Oh, my. Well that is over. Those were my thoughts after Teddy finally made his appearance. This was by far my strangest labor.
With Kathrina, she was overdue by two days, when contractions started in early labor I knew we would be bringing home a baby soon. She was my longest labor and my most difficult as far as the hours of labor go. I didn't know what to expect and that always makes coping harder.
With Arabella, she was early by 9 days and had to be induced because we had a partial break of water and gone more than 24 hours without starting active labor. Her birth was the shortest, and I think her delivery was the easiest. I was only on pitocin long enough to start active labor, then they fully broke my water and I was free to walk the halls, use the tub and give birth naturally without any other medical intervention.
This time around, things were completely different. I started in early labor on Tuesday. Changes in my body made it clear that these weren't just Braxton Hicks or false labor. This means I get to tell Teddy when he's older that I was in labor with him for 3 days ;) Regular contractions all day Tuesday made changes in my cervix. Wednesday and Thursday brought good strong contractions although not regular. Finally Thursday night around 10 pm we got some nice, strong, regular contractions.
I laid down to try to sleep around 11 pm and the contractions got closer together--about 5 minutes apart now. A little after midnight I decided it was time to get ready to go to Topeka. We arrived at the birth center around 2am to discover that I was nearly 5 centimeters dilated. I was super excited since both of my previous labors took me from 6 to complete in only an hour. Needless to say, this was not the pattern for Teddy's birth.
I sat on an exercise ball for a while and around 3:30 decided it was time to get in the water. I was having contractions that radiated burning down my thighs and this has typically been a sign for me that I was nearing transition. I knew that the water could slow things down, but it never had with my previous labors, so I took the chance. The water helped immensely and I was very happy for about 2 1/2-3 hours. At that point, I was having some pushing sensations and thought transition must surely be right around the corner. I got out of the tub around 7am to see if that would help move things along. The midwife checked and I was so bummed to discover that I was only dilated to 7cm. After a quick trip to the bathroom and some time on the birthing stool, I was ready to get back in the water.
Some time before 8am I was entering transition for real and I was acutely aware of my body and my change of mood. The music got really irritating and the contractions were such that it took all my concentration to breathe through. I was gently pushing with each new contraction and around 8am started pushing for real sitting with my feet braced in the tub and holding on to Rich's hands for leverage.
It didn't take long before the bag of water was visible, but then no more progress was made. About 8:20/8:30 I got out of the tub to try a new position for delivery. Sitting on the birthing stool again, the midwife discovered why I wasn't making progress: my cervix was still only dilated to 9cm. At this point I had been pushing for quite a while, and was needing to deliver. She helped by pushing my cervix up around Teddy's head so that I could push past it. If you've never experienced this, I am happy for you, it is not a pleasant experience. But it was what was needed to get him here, and get him here it did! Pushing down to crowning took about two contractions and then waiting and blowing through another before delivering his head and getting a break before the shoulders all of this took less than 15 minutes.
Rich was a trooper. Given the option of helping to catch what will probably be our last baby, he made up his mind on the way to the birth center that he would. With the help of the midwife and assisting nurse, Rich caught our son and quickly went to wash up ;)
I stood up from the stool with help and was passed my baby, still attached through the umbilical cord. We snuggled on the bed for about 10 minutes while waiting for the chord to stop pulsating. Since Rich had helped to catch and he has cut the other two cords, I cut Teddy's cord myself before delivering the placenta.
After necessary vitals were checked, the practice at the birth center is to give the new family members time to bond and rest. We nursed, napped and nuzzled until 11am. Then they weighed him and measured him. We took a bath together in the tub and got all ready to go home.
We left the birth center around 1:30pm, not quite 12 hours after arriving. It was nice to go home and be in our element, sleep in our own bed, and not have hospital noises and people coming in and out all day and night.
Now a week and a half later, I feel more rested and better recovered than I did after either of my other births. Teddy is on his way to regaining his birth weight and starting to sleep sometimes two hours at a time, which is newborn heaven!
I didn't love every minute of this birth experience, but I wouldn't change it either. I am always amazed at what challenges this body of mine can face and conquer. So Teddy is here, we are stronger and more joyful than ever knowing that we made good choices leading up to his birth that have allowed us to grow even more connected as a family.
Thanks Topeka Birth and Women's Center! Thanks Norla, Mom, and Rich for the labor support. Thank you God for creating a woman's body to join you in your creative work in such a marvelous way, for giving me clarity of thought throughout the birth experience, for safety and health, for joy and peace, and for grace that surrounds and infuses all of life if we will but have open eyes to see.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Good Grief
Sometimes they are Iris, Daisy, and Rose. Sometimes I think of them as Courage, Strength, and Peace. They are probably the most influential things in my personal growth in recent years. They are people I never met; children I couldn't raise. They are my miscarried babies.
They have been on my mind recently. Maybe it is because the last miscarriage I experienced was over Memorial Day weekend and I am just slowing down enough to reconcile that event with the other two. All happened relatively early in pregnancy, two at 7 weeks and the most recent one at 6 weeks. This makes it difficult.
I was pregnant. Pregnant enough to feel some sickness. Pregnant enough to have sore breasts. Pregnant enough to dream of holding and nursing my babies in the night. Once you have been a mom, these dreams come in such realism--the feeling of a nursing infant, the scent of newborn hair, the rush of warmth. I was pregnant long enough to plot the due date and start making plans for the future. But I wasn't pregnant long enough for many others to know.
I wasn't pregnant long enough to show. I wasn't pregnant long enough to announce it to the world. I wasn't pregnant long enough for even those I told to adjust themselves to the idea of a new baby on the horizon. This makes for a very private grief.
With the first miscarriage, my second pregnancy, I sought out books and information on recovery. I had been hit hard and I wanted something to tell me how to survive. When I came across the statement "Women who miscarry should try to get pregnant again as soon as possible" I stopped reading. This statement was obviously written by a man. I wanted to scream at the book "I don't want A baby, I wanted this baby!"
So much of what people mean to sound comforting and helpful is not. "God needed another little angel." I thought I was tough enough to hear anything until those words came out of the mouth of a well-meaning person after this last miscarriage. "Well you have two healthy children already." That one wasn't the easiest to deal with either. "It's good that you weren't that far along." "At least you didn't have a stillborn." These are potentially true statements, but I wouldn't know. Is it easier to loose just a hand and not your forearm? Probably, but that doesn't help the person who has lost their hand feel better.
Grieving each loss has been it's own unique experience. With the first loss, a big part of me wanted to stuff the pain into a closet and lock the door. I was in the process of doing just that when a voice inside spoke quietly to my heart "If this life is to have any meaning, you have to feel the pain of its loss." I didn't like that voice, but I knew it was true. To deny that it hurt, would be to deny that there was actually a loss, to rob this life of any value. That is why I call this little one Courage.
With the second miscarriage, I had physical complications that required surgery--a twisted ovary. I found myself grieving the loss of this life, as well as the potential loss of future fertility as they removed one of my ovaries. I found myself caring for my body recovering from surgery, my heart in grieving, my 2-year-old daughter, the housework, and an increased workload at the church where I was Associate Pastor. That is why this little one is Strength.
My next pregnancy ended well, with the birth of my second daughter, healthy and vigorous. I had new ministry at another church that brought (brings) me great satisfaction. Life continued and when she was 3 we decided to try for one more.
After trying for a year to get pregnant, we finally succeeded in May of this year. I was so excited and thoughts of miscarriage were far behind me. Until I started spotting. I did my best not to panic, but I was so worried that I was losing another. The spotting stopped and I cautiously lept for joy. The bleeding started the next morning, a Saturday.
When it became a gush, I almost fainted from shock and went to bed wrapping in warm blankets while the world turned up their A/C. A friend came to cry with me that evening and my husband called my elders to tell them I wouldn't be able to preach the next day.
I cried. I grieved. I didn't hold back. I didn't try to stem the tide. I didn't hide my feelings or my loss or myself. Two days later we attended a Peace Picnic as a family in another town. It felt good to be able to tell people that I was miscarrying without fear. I had done this before, and now for the third time I was prepared to accept this pain, to grieve, and to be at Peace.
You might wonder why I would call these precious blessings by different names. Somewhere I read that naming miscarried babies helps you to grieve better. Having given up on (or rejected) all advice on miscarriage survival, this one piece of advice stuck. I did not act on the advice promptly, ok I didn't name any of them until after this last one. Again, this was complicated. I started to think of how one might name someone whose gender is unkown among other things.
I didn't want to give them names of people I knew, or the names that people I knew were using for their babies. Miscarrying so early, my babies were the stuff of dreams; wisps of reality. I wasn't really sure about naming them with regular names at all. Finally the idea occurred to me that these precious ones were short-lived like the flowers in any season.
I miscarried the first week of May, when the Iris are in bloom.
I miscarried at the end of August, when only the most intrepid of Daisies are still in bloom in Western Kansas.
I miscarried over Memorial Day weekend, just as the Roses are preparing to bloom.
I didn't get to hold my dear ones. I didn't get to feel them kick and flip and turn. I didn't get to give them birth, just rage against my body as it acted against my will expelling my dreams. I didn't get to know them as they grew.
But I have a bouquet of beautiful flowers as the seasons turn. I have an Iris of Courage to face whatever life brings. I have a Daisy of Strength to bear up under the weight of pain and loss. I have a Rose of Peace, knowing that whatever comes I have a Comforter who walks by my side.
They have been on my mind recently. Maybe it is because the last miscarriage I experienced was over Memorial Day weekend and I am just slowing down enough to reconcile that event with the other two. All happened relatively early in pregnancy, two at 7 weeks and the most recent one at 6 weeks. This makes it difficult.
I was pregnant. Pregnant enough to feel some sickness. Pregnant enough to have sore breasts. Pregnant enough to dream of holding and nursing my babies in the night. Once you have been a mom, these dreams come in such realism--the feeling of a nursing infant, the scent of newborn hair, the rush of warmth. I was pregnant long enough to plot the due date and start making plans for the future. But I wasn't pregnant long enough for many others to know.
I wasn't pregnant long enough to show. I wasn't pregnant long enough to announce it to the world. I wasn't pregnant long enough for even those I told to adjust themselves to the idea of a new baby on the horizon. This makes for a very private grief.
With the first miscarriage, my second pregnancy, I sought out books and information on recovery. I had been hit hard and I wanted something to tell me how to survive. When I came across the statement "Women who miscarry should try to get pregnant again as soon as possible" I stopped reading. This statement was obviously written by a man. I wanted to scream at the book "I don't want A baby, I wanted this baby!"
So much of what people mean to sound comforting and helpful is not. "God needed another little angel." I thought I was tough enough to hear anything until those words came out of the mouth of a well-meaning person after this last miscarriage. "Well you have two healthy children already." That one wasn't the easiest to deal with either. "It's good that you weren't that far along." "At least you didn't have a stillborn." These are potentially true statements, but I wouldn't know. Is it easier to loose just a hand and not your forearm? Probably, but that doesn't help the person who has lost their hand feel better.
Grieving each loss has been it's own unique experience. With the first loss, a big part of me wanted to stuff the pain into a closet and lock the door. I was in the process of doing just that when a voice inside spoke quietly to my heart "If this life is to have any meaning, you have to feel the pain of its loss." I didn't like that voice, but I knew it was true. To deny that it hurt, would be to deny that there was actually a loss, to rob this life of any value. That is why I call this little one Courage.
With the second miscarriage, I had physical complications that required surgery--a twisted ovary. I found myself grieving the loss of this life, as well as the potential loss of future fertility as they removed one of my ovaries. I found myself caring for my body recovering from surgery, my heart in grieving, my 2-year-old daughter, the housework, and an increased workload at the church where I was Associate Pastor. That is why this little one is Strength.
My next pregnancy ended well, with the birth of my second daughter, healthy and vigorous. I had new ministry at another church that brought (brings) me great satisfaction. Life continued and when she was 3 we decided to try for one more.
After trying for a year to get pregnant, we finally succeeded in May of this year. I was so excited and thoughts of miscarriage were far behind me. Until I started spotting. I did my best not to panic, but I was so worried that I was losing another. The spotting stopped and I cautiously lept for joy. The bleeding started the next morning, a Saturday.
When it became a gush, I almost fainted from shock and went to bed wrapping in warm blankets while the world turned up their A/C. A friend came to cry with me that evening and my husband called my elders to tell them I wouldn't be able to preach the next day.
I cried. I grieved. I didn't hold back. I didn't try to stem the tide. I didn't hide my feelings or my loss or myself. Two days later we attended a Peace Picnic as a family in another town. It felt good to be able to tell people that I was miscarrying without fear. I had done this before, and now for the third time I was prepared to accept this pain, to grieve, and to be at Peace.
You might wonder why I would call these precious blessings by different names. Somewhere I read that naming miscarried babies helps you to grieve better. Having given up on (or rejected) all advice on miscarriage survival, this one piece of advice stuck. I did not act on the advice promptly, ok I didn't name any of them until after this last one. Again, this was complicated. I started to think of how one might name someone whose gender is unkown among other things.
I didn't want to give them names of people I knew, or the names that people I knew were using for their babies. Miscarrying so early, my babies were the stuff of dreams; wisps of reality. I wasn't really sure about naming them with regular names at all. Finally the idea occurred to me that these precious ones were short-lived like the flowers in any season.
I miscarried the first week of May, when the Iris are in bloom.
I miscarried at the end of August, when only the most intrepid of Daisies are still in bloom in Western Kansas.
I miscarried over Memorial Day weekend, just as the Roses are preparing to bloom.
I didn't get to hold my dear ones. I didn't get to feel them kick and flip and turn. I didn't get to give them birth, just rage against my body as it acted against my will expelling my dreams. I didn't get to know them as they grew.
But I have a bouquet of beautiful flowers as the seasons turn. I have an Iris of Courage to face whatever life brings. I have a Daisy of Strength to bear up under the weight of pain and loss. I have a Rose of Peace, knowing that whatever comes I have a Comforter who walks by my side.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Bestest Cookies Ever
So I was making cookies and thought I would tweak the recipe for something a little different.
This is not always advisable as it can produce inedible cookies. On this particular occasion it worked beautifully and I have yet to name the cookie, so for now they are just:
The Bestest Cookies Ever
Makes about 4 dozen (so you can eat some and still have a decent amount to share :)
1 c. butter
1c. brown sugar
1c. white sugar
1/4 c. flax seed
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 c. flour
2 1/2 c. oatmeal
3/4 c. white chocolate chips
3/4 c. chocolate chips
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add flax seed. Blend in eggs one at a time. Now you have a choice. You can sift together flour, salt, soda, and pumpkin pie spice and add the mix to the blended wet ingredients; or you can carefully add the spice, salt, and soda so that they don't clump and add the flour once these are blended in completely. Add the oatmeal. Stir in the white and chocolate chips.
Drop by tablespoon onto prepared cookie sheets or baking stone. Bake at 350F 10-12 minutes until they have begun to deflate. (Mine puff up and then deflate around minute 11) Don't overbake them! Err on the side of undone. Let them cool for 4 minutes or so on the baking sheet. Finish cooling on a wire rack.
What results is a lightly spiced cookie with a tender top and crispy bottom (flax seeds help with this).
Store in a tightly sealed container as long as you possibly can...they may not last long!
This is not always advisable as it can produce inedible cookies. On this particular occasion it worked beautifully and I have yet to name the cookie, so for now they are just:
The Bestest Cookies Ever
Makes about 4 dozen (so you can eat some and still have a decent amount to share :)
1 c. butter
1c. brown sugar
1c. white sugar
1/4 c. flax seed
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp pumpkin pie spice
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 c. flour
2 1/2 c. oatmeal
3/4 c. white chocolate chips
3/4 c. chocolate chips
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cream butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add flax seed. Blend in eggs one at a time. Now you have a choice. You can sift together flour, salt, soda, and pumpkin pie spice and add the mix to the blended wet ingredients; or you can carefully add the spice, salt, and soda so that they don't clump and add the flour once these are blended in completely. Add the oatmeal. Stir in the white and chocolate chips.
Drop by tablespoon onto prepared cookie sheets or baking stone. Bake at 350F 10-12 minutes until they have begun to deflate. (Mine puff up and then deflate around minute 11) Don't overbake them! Err on the side of undone. Let them cool for 4 minutes or so on the baking sheet. Finish cooling on a wire rack.
What results is a lightly spiced cookie with a tender top and crispy bottom (flax seeds help with this).
Store in a tightly sealed container as long as you possibly can...they may not last long!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Advent Repentance
Sitting at my desk and getting ready for our Christmas Celebration on December 26th, I was putting together the program and practicing a special I hope to sing as part of the service. It is one of my favorite Christmas songs because of the soaring majesty of the music and the lines that proclaim the truth of Christ's coming.
I was singing and enjoying the music and came to these lines:
"Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name."
And as I sang the second line a familiar lump formed in my throat. I pressed on, but as I came to the line "for the slave is our brother and in his name all oppression shall cease" I broke down in body-shaking sobs. The song played on and I heard "Fall on your knees!" I nearly did just that as I thought of all those who suffer in slavery this year around the world (and in our own nation) who are our brothers and sisters and because they do not live next door we have forgotten them. I cried out for forgiveness for our continued use of his name to justify our wars when he came to bring us peace!
"How long, O Lord, how long will you endure our willful ignorance of your offered peace? How do you bear our blasphemy in claiming your abundance for ourselves while pushing away thoughts and reminders of the poor among us? How is it we have not fallen under your wrath?" These were my thoughts as the song continued to play.
And then I realized that the one who came to bring peace, brings our pardon. He stands in the gap and pays the debt of our ignorance and disobedience. He does it with love and grace and desires that his intercession will bring about change in our hearts. This made my tears come all the more as I considered how unworthy I am to receive all that he offers.
I have been so busy this Advent season with events and keeping my personal fast, all of which seems so "not enough," so meaningless, so shallow in comparison to his coming and sacrifice. I needed this reminder today of my need for repentance and dependence on him; of my need for continued growth and renewed dedication to his purposes.
"Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh holy night,
Oh night divine"
Thank you, God for Advent Repentance and the knowledge that you are at work and your purposes will be fulfilled. Have your way in me. Transform me into the likeness of your Son. Amen
I was singing and enjoying the music and came to these lines:
"Truly He taught us to love one another
His law is love and His gospel is peace
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother
And in His name all oppression shall cease
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
Let all within us praise His holy name."
And as I sang the second line a familiar lump formed in my throat. I pressed on, but as I came to the line "for the slave is our brother and in his name all oppression shall cease" I broke down in body-shaking sobs. The song played on and I heard "Fall on your knees!" I nearly did just that as I thought of all those who suffer in slavery this year around the world (and in our own nation) who are our brothers and sisters and because they do not live next door we have forgotten them. I cried out for forgiveness for our continued use of his name to justify our wars when he came to bring us peace!
"How long, O Lord, how long will you endure our willful ignorance of your offered peace? How do you bear our blasphemy in claiming your abundance for ourselves while pushing away thoughts and reminders of the poor among us? How is it we have not fallen under your wrath?" These were my thoughts as the song continued to play.
And then I realized that the one who came to bring peace, brings our pardon. He stands in the gap and pays the debt of our ignorance and disobedience. He does it with love and grace and desires that his intercession will bring about change in our hearts. This made my tears come all the more as I considered how unworthy I am to receive all that he offers.
I have been so busy this Advent season with events and keeping my personal fast, all of which seems so "not enough," so meaningless, so shallow in comparison to his coming and sacrifice. I needed this reminder today of my need for repentance and dependence on him; of my need for continued growth and renewed dedication to his purposes.
"Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born
Oh night divine
Oh holy night,
Oh night divine"
Thank you, God for Advent Repentance and the knowledge that you are at work and your purposes will be fulfilled. Have your way in me. Transform me into the likeness of your Son. Amen
Friday, June 18, 2010
Message, Lewis Kemper Funeral Wednesday June 16, 2010
When we come to the end of life, as we walk the valley of the shadow of death, events from our lives crystallize in perfect clarity. The good times become all that much sweeter, and the bad times all the worse. What do we do with that contradiction? What do we do at the end of a life filled with joy and pain? Some choose only to remember the good, and never mention the failures. Others harden themselves to the pain of loss by choosing to keep fresh the painful memories, blocking out the happy times. What do we do when those we love are not perfect?
I want to present a different option, one that can embrace the joy while recognizing the pain. That option involves looking at our own lives and seeing that we too are people with strengths to serve the world, and faults that can cause pain. We all are unique creations of a loving god whose desire is to bless us and others with the good gifts he has given. We also find ourselves in a fallen world with fallen natures that give in so readily to sin. The question of what to do with our imperfect loved ones becomes another question “what do we do with ourselves?” Thankfully, I know the answer to that question.
I know what I do with myself. I seek to honor the gifts God has given while trusting him to mend the broken places caused by my sin. I seek to rejoice in the gifts God has given me in those around me. I want to embrace and encourage them to use the talents they possess to glorify God and serve his people. I want to set them free. Free to revel in God’s goodness. Free to taste and see that God is good. And when those people fail—which they will do as people—I must trust that the God who can restore my broken places can also restore theirs. God is the healer of the broken heart. He is the one who sets the captive free. He is the creator and the redeemer of all things. He can restore you. He can soothe the pain you feel; pain caused by your sin as well as pain caused by the sin of others.
I am so thankful today that God did this for my grandfather, Lewis. Grand-dad was blessed with gifts and talents that he used to serve others. Grand-dad also had weaknesses and broken places that invited sin in the door. So we love him and we were hurt by him, but we love him. And God loves Lewis, too. He has loved him all through life, just like he loves each of us. I believe God loves Lewis now. I believe that according to his promise to make all things new, God has finally restored Lewis to the whole and complete person that he was always meant to be.
In that belief there is hope. There is hope that God will do for each of us what He has done for Lewis. And even better is the faith that God can begin that process now. We don’t have to wait for death to begin to experience healing and restoration. We don’t have to wait for heaven to experience peace and wholeness of self. I believe that God wants to heal you now, he wants to heal me now, and today is part of that process. Will you let him in to those broken places? He wants to make you whole.
I want to present a different option, one that can embrace the joy while recognizing the pain. That option involves looking at our own lives and seeing that we too are people with strengths to serve the world, and faults that can cause pain. We all are unique creations of a loving god whose desire is to bless us and others with the good gifts he has given. We also find ourselves in a fallen world with fallen natures that give in so readily to sin. The question of what to do with our imperfect loved ones becomes another question “what do we do with ourselves?” Thankfully, I know the answer to that question.
I know what I do with myself. I seek to honor the gifts God has given while trusting him to mend the broken places caused by my sin. I seek to rejoice in the gifts God has given me in those around me. I want to embrace and encourage them to use the talents they possess to glorify God and serve his people. I want to set them free. Free to revel in God’s goodness. Free to taste and see that God is good. And when those people fail—which they will do as people—I must trust that the God who can restore my broken places can also restore theirs. God is the healer of the broken heart. He is the one who sets the captive free. He is the creator and the redeemer of all things. He can restore you. He can soothe the pain you feel; pain caused by your sin as well as pain caused by the sin of others.
I am so thankful today that God did this for my grandfather, Lewis. Grand-dad was blessed with gifts and talents that he used to serve others. Grand-dad also had weaknesses and broken places that invited sin in the door. So we love him and we were hurt by him, but we love him. And God loves Lewis, too. He has loved him all through life, just like he loves each of us. I believe God loves Lewis now. I believe that according to his promise to make all things new, God has finally restored Lewis to the whole and complete person that he was always meant to be.
In that belief there is hope. There is hope that God will do for each of us what He has done for Lewis. And even better is the faith that God can begin that process now. We don’t have to wait for death to begin to experience healing and restoration. We don’t have to wait for heaven to experience peace and wholeness of self. I believe that God wants to heal you now, he wants to heal me now, and today is part of that process. Will you let him in to those broken places? He wants to make you whole.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Confession
Reading a book compiled from the works of Oswald Chambers on Prayer, I am under conviction for my lack of vision, understanding, and focus. So often I pray wondering if I am worthy to approach the throne. Am I good enough, spiritual enough, immersed enough in the Holy Spirit to be heard by the sovereign of the universe?
Reminded by the very words of God that it is not my worthiness that determines his faithfulness, I lay on my face and repent of my conceit. How arrogant that I would consider myself as important enough that if I do not come spotless in my own right, that I might somehow tie the hands of God from answering prayer--something he has promised to do!
Do I, a mother, refuse to feed my children when they have misbehaved? Do I refuse to clothe them? Do I refuse to comfort them in their distress? Do I refuse to bandage the wound that is self-inflicted? No! If I, an imperfect mother, know how to give good gifts to my children, how much more will my father in heaven pour out his blessings on his children!
I must re-learn to approach God as a little child; to put my trust wholly in him, not on myself or my own merits, but only on what I know him to be. He is the almighty maker of heaven and earth, he can do anything. He is never changing, his love for me is a constant. He is always faithful to his promises, I cannot change his resolve. He is full of grace, mercy, holiness, integrity, love, faithfulness, and gentle determination to bring about his will in my life, my family, my church, my city, and my world. I can trust him. I must trust him.
Oh, God, break my reliance on myself and cause my heart to trust only in you. I repent of my conceit in thinking that my imperfection could stand in the way of your perfect plan! Thank you for Jesus my great High Priest who makes it possible for me to boldly approach your throne, as your child to climb on your knee and make known my heart's desires to you, to listen to your desires for me, and to be willing to allow your hand to transform me into the likeness of your Son. Let it be so-Amen.
Reminded by the very words of God that it is not my worthiness that determines his faithfulness, I lay on my face and repent of my conceit. How arrogant that I would consider myself as important enough that if I do not come spotless in my own right, that I might somehow tie the hands of God from answering prayer--something he has promised to do!
Do I, a mother, refuse to feed my children when they have misbehaved? Do I refuse to clothe them? Do I refuse to comfort them in their distress? Do I refuse to bandage the wound that is self-inflicted? No! If I, an imperfect mother, know how to give good gifts to my children, how much more will my father in heaven pour out his blessings on his children!
I must re-learn to approach God as a little child; to put my trust wholly in him, not on myself or my own merits, but only on what I know him to be. He is the almighty maker of heaven and earth, he can do anything. He is never changing, his love for me is a constant. He is always faithful to his promises, I cannot change his resolve. He is full of grace, mercy, holiness, integrity, love, faithfulness, and gentle determination to bring about his will in my life, my family, my church, my city, and my world. I can trust him. I must trust him.
Oh, God, break my reliance on myself and cause my heart to trust only in you. I repent of my conceit in thinking that my imperfection could stand in the way of your perfect plan! Thank you for Jesus my great High Priest who makes it possible for me to boldly approach your throne, as your child to climb on your knee and make known my heart's desires to you, to listen to your desires for me, and to be willing to allow your hand to transform me into the likeness of your Son. Let it be so-Amen.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Grief
I stood by today as they loaded the body of my good friend and Presiding Clerk into a white SUV.
It seemed unreal that the woman who had only three weeks ago sat and talked about regaining strength and coming back to church was gone. My heart hurts.
I hurt for her husband of almost 56 years. I hurt for her two children and her grandchildren. I hurt for my congregation who has lost an excellent member and leader. I hurt for myself and the loss of her laughter, her efficiency, and her kind and caring heart.
It is funny that this thing we never expect--and yet is guaranteed to each of us; death does not ask our permission to come. Like an unwelcome house guest it was present today: tolerated, sometimes ignored, but its presence unmistakably heavy. We did not want it to come. We did not invite it to come. We dreaded its arrival, but we waited for it all week knowing that our dread and lack of hospitality would not keep it away. And why should death be held at bay?
For us it is miserable, awful, terrible, but for Marge death was the beginning of a new day. It is the start of her eternity with her beloved savior. It means a place with no more tears, fears, suffering, no more dying or death. Marge is rejoicing, forever celebrating, starting today. She is free. She is free from a body that for the past few months has failed her time and again. She is free from all pain. She is free, finally free, to dance at the wedding feast of the lamb--and you better believe she is dancing!
It seemed unreal that the woman who had only three weeks ago sat and talked about regaining strength and coming back to church was gone. My heart hurts.
I hurt for her husband of almost 56 years. I hurt for her two children and her grandchildren. I hurt for my congregation who has lost an excellent member and leader. I hurt for myself and the loss of her laughter, her efficiency, and her kind and caring heart.
It is funny that this thing we never expect--and yet is guaranteed to each of us; death does not ask our permission to come. Like an unwelcome house guest it was present today: tolerated, sometimes ignored, but its presence unmistakably heavy. We did not want it to come. We did not invite it to come. We dreaded its arrival, but we waited for it all week knowing that our dread and lack of hospitality would not keep it away. And why should death be held at bay?
For us it is miserable, awful, terrible, but for Marge death was the beginning of a new day. It is the start of her eternity with her beloved savior. It means a place with no more tears, fears, suffering, no more dying or death. Marge is rejoicing, forever celebrating, starting today. She is free. She is free from a body that for the past few months has failed her time and again. She is free from all pain. She is free, finally free, to dance at the wedding feast of the lamb--and you better believe she is dancing!
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