Sky and Soul

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,

    the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,

4 

what is man that you are mindful of him,

    and the son of man that you care for him?

David posed this question in Psalm 8 and I ask it, too.  I took a walk this week, not under the darkened sky, but in the light of day.  I had been feeling a little overwhelmed inside, so I went outside where it's vast and broad and where I feel smaller.  Certainly, under the sky, I feel smaller and my feelings seem smaller.  There is so much air!  I can breathe all I want with extra to breathe more.

It's one thing to know that the sky is so big.  It's another thing to go outside, look up into it, and feel its bigness.  The roof of my house sometimes shields the effect that openness can have on my soul.  God's roof reminds me that I am small, but that I am also dear to Him, not so small to be unknown.  How can it be?

I can say that I know something about His love.  I know that He drives fear away from me.  He encourages me daily to trust and rest.  He gives me the grace to enjoy pregnancy with Wylie.  He offers wisdom and guidance about our plans as a family even when there are so many unknowns.  

He is mindful of us--of all of us.  Go outside and know.

For Wylie

For Wylie:

I love being with you right now, connected right at the center of both of us.  Your movements thrill me every time I feel them.  You are so small and I am starting to feel big, happily big.  I am so glad for who you are and how you are even though I'm just beginning to know you.  I like you so much already.  Just being together is the best.

Sinking

"16 People swear by someone greater than themselves, and the oath confirms what is said and puts an end to all argument. 17 Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. 18 God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. 19 We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, 20 where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek." (Hebrews 6)

I am one who has "fled to take hold of the hope set before us."  With the good news of Wylie's heart healing and her growth being reported by the doctor yesterday as "good," I have felt buoyant and light.  Last night, I read some Trisomy-18 stories.  I was looking for hope in them.  I did not find the kind that I needed.  I wanted to hear about exceptions, miracles, longer, more normal lives.  There are so very few of those.

I had an ultrasound this morning.  Wylie's fists were clenched, her heel rounded--tell-tale indicators of the Trisomy-18 genetic anomaly.  Tears came and more tears came--tell-tale indicators of a momma's broken heart.  Again, the hope I needed could not be found with my eyes.  In fact, they are still burning, sore from looking and weeping.

I called Gavin from the car.  He is out of town and couldn't be at the appointment.  "The possibility of her death is sinking in," I told him.  We prayed.  Gavin asked God for His strength, courage, wisdom, peace, comfort, and help.  "We need you, God."  That was the cry of my heart, too.

I drove home so, so reluctantly.  How can I face my children?  What do I say about this sinking realization?  What do I do?  I prayed again.  "Ok, Jesus.  Will you please show up for us today?" and I got out of my car.

I gathered them to find hope together. "Will you pray with me, children?"  Yes, they were all willing.  I told them about Wylie's balled fists and the sinking in my heart that she just might not live long at all.  We prayed and then the children shared what was on their hearts and in their minds as a result.

"Wylie has life, Mom.  Her life cannot be taken away,"  one asserted through tears.

Another offered, "God loves Wylie so much.  It's going to be okay for us."

Others posed so many questions like:

Why is this happening to us?  To Wylie?
What does it mean that her fists aren't opening?
I know Jesus died on the cross for us, so why does this have to happen?
So, she'll come out and then we will have her for just a second?

We don't know these answers.  We do keep coming back to truths that are cause for rejoicing:

--Wylie is all gift--a perfect one for our family.

--God's whole design is incomprehensible and incomprehensibly good.

--Jesus weeps with us out of a desire and wish that we could see now what will be made perfectly clear one day when all things will be made new and all things will be redeemed.

One sat nearer and looked right into my eyes.  "God is so much bigger than Trisomy-18."  Oh, yes, Daughter.  This is the hope for which I've been looking.  Death may be sinking into my heart, but hope is an anchor that goes deeper still.  Hope is a Person who shows up and does for us what we cannot do for ourselves--is who we cannot be.  My heart is lifted for my Savior rides upon the anchor of Hope that sinks deeper than death and disease to hold our souls, firm and secure. 

Another Rescue

When our children are born, I pray a Psalm from the Bible over them as a blessing.  The one I chose for Kendall had a lot to do with her birth story.  She came with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck.  She was blue and quiet.  I still remember looking from my friend and doula, Guinever, to my mother as the nurse worked with her.  She started crying and the blue was replaced by a welcomed rosy pink. 

This part of Psalm 18 stood out to me about Kendall:

"The cords of death entangled me;
     the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me...
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
     He drew me out of deep waters...
He rescued me..."

The cord that had maintained Kendall's life had strangely and ironically threatened her.  Yet, God saw her struggle.  He rescued her from her suffocation and restored breath.  I think of this often with such gratitude.  Her happy, kind life amazes me!

We just read back over Psalm 18 in Bible Study Fellowship because David wrote it.  We are studying about the end of his life now and the events of passing along the kingdom to his son, Solomon.  Psalm 18 is essentially repeated in 2 Samuel 22 which is right where we were last week in the Bible.

As I read the whole thing again, I had new spiritual eyes and ears based on our circumstances with Wylie.  Read this powerful language that describes how David's cry brought God's action:

In my distress I called to the Lord;
    I cried to my God for help.
From his temple he heard my voice;
    my cry came before him, into his ears.
7 The earth trembled and quaked,
    and the foundations of the mountains shook;
    they trembled because he was angry.
8 Smoke rose from his nostrils;
    consuming fire came from his mouth,
    burning coals blazed out of it.
9 He parted the heavens and came down;
    dark clouds were under his feet.
10 He mounted the cherubim and flew;
    he soared on the wings of the wind.
11 He made darkness his covering, his canopy around him—
    the dark rain clouds of the sky.
12 Out of the brightness of his presence clouds advanced,
    with hailstones and bolts of lightning.
13 The Lord thundered from heaven;
    the voice of the Most High resounded.
14 He shot his arrows and scattered the enemy,
    with great bolts of lightning, he routed them.
15 The valleys of the sea were exposed
    and the foundations of the earth laid bare
at your rebuke, Lord,
    at the blast of breath from your nostrils.

He was on the move!  One of his own was in trouble and He was ready to act.  Allowing this response to wash over me again, I prayed for our Wylie.  I knew she desperately needed what came next:

He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
    he drew me out of deep waters.
17 He rescued me from my powerful enemy,
    from my foes, who were too strong for me.
18 They confronted me in the day of my disaster,
    but the Lord was my support.
19 He brought me out into a spacious place;
    he rescued me because he delighted in me.

Wylie has enemies that are too strong for her and as best as we can tell, God has acted.  We know that He has been holding us near, maintaining our peace, and protecting our hope.  These graces are more than enough for us to survive this trial!  God has not stopped with those blessings, however.  With our own eyes, we have witnessed another deliverance that has left us utterly stunned.

On Thursday, we went to see Dr. Bezould at the UK Congenital Heart Clinic.  The oh-so-friendly Tish was our sonographer again.  She took all the pictures while we admired our wiggly Wylie.  She left for a moment to check if she had gotten all the doctor needed.  No, he needed her to take a few more shots.  The reason?  They saw absolutely no evidence of regurgitation from her tricuspid valve.

We joined Dr. Bezould in the consultation room.  He was amazed.  "This is something I absolutely did not expect," he explained.  Wylie's "severe" valve problem was now "trivial"!  This change is tremendous for her.  Repairing a valve is difficult and complicated.  The Lord did it for her!  She still has her hole in her heart, but it seems like it will impact her much less at birth than the malfunctioning valve.

I love the verse my friend shared right after I told her what happened:

"He is the One you praise; He is your God, who performed for you those great and awesome wonders you saw with your own eyes."  (Deuteronomy 10:21)

Some of you may have seen pictures of the Build-a-Bear experience we had with our family recently.  Dr. Ragsdale gave us a little device at our appointment last Friday with which we were able to record Wylie's heartbeat.  We took those precious beats to the mall and placed it within an adorable little stuffed bear.  Before "Maggie" was sewn up, all of us kissed a little satin heart that was included in all that fluffy white stuffing.

I told my sister, "All those kisses found their way to Wylie's real heart."  Certainly, all the love and prayers we have received have mattered so much and have had an astounding effect.  We praise God for a healed heart and we praise God for each of you who will give of your time and your heart to read these words and continue to walk this journey with us. 

New Kindnesses and Old Prayers

Doctors and nurses and sonographers and technicians and administrators and chaplains and social workers have teamed up for Wylie, for us.  Everyone at the UK hospital was exceptionally kind and helpful at our appointment today.  We got to meet the members of the Pediatric Advanced Care team (Dr. Ragsdale, and the palliative chaplain, Rev. Kathryn Perry) as well as Dr. Playforth, the high-risk ob who will be taking care of us through Wylie's birth.  (Dr. Playforth learned about us through two sets of friends.  She passed along her number through those mutual friends and brought us under her wing).  They were all very attentive listeners and gave honest answers to the questions we had.  They encouraged us, too.

We got to see Wylie today in all her God-given glory!  She is so beautiful.  We love her so much.  From the past two appointments, the trisomy-18 possibility does seem to fit her growth and development.  She has gained weight, though, and the blood flow from her placenta looks healthy.  Those are great answers to prayers!

At our request, the health care professionals I mentioned helped paint a picture of what Wylie's first hours may be like in the hospital.  There are some hard possibilities.  She may be born prematurely.  She may not tolerate labor well.  Her brain may not communicate well with her lungs.  She may need a feeding tube, a ventilator, or an IV in her head.  We all acknowledge that there are absolutely so many unknowns.  Some aspects of Wylie's struggles could surface before birth, but her first 30 days after birth will be crucial and her first year, the most telling.  In any case, we have a group of skilled people who will employ all their knowledge, understanding and wisdom to help her.  I've been overcome with emotion and gratitude.

In addition, we have a personal, knowable God who loves us and is good to us.  I've considered the heartbreak of witnessing Gavin standing by watching his youngest daughter struggle and need machines to survive.  I feel the ache of desire to bring her home alive to her brothers and sisters. Today was a sobering day.

Gavin offered two crucial reminders as we drove home after our appointment:

1). God is up to something, we just can't see all the pieces.

2).  When a dark or scary picture of the future comes to mind, we can replay it with Jesus in view.  This changes everything.

Considering all of this, I thought of St. Patrick's prayer...

I arise today, through
God's strength to pilot me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptation of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
afar and near...

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

His prayers are my prayers, too.  Bless you for praying with us and for us.  We are forever grateful. Your faith on our behalf is so pleasing to God.

Loved Like You've Never Been Loved

If you know us, you know that Gavin and I love the band Over the Rhine.  We have been fans for so long.  We have seen them so many times.  Their music is truly a soundtrack for our lives.  In fact, our Christmas present to each other every year is tickets to their annual Christmas concert in Cincinnati. 

The Christmas Concert is always saturated with meaning and expectation for me.  Without fail, I have a holy moment with God at some point during the set; think Michaelangelo's Adam and God touch on the Sistine ceiling.  This year was no different.  They offered this new song from their album "Love and Revelation" as a benediction:



I opened myself to this blessing that night.  With moist eyes and the kind of ache caused by beauty in my heart, I received these words:  "May God love you like you've never been loved." What a wonderous invocation!  How sincere, how peace-loving, how pure, how merciful!  The goodness of it stirred hope.

It has occurred to me since then as I have received hug after hug, prayer after prayer, kindness after kindness, that this is happening.  Right now, we are being loved like we've never been loved!  The effect of it could not amaze me more.  As I've written, Love has made a place for rest.  Love has also acted like a buoy, keeping us afloat above our circumstances, anchored though living on a storm-tossed sea. 

I extend the same to you, friends, family.  May God love you like you've never been loved.

Be Still

Latest medical update:  This past week we were referred to UK hospital for further treatment.  We will have our first meeting with doctors there on March 1st.  Wylie's scan last Thursday looked similar to her 22-week one and she is measuring in the 20th percentile.  Our prayer is, "Grow, Wylie, grow!"

"The Lord will fight for you; you only need to be still."  (Exodus 14:14)

Moses spoke these words to the Israelites when they were hemmed in by the Red Sea before them and the Egyptians advancing from behind.  Unimaginable!  Having just been released from slavery, they find themselves seemingly left for slaughter in the wilderness.  Of course, they were terrified and outraged.  Then, the waters parted.  They walked through a SEA on dry land.

"Quiet!  Be still!"  (Mark 4:39)

Jesus commanded the stormy waves with these words and the Sea of Galilee became glass.  This was right after he was awoken by the disciples who cried, "Teacher!  Don't you care about us?  We are going to drown!"

All the circumstances for the Israelites and disciples pointed to death.  These people rightly thought that they were going to die.  This terrified them because they were never meant for it.  It happens to all, but it was never intended for anyone.  Death is our enemy and it goes against every fiber of our being.

Wylie, also, was created for life, not death.  The circumstances of her existence are similarly as perilous as the previous examples.  (Although, doctors are considering mosaic trisomy-18 since she is missing many of the physical markers of the full disorder).  Death threatens her and threatens us.

Yet, we have this hope:  Jesus told Mary, the sister of Lazarus, His beloved friend whom He raised from the dead, "I am the resurrection.  I am the life.  Everyone who believes in me will have life, even if they die." (John 11:25)  This Jesus, who is Life, who is Resurrection, proved the truth of these claims just weeks later.

Now, having overcome death, He puts Himself into us.  The very Spirit that brought Jesus up from the grave now resides in His people--in me.  The blood that stopped flowing and started again pumps through my body--through Wylie's body. (I Corinthians 6:19).

In fact, I was struck by the reality of this through a friend's prayers for me over the phone today.  Her prayer wasn't magical and I didn't have any physical sensation except for uncontrollable sobbing.  The tears were not brought by sadness, but by an overwhelming sense of being known by God, loved by God, helped by God.  His nearness is tangible.  His victory is absolutely evident.  We do not have to worry about being enough or doing enough for Wylie.  He has done it all for us!

We can be still.  The LORD has fought this battle and won.  Death has been defeated.

Some thoughts from Gavin

I have sat down numerous times to summarize my thoughts about the news we received last week and it has been too difficult.  There are so many things swirling in my mind—many of which I know are not good or true.  What am I to make of being told some of the seemingly worst news I could receive awaiting the birth of our baby?  It was taking too long to put these thoughts in any coherent statement, but I have found it important to at least jot down some of them, albeit in a random fashion…

*  Wylie is a gift.  Regardless of her diagnosis or presence of Trisomy 18, she is a person who is alive and has value because she is made in God’s image. 

* Wylie is not suffering.  She is kicking, living, moving, and growing. Karla’s health is good.  The only difference in this week and last is that we have an 89% positive Trisomy-18 blood screen report (with her other choroid plexus cysts and heart defect the doctor said it’s more like a 95% positive).

* A 5% chance of health is no small thing.  Besides, God is not bound by percentages or predictions.

* Karla and I, at the end of the day, really are called to be her advocates.  It's sobering to realize that we live in a world that says Wylie only has value if we want her to have value.  She is only a person if we say she is a person.  This description of the world's viewpoint causes me to feel, with extreme clarity, the sad and hopeless reality that comes with it.  If we gave up fighting for Wylie and advocating for her, no one would stop us.  If we gave up on any of our other children, we would go to jail.  With Wylie, we realize that we are her only line of defense from being disregarded.  Wylie, and others like her, truly are the most vulnerable among us.

* If Christianity isn’t true, then Wylie does not have value.  I can’t possibly elaborate on this now because it would take a long time, but I’m convinced it is true.  She is made in His image and thus has immense value regardless of what we think.

*  I have always sought to avoid pain and suffering; if that be taking our kids to the hospital for shots or helping a kid at the skate park with an injury.  I’ve usually looked for someone else to step in and take over for me.  Even before this news, God has been preparing to change this in me.  I'm realizing the desire to avoid pain and suffering is really a desire to avoid love, because if there is no love, then there is no pain.  Failing to love out of fear of suffering will lead to a failure to understand the power of the Cross. A few months ago, I asked God to show me just how much He loves me and to have a better understanding of what the Cross means.  I think this prayer is being answered.

* None of us know what the future holds.  Two weeks ago, I would have never imagined life as it is now.   But the reality is that all of us, at any given time, can have sudden life alterations.  Considering these traumas both random and filled with hopelessness is what produces confusion and anger.  Could the happenings of life be purposeful?  Meaningful?  I say yes based on my life experiences and my walk with God up to this point.  In fact, I believe that God really does hold my future and knows far better than me what is best for my family and me. 

*  When I picture a future full of fear and pain, it's usually because I'm not picturing a future where Jesus is with my family and me.  When I picture Him there with us, as He is now, regardless of the situation, there is peace.

*  I have a new sympathy with those facing abortion.  The option to terminate the pregnancy must seem like your only one when you are without hope, facing the possibility that your life is going to be completely different than you imagined, feeling unable to cope, and with a supportive media and medical community (which has offered us this option on several occasions).  However, I am also convinced, more than ever, that this seemingly "easy out" is a trap of the worst kind.  

There are more thoughts that I could list, but this is enough, for now, other than to say that words cannot adequately express the gratitude and love that we have felt from so many who have sent us food, prayed with us, called, and visited.  It's truly amazing to see so many people walk into a painful situation instead of sending someone else, like my tendency often is.  Thank you.  I know that Wylie is a gift who will continue to teach us all a wonderful thing about Him and His love.  

I Want What I Have

My husband is my high school sweetheart.  By Wylie's due date, we will have enjoyed 19 years of marriage.  We help plant churches together.  Gavin coaches and I teach Pilates.  He loves sports.  I love to read.  Through our love, devotion, and affection for one another, God has brought five people into this world and four others (that we know of) straight into heaven.  I want Gavin as my husband.  I don't always want our differences or having to deal with what I consider messiness or inattentiveness.  I'm sure he doesn't always want my occasional nagging or rudeness.  Yet, we want what we have.  We have each other and we want one another.

My friend shared this idea with me a couple of years ago.  As to advice about coping with challenging familial patterns she remarked, "I try to want what I have."  I had to ponder that comment awhile.  It caused me to wonder how much of my disappointment, discouragement, frustration, and critical spirit comes from the opposite attitude.  How often does my heart cry, "I don't want this.  I don't want what I have!"?

Enter precious Wylie.  What do we want?  We want her to have the best care we can find or provide.  We want her to be whole and healthy.  We want to care for her.  We want her to know the love of her siblings, family, and friends.  We want a lot!  But what if?  What if she doesn't have her health?  What if we don't get to care for her very long at all?  What if she passes from this earth without discovering the love of her people here?  What if she breaks our hearts beyond our comprehension?  Do we still want her?

My answer to this question became even clearer on Sunday during church family's gathering. Our friend led us through a time of focus on God's attributes and places in the Bible where those characteristics are expressed.  One, in particular, stood out to me:

DESPISED

"He [Jesus] was like someone people turn away from; He was despised, and we didn't value Him." (Isaiah 53:3b)

Jesus was a humble carpenter.  When He announced who He really was, people basically scoffed, "Isn't he just from Nazareth and Joseph, the carpenter's, son?" incredulous that He was anybody special at all.  He lived nomadically.  He had no home.  He never strove for notoriety, popularity, or power.  He spent time with just a few friends and others who were of ill repute or outsiders.  The crowds grew at times but dwindled down to just a couple people who were devoted and brave enough to be near Him in a seemingly devastating defeat--His crucifixion.  The verse from Isaiah is a prophecy about Jesus.  It was written hundreds of years before it came true when the crowds hollered, "Crucify Him!" and the soldiers mocked Him.  Who could call this no-name failure, Savior?

These are the verses that follow the one above:

"Surely He took up our infirmities
     and carried our sorrows,
yet we considered him stricken by God,
     smitten by Him, and afflicted.
But He was pierced for our transgressions,
     He was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him,
     and by His wounds, we are healed."  (Isaiah 53:4-5)

As I consider Jesus who brought peace with God and healing despite our despising Him, I think of our Wylie.  There are many things about Wylie, in general, that people may consider unfavorable:  an unknown future, a very short life-span, a fragile heart condition, possible genetic abnormalities that could lead to serious problems.  And yet, I want what I have.  I want this baby girl no matter.  I realize that God (Father, Son, and Spirit) creates people in His image.  Wylie carries part of this image of Jesus that may turn people away from her. 

My heart has been wooed by Jesus.  More than anything else, I want HIM!  How precious that He and I can say, "I am my Beloved's and He is mine."  I want what I have.  He has given us Wylie as a precious gift.  I want what we have in her.  I want what I have.      

A Strange Feast

Gavin and I had an amazing backpacking adventure before we had children.  We started in St. Andrews, so Gav could play the Old Course, we traversed through York, London, Paris, down the Rhine to Rothensburg, over to the Cinqua Terra, more south to Florence and Rome and ended our excursion in Venice.  It was absolutely wonderful.  My favorite was the Cinqua Terra, "The Five Lands," literally perched on the Mediterranean Sea. 

I remember a night we spent there on the shore amidst the open air restaurants and the Italian vacationers.  I had the best latte of my life, never to be repeated, I'm sure.  I was also so impressed by those dining.  They spent hours at the table.  Laughter, loud talking, the clink of the glasses and silverware was like music beside the sea.  The merry-makers continued even after we had finished our meal, had dessert and coffee and walked back to our flat.  We had witnessed true feasting!

As amazing as that night was, it fell short in this regard:  Though we took in the beauty of those feasting around us, we didn't sit down to join them.  We just watched.  It reminds me of a special time I had praying with a friend during which I saw a picture of my spiritual life. 

I could see myself on my knees beside a table, gazing at crumbs in my hand, trying to be content and grateful for them.  Jesus was in this picture, too.  He was seated at the table.  Though my ears didn't hear a sound, it was if Jesus said, "What are doing down there, friend?  Please, come sit beside me.  Here is your place right here at my table."  I can say that, in a spiritual sense, I keep trying to take Jesus up on His offer.

A meaningful verse to me in reference to this picture of feasting with Jesus is from the well-known Psalm 23:

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies."

What a strange thing to do!  When enemies are near, we eat?  We sit down and feast when there is a chance of harm and provocation? 

Well, here we are.  Enemies have drawn closer.  Our recent blood test result gave us information that was both shocking and heavy.  Wylie's DNA does not indicate that she has Trisomy-21 (Down Syndrome), but instead a different and more severe chromosomal abnormality, Trisomy-18 (Edward's Disease).  Her test was almost 90% positive. 

We have begun to process what this may mean for the future.  Here is what the percentages say:  of those pregnancies given a chance to continue (about 86% are terminated) only 50% of the babies are born.  Of those born, 90% will pass away before their first birthdays.  Because the 18th chromosome is physically bigger, babies with such a large amount of extra genetic material can struggle in every way. 

Right now, Wiley's body is growing and developing heathily in so many ways.  Our perinatologist and midwife are committed to caring for us and making sure we have additional doctors and surgeons who will contribute their expertise in helping her as best as people can do.  We will monitor her and make plans for her birth and the interventions she may need to have the fullest and best life possible.  These are the things we can do.

Our enemies (disease, doubt, anxiety, fear, control, death) encroach, but the gift of Wiley's life and God's promises shine ever brighter against the dark backdrop cast by these interlopers.  This is what comes after the first verse I shared:

"You anoint my head with oil;
     my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life
     and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever."

At the most unlikely time, with enemies surrounding us, we are invited to sit.  Indeed, our cups overflow in the sense that we are astounded by the miraculous gift Wylie is.  We have only experienced a hint.  We are also amazed by what God has done to make hope, faith, and love possible in whatever the future may hold.  We are certain, just as David was in writing this Psalm, that God has only goodness and mercy in mind for us--all of us.  Our cups, at His table, indeed overflow. 

 

A Place of Rest

At the end of September, I began reading the Psalms.  I read one each day.  Last night, I read Psalm 88.  If you do the math, you'll note that I've skipped some days, but not many.  The reason I read every night is not that I'm a very disciplined person.  No, it's just easy like dessert after dinner.  Every night before I bed, I open the Bible and know God has something to tell me--little old me.  It is very much like dessert after dinner.

So, last night was interesting.  I will include Psalm 88 here so you can have the context.  Please bear with the length and that it's the Bible for those of you who may not be so inclined to read it.

O LORD, the God who saves me,
     day and night I cry out before you.
May my prayer come before you;
     turn your ear to my cry.

For my soul is full of trouble
     and my life draws near the grave.
I am counted among those who down to the pit;
     I am like a man without strength.
I am set apart with the dead,
     like the slain who lie in the grave,
whom you remember no more,
     who are cut off from your care.

You have put me in the lowest pit,
     in the darkest depths.
Your wrath lies heavily upon me;
     you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.
You have taken from me my closest friends
     and have made me repulsive to them.
I am confined and cannot escape;
     my eyes are dim with grief.

I call to you, O LORD, every day;
     I spread out my hands to you.
Do you show your wonders to the dead?
     Do those who are dead rise up and praise you?
Is your love declared in the grave,
     your faithfulness in Destruction?
Are your wonders known in the place of darkness,
     or your righteous deeds in the land of oblivion?

But I cry to you for help, O LORD;
     in the morning my prayer comes before you.
Why, O LORD, do you hide your face from me?

From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death;
     I have suffered your terrors and am in despair.
Your wrath has swept over me:
     your terrors have destroyed me.
All day long they surround me like a flood;
     they have completely engulfed me.
You have taken my companions and loved ones from me;
     the darkness is my closest friend. (emphasis mine)

In Bible Study Fellowship this year, we have learned about the Psalms since we are studying books of the Bible that include King David's life.  He wrote many of the Psalms, but not this one.  We've learned that there are three different types of Psalms:  Hymn (Praise), Thanksgiving, and Lament.  I bet you can guess which type this one is.  More than half of the Psalms are laments.  What I find interesting is that Psalm 88 does not follow the normal pattern of a lament which is a cry or plea that leads to confession and then praise.  Do you notice how this one ends?  "The darkness is my closest friend."  This is not an ending of praise.

From our life circumstances, anyone would understand if darkness described the condition of my soul.  You could sympathize if I was crying out to God and "my eyes were dim with grief."  There is absolutely nothing wrong or sinful about this psalmist's response.  On the contrary, a lament is everything right.  It is our heart cry that God wants, whatever it may be. I considered this and thought, "But this is not me right now.  Even in this difficulty, I am not in a season of lament, but rather in a place of rest."  How could that be?  Why am I not lamenting?  Rest, really?  Herein lies my reflection of the past week since finding out more about our Wylie.

Love makes a place for rest.  She nurtures a soul to admit weariness in the bones.  She is so gentle in her pursuit as she lulls and quiets any noise or agitation.  Her acceptance entreats a vulnerable laying down of anything heavy or cumbersome.  Guards fall and hands fold in the lap--peaceful surrender.  That's what love does sometimes.  That's what love has done for me this week.

All your prayers, all your kind words, all your help, all your blessings have made room for rest.  Even now.  Even in this.  Thank you.