Loving Others

Facebook is an interesting beast. The social networking site has brought me moments that have sparked great joy. It has also at times caused me to feel loss and heartache.

How grateful I have been to get to share in weddings, babies, and fellowship with friends who I haven't been able to see in years or decades. I have an amazing group of fifty or so moms, many of whom I have never met, who Facebook has allowed me to get to know and love deeply.

But as I was perusing the profiles of my friends this morning, I was struck with one of those heartbeats that hurts. The last eighteen months of my life have carried a series of difficult life events. They say that in moments of pain and trial, you find out who your true friends are. This has been abundantly true for me. I have lost people in my life who I thought would be close to me forever.

So as one of their pictures passed by me, I was captured by a swell of pain that I try to always keep buried.

Loss. Rejection. Betrayal.

As I sat on the couch, I thought to myself, "I would have laid down my life for her."

Though I am now reminded of the verse in John that says: "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends." (John 15:13), that wasn't what struck me in the breath after my thought.

What hit me was this:

Jesus did that. 

I might *think* that I would lay down my life for someone I love, but Jesus did it. 

He died for me. He died for you. 

He died for the men who nailed him on the cross. He died for the soldier that put the spear in his side.

He died for those who mocked him. He died for those who betrayed him. He died for the people who would never believe he existed.

He died for us despite the fact that we have rejected him. Despite the fact that his very name has become a curse our tongues spit out in anger. He died for us despite the fact that we were but a promise of the future.

And what were our Savior's words as he agonized at our hands? “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” (Luke 23:34)

The pain I have felt at the loss and rejection of a handful of people is nothing compared to the generations that have rejected him. Yet, to his dying breath, he loved and forgave us.

There will be a day when I will be reunited with those who have walked away from my life. That day might very well be the day we celebrate eternity in the arms of Jesus. An eternity only possible because God first loved us.

In the meantime, I remain grateful every day for the moments I have to love others, and for a Heavenly Father who will never leave me nor forsake me. (Deut. 31:6; Deut. 31:8; Josh. 1:5; Hebrews 13:5)

Who Am I? (Who I Am)

It was the most heartfelt, incredible birthday present I have ever received from a friend. She apologized as she handed it to me, shaking her head as she laughed about how life had gotten away from her and how she meant to give me this gift on my actual birthday instead of a month or so later.

I hardly heard her.

"It isn't much," she continued, not noticing the tears as they filled my eyes. "I hope you like it."

My hands trembled, the letter they held quivering with the emotion coursing through me. A letter where she verbalized the characteristics she admired in me; comparing our friendship to that of David and Jonathan. The love that she poured into the words she wrote meant the world to me.

I think I walked on clouds all the way home.

"Thank you, Lord," I prayed that night, "for giving me this amazing friendship."

The pervading peace I suddenly felt in the middle of what has been a very difficult time in my life was unreal.

The next morning I woke centered and grateful. I turned on my computer and opened my email. I began reading a message from a friend, my body going still as my heart began to race.

It was a letter written in love, but it called me to account for some choices I was making in my life that caused her to question my character.

The pain I felt coursing through me was indescribable. I felt wounded and rejected. I began questioning my worth as a person and a friend. I desired nothing more in those moments than to fix her opinion of me so that she and I could be on solid ground again.

"God," I prayed, "please help me through this."

Twelve hours difference. Half a day separating floating on air and buried alive.

It wasn't until days later, after apologizing to and making amends with my friend who had been hurt by my actions, that I recognized why I rose and plummeted so quickly.

We will all encounter people who love us and people who don't. We will have friendships that get stronger, and relationships that end. There will be times when someone gives us grace through our mistakes, and times when that same person calls us to account.

As much as the rise and fall of these emotions affects us, our *worth* is not in other people's opinions of us.

Our worth and our identity is in Christ. Who we are to Him is unchanging. Whether we have our feet firmly planted on His path, or we're tangled in the thorns five hundred meters from the road, His love for us remains the same. (Luke 15:3-7)

Who am I?*

I have been bought with a price. I belong to God. (ref. 1 Cor. 6:19-20)
I am complete in Christ. (ref Col. 2:10)
I am free forever from condemnation. (ref. Rom. 8:1-2)
I cannot be separated from the love of God. (ref. Rom. 8:35-39)
I am the salt and light of the earth. (ref. Matt. 5:13-14)
I am God's workmanship. (ref. Eph. 2:10)

I am grateful for the times when my close friends pour their love upon me. I am thankful when they love me enough to hold me accountable for my actions. The fact is, everyone needs both grace *and* truth.

But I am learning that what others think of me is not a reflection of who I am in Christ.

"So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord--who is the Spirit--makes us more and more like him as we are changed into his glorious image." (2 Corinthians 3:18 NLT)


*Taken from http://www.ficm.org/index.php?command=textwhoamiinchrist

Failure to Thrive

She came to us at a little over four years old. The shirt she was wearing when she walked in our home for the first time was sized for an 18 month old. She didn't yet weigh twenty pounds.

She was the sixth foster child we cared for. Diagnosed with Failure to Thrive, it was our job to increase her weight by encouraging her to eat.

But, oh, was she a feisty one.

We would put the food in front of her, and she would stare at us defiantly. Eating was her method of control, and she was determined that she would win. And for a while, she did. How do you force a child to eat?

You can't.

So we did what we could do...we made the food available to her. We created it, and portioned it. We sat her in front of it, and we encouraged her. We surrounded her with siblings who ate with gusto just hoping it would motivate her to join them.

In the end, it took some tough love to get that little girl to pick up a fork. We set a timer for fifteen minutes. If she didn't finish her miniscule portions, she stood in the corner for two minutes. When that time was done, she got another five minutes to eat her food.

We did this cycle for a while, but she caught on. Within a week or two, the timer wasn't even necessary. And, miraculously, she started going back for seconds with the other children.

The scale started moving. A healthy glow flooded her cheeks. The doctors and her birthmom were thrilled. She was thriving.

It wasn't because of us. It was because of her. We loved her; we disciplined her, but ultimately she made the decision. And she reaped the rewards.

This little girl's story hit me personally a few weeks ago. I hadn't thought about her in over a year. Ultimately she and her brother were joyfully reunited with their mom, our moment in their lives complete.

But God's teaching moments are never finished. And He used my foster daughter to drive home a point I'd been slow in realizing.

I have had some Rough Moments in the months since my last blog entry. There were times during those weeks that I wondered why God seemed silent.  Wondered why I was struggling; feeling like I was failing to thrive.

In the midst of these ruminations one day, I realized it had been a while since I had opened the Bible. It struck me, in that moment, that perhaps it wasn't that God was silent...but that I wasn't listening.

So I opened the Word. And God said...

"In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ..." (1 Peter 1:6-7 NASB)

And God said...

"After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself perfect, confirm, strengthen, and establish you." (1 Peter 5:10 NASB)

And God said...

"The Lord is not slow about His promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance." (2 Peter 3:9 NASB)

R.C. Sproul summed it up nicely in a sermon Steve and I recently listened to. He said, "Spiritual milk is not high on the list of dietary pleasures. But if you have tasted of the Lord, as the psalmist said, and know He is good, how can you taste of Christ and not want more?" (see Matthew 5:6 and 1 Peter 2:1-2)

We gave our foster daughter food, but she had to choose to eat it. God gives us His Word, but we need to choose to consume it. We won't thrive unless we do.

Everything we need for spiritual health and strength is right in front of us.

Sara Groves puts it aptly in her song, "The Word":

          And I think it's very odd
          That while I attempt to help myself
          My Bible sits upon a shelf
          With every promise I could ever need.


Sometimes His love compels us. Sometimes He needs to discipline us in order for us to look up at Him. But no matter what avenue it takes, He's waiting with open arms. And in His arms, we thrive.

Shattered

The first cracks come unnoticed.

Quiet, unassuming, minuscule. Hard to even see unless you look really, really closely.

But the thing about even the smallest cracks is that they compromise the solidity of the entire structure.

And so, as we allow the breaches in our lives to accumulate; as we permit the hurt and pain to penetrate us, what once was an unnoticeable line begins to spread.

Cracked and broken by disappointment, anger, bitterness, pain...it is so easy to lose sight of the beauty of what God has created when the faults shoot through us.

Until everything shatters.

Cracked, we feel compromised.
Broken, we feel defeated.
Shattered, we feel unworthy.

Unworthy of the love and affection of the very One who gives it freely. Unworthy of the healing power of the only One who can fully restore.

God doesn't ask us to come to Him whole and perfect. He doesn't ask us to wait until we can stand before we kneel at His throne.

"And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.' Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong." (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

We can come to Him shattered. We can offer him only our fragments. When we have nothing to give, He will take us anyway.

"He gives strength to the weary, and to him who lacks might He increases power." (Isaiah 40:29)

The world can glue us back together. The world can help us to appear nearly faultless. But only God can restore. Only He can make us seamless.

We just have to surrender. He's waiting.

Dead Poets Society

As my friend Mike likes to say, it was more about the journey than the destination.

And so it was, that though the entrance to the forest was five flat steps beyond the path that lead me to it, I went around instead.

On the other side, nestled in a clearing, stood a wall of discarded tree trunks and limbs at least twenty feet high. The snapping of wood as I began my climb only seemed to confirm the dedication to reaching my destination...after all, presumed peril that exists only because I chose it, to a teenager, is still peril.

The branches scratched my legs, leaving stinging red welts. I made it to the top and sat for a moment, studying the trees in front of me. The leather bound book I carried under my shirt pressed awkwardly against me, reminding me of my purpose.

So, despite my fear of heights, I began my descent. Those who know me well know that I fell more than I rappelled.

Finally, I was on the ground. Twenty years have passed since the last time I did this, and yet I still remember everything about it. I remember the damp, mossy smell...the stillness...the silence...and most of all, I remember the power I felt, there in the forest alone.

My true destination was a cement slab that sat discarded in the middle of my sanctuary. I perched myself on top of it, kicking off my shoes. (Those who know, know poetry is best enjoyed barefoot.) Finally, ready, I pulled the book from the waistband of my jeans and cracked it open in my lap.

Tennyson. Whitman. Emerson. Thoreau.

My confidants. My teachers. My friends.

And so their words spilled from my lips. Giving life to that which was immortalized only on paper, I became their voice. I was the Dead Poets Society. And, for that moment, I was complete.

But life and perspective are amazing creatures. Twenty years of life have passed between who I was in that forest and who I am now. As much as I love that fourteen year old teenage girl I was, her emptiness makes me so sad.

Now I understand what I needed back then.

It wasn't twenty minutes of feeling like I had purpose because I spoke the words of those long dead; it was an eternity of knowing my purpose because of the Word.

It wasn't pretending to be okay being alone because I had chosen my own path; it was knowing I am never alone because He walks the path beside me.

It wasn't the blood that ran down my legs serving as proof of my dedication and commitment to the journey, it was Christ's blood spilled on the cross serving as proof of His dedication and commitment to me.

I didn't need the dead poets, I needed Christ.

I still love reading poetry barefoot. I still love the feeling of old leather books resting in my hands. I still love giving voice to the words of long-gone men and women who shared their hearts with the world.

But they no longer define me. That experience no longer completes me. Because I know the One who loves me so much that He sent His Son to die for me. The One who gave us the Book that truly guides our paths. The One whose Holy Spirit indwells within us so that we are never alone.

He is my confidant, my teacher, and my friend.

The Dead Poets Society has been replaced by the Living God.

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

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.