Prelude to a Pit: Chaos

**Just getting started? Head back to day 1 of Prelude to a Pit: Just Another Day to hear the story from the beginning**

It's a Saturday at 6 pm. I'm hot with anger.

Lord, where are You?

~~~

The TV was off, black and mute.  The faint smell of baked chicken lingered in the air.  The dishes waded in the sink.  I had attempted to pretty myself that day after a few days of no sleep, but the mask of confusion and despair overshadowed what measley efforts I'd given.

My heart was thumping over a hundred times a minute.  A numbness planted in the middle of my chest swept ferociously through my veins, reaching the crown of my head, the length of each finger, and weighed my legs with profound gravitas.

My brain was saying I couldn't move, yet my lips couldn't quit protesting, first calmly but gradually building with passion.

The storm was here.  The bomb had dropped.

And though fresh and clean and smelling of home, the room had become a disaster site.

But my pleas were no better than shouting at the raindrops, who can't understand and only fall where the cloud drops them.

My thoughts cowered under how the future would look, how the next five minutes would look.

I didn't understand.

Why, Lord?  Why me?  Why now?  Why at all?

He doesn't answer.  And He lets the rain fall.  The thunder roar.

Just because life moves from mundane to chaos doesn't mean He has looked away or lost the reins.  He is just as much in control when the wind is raging as He is when it is quiet and gentle.  He runs the days of oppressive heat, when the clouds won't come for comfort.  He ordains the frigid days of winter, when the clouds won't relent.  He orchestrates the falling of each leaf and the blooming of each bud.

He designed it all.  Just as it should be.

And He's written the words and days of your life, just as they should be.  He knew that with the turn of a page, my life would fall down, down, down in a pit that only He knew the way out of.

Ashes that only He could beautify.

Brokenness that only He could heal.

He is sovereign.  Don't let the chaos lie to you.

Circumstances are liars like that.  They speak to the immediate and temporal.  They know only the present, and they fear doom and gloom of the future.  

Hope is absent, if you ask the chaos.

But God is silent, you say.  

Yes, I know.  He may be for quite some time.  But silence doesn't equal absence.  It doesn't equal a deaf ear.  It doesn't equal a heart that is hardened to your hurt.

He sees the chaos.  He even let it in through the door.  And He looks to see what you focus on, what you trust--the chaos?

Or the Creator?

**Tune in tomorrow night at 7 pm for day 3, Prelude to a Pit: A Question Mark**

Prelude to a Pit: Just Another Day

It's a Thursday night.  I can't breathe.

Lord, where are You?

~~~

The sun rose like it always had.  Autumn proudly adorned herself in her burnt sienna splendor.  Leaves were shouting their last hurrah in robust reds and golds before falling to their winter slumber.  Pumpkins guarded the porches of each neighbor with would-be sinister smirks.  The wind had turned cold, inviting sweaters to awaken from their summer hideouts.

It was just another day.  Nothing peculiar.

I didn't even notice the whiff of change in the air.  The foreshadowing of a dawning darkness clear across the horizon.

A storm was brewing.  But the rumbles of thunder were so faint that I could have easily mistaken them for the crawl of dining chair legs across the hardwood floor.  The raindrops were so few and far between that a blink could disguise their daintiness.

But the clouds were quickly approaching the little life I'd come to know and love.

The Lord was ushering in a test.  The stage was set.  The lights dimmed, the audience hushed.  And the spotlight hit me in front and center stage.

Unbeknownst to me, I was the star of the play, and I didn't know the lines.  Or the plot.

The Lord never waits until we're "ready" to lead us down a road of suffering and sacrifice.  We're thrust in, sink or swim.

And we kick and scream and fight saying, "Not now! I'm not ready!"  But really, would we ever be?  Is there ever an adequate time to say, "Here, Lord, I give You everything You've ever blessed me with.  It's okay.  It didn't belong to me anyway.  Bless You.  Praise You."

No, we're never prepared.  And yet--shouldn't we always be prepared?

This crazy thing called the Christian life is full of surprises, both welcome and unwelcome.  The only constant is Christ.  He is trustworthy, faithful, and good, even when the storm is fast approaching.

And we are to arm ourselves daily--hourly--with the full armor of God, so that every God-ordained bump in the road is not an opportunity to run off in the ditch but to say, "Praise You, Father, thank You for showing me that my motor of faith still works and that Your goodness flows deeper than any pitfall."

But this day.  This ordinary non-peculiar day, I wasn't ready.  I wasn't armed.

And with the crack of a lightning bolt, my ordinary became chaos.

And I was about to find out if I was who I'd said I was.  Who I'd promised I'd be.

Be armed and on the watch, friends.  Always.  

For today may be the ordinary day that changes everything.

**Tune in tomorrow at 7 pm for day 2 of Prelude to a Pit: Chaos**

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