Choosing Anxiety: When babies become idols

We both lay in bed hours after we turned off the lights.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it” my voice pierces the silence. I knew Jesse was awake too.

“Ya, me neither”.

Earlier that day we had taken our two year old and 5 month old baby to a castle ruin on the coast. Most of the time our kids safely tucked into carriers and strapped to our bodies. After some exploring, me and Jesse were talking about how ‘unsafe’ the entire place was, although a frequented tourist destination, there were no western rails or safety signs, just deathly heights and crumbling walls. Jesse told me he found a wide hole in the ground of the stone, dropping hundreds of feet, that opened up to an impossible large dark cavern underneath our feet. He said just standing near it freaked him out a little because that huge deathly expanse and us was separated by a floor of 2 thousand year old weatherws stone.

A little later we were in a courtyard we let 2 year old Soren out of the carrier to stretch his legs, the baby still attached to my torso. Soren begins a gleeful toddler run away from us,

in the span of 5 seconds…

Jesse’s anxious voice says, “Andrea, the hole”. I can see Soren’s feet move impossibly fast, and from my vantage point the huge hole in the stone about 15 feet in front. “STOP SOREN” I command, my usually obedient toddler, just picks up his pace, his feet flying over uneven cobblestone.  I do the math in my head, with a baby on my torso, I will not reach him in time, By brain decided on a course of action instinctively, 

My son will die if I don’t make him trip. 

My emotions, soul, and mouth responding immediately in the most haunting grief filled scream I have ever heard “SOREN”. The worry, fear, and utter terror in my voice was like a thunderbolt. Soren immediately is so terrified, he falls to the ground and begins to wail. I make it to him and scoop him up, He clings to me sobbing and terrified. I cling to him sobbing and terrified.

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That was two years ago. I remember the journey of my heart and mind that night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep, anxiety teased my every thought. “He almost died”. The heart literally hurt from realized vulnerability. That night I learned something.

 Anxiety is a cage of fear whose bars we dare not touch.

Our inability to touch fear and grief, to approach it, is the only thing that gives the cage its power. If we touch it, in the Power of the Holy Spirit, the cage, the anxiety evaporates.  But usually, we walk in circles in the middle of the cage driving ourselves mad with ‘What if’ in the abstract realm that borders on insanity.

I turn my thoughts turn towards God. He says “be Brave, step to the edge, touch the fear”

Terrified, I picture Soren’s lifeless body.  I let the wave of grief wash over me,

Pain. Sorrow. Grief.

then peace fills my heart. I exhale. “And if I lose him, God, you are still Good.”

And I am free.

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Two years Later. Another gift Given, another perfect baby, another vulnerability, another chance at idolatry.

This time it was a dream... 

Watching Logan’s little body disappear beneath Dark water. “He is gone” I say out loud in the dream. Then I wake up.

I lay in bed for an hour. I cannot go there. Instead I keep trying to re-write the dream. If I was less distracted and he never fell in, I dive in find him and give him baby CPR…the re-writes are lifeless, the real dream's reality crashes against me. 

Make a plan, Control it.

"We will not be going near water this summer" I rage.

“Go There” God says to me.

 but there are so many fears "there"...

I am afraid my faith will fail. In this rugged, untamed country, “what if “something happens and my faith doesn't make it.

What if…

What if…

What if…

Stop. Touch the grief. ” If I lose Logan…

I pause at the Alter.

“Are you still good?”

“Yes.” He replies.

I don’t know if I believe that today. My child is my Idol, I use the gift to block the GIFT: I choose anxiety over trust, a cage over freedom, control over Real love. I am trading God’s perfect love for my children for my imperfect selfish love, because I think I know better, I doubt God’s goodness.

Jesus Christ have mercy on me, a sinner.

I can feel his mercy cover my doubts anyways. 

 Meagan O Photography 

Practicing the Presence of God : An Ode to the Everyday Eternal

Maybe two years ago. A friend lent me Practicing the presence of God by brother Lawrence.

I remember reading it in front of a waterfall in autumn, and thinking "wow, this guy really sees God in baking bread...how...monkish."

(As long as that bread went to a charitable organization, I was on board)

Even by the end of that beautiful book I still saw the that monk's 'mindset' as something to 'achieve', not a radically different way of living my busy evangelical self-righteous faith.

But, it began the whisper against the roar of that my busy self righteousness.

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Now I sit in a neighborhood outside of the Capital City of Podgorica that looks more like a vineyard. Jesse has left for a conference for 6 days. It's just Me, the four year old, the two year old, and the 8 month old (I should probably learn their names).

I get the bread making thing. That life is a beautiful gift. I don;t have to earn it. Now I can hear it...

God sings to me from the crackling of a wood stove,

clothespins become prayer beads

the diaper changing table a confession booth

chopping tomatoes a dance before the Lord

This is my ode, my prayer, my song for the sacred mundane, the everyday eternal,

       “...Jesus saw the eternal in the everyday. Your last day on earth should be spent as you spent all your others-- doing your daily tasks with love and honesty... An ordinary day is, perhaps, the most holy of all.”                  ― Margaret George

Loved Like That

These are my parents. This picture was recently taken and posted to facebook. 

Jolee Art and Photography

One of the comments was:

"How great would it be to be loved like that."

My first inside thought screamed "But you are!"

"because....um.....*cough* ....Jesus loves you."

I didn't write that of course, because who wants to be THAT girl on facebook. 

and I get it. Being 'married to Jesus' is a cute phrase, 

but we want our lovers to have bones and wear skin.

to provide the pay check, and bring us flowers and Starbucks. 

We want a love we can cling to.

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But I can't help but say it. I cannot give my parent's marriage, their story, their love,

ANY earthly credit. 

I feel like I should know. Being their daughter and all. I mean (granted) I wasn't around for Butch and Doreen the early years, but something tells me, (Scratch that)  My mom has specifically told me. Those were not the 'good' years.  There was a lot of pain. Not the Nicolas Sparks kind-a pain, the kind you just walk away from.

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When I entered the scene, their third child. From my perspective,  their story had nothing you would hear about it a Taylor swift song. Yes, it had love, but also so much anger, so much patched up hurts screaming for release. 

To put it bluntly, Entrekins (that's us) anger out their feelings.

We have a lot of feeling.

I watched this. I heard the fighting, saw the pain.

Then I saw a strong grown dad-man, over and over, humble himself, and ask for forgiveness.

over and over, I watch a Bigger love, pull the pieces back together.

My mom and dad humbling themselves.

ONLY

Because he had already been forgiven.

That love. the Big one. Loved them.

That Big love grew bones. became manifest. Humbled itself. Died. 

so they could be 

covered by love. grow bones, and Love each other. 

...and love me. 

I am their bone-legacy. 

The witness to That big Love, manifest in sorrow, redeemed through daily obedience, reaping unearthly joy.

I am their love-legacy.

Out in this bone-weary world.

He is love's Bones.

He put on bones and flesh and came down to us.

For to us a child is born, to us a Son is given, an Everlasting Father

I am his bone-legacy.

in this bone-weary world.

I want to be Love's bones.

Feasting

I often get overwhelmed and get mad at God that he is not changing me fast enough. In the words of Inigo Montoya. "I hate waiting". 

As we begin my second favorite month, a month where we celebrate abundance. I want to praise God for his abundance. Praise God for the work he is doing in me when i simply look back and have eyes to see. 

When we began our first term I was challenged by our budget. We never seemed to have enough. I was used to America. So I began to tighten the reigns, began to 'be more responsible'. I began a mentality of scarcity when it came to food and everything that cost money because I believed it was my job to make it work. So if Jesse wanted a third helping of Chicken Alfredo when i planned on using the leftovers the next day, or our electricity bill was higher because we had guest, I would cringed inside. My heart and hands closing and becoming tighter and tighter. I remember once crying my eyes out because I burned dinner and wasted so much food! 

God began to plea with me to simply trust him. NOT after I crunched the numbers or after it made sense on paper, but to trust Him. He told me that 

He can only do miracles in the context of belief. Provision is only miraculous if it doesn't make sense.

I must believe the impossible from the God who transcends budgets. I slowly begin to stretch out my hands,  shaky gnarled hands up to God in pathetic expectation of blessing without earned merit, and extend an open hand to others, making cookies with the last of the butter, inviting people over when we could not really afford it, dishing up second helpings, actually believing that our abundant father will provide the feast. 

Guess what?

He provides the feast. 

He multiplies the bread.

I just got done with October's finances. we save and categorize all our receipts at the end of each month. We had to by wood for the whole winter this month. All in all, about 300 Euros (500 dollars) over our monthly budget, yet the money is there.  Like manna from heaven, we still broke even on our monthly allowance. How does that make ANY logical sense? It doesn't. It's a miracle. 

The same with the boys clothes. I was so stressed about clothing them the first term. Clothes are so expensive, yet somewhere in the struggle I just gave it up to God. It's fall 2014. We have nice looking clothes for all our 3 boys for the next...wait for it...3 years.  God provides. 

I want to shout it to all my friends who struggle with their husbands spending habits..

GOD PROVIDES.

I want to yell it from the streets where we act like people are worth what they earn...

GOD PROVIDES. 

To  the unemployed husband, 

GOD PROVIDES.

He is the miracle. 

He is the feast.

 “Come, all you who are thirsty,
    come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without cost...

 buy without cost.

 “Behold, you will call a nation you do not know,
And a nation which knows you not will run to you,
Because of the Lord your God, even the Holy One of Israel;
For He has glorified you.”

 Isaiah 55: 1,5

He wants us to FEAST on His provision. 

To let the FEAST flow out to the nations. 

He is Jehovah-Jireh, My PROVIDER.

"I don't want to be blessed"

I said with sharp sincerity.

We were on the side of the road on a Sunday afternoon. I was having one of those frustrated mom breakdowns. We 'attempted' to visit the church in Bar, about an hour and 20 minute drive from our house. We arrived. The baby was fed, everyone looked relatively decent, church started at ten. 

As my four and two year old get shuffled into the children's program, I am holding the baby and I breathe a sigh of relief, I might actually get to sit through a service, and in English no less!

...then the baby starts crying, I walk to the kid's room to walk him around. That's when I see Xander (the two year old) gearing up for a wail. The entire children's lesson of about 10 kids and 3 adults stops, trying to consol the wailing cute kid. He is wailing 'mommy' so he is brought to me. while I am trying to get some logical soothing plan down he then screams 'daddy' and runs into the room where the service is and I cannot stop him because I am holding a baby, so we begin a one arm tug of war with screaming in front of the entire assembly until Jesse sees and runs to pick him up and take him out. we go back to the kid room, the entire kid program stops again to offer suggestions of how to sooth our hysterical 2-year old. 

We have managed to derail 2 church services in as many minutes. 

So we resort to crackers and a field outside. The baby is starting to get fussy and I don't have a stroller, so I resort to the old rocking the car seat to sleep method as I use the other hand to try and entertain the 2 year old.

I was angry. Why did I even leave the house today? Why am I stuck doing the ONLY job I hate all the time. I know this is mommy  blasphemy. But I would rather clean bathrooms or give an impromptu speech then try and keep a 2 year old and a baby happy. I HATE THIS. 

I was telling Jesse this an hour later as we sat under a tree eating our flaky meat pastry called Burek...

Why do other people's struggles seem 'uncomfortable' and I feel like I am often foaming at the mouth? It's not that I think my job is objectively harder, it is simply harder FOR ME. Like putting an art student in the army or a shy kid as class president. I SUCK AT THIS LITTLE KID THING. 

Why do other people 'use their spiritual gifts' to serve God, or 'honor God with their talents' while I seethe in the Montenegrin sun with little need factories that my own body created?

"Because God wants to bless you honey" my husband answers sincerely.

I know it's true, and I reply honestly..."I don't want to be blessed".

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It's the truth that defines every sin in my life. I don't want blessing. I want control. I want my story, not God's. 

Just the day before it happened again. throughout the day, if my temper is short, I think, "I will try and be nicer to Jesse today" after six years of this NOT WORKING AT ALL, I see that God does not honor my 'effort'. You see, what has happened to me, growing up in church, I just trade in mysuper ugly sins, for more culturally acceptable ones. So instead of being openly mean to my husband, I opt for self-righteous effort. Self-righteousness is always the sneakiest sin, that's why it lives in our churches. It is simply a fruit of my flesh putting on pretty clothes while it rots underneath. 

I have realized submitting my life to the spirit of God through the Gospel is the only thing that can change my heart, and then my behavior. 

"I should make an effort to be nicer to Jesse today"....The Spirit's reply...

"To do that you will have to submit your plans, your identity, your life to me so I can give it back to you producing a gratitude that will outshine the selfish, will outshine even the 'effort' out of your own heart"

pause.

"No thanks". I reply. I don't want to be nice THAT badly.

I don't want to be blessed.

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Our whole redemptive story hinges on us saying yes to Blessing, Yes to God.

Read this amplified version of 2 Corinthians 1:20...

²⁰ For as many as are the promises of God, they all find their Yes [answer] in Him [Christ]. For this reason we also utter the Amen (so be it) to God through Him [in His Person and by His agency] to the glory of God.

His promises and blessing are hidden in our 'yes' to Christ's gift, and our "so be it" to God the father's plan for us. 

We are all trying so incredibly hard to exist for our own glory.

Our search for self-identity consumes us, WE STRIVE, because striving is the only thing one solitary soul can do on its own without Identity in the I AM.

But, if we say yes to who He is, the Glory and Gift, we die to that solitary self perception.

Then, who we really are in Christ emerges from this 'Yes' to Christ and 'Amen' to the Story.

His story calls me out: It calls my well intended efforts, vanity, my 'ministry', idolatry, my death...necessary. 

The story that says my death is His Glory,

The story that loves me to death.

Do you want to be blessed?