Becoming Karen

I have been encouraged to pray that God would give me a tender heart and passion for the lost, those who don’t have a relationship with God.   But after a recent sermon, I wonder if I’ve missed a critical element.

A few weeks ago our pastor, Nathan, related a story about his golden lab puppy getting out of the yard.  He told of his great distress at coming home to find the gate open, no dog, and his wife and son sitting calmly at the table having dinner.  They assumed that the dog would return home or that someone would find it and call the vet’s number that was on it’s tag.   Nathan related how worried he was and that he was determined to find the puppy that very night.  (Picture a large, burly, manly man talking about how much he loved his puppy in a high pitched syrupy voice.)  He looked throughout the neighborhood for some time to no avail.  When he returned home, he found his wife with some flyers she had made with the puppy’s information on it.  They spent the remainder of the night hanging them throughout the area.  The point of the sermon was the focus and determination that God has for he lost and that we, too, should have that same passion.  The point I pondered was the wife and son…

See at first, they weren’t all that worried about the puppy.  I’m sure they love and enjoy the puppy, but Nathan is the true owner and lover of the puppy.  So what caused them to start helping with the search?  Did they suddenly develop deep, loving feelings for the puppy that they hadn’t had before? No.  Did they think that Nathan was incapable of the task himself?  No.  It was their love for Nathan.  They could see how much the puppy meant to him and that he was determined to find it.  Because they loved Nathan, they wanted to be a part of the search.  Isn’t that how it should be for me, too?

The truth is, if I wait until my heart gets tender, I could be waiting a long time!  Sadly, I don’t always love the lost.  Sometimes I don’t understand their thinking or how they don’t see God working all around them.  Sometimes I don’t like how they behave, the choices they make, or how they treat others or me.  (Does anyone else see the pride, arrogance, and self-righteousness that goes on in me!)  But, I do love God.  And He gently reminds me of how I, too, was once lost and far from Him.  And I’ve noticed that as my love for God grows, so does my heart and passion for the lost.  He is changing my heart to love what He loves.

So now my prayer is very simple; God help me to love you more and to love what and who you love.  It should be fun to see what God has planned….. 

I’ve always hated those questions people ask about what would you do if you knew you only had, insert time, left to live. I guess because it was always hard to imagine getting that kind of news.  Except for the scare in high school in which I was diagnosed with scarlet fever (my only reference to the disease was watching Little House on the Prairie and people died), I have been relatively healthy.  Just the normal colds, flu, strep throat, and such.  I still have a hard time imagining it for myself, but have a new perspective to the question with regard to someone I love. 

When my mom told me of her diagnosis and that the average time from diagnosis to death was generally four to six months, I began thinking about what I wanted to do in that short time.  The first few things were obvious; make sure she had good medical care, a plan for pain management, a plan for home health care, and a plan for the end.  But the overwhelming thing I wanted to do was care for her.  I wanted to be there to take her to the doctor, help her with medications, help her get things done that were important to her to get done, help her in anyway I could.  The problem was that she was in Arizona and I was in Texas running a household of teenagers.  The good thing was that her husband and my siblings were with her to care for her and help her.  I was thankful, yet still longed to be there.

As it turned out, my mom applied to be in a study with some new treatments for cancers like hers close to my home.  She didn’t qualify, but ended up staying at my house for two weeks due to an infection in her port.  I almost feel bad saying this, but I’ve never been so thankful for an infection.  During those two weeks, not only did all of us spend treasured time together, but I was able to care for my mom in a way I’ve never been able to do.  You see, this was not my mom’s first serious illness or cancer.  She was a strong, independent woman and wanted to do things for herself.  This time, however, she needed help and was physically close. 

I’m not sure why the drive to care for her was so strong, but I think it partially stemmed from the difficulties we had in the past.  My caring for her was my way of physically demonstrating the love and forgiveness I offered her in spoken and written words that she sometimes had trouble believing.  It was my way of extending grace and mercy to her that I had received and knew she needed to experience.  It was a beautiful as she was vulnerable and open and allowed me to care for her. 

To allow someone to care for me. That is my answer to the question of what I would do. There is extraordinary intimacy created when we are vulnerable and open to let someone care for us.  Too often I miss that because I am too proud, stubborn, or self sufficient to admit I need help.  I don’t want to miss out anymore….

As I sat there in the dimly lit room holding her hand, my thoughts brought me back to the beginning.  Not her beginning, but mine.  For today would be her last.

I had flown in a few days before to say my final good byes to my mom.  Five months earlier, she had been diagnosed with a rare, aggressive form of thyroid cancer.  She had the tumor removed and had undergone treatment, but the cancer returned quickly.  She even went through testing in Texas to see if she would qualify for a study using new treatments for cancers like hers.  Unfortunately, she did not qualify.  After spending a few weeks with us, she returned home.

Now, a few weeks later, she was in hospice.  The cancer had spread.  It moved into her lungs and she was having more and more difficulty breathing.  My sister and I had been staying with her in hospice through the nights and knew her time was coming to an end.  As my sister settled in for some sleep, I took my place next to Mom, holding her hand ready to be available if she needed something.  I sat there thinking how it seemed so appropriate for me to be there at her end.  My mom and I shared a history that no one else was a part of.  My father left when I was very young so it was just the two of us for many years.  I thought about those early years, the people we knew, the places we moved, the trips we took, the events that took place.  I thought about my sister who died as an infant and how happy my mom would be seeing her again.  So many memories that only she and I shared, some good and some sad, some to be bestow and some to just keep for myself; all of them now to be treasured.

It came quickly, her last breath.  Her nurse said she was probably waiting for my sister and I to get settled for the night.  I don’t know if that’s true, but the thought touches my heart.  And now that she’s gone, I’m deeply thankful for my memories.  I also feel a sense of responsibility as their keeper; deciding which ones to pass on and which ones to hold close to my heart.  My hope is that I choose wisely and share those that will be encouraging and bring joy to those who knew her.

As I walked up the stairs, I could feel them coming.  All the usual signs were there: the flushed face, stinging eyes, beads of sweat on my upper lip.  They came as soon as I opened her door.  Tears.  They began slowly, then began streaming down my cheeks as the flood gates opened.  It was the first time I had been in my oldest daughter’s room since she left for college.  Her walls were bare.  Her bed not slept in.  The loss of her daily presence gripped my heart.

They came again later while driving.  I passed a billboard celebrating the survival of a cancer patient.  The sadness engulfed me.  There will be no such celebration for my mom.  Her cancer is rare, tenacious, and deadly.  Her healing and celebration will come as Jesus ushers her into heaven.

Grief….the emotional response to loss. Just to say the word brings a heaviness, an ache.  Grief is not something we look forward to experiencing.  In fact, most of us do whatever we can in order to protect ourselves from it.  But it never works.  Grief comes to us all.

So in this season of grieving, I am learning to lean into it.  To feel the loss, the hurt.  To be present and not try to deny it or hide from it.  What I’ve experienced is not only the sadness, but the comfort, peace, and dare I say it…joy.  Not in the loss itself, but what the loss reminds me of.

I miss my daughter a great deal, but am reminded of our wonderful relationship and the deep love I have for her.  A love I wasn’t sure I would ever experience.  And as I have the honor and privilege of helping to care for my mom for a short time, I am reminded of the grace and restoration that God has brought to our relationship.  He has brought us so far and there is great joy in that.

I know that grieving is a process.  There is an ebb and flow to it.  And really, it won’t be finished this side of heaven.  But as I walk this path, I know I am not alone.  I have family and friends.  Most importantly, I have a God who is “close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18).  He gives me His peace and comfort.  He holds me close and gives me hope.  He is the source of my joy.

I wrote this last year and wanted to share it again….

We went to a Matthew West concert a few nights ago.  It was great.  He not only sang songs, but told the stories behind the songs.

One was of a young man with cerebral palsy.  The young man related his disability to that of a blind man found in the bible. The account is found in the ninth chapter of John where Jesus’ disciples asked Him whose sin caused the man to be blind.  Jesus replied, “It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents; but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him.”  That’s when my son with autism leaned over and said, “That’s just like me.”  It was all I could do to squeak out an ‘uhuh’ through the lump in my throat.

As tears stung my eyes, I thought of the truth of that statement.  My son is well aware that he has autism.  He knows that it somehow makes him different, even if he doesn’t fully understand how. He knows that God made him that way for a purpose.  He knows that God has a plan for him.   He knows God will use him.   What he may not know is how God has already used him to show me faith in action.

I have seen child like faith as my son prays, fully expecting God to work on his behalf.  I have seen boldness in declaring the gospel as my son tells others about Jesus.  I have seen compassion at work as he holds the hand of a young child who is nervous on the first day of bible school.  I have seen persistence as he tries to learn a new skill.  I have seen growth and development where experts told us not to expect any.  I have seen the mighty works of God displayed in him…

It’s been a very long, cold, bitter winter.  I have friends and family in the North who are tired and weary of the cold, the snow, the shoveling, the ice, and the cancelled school days.  Even here in the South our winter has been colder and longer than usual.  So I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see the first signs of Spring; the tiny buds on our trees and bushes indicating new life.  How I have been longing to see them come!

That same longing occurs when I endure a long, difficult season in my personal life.  A season that keeps dumping more and more on my already overwhelmed circumstances.  A season that sometimes leaves me feeling trapped, keeping me indoors, isolated from others, and unable to freely move about. A season that seems to never end.  I get tired and weary, wondering if I can really make it through another storm.  I long for a new season, new life.  And then it comes…the first signs of Spring.  A day with laughter after the loss of a loved one.  A day at school without a tantrum for your child with Autism.  A peaceful, loving conversation with your teenager who seems to be angry all the time.  A call for a second interview after months of looking for a job.

Signs of Spring.  We need them.  We long for them.  They help us persevere.  They are reminders that this season will end…..

When people find out that I have five children including a set of quadruplets, I’m usually asked how I did it.  How did I survive and  maintain my sanity?  I usually answer the same way; by the grace of God and our church family.  

God put us in a church that loved others and was willing to jump in when needed.  We had over a hundred people who came to our house to help with babies, house cleaning, lawn work, and meals.  And God supernaturally helped my husband and I to just do what we had to do.  I’ve noticed, though, that this answer, while true, doesn’t seem to satisfy.  Really, what people want are some specific things we did when faced with a God sized calling.  So here are a few.

We admitted our great need.  We knew we were in way over our heads.  In fact, I told God several times during the early part of my pregnancy that I was not going to be able to handle five kids.  I was not equipped in any way shape or form.  And this was not the plan that we had for our lives.  Admitting our need may have seemed like an obvious thing to do given the circumstances, but it was difficult.  My husband and I were driven people who liked to control and plan things.  (We still do.)   We were taught to do what you had to do to help yourself in life.  Now we had to admit to others that we needed help; we couldn’t do it ourselves.  It was hard. 

We let others help even when it was uncomfortable.  It was strange having people in our house all the time; seeing our dirt and mess.  Women came to our house to clean our toilets and mop the floors.  Those are things I would normally do before people came over. Yet all I could do was thank them.  One of the most difficult days for my husband was when our pastors wife mowed our lawn.  She was just being a mom and helping her teenage boys who had volunteered to mow.  But there she was, in the front yard doing what he had always been able to do, but couldn’t now.  Letting others help was very humbling.

We prayed.  We prayed for God’s help, His wisdom and guidance, His provision, His strength.  And He was faithful.  God provided laborers.  He provided expensive formula from a doctor who knew our need.  He provided financially through my husband’s job.  He gave us strength when we were at the end of ourselves and felt like we just could not go anymore.  We experienced first hand the miracles of God.

I reached out for specific help.  As I said earlier, I was not equipped for five small children.  I knew I needed help.  I asked a  wonderful woman (the one who mowed our lawn) if she would meet with me and be my mentor.  I had questions about raising children and she offered answers covered in prayer and love.   I reached out to my doctor when I thought I was going crazy trying to keep it all together.  (She had four kids including a set of twins so she understood my life!)  I reached out to a Christian counselor so she could help me with my perfectionism.  I reached out to friends to help me maintain perspective and provide fun and laughter.  I learned the importance of community and friendship.

We took breaks from the day to day demands.  My husband and I had a lot of dates the first couple of years after the quads were born.  We knew we needed time to be together and reconnect as a couple.  We also gave each other breaks.  The best thing my husband did for me was book a hotel room for a night.  I would go in the afternoon and not come back until the next day.  I got to do whatever I wanted.  I would sleep, read, watch a movie, eat an entire meal before it got cold, and enjoy the quiet.  He did this several times for me.  It’s probably the main reason we’re still married and I didn’t lose my mind!

In the end, it boiled down to God’s grace and our church family.  It still does….

Since my children were born, I’ve known that God has a plan for their lives, an eternal purpose for each one of them.  A purpose to bring honor and glory to Him.   For this, He has gifted each one of them and given them each a passion for something.  (Even if they’re unsure of what that is now.)  So in my season of preparing to let go of my children, I hold on to the knowledge that God loves each one of them deeply and that He has a great adventure prepared for them.  One where they will know Him more intimately and personally.  One where they will be salt and light pointing others to God.

I have rediscovered a song from the Sidewalk Prophets called This is not Goodbye from their Live Like That CD.  It’s a beautiful song that speaks to this very idea of letting go so that someone you love can go be who God created them to be.  Enjoy…with Kleenex.

Lately, I’ve been watching What not to Wear while I eat lunch.  I enjoy watching how the hosts help the contributors realize their potential.  They help them to accept who and where they are in life and to dress the body they have, not the body they wish they had.  It’s fun to see not only the physical transformation, but the emotional one as well. 

The contributors vary in age, gender, ethnicity, life experiences, family situations, employment, etc.  But I am struck by a recurring theme for many of the female contributors… wanting to be invisible and unknown.  They are so afraid of rejection or so used to it that they think being invisible is a better alternative.  So they either fade into the back ground or dress in a way to garner attention, but still remain anonymous.  How sad.  Yet, it’s become a way of life for many women.  And it’s a lonely place to be.  I know; I’ve been there.

Like most women, I long to be seen, to be known, and be loved.  Yet, my fear of rejection kept me from letting anyone see the real me for many years. I was so sure that if people really knew me, the good, the bad, and the ugly, that they would pull away or condemn.  So I hid.  I made sure I didn’t stand out.  I tried to do the right things, say the right things, and be what others wanted me to be.  As I lived trying to be unknown, I found myself withdrawing and isolating.  I convinced myself that I didn’t have real value.  I was sure that in the end no one would miss me.  Besides, how can you miss someone you don’t really know?  But God…

But God stepped in and showed me the truth; God does see me.  He knows me fully.  It was He who created me; formed me in my mother’s womb.  He knows the number of hairs on my head.  He knows the good, the bad, and the ugly. He knows where I’ve been and what I’ve done.  And yet, get this, He loves me….deeply and unconditionally.  There’s no need for me to shrink into the shadows and hide.  I am fully known and loved by God.  And so are you!  Let these truths settle in and take root in your heart.  Let yourself be seen.  Venture out and be who you were created to be.  And know your courage just might give others the boldness to step out of the shadows, too….

This past weekend I spoke at a woman’s retreat in Bedford Springs, Pennsylvania.  We were at a spa resort which boasts eight natural springs purported to have healing qualities.   It was wonderful.  It reminded me why I so enjoy going to retreats.

As women, we spend a lot of time making sure we have on our armor and our masks.  We want to protect ourselves from hurt and present a ‘put together woman’ to the world.  Then we go to a retreat.  It’s a time for each woman to step out of her life and take a breath. It’s a time where we can lower the armor and the mask and be who we really are.  We get to practice vulnerability.

I’m always amazed at how worshipping, learning, and laughing together can allow women the freedom to share more freely what’s really going on in their hearts and minds.  We all start out as ‘fine’ and sooner or later are willing to talk about those things with which we are struggling.  And as we lower our protective gear and share our hearts, others can come in to encourage and love us.  It’s a beautiful thing to see!  Women listening to one another, crying with one another, celebrating with one another, praying with one another.  It’s seeing God’s love in action.  It’s magnificent! 

The key for me is to keep practicing vulnerability after the retreat ends.  Satan is quick to whisper that I have taken off the mask and someone might see the real me.  His lies say that who I am is not good enough and the mask must be put back on.  This is where I must turn my focus on God and His truth.  I am good enough and valuable because I am His.  God reminds me that with my mask and armor on, I’m not able to receive the encouragement, love, and grace I need.  So I keep the mask off.  It can be scary.  Sometimes others don’t like what they see.  But mostly, others are just relieved because they too are choosing to live without the mask.  What freedom!