Will you answer me?

In Kindergarten when I was learning how to add I really struggled with accommodating the new concept. I had to draw pictures. I used M & Ms and coins. I counted on my fingers. For the first week I seemed slower than my classmates, but I after I wrapped my mind around addition—I got fast, accurate, articulate-- so much so, that I was definitely competition for the top math students in my class.


This pattern repeated throughout elementary school, middle school, and high school. So I came to accept:

I am a person who needs answers.

I have to understand how something works to be able apply it. Sometimes things take me longer.

Faith has been the same sort of battle for me to accommodate. I have tried, but I simply cannot blindly accommodate the rational formulas of faith without context. Like the apostle Thomas, I need to put my hands on them. Draw them. Experience them in my life.

As a little girl I loved the Bible so I had a good foundation in the rational formulas:

Some of my earliest memories of reading are of “little Sarah” sounding out the words in the precious moments Bible [which had been mother’s when she was just a girl.] I remember how at seven I began to listen to the book of John on cassette when I went to bed.

• Scripture was my lullaby.
• The Jesus I met in red ink was my childhood confidante.
• and The story of God’s kingdom was the most beautiful “happily ever after” I could dream towards.

I had a quick memory that served me well in Sunday School, Awanas, and VBS, but the older I grew the more inconsistencies I saw between my life and the life of promised me in the Bible. God wasn’t answering my prayers and I began to question “Why?” My heart began to slowly harden towards the Father who I felt had ignored my cries for mercy. Self-hatred began to slip in and lead me down paths of destruction.

Meanwhile in the midst of brokenness I continued to plow away at the prescribed spiritual disciplines hoping that somehow in it all God would meet me. Honestly what had felt so rich during my childhood felt like cheap thrills and empty promises by the time I was 19 … but I couldn’t give up because I need answers my heart knew only God could give. I had memorized the Romans road as a girl, I did not know its meaning in my life until I reached the incline between girlhood and womanhood when the Holy Spirit came alongside and walked me through it:

I was praying one afternoon after I had been in treatment for eating disorders and depression for several months. I was finally getting healthy -- feeling good physically and my heart was opening to people again--- but I was terrified because I knew if I left treatment, I would throw it all away.

Knowing this just made me weep. Deep down I believed that I had sold my soul to Anorexia, and that the Father was done with me. The image of me kneeling beside the toilet vomiting flashed through my mind, and I said out loud, “How can You love me God, when I belong to this idol?”

Then for a moment I saw Jesus beside me, his hand resting firmly on my sweaty shoulder to comfort me. For the first time my heart knew He had been there in the rank filth of my sin not giving up on me… and that He would bring me out of the life of sin I hated--- if would trust Him. There in my vision of blood, vomit, sweat, and tears, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, “Sarah every truth you know in your head will be revealed to your heart.”

I wished I could say that after that I found myself miraculous free of life-controlling addictions--- that isn’t my story. The vision didn’t mark the end of the battle for me, however it was the beginning of the end.

I still fight fear every time I eat, and I still fight this compulsion towards self-destruction… but in the face of a lot of mental torment, Christ’s words of love and hope over me continue to breakthrough. Every time I have been so afraid I would given in to fear’s assault, Christ has been there not allowing Anorexia to take me back. I love Him for this--- and I still don’t understand him. I cling to his promise that every truth I know in my head, I will know in my heart. I long to see it coming.

My heart keeps asking so many questions. Questions that I somehow feel shouldn’t be asked in church:

• Why do children starve to death? why are they being sold into slavery?
• Why does my friend have cancer? Why do my clients suffer with no way to even communicate their pain?
• Does God not hear my cries for justice? Does the Father not care that I am tormented by the lies of Anorexia? Is there not complete healing for my wounded heart?
• Does God hear my prayers for children? for reconciliation with family?
• Where is Jesus? Has he left us orphaned in this? Where is the Comforter He promised?
• Where is the Kingdom near? and where is the kingdom coming?

Sometimes I feel alone in my need to understand. So many can take it on faith that God is generous and good despite the brokenness of the world we live in. Why can’t I make the questions in me “shut up”? Why can’t I be satisfied with a cognitive knowledge and a future hope?

My hunger for a heart knowledge God is insatiable. My experience-- mystic. I have these awesome moments of communion with the Divine which I feel safe enough to write about, but have no idea how to bring up in conversation. I see prayers as pictures. I have visions. Just pondering the mystery of Trinity gives me goose bumps, and every time I stop worrying about how unworthy I am and simply let the love of God sink in; I cry.

Saturday nights when we come together to worship God I become overwhelmed by His Holiness and humbled by the Spirit’s nearness. When I worship the wound in me throbs, driving me to cling to Christ like a Lover whose very presence with me reassures me that “everything will be alright.”

But when the sermon is over and the worship has ended I feel like a fraud and heretic. Because I’m still Sarah, struggling with disillusionment and unbelief. Sarah, fighting the same battles in my mind… Sarah whose heart is asking all these questions that she is too afraid to voice.

Until the past Saturday when truth began another intervention in my heart. I don’t know where I mustered the courage [must have been God] but I did end up broaching the subject of suffering in a conversation with a group of guys. One thing Jeff , our pastor, recommended really stuck out to me.

Worship

He suggested that what is most helpful for his heart when life so difficult is to worship God for His Character. Like Job who, despite tremendous personal lose, confessed,

I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me! (Job 19:25-27)

Yes—I echo Job’s prayer--- yes, but..

“how?” I asked Jeff, “What does worship [outside of what we do here as a group] look like for you?”

He told me he downloads worship songs to his MP3 player and sings them… As he sings to God, his heart is reminded of the greatness of God’s character. “Something changes in your heart when you choose to worship…” Jeff explained.

I decided to take the challenge to worship. Sunday morning I compiled a list of songs that are revealing to me truth about this God who I long to return to, fully facing reality but without disillusionment:

Lord of the Starfields …...... Bruce Cockburn
Christ is Exalted……………….… Jan L’Ecuyer
Let the River Flow……...……. Shane Barnard
Mercy………………..... Laura Woodley Osman
Into the Light……..… Laura Woodley Osman
Put In Me…….…..... Enter the Worship Circle

As I listened that morning, as I sang, I did sense God near to me in all my questioning. I remembered God’s word spoken to the exile nation of Israel through the prophet Jeremiah,

"Your wound is incurable, your injury beyond healing. There is no one to plead your cause, no remedy for your sore, no healing for you... But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,' declares the LORD, 'because you are called an outcast, Zion for whom no one cares.' (Jeremiah 30:12,13,17)

And somehow my heart knew Him again as Healer and Restorer of all things. As I worshiped God not because He has presently righted all evil, but because of His splendor, the very choice of worship became balm to my bitter soul.

I don’t know how it will all work out in the long-term. Maybe in listening, in singing, more light will come. Maybe truth will resonate in my heart like the melodies in my ears. I just want to make space for the Holy Spirit so I can know Him more. Right now this seems to be working.

I sense again that this is not the end of the battle, but the beginning of the end, and I am pressing into as much light as He gives.




Note: Last January Jeff actually preached a sermon about this titled “When Life Sucks,” which really better explains the reason worship is so crucial in the face of suffering and injustice. I definitely plan to revisit this one.

Madness to notice me

At 6:30 last night I woke up from my mandatory pre-3rd shift nap to discover that my coordinator had left me the following message:

"Sarah, I talked with Ruth and from now on she will do the Thursday overnights. So I’ll keep you scheduled for the Monday evening slot. Thanks."

I was immediately relieved and worried. I was the one who had suggested the switch and I was certainly glad to be free of all night-shifts, but I was concerned about money. ..

And honestly not so much about how Tim and I would make it financially, but about the quick shift of the financial power cards in our relationship.

Just the day before Tim had got a second job. Without the overtime of that nightshift I knew he would be making more money than I for the next few months. When I called Tim and relayed the “happy news” and my ambivalent feelings about the whole situation, we decided to discuss the change further when he came home from work.

So at 10:00pm instead of mentally stealing myself to stay awake, I was roaming the streets of McPherson with love of my life in cooling darkness of a midsummer’s night. Things had changed so rapidly and I was drinking in the moment,

• the weight of his hand in mine,
• the heat of his touch,
• the chill wafting of the breeze,
• the intoxicating scent of the mimosa trees blossoming,
• the majestic flecks of star-shine and moon-shine mingling in a glittering sky…

when in an instant I felt the Spirit of God so present chills ran up my spine. The thought, “God is so big, so much bigger than I knew, and I am so small,” flashed through my mind.

And all at once I felt compelled to kiss the Creator of all this glory, to scream at the top of my lungs "Jesus I love you," and to hide from One so perfect. Instinctively my fingers tightened around my husband’s fingers. We were walking on sacred ground and we had not known it.

In the Presence of Holiness, I was afraid.

Not knowing what else to do I began to pour out my soul… confiding in Tim and the near Holy Spirit the reason for my agitation. I began,

“I never knew that Love would feel so much like death.”

I started choking on the words as they came rushing out-- a long pent up flood of emotional uncertainty,

I tried for so long to be someone smart and capable. I wanted attention. I wanted to be important. I attempted to “do great things for the Kingdom of God,” because I wanted God to notice me. But all my efforts left me feeling empty inside. I could not understand the reason why pouring my life out for God left me feeling so hollow. A daily battle with eating disordered thinking, the fantasies of “ending it all,” and my constant lashing out at both of you are evidence enough that my heart is sick, my way of surviving is unsustainable.

God, I know that you led me to where I am now and I love it. It fits me so well. I feel that I was made to minister in this way to the marginalized. I know it is you who are teaching me to communicate concern without using words. But I wrestle with the suffering I see. Where are you in their pain? Why don’t you answer my prayers for their comfort and healing? Don’t you care? And I wrestle with feeling unimportant. I ask myself, “how is my working a part-time, minimum wage job serving God?”

Then I stopped walking and turned to look into Tim’s eyes,

“Do you think God sees me? Do you really think that right now I am in his will?”

Sensing the vulnerability of my soul Tim spoke many tender words to me as we headed in the direction of home, but the phrase that most sticks out in my mind is simply this,

“Sarah, God notices you.”

Something hard and bitter in me melted at those words. I realized that deep in my heart of hearts that is what I have always wanted--- to be noticed, to be worthy of attention--- but I had been taught that desire was selfish. I believed it is wrong to desire God to need or notice me.

Then Tim was showing me it wasn’t.

The God created the intoxicating fragrance of the Mimosa blossom to be appreciated, has fashioned his children in like manner.

Each life that he creates really does have His attention.

And when redemption begins in our hearts through trusting in Christ, we begin again to give off a fragrance God designed for us to perfume the communities we live in with His greatness.

This is the exact imagery Paul uses to describe his ministry to the Corinthians,

“Through us, he [God] brings knowledge of Christ. Everywhere we go, people breathe in the exquisite fragrance. Because of Christ, we give off a sweet scent rising to God, which is recognized by those on the way of salvation—an aroma redolent with life. But those on the way to destruction treat us more like the stench from a rotting corpse.(2 Cor 2:15 The Message.)”

I have decided that this is all I want. To pay attention to the overlooked with the same attention God pays to me. I know I can be okay with not pursuing the million dollar ministry, as long as I keep my believing that God notices the pennies I have to offer Him. I know I have given Him today and for today he has led me into poverty, hiddenness, and identification with the suffering to mold me more into the Image of Christ. I cannot know what tomorrow will bring.

This all makes sense to me until I look at the “successful Christians” who I feel surround me.

So once again I need to redefine success in my heart and whisper back to God the Wesleyan prayer of the New Year,

I am no longer my own, but thine
Put me to what thou wilt,
rank me with whom thou wilt.
Put me to doing, put me to suffering.
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
exalted for thee or brought low for thee.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.

I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal. And now, O glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, thou art mine, and I am thine.

So be it.

And the covenant which I have made on earth,
let it be ratified in heaven.

Amen.

Today I am consciously reengaging this covenant by purposing in my heart (1) to fix my gaze back on Jesus, (2) to recognize that I have his attention and truly bring joy to His heart, and (3) to be satisfied in the knowledge that He has chosen to share this "joy-of-me" with my husband and the women I serve.

This morning I set aside time to meditate on how God notices me, and in my reading I stumbled across the 14th century prayer of St. Catherine of Sienna,

O eternal, infinite Good! O mad lover! And you have need of your creature? It seems so to me, for you act as if you could not live without her, in spite of the fact that you are Life itself, and everything has life from you and nothing can have life without you. Why then are you so mad?

Because you have fallen in love with what you have made! You are pleased and delighted over her within yourself, as if you were drunk for her salvation. She runs away from you and you go looking for her.

She strays and you draw closer to her:You clothed yourself in our humanity, and nearer than that you could not have come.

How my heart reaches across the ages to echo her sentiment. The love of Christ is maddeness to notice me, and I bask in his attention. Nearer to him my heart can rest comfortably in the paradox; I am both infinitesimally small and infinitely important in His presence.

If you look for truth,

If you look for truth,

you may find comfort in the end;

if you look for comfort

you will not get

either comfort or truth

only soft soap

and wishful thinking to begin,

and in the end, despair.

C.S. Lewis

This past week has been one battling all the normal angst of newly-weddedness:

• Working overtime while my husband only has part time work.
• Feeling lost in McPherson and missing my parents, my friends, my community.
• Being prodded in therapy to bring to the open the festering sore in my soul.
• Wanting children and still not pregnant…

In an attempt to self-medicate I have been devouring books instead of feeling. Literary escapes have given me sanctuary from the “too-much” of real life from time to time, but after about a week I have to switch it off because-

I really do want to feel.

Even if it hurts.

This binge on books has kept me from writing this small while. There are a million abstractions [whispered thoughts and feeling] bottled inside me, screaming to be brought into the concrete light of paper and ink.

Anger.

Frustration.

RAGE.

….. Exhaustion.

But my heart is tired. To write is to hope, and right now I have only a clingy desperation and a frantic prayer for holiness.

Holy Spirit,

Help me.

I face an overwhelming, deep-seated anger.

I have recognized in the face of this giant rage my Goliath,

A challenger who will require me to trust God

[though He leads me into the dangerous places.]

But to trust the core of my being must learn to believe that He will work powerfully to set me free from my tormentor so that,

like the shepherd boy,

I too can serve Him.

It’s so clear to me as I write that the problem isn’t that Tim hasn’t found a job, or that I am desperately homesick for the Vineyard, but the wounded child within me who cries and won’t be comforted by books, money, friends, or family. Though I prayed and confessed with the zealous fervor of a girl facing emotional death, the standoff between my spirit and this rage boiling deep in me has lasted all these years.

How deep has rage sunk her claws into this wounded heart?

How deep?

How long until I’m free?

I want something different. With fingers clasped tightly around Tim’s love for me, I have let escape slip out of my hands. I have returned my fiction to the library and returned to the world. A world where my husband encourages me- “Sarah I don’t want to be married to a robot. Your passion, your deep emotion , is a beautiful piece of your heart. Let me into all your heart, my bride.”

At the same time Holy Spirit has been whispering Sara Groves lyrics in my ear-

You may lose your appetite,
your guiding sense of wrong and right.
You may lose your will to fight,
but you cannot lose my love.

Again I discover in the deep hurting, Love is deeper.

How can I respond? I have been drawing. I have been meditating on promises from His word that seem too good to be true. I have been crying -

Some people feel guilty about their anxieties

and regard them as a defect of faith

but they are afflictions, not sins.

Like all afflictions, they are,

if we can so take them,

our share in the passion of Christ.

C.S. Lewis

Chore Wars

For those bored out of their skulls with traditional approach to housework there is now a website which your family can use to turn completing household chores into a joint adventure.

Tim and I picked out our characters and set up a
Chore Wars account this morning. I did it more to encourage him because I didn’t think I was the kind of girl to be influenced by such games

....but now I’m finding myself oddly inspired and motivated to clean the bathroom….[30 minutes later]

Latest News from The Household of Schiro...

Tim earned 15XP for taking out the trash.

Tim earned 30XP for washing dishes.

Sarah earned 10XP for making a bed.

Sarah earned 45XP for cleaning the bathroom.

(Beware the drain-monster. He is a worthy foe! Next time I'll win!)

I can't believe we did all these chores in 30 minutes. We usually drag our feet a lot more than this. I find the Chore Wars site is easy to use--a definite resource for families. Kids will be really motivated to face their quests [chores]! Great for the young at heart too-- Tim and I are enjoying doing it as a couple. It’s actually a lot of fun to do chores when you gain XP [experience points] and gold pieces for doing them. Tim wants to “clean the whole house so I can become a level II.”

Let me tell you—I can’t complain about that!

A Deep Root of Contempt

I grew up a hyper-sensitive soul in a yelling family. The natural, sensory world was inebriating to me. The beautiful part of my sensitivity was my artist’s awe of creation. Colors of flowers were vivid and the breeze they danced in was saturated with the most intoxicating perfumes. Distinct, delicious. I would spin and spin in the Illinois wind and breath deep as I hiked all over Salt Lake.

A more difficult side of sensitivity manifested indoors. The light from the lamp in my home was so bright, it’s heat so hot--- it flickered maddeningly--- and I would melt in it. And all noise of family on top of the noise of my mom’s in home daycare was noisier to me--- the yelling especially. I would cover my ears from the yelling.

There was too, too much noise at home.

Anger amped my family’s volume past my limit. When my parents or siblings would fight I would curl up under a blanket to escape from light, heat, and noise. Once I vowed to never, never be angry like that, and I intentionally buried the overwhelmed parts of me deep inside. That night I fell asleep a child hiding under her blanket, and upon waking emerged an old soul.

A robot who had resolved shoulder the burdens in my family without being hurt. I felt like this was my only choice. My way to live… to help my family survive. It was years before I grieved me.

But in 9^th grade emotion returned in flash flood power. I became a “cutter” to release the nameless hurt that screamed in me. The internal noise was louder than all former torments--- so my hatred for myself grew until it was one step away from lethal. I drank deep draughts of self-contempt until I was saturated with white hot rage. Life was a nightmare I didn’t wake up from, a nightmare so real I still wear the scars.

When I look the scars today I feel a grateful smallness. They remind me that even when I rejected His way Jesus stay beside me. He rescued me from the nightmare. I haven’t hurt myself in five years and even as I type those words my heart swells with love as I realized how tenanciously he has stood between the deep contempt and my body to keep me from going back.

Now every time contempt fills me to raise my hand against myself I find Christ in between

and I cannot hurt Him.

I cannot tear his flesh…

so I just break down in Him. I thank Him for another rescue.

Another intervening grace.

Still the contempt remains… not a phantom, but in the same nightmare reality. This is the contempt my Lord has put His finger on time and again because contempt now stands between Us, stands between a resurrection of the girl who died in me so many years ago. I know I should let go of contempt, but I really don’t know how and I’m left praying “Jesus help me with this one too.”

I know He will.

Maybe you are here too. Holding your mess out to God. Fully aware of that your heart holds lies that you don't even know about yet. I would love to pray with you on this one, please call me. Please know that Jesus won't leave you or me in waiting on this one forever. He promises we won't be his first failures,

I am encouraged by Paul's words in Philippians 1:3-6-

Every time you cross my mind, I break out in exclamations of thanks to God. Each exclamation is a trigger to prayer. I find myself praying for you with a glad heart. I am so pleased that you have continued on in this with us, believing and proclaiming God's Message, from the day you heard it right up to the present. There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.

But maybe you've made it through this one. Maybe the deep root of contempt has been pulled from your heart. Would you pray for me. Would you tell me how it happened for you? I need some encouragement on this one because I truly wish I were able to resolve it more quickly.

We are brothers and sisters in this journey;

May we build up together.

And May your kingdom come, Jesus. We love you.

Who told you?

Two months ago I was desperately searching for an inoffensive show to help me stay awake during my over-night shift, when I stumbled upon the show 19 and Counting on the Discovery Health channel. The episode I saw was full of faith and playfulness ---- and after the credits I happily discovered that reruns of the Duggar’s adventures play every Thursday from 12 am-1 am. So for the last several Thursdays, I have spent that lonely hour falling in love with the whole Duggar gang:

1. Joshua, his wife Anna and their daughter Mackenzie.
2. Jana
3. John-David
4. Jill
5. Jessa
6. Jinger
7. Joseph
8. Josiah
9. Joy-Anna
10. Jedidiah
11. Jeremiah
12. Jason
13. James
14. Justin
15. Jackson
16. Johannah
17. Jennifer
18. Jordyn
19. Josie
20. and of course Jim Bob
    
21. and Michelle (especially Michelle)

With 19 children it’s obvious that Jim Bob and Michelle are telling the truth when they say that the actually believe that “children are a blessing from God, blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.” I must confess the Duggar’s literal interpretation of scripture here tempts and terrifies me.

... or more accurately rings true and terrifies me.

Before I realized marriage and pregnancy were things that would actually happen to me, I too believed:

Since God is the Author and Giver of Life, birth control is trying to take control of a process which belongs to him.

But when I got engaged to a man who was still in the middle of college this view went so against the advice I was receiving from my community that, I assumed I would go to the Health Department and “get on the pill.” That is until my Mother-in-law told me about the risk of breakthrough ovulation and subsequent abortion. I was dumbfounded. Her concerns couldn’t compute in my mind.

She had to be wrong about the pill… after all if birth control really could cause early termination of life,

1. Why wasn’t anybody in the church speaking up?--- and
2. Why was just about every married student on our Christian College campus using it?

But my research on this form of contraceptive confirmed that it actually can act as an abortifacient—

• While the primary purpose of the pill is to prevent ovulation, breakthrough ovulation does occur [which is why we all know women who have gotten pregnant on the pill.]

• Whenever ovulation occurs there is the possibility of conception. The sperm meets the ovum and God creates a brand new life. This is when human life is smallest and most vulnerable. At this stage the mother is unaware of the miracle that is taking place inside her.

• but if she is using the pill her artificially-elevated hormone levels can actually prevent the implantation of the zygote terminating the life of her son or daughter before she ever discovers she is pregnant.

• And nobody can be sure how many lives are ending this way.

When I shared my concerns with the Christian nurse at the health department, she completely dismissed them. She did everything she could to reassure me that the pill does not terminate pregnancies. She poo-pooed my concerns about birth control preventing the fertilized egg for implanting. The way she responded made me feel dumb and prudish, but it also made me angry. .. and a part of me just wanted to accept her word as truth because it would be so much easier to just follow the crowd.

I had to remind myself that she was acting out of her convictions, in what she believed was my best interest,

but it was my responsibility to hear from God on what He would have me do. After that appointment I prayed about using the pill, and was convicted that risking a potential premature termination of my child’s life was not worth the convenience of “making sure we are financially secure” before having children. So I chose to remain off the pill.

Later after a time of praying together, Tim and I have decided to “for now” give God control of when we have children.
and it’s the “for now” that terrifies me—

When I think about completely surrendering this area of our lives to God my mind goes crazy with three huge worries:

1. What will other people think?
2. What if I have more children than we can support?
3. What if I don’t conceive naturally?

(1) It makes me sick to think that all my newlywed girlfriends went to the same health department. I know if they raised any concerns, they were reassured by the professionals that birth control is safe and does not terminate life. … But I talked with an OBGYN while I was working at the Pregnancy Service Center and she told me straight up—“We know that breakthrough ovulation occurs and that there are cases when the birth control pill does terminate the pregnancy .”

I can’t tell my girlfriends this… all of them are using the pill. If I say it may be hurting their children I worry they will think I am judging their reproductive choices, and sadly, I worry they will judge mine.

(2) If we fully embrace this life philosophy we could have a large family, and I worry about how Tim and I would handle the challenges that come with that. Would there be grace for me as a mother? How would we ever support a big family on a teacher’s income? We want to be in ministry together and I am afraid that having several children would derail us.

(3) Then—my biggest worry--- what does adopting this philosophy mean if we don’t conceive? In some dark recess of my heart there is a mirror distorting the truth that “children are a gift from God” to mean that “infertility is a punishment from God.” And this hideous whisper has plagued me for as long as I can remember really wanting children, “you will never have children Sarah. You are not worthy to be a mother. You have done this to yourself.” That part of me wonders if Tim and I say “we are surrendering control of how many children we have to God” , then God will deny us children.

This week I checked out the Duggar’s book 20 and Counting [this was pre-Josy; Duggar Family = 18 children +1 Mom & 1 Dad= 20] In the chapter “On Matters of the Heart” Michelle shared that when there children confide their struggles with Jim Bob and her, they will ask, “Who do you think put that thought in your mind?” She explains the reason for this question,

We want them to know that when an awful thought comes, it is an attack from Satan, but we assure them that God will always provide a way of escape.

As I read Michelle’s question to her children, I felt the Holy Spirit ask me the same:

• Who told you Sarah that you are no longer my beloved daughter?

• Who told you that you have made too many mistakes to be used in my kingdom?

• Who told you that I am dis-generous? that I would let you or your children go hungry?

• Who told you would never have children?

and I realized how my dark doubts are an attack, and if I only listen past them the whisper of the Spirit is there, to woe my wounded heart back to the Father. This distance I have felt in the last months has caused me to press closer to His heart, where in hiddenness, He has reassured me over and over that He loves me with an everlasting love. He does not see me as a failure.

and He promises me children… flesh and blood… beautiful … in His perfect time.

He implores me keep my heart in this soft listening place, to believe in His love at all costs and in spite of all that has happened.



Do I have any other choice? I know He is the One creating in me a hunger for Him that will make following the crowd impossible. So I will listen as closely as I can and obey with all the strength he has given me. I will trust Him if He helps me learn to trust. I will trust Him.