Pedal to the Metal

Her mom’s black patent leather shoes clicked over and over on the tile as she tip-toed around the kitchen. The quieter she tried to be, the more magnified the clicking was, reverberating through the house like a clanging cymbal. 

My mom, a teenager about to become a parent, sat in the living room clenching her teeth, mostly because of her mom’s annoying tip-toeing on blast, but also because of the contractions starting closer together.

Her official due date had come and gone. So, April 22nd became the day both anxiously dreaded and eagerly anticipated by the family. An unplanned pregnancy invites that kind of mixed emotion, I suppose.

Her parents had kicked her out of their house when they found out she was pregnant. Their own act of rebellion to match hers. They tried to ignore the life growing in her. But God was using my life to stir more life in them. A life he wanted them to live in love, not one lived meeting sin with sin, but one responding to sin with grace.

It was a lesson they fought. One rainy day my pregnant mom was walking the streets in Byesville. She saw a truck she recognized and knew it was her dad’s. Maybe he was coming for her! As he stopped at a red light, she ran up and pounded on the passenger window yelling, “Dad! Dad!,” trying to get him to look at her before the light turned green. But he didn’t budge. His foot pressed against the gas, thinking if he pulled away fast enough he could run from what God had him to learn, leaving her standing in the street, wet and cold, because of her expanding waistline.

But God always wins. Those he pursues can’t get away from him no matter how hard they press the pedal to the metal. 

In time, Mom was back at her parents, sitting with her dad, as he invited her to give me their last name since Mom would not be marrying my biological father. Most parents struggle over a first name for their baby, but Mom had to struggle over a last name for me. By grace, I would became a Neuhart, taking my maternal side's last name.

Maybe it was the aggravation of the clicking patent leather on the tile that accelerated the contractions, or just nature taking its course. Whatever it was, my mom got a seat in her parent's vehicle that day, April 22nd, no pounding on the window required, as they sped, pedal to the metal, to the hospital for my birth. 

My life certainly did awaken more life and grace in my grandparents' heart. They lovingly provided a roof over our heads. But even more, Grandma gave me, her originally unwanted granddaughter, a front row seat to the wonder of a life transformed by the power of the gospel. 

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For Reflection

How is someone else’s sin affecting your life right now?

How are you responding to this unwanted and/or unplanned trial, circumstance, or relationship? 

What would it look like for you to respond to sin with grace instead of meeting it with more sin?

When You're Not OK

We moved around my first 8 years. Making ends meet, keeping cars pieced together, and finding places we’d be welcome. An apartment for a bit, with Grandma and Grandpa for awhile, with one of your friends during my Kindergarten year, then into a nicer public housing complex. 

Cashiering wasn’t your passion and neither was putting together vacuum cleaner parts in the factory. But you did what you had to do to keep me clothed and fed.

You’d read books with one of your co-workers so your brain wouldn’t atrophy from the monotony of the assembly line and have a make-shift book club over motors and threading.

You were desperate for us not to get stuck where we were, the statistics looming over us, trapping us, closing in on us, pulling us under. You fought them with a vocabulary word a day. You sacrificed so I could dance, sing, swim. Anything that might give me opportunity to break free.

An algebra tutor, science camp, Spanish camp, a trip to Washington DC to meet our Senator, delivering “Meals on Wheels” to see, no matter how bad off we were, we still had so much to be thankful for.

I got tears in my eyes watching Kevin Durant hug his mom after winning the NBA championship, knowing a little of what they felt toward each other. The almost tangible bond of survival connecting a struggling single parent and her child.

It was us against the looks of disapproval or pity. (I don’t know which I hated more.) It was us seeing the worst in each other but defending each other still. It was us against the bills. It was us against all the complicated, wound-tight and ready-to-explode relationships. It was us hoping we were safe at night. It was us against the questions people had about our family and why it way the way it was. I’d sometimes lie my way out of those or act like I didn’t understand the question. How can an 8-year-old tell someone your dad chose drugs over you, you don’t know him, and your last name isn’t even his, so no, he’s not one of the Neuharts from Caldwell. 

Always, there you were. Trying. Demanding. Working. Paying. Loving. Studying. Stumbling. Proving. Fighting. And fighting. And fighting.

And, in time, breaking. Breaking before God and me. Admitting you couldn’t do it anymore. Calling on Jesus to save you. All our efforts left us in a heartbroken mess. I understood and wasn’t angry. But you just kept saying you wanted me to be OK and you’d do whatever you could to make sure I would be. You have no idea how often I go back to that tenderness. To that humility. To that love. 

By God’s grace, I am OK. But the irony is, I’m not OK, too. And I’ve become fine with that. Because our God is more than OK. And he takes the brokenness that’s always with me, and the brokenness that catches me by surprise, and he says just what I need to hear through his Word. He loves me in just the way I need to be loved in Jesus. He binds up my wounds with redeeming care while whispering the promise that he will make all things right one day. I am astonished by his heart, and he knows how often I go back to that tenderness. To that humility. To that love. Leaning into his words, listening hard, thankful for faith to believe I will be OK.

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For Reflection

This post poured from my heart after family movie night on Friday watching “Queen of Katwe” and seeing Phiona’s love for her struggling single mom and her mom's sacrifice for her. 

How does your brokenness from your past catch you by surprise?

How do you see God meeting you there?

What are some precious promises from his Word you are listening hard to?

We Don't Get To Decide

The situation takes me back 9 years ago. I'm standing at the counter mopping up crumbs while I mop up tears too. Wiping up a kitchen mess while I wipe my red, swollen eyes at the same time. The familiar lessons of sovereign bullets and choosing to give thanks in the taking, quickly come to mind. They are a strange comfort to my grieving heart, messengers of sorrow, but simultaneously singing a sweet refrain.

For two months now, we've anticipated the December placement of a baby girl in our home. We met with her expectant mom and talked, crying and laughing, for over an hour. She set up a hospital plan, inviting us to visit her during labor and take over parenting responsibilities immediately following delivery. And then yesterday, she changed her mind, and decided not to follow through with the adoption plan.

While we rejoice for this life and the unification of a family unit, we can't help but grieve over the loss of this baby being added to our family. Adoption always involves grief, and in this case, in spite of our tears, we are thankful that we are grieving so this birth mom doesn't have to. When starting down the path of adoption, it's easy to talk a big game about taking risks, being a father to the fatherless, and painting this glorious picture of the gospel. But actually, we don't get to decide how it all ends. Because really, God is the one who is ultimately Father to the Fatherless, and maybe what he really wants us to do is be faithful to show his love to those in need in smaller ways, like getting an expectant mom through the roughest six weeks of her life because she knows someone cares and is willing to love her child as their own. Maybe he wants us to bring her flowers and write her a reassuring card telling her she matters. Maybe he wants us to faithfully pray for her and her child because no one else is. And maybe he wants us to be willing to open our hearts and enter into her hard story and make it our own, helping her bear all the heartbreak and drama it involves. And in the end, maybe our arms are empty, but hers are full. And that's OK, because we don't get to decide how he uses us.

As friends (who have had more than their share of grief in the adoption process) told us, "We don't adopt perfectly. But God does." And our expectation has to be in him - the real Father to the Fatherless and Helper of the poor and needy. Maybe our adoption story doesn't end like we expect, at the front of a courtroom all smiles with the same last name. But maybe God chooses to use our willing hearts to love others in a smaller way, even to our personal hurt, as just a part of the process and writing of a few short pages in the longer story of their lives.

And we've decided that what he decides is good enough.

 

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Grace For Every Hurdle

It's been a few weeks since your ninth birthday. Did I really think if I didn't write my annual post to you I could bypass the reality that we most likely only have nine more years together? And I feel like your dad and I are still hunched over you in the back seat, trying to figure out how to get your blasted car seat out of our car, so we can carry you into the house for the first time!

You firstborn children have a hard way to go in some respects. Your firsts are our firsts, so sometimes we hobble along together taking first bites, steps, swims, and drives. We learn early that he catches us when we're falling, steadies us when we aren't as ready for that next step as we thought, calms us when we're the ones up crying in the middle of the night, and encourages us when we thought we should be done cleaning up messes by now, but instead the messes are bigger and worse than a pile of crumbs on the floor after dinner. And through it all, we feel the unrelenting clock and calendar keep pushing us forward to the next phase.

So, it has pushed us to the start of your fourth grade year. Around here, I feel like we're training for the Olympics as we get ready for the next grade of school. We've had our talks - and yes one of them was "the" talk. We've studied the Word. I've warned you of the hard path of the sinner, and I've reminded you that the year ahead is as bright as the promises of God. You know that fearing the Lord is living in the awareness of him - he's always with you, loving you, caring for you, and providing just what you need - and from that awareness flows true wisdom and knowledge.

But still my heart trembles when I think of letting you go again into another year without me. And this public school mama with a homeschool heart has to remind herself of victories past as we face the first day at a new school all over again.

The first morning of school last year, I got a message from a likeminded friend who walked a similar path, encouraging me that the Spirit would be faithful to give us grace for every hurdle. Oh how I needed those words! Just pulling into the parking lot on that first day was a hurdle, let alone walking those crowded halls full of strangers, and then letting you go under someone else's care for 7 1/2 hours a day. It took weeks before I wouldn't cry as I ran errands and drove by the exit for your school, knowing you guys were close but not with me.

The year definitely presented it's hurdles, but just as my friend reminded me, the Spirit gave grace for each one.

About a week into school, Daddy was walking out after dropping you off and introduced himself to the assistant headmaster, Al Carter. Your dad gave him his church business card, telling Al he was a pastor in the area and that he was praying for him. He had no idea that new-to-the-area headmaster was a Liberty grad and would visit our church the following Sunday with his Wheaton grad wife and their two kids. He had no idea that first quick exchange in the hall would result in their meeting weekly for early morning coffee and spiritual encouragement. But God did. Grace!

Thankful for our friendship with Al and Liz!

The year started off with a 'big bang' (literally) when your teacher presented a differing view of origins than you believe. You raised your hand and questioned and challenged. You had to learn to do it respectfully and to kindly interact with others who don't hold your beliefs. It was an early lesson in showing love and honor while disagreeing. Grace!

At Thanksgiving, you got to do a presentation poster featuring people, places, and things you were thankful for. You had the idea to include Jesus in the "person" category, our church as one of the "places," and the Bible in the "thing" column. You described why you were thankful for each one. "Because he's perfect, because they are loving friends, and because it teaches us." Grace!

Around Christmas, I volunteered to work in the Secret Santa shop and Al's wife happened to be working the same shift. In between helping the classes, we'd discuss the quick version of our spiritual journeys, relishing in providence right there in the public school gym. Grace!

That morning, I helped a little boy shop who wanted to pick out a gift for his dad. I pointed out a few options and asked if his dad might use either of those things. He looked up at me and said, "My dad died two weeks ago." And I remembered one of the reasons we were at the school. I have biblical obligations to you, one of which is to lead you in learning how to help your sick or sorrowing peers who might need Jesus. Grace!

I loved volunteering for field trips and reading groups and getting to know and have fun with your classmates. We have great memories of those "special voices" I'd let you guys read in and then "freeze!" Making new friends together was yet another evidence of grace!

I couldn't have been as involved as I was without the help of sweet friends from church providing childcare. I needed their support and help, and they were there for us. Grace!

And this dear woman, who I struggled leaving you with that first day of school, became a precious addition to our "most loved people" list. Mrs. Wall cried as you parted ways on your last day of school and is planning to visit us next summer. The perfect teacher for you - and me! Grace!

As I walked into your school that last day, I had a lump in my throat and fought back tears once again. But this time, they were tears of gratefulness to God. They were tears over faith that grew from seeing those halls as a fearful place to a grace filled place, where God didn't leave us or forsake us. I felt him near and dear there. I wouldn't trade this past year of school for anything, not even having you with me all day every day (although I can never get enough of our special time together). I wouldn't trade it though, because it's a better place to be desperately needing God to work and then finding him working in unexpected places and through unexpected means. Like the joy of finding streams in the desert. Only God can do things like that!

Maybe last year was an unusual year. But maybe it wasn't. So I will remember these triumphs of grace as we jump the hurdle of pulling in the parking lot tomorrow, your first day of school. I'll remember that you're there to get an education which isn't just about learning math and reading. Because I can tell you he's Lord of the nations, but wouldn't it be great if you could see that he's Lord of Orange Park first? Wouldn't it be instructive for you to grow up seeing God isn't like us and his image isn't monochromatic? As Aunt Charisse pointed out, wouldn't it be good for you to watch us appreciating and embracing home as a haven where we retreat after the hard work of being on mission is done? Wouldn't it be better for you to see my and your dad's example (clumsy as it is) of actually being in the world but not of it? And wouldn't it be faith-building for you to have the confidence of witnessing that as my and your dad's light shines in darkness, the darkness can never extinguish it?

There are so many more firsts for us to experience together, my Stella Grace. Another big one is tomorrow. There is even more for you to learn - for us to learn - in the school year ahead. Like we always have been, we're by your side, looking to him for grace as we jump through the hurdles...for at least nine more cherished years!

 

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An Example of Preaching the Gospel to Yourself

Horatio Spafford, author of the well-known hymn, "It is Well with My Soul," knew that his life was a portrait of grace. He and his wife Anna, served God faithfully through the big, small, and unexpected events of their lives. When they were blessed with five children, they gave thanks to the Lord and followed him in joy. And when their only son died to scarlet fever, they continued to follow the Lord even in sorrow. This untimely death of their son, would mark the beginning of "sorrows like sea billows" rolling through their lives.

Mr. Spafford was a successful and wealthy attorney, but their lives were consumed with ministry. When they lost most of their investment property and financial resources in the Great Chicago Fire of the 1870s, instead of selfishly despairing, they served their now homeless neighbors, providing food and care for their grief-stricken friends.

As they recovered from the tradgedies of the months prior, an oppotunity arose for the Spaffords to travel to England for a vacation. While they were there, they planned to assist their friend D.L. Moody, in his evangelism efforts. Some unexpected business detained Mr. Spafford, so he sent his four daughters and wife before him, commiting to join them in England as soon as he could.

Midway through their voyage, the ship was struck by another vessel crossing the Atlantic. The Spaffords' daughters perished in the sinking ship in spite of their mother's efforts to save them. When Mr. Spafford got word, he immediately set sail to join his wife.

As Spafford's ship apprached that dreadful location where the sea had swallowed up his precious girls, Spafford looked at those waters and preached the gospel to himself. He wrote:

1. "Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
   Let this blest assurance control,
   That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
   And hath shed His own blood for my soul."

Although he was weighed down with unimaginable grief, the good news of Jesus assured him that though all was very wrong around him, all was still well within him. By faith that made all the difference.

So, even today, we too must affirm that every river of peace and wave of sorrow we experience flow together by God's sovereign storm-calming hand to assure us of His unwavering faithfulness. In those all too frequent moments when it feels that our souls will surely give way under the pressures of life, with the eyes of faith, we must look to the cross and remember that our greatest trial - separation from God - has been removed and dealt with in Jesus. "Praise The Lord, praise The Lord, O my soul!"

 

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The Day After

So what happens the day after Mother's Day when another hurdle has been jumped but your brave heart has melted and the hurt is still there and your arms are still empty? And not only are your arms empty but maybe that finger on your left hand is too. And it has been for too long. And you can't get away from mothers and fathers and doctors killing babies when you just want yours. And husbands and wives fighting and belittling and divorcing when you just want someone to love you and love back.

Cry. Yes, go ahead and keep crying. Let the tears roll into His sovereign bottle. And as you cry, remember Jesus cried too. Stella asked me why Jesus wept at Lazarus' tomb when He knew He was going to raise him back to life. And with a quivering heart I told her that tears streamed down Jesus' face because He saw the effects of sin and the misery of the world He had created to be happy and holy. He saw the sorrow and loneliness of His infinitely loved friends burdened with the knowledge of good and evil when all He wanted them to know was good. And with the authority of God Himself who knew what it had been, and with the experience of humanity who saw what it is, every wet salty drop down His face was screaming, "This isn't the way it's supposed to be!"

Now let His tear-filled eyes meet yours. Now hear His life tell you it won't always be this way because He died to make it better. And let Him wipe away your tears with promises of a world to come where all you'll know is good again. None of this evil, hurt, and injustice. Then pack up those promises and load your arms and fingers full of hope. And carry those mercies around with you in this miserable world. And hold them close. And never forget them. Let His love surround you - underneath you, all around you. He loves you back because He loved you first. And most. And enough.

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