Pain

The Dark Abyss Is Where Joy Can Be Found

/ Lori Lawe / 2 Comments

This is the hand that reached way, way down, clasped my own and lifted me up, up out of my self-induced pit.

It was a hand connected to a person who gave me a hug and a pat on the back. He told me He was pleased with me.

And then He asked me to go back to the trenches, back to where I was.

Why? Just because we are at war doesn’t mean our role is to give up the fight.

He put a slip of paper in my hand before he held out the rope to lower, lower me back down the pit, back down to the kids with their swirling needs and to a dog with multiple dietary discomforts.

When I returned to the couch and to the kids and the dog that day, I held the folded slip of paper He had given me in my hand.

I opened it carefully and somehow the room quieted in my soul, even through the sharp noises of bickering kids and an excited dog.

So let’s not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don’t give up, or quit.

The Message

The words seemed to dissipate the storm cloud over my head. Was that sunlight breaking through? I looked up.

“Can you help me up off the couch?” I asked, looking up at Him. And He did.

And He tied my favorite shoes on my feet, the ones I thought I had lost. The shoes meant for dancing.

I already had my apron on, the one that I wear when I work.

And His gaze pointed to the next job, one that we would do together, Him at my side, the arm I held onto for balance.

And then, after the kids and I cleaned up a bit, and I cleaned myself up a bit, our homeschooling family read a book together on the couch.

The book I love that I longed to introduce to my children.

When she was hardly more than a girl, Miss Minnie had gone away to a teacher’s college and prepared herself to teach by learning many cunning methods that she never afterward used. For Miss Minnie loved children and she loved books, and she taught merely by introducing the one to the other.

That Distant Land by Wendell Berry

And then we did some math.

And when the kids were tucked into bed that night, after dreaming longingly of martinis for a while, I poured out my heart to God.

And He got a big red pen, the one that I use on my kids to edit their writing, and He edited my life.

This has got to go. This too. And this.

He gave me one or two things to focus on this season, one for each child and one for me.

And it got a little easier.

I was the one who needed to change, to tweak our homeschooling life so that joy could erupt through the cracks of the brokenness of our lives a little more often.

Thank you, God, for the hard times.

For only then am I broken and quiet enough for You to usher in my transformation.

Consider asking God what wounds He wants you to lift to Him so He can remove the bandaid to allow light to shine through the scar, blinding others so they too, may seek their healing.

It’s The Women Who Suffer In A Culture That Promotes Abortion

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

We don’t see them, the women, head in hands, often alone in their apartments, suffering.

They suffer through the choice of, the procedure of, and the after-effects of their abortions. We don’t see them for a few days, but that is nothing new. We don’t see many friends or family members for a few days.

We didn’t notice.

We don’t hear them either, crying into their pillows, muffling their grief.

We don’t know their stories because it is not easy for them to speak about. The pain lies hidden deep in their hearts, placated by medication in the terrible times. Who wants to dive into the depths of the human heart and open Pandora’s box of pain that lies within?

We didn’t notice their cries because much pain emerges silently.

What TRULY is best for the woman?

What if we set aside the unwanted child within her womb, the man who is in or out of her life, societal expectations – everything? Let’s set everything aside and focus on the woman.

On her.

On you.

I see you. I feel your pain, though I may not know you. I hear you crying, though I have never met you.

I have an inkling of the pain that you feel because I feel it, too, in a different sort of way.

I am an adoptive parent.

I also, like you, have cried the anguished tears of a woman who is not in control of the timing of when a child enters her life. I too have shed tears for the unfulfilled longings of my heart, though different from yours.

I, too, have suffered grief because of the child.

But this is not about me.

This is about you.

Should you be the one to pay for the abortion procedure, handing over your savings to get it done?

What about the man?

Would a sperm say to a father, ‘Who gave you permission to use me to make a baby?’

The Message

He pockets his savings, perhaps buying more beers for his friends. He is still drinking, having fun, eyeing up the next woman at the bar while you are at home, alone, suffering through the painful side effects of aborting his child.

Is this the best we can do for women’s rights?

In ancient Greek culture, women were considered more powerful than men.

Some were worshipped as Greek goddesses. Temple prostitution was an honored position within Greek society, unlike cultural stigmas towards prostitution today. The cultural mindset was that women can control their sex drives more successfully than men.

Women have control over something men desperately want.

When sex is withheld for a season, the power balance shifts to favor women.

What if, and I am only asking the question, withholding sex from a man until he promises to be by her side if a baby comes is the best way to honor women?*

Here’s another thing we know. . . . Sexual activity is not a life-threatening proposition for guys. Neither are the consequences. We won’t die if we get our partner pregnant. We don’t lactate once she gives birth. Males are really off the hook. We engage in the same reproductive activity [as females] but there are great differences in what each has to lose when they engage in it.

Your Best Brain by John J. Medina – Lecture 18: Sex And Your Brain

Women, are we ready to assert our power?

Then let’s say “no” except to the honorable man who has already asked us to marry him*.

This is the first step towards truly honoring, valuing, and assuring women’s rights.

Use your superpower! Assert your strength and the dignity, rights, and freedom of women. Don’t hand him your future suffering, both physically and emotionally, for free.

Value the woman.

Or didn’t you realize that your body is a sacred place, the place of the Holy Spirit? Don’t you see that you can’t live however you please, squandering what God paid such a high price for?

The Message

Lord, raise women who are okay with standing alone. Thank You for restoring us to wholeness, no matter where we have travelled, Jesus. After a moment of quiet, consider asking Holy Spirit, “How do you see me?”

Blogpost Footnotes

*And no, I am not referring to the teen boy who buys $20 cubic zirconia “Promise Rings” in bulk from Walmart and hands them out to myriad teen girls, seeking his reward. The promise rests on the character of the promise-er.

This post is part of our Say-It-Again On Friday series.

The “Unwanted” Baby Is Wanted By All?

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

I’m wiping the tears from my eyes again.

It was movie and popcorn night. We watched UnPlanned, the astonishing, true story of Planned Parenthood Director Abby Johnson’s journey across the line from Choice to Life.

We were all undone.

As my tiny and insignificant contribution to this whirlwind topic of our day, like a feather battling a windstorm, I include below a poem I wrote.

May our prayers reach the ear of God, that the prevailing cultural winds would change direction and blow the feather toward God again and again and again . . . we pray.

Lord, have mercy on us, all of us, for we are a sinful people.

And may we pause to consider the following:

Simon Peter [who] . . . fell to his knees before Jesus. “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.”

The Message

and

If . . . my people, my God-defined people, respond by humbling themselves, praying, seeking my presence, and turning their backs on their wicked lives, I’ll be there ready for you: I’ll listen from heaven, forgive their sins, and restore their land to health.

The Message

They Say She’s Not Wanted

They say she’s not wanted in this world.

Yet I’ve seen her mom, belly swelled in mystical expectation, nervously meeting prospective adoptive parents for the first time. Tears flowed on all sides at the first introduction, bonded somehow at the initial meeting. I’ve chatted with her mom many times while she lay curled up in the womb.

My heart broke for her mom because she could not raise her now.

I met her birth grandma and cried with her over the expectation of the first grandchild in the family.

The fulfillment of a grandmother’s dreams was not that the child would be whisked from her arms before they would know each other well. “You take good care of her,” the grandmother whispered to the adoptive mother through tears.

I’ve met her birth father.

A boy-man, wearing the tough guy mask in front of his friends and family. I sat with him while he, head in hand, sobbed a mountain of anguished tears, knowing that her birth mom could not stay with him forever and be the family unit that he dreamed of.

I’ve cried with him too.

I’ve also met them – the crowds of families, with polished faces and pages full of dreams in shiny dossiers, cartwheeling over each other in efforts to impress. They plead, “Please pick us. We want her. We want to be her family. Oh, won’t you please pick us?”

I know them because I was also a member of one of those families. And our family was chosen. And oh, how the aching in our hearts was finally filled with love and gratitude for this cherished life.

Thank you, birth mothers, birth fathers, and birth grandparents, for standing firm in love and truth, regardless of the shifting sand of popular opinions.

We honor you, and we love you.

Thank you for placing your child in the arms of a family who will love and care for her.

Thank you for allowing this child to thrive in the healing love of all of us in her extended birth families and her extended adoptive family.

And we share a secret, don’t we?

Even if they don’t know it, we know these children are wanted by MORE people than can be counted.

What I Am Learning About Suffering Well After Twenty-Nine Days Of Bed Rest

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

The first week on bed rest wasn’t too bad.

I was pretty sure my body would figure itself out, my back would crack in the right direction, and I would be up and running in no time.

I opened an office on my bed, barking orders at my homeschooled kid, and attending meetings online.

I forgot to tell one male teacher why I was in bed during the online call which was a bit embarrassing after the fact. But I’ve done more embarrassing things in good health.

My husband brought me coffee each morning. My daughters brought me tea. All in all, it wasn’t the end of the world.

But I’m on day twenty-nine today of near constant bed rest. The allure has lost its charm.

I was struggling to hang onto my mood today, meaning I was trying to kick a foul mood and find some fruits of the spirit somewhere, but I was coming up empty-handed again.

A friend texted me “How are you?”

I shut off the phone and rolled over. Where do I begin? I’m trying to hold onto a positive attitude.

Don’t shut her out, I felt God whisper.

I answered her text.

Be honest, I felt him whisper again.

She phoned later that night. And again, despite my foul mood, I felt God prompting me to pick up the phone, to say something.

I answered the phone and chatted imbecilely about happy things in our life – toilet training our new rabbit, our daughter home from university this week.

And when we got to the subject of my back I tried to keep up a brave front for a while. No one likes a bother. We all have stuff we walk through, after all.

But I was surprised when I felt emotional as I babbled my feelings to her. I’ve seen her tears before so it was safe for her to see mine. So I let them flow a little. And I learned a bit more about myself, about the lessons I’m learning on this journey of suffering. Here are a few:

1. It’s fear again that’s robbing my joy. I couldn’t figure out why the first week of bed rest was not too bad but today with a regression of symptoms was so upsetting. Yes. It’s because fear has shown itself again, reared its ugly head again, gnawing away at the courage in my heart. What if I get worse? Fear. And fear fed by my unfiltered thoughts grew bigger, overpowering my peace.

2. I was also afraid I wasn’t doing enough. Apparently, this is the a very common fear most humans feel, I recently learned*. What if I should be taking one healthcare provider’s advice and not the other’s, or vice versa? What if I try to get up and move around too much or too little? Fear. Fear that I am not walking the tight-rope of expectations for a temperamental back that randomly punishes me no matter what I do.

3. The remedy to fear? Repentance. I actually feel powerful when I repent of fear, ironically. Try saying this: God I’m sorry for being fearful of something way far out in my future when you promised me only enough grace for today. Jesus, I’m sorry for thinking that I’m going to pull myself up by the bootstraps and fix this back problem when I can’t even see my own back, never mind have any idea what knots my back nerves and muscles inside have gotten themselves into. Forgive me for thinking, again, that I will save me. Instead, guide me and whisper to me, and help me to learn from you how much rest and movement my body needs to heal.

And so the phone call ended.

My situation hasn’t changed but my heart of a lion was feeling stronger. I could sense it beating within me again. Whatever I go through You will strengthen me. Whatever difficulty I face You are there with me. When I go through the valley, You comfort me.

As you listen to this song, try repenting of your fear, repenting of your self-sufficiency, and thanking God for the glimmers of hope in your life. Then ask Holy Spirit how to have enough strength to face today. What do you hear Him whisper?

Blogpost Footnotes

* Joyce Meyer – Do It Afraid! Obeying God In The Face Of Fear

Everyone Has Someone To Mourn With!

/ Lori Lawe / Leave a comment

Last time I talked about mourning together with the group.

I also talked about coyotes, but let’s face it, we all know I just made that stuff up. You should never trust stuff you read on the internet, anyway!

Except this post, of course.

So I spoke to my friend this week about her experiences mourning together in community.

The only problem is that she has read some of this blog once and so if I talked about what she said, I would have to tell the truth.

I’ll stick to my own experience.

So last week I was a blathering mess at church.

This was embarrassing, even for me, but the cool thing is that I didn’t have to purposefully stop the flow.

Imagine you’re in a room and the God of the universe (who exists) commands everyone in that room to love you. And they try their best to obey God (in our pathetic, limited, human way).

That’s what church is supposed to be like actually. We can bring whatever emotion is tagging along behind us and we don’t have to hide it. Sometimes we may need to cry and that’s OK. They have to love you!

Sometimes just sensing the presence of God in communal worship is what starts the tears.

And when we finally open our hearts to God and allow one disappointment to surface, don’t you find that a geyser opens up within us sometimes? There is a lot of other stuff that probably should be released as well.

And just letting some of that stuff emerge is actually healing.

That’s the irony. There is an opportunity for healing to occur if we can just stop holding it together for a few minutes, stop sucking in our guts, and stop pretending our real life matches our online persona (I’m not as neurotic and whiny in person as I seem online of course!).

I accidentally caught his eye -the guy at church I don’t know super well. But his look of empathy towards me, of real empathy, even as he tried to hide his gaze, was enough to open up the cracks on some more layers of disappointment that needed to be released.

Keep a sharp eye out for weeds of bitter discontent. A thistle or two gone to seed can ruin a whole garden in no time. The Message

Sometimes what comes out, weaved into the tapestry of stuff that has wounded our hearts over the years is bitterness and disappointment towards God.

He is standing there, ready with a towel to dry off all the tears that are soaking you. He already knows how you feel. He is so happy that you’re finally bringing who you are, and letting him comfort you.

You can rest in his arms now, like a child sitting on their mother’s lap, clinging to her, and receiving comfort somehow.

It’s going to be OK little one, he whispers to your ear.

I’ve got you now.

As you listen quietly to the song below, may you open up your heart to God, and may you find comfort, dear one.

Jesus Longs To Guide You Through Pain (And Hold Your Hand)

/ Lori Lawe / 1 Comment

I hobbled around, one hand on my back, bent over and twisted.

I did too much at my new CrossFit class, and I could feel the muscles in my lower back clenching, pushing me into a C-shape. Maybe this strain will get better on its own? I was in denial, but my body kept slowly bending me over.

The name of my chiropractor popped into my head. Oh right! But we were leaving on holiday. I didn’t have time. I continued to pack, holding my aching back. But again, and again her name went through my head that morning, as I was thinking of other things.

This is one of the ways God speaks to me. He reminds me, again and again.

I don’t always notice the first time.

So I called the chiropractor, the one I hadn’t seen in five months, the one I had somehow forgotten about after a season of happy back. She surprisingly had one cancellation that morning, which worked perfectly before we left on holiday.

Her touch was like the hand of God. I don’t mean to be overly dramatic but that is what it felt like to me. My body obeyed her and re-aligned. My posture was upright. I (carefully) went about my day and in only several days, instead of several months, I was running again.

“Yeah, I don’t even know how I found her,” I mentioned to my husband offhandedly, as I distractedly finished my lunch. I had forgotten.

The next morning, my prayer group reminded me.

Years earlier, a friend had some trouble with her foot. She mentioned the name of the person who is now my chiropractor.

Her, Jesus seemed to say.

My friend was reluctant to give me her contact information. “I have no idea what she’s like concerning backs,” she cautioned.

Her, Jesus repeated.

I was in a phase of rejecting all therapy.

Everything I tried, every physiotherapist, chiropractor, masseuse, and others had made me worse. Much worse. I was afraid to try anyone else. “I’ll just have to solve this on my own,” I had thought.

But with a nudge from God, I made the call.

I was tense and nervous in her office that first day.

But she became the gift God gave to me.

I could run faster, complete the triathlon, and horse around with the kids again sooner, much sooner.

(There is Another and another who helped my back a ton as well, but those are different stories).

God walked with me in my pain and His Spirit guided me to a person who used her skills to allow God’s healing through my body.

And I am thankful for her.

And I have remembered, now, to be thankful to God for her, too.

If I dwell by the farthest oceans, even there your hand will guide me. Ancient Text

Need some advice?

Ask!

God, you long to give out treasures, but we so infrequently come to You to receive. Help us, Jesus, to run to You as a small child in distress runs to their father, longing for an embrace. May we receive Your love, and may Your hand guide us ever more often to the gifts You long to pour out upon us, as a good father loves to give good gifts to his children. May we trust You more deeply with our headaches, heartaches, body aches, and spiritual aches.