A Few Thoughts This Beautiful Sunday Morning

I'm sitting here in my comfy bed watching the news before church. I'm still sleepy after a late night last night, but I'm wide awake. So here are a few thoughts...
1. I'm not as young as I used to be. The kids danced the night away at prom last night and were tireless. I on the other hand feel like I was run over by a truck. To be honest though, I don't think it was one night of activity that wore me out; the pace of my life is a little much sometimes.
2. It is a surreal feeling for the South to NOT be called the most racist area of the country. According to the news and a recent study, the Northeast is the most racist now. I think there are still strides to be made here, but there is a harmony. Maybe we learned our lesson through the Civil Rights movement. Our racial harmony is hard won.
3. For $300 million, I would let someone pound the heck out of me too. This boxing match is insane. Insane. People paid $10,000 per person to watch two small men beat each other up. I do not understand.
4. I leave for my annual girl trip in a few days. For 14 years now my husband has given me a few days off with my friends and I cannot recommend it enough. It is so appreciated.
Well, time for church. That is all.

So I'll Remember

Today, I got to play with a doll house. I played with a doll house with the sweetest little old lady name Sarah. We cleaned it and then we put all the pieces back into the house. I handed her pieces of furniture and then together we would decide where they should be placed and Mrs Sarah would place them. Should the clock go on the mantle or is it too big? What do you think of putting the sewing machine in the baby's room? Oh, look how cute that vase is! Then we would giggle together and fold our hands under our chins and smile. When we were done, we plugged it in and I took pictures.

While the rest of the Preservation Society slaved away with Murphys Oil Soap and Windex, Mrs Sarah and I relived a bit of our childhoods together and it was the most fun I've had in a long time. Just thought I'd write it down so that I'll never forget it.

Why Do You Travel So Much?

I get asked why I travel so much. I've even overheard someone say something disparaging about my travel frequency. It's got me to thinking today and remembering something I wrote on a train in England.

I would LOVE to address the overheard conversation, but I cannot think of a way to do that without defending myself and bringing up deep wounds from the past. That would accomplish nothing edifying and would only stir things up. So we will ignore it.

So the question, or questions, before us today are why do I love to travel so much? I think the better question is why do I travel at all? To where do I travel?

Not to state the obvious, but traveling enables me to see a place. That may sound redundant, but I think it's an important point. Seeing a place gives an experience of that place, and experience causes a relationship to be formed. It is a relationship between the intellect and the heart. Suddenly, something imagined in the intellect, perceived in the mind through accounts and photographs is reconfigured, reoriented into a 'real' place with life and movement. It is much easier to remember a real place. Your heart can hear it, smell it, watch it. Travel for the sake of travel is much like doing anything for the sake of itself, it is empty. But travelling to make something more real, to connect it to your heart, is a different matter entirely.

So the next question is, to where do I travel?

Anywhere can be a destination really. It could be a place from a childhood picture book or the home of distant relatives. It could be the subject of a song or poem. Or... it could be the home of a friend.

I have friends who are ministers of the Gospel in other countries and I've learned something from watching them. One, it is hard. Two, they are often forgotten.

I think we would all assume that their jobs wouldn't be easy. Surely, we think, these missionaries knew this going into it. They're smart people after all. They're prepared. Right? Well, let me ask. Are you always prepared for hard things? Maybe we are, but does that somehow make it magically not hard anymore? Can we then skip through the death of a loved one just because we knew it would be hard? It's an irrational and selfish way of thinking.

Now if they are experiencing hardship, loneliness, discouragement or tiredness, how can I help? Sometimes, it is writing a prayer on a card and mailing it. Sometimes, sending a package. Sometimes... I travel. I can travel to bring them peanut butter or books. I can walk their familiar paths. I can go to their place and in that place, offer encouragement. When I do that, problem two disappears. They are no longer forgotten.

The beautiful thing for me, the traveler, is that in the process, I meet their friends and make them my own. In this way, the kingdom of God unfolds before me and I see another thread of the great tapestry that God has woven. But be warned, making new friends, especially brothers and sister in Christ, is one of the most beautiful, edifying and heart-rending things one can do in this life. Heart-rending because it necessarily means saying good-by, sometimes until eternity.

Sometimes I think this traveling can bring sadness. Sadness at the brokenness in this world. Sadness at having to say goodbye again. Sadness at seeing struggle and not being able to do anything about it. But that sadness can and should be lifted up by hope, for God is not done. God has not forgotten his ministers or abandoned them in the harvest field.

I travel, not just for myself; I travel for my children and future grandchildren. The first trip had the effect of God exploding in size in my own mind. The second trip changed everything. Maggie felt the call to missions. Ty felt the call to become a pilot. We all felt the renewed call to church planting. Massive things happened because of that trip.

I have been to the very southern tip of Ireland, where the wind is wild and the sea is gray. I have stood at the foot of the Eiffel Tower at night when it was glittering with light. I have trudged through the mist and fog of the Lake District. I've stood outside Westminster Cathedral and listened to Big Ben chime noon. I have hiked in Yorkshire and had my breath stolen by its beauty. I have walked reverently through the shell of a cathedral in Coventry and whispered to its ghosts. And I have met Emma, Liberty, Dan and Lorna. I have laughed with Laura and picked up kids from school with Dana and bought groceries with Ginger. I have lived and been real and I will never regret it.

So to ask me why I travel is to ask me why I write or make friends. It is a question I can try to answer but it is too deep, too big, to ever truly be able to explain. You might as well ask me to catch the wind. It's too mysterious for that.

If you ever get the chance to travel, I encourage you to take it. Take it with both hands and maybe even give it a hug. Go to that new place with an open heart, expecting to meet new family and possibly have your heart broken. Go. Love. Hope. See God in a brand new light.

Understand

There are so many things in life that I just don't understand.

I don't understand people who stir up drama. I can spot them a mile away. They always say things like, I'm not one to stir up drama, but...

I don't understand what's happening in Missouri right now. How is looting, arson, and robbery going to make white people like, trust and treat black people any better? Won't it have the opposite effect?

I don't understand why people that the church has sent as missionaries are so quickly forgotten. Aren't we responsible for the ones we send?

I don't understand how once strong, deeply connected church leaders get so far off track. Why doesn't the Spirit expose their pride before they destroy other people? Or call them to repentance?
I don't understand a lot of things. Some things I think I might understand, but then find out I really didn't have a clue. Other times, I do understand.

I understand my own faithlessness. I lose heart, give up, give in, have a pity party, and wallow. I understand my shallow faith that is so quick to forget the Father who loves me and has everything in His hand. I understand my fear that maybe this is all a joke or maybe I'm not saved after all; the fear that I'll completely fall on my face.

I understand that my sin entangles me like the thorns and briars of a young wood. It snatches at my hair, grips my clothes, cuts me and scrapes my skin, then leaves it's poison to add an ongoing ache.

I understand suffering. The separation and grief of death. The quiet and bone -deep sorrow of listening to a loved one's final breath. The agony of trying to get life's last blood out of carpet. The terror of PTSD.

I understand it because I've lived it.

I may not understand God, but I cling to Him by faith. I wrap my arms and legs as tightly as my spiritual muscles can hold. I shout the truth of His love and forgiveness until my throat is hoarse. And when I am too tired, too weak, too faithless and fearful, I surround myself with friends who will keep shouting it to me.

Thankfulness

Tonight I am thankful for many things.

There are things in my life that aren't exactly fun, like my stupid teeth. More specifically, the infected socket that was scraped for fifteen minutes by my dentist and now seems to be feverish. That pretty much sucks. Or like one of my most favorite people in the whole wide world, my Uncle Teddy. What an amazingly wonderful man, who is currently struggling physically with fungal meningitis and complications. That sucks. Or the irritating and completely self-involved customer who just left us a bad review because, *gasp* her food took 45 minutes to come to her table when the restaurant was packed and she's confronted with the fact that she is NOT the center of the known universe. Yeah, that sucks too.

But...

In the midst of all that, I am thankful.

Thankful that I live in the age of dental implants. Otherwise I would be the poor lady with no teeth and terrible halitosis.

Thankful that I have had the blessing of Teddy Jones in my life for the past 41 years. Thankful that he has loved me and my children and husband so well. Thankful that his love for his sister, my mother, connects me to her still. Thankful for the way he can point out my sin with one phrase, "Now Cris." Thankful that he is getting medical treatment and will be with me a bit longer.

Thankful that I get to be a part of a restaurant that has a voice for the gospel in my town. Thankful that people, for the most part, love being there and use us a gathering spot. Thankful that, but for a very unkind people, we can make people smile and be happy.

I am also thankful for the hours spent with my children, remembering funny stories or laughing about old movies, or talking about their future. I am thankful that they want to talk to Chris and I about dating and sin and really, really important things. I am thankful that all those years of thankless sacrifice have a reward and I get to see it and experience it.

I am thankful for friends who are honest and share their struggles. Thankful that with grace, we can be open and transparent about our sins and craziness and not be destroyed and condemned. I am thankful that the best people I know want to be my friend. That's amazing to me.

Now I am off to bed because my pain medicine will kick in soon and my face hurts and I have to get up early in the morning.

Inner Life and Personal Theology

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm off the mark, but I think we don't need to know everything our loved ones think. Maybe there's such a thing as too much honesty.

When I'm tired I think mean, selfish thoughts. When I'm selfish, I wish that other people would just do things my way and be happy about it. When I'm in my flesh, I think things completely opposed to what my redeemed inner self truly believes.

Out of the heart the mouth speaks... but does that apply to my redeemed and reborn heart? In Romans 7, Paul explains that the flesh is a separate entity from who I am in Christ. "So it is no longer I who do it (sin), but sin that dwells within me." So that evil that comes out of my mouth, is the evil that lies close at hand. (V21)

I don't know all the deep things of God. I DO know that I don't want to know the grumpy, selfish thoughts of my closest friends towards me. There is grace to cover that. I let love cover that sin. (1 Peter 4:8) And I don't want them to know my grumpy, selfish, sinful thoughts- that's why I try very hard to not say them out loud. That's why gossip is so destructive; it indulges the flesh. The very flesh that should be crucified daily, not fed and petted.

Rambling That Led to an Epiphany

My second child had his last first day of school. He isn't the most chipper person of a morning so no photos were taken. How is it possible that I'll graduate another child this year? That this man-child is really my sweet baby boy who refused to sleep in his own bed for the first year of his life? It stuns me sometimes.

My oldest child will be leaving the country in 10 weeks. Leaving. The. Country. How can my heart stand it?

Have you ever had a time in your life when things that happen are so deep, so troubling, so exhausting, that you just couldn't bring yourself to articulate them? When the things that trouble you aren't huge, traumatic, attention-getters, but rather tiny little shards of glass in your soul? Almost innocuous looking, but painful nonetheless.

I miss my father-in-law beyond anything I thought possible. How can the world keep spinning when he is not here to guide us? I miss everything about him.

...

What were those other things that were bothering me? My grief is blotting them from my sight momentarily.

Oh yeah...

I broke my foot. I don't want to talk about that, but suffice it to say, I don't like my cat very much.

Customers at work can be such selfish buttheads. It's hard not to get my feelings hurt sometimes. That sounds so shallow, but when you pour your time and energy into a kingdom endeavor and Captain You Planet comes along and tries to destroy you on social media because their chip basket didn't get refilled fast enough... well, it can turn a person against humankind for a time.

I miss my Nanny. The happiest times of my childhood were spent at her side. I've realized in the past month that she anchored me to my mother and my great-grandmother. Now she is gone and I am the anchor for my children. It's lonely in my life without her.

My kids are growing up so quickly and it makes me grieve. I adore them so deeply and spending time with them is the best part of my life. When they are grown, will they still long for me and home? Will they remember all I've taught them? Will they lay down their lives for this eternal kingdom God is building?

I wish I could communicate to my friends with little ones what all those well-meaning people mean when they say "enjoy this time". Little ones are so hard. They cry and throw fits and loose your keys and get snot all over everything. They break your nice things and refuse to eat your fancy food. They leave their toys everywhere and refuse to flush the toilet. They fight and bicker and slap at each other. They keep you up at night and wake up too early in the morning. They, generally speaking, ruin the life you've become accustomed to. They take and take... and just when you think you have nothing left, they start to give back. They gain wisdom and understanding. They clean up after themselves, bathe without being told, drive themselves to work. They begin to do for themselves and in the process, allow you to get back to that life they previously ruined. You can start sleeping all night and your house stays cleaner. You can sleep later and have nice things. But the trade off is they start getting ready to leave you. There are times when the lack of sleep and snotty noses seem like a worthy trade-off if it means you can keep them close for a little while longer.

I don't know if that is true for everyone but it is very true for me. Life is always changing and it makes my head spin. My dear friend reminded me today to make an event of my grief. It does more harm than good to try to soldier on and get over myself. There are things in my life that need to be lamented. I've lost loved ones to death; I'm losing children to life. My life, it is a-changing.

Mothering

The past year has been pretty difficult for my family. Death, pay cuts, sadness galore. It's been a year of immense changes. One child has graduated. I have gotten a job. Just these two things alone throw off the carefully created balance of our home. It's hard.

Tonight, after an eleven hour day, I came home to a very messy house. Dishes everywhere, laundry literally thrown into a giant box. Such utter defeat coursed through my body that I couldn't even find the energy for a good cry. It's like that nightmare where you're being chased and you run as hard as you can, but you can't move. Added to the defeat was a nagging sense of guilt.

I verbalized this to Chris in the form of a question. "Why do I feel so guilty asking the children to pitch in above and beyond their list of chores?"

Before he could answer, a voice piped up from the other room. Gracie answered for them, "Probably because we give you heck about it and we shouldn't." Then both my girls appeared and cleaned. They cleaned along side me until my kitchen was clean, the dishwasher running. They sorted the laundry, cleaned off the table. It was one of the most tangible and life-giving examples of grace that I've experienced in a long time.

Even knowing the beauty of the Gospel as well as I do, I still attempt to find worth in my ability to "keep it all together". I still feel like a failure when I can't maintain my standard. I still, over and over, forget that my value, my worth, my identity, is not, NOT, in what I do (or don't do), but in who I am. I am a beloved, valued, adored child of the Most High.

Even when there are 2 day old, soggy pancakes in my sink.

My Heart

Have I really not blogged in three months? I'm a little shocked. It doesn't feel like that long. I checked my Facebook and realized I've not been posting much there either. I suppose I'm in a quiet time of life.

Since my last post about my grandmother's death, we finished a school year, graduated a child, and I started working more. It's been a long three months. Not bad, just jam packed.

As of right now, Maggie is at about 80% of her missions support. She's getting close. I am, simultaneously, excited and sad, happy and fearful. I see God leading her on a path that I cannot follow. That's exactly what we've been raising her towards. But for her to go where I cannot follow is frightening to this control freak.

I go back to those deep deep questions: is God good? Does he love me? Does he love my girl?

Yes. Yes, he does. She is safe in his hands, safer than in my tight grip.

I am now adding her to the list of missionaries that I know, love and support. Crazy cool.

When she goes to Europe I would love to travel with her. As her momma, I would love to get her settled, make sure she's okay. As her sister in Christ I would love to visit with and attempt to encourage the missionaries she'll be staying with.

My ideal would be to spend a few days with the Morgans and the Reids in Ireland, Jevon in Leeds, the Donahoos and Culcheth Community Church in Culcheth and the Jennings in Birmingham. I suppose I could try to raise support for this, but I've not felt led to do that.

Instead, I'm waiting tables. Who knew it could be fun? I enjoy it. All of my tips from serving go towards being able to go to Ireland and England. If you want to help me reach my goal AND eat some spectacular Mexican food at the same time let me know. I'll be there every Tuesday and Wednesday lunch and every other Thursday night.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for praying. Thanks for supporting my girl and I.

So Much Sorrow, but With Hope

My Nanny is dying. I call my mother's mother "Nanny". I was twelve before I knew that a full time, paid childcare employee was called the same thing.

My oldest daughter is named after her. Margaret Sarah. Nanny's name is Sarah Lou. She had red hair most of my life and was the most competent woman who ever lived.

My grandfather made a habit of starting businesses, getting them stable, then moving on to the next thing. Nanny would run them and do the books until they sold the business. In this manner my grandfather made plenty of money, but he couldn't have done it without Nanny.

At one point when I was a kid, Nanny had my sister and I for the summer, took care of her elderly mother, taught Sunday School, grew a garden and ran a used car lot, a gas station and an electrical supply company.  She graduated from Samford when I was ten.

When they decided to plant a church,  before it was fashionable, Nanny kept the nursery every Sunday for years. Paw Paw would preach the sermon to her on the way.

Nanny always had a kiss for us, even if they were the wettest kisses on the planet. She always licked her lips first. She always kissed Paw paw the most though. She adored him until the Alzheimers stole him from her. They did everything together. Their rv saw almost every state in the continental United States. I can still picture her scratching his head and kissing his cheek. Or making him a sandwich that was half wrapped in a paper towel.

Nanny taught me how to be a wife. Never did a husband have a better, more dedicated help mate. He valued her opinion and sought it out. He recognized that his ministry to the poor was possible because of the dedication and servant's heart of his bride. He knew how to tease her to laughter when she took things too seriously.

I remember a million things about her. The way she would wash my feet before I went to sleep on clean sheets. The way she would keep calling my name until I remembered to say, "ma'am?" The crunch of her homemade pickles and the gag factor of her sweet n low tea. The funny noise her nose made when she sniffed and the sound of her voice singing while she worked. The smile on her face when she saw me. Her favorite flowers planted in the front garden.

I will miss my Nanny. I'm sad that my children never experienced her the way I did. But I know that she's ready. She is ready for heaven and to see her Savior. She's ready to see her husband and her daughter and her parents. She's ready, but I am not.

I will miss her terribly.

Sainsbury's

There's something very different about seeing a place in pictures and going to that place in person. The first time I went to Culcheth, England I wanted to see everything, memorize everything. I paid attention to street names and businesses. I looked at maps and absorbed all I could. ... I did this because one of my best friends was moving there. I wanted to have a picture in my mind when she told me about her day.

"We went to the Cherry Tree for Sunday roast." - I can picture it in my mind. I know where the bathrooms are and what the paintings look like.

"I met a lady in the check out lane at the grocery store." I know where the cereal aisle is and where to find the cheese section. I remember the smell of it.

I can navigate in my mind's eye from the pitch to where the new Quench Cafe sits. I know where my friend Sue's guest toilet is located in her house and what her banafe pie tastes like and where she keeps the plates in her kitchen.

All of these things make England a real place to me. When I think of England, I have memories, not knowledge.

So many preach brokenness and for a long long time I really, truly thought I understood them. I KNEW that I was broken and couldn't save myself. I KNEW I needed a savior. I KNEW God was ever present. I'd seen the photos, read the verses. I knew and trusted to the best of my ability.

Then God showed me himself and all my gift packages and strengths and strategies melted before him. My heart trembled out of terror at my inability. I couldn't pray, only plead. I couldn't minister, only show up. I looked at all my hard work and realized it didn't matter a bit; it wasn't sufficient. It couldn't save anyone, myself included. I felt desperation. A desperation for God, for his presence, for his breath on my face.

When I hear someone speak of brokenness now, it is a memory, a present reality that I plead never goes away.

My complete lack of ability takes me so close to the very throne of God that I can feel his whisper in my ear. He doesn't need my strengths, his are better and stronger and infinite. He doesn't need me to plant a church; it's his bride and he pursues her with a zeal I cannot imagine. He doesn't expect me to be him. He is enough in himself.

I pray that when I feel pretty good about myself, when I think I have something great to offer that is not HIM, I pray that I will remember the smell, the images, the street signs of that blessed brokenness when I had nothing but him and he was more than enough.

"But my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness."

February

"This is February, month of Valentine's Day and the beginning of spring in Ireland. It's supposed to be a month of love and new beginnings, but I've been struggling- especially in the last few days- with how small and cold my heart can be, and how little change seems to be happening in my life. Looking inward, there's not a lot of hope I can see. But God has made me a crazy promise that I am "competent to minister" (2 Corinthians 3:6) through a Spirit that breathes life into the most unlikely places.  When He lifts my eyes to that promise, I see how His Kingdom moves inexorably forward in my most flawed and clumsy efforts. The hope in that is inexhaustible."   -Laura Carmel Palmer

After a day of utter failure at every thing I've touched, this short devotional really resonates with me. It's been a day of failing at motherhood, friendship, homemaking, work ... You name it, I've failed at it.

In addition to these failures is the stark pain and suffering. There is death on every side. Cancer. Alzheimer's. Abortion. The suffering of racism and hatred. The pains of addiction. The destruction of marriages. Atheism expressed in overt anger... All of these things in one single,  exhausting, miserable day.

Like the writer above, I look inside and don't see much hope. I am woefully, horrifyingly incompetent. Nothing I seem to do works. Like the writer, I lift my eyes up to the promise, desperate for some kind of reassurance, and find the countenance of a loving Father who is making all things right, in spite of my clumsy efforts. His Kingdom knows no end.

There is an overflowing abundance of hope in the smiling face of the God who loves me.

HE CAME!

As I sit here in my bed at 6am, after a completely inadequate 6 hours of sleep, my mind is working hard. I just dosed Maggie within an inch of her life. She has a terrible cold. As I was gathering her medicine, Gracie came strolling in, followed by my Dad. When I peeked in Maggie's door, she was awake and watching a movie.

I'm not sure where to start this post. I have so much in my mind. Christmas, depression, grief, death, parenting...

Bill died just one short month ago. His loss is terribly fresh. So fresh, in fact, that it still seems a little unreal. I wonder if other people feel exactly as I do this morning. There is a fierce desire for Christmas to be uninterrupted, for it to continue on exactly as it has been. But that is impossible. One of us is not here. His loss is a tear in the very fabric of our existence. It has changed us.

I have four children. One is experiencing depression for the first time. One, who is normally stoic, is weepy and emotional. One is feeling bouts of protectiveness that give rise to sleepless nights and restlessness. One is fixated and terrified of every other person they love dying.

Merry Christmas to us.

Well, we can find comfort in our traditions, right? No, those aren't happening. I won't go into it, but the change puts a spotlight directly on the loss. Every one of my kids has felt a fresh wave of loss in the last twelve hours. My gut reaction to the ones causing the change is hurt, layered with anger. But everyone grieves differently and I am called to forgive and blah blah blah.

...

On the other side of my heart, it feels like, is the realization that Christmas has never really captured my heart. Sure, I've always said the right thing. I've read Luke 2 on the morning of, always with a little impatience if I'm going to be completely honest. Why has it never captured me? Why is my heart hard? I have prayed for God to reveal this to me.

...

I woke up to the Holy Spirit at work. It feels like he's taken a big whisk and begun stirring my heart with hard, beating strokes. Or like when I had second and third degree burns on my legs and the treatment required scrubbing them with a rough cloth and peeling the damaged skin away. The skin underneath is raw and inflamed and longs to scab over and be left alone. But for them to heal, they had to be disturbed and then soothed with the cooling antibiotic ointment.

The Gospel is my ointment this morning.

For me, the beauty of Christmas has always been in the comfort, smiles and joy, but this year, God brought me death. I want the ease and comfort, but God brought me the uncomfortable Truth of the Incarnation. Christ came, in the form of man, to accomplish salvation for a needy, fearful, weepy, depressed, depraved people... my family.

That sweet, innocent baby.. who I always pictured as in a nativity scene, maybe sucking on his fist and looking wide-eyed up at the shepherds... came to be tortured, tested, beaten and bruised, for me. He came. HE CAME. He was God, he was perfectly content, but he came. For me. For Bill. For my family. He came.

My heart aches for a different reason. Tears roll down my cheeks for a different reason.

HE CAME. He showed up. He entered in.

Death and sin abounded. But he came. He would go on to conquer death and pay for sin.

Christmas is not about this tiny baby who looked so cute in his feeding trough. The shepherds got it. The wise men understood.

There is no hope apart from Him. There is no comfort. There is no beauty. There is no eternal smile. There is no joy. This baby was The WORD. He was God. He was very God of very God. He was... the sacrifice.

My heart is captured. Dazzled. Devastated in a totally new and blinding way. I weep in gratitude. I weep in sorrow for my loss. I long for heaven and for my faith to be sight.

I have seen a glimpse of His glory this morning.

"The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin..."

At this moment, I don't even care about all the pretty gifts under the tree or the food in the crock pot. I want to sit and bask in the transcendent beauty that is my merciful and loving God... He came. For me. For you.

He came.

I pray that this truth, this hope, this cataclysmic event with capture your heart as it has mine. If it never has, ask him to show you His glory as Moses did, as I did last night. Beg for it until He does.

My Grief Letter

Well, he's gone. We were there with him at the end of all things, but that doesn't change the fact that he's gone.

My heart is broken. Simply aching with grief.

I know, I KNOW that he is heaven with Jesus. I know that he is healed. I know that he is whole and happy. I know God has a plan. I KNOW!

But what people don't seem to comprehend is that he. is. gone. He's not here anymore. He can't read his paper every morning and do his Sudoku. He's not here to cut out interesting and well-timed articles and the leave them on the corner of the kitchen table for me. He's not here to share a tidbit of wisdom about vikings or the civil rights movement or the scripture that says not to get tattoos. He's not here. He can't argue with me or turn his cheek up for me to kiss or tell me that I'm doing a good job. He's not here. And my heart is broken.

So, when someone tries to comfort me by telling me about Bill's present reality, they miss the point. I'm not grieving on Bill's behalf; I grieve for me. For my husband and my children and my wonderful mom-in-law and my brother-in-law. I grieve for all the people who knew him and will feel his loss.

I don't know how to accept the absence of his presence.

So...

Tell me you love me. Or that you loved him (if you knew him). Tell me you're sad for me or that you wish you could make it better. Or just hug me.

But don't tell me things that mistake my grief for unbelief. Don't tell me that he wouldn't want me to cry or that he's in a better place. Don't tell me how happy he is... in this moment, my heart is too tender and too raw.

 



I love you guys. I know people love with cakes, pies, meat trays and croissants. I eat them and am grateful. I know you hurt with us. I feel your prayers. And I am so, so, so thankful.

This season will pass. God will bring healing and my heart will not be so raw. God is very good that way. His mercy is new every morning.

Come, Lord Jesus

Ten Things on My Mind Today:

1. Just when my faith is low, God sends His love to me in a tangible way through His people.

2. Grief makes me feel like no one really understands how important Bill is to me. He has been a true second father to me. He has raised my husband with such love and faithfulness. He has always been so solidly present, foundational. How can my heart accept his absence? I cannot force my mind to imagine it.

3. Joy and sorrow can co-exist. My life is living proof.

4. Proverbs 27:6 says, "Faithful are the wounds of a friend..." This is how I think of my friend Amber. God always gives her the words to say. She says them even though they cut me to the quick, but they come from such a loving place inside her that I can't be offended. I could give so many examples of this, but I'll just give one. I was mad about something one time, a long time ago. I was mouthing off about it and she finally looked at me and said, "Are you listening to yourself? Wow." In that moment, the Holy Spirit showed me my sin and boom, I was humbled unto repentance. I am thankful for her friendship.

5. Living in the house with someone who is waiting to die is a horrible and humbling thing. Every noise, every interaction, every smile is profound. Every moment is significant.

6. Comforting my husband is something only I can truly do. Others can hug him or speak the same words, but when I do it, he sorta melts into it.  And vice versa.

7. I am not good at sharing the gospel with selfish people when I am in the depths of grief. At all. I think I need to apologize to someone.

8. I am so thankful for my sister. She's got my kids and I know that they're being loved and taken care of the way I would do it. She's homeschooling them and feeding them and making sure all the rest is done. I am thankful she lives so close and loves so well.

9. I am thankful for my Christian family. All of them. Our home church in Moody and our congregation in Springville, plus my believing friends who don't go to my church. They are loving us well, bringing meals and sending prayers up to the Father. They are sending me verses of encouragement. They are feeding my cat and dog and cleaning out my nasty fridge to make room for the food that is coming. They are comforting my children. They are setting up my booth at By Hand Boutique and selling all the things the girls and I have worked so hard to make. I am blessed in a thousand ways.

10. I talked to Brad tonight. He reminded me of eternity. Ecclesiastes 3:10 says, "He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end." God has put eternity into our hearts but that doesn't mean he explains everything to us fully. I am reminded that this life I live is not all there is. There is more, a much bigger "more" that is unending. This eternity is WHY I lay down my life. It is why I follow Christ. It is why I do everything I do. There is more... it is a "more" with no tears, no pain, no goodbyes, no sorrow, no death. It is where Christ will be the very light by which we walk. It is where we will hold hands with our favorite person for ten thousand years and sing in harmony, "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come."

Come, Lord Jesus.

My Sin Is Ever Before Me

Sometimes my sin overwhelms me. As King David lamented, "My sin is ever before me!" so I lament over my sin. As the Apostle Paul, cried out in frustration "The things I don't want to do I keep on doing and the things I want to do, these I don't do..." so I cry out.

Sometimes my sin is like a sleeping dragon. I tiptoe around it, manage it, assuage it and it seems to stay under control. I smell it's stench, but if I hold my breath...

Sometimes my sin is like a stalker, peeping in my windows and pursuing me relentlessly, turning all my vegetable cans the same direction to freak me out. (that's a Sleeping with the Enemy reference, btw)

Sometimes my sin takes the form of a beautiful, helpful, shiny new toy. It will fix things. It will help me. It will be my precious.

Sometimes it's like a dead body tied to my back. Think on that image presented at the end of Romans 7 for a second. The older, "more holy" I become, the more real that dead body becomes to me.

Sometimes my sin is like a freaking ninja that whips out a dagger and a samurai sword and fights me until I'm bone-tired and frustrated. And so I cry out.

I cry out, "Who will rescue me from this body of death?!?!?" I am sickened by my sin. By my lack of faith. By the nagging sense of hopelessness. By my frustration with myself for not being God. I am sickened and exhausted by my fear and my desire for my idols.

I used to despise the Israelites for their weakness. How could they see the fire by night and the smoke by day and still doubt? How, oh HOW, could they look to the top of the mountain, see the lightning, hear the thunder, feel the earthquakes and build a golden calf? How could they be so stupid? So blind? So... like me?

The closer I get to God, the more unmanagable I realize He is. His holiness bewilders me and my flesh cries out for something easier. Something more comfortable, more on my level. I do stupid things that accomplish nothing except to take my eyes of God. He overwhelms me and terrifies me and I forget...

"Do not be afraid."

"I will be their God and they will be my people."

"Fear not, O Zion; let not your hands grow weak. The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing."

"I am yours; save me."

Sometimes repentance is hard and grace feels cheap. Sometimes it feels like to repent AGAIN is to cheapen the Cross, when in reality, it proves the vastness of Christ's provision. How can He forgive me again?

How? Because He is beautiful
...and merciful
...and gracious
...and faithful
...and forgiving
...and loving
...and good

He is God and He is mine and I am His.

Then, finally, I cry out for fogiveness and mercy. I throw myself in His lap and weep.

And I find relief and rescue.

I Lead a Small Life

"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void."

That is a a quote from one of my most favorite writers, Nora Ephron. It's a line from You've Got Mail. I love that quote. I identify with that quote.

I grew up wanting to live this enormous existence. I wanted my furniture to one day be in a museum. I remember having that thought when I was about ten years old. Instead, I lead a small life. Valuable but small. I have made no global impact. I haven't revolutionized the way people live. I haven't opened a continent for the gospel.

My life is small. I live in a tiny little town in the countryside of Alabama. My children walk to the park when I'm working. Our only mall is a small antique store. Little league football is the major sport in town. I attend a church with right at fifty attendees. I plant flowers in my yard and visit my in-laws weekly. I use a crock-pot with religious fervor. I write stories that hardly anyone reads. My life is small.

Valuable, but small. I may not impact many people but I do have an impact. What I do is of worth. I teach my children. I serve my small community. I worship God and speak the gospel. I attempt to truly love people for God's sake. I make myself available to his kingdom work. Valuable.

In times past, I thought my life was insignificant. That's just not so. Small is not the same as insignificant. My life has meaning and it's meaning surpasses anything I could have dreamt up on my own. As a child, I wanted a life that would bring me glory. Now I see the vanity and shallowness in that. How much better a life that brings glory to an eternal Creator Sustainer God?

The last part of the Nora Ephron quote is not true of my life like the first part is. I almost didn't include it in this post but I think it's worth noting.

Bravery is doing something even though it may or may not turn out the way you hope it will. I think it takes bravery and enormous faith to live your small life and live it well. Maybe things won't turn out like you want them to. Maybe no one will ever notice the sacrifices you've made, the sleepless nights, the hobbies put on hold, the grace extended over and over and over again. Maybe you will never see the impact of your small life. Maybe your life only ever touches a handful of people.

But isn't that enough? Can't God take that contact, small though it may be, and use it for eternity? Sometimes being brave is putting your Self to death and walking the humble path laid before you.

There are those painfully beautiful moments of Shalom. Moments when I catch a glimpse of the working out of a much bigger plan. When I realize that my smallness is part of a vast hugeness that brings everything to completion and perfection. Then peace comes flooding in and guards my heart against the feelings of insignificance and doubt.

I lead a small life- well, valuable, but small - ... and I live it with all the heart and energy and deliberation that I can. No life lived in Christ is truly small.

Naps, Writing and Remembering

I'm trying to get acclimated to my new school schedule. Instead of going to the gym at 7:30, I go at 6:30. This gets me home in time to wake the kids up at 8, take a shower while they're eating and dressing and then start school by 8:30. But man! I'm having a hard time adjusting.

Yesterday morning, the Davis fam came for breakfast. We skipped school for the day. We homeschool; we can do that. We had a great visit with them, as usual. They are really some of our favorite people. They're just starting their support raising journey. It's very daunting. I cannot imagine. Wow. If you're reading this, you should send them some money. Or start supporting them. I'm serious. You won't be sorry.

When they left, Tilly and I hung out for a while. I cleaned the kitchen, started my grocery list, then almost fell asleep sitting at the table. Chris suggested a nap, since we were driving to Oneonta to eat with our new friends, the Clarks.

I stumbled into bed, covered up and forced my mind to shush. Then Chris sat on the foot of the bed and played the guitar. He played me to sleep. Death Cab for Cutie's Follow You was playing when I finally drifted off. Can you imagine anything lovelier? I can't.

I slept for an hour and woke up with a scene from a new story fresh and vivid in my mind. I was a complete grump until I could get it written. I had to apologize to my family.

Sometimes writing makes my inner life difficult. I love it and the scenes, many times, just paint themselves on the front of my mind and will not be stored until a more convenient time. But store them I do. I cannot sit for hours and hours, whenever I feel the urge, and write. I have too many demands on my time.

But when I do get the chance, it is... magical. What is being written is not all that great, but the feeling of doing it, of imagining it, then twisting it, molding it, questioning it, THAT is magical. I just have to remember to hold all things loosely. To not let it get in the way of loving my children and husband, or laying down my life for the kingdom. It is a beautiful thing, but it is not a first thing.

Today I taught my children. I cleaned my kitchen. I cooked supper. I took another nap. I cleaned my room. I planned my menu for the next two weeks. I worked on lesson plans. I answered emails. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get to write. But someone's calling me, so it won't be right now...

Aloneness

I've been by myself for two days. Well, mostly by myself. Maggie has been in and out. (I should clarify that "by myself" in this instance does not include Chris, although he has been sleeping.) This was not a planned aloneness like last week's school-planning-marathon. Nope, this was a people-like-my-kids-and-want-to-have-them-over kinda thing. I had no grand plans to accomplish great things. I was taken off guard actually. And I may have just squandered my time.

I'm taking myself off sugar with a primary focus on NO high fructose corn syrup. Needless to say, I'm a little sleepy.

My kids are home now. They've had showers and supper and they're in their rooms watching movies on their devices. I missed them when they were gone. John asked me a couple of weeks ago what I was going to do with myself when my kids were all grown up. If this week is any indication, I'll wander aimlessly around my house...

Part of Marriage is...

Part of married life is reassurance. It's reassuring one another that it will all be okay in the end. The money will work out. The opportunities will show up. The hard work will one day be worth it. The kids will understand. The yard will eventually get cut. The dreams will either fade away or God will provide a way.

Part of married life is not taking it personally. It's not taking the other's insecurities as lack of faith in you. It's remembering that they really do love you as much as you love them. It's being patient when they need a little more of you right now. It's kissing them fifteen extra times just to stay connected.

Part of married life is being laid low. It's giving your dreams time to simmer while the other pursues their own. It's repeating yourself for the third time when you hate repetition. It's smiling and remembering how much they need you. It's patience.

Part of marriage is comforting each other when you both feel forgotten. It's letting your own faith be the kick-stand that keeps the other from falling over when their faith is weak. It's holding hands and pressing on.

My great grandmother told me that marriage is never 50/50, could never be. Marriage is when each person gives one hundred percent. Only then can marriage be beautiful. Part of marriage is giving when you don't want to, when you don't have it in you. It's holding tighter and fighting harder when you want to give up.

Marriage is whispering in the dead of night. It's hugs in the pantry. It's holding hands at the grocery store. It's pivotal conversations spoken through shower curtains while he's getting ready for work. It's reassurance that the kids know the really important things that we hope we've taught them. It's kisses that hold long enough to exchange a breath. It's optimism taken in turns.

Marriage is a marathon. It's a long, breath-stealing, muscle-burning race. It's being part of something more that yourself. It's sharing oneness with this other person who wants to be your favorite person, who is your favorite person.

Marriage is nothing like I thought it would be. It's much harder, much more interesting. What started out as an adrenaline rush has turned into a cathartic rhythm of life. It's continually morphing into this friendship that cannot be explained. There is no need for explanation. The only person who needs to understand is walking, sometimes limping, it with me.