Get Ready. It's About to Get Real.

I'm ready. To share my heart and my pain of what I've lived for the past several months.

And though some may think less of me for letting so many in to this precious and guarded part of my heart, it's okay. 

This is why I started this blog. Not for the ones who judge me for sharing. But for the few who are secretly hurting, too, and find a reprieve in knowing they aren't alone in what they're going through. 

So if that's you, I'm sorry that we are meeting here on such heartbreaking ground. But I am glad you're here.

Hang tight with me for the next seven days, and you'll hear it all. The pain. The hope. The lessons. 

I'll be giving a teaser each night at 7 pm for the next six nights, calling it "A Prelude to a Pit."  I hope you'll stick with me. 

And every now and then, I'll break up the monotony of my words with this sweet face...

If you haven't yet found me on Facebook, search for "An Arrow in the Making" and like the page for blog updates (and a few Christmas pics!). Or you can always follow by email by signing up here. 

So tomorrow night, it'll all unfold. It's about to get real. 

I pray I'll see you here!

Xo,

Chels

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

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