Letting Go

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. Proverbs 3:5

It's one thing to realize that you are not in control; it's another thing to let go. Sometimes things spin out of control for a moment. You throw your arms out and hold on tight and everything calms back down. Whew, that was close. I had been in this position before, and while it turned my eyes to the One who is in control, the situation resolved quickly enough that I still saved face. It was uncomfortable enough to remind me that things happen outside of our control, but not uncomfortable enough to really make me let go.

Giving life to a human who has problem after problem after problem will make you let go. At first, I thought I could just let go of breastfeeding. I talked to myself in my hospital bed while she was in the high-risk nursery at the hospital where she was born. "It's okay, Aleah. You loved nursing your son, but that just may not be possible with your daughter, and that's okay." To give you an idea of how "well" I embraced this "letting go", I pumped for almost three months. Every feed. Pump, bag/bottle, pump, bag/bottle. She took every feed by bottle, only nursed a couple times early on, and still I pumped. I pumped and pumped until God said, "Aleah, let go." She was allergic to my milk. It was literally making her sick. My only option if I wanted to cling to this thing I had supposedly "let go" was to eliminate almost every food from my diet (dairy, corn, wheat, soy, citrus fruits, chocolate, the list goes on). I wept thinking about this, but I felt anguished to consider switching her to formula. It felt like failure. What was it in reality? Letting go. I knew I wasn't in control; I just still couldn't quite let go.

The next thing I "let go" of was her life. After I watched her wheeled out in a scary baby transporting machine and leave me, her mother, the one God gave her to protect her, at only three hours old, I cried, a big, ugly, snotty cry, and gave her life to God. As though He didn't have it already. But I needed to let go of it. I needed to surrender her to Him because this was so far beyond anything I could ever fix. I didn't have the power for this. I had to let it go because I had to protect myself; if I got my "hopes up", I would be crushed if I lost her. Here's the thing: I wasn't protecting myself; I was deluding myself. I would have been crushed regardless in ways that I can't even imagine. I wasn't "letting go"; I was building a wall.

Clearly I was not good at this. God still had (let's be real here... has) much work to do with me here. I was discharged from the hospital about seven hours after I BIRTHED A HUMAN BEING. I wanted to be home; I couldn't stare at that stupid baby warmer and crib absent my baby. I woke diligently every three hours to pump and bring in my milk. As soon as I possibly could the next day (remember, the day after I gave birth), I went to see her in the NICU. I spent close to eight hours there. Eight hours. Sitting, holding her finger, pumping, sitting. I couldn't bear the thought of her apart from me. I wasn't in control an hour away. I had to be there. And then I had to leave. Leave. Walk away. The first few times were excruciating. I would walk away from her crib and walk right back, pretending I had forgotten something so the nurses didn't think I was crazy. Although usually I did it three or four times, unable to really feel like it was okay to leave until I checked every last inch of her, read over the monitor again and again to make sure her stats were okay (like the crazy alarms that sounded when they weren't wouldn't draw the attention of the nurses), watched her breathe and breathe and breathe. The I would take a deep breath myself, steel my nerves, barrel down the long hallway like I was running from the scene of a crime, do everything I could not to cry until I got to the bathroom.

Fifty-two times. I had to leave her fifty-two times like this. After about two weeks, it started to feel just like our normal life. I hadn't known her any other way than this way. This was our relationship and it slowly became less distressing. God had also shown Himself to me again and again and was growing my trust for Him. He was growing my heart and giving me faith. Instead of obsessively returning to her bed every time I left, I started praying. When it was time to leave, I would hold her and smell her as deeply as I could so I wouldn't forget. Then I would put her down, get her settled, watch her breathe. I would collect all my things and go stand by her crib and pray. I prayed that God would protect her. I prayed for good nurses. I prayed for divine intervention if something went wrong. "Lord, please let the nurse just feel like she should check on her." I prayed for protection from evil, sinful people who could take advantage of the fairly loose visiting policy. I prayed that she would not get sick from other patients on the floor. I prayed and prayed and then I said "Amen". "So be it." An appeal to God, an affirmation from me, the end. Then I would leave. Walk right out the door. Let the nurse know I was gone. Push the silver button. Walk to the elevators. And be gone.

I learned to let go. I knew not just that I wasn't in control, but that God was in control. I made my appeals, I did every last thing I possibly could for her, and I let go. Just thinking about it makes my heart hurt. For a fiercely protective mom, this is about the hardest thing you could ask me to do. But I was being bombarded. While I had to leave my daughter every day, any time I was with her, I had left my son. Sometimes with my husband, but he had a job, so often with his grandparents. They love him -- love, love, LOVE him -- and were truly delighted to spend so much time with him. And I was glad he got to be with them! But for me, from day one, he was with me all the time. I fed him exclusively for his whole first year of life. I never spent one single day away from him. I became his mom and that's what I was. And here, I was being forced to give him over. To let him go. At first, I drilled the laundry list of what he ate, when, what he liked to do, when he napped, how often, where. I was trying to impart the wisdom of twenty months of study to these other people who were going to care for him. I knew they couldn't possibly do the job as well as I did and I didn't want my son to suffer for that. Here's the thing, though: he was totally fine. Not only was he totally fine, he was great! Yes, he missed his mommy and daddy. He skipped a few naps and went to bed late sometimes. He probably drank sweet tea at some point and ate too many cookies, but he was safe. He was happy. He was doted on, read to, tickled, played with, loved, over and over, every day! You can't replace mom, but no one was trying to. As I let go, I made room for more love. I made room for stronger, deeper relationships for him with others. I wasn't just letting go of him for him to slip away or float off on his own. I was letting go and handing him over to others, those God had placed in his life for just such an occasion. Just like my daughter's nurses and doctors, my son's grandparents were his protectors and providers and nurturers when I couldn't be.

Eight weeks wasn't enough for me to learn this lesson. When I finally got my daughter home, I thought, "This is it!" Boy, was I wrong. We had so many more hurdles to clear, some worse even than when she was away from us. It was awful and scary and I was not even remotely in control. I knew I had arrived somewhere, though, when for the third Sunday in a row, we had to miss church. Why? Her feeding tube fell out. It was so absurd, it was almost like a joke. I seriously saw what had happened, looked up at the sky, and laughed. "Ok, God, this is how you're gonna play it. Well, I'm game. Let's go." And then I cried. But still, I recovered and realized that she was in His hands. This was from Him and I was going to let go and walk the path He had laid out before me. So it included a trip to the emergency room. Oh well, here we go. Wonderfully enough, it turned out to be one of the greatest things that ever happened to her. How do you like that, control-freak self?

I am my children's caretaker, launderer, champion, advocate, personal assistant, chef, teacher,  guide. But I am not their God. And while I know this, I still have to practice working that out. I still have to let go and trust not only God, but the people He has put around me to help me. I won't say I love it. It's still hard for me to let another watch after my precious blessings. But God has shown me that it is more than okay; it is good. It is good for them, and it is good for me. It is good for me to let go and let God. Not because He needs my permission or can't work with me in the way or requires that I do it to pass some sort of test and prove my faith. Rather because He already is in control. My "letting go" is accepting the way things already are and trusting in the Lord's plan and not my own. It is walking out in faith, knowing that God has gone before me and that all things that come are from Him. "The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. (Acts 17:24-25)"

Priorities

We face a realm of possibilities with my daughter. At first, we were faced with the incredible gift that is her life. She could have been infected much earlier and miscarried. She could have stayed too long in the womb. She could have bled out at birth. She could have failed to regain her stability after birth. Once she made it past that, though, we were looking at a whole host of scary things that made us see how precious her very life was (and in turn, how precious our own are) and made me evaluate what about life is most important. If my daughter never hears, is that okay? If she never walks, is that okay? If she never speaks or has severe developmental delays, is that okay?

A brush with death gets you thinking. The weight of the unknown gets you thinking. It all got me thinking about what constitutes a life worth living and cherishing. I knew I would love my daughter no matter what. She is my sweet baby and I am her momma. That's what mommas do; they love their babies. But what about for her? What about the scary things she would face? How would I encourage her and lift her up when things in her future looked dim?  It didn't take me long to see that all the trappings of life are fleeting and unnecessary. Hearing, speaking, walking, seeing -- they can all be left behind. They can all fall away and we will still be. All, that is, save one: faith in Jesus Christ. (If you are tempted to eye-roll me here, please hang on and hear me out.)

My biggest hang-up about believing in God, putting my faith in Jesus, was the hypocrisy I saw in the people who called themselves "Christians". I knew what they said they believed and then I saw how they acted and I couldn't stand their lies. It made me hate Jesus and think the whole thing was foolish. Eventually I met a few Christians I respected who charged me to think about the faith, the actual words of Jesus, to give it a real "shot". They saw my hangup for what it was: a mask to hide my real problem with Christianity.

What I really didn't like was the idea of having my life controlled by something or someone else. If I took the plunge and accepted Jesus, then I'd have to follow the rules. God says don't drink, smoke, or chew or go with girls who do. No sex before marriage or you'll burn in hell for eternity. No lying unless it's the little white kind that make people feel better about themselves. No tattoos, no R-rated movies, pretty much no fun. And above all, never, EVER cuss. The unforgivable sin.

If I walked into that, if I signed on the dotted line and became a follower of Jesus, I'd be accountable to all those rules. I didn't want to feel condemned like that. I didn't want to feel trapped or judged or held down. And most of all, I didn't want to be a hypocrite. I knew that eventually I was going to trip up. I couldn't toe the line forever, and when I did mess up, I didn't want to have myself held accountable to anyone or anything outside of myself. I didn't want to say that I would follow this list of rules and then break one. It was easier to just never agree to the rules and do whatever I wanted than to risk the hypocrisy that I saw around me, that drove me crazy.

I had everything so, so backwards. All my carts were before their horses and it was just a big old mess. The first thing I didn't understand properly were the "rules" themselves. I thought the idea was to get yourself "right", put yourself together, and then God would accept you. That was only the beginning, though, because then you'd have to keep being good to stay in His favor. Like a really high-stakes version of Santa. Thankfully, I had some pretty amazing people in my life who showed me that my understanding was totally wrong. All these outward actions that people seemed to put so much stock in were actually the result of faith in God. Jesus says in John 14, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments." Don't miss the order there. The love that you already have compels you to follow the "rules". Love for God comes first, and because of that love, your life reflects the character that God desires from His children. The works that characterize the Christian walk are evidence of a faith that already exists: "What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? ... So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. (James 2:14-17)" This is not to say, "Get to work! Earn your faith!" This is to say, "If you have faith, you will have works," in the same way that you would say, "If you stand in the rain, you will get wet." The one causes the other (faith --> works) and they always come together, but never, never in the opposite direction. "By grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. (Ephesians 2:8-9)"

The other thing I had so wrong were the "rules" themselves. Many of the things I thought were critical to following Jesus were really just social constructs, things that were important to some people but that weren't really outlined in God's word as important or weren't even there at all. The other thing I had totally out of place was the idea of grace. The commandments God did hand down and that were important, things a follower of Christ was expected to do or not do, were always understood as an unattainable standard. No man or woman who ever lived could follow all the rules perfectly. The whole thing about Jesus is that He lived that perfect life and that our salvation comes through Him, not through our well-lived lives. We are expected to fail; we are sinful and broken. Our response to understanding that is what is important. Our response should be to call upon Jesus and ask God to forgive our failings because of the work Jesus accomplished on the cross. Christianity isn't a commitment to following a list of rules; it is a commitment to following a person. Following Jesus and modeling your life after His will lead you to a different way of life, and yes, there are guidelines and commandments and expectations for that path, but you do not have to perfect that life to follow Him. You are not the one "getting it all together" to be in His favor. In fact, Jesus gives you what you need to follow Him. It's beautiful, really.

The hypocrisy I feared? It's a part of the Christian walk. We are broken people, making our way down a long road and we will fall. Our value isn't found, though, in how well we walk; it is found in Jesus. The condemnation I feared? Ironically, in Christ, I stand redeemed, not condemned. The condemnation I feared exists outside the love of Christ, as I tried to hack it out on my own, doing my own thing. God still exists despite my believing in Him. When I put my faith in Christ and His finished work on the cross, I am washed clean. When I try to play all on my own? I fail and have nowhere to turn.

Life becomes so sweet and so precious in the face of death. We take it all for granted until we see how fragile it is and then we try to scramble and gather up all the pieces and soak up every moment because it's gone in an instant. The oldest living person in the world is 115 (possibly another is 123 but not documented). Say you manage to live until you're 130. Mind-blowingly old. You are still but a breath. Here today, gone tomorrow in the eyes of the Lord. In the eyes of the Creator of the universe who has been and will be for eternity. But your life is the only one you will live and is of vast importance to you. Whether you place your faith in Jesus determines the eternity you will live after this life. Don't let silly hang-ups or misunderstandings like the ones I had keep you from enjoying an eternity with God. Consider what it is that holds you back from accepting Jesus -- whether it's hypocrisy or the rules or why Jesus had to die or why evil exists or lack of "proof" or surrendering your plan for your life. Whatever it is, think about it until you get answers. Ask a Christian you know to explain it to you. Overcome the hurdle, whatever it is for you, because on the other side awaits the most important person the world has ever known: Jesus. And these are His word to you: "'Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!' (Matthew 7:7-11)"

If it's all bunk, what can it hurt to ask? What can it hurt to knock? Seek? If it's all true, what great glory awaits! What great peace is promised! God will not give you a stone or a serpent. He will give you His son. In fact, He already has.

Why?

I think it is human nature to ask "why". My toddler hasn't entered that phase yet; he's still stuck on "what". "What's that? What's that?" All day long! But soon, his "whats" will become "whys" and I will have to know the reasons for things. "Why do birds fly?" "Why can't I have that cookie?" "Why is the baby crying?" "Why does it snow?" I look forward to this stage so much! I love learning and seeing new ideas and thoughts take shape in my little boy. But part of me worries about that phase. What do I do if I don't know the answer?

I did a lot of asking "why" after my daughter was born. "Why did this happen?" "Why are we having to deal with this?" I felt bad for having the "why me" attitude, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but wonder why we were in this boat when plenty of other people I knew had beautifully healthy, happy children. What did we do wrong? What is the reason for all of this?

I'm not the only one who has asked this very question. In John, we see this scene: "As [Jesus] passed by, he saw a man blind from birth. And his disciples asked him, 'Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?'" The disciples want to know who was in the wrong, who was to blame for the problem they saw. As is so often the case, Jesus answers their either/or question with a third option: "Jesus answered, 'It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.'" Jesus does not fault the man OR his parents, but proceeds to give sight to this blind man. As a result, people see the power of Jesus and those who would eventually demand him killed find fault in what he did. The man was not born blind because of sin, but because he would be used to show the works of God through Christ.

How does this apply to my daughter? Jesus is not here on earth to perform a miracle and heal her. Can she still display the power of God? Absolutely. If you were beside us in this journey, you know the hundreds of prayer requests I laid at your feet. Appeals for healing for her liver, spleen, blood, brain, digestive system. Requests for protection of her eyesight, from seizures, for her heart and lungs. Pleadings for safety and good caretakers and peace for our family. All of these were legitimate concerns. She faced real danger from threat of infection and permanent damage and worsened symptoms. We laid all this before our people and the people prayed. What happened? Her life displayed God's power. Her body began to heal and we praised the Lord. Her tests came back normal and we praised the Lord. She healed after surgery and had some of the best nurses and doctors we could ever ask for and we praised the Lord. God received so much glory from her trials, so much more than if we had not faced those dangers.

The blind man in Jesus' story receives his sight, but he is harshly questioned about the matter, accused of being a liar, and is cast out from his people, left to fend for himself. Jesus hears about this and goes to the man. Here is their conversation: "Jesus heard that they had cast him out, and having found him he [Jesus] said, 'Do you believe in the Son of Man?' He answered, 'And who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?' Jesus said to him, 'You have seen him, and it is he who is speaking to you.' He said, 'Lord, I believe,' and he worshiped him. Jesus said, 'For judgment I came into this world, that those who do not see may see, and those who see may become blind.'" Because of his blindness, this man met Jesus. He not only met Jesus, but he believed in Him as the one God sent to proclaim the truth. Because of his blindness, because he did not presume to understand God but instead knelt down before Him, he was given sight, eyes to see the true God who brings healing to the world.

Part of this journey is seeing the ways that God brings glory to Himself through our trials. Another part of it is not presuming to know the mind of God. There are times that God doesn't heal, even when we (and thousands, millions of others) pray in earnest. My daughter is still deaf and she may still have damage to her brain. We continue to pray that God would heal her, but He may not. This is so, so hard for me, for my control-freak self, to step back and say with Jesus, "Not my will, but yours, be done.' (Luke 22:42)" To trust God when he says, "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8-9)"

We will not always be able to answer the "whys". Sometimes, they are bigger and higher and far more complicated than we are capable of understanding. We are still called to trust in this God. We are not promised answers or healing or peace while on earth. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)" We are promised reconciliation with God through Jesus and a place where death will be no more, but that will not be here in this life. So what do we do with ourselves in the meantime? How do we move through these times when our questions linger, answerless? We follow the model of the faithful who have come before us, who fixed their eyes on the promises of God and knew that even when they couldn't see the destination, they were moving toward something, toward something true. Hebrews 11 describes the life of many of these people: Abel, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Moses and on. People who fell on their faces before God, who often fell on their faces in sin, but who returned to God time and again, asking for forgiveness, receiving grace. Why? Where were they headed? What kept them moving forward when the road got narrow or, in some cases, wasn't even a road at all but a path through the sea? "Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses [the faithful that came before us], let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2)"

Jesus, the one who prayed for God to take the cup from Him but who accepted it regardless, He is the one that kept the faith. The promise of a Savior, of one who would be born of a woman, be degraded and mocked, but return to glory, He motivated those "heroes of the faith" who so often were fumbling fools to continue their fumbling but in the direction of God, in the direction of His promises, and with the faith that they would one day see glory. These men and women, this Jesus, they did not just go on their way; they ran the race that was "set before them". It certainly was not always a path they wanted to take, but it was the path they were given and they trusted in the God who laid it out before them.

In times of trial, those "whys" can seem so important. They weigh you down and make you question yourself, your friends, your family, your God. When you finally hit the point where you realize that you may never know why, it can be devastating. All this, all these terrible things that are happening, if only I knew WHY, then maybe I could accept them. In those moments, instead of asking "why", turn your mind instead to ask "who". Who is the one who gave me this great blessing in a child? (Psalm 127:3) Who is the one who knit this baby together in my womb? (Psalm 139:13) Who is the one who gave her life and breath? Who is the one who sustains her even now? (Job 12:10) Who is the one who has laid out the path before us and who will see us to completion? (Phil 1:6) It is our God, our great and mighty God who is powerful and true and good, our God who loves and gives and forgives, who weeps with us and comforts us, who longs for our hearts. So many questions and we may never know "why", but our comfort comes from knowing that we can trust, with our whole hearts and lives, the "who" in control of it all.

The Need for Community

I am a smart, independent woman, living in post-women's rights America. I can vote, drive a car, wear pants, cook, let my husband cook, stay home with my kids, work, etc. etc. Yes, there are still gender pay gaps and social constraints, but for the most part, I can go it alone if I want -- and often, I want. I have chosen to marry and go the "traditional" woman route, but it was just that -- a choice. No one made me and I in no way felt pressured. I just as easily could have stayed single, started a career, and blasted to the top of the social food chain. All this power goes to my brain (it goes to men's brains too...), and makes me think that I can do everything all by myself. I not only don't need your help, but I can probably do it better than you can, so I might as well do it myself anyway. (Whew, truth-telling can get ugly, y'all. Welcome to my mind...)

But regardless of my station in life, whether I'm wiping butts, windows, or the leather seats in my Porsche, I can't do it alone. It's not a matter of "won't", "don't want to", "rather not" -- I can't. You can't. No one can. God created us in His own image: "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. (Genesis 1:27)" God created us to reflect Him, but He is not alone. He is the Father, the Son, and the Spirit and they all exist together eternally. Our very foundational existence hinges on us being with others, being together, needing relationships. In fact, God made a partner for Adam specifically so that he would not be "alone" (Genesis 2:18). God says that isn't good. Being alone isn't good -- for anyone. (By "alone", I don't mean "single" - I just mean by yourself, with no friends, having no connections at all.)

Being my independent, go-it-alone self, I could have felt crippled when my daughter was born and everything fell apart. I was one person; there was no way I could both be with my daughter in the NICU and with my son (who was not allowed to visit her there). It was not physically possible for me to take care of my home, myself, my husband, and both my children. I could not make all the decisions and do all the things that needed doing. I had to rely on other people. 

Thankfully, God has blessed me with an amazing community of family and church. He placed on our hearts (my husband's and mine) the burden of connecting with a community, "for better or worse" if you will. "Bear one another's burdens (Galatians 6:2)" "Rejoice with those who rejoice; weep with those who weep. (Romans 12:15)" When it comes down to it, we are called to be with one another, support one another, when life gets tough (which it always does). Without the rich community that we have in our church and family, my husband and I would have felt like leaves blowing in the wind, nothing holding us down when the rug was pulled out from under us. Interestingly enough, most of the powerful lessons about God, love, suffering, community, and the hard truth of life were taught to me through those very same people who were loving on us when we needed it. We have walked with our friends through cancer, death, mysterious illness, joblessness, depression. We watched them turn to the Lord and teach us about the amazing grace, power, and love of our God. We believed them and nodded our heads and thought, "Wow, I can't imagine going through something like that."

Then God gave us the opportunity to put feet to our words. When life gets hard, do you really believe what you say? What I started to realize was that the very body who taught me these truths was the one who helped me to keep believing them when those truths were tested in my own life. They taught me, and when I needed it, reminded me. "Speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. (Ephesians 4:15-16 )" God's people are His body, and I may make a really good hand or foot or left pinky toe, but I can't work the whole thing (certainly not the head, which is Christ). During our time of struggle, all the hands, feet, arms, fingers, toes, ears, noses, and every other part of the body of Christ came together and built a haven of love. What did this look like? People walked our dogs, checked our mail, mowed our grass, watched our toddler, bought us meals, gave us money, sent us gifts, sat with us at the hospital, called, texted, emailed, Facebooked, prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. People sent our story all around the world, put us on prayer lists for churches who didn't even know us, asked our friends and family continually about this little baby girl they had never met. "Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. (Philippians 2:3-4)" I truly saw the spirit of this time and time again from people who were so keen to help us, practically begging to do more.

But, really, what is the point? Besides being God's image-bearers, what is the point of this community of God? What does it accomplish? As I looked at verse after verse about the church being the church and people coming together, a few key things emerged. It fulfills the law: "Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:2)" What is the law of Christ? Specifically Jesus' command to love one's neighbor as oneself which leads you to obey all the other moral laws that God commanded (Romans 13:9-10). It makes us more like Jesus: The Philippians 2 passage continues, "Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus"; the "body" in Ephesians grows into Christ (the head). We become a light: in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says to be salt -- to influence the world for good -- and to be light -- to shine the kingdom so that people will see the good works done by Jesus' disciples. All this leads to the main reason: it brings God glory: "In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in Heaven. (Matthew 5:16)." "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins... in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. (1 Peter 4:8, 11)"

Relying on others, leaning hard into a community, is part of our very design. We need it to survive, to simply "be". When we rely on that community and build it up as it builds us up, we are fulfilling the law of God. We are becoming more like Christ and displaying His grace and sacrifice to the world by being gracious and sacrificial toward one another. And ultimately, we are bringing God - the Creator of the Universe and the Giver of all things - the glory due His name. It is no small thing to have love and compassion for others, to show it through acts of service and words of love, to cry with your friends, to bring them dinners, to clean their homes, and care for their children. When you do this humbly, not for yourself but to bring glory to God, you are kneeling right next to Jesus, washing dirty feet. You are being the humble servant Christ displays for you and the world watches. It sees you get dirty to help others become clean. And it raises its eyebrow and wonders.

What about those in need? What does this picture, this charge, have to say to you? What did our time of trial teach me? Take off your sandals. Leave your independent, "I can do it myself" attitude at the door and receive the love that your brothers and sisters offer. Let your feet be washed and in doing so, bring God great glory by allowing His love to be poured out over you. Let yourself be weak. Accept it, and embrace it, and God will say to you, "'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)" In your weakness, the power of Christ will be with you, and trust me when I say, that power is far greater than anything you can do alone.

Called to Love, Not Fear

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart

and with all your soul and with all your mind. 

This is the great and first commandment. 

And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself."

(Matthew 22:37-39)

For the first couple weeks of my daughter's life, we weren't sure if she was going to live. I wrote about the gift of her life here, so I won't go into all that again. The natural response to pain is to draw back, roll into a ball, and protect yourself. When someone comes at you with a stick, you don't smile broadly and wave. The same is true for emotional pain. My life was not in the balance; my daughter's was. For me, the pain of her situation was the heart-wrenching reality of discomfort and physical pain in someone I loved dearly, someone who grew inside my body, and the possibility that that someone might cease to exist. Just as I would have thrown up my arms to block the striking blow, I encased my heart, layer by layer, adding on with each scary thing that came. I protected myself and hardened my heart to keep from being pulverized.

As we moved through the worst of it and we saw that she was going to survive the early weeks, I allowed myself to revisit the picture in my head of our little family of four. She would be a part of it and I started to open my heart to that again. As she started to pull through, however, the doctors began to give us more information about the long-term possibilities she would be facing, scary things like seizures and hearing loss, blindness and brain damage. All of these things required a "wait and see" sort of response. We had no answers in the moment; we were left to wonder and tread water.

Once again, I started building the wall around my heart. "She might never hear. I'll just give up on ever sharing music with her." "She might not see. I'll just give up the dream of teaching her to read." "She might have brain damage so I'll just accept the fact that she might live with us forever." All of these survival mechanisms, these knee-jerk responses, they allowed me to protect my own heart from feeling the wound of loss should the time come that we found it.

One day at the hospital, I held my daughter in my arms, my cold heart sitting with her out of obligation and frenzied fear, when she opened her eyes and looked right into mine. She had been so sick that this was one of the first times I actually got to see her, to look into her beautiful little face (bald though she was) and really see her. Her eyes were so warm and she just trusted me, never considering for a moment that I might have built a wall between us, that I was keeping her at bay. She didn't know a wall. She knew the warm arms around her and my eyes. In that moment, I remembered a verse that I memorized back in college, during my panic attack days: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)" I looked at my sweet baby and prayed to God for his peace, the kind of peace that surpasses all understanding, the kind of peace that if someone were to ask me, "Wow, Aleah, you are so calm through all of this. How do you do it?", my response would be, "Ask the Lord, I have no idea."

That peace didn't hit me like a rock, but the Lord started to work in my heart. I started the see the wall between us and every time I felt scared or instinctively moved to protect myself, I saw the image instead of myself with my arms outstretched, like how I wait for my son to run to me when I want to give him a hug. I saw that picture of myself and I realized that God had not called me to protect my heart and stay safe from pain. God had called me to love. He had called me to love a little girl who might die. He had called me to love a little girl who might never hear a word I say. He had called me to love a little girl who might never speak, who might never walk, who might never know who I am. All the possibilities, all the terrible things that might be at bay, they were not for me to fear. God called me to open up my arms, open them as wide as they would go, and welcome my little girl in.

I'm crying as I write this. It is not an easy thing. Love is never, ever the easy thing. So how is it ever possible? First, fear must die. The Bible promises over and over that God abides with us always and we never need fear. "Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)" That is just one example; there are so many more. As my fear of losing my daughter slowly left, replaced by the peace of God that I prayed for, my heart began to open up in love. How? Again, through the power of prayer and the Holy Spirit.

1 John 4 explains love, its source and power: "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love." Not loving = not knowing God. God doesn't simply love, He doesn't simply give us the power to love, He doesn't say, "Go, love" and then leave us to figure it out. He IS love, so if we know Him, we know love and have the power to love. "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love." With God, we can love without fear. We can open up our hearts and love and love and love and we do not have to fear death or judgment or trial or evil or the end of days.

In the famous 1 Corinthians 13 passage that is read at every wedding ever, the Word says this: "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:7)" Bears, believes, hopes, endures -- what? ALL THINGS. All things. That means no thing, nothing, is outside the power of love to bear with, to believe in, to hope for, to endure. Love survives the easiest parts and the hardest parts. Love continues despite every obstacle that stands in its way. Love perseveres because God is love and nothing breaks God. How can we really know that? By seeing the picture of the greatest act of love the world will ever know. "Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:37-39)" 

I have been through hard days with my daughter and we will have hard days to come. Mothers and fathers around the world have endured all manner of pain and fear, and instead of curling into little balls, they have opened up their arms and welcomed in their children. This love, this open-armed, reckless, fearless love is just the tiniest small picture of the great love of a Father for His children, a love that would nail His Son to a tree to bleed, bearing the weight of all the darkness of humankind, that you, that I might have the light, that we might have true life without fear, that I might have the power to look into my daughter's eyes and say, "I love you, bitty. I love you right now, and I love you whatever comes our way."

It's Okay to Cry (Out)

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;

and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

and the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

Isaiah 43:2-3

I have a stellar dad. Funny, smart, energetic, loud -- my dad was meant to be a dad. Throughout my childhood, he served roles as the Tickle Monster, homework-helper, shuttle bus, driving instructor, therapist, newscaster, encourager, heckler, scapegoat, travel agent, and more. Even now, as I near my thirties and have two kids of my own, he is a constant pulse of support in my life and in the lives of his grandkids. He visited my sweet daughter every day for the 52 days she spent in the hospital, most of the time coming to see her at 5 am when his health problems were least constricting. He is no longer my "go-to guy" now that I am married, but his place in my life set me up to expect a lot from my husband, and I know that if ever I need him -- no matter the reason or time of day or what I need from him -- he will be there before I can bat an eyelash.

One of the greatest things my dad taught me is that it's okay to cry. On the surface, my dad can seem intimidating and like rather a tough guy. Sit down with him to watch a John Wayne movie and you will see through the veneer. This man tears up at every emotional moment. Sometimes it made me feel weird as a kid. Dads aren't supposed to cry! My dad didn't care. He expressed what he felt (and still does!) and by doing so, he demonstrated to me and my brother that having feelings and showing them is good, to not be ashamed of how life (or even just a commercial) could affect us. As the complications of my daughter's life unfolded, my dad stood by me and my daughter, continually offering support and a comforting presence. I knew he was by my side (along with my mom and aunts and my husband's family and hoards of family and friends).

I also knew at every step of the way that the Lord was walking with us. He was with me when I would wake up crying in the middle of the night, staring at her empty crib. He was with my daughter when she had IVs placed in her head and went into surgery. He was with my husband as he shuttled our toddler from one home to the next and attempted to figure out a sleeping arrangement that had all three of us in one room. God was with the nurses who kept vigilant watch over my tiny, sick baby and He was with the doctors who attempted to navigate her unusual condition. He was with our church family and friends who walked our dogs and checked our mail and mowed our grass and begged for more ways to help us. Like my own, physical, in-the-flesh father, my Heavenly Father was a constant presence when I needed Him most.

Here's the amazing thing about God: he, too, tells us that it's okay to cry. If you have ever taken a spin through the Psalms, you will notice after just a short time that many of the Psalms start out with an appeal to God. "Help!" "Look at me!" "Where are you, God?" They go on to detail terrible situations of impending armies and illness and emotional anguish and distress. Take this for example: "O Lord, rebuke me not in your anger, nor discipline me in your wrath. Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am languishing; heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled. My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O Lord—how long? (Psalm 6:1-3)" Languishing, troubled bones and a troubled soul and where are you, God? Shouldn't we have faith in God? Are we allowed to question Him? To ask Him where He is when we need Him most? I mean, He is God after all and who are we? Certainly not the author of the universe. Shouldn't we accept what comes our way and never question God's plan?

The words of Scripture teach us that "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling. (Psalm 46:1-3)" But what about our feelings? What about when we get scared at the trembling mountains and we can't see how the earth falling into the sea is going to turn out? Does God care how we feel about that?

The Psalms show us that He does. In these Psalms, we see God's people cry out to Him and explain all the woes and every time -- Every. Single. Time. -- the author follows up all his concerns with praise to God and an expression of faith in God's plan and goodness. "O Lord, how many are my foes! Many are rising against me... But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head. I cried aloud to the Lord, and he answered me from his holy hill. (Psalm 3:1, 3-4)" Probably most convincing is the action of Christ himself. While Jesus was on the cross, obviously a time of distress, he quoted from this Psalm: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? (Psalm 22:1)" He's appealing to His Father, where ARE you? Rescue me! Later on, the Psalm says this,  "You who fear the Lord, praise him! All you offspring of Jacob, glorify him, and stand in awe of him, all you offspring of Israel! For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him,but has heard, when he cried to him. (Psalm 22:23-24)" The Father hears and welcomes our cries.

I have done my share of crying these past few months about my daughter. "Lord, her platelets are low. Why haven't you fixed this?" "Lord, she just won't eat. Why won't you give her an appetite?" "Lord, she just seems in such pain. Please, please heal her body." "Lord, she can't hear. Why can't you just give her ears?" "Lord, I am not cut out to be her mother. Why did you give her to me? This is too hard." Every time I let the weight sink in and feel my heavy heart, I turn my eyes to these Psalms, to the cries of the faithful who have come before me, and I remind myself that God is my help and He is walking with me and even when I can't see where we are going, I know I am on His path.

If you have lived a perfect life up until now and nothing has ever gone wrong, congratulations. But even if that is you, there will come a day when you encounter trial and feel broken and confused. And on that day, you might turn to your friends and family for support, and they will do their very best and you will appreciate their love and attempts to heal the wound, but you will still feel empty and unsure. In those times, there is only one who knows your heart and who can heal it and that is God. He is the present help -- right here, right now, all the time -- and He cares for His children. He desires for you to cry out to Him and say, "God, where are you? Do you see what is happening right now? Do you see this? How can you let this be? Why won't you fix this?" Your tears and your appeals are not an affront to His power, not a questioning of His plan or path for you. They are an acknowledgment of His power, of the fact that He is the one who can walk you through fire and keep you from being burned. When you cry out, just like the amazing Father He is, God will say, "My child, I am right here. I am standing with you in this storm. You can trust me. Now -- watch this."

The Gift of Life

 "My daughter might die." This thought hit me three hours after I birthed her as paramedics from a hospital an hour away explained to me that they would take very good care of my daughter and drive carefully as "they were in the vehicle too, after all". I could see through the infant ambulance bed where she took shallow breaths, an IV in her arm and a breathing cannula in her nose. She looked empty and so small, nothing like her vibrant, chubby brother we had met so similarly and yet so differently less than two years before. It didn't feel like any of this was happening. They wheeled her away, this weird mix of heartache and determination on their faces. As they left the room, one of the paramedics turned to me and said, "Congratulations, mom. She is beautiful." I pursed my lips into a smile and promptly burst into tears, leaning into my husband who, filled with the protective spirit of a father and husband, had no idea what to do with himself as our family was pulled apart.

"My daughter might die." I couldn't say it but it was all I could think. I stayed in the hospital bed, just thinking it. I knew that I needed to accept the possibility in that moment. I needed to accept that this one I waited for so impatiently might never be mine, that the five minutes I held her before they took her from me was all we would have. I prayed and asked God to help me accept this and I felt the peace of knowing that He would start to scratch at the emptiness.

The next few days were full of tests and driving and learning medical terms I never wanted to know and busy, go, figure out life with one child here and another an hour away and what are we going to do. I pumped around the clock and collected milk in little bags and little bottles and carted it wherever I went. My husband and I traded shifts with the toddler and in between tried to talk to each other and maintain a relationship. After about a week, I finally had the courage to ask her neonataologist, "So, she's going to be ok, right?"

"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "We seem to be past the worst and she's going to pull through." My whole body sighed, not only my lungs but my heart and my mind, they released. "But I mean, she really almost died, didn't she?" He didn't directly answer my question. Instead he said this, "Babies are like fighter pilots. They know when to eject. The womb wasn't a safe place for her any more, so she left, right on time."

What a stunning thought. The God who knit her together inside me [For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. (Psalm 139:13)], who knows the number of hairs on her head [even the hairs of your head are all numbered (Matthew 10:30)], brought her into this world at the perfect moment. My mind immediately moved to the many parents I know whose stories ended differently, whose sweet perfect babies were born still or lost before they were even able to be seen. My daughter's life was never guaranteed, just like those babies, yet God chose to bring her here, despite the dangers that could have killed her. He could just as easily have chosen differently (as He does so many times), but He didn't and that made her life so much sweeter to me. What a gift and an incredible miracle.

Here's the thing, though: my daughter's entry into the world was more perilous than most but her life is no more of a gift than yours or mine or anyone's. We were all brought through peril to arrive here (ever seen a woman give birth? then you know what I mean...). We are all held in the palm of a gracious God [In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are his also. The sea is his, for he made it,and his hands formed the dry land. (Psalm 95:4-5)] who has numbered our days [his days are determined, and the number of his months is with you,and you have appointed his limits that he cannot pass, (Job 14:5)] and set us on our paths [You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. (Psalm 139:3)]. Just as my daughter's life is a gift and a miracle so is my own! Life looks so different when it could end at any moment. Dishes and bills and traffic and messes become less unnerving, and eye contact and laughter and hugs and holding hands become critical. The pressure on me vanishes and instead, I can lift up all my cares and worries and concerns to the One who sustains the universe [{Jesus} is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. (Hebrews 1:3)]. "My daughter might die." It's true and was a very real possibility. But it always is, for all of us. Life is a gift and a miracle.

As I thought about all this, I remembered visiting my grandparents, my dad's parents, when I was maybe ten or eleven. We saw them a few times a year, and I gave my Grandpa a big hug and said, "Hey, Grandpa, how are you?" Without the pretense of typical social conventions, he looked me square in the eyes and replied, "Well... I woke up." I laughed, having no idea how to respond to this slightly morbid statement, the implication of which was that he very well could not have woken up. I thought it was such a weird thing to say at the time, but now that I think back, I understand him better. "How are you, Grandpa?" His answer: "I'm blessed to be here another day. That is a gift every day."