His Eye is On the Sparrow...

As I backed out of the driveway, the faded garden flag that Sylvia (my mother-in-law) had gotten for me last year caught my eye. I could barely make out the words, "His eye is on the sparrow..." over the towering green mint we had tried to pull up last year. What a nice reminder, I casually thought.

I drove down the street and started humming the song, Why do I feel discouraged? Why do the shadows fall? Why does my heart feel lonely and long for heav'n and home. When Jesus is my portion, my constant friend is He. His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. 

All of the sudden, the song hit me sweetly and deeply. His eye is on the SPARROW, and I know he watches ME. We had known for about a week that I was pregnant, and I had been struggling with anxiety over my health. I was fearful for this tiny new life and my body, still challenged by inflammation from the winter, seemed out of control. God spoke powerfully to me in the car that day. He promised he would care for our baby, the sparrow, whom he would not let fall without him knowing it. Even more amazing though, he was watching ME, caring for my uncertainty, my feelings of vunerability, and my well-being. I struggle sometimes with believing that God cares for me, so these words were deep comfort for my heart.That week we bought a sparrow bracelet, a daily reminder I wear that God sees and cares for each step that we take.

I'll be twelve weeks pregnant on Monday, and we are crazy grateful that God has sustained us through one trimester already. We anticipate our little "sparrow" arriving December 10th!

Today was my first real exam, and again, I was nervous. I have known enough friends to know that sometimes God sees us in pain, not only in joy. However, God gave us an incredible gift. We listened to our baby's heartbeat, fast as a bird's and strong (165 beats a minute!). It was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard. To celebrate, we stopped by Bruster's for some ice cream. A group of sparrows hopped by our feet. And I know He watches me.

Getting Smaller...

Lately, I've been feeling like Alice. Alice in Wonderland to be exact. I didn't know I was Alice until I was lying in bed with a cold, thinking over how to put into words what God has been teaching me lately. A picture came to mind of Alice shrinking and growing, growing and shrinking, before a door in a tree. "Paging" through Sparknotes and Wikipedia (further evidence of lying in bed with a cold), I confirmed what I remembered from growing up: Alice had to get smaller before she could ever enter Wonderland.

I shouldn't be surprised. Jesus himself used this "shrinking" language when he speaks of a kingdom that can seem at times as absurd as Wonderland: ^"And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." (Matt. 18:3-4). He takes it a step further when talking with Nicodemus, claiming we need to be born again, become spinning cells turned gasping newborns. Apparently, getting smaller is no new idea I've stumbled upon. However, it is an idea that feels important, forgotten, and nourishing to me in a way I've only begun to understand. 

 Before we found out we were expecting, Patrick and I had planned on becoming foster parents. We had  remodeled our guest room to accommodate a kiddo in order to be available for a student of mine who was removed from her dad's home because of some pretty horrific abuse. When she was placed with her mom, we decided to keep with the plan, since it didn't seem like a baby of our own was in the works. It seemed something meaningful, something needed, something "kingdom worthy."  It certainly felt good to be those "giving Weavers who were going to welcome troubled kids." Ahh, significance. We continued for several weeks after I learned I was pregnant, struggling to incorporate the training into our schedules and the competing visions for our future that now emerged. The striving and guilt over wanting to "pull out" left me weary. Finally, during one of our Monday night prayer times, we felt the release to let go of what we had felt was our "duty for the kingdom." That week, I turned in my letter of resignation at school and called the social worker to say we'd no longer be attending training.I didn't know it yet, but God was calling us, especially me, to "get smaller." 

I always knew the kingdom was full of paradoxes: suffering brings glory, the first shall be last, the meek shall inherit the earth; the books I was reading helped flesh this out. I had just finished Grace Matters, a fabulous memoir of Chris Rice, one of the co-founders of Antioch, a racial reconciliation community in Mississippi. After 12 years of wearied work, a spiritual mentor suggested the community focus less on what they were doing for God's kingdom and more on the love of God for them, no matter what they could provide. What followed was a revolution of everything they believed about who they were, a release from significance that brought significant freedom and grace to battle-scarred hearts. Later, as Rice mourned the loss of his yoke-fellow, Spencer Johnson, he had to learn to "live the Sabbath", doing more for the kingdom by doing less, in fact nothing visibly for the kingdom, except to experience the coast with his family.

This resonated with me as we said goodbye to our glamorous plans of foster-parenting. Even as I lamented the loss of a great conversation starter ("Did you know we were thinking of foster care? Yeah, we hear it's difficult..."), I felt something truer than any impulse I'd felt before: to grow big in the kingdom, you need to grow smaller.  

Growing lettuce with our neighbors (who might just throw the seeds every which way), eating dinner on the front porch, sharing Peeps with the kids wrestling on our front lawn, eventually raising one newborn instead of loving on 54 babies at school, these things might seem small, insignificant really in the face of tremendous need and horrific evil in this world. However, in the backwards way of the kingdom, it might be we are right in the center of God's will for our lives. We are slowly letting go of the illusion that God needs us, slowing grasping that knowing God's love and embodying God's love might be the most important "kingdom work" we ever do. 

God has elaborated on this with another book, Grace and Necessity by Rowan Williams: a recommendation from my friend Bethany and the most difficult book I've read in a very, very long time. Williams explores the nature of art and making art through the beliefs of French Catholic philosopher Jacques Maritain. Maritain believes that what is seen as beautiful is most often the work in which the creator took care to seek the good of the work itself above all other goals, whether the goal to gain money or fame or even to benefit humankind. Isn't that true of parenthood? A loving parent seeks the good of her child, not because of the child's potential for fame or even because of the child's potential to change the world, but because of love.   

Could it be that the most beautiful families and communities, the most beautiful relationships, the most beautiful lives are filled not with desires for significance, nor desires to do/be great for the kingdom of God, but with simple desires for the good of those in them? 

The idea is in Scripture, too. To his people living in exile, God spoke, ""Build houses and make yourselves at home. Put in gardens and eat what grows in that country. Marry and have children. Encourage your children to marry and have children so that you'll thrive in that country and not waste away. Make yourselves at home there and work for the country's welfare. Pray for Babylon's well-being." (Jeremiah 29: 5-7, The Message)

God doesn't say, "Work to do great and significant things so my kingdom can come in Babylon." He doesn't say, "Better get busy building friendships so you can add to your tally of converted neighbors." He says to work for the country's welfare. Ask for its well-being. Seek its good. And because Jesus is the Good God, if we are seeking the good of those around us, we will give him and be him by default.


I can't pretend to understand this mystery yet. It goes against every desire I've ever had to do something worthwhile for God. But as I grow smaller, I feel like I'm getting bigger glimpses of Wonderland. May I keep shrinking until I can enter in. Will you come, too?