It is My Choice How I View My Situation
April of this year was one of dread for me. I found myself bored, lonely and exasperated in life as a wife. I am a stay at home Mother of two and I homeschool. The days can be long and when I stray from a consistent time in God's word - the days are longer and more trying. All I could do when I spent time with the Lord really was grumble, complain and wail about my situation. I am one of those people looking for a victorious life, a smaller waistline, more muscle, better vocabulary, obedient heart to the Lord - yet I am one of those people who does not want to do all the work. I was seeking some easy remedy, some crash diet if you will. The Lord my God said this to me as I was reading in Psalms, "Choose to love. Be a servant." Whoa. When the Lord speaks to me it is clear and direct. He knows I am a simpleton and I might get confused with poetic language or parables.
May was loathsome. I was down in the dumps. My marriage, which I thought was actually seemingly improving was tested. My husband and I were again on the couch, like times before discussing what love really is. Discussing our earlier decision in life to marry one another, how we've managed to keep it together. How we have both been selfish, bored and plain out disappointed. We both agreed that without our intention to please the Lord, we would have never made it thus far. Without God blessing us with children to be responsible we would have never made efforts to work through past and present issues. To be close to someone means to go deep. To go deep means to talk about the things that hurt. To talk about the things that hurt means you accept the fact that what is talked about will hurt you and will hurt whom you are talking to. To accept hurt means that you must be willing to seek healing. If you do not seek healing, your hurt festers. May was about my choosing to seek Jesus everyday for healing and not to fester in my hurt. It was also about being willing to desire healing for whom I have caused hurt; to pray for it, to seek it and to be an agent of healing. Another choice. Now after our hearts were more deep and more vulnerable, I must offer words of healing - to cover my words of hurt. Through my moping in quiet late nite on my bed, the Lord reminded me that I was not as hurt as Hosea. I began a rebuttal, but how could I. He was right. I could really not go on moaning about myself.
Somewhere in the fuzzy time-warp of life that happened thereafter, the following happened. On my way to a homeschool group outing I was radio channel surfing . I stopped to listen to a fired up preacher talking about Jacob and how he struggled with the "stranger" in the wilderness. "Jacob had to fight, he had to go through the struggle. He had to go through the struggle before he could get the promise. Jacob was a man of little character, he needed to build character. God brought him through the struggle to gain character - and then gave him the promise." The fiery preacher continued on and my mind blocked most of it out, while I questioned..."do I really lack character?" Well, having had enough of that I changed to a different channel - one with classical music. I soon realized it was a classical music rendition of an old hymn...ah, soothing. Then a man's calming voice began speaking, after a few words I recognized it as scripture. "...I will give you a new heart of flesh" was most of what I caught. Alright, really?
I couldn't wait to look it up. Using a keyword search, I found it; Ezekiel 36:26 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. Right away, with no doubts I knew that God purposely was speaking to me! My heart was hard. I felt like I could feel little more than I did, nor could I take any more. God was promising me that he would take my heart and make it new. Like flesh instead of cold stone. Wow.
June ended with a bang. A surprise pregnancy that brought me such delight ended in a shocking miscarriage. The surreal whirlwind of phone calls, sonograms, procedure, appointments and dull pain left me quite empty. It didn't help that each clinical visit brought me face to face with round pregnant women, nervous new mothers with babies in infant car seats rocking on the floor, as well as husbands with wives and their first pregnancies. A room filled with hope and anticipation, while I sat there harboring grief and resentment. Without a doubt this represents the most incredible trial I have faced. I cannot understand why God allowed my baby to die. Why my baby in the sonogram had no movement, no beating heart, no more due date. It would be silly to say I was angry. I wasn't angry. I was furious. What had I done so wrong? Then I was overwhelmed with every breathe that somehow I had caused this event to happen. Did that blue cheese I ate do it? Did my apprehension of my abilities as a Mother do it? A million and one scenarios blazed through my waking moments. There was one strange thing that brought me comfort. God whispered through my mind the song, "It Is Well With My Soul". The Sunday we sang it at church, it was like God hugged me and said I really do understand your suffering. I swallowed the snot, sniffed and sang in my scratchy voice, "It is well with my soul..."
July and August were recovery months. They were months where I also had to plan for a cross country move. To make arrangements to spend time with everyone I had come to know as friends and church family. To savor the final homeschool group outings, final dinners with friends, final lessons at the local dojo, holding back tears when talking to the neighborhood kids & parents - explaining that our move was final. I watched my family's personal affects load up and drive away, said good-bye to more dear friends, visited others along a cross country road trip and arrived in a strange new location. My August and now early September are busy with homeschooling, trying to find a permanent home to live, decide on a church to call home, make friends, stay sane with overcast skies and set my heart to be made flesh by the Lord's choosing. During the mayhem, my mind would fill blank time with May & June.
Today, as I type I am still, in a battle with myself everyday to choose to love and to be a servant. To choose words that heal. To choose to accept the process of my hardened heart becoming soft and tender. The Lord is my God. He is my rock. He is my comforter and healer. He speaks to me through songs, scripture, friends, and the very creation he has made for our enjoyment. Without His reaching out to me, I doubt I would continue to reach out to Him. Praise you Lord that your arms never tire of reaching out to me, to all of us. Thank you to my sweet sisters in the Lord who have been part of the process God is using to heal me and make my heart soft. Thank you for those of you who have over the years lifted up prayers for me, for my marriage and for my sons.
Praise Him
Praise Him
Praise Him
All ye Saints adore Him!
Yours truly,
Elizabeth
May was loathsome. I was down in the dumps. My marriage, which I thought was actually seemingly improving was tested. My husband and I were again on the couch, like times before discussing what love really is. Discussing our earlier decision in life to marry one another, how we've managed to keep it together. How we have both been selfish, bored and plain out disappointed. We both agreed that without our intention to please the Lord, we would have never made it thus far. Without God blessing us with children to be responsible we would have never made efforts to work through past and present issues. To be close to someone means to go deep. To go deep means to talk about the things that hurt. To talk about the things that hurt means you accept the fact that what is talked about will hurt you and will hurt whom you are talking to. To accept hurt means that you must be willing to seek healing. If you do not seek healing, your hurt festers. May was about my choosing to seek Jesus everyday for healing and not to fester in my hurt. It was also about being willing to desire healing for whom I have caused hurt; to pray for it, to seek it and to be an agent of healing. Another choice. Now after our hearts were more deep and more vulnerable, I must offer words of healing - to cover my words of hurt. Through my moping in quiet late nite on my bed, the Lord reminded me that I was not as hurt as Hosea. I began a rebuttal, but how could I. He was right. I could really not go on moaning about myself.
Somewhere in the fuzzy time-warp of life that happened thereafter, the following happened. On my way to a homeschool group outing I was radio channel surfing . I stopped to listen to a fired up preacher talking about Jacob and how he struggled with the "stranger" in the wilderness. "Jacob had to fight, he had to go through the struggle. He had to go through the struggle before he could get the promise. Jacob was a man of little character, he needed to build character. God brought him through the struggle to gain character - and then gave him the promise." The fiery preacher continued on and my mind blocked most of it out, while I questioned..."do I really lack character?" Well, having had enough of that I changed to a different channel - one with classical music. I soon realized it was a classical music rendition of an old hymn...ah, soothing. Then a man's calming voice began speaking, after a few words I recognized it as scripture. "...I will give you a new heart of flesh" was most of what I caught. Alright, really?
I couldn't wait to look it up. Using a keyword search, I found it; Ezekiel 36:26 I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. Right away, with no doubts I knew that God purposely was speaking to me! My heart was hard. I felt like I could feel little more than I did, nor could I take any more. God was promising me that he would take my heart and make it new. Like flesh instead of cold stone. Wow.
June ended with a bang. A surprise pregnancy that brought me such delight ended in a shocking miscarriage. The surreal whirlwind of phone calls, sonograms, procedure, appointments and dull pain left me quite empty. It didn't help that each clinical visit brought me face to face with round pregnant women, nervous new mothers with babies in infant car seats rocking on the floor, as well as husbands with wives and their first pregnancies. A room filled with hope and anticipation, while I sat there harboring grief and resentment. Without a doubt this represents the most incredible trial I have faced. I cannot understand why God allowed my baby to die. Why my baby in the sonogram had no movement, no beating heart, no more due date. It would be silly to say I was angry. I wasn't angry. I was furious. What had I done so wrong? Then I was overwhelmed with every breathe that somehow I had caused this event to happen. Did that blue cheese I ate do it? Did my apprehension of my abilities as a Mother do it? A million and one scenarios blazed through my waking moments. There was one strange thing that brought me comfort. God whispered through my mind the song, "It Is Well With My Soul". The Sunday we sang it at church, it was like God hugged me and said I really do understand your suffering. I swallowed the snot, sniffed and sang in my scratchy voice, "It is well with my soul..."
July and August were recovery months. They were months where I also had to plan for a cross country move. To make arrangements to spend time with everyone I had come to know as friends and church family. To savor the final homeschool group outings, final dinners with friends, final lessons at the local dojo, holding back tears when talking to the neighborhood kids & parents - explaining that our move was final. I watched my family's personal affects load up and drive away, said good-bye to more dear friends, visited others along a cross country road trip and arrived in a strange new location. My August and now early September are busy with homeschooling, trying to find a permanent home to live, decide on a church to call home, make friends, stay sane with overcast skies and set my heart to be made flesh by the Lord's choosing. During the mayhem, my mind would fill blank time with May & June.
Today, as I type I am still, in a battle with myself everyday to choose to love and to be a servant. To choose words that heal. To choose to accept the process of my hardened heart becoming soft and tender. The Lord is my God. He is my rock. He is my comforter and healer. He speaks to me through songs, scripture, friends, and the very creation he has made for our enjoyment. Without His reaching out to me, I doubt I would continue to reach out to Him. Praise you Lord that your arms never tire of reaching out to me, to all of us. Thank you to my sweet sisters in the Lord who have been part of the process God is using to heal me and make my heart soft. Thank you for those of you who have over the years lifted up prayers for me, for my marriage and for my sons.
Praise Him
Praise Him
Praise Him
All ye Saints adore Him!
Yours truly,
Elizabeth
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