Reality: Your Arguments Just Won't Fly with Me

I live everyday of my life with a person who was not planned by his birthmother.  I raise, love, discipline, and watch one of these people grow every single day of my life.  I have signed my name to court documents saying that I will continue to do this until he is of legal age (and probably much longer).

So, when you sit behind the safety of your computer screen and share edited facts about how "only 3% of Planned Parenthood's work is abortions," you just simply cannot understand me.

Your arguments just won't fly with me.

My son could have easily been part of that 3% (or hundreds of thousands of babies), and your argument would be, "Yeah, that was his birthmother's choice, but she could have chosen an abortion, too."  Some of you follow that up with, "I am glad she didn't, but it was her choice to make."

I don't curse, but if I did, it would be right here...
THAT IS MY SON.

Your arguments just won't fly with me.

I mother this child because of the choice his first mother made.  And that choice was not and should never be one between "kill him or have him," but between "choose to raise him or choose the ones who raise him."

She chose to choose us, and never have I ever been so honored.  Adoption is not all rainbows and butterflies.  There is true hurt involved in all parties, but that hurt is one we feel because we love from every side.  And yes, someday my son will know his entire story and he will feel pain with that, but thanks be to God that he has been given a story to know and learn and feel.

And because he has been given that story, hundreds and probably thousands of others have been positively impacted in just his short five years.

He is not just a number - a single life in the hundreds of thousands that could have been a part of a "little" percentage to be thrown around like it is insignificant.

He is a person.
A life.

One that hurts, and loves, and gives, and takes, and sins, and repents, and obeys, and dishonors, and brings joy, and brings heartache, and laughs, and cries, and lives.

And that is why your arguments just won't ever fly with me.

Reality: On Shots and Pee Cups

Today was Solomon's five year check-up at the doctor.  I failed to mention to him that it was going to result in some shots.  I know there is a debate out there about whether or not to do shots and whether or not you should prepare your kids for said shots should you choose to partake in them.

This post isn't anything about that.  This post is about the most hilarious story in the history of ever. So, prepare yourself...

Nearing the end of the regular appointment, no one had used the "S.H.O.T.S." word, and the doctor was headed out the door and said, "Great to see you today.  Just wait here and a nurse will bring in the...well, you know."

Solomon's eyes got huge and turned to me when the doctor left.  He said, "What?  Who is going to bring what?  What are they bringing in here, Mommy?  Mommy?  Mommy?"

Me: "Well, Solomon, a nurse is going to bring some medicine so that you can stay healthy."
Solomon: "Oh, OK, Great!"

Nailed it.

Except that in walked the nurse carrying an empty cup.  She said, "Actually, we are going to need a urine sample before going on."

I laughed, as this was going to be the S man's first pee-in-a-cup experience.  I hope anyway.  I know he hasn't done it for medical reasons, but he is a boy, so he may have peed in a cup before at some point that I thankfully do not know about...

Anyway.

I said, "Come on, Solomon," grabbed the cup, held his hand, and headed toward the bathroom.  When I closed the door he looked at me and said, "What are we going to do with that cup?"

I said, "Well, you have to pee in it."

INSERT SUDDEN LOOK OF HORROR AND SHOCK.

Solomon: "What? I have to what?"
Me:  "You have to pee in it."

He turned white as a ghost and looked up at me with wide eyes and said, "Mama, is THAT going to be my medicine?"

When I tried to tell this story to the nurse, I couldn't make it through that line.  When I tried to tell this to my mom on the phone on the way home, I couldn't make it through that line.  When I got home and told my husband, I still couldn't make it through that line.  And now typing, I couldn't make it through that line.

"Mama, is THAT going to be my medicine?"

Poor guy.

I had told him the next lady was coming to bring him his medicine, and the next lady brought him that cup.  So, obviously, guys, whatever was going in that cup was clearly his medicine.

The lucky part about the whole thing is that after that, he barely made a peep about his ACTUAL shots.

I mean, things could have clearly been worse than THAT medicine.

Reality: Dear Solomon

Dear Solomon,

Five years ago today marked the day when you were born.  We had lost a child in a complicated adoption world, experienced the death of our first child in utero, and were convinced God was telling us that kids were not a part of His plan for us anytime soon.

Then, there was you.

Many believe your name means "wisdom," and while King Solomon was gifted with wisdom, his name actually means "peace."  Before Solomon was born, King David committed a grievous sin with Bathsheba and bore a child together.  When Nathan confronted King David with the law and his sin, King David repented, but with this sin came the loss of that child.  He mourns this loss greatly and speaks the undeniable and joyous truth of, "I shall go to him, but he will not return to me."  Such great comfort has been given to my soul with those few words from King David's mouth.  For our first biological child will not return to us, but we shall meet again.  Following this tremendous loss in King David and Bathsheba's lives, God gifted them with Solomon.  He gifted them with peace.

This is how you got your name, our son.  And while we know that real peace is only found in Christ, we are thankful for the many and various ways God gives earthly peace to our hearts.  You are that, our son.

So, to you on your fifth birthday, peace, son.  May you always know what your life did in that moment for us and continues to do every day God blesses the world with you.  Being a person who was adopted, there will be trials you will face that others do not.  But never for one moment do I want you or anyone else to think that God didn't have a plan for what your life would do in this world.  You were fearfully and wonderfully made, knitted in your birthmother's womb, and given to us.  You were planned, as every single child is - not in the minds of mere humans but in the eternal knowledge of God.  All this was with purpose and meaning.

Every life, no matter the length, circumstances, or worldly success, has purpose and meaning.  Every life is one for whom Christ died on the cross, bringing real peace to the whole world.  You are one of those lives, son.

You, our son, are a gift from God.  Today we thank Him for the plan He had and has in your short-but-going-too-fast life.

Peace,
Your Mom

Reality: The Loss of our Pew Mom.

Three years ago this week, my husband had just been ordained and installed, and I found myself alone in the pew with two boys under the age of two.  As I walked in that first week after the ordination, the nerves were flowing.  I made my way up to the fourth pew, a close enough seat for the boys to see but still a buffer from their daddy pastor.  I was thinking to myself, "I hope I don't sit in someone's seat that has been here for 55 years...I hope my kids don't scream the whole time and try to run to daddy...I hope I can make it through this and possibly still hear the sermon. Heck, I hope I don't start crying at this very moment."

As I turned into the pew, a woman from across the aisle stood up and came towards me.  She said, "Would you mind if I sit with you?  I thought you might like someone in the pew with you with those little boys.  I wouldn't want you to be alone."

And so my relationship with Miss Betty White began.  She flew in that Sunday morning like an angel sent to sooth the fears of a pastor's wife with littles in the pew.  For the next three years, with barely a failure, she sat there in that pew with us.  She didn't judge me when they threw fits.  She didn't get discouraged when they inevitably were rude to her about something.  She brought them a little snack bag each week.  She held them on her lap.  She acted as a bookend on the pew when all they wanted to do was escape.  She sang the songs of the faith boldly into their ears.  She held them while they slept.  She held their hands while taking Communion.  She welcomed our new daughter and greatly anticipated our upcoming blessing to join us in that crazy pew.

A woman who had spent her whole life in the church chose to leave her pew, even her beloved SIDE of the church, to venture into a territory unknown with small children.  A unmarried woman with no children of her own found value in aiding me, a woman with an abundance of children.  The family of the church is so beautiful.

Last Sunday, the churches threw a surprise ordination anniversary dinner for my husband.  She walked up to me and said, "I know this is for your husband, but I want you to know it is for you, too.  I love you and the kids so much.  We are so happy you are here with us.  You and your husband are two of my favorite people in the world.  And I mean that."  I was so humbled and honored by her words.  The woman who went out of her way for three years to make me feel included and loved would say this to me?  I needed to say it to her.

I couldn't have known and neither could she what those words would mean to me just a few short days later.  Miss Betty, our "pew mom," as the children refer to her, died unexpectedly this week.  The ache in my soul is great.  The empty space in our pew will be vast tomorrow and every Sunday to come.

During our breakfast devotions this morning, we told the kids.  They have never lost a grandparent, and this is the closest they could come to that type of loss.  Since they are all very young, death is still a relatively unclear subject.  Our oldest said, "Miss Betty died?"  We said, "Yes, Honey.  Miss Betty died and is in heaven with Jesus now."  He just stared for a few moments, and we decided to go on with our prayers.  Today's prayers were focused on our extended family.  When I finished listing the prayers, he quietly said, "And we pray that we get to see Miss Betty at Mt. Calvary again."

My heart broke.

But we will see Miss Betty again, my dear son.
And we get that joy because of what happened on the original Mt. Calvary.
Until then, our dearest beloved Miss Betty, we will be missing you, while rejoicing in knowing that with all the company of heaven, including you, Saint Betty, we are joined at Holy Communion.

And I will smile thinking of you holding the hands of our children during so many Sundays of Communion.  You will hold their hands again, my friend.  I love you.  I miss you.

Reality: When the black church burns...

Back in the height of the Civil Rights Movement, our small black church called a pastor into their midst.  This man was white, like many of their pastors over 115 years have been.  Within a few weeks, a cross was burning in the parsonage yard.  The details of what followed are not important and unnecessary for me to share.  

The point is fire and the church means something real to black Christians in the United States.  

It would be ignorant for us to ignore such an historical and violent truth - black churches were burned all over our country because of the color of the skin of those who attended, white people who loved and supported the people in black churches found crosses burning in their front yards simply because they would not comply with the notion that black people were worth less.

In the past couple weeks, there have been eight fires at southern black churches.  None of these fires have been ruled "hate crimes" (whatever that means, as any fire started intentionally by a person is clearly due to some sort of hate...), but all of them are still being investigated.  Many out there in the social media world have a tendency to act as though it makes a difference whether or not the powers that be designate these as acts of racism. 

The fact is that whether or not they are organized acts of racism does not change the impact on the black community and black churches.  

It is impossible to take away the memories of what has transpired over our tumultuous history.  You can't erase it and think it won't impact people later.  This is not some post to talk about the pros and cons of reparations or affirmative action or any other form of trying to make a level playing field or paying back for past hurts.  

The truth is there is no paying it back.  

The point here is to encourage people to see that even if a lightning bolt started the fire, a black congregation cannot watch their church burn without the memories of what that meant to them and their parents and their grandparents.

Can we stop the lightning bolt?  Of course not.  But we can honor the memory and support those who are hurting as they watch their place of worship be destroyed.  And most importantly, we can stop coming up for reasons why this isn't racism.  

"Could be a black person just trying to get people riled up about racism again."  

(Yes, I may have read the comments section under a news story...forgive me.)  

And what if it was a black person?  Perceived racism is just as hurtful to a community as actual racism.  It still creates fear, hatred, animosity, uncertainty, and a need for revenge.  It still divides.

And yet again, for the people watching their house of worship go up in flames, the cause just doesn't matter very much.  Our society is at a perfect storm moment between heightened acts of racism and a general hatred for the church and what it stands for.  Our black brothers and sisters in Christ are hurting.  

Our pastor, who I happened to be married to, has a line he uses in many of his sermons (I am not nearly as eloquent as him, but this is my best shot) - "Sin divides while Christ unifies; where Satan and sin would have us be separated on all levels - from God and from each other, Christ brings us back to the Father and to each other."  

There is no repaying for burned churches.  There is no repaying for past sins.  There is only Christ.  In Him, we are unified.  And because we are unified in Him, we fall to our knees with them as we watch our churches crumble and pray, "Lord, have mercy."

Reality: I am not Black, but I am Christian and a Person

I am not black.  I am not a white person who identifies as black (apparently you can do that these days).  I AM a white woman married to a white man who has been the pastor of a black church for three years.  We are also the white parents of a black child.  We are also all Christians.

Last night, our church was hosting a summer reading program for community youth followed by our regular Wednesday night Bible study and service.  We were gathered around God's Word just like any other Wednesday around here.  Meanwhile, our brothers and sisters in Christ just south of us were gathered around that same Word.  My church family thankfully went home refreshed and filled with the Gospel; while our extended church family was dealing with the aftermath of a horrible crime against them as people, as black people, and as Christians.  I praise God from whom all blessings flow that those who were murdered in such a fashion are now with Christ, but I mourn for the rest of their earthly families and their extended church families across the country.

Given our unique situation in a southern black church, I just felt the need to talk to all of you for a few minutes - to open my heart and mind in an honest fashion.  I can't say that what I am about to write will be beautiful, but I can say that it will be real.  I pray that these words are accepted as they are meant to be - the mournful thoughts of a Christian woman who has learned so much in the past three years in this black church and community and the past five years with our black son.

For the past three years, I would venture to guess that not a single week has gone by that I didn't have a passing thought and fear about my husband being shot.  Now, this may seem pretty common for a policemen's wife or a military spouse, but for a pastor's wife in the U.S.?  How ridiculous are my emotions that stem from my lack of trust in God?

I fear a racist white person who can't believe the ignorance of that white man who hangs out with black people.

I fear a racist black person who can't believe the audacity of a white man to think he can lord it over black people like that.

I fear anyone who can't believe those idiots think they can raise a black child.

I fear.
I don't trust.
I look at the world around us, one so filled with hatred, and I collapse a little inside.

And you know what?  I may not be black or even identify as black, but I can identify with a little of that life fear.  I can't know what it is like to grow up black.  I can't know what it is like to hear about yet another one of my race's members being shot - by someone of my race or another, with just causes or not.

I can't know.
After three years, I can tell you that I know it so much more than I ever did before; and yet the more that I know it, the more I understand I will never know it.  In so many ways, the black community has many reasons to fear this world and be angry at the injustices.

So, where can black Christians turn for solace from such hate?
Where we all need to turn - Jesus Christ alone.
And that is what makes this current crime so unimaginable to my weak and beaten heart.  For when a group of black Christians joined for the healing of God's Word, they were attacked.  Their color was attacked and their Christianity was attacked.  A doubly horrible hate crime.

Many have questioned why we need "black churches" in our country.  Explaining the history of such a deep rooted issue is not the scope of my thoughts today, but I will say that black churches are not different from many other churches.  We are a community of people who are related, live close, and invite those we have connections with in our lives.  In general for our church members, that involves being part of the larger black community.  So, members are black.  And there is great comfort in knowing those around you can understand your life and fears in a deep way.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with that unless it is an exclusive black-only or white-only or whatever-only group that wouldn't allow someone of a different race.  Christianity is for all races and peoples, and our church welcomes all (by seen in the color of their pastor and family).

However, as a regular attender of a black church, I can tell you that the sight of white people is rare and noticeable.  There is an unsaid (and sometimes said) feeling of, "White people don't come back."  This usually holds true, and I don't mean to judge white people for this, either, because as I stated before, there is comfort in fitting in where you worship.  And although I am not privy to any information in the murder of our fellow Christians in South Carolina, and I have no idea if the man who committed this crime had attended before or if he was a stranger, I can tell you that some black Christians throughout the country will be feeling the tinge of fear associated with white strangers for awhile.  Church loses some of its comfort in fear.

But while we can't assure anyone of even a church without racist people, because racism exists in places where you find sinners (in church and not in church), it is the place we find Christ, the One who died for all races.

So, to you, frightened black Christian, know that I may not be the same color as you on the outside, but I do recognize and acknowledge your fears.  They are real on this earth.
Amazingly, what is even more real is Christ's death and resurrection for all sinners, of which I am the chief.

The Church is where you find the forgiveness of sins, the Word, Baptism, the Lord's Supper, and the joy of fellowship of believers.  The Church is where you find those who pray for their enemies - even those who murder us for our beliefs or our skin tone.  The Church is where you find your brothers and sisters in Christ.

And only there, you can still find His solace - a peace which passes all understanding.

Reality: Wait on the Lord

In reading an article written about God making us wait for our prayers to be answered, I found myself hoping and anticipating for so much more than what was given.  Feel free to read it to give yourself some context as to what I am referring to, but do not take that as my endorsement of the whole article.

The author begins with this:

"Jesus could have come and healed Lazarus when he was still alive.
Instead, He waited to raise him from the dead when he was already in his grave.

God could have made David become king the day after he was anointed.
Instead, He waited 15 years to rise to the throne, many of those years spent fearing for his life, hiding out and running away from his own father-in-law.

God could have spoken to Moses in the desert about sending him to help free His people from slavery 40 days after he ran away from Egypt.
Instead, He made him wait for 40 long years.

God could have gotten Joseph out of prison one year after he was sentenced there.
Instead, he was stuck in that dungeon for 10 years before he was finally set free.

God could have given Abraham the son He promised him when he was still a young man.
Instead, He waited until he was 100 years old and because of physical reasons would have a more difficult time conceiving at that age.

God could have answered prayers and met the needs of these men of God much quicker, but He didn’t."

While all this is true, the author goes on to use these people as examples of why God is making us wait in our prayer life.  The connotation being that the thing in which we are praying for will eventually come if we keep praying for it.

In fact, what these events from the Bible do is exactly what our prayers should do - point us to Christ.

Everything in human history leading up to Christ's death and resurrection was leading toward and pointing to the Messiah.
When Christ lived on earth prior to His crucifixion, all the moments of His life were leading toward and pointing to Him as true God and Man, the eventual sacrifice in our place.
After His ascension into heaven, the rest of human history still points toward Him.
That is the way we must read the Bible - Christ as the center and direction of all of history.

Are these true stories from the Bible good illustrations of waiting?  Yes.

But they are not illustrations of waiting on our prayers to be answered; they are signs that our prayers have been answered in Christ - the Messiah who came, is coming, and will come again.

When we start to say things like the author of this article does -

"If He is telling you 'no' today, maybe it's because He has a better 'yes' waiting for you tomorrow.
If He is keeping you in the same place you've always been today, maybe it's because He's helping build your faith before you enter your Promised Land tomorrow.
If He is not healing you or bringing you victory today, maybe it's because you will have a greater testimony when He waits to help you be an overcomer tomorrow...
Don't give up just because you don't see anything happening today."

- we make ourselves like God (or like Job's friends), making our will what we are actually waiting for instead of His will, and we turn away from Biblical truths and instead to motivational speeches.

The fact is He may not give us what we desire.  The hard truth is we may feel like we are waiting in anguish for our entire lives.  The earthly answers given to those men in the Bible are signs of Christ and God's promises.  As Christians, we are thankful for their fulfillment as they lead us to Him, but we are not God, and many times our will is not His.

Does this mean we stop praying for our desires?  By no means!

God hears the prayers of those who call on His Name.
God tells us to cry out to Him.
Christ stands as our Mediator, perfecting our prayers as they reach His ears.

We indeed know this to be true; and therefore, we keep dropping to our knees and pleading for mercy.  Not because we know tomorrow may be brighter, but because we know what has already been accomplished for us through Him and who He is for us now.

But I have to admit tomorrow will be better - when He appears and we shall see Him as He is.
Tomorrow will be better - as He may not change the outward circumstance, but does promise to change our inward anxiety into a peace that passes all understanding.
Tomorrow will be better - as we pray for Him to continually reform our will to line up with His good and gracious will. 

These men of the Bible point us to Christ and to the truth that God is faithful to His promises.
That is the faith of those great men.

A faith given by God and sustained by Him...in those sinful men and in sinful me who hates waiting.
A faith He sustains until the final day when all the pain and suffering of this life will be gone, and I won't have to wait anymore.
A faith that crumbles inside my sinful body in times of great despair, and yet stands firm with Christ, who didn't wait on me, but died for me while I was yet His enemy.
A faith that brings us to sing as we wait,

"Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Helper of the helpless, Lord, abide with me."
            - Abide with Me, Henry F. Lyte, 1847

A faith that knows that He indeed does abide with me as I wait.
A faith that keeps pointing me and leading me back to Christ so that I know who I am waiting for.

A faith that recognizes these present truths and the ones I await -

I am raised from the dead just like Lazarus,
I will be crowned just like David,
I have been lead out of slavery and will be brought into the Promised Land just like Moses, who did receive his eternal Promised Land,
I am set me free just like Joseph,

AND all this because I have been given the Son He promised just like Abraham.