Immunization

Three months ago, I took a writing hiatus and disappeared for a little while to prepare for the birth of my daughter and give myself time to adjust to our new life together.  Yesterday, we celebrated her two-month birthday, and today she reached a milestone.  Her first round of shots. This morning we woke up early and packed the diaper bag.  I strapped my daughter into her carseat and loaded her in the car.  When we arrived at the office, I signed her in and sat in the waiting room with her as she cooed and grinned at me.  My heart was heavy.  I knew that my happy child would be upset and crying by the time we left the office, but I also knew that the shots were in her best interest.

The nurse weighed her, and the doctor checked her out.  The time for the shots arrived before I was ready for them.  My daughter gripped my index finger in one hand and my husband's in the other.  She laid on the examination table in complete submission and trust as the nurse held down her legs and gave her the first shot.

For a second, I thought she wouldn't cry.  Then her face contorted in shock and agony and she shrieked in pain.  I've never heard that sound come out of her mouth before.  The crying got louder with each shot, and my heart ached for my baby girl.  She had just experienced pain for the first time in her life, and I had voluntarily subjected her to it.

On the ride home, it occurred to me that sometimes God signs us up for pain that he knows is necessary for our own well-being.  In those moments, all we can do is cling to his finger for dear life and keep trusting that he knows what is best for us.  No life worth living is painless, and however much we may wish that we could spare ourselves the discomfort, sometimes the pain is necessary to get us where we need to be.

My daughter, by the way, is fine.  As I type this, she's laid across my lap smiling and cooing at me again.  She survived the temporary pain.  All is well.

Being Taught

Life has been busy lately.  So busy, in fact, that I haven't taken the time to sit down and write here as often as I would like.  With a baby set to arrive in just three weeks, baskets of pink onesies and fluffy blankets have swallowed me.  I've been getting her room in order and and hosting family and having a baby shower, and life has been insane.  In the midst of my normal, everyday life, I've been consumed by writing projects.  I've got articles coming out in ec and myMISSIONfulfilled in September, and another article coming out in the December issue of ec.  I've also signed a contract to write Sunday school curriculum for Clarity Publishers, and I've completed one of six lessons.  I'm trying to crank out a couple more lessons before it's baby time.  All of that explains my recent absence.  If you don't hear from me again for a while, it probably means that the baby is here and I'm getting used to life as a new parent. But regardless of all that is going on in my life, consuming my time and occupying my thoughts, I am still called to be about the business of God.  Last week I wrote a Sunday school lesson to teach other people, but this week, the truths of the lesson keep popping up in my life.  It seems that I need to teach myself the things that I wanted to teach others.  It's far too easy for me to lose sight of God in the middle of my busy-ness, and I was on the verge of turning down a wonderful opportunity to serve him because the timing is inconvenient.

But last night and this morning, I've realized that it will never be convenient to serve God.  There will always be something else pressing for my attention.  For too long, I've made excuses.  I waited until summertime to sing in the choir because I couldn't attend practice during the semester.  I waited until I graduated from seminary to teach at church because I wanted to give it my full attention.  I waited until after school to have a baby because I couldn't imagine doing both at the same time.  I like to plan and organize my life, but for a year now I've been praying for God to open doors and create opportunities for me to serve him.  Now that he has opened them, I've wanted to run away because I think the timing is lousy.  It's funny how God works.

God knew that I needed to write that Sunday school lesson to remind me of the truths I thought I was teaching others, when in reality, He was teaching me.  All the while I typed away, encouraging people to claim the lessons for themselves, but I had never made them my own, and I'm learning that when God has something to say, He will say it loud and clear.

On October 2, 2008, I wrote in my journal:

Never stop teaching me your ways, Father.  Help me to be a person who reflects your beautiful character to the world.  Looking back over the last year makes me look forward to the next.  What will it look like?  Where will I be?  Will I be a mother?  Will I be writing?  Will I be teaching?  Lord, you know.  I rest in your consecration and anointing.  I am uncertain about the future.  Frustrated by the difficulty of being a woman in ministry.  Intimidated by all the other writers out there.  But Lord, I know that I don't have to prove myself.  If I do what you have called and gifted me to do, it will be undeniable.  Oh Lord, may you find me faithful.

Some of those questions have been answered.  Life now looks very different than it did last year, but it is good.  I will be a mother very soon.  I'm writing.  And now, I have the chance to teach regularly.  These are the things I prayed for, and God has been faithful to answer those prayers.  I just needed to be reminded of that.  It is still and always will be my prayer that as the Lord teaches me, he will find me faithful.  Even now.

Looking Back: Cape Coast Castle

As I turned on the news this morning, images of President Obama touring Cape Coast Castle in Ghana and speaking to the Ghanaian people greeted me.  Just a year and a half ago, I walked through the same slave fortress and saw the same sights, and viewing them on TV brought the memories to the forefront of my mind.  In honor of Obama's Ghanaian visit, I thought I would post a journal entry I wrote shortly after returning home about my experience at Cape Coast.  It was a sobering and powerful time, and I will never forget it. For some background information, Cape Coast is just one of several slave fortresses along the African coast. It was a holding tank for Africans while their handlers waited for boats from the Americas to arrive and carry them out.

When we arrived at Cape Coast, I didn't really know what to expect or the proper way to react. I took several pictures there, but none of me because I didn't think it was appropriate to smile happily like I was at any other tourist destination. This was a slave fortress. People suffered and died there.

I cannot describe to you the conditions of the dungeons that they held the slaves in before the boats arrived to carry them away. It was horrific. No light, save for tiny ventilation windows far above. A rough-cut channel running through the middle of the floor for urine. Troughs along the edges for feces. I know we've all heard about the conditions before, but hearing about it and walking around in it is another matter. I have no words. This photo is from the female slave dungeon. It was terrifyingly dark, except for one window.

As I walked through the dungeons where so many died and thought about the inhumanity of it all, I wondered what the African American students on our trip were thinking. I kept wondering if they were seriously disturbed by their surroundings, knowing that their ancestors passed through dungeons similar to those. And then I started wondering about my own ancestors. Did they own slaves? Did they go to church and give glory to God while they bought and sold human beings alongside fabric and crops? These are the things I wonder.

No one woke up one morning and decided it would be a good day to start selling people. It just...developed...as Africans brought other Africans to trade with Europeans for guns and dishes and other such meaningless items. And the Europeans took them. Somehow it escalated, until over 12 million people were shipped out of Africa, all the while their European handlers worshiped God in churches above the very dungeons that swallowed the Africans. Somehow they justified it, thought it was OK, and it scares me to death.

Sin can get so out of control. We are all absolutely hopeless. Slavery and genocide are just two highly visible examples of the wickedness of humanity. If we allow sin to go untreated and compromise God's standards, what will be our slavery or Holocaust? These weren't heathen men. They were Christians who told themselves that what they were doing was alright. What are we supposed to do with that? There are many questions to consider and concerns to raise.

One of the most poignant moments at the slave castles came when our guide led us to the "Door of No Return," the door that led to waiting ships. When Africans set foot out that door, they never set foot on African soil again, and when he opened the door, I was shocked by the brilliance and vibrancy of life outside it.

I couldn't believe that life went on as usual outside those doors. And that's when I understood that we have to get over the demons in our past. Life goes on, and we can look back and learn from our mistakes, but we don't have to let them paralyze us. God is gracious, merciful and kind. Despite the sin and wretchedness, there's also beauty and love in this world.

As we turned around, we walked back through the door into the fort and did something none of the slaves were ever able to do. We returned to our lives, and we kept going.