Mistakes

From 11/9/13

My fingers are so nipped by the chill that they can barely operate the neat cursive I've intentioned. 

I'm sitting high on a hillside while my heart lays defenseless in the valley sweeping softly beneath my feet. 

Another morning has come, and The Lord has delivered the new mercies He's promised.

I awoke. I moved my feet to the floor and then in step-by-step procession to begin another day--another hour--of the plan He has determined for me. 

I'm not angry with God. The Lord gives and The Lord takes away. 

But the beauty of His stripping us of every morsel of strength, every material possession, every dream or wish we've ever had is that

It doesn't mean it's over. 

A part of your life may be over, a part of yourself may be over. 

But when I fall on Jesus as the wind whips my everything away--like an umbrella dismembered in a cyclone--it's the end of one scene

Before He sweeps in with the second act of redemption. 

There is no hurt that can't be healed by our Healer. 

There is no brokenness that cannot be set right and made whole by our Mender. 

There is no breathlessness that can't be breathed new life into it by the Breath of God. 

There is no death that can't be revived by our Resurrector. 

There is no broken heart that can't be pieced back together by our Great Romancer. 

What seems torn and distorted and lifeless now will one day be redeemed--be it here or in heaven. 

Like Job who lost everything only to have it returned to him in multiplied blessings...

Like Joseph who was beaten, sold, and wrongfully imprisoned, only to be exalted above those who sought his death...

Like Mary who watched her son be crucified for every sin of even the blackest hearts, only to watch him rise and bring hope for the world...

Something cannot be so broken that it cannot be made new again. 

Recently when I faced a most painstakingly awful, awful day full of fear and unknown, following the hardest day of my life and a week filled with intense hell, I boarded a plane with my blonde-haired beauty

and wondered, cried out to God, poured my spirit out to Him for some help, some peace as to how I might possibly get through this day. 

I was harried and depleted of all I had and trying to keep my munchkin somehow quietly perched on my lap, while I stared at the wings of the plane and wished to be anywhere but there. 

And then He spoke sweetly and so clearly:

Chels, nothing about today is a mistake. 

It's not a mistake that you're on a plane. 

It's not a mistake that you were in Texas. 

One by one, He listed them to my soul, citing every detail about that day--from the day of the week to the hour of my flight--and how it wasn't a mistake and hadn't caught Him by surprise.

I listened as intently as I ever had because here, right here was I in the holy, magnificent presence of the Living God I've known and loved since I was a child. 

And almost instantly, my squirmy toddler fell perfectly asleep in my lap. 

It's not a mistake that Harlow is asleep right now so that I can speak to your heart. 

My heart fluttered and I choked quietly on the lump that had formed in my throat. 

And nothing about when you get home will be a mistake either.

Little did I know that what awaited my return home would prove to be the second hardest night of my life.  But it had been so delicately ushered in by the baton in His almighty hand that was directing the symphony of my suffering, I felt that in the middle of a loss and what seemed like a huge mistake, I had the victory of His presence. 

I'm a poor, wretched sinner heavy laden with past regrets and extraordinary mistakes. 

Everyone makes mistakes. 

But in the care of God's sovereignty, any mistake can be transformed into the very thing that makes you surge with strength. 

He can restore, and He will, but it will take time. 

He can redeem, and He will, but it will take time. 

And when those "mistakes" get placed into His perfectly capable hands, they won't have any power over you. 

No dominion. 

No question. 

If you give Him all you've got, He can find every last piece of your battered heart--even if it's settled into dust--and recreate something immensely better. 

Nothing about today is a mistake. 

Nothing about your situation is a mistake. 

He sees your heart. He sees your hurt. 

But, oh, how He sees the victory ahead. 

Lord, how my foes increase!

There are many who attack me. 

Many say about me, "There is no help for him in God."

But You, Lord, are a shield around me,

My glory, and the One who lifts up my head. 

I cry aloud to The Lord, and He answers me from His holy mountain. 

I lie down and sleep;

I wake again because The Lord sustains me. 

I am not afraid of the thousands of people who have taken their stand against me on every side. 

Rise up, Lord!

Save me, my God!

You strike all my enemies on the cheek;

You break the teeth of the wicked. 

Salvation belongs to The Lord;

May your blessing be on your people. 

Psalm 3

Learning to Walk

Long time no see, Arrows!

It seems as though I've literally fallen off the face of the earth because I have been virtually Facebook, Pinterest, and Instagram- free for almost three whole months now, and truth be told, I've missed sharing my heart with all of you.





First, the good  GREAT news...

This girl just had an impressive platelet count of 233,000 on Tuesday!!  We are thrilled that it seems her ITP was only a "one and done" acute version...something I didn't think I would be able to say. Praise God!



Her Von Willebrand levels are still low (affect clotting), so we are following up with that, but even if it stays abnormal, it will be something manageable for her and just good information to have if she ever needs surgery.




Now for the real big hard stuff.



The last several months have been some of the most trying of my entire life, and though God has kept me silent from here for very specific reasons, including more time with Him and preparation for days to come, there is much that I have learned and that I want to share with you.



The Lord has invited me to fellowship in His sufferings for a season.  I have experienced incredible loss in a very short time, and He seems to have left no thing of value to me untouched.  I even had to give up my sweet dogs.

It's been a period of grief like I've never experienced before.

Unrelenting, raw, scathing.

In my twenty-six years of living, I've been a follower of Christ for twenty, and He's asked me to endure hardships in the past.  Painful insecurities, miscarriages, and most recently a sick child top the short list.  And as much as I've told God, You can have all of me.  I'm Yours and Yours alone.  Do with me as You will.

There was always that area that was off limits.

And I know you know what I'm talking about because we all have them.

We sing and pray and lift our hands in offering to the One who gave His life for our freedom...but we conveniently rope off this one corner section of our lives or our hearts and silently inform the Maker of our days,

Hands off, Lord.

You can have anything You want, but save this for me.  That right there would be a deal-breaker.

And because God is God and jealous for us and desires every nook and cranny of a heart He created to praise Him, He often storms the gates we've erected around what's quietly kicked Him off the throne.

And asks us to kiss it good-bye. 

For now?  Forever?  You won't have a clue.

But the pretty, perfect or at least decent tied-up life that you had so meticulously created for your own pleasure is unraveled into tattered threads.  And you can't believe your ears.  And you can't believe your eyes.  And your hands are shaking.  And your heart crumbles.

And all you muster is, God.  NO.

I was knocked flat on my back and drained of my breath and searching for the pieces of my faith that had shriveled into mediocrity in the absence of solid time with Him.

The first few days seemed unbearable.  The clocked seemed frozen, immovable, having every second take four times as long as it normally might.  The clouds rolled in as a dismal company of misery that shrouded the house.  I didn't want to sleep because I knew that the nightmare wouldn't be gone when the morning sun would rise.  But I felt chained to the bed with my grief, numb and paralyzed at the mere thought of what pain another day might bring.

And to put my feet on the floor?  And walk?

That seemed like Everest to me.  A feat not for the faint of heart or weary of soul.

Harlow was a little bit later walking than some toddlers.  I was convinced that she would be toddling on or before her first birthday, but when it came and went, and she still stayed with her belly glued to the floor, I grew anxious.

You see, I knew she could do it because I had seen her stand.  I had seen her cruise.

She had it in her, but crawling was what she knew, and she had mastered it.  It suited her just fine, which meant she continually lacked the motivation to move her legs away from the wall and walk.

What my sweet girl didn't realize was the world that awaited her once those feet could move.  Walking gets us to the mailbox, lets us play on the playground and exercise our bodies.  It will serve her through every grade of school, every sport she might participate in or play she might act in.  It will get her around a college campus.  It will hopefully get her down an aisle to a wonderful waiting man.

And then, she'll teach her own babies to walk.  Because by then, she'll know.

Learning to walk is typically a vital initial step in learning to live.

And under the strain of the pain and the resentment and the deep, deep loss that God has required of me, I knew I couldn't keep lying down forever.  My feet had to hit the floor.

And I had to walk again.

And the walking wasn't going to entail just the physical act.

I had to learn, once again, how to walk with my Savior.

If you'll allow me, I'd love to share with you an inspiring passage from C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters that I found to be perfectly poignant for this "trough" in my life.  As a brief summary, the book is written from the point of view of an experienced demon (Screwtape) to a fledgling one (Wormwood) on how to seduce "creatures" (humans) away from the Enemy (God).  The quote reads:

"And that is where the troughs come in ... Merely to override a human will ... would be for Him useless.  He cannot ravish.  He can only woo ... Sooner or later, He withdraws ... He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs--to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish.  It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be.  Hence the prayers offered in a state of dryness are those which please Him best ... He cannot 'tempt' to virtue as we do to vice.  He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there he is pleased even with their stumbles.  Do not be deceived, Wormwood.  Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys." (Lewis, pp 39-40, emphasis mine)

As I read this quote for the first time, I was salivating over the wisdom that reeks out of every sentence and how God had so delicately placed it into my hands for such a time as this.

This is the valley, the pit, the abyss, the trough.  He is quiet and hands-off and waiting for me to pick myself up, to stumble if I must, but Chelsea, He says to me,

This is not the time for lying down.  I will redeem your hurt and I'm holding your heart.

But you have to trust me.  You have to have faith.

You have to walk.

Harlow's first steps were rocky at best but they are the ones that brought me the greatest pride.

They allowed her to prove to herself that she was capable of doing something hard and entering into a life that had been previously unavailable to her.

I just didn't think at twenty-six, this dear old mom would be learning to take a few first stumbling steps, too.

I don't want to because it's hard and there's little motivation, and even when I'm quiet and still, it's a struggle to hear Him cheering me on.

But I am still intending.  And because He is able and because I know He will be right beside me, I'm obeying.

And it's that willingness, that obedience, those first steps that open up a whole new depth of relationship and growth in Christ.

Rise up from your bed of grief, friend.  Disperse the cloud of bitterness that the Enemy would have to paralyze you and know,

That first step, no matter how ugly it is,

Is one that has Your Father beaming with pride.

"Get up," Jesus told him, "pick up your mat and walk!"  Instantly the man got well, picked up his mat, and started to walk.  ~John 5:8-9