Nesting...

I think I could use a flannel board this year for Christmas.

Now, while my Sunday school teachers didn't use them, I've seen the little flannel scenes with movable flannel characters being used to teach Bible stories without the flash of video and cartoon characters. They're actually pretty neat, even if Jesus has to have his hands out the same way in every story.

If I get my New Testament flannel board, I'm going straight for Luke 10. I'm going to rip Martha out of her kitchen and hot glue her right next to Mary, sitting and listening at the feet of Jesus. Maybe if I frame it, I could finally remember.

Yesterday at my appointment, my fluid levels were even lower than last week. We have been preparing for a planned c-section next week Thursday, but the midwife told me that they would repeat my fluid check this Thursday, with a possibility that if they looked low, they'd just move the whole she-bang up. 

With all the waiting, this sounded fine to me. Fine, that is, until I thought about our chores. After having my family visit for Thanksgiving, we've had something going on every evening. With bed-rest, I can't accomplish much during the day, so we had planned on doing our cleaning on this Thursday night. As in the Thursday night that could possibly kick-off a four-day hospital stay and an entirely new life with a baby.

Last night, I started to panic.

What about the vacuuming? The counters are all messy! I need to mail out that package. Our floors haven't been mopped in weeks! 

Unfortunately, I could play Martha on screen any day. My anxiety often leads to what our librarian at Skyline calls being "snarky" (grumpy, testy, critical). It's not enough to be stressed, I need to point it at someone. Usually, it's my unsuspecting husband who has been gracious upon gracious to me. 

I found myself complaining and blaming, asking like Martha "Lord, don’t you care that my [husband] has left me to do the work by myself? Tell [him] to help me!”(Luke 10:40 NIV).

Obviously, this doesn't lead to very productive conversations, so I eventually went to the bathroom to cool off. There, I felt God whispering to me, "you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one..." (Luke 10:41-42). 

I felt my angry spirit sink. How easily I lose perspective! These could be the last few days we get to be "just the two of us." The time I wasted breathing hot criticism could have been used connecting, praying, dreaming. The many things I was worried about stole and bled the joy right out us. 

My newborn will care less if the tub is scrubbed or the sink completely free of dishes. She will be affected, however, if her parents have lost their unity, their love, and their respect for each other. She will be affected if her mama doesn't pray because she's too busy lamenting late library books. Nesting happens, yes. But it will be a rough bed if the mother has ripped and torn down branches in its making. 

This morning, I started spinning the idea out into more and more areas of my life.

One day, whether He takes me home or takes us all home, I will stand before Jesus.  (Never before have I understood the idea of Advent, remembering Jesus' first long-awaited coming and reflecting on his second, as much as waiting for our own baby to come.) He will want my "house" in order, yes. Just like we've tried to keep our house tidy in case the baby comes early, he wants my heart clean from sin and ready to receive him.

However, I think he could care less about the state of my floors. He won't want to hear about my crock-pot meals were pin-worthy. I don't even think he'll want to hear about all the books I read about him or all the acts of kindness I did as a nice Christian girl.

When I stand before Jesus, I think he'll want most for me to have focused on the few things needed, the one thing of being in his presence, soaking in his love. 

I don't want to forget this. When I am raising my daughter, I want to remember her heart toward Jesus is more important than the number of awards she wins. When I am serving the poor, I want to remember that being with the people Jesus loves the most is more important than how effective the program or my service might be. When I am looking over the worth of my day, I want to remember that the moments I spent as a beloved child in God's presence weigh far more than the times I can say I was organized or productive or well-balanced. 

Maybe you need a flannel board for Christmas this year, too. I pray that in the midst of the stress, the preparations, the expectations, you can sit down with your glue gun and stick that Martha in you right down. Don't be like me and be worried and upset about many things. In the end, only the time we spend at his feet really matters. That won't be taken away. 

Hammering New Nails...

I had first read these words by Erasmus in Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts: 

"A nail is driven out by another nail. Habit is overcome by habit." 

She had used it to describe her new quest to breathe thanksgiving, no matter what circumstances brought her. Voskamp explains that you can't positive think yourself to joy. You have to drive out a habit of anger or of worry or of despair with another habit, in her case, writing down the gifts God had given her as a discipline of chronicling his care. 

Voskamp notes as well that a habit is something you wear. Well, if that is true, I wear fear, am riddled with nails of fear that have long rusted from being lodged deep. 

This week, fear came creeping up out of nowhere really. Blindsided me. Thoughts I hadn't worried about in weeks became all-encompassing mind games. The paradise I'd created in waiting for this baby to arrive turned out to have some pretty hostile creatures, ones that I've met before and before. 

As I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep, my mind starting playing tricks again. I was worried about a particular circumstance being meaningful in a scary way. It is... my mind said. It isn't... it said again. It is... It isn't...

My eyes flew open in exasperation. Which were my thoughts? Which the words of the Holy Spirit? What are you telling me, Holy Spirit? Which is it? 

Now it doesn't happen really often, but sometimes I feel like the voice of the Holy Spirit comes in gentle, but razor sharp into my jumble of thoughts. This time it did. 

Not, "it is," but "I AM." 

I suddenly felt the disgusting pit of fear in my stomach settle. I had missed the mark entirely. Not, "it is...." but "I AM." I had been chasing after the wrong nails, wrong habits. 

A friend once told me that fear is the opposite of meditation, because you focus all of your thoughts on what could go wrong instead of on God's peace and presence. What we meditate on is a nail. If we meditate on fear, we must drive in a new nail by meditating on who God is. 

Patrick and I pulled out the book of John. I remembered from college that John had Jesus' seven "I AM" statements. I suddenly wanted them, like thick stones to turn over in my hands and to hold down my anxious thoughts. 

I am the bread of life. I am the light of the world. I am the gate for the sheep. I am the good shepherd.  I am the way, the truth, and the life. I am the resurrection and the life. I am the true vine. 

These concrete words are solid nails that won't rust: bread, light, gate, shepherd, way, resurrection, vine. Words that you can taste, touch, see, and explore different facets of in your mind. These words will be fresh for the next days, months, years. 

I don't know what your nails are. Maybe you focus on "It is a failure" or "It's not." Or "She is a failure" or "he's not." "It's going to be enough this month." or "It's not." "It is what I deserve." or "It's not fair." 

I encourage you today to grab the hammer of your mind and calmly place it over the head of your "It is..." thoughts. Write a poem, listen to a song, scan the scriptures, write out posters. Swing down with thoughts of who God says he is. These nails, they can hold. No matter what is or will ever be.

What Water I Have...

I recently began re-reading, Rumors of Water: Thoughts on Creativity and Writing, a memoir-style book by author, poet, editor and mother L.L. Barkat. In it, she says this: "When a writer tries to explain his work to me, I will often remind him, 'If you have to explain your work to a reader, that's a sign that something needs to change; remember, you aren't going to be there when the reader puts on his Land's End swim shorts and goes to the pool to relax with your words.'" 

I'm about to do exactly the opposite of what Ms. Barkat suggests, because I want to share an image that has been meaningful to me in the past few days (besides it's too cold for swimming pools now anyway). 

My friend Bethany, had suggested a few weeks ago that I explore my thoughts on motherhood through creative writing, as a way to prepare room in my heart for this new life on the way. Since she is an amazing artist and mother, I stored her words away and have been waiting on an image to begin a poem. 

I began thinking about how rocky and barren our world can be at times. Best not leave it at that. Hello, firstborn. This world has stones. Then, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me of a story I had heard while teaching at Skyline: "The Brave Little Tailor." In it, a little tailor takes on a huge giant in a show-down of challenges. In the first, the giant squeezes a boulder so hard that water pours out. The tailor tricks the giant by squeezing a cheese so hard that the watery whey drips down. The image captured my imagination.

I've been marveling for weeks at how this little baby I've been nourishing in my belly will continue being nourished only by my body for months. I cannot change the fact that the world she is entering is dark, dangerous, and hard. I can sustain her with a pouring out of my life-blood into milk, a small sign of the sacrificial pouring out of a mother's life for her children. 

We are not giants. We are not Moses. We cannot make water pour from rocks and heal this dry and weary land. We can however, nurse, both literally and figuratively, our children by giving of ourselves, trusting that God will do the rest. It might feel like squeezing, but we will be a part of preparing them to be a gift to a thirsty, thirsty world. 

With all of the explaining I'm not supposed to have done out of the way, I'm sharing a peek into my heart, the poem I've written for my daughter: 

Brave Little

This world has stones,
and I am no giant. 
It has lips parched, 
and I cannot squeeze
hard enough for water.
I can only hope the Tailor 
more skilled than I can
make my whey enough 
to whet your voice
for crying out in deserts.

Words to Grow On...

While we're not ready yet to reveal Baby Weaver's name, our minds are full of waiting for this little one and what God might do with her life as she grows, so I wanted to write this week about the verses we have chosen as especially hers.

Awhile ago, I don't remember exactly where or when, I heard about a family that chose a verse for each of their children. They gave these verses like a gift when the child was born, spoke these words over the child, and asked that the verses would characterize the child's life.

To understand the story of the verses we chose, you have to go back almost a year ago. I had been sick since a few weeks before Christmas with mysterious dizziness, joint pain, fatigue, numbness, and weakness. Up to this point in my life, I had been incredibly healthy. I had never been sick for more than a few days, had  taken antibiotics a handful of times, had never broken a bone, never been to the ER.

All of the sudden, I was undergoing tests at the ER, cat scans, blood tests, and visits with specialists! I felt like the life that stretched before me was no longer a fertile field waiting to grow but a desolate wasteland of uncertainty, unidentified illness, and a failing immune system. I questioned if I'd ever get back to the way I had felt before, if we'd ever be able to have babies if my immune system couldn't stabilize, even if I could continue to work with the crushing anxiety that came when the mysterious symptoms arose. I had never been so desperate to hear from God.

As I asked the Holy Spirit for any kind of nourishment, he kept bringing Jeremiah 33 to mind. I didn't recognize the reference, but I remember feeling swept up in God's care when I read the chapter's heading: "Promise of Restoration."

I read hungrily. The chapter begins with nightmarish visions of dead bodies, city under siege, God hiding his face from the city he loved. But as suddenly as it starts, it begins painting a picture of everything being put right again, much like a magical world when a deep curse is broken and all is suddenly awash in green again.

God would transform, could recreate life, so much so that people would "tremble at the abundant peace and prosperity" God would again give. The restoration passage culminated with giving the reason for the restoration: a righteous branch from David's line, a priest and king who could make all things new. I knew this promise: Jesus. These words were like water on a parched tongue. I read them over and over and over, until one day, I could look back and say God truly brought them to fruition in my life. I became pregnant, God healed me of my autoimmune issues, and I was myself again.

Fast forward to choosing a name for our firstborn. We had worked with variation upon variations of first and middle names, toying with sounds and meanings until we finally came up with one that meant to us: God is a promise of new life.

Then came the decision to find a verse to go along with it. The words from the winter came gently, and we decided on Jeremiah 33: 10-16:

¹⁰ “This is what the Lord says: ‘You say about this place, “It is a desolate waste, without people or animals.” Yet in the towns of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem that are deserted, inhabited by neither people nor animals, there will be heard once more ¹¹ the sounds of joy and gladness, the voices of bride and bridegroom, and the voices of those who bring thank offerings to the house of the Lord, saying,

“Give thanks to the Lord Almighty,
    for the Lord is good;
    his love endures forever.”

For I will restore the fortunes of the land as they were before,’ says the Lord.

¹² “This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘In this place, desolate and without people or animals—in all its towns there will again be pastures for shepherds to rest their flocks. ¹³ In the towns of the hill country, of the western foothills and of the Negev, in the territory of Benjamin, in the villages around Jerusalem and in the towns of Judah, flocks will again pass under the hand of the one who counts them,’ says the Lord.

¹⁴ “‘The days are coming,’ declares the Lord, ‘when I will fulfill the good promise I made to the people of Israel and Judah.

¹⁵ “‘In those days and at that time
    I will make a righteous Branch sprout from David’s line;
    he will do what is just and right in the land.
¹⁶ In those days Judah will be saved
    and Jerusalem will live in safety.
This is the name by which it^[c] will be called:
    The Lord Our Righteous Savior.’

I think my favorite part is when the Lord says, "You say about this place, 'It is a desolate waste....yet..." When I look at my baby girl, when I mouth her name and think of the words we've chosen for her to wear her whole life, I want to remember that what I call a desolate waste is always full of the possibility of God's restoration and achingly new life. 

Whether it is a relationship that seems beyond repair, a world that seems incredibly chaotic, a situation that seems completely devoid of the possibility of redemption, the fact that our child is spinning inside a body that should not have been quiet enough to hold her is a testimony to the fact that God promises restoration and does not fail to provide it. We pray that her life will be one of reminding the most desolate that Jesus can bring life into wastelands now and will one day completely fulfill his promise to make all right once again.

I can't wait to introduce our promise of new life to you. Until then, I hope the words we want her to live into, to grow on can nourish you like they have done for us. Whatever you are facing today, know that restoration is possible when The Lord Our Righteous Savior walks into what we have called impossible waste. There is always, mercifully always, a "yet."

Supernatural...

I don't have a lot on my mind today, so I'll keep it short (I think).

My sister sent me a bunch of hilarious bibs she made for our little one. Here is one of my favorites:

Since it appears we'll soon be hosting Super Baby, I thought I'd share some recent thoughts on what is actually supernatural.

We're fascinated as humans by supernatural abilities. From The Incredibles all the way to The Avengers, we can't get enough of average people who suddenly can save the world with their flying, future-seeing, shape-changing, brick-breaking-strength skills.

The same seems to be true for Christians. We are drawn to those who seem super-holy, super-courageous, super-self-sacrificing, super-wise, etc... We wish (at least I do sometimes) that we could have the flashier gifts, more steady discipline, less cracks in our super-faith armor.

It's not a new obsession either... Paul addressed the early church this way:

"But it’s obvious by now, isn’t it, that Christ’s church is a complete Body and not a gigantic, unidimensional Part? It’s not all Apostle, not all Prophet, not all Miracle Worker, not all Healer, not all Prayer in Tongues, not all Interpreter of Tongues. And yet some of you keep competing for so-called “important” parts.

But now I want to lay out a far better way for you." -End of 1 Corinthians 12 (Message)

So it seems like we're not called to compete to have more of the supernatural gifts in the Body of Christ. So what then?

God has been gently whispering to me lately that "supernatural" means exactly that, "Above, Beyond the Natural."

What's natural?

For me, it seems to be fear. Fear has been my autopilot mode since I was small. And to be honest, isn't fear natural in a world with nuclear bombs, hurricanes, serial killers, job loss, and dividing cells that eat away life? Fear is a huge money maker, decision driver. It's what causes us to shop for insurance, vote in certain ways, avoid deep relationships, stop opening our homes to strangers.

I realized today that choosing to lay down fear is a supernatural act. Fall seems an apt name for this season. It seems like a huge leap for me into an abyss of uncertainty. But if I choose trust over fear, I am doing something more profound than leaping buildings in a single bound. I am testifying that there is a God. A God who enables me to go beyond what I'm naturally programmed to be.

I don't know what "natural" tendency you struggle with: selfishness, ambition, materialism, protecting a strong or religious appearance, striving, rebellion, resentment... I do know that whenever we choose to go against, above the ways humans have been since we got broken and busted, we are standing in defiance against evil, quietly defeating it with a greater power than any light-saber. 

We can't do it on our own, but that doesn't mean we are not powerful. No, we have this promise:

^" I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." -Galatians 2:20

We've got a secret. We're not who we appear today. When we call on Jesus, he lives through us. And because of that, ordinary acts of love, courage, and forgiveness are supernatural. Just make sure your cape is on correctly :)

He Knows My Name...

You would think with a name like "non-stress test," there shouldn't be any anxiety produced. You would think! Our normal, scheduled appointment yesterday turned into a bit of adventure for us, another chance for us to learn who God is and who we are.

 I had woken up yesterday morning after bad dreams. The night before I had been stressed again about the world/politics, preparations for the baby, juggling responsibilities, etc... I felt like God wanted me to turn to Isaiah 40, a chapter that had been brought up a couple of times at my baby shower because of the amazing promise that God "gently leads those who are with young."

Yesterday morning, I felt the peace of other promises: God doesn't grow tired or weary, to him the rulers of this world are like wind-blown chaff, he sits enthroned over the circle of the earth. Yes.

 The rest of the day was normal, until our non-stress test. The baby's heart-rate was fine. What was concerning was that I was having contractions about two to three minutes apart. No prenatal class for us!

We were sent to the hospital by the midwife to get further tests/monitoring. As we drove, I tried to keep down the panic. At 33 weeks, your body shouldn't be doing this. Our baby is breech, so she's in no position (pun intended) to be born. We were not expecting this.

As we pulled into the hospital, my phone beeped. I had received a text from my friend Melody. It read, "I've been praying for you. Do you guys need anything?" I was blown away. God knew! He knew exactly what was going on and more than that, had prompted a friend by the Holy Spirit to be praying. We went in with a sense of peace, despite the uncertainties.

 After some tests and observations, the contractions stopped, and we got the go-ahead to go home. What a whirlwind!

 Late last night and this morning, I felt like returning to Isaiah 40 again. This time, a new section stood out to me:

"Why would you ever complain, O Jacob, or, whine, Israel, saying, “God has lost track of me. He doesn’t care what happens to me”? Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening? God doesn’t come and go. God lasts. He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine. He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath. And he knows everything, inside and out." (Isaiah 40-27-30, Message)

I was also struck by the position of the promise about God leading those with young. It is right before "who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand" (verse 12).

We serve a powerful God. He is magnificent, mighty, all-knowing, never-ceasing. And yet, he leads us like a shepherd, knows when we're headed into the hospital, knows our names. He hasn't lost track of us. Not a one.

All day, I've been thinking of the song, "He knows my name." This afternoon, I thought, "He knows my baby's name, too...that means he must know everyone's name...yikes." We have the comfort of God knowing us intimately. This we like. We also have the knowledge that God cares just as intimately for those whom we find hard to love. This. is. hard.

The political candidate we don't like? He knows his name. 
The co-worker we struggle to respect? He knows her name. 
Those who have injured us, behind our backs or to our face. He knows their names. 

He hasn't lost track of them either. Not a one. 

One of the most powerful exercises I was ever asked to do was to read Psalm 139 aloud, changing every "me" to a name of a person or group I struggled to accept.

I don't know what you need today. Maybe you need to remember that God is real and really present. The text I received proves that. Maybe you need to look at someone else with eyes of an all-powerful God who still choses to love. Scripture is pretty clear on this, too. He knows us. He knows. 

Another song to listen to this week...may it speak to you the way it speaks to me. Until next time!


 

Faithfulness

“Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of ‘not knowing.” 
― Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

I kind of hate these words. Really. I mean, they sound wise, wise enough for me to pick them out of a page full of quotations about uncertainty. He uses the word "one," so it rolls off the tongue. The book they come from even sounds poetic. However, I'm learning that maturity, acceptance, not knowing are some of the least poetic, most difficult things for someone who has lived her entire life desiring the illusion of control. 

Election years always leave me feeling uncertain. I avoid newspaper stands because the fragility of the world in black headlines shouts, "uncertain." This last leg of the pregnancy has been unexpectedly uncertain. 

We're still dealing with low amniotic fluid levels here. I've a few more restrictions, a few more ultrasounds, and a whole lot of water. I know God is completely able to heal me. He healed my autoimmune issues, he healed my blood pressure that had been high for several weeks in a row. My fluid levels might rise and our journey will continue "normally" (what in the world does that actually mean when you're pregnant?!) Or, they might not. What are we to do with these increasing layers of uncertainty? 

I love that we have a Bible with laments. We even have an entire book of them. Lamentations 3 is one of my favorite passages, especially when things seem tight-rope tipsy. I see in it some ways to move forward each day: 

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, 

the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,

and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind    

and therefore I have hope.

Because of the Lord’s great love 

we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness. 

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;

therefore I will wait for him.” -Lamentations 3: 19-24, emphasis mine)

We are, I am, not called to forget about the uncertainty, to spring up to thanksgiving while ignoring the fact that things are not as we would wish them to be. We are able to remember, to give voice to our mourning, our wandering, our dissappointment and pain. BUT, we are not called to stay there. 

I can wallow in the discomfort of an uncertain future, or I can call to mind God's love, the fact that we are not consumed, his unfailing compassion, his great faithfulness. I can say to myself, "God is enough. I will wait for him." 

This week I've listened to this song over and over. I think Brian Doerksen puts it into more beautiful words that I could have. I hope, no matter what uncertainties you might be facing, that it brings you as much peace as it has me: 

Privilege...

I saw this quote yesterday, and it has stuck with me since:

It is a privilege denied to many. That is the part that has been spinning around on repeat in my mind.

How many times do I complain about what is a privilege, taking for granted that I deserve only hell but receive only grace?

Seeing things as privileges changes everything:

I'm stressed about how much there is to read and learn about being a new mom? The fact that I can read is a privilege denied to many. 

I'm feeling overwhelmed by the number of doctor's appointments that have been added to our schedule? Accessible medical care close to home is a privilege denied to many. 

The internet is slow and a browser keeps crashing? Having access to internet puts me among the richest people of the world; it is a privilege denied to many. 

I don't feel like tackling the dishes in the sink? Those dishes are evidence that I had a good meal last night and went to bed with my stomach full -- a privilege denied to many. 

I can't go on walks (my favorite thing) this week until my fluid levels prove they're safely high enough? I have a life spinning inside me. This (let me never forget), and my ability to be home instead of losing a day's wage, is a privilege denied to so, so many. 

Even our access to Jesus is a privilege that, before he came, was a privilege denied to all but Jews. If we gain nothing else or lose everything but, Jesus' presence is a privilege denied to many. 

We are a privileged people.

May "thank you" be on our lips every moment this week.

I think she's a pretty beautiful reason, don't you think?

Baby Weaver at 30 Weeks (we think she has Patrick's nose :) )

New(er) Poetry

Hello, friends, I haven't been inspired today in any particular direction, so I thought I'd share some of my more recent poems. I'll have to think how/when to post earlier work. I continue to find great joy in writing this way...I recently read that poems take us out of time for a little bit, much like the few hushed, warm days after a baby is born. What a lovely picture!

What Is It?

These shallow breaths are not

milk and honey I'd hoped for,

praying strength to spread

cream cheese on toast

what I'd planned.

Yet these rapid heartbeats burn

wisps of incense

in a place I am finding

is holy.

The smoke from your cloud today

singes my throat but this

manna strange somehow still

fills me.

                     -Winter 2012

Metamorphi–

This cocoon closes

bloody. I can't tell

what flows thick 

from these knuckles

banged senseless and

what seeps 

from your womb-walls,

hot-cradling me. 

                     -Spring 2012

I Have No Poems About Jesus

I realize this paging through my pittance of black pixels

strewn across white pages in hope

that some will take root.

I read of redemption, communion, the kingdom;

there is Moses, my father; no Rabbi in sight.

The New Jerusalem seems safer,

stained glass and sand sufficient.

No need to touch nail holes,

struggle to name the One

who offers flesh as food,

who tells me I must hate

the one who bore me

but who lets whores

kiss his feet before

he dies.

I have no place to lay His head.

I touch the hem of His garment for healing.

To get closer means His smell might

mingle with mine.

                                 -Summer 2012

  

The Pursuit of Happiness...

You know you are bored when you start watching documentaries you've never heard of. For fun. While knitting. Confession aside, while searching for something to help keep my sanity (and a pretty nifty scarf I'm making) going, I stumbled on the documentary Happiness Is (2009). 

To be honest, it wasn't the most inspiring or coherent piece of work I'd ever seen, but it was an intriguing premise. The filmaker, after leaving a career in the fashion photography world, decided to do a project exploring the third of Jefferson's "trinity of values:" the pursuit of happiness. Life and liberty are pretty self-explanatory, but what do people believe about our "right" to be happy in America?

Like many people in the film, I've recited the words many times but have never understood what they meant. What is it that we are supposed to be after anyway? Does it line up with what I know about the world? About God? 

The movie shared several interesting facts. One was on the entymology of the word itself. Happiness, it explained, comes from the word hap, which means chance or fortune. In other words, we are supposed to be pursuing what comes down to luck. Circumstances. The roll of the dice. Things falling into place so that we suddenly have what we want. 

They also explained that this idea of "favor" or "good circumstances=good life" has been and is manipulated over and over again for economic gain.

The most interesting story was that of Alfred P. Sloan, the CEO of General Motors at the time when the Model T was hugely popular. Up until his arrival on the scene, Ford Motor Co. had been operating on the assumption that you would buy an automobile and that it would last you for decades. Sloan's success came when he capitalized on the circumstantial nature of happiness. He began marketing a new model of car each year in order to make people unhappy with the car they already owned. His plan was brilliant, and he became a major competitor to Ford. 

So what does this all mean for us, I thought. As a follower of Jesus, does happiness fit in with the life I am called to lead? 

I've come to the decision that happiness, the kind that is tied to luck, tied to new purchases and the latest must-have invention is devoid of meaning. That was easy. What was harder for me to realize is that the pursuit of conditions conducive to happiness is also an empty path, one I often find myself wandering. 

Whether my husband is perfect, my house is clean, my dinner is beautiful, my health is superb,  I am called to choose joy and thanksgiving and living like Jesus instead of chasing happiness. 

I am called to the pursuit of holiness, the state of being set apart for sacred use by a powerful God. My goal should be to be more like Jesus, more a part of the loving and healing of others -- goals that may or may not involve happiness at the time.  Patrick and I joke about this whenever he acts out his role as godly husband and calls me out on a choice I shouldn't be making or an attitude I shouldn't be entertaining. I'll say, "Good thing you're called to make me holy, not happy." Happiness is not my end goal.

I feel like I got a better understand of the whole issue today when I searched, "happiness" in the Bible. I wanted to see if it was there at all, and if it was, how were to relate to it.  There were only six references. Only two places explained how we get happiness. 

The first was in Ecclesiastes: "To the person who pleases him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness..." (Ecclesiastes 2:26). 

The second was in Matthew, "Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’" (Matthew 25:21/23). 

It seems like pursuing happiness is none of my concern (Sorry, Jefferson).My concern needs to be pleasing God (holiness) and being faithful with the tasks, talents, relationships, and responsibilties he has given me now. He will give happiness and invite me to share in His. May He give you happiness, dear friends, as you pursue His (and that of His beautiful people) today.  

(picture by By Camdiluv ♥ from Concepción, CHILE (Colours) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons)

Born Again...

According to all the baby books and sites, our baby's hearing has gotten stronger and stronger these last few weeks. She can now hear us having conversations or listening to music. For a while now, we've been working on this assumption and incorporating bedtime stories into our nightly routine. We've worked our way through The Jesus Storybook Bible and are now on to some serious Dr. Seuss. It's Patrick's chance to connect with the baby, and let's be honest, I still love a good read-aloud before going to sleep.

I believe our baby girl can hear Patrick's voice because she stirs whenever he gets close enough, even if she's  been still for a while. However, one night, I started thinking about if she could make out the individual words.

I doubt it. Surrounded by the sounds of my stomach, the warm sea she's floating in, and the muffled walls of her world, she can't make out Patrick saying, "Your daddy loves you. Your mama loves you. But Jesus loves  you most of all." He declares her precious, but she won't be able to hear it clearly until she is born. That night, I finally understood Jesus' conversation with Nicodemus.

I had never really gotten the whole "born again" thing either, and always felt like Jesus had been a little tough on the guy. Besides, the words "born again" have gotten a pretty bad rap over the years as they can conjure up Bible thumping or naiive people running around shouting, "Hallelujah!" Why would Jesus choose this image?

Here's the whole conversation (I like The Message's version):

"There was a man of the Pharisee sect, Nicodemus, a prominent leader among the Jews. Late one night he visited Jesus and said, “Rabbi, we all know you’re a teacher straight from God. No one could do all the God-pointing, God-revealing acts you do if God weren’t in on it.”

³ Jesus said, “You’re absolutely right. Take it from me: Unless a person is born from above, it’s not possible to see what I’m pointing to—to God’s kingdom.”

⁴ “How can anyone,” said Nicodemus, “be born who has already been born and grown up? You can’t re-enter your mother’s womb and be born again. What are you saying with this ‘born-from-above’ talk?”

^5-6 Jesus said, “You’re not listening. Let me say it again. Unless a person submits to this original creation—the ‘wind-hovering-over-the-water’ creation, the invisible moving the visible, a baptism into a new life—it’s not possible to enter God’s kingdom. When you look at a baby, it’s just that: a body you can look at and touch. But the person who takes shape within is formed by something you can’t see and touch—the Spirit—and becomes a living spirit.

^7-8 “So don’t be so surprised when I tell you that you have to be ‘born from above’—out of this world, so to speak. You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from or where it’s headed next. That’s the way it is with everyone ‘born from above’ by the wind of God, the Spirit of God.” (Emphasis mine)

We can speak words of love over our child every day. They can move her, stir something in her she doesn't understand. However, until she is born, she can never fully understand the love we are inviting her into. 

What if God is caressing the arched womb of this world, whispering, shouting, and crooning his love over us? We're promised, "He will take great delight in you;  in his love he will no longer rebuke you,  but will rejoice over you with singing" (Zephaniah 3:17). He is declaring us precious, but unless we believe Jesus when he says he's the only way to God, unless we accept his offer of love and forgiveness, we will never accurately hear his voice. 

Our baby might not understand that there is only one way out. Only one way to fully enter into life. She might be hesitant to leave the safety of her known world. But, Oh, when she does, she will be fully embraced by our words, our arms, and our community. God's children are the same way. If you have never fully accepted this whole Jesus thing, I get it. It's a scary passage into the unknown. But, Oh, when you do, you are then fully embraced by God's words, his arms, his community. You will be able to hear the words of love he has spoken over you for so long. 

If you know Jesus, if you are moving forward in relationship with him, birth doesn't stop our stories. We're called to "grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ." (Ephesians 4:15). 

As we grow, the words of this song have always been beautiful to me: 

Those without status,

those who are nothing,

You have made royal,

gifted with rights,

chosen as partners,

midwives of justice,

birthing new systems,

lighting new lights.

                 -from "Fresh as the Morning" by Shirley Erena Murray. © 1996 Hope Publishing Co. 

Our function as that body is not to be judges, not to be exclusive caretakers of our own, but to be midwives. Those who help others to be born and thereby, to hear. May we take this beautiful calling seriously, until the day when every tribe and tongue can hear the song of the Lamb who has been singing all along.