Waiting for God to Show Up

I don't know the average times each person hits rock bottom during his or her life.  For me, it's been just a handful.  I would guess that is probably below average.

The first time it happened I was 15.  My first love broke up with me, and of course I was devastated. I survived it as well as any 15 year old survives heartbreak; a lot of Bon Jovi, raw cookie dough, and hours on the phone with my girlfriends (this was pre-text era).

Two weeks later, he attempted suicide. He took a bottle of some kind of pills and put a knife through his stomach (the details were kind of fuzzy). All I knew was he was in the hospital and I couldn't see him.  Oh yeah, and that my name was in the suicide note.

I know sometimes people say in crisis situations time stands still.  For me, days played out in fast forward.  First seeing the school counselor, then a therapist my mom took me to, non stop headaches, constantly throwing up, seeing a doctor who thought perhaps I had a brain tumor so he ordered a CAT scan. Turns out it was just stress.Writing endlessly in the journal that I titled Suicide 101 (as suggested by the second therapist). Skipping class to sit in the band hall and cry. Then going home to cry more.

Then one night, sitting in church (my dad being a pastor, I spent most of my nights in church), having absolutely no idea what had been sang or said, I just walked out.  Our sanctuary was on the second floor and I walked down the stairs aiming for the biting January air.  It was freezing, but at least I would feel something besides this pain and guilt that left me struggling to breathe.  I got as far as the bottom star and completely collapsed.  Exhausted from not sleeping, my body listless from lack of nourishment, drowning in guilt. And so angry.  So I did what anyone filled with anger would do. I started yelling at God.  "Why?  What is the point of all of this?  I have done nothing for the last 15 years but what I thought you wanted me to do.  I have gone where you wanted me to go, stayed away from things I thought were wrong.  I have shown compassion. Loved.  I have believed in you.  I have loved you.  So why the hell is this happening?  Where are you right now?"

And then, God showed up.

I couldn't see Him.  No Charlton Heston voice filled my ears.  In fact if any one would have walked down those stairs, all they would have seen is a 15 year old crying her eyes out.  But all of the sudden I was crying in the arms of my Father. I had no answers. I had no miracle.  But He showed up.  And eventually I walked back up the stairs and into my life.

The next time it happened was a few years after Richie and I got married, and we decided to try to start a family.  We had an easy (and fun) time trying to get pregnant and it happened quickly.  We were almost through our first trimester (12 weeks) when we went in for our first sonogram.  As I lay on the table, I could see the doctor's cheerful disposition begin to change as she searched for our baby's heartbeat.  She kept looking, but there was no use.  She told us our baby had probably stopped growing at about eight weeks.

But I hadn't had any symptoms of a miscarriage,  I told her. I had no bleeding, no cramping.  Nothing.  This can't be right.  She couldn't be right.  I could see the baby on the screen.  There had to be some mistake.

But there was no mistake.  There was no heartbeat.  And we would have no baby.

Rock bottom this time turned out to be our bathroom floor.  The door locked with me sobbing hysterically and Richie on the other side pleading with me to open the door and come out. I told him I couldn't.  I just knew that somehow I had killed our baby. Something I ate, something I didn't eat.  An exercise I did or didn't do. Vitamins I took. The ones I didn't take. The cross country car trip.  We had our sono too late.  I wasn't sure how, but I was sure I killed our baby.  And I was sure God let it happen.  So I started yelling again. Where the hell was He?  If He loved me, if He loved our baby, why did He let this happen?  God if you are here, why don't you want me to be a mother? Why did you let my baby die?  Why don't I even have the strength to get up off the floor?

And just then, He showed up. 

He cried every tear with me there in that tiny bathroom.  He assured me that my pain was neither in vain nor was it foreign to Him.  He knew exactly what it was like to lose a son. His heart was breaking with mine, but He knew that I would survive this pain, no matter how deep and raw, because He would not let me fail. And eventually, He pulled me up off the bathroom floor and back into my life.

My most recent visit to the bottom of the rock pile was last weekend starting with a trip to the Emergency Room.  Surprisingly that was not my low point.  The low point came almost a week later after an insurance mix up and some communication challenges with doctors and medication changes left me with nothing to treat my migraines. The combination of withdrawing from one kind of medication to start another, while at the same time catching a cold from the kids and constant nausea preventing me from eating for a week -- that wasn't even enough to knock me down (it gets harder to knock you down the more often you are there, I think).

But at some point I realized, even when the insurance and doctors got it all straightened out, I would be right back where I started.  It's like I'm patching a bullet hole with a band-aid. I am not getting better. I spent four days telling myself what a horrible mother and wife I am.  How all of this must somehow by my fault.  Well meaning friends and family often say things like, "Have you tried this herb?"  or "Maybe you should cut out chocolate or try acupuncture?"  And it isn't that I don't appreciate suggestions.  It is just that what I hear them saying is "This is your fault,"  "This is your fault,"  "This is all your fault."

This time, rock bottom looked like a lot like a bench.  I decided to go for a walk Sunday night.  However, since I hadn't eaten in four days, I only made it about a block and a half to the front of our neighborhood.  Luckily there was a bench to sit on since that short walk left me feeling dizzy and nauseous.  As I sat there, once more yelling at God (perhaps when I am at rock bottom, I find it necessary to yell in order to make sure He hears me).  And then, I waited for Him to show up.

He didn't.

I walked back to the house in the throws of despair and drowning in self inflicted guilt ( See the pattern of guilt.  Guilt from the suicide. Guilt from the miscarriage.  Guilt from the health issues..)  Maybe this really was all my fault.  Maybe I had done something so wrong that God was no longer going to show up when I was desperate.

I got home just in time for the kids to go to bed.  Both claimed stomach aches, and I was too tired to argue, so I let them climb into bed with me. Their sweet little bodies pressed up to mine, soft even breaths, and the smell of pineapple shampoo still in their hair, I took a deep breath and wouldn't you know  . . .

God showed up.

"My child," He whispered.  "If you wouldn't have been so hurt all those years ago when your friend tried to take his life you would be tempted to take your own life when your physical pain gets unbearable. Instead, I know, without question, that no matter how much physical pain you face in this life, suicide is not an option for you because you understand the devastation it leaves on the other side.  And these babies you're holding in your arms.  The ones who bring you so much joy. The ones you would give your own life for.  You never would have known them if their sibling hadn't come home to live with me until you join us someday.

I am still here.

I know you don't understand the trials.

I know you are angry.

 And I know you wish your life was different.

 But there is work to be done here. And it can only be done by you. In this time. Exactly as you are."

Wherever you are today.  If you are on a high mountaintop or if you are standing (or lying face down like me) at rock bottom, God is there.  I know some of you reading this don't even believe in God.  That doesn't mean He isn't there. We are never going to understand suffering. Instead, we have to rely on God's character and believe it when He says, "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jer 29:11

Keep waiting and I promise, He will show up.

Waiting for the end

Life seems to go in cycles. You go five years without seeing a person and then run into them twice in a week. Or, as has happened in our life, you go five years without attending a funeral, and then have to attend two in a matter of weeks.

I don't think there is any way to attend a funeral without contemplating your own eventual end. Because the truth is, we are all dying. Some just take a bit longer to get to it.

When you have kids, funerals also make it difficult to escape the discussion of what happens when we die. Especially when you have very curious and observant kids like mine tend to be. Especially the older one.

Facing death is one of the times I think I most appreciate my Christian beliefs.  Telling our seven year old, "Our friend (or grandparent) gets to live in heaven forever with Jesus, and he will have a brand new body and won't be sick or ever get hurt," is a lot easier to say than, "well, they are going to put him in a big box and cover him up with dirt."

Now, please don't get me wrong when I say this, but even if I didn't believe Christianity to be true, I think believing it would make life a lot easier....especially at the end of it.

Hear what I am saying;  I believe Christianity is true.

I believe it is a religion grounded in history as well as science. Over the past few decades, archeological digs have helped prove the accuracy of the Bible. Even many scientists now admit that "something" had to initiate the big bang. Of course growing up I believed in a Christian God because my parents did. Not only did they teach the gospel to me as parents, but my dad was also my pastor.  So I spent more time in church than I did anywhere else, including my own home.

During my childhood and teen years, I was incredibly self righteous and thought I had it all figured out. (Side note to apologize for all of you who grew up under my self righteous glare). Then I went to college. I attended a university bigger than my home town. A university with all kinds of different people from different backgrounds and different beliefs. And to my surprise, a lot of these people were really nice. Really moral. Really generous. And really smart.

How could it be that my religion was right, making all of theirs wrong?

Enter crisis of faith.

College was the first time that I really examined my faith on my own. The first time I looked at the Bible and didn't take what it said with blind faith, but questioned what I read. I talked to people of different faiths, and a lot of people who claimed not to have faith in anything. I compared, contrasted, and questioned. A lot. But for the first time, I didn't just ask my dad for the answers. I searched them out myself.

And at the end of my search, I came back to where I started; believing that Jesus Christ, who is the Son of God, lived a perfect life and died for my sins so that I could have a  relationship with him that ultimately brings me from death into life. I discovered there was no way for me to earn this gift. In fact, my self righteous way of trying to keep all the rules (and judging those I thought weren't keeping them as well as I did) was exactly what Jesus died to save me from. His gift was free, and I could never earn it.  Only accept it.

But I digress.....

As I sat in the funeral this week, I couldn't help but think about my journey of self-discovery in college. I thought about all of the different religions and beliefs and wondered how I would feel viewing my friend's death through one of those lenses.

A lens like reincarnation where the afterlife depends on our behavior in this life.

A lens like atheism where the end of this life is simply the end.

And I realized, even if my search for what I believed ended differently, if I didn't believe that a relationship with Jesus resulted in eternal life, at a time like this, I would fake it.

Because otherwise I am not sure how you go on after watching a loved one die. I don't know how you face death if you don't have hope that there is something better than this life ahead of us. Something better for those who have gone on before us.

How does this man's wife of 46 years wake up every day with no hope that he is in a better place?  How does she go on without hope that she will see him again? Sure, she has kids and grand kids who love her, but without hope all she can believe is that someday those kids and grand kids will die too. And that will be the end.

I sat holding Richie's hand, thinking about my kids, my parents, my husband. Without the hope of something better I don't think I could go on in the face of their death.

Not without hope.

I know many people will disagree with this post. In fact, many people probably stopped reading a couple paragraphs in. That's okay. Like I said, I know there are some really amazing, moral, and smart people who don't share my belief system.

I just don't know how to hold on to those other beliefs in the face of death. Watching your spouse, your parent, or your child take their last breath, I think I would prefer to believe Christianity, even if it isn't true, than to believe that this life is all there is.

The pastor said something at the funeral that struck me. He said, "Boyd lived his entire life to prepare us for this day."

Not that we shouldn't be sad or that we won't miss him, but that we know without a doubt he finished well and he is living more fully now than he ever did on earth.

In the face of death, I choose hope. I don't know how to choose anything else. I want to live my life preparing everyone I leave behind for my death. I want them to miss me like crazy. And I want them to know they will see me again. And when they do, we will celebrate for eternity with no chance of migraines.

Waiting for rain

Last week I posted a blog about God's provison. It was based on a sermon series our church is doing called "running on empty" based on the life of Elijah. I would encourage you to check it out, but if you don't have time, here are the high points.

- God tells Elijah, this guy from the middle of nowhere, to go tell the king that they are about to face a big old drought.

- God then tells Elijah to run and hide by a brook, where God sends him daily breakfast and dinner via a raven.

- The brook dries up.

It is no secret to any of you who know our family, follow us on FB, or read this blog that our family has been in a drought. It started with medical problems, then financial difficulties, topped off with family health problems. We have been in the drought for what seems like a very long time. But looking back, we can honestly say that God has continued to provide for us, day by day. We get enough in the morning to make it through the day. And we have become completely reliant on God to give us enough for tomorrow. 

And every time we feel like we can't take another step, God sends enough.

Today, the brook dried up.

Richie's grandparents have been in and out of the hospital for the last several years. It seems that when one gets healthy, another gets sick. In the last two weeks, both grandfathers have been in the hospital.  Today, the journey ended for one of his grandfathers.  His dad's dad (well, really his stepdad, but the man who raised him) ended his journey through this life and moved to his journey through eternity.

Losing a family member at any time is difficult, but when you are already completely drained, worn out, and just plain weary, it is unbearable.  It is looking at that little brook, your only source of refreshment and the only small hope you have for survival, and watching it dry up in front of your eyes. Praying for rain and finding only dust.

That is exactly how I felt when I got the news of Richie's grandpa's passing. Inside I was screaming at God, "How does this make any sense? How is this fair? We just got a report that he was out of the woods and you take him.  Can't you give us just a little break? Where are you, because if you were here you would know we are desperate. We are angry. We are barely making it. We are scared. We are thirsty and the brook is dry."

Where is the rain? 

I didn't hear a James Earl Jonesish voice (what I imagine God's voice to sound like) telling me it was all going to be okay. In fact if I knew anything for certain, it was that things were not going to be okay.

But when I stopped yelling at God, I was reminded of that same story of Elijah. When his brook dried up, God told him, it was time to move.

As I looked at our metaphorical dried up brook, I got the same answer. It was time to move. Not literally (who would buy our house with all the crazy construction going on behind it). But time to move out of the season where we wondered *if* God would provide for us every day to a place where we *know* He will.

Time for us to move from a place where we feel angry and resentful for what we have lost to a place where we feel blessed for what we have.

Time for us to move to a place where we not only tell our kids that God will provide, but where *we* believe it.

It isn't going to be an easy move. Moving is never easy. When Elijah moved from his brook he faced a hundred mile walk through enemy territory. I imagine our journey will be similar.

It doesn't mean we won't mourn the loss of loved ones or stop praying for miraculous healings.

It means that even in the midst of loss and sickness, we believe God is still good. It means we believe that even though today is hot, dusty, and dry, tomorrow it just might rain.

Waiting for enough

I've often wondered if my husband has secret conferences with our pastor. Somewhere out of the way and quiet, or more likely somewhere with free WiFi, where Richie lays out all of my problems, shortcomings, and slight neuroces. Then, our pastor, sympathetic to Richie's plight, begins to formulate a sermon. Of course he won't personally call me out during the sermon, he has an entire congregation to serve and besides, I will only be in one of the services. But the sermon will drill directly into my heart. Everyone sitting around me will know that Richie requested this sermon because while trying to take notes, I will cry non-stop. Richie will keep his eyes planted firmly on the pastor, never daring to look at me, because he doesn't want me to know that he requested this sermon especially for me.

Yep, that is what I think.

This week was a perfect example. The sermon series is entitled "Running on empty." They were clever enough not to use my face on the bulletin, since the fact I go for days without makeup and sometimes realize at dinner time I haven't brushed my teeth, would likely scare people off. It scares me. But still, I knew as soon as I saw the title, it was directed at me.

I've been running near empty for somewhere around 7 years. That coincidentally is the age of our first child. For three years I was a full time working mom with a high stress job. Then came my son, with an even higher stress job, full time mommyhood.

That's when I hit empty.

And then about a year ago, I started running on fumes. Constant health battles, financial struggles, not to mention putting on an extra 30 pounds, meanvdays when making it from bed to the couch are taxing. Facing those days while caring for a four year old. Boy. With boundless energy. Fumes are not enough to carry me through those days (he washed his toys off in the toilet this morning, if that gives you any idea.)

And then I show up Sunday and the pastor tells me I'm not alone. Not only are a lot of people around me running on empty, but one of the best known prophets in the Bible spent his life running on empty.

I'm sure it is no coincidence that the prophet he spoke of is named Elijah, my nephew's namesake. Probably something else Richie requested so I would be reminded of the sermon every time I see my nephew. Anyway, he said that Elijah came from the middle of nowhere during one of the darkest times in his people's history.  This no one, from nowhere, was sent to the king to tell him it wasn't going to rain until he (Elijah) said it would.

Then God told Elijah to run away and hide.

I've heard this story many times, and I always figured God told him to hide because he had just given the king some really bad news and the king would enjoy nothing more than killing him.

But no, our pastor said, God sent Elijah away to train him.

Weird training, sitting by a brook, in a new middle of nowhere.  A raven bringing him food in the morning and again in the evening. Watching the brook slowly dry up because of the very drought he prophecied. Every day, starting with nothing. Every night ending with nothing. Totally reliant on God for provision to keep him alive.

We aren't sure exactly how long Elijah was there, but it was long enough for the brook to dry up.

Picture me sitting in the pew, tears streaming down my face as I thought about my own sorry state, and imagining my brook, the only thing I had left, drying up.

Then it got worse. Basically God sent him on a hundred mile walk through enemy territory until he met a widow. But instead of finding provision, Elijah found that this woman and her son were preparing their literal last meal. She knew they would soon die.There was no more grain, no more oil, no water. More effects of the drought.

And then the pastor said something that caught my attention. He said, the widow's state didn't throw Elijah. Elijah had just been fed by a big nasty bird in the wilderness. He knew God would provide, and he also knew it wouldn't be in the way that the widow expected or wanted. Instead of dropping an HEB next door, God provided for the widow the same way He had provided for Elijah. Just enough every day for that day.

And for the next day, enough for that day.

God didn't set her up for life, but He sustained her.

*More tears, actually sobbing now.*

All these days when I thought the pain was too much for me to handle, God gave me strength enough for that day.

When the bank account and the pantry hit empty, God gave us enough for that day.

When my kids were sick, depression threatened to take over, or I almost killed the dog with chocolate, God gave me enough. For that day.

The problem, I realized, is that I don't want enouh for the day. I want enough for at least a week, preferably a year or two. I want to be able to look at the bank account, or the medicine cabinet, and know that tomorrow, I would be able to face whatever comes my way. And here was our pastor, telling us that God didn't work that way with Elijah, and He probably won't work that way for me either.

But He will give me enough. For today.

As usually happens after this kind of sermon, the one designed specifically for me, I got to practice this very thing the next day.

Already running on fumes, one of the kids got sick. Then the mail came and delivered us an unexpected medical bill that we are not prepared or equipped to pay. Opening the next bill, I realized I paid the wrong credit card, meaning I have a credit on one card we don't use and have made no payment for nearly two months on the card with a balance.

At that moment, I did not feel like I had enough. In fact, I felt like God was being just plain mean. Wasn't it enough that I was still sick and relying on Him every day for the strength to get out of bed? Wasn't it enough that we already had run up the credit card to pay medical bills. Wasn't it enough that both of my husband's grandfathers have serious health concerns and need multiple surgeries.  Wasn't it enough that my self esteem had hit an all time low.  I didn't feel like I could take one more thing. The fumes I had been running on were officially out and I was stranded by the side of the road. Or in this case on the bedroom floor crying.

And just then, at the very moment I couldn't move, God showed up.

He didn't magically pay off our debt, but He made a way for us to manage it.

He didn't heal me, but He gave me (and the kids)  a full night's sleep.

He gave me enough.

I still don't like it. I want more. More security, better health, one day when I don't feel certifiably crazy. But every time God shows up, it reminds me of His faithfulness. Because it is likely that I will be running on empty again, probably tomorrow.

But when I remember how He showed up today, it allows me to think He will show up again tomorrow. Not with enough for the rest of my life, or even the rest of the week.

But enough for the day.

If you are running on empty, check out the sermon on-line. And know that you aren't alone. Besides Elijah, there is a really cool, full-time mom in Fort Worth that is right there with you.