...but God
It is seven-thirty in the evening on Sunday and I am standing at the counter of Lithia Urgent Care, a clinic just five minutes from our home. My hand shakes as I scribble down numbers, letters, scrawl out my signature.
Just outside, my four kids play in our minivan which I have parked within vision of the counter where I sign in. As I finish writing, the horn blares, long and loud.
"My kids," I say to the attendant, apologetically. Resigned. Four restless children trapped inside a small space for thirty minutes. What could I expect?
"Don't touch anything," I said earlier, prepping them for the visit. "Not the chairs, the doors...nothing! Okay?"
"Can I have gum?" A asks, not missing a beat.
Sigh. "Not yet. After we see the doctor. I don't want your hands in your mouth."
"But she already has gum, Mama!" N shouts.
"Mama, I put some in her backpack. I didn't think she would open it!" says L.
I look in the rearview mirror. Small child in carseat chews, slowly and thoughtfully.
"Can we have gum, too, Mom?"
"Yeah, it's not fair that she gets gum now and we don't!"
I take a deep breath. I need to choose my battles.
"Fine, have a piece."
Thirty minutes later, we are ushered back into the patient rooms. I lead the pack down the hall, carrying baby in the carseat. N pushes my toddler, who vehemently protests against her lack of freedom of movement. My tall girl jumps, leaps, and touches just about every piece of furniture in the room within minutes of arriving. I sign quietly, breathing out a prayer for their protection.
The rapid test shows positive for strep. L had been down with it a week earlier and now it was apparent that all of my nurturing had cost something for me. A recurrence of a childhood illness I thought I had overcome. That is, until I so stretched my immune system with two months of sleepless nights and a general burning of the candle at both ends.
We leave the clinic, a parade of sorts, leave a trail of tears, shrieks and general noisyness in the otherwise sterile clinic.
Next stop-- Walgreens.
*****
It's in these moments that my faith hits the road. Or rather falls flat on the road and gets run over by an eighteen wheeler. Or...takes flight. In these moments, I have a choice, as in every other moment of my day, whether to stand in the truths that I profess to live by or to let the situation define my interior person. Will I stand? Lay down and play dead? Will I trust? Will I beat the air? Will I sink into my emotions?
It's my perspective, my view of my situation and ultimately of God Himself. It is the age-old crucible of sorts that Adam and Eve found themselves in when they wandered. They found themselves in a place where they questioned God-- Is He good? Does he wants what is best for me? Is He withholding something from me? Does He really care for me?
Now I wasn't thinking about all of this three nights ago when I had to drag my four kids to the walk-in clinic with me while my husband was gone on the second of two two week ventures overseas. I was simply just trying to take the next step forward out of necessity. But I was keenly aware of my lack, my entire bodily weakness and following that, my utterly decreased strength of mind and will.
In this moment, I was so beyond myself that relying on my own strength or finesse was not even a felt option, as it had been throughout the week before I fell sick. My thoughts made a beeline to God. My heart and flesh may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever...Psalm 73:26.
Yes, I fail, but God...
Yes, I can hardly lift my head off the pillow, but God...
Yes, I am alone with four kids, but God...
I am not strong. I don't know how I have made it these past four weeks, tending to my little flock. Homeschooling. Cleaning a home. Prepping it for the housing market. Cooking. Caring for a dog. Etc. I'm not saying this to make myself look good. I've dropped many balls. I've cancelled activities. I've failed.
But God is good. Yes, He is very good to us.
My kids have clothes on their backs. They have had a hot dinner every night. We have a home that is safe, clean (enough) and spacious to play. We have friends. We are part of a community. We are a family, even though we are apart. And we have a Father in Heaven who loves, loves, loves us.
Which I am just learning to live. That He loves me, in the middle of this very dark and uncomfortable season of felt need, of abbreviated time together, of overwhelming puppy antics and punctuated sleep cycles.
I am learning, oh, I am learning His love.
Soli Deo Gloria
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.
Isaiah 40:11
Just outside, my four kids play in our minivan which I have parked within vision of the counter where I sign in. As I finish writing, the horn blares, long and loud.
"My kids," I say to the attendant, apologetically. Resigned. Four restless children trapped inside a small space for thirty minutes. What could I expect?
"Don't touch anything," I said earlier, prepping them for the visit. "Not the chairs, the doors...nothing! Okay?"
"Can I have gum?" A asks, not missing a beat.
Sigh. "Not yet. After we see the doctor. I don't want your hands in your mouth."
"But she already has gum, Mama!" N shouts.
"Mama, I put some in her backpack. I didn't think she would open it!" says L.
I look in the rearview mirror. Small child in carseat chews, slowly and thoughtfully.
"Can we have gum, too, Mom?"
"Yeah, it's not fair that she gets gum now and we don't!"
I take a deep breath. I need to choose my battles.
"Fine, have a piece."
Thirty minutes later, we are ushered back into the patient rooms. I lead the pack down the hall, carrying baby in the carseat. N pushes my toddler, who vehemently protests against her lack of freedom of movement. My tall girl jumps, leaps, and touches just about every piece of furniture in the room within minutes of arriving. I sign quietly, breathing out a prayer for their protection.
The rapid test shows positive for strep. L had been down with it a week earlier and now it was apparent that all of my nurturing had cost something for me. A recurrence of a childhood illness I thought I had overcome. That is, until I so stretched my immune system with two months of sleepless nights and a general burning of the candle at both ends.
We leave the clinic, a parade of sorts, leave a trail of tears, shrieks and general noisyness in the otherwise sterile clinic.
Next stop-- Walgreens.
*****
It's in these moments that my faith hits the road. Or rather falls flat on the road and gets run over by an eighteen wheeler. Or...takes flight. In these moments, I have a choice, as in every other moment of my day, whether to stand in the truths that I profess to live by or to let the situation define my interior person. Will I stand? Lay down and play dead? Will I trust? Will I beat the air? Will I sink into my emotions?
It's my perspective, my view of my situation and ultimately of God Himself. It is the age-old crucible of sorts that Adam and Eve found themselves in when they wandered. They found themselves in a place where they questioned God-- Is He good? Does he wants what is best for me? Is He withholding something from me? Does He really care for me?
Now I wasn't thinking about all of this three nights ago when I had to drag my four kids to the walk-in clinic with me while my husband was gone on the second of two two week ventures overseas. I was simply just trying to take the next step forward out of necessity. But I was keenly aware of my lack, my entire bodily weakness and following that, my utterly decreased strength of mind and will.
In this moment, I was so beyond myself that relying on my own strength or finesse was not even a felt option, as it had been throughout the week before I fell sick. My thoughts made a beeline to God. My heart and flesh may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever...Psalm 73:26.
Yes, I fail, but God...
Yes, I can hardly lift my head off the pillow, but God...
Yes, I am alone with four kids, but God...
I am not strong. I don't know how I have made it these past four weeks, tending to my little flock. Homeschooling. Cleaning a home. Prepping it for the housing market. Cooking. Caring for a dog. Etc. I'm not saying this to make myself look good. I've dropped many balls. I've cancelled activities. I've failed.
But God is good. Yes, He is very good to us.
My kids have clothes on their backs. They have had a hot dinner every night. We have a home that is safe, clean (enough) and spacious to play. We have friends. We are part of a community. We are a family, even though we are apart. And we have a Father in Heaven who loves, loves, loves us.
Which I am just learning to live. That He loves me, in the middle of this very dark and uncomfortable season of felt need, of abbreviated time together, of overwhelming puppy antics and punctuated sleep cycles.
I am learning, oh, I am learning His love.
Soli Deo Gloria
He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young.
Isaiah 40:11
I love this post. It is one thing God has been teaching me in the last 2 years also. I call it "landing on the right side of 'but'". I have had to learn that it's not, "Yes, God is good, but why [fill in the blank]?" Instead it's, "Yes [fill in the blank] happened, but God is good, faithful, a Mighty Tower, my Stronghold, my Rock, my Fortress, my Redeemer, Love, works all together for good, is with me, is mighty to save...
ReplyDeleteI miss you. Thank you for sharing.
Love.