Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Ebenezer

A friend once told me that you can B.S. people by being a good writer.

I think that's true.  Words are powerful.  With my words, I can make people believe that I'm doing great when I'm actually miserable.  I can boldly display the parts of my life that I like, and I can carefully eliminate other, less desirable parts.  For years, I've used my blog as a journal without realizing that I was slowly starting to hide behind my words, painting a picture of myself that I wanted the world to see, and losing touch with my present (and often messy) reality.  In the past few months, I've picked up my leather journal again and processed thoughts that no one else will ever read.  I've been honest with myself without worrying about what others will see and think of me through my words.  I don't edit my writing in my journal- it's just raw emotion.  

I've thought a lot about whether I want to blog or not, and I decided that I want to keep it up, at least intermittently, for the same reason that I took a break from it initially: Words are powerful.  I'm not putting away my journal.  It will still be there for working through "the ugly," but some tales are worth telling to the world.  You don't need to know every detail.  I don't need to paint a perfect picture for you.  But I do need to keep writing in hopes that even one person's heart will be touched in reading this unfinished story of mine that has taught me so much about redemption, forgiveness, and love.

September 12.  In most ways, I wish I could completely erase it from my memory, but in every other way, it was the defining moment of my relationship with my husband.  This is one of those instances when you don't need to know every detail, but our world came crashing down that night.  Trust was broken.  We were both hurt and unsure of what to believe.  Our marriage seemed irreparable.  In the days immediately following September 12, we slept separately- not touching, not communicating, not able to be in the same house.  Piper cried a lot.  Even she knew that Mom and Dad were not okay.  Both of us sat, alone, amid a flood of tears, hopelessness, and shock.  I'm not being dramatic when I say that I have no idea how I managed to even get out of bed in the mornings, except that my 14-month-old still needed me.

Gradually, we independently began to tell a few close friends about what had happened- not out of bravery, but out of desperation.  We knew that this was something bigger than us, and we needed help.  We started going to counseling, which has helped tremendously.  And somehow, as He always does, God began to make something beautiful from the ashes.  Because the truth had come out, neither of us had anything to hide anymore.  In the past three or so months, we have learned what it means to be truly honest with each other.  More importantly, we have both experienced forgiveness in ways that we didn't know even existed.  I've found, for the first time in the 5.5 years that I've been married to my Andrew, that I am actually thankful for him.  In every great love, I that think there is always some sense of "I don't deserve you," and I've never had that until now.

It's impossible to explain the amount of healing we've had in just a few short months to anyone else.  Our marriage didn't just need to be repaired; it needed to be made new, and that is exactly what has happened.  We have recently spent many late nights on the floor in the living room, actually talking, actually praying, and actually forgiving.  Those quiet nights when no one else was around have been some of the most precious moments we've ever known.  I wonder if you know what it feels like, as you're admitting your biggest faults and ugliest mess, to have someone look you in the eye and say, "I love you.  I still choose you.  I've never been more attracted to you than I am right now."  That, friends, is freedom.

It is a miracle in itself that God chose to heal us emotionally, but it is equally miraculous that He chose to heal us physically.  I'm pregnant.  We weren't trying for another baby; we had long since given up on the idea of having a biological child.  I don't believe that God always tangibly rewards people for having great marriages or for "getting their lives together."  I definitely don't believe what people say about "just adopt and then you'll get pregnant" or "maybe you need to just stop trying and then you'll have a baby!"  (I have so many problems with both of those statements for so many reasons.)  I do believe that God does things that we don't understand, at times which make no sense to us, to people who least deserve it.  And I'm so thankful for this tiny miracle growing inside of me, defying the odds of what doctors told us was impossible.  Our prayers, over the past four years, have not fallen on deaf ears.

Today is Piper's "Gotcha Day," and as I think back over the past year of her life as an official member of our family, I can't imagine our lives without her.  She brought healing in her own sort of way by making this barren woman a mom, and she continues to make me smile and laugh (and sometimes cry and want to bang my head against the wall) every day.  Frequently, I think my heart will burst because I love her so much.  While there have been many moments that I doubted God's goodness because of our struggle with infertility, I now realize that, at the time, it was His kindness to us.  Piper is the perfect gift, and there is no other child that I would rather have as my first than our little girl.  If I had gotten pregnant four years ago, or even two years ago, we wouldn't have her.

At church, we often sing this favorite song of mine called "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing."  The second verse goes like this:

Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by Thy help I've come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger, interposed His precious blood.

For a long time, I used to sing that song without any idea of what an Ebenezer is.  Now, before we sing the hymn, there are two sentences in our church's Order of Worship which explain it: "An Ebenezer is a 'stone of help'.  It's a marker of God's grace in your life, when you have seen Him come through."  God gives us distinct, touchable evidences of His grace because we are a forgetful people.  This baby, for us, is that.  It's not an answer to all of our problems.  It's not an example of "getting our ducks in a row" and then waiting for God to bless us.  It's an Ebenezer, a simple reminder that He is good, that He helps desperate people, and that His grace really does bring healing.