Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;*

Death has been following me around.

Not in the sense that I feel like dying or that I've had near death experiences or anything like that.  But death has definitely been close by.  Since about December.

December 15th, a client of mine gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  Her name was Gabriella and she lived 72 precious minutes.  Her funeral was a few days before Christmas.

January 17th, a friend of my husband's Terri Fisher passed, age 43. father of four.

Amber Wriston, a long ago client, and long time friend passed away Jan 24th, age 29, mother of four.

My (non-bio) sister's grandmother passed away after a very difficult few days on January 26th.  She lost her bio parents many years before, so it was especially hard for Rachel to lose her.

February 9th, the baby brother (late 20's) of two precious new friends I was just beginning to dearly love, took his own life.  His name was Guy Willis.

February 18th, a friend who volunteered at the Eden Clinic lost her 19 year old brother, Bubba, to a rare anyeurism.

March 20th, my husband's friend and co-worker lost his 11 year old granddaughter Kaitlyn to head injuries after a terrible car accident that also severely injured his daughter, her mother.

Seven deaths, all but one way too young.  All were people very close and dear to people dear to me.  I attended four of these funerals.  Three of them had someone in their family who wept loudly throughout the service, unable to control their grief or care who it bothered.  One of the loud mourners was 6.  Her weeping sounded like words. Mommy.

By the time I was at the fourth funeral for a very young girl--full of life and friends and fellow cheerleaders who filled the room with bright t-shirts and bows--I began picturing my own daughter's photos scrolling through a slide show at a funeral.  I started imagining which songs I would choose if I had to bury someone way too young.  How does your entire life boil down to a slide show?

Lately my boss has been worried that I have compassion fatigue.  Sometimes when you've worked in a helping field for a lot of years (11 for me), it's common to get burned out.  Caring for other people's needs wears you out to the point that you stop caring.  You become cold and  numb to their needs.

I don't have compassion fatigue, I don't think.  I'm worn down by the grief that comes with Death, and rejection, and lies.  All cousins, and sons of the same dark father, our enemy prowling around like a lion, devouring.

I recently read The Book Thief.  It was a great read, a great story.  It was written in a literary format of first person, with the writer acting as a narrator of the actual story line.  And the narrator, Death.

I probably wouldn't have read the book had I known that.  You see I've had enough of death. Enough.

In 11 years of fighting for life I have counselled with over 1,150 women.  I have peered inside the womb with ultrasound and taken photos of 1,130 unborn children.  Some of them did not make it to birth. Many. Did not get to live past the first trimester.

Death has been following me around.  But I have this to say to Death:  Where is your sting?  Where is your victory?  .... He gives us victory over sin and death through our Lord Jesus Christ.**


WE WIN IN THE END.  So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable.  Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless. **from the first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 15 verse 54 and after.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

and death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

*from Death Be Not Proud by John Donne

What I Have Learned from Elizabeth the Great

Elizabeth is 17 years old today.  Happy Birthday, beautiful girl.  Everything I know that's really important I learned from you.

Elizabeth was born with no skeletal muscle on March 20, 1997; just a few weeks before my Magan.  We were even in Baptist Hospital at the same time, although we didn't know each other at the time.  I met Elizabeth and her parents when she came to stay for a while at the Children's Center at the age of three.  I've learned so much about life from this amazing girl and her family.  Here are a few examples:

Life is short, appreciate every minute of it.

Elizabeth wasn't supposed to live.  The doctors had never seen anything or anyone like her.  Her condition was delicate from the beginning, with an artificial airway and sensitive lungs, her parents never knew how many more days she had left.  Even up to the last year, the doctors keep saying she won't make it much longer.  So her parents, and now her three sisters, enjoy her presence in their home; and thank God for her life, as they have no expectations of how much longer they have.

Things are never as they seem.  Take the time to get to know someone before you judge.

At first glance, people tend to think that Elizabeth is brain damaged.  Some have even been known to call her a *shudder* vegetable.  I want to throat punch those people.  But I digress.  Because Elizabeth cannot move at all on her own, her mouth hangs open and she appears not to respond.  Until you spend time with her and realize that her brain is a well-oiled machine.  She is extremely intelligent, observant, and opinionated.  She is full of personality and she loves to talk about stuff.  Just like any teenage girl.  Her mom and dad have done their level best to make her life interesting and full.  No easy task.  And her speech therapist, Laura--also a genius--has spent years working with her to give her a voice to talk to us all.  It's been so worth the patience it requires to know her.  What a privilege.

Don't give up.  Good things come to those who wait.

So as I've mentioned, Laura worked with Elizabeth every week for 10 years at least on ways to communicate her thoughts and wishes.  It is hard to imagine what it would be like to be trapped inside a body that you cannot control. But for a minute, just try to imagine what it would be like.  To need someone to scratch an itch but you can't ask them to do it.  To want to tell the person standing right next to you that they have laid something heavy on a tube that is inserted into your belly and it is yanking the fire out of your sensitive stoma skin.  The tears are pouring out of your eyes, but the person is distracted and they can't see your tears.  They don't notice you are in pain, until your crying occludes your airway with mucous secretions and you start turning blue, so they finally jump into action.  Now imagine this daily for 17 years.  But one day...Elizabeth had something to say.  Laura had worked for years on a machine called Dynavox that gives Elizabeth choices to pick from, like a multiple choice test.  It scans options for her and she can lift one knee (she does have that one muscle) to choose what she wants.  Laura had also worked with her to learn spelling.  This was a grueling process, because it was very difficult to know if she fully grasped what she was being taught.  Its very hard to test someone's abilities, with only yes or no answers available to her.

As often happens, Cindy--Elizabeth's Mom--had stayed home from work to care for her, because they had suddenly lost their day shift nurse.  Her name was Amanda.  Cindy was becoming stressed and tearful even.  When her school teacher arrived, Cindy took the opportunity to take a break in the other room.  After a short while, the teacher came out to where she was sitting and asked 'Who is Amanda?'  Elizabeth had made a sentence, her very first one.  It was "Amanda come back".  It was a landmark phrase, not unlike the one the astronauts uttered as they stepped onto the moon for the first time.  We'll never forget, least of all her Mom, the day Elizabeth said something for the first time. We only had to wait 16 1/2 years.

God gives Life.  He is Good and never cruel.

Some people would look at Elizabeth's life and say 'Why would God allow her to suffer like that?"  I don't know the answer to that question.  But here's what I do know.  Elizabeth has no skeletal muscle.  She cannot move anything on her own. Except for one muscle.  And with that one muscle she has been able to say yes, express enthusiasm, and SPELL WORDS.  God could have left that muscle out of her body like all the others.  But he gave her that so her family could talk to her and HEAR her.  He didn't have to.  He is gracious and always good.

Many years ago, Elizabeth got very sick, with Rotavirus.  She lost so much liquid and electrolytes from her body, she went into metabolic acidosis.  When we arrived at the hospital,  her body's pH was 'not compatible with life'.  As the days went by in the PICU, and she continued to look glassy eyed, the doctors tried to talk to Cindy and Mike about removing her from the ventilator. I remember Cindy's answer vividly.  "I can't kill a spider! How do they expect me to just turn off my daughter?" Then, one day, she began to recover.  She eventually restored back to even better health than she started with.  The miracles in her life would take days to recount.  God gives Life and He alone decides when it's over.

Last but not least, EVERY LIFE IS VALUABLE.  

There are those who would have, and in fact did, encourage Cindy to have an abortion.  You see, Elizabeth doesn't "contribute to society".  But the thing is, I've learned all these and many more valuable life lessons from her.  And I'm not the only one.  Elizabeth has impacted more lives than you can count.  Her life means so much to so many.  You will never convince me that abortion is merciful.  NEVER.

Oh and one more.

God made you Special, and He loves you VERY MUCH. ~Veggie Tales. 

Honesty

Honesty

Is such a lonely word
Everyone is so untrue
Honesty
Is hardly ever heard
And mostly what I need from you

~Billy Joel

Everywhere I turn, of late, women are talking about honesty.  Emily Freeman asks "What's Bothering You?"  A revolutionary question, she says, to ask yourself, and then honestly answer.  Glennon Melton has a series right now on her blog, Momastery, called Sacred Scared, where bloggers and world changers tell us honestly what they are afraid of, what they struggle with, who they are in the dark.   It's pretty incredible, actually.  And then of course, the IF:Gathering was two days worth of brutal, gut wrenching, honest conversation between women; and encouraging--almost begging--women to honestly seek the face of God, and also connection with each other.  I'm still reeling from that weekend.

So I'm about to get honest.  Brace yourself.  I figure not that many people read this, so it's safer than most places.

The thing is, I had pretty much gotten to the point where I actually believed that honesty was a fault.  I am by nature practical, a realist, and brutally honest.  Way more honest than most people really want me to be.  It comes across to a lot of people as mean.  Angry.  Too much.  Too honest.

Too honest?

I think that two word phrase is so ridiculous, I can't even believe it is something people actually think.  Like TMI.  TMH.  Too much honesty.

But I find I am walking around in a sea of superficial.  A lot of hi and goodbye; and how are you, fine; and I'll be praying for you via facebook.  Connection is lost and no one really knows anybody.  And no, I'm not blaming social media for that,  I'm blaming a lack of honesty.  Really letting people see your stuff.

So What bothers me? So so many things.  But right now, Sex.  All the SEX.  So much focus on it, so many people suffering consequences for it.  So many people acting like it is the end all, the goal, the ultimate good.  OR just something to do, completely opposite of sacred, love, or special.  Talk about a lie. And as a result, millions of unborn children, remain so, never to take their first breath. Yeah. There are many other things that bother me but that's a big one.

My Sacred Scared? Community.  Lately, I have received the news that a friend's family member has passed away too young, about once a week.  I am not exaggerating.  From a 29 year old mother, to an 11 month old grandson, bad news just keeps coming.  In the face of staggering grief all around me, I am more aware than ever that superficial is such a waste of time and energy.  Let's talk about something that matters, for crying out loud. Sometimes I joke that I don't like people.  The truth is I LOVE PEOPLE.  It's small talk I hate.  I love to hear what's really going on with people.

One of the Sacred Scared entries was from Kristen Howerton, a psychology professor, an in-demand speaker, a blogger, and a businesswoman."  She said "Small talk is exhausting and painfully awkward for me.  As a result, I have an awkward tendency of going WAY too deep in conversations with strangers as an attempt to avoid the chit-chat conversation and get to something meaningful. For example, at school pickup:

“Oh, hi. You must be Bella’s mom. (awkward pause) So what do you think happens when we die?”

- See more at: http://momastery.com/blog/2014/02/20/sacred-scared-day/#sthash.e8pTrbXt.dpuf

I SO relate.  I don't actually do that.  I instead try to make small talk, and it comes across loud and clear, that I really don't care.  Because I don't.  I don't care where you got that scarf, or who colors your hair, or how your day is going.  What I want to know is where you stand on homosexuality, and how you feel about the Sovereignty of God.  The weather is usually good for some easy small talk, but that makes me sound 80.  I sometimes feel like I am.

The IF:Gathering left me with a pierced heart.  Two things stay with me.  Confession.  And Forgiveness.  Years ago, a person spoke into a microphone in front of a crowd of people and said 'Alison, You're a hard person to love.'  It was like that person spoke a death sentence over my life, and every relationship in it.  Because it confirmed what I believed was true.

I really want to forgive that person.  And many others.  Forgiveness came so easy to me as a child and even as a young adult.  But somewhere along the way, it got harder.  The wounds got deeper and closer together, until all I could do was put up my unforgiveness as a protective barrier against any more.  I'ts going to be a long, painful journey I imagine.  Like the healing of a boil.  Hard and painful and then interminable days of infection draining.  Disgusting stuff unforgiveness.  But it's got to come out before the festering wounds of bitterness can heal.

16 Plus

So last year I said I would probably blog something meaningful this year for my birthday.  I said I would be depressed and I do my best writing then.  Ya'll, don't ever underestimate the prophetic power of a spoken--or in this case written--word.

SO I am 40 years old tomorrow.  The Middle, they call it.  God, I hope so.  To live longer than that sounds like torture. For me to say that, as a "Fighter for Life", I know seems wrong and morbid.  I know.  It's just I really want to hang out with Jesus.  If he wants to come sit on my couch, great!  But if not, please not more than this many years again, PLEASE.  Enough already.

I look at my beautiful young daughters, 16 and almost 14.  I try to remember what 16 felt like.  I expected to think of a whole list of changes.  And I can, certainly.  But what really stood out is all the things that are the same.  And how that is somehow comforting.  Most of them are comforting.

When I was 16, I really wanted to spend my life being a nurse, helping people who could not help themselves, specifically.  I felt that it was more than a want.  That it was my calling, my purpose.  So here I am, doing just that by God's grace.  My Elizabeth is 16 years old herself.  She is one of the biggest joys, challenges, faith builders and testers of my walk with God, and I am so grateful to know her.  I also get to care for mamas and speak up for the voices of their babies that they are trying so hard not to hear.  I don't know why I get to do it.  But it's comforting to know that God still wants me here.  Every year, I tell Him to remove me if I have become a hindrance.  I'm still here.  10 years and counting.

When I was 16, my dad had a heart attack, and an angioplasty at the age of 46, while I was at camp.  He turns 70 next week.  He continues to care for me, toting my kids all over the place, and providing a kind hug and prayer and guidance.  I'm so glad that hasn't ever changed.

I still love to sing.  To lead others in song.  When music is beautiful, God seems nearer than breath.

I still REALLY want to visit Montana/Wyoming.  Also New Zealand.

I still can't turn down chocolate in any form if you offer it to me.  If you have devious thoughts of killing me and hiding the body, just walk by and hand me an Andes Mint every few minutes.  It won't take long. I inherited my Dad's high cholesterol.

I can still quote just about every line from every movie I love.  Not at will, but when it fits the situation at hand.  There's a movie line for every situation ya'll.  I promise.  Just ask my kids.

When I was 16 I loved a good romance novel.  I've gotten sucked into the social media world admittedly, so I don't read nearly as much as I used to.  But I LOVE a sappy romance.  My current fave is a song actually.  Cassiopeia by Sara Bareilles.  And Pride and Prejudice, who can resist?  "I must first tell you that I have been an unmitigated and comprehensive ass."  ~Mr. Bingley.  The most profound words a man in love ever said to a woman.

And last but certainly not least, when I was 16, I fell in love with a boy.  I still love that boy desperately.  Speaking of Sara Bareilles...

Kiss me goodnight 

Like a good friend might 

I'll do the same 

But won't mean it 

Cause love is a cage 

These words on a page 

Carry the pain 

They don't free it 

In another life 

I wouldn't need to 

Console myself 

As I resign to release you 

Cause I would die to make you mine 

Bleed me dry each and every time 

I don't mind, no I don't mind it 

I would come back 1000 times 

You can make me wait forever 

Push me away and tell me never 

I don't mind, no I don't mind it 

I would come back 1000 times   (1000 times, 2013)

Which brings me back to how I'm aching to hang out with Jesus.  I really hope my love will hang with us.  It's only the Middle.  There's still time.  

I don't know what to say...

The best advice I ever "heard" about  tragedy was written in a book I read recently by Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet.  Something terrible and sad had happened to her. "Some people didn't know what to say, and they said just that: 'I heard what happened, and I don't know what to say.'  That is, I'm finding, a very good response.  Because there was another group of people who said nothing. I love them, and I know they love me, and the point is not what they did or didn't do, exactly. The point is that they taught me something, and it's this:  say something.  Always say something."

So here I go...I don't what to say.  My husband has seen and heard and experienced the unthinkable.  I don't what to say to him.  My daughters have friends who have lost everything they own, and they are sad for them, and they look at me with tears in their eyes, and I don't know what to say.  My friend is admitting that this is testing her faith.  Children dying a terribly tragic death doesn't make sense to her.  And she says it out loud.  I don't know what to say, friend.

Except this.  I hurt with you.  Every conversation I have about this tragic, horrific day makes me cry.  I lay awake last night with horrible images in my mind, and I cried.  I tried to encourage my daughter and we cried together.  There is no explaining this away, there is no theology that makes it feel better.  Its just terrible and sad and painful, and frightening, and....... I just don't know what to say about it.    I transported a few donations that were requested.  I plan to give blood later.  It all seems like a drop in a bottomless bucket.

All I am sure of is Jesus hurts with me.  I don't doubt it for a second.  I refuse to answer the unanswerable questions, and I refuse to blame God for my pain or anyone else's.  I won't say God has a reason.  It's unthinkable.  But at the end of it all, I will still love Him and I will still trust him.  I WILL NOT stop believing God.  Through gritted teeth, if necessary,  I will praise Him.  The devil will not win here. Ever.

Sex, Babies, and the Nile.

There's a growing trend to jump on the bandwagon of fighting against human trafficking.  An extremely horrifying reality in a global culture that has forgotten the value of human life.  A great cause to become involved in.  I pray many are rescued in the swell of support that organizations like International Justice Mission are currently receiving. And my greatest fear and most often prayed prayer is for protection for my beautiful daughters against such a travesty--to be taken from us and sold into slavery.

That being said...

Human trafficking is still illegal right?  There hasn't been some law changed recently that suddenly made it legal to sell children for sex?  Right?  Because I was just wondering...

Let's put a pin in that.

I was studying about Moses and Joshua recently.  Moses was born into a tumultuous time when the Hebrew people had sought refuge in a foreign country. There they were fed, perfectly welcome at first, while their own land was in a severe famine.  Then, they began to grow and proliferate as a people until the leader of the country, Pharoah, decided to put a stop to that.  He was terrified that they would revolt, and take over. And they were an inferior species in his eyes, so he decided it best to systematically kill them off.  First he tried having the midwives kill male babies in birth.  But the midwives would have none of it, and lied about not being able to make it to the births in time.  So he made a decree, a law you might say.  "Throw all the male Hebrew infants in the Nile River." That concept has always made my stomach turn.  What a horrific thing.  The soldiers in the Pharoah's command did what they were told.  It was the law, after all.

The same thing is happening right down the street from my office.  In Norman, Oklahoma.  Babies are being thrown into the river, to the tune of about 6,000 per year.  And its all done by law.  Legally.

And this due to the sexual revolution.  We are free to have sex whereever with whomever, for an reason whatever.  It's my body. my choice.  Oh, but don't get pregnant!  That would be irresponsible.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH US!??????

Sex = babies.  How can we possibly endorse free sex, and then punish a woman with such a choice when the inevitable outcome ensues?!! And NOT punish men for the very same??!!!

Moses' parents' did the only thing they could think of.  They hid their baby boy.  Why more parents didn't try it, I have no idea.  Maybe they did.  But Moses got lucky enough to be found floating in his little basket boat by Pharoah's daughter, and went home to be her new hobby. And subsequently led the people of Israel in the largest scale human rescue in recorded history.

I work at a place where we make basket boats.  Figuratively. Working one baby at a time to hide them from the law that says it's fine to throw them into the river.  Which, not coincidentally was a law that was pushed into existence by white eugenacists who didn't like the proliferation of the black culture in America after the slaves were freed.  They are an inferior species after all...

Where is outrage about this travesty?  Where is the swell of support for organizations like the Eden Clinic?  Where are the celebrity endorsements?  Where are the Twibbons and benefit concerts to SAVE THE BABIES!!!!!

Frankly I'm not in it to save babies, myself.  Because the babies are swept into the arms of Jesus in my opinion.  I'm in it to save a culture.  A future.  And the future of an entire generation of women who are destroying their emotional and spiritual well being. Legally. Right down the street.

Fight for Life.  It's worth it.

For More info on the Eden Clinic

Marlin and Me: It's Time to Let Go

Remember that scene in Finding Nemo where Dory and Nemo's Dad--who's name is Marlin according to Wikipedia, the source of all wisdom and knowledge--were in the mouth of the whale? and the whale is telling them to swim to the back?  Marlin freaks out and hangs on to whale tongue for dear life, while Dory screams at him to let go--that it's gonna be ok.  He says "How do you know?!!"  And her answer, so perfect.  "I don't!!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvUyfA06s3g

I love that movie and I love that scene, because the whole thing is about letting go.  It's a tough thing for control freaks like me and Marlin to let go. Tough thing is a ginormous understatement.

In my experience, and from watching others' experience, the tighter you have something in your grip, the more likely it is that, as a Christ Follower, you WILL eventually be asked to let it go, or have it wrenched from your bloody clenched fist.

Too harsh?  Meh.

I think that picture is also a ginormous understatement.  Because I have held too tightly to things before.  And I have watched other people do the same.  And as excruciating as it might feel at the time to let go, refusing to open up my hand and let God have whatever it is, becomes the most painful experience of all.  I have literally watched people lose their sanity in such situations.  Put yourself in Abram's shoes for just sec.  What if God asked you to take a road trip to, say, the Ozarks.  He said, take a hike up the mountain there, tie your oldest child up and kill her.  Have a nice time!

What in the heck?!  If God said that to one of us, we would say, that is from the Devil himself!  No way would God ask me to kill my own child?  I must be hearing the wrong voice!

But also suppose for a minute that Abram said that.  No way Jose', find some other moron to kill their kid for you.  I ain't doin it.  What would God have done then to get him out of the way-- in order to use someone else to accomplish his eternal plan for Israel, creation, and....me?

I've been involved in some pretty emotionally weighty things over the past few years.  The things God has asked me to do involve people's lives, sometimes caring for people in a way that bonds me tightly to them...and then having to let go of them into His capable hands.  It's rough.  But I know that if I refuse to let go, He will open up my hand for me.  And I will end up with broken bloody hands, and that is not pretty.  I know because I have watched friends and colleagues walk away with hands looking like that, so to speak.  Minds broken and worlds literally shattered because they refused to let go of something they had invested so much into, they had claimed squatters' rights to it.  In more than one instance, in more than one situation, in more than one season of life, I have seen someone before me suffer the pain of a forced release.  And I don't want that.  I know that God will welcome with open arms and a comforting lap of healing and forgiveness for any and all who need hands bandaged and help getting dressed for a while, (figuratively) because of two broken hands.  But I'd rather not go that way, and I have so far been blessed to have that example or that warning to stop me.  Letting Go is tough.  But not letting go is tougher.

So I will let go, because I know it's gonna be ok.  How do I know?  How do I know that nothing bad is going to happen?  Well, of course I don't.  Bad things happen every day.  If I let go of my tight grip on my daughter and let her go on a date, or drive somewhere alone, how do I know her date won't turn out to be a jackass who takes advantage of her, or her car won't swerve off the road and a wreck take her from me forever?  If I let go of my ministry, how do I know God won't ask me to step down and let someone else receive the reward of the harvest?  If I let go of my sweet Elizabeth the Great, how do I know she will be alright?  If I let go of my control over my husband's schedule and whereabouts, how do I know he is being faithful to me?

I don't.  Only God knows when and IF he will put a ram in the thicket for me.  Only He holds the future. And ONLY He loves me so much that all of it is good. For me.  For the big picture, for the love story He is writing, that I can only see a page of, much less a chapter.

It's time to let go.

Then wait, and watch yourself be swallowed into a dark place.  And just when you think it can't get any worse, at just the right moment, you'll shoot up into the sky on a whale-hole fountain into the place you were looking for all along.  P Sherman.  42 Wallaby Way, Sidney.