Life After 23

It's not their fault - the book authors, your friends, your study leader.  I understand that.  But it doesn't make the pain ease up at all.  Anyone else who has struggled with infertility knows what I'm talking about.  You sit down to read your devotional or (God forbid!) have a group Bible study, open your book, and at the top of the page: CHILDREN .  It doesn't matter what the rest of the title says, because that's the only word you see, staring up at you like a big red light that, by turns, is mocking you and judging you. You think, "That's it, I'm out.  This whole lesson doesn't apply to me."  Or perhaps wonder what is so wrong with you that God doesn't want you to raise children.  You maybe start comparing yourself to other moms in your study group, and before long, little seeds of resentment start to germinate as you think, "Why does she get to use this parenting knowledge and I don't? I mean, I'm better than her at

So get this.  I'm reading in Deuteronomy for my devotional this morning, and I come across some food for thought that really has nothing to do with the devotional article's focus.  But there I am, with this cool new interpretation of Scripture that, honestly, I probably should have gotten before now. Anyway, the kicker for me this morning is Deut. 6:25, which says in the NLT, "For we will be counted as righteous when we obey all the commands the Lord our God has given us."  (For some context, Moses is addressing the nation of Israel with a final charge before he dies and the people enter the Promised Land.  More on that in the next post.)  Right off the bat, I think, "Oh, well this just describes the first part of the picture - the one where generations of Israelites (and a few converts) tried and failed miserably to earn salvation through works. This doesn't apply anymore."  After all, a good portion of Moses' entire charge is rules and regul

There comes a time when each of us must say, "I can't do it alone."  Each of us, sooner or later.  We hold out our hands and say to someone, "Help me."  When that time comes, all we have left is our trust. ~ Perry Mason As you can tell from the quote above, I love Perry Mason.  I've been watching a lot of it recently.  Lying in bed tends to go by a lot faster trying to beat him to figuring out who the killer is. When I'm not watching Perry, I have a lot of time to think.  I have slowly been coming to terms with the fact that normal as I knew it - or wanted to know it - will never be.  This disease keeps progressing, and apparently fighting it on my own has contributed to that.  When that began to sink in, I realized that my very survival rests on my ability to ask for help. Perry got me thinking.  It's not just humbling to ask for help.  It's vulnerable.  Admitting you need help doesn't just hurt your pride; it threatens you