Surrender.

Dear Jesus,

I mean, I’m only having a tantrum because I don’t understand what’s going on. I feel like my body is out of control with all these hormones and sugar issues and swelling limbs; I feel like my house is out of control with all the strewn boxes and stacks of paper; in fact, I feel like my whole life is out of control for so many reasons. I scream and sometimes I think You don’t listen. I cry and sometimes I think You don’t see. I don’t know if I’m coming or going with You, honestly.

But You certainly have proven Yourself to be trustworthy. Whenever I’ve asked You to work on my behalf, You have. You always send the word I need, the person I need, to get through another set of minutes. You whispered gently to me at my lowest, celebrated with me at my highest. You were at my wedding when I married the man You led me to. You will be at the birth of the daughter You promised me. You’ve held my hand when I’ve let You and allowed me to walk away when I thought I could do it better on my own. All 28 years of my life, You have pursued me relentlessly with the love and passion I sought in so many places before turning to You. You have filled my life to the brim, even in the scariest times, with joy straight from Your heart to mine.

So you can have my talents, my dreams, my desires, and I’ll find peace in a quiet corner of my heart, in an armchair with a cup of coffee and Your company, as I await further guidance from You. It isn’t easy this way, but it is possible. And as my powerlessness tries to muscle away my hope, I’ll remember how strong You are and how bowled over I am by the truth of Your love.

You know where to find me. Come soon.

Love,

Amie

Joy unspeakable.

Five years ago tomorrow, I miscarried for the first time. It’s still one of the deepest pains I’ve ever known. But tonight as I was writing and praying, I decided to go back to the letter I wrote Anna the day I found out I was pregnant. And I stand amazed again: such a powerful, loving God watches over me. He’s a God who lets nothing, even the laws of nature, stop him when it comes to blessing his children.

Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Dear Baby,

I found out a few hours ago that you’re joining our family. No news ever could’ve made me more excited: you have only existed in my dreams until now. I missed you before I ever knew you, so I can’t even tell you how wildly overjoyed I am that God has blessed your dad and me with the gift of you! You are so loved and wanted there aren’t even words to express it.

The first thing you need to know in life is how wonderful your dad is. Besides Jesus, your dad is my favorite thing about being alive. He’s strong, kind, and loving; in other words, he is exactly what every man should be. And no need to worry, Baby – he’s also unbelievably good-looking, so you will be too. I love your dad most of all in the world because he loves Jesus and he loves me. Love is hard sometimes, Baby, but your dad will do whatever it takes to love you and support you. He was in my heart decades before I knew him, kind of like you.

I don’t know anything about your personality, Baby. I don’t know the choices you will make or what you will be good at or who your favorite person will be. I don’t even know yet if you’re a boy or a girl. But I know this: you are ours, and that means we will love you forever. Even more importantly, you belong to Jesus, who is the source of all power and love in the world, so you are safe forever too. In fact, I’ve already been talking to Jesus about you, and it’s sounded a bit like this: Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.

With so much love,

Mama

Christian radio.

I’m eating vanilla ice cream at our makeshift table (a.k.a., two TV trays pushed together) because my man and I frustrated each other. And I’m trying to practice self-grace, the hardest kind, by gently reminding myself that the way to freedom was always in the other direction and that Jesus would like to take me back there. That’s why I listen to Christian radio.

It’s certainly not because I like the music. In fact, I have said for years that mainstream Christian music has a Sound – an overly bright, sticky, bubble-gum Sound – that makes my ears cry. Some exceptions apply, like Chris Tomlin and CeCe Winans. But in general, out of every ten songs played on Christian radio, I like maybe two. Sometimes fewer. Yet, I favor Christian stations these days because I find it makes it easier to hear Jesus. On nights like tonight when I’m frustrated, I’ll remember a scripture read over the airwaves – Proverbs 15:1 in this case – and hear Jesus remind me that in dealing with each other, love and peace are the more excellent way. Or when I’m at Walmart, the most mundane of places, I’ll feel like I didn’t grab enough bananas and granola bars, and then I’m not surprised when I see someone in the parking lot who needs the extras.

I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with listening to non-Christian music. More of my music library fits that category than the former. But when I turn on Christian radio, it’s just one more outlet where my mind can breathe in the power of God’s Word. It opens one more method of communication between my heart and the voice of Christ. When I’m focused on those messages, his instruction and healing reverberate in my mind even when I’m not thinking about it. It really does help keep me focused on my Jesus. If I need to sacrifice a little Usher for that, it’s worth the trade to me.

Car Trouble.

My man noticed a few days ago that it was getting increasingly difficult to steer my car, and all turns were accompanied by a grinding, whiny sound. It was time for my 30,000-mile checkup anyway, so yesterday I took my Jetta to the dealership to kill two birds with one stone. After I’d been squirming in my seat for a little over ninety minutes, the service rep found me in the waiting room and gave me an apologetic grimace.

“It appears your rack is leaking,” he informed me.

I was certain I’d misheard him. “I’m sorry?”

An encore grimace. “Your rack is leaking,” he repeated, shrugging and holding out his hands as if there were simply nothing else to say.

My eyes got wide as I dropped my gaze to my shirt for assessment. That wasn’t supposed to happen for months! Your milk couldn’t possibly come in during the seventeenth week of pregnancy, right? Plus, I didn’t feel anything amiss. But I was mortified all the same. When I didn’t see any milk coming through my clothes, I looked back up at him, questioningly. It finally hit me that what he’d said may have been embarrassing, but more than that, it was crude. How dare he!

Taking his cues from my wide-eyed expression, although blessedly misinterpreting my thoughts, he said, “Oh, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Around 30,000 miles, Jettas from your year tend to develop a power steering leak. The part we need is on backorder…” He continued talking, but I was so relieved my rack wasn’t leaking – that it was only my car’s – that I barely understood a word.

Leave it to pregnancy to make you self-conscious about the weirdest things.

Meltdowns.

This pregnancy has a dark side: it’s churning up the noxious stuff, the stuff that reminds me what a train wreck I am. You can work around it for years, and then this teeny person, who doesn’t even have a voice, starts conjuring things in your mind. Apparently, I am carrying an intuitive little girl. Or maybe it’s the hormones.

When I went through addiction counseling, I made – and kept – all sorts of promises that allowed me to live in freedom for the first time ever. The promises gradually became habits, my modus operandi, and everything improved. My health, my appearance, and my confidence soared. No longer did my brain resort to the addiction cycle to cope with everyday life. I was in charge of my behavior, no diet necessary, and Jesus bolstered my strength to live in his provision. I felt and looked so wonderful that I attracted a very hot man who married me just under a year after we met.

Then I got pregnant. Of course, joy flooded me: it was impossible! A miracle! And of course, that’s undeniable. But there was a singsong voice in the back of my mind, like Clare Dunphy, that said, “You’re gonna get fat.” I pictured my former marshmallow-esque body. I pictured my very hot man not wanting me anymore. I pictured myself buying huge clothes. And, to make matters worse, I realized as the weeks went on that my neat and helpful counseling promises weren’t working. When I didn’t feed my fetus every three hours, my blood sugar dropped, and I became weak and dizzy. Twice I fainted. When I didn’t eat ample carbohydrates, like fruit and grains, massive headaches hit without warning and were followed by crippling nausea and fatigue. The baby was simultaneously breaking all the rules and producing purple stretch marks on my midsection to boot. I started saving for a Mommy Makeover.

One thing I’ve learned: my healing never comes until I dig into the ugliness and write about it. When I see it on paper, I can name it and deal with it. So I’ve spent hours recently writing about my addiction – how it looked, felt, sounded. I’ve been journaling and letting my introspection explain myself to me. And it’s rough because underneath it all, I am still a train wreck. I am still all the things I once was if I’m not constantly vigilant.

I asked my man tonight, “Who in his or her right mind would give me a baby?”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Jesus.”

“Then I am seriously doubting His lucidity,” I replied, quite seriously, before melting into tears again. Sometimes I am so excited for Anna’s yuletide arrival that I can barely breathe. Her pictures are so heartbreakingly perfect, and her butterfly-wing flutters feel so delightful. Other times I think, “What the heck am I going to do with a baby?” My man assures me that no one is ever ready; they just grow into it as time rolls by.

My consolation in moments like tonight is thinking about my last decade of life. I have experienced too much, enough to break me, but Jesus has brought me through it all. I shouldn’t be singing this way, shouldn’t be joyful or in love or blessed. After addiction, sexual dysfunction, miscarriage, divorce, lost friendships, and more, I should’ve been crushed. But Jesus didn’t allow that.

I also think of my personal constellation, my stars that point me home and outline the form of grace for me. My mom teaches me sacrifice, my dad teaches me trust, and my sister teaches me how to be a friend. My dear friend A.K. teaches me how to listen, my precious friend K.S. teaches me patience and faith in Jesus, and my best friend teaches me unconditional acceptance. My stepchildren teach me to play. My man teaches me to be both strong and kind. Anne Lamott would call these people my “tribe,” but they are also Anna’s. So when I hit the inevitable moments of not-enough, they will tap in for me, and so will many others. Anna does not have a perfect mother, but she will never lack love. God told me early on she exists to display his glory. And he will never not be enough for me, my husband, or our family. What can I say about such wonderful things as these? If our God is for us, who can ever be against us (Romans 8:31, NLT)?