Category Archives: Ebenezer

When desperation blinds you…

Posted on by
3

I want to say this, before I forget…before it slips into mist and memory…

It wasn’t the job. It was me. And I would never call into question or judge a mother who pursues employment. That is not what is at issue for me here, at this way station in seasons.

Beware desperation.

I’ve whispered of it here and there, but we’ve faced a mighty battle with debt- particularly student loans. It was precipitated by two years of unemployment. All in all, our nightmare has lasted just about three and a half years. It began not four weeks after losing our fifth child to miscarriage. I have known the darkness, the inky black night, the shadowy whispers of pain that blind.

But He promised us that He was mighty to save. And He has. And He will.  Yet- somewhere in the middle, I kept company with Sarai and Hagar, Abram and Ishmael. I lost confidence in my Lord’s will, and I thought I could fix things. And so, as Sarai sent Hagar to Abram, I sent ‘a promising email’ to my husband, a job, a work from home position. My beloved had reservations. Many. And I, in my desperation, shoved past the red flags of wisdom crying out for attention. This is not to say that some sort of employment was ahead for me, or that He had provisions waiting for us if we had trusted His timing…but I can tell you even then, we knew this job was not the wisest course of action for our family. I ignored it.

I would spend the next year and a half trying to find a balance that could not be found. I lost perspective, lost purpose- I would care for our family from dawn until dusk, and then would work from dusk near to dawn again, each precious hour of sleep and clarity slipping into the darkness, never to be retrieved. Chronic exhaustion takes its toll; depression soon became my constant handmaiden and companion.

I cannot emphasize this enough, dear friends. I don’t care what vocation you pursue, but if you sacrifice the rest our wise and gracious God has ordained for us, something is not as it should be. If it’s a constant, instead of an occasional, occurrence, check your heart-call. I have serious doubts that the Lord would call you to a task that includes such a thing. His yoke is easy. His burden is light. In Christ’s ministry, there was always a balance between rest and action. Always. If things are ridiculously hard, if you’re making decisions that are totally contrary to your heart, maybe the Lord is creating the friction to call you back to His purpose.

I speak from my life. I should have heard Him clearly when I fell so ill last year. It’s almost laughably obvious. I fell so ill quite simply because my body could not run on fumes—and yet—I would go on to work for the company for another year. A year. And I could not understand why I could not heal, why I could not get well. But I wouldn’t stop. For another year. I have paid the price. I will probably never be as healthy as I was before I began this job, unless the Lord sees fit to restore what the locusts have eaten. I will spend the rest of my life caring for my body because I nearly destroyed it in desperation.

Oh, that I were not so stubborn! The Lord needed a two by four to smack me across the back of the head, and so, late at night on a family outing to a local Christmas light show, I missed the (rather obvious) hitch point protruding from the back of my fifteen passenger van, tripped…and shattered my wrist. My right wrist, my dominant hand. I could no longer work in any capacity- I could not type. I could barely dress myself, comb my hair. And then—I finally heard Him. I submitted my resignation within days. I will always see my deformed wrist now, and think of Jacob and the angel of the Lord and Jacob’s thigh… I will bear the mark of stubbornness the rest of my days.

I beg you, dear friends, to trust in the Lord and lean on His understanding, and acknowledge Him in all your ways. Don’t ever get to the point of desperation that you feel that you must trade your heart and body. Debt is awful, but it is never worth that. It’s never worth running ahead of God. But- if you have found yourself right-tangled, as I have, know that He is might to save, and He will not forsake you. Confess, repent, and trust. The storm will still rage, perhaps even for a long time- but He will be with you.

Here I stack these stones, mark an Ebenezer. May the Lord in His grace lead me away from this place of sorrow.

The Mad Wonder…

Posted on by
6
(Self-portrait at 30)

I turned thirty on Friday. In typical fashion, it’s only four days later when I get to process what that means, holed away at a local Starbucks, working hard. I think the rate of staff members developing addictions to coffee this week is probably exponential. And yes, I am procrastinating at the moment. And saying hello to you, dear friends…I know I am not alone in saying I think about you all even if I am miles away from this poor neglected blog…and so grateful that I’ve gotten to know some of you in real life.

So Amber-girl. Mama to four- a new curled baby boy, Titus. She said it all for me earlier today, what this birthday means to me…go read the whole thing. But this-

With effort, a word can carry such gravity that it breaks breastbones and lets the artist out. The one you knew was in there when you tried to draw Eden but couldn’t.

I want to see you crack. I want to speak blessing over you. I want to watch you paint. Be art and mirror Artist.

This is the entire reason I’m here.

-Amber Haines, Sept 13, 2011

Cracked open. I spilled out on reading these words. 

I’ve had this strange wake-up, resurrection time the last few weeks, and the question I’ve wrestled hard: what do you do when you’ve spent the last few years shrouded? Grief is strange like that. You don’t realize you are asleep, and you don’t realize for how long the world has passed by until suddenly you come on, gasping for air and looking about in mad wonder at this amazing place you are in. And the strangest part- is knowing you were there all along. Faces long blurred show intimate in their lines, the snaggle-tooth boy man with the freckled nose–that wee thing that was curled on your chest just a few minutes ago…

It’s a crossroad place, dusty and dirty, this head-space of mine. Looking forward, looking back. Dreaming. Dreaming again. I had forgotten how. My faith, locked into a desperate holding-on to the end of the rope, shrouded darkness turned mosaic of light now, comfortable and familiar, joyous and true. My tumble-down circus life is making sense, so far from normal, but yet mine. Mine to live. I’ve always tried to force things into boxes, make them line up, ducks in row. I am learning the open handedness of joy, the crazy free fall of grace.

In it all is the passion- that blood thru veins throbbing life- that had long laid sleeping. I am understanding what it was that I needed to do, the thing I had forgotten. Priorities are shifting back to what mattered, the God-pursuit, the mama life, the art mirror and mirroring.

I never would have thought at 30, I’d be mama to six- or maybe even married, for that matter. I was going to travel the world, and no beloved figured in that. I’d been burned too many times. Somehow, I’m in the field I dreamed of, years back, when I was on the university track,  in ways I never imagined. I did not want to work while the children were young- I had made peace with where I needed to be in the moment. When it came out that I must work, I fretted. I literally struggled for six months to find balance. It was when I finally let it all go that the scales swung back. It always seems to be that way. Why I can’t trust the Lord’s plans for me, I’ll never know. I wish I wasn’t so doubtful or stubborn. I find that Ann is right- the counterpoint is in the thanks-giving. Counting with praise overflows all the dashes in the con-column, the one that feeds that desperate desire for control.

I think this decade is going to have someone else in the pilot’s seat. I’m looking forward with peace.

 

An ordinary day…

Posted on by
Reply

I had just finished breakfast upstairs in the cafeteria at King College, and had come downstairs to check my mail. The mail person always left the radio on in the office behind the boxes, so you could hear the news or music playing all the time. This morning, I opened my box to hear an echo ricocheting that a plane had hit the World Trade Center tower. I glanced towards my boyfriend (and now husband, James) as we both ran towards the lounge, a few steps away. We watched in horror as the second plane slammed into the second tower, gritty, grainy, super-zoomed, so far away, the camera panned at an odd angle.  James and I had been one of the first people in the room that day. It would eventually fill past capacity as the entire college pressed into the one little room on campus that had a tv. James and I kept getting pushed closer and closer to the big screen tv.

I had been frantically calling my father (who was at the time serving in the Navy, at work, stationed at NAS Norfolk) and not getting through. The cell phones weren’t working.  When the plane slammed into the Pentagon, I ran out to the porch just off the lounge, literally gasping for air. I remember glancing across the Appalachians resplendent in their autumn finery off that porch and measuring the surreal nature of it. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing out on that porch, any more than what I was seeing on the screen.

The attitude in the room grew more and more frantic as us young-adults suddenly turned daughters-and-sons again couldn’t get ahold of anyone on the Eastern Seaboard. There were two groups: the students from NY, and the military kids. We were terrified for the girl who had walked those very streets, for her brother who was a firefighter—it would take almost 36 hours before she would hear from her family and find out that he had made it out alive, but many of his company had not. She was only 19, but in those thirty six hours, she was 91, her face drawn and aged. I’ll never forget the look in her eyes.

As a military child, I knew with the first plane we were at war. In my mind played out the procedures and steps the military was taking at that very moment, what the bases were doing, how they were shutting down to civilians…I could almost see it playing out like a slow motion movie in my head. The military kids had this immense level of both fear and conviction that could not be matched in the room. We knew everything was at risk. Once the Pentagon was hit, the question for us was whether or not this was a military attack or a civilian attack. A military attack meant that all the assets were fair game. That meant where my dad and thousands of others worked in the military/industrial complex of Hampton Roads….

It was so weird to be in that position. Calm. Explaining to others what to do. For those few terrifying hours until all the planes were grounded, we had no idea what would happen next. But us military kids–we had been trained, we knew. It was strange to realize that others were looking to us to calm their fears, soldiers of a different sort.

That whole day, all I could see, juxtaposed over all the other images that were burned into my consciousness that day—my dad, at attention, saluting. The only thing I understood on that terrible day was that we were at war- and that thousands of soldiers would answer the Piper, and walk to their deaths. For me, it wasn’t just the thousands that died that day. It was the thousands I knew would die because of it.

Just two days earlier, on Sept 9th, I had celebrated my first birthday away from my parents. I had been slightly homesick, but mostly, I was happy to be growing up, stretching long towards life. I would end up driving home that weekend just to see my parents, to see the base, to see the military gearing up, as if to reassure myself that some things had not changed. The opposite was true. Everything had changed. September 11 forever marks the day of my adulthood for me. It was that day that the veil tore away and I realized evil was walking in the world. I had a choice before me that day. I had to lift my head up to the horror before me and decide how to live.

Ten years later, I’m not sure I’ve made the right decisions. The life before me is not the life I promised to live on that fated day- but that is the horrible, weighted glory of it- I get to live. Breathe. Make mistakes.

It is strange now, to be a mother of six. My eldest, at nine years old, has never known peace. He has always lived in a world where America isn’t so safe anymore and soldiers go overseas and don’t come back. We have been at war for ten years. We have lived whole lifetimes since then. But yet- there is a part of us that lives forever on that ordinary day, September 11, 2001, gazing up at the towers, across the field at the cratered Pentagon, at the plane scarred in the eastern meadow mere feet away from an elementary school–at the television screens, our ears tuned to the radio, gazing up at a clear blue sky, this beautiful, beautiful autumn morning, in total misbelief at the visions we’ve seen.

We will never forget.

For life and love…

Posted on by
4

After a very hairy night last night- tornadoes are exceedingly rare in East Tennessee- I can gratefully report that we are safe, as is our extended family- there is tremendous damage, and 16 reported dead so far- please pray for all those affected, particularly in Alabama (126 souls lost). My friend Sam, of The Homemade Dress, reported that much of her extended family, while alive and safe, have lost everything.

—–

Thank you for all of your lovely and kind words upon my return! I had no idea how many people actually read here in this place. What a joy to ‘see’ all of you. I’ve ‘peeked in’ at ya’ll’s places too- will try to get back to comment. I’ve truly missed our comraderie!

There’s just one thing I want to speak to, and then no more ‘grumpies’ in this space, as I tell my kids…

Emily gave me a right good kick in the pants. And then she delivered a roundhouse to all of my excuses. IF that weren’t enough, Kelly had to go get me ‘right in the kisser’, as my dad used to say. Here’s what she said:

I have known for a while that I don’t want to live my life the victim, but having been surrounded by pain coming from every direction, I’ve felt as though I’ve been looking around rather wildly for something normal to hold so I can catch my breath and remember what it means to be alive. But being alive means that I feel pain, whether from a stubbed toe, a death, or a broken heart. Life, as we know it, does have a core sadness, and there are times that I deliberately shut my eyes to it and try to pretend it is not there.

I read something last week, though, that stopped the ignoring that has become habitual. Someone was sharing a story from her life, and the similarity of this post to many of her other posts – and to so many of my own – suddenly made me feel so heavy, weighted down, burdened. I thought, “there must be so much more to her than this,” and then, “there is so much more to me than this.”

There’s so much more to me than this.

There it is, bald face, spelled out, just like that. That’s the feeling I’ve had for over six months now, and part of the reason I shut down the blog for a while. Somewhere along the way, I felt that an honest rendering of what I was going through (in an effort to encourage others that they were not alone) had ever so gently turned into a kind of Eeyore-ish place to be that just made me feel so heavy- and no doubt- perhaps burdened you, dear readers, as well.

It is no small detail that the near-exact length of my time away was from the beginning of Advent to the end of Lent and the dawning of Easter. He was calling me to Himself, and for once, I listened. (I’m extra-stubborn- another curse of Type A-ish-ness.) Advent has always been a favorite season of mine, for as long as I can remember- some of my first Christmas memories center around the wreath and candles. Just thinking about it brings me whispers of peace and joy. Particularly since I had been so ill- I was disallowed from going to places like church where large amounts of people (and lovely germs) might be. I spent the entire season at home, recovering. Celebrating Advent was my only link to the outside world- to the church- to life. It called me to a peace that I hadn’t experienced- and taught me lessons I will carry with me from henceforth.

When Lent began just a short month later, I faced the dichotomy of being to ill to participate in such things as fasting, but for the first time in my Christian journey, I actually had time to focus on Lent because all externals had been stripped away. There’s a certain measure of absurdity in that sentence. Time? Time? Really? As if I had not had time before? After much prayerful consideration and seeking council, I realized that my dedication for the duration was to pay attention. To learn. To not shove away the lessons I was learning, but to dwell in peace with them and seek to apply them as the Spirit ministered. I think the hardest part for Little Miss Type A this whole season was just to dwell. To be Mary, and sit at the Master’s feet, and let all the markers of (what I considered) being a ‘good girl’ fall away. And oh, how I failed! Therein lies the beauty of Lent, I think. It is in our failure to do something as simple as remembering not to drink coffee (or whatever the intention was) that we realize just how desperately we need salvation. If we can’t ‘accomplish’ something as small as that, which (in the larger scheme) has no bearing on our soul, how clearly we need the Master’s guidance upon the things which do affect our eternity!

But God had seen to it that I had a governor on my little car’s engine- the minute I started to try to get ahead of myself and race forward during Lent- my body would take over, and I would fall ill yet again. I think after the second or third time (why hello St. Peter- it took you a couple of times round with the Master too? I love that. It makes me feel kinda normal if he struggled- and upon him Jesus built the church. What hope there is for little me in my little sphere!) of suddenly getting smacked back into bed again, I started to get it. Be still. Be still and know that I AM GOD. Not think you know. Know. Deep down to your tippy toes know. Deep down tippy toes trust. And if that happens, He will change your life.

It’s not the rainbows and blue skys kind of change. I think that does us all a disservice. I think the the change is in the handling of it- we’re no longer bearing the burden if we truly know and trust. I will not deny for a second that life is kinda stinky right now. It feels a bit ridiculous, like something only a soap opera screen writer could conjure. But  it is my life, and there is so much more to me than this. That is the lesson- while I am going through suffering, it does not define me. It’s taken me six long months to understand that, to shake off victimhood and bitterness.

I remember a conversation where I felt like I was being too ‘real’ for the listeners, and sort of kicked myself in the pants for letting it out. Perhaps it wasn’t the time for that particular conversation, but reading Elizabeth’s post regarding courage made me realize that there is ever so fine a line between whining and complaining and having the courage to share a struggle- I hope that I will find a happier medium here than I have in times past.

So this is another Ebenezer, a marking on the journey- I am for life. And love. And dreaming again. To listening to the Master and what He has planned for me. Not cowering in the darkness of shame and guilt and bitterness over a past and mistakes that are in the past. I can’t help the medical issues, but I can help how I approach things. It’s time to really start living; to believe that there is more to me than this. To do anything less is to live on the borderlands of life and faith.

Occupied Territory, and a surrender…

Posted on by
10

Greek Statue

Photo by digitalsorceress

It seems fitting I return here, to my quiet space, on the morning of my birthday.

I’ve long been wrestling here, trying to trace out months of a shadow box fight, trying to get out on page what has happened in heart, trying to find myself among the shadows and shafts of light.

I stopped nearly a month ago writing here. I hit an entirely new obstacle and found myself hushed and silent. I knew that I was not as I was then, that something soul-deep had changed within me, but I couldn’t understand how I got into that dark hole of soul-affliction in the first place. I was trying to trace out the lines here, feeling along the ridges and cracks to find the shape of things.

What I did know is that the months of January to May were a soul-shift of epic proportions. I felt the old sloughing away and the new emerging- a more heart-settled, more faithful, more focused me. But what troubled me deeply was the fact that I had long been in the land of depression- and the more I learn- acedia, and I didn’t know the shape of things so as to be vigilant in future. I thought writing and tracing would help, but I still felt fogged and lost on the moors.

I had learned that I had been living in occupied territory- that much is clear to me now. You can’t see the dark one in the midst of shadows, but looking back I can see where he weaseled under defenses, sowing doubt and sadness, confusion and shame, shifting sands of quasi-truth. My foundation was all shaky- my pride stood tall and my humility laid low, and I became trapped in a land where I did not belong.

It was a sweltering August afternoon that brought it all into focus. I was tracing the back roads from the small private country school my eldest son attends to our barn house, idly punching buttons of the radio. Spin of dial stopped on preacher speaking of Job. I usually don’t stop here- I dislike very much the hooting, hollering tones of the radio preachers, full of trite answers and scripture chunked down, bite-size and barely edible, so far from the Food it once was. But the honeyed tenor tones were speaking of Job, and the dial stopped. I listened.

I have found much company with Job of late- of all the Bible characters, he is the one I’d most like to sit down with for an ex-temporal cup of coffee, pick his brain, trace out words. He faced such staggering loss because of his faith, not in spite of it. So many of the ‘mighty men of God’ come to their glory after such grave sin and discord against the Lord- and His glory shines in His Grace upon them in their brokenness; Job, on the other hand, was so trusted by God that He says to Satan- ‘have you heard of my servant Job?’ as if to paint a giant target upon the back of his dearest servant walking the earth at the time.

What strange love. And what trust! How did Job get such a faith that God would trust him with the most heaviest of burdens and know that in the end, Job would be true, trusting, open to faith still? We so often focus upon the burdens and loss of Job, of his friends that beleaguer and mislead- but rare do we talk of Job’s faith. It was with this in mind that I stopped the dial and listened. It was all that which I had heard before. I looked idly out the windows at the rolling hills and red, red barns, watching cows and cattle amble along. A phrase reached out and grabbed me, and it was as if someone turned the sun up in volume, technicolor brightness flooding the humble country road- “Job’s great faith lies in the fact that he left himself open to pain and suffering, as they were, without bitterness or rancor”.

There the key lies, dear readers. I had been wrestling, ala Jacob, with my faith, with God- I will not let you go until you bless me! I will not let you go until you answer my questions! Why is this pain happening, why? Why? Why? God says of Job’s friends that it was their biggest failing that they tried to reason it out, that they tried to trace the mind of God, who is and was unknowable. Job trusted. It seems so simple, really. He trusted. Surely I can do that too…but Job’s trust is on a plane I may never reach in this lifetime.

It was on the windy back road that I finally came to the doorway to set out into undiscovered country, to leave occupied territory behind, to step out in wild blue abandon into the love of Christ- instead of holding back, hanging around door frame, clenching white knuckled to the wood.

My battle with the shadows had begun when I tried to shut of mind and heart to the pain. Yes, the sting lessened, but with each slam of door against suffering, the light grew dimmer, until I was shuttered in by darkness, barely soul-alive. I had a choice in my grief and lament- I could have turned to the Healer, heart-wide, and attended His instructions, as Job did- but instead I shut heart, mind, soul, slam-bang, away from grace.

And yet, even then, there was Grace, abundant. This amazes still. This wild, tremulous, unknowable, torrent of the love of God. All I had to do was jump in instead of treading around edge on tip-toe. Oh, some days I feel as if I am drowning still, but Job reminds me that it is worth drowning for. There is reward unknowable- the trust of God. What that must be like. Can I be trustworthy, as Job was? Can I trust God even in the pain?

Here I mark an ebenezer, in the dawning hours of my birth, of a jump, of a faith, of a knowing. God is in control. His ways are good. I will trust.

Won’t you join me in the wild blue? It’s beautiful out here.

Finding Home…

Posted on by
8

finding home

We are moving.

In a week.

To say that my brain is struggling to wrap around this idea is a bit of an understatement.

My childhood in the military would lead one to think that a transition such as this would be easy for me. I know the fine art of packed boxes and labels- what goes where and how; I know how much is too much and when to let it all go, out to the curb, to bless another family. I know all this. I even know how to do it alone, as my mother has done with countless moves–a reality with the month of March being the busiest month of the entire year for the business, and everyone required to work weekends. Moving, in and of itself, is not especially difficult.

Finding home…that’s the difficult part. It’s what makes it hard to watch a wee little dress pass through your hands, remembering the sweet little legs and arms that fit through it, countless times, now grown so small it fits her favorite baby doll. It’s breaking the crib down, realizing that you might never pass this way again. It is looking at four walls, one roof, doors and windows, and seeing so much more. Whispered confidences, daring prayers. Songs and songs and words upon words, every night, tucking one child after another in to downy warmth and sweetest dreams.

It is where you were brought low, built up, released and renewed.

And while you know that it is time, the walls grown close, the square footage crowded with the needs of five growing pairs of feet, you find yourself staring off, wondering if you will ever find home again.

For a home is not made of timber and mud, but of heart and sinew and love, and the physical things remind us of that. A random dress would mean nothing to another, but to me is priceless for the daring princess girl who filled its folds. And the difficult part of moving is always- wondering, hoping, remembering. With the physical exertion of lifted box, we lift memory too.

It is time, I know. But this sweet tiny house will always be my House of Dreams- it was where my life as mama and wife began, where I began to learn the gentle art of becoming woman, little girl no longer.

I’ll even miss the way the washer likes to eat infant socks and nursing camisoles, I swear. The strange trill that the refrigerator has always made. The funky whoosh of sound that shuddered through the house when the HVAC turned on. The mountain view. But mostly I’ll miss knowing that no more toddlers will learn to walk down the hallway perfect for leaning on as unsteady feet gambol about, for the laughter and joyful chaos often ringing in the rafters of the ceiling, for the many late nights of prayer and learning, nursing wee ones while I rest in the arms of the Father.

This is my little signpost, my Ebenezer. I am taking the moment to grieve and yet find joy in the excitement and change. We will find home again, I know it- for home is made of heart, and hand, and love, and faith- and these we have in abundance, no matter our physical location.

Love you, little white house with blue shutters. Thank you for the time we have spent within your walls.

Love story: Morning has broken…

Posted on by
4

Picture 824

The steam was rising off my coffee in spiral swirls; I had been staring at the airy designs for many minutes, unseeing.

The voice rushed around me with a pop of air.

” Do you really think He’ll come through for you?”

In a whiny insinuating tone, Fear began to recite a laundry list of the many times God had supposedly failed me. It began to take on a droning, bored quality in true Bueller style—and the spell was broken for me.

I laughed a beleaguered chuckle. Addressing the early morning air around me, I spoke aloud.

“You know, the thing I don’t get about you- you seem so much smaller and ever more so annoying in the light of day. And, you always seem to forget yourself.”

” But dear,” the contentious voice responded, “it seems to me that it is you who have forgotten. You’ve forgotten how much you’ve screwed up, face first in the mud. Why on earth would anyone want to touch you, let alone Him?”

I could almost imagine him taking a long drag on his cigar, swirling the mint julep, looking at me like a cheshire cat, thinking that he had just won.

His mistake was calling me dear.

” I write to you, dear children, because your sins have been forgiven on account of His name.” (I John 2:12) The verse from 1 John came to mind, and that was it, the battle was over. I had managed to memorize the book a couple of months ago, and verse after verse cascaded through my thoughts. Can you almost see the surprise in Fear’s face? He must have spit his drink out over his coat, I am sure.

Head cocked to the side, I stared into my now-cold coffee.

“Well, I think we’ve had an…er…interesting chat. But as you have no right to be here, I suggest you get a move on, alright? ”

My husband found me like that, head to side, staring down into the inky depths of my coffee as if it held all the answers. His voice and movement made me jump.

“G mornin’ Angel- how’s it goin’?” His sleepy voice drew down deeper into his slow southern drawl. I smiled inwardly- his voice, his drawl are like elixr to me- I still get butterflies when I hear him. It’s half the reason I fell in love with him in the first place. I must have startled and stared at him a bit too long, because his voice edged with concern- “Angel?”

Trying to recover the moment, I answered over-brightly “Great! Didja sleep well?” Cringing, I took note of the banshee screams in the background of two boys carousing, the angry shrill words of my Lorelei fighting with her brother, and a baby making his needs known.

“Angel, beloved- you sound- uh, not yourself. What’s going on?”

I sighed, a near sob. “Do ya have a minute? I’ve got a long list.” A sad, sardonic smile.

He reached across, taking the coffee cup out of my hands and placing it on the kitchen counter, wrapping me up in his arms.

” I know, my Angel. I know. It’s really tough.”

I couldn’t muster a whole lot to say, other than, “I’m scared. No, I’m terrified. I’m incoherent, unable to think.”

His eyes, green, brown, gold, swirled and flipped and focused as he looked at me. I could see the change in him, the square of shoulder.

He knows my history. He has sat quietly, listened, loved me through the dark days. He was and is my safe place to land, and he knew what my admission meant. I was overcome in battle.

“Well, the only way out is to remember, right? Let’s start the list. Let’s tell His story. Let’s remember what He said.”

—-

To read Part 1: And so it begins.

To read Part 3: Redemption.

The very happiest of Thanksgiving wishes to you!

Posted on by
2

 IMG_7260

    This time last year, I was in a quiet, reflective mood. I think I was still caught by the reality of nearly losing my life- time felt so very different. Crisper, faster, clearer. There was this awed grateful acknowledgment of God's grace that I was still living and breathing and moving, that I had children to love and care for, that I could still see my husband's face, and even more miraculous—two days before Thanksgiving, I discovered that a babe grew within me- my dear wee Josiah, who is now four (four! my goodness!) months old.

    Such a year has passed. It has been the scariest year of my life, but also the most amazing year of my life. God is good. He has shown Himself faithful over and over and over again. This year has not been about me. It's been about Him. His leading. His provision. He had to take me out into the desert so that I could hear His voice, still and small, calling on the wind. I can say, from the darkest, scariest, strangest place that God is good. All the time. It is not some trite little Sunday call and response to me anymore. It is the life I've lived for this life-changing year. Friends, don't wait until God has to drag you kicking and screaming into the desert so you can hear. You have a chance right now to believe that He is your everything. He is all you've ever needed, ever will need, all you've ever wanted. No matter how many times you fall down, no matter how dirty, no matter how broken, He loves you. Loves, loves, loves, beyond every measure, beyond what you can imagine, you- from the top of your beautiful head to your very tippy toes. Can you believe that? I do. I know.

    That is what I am thankful for: LIFE. His life. Life more abundantly. Life in a whole different way that I ever knew before. Eternal life. He died, so that I could LIVE. I am grateful for the Love that saved me.

    Have a wonderful, blessed, family-filled day, dear friends! I'll be back on Friday with our adventure to an 18th century Thanksgiving…did you know we can still time travel?

A week of celebration…

Posted on by
3

It's been quiet here while we slipped away to Virginia Beach to celebrate my husband's graduation. Everyone's giveaway packages will ship in the morning- I didn't get addresses in time to send them off before we left!

–

 I am so unbelievably proud of James. I've watched him work hard through the last two years to finish his degree in a shorter amount of time than it normally takes (he transferred to Strayer from ETSU). He's a daddy to five, runs a technology consulting business, and is active serving at our church. It's been a full, heavy load. Many, many late nights and early mornings, writing papers while cradling a baby…My heart about burst when we found out he would graduate magna cum laude. That was icing on the cake! 

Ben turned seven earlier in October, and David turned two last Monday. Nana (my mother-in-love) had her birthday too. Lots of cake and fun to be had! But we're sorta over cake now. You can have too much. (It's hard to believe, I know.)

Here are my favorite scenes from our week away:

 Picture 627
Picture 639
Picture 768
 

To see and know…

Posted on by
3

I never would have thought it would draw to an end like this.

It marks a year, my little scribbling here today. A year since the world turned upside down and right side up and back again.

As I cuddle close Josiah, another baby rests near in my thoughts, cradled in my heart. We said goodbye just as we began to be aware of each other, and it happened so fast.

A year ago, I nearly died.

Three short weeks after that happened, my husband lost his job.

Had you asked me in those intervening days if I had thought we would be here today, I probably would have looked at you askance. I knew in my heart that God was in control, but I remember how dark and scary the way seemed.

Now I look back as I watch this year draw to a close and I see.

Miracles shine like dew drops along the path near the footsteps of the One who carried me through. Grace after grace, mercy after mercy, provision upon provision. In the face of grave uncertainty, every need has been answered and provided for. Every time we thought we were coming to the bottom, our jar was filled again.  I think of all the people along the way too, the ones who loved us, the ones who prayed, the ones who gave of their hearts in our time of need, and continue to bear our burdens with us…I stand amazed.

The blessing journal stands full of stories from this year, too many to count.

…Of health regained

…Of a heart turned towards Home

…Of the miracle of life

In the face of a messy economy and countless other trials, we never went hungry. We never lost our house. We never lost our joy. I watched others I knew lose everything, but we did not. Grace upon grace! I would never have thought that it would be twelve long months of fruitless searches as my husband tried to find a job, that even the gas stations and fast food places and retail stores would close in rapid succession like dominoes. And that he is searching still. I never would have imagined after the horror and loss of last August that I would be holding the most amazing miracle of a baby, counting his fingers and toes and kissing his sweet skin.

And here I stand at the close. What will the next twelve months, fifty two weeks, three hundred and sixty five days, bring?

All I know is this.

My God? He can do anything. He is in control. And I am His. That is all that matters. The rest is grace.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...