Still Standing... - 7-30-10

Thinking on Ps. 27: 13, and how it says, “I would have lost heart had I not believed I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” It does not say, “had I not seen the goodness of the Lord...”

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Significant, that. It focuses on the belief as the reason for taking heart again.

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And Ephesians 6:13 about spiritual armor. It says, “...so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” Seems redundant, but it’s not. It says you first “take your stand” – everything is clear, the prize is vivid in your mind, your muscles are fresh and ready for the fight. Then, “to stand,” when you’ve done everything you can do and your sword is dangling from your numb fingers. To stand.

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Utter exhaustion. Weeping in the dark, terribly alone in the struggle, wishing so desperately God would light the beacon: It is done. I’m so desperate for this to be over. And it’s not even the big things I’ve been belieing for that are cutting me down – it’s the little things that pluck quietly at you that finally break you. But I see that and I mustn’t break. I won’t. I can’t.

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Delayna posted on Facebook this quote:

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Between you and every goal you wish to achieve, there is a series of obstacles, and the bigger the goal, the bigger the obstacles. Your decision to be, have, and do something out of the ordinary entails facing difficulties and challenges that are out of the ordinary as well. Sometimes your greatest asset is simply your ability to stay with it longer than anyone else.

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Ain’t that the truth. And I want God’s timing. I just can’t think right now of how much longer it might be. Because when you get right down to it, I’m overhauling my whole life. Every area. Big things and little things. And I can’t take a day off when I get too tired and need a break; I’ve tried that. If I’m not focusing on and visualizing my future, all I have to occupy the 60,000 thoughts I fill a day with is my present, and that’s a guaranteed slump of depression. My future is my only hope, my only pleasure. Not focusing on that is not an option. And this is going to take a while. I don’t do things by halves, do I?

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I’ve felt all summer that I’m on the cusp of finally seeing all my seeds beginning to sprout. Maybe that’s why things have been so hard lately – a last-ditch effort to break me.

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I’m so tired. I just want it to be over. All of it. Even the good things. For goodness sake, I’m sick of some of these goals – they’re thirty years old! Let’s have some new struggles, or oh, let’s not have any at all for just a little while. Let’s have a day or two or three where I get to just bask. I don’t know what it’s like to wake up and find it all easy. And even though life is not stagnant and you can’t float along in complete ease and harmony indefinitely, I need a little floating. I need a little ease. I need not to be alone.

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I did ask God to talk to me, to help me. And even though what I really want to hear, oh, Lord, how lovely, is, “It’s all over now,” I am sensible of his validation. Here is the order of my random flippings through my Bible:

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“He has alienated my brothers from me; my acquaintances are completely estranged from me. My kinsmen have gone away, my friends have forgotten me.”

- Job 19:13-14

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“What if some did not have faith? Will their lack of faith nullify God’s faithfulness? Not at all!”

- Romans 3:3-4

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“...we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

- 2 Corinthians 10:5

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“You are only looking at the surface of things.”

- 2 Corinthians 10:7

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“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

- James 1:12

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That’s God. That’s his message. Is it over yet? Doesn’t look like it. But I am not alone, and I have hope, though I can’t feel it now. Because I’m not standing my ground. I’m just standing.

Coincidence - 7-28-10

Coincidence is never just coincidence.

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This morning, I checked Facebook and Lacie had posted this:

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I’ve really been dwelling on Ps. 27:14. Read today in my Bible’s Lexical Aid that the Hebrew word for “be brave” is the same one used 12 times in Exodus to describe Pharaoh’s stubborn, stout-hearted refusal to let the Israelites free. Neat that the Psalmist uses that same kind of picture of stubbornness to describe what our hope and expectancy in the Lord should be.

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Same verse I found last night, different version. Lacie’s version was probably New Living Translation: “Yet I am confident I will see the Lord’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living. Wait patiently for the Lord and be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.”

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So my stubbornness is being tested yet again. I should be used to this. Oh, well. Into the breach once more, boys.

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It did help, though. Thanks, God.

Nevermind, I'll Do It On My Own! - 7-28-10

Jeez. Seriously, why do I bother? What is it that keep itching me to share? Have I just been alone too long?

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I shared my Rumplestiltskin story I’d been working on every day for several weeks with my mother. The thing is practically writing itself. I had asked God if I would actually sit down and write, would he please help me with connecting all my ideas. After all, that was always my trouble with writing: waiting until I “felt” like it or knew beforehand what I was going to write. But one thing this past year has taught me has been not to worry about my last step, just my next one. And I’m tough enough and mature enough not to worry about the feeling and just get down to it. And God has come through. I’ve barely done any editing and it’s really knitting together. I know my target demographic and have read many books like this one, and mine could stand with them in this genre.

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And I get that Mom and Dad aren’t big readers and when they do, they prefer fast-paced, humorous spy thrillers. So I understand that this wouldn’t have been their cup of tea anyway. But my mom read all of it and just couldn’t find anything really positive to say. My dad didn’t make it past page 12 and had only critique. I don’t know which is worse.

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And it wasn’t even like I needed their approval to pin down my own opinion about my work. I knew exactly what I thought of it before even thinking of asking anyone else. And I couldn’t tell you why exactly I did decide to share it. Did I just want a little encouragement, an “atta boy”? Did I want someone, anyone to know what I’m doing with my top-secret life? Maybe I simply needed someone to support me, to believe in me so I wasn’t doing it all on my own.

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That’s 0 for 2. Not a great track record.

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And it didn’t change anything. What they thought changed nothing of what I know about my writing. But the thought that came to mind and felt good because it felt like truth was, “That’s okay; I’ve been doing this on my own this long. I can finish it up that way.” I do feel that way. I’ve been alone all along, I’m still alone, and I’ll be alone for yet another while. But a tickle between my shoulder blades hinted that that probably wasn’t the thought God wanted me to hold onto.

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But jeez! I have to wonder if I just want too much. I’m still waiting. For things I’ve waited, at best, a few years for, and at worst, my entire life for. I’ve never been satisfied with some. All has been my only option. Does that explain why I’m still waiting, dammit, for my life to begin, for the good life to reach me? If I had only wanted a little, would my wait be over? Is it just that I want so damn much that it’ll take my whole youth to arrange it all? That can’t be right. All along I’ve been standing on the truth that God won’t waste me, and if I spend my entire youth waiting, I’m sorry – I may have no choice, but that’ll be a bit of a waste. I may be utterly incapable of changing my nature to slake my hunger for the whole world with hors d’oeurves, but am I always to wait? And wait alone?

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Maybe I was right in sharing my journey and just incorrect in my choice of who. I’m beginning to suspect that through this whole separation experience when I’ve had no one to back me up but myself and God, when I’ve had no one who even knew anything about what my life had become, perhaps my parents and I have simply gravitated to different frequencies. How disappointed I’ve been, and how many disappointments those were stacked upon. Maybe there’s really no one yet to understand me the way B____ did. Maybe Mom and Dad just can’t help me because they don’t get me.

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It’s not their fault. It’s not. I should say Mom made a point of conceding her reading preferences and my superior knowledge of my audience. It didn’t keep her concession from seeming like a pathetic consolation prize. Her comparison with a previous scathing review by my aunt of another manuscript of mine didn’t make me feel a whole lot better. And she still didn’t mention the quality of my writing or the originality of my reinvention. So I guess all her concessions just weren’t enough.

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I’m still on my own and only God is holding me back from telling all the useless people milling about, “Go screw yourselves. I don’t need anybody.”

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“I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!”

- Psalm 27:13-14

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“Let us not grow weary while doing good for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”

- Galations 6:9

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“I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Jesus Christ.”

- Philippians 3:14

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“Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

- Hebrews 12:1

An Impossible Wish Come True - 7-14-10

I have a dog. Have had for a couple of months, just hadn’t gotten around to journaling about her. She is, quite simply, an answer to a long-standing prayer.

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Ever since Cinnamon died six years ago, I have wanted another dog just like her, even though that was nothing short of impossible since Cinnamon was a grade-A mutt. We never knew what breed she was, though we suspected. So how could there be another like her? What other dog could have fur just that length that lays just that way? A plumed tail like that? Fur at her little floppy triangle ears that crimps when wet? Delicate paws and liquid brown eyes? Not to mention all the indefinable quirks and corners of her personality that made her such a perfect lady?

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Well, the answer is this dog. Felene is like a little fawn in her grace and elegant little built. Except for being a bit lighter in color – a true fawn rather than dusky Cinnamon – and missing the little tufted feet, she is a dead ringer for Cinnamon. I even wanted a slightly larger dog than Cinnamon because I started running after she died, and this one fits that bill, too. She is lovely to look at and enchanting to watch, as so many of her behaviors smack of Cinnamon more than any other dog.

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As if the looks weren’t enough, her personality is perfect. She is far more intelligent than Cinnamon, which suits me fine, as I’m more rigorous in training her than I was with Cinnamon. She already seemed to know some commands before ever coming to me and is learning more. She is smart and spunky, sweet and loving, and pretty to boot.

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It is impossible that she should be sitting at my feet now, gnawing on her bone. She should not exist. There could only be one random mix of breeds that led to Cinnamon, but I’ve had two. My parents marvel at how like Cinnamon she is, she melted their hearts from the first. This is the Secret in action, you skeptics. It took six years of careful breeding to get just the right mix of looks and personality. She was made just for me – designed to order, specific in all her parts. And she came to me at just the right age – 9 months – so puppyhood and all its frustrations were fading and I’d still have her for almost all of her life.

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It is possible – to put an impossible wish out to the great cosmic void and have it return to me. And it took six years because it took such careful breeding. It dizzies my mind to think of all the care that had to go into the design of this dog. But she was worth the wait. As soon as she came into my life on May 24, I didn’t think any longer of the long wait. It didn’t matter. She was worth the wait and she was finally here.

Shame - 7-10-10

Wow. I officially regret sharing my journey. And isn’t it always the way that the attacks you expect never come but other attacks come from completely unexpected directions with deadly accuracy? Mom suspected the truth about B____ before she even got to those entries and shrugged, saying, “You love you who love.” But it was the entries about my darkest moments, my deepest recesses of despair, that gave my parents the most explosive ammo. Several days of their direst warnings never to share those things with my husband for the ammo it would give him, and to take my blog off the Internet now, and I’m wishing with all my heart I had kept it all to myself.

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I understand they’re reeling in shock right now and letting their fearful thoughts of how a few decisions can utterly wreck my entire life run wild, and I get that this is probably just part of the journey. I understand that at this point all they have are my weaknesses and haven’t yet seen the solid strength and toughness I have gained. Still, I completely own that my belief that I did get confirmation after confirmation that God wanted me to share this journey AND my feelings that I/he made a terrible mistake are currently irreconcilable. I’ll just have to suck it up and trudge through to the time when I see it actually helped matters that I shared with my parents.

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But here’s the thing. Hearing them warn me and admonish me about my choices then and now makes me feel, for the first time in a year and a half, exactly like I did at the time of those journal entries. My parents’ concern that I keep this from my husband stemmed from their fear that one day he might use that against me and turn his family against me and take my kids away. Wow. So no one would love me if they knew the full truth. If they knew just how weak I would always be. Never mind the fact that I am in no way the same person now, after only a year and a half, let alone after more years. Never mind that it is only those dark places that could help others in the same place relate to me, as I try to help and guide. Never mind that the testimony of what God has done in a life never broken or stained can’t compare to the beaming hope found in the testimony of someone who had reached the far reaches of hopelessness, despair, and brokenness only to have God somehow put that life back together even better and brighter than before. Never mind that there are so many broken people in the world who would slap my face as soon as look at me if I was Miss Mary Sunshine, but who may just hear God in my voice, see him in my skin, feel him in my eyes.

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Never mind all that. All that I believe. But boy, did they make me feel damaged again, as damaged as when signs of my despair were still raw and real. I felt damaged, wrong, ashamed, even as my belief was untouched. My belief that my life is a miracle of the first order, my belief that I am not who I was, that God has forgiven and cleansed and justified. Just now, that untarnished belief is buried under the feeling of being a second-class citizen, in the same manner as one who can’t share hopes and plans of family and marriage until she “gets a date first.” I feel like I don’t have the same rights as others to the life I dream of – my mistakes are too great, too dark, too irredeemable. I found I couldn’t look at my reflection in my rearview mirror on the way home, that I couldn’t watch TV or movies that had a hint of romance in it because I didn’t feel worthy of it, that I couldn’t even look God in the face, so to speak, because I felt so wrong.

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But you see, I am not so weak as I once was. I know how to take those thoughts captive and not let them build on themselves. I know what I know, and dammit, I know the truth!

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I know I have every right to the recklessly happy life I dream of and have been working towards for so long. I know my God has made me pure, looks on me in love, speaks of me with bursting pride. He sees no broken toy soldier, but a lovely china doll. I know what they say about my husband is so wrong I don’t even need to consider it. They are projecting their own newfound shame of their unforgivably weak daughter on everyone else in the world. Other people wouldn’t see me in a permanently yellowed light because of this. I know for a fact that God would not start this amazing work in my life, make me wait so long, just for a fair-weather man who would overlook all I’ve overcome to focus on one weak moment. I am so much safer than that.

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Not to mention I couldn’t love like that. My mother often cracks up at what comes out of my mouth because I’m so honest, even about myself, and I don’t hide my flaws or shy away from telling it like it is. That’s because that’s who I am. I couldn’t ever trust a man who didn’t know the worst of me because I would never know if he would love me “if he knew.” How many of us dread those three words in our relationships and as a result never let someone know the full glory of us? And I wouldn’t go years holding back a dirty little secret from someone as close as a husband, to have to be handy with an excuse if he asked about my scars. I can’t sustain that omission for a lifetime.

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And what they don’t know is that their point is moot. I already told B____, after a few weeks together when he was sharing his deepest wounds. I knew he needed to know at that point in the relationship so he could make an informed decision and leave me then before it went any further if he couldn’t be with someone with those kinds of experiences. Do you know what he did? He got up from his chair, came over to me, and kissed my wrist. He looked in my eyes and said he was so sorry I had to go through that. And he didn’t leave. And then later, in a completely separate conversation, he brought it up and said, “You know, when I see that, I don’t think how weak you were. I think what a survivor you are. You go into that same situation day after day, try to do a good job, you don’t quit.” And you wonder why I insist he’s the best. Who else would have done that? Who else would not have hesitated but offered such freely-given compassion from a good, pure heart? Somebody else who knows about wounds. Somebody who understands beauty is sometimes stitched together with jagged thread. Someone with great worth. This is how I know his worth.

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I defy Mom and Dad’s fearful belief. I defy their sense that all I have accomplished and gained is not enough to overcome my past, that in the end I am only worth what I can hide about myself. Despite their shame of me, and the shameful feeling it inspires in me, I stand tall with unbowed neck, knowing I am stronger than the both of them put together. They have always remained strong and hopeful, but I have reached depths they never dreamed of, every bone in my body broken or twisted, and still managed to rise to this point, where I can be just as isolated as I was before but know this time I am not alone and I am tough enough not to break. God’s love and great power will be clearly visible in my life because people will know how bad it can be, how hopeless, and God can still reach down and rescue you. No depth is too far for him to reach, no dark too thick for him to see. I am proof of that.

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So let them be ashamed, let them be alarmed. I will not cower, I will not cave. I will do things my way and my way is God’s way. I will demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God and take every thought captive.

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This is by far the most cunning attack of the enemy, to use the honest concern of my dearest family, not to stop at making me feel unlovely and invisible, but damaged goods and ashamed of what I cannot help. But I recognize it for what it is, and I am not done fighting.

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I am Nicole.

The Last Day of School - 6-18-10

The last day of school. Good God. Even though the last couple of weeks have been the easiest of the year, with no SOLs to prepare for, no lessons to plan, and far less stress about paperwork than everyone else has been feeling, I’m exhausted. I should have left school today jubilant, exultant, singing to the heavens, wriggling with joy. Instead, with every mile I put between me and the school, my mood darkened and my brow lowered. I could read the signs: I was brooding. And have been since I left.

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And I have better indication, ironically, than I’ve ever had on any other last day because I am going to be contacted by Central Corp. for a second interview. I never wrote about that, I realize. Other things crowding my mind, I suppose. Yeah, the day after I wrote that journal entry during Spring Break about job-hunting oh-so-reluctantly with Mom, Central Corp. returned my call and invited me in for an interview the next week, and that interview was smashing. My, how I’ve grown in two years. I don’t even recognize myself now. And my worry aboutnot being able to distinguish between a job I wanted on its own merit and one I just saw as an escape was nullified. I want this job. I want to work for this company. I want to be a member of this family. And as the weeks wore on after the interview, I also came to realize that what I had at one time thought was my ideal job – College Textbook Sales Representative – for which I really would be perfect, was actually not so perfect for me. I don’t want to have anything even remotely connected to education, even college education. I shouldn’t have to devote one more iota of my energy to education when I get a new job and am released.

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I have done enough. I have served my sentence, done my time, without complaint for many months, and I am due for parole. It’s time for me to rejoin the human race. And I truly believe I have earned Central Corp.

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So why should I be brooding? I think part of it is I am so ready for my life to change, for all these countless seeds I have been faithfully planting to begin sprouting. I honestly don’t remember what it’s like to have fun in my life or to look forward to my life. I know now what it is to have faith that something good is in store, but the feeling of experiencing it in the here and now has been harder to find in the last two years than Sasquatch. I’m ready to know what it’s like not to have to marshal my forces every damn morning, not to dread my life, not to be alone in this. So part of my brooding is that readiness.

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But most of it, I think, is just plain exhaustion. I think, now that I don’t have to muster the troops for tomorrow, and then another tomorrow, and still another tomorrow, now that I’ve reached my last tomorrow, the sheer mass of the year is now crashing down on me. I’m allowed now to really feel just how hard this year has been.

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But through that diamond-hard weariness is the truth of which I can be proud.

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This year has yielded a lot of harvest. This past year has taught me to suffer in silence and alone. How to be stoic where I once was whining. I know what it is to fail and not give up, to fail and get back up and try again tomorrow, to fail and get back up and try again tomorrow, to fail and get back up and try again tomorrow. I know now what it is to keep falling short of the mark and still see the worth in my efforts, to still see the integrity of my purpose – not to be a great teacher or impact these children’s lives, but to honor and glorify God, to obey what he has told me to do. I know now, as I never did, that the commandment to love your enemies is not a suggestion and isn’t always defined by those who hate you. Sometimes it’s those you yourself hate. I learned what it is to struggle with hatred that just wouldn’t go away and let God show me how to show love even when I didn’t feel it, because he loves them.

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I know, because of this year, how to believe. When all fails and sight is gone and there’s nothing to believe in anymore, to yet believe. I have learned how strong I am and how much stronger God is. I can stand and fight and be stubborn and not give in. I’ve seen worth in what I’ve thought worthless and hope when hope had run out.

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I have discovered my name and my purpose. I know my identity in Christ and for the first time understood that Jesus dying and rising again wasn’t just to save me from a life of sin. That never had the impact on me it had on others who’d crawled the green mile of life. I was a goody-two-shoes raised in a bubble – what great sin had I ever managed to get into? But because he did what he did, I have God’s Spirit in me always, even when I fall short of the mark for the four-hundredth time and just don’t see how to do better. I never have to be separated from God by anything now, which is so very essential. I couldn’t do all this without him. I wouldn’t still be breathing on this earth if not for him staying close by my side.

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I’ve learned that when my resources are low and all is dark and the last feeling has fled and I feel so alone, I can still be absolutely certain God is right there, so close he is breathing on me in the blackness. That is huge – that my faith and my feelings can diverge and after thirty years, my faith wins out.

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I know now what it is to stand on what I know in my heart in the face of 360˚ opposition, and not back down.

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Yes, I have seen worth in the worthless and I will continue to see more worth emerge for the rest of my life from this worthless career. I have been changed, callused from my trek in the wilderness which is probably not over yet, and my family and my people will benefit from that for generations to come.

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So let the brooding, bone-deep exhaustion wash over me. It’ll end and I’ll still be here, waiting for the first bloom to finally show.

Should I or Shouldn't I? - 6-13-10

A couple of words I’ve received lately have been urging me to “share the burden” with someone. At first I was completely confounded: with whom would I share this utterly bizarre, foolish path I’ve been trekking alone? Who would possibly not only accept it but embrace it with me?

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As I thought and prayed about it, my parents kept coming to mind. But how can that be when they’re already questioning my mental health? Jeez, they’d commit me straight-out if they knew the full truth.

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And that’s what has kept nudging me: they don’t know the entirety of the situation. They’re like the blind mice from the story who are feeling different parts of an elephant and claiming it’s a rope, it’s a tree trunk, it’s a snake, never getting close to the truth because they’re blind.

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It wasn’t until I suddenly was faced with the possibility that this separation experience, which very recently has begun to wear, might be nearing its end that I was able to even conceive of another scenario. It could be that my parents, who’ve supported me in every other venture before even when they’ve had their misgivings or reservations, would just feel relief that they finally know the nature of the beast they’ve been struggling with.

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And what if they don’t in fact think I’m crazy or dangerously foolish or mentally unbalanced when they read my entire blog of these journal entries? What if, once they’ve gotten over the shock, they prove once again to be the essentially practical people I’ve always known and get down to the business of dealing with what is actually on the table, whether they expected it or not? Maybe it’s time they see that the beast they’ve been mistakenly identifying is actually the elephant in the room.

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I’m praying over this. That really goes without saying. My concern is to protect them from as much worry and anxiety as I can. I’ve been trying to do that since December. But how effective have I been when they know no rest or peace about my situation, however much I reassure them that everything will work out and I’ll be fine?

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I have thought of all these journal entries to be not so much my story but God’s. This is what will show everyone when this journey is finally at an end and all my longings and efforts resolved that it was the Lord who did all this. That all of this was impossibility squared and he made it work out perfectly and beautifully. I’ve thought how much of an encouragement my story would be for so many people struggling for faith in this faithless world. But maybe for my parents, that would best be accomplished if they didn’t learn of this journey at the end but rather now, at this particular point, so they can help me along. It was from my meeting with B____ and all the wrestling that followed that my parents’ faith actually began to be revived. My father prayed over me in December, taking authority over his family in the mess of my hemorrhaging heart. My mother offered godly perspectives and advice even though she struggled so much with God. So it could indeed be not only for my relief but for their great good that I bring them into the light of full disclosure. I need a little more confirmation from the Holy Spirit before I commit to this; there’s no going back if I do. There’s no “unknowing” if the worst reaction happens. But it is actually possible that they would take into consideration the nature of this woman they’ve known for three decades and remember that she is not foolish or heedless. She thinks and considers and gives heed to wisdom. And if she says there is no one else, maybe, just maybe, she’s right. And maybe, just maybe, it is her stubbornness that writes a happy ending.

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And who knows? Maybe if all three of us were united in this purpose that has no remedy, no cure, it’ll bring all this to its crescendo all the more quickly. After all, when two or more are gathered in his name, there the Lord is. And when my father prayed over me with my mother that horrible December night, my broken heart was bound far faster than it otherwise would have. I shudder to think how I would have scraped through my days and awful nights for however long if he hadn’t brought me under God’s hand and if I hadn’t remained obedient.

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But I am deeply concerned for them, for their peace of mind. And my question is which option will build their faith, show them God more clearly, and bring them peace of mind: keeping them in the dark or bringing them into the full truth? I’m not so concerned for me. I don’t worry for my resolve. I have brought my desires and my boundless love into obedience to God for too long for it not to be sanctified. And I now know that that question, “If B____ is really what you want, are you willing to wait as long as it takes?” was indeed from God. He didn’t really give confirmation beyond the follow-up question, “Will God not move you away from this purpose if it is not from him? Has he not shown himself worthy of that trust?” The real confirmation came with time. It came as I realized that just as there was no one else for thirty years, there will never be anyone else. I was designed for one man alone. I was a freak for so long I got used to standing alone and it was a good thing – I had the resolve to wait for him as long as it takes. I don’t know if it’s how I was raised or how I was made, but I have never been able to settle for less than the best. I wait for the best, whether it comes or not. I know I was created this way as truly, as solidly, as I know God exists. This is how I was made. So no argument will stand against that. You can say it is foolish and incorrect, that B____ will never come back, that I am setting myself up for a lifetime of barren loneliness, that I am just afraid of moving on, that I’m crazy, you name it, I’ve either heard it or thought it. And I have no rebuttal. I am the worst lawyer in this case. I simply smile, shrug, and say, “That’s how I’m made.” And I have thirty years and a lot of dates behind me to back it up. There will never be anyone else. And if it’s just a matter of waiting, so be it.

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And I have definitely faced the argument that every day that passes is one less day my eggs are viable. The science backs it up. The testimonies of those older women are all heartbreakingly true. But that’s 2 Corinthians 10:5 right there: I am in obedience to God in this. I have received confirmation after confirmation that I am exactly where I’m supposed to be in my life. So I refuse those “lofty thinking and arguments and pretensions and theories” and take every thought captive. I take them. God’s not the one who’s supposed to do that.

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And hey, let’s face it, my God can do anything he wants. He made a virgin conceive – uh, what? That’s not physically possible. And he made an old, barren womb fertile. I have been obedient. And as surely as I know I was born for B____ M____, I know I was made to have children. Every day of my life has been building a legacy for them. They are the reason for all this.

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So we’ll see what happens. We’ll see if my parents can be trusted with this unheard-of truth and if they can support me. And we’ll see what miracles God can work in their long-wearied faith. After all, my parents are “my people,” too, along with the M____ clan and Jessica and Bryan. And they are marked for freedom and fullness.

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“The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

-- 2 Corinthians 10:4-5

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“And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ.”

-- Philippians 1:9

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“Continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his great purpose.”

-- Philippians 2:12-13

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“For this reason, we have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding. And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and my please him in every way, bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you might have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light.”

-- Colossians 1:9-12

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What if . . . just what if . . . I’m not crazy, people? What if this really is going to happen and all these people I have claimed are actually going to see the fruition of all these verses? What if God really does still perform miracles?

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What if?

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Those are gloriously liberating, terrifyingly limitless words. Amen!

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“We pray . . . that by his power he may fulfill every good purpose of yours and every act prompted by faith.”

-- 2 Thessalonians 1:11

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“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.”

-- Hebrews 10:23

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“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

-- Hebrews 11:1