Evidence of Growth

I think I've mentioned before that it hasn't always been roses for Brian and me.  We've had plenty of dark days in our marriage, but our commitment has kept us going.  Our foundation of faith carried us through even when we felt like running far, far away.  It has been with those dark days that our spiritual growth has occurred--kind of a "behind the scenes" growth that you don't even really know is happening.  And after I got off the phone with Brian yesterday, I just couldn't help but praise the Lord in amazement.  I had called him needing reassurance and prayer for something and I ended up getting one of the best spiritual pep talks ever!  I didn't have to call my preacher.  Didn't have to call a Christian mentor.  Didn't have to call one of the "church ladies."  I simply called my husband.  My life partner.  The one created especially for me by the Lord Himself.  

This change didn't happen by accident.  We have intentionally immersed ourselves in a family of believers who have continually uplifted and prayed for us.  We've done the "Christian thing" even when the last thing we felt was "Christ-like."  We have intentionally chosen to leave some things that we loved behind, simply because they weren't God-honoring or His will for our lives.  Moreover, God is still pruning us as individuals and as a partnership.    

We are by no means perfect.  There is still A LOT of refining still to take place, but thank God He has brought us this far!  I can't wait to see what the next ten years will bring in our relationship--we've come a long way and we're ready to travel even further.   

Why I Still Go to the Cemetery

When Shawn died, I knew that his soul was immediately in the presence of our God.  I instinctively knew that his body had simply been an earthly vessel that was temporary to this life.

But that didn't stop me from loving that physical body . . . one of the three little bodies that is a unique combination of the love that Brian and I share.  

Even in the beginning of my grief, I never made it a habit to visit the cemetery often.  The intellectual part of my being couldn't rationalize spending much of any time at his graveside, and my faith still holds that he is with the Father.

But then there are those days.  Those days when the momma in me needs to mother him.  Needs to do something for him!  Just as I do the small things for Clayton and Jackson, the mother in me craves to do those tasks for Shawn.   But there are no tasks to be done.

No shirt collar to be turned down.  

No mouth to be wiped.  

No boo-boo to kiss.  

No high-five to be given after a job well done.  

No "I love you's" passed in conversation.  

Just nothing.  

Simply put, he doesn't need me where he is at.  He is with the Almighty Caretaker of the universe!

But his momma needs him.  Needs to care for him in the physical ways that mommas do.  I was so desperate in the early years.  I literally pictured myself digging the grave up just so I could hold and touch him one last time.  Just one last "let me make sure you're okay before I leave you on your own" moment. 

I'm certainly past those desperate moments these days, but my idle hands still must do.

For eight years, my Grandmother faithfully renewed the flowers on Shawn's grave.  I asked her in the very beginning to be my stand in because emotionally I simply couldn't handle the task. However, a couple of years ago I felt like I was finally ready to take on the job of keeping his flowers refreshed.  I cried the whole time I was in Hobby Lobby buying the flowers.  But once I was done, I felt a renewed sense of spirit.  I polished his marker and cleaned up the neglected ones around it.  And every few months, I repeat the same little routine.  A time when I can reflect while I let my hands do a mother's work.  

Even The Hard Things

I still remember sitting in the pump room.  It was the early morning hours of the 28th and I had been by Shawn's bedside since around five that previous afternoon.  The doctors urged me to take a break, assuring me Shawn was stable enough for me to be gone for a short time.  I reluctantly went, knowing my body needed the release, also aware that Clayton needed me to keep making milk.  It was the first time I had been alone since being told my baby would die.  I sat there in the quiet of the room, listening to the ho-hum of the breast pump.

Making milk for babies who were too sick to even contemplate eating.

Making milk for a baby who wouldn't be alive in just a few short hours.  

And as much as I held onto the faith that God could heal him at any moment, I started visualizing my son's funeral.  How in the world do you go about planning a funeral for your child?

The one you just welcomed into the world?

The one you haven't even gotten to know yet?

And to this day, the devil plays tricks on me.  Tells me that since I dared to go there in my mind that night, my faith cracked, and in turn the Lord allowed Shawn to die.  Talk about mind games!  I guess as a parent, you just wonder over and over "WHAT COULD HAVE I DONE DIFFERENTLY?"  I look back at those moments and wonder if the Lord thought I was giving up?  I suppose it was the same battle I fight with Clayton's healing, just on a more acute level.  

I cycle through this emotional guilt and then my brain puts on the brakes--I KNOW the Lord works in higher ways than this!  As my friend Karen reminded me:  "Romans 8:28 is STILL IN THE BOOK."  All things, [even the hard things] are working together for the good of His people!  And what a celebration it will be when we see the good of sufferings like these revealed!    

I guess my time alone that night/morning was what you'd call a gut-check.  I could either simply collapse under the emotional weight of it all, or I could go make the most of what I had been given.  I had to trust the Lord would carry us through.  I left that pump room determined to love on my son as much as possible in the time I still had with him.  And that is what I did.  

The Fine Line of Faith

I've been struggling lately.  Struggling emotionally, that is.  I don't know if it was the prayer conference, my birthday, Jackson's birthday, or the combination of the three, but I've been stuck going in circles inside my head for at least a couple of weeks.  So many things rolling around in my mind . . . so many battles, memories, and plans undone . . . 

I'll start with one of the biggies:  

Pastor Maria Durso preached a sermon that really made me analyze this faith thing, and how it pertains to my perspective on Clayton's healing.  I *DO* believe that God could heal Clayton in an instant if he wanted.  And I have people reminding me weekly that they are still praying for Clayton to walk, and still praying for his complete healing.  And I've prayed so earnestly that one day my little boy will simply get up out of the bed and walk into my room to greet me in the morning!  But I suppose that while I believe God CAN, sometimes I think he just isn't going to.  That this is Clayton's path in life, and this is how it will be.  But then I beat myself up thinking God is just waiting for me to give up that ghost, knowing that the healing is right around the corner.  And then once I do, only then will Clayton take his first step.

Like I'm the one that's holding things up.

Mother's guilt:  it's a beautiful thing . . . 

NOT.  

Either way, I feel like I'm failing.  Believe this is God's way for Clayton, and I've given up believing in healing.  Believe he will be healed any moment, and I've failed to accept the way things are for us daily.  It's like there is this fine line in between, this tightrope that I should walk, the constant state of faith that says, "God's timing is perfect.  Each day of trial is completely in God's will.  Each moment of Clayton's physical infirmities is divinely ordained, and the moment he is relieved of them will be the exact moment he is ready for it."  Faith that says, "Whatever path God chooses, it is the perfect path for Clayton."

Easier said than done, but that doesn't mean I won't be constantly striving for this ideal.  I will still depend on those reminders each week from others that God is working, and He is working on Clayton's behalf!  

Father, may you give me the grace to accept each day as a gift from you.  Provide me with a new energy and strength to deal with the day to day stressors of having a physically disabled child.  Grant me a kingdom and eternal perspective that makes both the waiting endurable and the anticipation exciting.  We are waiting on bended knees for the great miracles You have in store for Clayton!

I pray in the Name of Jesus Christ.  

You've Come a Long Way, Baby

Clayton's O.T. has figured out how to use his love of home movies to motivate him.  She videoed him today as he went through his feeding therapy.  He is very into watching himself on the screen, so he got to do so on the phone's screen while it was actually taping him, and then again when she played it back for him.  

It is in absolute miracle how far he has come.  This is the child who at one year old would nearly gag at the sight of others eating soft foods like the yogurt he licks on here.  His oral aversion was so severe, he couldn't even stand to have his own hands near his mouth.  What an answer to prayer to see him touching  foods to his tongue!  He has come so far--I'm hoping at this rate, he'll be able to eat a bite or two of cake on his sixteenth birthday!

Think He Doesn't Know? He KNOWS!

Clayton has recently rediscovered his iPad.  Or maybe I should put it this way:  Clayton can now play with his iPad without Jackson taking it away constantly.  (So glad that stage is over!)  There is one difference this time around though--he has discovered YouTube.  He used to just mess around with apps, email, and the web in general.  But now he's figured out he can go straight to YouTube and watch pretty much any Gaither song ever recorded.

So yesterday morning, he was busy listening to a variety of songs (he is like his Uncle Josh, who never gets to the end of any song before moving onto the next one).  I heard the piano introduction to an old hymn I wasn't familiar with and then I heard Clayton immediately singing along with the words.  I didn't clue into the words at first, I was just wondering how he knew the song since it's not one we have on DVD, and as far as I know, he's never seen it on T.V.   Then I actually listened as he played the song a second time:

On that resurrection morning
When all the dead in Christ shall rise
I'll have a new body
Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life!

Sewed in weakness, raised in power
Ready to live in Paradise
I'll have a new body
Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life!

Chorus:
I'll have a new home of glory eternal
Where the redeemed of God shall stand
There'll be no more sorrow
No more pain, there'll be no more strife
Yes, raised in the likeness of my Savior
Ready to live in Glory Land
I'll have a new body
Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life!

What a hallelujah morning when the
last trump of God shall sound
I'll have a new body
Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life!
Graves all bursting saints all shouting
Heavenly beauty all around
I'll have a new body
Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life!

I don't know.  Maybe he's heard it with my mom.  But I don't know when since this is such an old taping.  And if he has, it couldn't have been but once or twice.  All I know is he knew exactly what that song was about and while many of the Gaither people in the video were having to use hymnals to remember the words, Clayton sang right along like he'd heard it a thousand times.

Clayton knows.  Clayton KNOWS!  He knows the promise that awaits him!!

 But those who hope in the LORD 

                                      will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

 they will walk and not be faint!

Isaiah 40:31

Faith of a Child

For many years, Clayton has repeated with us as we pray before meals:  "God is great.  God is good.  Let us thank Him for our food."  Only in the last couple of weeks has he ventured on his own into the conversation of prayer.  His prayers are very topic appropriate, and very age-appropriate.  But above all, they will make you think . . .

"Father,


Thank you for my sandwich.


Thank you for my chest muscles.  


Amen."

Chest muscles aside (don't ask, it's a long story!), the striking part is this:  Clayton remembers to give thanks for a sandwich that he isn't even able to eat yet.  Talk about another dose of perspective!  We are told to pray, and to be thankful to God even before the blessing comes.  Clayton's life has put him on the fast-track of believing without seeing--it takes most of us a lifetime to get to that point!

Be cheerful no matter what; pray all the time; thank God no matter what happens. This is the way God wants you who belong to Christ Jesus to live.  

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Woman of Faith

One of the sermons that Pastor Maria preached at the Prayer Conference still has me thinking.  It touched on one of the great ironies of my life and the baggage that I carry around.

[I am telling this story with complete humility . . .]

Faith.  It's one of my spiritual gifts.  After the last service of the conference two complete strangers came up to me (at separate times) to tell me what a great "woman of faith" I am.  They could just "see it in my face."  I just "radiate" with love for the Lord.  And I have had many comments left on this blog during trying times about how "strong" I am, how in awe people are of me and how I handle it all.  So after the other night and those two ladies, I got in the van and just cried.  Seriously?  If people only knew the REAL me!  The REAL me struggles daily to keep my path straight.  To remember to lean on Him and not myself.  To keep my anger in check.  To reign in my jealousy.  To not totally drown in sadness!!!

I have lived a truly special life.  I have always felt unique and "chosen" in a way.  But along with that feeling comes extreme self-doubt when I fall by the wayside.  It's so amazing how I can feel so confident in some ways and then turn around and feel so cowardly on the inside.  Just shows you how the devil works on your deepest insecurities!  He can pick out the smallest thing, bring it to my attention, and then BAM!,  I've blown it into a full-fledged attack of complete despair.  But even in my despair, the one thing I'm sure of is My God.  Totally, completely, utterly unsure of myself--but totally reliant on Him.  And maybe that's what saves me every time.  When I'm in the pit, I always choose to look back up.  To look back up full into my Father's face and remember that He does indeed love me as far as the east is to the west!  He loves me despite my weakness, loves me despite my shortcomings.  He wants me to forget all that extra baggage, and MOVE ON.  Move on FULL IN HIS GRACE AND MERCY!  

Maybe it is this continual choice to get back up and dust the devil's dirt off of me that makes me a "woman of faith."  He has never forsaken me, so I will continue to shout and sing his praises, letting his light shine bright enough to carry me through still another day.  

These are the things I go over and over, 

emptying out the pockets of my life.

    I was always at the head of the worshiping crowd, right out in front,

    Leading them all, eager to arrive and worship, 

Shouting praises, singing thanksgiving—

celebrating, all of us, God's feast! 

                                               Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?

Why are you crying the blues?

Fix my eyes on God—soon I'll be praising again.

He puts a smile on my face.

He's my God. 

                            When my soul is in the dumps, I rehearse everything I know of you,

From Jordan depths to Hermon heights, including Mount Mizar.

Chaos calls to chaos, to the tune of whitewater rapids.

Your breaking surf, your thundering breakers crash and crush me.

Then God promises to love me all day, sing songs all through the night!

My life is God's prayer. 

                                               Sometimes I ask God, my rock-solid God,

"Why did you let me down? Why am I walking around in tears,

 harassed by enemies?" 

They're out for the kill, these tormentors with their obscenities,

Taunting day after day, 

"Where is this God of yours?" 

                                              Why are you down in the dumps, dear soul?

Why are you crying the blues?

Fix my eyes on God—soon I'll be praising again.

He puts a smile on my face.  

He's my God.

(Psalm 42:4-11 The Message)