suffering

A Hard, Hard Season (My 11th Pregnancy and Postpartum)

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 2 Comments

I haven’t written very much in the past 3 years.  I haven’t posted anything on my blog since 2023.  I have so much inside, and it is time to get it out.  I fear exposure and being too vulnerable, but I also know my story is not just my own. I know there are others out there who have lived through a hard, hard season and may be haunted by the trauma left behind.

I want to tell my story of God’s goodness in it all!

               The year 2023 started with many God encounters.  I experienced the love of God as my father and my mother in deeper ways than I had before.  Jesus started opening my heart to His romantic advances.  I had knowledge of this divine romance, but had little experience with it. Jesus was wooing me!  Waves and waves of His love would roll over me culminating at the Women’s Encounter in March (called Waves) when I discovered that I was pregnant at 47 with baby 11. I was so thrilled!  Intimacy produces good fruit, doesn’t it?

               I had so much faith for this season.  I prayed that God would redeem all trauma from my 10th pregnancy and birth. I prayed for supernatural healing and for the best pregnancy and birth yet!  I heard through a couple sources a word from God, “I will give you all that you have asked for (1 Kings 5:8).” 

               I asked for a homebirth that would redeem the nightmare homebirth turned ambulance ride from 5 years ago.  But the health care professionals I reached out to labeled me “high risk.”  God worked a miracle!  I friend introduced me to a “Crunchy Mama” Facebook page which introduced me to a “Homebirth” page which introduced me to a midwife who was currently pregnant with her 10th, in her 40s, and had successfully delivered many women like me at home.

               I struggled to get through the first trimester, but that is always the case for me.  I was looking forward to the second trimester and taking the family vacation we had already planned for June.  That beautiful, glorious vacation at a house along the Loyalsock Creek began my descent into despair.  I had been hoping to be full of energy for every family outing, but I had to push myself to do anything.  I still was nauseous from the first trimester, but the aches and pains plus varicose veins from the third trimester were already upon me. I had picked out the cutest outfit to wear on a date with Chris, but alas, I was already too big to wear it! Feeling old, big, and ugly; I still looked for a God encounter.

God speaks to me on every vacation we take, and this year we had revisited the area where I had first spotted an eagle. I had purchased a photo of the eagle at the Hills Grove General Store right before I walked outside and saw the eagle in person!  That was six years ago, and what a wonderful adventure it has been, learning to soar with God above the earth. I tell all about it in previous blog post , and part 2

               We planned a trip to the same store which is now called the McCarthy Mercantile.  It looked much the same, but no eagles inside or outside! That was on Tuesday. On Wednesday I was talking to God about seeing an eagle again. It had been such a long time since I had seen one.  We were leaving Saturday morning, and I didn’t want my God encounter to slip away.  I was standing by an open window, listening to the rushing water of the creek outside. What a calming sound.

               “This time it isn’t about the eagle.  It is about the water,” I heard God say.

               Oh, it was so good to hear His voice!  But what did He mean?  I loved the symbol of the eagle dearly and missed it.  I pictured the waterfall that Much-Afraid beheld in Hinds Feet on High Places. The water was joyfully leaping down the mountain, to be broken on the rocks and to flow ever lower until it met with the expanse of the ocean. 

               “Am I supposed to be like that? To go lower and lower and to pour myself out like a drink offering?  To not care if I live or die.  To be happy about sorrow and suffering?”

               This thought was not nearly as thrilling as soaring like an eagle.  Even though I knew that God is always good and loving, I felt discouraged.

               “This isn’t what I wanted, what I was hoping for,” I whispered to Him.  If He offered me comfort, I did not hear it.

               As the second trimester was nearing the third, I couldn’t resolve my severe anemia, and I blamed it for all my weird symptoms like shortness of breath, extreme fatigue, and an unsteadiness that hindered me from walking in a straight line.  I was supposed to be out walking, but I felt like I couldn’t walk!  I was supposed to be doing exercises, but I felt like I could hardly move. I finally received an iron infusion and prayed that it would work since my midwife had been threatening to transfer my care to Divine Mercy Hospital.

               It worked, at least my bloodwork said it did.  But I felt no different. I wondered how I was going to get through my third trimester with this feeling and my core muscles already threatening to give out on me completely. Despite God’s love for me, one thought kept returning.

               “If God loves me so much, why would He want me to suffer?”

               In September I had a dream that felt very spiritual.  In my dream, I was on vacation in the mountains at a Christian Retreat Center.  I was sleeping so much that I hadn’t even seen the mountains.  I saw two of my other friends heading out for a hike, and I didn’t want them to think that I couldn’t handle my pregnancy, so I rushed to follow them.  My five-year-old daughter Aria joined me. 

               When we stepped out to take a walk, we found ourselves viewing a cityscape like New York City.  We were in a high rise with floor to ceiling glass and the view was amazing!  I saw some very large birds flying among the skyscrapers and stepped closer to the glass.  Could they be eagles?

               One bird started flying straight for me and in excitement I thought, “This could be my God Encounter!”

               The eagle flew right up to the glass and hovered there. It was much larger than I had first thought.  Horror filled my heart as I saw what the eagle really was. It was covered with fluffy white feathers, and one wing had been mangled.  The bloody twisted bones protruded where the feathers had been stripped.  But it’s face!  Not the face of an eagle but the face of a man.  A man with chalky white skin and pink and red makeup drawn haphazardly around the eyes, like a clown you would see in a horror movie.  Oh, how I wished that Aria wasn’t with me to witness this dreadful sight.

               I saw the expression on the ghastly face.  It was smiling at me. No, smirking at me.  It knew something I didn’t know and was wickedly happy about it.

Mocking me as though it was saying, “So you have trusted God?  I am going to enjoy picking you apart bit by bit.”

               I woke up with a start and didn’t know what to think.  The next few days the face of that eagle would flash through my mind and each time my trauma response increased.  Finally, I sought God and asked Him to explain it to me.

               He answered in His gentle way, “That is how you are seeing me right now.  You feel sorry for yourself because you feel mistreated by me. You wonder if I am good and you wonder if I love you.  Take that belief system to the ultimate end and you get a God who delights in torturing you.  That is not who I am.”

               I felt ashamed!  Yet unable to get out from under it.  Finally, I told Chris about the dream and how I felt about God telling me that it is not about the eagle this time but the water.  He helped to bring me out of my hormonal haze and show me reality. He saw the water as a very positive thing. He sent me a video of water flowing over a dam so I could hear the sound whenever I needed it.  When I listened to it, I heard, “Nothing bad has happened.”  I was fearing and worrying over many things, but none of them had manifested…except my sorrow and suffering.  How to bear up under it?

               Pastor Charles had been doing a series on Strongholds, and I realized that I had one: a mindset impregnated with hopelessness about situations contrary to God’s will that I had accepted as unchangeable.  I was sitting in church listening, but pain in my back and neck wouldn’t allow me to stay any longer. I had to get up and go to the bathroom.  A dear friend and prayer counselor, Lori, was in the ladies’ room, and she asked me how I was doing.  I probably mustered a “pretty good” or “ok”, but actually I was in the depths of despair.  Lori looked me in the eyes and said, “Are you depressed?”  I don’t think I have ever answered “yes” to the question before, but I did this time.

               She whisked me off to her prayer room and, oh the tears and wonderful words of God that were released there.  It was a lifeline to keep me going.

               I texted Chris, who was still in the service, about where I was.  He forgot to check his phone, so after the service, he had many of the women scouring every nook and cranny of the church to find me.  He was worried enough to organize a search party, and I felt so loved!

               The rest of my pregnancy became about trusting moment by moment, getting as comfortable as I could, and sleeping.  I was able to sleep 14 hours a day and still felt exhausted, but how glorious was the sleep!  I began to visualize how I wanted my labor to go.  The bulk of the contracting and dilating would happen while I slept.  I would wake up to discover that my baby had dropped into position.  He would slide out easily. I wouldn’t be pregnant anymore!  I could eat whatever I wanted!  I could sit and nurse to my heart’s content!  I could meet this mysterious little man who flipped and twisted and laid himself out diagonally inside me.

               At 38 weeks I received a phone call from my midwife. She explained that my bloodwork came back with some very bad numbers, and she was worried that I had a condition I had never heard of before (some rare form of preeclampsia).  She used a lot of words, but I understood almost none of them.  She wanted me to pack a bag and go to Divine Mercy to be induced immediately!   I wanted to collapse in bed and wail, but I had visitors sent by Ashlyn’s case worker to set up care for her.  I got through the meeting and received another call from the midwife. 

               “I called Divine Mercy. They told me that your bloodwork isn’t as bad as I thought. I can monitor you until you deliver, and if your blood pressure doesn’t go up and your bloodwork doesn’t get worse, you should be fine. But you must take your blood pressure twice a day, eat protein every hour, and double your water intake,” she said. 

Now I had many more hoops to jump through to secure my homebirth but…phew!  I was incredibly relieved!!      

               This baby was going to come early…any day now, I just knew it.  He was so heavy and so low, he just had to be ready.  My midwife had explained that mothers of many babies tend to go late because their bellies have been overextended and the baby isn’t in line with the birth canal.  I faithfully taped up my belly as far as I could manage with kinesiology tape and tried not to bother with how itchy it was. Everyday I went to bed with the expectation, “This could be the night.”  Every morning, I woke up pregnant.  I experienced contractions while I slept. Just mild ones that wouldn’t wake me up but would be in my dreams. Finally at almost 40 weeks, I stopped thinking that baby Camden would come early and just said to myself, “I made it through this day, I can make it through another,” and would fall asleep in peace.  Now I was getting stronger contractions at night that would wake me up, but I was able to go back to sleep.

               Finally on Dec 4th, only 3 days overdue, the glorious morning came when the contractions didn’t stop.  I experienced a redeeming home birth that played out much like I prayed that it would.  Except that it wasn’t easy or pain free. It was the most painful of the 11. 

And there was a little trouble afterwards with a sudden flow of blood that convinced the midwife and my husband that I was minutes away from dying.

This prompted a 911 call and a flurry of activity that changed the entire atmosphere: from relaxed and comfortable bliss to frantic and jarring fear.  Thankfully, I quickly stabilized, and the ambulance was canceled.  Chris said it was the prayer team he had assembled in a matter of seconds.  The midwife said it was Camden who saved me as he nursed and looked at me with wide eyes.  I said I was never going to die and felt just fine (until I tried to stand and walk).

Overall, it was a beautiful, fast homebirth to a robust and healthy boy! I was so thankful!

There was the small detail of a strange man pushing his way into my bedroom to ask me questions while I nursed my baby, still laying naked on my bed. The ambulance hadn’t been canceled after all! That indecency haunted me for months afterward.

               I finally asked Chris, “Why didn’t any of you think to cover me in that moment?”

               “You should be glad to be alive!  You need to remember all the miracles God has done for us,” he would reply.  And he would list them again and again.  I wrote them down and meditated on them.  It was truly stunning what God had done for us!

               Yet I found myself weeping often: when Camden wasn’t gaining enough weight, when I recovered so slowly, when I noticed how hard it was on the rest of the family, when I felt like a burden, when I wasn’t even good at my main job – nursing.  Finally, Chris called Lori and had her talk to me while I lay on our bed, exhausted.  Again, I was able to release tears and trauma and except His love.

That was the turning point where I left depression behind and embraced this new season before me. I love the newborn stage and tried to enjoy every minute: through homeschooling, through nursing and making of homemade formula, through Chris’ transition from a good, steady income with health insurance to owning a business with no guarantees.   We also had so many good times with our children and many opportunities to experience grace.

Summer and then autumn came again. I felt God leading me to homeschool my two high school boys in addition to the other 3 younger children.  I had never done high school before because it was just too difficult. It is just like God to give me this assignment while I was still feeling like my pregnancy had left me much weaker than before. He believed in me.

I had pruned my life down to the essentials: sleeping, eating, praying, taking care of my family and then cleaning, cooking, and homeschool if there was time.  It was hard to get the family all to church. Hanging out with friends became a very rare treat. I had dropped out of women’s prayer.  I wasn’t posting any blog articles or interacting much on social media.  In October I felt compelled to dedicate Camden at church.  I just had to release a spoken testimony about this miracle baby, or I was going to bust!  He was happy, healthy, and developing perfectly.

A few days after Camden’s first birthday I was able to attend the Women’s event in December. It was very powerful and Marcey started us out with a quote from “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe”.

Aslan said to Lucy and Susan after his resurrection, “Climb onto my back, we have far to go, and little time to get there.”

I pictured Grace carrying me all this time.  That was the only way I was going to get anywhere important.

Marcey said, “This will be the ride of our lives. It will be hard, but I don’t want you to disqualify yourselves. We need all of us. We need to surrender to Him.”

She was speaking right to me and igniting a fire.  I didn’t just want to survive; I wanted to run my race again and let Grace carry me to places unknown.

Each woman had been given a little journal with a personalized word printed on the inside. My word was, “UNBROKEN.”  I pulled mine out and started writing.

We watched a clip of the movie and Aslan was talking again after his resurrection, “If they [those who had killed him on the stone table] would have understood the power of sacrifice, they would have interpreted the ancient prophecy differently.  When someone who has committed no treason, willingly gives themselves up, the stone table will crack, and death itself will begin to move backwards.”

The power of sacrifice – the phase seemed to burn into my mind.

“Is that what you have been doing in my life the past two years?” I asked God.  Each moment of weakness, pain, depression, shame, and seeming defeat that I had gone through…could it be that there was power in it?  My sacrifice to carry my 11th miracle child contained within it little gems of power to bring God’s glory to the earth?  I didn’t realize it at the time, but perhaps my feeble attempts to praise God and follow Him through the sacrifice were like little altars, the smoke of sweet-smelling incense rising to heaven and pleasing God?

A vision of the evil eagle from my dream popped into my mind again.  It still plagued me from time to time.  It brought shame when I remembered it, because I thought it was just my subconscious mind showing me how I viewed God, a reminder of how far I had fallen from my lovesick devotion prior to becoming pregnant. 

I heard a whisper from God, “Your enemy showed you his face.  He thought he could take you out, take your baby out, take your family out. Not once did he pluck you out of my hands. Your life and purpose were secure the entire time.  You remain UNBROKEN.”

Peace began to chase away the shame.  I asked God what I should do with the image of the devilish eagle.  I began to surrender to God and saw a rushing river.  The water was so dark, it was black.  I couldn’t see how deep it was or where it was going.  The eagle circled above the river.  Dark water in the form of great black arms reached for the bird. The water pulled my enemy down into the river and the eagle was completely consumed, never to be seen again.

I prayed, “I surrender to your river, your living water.  It feels like a risk – I can’t see the bottom; it is so dark. I can’t discern where it is going.  I don’t know what will happen to me.  Will I sink, swim, or float?”

It seemed like I received an immediate answer from the LORD as Yadira’s voice broke through, “This is a new day.  You have been tested and purified.  You have been given a double portion of faith. A new assignment.  You are being commissioned for a new assignment.  Surrender to whatever God wants.”

A new surrender

A deeper surrender

A holy surrender

The perfect conclusion to a hard, hard season.             

I Witnessed a Miraculous Healing in My Own Home!

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 1 Comment

WARNING! This article contains graphic descriptions of a nasty stomach bug as well as graphic descriptions of the stripes of Jesus. Not for the sensitive reader!

It started with Annalise complaining that her belly hurt at bedtime. She seemed so tired that I was sure she would fall asleep and feel better in the morning.  A few hours later she came down from her room to say that her belly still hurt.  When I took her to the bathroom, she immediately threw up violently in the sink.  I cleaned up the mess while Chris tried to comfort her. Soon she was back in the bathroom, but this time she made it to the toilet.  This happened two more times and we were sure she had thrown up everything she had in her stomach.  Still, I felt that I should sleep in the living room with her so we could both be close to the bathroom.

               I tried to create makeshift beds while comforting my sweet seven-year-old.  She is usually very healthy, and she just wasn’t used to getting sick. As soon as I got her settled down to sleep with a bowl next to her, I lay down in the darkness and wondered if I would be able to sleep on the hard floor.   Annalise was only asleep for an hour before she woke up groaning.

               “Go to the bathroom!  Go to the bathroom!” I spoke with urgency.

  She tried but the bowl got the most of it.  This happened a few more times, and sleep seemed out of the question.

               “That’s the last time, Mama.  I don’t have anything left,” Annalise said bravely.  We both tried to sleep again.  It wasn’t long before Annalise was vomiting in the bowl right next to me, and I could feel the splashing.  I got her to the bathroom, spoke tender words to her, cleaned everything, treated the room with essential oils, and tried to rest again.

               “That’s the last time, Mama,” Annalise said as she practically crumbled onto her bedroll and pillow.  I thought surely, she would start feeling better!  Her body must have gotten rid of all the sickness but now.

               Wrong!  She continued to throw up yellow bile while experiencing diarrhea at the same time.  I had to give her two showers in the middle of the night when she seemed almost too weak to stand.  We went back down the stairs as I supported her. 

               My sweetheart, Annalise, had learned the drill by now. She would go to the bathroom, throw up in the toilet, flush the toilet, rinse out her mouth, collapse in the floor, and fall asleep immediately until the next wave hit her.  I lay anguishing and praying, “Jesus, have mercy on my sweet girl.  Touch her and heal her!” 

               It felt like torture to me!  I knew it must be food poisoning or a very powerful bug, and her body was doing what was necessary to heal.  If I had been a new mom, I would have been consumed with worry. 

Being experienced nursing sick children, I have learned several important truths:

my children always recover,

the sickness always lasts longer than I think it should,

even so, the sickness is always over in a very short time.

I have also learned to listen to the Holy Spirit.

I could hear Him whisper, “It is well.  Be at peace.”

               By morning, I had lost count of how many times Annalise had vomited, but it was at least 22.  I have never seen a child of mine get sick like that before!  Annalise never showed any signs of being severely dehydrated (such as no tears in her eyes or saliva in her mouth), and I knew the best place for her was resting peacefully at home. We both slept for a few hours, and I didn’t even get up to make Chris’s sandwich before work. I slept through all the normal morning activities.

               Finally, Annalise sat up and begged for water. “This is a good sign!  Perhaps she is better!”

               It is so important to not give water or food too soon after throwing up, so I was cautious.  Annalise gulped down the tiny bit of water I gave her.  The next half an hour was filled with her tired little voice, “Can I have more water now? Is it time now? Please!”

               After half an hour, I relented and gave her some more, and then more. She seemed fine, so I gave her some more. My heart sank when I heard her in the bathroom, violently getting rid of all the water she just drank.

               “Ok this is getting serious! Time for battle!”

               I began to bind and loose and command and decree!  I made essential oil roller bottles to rub on her belly and feet.  I gave her Epsom salt baths to detox and rehydrate her.

               Annalise did not throw up again!  Praise God!

  She slept for a few hours.  She was thirsty when she woke up, so I followed the advice I had read in Mommy Diagnostics.  I made some ginger tea and only gave her a few teaspoons every half an hour.  Her stomach had shrunk and couldn’t handle anything more.  By bedtime we had finished the cup of tea.  I continued the essential oils all day. 

She slept peacefully in her bed the entire night!

               The next day she was so hungry yet didn’t want to eat anything.  I convinced her to drink a little bone broth which gave her nourishment in a very digestible form.  She ate tiny bits of food throughout the day and was just fine, other than being weak and exhausted. 

               By the next day she was still tired but starting to play in small bursts.  We had turned a corner! 

That night some of the children slept in our pop-up camper.  Cooper came into our room in the middle of the night to tell us that he had just thrown up.  He spent most of the night in the bathroom but thank God he was old enough to take care of himself.  He wasn’t as sick as Annalise had been, so by the morning his only symptom was exhaustion. 

               Then I found out that Aria, our three-year-old, had been snuggling with Cooper until he had gotten sick.

               “Jesus, don’t let her get sick!” I prayed. I wondered if this bug was going to go through the entire family and how long it would last.

               The following night Aria woke us and said, “It feels like there are bugs in my belly!”

               I got up as fast as I could and ushered her into the bathroom.  She was feverish and wore a grimace. 

               “Do you need to throw up?” I asked. “Here, let’s go to the toilet.”

               Three-year-olds don’t always know they are going to throw up before they do.  How was I going to manage all night with Aria?  We couldn’t go to the downstairs bathroom and sleep on the new carpet in the living room.  She would throw up all over it!  The only logical choice was to spend the night with her in the upstairs bathroom.  Even though it is a spacious bathroom, there is no place to lay down.  I tried to sit on a bath chair and hold her on my lap to comfort her, but that was anything but comfortable! Her long legs were hanging down awkwardly, her body was hot with fever, and she couldn’t stay still.

“The bugs in my belly are jumping!” Aria said. “My arms and legs hurt.” 

               This was followed by squirming and groaning, “Oh I wish this never happened to me,” she said with all the agony her cute three-year-old voice could muster.

               “This is not going to end well,” I thought to myself, anticipating vomit to explode from her little body at any moment. 

               “Jesus, please heal her!” I prayed.

               Aria insisted on getting back into her bed because she was so tired.  All my mothering instincts told me that this was a BAD idea.  I have scrubbed vomit off mattresses and carpets before, and I dreaded doing it again.  However, I didn’t have any better ideas, so I put her in her bed with a bowl right next to her.  I pulled out the trundle mattress and moved it out of the splash zone.  I lay down, anticipating another night like I had had with Annalise.

               Quiet descended upon the room as Aria fell asleep and her two sisters, miraculously, never woke up.  I lay thinking about Aria’s sadness and groaning in the bathroom.  I remembered what it felt like to have a stomach bug that attacks you with pangs of pain and nausea.  It will abate but then comes back again in earnest, threatening to take over your insides until you have very little control.  I hated that feeling!  I hated that Aria was having that feeling. I wished I could take that feeling for her.

Then I thought, “Jesus DID take the suffering for us!”

               During Holy Week I was listening to Give Him 15.  I was stuck by a description of the beating of Christ before the crucifixion. April 15, 2022 (givehim15.com)

This same description can be found in the Give Him 15 post for today (Good Friday 2023).

From Gethsemane, Messiah was led to a mock trial, after which He was beaten mercilessly with a cat-o-nine-tails. This procedure was so brutal that some recipients didn’t survive it. The leather cords, tipped with sharp metal, tore at the flesh of the victim ripping off pieces of flesh. They not only lacerated the back, but wrapped around to the front of the victim’s body, including the face. It is hard to describe this lashing without being too graphic for most readers. Suffice it to say that when finished, the victim was often unrecognizable.

The soldiers also beat Christ with their fists and spat on His face. To mock Him as “the King of the Jews,” a crown made of thorns was placed on His head and pressed into His skin, causing great pain and more loss of blood. When the ordeal was finished, Messiah was so mangled and covered with spittle and blood that He truly was unrecognizable. “Many people were shocked [astonished; appalled] when they saw him. His appearance was so damaged [disfigured; marred] He did not look like a man; His form was so changed they could barely tell He was human.” (Isaiah 52:14; The Expanded Bible) The added punishments and torture, much more than the average victim of crucifixion was afflicted with, can only be explained as the fury of hell, trying to snuff out the life of the Son of God.

Yeshua received this for you and me. Isaiah 53:5 and 1 Peter 2:24 tell us it was through this beating that we can be healed. Place your faith in this today. Receive healing by placing your faith in His substitutionary sacrifice.

Give Him 15

               I realized as never before how much pain, suffering and sorrow Jesus endured.  He endured it so I did not have to, so Aria did not have to.  Jesus hates pain too!  Jesus hates Aria’s pain more than I do!

               I prayed, “Jesus, you experienced this suffering already.  Why should Aria have to go through it? Please take her sickness.”

               I felt the presence of Jesus enter the room.  Peace surrounded me and my three girls.  None of the girls made a peep that entire night!  And in the morning, Aria woke up in perfect health. No fever! No aches! No bugs jumping in her belly!  That was a miracle!  No one else in our family got sick after that. The trial was over, and Jesus had shown me His miraculous healing power that comes from His great love for us.

He Wants His Love to be Known

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 1 Comment

tim-rebkavets-560088-unsplash (1)

Photo by Tim Rebkavets on Unsplash

The prince was kneeling before his father, the king.  This was a good and wise king.  His kingdom was vast and his subjects were too numerous to count.  His dominion was full of prosperity and peace.

                “How much like me this son of mine is,” the king thought to himself.  “He has grown into such a fine young man.  He will be wanting to take a bride soon.”

                “Father,” the young prince began as though he had read his fathers thoughts, “I have found my true love. I have come to ask your permission to pursue her.”

                “Very good my son! Who is she?” the king answered with a hearty smile.

                “Her name is Marie.”

                “Marie,” the king’s smile faded. “Her name means ‘bitterness’, and it describes her well.  She lives outside of the boarder of this land, in our enemy’s territory.  Her life has been hard, and I fear that there is very little beauty or joy left in her, even though she is still young.”

                “This I know, father.  I met her once on my way to the Outer Lands.  She was rude to me.  She was dirty and dressed in rags.  Yet there was something about her that has captivated me.  I feel that there is a treasure beneath the filth.  Every night I have dreamt of her, and I cannot forget the haunted look in her eyes.  Perhaps my love could banish that emptiness and transform her from ‘Bitterness’ into ‘Full of Grace’.

                “Son, consider your decision well.  Do you truly think that Marie will be a princess befitting our glorious kingdom?  Will she make a fine queen someday, able to rule at your side?” the king questioned.

                “I know that my choice seems irrational, even reckless.  Presently she would make a horrible queen.  But I love her, Father, with everything in me.  I love her!  I know that I can save her from her life of misery and her bitterness. Please let me try.” The prince closed his eyes and bowed his head, awaiting an answer.

                The king’s deep voice quavered with emotion, “Son, I am so very proud of you.”

The prince lifted his head suddenly. He searched his father’s eyes, the eyes that always seemed to hold the answers. The king went on.

                “You see, Marie was born in this Kingdom and royal blood flows through her veins.  She was meant to be your betrothed.  I knew that she could become a woman worthy of you, my noble son.”

                “What happened to her?” the prince asked with a new passion in his eyes.

                “She was kidnapped at a very young age and carried away as a slave.  She has lived in the enemy’s land, misused and deceived for all of her life.  She may be saved, but there is no guarantee. She does not recognize her dishonorable condition, because she has never known the beauty of our kingdom.  She may become offended by your purest intentions. ”

                The words of the king seemed to ignite a fire in the already love-struck heart of the prince.

                “I must go to her!  Father, I must show her that she is loved.  That she is worthy.  That she is destined to be a queen!  Please Father, let me go into the enemy’s territory.”

                “You must understand, son, that your quest is noble and born out of true love.  But you will suffer.  You will suffer all that Marie has suffered…and much more.”

                “I know,” the royal son replied in a passionate whisper, “Somehow I have always known. But my suffering is a small price to pay for Marie…for my love.  To live here in the glory and abundance of our kingdom without her would cause me greater suffering.”

                The prince paused as if the very thought of a life without his love was too terrible to express. He stood to his feet and raised his voice, “I am ready, Father.  I must go to her!”

                The king stood as well and enveloped his son in a strong embrace. 

“You are right.  You ARE ready.  Marie IS worth the price. I will miss having you here by my side, but I am confident in the future. A future where both you and Marie are reigning with me.  This quest is your destiny.”

The prince thought he saw a tear roll down the strong cheek.  The King continued in a whisper now.

                “This quest…it will cost you everything.”

 

As I watched this scene unfold on the stage of my mind, I knew that my assumptions were changing.

My paradigm was shifting.

My world was transforming.

This prince wasn’t afraid or reluctant.  He was confident and bold.  He was longing to go into hostile territory.  Like a courageous warrior, he was willing to suffer and to die for the object of his love.

This prince was Jesus.

This Marie was me.

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Photo by Kenny Luo on Unsplash

I was the prize that fueled His courage.

I was the treasure that energized His passion.

I was the pearl of great price that He sold everything He had to obtain.

He pursued me like a man pursues His bride. And He found me.  He saved me.  He turned me into “Full of Grace.”

He is still wooing me.  He is still fighting battles for me. I am not yet a queen worthy of His great Kingdom.  He is relentlessly pursuing me until I truly know who I am and whose I am.  I feel Him teaching me His ways day by day.  I feel His patience and His passion.  I feel His delight and His desire.

He is pursuing each and every one of us, but only a few of us are aware.  The rest go about their lives oblivious of the glorious kingdom for which they were born, the love that chases them.

Men and women all through the ages have encountered this love-sick warrior prince.  Sometimes they caught just a glimmer of His smile, just a glimpse of His fiery eyes.  Other times they have been washed by His love, wave after relentless wave until they were happily drowning in it.

Some have written about it.  One such man is Cory Asbury.  I found in the words of his song “Reckless Love” a confirmation of my own experience.

When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me

You have been so, so good to me

When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me

You have been so, so kind to me

And oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

And I couldn’t earn it, and I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

One night I was able to steal away to the prayer room at church.  I got so caught up in my love for Jesus that my words just came spilling out in a passionate prayer.

                “Jesus, you are everything – all we want.  You are the goal, the prize, the destination, the journey, and every step in the journey.  You are everything!”

I felt a small twinge of guilt.  I offered up a silent prayer, “Sorry Holy Spirit. Sorry Father.  I didn’t mean to forget about you.”

Then I saw the Father smiling down on me with pleasure, just as any good father would do while witnessing his son and fiancé being clearly head over heels in love with each other.

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Photo by Joshua Rodriguez on Unsplash

                “You have chosen well, my son,” I heard him say.

I was shocked to hear this.  I simply don’t see myself the way the Father does, the way Jesus does.

I am so thankful that He will never be satisfied until I do.

I am so thankful that He won’t let me go.  That the fire in His eyes and the burning in His heart will never be diminished.

Jesus is the prince.

I am HIS PRIZE.

YOU ARE HIS PRIZE.

He will never give up us.

If you have never encountered this love or long to encounter it more, listen to “Reckless Love” and ask Him to reveal himself to you. This is a prayer that he has suffered, died, and now lives to answer.

He wants his love to be known!

Oh Nards!

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 2 Comments

You know when something unexpectedly horrible happens and your immediate response is to let out a loud expletive?  Well, mine is, “Holy CRAP!”

I don’t mean to say it.  It just comes out.  My teenage son is quite offended by it and constantly reminds me that, “crap is NOT holy, Mom!”  I heard Bill Johnson say that if we really understood the holiness of God, we would never pair the word “holy” with the word, “crap.”

My young children sometimes exclaim, “Holy Crap!” when they are upset about something, and I admit that it sounds very uncouth and disrespectful…and they learned it from listening to me!

Ok, point taken!  This is not what should be slipping out of my mouth at inopportune times.  I should have better sentiments in my heart to express.

That same teenage son began to say, “Oh nards!” He would say it very loudly with a smile on his face because it is such a humorous phrase.

I adopted “nards!” as my “swear” word of choice.  Whenever something annoying or dreadful happened, I would exclaim, “OH NARDS!”  It was so fun to say and so funny to hear that I would burst out laughing.  I would amuse myself to the point that the disaster no longer seemed so disastrous.  (As Joseph Garlington says, “If it’s going to be funny later, it’s funny now.”) The children would begin laughing as well.  My husband would chuckle at me and shake his head, wondering what had gotten in to me.

I continued this, “Oh nards!” business for months before I thought, “Perhaps there is some significance to this word that God would want to speak to me about.”

I looked up “nards” on Google and found that it is short for spikenard, a plant used for medicinal purposes.  It is antibacterial, anti-fungal, and anti-inflammatory.

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It is also the star of that beautiful Bible story in John 12 when Mary pours the pure nard on the feet of Jesus and the entire house was filled the fragrance of the perfume. The story (or perhaps a very similar but separate story) is also told in Matt 26.

Now while Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head as he sat at the table.  But when the disciples saw it, they were angry and said, “Why this waste?  For this ointment could have been sold for a large sum, and the money given to the poor.” But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, “Why do you trouble the woman? She has performed a good service for me.  For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.  By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial.  Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”

It was clear that Mary loved Jesus deeply and wanted to demonstrate her gratitude and worship.  Perhaps she had planned this act, weighing what it would cost her to do so and judging that the cost was worth it.  Or perhaps she was so overcome with emotion that she impulsively grabbed her most precious possession and poured it out.  Either way, she deeply touched Jesus and ministered to Him just days before His crucifixion.  She had made a choice to lavish her love on Him despite what it cost her.

When the unexpected happens in my life and I shout out, “OH NARDS!” it is not quite the same as Mary.  When the child drops dinner on the floor or the teenager leaves the bathroom a mess or UPS has Chris work his 3rd 14 hour day, this is not my choice.  These circumstances have been forced upon me, and I have the right to be angry!

Don’t I?

What if I would make the choice to accept the circumstances with joy and worship God anyway?  Then perhaps my, “OH NARDS!” could be turned into the alabaster jar of Mary, ministering to Jesus with my love.

I read one article on the internet that spoke about the extravagant amount of nard that was poured out, probably 11 oz.  Anyone who uses essential oils knows how strong they are.  A few drops is all you need.  The fragrance of 11 oz. would have been enough to be noticed for quite a distance around the house.  If Jesus was to wash in a pool right afterwards, a thousand people could wash after him and leave with the expensive aroma.

Imagine all of that nard being absorbed into Jesus’ skin.  He must have smelled like spikenard for days!  Jesus did say that Mary was preparing him for his burial.  I always thought he was just speaking about the symbolic of the use of herbs in burial customs.  Days later when he was betrayed, arrested, abandoned, beaten, put on trial, ridiculed, whipped, and crucified…

I bet Jesus still carried the aroma of spikenard!  In His darkness hours, He smelled like perfume.  All who came in contact with this simple, poor man from Nazareth would catch a whiff of this very expensive oil.  As the people watched Him take the accusations without fear or anger, they could smell Him.  As they watched Him patiently endure suffering, they noticed the unusual aroma.  It was the fragrance of a King, not a common man.  It was a heavenly smell in the midst of tragic circumstances.

This smell of pure nard would forever be imprinted on their brains as the smell of the most unusual trial and execution they had ever seen.  For the rest of their lives, whenever they would catch a whiff of it, they would remember.  Maybe God could even bring them to the place of faith, recognizing the King and Savior Jesus in the form of a beaten and bloodied criminal.

When I encounter trials that make me want to cry out in disgust, “Why all this waste?!!”  perhaps I should worship instead.

When my husband is suffering with an excruciating headache for a week, unable to work or participate in much of normal life, my mind starts to say;

“Why couldn’t this have been a vacation from work to enjoy camping as a family?  We won’t get to take that vacation now.  Our budget only works if Chris is working.  How long will it be before he can start working again…days, weeks, months?  We are not even sure what is causing the pain or how to get rid of it.  I hate to see him suffering! What a waste!”

I have come to know God better than that.  Nothing is wasted in His kingdom.  He can use any circumstance for our good and for our promotion.  I can trust Him and worship Him in this.

For all of us, this pure nard should remind us that in the midst of suffering, we can love and worship.  And when we worship we release the distinctive aroma of our King…and the atmosphere of heaven.

OH NARDS!

God is ALWAYS better than we think He is

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / Leave a comment

“There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

This is a famous quote from the Hiding Place, a true story written by Corrie Ten Boom.  She and her sister Betsy had defied the Nazis by hiding Jews in their home.  When their house was raided, the Jews were never discovered in the expertly designed hiding place, but Corrie and Betsy were taken into custody and eventually put into a concentration camp.  Corrie experienced the horrors of a hell on earth.  She witnessed the death of many, including her beloved sister.  Yet she learned that in the darkest pit, God was there…and He was good…so incredibly good.

She came out of that experience more in love with Jesus, more devoted to following Him.  She spent the rest of her life encouraging other people to love Jesus.  That is a testimony that no one can deny.  No imaginary God, no fairy tale God, no boring or religious God could work a miracle like that; placing a life into the crucible of suffering and making it a joyous offering.

I have often pondered Corrie’s life and wondered what I would have done in her place.  It is unlikely that any of us will have to make the choices she had to make.  Yet each one of us will have our own personal hell on earth that we will have to navigate through.

On Thursday night, I heard the stories of five women from my church; each I knew well; each had faced their own crucible.

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Kristi is a wonderful deejay on the local Christian radio station.  She lives in my neighborhood and I sometimes see her pass my house, taking a walk with her little boy in a stroller.  She told how just months after their marriage, her husband was diagnosed with cancer.  Years later cancer was found in her body as well.  In addition, the doctors told them it would be impossible for them to have children.  Her story wasn’t about the seven long years of treatment and tests, sorrow and disappointments.  Her story was about the goodness of God, His healing power, and their miracle baby!

Bobbie is the mother of one of my first youth leaders, and one of the hardest working, sweetest ladies you will ever meet.  She faced breast cancer and multiple cancer scares after that. Does she live in fear?  No!  Her life is full of joy because of her amazing God!

Tiffany was just a junior higher when I met her.  I was in senior high and would sing on stage with the youth worship band.  She wrote me a sweet little note at one of the youth retreats that said something like this, “I see you on stage with such grace and confidence, and I know that God does that.”  Well, my singing voice is not what it used to be, and I have faded into the background.  Now I watch Tiffany on stage worshipping with a clear and powerful voice, singing songs that she has written and recorded, and I am looking up to her in admiration!

Tiffany told the story of suffering a blood clot in her lungs, dying twice, and surviving a surgery that would have killed 499,999 people out of 500,000.  Her story wasn’t about the pain and suffering she had to enduring during the recovery process.  She didn’t complain about the interruption in their lives with two little girls and a newborn baby boy.  She told of how God’s goodness was there every step of the way.  She said, “You can NEVER exaggerate the goodness of God.  He is ALWAYS better that we think he is!”

Sharon was a leader in youth group when I was in high school.  A few years later, I actually saw myself in her wedding album.  She and her husband were honeymooning in Boston.  I just happened to be there on a missions trip with YWAM, and we randomly ran into each other on the street and snapped a picture!  I admired both her and her husband, and when I heard the news that he had left her for another woman while she was pregnant with their second child, I was heartbroken for them.  She was devastated and was a single parent for almost 15 years.  Yet her story is not one of loss and betrayal.  It is a story of learning to love herself, learning to forgive, and learning how much God loved her.  Now she sees restoration in all the broken relationships and just married a man who is better than the very best she had ever imagined for herself.  God gave her more that she had asked for!

Sue is a powerful woman of God at our church.  I first met her when I volunteered to help out with vacation Bible school when I was in high school.  I was assigned to help in her room which was the dancing room.  Each day, four different groups of children would rotate through our room.  Sue led them with a microphone (which she really didn’t need) and tireless energy. I had never had so much fun at vacation Bible school before!

Sue told of her battle with cancer.  She was in so much pain that she wished for death.  She survived the surgery that took out her entire stomach, part of her esophagus, part of her intestines, and her gallbladder.  Her doctors were so surprised, they hadn’t developed a follow-up plan.  Cancer free six years later, she doesn’t moan about how unlucky she was.  She sings and shouts and passionately tells of her beloved Jesus!  She looks like she would explode if she didn’t proclaim her love.

How can this be?  Shouldn’t all these women be bitter and cynical, wondering why a loving God would lead them through the valley of the shadow of death?  All of these women have a real relationship with a real God who never left them for a moment.  In fact He was always right there with them, carrying them, listening to them, speaking to them, and healing them.  He was sending answers, giving provision, working miracles and loving on them until they were filled to overflowing with that love.

This is a God that we just cannot deny.  I pray that you and I will be encouraged to trust more in His great love for us and have the courage to say in our own trials…

“There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.”

 

God’s Goodness is Hunting Me Down

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / Leave a comment

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Most if the time, most of us just want to be happy and comfortable.  That is what we look for and strive for and pray for.  That is how we define “being blessed.” Comfortable and happy.

Life is very rarely a comfortable and happy affair.  When the journey leads us to trial after trial, we begin to wonder what is wrong.  Are we on the wrong track?  Why isn’t God answering our prayers?  Does God really love us as much as he says that he does?  Will we ever see our dreams come true?

I love the book, Hind’s Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard.  I have read it many times and each time, I relate to it more and more.  I find great comfort in realizing that Hannah Hurnard experienced her Christian walk much the same way that I have.  Much the same as every Christian, I suspect.

When Much-Afraid started her trek to the High Places, she knew that the journey would be difficult.  She had to climb the mountains with her twisted, lame feet.  She knew that to ever achieve the Shepard’s goal for her; it would take a bit of the supernatural.  But she never guessed what was in store for her.

The Shepard chose two companions to help her since she was lame and very fearful.  They never left her side and assisted her every step of the way.  They were Sorrow and Suffering.  Instead of climbing into the mountains, the path led the three travelers to the Desert, then the Shores of Loneliness, the Precipice of Injury, the Forest of Danger and Tribulation, the Mist, the Valley of Loss, the Floods, and the Grave.  By the time Much-Afraid had reached the Grave, she was no longer the same girl who had started at the foot of the mountains.  She had suffered much, but she had also spent much time with the good Shepard.  She laid herself and her dreams on the alter.  She could see that she would never reach the high places, but she was happy to obey her beloved Shepard.

She did not anticipate the glorious resurrection that would occur, healing her lame feet and changing her from Much-Afraid to Grace and Glory!  Though it was the Shepard who was her prize, the High Places became hers as well, and it was more glorious than she ever imagined!

I hope I make it to the High Places someday.  I hope that all the dreams that I have carried in my heart come to pass, yet I have laid them down to say that God is enough.

I could lose everything and suffer great tragedy, yet there is only one thing that I can never afford to lose…my faith.  My faith is my life and my hope.  Without my faith in a good Father, I would be dead while I still lived…and then be a dead shell for all eternity.  My faith, which is worth more than gold (1 Peter 1:7), is what God in his infinite wisdom is after.

The trials that purify my faith make it feel as though his goodness and mercy are far away.  Yet his Goodness and Mercy are always following me! God’s goodness and mercy will follow me all of the days of my life. (Psalm 23:6) Follow means to aggressively pursue, run after, chase.  God’s goodness is hunting me down.  At times I wish his goodness would leave me alone and let me be comfortable and happy for a little while.  It is chasing me like a massive hunting dog; pouncing on me, knocking me down, and licking me all over with messy, wet doggy kisses.  I may struggle and mourn and wail.  But it is God’s irresistible Goodness that won’t let me go.   It will not let me stay the way I am now because God loves me too much.

“Love is beautiful, but it is also terrible – terrible in its determination to allow nothing blemishing or unworthy to remain in the beloved.” –Hinds Feet on High Places

Being comfortable and happy would be great…for a short while.  But the purification of my faith is worth so much more.  To become like Jesus and to enjoy a closer walk with him is worth any trial it takes to get me there.  To know his great love for me is my prize and great reward, and it brings a deep and abiding joy.

“Multiplied” is a great worship song for those of us who are being hunted down by his love!

God Needs Me?

/ Anne (Grace is my Superhero) / 3 Comments

“He can do all things without us, but He had chosen to do them through us.” – The Call by Rick Joyner

I was pregnant with baby number eight.  It had been three years since my last pregnancy, and I felt the strongest, the healthiest, the most alive I had ever felt!  That was…until the morning sickness settled in.  It was actually “all day but much worse in the evening sickness”.  I had not felt horribly nauseous during my previous pregnancies, more like continuous car sickness.  How I had wished I could stop the invisible car and just get out!  I was optimistic that this pregnancy would be the exception, that I could say with a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye, “I love being pregnant!”

Just the opposite had happened.  I had never felt so bad!  My days consisted of sitting on the sofa with my eyes closed, trying to feel better.  My children ran around unattended.  Home school, which we should have started a month ago, remained untouched.  My older children did all the chores around the house and kept it running, though not as orderly or smoothly as I would have.  My precious firstborn girl, Areli, carried an enormous burden.  She heard my pitiful pleas all day long.

“Areli, could you make me some eggs?”

“Areli, could you fill up my water glass?”

“Areli, could you see who is crying upstairs, please?”

I tried to be a good mom; but mostly I whined, moaned, slept, felt sick, got sick, and slept some more.  I felt useless and wretched.  I knew theoretically that despite the weakened state of my body, my spirit could still soar high above my circumstances, like an eagle above the clouds.  Yet, after days, weeks, and months of feeling crummy, my eagle had forgotten how to fly.  My mind kept thinking about scriptures such as

“For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever!” 2 Cor 4:17

I knew that it was true, but it didn’t help me feel any better.

I thought about my joy in a newborn baby and how it was all worth it.

But it didn’t make me feel any better.

I reread every “Above Rubies” magazines I had ever received to encourage myself.

My mind was encouraged but my flesh still felt miserable!

My body felt like it was not capable to getting up off the sofa and doing anything productive or enjoyable, yet my mind continued to churn, swirling in descending circles.

“I just want to die.  I can’t live like this.  Why do I have to suffer?  Why does God allow me to feel so horrible?”

Pregnancy is such a miracle, a blessing, a gift!  So why did I feel so bad?  My suffering was nothing compared to other women I knew, who kept almost nothing down for nine months, yet my suffering felt like too much for me to bear.

The question I kept asking was, “Is this worth it?” and I knew that it was.  A new life is always worth it.  After a mother is holding that precious bundle, her sorrow is turned into joy.

Then the question became, “How much is a human life worth?  How much pain and sorrow is one life worth?  How much would I suffer for one human life?  Would I get pregnant and do this all again for one more human life?  How much is a life worth to God?  How much suffering did Jesus endure?”

The only conclusion I could come to was this; one human life is worth IT ALL!  There is no limit to the value God puts on a life, no price too high to pay, no suffering too severe.  Jesus suffered more than any of us.  He went through betrayal, slander, hatred, lies, scourging, mocking, and the cruelest execution ever conceived.  He felt the wretched, incurable sickness of the evil of the entire world. And he bore the effects of that twisted iniquity; separation with all that is good and beautiful and holy, his Father.

He said that his suffering was worth it because of the joy set before him. (Hebrews 12:2) That joy was human life, redeemed and set free.  He said that I am worth it.  He said that you are worth it.  He said that the child in my womb was worth it.  If Jesus was willing to suffer for my child, shouldn’t I?  After the suffering of His soul, he saw the light of life (my life, your life, my child’s life) and he was satisfied. (Isaiah 53:11)

I knew that my suffering wasn’t in vain, but I still didn’t feel any better.

“God, give me a vision of this child!  Something to keep me going,” I prayed.

In my mind’s eye I saw beams of life coming from this child and shooting out to the far reaches of the earth.  This child would be a blessing to me and my family, yes.  But he would also have an impact on the entire world!  How?  I have no idea!  But if I could have some small part in sending life to the whole of mankind, sign me up!

Then I heard God’s loving voice.

“Thank you for being available.  Without you, I couldn’t bring this child of destiny into the world.”

Then I felt the peace that only God’s voice can bring.  I felt His gratitude sink deep into my soul until I was saturated by the unbelievable goodness of it. God needs me?  The all powerful God NEEDS ME to be available?  What if I had said that seven children were quite enough, and that there were too many children in the world already?  THIS particular child, with unique DNA from his father and from me that could never be duplicated, would have never existed!  His very individual purpose and destiny would have never been manifested.  His precious personality, which was a dream in God’s heart since before the world began (Ephesians 1:4), would have never been realized.  And now he exists…because of me!  I cannot think of anything more powerful.  I cannot think of any higher honor for God to give me, than helping Him to create something of inestimable value and eternal impact.

I never could say during that pregnancy that I enjoyed being pregnant.  But I could say that pregnancy was when I relied on God the most and sensed His presence the closest and felt His glory the heaviest.  And the moment that precious Babe was born…I could say…

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HE WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT!