More guilt?

For none of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself

So I was watching Fox and Friends this morning and they did a little report on how new research shows a link between autism and exposure in utero to cosmetics and hair products.  I thought "Makes sense, I did hair (and make-up) full time all the way through my pregnancy with Sam. He 'got it the worst' ". Then there's Johnny who has the diagnoses that falls right on the cusp of "normal" and PDD/NOS. I did hair during the first trimester with him. Paolo is "normal" (if you believe that there is such a thing as normal...) and I didn't work at all during my pregnancy with him. Not only was I doing hair and make-up 10-12 hrs per day, five days per wk when pregnant with Sam, but back then I wore so much make-up ON myself, that I looked like a circus freak (now I look like a circus freak because I'm shaped like an amoeba with arms). 

At first I felt some more guilt (love to wallow in it), but then I came to the realization that feeling guilt over something I was completely unaware of, and is not sinful in and of itself, is rediculous... particularly when there's enough blatant sin in my life that I can change, and still have not... for whatever excuse I may try and reason with. 

The peculiar human thing is, had someone told me back in my successful hairstylist hay-day, that what I was doing would without a doubt cause my children to suffer, I would have quit. Yet, the Lord tells me that all of this sin I cling to, will cause my children and others that I love to suffer, and I cling to it??

I came away thinking that perhaps one of the reasons I hold on to the guilt of things like the possibility of my inflicting autism on my children (whether it be through vaccinations or cosmetics), is because deep down I realize that I'm not responsible for those actions... I couldn't have known. Focusing on a false guilt keeps me from looking at the things in my life that are truly hurting my children and loved ones, thereby shielding me from that guilt... the guilt that leads me to repentance and healing. 

 For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that he might be Lord both of the dead and of the living.

May I live like I'm His. Forgive me Lord for not.

Scontare!!!

For ye received not the spirit of bondage again unto fear; but ye received the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father

When I was a Little girl I used to "lull" myself to sleep by weeping. I would think of all of the people I knew with infirmities... Johnny Hastings who was so crippled from MS, he was wheelchair bound, yet he managed to pull himself up to stand (hanging on to the pew in front of him) and sing every blessed hymn our church sang on Sunday morning.  I would think of the little boy in Sunday school who had a stump instead of a forearm and hand...  I would beg, I mean BEG God to give me all of the hurt these people (and animals!) felt... to take it away from them and give it all to me.

Over the years the amount of suffering I would see was almost debilitating for me. I remember the guilt I felt when we left the streets of Yemen to return to the States. Wee children, freezing cold, no shoes, no coats, carrying loads bigger than they were trying to sell whatever it was they had that day.  I witnessed there deformities of the human body that I didn't know were physically possible. I felt guilty because watching their suffering was too much for me, I couldn't wait to get away from it. Lord, I'm so sorry... how will I ever come here to teach them about You when I can't stand to look at them for more than a couple of weeks?

THEN I watched my Dad go through what he did, it was truly my worst fears realized. I can't imagine suffering made more real. I was such a mess over it that my sister and brother asked me to leave the house for a while... My Dad. Frequently, throughout Dad's stay in the hospital I would hear him say "Scahta!! Scahta!!" What he was saying was his Southern Italian version of the Italian word "Scontare" meaning to suffer for one's sins. Usually it is used as a sword of sorts. When someone who is not a very nice person, or has done something not very nice, no help or mercy or grace is shown when they are hurting. Rather they look at the person and say "Scahta!!" Dad was telling himself to suffer for his sins. Even though Christ had suffered and died for those sins so long ago.

Truly, none of us has suffered as Christ. This does not negate the fact that, literally everywhere I look, my brothers and sisters, and the ones who do not even have the hope of Jesus, are suffering. 

I look at the family from church who lost their son....leaving their beautiful grandchildren fatherless. The family from church who lost their beautiful eight and a half month baby niece. How does one "move on" from these things? The thousands that lost their lives in Haiti. Those who are left behind still suffering.  The young mother in Kenya who upon finding out that she was HIV positive, begged my friend to take her baby boy so he could have a fighting chance in life.

Somewhere along the line, maybe early in my teens, I realized that the Lord would not give me these infirmities, and shield others from them... they are a part of life. A life that has been cursed by sin... all of which the Lord Jesus Himself had already bore upon Calvary's Tree. I then begged the Lord to shield me from watching it...the suffering. Obviously this is not what He had in mind for me either. 

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed to us-ward... He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not also with him freely give us all things?...Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or anguish, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?...

One day the Lord Jesus Himself will wipe away all of my tears with His nail pierced hands. I pray that until that time, He would use my hands to wipe away the tears of those burdened with this life cursed by sin. I pray that I would reveal His love for them in tangible ways. I pray that I would not try and protect myself by turning away and pretending it isn't going on all around me. The Lord obviously... so very obviously wants me to see the suffering... He wants me to go further and be there as His hands, His feet... He who said "Not My will but Thine" when it was time for Him to suffer death on the Cross.

Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Whew!

The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

On the morning of my surgery Adam got the call from Mom saying that the surgery was more than successful, it was "Beautiful", according to the Dr... At that point Adam said that he just looked at his imaginary watch, figuring that it was only a matter of time before he got a second call saying that somehow things went awry.

I have not found, and I suppose Adam has not found, the line between pessimism and realism. I do, always, hope for the best... but expect the worst. Now some may argue that the reason for my being living proof of Murphy's Law (If something bad can happen, it will) is precisely because I expect the worst. I would argue that I'm just being wise in preparing myself.

I did not go into surgery glum and morose thinking, "Why are you smiling Dr. Brown? In several hours we'll be back in here so you can do exploratory surgery to find out what caused me to bleed profusely enough to send me into congestive heart failure. You'll be giving me several units of blood and EKG's.. and x-rays of my lungs... you'll be telling me that I need to see a hematologist because "It's just not normal for this to happen three times.. when everything looked so normal to begin with." Then you'll have to prescribe antibiotics for the UTI I'll get... and the nausea and headache meds you'll prescribe at my discharge from the hospital? My family (including Mom) will desperately want those b/c they're still dealing with the stomach flu I had before coming in here today... for my surgery."

No, in fact, I was kind of hoping that I'd get some writing done and be able to take advantage of the couple/few days in the hospital. I also hoped that I would recover much faster than I did with c-section... At the same time, I was prepared for the complications of the last few surgeries/deliveries... and sure enough, my preparation was not in vain. I could have used a little more more prep, in fact, but all's well that ends well... right?

Alas! I'm home now, on the mend, all horror-moned up, and *hoping* for the swift thawing of the 21" of snow that's covering our city... leading us into a magnificent spring filled with the celebration of the beauty of God's creation and the life He has gifted us with here on Earth.

Thank you all for your prayers and meals and sweet comfort gifts... we're a blessed bunch of nuts, us Phillips-es! Much to catch up on here, but hope to post soon.  Peace and Blessings.