Choosing Differently

The sunlight is waning in the evening sky, and I'm standing in bare feet on my back deck while the cool mountain breeze blows my hair around and gives me goosebumps. It's only 7:00 but everyone is already in bed, including Josh, and although I know he needs sleep I'm still working at not being disgruntled over being left lonely. I watch the leaves on the trees flutter wildly, bathed in the golden light of sunset. And for once, in an uncharacteristic bout of emotional intelligence in the present moment, I consciously acknowledge the loneliness that I feel.  

Loneliness is a feeling I hide from. I run for cover so quickly that I rarely take the time to name it, let alone ruminate on the reality of it. Tonight I chose differently.

I came back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind me. The barrier instantaneously shut out the background noise of the wind in the trees, and I was enveloped in a silence that seemed to magnify my aloneness. I looked at the bookshelves heavy with books and considered reading; the television remotes lay haphazardly in a recliner offering escape into entertainment. Instead of groping for those quick fixes, I stood in the middle of the living room, analyzing myself in a way that was quite unusual.

When I'm lonely, I read novels or watch TV shows with my favorite ensemble casts because they mimic the sense of community that I'm hungry for, I said to myself. For once, it was an unappealing prospect. Perhaps because when you're psychoanalyzing yourself, it's easier to see the unhealthy coping mechanisms for the flimsy things they are. This struggle with loneliness is decades old. I briefly wonder if my deep avoidance of loneliness has to do with the sudden loss of a sibling as a young girl. Nevertheless, we moved back to Asheville in large part because of community. You know what to do. In an uncharacteristic bout of willpower, I made an atypical choice.

Shoving the remotes aside, I picked up my phone and sent a text. What are you doing tonight?

That simple message led to hours of conversation on the front porch of a dear friend... woman to woman and heart to heart... wrapped in a hoodie and a blanket to keep warm as darkness descended and the air turned cold. Quiet tears and laughter under globe string lights, loneliness melting away in the warmth of friendship. When I finally drove away to go back home to my house full of sleeping beauties, my heart was full and bright.

It's so easy to pull away when we desperately want to hide from whatever that is that sets off the "ick" alarm inside of us (for me, loneliness). It's so much better to lean in and reach out for connection. That is the stuff our human hearts were made for. So glad I was invited to sit on a front porch tonight. So glad I made a different choice.
 

Why the War in Syria Matters for a Stay-at-Home Mom

As is evident from my Facebook posts and Instagram feed, my days are filled to the brim with my children. A baby, toddler, and almost-preschooler require my almost-constant attention and energy, and my days are filled with feeding children, playdates and playgrounds, family-friendly adventures, and naptimes, bathtimes, and bedtimes. For a while I wasn't comfortable in my stay-at-home mommyhood... I felt like I should be able to raise my children and do something bigger to change the world and fulfill a great calling. It's only recently that I have grabbed onto the fact that for this season, being a mommy is my great calling and I can settle into it and enjoy it while it lasts. So why do I keep sharing articles on Facebook about the war in Syria along with my lament for her people? Obviously I am not a political activist or even someone who can/is going to do something for the people of Syria. I was thinking today about what motivates me to keep drawing attention to Syria and this is why I think it matters to all of us, stay-at-home moms and all:

There is an Albert Schweitzer quote that struck a chord in me the first time I read it and has haunted my memory since: "Think occasionally of the suffering from which you spare yourself the sight." Popular culture tells us rid ourselves from every toxic situation and person in our midst. "I will only allow light, love, and life-giving things that inspire me to be present in my life!" Well, looking at the One who was Light, Love, and Life... I do not see Jesus removing himself from "toxic people" (unless you count the Pharisees, I suppose). The Gospels are filled with His encounters with men and women who were broken and messed up-- the ones nobody wanted to be around. The Savior often inserted Himself right into their path, and did not mind when some were bold enough to step right into His. Good thing he wasn't worried about their negativity.

Following in Christ's lead, I do not think that we should shy away from reality just because it is disturbing, distasteful, or--yes-- negative. It is horrible-- I would daresay toxic-- to read about the woman who watched her son be decapitated by shrapnel and her daughter's limbs be blown off during an airstrike at a Syrian refugee camp near the Turkish border. It makes me nauseated as a fellow human being and downright heartsick as a fellow mama. While I don't think that we should obsess or fixate on what is dark, evil, or macabre in this world, I don't think we should simply refuse to think on anything dark, evil, or macabre, either. Because thinking on it is worth something. Allowing myself to be aware of the deepening situation in Syria (or insert any sickening injustice at home or abroad) has borne the following fruit in my life:

1. Gaining perspective. It is equivalent to a defibrillator shock for getting my heart back into the game. As a mother of three little ones, I am telling you that I easily grow physically tired, mentally and emotionally weary, and sometimes downright resentful of being needed ALL THE TIME. Gratitude is replaced with grumbling, my general demeanor becomes thankless, and I take wonderful things for granted. Wonderful things like three healthy, happy children; a safe home with all the modern conveniences at my disposal; living in a city whose main concerns currently revolve around bathroom signs, unchaining dogs in back yards, and preventing the cutting down of ancient trees to make room for more parking lots. I'm not saying those things don't matter; I'm saying that we have a lot to be thankful for that our situation is not dire enough that they don't matter. Civilians aren't dodging sniper fire in the streets. My children are fascinated by airplanes flying overhead, not terrified that they will die every time they see an approaching aircraft. Despite my own personal struggles and the things that are truly serious in my life, I am reminded to be thankful that the backdrop of my daily life is primarily safe, beautiful, and bountiful.  

2. Taking responsibility. The backdrop of my life is primarily safe, beautiful, and bountiful. Watching from afar as a country decimates its population, using civilians as pawns in a play for power, reminds me that I am partially responsible for weaving the fabric of my own country. In every encounter I can choose love or hate, generosity or self. I can build up society through my words and actions or I can tear it down and contribute to a culture of selfishness, greed, and insatiable consumption. I have the ability to nurture goodness and peace in myself, my home, and my community. God has given us influence.  

 

3. Praying. Whenever I read the latest on the Syrian conflict-- the death toll of civilians trapped in their razed cities, refugees bombed in their camps, the horror and trauma recounted by survivors of this conflict filled with war crimes-- my soul cries out, God, have mercy! The people of Syria need our prayers. They need our prayers! Our government needs our prayers. I make no claims to understand the intricacies of the Syrian civil war and the politics that play into its endlessness. I have no idea which foreign policy stance would be the best for the United States to adopt in what is increasingly becoming a global conflict as more nations become involved in the fighting. But it's election year. We need to pray for our leaders. 1 Timothy 2:1-2 takes on quite an urgent tone with this lens. 

4. Understanding brokenness. At some point in our lifetime, I am likely to cross paths with a person affected by this conflict. Millions of Syrian people are displaced and moving into Europe. Globalization will bring people into our paths that we could never foresee. First of all, it would make us a lot more culturally intelligent if we had a basic understanding of what the Syrian people have endured for the last half-decade. Secondly, this conflict is another reminder to understand brokenness in the lives of people we meet. We can never know what someone has endured and hidden in their heart. Instead of taking offense (appropriately referred to as the bait of Satan), choose to be mindful of how brokenness affects all of us. Hurt people hurt people. Hurt people are off-putting. Hurt people are... toxic? Back to that Schweitzer quote. 

5. Self-examination. There are Syrians who have chosen to stay in that besieged city of Aleppo. I can't believe that people are still surviving in a place that has pretty much been reduced to rubble, with no electricity or running water, but they are there-- some by choice. I recently read this article about the last pediatrician in Aleppo who stayed because, "who would treat those babies if everybody left?" He was killed when a hospital was targeted by an airstrike. I am always amazed by people who run toward danger when everyone else is running away from it-- those "helpers" Mr. Rogers talked about. There are doctors and medical personnel, principals and teachers, photographers and journalists who know they are essentially choosing to die in a war zone so that they can help the innocents who remain. I ask myself - is there any part of my identity that is so dedicated to loving and serving others that I would choose to sacrifice my life to fulfill the calling? For strangers? Talk about self-examination!

Forcing ourselves to respond internally to the Syrian conflict provides the opportunity for us to act outwardly by choosing to live and move intentionally in the readiness of the gospel of peace. I may be a stay-at-home mom and not a legislator on Capitol Hill, but I believe in the ripple effect. Be the change you want to see.   

Because He Lives

I remember one day when I was eight or nine years old, my dad asked me, "Megan, would you still be a Christian if it could be proven that Christ had never resurrected from the dead?" He was a seminary student in Kentucky and I was following him as we wove our way through the pews of Estes Chapel, which was bright inside from the afternoon sunlight shining in through the windowpanes. For some reason I was on campus with him that day. 

In my little-girl heart, wanting to be true to my faith no matter what and not having the propensity to think through the theological implications of the resurrection, I paused for a minute and then answered in the affirmative. I still remember the incredulous look on his face when he turned around to me and said, "Megan, without the resurrection, there is no Christian faith!" 

I am having a particularly difficult afternoon. Since Olivia's birth I have been dealing with postpartum anxiety and I had reached a breaking point today. Desperate for just one moment to myself without holding/nursing a baby, coaxing a toddler to eat something other than a cracker, or arguing with a preschooler, I asked (okay, demanded) my husband for "just a few minutes" without the kids. 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the flood of anxious thoughts slams into my mind. A fist squeezes around my heart because of knowing the grief that would come if he took them down to the playground and there was an accident and one of them died and the last thing I said was that I wanted a minute away from them. A visceral physiological response to the anxiety grips me, and I want to throw up in the shower, where I've ensconced myself for sanctuary. I can hear the howling of my heart - that there is something in me that is broken and that I am impoverished in spirit, with nothing left to pour into these little ones with whom I have been entrusted.  

Blessed are the poor in spirit... His Word washes over me as I let the hot water beat down on my head. I cry hot tears that I can feel through the scalding spray on my face. 

Now would be a good time to talk to me, I tell the Lord. I am weighed down by guilt at my inability to handle my easy life compared to so many others in this world who have endured terrible, crushing circumstances. But I know the reality of the state of my soul right now - and there is nothing or no one other than the Holy Spirit that is going to be able to do anything about it. 

The melody and lyrics to that old hymn Because He Lives floated through my head.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow...

Because He lives... life is worth the living, just because He lives...

I pondered the lyrics. Can Jesus make life worth living, just because He's alive? My mind sprang back to the memory of wandering behind my dad in the seminary chapel when he questioned me about the importance of the resurrection. Which then led my mind to the foundational hope that I have found in Christ and the power of His resurrection... that He makes dead things alive again; He takes what has been crushed and broken and makes it into something beautiful; His Spirit can fill that hollowness of soul, that brokenness and poverty of spirit with a supernatural grace to turn my face, mind, heart to goodness and wholeness again, a fount overflowing with something to give. Something of His.  

He is a good God. A wonderful Savior. I am grateful for His attention, and He was there because I called out to him-- a bleating little sheep who had lost its footing today. I cried out from the pit, and He answered me. His love endures forever.

I wrote this blog because I know that although all of our lives' circumstances differ, we often find ourselves in similar straits, at the end of ourselves. Christ encouraged me today, and I hope that I can in turn encourage you by being a reminder of His goodness and response to our needs. Cast your cares on Him, and He will sustain you; cast your anxieties upon Him, for He cares for you.