When I first got married, in college, I was under strict orders from my mother not to have a baby for a long time.
In the eighteen months of my marriage before I became pregnant with my first child, I often thought about the wicked state of the world, and wondered how a person could ever, in good conscience, go ahead and bring a tiny life into it.
Then we had three unplanned pregnancies in three years.
At some point I began to wonder about birth control and the sovereignty of God.
I remember that when I was a girl living at home with my parents, people with large families were always Catholic. The evangelical protestants I knew and loved seemed to consider it a legalistic mindset not to use birth control; it was a rule devout Catholics followed to please the pope. In those days, and perhaps still today, protestants, especially the Baptist type, saw Catholics as some sort of quasi-cult, and did not consider that a Catholic could ever be saved. The prevailing attitude about Catholics was that they were just bound up in legalistic rule following, dead rituals, and weird prayers to Mary and the saints.
Sometimes I wondered about that. I think the Catholics have it right on a certain level, at least where birth control and the pro-choice movement are concerned. It seems to me that the advent of birth control ushered in our age of sexual promiscuity. With birth control, sex is reduced to a form of pleasurable entertainment, a fun recreation. Before birth control, sex was much more serious business. It was an act of love and trust between two people who had covenanted to build a life and family together.
Shortly after being married, I learned that the pill was potentially an abortifacient, so I stopped using it. This is probably why we had three unplanned pregnancies.
After that, however, life became too much for me. I do not feel that it would be appropriate to go into all the details of the problems or the details of what we tried as solutions. But I will say that I prayed and prayed and prayed. I read through the Bible. I sought the face of God.
I had never heard of the Quiverfull movement. I think it was the Providence of God that I had not, because I was weak and desperate, and I probably would have thought that it was what I had to do. Even now, the Quiverfull movement can fill me will guilt and shame for... for what? For honoring my husband's desire that we limit the size of our family and, as a couple, taking medical measures to do so.
This is not to make my husband the bad guy. I was not against limiting the size of our family. There have been times when I have wanted another baby, but I have never wanted an unlimited number of more children.
However, it is to say that, had I discovered the Quiverfull movement at that time, it would have seriously tempted me to disrespect my husband and to question whether I ought to submit to his leadership. The Bible is very clear that wives are to respect their husbands and submit to them. The Bible is not clear at all that limiting family size is a sin. That is a position that can be deduced, but it is not clearly stated. Better, I think, to obey the clear directives than to pre-empt them because of someone's cobbled together position on a different issue.
I don't know if what we did was right or wrong. We prayed about it. We tried to do what made sense. We had no desire to sin in this. I was sinning every day in my inability to exercise self-control, to be patient, and otherwise to live out a display of the fruits of the Spirit. What I really wanted was to stop sinning and start enjoying the blessing of the children I had. Prayer and reading the Word had not fixed me. Maybe God wanted to work through medical technology. Is that beyond imagining?
I think about it, you know... how we live these days with all our medical technology. Babies hardly ever die any more. Back in colonial days, you had to have about twelve children to ensure that at least three or four would live to adulthood. These days the vast majority of our children survive. Women who would have died in childbirth in an earlier era survive by having cesarean sections these days, which produces a whole new crop of children who are genetically wired to require cesareans when they grow up. The same goes for heart conditions, blood conditions, lung conditions. It makes me wonder, "Were all these people meant to be? Should they have died and cleansed the gene pool? Are we thwarting the will of God with our medical technology?" And then I remember that we can never thwart the will of God. It is His will when a medical discovery is made, and it is His will when it is used to save a life that comes into being after its invention. If He wanted the baby with the hole in its heart not to live, He could have easily had it born in 1810 instead of 2008.
We can't thwart the will of God. We do not have that much power. In fact, I believe in a God who is so sovereign, so in control of the affairs of men, that if He wanted me to have a baby, it wouldn't matter what medical procedures had taken place. He can make a baby grow whenever and wherever He pleases. Remember the birth of Jesus?
I am not all for birth control. I think it is very murky water. I am not totally at peace with where I am in all this, except that I know God's promise in Romans 8:28--"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." God will use all things (even my mistakes) for good. So I don't have to worry, I just have to trust. The question isn't so much whether I am trying to stop the will of God, as that I am trying to do what makes sense. If God over-rides my actions with a miracle, my heart will be glad and welcome the child. What is more important, the action, or the heart? What is more pleasing to God, a woman who suffers dutifully but miserably in the Quiverfull movement and mourns at her tenth, eleventh and twelfth pregnancies, or a woman whose husband has a vasectomy, but she later finds herself expecting a baby and responds with thanksgiving and joy?
People who join a camp--quiverfullers, homeschoolers, what have you--tend to need to validate their decision. This can come across as pride and judgment toward those who have made a different choice. Although scripture can be used to support many decisions, this support is not always clear cut. That 's where 1 Corinthians 13 comes in. We need to love one another, and give each other credit for searching the heart of God. When people are clearly in sin, it is scriptural to lead them back to the living water. But is a judgmental quiverfull mother ready to be confronted for her pride and self-righteousness, or is she only willing to condemn someone who has chosen to take steps to limit her family size?
This is not to say that all quiverfull mothers are legalistic and judgmental. I have no doubt that some women are called to have huge families and equipped with the grace to manage. The problem comes when some of them start telling everybody else that, "God will give you exactly the same grace that He gave me if you'll go out on a limb and have a plethora of children. You only have to TRUST!"
If that were the meaning of trust, we would all have to be Christian Scientists, refusing to take antibiotics for our pneumonia and refusing chemotherapy for our cancer. If God can work through those avenues to make people healthy and whole, He might sometimes choose to work through birth control for the good of one of His children as well. You can trust God and still use medical interventions.
One of the Quiverfull's benchmark arguments is that children are a blessing from the Lord (Psalm 127:3-5). They say that you wouldn't turn away any of God's other blessings, like a big house or more money, so why would you turn away the blessing of children? That dog don't hunt, as the saying goes. I know of a number of people who have turned down a bigger house, opting for a smaller one because it was all they needed and they didn't want the headache of a huge home to clean, maintain and pay taxes on, in a neighborhood where they felt a lot of pressure to "keep up with the Jones's." I know of people who have opted for a job that net less money because it was less stressful and required less travel than the truly "big bucks" job that was available. There are people who turn down incredibly lucrative job opportunities in order to stay closer to their extended families. It's all about lifestyle choices and sometimes less is more--in all areas.
If you have too big a house, you can invite people in to share it, to live with you and help with the chores and the bills. If you have too much money, you can give it away. If you have too many children, would you ever give them away? Would that ever be God's will? Should a fertile woman continue bearing children that she and her husband can't afford to support, and hand them out to her infertile Christian friends like we do when too many zucchini grow in our gardens?
The hard thing about the truly holy Christian life is that you can never find a position and go hog wild over it. Everything needs to be in balance. We need to read the Bible. We need to pray. We need to walk by faith, trusting God, and we need to wisely discern how to properly and sensibly use the resources He puts in our way. And, while we're doing all that, we need to be loving, covering everything over with a layer of Godly love.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Guilt
I'm in a rut. I just can't shake the Mother's Day guilt this year.
The thing that really gets me is when I read on a card (or whatever): "Mom. She was always the last one to bed at night and the first one up in the morning."
Well, I can safely say that I will never receive THAT card from any of my children. Unless it is in jest. Sleep deprivation was the worst thing about having three babies in less than three years. Sleep deprivation, were it not for the grace of God, could have easily driven me to suicide. When I am sleep deprived, I get sick, I cry, and I have zero capacity for dealing with stress or trauma. I never did like slumber parties as a kid. I never pulled an all-nighter in college. I just get to a point of fatigue and I shut down, physically and mentally. This was not good when I was the mother of a just-turned-three-year-old, an eighteen-month-old, and an eight-week-old and we all (yes, me too) got chickenpox.
I'm not sure I ever really pulled completely out of that. People talk about "returning to normal." I think when certain things happen to you, you never get back to the way you were, you just have to find a new way to function and adapt to it.
Anyway, I was sleep deprived for years, and for all the prayers and pleading I threw up to heaven, I never grew into a person who could graciously function on less than eight hours of sleep a night.
When my kids finally became teenagers and started sleeping, I slept right along with them. Hey, I had a lot of lost sleep to make up for. During the week, my kids often stay up late studying and doing homework. I go to bed. I don't get good rest until they all go to bed (this is due, in part, to the fact that certain ones of them often come in to my room and wake me up to ask for something). But I try to be in bed by 11:00 p.m., and they regularly stay up past midnight. I am definitely not the last one up at night.
I do not get up with my kids in the morning before school. I do set my alarm and make sure that they are up, but I do not get up and start my day until most of them are gone. It takes all my energy, mental and physical, to get Jonno out of bed in the morning, so I do get up for that, and I make his breakfast and his lunch. But the older kids are on their own after I have made sure that somebody is awake and working on the morning routine. So you see, I am certainly not the first one up in the morning. Perhaps I am the first one awake, but I am not the first one UP. And, depending on how bad a night I've had, I sometimes go back to bed after Jonno is on the bus, too.
I am the first one up on weekends, sometimes, kind of. Well, let's not even go there.
Aagh. The guilt is killing me. But if I try to push myself and sleep less and be up more, the result is... more guilt. Because then I ache and I get crabby and miserable and I whine and complain and grumble and lose my temper.
It is very hard to discern where the will of God is in all this. Does He look at me with a sort of tolerant grace, knowing that He made me a certain way? Or does He look at me in disappointment, because I am not trying hard enough, not trusting fully enough?
I don't want to be lazy. And I don't want to be mean. But sometimes it seems like I am forced to choose one or the other. When I really push myself, I get mean. When I am nice, I am lazy.
What to do? What to do?
I am so glad that I won't be tired in Heaven. Or mean. Or... guilty. Hallelujah!
The thing that really gets me is when I read on a card (or whatever): "Mom. She was always the last one to bed at night and the first one up in the morning."
Well, I can safely say that I will never receive THAT card from any of my children. Unless it is in jest. Sleep deprivation was the worst thing about having three babies in less than three years. Sleep deprivation, were it not for the grace of God, could have easily driven me to suicide. When I am sleep deprived, I get sick, I cry, and I have zero capacity for dealing with stress or trauma. I never did like slumber parties as a kid. I never pulled an all-nighter in college. I just get to a point of fatigue and I shut down, physically and mentally. This was not good when I was the mother of a just-turned-three-year-old, an eighteen-month-old, and an eight-week-old and we all (yes, me too) got chickenpox.
I'm not sure I ever really pulled completely out of that. People talk about "returning to normal." I think when certain things happen to you, you never get back to the way you were, you just have to find a new way to function and adapt to it.
Anyway, I was sleep deprived for years, and for all the prayers and pleading I threw up to heaven, I never grew into a person who could graciously function on less than eight hours of sleep a night.
When my kids finally became teenagers and started sleeping, I slept right along with them. Hey, I had a lot of lost sleep to make up for. During the week, my kids often stay up late studying and doing homework. I go to bed. I don't get good rest until they all go to bed (this is due, in part, to the fact that certain ones of them often come in to my room and wake me up to ask for something). But I try to be in bed by 11:00 p.m., and they regularly stay up past midnight. I am definitely not the last one up at night.
I do not get up with my kids in the morning before school. I do set my alarm and make sure that they are up, but I do not get up and start my day until most of them are gone. It takes all my energy, mental and physical, to get Jonno out of bed in the morning, so I do get up for that, and I make his breakfast and his lunch. But the older kids are on their own after I have made sure that somebody is awake and working on the morning routine. So you see, I am certainly not the first one up in the morning. Perhaps I am the first one awake, but I am not the first one UP. And, depending on how bad a night I've had, I sometimes go back to bed after Jonno is on the bus, too.
I am the first one up on weekends, sometimes, kind of. Well, let's not even go there.
Aagh. The guilt is killing me. But if I try to push myself and sleep less and be up more, the result is... more guilt. Because then I ache and I get crabby and miserable and I whine and complain and grumble and lose my temper.
It is very hard to discern where the will of God is in all this. Does He look at me with a sort of tolerant grace, knowing that He made me a certain way? Or does He look at me in disappointment, because I am not trying hard enough, not trusting fully enough?
I don't want to be lazy. And I don't want to be mean. But sometimes it seems like I am forced to choose one or the other. When I really push myself, I get mean. When I am nice, I am lazy.
What to do? What to do?
I am so glad that I won't be tired in Heaven. Or mean. Or... guilty. Hallelujah!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The worst thing about Mother's Day
The worst thing about Mother's Day is how everybody gets so hyper-sentimental about how wonderful a mother is--how she was ALWAYS there and NEVER complained, worked TIRELESSLY to keep her home IMMACULATE while always maintaining a GENTLE and LOVING attitude with her children and her husband... while holding down three part time jobs and serving delicious, nutritious homemade cookies to all the children in the neighborhood.
It just makes me feel like a pea.
I would like to enjoy breakfast in bed, smiling faces, homemade cards, you know...
But I feel so all-fired guilty about all the things I'm NOT.
If I get one more mushy email about how wonderful mothers are, I think I'm going to... I'm going to... well, I WILL delete it. Yep. That's what I'll do.
Because I complain. I nag. I threaten. And I get PMS. I don't like to share our homemade cookies with the neighbor children, and anyway, I don't make the cookies anyway, Shannon and Laura do. I eat the cookies and cakes and muffins that my daughters make. I do this on a regular basis.
So you see, I don't even DESERVE Mother's Day.
But I do love breakfast in bed. If I didn't have all this GUILT, Mother's Day would be my favorite day of the year.
It just makes me feel like a pea.
I would like to enjoy breakfast in bed, smiling faces, homemade cards, you know...
But I feel so all-fired guilty about all the things I'm NOT.
If I get one more mushy email about how wonderful mothers are, I think I'm going to... I'm going to... well, I WILL delete it. Yep. That's what I'll do.
Because I complain. I nag. I threaten. And I get PMS. I don't like to share our homemade cookies with the neighbor children, and anyway, I don't make the cookies anyway, Shannon and Laura do. I eat the cookies and cakes and muffins that my daughters make. I do this on a regular basis.
So you see, I don't even DESERVE Mother's Day.
But I do love breakfast in bed. If I didn't have all this GUILT, Mother's Day would be my favorite day of the year.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Door
Yesterday I finished staining the front door. Except for the parts I missed. And the trim around it, which will be a slightly different color, which I hope will not look bad, but what can you do?
I finished without spilling mineral spirits all over my kitchen and without crying, two good things.
There is still trim to paint. Also, once the stain dries (which took THREE DAYS the last time), I need to put on a coat of clear polyurethane. I am trying not to feel totally overwhelmed at this unending job. It will be nice when at least we get the doorknob back on so we can close and lock the door. Right now, for security we are depending on the lock on the storm door and two small but noisy dogs. I've been staying at home a lot lately.
Shannon is done with college and finals. I can't believe how fast this year went.
I finished without spilling mineral spirits all over my kitchen and without crying, two good things.
There is still trim to paint. Also, once the stain dries (which took THREE DAYS the last time), I need to put on a coat of clear polyurethane. I am trying not to feel totally overwhelmed at this unending job. It will be nice when at least we get the doorknob back on so we can close and lock the door. Right now, for security we are depending on the lock on the storm door and two small but noisy dogs. I've been staying at home a lot lately.
Shannon is done with college and finals. I can't believe how fast this year went.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Eternity
Eternity scares me. It scares me the most when I think about it, which usually happens in the wee hours of the night when everyone is sleeping and it is just God and me. I lie on my bed, on my stomach, and feel like it is some sort of lilting platform, careening through time and space. I think, "I'm scared of the next life. I'm scared of living forever. I'm scared of being born into eternity."
In the daylight hours I am busy. What shall we do with the mixed up files with the mixed up statements from all the utilities and credit cards? What shall I make for dinner? Are those beans I'm cooking ever going to get soft enough to mash? What time is karate? Did I remember to wash the karate uniform? How about underwear? Are we out of clean underwear? Are we out of milk? Are we out of gas, can I make it to the oboe lesson?
During the daylight hours a thousand everyday prayers go up: Please help me to remember everything I need while I'm at the store. Please help me remember to switch over the laundry. Please help me find a parking space. Please help me merge onto the freeway. Please don't let the dog be sick. Thank you for the beautiful sunshine. Thank you for the great price on grapes this week. Where is Jon? Oh please, please keep him safe. Please help me not to lose my temper. Please forgive me for losing my temper. Please help me fix the trainwreck of my childrearing. Please help me find my sunglasses.
But at night everything changes. The nitty gritty of everyday fades away and big, scary thoughts loom, thoughts that take the bottom out of my stomach and leave me falling, even as I cling to the sides of my mattress. Heaven appears to me like a gigantic medeival church of stone, imposing, beautiful, gut-wrenching. The presence of God seems like outer space, limitless and (against my better judgment) dark, cold and airless. Eternity feels like a black hole that is sucking me in.
I know that God is not like that. He is love, light and joy. In His presence is fullness of joy. Jesus came that our joy may be complete. We love because He first loved us. He is our protector, teacher, guide, comforter and friend. To be with Him is to be free from pain, sorrow, boredom, sin and death.
In the daylight hours I know that Heaven is a wonderful place and I can look forward to getting there and seeing Jesus. In the daylight hours I can say, with honesty, "I'm not afraid of being dead; I'm just afraid of getting dead."
But at night, sometimes, the thought of eternity really scares me.
In the daylight hours I am busy. What shall we do with the mixed up files with the mixed up statements from all the utilities and credit cards? What shall I make for dinner? Are those beans I'm cooking ever going to get soft enough to mash? What time is karate? Did I remember to wash the karate uniform? How about underwear? Are we out of clean underwear? Are we out of milk? Are we out of gas, can I make it to the oboe lesson?
During the daylight hours a thousand everyday prayers go up: Please help me to remember everything I need while I'm at the store. Please help me remember to switch over the laundry. Please help me find a parking space. Please help me merge onto the freeway. Please don't let the dog be sick. Thank you for the beautiful sunshine. Thank you for the great price on grapes this week. Where is Jon? Oh please, please keep him safe. Please help me not to lose my temper. Please forgive me for losing my temper. Please help me fix the trainwreck of my childrearing. Please help me find my sunglasses.
But at night everything changes. The nitty gritty of everyday fades away and big, scary thoughts loom, thoughts that take the bottom out of my stomach and leave me falling, even as I cling to the sides of my mattress. Heaven appears to me like a gigantic medeival church of stone, imposing, beautiful, gut-wrenching. The presence of God seems like outer space, limitless and (against my better judgment) dark, cold and airless. Eternity feels like a black hole that is sucking me in.
I know that God is not like that. He is love, light and joy. In His presence is fullness of joy. Jesus came that our joy may be complete. We love because He first loved us. He is our protector, teacher, guide, comforter and friend. To be with Him is to be free from pain, sorrow, boredom, sin and death.
In the daylight hours I know that Heaven is a wonderful place and I can look forward to getting there and seeing Jesus. In the daylight hours I can say, with honesty, "I'm not afraid of being dead; I'm just afraid of getting dead."
But at night, sometimes, the thought of eternity really scares me.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Book Review Friday
OK, OK, I know it's Saturday. I have been stressed. Today I tried to start staining the new fiberglass door we had installed on that fluky warm day in January--and I ended up in tears, covered with stain, spilling mineral spirits all over my kitchen, etc. etc. So went my week. I 'm tired.
This week's Book Review was on 1 Samuel 1-6. In our Tuesday morning Bible study, we are on 2 Kings 10-11. I had a hard time getting into going back to 1 Samuel. It's kind of like going back to the beginning of a book and reading it when you are already 3/4 of the way through.
I did finally read it. Once. I also scanned it a few times, and read passages here and there.
I was dreading writing this book review, because what came out to me was the judgment of God. Every time I read God's word, something different pops out--His mercy, His power, His sovereignty, His love. Well, this week, in this passage, it was His judgment. Which was not exactly what I was hoping for. Perhaps it is a warning. Perhaps I am in a dangerous spiritual place.
The verse that really hit me was 1 Samuel 2:25 where Eli was warning his sons not to sin against the Lord: " 'If a man sins against another man, God can intercede for him, but if a man sins against the Lord, who can intercede for him?' But they would not listen to their father, since the Lord intended to kill them." Did you get that? It implies that the Lord actually hindered them from listening to their father, because He had already intended to kill them.
I guess this jumped out at me because I had been haunted by the verse in Jude last week that talked about how God had destined certain evil men for destruction (designated them for judgment). 1 Samuel 2:25 reminded me of Jude 4. How eerie. And, both verses talk about people who are supposedly spiritual leaders.
I spent a lot of time last week feeling bad about myself for dwelling on this. But every time I went back to 1 Samuel 1-6, another frightening thing popped up. How about the prophesy that God gave Samuel to take back to Eli? We know the story of how Hannah prayed for a baby and God granted her request. We know the story of how God called to the boy Samuel in an audible voice in the tabernacle as he lay sleeping. But how often do we read on and see that Samuel had to go back to Eli and tell him that his entire line was going to be wiped out? Did you notice 2:14, where God told Samuel that the sins of Eli's family will never be wiped out by either sacrifice or offering? That is a very frightening and solemn threat.
The recurring talk of blood sacrifices also seemed more significant to me than they have during other times when I've read this passage. Over and over in these six chapters, we read about animals being sacrificed. This reminds us, in our day, that there is no forgiveness without the shedding of blood (Hebrews 9:22). Of course, we know that Jesus' perfect blood paid the price for every sin, and we no longer have to go through the symbolic ritual of killing animals. The real sacrifice has been made, and it is finished, praise be to Jesus.
Speaking of Jesus, I was struck by Hannah's prayer--it reminded me of Mary's magnificat (in Luke 1). The lowly have been lifted up, the proud are brought low. I was also struck by 1 Samuel 2:26, "By contrast, the boy Samuel grew in stature and in favor with the Lord and with men." It reminded me of Luke 2:52, "And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and with people."
It became clear to me what a "type of Christ" Samuel was, a foretaste of the Perfect One to come, a shadow of the Promise. In the midst of a sinful and depraved people who needed to kill animals constantly because of all their sins, and who couldn't even go through the sacrificial process itself without sinning in additional and astonishing ways (2:12-17), God raised up Samuel to stand in the gap and minister to His people. Samuel brought the people back to a knowledge of the Truth: "Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him and let nothing he said prove false. All Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a confirmed prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear in Shiloh, because there He revealed Himself to Samuel by His word. And Samuel's words came to all Israel." (Also, we didn't get to chapter 7, but there it explains how Samuel worked to bring God's word to the people: "Every year he would go on a circuit to Bethel, Gilgal and Mizpah and would judge Israel at all these locations. Then he would return to Ramah because his home was there, he judged Israel there, and he had built an altar to the Lord there." 7:16-17)
After pondering these chapters,
This week's Book Review was on 1 Samuel 1-6. In our Tuesday morning Bible study, we are on 2 Kings 10-11. I had a hard time getting into going back to 1 Samuel. It's kind of like going back to the beginning of a book and reading it when you are already 3/4 of the way through.
I did finally read it. Once. I also scanned it a few times, and read passages here and there.
I was dreading writing this book review, because what came out to me was the judgment of God. Every time I read God's word, something different pops out--His mercy, His power, His sovereignty, His love. Well, this week, in this passage, it was His judgment. Which was not exactly what I was hoping for. Perhaps it is a warning. Perhaps I am in a dangerous spiritual place.
The verse that really hit me was 1 Samuel 2:25 where Eli was warning his sons not to sin against the Lord: " 'If a man sins against another man, God can intercede for him, but if a man sins against the Lord, who can intercede for him?' But they would not listen to their father, since the Lord intended to kill them." Did you get that? It implies that the Lord actually hindered them from listening to their father, because He had already intended to kill them.
I guess this jumped out at me because I had been haunted by the verse in Jude last week that talked about how God had destined certain evil men for destruction (designated them for judgment). 1 Samuel 2:25 reminded me of Jude 4. How eerie. And, both verses talk about people who are supposedly spiritual leaders.
I spent a lot of time last week feeling bad about myself for dwelling on this. But every time I went back to 1 Samuel 1-6, another frightening thing popped up. How about the prophesy that God gave Samuel to take back to Eli? We know the story of how Hannah prayed for a baby and God granted her request. We know the story of how God called to the boy Samuel in an audible voice in the tabernacle as he lay sleeping. But how often do we read on and see that Samuel had to go back to Eli and tell him that his entire line was going to be wiped out? Did you notice 2:14, where God told Samuel that the sins of Eli's family will never be wiped out by either sacrifice or offering? That is a very frightening and solemn threat.
The recurring talk of blood sacrifices also seemed more significant to me than they have during other times when I've read this passage. Over and over in these six chapters, we read about animals being sacrificed. This reminds us, in our day, that there is no forgiveness without the shedding of blood (Hebrews 9:22). Of course, we know that Jesus' perfect blood paid the price for every sin, and we no longer have to go through the symbolic ritual of killing animals. The real sacrifice has been made, and it is finished, praise be to Jesus.
Speaking of Jesus, I was struck by Hannah's prayer--it reminded me of Mary's magnificat (in Luke 1). The lowly have been lifted up, the proud are brought low. I was also struck by 1 Samuel 2:26, "By contrast, the boy Samuel grew in stature and in favor with the Lord and with men." It reminded me of Luke 2:52, "And Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and with people."
It became clear to me what a "type of Christ" Samuel was, a foretaste of the Perfect One to come, a shadow of the Promise. In the midst of a sinful and depraved people who needed to kill animals constantly because of all their sins, and who couldn't even go through the sacrificial process itself without sinning in additional and astonishing ways (2:12-17), God raised up Samuel to stand in the gap and minister to His people. Samuel brought the people back to a knowledge of the Truth: "Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him and let nothing he said prove false. All Israel from Dan to Beer-sheba knew that Samuel was a confirmed prophet of the Lord. The Lord continued to appear in Shiloh, because there He revealed Himself to Samuel by His word. And Samuel's words came to all Israel." (Also, we didn't get to chapter 7, but there it explains how Samuel worked to bring God's word to the people: "Every year he would go on a circuit to Bethel, Gilgal and Mizpah and would judge Israel at all these locations. Then he would return to Ramah because his home was there, he judged Israel there, and he had built an altar to the Lord there." 7:16-17)
After pondering these chapters,
- I am thankful that Jesus died for my sins and we don't have to kill animals anymore
- I am sobered by the thought of the judgment of God, and how it is impending for all who are not covered by the blood of Jesus.
- I am thankful that Jesus not only brought us the word of God, He is the Word of God (John 1), and although He will sit in the seat of judgment and judge all the nations on the Final Day, I do not need to be afraid, because I belong to Him, I am in Him , and He is in me.
Another passage that I read this week was Psalm 130, and it seems to go along with what God was showing me in 1 Samuel.
Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord; O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy. If you, O Lord, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared.
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I put my hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning, more than watchmen wait for the morning. O Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption. He himself will redeem Israel from all their sins.
Psalm 130
In Jesus we have forgiveness for sins. Do we realize what a marvelous thing this is?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Stress and stress
My kids are in high school and college now, at least three of the four of them are.
That means this time of year is testing time--AP tests, finals, New York regents tests (well, those are still about six weeks out). Tests mean stress. It brings up a lot of memories for me, memories of my own test-taking days.
I remember going in to calculus tests with my heart pounding, dry mouthed, stomach lurching, hands shaking. I remember trying to breathe as they handed me a test. Then I'd open up my calculator, and out would slip a tiny note card on which I had penciled, "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
I am sure that the only reason I got A's was because God was gracious. I don't know why I got A's--I majored in English and I don't remember anything about calculus. I have an old scratch notebook that holds some of my favorite recipes from the olden days--I use it every time I make brownies or sloppy joes. It also has some old calculus exercises written in it, and some Russian conjugations and declentions. They are meaningless to me now, a faded memory of what my brain used to be capable of doing.
School was stressful. Deadlines are stressful, and tests. Job interviews are stressful, and client meetings and, well, lots of things.
Then I had three babies in less than three years and "dropped out." My sister-in-law, who is a high-powered CFO for an insurance company (talk about stressful) once made a comment to me about how stressful it must be to have all those kids.
It's funny, but stressful was not a word that had occurred to me to describe those days. Hard, yes. Exhausting, yes. Lonely, yes. But I didn't feel scared, my heart didn't race, I didn't lose my breath and think I was going to throw up (except when there was a major injusry with copious blood, which, by the grace of God, actually didn't happen particularly often).
Can this be true? Were the most difficult days of my life less stressful than other periods I've lived through? How can this be?
I think, in me, stress comes from imagining a worst case scenario. Some days, when my kids were sick, and I was sick, and we were going on nights of 6-8 interuptions in sleep [that would be MY sleep], I guess I was IN the worst case scenario. And guess what--we survived it! We are basically happy, healthy, and continuing on, by the grace of God, and it's OK.
That means this time of year is testing time--AP tests, finals, New York regents tests (well, those are still about six weeks out). Tests mean stress. It brings up a lot of memories for me, memories of my own test-taking days.
I remember going in to calculus tests with my heart pounding, dry mouthed, stomach lurching, hands shaking. I remember trying to breathe as they handed me a test. Then I'd open up my calculator, and out would slip a tiny note card on which I had penciled, "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
I am sure that the only reason I got A's was because God was gracious. I don't know why I got A's--I majored in English and I don't remember anything about calculus. I have an old scratch notebook that holds some of my favorite recipes from the olden days--I use it every time I make brownies or sloppy joes. It also has some old calculus exercises written in it, and some Russian conjugations and declentions. They are meaningless to me now, a faded memory of what my brain used to be capable of doing.
School was stressful. Deadlines are stressful, and tests. Job interviews are stressful, and client meetings and, well, lots of things.
Then I had three babies in less than three years and "dropped out." My sister-in-law, who is a high-powered CFO for an insurance company (talk about stressful) once made a comment to me about how stressful it must be to have all those kids.
It's funny, but stressful was not a word that had occurred to me to describe those days. Hard, yes. Exhausting, yes. Lonely, yes. But I didn't feel scared, my heart didn't race, I didn't lose my breath and think I was going to throw up (except when there was a major injusry with copious blood, which, by the grace of God, actually didn't happen particularly often).
Can this be true? Were the most difficult days of my life less stressful than other periods I've lived through? How can this be?
I think, in me, stress comes from imagining a worst case scenario. Some days, when my kids were sick, and I was sick, and we were going on nights of 6-8 interuptions in sleep [that would be MY sleep], I guess I was IN the worst case scenario. And guess what--we survived it! We are basically happy, healthy, and continuing on, by the grace of God, and it's OK.
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