Last night was a rough one. I was awakened at about 1:30 a.m. by my 22-month-old, who spent the better part of the next two hours screaming for no apparent reason. By the time my husband and I got her settled back down in her crib my stomach realized it was hungry and led me into the kitchen for some crackers. Shortly after 3 a.m., my 2-month-old son decided he was hungry too, and you know the rest.
But over a bowl of Raisin Bran at 6 a.m. I thanked the Lord for sending me to my children's bedsides because those middle-of-the-night encounters give me something I never got in the same way before having children: a firsthand glimpse of God's character.
Cradling Katie in the dim glow of her nightlight, I looked down into big blue eyes while she twirled a lock of my hair and finally relaxed her busy toddler body. Later, after my son's cries for milk were quieted, he looked up at me with a huge gummy grin and cooed as if he were chatting with an old friend over a cup of hot tea. My heart melted into my chest, sinking me deeper into the cushions of the rocker, ready to hold him just a little while longer so we could finish our silent conversation.
Parenthood is such a portrait of God's relationship with us, beginning even in our infancy. Something disturbs our contentment until we cry out for Him, and He always responds with a warm embrace and a comfort only He can give. It's in those moments on the parental night shift that God whispers what He longs for from us, His children - love, trust and a total reliance on Him. How many times have I longed to crawl into His lap, let go of my discontentment and find rest? How must he long for me to delight in His presence with the same adoration my son's gaze speaks to my soul?
Sleep deprived as I may be, I'm glad the Lord allowed me to be called out of my sleep and to my children's bedsides because He met me there. And that's always worth losing sleep over.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A Call to Pray and More About Bob
It's a little embarrassing to me that being a stay-at-home mom who nurses an infant has meant considerable time watching television for me. Not that I'm against watching TV, mind you, but I truly don't want it on all day nor do I want my toddler to be glued to it. But earlier this week I caught a few minutes of The View and was really disheartened by a thread of conversation in which the hosts discussed what sort of behaviors of other passengers on an airplane would bother them. One of their answers was if someone was praying, quoting Scripture or reading the Bible aloud. One of the ladies elaborated, saying that any behavior that she deems "out of the ordinary" would prompt her to get off the plane.
Since when did praying and reading the Bible become such odd behavior? Why is that so offensive? Is it simply that airplane passengers don't want to be reminded of the hereafter when they're in a situation that could potentially deliver them there sooner than expected? (By the way, death usually comes sooner than one expects it.) No, I think it has more to do with two states of our society: First, many in our culture don't want to be told that they're accountable to anyone, let alone a sovereign God. Second, Christians have become so silent in the public arena that few recognize our practices or motivations behind them. We've all but lost our saltiness.
In recent months, the Lord has put a heavy burden on my heart to pray for His people, and I would ask other believers to do the same. Of course, a good deal of this stems from a deep concern for this country in particular, but I think that it's His church on the whole that needs revival in a most serious sense. For those who have an ear for the Word, you know what season we're in, but the Lord has called us to continue to serve Him by spreading the Gospel in truth and love. We're still called to work for Him. We're still called to care for widows, orphans, the poor and others who cannot care for themselves. We're still called to stand for what we know to be true - not resign ourselves to the cultural entropy. Worse, we're signing off on it as if societal norms are OK. Not only are they not OK, but they dishonor God.
Please, please pray fervently for God's people to be emboldened and for our nation to ask for forgiveness, turn from its wicked ways and seek the Lord because it's only then that we can expect our land to be healed.
In completely unrelated news, Monday's MRI showed no changes in Bob the Benign Brain Tumor's size from 2005 - very good news, as surgery to remove him would involve metal objects up my nose. Bob sends his love.
Since when did praying and reading the Bible become such odd behavior? Why is that so offensive? Is it simply that airplane passengers don't want to be reminded of the hereafter when they're in a situation that could potentially deliver them there sooner than expected? (By the way, death usually comes sooner than one expects it.) No, I think it has more to do with two states of our society: First, many in our culture don't want to be told that they're accountable to anyone, let alone a sovereign God. Second, Christians have become so silent in the public arena that few recognize our practices or motivations behind them. We've all but lost our saltiness.
In recent months, the Lord has put a heavy burden on my heart to pray for His people, and I would ask other believers to do the same. Of course, a good deal of this stems from a deep concern for this country in particular, but I think that it's His church on the whole that needs revival in a most serious sense. For those who have an ear for the Word, you know what season we're in, but the Lord has called us to continue to serve Him by spreading the Gospel in truth and love. We're still called to work for Him. We're still called to care for widows, orphans, the poor and others who cannot care for themselves. We're still called to stand for what we know to be true - not resign ourselves to the cultural entropy. Worse, we're signing off on it as if societal norms are OK. Not only are they not OK, but they dishonor God.
Please, please pray fervently for God's people to be emboldened and for our nation to ask for forgiveness, turn from its wicked ways and seek the Lord because it's only then that we can expect our land to be healed.
In completely unrelated news, Monday's MRI showed no changes in Bob the Benign Brain Tumor's size from 2005 - very good news, as surgery to remove him would involve metal objects up my nose. Bob sends his love.
Friday, October 9, 2009
What about Bob?
For those of you who don't know who Bob is when I drop his name in casual conversation, he's inside my head. It's a tiny benign tumor that lives inside my pituitary gland, which itself is only the size of a pea.
It's a potentially problematic place for a tumor - as if there's a handy spot in the body to grow one - because the pituitary gland controls the production of a host of hormones that in a female control everything from thyroid function to reproduction and lactation. These types of tumors cause those hormones - typically all of them - to go haywire, but Bob has only stunted the production of thyroid hormone in my body. In fact, I've proven to be quite fertile and haven't had trouble nursing either of my kids. What's more interesting is that during each of my pregnancies my thyroid hormone levels have rebounded to some degree. And for that, my endocrinologist says I'm weird.
I was diagnosed five years ago, after a long battle with severe fatigue followed by spurts of rapid weight loss (of course, that's the part of the disease I can embrace). Blood tests showed my levels of thyroid hormone popping up and down like a yo-yo, and they didn't correspond with another key hormone - the one emitted by the pituitary gland. It simply wasn't regulating, well, me. So scans of my brain revealed I had a little extra something in my brain.
You can imagine having your doctor tell you that you have a brain tumor - yes, that's what a pituitary tumor is considered. It really was frightening at first, until I learned just how common these things are. I've read that up to 25 percent of the population has them, it's just that most people don't realize they have them until they start throwing off major body functions, as Bob did in my case.
So, back to "Bob." Since there was no indication that the tumor was cancerous and, unless he grew to interfere with my vision, he'd probably be coexisting with me for the rest of my life, I decided to name him. I figured I can't be afraid of something called Bob - full name, Bob the benign tumor. So Bob and I settled in for a long, happy existence together, agreeing that we'd check on him via MRI each year or so.
Soon after his discovery, I got married. A few months later, we checked on Bob with another MRI. No changes were noted, so I largely forgot about him. Poor little thing. That's what marriage will do. Then I became pregnant. My endocrinologist decided to err on the side of caution and skip our annual MRI. The next year I was nursing Katie, so we skipped it again. The third year, I was pregnant again and, you guessed it, we decided against the MRI.
Now that Adam has been born, my endocrinologist has decided that she can't wait for me to be between pregnancies and not nursing a baby, as I seem to have turned into some sort of factory. So after more than three years of estrangement, I'll see Bob again after my long-awaited MRI on Monday. That's right, at the advice of many throughout my lifetime, I'm getting my head examined on Monday. The MRI will confirm once again that I do in fact have grey matter between my ears. But what's more is that we hope it also confirms that Bob is still his same old jovial self. We hope so.
It's a potentially problematic place for a tumor - as if there's a handy spot in the body to grow one - because the pituitary gland controls the production of a host of hormones that in a female control everything from thyroid function to reproduction and lactation. These types of tumors cause those hormones - typically all of them - to go haywire, but Bob has only stunted the production of thyroid hormone in my body. In fact, I've proven to be quite fertile and haven't had trouble nursing either of my kids. What's more interesting is that during each of my pregnancies my thyroid hormone levels have rebounded to some degree. And for that, my endocrinologist says I'm weird.
I was diagnosed five years ago, after a long battle with severe fatigue followed by spurts of rapid weight loss (of course, that's the part of the disease I can embrace). Blood tests showed my levels of thyroid hormone popping up and down like a yo-yo, and they didn't correspond with another key hormone - the one emitted by the pituitary gland. It simply wasn't regulating, well, me. So scans of my brain revealed I had a little extra something in my brain.
You can imagine having your doctor tell you that you have a brain tumor - yes, that's what a pituitary tumor is considered. It really was frightening at first, until I learned just how common these things are. I've read that up to 25 percent of the population has them, it's just that most people don't realize they have them until they start throwing off major body functions, as Bob did in my case.
So, back to "Bob." Since there was no indication that the tumor was cancerous and, unless he grew to interfere with my vision, he'd probably be coexisting with me for the rest of my life, I decided to name him. I figured I can't be afraid of something called Bob - full name, Bob the benign tumor. So Bob and I settled in for a long, happy existence together, agreeing that we'd check on him via MRI each year or so.
Soon after his discovery, I got married. A few months later, we checked on Bob with another MRI. No changes were noted, so I largely forgot about him. Poor little thing. That's what marriage will do. Then I became pregnant. My endocrinologist decided to err on the side of caution and skip our annual MRI. The next year I was nursing Katie, so we skipped it again. The third year, I was pregnant again and, you guessed it, we decided against the MRI.
Now that Adam has been born, my endocrinologist has decided that she can't wait for me to be between pregnancies and not nursing a baby, as I seem to have turned into some sort of factory. So after more than three years of estrangement, I'll see Bob again after my long-awaited MRI on Monday. That's right, at the advice of many throughout my lifetime, I'm getting my head examined on Monday. The MRI will confirm once again that I do in fact have grey matter between my ears. But what's more is that we hope it also confirms that Bob is still his same old jovial self. We hope so.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
And so we begin
When I was growing up several well-intentioned souls gave me diaries as gifts, encouraging me to record my important thoughts and to review them years down the road. I'd start them out and maybe record three or four entries before deciding that keeping a diary was not for me. I figured if one kept a diary, it was just an invitation for others to read it. But let's face it, no one wants to read a 10-year-old girl's diary, except maybe a 10-year-old boy. I've also shunned diary-keeping in my adulthood because I figure no one would want to read it in the first place - chiefly me, as often I am mortified by my thoughts of the past. And truth be told, my thoughts of late aren't much better.
With that in mind, many might be shocked that I spent about a decade as a professional writer. I really loved news writing. It had absolutely nothing to do with me and only revealed my ignorance when I made a mistake, which by the way was all too often in the beginning. I mean, I'm good and opinionated but I try not to put too many of my thoughts in writing unless I'm certain I've taken enough time to ponder them thoroughly. Later in my career I dabbled in writing columns and found that I really liked expressing my thoughts on certain subjects, mostly when it came to family life and matters of faith. And that makes sense because they're the two most important aspects of life to me.
These days I'm a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a very loving husband and our two kids, both under age 2. Life at home is fairly hectic and most of the time we're not here is spent at our church. So writing hasn't gotten much time from me in the last couple of years, and I have to admit I miss it. Maybe that will be enough of a reason to blog, which if you ask me is simply a digital diary. So let's give it a whirl, shall we?
The blog's title, 500 Witnesses, is a reference to the Apostle Paul's notation that more than 500 people witnessed Jesus Christ in His resurrected form. Writing to the early church just a few decades after Christ's resurrection, Paul was giving believers a vehicle to back up the Gospel message. I mean, more than 500 of their contemporaries had seen with their own eyes a walking, talking Jesus after his death and burial. Some had walked along with Him. Some had shared a meal with Him. And at least one - Thomas - had touched the scars that marred his flesh. But even today followers of Jesus are witnesses too. He has rescued us from the grips of a spiritual death that a life apart from God promises. He has revealed Himself to us through faith. We've seen lives changed. We've felt the peace only He can bring. Yes, I am another witness. And someday I'll see Him in the flesh, feel the embrace of His arms and drink in the sound of His voice. Until then, I'm humbled to live day to day in His grace and I'm learning more about Him as I go along.
So I plan to share my ruminations when I get a few minutes to write. Many posts will regard faith, others politics and still others no doubt will revolve around what I'm learning while living with two little ones. Speaking of the latter, see if you can chart the decline of my intellect and sanity as the months and years roll on - you'll know the source.
With that in mind, many might be shocked that I spent about a decade as a professional writer. I really loved news writing. It had absolutely nothing to do with me and only revealed my ignorance when I made a mistake, which by the way was all too often in the beginning. I mean, I'm good and opinionated but I try not to put too many of my thoughts in writing unless I'm certain I've taken enough time to ponder them thoroughly. Later in my career I dabbled in writing columns and found that I really liked expressing my thoughts on certain subjects, mostly when it came to family life and matters of faith. And that makes sense because they're the two most important aspects of life to me.
These days I'm a stay-at-home mom, taking care of a very loving husband and our two kids, both under age 2. Life at home is fairly hectic and most of the time we're not here is spent at our church. So writing hasn't gotten much time from me in the last couple of years, and I have to admit I miss it. Maybe that will be enough of a reason to blog, which if you ask me is simply a digital diary. So let's give it a whirl, shall we?
The blog's title, 500 Witnesses, is a reference to the Apostle Paul's notation that more than 500 people witnessed Jesus Christ in His resurrected form. Writing to the early church just a few decades after Christ's resurrection, Paul was giving believers a vehicle to back up the Gospel message. I mean, more than 500 of their contemporaries had seen with their own eyes a walking, talking Jesus after his death and burial. Some had walked along with Him. Some had shared a meal with Him. And at least one - Thomas - had touched the scars that marred his flesh. But even today followers of Jesus are witnesses too. He has rescued us from the grips of a spiritual death that a life apart from God promises. He has revealed Himself to us through faith. We've seen lives changed. We've felt the peace only He can bring. Yes, I am another witness. And someday I'll see Him in the flesh, feel the embrace of His arms and drink in the sound of His voice. Until then, I'm humbled to live day to day in His grace and I'm learning more about Him as I go along.
So I plan to share my ruminations when I get a few minutes to write. Many posts will regard faith, others politics and still others no doubt will revolve around what I'm learning while living with two little ones. Speaking of the latter, see if you can chart the decline of my intellect and sanity as the months and years roll on - you'll know the source.
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