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."