Rebirth

I am in crisis mode. Maybe you can relate. Things aren't going my way. Under my complacent outer shell, I am churning and I wish I could whine like a three-year-old. Indeed, ill-tempered, plaintive outbursts have been too common. Cynicism and pessimism are growing inside. Stressed days lead to sleepless nights which lead to grimly pressing through each day with my face looking as if the Senokot hasn't worked yet.

I have not neglected my responsibilities, have continued to love those around me, and have never slacked off on my Bible reading. I am preaching all the right words to my weary soul. I have been assured by others that this is a passing season designed to create strength; this pruning will enable future growth. Though I believe and trust these truths, a dark inertia is still pulling me backward.

Throughout my current crisis, I have been remembering how I felt the last time I cried so hard and from somewhere so deep I thought I could never stop. Seven years ago, our baby Nicole died. For nearly eight months, Deanna's pregnancy was as normal as it had been with our other two children. Then, what began as a somewhat sheepish call for prayer about a couple of minor concerns mushroomed into a month and a half at a neo-natal ICU. After being discharged, we brought our Nicole home for four months. After a bout with pneumonia, she went to live with her other Daddy in heaven and I attended a funeral that included balloons.

Perhaps in need of a boost, I have been reading the hundreds of supportive e-mails and messages we wrote and received during our time with her. Those first e-mailed prayer requests blossomed into journal entries, chronicling the goodness of our God, our ever-increasing faith, and the love of His people all over the world.

It has been deeply convicting to read my own words. The stresses, fears, and possible loss of this current crisis are not nearly as severe as watching the breath of my Punkin Seed slowing. This man in my letters was far stronger than I am now.

The Jim from seven years ago, revealed in these letters, had his up days and his meltdowns, but there was a thread through it all that read, “But God…” I refused to hold God hostage to this one circumstance. I trusted that everything would be okay, even if my definition of okay didn't match up with His. I found strength for every new battle, even the ones that looked like losses. Even those apparent losses became sources for worship and submission. My Father truly became my Rock, the quarry from which I was hewn.

When our Nicole was born, she was even more dependent on us than a normal baby. Of course, she had to be fed and diapered, but she also needed medications precisely measured. If she was positioned incorrectly, her oxygen level would drop, and she would stop breathing. All of this somehow transformed me. It was as if when Nicole was born, so was a more dependent Jim. As she grew and her challenges increased, eventually taking her life, my trust in God increased, eventually giving me life.

Many of us have been through experiences such as these, trials we would never choose, but God proved faithful and we chose to experience Him in the middle of the darkness. One family I know lost their son in a tragic car accident and, much later actually began wishing for a lesser crisis just to feel a closeness with God again.

We shouldn't need a crisis to feel close to God. In my own experience, the renewed crisis hasn't been enough anyway. I have been “slack in the day of distress,” and my “strength is little.”

The beginning of the year is often a time to try something new or try something again. “ This is the year we're going to use that gym membership,” we promise ourselves. “This is the year I'm finally going to write that book.”

God is calling me in 2012 to something deeper than gritting my teeth over some discipline I probably never had in the first place. Seven years ago, Nicole was born and so was a supernatural dependence on God. During my current crisis, I serve that same God. He has not changed. His love for me is still unquestionable. His purposes for me are oftentimes unknown, but ultimately good. He is still a Rock and a Warrior, and deserving of my trust, submission, and worship. He has not changed.

To recapture the man I was, I can't jump in Mr. Peabody's WABAC machine. I can't orchestrate and repeat those circumstances (nor would I.) I can't make my baby live again. I can only live in my current crisis with a renewed faith, a faith that was painstakingly built during the last crisis.

The glorious promise of our loving God is that when we repent, He will remake us. This is what I need. I need a recovery, a restoration. I need a rebirth.

Walk WITH Jesus,

Jim