Anger is usually a secondary emotion, right? I was so so angry. But really, I'm realizing, I was grieving and disappointed and afraid.
While I can look back and see that I was doubting, I don't think I had admitted that to myself. I was just mad at God. At the God I knew. He wasn't fulfilling His side of the contract that I had imagined with Him. He wasn't 'blessing' my sacrifices. He wasn't making life easy on behalf of the risks I had taken for Him.
And so I was afraid. I couldn't yet admit that maybe the God I had fashioned for myself didn't actually exist. That was too scary.
A few months after the death of our precious baby girl and the death of my dreams of her in our family, I read a book that has made it possible for me to continue to journey with God even when the days came during which I questioned if He was even a reality. The book is called Shattered Dreams by Larry Crabb. There was so much about the book that spoke directly to my struggle- but one thing he emphasized over and over again has stuck with me for over 3 years now. The idea is that we daily long for our comfort, our ease of life, our 'happiness' over knowing God- and God, knowing how much we sacrifice to settle for those things, sometimes uses deep pain and discomfort to bring us to the end of ourselves so that we will learn to want Him far above all those lesser things.
I admit- if I could have easy kids, no grief, lots of money, no pain... I would snatch those things up and run! I wouldn't look back to see where God was or if He had a different path for me. I would just run. Why? Because all of that sounds easier and far more comfortable than the opposites of those things. Without God getting in my face and proving to me that no true joy can be found apart from Him, I wouldn't look further than those and other 'nice' things to just be happy.
So I clung to the things I learned in that book.
And, I started to recognize my doubt. I started realizing that who I thought God to be- He wasn't. The fear that that created in me was sometimes almost crushing. I couldn't imagine a world without God- but I knew He wasn't who I had always thought He was. And, the more I tried to figure out who He was, exactly, the less clear He seemed. There were many times that I would weep as I tried to express my fear and doubt to Jason. I would feel a life-threatening fear that grabbed me at my core. I was so afraid of a life without God- but no one had ever told me how to believe in a God I couldn't define.
I won't tell you that there has been a resolution to this. I'm still seeking. But God has given me a sense in my soul that He is and He's always been exactly who He is- even when I thought He was someone else. Even when I can't understand. Even when I find out things about Him I never would have believed before. God is God.
This shift in thinking has opened my heart to accepting others in a way I never have before- because one thing I'm still sure of is that God loves me. He loves. He is Love. And if He is in me- than I will love too. The people I have met and the stories I have heard over the past couple of years have convinced me of His love and of His desire for me to love as He does. His love is my desire and what I cling to- even when I am sure of nothing else about Him.
In spite of my doubt, His love overwhelms.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
In Spite of My Doubt (Part 2)
Ironically, even after our children did finally come home from Haiti- even after I got what I'd been begging God for- my faith did not 'go back to the way it was.' I continued to struggle. I continued to feel disillusioned and hurt.
We were blessed with a honeymoon period with our new children. Adopting older children means bringing home kids whose hearts have been shattered by the losses in their lives. They don't have the emotional maturity or the language to talk about their massive grief, nor do they trust that anyone in their lives is safe to share with, so their pain comes out in their behavior. We didn't start to see how broken their hearts were until about 4 or 5 months in. And then- as they say- all hell broke loose.
Because things had gone so well at first, I had decided to believe that our kids had withstood the trauma in their lives with more strength and maybe even more of God's protection than many other kids. I thought that maybe, since the waiting had been so hard on me, God was giving me a pass on parenting kids with difficult behavior. So when their behavior took a nose dive I was thrown off guard and once again surprised that God would allow so much pain and difficulty along a path He had called us to walk down. And I felt even more disillusioned and wounded by God.
At the 6 month mark we received a phone call letting us know that our Haitian children's biological sister had been relinquished to the orphanage. She was available for adoption. Would we bring her home to her siblings? I was emotionally exhausted. It seemed like too much to ask. And yet, I had held that sweet girl on my trip to Haiti to bring our children home. I had pictures of her with her brother and sister. How could we not say yes? We prayed about it and sought council and wrestled with the decision for days. And then we said yes. Yes, we would allow that sweet baby to grow up with her flesh and blood. And in spite of my weary heart and massive fears, I immediately loved that girl with everything in me.
We are a helplessly hopeless people, aren't we? And so I hoped. I hoped that this adoption would go more quickly. And that this girl, since she was coming to us so much younger, would have fewer hurts. I hoped that God would use this process so show me how He was redeeming all of my pain. I just knew that He had led us to our first 2 children because ultimately He wanted to use our family to bring these 3 siblings together and that we were going to see the miracle of that take place.
I was completely leveled then, less than 2 months later, when we received a phone call letting us know that our baby girl had died very suddenly in a hospital in Haiti. I could not have possibly known that I would feel so much grief. I desperately wanted her. But on top of that, I grieved the hopes and the dreams I had. I grieved the unmet expectations that I had for all I believed she promised for me and for our family. I grieved the added wound that her brother and sister had piled onto their already shattered hearts.
Ulitmately, as so often happens, my grief rolled into anger. I was furious with God. Isn't He all knowing? Isn't He over all? Doesn't He ultimately control all things? He knew this was coming, right? He knew. And yet He still asked me to say yes to her. He still allowed her to die. He didn't intervene. He didn't save her. He didn't save me- from the pain, the disillusionment, the gut-wrenching grief.
Before deep pain happened to me- when I was ignorant and had fashioned a safe God for myself to believe in- I would have had trite answers for others whose lives were falling apart. I would have been confident in explaining it all to them- how God had a plan and that He works all things together for good and all that stuff. I wish I could remember and apologize to each and every one of those people. I have no doubt that, in spite of my well-intentioned ideas, my words were completely shallow and inexperienced and they poured salt into already festering wounds.
The kids' behavior continued to deteriorate. And my behavior, fueled by hurt and anger, created an incredibly unhealthy mix. In fact, at some times, it might have been a miracle that I didn't physically hurt them.
We were blessed with a honeymoon period with our new children. Adopting older children means bringing home kids whose hearts have been shattered by the losses in their lives. They don't have the emotional maturity or the language to talk about their massive grief, nor do they trust that anyone in their lives is safe to share with, so their pain comes out in their behavior. We didn't start to see how broken their hearts were until about 4 or 5 months in. And then- as they say- all hell broke loose.
Because things had gone so well at first, I had decided to believe that our kids had withstood the trauma in their lives with more strength and maybe even more of God's protection than many other kids. I thought that maybe, since the waiting had been so hard on me, God was giving me a pass on parenting kids with difficult behavior. So when their behavior took a nose dive I was thrown off guard and once again surprised that God would allow so much pain and difficulty along a path He had called us to walk down. And I felt even more disillusioned and wounded by God.
At the 6 month mark we received a phone call letting us know that our Haitian children's biological sister had been relinquished to the orphanage. She was available for adoption. Would we bring her home to her siblings? I was emotionally exhausted. It seemed like too much to ask. And yet, I had held that sweet girl on my trip to Haiti to bring our children home. I had pictures of her with her brother and sister. How could we not say yes? We prayed about it and sought council and wrestled with the decision for days. And then we said yes. Yes, we would allow that sweet baby to grow up with her flesh and blood. And in spite of my weary heart and massive fears, I immediately loved that girl with everything in me.
We are a helplessly hopeless people, aren't we? And so I hoped. I hoped that this adoption would go more quickly. And that this girl, since she was coming to us so much younger, would have fewer hurts. I hoped that God would use this process so show me how He was redeeming all of my pain. I just knew that He had led us to our first 2 children because ultimately He wanted to use our family to bring these 3 siblings together and that we were going to see the miracle of that take place.
I was completely leveled then, less than 2 months later, when we received a phone call letting us know that our baby girl had died very suddenly in a hospital in Haiti. I could not have possibly known that I would feel so much grief. I desperately wanted her. But on top of that, I grieved the hopes and the dreams I had. I grieved the unmet expectations that I had for all I believed she promised for me and for our family. I grieved the added wound that her brother and sister had piled onto their already shattered hearts.
Ulitmately, as so often happens, my grief rolled into anger. I was furious with God. Isn't He all knowing? Isn't He over all? Doesn't He ultimately control all things? He knew this was coming, right? He knew. And yet He still asked me to say yes to her. He still allowed her to die. He didn't intervene. He didn't save her. He didn't save me- from the pain, the disillusionment, the gut-wrenching grief.
Before deep pain happened to me- when I was ignorant and had fashioned a safe God for myself to believe in- I would have had trite answers for others whose lives were falling apart. I would have been confident in explaining it all to them- how God had a plan and that He works all things together for good and all that stuff. I wish I could remember and apologize to each and every one of those people. I have no doubt that, in spite of my well-intentioned ideas, my words were completely shallow and inexperienced and they poured salt into already festering wounds.
The kids' behavior continued to deteriorate. And my behavior, fueled by hurt and anger, created an incredibly unhealthy mix. In fact, at some times, it might have been a miracle that I didn't physically hurt them.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
In Spite of My Doubt (Part 1)
I grew up in the church, and in a family where beliefs were taught as fact. There wasn't room for questioning because, to my parents and grandparents, truth was black and white. God could be understood. Right and wrong was easily decipherable. The churches we went to believed the 'right things.' Other denominations, faiths, practices- those that didn't line up with ours- were wrong. I was taught to defend my faith. I was taught all the answers. I embraced all of it strongly and proudly spoke out on those beliefs. Doubting was for the uneducated- if you learned enough of the Bible you didn't doubt.
A few years ago, when we began the process to adopt 2 children from Haiti, my beliefs still mostly lined up with what I'd been taught as a child. I had no idea that this journey would be the start of undoing most of what I thought was non-negotiable.
I'm not a patient person. Impatience is definitely a serious fault of mine. Adoption requires waiting and offers very little control. Adopt from a third world country and lack of control cannot begin to describe the reality of waiting and wondering while longing and worrying. I didn't do it well- the waiting. Maybe, in hindsight, even my weakness in this area served a greater purpose than to just make me feel like a loser as a Christian. Maybe it was part of God's design to begin tearing apart my misconceptions of Him- to reveal a God who truly is too big for me to even try to comprehend.
Visiting a third world country will also mess with a person's mind- especially a person who has grown up believing that doing the right things will produce the right results. Add to that that I am a person who lives in one of the wealthiest counties in the nation- which makes it, far and away, one of the wealthiest communities in the world. Culturally- almost all of us here, even if we won't admit it to ourselves, believe that we somehow 'deserve' the things we have. Being served a plate of food at a restaurant that has a stray hair in it can be the ruination of our entire day. Visiting Haiti got me thinking- and wondering- is EVERYONE there just NOT doing the right thing? Do NONE of them deserve more from God? Does He even hear their prayers? Why is there such a VAST difference between my contaminated but gargantuan-sized plate of steak and potatoes and their endless days of NO food?
And there I was, trying so hard to 'obey God' and bring two children out of the muck and mire to a markedly better life in suburbia USA and no matter how much I begged, He wouldn't intervene and hurry up the process. They remained there for more than twice the amount of time we were told we'd wait. What about that verse, 'ask and you shall receive?' Hmmm?? What about that, God? And wouldn't here be far better than there for these kids, God? Why would you leave them hungry, thirsty, unloved and unsafe for so long?? I knew all the verses in the Bible that spoke to these things- verses that said God is a rescuer. He is love. He takes care of children and the helpless. He demands that we, as His followers, join Him in these endeavors- and yet, at least in my understanding, He wasn't pulling His weight. He wasn't coming through for them or for me.
And so, in spite of all that I knew that I knew, I started doubting God. I started wondering...
A few years ago, when we began the process to adopt 2 children from Haiti, my beliefs still mostly lined up with what I'd been taught as a child. I had no idea that this journey would be the start of undoing most of what I thought was non-negotiable.
I'm not a patient person. Impatience is definitely a serious fault of mine. Adoption requires waiting and offers very little control. Adopt from a third world country and lack of control cannot begin to describe the reality of waiting and wondering while longing and worrying. I didn't do it well- the waiting. Maybe, in hindsight, even my weakness in this area served a greater purpose than to just make me feel like a loser as a Christian. Maybe it was part of God's design to begin tearing apart my misconceptions of Him- to reveal a God who truly is too big for me to even try to comprehend.
Visiting a third world country will also mess with a person's mind- especially a person who has grown up believing that doing the right things will produce the right results. Add to that that I am a person who lives in one of the wealthiest counties in the nation- which makes it, far and away, one of the wealthiest communities in the world. Culturally- almost all of us here, even if we won't admit it to ourselves, believe that we somehow 'deserve' the things we have. Being served a plate of food at a restaurant that has a stray hair in it can be the ruination of our entire day. Visiting Haiti got me thinking- and wondering- is EVERYONE there just NOT doing the right thing? Do NONE of them deserve more from God? Does He even hear their prayers? Why is there such a VAST difference between my contaminated but gargantuan-sized plate of steak and potatoes and their endless days of NO food?
And there I was, trying so hard to 'obey God' and bring two children out of the muck and mire to a markedly better life in suburbia USA and no matter how much I begged, He wouldn't intervene and hurry up the process. They remained there for more than twice the amount of time we were told we'd wait. What about that verse, 'ask and you shall receive?' Hmmm?? What about that, God? And wouldn't here be far better than there for these kids, God? Why would you leave them hungry, thirsty, unloved and unsafe for so long?? I knew all the verses in the Bible that spoke to these things- verses that said God is a rescuer. He is love. He takes care of children and the helpless. He demands that we, as His followers, join Him in these endeavors- and yet, at least in my understanding, He wasn't pulling His weight. He wasn't coming through for them or for me.
And so, in spite of all that I knew that I knew, I started doubting God. I started wondering...
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Pastor's Wife
That's been one of my titles for the past 7+ years. A title I never expected to have. A title I'm still not quite sure what to do with. A title I have, honestly, been embarrassed and maybe even ashamed of, at times. I don't want to be defined by that title. When people hear that I'm a pastor's wife- I don't want them to suddenly have different expectations of me. I don't want them to assume things about me based on that description.
Before I go any further- let me say very clearly that I could not be more proud of my husband. His role as a minister suits him so well. He is excellent at what he does and incredibly gifted in what he has been called to. I am indescribably proud of him and never for one minute embarrassed or ashamed to be his wife. That is not what I'm talking about here.
I regularly feel the need to clarify to new acquaintances that I haven't always been a pastor's wife, nor did I 'sign up to be one.' In fact, I let them know that I actually pointed out to my husband that this role was not outlined in our marriage vows- it wasn't part of the deal. I joke that I'm not well enough behaved to fit into this role. I go overboard with this- most likely making them feel uncomfortable- in an effort to somehow try to not be perceived as I have always perceived women who hold this title.
I grew up in the church and have known many pastor's wives throughout my life. As a child, adolscent, and even young adult, I perceived these ladies to be 'ultra-spiritual,' submissive, demure, gentle women who played the piano at church and hosted dainty tea parties for expectant mothers and brides-to-be. They were definitely well-behaved. They wore dresses and pantyhose. They were strict but calm mothers. They were quietly present at all church gatherings. They knew what they believed and led women's Bible studies on topics like 'how to be a good wife,' and 'how to have a gentle and quiet spirit.' These women never drink anything stronger than black coffee and certainly never use strong language.
Hmmm... Me? Not so much.
I have definitely tried to be ultra-spiritual- and have even been dogmatic about my beliefs in the past. I've never been what I used to think submissive was. I'm not demure or necessarily gentle. I do know how to play the piano but never have in church. I don't own a tea set. I'm not well-behaved. I don't own a dress and have sworn to never wear pantyhose again in my life. I am a strict mother- but not calm. I don't go to very many church gatherings. I haven't led a Bible study in years. I like Rum and Cokes, Mojitos and often feel like only words that are considered 'foul' can possibly do justice to what I'm trying to say.
So how does the title look on me? Well, I'm passionate and bold- but not about things you might expect. I long to work alongside my husband but only if I am free to bring all of myself to the task. I have a LOT of questions about who God is and what the Bible really means. I wonder how He meant for us to understand it and if we're even close. I have had days where I wonder if God exists. I have had days where I've thought that if He does- He can't be a good God. I have serious questions about who, in the end, will get into Heaven and wonder if maybe He might find a way to get a whole lot more people there than most Christians believe. I don't understand completely, but think that maybe most people don't choose their sexuality and, regardless, I think that if I'm going to be like Jesus I should just love everyone well. I think that when our bodies became the temple for the Holy Spirit we should have stopped pouring money into buildings and sanctuaries and started caring much much more for those whose temples have been abused, neglected, famished, dehydrated, unsheltered, forgotten and unloved.
Going to church doesn't feel like worship for me- it feels like a place where I am expected to come and represent what the leadership believes but a place where I should not bring the questions I have or talk about the ways my beliefs differ. I'm wondering if those are limitations and expectations I've assumed on myself or if they really exist.
Inspite of all of this, I love being married to my pastor. I love the journey we've been on together. I love that God is ok with my questions and doubts. And I believe that He loves me and has me here to teach me more of Him and His truth. I want to be faithful to keep seeking Him and spend less time worrying about how I'm percieved and much more time finding out how I can honor Him as a pastor's wife.
Before I go any further- let me say very clearly that I could not be more proud of my husband. His role as a minister suits him so well. He is excellent at what he does and incredibly gifted in what he has been called to. I am indescribably proud of him and never for one minute embarrassed or ashamed to be his wife. That is not what I'm talking about here.
I regularly feel the need to clarify to new acquaintances that I haven't always been a pastor's wife, nor did I 'sign up to be one.' In fact, I let them know that I actually pointed out to my husband that this role was not outlined in our marriage vows- it wasn't part of the deal. I joke that I'm not well enough behaved to fit into this role. I go overboard with this- most likely making them feel uncomfortable- in an effort to somehow try to not be perceived as I have always perceived women who hold this title.
I grew up in the church and have known many pastor's wives throughout my life. As a child, adolscent, and even young adult, I perceived these ladies to be 'ultra-spiritual,' submissive, demure, gentle women who played the piano at church and hosted dainty tea parties for expectant mothers and brides-to-be. They were definitely well-behaved. They wore dresses and pantyhose. They were strict but calm mothers. They were quietly present at all church gatherings. They knew what they believed and led women's Bible studies on topics like 'how to be a good wife,' and 'how to have a gentle and quiet spirit.' These women never drink anything stronger than black coffee and certainly never use strong language.
Hmmm... Me? Not so much.
I have definitely tried to be ultra-spiritual- and have even been dogmatic about my beliefs in the past. I've never been what I used to think submissive was. I'm not demure or necessarily gentle. I do know how to play the piano but never have in church. I don't own a tea set. I'm not well-behaved. I don't own a dress and have sworn to never wear pantyhose again in my life. I am a strict mother- but not calm. I don't go to very many church gatherings. I haven't led a Bible study in years. I like Rum and Cokes, Mojitos and often feel like only words that are considered 'foul' can possibly do justice to what I'm trying to say.
So how does the title look on me? Well, I'm passionate and bold- but not about things you might expect. I long to work alongside my husband but only if I am free to bring all of myself to the task. I have a LOT of questions about who God is and what the Bible really means. I wonder how He meant for us to understand it and if we're even close. I have had days where I wonder if God exists. I have had days where I've thought that if He does- He can't be a good God. I have serious questions about who, in the end, will get into Heaven and wonder if maybe He might find a way to get a whole lot more people there than most Christians believe. I don't understand completely, but think that maybe most people don't choose their sexuality and, regardless, I think that if I'm going to be like Jesus I should just love everyone well. I think that when our bodies became the temple for the Holy Spirit we should have stopped pouring money into buildings and sanctuaries and started caring much much more for those whose temples have been abused, neglected, famished, dehydrated, unsheltered, forgotten and unloved.
Going to church doesn't feel like worship for me- it feels like a place where I am expected to come and represent what the leadership believes but a place where I should not bring the questions I have or talk about the ways my beliefs differ. I'm wondering if those are limitations and expectations I've assumed on myself or if they really exist.
Inspite of all of this, I love being married to my pastor. I love the journey we've been on together. I love that God is ok with my questions and doubts. And I believe that He loves me and has me here to teach me more of Him and His truth. I want to be faithful to keep seeking Him and spend less time worrying about how I'm percieved and much more time finding out how I can honor Him as a pastor's wife.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)