Galway Girl

I love March 17th. The only thing that could make it better is if I had inherited red hair. I did, however, inherit pasty white skin...and today I am proud of it. Today I think fondly (well, more so than I do every other day) of one of the most beautiful and mystical countries in the world. And of my ancestors who were born there so long ago. One in particular, Ann Waters, was born near the coast not far from the city of Galway. Unfortunately, I discovered this only a month before Joel and I visited Ireland, leaving little time or room in our itinerary to make the trip to her tiny birth town. Someday. But as I looked out across the sea from Galway Bay, I could imagine Ann just two hours north, doing the same. I felt close to my roots. Connected.

I love learning about my heritage. I'm proud of the Irish, Italian, Polish and French-Canadian blood that courses through my veins. I'm proud of my great-grandparents who bravely boarded a ship and crossed the Atlantic in search of a better life for their children, and their children's children. But above all, I'm proud to have been adopted through the blood of a Jewish carpenter. I'm proud to call believers of all nationalities and races my brothers and sisters. So today I celebrate those that came before me. I honor my ancestors for the sacrifices they made to give me the life I have. But I remember that my true identity is in Christ, in whom my roots are firmly planted.

Christ with me
Christ before me
Christ behind me
Christ within me
Christ beneath me
Christ above me
Christ at my right
Christ at my left
Christ where I sit
Christ where I arise
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me
Christ in every eye that sees me
Christ in every ear that hears me
Salvation is of the Lord
-From the breastplate of St. Patrick

Back in the Saddle Again...

My last post was wrought with tension and angst, sparking an array of emotions from those of you who read it. I appreciate all of your responses and am both humbled and encouraged by the conversations and exchanges that have unfolded since I last wrote. Thank you to everyone who reached out in the aftermath of my words. You are God's love made real.

That said, I want today's post to be positive. I want it to be full of light, like the glorious Spring weather we've been experiencing here in Wisconsin. The snow has left us and the birds have returned. While picking up dog poo in the post-winter "mine field" of our backyard, I even noticed subtle signs of life springing forth from our flower beds. I couldn't help but smile. Welcome back, joy and optimism.

Since I last wrote, much has happened. My faith in prayer has been renewed, my inner artist has been revived, and my soul has found quiet. As many of you know, our house has been on the market since early October. For those of you who have ever been through this process, you know what a roller coaster it can be! In the last couple months we have almost felt like visitors in our own home. Afraid to relax, be messy, let our hair down, LIVE. Showings were often, which was fantastic. But offers were non-existent and negative feedback was mounting...not so fantastic. It didn't take long for us to realize that what we really needed was a young, single guy to walk through our house. Someone who wouldn't care about a small kitchen, lack of closet space or a master suite in the basement. And someone who would giggle like a little girl at the thought of having a home theater with surround sound. So we began to pray for this person. And pray. On Wednesday, Joel allowed a dear friend and coworker of his to pray over him. She, too, prayed for a young lad to walk through our door. An hour later that is exactly what happened. And three hours after that he was writing us an offer. By Friday afternoon it was a done deal. Hallelujah! God is good. For the first time in a long time we felt heard. A gentle reminder that God is indeed listening.

The weekend ushered us into 'Pulse,' the annual arts conference held at our church. The weeks leading up to this event are insanely busy for my husband and his oh-so-talented team of artists. But it's always amazing to see how quickly the stress seems to fall off their shoulders as they join a whole community of believing artists, doing what they do best...creating. As someone who lives in between the left and right sides of my brain, this conference is one of the few places I get to explore and expand on the artistry God has infused in me. Last year I performed a dance with two amazingly beautiful dancers. This year I made a mess with paint, charcoal and sand. And it turned into something rather lovely. This experience again confirmed what I've always known...creative outlets are essential for a balanced life.

For those of you who really know me, you know that I am an animal lover. I am especially fond of horses, despite being a city girl. I learned to ride and care for them as a young girl, and since then it's been a dream of mine to own one...and a killer pair of cowboy boots. Unfortunately, I continue to live in the city. And last I checked, Mayor Dave would probably frown upon a horse trotting down Whitney Way. This is where a woman named, Joan, enters the picture. Joan has two horses and 5 acres just outside of Madison. Joan also has some very sexually-charged roosters...but that's a story for another time. Our church likes to form groups of people with common interests who can get together and share in their hobby. A women's horse-lovers group tried to get off the ground, but too few of the women actually owned their own horses. However, Joan took this opportunity to reach out to us horseless gals. Every once in a while she'll send an email telling us that she plans on grooming and riding on a certain day and would love company. After passing on the first few, I decided to take her up on her latest offer. With snow turning into muck, she had two very muddy horses to tend to. Being someone who loves the smell of horse sweat and manure, I happily obliged to get my hands dirty with some curry combs and mud-tangled manes. Being in the presence of horses quiets my soul like nothing else. It was a long-overdue therapy session. You see, with horses you have to quiet yourself. You have to quiet any anxiety or fears that you carry. Quiet any tension, anger or bitterness. Quiet the voices in your head. Quiet your soul. Because they know. They sense your negativity and react. And no one wants a hoof to the face. Scrubbing and combing their giant muscular bodies to the quiet, steady rhythm of hay-chomping is something I've always loved and could have done for hours. There's just something about standing in the powerful presence of these beasts that brings me nearer to God. When the horses were shiny and new again, we saddled 'em up and took them out on a beautiful leisurely walk. It felt good to be riding again. It felt good to feel like myself again. Amazing how nature has a way of centering us and giving us a quiet place to rest our souls in this crazy, chaotic and often painful world we live in.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls."
-Matthew 11:28-29

Enough?

I've been a ball of emotions for the last five days...most of them anxious, angry and bitter. Sometimes I have no idea what provokes them. They just seem to resurface from time to time like the Loch Ness monster...shocking everyone, including myself. [Yes, I give you permission to call me Nessie].

Up until now, I have been priding myself on how well Joel and I have been handling everything...how it's only made us stronger. I still believe that. But I'm also starting to realize how the stressors around us are starting to force their way into the small cracks of our marriage. We're quick to anger and slow to forgive. Easily offended by even the slightest remarks.

Joel gave me permission to punch him on Saturday. And I did...hard.

On Sunday the sermon was about being bold in prayer, as we are taught in Luke 11:

"So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened." -Luke 11:9-10

I can honestly say I felt hatred toward this passage. I felt like standing up and calling Jesus a liar. How many times have I knocked boldly on the door of my Father, asking and pleading for a child? How many times has this desire been granted? And then our pastor dropped the bombshell. He acknowledged that there were many of us who are probably sitting in our chairs, scoffing, not wanting a lecture on prayer. [Guilty as charged]. He acknowledged that many of us have been praying boldly, but with seemingly no response or release from our troubles. [Yep, that would be me]. But then he said this: Jesus knew how to pray. And He prayed often. But in the chapters after Luke 11 we see that His life didn't go so well. He was cast out, betrayed, and ultimately ended up on a Roman execution rack. In Luke 11, the promise isn't necessarily that my prayer requests will all be granted. But rather, that God will give me Himself. He will give me the Holy Spirit. This is His promise because He knows He is enough. But do I know that? Do I actually believe it and live it out? If all I've been blessed with...health, wealth, shelter, unconditional love...were all taken from me and all that was left was God, would He be enough? Could I be content? These are the same questions I ask myself every time I walk the sewage-filled paths of the Nairobi slums. How easily I forget the lessons I've learned from my Kenyan brothers and sisters who literally have nothing. And yet they live joyfully for God. [Convicted].

It became all too apparent in that moment that I don't believe God is enough. I don't trust Him fully. I continue to think my plan is better and therefore I'm continually dissatisfied and disappointed with His. Dark, is the state of my human heart. Broken, is the human condition.

On Monday, a friend pierced the gloom hanging over my head with this simple truth: That when Jesus instructed Peter to walk toward Him across the water, He did not first calm the raging storm. Instead, He encouraged Peter to focus His eyes on Him and take that first step in faith. A perfect storm is brewing in my life, composed of infertility, doubt, unanswered questions, a brother I can't trust, and a house that just won't sell. Everyday I wait for God to take even one of these things and make it right. Everyday I'm disappointed. But what other choice did I leave myself? What did I expect? My energies have been focused on dissipating the storm, not on the One who can keep me, and teach me, as I walk through it.

"Lord, if it's you," Peter replied, "tell me to come to you on the water."
"Come," He said.
Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus.
-Matthew 14:28-29

Finding the positives when all you get are negatives

Well, there goes month 13. I took a pregnancy test on Tuesday, and as usual, it came back negative. And Thursday that negative was confirmed, if you get my drift. We were quite hopeful this month, seeing as that I had recently undergone a procedure to verify that my reproductive organs were all normal and open. It was a downright awful experience. I was thankful for Joel sitting next to me in his sparkly purple lead vest that protected him from the x-rays. He provided much-needed comic relief and a hand to hold...or crush, as it were. Without going into detail, some good did come of it...and we hoped we had found a possible answer to our troubles. On top of this, we were told that many couples experience increased fertility after the procedure, simply by having it done. Well, we are not one of those couples...at least not this month.

Seeing only one line on that pregnancy test is getting really old. I might as well be flushing dollars down the toilet. And frankly, I feel like I'm paying someone to tell me that I'm a failure of a woman and I suck at life...every single month. Who knew one little line could say so much?! After the first several months of wallowing in self-pity like this for days after my period, I decided I needed an attitude adjustment. Don't get me wrong. I still wallow. I've just cut it down to a day or two, instead of 14. Now, one of the ways I cope with the month-after-month disappointment is by reminding myself of all the things I can still do sans baby-bump. And then I do them...all the while reveling in the freedom of not being pregnant. Here is my list:

Stay up past 9pm
Sleep on my stomach
Sleep through the night without getting up to pee
Make it through my day without barfing or feeling like I have to barf
Make it through my day without a nap
Make it through my day at all
Hold in my gas while in public
Fly in airplanes anytime I please
Walk without waddling
Run without waddling
Wrestle with the dog
Touch my toes
Have conversations that don't revolve around babies
Not stress if I miss a week of my prenatal vitamins
Not have to buy a new wardrobe
Wear skinny jeans
Wear stilettos
Wear skinny jeans AND stilettos...now we're talkin'
Eat unpasteurized cheese
Eat lunch meats
Eat trans-fats
Drink caffeine
Drink wine
Drink beer
Drink champagne
Drink just about anything I want, when I want it...in fact, I think I'll pour myself a glass of wine right now! [NOTE: I am not a lush]

On top of all this, Joel and I have been guaranteed at least one more month of relative peace, quiet, sleep, flexibility, and quality time together. And Taylor has been guaranteed at least one more month of unabated and uninterrupted love, attention and sleeping on our bed. Life's not so bad.

And although it is becoming increasingly hard to keep our chins up as we watch the months go by, we will cling to the promises made to people like Abraham, Rachel, Hannah and Zechariah. We'll remember that the Lord is good, and that His utmost desire for us is LIFE.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be." ...he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.
-Romans 4:18; 20-21

The Bright Sadness

Last March I had the privilege of hanging out with the members of a great Christian band (one of the few perks that comes along with being married to a Director of Worship Arts). They were in town as the guest artists for the annual arts conference we hold at our church. Their new album, The Bright Sadness, had recently been released and so they kicked us off with a stellar concert on the eve of the conference. I didn't know much about them before attending this concert...well, let's be honest...I didn't know anything about them. Not surprising since I rarely listen to Christian music outside of church. Something about it being my husband's job makes me way too critical. But every so often there comes a song that touches my soul in some profound way, and closes the gap between my hand and God's.

I had almost forgotten about one such song by the Charlie Hall Band, when it resurfaced yesterday afternoon on our way back from Boulder, CO. As I stared out the window of our car, so much was going on in my brain. I was sad to leave the majestic mountains, yet thankful for the time spent there, connecting with my great husband. Questions floated through my head of whether I might be pregnant this month...and if not, how I'll respond. In between questions, I was sifting through memories and conversations that took place while in Boulder. Conversations about our infertility, adoption, our house that is for sale, where we want to be in 10 years, where we think God wants us to be in 10 years, etc, etc. So much is up in the air in our lives right now. So many unanswered questions. So many ways this could all play out. I was getting dizzy thinking about it. [I'm dizzy right now as I write this.] And then Charlie Hall's voice came through the speakers and sang these beautiful words...

Sweet Jesus Christ my sanity
Sweet Jesus Christ my clarity
Bread of heaven, broken for me
Cup of salvation held up to drink
Jesus the Mystery

Christ has died and
Christ is risen,
and Christ will come again...

[Listen here: Mystery by Charlie Hall]

Almost a year has passed since Charlie Hall led us with this song through one of the most memorable times of communion I have ever experienced. At that time, there's no way I could have fully grasped what Charlie meant when he titled his album The Bright Sadness. Today I know...at least better than I did a year ago. I know the hurt. I know the bitterness. I know the fear and loneliness that often accompany them. But I also know hope, love, friendship, and strength like never before. I know God's love and compassion on a deeper level. I know myself better. There's a bright side to every one of our sad stories. And more importantly, there's a comfort in knowing that a bigger story is at work. It's bigger than me, bigger than Joel, and certainly bigger than our inability to produce a child. We just need clarity to see it...the clarity that can only come from a man who died to ultimately free this broken world from the sadness that binds it.

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.
-John 11:25

At Eternity's Gate

Thanks to the Apostle, Paul, Vincent Van Gogh, and the gifted Tim Mackie, I had a blog-worthy morning...the epiphany sort. And lucky for you, this is coming just before the progesterone side of my monthly cycle kicks in and rains on my parade of estrogen and optimism. If you're a woman trying to conceive, you know exactly what I'm talking about. (My apologies if that was TMI for some of you!)

Today's sermon was about the Holy Spirit's role in our suffering. It was titled "Pain-Filled Prayer." I don't always enjoy sermons on pain. Mostly because I cry easily these days...and that just becomes a neon sign above my head saying "something's wrong with this girl...she must be in pain." It makes me uncomfortable. I don't often enjoy sermons about the Holy Spirit, either. I feel a little bit guilty about that. But I think it's because I just can't get my mind around this part of the trinity. The Father created me. Jesus walked this earth and died for me. My simple human brain can understand that...just barely, but enough. The Spirit is something altogether different. Invisible. Body-less. Mysterious. My head knows that these three "persons" are all God and somehow one entity. That they are all equally important and intrinsically linked. Yet they are also separate, each with a divine purpose. I tend to focus so much of my faith and prayer life on God the Father and God the Son, that the work of God the Spirit all too often goes unrecognized.

In my last post, I mentioned how there are times when I'm so pissed and crushed in spirit that I cannot pray. In those times, I rely on my prayer warriors...friends and family members who know of our suffering and are willing to plead, question, and petition God on our behalf. I am forever thankful for these beautiful souls who willingly walk alongside us. But until today, I did not realize that mingled in amongst the prayers of our friends and family are the deep groans of the Spirit. When there is no order left and it feels as though God has turned His back, when we sit with our head in our hands overwhelmed with the exhaustion of doubt, when we are jaded and cynical, helpless and hopeless...the Spirit intercedes in sounds that only God can understand. It's as if the Spirit is acting as a direct link to God, channeling and translating the despair that leaves our words silent and our prayers empty.

Now, instead of feeling guilty for those heartbreaking times in which I have nothing left to say to God, I will sit in silence and know that the Spirit is working.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. And He who searches our hearts, knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God's will.
-Romans 8:26-27

The Glass Boot

Today is my birthday. Twenty-eight years ago, my Grandma was hyperventilating because she thought she was going to have to deliver me in her home. (I come from a long line of feisty and resourceful women and I have no doubt she could have done it). But thankfully, my dad saved the day with a plow attached to his pick-up truck. Turns out construction jobs come in handy when your wife is in labor during an epic MN blizzard.

Twenty-eight. I've accomplished a lot in my 28 years on Earth...most of it I'm proud of. But this was a somewhat difficult birthday for me. Turning 28 means I'm no longer 27. And 27 was the age I always thought I'd be when I had my first child. Don't ask me why I chose 27...I just did. As my husband has learned, not everything that happens in my brain is rational. Now, I know that by the world's standards, I am still a wee youngin'. Trust me, I know. I'd fit in perfectly with a group of 8th graders. But every time I hear a doctor say, "well, the good news is, you're still young and have plenty of time to have babies," there's a naive little planner inside me who wants to bust out and throw a tantrum because 27 has come and gone. Because the three pregnancy tests Joel bought for me on my 27th birthday...and every other one since then...have only made me cry. Because everyone around me is blissfully expecting their first or second child and taking all the baby names we've ever agreed upon. But mostly because I feel like my world has come to a screaming halt just in time to watch all of my friends pass me by on the road of life. I so desperately want to catch up. To be a part of their club and be able to relate to such novelties as pregnancy hemorrhoids and acid reflux. And yes, I just asked my husband how to spell 'hemorrhoids'...now there's a certain horrified curiosity on his face. I can't imagine why.

So today I begin life after 27. It's a new day. A new year. I'm a new Holly. While my 27th year did not produce a child growing in my belly, it did produce growth of many different kinds. My soul, my heart, my faith, my marriage...they are all so much stronger today than they were a year ago. We all go through times of discipline and refinement by God. I just never thought mine would come by way of infertility. But I am thankful for it. Hardship has a way of bringing about vulnerability, which opens the door to truth and honest reflection. I just hope that when the day comes where I'm presented with the gift of a child, these lessons will not be forgotten like the beautiful wrapping paper and bows that keep gifts hidden until just the right time.

And while my friends may be moving on to their great adventures in parenting, they have not left me. They still love me and care for me. They still pray for me...especially when I'm so pissed I can't pray for myself. They are patient with me as I navigate this unfamiliar territory. And they know that when I feel like Cinderella, racing against the clock, they can always make me smile by presenting me with something far better than my lost glass slipper...how 'bout a ginormous glass boot filled with beer. Now that's friendship. Happy Birthday to me!!

No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
-Hebrews 12:11