To the childless Mother

My womb was closed. I always imagined that I would have a big family. I came from a family of 7, so I imagined my own table full of happiness. Piles of laundry & mud pies, scraped knees and family devotions. I have child bearing hips & the desire, so it must be my destiny. 

Ethan came so easily. We hadn't really tried. Our next child involved taking temperatures and timing. When I lost her all I could feel was despair, but I still had hope for a full quiver, so I continued to try & try. 

I realized I was trying & considered my namesake Hannah in the Bible. She had prayed to God so hard that they thought she was intoxicated. Travail. It's not like a regular prayer, it has desire, longing, some despair & faith. I began a years long process of travail. Eight years. 

I never did have another child. What did happen was my heart was used to being in a desperate place with God so that when tragedy struck I knew how to cry out. 

I'm a mother & have cared for many beyond my own womb. Today I want to celebrate my closed womb as well as the life it brang forth. It was a crucible & the way my heart learned Gods heart deeper. 

If you have cared for another, you are a mother & I celebrate your selfless acts of serving those born from another's womb.

I Samuel 1:15-17 Hannah said,'Oh no, sir- please! I'm a woman hardly used. I have not been drinking not a drop of wine or beer.  The only thing I've been pouring out as my heart, pouring it out to God.  Don't for a minute think I'm a bad woman.  It's because I'm so desperately unhappy and in such pain that I've stayed so long.'  Eli answered her 'Go in peace.  And may the God of Israel give you what you have asked of him.'

Psalm 2:7-9

"Let me tell you what God said next. He said you're my son, and today is your birthday. What do you want?  Name it: Nations as a present? contents as a prize?  You can command them all to dance for you, or throw them out with tomorrow's trash." ~The Message translation

It was part of my devotions this morning; at 5am while in my bed next to my little table light.  I have read this verse so many times while traveling!  I can't say how many times I've quoted this back to God.  In prayer, in intercession, in worship, in my everyday life as I literally prayed for nations to know the transforming love of God. In nations, in America.   It has been my hearts passion to see nations understand the depth of love their creator has for them.

The conversation changed over the years about that verse. It then became 'God, I did that, I don't know how to ask anymore.'  God, how can I ask for anything from you?  Father change my heart so that I don't yearn for the nations anymore, it hurts so badly not be pursuing them with you.

This morning was different.  I've asked for nations and peoples, I've asked for perspective and change of circumstance.

Today I read, ask me for your desires.  See, I don't think the verse is just meant to be for missionaries, or Christian workers or anyone in a particular vocation.  I think it's for Gods son/daughter to just ask.

Well, what do you want?

I went on to Facebook and my friend Remaliah is about to celebrate the year of life to her precious daughter.  She made a video and in the background is the song Good Good Father.  It's not been an easy year for their family, but what a gift to celebrate.   The song was echoing in my head as I got ready.

Ethan pipes up from the living room 'what are you thinking mom?'  He knew something was on my mind.

There was this catch in my throat, mostly because I was starting to catch a glimpse of Gods desire for me, and not just for my sacrifice, but for a good life as well.  I started to explain about the verse and how God just wants to give us absolutely everything he can because he's just over the moon in love with us.  Father's don't demand sacrifice, God revels in our joy, in hoping with us, in seeing our lives unfold.

So, learning as I grow; so much more to go!

April 15, 2009

There was nothing unusual about that Wednesday.  We were moving 'home'.  Back to Tennessee, back to friends and familiar places, back to America.  The invitation to stay in England was there, but I knew we needed help; help in our marriage.  Our relationship was dissolving.  I'd been through every kind of counseling and prayer and was just miserable.  He could no longer blame me, I was old enough to understand it wasn't just me.  It never was.

I was happy to be home; he was morose.  I tried everything in my power to make him happy, it failed, miserably failed.  It had been failing a lot, which was frustrating, but we were 'home' to get help.  Surely things were about to get better.  Hopeful thoughts.

We were welcomed back at staff meeting, got to share through our jet-lag some of what we were transitioning into.  It was a good job, there was meaning and purpose.  

After the meeting we had another meeting, which was customary.  The directors asked us to their office.  Our friends, who I'd literally known my whole adult life.  Had built homes with, toiled and prayed were asking us some serious questions.  The FBI had come to the facility the day we'd landed in country.  They'd asked about us and our character.  Do you know why?  I was completely clueless. The FBI?

There was that trip to that African country that seemed a bit sketchy, not sure an American should've been at those meetings, or in that location... was that it?

It was tax day, but no way, I did send the payment, and the FBI wouldn't be after that....

We got in the car.  Our friends said the FBI would meet us at our 'house'.  I asked him if he knew why, he said maybe it was something with the internet, and then stopped and would say no more.

The house was a double wide trailer; in the middle of no where.  All our belongings were in transit from England, so the house was bare except for a pile of mattresses in the corner, a broken chair and the couch leftover from the '70's.  

They did pull in.  It was 3 vehicles, there was a plume of dust, and he went out to meet them.  They instructed him to wait on the porch. 

So I'm introducing myself to the FBI agents, badges are out.  I offer coffee, it's about all I have in the house and I'm going to be hospitable.  I sit on the couch as they explain they need to ask me some questions.  The folding chair does a bit of a bend and the agent has to shift to keep from falling out of it.  I'm surely able to answer whatever they want.  Mr. Chavez opens up his legal pad and asks me my name, my social, did I know my husband was a bisexual.  

The room went kind of funny at that point.  It was like I was in a tunnel hearing things I didn't think were possible. There were pictures of boys, chat room conversations, names of potential victims.  VICTIMS, I heard that word.  They were investigating my husband, and were asking if I was also involved.  ME, involved?  I'd given my life to giving others life, how could I be involved.  I was not a wolf... but I'd been married to one.  

It was crushing; my heart was racing.  I had married a good man, he was a good man, how could any of this be true.  The Elder agent looked at me as they were about to leave 'you need to think about how you're going to protect yourself and your son from this very dangerous man'. I heard myself say 'ok' and nod.  'No, listen, you need to protect yourself and your son from this DANGEROUS man'. I knew he was speaking the truth.  I knew in my knower that he was right and my perception was wrong.  

They walked out over an hour later, took the laptop, drove away.  I was now with this dangerous man.  I turned to talk to him; he put his hands out to block me and said I should go away.