The Pain Around Us

A couple of weeks ago we received the best news possible. We were told that there was going to be a new addition to our family - we were going to be an aunt and uncle again. I was so excited for my brother and sister-in-law. You see, they suffered an unimaginable loss when their first son was born prematurely and passed away. That has been nearly two years ago, and our family has been buzzing with these joyous tidings of a new life for the last two weeks.

Yesterday we received a call that my sister-in-law had a miscarriage. Now, I cannot claim to know what a miscarriage is like because I have never had to walk through the pain of that. I do know, however, what it is like to experience extreme disappointment when you are trying to have a child. Aside from the obvious torture of dealing with the feelings of hopelessness and loss, the worst part is dealing with well-meaning people.

Christians in particular seem to be horrible at handling these types of situations. Unfortunately, they tend to always have their handy go-to scripture ready like: "All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). It is a wonderful scripture to be sure, and it is revelatory when Father drops it into your heart. However, pithy statements and trite scriptural references are not the answer when you see someone in pain.

"What, are you saying I shouldn't share scripture with a hurting friend?" That is not at all what I am saying. My point is that you should stop and pray about sharing that scripture. Is it something Papa is directing you to share, or is it the first scripture you could latch onto that sounds applicable to the situation? If it is something Father is leading you to share, the best way to do it may be to write a note in a card and hand it to your friend letting them know that you felt led to give this word of encouragement. Give them a chance to read it on their terms. That way, they do not feel as if you are expecting them to suddenly feel alright about whatever has happened.

You see, when we offer trite words of encouragement, they sound hollow and empty. When you are on the receiving end, you realize that the intentions are well-meaning. However, most of the time you just smile and nod to appease the sharer. The sentiments, instead of being healing, are often salt in an open wound. That is especially true when they are offered by someone who has no clue what you are going through.

So, what are you supposed to do? Well, the first advice I can offer is that actions speak louder than words. I've always found that when words won't suffice, a hug will work wonders. Not one of those cheap "pat on the back" kind, but the real, wrap your arms around a person and share-the-love variety. If you are not a hugger or do not know the person well enough, a double-handed handshake works well too. You know, the kind where each of your hands enfolds the other person's. It's like a hug for your hand. Oh, and eye contact, please look them in the eye. Avoiding your friend's gaze just communicates the desire to flee as quickly as possible. It does not speak to a desire to comfort and console.

I guess what I mean to say is that the person you are trying to encourage does not expect you to have some answer to their pain. What they need is love, a shoulder to cry on or a listening ear. It is more important that you just "be there" than that you have 3 scriptures and a devotional ready to greet them. We, as believers, need to realize that it is not our job to fix the hurt or heal the pain. Papa can use us as a conduit to effect some of that, but ultimately, He is the one who wraps us in His arms and makes us whole again.

Next time you are confronted with "the pain around us," allow yourself to be guided by the Holy Spirit. After all, that is what He is best at. He is the Comforter, after all. Don't put pressure on yourself to have the "perfect" thing to say, and don't pressure the hurting person to be "fixed" or feel better immediately. Validate their pain, join in their struggle. The Bible gives us this advice in Romans 12:15, "Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep." I know that most of us find the rejoicing part easier to handle, but the weeping part is equally, if not more important.

So, even if it is not in the presence of the individual, shed a tear for their loss or pain. Do not be afraid to feel the very heartbeat of Father for that person. Then you won't have to worry about what to say because your heart will be full of love and compassion which need no words.

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Morally Bankrupt

When I began writing this blog, I had no intention of commenting on news stories. There are enough other sites out there that take care of that and are infinitely more adept at it than I could pretend to be. However, there are times when a story just hits too close to home to ignore. This is just such a story for me.

Those of you who live in the Houston area are no doubt already aware of the tragic circumstances that took place on April 2nd here in Baytown. For the rest of you I will summarize the situation. A 14 year-old junior high student at Cedar Bayou Junior School gave birth to a full-term baby boy in the school restroom where emergency medical personnel, upon arrival, found him dead. Initially, the mother claimed that she had no idea she was pregnant and was simply going to the bathroom when the baby was born. When I originally heard the story, I believe the claim was made that the infant was stillborn or at least never cried. Suffice it to say that the autopsy report showed bruising to the head and neck, which were the result of blunt force trauma. Even if this evidence could be explained away, they also found toilet paper blocking the baby's airway.

The girl's defense team would like us to sympathize with her saying that she was too young to realize the implications of what was happening to her. In a written statement, her attorney said, "Please remember that this is a 14-year-old child who has experienced a tragic event." My question is this: what about the newborn child who experienced a tragic event - his death? He was robbed by his mother of the opportunity to live!

Based on their statements thus far, the defense team is arguing ignorance - ignorance of the pregnancy and ignorance that she had given birth. The claim was that the teen had sex one time and did not know about the pregnancy. However, another comment by the young mother's attorney indicates that the 14 year-old "thought she was having a miscarriage" and didn't want her parents to know. Now, if you think about the logic of these statements, you will find that there is none. It does not take a genius or even a high school graduate to figure out that if you had intercourse once, 9 months ago, it is not possible to have a "miscarriage" now - especially if you did not even think you were pregnant in the first place!!

Now, why am I bringing up such a grisly occurrence here? Because I want us to stop and think about what kind of children we are raising. Forget just for a moment that this girl was 13 or 14 years old when she conceived, and who knows how old she was when she became sexually active. That is bad enough in and of itself. However, when confronted with facing responsibility for her actions and the resulting consequences (i.e. a baby), she chose to terminate the life of another human being rather than face the music.

I have to rant a little about this. I mean, come on, we have "safe havens" set up just for these types of situations. All she would have had to do is go to the nearest hospital or fire station and hand the baby over to an adult. I live here - I know there is a hospital just down the street from the school. She did not have to raise the baby, but she could have given someone else the opportunity to do so. As someone who longed for a child for years before having one and spent thousands of dollars and many tears prior to her arrival, this type of behavior is particularly incendiary to me.

I understand that we all make mistakes. I realize that not everyone is blessed with loving, nurturing, supportive parents. But you cannot convince me and I will not concede the point that no matter how morally depraved her life may have been up to this point that she did not know that it is wrong to take the life of another person. Her age did not preclude her from that knowledge.

How are we raising children who take guns to school to shoot their classmates and drown their newborns in school restrooms? If this does not prove the importance of parenting, I don't know what will. Being a parent is without a doubt the most important responsibility you will ever undertake. If you are paying attention, you realize that the first time you hold that new little life in your hands. Our job does not end when our children are potty-trained, can dress themselves and make their own beds. We need to stop allowing society through television, movies, music and video games to raise our children. As parents, let's take ownership of our responsibility so our children will know what that looks like. Then, when they are faced with difficult circumstances, they will have the ability and desire to make good choices and not only good choices, but the right choices.

Now, I intend to pray for this young mother because regardless of what justice is meted out to her by the court, she will be forced to live with the knowledge that she took her son's life. I encourage you to pray too - pray for your children, pray for the children of your friends and family and pray for the children who, like this girl, are lost in a world of hurt that only Papa can heal!

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The Honeymoon From . . . Well, You Know

I promised in my last post to tell you about our horrible honeymoon. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. My husband had planned a beautiful week in the mountains of Arkansas. We had a cabin with an amazing view of the mountainous vistas, but things went wrong from the very start.

It all began on our wedding night. Since we were married at 5 pm and the drive to our honeymoon cabin was a good 12-13 hour trip from Baytown, we decided to spend our first night as a married couple in our "new" apartment in Grand Prairie (near Dallas/Fort Worth). We drove the 4 hours from Baytown, TX to Grand Prairie. As we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex, the radiator in my husband's car exploded. And that was just the beginning.

As we rose the next morning (when we were supposed to leave on our drive to the mountains), I had the auspicious task of calling my father to ask if we could use his van, which I had been driving temporarily, to make the trip to Arkansas. First, let me just say that your dad is not really the first phone call you want to make after your wedding night - nuff said. Dad readily agreed to let us drive his 1984 Chevy van into the mountains of Arkansas, so off we went.

We had a mostly uneventful drive up the narrow, winding roads to our mountain getaway. Things seemed to be looking up for us. Unfortunately, it had been raining for several days prior to our arrival. We pulled into the "driveway" of the cabin (if you call muddy, rutted dirt a driveway) and began unpacking our things. It had been a long, tiring trip, so as soon as we changed, we went out to find something to eat. Well, let me rephrase, we tried to go somewhere for dinner.

Unfortunately, vans like the one we were in are not designed for muddy mountains. As soon as we started to back up, we promptly became mired in the muck. My husband found someone to help pull us out, and we proceeded to the restaurant.

The next morning we decided to test fate again and travel to a nearby park and go hiking. We managed to traverse the driveway with no problem and arrived safely at the park. We hiked along the trails for a while, finally arriving at a cave where you could jump several small crevices (about 5-6 feet deep), crawl through a low portion of tunnel and arrive at a cavern where a waterfall tumbled down from the cave's ceiling. Now, I am just over 5 ft tall, but with my husband's help I managed the jumps (this white girl cannot jump - at least not very well). We crawled through the tunnel and took some nice photos of the waterfall. As we left the "waterfall cave," my husband went first taking our lone flashlight with him. I turned to follow but since the light had vanished with my husband, I was left in the dark. I thought I had knelt low enough to allow plenty of headroom to begin crawling back through the tunnel - something you would not consider difficult for someone like myself who is horizontally challenged. I managed to whack my head directly into the wall where the exit was located nearly knocking myself unconscious. Fortunately, we made it back to our car - with a lovely knot on my forehead but with no further incident.

We decided to play it safe that evening and warm up a can of soup and make sandwiches for dinner. We even lit a fire in the fireplace and managed not to burn down the cabin in the process.

After a successful evening with no further unwanted adventures, we decided the next morning to take a drive up to Eureka Springs because we had heard about the Passion Play there. We drove to Eureka and found that, alas, the Passion play did not start for 2 weeks. No problem, we continued our drive to Branson, Missouri. We drove around for a while, walked through a few shops (full of things we could not really even afford to walk near, much less purchase). We ate dinner and headed back to the cabin.

If you think things have sounded less than ideal up to this point, you are in for a treat on the second half of this journey of ours. Hang onto your hats, the ride is about to take a turn for the worse.

The following morning we prepared to go whitewater rafting. This was one of the things we had looked forward to most about this trip. We both love the water and had thoroughly enjoyed our previous whitewater experience. Off we went, or so we thought. About 30 seconds in the car, and we were stuck fast in Arkansas mud, again. After the friendly neighbor pulled us out for the second time (bending the bumper and probably laughing uncontrollably at us to boot), we took off on our next adventure. Too bad the adventure ended with being towed out of the muck. We drove for hours trying to find one of the rafting establishments. When we finally stumbled upon one, they had closed 20 minutes earlier. Back we went to the cabin - this was getting old.

We had so far managed to do nothing we had intended to do while in the mountains with the exception of my near-concussion at the waterfall. The next day I was determined to go horseback riding - real horseback riding - not trail riding with my horse's nose in another horse's derriere. It had been raining again, so we made a quick stop at Wal-mart to purchase a poncho because I was going to go horseback riding, rain or no rain. We followed the directions to the ranch. When we were a mere mile from the location, we came to a fork in the road. The signage was at the apex of the split in the road, so it was difficult to tell which direction was the correct one. Since there was a veritable river cascading over one branch of the road, we opted for the other direction - bad move, very bad move.

Let me preface the next portion of the tale with a little back story. I spent a pretty penny having my nails done for my wedding a few days earlier. I am not a "froo froo" girl, so having nails was a change for me and up to this point I had managed to keep them intact and looking fairly good. Now, the saga continues . . .

As we made our way cautiously down a fairly desolate stretch of road, we realized our error in judgment. We attempted to turn around and head back the other direction, but have I mentioned the sticky, nasty, vicious Arkansas mud? You guessed it, we were stuck, for the third time in four days. There was one catch - in trying to turn around on a very narrow piece of muddy road in a very large van, I had pulled further to the side as I edged forward. When we became stuck, I was inches from pulling over the edge of a precipice, which dropped into the aforementioned rush of water we had earlier avoided. Oh, and the last detail that is important to mention is that our emergency brake was not operational at the time.

All of that being said, my husband donned the poncho purchased earlier in the morning, walked about a mile back to civilization (if you can call two trailers and a couple of Dooleys civilization) and begged for help. Meanwhile, back at the van I kept my foot on the brake, prayed like I had never prayed before and proceeded to chew off every fake fingernail that had been so painstakingly applied. Needless to say, we survived the experience. We never did get to the ranch to go horseback riding though.

We hightailed it back to the cabin. Pulled out a map and plotted a course to a new destination. We packed up our stuff and took off driving to Bossier City, LA. After hours in the car, we had just pulled across the Louisiana state line when a well-meaning police officer pulled us over to inquire whether we had been drinking. I'm still not sure why - we had turned around and used the shoulder probably a little more than we should have, but have you ever seen the turning radius of those vans? Anyway, I was crying at this point. In fact, I think I scared him a little. He let us go when he realized we were not the drunks he originally thought us to be.

We pulled into Bossier City, found the most expensive hotel room we could rent on such short notice (we had plenty of funds since we never actually did anything costing money - other than sleep and eat), and collapsed. The next day we ate a really nice dinner at Ralph and Kackoo's and headed back home.

Fortunately, we had no further misadventures. We did decide after commiserating about it for a while that if we managed to make it through our honeymoon, this marriage thing should be a snap! Oh, and we haven't managed to take a vacation together since - all trips have been missions or youth-related in the last 10 years.

So, next time you think you are having a bad vacation, just remember our little tale of woe. And if you have a story worse than this one, I'd love to hear it!

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Old Married Couple?

A couple of weeks ago my husband and I were sitting in the sanctuary following band practice on Sunday morning. He had his arm around my shoulder, per usual. We were talking and picking on one another - you know, status quo. About that time, a member of the congregation, somewhat more experienced in life than we (read: older) came up to us and said, "It's good to see an old married couple still in love."

I have to say that I was a little taken aback by her comment. I never really thought of us as an old, married couple. We've been married 10 years, but I think we need at least 20 or 30 more years under our belts before we qualify for that title. Of course, when I consider how many marriages today terminate in divorce within a few years, more than a few even fail within the first year, I suppose maybe we are an old, married couple. And, I suppose if we look at celebrities as any indication, we are lucky we make it past the first week of wedded bliss (*cough Britney Spears *cough). So after a little more thought I decided that her comment was definitely a compliment.

My husband and I have always been a little unusual. We have known each other since we were 13 years old. We dated from the time we were juniors in high school until we graduated college; then we got married. He is my very best friend, and I share everything with him. Most women run straight to their best girlfriend to share the latest news in their lives. Not me, my husband is it for me.

Don't misunderstand, we have our moments. He was being a complete grouch the other day, and I told him about it. Of course, I have more than my share of grumpy days too. Like all couples, there are days when our house isn't big enough for the both of us, but somehow before we go to sleep at night, we manage to work it out.

So, what makes the difference in a marriage that works and one that doesn't? It all comes down to one little word - commitment. Right after we got married, I looked at my husband, and with all the love in my heart said, "Well, I guess you're stuck with me now." He replied, "Yep, and you're stuck with me too." And that is how we look at our marriage to this day. We are stuck with each other, in the very best way! There are no contingency plans. We have no backup parachute should this one fail. We succeed together and fail together. We are 100% committed to each other and this beautiful adventure of ours. If we weren't, we'd have quit before the honeymoon was over - no seriously, our honeymoon was horrible. I'll spend some time telling you about it in the near future.

So, for those of you who have "fallen out of love" with your spouses, my advice is to fall back in again. Give of yourself to your spouse - fix him his favorite dinner, rub her feet, give each other a sincere compliment and most importantly, pray for one another. You may be surprised at how much of a difference it will make.

And next time someone calls you an old, married couple say, "Thank you!"

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Who's Your Daddy?

I spent some time with a friend recently and while we were talking she told me that she has been checking my blog occasionally. Of course, that made me extremely happy because if you're a writer, you want to feel like what you are writing means something to someone out there. It's a horrible thought to imagine you are spending valuable time writing and there might just be no one who cares!

And of course, you can track statistics all day long and really never know whether you're making a difference or not. I mean, someone found my site the other day when they Googled the phrase: "ways to know your lover has lost interest in you." People, there were sites listed on the Google page that I never thought I would see near my innocent, little blog. Let me just say, "I like to got an education!" And that was just looking at the search results. That is why it is so nice to get feedback (be it through comments left on the site or personal comments).

Something else my friend said stuck with me. She said, "I read what you wrote in your blog, and I was like, now I know why we're friends." As the conversation progressed, she told me that she liked that I referred to Father as Papa. Of course, I gave credit where credit was due and told her that I started using that particular nomer after reading The Shack. She told me that since she had never really had a father, that is how she views God - as her Father.

You know, I really think that made Papa's day - hearing one of His children acknowledge who He is in her life. I believe that so often we keep God at a distance because it is easier for us that way. If we really get close enough to feel that He is our Papa, then the religious lines start to get fuzzy for us.

I'll let you in on another secret from my life - I can relate to what she was saying. Now, I have a wonderful dad, and I love him very much, but Papa took the place of my mother. You see, I was only 10 years old when I lost my mom. It's never easy to lose a parent at that young age. From my perspective (which is the only one I have to draw on), it was particularly difficult to have my mom go on a weekend trip and never come home. It was confusing as a child to wake up every morning hoping that this would be the day she would come home and night after night go to sleep disappointed that she had not returned. I prayed that God would bring her home to me. In my childish mind I reached out for any shred of hope, so I would wish on a star every night too, just in case.

I can tell you that through most of the major experiences of my life up until I was 20 years old, I missed my mother. I would rail against God asking why He had allowed her to be taken from me. I questioned how a loving God could permit such heinousness in this world, especially when He said that we could ask Him for anything in faith and it would be done. Then, on the same night He had me forgive the man who took my mother's life, He confronted me with this question: What do you miss about your mother?

How do you answer a question like that? There's only one way to answer it - honestly. I told Papa that I missed her love. I went on to list all of the good qualities that I could remember about her. When I had exhausted every trait, He said, "That was me." Yeah, my jaw dropped to the floor too. Basically, Papa went on to explain that every single, solitary positive thing on my list of "I miss my mom because . . ." was attributable to His work in her. He also told me that He would fill that void left in my life, if I would allow Him to do it.

Funny thing, I opened up to Him, and He really did take away the pain, and on the day I got married I didn't miss my mom because I knew that Papa was with me. The day my daughter was born (my fondest dream come true), Papa was there then too. I have the assurance Papa adopted me into His wonderful family.

Galatians 4:4-7 tells us this:

⁴But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, ⁵to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons. ⁶And because you are sons, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba! Father!" ⁷So you are no longer a slave, but a son, and if a son, then an heir through God.

Now, I know that a lot of people would say that we were never under the law to which Paul was referring. We received salvation through faith in Christ. That is true; however, many of those who are saved place themselves under "law" rather than exploring the fatherhood of God. He is our Daddy God. He is our Papa. By whatever name you choose to refer to Him, He is so much more than a grandfatherly figure sitting on a cloud making arbitrary decisions about people's lives.

If you have not arrived at the place where you can see Him in that light, I would encourage you to take that next big step in your walk with Father. He will be your Daddy too!

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