broken vessels.

 As is to be expected, I suppose, when you go a year without writing...A lot has happened since the last post!

By way of update, we are closing in on our one year anniversary of living in the Netherlands (crazy!) and we are about halfway through our second pregnancy and just found our we're expecting a baby girl (also crazy!).

So, it's been quite a year. And it's been beautiful and God has been gracious and generous in so many ways. But I'm not going to lie to you...It's also been hard. Really, really hard. 

Lots of transition is hard (we had a baby, then over the next four months sold all our things and moved out of our first home together, floated around a bit between visiting family and a two-month live-in training, said countless goodbyes, moved to a country where one of us was much more familiar with the language and culture than the other, had to do all kinds of things that intimidated one of us more than the other [me] like going everywhere/taking your baby/toddler everywhere by bike, wrestled with things like identity and purpose, adjusted to new roles and new everything, really, and are still in the process of building a whole new community and in-person support system). Starting from square one with learning a language and a culture and a city and building all new relationships is hard. Figuring out what we're supposed to be doing and how we're supposed to be doing it and how we're supposed to do it all when we also have a then-baby, now-toddler to take care of (without childcare) is hard. Having expectations go unmet and not quite having the support we wish we had/once had are both hard (while so many people here have truly loved us so well and helped us so much). This Dutch winter has been HARD (this has literally been the longest winter of my life, as it's been "cold" [by my standards] and often rainy since October/November and we had snow a few days ago...I've thought a lot about the "always winter, never Christmas" idea from The Chronicles of Narnia this month). And this past month has probably been the most circumstantially challenging of our time here, as Glenn had shoulder surgery and then we all got sick while I was trying to take care of everything (while pregnant) while he was down to one arm (and the weather didn't help). 

In the same breath, I do want to say how kind God has been, even (or maybe especially) in the midst of a difficult year. He allowed us to spend time with family and say good goodbyes before we left (and so many members of our family have visited already or are planning to visit soon). He provided a beautiful home for us here (when there is a housing shortage and finding a place with three bedrooms, within budget, in a nice neighborhood, and not far from the city center is miraculous). He blessed us with such sweet neighbors that we've had the privilege of getting to know and do life with this year. He provided us with a church family here that has already loved us so well and been there for us in so many ways, even though we're new here. He's given us a healthy, intelligent, charmingly social little boy and a healthily growing little girl on the way. He's given me the grace to make progress in learning this language (and helped me bike to and make it through language school on the sometimes icy/almost always rainy days and not-super-severe-yet-consistent morning sickness of the first trimester). And the sun is out today and WINTER IS ALMOST OVER!

So, as always, the beautiful and the hard coexist (and sometimes I fixate more on one than the other). And some seasons are harder than others. And I'm learning to realize and remind myself that "winter" seasons don't last forever (nor do "summer" seasons). As Ann Voskamp says in her book, Waymaker, "Life is waves. Grief comes in waves. Suffering comes in waves. Losses come in waves. There is no controlling life's storms; there is only learning to live with waves. The real work of being human is mastering how to process losses while being in the process of moving forward. The real work of being human is trusting the way is the waves, right through the valleys and crests." And then later: "Life is waves, but there is One who walks on waves to whom you can cling. Who says, Trust Me! Trust Me!"

And though I am learning the truth of that more every day, the truth is...this has been one of the hardest seasons of my life so far. I don't know if you can relate, but I really (REALLY) like to have it all together. And I feel like I've never had it less all-together in my life. What, with the adjustment to motherhood and all the newness of moving to a foreign country...I've never felt so out of my element. (But as much as we all like to feel on top of things and have things going well, you just don't always and neither does the person next to you, no matter how things may appear from the outside looking in, and that's okay.) 

I don't think I've ever felt more cracked and broken than I have over the past year and a half or so. And I'm not sure if I've ever questioned so deeply the goodness of God or beat my fists so hard against the very nature of suffering.  

But enough about me. I'm sure you are or have been or will be going through your own personal brand of hard, so let's talk about God. Here are some things he's been showing me through it all.  

1. Love is the reason and the answer.

So much of my questioning and struggling and wrestling this year has been about why suffering has to exist. Here's my (condensed) line of thinking: If God is all-knowing and all-powerful and all-sovereign, why would he create beings that he knew (because if he's all-knowing, there's no way it was a surprise to him) would turn away from him/let him down/choose against him? Why did he choose to create us anyway? If he was all-sufficient and perfectly satisfied in his Trinitarian self, why would he choose to create anything outside himself at all (especially imperfect creatures like us)? And if he knew creation wouldn't stay the perfect, pure way he created it but that we would get it all bent out of shape and he'd have to suffer and die to make it all right, why do it? Is existence worth the inevitable suffering that is an unavoidable part of life on this earth?

Here's where I landed: Love. He did it for and out of love. Think about it: In order for there to be real love, there had to be the freedom of choice. Otherwise, we'd be robots, incapable of true love. So, even though he knew we'd choose our own broken way over him and his higher/better/perfect ways over and over and over again, he still chose to create us with the capacity to love (and therefore with free will). 

So why did he bother with us at all, knowing full well the grief we'd cause him and the lengths he'd go to to restore a relationship he knew we would break? Because he IS love. Overflowing with it, so much so that we wanted to share the joy and the beauty and the light and the goodness of it. Of himself. 

So, if God is love and love is the reason he created us and redeemed us, and love could not exist without at least the possibility of pain and suffering (because, as we established, there can be no love without free will, which meant we could run right into brokenness, which we did), then I guess the real questions is: Is love worth all the inevitable pain that it means to really live?

What do you think? Maybe you've never really thought about it before, but I was asking these kinds of questions, especially last summer. And I wondered if maybe it wasn't worth the risk...this living that means that you WILL get hurt and you will get disappointed and will feel all kind of pain. 

But then my son hugs me BIG. My husband pulls me close and kisses my forehead. My neighbor brings us dinner when Glenn is recovering from surgery and I'm sick and growing a human. My small group members offer to buy me a new bike when mine gets stolen (and a family member from home had already taken care of that even before they offered). My mother sends me a book that helps me through said season of wrestling. My good, good Father is faithful to draw near to me as I draw near to him (James 4:8) and speak louder than my doubts. He lets me revel in sunshine and laughter and and good food and quiet walks in his beautiful creation. And so many countless other examples of the gifts of beauty and kindness and love in action than I could list. 

And yes. It's worth it. Living and loving and feeling all the things are a gift. And they're worth the risk (and the reality) of heartache. 

I basically reread Ann Voskamp's Waymaker the other day through reading back through my (many) highlights (which was good for my soul), and there are so many quotes I want to share. Here's a handful, anyway:

"If God had created a world without great suffering--would this be a world without great souls? Isn't suffering the ink of all the unforgettable love stories and epic quests? Eliminate adversity and you obliterate bravery...Take away overwhelming suffering from the world and you take away the overcomers of the world."

"You can't waste your days waiting until things are painless to finally be joyful. You have to find a way to believe: Love lives at peace with pain, and the two will never divorce. Because to love is to be tender enough to know suffering, to be vulnerable enough to know hurt, and the only way to divorce your way from any pain is to divorce yourself from any love. The way to love always knows roads of pain--because there is not other way to even know love."

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it up carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket of coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell." (This one is from The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis)

"All the hard and inexplicable ways of the cosmos, the bruised relationships, the roadblocks to our dreams, all the bewildering ways of God, have this redeeming purpose of attaching us, like marriage, like adoption, to the enfolding heart of God."

"Any ecosystem that remains always the same--never changes--is stagnant and dying...Pursuing an unchangeable state of happiness will lead you to a stagnant state of despair." 

"Instead of gazing on the beauty of God Himself, we've all kept gazing on a way, a dream of another life without suffering that we've made into some kind of god to us. Instead of turning toward God, we all keep returning to the garden to go our own way and eat the damned apple, and then try to convince ourselves and all the world that is tastes divinely sweet, when the truth of it is, we have never chosen to taste and see the eternally satisfying rich goodness of God."

"Your wholeness is more about the health of your attachments than the hellishness of your adversities."

"Relationship is the only rewarding reality that lasts for all eternity."

"God is the Word, the Author or our story, and He keeps writing the story until the last line is good. No page is the whole story, and no dark gets to write our last line. The Word writes the last line, only Love Himself does. So we stay in His story, dwell in the Word Himself, stay and cling-trust that there is only one Word who can restory and restore all our broken hearts with His."

2. Broken vessels best let the Light shine through.

That last one was a lot, so I'll just cite a couple of verses and some song lyrics:

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.." -2 Cor. 4:7

"All these pieces

Broken and scattered
In mercy gathered
Mended and whole

Empty-handed
But not forsaken
I've been set free
I've been set free

Amazing grace
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me, ooh
I once was lost
But now I am found
Was blind but now I see

Oh, I can see You now
Oh, I can see the love in Your eyes
Laying Yourself down
Raising up the broken to life

You take our failure
You take our weakness
You set Your treasure
In jars of clay

So take this heart Lord
I'll be Your vessel
The world to see

Your life in me" 

-Broken Vessels (Amazing Grace) by Hillsong

"I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.

Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness. Now I take limitations in stride, and with good cheer, these limitations that cut me down to size—abuse, accidents, opposition, bad breaks. I just let Christ take over! And so the weaker I get, the stronger I become." -2 Cor. 12: (The Message)

3. That which is not broken can never be shared.

I feel like God spoke this to me a couple weeks ago in church. We avoid pain and suffering and brokenness like the plague, don't we? But what if it's purposeful? Fruitful? 

The way Jesus broke up loaves of bread and miraculously feed thousands of people at once. The way any sort of breaking bread or cutting cake or dishing up a casserole works...it can't stay whole and be shared by a table full of people at the same time. The way the woman in Mark 14 broke her expensive alabaster jar of perfume to pour out its contents, sharing them with her Redeemer. The way ground must be broken and soil must be tilled for there ever to be a harvest. The way Jesus said "This is my body, broken for you" and less than 24 hours later allowed himself to be tortured and killed to share his perfect blamelessness with anyone who would choose to accept that gift...to heal all our irrevocable-in-our-own-power brokenness. 

What if God can do more in and through the broken-down version of me than he could if he let me stay whole and unhurt and untouched by suffering? What if I'm working against him and being selfish with my very being by trying to have it all together all the time? What if, in the often incomprehensible logic of God, we're actually made stronger through the breaking? (And that's not so illogical, after all; any athlete knows that's the only way to build muscle. An article on building muscle from Healthline.com says this: "When you do extreme exercise, like weightlifting, your muscle fibers undergo trauma(!), or what’s called muscle injury. When your muscles are injured this way, satellite cells on the outside of the muscle fibers become activated. They attempt to repair the damage by joining together and, as a result, increasing the muscle fiber." So even trauma can be constructive. How 'bout that. Which reminds me of another quote from Waymaker, actually: "Maybe: It doesn't matter how your road turns, but it matters who you turn and attach to. This is all I know: Presence heals pain. Withness binds up wounds. Bonding eases trauma.")

So, while I'm far from having it all figured out, I'm learning life's not about that anyway. It's not about feeling like I've made it or I've got it made. Needing everything to go well and be okay and be thought well of and be "successful" (whatever that even means). And if I keep chasing that, I'll never find the one thing I was really made for: a relationship with him. One last Ann Voskamp quote:

"We want clarity and God wants communion. We want a road map and God wants a relationship. We want answers and God wants our hand. God didn't give Abraham a map; He gave Abraham a relationship. Why would God give a map when He can give Himself? We need the person of God more than we need the plan for our lives."

So here's to "learning to live with waves" and changing seasons and learning to be okay/even rejoice in our own brokenness. Here's to being brave enough to really live and love and let ourselves be broken in order to be shared. Here's to not having it all together but rather clinging to the one who holds all things together (Col. 1:17). Here's to reminding ourselves, day after day, that that's actually what it's all about.

counting the cost.

 Well. It's been a while. And I've wanted to write for months now, but I 1) haven't felt like I could fully get my jumbled thoughts in order and 2) haven't had adequate time that was uninterrupted by our baby needing something and/or the logistics of moving and time with people as we celebrated the holidays and continue to say our goodbyes.  

That said, I'm going to try to gather my scattered thoughts around two main points: 1) I can't do this, but God can. 2) This is hard, but this is worth it. 

First of all, by way of update: We had our baby! And, beautifully enough, I went into labor the morning after I wrote that last post about longing for his arrival. 

Labor, delivery, and the postpartum period defied my expectations in many ways. All my best intentions for a non-medicated birth were scrapped after days of prodromal labor then twelve hours of back labor (meaning the full force of contractions is felt in your back) with contractions about three minutes apart that entire time, all resulting in only about two centimeters of dilation. Instead, my labor consisted of an epidural, plenty of Pitocin, and two hours of pushing, all made worth it in that still-surreal and beautiful moment when they placed--or, more accurately, threw--our son onto my chest for the first time. 

Postpartum was very different from what I expected as well. My body didn't feel nearly as destroyed as I expected it to and felt (mostly) back to normal a lot faster than I thought it would. I learned that nursing doesn't come as naturally as all the books and articles will tell you (at least not for us), and that "mom guilt" starts early when you feel like you have failed (or your body as failed you) in providing for your child the way you so desperately want to. I have also never felt so utterly spent...like everyone seemed to want something from me and I had nothing else to give my husband, all the people that wanted to visit and spend time with Liam, and--most importantly!--Liam. 

(Side note: Can we all agree we probably need to support and encourage new moms better than we do? I'm sure I've been guilty of not supporting my mom friends better before I was one myself, and I'm deeply sorry for that. Please do not tell her all the things she should be doing or make her feel shame for not being able to do something the way you did it or you think it should be done. Please don't minimize how hard things are right now by saying things like, "Just wait until they're toddlers or teenagers or _______, then it'll be WAY harder." Maybe also don't say things like "Don't you just love the newborn stage? Isn't it the best?? Soak up every minute!!" Because, in that moment, it may not feel like the best and she may feel like she's drowning. I'm convinced women forget so many of the hard things about pregnancy, birth, and postpartum...otherwise every person would be an only child! Lastly, by all means serve her, love her, cook for her, clean her house, and tell her what a good job she's doing, but please don't expect her to have the energy or emotional bandwidth to have people in and out of her house all the time (Or maybe she is the kind of person who wants that, and that's okay too! Let her decide). Do everything in your power to help her rest and recover and not feel overwhelmed, whatever that looks like for her. Don't focus so much on the baby that you let his or her mother crumble quietly in the background. Take care of her so SHE can take care of her baby. Okay. I'm done.)

As an encouragement for new moms or soon-to-be moms: It DOES get better. For us, it was right around the one-month mark...when he started sleeping longer stretches and showing those first hints of social smiles. The newborn weeks ARE really hard. I had one friend call it "the potato phase"--it gets so much better when they start interacting with you and you feel like you have an actual relationship with them as opposed to them being just this little thing you need to take care of and can do absolutely NOTHING to take care of itself. The snuggles and the smiles and the giggles and the sweetness are coming! I promise. It won't feel like survival mode forever, and you CAN do it!

(Also worth saying before I move on from the postpartum discussion: We definitely want to say an enormous thank you to the many people who have supported us so well in this season!!! I'm still blown away when I think about the many people in our community who brought us meals and reached out to check on us and helped us move and just loved on us and prayed for us. And for our parents, who fed us and helped us with chores and spent several nights on our couches with Liam's bassinet beside them so that we could sleep a few hours at a time, at least. I can't imagine the last few months without all of your help, and we are inexpressibly grateful.)

Also by way of update: Over the last couple of months, we sold most of our belongings (so many of which had been wedding gifts we were so generously given less than two years ago) and moved out of the townhouse in which we started our married life together. We're now living with family as we continue to take steps towards moving overseas in the coming months ("Lord willing, and the creek don't rise!" But as someone said to me recently, "If the Lord's willing, the creek won't rise!).

So, we've had a lot going on. And I don't think I've ever felt so overwhelmed or inadequate in my life. I've questioned if we are being foolish..."We've only been married and year and a half...We've only been parents for four and a half months...We're nowhere near having this all figured out!"

"But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God." -1 Cor. 1:27-29

This season has been a humbling one. No doubt about it. But that's a good thing. Because the fact is, I CAN'T do any of this on my own power. It IS too much for me. I'm not adept enough or strong enough. 

But it's not about me (thank God!). I didn't really chose any of this or make it happen. I can't make anything happen moving forward. The Lord has been leading us in this path for a while now (probably longer than we even realize), and he's always been faithful...always provided for us and sustained us. Who am I to say it's too much now? To believe it's impossible and give up? Trust and obey. That's all I can do (even if I am intimidated along the way). And may he be glorified in it all. 

As to my second point: This is hard. But this is worth it. 

"For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it being to mock him, saying, 'This man began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes again him with twenty thousand? And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple." -Luke 14:28-33

In a similar way, marriage has a cost to be counted. Remember in The Proposal (lol that I'm quoting that) when Sandra Bullock's character says, "There's a reason I've been alone all this time: I'm comfortable that way. And I think it would be a lot easier if we forgot everything that happened and I just left." And then Ryan Reynolds says, "You're right...that would be easier." After a long pause she says, "I'm scared," and he says, "Me, too." 

There were a lot of things about singleness that were easier (you only really see that from the other side of the altar, right?). There were a lot of things about life before parenthood that were easier. It would be easier not to move our little family to a new place with a new culture in which I have to learn a new language and things may not alway come naturally or easily.

But it's worth it. Being married is often challenging, but it's also the most beautiful blessing to share life with a partner and best friend. Being a parent is the hardest thing I've ever done, but I love this little bundle of adorability more than I ever thought possible. Living life in a place that will feel more foreign than familiar (at least at first) will be worth it to even see one person (please, Lord Jesus) who doesn't know his or her Creator and Redeemer come to know and love him. 

All that said...please pray for us. We cannot do this in our own strength, and we've finally stopped trying. We're scared. We're weak. We need the joy of the Lord to be our strength (Nehemiah 8:10). We can't do any of this. But God can. 

14 For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 16 I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18 may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

²⁰ Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. (Ephesians 3:14-21)

any day now.

We're just a few days away from Labor Day. Both the federal holiday and the day I (hopefully) go into labor. We're four days shy of the actually due date (and if you go by our first ultrasound, the more "accurate" due date could be tomorrow).

This is definitely exciting and scary all at the same time! It's intimidating, to say the least, to think of being responsible for the survival of a tiny human in the next few days (or hours...or weeks...). To have a person that totally dependent on you. To feel like I have so little idea of what I'm doing. 

It also been a difficult final (well, I hope it's the final) week or so. Over the last week, I've started to experience what I'm fairly sure is something called "prodromal labor" (thank you, Google). Basically, it's somewhere between Braxton Hicks contractions (which are usually not painful) and the real deal, and it could last hours, days, or weeks (yes, weeks). "Prodromal" comes from a Greek word meaning "precursor," and it essentially involves uncomfortable-to-downright-painful contractions (see, I'm having on right now...) that usually occur at night and can even be time-able. However, they don't build in intensity and eventually fizzle out (only to start again a few hours later/later that night). They can sometimes be indicative that they baby is not in the best position and is trying to get there, and mine have come with almost constant back pain. I slept better last night and this morning I felt fine, but this on-again-off-again "practice labor" is uncomfortable to say the least, and at this point it's starting to wear me down. I've read a couple of places that women who experience this often have shorter labors since their bodies have done all that prep work, so I'm really hoping that that's the case at least!

In the midst of the excitement ("Our baby is almost here!!") and the fear ("Oh my gosh, our baby is almost here...") and the pain ("How long is it going to take for our baby to actually get here??) I've been thinking a lot of how this season of anticipation reminds me of how I'm longing for Christ's return (and makes me long for it even more). 

Not to be all "doom and gloom," but I truly believe we are living in the last days (though how many last days there are left, no one knows). Jesus's words in Matthew 24 paint a pretty clear picture:

3 As he sat on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately, saying, “Tell us, when will these things be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” 4 And Jesus answered them, “See that no one leads you astray. 5 For many will come in my name, saying, ‘I am the Christ,’ and they will lead many astray. 6 And you will hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, for this must take place, but the end is not yet. 7 For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there will be famines and earthquakes in various places. 8 All these are but the beginning of the birth pains.

9 “Then they will deliver you up to tribulation and put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations for my name’s sake. 10 And then many will fall away and betray one another and hate one another. 11 And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. 12 And because lawlessness will be increased, the love of many will grow cold.13 But the one who endures to the end will be saved. 14 And this gospel of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.

Sound familiar? Does this seem like life as we know it to anyone else these days? Wars (and rumors of wars). Division. Nation rising against nation. Natural disasters. Hatred. Love growing cold. I'm sure many examples from current events come to mind for each of these. 

And kind of like the "prodromal labor" I've been experiencing the past several days, these are just the beginnings of the birth pains that will usher in the Kingdom of Heaven on Earth. 

32 “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts outits leaves, you know that summer is near. 33 So also, when you see all these things, you know that he is near, at the very gates. 34 Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all these things take place. 35 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

36 “But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. 37 For as were the days of Noah, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. 38 For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day when Noah entered the ark,39 and they were unaware until the flood came and swept them all away, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. 40 Then two men will be in the field; one will be taken and one left. 41 Two women will be grinding at the mill; one will be taken and one left.42 Therefore, stay awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. 43 But know this, that if the master of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into.44 Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.

We have no way of knowing exactly when he's coming back, just like I have no way on knowing exactly when this baby will finally start making his journey out of me (unless we end up having to schedule an induction, which we would prefer not to). 

And I cannot make it happen at any particular time or in any particular way (and trust me, I've tried just about every "natural induction" technique in the book--at least the ones that are considered safe). I wish I could take matters into my own hands and decide the day and the hour (again, the analogy breaks down if there's a medical induction/scheduled C-section), but I have to wait...being ready at any time with my hospital bag packed, the car seat installed, and the nursery ready for his arrival (all the while on high alert for any signs that labor could be starting). 

Do we watchfully wait for Christ's return that way? With readiness, excitement, anticipation, trepidation, and longing? Or do we go about our lives, too easily satisfied (or distracted?) by this world--both its pleasures and its pain. As C.S. Lewis said in The Problem of Pain:

“The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, pleasure, and merriment, He has scattered broadcast. We are never safe, but we have plenty of fun, and some ecstasy. It is not hard to see why. The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose an obstacle to our return to God: a few moments of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with out friends, a bathe or a football match, have no such tendency. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.”

Maybe all these "birth pains" lately are meant to keep us from getting too comfortable in our "pleasant inns." If I weren't feeling the way I am now physically, I wouldn't be so ready to get this baby out of my body and into my arms. Does our suffering drive us to long for Lord's coming and hasten that day? The day described in Revelation 21:

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. 2 And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. 3 And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, andGod himself will be with them as their God. 4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Do we really long for such a day? Do we live in light of it? Like we think it's really coming soon? 

I'm fairly certain I quoted Romans 8 a couple of posts ago, but it's definitely relevant here too:

8 For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. 19 For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope 21 that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.22 For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. 23 And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? 25 But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

I have yet to see my son face to face. I've seen him in an ultrasound 20 weeks ago and I see his form in my growing belly. But I know he's in there (miraculously!) and that he eventually has to come out (Praise God, it is physically impossible to stay pregnant forever). 

I haven't seen God face to face either. But there is evidence of him all around. I've seen him at work in this world and in my own life. I feel his presence. He, as the Holy Spirit, lives and moves in and through me. 

And just as I can't stay pregnant forever, he has promised that this world won't stay broken forever. One day Heaven will come down and Christ's Kingdom will be established fully on the earth. One day there will be no more birth pains (or COVID or cancer or corruption). One day it will all be restored and made perfect and new. 

And on that day, will you be ready? Will you have your proverbial hospital bag packed? Will Jesus know you as his own?

Any day now.

Come, Lord Jesus (and come on, Liam!!).

looking back and looking forward.

It's been a while since I've written anything about Kyra. 

(For those of you who don't know, Kyra was my supervisor's wife while I lived in Rome for two years who died in a car accident a few months before I returned to the States. It feels like such a big part of my story that it's a little crazy to me that many people I've only met in the last few years don't know about that chapter at all. But if you want to read more about her, look back at posts around August 2015 and the following year.)

I've been thinking about her more recently than I have in a while. Partly because I finally finished watching every episode of "Call the Midwife" that is currently on Netflix (It was her favorite show...the one we would get together and watch while sipping tea from her Polish Pottery mugs and that we [but mostly she] all were excited to watch the next season of when she and her family returned from the U.S. for the summer, which is where/when she passed away. I mostly just liked it because she liked it so much then, but now, during pregnancy, it's been even more meaningful and emotional). It's also partly because some friends from Rome recently brought back a painting I'd done there of said Polish Pottery mugs (which I had almost forgotten about after six years and seems funny to see again now on a daily basis). 

This morning--I'm not sure why--I spent some time scrolling through her Instagram (which I'm so glad still exists and probably always will, since it was probably connected to her phone). She only had it for about a year (one of the years I was there), so it all just looks so familiar and nostalgic and real. Nothing was posed or filtered. She posted about things like her kitchen sink and the fact that we should all cherish dishwashers if we have them, her favorite seat on the bus, the graffiti-peppered playground near their apartment, her daughters' crazy bedhead and silly faces, and all the charming but dysfunctional things about Rome (like the fact that their elevator broke all the time, Reid's bike kept getting stolen, and everything closed due to things like heavy rain). 

Kyra only ever had 90 followers. And she'll only ever have 90 followers, since I'm pretty sure her Instagram account was private. She wasn't famous or particularly exceptional in any of the ways our culture may deem someone noteworthy. But she will always be one of the most special and influential people I've ever met. 

The main reason I've been thinking about her more lately is because of how much I wish I could talk to her. I so desperately wish I could ask her advice about so many things. About pregnancy and motherhood. About moving our family overseas and seeking to serve the Lord in that context. She taught me so much about both...before I even knew for sure whether or not my story would include either. 

And now, at the brink of bringing a baby into this world (something that intimidates me more than maybe anything every has) and as we look ahead to (Lord willing) moving overseas soon afterward, I find myself thinking back on the many things I learned from her. 

She was such a great mom. She loved her little girls in a way that was fierce and fun and free of frustration or ever complaining about her kids. 

She was also one of the most hospitable people I've ever known. And it wasn't the showy, Pinterest-worthy brand of hospitality. It was a come-as-you-are, we're-scrounging-for-dinner-but-we-have-plenty-to-share, my-house-is-a-mess, welcome-to-our-reality type of hospitality. She didn't have to welcome two single girls living there for two years into her family. But she did. She didn't have to regularly have people over for their birthdays or holidays or just for no special reason at all. But she did. That was one of the main ways she loved people and shared Christ's love with them...by welcoming them into her home. 

She was living proof that hospitality and evangelism go hand in hand, which is the theme of books like Rosaria Butterfield's The Gospel Comes with a House Key. Glenn and I have also recently been reading Elliot Clark's Evangelism as Exiles, and he has a chapter about how essential hospitality is in pointing people to Christ:

People who would never cross the threshold of a church will still walk through your front door. People who are indifferent to religion or disinclined to Christianity will still appreciate a friendly dinner invitation. They’ll gladly accept a free meal and, in the process, may just listen to you rejoice in free forgiveness.

In his Gospel account, Matthew records twice in short succession that Jesus reclined at table with sinners—this after promising that many would join at his table in the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 9:10; 8:11). It’s as if Matthew understood the two actions to be connected. One way sinners enter the kingdom is by first entering our kitchen. Some will only come to the table of the Lord after first coming to our dinner table.

A little further on in the same chapter, he goes on to say:

We might show generous hospitality, but only to people like us—never to those of a different race or background, a different belief or persuasion, or a different social class. We welcome others into our home, but generally those who don’t even need it. Our hospitality is only lateral and transactional. We host peers in a system that expects reciprocity, not one that displays free grace.

But real hospitality...doesn’t require limitless resources or a luxury kitchen with an open floor plan. The only requirement of hospitality is love. Love that serves others rather than serving ourselves. Love that seeks to use our home and our resources, like Matthew, to introduce people to Jesus. But sadly what we often label as hospitality is merely entertaining—it’s just more of that old Southern hospitality, dignified and genteel, but knowing nothing of sacrifice or incongruity.

Kyra's hospitality was not "lateral or transactional." Her small Roman apartment certainly didn't have a "luxury kitchen with an open floor plan." She just reached out and invited in. She just loved. 

I know there is one family who is now part of the family of God because of her hospitality and love. Not long after she died, a friend in Italy she had shared with and prayed for for years became a believer, and now she and her husband and son have been baptized and are part of a new church plant in their (and our old) neighborhood in Rome.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." -John 12:24

So why did Kyra live this way? Why did her husband and daughters (and now, years later, his new wife and their son) stay in Rome? Why are Glenn and I planning to move overseas with a six-month-old (something plenty of people have thought us crazy for doing)?

Love. 

"We love because he first loved us" (1 John 4:19).

Hope.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ" (1 Peter 1:3-6).

We want people to know the love God has for them...this holy yet personal God who created them and died in their place so that they could have a relationship with him and be with him forever. We want people to know true hope...in a world of fleeting pleasures and constant changes that offers nothing of true, lasting hope. 

And we feel the urgency of doing that in a place that doesn't have a church on every street corner or where the majority of people either know or have at least heard of Christ's saving grace. As Scottish missionary, Ion Keith-Falconer, once said:

"I have but one candle of life to burn, and I would rather burn it out in a land filled with darkness than in a land flooded with light."

I hope I can burn out my life's candle like that. And I only hope I can be half the mother and minister of the gospel that Kyra was. Thank you, dear friend, for your example.