A few years ago Jeff and I joined a small group. Our leader's passion for the spiritual disciplines really impacted my life. I had never met anyone who seemed so willing to give of her time and comfort in order to grow closer to God. The Presbyterian in me suspected she was a bit crazy, or at least, a bit too Baptist. Each week she shared with us her experience with spiritual disciplines and we did weekly assignments to try them out. One of our assignments was to fast. That year she challenged us all to fast on Ash Wednesday, and to consider fasting one day a week throughout the course of Lent.
Fasting is not my favorite activity. I get awfully cranky when I skip a meal. Nevertheless, I gave it a try, and devoted one day a week during Lent to fasting, being mindful on that day to use the act of giving up as a catalyst for prayer and thanksgiving. Since that initial fasting experience, I have always chosen to give something up for Lent. One year I gave all of the money I earned during Lent to clean water projects and micro-loans. Working became so meaningful during that time. Last year I gave up tea and donated the money I would have spent to blood-water mission. That sacrifice was not as great as it might have been had I not already been completely off caffeine because of the pregnancy, though I still missed the comfort of a hot drink during those cold months. Each time I missed having a warm drink, I remembered the plight of those who didn't even have safe drinking water. I enjoyed the experience of giving those things up. I like Lent. Easter feels more meaningful when you prepare for it for it, and long for it to come.
This year, as Lent approached, I realized I didn't want to give anything up. I felt I had sacrificed enough. I don't need to stop eating chocolate to long for Easter. The hope of Easter is all we have had since the 20th of May last year. It feels like we have experienced almost a year of Good Fridays. Everyday we feel the darkness and separation of death acutely, and we long for the light emanating from an empty tomb. There is nothing I can give up for Lent that can possibly compare to the loss of Leah. For me, giving up a material thing feels cheap and useless. How can I give up a cup of tea, and pretend that it matters? How can I call that sacrifice? I knew this year I was being called instead to a sacrifice of the heart.
Pondering Lent takes me back to that day in May, when Jeff and I sat in the ultrasound appointment room at St. Francis. The only place I could bear to look was at the crucifix hanging above the receptionist's desk. My only comfort, as I sat waiting for the confirmation that my baby would die, was that God knew exactly how I felt. He was a father who experienced the grief of watching His only son die. He didn't sympathize with my pain, he knew it.
Yet God knew a deeper pain as well. He grieved not only the loss of His son, but the cruelty of His creation, His people, who nailed that son to a cross. Even though He knew what His son would suffer, He gave Him up to save the very people who drove in the nails. That I cannot relate to.
A God that good deserves my full allegiance. He deserves for me to put everything before Him. I knew I was holding something back. There is only one thing I want that really matters to me right now: a child. I have held on to that desire so tightly, that sometimes I wonder what I would do if God called me to choose between His desires for me, and that dream. I wonder if I would choose a baby over living in God's will. In the process of deciding how to start a family, we have faced many difficult choices. We had to turn down some cheaper and easier options because we felt that they did not align with God's desire for our lives. But it was easier then, because we had options. Now, as we get closer to adopting, I begin to wonder: If I was standing in court, holding my child, and the Judge indicated he didn't want the child in a Christian home, would I lie? Would I look the other way if something seemed strange about my child's background, and I suspected he or she had been taken from a parent unwilling to give them up? Would I be willing to let my desire for a child come before my desire to honor God? How can I believe that I would do the right thing if I cling more tightly to my plans for my life than my trust in God's sovereignty?
On Ash Wednesday I took a walk down to the lake. As I walked, I thought about the nature of sacrifice, and losing Leah, and how I might never have a child to call my own. I am not in the depths of despair. I realize that I probably will have a child. The odds are good that our adoption will succeed, and if it doesn't there are other adoption programs, as well as the possibility of future pregnancies. However, I truly feel that I have to reconcile myself with the truth that God could choose not to give us a child. What I want may not be what He wants for me. He could have a different plan for my life. As for this adoption, I have to place it in His hands. I have to pray that His will will be done. I have been holding on too tightly.
This year my Lenten sacrifice is about letting go. I am giving something up. I am giving up worrying about the adoption (a favorite hobby of mine). I am giving up my belief that God owes me something in return for the loss I have experienced. I am choosing to pray diligently for His will to be done over my own. It isn't easy, but if it was, it wouldn't be a sacrifice.
Fasting is not my favorite activity. I get awfully cranky when I skip a meal. Nevertheless, I gave it a try, and devoted one day a week during Lent to fasting, being mindful on that day to use the act of giving up as a catalyst for prayer and thanksgiving. Since that initial fasting experience, I have always chosen to give something up for Lent. One year I gave all of the money I earned during Lent to clean water projects and micro-loans. Working became so meaningful during that time. Last year I gave up tea and donated the money I would have spent to blood-water mission. That sacrifice was not as great as it might have been had I not already been completely off caffeine because of the pregnancy, though I still missed the comfort of a hot drink during those cold months. Each time I missed having a warm drink, I remembered the plight of those who didn't even have safe drinking water. I enjoyed the experience of giving those things up. I like Lent. Easter feels more meaningful when you prepare for it for it, and long for it to come.
This year, as Lent approached, I realized I didn't want to give anything up. I felt I had sacrificed enough. I don't need to stop eating chocolate to long for Easter. The hope of Easter is all we have had since the 20th of May last year. It feels like we have experienced almost a year of Good Fridays. Everyday we feel the darkness and separation of death acutely, and we long for the light emanating from an empty tomb. There is nothing I can give up for Lent that can possibly compare to the loss of Leah. For me, giving up a material thing feels cheap and useless. How can I give up a cup of tea, and pretend that it matters? How can I call that sacrifice? I knew this year I was being called instead to a sacrifice of the heart.
Pondering Lent takes me back to that day in May, when Jeff and I sat in the ultrasound appointment room at St. Francis. The only place I could bear to look was at the crucifix hanging above the receptionist's desk. My only comfort, as I sat waiting for the confirmation that my baby would die, was that God knew exactly how I felt. He was a father who experienced the grief of watching His only son die. He didn't sympathize with my pain, he knew it.
Yet God knew a deeper pain as well. He grieved not only the loss of His son, but the cruelty of His creation, His people, who nailed that son to a cross. Even though He knew what His son would suffer, He gave Him up to save the very people who drove in the nails. That I cannot relate to.
A God that good deserves my full allegiance. He deserves for me to put everything before Him. I knew I was holding something back. There is only one thing I want that really matters to me right now: a child. I have held on to that desire so tightly, that sometimes I wonder what I would do if God called me to choose between His desires for me, and that dream. I wonder if I would choose a baby over living in God's will. In the process of deciding how to start a family, we have faced many difficult choices. We had to turn down some cheaper and easier options because we felt that they did not align with God's desire for our lives. But it was easier then, because we had options. Now, as we get closer to adopting, I begin to wonder: If I was standing in court, holding my child, and the Judge indicated he didn't want the child in a Christian home, would I lie? Would I look the other way if something seemed strange about my child's background, and I suspected he or she had been taken from a parent unwilling to give them up? Would I be willing to let my desire for a child come before my desire to honor God? How can I believe that I would do the right thing if I cling more tightly to my plans for my life than my trust in God's sovereignty?
On Ash Wednesday I took a walk down to the lake. As I walked, I thought about the nature of sacrifice, and losing Leah, and how I might never have a child to call my own. I am not in the depths of despair. I realize that I probably will have a child. The odds are good that our adoption will succeed, and if it doesn't there are other adoption programs, as well as the possibility of future pregnancies. However, I truly feel that I have to reconcile myself with the truth that God could choose not to give us a child. What I want may not be what He wants for me. He could have a different plan for my life. As for this adoption, I have to place it in His hands. I have to pray that His will will be done. I have been holding on too tightly.
This year my Lenten sacrifice is about letting go. I am giving something up. I am giving up worrying about the adoption (a favorite hobby of mine). I am giving up my belief that God owes me something in return for the loss I have experienced. I am choosing to pray diligently for His will to be done over my own. It isn't easy, but if it was, it wouldn't be a sacrifice.
Posts
6 comments:
Wow, Amy. Beautifully said.
Once again Amy, I must thank you for baring your soul here. God is using your story to touch lives (mine included) for His glory. We pray for you and Jeff often.
It is clear that God is holding you close to His heart, Amy. You have honored Him in this post and in your life. I continue to pray for you and Jeff. I love you both.
Wow, Amy. What a testimony. I don't know that I would have been able to do that.
I love you Amy, thanks for writing.
Amy-your writing is truly a gift. I have spent the night catching up on your blog. My heart breaks for you and Jeff. I know God is blessing you and Jeff through all this. He is blessing others through you. Leah's life may have been short but her story is far reaching.
Post a Comment