Heaven is for Real

Heaven is for Real by Todd Burpo is a gripping book told in the candid voice of the little boy's pastor-dad.  Four-year-old Colton Burpo experienced heaven firsthand while undergoing life-threatening surgery.  In bits and pieces over the next several months, the story of Colton's heavenly visit comes out, much to his parents astonishment.  What makes the book especially fascinating for skeptics like me is that Colton's dad, a Wesleyan pastor, is a skeptic, too!  At least, he questions his son closely, matching up Colton's answers with Scripture.  Burpo discovers that Colton's descriptions match Scripture passages that talk about heaven, passages that would be beyond a four-year-old's depth.  Colton's confidence in what he's seen is unshakable: comforting a dying man, Colton cheerfully exclaims, "Don't worry; the first person you'll see is Jesus!"

Heaven is for Real is a book that people will be talking about for some time.  Seeing heaven through the eyes of a child and absorbing its reality as shared in his innocent, honest voice leaves an indelible impression on the reader.  I, for one, came away encouraged and renewed in my certainty that heaven is for real!   What a great hope we have as believers in Jesus Christ!  Another great take-away is that Jesus loves little children, as Colton repeatedly emphasized  While I know and believe these truths, there's something refreshing and soul-stirring about hearing them effectively preached to us 'from the mouth of a babe.'   I'm so glad I received this book as a complimentary copy for review from Tyndale House.  You'll be glad you read it, too.

Jesse Tree and other family traditions

It's here --  The Christmas I've been anticipating all of my life.  I know this sounds like the previous post, but all of the sudden I am saturated in awareness that this season of my life and of my little girl's life is the one I've looked forward to for so long.  And I want to bask in the moments.  I want to capture every golden smile and sunshine-drenched day of these precious little toddler years.

Right now I'm reveling in the joy of instituting family Christmas traditions.  One that I've recently encountered is the Jesse Tree Advent Celebration. Jacie and I found the Jesse Tree branch today in our yard.  I'm sure she had no clue why Mommy was foraging through brush looking for just the right stick. But I was excited, and she was happy just to be outside.  Tonight I hung the homemade, crayon-colored earth ornament on our Jesse Tree and read Jacie the Creation Account from Genesis.  As I look at our Jesse tree adorned with its lone ornament, I'm almost tempted to just have the Jesse Tree this year and not do a regular Christmas tree.  I love the simple symbolism of the Real Meaning of the Advent Season.

Almost tempted.  Because another greatly-anticipated tradition to be instituted this year is choosing and cutting our own tree!  We've had a fake one since we got married, and I probably had it for myself  when I was single even before that. I've long vowed that it would be different once we had kids.  Last year hardly counted, I felt, since Jacie wasn't quite six months old at Christmas and completely unaware of anything.  This year is The Year.  The year of awareness.  The year of instituting traditions.  The year it all begins.

Our Miracle Girl

This is it.  This is the moment I've been waiting for.  These are the days of perfect cuteness.  I didn't think it would be here so soon.  At 15 months, it seems that Jacie couldn't be any cuter.  Beginnings of the parrot stage are emerging as she attempts to echo familiar words.  When she mimics my gestures or certain routine behaviors, I'm taken off-guard and given a small glimpse into the workings of her little-girl mind, what she's absorbing and how she's interpreting what she sees. I loved the baby stage, but this is the stage I've most been looking forward to.  I find myself watching her constantly, memorizing the toddling movement of her baby legs, adoring the light in her smile when she is amused, studying her when she's concentrating on a toy or newly acquired skill.  I want to capture these days in my memory, to drink in her sweet innocence and cherubic expressions.  As dreams of having a family seem once again to elude us, I turn again to look at her, our miracle girl, Heaven's answer to our prayer, and find faith to believe anew that God is up to something I can't see.

when the bottom drops out by Robert Bugh is one of the best books I've read in a long time.  I received this book as a complimentary copy for review from Tyndale House. In his book, Robert succinctly lays out the basic Scriptural truths that held him fast during the year that he lost and his wife and his best friend.  Using their deaths as the canvas for showcasing God's glory, Robert sensitively leads the reader through the pain of grief to the comfort and joy found in a right understanding of Who God is.  His book is theologically accurate, while not overly weighty.  The average Christian reader could read this book and be riveted, strengthened, and taught.  I've read other books on God's sovereignty and human suffering and haven't found one to be as balanced and readable as Bugh's when the bottom drops out.  

The timing of this book in my life couldn't be more fitting. My family is going through a season of loss right now, and the truths of Bugh's book resonate to the core.  I find myself thinking on the principles Bugh shares along with his illustrations which range from Old Testament examples to modern-day Christians who face suffering with grace. I also appreciated the tips Pastor Bugh shares about helping others through their grief.  His insight and experience combine to provide guidance to the hurting as well as to those who walk alongside the grieving.  Complete with a discussion guide at the end, when the bottom drops out is a must-read for all who hurt and all who hurt with those who hurt.




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More Lost Than Found by Jared Herd attempts to reach out to the "lost" generation of young Christians who've abandoned the church.  Pastor Herd does a good job of accurately stating the problem that the church at large has become aware of:  young people are leaving the church in droves.  Herd complains of the disconnect between the church and culture.  His style is breezy and fresh, engaging the young thinkers of today.  As with most in the Emergent movement, Herd fails to give a sound and satisfying answer that the doubter can sink his teeth into.  Rather than give solid black-and-white answers, Herd opts for hailing the bravery of doubters and philosophizes about theological issues in a hesitant way, ie. most of his responses begin with "Maybe..." as he suggests another way to look at the issue at hand.  The tentativeness of his "maybe" responses encapsulates the overall tone of the book.  I would find it difficult to recommend this book to a member of its target audience: the lost, disillusioned young ex-church members.  I'm afraid it's ambiguity over-sympathizes with their doubt and disillusionment and fails to wholeheartedly convince.

More Lost Than Found was provided to me complimentary of BookSneeze.

God in the (sometimes yucky) Details

This morning marked a milestone in my journey of motherhood.  Jacie vomited all over me.  It's was one of those dreaded scenarios that I'd thought about pre-baby, certain I'd be so revolted that I'd be of no help to the sick child. But God gift-wrapped the moment in a way I would never have imagined.

I had been sleeping in, taking advantage of Conroy getting up with Jacie to spend time with her before he left for work. But about an hour before I normally get up when I sleep in, I felt prompted to get up and join my family.  As I came out to the kitchen, I smiled at Jacie in her high chair eating her breakfast.  She smiled at me and jabbered her welcome, but seemed a little less animated than normal.  Conroy mentioned that she wasn't eating much, and I figured maybe she was already getting tired and ready for her morning nap.  I cleaned her up and lifted her down from the high chair, guiding her to a favorite toy.  As I headed back to the kitchen, I could her joyful little squeals in play.  Not more than a couple minutes later, I turned to see her walking into the kitchen toward me, whining a little and lifting her arms to be held.  My first inclination was to ignore her so that I could get breakfast first, but instead I picked her up and held her thinking that I'd sit with her for a minute or two before starting to make breakfast.  As I walked over to the chair, commenting aloud to Conroy on her lack of appetite and whiny behavior, it happened.  All over my arm, my hair, the front of my clothes, and the ottoman I was near ---  Jacie threw up. "Well, that explains it," I said, standing there, unsure if I ought to run for the sink or if that would only create a bigger mess. 

As Conroy helped to clean Jacie and me up, the pervasive thought in my head was how God sees me, His messed-up child, so often sick with sin.  Instead of revulsion, I felt nothing but loving pity for Jacie's sick state.  As she laid her head weakly on my shoulder, and then a little later Conroy's shoulder, I wanted nothing more than to comfort or help her in her dependent state. Despite my vomit-coated hair and ruined clothes, no twinge of irritation or speck of disgust clouded my feelings toward my daughter.  How much more my perfectly loving Heavenly Father loves and pities me when I am in desperate need and completely helpless!  So today I'm so thankful that Jacie threw up on me.  I relish the reminder of how much I'm loved by my Father God!

Happiness is...

Happiness is nuzzling the neck of my little girl to her delighted squeals of laughter.

Happiness is cuddling with my hubby on the couch in a quiet house after the baby is in bed for the night.

Happiness is our little family walks in the perfect summer outdoors -- soaking in the warm breeze and bright sunshine.

Happiness is perfect baby feet sticking out from the stroller seat.

Happiness is listening to her joyful baby babble and sweet "singing."

Happiness is watching my husband's face light up at the sight of our sweet girl when he comes into the house or when we meet up with him at church.

Happiness is watching God take my dreams and hearing Him say, " I can do even better."

Odd Comforts

When I was single, one of the deep-down satisfying little routines I relished was moving around my little apartment at the close of the day -- turning off lights, closing blinds, and generally "shutting down" for the night.  In those moments, the quiet familiarity of these small habits soothed my soul like a lullaby. 

Now, as a wife and mother, my routines have changed and are rarely completely solitary, yet I still find moments of internal calm that bring me that same sense of satisfaction.  One hit me the other day as I waited for my mocha at the coffee shop. With Jacie in my arms and people bustling all around, the calm of waiting quietly for my drink among strangers wrapped around my soul.  Without moving, I let my eyes rove the room, soaking in the sense of satisfaction at the routineness of waiting in line, at the feeling of privacy inside my own head even while in a public place. 

Though quiet solitude is redefined for me now, I still find comfort in those momentary internal retreats when the world around me recedes and I feel the deep-rooted comfort that all is right with the world.  Inside my head, deep in my soul, I am still me and it is enough.

Fear and Hope

Already I feel the fear raising its ugly head.  What if the next pregnancy proves as elusive as it was the first time?  Am I up for the roller coaster ride of emotions, hoping every month only to be disappointed?  I try to squelch the fears with:  shouldn't I be content with the child I have?  Or it's too soon to know if I will have difficulty getting pregnant again because I'm still nursing.  Or even, it's out of my control anyway, so why worry about it --- when it happens, it happens! 

And yet...  the twinge has returned when I hear about another pregnancy, when I think of my desire to have a family -- siblings playing together, growing together. I am thankful and so blessed with my husband and my little girl that I feel guilty even about the twinge.  But, still, it bothers me that what comes easily to so many is such a fraught-with-frustration process for me.  Perhaps I'm worrying too soon -- maybe, maybe not.  So, cautiously, I will let myself hope.  And I will try to remember Aslan's words in The Horse and His Boy as God's reminder to me: 
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

This is my story -- my lot -- perfectly handcrafted by God to work His purpose for my life and no one else's.

A Sinner? My Child?

I am in dismayed shock. As she arches her back, face screwed into an angry scowl, I contemplate her behavior, looking for a rationalization to sweep away what I'm seeing. But the determined look on her face, the deliberate kicks and the stiff body all point to one thing --- a child bent on her own way. Yes, it's true, I sadly realize, my child is a sinner, too. There's no escaping the reality, no more putting off the truth. I have a job ahead of me, the quality of which will make or break the person she will become. Discipline is not something that comes easily to my nature, so the task at hand seems daunting. Yet I am convinced of the dire necessity of engaging in the battle -- the battle for my child's heart and soul. Convinced, yes. I know what needs to be done. But strong enough to do it? Now there's another matter.

"Lord, give me the strength to do what I know I ought to do, to not sacrifice my child's well-being for my own comfort. I would rather not discipline, but You have charged me with this great responsibility. My child's life depends on it. Help me in my weakness to grab hold of Your enabling grace and find the courage to do my duty before You."

It's the Little Things

Waving. Jacie has started waving. Quite unexpectedly, she raised her arm in a floppy salute in response to a friend's wave while at the mall a few weeks ago. And like a very stereotypical first-time mom, I went nuts. Over the past few weeks, I've encouraged her efforts so that now, in addition to waving when she's prompted, she waves at me when she wants me to pick her up, when I'm feeding her, when I'm changing her diaper -- all without being prompted.

My favorite development so far -- hands down.

JOY

ust about a year and a half ago I was lamenting my childless state in the following note dated June 2009:
Is grief too strong a word for the ache of missing what one has never had? Or is it merely disappointment? Can I really hold up my experience to one who has lost a loved one? Put it in the same category? I shrink from doing so. Yet grief is the word that comes to mind when emotion swallows me, leaving me inert and helpless against its onslaught. Grief catches me off guard when I sit or work in a quiet house, even though it's the same quiet that's always been there. Grief assails me sometimes when I turn my key in the lock, opening the door into the emptiness that lately seems yawning. No shoving it aside, stuffing it down, or looking at it from a different angle lessens its intensity.
Now it's Christmas time 2010. And I feel a quiet joy steal over me. Last year at this time I was pregnant, but still holding my breath, hardly daring to hope that I might have a child-in-arms when all was said and done. And even now, over the last five months of our darling baby's life, I feel as though I've been letting my breath out slowly, relaxing into the fulfillment of dreams come true and finally allowing myself to freefall in love with my little girl -- To really love her so much that the joy bubbles, frothes, and overflows...
Can it really be? Can this perfect little girl be mine? The eyes that shine like dark gems, the nose-crinkling smile, the sweet giggle that escapes the rosebud mouth – are these really all a part of a child that I call my own? The thought overwhelms me when I feel her baby-smooth skin against my cheek, when I smell her sweet milky scent, when she looks up at me so seriously with those child-wise eyes and then breaks into a brief, dazzling smile. Why me? And how me? How can this great happiness be mine? Marriage to a man who I am so in love with and now a child to complete our home – for so many years these were just distant dreams. And yet here I am, where I was doubtful I'd ever be, living what I once thought to be an unattainable dream.
"Dear Heavenly Father, Help me to savor the joy as a gift from You, yet hold these same gifts with an open hand, understanding that all I have is Yours to do with as You will."

Jacie Nevaeh

And so after a relatively uneventful pregnancy ( if you don't count water retention resulting in swollen face, legs, and feet; gestational diabetes requiring finger pricks multiple times daily and a strict diet; and numbness/tingling in both hands), induction was scheduled for my due date, July 20, 2010. I prayed that she would come naturally, but, honestly the pessimistic side of me thought, "Why would I be so lucky?" Then again God's grace shamed and humbled me as I woke up on Wednesday, July 14 at 4 AM with definite contractions -- not the uneven cramping I'd experienced on Sunday, but timed, regular, countable contractions. I woke Conroy up at about 6 AM and we discussed when we should call the doctor. My water broke around 7 AM, urging us to make the call. Per directions, I showered and took my time getting ready so that we left the house around 8:30 AM. As soon as I reached the hospital, I began asking for an epidural, sure that I would not be able to bear the pain on my own. Around 1 PM that finally happened, just as the contractions were becoming toe-curling. The immediate relief from pain made for a quiet, relaxing afternoon as Conroy and I chatted, watched TV and solidified our decision of Jacie's name (Kiera Jewel or Jacie Nevaeh?)

Then at 8 PM, the grand moment arrived. Nurses and the doctor came into the room and started me with the process of pushing. At this point, the epidural was only offering minor relief. As a lady in another screamed, the nurse casually mentioned "... and she had an epidural."

"Don't tell me that!" I blurted, but then mentally pushed the fear of pain from my mind. There was no going back now. One way or the other, this baby was coming out! At one point in the midst of the two-hour blur of pushing, working harder than I'd ever done in my life, I thought and voiced "I can't do this anymore! It's too hard." The nurse repeated the refrain of the past hour " You're almost there! We can see the head." "Yeah, sure," I thought. "That's what you have to say..."

"Well," I remember thinking. "She's gotta come at some point, and I'm surely closer than I was when I began." Then I would look at Conroy's face and see the excitement there. I wanted to laugh in fond amusement at how like my own personal cheerleader he was as he would call out, "You can do it! She's almost out! I can see her head!"

Then, in a blur that I can't even recall, it was over and she was crying on the table next to me as they cleaned her up. I remember looking at her after they gave her to me and feeling an odd detachment. Who is this person? How can she really be my daughter? The word seemed strange to me....

God's Timing

In October of 2009, I began praying Hannah's prayer in 1 Samuel: "God give us a child, a son, that we may give him back to you..." Whether by adoption or by pregnancy, it didn't matter. November found me taking yet another disappointing pregnancy test all the while insisting to myself.... "it feels different this time." My sense of smell, never great, was amazingly strong, a symptom I'd never experienced before. But the pregnancy test must be right.... it had always been so before. Around Veteran's Day, I came down with a bad bronchial infection. I didn't know that's what it was, just that the fever and chills had given way to a tightness in my chest that worried me. So I went to the doctor's. Just before the x-ray, I mentioned that I'd just like to be sure I wasn't pregnant. Sure of another (or the same) negative result, Conroy and I chatted nonchalantly while waiting for the doctor to return, give us the negative answer, and proceed with the x-ray. Instead, she walked in with a smile and a hearty "Congratulations!" Dumbfounded, Conroy and I repeatedly pressed her, "What? Are you sure?" She probably thought we were a little crazy, but I could hardly think straight beyond the swell of emotion that suddenly filled my throat and my eyes. Our dreams come true and prayers answered-- a baby!