Social Media - Why I Share

As I look around the cluttered room, baby swing draped with last night’s swaddle, blocks boasting letters and numbers scattered haphazardly across the floor ready to lay claim to their next night walking victim, a kernel of popcorn from yesterday’s afternoon snack, a sleepy grin emanates across my face. Instead of tidying the day’s mess of memories or resting my sleepier than sleepy eyes, I kick back in our rocker, breathe in the newborn (yes, Barrett is closer to four months than three – but I refuse to acknowledge him as anything older than a newborn) sleeping noisily on my chest, and succumb to the thoughts dancing in my head.

I pick up my laptop and mute the fifty-seventh rerun of Friday Night Lights (Hashtag Texas Forever. Hashtag Clear Eyes Full Hearts Can’t Lose. Hashtag Dillon Panther wannabe.)

Here goes.

My name is Jennifer Bell. I am covered by His grace so abundant and free. I am a thirty year old mother of two deliciously scrumptious little boys. I have been married for eight years to the love of my life (RollTide Romance, anybody?).

 

If you have read this blog, followed me on Instagram or Twitter, or have been my Facebook friend for any length of time, I haven’t told you anything new.

I am a sharer, but not by default.

I am a sharer, because that is what God has called me to be.

It started here.

 

With the birth of my first son, Baker, He called me out upon the waters in my walk and in my faith. Baker was born prematurely with Down Syndrome. The Lord took me to a place where I had to rely solely on Him. He didn’t leave me there and let me be. He asked me to share my journey. He called me to be a light for Him to share joy and faith in the uncertainty and in the struggle. In this life, on this journey, there has been a great deal of uncertainty and struggle. There has been grief and sorrow. There has been exhaustion and doubt.

 

Through the broken, light shines.

 

At my most broken, the light of my Jesus shines the brightest.

In my feeble attempt at blogging and posting to social media, I hope to point to the cross.

I know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.
Oh, how we love Jesus.

So I share, because I know God is working goodness in our lives for His glory.
So we give Him glory.

Nothing we do is of our own strength.
We are powerless as parents.
We are the most amateur of amateurs.

The Lord gifts some with a beautiful voice, others with an ability to speak life with their words, still others with especially special talents to bring Him glory.

Me, He gave me life.

He answered my prayer of becoming a wife to a godly man who is the hunkiest of hunks.

He made me a momma. He gave me Baker and Barrett for such a time as this.

He gave me a passion for Him and for sharing how He moves.

He gave me this little corner of the Internet to sing His praise.

So that’s what I will do.

Let me be singing when the evening comes.  

 “The sun comes up
It's a new day dawning
It's time to sing Your song again
Whatever may pass
And whatever lies before me
Let me be singing
When the evening comes”

10,000 Reasons
Matt Redman

 

a present no package could contain (a post about Down Syndrome)

I typed quickly, with a fervor and a fire that couldn't be extinguished.
Then, with the same intensity, I deleted every blackened letter and stared blankly at the white space.

 

The words weren't right.

 

They flowed about as fluidly as liquid through a straw with a lemon seed stuck in its interior.

 

I closed the computer, tucked it safely in my school bag.

It was sandwiched between data meeting agendas and notes for the next day's professional development.

 

I beckoned sleep, but sleep did not beckon me.

 

My head held ideas tossing forward and back, as the sheets enveloped my body, mimicking the motion.

 

The thoughts won the unfairly weighted battle, and I retrieved the sleeping computer.

 

It whirred noisily in my lap and wakened as cantankerously as a teenager on a Saturday morning.

 

I have wrapped Down Syndrome in a package.

 

The edges have been folded and carefully secured with transparent tape.

A big, bright, shiny bow has been looped, swooped, and pulled until a masterpiece tops the beautifully adorned parcel.

This is way I present it, just as this is the way it was presented to me.  

 

Most of the time, Down Syndrome is gifted and received with the joy and excitement of a child on Christmas morning.

It is beautiful.

It is most worthy of pictures and "oohhs" and" ahhs."

It warrants proclamations of exultations and declarations of appreciation to the Most Gracious Giver of Gifts.

 

It has opened doors and paved paths.
It has introduced new friends and greater faith.

It is a part of our life, and one I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

 

But some days, I recognize the struggles Baker has,

and will continue to endure, and my heart aches for him.

 

As a baby, as a toddler, as a child, as a teenager, as an adult,

in some way, shape, or form, his different ability will hinder his development.

 

He will work longer, try harder, more persistently persevere.

Menial tasks will be more arduous.

 

I am his mother. His protector. His cheerleader. His advocate.

 

As such, I want to shield him from all of the hurts, all of the hard days,

all of the unkind words, all of the sideways stares.

 

And when I admit that, the so carefully crafted carton begins to unravel.

 The tape begins to lose its adhesion.

The bow is unfastened.

 

Down Syndrome breaks free, and when it does,

something more magnificent than even the most marvelously manicured package manifests.

 

It no longer conforms to the confines of a casing.

The wrapping paper has been relinquished.

 

There is beauty in the imperfection.

A beauty no box can contain and no décor can disguise.

 

The packaging has been cast aside.

 

It has been trampled on by our traipsing through the living room in our nightly routine of catch me if you can, and stop me if you dare.

 

It has been diminished in the laughter emanating from our back porch dance parties illuminated by the moon's glow.

 

It has been squelched in the squeals of tickle fights.

 

This boy of mine, he is a present no package could contain.

Walking in faith

I was holding Baker's hands last night, as he bounded proudly across the living room floor. He was none too quiet, as he celebrated each deliberate step. I begged him to take one teensy step without my assistance. I tried, ever so sneakily, to remove one of my hands from the death grip he had employed to hold it captive. He grunted time and again signaling his disapproval. As soon as I would withdraw one hand, he would plop clumsily on his bottom and wait, with the impatience one would expect from an almost two year old, for me to surrender both hands. Without hesitation, he confidently grasped both hands, and proceeded with his trek across the hardwood floor.

We continued this song and dance of me imploring him to walk, and him unwavering in his stance to do nothing of the sorts without my complete support.

I know he can walk without holding both of my hands. I have seen him do it. On more than one occasion, we have taken the long walk into school with him holding one of my hands, while I juggle his matching lunchbox and backpack in the other.

But not last night. Last night, he was wholly dependent on me.

As I became frustrated at this seeming regression, the Lord placed a thought on my heart.

How many times have I, as a follower of Christ, eager to walk in His ways, sat unmoved waiting for Him to carry me? How many times have I lacked the faith to step out on my own? How many times have I waited for Him to hold both of my hands? How many times have I traded boldness for timidity? How many times have I been untrusting?

Even when I have walked in faith before, trusting Him to catch my fall.
Even knowing He is walking beside me.
Even when I know walking in His path is the only path upon which to walk.

Sometimes my Christian walk mirrors that of a toddler, teetering back and forth between faithfulness and a very obvious lack of faith.

Tonight, as Baker and I walk around the house, I pray that I will nurture his growth. I pray that I will support him, and give him the confidence he needs to take steps independently, all while knowing that I will catch his every fall.

And tonight, as I pray for the Lord to use me in whatever way He chooses to for His glory, I will also pray that I will be willing to allow Him to "take me deeper than my soul would ever wander, that my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior."

Jesus Calling

      I have heard of the book, Jesus Calling, before; but my interest in it was truly piqued when a friend posted the August 23 devotional on Instagram. 

 

 

It reads:

 

      "Entrust your loved one to Me; release them into My protective care.

They are much safer with Me than in your clinging hands.

If you let a loved one become an idol in your heart,

you endanger that one--as well as yourself.

Remember the extreme measures I used with Abraham and Isaac.

I took Isaac to the very point of death to free Abraham from son-worship.

Both Abraham and Isaac suffered terribly because of the father's

undisciplined emotions.

I detest idolatry, even in the form of parental love.

      When you release loved ones to Me,

you are free to cling to My hand.

As you entrust others into My care,

I am free to shower blessings on them.

My Presence will go with them wherever they go,

and I will give them rest.

This same Presence stays with you,

as you relax and place your trust in Me.

Watch to see what I will do."

 

Ouch.

 

      This entry hit me square between the eyes. It is that feeling when you're sitting in a sermon, nestled comfortably in the pew, with the familiar smell of the weathered church hymnal and sound of crisp pages turning as fellow worshippers dive into the Word. And while the sanctuary is teeming with churchgoers, you may as well be the sole attendant; for the message was written and preached for your ears only.

 

Jesus Calling, this devotional, was written for a large audience,

but this devotional was written for me.

 

      I have been guilty of giving myself hypothetical gold stars for being a "good" Christian, whatever that means. You know, one for going to church, another for reading the Word, a third for tithing. But I couldn't give a fourth. I claim that Jesus is Lord of my life. I don't put money, or power, fame, or other worldly possessions before Him. No, the one I put in front of Him is something He gave me. Something good. Something pure. Something so precious. I know this may sound strange, but the idol I put before my Savior is my baby boy.

 

      I was so convicted by this passage.  

 

I cling so tight to my little. He is a blessing, an answered prayer, a dream come true.

 

I  want to be the first one he sees when he awakens,

the first "I love you" he hears each day.

I want to see his first steps, hear his first words.

I want to catch him when he falls, and heal his hurts.

I want to be his mommy, his best friend,

his comfort, his protector, his everything.

 

I can try to be these things. I can try and I will fail.

Everyday.

Many, many times each day.

But this passage reminds me that there is One who loves Baker more than me.

One who doesn't fail, One who loves perfectly.

 

Oh, this is hard,
loosening my tightly clinging grip.

But here I am surrendering, boldly, as promised,

 entrusting God with my child, who was His first.