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Sunday, July 28, 2013

A hard-learned lesson: The Doldrums


Waiting.

In life, this is the single most difficult thing for me to do. In line, in traffic, for a baby to decide he’s ready to be born (5 days late), it is and has always been near torture for me. Why is this? I’ve been asking myself this question over the past few months, and the answer I think comes from my nature to control and from a deep restlessness, a need to always be doing. Because if I’m moving and doing something productive, I must be in control. Right?

I had this crazy math teacher in high school. I can’t even remember what year it was or what course she taught us, but I do remember her talking about “the doldrums”. I think once she even drew a picture of a ship out on a stagnant ocean. We made fun of her all year for it, but she was teaching us an important lesson. The most dangerous and difficult place to be is not in the center of a storm, but stuck in a place where barely a breeze is blowing. Floating in the doldrums, the place that ship captains feared because no amount of reinforcing the ship or teaching new skills to the crew members could save you from weeks of no wind and a stagnant sea. Samuel Coleridge in his very famous poem Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner describes this place, and it resonates in my heart as the place I am in right now.

All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody Sun, at noon,

‘Right up above the mast did stand,

No bigger than the Moon.

 

Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, no breath no motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

 

Could there be a truer test for faith in God than this? Many men run to God in a storm to save them, fewer men run to God in times of plenty to thank Him, but fewer still run to Him in times of consistent and seemingly endless longsuffering, when God seems to not be moving. Well, we do in the beginning but after a while we give up. Because it is then when the lie of abandonment sneaks into our hearts and tricks us into thinking that God must not care for us like we thought He did. We may be important enough to keep alive, but just barely. Certainly not important enough to deserve a strong wind at our back and clear skies ahead.

When my dad died, now almost three months ago, I replayed the song, “It Is Well With My Soul” over and over in my mind for weeks. I will always associate that song with both happy and sad memories, and the vision of a ship tossing about in a storm is so clear and vivid a reminder of that time. But even a storm can distract us from God because there is something to fight. We have a role to play, even if our job is just to get through the bad situation. Storms always end. It’s tough while you’re in it but you come out the other side praising God for his goodness to you during that time, and you share with others the things God taught you. However, the biggest lesson in patience comes when the sea billows do not roll, but when there is nothing to fear but that your circumstances will never change. That God must have forgotten about you. No man can make the wind blow.

You can climb onto the sails and puff up your cheeks and blow with all of your might, but the ship will not move. You can fight it as hard as you like, pull out the paddles, readjust the sails, but at some point it will be clear that you are totally not in control. The only thing to do is surrender: your plans, your need to be moving, your timetable, and possibly even your very survival. Sometimes when Christians are going through a long, tough time they think that if they finally learn the lesson God has for them to learn, finally He will move in their lives. If they lay out their hands in surrender, He will blow onto their sails. But surrender does not cause God to move, it allows Him to change your focus from one of control (“When, God? How much longer?”), to complete and utter lack of control (“I’m not worried. I’ll accept your blessing when it comes”). In the same way, your lack of surrender is not keeping God from moving. He is not dependant on you. He may just be reminding you that you are dependant on Him. You may stare at an unchanging sea with barely a ripple in the water for days, weeks, years. When He is not changing your circumstances, He is very likely changing your heart.

The most frustrating part of this equation is when God has given you a vision or a desire. You felt like He gave you a glimpse of what was to come. You may have had a strong urge to move to a particular place, be in a different job, start your family, start a ministry, and you feel or even know in your heart that these desires are whispers from your Father. Yet, when you try to make those things come to fruition, you fail. Chad has had more job interviews than I can remember, and each time we thought we had felt a breeze. The wind is coming! God is keeping His promise of a new job for Chad! And then the breeze died. And sometimes, our faith died right along with it. I have known people who knew they were supposed to be living in a different place. They couldn’t sell their house and had to put off moving for years. God whispered to them a desire but it was not yet His timing. Ever wonder why He keeps us in the dark sometimes? We hear that whisper and start running, trying to make things happen ourselves. You want me to move? I’m ON IT. Or, when we think a door is opening (a job interview, an offer on our house) we assume that MUST be God. We felt a breeze, so the wind must be coming!

      But even when we’re pretty sure we have waited long enough, that we have learned a lesson, that we have submitted our lives to God, He may still ask us to wait in an unchanging sea. Even when we see other ships sailing by, ships with our friends or relatives on them with the wind full at their backs, He may still ask us to wait. Even when we have a mortgage to pay and no money to pay it with, when we are on our last round of fertility treatments, when we are still sick, when our job has become incredibly unfulfilling, He may still ask us to wait. So, what to do then? Worship Him. Pray ceaselessly. Jesus taught us how to pray, and even He asked for God to change his circumstances, but he added “Not my will but Yours be done”. We can thank Him for our vision and trust Him with its fruition. We can be witnesses for Him, hold the hands of others who, like us, are in the doldrums and need a friend to wait with. We can encourage each other, love each other, and cause people to wonder at the crazy awesome Hope that we have.

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Monday, July 1, 2013

Goodbye, PumpMonster

  Hey PumpMonster. Well, it's your very last day with me. I haven't used you in a few days and I know that I won't need you again, probably ever. It's been a long road for you and me, with quite a few bumps. I guess our friendship, or maybe I should say partnership, started three years ago a few days after I brought my girls home from the hospital. I was a new mom with two babies to feed, and I was nervous. They were so tiny, only five pounds, and I really wanted to provide all the milk they needed. So you helped me. I filled up my freezer, and for eleven months you helped me feed them. Sometimes I felt like I was tied to you with a ball and chain, and I wanted to stop using you but I felt bad about not giving my babies milk that was there for the taking. So, I appreciate it. But man, I was glad when I finally made the decision to let you go into the closet for a while. You were definitely not one of my most favorite machines. I'd give that award to Coffee Maker any day.
 
 

 So then, about 15 or 16 months later, I needed you again. I had told everyone within earshot that there was NO WAY I was going to pump when Jude was born. If he couldn't get it from the tap himself, he wasn't going to get it. But, duh, I was going to have a really hard time stopping at only three months after making it almost a year with the girls. So I brought you back out and we started hanging out again. Six times a day. For seven more months. And I decided to like you a teensy bit. And we hung out first thing in the morning and last thing before I went to sleep. And I was thankful. So you're not so bad I guess, but you're still a monster and I'm still really glad that you're retiring.
 
I hope you liked your retirement party. I made you a card and everything, but I'm pretty sure you can't read, so I read it aloud to you. It contained this poem:
Swooshee shwooshee
you talk to me
late at night
while I pump
Are you saying "Kelly clarkson"
Or "I like grass"?
I wish I knew
 
I made you an ice cream sandwich. Just kidding, I bought it. It was a store brand. On sale. I don't want you thinking I really like you or something just in case you try to voodoo magic me into getting pregnant again just so that I can pull you out of the closet.  Maybe I can find you someone else who needs you. Anyway I thought you looked excited about the sandwich but your skinny tubing arms were too weak to pick it up I guess so I fed it to you. Honestly it was a little weird, but I would have gotten mad if you had let it melt all over the place.  
 
 
 Later on after a few glasses of wine we started really talking and you told some hilarious stories about some stuff that I can't really remember. There are pictures though, and I'm laughing in most of them. You look the same. I guess I could be laughing at myself just sort of near you. But as I wrapped up your cords and zipped you up to put you away, I felt like in some odd way we had become friends.
Thanks for all your help, PumpMonster. Now it's time for you to move to Florida and watch all those Matlock episodes on your dvr.
You could be sleeping for all I know.