Category: Lent

Maximus Andries Viviers | 26th of February 2012

My waters broke in quite an extravagant fashion that morning, it was 8am on a Saturday and we were just nestling in ready for a sleep in with my 38 week old belly. My husband and I had only been married for 10.5 months and our honeymoon baby was ready to be born.

We had no idea whether it was to be a boy or girl, so our hospital bag was packed with white and lemon, with little gifts we had selected along the way of our quick detour to parenthood and family life. I had made a commitment at the beginning of the year, that no matter what happened, my first year of Novice Motherhood I was going to blog. Writing had become my therapy, in the midst of my ever changing body and life.

As my husband picked up our carry all and grabbed the keys to the car, I asked quietly if we could stop at the cafe on the way to the hospital. His dear in head light look, will be one I will never forget, but I knew that the next few days were going to be very short on coffee and super long in exertion.

So he walked nervously inside and I sat in our car and wrote my blog post the promise for that morning. After a big day of contractions, hesitant conversations and so much pain, the midwives sent me home again, to wait for my body to be ready to bring our baby into the world. I was so terribly nervous, unsure. The funny thing about being sent home, was we were in the midst of renovating our bathroom, so there was a tiler at home whilst I was in labour, he was finishing our bathroom.

I am not sure what he thought he had gotten himself into, tiling away, with a woman in labour in the next room.

Our Saturday was full of pain, music, candles and big courageous, what is actually going on here. Giving birth is so overwhelming and the not knowingness is always so difficult for the novice. They told us not to come back to the hospital unless the contractions were closer together and I couldn’t handle the pain any longer.

At 10pm that Saturday night, we drove back to our local hospital and I was hooked up to the monitoring machines again. As soon as the stickers were placed on my contracting stomach, the midwife went ashen and she rushed out of the room. Within minutes a doctor raced in, another midwife returned and they asked me to remove all my jewellery. It was all happening so fast, but within minutes I was being raced down the corridor to surgery for an emergency c-section.

Charl and I tried to laugh that we felt like we were in a episode of grey’s anatomy, but I was overwhelmed at the thought of what if? Our little babies heart beat was dropping suddenly with every contraction and his life was at risk.

Within minutes we were rushed through theatre, my husband ran in wearing the blues and the epidural was the most painful experience of my life as they tried four times without success to get it inserted in the midst of contractions. I was one try away from being completely put under and within seconds I was opened and my blue baby boy was removed from my body.

They found his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck twice and he was being strangled by every contraction that pushed him downwards.

These hours of my life were my most vulnerable, but my most precious.

Every part of me ached, I was confused by the surgery but so deeply grateful that my little person was okay.

The recovery from an emergency cesarian was quite difficult.

Four years ago on this day, everything changed for me.

Motherhood asks so much of you. It takes faith to believe that our littles will be okay, it stretches every part of my body, soul and mind. Motherhood asks that I will be lavish with my time, my sleep and my patience.

It asks of me even on the days that I am feeling unwell or under-appreciated.

It consumes me.

It frustrates me.

It completes me.

It breaks me.

It is impossible to be stingy with our motherhood, because it is never ending in its ask.

After four years of hanging out with this little man of strength, I still feel like a novice. I still get overwhelmed, I still worry if I will break him, I hope so much for him. This week I watched the movie Suffragette and afterwards I was so deeply moved that in the darkness of the night, I laid in bed with my little soul and sobbed.

When he was born we posted a quote from Gladiator that Maximus shouts in the arena.

“Brother, what we do in life, echoes in eternity”

Today I am grateful that this little soul and his dramatic entrance into the world forever changed me. It asks of me to love even when I am not sure I have any love left in my heart to give. It calls me to give, when I am not sure I have anything left to give. It teaches me about my own soul, even when I think there is nothing else left to learn.

It echoes the heart of a God, who gave extravagantly, even when he didn’t want to.

“I am not moved, my God, to love you By the heaven you have promised me. Neither does hell, so feared, move me To keep me from offending you. You move me, Lord, and I am moved seeing you Scoffed at and nailed on a cross. I am moved seeing your body so wounded. Your injuries and your death move me. It is your love that moves me, and in such a way that even though there were no heaven, I would love you, and even though there were no hell I would fear you. You do not have to give me anything so that I love you, For even if I didn’t hope for what I hope, As I love you now, so would I love you. ANONYMOUS SPANISH POET, OFTEN ATTRIBUTED TO JOHN OF THE CROSS (1542–1591) 4”

Day 27: I am learning that Motherhood challenges every single part of us and it echoes in eternity.

One of the strangest experiences of my life was the day I attended a conference in our city of Perth. I took along a friend who wasn’t that impressed by church, but was asking questions about Jesus and unfortunately her impressions of the former were reinforced strikingly.

We walked into the big casino, the convention centre the conference had hired. With thousands of people queuing to enter the auditorium, that they had paid to sit and listen, my friend and I stood in the midst of the crowd feeling quite amused.

There was parading and performing, there was a big forum of businesses selling their wares, we stood quite silenced by the circus like atmosphere that surrounded us. People pushed past, black enclad slaves were rushing with their latte’s named specifically, bibles were carried like beacons of spiritual greatness, suits hung softly over shoulders that were tense and raised. People pushed forward as the promise of the best seats awaited.

Quite lost in the uniqueness of the moment, we didn’t realise we had done something terribly wrong. We had broken a sacred cow. We were in big trouble. As we lined up waiting for the doors to open and the countdown clock to raise our heart beats, two burly security guards came over to right us of our wrongs and asked us to step off the red carpet please.

You see the red carpet stretched across the whole foyer and unless you were looking for it (which believe me, many of the conference delegates were seeking it’s admiration), you wouldn’t have realised. As unfortunate as this was, but the queue for the door rendered us in error, as we were standing on the pastors promised land.

There I stood, with someone who was already amused by church culture and we were being asked to please get off the red carpet, as if we had stepped into the grammy’s or a special opening of the State ballet.

The security guard said to me “Excuse me Mam, can you please step off the red carpet” and I was bewildered. I asked innocently “Who is allowed to step on the carpet sir?”. He replied shortly “Only those with VIP access Miss.” I smiled and showed him my pass. The pass that said VIP, what even does that mean in the culture of church anyway and he immediately and profusely apologised?

I said to him “Please don’t apologise, I am sorry that someone has asked you to do something like this. I am sorry that this is what our churches have become.”

The next part however was the most embarrassing as I walked away so uninterested by the red carpet and its snakey culture. You see I was allowed to stand on the carpet, even if it stretched like a divide across the room and my friend, who already had concerns about the business of religion, was not.

We were distinguished by a badge, we were allocated by privilege and class. We were performance appraised by our roles, our KPI’s and our names. Honestly it was the most awkward encounter I have ever faced in my whole life.

How had the church arrived in this place?

How do we become so blinded by our categories, judgements and pride?

How is there even a red carpet in a church service anyway?

Today as we walk towards Easter, in the days of decrease in lent, what if we reflected on the ways that we have classified ourselves by our privilege rather than our person?

What if we stopped categorising people by the name written on their handbag and looked deeply into the eyes of every person we encounter and remove the labels that divide?

What if our churches removed the red carpets, even the secret, unspoken ones?

The rules, the rooms that only the special ones have access to, the seats that hold golden name tags, the job descriptions that bring with it a nod of pride when spoken.

When did the house of God, become a place of privilege and green room access?

Would Jesus have been given a VIP access badge as he walked towards the cross back in the days he walked the earth?

His red carpet was laid by blood, and terror, an arm extended out to the criminal hanging on the cross next to him. His carpet was one laid down so that anyone could walk it’s privilege. A carpet that was paved by pain and sacrifice.

Day 29: I am becoming more and more unimpressed by our labels and efforts to impress people and God. I am fasting religious profiling.

 

If I just scroll one more length of my glowing screen, something, anything may jump out and make me feel better.

Avoidance.

If I just run back to bed, throw the covers over my head and pretend this is not happening, then maybe I might feel okay.

Hide,

hide.

Shift,

run.

If I just shout a little louder, stamp my feet with more force and self sabotage my way towards pushing those closest away…

Maybe then I might find the space I need.

What do you revert to, when you are faced with trials?

Do you struggle with mystery, keeping the unknown at a safe distance, controlling every detail or swinging to the extreme of hiding away unable to face the raw truth?

The walk of lent is a mysteriously severe one. John the Baptist tells us that “He must increase but I must decrease”. For Him to increase we have to be okay with the mysterious walk.

The unknown.

“When we were children most of us were good friends with mystery. The world was full of it and we loved it. Then as we grew older we slowly accepted the indoctrination that mystery exists only to be solved. For many of us, mystery became an adversary; unknowing became a weakness. The contemplative spiritual life is an ongoing reversal of this adjustment. It is a slow and sometimes painful process of becoming “as little children” again, in which we first make friends with mystery and finally fall in love again with it.” GERALD G. MAY

It is my son Maximus’ birthday on Friday, today whilst sliding down our family night play set, my sister was saying to him. “Maxi what do you want for your birthday?”, every Christmas, Birthday to date, he has listed off a long reel of toys, that are his absolute obsession. Tonight he replied “Surprise me Jenna, surprise.”

He is learning to delight in the unknown, he’s is shifting from a demanding toddler, to a little man who loves to dance with delight. Tonight as we got ready to sing and blow out his birthday cake, he whispered to me “Is it time for my celebration Mum, is it time?”

My son is delighting in the mysteries of life.

He is learning to love the expectancy of the unknown.

As life throws its hard hitting tomato’s in our face, we start to lose the wonder of the unknown and we end up becoming adults who control and contrive every part of our lives, to stop any potential of being let down or disappointed.

Enter faith.

Lent is a mysterious walk.

Easter, is not a celebration for the faint hearted.

As we step towards the utter depravity of Good Friday, we have sit in the unknown in between of Easter Saturday, with our ash cloth and bloodied remnants, being assured in the faith step that Easter Sunday brings the brilliance of resurrected life.

The avoidance dance.

The control concoction.

The surprised expectancy.

What position do we want to place ourselves in this Easter?

Day 30: my avoidance of hard conversations is catching up with me.

My little man has a slight obsession with bandaids at the moment. A scratch, a mark and a first aid emergency is declared. He wants the hospital bed, the bandage unrolled and Mummy doctor is employed. I watch my little man, lapping up the attention and the care, with a wry smile remembering that we all have these little people with their hands up internally asking for someone to fix the problem.

We are in a fixing season as a family and every time I want to pull out the bandaids, with Bob the builder precision, but a bandaid was never designed to fix a gushing wound, as much as quick and easy answers were never designed to bring deep healing to seasons of unanswerable tragedy.

How often do we ask God for a quick bandaid, when he is wanting to delve into the source of the infection?

Fixing can be an addictive need to plug a little hole, that never will solve the source of the breaking dam.

Today, in the midst of my sojourn towards Easter, I am attempting to stop putting bandaids on the external to try and stop the pain. I am trying to dig into the source of the places of ache and resolve the source.

Trust lies at my source,

Negativity and worry infect my wounds,

The activist in me, just wants to Martha out the problem and find the solution.

Lent asks us to wait,

Lent asks us to delve,

Lent demands us to find perspective.

We are drawn into an eternal dance of contradiction, that is leading us towards a death that was resolved with resurrection.

The pain we are enduring right now, when it is not covered by quick fixes, is drawn into a resurrected place. A place of peace and not knowing that the answers will be revealed eternally.

““I do not want to fix myself. I cannot fix myself. My natural fortitude served me well as a young believer and it was inevitable that I was habituated from birth to live in the power of self. But as I grow older in the faith, I find that I am invited by the Spirit to learn to give up the project of moralism, of trying to fix myself by my spiritual efforts. Rather, I want to open more deeply to Christ’s work on the cross and the work of the Spirit in my deep for my daily bread.” JOHN H. COE

Day 33: I am putting away the bandaids and asking that God would help me find the places of infection.

Last night I leaned right in, I listened and I asked for help. That help came in the form of prayer, of space and of time. The precious gift of a gathering with a community of people seeking to wrestle with God.

I remember what I thought was a silly story back in college of someone who needed space and time as a stay at home Mum and she would place a tea towel over her head and pray. Or I have heard the stories of people who have locked themselves in bathrooms, just to find some space. Now as a novice Mum of nearly four years I am learning how precious time can be. Space. No one needing me. Refuelling my places of lack. Recognising my need to find myself as well.

I drove my car to a local church and I sat, riveted by a story that I have heard time and time again. It is the story of Ezekiel, when he was taken to a wasteland, a grave yard, a place of desolation. The picture of the trial, the place of utter darkness and God spoke to him and told him to speak.

speak,

speak,

speak, to that which is dead and desolate and bring life.

Speak hope, speak truth.Find your voice to speak with authority to that in your life which has lost its way.

Do you feel like you have lost something?

How are you speaking to that part of your life?

I realised in the midst of this time of reflection, that when I enter a season of trial, when I am needing to find answers, I pull away. Not to a place of peace and rest, I lean out and away and try to work it out by myself. I am like a little girl who is desperate to work out the puzzle and runs away to my bedroom, not appearing until I have the solution. I lean out, I brainstorm, I create, I think, I produce and I work damn hard to bring back to life what has been lost.

My simple revelation last night was this…

What if I leaned in?

What if I waited in that awkward place of trial and then spoke. A soft voice, a heart that is waiting for answers, what if I relied a little more on others, rather than working it all out on my own.

Help from my husband,

Help from my God.

What if I rested in a place of trial and awaited for the answer to arise, just like the dry bones that rose as Ezekiel spoke life into them.

Are you standing in a place of desolation?

Are you in the midst of battle and your arms have grown tired from holding up a shield that you are unsure you can hold any longer?

Then rest, then wait and lean in.

Don’t lean out (I am speaking to myself here.)

Don’t try work it out all by yourself.

Wait.

“The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.”

Exodus 14:14

I got home last night and ripped out the middle pages of a pamphlet I picked up at the event that shouted in capitals…

IN HIM.

Day 34: Learning to fight differently in the midst of trials and lean into Him.