Be Still And Know

It happens every Saturday. Toward the end of the week, I build up a big mental list of everything I'm going to get done with all of my copious free time over the weekend. I plan to be a weekend warrior and conquer housework and yard work and craft projects and a massive word count on my novel-in-progress, and all the other stuff I tell myself I don't have time for during the week. I go to bed on Friday night with that To Do list swimming in my head, and I wake up in the morning rarin' to go.

And then I sit down to work on my novel and realize that I'm actually quite exhausted and all I really want to do is sit there and catch up on my shows and my reading. Which I then proceed to do, for the entire day, all the while beating myself up about it.

I've been dealing a lot lately with discouragement and anxiety. Ever since the economy went kerplooey (again... or would that be "kerplooeyer"?) over the summer, my freelance business has slowed way, way down, and since my last regular client was forced to "take a break" from working with me, I've been running around like a frantic chicken, putting irons in the fire and digging ditches to lay the groundwork for income streams, and nothing seems to be panning out. I seem to have it in my head that if I can just stay in motion and prove (to who? I don't even know) what a hard worker I am, eventually it will all pay off and I'll be rewarded for my efforts. But it feels like nothing I do succeeds, and all my hard work is for naught.

I'm also struggling with envy and coveting. I look around and see people with the same talents and skills that I have who are enjoying great success and reaping the fruits of their labor, and I can't help but wonder, what am I missing? What am I doing wrong? What am I not doing enough of?

And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. –Philippians 4:19

I believe that God is my provider. The above promise has been put to the test again and again since I lost my steady job two years ago and embarked on a freelance career. Somehow, some way, we always, always have what we need. Sometimes I have no idea how we're going to make our mortgage or pay all of our bills, but the money has always turned up when we need it, sometimes just in the nick of time. God's provision has never failed, not once.

But if I really believe in God's provision, then why am I constantly busting my rear and wearing myself out trying to do everything by my own might? Why am I always so stressed out about our finances, and anxious about my business? Why am I neglecting my home and my family and time that could be spent in Bible study and prayer and meditation in order to manufacture work for myself under the guise of building my portfolio?

Why am I so worn out at the end of the week when nobody has actually hired me to do anything?

As I've prayed about this recently, I feel like I'm finally starting to get the message that God's been trying to send me for the last couple of years. The Bible is full of promises about God's provision, and of commands to refrain from worry. Seek Him first and all else will be added unto you. Be anxious for nothing. Bring ALL things to Him in prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. Remember the Sabbath, and keep it holy.

The Sabbath isn't just a day off each week. It's an ongoing state of believing and trusting that God is in control, that He cares for us and wants to take care of us, and He wants us to relax and let Him do so.

Growing up, my dad never let us rest. We were always expected to work to earn our keep, to prove our worth. Now that I'm a married adult, my husband does his best to contribute and provide as much as his disability allows him to do so, but as the only totally able-bodied adult in our household, I feel tremendous pressure, mostly from myself, to be the primary breadwinner, and when my efforts fall short, as they so often do, I feel a deep sense of failure.

But I feel like my Heavenly Father is trying to get me to see that He's there, taking care of me, providing for me and my family, and that I don't have to constantly work to earn His care. He gives it freely, simply because He loves me. And he wants me to learn how to rest in that knowledge.

So this is what I'm working on for the moment. I'm going to slow down and enjoy my free time. I'm going to make time for God each day, and for my husband, and to pay some badly needed attention to my house and my poor, raggedy yard. I'm going to make time to take proper care of myself and prepare my body, as well as my heart and mind, for another pregnancy. And I'm going to allow myself to spend time on things I enjoy instead of making work for myself that nobody's paying me for.

And instead of worrying about what will happen when my husband's financial aid for this semester runs out, I'm going to work on trusting that God will open doors for us and that clients, customers and readers will show up when we need them.

Not by my might, Lord, nor by my power, but by YOUR spirit. Here I am, letting go and depending on You. Amen.

This post pretty much takes on a life of its own about halfway through.

I'm having a really hard time getting going this week. I don't know whether this is an ADD thing or what, but if my Monday is off, then my whole week tends to be off, and yesterday's doggie drama disruption seems to have thrown me for a loop. I can't get focused or get my head in the game.

It doesn't help that, despite the fact that the high today is supposed to be 103, my brain has checked out of summer and decided that it's fall now, thank you very much, and no matter how many times I go outside and expose myself to the stifling heat, as soon as I come back inside all I can think about is sitting on a pleasant patio somewhere, working with yarn and sipping pumpkin spice lattes (or pumpkin ale -- something pumpkiny, at any rate) while I watch the leaves fall. And what's not helping that is that yesterday afternoon I went to Hobby Lobby to stock up on yarn for a baby blanket for my niece's upcoming baby shower. It's a super soft, heathery alpaca blend, and it's so pretty, and I just want to work with it all day long, never mind that my wrist starts hurting after about twenty minutes.

On the plus side, I think it's a really good sign that crocheting this blanket for someone else's baby is making me so happy. I put it off so long because I feared it would depress me, but so far I'm feeling totally okay with it, which is helping to lessen my dread about attending the baby shower. Really, these past few weeks I've been feeling a lot of peace about the whole baby thing. Still some pangs of grief here and there for my past losses, but mostly hopeful about the future, and full of conviction that, whatever happens, it will be okay. That things will happen according to God's plan and purpose, and if that doesn't happen to coincide with my plans, I'll be able to put my trust in Him and get through it with my faith and sanity intact. It's about trusting that Romans 8:28 is true, even when I can't see any evidence in my own life that any good is coming out of the stuff I go through.

Although, if I think about it, there is evidence. While I would happily suffer diabetes if it meant I could have my babies alive, the fact is that the miscarriages woke me up to where I was headed, health-wise, and forced me to start taking better care of myself. I also feel like my experience has equipped me for, and made me more open to, ministering to other hurting, grieving women. I think it's definitely made me more empathetic and compassionate in general.

Of course, none of this in any way makes me glad to have been through two MCs and an uphill battle against PCOS. But I can see evidence that God is using my experiences to help me grow, both as a person and in my faith.

Well, THAT went to a far more spiritual place than I expected. I thought this post was going to be about fall fever and yarn craft when I started. But maybe now all that's off my chest I'll be able to get some work done.

Able

I got ambitious and added jogging intervals to my workout today. It was sooner than I'd planned to; I planned to just walk for at least another week before starting to work up to jogging, and by the end of my workout when I stumbled into the house and collapsed on my yoga mat, gasping for breath, I thought that I probably should have stuck to my original plan. But I needed to do something a little more aggressive than just walking--yeah, I've got just a little bit of built-up aggression that needs working off, go figure. Also, when I set out to walk there was an extra spring in my step. Just a tiny one, but it was there. I think that spring just might be spelled H-O-P-E.

I feel like I need to be careful about writing things like that down or speaking them out loud, like I should whisper them or just keep them to myself, lest the powers and principalities of the universe catch wind that I'm starting to improve and send out a bulletin: "HEY, Y'ALL, JEAN'S EDGING TOWARD HAPPINESS AGAIN! BEST STIR UP SOME MORE MISERY FOR HER! HOP TO IT!"

I think I get the whole suffering thing, at least from a Biblical perspective. I understand that it serves a purpose, that it's building me up for the Kingdom Age, that this life is my only opportunity to be an overcomer, apply scripture to my life and exercise my faith. I get it! And most of the time, I take comfort from it, and the fact that the Word promises that God won't allow us to be tested beyond what we can bear. But sometimes that makes me view God as a sadistic personal trainer who, just when I'm about to give out under all of the weight I'm holding up and I think surely he's about to take it from me and tell me to hit the showers and get some rest, instead he adds a little bit more and says, "See? You can do it! You're stronger than you think!" and I know he has my best interest at heart but I want to drop the weights on his foot and kick him in the shins and go sit in the jacuzzi until I can move my arms again.

A while back, my regular Bible study group covered Phillipians 4:13. The usual English translation is something like, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." My pastor at these sessions always goes back to the original languages to get at the heart of the meaning of scripture, and a more literal translation of this verse from the original Greek is, "I am able through the one who enables me." I don't know why I find that translation more comforting and empowering, but I do. I AM ABLE, you guys. God knew before I even existed that I would be dealing with this stuff, and he made provision, through the power of the Holy Spirit, for me to be able to handle it. It doesn't always feel like I'm handling it. Sometimes it feels like it's breaking me. But I'm not broken yet. Whether it's jogging one more block or surviving miscarriage or settling a deceased parent's affairs or anything else I have to do, I AM ABLE, because God made me so.

That doesn't mean I want to keep testing the extent of my ability, though. Seriously, Lord, isn't it jacuzzi time yet?

Gina Paula Harden Bauhaus Gray (1949 - 2010)

Mom had been nagging us for years to get her a print of this picture of her and Matt at our wedding. We've been slow (really slow) in having any special prints made of our wedding pictures, but I decided that we weren't going to make her wait any longer. I ordered an 8x10 and put it in a nice frame, and planned to give it to her for Christmas. I picked it up the day before (we think) she died.

I've never seen a more proud mother-of-the-groom than she was that day, and I think it probably ranked as one of the happiest days of her life. It's such a cliché,the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law not getting along; but we couldn't have been further from it. Gina always told me that I was the answer to her prayers for Matt. She made me feel cherished, and treated me like the daughter she never had. She wasn't just a mother-in-law to me. She was a second mommy, and I cherished her in return.

She was a tough lady, but this past year was one of the most challenging she'd ever faced. She went through losing her job, and then losing her eyesight, and those hindrances to being able to provide for her disabled husband weighed heavily on her. His failing health and hospital stays certainly didn't make things easier on her. She was so busy worrying about Rob, and about her eyes, that she neglected other things, like a cough that she assumed was nothing to be concerned about, at least not enough to make it a priority.

It seemed like things were starting to turn around. Rob's health was stabilizing, and she finally secured financial assistance for cataract surgery. Her first surgery was scheduled for this week. She was going to be able to see again by Christmas, and Rob was going to come home, and they were going to rest and hope for a better year.

It's one of mine and Matt's biggest regrets that we weren't able to help her more, to do more to make life easier for her and take away some of her burdens. But it's our comfort, as believers in Christ, to know that all of her burdens are lifted, and she can see perfectly now, and she has no more cough, no more diabetes, no more need to stick herself with needles every day. We're left behind to pick up the pieces and figure out how they fit without her as part of the picture, and that hurts. To say we miss her is a huge understatement. But we know we'll see her again, and it would be the ultimate in selfishness to wish her back to such a difficult life.

Your kids love you and miss you, Mom. Now it's time to rest.

I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow. 

-Jeremiah 31:13 (NIV)

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
You have loosed my sackcloth and girded me with gladness,
That my soul may sing praise to You and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give thanks to You forever. 

-Psalm 30:11-12 (NASB)

A Spark of Hope, Extinguished

This won't be an easy post to read, but I'm feeling a powerful need to write it right now. I had another miscarriage. I'm sure most, if not all, of you who read my last post guessed that my "secret" was that I was pregnant again. As much as I was dying to announce it, Matt and I had decided this time to wait until we were safely into the second trimester to tell anyone other than close family. Well, we didn't make it that far.

My last miscarriage happened at 8 weeks. This past Saturday, when I reached the 9 week mark without any apparent problems, I was so overjoyed that I had to reign myself in from spilling the beans in my Livejournal. It was a benchmark I had been anxious to reach, and with only 4 more weeks to go until the second trimester it felt like I was practically there, and everything was going to be okay with this baby. The next day, the spotting started.

It was Sunday night when I first saw blood. I freaked out, panicked crying close to hyperventilating, and Matt had to calm me down. After that we just tried to stay calm and hopeful until we knew for certain there was a reason not to be. Monday morning I called my doctor's clinic, and they managed to work me into their schedule for Wednesday morning. I went all day Monday and all day Tuesday without any more bleeding, and my hopes were ratcheting back up, until about 1 AM Wednesday morning when it started again.

Later that morning, my mom picked me up and took me to my appointment. We'd ordered a new bed last weekend and it was scheduled to be delivered that day, so Matt had to stay behind in case it arrived that morning. As we sat in the waiting room, I still managed to stay hopeful. My mom told me about all of the women in her church and circle of friends who were praying for us, all of whom felt certain that I was going to have this baby. Also, the spotting had been bright red, which I'd read usually has something to do with the placenta not being attached correctly, but that the baby could still be fine.  Finally, the doctor saw me, and the physical exam didn't show any cause for concern, but she ordered an ultrasound to be sure.

We had to wait another hour or so before they could get me into the ultrasound, and by then I was starting to feel like everything was going to be okay. When we finally got back there, the US tech was great. She explained how she wasn't allowed to tell me if anything was wrong, but that she could tell me if everything was fine... which meant that her silence would indicate that there was no heartbeat. My mom held my hand as she performed the US, and after several agonizing minutes waiting for her to take all of my lady plumbing measurements, we finally saw my baby up there on the screen. I held my breath as she measured it, and then looked over at her. The grim look on her face told me everything I needed to know, but then she looked me in the eye and shook her head to confirm it.

I felt like I cried my soul out while my mother held me and cried with me there on the ultrasound table. The tech slipped out to give us a few minutes alone, but before she left I managed to ask if she could print a picture for me. I'm glad I did. It's comforting to have tangible proof that this baby existed. I didn't get that with the last one.

Once I was able to pull myself together, we were taken back to an exam room to wait for the doctor. When she arrived, she confirmed that there was no heartbeat, and that the baby died at 7 weeks and 3 days - one day before my last blog post. She suggested that we undergo genetic testing before trying again, which I don't know how or if we'll ever be able to afford. She gave me a choice between scheduling a D&C or waiting to see if I passed it on my own, and I chose the D&C. I passed it naturally last time, and that ended up requiring two trips to the ER and a lot of physical pain and stress that I would just as soon avoid this time if possible, and at this point I was ready to get it over with.

I went home, where Matt and I curled up in bed and just held each other for a long time. When we finally talked, it became clear that we're both too frustrated and beaten down to make any decisions about whether to keep trying, so for the time being we've decided not to decide--to give ourselves at least six months off from even thinking about it, and to go back to living our lives the way we did before we started trying. We even discussed the possibility of using the money we had put back for the baby to take a badly needed vacation somewhere warm and relaxing. We spent the rest of the evening putting the new bed together, because we were both feeling numb and we needed a project to distract us, and because Matt wanted me to be able to sleep off my surgery on a comfortable mattress.

Thursday morning I had the D&C. It went smoothly, and afterwards they loaded me up with pain pills and antibiotics and sent me home to recover. I was sore and had lingering nausea all day from the general anesthesia, but I didn't mind. It kept me distracted from the real pain of the whole situation.

I've pretty much felt empty and numb since I left the doctor's office on Wednesday, but since waking up this morning I've been pretty weepy. I think I'm just beginning to really process everything, and I'm sure at some point soon the dam will burst and my breakdown will be spectacular. Matt is, of course, grieving, but he did a better job than I did of staying detached and not getting his hopes up prior to the second trimester.  I, in fact, did a lousy job of it.

Outside right now, it's raining and thundering ( and hailing - April in Oklahoma's getting off to a proper start), which matches my mood. I may take some more pain pills and go back to bed after I post this. I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since the spotting started. I'd hoped that the pain pills would take care of that, but even drugged last night I didn't fall asleep until after 1 AM, and I woke up crying just after six this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I've been pretty weepy all morning. I'm not sure what the rest of today will bring. I need a day (at least) to just rest and grieve, but we need to run some errands and I need to make some phone calls and cancel some baby-related appointments. Right now I'm grateful for the distractions, but I know that soon I need to give myself time to process everything before it sneaks up on me and we get that spectacular breakdown that nobody really wants to see.

I wanted to apologize to everyone I've fallen out of touch with the last couple of months. The first trimester fatigue hit me pretty hard, and while I was pregnant I literally was only ever awake long enough to get my work done -- not even long enough for that, really. I'm wondering how much sheer stress might have been responsible for this miscarriage. We were relying solely on my income, and with the fatigue I wasn't able to put in all of the hours I needed to to keep us afloat, which was stressing me out pretty severely. A couple of weeks ago we learned that Matt's finally approved to receive SSDI, plus I got approved for WIC to help out with groceries, both of which allowed me to be able to cut back on my working hours and took care of the majority of my stress; but by then it was already too late for the baby.

Anyway, at least I don't have the fatigue to contend with anymore, so I should start having more time for being social once we're done licking our wounds. Meanwhile, I'm going to keep cutting back some on my freelance hours and throw myself back into editing my novel (something else I haven't had time to so much as think about since getting pregnant and becoming full-time Sleepy Jean) and other creative pursuits, because I know those have the power to heal. For the foreseeable future, we're both going to focus on improving our physical health, and also on squaring away our finances, so that hopefully when the time comes, money won't need to be a factor in deciding whether to have that genetic testing done.

By the grace of God, I know that we're going to get through this and be okay. I just wish "okay" didn't seem so distant right now.

There she goes again, letting her religiosity show.

This is cool: eBible is a searchable online study Bible with a built-in social network that lets users share their thoughts and study notes with each other. This ought to make it about a million times easier to fit some Bible study into my day.

I suppose an argument could be made that finding time to devote to God and study of the Word isn't supposed to be easy, but you know, God is aware that we're leading extremely hectic, overscheduled lives, and now He's gone and made provision for that fact. Of course, now this means I have no excuses NOT to read my Bible every day.