A Change of Weather

It’s still raining.  The aftermath of the storm.  We knew it was coming.  Storm predictors warned us of the coming tropical storm as it carved its way toward us, heading on out but leaving behind overcast skies, gloomy weather, and still more rain.

A little over six months ago, storm predictors blew a cloud over her family as the diagnosis was grim.   A short rebound, chemo pills could replace chemotherapy, a short gasp for air.  Then the rapid decline.  It has spread to her brain and spinal fluid. It’s the worst kind.

And we knew. We knew she had been in much more pain than she would ever let us know.  We knew our time was short.  Too short for a mother-in-law who was in all ways her other mom.  Too short for her husband who was her lifelong partner, not just in words, but in heart and deeds.  Too short for her daughter-in-law who was in all ways really the daughter she never had.  Too short for her 8-year-old grandson who knew in his heart how much this hurt, but was too young to have to go through this.

She was too young to have to go through this.  Sixty years of life on this earth.  A life of love, a life of giving.  For if Sharlyn was anything, she was a giver.  The countless hours spent providing for her husband who suffered from strokes well before his time, a mother who too died of the wretched disease that would too soon claim her own life, a mother-in-law who fell too much, broke too much, and now spends her living moments in the confines of a wheelchair.

She gave.  She gave of her time.  She gave of her heart.  And then You came and took. 

“You give and take away.  You give and take away.  Yet my heart will choose to say, Lord, blessed be your name.”

It is true You took her, but in taking, we know You gave so much. 

You gave her time.  Just enough time.  Not too long to suffer too much from the cancer that stole her body, but long enough so it couldn’t steal her soul. 

You gave her a daughter who braved the fear of how she might respond in her final days, how it might end as a broken relationship.  But in that courage, you made a broken spirit whole.  You gave a moment, a prayer, a heart open to Your Word, and a heart to share the very Love of You with a dying woman who needed nothing more than You.

And I watch her now.  Now that Sharlyn’s gone.  And I praise you for her.  I praise You for opening the doors wide open so she could save a soul. 

I watch her now as she grieves.  And my heart cries out to you.  Father, please.  Continue to open her eyes so she sees another door wide open.  For when you took Sharlyn and closed that door, you gave another door for us to walk through.  A door that is daily open into Your Very Presence.  A door that opens into our hearts, that wipes away our tears, and gives us a greater hope for each coming day.

For though it’s raining today, it won’t rain forever.  Time will heal.  And the storm that blew in months ago, leaving an aftermath of overcast hearts, gloomy spirits, and still more rain will not last forever.  For You always promise that in the rain will come the Son, and with the Son comes a change in weather.

“And everything in time and under heaven finally falls asleep.  Wrapped in blankets white, all creation, shivers underneath. Still I notice you when branches crack, and in my breath on frosted glass.  Even now in death, you open doors for life to enter.  You are winter. . .

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced, teaching us to breathe.  And what was frozen through is newly purposed, turning all things green. So it is with you and how you make me new with every season’s change.  And so it will be, as you are recreating me.  Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring.”

This was her song.  I happened upon it early after her diagnosis.  I prayed earnestly, passionately for her to soften her heart and ask You, the God of all seasons, to come into her life and change her winter of disease into a spring of eternity. 

And she did.  As she sat in her hospital room just a short time before she would pass, she asked my sweet sister to lead her to Jesus. And they prayed to You.  And she cried.  And in that moment, even then in death, You opened doors for life to enter, and You continue to open doors for those of us left behind.

Left behind, we feel the thickness of the winter cold.  But I’m praying time will heal quickly so all can pass from this season to the next, to the season where a new beginning dawns on the horizon, and all can once again breathe, and not just shallow breaths to get through the day, but deep, wholesome breaths that fill lungs anew.  I’m praying to soon find all things green, in a new spring.  For though the foundation of that family is gone, you can recreate.  And I believe You will.  Because I believe although you take way, you also give, just as she gave. 

And I believe this rain is not the end.  For in all rains, you give promise.  Promise to send your Son to shine upon us and usher in something new.  So we wait.  We wait for you to give and take away.  To take away the rain, the pain, the tears, and the longings.  We wait for you to take away this emptiness and loneliness.  But we also ask You to give, to fulfill Your great promise and send some sonshine.  To take this rain and turn it into a rainbow, giving us brilliant colors of You to fill our hearts, and brighten our days once again.   So Father, although you give and take away, may our hearts choose to say, Lord blessed be your name.  And Father, please send your Son to take this rain and create a rainbow for us all to see, for we really could use a change of weather.

Spoiler Alert: You're not REALLY a Mom

I must warn you before you continue reading.  Proceeding may cause irreversible damage to the way you see yourself when you look in the mirror, or at least try to look in a mirror that is smudged with handprints and water splotches.    But if you consider yourself among the brave, the courageous, continue on, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

You are not really a mom.  It is a lie, a myth now debunked.  You . . . are you ready for this?  You are actually a reporter.

Yep.  That’s right.  All good reporters know they must drop everything they are doing as soon as a story arises, whether it is good, bad, or ugly.  And they must run to the scene of the crime, be in the middle of the action so they can get the story, the full story.  And you, my fellow mother friend, do just this.  Your stories are created by the angels and monsters, depending on the day, who live and breathe and somehow really did come from you.

And we all know a good reporter cannot simply stop there.  She must continue on to report.  And report is what I do all day long.  I report to my husband’s initials on my caller id.  I report to the frantic screams from the child who’s being chased with a dart gun.  I report to the dishes, the laundry, the bills, the yard, and the list goes on and on and on.  But most importantly, and I think you’ll agree, there is one thing I report to numerous times a day that keeps my life halfway on track.  Without it, I am totally lost, as are my kids who will never end up at school with the appropriate necessities if I fail to report here.  And not only must I report once a day, but hour after hour, because the list on that report is so long, and my memory so fried from motherhood, that I’ll forget important things like Katie’s friend’s birthday party or Caleb’s snack leader day or Nate’s swimming trunks for his PBIS party. 

So if you’re still confused, go check your calendar, report to it, because you probably failed to do so first thing this morning, and so now you don’t realize today was the day you were supposed to reinstall your mind before proceeding with the day’s activities.

When I report to my calendar, I see a plethora of events, responsibilities, activities.  Most of them, if I really think about it, are actually quite trivial in the big scheme of life.  But there is one activity I list on there that never fails to have lasting impact.  Camping.

Maybe your calendar doesn’t say camping.  But I hope it occasionally says something that denotes you intentionally setting aside time to have fun with your family.  Life is busy, as our calendars so clearly relay, but life should never be so busy for us to fail to make memories with our children.

I remember camping with my grandparents very well.  My grandpa died 8 years ago.  My grandma died 4 days ago.  And as we laid them to rest, memories flooded over like a sea of joy.  My grandparents understood the importance of family, and they took time to simply be with us.  In an ever-increasingly, speed-of-lightning paced world, it is hard.  I know.  But I also know I didn’t stand at my grandma’s casket and remember fondly all the dishes she washed, all the laundry she folded, or all the bills she paid.  I remember all the love she showed when she simply spent time to connect with me on a very personal level.

Connect.  We all know in our minds that we need to connect with our children, especially as calendars fill to the brim.  But do we really know the lasting legacy we leave?  When our children are called to also become reporters, reporting on the events of our lives and the memories we left them with as we go on to meet our maker, how impacting will their story about us be?

I want my story to be one to write home about.  I want the pages of my life to fill them even after I’m gone.  I believe as moms, we all want this.  But somehow, we report too much to the trivial and not enough to the treasured.  So we must stop in the midst of that story of chaos, and pursue a better story, one that will make headlines for years to come, a story to write at home about.

Grandma's Dancing Shoes

The circle of life dances round us all.  It turns and sways and dips to a beat of its own.  And we enter the dance knowing not how it will end, but hoping we’ll learn the steps before it twists its confusion into our world once again.  And then the cycle repeats.  Falling hard, finding your feet, steady now and hold on, hold on for the dance. 

She danced well. 

She had this aura about her.  Always kind.  Always giving.  Always welcoming.  Always teaching simply by the way she lived.

She taught me to love a good book, a good campfire, and a good picnic, even if the flies were driving Grandpa crazy.

She taught me that it is possible to love to shop, but still remain frugal as she watched her pennies so she could be a good steward of all God provided.

She taught me to keep a ready supply of cake or pie ingredients so that at a moments notice, she could whip up her famous white cake for Mr. Matt, and all the others who would then fight him for a piece, or my personal favorite, banana pudding pie in graham cracker crust.

She taught me to feed a man’s stomach was to feed a man’s understanding of your love for him.

She taught me that if I ever hoped to truly love my husband, I must be willing to submit-submit to him and submit to growing a faith deeper than the eye can see.

She taught me to be strong, even when your lifelong partner leaves you much before you’re ready.

And she taught me to love.  To love others more than you love yourself.  To love deeply, to love richly, to love the way only God can love when He lives in us and through us.

And she loved to dance.  From her jewels to her dresses to her purses, she was a beauty to behold on this dance floor called life. 

Until time stole her health, leaving her confined to a body that just couldn’t function well and a mind that left long before we said our final goodbyes. 

But now she dances again. 

I can just picture her.  She’s wearing a red dress, lipstick shining and eyes sparkling.  She rounds the corner and slips her arm into his.  And together they enter into the Presence of the King where, finally together once again, they will dance on the streets that are golden.

Because if Grandma taught me anything at all, she taught me this.  Life is a dance.  Dance with your friends and the students you meet in your work.  Dance with your family.  Dance with your husband, and hold tight while the music lasts.   But in all steps of the dance, hold your faith dear as the center of your dance floor.  You will fall, life will be hard, but the dance goes on.  And if your roots go deeper, your faith goes stronger, you will rise above to dance like you’ve never danced before.

Today, she’s dancing like she’s never danced before.  And I’m counting on her saving a dance for me.

In a Dry and Weary Land

We watched.  And we waited.  We had been waiting for weeks and weeks.  And with each week our eyes strained harder.  Surely this will be the day.  You will ride in on the clouds and quench our dry land. 

The clouds grew darker, more promising as the day arose, and by noon we were certain Your presence was near.  But the wind blew You and the clouds on by, and our hearts once again sunk inside, weary from watching and waiting, setting our hopes on a cloud unseen.

Seven days have since passed and we’re parched evermore.  My mind tells me you were in those clouds that day, the day that now seems to have been our last hope, but my heart won’t quite follow the sound of that drum.  And though we’re living in the midst of a very dry and weary land, I can’t help but think the window to my soul paints a picture even bleaker.  But yet somehow I know, I KNOW- You are here.  In the midst of wonderings and questions and uncertainties of tomorrow, you are here.

In a matter of weeks I am downtrodden from watching and waiting for You to speak through this silent desert, and I can’t help but imagine what 400 years must have felt like.  The 400-year drought of silence.  The sound of a newborn baby who would grow up to be a prophet for His nation ceased.  And in those years, how did they feel?  Did they watch and wait diligently at first?  History proves over time they faded into self-religion.  Will we do the same?  Will we too miss the sound of Jesus’ coming as He pierces the silence with the very presence of God With Us? 

I don’t want to miss the sound of You.  I want to hear you loud and clear.  And I want to walk in Your ways, not some man-made way to life that replaces You because we believe Your seeming absence proves Your lack of compassion for your thirsty people.

I want You.  I want to soak in the riches of Your blessings, even if I do so in the midst of a dying harvest.   Is that the picture You’re painting?  As His second coming draws ever-near, are you screaming loud and clear that we don’t get it?  That we’re losing the harvest faster than our eyes can comprehend?  As we watch our corn curl further and further into itself with each passing day, are you brushing an image on your canvas creation that says this, THIS is the image of my supposed people.  THIS is what they look like as they say they love me, but choose daily to shrink ever farther away in the midst of a dry world that saps them of their energy to thrive and grow in Me?  And if this is Your message, what are we to do?  Every day as I drive past our fields, I see the inescapable end closing in, and I feel very helpless.  No amount of effort on my part could save this dying harvest.   Am I helpless in your picture as well? 

I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.  I am not helpless.  I can stand firm.  I can refuse to shrivel underneath the heat of the day.  I can spread my arms wide open to embrace the Son that pounds down upon me.  And I can choose to keep hanging on.  For our hopes are on a cloud unseen, but You promised it won’t be unseen forever.  And on that day, when you ride in on the clouds, You WILL quench our dry land. 

So for now I wait.  And I hold on to the Hope I have in You.  For You are good, YOU ARE GOOD, when there’s nothing good in me.  And I know the riches of Your love will Always be enough, even when death surrounds and all seems a loss.  For You are life, and in Your time You will leads us out of this dry and thirsty land.  And on that day, beneath that cloud, we shall thirst no more.

Fears, Falls, Dreams, Soar

Clothes packed-check.  Food packed-check.  Camper in tow and ready to go-check.  And the morning of patiently preparing was finally drawing to an end as we brought the bikes to the truck as the last item on the list.  I had asked Nate to bring up both of Katie’s bikes-the one that was way too little but still had training wheels, and the one that was just her size . . . but without training wheels.  And as we started to bring them to Daddy, he made a decision.  Only one bike would accompany us on this journey.  The training wheels must remain behind.

Katie was visibly upset, and if I’m honest, so was I.  I knew from several attempts before that she was terrified of the prospect of having to let go of her security.  But she braved it best she could, and we all piled into the truck and set off for our weekend getaway.

Setting up camp is hardly the same when you only have two little varmints asking to first unload their bikes so they can ride circles while we unload.  Though Daddy made certain to unload all three, the third was left behind, as Katie looked at it but quickly occupied herself elsewhere while I was wondering if we made a mistake.

Daddy made it a priority to work with her right away.  He held her up, running with her until she had found her balance, and then let go.  She’d start to waiver, fall over.  Then he’d help her back up and away they’d go again.  Holding on, letting go, falling down, starting again.  And so the cycle went.  With every try, she came closer to a dream conquered.  Then before she knew it, mission accomplished.  She was pedaling, free from restraints, free from fears.  Soaring on a dream come true.  It was a priceless moment.  Because she chose to face her fears and brave the falls, she conquered her dream.

Face your fear, brave the fall, conquer your dream.  If you could somehow open the window to my soul and peer in, you would find a visibly upset little girl, afraid to let go of her security.  But you would also see her braving it as best as she knows how, knowing that her Daddy promises she IS a priority, and He will run beside her and hold her steady as she begins to ride down this road, not knowing for sure how to keep it all going, but certain that God has a plan.

My early morning devotion today spoke this very truth.  God so earnestly desires to use my obedience to give me the life of pure fulfillment that He has planned for me, so I can be most useful in sharing His love with others.  So here’s to sharing, even if it’s my biggest fear.  For it’s only when I brave the falls that He can pick me up to try again until one day all my dreams come true.  And on that day, we will dance.  The banged-up knees and bruised souls will be healed as our Daddy who knew best all along reigns forevermore, soaring on High with me by His side.

Fight to Fall

I wrote this story for a beautiful young woman at our church who is getting married soon.  She was in our youth group years ago, and is a true testament of what it means to seek God daily in her life journey.  Congrats to Whitney and Bryce.  May God bless their marriage for years to come.

Once upon a time there was a boy.

Once upon a time there was a girl.

And this boy loved to have fun.

And this girl loved to have fun.

Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, back roads and fast wheels.

Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, back roads and fast wheels.

Then this boy met a girl.

Then this girl met a boy.

His heart skipped a beat.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He wondered, check yes or no?

She wondered, check yes or no?

And then it happened.

And then it happened.

She stole his heart.

He stole her heart.

He hoped for much.

She hoped for much.

Can I be enough for her?

Can I be enough for him?

I want to provide a house for her.

I want to provide a home for him.

I want her to do life with me.

I want to give my life for him.

I want her to think I am worthy of her respect.

I want him to think I am beautiful.

I want to protect her from the hardships all around us.

I want to be there for him when the world is mean and hard.

And so he asked the big question.

And she said yes.

Then life began.

And it went as all life goes.

Life is never what we expect.

Life is harder than we bargain for.

He wanted to fix her problems.

She just wanted him to listen.

He just wanted her to respect him.

She wanted to feel beautiful again.

He wanted it to be like it used to be.

She wanted it to be like it used to be.

Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, back roads and fast wheels.

Four-wheelers, dirt bikes, back roads and fast wheels.

So he got on his bike and rode for a while.

She got on the four-wheeler and went for a ride.

He eventually made his way to ‘their spot.’

She eventually made her way to ‘their spot.’

When he got there, he parked and walked down to the edge of the creek.

When she got there, she parked next to his bike and walked down to the creek.

He was skipping stones, wishing he could somehow skip all the junk away.

Her heart was skipping beats, wishing she could somehow skip all the junk away.

He turned to see who was coming.

She turned so he wouldn’t see her tears.

And they were at another crossroads.

They had seen many of these.

Fall apart or fight together.

Fight forever or fall together.

He made a choice.

She made a choice.

He forgot about the way he felt and went with what he knew.

She ignored the way she felt and went with what she knew.

So he decided to fight.

She decided to fall.

Fight together.

Fall together.

For in the end,

Love always wins.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12:  Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work; if one falls down, his friend can help him up.  But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!  Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.  But how can one keep warm alone?  Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves.  A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Three strands-God, Bryce, Whitney.  Marriage takes three.

Gaining Weight: How being a mom has changed me from the outside-in

You know the drill.  The nurse calls your name and they insist on torture before treasure, the sound of the weigh-in before the sound of the heartbeat.  Then it’s the feeling in the pit of your stomach when she informs you of how many pounds you’ve gained, which is considerably more than you should have during the entire course of your pregnancy, much less with weeks left to go.  And your heart sinks to the floor because once again you’ve gained too much. 

Gaining weight.  Becoming a mom changed my physical body from stretch marks to flab to endless gray hairs, and we moms know all too well our bodies will never be the same.  What I was not prepared for however was all the other arenas in which I would gain weight when I became a mother.  Maybe you can relate.

The weight of a rope. 

Before I was a mom, I could do what I wanted when I wanted.  I was not tied down.  Having to cope with the reality even still that my children limit ways I can serve demands a constant humbling in my heart to accept this sacrifice as more than worthwhile.

The weight of a mirror. 

Why is it that becoming a mom makes all our uglies shift from being closet dust-bunnies to front door unwelcome mats as they stare us down daily through the eyes of the very beings we helped create?  It is like my bad habits and personality dysfunctions suddenly became a pimple on my forehead for me to notice every time I look in the mirror of my little girl’s questioning eyes.

The weight of the world. 

Too many questions.  What if I don’t teach them enough?  What if I really screw them up, or worse yet, turn them into a miniature me?  What if I take my eagle eye off long enough for something tragic to happen?  What if it all goes south and I don’t get to spend eternity with them?  What if, what if, what if?????  Before I became a mom, I thought I could answer most any question.  Now I can hardly answer what day of the week it is and what the weather will be as I fix breakfast, oversee wardrobe disasters, assist with chores (feeding the animals-but somehow I never get fed.  Hmm. . . maybe I should grow whiskers and develop a snarling bark.  Oh wait, my kids already think I have J), and nag, nag, nag to hurry so they won’t miss the bus.

The weight of me. 

I have become very overloaded trying to remember who needs a lunch packed and when, who’s practice starts at which time, whose turn is it to have a friend over.  As I work tirelessly each day to keep track of them, I’ve lost track of me.  The always-smiling, drive-down-the-dirt-road-with-windows-down-and-music-blaring, never-know-what-special-surprise-I’m-drummin’-up-for-the-love-of-my-life girl got lost somewhere between the diapers and the school bus.  The stress swallowed the smile.

And it all continued to weigh me down more and more and more . . .

Until I found a personal trainer.

 His name is Jesus.  And in His grueling weight-loss plan, He actually has one simple benchmark.  “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you.  Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.”  Matthew 11:28-30 

He promises to help me lose all that weight I’ve gained since I became a mom, all the weight I’ll continue to gain in motherhood, and all the weight I’ll ever gain in this mess called life.  All I have to do is place it in His hands.

My oldest was playing with some marbles the other day and jokingly said, “Mom, I think you lost some of your marbles.”  I laughed and said, “You’re right.  It’s called being a mom.”  Motherhood has changed me tremendously as I have lost tons of weighted marbles in that dirt at the foot of the cross, not necessarily by eager submission, but because eventually there was no way I could benchpress it on my own.  Through it all, I’ve learned gaining weight and grays draws me closer to my Jesus, who lightens my burden and puts the pep back in my step.    This, this is how being a mom has changed me most.  In the midst of a dirty, messy house full of whiney kids and a demanding husband, I have hope.  I know the weight of this world is here today and gone tomorrow, ‘cause one of these days I’m gonna lose all this but gain much more.  For to live IS Christ and to die IS gain. 

Heart sinking to the floor because you’ve gained too much?  Trade in your weights for wisdom, knowing your heart can soar to the sky because you have indeed gained too much.

Tall Tale Teaching

I came upon this just now as I was digging through old files and thought I'd share.

Tall Tale Teaching

Raising children is a tall order; at least it is a much loftier feat than I initially signed up for.  After numerous bumps along the trail, I am still searching high, not low, for ways to train up my children in the way they should go.  And the high road has proven to be the best road since only the Highest of Highs and Holy of Holies really knows what is best for His children, including me. 

As my daughter and I were lying in bed for a treasured nap together, she asked me to please tell her a story.  Now this is not an entirely uncommon request.  As a former English teacher, I am thoroughly in love with the plight of story-telling and have been known on occasion to relay a ‘once upon a time’ to my sweet daughter.  And our ‘once upon a times’ always include a lovely princess named none other than Princess Katie (my daughter’s name), which of course always ensues a wide-eyed beaming smile from the blue-eyed beauty who yearns for me to tell her another part of ‘her’ story. 

So she once again asks for a story, knowing I shall include a little girl named Katie somewhere along the way.  To be frank, I was past ready to close my eyes and go to sleep and had to think long and hard before I finally grumbled under my breath, and decided to try to devise a unique story.  If I were going to have to postpone my slumber, it could at least be worthwhile.  I believe God was smiling down upon me knowing full and well he would make this one quite productive for both of his little girls involved.

So the story began:

Once upon a time in a far away land, there lived a beautiful little princess named Katie.  Now Katie lived in a very special far away land, for it was called “Girl Land.”  See, in girl land, all the daddy’s and mommy’s would awake from their nightly slumbers and then head happily off to work while the little girls gleefully skipped their way to “Girl Land” for the day where they could laugh and play and color and sing and just be girls together.

Well, on this particular day, Princess Katie decided to spend her morning at the giant carriage located in the middle of “Girl Land.”  And this giant carriage was known as the Crafty Creation Castle Carriage because inside was every crafty girl’s dream:  paints and crayons and markers and glitter and glue and sequins and little pom poms and fabric and scissors and the list goes on and on.  And the colors, oh the colors!  Pinks and purples and greens and blues and reds and yellows! 

So of course Katie was having a wonderful time working so very hard on her butterfly picture until Ms. Mean Girl came in and stood beside her.  Mean Girl then put her hands on her hips and in her sassy voice said, “Oh, Katie.  That is simply the ugliest butterfly I’ve ever seen.  You’ve worked so hard and that is all you could come up.  You poor thing!”  Then she stomped out with great disgust.

Now Katie was a brave girl and knew she should try her hardest not to worry about what other girls think since she knew that what God thinks is the only thing that matters.  But try as she may, tears began to trickle down her cheeks and onto her butterfly.  But God also gives us friends who show His love at just the right time, which is just what Katie’s good friend Heidi did. 

Heidi had been working a few seats down on a flower picture and saw everything that happened.  So once she saw Katie wiping her tears away, Heidi put her marker down, went over to Katie’s butterfly and picked it up.  She then stepped down from the carriage, picture in hand, and began very excitedly going to each and every girl in “Girl Land,” showing them Katie’s picture and asking them if this wasn’t the most beautiful picture they’d ever seen.  And it was a rather good butterfly picture so of course all the girls agreed it was most lovely. 

As Katie watched from the carriage steps, her heart began to be lifted a bit higher and a bit higher again with every little girl who praised her picture.  And once Heidi returned to the carriage, the two girls went inside together and sat back down to finish their creations with rather happy smiles on their face.  As Katie finished and stood up to leave, she went over to Heidi.  “Thanks a lot for what you did Heidi.  It really made me feel better.  Not just because of what those girls said, but mostly because you showed me that God loves me enough to give me good friends who can remind me of how much He loves me.  So thanks for being just like our great big God!”  

As Katie stepped down from the carriage with her picture in hand wrapped and ready to give to her mommy, she noticed Mean Girl was under a tree over by the fence all alone.  For a moment she thought she could just leave Girl Land through the other exit so she wouldn’t have to see Mean Girl again, but something prompted her to go ahead and go that way.  As she came closer to Mean Girl, she could tell she had been crying.  And though part of Katie was still very hurt by Mean Girl, she felt compassion for her.  Sitting down at her side, Katie asked why she was crying. 

“I’m crying because I was really mean to you.  I’m mean to lots of  little girls.  And the reason I’m mean is because I’m jealous.  I could never draw something that pretty and so I said those mean things because I was mad at you for being able to do such a good job and because I wanted everyone to pay attention to me.  And now I’m crying because no one will play with me because I was so mean.”

So Katie thought for a minute.  Then she had an idea.  She picked up her butterfly picture and placed it in Mean Girl’s lap.  “Here.  I want you to have this.  And every time you look at it, I want you to remember that you don’t have to be mean to feel loved.  God already loves you more than you could ever ask for.  So just look at it and remember that a butterfly is beautiful because it had a beautiful maker.  And you are beautiful too because you have a beautiful maker.”

“Really?  You would do all this for me after what I did?”

“You bet.”

“But why?”

“Because I believe that God loves you enough to give you good friends who can remind you of how much He loves you, and I want to be that friend for you, just like Heidi was for me.”

I believe God always gives me a story to tell in just the right time and just the right place.  I believe this was God’s story to Katie, yes, but also to me, giving me a great insight of one more method of how to raise children God’s way-using tall tales to instill rather ‘tall’ virtues in my daughter.

What a grand idea-using stories to teach my children how to handle tough situations before they even encounter such situations.  Is it a tall order to raise children?  Yes.  But I have the highest resource living inside me, so you better believe I will keep searching the high road on this lofty journey.

When God Speaks

I heard you yesterday.  As I rode along trimming the grass in my never-ending quest for beauty in my life and home, I heard you. 

“I’m yours, Lord-everything I am, everything I’ve got, everything I’m not.  I’m yours, Lord.  Try me now and see, see if I can be completely yours.”

A song I used to sing years ago.  And there is no conceivable reason it should have surfaced in my mind’s playlist.  No conceivable notion but You.  You sang to me, and I heard You loud and clear.  And if I’m brutally honest, I’m terrified, for I know exactly what You want.  Almost ten years ago when you laid it on my heart that you had a specific purpose for my ministry, you told me to be patient and wait for your timing, for in your timing you would reveal all mysteries.  It is time.

I am studying in Colossians and Paul speaks of God’s mystery revealed, which is the hope of Christ living in us and through us to spread the gospel, to reach the lost for the Kingdom.  And it is not coincidence that the very key words mystery revealed would be on my plate of study at the exact time when You are choosing to reveal my specific role in this quest for redemption.

In my gut, I’m terrified.  I’ve grown quite accustomed to my partial hermit-like existence, where I can live and move and breathe in the comforts and familiarities of my home on this farm in the middle of nowhere, where no one expects more of me than I am capable, where my family loves and supports regardless of my uglies, and where I feel adequate. Enough. 

Here, I am enough.  I am enough of a wife, enough of a mother, enough of a friend, enough of a volunteer at church.  Enough.  But Your call takes me to places I can never be enough.  And in the midst of my frantic unravelings inside, I hear you again.

I am enough.  I AM. 

And I know this to be true, because I know I Am.  I know You.  And my heart can’t beat without You in my life.  And so for this, Here I am.  Send me.  I am not enough, but I am yours.  And I will go.  This week I will obey.  And I will put my trust in you, as scared stiff as that makes me.  But I will stand on your feet, and I will share Your story through my story, so the whole world may know . . .

I’m yours, Lord-everything I am, everything I’ve got, everything I’m not. I’m yours, Lord.  Try me now and see, see if I can be completely yours.

Isn't Mom Mean?

I wrote this yesterday to encourage me-to vent it out and breathe fresh understanding in.  But I post this today to encourage others-moms who have sometimes believed the lie that they are alone in this struggle.  For we are never alone, for if our God is for us, who can be against us?

Today should go away. 

Daniel informed me last night that I would be working for him cleaning up junk around a barn that has been piling there for probably decades, which then meant my one Sunday afternoon in a long time when I didn’t have something in the middle of the day to attend was now obligated to the work I would be doing tomorrow-paying bills and laundry.  Then he came in and announced it was also time to plant some in the garden and after him coming in a couple of times to “ask” where things were, I knew I was being beckoned to quickly wrap up what I was doing because he wanted help.  The garden led to de-winterizing the camper which led to him informing me I had left the battery for it at church and they did not need it and why didn’t I have it home by now, didn’t I know it could be causing damage to the wood on the balcony.  Five minutes later he tells me to go get it right away, even though he had just five minutes before said to bring it home sometime.

So this leads to me finishing the plant I was on so I could gather the children and rush to church, only to find they had stacked the trampoline with junk once again that did not belong on it and would damage it if left on it in a rainstorm that could likely come later this evening.  So I told them to get in the van immediately and we set off, with me quickly informing them in rather harsh tones that I have told them before not to pile the trampoline with junk and as soon as we got home they were to clean it off.  I’m yelling at them in their opinion, though I’m never actually entertaining a yelling voice, but tis true I was past frustrated and relayed a rather angry tone.

I come out of church with the battery.  Nate-“Mom.”  Me-“Yes, Nate.”  Nate-“While you were inside, Katie said, ‘Isn’t Mom mean?’”  Which then led to her defending what she actually said which then led to me trying hard to not react with my heart, but only my head.  So I asked her numerous reasoning questions, leading her to understand that they have been told numerous times not to stack the trampoline so were once again disobeying, since they knew the rule about the trampoline but chose to ignore it, and ask her what I should have done instead since she believes yelling makes me a mean mom.  She then said I should’ve asked nicely, which I then reminded her I have asked nicely several times and it doesn’t seem to be working, which she agreed with.

We come home, she cleans up her mess, and tries to hide from me while she cries her eyes out.  I leave her alone for a while letting her work through it.

Just now I go to her room to see how she is.  She has built a fort in the corner of her room with all the things she loves dearly inside-I am too big to fit.  So it’s a safe place where she has retreated, eyes puffy and heart broken.  And as I watch her, she pulls her last favorite thing in-her giant stuff bear.  And I am trying so hard not to lose it.  She has detached from me because I am too mean, I expect too much, her heart is not safe with me.  And she has built for herself a haven of security, where Cade Bear welcomes her warm hugs and enables the pieces of her shattered spirit to fall softly on his fuzzy fur. 

I ask her if she’s okay. She smiles and says yes.  I tell her that when I am yelling at her, I still love her dearly.   She says I know.  And she tells me she is playing, having fun.  So I leave the room.

When I enter the safe haven of my bedroom there is no cuddly bear to soften the fall of my shattered heart.  I am too old to buy a stuffed bear and the one I had burnt in our house fire over ten years ago.   So I sit here with tears flowing wandering if I’ll ever be able to be the mom I so desire to be.

And as I write this, I know it is very raw.  And by tomorrow my heart will feel differently and I will know assuredly once again that I am a good mom who makes mistakes but is seeking earnestly for God to lead me in this delicate mess called life. 

But for today, today could go away.

I do feel differently today.  All is well once again.  And I'm not sure I would change any of it.  She needed to understand the reality of consequences for choosing repetitively to disobey.  She needed to strengthen her emotional muscle, the one that enables her to face fractured relationships and learn how to restore them both in her head and her heart.  And we are restored.  By the grace of God, we are restored.

A Boy and His Dog

Once upon a time there was a boy.  A rather special boy.  And this rather special boy had a rather special friend.  And because of that rather special friend, he learned what it means to lose what you love, but to keep on loving because the relationship earned is worth it all. For you see, their story goes as most young boy/dog stories go-they were the best of friends.

From the first day Tucker arrived on the Shilling farm, the oldest child fell in love with him.  He would pet him and try to play fetch with him and take him on walks and look after him in every way a 6-year-old heart knows how.

There was this one time the family went for a walk, and as they were coming back towards home, Tucker decided to run with all his heart across the wide-open field.  Now the little boy Nate tried best as he could to keep up as he held tightly to the leash, but the sprightly lab was too much for him, sending Nate crashing into the beanstalks as Tucker finally freed his leash from Nate’s grasp, freeing him to run full force into the big world ahead.

Though some little boys would fear ever again trying to hold on to such a free-spirited companion, Nate loved nothing more than to take Tucker for a walk.  Again, the family was on an outing, this time to some headwater in the creek bottoms just down from their house.  So as the children played and splashed and got wonderfully muddy, the mom took special care of the dog who was just itching to get in on the fun.  Soon Nate takes hold of the leash and all is well for a bit. 

Something suddenly snapped in that dog’s mind and he spun and took off as fast as he could toward the other end of the water to the great unknown of the road that lay beyond.  And again, Nate held tight as he could and tried his best to keep up, but to no avail.  And all I remember seeing was a very large dog dragging a very loving boy through rocks and mud until finally Nate could hold on no longer.

So as I was wading the water as fast as I possibly could to the safety of my hysterical son, I realized he was most terrified that Tucker would get away and be gone for good.  Though he was badly banged up,  the pain of losing his dog far outweighed the beating his body had endured.   So he managed to get up and follow me and his siblings as we chased the dog down, until finally daddy came to the rescue in the truck, retrieving canine, children, and rather frazzled wife.

Fast-forward numerous months.  Nate has become the primary caregiver for Tucker, letting him loose, putting him back in his pen, playing with him for countless hours, imagining they will grow up together for years to come in this big wide world. 

The morning is as any other morning.  As Nate goes out to feed his chickens, he first lets Tucker loose.  All is well, even as Nate and his sister get on the bus for another week of school.  I go back into the house and begin some morning chores, eventually making my way into his sister’s room to start my first big job for the day, sorting out winter clothes and bringing in the spring.  Caleb comes, rather calmly into the room and states that someone has run over something and he thinks our dog is lying in the middle of the road. 

Caleb is known for grandiose stories, so I immediately question him as I walk to the front room, only to look out on the road to see Tucker indeed lying still in the gravel.  About that time I see my husband coming toward the house.  Not knowing that our friend, who was unfortunate enough to be the one that Tucker ran out in front of, had went to get Daniel, I start flagging Daniel to slow down because I fear he is on an errand and won’t see Tucker and will hit him again. 

Questioning Caleb later, he tells me at first he thought there was a lamb lying in the road for some reason until he figured out maybe it was our dog.  And Tucker had been eating scraps in the front ditch when he heard our friend’s truck coming and jumped up to chase it. 

Daniel decided to wait to bury him until Nate had a chance to see him one last time.  So I went out and petted my good ole boy and wept for the loss, not just that I felt, but that I knew would pound floods of grief upon my little boy.

All day I kept busy until it was finally close to time for the kids to get home on the bus.  I waited on the front porch to break the news.  Nate was shocked, in disbelief at first.  As I explained what happened, he immediately went to the side of the porch to look for Tucker’s pen, hoping beyond all hope I was joking and he’d find his best friend there as usual, waiting for Nate to let him out so they could play together forever.

And then it hit.  The tears could not be dammed anymore.  And as the grief of the boy’s heart overflowed, I held him tightly in my arms knowing this was really just the beginning.  Just the beginning of more heartache and loss and suffering that we must all endure in this world.  Not because God enjoys punishment, but because He wants us, me and you and this little boy’s heart, more than anything, and he’ll go to great lengths to bring us home. 

Just like when Nate was so tearful that Tucker would be gone for good, even after Tucker had drug him through the muck and the mire.  Our God too is so tearful that we might be gone for good, even after we’ve drug his name through the muck and the mire.  But he loves us, even more than the little boy loves his dog.  And he watches us too as we run full speed away, hoping beyond all hopes that we might stop, and turn around, and come back home.

I took Nate out to pet Tucker one last time and tell him goodbye.  Then I held his hand as we walked back to the house.  I let him go to his room for a while, to have some time to himself.  When I checked on him, I found him snuggled on his bed with a stuffed animal still crying. 

Fortunately, children are resilient.  Eventually he came out to do his homework, and even went outside to play.  But while we buried Tucker, he sat on his swing and watched from a distance, knowing his friend was gone for good.

The good news is that though Nate and Tucker remind me a lot of our Father who watches over us and wants nothing more than to do life together, they are not the same.  Nate will never see Tucker again.  He will never play fetch with Tucker again.  Tucker is dead, and that is his end.  We on the other hand do not have to end when death comes a knockin’.  If we choose wisely, we will play together forever with our Master.

I told Nate that God understands our hurts, and that if he would just reach out to God and ask him for comfort, God could help him through this.  And as I went to check on Nate just a bit ago, he is peacefully sleeping, and I know God will be his strength, so all is well, or at least as well as it gets in this troubled world.  Nate will be sad for quite some time, and this will be forever implanted into his story of life, but he will grow stronger for the loss, for in our weakness, Christ is made strong.

Because once upon a time there was a boy.  A rather special boy.  And this rather special boy had a rather special father.  And because of that rather special father, he knew what it means to lose what you love, but to keep on loving because the relationship earned is worth it all.  And so this mom is praying harder than ever that her rather special boy will come to personally know this rather special boy, so we can ALL play together forever in our Father’s House someday.

Blah

All three are tucked snuggly into bed, cuddled with warm, fuzzy blankets and favorite animal friends.  All is settled in for the night, all except me.

It’s been this way for days now.  I just can’t quite settle into anything.  I fill my days with tasks that need done, but no day leaves me feeling satisfied with the work accomplished.  It’s like I’m forgetting to do something very important and I spend all day taxing my brain trying to remember what I should be rushing to get to.  And it’s quite unnerving.

I’m slipping back into unemotional days.  Days where I’m going through the motions but nothing excites me, nothing sparks my passion, nothing.  And I’m responsible enough to at least keep going moving, but my heart knows all is not as it should be.  There’s something more waiting, perhaps.  Or perhaps it’s right beneath my nose and I just can’t see it, or feel it, or grasp it.  Or perhaps I am ignoring it. . .

I took a bike ride today.  I thought it might help.  I went around our country block, which means I rode a couple miles on gravel roads.  And yes it felt good to get some fresh air and exercise.  But still no real awakening.

So now I’m writing.  Will this perhaps stir in my soul some new spark?  Doubtful.  All it’s really serving is a hard-core appetite for sleep.  I am feeling rather tired.

Tired of the current ebbs and flows.  Tired of ministries that seem pointless because nothing seems to work.  Tired of mediocre days filled with normal business.  Even normal appointments with God have become just that-normal. 

But deep inside I want to fly.  I want to dream big and explode brilliantly.  I want to write the words that speak a thousand miles to kindle deadened, cold hearts, including mine.  I want to serve Him.  And not just an obligatory service, but a passionate outpouring that begins so deep that as it wells further to my surface, I cannot begin to explain it or contain it.

But for now, I’m still tired.  I think I’ll take a shower and go to bed.  Maybe tomorrow’s motions will lead to a stirring within.  But if not, there’s always another day, right?

I wrote this post the other day.  The next day, here was my morning devotion:

"God's desire for you is that you be emotionally stable, consistent, reliable, and even in your temperament.  He desires for your physical needs to be satisfied.  He desires for your spiritual life to be balanced and growing.  His will is never for one of His children to be on an emotional, physical, or spiritual roller coaster of extreme highs and lows.  Rather, He desires that you be in balance and that you be able to confront both positive and negative situations with a consistency of joy, love, and peace."  -Charles Stanley

God's timing.  I love it, though sometimes I am tempted to scowl upon it.  He tells me exactly what I need exactly when I need it.  And that is one of the many reasons I love Him.  He's good to my heart, bringing joy, love, and peace, even when I try to pass the current day off as only a passageway to another normal, not-good-for-much, mediocre day.  For God reminds me in that moment that He is anything BUT mediocre.