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 any given Sunday

Last year, on Mother's Day, I wrote a tribute to my mom.  It was touching.  I laughed, I cried, it was better than Cats.  Seriously, it was pretty good.  If you are still looking for something for your mom, you should totally steal it.  Although, unless at one point you lit the house on fire, you will have some editing to do.

And my mom still rocks.  But I'm pretty sure she knows that, so this year, I wanted to do something a little different.

Four generations

Between the ride to and from church and the service itself, I heard three, what I consider, "old school hymns."  Listening to them, I can't help but think about the one person I know who loved those hymns more than anyone, my grandmother.  Granted, when she learned them, they were probably new.  This morning as I sang "I need thee every hour," I could just see her sitting in the second pew on the left side of the pulpit holding her hymnal (red for Wednesday, green on Sunday), singing as loud as that little old lady voice could sing.  Any given Sunday, rain, snow, shine, 40 degrees below, broken hip . . . it didn't matter.  She was there, singing.

Growing up, I didn't really give it much thought.  Being a preacher's kid, church four or five times a week was the norm.  But as I look back now her singing it means something so different to me.

I guess when I was a kid, I kinda figured grandma had a pretty cushy life.  She had a great little house with a big yard that was just an ally away from an ice skating rink in the winter. Her stairs were always full of canned goods, so she was never out of food (although you often couldn't climb the stairs without endangering your life). She loved the Lord and would be the first to tell you that.  I guess I thought she sang songs like "The Old Rugged Cross" and "Jesus Paid it All" with joy because she didn't really have any worries.

In hindsight, I wasn't too bright.

She had kids, so right there I know she had worries.  She had my mom late in life and almost died in childbirth. A couple years later my mom almost died of appendicitis (apparently something that runs in my family).  My uncle was adopted and raised so much like a son that I had no idea he wasn't their blood son until my grandpa passed away.   Both her sister's and her niece's husbands died tragically and much too early. Her mother, my great grandmother, had Alzheimers (although in those days it went undiagnosed).  She and her sister cared for her day and and day out for years.  She cared for her until her mom no longer knew who she was. And then she cared for her longer.  And then, she sat right by her side as her mother died. My grandpa was a copper miner, a job that literally risked his life every day. Every day, I'm sure she worried for his safety.  Then, after decades of marriage,  her husband, my grandfather, passed away.  And she lived as a widow. 

She was hospitalized numerous times as her health and her body failed her.

Still she sang.

My grandma the first time she met her great granddaughter, Anna

It was only this morning that I realized when she sang "I need thee every hour," it was the cry of her heart.  She lived through enough tragedy and trials to know that without God providing for her, she wouldn't make it. 

But He did provide for her.  Every day.  Maybe not in that cushy way that I thought.  But no matter what she faced, He always showed up.  And she sang His praise, right up until her breath gave out.

My grandma was a true prayer warrior.  Something I have long admired.  If you are reading this and are family, or friends of our family, or someone she met one time, or someone she heard about that was in need, I guarantee she spent time on her knees for you. A naive 18 year old from small town Montana moving to big State college across the county who thought I knew it all, I often attribute my safety during those college years to the many, many, many hours she spent praying for me.  I also know she prayed that I would find a Godly spouse, as she and my mother before me did. I know that my life today was shaped by her prayers. Both the ones I know and the ones I can't imagine.

Every Sunday after church, from before I was born until I left for college, we sat around the table at her house and ate "Sunday Supper."  Our family was always there, but there was an open invitation to anyone who didn't have anywhere to go . Often we would be joined by a random cousin who was in town or a first time visitor to the church.  When she passed away, the only thing I wanted to inherit was that table, which now sits in my dining room. Although I've come to find out that table is really designed to seat 8, I'm sure we often had 14-16 people squeezed in. I aspire to be the hostess that she was, although her meatloaf will always taste better than mine.  I want people to feel as welcome in my house as they always did in hers. 

But most of all, I want to have the kind of faith she had.  For people to look at me and wonder how, in the midst of all of the pain and loss, I can still sing,"My faith is built on nothing less than Jesus' love and righteousness."  I want my children to hear me singing, "All to Jesus I surrender," and then I want them to see me actually surrender our darkest times to Him, knowing He won't ever leave us.  When my health is failing, when I'm betrayed by my family and friends, when the day comes that I lose my own mother or husband, or just on any given Sunday, I want to live with the kind of faith that knows for sure that God will provide.

So on this Mother's Day, I remember my Grandma Hegstad.  Every time I eat at her table, I will remember her heart, her joy, and her cooking. And every time I hear a hymn, I will remember her faith.

So grandma, I hope you enjoyed this, because I'm pretty sure they have Internet access in heaven.

Happy Mother's Day to all of you mom's, grandmas, and great grandmas. In case you ever have any doubt, your impact reaches beyond the eternal.

I Need Thee Every Hour
Words: An­nie S. Hawks, 1872.
Music: Ro­bert Low­ry


I need Thee every hour, most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like Thine can peace afford.

I need Thee every hour, stay Thou nearby;
Temptations lose their power when Thou art nigh.

I need Thee every hour, in joy or pain;
Come quickly and abide, or life is in vain.

I need Thee every hour; teach me Thy will;
And Thy rich promises in me fulfill.

I need Thee every hour, most Holy One;
O make me Thine indeed, Thou blessèd Son.

I need Thee, O I need Thee;
Every hour I need Thee;
O bless me now, my Savior,
I come to Thee.

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)

Waiting for Answers

At a young age we are trained to believe that questions come with answers.

- Who's the cutest baby in the whole wide world? You are.
- And what is your name? Kristen.
- What is two plus two? Four.
- How do you spell Czechoslovakia? Ummm . . . Chec . . .No, wait, Czek. No, Czeh. Is that even a country anymore?

Even questions to which our own political, religious, or philosophical beliefs bend us on

Image by Oberazzi via Flickr

e direction or another still have an answer. For example, the question of whether the earth was created by an intelligent designer or by sheer chance may have different answers depending the textbook, professor, or preacher with whom you are speaking, but each would, no doubt, offer you an answer of some sort.

With our comfort rooted deeply in questions coupled with answers it is no surprise we become anxious when we find ourselves holding one without the other.

It is my experience that the most frequent flier in the answer-less question arena is "Why?" This three letter word can apply to events as profound as life threatening illnesses, job loss, deaths, catastrophes, acts of God, and wars, or things as simple as failing a test, ending a relationship, bad hair days or being stuck in traffic.

In his book The Case for Faith, agnostic journalist turned Christian Lee Strobel investigates what he calls "The Big Eight" objections to Christianity. Of these, the first one he tackles deals with unanswered questions about pain and suffering in the world. To help answer his questions Strobel interviews Billy Graham's former evangelist partner who became a self-proclaimed agnostic author, Charles Templeton. When asked if there was one thing in particular that caused him to loose his faith in God, Templeton answered that it was a photograph in Life magazine.

"It was a picture of a black woman in Northern Africa. They were experiencing a devastating drought. And she was holding her dead baby in her arms and looking up to heaven with the most forlorn expression. I looked at it and I thought, 'Is it possible to believe that there is a loving or caring Creator when all this woman needed was rain?'"*

That is a question without an answer if I've ever heard one.

Over the past year I have had a lot of conversations with God that started with the word "Why?" These conversations stemmed from a string of seemingly endless health problems that resulted in chronic pain. My life, which admittedly was somewhat charmed up to that point, was literally turned upside down. We paid thousands of dollars in medical bills, which was complicated by the fact I had to resign from my job. I became unable to care for my children and some days was unable to care for myself.

As I sunk deeper into what I'm sure was a mixture of depression and narcotics, I felt confident that if I could just find some reason, some answer as to why this was happening to me, it would give me the strength to get through it. Looking at it now, written out in black and white, it seems almost silly.

I guess God could have posted this on my Facebook;
Hey Kristen; Just wanted to

Image via CrunchBase

let you know that your ovaries will be adhered together for the next five months. The doctors aren't going to be able to figure it out and you are going to be in chronic pain. I know it's a bummer, but hang in there because you are going to learn some really important lessons in patience and especially in humility. You will also resign from your job - I know that's going to be tough because you are going to have to trust that I will provide for your family, which will be hard, especially with the thousands of dollars you are going to rack up in medical bills, but this is the only way that I will ever teach you to totally trust me. Big lesson there. Get your Blockbuster card ready - you will be spending lots of time on the couch. Love ya! Oh, and don't forget to take the Wizard of Oz quiz and find out which character you are. I'm betting you're the Lion :-)

Having a reason for the pain wouldn't have lessened the pain, it would have just made me argue with God whether or not I thought his reason was worthy of the pain I was experiencing at that moment. Would a lesson in humility constitute a trip to the ER or did improving my integrity equal a pint of my blood and so on a so forth. How does one begin to argue those reasons. Looking at it now I understand why God didn't answer my Why's.

Not that it mattered. I didn't get any FB posts from God and I didn't know what was coming a week in advance, a day in advance, or even an hour in advance. My husband uses this analogy; We wish God would give us a floodlight, but instead he gives us a flashlight. Some days, he gives us a candle and not even one of those big roman candles. One of those sad little flimsy birthday candles that barely gives off any light at all.

I promise you if God would have sent that FB post, I would have been booked in the next OR and signed up to have those ovaries removed. Yes, I would have missed out on the pain, but I would have also missed out on the path that was set in front of me and the lessons I have learned and I would not be the person I've become. And even through the pain I can tell you, the person I have become is a better person. I have learned lessons in patience and humility that I would have never signed up for of my own volition. I've become passionate about helping people who are suffering from chronic illnesses or chronic pain and their caregivers. Although I resigned from my job, it allowed me to follow my dream of writing. I think there are still more answers to the Why question down the road, some that I may not see for years or maybe even decades.

I've also noticed that I very rarely ask Why on the good days. Like, why do I deserve a roof over my head and three meals a day? Why do I have a family who loves me? Why was I born in a free country while others are oppressed?

I guess there are a lot of good Why's out there too.

What do you do with the Why's you can't answer?

*The Case for Faith, A Journalist Investigates the Toughest Objections to Christianity; Lee Strobel: Zondervan Publishing House. 2000

Waiting for perspective

Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a lab rat? Living in a glass cage surrounded by doctors, pharmacists, chemists, grad students, and some guy named Rob who doesn't actually have any medical credentials but is working on a film about a particular disease that the lab rat didn't have when he was captured from the wild, but that he is secretly hoping he might catch so that he can document it.

Throughout the lab rat's time in the glass cage, which is not particularly uncomfortable as far as rat living quarters go, but still is a glass cage none the less, he is moved from station to station, where he is subjected to a battery of different medical tests, some with needles that take blood or fluids out, others that inject blood and fluids back in. There are X-rays and scans of sorts, electric and non-electric probes, which even for a rat are somewhat humiliating. Hair is shaved, hair is grown back, hair is braided into sort of cute little dread-locks, which isn't so bad. After each test the lab rat is given some pain medication for the discomfort and returned to his glass cage to await the next test.

Perhaps the most frustrating part for the rat - aside from the constant staring at his own reflection - is the fact that although the doctors, pharmacist, chemist, and even Rob are constantly performing tests, the rat never gets the results of the tests. Or, he is given results of the tests, but the results of one test contradicts the results of another test and when that happens, you guessed it, they have to perform yet one more test to see which of the first two tests provides the correct test results.

All the while, the lab rat's medical bills are piling up because some of the tests are not covered by insurance, some are considered in-network, some are out of network, of course anything that Rob does is considered purely experimental. The lab rat's family has to sell all of the little rat family's possessions just to pay the bills, even though they are hoping that the government is going to reform health care, they aren't sure how that will affect lab rats, but that is another blog post entirely.

Over the past nine months, I have found myself in the position of the rat. There have been many waiting rooms along the way, which I'm sure will be their own posts, but today I just want to give you a brief overview and talk about the waiting room I found myself in this week.

About nine months ago I started experiencing severe abdominal pain. After five months of trips to various doctors, tests that I blushed to explain to my husband, and trying various doses of numerous medicines, my pain increased. Needless to say, this was not the desired outcome, so we scheduled a hysterectomy. It was a routine surgery. A little anesthesia, the doctor goes in, takes out my uterus, I stay in the hospital overnight, I'm out of commission two weeks, three at the most, and I'm as good as new.

Fast forward three and a half months later, where after a blood transfusion, an 11 cm hematomoa, several infections, and an ovarian cyst, my ovaries have fused together and are somehow stuck down in the scar tissue.

The result: My pain is worse than it was to start with. Many trips to the hospital, emergency rooms, doctors, pain clinics, and physical therapists have left me in a situation that seems more hopeless than the one I was in nine months ago.

It was in this waiting room that I found myself looking for a little perspective.

You might not believe it, but there are physical therapists who specialize specifically in women's issues. My PT works out of the Carter Rehab Center in Baylor All-Saint's in Fort Worth.

For those of you who have never been through physical therapy, the waiting room alone is enough to make even the more middle aged of us feel pretty young as most of the clients are, shall I say, old enough to fully take advantage of the senior citizen discount at IHOP. This particular facility also has a work-out area which would definitely be somewhere that I could feel like a rock-star running a 28 minute mile, which sadly is pretty good for me even before I got sick.

During my session I was working on some exercises that had me lying on my back with my knees bent in front of me. From that position I could see a gentleman walking toward me out of the corner of my eye. I could tell that he was using a walker and that he was moving at an extremely slow pace. Because I was on my back I couldn't see any details, but I could hear his therapist encouraging him to move his left foot and then his right. Move his left foot and then his right.

I did several sets of exercises over the next five minutes or so as the gentleman made his way toward me. It had probably taken five minutes for him to walk about ten feet. All along the way I heard the therapist encouraging him to move his left foot and then his right. I could see his shoes come into my line of sight - the bright white tennis shoes that old men wear with black socks and shorts during summer time. That thought made me smile.

As I completed another set of my exercises the gentlemen came fully into my site and immediately my perspective changed. He was 6'4 with a strong athletic build and was 35 -37 years old. The look on his face was determined. Frustrated

They passed the table where I was sitting and turned to begin the long journey back across the gym.

I thought about journey that I had been on and immediately I was thankful. Yes, I was in pain, but in a minute, I was going to stand up and walk out of that room.

I remember when I was in high school someone told me, "Before you complain because you have no shoes think about the man who has no feet." I was reminded of that quote yesterday.

I hope that as I spend time in my little cage, when I look in the glass, instead of always seeing myself reflected back, I will see the reflection of others who have gone before me, beside me, and who will go after me and it will help me keep my perspective.

Image by Rick Eh? via Flickr

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.