CHICKS, STRUGGLES, FAITH

When I was a little girl we lived in Hawaii. My father taught marine biology at a local high school, plus I think maybe a few other science classes. One day he brought home a box that was making a lot of cheeping sounds and wiggling. And a little dry aquarium with a heat lamp. We put soft stuff in the bottom of the aquarium and placed a dozen or so noisy and wiggly little eggs. They were getting close to hatching, so my dad emphasized the number one rule: never, ever, ever help the chicks get out of their shell. It would be so tempting. They would squawk and chirp and peck and roll around, but IF WE HELPED THEM THEY WOULD DIE. Getting out of the egg gave them the nutrients they needed, and the resistance they needed to grow strong enough to survive.

This past couple of months or so I have pretty much been begging Heavenly Father to let me help my chickens out…just a little. Things are challenging for every one of them in different ways, and I have been taking the unwise course of worrying AT God, instead of giving it TO God.

I was talking to my husband about why this is so hard for me right now, and he said, “I think it’s the Asian side of you. You’re pragmatic. You want a plan.” And…spoiler alert…I do! Plans, backup plans, and Powerpoints. I want to know how everything is going to work out for everyone and then I can let go of this burden. Well, faith doesn’t work that way. And so I started to physically and emotionally struggle-my anxiety was through the roof, migraines were making daily visits, and I was living on the verge of a panic attack 24/7. I finally realized THIS stage of life is so hard because with so many of the kinds of struggles and growing my loved ones need to go through, I can DO absolutely nothing to help. I am a doer. But in all of these situations, there is nothing I can or should do. For the first time in my life I feel totally helpless. I needed to give these burdens to the Lord. But instead of just doing that, I started telling God all the reasons why I wasn’t able to do that. “I don’t know if you love my child as much as I do.” My husband said, “Seriously?” “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but when you are hurling my babies 15 feet in the air, I think YOU don’t love them as much as I do!” “I see your point!” he said. (Ok, maybe not out loud. But I’m sure he was nodding his head and thinking it.)

Lately, I have been thinking about this concept of wrestling with God. I would have considered myself to be someone with a lot of faith. What I like to call ordinary, workaday faith. Faith to move mountains? Yes! Not by saying,”Move!” but by taking a spoon, and with that spoon, moving that mountain out of my way, one spoonful at a time. We have moved a lot of mountains like this, God and me. But now—-there is NO SPOON. (I always wanted to say that and have it be meaningful. Shout out to my Matrix fans here. ) God, however, has other plans. He wants me to let Him take over. And so, I have. Finally. Reluctantly. And it’s been a daily struggle. But I am learning to do it by really examining over this past few weeks what faith and hope mean to me. By praying about what to pray about and even how to pray. By asking how I can use the power given to me through covenants I have made to bless and strengthen my children. All through this struggle, I thought, why is this so hard? What do I need to learn?

Well, I got my answers a few weeks ago, all at once, when I returned from a quick 2-day trip to Paris with my husband and turned on my phone. My sister wanted to let me know that our dad had fallen pretty hard a few times, he’s unable to feed himself and she had their social worker do an assessment to see if we could get some in home health care. Much to our surprise (or not-he’s deteriorated so rapidly these past months) his team is recommending hospice care and doesn’t know if he will survive 6 months.

Now I know my Dad has been dying in slow motion for the last two years, but it’s just brutal to see him reduced to literally a shell that requires inordinate amounts of time and energy to keep itself alive.

As I was thinking about this news, I felt kind of numb. But I know I’m going to grieve. Sometimes in slow motion. Sometimes just straight up grieving. But I realized the struggle I had with faith and humility and trust over the preceding weeks was something I needed to prepare me for the inevitable loss of my father. Because I was reminded of two very important truths and a lie. You know that game you play when you’re at a party? But this is one I realized life likes to play with us, and it’s essential that we recognize these three statements for what they are-two fundamental truths we need to remember and one lie that is constantly being whispered to us.

THE LIE: YOU ARE NOT ENOUGH

This is the big one. It’s really the only lie that matters. Because if you believe this one, then you believe all the other lies that accompany this one. This is THE lie the adversary wants us to believe, and let’s face it billions of dollars in the fashion, beauty, diet and self help industry say he’s doing pretty well at selling it. BUT IT’S STILL A LIE. You ARE enough. You are strong enough. Smart enough. Faithful enough. Creative enough. Humble enough. Kind enough. Pretty enough. You are of infinite worth. Nothing you do or don’t do can change that.

TRUTH ONE: GOD LOVES US, RELENTLESSLY

C.S. Lewis said that God’s love for us is relentless. What is relentless? A two year old who needs a snack while you’re on the phone. Teenagers trying to negotiate ten more minutes before curfew. My mother trying to get everyone to believe aspartame poisoning causes dementia. Those examples all tied up and multiplied to the trillionth power might start approaching how God feels about me. Even when I say stupid things like “but are you SURE you know what it’s like to watch your children suffer..? (I think He pops a celestial Xanax when He hears me coming). He is always there, loving and waiting to help and bless us.

TRUTH TWO: YOU ARE NEVER ALONE

There were times during the past few weeks that I felt desperately in need of peace and comfort. As I read the scriptures, I was reminded that Christ descended below all, so He would know how we feel. So that when I had to face that my dad has a few months to live and I’m already feeling stretched to the limit—remembering those quiet moments where I felt peace, helped me to feel it again. The Savior knows what it’s like to lose His earthly father. More importantly, He is the only one who knows how I feel while I’m grieving in slow motion for my father. He paid the price for all of that and then even for a few moments had to feel what it was like to not have God the Father in His life—felt that utter desolation, so that WE DON’T HAVE TO. He drank that bitter cup alone, so that we will NEVER have to feel alone.

So as I look back on the last month or so, I am glad I did not chip away at any eggs, or help those chicks. We all need to struggle, so that we are strong enough to survive.