Even here.

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er wrought heart and bids it break.”
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Aaron and I took the entire month of December off of social media. The original purpose was a challenge from our pastor during Advent: turn down the noise and recapture the wonder of the season. But knowing our hope for another baby, it felt like something entirely different for me — it felt like quiet preparation and silent reflection. It felt like taking a step back to steep in gratitude once more before diving into something entirely new.

One month doesn’t seem like that much time. And yet it’s enough time to watch your grandma slip into eternity. It’s enough time to celebrate the hope of Christmas that we all so desperately needed this year. It’s enough time to wave goodbye to one year and usher in a brand new one. And it’s just enough time to find out you’re pregnant… and then, one morning, find that you aren’t anymore.

I figured I was probably pregnant based on how I had felt in the previous couple of weeks but I tried not to think too much about it. I didn’t want to be overconfident and then be let down. I took a test on Christmas Eve that initially showed up negative. I told Aaron about it and said, “I think it’s wrong.” And sure enough, over the next couple of hours, a faint second line started to appear. Since it took so long to appear, we decided to take another test the next morning. Christmas day. What a gift it would be to find out about our baby on Christmas! How fun!

So I took another test and we wrapped it up and it was our last gift to open that morning. And we opened it to see the one word that instantly instills massive hope with a twinge of healthy fear. Pregnant.

When we found out I was pregnant with Nixon, I tried not to get my hopes up. Pregnancy after loss just brings about a different kind of anxiety. But this time – pregnancy after the birth of your son – well, it felt safe to be excited. It didn’t feel like needlessly getting our hopes up. It felt like answered prayer and immediate joy. I cried tears of excitement this time. We told Nixon all about how he would be a big brother. We excitedly shared our news that evening at my family’s Christmas gathering.

But I was pregnant only long enough to call my doctor to make those initial appointments. I was pregnant just long enough to dream about whether Nixon would have a brother or a sister. I was pregnant long enough to make a million plans in this mama heart of mine. And then in a moment, just days after we found out, I knew it was over again.

My doctor had me come in for labs just to be sure, but I already knew. I knew what my body was doing. It had done this before. We’ve done this before, which is why it seemed so impossible now. My body was supposed to know how to do this already — how to hold on to a baby it was busy creating without my knowledge. I was supposed to be (I thought) past this hurdle. I know a lot of women who have had one miscarriage. But two or more? Well, our club is smaller.

I wasn’t quite as far along this time. Many women might not even know they were pregnant. And part of me wishes I would have never known. But I do know. I know because that one word showed up on that stupid little stick. I know because the second line showed up. I know because my doctor called and told me that while my numbers were consistent with a miscarriage (meaning lower than they should have been), I still had the numbers — the numbers that tell you another life was growing in your body. The numbers that tell you a human being was being formed in your body and now suddenly it wasn’t anymore.  

So here I am, deep in this grief I never wanted to experience again. Here I am with the same questions – why and now what? Here I am telling you about it so that you might not feel alone if this is your story as well. I’m here too. Wondering. Sad. Fighting off lies and clinging to shreds of hope. I find myself just wishing to be pregnant again — that there was somehow, some way losing the baby could be untrue. That I would wake up and find that the loss wasn’t real. I know I won’t feel this way forever — I know it will get better. But right now, right here, I’m in the grimy thick of emotions and hormones.

When my grandma died, I had a hard time with it. I still am to be honest. I still think about it and cannot believe she died — I tell Aaron as much every other day. I can’t believe she’s not here on earth anymore —that she’s not just down the road at her apartment, sitting in her blue recliner. But when she died, I heard a song on the radio and sent it to my family group text. I don’t know if you tie music so closely to moments like I do, but there are songs that have defined different periods of my life. There are certain songs I could hear and be transported back to an exact moment in time. The one I heard on the radio is called, “Hallelujah Even Here” by Lydia Laird. It felt like an anthem we could sing in the midst of loss. It felt like something to hold on to in those days. And at the time I had no idea I was about to experience loss on top of loss. In a year that felt like so much was already taken — I had no idea I still had more to lose.

I have put that song on blast in my ears every day since our baby left me. I have to sing it at the top of my lungs so that maybe the truth of it will osmosis into my bones and I’ll feel better somehow —that the sentiment will wrap me up and hold me close when I really don’t feel like it is well with my soul like she sings. I have to remind my heart of the truth every day so that I don’t sink to despair.

One thing I don’t remember feeling last time was wanting proof that it happened. I want some kind of proof to hold on to that this wasn’t just a dream – that this baby was real, that two weeks ago, I really was pregnant. Last time we had a doctor’s appointment and we bought a onesie and we had a few weeks with our baby. This time it happened too fast. Last time I hung on to my doctor’s notes that said the reason for my appointment was “loss of pregnancy” just so I could hold on to something. This time I don’t have anything. There are no markers on a woman to show just how many children she’s carried in her body — and how many she now carries in her heart.

But I’ll know. I’ll know in my heart and my mind. I’ll know in my soul that I have had three babies in my body. And God knows. I don’t know what he is doing here in this part of my story, but he knows I am walking this road again. It feels unfair and ridiculous, to be honest. I feel embarrassed and angry. I feel sad. But I know that this part of my story will be used just as each part always is – to grow me, to mold my heart, to fill me with compassion and empathy. To help me become who he wants me to be. He wastes not a single moment of our lives here if we’re willing to join in what he’s accomplishing. So I’ve asked and prayed that he use this too, in my life and in the lives of whoever needs to hear that they are not alone in this acute kind of grief — in the astonishing and bewildering hurt of a shattered dream.

In September I wrote about resting even in the storms because we know who holds our hearts. How often I come to you here with lessons I think I’ve already learned and then God turns around and walks me right back through them again. In Bible Study Fellowship, the weekly group I am part of, we are studying Genesis and the story we talked about just this week was Genesis 20 where Abraham and Sarah are back at the same place they were a few chapters before. They’re learning the same lesson again. And here I am rereading that post I wrote because it seems I need to know again. That post is for me now. To know that even when it feels bumpy —even through the choppy water and roar of the engine – even here, God is the strength of my heart. He is holding me up and pulling me in close. Even when it doesn’t feel like it – because to be honest, it doesn’t really feel like it. I don’t have a warm, fuzzy, oh-wow-God-is-so-near kind of feeling. I don’t see him. But I trust him. And that is what will propel me forward to sing ever louder, “Hallelujah even here.” Even here when I am devastated. Even here when I don’t know what’s next. He is worthy. Even here.  

__________

A friend texted me the very week I miscarried (unbeknownst to her) to ask about resources I had from the first time I miscarried. She wondered if I had anything to share that might be helpful for those experiencing this kind of loss. So I’m sharing here in case they might be helpful to you as well.

The Other Side of Grief with Angie Smith — on the Made for This podcast

Trusting God with Our Children: An Interview on Faithful Motherhood with Nancy Guthrie — on the Risen Motherhood podcast

Infertility, Miscarriage and Motherhood with Courtney Reissig — on the Risen Motherhood podcast

Rich and Dawnchere Wilkerson — Our Infertility Story

It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way by Lysa Terkeurst

Also, I put together this playlist that I’ve been listening to the last couple of weeks. Maybe music helps heal your heart and hold fast to hope the way it does mine.

Sleeping on the boat.

We all scrambled on to the boat from the dock as the sun was setting lower on the horizon. After a few failed attempts, the boat roared to life and we took off across the lake. My one year old, Nixon, had been on a boat one other time in his little life but he loved it, so I knew he would enjoy the ride. Nixon has always loved loud noises – the mower, the vacuum, his sound machine – so the growl of the boat was nothing to him. He looked expectantly out over the water as the wind blew in his hair.

After the first time around the lake, I took Nixon from Aaron and held him in my arms as we continued to cruise around. The wind had a cold edge on it so I wrapped Nixon up in Aaron’s jacket and put the hood over his head to offer some protection. He cozied into my arms as we bump, bump, bumped over waves left by the wake of another boat. And as he sat there, jostling back and forth in my arms, Nixon slowly fell asleep. 

I took in the scene – wind blowing, motor growling, boat jumping over rough water along the lake – and a thought came to me: this is a little bit like our lives. We encounter wind and waves, bumps, unexpected jostling, a few moments of calm and then another unseen wave. But, when we know who holds us safe, we don’t have to fear.

Nixon wasn’t the slightest bit afraid on the boat – not of the noise, not of the bumps. And certainly part of that is because I wasn’t afraid. Had I been on higher alert, he may not have been able to relax, but since he felt safe, he was able to fall asleep. It was so beautiful. He was secure in my arms. He could rest.

When we know who holds us, we don’t have to fear. Do you know who holds you today? There’s a new song by Matthew West and the lyrics that pricked my heart the other day go like this:

Do you remember singing
Back when you were younger
He's got the whole world in His hands
Well, that's still true

I hold your family, all your friends, and all your loved ones
And even when you're barely holding on
I'm holding you

He holds us close. The Creator God — God of the mountains and the oceans, the trees and the bees, the God who is in control of breath and being — he holds us. He goes before us. He knows what we will encounter and he walks with us in it. He holds us through the bumps, through the noise, through the whipping wind. And he won’t let go. Even if we feel scared. Even if we can’t sleep. Even if we fight against his loving grasp. He holds us safe.

Do you know the story of Jesus in Mark 4 when he was on the boat with his disciples and the storm came up? The wind was whipping, the boat was being tossed by the waves and all his friends were like, “Hey, where’s Jesus?” Where did they find him? Sleeping in the boat. Confident in who held it all together despite the wind and the waves — despite what may have felt chaotic to his friends.

You know what has felt a bit chaotic? This whole year. I mean, honestly, take your pick, I think we’ve all felt a little out of sorts since, oh, say, March? If ever there were reasons for anxiety, it would be this year. Many have lost jobs and loved ones and homes and health. There is no shortage of unrest this year. But, in the midst of it all, there is one who holds us close. He knows. He sees what we’re up against and he says, “I’ve got this.”

While I believe what I am writing to you today, there have certainly been times throughout this pandemic where I wasn’t trusting who held it all together. I wasn’t relaxed enough to take a nap on a cushion in the back of the boat. I have been sitting up straight trying to anticipate what’s coming next – holding on for dear life to the side of the boat, wondering what wave will come and try to drown me. I have felt that if I just research enough, I could see what was ahead and it would be less scary. If I just read enough, talked to enough people who agreed with my opinion, and found enough evidence that there was no reason to fear, then I would be okay. I have been caught hoping in myself and my own understanding thinking that would give me some sort of peace, when instead, I could hand my fears over to God and go take a nap.

Let me clarify something here – I don’t mean we should sleep in the boat as opposed to taking action where God calls us to action. I don’t mean “sleeping” as a hall pass for laziness and passivity. What I mean by sleeping in the boat is a confident assurance of who holds your hand and your heart. Who commands your very breath. Who walks with you in each circumstance. You can let go of fear and anxiety because you know in your gut that someone with your very best interests in mind is guiding you every step of the way.

Have you ever seen someone walk into a room with a quiet confidence – they kind of command the room with their presence and warm smile? That’s what I mean. It’s that despite it all, no matter what seems to loom, there is a peace about them. A calm. An assurance that no matter what, it’s going to work together for good. You can rest wherever you are today, regardless of what is happening around you, because you remind your heart, “God goes before and behind me. God holds all this together and wants good for me. God knows what I need. I can take a nap over here in this boat because he’s at the helm.”

You can’t create that kind of peace on your own. That has to be given. A “peace that passes understanding “ that comes from the One who is our peace. He says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” Isn’t that refreshing for your bones today? He is the peace our hearts are searching for in this year, in this pandemic, in this life. He will give us the peace we all need if we just turn to him and say, “Jesus, I need the rest and peace that you alone offer.”

Certainly, it’s easy to write these things now, when my own life hasn’t been impacted in many difficult ways through this pandemic. So I write this now when things are going well so that when they aren’t — when we inevitably hit the next set of bumps — I can remind my heart again of these truths. If we are diligent to teach our hearts this refrain in the good times, the melody will come back to us again while we navigate the next set of waves.

So next time you’re feeling a little tense and anxious, son or daughter of God, remember that you can fall asleep in the boat because you know who’s holding you. You don’t have to fear. I don’t have to fear. We can be as cozy and confident as Nixon sleeping in the boat, safe in my arms, because we know in our heart of hearts, regardless of circumstances, God’s got this. 

More than I could handle.

I had a friend tell me one time that every experience we have is a new opportunity to learn to trust God. I have hung on to this for a few years now – tried to remember in all the hard and good experiences of my life. It helps me to reframe them in this way. Similarly, I read a tweet from Adam Ramsey recently that said,

 “The more I realize that my trials are nothing more than servants of my sanctification, the more I enter into a wonderful freedom: honesty about my weakness, marked by hope rather than morbidity.”  

What a beautiful thought — a wonderful promise to hang on to. I’ve written before that pregnancy after miscarriage carries a specific weight with it – a certain degree of anxiety with a new level of trust required. But I feel the freedom now to tell you this story. The story about learning a new opportunity to trust the Lord. I want to tell you the story of a photograph. It’s a picture of my son’s hand at 19 weeks old, safely tucked away inside my body. It is so precious to me and Aaron. Let me tell you why.

I was seeing a midwife when we were in Hawaii. We both really loved her. She was the sweetest woman and made everything about this pregnancy experience comforting and exciting, which was exactly what we needed after our first loss. At our 18 week appointment she mentioned the option to do what is called a quad-serum screen. From what I understand, it tests the mother’s blood for different hormones and levels that may indicate there is something wrong with the baby. In this case, it checks for Down Syndrome, neural tube defects (like Spina Bifida) and Trisomy 18. Aaron and I decided to do the testing solely for the purpose of being more prepared and having the right resources in place should our baby be born with special needs.  

The blood test took a single minute and my midwife said she would call me and let me know the results before we went in the following week for the baby’s anatomy scan. Well, the day for our scan came and I never got a call. I tried to take this as a “no news is good news” kind of situation. We let the excitement of finally knowing the gender of our baby outweigh any possibility of there being a problem.

At the hospital, I laid down on the bed and the sonographer quickly pulled up a beautiful picture of our baby on the screen. She began taking measurements and photos but hardly said anything during the entire process. She mentioned that she was trying to get pictures of his brain, his heart, the in/out flow of blood through his umbilical cord, his hands and feet. All of this is normal – it’s exactly what they’re looking for – but it seemed to take a really long time, as if she were looking for something specific. As she moved the wand around on my belly, I asked a couple of times if the baby looked good and she only answered vaguely. Finally she finished and as she walked out to get the doctor, she left my chart on the chair. I tried to glance over at it because I saw in big, highlighted yellow letters ‘FYI’. FYI what?

Before I could see anything else on the chart, the perinatologist came in and introduced himself. I didn’t even know what a perinatologist was or why we were meeting with him but it quickly became clear. He sat down with my chart in hand and said,

“So last week you took the quad-serum screen, and this test checks for several different things...”

It was in that moment that I thought, “Something’s wrong.” I squeezed Aaron’s hand.

He went on, “The serum screen is not diagnostic, it simply identifies possible risk factors. Your risk factor for Down Syndrome and Spina Bifida came back low risk. However, the results did come back high risk for Trisomy 18.”  

I think I blacked out after that. I mean, I didn’t, but I could hardly focus as I felt overwhelmed at this blindsiding news. Our doctor continued to talk about exactly what Trisomy 18 was, which is also called Edwards Syndrome, and the mortality rate of infants born with this condition. These precious babies have severe physical abnormalities and are usually miscarried or stillborn.

Often you’ll hear the idea that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. You especially hear it when you’re going through something difficult. I don’t know who really believes that because let me tell you something – this felt like entirely more than I could handle. Our miscarriage last year was more than I could handle. Spotting at 13 weeks with this baby and going in for an emergency ultrasound was more than I could handle (have I ever mentioned that this happened the same week our car was broken into and my purse was stolen? Yeah, more than I could handle). And now at 19 weeks, we were being told that our baby may have an abnormality. I simply could not handle it. As I explained it to my mom on the phone later, I cried and said, “It’s just too much!” 

I think everyone will find at some point in their life that the trials feel like too much. Too much weight to carry – a burden too heavy. For one reason or another we’ll feel our knees buckling under the load we’ve been asked to carry. I think that’s by design. We’re not meant to do it ourselves. God may give us more than we can handle so that we’ll give it to him and let him handle it. It’s never more than He can handle. The weight is never too much for him. And whatever trial you are facing can be used, if you allow it, to make you more like Him. So, will you surrender the burden to Him? Let it draw you back to Him in new ways? Recognize that this trial is simply sanctifying you and bringing you closer to His heart?  

Dr. Goh, our perinatalogist, went on to say he looked at the photos the sonographer took of our baby but that he was going to do the scan again. He wanted to look for specifics that she was unable to capture.  

I laid back down, practically holding my breath as he pulled a new picture of our baby up on the screen. He went through each physical marker and explained the way it would look if our baby had Trisomy 18 and the way it looked to him as he scanned over our little one. The baby’s head would measure small and be abnormally shaped, but our baby’s was normal. The heart wouldn’t be developed correctly, but ours was normal. Aaron and I started to breathe a little easier as he looked for all the physical markers that suggested our baby was sick, but none of them were showing up. Finally, one of the indicators that an unborn baby has Trisomy 18 is that these babies can’t open their hands – they’re always in a closed fist and have overlapping fingers. As he explained this, I remembered that when the sonographer was in the room, she was trying to get a good picture of his hands and count his fingers, but she never got one.

Then, as Dr. Goh was explaining that baby wouldn’t be able to open his hand, our baby, by the sweetest grace of the Lord, showed us this on the screen at just the right moment.

Five perfect little fingers. Open hand. The most precious sight I simply cannot get over. None of the physical markers of Trisomy 18 were present in our little boy. Dr. Goh later said that Edwards babies always measure small but ours wasn’t. “You have a big kid,” he said with a smile.

Because the quad-serum screen is not diagnostic and even ultrasound photos aren’t a guarantee of baby’s health, our doctor suggested an additional blood test called the Harmony test. This test would draw my blood and look for pieces of baby’s DNA floating around in my bloodstream. Generally they can find enough of baby’s DNA to make a more certain diagnosis. I said okay because it was non-invasive, unlike other tests offered, such as amniocentesis.

So, after my blood draw, Aaron and I left the hospital a little shell-shocked. What was supposed to be a fun day of finding out the gender of our baby turned into a three hour hospital visit with a doctor who specialized in high-risk pregnancy. That’s not really how we envisioned the day going.

For the next week, I held on to the pictures of our baby. We announced to everyone that we were expecting a boy, amidst lingering fears that he might be sick. I journaled. I prayed. I cried out to God, really. Several days later I wrote in my journal, “We will find out the result of his blood test this week but I feel very calm about it - just giving it over to Jesus, who already knows. So I can rest.”

And later that morning, I received an email.

I sent a screenshot to Aaron and then sat on the floor and cried big, thankful tears. We didn’t realize how tightly we had been holding our breath for the entire week until this very moment when we could finally exhale.

So, as far as all testing can tell, our precious boy is just fine - growing and kicking me at all hours, and last week we watched on ultrasound as he practiced his breathing. Oh, it was so cute! But, I know this isn’t the story for everyone. I know the story turns out differently – you get the news you most certainly didn’t want. Your baby is sick. You endure the pain and bewilderment of miscarriage. The test results aren’t positive. You get let go from your job. Your relationships aren’t fixed. Your depression lingers. There are trials in life that don’t turn around into good news immediately. You can’t see the point and your “why?” goes unanswered. I’m not forgetting you in this moment - I have been you before.

But I am saying that in all circumstances the only thing I know how to do is lean on the Lord to get me through. I don’t know what other option we have. Where do you turn if not to the One who can carry it all? Is it your pride that says, “I can carry this. I am strong enough to handle this”? Because I would imagine the moment will come when you can no longer handle it. You’ll turn somewhere — to someone or something else to get you through. The thing is, the only One who can handle it is the very One who created you. Would you give it to Him today? Let Him carry you on all the good and bad days - the ones you didn’t see coming and certainly didn’t plan for?

For the week we waited for the results, I prayed that our baby would be okay and even if he wasn’t, that we would have God’s hand of mercy to walk us through whatever was next. I have to say that my heart and mind were covered in a supernatural peace – unexplainable given the circumstances. I was given new measures of compassion, an extra dose of strength, and put myself at the feet of Jesus again and again. This is what he wants anyway, in all our days. In the ordinary days that we would call boring. In the scary and unknown. On the days we want to shout from the rooftops because the joy is too immense and on the days we just cannot get out of bed for the weight of grief. Let each new day be a new opportunity to learn to trust God and remember that our trials are simply to be used in our sanctification to help us look more like Him.  

I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
Psalm 121: 1-2

Religion.

In his book, On Writing, Stephen King opens with a section he calls his C.V. It is filled with short anecdotes about his life and how he grew up and what led him to be a writer. At one point he mentions that he believes in God but has "no use for organized religion.” I highlighted this line in the book because I kind of wonder what he means by it – what anyone means when they say that. The internet will tell you that organized religion by definition is, "religion in which belief systems and rituals are systematically arranged and formally established." But if you believe in God on some level, well then I would imagine you might want to talk about that sometime. And if you talk about that and have any really good thing to say about it, other people might want to join in. And when you have a group of more than about 20 people coming together to talk about anything, well then you have to kind of, well, organize it. What’s this going to look like? Is it a meeting? Who gets to talk at the meeting? There has to be a beginning, a middle, and an end to this gathering so what will each contain? Are there rules for the meeting? Any organization has rules. So there have to be rules for membership. Well then all of a sudden it looks like you’re organized - you've got rituals arranged and established. So you're gathering to talk about God and there are rules for doing so.

So if that’s what they mean, if that’s what people have no use for, then maybe what they really dislike are the rules. Maybe you just don’t like the rules and rituals put in place by these groups of people that gather to talk about God. But one thing you might want to consider is that, if you find yourself fleeing from all “organized religion” perhaps you're fleeing because you don’t want anyone telling you what you can and can’t do. Maybe you want to be God and you believe, instead, in yourself. You can tell yourself what to do – you don’t have to go to an organized meeting where they might press on you - on your ideas about what's right - or tell you that you’re wrong about this or that. In speaking about a critic of Christianity, G.K. Chesterton said, “The restraints of Christians saddened him simply because he was more hedonist than a healthy man should be.” Perhaps you are that man and the restraints sadden you - they press on you just a little too much. E. Paul Hovey said, "Men do not reject the Bible because it contradicts itself, but because it contradicts them."

Christianity will always press on you and me because we are not God and we will be constantly sanctified - shaped, molded, growing - in some way until Heaven. I wrongly believed that becoming a Christian meant you were done - like it was this one time moment and from then on you were ready for Heaven and everything was easy and there was no sin and no struggle, only perfection. Like maybe we just went to church because we wanted to glory in our perfection in Jesus. But the truth is I wasn’t perfect – I was a mess (and still am! Ask my husband!) And I didn’t know how to wrestle with my sin. I didn’t know about sanctification at all. I didn’t know that the whole of the Christian life is more of a two steps forward, one step back kind of deal. Belief in the gospel is an everyday need, not a one time prayer. I missed that in Sunday School. I think they left that part out. 

So, if I grew up in church and didn't understand it, then I wonder about people who didn't grow up in church. When people say they don't like organized religion I wonder what gospel they've heard in their life that has made them flee. Because if the gospel is good news (and it is!), then it shouldn’t make you flee, it should make you cling to it, white knuckle death grip on those crutches carrying you through til glory. And if it’s not, then why not? What have you missed?

A lot of people have too many doubts to trust a god other than themselves. They'll tell you, "I just feel a lot of doubt about _____." Well, welcome to the club. We all feel doubts sometimes. I listened to a sermon on the plane ride home last month and he said it’s okay to have doubts, but instead of sitting in them, you must doubt your doubts and ask Jesus for clarity. It’s okay to have doubts. It’s okay to not get it. Jesus’s disciples walked with him in the flesh for three whole years every single day and still didn’t get it. It's what you do with your doubts that matters. Criticize them. Turn them over in your hand and ask why they're there. Dig down to the roots of your doubts and find out what it is you really believe. Don't just trust your doubts because then you end up believing in them over believing in Jesus.

Growing up in Christian circles and working in a church for several years and also just being a Christian myself, I find that a lot of times we have doubts because we think we can control God with our behavior and then one day it just doesn't work anymore. We follow Jesus and think it’s all great because everything is going just how we planned, and then one day it’s not and we’re left blindsided because we thought we were in control of this bargain. We start to doubt because the god we trusted didn't trust our plan. Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jesus. Who do you think you are? Didn’t you see how I tithed my whole life? Didn’t you see how I helped that homeless guy back there? Didn’t you see me when I went to church every week? Didn't you see how I always obeyed my parents? Hello? Didn’t you see my perfect family? Things were going great for us according to my plan, so what gives?

I believed for years that I could control God with my behavior. In 2011 I wrote, 

“For YEARS and years I have been pleading with God. Begging and pleading with him for peace and comfort and all the freedom he offers. All the things he says he’s going to offer and give to those who love him. I do love him. I have loved him and tried to follow him, sought after him, tried to point kids toward him, given my money and time to him, prayed my guts out to him, read about him, tried to know him and understand him, listened for him, tried to listen to him, had discussions about him, cried out to him. AND YET, I feel I’ve been drowning in sadness and unmet desires and broken dreams.”

I believed that if I did all this then God would owe me - that somehow I could put God in my debt. Why the unmet dreams if I've done all this work for you, God? If that’s not bargaining with the Lord, I don’t know what is. But the thing is, God doesn’t do bargains. He doesn’t take negotiations. There’s nothing you have that he doesn’t already own. What could you possibly give him? He made it. Out of nothing. The breath in your lungs. The ability to read these words. These are things of God. 

So I realized it’s not about actions and behaviors and bargaining chips. It’s about Jesus. It's about every person, circumstance, trial, or victory leading you to more of Jesus. I just wrote about this in one of my last posts. It’s not about your story or what you want or what you think or feel. It's not about the rules you follow or don't follow. It’s about Jesus and your choice is if you’re going to join in on the epic adventure he has written for you or pull back against it.

I was journaling on that same plane ride and I wrote,

I hope you know at the end of the day it’s really just you and Jesus. He’ll bring people into your life and you’ll invite people in along the way. Some won’t always stay. Some for a season, others a lifetime. But at the end of it all it’s just about you and Jesus. 

What you believe about him, what you say about him, what you think about him, these are the things that are going to matter at the end of it all. It will shape your decisions, your thoughts, your actions, the leanings of your heart. What you think about Jesus will be the only thing that matters when you die. So you can pass on "organized religion" and that’s fine. But what are you going to do with Jesus?

Stephen King's book about the craft of writing was really pretty good. I think he wanted me to get more out of it about writing than about his one sentence worth of thoughts on religion, but for some reason that's where my heart was stuck. So he doesn’t believe in religious rules but neither does Jesus, so that’s pretty good news for all of us – for him, for the doubters among us, for me, for you. Oh, there’s value in the gathering of believers, yes. But forget the rules. Jesus just wants you, not your good behavior. He's after your heart.