A Loss for Words

I like to think that because I know my three boys so well, I can decipher their non-verbal communication: I know what Everett’s different cries mean; I know the difference between Sawyer’s happy dance and his I’ve-gotta-go-potty-right-now-dance; I know when Liam is embarrassed or anxious about an unexpected change without him having to say anything.  Life with a 1-month old, 2½-year old and a five-year old means that I’m surrounded by three little guys who are at various stages of being able to communicate their needs, wants and emotions.  And part of my job and my desire as their mama is to figure them out no matter how efficient they are at expressing themselves. 

I will never forget when we told the two older boys that we were having another baby.  Saywer smiled his almost-two year old smile and ran away to play with a toy, but Liam started to cry.  I asked him if he was ok and he said, “I’m so happy and a little bit sad, so all I can do is cry about it.”  I loved that he didn’t try to make sense of his emotions like I often do to myself.  He just let the overwhelming and conflicting feelings cascade down his cheeks.

I have been pondering the inability to communicate clearly a lot lately, as I am experiencing a new phenomenon in my dialogue with Jesus.  As my mom is now in her seventh year of fighting cancer, I have come to a point where I simply don’t know what words to say when I pray.  Of course I still desperately want the things I started praying for seven years ago—a complete healing, peace for my mom and dad and brothers, strength to fight the chemo, and rest for her weary body and spirit.  I’m still thankful for her inspirational attitude and the love she pours into my life.  I can still see the ways that God has actively intervened during this journey, and I am unbelievably grateful to him for that.  All of these things are still very true, and I haven’t lost faith that God can and will say "yes" to these prayers.

And yet, when I try to pray them out loud or in my head, I just can’t.  I think part of it is a bit like when you say any word too many times in a row; it starts to sound ridiculous and more like gibberish than a real word.  I’ve asked and thanked God for the same things for so long, that the prayers aren’t coherent in my head anymore.  So what do I do? 

I’m starting to think that my solution will come from letting go of my reliance on verbal communication.  As a writer and English teacher, I am in love with words.  But I know that words can fail us at times.  That’s when I need to rely on God’s infinite understanding and not my finite one.  When Jesus was talking to his disciples, he said, “And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words.  Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him” (Matthew 6:8).  Just like I know that Liam and Sawyer will want sippy cups full of chocolate milk when they wake up in the morning, God knows what I’m going to pray before I even open my mouth.  The actual words do not matter.

This does not mean, however, that he wants us to stop praying.  His omniscience doesn’t negate his desire to hear our voices.  Jesus also told the disciples a parable about praying in which a widow asked an unjust judge for justice.  He initially ignored her, but she brought her request to him day and night until he finally gave in just to get rid of her.  Jesus concludes with a question: “And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night?" (Luke 18:1-8).  I never get tired of hearing my boys tell me they love me, and it is only during my weaker moments that I get tired of their requests.  So if I, who am sinful, want to hear everything my boys have to say, then how much more does the perfect Father in Heaven want to hear from me?

Therefore I am trying to just stand before the Lord and let him “Search me, O God, and know my heart” (Psalm 139:23a).  He can hear the moaning and rejoicing of my heart even without my ability to articulate it.  And often he communicates back in that same way.  A few weeks ago, I was holding baby Everett on my chest.  His breath was tickling my neck, and his heartbeat was beating against my own.  I had just gotten off the phone with Dad who had told me that my mom’s chemo regimen was not working like they wanted; her numbers were increasing when they should be going down.  I felt a wave of familiar despairing emotions and tried to put my thoughts into a prayer but couldn’t. Suddenly Everett’s weight on my heart increased, his heartbeat felt stronger and his breath on my neck spread warmth through my entire body.  Even though I cannot adequately describe the experience in words, I felt loved so completely that I know the ultimate decipherer of human emotions and lover of my soul had heard the incoherent cries of my heart—and he holds me even when I don’t know how to ask.

Thankful

I am thankful for so much. In fact, even on the not-so-joyful days of this month, it was easy to sit down and think of something I was thankful for to post as my facebook status — which, of course, is how I should measure my thankfulness.

I’m grateful my parents raised me to always to see the blessings around me: on the other side of my aching back is a life growing inside me, the causes of the mess around my house are my three favorite people in the whole world, mom’s chemo side effects are evidence of her winning the cancer battle, and my life is made busy by people I love and a job I adore. My thankful list is easy to make. But, perhaps since I grew up with the knowledge that Christ died for my sins, I find his salvation—if not forgotten—sometimes at the bottom of my list. It can become an afterthought of Christian-ease-Sunday-school language: “I’m thankful for this and this and this…Oh, and of course, Jesus!”

So today, I want to put it on top of my list. As I start to decorate my house for Christmas, I want to proclaim how thankful I am for Jesus’ birth, death and resurrection. I am thankful that God’s love is so deep and vast that he sent his only son to die in my place in order that I may have everlasting life in his presence—this is something that as a Mama, I truly cannot comprehend. Below is a poem I wrote when Liam was six months old about my love for my new son, and also the lyrics to one of my favorite songs about God’s love for us. As deep and overwhelming as my love for my children is, it is but a glimmer of God’s love for you and me. Happy Thanksgiving and Christmas season!

Napping With Liam

Breathing sweetly-milkily against my neck
My hair curling from his moisture

Weighing into me, melting into me—we are one again.
Our hearts beat in tandem as they once did
when his kicks, stretches and hiccups were my constant companions,
my distractions in cultural anthropology,
my bane and my joy in the middle of the swollen nights;

before nursing, crying, cooing;
before I knew the curve of his delicate ears,
the bow of his miniature mouth—so like his father's—
the unconscious fluttering of his strong, small fingers against my chin;
before I knew that my love for him would be like the feeling of his perfect body
weighing, melting against mine:

warm, heavier than expected, full;
before I knew my favorite moments of my entire life from my own birth
until now
would be like this one—
my little son, sleeping innocently against my chest

breathing sweetly-milkily against my neck.

How Deep The Father's Love For Us lyrics (by Stuart Townsend)

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory
Behold the Man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders
Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,
Call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that left Him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life
I know that it is finished
I will not boast in anything
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ
His death and resurrection
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart
His wounds have paid my ransom

The Big Picture

Before I had children, I thought the “because I said so” line was an uncreative, overused argument just used when parents had no good reason for what they said.  In my naiveté, I was sure that I would always take the time to explain valid reasons for my decisions to my children, so that they would know everything I did was thoughtful and reasonable, in turn teaching them to make wise choices. 

Ha!  I had no idea how useful and completely valid that saying would be in my parenting/managing of two energetic boys' endeavors.  While I do admit to saying, “because Mama said so” to get my kids to stop arguing over that toy in the cash register line and be quiet as I try to pay and load my groceries, I have been struck with how truly compelling it can be to explain my more thoughtful and reasonable choices as well.  There are times when I, being the grown up who can see the big picture, need my boys to accept what I say simply because I said so.

These moments have happened more frequently with Liam lately as he becomes immensely curious about the world.  Recently, we were in line at McDonald’s and Liam asked loudly, “Mama, how did that man’s ears get SOOOO big?!”  After glancing apologetically at the poor man behind us, I had to firmly tell Liam that we would talk about it later.  “Why, Mama?!”

“Because Mama said so,” I said quietly in his ear.  Liam, fortunately, let the matter drop, although he gave me a very suspicious look that communicated his complete dissatisfaction.  I smiled at his disgruntled expression.  I knew that his trumpet-like inquiry was not malicious, but I could see the bigger picture.  I could see that we needed to have a talk about tact, kindness to others and celebrating the different ways God made each person.  But I could also see that now was not the time to have that discussion within the already embarrassed man’s hearing.  I could see what Liam couldn’t about the situation AND how it would benefit him later.

I’ve started making this connection with how God deals with us.  He really sees the big picture, and sometimes (or often) he asks us to obey because he said so and for no other reason—at least as we understand it.  The perfect example of this in the Bible is when God tells Abraham to sacrifice his only son Isaac.  This is another one of those stories that I’ve never particularly liked, because God seems capricious and careless with Abraham’s feelings and Isaac’s life.  But really, of course, this story displays for us an example of how to react in the times when what God asks of us seems to be more than we can bear.  God says the unthinkable to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love, and go to the region of Moriah.  Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will tell you about” (Genesis 22: 2).  We don’t get to see Abraham’s emotional reaction to this command, but the next verse says that he made preparations to obey and took his son, two servants and the necessities for a sacrifice and headed to Moriah.  The rest of the story is well known: Abraham and Isaac go to the altar, Abraham prepares to sacrifice his son and then at the last minute God tells him to stop and provides a ram to sacrifice instead.  I’ve heard many explanations for God’s strange, maybe even cruel request, but the one I heard at The Women of Faith conference a few years ago changed everything for me.

A speaker pointed out that the key is verse 5 in which Abraham tells the servants to stay put while he and Isaac go to make a sacrifice.  He says, “We will worship and we will come back to you.”  Then in verse 8, Abraham tells his son, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.”  I think I always saw these two statements as wishful thinking on Abraham’s part, but instead I now see that they are said out of faithful conviction—conviction of God’s goodness and infallibility.  God had promised Abraham he would have as many descendants as the stars, beginning with Isaac.  Abraham may not have understood why God was asking him to sacrifice Isaac, but he trusted in what he knew God to be—truthful and good—and he said with conviction that both he and his son would return from the altar.

This gives me hope.  I don’t have to understand God’s actions or leadings in my life; I just need to accept and believe what he says he is in his Word and what he’s proven to be in my life: faithful, true, all-powerful, all-knowing, and in total control. 

My first deep understanding of this actually happened when my poor second son got circumcised.  Sparing the details, the procedure did not go well and we went through a solid two weeks of painful ministrations in order to help his wound heal properly.  During that time I felt intense empathy for Sawyer’s pain and confusion.  He didn’t know why we had to cause him pain every time we changed his diaper.  He didn’t care that this would actually benefit him a great deal in the future.  All he knew was that the pain was consuming him right now, and not only did his mommy and daddy refuse to fix it, they actually seemed like they were causing the pain. 

During that time, I started to see the painful times in my life a little differently.  I have questioned God during times of chemo, death and darkness.  I have cried out because at times he seems to be the source of my pain, whether through his seeming inaction or his excruciating correction.  But as I cried with my brand new Sawyer writhing on the changing table, I could see that sometimes seeing the bigger picture and knowing the hurt is going to benefit my child later is a very painful perspective as well.  God does weep with us, but he also sees beyond our pain to the big epic tale of our entire lives.  Not only that, he sees how everyone’s story weaves together into the fabric of humanity in its entirety from the beginning of time through eternity.  Now that’s a big picture.

So when I am unsatisfied with “because God said so” as an explanation to my hard questions, I can turn to what I know of God.  I can mimic Abraham and climb that daunting mountain, knowing that God will provide.  Why?  Because he said so.