God "Nose" What I Need

A predicament? Initially, I didn’t think so.

Rather, I thought it was a series of unfortunate events.

After my teenage daughter experienced two gut wrenching episodes of kidney stone attacks in one week, one requiring a trip to the ER and the other a hospitalization for pain …

I fell out of bed and broke my nose.

It’s rather embarrassing, really – and sad.  What forty-seven year old mother falls out of bed?

I’m not sure what happened.

The last thing I remember before hitting the floor was saying to myself, “I am getting a headache.  I think I better get out of bed and make a pot of coffee.” 

Then the next thing I heard – felt – was a crunch across my face. 

I jumped up and ran to the bathroom sink, screaming, “I broke my nose! I broke my nose!”

My husband was gone. My children came running.  Visions of Marsha Brady getting hit with a football on an ancient episode of the Brady Bunch danced through my head.

With swollen nose, purplified (my word) eyes and an equally bruised ego, I slothed through the weekend, eventually finding myself in the operating room, under general anesthesia for a closed reduction of my nasal fracture.

It’s been one of those weeks.

In the midst of the chaos, I flipped through my Bible, searching for some encouragement.  Why was I feeling like God was distant? Wasn’t it enough that I was trying to help my daughter through a difficult time and care for the other children? Must the injury be to my face? (Why was I being so vain?)

The Lord brought me to Psalm 46:5 (NIV), “God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.”

Not funny, Lord.  I know You have a sense of humor, but I’m not laughing. I fell at the break of day, and I broke my nose.   Were you there?

So, this is my predicament – will I trust God that He loves me or will I give up?

Will I see this as Holy Ground?  Has the Lord brought me to this place of humility in order to show me more of Him? Will I look for Him?  Will I trust Him? Will I slip of my sandals and face His radiance?

A friend posts on Facebook a note to me, “God ‘nose’ what you need.” 

Now, I laugh.  I choose to trust and wait and see what He has for me, knowing that He ‘nose’ just what I need.

We Help One Another See

The mamas gather on the veranda in the late afternoon to sort maize. Young girls gather, too.

Their hands move swiftly through the kernels, sorting out the good pieces from the bad.

We join them in the shade, sitting, to learn from them, the job of cleaning maize. We want to help them; we want to get to know them. They are women with stories and women with hope.

The mamas talk of the children, the orphans, eight or nine dear ones to a home.  These women are the ones who love them, teach them. We listen, leaning in to their stories.

They ask us (my other female team members and myself) about life in America. We speak our stories, too.

We weave our stories together; God weaves them tighter. Worlds apart in many ways -- and yet we are women, made in the image of God, with hearts that care and hearts that yearn.

Minutes pass into hours, and we still speak sincerely to one another, while sorting maize. We sort life out together, too.

The sun begins to set, slowly. My new friend, Mama Rose, stops what she is doing.

“My vision is poor,” she says softly. “It is getting darker, and I cannot see very well. I must stop working now.”

I feel a gentle prompt from the Lord and slip my reading glasses off my nose.

“Would you like to try these?” I offer my sister.

She slips them on while, simultaneously, a smile blooms across her face.

“OOOOOHH!  I can see!” she exclaims, in her warm African accent. “I can’t believe the difference! I can still work with the maize and  now, I think I can read my Bible!”

She is surprised. I am, too.

In the days that follow, my other team-mates and I find more glasses that work -- some stored away in a box in a clinic building, unused, and some of our own.

We bring the beauty of sight to the women who sort maize and surround the children with their love.

Many days, I think of them, remembering our time together … sharing life, gaining perspective, loving one another, encouraging one another – helping each other see.

I think of the women in my life, now – they help me see, too. 

I do not sort maize on cool, concrete floors, under the warm African sun, with my women friends here in America -- but I do sort through life. 

God gives me this gift of women friends – near and far --  and I am grateful for them.  Very.

Memories Flash as Tulips Droop White

Tulips droop white.

Yesterday, my friend gives them to me. She reaches out remembrance. She has not forgotten that they are my favorite.

I place them on my kitchen windowsill.

Gentle snowflakes fall outside. Tears fall down my face.

Memories flash.

Eighteen years past.  A hospital room with tulips white on a sill. Alone I rest upon the bed, waiting for what is next – the arrival of my first born.  He is coming early. I am scared. 

Today, I pull a picture from the past, off the shelf. 

Today, is his birthday.

I feel my heart full, swollen.  I remember him inside.  Safe.  Secure.  Near to my heart, nestled under my rib cage warm and then he was born. Out of me, but not far from me.

Under duress, he entered the world.  My heart yearned then.  It yearns now.

“It’s okay, Andrea, cry.” I feel His Spirit speak to me.

“Why did it have to be this way, Lord?” I whisper back.

The Lord knows, it is not only the early birth, it is my son’s special needs that I think hard upon.

I ask for reassurance that all will be well.

My heart droops down, too.

I am overwhelmed with what is next for my dear son. 

I cannot speak; words within fall short, too.  God knows.  He does not need my words.

And then a Voice of Hope heralds itself in to my heart: nothing slips through the hand of God.  Do not be afraid.

Nothing.  I don’t understand. I wish it were different, but my different is not what God deemed.

And so I go back to what I know is true – God is sovereign and God is good.

I lie down limp, on the pillow of these truths.

As I rest, I thank God for my boy, now becoming a man.  I am proud of him.

Thankfulness helps me see.  The Lord helps me believe.

We Paint Pottery Together

She is the artistic one.

We paint pottery together. It is her birthday choice. 

It is a special outing for us.  We celebrate the middle one – tenderhearted, merciful, insightful, almost ethereal.  She is lovely.

They choose different pieces.  We are different.  The athlete. The artist. The musician.  Their mother.  We come together to celebrate life, live life, love each other. 

One a bowl, one a container, and two of us pick plates. Squirting paint on round palates, we envision our design.  We dip brushes and begin. We aim to create. 

I watch the birthday girl and her sisters.  They look in to their project, past the plain outside in to what it will be. I wonder what they are thinking about, how God is is moving in them as they create; how He is moving in them as He creates their lives.

I wonder at their abilities – His abilities. It is peaceful.  We talk occasionally, about memories, questions they have, silly things, some serious things, too.

With eyes squinted and licking lips, one stands over her piece of work, intent.  The other perches on the end of her chair -- closer, closer -- drawing herself in to her masterpiece.  The third sits quietly, in her teen years. 

Where did the time go? 

I want to reach out and catch time in my hands and not let it go. I linger in this moment.

We finish and walk out together, comfortable with each other, comfortable with ourselves. We talk about our dishes, what they will look like once they are fired, how the colors will emerge, deep and yet bright.

I marvel again at how God created them – the athlete, the artist and the musician – the sisters – deep and yet bright -- and I sigh.

What I See in Her is a Piece of Me

We pull out a puzzle, dumping the pieces on to the cool, hard concrete porch at the Villages of Hope Orphanage in Zambia, Africa.

Her fingers fiddled with the fragments, trying to figure out what to do next.

“Do you know how to start this, Mary?”

“No, Auntie. I do not, ”  she shares quietly.

“We start with the pieces that have a straight side.  They look like this. We’ll put them together, they are the outside, and then we’ll fill in the frame.”

We work silently.  She concentrates on the puzzle. I concentrate on her.

Her face serene reveals trust, not turmoil.

I marvel at her willingness to attach to me, a stranger. She sees me as her friend.  I am her friend.

Her tender spirit reveals a gentle soul, not contaminated by the world, and yet, having endured trials and tears unknown to me.

Her strength sturdy and yet fragile is evident.

I wonder about her life, her past,  her future.

I eventually break the silence and ask her questions about herself.

She likes the color yellow, her favorite thing to do is play hide and seek and to learn at school.  She hopes to be a nurse some day. Her favorite thing about God, “He saves me.”

It dawns on me.

What I see in her is a piece of me. 

A daughter of the king, fiddling with the pieces of life that God gives me, trying to figure out what is next, trusting Him for each day.

My heart connects to her. God does that work, drawing us together.

We finish the puzzle and admire it.  She is content.  I am blessed to know her.