Esther Moments

  I have a tradition, I have done it for 11 years.   I don't share it.  It is private.... until now.

The night before school, when the world is finally quiet, I go to my classroom.  Some years I  have had to crawl through a window, but I always got in. I will work until I am ready...  Until everything is finished.  Sometimes it gets very late, but Gary knows...... this is my time and I want to be alone.

When everything is complete,  I turn off the lights.  With just a lamp on, in the middle of my room, I get on my knees.... and I stay there.   


  I pray and wait.

 I just stay until I feel released to go and do what God has called me to do.  TEACH

This year was special.  I finished right about sunset and I bowed before my Creator, in the middle of  “ Raney's.” ( my classroom),  The sun was setting through the window.  I actually remember asking to be like that light to my students this year.   I got the feeling that somehow, this place was going to be different.  That somehow, I would get to do just that.

I left my classroom, and I began to walk out.  That is when I noticed it.  The school was silent, but the doors I past had teachers in there.  They were all doing what I had just done.


  It was a holy moment.   It still gives me chills.
  I knew this place was different!

 I couldn't have asked for a better first week.  So many moments when I was affirmed over and over again that I was right where I was supposed to be.

 The second week  we started talking about stanines, and benchmarks and colored folders and my eyes began to cross.  I know these things are important, but I was getting overwhelmed.  I started to get bogged down and stressed over lesson plans, materials and stuff.

Stuff, my focus became on what I needed, not what I had.  I have a room full of children that need me---- not teacher's editions and books.   I can't let my children just  be red, blue, or green folders...

                I took my eye off the ball.

Then it started happening,  my prayer, prayed at sunset,... answered in ways I could never have dreamed.

It began with one student whose sister was a week away from having a baby.  She came in and told me that the baby died.  She told me about the pain and heartache of the family.  I hugged her and said.  “ I understand.”   She had no way of knowing  that my sister had a little girl named Rylee who died just like that.  Almost to term, and that stupid blood clot issue we have....  took her away.

It was very clear to me in that moment that I had a choice:

 “Here's your answer Niki.
Did you really mean it when you prayed to be MY light to these kids?
 If you did, then get to it.  If not, get out of the way!”

        Then, Saturday night my phone rang. On the other end was a mountain of a man in tears.   He was crying so hard I could barely understand him.  It was the parent of one of my students calling to tell me that the reason for the kid's absence was that they had found a mass on the mother's brain.  He said that he didn't know if I believed in God or not, but if I did, could I pray for them?
 I said I would,  and I just listened.  I needed to get confirmation in my spirit to proceed.

  He said “ I know you have no way of knowing how scared we are,  I wish someone could understand.”  Even as dense as I can be sometimes,

                         How do you miss that one?

I shared my story of the brain aneurysm  and open skull brain surgery that nearly took my life.  The one several of you witnessed and loved me through.  I was able to give the man hope and comfort.  I was able to share who my Jesus is and was to me.

We stayed on the phone for a while. It was such a blessing for me.

As I hung up the phone, I kept hearing the still small voice saying  “How do you know that it wasn't for this hour you were born?  How do you know that it wasn't for this hour that student was placed in your class?  How do you know that is wasn't for this hour you were assigned to Wacoochee?”

 Dear friends,  God continues to show me that we are not here by accident. We were not shoved here, but placed.  The children in our rooms were given to us because God knows in His infinite wisdom that we are the person that they need.


Let me encourage you in the midst of the busy …...to not miss that.    Because ultimately, each day with each kid,  we can all be part of Esther moments:



                      For how do YOU know
 that it wasn't for this very hour you were born?

                        Esther 4:14

Stained Glass

  Stained Glass

It is all I can think about lately. An image that keeps invading my thoughts. It is a picture I just can't shake.

Shattered pieces of clear glass scattered on the ground and a beautiful stained glass window. The most beautiful one I have ever seen.

The glass on the ground is where my mind turns first. Disordered, it was once whole. Clean, pretty, functional, solid. It allowed illumination and warmth to enter while offering protection from the harmful elements.

But something had to have happened, clear glass covering the ground could never just break. Something, somehow, broke the pane.

Broken glass is a dangerous thing. Unless it is cleaned up with great care and attention, broken glass can only do one thing...hurt.

Then, I see the beautiful stained glass panel. I notice that it is made up of broken things. Remnants of what was once whole, fused into a new creation. Hard to believe anything beautiful can come from something...so shattered.

This has so bothered me that I actually studied a little about the process trying to understand my picture, and I found out something interesting.

True stained glass is created when the pieces of glass heated to incredible temperatures allow elements from within to mix with added elements from outside. The colors are a result of searing heat mixed with internal elements, with added minerals being applied. The resulting color represents a lasting picture of the elements that were within the glass itself.

Lastly, I think about the person. The Creator of this masterpiece. Unwavering loyalty to the unveiled, completed product. Having the vision, the Artisan must be very selective in deciding what pieces will stay and what pieces will have another destiny. All of the pieces are valuable, yet ultimately they will not all rest in the same creation.

 How I hate to see things broken. Even more, I hate to see broken people.   Isn't it interesting that the process of refining is the same?  Glass into art.... broken hearts into beautiful stories.

How I wish we as people could fast forward to the beautiful mosaic. The masterpiece that remains when the searing process is complete. The vision of the broken being restored.

A  changed life. A new direction.  A portrait of beauty that can only exists because of the hands of the Artisan.

Peeling the Paint

        “Peel the paint off the wall.”  That is how my Lindsey’s cry was described by everyone who knew her as a baby.  She was the perfect baby in the hospital.  We stayed four days because she was basically ripped out of me during a difficult birth.

 It was Heaven.

       On day 5 she started screaming and to my knowledge, she hasn’t stopped.  In our family, we found out quickly that sleep is so overrated. We have done absolutely everything we could: medicines, every conventional and unconventional thing possible.  Nothing seemed to ease her pain.  Don’t even talk to us about doctors, specialist, and the such…been there, done that.

 We even burned up three vacuum cleaners just to drown her out and quiet her down (that’s a completely different story.)  Most nights we would just sit on our porch in Glasgow and wait until morning.

        Strange to say, but I guess the good thing about all of this is that she really has never felt good.   Poor kid doesn’t know what a good day feels like.  She says that there isn’t a day that she doesn’t hurt.   She deals with it far better than I do. 

       We try to keep things in check with her, it is my obsession.  We work very hard to monitor what she eats and how much.  You see, we know that she has a birth defect in her colon and she doesn’t process food well.   There is a “kink” and waste just won’t pass.  Her body doesn’t accept nutrients like everyone else’s. This is why she is so small. 

       We have had a good summer.  I guess I should emphasize HAD.  It all fell apart a few weeks ago.

       We were on the way to work in my classroom when she told me  to “ STOP THE VAN.”  I did, thinking she would throw up and we would go on.  This is a very normal thing for us.

       We stopped the car on the highway next to Concord Baptist Church.  She jumped out of the car and started running through the church parking lot.  For some reason, in her brain, she thinks that if she runs the pain will go away.   She ran and screamed and cried and prayed.  Right there in the church parking lot she cried : “ Jesus, help me!  Oh! Please God, make it stop!”

 It was one of the hardest moments I have ever witnessed as her mother.  Watching her beg God for help.  Waiting,  knowing there is nothing I could do.

I called Gary and we caught her.  She exhausted herself and collapsed into Daddy’s arms. We got her home, settled and decided that the worst of that day was finally over.

  Wrong!

       Each night I tuck my girls into their beds.  We talk about the events of the day.  We finish any unfinished business and end our time with prayer. I make it a priority to pray with, and pray over each of my girls every night.  I want them to hear me talk to God about them,  and thank God for them.

 Before we prayed,   Lindz  stopped me .  She knew what was next and she had a question.

“Why won’t God listen to me when I pray?  I just want to be like everyone else.“

 “ Mommy, why won’t HE help me?”   “I am so tired of hurting.”  “I just want one normal day.”

        I fumbled around a bit.  I stalled, and then I pulled from my file of “church answers.”

1.  Maybe God helped you because you should have been at camp this week. This could have happened without me here.  What would you have done then?

2. Maybe this episode stopped long before it should have.

3.   God provided us a safe place to stay while we figured out what to do.

4. You did get better ….eventually.

 To her, my theology was so completely lacking. Exhausted from my pitiful attempt,   I finally looked into her hurting eyes and said,

           “Lindsey, I don’t know.”    

             

       She questioned why God was being mean to her.  She asked “If God made me, why did HE make me like this? “ As gently as I could, I said: “I don’t know why God created you like this, and I don’t know how to make it stop.” 

Such a humbling place to come to with your child.

        As her mother, I have stormed Heaven’s gates.  I have begged and I have pleaded.   I have sat in hospital rooms and cried until the tears were gone.  I have held her through every possible procedure. We have tried every cocktail of medicine you could fathom.  I have learned all too early what it feels like to be a mom when “a hug can’t heal the hurt.”  I have visited all too often the place of utter helplessness with my little girl in my arms.

              9 years……

       That night I lay in bed thinking about our conversation.   I realized something.  In her little 9 year old way she articulated words that few people are brave enough to say… at least out loud.

       Why won’t God help me when I need HIM so badly?  Where is God when my world is crashing?  Is this really part of a plan, or just a mean joke for some heavenly entertainment? 

       How can a loving God allow such bad things to take place?  Why doesn’t HE intervene in situations that could only bring HIM glory?

       Lindsey’s  issue is small compared to others   Divorce, death, calamity, etc.  But the sentiment and questions prevail.

 Where is God in all this? Where is the healing?  Where is my promise?  Why is there a “thorn” God won’t remove?

       I have played around with the thought for days.  I have tried to come up with a reasonable answer to satisfy her questioning heart.  Even the Sunday night sermon at church last week was about unanswered prayers. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it.  

 I thought about blogging on it. I have typed this several times. I finally let it go, but God just won’t let me….. let it go. 

Today’s lesson at church this morning was even on….. prayer.   I am guessing if HE is dealing with me and my child about this then there are others who may need some answers too.

       While I may not be any closer to a concrete answer for my child to grasp, I have realized something this week.

               I have failed my daughter.

        I have painted her a picture of God that is not real.     A portrait of wish granter.   We talk all the time about answered prayers and prayer requests that God honors.   We speak of a loving God who is more like Santa than Savior.  A heavenly check off list of things we desire.  It is so easy to proclaim our love for God when HE does what we want.

          But how often do you hear someone talk about what happens when God says… NO. When  HE hears from Heaven and answers…“ I can fix it, but I choose not to…. and I am not going to tell you why.” Or    When you get no answer at all…

     I don’t think that I have ever heard anyone out loud thank God for the silence of an unanswered petition.   It is one thing to look back and see how it could have been different.   It is quite another to live in the presence of the answer being withheld.

 I know for certain  that I have never shared my feelings.  I have never talked with Lindsey about my unanswered pleas… times when I have been disappointed with God.

      I have heard that God is like a parent.  As a parent, there are things that my children ask for and I grant.  There are things I deny.  Then there are things that simple get,   “Cause, I am the mom” response.  No explanation except my position of authority. There is a reason; I am just not going to explain it.  It is usually about details they don’t need.  Sometimes the silence is out of necessity and sometimes it is just my preference.  Anyway, it is my prerogative to share or withhold.  It doesn’t change my position of parent though.  My answer doesn’t change the relationship.  I don’t quit being a good mom because I don’t do what they want, when they want it.  That, by definition, would BE bad parenting. To let a child with partial knowledge dictate my reactions.

   I heard a story once about how people disguised irreplaceable paintings by painting another image on top of it.  While the displayed image was pleasing, there was another layer much more beautiful.  The true artifact designed by the creator was present, but to uncover the mystery, someone must expose it.

    I think God is calling me to do that with Lindsey. To reveal to her another layer of the painting. Sharing with her the truth that God works in ways that can’t be explained, or sometimes even justified in our human heart.

      I think for Lindsey it is time to “peel the paint” off of her portrait. To show her that the God she wants may not the God she needs.   It is time for her childlike view to take a new shape;

The true beauty of the masterpiece… a God who can’t be explained.

      I welcome her questions for they are heartfelt and genuine and they are drawing her to a deeper truth,

…an introduction to a Savior that in HIS infinite wisdom gets to dictate the WHY?

  I think it is time to explain to her that God is not “being mean.” She is not being ignored.  She hasn’t done something wrong to cause her pain. And while she desperately wants them, she may never get the answers she seeks.

      I have revisited this over and over in my mind this week and I have come to a conclusion.  Funny, it is the same one I arrived at that night in her room.  It is not terribly profound, actually it really is simple:

     Honestly,   I still don’t know why…

               But, I do know WHO….

                  and knowing that is enough.

                    Jeremiah 29:11