CHANGE OF HEART

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come to him and eat with him, and he with me.”

Revelation 3:20

Without suffering you would not know joy. There was no greater joy than the ultrasound screen coming to life and my little boy moving about and noticeably sucking his thumb. The spotting was residual from my cycle that continued even into the first trimester of pregnancy.

This scare of losing another baby was all I needed to kick into gear an internal longing to find faith. Something had to give. Losing Ryan’s twin was devastating and difficult and it led me back into church but I didn’t know where I stood with God except I didn’t want to give myself entirely to him. I wanted to remain in control and make decisions with my own free will. I’d shied away from becoming what I felt was a ‘Jesus Freak’ because I didn’t want to be ‘that’ person who appeared perfect but judged others because they made a mistake or two.

First, I made a New Year’s resolution to read the entire Bible in a year. My best friend gave me a Bible in middle school but it was not used. Second, I set out to determine what I needed to change in order to become a better mother and wife. Every morning I looked in the mirror I knew this resolution could be the most daunting. I had a lot to change. Third, I resolved to remain true to the overwhelming desire to do something that would help others.

In the first month of January 2001, when I was seven months pregnant, a friend asked me to attend a Bible study called “Breaking Free” by Beth Moore at the local First Baptist Church.

“We meet once a week in someone’s home but they offer free babysitting at the church.”

Free babysitting? Breaking Free? I was one of the first to sign up. Seven months pregnant and carting a defiant and restless two year old into the church building I prayed they wouldn’t call me away from the study for his ‘bad’ behavior.

Nestled in the softest cowhide leather recliner in the room I let out a pleased sigh. Quiet. This is the breaking free I need.

The room filled with women of all ages. We went around the room, introduced ourselves, and expressed our motives for taking the study.

I surprised myself. “I’m lost in my faith. I’m hoping this study will help me find my way back.” I expected smirks and knowing looks, the judgment of perfect people.

There were many nods and looks of understanding. Others chimed in and admitted they weren’t where they felt they needed to be in their relationship with God. I listened intently as the rest of the ladies went through their introductions. Normally I would politely excuse myself when others spoke of God and being in ‘relationship’ with Him but I was intrigued. After introductions we turned our attention to the television screen for the introductory message from Beth Moore and I realized this wouldn’t be a few hours of simple girl talk.

I took the workbook home with less apprehension than when I received it and flipped through the 220 pages of material and questions. I read through day one and my breath caught. It discussed Uzziah from 2 Chronicles 26:1-23 and what he was able to do with God’s strength and how pride was his downfall. The word pride rattled my spirit and I continued on through the week with the daily study learning more and more about pride and the blessings it keeps from us.

Much of our own captivity is caused by failure to remove obstacles of unbelief, pride, idolatry, prayerlessness, and Spirit-quenching legalism, yet God still woos us to a spacious place free of earthly bonds. ^[1]

The lesson resonated with me. Every obstacle mentioned touched me on different levels. Unbelief – did I believe in God’s promise of taking care of me, to be my protector and love me despite the sin that remained from the years past?

Pride – would I be able to overcome the perception I had of those that were ‘Jesus freaks’? To me they were self-righteous, goody-goodies, who judged as they preached. Worse, would I be able to truthfully admit to my own faults?

Idolatry – did praying to Mary count? Or was being Catholic an instant sin in ‘idolatry’? This confused me even more. I recalled lessons from my middle school youth minister, who happened to be with another Christian denomination outside of my home Catholic parish. His lack of tact and direct judgment towards Catholics, essentially me, caused me to walk away from my faith. The memory added an edge of doubt to my recent pursuit of what I’d given up.

Prayerlessness – I cringed, as a young girl I prayed fervently to God but I’d stopped because I felt my prayers were hitting brick walls. Only when I wanted something – like a child – did I consider prayer. Like the promise I made to God when I begged him to get pregnant with Ryan. The shame made my throat tighten.

Spirit-quenching legalism – I was lost. I had to find out.

The following week I settled into the same leather recliner and laid the book across my lap ready to dig into the discussion. We went about the room taking turns reading the questions and giving the answers. When we came to day five and the particular paragraph that stated the obstacles that keep us from God, one of the ladies shot her hand up in the air. “What is legalism?”

My heartbeat soared with relief at not having to ask the very same question and realizing that someone else didn’t know. I wasn’t alone in my ignorance.

The facilitator didn’t skip a beat. “It is when you are really strict to the law. Like the Pharisees when they were upset with Jesus because He taught in the synagogue on the Sabbath.”

Another woman who sat across from me spoke up. “Isn’t it also making your faith more about the tradition than the relationship with Christ? You know, like Catholics?”

My heart pounded in my chest at the mention of Catholics and I could feel the blood rise to my cheeks. The only person who knew I was Catholic was the girlfriend who had invited me to the study. She looked over at me with wide eyes.

Someone else piped up, “Yeah, I went to a Catholic church one time. It was a bunch of sitting and standing. I had no idea what was going on. And they have all of those statues in the church. That’s idolatry too, isn’t it?”

I was certain they could hear the pounding of my heart. I wanted to come to the Catholic Church’s defense but was frozen by the lack of knowledge. I knew the Catholic faith wasn’t as cut and dry and mechanical as they were making it out to be and we didn’t sit around worshiping statues.

The facilitator cleared her throat before answering. “Well, I can’t say for sure because I’m not Catholic and I don’t know about the faith. I know they pray to Mary and we are taught you should only pray to God.”

“Well, Shannon’s Catholic,” my friend spoke up and pointed at me. “Shannon, do you know anything about this?”

For a brief second I wished I had the power of laser beams to shoot from my eyes and zap my friend into a pile of ashes. What are you doing to me? I raged inside. Every pair of eyes in the room was on me.

“There is more to Mass than sitting and standing.” I groped for the words to sound as if I knew what I was talking about. “I know our entire Mass comes from the Bible and we don’t sit around praying to statues.”

“But you pray to Mary?”

“Yes.” I hesitated. “Well, kind of. I mean we pray to her to pray for us. We don’t pray to her like we pray to God. You know, it’s like praying to your grandmother in heaven asking her to pray for you.” I knew there had to be a better answer but I was forced to recognize my ignorance about my own faith. Defeated I squirmed in the chair.

Some of the women discussed this concept of praying to our deceased loved ones. I decided to be honest. “You know,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’m not sure of a lot of things about my Catholic faith but I guess that’s why I’m here. I want to know more about faith in general and then I’ll figure out where I belong.”

When the study was over I recognized the mistake I made in the announcement. One lady after another invited me to their church services and to join them for adult church activities. It was nice to be welcomed but overwhelming at the same time. It wasn’t that I needed to belong. If I were going to be honest with myself I wasn’t there to have a child-free morning of quiet. I wanted to feel God in my life again.

I struggled with a desire to give up the study and not go back to the small group. I didn’t like being the only Catholic even if I wasn’t sure I wanted to remain Catholic. It made me uncomfortable for them to bring up the Catholic Church as if it were a bad entity. God knew I needed the push to continue, as in the last paragraph of day five of that week, Beth wrote:

Anyone who is taking this study for the pure satisfaction of completing another bible study won’t stay interested long. …This bible study is for the heart – to loosen any chains withholding the heart from enjoying the abundant liberty in Christ’s salvation. If we let our mouths grow close to him through churchy conversation and even theological discussion in small groups, but we keep our hearts far from Him, this journey will not mean a thing. For indeed, we never left “go”.^[2]

That’s all I needed to hear. I underlined the section, highlighted it, and circled it. If any more talk of the Catholic Church came up I would go back to this section and read aloud.

Weeks went by, I got bigger (or the chair got smaller) and the Bible study went deeper and deeper reaching the depths of my spirit where I hid hurts, lies and untruths under lock and key.

Key phrases leapt off the pages such as, “Shame is Satan’s ‘stamp of approval’” and “An unhappy woman usually needs a change of heart more than of circumstances.”

These words resonated from week to week along with the promises I read in the Bible every night as I poured through Psalms, Proverbs, and Isaiah. All of these words, phrases, and stories had meaning to me in my present moment. I’d heard the same Psalm read at Mass or even read a passage from the Old Testament when I was a lector but it bounced off of me instead of sticking.

Toward the end of the study and the end of my pregnancy we focused on the path to freedom. The study asked, “Do you also have authority problems? If so, how have you become aware of them?”

I have a problem with control, I wrote. I don’t want to be controlled in any way. Not by man or God. Revealing this truth and seeing it revealed in black ink added a fresh new layer of pain to the thick coat that protected my heart. The study spoke of a freedom I longed for -- to be free from the oppressive shield, but it was comfortable and the only security I could hold onto.

Resolved to being transparent in my answers I wrote out a prayer to God, “Jesus take away the heavy burden of guilt I’ve managed to wrap myself in and let’s walk together to finish my story.”

My issues with control were deep. I had chosen natural childbirth when I delivered Ryan because I didn’t want to ‘lose control’ with the drugs that were given. I wanted to feel my legs and be in control of the pain as much as I physically could handle.

This pregnancy was no different. My water broke a week before I was due to deliver. I thought I was prepared to suffer through the pain as I had with Ryan, but this delivery was different. The contractions were harder and faster than I remembered. They came in waves that crashed over me and threatened to knock me down mentally, physically, and emotionally. It’s not a pain like being cut or falling and scraping your leg. It’s a sensation that rises up from inside that is so foreign and uncomfortable it makes every part of your mind and body recoil from its atrocity.

Laid out on the bed, legs splayed and body demanding to push, the waves of pain became so intense I couldn’t help but let out a deep snarling growl that rose into an ear -piercing scream.

The labor nurses whispered to one another. “She’s going to scare the other women on the floor.”

I didn’t care who I scared. All I cared about was making it stop.

Neal, my mom, and my doula Heidi were at my side along with Liz who filmed the birth. It was a crowded room but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t get past the pain that felt as if it were tearing my body apart.

Neal grabbed my hand. “Just breathe. You’ll be okay. Just breathe.”

A second wave crashed and it felt so unbearable I wanted to let go of reality and ride it into darkness. As the thought came I pictured Christ standing before me. He picked me up and cradled my limp body in his arms. “I have you.”

“Jesus.” The pain was intense but it was as if Jesus’ body absorbed enough so I could manage.

The doctor rushed in. “Push!” On cue my body sprang into action and I pushed as hard as I could.

After a few long hard pushes I could hear the doctor and nurses talking in whispers and then one of the nurses stood over me. “Your cervix didn’t thin. We need to reach in and pull it over his head.”

I didn’t have time to acknowledge what she said. The doctor reached in and it felt as if she tore my uterus out with her bare hands. My son’s shoulders were also too wide so at the same time they pulled the cervix over his head they twisted his body and pulled him out. The scream that escaped my lips will undoubtedly forever be burned in every person’s memory present that day.

The gift in the pain was that as soon as it came it was also gone. In a matter of seconds I held my precious newborn son, Seth Thomas Deitz. A quiver coursed through my body as it went back to its natural form and tears of joy and relief ran down my face landing onto my wailing 9lb boy. The void, the failure, the shame-- it all went away in this brief taste of pure joy.

But there was no time to waste once Seth was born. I still had four weeks to complete my thesis novel and deliver it to the committee before graduating. And I didn’t want to miss out on the last week of Bible study.

With Seth in my arms, I sank carefully into the worn leather seat that had been mine every Wednesday for the past three months. I read through the week with everyone getting to hear the words of wisdom for the first time because I clearly didn’t have time to do the study on my own. One of the paragraphs made my heart skip a beat.

“Go where He goes and let Him fight for you. Invariably when we’re most exhausted, we’ll find we’re expending more energy fighting the enemy than we are seeking God’s presence. More than you seek to win, seek Christ! More than you seek to defeat the enemy, seek his Foe! More than you seek victory, seek the Victor! As you do, you are binding yourself to His presence and trusting God to carry you onto victory.”^[3] Just as he carried me through labor.

There was no denying anymore. God sought after me and it both enticed and scared me to death. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for where God wanted to take me spiritually. Like a child I hid behind my mother’s skirt grasping the comfort of the control but peeked around at the loving God who beckoned with his forgiveness and love.

At the table with an intimidating group of professors who had read through my thesis Crossroad Collision, I felt the first stirrings of something greater than failure, guilt, and shame.

“You’re a great writer.”

I didn’t expect to hear praise especially after receiving rejection after rejection over the past few months.

The other professors agreed. They offered useful constructive criticism that felt like I’d dipped my hand into a pot of gold because I knew how valuable what they revealed would mean to my craft. It solidified the insistent desire that I would someday use writing for the good.

I had purpose and worth.

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^[1] Moore, Beth “Breaking Free Bible Study – Making Liberty in Christ a Reality in Life.”LifeWay. 1999

^[2] Moore, Beth “Breaking Free Bible Study – Making Liberty in Christ a Reality in Life.”LifeWay. 1999

^[3] Moore, Beth “Breaking Free Bible Study – Making Liberty in Christ a Reality in Life.”LifeWay. 1999