Pivot

There are few moments in time that pivot your life into a new direction like the moment your child is born.  It was 6:56 p.m on a cold January evening almost 30 years ago when Major Sandrock proclaimed, "It's a boy!"  to Doug and myself.   7 lbs and 2 oz of pure love.  Pure hope.  A future swaddled into my arms.  Nothing would be the same and I didn't want it to be.  I was a mother.  And Doug. He was a father. 

I remember the look on Doug's face at that moment as much as I remember the look of the baby.   His identity was forever changing.   He saw it too.   A life waiting to be written and we were entrusted to help write the story.   Three new people were born that day.  Three new identities.  Father, mother, and son.

I often wonder what my dad thought and felt the moment he heard those words when he became a father.   Did he have a similar look on his face that Doug did?  It's hard for me to know.  My dad was an absent father.  He and mama divorced when I was only 6 months old .  No phone calls.  No letters.  No visits.  No child support.  No gifts for Christmas for birthdays.  No way of knowing if he was dead or he was alive.  Then, came the day... there was another pivot.

I was in 7th grade.   I knew something was different.   In the living room sat my grandma, grandpa, and mom.  "Sit down girls," papaw said.   We plopped onto the floral 70's couch and surveyed the room.  Christmas cards hung from the door frame between the living room and dining room and the lights on the tree danced in the corner.  My mom wanted to capture this moment.  Mom handed my sister and I an envelope.   It looked like all the other card envelopes carrying Christmas wishes to the family, but it was far from ordinary. The return address was from Olympia, Washington and I knew nobody there.   Inside, was a red card.  It wasn't one of those cards that came from a box, but one of those cards that someone had to go to the aisle and pick out special.  The kind that looked like the wrapping paper itself.   My sister had the same card addressed to her.   I opened the card to see the signature.   Merry Christmas, it said.  From your ex-missing Father, Larry.  And just like that... my  world pivoted.  I went from wondering if dad was alive to wondering why things were the way they were.  Although the birth certificate said he was my father, he chose not to walk into that identity.

So much of the Christmas story revolves around the new baby swaddled in the manger.  As it should, but truth be told the whole world got a new identity that day.  Mary became a mother and Joseph became a father, but Heaven revealed a son and a Father to the world.  It was not becoming, but revealing their identities.

 Jesus was the Son before he was Mary's son.  And the Father.... He has always been the Father.  Now, we could see more of the fullness of what that means.   Never will we get a card from our Father that says your ex-missing Father.   He has walked into His identity of being Father.   It's up to us to surrender, like Jesus did when He came to Earth, to walking into our identity as His child.   When we do, I picture an angel in Heaven echoing the timeless words of Ross Geller, "PIVOT!"



Father,
Thank you being our daddy.  For not just being a name on the birth certificate, but for walking with us through life every step.  Thank you that you will never leave us or forsake us.  You will never abandon us and leave us fatherless.  You are the Father to the Fatherless.  You are our provider, protector, covering.  Nothing we can ever do will separate us from you except our own choice for you love us enough to let us choose.  Father, today I pray those reading this will walk a little deeper into their identity of who they are as your child.  They will know that whatever they need is found is you and rest in your arms. 

In Jesus' Name,
Amen

And that's a wrap.....

Every year my children hear the story.   They roll their eyes a little because they know it so well.  When I was a child, we didn't have much money.   I did have a mom who didn't want that to stand in the way of us getting the gifts she wanted to give to at Christmas.   One year the contents of the linen closet swaddled the gifts under the tree.   Little gifts were wrapped in hand and dish towels.   Medium sized gifts wrapped in bath towels and a big gift was wrapped in a sheet.  In spite of the wrapping, my eyes glistented with anticipation and I was squealing with delight, eager to unearth the treasures.  Oh how I long for the innocence of that little girl.

At the heart of not caring about the how the presents were wrapped, was a belief in the giver.   I knew my mom.  She was the most generous and loving person on the planet.  She gave up her entire life to care for me and my sister when my dad, well, that's another chapter that isn't important here.   Mama put us above herself and she loved us.  She wanted us to have the best.  Sure, she couldn't wrap it in pretty paper and later she told me that she remembered that Christmas well.  Money was tight.  She had to make a decision between spending money on gifts or wrapping paper.  And since the paper was going to wadded up tossed in the trash in a matter of seconds, she chose the gifts.   One wise woman!

I want to remember that lesson this season.  It's often so easy to leave a gift unopened because of how it is wrapped, but what if we trust the heart of the giver we won't be disappointed.  I've seen it more times then I can count, but first, I had to take a chance.  In truth, I've probably learned more from the people who were people I wouldn't usually interact with.  (Insert so many stories here)

I also know that some things we are given are not from the best giver, but God has a way of redeeming the rotten gifts even when we so badly wish just for an exchange.  (Insert so many stories here too).  One of the most personal ones for me revolves around my mama.  She was my mama and my daddy to me.  She was my safe place and my best friend in so many ways.  Losing her during the days when I was battling being a mom to a daughter who was battling cancer was almost too much to handle.  But God has redeemed it, now, he's helping me grow more every day in my identity as his daughter, not just mom's.   He's even given me a next door neighbor who is so eerily similar to my mom it couldn't be anyone but God redeeming that loss.  Sarah even thinks of this neighbor as a surrogate grandma and they sit and watch Jeopardy and go shopping together and the list goes on and on.  The enemy wanted to take me out by taking my mama, my God said not today, satan, what satan intends for evil, God intends for good.  It is up to us to decide which giver we trust.

In the season, one can't help to pause a moment and reflect on the manger wrappings too.   The people expected the Messiah to be a certain way.  (Side note: how often do we expect people to be a certain way for a role in our lives and we don't even glance their way because they are not x,y, and z. ) . People missed the gift because they couldn't believe He would be swaddled in rags and as a baby.  A baby who would need to grow in his humanness while complete as God himself!

A few years ago, my children gave an amazing gift!   I don't know what was in the box, but they wrapped it in a towel.  They had heard my story for so many years and they knew how deeply personal it was for me and how it represented love in a way that wouldn't make sense for most people.   This season, may you see the heart of the giver and not get wrapped up in the wrappings.  Relax and receive and be grateful.

And that's a wrap....

TGIF....

Good Friday. No  other day that redefines good like today.  For many, it is a "day" to reflect upon the Jesus' death on the cross  for the world, for us, even just one of us.  'The day' to pause and draw near to the nails, the flogging, crown of thown, and the mocking from the crowds.   It can be somber and doesn't look 'good' for Jesus- from a purely human physical standpoint.  But Good... it has a way of wearing clothes we wouldn't choose for ourselves and experiencing things we most certainly wouldn't choose.  As 'bad' as it looks for Jesus from  a purely human stance, good is still woven into the midst of it- for ALL things God works together for the good of those who love him.  (My life verse- Romans 8:28).   Much lead up to that moment for Jesus; an entire Old Testament pointed directly toward his journey down the Way of Suffering, but the cross is the pinacle, the turning point, for humanity as a whole, but each of us have our own journey as well.  If I may, I would like to invite you down my own Via Dolorosa.

  Of course, the story begins at birth, but we are going to enter onto the Holy Road on August 24, 2106.   My precious daughter had been having a hard time straightening her fingers.  August 24th was the day  her first MRI.  The doctor ordered  2 scans, one of her neck and the other of her shoulder.   Her little 12 year old body couldn't lay still that long, so she only made it through the one- the one of her neck.  The tech informed me they would send off what they had to the doctor and he would determine if  he wanted to have her sedated for her additional scan.  Friday, August 26,  I received a call from the doctor that he wanted to see her first thing on Monday morning.  I let her dad know.   It just so happened he was coming to town for the weekend to announce his engagement to his girlfriend.  Now, many people would say it is common for the new wife and the ex wife to not like one another- that would be a gross understatement for us.  We tried  over the years, but it was bad. Each of us was operating out of our own pain, but the three of us together brewed  poison for our family.   (I won't digress down that road, but just know it was incredibly painful and messy and added a layer).   Monday morning came and S, her dad and his fiancee, and myself headed to the neurologist.  Everything in me knew it wasn't 'good'.  Anxiety and fear filled every cell in my body and the tension was palpable.

Dr. Zhang asked me into a separate room, so myself and S's dad made our way next door.   I remember longing for comfort from S's dad, not as my partner, but as a co-parent.  It didn't come.  In fact the opposite came.  There would not be a unity among parents so it seemed.    The doctor pulled up pictures of S's spine and pointed to a blob.  He uttered the words- she has a neoplasm in her cervical spine.  Neoplasm, I asked, "What is that?"  I knew the answer, but hoped I was not hearing what I thought I was hearing.  A neoplasm is a  TUMOR.  I knew those words couldn't be ignored and  I began to hyperventilate and cry.   My breath was betryaying me. 

I could continue that story, but from the moment I lost my breath on that day, I didn't really breathe again for years.  That moment was followed by:  a surgery that lasted longer than her labor and delivery, hearing the words malignant, therapy of far too many kinds, continued wounds from the ex and his new person, and the loss of my dear mother- my rock.  My breath was gone.  Instead there was a shallow gasping in its place.

For the next few years, I hung there on my own cross if you will. Lifting myself up just a little bit to try to get enough air to stay alive, my spirit was pierced with pains so deep and I felt so alone.  Sure a few people stuck with me- a couple for sure never left me and kept giving me a sip to keep me alive, but they had lives of their own.  The pain,  the grief, the sadness, anger, fear, resentment, would NOT die no matter how long passed.   In fact, I believe they were beginning to kill me physically.

As time went on,  I developed sleep apnea, high blood pressure, TMJ, and got a headache that I have now had for almost 2 years.  A pain in my head that almost doubles me over if I cough, sneeze, or laugh, so I do (correction DID) everything I could to NOT cough, sneeze, or laugh.   I went to the dentist, ENT, had a CT scan, took medicines, had massages, but NOTHING seemed to help- I was going to work and then coming home and collapsing in pain. Our sweet nurse practioner even did EKG's me more than once because I kept saying I can't get a good breath.  I quit going to church for the most part and was angry at 'them' too.  I wasn't finding healing there and I needed some healing.   Then, one day I made an appointment with an acupuncturist.  I had no clue what to expect, but I knew I needed relief and it wasn't coming from ANYWHERE else.  

When I walked into the acupuncturist's office, I felt God.  I knew He was with me in a place where I could meet Him.  I couldn't meet Him in my morning Bible study because my mind was so numb.  I would sit there with my Bible open and couldn't read a word, or if I did, they were just random strings of letters and sound.  There was so little meaning.  As for church, God certainly meets others at there, but me I passed on hanging out with Him if church was where I had to go.   I've had too much church hurt in my life. When I was there, I felt invisible and alone and I could be that in my pajamas on my couch.    SO God, He came to where I would meet Him; where I would surrender, even if for a few moments; an acupuncturist office.

One particular session, the acupuncturist, or as I now call her a healing vessel, targeted my grief.  I cried and cried and let out deep pain.  I had no control of the tears and couldn't have stopped them if I tried, but the beauty was I  didn't need to.  God was holding onto me.  Wiping my tears.  Whispering His love and truth.  I could feel it and I could hear it.  In another session, I could feel God closer than ever.  Renee spoke beautiful words of life to me.  She did her thing and needled me based on what I had told her and what I belive God told her as well.    One particular needle was in my chest.  It was the only time she has ever put one in my there so far.   She walked out of the room and gave me my button in case I needed her.  I laid there with needles pierced all over my head, heart, hands, legs,ears, and I turned my palms toward God and I prayed.  I inhaled and found the voice to say out loud,"  I am breathing in your lov."  Then I exhaled and proclaimed, " I am exhaling hatred and resentment".  This was followed by, "I'm breathing in joy and exhaling sadness, despair, and grief, I am breathing in peace and I am exhaling anxiety and fear."  I went through all the fruits of the Spirt- inhaling His Spirit and exhaling the pain.  She took out the needles and I  with gratitude I whispered" I can breathe"  My breath had been returned to me. 

Since then the breath has been deeper and more healing and cleansing.  Each session brought more healing.  One was met with some deep emotions that desperately needed healed.  She lovingly spent 2 hours being an instrument of God in my life.  The prayers were deep and I was even met with violent sickness that evening (there was a stomach bug going around, but it happened to coincide with an extensive session.)  All night long as I was sick God and I talked.  The conversation wasn't  God help me prayer, but a prayer of gratitude for all that He was freeing me from; things He spoke to my Spirit for hours upon end.  With each trip back to the bathroom, I thanked God that my body was being rid of unforgiveness, anger, fear, sadness, daddy damage, and so much more.  It was holy and sacred.   Finally, I fell asleep for a few hours.  When I awoke something had shifted deep in my spirit and I knew I was free.   I began to weep and thank God for the first time maybe ever I knew I was loved, chosen, worthy, and never alone.  The hurts of the world were stripped away and the love of God covered it all.

Now, that may sound crazy.  Label it that way if you need to, but He whispers in my ear- you are beloved and like Jacob wrestled with God, you wrestled with me in your own way, but it the end came surrender and an invitation into the hidden places- really in to the depths, the secret places where nobody has ever been invited- I didn't even go to those places.  This is the beauty of the cross and the words pronounced there,  " It is FINISHED"    It was that last moment, the moment when Jesus declared it finished that life really began   To the world, those words can sound echo with defeat like Jesus was saying He couldn't take it any more.  The I quit moment!   But if you listen with Holy ears, it is the  sweet moment of surrender when it is finished- is the door that must be opened for new life.  The seed needs to break to grow.  Jesus, and we, need(ed) to surrender for the Resurrection Miracle to arrive.  The soliders, they pierced His body and water and blood came out.  Water.  Blood.  That's life my friends.  That's life. 

I want to be very clear about something.  Acupuncture IS NOT healing me.  God is healing me.  He is using acupuncture in my life, but acupuncture IS NOT the Healer.  Healing has a name.  His name is Jesus- Jehovah- Rapha!  The God who Heals.  We are healed by HIS stripes.  He wipes tears.  He speaks life.  He is life and He is love.   He is the blood and He is the water.  He USES all kinds of methods to heal.  He speaks healing, he touches.  He is not bound my western medicine or religious beliefs.  He comes into the life of the wounded and is both the bealing balm and the applier of the healing balm.    

One last thing- I keep breathing.  You may say, duh!  Otherwise you would be dead, but there are other kinds of death than just physical.  I'm really breathing-- inhaling His Spirit and exhaling my self and the world.  I'm more alert and alive than I can ever remember.  I am off a medicine I have been on for well over 10 years- one that I presumed I would be on forever.  My brain is clearer, my TMJ is 90% bettrer, my headache is still there, but slowly making inching toward feeling better. But, it is mattering less and less.  In fact, I find myself touching my head when it hurts and quoting John Green, " Pain demands to be felt." I'm asking God what it is teaching me.  Of course, I'm also asking Him to not let me sneeze so the pain isn't there (and I don't pee my pants lol).   Whatever time and whatever path He chooses is fine with me because I can breathe.  It is finished and I know the rest of the story....

The tomb is EMPTY.  And THAT is the very definition of good.