From despair to delight

Forty-eight hours ago, my heart was heavy. The past several weeks (months, really) have been hard for us as a family as we’ve been looking at our future, and everything seemed to be going wrong. Nothing was working out the way we had hoped, and I was near despair. My mind was full of questions. Where would we go from here? How could be manage financially? Would we end up in a place where David and I had to both work full-time jobs in which we’d never see each other because of overlapping shifts? What was God trying to teach us?

And then yesterday, everything turned around, with extra emphasis added this morning. It was funny to me because in my Bible study, we’ve been studying the Patriarchs, and yesterday I read about Joseph’s being taken up out of prison to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams and being set as ruler over all of Egypt during the seven years of plenty and seven years of famine. It was just a perfect parallel to me. I’ve never been in prison, but these past few months, I have felt imprisoned by fear, doubt, hopelessness, confusion, and even grief.

Yet in these past two days, God has lifted my head! I wish I could say it didn’t take His miraculous work for me to be reminded of His faithfulness. I should have been just as aware of HIs presence when everything seemed hopeless, but I doubted. I guess I didn’t doubt Him as much as the plan I was so sure He had set for us. And now I am reminded of His goodness and faithfulness to His children. I don’t want to wax eloquent on trusting God; needless to say, I am still learning how to lean on my LORD. But the relief I feel in these two acts of God – which I really do believe were miraculous – has brought me to tears over and over again since yesterday. God’s ways are higher than mine, and that sure is something to thank Him for!!

Foreigner in a strange land

I’ve known since my first day of American sixth grade in January of 1994 that I would always be different. Maybe it started before that, when I got teased in 2nd grade for wearing a pair of red “bell-bottoms” (which I don’t actually remember being bell-bottoms, but that is the phrase the kids used) from a thrift store. Didn’t I know those were so out of style? So maybe that was a clue. But in sixth grade, I really felt it hard. Really, really hard.

Since then, I’ve learned to adapt a bit. I’m not a great adaptor, even as a TCK (Third Culture Kid); I like to be comfortable, and I’m not at all good at meeting people. Plus I stink at languages and get embarrassed about that easily, so okay, I’m not as flexible as they say TCKs should be. So sue me. But I’ve moved an awful lot, and I’m really trying to feel at home where I am – enough so that I can make friends but not so much that I will be crushed when I leave.

And I’d felt reasonably at home at the church we’re attending here in Visalia. Sure, I’m constantly aware of the economic chasm between us and most of the church-goers, but it’s something I’ve put toward the back of my mind and don’t usually choose to think about. And I was beginning to feel as though I fit, sort of. This morning at MOPS, I even opened up a little to share some of our family prayer requests. It felt very awkward but relieving to talk about my life instead of just keeping it to myself all the time. And everyone seemed so sweet and interested. It was such a heart-warming experience.

But during discussion time, after hearing our speaker, something just switched off in my brain. We talked about relating to kids and husbands, and the ladies were all talking about dates with their husbands and short trips alone without the kids. All of a sudden, I felt like a complete and utter alien. Dates? Trips? to luxurious places in particular? Are you kidding me? The last time David and I went out with friends without Timothy was in June, but the last time we went out just the two of us without Timothy was a year ago November – to the senior play at Hillcrest, in fact (just after our anniversary). Yep, that was our last “date.” And a trip without Timothy? To anywhere? You’ve got to be kidding me! Not happening. Timothy and I go on trips without David. That’s how it works. A real vacation – to go rest somewhere, just we three? Not a chance. It hasn’t happened in the two years since Timothy was born, and it’s not likely to happen anytime soon. So yeah, I felt completely alienated.

And then, to top it off, we were reminded about the fundraiser MOPS is doing at Macy’s. I mentioned earlier about sixth grade, right? The one time I have ever been to Macy’s was in sixth grade. A dear lady from church, Irene, took me and another impoverished young lady to Westwood and gave us some spending money. I went to Macy’s because all the girls at school talked about it, and I thought maybe if I had something “in",” they’d accept me. (It didn’t work, by the way.) I got a nice, casual button-down long-sleeved plaid shirt that I maybe wore twice or three times ever. And I’ve never been to Macy’s since. It’s just not something that’s ever crossed my mind. I shop at Walmart. I don’t have trendy girl clothes, make-up, jewelry, or shoes. I wear nice jeans and a nice hand-me-down or thrift store shirt with my Nigerian slippers. Sure, sometimes I’d like to dress up and be a little more feminine and fashionable, but I just don’t have the money. Good grief. In an economy like this, when we are scraping to get by every month, to find enough to pay the bills and the rent, how can I possibly consider spending a day at Macy’s??

I want to clarify here that I’m not criticizing my fellow moms, or American culture, or whatever. I admit sometimes I want to be like that, to be able to throw my money away on luxuries. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m materialistic – just like you. And I already feel like I’m not a wise spender. And it’s not that I don’t want to have wealthy friends. That’s silly. But I do wish I didn’t feel like such a foreigner. I wish someone could understand where I’m coming from and identify with me in my current situation. For once in my life, I wish I could belong. Ah well, as I’m learning in my Beth Moore study of the Patriarchs, it’s my spiritual heritage to be a foreigner – teaches me to always keep my focus on the great things to come. And there are great things to come when I cross over!

The line between faith and foolishness

This is something I’ve often thought about since my college roommate first told me about her now-husband who believed in voluntary poverty and chose to work for room and board rather than a salary. Please don’t in any way think that I think he is or was foolish. Although I don’t know him very well, through his wife’s eyes, I understand him to be smart, wise, and caring, and I’m glad she’s happy with him!

But the question came up then in particular, and now I’m facing it in my own life. What do I mean? Let me give you an illustration from a friend’s personal experience, tweaked a little for his privacy. I have a friend who had a medical condition that was chronic. He spent a few weeks in a spiritual revival a few years ago, and he was 100% convinced that God had healed him of his medical condition because of his faith and prayer. He proceeded to dispose of his medication – just threw it away. He truly believed that God had healed him. The next day when the medical condition persisted, he felt a little foolish. He had to purchase new medication and make sure he took it faithfully from then on. God hadn’t healed him. Was it because he didn’t have enough faith? Or was it because it wasn’t part of God’s purpose? I don’t pretend to know the mind of God, but I think it wasn’t because of my friend’s lack of faith.

So at what point does my faith in God’s power and plan become foolishness? How do I know if I am believing the right things? God helps those who help themselves, right? I believe there can be miracles, and I believe God has absolute power to bring about any situation He sees fit. I also am convinced He has something specific for my future, and that He will bring that about. But is that foolish? What assurance do I have that this specific plan is His actual plan? What if I’m wrong? What if I’ve misunderstood all the supposed signs I’ve witnessed, misinterpreted the events around me? I know it happens. How do I know my faith is based on truth rather than delusion? I desperately want to trust and give Him my complete faith.

I’ve never been one for theology in its formal sense, but I figure there have to be answers to my question – answers that are practical and helpful rather than theological. It’s at times like this when I wish I were back at Wheaton, surrounded by spiritual leaders and mentors, people I could have called upon with such questions, or fellow students with whom to discuss the issues. Alas! I am alone and must wait on God.

Catching up with Timothy

I know I’ve been absolutely horrible about working on Timothy’s blog. And trust me, it’s not because he’s not funny or interesting! Considering how lax I’ve been on my own blog, I guess it’s hardly surprising I haven’t done much work on Timothy’s. But I’m here to say that’s going to change! So if I have any readers who were reading Timothy’s blog and gave up, the good news is I’m getting back to it! That’s a promise. If I make that promise publicly on my blog, I’ve got to keep it, right? ;)

So let me direct you to the latest post with a teaser photo.

Deepening the pain

A little while ago, I wrote about the pain of knowing that a friend is dying, and that it’s a slow death.

Well, this week I’m grading argumentative papers for my class, and a common topic has been physician-assisted suicide (PAS). And guess what – in these papers, a common example for justifying PAS is people who are suffering from the illness with which my friend is afflicted.

How do I deal with this? I blog about it.

Over and over again, I see this example and (sorry to be graphic) just want to throw up. I have to wonder if in a few years, my friend will be looking for PAS. If I had a debilitating illness that made me lose control of my body at some point, and if I knew I were going to die, would I be interested in PAS? Probably. How can I really say? But I’m pretty sure the thought would cross my mind, and often.

I don’t believe in PAS, or euthanasia, or whatever you want to call it. I know of people (though don’t know them personally) who have taken what others would consider “a sad death” and transformed it into something beautiful. But I haven’t been there. Is it fair of me to say that people like my friend should never consider PAS? I’ve never been really sick in my life, nor injured. How can I possibly understand what people in that situation might feel?

And it frightens me to think that this person I respect and admire might someday opt for PAS. Right now I’m sure he would say it will never be an option, but what about when things start to go downhill fast? When he can no longer walk, kiss his children good night, even speak? I could never blame him for wanting out, even though I see it as wrong.

How can I reconcile these thoughts? And how can I bear to think of my friend’s being in such misery that he just wants it all to end?

Oh, God, I ask that You would shower him with your mercy and me with your peace.

My pain runs deep

When I was maybe in 8th or 9th grade, my brother had a tape that included a song with sound clips from Star Trek V: The Final Frontier: “I can’t stand the pain…Your pain runs deep.” (The song is called “Painkiller” by Mortal.) I don’t remember the song at all (nor the movie, for that matter), but I do remember the way the sound clips were arranged, and I can replay them in my mind.

… Part of the reason I started blogging again was for this post. I’ve been mulling it over for two months, but I don’t really know how to write about something so painful to me. Even thinking about it is like sticking burning needles all over myself.

Someone I love is dying.

I’ve never really been able to say that before. I have been so blessed with loved ones who have great health. Sure, I’ve lost older family members, but either they went quickly, or I didn’t know them well enough to really and truly say I loved them. Maybe I’m heartless, but it’s true. My great-grandmother had just turned 96 when she died, and I loved her. But at that age somehow it’s different.

But this person is much younger, younger than my parents (who are not by any means old). He has little kids still.

Maybe you know him. I won’t give his name because I don’t know if he’s made it public yet. Let’s just call him Kevin.

Kevin has been a mentor and a friend, even though in recent years things have changed as I’ve moved away and started my own family. When I was younger, he challenged me to leave my comfort zone in ways I found terrifying yet exhilarating. He’s encouraged me and built me up, especially in times when I needed it most. He’s shown me what it means to have an older brother in Christ. I guess in some ways he pushed me out of the nest and taught me how to fly.

Of course Kevin isn’t perfect. He’s got his faults just like the rest of us. But his death will be a tragic blow to countless individuals literally around the world. And I carry that pain around inside me.

No, he’s not likely to die overnight. He still has a little while to live out his dreams and see his kids grow a few more inches, to be a mentor and friend to many more people. I know he has so much he wants to accomplish and see. Kevin doesn’t give up easily and will fight as long as he can.

But in the end, we all die, and Kevin is likely to go sooner than most of my loved ones. And his last few months are likely to be painful and debilitating. I wish I knew how to handle that fact, handle the grief. If only I could hang out with Kevin face-to-face and cherish the remaining moments of his life! But for now, this post will have to be my coping mechanism, until I figure out how to deal with this in a more constructive way.

Thanks for bearing my pain with me.

Staying focused on the positive

We moved today, from a town of about 10,000 to a town of about 120,000. Quite a change, let me tell you. And it was a very long day, exhausting. Yet here we are in our new apartment, all of our things and furniture sitting in the living room waiting to be dealt with tomorrow. And that’s a blessing.

Lots of things could have been different and better today, but I’ve been trying to look on the bright side instead of the dark side.

It was 109 today when we were packing up the U-Haul, and I was finishing up packing the kitchen and cleaning up the house in Coalinga. It was hot in the house; I was too busy to think about turning on the swamp cooler until mid-afternoon. It was hotter outside – poor David. But on the bright side, it wasn’t raining! I can’t even imagine how hard and miserable it would have been to move if it had been raining, since there would have been no covered place to load the truck.

We had to drive all the way to Avenal to pick up the truck. It was twenty miles out of our way, either way, and it meant more time on the road, which of course meant more gas for our little Forester (who still needs a name, by the way; I’m open to suggestions). On the bright side, we got an extra 36 hours or so for the truck, so we didn’t have to take it to the U-Haul tonight at 9 pm, after we’d finished unloading. We can go to bed, and David can return it tomorrow. Plus, now we know how to get to Avenal.

We had wanted to get everything done quickly, but it took much longer to pack the truck than either of us expected because we really did have to maximize all our space, especially the vertical space. It was grueling work and took a long time. On the bright side, we were in Coalinga long enough to have a delightful lunch out with my Auntie Mary. We’ll sure miss seeing her several times a week.

Uncle Martin wasn’t available to help us drive the truck and unload this afternoon. On the bright side, he helped us load the truck in Coalinga, return borrowed furniture, clean the house, and rescue me from spiders in the laundry room. And when we got to Visalia (click on the link to see where we are), friendly neighbors helped David carry the big furniture upstairs to our apartment while I was putting Timothy to bed and unpacking the cooler (borrowed from Uncle Martin). A neighbour who is moving out even offered to sell us some of their furniture for a bargain.

I couldn’t fit our two frozen pizzas in the cooler. On the bright side, Uncle Martin bought them off of me, and we used the money to buy dinner tonight. And thank God for sweet tea at McDonald’s.

Packing the truck and cleaning the house took all day instead of just a couple of hours. It was hot and exhausting work, and we didn’t even leave Coalinga until almost six o’clock in the evening. On the bright side, it was a much cooler drive for Timothy and me in our non-air-conditioned Forester than it would have been earlier in the day!

I couldn’t get the wireless to work on David’s computer, so we’re going to have to call our provider on Monday and figure out how to make it work (unless my dad can troubleshoot remotely tomorrow after church). On the bright side, my computer is working just fine with the wireless router, so we do have an Internet connection!

Our apartment doesn’t seem to have hot water. The two showers I’ve taken here have been lukewarm when I’ve wanted a hot shower, the kind that soaks into your shoulders and massages away the knots. On the bright side, we have running water! And my shower was far from cold, which was another blessing!

In any case, as I said, several things about today could have been better. But I’m choosing to be positive and look at the ways in which God blessed us.

Moving on

The day after the Perseids, I started a post about memories of meteor showers past, but I never finished it, and I wish I had the time to do so. It’s the kind of blog post that needs extra time and energy because it’s actually creative. I miss doing creative writing…

Anyway, we’re moving again this week, to a new town. It’s all happened so quickly that I can barely keep up. But it must be a God-thing because everything just fell into place without any hitches. And as sad as I am to be leaving a church of people I’d sort of gotten to know, a library hour for toddlers, art-time for toddlers twice a week at the Imaginarium, and my fantastic aunt and uncle, it feels right that we’re moving on. Sometimes you can just tell. Peace. That’s what it must be.

Visalia is about ten times the size of the town we’re in right now, and I’ve already found the Walmart nearest our apartment. Yeah! You know you’re moving up in the world when you go from having to drive an hour to the nearest Walmart, to its only being five minutes away! :) We’ll also have our pick of many, many churches for worship and fellowship, so that’ll be interesting and hopefully good. I’d really love to find a playgroup for Timothy, or a MOPs group I can join.

So somehow we’re going to pack up the house, get it cleaned up, and get everything truckloaded over to Visalia this week. I’m swamped with papers to grade Monday and Tuesday, so it won’t be until Thursday or Friday, but I think it will happen. We’ve already found an apartment we like (it even has a pool!) within walking distance of work, so we’re excited about what God has in store for us. It’s a new adventure, and I’m absolutely determined to be positive about it!!