The Sacrifice of Thanksgiving

"I will offer to you the sacrifice of thanksgiving and call on the name of the LORD." Psalm 116:17

I thought my nights were unbearable. My 9 month-old was waking several times a night, so my sleep was constantly interrupted. This had been going on for weeks. I was a grumpy, complaining mess.

Then we all got sick with a cold. Nothing too debilitating, but just enough gunk to disrupt my baby's sleep so much that she would not let me put her down at all for one night, and barely the night after that. One night she screamed so much that for hours she was inconsolable and I slept very little.

What all of this showed me was that I need to be thankful for my circumstances, no matter what they are. Who can say whether they will deteriorate into something worse very soon? I tend to take it for granted that I deserve a certain standard of comfort (such as a full night's sleep), and I complain when I don't get it. Complaining shows that I see myself higher than I ought to.

In reality, I don't deserve anything good in my life. Every good gift comes from God (James 1:17), and He sustains all things by giving us life (Acts 17:28). If I have food and clothing, I should be content (1 Timothy 6:8). Many don't even have these.

I think God has given us many strategies for overcoming the complaining attitude and embracing an attitude of thanksgiving. He tells us to be thankful in all things, so we have a command to obey (1 Thessalonians 5:18). He gives us memories so that we can recall from our own lives times of trial and times of refreshing. Therefore, we can learn that seasons come and go, and if we are in a difficult time, a time of healing may be fast approaching. We can also remember how God sustained us through the past time of difficulty. For example, my first daughter didn't sleep through the night until she was almost two and a half years old. Now she sleeps like a champion!

God also allows us to learn about other people who deal with various circumstances that are different from ours, whether good or bad. We can see our own blessings by comparison and reach out to help those who materially have less or who may have more materially but need spiritual and emotional encouragement that we can offer.

There are so many ways to practice being thankful, and any time I give thanks, I feel blessed. Complaining only makes things seem worse. Being thankful may be a sacrifice, especially being thankful for difficult things, but it's an offering to God because it recognizes His sovereignty and goodness and it reveals that we ultimately trust Him rather than ourselves to know what is best for us.

My two (at times sleepless) daughters.

Who's in Charge Here?

I would like to have the authority in my own life to say to my child, "Do not be sick with hand, foot, and mouth disease," or, "get rid of that jaundice right now, young lady." However, the power to control whether or not my children are ill does not fall to me.

The first week home with baby number two (S), my first daughter (R) contracted hand, foot, and mouth disease. We were afraid it was strep throat at first, but when my husband took her to the doctor we found out (to our relief) that it was this scary-sounding but relatively non-threatening disease that caused her to have bothersome red spots all over her hands, feet, face, and hip areas. She was not contagious to adults, and there was little risk that infant S would be in contact with R, which was why we were so relieved. However, there was still a lot of work and trouble associated with the situation. R had fever for a couple of days, she didn't feel well, and we had to prevent her from cuddling her new baby sister. Meanwhile, baby S also had some issues related to jaundice concern. Her pediatrician asked us to get her tested and re-tested for bilirubin levels every day for the first week of her life, which meant trips back to the hospital every day for a week after having finally been discharged after spending two nights there following her birth (two instead of one because I was group B strep positive).

All in all, the first week home with our new baby was not the experience I had desired. I'd imagined lots of rest and cuddles, not lots of car trips with an infant, insanely messy breastfeeding in public, a whining, tired toddler, and little opportunity for much-needed naps for myself.

That week, my Bible study teacher shared her memory verse with me: Matthew 21:23b says, "By what authority are You doing these things, and who gave You this authority?" The Pharisees were challenging Jesus with these words. Of course, the questions are provocative; since I believe Jesus has ultimate authority, given that He is God, I have no right to question Him in such a way. Meditating on this verse was the very thing I needed that week. As I prayed for help to deal with the tiredness and the two needy children, sobbing, I submitted the time to God. He is the authority of my life, not me.

Remembering Who is in charge gave me comfort that week, but remembering that my life was not all bad helped, too. Around that same time, I was reading the section of the Martin Luther biography by Eric Metaxas that describes Luther traveling many miles on foot to a meeting that could easily have resulted in his own execution by burning. Luther was (understandably) so anxious he had severe stomach pains and was unable to continue walking at one point. By comparison to this extreme hardship, my life was peachy! A little perspective can work wonders. Also, there were some enjoyable things about the week: I got to have lunch out with my husband after a couple of the trips to the hospital, toddler-free (since my mom was watching R for us), and all of those car-rides and dealings with the "outside world" probably helped me get back to a feeling of reality and normalcy after the strangeness of the two-night hospital stay.

In the end, God is good and He knows what He is doing. "Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us," says David in Psalm 62:8. Truly God wants to hear from us no matter what emotions we are feeling (including anger or panic), but He also wants us to submit ourselves to His authority and rest in the fact that our peace is ultimately in Him, not in circumstances going exactly how we want.

Obedience: True Freedom

January seems an appropriate month to write about change; the expectation of welcoming a new baby to the family within the next few weeks makes it even more so. In The Young Unicorns, Madeleine L'Engle has some challenging thoughts about change and acceptance of our roles in life. She argues that "only obedience . . . is perfect freedom." At times it seems counter-intuitive, but perhaps accepting our roles and what is demanded of us does provide a sense of freedom in our lives.

One of L'Engle's main teenage characters, Vicky, struggling with change, complains to her father that she wished they had never moved from the country to a big city. Her father responds that "we aren't free to remain static, to refuse to change. That isn't freedom. That's death." L'Engle is not arguing for change merely for the sake of change; rather, she suggests that when requirements are placed on us, we must respond appropriately, which sometimes requires great change. A wise and trusted Rabbi in the novel states that "to be demanded of gives us dignity." Refusing to respond is not freedom, but "apathy," a loss of one's humanity.

Sometimes the demands made on us seem trivial or less prestigious than what we could be doing otherwise. I can relate somewhat to Mrs. Austin, a mother in the novel, who gave up a singing career on stage when she married and had children, choosing instead to work in her home and be present with her family. She herself does not view the change as a lessening of her potential or a waste of her talents, though others think so. Instead, she sees it as one of those necessary changes placed upon her by the demands of life. From L'Engle's perspective, these demands come from a sovereign God who ordains the plans for our lives and requires us to respond humbly with obedience.

Staying home with small children, changing diapers, sitting still and nursing a newborn for the better part of the day, interacting with a two-year-old and her baby doll as though that baby doll were alive, cooking, grocery shopping, folding laundry, and taking naps may all seem like small and insignificant tasks when compared to the types of work that are generally lauded in our society. We value intelligence, creativity, ambition, hard work, and making a "mark" on history or leaving a great legacy. These are fine things. A quiet and simple life is also a fine thing (1 Thessalonians 4:11). I struggle with change, like Vicky, when new chapters begin in my life. Having a new baby gives me trepidation (to put it mildly). I need others to remind me, and I need to remind myself, that the demands of life can bring dignity and freedom when I accept them obediently, setting aside my own agenda and routines.

Since a loving and good God sees fit to place on me the demands of new motherhood, I should accept the changes brought by the newborn with as much flexibility and energy as I can muster, rather than stubbornly kicking at the goads, as it were. Whatever the yoke He places on me, He's taking part in pulling with it as well (Matthew 11:28-30); what a wonderful promise! What restful and dignified freedom, to do my work actively with Him rather than struggling in vain against it.

Good Silence

It's the most wonderful time of the year, and one of the busiest. Of course, there are the holidays, which line up together in close succession so it seems impossible to grasp one before it slips through your hands and the next one is upon you. In my family, there are some additional celebrations that cause there to be even less breathing room between events: my husband's birthday, my birthday, and our anniversary all fall within a period of time from less than a week before Thanksgiving to less than a week before Christmas. Life can quickly feel hectic instead of joyful at this time of year.

For a week or so I have noticed myself making "to-do" lists in my mind any time there's a moment of silence (when my two-year-old is not asking me "why?"), and even in the midst of conversations. Perhaps this busyness in my brain is the reason a small passage from The Young Unicorns by Madeleine L'Engle resonates with me so strongly. Along with L'Engle's character, I "underst[and] silence, that good silence comes from inside, not outside, and that little, unimportant things can break it more easily than the big ones."

I understand that inner silence, akin to peace, cannot easily be broken by things like "buses and taxi horns and ambulance sirens" (L'Engle), "big" sounds, but I let those insignificant things like worry about the meal plan or whether or not I have time to finish making a Christmas tree skirt or answering my daughter's twelfth "why" of the day barge in and destroy my mind's silence, "break[ing] it up into noise" (L'Engle).

Those insignificant things should not have the power to ruin the silence, the peace and joy, that can run through each day and color it with brilliance. In the end, we'll eat. Decorations come and go. My daughter is a person going through a stage of learning, and I can help her through it. My perspective on our circumstances will affect my approach more than the circumstances themselves, so why shouldn't my perspective be one of contented peace? Paul says, "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). Meditating on such a promise, founded in the truth of a good and sovereign God, my mind and heart can be at peace, resting in good silence, this season.

Beautiful Change

Recently I enjoyed the pleasure of re-reading the first two books of C. S. Lewis' space trilogy (some of my favorite writing ever, hands down). A passage early on in the first book, Out of the Silent Planet, stands out to me each time I read the book, probably because anything related to change strikes a chord with me - I've always struggled with changes. They just don't come easily to me.

Maybe you are a thinker and worrier, like me. You can understand the intricate thought-circles that go on in the mind whenever a change, no matter how small, is anticipated. You question possible outcomes. You wonder if you will feel overwhelmed emotionally or be too weary to handle everything. You don't want the way things are now to end.

Lewis' main character, Elwin Ransom, encounters a mind-bogglingly big change in the first part of Out of the Silent Planet: He travels unexpectedly and against his own will to a new planet. When he realizes where he is headed, he is understandably afraid (he's also led to believe there are malicious beings on the planet). However, when he finally views the planet for the first time, his mindset radically shifts: "Before anything else he learn[s] that Malacandra is beautiful."

Ransom had expected a harsh, alien landscape, and when he is surprised by the beauty of the planet, he analyzes his own surprise: "he even reflect[s] how odd it was that this possibility had never entered into his speculations about it." Ransom questions his own thinking and cannot come up with a reason why he should have thought the planet would be ugly or frightening instead of beautiful.

The expectation that a new experience will necessarily be negative or scary comes mostly from apprehension of the unknown. I know what my current circumstances are like, and so I feel a certain sense of order and control over them. When all I can see in front of me is a blank, I don't know what will happen, and so I expect the worst. Why should I think like this? Why shouldn't a change bring positive and good things into my life just as easily as challenges or hardships? Indeed, why wouldn't challenges in themselves become good things if I handle them through trust in a God who loves me?

A new situation in my life, such as bringing a new baby into the family or moving to a new city, may turn out to look beautiful or it may turn out to look like "rocky desolation" (Lewis), but either way, my anticipation of it need not be fear-filled. I might as equally well expect joy as depression, pleasure as sorrow, and smoothness as roughness. In reality, I've experienced that most changes bring a mixture of all types of emotions, challenges, and fun. In any case, when the sovereign God of the universe is the one bringing me through it, I can pass with an inner peace from the "now" into the "then" - He's going to make each chapter of this life beautiful in the end, anyway.

Pruning

In my small group at church we've talked about pruning a couple of times now. In John 15:1-2, Jesus says, "I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." The book our group is reading together, Trusting God by Jerry Bridges, discusses this passage a bit as a way of explaining some of the adversity that Christians encounter. Adversity is a way for God to "prune" us so we can become more fruitful. Even though pruning is not a fun experience, we are supposed to be glad when we recognize it because we know God has good plans in mind.

I know that pruning can take various forms. Perhaps God takes away an opportunity to do something I was looking forward to so I learn to rejoice in Him. Perhaps He makes getting enough sleep an impossibility for a while so I learn to rely on Him more. Perhaps He takes away my familiar surroundings and moves me to a new place with new people and a new job so I learn that my true identity is based in Him and not in my circumstances.

We moved to San Antonio just over a year ago, and I became a stay-at-home mom almost two years ago. Those two changes quickly removed me from settings where I felt comfortable and purposeful. I had friends there. It seemed to me that I was someone there. When I started staying at home with my little one and no longer had those stable routines about me, I felt like a dried-up, cut off version of myself. I didn't recognize myself or my purpose anymore.

When we moved into our new house, there was a mystery bush near the fence in the backyard underneath the shade of an oak tree. It was quite tall, about as tall as my husband. During winter it was just branches, but in summer it was covered with dark, pointed leaves. Finally this year my dad identified it for us as a Mexican fire bush. He hadn't recognized it the first summer because it had never bloomed. He told us that it needed sun in order to produce its bright orange flowers. We could move it and hope it started blooming if we took the trouble to dig out its root ball and dig a new hole for it in a sunny spot.

Well, a few weeks ago my husband got out the trimmers and shovel and started to cut and dig. First he pruned the long branches of the shrub so it would not be so unwieldy. Then he cut a wide circle in the soil around the base of the plant. Soon he got to the roots and discovered that those things were massive. We don't know how long some of the roots were because eventually he had to stop digging and simply chop the roots with loppers in order to get the bush out of the ground. The biggest root was about five inches across where he cut it. Finally, after much sweat and probably a few blisters, he was able to move the bush to its new spot, also dug out by him, in a sunnier place. A few days later, my husband reflected, "You know, after moving that fire bush, I feel somehow like it's more mine."

The bush still looks puny right now. It hasn't grown back to its former height, and it has yet to put on greenery for the summer, but we are hopeful that in its new spot it will produce not only pretty leaves, but gorgeous blooms, too. Maybe it will attract butterflies and hummingbirds. It could never have done those things in the old place.

When my Father, the infallible gardener, moves me to a new place, cutting off roots and taking away nice long branches that seem to be doing just fine, I can trust that His purpose is good. He plans for me to be more effective and beautiful, and to bring more glory to Him in the new place. Even if I feel less fruitful for a time immediately after the pruning, I know the end result will be a more abundant life than what was before. Also, as He puts me in new situations that cause me to recognize that my significance comes from Him, He is making me more His own.

One Thing at a Time

"Stressed" defined my days. Sure, partly tiredness was creeping in and adding tension, but it was more than that. While I was taking care of the laundry and meals and such, I also had all of these projects in my head that I couldn't stop planning. I lamented my mere forty minutes a day (the length my daughter will sleep without me for her nap) in which I could sit down and knit, read, write, sew, etc., because I had so much more I wanted to do!

Then I read something in Jerry Bridges' Trusting God, the book my small group is going through this semester, about the stress we feel when we have two conflicting agendas (ours and God's) instead of one (God's). The passage seemed to fit what I was experiencing. I thought, I need to get rid of the extra agenda in my life and just focus on God's agenda for me.

But what does that look like? What is God's agenda?

I don't know exact details of God's plan for my life down to the minute, obviously, and I don't think we are even supposed to try to figure out "God's will" and wait around until He gives us some kind of grand sign telling us exactly what the next step is. No; I must take care of daily needs of myself and family, do the best I can to prayerfully thank God for what He provides, and cultivate a gracious attitude towards myself and the people around me.

While I may not know God's "agenda" for my life in a specific sense, here's one thing I know: I can only do one thing at a time. God made me a finite human being, capable of truly focusing well on any one given task. When I spend my energy imagining a multitude of tasks I can't reasonably accomplish in my allotted time, I'm being wasteful, and I'm not helping my attitude or my family. If instead I focus on enjoying the one thing that's been given me to do in the moment (read with my daughter) or that I choose to do in my free time (knit a soft grey hat), I feel happier, and I feel more of a sense of fulfillment in whatever I'm doing.

For the past week or so, I've been hearing "one thing at a time" running through my mind, and the simplified approach has helped my attitude and emotional state, even though my circumstances have not changed. I've felt more productive, even though I'm probably not actually doing any more than I would have had my attitude not shifted.

Praise God that He asks us for simple (though not always easy!) things:

"Mankind, He has told you what is good
and what it is the Lord requires of you:
to act justly,
to love faithfulness,
and to walk humbly with your God." (Micah 6:8)

Micah 6:8 describes God's agenda for me and for everyone. How the agenda works itself out in the day-to-day, well, I hope I'll answer that question one thing at a time.

Learning from Jane

I finished listening to Jane Eyre the other day. Jane (as I like to affectionately call it) is my favorite book, and every reading it seems I catch something new in it, usually based on where I am in life at the time. This listen proved no exception; in fact, two elements stood out to me this go around - one an exhortation, the other an encouragement. We all need both of those from time to time!

Lately I've been a complainer. Realistically, I've always been a complainer. My personality tends towards pessimism and at the same time perfectionism. The combination of straining for gold while seeing only dirt can lead me to voice a constant stream of negativity. My complaining doesn't help anyone in my family, and it might hurt me most of all, since I am not content when I'm complaining. Constant lack of contentment eats away at me so that I feel downcast when, objectively, there's nothing wrong. Indeed, I have much to be thankful for.

The exhortation from Jane came over the course of the whole book as I paid attention to the bones of her life. Partly determined by time in history, partly by her station, Jane's life is simple. She doesn't have the expectation that entertainment should always be available at her fingertips. She doesn't begrudge hard work, diligent study, or the consequences of her own actions. In each stage of her life, she is satisfied with sometimes menial, day-to-day tasks and fellowship with a few people whom she calls friends.

Where is my satisfaction with the little things? If I have a roof over my head, food to eat, clothes to wear, and a few people to love and care for, should I not be content? If I have daily chores to accomplish and can even find time in my schedule, however brief, for doing something merely for my own refreshment, should I not call myself blessed?

Jane's encouragement, like her exhortation, deals with contentment. Since having a baby and leaving my full-time job, I've struggled with feeling like some part of me is being wasted and - what's more frightening - might be wasting away. Daily care of a one-year-old is, simply put, boring. There's nothing particularly intellectually engaging about singing silly songs, reading simple books, and mopping up messes from the floor under the kitchen table. Sometimes I hear a nagging voice telling me that I'm missing something in life now that I have stepped away from the adult, productive world into a world of little things.

When Jane accepts a humble teaching position from Mr. Rivers, she steps into a world of little things compared with what she has known previously:

". . . I accept it with all my heart."

 "But you comprehend me?" he said. "It is a village-school: your scholars will be only poor girls . . . What will you do with your accomplishments? What, with the largest portion of your mind - sentiments - tastes?"

"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep."

They will keep. Those words reassure me as I wonder if my "former life" is all pointless now. When will I again need to use what I learned back then? Maybe never in the ways I was accustomed to before, but probably in some unexpected ways my previous learning and experience will come into play again. If nothing else, I know God made me for Himself and put those learning opportunities, talents, interests, and work experiences in my path and in my heart for many reasons, even if I don't know now what the reasons will be in the future.

As a stay-at-home mom, may I learn to be content with the simple things, be thankful for the beautiful blessings God sends my way every day (bubble baths, tickles and giggles, tiny adorable outfits on my little one), and trust that the place I am now is important. Whatever is most valuable that God has woven into the fabric of my life is still being developed right now, and if any part is "on hold," it will keep.

Need

God made me a child and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But everything was beautiful; I couldn't see a need.
God put me in high school and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I got it all done; there was not a need.
God put me in college and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I guarded my sleep; I hid the need.
God moved me to a new city and put me in grad school and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But I hunted for answers and killed the need with desperate prayers.
God gave me a husband and said,
   "Rest in Me."
But someone showed me a good example, and I thought I had rested enough.
God gave me a child and said,
   "Rest in Me."
And I couldn't find myself, and I said,
   "God, where am I? Hold me."
And He was.

Try and Fail

I recently listened to Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery. When I heard Anne make the claim that "next to trying and winning, the best thing is trying and failing," I nearly fell out of my socks. I'm notorious for wanting to know with absolute certainty, one hundred percent of the time, with no exceptions, exactly what the outcomes will be in any given situation. If, somehow, I don't foresee said outcomes, or if, like sensing an impending storm, I sniff out dangerous outcomes ahead, I would sooner not attempt the task, not step into the situation, not make the decision, not go, not join in, not try. The idea that it's better to try and fail than not to try at all is simply shocking to me.

Yet I believe the idea might just be true. I don't mean in contexts involving a decision resembling gambling. Wisdom should be involved. But given the application of wisdom, what harm is there in failure? Embarrassment? Shame? Hurt? Vulnerability? Pride doesn't want me to feel these things. But what if feeling a bit embarrassed is what it takes to at least gain a new experience or learn more about life (even if it just means learning I'm not great at something)? I know learning is good, and pride isn't a valid reason to do or not do something.

Ah, yes, but my perfect world in its perfect orderly state is in jeopardy if I try with the possibility of failing. On the other hand, if I keep everything under control then nothing unexpected happens, and I can dance through my day without the slightest hint of a misstep.

Well, news flash, self: you are never really in control in the first place!

It may feel like I'm conducting the orchestra, but the Lord, the sovereign Creator, is the one who actually maintains even my ability to breathe. If I recognize this truth, maybe I can relax enough to try when there's a possibility of failing.

But why bother? What is there to gain? I think perhaps the gain is itself partly a loss: loss of fear, anxiety, and pride. The gain is also trust that's placed in God more than in myself. Maybe the gain could also be having a bit of fun. Wait, no. That can't be right.

Not Knowing Is a Mercy

Sometimes, you make decisions that are thought-through, methodical, cautious. You know in advance what to expect (within reason, anyway) and you make a choice that seems wise.

And then sometimes unexpected things happen and you don't have the chance to know in advance or think through what you would like to do. We recently purchased a used car after careful planning and consideration, and I felt calm about it. Immediately afterwards (within the next two weeks) we experienced several car-related, unexpected expenses. The first expense, buying a car, seemed so in-control, and then all of a sudden I was thrown off course by the unexpected and was tempted to panic and get frustrated that these car expenditures were being required of us. I chatted with my mom about how I had to purposefully remind myself that money isn't our security, and that I knew we had to keep trusting God with these situations that arose without advance warning. She mentioned to me that these surprise events are one way He can cause us to practice trust. (Notably, they are not surprise events to Him.)

All of this reminded me of a passage that had struck me a while back when I first read it in Wendell Berry's Jayber Crow:

Thinking to try to comfort him, I said, "Well, along with all else, there's goodness and beauty too. I guess that's the mercy of the world." 

Mat said, "The mercy of the world is you don't know what's going to happen."

I think both points are true. Yes, God gives us a lot of goodness and beauty even in simple, everyday things, and these can encourage us as we get through each day. But also, not letting us know the future is actually a great part of God's mercy to us. Even though I often think it's better to know things in advance, since I like to plan and feel like I'm in control, I know it's true that in reality not knowing the future is much better for me. Imagine if we already knew exactly all of the sadness and suffering that we and our loved ones were to go through in our lifetimes. I think I would tend to want to just give up now, in that case! Furthermore, God is merciful in letting us experience the unexpected so that we learn to lean on Him. If we could plan for every "crisis" moment that we already knew we would experience, then where would be the need for trust?

On the other hand, there are certain things He has let us know about the future (and present) that are solid, certain, and completely reassuring. I love the confidence expressed in all of 1 John about how we as children of God are able to know many things. Most significantly, for example, John writes, "These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life" (1 John 5:13). In the end, we can know with confidence that things will end well for us "who love God, . . . who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). I don't need to worry.