Tag: God has a Plan

Heel Pricks

Posted on by S. J. Little

 

The nurse stepped into our room.

“How’s baby doing?”

I glanced up. “He’s starting to stir. Likely he’ll be hungry soon.“

She took a moment to study our newborn as he lay swaddled in the bassinet.

Next, she turned to the monitor screen showing his heart rate, respiratory rate, and oxygen saturation.

She checked his IV line. It was still running smoothly.

She turned to us then. “The doctor has ordered some blood work. I’ll have to prick his heel to get 25-30 drops of blood so they can check to see how he’s doing. Are you okay if I go ahead with that?”

My husband and I glanced at each other and nodded. “Yes, go ahead.”

The nurse put a little heat pack on our son’s heel and got to work preparing what was needed.

A minute or two later, she turned back to our newborn.

She took the heat pack off and examined his heel. He already had a few scabs from previous pricks, but she found a new spot.

He was awake now and starting to look for food.

When the nurse pricked his heel, his little face scrunched up and turned red. He began to cry.

The nurse squeezed his heel to get one drop of blood out of his foot and then another. She skillfully collected the sample into a little tube.

I pressed a soother into my newborn’s mouth, but to little avail.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “It’ll help them get you feeling better.”

But he didn’t understand.

He continued to cry – a heart-wrenching newborn cry.

The nurse continued her work.

Finally the nurse had collected enough blood to be able to send it for testing. 

Dodging cords from his monitors, we changed his little diaper, and I picked him up for nursing.

He calmed as soon as I began to nurse him.

We breathed a sigh of relief.

– – – –

Why would we allow someone to intentionally hurt our little guy who had no idea what was going on?

That wasn’t the only time we okayed something that hurt him either.

Even in the first 24 hours of his life outside the womb, my husband gave permission for nurses to do blood work.

Our little boy cried hard each time his heel was pricked. He had no idea what was going on, but he knew something hurt. 

Why would we, as loving parents, allow and even encourage someone to hurt our baby?

Because we knew it might help.

You see, when our little boy was born, he was having difficulty breathing. It was bad enough that they admitted him to the hospital NICU.

After a couple of days on a CPAP machine and oxygen, our son had improved some, but then began to show signs of infection, including in some of his bloodwork. When they put him on antibiotics, he quickly improved.

He had to remain in hospital until his antibiotics were completed because they were given by IV.

What a relief when we could take our baby home with us after a week in the NICU! He transitioned home so smoothly that you’d never know he had needed that extra care.

(A quick shout out to say thank you to the NICU team for their incredible care for the precious little ones in their unit. It was amazing to see the work they do.)

Why share all this? Because my husband pointed out a powerful allegory in the midst of it.

He, as a loving dad, allowed the nurses to prick our little boy and make him bleed. Why? Because he could see the big picture.

My son didn’t understand. All he knew was that something hurt. He couldn’t have even told me that it was his foot. He just knew that something hurt and he didn’t like it.

My newborn did the only thing he knew to do. He cried. 

Did I rebuke my son for crying? No. I almost felt like crying right alongside him. 

Instead, I sought to comfort him and, in a sense, to join him in his suffering.

In comparison to God, I am like my little newborn. 

I am small and helpless.

I do not understand the big picture.

I feel it if something hurts me – oh boy, do I feel it!

I typically have no idea that there might be a purpose behind the pain, nor of what that purpose might be.

God is good, and God is love. He is at work behind the scenes orchestrating everything for His glory and for the good of those who love Him. (Rom. 8:28)

When a heel prick comes in my life (indeed it is when, not if), how should I respond?

First, I find time to take my crying to God.

Just as I didn’t rebuke my newborn for crying, God welcomes me to tell Him how I’m feeling. He cares about me.

If I feel the need, I can even ask God, “Why?”

More likely than not, God will not tell me why on this side of heaven, but I can still ask. 

Then I move on to surrender the whole thing to Him, trusting that He is in control and knows what He is doing even if I don’t know why. 

I turn my eyes upon Jesus. I remind myself of who He is: all-mighty, all-knowing, good, loving, and interested in the details of my life.

While all that is good and deeply valuable, on a practical level, what should I do when my heel is pricked? When grief or unknowns make me stutter?

In the words of Elizabeth Elliott, I “do the next thing.”

I determine the next thing to do, whether that is make supper or pack a hospital bag, and I do it. Sometimes I have to be even more specific when finding the next thing to do: peel the onion… Put a phone charger in the hospital bag… Once that’s done, I can do the next thing.

“Wait for the Lord and keep His way…” (Psalm 37:34)

Next time I have my heel pricked, may I remember to take my emotions to God, to surrender and trust Him, to remind myself who God is, and to do the next thing.

Construction Happens – Will I Marvel or Mumble?

Posted on by S. J. Little

 

As I neared the church parking lot, I studied the construction barriers. Could I drive into the parking lot?

An email sent earlier in the week had noted there would be construction. A construction crew needed to tear up the street just outside the parking lot to do work on the buried water pipes. The email suggested the crew would plan to keep a clear route to the church parking lot for mid-week events.

This end of the road had barricades, though there weren’t any workers nearby. Perhaps the other end was open.

I continued past the road and made a long detour in an attempt to approach the church from the other direction on that same road.

As I rounded the corner bringing the church into view, I stepped on the brake. Not only was this end barricaded, but an excavator and front-end loader were hard at work here.

Definitely not open.

There was no room to turn around where I was on the narrow street with cars parked along both sides.

I switched into reverse.

I backed up till I passed the nearest alley, then drove through it. It was bumpy and unpaved, but empty.

Back out on the main street, I approached the first end of the road again.

One of the barricades had been moved to the side. I could see a clear path to the church parking lot. The heavy machinery and crew were a fair distance away.

I decided to try it.

I cautiously navigated past the barrier and along the road.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I pulled into the church parking lot, and chose an empty stall.

In the back of my vehicle, I could hear my kids exclaiming excitedly about the construction vehicles.

I unbuckled my daughter and let her out.

Walking around to the other side of the vehicle, I pulled my 1-year-old son out. I placed him on the sidewalk.

He took two steps towards the busy construction crew (who were a whole parking lot away), then sat down decidedly. He stared in fascination at the noisy machines.

My daughter asked, “What are they building?”

“They’re doing something with the pipes,” I explained.

“Oh.” She watched in wonder.

My son continued to give them his undivided attention. He didn’t want to go anywhere else.

Several other ladies showed up. 

I convinced my 1-year-old to head into the church. Still he kept looking back. He pointed and made grunting, sputtering sounds – his version of what the heavy equipment sounded like.

As we entered the church, we greeted one of the pastors.

Immediately we discussed the inconveniences and hassle the construction site had caused and our hope that it would be short-lived.

A day or two later, I found myself thinking of the occasion. I see a lesson there for me.

As Paul tells me, “it is God who is working in you both to will and to work according to His good purpose.” Philippians 2:13 CSB

The construction represents God’s work in my life. He helps me grow and become more of the person He created me to be – a person filled with the Fruit of the Spirit.

When there is no construction – no upgrading or making new – things slowly, over the years, degrade and fall into disrepair.

My life is like that. If God is not at work transforming me, I am coasting. Coasting may feel fine and good for a while, but gradually coasting leads away from a close walk with God. As I become more distant from God, the Fruit of the Spirit will fade out of my life.

When construction happens, it is typically messy and noisy. It is an inconvenience requiring detours and delays.

It is not clean and tidy most of the time. It is not comfortable, but it is necessary.

Sometimes, like the construction site by my church, it is all to do with deep hidden pipes. Once they refill the hole and patch the road back together, it will seem like they did nothing helpful at all.

Sometimes the work God has to do in me is like that. It is a transformation of the deep hidden parts of me that most people will never know about.

Yet if the deep underground pipes stop working, everyone knows about it. Fresh water stops flowing or sewage backs up. It is not good at all!

What do my children’s responses have to do with any of this?

They are a reminder that I get to choose my attitude.

When construction happens in my life, will I choose to marvel or mumble?

Will l be annoyed, frustrated, and complaining? Will I rant and fight against God?

Or, like my 1-year-old son, will I choose to sit in awe and marvel at what God is doing?

Like my daughter, will I wonder what God is up to? Will I choose to be hopeful for what the future holds as He is at work preparing me for it?

Today, I want to pause to thank God that He is at work in me and to wonder at what He is up to.

God knows what He is doing, I can trust Him.

Rest so Peaceful

Posted on by S. J. Little

 

I cradled my recently turned 1-year-old in my arms. He snuggled in, sleepy and content to be held.

Looking into his big blue eyes, I couldn’t help but marvel at his willingness to rest in trust.

You see, this little boy has recently learned to walk. Now he walks everywhere. He loves his new freedom.

He walks and walks, stops to play, then walks some more. I jokingly say, “He has no time to sit still. He’s got to move!”

He is also beginning to understand words and communicates by pointing, nodding, and saying, “more, more.”

I’ve started referring to him as a toddler rather than a baby.

Yet in that moment, as I sang him a lullaby, he seemed so much like a baby. His simple peaceful trust that I would take care of him was worth marveling at.

As I took a step toward his crib, his eyes shifted to the ceiling. He watched calmly as I carried him past the light and a door frame.

He let me lower him onto his back in the crib.

There was no fear, no fight for control in his gaze as he studied my face.

As I headed back downstairs, I found myself imagining my response if someone were to carry me. 

My stomach clenched at the thought of feeling so utterly out-of-control when being carried on my back, unable to look anywhere but at the ceiling. The anxiety that would grab at me if I couldn’t control where I was going or even adjust for better balance would be near overwhelming.

My little one doesn’t always rest so peacefully. He is currently in a phase of clinging to mommy. Only a handful of people have gained enough trust for him to rest in their arms.

Even in his babylike trust, who is holding him is the key.

What about me? Do I have that babylike trust in God my Father? Or have I become so accustomed to independence and having a sense of control that I refuse to rest in His arms?

In this area, I need to go backwards in development, back to that childlike dependence on my Heavenly Father.

This is not easy.

When I feel out of control, I want to fight for all I am worth to get that control back.

Yet I am never truly in control in the first place regardless of how I might feel. I cannot control the weather, how other people think and act, or many aspects of my health.

God is in control.

Not only is He in control now, but He sees the big picture. He knows what the future holds and He is interested in more than just my temporary pleasure for today.

Along with that, knowing God is loving and good is reason enough for me to seek to rest in His arms.

At all times, but especially when I feel out of control and helpless, may I lean into His loving arms and rest peacefully there.

Isaiah reminds me that God carries His children. Having just discussed how people worshipping false gods in that day literally carried their gods, Isaiah stated:

 

“Listen to Me, … you whom I have upheld since your birth,

    and have carried since you were born.

Even to your old age and gray hairs

    I am He, I am He who will sustain you.

I have made you and I will carry you;

    I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”

Isaiah 46:3-4 NIV

 

Experiencing peaceful rest in God’s arms is not necessarily a lack of action, but a heart condition.

On the outside, sometimes resting in His arms will be sitting and waiting. Sometimes it will be active and hard work.

Regardless, may I learn to rest my heart in His arms, trusting that He is good, loving, and in control.

 

As I close, I encourage you to take a moment to listen to this well-loved hymn: Leaning on the Everlasting Arms.

 

Not The Garbage!

Posted on by S. J. Little

 

I placed the loaf of bread in the fridge and returned to the table to clear the rest of the breakfast items. Happy chatter reached my ears from where my older child played in the other room.

I glanced at my baby as he crawled around the kitchen floor exploring the toys left out for that very purpose.

Opening the dishwasher, I quickly put the dishes and cutlery in.

My baby made a beeline for the dishwasher.

“You’re getting faster,” I said, “but I’m all done with the dishwasher already.”

He fussed when I closed it before he could climb in.

Crouching beside him, I drove a car back and forth. “Vroom… Vroom…”

It only took a moment before he was reaching for the car.

“Yes, you can have the car. I need to finish clearing the table.” Fetching the dishcloth, I returned to the table and began wiping it.

I heard a thump.

Looking over, I observed my baby standing against the under-the-sink cupboard, pulling at its handle.

Pulling the door open, he peeked inside. Intrigued, he pulled it open further then dropped to his hands and knees to investigate.

I stepped around the table to wipe the far side.

He reached for the dustpan and broom I kept in the cupboard.

I spoke lightly, “You can look at that, just don’t suck on it please.”

His interest didn’t last long. Setting the dustpan aside, he looked up at the garbage can. He reached for the fresh bag my husband had put in the can.

“No, that’s not for you,” I spoke from the opposite side of the table.

My baby couldn’t quite reach the bag from where he sat. He shifted closer and reached again.

Disregarding the dishcloth, I hurried to his side.

“No,” I stated firmly, pulling his hand away from the garbage.

He looked at me, then reached for the bag again.

“No,” I said again.

He reached for it another time.

“No. That’s the garbage. That’s not for you. Here, you can hold the dustpan.” I tapped the dustpan loudly.

Yet again he reached for the garbage.

This time, I pulled him away from the garbage and closed the cupboard. “No. The garbage is not for you. Find something else to play with.”

He fussed.

I rolled a ball towards him, but he barely noticed. He was too busy heading back for the cupboard and pulling himself up against it.

I held the cupboard shut as he tugged on the handles.

His fussing turned to crying.

I scooped him up.

“Silly boy. Garbage is not good for you. Come, let’s find something better for you.” I carried him to the living room in search of a more engaging toy.

It was only later, after more run-ins of a similar nature, that I noticed the allegory hidden in these moments.

I love my son. I want what is best for him. When he wants to play with garbage, I say “no.”

The same is true of God. Our Heavenly Father is a loving God. He loves us so much that when we want to play with garbage, He says “no.”

As the parent of a very busy baby, I am considering putting locks on that cupboard to prevent him from opening it.

God, however, gives us the freedom to choose to comply with His “no.”

In my day-to-day life, what does this mean?

First off, in His Word, God has given me many laws and guidelines to live by. I’m sure you can name several of them.

“Do not murder.

Do not commit adultery.

Do not steal.” (Deuteronomy 5:17-19 CSB)

I could go on.

Why does God give me these laws? Because He knows they will keep me away from garbage.

Garbage is not good for me.

Beyond that, God sometimes replies to my prayer requests regarding specific situations or desires with “no.”

So often it is hard to understand why He says no when it is something I long for.

In the story I shared, my baby had absolutely no comprehension that the garbage can was not good for him. He got frustrated when I pulled him away from it. He cried.

Sometimes I must simply trust that God sees the bigger picture. He knows what the future holds. He knows what is best.

Yet it can be so hard to trust when the “no” makes no sense to me. I may feel frustrated, disappointed, and discouraged. I may cry. I need to take these feelings straight to God as the Psalmists so often did.

As I take these emotions to God, He will help me trust Him when He says:

“‘For My thoughts are not your thoughts,

and your ways are not My ways.’

This is the Lord’s declaration.

‘For as heaven is higher than earth,

so My ways are higher than your ways,

and My thoughts than your thoughts.'” (Isaiah 55:8-9 CSB)

Today, may I abide by the rules and guidelines God has laid out in His Word. Beyond that, when God says, “no,” may I trust that He knows what is best, even when I don’t understand.

Traveling Through Train Tunnels

Posted on by S. J. Little

 

Some people have a wonderfully simple way of wording things. Today’s allegory is inspired by a quote attributed to Corrie ten Boom. To bring the quote to life, I have woven a story. At the end, I will share the quote which I’m sure will be as inspirational to you as it has been to me.

Standing on the station platform, I studied the incoming train. I glanced at the ticket in my hand. Yes, this was the train I needed to get to the Bible school.

Once the departing passengers cleared, I climbed aboard and located an empty seat in the half-full train car.

Parking my suitcase by my feet, I pulled my backpack onto my lap.

A few minutes later, the train gave a lurch and proceeded on its way.

I glanced around me. No English anywhere. All the ads and station names were illegible to me. Each snippet of conversation that reached me from fellow passengers was as good as jibberish. I understood none of it.

Rather than let that worry me, I leaned back, letting my gaze roam the city streets we hurried through. They too were entirely unfamiliar. I had no way of telling whether this train was heading the right direction. Yet, the number on the outside of the train matched that on my ticket. Surely it would take me there.

I knew it would be more than an hour until I arrived, so I allowed my mind to wander as I admired the rich greens of the countryside we’d entered.

I knew a little about my destination. Around 100 students would be there, none of whom I’d met before. Classes would be in English. Our rooms and food were provided. It was near a lake.

Still, a million unknowns crowded into my mind.

I pushed the worries away. I would trust God. He’d pointed me this direction. I would follow. He would give me what I needed.

The steady rhythm of the track made my head begin to nod. I hadn’t slept well during the hours spent on the plane.

I pulled my backpack closer as my eyelids drooped.

I sat bolt upright, aware that I’d been sleeping. Something was different.

It took me a moment to realise the train had been thrown into darkness.

Looking out the window, all I could see was black.

I felt the train turn, as it wound through the darkness. Were we going in the right direction?

I bit my lip. I really did not want to get lost in this foreign country. Was I on the wrong train? Should I pull the emergency brake and jump off here?

No, I was certain this was the train I was meant to be on.

I had no idea what direction my stop was, but the train driver knew.

As I watched the beginnings of light returning to the outside world, I leaned back in my seat. I would have to trust the driver. He knew what he was doing.

So, what was that quote I mentioned at the beginning of the post? You may have heard it before.

“When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don’t throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the Driver.” – Corrie ten Boom

What does this allegory mean? Picture God as the train driver or engineer.

When I became a Christian, God invited me onto a train. He set a new life before me – different from the life I was living before.

Sometimes as I travel on the train that God is driving, everything seems wonderful and happy. At other times, the train goes through a tunnel and life gets hard… very hard.

When life gets hard do I turn my back on God and jump off the train He has put me on? Or do I trust that He is still in control and knows what He is doing?

For Corrie ten Boom, a very dark tunnel came in the form of the Nazi Ravensbrück concentration camp. She watched her sister, Betsy, die and faced brutal treatment day in and day out. Yet Corrie did not abandon her faith in God. She trusted the Driver, and He carried her through.

When a dark tunnel comes in my life, may I follow Corrie ten Boom’s example. May I trust that God is still in control. He will see me through.

 

If you want to read Corrie ten Boom’s story, I highly recommend her book The Hiding Place.