Sing a Song of Sixpence...

A little poem from my heart.  Ahem.

Humble pie is so nutritious,

Sadly, it is not delicious,

But those who think it looks the grossest,

Are the ones who need it most-est

What inspired this masterful marriage of trochaic tetrameter and insight, you ask?

Welp.  I'm thinking about it, because I'm eatin' it, and here's the story.

Our adoption is final, the holiday rush is over, and for the first time in many moons, we have no potentially major crises looming on the horizon.

Yay!

 

But for some inexplicable reason I can't seem to get the shell-shocked expression off my face and the clutch of fear off my innards.  

I am bolting up in the middle of the night for no reason, I find myself rhythmically clenching my jaw all day, and my right eyelid has developed a sporadic twitch. 

What is wrong with me?

I'd love to know.

I have had a number of stern conversations with myself over the last month or so, laying out with impeccable logic all the reasons that I should be overflowing with joy, peace, and contentment right now, and yet here I am under my own personal rain cloud, waiting for--nay, EXPECTING--lightening to strike me on the beanie at any moment.  

Have I become one of those people who has a crisis every time they aren't having a crisis?  


It's possible.

The "Helping Sandra Discover Humility" plan which God developed for me has included giving me something in common with almost every kind of person whose existence used to fill me with arrogance or irritation.  

“People Defined By Their Current Crisis” was definitely on that list, as was the "Harried and Haggard Mother Who Comes Flopping into Every Event 10 Minutes Late, Dragging (or chasing) Boys Who Smell Funny, Break Things, and Yell a Lot."

I did some prideful tongue-clucking over her too, until one day I woke up and I WAS her.  

Ouch.  Is that pie for me?

Then there was the "Dripping Bore"--you know, the one who is so consumed by her family drama that she either 

a) cries every time you see her 

b) turns every discussion back to her personal trauma, or 

c)both of the above.

Nothing more entertaining than hearing people talk about their pain over and over and over again, right? Can I just bring a book to read when I visit you since I've already heard it?

And then suddenly, I was there too, pain and anger boiling in my heart--directed (in my case) at the state, the system, the plight of children, the havoc in my home.  

It was relentless and overwhelming...and God sent people to surround me with love and patience and listening ears and wisdom.  

Ouch again.  And more pie.

So now here I am with a nice, peaceful life and a large, nameless dread.

Once again, I am that person I used to judge unkindly.  

My nose is an inch from the remembrance of my "superior faith"--the one that keeps good Christian people from such "weaknesses" as depression, random panic attacks, and inexplicable insomnia. 

I used to march unshaken--like a young Martin Luther, wearing my confidence and convictions as banners of my steadfast faith.  

These days, although I know my faith is still there, and that God is still unshakable, I remind myself more of a tired, middle-aged Martin Luther throwing ink pots at invisible demons in the corners of his bedroom than the one who publicly nailed his theses to the church doors.

Another juicy slice of humble pie for me--and I am learning from it!  But I still want to analyze my condition.

So here is what I've got so far.

 When I was young, although I knew that life was hard for some people, I didn't truly think it would be for me.  I was the careful planner.  The schedule maker.  The accident avoider.

I would welcome sweet-natured babies at reasonable intervals into a spotless home.  They would respond to the carefully researched parenting techniques I applied, and grow into cheerful, healthy adults who would simultaneously bless the world and validate my stellar parenting skills.  

I would be surrounded by my happy, healthy friends and my happy, healthy extended family, and live with my doting husband who would love and be fulfilled by his job, which he would balance perfectly with his familial obligations.  

Don't we all expect some version of that on our wedding day if we are honest?  

And even when the children surprise us by having wills of their own, and our jobs don't pan out like they were supposed to, and nagging health concerns pop up, don't we still expect it to "all work out" at some point?

Until we see that often it doesn't.  

People we love start dying.  Trusted friends betray their vows to us or others.  Children get sick and don't get better. Parents get sick and don't get better.  Jobs disappear or suck us dry.  Our "perfect parenting" is not enough to prevent our children from making horrible decisions, we realize that most of our bright, shiny "firsts" are behind us...and we still have a long way to go.  

We just get tired.  Basically, we have lived through enough bad things to make us afraid of what might happen, and not quite enough to prove our fortitude.

I now understand why the apostle Paul uses the analogy of a race to describe the Christian walk because as I think about it, my first half marathon was a blow-by-blow reflection of my life so far.

Recap:  I start out knowing the run is going to be long and hard, but not really feeling it because everything is all so new and exciting!  Everyone is chatting and cheering, my legs are fresh and strong, and every mile reveals a bright new scene.  

Sometime later, I hit mile 6.   Not quite to the halfway turnaround, but already the better runners had hit it and are coming back toward me looking impossibly fresh and fast.  

"Good job!  Keep it up!" they yell with a bounce and a smile as they pass.
  
"Humnghhuph!" I reply, which when translated means, "You are AWESOME!"  and also, "I think I hate you," and also, "Can I ride on your back?" 

My emotions at this point:  "This is not as fun as I hoped it would be, and I'm not even half done."

So then I reach the turnaround and hit another mental wall.  I am only half way.  

I am working twice as hard to run half as fast as I was in the beginning.  The scenery is old now.  I am gasping and sweating and chafing and becoming increasingly alarmed by the number of fellow runners who are doubled over in the bushes by the side of the road.  

Resting, I think. 

"Good job?"  I yell.  (Hope that was the right thing to say.)  It probably doesn't matter since it sounded like "Humnghhuph!" anyway.

And then a long lonely stretch.  Just me and my heavy breathing. 

And then another long, lonely stretch--with a hill.

I feel my hamstring give a warning shot and my blisters are having babies in my shoes and I truly start to wonder if I am going to finish.

And honestly, I am wondering if I even want to.

I think my pervading sense of doom comes from being at mile seven in life right now.  I trust God, but I don’t trust myself.  I hope I will finish well, but I have seen better people than me go down in flames.   

I am too tired to feel like an encouragement to others, and too embarrassed to ask for it from the faster racers.  

Now, before anyone dials up Pine Rest on my behalf, I AM finding encouragement in several places.  

 First of all, I have parents and older friends in my church and Bible Study who have run through mile seven, eight, and nine, and are smiling at the thought of a closer finish line.  They have run hard miles, some of them have fought dragons and dodged arrows as well, and they are calling out encouragement to those of us behind them.  

And I have the beautiful, precious promises of Scripture.

The race analogy isn't perfect.  The number of miles behind the Senior Saints is not what makes them shine.  What matters is the quality of their faith, and that is often produced through testing.

I have noticed that the people I most admire are ones who have not just run a regular ole' marathon.  Generally they are ones who have run the equivalent of a 100 mile Tough Mudder and lived to tell about it.  

They have often endured tremendous hardship or pain or prolonged uncertainty and instead of growing bitter or defeated, have allowed the Holy Spirit to use those obstacles to transform them into people of tremendous grace, humility, and love.  

They have looked with eyes of faith on the things of earth and seen them grow dim in the great light of God's promises.  

They have discovered the truth of  1 Corinthians 4:

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 

8We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; 10always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. ..16So we do not lose heart. 

Though our outer self^c is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.  

17For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. 

For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal."

Faithfulness breeds faith.  If I see that God can strengthen and refine me during the doldrums in mile seven, then maybe I will trust him sooner when I face the big hill on mile nine, and sooner yet when I hit the machine gun nest in mile twelve. 

I know it even when I can't feel it.  I learn it better with every bite of humble pie. 

Every morning his mercies are new, and I run in the strength of His power.

*******************

Isaiah 40:31 

 "...but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

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