Ambiguity

Trust in the LordI was being interviewed as a student by the Dean of Students at a large university for an assistantship in the department. Here I was in my mid twenties being asked a question and not having any idea what the word she used meant. After learning what it meant, I still wondered how I could have spent that long in life without encountering the word yet having lived it so profusely. (I also felt very stupid and still do when I think back on it.) The question was ” How do you handle ambiguity?” I had to ask her what it meant. Somehow I got the job which gave me a few more lessons in ambiguity.

The right word or term can bring clarity to a feeling or situation. Knowing a right word or right term can begin the process of healing, the process of finding a solution or at least send me in the right direction for help to deal with an unsolvable situation.

In a way we have been parents twice. The first time was with our boys who were a joy to raise. They followed normal patterns and they are now into their young adulthood, having launched and beginning relationships with significant others. (I am hoping for at least one wedding next summer.) Ambiguity was at a normal level.

Then we had the girls and I loved it! Finally, dolls, ruffles, lace, cute hairdos and sweet times. It wasn’t long before I was introduced to First Steps, IEPs and developmental delays. I was up to the challenge and enjoyed the journey of learning about them and loving them. Ambiguity was taking a back seat; until now!

Now, uncertainty is hitting us square in the face. It is so different than anxiety. I am relaxed in knowing that God has a future for them and that He is in control. It’s the “me” that is confusing.

I am uncertain with the decision of how we are educating them, especially Cassie. She is now working toward her GED. We could still send her to school for her Sophomore year if she insists on being lazy and unhelpful. Does she need the structure? Can she endure the environment? Can she endure the structure? Should we make her endure the structure to combat her laziness and bad use of time? Do we insist on her getting a job?  There are many more questions and they remain that because I see no clear answers.

What does Borderline Intellectual functioning and mildly mentally handicapped mean in disciplining them, pushing them, not pushing them…?   We want to raise producers, not consumers. What is the level of  maturity that we should expect from them? I have no idea. I just know I don’t like what I see.  I want some clear cut guidelines. I want to do this parenting right!!!

Both girls are rebellious, snitty, and just plain mean, especially to me. We are exhausted in trying to put a stop to it. We are both nearing 60 and we find that the energy and excitement isn’t there any more. Compound this with all the ambiguity and you know the only way we can rise above it is with His strength.

The familiar verse comes to my mind and heart. “Trust in the Lord with all of your heart and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your path.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)

As I see it, the new word is “steps”.   You have to take steps to walk down a path.  Take steps – one at a time- in the midst of all the confusion.  First step:  Ignore the ambiguity for now and deal with what is obvious. What I know for certain is that what I am seeing now in their behavior is not acceptable.  The steps will be softer than how I feel, but directional and intentional.   In the midst of dealing with aging parents and their immediate needs, my husband and I will meet, hopefully eating gyros sandwiches, and plan the steps we will take to begin the process of making life at home bearable again and turning them into productive young women.  Then we will meet with the girls and let them in on the plan.  If they rebel, I guess the steps will have to have more muscle.   If we are intentional now with what we do know, maybe the rest will fall in place.  I will let you know how this turns out.  If we don’t act now, summer could be unbearable.   I also want you to know that we have friends praying for us because we have been open about the situation, but please, don’t let that stop you from also praying for us and everyone on this blog!   There is strength in prayer!

Jan

Contact: jan@chosenfamilies.org

The Goal of Parenting

Every night when I put Jude to bed I pray the blessing of Numbers 6: 24-26 over him:

The Lord bless you and keep you

This ritual reminds me daily of a simple truth. While parenting a child with autism can be a unique experience, it is nonetheless an ordinary experience. Certainly, as parents we face peculiar challenges, and our prayers for Jude may often sound very different than the prayers of parents with neuro-typical children. Even so, our highest ambition for Jude–our greatest desire and joy for him–remains unchanged, even by his autism diagnosis. We want him to know Christ and make him known. We want him to love God with the entirety of his being.

We want him to understand our words, but even more we want him to receive God’s word. We want him to talk to us, but even more we want him to speak with God. We want him to look into our eyes, but even more we want him to seek God’s face.

Above all our hopes and dreams for him, we want Jude to have his greatest good and highest joy–we want him to have God. We want him to live a life wholly given to his Savior.

Joshua

Contact: joshua@chosenfamilies.org

Lessons From the Garden

I have this crazy idea: I’m growing my own fruit and vegetables. Instead of the weekly discouragement in the grocery store (too expensive, too ripe, not ripe enough, what did they spray on it, how have they re-engineered it, etc.), I can play in the dirt and feed us healthy, whole food with less expense and angst. No food dyes, no additives, no sugar, chemicals, or preservatives. I come from a long line of farmers on both sides of my family tree, so why not?

Last fall, Michael built a place for me to grow things—lots of things—in our suburban townhome {small} backyard. And God isn’t wasting this opportunity. While He has me alone out there in the sun, with my hands busy and my mind focused, He’s teaching me deep truth, truth that translates to various and sundry places in my life, especially the places affected by hidden disabilities.

Lessons I’m Learning In the Garden

1. Take time to find your rhythm.
Gardening isn’t like cooking a meal; when growing food, having everything ready at the same time can be counterproductive. Depending on the crop, there’s an appropriate season for planting and a best time of day for harvesting. Staggering planting times provides a better chance that produce will continuously be available. Planting with intention helps the crops to last through the growing season.

With Cami, although we try valiantly, we often fail at following a schedule. Some days, our ideal schedule comes to fruition: school in the morning, lunch on time, chores accomplished, tired when it’s actually bedtime. Other days, we set aside our ideal schedule and finish reading that exciting book, spend time playing with friends, and take dinner to our pregnant neighbor. Mostly, we’ve learned to find the rhythm in our lives and to move with the wind as it blows—without becoming uprooted. We trust that Jesus is directing that rhythm, and it’s safe to dance with Him.

2. Pay attention.
Plants give warning signals when things are out of balance for their growth. If the beans grow tall and bushy but aren’t producing many beans, their soil probably needs more nutrients. If the cilantro and parsley leaves turn yellow, they probably are being watered too often. Last year, in one evening, a single hornworm ate my one-and-only tomato plant in its entirety.  This year, I’m checking the tomato plants daily for any signs of chewage.

As Cami moves into adolescence, her sensory integration struggles and her hormones make for some interesting combinations. As she grows taller and her limbs grow longer, her growth spurts and her vestibular challenges make walking hard for her to navigate. She stumbles a lot. She often steps on the back of my heels. When I pay close attention, I see her struggling to judge how long her arms are, how long her legs are, how far to step forward in order to walk with me and not step on me. I can’t “fix” the awkward stages in her growth, but I can help her understand them, navigate them, and learn to be patient with herself.

3. Spread out.
Young plants need room to spread out and grow stronger. For seeds, being lumped together is a productive place to be. There comes a time, though, when seedlings need to be thinned out so the baby plants have room to grow into strong adult plants. This might mean one row of lettuce turns into three. Let me tell you: thinning out lettuce is tedious work. Sproutlings are tender and crush easily, but giving each lettuce sprout enough room to grow will yield many more healthy heads of lettuce.

I have to let Cami go more often now, and it’s tough for this momma. She needs to spread out, to try more open spaces, and I need to let her. The time for my holding her close to me and being her buffer is drawing to a close. It’s time for me to let her stand out, to be different in a crowd without trying to shield her from how that feels.

4. Find your niche, then bloom there.
Boundaries are not only beneficial, sometimes they’re downright necessary. Each plant has needs specific to its growth and productivity. Some plants need lots of sun and not much water. Other plants need to stay cool and moist. Planting crops with differing needs in the same space impedes their growth and fruitfulness. As we establish our garden, I need to keep each plant’s needs in mind and place it in the garden accordingly if I want it to produce good fruit.

All along the way in this journey, there have been places, people, and activities that just don’t fit us as a family. I used to feel guilty about that, like I was being exclusive, or intolerant, or snobby. Now I see: we’re all made for different places and different things. God anoints my family to walk and serve in places no one else walks and serves. That isn’t less; it’s His more.

5. When you need more room, think up.
There’s limited growing room in our roughly 16′ x 12′ planting space. The crops we’re growing—especially the zucchini, squash, eggplant, strawberries, and beans—need room to sprawl. In order for them to bear a good crop, we need to give them room. Because our spreading room is limited, my husband and I are researching different ways we can garden vertically.

Michael and I don’t always know how to provide enough room for Cami’s growing. In those many, many times, we stay on our knees and think up: God made her; He understands her; we ask Him to make room for her. And every time, He does. And the space He provides fits her just right. Unconventional as the growing solution often looks, it always gets the job done.

Strawberry

The first strawberry from our garden, Mother’s Day, 2013

17So Isaac left there, camped in the valley of Gerar, and lived there. 18Isaac reopened the water wells that had been dug in the days of his father Abraham and that the Philistines had stopped up after Abraham died. He gave them the same names his father had given them. 19Moreover, Isaac’s slaves dug in the valley and found a well of spring water there. 20But the herdsmen of Gerar quarreled with Isaac’s herdsmen and said, “The water is ours!” So he named the well Quarrel because they quarreled with him. 21Then they dug another well and quarreled over that one also, so he named it Hostility. 22He moved from there and dug another, and they did not quarrel over it. He named it Open Spaces and said, “For now the Lord has made room for us, and we will be fruitful in the land.”  (from Genesis 26, HCSB)

Hoping your Church Day is filled with springs and open spaces,

Candi

Taking a Break…or Broken

“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30

It seems straightforward enough, doesn’t it? When exhausted from our work, we are to go to the Master. We are to attach ourselves, side by side, to Him and learn of Him. This is how we find the rest that our souls so deeply desire.

In March, I needed a break. I’d had a tough fall and winter, trying to manage to be “Mom and Dad” in the fall semester evenings had been truly stressful and I’d gotten sick, time and again. My husband’s work schedule for the fall put him teaching every afternoon and evening, meaning that I was the one to deal with homework issues, supper, and getting the kids ready for bed and tucked in each night. Many moms manage this, right?

I am not like most moms. I have a chronic illness that causes me to fatigue easily. In addition, stress triggers the symptoms (from difficulty with mobility to difficulty thinking … and several other, more nasty symptoms). Plug in a child with Anxiety/OCD and a sibling experiencing his first year of middle school (and the uglier side of puberty), and you have my worst fall semester … ever.

I needed a break. I ached to see a glimpse of spring, after the long bleak winter. In March, I was given the gift of a week to “get away” to my parents’ home in the south, where spring was “springing up” already. It WAS wonderful to see blossoms everywhere and green leaves, again. Therapeutic is a word I’d use. I attempted to read my Bible more often and seek the Lord, but not quite enough. I spent more time drinking in the beauty of His creation than the refreshing of His Word.
Flory didn’t like me being away. She fought it, tooth and nail, before I left. I assured her that I would talk to her on the phone at night, or in the mornings. Each phone call, however, included a demand at the end: “Come home, Mommy. Right now; today.” But “Mommy” needed a break.

After a sweet period of rest and fun with my parents and my sister-in-law, we loaded up the car and headed back north. Even the road trips, to and from, were a slice of enjoyment for me. Long talks, laughter, no dishes or laundry, and lots of scenery were a great source of refreshment to me.

Not long after I came home, though, I experienced an exacerbation of my symptoms … right before our family was to go out of town to visit my husband’s relatives. A hospital stay is not exactly my idea of the perfect getaway. However, my body was telling me that I needed another “break.” Again, Flory missed me, greatly. My illness is almost like a “trigger” for her anxieties. She and her brother came a few times while I was there; sitting on my bed and watching television, reading books, and/or updating me on all that was going on in their lives. God used that time, oddly enough, for me to forge a few friendships (a kind and funny nurse and a roommate who took the time to get to know me and enjoy some laughter, despite our circumstances).

Now, I find I need a break again. Life’s ups and downs , the complications of having a chronic illness, my kids’ experiences as they both are entering the roller coaster of puberty … all are working together to make me feel, well, broken. Perhaps this time, before our family vacation that promises fun and refreshing, I will heed the words of the gospel of Matthew. In order to TRULY be the wife and mother I need to be for my family, I don’t need a “break.” I am already broken. I need to come unto the Master … for true rest.

Learning of Him,

Grace

Firstborn Newborns

Mom and sleeping babyMy first baby just had her first baby!!

I can’t find the words to describe what I feel when I hold my baby’s baby in my arms…

She is so perfectly beautiful!!

Her full bodied stretches amaze me,

And her wide mouthed yawns amuse me…

Her utter stillness (when something catches her attention) awes me…

And sheer magnitude of what God has done between those two births, 25 years apart, is profoundly affecting me.

My firstborn was born into a manic crises (a story for another blog – after I’ve had SLEEP) … and in all my exhaustion and pain back then, I could not imagine anything in my future being worth living for. Certainly not something as amazing and powerfully good as holding HER firstborn! To me, at the time, my future held nothing but gloom and doom. “Gloom, despair, and agony on me! Deep dark depression, excessive misery! … if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all – gloom, despair, and agony on me!” (a song from the old TV show, Hee Haw)

It astounds me God wove all these meaningful tender newborn moments into my future.

During those dark days though, my mama shared a tender poem, to encourage her firstborn (me).  This is for any of you in our Chosen Families family, who feel this way:

I’m too tired to trust and too tired to pray,

Said one, as the over-taxed strength gave way.

The conscious thought by my mind possessed,

Is, oh, could I just drop it all and rest.

 

Will God forgive me, do you suppose,

If I go right to sleep as a baby goes,

Without an asking if I may,

Without ever trying to trust and pray?

Will God forgive you? Why think, dear heart,

When language to you was an unknown art,

Did a mother deny you needed rest,

Or refuse to pillow your head on her breast?

Did she let you want when you could not ask?

Did she set her child an unequal task?

Or did she cradle you in her arms,

And then guard your slumber against alarms?

Ah, how quick was her mother love to see,

The unconscious yearnings of infancy,

When you’ve grown too tired to trust and pray,

When over-wrought nature has quite given way;

Then just drop it all, and give up to rest, (mama starred this line)

As you used to do on a mother’s breast,

He knows all about it – the dear Lord knows,

So just go to sleep as a baby goes;

Without even asking if you may,

God knows when His child is too tired to pray.

He judges not solely by uttered prayer,

He knows when the yearnings of love are there.

He knows you do pray, He knows you do trust,

And He knows, too, the limits of poor weak dust.

Oh, the wonderful sympathy of Christ,

For His chosen ones in that midnight tryst,

When He bade them sleep and take their rest,

While on Him the guilt of the whole world pressed –

You’ve given your life up to Him to keep,

Then don’t be afraid to go right to sleep.

– Ella Conrad Cowherd

(one comment: Jesus didn’t “bade them sleep” as in “sweet dreams!” Actually, He urged them to pray, at the worst moment of His life – and they failed Him completely. But their failure did not change His mind. He accepted their limitations, and saved them anyway.)

Sleepy and still saved,

Joan

 

 

Photo credit: David Castillo Dominici/Freedigitalphoto.net

 

 

 

Audio of Interview, 5-13-13

For those interested in the interview with Janet Parshall, further discussing suicide and the response of the church, you can listen here.

I pray this conversation will continue the openness that has begun.

Warmly,

Shannon

 

 

Seeing Red

Jesse has an infatuation with firefighters. And, for that matter, fire trucks, fire engines, and firehouses.

Not unusual, you say? Little boys love firefighters, policemen, army men, you add? True. So, let me elaborate a bit.

He’s had 2 fire-themed birthday parties, dressed as a firefighter for 3 consecutive Halloweens, owns 4 fire fighter costumes, 1 fire fighter umbrella and raincoat set, 4 model fire house sets, 22 fire engines and 31 firefighter figurines of various size. Each day, he methodically lays out his firefighter costume, invites me into his “fire house” and shows me his gear before suiting up. We have made no fewer than 6 impromptu stops at fire stations we’ve passed on our journeys, and have waylaid something like 10 firefighters from their very real duties in order that Jesse might sit on one of the engines, wear a helmet, or ask “where is your black and white fire dog?” (He’s been often disappointed to learn that Dalmatians are mostly relics of a by-gone firefighting age. If he sees a Dalmatian in his firefighter story book, he LITERALLY expects to see one at the fire house. That literal nature? Yep, that’s ASD.) There are even firefighter coloring books, firefighter pajamas, firefighter DVDs. For a period of time, all Jesse would watch on television was a 1987 firefighter training video we were able to stream through Netflix. He could recite it word for word. It started out as cute. Sometime after viewing 15, it got downright annoying. He had all of us, and PARTICULARLY his older, emotionally labile brother Noah with ASD himself, seeing red.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, a restricted or limited interest (one that plays out in real life more like an obsession) is one of the hallmarks of an Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). These are kids who know every Star Wars character ever introduced, or who can name every dinosaur that ever trod the earth. But I was surprised to discover recently that the MORE restricted the interest, the HIGHER the anxiety – that the latter often incites the former. http://ultimateautismguide.com/2011/06/autism-news-anxiety-restricted-interests/  And, with anxiety being the defining emotion of Asperger’s and other ASD’s, it goes to reason that these kids are destined to experience both – some, more intensely than others. I thought Noah was one for restricted interests, but my sweet Jesse has shown the capability to outpace him red engine for red engine.

This morning, I walked into Jesse’s room and found yet another pile of engines and figures to be re-shelved:

Just a small selection.

But this time, instead of seeing the mess, I HEARD what he was saying. So I sat down.

“Can I visit your fire station?”

He grinned, freckles and dimples squinched up. “Yes. Yes, you can.”

Then I asked Jesse why he liked firefighters so much.

“Because.”

“’Because’ is not really an answer, Jesse. Why do you like them more than anything else?”

“Because they put out fires and save people.”

They “save people.” I exhaled, and squeezed my arms around him. I will do what I can, with God’s help, to make him feel safe and ease his worried mind.

And in the meantime, I suppose there are worse things he could be interested in.

- Sarah

Of Isolation and Personal Responsibility

E Elliott quoteI have been pondering of late this sense of isolation that seems to go with hidden disabilities.  I have to acknowledge that some of it is my responsibility.  In order to move toward change we have to acknowledge our piece and deal with it.  We also need to share with others ways they can help us.  But one without the other is not likely to be effective.

So my piece.  The reality is that sometimes engaging in the “normal” or “typical” things in others’ lives just screams at me how not typical our life is. (Note, I DO recognize that “atypical” would be the proper word there but somehow it doesn’t feel as emphatic.  Go figure.)  Sometimes I can manage this and be o.k. and I participate.  Sometimes it is so painful as to be almost unbearable.  In those moments, I tend to not engage.  Is that the fault of others?  Of course not.  They are living their lives, celebrating their moments.  I want to celebrate with them.  How do I do that through my own ongoing grief…?  Not sure of the answer to that one. And in those moments I feel like some of them are thinking that I just need to get over any grief and deal with it…. The challenge, of course, is that the grief is not an event in time to “get over.”  It is an ongoing death upon death that is hard to explain unless you are living that kind of life also.

It isn’t even something I can wrap words around.  I am sitting here weeping as I type.  It just is.  It just is what it is.

Perhaps the day will come when those moments will not be so raw.  If so, I have not grown that much yet.  I am often not able to be there.  I want to be but I don’t know how.

Honestly that distresses me.  But I don’t know how to change it.  I take life as it comes and try to process as I go. I am not typically one who holds on to past offenses (real or perceived). I typically process and talk through as I go.

There are moments, however, when the processing is so beyond painful that I can’t do it with others.  Perhaps if I did they would understand more of our journey.  In that way, I suppose I may keep them from understanding.  Perhaps that is part of why this journey feels lonely at times.  It isn’t that people aren’t trying to understand. Sometimes they really are.  But they don’t understand.  And some of that responsibility may lie at my feet.  Because the most painful moments are borne alone or with our family… not shared.  Not borne publically.

So I am ponderous today.  How do we make things better in this area? Is it possible for it to be better?  Or is this just part of the hidden disability journey?  I would welcome your thoughts.

Moving toward the goal of true maturity,

Yours,

Shannon

Contact: shannon@chosenfamilies.org

Why I Love Being Cami’s Mom

Oh, what joy for those
whose disobedience is forgiven,
whose sin is put out of sight!
Yes, what joy for those
whose record the Lord has cleared of guilt,
whose lives are lived in complete honesty!
(from Psalm 32, NLT)

This Mother’s Day Eve, as I think about what to post that will both express our lives authentically and encourage you wherever you are in your life, I’m tempted to just post a scripture and be done with it. After all, what can I possibly add to the many blog posts floating around out there about Mother’s Day? (See the bottom of this post for a few of my favorite links for the “holiday.”)

Yet, God won’t let me stay comfortable this evening. While it’s true that God’s Word is always the best thing to say in any situation, I feel His encouragement this evening to include some of my own vulnerability. As I try to write about Mother’s Day, I think about all of us who dread this second Sunday in May. My heart is heavy for all of us who are so tired and worn that calling attention to the reason for our tiredness and worn-ness is the last thing we want.

Some of us find it hard to celebrate being a mother when being a mother is so hard.

I remember how my heart broke every Mother’s Day that marked another year of my infertility. While I love and appreciate my own mom, I found it difficult to feel grateful on Mother’s Day when my heart felt so empty and abandoned. I understood Hannah’s grief first-hand: “Crushed in soul, Hannah prayed to God and cried and cried—inconsolably” (1 Samuel 1:10 in The Message).

And then it happened. All the prayers and all the waiting and and all the infertility treatments finally worked: I was pregnant! You’d think I would’ve felt elated, right? After waiting for so long and trying so hard and crying so much, I felt two things: relieved and terrified. 

I was relieved that I was finally pregnant, that I was finally going to experience my lifelong dream of being a mommy.

I was terrified that I was finally pregnant, that I was finally going to experience my lifelong dream of being a mommy.

I remember, after the phone call from the doctor with the good news, lying on the couch and begging God, “Please. Let it be real this time. Let it be okay. Please, Lord, let this baby be healthy. I can’t handle having a child with special needs.”

Oh, yes, I did. I prayed that prayer. And I believed it, too: I could only handle so much, and special needs were not in my repertoire. My mom had worked for years with physically and mentally handicapped children, and I’d recognized my own inability to connect with her students. It upset me so much to be around her students that I would visit her at work only after school hours, only after all the students had been dismissed and bussed home. Looking back on that immature, selfish, high-school me, I see now that my angst wasn’t really about those students. My angst was about a seemingly-loving God Who allowed such (as I perceived it) struggle and heartache. I know now how much joy and blessing I missed by not connecting with those kids.

I sit here this evening realizing that, among all the other struggles and blessings that they are, Cami’s hidden disabilities provide the God-given do-over for this selfish heart of mine. Time after time, I reach the end of my know-how, the end of all my teacher-training, all my intelligent assumptions, and I’m left with no idea what to try next with my girl. And time after time, God meets me in my insufficiency and proves Himself to be my El Shaddai, my All-Sufficient One, my Strength-Giver, my One Who is mighty to nourish and satisfy. Time after time, when I run to the Maker of my precious daughter, He shows me what to do and how to do it.

Mother’s Day feels a little like arriving at an art-gallery opening where the featured Artist hands me His most prized canvas and says, “Here. Sign your name to it.” And I say, “But all I’ve done is admire Your work and paint where You’ve told me.” And He says, “I know. It’s My gift to you.” It feels out of sync to be celebrated as the mom when I can’t take any credit for the beauty my girl is. God has done it all.

So I’ll do what I’ve done for almost 13 years now: I’ll enjoy the masterpiece that is my daughter and treasure the gift that she is to me.

Glamour Cami

BananaMama

kitchen drawer

ScooterPootin Blues

StaticHair

scooterpoot on her scooter

Beautiful Girls Easter 2007

Christmas 2008

sams

Me and my girl

trampoline rocker

DC Adventurer

wind

IMAG1581

bookstore

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IMAG0590

Luray

atlantic girls

2 girls

I’m the one who is so stinking blessed.

*A few of my favorite links about mothering:

♥ Lisa Leonard’s When I Became a Mother on (in)courage’s blog

♥ Lisa-Jo Baker’s beautiful Mighty Mom video and printable

♥ Lisa-Jo’s Tired Mother’s Creed printable

♥ One more Lisa-Jo post: The (Real Life) Dictionary Definition of “Mother”

♥ Ann Voskamp’s Why Mother’s Day Is For the Birds

Praying you take time to breathe in El Shaddai’s love and grace.

He is all you need.

Candi

Get Thee to a Bible Study, Girl!

Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering (not my strong point),

for He who promised is faithful; (my unpredictable life needs His kind of steadiness )

and let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds, (the opposite of being rash)

not forsaking our own assembling together, as is the habit of some,

but encouraging one another; (I need it)

and all the more as you see the day drawing near. (“all the more” sounds good to me)

Hebrews 10:23-25

I know my journey has been isolating in significant and painful ways … but I have NOT been isolated from studying the Bible with other women.

That may sound like No Big Deal to you, but I’m here to tell you many times it’s been THE difference between spiritual life and even physical death for me. I was never made to live without God’s Word, and I am not cut out to be a Lone Ranger.

I remember attending a women’s Bible study right after I married. I had no idea why my marriage was so hard and draining (I didn’t know what “bipolar” or “manic” really was) but I felt literally infused with hope and strength after every meeting. That fellowship around God’s Word did not change my husband or his diagnosis, but it strengthened me. In fact (it’s no secret) I know without a doubt I would’ve bailed out of my marriage, my faith, or my life itself if it had not been for godly women pouring God’s truth into my life each week – and I say this after being born in a pastor’s home, and attending a Christian college!

On the short list, studying God’s word with other women anchors me (in an inconsistent, unpredictable life), transforms me (from naïve to more discerning), convicts me (gently), and sustains me (or I’d die of discouragement). When my kids were little, I could’ve climbed Mt. Everest with less effort than it took to get us out the door every week to Bible study (and I was usually late) but I was going to get there, or die trying!

It would be years before I understood enough of what was happening at home to explain it to anyone else – but that was OK at the time. The time for disclosure and education would come later. Those women were not equipped to “fix” my life. They just gave me healthy love and God’s Word. Every week.

This year I had an epiphany of sorts: women’s Bible study is literally THE single constant of my 28 years of marriage. That’s saying something. If you have bipolar family members, you know what I mean. I’ve been in and out of every other activity… children choir helper, nursing, dance recitals, home schooler, public school and sports mom, caring for aging parents, college mom … everything except women’s Bible study.

It doesn’t mean I am devout. It means Bible study and fellowship are critical.

Are you in a good Bible study? If not, will you consider joining one? It doesn’t matter if you’ve never done it, or used to teach it! Just make sure they believe God so greatly loved and dearly prized the world that He gave up His only begotten unique Son, so that whoever believes in (trusts in, clings to, relies on) Him shall not perish (come to destruction, be lost) but have eternal (everlasting) life. (John 3:16 Ampified) If you find one like that, then “get thee hence to it, pronto”-  some way, some where, some how!

Wouldn’t it be amazing if we were all in the same place and could study the Word together?? …heaven must be like that….

Love you,

Joan