Well, OF COURSE we can't accommodate everyone's preferences, nor should we compromise our essential beliefs, but if we stay on our current course, those churches which refuse to adjust (or, indeed, refuse to make changes ahead of the curve) will cease to exist.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
bandaids....or transformation?
Well, OF COURSE we can't accommodate everyone's preferences, nor should we compromise our essential beliefs, but if we stay on our current course, those churches which refuse to adjust (or, indeed, refuse to make changes ahead of the curve) will cease to exist.
Monday, November 12, 2012
on faith
or maybe a bit of everything.
One thing I've thought about a lot, especially, is the idea of salvation. Sometime I think we don't fully appreciate what a beautiful (and completely undeserved!) gift salvation is, because we don't fully appreciate what we've been saved from. We used to be separated from God, only able to communicate with Him through intercessors, on certain days, atoning with literal, flesh-and-blood sacrifices every time; now we can talk with Him at any moment, in every moment, and we never have to be separated again. Ever.
because Jesus stood in for all the sacrifices that would have been required.
But the thing I'm struggling with now is the idea of the "sinners' prayer". From what I can figure, it's based on Romans 10:9, which says, "If you declare with your mouth, 'Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved" (NIV). The Amplified Bible words it slightly differently: "Because if you acknowledge and confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and in your heart believe (adhere to, trust in, and rely on the truth) that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved."
So I get the concept of reciting a formal prayer to officially take the step of "declare and believe".
BUT...
What about all the connotations of "believe"? What about "adhere to, trust in, and rely on the truth"?
"Adhere to...the truth" implies action, which in my (admittedly novice) opinion is supported by:
John 15:14--
"You are my friends if you do what I command." (NIV)
"You are My friends if you keep on doing the things which I command you to do." (AMP)
and James 2:20--
"You foolish person, do you want evidence that faith without deeds is useless?" (NIV)
"Are you willing to be shown [proof], you foolish (unproductive, spiritually deficient) fellow, that faith apart from [good] works is inactive and ineffective and worthless?" (AMP)
Ours is not a merit-based faith but, rather, we are saved by the grace of God. However, that doesn't give us license to sit around exclaiming about how much we love Him while ignoring the second of the greatest commandments (Mark 12:30-31).
Okay, that's all fine, but what does it mean to "rely on" the truth? "Rely on", how? By doing what? Same question for "trust in". My teacher self wants to know how I can demonstrate reliance and trust, because the text leads me to believe these verbs are supposed to be active. These are things we do.
I don't mean to question the sincerity of those who have prayed the "sinners' prayer", but I also think lots of us do so (in my case, when I was at camp the summer before 6th grade) because we're afraid of hell, not because we truly understand the nature of sin and how it utterly separates us from God.
And that's to say nothing about what happens after we pray. What do we do then? Are our churches and spiritual elders prepared to teach us how to walk in faith by shepherding us after we've made a commitment (1 Tim 5:17)? Are they mature enough to hold us accountable for our speech and actions (Heb 13:17)? Are they willing to step out of their comfort zones, even if doing so jeopardizes the church bureaucracy? Can they be examples in showing us how faith is done (1 Cor 11:1)?
All this to say, I just don't see how some formulaic prayer encompasses all the nuances of "declare and believe".
What if we've been doing this wrong for years?
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Ezra Daniel Wilfong
to this...
And now for a birth story…a little long, I know. Sorry.
I wanted so desperately to have a vaginal delivery after cesarean (VBAC) with this baby. Ever since agreeing to be induced with Zeke, which ultimately ended with a c-section, I’ve wished I had done things differently, and I really wanted this time to conform a little more to the birth I had in my head.
Tons of research assured me a VBAC was, in fact, possible, even considering my gestational diabetes (and even though the GD was more severe this time). My doctor wasn’t overly encouraging about it because Labor and Delivery at WMC doesn’t have in-house anesthesia, and the
Fast forward to mid-May, and I’m in excruciating pain. Like, excruciating.
Little guy decided my sciatic nerve was just the place to hang out, and I started having trouble walking (which, as you might imagine, makes life as a teacher and toddler-mom a wee bit difficult). I was still absolutely committed to a VBAC, but started seriously hoping he would decide to show up a couple of weeks early, both to increase my chances of a successful VBAC and to stop the shooting pain in my right leg. Every morning my colleagues would ask if I was really still here? and tell me I should seriously consider staying home. Apparently I was pretty pathetic.
I hated leaving my students for the last few weeks of school (especially my eighth-graders, the first class I’ve seen all the way through middle school), but there wasn’t much of a choice.
I didn’t come back after Memorial Day, but I still had to keep sending Zeke to daycare and to my (fabulous) mother-in-law because I couldn’t physically keep up with him or pick him up. At least I got a couple of weeks to get the house good and straightened up, I guess.
The Thursday before Ezra arrived I had an ultrasound to check his size – minimum 9 pounds, according to the
Answer: Most women don’t have diabetes, and most of those who do don’t have it as severely as you. I’m not concerned about his head size; it’s the shoulders we worry about with babies of diabetic moms. There’s no way to tell whether his shoulders will fit or not until it’s way too late even for an emergency c-section, and I don’t want to have to break his collarbone.
So, I was once again scared into delivering a baby in a way contrary to what I believe(d) to be best.
We scheduled the c-section for Tuesday, June 14 at 10:30am and I spent the next several days finishing things around the house and trying to prepare myself for the physical trauma of surgery and the emotional trauma of losing the birth I wanted and expected. I started taking arnica and hypericum in preparation for surgery, and doing a lot of praying for strength, acceptance, and peace.
Tuesday morning came and we got to the hospital around 8:30am (my mother-in-law had spent the night and stayed home with Zeke when we left). The nurses hooked me up to the monitors for a little while to check everything, and after deciding the baby and I both looked great, as well as being subjected to Adam’s very long story about Zeke’s birth drama, they prepped me for surgery.
At this point I was mostly just concerned about the spinal block, since during Zeke’s birth I was too doped up on Ambien to remember the anesthesia part. I was not looking forward to a needle in my back. Once in the OR, though, the spinal was nothing. I didn’t even feel the shots of local anesthetic – thank you, Dr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is!
Lying back and waiting to lose feeling, though, I started to get all weepy about the circumstances. I was still very unsure about whether I’d made the right decision and I told my
Adam came into the OR fully decked out in the requisite blue suit, shoe covers, hairnet, and mask, and sat right next to me, at which point I said, I really didn’t want to do it this way and started to cry. Luckily, the OR staff anticipate this kind of emotional wreck, and tissues were at the ready. Adam had to dab my face for me and, naturally, he stuck his thumb right in my eye.
I didn’t remember how violent a c-section actually is. No pain, of course, but the pressure is unbelievable and it felt like they were tugging on my lungs. It makes sense for it to be so uncomfortable, I guess, since they’re pulling an entire human being out through a 6-inch incision, but I just don’t remember all of that from Zeke’s birth. It’s really pretty gross, if you think about it for too long.
After a few minutes of someone pummeling my belly and pulling out my insides, we finally heard the best sound in the whole world; apparently, he didn’t even wait until he was completely out before he started wailing. He quieted down almost immediately and got wiped off, weighed and measured (8lbs7oz, 20in), diapered, and handed to Adam, at which point the tears flowed in earnest. He was perfect.
Adam went with him to the nursery while my
In a weird sort of way, it made me feel a lot better about my decision to go ahead with the planned c-section. Though it wasn’t at all what I hoped to do and I still feel I got scared into it, I’m confident it was ultimately the right decision. Chances are high that subsequent deliveries will also be c-sections, because it seems my placentas like to start clotting themselves off when we hit week 39 and, frankly, the risk of stillbirth just isn't worth it. I'm okay with this.
After three days in the hospital (and getting really pissed about the way the bed kept moving on its own and why the hell won’t it quit and let me sleep?!), we finally went home to a really good night’s sleep. Since leaving the hospital I’ve never needed any medication other than ibuprofen, my sciatica is now almost completely gone, and the diabetes disappeared immediately after Ezra was born. Hallelujah!
(By the way, co-sleeping completely rocks. Wish we’d started that with Zeke from day one; we’d have been a heck of a lot less exhausted.)
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
splish splash
All morning Zeke was asking to go outside. Like, over and over and overandoverandover…I managed to talk him into helping me with the dishes first, though, which mostly involved him thrashing around with a wooden spoon as well as filling cups with water and dumping them back out again.
After waking up it was off to Barbara’s for playgroup! Now, this was especially exciting because we NEVER get to do it; most of the other families feature stay-at-home moms, so they do playgroup during the day. Obviously, I do not stay home full-time, so we usually can’t come, but every once in awhile the stars align and it coincides with a day off. Thursday was one of those days.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
get it done
Translation: walking on the Meadowbranch neighborhood trail. Apparently there were some exhibits there from Shenandoah, including a taxidermied beaver. Who knew?
Is it weird that I don’t get nervous about going to the dentist? Like, at all? Some people seriously freak out, and most people are at least a little bit apprehensive, but the smells/sounds/instruments have absolutely no impact on my psyche whatsoever. This is not to say that I love the experience (scraping metal against the backs of my teeth = no fun), but it really isn’t a big deal at all.
Of course, I’ve also never ever had a cavity, thus no drilling or novocaine. This probably helps.
Anyway, after the whole dentist thing there were a couple more things to do, then back to pick up Zeke and go over to my in-laws’. Grandma kept Zeke while I got my hair cut, and I don’t think there was any lack of things to do. He visited with his daddy, Pappy, and Uncle Sam in the shop, then played in the backyard with Grandma and Uncle Patrick. When I got back, they were setting up Patrick’s new basketball hoop and Adam was holding Zeke over his head so he could dunk the ball. Wish I had a picture of that one.
Then, finally home for bratwurst with red peppers and onions for dinner; I also stovetop-grilled some pumpernickel and topped it with chopped tomatoes (from Linda’s Mercantile), basil, and garlic. There’s something about fresh tomatoes that just makes me happy.
Monday, April 25, 2011
pruning (or, why i don't like boxwoods)
But I resisted, and I’m so glad! **polishes halo**
There was a lot of coloring, reading, and singing again, of course, and it had cleared up enough to go back outside when Mom came over around 6. And it’s a good thing, too, because apparently we’ve produced a child who does not want to come inside. Ever.
Mom decided this was the time to trim the boxwoods which were literally eating our porch. She was being very deliberate, using hand clippers and taking off small pieces at a time in an attempt to create a decent shape (according to Adam, the shrub in question looks like, and I quote, “three-quarters of a butt”…sheesh). Once she’d been going for awhile I started to realize how much larger the porch is than I thought; there’s almost enough room for a rocking chair. Almost.
When Adam got home he jumped in to help with the pruning, and they eventually got to a point where the branches were too thick for the clippers.
At which point Adam said, “I have something for this!” and brought out the chainsaw. This is one of the
But I also no longer feel like my shrubberies are going to eat me when I’m standing at the front door, so I guess it all evens out in the end.
Dad came over with Chinese food for all of us, so Adam went to sleep a happy man. The End.