Guilty! I'm guilty of doing it yet again. Every time I think I've recovered from that dreaded JABBIC disease, I find myself coming down with a fresh case of it. You know JABBIC disease right? Judge-A-Book-By-Its-Cover disease? You know, that tendency I (and maybe some of you) have to let someone's outfit or appearance guide me to a conclusion about their character? Whether its assuming the girl in the Tory Burch flats and Kate Spade purse is a snob or thinking the guy in the wife-beater and grungy jeans is a slob, it is ALWAYS dangerous to think you know what someone is like based on how they look. Once again, I was guilty of making the wrong call even though it was just for a few seconds before God opened my eyes to the truth.
I was at a local mall having just wrapped up some quality time with my two toddlers in the play area. Wait. Let me stop right there. Right now, some of you are judging me for taking my kids to the mall playground. You know what? Go ahead. I used to do it. I used to swear I would NEVER take my kids to one of those areas. I used to say the whole concept of a playground in the mall was an abomination. And then I found myself staying home with a two-year-old and a one-year-old and I realized, the indoor playground is a gift from God. The ability to go to one place and let your kids play and tire themselves out, pick up a cup of coffee from Starbucks, and return that impulse buy from Nordstrom all while only getting the kids in and out of the car once is one of the tangible ways I know that God loves me. Sorry, I got off subject there, back to my Miss Judgey moment....
I had both kids in the double stroller, and we were heading to the car maneuvering our way around a long line of people waiting to order food. In that line were several business man, and one twenty-something girl wearing a fitted cropped tank and leggings. I remember seeing her out of the corner of my eye and thinking to myself, "God, please don't let my daughter ever be THAT girl." Now, I will argue for modesty ALL day long and truly think it matters, but I wasn't just thinking of the lack of modesty of her outfit. I was assigning all kinds of negative character traits to her based on that outfit, things I couldn't actually know about her. And then the next second happened. Just a few feet from the young woman I was busy judging, a frail, elderly woman who was getting her morning exercise in the mall tripped and fell flat on her face. All of the dozen or so people in the vicinity, including myself, immediately reacted with concern. Several people knelt down to check on her. I pulled out my phone and after a quick consultation with the three people kneeling down close to her, called 911. The poor woman was not moving, and while conscious, was bleeding from a would we later learned was on her chin.
For the first few minutes, everyone stayed nearby expressing concern, looking for ways to help. When the mall security guard arrived, several people moved on getting back to their shopping or eating or ordering their lunch. A moment later when the police officer arrived, only a couple of us were still standing by ready to help. Ten minutes later when the EMTs arrived to take her to the hospital, only one person was still kneeling by her side. That person was not the professionally dressed gentleman who first asked her if she was okay. It was not the older, motherly figure who had shown such concern and thanked me for calling 911. Yep, you guessed it. It was THAT girl. Without a bit of regard for herself, that midriff bearing, twenty-something had knelt by the woman's side as though it was her own grandmother. She was the one who asked her name first. She was the one who looked around the crowd and asked if anyone was with her. She was the one who made sure I was calling 911. She was the one who dug in her purse and pulled out a wet wipe to clean the blood from the sweet woman's hands. She was the one who was holding her hand and whispering comforting words as the EMTs began to check her out. As distressed as I was for the poor, injured 91-year-old woman, I was incredibly moved by the compassion of this young woman. I wasn't the only one to notice her. My two-year-old daughter saw her actions and asked me if she was the lady's mother. In her mind, the person that takes care of you when you're hurt is mama and through eyes that couldn't yet distinguish the vast age difference, she just saw actions of the young woman towards the injured woman and came to the only conclusion that made sense to her.
Suddenly, I went from thinking, "God, please don't let my daughter ever be THAT girl," to "God, please let my daughter grow up to be THAT girl!". Of course, I want her to dress modestly and I'm teaching her that. However, that was not the thing that caught her eye or convicted my heart. My daughter got to witness the story of the Good Samaritan played out in modern times right in front of her. This young woman was of a different generation, a different race, and who knows what other differences existed between her and the sweet elderly woman on the ground. The dozen or so others who were closer in age, of the same race, and probably the ones I would have expected to stay and help had all gone on about their day, but this young lady didn't think twice about staying and helping. Later that day, my daughter asked about the lady who fell down. She wanted to pray for her again. She prayed for God to make her feel better, and then she prayed for the "other lady", the one who helped her. In the weeks that have followed, when she has thought of the incident, she has asked about the lady that fell down, and she always asks about the "other lady", the one who helped her. I don't know anything about that young woman. I don't know what she believes or how she lives, but I know in that moment she modeled Jesus. She did exactly what Christ has called us to do in such a moment. I was convicted in that moment of my personal failure in judging someone that I knew nothing about. In that moment of prejudice, Christ was saying to me, "Janay, don't you be THAT girl!" I was convicted in that moment and I was also inspired, inspired to be sure that my actions are like the ones of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10 and the "good samaritan" we saw in the mall that day. I can hear Christ saying to me exactly what He said at the end of that parable in verse 37, "Go, and do likewise" or as I hear it in my head, "Go, be THAT girl." I intend to do just that.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Saturday, May 7, 2016
My Mother's Day Mix
I know. You thought you were going to get a really cool playlist to jam to this Mother's Day. I might try to come up with one after I write this, but we're not going to all agree on the same songs, so I might as well confess right away that this title is more about the mixed emotions I'm experiencing as I approach this Mother's Day and not my latest playlist on Amazon Music or iTunes. In the past I have written about the pain of approaching Mother's Day after miscarriages and infertility struggles, the anticipation and empathy I experienced as a pregnant mom-to-be one Mother's Day, and the joy of celebrating Mother's Day with little ones calling me mama. The one thing I can say that has been consistent is that Mother's Day is charged with emotion for us as women, both positive and negative ones. Whether our focus is on a struggle with our own mother, a longing to be a mom, the joys of motherhood, or the need to rediscover our identify outside of being "mommy", we never seem to face this day in neutral. True to form, I'm approaching Mother's Day 2016 with some big emotions and fresh perspective on God.
On March 13th of this year, four years to the day, and two adorable children since my second miscarriage, I experienced my third miscarriage. Another baby in heaven. Another life that won't take a breath on this earth. Even after two miscarriages and a frank diagnosis from my infertility specialist that assured me I would be highly likely to miscarry a future pregnancy again, I was still caught off guard. It had only been a week before when I realized I was expecting again. My husband and I found ourselves laughing hysterically throughout that day after the plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test. I mean, when you have a not yet two year-old singing Adele at the top of her lungs standing a few feet away from an almost one year-old attempting to take his first steps and possibly singing along (if that's what you call that sound), you can't help but laugh at the prospect of adding one more bundle of joyful chaos to the mix. Typical of me, my brain wanted to start running through the "where are we going to put this kid" scenarios right away, but my husband said one of the greatest things he's ever said to me that day, "Let's just be excited and enjoy it and not get caught up in the details." Immediately, I shut down the logistical side of my brain, grabbed his hand and dove headfirst into the joy. We spent the next seven days giggling and exchanging looks that only come when you have a really fun secret. There was no panic, no fear, no anxiety, no worry, just pure, unadulterated joy at the idea of changing our family title from The Wilborn IV to The Wilborn V. I wasn't braced for the worst, in fact it didn't even cross my mind.
So, when that Sunday morning came, and I realized the worst was happening...again... I was completely surprised. It wasn't the speeding car slamming into the brick wall shock of my first miscarriage, but it was definitely the feeling of a rug being pulled out from under me. I was heartbroken, shedding tears, and filled with grief, but I was also surprised to find myself simultaneously joyful, hopeful and filled with gratitude. The first two times, I could not claim any of those three things in the first days and weeks afterwards, but here I was, in the midst of the experience, thanking God. What was different? Certainly, the presence of my two living little ones running in and out of rooms, giggling and giving me sweet kisses served as a balm for my broken heart. I have seen the goodness of the Lord in my children and live with a confidence in Him that I didn't know before they were born and that was definitely the source of my joy. I have also seen all the ways that God has used my past pain to help others. I can not enumerate the conversations I've had, emails I've received, or hugs I've shared with other women who have struggled with the loss of children or the emptiness of infertility. I've seen God use my words to bring comfort and hope, to replace loneliness with a sense of community, to bolster a weary spirit. My hope came from knowing that God would once again use what I was going through to bring glory to His kingdom and spread compassion to His daughters. My gratitude was directed completely toward God for the incredible man He has blessed me with as a husband. That I get to hold, my husband's hand through these valleys of life is an incredible blessing that I do not take for granted. I have watched marriages fall apart around us, I've seen some plateau into a numb co-existence, and I recognize that the fact that we are thriving is God's grace combined with our own commitment to make our marriage work and work well! We have dug in through tough seasons, sought counseling when needed (even when it was not fun AT ALL), and, most importantly, yielded to the Holy Spirit and worked on ourselves to be better people--and by that I mean, I work on me and he works on him, just to be clear :). We are not perfect, nor is our marriage, but I can say our marriage is strong because of Christ. Our faith in the Lord is even greater than it was before we ever uttered the word miscarriage years ago. Our faith in each other is greater than it was when we exchanged rings almost seven years ago, and that is all due to the love, grace, and power of the Holy Spirit working in us and through us.
Tomorrow, I will celebrate being a mother. I will have lots of happy moments as I look at my wrecking crew of two here on earth. I will shed a few tears for my babies in heaven: the one I foolishly sent there myself some 18 years ago, the two I lost just months apart three years ago, and the one that just joined them this March. I will celebrate being a mother of all 6 of my children, because I am. I will not try to just have one emotion or one feeling about the day, because it isn't possible. On it's best day, motherhood is a mix of emotions. My encouragement to all of you out there is to simply feel whatever you need to feel tomorrow. If it is regret and grief for a child you aborted, feel it. If it is sorrow for a child you miscarried, feel it. If it is longing for a child that lived for a time, but has gone on to be with God, feel it. If it is joy for a new baby in your arms this year, feel it. If it is happiness for the little one or ones running around your house armed with crayons and legos, feel it. If it is frustration with a teenager working to redefine the word attitude, feel it. If it is apprehension for an adult child who has lost his or her way in the world, feel it. Feel all those things, because all of those feelings come with the title of mother. Feel it, but cover those feelings with your faith in a God who is bigger than your pain, greater than your fears, and the provider of your joy. Let you faith in God be the thing that carries you through the day as it is the only thing that will carry us all through this journey that is motherhood. Feelings will take us on a roller coaster ride of ups and downs that make navigating life on our own impossible, but God is constant and when our faith in Him is constant, we can get through anything with joy, hope, and a thankful heart!
On March 13th of this year, four years to the day, and two adorable children since my second miscarriage, I experienced my third miscarriage. Another baby in heaven. Another life that won't take a breath on this earth. Even after two miscarriages and a frank diagnosis from my infertility specialist that assured me I would be highly likely to miscarry a future pregnancy again, I was still caught off guard. It had only been a week before when I realized I was expecting again. My husband and I found ourselves laughing hysterically throughout that day after the plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test. I mean, when you have a not yet two year-old singing Adele at the top of her lungs standing a few feet away from an almost one year-old attempting to take his first steps and possibly singing along (if that's what you call that sound), you can't help but laugh at the prospect of adding one more bundle of joyful chaos to the mix. Typical of me, my brain wanted to start running through the "where are we going to put this kid" scenarios right away, but my husband said one of the greatest things he's ever said to me that day, "Let's just be excited and enjoy it and not get caught up in the details." Immediately, I shut down the logistical side of my brain, grabbed his hand and dove headfirst into the joy. We spent the next seven days giggling and exchanging looks that only come when you have a really fun secret. There was no panic, no fear, no anxiety, no worry, just pure, unadulterated joy at the idea of changing our family title from The Wilborn IV to The Wilborn V. I wasn't braced for the worst, in fact it didn't even cross my mind.
So, when that Sunday morning came, and I realized the worst was happening...again... I was completely surprised. It wasn't the speeding car slamming into the brick wall shock of my first miscarriage, but it was definitely the feeling of a rug being pulled out from under me. I was heartbroken, shedding tears, and filled with grief, but I was also surprised to find myself simultaneously joyful, hopeful and filled with gratitude. The first two times, I could not claim any of those three things in the first days and weeks afterwards, but here I was, in the midst of the experience, thanking God. What was different? Certainly, the presence of my two living little ones running in and out of rooms, giggling and giving me sweet kisses served as a balm for my broken heart. I have seen the goodness of the Lord in my children and live with a confidence in Him that I didn't know before they were born and that was definitely the source of my joy. I have also seen all the ways that God has used my past pain to help others. I can not enumerate the conversations I've had, emails I've received, or hugs I've shared with other women who have struggled with the loss of children or the emptiness of infertility. I've seen God use my words to bring comfort and hope, to replace loneliness with a sense of community, to bolster a weary spirit. My hope came from knowing that God would once again use what I was going through to bring glory to His kingdom and spread compassion to His daughters. My gratitude was directed completely toward God for the incredible man He has blessed me with as a husband. That I get to hold, my husband's hand through these valleys of life is an incredible blessing that I do not take for granted. I have watched marriages fall apart around us, I've seen some plateau into a numb co-existence, and I recognize that the fact that we are thriving is God's grace combined with our own commitment to make our marriage work and work well! We have dug in through tough seasons, sought counseling when needed (even when it was not fun AT ALL), and, most importantly, yielded to the Holy Spirit and worked on ourselves to be better people--and by that I mean, I work on me and he works on him, just to be clear :). We are not perfect, nor is our marriage, but I can say our marriage is strong because of Christ. Our faith in the Lord is even greater than it was before we ever uttered the word miscarriage years ago. Our faith in each other is greater than it was when we exchanged rings almost seven years ago, and that is all due to the love, grace, and power of the Holy Spirit working in us and through us.
Tomorrow, I will celebrate being a mother. I will have lots of happy moments as I look at my wrecking crew of two here on earth. I will shed a few tears for my babies in heaven: the one I foolishly sent there myself some 18 years ago, the two I lost just months apart three years ago, and the one that just joined them this March. I will celebrate being a mother of all 6 of my children, because I am. I will not try to just have one emotion or one feeling about the day, because it isn't possible. On it's best day, motherhood is a mix of emotions. My encouragement to all of you out there is to simply feel whatever you need to feel tomorrow. If it is regret and grief for a child you aborted, feel it. If it is sorrow for a child you miscarried, feel it. If it is longing for a child that lived for a time, but has gone on to be with God, feel it. If it is joy for a new baby in your arms this year, feel it. If it is happiness for the little one or ones running around your house armed with crayons and legos, feel it. If it is frustration with a teenager working to redefine the word attitude, feel it. If it is apprehension for an adult child who has lost his or her way in the world, feel it. Feel all those things, because all of those feelings come with the title of mother. Feel it, but cover those feelings with your faith in a God who is bigger than your pain, greater than your fears, and the provider of your joy. Let you faith in God be the thing that carries you through the day as it is the only thing that will carry us all through this journey that is motherhood. Feelings will take us on a roller coaster ride of ups and downs that make navigating life on our own impossible, but God is constant and when our faith in Him is constant, we can get through anything with joy, hope, and a thankful heart!
"Not to us, Lord, not to us but to your name be the glory, because of your love and faithfulness." Psalm 115:1
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