Chasing buzzards

"And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away."

Doubt and fear. I've been living in this land your brought me to, obeying your commands. I thought I understood a promise, but what I know is that I have no heir and another will inherit. I don't own the land, but am an alien here... How do I know? And God directs. Offer me these things. And so I do. And I wait. And I wait. And I wait.

But God haven't I been waiting enough?! Isn't that what this doubt is about? And you answer my fears by forcing me to do exactly what it is that has been causing my fear? I chase the buzzards off of my offering, that's how long You've made me wait. Finally, as the sun goes down I give up hope of waiting and a deep dark sleep overcomes me.

I (heather) have known this sleep. Praise God it's been years, but I remember the bitter sleep of deep depression; the restless peace that underwhelms when tears have emptied you and there is nothing left for your soul to hope in but an emptying of the heart and mind into sleep. The kind that you wake from not actually refreshed or exhausted, but simply disappointed to find yourself still here.

And it is in this darkness that God assures.

Michael pointed out to me a few months ago that since Abram did fall asleep, only God walked between the halved offerings. The promise hinged only on His faithfulness. The One who does not weary or change. The one of enduring patience to wait until the Amorites inequity is complete and my sin has run it's course and done it's good work (amazing grace that even my sin can be used to do a good work in His economy). It is on Him that the promise relies.

I am uneducated. It seems to me that the promise has to do with geography, and geographically, I'm not concerned with my inheritance... But there are promises that He has made that I wonder at sometimes, as I wildly bat at buzzards consuming my feeble meek offerings; how can they ever come to fruition?! How can this dead branch be grafted into the True Vine? How could this twisted heart bear the true fruit of Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self-Controle? Wholeness? Completion? Perfection?

And those more faithful than I, "not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth." Still waited to receive the new-born realization of their faith. "and all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect." They died in faithful expectation as a woman waits for labor pains...

I remember falling asleep in the days before Olive's birth in my half empty bed. Gentle Braxton Hicks waiting to become true excruciating labor. And all of my heart welcoming that pain. Then within the labor process even, the fear of insufficiency or inability as you wait for your body to do the involuntary work that will allow you to finally participate in the agony of bringing forth life. And I remember praying in the throws of inescapable pain that I was not yet allowed to assist or participate in that God would somehow be glorified in this work. And the months to follow of chasing the buzzards off my offering. And now in the toddler years as I chase the buzzards away from my fearful obedience hoping that God will meet my offering and make it something worth noting...

And always in the depths of my sleep, when I have stopped watching for a sign He comes.

Not even half way

It's 2:30 on a Thursday. Most of my work still lay before me and I'm already tired. This was a red-letter day as a parent.

I read today that in the 40 years that the Israelites wandered in the desert their feet were never swollen. (Deuteronomy 8:4). I made a 3 stop shopping trip with Olive today and my feet are already swollen. What's worse is my heart is swollen...

I have known for years that I would rather marry a man poor and have the blessing of working through hard times together. I have known that it's better to wander in the wilderness being so visibly sustained by the hand of God as to feed, cloth, and keep swelling at bay as to know without a doubt that He is my provider than to live in the land of plenty in danger of forgetting the hand of God. And yet, here I am in my own wilderness of parenting and I want out.

The first stop was a success; minimal whining about wanting to look at those toys or play with that thing. On to Target. First real break-down of the day = the shopping cart. Olive has decided she is a walking shopper these days which for one item shopping lists is ok, but for our Target tour just isn't going to work. I gave her her options, sit up front or in back. She started whining and crying. New options; get a spank and sit up front or in back or fix your attitude and sit in front or in back... still the tears. So, back to the car we went. Now when she realizes that I'm not bluffing there is a sudden heightening in the moral compass of my two year old. "I'll obey!" "I have a good attitude!" "don't spank me!!!" By now we're getting looks as we head through the parking lot to my car. Inside. Struggle to get her to sit still long enough to talk to her about why we're here back in the car... done, and done and attitude effectively adjusted we make it through Target without more fuss until we exit the building. She never wants to leave anywhere but home.

Final stop, the mall. Why I thought the mall would be best for last I don't know, sure it was arranged in a logical driving pattern but really? A mall at the end? Right. Again with the independent walking shopper thing. This time it was a one stop deal so, ok. Got what we came for, exit our store and she makes a beeline for the fountain. Ok, I'm a gracious mom, we can have a few detours so that Olive can enjoy this trip too. Look at the Easter bunny photo area (those things are still creepy). Ok, time to go. And she takes off at a run... And I have to say, I'm still calm and collected and not actually angry. I recover my devious 2 year old and again place perimeters on this trip: stay with me or I have to carry you. Ok mama... then disobedience.

Now to you and me we know what to expect but for some reason she still thinks I say things I don't mean. I carry her to the car as she starts screaming. Now beyond the embarrassment of the ruckus is the humiliation of the looks of people with raised eye brows as if I'm beating my child... and this is just the part where I'm carrying her! We make it back to the car. Have another chat about that's not ok blah blah blah. Buckle her into her seat and get headed home. She realizes we're headed home and that's when the real screaming starts... oh man! I'm now in an active state of prayer in an attempt to control my blood pressure so I don't have an aneurism and kill us both in a car wreck before we make it home.

Home. Unload the car-still fairly self controlled. Unload my daughter who is now hitting me. We probably spent 20 minutes in our room doing rounds of her confessing that she was yucky but didn't want to apologize. She told me I had to apologize because I was mean. To tell you the truth, I know that somewhere in the middle of our bedroom "discussion" I was mean. I don't really know what to do with her when she gets to that freaking out hitting kicking screaming state and it makes me want to exert my control by restricting her... by using my strength to overcome hers, but that's not how hearts are won.

In the end she was won by my sorrow. I prayed for us; for our yucky hearts. Our hearts that have no hope but in the new life of Christ. And seeing my tears she sobered. Finally she did apologize and we were restored. But man do I have swollen feet (of the heart that is)!

Abide in Me and I in you- Lord I want to believe, help thou my unbelief!