tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19223913917234799362024-03-13T08:40:50.185-04:00In view of God's mercyCourtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.comBlogger686125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-3857455563610448782016-03-14T07:00:00.000-04:002016-03-14T07:00:18.422-04:00I've Moved! (Websites, That Is)After nine years on this site I figured it was time to move to something more professional (and in my married name). So I hope you will follow me at my new website: <a href="http://www.courtneyreissig.com/">www.courtneyreissig.com</a>. I am so thankful for the readers I've had over here these last nine years. My prayer is that I continue to write content that is born out of what God is teaching me in this life. I hope you'll continue to join me on that journey. Thanks again!<br />
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-78363580516367571552016-03-08T11:29:00.000-05:002016-03-08T11:29:06.507-05:00International Women's Day and the Women With No Names<div class="MsoNormal">
When was the last time you went to your doctor? How about
your OBGYN? Did you wonder how this specialty of medicine came into existence?
I hadn’t given it much thought until I listened to a program on NPR a few weeks
ago about the father of modern gynecology—J. Marion Sims. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I don’t want to talk about him, at least not directly. March
is Women’s History Month (and today is International Women's Day), so I want to talk about the women who made his
discoveries possible. The women he practiced on. The women he studied. And more
importantly, I want to talk about the women he exploited to find cures to
ailments many of us no longer are at risk of facing. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want this day to pass by without saying something.
I care about women. I care about the issues women face. I care about the women
who have gone before me. I care about women who have suffered in ways I have a
hard time imagining. Which is why I listened to a broadcast of <a href="http://www.npr.org/podcasts/510308/hidden-brain">The Hidden Brain on NPR</a>.
The February 16 episode tells the story of slave women Sims operated on in
order to find a cure for obstetric fistula. He found the cure, but not before
he operated on these women without anesthesia, without their consent, and in
horrifying conditions. One of these women, the primary subject of the episode,
is named Anarcha. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not an easy thing to listen to, these stories of
mutilation and pain at the hands of this doctor. But I felt I had to listen in
order to give honor and power to their stories. These women were real women.
Real people who had no opportunity to consent or even ask for the “treatment”
they were receiving. These were women who were not only abused by slave owners,
thus resulting in their pregnancies, but they also suffered the agony of then
losing those babies in complicated deliveries. We don’t even have names for all
of them. A name, the thing that gives us our identity and individuality, is not
even documented for some of these women. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In history books we read stories of people and so often we
know their names. We know of Harriett Tubman and Martha Washington. We know of
Jackie Kennedy and Susan B. Anthony. But for the women whose broken bodies were
literally the very foundation for so many of the medical advances we have
today, we have no names. Only stories. We have documents telling us what they
went through, the cures that were found, but we have no names. And all I kept
thinking as I heard of what they endured, at the hands of a doctor who wanted
to make medical progress, is that God knows their names. They are not lost to
him. We know Anaracha’s name, but God knows them all.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I want to honor these women this month, the women who
have no names, and even the one who is—Anarcha. I know what it’s like to have
complicated pregnancies and to lose babies, but more than that, I live in the
modern age where so many of the difficulties I faced having children were
remedied by the very medicine these women went through so much pain for. You
probably did, too.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Their bodies were broken, so mine could be whole. Their
children were lost, so I could hold mine. Their lives were ruined by the curse
of childbirth, so mine wouldn’t have to be. This is a sacrifice that none of us
deserve, but that I am eternally grateful for. So as I hold my healthy baby and
hug my growing twin boys, I am thankful to God for them, these mothers of
modern gynecology. They deserved better than what they received at the hands of
a doctor who was zealous for his own medical discoveries and glory. They
deserved to be treated with dignity and respect. They deserved to be treated as
humans. They deserved to be cared for, not mutilated. And they deserved to be named.
<o:p></o:p></div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-8891434895991042482015-12-17T05:00:00.000-05:002015-12-17T05:00:25.494-05:00Forgetting God When Our Bellies are FullThe holiday season provides a lot of time for fullness. Thanksgiving flows into Christmas and we can hardly remember what it felt like to have an empty stomach (or buttoned pants). The predominant theme of Christmas in the West is plenty. We have plenty. Presents spill out from under our Christmas trees. Our parties have food left over to last us into January. And we aren't the only ones who know what plenty feels like.<br />
<br />
The Israelites knew what it meant to have plenty. After years of wilderness wandering, depending on God for their daily bread, God brought them to a land of abundance. No longer did they have to trust in new food every twenty four hours. It was there for the taking.<br />
<br />
Yet, despite all of God's warnings to them to not forget his goodness in the land of the living, they did. And so do we.<br />
<br />
The temptation when we are full on holiday cheer, or pumpkin pie, or presents upon presents is to forget the giver of every good thing (James 1:17). God knows how forgetful our wandering hearts can be, so he provides us with seasons of wanting and seasons of plenty. The ebbs of flows of a life lived in Christ are tangible reminders that this is not our home. Sometimes we have Christmas in abundance, sometimes we have Christmas in longing--but we always have God with us.<br />
<br />
That was his promise to the Israelites as they entered the land flowing with milk and honey. He would not leave them, unless they forgot his goodness and his ways. Tragically they did. And he stripped them of this blessing. He brought them back to wanting as a punishment, but also as a reminder that he is the God who gives and takes away. He will not be worshiped for his gifts. He will be worshiped for his character. Unfortunately, we (like the Israelites) fail to see that character when we have good blessings flowing freely.<br />
<br />
The challenge for all of us in Christmases of plenty is to forget the God who kept us in the Christmases of wanting. He hasn't changed. He is still there, giving good things to the very people who so often forget that no good thing comes to us apart from his loving hand (Is. 10:13).<br />
<br />
Don't forget him this Christmas. In the longing and the feasting, he is God. Delight in the gifts he gives, absolutely. But don't forget the Giver they are pointing to. He is better.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-77853254466420002592015-12-14T05:00:00.000-05:002015-12-14T05:00:01.690-05:00Christmas is For Sinners<div class="MsoNormal">
We have a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Little
People</i> nativity that sits under our tree. Despite our best efforts, it
rarely is all in order. Sometimes the animals are sitting on the dining room
table. Sometimes baby Jesus is riding in a dump truck. Almost always the pieces
are scattered all over our house, only to be returned to the angelic scene
after the kids are in bed. Our nativity scene is pretty disheveled, which in
many ways is a microcosm of our current season of life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are just coming out of over a week of sickness in our
house. What started as a bad chest cold for all three kids turned into three
ear infections. I guess our motto is go big or go home when it comes to
sickness, so Merry Christmas to us. We went big this time. Because of all the
sickness I’ve been homebound, buried in dirty tissues, and pretty much
exhausted, which is a recipe for disaster for me. I’ve been emotional. I’ve
been cranky. I’ve been frustrated. And I’ve felt little Christmas cheer. I
actually can’t remember what day it is, let alone remember that Christmas is
coming soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was lamenting to my husband the other day that, among
other things, my heart doesn’t feel ready for Christmas. I haven’t had the time
to stop to think about the incarnation or my own longing for Christ’s return. I
haven’t even heard a full Advent sermon yet. I’m way behind on my Advent
reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there is the Christmas
shopping and wrapping that I still need to finish. On top of it all, I’ve
hardly been a joyful person these last few days. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Advent 2015 won’t give me a do-over, so this is what I
have to work with this year. A cranky attitude, sick kids, and not enough
sleep. In a lot of ways I feel too sinful to celebrate Christmas in all its
fullness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s exactly why Christ came.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The hymn “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus” says that Jesus
came to release us from our sins, set us free, and provide us rest in him
alone. I need a repeat dose of that this Christmas season. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can get confused about the purpose of Christmas being all
about happiness, sugar, and Hallmark movies on repeat (and I love all of those
things). But that is not what my heart needs most at Christmas time. What I need
is the baby that we celebrate. What I need is the rest that only Christ
provides. What I need is the freedom from sin that only comes from his finished
work on the cross. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Christmas is not for people who have it all together. It’s
for sinners like you and me. It’s for a mom who snaps at her children because
they interrupt her sleep again. It’s for people who are cranky with their
spouses when they try to offer them advice. It’s for the man who yells at the
driver who cuts him off. It’s for people who are greedy, people who are
selfish, people who hate Christ. Christmas is for the broken and the weary. Christmas
is for sinners, for all of us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I may not have it all together this Christmas. And
neither does my nativity scene. But that’s exactly why that baby is in the
manger in the first place—to set me free from my sin and give me hope beyond my
circumstances. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Christmas is for sinners. And that’s good news for all of
us.<o:p></o:p></div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-33471920108291243572015-12-08T05:00:00.000-05:002015-12-08T05:00:06.647-05:00A Women's Issue We Can All Get BehindI have been pregnant four times. Each of those times I received prenatal care for as long as I was pregnant. When I had complications I had not one, but two doctors who provided me with the necessary care for my pregnancies. When I have had a hard time with nursing, I have lactation consultants I can visit. My children see the doctor when they are sick and for well-child visits. I'm privileged. Unfortunately this is not the case for many women all over the world.<br />
<br />
This is why I love and support the <a href="http://www.compassion.com/how-we-work/child-survival-program.htm">Child Survival Program</a> through Compassion International. This program supports mothers and babies to give them the care, education, and tools needed to live past early childhood (when many children are vulnerable to illness and death). They provide prenatal care, vaccines, breastfeeding help, and literacy for the mothers (because studies have shown that when mothers are educated, they are better able to care for their children). What I love most about this program is that it is all done within the context of a local church. One key aspect of their ministry is that they partner with local churches to care for people in their communities.<br />
<br />
As a Christian woman, I care deeply about the well-being of women throughout the world. When mothers have the education, tools, and care they need to provide for their families communities thrive. Why? Because mothers are vitally important to a society. And mothers who feel like they have the resources to confidently and safely care for their children do even better.<br />
<br />
The <a href="http://www.compassion.com/how-we-work/child-survival-program.htm">Child Survival Program</a> does this all in the name of Christ. The Gospel is ever present as they meet very tangible needs in communities all over the world. So if you are looking for a ministry to partner with as you end 2015, I hope you will consider the Child Survival Program. As pro-life, Christian women, we should be the first to link arms with women in need throughout the world, offering them life-saving measures for them and their babies. We can put our money where our mouth is, by showing that not only are we pro-life, but we give to causes that sustain life, too. We can have an impact on the spiritual well-being of a mother and her child by meeting her physical needs, but by also meeting her spiritual needs. This is a women's issue I am proud to stand behind. And I hope you will join me.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-56825184290394928842015-11-30T07:54:00.000-05:002015-11-30T07:54:10.651-05:00How to Love a NICU Baby (and His Momma)<div class="MsoNormal">
Premature babies don’t cry. At least mine didn’t. They make
a labored grunting sound that seems sweet at first, but then you learn that
it’s because they are gasping for air to fill their under-developed lungs. And
that is anything but sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never
forgotten that silent operating room where I welcomed my twin boys into the
world eight weeks early. In the fast-moving moments of their early and
unexpected arrival, I held my breath in fear over the unknown path that lay
before me. Premature babies don’t cry, but their mothers make up for it.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve stood in a dark neonatal intensive care room with a
fellow mom, as we stared at our tiny babies. She preparing to leave to go home,
me preparing to stay there for the next five weeks. Our babies weren’t leaving,
she just couldn’t afford to stay in the hotel next to the hospital any longer. Life
and death are happening in the NICU—life is sustained by faithful doctors and nurses,
and death is always around the corner as fragile babies fight to survive in a
world they weren’t meant to enter just yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Loving premature babies is a pro-life issue. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
It might seem strange to fold a discussion about premature
babies into one on life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But they are
linked. Today marks the end of Prematurity Awareness Month. Unless you know
someone who has passed through the NICU, or passed through the NICU yourself,
you might not even know that this month of awareness exists. But it’s a vital component
to our discussion on the sanctity of life. For a long time 24 weeks has been
the big milestone for viability. If you can carry your baby until then, your
baby has a much greater chance of survival. After 28 weeks the long-term
effects of prematurity aren’t as severe. Babies born after 34 weeks often
cannot be distinguished between babies born at term by the time they reach
their first birthday. Medicine has come a long way in how it cares for tiny
babies. And here is where the pro-life argument is strengthened. The irony of
these life-sustaining measures is that doctors and nurses are daily working
tirelessly to save the lives of babies that are legally considered life
unworthy of protecting. Every day, doctors and nurses use their skills to heal
and care for babies that are legally unprotected while inside of the womb. In
some states a 24-week baby can be aborted, but in all states a 24-week baby is
given a chance at life if born. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the reality that all lives matter goes beyond just the
babies in the incubators, though they absolutely matter. Like abortion is not
just a tragedy against an unborn baby, so a premature baby is not separate from
a mother who loves him or her. In some cases, babies are in the NICU because of
something the mother has done or because the mother does not care about the
baby, but in other cases the mother is deeply impacted by the separation from
her baby. As one NICU nurse told me on a particularly difficult day, “you
aren’t meant to be separate from them yet. It’s okay to feel the pain of that
separation.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As Prematurity Awareness Month comes to a close, how can we
as Christians love both the premature babies and the mommas who yearn for them?
Here are a few ways:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hold the babies:</b> There
are a variety of reasons a baby may not have parents visiting. Sometimes it is
because the parents live far away or need to go back to work. Others it is
because the parents have done something to contribute to the baby’s prematurity
and therefore don’t (or aren’t allowed to) visit. Many hospitals allow for
volunteers to hold the babies that are well enough to be touched. Physical
touch for a premature baby is a life sustaining measure. All of the wires,
incubators, and tubes in the world can only do so much to recreate the womb for
a baby who is not supposed to be outside in the world yet. Physical touch,
while it seems small, is actually a very helpful and purposeful way to honor
the life of these tiny babies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Love the mommas:</b> The
separation the mother feels is unnatural to her. It feels like a part of you is
missing. Pumping in a sterile hospital room, transporting milk to the hospital
every day, separation from your baby (or babies), medical terminology you aren’t
familiar with, and recovering from a physically traumatic event all contribute
to emotional and physical fatigue. There is so much unknown. Will my baby
survive? Will he have long-term health problems? Will I be able to care for him
if he does? Our church provided meals for us the entire time we were driving
back and forth to the NICU, and arranged for transportation for me to get to
the hospital every day since I was unable to drive. This transformed my
experience and gave me the energy I needed to care for my babies. But even as I
type this I recognize there is a lot of privilege that is wrapped up into my
NICU experience. I didn’t have to go back to work. I lived near the hospital. I
could afford to stay at the hospital if I wanted to. I could even afford to eat
lunch at the hospital if I stayed later than I anticipated. I had insurance
that provide a hospital grade pump for me. I am married and didn’t walk through
the difficulty alone. Prematurity is often tied to poverty, and it is a vicious
cycle. From the chance to receive good prenatal care to the care needed after
hospital discharge, pregnancy alone is overwhelming to someone living in
poverty, and adding a premature baby to the mix only heightens that feeling. As
Christians, we could do a lot to bolster our argument for the value of all life
by loving pregnant women well (especially those in poverty) and loving mothers
of premature infants well (especially those who feel all alone).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every day there are fragile babies lying in a hospital room
somewhere who if they were still in utero are legally allowed to be killed.
I’ve seen them with my own eyes and held them with my own hands. The more we
advance in our understanding of how a baby can survive outside of the womb, the
better our argument against killing them inside the womb gets. The pro-life
cause wins when babies live and thrive at every stage—from eight weeks early to
five days late. The pro-life cause wins when we acknowledge that pregnancy isn’t
just about a baby, but a mother, too. And loving NICU babies and their mommas
is a good place to start in practically living out what it means to be
pro-life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>****This post is in support of the <a href="http://evangelicals.life/">Evangelicals for Life Conference</a> put on by the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (January 21-22, 2016 in Washington D.C.). If you are interested in attending or <a href="http://evangelicals.life/simulcast/">viewing the simulcast</a> you can register <a href="http://evangelicals.life/register/">here</a>. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-75466516558647079942015-11-26T05:00:00.000-05:002015-11-26T05:00:06.162-05:00A Tale of Four Thanksgivings<div class="MsoNormal">
That first Thanksgiving was hard, so hard that when I think
about it I still feel the pain that flowed through my weary body. I remember
how I felt that first Thanksgiving, achingly aware that my body was empty.
Empty of a baby that I wanted so badly. Empty of the hope of a baby any time
soon. I was surrounded by pregnancy in every sphere of my life, and I could
barely choke out the words “I’m thankful” when we all shared our Thanksgiving
joy around the dinner table. It felt like a lie. I didn’t know how to be
thankful when living felt like death and tears came too easily for my comfort.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Little did I know it would take two more years before I
would know the joy of pregnancy again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember how I felt that second Thanksgiving. When
treatment was inevitable and I had no assurance I would ever hold a baby in my
arms this side of heaven. I spent my holiday battling hot flashes and mood
swings in a drug induced menopause all in an attempt to get my body to do what
I felt in my heart it was supposed to do—carry and sustain a baby. It was a
little easier to say the words “I’m thankful” that Thanksgiving. I had seen God
work. I could see, though dimly, that through the dark and heavy clouds of loss
and infertility, God was doing something in my sad heart. I just didn’t know
what it was yet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember the fourth Thanksgiving, smack in the middle of
the baby years with twins, spending many hours pumping and feeding and going to
the doctor and therapy. I wondered why after all my longing for a baby God
would give me such difficulty with their lives. I wanted ease, not discomfort.
I wanted simplicity, not complication. I was so overwhelmingly thankful for
every ounce of them, yet I struggled with my circumstances that looked
different than I anticipated. Yet still, God was doing something. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I am on the sixth Thanksgiving. Lord willing, farther
along than I was in the beginning. Still waiting for prayers to be answered.
Still battling discontentment with the life I have been given with its mundane
struggles, sin, and sorrow, yet daily reminded of the rock solid truth that God
is a good and faithful God to his people. He doesn’t leave us. He gives us only
good things, even if our definition of good is different. This Thanksgiving, I
feel like I am coming to terms with the reality of life in a broken world and I
am thankful for it in all its complexity. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve had Thanksgivings of want and Thanksgivings of plenty,
Thanksgivings of rebellion and Thanksgivings of restoration. It’s easier to say
“I’m thankful” than it was in the beginning, but not because I got what I
wanted. These children give me much to be thankful for, yes. But it is more
than that. I’m thankful that in my darkness and cynicism and unbelief God did
not forsake me. I’m thankful that when I wrestled through the lot he was giving
me he still pointed me upward and worked faith into my brittle heart. I’m
thankful for years of sorrow and loss, because in the loss of what was most
precious to me God was found to be infinitely better than any earthly thing.
I’ve learned in the wanting that God shows up, that he can be trusted, and that
even when the clouds hang low a break in them is coming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m thankful this Thanksgiving. As I kiss my boys
goodnight and tuck them in bed, I’m so very thankful that they are here with
me. I’m thankful for their boundless energy and middle of the night cuddles.
I’m thankful for the life they bring to our home that was once so strikingly
empty and quiet. But I’m equally thankful that God was here with me as he
taught me how to wait on his timetable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-55071349437719150052015-09-22T07:00:00.000-04:002015-09-22T07:00:09.523-04:00Give Us This Day Our Daily Milk<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve never had to wonder where my next feed would come from.
For as long as I can remember the low growls of hunger have been quickly
satiated by a stocked refrigerator and pantry brimming with snacks. Hunger is
not a pain I have felt acutely, except for when I wait too long to eat or am
too busy (or lazy) to walk the five feet to the endless supply of food to meet
my needs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I have felt the hunger pains of another.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feedings have always been a source of anxiety for me as a
mother. From the early days of the twins’ life, I cried as they struggled to
eat on their own, only to be met with exhaustion from working too hard, causing
them to choose sleep over food. Every meal matters for premature babies, but
sometimes eating is just too overwhelming when you weigh five and six pounds at
six weeks old. So I struggled and cried and pumped and cried. With each
finished bottle we rejoiced. With each minute spent hovered over the kitchen
sink washing pump parts and bottle parts, I quietly prayed I would never have
to do this amount of work to feed my little people again. With each feeding I
hoped in weak, new mother desperation that these ounces of milk would fill their
hungry bellies and put fat on their little bones. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over time it did. Over time they grew. Over time they
enjoyed eating. Their desperate cries for food grew less frequent, and I
started to forget what it was like to experience the hunger pains.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And now we have Seth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seth, who came out with a knife and fork (as the
pediatrician likes to say). When you are nearly nine pounds at birth, your
feeding situation is far less dire. But I’ve been reminded again of the
desperation I felt in those early days with Luke and Zach. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I’ve never been in want for food, I have held a baby
who has forgotten that food will come if he will only calm down, trust his
mother’s care, and receive it. I may not have to beg God for my daily bread to
come down, but I do regularly find myself praying for daily bread to come
through me for the well-being of my baby. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like so much of motherhood, feeding Seth is an exercise of
faith. I’m reminded with every feeding that the same God who cares for the
sparrows, cares for my baby. The God who waters the plants with rain from
above, also provides food for image bearers like my son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Give us this day, our daily bread,” I say
quickly in a prayer, yet I fret and forget my hurried prayer when Seth doesn’t
seem to get what he desperately needs through me—his only source of the daily
bread I just prayed for. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God is in the business of stripping us of every ounce of
perceived strength and self-sufficiency. So while I stare at my full
refrigerator and basket full of groceries and think I’m not in want for food, I
am brought to my knees in weakness<span style="color: red;"> </span>when the most
needy people in my life cry out in hunger and I don’t have the energy or supply
to give it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like every weakness God gives us, this is a call to trust in
the God who sustains everything, who is upholding the universe by his very
word. The God who spoke everything into existence, made manna fall from heaven
for the Israelites, and opens blind eyes calls me to trust that he will sustain
my baby through me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Give us this day, our daily bread,” I pray again. “And give
us our milk, too”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-40082056197794048882015-09-15T06:00:00.000-04:002015-09-15T06:00:06.892-04:00You Have Gifts and I Have GiftsMy sister-in-law and her kids just spent ten days with us. While it was quite the circus around here, I got pretty used to our evening dinners together and growing addiction to <i>Call the Midwife</i>. Parenting alongside another mom for ten days gave me a helpful perspective I've been working through since I became a mom two and a half years ago.<br />
<br />
There are many different kinds of moms. And that is a very good thing.<br />
<br />
My sister-in-law is a woman of many talents. She can walk into a room and redecorate it in her mind in a matter of seconds. In fact, I sent her a picture of Seth's room before we completed it, asking for help with how to fit everything in there, and immediately she sent me back a sketch of an idea. Did I say she is quite the artist? She is. Her kids regularly ask her to draw pictures of their favorite animals or characters for them, and she gladly obliges. She can make stuff out of Play Doh. She can put together toys and build towers and train tracks without getting frustrated. She is crafty and can think of fun projects for our kids to do together. She is resourceful and servant-hearted, always willing to go the extra mile for people.<br />
<br />
She is nothing short of amazing.<br />
<br />
And I am nothing like her.<br />
<br />
I like other things. I do other things. I am good at other things. Her kids expect different things from her that my kids would never even dream of expecting, and vice versa. She parents her kids out of her gifts and strengths, and I do the same with mine. We both bring something to motherhood that the other does not have, and through this we are helping shape children who will bring different strengths and gifts to the world.<br />
<br />
The world needs mothers who are crafty and the world needs mothers who pretend with their kids. The world needs mothers who have dance parties and the world needs mothers who play kickball. The world needs mothers who do all sorts of things, because the world needs kids who do all sorts of things.<br />
<br />
Often we see the strength of others as a commentary on our weakness, we feel threatened by them and judge them to protect our own feelings of inadequacy. But their strengths are not a threat to us. They are a gift. They are an opportunity to stand in awe of the abundant creativity of God. Just like we can't all be doctors and scientists, we can't all be crafters either. It's not cause for comparison, but cause for appreciation for how God has gifted each of us to parent the children that God has given us.<br />
<br />
My friend Trillia Newbell says it well in her book <i>Fear and Faith</i>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In our fear of being judged as lazy or of incurring the Lord's disapproval, one way we might seek to feel better about ourselves is to mock other women. Yet have we ever stepped back to consider that some women have been especially gifted by God as cheerful, thankful homemakers?</blockquote>
She goes on to say this in response to our comparison:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What if you rejoiced instead? Perhaps if you see women who excel in areas you do not, it can be used as an opportunity to thank God for His creative design. </blockquote>
So embrace your strengths, my friends. But also, embrace the strengths of others. Every gift and ability we have been given is working together to serve the world that God has diversely created.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-6263937128507926182015-07-14T07:00:00.000-04:002015-07-14T07:00:04.680-04:00I've Been in This Tunnel Before (Thoughts on Baby Number 3)<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been eight weeks since we welcomed Seth into this
world. Like his brothers, his birth was not without fanfare and a little bit of
crazy. Unlike his brothers, he was five days late and I was in labor with him
for over 24 hours. At 3:49 AM he was born via c-section after the doctor
determined his heart rate drops were enough to warrant getting him out quickly
(rather than drag it out for a few more hours). </div>
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And out he came—all 8 lbs 15 oz of him. </div>
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The transition from two to three has been easier in some
ways. I know what to expect from babies. I have a full term baby this time
around. He’s been a more content baby than the twins were. It’s amazing how
rapidly they develop in those early days when they aren’t premature. But in
other ways it’s harder, like I feel like someone threw me in the deep end of
the pool and handed me three kids harder. My mom stayed with us for three weeks
after his birth and the night before she left I could feel my chest tightening
as I anticipated trying to do this whole three kid thing by myself. So far,
I’ve survived. </div>
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But more than anything I’ve really enjoyed these last eight
weeks with him. Because I’ve done it before I know that these early days—when
he is waking me up at night desperately wanting food, yet also desperately
wanting to feel the comforting warmth of my familiar body—these days won’t last
forever. Soon he will be easily distracted while eating. Soon he will want to
move around and away from me, as he starts to explore his little world on his
own. Soon he will be like his older brothers, still dependent yet growing more
independent by the day. Soon he won’t need me nearly as much as he does right
now. These days of newborn sweetness are so very short. I know that now, and so
I’m savoring every last ounce of their sweetness. </div>
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When I was in the thick of the first year with the twins my
sister-in-law helpfully told me that while it feels like the season won’t end,
it will. What I didn’t have, that I now do, is perspective. I can see the light
at the end of the tunnel because I’ve been in this tunnel before. Weeks and
months don’t seem so long when you can look back on ones you have previously
lived. Often I spend my days wishing life would just slow down so I could savor
every new word uttered, every new developmental milestone hit, and every
snuggle that never seems long enough because now I don’t have enough arms to go
around. But time just keeps on moving, taking all of us with it.</div>
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So it’s been a good, exhausting, rewarding, and fast eight
weeks with our new little guy. We look forward to many more. </div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-41971075496644439292015-05-31T16:09:00.000-04:002015-05-31T22:39:37.783-04:00Happy Release Day!Today is the day! I've already birthed one baby this month, now it is time to birth another. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1430251389&sr=8-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">The Accidental Feminist: Restoring Our Delight in God's Good Design </a>releases today (actually it released yesterday, but who is counting?). After a year and a half of writing, planning, editing, more writing, and more editing, it is finally time to release the book to the masses.<br />
<br />
Unlike Seth's arrival, I've known this due date for a while now, and it is hard to believe it's actually here. My prayer throughout the entire process was that God would use it to encourage his people and make himself known in greater measure. The prayer is still the same and I pray it for you, dear reader.<br />
<br />
So happy release day, <i>The Accidental Feminist.</i> I'm glad you are here, too!<br />
<br />
And at some point I'll write about Seth's eventful birth on May 19, but until then here is a picture of my two babies born this month.<br />
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<br />Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-26314147106848542382015-05-06T06:00:00.000-04:002015-05-06T06:00:05.690-04:00Fear and Feminism: A better answer to our fears<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday we looked at how feminism was in part a response
to very real fears women faced. Today we will look at how the Bible speaks to
those fears and gives us a better answer.</div>
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Sarah knew fear, right? She was taken from her homeland and
family with no hope of seeing them again (Gen. 11:31). She was barren with no hope of a
child (Gen. 11:30). Twice she was given over to a pagan king because her husband feared for
his life (Gen. 12:10-20; 20:1-18). And that’s just what the Scriptures tell us. You could say that fear
was probably an ever present reality in her life. </div>
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What marked Sarah ultimately, and maybe not always in
the moment, is her hope in God. Her unwavering belief that God would do what he
said, that God would deliver on his promises to her, and that God would never
disappoint her. This is why Peter, in 1 Peter 3:1-6 uses her as an example for
us to follow, not because she did it perfectly, but because ultimately her hope
rested in God alone. We know that she didn't actually do it perfectly. In fact, like us, she gave into her fears on more than one occasion that we know of (Gen. 16; Gen. 18:9-15).</div>
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But the context of 1 Peter 3 is a rather fearful one isn’t it? Peter starts by telling women who live with a disobedient or unbelieving husband how they should conduct themselves. He exhorts them to live their lives in such a way that their husbands see the conduct of their character and are won to Christ. A
disobedient or unbelieving husband would make any woman feel a little fearful
over the future, or even the moment by moment complexities of her day. That is
why Peter provides us with an example to follow. He presents his hearers with a
woman clearly understood what it meant to live with a husband who was not always obedient to the word, and his hearers would have known that. Then he gives us the punchline, the moment of truth for Christian women threatened by
our fears:</div>
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And you are her [Sarah’s] children, if you do good and do
not fear anything that is frightening (1 Pet. 3:6).</blockquote>
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This can encourage us even today. We, too, live in a
frightening world. Our sin alone can scare us to the core. But there are
countless other earthly realities that threaten our faith daily. I have had two
<a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2010/08/our-first-baby.html">miscarriages</a>, which I’ve talked about before on the blog. <a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-frowning-providence-of-miscarriage.html">One happened</a> while I
was writing the book and it was more complicated than we anticipated. It was so
difficult that it caused my husband and me to wonder if we would ever try for another
baby again. It rocked us and terrified us. I’ve also never had a pregnancy
without some type of complication. This one carried minimal risk for a while
(it’s resolved now), but it’s still not a normal one. Pregnancy brings out all
sorts of fears for me. Will I ever hold Seth? Even as we get everything ready
for his arrival, I battle a lingering fear in the back of my mind, will this
all be in vain? Will I be stricken with grief again? Maybe your fears are
similar, maybe they are different. But the reality of living in a sin-cursed
world means there is a lot to be afraid of. </div>
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I don’t know what brings out your fears. Maybe it is a
husband who doesn’t lead you like he should. Maybe it is the prospect of a life
of singleness. Maybe it’s infertility. Maybe it’s a move that is on the
horizon. Maybe it is family member who doesn’t know Christ. Maybe you have a
difficult child or a difficult job. Maybe your bank account never seems to have
enough money in it. Does the thought of your children leaving for college or driving
a car for the first time bring you to your knees in fear? Are you fearful over
school loans you feel like you will have forever?</div>
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The list could go on.</div>
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The answer for us all is still the same: We are Sarah’s
children, if we hope in God and do not fear anything that is frightening.
Feminism can’t remove our fears anymore than it can give us the power and
autonomy we crave. It’s all an illusion. What we really need, what stands the
test of time, is hoping in the God who knows the end of our circumstances, who
is over every detail of our painful, broken lives, and who has promised to
always do what is good for us.</div>
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It can be frightening to submit to your husband. It can be
frightening to give your life to raising children. It can be frightening to
face a life of singleness or barrenness. It can be frightening to embrace your
season and give up a beloved career, rather than trying to have it all. It can
be frightening to go to your job every day when you are regularly left
wondering if the job will be there tomorrow. It can be frightening to pour your
life into your local church with the gifts God has given you. It can be
frightening to love your neighbors and enter their lives. It can be frightening
to open your life up to friends, roommates, and family members. Life in a broken world is fraught with risk and fear.</div>
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In all of these areas, we are giving ourselves over for the
good of another, not us. That is always frightening.</div>
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Left to ourselves we should be afraid. Hedged in, protected
by our loving creator, we have nothing to fear. Feminism is not the answer to
our fears or our deepest longings. Hoping in the God who created us, loves us,
and promises us a brighter future is.</div>
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We are Sarah's children if we trust in our all powerful, all loving, all wise, and always good God and do not fear anything that is frightening, even the fearful reality of living in a fallen world. </div>
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*If you want more information about how feminism has influenced us as women, you can order <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1430251389&sr=8-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">The Accidental Feminist </a>on Amazon. </div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-40868002728761086502015-05-04T06:00:00.000-04:002015-05-04T06:00:12.828-04:00Fear and Feminism: There is a lot to be afraid of<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of this month my first book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430249304&sr=1-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">The Accidental Feminist: Restoring Our Delight in God’s Good Design</a>, releases. As I anticipate its release, I want to spend some time talking about what we fear. It
might seem a little strange to talk about fear in the context of feminism, but
I think it has everything to do with feminism’s influence in our lives and the
root of feminism itself.</div>
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Feminists are strong, right? Feminists are in control of
their lives? Feminists believe in girl power? </div>
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But I also think feminists (and all women) can be quite
fearful.</div>
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As I say in my book, God in his good providence has given us
our identity as women. He has created us. But in his wisdom he has put us in
positions and places in life that can give us cause to fear. In a lot of ways
he has made us physically weaker than men. Who hasn’t walked to their car in a
dark parking lot with their keys out ready to jump in their car as fast as
possible? We live in a scary world. He has put us in positions of submission
that are designed for our good, but also make us vulnerable. I’m not saying
it’s easy to submit to your husband all of the time. It’s not. Sometimes
husbands don’t lead like they should. Sometimes husbands sin against us. I’m also
not saying it’s easy being a woman in a sin-cursed world. It’s not. Throughout
much of the world women are in very difficult, and terrifying, positions of
vulnerability—and often at the hands of men. This is not a new occurrence.
Women have been in fearful situations since sin entered the world.</div>
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But what feminism tried to do was empower women to rise
above their circumstances in their own strength, in many ways owing to these
very fears of vulnerability. We are met with similar fears today, aren’t we? We
all have something to fear, and God knows that. So did countless women who have
gone before us. </div>
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And in a lot of ways, fear is the great leveler isn’t it?
The early feminists, had a lot to fear didn’t they? They had no real ability to
protect themselves from unfaithful husbands, a government that provided them
with no safety net, or their children being sent into factories. They had no
real voice in society. The second wave feminists had their own set of fears,
right? Left to the boredom of their house, children, and husbands, they feared
losing themselves and their identity. We all fear something and we all look for
answers to our fears in a number of ways. Feminism answered the fears that
women faced by putting women in control of their own destiny, by making women
the final authority in their lives. And it’s easy to do isn’t it? We feel like
if we have some semblance of control than we can’t be hurt, we can’t be
disappointed, or we can’t be given over to our fears. But, friends, this is
never the answer. The answer to our fears isn’t in women’s empowerment or even
in good leadership. In our sinful self-reliance, we want to believe that we can
protect ourselves from our fears. But there is a better answer to our fears
than feminism, self-protection, or even a society that believes in the dignity
and value of women (which is a good thing!). We will look at that in my next post.</div>
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*If you are interested in learning more about how feminism has influenced us, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1430249304&sr=1-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">you can order my book on Amazon</a>.</div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-9556228664190105562015-04-30T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-30T06:00:00.632-04:00What I'm Looking Forward ToI don't know when you will arrive, sweet son. But I do know that I can't wait to meet you. You have been constantly on my mind and heart these last nine months. We've gone everywhere together, you and me. I've felt you kick. I've felt you squirm. I've felt you hiccup. I've seen your sweet face on ultrasound more times than I expected, which was a treat.<br />
<br />
While I have gone through this whole delivering a baby thing before, this time is a completely different experience, though there are some familiar things. I do know what to expect from babies. I had your brothers at the same time, you know. But what I don't know is what to expect from a baby who comes when he's supposed to be born. Here are just a few of the things I'm looking forward to with you.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I can't wait to hear you cry for the first time. I've never heard a baby cry upon delivery. Your brothers were born too early to cry much. They grunted and struggled to breathe as the NICU team worked on their immature lungs. My only reassurance was the nurse anesthetist telling me that he could hear Luke trying to cry in the room next to us. I hope your screams fill the delivery room. It will be the sweetest sound.</li>
<li>I can't wait to hold you right away. I didn't hold your brothers until they were 36 hours old. I barely saw them when they were born before the NICU whisked them away for a few hours to stabilize them. Your daddy didn't get to hold them until they were five days old. I can't wait to hold you close and study your face. Daddy can't wait to hold you either. </li>
<li>I can't wait to go home with you at the same time. We left your brothers at the hospital for five long weeks. It was so sad and so hard. We missed them terribly. I can't wait to pack you in our van all snug in your car seat and take you to our home, where you will be loved, cared for, and so very welcomed.</li>
<li>I can't wait to see who you look like. Will you look like your brothers, who are identical? Or will you look like daddy? Or someone else in our family? Or will you have your own look, a mixture of your parents who love you dearly?</li>
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I could go on in the ways I'm looking forward to getting to know you outside of my womb, my son. But we are excited to meet you in the coming days. You are our dearly loved, prayed for, and longed for son. Our bright spot after our loss. Life formed in an empty womb that for so long knew more death and barrenness than new life. And now we simply wait for your arrival.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-17984907019759793362015-04-27T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-27T06:00:08.248-04:00Control is An Illusion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm now a little over two weeks away from my due date, which is really hard to believe. I've never been this far along in a pregnancy before, so in a lot of ways it's all very new to me. We've never gotten a nursery ready before. The twins came so unexpectedly that my mom and sister-in-law set everything up for us while we were in the hospital. I've never bought diapers before delivery before. I've never had to count contractions or pay attention to my body because I was already in the hospital when I went into labor with the twins (and I didn't even know I was in labor anyway!). </div>
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In a lot of ways the extra time has been nice. It's allowed for more rest and time to reflect on the changes coming our way. It's given me time with the boys before baby brother makes his grand entrance. It's given me time with Daniel before we are sleep-deprived and delirious. And while I am anxious to meet this sweet boy, I'm thankful that he's stayed put this long. </div>
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But in another way the extra time has been hard for me. It's revealed to an even greater degree my ever present struggle with wanting to control every outcome of my life. The twins shattered that illusion pretty quickly when they arrived eight weeks early. Our lives were turned upside down by premature infants and twice daily NICU visits. It was good for us, me especially. Now that I am in a more normal pregnancy situation I can start to believe that I am in control of this whole having a baby thing. Having some form of readiness for his arrival (a room ready, food in the freezer, bags packed) can make me think that I've got this--or that I have time to spare. So when I have a night of contractions I start to panic, not because I might have a baby born before his due date, but because he's not coming according to my plan. </div>
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You would think I've learned by now that babies come when the feel like it.</div>
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There is a spiritual parallel to my illusion of control about the day and hour that Seth will be born. The New Testament is full of warnings to be ready for the second coming of Christ, because none of us knows the day or the hour that he will come back to bring his children home and judge sin once and for all (Matt. 24:36; Mark 13:32; Acts 1:7; 1 Thess. 5:2; 2 Pet. 3:10). All we are told is to be ready. Ready to leave. Ready to follow him to eternity. Ready to give up our fleeting lives on earth for a better one with him. We are simply told to "keep watch" (Matt. 24:42). Like a mother waiting for the arrival of her unborn baby, we do not know when the true labor will begin, bringing forth the final consummation of the redemption of our bodies--our rebirth (Rom. 8:22-25). We can believe the lie that we have all the time in the world to get ready for that glorious day, but the reality is we don't know when that day will come anymore than I know when my Braxton-Hicks contractions will give way to the real thing. But in both of these blessed events, I do know one thing, it will come eventually. I will not be pregnant forever and this earth will not be here forever either.</div>
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So as I finish up these last days of pregnancy, I want to be ready. Readiness is a good thing for both a new baby and our final redemption. But I'm learning to let go of the illusion that I can control the day or the hour, that I can be so ready that it doesn't take me by surprise when it finally comes. Only God knows that day. And what a day it will be. </div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-74649539380716389052015-04-23T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-23T06:00:07.198-04:00What I Learned About Marriage From Gilbert BlytheI don't remember exactly how old I was when I first watched <i>Anne of Green Gables</i>, but I know I've now seen it more times than I can count. For the longest time it was my go-to movie whenever I was sick. Who doesn't love the comfort of Avonlea when your fever is rising and your nose won't quit running? Because I am the only girl in my family, I even convinced one of my brothers to appreciate the story of Anne, Gilbert, Diana, Marilla, and Matthew (his wife can thank me for his enjoyment in classics like these).<br />
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With the many other fans of <i>Anne of Green Gables </i>I have been reminiscing about all that Anne of Green Gables meant to me as we learned of the <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/jonathan-crombie-anne-of-green-gables-actor-dead-at-48-1.3038948">sudden death of Jonathan Crombie</a>, the man who played Gilbert Blythe. Like many women my age, I can count Gil as one of my first fictional crushes. I remember watching his often tense and teasing interactions with Anne and hoping that one day I could marry someone who loved me as passionately as Gil did.<br />
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A lot of my expectations of my future husband were fueled by unrealistic expectations at best, and a man in my own image at worst. But there is one thing about Gil and Anne's relationship that I'm thankful I have in my own.<br />
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Unwavering support.<br />
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I'm pretty sure the writing bug bit me in part because of <i>Anne of Green Gables</i>. As a young girl, I enjoyed pretending and telling a story, but seeing Anne publish, teach, and work at her craft really gave me a vision for writing that stayed with me over the years. I wanted to do the same thing. She wasn't like the other girls, and Gil loved that about her. But he also loved her enough to help her get better at her vocation--her writing.<br />
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Writers don't like being critiqued. At least I don't often appreciate it at first. It's painful. It feels like someone is tearing at part of your soul. A writer feels like her work is part of her and to tell her it's not good, or doesn't make sense, can feel like you are saying she doesn't make sense. When Gil told Anne to write about Avonlea, the place they both loved, it hurt her at first. But he was right. He knew the story that was inside of her and he was pushing her to allow it to come out. He believed in her writing.<br />
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I'm thankful that Daniel does the same for me, even though I might resent his criticism at first. At the end of the day no one believes in my writing more. No one believes in the words that are inside of me more than him. When I'm sloppy or unclear, he knows I can do better. When I'm tempted to compromise or cut corners out of fear of man, he knows I know the truth and challenges me to hold fast to it. He is my toughest critic and my greatest fan--which makes the often bitter pill of criticism easier to swallow.<br />
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I didn't marry a man who fights with me passionately like Gil did with Anne, although<a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2012/07/trusting-what-list-cant-tell-you.html"> I thought that is what I needed</a> when I was a young, passionate, and romantic girl. But I did marry a man who supports me as a writer and encourages me to write for God's glory and true to who I am. And I wouldn't have it any other way.<br />
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<br />Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-32731243288363616772015-04-21T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-21T06:00:07.299-04:00Four Feminist Myths<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KTfx5U0DUNQ/VTWhYUdN9sI/AAAAAAAAApY/PKrlYN2K00g/s1600/x_large_The_Accidental_Feminist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KTfx5U0DUNQ/VTWhYUdN9sI/AAAAAAAAApY/PKrlYN2K00g/s1600/x_large_The_Accidental_Feminist.jpg" height="320" width="206" /></a></div>
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The last couple of months have been filled with trying to get ready for the release of my first book, <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1429561909&sr=8-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">The Accidental Feminist: Restoring Our Delight in God's Good Design</a></i>. It's hard to believe it's almost here (it officially releases May 31)! I had the opportunity to speak both at Southern Seminary and my church (<a href="http://www.midtownbaptistchurch.org/">Midtown Baptist Church</a>) on how feminism has influenced us as women and how God provides us with a better answer than feminism. Instead of trying to retell the entire book, I focused on four feminist myths and provided their biblical counter-examples.<br />
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1. I define myself<br />
2. I can have it all<br />
3. A husband and children can wait<br />
4. The teaching gifts are ultimate<br />
<br />
If you want to hear the messages in their entirety (and know the biblical counter-examples) you can listen <a href="http://www.midtownbaptistchurch.org/sermons/sermon/2015-04-10/the-accidental-feminist-session-1">here</a> and <a href="http://www.midtownbaptistchurch.org/sermons/sermon/2015-04-10/the-accidental-feminist-session-2">here</a>. I also spend some time talking about how feminism in a lot of ways is a response to real fears that women face. I hope to come back to that on the blog as we get closer to the release of the book. In the meantime, if you are interested, you can pre-order the book now on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Accidental-Feminist-Restoring-Delight-Design/dp/1433545489/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1429561909&sr=8-1&keywords=the+accidental+feminist">Amazon</a> or directly from <a href="https://www.crossway.org/books/the-accidental-feminist-tpb/">Crossway</a>.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-34105738786195441372015-04-07T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-07T06:00:04.270-04:00The Long Goodbye<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve always been pretty sentimental about things. My
earliest memory of my sentimentality is crying outside my elementary school on
the last day of fifth grade. I hate goodbyes. I hate when good things end. I
don’t even really like change. So much so that I’m content to eat the same
thing for lunch every day for weeks on end. I like the way things are to stay
that way, for a very long time. </div>
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This is why motherhood is often so hard for me. Nothing
stays the same for very long. In fact, the only constant about parenting
children is that it’s constantly changing. A newborn baby quickly becomes an
infant. An infant moves into toddlerhood before you have time to catch your
breath from just having had an infant. Toddlerhood leads to school age.
Elementary school leads to teenagers. Teenage years lead to college, which
means they are gone. And now I’m already crying over something that’s at least
sixteen years away.</div>
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I’ve been feeling this coming change acutely as we prepare
for the arrival of our third son in just a matter of weeks. I never had a
chance to really prepare for anything with the twins since they came so early,
so this time around I’ve been a lot more introspective (with all the extra time
to prepare). With each passing week I’m more aware of how the new normal of our
life these last two years is about to give way to a whole new normal, one I’ve
never done before. I’ve never had three kids. I’ve never had one baby at a time
(THAT I hope is easier!). I’ve never been pregnant past 32 weeks. </div>
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But I’ve also been aware of how this life I’ve had with the
twins (just us three a lot of the time) will now include one new precious
person. My time will now be divided three ways, instead of two. And I can
already feel the pressure of splitting my time between all of them, knowing
that in a lot of ways I’m going to miss more opportunities with them than I
would like simply because I’m one person limited by the constraints of time,
energy, and quite frankly, only two hands.</div>
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As I’ve grown into this motherhood thing I’ve started seeing
motherhood as sort of a long goodbye. While we all are on a journey of this
long goodbye from the moment we take our first breath, parenting has a way of
making you feel like everything is the beginning of the end in such profound
ways. Motherhood is a temporary vocation. It won’t last forever. While I will
always be their mom, I won’t always mother them in this way. One day, a long
(but all too short) day from now, I will let them go. Everything I have taught
them will not be practice any longer, it will be reality. </div>
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And I feel an ache in my soul about it all.</div>
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Most moms have had it said to them “the days are long, but
the years are short.” And oh, how short they are, aren’t they? With each step
we take on this long goodbye, we are reminded that each passing day is one that
we won’t get back. They will never be two year olds playing in the snow for the
first time again. Next year, they will be one year older, and allowing us to
see the world from their eyes in a whole new way. But it will be one step
closer on this long goodbye. </div>
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Understanding the reality of the long goodbye is more than
just coming to terms with the ache of motherhood. It has theological undertones
that find their hope in something greater than simply treasuring every moment
of each passing day (though that is certainly a good and right thing). If my
hope is in holding on to the moments that I know won’t last forever, then my
joy will be determined by the limited nature of these days. But if my hope is
in the fact that all of my days are guiding me towards a greater joy in the
presence of my Savior, then I can trust that even the tears shed over fleeting
moments aren’t in vain. They mean something. The answer is not holding on to my
sentimentality anymore than it is in pretending like my heart isn’t
experiencing the reality of living in a world that is passing away. Neither of
these will bring me lasting comfort. But in the times of my greatest sadness
over the temporal nature of motherhood, and this life in general, I must run
not to my circumstances, but to the precious reality that one day Christ will
return, make all things right, and wipe away every tear from my eyes—even the
tears I shed on this long goodbye. </div>
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Motherhood, like all of life, is cursed by the fall—meaning
it’s not what God intended it to be. It’s painful and it ends. So as we walk
the road of this long goodbye called motherhood let us hold in tension the
reality of enjoying this life, one day at a time, and longing for the perfect
one to come.</div>
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-72678707666818650742015-04-03T06:00:00.000-04:002015-04-03T06:00:09.025-04:00The Complete Obedience of Our Christ"Although the eternal Son, as God the Son, obeyed the Father and fulfilled what the Father willed for the Son to do prior to the incarnation, yet it was only the God-man, the human Jesus, who could obey in this way. To obey to the point of death requires the ability to die, and for this, Jesus had to be human. To be placed on a cross required that he be in a human body, and so again, this obedience required that he be fully human. But is this not the very point Paul is making--this eternal Son who was himself in very substance God and was fully equal to God, took on our human nature precisely so that he could undergo suffering, affliction, rejection, crucifixion, and death that he experienced, all because the Father had sent him to fulfill this saving mission? What a Savior is our Lord Jesus Christ. How amazing was his obedience, and how great was his love. May we cherish daily the beauty and agony of this eternal Son, becoming incarnate Son, all for the purpose of suffering death for our salvation (page 26)."<br />
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--Bruce Ware, <i>The Man Christ Jesus: Theological Reflections on the Humanity of Christ</i>Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-76687210959139779852015-03-30T06:00:00.000-04:002015-03-30T06:00:00.637-04:00Reading to Our Children<div class="MsoNormal">
Our library has a reading program that encourages parents to
read 1,000 books to their children before they enter pre-school. It seems like
an overwhelming number, doesn’t it? When you break it down, it actually doesn’t
require a lot of the parent. Especially when reading the same book over and
over counts as reading multiple books. (A must when you have toddlers who
thrive on repetition). </div>
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As I’ve thought about this program and the value of reading
to my children, I’ve been struck by how many biblical connections there are to
the goodness of reading to our kids. Of course, studies show that the more you
read to your children the better the fare. <st1:city w:st="on">Reading</st1:city> encourages bonding as they snuggle up
to you for a story. <st1:city w:st="on">Reading</st1:city>
encourages language development as they hear you talk and associate words with
pictures. <st1:city w:st="on">Reading</st1:city>
encourages cognitive development as they remember things they see and hear. We
can all agree that reading is good for kids (and adults).</div>
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But as Christians, it’s more than that. We know that God values
words and reading, too. In a post-fall world, he gave us his very word to
communicate with us. Faith in Christ and his finished work comes by hearing
this word (<st1:country-region w:st="on">Rom.</st1:country-region>
10:7). Without reading and hearing we are unable to know the God who made us
and loves us. Without reading and hearing we are unable to understand the
depths of Christ’s love for us displayed so clearly at the cross. Without
reading and hearing we miss the triumphant victory of Christ’s defeat of death
and our coming joy in heaven. </div>
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Of course, there are a variety of circumstances (many devastating)
that prevent people from being able to read, hear, or comprehend this word. And
I think, in God’s kindness, there is special grace for that. But, reading
matters because words matter. God speaks to us through words. In an
increasingly technology saturated society it is harder and harder to embrace
and enjoy reading. We are so easily entertained that it is difficult to do the
hard work of slowing down and reading something of value—or that’s more than
140 characters. But we must. And we must teach our children to do the same. Without
a clear understanding of the value of reading and words, and the discipline to
persevere when reading gets tough, we will all miss the treasure that is before
us in God’s revealed word. </div>
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So I’ve signed the twins up for the 1,000 books reading
plan, and we’ll see how it goes. While I want them to thrive in this world
academically and socially through reading, I care more about the outcome of
their souls. I want them come to a saving understanding of the faith that can
only come by hearing—hearing the very words of God.</div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-70966413755214290702015-02-24T06:00:00.000-05:002015-02-24T06:00:02.698-05:00Our Third Son<a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-frowning-providence-of-miscarriage.html">One year ago today</a>, we walked into an ultrasound room with hopeful hearts. We walked out of that very room heartbroken and confused. February 24, 2015 looks very different than February 24, 2014. I spent the better part of that day last year packing for a planned trip to Florida and processing next steps for our unexpected loss, all while weeping uncontrollably over the baby I would never meet.<br />
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It was a harder miscarriage than our first. Emotionally it registered about the same, but physically it took its toll on me and dragged on much longer than anyone ever expected. It made us wonder if we could endure another pregnancy, another rise and fall of dreams for a child. So we waited the months that were medically necessary because of the physical effect of the miscarriage and asked God to unite our hearts around the possibility of another baby--a baby we knew in our hearts we ached for.<br />
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And God heard our prayer.<br />
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We spent the better part of the first half of this pregnancy convinced we were having a girl. All the old wives tales about gender seemed to be leaning pink, so we were pretty sold on a name for the baby should we have a girl. But a boy? We were stumped. We had already used up two names on the sons we currently have, so thinking about another name proved difficult for us. So we didn't.<br />
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When the ultrasound technician informed us that our suspicions were false, we were floored. Daniel kept saying "wow" over and over again. We are delighted to add another boy to our brood, we just weren't expecting it this time around.<br />
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For weeks we talked about names, wrote down names, looked up names, and then talked about names some more. We could not come to a consensus. As we were driving to the airport for Christmas we settled in to listen to a seminar on parenting. The speaker read from Genesis 4 and when he got to verse 25, we stopped:<br />
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And Adam knew his wife again, and she bore a son and called his name <b>Seth</b>, for she said, “God has appointed for me another offspring instead of Abel, for Cain killed him.”</blockquote>
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"What about Seth?" Daniel said.<br />
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We have always liked the name, we just forgot about it until that moment. Seth means "appointed one" and in particular to the story in Genesis, he is the God-appointed son in place of the one who was lost. So much of this pregnancy has linked us to the baby we lost. <a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2014/11/some-trust-in-ultrasounds-but-we-trust.html">We heard Seth's heartbeat the day after our other baby was due</a>. We found out we were pregnant the month we were due with the one we lost. In many ways, we feel like Seth is the joy that has come in the morning (Psalm 30:5). After we talked about this name, and the meaning behind it, we knew that the story of how he came to be would be perfectly woven into his very name, <a href="http://cdtarter.blogspot.com/2012/11/these-boys-have-names.html">much like the names of his older brothers</a>.<br />
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For his middle name we went off from our normal way of naming our kids. So far we have chosen family names for our children. Luke's name is Lucas Daniel (after Daniel). Zach's is Zachary Garrett (after my grandpa), but we could not find a family name that went with Seth! When I first became a Christian I was exposed to the writing of Elisabeth Elliot. Reading her gave me a context for a female Christian writer. Prior to my conversion, I wanted to be a writer. As a new believer, she opened up God's word to me, and gave me a female example to emulate. And he also happens to be due the month my first book releases! Jim Elliot's story influenced Daniel as a college student as well. So we felt it fitting to name him Seth Elliot, to honor the lives of two people who have impacted us greatly.<br />
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As I reflect on all God has taught me in the year since our second miscarriage, like our first, I am undone by his goodness once again. In the dark days that followed our loss it felt as if I would never see the sun in my circumstances again, let alone in my own soul. But God is faithful. He restores the years that the locusts of sin, suffering, and loss have eaten. He brings joy out of mourning. He causes the sun to rise in the dark corners of our hearts when his frowning providence seems to tell a different story.<br />
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In two and a half months we will meet this precious boy, Seth Elliot. We love him already.<br />
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Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-30201253008260493362015-02-18T06:00:00.000-05:002015-02-18T06:00:00.307-05:00Leaning on the Right Understanding<i>"Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths" --<b>Proverbs 3:5-6</b></i><br />
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Many of us are familiar with this often quoted passage. When we don't know what to do, or when things get hard, we can run back to this verse for comfort. But what does it mean? It's easy to go straight to the promise of this verse--he will direct your paths--while missing the exhortation leading up to it.<br />
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It's easy, isn't it? Trusting in the Lord takes work. It takes faith. It takes denying our natural tendency towards self-sufficiency and pride. Sometimes our estimation of our circumstances is quite good. We look around at what's expected of us, or what is going on in our life, and we sense our own competency. We lean on our own understanding. But other times the outlook is bleak. We have no idea how we are going to make it through the day before us. We are weak. We are faithless. In fear, we lean on our own understanding.<br />
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Lately, I've found myself leaning on my own understanding in a variety of ways. When I have a burst of energy, or am able to knock things off my to-do list, my chest swells with pride over what I can accomplish. Facing writing deadlines and toddler conversations with relative ease, some days feel more accomplished than others. On the days I come out ahead, I feel pretty good. But I rarely look to the Lord. Instead of trusting in the Lord for help, strength, and wisdom, I've found rest in what I can accomplish (or at least what I think I can accomplish). Other days feel not so accomplished. I still have writing deadlines and toddler conversations, but they lack passion, joy, or hardly happen at all. I write no words and am short with my kids. Looking at my own understanding, I feel defeated and hopeless wondering how I will make it through the hours that seem to inch slowly by.<br />
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This verse speaks to both the competent and the feeble, the weak and the strong. God is no less God if we get our to-do list accomplished or barely get out of bed. He is no less the one who acts on our behalf in moments of greatness and great humbling. Any semblance of accomplishment is only an illusion of our own glory. It all is pointing to him, the author of our good and bad times. We simply need eyes to see it, acknowledge his hand in it, and seek him in the next moment.<br />
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I'll be the first to admit. It's easier for me to seek him when the walls are closing in around me. But it's harder to trust that he's working in the midst of the difficulty. It's harder to trust him on the front end of the good times, but easier to see his hand when all is well.<br />
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I want faith to do both, to trust him at all times and always lean on his interpretation of my circumstances, not my own.<br />
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I have no idea what tomorrow holds for me. But I do know that before my feet hit the floor in the morning I pray I have the humility and the faith to seek him first.<br />
<br />Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-82687767870175892662015-02-14T14:45:00.000-05:002015-02-14T14:45:29.233-05:00For the Ordinary Valentine's Day<div>
Yesterday I asked Daniel if he was expecting us to get something for each other this Valentine's Day (a little late, I know). He said "no." </div>
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"Good, me neither," I said.</div>
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It's not that I don't like Valentine's Day. It's actually quite the opposite. Both of us love holidays and celebrations, so we try to make something out of any occasion, even Valentine's Day. This year, real life has taken over and we are simply thankful to spend a quiet evening at home. </div>
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This is our sixth Valentine's Day together. We've never gone out on Valentine's Day, but instead have continued a tradition of Daniel making dinner for us. Every year it becomes more of a treat for me that someone besides myself makes dinner. But this year there won't be any flowers, there are no cards, and their certainly aren't any presents. Three months from today our third son will, Lord willing, be born and we just replaced our heater. Real life has eclipsed candy, cards, and flowers. <div>
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I used to not be okay with such ordinary efforts. In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, anniversaries, or my birthday, expectations were high and emotions were tense. Especially on Valentine's Day, I had a real time means of comparison in the form of Facebook and Twitter. With every poem written, bouquet displayed, and gift shared, envy and disappointment simmered inside me.</div>
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It's not that my husband isn't romantic or thoughtful. He's actually quite the opposite. But no husband or wife can live up to the perfection displayed on our computer (or phone) screens. And I felt the sting of not living up acutely. Sometimes I would forget about Valentine's Day and fail to write him a card, only to be met with a heartfelt letter from him over dinner that night. Sometimes he would rush to buy the ingredients for dinner and hurry through preparation because work doesn't stop for Valentine's Day.</div>
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The truth is we haven't had a "normal" Valentine's Day in a couple of years. Two years ago, the twins were in the NICU and we hurriedly ate a meal brought to us by a church member before heading to the hospital for our nightly visit with them. Last year, I was six weeks pregnant and could barely stomach food. This year, I'm pregnant again and we are smack in the middle of a busy work season for him. </div>
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But this year, unlike previous years, I'm okay with the ordinariness of our celebration. For too long I have lived for the mountaintop experience in every facet of my life. My marriage is no different. I have expected the unattainable romance of my imagination, when what I really needed (and had all along) was the steadfastness of covenant keeping love. What I'm learning is that life is not made up of the grand moments we all expect as much as it is forged by the ordinary moments that comprise our days. Our marriage isn't headed down the tubes because we long for the quietness of the ordinary, it simply means we are growing more comfortable in the safety of this life God has called us to. </div>
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It's easy to succumb to the pressure of the mountaintop experience. And I'll admit, there are some days that are such experiences. But they can't always be that way. Most of the time our days are fairly ordinary, but there is beauty in that. There is purpose in that.</div>
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I know that, for us, this is a season. So much of our disappointment over the ordinary is owing to the fact that we can't see our season for what it is--a season. There will come a day when we have more time for each other than we do now. There will come a day where we may have more money to buy things for each other than we do now. I imagine, from what I've heard from those older than me, that we will look back on these ordinary, routine days with sentimental joy knowing that it was in these moments that a family was made. </div>
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For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I'm thankful for this ordinary Valentine's Day. And I wouldn't want to share our ordinary with any other. </div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-26435513840379950182015-02-04T06:00:00.000-05:002015-02-04T06:00:00.959-05:00"The Company We Keep: In Search of Biblical Friendship": A ReviewOne of my overarching prayers for this year is that God would burn in me a desire (and the grace) to be a better friend. Like many, I love people and love having friends. But I have been convicted lately that if I want to <i>have</i> friends I need to <i>be</i> a friend. For the last two years I have used the excuse that life has been crazy trying to adjust to parenthood (and with twins, no less). However, I am not the first (nor last) woman to mother twins--so I can only use that excuse for so long. Of course, friendship looks much different for me now than it did when I was single and living with roommates. Friendships happened much more naturally back then. I lived with my closest friends. I ate meals with them, ran errands with them, and went to church with them. The depth of those relationships has carried them long after I moved away and got married.<br />
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Fast forward many years and I am in a different season of life. One that requires more intentionality and affords me less time. Sometimes I have to cancel a coffee date because I have a sick kid. A lot of my relationships happen within the context of my children, so Sunday morning fellowship, small group, and even play dates are a different animal now. </div>
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All of these new revelations that I am coming to terms with are why I was excited to receive a copy of <a href="http://www.cruciformpress.com/our-books/the-company-we-keep/">The Company We Keep: In Search of Biblical Friendship</a> by Jonathan Holmes. Holmes, a pastor of counseling at Parkside Church in Cleveland, OH, has helpfully provided a biblical framework for friendship. This short book is an excellent read for anyone desiring to grow in their understanding of friendship, but also who desires to be a better friend. Here are a few takeaways:</div>
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<b>Biblical friendship is designed to point you to Christ</b>. I left this book asking the question of all my friendships: "How can I point this friend to Christ?" But it would even serve the reader to ask how the friendship as a whole points you to Christ. The ultimate goal of biblical friendship is to serve the common goal of mutual sanctification and lifting high the Savior you both love. What a helpful reminder!</div>
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<b>Friendship, like everything else, is marred by the fall. </b>We will never have perfect friendships in this life. We were created for relationships, as seen most evidently in the fact that we are created in God's image and he is in perfect fellowship with himself (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit). The fact that we crave companionship is a good desire. But because of sin, we selfishly pursue friendships. We are hurt by dear friends. We hurt the ones we love most. The answer is not to abandon biblical friendship, but to understand that it will never be perfect in this life. I needed this reminder. </div>
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<b>Friendship is more about us than about the other person, and most importantly it is about the perfect friend, our God</b>. I found this quote particularly helpful: "I've come to learn that friendship flourishes best when we seek to <i>be</i> and <i>embody</i> the type of friend we see in God himself" (46). How often do I selfishly look at my friendships based on what they can offer me, but that is not the pattern we see from God. We offer nothing to him, yet he gives us everything. Our earthly friendships, like our other relationships, mirror the heavenly one set for for us in God. </div>
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<b>Understand your limitations.</b> Holmes helpfully points out that we can't be all things to all people. True biblical friendship, he says, happens best with a small number of people. Even Jesus limited his inner circle to three. This is hard for an extrovert like me, but also a helpful reminder that I am human and have limitations. Identifying the friendships that God is already forging in my life and then purposefully working to grow them in a mutual love for Christ is a better model than trying to be BFF's with everyone.</div>
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As I finished this book I asked the Lord to make me the type of friend who not only is willing to do the hard work of fostering friendships that last, but also the type of friend who is humble enough to receive the honest correction and accountability that friendship affords. I don't like being confronted. I don't like correction. But I know it is necessary for growth in godliness. I want to be a friend who hears correction and receives it with humility. </div>
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If you desire to grow in your friendships, or simply want to understand what God has to say about friendship, I highly recommend this book to you. As Holmes says in the book, we need community (particularly biblical friendship) in order to grow in godliness. We are not made for "substitute relationships", but for lasting relationships that point us to our Savior. May we all be such friends.</div>
Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1922391391723479936.post-80217439314816348582015-01-26T07:00:00.000-05:002015-01-26T07:00:04.586-05:00The Sin We Don't Speak OfWe all have that sin. The one we thought was long conquered, long forgotten, and long paid for by Christ's precious blood. Then one day it emerges, reminding us that we are not yet perfected, and riddling us with guilt. It's the sin we don't speak of. It's the sin that we are certain would cause friends to shun us, strangers to mock us, and God to turn his back on us. Everyone's is different, but the effects on us are the same. And when it rears its ugly head we are undone.<br />
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I don't know what your forgotten, unspeakable sin is. But I know mine. I know that even after years of victory it can come back without any warning, reminding me that I am still in need of a great Savior. It's good for me, really. This sin, in all its heinousness, is a reminder to my ever prideful heart that the respectable sins I live with are just as ugly as the one that I don't utter out loud. Everyone needs to be knocked down a few rungs on the ladder of our own perceived righteousness. I am no different.<br />
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In the moments of despair over the reappearance of this sin, I have been comforted by the fact that it has been paid for by Christ's atoning work at the cross. There is no more condemnation for me because Christ took all of it for me (Rom. 8:1). But practically speaking, I've learned that I need the same guttural response to my every day sins as I have to the one I hate the most. I should weep tears of brokenness with every act of rebellion against my God, and yet, I don't. I've created a hierarchy of sinfulness, stacking some at the very top of the "do not do this again" list.<br />
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In God's eyes, sin is sin. No amount of human ordering changes that for him. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God (Rom. 3:23). This sin is the great equalizer before him. There are no sins that are beyond his reach for cleansing and there are no sins that make us any better or worse in his eyes. Without Christ, the verdict is the same--guilty.<br />
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Oh, but the story doesn't end there. With Christ the verdict is the same--righteous. My sin (respectable and otherwise) says that there is no hope for me, and that is true. But in Christ I have a righteousness that is not my own (Phil. 3:9). I can stand free from condemnation over all of my sins, even the one that I feel is too unworthy to bring to the throne of grace.<br />
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If that is where you are today, dear sister, know that I am with you. Actually, we are all in this together. Look to Christ and trust in his perfect work on your behalf. Repent, yes. But then cling to the One who paid for all our sins--even the ones we can't speak of.Courtney Reissighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17570038465761855865noreply@blogger.com0