Blue Valentine: An atypical movie with a typical message

It’s been quite a while since I have written a movie review –lots of noteworthy movies have come out since Superman in 2006! -- but recently, M and I watched an independent film, which I cannot help but want to write about for so many reasons. “Blue Valentine,” is the story of a marriage at its sad conclusion. It has been hailed as a film that anyone who has been in love and fallen out in the end can relate to. In very vivid, sometimes more explicit than necessary, flashbacks, the film takes us back to the root of this failed relationship between Cindy (Michelle Williams) and Dean (Ryan Gosling), who are extremely convincing and effective in their roles, despite some very awkward moments shared onscreen. The contrast between the two young lovers who impulsively decide to get married sharing a tearful exchange of their vows and the married couple visibly aged and disenchanted six years later parting ways in total defeat could not be more stark.

The film is an obituary of a relationship that offers an uncomfortably intimate look into a marriage that was troubled before it began. The cause of death (in my estimation): impulsivity, a lifelong commitment made on the basis of feelings, selfishness, a lack of effort to reverse course and desire to make things right, and the absence of faith – factors all too common nowadays in an age where celebrities and mental health providers alike are proselytizing that marriage is no longer beneficial, realistic or advisable and where the divorce rate is alarmingly high, even among Christians.

From the opening of the film, it is clear that Dean’s proclivities, which may have once seemed charming now grate on Cindy’s nerves. The very first glimpse of Cindy, in which she is awakened by her husband and young daughter, who eagerly and playfully rouse her in her bed, reveals how unhappy, disenchanted, and bitter she has become. Dean, on the other hand, is content as a father and husband and with the fact that he can drink before going to work at 8 o’clock in the morning to paint houses. He has no ambition for the future apart from wanting more children and this clearly bothers Cindy who works as a nurse, having abandoned her youthful ambition to go to medical school, which, we learn, was the result of becoming a mother after an unplanned pregnancy (a choice she makes in the middle of attempting to undergo an abortion). It is obvious that Cindy has no respect for Dean and that the fact that his love for her and her child are all he desires out of life causes her to despise him. While it is easy to relate to some of Cindy’s misgivings about Dean, there is never any doubt that his love for his family is genuine. He admits that he never aspired to become a husband and a father but now takes pride in the fact that he honored those commitments and has become who he was meant to be. Who he has become is precisely what Cindy despises. Whereas their marriage and family represents Dean's identity, for Cindy, it embodies the loss of her own.

Over the course of the film, we learn that Cindy’s decision to have her daughter has resulted in a marriage premised on little more than that decision and a few brief encounters spent in reckless abandon between two teenagers in way over their heads. The feelings which marked her early relationship with Dean have turned into such disdain and resentment that she clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut during their lovemaking to the point where Dean feels so rejected that he can’t continue - a stark contrast to the sexual encounters that preceded their marriage, including an unnecessarily graphic scene, which lingers uncomfortably long – far longer than needed to make its point. Passive aggressiveness has replaced the passion Cindy once felt and the tenderness Dean once displayed and now seems to reserve mostly for their daughter. The more attentive to Cindy he is, the more she seems to despise him. We do not know what has led to these feelings but the glimpses we get of Dean make it easy to imagine what it is about Dean that Cindy finds it difficult to get past.

To say that Blue Valentine is raw and honest is an understatement -- too honest at times. While I understand the contrasts the director is attempting to draw and appreciate his artistic vision and desire to make the movie as true to life as possible, I wish that today’s filmmakers didn’t feel such an overwhelming need to showcase sexuality so graphically. All too often, such scenes add very little to a film (i.e., the unnecessary scenes in Black Swam which added nothing to the storyline that couldn’t have been conveyed without being so over-the-top and graphic). Hollywood will inevitably continue to push the envelope, but it seems to have reached a level where the public has become as de-sensitized to sex as it has become to violence and cursing. It is one thing that Blue Valentine’s NC-17 rating was downgraded to R. It is another that the viewing public has yawned at the downgrade and argued that the sexuality depicted is “not that bad.” In truth, many scenes in the movie are positively pornographic. I digress…

In an early scene in Blue Valentine, we learn that Cindy has inadvertently caused the death of the family’s dog, which in a rare moment brings the couple together in love as they hold each other and weep at their kitchen table. This is a sharp contrast to the exchange between the couple when they try to rekindle their romance – something Cindy obviously wants no part in – at a cheesy hotel in a room called very appropriately titled “the future room.” It is an even sharper contrast to the terms on which the couple leaves off. Their sorrow over the death of their dog seems greater than the sorrow experienced at the death of their marriage. Just as Cindy consoles Dean after the death of their dog, she consoles him at the death of their marriage, seemingly feeling nothing but certain that divorce is the only option available to her -- the only hope for her to regain her identity or reinvent herself in a life without him, a life not tied to a painful past or quite so many regrets.

The events leading up to the end include a chance encounter on the way to the “future” with a lover from Cindy’s past that gives more context to the father-daughter relationship between Dean and the couple’s little girl than the audience initially suspects. The emotional strain produced by the death of the family dog, this chance meeting which digs up so many past hurts and regrets, and the failed attempt at romance in the cheesy hotel room with the spinning bed, balloons into a violent confrontation at Cindy’s job which results in the end of Cindy’s career as she knows it, as well as the couple’s marriage later that day. In the final scene, we see the couple’s young daughter running after Dean, distraught that the only father she has ever known is being made to leave. While the audience is left with a remaining shred of hope that the characters may ultimately be reconciled to one another, the film gives very little reason to believe that this is a realistic possibility. Blue Valentine certainly conveys a very pessimistic view of love and moreover, of marriage.

While the film does reflect a lot of truth in the way that so many relationships nowadays conclude, sadly, the lesson seems to be that having children complicates good relationships, that marriage takes the fun out of sex, that love doesn’t last, and that individual happiness in the moment is far more important than providing a stable and loving home for children. It is not difficult to imagine that many viewers left the film thinking that if Cindy had gone through with the abortion, her life might have turned out better. How sad is that? The film arguably promotes the concept that marriage inevitably becomes an unbearable hell. While feelings undoubtedly change as surely as they wax and wane over time and in the midst of various circumstances, marriage was never meant to be premised on feelings or happiness alone. The message in popular culture nowadays seems to be that love is little more than a feeling undeniably intertwined with lust and that being in love (i.e. perpetual butterflies) is the primary purpose for becoming and staying married. This is not to say that feeling in love and feeling happy aren’t worthy purposes or a part of marriage but to say that they are the only purposes is an understatement of the greatest magnitude.

In typical movies, most movies, definitely not this one, we usually see the best parts of candy-coated relationship, perpetuating the idea that the best relationships are those defined by constant bliss. Those of us who have loved and gone through life or marriage know that love, marriage and life in general are rarely like that. So while I give the movie credit for attempting to be honest in showing that marriage has its drawbacks and creating something that feels real on so many levels, at the same time, I wish that it did not further promote the message that marriages naturally should end when the initial sparks fade.

Marriages that are able to survive the dark and troubled times grow stronger and the passion deepens over time and with experience and becomes something so much better and more beautiful than "butterflies." Still, I suspect that if the film had shown Cindy and Dean go through counseling, find faith in Jesus, commit to praying for their marriage and working through their problems, honoring their commitment to each other and their obligation to their child, and fighting for their family, it would be less dark, disturbing and thought provoking in the way it was intended to be.

The movie is beautiful precisely because it is dark and haunting; because it gets under your skin and makes you think. I imagine that it caused a lot of married couples facing difficult times to reflect on their own relationships and unique challenges. I can only hope it will not encourage the same outcome...

Blue Valentine was Rated R on appeal for strong graphic sexual content, language, and a beating; originally rated NC-17 for a scene of explicit sexual content.

In Spite of Feeling

Daily, I've been fighting to get past an array of feelings that at times overwhelm and at times are absent when they seemingly shouldn't be. My mother-in-law's illness, my grandmother's accident/surgery/hospitalization, the pressures and struggles that have accompanied this sour economy and the transitions I have made in the last year in life on personal and professional levels (enduring a difficult pregnancy, moving, becoming a mom, finishing law school, moving again, starting my career, studying for and taking the Bar -- trying to wear more hats than my head can hold) -- it has surely taken a toll on me this past year. In truth, most days, I am not thriving. Most days, the most I can hope for is to survive. Most days I feel as though I am barely reaching that goal.

Today is Good Friday. The day we celebrate Jesus' ultimate sacrifice: His death for us on the cross. The day we are reminded of the price that we were purchased at and the extent of His love for us: that He would endure such vile and undeserved punishment just to set us free, so that we might see Heaven someday and be with Him for eternity. This Easter season marks my 11th re-birthday. 11 years since I accepted Jesus Christ into my heart as my Lord & Savior and asked Him to make me a "new creation." As noted above, I do not always "feel" like a new creation. I do not always feel free through Jesus' death on the cross. Mostly, I feel owned and consumed by my circumstances. I forget sometimes that I am His and that He is in me.

During this Lenten season, I committed myself to reading through the Gospels every morning on my way to work. I finished this morning, ending my journey through these books with the Gospel of John. Towards the end of this book, I re-discovered Jesus' prayer for us. I'm sure I have read it many times before, but it "felt" new to me this year. After Jesus prayed for His disciples, He said:

²⁰ “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, ²¹ that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. ²² I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— ²³ I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.²⁴ “Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.²⁵ “Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. ²⁶ I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them” (John 17:20-26).

As a believer, I accept Jesus at His Word. I believe that what He says is true. There is no doubt in my mind. But I don't always feel it.

The world tells us that we should live according to what we feel. Marriages are ended everyday because people just don't "feel" that it can work, don't "feel" happy. Decisions of great and little consequence are made on this flimsy and untrustworthy basis every day. As a woman, I believe that God gave us strong emotions and greater sensitivity than men for a reason. While our emotions and our ability to "feel" things so deeply is a gift, it can also cause us to make poor decisions, to give up when we ought to press on and to doubt what we know is true. I know that I have on more than one occasion...

This Easter, I am reminded that Jesus died on the cross to set me free, not so that I could be subject to feelings of depression, anxiety or doubt. He died on the cross so that I could be free, so that I could be in Him, so that I could seek and follow His will for my life, even when I don't feel the joy that I ought to feel. Though I am seeking to stand on His Word, to discern and follow His will for my life, I recognize that it doesn't necessarily mean that I will always feel joy. That being content may be the most I can hope for somedays. Most importantly, I'm reminded that what I need to recognize and that which I record here for what I hope will be an encouragement to others and pray will be a reminder to myself, is that Jesus is with me whether I "feel" it or not. He promised to work all things together for good. He promised to be the same today, tomorrow and forever. He promised that His mercies would be new every morning. I can stand on those Truths even when I feel that I don't have the strength to stand on my own two legs. There is comfort in that whether I feel it as deeply as I should or wish I could or not.

As a Christian, I have the privilege of worshiping a Living Savior. This Easter Sunday, I hope it will be as powerful a reminder to you as it is to me that though on Good Friday Jesus died a painful, horrible death, On Easter Sunday and every day, He is alive. He is risen. He is risen indeed.

Purpose Driven

I'll be honest. Most days it feels like a struggle. The struggle does not merely concern juggling all of the different hats that I must wear, but surviving another day, making it through another week, counting down the days left before the weekend comes, and then trying to draw from every hour I'm given with my family a measure of joy, rest and peace that will give me strength to start the cycle over again on Monday morning. Life as a working mom is much harder than I ever thought that it would be, but at the week's end I am reminded of why I keep going. As I type this, Noah is coming at me with a broom, not at all happy that I have withdrawn to take some much needed "me time" on the other side of the room. Frustrating, yes, but even in these moments of frustration, I cannot help but laugh as I watch my son's personality grow at a pace much faster than his weight or height. Moments ago, my "tiny tyrant" was standing at my side shaking his finger at me saying "no no," imitating the instruction he had just received from his grandma and feeling the need to show me that he too can give instruction. He has quite a sense of humor, albeit a poor sense of timing...

When I was a stay-at-home mom, finishing up my final year of law school, searching for a job that never seemed to come, I often felt that my only purpose was to change diapers, to provide sustenance and to get my child to sleep. I've often said -- and still maintain -- that being a mom is the highest profession I could ever aspire to. It has been the privilege of my life. Yet, being a mom has certainly involved a measure of sacrifice. Largely, what I've missed most of all is being able to write. And I don't just mean the time. I also mean the energy, the focus, the clarity of thought, the ability to put my thoughts into words or finish something I start. Although I am optimistic that returning to this blog will allow me to return to my first love, I am aware that the demands of being a mom will often leave little time to follow-through. That is OK. It will have to be for now.

In honesty, I have sometimes felt jealous of Michael's ability to serve God by playing lead guitar as a member of the Creative Arts Ministry at our church. I have been searching for a ministry and a purpose of my own and have not had any success in finding my place or roll in which I could serve. Prior to becoming a mom, I always felt that blogging was my ministry and that there was no better forum in which I could use the tools that God has given me. Whether it can be that for me again is to be seen.

I came across a verse today that reminded me that God knows His plans for me, even as I struggle to define a purpose for myself. This verse (Psalm 138:8) is a promise I am standing on and is my prayer today, though my heart is overwhelmed and my mind is tired and the words do not come quickly or easily enough:

"The LORD will fulfill [His purpose] for me; Your love, O LORD, endures forever--do not abandon the works of Your hands."

A Similar Lesson on a MUCH Larger Scale

"I just want to tell you how much I love you and how much you've meant to all of us all these years." Those were the words that came to me today as I began what may have been the last conversation I will ever have with my grandmother Millie this side of Heaven.

........

I thank God that my long term memory is very sharp and that I can still so easily recall so many vivid images. Most of the photographs that document my childhood were destroyed in the various floods that filled the basement of my New York home time and time again. Very few were salvaged.The one to the left is nearly 3 decades old. It documents the birth of my younger sister, Michelle. And beside me, watching while I held my baby sister is my Grandma Millie (or Carmella, or Mimi, depending on who you ask). Other than this photo, the only other picture I have with her was taken while I was in first grade, at my sister Michelle's kindergarten graduation. When I looked at this picture today, it brought back so many memories of what it was like to be a child spending time with her... How she always wore stacks of gold bangle bracelets that clanked together every time she moved her hands. Her raspy Betty Davis voice and the catch phrases she fell back on time and time again while disciplining us for being bad. "I'm going to get out the board of education," was her favorite thing to say and she said it often as she searched for her ruler to smack us on the hands with. It never actually hurt. It only made us laugh, which only seemed to aggravate her further and caused her to make the face she made whenever we ran through the house with her stuffed black and white cat that we so frequently abused during our visits. We impersonated her so often in the way she said "disrespectful," that I can still hear her voice as though she was here with me right now. With that one word, she was able to speak volumes about her frustration regarding any given situation.

I can still picture her standing in the kitchen stirring sauce on the stove with one hand and smoking with the other. Frosting pound cake with heaping spoonfuls of fresh whipped cream before she'd freeze it, further removing the very little bit of taste it had. Coating bow tie pastries with fresh jelly and sugar while talking on the pale yellow phone with the long spiral cord twisted in knots. It's hard to believe I'll never have my grandmother's sauce again, always filled to the brim with braciole and sausage. It's been a lifetime since I've had it.

And How can I forget the endless hours I spent playing Black Jack and Red Dog with her and my sisters using the pennies she'd stored up in the heavy plastic containers she'd brought back from one of her many gambling trips to Atlantic City? Grandma taught me how to play cards; she taught me the primary colors and how to use them to make new ones; she taught me the names of the Great Lakes, which I sadly, twenty-something years later, don't remember.

These were the types of memories that came rushing back to me today as I spoke into the phone, wondering if she could hear me on the other end, hoping she could understand.

On Thursday, my Grandma Millie had a stroke. On Sunday, I was given the news that she had a DNR and that it was unlikely she would be alive for very long, as she'd refused a feeding tube. I called to talk to her today, knowing she would not be able to respond, and being unsure as to whether she would be able to understand anything I was saying. I wanted to talk to her about God and Heaven and tell her that I was praying for her -- and I did. I told her those things. But it was not long before the memories that came flooding back overwhelmed me so much that I had to share them with her. Memories of her endless supply of BINGO paper and all the games we played together on it when we weren't rattling the dice of our word game so loudly that my Grandpa would holler at us. Swinging from the bars of her staircase (pictured right) for so long that our palms were stained as black as our bare feet. How many times did we launch ourselves off between the bars and nearly knock over the dining room table covered from end to end in an array of boxes from Mei Mei's Chinese Restaurant?

I recalled how she always let me know how proud she was of me. How she told me every time we spoke that she was always watching Fox News expecting to see me one day everyday since I had moved to Washington. I told her I was sorry she never got that chance. Grandma was an avid Conservative who took great pride in knowing that I grew up to adopt the same views without any assistane from anyone else. She had helped me map out my education all the way up to getting my doctorate degree when I was just a little girl. I told her I was sorry that I hadn't graduated law school in time for her to see it. I told her I was sorry that she had to leave the world with Obama as our President, something that I know caused her great aggravation this past year. I told her that I couldn't imagine what life would be like without her and that I hoped she wasn't in any pain. What I told her was as disjointed in my speaking as it is now in my typing.

Mostly, I told her how much she meant to me. How she has been such a blessing to me for the 28 years I've been alive. I told her how happy I was that she lived to meet her greatgrandson (my sweet Noah) and how sorry I was that he wouldn't get the chance to know her better.

How many people can honestly say that they had the chance to tell someone they love just how much they meant to them before they died? I can say that now... though I could have went on for hours. After I got off the phone, I thought to myself that I could only hope to live 90 years and hear my child's child reveal her heart to me for one final time before I go...

For now, all I can do is wait and pray... pray that she feels peace and not fear, pray that in those quiet moments, she reaches out to God and pray that she will be re-uinited in Heaven with the two children she buried in her nearly 91 years life (my Uncle Michael, who I never met and my Uncle Sal, who passed away on my 16th birthday) and especially my grandfather, her "Nino." I hope he will be waiting for her too.

I wanted to share this with you today, not only to document what a wonderful life my grandmother had and what a light she was, or merely as a means of preserving the few memories I have retained, but as a reminder to all of you out there who have loved ones that don't fully know how much they are loved and who would really benefit from hearing it. I am fortunate to have gotten the chance to express that to my grandmother this afternoon...

Her life and her times are in His hands. I know how capable they are. Please keep her in your prayers...

One Last Pint Sized Lesson...

This morning my hamster passed away. For those of you who know me well and for those who have been following this blog long enough, you know that, to me, Beanie was not just a hamster. She was an important part of my life and my story with Michael -- and God used her on more than one occasion to teach me more about Himself. I blogged on this once before. And this morning, on our last morning together, God taught me one last pint-sized lesson through my little furry friend...



Beanie was my very first pet as an adult living away from home. I had always sworn I would never have any pets after having lost my dog Baby who was by my side for 11 years through thick and thin. Though Michael and I had discussed eventually getting a dog, I made it clear that I was not sure I could handle losing another pet. I had already lost so many... Leave it to me to pick a pet with a 3 year lifespan when I finally felt ready to try again...

When we got Beanie, Michael and I were living in a one bedroom apartment in Arlington. We joked that she was all we could fit into that narrow a space. While we lived there, I played with her all the time. I lavished her with everything a hamster could possibly have -- material things. Beanie saw us through three moves. The first, to a slightly larger apartment in Arlington, the second to South Riding and the third to Leesburg.

When we moved to South Riding, Beanie began acting very strangely. For whatever reason she began building a nest on the top floor of her "rat palace," which created a terrible mess on our floor everyday. Whether it was stress or whether she was just adapting to her new environment, Beanie was very comical to watch as she tried to make herself at home in our new home. In the beginning, I played with her all the time. I loved watching her zip across our faux hardwood floors in her little ball. But it was not long after our move that I found out I was pregnant and everything changed. I was advised to steer clear of her for the baby's sake and for the most part I did. I still talked to her but I stopped making an effort to show her how much she meant to me.

I was in the second half of my pregnancy when we moved to Leesburg and by this time, Beanie and I spent very little time together at all -- if any. Once the baby came, I rarely even walked by her cage because I was upstairs with Noah most of the day. For the last three months, I felt nothing but guilt that I had failed to give her more attention. I kept saying to myself that there would eventually be time, but I never seemed to find it. I tried to no avail to find her a new home - a happy home - where she would get the attention I couldn't give her. And then, just last week, I took some time and held her and promised her that I would make an effort to give her a better life, never knowing that I would not be given the opportunity or the time to make good on that promise.

This morning, I held her -- what little was left of her -- for over an hour and told her I was sorry and said goodbye, the way I never got to do with my dog Baby, whose death haunts me to this day and perhaps always will. As Beanie lay in my hands barely breathing, I kept praying for God to take her but He didn't.

In those sad moments, so much occurred to me that I feel compelled to share...

Now, I know that there are some of you reading this who might think it's silly that I should care so much for a rodent. That's fine. I also know there are many of you who are quite certain that animals don't have souls and don't go to heaven. I don't need to discuss that right now... I try to have hope. But in realizing that there is no certainty, it made me realize how fleeting life is and how my experience with Beanie is a lesson on so many levels.

First, I learned that we should take nothing for granted. We may not have another day to tell the people we love how much we love them or more importantly -- we may not have the opportunity to show them. Though I gave Beanie all the material things in the world, I missed out on so much of her life. And it got me thinking... How many of us have estranged relatives or friends that we have been neglecting to call or write or bother with? How many of us have allowed nothing other than our own sense of guilt to get in the way of restoring damaged relationships? I know I have...

Second, I learned that God's timing is God's timing and sometimes we have to accept it when it seems that He is not willing to honor our requests. Sometimes we need to be patient and accept (whether it's easy or not) that God is trying to show us something and that He rarely (if ever) stops until we've learned it. I seem to only learn the hard way... but I'd like to think I learn nonetheless...

Finally, and most importantly, I was reminded that little losses prepare us to handle bigger losses. In those quiet moments with Beanie, God instilled in me a sense of urgency to talk to those people in my life who don't know Him -- People whose loss would hit me a hundred times harder than the loss of any pet if I did not have confidence that I'd see them again in Heaven. You see... I have no way of knowing if I will ever see Baby or Beanie or Peeps or any of my dearly departed pets ever again. So when they passed, it hurts that much more... because goodbye really MAY be forever. But when it comes to human beings, we DO have certainty. The Bible makes it clear that those of us who call on the name of the Lord, who accept Jesus Christ as our One and Only Lord and Savior whose death was the price for our sin, who seek a real relationship with Him and ask Him to come into our hearts and make what was once old new-- we CAN know with utmost certainty that when we die we WILL be reunited with those who walked with God to go on before us.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16

When I was sitting there holding Beanie in my hands, I thought of those closest to me whose eternal fate I am just as uncertain of as I am hers. And I realized that I need to stop waiting for another day -- the way I waited to give Beanie the attention I should have months and months ago... And so I wrote a letter to one of those people. And I pray with all my heart that she is able to receive the message. I did not write this entry to document that - nor did I write it to merely remember my sweet Beanie Bear, whom I will never forget - I wrote it because I know that there are others out there that need reminding of what I learned today. And if it helps someone else even in the most minute way, then at least a blessing will come from my loss. Quite a legacy for one little hamster. I hope its a message that will be well received...

Rest in Peace Beanie. Never Forget You. HOPE I will see you again...

It's A.....

After months and months of waiting, guessing and speculating, M and I found out the gender of our baby last week!

We found out that we are being blessed with a baby ..........(CLICK HERE)............!!!!!!!!!!! :)

We could NOT be happier!

A Reminder of God's Provision in Uncertain Times

I posted this morning to my baby blog about the recent turn of events in my, Michael and Vanessa's lives. I hope this will be a testimony of God's power and mercy and provision. I know there are so many people in these uncertain times who are struggling as we have struggled and I hope this will be a reminder that God has everything in the palm of His hands, that He is intimately concerned with what is going on in our lives, and that He WILL provide... that no matter how grim things seem, God is in control and He is bigger than the problems of this world. We need only put our hope in Him.

(Read the post here).

The First Time That Ever We Saw Your Face... :)

This morning, M and I got an up-close look at our beautiful baby boy or girl. It is amazing how much he or she has grown in just a few short weeks. At our last ultrasound we could barely make out where the head ended and the body began but today we were able to see his or her face. I just keep reflecting on Psalm 139 and the wonder of knowing that we have a God who loves us and knows us -- and that even now he is "knitting" this precious child together.

PSALM 139

¹ O LORD, you have searched me
and you know me.

² You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.

⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O LORD.

⁵ You hem me in—behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me.

⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?

⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, ^a]">[a] you are there.

⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,

¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.

¹¹ If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,"

¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

¹⁷ How precious to ^b]">[b] me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!

¹⁸ Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake,
I am still with you.

¹⁹ If only you would slay the wicked, O God!
Away from me, you bloodthirsty men!

²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
your adversaries misuse your name.

²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, O LORD,
and abhor those who rise up against you?

²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
I count them my enemies.

²³ Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.

²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

An Unexpected Twist of Fate

On New Year’s Day, my husband, stepdaughter and I went to the movies to see Marley & Me. While I fully expected to see a movie documenting the hijinx of a naughty pup wreaking havoc on a young couple, I did not expect to watch a commentary on family, the futility of trying to plan out your life, and the changes that having children brings to a marriage. To be honest, I left the theater feeling a little shaken but very happy with the state of my life as it is.

After the movie, the three of us went out to coffee with our dear friends Dan and Melody, who are expecting their first baby this April. “I am just afraid to ruin what we have because I love our marriage the way it is,” I told Melody as she laughed and nodded her head. I shared with her the reservations the movie gave me about starting a family and, as always, she reassured me that God is in control and that all things work together for good. I agreed and laughed off my apprehensions, noting that it wasn’t anything I would need to worry about for a long time. I am in my third year of law school after all, I added, and M is still working on his engineering degree. And besides, I have endometriosis and there are no guarantees that we would ever be able to have any children of our own anyway. This settled my troubled mind and it was not long before this conversation (and the worries and concerns the movie had sparked in me) faded out of my memory.

You can imagine how ironic this conversation seems now, in retrospect, as I now know that at the time we were having this engaging conversation, I was already four and a half weeks pregnant. Here, I was discussing a movie, based on a true story, that clearly demonstrated that life happens in spite of all our planning and I was ignoring the central message I had clearly identified (and have written on before): “Man plans and God laughs.” I have to imagine that God was just sitting up in Heaven shaking his head and chuckling as He listened to me go on and on with my own ideas about what our life would and should be like. Apparently, He had bigger plans in store for us!


And so, M, V and I have spent the last few weeks adjusting to this unexpected news and preparing ourselves for all the things there really is no preparing for. It has given me a new perspective on so many things. Here, I thought I had it all figured out – but it was no sooner than I had come up with a master plan, that God shows me that His are always better.

I have been procrastinating for too long in blogging. I had been meaning to write an entry for some time now on the futility of fear, as I have finally conquered my fear of driving – something I could do with God’s help alone. In the past four months, I not only got my own driver’s license, but I got my own car (a gift from M for my 27th birthday in November).

Looking on all the drastic changes our lives have taken in the past year (moving from the city to the suburbs, from an apartment to a house, learning to drive and getting a license and a car and finding a Bible study group whose members have small children that are welcome to attend each Friday night), I can’t believe I didn’t see what God was preparing us for. And I guess, I still don’t know what the future has in store and I guess that’s the moral of the story (at least as I see it): We can only live day to day and seek God’s will in what we do and wait expectantly for God to show us where we need to be. That said, I am very happy to be where I am, in spite of the horrific morning (noon and night) sickness that at 7 weeks and a few days along, I have still not grown accustomed to!

For all the downsides of pregnancy I have been experiencing this early on, this morning changed my perspective yet again: when M and I not only saw our baby and his or her tiny beating heart, but we heard it! It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. And while our baby looks like little more than a little blob, I can’t believe how much love I feel for something so very small. And for all the worries I have had concerning how early on my pregnancy is, I remind myself that God is in control.



“For you formed my inmost being. You knit me together in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful. My soul knows that very well.” Psalm 139:13-14

Big Plans

There is an old saying where I’m from that was repeated throughout my early life more times than I can remember: “People DON’T change.” Children who do not see the world in such black and white terms don’t easily believe things like that. Youthful optimism does not allow for such cold “truths” to be too readily adopted. I didn’t believe it – not even when the circumstances surrounding me seemed to only confirm that “truth” for me time and time again. If there is any truth to that old motto it is this: While it is often very difficult for people to change themselves, GOD changes people. This is something that the pastor at my church often refers to as “pruning” – another way of saying that God roots out areas of our lives that need to give way so that we can grow into who we are meant to be. And I truly believe that, but I always like to think of it in more artistic terms…. terms just as clearly defined in the Bible… Potter and Clay…

I can still remember “throwing” pottery in the drafty art studio at my high school in Brooklyn. I remember how much strength was needed once the clay was on the wheel to force it into the desired shape. Some days, I lacked the endurance and ended up with a mess on my hands, literally. I gave up many times dissatisfied and frustrated. Mostly I ended up with a shape far less than perfect. Once a viable shape was formed, it was time to let it dry or cook it in the kiln. As any potter knows, the trick is that if you want to engrave anything into it or if you want to reshape what you have formed in any way, you have to begin at just the right time or else it dries up hard like leather and leaves the potter with a much tougher (if not impossible) task. Time and time again, I let my pottery dry out so much that reshaping or engraving it was nearly impossible. Time and time again I ended up spending hours scraping the sides of some misshapen pot with a shaving tool, desperately trying to grind down the imperfections or cut away mistakes, listening to the ear piercing screeching sound and believing all the while that the form could not be changed. (And sadly sometimes it was the case.)

I think this is how God sometimes feels about us. Only in the case of human beings, it is we who choose to harden. And in the case of God, He doesn’t give up on us. I know this because in every way I was that misshapen pot. Stubborn in my ways, clinging to that old adage and believing what I’d been conditioned to believe about myself and the world, I resigned myself to accepting certain things I never should have. I fell shorter than short (no obvious pun intended). But fortunately for me, the Potter was not as willing to give up on me as I was in that basement art studio. God had a plan for my life and He was willing to scrape away at those rough and flawed layers no matter how long it took and no matter how many ways I had to break before I’d give way.

The process was difficult and I reached some of the lowest places of my life, but God was faithful to repair all my brokenness. And I don’t regret a moment of the repair process -- though I shudder at the thought of ever going through it again (I’m certain I will again to at least some small degree). I remain a work in process. I’m far from beyond “pruning.”

I was reminded of God’s faithfulness in a big way this past week. On August 11, M and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary and gave thanks for the amazing work that God did in both our lives over the course of 3 short years.











This month, M and I are also approaching the 2 year anniversary of our baptism together into the body of believers in Christ. I still remember standing there in that water, soaking in all that God had done at that point in my life to bring me out of the pit I dug myself into. Never could I have imagined all that God had in store for me and my husband over the years to come. Big plans.

Just recently, I have begun to overcome the biggest fear I’ve ever harbored. (You may remember, I faced it momentarily once before, years ago.) And everyday for the last week and a half, I have done that which I once swore I would NEVER be able to do. At the ripe old age of 26, I have finally learned to drive. And in just 10 days, I will resign my label as a “city girl” when M and I move into our first home in the suburbs. (A leap of Faith if I ever made one!)

God truly has a sense of humor. He has changed me and my life in so many ways. In spite of my shortcomings, in spite of all the ways I’ve failed to put my trust in Him, He has never let me down. All things have truly worked together for good for me and my little family. And the next time I face trials, which I’m sure I will, I hope I remember my own words… God IS Faithful and He loves us too much to leave us how we are.


His plans are much bigger….

A Pint-Sized Lesson About God

I live in a city where people dress their dogs in better designers and pay nearly as much rent for them as they do for themselves. But with limited square feet and one year to go in law school, a puppy has been out of the question for the time being. Enter Beanie -- our cute-as-a-button black teddy bear hamster. Now… I know hamsters are typically children’s pets, but given that I have an 8 year-old step-daughter, I had a perfect excuse to bring this little muffin home. And I must say, she is as spoiled (if not more) than even the most primped and pampered pooch in my building. And… believe it or not… she is teaching me quite a bit about God… Let me explain…

It was not long before M and I realized that as cute as Beanie’s little pink house was, she was growing far too big for it. When she almost got caught in her tunnel (the first day we got her) we realized it would not be before long that we’d have to go bigger. So we went to Petco where M and I eyed the biggest hamster cage in the store appropriately called the “Rat Palace.” The salesman of whom I inquired, with no reservations asked me, “Isn’t that a little extravagant for a hamster?” I stood there blinking at him wondering how on earth he got his job. Nevertheless, one day after work M brought home a “house” (the palace) for Beanie that probably gives her a bigger ration of square feet for her size than we have. (Definitely does).

Beanie’s palace has three floors (not including the ground floor) and is equipped with hamster furniture of all sorts. (Yes, someone beat me to that idea). Beanie has a TV she can climb into, a couch she can kick back on, a lamp she can eat out of, a nest, and even a rocking chair, not to mention blocks with letters spelling out her name to chew on, two wheels and a log she can hide in, run through or eat, depending on her mood. Too extravagant for my Beanie? Never. So where does God come into all of this?

Well… When M and I set up Beanie’s palace I wondered if it would feel like Christmas morning when she opened her eyes and saw all this new space and fun toys. If a hamster could receive such a thing, this would probably be a huge blessing to her, right? If so, she took quite some time to realize it. First off, Beanie gnawed incessantly at the bars of her cage. Even if it was a "palace" it was still a prison to her, I guessed. Still it was such a giant step up from her pink house that we couldn't understand why she wasn't happier. Secondly, each floor has it’s own ladder for her to climb up and down to the different levels. But Beanie wanted absolutely no part of the ladders. We might as well have installed a diving board on each floor! Night after night, rather than take the stairs, Beanie preferred to nose-dive to the bottom of her cage with one large crash after another. And, glutton for punishment that she is, she climbed back up to try again each time, falling only harder still. This reminded me of why my stepdaughter initially wanted to name her Crash and why my husband initially preferred Pinball (you should see her in her ball thumping everywhere she goes...)

Day after day M and I wondered if she would get seriously hurt as we did all we could to teach Beanie to use the stairs. And I wondered… is this how God feels when he pours out blessings on his children only to see us do everything we can to avoid doing what He intends us to do with them? No matter how many times we put Beanie on the right path (her ladder) she insisted on doing things her own way rather than stay the course. And time after time, it only had negative consequences. I wondered how God’s frustration compared to the frustration we were feeling.

Fortunately, there is a happy ending to this story. Eventually Beanie realized that her ways were not as wise as what we had intended for her and she began to realize that the stairs of her ladder were a much safer and convenient alternative. Like humans, fallen as we are (pun definitely intended), it took learning the hard way for Beanie to wise up. Now, she could not be happier and we could not be more pleased.

And it made me wonder… what blessings has God poured out on me that I’m oblivious too? How often have I been ungrateful when God has done something huge in my life? Can you relate? I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find what we’ve been looking for in one respect or another has been right before our eyes for some time… a better, safer way.

"'For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways,' says the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways, and My thoughts than your thoughts'" (Isaiah 55:8-9).

Our Irrational Anger

“I just don’t want to talk.”

How many times have we said that to a friend or family member beseeching us to confide in them, only to have them stare back startled, resigned, or disappointed? Whether it’s said under our breath, with passivity, or with a booming voice, the statement gets across the message that whatever lies at the root of any present problem is NOT (and may not ever be) up for discussion. And we usually don’t realize how angry or upset or troubled we really are until we’ve put it as plain as that and heard our own voices.

To often this has been my attitude towards God.

I never understand why when things in my life start to go south my first inclination is to blame God for it. Though I was once able to lay out my anger before God– sometimes maybe a little too bluntly– all too often, in times of anger, my first inclination is to slam the door on God and lock it behind me, saving for another day whether I will ever permit Him entry again.

The logic goes something like this:
Something beyond my control is paining me. God is all-knowing. Therefore, He is aware of it. Because He is all-knowing, He is also aware that He Alone has the Power to fix it. Now, He could take whatever pain persists away or pour whatever restoration I beg for down on me if He really wanted to and cared. Therefore, when my life is a mess, and God, who is All Powerful to restore it chooses not to, it means He either doesn’t care or that His plan for my life is one of destruction. Therefore all that is wrong in my life is His fault because He has allowed it.

Isn’t it amazing how twisted our logic can become when we are in pain and approach God with pride and entitlement rather than desiring to understand and submit to His plan in our lives? We can turn the God who wants to be intimately involved in every moment of our lives into a passive, indifferent spectator.

In retrospect, I’ve discovered that when we embrace this flawed logic and allow our pride to interfere with our relationship with God, we miss out on the blessings and lessons He has in store for us. We deprive ourselves of the peace that He intends. When we blame God and look only for the specific answer we’ve enunciated rather than waiting patiently before Him, we miss seeing Him at work in other areas of our lives. We damage our relationship with Him. We reason to ourselves that it’s God who has moved and exalt ourselves with the false belief that we are blameless in the matter and that God has somehow jilted US. We reason that it’s He who is guilty of bolting the door we’ve slammed in His face. And we forget that all too often, the cause of our present suffering is the result of our own sin or our faithless impatience.

Meanwhile, God, like that beseeching friend or relative that we put off so rashly, is asking us to bring our pain and disappointment to Him and pour it out at His feet. He is asking us to trust in His perfect plan for our lives. He is asking us to stand in our faith through the trying times and He is promising us that He will never leave us and that it WILL all work together for good if we just trust Him.

I have too often allowed a misplaced resentment towards God to harden my heart. And in the end, I’ve only felt more pain at the disrespect I’ve showed the God who purchased me with His Son. This, of course, doesn’t hit me until I let down my defenses and realize how self-righteous and unjustified my anger has been and how ridiculous I sound. This sometimes takes a long time. Like anyone else, I can be a very stubborn prideful person. And we all know what pride comes before…

As I get older and grow in my faith, I begin to realize that though God allows suffering He has a purpose for it that we cannot always see. His plan is always better than ours. How many times have I thanked God for not granting my specific request? How blessed are we that God doesn’t just give us what we think we want to our own detriment?

I forget that sometimes. It’s good to be reminded.

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jer 29:11

Will we trust in that promise? Or will we continue to stomp our feet like children in the candy store who have been told “no, you’ve had enough?” It’s a choice we make everyday: To let God in and draw from Him the comfort only He can provide. Or to shut Him out and allow our hearts to harden. We do so at our peril.