Really?!?
/
(alternate title: Speaking of vomit...)
Who thought these were acceptable as play food?
Who thought these were acceptable as play food?
The mess I've made
/
(Warning: this post may involve some discussion of the stomach bug we had this week. If you'd like to avoid vomit talk, move on.)
I love what parenting teaches me about God.
Flashback to last week, Monday morning. Our little guy started crying for me to come get him, so I opened the door to his room, which was still dark because we have great curtains in there to block the sun. So he could adjust his eyes to the light gradually, I didn't flip the light on. I usually pick him up, flip on the lamp by the changing table, and let him get used to the light.
I might not be so kind in the future.
This particular morning I noticed two things as I was halfway between the door and the crib: 1) Something stunk. and 2) Something was squishy under my feet.
Back to door. Flip the switch. Cue scene from The Exorcist after the chick's head has spun.
Oh, the vomit. With a smiling, bouncy(, smelly) boy standing in the middle of it.
I'm the momma, so I couldn't just walk out and let someone else deal with it. I had to figure out what to clean first. Everything - the carpet, the wall, the crib, the bedding, the curtains, the boy, his clothes - needed to be washed.
Why do I tell you this? It's not just to make you feel a little ill. (By the way, before I came to college in NC, I didn't know that "ill" could also mean annoyed or irritated. I was so confused when friends talked about being ill about something.)
I tell you this because it made me think of myself. I can get icky in my sin so that not only am I covered in it, but I have made a mess all around myself.
Just as I did with our little guy, God cleans me up. This part of theology most Americans agree with. "God loves you," emblazoned on bumper stickers, usually isn't considered to be an offensive statement. I love my little man, so I cleaned Him up. God loves me, so He washes me with the blood of Jesus to make me white as snow.
But, praise Him, He doesn't stop there. He's not okay with cleaning me up and then putting me back in my mess. That's where the Gospel starts to offend those who want God on their own terms. Sure, he can clean me up when I seek that, but I don't want Him to mess with my life. Through repentance and forgiveness and sweet, sweet grace, He restores my mess too.
It wouldn't have been okay for me to clean Robbie up and then put him back in that crib. It's not okay for me to seek forgiveness and then run back to my mess. God has redeemed me for more than that.
I love what parenting teaches me about God.
Flashback to last week, Monday morning. Our little guy started crying for me to come get him, so I opened the door to his room, which was still dark because we have great curtains in there to block the sun. So he could adjust his eyes to the light gradually, I didn't flip the light on. I usually pick him up, flip on the lamp by the changing table, and let him get used to the light.
I might not be so kind in the future.
This particular morning I noticed two things as I was halfway between the door and the crib: 1) Something stunk. and 2) Something was squishy under my feet.
Back to door. Flip the switch. Cue scene from The Exorcist after the chick's head has spun.
Oh, the vomit. With a smiling, bouncy(, smelly) boy standing in the middle of it.
I'm the momma, so I couldn't just walk out and let someone else deal with it. I had to figure out what to clean first. Everything - the carpet, the wall, the crib, the bedding, the curtains, the boy, his clothes - needed to be washed.
Why do I tell you this? It's not just to make you feel a little ill. (By the way, before I came to college in NC, I didn't know that "ill" could also mean annoyed or irritated. I was so confused when friends talked about being ill about something.)
I tell you this because it made me think of myself. I can get icky in my sin so that not only am I covered in it, but I have made a mess all around myself.
Just as I did with our little guy, God cleans me up. This part of theology most Americans agree with. "God loves you," emblazoned on bumper stickers, usually isn't considered to be an offensive statement. I love my little man, so I cleaned Him up. God loves me, so He washes me with the blood of Jesus to make me white as snow.
But, praise Him, He doesn't stop there. He's not okay with cleaning me up and then putting me back in my mess. That's where the Gospel starts to offend those who want God on their own terms. Sure, he can clean me up when I seek that, but I don't want Him to mess with my life. Through repentance and forgiveness and sweet, sweet grace, He restores my mess too.
It wouldn't have been okay for me to clean Robbie up and then put him back in that crib. It's not okay for me to seek forgiveness and then run back to my mess. God has redeemed me for more than that.
What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer? Or don't you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. For sin shall not be your master, because you are not under law, but under grace.
Romans 6:1-4, 14
A watched pot
/
can still brew coffee just fine.
(A neglected wall of spackle that needs to be sanded and painted needs a little more than just watching, though. Hmm, I need to get on that.)
(A neglected wall of spackle that needs to be sanded and painted needs a little more than just watching, though. Hmm, I need to get on that.)
MUST READ: I Will Carry You by Angie Smith
/
If I could only tell you one thing about I Will Carry You by Angie Smith, it would be this: You. MUST. Read. This. Book.
Seriously.
If you didn’t catch this from what I wrote above, let me rephrase it: I think every woman should read I Will Carry You, whether or not you’ve experienced the loss of a child. (And, guys, if your wife or another woman close to you has lost a child, you should read it too.) I haven’t lost a child, but I have supported friends who have. And this book spoke to corners of my life where I have experienced loss – loss of health, loss of dreams, loss of friends.
(The one loss neither Angie nor I have experienced was the loss of hope. Praise Jesus that hope rests in Him and not our circumstances!)
Angie Smith, the wife of the lead singer of Selah, wrote this tender book about the loss of her daughter Audrey. She was eighteen weeks pregnant when doctors told her that her baby had conditions that were incompatible with life. They chose for her to carry Audrey throughout the rest of the pregnancy, and this book chronicles their story – from beginning of pregnancy and beyond the end of Audrey’s life on earth.
It’s a tough book. A get-yourself-a-whole-box-of-tissues kind of book. It will break your heart. But, somehow, it will encourage you at the same time. It’s encouraging because of things like her reaction immediately after getting the news about that her baby isn’t expected to survive. When the doctor asks what she’s thinking, she says, “I think my Jesus is the same as He was before I walked through that door.” Amen to that.
She dives into the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead in great detail. I will never look at that passage the same way. Here’s what she wrote about John 11:35 (which, as the shortest verse in the Bible, says “Jesus wept”):
We don’t have a God who is oblivious to our human experience. Instead, Hebrews 4:15-16 tells us this: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” What a blessing it is that we can approach His throne! Christ prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, acknowledging the Father’s ability to do anything and asking for the cup of suffering to be taken from Him … and then (get this!) prays, “Yet not what I will, but what you will” (Mark 14:36 and Matthew 26:39) and “may your will be done” (Matthew 26:42).
In Gethsemane, Christ serves as the perfect example of how we can approach suffering, asking for a change in circumstance but submitting whether God says yes or no to our request. Angie isn’t a perfect example for us like Christ is, but she is a precious example of what it looks like for an imperfect woman to take a similar path. And her writing style is vulnerable and real enough to make me wish she was my best friend.
I wrote this at the beginning, and I’ll say it again: you must read this book. It is both heartbreaking and heartening at the same time. It may empty you of tears, but it will fill you with hope as well.
The FTC requires that I disclose that B&H Publishing Group provided this book for me to review. B&H, however, required nothing from me and didn't ask for a positive review or anything else. Therefore, I like the letters B&H more than F, T, or C, but I include this disclaimer because I also like not being fined by the FTC.
Seriously.
If you didn’t catch this from what I wrote above, let me rephrase it: I think every woman should read I Will Carry You, whether or not you’ve experienced the loss of a child. (And, guys, if your wife or another woman close to you has lost a child, you should read it too.) I haven’t lost a child, but I have supported friends who have. And this book spoke to corners of my life where I have experienced loss – loss of health, loss of dreams, loss of friends.
(The one loss neither Angie nor I have experienced was the loss of hope. Praise Jesus that hope rests in Him and not our circumstances!)
Angie Smith, the wife of the lead singer of Selah, wrote this tender book about the loss of her daughter Audrey. She was eighteen weeks pregnant when doctors told her that her baby had conditions that were incompatible with life. They chose for her to carry Audrey throughout the rest of the pregnancy, and this book chronicles their story – from beginning of pregnancy and beyond the end of Audrey’s life on earth.
It’s a tough book. A get-yourself-a-whole-box-of-tissues kind of book. It will break your heart. But, somehow, it will encourage you at the same time. It’s encouraging because of things like her reaction immediately after getting the news about that her baby isn’t expected to survive. When the doctor asks what she’s thinking, she says, “I think my Jesus is the same as He was before I walked through that door.” Amen to that.
She dives into the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead in great detail. I will never look at that passage the same way. Here’s what she wrote about John 11:35 (which, as the shortest verse in the Bible, says “Jesus wept”):
I want to share a beautiful distinction I came upon months after Audrey's death as I poured over these verses. At first glance it appears that Jesus, May, and Martha were sobbing together, but the original language of the text reveals that while Jesus was weeping (dakryo), the women were wailing (klaio). While Mary and Martha were crying out in agony over the loss of their brother, their tears moved Jesus, and He began to weep. This is the only occurrence of dakryo in the entire New Testament. He isn't crying over the death of Lazarus but rather the hurt He is experiencing with people He loves dearly. He isn't crying because the situation is hopeless, but because He is an empathetic God.
He knows that in a few moments Lazarus will walk out of the tomb.
He also knows they can't see that hope.
And neither can we.
There is a difference in despair and deep sadness over the time that will pass until we can see her again. It is a conscious, daily choice to experience dakryo, the sadness that allows one to grieve with the expectation of redemption.
We don’t have a God who is oblivious to our human experience. Instead, Hebrews 4:15-16 tells us this: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin. Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” What a blessing it is that we can approach His throne! Christ prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, acknowledging the Father’s ability to do anything and asking for the cup of suffering to be taken from Him … and then (get this!) prays, “Yet not what I will, but what you will” (Mark 14:36 and Matthew 26:39) and “may your will be done” (Matthew 26:42).
In Gethsemane, Christ serves as the perfect example of how we can approach suffering, asking for a change in circumstance but submitting whether God says yes or no to our request. Angie isn’t a perfect example for us like Christ is, but she is a precious example of what it looks like for an imperfect woman to take a similar path. And her writing style is vulnerable and real enough to make me wish she was my best friend.
I wrote this at the beginning, and I’ll say it again: you must read this book. It is both heartbreaking and heartening at the same time. It may empty you of tears, but it will fill you with hope as well.
The FTC requires that I disclose that B&H Publishing Group provided this book for me to review. B&H, however, required nothing from me and didn't ask for a positive review or anything else. Therefore, I like the letters B&H more than F, T, or C, but I include this disclaimer because I also like not being fined by the FTC.
This guy
/
likes food.
