Crying Out

I was so mad.

All I wanted was a picture to capture the sixth birthday of my oldest child.

All I wanted was for everyone to just cooperate. Sit still. Smile. Please just at least pretend that we are all having a good time.

He wouldn't listen to me. He didn't want to sit still; he wanted his mommy.

I was so mad.

Looking at this picture now... with the perspective of eight years, an understanding of autism, and episodes of his life and struggles that play randomly through my mind...all I want to do is go back in time.

I want to tell my old self to put the camera down. To tell all the kids to go have fun playing with the new toys. I want to tell Joseph that one day soon I will know how hard it was for him to have so many kids around him...to deal with the noise and the commotion. I want to scoop my two year old baby up in my arms and tell him that I will never, ever, leave him.

I think of all the times, after this party and after the diagnosis, when I layed next to him on the floor as he screamed for me to help him with something I couldn't understand. To fix something I couldn't see...crying with him because I felt so helpless.

This is the saddest photo I own. He needed me, and I didn't care. I just wanted the pretty picture. The fact that he was crying out for me was just a huge nuisance.

As much as I hate this picture, as much as it reminds me of my failures, I am also reminded of the One who always hears us.

Each time I look at it, I think to myself that there are times in my life where this is what I must have looked like to God. Crying out to Him...reaching for Him...needing Him to pick me up and carry me because everything was just too much.

Except He always listens to our cries.

"Hear my cry, O God;
listen to my prayer.

From the ends of the earth I call to you,
I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I.
For you have been my refuge,
a strong tower against the foe." (Psalm 61:1-2 NIV)

"Cast all your anxiety on him because He cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7 NIV)

“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10 NLT)

It's too late for me to change the choices I made and the feelings I had in 2003. I could only allow it to change me as a person going forward.

And on the days where it seems like the past or the present wants to drag me into despair, I remember that I can always cry out to my Father. (Deut. 31:6a)

It's About the Cross

I'll never forget the feeling that washed over me as I sat in the health office of my college. It was January of 1996 and I was a sophomore at SUNY Cortland, living up college life as a somewhat reclusive 19 year old. (Right, Holly? ;) ) What many didn't know was that I was also in the tenacious grip of anorexia...a horrible attempt to control something when my life felt like it was slipping from my hands. My health had gotten pretty bad, and I finally reached the point where going to a doctor was more necessary than hiding my secret.

Within moments of arriving, a ketone test betrayed me. "What have you been eating?" the nurse asked.
"Carrots." (One) "A Sandwich..." (Lie) "I am eating fine, just maybe a touch of the flu or something." (Lie)
"We're going to run a pregnancy test, just as a precaution," the nurse said, patting my hand.
"I'm not pregnant. There's no way I could be." (Lies...more lies)

And that test betrayed me, too. I sat there waiting for forever. When the nurse returned, she brought two women with her. Apparently it's hard to tell a teenager that her life as she knew it is over.

"What are you going to do?" they asked me, as if I should have any idea.

I can imagine what I must have looked like. Twisting my fingers in my lap, I threw up a wall and smiled. "It will be fine." (Lie) "I just have to tell my boyfriend."

Two thousand years before I received the news that would change my life forever, another girl was told the same:

"Now in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the descendants of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary.

"The angel said to her, 'Do not be afraid, Mary; for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name Him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David; and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and His kingdom will have no end.'

"Mary said to the angel, 'How can this be, since I am a virgin?'

"The angel answered and said to her, 'The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called the Son of God.'" (Luke 1:26-27, 30-35)

Immaculate Conception. (Truth)
Her life changed in an instant...and I can imagine, Mary might have said, "It will be fine." (Truth)

She just had to tell her boyfriend.

Mary committed no sin and was chosen by God to carry His Son. It took an angel visiting Joseph to convince him that she had not been unfaithful.

"And Joseph her husband, being a righteous man and not wanting to disgrace her, planned to send her away secretly. But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, 'Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.'" (Matthew 1:19-21)

I reaped the consequences of my sin. My life changed. My world, for a while, grew smaller. I conquered anorexia after being told my baby was not growing as she should be. I walked down the wedding aisle five months pregnant and Steve and I launched into the dance of trying to grow up while trying to raise a child. There were days when I didn't think our marriage would make it. There were even days when I wondered how I could keep going.

But being born wasn't the most amazing thing that Jesus did. Performing miracles, healing, calming the storm...it all pales in comparison to what He did when He offered up His sinless life on the cross so that our sins would be covered.

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believe in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." (John 3:16)

One year after my baby was born, I was saved through the grace of Mary's Son. My life didn't suddenly become perfect, but I was filled with a Hope and the knowledge that God loved me.

By His love, we are connected.

Christmas is about the cross.

Called

A couple of my best friends arrived in Texas yesterday. It is the beginning of the end of one phase of their lives, and the end of the beginning of a journey that many people really don't understand. In fact, as supportive as I have been of them (because I love them) and as hard as I tried to understand (because I love Christ), it wasn't until recently that I really GOT it.

My friends are in Texas with their two small children because they need to buy a house. They need to buy a house because they have sold or given away most of what they own here in Wisconsin in order to follow the calling that God has clearly placed on them to go and share the gospel with the people in and near Monterrey, Mexico.

God called them, and they went.

It hasn't been easy. There have been many tears shed...their friends are here, their families are here. But God so clearly called them that they knew their only choice was complete obedience.

They go to join my friend's cousin, who is a pastor in a church that he has built with missions teams near Monterrey. I spent some time with him this weekend, as he is in the states for a few weeks. He is an amazing man. His wife stayed in Mexico, and twice when we were visiting with him, he got a phone call from her detailing an abduction near their church...it is dangerous territory.

My flesh says, "Leave! Go be safe somewhere....anywhere!" But where would that leave the people of these towns? How would that fulfill the commandment that God has give for us to go and make disciples of all the nations? (Matthew 28:19)

More than anything else, what sought me to look for answers was the overwhelming peace I see within my friends and my pastor friend. Are there concerns? Yes. Worries? Sinfully....sometimes. But peace....the underlying peace...the peace that surpasses all understanding...the peace is there. (Phil. 4:4-8)

Then I read this quote from an amazing book that is changing my life. I encourage everyone to read it. The name of the book is Radical: Taking Back your Faith from the American Dream by David Platt.

Your life is free to be radical when you see death as reward. This is the essence of what Jesus taught in Matthew 10, and I believe it is the key to taking back your faith from the American dream.
The key is realizing-and believing-that this world is not your home. If you and I ever hope to free our lives from worldly desires, worldly thinking, worldly pleasures, worldly dreams, worldly ideals, worldly values, worldly ambitions, and worldly acclaim, them we must focus our lives on another world. Though you and I live in the United States of America now, we must fix our attention on "a better country-a heavenly one." Though you and I find ourselves surrounded by the lure of temporary pleasure, we must fasten our affections on the one who promises eternal treasure that will never spoil or fade. If your life or my life is going to count on earth, we must start by concentrating on heaven. For then, and only then, will you and I be free to take radical risk, knowing that what awaits us is radical reward. (pg 179)

This speaks to me on so many levels. It makes me realize that I have spent the majority of my Christian life focusing on the benefits of my earthly life...and fearing death because it ends what I have here. But if, instead, I focus my eyes heavenward...not looking for death, but ceasing to be afraid of it...if I trust that my Heavenly Father will bring me home only in His perfect timing...what good can I do here for Him?

It is a scary thing, to truly say...."Here am I, send me." (Isaiah 6:8) To MEAN it when we say it. He might call us to our community. He might call us within our country. He might call us to give up everything and be a light to His people in a country we barely know exists. He might call us to die for His names sake.

My friends are called, and are being blessed because of their obedience. My prayer for myself and my family is that we are open to God's calling in our lives.

Radical seems to be the new "buzz word." But truly, Christ has been radical since the day He was conceived. Maybe what is actually "radical" is our obedience to His teachings.

Dear Heavenly Father, I pray that you would make your will clear in our lives. I pray for the missionaries who have followed your calling, that you would place a hedge of protection around them as they seek to minister to others. Lord, I specifically pray for my friends and for the ministry in Mexico...I pray that you will use them mightily. Thank you, Lord, that we live in a country where we are free to pray and worship openly. Thank you for the countless blessings bestowed on us here...help us to see the needs elsewhere. Amen.

Ripples

"Dear Lord," I prayed, "help them to see that if they are feeling bitterness and anger, it isn't from You. For the fruits of the spirit are love, peace, gentleness..."

What about you?

"Huh? What about me? I'm praying about other people's problems, I'm not talking about myself! I don't have problems with bitterness and anger, look how forgiving I've been. See?"

What about this?

"Oh. That. Well. Yeah."

Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ and behold, the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:3-5)

Sometimes I hate those verses.

But I have learned to take notice when God taps me on the shoulder.

It's hard to pray for an end to bitterness when I'm the problem. Bitterness is the love child of hurt and anger. You can't get rid of it without getting at the parents...and hurt and anger are stubborn tenants.

I'm a hypocrite if I pray for others to forgive if I won't.

So I prayed again, "Lord, I can't do this on my own. I shut myself down because rejection hurts so badly. But hiding the pain from myself and justifying the bitterness is still sin. I'm sorry, God. Help me love this person who has wounded me. Open my heart. I give my anger and bitterness to you, and I forgive this person for hurting me. Forgive me for waiting so long. Amen."

I opened one eye first as if the world was going to look a little different. Everything was still the same...no earth shattering result to a prayer I should have prayed years ago. But, deep inside, I felt it...a small sprout from the seed of peace.

It's going to take a while to heal. I might get wounded again. But my heart is clean and I am right with my Father. That's what matters.

So I reached out to the person who I'd crafted a bitter fortress around. "I care about you."

She responded. "Thank you."

Two hours later, I got a phone call from another friend who also had a fractured relationship with this person. This fracture was the subject of many of my most fervent prayers over the last couple months.

"I heard from her," my friend said. "Out of the blue she called and told me she cares about me."

Tears.

It's what grace does. It's what God does. Just like a stone thrown in the water causes ripples across the surface...touching areas you would never assume would be affected. God used my obedience in forgiving and reaching out to the person who hurt me to help her see who she needed to reach out to. And in doing so, one of my prayers was answered. Ripples.

Ripples of forgiveness; a circle of healing that started with a prayer and grew.

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap." (Galatians 6:7)


"Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." (Ephesians 4:32)

Fostering Butterflies

Often it is the teachers that are taught.

My friend Linda appeared randomly at my front door almost two months ago. This, in and of itself, is not unusual. The randomness with which my good friend comes and goes through the pages of my story is one of the things I love about her.

What was unusual about this particular instance, is that she did not come alone. She came bearing two Monarch butterfly friends.

"I have caterpillars at home," she whispered. "Want to? It would be so much fun for your kids to watch them go through their stages."

I don't know that I was necessarily jumping up and down with excitement, but I was game.

And so Little Bob and Jewel entered our lives. Little Bob was a few days ahead in his development compared to Jewel, who was probably only two centimeters long.

So these little creatures became the focus of our kitchen. We fed them milkweed, made sure their leaves didn't dry out too quickly, and even took care of their little-caterpillar-droppings. And every day, they grew.

It was fascinating to watch their transformation. One morning Little Bob was hanging upside down from the top of the jar, curled into a shape like a J. Three days later, Jewel joined him.

And then they were gone...all that remained of them were two green acorn-shaped tubes.

Days passed...days and days.

Until...



Little Bob emerged, leaving Jewel to finish her own journey...



And soon, we awoke to her re-birth:



It was amazing what I learned from these butterflies. Sure, my children learned, too...science-type lessons that I assumed they would learn when Linda brought those tiny caterpillars to my door. But I learned so much more...as my friend knew I would, and as God knew I needed.

Because the season of caterpillars and butterflies just happened to coincide with six weeks of unending chronic pain for me. Pain that led to anxiety and panic unlike anything I had experienced since 2001.

God chose butterflies to teach me...

patience...
perseverance...
trust...
how to hang on...
and ultimately, that the best way to have control is to let go and let God take over.

The worry went away first. Thank you, God, that you made the pain last longer than I let the anxiety reign. Getting rid of the anxiety after the pain would have been easy...living with pain without anxiety takes faith.

Fostering butterflies taught me faith.

Reconnect

I heard from an old friend a few days ago. It had been more than a decade since we had last communicated; many of those years saw moments where I looked for him, searching for clues about the life and happiness of a boy-turned-man who had helped me through difficult moments in my young adult years.

My past and present collided when his name scrolled across my screen. To reach back...to hear about his life and his children...to open myself and give light to the teenager inside me that wished she'd had another chance to say thank you...I am so grateful.

As I was driving today, I thought about the vast number of people in this world who pray for re-connections. Not just friends, but family members...children, parents, siblings. My breath caught as I thought of the families who lost loved ones during 9/11...the knowledge that earthly connections ended so suddenly caused a rush of sympathy for a type of pain I can only imagine.

Then I thought...what about our Father? He loves us so much that even the hairs on our head are numbered. (Matthew 10:30) He created us and knit us together in our mother's womb. (Psalm 139:13) Yet how many of us have chosen to deny His existence? How many of us curse His name? And how many of us, those who have acknowledged and accepted Him, let days or weeks pass without reaching out to Him?

Are we connected?

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5)

The joy we feel when we reconnect with a friend or loved one pales in comparison to the joy God must feel when we look to Him and say, "Here I am, Lord."

Distance, time, circumstances out of our control, misunderstandings, and even death might separate us from those we love. But Jesus? "I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Joshua 1:5b)

If you need to reconnect....He's only a whisper away.

The Bridge

I've always been scared of bridges. The small ones that tend to wobble just a bit when you cross them; the old rickety bridges that you just know are going to be replaced or shut down shortly; and especially the long and incredibly high bridges that span large rivers as we drive across the country.

I think that my trepidatious relationship with bridges spawns from my fear of heights, but I think even more so it is born out of my desire for control. Imagine being eight months pregnant and trapped in a traffic jam on a mile long bridge that, in your mind, only has an end because common sense dictates it. Heights and loss of control wrapped into one not-so-pretty package.

So, knowing this about me, you might be surprised to learn that I spent this morning lying in the middle of a wooden bridge. Now, the bridge was approximately twenty feet long, not a mile. And the ground below the bridge was probably eight feet below...and covered in soft grass. But, still. I was lying in the middle of a bridge.

I walked across it first. I jumped a little to test the strength of the wood. I peeked over the edge. I sat down carefully and slowly stretched myself across its crest. And though my initial purpose was solely to "Be", it didn't take very long before God used it to teach me.

I knew the wood was strong. I was sure it would support me. The contruction and very essence of the bridge was solid. But I had to push away the shadow of fear that tickled my mind with doubt..."You could fall."

And, as it often does, suddenly my present situation collided directly with my spiritual weakness.

We know God is strong. "My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation. He is my stronghold, my refuge and my Savior." (2nd Samuel 22:3)

We know God will support us. "In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation." (1 Peter 5:10 NLT)

We know God is solid. "Who but our God is a solid rock?" (2nd Samuel 22:32b NLT); "Nevertheless, God's solid foundation stands firm, sealed with this inscription: 'The Lord knows those who are his.'" (2 Timothy 2:19a NLT)

We know all of this. But the fear, disguised as doubt, still winds itself through us. We fight Him for control. We think if we're in charge of the details, we can control the outcome. We remember His promises, but we don't rely on them. That small voice whispers, "What if I fall?"

We aren't going to fall.

As surely as that bridge supported my body, He holds us.

When I finally allowed myself to relax, there was such freedom in the trust. I am learning. One step at a time I am figuring this important lesson out.

"Faith, not fear."

"God is in control."

I am getting there.

So despite the sun that was beating down on me; regardless of my friends who were throwing grapes at me from the balcony above; the lesson was loud and clear:

Trust Him.

aixelsyD

I took my almost-eleven year old daughter in for testing this week. I don't have enough space on this blog to talk about all the things she has struggled with...mostly revolving around reading and academics. She even repeated the second grade because her reading just wasn't progressing. And recently, as her younger sister Shaylee started learning how to read (and picked it up quickly) we realized that there was Really Something Wrong.

It's so interesting in such a frustrating way. I have thought a lot about the year and a half between when Joseph started acting strangely, provoking the first whispers of "autism", and his diagnosis. A lot of the reason that time passed was because we were in denial. Why? Because we didn't know enough about it. We thought of it as Rain Man, obsessed with numbers and flapping arms. We didn't know about spectrums and regressions, or obsessions and echolalia.

Now we have Aliegha. Of course we know about dyslexia. But to me, dyslexia is about reading and writing words backwards. And Aliegha doesn't do that, she never has. Sure she messes up a "b" and a "d" once in a while, but otherwise the words are completely misspelled in the mostly-correct order.

But the testing shows she DOES have dyslexia. And once again, I am left with the knowledge that it is actually rare for a child with this condition to do the very thing I thought the condition consisted of. Instead they do things like omit letters and sounds when reading, skip over small words like "a, an, the", and read very, very slowly...and painfully. All things that Aliegha has done for years. And there is more...attention lapses, memory lapses, academic "laziness" (How would we look if we couldn't read the directions or the problems on the workbook page???).

It was dyslexia all this time. And I didn't help her. I didn't know.

I feel all those same grief and guilt stages I did with Joseph....denial, anger, shock, bargaining, frustration...I find myself trying to put the blame somewhere so I don't look at the finger pointing at me.

Of course I know there wasn't REALLY anything I could do. But I feel like I should have seen it. I am a warrior for my children with special needs. There isn't a book I won't read or a therapy I won't investigate. And meanwhile, arming myself with alphabet soup knowledge...ASD, PTSD, RAD, SID...I missed the dyslexia, I missed three years of time that I could have fought for her.

But I know now. And God has been with us every step of the way. From choosing homeschooling curriculum weeks ago that "happens" to be one of the best programs for children with dyslexia, to giving a spirit of peace, acceptance and happiness to Aliegha so that I would see not condemnation in my daughter's eyes...but just pure and utter relief.

So I have to try not to look back and examine every disciplinary action and academic decision. I have to try to let go of the guilt and focus that time and energy on moving forward and putting another layer of my mommy-fight gloves on. Because Jeremiah 29:11 promises us a hope and a future....and plans that are known by the One who loves Aliegha more than I ever could imagine.

We might have lost three years....or five...but we have a lifetime ahead of us.

Missing them...

There are devotions brewing in my head, words jumbling and sorting themselves out when my brain takes more than half a second to relax. But it isn't there....yet.

For the past nine days, Steve and Kahlan have been in Costa Rica for a high school spanish trip. They are having a blast...learning about wild looking creatures like this one...


Kahlan has always loved adventure, and this has been an amazing experience for her. She went ziplining through the rainforest, visited waterfalls like this one...

And generally has done things that she could never have imagined. This experience particularly disturbed her sister Kayanna, who is deathly afraid of birds...


But I think, now that it has been nine days, they are ready to come home. I can't wait to have them here again. Only about 36 hours left...

Hopefully the bugs stay in Costa Rica and don't hitch a ride here!

Living It...

I am living my next blog entry right now. My mom was hospitalized four days ago with dangerously low sodium levels that caused many problems. It has been an emotional week, and I have learned so much during these days.
She should be discharged tomorrow. I can't wait to share our experience with you.

Careless

This is the scripture verse that greeted me this morning:

"But I tell you that every careless word that people speak, they shall give an accounting for it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned." (Matthew 12:36-37)

Yikes.

I've had way too many careless words lately. Careless whispers, careless reprimanding. We are in the adjustment phase of the-kids-are-back-home. I know that every summer starts rough, and by the end of August I wish more than anything that they didn't have to go back to school. But man, the beginning is hard on all of us.

I need to watch my words. I need to think before I speak. I need to remember that not only in my parenting, but in my friendships and my role as a wife, I am accountable for what I say. It's amazing how careless words can hurt.

Being quiet is an art form I haven't quite mastered yet.

Unknown

I spent yesterday in a clinic about two hours from home. It was time for Joseph to meet again with his pediatric neuropsychologist. It is the appointment that worries me the most...this man having the diagnostic tools to truly tell me where Joseph stands among his peers and, possibly, give me that elusive glimpse into his Future.

The testing took four hours. Joseph was such a trooper, and when he came out for his snack break, he told me, "I'm doing awesome, Mom!"

I met with the doctor after the tests were concluded. He said that Joseph is a rare case. (Those who know him know that, for sure!) He said that a lot of times predictions can be made at around 10 or 11 years old as far as how far a child with autism will typically go. (Autism and Asperger's being decidedly different in that way.)

But Joseph, he said, is more of an unknown. His cognitive skills far outweigh how he tested yesterday academically. He said that they could tell that Joseph was rushing through, so though his skills tested at low-average, he thinks that based on his cognitive testing, the skills are much higher.

How I loved the word, "Unknown." It's like being a child and asking your parents for something, and just hoping that, at the very least, they will say, "Maybe." Maybe is so full of possibilities and hope. It's a possible yes. And that's what we got yesterday. Possibly, yes.

I found a picture of Joseph from During a few weeks ago. If I find it again, I will post it here. The Autism diagnosis hadn't happened yet, but his symptoms were in full force. I was in denial. I tried to put the kids in our extended family on the couch for a picture. Everyone looks happy except my two year old Joseph. He is screaming...reaching for me as if to say, "Please, please, I can't do this!"

I didn't know. And so I made him sit there, and now I have this image captured on film, the very raw center of his struggle.

Back then, I didn't want to hear, "Unknown." I think that is why I was in denial for so long. But now, loving my son for who he is and what he brings to my life, Unknown is pure joy.

Will Joseph be independent? Will he marry and have children? Will he have a job and be happy with his position in life?

Possibly, Yes.

New Format

It hardly seems possible that I started this blog almost two years ago. I remember still so clearly how God impressed upon my heart the need to come here and write. I remember feeling aghast at the thought of keeping up with my entries for one whole year! And yet here we are.

This blog has turned into something different from what it started as. I meant it to be a blog that chronicled my daily walk with Him, an account of how an insanely busy mom of seven (now ten) says," Yes!" to all that God wants her to be. In time, my perfectionist self took over. It became more of a devotional blog than a conversational blog. Certainly nothing wrong with that, except that my entries became more bi-monthly than daily.

So I am going to try something different. A combining of what it was and what it is.

I am going to try to write daily. When the post is a devotion, I'll label it as such. Also, though I have so far always posted on Facebook when an entry was completed, I will only do that for the devotional posts. So if you want to see the daily entries, you'll have to come here for those.

My daughter Kahlan will also do some guest blogging. She is an amazing writer and has given her life wholeheartedly to Jesus. I am trying to convince her to do her own blog geared toward kids her age, but this will be a stepping stone to that. I will label her devotions or posts specifically, also.

So there we are. Come along and walk with me. I'm going to do my best to share my life with you without agonizing over every word choice and metaphor. We'll save those for When the Mood Strikes. :)

Grieving

My cell phone rang as we drove down the road. Looking back on it now, the familiar ringtone separated three of my daughters' lives into yet another Before and After.

As the details of the phone call ripped through me, I waved at Steve to pull the van over on the side of the highway so I could talk without our children hearing. I wrenched open the door and jumped into the long grass next to us. "I'm so sorry," I repeated over and over again as I cried with the woman who I have come to love like a sister. "I'm so sorry."

The parallel of my life and the life of my girls' birthparents, in that moment, came crashing together.

Because at two or three o'clock in the morning, as we slept soundly in our beds, my daughters' birthfather climbed out of his bed in the camper he was staying in. Unable to sleep, he turned to drugs for comfort.

At around five o'clock in the morning, as the sun peeked over the horizon and I began to stir, my daughters' birthmother woke to the gentle sound of her husband's snoring. Comforted that he was okay, she drifted off again.

At around seven or eight o'clock in the morning, as we began racing around the house to get ready and out the door to church, my daughters' birthfather stopped breathing and left this world.

At eleven o'clock in the morning, as we left church and chatted with friends, my daughters' birthmother went to wake her husband and discovered that though he still lay next to her, he was no longer there.

Husband. Son. Grandson. Friend. Uncle. Cousin. Nephew. Son-in-Law. Brother. Father.

Heart-wrenching grief.

We drove in shock to a friend's house and then home. Wrestling with how and when to tell the girls, wishing beyond anything that we could protect them from the hurt they would feel.

Steve and I went and sat with the girls' birthmother for two hours and helped her cry. It was a rocky relationship they had, but its foundation was a deep love and loyalty for each other.

Hours later as we sat our girls down and cried with our children, I reflected on this verse:

"Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.' Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." (James 4:13-14)

His death left a lot of regrets in a lot of people, including myself. We can't go back and change the past, but we can change the choices we make in the future. That letter I meant to write him five months ago when I thought I had forever to write it? That opportunity is gone. But I can take that hurt and weave it into the peace and resolution that will come from future words that I will make sure get written or said when they need to be.

The pain and regret left in those closest to him will help heal broken relationships. People are coming together that haven't spoken in years. Because Charlie's death has reminded us how fragile life here can be. And no matter how deep the anger, how searing the bitterness, how broken the bridges...nothing is worth living the rest of our lives with the knowledge that we can never go back and make things right.

I pray that as so many of Charlie's family and friends work on just putting one foot in front of the other today, that you may have friendships and relationships that will heal because of our experiences. Ephesians 4:26b says, "Do not let the sun go down on your anger." As we reflect on the good times in his life, as we celebrate who he really was, I pray that you will be reaching out to someone in your life who needs forgiveness, or whom you need to ask forgiveness from. The healing of reconciliation is so much better than the weight of regret.

Thank you for your prayers for my girls and for Charlie's family.

As Dandelions

"Mommy, look what I got you!"

Wide, blue eyes twinkling beneath a tangle of long, blond hair. Dirt caked on fingers wrapped lovingly, carefully, around three beautiful dandelions.

"I picked them just for you! Here, Mommy, take them..."

She's gone in a flash, my sweet, five year old Aimee. Off to the gorgeous green fields where the dandelion harvest seems limitless.

I tuck the gift in my pocket, sparing a second for a mental notation of water and vases and the perfect spot on the counter.

Time passes, as it does. "Don't climb too high; don't run too fast; be careful, your brother is swinging there; say sorry." The moments that seem to last forever until we look back on them and wonder how they passed so quickly.

Hours later, my hand reaches into my pocket. It's a quiet moment, the stillness reminding me of my treasure.

Pulling them out, I feel a tug of disappointment. I waited too long...the vibrant yellows and greens blending and fading; the flowers' faces curled inward. It isn't the first time I hide dandelions in trash bags.

So many lessons that could be twisted and turned and made to seem like a pretty version of what dandelions taught me today. The truth is ugly to me.

I haven't been plugging in like I need to. I haven't been turning to His Word like I know I should. Like crossing the desert and "not having time" to open the canteen; I'm so thirsty I feel like a shadow of myself. The world just has that funny way of making itself too important. Or maybe I have a funny way of making the world too important.

We need to be connected to the vine. "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me, and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." (John 15:5)

He is as necessary to us as water and sunlight are to that field of flowers. He doesn't want to be our 911 operator, or the one we turn to when there isn't any one left. He wants to be our First. He wants to be our Father. And that means our relationship has to be more than good intentions.

It's too late for those dandelions... but thank you, God, for your grace that means it's not too late for me.

Hydrate

When my leg buckled beneath me, it should have been a sign.

When my brain was screaming, "Enough! Enough! Enough!" I should have listened.

Instead, I kept going. It was my first run of the year, and it felt SO good. What was supposed to be a nice and easy mile quickly turned into three. Finally, at the top of my street, I slowed to a walk.

I almost didn't make it any further.

Buzzing zipped through my head, clouding my vision. My legs felt like rubber and my lips and tongue vibrated eerily. My first thought was, "I'm not going to make it home."

My second was, "God, please help me make it home."

By God's grace, putting one foot in front of another, I made it to my house. I'd tried in vain to call my husband for help, but I couldn't get the phone to work. Nothing made sense in my head.

Steve ushered me inside quickly and gave me water and a stern look. (Not in that order.) Though I started to feel better, dizziness and nausea soon crashed over me. As Steve ushered me into the van to drive to the Emergency Room, I knew I was in trouble.

By the time I reached the ER, my heart rate was 133. My legs were cramped into knots, my body was shaking violently, and I couldn't open my eyes without the room swimming.

"We're going to start an IV, this looks like a pretty bad case of dehydration," the nurse murmured as he connected electrodes to my chest. "That heart rate needs to come down."

So I did the only thing I knew I could do to calm my heart: I prayed. The words came to me effortlessly, "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:6-7)

Over and over again I prayed that verse. As I prayed, my heart slowed down...130, 122, 118, 109...

"Excuse me," another nurse interrupted, preparing me for the IV fluids.

Immediately my heart raced again.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, through prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus.

133, 127, 115, 108...

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything...

114, 107, 101...

Be anxious for nothing...

105, 98, 93...

And the peace of God...

96, 92, 85...

I fell asleep in that hospital bed praying that verse. God's peace, the peace He promises us even though it surpasses any understanding, washed over me. When I woke up, I felt so much better.

Apparently, we shouldn't run long distances when we are dehydrated. I learned that lesson the hard way.

We also shouldn't run the roads of life without being hydrated with God's Word. I didn't have time to grab my Bible on the way to the hospital. Even if I'd had it, I couldn't open my eyes to read it. But I didn't need to; I had His Word hidden in my heart.

We need to read it, meditate on it, memorize it. We don't know when something might happen where we need His promises planted within us.

When we hydrate with the Living Water, our thirst will truly be quenched.

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”

“Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did also his sons and his livestock?”

Jesus answered, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:10-14)

Belonging

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't want to belong.

A person, a family, a club, a sport...if I wasn't welcome, if it didn't exist or it wasn't compatible with my interests, I created it myself.

I didn't have a lot of grace or finesse as a child, so that pretty much left me to my own devices.

The very first record I have of this desire is an autograph book scrawled in my seven-year-old handwriting: "Gretchen - no onions. Vikki - none. Emily - blueberries." (Because apparently, in the course of creating a club of first graders, it is important to know about allergies.) The club never materialized, becoming the first of many failed attempts to have something I could call my own.

After Stephen King's book "IT" came out, I gathered neighborhood children to search the sewers of our development for the creature from the book. I remember so clearly standing on my front porch as a twelve year old girl, a notebook of "plans" in my hand, wishing with every fiber of my being that we would find something...not because of the adventure of it, but because if it was real then the kids would all bind together in the pursuit of conquering evil. I just wanted to belong.

As I became an adolescent, it got crazier. As a junior in high school I formed a team of boys and told them all about the dreams I had: dreams where we populated the planet Kraz and ruled nations together. Except I convinced them (or tried to) that it was real. Maybe they went along with me because they wanted to belong to something as much as I did. Maybe they saw a girl who hurt so badly she couldn't even exist without an alternate reality and didn't have the heart to leave her alone. Whatever the reasons, I will always remember what it felt like to sit at the table in the library and draw maps and make plans for that night's journey.

In addition to my inane fantasies, I tried typical methods: sports, choir, boys. Like flashes of light I would be satisfied for momentary periods and then plunge into darkness when they ended.

I know that the only thing that kept me from ending my life was the thought of my future husband and children. To me, that was permanent. Someday I would never be alone.

I thank God that He brought Steve to me when I was 17. I don't know that I would have made it much longer, my depression and self-loathing at that point being almost unbearable. Steve came in as a rock. He was impressed by my fantasy-world, of stories of spirit guardians and other lives, but his reality stayed strong. He taught me that being in this world could be a good thing; that I could be a good thing in this world. I opened my heart to him, knowing that I was exposing the vulnerable side of me that I had manufactured everything to protect. And he still loved me. And I belonged with him.

We married, and I accepted Christ a year later. The thought that God loved me despite my failures; that He wanted to forgive me for all the things I had done that crushed me with guilt...it was this realization that made me give my life to Him. You would think that it would have struck me then that I belonged to God; the ultimate relationship that would never, ever fail me. But it didn't.

Having the security of my marriage with Steve, having begun the terrifying process of being the real me in the real world, I reached out again. Longing to share my life with friends, I launched myself into best friend after best friend. When I love, I love passionately; when I feel deeply rejected, I plummet just as extremely. And so friendship after friendship blossomed and exploded; a roller coaster of flying and falling. Looking back, I know exactly why: I was wrapping the very essence of my self-worth around how much people wanted to love me.

In 2000 I did it again: feeling hurt over something that was so small in hindsight, I walked away from a good friend and also a group of friends that I had started a book club with. Wounded by the rejection I had fabricated for myself, I withdrew. I spent years without deep friendships, taking that time to explore who I was in Christ and with Steve. When I came out of my "hibernation," I was more grounded. I no longer felt desperate for companionship; I knew that I could stand on my own. I began developing friendships that were meaningful again, experiencing for the first time what healthy friendships felt like.

Last month, I went to a baby shower for the one friend from the 2000 book club I had kept contact with. I knew that the other members had stayed together, and I had followed from afar the close knit group they had become. I was so nervous as I entered the house that I literally shook from it. I prayed, "Dear Lord, help me to remember that I am not the person they last saw anymore. Help them to see that I am no longer as they remember me." And He gave me peace, and I was fine.

Talking to my friend Rebecca later that day, I realized something that I should have understood years before. "I just miss being part of that group," I told her. "I miss the discussion, I miss the in-depth conversations, I miss sharing our lives together."

"But you have all of that," she said. "I thought that I would miss the intellectual conversations and fellowship I used to have in college, but after becoming a Christian I realized that now I have all that and more. Not only do I have fellowship, not only do I have awesome intellectual conversations, but they center around the most important thing in my life: our God. I might not be able to have some big literature conversation with you," she laughed, "but the heart of what you are yearning for is something you already have."

And she was totally right. I wanted friendships? I have sisters. Women who would drop everything to help me if I needed them. Women who tell me what I need to hear even when I don't want to. Women who pray with me when I'm in their presence and for me when I'm not. Women who love me for who I am.

As I stood in an amazing group of friends last night after we had watched a movie together, I soaked in the "belonging" feeling. But now, I put the credit where it is due.

It isn't that I finally took all the right steps to create the perfect "club". Some people who aren't Christians might think that's what it is. But I've tried every human way to manufacture this feeling, and it has never worked. I know it isn't me.

God longs for us to want to belong to Him. And when we throw ourselves at His feet and offer our life to Him, there's a family waiting for us. Brothers and sisters who belong to each other because we share the most important thing there is to share: eternity with a Father who gives us the ultimate belonging.

"He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:6b)


"The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you." (Deut. 31:8a)


"I will never leave you nor forsake you." (Joshua 1:5b)


"God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you." (Hebrews 13:5b)

In Her Words

My oldest daughter was baptized on Sunday.

At thirteen years old, she stood before the congregation and reflected on a difficult time she had last year; about being brought to her knees by the conviction of her actions. She talked about the difference between the knowledge of God she had before and the relationship with Him she has now.

Her faith is maturing every single day. Her commitment to Christ is visible not only in her choices, but in our house. So today, I bring you her words.

(Written by Kahlan and posted on her bedroom wall):

dear Lord,

help me spread Your fragrance wherever I go.

FLOOD my soul with Your Spirit & Life

Penetrate me, posess my whole being so utterly that every soul I come in contact with can FEEL Your presence.

Shine through me so my life can be a reflection of Yours.

Let me preach without preaching; not by words but by example, by the catching force; the sympathetic influence of what I do, the evident fullness of the love my heart bears for You.

Amen.

Saturated

Imagine, if you will, that I am a sponge.

I think I am sitting in the kitchen sink. Above me looms a huge faucet that is leaking water. Little droplets fall every few minutes right on top of me.

I don't know what it is about the last couple of weeks, but this image keeps coming to my mind. As little irritants that would normally roll off my back keep dropping into my life, I am getting angry.

Now that my sponge-self feels saturated, I am starting to leak the frustration I feel inside to the people around me.

Seeing the look on my children's faces when I snap at them for no reason made me realize that I can't continue like this. So rather than get angry about the fact that I am too angry, I am crying out to God:

Wring me out. Please.

"My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires." (James 1:19-20)

Please.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled..." (John 14:27a)

Letting go of anger is a choice. It doesn't go away on its own, in fact it grows and takes on life when allowed to root within us. Getting rid of it is going to mean granting forgiveness that I don't feel like granting, and it's going to mean accepting that I can't control the actions or hearts of other people.

It's times like these, when I feel so much like a child, that I realize how much I need my Father.

Plan "See"

I was drowning.

My body was on fire, stabbing pains echoed through my ribcage, an invisible weight was crushing my chest, and I was so weak that I had to consciously gather the energy needed to cough out the fluid that was drowning me. I knew I was in a battle for my life, and bacterial pneumonia wanted the trophy.

But this isn't about pneumonia, and it isn't about the six weeks it took me to recover. It isn't about how my husband single parented ten children, and it isn't about my renewed love for the television show Leave it to Beaver that was my only way to share time with my kids as I chose to take one labored breath after another.

It isn't about anything like that.

It's about where I thought I was supposed to be.

I am a planner. I love plans. I spend time in the shower calculating how many weeks it will take me to lose weight, or save money, or figuring out my schedule for the week for the sixth time. It brings me joy because I love thinking that I have everything under control.

And so, months before I stared pneumonia in the face, I had a plan. My Plan A was to attend the She Speaks conference in North Carolina. It was something I had been excited about for quite a while, and as the date loomed my excitement grew. I even entered a writing contest for a free ticket for that weekend.

Then I found out that a Precepts training that I had been planning on attending was that same weekend. This was really hard for me, as I was looking forward to going to the training with a few friends, and I needed to have the training in order to teach a class I wanted to lead for church.

So I came up with Plan B. If I won the contest, I'd go to She Speaks. If I didn't win, I'd go to the training. Seemed perfect to me. That would tell me what God's will was, right? If He wanted me to go to the conference, I'd win. If He wanted me to go to the training, I'd lose. Perfect.

Then I lost, and I was devastated. I allowed for a time for the disappointment to become personal; a personal attack against my writing skills and myself. It took me a few days to come back to the place where I understood that this was God's plan and started to get excited about what God obviously DID intend for me to do: the training.

Two weeks before I was supposed to leave, things started going wrong. I was sleeping all the time, coughing, not eating, and so weak that I had to take a break just walking from one end of a hallway to the other. The pneumonia diagnosis came shortly thereafter.

Guess what I was doing the weekend of the training? It wasn't Plan A, and it certainly wasn't Plan B.

I was doing Plan "See". "See" as in, we can't See what God wants for us. "See" as in, only God can See what our path is. "See" as in, stop putting God in a box and paying lip service to Him by saying that my plans are His plans!

I learned many valuable lessons during those weeks. But the most important one for me was the reminder that I am not the one who is in control. I don't get to give God options and let Him pick which one He likes best. It doesn't mean I don't have free will and the ability to make choices, but ultimately I am not the one who calls the shots. And I don't need to be.

I still have my Plan A and Plan B, but I now know that Plan "See", when it pops up, is a detour instead of a roadblock. And God's detours have some pretty awesome views.

One More Day

"I'm going to hurt you!" my foster daughter screamed, her six-year old face red with fury.

"What are you talking about?!" I yelled back, failing in my efforts to stay calm in the presence of a little girl who had spent months doing everything she could to make me hate her.

"I don't know, but you're going to be bloody!" she threatened, punching my bed as if to punctuate her intention.

"That's it," I thought as adrenaline pumped through my body. "I'm done." I turned abruptly and walked down the hall into the kitchen. I grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the social worker's phone number. Three rings later, I was uttering the words I'd promised myself I would never say. "Come get her. I can't do this anymore."

Two days from now, I will tell this story. As I stand in front of a classroom of potential and current foster parents, I will talk about the little girl that I wanted to give up on. I will tell them that I thought I had done everything I possibly could do, loved as much as I thought I could love.

As I pass around a family picture of my ten beautiful children, I will recount the rest of that conversation from so long ago:

"Can you do it for three more weeks?" he asked quietly.

"I don't think so. I don't think I can do it one more day." Defeat was so hard for me, but with four children to take care of and my baby daughter growing inside me, I already felt like I had done as much as I could do.

"Well, it is going to take some time. I know that you feel it's impossible, but can you try?"

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:13)

"All right," I conceded softly. "I can try."

It won't take me long to tell them what happened next. It's my favorite part of Breanna's story. Because two weeks after I tried to give up, she finally allowed a crack in the hard exterior she had surrounded herself in.

A crack was all I'd wanted. Renewed and hopeful, we blasted her with love. And just a day or two before our three week deadline, she let us into her heart.

"When you feel like you can't do it," I will say on Saturday, "when you feel like there is no hope left...you can do it one more day."

Ten smiling children. Four children we brought into this world by birth. Three girls who we didn't even know back then, who God knew would one day be our daughters. Breanna's brother and sister, who are an integral part of our family even though they don't live with us. And my Breanna... the little girl who I almost gave up on...who I can't imagine my life without.

Holding out the picture, I'll end with this simple statement: "You can do it for this."

I hope that they will listen. I hope they will take my story and remember it when they have a chance to love their own Breanna. Because I don't want to know what my family would look like today if that social worker hadn't had the wisdom to ask me to try one more time.

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." (Jeremiah 29:11)