The Extra Bowl of Ice Cream

 

Original image via Flickr Creative Commons via Nathan Cooke

Some rights reserved.

Last spring, I wrote this scene in which Declan (a healer) entices Mara (an ex-prostitute and recovering alcoholic) to eat by making ice cream, a rare treat in my medieval-esque world. The ice cream is shared six ways among the three women and the three men of the household, so everyone gets just enough. But when Mara finishes her portion, Declan quietly takes her empty bowl and replaces it with his full one.

After I wrote this, I asked the Lord, bold as brass, "Will you give me an extra bowl of ice cream?"

It wasn't that I didn't have enough. I had Him. But in the midst of sickness, injustice, grief, and loneliness, I wanted assurance that God was kind.

Now, I know "kind" doesn't always mean "nice." God isn't nice. Or safe.

But as Mr. Beaver will tell you, He is good, and that's sort of the same thing.

via The Hamby Home

Rather than immediately serve up my request, God opened my eyes to the ice cream I already had--

a healthy marriage

two sweet ginger kids

toys on the floor

enough to eat

a warm house

hot detox baths

joy in writing

daily grappling matches with an almighty Sovereign

long naps and angel's food in the shade of a broom tree

But just because God didn't immediately answer my prayer the way I wanted Him to doesn't mean He said, "No."

Fast forward seven months...

He places lonely little me in a family of believers, the kind of Christian fellowship I've craved all my life. This family accepts me. God burdens their hearts for my sake, and they, in turn, plead my case before Him. I learn about their personal prayer ministry. I apply. I become their first recipient, and God uses that experience to free me from spiritual bondage I thought I'd never be rid of, to heal me of the emotional damage of the past, and to unravel this crazy illness one symptom at a time. 

I've written about how God healed my hands. Only two weeks later, there's more to report!

On December 3, it was 37 degrees. I experimented with my tolerance to outdoor temps. Here's a summary of how that went:

The video I took this morning...mainly for the entertainment of Madonna Gil and Torey Pop Morgan. You're welcome. ;)
Posted by Melissa Chapman Keaster on Thursday, December 3, 2015

(Hope you enjoyed the up close shot of my nostrils...*face palm*)

Now, 37 degrees is a far cry from 20 degrees, which was the temp the day I first reacted to the cold, but I fully expect to be fine when it gets that cold again. It seems to be what God is doing.

Last week, I woke up at 6am (or earlier) four days in a row and saw Micah off to school each day. Last year, that wouldn't have been physically possible. Even with naps. 

I also ate half a cookie *gasp* from a package. Granted, it was gluten-free and processed in a peanut-free facility, but I'm still calling it a win because my tongue didn't swell, I didn't cough, and my mouth didn't immediately fill with tiny sores. That being said, my original chocolate chip cookie recipe tastes better for anyone who wants to know.

Even with all this momentum, I didn't expect what happened this past Saturday. God's faithfulness was on full display. 

Some of you may know Stan and Stacey Thomason. Brandon and I met them not long after we began going to Crossroads in January 2008. Stacey and I bonded over our love for Jesus and real food, and though circumstances have kept us apart for the past several years, we've stayed in touch. One of the reasons for this is that back in 2009 the Lord gave me a word for her at a Beth Moore conference. 

During worship, God impressed upon my heart that Stacey would one day be a mother and that I needed to tell her. I did not want to do this. For several reasons. 

A) It was the first time God had ever given me a word to tell someone. New territory=lots of doubt and fear.

B) I was unworthy. Back then, I was in the early stages of recovery from a 5 year rebellion against God. Who was I to deliver any kind of message from Him?

C) I knew Stacey's deep desire for a child. I also knew her difficulties in having one. God in heaven, what if I was wrong? 

But somehow, I knew I must speak, as terrified as I was. I turned to her, touched her shoulder, and swallowed. "Stacey, I don't know how or when, but you will be a mother. God wanted me to tell you that."

(For the record: If I'd known then what I know now, I probably would've stated that differently. But there's grace for the young and stupid.)

We waited almost six years. Each time hope glimmered, I rejoiced. With each hope deferred, I grieved. I prayed. And, of course, I wondered if I'd spoken out of turn. What if my words had been for harm?

And then last year about this time, Stacey texted me a photo of an ultrasound. There she was--Miss Rinnah Nalon--growing in her brave birth mother's belly, awaiting the arms of a woman who would love her more than life.

Saturday was the celebration of Rinnah's official adoption.

And as if that wasn't good enough...

We arrived at the start of things. On the way inside, I noticed it was just us and one other family. I looked at the mask in my hand, then up at Brandon. "Mind if I try to go without it?"

He agreed after I promised to put it on the moment I felt myself getting sick. 

That moment never came.

I don't understand. There were candles burning. The scent of perfume wafted to my nose now and again. Two weeks ago, candles and perfume still bothered me. Even when the place began to fill up, I was fine. 

Before we left, I stole Stacey away into a corner where she and I marveled over God's incredible faithfulness. Brandon captured the moment for me.

How's that for an extra bowl of ice cream?

On the way home from the celebration, I asked Brandon, "Can I try church tomorrow?"

His hand went straight for his heart. 

"Please?"

He agreed. 

The next day, I enjoyed an entire church service MASK-FREE. Nearly three years have passed since the last time that happened. I alternated between tears of joy and ecstatic squeals in Brandon's ear--"I'm doing greeeaat!"

At the end of the service, we took a selfie to commemorate the extra extra bowl of ice cream: 

Superman,

You are so brave and awesome to put up with my experiments after the horrors you've lived. Thank you, thank you for believing with me. Most men would've left long ago, but you've stayed. Enjoy God's reward, my love, as He restores to us the years the locusts have eaten.

Brandon and I agree. I won't experiment with triggers that have caused shock reactions. That means no pesticides, no peanuts, and no latex. If I'm accidentally exposed to one of these triggers and I'm fine, PRAISE THE LORD, but I won't go looking for trouble.

I'm not completely mask-free yet. I dropped off Sara at dance yesterday without my mask and regretted it. Something (Lysol maybe?) had been recently sprayed in the area. Not fun, but I didn't react as I once would have. Also, freshly mowed grass and gasoline are apparently still problematic. 

But dude! I can go to church without wearing a mask!!!! And I'm going to try Christmas gatherings this year!

"Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness." (Psalm 37:3)

I hope you'll feast with me this Christmas. There's plenty of "ice cream" to go around, even in the darkness of this world. Turn off the news for half a second. Leave the fate of humanity in the hands of our able and almighty God.

Here's a spoon. Dig in!

Undragoned

All last week, I struggled to describe what my personal prayer ministry session was like and what it meant to me. Within me lives a powerful drive to define things. But how does one do that when the thing lies on the outer edge of comprehension?

I should probably let things well alone and allow mystery to be mysterious, but that's not my way. My six year old's incessant need to understand? He gets it from his mama.

God often speaks to me through images and metaphor. Sometimes these come to me in dreams and visions, but more often than not, they come by way of the everyday. In conversation, a situation with the kids (this is a big one), something I read.

God is a master of giving moments meaning.

I had such a moment Sunday afternoon while reading C.S. Lewis's Voyage of the Dawn Treader to the kids.

 
The book begins with this brilliant opening line:

"There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it."

Generally, I see myself in Edmund and Lucy more than Eustace. I've been both traitor and the lonely one who sees things no one else believes. But something happens to Eustace I very much relate to.

About halfway through the book, the adventurers make land on an island to repair the ship after a massive storm. A series of selfish actions brings Eustace to a cave belonging to a dragon. The dragon dies before Eustace's eyes, and so to escape the rain, Eustace takes shelter in the cave and discovers the dragon's horde. Now, as Lewis points out, Eustace hadn't read the right sort of books, so he didn't know as we do that dragon hordes are cursed.

Eustace slips his arm into a golden bracelet inlaid with diamonds, with the hope he'll be able to escape his comrades--whom he still believes to be insane--and use it to barter his way into a nearby country. Then he falls asleep. But when he wakes, Eustace makes a terrible discovery.

 Eustace is now a dragon. 

When he sees his reflection in the pool outside the cave, the sight breaks him. The bracelet, which he'd intended as a means of escape, is now a chain cutting into his flesh. It hurts. He can't get it off. A great, black hole of loneliness swallows him up because he realizes that as a dragon in a human company, unable to communicate or share life, he's isolated. And for the first time in the story, Eustace weeps.

It's a terrible thing to really see yourself.

Eustace manages to return to the others and communicate to them who he is, but no one possesses the power to help him. Save one.

In some kind of dream or vision, Eustace sees a huge lion approaching. Though he's afraid, he follows the lion to a garden he'd never been to or had even seen during his days as a dragon, though he'd explored the entire island in the air. At the heart of the garden is a well large enough to bathe in.

Eustace somehow knows if he could just get in that well, his arm, which throbs from the grip of the golden bracelet, would be healed. But the lion tells him he must undress first.

The lion isn't speaking in terms of clothing.

So Eustace starts scratching. At first, a few scales fall off. He scratches deeper until his whole skin peels away.

But it isn't enough. Underneath the skin is another just as hard, just as scaly as the first. So Eustace undresses again to no avail. And again. Still no good.

"You will have to let me undress you," the lion tells him.

And though Eustace is afraid of the lion's claws, he lies on his back and lets the lion do his work.

"The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off...Then he caught hold of me...and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I'd turned into a boy again."

The bracelet falls off, and after a time, the lion takes Eustace out of the water and dresses him in new clothes. The lion, of course, is Aslan.

This is what my prayer session was like.

Suffering has a way of helping you see the dragon within. And let me tell you, it's a ghastly sight. For the past few years, I've been scratching at the scales, sometimes cutting into the knobby dragon skin beneath and wrestling my way out, but I could never get to the heart of the issues. I could never reach the layer of fresh, tender skin and come clean.

What the prayer team did for me was facilitate a meeting with Aslan. They showed me the way to the well.

Sometimes we need that. No matter how long we've walked with the Lord. No matter how sheltered we were as children. Regardless of our heritage, how strong people think we are, or how strong we think we should be. We need our brothers and sisters in Christ to come alongside us and show us the way to the well. Or at least remind us how to get there.

It's the way things work. God uses people. The Church is the visible invisible.

I didn't like exposing my dragon skin. The sight's pretty traumatic to me; exposing it to others wasn't fun. But I wanted that blasted bracelet off. I'd been in a fight with it for years, and I just couldn't win. I was desperate.

I needed Aslan's claws.

Once the Lord undressed me, He gave me something new to wear. (He never leaves us naked, you know.) And then he reminded me of the song of Eustace Scrubb.

Jennifer Simmans, a dear friend of mine and fellow music connoisseur, recommended Into the Lantern Waste, an album by Sarah Sparks. The songs are all inspired by C. S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia. Each song boasts its own merits, but my favorite is "Eustace Scrubb." Of course.

I've copied the lyrics below, but you can listen to the song for free here. I recommend purchasing the entire album, particularly if you're a Lewis fan.

 For the first in my life
I’m not living a lie
And I hate who I am
I’ve become what I feared
And I cried dragon tears
Just to prove I’m a man

I tried to change my appearance but I am not changed
I’m just tired
I tried to heal myself long before I met your gaze
At the water
I’m at your feet
Would you tear into the deep of my heart
To heal me?

I’ve seen my own reflection
I know the pain I’m in
I’ve been a lonely wretch and
I can’t get out of it

As he looked through my eyes
At the things I despised
I felt pierced by his gaze
But he pealed off my skin
And he then threw me into
The water to save me

I wore this bracelet, bright and golden
That overnight became a chain
I was a lonely, wretched soul that
Lost in the dark cried out your Name
You cut me deep, I know I felt it
But it’s the sweetest kind of pain
Oh, sweet relief, You took my burdens
Oh, I believe! Oh, I believe!

So yeah...that's what it was like.

And you know, I didn't shock anyone. I didn't lose my new friends. They still love me, hot mess that I am, and don't think any less of me.

As for me, I'll love them forever, but none so much as the One who undragoned me and healed my arm. 

I'll sing His song till the day I die. And beyond.