Trust

Months later, I’ve accepted - even enjoyed - this truth that our family is now 7. I haven’t held her in my arms yet, but she’s definitely a part of this family. Yet, still, there’s this boulder in the pit of my soul that keeps asking those questions brought to the surface by those two little lines. What if all I’ve believed in is a fairy tale? What if all of this religion is just... religion? What if none of this really matters? Then, what? What purpose do I have? To raise kids? To teach English? It all seems so worthless then. 

And the day-to-day of the future still looms before me, like a mountain casting shadows over everything. How will I manage 5 children? All 8 and under? The youngest 3 will be 3 and under! I’ve known some wonderful moms to raise 3 kids 3 and under, but there are two more older! (Not to mention, those moms seem to be so much better at it all than I am.) How will we pay to feed them, clothe them, for childcare, for medical bills? The monthly budget is already stretched tight, with no raises for perhaps years in the future. 

With white knuckles, I try to hold on to the things that I’ve felt were true even in the darkest wells. Nature. Creation. It has to point to a Creator. But, does that Creator really care about me? The Bible seems to say so. Is that enough for me? That The Book says it’s true, so it must be? Do I need more? Does that make me a bad believer? I guess it doesn’t really make me a believer at all. If I have proof of something, then I don’t “believe” it; I know it. If I want to believe something, I have to trust something, namely the one telling me, or at least the facts presented. So, is that what I’m lacking? Trust? Is that why I’ve only attained “religion” and not “relationship”? Is that why I don’t believe, deep in my soul, that God delights in me, as so many have told me He does? Is it that I don’t trust? What, then, don’t I trust? God? The Bible? Christians? Well, I know the answer to one of those. I don’t trust Christians - people - in general. They’ll lie and cheat just like every other human. I trust individuals, but not all. So, then, is it the Bible? Is it God? 

It’s hard for a person with a brain wired like mine to trust in God. I don’t trust much of anything. I need proof. You tell me this medicine works - prove it. I want to see research. You are trying to sell me the best carseat/ minivan/ carpet cleaner? Prove to me why it’s better. Show me all the details of how it works, how the competition works and why yours is better. God doesn’t work that way. He operates on trust. If I have researched carseats until I’m practically an expert (and I have), it doesn’t take much for me to trust that the seat will do its job. I know it. I don’t believe it; I’ve seen the proof; I’ve broken down the facts and figures. I don’t believe it or trust it; I know it. I can’t do that with God. I can’t prove that He exists. Sure, there are apologetics, but there are plenty of naysayers too. I have to decide, I have to choose, to simply trust, blindly. No guarantee. Only hope. 

Is that such a bad thing? Hope. Hope keeps people going in the worst of situations. In fact, hope keeps people going - hoping - when the facts, figures, and research are all dismal. When the child is dying of cancer, the mother with hope somehow gets up every morning and cherishes the moments with her kid. The mother who believes, trusts, the doctors’ predicted outcome, what does she do? She puts on a happy face for her child? And if the child dies, then what does this mother have? The promised outcome? What does the other mother have? Does she still have hope? Some do. So, in practical terms, what does it hurt to hope? To trust? To believe? What do I have to lose? Discontentment, anger, pain, anxiety? What does not trusting truly give me? A sense of control, perhaps, but only a sense. If I don’t trust, and God is still really there, He’s still in control (allowing, of course, for my free will to make decisions to trust or not to trust). And all I have to show for it would be bitterness. 

So, if I’ve decided that trust is worthwhile, how do I transfer that from the practical part of me that sees the benefits of trusting, to the heart? The heart that hurts and isn’t sure? How does it become more than simply a practical way to live? Can I push my heart to trust? Will it obey my command? I suppose the Bible says it does. And if I’m going to trust God, I have to trust the Bible. I’ll give it a try. 

This mental struggle continues for days until, reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp, she tackles this very issue. She struggles with these same questions: “Can trust be conjured up simply by sheer will, on command? I’ve got to get this thing, what it means to trust, to gut-believe in the good touch of God toward me because it’s true: I can’t fill with joy until I learn to trust: ‘May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow’ (Romans 15:13)” It’s almost like God just thumped me on the head, saying, “I am the God of HOPE. I fill you with JOY and PEACE. But I do so only as YOU TRUST. And why? Why? So that you may OVERFLOW.” Now, I’m beginning to thump myself on the head. This image that’s been bothering me, this overflowing cup, spilling over and making a mess on the new tablecloth. He uses it again. This metaphor - HIS metaphor - that I’ve been distorting. This cleverness I feel I have, He smashes it. With a look that I’ve given my kids, that you-know-perfectly-well-that’s-not-what-I-meant look, He reminds me that He wants to fill my cup with joy and peace. And what have I been doing? Running away from him, hand over cup, yelling at him for doing so! When all I have to do is stop and trust that what He’s pouring in is good. 

What I realize as I’m reading this book is that, for a long time now, I’ve believed in God - in those things I keep coming back to: nature, photosynthesis, flowers, a Creator, but I haven’t necessarily believed in a good God. I’ve believed He was there, and even was in control. On a cognitive level, I’ve said that God wants what’s best for me. I’ve repeated that He will work for good for us. But, deep, down where my true beliefs lie, the ones that aren’t always clear or based on anything rational, I’ve not trusted Him. I’ve felt as though this Christian life is a series of hoops that must be jumped, trials that must be beaten, or simply lived through. Joy and peace had no place in this life I’ve been leading. It’s been drudgery. Just survive one more hardship, take a breath, and wait for the next one. Like that family friend that keeps dunking you in the pool over and over. You just have to get a breath long enough to make you survive the next one.

That’s not life. That’s nothing like joy and peace. Yet, God is offering joy and peace in the midst of all of this. How do I get it? I trust. I trust that He’s not dunking me in the pool, but holding me as the ocean’s waves crash over us. Keeping me afloat and safe when all I know is I can’t breathe. I am not even aware of all the trouble surrounding me, out there in the ocean, I think it’s a pool with a concrete bottom and steps to climb out. I’m thrashing, screaming for Him to let me go. Just let me go be with my friends, the ones I know are somewhere playfully splashing and doing handstands in the water. He knows. He knows every single danger waiting in the murky depths of the ocean. He won’t let me go, despite my pleas. If I would rest, simply trust in the strength of His arms to keep me safe, then I would have peace (and rest!). Then, I might be able to find the joy in the beauty of the landscape. But I can’t see those things while I’m desperately trying to convince Him that I know better. 

Two lines!

Two lines. No. This can’t be. Two lines. How? Immediately I think of the thousands of women who die inside monthly when there is only one line. Shame, guilt, fear and even anger fill me. Why? I don’t want two lines. They do. They deserve two lines. I don’t need any more lines! Shaking, I leave the bathroom and stand beside my husband. He’s talking on the phone. I stand and wait, wondering, What will he do? Will he simply melt to the floor, like that first time there were two lines? Will he be the rock of a man he’s become since then and hold me and tell me it will be okay, even when he doesn’t know how it will be? He notices my hovering and finishes his phone call. I hand him the stick and look into his eyes. He’s done this before. One look, and his eyes are back to mine, wide. “What? How is that even possible?” I shrug. It’s all I can do. Our oldest is silently watching this whole conversation, eyes like ping-pong balls, struggling to know all the information, like she has ever since she was small.

My first response is to call my midwife. “Um, I was just wondering what are the chances to a false positive on a pregnancy test.” I know the answer, but yet, I leave messages, and I search the internet, not finding the small ray of hope I had hoped to find.

A few hours ago, I told my husband that I should run to the store and buy a pregnancy test, it had been over a month, nearly two. I was still recovering from nursing, and of course it wasn’t possible; he had his vasectomy tested two months ago, and they said he was “all clear.” If I saw that doctor right now, I could punch him in the gut... or lower.

Over the next week, it’s phone calls and blood tests. The numbers aren’t right, you might be losing the baby. Sadness, but also relief. Oh, yes, God remembers that I can’t handle this. Not again. Not so soon. I ask God to show me some small sign, just to remind me that He loves me and He is in control. I ask for flowers. Just flowers. Could be from anybody, just send me flowers, Lord. Today. I know how people convince themselves astrology and other scams are true. They use vague language and when something vaguely corresponds - well, that’s it, then! No vague language here. Flowers. Today. For me. No pictures. Actual flowers. They never come. I silently give up.

At the ultrasound, in the very first instant I see the little body, a voice in my head surprises me by crying out, “Oh, let there be a heartbeat!” And there is.

I’m accepting for a day or two. Then, I remember the flowers. At first, I give up all faith. God is a joke. If He were real, if He really doesn’t give us more than we could handle, I wouldn’t be here, in this position. This loss of faith does not free me from long-held beliefs about the beginning of life and abortion, however. Even if it did, my husband is a pastor. To keep his innocence, I would have had to lie huge lies to him, something I could not have done.

Slowly, pieces of faith come back to me. Another long-held belief - about the complexity of things as simple as grass growing, photosynthesis, a body digesting food for energy - pulls me back to the belief that there is a God. The only plausible response, then, is that He doesn’t care. But if I believe in Him, I believe in the Bible. And if I believe in the Bible, I must believe that He has plans for us, “plans to prosper and not to harm.” That verse, Jeremiah 29:11, floats around in my head all day, like a bubble that won’t burst. I can’t combine it with the feeling that is in my heart. Fine, then. He has overall plans, He just must not care about daily troubles - such as flowers.

I operate in this manner for weeks. Slowly sinking into a depression that I know I must escape, for the sake of this baby, for my family. But I don’t know how. The “witty” remarks of other people don’t help.

We have had 4 children in a span of 6.5 years. Only one of them was even remotely planned. The others were all shocks, but none, not even the first, compares to this. He had a vasectomy for crying out loud! My mind is constantly in a battle with itself. Children are blessings. Yes, but I’m blessed enough, I truly wish someone else had been blessed instead of me. The Duggars make the argument that is someone offered you a million dollars, you would take it, no matter how much money you had, and children are worth far more than a million dollars. Honestly, if I had enough money to keep me and my kids taken care of for the rest of my life and someone offered me another million, I really believe I would say, “I’m good. Can you please give it to so-and-so? They really need it, and I’m doing fine.” Or, I would take it and give it away to whomever I wanted. Have you ever tried to plan a vacation for a family with 5 children? A trip to Disneyland would easily cost $3000. Have you ever thought of putting 5 kids into sports programs? Even if each played one, with 2 practices and 1 game a week, and say my 2 boys closest in age did the same one, that would be 12 outings a week, just for sports. Forget school, church, fun. And then consider the cost of those sports $100-150/season. Per kid. How about simpler things? Grocery shopping for 5 kids. Grocery shopping with 5 kids! This would be a good time to remember that all 5 will be born in a time-span of 8 years. Have you ever thought of what it would cost to clothe 5 kids? Even with hand-me-downs and bargain shopping, it isn’t a pretty bill. Then there’s the house. We have 2-to-a-room right now. The kids’ bedrooms won’t fit another person, another bed. The baby will be in our room for awhile, but how long until we have to move? Is there any chance that our kids will ever have their own rooms? When dad’s a pastor and mom’s a teacher? To go even simpler, how does one even spend private time with individual kids? We work hard to make that a priority right now, but add another one to the picture...

These thoughts are constantly conflicting with the shame and guilt of thinking them. Pictures of women who would gladly have a baby right now pop into my mind. I shove them out by thinking, “Fine. They can have him!” I know that once I see him, I’ll love him and could never hand him away, but that doesn’t stop my mind from running over all the thoughts mentioned and many more. Other thoughts are constantly in my mind - “Look how he clothes the lilies of the field...” He won’t give more than we can bear, Jeremiah, 29:11.

All the while, people are telling me, “God must have big plans for this one!” “Well, it was meant to be!” “Maybe this one will be president or another Albert Einstein!” Yeah, thanks. Oh, well, that never occurred to me. That makes everything better. Yes, you detect sarcasm here. I would smile and nod, even laugh. I do this well. I’m grateful for the friends who said, “Wow. That’s hard.” “I know you didn’t really want this right now. I’m sorry.” Christians don’t ever want to say things like that. It’s like it’s too close to pro-choice. I wanted to scream at times, “I don’t care what he’ll grow up to be! I don’t want to be pregnant! He could just as well have been president if he were someone else’s kid!”

I feel inclined to point out that there was a genuine concern for my health as well. I’m overweight. This is the 6th time I’ve been pregnant in 8 years. Each pregnancy has taken its toll on my body, and made the next one more difficult. I have extreme back pain. My ankles are the size of softballs at the end of the day. With the last time, it seemed as though my kidneys were not functioning at a good level. I try to avoid any and all medication during pregnancy and nursing, so this means another year and a half of pain without medicine, of migraines and wicked sinus headaches, of weekly chiropractor visits so that I can move, but not sweep, mop, vacuum, or pick up anything over 10 lbs from the floor. This is in addition to the normal pregnancy problems - morning sickness, heartburn, etc. I have never enjoyed pregnancy, because it is difficult on me.

A friend’s Facebook status quotes Jeremiah 29:11-12: “‘For I know the plans I have for you’ —[this is] the LORD's declaration— ‘plans for [your] welfare, not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope. [12] You will call to Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you.’” Verse 11 is so often quoted without verse 12! The realization is sudden. I have to seek His face. I haven’t been. I’ve been focusing on me.

Saturday morning, I’m driving to school. A combination of songs on the radio and the knowledge that I need to seek His face slaps a realization into me. It’s not about me. It’s about God. This whole thing - this pregnancy, this day-to-day, this life, this existence - it’s not about making me happy, me getting what I want. It’s about God. He gave his life for me. I can deal with another 9 months of hard pregnancy. I can raise another child. I was created for His glory, not my own. I feel like slapping myself on the forehead! What was I thinking?

It’s amazing how that short sentence - it’s not about me. - lifts a burden from my shoulders. I have only focused on how it affects me. The memory that I am part of a bigger purpose, that I am just a small part of a large universe, that I am just a piece of God’s great puzzle, frees me from my selfishness. It frees me from focusing on how this baby will change our lives, my life. I feel as though I have suddenly discovered a ladder out of the well I’ve been living in since that day weeks ago when I saw two lines.

About Me

I titled this blog "My Cup Runs Over" because that's the picture I get in my head when I think about my life. It's based on Psalm 23:5, although, I confess, the phrase earned a spot in my heart in the movie Hope Floats. In the movie, the grandma says it as her heart is filled with love for her grandchildren. I have said it to my children in this context as well.

Recently, I've begun to see it in slightly a different light. In anger, I've thought about what happens when a cup overflows at my house. It makes a mess, possibly even a stain. The overflow is not useful. It seems wasted.

I alternate between these views of my cup - my life. Some days I can't believe all the blessings I've been given, and it seems unfair to others. Some days I can't control it; it's messy and I feel ill-prepared to handle it all.

I don't know all, or many, of the answers. This is my struggle to figure out what I can. I'm sharing it mainly for my own therapy, but also in case it might help another. I make no apologies for my emotions, because I'm human. They may be wrong, in fact, I know some of them are wrong. I will deal with them with God, because He is the only One who truly knows my heart, and the One to judge it.

As for the basics, I am a mom to 5, a Southern Baptist pastor's wife, and an English teacher. I live in Las Vegas and have for most of my life. I grew up in a Southern Baptist home; my father is also a pastor.