Fair

Last night at Bible study, we stumbled upon a topic that is always tough to deal with.

Is God fair?

This question is a double edged sword. Because we are told in scripture that He is just, and in our finite human minds, to us, that should mean that He is fair. But our very definition of the word is perverted.

"It isn't fair that I have to work Saturday."
"It isn't fair that they always have the finer things in life! We work so hard!"

But then, what about those bigger issues? We still toss around that simple word, selling ourselves short of what we really mean.

It isn't fair that some women struggle with infertility, while others have abortions.
It isn't fair that some children are born addicted to drugs.
It isn't fair that some children go without food, while the parents don't go without cigarettes.
It isn't fair that right now, Melissa, over at Three Times the Fun, just had to title her last post "Three cribs, minus one" because one of her 6 month old triplets, Owen, died.

THAT ISN'T FAIR.

And it hit me really hard. Because I live in a world that cries out for equality. Fairness. We raise our kids under the idea that every kid makes the team. Even if it means sitting the bench the entire season, or cutting the playing time of a kid that actually is good so parents don't get upset. If you plan on inviting one child to a birthday party, you have to invite the whole class, so no one's feelings get hurt.

All this does is keep kids from experiencing disappointment.

This feeling of entitlement? It carries over into adulthood. Entitled to disability, Medicare, Food Stamps. Entitled to have all the best stuff, without working for it. Entitled to drive that new Lexus, even if it means going to a pregnancy center to get help with diapers. Every week.

Jails are required to have luxuries, like cable. Because that is fair.

But is it fair that someone is going without their loved one, because of a decision made by someone else?

And I've grown up thinking that God is the ultimate judge. The ultimate in fairness. But, it isn't true.

Because if God were to be fair, and give us what we really deserve, it would not have been His son. He would give us the consequences for our rebellion. But, he doesn't. He isn't fair. Instead, He shows Grace. And Mercy. Instead of giving us what we do deserve, He blesses us with that which we don't deserve.

So, here I live. In a world that isn't fair. In a world that struggles to show grace and mercy. In a world that says fairness is expected. A world were people feel like they are owed. Like they deserve.

And I'm the same way. Because I feel entitled. Entitled to have a healthy next pregnancy, since the first one was a little rough. Entitled to have a raise at work, because I work my tail off. Entitled to have the husband cater to me, because I put Ansley to bed every night.

Entitled to that grace and mercy, because my sins aren't that bad.

I'm reminded of a beautiful song:
                            I am the thorn in Your crown, But You love me anyway 
                            I am the sweat from Your brow, But You love me anyway 
                            I am the nail in Your wrist, But You love me anyway 
                            I am Judas’ kiss, But You love me anyway

That's what isn't fair. 

Whirlwind

That's a pretty good description of our lives right now. Between the hubs being back in school, and attending numerous trainings- several hours away, Ansley cutting multiple molars at once, and, well, me just trying to keep my head above water, life has been a little crazy.

But, regardless of how fast life is going, I've realized that there's always time to slow down. Even if just for a few minutes.

And just... be thankful.

I was hit hard with this yesterday as I drove to a neighboring county for school.  It is a drive I have made a ridiculous number of times. But this time was particularly different.

Just a few weeks ago, the Southeast was devastated by hundreds of tornadoes. I hate storms. But I've learned that Ansley looks to me for comfort. When the sky lights up and the thunder rumbles, as long as Mommy is calm, then Ansley follows suit.

Despite a day of storms, several hours without power and record amounts of rainfall, we were fine. Actually, I was fine. I was surprised at how calm I remained, even when the school I was teaching at was evacuated into the halls for nearly an hour while the skies grew black.

Except for one small branch that fell in front of the house, we remained damage free.  I joked. Almost all day. Because the weathermen were giving strict warnings. Get inside. In the basement. Away from windows. And then, it turned into nothing.  At least, for us.

Then, I watched the news, and heard about all the destruction in surrounding areas. And even heard of destruction that happened here. Locally. I looked at pictures. But it was still so foreign.

Until today. When I saw some of that damage myself.

I was breathless. And not in a good way. A forest leveled. Trees snapped in half. A front porch, on front of nothing.

And I realized just how fortunate we were. And it wasn't because I was "lucky" enough to see all of American Idol before we lost power that night. But it is because we still have a roof. And it is still over our heads. And, right now, Ansley is snoozing soundly in her bed, the pups are snuggled on the couch, and I'm sitting here at the computer, while so many lost so much. More than just stuff.  But people.

And despite all that whirls around me, I've got to stop. And take some time. And realize just how fortunate I am. To have a family that loves me more than words can express. To have... so much.

I'm regularly emotional. But every once and a while, "emotional" doesn't come close to describing all that is running through my head.

So tonight, though weeks after such brutal storms slammed practically the entire nation, I pray that you and yours are all safe and sound. And despite whatever whirlwind hits your life-literal or metaphoric- you will be able to reach out and grab that which is really important to you.

Too much

Is it possible for postpartum depression to hit more than a year after the child's birth?  Or, rather, anxiety?

The last two days have been hell. In fact, I don't even know how I'm able to sit here and type. I'm shaking, but not cold. I'm uneasy. I can't relax. Tonight isn't as bad as last, but it's still really difficult. And I don't really know what triggered it.

But it was too much for me last night. And I had to call Paul home. Because I was scared. And this morning, I woke up and called the doctor first thing. Because I had to get in.

And he saw me. Of course, I got the normal talk. Non-medicated verses medicated, or a combo of the two. Importance of exercise and sleep. And that I'm just wired this way, and it can't exactly be "fixed." Or simply "go away."

But I'm still scared. I'm scared about Paul going to work tomorrow. I'm scared because right now, my brain is running 1,000 miles an hour and I can't control where it is going. And I don't like that. I don't like where it's taking me.

I don't like that right now, I'm pounding out something on the keyboard while my husband plays with our daughter. I don't like that I can't settle down. I don't like that this feels like a spiral that I can't escape. I don't like that for 2 days now, I've felt like I can't function on my own.

Somewhere inside of me, I know this is ridiculous. I know that there is no reason for this. Which makes it that much more difficult. Because I want to make it stop. I want to make this go away. I want to be able to breathe deep breaths, enjoy a warm bath and cozy up with the hubs.

But instead, I'm clutching the hubs. Holding on for what feels like dear life. Because right now, he has the strength I need. He can function for me. And he can hold me, making me feel somewhat normal.

So, after stepping away for a few hours, I've ended the night, and it feels somewhat normal. I took some time to rock the kiddo, while she took some time to dance a little gig to the tunes that were playing softly. And I took that bath, finding a good book to start reading.

And now, I feel a little more normal, sitting in my fuzzy pink and white polka dot robe, as the hubs shuts down the house for the night.  And I'll snuggle in, hoping that when I wake tomorrow, normal will still be here, waiting for me to greet the day.

You're probably wondering what it's all about

These lectures on my innards (or, at least, my faith).

After cruising through college and really making my faith my own, it's time to be an adult. I have a child now that I'm supposed to train up in the way she should go, and hopefully she will never depart from the Lord.

When Ansley was teeny tiny (which, really, was only about a day. or two), we decided she would stay in the church service with us. She slept, didn't cry, and we felt (and still do) that our time of worship should be shared as a family.  As she got older, and would fuss, I took her out of the service, and we listened as I stood with her in the back. If she still fussed, we went out further.

Only recently, since about 10 months, did I take her to the nursery.

We get such little time together, that we like to spend what we do have together. So, Ansley gets her cup of Goldfish, a book, a few silent toys, and a chair of her own. And, normally, she's fine. But if she's laughing, or moving around a lot or just loud, I take her out.

I'm part of a young adult Bible study group (I feel that it is important to note here that by "Bible study," I mean watch a 15 minute DVD by Rob Bell and talk about it for about 10 minutes. Deluxe). Unfortunately, it meets during the week, and Paul is unable to attend, which leaves me to fly solo. Which, I'm fine with. I guess. I mean, I'm used to it by this point.

A few weeks ago, I get a text message from a dear friend.

"Speaking of getting under people's skin... I'm not sure how to say this but several people in group have been commenting on how hard it is to concentrate on the devotional dvd with Ansley between them and the tv. I really don't want to seem rude, but they elected me to see if you might mind scooting to the outside or the back of the room or maybe just trying to keep her still and quiet while the dvd is on. I know that's a difficult task with a one year old, but ansley is just too cute not to look at and we really need to be focusing on the message."

And this pissed me off. It wasn't even in a way that ruffled my Mommy-bird feathers.  First and foremost, aren't we adults? Could someone not say "Hey, Tiffany, I can't see around your crazy kid.  Do you mind moving her?" I would have taken that much better than the group talking about it for apparently a few weeks, nominating a good friend to say something about it, and sugarcoating it with "Ansley is just too cute not to look at..."

I know what you're thinking. But, honestly, I'm not the I-think-my-kid-is-perfect-and-never-in-the-way-and-if-she-ever-is-everyone-can-just-get-over-it-because-I-let-her-do-whatever-she-wants kinda momma. I never moved her because no one ever said anything. Period.

Secondly, as adults, shouldn't we be able to control our attention span for 15 minutes?? We apparently can't carry on a conversation based on the Bible, or even a book. Instead, we use the most attention grabbing form of media, and still can't keep from getting distracted. I've found myself in this place. Please don't get me wrong. But it's only been until recently that I said, "You know what, those little girls that do ballet in place while we sing during church? It's my problem that I'm distracted. Not that their parents are bad parents." And I control my attention.

And, there's more to the story. But I think it's best if I stop here. Because my fingers are kinda tired.

That change

So, I mentioned that youth group I started attending in high school, and that it changed my life.  That's for real.

I learned so much during that time, even if it took me to this point to realize it.  I made some great friends, but, more importantly, I learned that my faith wasn't just something I believed, but it was something I needed to live out, and share with others.

It became a relationship.

Which is what it should have been all along. But, I missed that.

I wasn't spoon fed.  I figured some things out on my own.  And, I even strayed. Not from the truth, but from some of the more legalistic things I was taught. Like using the KJV because that's what Jesus used.  Ok, so I was never taught that Jesus used the KJV, but I was taught that it was THE WORD OF GOD. And is was the only version that should be used.

I made some great friends. I depended some friendships that I already had. I learned to be a leader. I became passionate about my faith. And about truth.  It was real.

I didn't really see the struggles of the church.  All I knew was that our youth group was awesome, and at times we managed to bring 100 youth through the doors.  Looking back, maybe I can see some issues, and why some people may have struggled. 

We were clique-y. I was clique-y.  And, unfortunately, I feel that may have come at the exclusion of others. We got too big, too fast.  I didn't know everyone (not that knowing everyone is important, but at least introducing yourself is). The youth director never went below the service with other relationships.

The first time I think I started to realize that "church" had its issues was when that youth director left. He didn't leave under bad terms. He left to go back to school. The search committee listed their number one requirement as having a bachelor's degree.

And then, they hired someone who didn't. And, he had grown up in the church, and his family still attended.

And I was frustrated. So I withdrew to my community of believers at the Christian college I attended. And learned even more.

A lesson on faith, and the church. At least, my thoughts on the subjects

My faith is very important to me. At times, it seems that it got pushed to the back burner because I knew where I stood, and I was surrounded by people that knew that as well.

I made some dumb mistakes. SO DUMB. But, I am thankful for what they helped me to learn regarding my faith.

Every day, I'm touched by the miraculous work of the Lord. When I get to see a little baby's heartbeat on the screen, and get to rejoice with those who choose life, I am reminded of the huge God I serve.

But every once in awhile, I get so frustrated. I used to think I was getting frustrated with God, but, recently, I think I realized what the true root of it is. It's the church, and, subsequently, followers of Christ.

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS NOT A POST TO GOSSIP, SPREAD LIES, AND TEAR APART THE CHURCH. IT ALSO ISN'T REALLY A POST ABOUT MOMMYHOOD, THOUGH, HONESTLY, I THINK MANY OF THESE REALIZATIONS WERE BROUGHT ABOUT BY BECOMING A MOTHER, AND FINALLY UNDERSTANDING WHAT IT REALLY MEANT FOR GOD TO SACRIFICE HIS ONLY SON ON MY BEHALF. IT'S A BIT OF A SOAP BOX, SO CONTINUE READING AT YOUR OWN RISK.

I grew up in a small, Southern Baptist church. Being the granddaughter of a preacher, and a daughter of parents who taught that faith was important even if it wasn't lived out all the time, it only made sense for me to accept what I was given.

And, I grew at that church. From Sunday School, to Children's Church, to even meeting my first crush, I loved that church. I can remember "walking to the alter," and being led through the Roman's Road by a lady that had really bad breath. Isn't that such a great conversion experience?

So, I accepted it. And I was dunked the next Sunday. And I sat and shivered with my wet hair and a smile through the rest of the service. Cause my Grandpa was proud.

Looking back on it now, I think I developed a very legalistic view of religion, and more importantly, faith. Don't get me wrong, I still believe there is only one way to enjoy eternal fellowship with the Lord, but I feel as though I was instructed to believe that the only way was to follow the rules set forth by the Southern Baptist Convention.

I'm not hating on baptists. Trust me, I'm not. They have their flaws just like every donomination. And there are some things from my time in that church that I treasure. Like singing old hymns. And understanding my brokenness. But, every church has it's problems. And that, more importantly, is what this is about. It's about man getting in the way of God's work. It's about the church being seen as something that sparkles and is just surface level.

I can remember seeing the piano player from church out in town, and seeing him smoking. Not because he was on fire, but because he had a cigarette that was. And, even today, so many years later, I can remember the judgments that flooded my mind.

That was 4th grade. We stopped attending that church about a year later. Fast forward to high school, when I started attending a youth group with a bunch of my friends. CHANGED.MY.LIFE.

I think I'll stop here for the time being, and turn this into a bit of a series. I have a feeling it can go on for a while, and in order for me to articulate my thoughts, it's best if I break it up.

So, to be continued...

Blessing Counter

Reason # 5,908 I am blessed: my child.

Recently, I've been touched by a family in Texas. I feel so close to them, yet I've never even met them. I've never spoken to them. I've never even seen them across a crowded room. But my heart breaks for them.

A few days ago, I found myself crying in the shower. Crying for a little girl named Layla. I had only known about Layla for a few days. But, in those few days, her story touched my life.

You see, Layla, a beautiful little two-year-old, was diagnosed with nueroblastoma last year. After intensive chemotherapy at the end of 2009, the Marsh family was given only a few months with Layla.

But, those months were taken, as Layla's doctor discovered two more tumors in February. I came into the picture just as Layla was making her exit.

I happened upon her family's blog, Layla Grace, and couldn't pull myself away. I read many of the postings, going back to the first post made. And I was amazed. And it hurt me.

I was amazed at the beauty of the little girl, and her eyes that were so full of life. And I was hurt by the recent family pictures. Though absolutely beautiful, how difficult it must have been knowing this would be some of the last photos with your little girl.

I was amazed at the faith the family had. Despite their circumstances, they continued to lift up the Lord's name, praising Him for their gifts, and trusting in His perfect timing. And, I was hurt, because I had to admit, if I were in their shoes, it would be very difficult for me to do the same thing.

I was amazed at the outpouring of love, and the compassion in every comment left on the blog. The entry from March 7, the last before Layla passed, had over 1,000. Who knows how many stumbled upon the site and didn't comment. And I was hurt because I didn't feel like words were enough to heal their hearts. I wanted to fly to Texas, and do something. Anything. But there was nothing I could do.

So, I cried. I cried in the shower because I felt like my own heart was breaking. I cried because it didn't seem fair. I cried because my little girl was sleeping just down the hall, while Layla had left the arms of her family. I cried because they were so strong, and I was weak.

I would never wish their story on anyone. But I can't stop thinking about their ultimate devotion. Even in their utter misery, they managed to encourage me. Me, some 1,000 miles away. Not in the same position. The Lord used them to speak to me.

And, each day, I've hugged Ansley a little longer. I've laughed with her a little more, and I've tried to make each day precious. Even when she is crying and won't take a nap, I'm trying to remind myself that Ansley is not mine. She has been given to me to care for and love, and despite my objections, that time is not guarenteed.

So, remember the Marsh family, as they adjust to life apart from Layla Grace. And tonight, count your blessings. I know I will. And I'll probably throw a few extra in, because I'm sure I've forgotten more than I can count.

This post in honor of Layla Grace Marsh.