Lenten Project: Day Forty

It's the close of Lent.  Now it's Easter.  Time to look forward, and rejoice in Hope.

Easter 2012, Messiah Lutheran Church, Mauldin, SC

I've learned and grown through these forty days of my Lenten discipline.  I've faced my failures, admitted my faults, remembered joys, and rejoiced in memories.  Looking back to where I've come and comparing my old self to who I am now, I know I have a ways to go on my journey of life.  But there's good in affirming how much has changed in me since I was a child.

I might still doubt sometimes.  When I do, I run to the cross, dip my fingers in the holy water, and remind myself of my baptism.  I still fail my kids in this mothering business. When that happens, I try to treat them with respect, apologise when I'm wrong, and model repentance to them.  I still have flashbacks and occasionally have a hard time talking about episodes from my past.  But that doesn't mean I shouldn't talk.

I'll keep on talking because over the course of this Lenten Project, I've received numerous messages, emails, texts, and comments from people who have been helped though my telling my story.  There are universal elements, things with which people identify, in each of my posts, stuff that unites us all in this human journey.  This blog series has sparked numerous positive conversations, inspired reconciliations, and reminded others of the Hope we have in Christ.  There have been horrifying stories recalled, funny episodes related, and lots of in between, just-tell-it-like-it-is kinds of posts.  I hope my Lenten Project has been a blessing to you, and I invite you to stick around for future posts.  I don't intend to stop.

Join the Conversation

Which post has been your favourite these past forty days?

Did you have any interesting conversations or revived memories that my posts have sparked?  I'd love to hear about them!

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Lenten Project: Day Two

You've probably seen the news about a pregnant mother, Ebony Wilkerson, who drove her van full of kids into the ocean.  My Facebook feed is filled with posts and reposts, some offering compassion, most offering judgement.  If you go to the news articles online, the comments sections are horrifyingly filled with calls for the woman to be "locked up, and throw away the key," or for her kids to be taken away from her, or for her sterilisation, since "people like her shouldn't get to be parents."

All I can feel for her is sadness. It seems obvious that she was under the influence of a serious illness when she did this. I feel this sadness profoundly, because I am an Ebony.

Next, 2010

In the Spring of 2010, I attended Sovereign Grace's NEXT Conference in Baltimore.  With my sister Joanna, I rode the packed-full chartered bus from Greenville, SC, to the conference center.  Almost immediately upon setting out in the very early morning, I started miscarrying a baby.  It was my third miscarriage.

At that point, I was in the early stages of severe postpartum depression, brought on by my son self-weaning a couple months before.  I had sunk deep enough into my depression that my libido was completely gone.  For several months, I'd been saying no.  Thus, when I began miscarrying, I was shocked.  Somewhere along the way, consent lines had been crossed, and I couldn't even remember it!  I knew that my marriage was not a safe place, but I hadn't understood how unsafe till then.

The shock and sudden grief of discovering an unexpected pregnancy, only to simultaneously realise that the precious little life I'd unknowingly carried was already gone pushed me over the edge.  I was pretty depressed, but that event caused me to totally lose my will to live.  The next day, after settling in the hotel and attending a couple conference sessions, I wasn't at all better.  The bleeding had stopped, but it seemed my heart was hemorrhaging.

That afternoon, I attempted to step out into heavy rushing traffic in downtown Baltimore, right by the Inner Harbor.  My sister Joanna stopped me.  She didn't know exactly what my intentions were, but she could tell that something wasn't right, even though I wouldn't talk to her about it.  She stuck to my side, as only an annoying little sister can do, making sure I didn't try to hurt myself anymore.

In the evening, before the conference session (if I remember correctly, it was on Scripture, by Kevin DeYoung), one of the young men who came with our church group approached me and told me he felt led to pray over me.  Perhaps he'd noticed how I stared blankly at the ships in the harbor while at dinner.  I'd been wishing I could swim underneath those ships and intentionally fill my lungs with harbor water.  Maybe he just felt a leading from the Lord.  I don't know.  What I do know is that when he prayed, a peace came over me.  I knew that I would make it back home to Greenville alive.

I didn't know that I'd continue this struggle with postpartum depression for quite some time, or that I'd have to take medicine to feel half-way normal again.  I couldn't have imagined that my marriage would simply disintegrate and end up having heavy consequences that I'd have to live with forever.  I didn't realise that I'd keep my lost baby a secret till today, when Ebony's story would prompt me to tell mine.

What I did know was that I had hope for the next day.  That's it.  Just a day's worth of hope.  And I kept getting days' worths at a time, until, in October of 2010, I got that theme tattooed on my arm.

Ironically, I was required to cut off my NEXT 2010 wristband in order to give the tattoo artist access to my whole arm.  I felt as though I were cutting away the darkness of that past and fixing my eyes on the future, with my daily allotment of hope.

The rest of the story is crazy and imperfect and quite a winding tale (other parts of which I may yet blog about during this Lenten project), but suffice it to say, my ex-husband and I have reconciled, as much as a divorced pair of people can be, and have both affirmed our forgiveness for each other many times, for many different failings on both our parts.  I talked to him before even posting this, because I respect him enough to not want to be heartless and unkind to him anymore.  My past is my story.  I can only tell what I experienced.

However, the point is that I now look at my past through the lens of hope.  That hope gave me time to heal, time to grow, time and distance to learn to forgive.

PPD sucks.  I know how Ebony feels.  Abuse is horrible (and there's some indication from news sources that she may have been experiencing that as well).  Loss is terrible.  But there can still be forgiveness and healing.  There is still hope in redemption.  Hope for tomorrow.

If you or someone you know is acting strangely soon after having a baby or weaning, please know that there is hope.  You can't feel it, but it's there, waiting for you.  Please let someone know that you need help.  Talk to your doctor, a neighbour, a friend from church or your community, or contact someone at Postpartum Support International.  You are not alone.

Ash Wednesday, 2014

I attended two Ash Wednesday services today.  In the early morning, my family went to St. Paul's, an Anglo-Catholic (that's a real term) church we regularly visit.  My day started out with penitence and sobriety, peace and reflection.  My forehead was marked with the sign of the cross.

Then it got busy.  I yelled at my kids.  I thought unkind thoughts of others.  I was not patient.  I was not kind. I was so busy and rushed.  No time for Jesus.  No time to contemplate the reality of my mortality.  No time for any self-examination or repentance.  I really needed to start the day over, to try once more to get it right.

So I went to the evening service at Church of the Advent, an Anglo-Baptist (that's a made up, but apt, term) church we attend every Sunday evening.  My noisy soul quieted. I prayed the prayers of repentance. I experienced the peace I needed once more.  I slowed down and reminded myself of the mercy of God.  More ashes went on my forehead.

And then I went right home and got busy and rushed and impatient and, oh, so sinful again.  What's the deal?  Why can't I hang on to that peace in my life when I'm not on my knees, actively repenting, humble and sober before God?

Oh.  Well, duh.  Maybe I ought to do more repenting and a little less yelling and rushing, eh?  I needed this lesson today, on the first day of Lent.  To keep up the repenting, continually.  To pursue a repentant, humble spirit.  It's not so easy as running all around town fielding stares at the smudge of dirt on my forehead!  It takes intentionality, it requires community.

Invitation to a Holy Lent

The first Christians observed with great devotion the days of our Lord's passion and resurrection, and it became the custom of the Church to prepare for them by a season of penitence and fasting.  This season of Lent provided a time in which converts to the faith were prepared for Holy Baptism.  It was also a time when those who, because of notorious sins, had been separated from the body of the faithful were reconciled through penitence and forgiveness, and restore to the fellowship of the Church.  Thereby, the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Saviour, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.  I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word.

Blogging through Lent

Ash Wednesday, 2013

This year, inspired by this post, I plan to intentionally slow down and reflect during Lent.   I'd like to learn to pray without self consciousness, to kneel without triggering flashbacks, to genuflect without the inner habitual accusation of idolatry.  I've talked in the past about why it's difficult for me, and I intend to continue that conversation, to explore my past with the goal of fixing what is broken, from my spiritual walk to relationships.  This world is so broken, and many Christians, including myself, aren't pursuing redemption or restoration.  I don't desire to wallow in the broken spaces of my past, but rather, honestly remember where I have been, who I have been, with a goal of resolving the unresolved, repenting and being restored, seeking out those with whom relationships are broken, so that I can joyfully and humbly move forward.

I hope to honestly retell the stories of my past, so I can learn from them.  I'll talk about my childhood as a missionary kid, my upbringing as a Fundamentalist, my years at Bob Jones University, and possibly even my time in Sovereign Grace Ministries.  All these periods of my life hold negative connotations for me, and I plan to meet those stories head on, challenge myself to own them, and come out the other side a better person, not consumed with bitterness or anger.

Not everything in my past is all doom and gloom, however.  My mother rightly reminded me that I have a lot of happy memories, too.  So Fridays during Lent are designated "Fearless Fridays," where I will recall and retell a positive story.  Sundays, also, will be "Silent Sundays," and I will not have a new blog post on those days.  Instead, Sundays are to be completely devoted to the Lord's Day, and social media will be avoided.

I invite you to follow along in my Lenten journey this year.  Challenge me and be my companion as I remember and grow.  Starting on Ash Wednesday, check back here every day for a new post.

First Sunday of Lent: Remember your baptism

Today my four year old son, Stephen, was baptised into the family of God. It was beautiful and marvelous, and he didn't try to dive into the baptismal font or anything. What a lovely coincidence that the Scripture readings from the Lutheran lectionary for today were about baptism, in particular I Peter 3.18-22 and Mark 1.9-15. When I spoke to Pastor Yost weeks ago about having Stephen baptised on this Sunday, neither of us looked ahead to the readings set for today to see how appropriate they are, so it was a surprise!

Stephen is older than your average infant being baptised. In fact, another child was baptised today along with him, a little baby girl. I wonder if years from now, Stephen will be able to recall hiding his face in the collar of the minster as he was presented to the congregation. I wonder if he'll remember trying to catch his handkerchief on fire with the lit candle we were given at the end. I wonder what moment will stand out to him in his memories when he thinks back to this day.

I remember my baptism. (I was raised a credobaptistic Baptist, and they don't let anyone get baptised until a profession of faith has been made.) I was around 9 or 10 years old. I was baptised by immersion in the Caribbean Sea. The church members gathered on the sandy beach and sang hymns as I waded out through the slightly choppy waves. The sand was softer on the shore but felt gritty between my toes in the water. The most vivid thing that I remember about my baptism is the fallen palm tree under the water nearby. It was dark and shadowy, probably had seaweed growing on it. I imagined that the fallen log was actually a crocodile waiting to eat me when I got dunked under the water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

When I burst up out of the water, the crowd on the beach sang louder, and I could taste the salty seawater on my lips. I was filled with wonder and excitement (and joy that I didn't get eaten).

So now, whenever I pass by the baptismal font in my church, which is placed right in the middle of the aisle in the entrance to the sanctuary, I'm reminded of the salty water and the palm tree crocodile. Sometimes I'm tempted to dip my fingers in the water and, instead of tracing a cross on my forehead, stick those fingers in my mouth to see if the holy water is salty.

I'm so thankful to have such a tangible assurance of my salvation.

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Martin Luther's Small Catechism on The Sacrament of Holy Baptism:

First
What is Baptism?
Baptism is not just plain water, but it is the water included in God’s command and combined with God’s word.

Which is that word of God?
Christ our Lord says in the last chapter of Matthew: “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” (Matt. 28:19)

Second
What benefits does Baptism give?
It works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe this, as the words and promises of God declare.

Which are these words and promises of God?
Christ our Lord says in the last chapter of Mark: “Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.” (Mark 16:16)

Third
How can water do such great things?
Certainly not just water, but the word of God in and with the water does these things, along with the faith which trusts this word of God in the water. For without God’s word the water is plain water and no Baptism. But with the word of God it is a Baptism, that is, a life-giving water, rich in grace, and a washing of the new birth in the Holy Spirit, as St. Paul says in Titus, chapter three:

“He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by His grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life. This is a trustworthy saying.” (Titus 3:5–8)

Fourth
What does such baptizing with water indicate?
It indicates that the Old Adam in us should by daily contrition and repentance be drowned and die with all sins and evil desires, and that a new man should daily emerge and arise to live before God in righteousness and purity forever.

Where is this written?
St. Paul writes in Romans chapter six: “We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.” (Rom. 6:4)

Ash Wednesday

But for right now it is Lent and for one more snow I can luxuriate in the isolation of the cold, attend laconically to who I am and what I value and why I'm here. Religion has always kept earth time. Liturgy only gives sanction to what the heart already knows. --Phyllis A. Tickle

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Lectionary for Ash Wednesday

Reading from the Psalms: Psalm 51.1-17

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.

Commentary by Matthew Stith

The horrifying breadth and depth of sin's undermining of human nature and the clear reality that only gracious, divine action can possibly arrest or repair the damage it does are evident in the Psalm. Psalm 51 reminds all that the true and valuable purpose of repentance is as a means for the sinner to entreat the gracious help of the only One who can do anything about sin.

Ash Wednesday. The imposition of ashes. Did you know that this year's ashes are made from the palm fronds of last year's Easter palm branches? I find that incredibly hopeful. A reminder of the past, while also an encouragement to anticipate the future.

Stephen and I attended services in the evening, and it probably was a mistake to go at night, since the little boy was tired and grumpy and did not want to sit quietly still. During the congregational confession of sins, Stephen shouted out, "Yay!" whenever the minister mentioned our sins. Even though I tried to divert him with drawing mazes in my ever present legal pad, we eventually removed to the cry room where he could make as much noise as he wanted, and get up for "bounce around the room" breaks every few minutes.

After the cross of ashes was drawn on our foreheads, Stephen rubbed them off, not wanting to be dirty. "You have black stuff on you, Mom; you need to get clean." He has the right idea, but the black stuff is in my heart and no spit-and-swipe from a little boy will cleanse that.