Don't Pray For Me

"Life is messy and people are messier." -Pastor George Ray

A few years ago I was driving a U-Haul with my one of my greatest, most special friends from Key West, FL back to the Motherland AKA Boston, MA.  As I was winding the box truck around bendy turns on a sub-highway in Pennsylvania I was overhearing her talk to her distraught daughter who was away at college and trying to get to the bottom of a mysterious rash without the aid of her present mother.  I was focused on the traffic and the scenery, my mind wandering in and out of day dreams when I heard her say, "At least you have your Christian friends to be there with you and help you with this."

She continued talk and my mind instantly processed that information into practical terms that I could describe to someone else.  What does it mean to be a "Christian friend?"  What is the difference?  Should there be one? What would it look like if the last question were true?  Thoughts started to spin.  I reflected on my friendship with my co-pilot on my current pilgrimage home.  I mentally filed evidence of a good Christian friendship versus a regular one or worse, a bad Christian friendship.  Oh, but maybe you don't want to know lest you be convicted but here it is anyway. 

The primary difference is active involvement.  For the women that I serve and mentor on a daily basis, it takes more than a just a phone call. It takes more than a canned response to things. It takes more than just, "I'll pray for you."  It is easy to say, isn't it?  When I say that I will pray for someone I mostly do but occasionally I forget and when I remember I burn with shame for letting it slip. I want to honor the request, of course.  Prayer is powerful, I don't wish to underestimate it at all. Still, how many times have we offered prayer when something tangible was needed?  Have we ever had the power to help with a need in some way and instead offered to pray for someone else to come through?  No, in order for a friendship to resemble that of Christ there needs to be skin in the game.  How involved did Jesus get with his friends and associates. Pretty personal if you ask me! 

Remember the woman caught in adultery.  Did He stand idly by the scene of a mob with rocks ready to hurl at this ashamed woman who'd been cast to the ground before them and say, "Hey, I'll pray for you?"  He got involved.  He stood at her side and defended her, because He should, because He could. He stood next to her even in the face of danger. That is love. 

It takes more than a warm sentiment to make a change to, to take a stand.  The work I do with women who are facing their unintended pregnancies and chosing adoption for their children is hard. It takes time, resources, tears, phone calls, late nights, sleepless nights, lots of prayer and a willingness to be there no matter what.  For a lot of them, I have been the only one in the whole world that they have ever been able to trust.  I want to honor that at all costs. 

Interested in this kind of work? Want to support what we do?  I do apppreciate your prayers. But if you are making a decision to just pray and withhold resources you know could help us, please don't pray for me.  Get involved. For where your heart is there your treasure will be also.

It's Just A Song

I sit here on day four of the great "Snow In of 2013" here in Boston, listening to the music on my iPhone and being grateful that my bored 6 year old is in bed and we can look forward to getting back to the normalcy of life for a busy single mom and a six year-old who loves Kindergarten as much as candy.

As I stared off into the abyss in front of me a song started playing into my ears.  It was the song I played during my husband's funeral service.  It was quite unorthodox to play in the sanctuary of a stuffy, moderately legalistic Baptist church but I didn't care at the time and I still don't.  It was given to me on a CD of music meant to lift me up in such a dark time, from my husband's faithful accountability partner and friend, J.  I remember listening intently to the songs that he brought me, stretching for any message, subliminal or otherwise that would help me understand my husband more. I grasped for any tiny straw that would help me make sense where to me there could be none.  He was gone and nothing I thought, said or did would change it.  The finality of God's sovereign will had been rubber stamped on my life.  No matter how I wished I could erase it, the indelible mark was there for all to see. 

The song was so powerful to me.  It was a plea, no a commitment to praise God when all seemed hopeless.  I tried, I really tried but in all honesty, I didn't want to.  I wanted Him to give back to me what He had, in my eyes, stolen and I knew that He wouldn't although I recognized that He could. 

Months went by of me trying to make sense of my life and find a balance. It was like trying to learn how to tightrope walk with Rollerblades on. The more I fought for control the more the rope swayed.  It was one day that I just decided to fall off, convinced that the learning wasn't worth it.  That was when I discovered that I was carrying Alex.

During my carrying I had to once again be faced with a God who not only stole my husband but sought to seemingly exact His revenge on my disobedience for having dared to look Him in the face and tell Him to "kiss off". I was dutifully fulfilling my obligations and being allowed to be held accountable for my actions, amidst my temporary insanity.  I can't remember a time when I was so amazingly down-trodden.  I was like a trampled rose on the sidewalk on a hot Summer day.  Left to wilt through the heat of a Key West Summer and my sadness I went to vacuum my car one day when the song came on the radio.  The words pierced my heart.  Before I realized what was happening I was on my knees next to my car with the driver's side door open wailing aloud with the car wash vacuum hose in hand. 

I had to acknowledge finally that God had not done anything to me at all.  Life has trials, sorrow, grief, and loss.  No one ever promised us that we'd get through our existence without it. In fact, quite to the contrary. The book of James in the bible assures us that we will have trials and of many kinds.  It is what we do with the trial that makes all the difference.  No, I chose my path and now I had to walk it all the way out.  It just didn't look like I thought it would.  In those moments of brokenness I turned back to see what could be left of my torn relationship with God.  I haven't been sorry for anything ever since. 

Just this month, in almost 4 years, is the first time that I have been able to listen to this song for what it is and see proof of hope in the lyrics. Where I used to be reduced to tears, I find clarity and assurance.  It doesn't haunt me any more.  It steadies me.  I hope you enjoy it.

http://www.youtube.com/embed/z0LV_p3HQQI

Sanctity of Human Life Sunday -Audio of my message

Hi All!

As some of you know, I was asked by Fifth Street Baptist Church to deliver the message of Sanctity of Human Life Sunday this year.  Here is the link to the sermon.  I hope you enjoy it.

http://www.fifthstreetbaptistchurch.com/Sermons

My Best in Him,
Britt

Celebrating Alex's 2nd Birthday!

A giddy precious bundle of giggles and squeals. That is my oldest daughter, Carli.  She bounded into my bed this morning as she does most every day, asking me to play 'Baby Kitten and Momma Cat'.  She gives me instructions on what to do for the Baby Kitten.

"Hug her with your paws, Momma Cat.  Give her kisses with your nose," she calls out from under the covers. 

I don't really want to play today but I do, she doesn't need to know that I am not myself today.  I'd love to hide and reflect in silence but that is never my life anyway so I shouldn't expect anything different.  I'd love to be invisible.  I don't want to minister today but Paul teaches that we must be ready in season and out of season. I am out of season today for sure but God knows, reaching out to another who is suffering is just what I need. I think I will go to Starbucks today. 

If I were really pressed to answer, the truth is I don't really know how I feel today.  I am not sad. There is, in my mind, nothing to be sad over.  Alex is happy, healthy, loved and perfectly adjusted to her life with her adoptive parents. That is exactly what I wanted for her.  Maybe I wish that I could be at her birthday party.  Although, at her party yesterday her family went around reminiscing about the day of her birth and the intricate part I played in it.  In a sense, I certainly was there. If not in body, in warm, heartfelt memories.   But I don't crave accolades so it isn't that either.

Maybe I miss her.  I don't really say that I miss her as much as I miss them.  I wish we would have met under different circumstances. I really love her parents. They are the kind of people I would want to get to know and spend time with.  Everything about them is the reason I chose them for her.  Naturally I would want her to be loved by people that I could easily love. 

I think I am saddened that our relationship has to have boundaries.  There is an invisible fence that I can't cross.  The trouble is, I don't know where the line is either. I just try not to cross it.  Not that anyone has warned me or reminded me that there is one.  I just understand that these kinds of relationships need them and I don't like it. 

This kind of relationship is new. New to me, new to the world out there.  No one knows how to feel about it, really. Maybe that is why I struggle. People ask me questions about it all the time, never knowing if they should ask or if they should ask for more information to satiate their inquisitiveness. 
There is always a careful dance of information asking coupled with a certain straining on the faces of those who dare to ask. Always looking like they are hungry for more but being afraid to ask.  Then there is the few who blurt out things they shouldn't.  I have to pause and instruct in those moments.  It would be easy to get offended but they don't know. 

1) No, you really don't know what you would do unless you are in the situation yourself.
2) You actually are capable of way more than you think.
3) Reality is not usually as bad as the awful, horrid scenarios you build in your head.
4) I didn't emotionally damage Carli (so far).
5) We are very open when we talk about Alex. It greatly reduces stereotypes and helps us all heal.
6) I don't have to make you understand why I made this decision and you don't have to "get it".

I am not in mourning. She's not dead!  She is happy, safe and all the good things you would want for your children.  I just don't see her every day.  If I had aborted her, I'd never see her at all. I'd never get to see the realization of her life and all the good things that she is.  I guess I'd have gone on with my life but I am doing that today.  I might have wondered "what if" or "if only" but I suppose those questions come up not matter what choice you make.  So what's the difference?  I'd have carried around the knowledge that I could have a child today but I ended that life for the sake of my own pride.  That was why I decided not to.  The idea that I would abort a baby simply because I didn't want to fess up to my parents, friends, family and in-laws left an abominable, selfish taste in my mouth.  No, I don't mourn this child. There is no reason to.  I made a choice to let her live even if that meant that I'd suffer. Sacrificing for your children. That is what a good mother does.  These girls will never know what I have endured for the sake of their future.  You're welcome. 

Feeling left out in some way?  I have said that before but I don't fully understand what I mean by that. If I had parented her I'd be back to working 60 hours a week again for Corporate America, trying to take over the universe one client at a time while my kids spent their little lives in Day Care, After Care, and Nana's house. Maybe they'd spend what little free time with me that I had while I tried to cover errands and grocery shopping but I'd be exhausted and out of patience, just longing to be left alone.  That is pretty much what it was like when it was just Carli and me and it was miserable.  With two it'd be worse.  I'd have more "stuff" to give them but who cares?  The stuff never made me happy. How could I expect that to take the place of me for them?  Left out? Left out of what?  I am more grateful that these girls don't have to endure rather than feel like I "coulda, woulda, shoulda."

In conclusion, I don't know how I feel I just know I don't feel happy but I still feel good about what I did.  I am happy that she was celebrated in such splendor by her family yesterday.  I am grateful that the memories of her adoption were so good for her family and that they wanted to share them with each other.  I am grateful that Carli is still a happy, funny little girl who feels secure in her relationship with her mother and in the love she has for her.   I love that I can work for myself and build something worthwhile so that I can be involved in Carli's life. I know she does too. My trial gets used every day to give life and hope to others. Who could complain about that?  There is good to think about.  I'll be okay but I would love a prayer if you think of me today.