the Bacon Press
I want to write something uplifting.
I want to write an article about something other than my
children and these diseases. I want to move on from this
place of sadness, concern, even fear sometimes.
But these trials just keep
Are you tired of hearing about
it? Are you tired of praying for us? I'm tired of writing
about it. But I have to. Please don't stop listening. Please
don't stop praying. One day, I can write of other things.
I long for that day! But right now? It's burning inside
of me -- these trials, this journey. It's like falling fast
and endlessly into a pit of utter darkness -- this realization
that this really is happening. Unless God decides to completely
heal them, Jonah (and our other biological children) will
not "get over this." They cannot just take a pill
and get better. Now Jonah is having some problems with his
heart. How much more, Father? And if I hear one more time,
"There is no cure," I might just scream.
But as I am falling and falling
into this pit, amidst the darkness, there are Hands holding
onto me. Strongly. Tenderly. Non-judgmental…those nail-scarred
Sometimes when we are out in
public and Chase is pushing Jonah in his wheelchair, and
Brooklyn is limping in her knee braces, and the twins are
clinging to me…I see people staring. Sometimes I forget,
and I wonder what they are staring at. This is normalcy
for us. But the looks of others bring me back to realization.
Life is as strange as we are,
you know? More and more I have been longing for all of us
Lovelace's to re-unite in heaven. Won't it be a glorious
time? No more pain, no more heart trouble, no more crying
or wheelchairs or limping or chest pain or broken bones
or doctors…no more uncertainty…no more death…NO MORE!
Within a week of each other,
Brooklyn was in the ER, and then Elijah. Our youngest biological
child -- the one that so far has not been diagnosed with
a disease -- woke up this past New Years' Eve with blood
in his urine. After it happened again, I called the pediatrician
and we were sent to the ER of a large children's hospital
in the area.
the resident doctor asked as she showed us to a room.
She knew us. She remembered
our story. She looked at Elijah and said, "Oh…is this
your healthy one? Oh I'm sorry…"
We don't have an answer, at
least not yet, to Elijah's problem. Sometimes he has blood
in his urine, sometimes he doesn't. We have another follow-up
appointment in February. We don't know why this is happening.
But the Creator who knows all things knows why.
And that is enough.
Truthfully I feel like we are
under a bacon press. Do you have one? I had to look up the
name of it just now, because I didn't even know what it
was called. I'm not much of a cook. I'm just a maintenance
cook; I cook because I have to. I cook practically and for
a big group of people. I don't feel like I'm very good at
it…but that's ok. We Lovelace's would rather cook, eat,
and move on to the next activity anyway.
So…for me this experience has
been like a bacon press. I don't like cooking bacon. It's
a messy job. I don't like the grease when it splatters on
me or on the stove. I do like my bacon burnt and crispy,
though. Our kids don't know any different…they think bacon
is supposed to be burnt and crispy.
Several years ago, my mother
gave me a bacon press. It pushes down on the bacon and makes
it flat and straight. That way the bacon doesn't curl up,
leaving parts of bacon fat uncooked. Do you know what I'm
I feel like all of these trials
in our lives right now are like being pressed down flat.
God is allowing it. I'm not enjoying it.
As with the bacon, though,
the fire of these trials has straightened me out -- I feel
totally prostrate and vulnerable before the Father. I belong
to Him. I am at His mercy. I am totally trusting Him for
what is yet to come.
But I've discovered that, when
I'm cooking, if I leave the press on the bacon for the entire
time -- left to weigh it down without mercy -- the bacon
becomes prematurely cooked. It's hard and brittle, bearing
the marks of too-hot flames. The heat has been too much.
But if I don't leave the press
on for a sufficient amount of time, then the bacon curls
up relentlessly and fails to mature consistently. It remains
fatty and tasteless.
So I find myself taking the
press on and off of the bacon -- looking for exactly the
right reaction from the bacon to the heat. I don't always
get it right.
But God always does. God knows
more about "cooking" than I do. The press of the
trial to my heart is just right. If I absorb the heat correctly,
then I am not brittle, nor hardened by what we've been through.
But I do want God to press
just enough that I will grow and mature. I don't want to
be a fatty believer -- tasteless to the world and to the
Father. I want Him to be pleased with me after the fire.
Whenever that will be. Oh…when
will that be?
Are you under the press? What
will be the outcome for you?
…Now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief
in all kinds of trials.
These have come so that your faith--
of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined
may be proved genuine
may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ
I Peter 1:6-7
But we have this treasure in jars
of clay to show that this all-surpassing power
is from God and not from us.
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed;
perplexed, but not in despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.
We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so
that the life of Jesus may also be
revealed in our body.
II Corinthians 4:7-10
LOVELACE FAMILY VERSE 2012
© 2012. Faith Matters by Lygia Lovelace. All rights