possesses all his faculties (aside from hearing loss on his right side), but by the grace of God.

My children have a father to teach them how to catch a football, but by the grace of God.

He bears in his body the scars. Evidence of God’s mercy upon those for whom life is a vapor, a passing shadow.

So now I run back to the Healer and cast at His feet these flowers that, though a bit wilted by now, testify to His unspeakable grace. He has kept us. His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures forever.

Lord, I will not fail to give You the glory for this miraculous story we have lived.

I will repeat it, recall it, remember it. I will not forget Your design, Your plan, Your perfect timing. And whatever tomorrow brings, I will remember that it is You who are First and Last, Author and Finisher, and Your promises do not fail. I rest in you tonight, thankful.

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” (Isaiah 26:3)

In search of the Perfect Bread recipe

I am a fledgling bread maker, and have yet to find the best recipe/method for perfect whole-wheat sandwich bread.

Any tips?

I do not have a bread machine. I’m not afraid of a little kneading, though it’s not my favorite pastime.

I don’t use shortening or margarine.

In my travels through Breadsylvania thus far, I’ve only gotten as far as Hockey Puck hamlet and Chewy Chapel Downs (that is, my bread has turned out more dense and harder than I hope, and more chewy than I like, for those of you in Rio Linda).

So, all of you out there in radioland who have the secret map to the holy grail of breadmaking,

Lay it on me!

the secret ingredient

A good name is better than precious ointment, and the day of death than the day of one’s birth; better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for that is the end of all men; and the living will take it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, For by a sad countenance the heart is made better. (Ecclesiastes 7:1-2)

Sorrow: the element that makes one’s life sweeter.

Solomon writes here about life. Had he not known the pain of death, the sweetness of life would not appear to him.

I speak not of sorrow left to mold and embitter the heart, but to deliver one in agony to the feet of Jesus, where that sorrow can be turned to joy, and the master carpenter can craft from splinters and dust a new building for His glory.

Those who have tasted cookies baked without salt understand that without salt, the flavor has no balance. That savory element is needed to define the sweet. To put it in context, if you will.

Tears shed in sorrow enhance the sweetness of life.

We found out two days before our daughter was born that my husband had a very large brain tumor. It pressed on his brain stem and had cost him his hearing on one side. We knew the Hand of God was directing the details, so we sat back and trusted, trembling, but confident in His faithfulness. And when she was born, there was something complex and beautiful about the joy we felt this time. There are few surprises in the birth of your fourth child, but we rejoiced in a new way, knowing the mercy of God that keeps us daily and, while not preventing every storm, gives us peace and strength to ride it out.

Why would God allow such difficulty to come in a young man’s life? Because it is now, early, that He wants us to learn the beauty of sorrow, the glory in suffering, the joy that is set before us that renders the present suffering unworthy of shame.

And why does He not change our circumstances when we ask in faith, believing? Might it be to train our eyes Upward, looking to Jesus, the (Author and) Finisher who knows the End and that it is good?

There is purpose, always purpose, in suffering. And yes, it is good. Oh, that we would grasp that purpose and take it to heart! Thereby the heart is made better, and life is sweeter.

I've got it

love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance…

they’re all there. Installed when the Holy Ghost came in.

Why do I doubt it? This is the Spirit of Christ we’re speaking of. He is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think. That power is in me, if I have the Holy Ghost.

So why don’t I feel it?
Because I must ’stir up the gift,’ as Paul said to Timothy. Often. How to have access to this bottomless resource of all that is good and needful? Stir it up!

(What do I mean by 'stir it up?' Pray. Fast. Read the Word, focus on Him. Sing to Him, whenever, wherever. Etc.)

No more asking God for strength–the Joy of the Lord is my strength, and that comes with the Gift.
No more asking for patience, because longsuffering came with the package.

And no more requests submitted to God because I don’t feel like putting forth the effort. Too comfy right now…”will do that later, Lord, but while you’re around, would you add another cushion under my left foot? It’s a bit achy. Scratch the ol’ big toe while you’re down there. And how’s about a sandwich?”

Really? Has He done so much for me only for me to reject the bit of effort required to follow Him?

It’s like refusing to drive a Jaguar because turning the key in the ignition sounds like too much work.

Ok, I’ll admit it’s a bit hard to stir it up sometimes, especially when it’s been a while and the sediment on the bottom of the soul is rather thick…like trying to re-distribute the layer of oil on the top of natural peanut butter while it’s still cold from the fridge.

But that’s the deal, folks.
It’s a free gift, but it’ll cost you.
The reward is immeasurable, but elbow grease will be involved.

If you’ve seen the beauty of vinegar and baking soda at work, you understand that sometimes a little stirring is all it takes to get the reaction you need.

…hmm..chemical reaction. Should blog about that, too.

Nutshell: If you have received the Holy Ghost (which you need!), you have been grafted into that Root that draws from the everlasting well, and if you have repented and been baptized, there is no cloud of sin to obstruct the Sun from your face. You are the tree in Psalm 1. You have ‘access to the excess,’ as one of my favorite preachers once said.

You are not ill-equipped to fulfill your role in the Body of Christ! You’ve got everything you need. The treasure is there. Stir it up!

(much appreciation to Rev. Rufus Parker, whose ‘Morning Manna’ on January 19 inspired this post.)

He would rather

It would be grand to make His home
amongst the sun and stars
Or build Himself a mansion on the other side of Mars

His house could be a castle filled with statues and fine art
But He would rather live inside your heart.

It could be that on ancient stone
He’d speak in paint and ink
Or leave His love notes scrawled in minty toothpaste in the sink

He could have carved his words on little pebbles in the brook
But He would rather put them in a Book.

He could listen to great symphonies
and poet’s famous verse,
Or hear the wrens and bluejays with their tweets and squawks converse.

His favorite sound could be the forest’s rustling leaves and limbs
But He would rather hear you talk to Him.

You could swim in vats of money and
wear clothes of solid gold,
Have all the games and food and fun and stuff that you behold

He could spoil you silly, load you down ‘til “Uncle!” you could plead
But He would rather give you all you need.

You could wish to change your nose to one
much smaller than you’ve got
Or your face could be more pink or brown with fewer specks and spots

It might be your desire to change your looks upon a whim,
But He would rather make you look like Him.

He could fashion the most beautiful
And grand celestial maid,
With glitt’ring hair and stars for eyes, who all His words obeyed

She could radiate with glory, be the object of His pride,
But He would rather take you as His bride.

You could go by Bobby, Spencer, Carter,
Chucky, Goose, or Rick
Or answer to Jemima, Little Lucy or Big Nick

But those don’t carry quite enough distinction or acclaim
For He would rather call you by His Name.

It was His gentle, skillful hand
that formed your little face,
And in His book inscribed your members in that secret place

He commands the rain and sunshine, taught the birds to build their nest
He’s the One who loves you most, and He knows best.

–written for my kids, Summer 2009.

We cannot but speak...

We cannot but speak what we have seen and heard… (Acts 4:20)

My eight-year-old is a talker. Everything he notices, everything he hears gets repeated. Everything that’s on is mind is spoken out loud. It can drive us all a bit crazy. It’s all innocent observation and interest, and for the most part, it’s thrilling as a mother for me to see his mind developing and watch him make new connections between principles and facts. He loves to learn, and I love that about him. But he is a talker.

One issue we have in particular is his tendency to tell everything about every scene in a movie he has seen before, spoilers and all. There is no boundary in his mind (yet) that prevents him from ruining the movie for someone else who hasn’t seen it.

He is literally unable to hinder any previous experience from making its way out of his mouth. The memory is so real, the excitement so potent, that it is unthinkable to keep it to himself alone.

I find intriguing the human process of experience-to-thought-to-words to which we are all bound. Intake determines product, “garbage in, garbage out,” “you are what you eat,” etc. I’ve blogged about that before. But it’s so true, I’ve got to address it again.

What we have been watching, we talk about. What we have been listening to, the conversations we’ve heard, are what we repeat.

What am I listening to? What do I put before my eyes? it is inevitably that which will come out of my mouth. Because we are made to be witnesses. And whether we use that element in our design for good or evil, we will nonetheless use it. Witnesses of something.

Our eyes are always seeing…what is it they see? For it is of this that we will witness. What do we hear? It is this we will repeat.

You cannot but speak that which you have seen and heard. It will come out, despite your attempts to stifle it. It is the natural flow to life.

Herein lies the beauty of God’s perfect plan. Having designed us with this tendency to repeat and reproduce what has entered our existence by our senses, He placed in us this ‘treasure in earthen vessels‘ that is so powerful, it trumps everything else! No experience can compare. And it’s ongoing… ‘further up, further in,’ so to speak. There’s no end to this amazing trip, so there’s always something more to say.

It is therefore my goal to seek Him with my eyes, studying His Word, and listen for His Voice with my ears…the ‘witness’ part is inevitable.

Home again

Doesn't he look wonderful?? Yes, I agree. :)
We are still not without bumps and hiccups, but our hope and prayer is that the end of this particular trial is near.

We arrived home (last) Sunday from Vanderbilt. I drove, and it was one of the scariest drives I've ever made. It seems everyone who'd been over the river and through the woods at Granny's house was going home at the last minute, so the interstate was a big NASCAR race, complete with spectacular crashes: we got stuck behind TWO major wrecks, one of which stopped traffic both ways on I-40, and required a rescue helicopter to land on the road. It ended up taking us almost five hours to make a (normally) 2 1/2-hour trip.

All things considered (yes, I'm using that phrase again. My blog ;) ), he's doing pretty well.

This week has been a bit bumpy--his headaches are still nagging and persistent, but not unmanageable. His sleep patterns are much changed due mostly to medication. His energy level is improving, however, and though he's not at top speed, life seems to be returning to some semblance of 'normal.' Hopefully in a month or so, when he's finally off all the medication, we can leave this chapter behind. Hopefully we will have left it better people.

Until then, we are thankful for every day. Christmas is more meaningful now, family moments are more precious, and the blessing of being home is more tangible. I pray that we recognize the beauty around us rather than pine for what is not. Life is a gift, just as it is, trials included.

I pray the blessings of God on all of you. Merry Christmas! :)

God plans ahead

Throughout this whole ordeal, we have had good days and bad days. A hill followed by a valley, good news followed by bad news, hopeful, positive moments followed by disappointment…and then more positive moments.

Today, dear friends stopped by and we were blessed unexpectedly by them. We sat on the hospital bed together after they left and wept at their generosity. Their kindness was a direct sign from God that His plan is secure, even though our plans fail. We are unsure of the future; He is not.

Later this evening, after Wes fell asleep, I noticed his scar seemed to be swollen a bit. Yes, it’s just me. No nurse or doctor has confirmed my observation, but let’s be real: if anyone knows to the detail what my husband’s head should look like, it is I. My gut tells me that in the morning, the doctors will take one look at him and say, “yep, you’re gonna need a shunt.” More surgery, more time in the hospital, more time away from the kids. This is a heart-wrenching thought.

I have felt repeatedly through this process that I’ve had enough, that I don’t want to face this anymore, that the end of this struggle must be near–I can’t handle it much longer.

But I will look at the pattern, and remember the grace of God.

The surgery to remove the tumor went without a hitch. It was a huge success, with both teams (ENT and Neurosurgery) extremely proud of their work and confident of the future. In the words of Dr Thompson, it was a ‘formidable’ tumor. Very large, and could have done great damage to the brain stem and facial nerve. But it didn’t.

God preserved his life. Beautifully, miraculously. This was an unspeakable relief. Two weeks of improvement and increasing strength followed. Then after improvement and relief came disappointment, which we suffered when meningitis set in.

Recovery, setback. Blessings, struggles. Plenty, poverty. Gladness, sorrow.

See the pattern?

The God who knows the end from the beginning prepares us for future trials by strengthening us today. Little do we know as spiritual children what great need we will have to fall on the Rock, to return to the altar we built the day the Holy Ghost baptized us. The unspeakable joy that washes over a new soul reborn is the same which will carry him through the difficulties of life, when everything stable will be threatened. It will be his strength.

God, the ever loving, everlasting Father who loves His children more than anyone, knows where our road will lead, so he packs in our little travel bag just what we need to get us to our Destination.

This Holy Ghost, this Spirit of Christ, the ‘foretaste of glory divine,’ is the meat to sustain us until we reach That Other Shore. Oh, that we would carry it with reverence, protecting it, cherishing it, nurturing it! It is our most valuable possession, and our only hope.

Jesus spoke to His disciples in John 14, telling them He would be leaving soon. He began the chapter with the promise “I go to prepare a place for you.” The value of such a promise is unknown until one is forced to cling to it in desperate fervor. He knew they would later be tested, and would need to remember His words. So He followed with another promise: “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you…the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

Who can appreciate peace but they who have been shaken by chaos and tumult? What is the value of comfort unless it be compared to one’s struggle, pain, and sorrow?

Soak in His presence today! Feast at His banquet table! Eat the Word. Accept His strength, surrendering all. I beg you, invest in the full armor of God. The day is coming when you will need it.

And above all, remember the Promise, that He “hath begotten us again unto a lively hope…To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1:3,4).

Thanksgiving 2009

Hi. Last time we talked, Wes was in the hospital, recovering from meningitis.

Now, Wes is in the hospital, waiting for the spinal fluid leak to heal and the swelling to go down.

"Really? Three weeks later? A month-and-a-half past surgery??" you ask. Yes, and believe me: I am just as incredulous as you.

And now I shall share with you our timeline:

October 30. Wes has staples removed, develops meningitis, spends a week in the hospital with ridiculous pain and super-mega-antibiotics. My mom, who came to help us on October 13, gets ready to leave on the 5th. Dad drives down from Wisconsin to pick her up.

November 6. We go home with high hopes and a week's worth of IV meds to kill what's left of the bug in his brain. Swelling at the incision site seems to be improving.

November 11. Wes' good friend, Troy, is killed in a car accident. A groomsman in our wedding, he is a young husband and father, loved by all who know him. This tragedy adds to the difficulty and pain of recovery. A very hard day for Wes (not to mention for Troy's wife, Amy, and their son Tanner, who was in the car with his dad and suffered horrific injuries. We still pray for Amy and Tanner, for strength, peace, and complete healing in Jesus' name!).

November 14. We finish the antibiotics, Wes is feeling pretty good, life seems to be inching toward 'normal'.

November 15. Sunday. We go to church for the first time since the surgery--it's wonderful to be back, albeit with a swollen head, slower gait, and PICC line still in his arm.

We go home for the afternoon, he takes it slow, and we head to Troy's funeral. It is packed, and we see many good friends from far and near who have been praying for us. Such a sad occasion, but so good to see our friends. As we sit in the sanctuary waiting for the funeral to start, Wes feels a trickle down his neck (still wearing the bandage over his incision). We go outside to find out that it is in fact his incision leaking cerebrospinal fluid, which is not supposed to happen, and we head home immediately and call the doctor.

We are advised to keep it dry and clean and to see doc at 7:30 the following morning (no one would perform surgery on Sunday night, anyway, if we went to the ER). Wes is not in extreme pain, so we lay low for the rest of the evening. We are disappointed that we have to miss the funeral.

November 16. The doctor (Hauge, in Knoxville) determines we need to fix the leak. Wes has to forgo eating and drinking until 5pm, when surgery starts.

A long day of waiting is followed by a short operation (less than half an hour), and a neat little set of sutures now complements his previous incision. During the surgery, the excess fluid that had remained under the incision was released, and our hope was that it would not re-accumulate. A pressure bandage wrapped around his head is added to prevent this. We are excited to see a flat place where the skin had bulged out from the side of his head, and are hopeful that this may be the end of our brain surgery chapter. :)

No dice. By the time we arrive home, about two-and-a-half hours past surgery, the swelling has returned in full force.

This is a low point for us. It has now been a month since the tumor was removed, and by now, we had expected life to be a little easier. But recovery seems to drag on and on. It seems like we spent the entire day waiting for an unsuccessful outcome, and things are yet unresolved.

November 17-22. We take meticulous care of the incision, changing the dressing daily, hoping and praying that nothing else goes wrong. The swelling seems to go down a bit here and there (though review of pictures and video during that time now reveals that no change really occurred).

November 22. We go to church Sunday morning, Wes testifies with his head wrap, glad to be in the service. We are so thankful to be in the presence of God. There's no better therapy! Visiting evangelist, Jordan Stumbo, preaches "The Power of Perspective."

At the end of service, Wes notices his bandage feels wet. Uh oh. We go home, inspect the incision. Just a little drop appears at the bottom knot of the sutures. It seems to have stopped. We proceed with our day, he naps, I take the kids to the evening service. After church, we find a more significant leak that continues through the night.

November 23. Monday. A call to the (Vandy) doctor directs us to the ER, but since Wes isn't in serious pain, we decide to see the local neurosurgeon instead and thereafter head to Nashville as planned (have an appointment with our Vandy ENT surgeon early Tuesday morning). We find a lovely room on Priceline for a steal. Praise God. :)

November 24. Tuesday, at Vanderbilt. The leak is profuse, the doctors consult with one another and decide to admit Wes and install a drain to take pressure off his head and redirect it out of his body through a little tube in his back into a bag at his side. A nifty contraption controlled by gravity, the drain measures how much CSF is coming out over time. He now sports a higher-octane pressure bandage around his head to provide resistance to the CSF that wants to push out through the incision.

November 25. A boring day in the hospital. Drip, drip, drip goes the drain. Click, click goes the IV pump. The soft, muffled whirr of air circulation systems. And that is all.

November 26. Thanksgiving day! We had the company of dear friends for a few minutes this afternoon, and it was so therapeutic. It's a bittersweet irony to know NYC is taking place in the same city at the same time; it enables friends to come and see us, like our Knoxville friends, and the Ritcheys, who probably wouldn't be able to come to Nashville just to see Wes, but who were able to stop by...yet we'd much rather be in the services.

All things considered, things seem to be improving: it's apparent that under the bandage, the swelling has gone down at least some, if not all (Please, Lord, let it be gone for good!). Tomorrow, we find out if we need further surgery, which will involve a permanent internal drain for excess fluid to leave the brain and the body through the stomach. Hopefully not. Hopefully, we will see that his head is healing, that the fluid has successfully been diverted, and that no more surgery will be needed.

Praying this in Jesus' name. Thanks to all who are praying with us. Happy Thanksgiving!

Post-Surgery...Part II

Okay, so the last time I posted, we were a week post-surgery and doing great, all things considered.

I guess you could say the same now, though the "things considered" are a bit different.

Allow me to elaborate:

On Friday morning of last week, we went to get Wes' staples removed. He was doing well, and felt almost normal. ;) After an exam by the neurosurgery Nurse Practictioner, his mom, the nurse, had the pleasure of removing the staples from his incisions: the one behind his ear from surgery, and the one in his abdomen where fat was removed to plug the hole in his skull (neat, huh?).

When removed, the staples left neat little holes in a neat little row along the cut. As the staples came out, from a few of these holes ran a little stream of clear liquid which dripped down his neck. This was a bit startling, though not completely abnormal. The possibilities were either that the tissue was 'weeping' while healing, or that it was cerebrospinal fluid leaking from inside the skull. It was not a huge amount--a tablespoon, maybe, and then it stopped. The educated theory was that it was not CSF, and the precaution was given to call if a severe headache occurred. We left to walk a little around the mall, then go home.

While at the mall, the dull (normal) headache Wes had had earlier now increased steadily, though not unbearably.

What we did not know at this point was that bacteria had entered his brain from the outside world through the cerebrospinal fluid that had leaked. In twenty minutes, this bacteria doubles. In two hours, it increases sixty-four fold.

This is the kind of bacteria that can kill a person within hours.

After a few minutes at the mall, feeling a bit more tired and in a bit more pain, Wes took two Tylenol and we headed for home.

Within an hour of arriving home, his pain was more noticeable. He took a half pill of a stronger medication given by the doctor. This made no difference. As time progressed, his pain increased to a screaming '9 out of 10' (he reserves 10 for dismemberment and mortal wounds), and he couldn't stand light, couldn't move, couldn't talk.

I called our local neurosurgeon, who prescribed a migraine medicine. This did not work, and by 3:30, I was on the phone with Vanderbilt. They advised that this was definitely not normal, and that if his pain had not decreased in an hour, to go to the ER.

At 4:40, we were headed to the ER. There, they did a spinal tap (lumbar puncture) to start a culture on spinal fluid (to determine whether it was an infection or a CSF leak) and gave him morphine to manage the pain.
The morphine made no difference.

At this point, the doctors had told us it was either a CSF leak causing pressure and pain, or "infectious meningitis." I now know the latter term really means "bacterial meningitis," but doesn't sound as foreboding.

Meningitis is the irritation of the meninges, which are the membranes that cover the brain. This can be caused by surgery (chemical meningitis), a virus (viral meningitis), or bacteria (bacterial meningitis). The former two are temporary and need no treatment; the third can kill you quickly.

Wes was admitted to the CCU (Critical Care Unit), where they began administering antibiotics to prevent the progress of infection. His temperature wavered around 102 degrees. He was in tremendous pain, unable to bear noise above a whisper, and very lethargic. The skin behind his ear bulged out where the tissue had swollen.

For the next two days, his mom and I alternated our visits to see him during the strict hours of the CCU. We slept in the waiting room and prayed for some clear answers as to what had happened.

By the second day, his pain was somewhat under control and his fever had decreased a bit, so he was moved to his room on the fourth floor. He has remained there since, and has steadily--though slowly--improved.

His blood tests confirmed infection, though the spinal tap showed nothing conclusive as to the type of bacteria involved.

He continues on a strict regimen of two high-powered "broad spectrum" antobiotics, almost constantly administered by IV. Monday, he received a PICC line, a fancy contraption attached to his upper arm through which he gets his medicine (he now calls it his 'bionic arm'). This kind of high-powered central line can last a year. It is through this line that he will continue to receive antibiotics at home for another week or two. Through this same line, blood can be drawn also. Good news for Wes, who at this point feels somewhat like a human pincushion. :)

It is a slow ascent back to normalcy, but every day he gets a bit better. We are so thankful for God's hand of protection on us, for easing his pain, and for giving us great doctors, wonderful family, and a supportive church.

That's all for now...thanks for reading, thanks for caring, and for praying for us. What a story!

Post-Surgery thoughts

Whew. So now, a week post-surgery, I am behooved to address the cosmos (and more importantly, friends) regarding our recent and continuing trial (though Praise God, the worst is over!)...

• We survived the steamroller! :) To God be the glory.
  

What an experience, what a testimony, what a mighty God! He never leaves us, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death.. I will tell you that though I knew we would come through this (by God's grace alone), I distinctly felt that 'shadow' on the day of surgery...knowing that God's ways are above ours, and that if His justice were satisfied, we'd long ago have been consumed.

He does not have to appeal to my reasoning and understanding to do what He sees fit. My own parents--both of them--lost their fathers at an early age. My mom was almost two when her dad died, and my dad was five. Knowing that the Lord has preserved them all this time, even without the presence of their precious fathers, I knew the Lord would keep me and my own children, no matter what. So with that knowledge, knowing that EVERYthing God does IS right, I faced the day.

This is not to disregard the peace I felt from the day we heard about the tumor. I knew Wes would make it through. But even if I was mistaken, I also knew God is faithful.

• Moms rock.

My parents arrived in Tennessee from Wisconsin (looonnnnng, 14-hour drive) on Monday night. From that moment on, my parents have been such a support throughout this experience. My mom has taken over the care of our older three while I tend to Wes and the Beebs (our little 5-month-old), and her help has been invaluable. She is truly the greatest Oma on the planet (I'm sure that statement could bring many other Dutch grandchildren to blows). She has taken over homeschooling, reading to them, bathing, feeding, and playing with them, and she even took them to pick pumpkins (one appropriately-sized pumpkin for each child--so cute!) yesterday. Thank you, Mom. You're the best. Many thanks to Dad, too, who had to turn around and drive back to WI on Saturday to care for his wonderful church (to you who read this and attend Lighthouse Pentecostal Church, you rock! Thank you all for adopting us).

Wes' mom has been no less supportive and helpful. She (as you may have read) is a nurse for a neurosurgeon here in Knoxville, and her knowledge and experience has been such a blessing. I can call her instead of bugging our doctor's office every time I have a question. She stayed the first night after surgery with Wes in ICU while I went to get some rest at the hotel with the baby. I'm SO thankful for this...we were all sleep-deprived by this point, and the sacrifice she made that night to ensure Wes wouldn't be alone was so appreciated (though she would tell you it was no sacrifice at all). She also brought me a certain container of cookies on the day of surgery--so thoughtful! I'm sure I'll be paying for that indulgence ;), but I appreciate her thoughtfulness so much.

Many other important words of thanks can be found here. Words are not enough.

• We now have one more reason to appreciate fall.
  

We were married in September and are mega-fans of turtlenecks, so we already have reason to count fall our favorite season. Add "evicted brain tumor" to that list, and even one's birthday becomes a distant second. ;)

So there's a few of my thoughts.. Thanks to all of you who continue to pray for us! He is the God who hears.

(Dear friends, please excuse the inevitable errors in my posts throughout the next few weeks...I am snatching a few moments here and there to write, and do not have quite the time I prefer to self-edit. Thanks for your forgiveness!)

Final pre-surgery thoughts..

•I love Wes.

•I'm not afraid.. But the unknown has me a little apprehensive. But that's okay.. Nothing is unknown to Jesus!

•I'm thankful that not only does He have the whole world in His hands, He's got little Wes, and little me, too. :)

•I hope I can keep from blowing an emotional gasket tomorrow (today)...not out of despair, but human weakness in a stressful moment.

•I'm SO thankful for all the people who have been praying and are fasting today for us. I cannot tell you what a comfort it is to know that we are not alone, and that it's not just my thin little quivering voice that's lifted to heaven, but a chorus of many, a mighty arm of the Body lifting my family up. Thank you.

the secret ingredient

A good name is better than precious ointment, And the day of death than the day of one's birth; Better to go to the house of mourning Than to go to the house of feasting, For that is the end of all men; And the living will take it to heart. Sorrow is better than laughter, For by a sad countenance the heart is made better. (Ecclesiastes 7:1-2)

Sorrow: the element that makes one's life sweeter.

Solomon writes here about life. Had he not known the pain of death, the sweetness of life would not appear to him.

Anyone who has eaten cookies baked without salt understands that without salt, sweet has no balance. Sweetness needs that that savory element to define the sweetness.

I speak not of sorrow left to mold and embitter the heart, but to deliver one in agony to the feet of Jesus, where that sorrow can be turned to joy, and the master carpenter can craft from splinters and dust a new building for His glory.

Why would God allow such difficulty to come in a young man's life? Because it is now, early, that He wants us to learn the beauty of sorrow, the glory in suffering, the joy that is set before us that renders the present suffering unworthy of shame.

There is purpose, always purpose, in suffering. And yes, it is good. Oh, that we would grasp that purpose and take it to heart! Thereby the heart is made better, and life is sweeter.

Things I learned today

• That it is indeed possible to duplicate (or closely imitate) Cracker Barrel pancakes. A word of caution, however: they are probably about a bazillion calories each....but uber tasty! :) (my tips: fry them in bacon grease and plenty o' butter for the salty/crispy edges, use real buttermilk, and let the batter rest for about 30 min.)
• That an impending life event can actually be a de-motivator...yeah, that means I didn't get much done today. Oh, well.
  
• That Winston Churchill wrote a lot. And well. His "Inside of the Cup" series (Vol 1-7) is strikingly good. So insightful. (I'm only on Vol 2, so don't quote me on 3-7 yet.)
  
• That there really is no place to find decent (little girls') tights for cheap. $10.50?? Really, Gap, you're being a little greedy. They're plain, black tights.
  

So now, haunted by a cluttered closet and piles of laundry, with an early morning before me, I bid you Adieu...or Guten Abend for those with Germanic preferences.

I leave you with a ponderable quote:

"Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put."
--Winston Churchill