I've had a lot on my mind and my plate lately, and I've used that as an excuse for not writing as much. Well, no more! I'm simply going to include more "Blog Bits" - short, sweet posts that may or may not reveal the innermost workings of my mind...but hopefully you'll enjoy them anyway!
My pastor tells this story at least twice a year, and it's one of my favorites.
"There was a world-class chess master who visited an art museum. He perused the ancient statues, the tapestries, the sculpture, and finally came to the modern art section. In it, there was a magnificent painting of a chess match in which it appeared one agonized player had lost. The title was "Checkmate". The chess master summoned a security guard and asked to speak with the curator. The curator, pleased and impressed that such a famous individual should ask after him, appeared at once. "There's a problem here," said the chess master. Expecting to hear about a problem with the service or the facility, the curator immediately apologized and asked what the problem was. "This painting is not accurate," replied the chess master. "Look." He pointed to the chessboard and indicated a possible move that the losing player could still make. "'Checkmate' means that the game has ended. But this game is not over. The king has one more move."
The reason I love this story is that it is so encouraging. No matter how agonizing our situation, how depressing or seemingly hopeless, we must remind ourselves that our King, Jesus, always has one more move. The devil thought He was done for on the cross, but Christ had one more move to play - and with it, He redeemed us all. Even now, when we are in the blackness of a dark hour or an impossible situation, we must take heart in the fact that the game isn't over yet!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Honoring Olivia
The past week was not easy.
But it was wonderful.
Last Wednesday, February 29, would have been our due date. Although, earlier this year, God gave me a great peace about his plans for me, and me desire for children, I was dreading that day. My emotions were a jumble the night before, when Pastor Stephanie's leadership group met for prayer and planning. We prayed for the weekend ahead, which was our annual Encounter God event for women. Although I knew I needed to focus solely on praying for the women who were to attend, my thoughts kept drifting back to my situation. I began to cry. Near the end of the night, one of the ladies gently asked me if God showed me anything during our prayer time. I continued to cry as I said, "My baby."
While we were praying, the Lord showed me a few things. One was a brief vision of Jesus, all smiles, pulling my face up to look at Him and gesturing to a bundle He was holding. "I've got her," he was saying. "It's ok, I've got her!" Now, although the Bible isn't specific about what we look like when we get to Heaven, I don't know that Olivia is still a baby. But, that is how I imagine her right now, and I think that's why God allowed me that short, comforting moment.
I knew that the weekend was going to be a little bit of a challenge for me. Along with a few other women, I was going to give a testimony about a very difficult situation that God brought me through. One lady was talking about taking care of her sickly husband. One shared about her failed marriages. Another talked about severe abuse and neglect in her childhood and teen years. And I was going to talk about my miscarriage.
I spoke on Saturday afternoon. I had nothing written down, no speech prepared. I was simply going to tell me story as I had experienced it - and as I was still experiencing it. I tried hard not to cry, but I couldn't help it. As I looked out over the faces of the women - as young as 12 and as old as 85 - I saw a lot more tears. Many of these women had been comforters to me when we lost the baby, praying for me and sharing their similar stories. But many of these women didn't even know I had been pregnant. I tried to end my testimony on a high note - that I believed God had the best in store for me - and cited examples of promises that he has kept. I talked about the horrible experience of my parents' divorce, which ended with a great step-mom and step-sister, and a healthier relationship with both my parents. I talked about dating a bunch of "duds" and almost giving up on God's plan for my love life, then meeting Ross "coincidentally" and discovering that he was to be my husband. Still, it was hard. I didn't have any magical happy ending to share with the group, and I had wanted one.
But God was working out my happy ending through the women who were listening to me.
I won't share too many specific details, because the events of the Encounter God weekend are deeply personal and spiritual. I don't want to betray anyone's trust. But I do need to say that, after I shared, several women did approach me to tell me that, in some way, my testimony helped them begin to heal. They said that they had miscarried, too, some more than once, and that they - or their husbands - had never fully dealt with the pain. One woman said that she had never named the babies she had lost...but God gave her their names that weekend.
I truly feel that it's no coincidence that, three days after we lost the baby, we had a youth all-night prayer meeting. We were given the option to cancel but we felt that God really had some things in store for the kids. We were right. It was a wonderful night for them, and for Ross and I, the reward was seeing teenagers praying for each other and their families, encouraging each other, and dancing before the Lord. This weekend began three days after I was supposed to be heading home with a perfect pink little baby in my arms. Depression, anger, and resentment could easily have wiped away any desire in me to reach out and do God's work. In fact, a few years ago, it would have. But over the past several months and weeks, I am learning so much more about God's nature, the value of fellowship, and the true purpose of selflessly serving others.
Most women go to this retreat in order to hear from and recieve from God. And that is right - it is what the weekend is specifically designed for. I went to facilitate and serve, and God ended up blessing me with great encouragement, emotional healing, and deeper fellowship with some incredible women.
I also got the chance to publicly honor Olivia Rae. I will not see her just yet, but after this weekend, I also know that she is far from friendless. I feel that each time I meet a women who has miscarried, I have gained another heavenly companion for my daughter, and another earthly sister here for me.
It is not lost on me, of course, that Jesus was dead for three days and then he rose again. Is it not, then, perfectly beautiful that, three days after a day of ashes and black mourning, healing would begin to rise up, unfurling its wings like a phoenix?
I love the way God works.
But it was wonderful.
Last Wednesday, February 29, would have been our due date. Although, earlier this year, God gave me a great peace about his plans for me, and me desire for children, I was dreading that day. My emotions were a jumble the night before, when Pastor Stephanie's leadership group met for prayer and planning. We prayed for the weekend ahead, which was our annual Encounter God event for women. Although I knew I needed to focus solely on praying for the women who were to attend, my thoughts kept drifting back to my situation. I began to cry. Near the end of the night, one of the ladies gently asked me if God showed me anything during our prayer time. I continued to cry as I said, "My baby."
While we were praying, the Lord showed me a few things. One was a brief vision of Jesus, all smiles, pulling my face up to look at Him and gesturing to a bundle He was holding. "I've got her," he was saying. "It's ok, I've got her!" Now, although the Bible isn't specific about what we look like when we get to Heaven, I don't know that Olivia is still a baby. But, that is how I imagine her right now, and I think that's why God allowed me that short, comforting moment.
I knew that the weekend was going to be a little bit of a challenge for me. Along with a few other women, I was going to give a testimony about a very difficult situation that God brought me through. One lady was talking about taking care of her sickly husband. One shared about her failed marriages. Another talked about severe abuse and neglect in her childhood and teen years. And I was going to talk about my miscarriage.
I spoke on Saturday afternoon. I had nothing written down, no speech prepared. I was simply going to tell me story as I had experienced it - and as I was still experiencing it. I tried hard not to cry, but I couldn't help it. As I looked out over the faces of the women - as young as 12 and as old as 85 - I saw a lot more tears. Many of these women had been comforters to me when we lost the baby, praying for me and sharing their similar stories. But many of these women didn't even know I had been pregnant. I tried to end my testimony on a high note - that I believed God had the best in store for me - and cited examples of promises that he has kept. I talked about the horrible experience of my parents' divorce, which ended with a great step-mom and step-sister, and a healthier relationship with both my parents. I talked about dating a bunch of "duds" and almost giving up on God's plan for my love life, then meeting Ross "coincidentally" and discovering that he was to be my husband. Still, it was hard. I didn't have any magical happy ending to share with the group, and I had wanted one.
But God was working out my happy ending through the women who were listening to me.
I won't share too many specific details, because the events of the Encounter God weekend are deeply personal and spiritual. I don't want to betray anyone's trust. But I do need to say that, after I shared, several women did approach me to tell me that, in some way, my testimony helped them begin to heal. They said that they had miscarried, too, some more than once, and that they - or their husbands - had never fully dealt with the pain. One woman said that she had never named the babies she had lost...but God gave her their names that weekend.
I truly feel that it's no coincidence that, three days after we lost the baby, we had a youth all-night prayer meeting. We were given the option to cancel but we felt that God really had some things in store for the kids. We were right. It was a wonderful night for them, and for Ross and I, the reward was seeing teenagers praying for each other and their families, encouraging each other, and dancing before the Lord. This weekend began three days after I was supposed to be heading home with a perfect pink little baby in my arms. Depression, anger, and resentment could easily have wiped away any desire in me to reach out and do God's work. In fact, a few years ago, it would have. But over the past several months and weeks, I am learning so much more about God's nature, the value of fellowship, and the true purpose of selflessly serving others.
Most women go to this retreat in order to hear from and recieve from God. And that is right - it is what the weekend is specifically designed for. I went to facilitate and serve, and God ended up blessing me with great encouragement, emotional healing, and deeper fellowship with some incredible women.
I also got the chance to publicly honor Olivia Rae. I will not see her just yet, but after this weekend, I also know that she is far from friendless. I feel that each time I meet a women who has miscarried, I have gained another heavenly companion for my daughter, and another earthly sister here for me.
It is not lost on me, of course, that Jesus was dead for three days and then he rose again. Is it not, then, perfectly beautiful that, three days after a day of ashes and black mourning, healing would begin to rise up, unfurling its wings like a phoenix?
I love the way God works.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
A Pound of Flesh...or Ten
There is a thin line between respectfully discussing spiritual things for the edification of others...and looking like a self-absorbed, self-righteous Bible-thumping idiot. So I will tread carefully here.
Recently, my church, like thousands of others across the nation, engaged in a 21-day fast. The purpose behind the fast is not to lose weight or cause ourselves to suffer in any way, but to draw closer to the Lord by focusing more on the spirit than on the flesh. Some people felt called to go on a "Daniel fast", which generally allows fruits, vegetables, water, and limited carbohydrates. Some people felt that they were to give up one or two things - some vices, maybe, like sweets or snack foods. Last year, I gave up cheese and, whining, I limped my way through three horrible, miserable, Swiss-less weeks.
Okay, so it wasn't quite that bad. But I had really missed the point of the fast, which was to put my body's desires on hold while I pressed in and worked on my spirit's needs. This year, I was still more lacking in the spiritual arena than I would have liked, yet I know God was with me. I gave up dairy products, red meat and pork, sweets, pop, and coffee. There were a few brief times when I felt I could "pause" the fast, but God gave me the strength to say "no" to my body. I was less consistent when it came to my 21-day Bible plan. Still, through this experience, I have developed a much healthier relationship with food. I truly believe that is the biggest take-away that I got from these 21 days.
Is that not spiritual enough for you?
Well, for someone who didn't even realize that, all her life, food has been a kind of idol, it's pretty spiritual. I can trace my weight problems back to when I was about eight years old and on steroids for my asthma. They caused dramatically increased appetite...I'm talking two Big Macs a large Coke and fries. For a second-grader. I porked out pretty badly, and although a little of that was redistributed when I entered puberty, I could never be accused of being "the skinny one".
Not surprisingly, I reached my peak weight in college. Withough getting too detailed (after all, I do have a modicum of modesty to maintain), I was, according to the doctor's BMI chart, almost 80 pounds overweight. Granted, that BMI chart doesn't take into consideration one's genetic code. My Slovak heritage would never allow for anything less than sturdy shoulders, a full bosom and meaty thighs, no matter what any diagram says. Still...
I didn't have a double chin.
I had three chins.
Things were bad.
Although I never came up with any particular routine after college, the combination of my two jobs - working at Starbucks and Curves - allowed me to lose a total of 25 pounds. I looked good, and I felt good.
Then I got married. And then I got pregnant. At the time of my miscarriage last year, I was nearly back at that dreaded "college weight". And I was scared. I felt ugly. I felt worthless. And I absolutely hated that those feelings were coming from how I viewed my body. What made me angry was that I had converted my husband from a pizza-a-day junkie to a salad-appreciating, fish-eating, whole-wheat loving coupon-clipper...and I had steadily gotten heavier.
I also hated the fact that I was in a position, in church and at work, to encourage young women to appreciate their bodies and consider them precious to God...but I kept speaking out in anger against my own.
During the fast, I came to the realization that I had never actually said "no" to food. It was not quite an addiction, per se, but it was always there when I was bored, or sad, or angry, or - sometimes - actually hungry. Although I had become a good cook and I chose healthy ingredients, I was eating out of boredom, not delight. I was eating because it was comfortable.
(Which is also why I dated the wrong guys. I didn't want to do without, so I overdid it. But those guys were like soggy, over-priced ball game French fries smothered in artificial, neon orange cheese-flavored sauce and MSG-loaded chili. Ross is like a oven-roasted baked potato with a sprinkle of sea salt, a dollop of nonfat Greek yogurt, freshly chopped chives and just a touch of sharp, natural cheddar cheese.)
I don't know why I just got into that, but it made sense for a second there, before my analogy clobbered me over the head and took over. Let's try again. What I'm saying is that food had become my friend. I was replacing healthy relationships in my life with Lunchables. Instead of meeting a gal-pal for coffee, I would sulk at home and eat.
In the past three weeks, there were times when I whined, or times when I came very close to throwing in the towel altogether (poor Ross; he watched me stare mournfully at the fridge morning after morning, desperately craving milk for my cereal). But dropping five pounds and watching my blood pressure decrease slightly has given me encouragement. Although I am adding meat, dairy and other treats back into my diet, I am being very cautious. I'm far more aware of serving sizes, and how just a little of something often satisties more than great big gobs of it. I'm still choosing fish and poultry over beef and pork. I'm stopping when I am almost full - that has been a huge win for me. I'm snacking less. I'm making sure I have fruit every day at lunch. I'm eating more vegetarian meals. I'm eating purposefully. I can feel less guilt when I indulge in a big ole burger or a pile of fries, because I know that 80% of the time, I'm making wise, careful choices when I eat. That has made all the difference.
I feel like God answered my unspoken prayers during this fast. When I was young, I used to pray that somehow, he would magically make me thin. I believe he did better than that - he is making me a great cook who loves food enough to respect it, and who is no longer ruled by it. I still have a good deal of weight to lose for me to feel truly healthy. But yesterday, I was able to slip on a pair of jeans I haven't worn since before I was married.
That's a good sign.
Recently, my church, like thousands of others across the nation, engaged in a 21-day fast. The purpose behind the fast is not to lose weight or cause ourselves to suffer in any way, but to draw closer to the Lord by focusing more on the spirit than on the flesh. Some people felt called to go on a "Daniel fast", which generally allows fruits, vegetables, water, and limited carbohydrates. Some people felt that they were to give up one or two things - some vices, maybe, like sweets or snack foods. Last year, I gave up cheese and, whining, I limped my way through three horrible, miserable, Swiss-less weeks.
Okay, so it wasn't quite that bad. But I had really missed the point of the fast, which was to put my body's desires on hold while I pressed in and worked on my spirit's needs. This year, I was still more lacking in the spiritual arena than I would have liked, yet I know God was with me. I gave up dairy products, red meat and pork, sweets, pop, and coffee. There were a few brief times when I felt I could "pause" the fast, but God gave me the strength to say "no" to my body. I was less consistent when it came to my 21-day Bible plan. Still, through this experience, I have developed a much healthier relationship with food. I truly believe that is the biggest take-away that I got from these 21 days.
Is that not spiritual enough for you?
Well, for someone who didn't even realize that, all her life, food has been a kind of idol, it's pretty spiritual. I can trace my weight problems back to when I was about eight years old and on steroids for my asthma. They caused dramatically increased appetite...I'm talking two Big Macs a large Coke and fries. For a second-grader. I porked out pretty badly, and although a little of that was redistributed when I entered puberty, I could never be accused of being "the skinny one".
Not surprisingly, I reached my peak weight in college. Withough getting too detailed (after all, I do have a modicum of modesty to maintain), I was, according to the doctor's BMI chart, almost 80 pounds overweight. Granted, that BMI chart doesn't take into consideration one's genetic code. My Slovak heritage would never allow for anything less than sturdy shoulders, a full bosom and meaty thighs, no matter what any diagram says. Still...
I didn't have a double chin.
I had three chins.
Things were bad.
Although I never came up with any particular routine after college, the combination of my two jobs - working at Starbucks and Curves - allowed me to lose a total of 25 pounds. I looked good, and I felt good.
Then I got married. And then I got pregnant. At the time of my miscarriage last year, I was nearly back at that dreaded "college weight". And I was scared. I felt ugly. I felt worthless. And I absolutely hated that those feelings were coming from how I viewed my body. What made me angry was that I had converted my husband from a pizza-a-day junkie to a salad-appreciating, fish-eating, whole-wheat loving coupon-clipper...and I had steadily gotten heavier.
I also hated the fact that I was in a position, in church and at work, to encourage young women to appreciate their bodies and consider them precious to God...but I kept speaking out in anger against my own.
During the fast, I came to the realization that I had never actually said "no" to food. It was not quite an addiction, per se, but it was always there when I was bored, or sad, or angry, or - sometimes - actually hungry. Although I had become a good cook and I chose healthy ingredients, I was eating out of boredom, not delight. I was eating because it was comfortable.
(Which is also why I dated the wrong guys. I didn't want to do without, so I overdid it. But those guys were like soggy, over-priced ball game French fries smothered in artificial, neon orange cheese-flavored sauce and MSG-loaded chili. Ross is like a oven-roasted baked potato with a sprinkle of sea salt, a dollop of nonfat Greek yogurt, freshly chopped chives and just a touch of sharp, natural cheddar cheese.)
I don't know why I just got into that, but it made sense for a second there, before my analogy clobbered me over the head and took over. Let's try again. What I'm saying is that food had become my friend. I was replacing healthy relationships in my life with Lunchables. Instead of meeting a gal-pal for coffee, I would sulk at home and eat.
In the past three weeks, there were times when I whined, or times when I came very close to throwing in the towel altogether (poor Ross; he watched me stare mournfully at the fridge morning after morning, desperately craving milk for my cereal). But dropping five pounds and watching my blood pressure decrease slightly has given me encouragement. Although I am adding meat, dairy and other treats back into my diet, I am being very cautious. I'm far more aware of serving sizes, and how just a little of something often satisties more than great big gobs of it. I'm still choosing fish and poultry over beef and pork. I'm stopping when I am almost full - that has been a huge win for me. I'm snacking less. I'm making sure I have fruit every day at lunch. I'm eating more vegetarian meals. I'm eating purposefully. I can feel less guilt when I indulge in a big ole burger or a pile of fries, because I know that 80% of the time, I'm making wise, careful choices when I eat. That has made all the difference.
I feel like God answered my unspoken prayers during this fast. When I was young, I used to pray that somehow, he would magically make me thin. I believe he did better than that - he is making me a great cook who loves food enough to respect it, and who is no longer ruled by it. I still have a good deal of weight to lose for me to feel truly healthy. But yesterday, I was able to slip on a pair of jeans I haven't worn since before I was married.
That's a good sign.
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