Nuggets from the Fire

I found this via a friend’s status and thought it was too good not to share it. While it was written to describe the place you find yourself when you have a disabled child, it can be expanded to include anyone who has in one way or another ended up in a far different place than you expected. Excellent perspective and way to look at life. Thanks to Emily for writing it. Thanks to others for posting and sharing it.

WELCOME TO HOLLAND

by
Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this……

When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.”

“Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”

But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around…. and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills….and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But… if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things … about Holland.

A warm fire on a cold night in the fall just seems soothing. Somehow, it comforts me and makes life feel simpler. It is not the building it or carrying the wood up the stairs that makes it so…I think it is the fact that to properly enjoy a fire you have to sit down for an extended period. Quiet, stolen moments are a rarity in today’s world. The crackling wood and smell of smoke (the nice campfire kind) signals a change in season. Summer is gone. Autumn is upon us with all the glory of vivid colors and muted sunlight.
Hot apple cider and pumpkin bread produce smells, which both create and resurrect memories. If you imagine, before long, you will be transported to the days of jumping in piles of leaves in the yard. Smiles. Giggles. Raking them up and then splattering the colors all over again. In the childhood memory category, it ranks right up there with splashing in puddles and chasing fireflies. See what I mean…simple.
Moving forward in time to fall football games, we were and are wrapped in plaid fleece blankets with hot chocolate steam to keep our noses warm. All ages sitting in the nippy cold cheering for the team. The magic of fall brings with it the ability, for a couple of hours, to forget about everything but the game and being with friends. Hands maybe cold but hearts are warmed with togetherness.
Fall festivals, in the mountains, during leaf season are a call to go gallivanting and meandering around every curve. Roaming through antique stores, stopping for boiled peanuts, and fried apple pies provides an escape from everyday life. Fall lures and charms us out into nature. It is as if God uses the gorgeous weather to call to us. “Come see. I am waiting for you in the simplicity of fall.”
What a season…can you tell it is my favorite? On this day, I sit in front of the fire with a house full of college kids, as well as three of my own. A full house is one of my favorite things, so a full house in the fall, in front of the fire is contentment for me pure and simple. I am content to be facing a new season, in more ways than one. I am content to grab the time with my kids when I can. I am content to be in the place God has put me. My heart is full this day and there is a smile on my face once again…in the fall.

I have been reading about Mary and Martha. I am more like a Martha most of the time…busy and always moving. However, I do have my Mary moments. Since my cancer, I have been taking more of those. Mary had such a sensitive spirit to the Lord. She simply wanted to sit at his feet. The bustle of life did not stop her from this humble place. I notice that in John 11, after Lazarus died, Martha went out to meet Jesus. She said, “If you had been here my brother would not have died.” The conversation goes on and Jesus tells her “your brother will rise again.” She believes him to be talking about the last days. She confirms that he is the life and the Messiah, and then returns to the house to get Mary.
What I find odd is that Mary stayed home even though she knew Jesus was coming. I mean she is the one that wanted to sit at his feet before…so why wasn’t she the first one to meet him? I’m just thinking and wondering. Was it her grief that kept her in the house, her cave? Was she doubting him, or disappointed that he did not come sooner? I wonder if she questioned what she believed. I mean she knew him…really knew him…hung on his every word, but her brother still died. It must have shaken her to have the faith that he would be there and then he was not. Did the sisters think they would be spared the heartache of a tragedy because of their closeness to the Lord? Could she have been hurt that he did not show up? Could Mary’s questions be: Did I do something wrong? Is he really the Messiah if he did not prevent this? What did Lazarus do to deserve this; he was one of the master’s best friends? Have I got it all wrong? A four-day crisis of belief in the pit. The next part of the story is shows us that she had not entirely lost her faith.
Martha goes and tells Mary that Jesus is asking for her. Has he ever asked for you? Where are you? Why do you not come to meet with me with your hurt? Mary’s response, when she hears he has called for her, is to run to him. Whatever kept her back before does not hold her back when he calls her name. When she sees Jesus, she says the very same words that Martha uttered earlier, “If you had been here my brother would not have died.” She falls at his feet weeping, her tears washing over his feet. Amazingly, it says, “He groaned in his spirit and was troubled.” Her grief moved him. I think he heard a hidden question behind the statement… “Why did you not come to the rescue?” Notice the difference between his reaction to Martha and his response to Mary. They both said the same thing…yet he was moved in his spirit by Mary’s tears.
In the next moment comes shortest verse in the bible, but one of the most powerful…Jesus wept. He felt strong emotion and openly expressed it. What a comfort in our times of grief to know he feels our pain. The people around him said, “See how he loved him.” Again, I wonder. He knew he was soon to be raising Lazarus. He had already proclaimed that fact to Martha. So was it the death of his friend that made him cry…or the tears and heartache of the people? They said, “Couldn’t this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, have caused Lazarus not to die?” He responds with deeper groaning in his spirit. Was it grief for Lazarus, or the fact that the ones closest to him could not see who he really was? Or maybe both. The truth is that he knew their hurt, he knew their pain, and even when he knew the glory to come, he did not side-step the grief of the moment. His best friend was dead, his followers grieving and questioning. He, himself was groaning, his spirit empty from sadness and when the time came for the glory to be displayed Jesus prayed to his father, “I know you hear me always, but because of the people I stand by I ask it, that they may believe that it is you who sent me.” It was for the benefit of the people…so they would see and know…no more doubts…no more questions. All of that was put to rest with the words “Lazarus come forth!!…and he that was dead came forth.” Jesus said, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.” What a mighty statement. Do we believe he has the power to defeat death, loose us and let us go? He raised the dead as he raises us…out of his great grief and love for us. In our doubts, when our foundations are shaking and all that we believe is under review, he greets us with groans and tears. Then he shows us his resurrection power. He says, “Did I not say that if you would believe you would see the Glory of God?” Do we question him? Do we wonder if he has abandoned us? He sets the record straight with his resurrection power wrapped in compassionate tears. We say to him, “If you had come sooner this would not have happened.” But he knows through the grief comes the power. Through the death comes life…he cannot raise something that is alive…we must die to live. He is moving and at work in the pain and soon he will call out Come Forth…and we who are grieved will be alive again!

When in doubt about what to do about anything…feed people. That is the Baptist way. Last night was no exception as we said good-bye to Pastor Alan and Becky. It was heart wrenching and heart warming all at the same time. In the south, funerals are social events where you share stories of the deceased, laughing and crying together about shared experiences. Fortunately for us, Alan and Becky are still alive and kicking. (Even though it kind of feels like a funeral to be saying good-bye) They were there to witness the impact they have had on the lives of literally hundreds of people who showed up to honor them. I watched as droves of people stood in line to give them one last hug. Most were being brave and attempting not to cry, many were unable to hold back the tears. How touching it must have been for Alan and Becky to hear words of encouragement from so many, and how hard. They fought back tears repeatedly, and I know that emotional exhaustion must have set in at some point in the evening, but they stood bravely until the last person came through, ending what must have been one of the longest days of their lives.
Personally, I am still grieving. I have talked with many who are excited about the future…but I am not ready to go just yet. I cannot handle this monumental loss so quickly. It comes in waves and tears are part of the package. I believe that it is a spiritual loss I am feeling rather than a physical one. After all, I know I will see them again…it is not that part of it that starts my tears flowing. It is what this means to us as a body….and we are a body. One part is missing…a very important part and it leaves a hole, an empty place. Whether you liked Alan’s style or not (no pastor can please everyone) you have to admit his care for those in is flock was genuine. He made people feel valued and important. You have to respect a man who stands by his convictions and worships his God so publicly.
It is tough for a family to live in a fish bowl so graciously, especially when we have not always made it easy. But we, as a body, and he, as a pastor, have grown together over the years. Maturing is part of the process. We have adjusted to the fact that all of his points must start with the same letters. (Some of us have secretly started to like it.) We have chuckled at Becky’s rabbit trail signals to get him back on track. We have added the sound/word duhh into our vocabulary. All the personal nuances have wiggled their way into our hearts until we realize he is a part of us…and we of him. That kind of connection cannot be undone without significant pain. It is a ripping that pulls us apart emotionally, because he is our spiritual authority as a pastor…our covering who has willingly taken that role. And most of us, have willing submitted ourselves to his leadership.
Now we must trust that he has heard from God that it is time for our ways to be parted. It is hard to trust when our hearts are breaking. The whole situation seems unfair and just plain wrong. Yet we smile and nod on the outside because we know they would not leave if God did not speak it. But the inside is a totally different matter. We know we will never replace him, for he is one of a kind. I don’t really think we would want to, but still our hearts are heavy with the burden they continue to carry. They leave hurting for us, and for their son, with their world turned upside down. We want to help…to walk through it with them as he has done for us in our personal trials, but we cannot go with them. That stings after all he has done for us. We want to at least feed them or something. We see a broken man and woman who have yet to emerge from their new painful reality, and we can do nothing but watch them walk in it alone. Our encouragements and prayers are certainly affective on their behalf, but there must be more. Right? Nope. Faith that God knows the needs and that he will meet them will have to be enough. We have to walk on knowing that we will always be a part of each other in our shared history. We have to know that friendship in God is never good-bye, but see you later. For now, we grieve, until God releases the heaviness of our hearts and pours the healing balm of his spirit over us. Then he will turn our sorrow into joy, and give us beauty for ashes. We will move forward knowing that God is not finished with Concord, and that he has plans for us…the Promised Land awaits.

Have you ever had God work on every area of your life at once? Right now it seems that he is allowing me to go through a shaking. It’s probably my own fault…you know when you pray for him to take you deeper you can count on him doing it. Then when he pulls out all your foundations you cry out “Stop!” Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, he doesn’t listen to those screams, rather he forges ahead with his work.
Two of my children are gone. The house is incredibly quiet. My grocery bill went down by $50 a week. I do not see either of those things as good by the way. I miss them both and it has only been a short time. My emotions are very close to the surface these days. I feel a bit raw. My heart has one piece in Rome and another in Nashville. Kind of scattered. My role has changed. I wonder if this is how Jesus felt when he left his disciples. Did he wonder if they would eat enough? Or if they would remember what he had taught them? Did he ever feel like turning around and changing the plan so he would not have to leave them? Hmmmm….I wonder.
Work is different this year. New job, less pay. Not good. I enjoy it well enough because it requires a lot of organization…one of my strengths. I miss being in the classrooms and co-teaching, that was my element. This is management and that means a lot of stress to get every thing accomplished in the proper way, plus paperwork and no time for it. I wonder if Jesus ever felt this way. Maybe when he had to feed thousands with five loaves and two fish? He never doubted it would be enough, so I guess I shouldn’t either. What I have to offer will be enough to reach the multitudes of students that come my way. The truth is I hate change and this is a big change for me. It is that simple. I will do it and adjust but I feel on edge about it all because it is unfamiliar territory. My role has changed.
Our church is experiencing some hard circumstances. We will be looking for a new pastor to replace a long time friend of ours. Turmoil is rolling around despite efforts to avoid it. My heart is breaking for my friends, their son, the affected families, and our body. Losing a pastor is never an easy thing…sheep without a Shepherd and all that. Friendship that changes form is painful, a bit like your heart being ripped apart. A bittersweet thing…growing and changing is good. Right? Doesn’t feel so good right now. Again, I know that Jesus can relate to having to say goodbye to deep friendships. He did it on a much larger scale, so once again, he knows the pain. Once again he asks me to trust him and allow him to do his work in my heart, even as my life changes all around me. My purpose is different in every area…I don’t even know what or how it will change…just that it will. I will choose to press in and listen here in the quiet place. For I know he has a message…

I am grateful to God for friendship. That is not a profound thing really, but I find that the bond that comes from weathering storms together is not easily broken. We all have friends that we meet and great each day, some deeper relationships than others…some with similar hearts, some with differing views. The ones that we meet along life’s journey that God brings back around again are true treasures. Revisiting stories from years gone past does the heart good. When we begin to see how God weaves our lives together, how they intersect, grow apart, and then intersect again it proves you never really know what God is up to. He hides himself among our friends. Their hands of celebration are his hands. Their tears of grief are his tears. Their hearts of encouragement are the same as his heart. This kind of friendship lasts for years. No matter where you leave off, it remains to be picked up at that very spot…drawing you into its embrace. It lightens our burdens with its laughter. It makes us feel that we are not alone, and that someone else cares. Many times, there is no need for words for understanding flows from the heart. Other times we need to hear spoken wisdom or get a kick in the pants. True friendship can handle all of this and grow stronger still. It is the push we need, the care we crave, the love expressed. God knew we would need friends. To deny them is to cut yourself off from one of life’s greatest blessings. To be among these treasured relationships is a safe place of comfort in an uncomfortable world…an oasis in the midst of a desert. Isn’t it just like him to surround us with his messengers of his love and grace with flesh?

Many of you heard about my trip to the ER Wednesday night, with what felt a great deal like labor pains. I have to tell you that fear was my first response to abdominal pain. I wish I could say my faith rose up to battle but it did not. In fact, though the results of my CT scan show nothing amiss, I still am pushing fear away. It is not fear of the hospital or even of pain really, it is fear of a cancer recurrence. I know that my kids are also experiencing similar fear from the questions they are asking me about how this compares to last time. It is there, in the back of all of our minds, and I thought to bring it out in the light might diminish its hold. I am afraid. It is irrational I know, seeing the results of the tests are all good. Last month at the oncologist for a check up, she said I never looked better. All scans and blood work show no cancer. The ER tests have the same results. Yet in my head none of that matters, because the pain was too great to be nothing.

Now my heart is another matter. It says to hold steady and know that the test results are true. It says God is still in control. It says to be strong. It says all of my praying friends stepped up, and healing was the result, and that is why the doctor did not find anything. My heart is holding on to the truth. My mind is betraying me with all its questions. In this battle between head and heart, the head is winning at the moment. I find these internal battles fascinating. I guess my psychology background of trying to understand human behavior is what draws me to try to understand. I know that sometimes the head wins and other times the heart. I wonder why they do not work together more often. It seems that life would be much less stressful if they did. I have found that when my head follows my heart or vise versa I am more confident of my decisions and choices. I am more secure in my faith, I feel more balanced and secure.

As far as I know, only God can bring the two into alignment. To focus on the fear will be my downfall. It will continue to cause internal turmoil. I have learned one thing over the course of my life and it is that focus is everything. When I get my eyes on circumstances it is almost always a mistake. It doesn’t really matter what the circumstances are. I makes me think of Peter when he was trying to walk on water. His focus shifted. The waves overtook him because of it. So even though fear is licking the corners of my mind, I am going to choose to focus elsewhere. I will follow up with doctors as I feel led to, but they cannot guarantee health. God himself will not do that, but he does guarantee his presence and his faithfulness in my life, no matter the trial. I will hold to that. My eyes will be on his promises while I wait for him to synchronize my head and heart.

Anger disguises hurt. Hurt camouflages fear. Fear breeds mistrust. Mistrust kills faith. Layers. Humans use layers to protect themselves from pain. These defenses are exposed when the rug is pulled out from under us. Before then, our illusion of control remains intact. It is when we feel out of control that we see what is really in our hearts because the pressure squeezes us.

Mistrust says someone is to blame. Fear says withdraw, pull away. Hurt says hide from the pain. Anger says I want control. A wound sends alarms off in the brain. The brain responds with these emotions. Different people react differently, but ultimately the truth is God’s character is what is under attack. Sort through all the details, whatever they may be, and the bottom line is the question, “Is God trustworthy?” We wrestle with the answer to that question over all. Sometimes, we do not see the question, but it is there, if we are honest, under the emotion.

When life is out of control, and we realize it, we scramble to put the pieces back together in a way that makes sense to us. It is in that window while we are still trying to catch our breath, before we get our grasp back, that God does the most work. We are at our lowest and most dependent on him. You see, the core of faith means that we believe God is trustworthy. We say it, but in times of trial, we must decide if we believe it. The attack comes and we are afraid, because his trustworthiness is in question. However, we must remember that he is not surprised by our trial. He knew and allowed it. My guess is that he wants us to answer the questions that he raises in our minds. That is the heart of the matter. Is God good? Is he really in control? Can a man interfere with the plans of God? Am I safe from heartache? Does he really work ALL things for good? All of these questions rise up to equal one big question…IF THIS TERRIBLE THING CAN HAPPEN, CAN I STILL TRUST GOD?

If we do not see the questions, we lash out at those around us. We hide and withdraw from relationships. We gossip and slander others to try to regain a sense of control. We fight. Rather than seeking the truth, we settle for falsehood. The truth is that if we use our emotions as warning flags, we can see beyond them to the heart of the question God is asking us as individuals. That is why he allows trials to begin with, to challenge us into being honest with him. No pat cliché answers will work when you are in a storm. If they do, you are not looking deep enough. Ask him to show you the root of your emotions in the midst of traumatic circumstance. He will do it. He is faithful to deal honestly and truthfully with your heart. When he does, your faith will rise up past the anger, hurt, fear and mistrust. It will bring hope to a difficult situation and, more importantly, your heart.

Three children, two boys and a girl, raced to the shore giggling as they went. The boys must’ve been 6 and 7, the girl 4. Stairsteps, dressed in clothes rather than swimming suits. Maybe they came straight from the car at the end of a long journey. I do not know. What I do know is that they were thrilled to see the ocean, quite possibly for the first time, gauging from their reaction. They caught the eye of most everyone on the beach with their squeals of delight. It appeared that they were going to run headlong into the surf until the fizzing foam rose up on the sand just short of their feet…stopping them in their tracks. They waited until the water slid back, then they advanced. When the next wave came crashing, they ran back up keeping just ahead of it. Up and back, up and back. They continued their joyous game of tag with the sea. Never once did they get wet, making sure to stay far enough back to avoid it.

Then they got a little more brave, standing so that just their toes got wet. Shrill screams of pleasure were the result. Above the crashing of the waves, you could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, but more of their laughter and sheer playful squealing. Soon all three of them were standing close enough that when the waves broke they were in the splash zone. Holding their shorts and dress up high to avoid soaking their clothes proved to be feudal. The boys decided to stand in one place while the sand moved away under their feet with each wave. The girl was finished and was back up with her grandma. Soon the boys were knee deep in sand, still oblivious to the way they had captured the attention of everyone. To me it seemed as if they were playing tag with God. The happiness was shining from their thrilled faces.

Just down the beach was another young boy. Maybe 4 or 5. He too was playing in the waves. Dressed for the day he wore a bathing suit with the floats sewn into it. He too was running to and fro, and from time to time sitting in the sand to gather shell fragments, his red curly hair shining in the sun. Soon his father came out of the ocean where he had been riding waves. He held out his hand for his son to come to him. The boy hesitated only a second before grabbing hold. The look on the son’s face was one of apprehension, but his trust of his father overcame the fear. Soon the two were out in the surf riding the waves. The boy was on his father’s back holding on around his neck. More giggles and hollering followed. The two were living in the moment, the father exuberant in showing his son what the ocean was like, the son just thrilled to be with the father exploring new territory.

These were two beautiful scenes playing side by side on the beach yesterday. The enthusiasm of the day made time stand still for all of these children. They will always remember this day. I think we are like the children. There is an ocean of God’s love and mercy we were given in which to play. We come and at first, we are enthralled just to look at it. We are amazed. Then we get a bit more brave, and begin to test the water. We put our toes in, then ankle deep. We long to go into the deeper places of his love, but we are not confident, and it looks scary, so we are content to joyfully play along the shore. But the Father, God, invites us to come further. He holds out his hand and waits for our response. Will we go deeper? Will we let him show us the thrills of the waves of his mercy and grace? In order to arrive in the unfathomable depth of his love we must trust him. Even when it is scary, we must know that he will care for us. He is safe and he longs to demonstrate that to us. We cannot comprehend how deep he will take us if we will hold fast to him. His love is as bottomless as the ocean. His grace washes over us like the waves. His mercy is unending as far as you can see. If you take his hand, you will never look at the ocean the same again.

Sun. Sand. Surf. Ahhhh. I don’t know what it is about the beach that makes me relax. I am not even a beach person really. I much prefer the mountains, but there is just something about the waves and wind here that mesmerizes me; maybe it is the constant fizz of the foam, the thunderous crashing of the water upon the sand, or the simple way my kids laugh while playing. Majestic. It makes me realize how enormous God must really be to look out as far as I can see and find nothing but water. It feels so big and I feel small. My problems feel small, like they don’t matter that much after all. For a few days, the hectic pace of life is swallowed up and washed away by the sea. Family togetherness and fun rule. Jigsaw puzzles, books and games are all that exist. Body surfing, sunning and sand castles are the order of each day. Tomorrow will take care of itself. Things seem simpler while at the beach, and that is why we come. Even for just a few moments of time together, that will blow away with the wind when we return home. God is good. He is big. He is in control. If he commands the waves, he can handle my children going to college. If he is consistent enough to bring 16 waves a minute to the shore, he can handle my new job assignment. If mountains of sand and sea grass allow him to arrange their days, so can I. He whispers on the wind…I am. Sitting at the sea, I believe him. No question. He is. That is all I need to know. It is all that matters. Ahhh.