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 Tables

This week I had the privilege of spending time with one of my best friends. When we met, I was 20, and she had two girls, ages 4 and 2.  Today, one of her daughters is in college (somewhere were they whoop, so I hear) and her other will be in college soon.  And I have kids close the age hers were when we met.

Today, we realized, we are old. Actually, we realized our kids are old. We are timeless.

I consider her one my most trusted confidants and wise council. And I never would have met her if it wasn't for the only college class I took just for fun; a singing class my sophomore year at UNT.  D didn't go to UNT, she was, is, and will always be a Baylor Bear.

However, that class led me to see a flyer for the Off Broadway Restaurant. A week later I was a singing waitress in Dallas.

D had never heard of the place, much less eaten there.

But her boss did, once. We happened to be doing the worst show ever, and I only had one mediocre song, which is probably why only one table filled that night. They weren't even my table, but I wandered over (mostly out of boredom) and the following conversation occurred.

I kid you not, this is how it went.

"Do you go to school?"
"Yes sir, I'm getting my degree in communications."
"How would you like an internship?"
*shocked and awed* "Absolutely."
"Here is my card. My director of communications' name is on the back. Come in next week and tell her I hired you."
*now shock, awe, and disbelief "Thank you so much."

The next week I walked into her office decked out in my $23 suit from Ross. She had no idea who I was, if I had any skills, or if I was a complete moron. But her boss hired me, so she was stuck with me.

Over the next five years, she taught me so much. She taught me about PR, writing, graphic design, media relations (i.e. how never to make an enemy of Becky Oliver), and crisis management. But she also taught me about having a successful marriage, parenting, conflict resolution, putting family first, loving God, and how to get a baby to sleep through the night.

I wasn't married at the time, and kids were the farthest thing from my mind, but her stories and those lessons stayed with me. During my most frustrating parenting moments, I often pull one of her stories out of my memory file and think of how I used to laugh at how she stressed over whether her daughter's bow matched her shoes. Knowing that the things that stress me out today (like the boy child dumping four bottles of sprinkles all over the pantry floor), will be the funny stories tomorrow.

There are people I have known my entire life with whom I share no deep personal relationship.  And then there are those people that God specifically brings about via your singing waitress job that completely change the course of your life.

D is one of those people in my life. One of those rare individuals with whom I can be totally open and vunerable, because we know too much about each other to ever consider passing judgement on the other. We can go nine months without talking and as soon as we sit down (always over food) it is like no time was lost.

D isn't the only friend that came about through strange circumstances.  I can say the same for most of my closest friends. Plans went wrong, things didn't turn out like I wanted them to, and sometimes somethig literally blew up in my life, and somehow I ended up with an amazing person in my life who never would have showed up if things went according to my plan.

I'm sure there are people in your life like that. Maybe you ran into your future husband in the dairy section, even though he is lactose intolerant. Maybe you met your best friend on a misfit bowling team in the third grade.

It is these "chance" meetings, these precious friendships, that remind me that God sees the entire picture of our life, beginning to end. With that vision, He knows exactly who we need in our lives and the exact moment we need them to show up.

I have a lot of casual friends, but very few of what I consider deep, authentic friends. You know, the kind you don't have to vacuum for when they are coming over. The kind that know you are slightly neurotic but love you just the same. Scratch that, they love you because you are slightly neurotic.

Lessons from the Other Cross

On Easter, especially, we take time to reflect on the cross where Jesus died.  As I lay in a hospital bed last month, weeping in despair, I realized the lesson I needed to learn was actually from the other cross.

In Luke 23:40-43 we read, "But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence?  We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, 'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.'  Jesus answered him, 'Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.'”

It is a safe assumption that the two thieves in the Easter story were just that, thieves. One admitted as much. And although the “good thief" asked Jesus to remember him in his kingdom, it struck me that he didn't ask for Jesus to save him from his cross. No last minute appeal from death row,  just a cry for mercy. And it is mercy that Jesus granted him. Of course Jesus could have saved the thief from his earthly consequences.  Instead he promised eternal salvation.

So often I find myself on a cross my own making. I battle the sins that plague my human nature and lose more times than I win. The result of my sin frequently leads to deep suffering and sorrow,  feeling abandoned by God, hopeless, and ultimately in despair. It is at exactly this time that I must remember that while Jesus sometimes saves me from myself, there are consequences for my actions here on earth. That doesn't mean God has abandoned me, but instead that He loves me so much more. Instead of a quick fix to my temporal problems, He offers me eternal redemption.

This Easter, take a moment to focus not just on Christ's resurrection, but on the thief who rose with him to glory. Both died that day, but Christ's death overcame sin once for all. And in the end, that is the better story.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY:  Earthly circumstances are small relative to the enormity of our salvation through Christ.


PRAYER: Heavenly Father, you love me with a love that is difficult for me to comprehend. A love that doesn’t remove me from my circumstances, but instead loves me regardless of my circumstances. Help me truly understand that the gift of your Son is better than sanctuary from any earthly pain, sorrow, or even discipline. When I struggle, help me remember the best part of the story, that someday I will be with you in paradise. Amen.

(Photo credit: fiftypercentchanceofrain)

Wiaiting to be Pursued

My best friend and I headed to Jr. Prom.

Some of you knew me in high school, so for me to blog 20 years later and say I was popular would definitely catch me in a lie.  As opposed to playing sports, I was in band.  In fact, I was the leader of the band, which one might think would earn me some cool points, but strangely works quite the opposite in high school.  However, among my circle of band, drama, and speech cohorts, I suppose I had some amount of popularity.  Looking back at scrapbooks and photo albums, it seems that I dated quite a few different guys.  If you knew me in high school you also know that may be somewhat of a lie.  I dated a lot.

It was the same in my first year of college, although attending one of the top music schools in the country, knowing how to wield a sax was more of a draw than a setback.  

What I can see now that I couldn't see so much at the time was the thing that I enjoyed so much about dating was that I was actively being pursued.  In fact, I dated people that I knew I had no future with just because I enjoyed the feeling of being wanted.  This was true from the boy who pursued my first kiss right up to the boy who followed me to my car every day after class in college and eventually pursued my hand in marriage.

Recently, I was going through one of those boxes, you know the kind you stuff with little what-nots from high school that you will never use again, but just like to have so you can prove to your kids that you actually know a little something about being 16.  I came across something that flooded me with memories of how good it felt to be pursued by someone who loved me unconditionally - even at 15, which believe me, defies all reason.  As I looked at it, I realized it was time to let it go.  Literally. Not just because I'm married and the only man that I should want to want me is the man I sleep with every night (who coincidentally is my husband).

But more-so because I realized I shouldn't find my worth from any man pursuing me, even the one I sleep with every night.


My worth should be settled solely on being pursued by the God who made the universe.  And His pursuit is relentless.  Even when I turn my back on Him, yell and scream at Him, or ignore Him completely, still He pursues.  I am worth something because He made me.  I am worth something because He is willing to pursue me to the ends of the earth, or the end of myself.  Like the parable in Luke 15 where the shepherd is willing to leave the 99 sheep to find the one who wandered, my God will never give up His pursuit.  And it is not because I'm perfect.  All of the boys who have ever pursued me, including my husband, will attest to that.   

It is because I am His child.


And so are you.

You may not know it yet. Or you may not believe it, but God is pursuing you.  And like a lovesick teenager, He won't stop until you notice Him.  Maybe in a sunrise. Maybe in a storm.  Maybe in the sparkle of your baby's eyes. Maybe not until you hit rock bottom and have no where else to look.  But once you notice Him, He will keep pursuing you to the ends of the earth, or the end of yourself.

And when you really let that set in, that the God who made the universe takes the time to chase little old you,  it doesn't matter if you give the high school letter jacket back to your first boyfriend.  It doesn't matter if your husband doesn't always look at you like he did when you were first dating.  It only matters that the One who rules the universe, who rises and sets the sun, who gave you breath, who is all powerful and all good . . . it matters that He knows you to the very core and despite that, He will never give up His pursuit.  He will never stop wanting you.

Now that's a love story I can live with.

Waiting to Be Still

My three year old has decided to give up naps.  To some of you, this may not seem like a big deal.  To those of us work from home parents, you realize that naps are like the Ark of the Covenant.  They are rare, precious, and contain in them all of the makings for a peaceful world with direction, forgiveness and patience.  You also know that to lose this precious artifact is akin to losing your best friend.  

So I was not going down without a fight.  Unfortunately, neither was he. 

My compromise was to let him nap in my bed with me.  He got to lie down. I got to lie down.  Win-win.  Well, no laundry got done, but I still call it a win.

You know those mattress commercials where one person is jumping on the bed and the glass of wine doesn't spill?  Have you ever noticed they don't use children in those commercials, and it isn't just because a toddler in bed with a glass of wine is kind of inappropriate.  It is because no matter how little the child, when they move in bed, you are going to feel it.  Every fidget, kick, roll, taking off their socks, putting their hands over their eyes, their ears, your eyes, your ears. You feel it all. 

This is the case for our recent nap times.  The number of times I've uttered the words "Be still," must be somewhere in the thousands. When I'm really serious, I gently place my hand on his chest and whisper softly in his ear, because for some reason my kids know if I'm whispering, I'm not messing around.

Turns out, I'm way more like my three year old than I desire to admit. For years Psalms 46:10 has been my favorite verse.  ""Be still, and know that I am God;"  Unfortunately, knowing a verse and applying the verse are two very different things.  

I was recently in the hospital for several days.  By day two I was feeling physically better and was more than ready to go home.  The doctors didn't share my enthusiasm.  They told me it would be at least two more days before I could be discharged.  

I'm not a huge fan of hospitals to begin with, but when you are feeling good they start to seem more like a prison.  A prison where nobody wants you to sleep.  Every two hours, all day and all night, someone is coming in your room to check something, administer something, or just to wake you up and make sure you are still breathing. For a gal who has trouble sleeping in the best of circumstances, sleeping in a hospital was impossible. So I moved the bed up and down, fluffed up pillows, flattened pillows, paced around the room, listened to music, watched re-runs of Seinfeld (it is on at 2 a.m. in case you are looking for it).  My patience waned and my frustration increased.  

Finally, on night three as I once more lamented the fact I was still trapped, it was as if I literally felt God gently put His hand on my chest and say, "Kristen, it is time to be still."  

I still didn't want to be in the hospital, the bed was still uncomfortable, and the nurses still woke me up every time I drifted off.  But something changed.  My heart softened and I felt at peace. Given how I feel about hospitals, finding peace inside one is sort of like my three year old volunteering to nap.  It doesn't happen. 

Or rather, it doesn't happen without God.

I don't know what you is making your restless today. Maybe it is health challenges, marital strife, or your three year old giving up nap, but it is a safe bet that if you aren't facing a storm right now you either just emerged from one or are on your way to one. I want to encourage you not just to read the verse, but to claim it as a promise. God is God. He is bigger, stronger, and smarter that you are.  He feels ever toss, turn, kick, and fidget you make and He is right there next to you with his hand on your chest whispering, "Be still."

Because we all need a rest sometimes.

Waiting for Battle

Image via WikipediaFor the past five years I have had a goal; read all the way through the One Year Bible. The words, "One Year" indicate this should not be a five year project. I should probably give it up, but every year, on some random day, I pick up the One Year Bible, flip to the corresponding day, and start my quest again.

Today was that day.

My One Year Bible follows the following daily format;

• Old Testament reading
  
• New Testament reading
  
• Chapter from Psalms
• One little Proverb

I'm not going to lie to you, those Old Testament chapters are usually what bogs me down. The New Testament is filled with so much hope, joy, and red print to easily identify the most important parts. The Psalms bring comfort and peace in the midst of trials. And who doesn't love Proverbs? Besides being extremely short, they are uber-practical, even for non-believers. "Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife." Proverbs 25:24. Awesome.

But the Old Testament . . . somewhere after the familiar stories of creation, Noah's Ark, and the parting of the Red Sea, it seems filled with war, a bunch of laws that don't make any sense, and pages and pages of names that I can't pronounce.

But since it was my first day back, I opted not to skip the Old Testament reading; Judges 7 a.k.a.the story of Gideon. Being a preacher's kid, I'm familiar with the story of Gideon (I think we even have a Vegie Tales to that effect). But somehow today the story looked different.

Here is the Cliffs Notes version. A giant army (swarming like locusts and too numerous to count) attacks the Israelites and strips the land bare. Then they camp, basically inciting a man-made famine. God's help comes in the form of a man named Gideon, who just so happenes to be a member of the weakest clan around.

Gideon is unsure of this arrangement to say the least, but he rounds up 22,000 men. This rag tag group is about to head to battle when God says something like, "Sorry Gideon, I know you are outnumbered like a million to one, but I think your army is a little big.*" He proceeds to send 10,000 of the men home.

But 12,000 Israelites vs. a gazillion bad guys still seems to be weighted in Israel's favor, so God whittles it Gideon's army down to a measly 300 men. To make matters more interesting He sends them to battle with trumpets and torches. Just trumpets and torches.

Somewhere along verse 2, my life flashed across the pages.

After a year of health, the past month has been filled with trips to the ER, hospital stays, and more blood draws than I care to remember. An abundance of tests (which are starting to look like a swarm of locust) with no answers.

Battle.

I keep fighting, but after every small victory I just get pummeled again.

"You have too many warriors with you. If I let all of you fight the Midianites, the Israelites will boast to me that they saved themselves by their own strength" Judges 7:2

Seriously, God? Too many warriors. At this point, I can barely hold my head up, much less hold a weapon, or even a trumpet for that matter.

Still, I knew it was true. When things are running smoothly in my life, I view my accomplishments with an "I did this" attitude. It is only when I am completely outnumbered, outgunned, and overwhelmed that I finally say, "There is no way in the world I can do this," and look outside myself and into the face of God.

What the April 27 Old Testament reading reminded me is that the more hopeless my circumstances, the more hope I find in Him.

Gideon's tiny army from the weakest clan won their battle. Not because they were stronger, or smarter, or even soldiers for that matter. They won because they knew they couldn't win, so they let Someone else do the fighting.

*This is the Kristen interpretation.

Are we there yet?

Image via Wikipedia

The older I get, the more acutely aware I seem to notice that life is a series of never ending waiting rooms. We are constantly shuffled from one waiting room to the next, be it literal or figurative. When we are young we can't wait for our next birthday or Christmas to arrive so that we can attack the presents like hyenas and devour the meals our mothers spent 12 hours cooking in a matter of minutes.

The school year is basically a nine-month waiting room for summer breaj, broken up with smaller waiting rooms for Christmas break and spring break. As we get older we can't wait to graduate high school and then college, after which we (along with our parents) can't wait for us to get our first real job and move into our first place. Sometimes we find ourselves in more than one waiting room at a time. Example: While waiting to graduate from college, many of us young women were also waiting for our MRS. degree. And no sooner do we swallow that first piece of wedding cake than are we shoved by our loved ones into yet another waiting room where people keep asking us (often inappropriately soon) when we will start making babies.

I could go on, but I'm sure by now all you are doing is waiting for me to get to the point.

Whether it is something as simple as waiting for your baby to roll over for the first time or something as complex as watching a loved one as he slowly passes from this world to the next, waiting rooms cannot be avoided. Before you start hitting the "comment" button and telling me that we need to enjoy today and not worry about tomorrow because worrying about tomorrow will only rob of us our joy today, please hear me out. I am not talking about dwelling on these issues. I am not talking about anxiety, although that can sometimes not be avoided, and I am not talking about spending so much time dwelling on the problems, or joys, of tomorrow that you do not focus on those happy times of today. But just as we all had to wait our turn in line at the drinking fountain as children, we must still often wait in line as adults. And in my experience, it isn't getting any easier.

Over the past two years I have experienced numerous health problems causing me to spend a good deal of time in hospitals, emergency rooms and doctor's offices, all of which come with - you guessed it - waiting rooms. My experience in these literal waiting rooms have taught me some nuggets of wisdom that I believe are relative to the figurative waiting rooms of life. Which lead me to the purpose of this blog.

This blog is designed to be a place to talk about those everyday waiting rooms; both the silly and the sad; the practical and the poignant. I think you will find that we will have a lot in common and I look forward to hearing about your experiences as well. After all, no one wants to sit in a waiting room alone, no matter how good the reading material.