The Truth

Poetic.
Succinct.
Powerful.
Clear.

Best of all ... true.

The Terrifying Face of Love

I had a monumental epiphany tonight and it completely scared me.

(Disclaimer: I'm still trying to sort this all out in my mind so I'm not sure this post is going to make a whole lot of sense, but I want to share it anyway.)

So here is my earth-shattering epiphany ... are you ready for it?

I love my daughter.

I know what you're probably thinking, "Um, hello. You're her mom. You're just now realizing that? What is wrong with you?"

But stick with me.

The epiphany-causing part of this realization is not the fact that I love my daughter, but the depth of my love for her. It's SO much deeper than any emotion I've ever felt before. I've never experienced anything even remotely close to how I feel about Cara. It's taken the concept of love to a whole new level.

And this realization scares me. A lot.

What it comes down to is a lack of trust. Basically, I'm scared to trust God with my daughter. Even though it's completely backwards and doesn't make any sense, I'm afraid that because I love Cara so much, He's going to allow something to happen to her in order to teach me something ... maybe surrender or acceptance. Isn't that a ridiculous and twisted fear? I "know" that God is good and loving and compassionate. I "know" that He works all things together for good. But I also know that this world is a fallen, broken, messed up place with lots of pain and heartache. I know that many people suffer unfathomable losses allowed by God for His greater purpose.

Frankly, I'm afraid that my loving Cara so much will cause God to allow that to be taken from me in order to show me that all I need is Him. (See what I mean about being backwards? Seriously ... I'm a mess.)

But even in the midst of this consuming fear, I also see the other side. After the volatile final seven weeks of my pregnancy, how can I ever doubt God - the One that chose to give us a baby girl who is the picture of perfect health?

A little background: At 33 weeks my placenta started showing signs of calcification and the doctors were convinced that I would have to be induced early to save my baby. I was monitored twice a week and at every ultrasound the baby had to score at least 8 out of a possible 10 points for the doctors to feel okay with letting things progress naturally. Every single time our baby scored a 10. But it wasn't just barely a 10. She would complete all the necessary actions within the first few minutes of being on the monitor. Every time. She literally defied every expectation of our doctors. She came naturally, two days before her due date, and the first five months of her life have continued to demonstrate that despite what the doctors predicted, Cara is the epitome of perfect health.

Is this rambling making any sense? Even as I'm writing, I feel like an out of control ping pong ball, bouncing wildly back and forth between what I know to be true and what I feel (read: fear).

The Truth is that God loves me more than I can even begin to fathom. What I feel for Cara? That's just a tiny fraction of how God feels about me. He won't allow anything in my life without a purpose and whatever He allows me to experience, without it I wouldn't become who He wants me to be.

Bottom line. The deepest desire of my heart is to please God, whatever it takes.

Or whomever it takes.

Now I Want to Buy a Volkswagen

This is brilliant.

Heaven

"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world."

-C.S. Lewis (Mere Christianity)

Book Review: Same Kind of Different as Me

Last year I signed up to occasionally review books for Thomas Nelson Publishers. I recently read Same Kind of Different as Me by Ron Hall and Denver Moore.

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I loved this book. It easily makes the short list of my favorite books.

Same Kind of Different as Me tells the story of the unlikely friendship between Ron Hall, an international art dealer, and Denver Moore, a homeless man from Louisiana. After much persuasion from Ron's wife, he reluctantly starts volunteering at a homeless shelter where he meets Denver. His life is never the same. Denver opens Ron's eyes to a whole new world - one where money means nothing and relationship means everything. Little does he know that Denver will bring him through the darkest time in his life.

Told in both the refined, grammatically correct words of Hall and the slow, Louisiana drawl of Moore, this book captivated me from the start. It is extremely well written and made me both laugh out loud and cry hard. It inspired me to look beyond my own comfortable world to see what God might want to teach me through someone who is different than me.

This book demonstrates what it can be like when the Body of Christ functions as God intended it - distinctly different members mutually supporting and loving each other to the benefit of all. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

Daddy Stuff to Remember

I'm afraid of forgetting. I've heard this before from people who have lost someone, and I've always thought How could you forget? But it makes sense now. It's the small things I don't want to forget...

I don't want to forget the way his glasses sat perpetually crooked on his nose. He bought them by the six-pack from Costco and they were inevitably getting bent so they never sat straight.

I don't want to forget his gigantic, old school headphones he wore while doing yard work so that he wouldn't miss a Rockies game.

I don't want to forget how he'd let me come plop on his lap anytime, even when I was an adult and even though (as many others have said) I have a bony butt.

I don't want to forget how he wrote emails text messages like a teenage girl, using all sorts of abbreviations like CU L8R and TY and always signed it :> D because he never figured out that the parentheses sign made a better smile. Or maybe he liked it that way.

I don't want to forget how he could whip out pizza dough in 10 minutes and no matter how much I practice, mine never tastes as good as his.

I don't want to forget his huge, quart-sized mug that he would drink herbal tea out of every morning. One of us got it as a souvenir at Disneyworld in 1992 and he used it ever since.

I don't want to forget how he'd always raise his hands and close his eyes during worship in church, even when the song wasn't a "hand raising" song and even when he was the only one.

I don't want to forget the way he always called me Beck, never Becky.

I don't want to forget the way he loved to tell OPJs and then would sit there with this pleased grin on his face while we all groaned.

I don't want to forget how much he loved to eat ice cream. He always had seconds. Always. And if there was a small amount left in the container, he "had" to finish it.

As time goes by, I know these memories will start to fade. I wish there was a way to stop that from happening. I guess I took for granted the fact that he'd still be around doing this stuff for a long time so I wouldn't have to remember it. I'm grateful for the time God gave us with him but I wish it weren't over quite so soon.

I miss my dad.

The Tapestry

It's been just over three months since I last wrote. In that time, my life has changed dramatically. Two major events shaped the last 12 weeks, both of which will deeply impact the rest of my life. The beginning of one life and the end of another. A joyful and happy beginning and terrible and painful ending.

So how will I remember the last three months of 2010? On the one hand, my daughter, Cara Grace, was born. She is perfect. Beautiful, happy, easy-going. A complete joy. On the other, my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma (bone marrow cancer.) It was agressive. Nasty, horrendous, awful. A devastating disease. The diagnosis came a short three weeks after Cara was born and I was still in the midst of the postpartum hormonal roller-coaster. Needless to say, I was an emotional yo-yo.

The cancer advanced rapidly, almost as fast as my precious baby grew. Every day she would do something new, and every day they discovered a new way the cancer had grown. As my daughter grew healthy and stronger day by day, my dad got sicker and weaker.

By mid-December, less than three months since we first heard the word cancer, Dad was completely incapacitated. He had total kidney failure and had to be on dialysis three times a week. He had fluid around his lungs so he had to be on supplemental oxygen. He wasn't able to walk because he had several tumors on his spine. He was in pain all the time and had lost a lot of weight including all of his body fat. His body had failed him.

By mid-December, less than three months since we first laid eyes on her, Cara was sleeping 12 hours a night and cracking us up with her crazy expressions and baby smiles. She had healthy, glowing skin and grown pudgy and dimpled from her high calorie breast milk diet. She was cooing and gurgling with glee at the everyone who spoke to her. She was a picture of perfect health.

Christmas week. Cara experiences her first Christmas morning. Dad goes into the ICU and ends up on a ventilator. Less than 24 hours later, we are called to the hospital and have to make the dreadful decision to end life support. We sit with Dad until the end. After four excruciating hours, it is over.

The worst three months of my life and the best three months of my life. Life and death woven together to create a beautiful, tragic tapestry.