Connor's Legacy

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart;
      do not depend on your own understanding."

Proverbs 3:5

Today my family and I celebrate the life of Connor Paul Walker- "Desired Little One".  He was born ten years ago today; he went to be with Jesus ten years ago tomorrow.  So many thoughts skitter through my head.  What is it I want to convey?  Do I want to share the circumstances that surrounded his birth and death?  Part of me wants to.  He was my firstborn son, and I want people to know about him, and because his time on earth was so very short, it would seem that there's really not much else to share other than those circumstances.  I realize, though, what a short-sighted view that is.  There's so much more to Connor's life than the time he spent with us.  Were I to depend on my own understanding, I would pay this no heed.  I would remain angry with God.  Couldn't he have intervened when my husband and I, along with countless others, begged him to do so and healed his body?  Surely he could have.  And in my own understanding, I would still be questioning why a loving Father, if not for the sake of Cory and me, wouldn't at least come to the rescue of a helpless baby.  Those were most certainly things I thought and felt and wrestled with a decade ago.  But I've come to recognize that my own understanding is so little.  In so many ways, it's so very childish and immature, and though I may grow in intellect and reasoning, in light of the omniscience of God, my understanding will remain small at best in so many ways.  So I choose not to trust in what I can see or feel or touch or understand, and I choose to trust, as Abraham did when God asked him to sacrifice the son whom he had waited so long to hold in his arms and was to be his promised heir, in the goodness of God.  His ways are higher than my ways, and his thoughts far above my own.  In Abraham's case, he was provided a ram in the thicket to be the sacrifice instead of his son.  I wanted a ram in the thicket. It didn't come in a physical sense; Connor still went on to heaven long before what seemed just to me.  But that wasn't the sum total of his life.  His legacy lives on.  Because of Connor Paul, Cory and I aren't the same people we were ten years ago.  Because of what we went through, our relationship with God has a richness to it born only in the soil of sorrow.  It caused us to become completely real with God, and it allowed us, over time, to know the joy of being comforted by a God whose love for us can't be fathomed.  Because of what we went through, our intentionality in parenting our other precious sons is far greater than it might have been otherwise.  Do I desire to have my Connor with me today?  Sure.  But would I trade what I went through?  Not if it meant not being who I am today and not having the relationship with God that I now have.  So today we celebrate Connor Paul, and we're eternally grateful for the gift of his legacy.

Hiding in the Bushes

I read once that to be a mother is to forever after wear your heart outside of your body.  I find this is often more true than not.  On the one hand, I find it reassuring that, as one so prone to bouts of selfishness and self-focus, still there is something within me that springs to action when one of my children experiences pain or danger.  In spite of my human nature with all its flaws and imperfections, my love for my kids is fierce, and because of that, I sometimes find my heart breaking at my inability to keep theirs from doing so.  This was the case yesterday.  In the whole realm existence, this was a relatively small thing.  My baby had hurt feelings.  He felt left out; he felt unjustly treated; and he felt like he didn’t have a friend in the world.  The first rip in my heart came when I saw him huddled all alone behind a bush, bravely wearing his knight helmet- after all, while he might be my “baby,” he’s seven years old!  Nigh unto manhood!  It would never do to have his peers know the depths of his sensitivity.  Thus this valiant knight kept his helmet covering his eyes so no one would see his tears.  But even moms of knights have a sense regarding the emotional status of their tender warriors.  He was reluctant to share at first, but finally he divulged what was causing his pain.  Now, the grown-up in me realized right away that, first of all, tiredness on his part was largely to blame, and secondly, no one had intentionally been mean to him; his perspective was simply that of a tired 7-year-old child.  However, the grown-up in me also understood that the enemy doesn’t waste opportunities like that upon which to leap and give “interpretation” to the situation, i.e., “You’re just not likeable… you’re no good… you’re this, that, or the other…” And to think of my son being lied to so viciously and to know that his precious little heart was bleeding caused me such sorrow.  I sat with him on the ground and cried with him.  I so desperately wanted to hold him and cuddle him and make everything alright for him.  I said, “Logan, come on out from behind the bush.  Come to me.  Let me hold you.”  “No, Mom!” was his horrified reply.  He didn’t want his friends to think there was a problem at all, let alone have them witness his mom giving him comfort.

As is the case with many childhood dramas of this nature, it was short-lived and soon forgotten- by Logan, anyway.  It was something I pondered later.  I thought about how badly I wanted to hold my child- how I could almost feel the physical ache in my arms as they so badly wanted to cradle my little boy.  While I wanted to acknowledge his feelings and let him know that I understood the hurt of his heart, I also wanted to shed light on the truth of his circumstances for him so he would have a proper lens through which to view himself, his friends, and his life in general.  But he wouldn’t come to me.  I could only cry with him and tell him how much I loved him and offer what words of solace he was willing to listen to.  I realize that we, as adults, aren’t really all that different.  How often we hide behind the bushes, so to speak, our faces covered so no one will notice that we’re hurting.  But God knows.  And he comes to us, and his heart is torn as he hurts right along with us.  And he says, “Come on out from behind the bush.  Come to me.  Let me hold you.”  “No, God!” is often our horrified reply.  There are sundry reasons for our refusal of his loving overtures: fear… pride… embarrassment… most of which, if not all, stem from a misconception about who he truly is and misplaced trust.  Oh, but how patient he is!  He doesn’t weary of sitting on the ground with us, even if all we’ll allow him to do is whisper how much he loves us and cry with us, but he already sees the day when we’ll fall into those daddy arms that have been aching to cradle us, and he sees the freedom we’ll walk in when we allow him to bring to light the deception of the enemy and shine the light of truth into the darkest corners of our hearts.

My Father, how I love you!  How I desire to be in your great loving arms always.  Yet even so, there are those times I resist.  Why that is, I’m not always certain.  But even when I don’t allow myself to be comforted by you, you never cease to give comfort.  You never stop pursuing me; wooing me; inviting me to go further in and higher up with you.  So many people, God, have yet to experience your daddy love.  How your heart breaks for them!  Give them eyes to see and ears to hear what your spirit is speaking to them.  May they know the fullness of joy that is theirs for the having.

Harvest

Matthew 9:35
When he looked out over the crowds, his heart broke. So confused and aimless they were, like sheep with no shepherd. "What a huge harvest!" he said to his disciples. "How few workers! On your knees and pray for harvest hands!"

The fields ripe unto harvest,

Heady grains reaching toward the Son.

He stands amongst them, hand outstretched,

And the wind stirs, arousing them to expectant dance,

eager to be drawn to him who is yet unknown.

The Son bows his head in silence, waiting.

The harvesters sense not the urgency of the harvest,

Take notice not of the expiration of hope

as ungathered fruit spoils on the vine,

Or of scavengers feasting on ill-gotten gain,

For they understand not the importance of who they are,

So they unwittingly assist in destruction of tender shoots

and of one another.

He stands amongst them, hand outstretched,

The fields ripe unto harvest.

Elbow Grease

A few weeks ago, I heard my 7-yr.-old son Logan heartily singing along with the radio.  "Elbow grease, for the one true God!" was the loud and heartfelt song that came out of him.  He was unaware that the actual lyrics were proclaiming "We believe in the one true God."  I'm not really sure that it mattered.  Belief... Elbow grease... Regardless of the words, Logan was worshiping with all his heart, and as such, I have a hunch that God was listening to him in the language of his heart's song.

Being a Grown-Up

"Yes, wasn't it a shame?" said Lucy.  "I saw you all right.  They wouldn't believe me.  They're all so-"

"From somewhere deep inside Aslan's body there came the faintest suggestion of a growl.

 "I'm sorry," said Lucy... "I didn't mean to start slanging the others.  But it wasn't my fault anyway, was it?"

The Lion looked straight into her eyes.

"Oh, Aslan," said Lucy.  "You don't mean it was?  How could I- I couldn't have left the others and come up to you alone, how could I?... Oh, well, I suppose I could.  Yes, and it wouldn't have been alone, I know, not if I was with you..." ~Prince Caspian

It occurs to me... I'm a grown-up.  Seeing as how the age of forty is now within shooting distance for me, that I'm preparing to celebrate my thirteenth wedding anniversary, and that I'm a mother, perhaps that shouldn't be such a shocking revelation.  Yet somehow adulthood hasn't always been one of those easy paths for me to navigate.  I've often felt like a child who needs permission to make a move.  So many times my decisions have needed to be run by someone else before I have been able to make them.  Not that there's not wisdom in a multitude of counselors- the Bible clearly tells us that.  But how often have I felt like Lucy- knowing that I know that I've seen God; that he's said to me, "Here's the path.  Walk this way."  How could I, though?  After all, "they" were going the other direction.  How could I walk a path alone?  Granted, there have been those wise and bold individuals whom I've noticed taking the path less traveled, but they were "big" people; grown-ups... And God says to me, "Lisa, you're my child, but you're not a child.  You're responsible for following me whether anyone else sees me on the path or not."  At one point in my journey, that would have incited anxiety.  "What if I just think I'm seeing God down this path, but it's not really him?!"  And while I recognize I'm a grown-up, I also delight in the simplicity of child-like faith that dares to move, believing full well that God loves me enough and cares more about my success than I do that he'll certainly make clear to me when I've gone astray.  The Bible says that the steps of a righteous man are ordered by God, but even righteous men stumble.  Yet even when he stumbles, he won't fall!  I've stumbled many times, and I have no doubt I will again- probably even soon! :)  Yet I've experienced what it's like to be lovingly corrected by God- no shame, no condemnation.  So, like Lucy, I can say, "I do hope... that you will all come with me.  Because- because I'll ... go with him whether anyone else does or not."

God's Favorite One

I find myself somewhat anxious as I sit to write this, my first blog entry.  Frankly, I've intentionally remained oblivious to some of the modern trends of technology and their influences on communication because they didn't strike me as all that interesting.  As it is, then, I've only recently become acquainted with blogging.  So as I embark on my own blogging adventure, I wonder, "What if I don't do it the 'right' way?"  Because that's been party of my make-up for so many years.  Perfectionism.  Fear of doing the wrong thing or failure to do the right thing.  I find, though, that my anxious thoughts dissipate when I choose to remember a life-changing truth:  I'm the most important person in the world, for I am, indeed, God's favorite!  I realize this sounds like a brash expression of audacity and pomposity, but I assure you, it's not.  It's a statement of conviction- a proclamation of truth shown to me by my Father- and it's made joyfully by one who, for so long, saw herself as "less than" and worthless.  One who just wasn't quite up to par.  What God has done in me and for me is no less than amazing and miraculous.  You see, he healed my deepest heart wounds- those hurts buried so deep down inside me that I wanted no one to see but consistently seeped death into my spiritual bloodstream.  He didn't do this for me because I was good enough; he did this because I'm his favorite.  Being his favorite, then, makes me the most important person in the world.  After all, this is GOD!  Creator of the universe.  Here's the thing, though:  You, too, are God's favorite!  I have two sons, and I love them both dearly.  However, neither of them is my favorite.  To prefer one over the other would be wrong.  But I'm not God.  Because of God's nature, each of us can personally and distinctly be his favorite without it effecting that distinction for someone else.

My prayer today:
Father, thanks that you love me because of who you are and who I am.  Your love for me doesn't change when I blow it, nor does it change when I succeed.  You delight in me because I'm yours!  What security that brings when I am able to wrap my mind around it.  I ask that each one of your favorites whom you are, at this moment, wooing and romancing and drawing by your Spirit would have an understanding of how much your heart longs simply for them.  Not what they do; not what they can bring to the table; but them!  You long to be in a love relationship with them.  As that flourishes, may they stand in awe of the blessings that follow as they embark on their "becoming" journey- becoming who it is you've always known they could be.  I love you, Jesus.