Can I sleep now, Solomon?

Waking up at 2 am with the echoes of my Ecclesiastes hunt from yesterday and Solomon’s words of “meaningless, meaningless, everything’s meaningless” isn’t exactly ideal for my exhaustion. My dreams circled around these words in my few hours of slumber and as I woke to use the bathroom (for the millionth time during the night as a pregnant woman), I stared into the dark hum of the night, thoughts still richocheting on Solomon’s book.

My cousin had this intriguing post on Facebook a couple weeks ago that perhaps was the catalyst of some of my recent brain activity. She quoted Lysa Tyrkest, “Food can fill our stomaches, but never our souls. Possessions can fill our houses, but never our hearts. Sex can fill our nights, but never our hunger for love. Children can fill our days, but never our identities. Jesus wants us to know only He can fill us and truly satisfy us.”

What do you think about that, Solomon?

But maybe, even though He never knew Christ, that’s exactly what he was getting at and I am too blind to see it.

All over scripture, God speaks through His Word saying that only HE can satisfy the longings of our hearts, the questionings and searchings. Only He fills. He even goes as far to say that all things will pass away, but He will NEVER pass away.

Solomon says the same thing in his last chapter of Ecclesiastes. Quoting from The Message, a paraphrase:

Honor and enjoy your Creator while you’re still young, before the years take their toll and your vigor wanes, before your vision dims and the world blurs and the winter years keep you close to the fire.

In old age, your body will no longer serve you so well. Muscles slacken, grip weakens, joints stiffen. The shades are pulled down on the world. You can’t come and go at will. Things grind to a halt. The hum of the household fades away. You are wakened now by bird-song. Hikes to the mountains are a thing of the past. Even a stroll down the road has its terrors. Your hair turns apple-blossom white, adorning a fragile and impotent matchstick body. Yes, you’re well on your way to eternal rest, while your friends make plans for your funeral.

Life, lovely while it lasts, is soon over. Life as we know it, precious and beautiful, ends. The body is put back in the same ground it came from. The spirit returns to God, who first breathes it.

I have read and reread this countless times in hopes to let it soak through my skin and pool in my skull. These verses hold so much wisdom that it is hard for me to organize it and store it and respond to it.

I do glean this, however…don’t waste your precious moments on earth on things that don’t matter. Just as you were made from dust, you will return to dust. Cliche, but true, you came into the world naked and with nothing and you will return to the ground naked and with nothing.

So why toil? Why chase pleasures that fade and climb the world’s ladder of glory and success? Why sweat over things that will only satisfy for the moment, then diminish into nothingness?

Do what matters now. Take pleasure in the simple joys of Jesus. Do what He wants and find your life bubble over in contentment and exuberance. Seek His desires for your life and let the yanks and pushes of this earth die. Christ is the ONLY satisfaction in this life.

John 4:13-14, “Jesus answered and said to her, ‘Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.'”

So what do I do with all these new discoveries? How do I plug them into my thinking?

I’m still going to dream. I’m still going to strive for that seemingly never attainable hope, but it will always and only be secondary to Jesus Christ and His purpose for me. And I guess if I really put that much in His hands, why even go through the trouble of high detailing the plans for my existence anyway.

Is that my peace? Is that what I have decided? Go ahead, world, toil and sweat and work yourself into a fenzy of desires and heavy plans…I think I’ll just let God guide my path. I kind of like the way that sounds…and for now, I think I’ll rest and maybe sleep another few hours on that.

Just spitting into the wind…

Meaningless, meaningless, everything’s meaningless. It’s all just like spitting into the wind.

What really matters to me today? What matters to those around me? Where does all our worries and hard work and sweat lead us?

I try to fill my life with things I think I want. I can fill it with butterfingers or that new skirt or good reputation or trying to look smart and put together. I can fill it with a prestigious job or the latest diet that helps me look trimmer and sexier…but really, where does that lead?

My ears have been hyper lately with the comments of others along with my own static of questions and searchings. The desire to want more stuff, to be skinny, to get more money, to have status and respect. Sigh. I’m kind of sick of it.

I see ads and fads and “new” answers to make money quick or get thin or catch the eye of a man. Gag me. Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless.

Ecclesiastes in the Bible touches on this. In fact, I read the whole book today from three different translations and Solomon doesn’t just touch on it, he wallows there. Kind of like what I have been doing. The only difference, however, is that he DID try everything. Everything.

Read it for yourself. Especially chapter two.

Nothing is really new. Everything is the same, just maybe tweaked in a more tempting and alluring way for the times. He partook in every pleasure there is to have…in excess, may I add. Sex. Money. Accumulating stuff and more stuff. Pursuit of wisdom and knowledge. Reputation. Glory. Power. Fame. And did I mention sex? Somewhat emphasized in one translation.

From our 2013 societal view, it almost appears he had it all. And you know what, he was empty. The only thing he could say was it was all vain. All stupid. All for nothing.

I’m not depressed. I’m not even really sad. But there’s something within itching…something inside that keeps pushing me to ask these hard questions and dare to stare down my motives and desires and discontentments in the face.

What am I really striving for? Is all this work and energy and effort worth it?

I have been debating to sit down with Tyler and actually make plans and goals for our future. We used to do this all the time when our life was new together and options seemed endless. I don’t think there is anything wrong with striving for something you want, a goal, a hope…but once I reach that point, what else will I want or think I will need?

Will that life goal of 140 pounds be enough? With my marathon run make me feel satisfied? Will Tyler’s dream of farming fill his longing? Or will he now want more land and newer tractors and more beef cattle? When will it stop?

And that is my question…when will the longings be quieted? When will enough really be enough?

Solomon, what do you think? It’s all like spitting into the wind. Stupid. Useless. Meaningless.

So I’m left unanswered…and like warned in Ecclesiastes, unsatisfied. Except this…Jesus.

Nothing else matters but Him. And maybe that’s all I’m meant to know right now. Sigh. Both calming and somewhat an unsatisfactory answer for me.

And of course Solomon leaves his book just as unsatisfying, “Fear God. Do what he tells you. And that’s it. Eventually God will bring everything that we do out into the open and judge it according to its hidden intent, whether it’s good or evil.”

Sigh. And my mind continues to race…

Goodbye 20s

I’m saying my farewell to my 20s with a carmel roll and some ice cold water. With the moon as bright as the sun tonight, it outshines the stars, the love of my 20s.

The hum of the ethanol plant, the trickled breeze through the window, and the soft choir of crickets make this night a night to remember it all…and bury it.

My 20s were traumatic and beautiful all in the same breath. While I learned some of my hardest lessons during this decade, I made some of the best decisions of my life at the same time. I think that is normal for this decade of time. You transform from a cockey, know-it-all, dreaming-big kid into a broke-down adult realizing that all you know is only the tip of the iceberg…and the more you think you know, the more you realize you know nothing.

You test boundaries. You try different identities. You soul search and sometimes find really dark places that demons love to tread. You take jobs to pay the bills, some you would have been better to leave alone and then those that stretch you in ways that stretch you so far, there’s no going back to the way you once were.

You have “romantic” relationships. Good and bad. I was lucky and had one, but that relationship definitely had some ugliness and beauty to it. That relationship I still have today and wouldn’t exchange it for any other…with my husband.

I lost some innocence and optimism along the way. The happy, kind world I grew up in was not the same world that others endured. And the more I sat and thought about it, the more I realized my past wasn’t all happy and kind either. In my childhood of daisies were definitely some weeds and I had to stop to wrestle them out of my life at certain points.

Self. The 20s are about self. Both necessary and an arrogant way to live. Some people leave the self behind, others drag it to their 30s and some through their whole lives.

Me. I’m pretty sure I’ve been beat into some type of brokenness. If there’s anything ever positive blooming from my life, it’s by God’s grace. Most days I make a wreck out of them. The perception I have of myself has downgraded considerably and for some reason, I’m okay with that.

I don’t like who I was in my 20s. I don’t like the arrogance and selfishness and pride. I don’t like the self-sufficiency and my lack of trust in God. I loathe my unappreciation and the way I took things for granted or believed I deserved it in some way.

I want to bury my judgemental attitude. My resentment. My bitterness. I want to hide my shame and fear and  inferiority. I want to revive nothing and only start new…

So 30s, welcome! There are days I will always treasure from my 20s, but I know only better is coming. I wouldn’t give back my 20s, but I wouldn’t relive them either…
well, except maybe a trip to Manhattan, a trip to Norway, a wedding, and a baby.

In my 30s, I will worry less about appearance. Appearance of my body, of my home, of my reputation, and just the general sense of who I am. In my 30s, I’ll laugh more. Eat more salads. Watch less TV. Dance to more Elvis. Gaze at the stars. Chase butterflies. Grow copious amounts of hollyhocks. Say “I love you” everyday. Do more sneaky annomnious acts of kindness.

In my 30s, I’ll write a book…even if it is just for my children. I’ll design a tree fort with Tosten and have tea parties with Olivea. I will make a homemade supper more often. I will blare my iPod with Johnny Cash. I will clean the toilet more than once a month. I will make my bed..maybe. I guess if I have time.

In my 30s, I will savor relationships. Ultimately, that is all that matters when life ends. Relationship with God. Relationship with Tyler. Relationship with my children and family and friends.

So, here I go. Goodbye 29 and hello 30. May God go before me and breathe life in each day, for He’s the only one who can see the whole picture. And when 40 rolls around, I’m sure there will be days I’ll want to bury from my 30s decade too.

But in the meantime, I will march into this decade with optimism, joy, and gratitude.

The Challenge

“Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always ‘me first,’
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of the truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
Love never dies.”

1 Corinthians 13 (Message)

My mom read this at my cousin’s bridal shower tonight. While this passage is overly familiar, this paraphrase awoke something within.

What does it truly mean to love someone? What does that entail? To sit down and research what scripture says about love, it sounds a bit painful. It takes every effort to kill what I want and what I think I deserve and just love…no matter what.

These last months of marriage have been hard for me. If it has been hard for me and no doubt it’s been hard for Tyler. Our lack of time together to talk, to be alone, to have any conversation or interaction but day to day activities of bills and home maintenance and Tosten responsibilities, life has become difficult.

I’m lonely. I covet his time. He covets his sleep. I demand his love and attention. He demands his rest from 16 hour days. I miss him and expect that if he really loved me, he’d miss me too. He is too tired.

I am selfish. I go between understanding Tyler’s need for this love from First Corinthians and my selfish expectations of him.

This can even be stretched to his dreams for the future, as well. It is hard for me to budge in my opinions of living the life I want. It scares me to plunge into those possibilities that Tyler dreams of.

I’m starting to see it differently, knowing his happiness and satisfaction in life will only improve as some of HIS dreams are realized…even if that takes me away from all I know. Is that how I love Tyler?

How do I really love him? Definitely not the way I have been living. Definitely not the way I have been putting myself first.

I want to love like the First Corinthians 13 love. I wonder how things would change in my world if I did? Hmmm.

Is that a challenge?

The Stinky Ape

There’s an uneasiness tonight. Not really sure why or what provokes it, but it’s there like a giant stinky ape on the couch next to me.

In my past, I was always taught and always believed that writing was a way to release ideas and emotions that unless written would stay captive in my mind. I have years of word documents saved and notebooks puking out every lengthy thought and every snippet of emotion only to usually lead to no real resolve.

Tonight’s rambling probably will prove no different.

I already ate two fudge rounds in hopes that a little chocolate would clear my mind, but almost 30 years of using food to console still proves to be futile. No matter what type of chocolate I have in the house, I have found it doesn’t fill like it used to…I’m taking that as a tiny victory.

I guess there’s one issue. I’m turning 30 this week. I don’t think the age bothers me, but it is the fact that I fear it may go uncelebrated. That sounds sad and pitiful, but I want to look back and remember the day…the day I passed into an age where I once thought was old.

With my absent husband (most days), it seems my life has somehow become less celebratory, less noticed. No excitement in days we used to savor…or at least I did. I guess my life seems more mundane because I’m not working a 50 hour week and most days I busy myself with random things, unnoticed by everyone but me until Tyler arrives home.

It doesn’t matter whose birthday or what holiday or special occasion there is, Coke decides the fate of our lives because we depend on every cent Tyler earns. No days off. Some working Saturdays. And even on Sundays or other days off, he’s so worn down he drags through the day with not much interaction or effort. This is not his fault, just the place he is at due to his long 16 hour days.

This brings me to the other sword that stabs my joy…jobs. Having two degrees and choosing to stay at home to care for my child seems both brilliant and stupid. I’m still paying those school bills. I’m not being paid for anything, though I’m at work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week and still required to scrounge up that money for the unused degrees.

I shouldn’t say they are unused. I use them every day, but in no way that makes me money…I guess I use them to be a better mom and a better human being. That should be enough, but that doesn’t pay our bills.

I still have this uncanny confidence that if I sit down for any interview, the other person has no chance of finding a better candidate for whatever position they are looking to fill but me. Is that arrogant? I hope not. I just know that every job I have held, whether at the bottom of the totem pole or to one of the highest levels, I work hard and I give my all. Passion is what gets jobs…really.

However, the sound of not having to worry about money and having a few more luxuries, like Tyler taking just one day off, sounds alluring. I know I could drop this stay at home thing and find a good job. Even a beautifully paying job. I’d even consider going back to school to get a masters or another degree. But the only influences that make me wish that is to keep up with “the Joneses” and the worldly competition of “having it all” and then some.

I still believe life is most beautiful when lived simple. When luxuries are just that, luxuries. When we savor experiences and take less things for granted. When we find things that you don’t need to pay for to make you come alive.

I believe that dreams are worth chasing, even if they seem unattainable. I believe giving up my dreams to fulfill those of my husband’s. Ultimately, if he is happy, my heart sings along in utter elation. Even if that means we uproot and move to some faraway land like New York Mills.

I believe making $35 dollars an hour isn’t the American dream. Being able to to take multiple trips a year isn’t the American dream. Having nice cars, beautiful house, saloned hair, and monthly pedicures are nowhere near the American dream.

The American dream is what I have. A loving husband. A baby boy and a little girl on her way. Enough money to keep up with our bills. A car to get from one place to another. A house and a piece of heaven we work hard for everyday to pay off.  And an occasional meal out on the town.

I think this ape next to me has been discovered. Since I’ve taken on this role of staying at home, I have felt an incessant need to defend it. I’m not quite sure if I’m defending it for myself or defending it for those that seem to work like crazy and have it all.

I do envy those individuals that get to go on multiple trips a year…ha. Even one. We don’t get that opportunity as much as we used to. I envy the couples that get to eat out often and celebrate. Get to go to fun summery functions. Go to the movies. None of these are as easy to do as they used to be. Simply due to the financial limitations, but also having kids and even getting any time off.

I know “this too shall pass.” I know this is my choice to sacrifice some of these things for what I believe to be for the betterment of my child. I know another huge change is coming and like every other ripple in my life, I need to reevaluate and redefine some things.

I guess that’s my piece. In fact, I can see some changes in my thinking as I wrote all these things out for a selective few to read. I see that in this past year of constant change and even mundaneness, God has been transforming old ideals into something different. Somewhere I thought I’d never tread.

And like I said when I started this rambling, I’d probably have no resolution from it, which is okay. I feel better. My mind does feel a bit clearer. And I guess if any random reader gets anything from my disorganized writing, that’s another small victory.

But I’m happy to say that ape has gone to bed and I can barely keep my eyes open. Maybe my mind emptied enough to truly just rest for the night.

Stop

I found that my patience with Tosten has been fizzling out and my irritation level is climbing lately. This is not my natural tendency, yet I cannot but help be swallowed up in it all. While I’d like to say it’s a combination of hormones and exhaustion, I also know it is a choice.

Right now, Tosten switches between singing himself to sleep and his new squeal of disapproval as he rests in his crib. This squeal has been his new form of communication since he had a horrible high fever last week, but apparently the squeals are here to stay despite the gone fever.

As I survey my day thus far all I can pray is “Lord, open my ears so I can hear You.”

It is on days like this I feel God asking me to slow down even more. Stop, even. I have a tendency to fill my day with as much routine and cleaning and baking and washing and organizing as I can so Tyler comes home to me being busy. Some days, my list can be so long that even when Tyler gets home, I’m still buzzing around completing my tasks.

But there are some days I just need to stop.

Where’s my mind today? Where’s my heart? What’s important right now? More important, who is important right now? The only way to pierce the mundane is to break the rush and busyness and my lists upon lists…and to stop.

Tosten is now sleeping and all I hear is the ticking of the clock and one tweeting bird through my window. On my wall hangs a picture that says, “Make time for the quiet moments as God whispers and the world is loud.”

I need God’s whisper today. Some quiet strength and awakening. I need my world to hush for once and let truth and peace and simplicity rule. I need revelation. But maybe more than any revelation, I just need a break from the mundane, at least the mundane I make for myself.

Maybe if I let the quietness penetrate within, my irritation will fizzle out and my patience will be restored. Maybe if I sit here long enough, I will hear a whisper.

My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; the rock of my strength, my refuge is in God. – Psalm 62:5-7 –

The Shift

This week, my one year anniversary of miscarrying Rohan, I have immersed myself deep into the secrets and brokenness of my loss.

God led some individuals to ask me to give testimony of God being a fortress and rock for me for a church event and He kept leading me to talk about infertility and my miscarriage. It’s a bit uncomfortable. A bit raw still, but I find the things you don’t want to do the most are usually the things you should DEFINITELY do.

So I did. I reluctantly tip-toed in. I cracked open the door labeled, “No Entry” and decided to sit there for awhile.

The longer I dwelt there, the more I looked around instead of just hanging my head and crying. And you know, once I looked around, I noticed it wasn’t as dark as I remembered. It was dusty. Cob-webbed. Smelt musty, like it hadn’t been opened for awhile.

The door was shut as I sat inside, and I noticed some light spilling through the keyhole and sides. It was so piercing that I could see the dust particles sparkling as they flew from corner to corner, doing their job of hiding everything.

I started to brush off some unidentified objects that were sitting around me, discovering they were bags and chains and boxes labeled anger and resentment and bitterness and death. I got up, rubbed my hand over the dirt on the clouded windows. It smeared, but in the streaks I could see maples and wheat dancing outside, the sun golden against the periwinkle sky.

I went to the door and opened it.  A gush. A light. A wind swooping in and scooping all the dirt, all the boxes and chains and bags, and wiping the whole room clean in one breath-stealing stroke.

Isaiah 43:19, “Behold, I am doing a new thing, now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

People Keep Asking

People keep asking me how I’m doing today. I’m okay. I have filled my day with so many things that I haven’t had time to sit down and think about this day a year ago. I realize that I have talked about my miscarriage so much at this point that people are either very sick of it or just think I’m being overdramatic. I can understand both those thoughts.

I think being almost 35 weeks pregnant with Olivea helps the pain. If I was still not pregnant at this point, I think the grieving would be harder. Not that I am trying to replace Rohan by any means, but I know its not the end. I know I have a successful pregnancy that didn’t result in another loss (at this point). I know that I am not infertile anymore and I know that there may be even more babies in my future. This I can say in peace and joy, and after saying that, I know some dear women that can’t say the same.

Maybe that is what breaks me more. The voice of the (once) infertile and a voice of a woman who miscarried, I feel like I can help voice those pains that some women don’t have the strength to voice. But then perhaps the only reason I can be bold enough in my grief is because I know I’m still having kids.

What about those that will probably never conceive? What about those women that will never feel the jabbing and kicking and constantly-have-to-go sensation when a baby is inside? What about the woman has had 3 miscarriages and still has not had a healthy baby in her arms? What about the women that have tried everything the doctor has prescribed and still no success? What about the women that carry their babies close to full-term, only to find them dead or only surviving hours? What about all these women?

What makes me the lucky one to be able to conceive without help three months after miscarrying Rohan? Though the doctors still scratched their heads in amazement that I conceived and have consistently told me how lucky I am, why am I the lucky one?

I don’t know. How am I doing today? I don’t know that either. I wish I could have a bright pink bow to tie around my emotions. But as is normal and grieving, it’s a ball of confusion.

Through this ordeal, I have found a new respect for those who endure these pains consistantly…praying, waiting, wailing for some hope of a child in the future.

I have realized how vain women can be when pregnant and how we forget that just being able to carry a baby is a miracle. Who cares about how much weight you gain how many stretch marks you are getting!

I have learned each child is a miracle. You can plan how many kids you want and in the exact succession you desire, but God is ultimately the One that decides. Good luck trying to mess with His plan.

I have learned that each child is to be celebrated. Not just a number, but a child! Instead of planning when to get pregnant next, savor your moments with each child you have! Each child needs some mama time and needs to be reminded how special they are, no matter how many siblings they have or who is in the womb.

I have learned to be extra sensitive when I ever talk about pregnancy. Though a happy event for most people, it can break another person too. There is a chasm between Fertile Myrtle and Infertile Myrtle and I still haven’t quite figured out how to bring those sides together in complete peace and unity. I think that may only be Christ’s place.

And that’s exactly where I’ll leave it. In His hands. The Giver and Creator of life. The God that can breathe breath into old, dry bones and make warriors come alive again like in the Old Testament. And the same God that can breathe life into a vacant womb or sperm in a spermless atmosphere to bring about a baby. The God who gives and takes away. And loves no matter what.

So how am I doing today? I’m grateful.
I’m lonely.
I’m at peace.
I’m lucky.
I’m blessed.

I think that is how I am doing today.