I’m sitting on the back porch this morning….coffee in hand, feet bare, listening to bugs and birds.
Summer.
I look at the green of the garden and trees, and I can’t help but wonder……
Why do I feel more alive on days like today than on the barren days of winter?
Physically, it makes no sense. My body’s vital signs beat just as strong on the 11th of January as the 11th of July. I try to live with the understanding that every day is a gift; that God has planned each day and they are all to be treasured…..
…..But if I’m being honest, on bleak and grey February days, it’s more than possible to feel only half alive. And yet I am carried through those times by the belief that some day, once again, there will be a day like today. Though it’s difficult to picture as I gaze upon lifeless landscapes, deep down, I have to believe.
Still….on days like today, I cannot help but recognize that soon, all will be silent and still once more.
Carter and Colton…. upon seeing Colton this way, I felt certain that his face was made for mustaches and advised him to grow one as soon as he could. His mother strenuously disagreed with this advice. (This is why aunts are cooler than moms.) : )
It was not my intention to write and share this story, but one evening while telling it to a friend and her son, my honorary nephew, Colton, he sat riveted, shushing anyone who made a noise as I spoke. When I was done he requested, (well, perhaps demanded would be a better word) “Tell more stories like this!” I reminded him that it was still early days with my new job, so this is the only one I have for now… but more importantly, I wasn’t sure I wanted any more to tell, because the problem with having this kind of story in your reserves is that before you can tell it, you have to live it. : )
*****
For most of my grown-up life, I’ve worked in management, dealing with the public every day. Well…..except for that one year when I tried an office job, only to discover that I wasn’t built to sit in one place all day long…. Then there were those three years I spent at home raising a small child. (For the record, I still count that as time in management since one of my accomplishments during this period was “managing” to train a toddler to ball a watermelon.) Last month, as that three year period at home drew to a close, I found myself, once again, managing a store, though on a smaller, more specialized scale than before.I was full of mixed emotions as this change began…. I’d loved my time at home with Carter; the opportunity to be there for all the firsts that come with childhood…the luxury to be home with him if he wasn’t feeling well, and not having to be concerned with what it may mean for my career…. but we all knew the time had come: He was ready for preschool.
After a few months of looking for a job, I happened upon an opportunity that excited me, though it would mean returning to retail. Steve was hesitant about me pursuing this job because of the nights and weekends, (more on that in a bit) but as I pointed out to him… this is the kind of work I enjoyed, and it really wasn’t available Monday – Friday, 9 – 5. I finished our discussion with this: “I’m going to apply for it… who knows? I may not even get a call back, but I want to try.”
Turns out this one was meant to be. I went from phone interview, to interview, to second interview, to job offer in a dizzyingly brief period. Then, all too soon, Carter was enrolled in preschool, I’d worked through my first few weeks, and then found myself closing a store for the first time in years.I dreaded closing, not because of work, but because of what I imagined may be going on at home. Even when Steve and I had been childless, there’d been some issues when I wasn’t home in the evening. I would come home after closing to find that the dogs had not been fed or watered. I would then fill their bowls at 11, they would drink them dry, then wake me up three hours later to go outside.
Things only became more difficult after Carter was born. Though he was less than 6 months old when I quit… those four months I worked while he was a baby were tough. I’d usually come home to find the house turned upside down, the baby awake and fitful, and… as usual… very hungry and thirsty dogs.
In an effort to circumvent some of the closing-shift mayhem this time around, I got a chalkboard for leaving reminders, (and instructions) for when I couldn’t be home. My first closing shift was on a Thursday. Hoping for the best, I wrote out some notes for the evening and headed to work.
An example of what may happen with Steve in charge…Only one of these instructions is a joke : )
As it turned out, I was pleasantly surprised. Everything at work went smoothly and I came home to find the house in order and everyone sleeping peacefully. As I contemplated my closing shift scheduled for the following day, I was relieved. This was all going to be OK…..
….. Or maybe not.
*****
I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when I realized that Friday night was not going as well as Thursday. Was it when the toilet nearly overflowed, (where I work, managers deal with this) or perhaps when the grown man drinking milk from a clear Starbucks cup waylaid me, insisting that I recite my college transcript? I can’t be sure. What I do know is that by the time a woman and her daughter approached us (I was closing with P., another manager) to report a shoplifter, there was no longer any doubt; my evening had definitely headed south.
We followed the reporting customer to an isolated area where she presented us with an opened box of sparkly, scented gel pens. Taking the box from her, I did a quick count and realized that one was missing. “I watched her open the box and dump it, then head to the restroom,” the lady reported. “I can show you the girl,” she added.
Locking eyes with my P., I said, “I’ll go with her,” just as she said, “I’ll check the bathroom.”
We split up, and I soon found myself looking at the alleged thief; a blonde in her early teens. I thanked the customer, who walked away just as P. rejoined me. Jerking my chin, I said, “that’s her.”
“There was nothing in the bathroom…. though someone took some silk flowers from the sink and put them in the pad receptacle.”
Weird. And things were only getting weirder.
As the two of us headed through the aisles, the customer with the cup full of milk appeared from behind. Gesturing towards his old fashioned flip-phone, he said, “I have something I want you to hear.” He then hit play on a recording… it was a message he’d made, telling himself that he was a loser and a failure. I barely had the chance to think, “What in the world?” before we were face-to-face with the pen thief. Surprised, she blanched and rushed away. As if by magic, the flip-phone guy disappeared.
Allow me to digress a bit. Having spent many years working in retail, I’m no stranger to dealing with shoplifters. There are many guidelines you must follow so as to be absolutely sure they’ve got something and have passed the point of purchase before you can make a clean stop. I’ve worked with people who get all amped-up about catching people and having them hauled away by the police, but I’d much rather get them to drop what they’ve concealed and perhaps make them uncomfortable enough that they decide stealing isn’t worth the risk. Over the years I’ve developed my own technique which violates none of the guidelines and is wildly successful at bringing about this desired outcome. Though I’m not going to share what I do, I will say that it requires a steel spine and intense focus mixed with just the right amount of subtlety.
So, back to the night in question. I’d explained to my co-worker what I was going to do, just as she was called away to assist a customer. I’d moved into position, and all was going perfectly…. then out of nowhere, once again, I was flagged down by the milk guy, who inexplicably tried to corral me into working quadratic equations with him. (I will forever remember him as “Quadratic Equation Guy”.) I was now in a tight spot. I was where I needed to be, but as I said, what I was doing required a high level of focus. I couldn’t make an excuse and go somewhere else…. nor did I see a polite way to remain where I was while extricating myself from working quadratic equations. Moments later P. reappeared, and I decided to just walk away.
As all this came together, the girl we’d been watching made another break for the bathroom, and though P. followed her in, she found no evidence that she’d dumped the pen. I’d not been able to carry out my usual plan and it seemed I’d failed. (Sigh!)
As the weight of defeat settled uncomfortably onto my shoulders, my phone chirped an unwelcome alert: Our closing cashier reported smelling smoke in the back room, and a thorough investigation, (translation: storming quickly into the room and sniffing vigorously) revealed that he’d been right. Fortunately, there was a happy ending. We opened the back door and peered into a dark night, illuminated by the glow of the rising full moon, and discovered a bonfire wafting smoke from across the street.
Case closed. The rest of the evening? Not such a tidy conclusion….
At closing time, as we were scooting the final customers out the door, I breathed a sigh of relief…a bit too soon. I’d thought everyone was gone, yet a final customer remained. He was a young man, clad in jeans and a suit coat, sweating profusely and wearing a snarly expression; his arms laden with last minute purchases. Considering it was 11pm on a Friday night, I couldn’t help finding it a bit odd that one item he struggled to carry was a full-size globe…. (but perhaps I only feel that way because I’ve never been in a predicament requiring a late night globe purchase). I watched as he hoisted his items onto the counter and then verified that he’d been escorted outside with the doors locked behind him. With that out of the way, I walked to the other side of the building to grab a till, then made my way back to the front, only to find the cashier and P. all shaken up.
“What?” I asked lamely, struggling to steady the till in my hands.
“That guy we just let out forced his way back into the store!” P. exclaimed. “He’s gone now,” she added, as my eyes darting around looking for him.
It seems he’d left his backpack in the store and somehow managed to force the door open. When confronted and told he must leave, he refused and became hostile, before deciding to comply rather than have us call the police. Reluctantly, he agreed to wait outside while his backpack was retrieved.
I’d only been 20 yards away… how had I missed all this? Still… it was all over now… nothing left to do but run a few reports and count some money. The rough stuff was behind us.
This may be a good time to explain that I am not at tip-top condition late at night. For years I’d gone to bed between 9 and 10, and willing myself to remain alert to learn closing procedures was becoming problematic. Perhaps this odd sleepy state was responsible for painting the evening with surreal qualities. I’m not sure… All that I know is that when the other manager poked her head into the cash room and asked if I minded if she let the other employees go, leaving the two of us to finish up together, I felt as though I was responding through a fog as I said, “No, I don’t mind.”
With everyone gone, the deep quiet settled over me. I kept working…. balancing tills and trying to remember which color copy of each report went where, when it began to dawn on me: P. had been gone an awful long time. How long should it take to walk to the front of the store, let some people leave, relock the door, and then return? Not as long as it was taking. Unsettling thoughts began forming: I was behind a locked door, but I was alone and had no idea what lay beyond. The person meant to stay with me should have returned several minutes before… and yet there I sat….alone in the eerie silence.
I thought back to the moment I’d first seen the job posting, and was excited to apply. Steve had been against it at first, but I’d insisted I’d had a good feeling about it. That all seemed so foolish now.
Why did I decide to go back to work? Why???? (I can get dramatic when I’m tired and several weird things have happened.)
At the moment I’d decided to investigate, I heard the ‘beep, beep, beep’ signaling someone using the code to open the door. I found myself looking at P. and the closing cashier. Turns out my dramatic thoughts hadn’t been quite so ‘out there’. When P. had opened the door to let the employees leave, she’d spotted our last customer’s car (without him in it) still in the parking lot. The cashier had volunteered to wait for us so that we wouldn’t have to walk out alone.
Weird.
Finally we were all finished and exiting through the front door. Though the customer was nowhere to be seen, his car was still there! Looking all around, we couldn’t see him, and we knew he couldn’t be in the building… yet this was all so unsettling. As we were getting into our cars, I couldn’t help but muse: “What is he doing out still? Shouldn’t he be home learning geography?”
Before guiding my car onto the road, I fiddled with my phone, bringing up the audiobook I was listening to, The Magician’s Nephew, from C.S. Lewis’ TheChronicles of Narnia. As I drove through the late hour, with the misty glowing fog all around me, I couldn’t help but notice that a particular passage suited my evening all too well: The children had just met the White Witch (though she was not yet the White Witch) in the creepily blighted world of Charn:
“Low down and near the horizon hung a great, red sun, far bigger than our sun. Digory felt at once that it was also older than ours: a sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down on that world. To the left of the sun, and higher up, there was a single star, big and bright. Those were the only two things to be seen in the dark sky; they made a dismal group. And on the earth, in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, there spread a vast city in which there was no living thing to be seen. And all the temples, towers, palaces, pyramids, and bridges cast long, disasterous-looking shadows in the light of that withered sun. Once a great river had flowed through the city, but the water had long since vanished, and it was now only a wide ditch of gray dust.” [1]
By now I was in my neighborhood, so ready for the night to be over. I’d wound up driving through the increasingly dense fog behind a slow-moving car; one that made every twist and turn that would guide me home, which only served to heighten the creepiness pressing in around me.
Finally, I pulled into the garage before wearily making my way into the house. Resolving to have a snack and unwind with some TV after checking on Carter, I headed for the steps. Yet the evening held one more surprise. As I reached the landing, I registered an unnatural glow coming from behind the closed bedroom door. Charn and her cursed sun flashed through my mind as I made it to the end of the hall and yanked open the door.
Though Charn colored my thoughts, I truly didn’t expect to find anything odd when I opened the door…. and yet…. I did. All of the lights were on, (in the bedroom, the walk-in closet and the adjoining bath), and the TV was on, though stuck on an all-blue screen. Steve lay blissfully asleep on the bed; Ichabod slept on his floor pillow, and Lucy, also on the floor, glared resentfully at the bench where she usually slept. The reason for her rancor was the most inexplicable part of the scene before my eyes… Carter had fallen asleep on Lucy’s bench… and he was buck naked!
Striding to the bed, I roughly shook Steve awake. Smiling sleepily, he asked, “How was your night?”
“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED HERE, TONIGHT?” I demanded in a whisper; gesturing wildly.
“Huh?” came the reply.
I quickly realized I wasn’t going to get any real answers… whatever had gone on, Steve had slept through it. I began looking around and found the potty seat on the toilet and Carter’s discarded clothes on the floor right in front. Carter must have gotten out of bed, turned on all of the lights, stripped off his clothes and went potty while Steve remained sleepily unaware.
Dads.
I gathered Carter gently in my arms and placed him on the bed before dressing and covering him. With one last exasperated glance at Steve I went downstairs for my midnight snack. Blessedly, my crazy night had come to an end.
*****
After a weekend off I returned to work bright and early Monday morning. Word of our Friday night exploits had been discussed and re-discussed all weekend, and I learned there was an unexpected positive… because we never recovered the missing pen, the entire pack was scanned out, and we were allowed to use them.
“There’s one thing that still bothers me,” I told a group of managers as we waited for our weekly meeting to begin. “The box didn’t list the colors and scents of the pens… we’ll never know which one we are missing.” I breathed out a sigh, then headed for the restroom.
As I reached for a seat cover, I was still contemplating the missing pen as a flash of unexpected motion caught my eye.
What was that?
Sticking my hand into the seat cover box, my fingers closed around something… could it be?
It was!
The missing pen!
And now I knew…. the missing scent….grape!
Closure.
Lucy… reclaiming her bench
[1] The Magician’s Nephew by C.S. Lewis, Copyright 1955, pg. 68
Here’s a story of mine that was posted to another site. I discuss Lucy’s crazed reaction to fireworks, and here’s a shot of her from that evening… It was impossible to get a focused photo of her due to her constant motion. : )
“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”
1 Corinthians 13:1
Planned Parenthood. Cecil the Lion. Two of the most explosive revelations to hit the news this past July. And, for good reason, we’re still talking about them. People need to know what is happening to our discarded babies; not only are they denied the love and protection of their mothers….they are regarded as little more than frogs dissected in biology labs, (although truth be told…. I have a problem with that, too.)
And then there’s Cecil the Lion. I admit I’m biased. I’m an animal lover, and the concept of killing a creature simply for the thrill of it offends me, deeply. I remain haunted by photos I’ve seen…. a woman smiling next to the bloody giraffe she’d just slaughtered; a beautiful elephant lying dead next to an elated group; the flowers she was eating when she’d been surprised and killed still visible in her mouth.
There are common elements here: Killing a person or creature who has no chance to defend themselves….death for profit…. lives snuffed out, and for what? We have the responsibility to ask these questions. But what’s happening now just leaves me feeling very tired. Nearly every time I get online, I see something to the effect of, “I am so sick of hearing about Cecil the Lion… what does that matter when (insert your chosen atrocity here) is happening, and no one cares?” Some people have even taken the time to create little memes…many with the Joker. And really, what better way is there to express to someone that what moves them to empathy matters very little to you?
Let me be clear…. if I am comparing which issue is more devastating, it’s the baby harvesting… no debate about that. But why are we comparing? Yes, there is truth there… babies rank above lions…. But when we, as Christians, get online and start spewing that what “the rest of the world” gets upset about isn’t a big deal… where is the love? Paul addressed this very issue thousands of years ago, reminding us that what is true doesn’t matter so very much if it’s not said in love.
“Instead, we will speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ, who is the head of his body, the church.”
Ephesians 4:15
I have a really hard time believing we will ever move non-believers to the arms of Christ by making it clear that their feelings aren’t as important as our agendas.
A few days ago, I clicked on a link shared by a large Christian blog. The post included a video clip of Jimmy Kimmel in tears, discussing Cecil the Lion. Following the clip, a lengthy paragraph unfolded, ridiculing Kimmel for his emotion and “misguided sympathies”.
Why? Why do this?
“Lord, when you called my name, it wasn’t because I was righteous, or because I had all the right answers. I was, and am, just a sinner in need of a savior, and, in love, you took me. When I’m speaking to others, please whisper to my heart to always keep love first, because that’s always what you do with me, and my goal, always, is to be more like you.
Have you ever been in the same place as me? Where you’ve offered all you have to God…. but there’s one shadowy place protected deep in your heart…. and you secretly hope that God will leave that place alone…. you can’t see how him probing that particular area would enhance your life…. or (what you perceive to be) your calling. So you say to Him, “Yes, Lord… anything!” And mostly you mean it… and yet…. mentally, you’ve tacked an asterisk onto the word. We don’t know our God very well when we think this will be acceptable to Him. In my experience, when we offer all, yet hope that He’ll leave this one thing (whatever your personal ‘one thing’ may be) alone, He blows past all you want to offer Him, puts his finger on this one guarded place and says, “What about this?” This is my story of how I learned what it means to surrender. I wish I could say I learned gracefully, but the only grace in this story came from God… as for me… I went kicking and screaming.
*****
As 2011 began, I was content with life. I was in my early thirties, married with two dogs and working at a well-paying job with a promising future. My husband and I didn’t have kids and planned to remain childless. For the past few years I’d been growing closer to God, regularly attending church and my small group as well as serving in different ministries as my schedule allowed. I told myself that I could serve God better with no children, but the issue began haunting me.
Around the time my inner turmoil reached a fever pitch, Vicki, my small group leader, shared our next focus. We would be studying The Prayer of Jabez (1 Chronicles 4:10) for four weeks, and were to spend this month prayerfully considering whether we wanted to partake in an oil anointing. “I did this years ago, and my life changed,” Vicki explained. Elaborating, she added, “If you do this, you may be asked to let go of things you aren’t comfortable letting go of. Everyone likes their comfort zone, and this anointing is all about leaving that behind to serve God from a place of purity… to obtain a new level of intimacy in your relationship with Him.”
I craved answers. I wanted specifics. “What changed?” I asked.
Vicki watched me for a few beats before answering. I could see it in her eyes. Her soul understood what I was asking, but she didn’t have a way to explain it that would help me understand. That’s just part of the mystery of how God works. And honestly, I really don’t think she would have explained even if she could. Some things are best left between a person and God, and my question was intrusive. She was kind, though. Finally, she answered. “I can’t explain it. But my life changed.”
I was scared to do this. I spent the next weeks pondering the implications. I liked my life the way I liked it, and I liked feeling like I had some control over my destiny. This would mean surrender. Giving up control. I didn’t feel ready, but reasoned that if I waited until I did, it may never happen. Gradually, I talked my head around to what my heart understood right away. I needed this. I was doing this.
*****
The day I was anointed with oil stands out as one of the most important of my life. It was February, 2011, and our group met in a small classroom usually used for children’s ministry. The room was overwarm, and I stood holding hands with the other ladies in my group. We prayed for each other, then each took a turn being anointed with a simple cross drawn in oil on our foreheads.
I’m not sure if it was the heated room, or the influence of the Holy Spirit, but I was lightheaded; shaky with expectation. The odd sensation was so strong that I had to sit in my car and gather myself before I was capable of driving home. Something was going to happen, something that would change my life forever. I just didn’t know what that ‘something’ was. I didn’t know what blessing lay just out of reach. Nor did I anticipate the fear or the pain that was coming. I didn’t know that this blessing would far out-value what it would cost me. I’d stepped out in faith, offered God all that I had. And he accepted the offering. As I said, I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I expected something. And so I waited.
*****
The weeks following the oil anointing were among some of the best of my life. Anxiety had been a lifelong habit with me, but that morning when I offered my all to God, it was simply gone. I was on fire and ready to do whatever huge thing God wanted me to do. The problem was, He wasn’t asking me to do anything huge. He kept whispering to me about my childless state, but I tried my best to ignore Him. I thought I knew the best path for my life…. it seemed I’d not truly surrendered at all…. I just wanted God to go ahead and bless the plans I’d made for myself; to accept what I wanted to offer and let me live the life I desired. But that’s the funny thing about God…. When you offer your all, you’d better mean it. He doesn’t accept half-hearted offerings.
As I continued to argue with God about what I felt He was asking of me, the fire and assurance I’d felt after the anointing began to fade. The baby issue was constantly on my mind, and I couldn’t stop myself from talking about it. For more than five years I’d faithfully taken birth control pills, and for four of those years I’d suffered periodically from vision-altering migraines. After switching to a different pill a few years before, I’d only had one such headache. One evening while in the midst of this inner-argument with God I happened to discuss this problem with a friend. I finished up by saying, “I think they are related to my birth control pills. If I have another headache, I’m going to stop taking them.”
Those words turned out to be prophetic. That same night, I was struck with a vision-altering migraine. True to the words I’d spoken, the next day I stopped taking the pill. Barely a month later, I learned I was pregnant, and was suddenly filled with a juxtaposition of emotions. I became depressed. I was like a spoiled child shaking my fist at God because He wasn’t allowing me to live out my plans. Though I more or less allowed free reign to this selfish side, there was something else at play; something basic and elemental. Though I tried to shove away the emotion, I loved the child within me. I just tried not to think about it; I was too busy with my temper tantrum.
As I continued to keep God’s blessing at arm’s length, I became more and more distant from Him. Then came the day that changed everything. I was due at work that morning before dawn, and as I left my neighborhood, I couldn’t fail to notice the glory of the full moon, glowing orange and looking low enough to touch. As my soul rose up to worship, my mind shut it down. I was still mad at God for changing my life. I didn’t feel like praising Him for His wonder. And so I willfully chose otherwise.
My heart would be forever altered by the time the moon rose again.
*****
That day, April 19th, 2011, while still less than two months pregnant, I experienced an expectant mother’s worst fear. Blood….. lots of blood. After being advised by my doctor’s office to go to the hospital, I got my husband home from work and we set out for the emergency room. I was hysterical; raw with emotional pain, fear and guilt. I believed I’d been ungrateful for God’s blessing, and now my baby would be taken from me. I was ashamed of myself and chastised myself for not being the mother my baby deserved.
We arrived at the hospital and rushed through the check-in process only to begin a hellish night of waiting. After hours passed, a cute young girl came to get us for an ultrasound. Finally the moment I’d dreaded since first seeing the blood was upon me. I tried to prepare myself to see the lifeless ultrasound screen, but there’s no preparing for that. I tried to keep my mind in neutral as the tech prepped the machines for the procedure. All too soon she was moving the wand while squinting at the screen. Seeing what she was searching for, she pointed to a spot and said, “OK, there’s your baby.”
Her words shook me, though I dared not hope. It didn’t sound like the baby was gone. Could it possibly be? With all the courage I could gather I asked, “So the baby isn’t dead?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she flipped a switch on the machine, and suddenly, the room was filled with the sound of a fast and strong heartbeat. Realizing what this must mean, I reached for my husband’s hand as tears filled my eyes. Together we looked in wonder at our 7- weeks-old baby. At the time there were no arms or legs, just nubs in place of hands and feet. He or she was floating around, oblivious to all the turmoil outside of the safety of the womb. As I watched my baby, everything changed. All of the trivial things I’d been so consumed with, such as what in the world we would do for childcare no longer mattered. This little person was meant to be, and I was his momma. Finally, nothing else mattered.
*****
The doctors could not give a definitive answer as to what caused the bleeding, but the fetus was strong and healthy, so we were satisfied. After seeing our baby on the screen I felt tranquil. I lay on the ultrasound table for a long time as the tech snapped photo after photo of my uterus…. the baby was no longer on the screen, so her work didn’t interest me. I didn’t know enough about what was happening to find this questionable. After, when I spoke to the doctor, she insisted I follow up in my office right away, but I wasn’t concerned. The baby was fine, I figured this was all routine. I would find out in a couple of days that I was very wrong.
Two days later I arrived for my follow-up appointment believing it was simply a formality. As I reclined on the bed, I was not at all prepared for the doctor’s arrival. My practice has many doctors and I’d not seen this one before. He burst into the room, shook my hand, and without further ado asked me how long I’d had the tumors.
“What?” I asked him, not understanding his words.
“The ultrasound taken in the ER shows that your uterus is filled with fibroid tumors. How long have you had them?”
This wasn’t making sense. My mother had suffered from fibroid tumors, experiencing intense physical symptoms, so I knew what they were, but as far as I knew, I didn’t have any. For a mad second, I wondered if they’d somehow gotten my mom’s chart. But that didn’t make any sense.
“If I have fibroid tumors, this is the first I’ve heard about it,” I explained. “This isn’t a big deal for the baby, is it?” I asked as my hand shot protectively to my stomach.
The doctor expressed his surprise that I didn’t know that I had the tumors and that I’d never experienced any symptoms associated with their presence. Finally answering my question he replied, “We don’t know yet what this could mean for the baby. If there were a few, I would say it probably wouldn’t be a big deal, but your uterus is filled with them, and some are quite large. There are some cases where the tumors divert the blood flow away from the baby and stop the fetus from growing. We can’t yet know what this means.”
His words were stark and brought no comfort. Since I’d believed this would be a routine visit, I’d come alone and had no one to help me process what he was saying. He scheduled me for an appointment with a high-risk doctor and told me I would need to get frequent ultrasounds to check on the baby’s development and the growth of the tumors. In a fog, I left the office and drove home, calling my husband and parents along the way.
I think that was the day I allowed the fear to begin taking hold of my heart. Without realizing what I was doing, I began shutting everyone out as much as I could, and this included God. For years I’d done daily Bible reading and journaled my prayers. I stopped writing my prayers. I didn’t want to open myself up that far. I became afraid to feel. I was terrified, and instead of letting God comfort me, I closed up.
As the pregnancy progressed the tumors grew, but they didn’t impede the baby’s progress. Towards the end of the summer, I learned that one of the largest tumors was completely blocking my cervix and I would most likely be scheduled for a Caesarean, though they were hesitant to commit, just yet.
The best ultrasound picture ever… in my (biased) opinion.
With each new doctor reviewing my chart, most were shocked that I’d become pregnant in the first place. While thumbing through my paperwork, one doctor looked at the photos of my insides and said, “Wow, congratulations! Just out of curiosity, how long were you trying before you managed to get pregnant?”
She was incredulous when I explained that not only were we not trying, I got pregnant two weeks after ceasing the birth control pill after more than 5 years of consistent use. With each new thing I learned, I became even more convinced, though I’d not planned this child, clearly God had.
The stress I carried with me began eating me alive. Just as my third trimester began, I started suffering from high blood pressure. Though I was checked for preeclampsia many times and was once hospitalized for fetal monitoring, there was no trace of preeclampsia and I managed to work right until the end of my pregnancy.
About a month before my due date, I was at the doctor’s office for my regular appointment. I’d come alone, and as I sat waiting for the doctor to join me, I was startled when she burst into the room. Without greeting me she asked, “Did you get the results of your last ultrasound?”
My mind and heart began racing. “No, what’s wrong?” I asked. I’d seen this doctor before, it was odd for her to rush in and get right down to business.
“Nothing’s wrong. But the time has come. That lower tumor isn’t moving out of the way. By law I have to allow you to push if you choose to do so, but I’m telling you that there’s no way the baby will make it to the birth canal. I suggest we schedule you for a caesarean.”
I was relieved. Though they’d hesitated to formally decide, in my gut I always knew it would go down this way. My relief was a bit premature, however. As the doctor began studying a calendar, and factoring in my due date she informed me that she would be the one delivering my son. While squinting at dates, she was mumbling to herself and I heard “We usually don’t like to go more than a week out so the baby can fully develop, but we also don’t want to cut it too close so that labor doesn’t start…. that would put us on Sunday, but I don’t want to do it on Sunday when there is only a skeleton crew, so we’ll do it on Monday.”
Her words rocked me, and I didn’t want to ask, but I asked anyways: “Why don’t you want to do the surgery with only a skeleton crew?”
Misunderstanding the reason behind my question she said, “Oh, if you want to have the baby on Sunday, we can do that, it’s not a problem…”
I cut her off. “No, I don’t care about that. Why don’t you feel comfortable performing the surgery on a lightly-staffed day?”
She paused, carefully choosing her words. “Your uterus is filled with countless blood-filled tumors. I will be very careful, but with this many tumors, there’s always the chance that one may get nicked. If that happens, I’ll have to make some very fast decisions to stop you from hemorrhaging. I may have to do a hysterectomy and if something like this happens, I would feel better doing it with ‘all hands on deck’.”
I nodded, scheduled the surgery and numbly headed for the car. Over the last several months I’d become adept at not feeling my feelings. I held it together as I drove home, but then I went upstairs to the nursery we’d decorated for our baby. I wound the mobile, allowing the sounds of “Rock-a-bye Baby” to fill the room. I sat down in the rocking chair where I’d planned to nurse my son, looked down at my belly; slowly caressing it, and finally allowed the doctor’s words to wash over me. I might bleed to death. I may never get the chance to come home, sit in this chair and hold my son. I was so scared, but I wasn’t mad at God. I was mad at myself. I felt this was no less than I deserved for being so bratty when I learned I was pregnant.
I shared these feelings with no one, not even my husband. I falsely believed that saying them out loud would make them more real; more scary. And so the pressure inside me continued to build, just as my blood pressure continued to climb.
All too soon, the morning of the delivery arrived. I’m not sure how I made it through getting ready and leaving for the hospital, filling out paperwork and making my way to the pre-op area. Finally I was clothed in my hospital gown, lying on a bed, and there was nothing left for me to do.
When I was wheeled into the operating room, my husband had to wait outside while I was prepped. I was quickly numbed from the waist down and pushed into a horizontal position as a tent was hoisted into place, blocking any view of what was happening. Suddenly my husband was back, and a man appeared from the other side of the tent asking me if I was ready for them to open me up. I said, “Yes, I’m ready.”
Laughing, he said, “That’s good, because she’s already got you wide open.”
Moments later, my son was safely out and being carried across the room. I gazed at the tiny, red, crying boy, unable to comprehend that this was the child that I’d spent the last 7 months worried out of my mind about. And he was out! He was fine! In a matter of minutes, I was all stitched up….no drama. The doctor who’d been so concerned about the operation happily said, “I can’t believe how smoothly this went!” And I was wheeled to recovery. But my problems were only beginning.
My first up close look… It would be a few more hours before I could hold him in my arms.
Everyone, myself included, believed that once my son was delivered that my blood pressure would return to normal. But it didn’t. As time went on, my numbers continued to climb. I spent an extra day in the hospital because of the problem, and was only discharged after being medicated and scheduling a time to come to my doctor’s office to have the reading checked.
Finally… we made it home!
The next several weeks were difficult. In addition to taking care of a newborn and recovering from surgery, I also had to deal with the blood pressure issue. The medicine made me feel so strange and once I nearly fainted. I was still barely talking to God. But then one day I had to get up before dawn to take some medicine, and suddenly I could no longer ignore the scorched bareness in my soul. I did the only thing I could think to do. I sat down and read a chapter of the Bible. It was my first step I’d taken towards obedience in a very long time.
Eventually I recovered physically, though fears about my blood pressure continued to stalk me. By the time my maternity leave ended, I was just a wounded ball of a person. My heart was shattered into tiny bits, but with each and every piece of my broken heart, I loved my little boy. But I was broken. Before I’d gotten pregnant, I’d believed I was surrendered to God. The experience of my pregnancy showed me the truth: I didn’t know the first thing about surrender. I felt like I’d messed everything up and I didn’t see how I would ever be right again.
: )
After spending only three months as a working mother, I felt that God was calling me to be home for a season, so when my son was five months old, I quit. After years of planning my career and building towards a high-paying future, I walked away. I was obedient, but I felt like a damaged person, like there wasn’t much substance to me anymore. I believed that staying home for a time would give me the opportunity to allow God to take me to the root of my issues and heal me. Though I believe that is what happened, (is happening) it looked nothing like I expected. I quickly learned that staying home with an infant is much harder than going to work. I also learned that the wounds I wanted God to heal went much deeper and much farther back than I ever imagined. What I’d assumed would be a few weeks of soul searching stretched into months… and then….more than a year.
December, 2013
The best thing I can say for myself during this period is that I never gave up. Because I’d deliberately shut God out, I knew what it felt like to willfully reject His presence, and I knew I couldn’t do that again. I held on. I was faithful in my Bible reading and prayer life, but things were still off on the inside. Somewhere I’d stumbled across the words, “Once you take a good look at Jesus, you’ll never be the same.” These words plagued my mind. I felt that I couldn’t have taken a good look at Jesus because I was still so very broken. As I sat pondering this question in my prayer journal one morning, right before Christmas in 2013, in a flash, I understood things that had previously remained shrouded in mystery. This is what I wrote on that morning: (grammar doesn’t count in a journal)
“….Lord, show me who you really are. Let me take the look at Christ that will – I was going to say ‘that will leave me never the same.’ But before I could write the words – you showed me the truth. 25 months ago today – the bright lights of the delivery room. My first peak of my baby as he was taken from my imperfect womb – a perfectly healthy baby – to be cleaned. I’d done literally everything wrong: I’d tried not to get pregnant, lamented being pregnant, learned in a flash how much I loved my baby, felt guilty for not wanting him in the first place… when I learned about the tumors I felt you were punishing me for not wanting him, I generated a blood pressure problem – worried about that – made it worse – shut you out – blamed you deep in my heart – worried, worried, worried – I thought I was going to die, I hated myself, I was racked with guilt because I knew my mind was responsible for all of my misery, but I couldn’t shut it down. I messed up. I did everything wrong. But then came the moment when I saw him for the first time – absolutely beautiful and healthy. An easy C-Section – good thing since his cord was wrapped around his face. Maybe that’s why I had the tumors. But you brought him through perfectly – in spite of my gaping imperfections. That was my first hard look at Jesus – it’s just taken us 25 months of untangling the knots for me to see that.
“As I sit here, tears running down my face, in the darkness of the living room by the light of the Christmas tree – the symbol of the cross – I am starting to get it. We are a mess. And this is what you do…..“
*****
It wasn’t until my son was a couple of months old that I learned just how concerned the doctor had been about my delivery. I got a bill in the mail that made no sense, and when I probed the origin, I learned a shocking truth. The bill was for an extra medical team she’d requested to be on-hand for the surgery. They weren’t assigned to a specific hospital, but were called for when trouble was expected with a delivery. Having never had a baby before, I didn’t know it was unusual to have so many people in the room during a C-Section. While looking at the imperfect state of my body, she’d felt they were necessary. But in one final act of showing me who was in control, God rendered their services unnecessary.
After the delivery, I knew I was a mess. But I believed that I was so raw on the inside because of the terror of my pregnancy. After I’ve had time to live with this, I know it’s not true. The way I handled the ‘what ifs’ of my pregnancy; the way I refused to see the ‘what is’ of it; that God was in charge and had a plan, was merely forcing into the open what was true of my soul: my lifestyle was not one of faith or surrender. That December morning marked the next leg of my journey, the morning I gained a perspective that previously alluded me. That was the morning that I knew without a doubt that I’d seen Jesus, and that I would never be the same. It’s not been easy since then, in many ways, it’s been harder… but each act of obedience shows me a little more of Christ, and a little more of my old and faithless character dies away. So…. what’s next for me and my family? Only God knows… and for the first time in my life… I’m OK with that.
This is a link to a story I had published on the devotional website Devotional Divaa few months ago. It’s another tale from my days of pregnancy. I’ve meant to post it here as well for a while and am finally getting around to it. : )
Most of my pregnancy was scary, but one thing I really enjoyed was THE FOOD! My sister Amanda and I were pregnant at the same time and our kids were born exactly 10 weeks apart. She is now in her 38th week of her second pregnancy, and I was amused to come across this post on her Facebook page the other night:
In honor of my sister’s pregnancy I wanted to share one of my favorite (interpret this to mean ‘not terrifying’) stories from my own pregnancy.
Amanda and me two days before Carter was born and ten weeks before Sidney.Growing up with a sister 8 years my junior, I never would have believed that we would one day have a joint-baby shower. : )
Before getting pregnant, I didn’t believe in “pregnancy cravings”. I believed that women used them as an excuse to eat whatever they wanted. Probably some people reading this are seething with rage over the words I’ve just written, but you must understand something about me. I grew up as a chubby kid. And even as an adult, for the most part, my mind centered on food. I sort of assumed that everyone was wired this way, and that when women got pregnant, they used the unavoidable weight gain as an excuse to stop fighting off the constant food fantasies that I assumed floated through everyone’s minds. So, that’s what I believed. Right up until the incident of the steak-grilled-stuffed-burrito.
I worked a closing shift at the store on the day of my 12 week ultrasound and appointment with the high risk doctor. I had packed my dinner; my usual; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat bread with a side of carrots and an apple. I was hungry that night, and ate my dinner early before returning to work.
Shortly after dinner, the phone clipped to the waistband of my pants chirped as I was straightening toys. I grabbed the phone, and saw from a glance that Steve was calling. “I stopped and got dinner from Taco Bell,” he began. “ I didn’t know if you’d be hungry when you got home, but I got you a soft taco and pintos and cheese.”
Regretfully thinking of my already-eaten dinner I confessed: “Oh, thanks, but I already ate.”
Sounding a bit deflated, he said, “Well, if you are hungry for a snack when you get home, it will be in the fridge.”
We chatted for a couple of minutes and then I got back to work.
As I bent to retrieve and replace discarded toys, a new thought suddenly possessed my mind: Taco Bell. But I wasn’t thinking of the soft taco and beans waiting for me at home, but a grilled steak burrito. My mouth began to water.
I should probably back up here, a bit. Years before, I’d committed to healthy eating, and for the most part, I stuck with it, even with some episodes of weight gain. (I’d gained that weight without fast foods.) Though not a vegetarian,I ate meat only sporadically. (This is a result of living with cows in a field two doors down from your house. It makes you think about what you are eating. At least that’s how it worked for me.) I could barely remember the last time I’d eaten fast food, but when I did indulge, it was always with the healthiest choices. This grilled burrito that was suddenly the object of my fantasies was something I’d not tasted in nearly 10 years, and I wasn’t even sure if it was still available. But suddenly, all I could think about was the old memory of biting into the crispy grilled shell, the melting sour cream, the dripping, oozing, grease…. the perfection!
I spent the evening fighting a fierce mental battle. “You’ve already had dinner, and Steve has that food at home for you, you can eat that,” I told myself.
The part of me that longed for the burrito didn’t have anything of eloquence to say, just “but… but… I WANT IT!” And this part did not shut up. Nevertheless, when I left work that evening, I was prepared to do the right thing, the adult thing, the healthy thing, the rational thing. I was prepared to go home and eat my taco and beans, which, I reminded myself, was already a bonus meal.
I walked to my car, climbed inside, closed the door, and started the engine. I snapped my seat belt into place, sat up straight, put the transmission into ‘Drive’ and headed for the exit. When I came to the traffic light, I was faced with two choices. If I made the ‘right’ turn, I would drive through the country and towards my house. If I made the ‘left’ turn, however, I would still be heading towards my house, but via highway, so this would also put me on the path to Taco Bell. I decided it was too much temptation. I turned right and headed through the country.
As I drove through the darkened night, I congratulated myself on this commendable level of healthy maturity. The feeling of smugness lasted right up to the moment I had to make the final turn, taking me, once and for all, away from the highway and towards my house. And in that moment, I just couldn’t do it. Instead of the ‘right’ turn that would lead me home, I jerked the wheel to the left and headed towards the interstate.
As I gunned the motor, speeding up the on-ramp, I kept thinking, “What are you doing? What are you doing!” I had no answer. I didn’t know what I was doing, but apparently I was committed to doing it (whatever it was), so the time for questions had passed.
Moments later I found myself in a place I’d not been in some time: In line waiting for fast food, late at night. As I inched forward, I squinted my eyes towards the menu board. Did they still carry the burrito? I prayed they did. I’d given into this madness, and I didn’t know what I would do if I found myself thwarted now. I’d gone past the point of no-return.
God was smiling on me. Not only was the burrito still on the menu, it had been upgraded to an ‘XL’ status. Part of my brain cheered, “Yes! Excellent!” The other half said, “Well, just because the burrito is XL doesn’t mean you have to eat it all. Just eat half of it and throw it away.” I ordered my burrito and a drink.
As I sat waiting to pick up the food, I mentally planned the rest of my evening. I would drive home, change into my pajamas, and sit down to eat my burrito in front of the TV. I decided to throw away the food Steve had gotten for me…. perhaps even bury it in the trash. I was ashamed of this craving madness, and didn’t want to fess up to this evening’s antics.
All too soon, it was my turn to pay. After the clerk swiped and returned my card, I was presented with a bag of food. I thanked her, placed the bag on the seat next to me, grabbed the steering wheel with the perfect “10 and 2” hand placement, and with a straight back, maneuvered myself from the window and towards the road.
Then a funny thing happened. The smell of the burrito began to waft, enticingly from the seat next to me. I’m not sure about the science behind this explanation, but to me, this is what happened: Dragging my eyes from the road, I stared at the bag. The scent of the meat entered through my nose, and somehow traveled down to my stomach, causing it to cry out in insatiable need. And then my stomach overpowered my brain, overrode my will, and took over completely. I had to have the burrito! Now!
My fingers ached to rip the burrito from the bag, to tear it from the paper, but there was still a tiny part of me putting up a fight. Longingly, I thought of my plan of eating the burrito in front of the TV, all cozy in my pajamas. I still wanted that! I tried to reason with this ravenous, barely controlled side of myself. “It’s just a few more minutes, you can wait, right? It will be worth it.”
The other side of me longed to scream out, “NO!” But the primal, stomach led-side of me had a more sly and cagey plan. “Sure,” this side agreed. “But maybe you should just take one bite, just to see if it tastes as good as you remember…”
This seemed like good sense. Just take a bite, wrap it back up, and wait to finish the rest until I got home. As the car climbed the interstate on-ramp, I steered one-handed as I worked to free a corner of the burrito from the wrapper. Gingerly, I took a delicate bite.
The next thing I remember, the car was coming to a stop at the end of the off-ramp. I looked down to see grease stains on my work shirt and two shriveled diced tomatoes in the empty wrapper… the only remaining witnesses to what had most assuredly been a savage devouring. Aaahh, the guilt! But so worth it.
I arrived at home, brushing a few pieces of dehydrated lettuce from my lap, and quietly destroyed the evidence. Then I changed into my pajamas, ate the food Steve had gotten for me, and went to bed.
*****
This was only the beginning of the food-mania. Days later I received a phone call from the high-risk doctor. The results from my most recent blood tests indicated a protein deficiency. I was brusquely informed that they would continue to monitor my levels and I may need to take supplemental pills. He made to wind down and end the conversation. But I wasn’t having it. “Hang on a second,” I said, stopping him. “What should I be doing?”
“What do you mean?” he questioned. He sounded baffled.
“If my protein levels are low, I assume that means I should eat more protein. Is there anything else that would be helpful?”
It seemed I’d stumped him. Surely I wasn’t the first mother who asked what I should do to correct this problem. Could I be the only person he’d encountered who was not satisfied with increased medical monitoring and supplemental pharmaceuticals? Slowly he answered, “Well, like I said, we’ll keep an eye on it, and there are pills….”
I cut him off. “I don’t want to take pills. What can I do to fix this without pills?”
Half-heartedly he rattled off a list of foods to add to my diet. Since cutting down on meat, I’d amped up my bean and nut consumption and assumed it would give me all the protein I needed. It seemed I was wrong. I’d have to get back to the animal products.
I was chilled by his response to my query on fixing this problem without meds. Is that really where we are now? Where when there’s a medical problem, the pharmacy is the first place you go to fix it? But, that’s a rant for another day. I’d like to focus on another truth gleaned from this brief exchange: pregnancy cravings are real! My body wanted meat, and it seemed that was behind the inexplicable madness of the burrito adventure. Ah, such a relief to know I wasn’t going crazy.
*****
Though I now believe in the legitimacy of pregnancy cravings, I can’t, in good conscience, hold them responsible for all of the food-lust-related antics I got up to while pregnant. With a mixture of wistfulness and sheepishness, I still recall a work lunch from this particular period.
It was just a regular Monday morning at work, and I was doing all of my regular Monday morning things. I was only going through the motions, however. My mind was occupied with a problem, and while on the outside, I was making signs for the store, on the inside, I was wrestling my way through a mighty battle. This is the essence of the battle: The night before, Steve had grilled filet steaks and baked a couple of potatoes for dinner. Dinner was fabulous, and I’d brought my leftovers for lunch. But it was Monday! Monday was the day the chefs prepared the Cuban sandwiches for the lunch cart. This sandwich included several varieties of pork products, a few different cheeses, and pickles. I was hooked! I thought with longing about the Cuban sandwich, but, in the end, I decided to do the responsible thing. I was having a baby. I couldn’t allow expensive steak to go bad while I ordered a $5 sandwich that I didn’t need. It was wasteful. Though I believed I’d made the right decision, that knowledge didn’t bring contentment.
When I decided it was lunch time, (I was the one who usually decided this for the group. Even before becoming pregnant, lunch was the highlight of my workday. Since becoming pregnant, it took on the significance of near-religious ritual,) I began paging the other managers to inform them it was time to eat. After making the calls, I morosely took my food from the refrigerator and began microwaving it as I waited for the others.
This fateful Monday was Carl’s* (Carl is not his real name. He is a super nice guy, and my description of him was filtered through my food-lust…. this should make ME look bad, not him…. so for that reason, I changed his name) first day at our store. Carl had worked for the company for many years, quit, and returned. He was really talkative, and in an extremely exhausting way. He wasn’t content just to talk, he wanted feedback on each and every point he made. I learned this the hard way when I called him to give him his schedule for his first week. The call lasted about 45 minutes. Face-to-face conversations were more difficult. He maintained piercing eye contact throughout each exchange. It wasn’t possible to allow your mind to wander while talking to Carl. He made sure of that. If you lost focus for one second, he would rehash each and every comment. Better not to risk it. Still, he seemed like a nice guy, so every time I found myself feeling irritated with him, I mentally called myself down.
The real trouble began when Carl arrived in the office as I was removing my food from the microwave. He walked past me, all high energy, and asked where we ate. I pointed towards the boss’ office. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t trust myself. He’d bought one of the sandwiches! And I wanted it! With all that was in me, I wanted it! And he was casually talking away like nothing catastrophic was about to happen.
With trepidation, I joined him in my boss’ office and took a seat. As I would soon learn was his habit, he quickly launched into an intense business-related conversation. Talk. Make an expressive hand gesture. Stare soulfully into my eyes. Talk. Take a bite. Try to assess if I agreed with whatever he was saying. As far as I was concerned, he may have well have been saying ‘blah, blah, blah.’ I had no attention for his words. My focus was completely on his sandwich. Like in an old cartoon, the scent coming from the sandwich seemed almost visible…. I could almost see the smells wafting up towards my nose. And it was difficult, oh, so difficult, to carry on normally.
Without much appreciation I began stabbing at my expensive steak. I just couldn’t keep my eyes off Carl as he ate his sandwich…… bite. after. torturous. bite. I think I actually started to sweat. Suddenly my mind was flooded with scenes from Lord of the Rings… Bilbo, by chance catching a glimpse of the ring under Frodo’s shirt, his face suddenly transformed into a demonic mask as he lunged towards Frodo in an instinctual and unplanned attack…. Gollum and Frodo rolling around on the lip of Mount Doom, each trying to keep the ring away from the other, Gollum biting off Frodo’s finger as he tried to gain what his withered soul longed for… This sandwich was driving me mad! I was fantasizing myself into the role of a Tolkien character… and not even one of the beautiful elves, but a character tortured by the presence of The Precious and willing to attack or worse, to get it.
Alas, my quest went unfulfilled. I didn’t attack Carl and steal his sandwich, or, less dramatically, go buy one. I just waited it out, feeling the sadness. I feel it still. Before leaving my job the following year, I had several Cuban sandwiches, but I’ll always be sad that I never had that one. It was, indeed, the one that got away.
It’s not as simple as I would have believed to transition to a cruelty-free household. There are just so many companies and so many products that conduct animal testing…. things you’d never think about….such as garbage bags and ink pens. When I first resolved to stop supporting products tested on animals, then looked at the seemingly endless changes we would have to make, I quickly became overwhelmed. I’m going to begin sharing my journey with some practical tips I learned:
Buyer-Beware…. Do your homework before you buy…. (I’ve messed this up a few times.) There are some famous brands out there touted as ‘cruelty-free’ that are actually owned by larger non-cruelty free companies, such as Tom’s of Maine or Burt’s Bees, or Bare Minerals. There are a couple different schools of thought on this. Here is a quote from the popular beauty and fashion blog mybeautybunny.com:
“What about cruelty free brands owned by companies who DO test?
We believe that supporting animal-friendly companies goes a long way toward the eventual elimination of animal testing. If the parent companies see the successes of their brands who do not test, it’s a win. It’s also a win for the animal-friendly companies to get larger distribution in mass channels by being involved with huge companies. That’s our personal opinion here at My Beauty Bunny™ and we invite you to make up your own mind on the matter!” [1]
I’d never considered the issue from that standpoint, so I must confess that I am still in the process of following the above advice…. making up my own mind on the matter. Before looking at it from this angle, my personal stance was that these companies purchased the cruelty-free companies simply to supplement their sales from a source they’d otherwise be denied. I regarded this as trickery and avoided their products. Or they are tricky about their wording saying things such as ‘final product not tested on animals’ or ‘tested on people’ or ‘not tested on animals unless required by law’. This is code for ‘we test on animals to sell to other countries’. Obviously they are free to do as they please… it’s legal… but their stance differs from mine and I choose not to support them with my money…. A few examples are Aveda and Avon. (I still haven’t found an acceptable cruelty-free shampoo because I am still trying to get through the remainder of the Aveda I have on hand. See next section)
Don’t try to change everything at once.
This means don’t throw away unused products…. being kind to the animals and earth go hand-in-hand, and wanton wastefulness helps neither.
Focus on one product change at at a time and do your homework. I love reading product reviews written by other consumers…. Many times when you choose more natural products, especially in the health and beauty categories, they are not one-size-fits all. I found this to be especially true when it comes to deodorant. As I said in previous posts, I’m not a scientist, but I think most of us understand that we each possess unique body chemistries. I believe (and again this is just speculation, I don’t pretend to possess infallible knowledge here) that the reason mass-produced, chemically-laden deodorants work pretty much the same for everyone is that they overpower your body’s natural processes. Finding a natural deodorant that works well with your particular chemistry is a matter of trial-and-error. I found while reading so many natural deodorant reviews that most of the highly-rated reviews included the phrase “I tried so many other deodorants without success until I found this one….”
There are apps that can help make the processes easier…. The app ‘cruelty cutter’ which can be found for both iphone and android contains a barcode scanner that will tell you on the spot if the product you wish to buy is tested on animals. In the app there is also an option to send notice to the company that you chose not to support their product because of their stance on animal-testing. This app is 2.99, but there are free options as well such as ‘cruelty-free’.
Cruelty-free generally goes hand-in-hand with more natural and earth friendly options. Sometimes this makes items more costly and less-accessible if you are on a tight budget. If that describes you, that doesn’t mean there is nothing you can do…. you can still let companies know how you feel about their practices. With that being said, there are many budget-friendly options, and some areas where I’ve even saved money by making changes.
A word of caution about the DIY movement. There are recipes all over Pinterest for health and beauty products that you can make yourself, most touting savings and safety. I’ve tried many DIY options and here is some of what I learned (the hard way)
Be cautious about anything that suggests applying baking soda anywhere on your body. I’ve tried deodorant recipes that have set my armpits ablaze with rashes and left them feeling like sandpaper. There is also something called ‘no poo’ which suggests washing your hair with a solution of baking soda and water, and rinsing with apple cider vinegar and water. This seems to have a cult following, but left my scalp welty and rashy. (Not to mention the time I forgot to rinse out the apple cider vinegar and was left with a raised fire-breathing rash wherever my hair touched my skin.) Shortly after switching to a therapeutic shampoo to correct the problem I began seeing a new hair stylist. Embarrassed at the state of my scalp, I confessed what I’d done before she began working on me. With her experience she shared that she’d seen no good come from the ‘no poo’ crowd, and that she would refuse to color anyone’s hair who went that route because it made the results unpredictable.
I know people who have had great results making their own laundry detergent and such, but it wasn’t for me…. I didn’t like grating bar soap and Bernard-man-feet need something strong to get socks clean. Eventually I found a DIY deodorant recipe that worked for me, but decided against using it long term because the shelf life was VERY short. A new batch would work well for a couple of weeks before declining in effectiveness, and I simply didn’t want to make deodorant that often.
Essential oils are very popular right now but they must be handled with caution. They are not perfume. In many cases they are medicinal and need to be researched and treated as such. One of my more memorable DIY fails came from a homemade bug spray containing cinnamon essential oil…. again with the painful, red, raised welts!
While reading through my list of cautions you may have picked up on an important fact…. I have EXTREMELY sensitive skin. With that being said, if I found options that worked for me, I believe that anyone can. I think in a work like this I’m meant to include a disclaimer saying something like ‘this is meant for entertainment purposes only’, or ‘kids, don’t try this at home’. Only I hope that you do try this at home…. but I am merely sharing my own experiences not recommending anyone duplicate them exactly. You’re journey is your own responsibility. : ) Without further ado, here are some things I’ve found that worked for me:
Dr. Bronner’s
I LOVE Dr. Bronner’s products. Here are a few of the ways I’ve incorporated them in our home.
Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soaps
I use this one as foaming hand soap. Price varies widely depending on where you purchase the soap…. At Kroger the 32 oz. bottle sells for $9.99…..on the official website, the same bottle is $17.99, and you can find prices ranging anywhere between on sites such as Amazon. The only upside to purchasing somewhere other than Kroger is a larger selection of scents.
To make foaming hand soap, you need an empty foaming dispenser, such as this:
Measure 1 – 2 TBSP of the soap into the bottom of an empty dispenser, then SLOWLY fill the remaining space with warm water. It’s possible to replace 64 bottles of hand soap with one bottle of Dr Bronner’s. This morning as I write this, Bath and Body Works sells a container of foaming soap for $3…. 64 of those will end up costing you nearly $200 as opposed to $9.99; not to mention the reduction in plastic consumption.
For showering and shaving I prefer the Dr. Bronner’s Shikakai Tea Tree pump soap. The formula has more to offer in terms of moisturization, and I love the tea tree for my sensitive skin. If caught quickly I’ve been able to stifle welting bug bites simply by washing them with this soap.
Dr. Bronner’s makes tasty and moisturizing lip balms. They also produce lotion, but I’ve yet to try them.
There are up to 18 different uses for the Dr Bronner’s soaps, and some people use them for shampoo…. this did not work well for me. (My hair is an unusual hybrid of fine and curly, so shampoos are tricky.) They also market a conditioner, which worked fine, but I found it messy…. it’s concentrated and you are supposed to dilute it yourself and pour it over your head…. perhaps my natural clumsiness is to blame here, but my shower was left covered in mysterious dark brown splotches.
I respect what the Honest Company stands for and was excited to try their line. Though I found that some of their options are pricey with small sizes, and I personally don’t care for their bundling options….. with that being said, I have found some great products at (sometimes) competitive prices.
Laundry Detergent – This is my favorite item I’ve found from this company. At $12.99 for up to 70 HE loads, the value is not bad. My only criticism is that I wish they offered a larger bottle….we do a lot of laundry in this house and we run through detergent pretty quickly.
Oxy-Boost packs – A nice alternative for whitening and added stain-fighting if you want to avoid bleach.
Training pants – These are expensive…. to be honest, (ha ha…. OK, bad joke) their whole diapering and wipes line is expensive…. (they have a bundle where you can order ONE MONTH’S worth of diapers and wipes for $72!) However, Carter only needs training pants overnight, so the $13 for 19 pants is not so overwhelming.
Toothpaste – a bit pricey at $5.99…. but worth it (to me) for the safe formulation.
Hand sanitizer – Though more expensive than grocery store options, at $6.95 for an 8 oz. bottle, it’s not far out of line with what you would pay at a specialty store. I use the large bottle to fill smaller empty bottles that fit into my Bath and Body Works bottle carriers.
Sanitizer-holder collection.
Toilet paper / paper towels – though unavailable through the company’s official site, I found these at our local Target. They are created with recycled paper. This is the only recycled paper towel I’ve tried with the ‘select-a-size’ option, and I like that. The toilet paper is not as cushy as more traditional brands, but it gets the job done. There is actually a cost savings compared to the traditional brands with $6.99 for a 12 pack of double roll toilet paper and $7.99 for an 8 pack of paper towels.
I learned of this natural cleaning company through “Shark Tank”. While pitching his product, the developer sprayed the cleaning solution into his mouth. Though I’ve never done that (and don’t recommend that ANYONE do that) it gave me confidence to try their products. I like their dish detergent, which is called ‘Dish it out’ and their multi-purpose cleaner, called what-EVER!
Sunscreen – I like their ‘Very emollient sunscreen for kids’ for Carter, and their Hawaiian sunscreen for me. The children’s sunscreen contains mostly zinc and titanium dioxide, which is thick and white (and safer than traditional sunscreens.) I like the Hawaiian for adults as it does not turn you pasty white. Price varies widely, but is inline with traditional sunscreens.
Very emollient body lotion – I confess I was at first greatly excited by the large 32 oz. bottle. The value is good (I got this on sale for around $14) and the product works nicely.
Acne-dote facial care – The facial and body scrub plus the oil control lotion calmed my breakout-prone skin in a matter of days.
even advanced CC cream – I use this in place of foundation and like the smooth and creamy finish.
This is the natural deodorant I found that FINALLY worked for me. However, there are some ‘cons’, and I’m going to get those out of the way first: It took a while to get used to…. there is the ‘bad-1980’s-romance novel-cover’ style photo on the label which seems to indicate that seductively applying deodorant to another person is cool, (in my opinion, it’s NEVER cool); then there is the fact that you have to wet it, and finally… it has no scent. (Not because it’s needed, but for my personal sensibilities, I also spritz a small amount of natural spray as well…. this is just because I’m used to having a product with scent, and I found that I missed it.) I need to stress that this is a deodorant, not an antiperspirant. You will sweat if you use this product. After some internal debate, I decided I was OK with that. We were created to sweat… it’s healthy. I saw just how bad it could be a few weeks ago when I went for a 4 mile walk in 85 degree heat. When I arrived home and raised my arms to show my husband…. let’s just say it wasn’t desire I saw shining in his eyes…. but to be fair… how often do you get that hot and deliberately show someone your armpits?
OK, now for the ‘pros’. This is a natural and healthy product. There’s a lot of debate over whether or not our modern antiperspirants cause breast cancer, and the truth is, I just don’t know. As I said in the ‘cons’ section, I know we were created to sweat, and I’m not sure how stifling that natural process affects the body. What I do know that that there is a lot of money riding on the public continuing the believe their antiperspirant is safe… and there would be massive blowback if proof was presented that clearly showed otherwise. So once again I will state… I just don’t know. I have to admit that it raised questions in my mind when I purchased this deodorant and found a seal stating that it was endorsed by The Cancer Treatment Centers…. It just made me wonder why they would feel the need to endorse a deodorant. Another pro is that this truly works. Even on the hottest and sweatiest days I can go for 24 hours without getting stinky. And finally, there is the price. I purchased a stick at Meijer for $3.99 which is advertised to last for an entire year! I’ve been using the same stick for 5 months now and have barely used a fraction of the container, so I’m guessing it will actually last longer than that.
One of the toughest things for me to give up was my Venus razor…. but it had to be done. I am so, so clumsy, and before Venus I nicked myself incessantly. Venus put a stop to that. In terms of safety, switching to Preserve was a step backwards for me. I had to SLOW DOWN. I find it cool that the handles are made from recycled yogurt containers, and must admit that the product does an overall nice job. The blades are much cheaper than the Venus at $8.50 for a four pack as opposed to nearly $20 for the same amount of the Venus.
Method offers a large variety of products, but I’ve tried only a small amount. They are my favorite for dishwasher detergent packs; outperforming the other cruelty-free, earth-conscious brands.
For our family, there are still changes to come. Conscious-consumerism takes some effort… but for me, it’ worth the effort. During my years working in retail I gleaned an important truth… people can complain about nearly anything but in the end, you ‘vote’ with your money. A company may listen to the concerns of their customers, but they become important to them when their bottom-lines end up taking a hit. Let’s use our ‘votes’ to inspire positive change.
“Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping things that creeps on the earth.”
Genesis 1:26 ESV
“Good people are good to their animals; the ‘good hearted’ bad people kick and abuse them.”
Proverbs 12:10 MSG
******
Sometimes when you are a writer, there comes a day when you pour yourself into a writing project; and when you are finished, you read through it hoping that the passion you feel comes across in the words you’ve crafted…. but you have to be honest with yourself…. what you’ve just put hours into creating is just utter crap. That is where this story is born…. in the ashes of one that came before it (but one you will never see). The problem is that I tried to articulate way too much in one small space, and what I was saying was heavy on emotion and light on facts. I am a person who feels things deeply, but I don’t believe everything I’m told. When I hear something or read something across my Facebook newsfeed that tugs at my heartstrings, my first thought is, “Is this actually true?” Then I find out. Though I’d read and cross-checked facts and knew what I’d written to be true, I’d not put any of the concrete information into the text, and the result was the exact type of sappy-sentiment that I find easy to doubt when I read it elsewhere….and since this is important to me, I knew I had to do something about it. I had to go “old-school-research-paper” style. I haven’t bothered with sources and footnotes in over a decade now, so it’s sort of a novelty.
*****
I love animals….. I always have. As I write this, my beagle Ichabod is 11, and he’s been my constant companion and best friend since he was six weeks old. One day while he was still a teeny-tiny pup, I recall jabbering on about him to a co-worker; I couldn’t help myself…. to me, everything he did was sheer puppy-magic. I’m sure my co-worker meant well and all, (or perhaps he was trying to shut me up,) but as I gushed about my sweet baby beagle, he sort of flatlined the conversation by saying, “You know they primarily use beagles in lab testing, right? It’s sad.”
I made some sort of “Oh, no, I didn’t know that” type of response, and changed the subject. I didn’t want to think about it. That was the way I handled the unpleasant side of life while in my twenties…. if it felt as though the problem was too big, or that it would be impossible for me to make any sort of impact… I chose not to think about it. Though I made a conscious effort to learn as little about it as possible about animal testing, deep down, I never forgot what that guy said to me that day.
The years passed. I grew up. I changed. I began to see that ignoring things I believed to be wrong simply because they made me sad, or I couldn’t envision making an impact was both childish and selfish….not to mention soul-crushing. This inner-shift in me coincided with the dawn of the age of Facebook, and suddenly, the cold hard realities of life became harder to ignore. (If you’ve ever had your day ruined because you were innocently scrolling through your phone when, without warning, you find yourself looking at a photo of someone strangling a Pitbull or electrocuting puppies to make coats, you know what I mean.) It was inevitable that it would happen. One day as I scrolled I came across a suggested post for an organization called “The Beagle Freedom Project”. As I gazed at the photo of a hound dog, (not so different from my old hound dog snoring on the couch) next to the words, “I shouldn’t have to die for your laundry detergent”, I realized the age of denial had come to an end. It was time to learn what this was all about….. and what I could do about it.
Because I feel things so deeply, and have a soft spot for animals, researching this topic was extremely difficult. I began by looking into the suggested post organization, “The Beagle Freedom Project.” Though I quickly became overwhelmed by the plight of the lab animals, I gained an immense respect for the work done by the rescue; they were everywhere trying to make lasting changes… introducing legislation, educating the public, asking for the release of animals once companies are done testing on them (usually they are killed), and placing the rescues with fosters before finding forever homes for them, as well as promoting cruelty-free products.
After reading the facts, and considering my own pampered hound dogs, I couldn’t justify my mindless consumerism… How could I love and protect these dogs while thoughtlessly supporting companies that kept similar animals caged up; subjecting them to torturous experiments, clipping their vocal cords if they found their cries annoying, denying them fresh air, love, or even the dignity of a name (their ears are tattooed with numbers)…. all for the sake of making money.
Here some of you are probably thinking, “It’s not just about making money…. these experiments keep us safe.” But are they really? Would it surprise you to know that 106,000 people die every year from drugs tested safe on animals? [1]
I don’t pretend to be a scientist….but I like to believe that I have some common sense. As I was researching this project, one evening I felt sickened while looking at a photograph of a lab monkey…. the poor creature had the top of his skull removed and had wires attached to what was left. I decided I’d seen enough for one evening and went to talk to Steve. With that thought still fresh in my mind I said, “I don’t know how people can do that. How they can be so barbaric to animals…. then simply go home and go about their lives.”
“I guess it takes all kinds,” he began. Until he went on, I didn’t understand that he was disagreeing with me. “I guess they figure for all the good they do that it’s worth it.”
Unsure what good could come from a monkey with part of it’s head removed, but not wanting to be closed-minded, I invited him to go on. But he didn’t really have a point…. just assuming that since it was a common practice that there must be a good reason he said, “They do learn stuff that helps us.”
“So you believe that what is safe for them is safe for us?” I asked.
“Yeah, there must be a reason they do it.”
“OK,” I began. “We’ve seen what Ichabod gets up to in the backyard…. so I’m assuming that it is safe for a beagle to eat dog poop. From what you are saying, that means you believe it must be safe for us as well…. would you like to do a little ‘human testing’ on that theory?”
This was a low blow, and I knew it. Steve has a vivid imagination and a sensitive gag reflex. He stared at me, betrayal shining in his eyes and said, “On taco night? How could you?” But I’d made my point. I include this story not to make my husband sound bad… or to make myself sound like a know-it-all, (though to be honest, I believe I would have been fabulous if I’d done debate team in high school) but I mention it in order to clarify something: Steve is a smart guy…. but when we don’t use our intelligence to investigate troubling realities…. those realities remain troubling… and unchanged.
I think my admission to my dog poop argument confirms what I said earlier…. I’m not a scientist. But I can read (and sort of understand) science written by those much smarter than me. When I began delving into this world, I was mostly concerned with the consumer-products side of animal testing. I was surprised to learn that even in relation to medical research, animal testing is largely antiquated and irrelevant. Here are a few credible arguments I’ve found against the necessity of animal testing:
“While the public supports the idea of animal testing because they believe it necessary to find cures for human diseases, about two thirds or higher of all animal research has little or nothing to do with curing human diseases or advancing human medicine. The majority of animal testing is done on cosmetics and household cleaners for the purpose of protecting corporations from liability.
Even research that purports to advance human treatment of diseases has been shown to be irrelevant to human health. Animals behave differently than humans, so much of the results end up being inaccurate, inconclusive, or unreliable. The Food & Drug Administration recently reported that of all the drugs that tested safe and effective in animal testing, 92 percent are found to be either unsafe or ineffective in humans.” [2]
“The public often consider it [self-evident] that animal research has contributed to the treatment of human disease, yet little evidence is available to support this view… Despite the lack of systematic evidence for its effectiveness, basic animal research in the United Kingdom receives much more funding than clinical research.” [3]
As I’ve said, I am an emotional person, and now that I’ve presented some hard facts, I’m going to hit the ‘heart’ side of animal testing. I was especially moved by Barney’s story found on the Beagle Freedom Project’s website:
I’m sad to say that Barney didn’t make it. After a lifetime of being used and discarded by people, he made it to his forever home; a home filled with love…. but sadly, the ‘forever’ didn’t last very long.
Looking into animal testing has raised so many questions for me concerning our ‘legitimate’ economy. I’ve come to question everything from the food we eat, to the clothes we wear and even the toys my son plays with…. but those are stories for another day. I will add, however, that I’ve come to the conclusion that we ‘look the other way’ a lot when it comes to morals and money, but at what ultimate cost?
I’ve had well-meaning Christians tell me to my face that they didn’t think this animal stuff was all that important…. that there were other things to be more concerned about. In a way they are right… there are many things wrong in our society, and it’s not just limited to the way we exploit animals. But I disagree in that I DO believe that God cares about the plight of these animals. He’s made it clear through His word that we people are responsible for the animals he so lovingly created, and we are meant to treat them with kindness. Further, He’s put it on my heart to speak up for them, and to live what I believe. (Next I plan to write about my journey towards cruelty-free living. Our household is not totally cruelty-free yet, but we are in process. I would like to throw special shout outs here to my husband Steve, for converting without complaint to recycled toilet paper, and my sister Amanda who was with me on two separate hot and sweaty days when my cruelty-free deodorant failed me completely.)
The way we treat animals matters. As I come to the close (for now) I ask that you watch this video. As you watch this, ask yourself…. “Is there anything that I buy…. make-up, cleaning products… anything that is worth this price?”
If you answered “Yes,” then I have another question. Do you honestly believe that a company who is willing to do this in order to make money is all that concerned with your health and safety, and that of your family?
“…many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.”
-J.K. Rowling
When Rowling spoke of imagining our way into….. and therefore sympathizing with…..the suffering of others, she was speaking of human suffering…. but her words are quite apt here as well. Whatever we may turn out to be…. let’s not be as those she so wisely warns us about.
Pandora Pound, Shah Ebrahim, Peter Sandercock, Michael B Bracken, Ian Roberts; “Where is the evidence that animal research benefits humans?” British Medical Journal, 2004; 328:514-517, http://www.bmj.com/content/328/7438/514
“Later God’s angel spoke to Phillip: “At noon today I want you to walk over to that desolate road that goes from Jerusalem down to Gaza.” He got up and went. He met an Ethiopian eunuch coming down the road. The eunuch had been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and was returning to Ethiopia, where he was minister in charge of all the finances of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians. He was riding in a chariot and reading the prophet Isaiah.
“The Spirit told Phillip, “Climb into the chariot.” Running up alongside, Philip heard the eunuch reading Isaiah and asked, ‘Do you understand what you’re reading?’
“He answered, ‘How can I without some help?’ and invited Philip into the chariot with him. The passage he was reading was this:
As a sheep led to slaughter,
And quiet as a lamb being sheared,
He was silent, saying nothing.
He was mocked and put down, never got a fair trial.
But who now can count his kin
Since he’s been taken from the earth?
The eunuch said, ‘Tell me, who is the prophet talking about: himself or some other?’ Phillip grabbed his chance. Using this passage as his text, he preached Jesus to him.
As they continued down the road, they came to a stream of water. The eunuch said, ‘Here’s water. Why can’t I be baptized?’ He ordered the chariot to stop. They both went down to the water, and Philip baptized him on the spot. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of God suddenly took Philip off, and that was the last the eunuch saw of him. But he didn’t mind. He had what he’d come for and went down the road as happy as he could be.
Philip showed up in Azotus and continued north, preaching the Message in all the villages along that route until he arrived at Caesarea. “
Acts 8: 26-40 MSG
*****
There’s no easy way to tell this story. It’s long and complicated. I know there’s a story here, and yet I’ve spent years asking myself: ‘What would be the best way for all of this to make sense?’ This single story is the most complicated example of what I do: I look for God’s story in threads of details. This one has threads coming from all directions, and anytime I tried to record it, it seemed confusing, even to me… a person who lived a portion of this story. It has many elements that seem totally unrelated until the end. That is life. God doesn’t always work out our life stories in a linear pattern, and why would we want Him to? What’s interesting about that?
Towards the end of 2012 I was having my devotional time one morning; the subject of which is the opening scripture. This story has always stood out to me, though I could never quite put my finger on why. On this particular morning, my attention was caught on the fact that Philip was led to a place by the Holy Spirit, and he literally ran to comply. This convicted me of an issue in my own life. I am fortunate in that I feel the Holy Spirit leading me, but it’s not always crystal clear, and unlike Philip, I can’t say I’d ever ran to obey. When I began to think over the implications, I became alarmed. Why wouldn’t I run? Who was I to shuffle along when God makes known his wishes? I reflected on how I feel when I pray and believe that God is slow in answering. It doesn’t feel good. Why did I believe it felt any better to God?
*****
One evening during May 2013 I was browsing my Facebook newsfeed before putting Carter to bed. I came across a post from a Kay, a former co-worker (not her real name) that grabbed my attention. This is copied directly from the original post:
“Can somebody please read Isaiah chapter 11:1-10 and explain this to me? The questions is: How are the Branch of 11:1 and the Root of 11:10 related? AND In what way is the fulfillment of the messianic prophecy equally paradoxical? I’m having a difficult time with this question. Thanks.”
Something stirred within me, and I knew I had to respond. I replied explaining that I was getting ready to put Carter down for the night, but when I had some time later I would try to help. As I settled Carter for the evening, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about her request that got my blood humming. Then it hit me…. Her seeking words reminded me of the pleading tone of the Ethiopian, this scripture that kept popping up in my life.
With Carter to sleep I headed straight downstairs, grabbed my Bible and turned to the reference she’d indicated. After spending a few moments with the words, I sent her the following response:
“Ok.. Here’s the way my Bible translates it. I’ll also share my Bible’s commentary on the scripture, plus a hint of my opinion:
“’A green shoot will sprout from Jesse’s stump, from his roots a budding branch. (This is Jesus. Jesse was the father of David… David is included in Jesus’ family tree) The life-giving spirit of God will hover over him, the spirit that brings wisdom and understanding, the spirit that gives direction and builds strength, the spirit that instills knowledge and fear of God. Fear of God will be all his joy and delight. He won’t judge by appearances, won’t decide on the basis of hearsay. He’ll judge the needy by what is right, render decisions on the earth’s poor with justice. His words will bring everyone to awed attention, A mere breath from his lips will topple the wicked. Each morning he’ll pull on sturdy work clothes and boots, and build righteousness and faithfulness in the land. The wolf will romp with the lamb, the leopard sleep with the kid. Calf and lion will eat from the same trough, and a little child will tend them. Cow and bear will graze the same pasture, their calves and cubs grow up together, and the lion eat straw like an ox. The nursing child will crawl over rattlesnake dens, the toddler stick his hand down the hole of a serpent. Neither animal nor human will hurt or kill on my holy mountain. The whole earth will be brimming with knowing God-Alive, a living knowledge of God, ocean-deep, ocean wide. On that day, Jesse’s root will be raised high, posted as a rallying banner for the peoples. The nations will all come to him. His headquarters will be glorious. Also on that day, the master for the second time will reach out and bring back what’s left of his scattered people. He’ll bring them back from Assyria, Egypt, Pathros, Ethiopia, Elaam, Sinar, Hamath, and the ocean islands.’
“(Commentary: ‘ Isaiah came up with a surprising metaphor in chapter 11 – a stump. Imagine a flourishing tree, tall, leafy, and shade producing. Then imagine a dead stump, barren, ugly, and useless. We look at the stump, and all we can think of is what a magnificent tree it once was. What a loss, we think. And while we’re looking at the stump, a green shoot grows out of it. Then the shoot grows into a branch. There’s life in that root system still; and it’s God’s life. Foliage begins to develop. God’s spirit is making its appearance in the growth. Isaiah described the new growth that comes out of the experience of judgment: “wisdom and understanding, direction and strength, knowledge and fear of God”. He was describing what every person of faith experiences. God clears away the dead wood in our lives, the consequences of sin, so that we can take ourselves seriously again, take him seriously again, and flourish.)
“Here’s my own 2 cents on the paradox. This may or may not answer your question… perhaps I don’t understand your perspective… but I think this is regarded as a paradoxical fulfillment of the prophecy because when you look at the earthly life of Jesus, there is no denying that he fulfilled the prophecy. Though verses 8 – 11 will not be fulfilled until He comes back, those of us who follow him have no doubt he will fulfill the rest of the prophecy in due time. Before Jesus was born, this is not what the Jews expected. They thought their Messiah would arrive on Earth with great fanfare… crush their enemies and set up the heavenly kingdom on Earth immediately. They did not separate the prophecy to be fulfilled at different times, and since Jesus did not do those last things while he was on Earth, they did not believe him to be the Messiah. Does any of that address what you wanted to discuss?”
Kay responded with,“ Nicole! Yes! That is it! I have spent most of the day trying to wrap my head around this and your explanation did it. Thank you for taking the time to do this for me. We are reading through Isaiah (my husband, myself and a friend of ours) and breaking it down into chunks while we study it. I would love to share this explanation with them as long as you don’t mind. Thank you so much.
I assured her I didn’t mind at all.
*****
For days I stewed over this conversation. I could see this simple request for an explanation of scripture as part of a larger story that God had been building for some time. I felt the tug to share the context with Kay, but wondered if, when all the pieces were placed together, she wouldn’t see the connection, and would think I was nuts. Nearly a week later, I decided to go for it. I shared with her some of what happened in my life leading up to the evening she made her request:
“Kay, I have a long story to tell you. It isn’t all going to make sense… it doesn’t all make sense to me… but there are threads that tie together all that I’m about to tell you. There are going to be a lot of seemingly random facts coming at you, and as I said… when I’m done, it won’t all make sense, but I think you’ll be able to see where it all ties together…..
“Every morning I read my Bible and copy and pray through scripture in a prayer journal. One morning last December, one of the passages I was studying struck me very powerfully; the story of Phillip and the Ethiopian Eunuch, which is found in the 8th chapter of Acts. If you aren’t familiar with the passage, I think you would find it interesting. I was convicted by the portion that describes Phillip’s interaction with the Holy Spirit. It says that the Spirit told him to do something and he RAN. When I looked at my own life, I am fortunate to say that I’ve felt the Holy Spirit’s promptings many times, but if I’m being honest, I don’t RUN to follow. I take my sweet time; or say ‘no’ by ignoring it. I’ve carried this in the back of my mind for months, trying to be different, but with limited success.
“For years I’ve felt powerful pangs that I was meant to be writing. I always shoved it away because I didn’t know what to write, and what I should do with the work it if I did. Last Autumn I wrote a short story about my pregnancy and Carter’s birth. I submitted it to a magazine, and never received a response of any kind. I’d sent the story to several people I knew; people from church, and some friends and family. From those I knew, at least, I received a very warm response.
“This year, late winter / early spring, I decided to start a blog. I put the word out there to people I know, again, mainly people from church, but no one was able to find it. A sparse handful of strangers have found it and read it, but people I actually know can’t find it. I began e-mailing the entries to people that indicated interest in my writing. It’s been a bittersweet experience. First and foremost, I feel it’s what I’m led to do, so that is a good thing. But when I tell my story, and it’s all true… there’s no denying the fact that I just don’t come off very well. All of my ugly, vulnerable places are laid bare for everyone to read. There are things that could make me seem nuts, there are supernatural things that I can’t explain, but it’s all true. It’s been hard but good. People have opened up to me about the messiness in their lives because I’ve put my messiness out there. I believe that’s how we help each other heal.
“About a month ago I was shopping in a store where I used to work, and I was talking to a former co-worker who’d remained my friend. Last year when I sent out the story about Carter, I sent it to this lady and her husband. As I was preparing to leave, she mentioned how she’d recently gotten my story out and read through it again, and how much she’d enjoyed it. Without thinking I blurted that I’d been writing some new stuff and that I would send it to them as well if she would like. She said she would enjoy reading it.
“Driving home, I considered the ramifications of sending them my writing, and I got a little shy. I love this couple, and believe they are beautiful and loving people, but they appear turned off by the discussion of anything spiritual. There was no denying that they would probably find my material off-putting. Even so, I sent them my first entry, which is not very spiritual, but mainly discusses how my current journey began nearly 6 years ago.
“After receiving my first entry, they both responded… very positive comments, ‘can’t wait to hear what happened next’, etc. So, knowing what the next entry is when things get sticky, I sent it. Then I heard nothing. Days stretched and stretched. One Sunday morning I was sitting in church, talking this over with a friend. Her advice was to keep sending stuff unless they asked me to stop. She pointed out that whether or not they responded, God could my story to speak to them.
“We finished our conversation just as the offering collection ended and our assistant pastor took the stage and began preaching. Glancing at my bulletin, I was intrigued to see that he was preaching on Philip and the Ethiopian. Very early in the sermon, he said something that sounded as though he was adding his response to the conversation I had right before he came to the stage. He said ‘God cares more about expanding his kingdom than he does about our comfort. Sometimes he leads us to do things that make us uncomfortable to reach people who otherwise wouldn’t be reached.’
“I went home and sent the next entry. A few days later, I got an e-mail from the husband. He said that he was nearly speechless; that he could never imagine sharing such personal information, and he felt it was very brave. I never heard back from his wife. I’ve sent them more entries, but I’ve never heard anything back from either of them.
“I was thinking about all of this one day and my conscious prompted me to send this story to the assistant pastor. He’s a young guy, and his insights are wonderful, but he seems to struggle with understanding how much his words affect people. My immediate response was to avoid sharing this with him. I didn’t want to have to talk to him about it… I can’t explain why, I’m just awkward sometimes. Then, again, my conscious prompted me: “What was he preaching on the morning that this happened?” He was preaching about Phillip and the Ethiopian. There was my answer…. I should send it to him, and do it right away, not when I felt like it. So with great reluctance, that’s what I did.
“Unlike my friends who’d left me hanging, I heard back from him right away, and the following Sunday, he tracked me down to talk about it. For me at least, it was a pretty awkward moment. He approached me as I was picking Carter up from class, and he was trying to explain a diagram to me from something he’d drawn on a piece of paper, all the while I was struggling with my 18 month-old climbing all over me. I tried to listen, but really couldn’t. I accepted the drawing he gave me, telling myself that I would take it home and look at it when I had Carter settled down, and then it would all make sense. (The only problem was that when that moment came when I could take my time looking at it, without his verbal explanation, it made no sense. Nevertheless I kept it in my Bible and two years later he preached a series on the concept, and finally I understood what it all meant. I suppose that if I weren’t such an awkward person I could have just asked him to explain it again at some point over the last two years… but life is tough when you’re awkward.)
The enigmatic diagram… Now that I actually understand this, it’s a really cool tool that takes some of the stress out of sharing your faith. (I can actually explain this now if anyone is interested.)
“Now I need to change gears for a bit and explain something else. The connection may not be clear for a while…. but please bear with me.
“The year after my husband and I got married, we bought two evergreen trees and planted them in our backyard. Last summer was very hot and dry, one of the trees turned mostly brown. There’s a Christmas tree farm near our house, and I’d noticed many brown trees in their fields, and they hadn’t cut them down. I figured that a tree farm would know more than me, and if there was no hope for those trees, I guessed they would cut them down and use the space to grow new trees. But they didn’t, and whenever Steve and I discussed our brown tree, I emphasized that point.
“The following winter was very wet and I would gaze at the trees in the backyard, imagining all that snow sinking down to the thirsty roots and revitalizing our tree. (I’m not a great gardener. I’m not sure if this is really how it works, but in my mind at least, this was what should be happening.) That’s not what happened. Winter turned into spring; and while the tree on the left was growing considerably, it was obvious that the tree on the right was stunted.
“As June approached, one night right after my talk with the assistant pastor, I was outside with Carter and Steve when I had a flash of insight. ‘We need to cut out all of the brown places. I don’t’ think it will start to grow until we get rid of what is already dead…. What’s brown won’t magically become green.’ Nodding his agreement, Steve grabbed a saw and went right to work.
The day after trimming the tree. (A storm blew all of the branches back from the wheel barrow.)
“Kay, the very next night was when you put the request on FB about that passage in Isaiah. As soon as I read it, it struck a chord with me. The way you phrased it reminded me so much of the way the Ethiopian spoke to Phillip. This scripture kept popping up all around me! I felt it must mean something. (And Phillip and the Ethiopian were also discussing Isaiah!) When I looked up the scripture, I was bowled over! There was the tree metaphor, and the commentary discussing cutting out dead places… the day after we cut the dead places out of our tree! And this happened right after we’d left our tree to sit there lifeless for nearly a year!
“When God is speaks, I don’t believe there are coincidences. There’s something here that I… maybe all of us… are meant to learn. Like I said… it seems like a bunch of random facts, but they all have enough in common to fit together. Does this make sense, or does it seem totally out there?”
Her response was quick considering how much she’d had to read. “Yes it makes sense and thank you for sharing this with me. It was strange that I couldn’t move on from that passage without making sure I understood it. It stayed with me the entire day and I really couldn’t think about anything else. After your explanation I had such a sense of calm and peace as well as excitement. I agree there are no coincidences when God speaks to us. I agree with what you said. The tree perhaps symbolizes a situation in my life as well and I would love to share it with you. WOW! Nicole – thank you for sharing this with me. “
“I’m glad to hear that you feel a connection to what happened as well. God is clearly at work here!” I responded.
After a short wait, Kay began sharing her story with me. We’d never been close friends, just friendly co-workers, so this story was news to me. I’m going to tell the story from Kay’s perspective… but blur out much of the personal details while preserving the spirit of her journey. Also, all of these names have been changed to preserve the privacy of her family.
“When I was born, my biological mother gave me up for adoption and I spent the first three months of my life in a foster home. At three months old, I was adopted by my parents, and was raised as an only child in a good home.
“When I was 9 years old we lived out in the country, and winters were usually snowy. On a snow day home from school, my mom was with me and my dad was at work. Out of the blue my mom mentioned that she wasn’t feeling well and said she was going to go lay down for a bit. I took advantage of this time on my own to bring my kitten, Pebbles, up from where my parents insisted she stay in the basement. Not understanding a cat’s abilities, I built a barrier out of an upturned chair to keep her confined to the kitchen. It didn’t take her long to jump the barrier and head towards my parents’ bedroom, (and waterbed.) Not wanting Pebbles to destroy anything, and also wanting to avoid getting trouble, I ran after her.
“By the time I caught up to my cat, she was already on the waterbed next to my mom. But something was wrong. Mom’s eyes were closed, but her whole body was shaking and she was foaming at the mouth! At first I just stared at her, then I screamed every cuss word I had ever heard just so she would sit up and say “you’re grounded!” But she didn’t snap out of it; only continued shaking violently.
“Back then there was no 911, and our neighbors weren’t close. There was an old phone next to her on the bedside table, but in my panic, I ran out to the kitchen to call for help. I didn’t know any phone numbers for our neighbors but somehow dialed the closest ones. I have always said GOD dialed that phone for me because I didn’t know their number. They called for an ambulance, and the EMTs arrived and took my mom away.
“Long story short, my mom was in a coma for a while. I can’t tell you just how long because after they took her away I lost a lot of my memories. However, I can tell you that she had a major stroke and multiple seizures. The doctors told my dad she was brain dead, and she was kept alive on machines until he decided what to do.
“Eventually mom was transferred from the local hospital to the Christ Hospital in Cincinnati. At the time there was a new procedure, and the doctors explained this was her only chance. They suggested running a tube from her groin all the way up to her brain. They prepared my dad that it was doubtful she would survive this procedure. Seeing no other option, my dad gave the OK to proceed. On the morning she was supposed to have this surgery, literally right before they were coming to get her, SHE WOKE UP! Needless to say, they did not do the surgery.
“Mom was in the hospital for a very long time. The stroke had done so much damage. She had to learn how to walk, talk and basically, learn how to live. She was very much like a child, and so, our roles became reversed. By the age of ten I was caring for my mom and trying to teach her things. I became a very bitter and angry child.
“My dad couldn’t handle how different she was. This caused their marriage to deteriorate and within five years they were divorced. Though eventually my mom was able to regain much of her former abilities, she suffered some permanent damage from the stroke.
“I have what is called amnesia from trauma. I can remember everything leading up to the day I found my mom but I can’t remember much after they took her to the hospital and I can’t remember what my mom was like before the stroke. : ( I have tried all sorts of things to remember but without success. I have looked at old pictures and they seem familiar, but probably because I have looked at them so many times.
“Growing up, I’d always known that I was adopted. As a child, I prayed for a sister or brother because I very much wanted a sibling. One day when I was about 12 years old my mom introduced me to a much older girl named Cheryl, who I would later learn was my half-sister. Cheryl was a product of a high school romance between our father and her mother, and at the time, my father had not been told of her existence. It was not until Cheryl was grown and happened upon one of my dad’s relatives by chance; a relative who remarked on the resemblance and gave Cheryl a name. When she confronted her mother, she learned that she was, in fact, this man’s daughter!
“After a few years, Cheryl decided to look for her father, and she found him. The resemblance between the two is uncanny.
“As I got older I started spending a lot of time with Cheryl. She was always very bitter towards my dad specifically, and his family in general. I always worried that she resented me because I was adopted by her dad and she was not raised by him. I’ve always had a hard time with rejection and this has resulted in some social awkwardness. At one point I told Cheryl I would understand if she hated me, but she always claimed that she didn’t and that she was happy to have me in her life. However, she was always putting my dad down and saying really hateful things about him, my grandma and the rest of the family. After years of listening to this and worrying that, secretly, she harbored these feelings toward me, I decided I was going to take her at her word, and trust that she really loved me. I craved her acceptance so badly, that even though it caused me great pain every time she spoke negatively about my dad, I tried to ignore it. By the time I reached my mid-twenties, however, I couldn’t take it anymore, and asked her to stop.
“I was angry at the world because my mom had gotten sick, and angry that my parents had divorced. When you add that to my natural insecurities and need for acceptance, it’s probably not a surprise to learn that I made a lot of very bad decisions. My quest for acceptance left me pregnant at a young age. My daughter’s father and I did not stay together and so I raised her on my own with the help of my mom (in whatever way she was able to). My dad was disappointed with me for having a child so young. I dropped out of high school, though I later got my GED. I don’t really share that with too many people because I am not proud of it. There are a lot of things in my past I am not proud of BUT I have come to terms with it and learned that I did the best I could do with the tools I had at the time.
“After obtaining my GED, I went on to college, but never finished my degree in nursing. I became pregnant once again, this time by the man I was living with. Can you see I was living in the depths of the mud? I never fell into drugs or alcohol, I just made some really bad decisions and put myself in the bad positions because I just wanted acceptance and I was so lost at that time in my life.
“Around the time my second child, a son this time, was 7 or 8 months old, I met my future husband. Randall was a friend of one of my cousins and when we met, I believed he was too good for me. At the time he was nearing completion of an undergraduate degree, with plans to move into the Masters program. What could he possibly want with me? I was a high school dropout, with two kids… a lost girl struggling with life.
“Randall didn’t seem to mind that I had children and so we began dating, though we lived a couple states apart. We took turns traveling on the weekends to see each other and we were married a year later.
“During this time, Cheryl was in and out of my life. We would be close for a while, and then she would disappear with no warning. Her behavior fed my insecurity. I have always feared losing her. For years I would talk to my husband about my fears but I would continue to allow her to step in and out of my life as she chose. When she was around, I laid everything out for her. I hid nothing from her – she was my older sister so I kept trying to convince myself that she must really love me.
“For the most part, when Cheryl was around, she respected my wishes and did not talk badly about my father. She even started spending time with him. Before I knew it, we were spending every holiday as a family – my husband, our children, my mom, my dad, Cheryl, and when she was married,(she was married numerous times) her husband. I believed we were growing closer. If I needed something, I knew I could count on her, and vice versa. We even had family pictures taken together with my dad.
“Last year my husband’s company decided to cut nursing staff, and he lost his job. I was staying home to care for our son as well as our girls, so when we lost our only income, you can imagine the financial stress we were under.
“Shortly after Randall lost his job, my mom fell sick and it became apparent that she could not safely live by herself. She was 64. So while she was in the hospital Randall and I decided we would move her in with us and take care of her. She moved in last June. Our hopes would become temporarily raised when she would seem to be recovering, only to be dashed when she would, once again, fall ill. This happened many times. Seeing no real chance for recovery, in October, her doctor suggested Hospice, and they came in to help care for her. She passed away at home with us that November at the age of 65.
“During the time Mom was here with us I started having memories… memories from my childhood. After years of being blocked, I was finally able to remember what she was like before her stroke. What a blessing this was for me! I had wanted to remember so badly, and for some reason, I was getting my memories back! This began about a month before she passed away. In remembering, I began healing. It meant the world to me to remember my mom before her stroke.
“The day my mom died, my dad and sister came to my house. Cheryl helped me bury my mom. I saw her a month later for Christmas, and that was the last I saw from her. Until two weeks ago. During the time between Christmas and now, I’d felt really hurt that she’d never called me or came by to help ease my grieving. I told myself I was being selfish. I’d been praying and journaling. My relationship with God was growing, and I really wanted some guidance from him regarding the future of my relationship with Cheryl.
“Cheryl’s son had just finished boot camp and she was throwing a party to celebrate. She invited my family, including my oldest daughter’s boyfriend, Phil, though he’d never met Cheryl or her husband.
“When we arrived at the party, I saw my dad, and went to kiss him ‘hello’. Then I approached my brother-in-law, and attempted to give him a hug. Instead of accepting my embrace, he literally got about two inches from my face and started yelling at me. In front of everyone! He was angry that we brought Phil, though I assured him that he’d been expressly included on the invitation. Shocked and humiliated, I turned away to find my sister.
“In the meantime, Phil tried to introduce himself, and shake hands with my brother-in-law, only to be rejected. He wouldn’t even speak to Phil; only cast dirty looks in his direction. My youngest daughter tried to give him a hug and he pushed her away.
“Bewildered, I walked down the hall in search of Cheryl, but her husband found her first. As I rounded the corner I realized they were talking about me! I was so embarrassed, Nicole, I just wanted to cry.
“My husband and dad and all of the party guests witnessed this rudeness. My husband confronted our brother-in-law and demanded an apology. Instead of apologizing, he got in Randall’s face and yelled at him as well. My husband came to me and said we should leave. I refused. I maintained that we were there to support my nephew – and I was sure that at any moment, Cheryl would step in and make everything right.
“She didn’t. The next moment, in addition to my husband, my dad was also demanding that we leave. He said it was painfully obvious that I was not welcome, and if that was the case, he wasn’t staying. We left.
“I spent the next two days unable to fend off a severe attack of anxiety. I turned to scripture to help me sort through this. This was around the time my small group was studying Isaiah. As I was trying to get a handle on what happened, I received a text message from Cheryl, confirming the fears I’d always held deep inside: She said she never wanted to see me again, that she wished we’d never met, and that she’d only met my mother. My worst nightmare was coming true. I was being rejected by the sibling I’d so desperately wanted.
“Here is where all of this ties together: For the past few weeks my husband and I have been talking about the evergreen trees in front of our mobile home community and how some of the trees have brown places and some of the trees are all brown. I was studying Isaiah and was blocked from understanding these passages from scripture. Usually when this happens, I will keep reading and come back to the difficult part, or wait for my group to gain some perspective. Not this time… I just could not leave it be! I had such a feeling that I can’t describe. I felt it was absolutely vital that I understand that passage and the feeling wouldn’t leave me alone. I posted on FB, and then talked to my older cousin in West Virginia who is a pastor. His explanation brought no clarity. When you responded and I read what you wrote it made sense! I still didn’t see how all this tied together until you sent that message today.
“As I was reading your message, when I got to the part about the trees and the dead places needing to be removed, I suddenly saw a flash of the trees in front of our community and thought of everything that had happened with Cheryl. I looked at my husband and read your message to him and before I could share my thoughts, he said he felt like this was perhaps confirmation that God was removing the dead spots from my life so I could continue to grow. Does this make any sense?
“I now have a sense of peace about the situation with Cheryl. I have no idea what God has planned but I trust he will guide me in all of this. For me to feel ‘okay’ about what Cheryl said to me is just not usual. My normal reaction would be to be an anxious mess. What’s worse, yesterday marked the six month anniversary of when I lost my mom, and it would have made the rejection from my sister much harder to bear. Reading your message today gave me hope and peace.
“It’s okay if this made no sense to you, and I know there was a lot of rambling about my life, but I felt that you needed to see the big picture in order to understand.”
Needless to say, Kay’s story left me stunned. After processing it for a bit, I crafted a response, beginning with surprise over all I’d not known from her past and sympathy over the loss of her mother. I went on to say:
“That story about your sister was very sad. I am sorry that you spent so much time trying to win her approval. It sounds like she is very broken inside herself. The story about her husband was mortifying. I would have been embarrassed too, but I’m sure you must know that none of that was your fault.
“I was very surprised when I got towards the end and you were talking about evergreens by your house. Something has clicked into place for me. I have spent a lot of time looking hard at my own healing, and I’d already come to the conclusion that I was doing the wrong thing by “looking hard”. This is proof. It’s clear to me that God has woven his way all through your story and mine, and at this point, he wove them together. There was no way that last year when our tree started to die… and my conclusions based on looking at the Christmas tree farm, and even the decision last week that we needed to cut it… there was no way that I in any way thought any of that would point me to in the direction to see God’s fingerprints in my own life… let alone anyone else’s… It’s not something I could have anticipated or planned for. Just the opposite. If I had tried to anticipate it or plan for it, it wouldn’t have happened. But he wove that together and has shown himself in this situation in a very real way. I agree with your husband. And if it gave you peace, I’d say that it was the right thing. This is very good. Praise God!”
Kay came back with one last detail: “There’s another interesting aspect that I forgot to mention. My husband’s unemployment ran out the week my mom died! She needed 24 hour nursing care, and there’s no way I could have taken care of her by myself. God was all over that one for sure. It’s amazing when our GOD shows up in our lives and reveals himself to us – making it known HE is in control. It reminds me of the footprints in the sand poem.”
“I agree. Has your husband found another job?”
“Yes, and that was another blessing! We ended up going down to one car to save money, and when my mom passed away, I was able to pay for her funeral, even having a bit leftover. This past month we were unable to pay our mortgage but a good friend sent us $1,000! That paid our mortgage and left enough for us to get by. Randall was driving all over the place passing out his resume and the next day he got a call for an interview. They hired him on the spot and his pay is about $12,000 per year more!!! Now we are paying off all of our debts, and in a few years, we will be debt free!”
*****
Many times I’ve found that as I write a story, it is still unfolding…. the process of getting the words onto the screen occasionally becomes part of the tapestry of what is being said. Since this story has been unfolding in bits and pieces over the course of nearly 3 years, I suppose it’s only natural that this would be the case this time.
Initially I was intimidated by telling the story because of the sheer volume of information. “Will anyone who didn’t live it be able to follow it?” I’ve wondered. So I’ve cut as much as I could. Believe it or not, I’ve cut 5 pages from the original text. I seriously considered cutting out the entire section that dealt with the beginning journey of sharing my writing; the perfect words at the perfect time from my pastor and the eventual loss of my friends. The only thread connecting that section to the rest of the story is the scripture. Even so, I had a difficult time just slashing the section out. I decided to find the notes I took in church on the day I mentioned in the story; resolving that if I found something relevant in my notes I would leave it, but if I couldn’t; it would go. These are the last words I noted down on that day:
“Phillip was willing to listen and obey God. When we obey God, who knows what seeds we’re planting.”
Church notes from May 2013.
And there it was again…. a tree metaphor. I haven’t looked at these words in nearly two years…. It was with a lot of effort that I located the correct notes…. and there it was again? So, whether foolish or wise, I decided to leave all of that in.
This was taken about 10 months after the tree was trimmed. I love this picture as it features the trees and three of my loves. (One is under the tree : ) )
*****
I don’t think I’m totally unusual in that if something seems difficult, I tend to procrastinate. As I’ve said, this story has been cooking for some time, but I’ve just been hesitant to put the time into figuring out how to tell it in such a way that does it justice. I’ve recorded bits and pieces over the years, and last September I went so far as to put a first draft together. Then…. nothing. Last month I shared a story about how I got involved with a group of women from another church. In that story I reference my guilt over not tackling this project with gusto. (And even that feeling of guilt is now over a year old.) With renewed resolve, I printed out the seventeen page draft and went to work slashing away at it. I quickly became overwhelmed and cast it aside.
A few days into my renewed procrastination, Carter and I were out for a walk. It wasn’t our usual route, yet it was a way I’ve taken at least a hundred times over the last several years. On that day I noticed something I’ve never noticed before: A dead tree with another tree growing up through the middle. Delighted, I pulled out my phone and snapped some pictures of the barren branches. I thought over my story and wondered if this was another connection. I asked myself what was different about this walk…why, after all these years was I noticing this only now? I love taking walks and am always looking around for new and interesting glimpses of nature. How had I missed this? And the answer is, I don’t know. I suppose it is simply because I wasn’t meant to see it until that day.
Life from barren places.
Days passed and all of this swirled in my mind. I even got the story back out and began slogging through it. There was one thing that bothered me about the tree growing through the tree. Since it is early spring, it was too soon to say for sure, but it seemed that there was no life in the new branches. With this detail niggling at me, Carter and I went for another look five days after the first glimpse. This time?
When in doubt, choose faith 