Where There's Smoke...

11/27/13

Yesterday marked the third anniversary of when I miscarried Sarah.

It's hard to believe it has been that long. 

But this time of year--the allure of Thanksgiving Day aromas, the first whispers of Christmas carols on the grocery intercom, the chilly nip that bites in the sunny morning air--always makes me remember her and those few moments I had of being pregnant with her. 

And how scared I felt. 

I had just lost a pregnancy, and I was scared to even move too quickly for fear that I'd do something wrong that would cause me to lose her and have to feel that deep, acute pain and loss all over again. 

So anytime I worried, I prayed. 

I prayed while I wrapped my Christmas presents. I prayed while I ironed clothes. I prayed while I lit my tree. I prayed in between phone calls to the doctor. 

I asked God fervently and dedicatedly not to remove this precious, tiny blessing from my life. And I did my best to have faith that He wouldn't. 

But on 11/26/10 in a cold ER room,

It still happened. 

She still died in my tummy. She still went away.

And although my head knew it was possible, my heart couldn't understand why God would allow it. 

I had prayed right. I had done everything I thought I was supposed to. 

I have several friends for whom I've prayed over the last few years as they've faced uncertain futures of their unborn babies, only to watch a fate befall them that none of us ever dreamed our prayers would have allowed. Despite our hopes,

It still happened. 

Sometimes God leads us down a road that directs us to a deep valley, a bitter chasm, and try as we might to circumvent this pit,

It still happens. And God requires us to move down and through it. 

In my pain and heartache, I've cried out to God why it must be so. Why when we've done all we know to lean on Him and trust in His ways and to pray with every fiber of our empty souls that can muster an extra breath, He doesn't remove those inexplicably unfair hurts that are sure to see that we will never be the same again afterward. 

Sometimes, a baby still dies. 

A child still gets sick. 

A home is still lost. 

A job still goes under. 

A friend of mine who went through a difficult family situation years ago recently provided me with an encouraging scripture that spoke to her in the most painful part of her valley. 

She said that on a sleepless night, The Lord beckoned her to read Daniel 3. 

Obediently flipping open her Bible, she found that the story was of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. 

For those of you who haven't heard the story, these three amigos are faithful followers of God, and when their king requires them and the rest of the kingdom to bow down to a statue, the threesome refuses, knowing that the penalty is death in a pit of fire. 

They boldly proclaim to the king, "If the God we serve exists, then He can rescue us from the power of you, the king.  But even if He does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up." (Daniel 3:17-18)

This infuriated the king, and he heated the furnace seven times hotter(!) before he threw them mercilessly into the fire. 

Despite their faithfulness in God,

It still happened. 

They still found themselves surrounded by flames. 

Ah, but what comes next in the story is where the real plot twist comes into play.

Although the men who threw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego into the fire were killed themselves by the extreme heat, the king must have rubbed his eyes at the sight roaming around the furnace. 

Four men, not three. Unbound by ties, though they had been when they were tossed inside. And walking about unharmed. 

The king ordered them to be brought out immediately, and when they were, it was as though they hadn't seen a flame. 

Daniel 3:27 reads,

"When the satraps, prefects, governors, and the king's advisers gathered around, they saw that the fire had no effect on the bodies of these men: not a hair of their heads was singed, their robes were unaffected, and there was no smell of fire on them."

My friend revealed that God spoke tenderly to her through this story, assuring her that even though she was entering a fire in her life, He wouldn't leave her in there alone.

And after all was said and done, she wasn't going to smell like smoke. 

I can attest, this woman is godly and brave and bears not even the slightest stench of smoke.

Friends, there are blazing seven-times-hotter fires that God requires us to enter as believers. Some thrust onto us by our own mistakes, some by the mistakes of others, and some by the sheer "luck" of the draw. 

But there is no fire hot enough to singe the hairs of a believer who is firmly planted in Christ.  

I don't always believe that myself somedays. And you probably won't either. Because the Enemy would have you trust in the reality of your painful circumstances, to burn in the middle of his bonfire than to dance gracefully, unbound and unharmed in the middle of the fury.

Even if it still happens, He won't leave you. 

Even if it still happens, you don't have to be burned. 

And oh, how the people will wonder--Jesus, may they believe!!--when you come out of the fire smelling of His sweet hope and mercy than the pungent smoke of your circumstances. 

Hold on tight to His hand and tender promises, friends,

Even if it still happens. 

New Look, New Name

It may appear that I've gone off the grid for the time being (my Facebook is down and I've taken a much-needed digital break as of late), but I am in the process of giving the blog a makeover. For those of you who get my updates by email, my blog address has now been changed to anarrowinthemaking.blogspot.com, so if anyone asks, the old address will lead you nowhere....but I'm still here! ;-).

Much love to all of the people who have supported my journey the last few years. It's not over yet, and hopefully I will be back soon to share with you all that God is teaching my heart these days.

Until next time, keep soarin', friends....

Xoxoxo

Chels

Enough

 

Harlow must have thought she'd hit the jackpot.

 

She's a major sucker for pretzels, and she knows that I often hide stashes of them in my "goodie bag" (AKA my super duper mom purse) and goes snooping for them around the house.  So, you can imagine her giddy surprise when she found this freshly opened bag of Kroger brand salty goodness at toddler level under her stroller.

 

And proceeded to rain them all over the front hall.

 

It took me about a full sixty seconds to realize what was going on, but clearly, she was quick to realize her glorious mistake and began grabbing them by the handfuls and shoving them in her mouth as fast as her little baby teeth would chew them.

 

She went down fighting as I scooped them back into the bag (but not before grabbing a snapshot.  Her guiltiness is still adorable to me at this phase of life.), explaining to her that she simply didn't need this many pretzels.

She had had a few, and that was enough for now.

We're sitting in a valley of discouragement at the moment.  Harlow's platelet counts are not coming up like they should (they haven't really budged in about ten days, and they are still far, far below normal), and it's got me worried. 

I cried most of the long drive back home from the clinic while Harlow (thankfully) caught up on her missed afternoon nap.  The frustration I feel right now is heavy.  I was hoping my daughter would be nearly well by now, and I don't know what all of this is going to mean.  Maybe it's the pessimism bitterly biting at my ear, but I feel like we are probably facing a long road of this.  I am doubting that this is going to be the "one and done" acute ITP that our docs were hoping for.

My sweet grandmother phoned me tonight to check in on Harlow and her results from today, and I explained to her that they were only up to 28,000 from 25,000 last week and that her doctor had hoped for over 100,000 by this point.

She gave a groan of empathy and commiserated, "It just wasn't enough, was it."

Enough.

The Lord has been bringing this word to mind consistently lately, and I keep being led back to the story in Exodus where the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness.

Exodus 16:1-36 tells us how they are grumbling against Moses and Aaron for their lack of sustenance (which is truly a grumble against God), and God, in His infinite mercy and grace, provides for them.

He rains down quail in the evening and manna (bread) in the morning, but He cautions them to only take as much as each person can eat for the day.  Any extra gathered would rot before the next sunrise.

HCSB's notes provide the following insight:

"This time Israel's complaint is longer and more hostile.  The people's memory was short and their hearts ungrateful.  If God were going to let them die, they would rather He had done so in Egypt.  This discounted the actions of the Lord's hand for them in the past as well as in the future ... Those who ignored the instruction not to keep any of the manna overnight presumably went without enough to eat.  They failed to enjoy the Lord's provision because of their distrust."

I am finding myself in a sort of wilderness at the moment that the Lord has led me into for a season.  The conditions are arid, and I am afraid.  I'm not sure where I am or where I'm going, and I'm wondering about--perhaps even doubting--the Lord's provision for us.

This 28,000...it doesn't feel like enough.  The money we have versus the bills we have coming...it doesn't feel like enough.

And yet, they are.  He's just not letting me hoard any extra manna for the moment.

Because He's teaching me to need.  To need Him.

The allure of the "extra" is that we tend to rely on it for our safety.  We look at the world and feel like we can face it--when we feel like we've stocked up enough provisions for ourselves.

The cushion is there and ready for us to fall if we need to.

But God, in His magnificent wisdom, has taken my cushion for the time being because He knows that's what makes me look to Him.

He's gathering the pretzels back into His bag because what He has placed in our   hands is all we need for right now.

I know, He says.  Trust me.

The beautiful ending to the wandering in the wilderness is found many books of the Bible later in Joshua 5:12.  It reads:

"And the day after they ate from the produce of the [new] land, the manna ceased.  Since there was no more manna for the Israelites, they ate from the crops of the land of Canaan that year."

The HCSB note reads, "The cessation of the manna signaled a new phase in Israel's history.  The people were no longer in the wilderness but in their homeland.  They began a new life in keeping with the celebration of God's historic acts of redemption.  Today this occurs with the new life in Jesus Christ whose death and resurrection bring it about."

He provided only what they needed every single day until they were out of the wilderness.  They had no surplus.  No cushion. 

But they had everything they needed.

Whatever season or wilderness you may find yourself in tonight, I urge you to join me in learning the beauty of God's faithfulness in providing for us as we need it.  I'm finding that the lack of abundance is helping me to appreciate what blessings He has allowed for us during this time.

And it's a radiant highlighter of His great love for us.

And for me, well,

That's enough.

My Giant

I stand so small beside him, like an ant beneath a boulder.  The battle has not yet begun, but it seems as though victory has already been assigned.  There's no way I can win.

He's nine feet of confidence with an armor of lies and swords of doubt.

And me?  I'm five-foot-nothing with rattletrap knees and a penchant to flee.  Not a stitch of armor; not a quiver or an arrow in sight.  Just this measly little rock entrenched in the clamminess of my unsteady hand.

He's my giant, for sure.  And for me, Goliath, thy name is insecurity.

I meet him daily on the battleground of life, and even on the days when my chest swells with extra heart and determination, he zings me with the taunts he knows will wallop me below the belt.

You're so stupid.  You'll never be great at your job.

Look at you!  You're a mess!  Your hair, your face, your body!  Nobody wants you!

You're just not good enough, and you never will be.

And I do the worst thing possible when these jeers start flying:

I listen.  And take them to heart.  And I tell myself that's who I really am.

It's been probably my biggest internal struggle for quite some time now--that quest for greatness and confidence that's continually shattered by a world that sets unrealistic expectations and external voices of criticism.  And it isn't until I started listening to those ridicules and replacing my internal tapes of self-talk with such digs that I somehow lost who I am.

Who am I?  Mediocre and defeated.

And it becomes nearly impossible to do anything without fearing failure or what others might think.

I know I don't stand alone in this, even if we stand in few numbers.  And so, this post is for you--real talk for the Davids battling the insecurity giants.

Never do I feel like I have the answers when I post, but I especially feel like I come up short on this subject because I'm just not there yet.  I haven't figured out how to live my life in a way that it isn't solely seeking out how to avoid criticism or imperfection.

And so, all I can do is tell you what my heart knows, which is what my hands and feet have yet to figure out.

Just like David selected five smooth stones from the river as his weapons for battling Goliath, here are five stones to pack in your slingshot to face the war on insecurity.

Stone #1:  You are who you are.  You were made just the way you are for a purpose.  You were crafted with great care and exuberant love by a Master Artist who makes no mistakes, only variety.  No matter what you lack--real or perceived--you were created to be you and not anyone else.

Stone #2:  You are beautiful.  I doubt you hear it enough, but you are!  No matter what ideals of curvy or thin or blonde or brunette are perpetuated in the millions of media outlets you encounter every day, there is no such thing as only one kind of beautiful.  There is something (probably lots of things!) that makes you beautiful, and you owe it to yourself to discover what that is and embrace it.  But most importantly, never forget that the kind of person you are is the only kind of beauty that matters, so you would do well to invest your energy on your heart rather than on your looks.

Stone #3:  Other people are out of your control.  Their thoughts, feelings, and opinions about you are not in your hands, so let them go.  There is no way to please or be liked by everyone.  That's just the way it is, and there is no point in wasting your life trying to win their approval.  Their approval doesn't matter--no one's does!  The Lord's approval is paramount; live your life in a way that seeks to please Him.

Stone #4:  Learn to spot the lies.  We get sucked into the notion that what we can or can't do is what decides who we are, and when we inevitably fail at something, it means that we aren't good enough.  These are lies concocted by the Enemy, and when you start to believe them, he's got you.  You'll end up squandering your time and energy on faulty fundamentals and letting him win.

Even though David had five stones, he only used one to fell Goliath.  And when we can collect these stones of truth and tuck them securely in our hearts, we need only one weapon to defend ourselves:

Stone #5:  A Solid Rock is on your side.  You are precious and priceless because you belong to the Lord, and no amount of mediocrity or criticism or failed attempts can take that away from you.  You are loved immeasurably by a Savior who would give His all for you.

And that, my friend, is a stone worth hanging onto.

You've got a giant in your face and lies in your ears.  But what he doesn't realize is that he's not fooling you.

You've got a Rock.  And you're not afraid to use it.

"So David triumphed over the Philistine with a sling and a stone; without a sword in his hand, he struck down the Philistine and killed him."  ~1 Samuel 17: 50

It's Coming

The calendar is telling me that April will be here any day, but the view from my window deceives me.

Nothing much is green or blooming.  The wind is biting like that of early January.  And more snow has fallen this week than has all winter.

They say spring began a little more than a week ago, but...

Where?

I can't see it.

When the grips of winter's bony fingers refuse to let go of our forecast, my memory becomes foggy, and I soon have forgotten what it's like to step on the patio after the sun has set, and the air is still warm.  When the smell of grilling hamburgers becomes a staple for the evening hours.  When sleeves become short, feet go bare, and the sun blaring through a set of drawn blinds is all the indoor light you'll need for the day.

The unveiling of spring can create anticipation in me like that of a night before a birthday, a Christmas Eve, when you know...

Something incredible is coming.

But here you are.  Stuck in the season before.  The day before.  The minute before.

This is the end of Holy Week.  We've observed Palm Sunday.  Maundy Thursday.  Good Friday.

But what about Saturday?

What about that day before?

We learn in each of the gospels that once Jesus is crucified on Friday--a process which lasted a mere six hours, as opposed to most crucifixions, which could last days--he is quickly removed from the cross and buried in a nearby tomb, just before sundown.

The next day, Saturday, was the Sabbath, and because it was a day of rest, Scripture is silent as to any events, thoughts, or feelings experienced during that period of waiting on the day before.

And quite frankly, it drives me nuts!

I'm dying to know how Mary felt as she waited for her Son to rise.

What Peter's thought process was as he ruminated his denial.

If, like when our hope of spring runs dry as the winter weather lingers, did they wonder if this was it?

Was Jesus really coming back?

Perhaps the cold reality of a crucified Savior scorned their hearts like a promise forgotten.  Perhaps their outlook was as bleak as a spring snowstorm.

Even as I look forlornly at the dreary sky, I know the sun will shine again.  I know the trees will bloom.  The weather will warm.

Spring will come.

And even as He remained in the grave on Saturday, surely those who knew Him, who believed Him, knew that Resurrection Day was upon them.

It's coming.

A snowflake can't dissipate the promise of spring.  A tomb couldn't bury the promise of His return.

It's coming.

The sun will set tonight, and the day before will end.

It's coming.

Those burial clothes won't stay on.

It's coming.

The Son will rise before the sun will rise.

He's coming!

Praise God for a Savior who didn't forget to return.  Who remembered you and me.

We're almost there.

Just a few more hours.

Something incredible is coming.

"He is not here; he is risen, just as he said." ~ Matthew 28:6

I Love You. But No.

I shuffle through the packet they had given me at Harlow's 6 month check-up.  It lists developmental milestones, solids we should be introducing, blah, blah, blah.

And then I see it.

"Your child is now old enough to be told 'no.'  Begin telling them 'no' to establish boundaries."

I peer over the edge of the paper at my fuzzy-headed dumpling, who is happily clacking two stacking rings together to see what kind of noise they might make.  She gazes up at me with a smile so big that her healthy, round cheeks crinkle her eyes nearly shut.

I have to tell her...what?

It really hadn't much crossed my mind to tell her "no" before then because, well, she's just a little baby.

And so sweet.  And happy.  And I love her.

And the word "no" just sounds so...mean, doesn't it?

"No" is usually the word we never want to hear ("No, I won't marry you!"  "No, you didn't get the job."  "No, we're out of that amazing salmon dinner you like here at Stoney River, Mrs. Childress." [Sigh. True Valentine's Day story.]), and it's rarely the word we wish to say.

Why is "no" such a difficult word to inject into our vocabulary?  Is it because we fear it makes others feel rejected, upset, maybe even a little bit insulted?

If you're like me (and I pray you aren't), you desire to be agreeable and accommodating, so that everyone will be compelled to like you. (This just in: it doesn't work.)  Truth be told, I'm prone to letting someone slide by with a "yes" when a "no" is clearly in order if it scores me extra popularity points.

And if I can't bring myself to say it to an adult, how am I supposed to go about directing this harsh two-letter word at my daughter, who has never actually done anything disobedient or wrong?  It leaves me heartsick.

Until.

Those sweet little grimy fingers start creeping toward my white-hot hair straightener.  Or an electrical cord.  Or the scalding face of her bedroom heater.  And suddenly, it's lunging off my tongue, like Jessica Simpson hunting down a buttered Pop Tart:

"Harlow Nox Childress, that lighter is not a lollipop! NO!!"

And of course, she cries at this new tone in my voice and the loss of a new "toy" when I pry it from her fingers.  Her smile is gone.  She can't have what she wants.  And she.  Is.  Mad.

But that's quite all right with me.  I'd rather have her pouts if it means her protection.

When we long for something, reach for it, do anything to attain it, we may pray to God endlessly that it might be ours.  That if we pray hard enough, believe enough, have enough faith, God has to say yes.

A "no" must mean that He's opposed to our happiness or that something we did just wasn't enough.

Make no mistake about it.  Every action has consequences, whether they are positive or negative.  And flagrant disobedience often lands us in a position of missing out on some of God's incredible blessings (think Moses missing out on the Promised Land because of how he treated a rock, the death of David's and Bathsheba's first son due to his acts of adultery and murder).

"No" is the hardest word to hear when it seems to make no sense to you.

When you pray for the right man or woman to enter your life, yet you spend another Valentine's Day single.

When you pray to find a job and continually come up empty-handed.

When you pray, God, please heal this person that I love because there is no way I can live without him.

Like a wide-eyed baby in a room full of the unknown just waiting to be explored, you see and strive for something you think would be good for you, only to have it wiped away with a "no" from Someone you thought was on your side.

He is on your side.

Be assured, He is good and holy and just.  As much as circumstances He allows may crumble your soul, nothing He ever does has evil intent.  He doesn't wish anything but your good.  To make you great.  To set you apart for a greater purpose.

And if it's a "no," it's a "no" for a good reason.

Maybe it's to protect you, be it from physical or emotional harm or even from things like pride or a weakened witness.  Maybe it's just that you aren't quite ready yet to handle it.  Maybe He needs to rock your view of what a miracle can look like.

It's likely that the reason is something you couldn't possibly foresee.

Harlow has no clue what could burn her or prick her or do goodness knows what else to her.  That's why I have to protect her.  And teach her.

Friends, when the Lord must answer you with a "no," be thankful that you have a merciful Savior who is selfless enough to risk His popularity with you for your greater good.  That He doesn't give you over to those whims that might ultimately come to destroy you.  That He concerns Himself with our holiness and not just our happiness, which can be as inconstant as springtime weather in Tennessee.

It's a prickly kind of protection, but it'll set your heart straight if you let it.

He loves you.  But maybe this time, for now, it's just a no.

"And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." ~ Romans 8:28