A Change of Scene

I stood in my kitchen, dazed from the energy lost by a vigorous cleaning. My eyes closed briefly. On the screen of my mind I saw a lifetime of chores stretched out before me like an endless string of camels crossing the Sahara. I felt a momentary pang, remembering the Saturdays of my childhood. Every Saturday was a blank page waiting to be filled with my favorite things. Those days are gone. Now, the pages of my days are scribbled on before I ever arrive. With a sigh of resignation, I began to sort through the mail on my counter.

The letter from India came with two pictures of my sponsored child, one happy with the Christmas gift I had sent, and another of the Christmas meal he had enjoyed with the other boys living at the home. It was one line of his letter that burned into my heart. "I regularly read Bible and pray for you and your children." Stunned, I put down the letter. He prays for me? The thought had never before occurred to me. I was the one who was supposed to pray for him. Before I could stop them, the tears came.

I know I am just one of thousands of typical American moms, driving the minivan, over-scheduled, plagued by the guilt of not keeping up, not doing enough. And he is the typical sponsored child, needy, without family, dutifully thanking his sponsor for sharing a little of her American dollars. But in that moment I was given grace to see the truth. In the Spirit, those labels don't exist. He and I are two beautiful souls woven together by prayer. That is the power of prayer. Our two souls kneel, neither one above the other, but both at our Father's feet, brother and sister in Christ. We are forever bound by the love of Jesus.

The picture in my mind changed to a scene in Heaven. I saw myself meeting this dear boy, speaking face to face with laughter. I saw a Saturday there, together with him, fresh as a new sheet of paper... waiting to be filled with all of our favorite things.

Flesh and Blood

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 6:12)

I blinked in the silence of my children's stares. I had a blazing letter "H" on my chest. I could see it reflected in their eyes. Hypocrite. All of my efforts to teach them self-control seemed wasted now. My youngest son, once again, "forgot" the rules, chose not to obey, chose to do whatever he wanted. And this time, I threw off my own self-control like a pair of flip-flops, and jumped in with him. I lost my temper. I raised my voice, and said whatever I wanted. I got good and mad. We wallowed in the mud of sinful self-indulgence, he and I. And when it was all over, regret made the stains that much more stubborn.

Why is this so hard? Must every day be a bloody battle against one I love so dearly? No other person in my life has tried my patience as relentlessly as this little son of mine.

This would never happen to my friend, "Faith." She has an angelic brood of girls at her house, and I bet she never raises her voice to them. She is a faithful woman of God and an inspiration to all who know her. No, she would never.

She would never. This is the thought I punished myself with as I fell asleep, defeated and discouraged. I dreamt of Faith that night. I waited at her house until she came. She walked in and headed for the shower, looking tired and down after a long, hard day. After a minute, I heard angry shouting. I gasped. That sounded like Faith! One of her daughters must have irritated her after her hard day. She's not perfect after all! I headed toward the sound and put my ear against the bathroom door. "I will not let you get me down!" she yelled. "I will not be discouraged! The Bible says..."

I had heard enough to know Faith wasn't yelling at one of her children. She was yelling at the devil.

The morning sun broke through my dream, and I opened  my eyes to the reality of another day. Fresh. New. Mercy upon mercy. I slipped to my knees and thanked my Father for the reminder. I am in a daily battle, but it isn't against my son, my flesh and blood. It's against the one who currently rules the world. Satan is after the hearts and minds of my children. He's after my heart and mind, too. He wants me to believe that there is a perfect mother out there somewhere to compare myself to, because as long as I am busy doing that, I won't be focused on my perfect Heavenly Father.

Son, whether you know it or not, I am on your side. You and I are on the same team. We are in a battle, Buddy. But we have the Champ on our side! We have the Super Hero of all super heroes with us to save the day. Every day. He has shiny, dart-quenching armour for us to wear and swords for us more powerful than all of your light sabers. So, let's do this thing together. We can do it. I love you, flesh and blood and heart and soul, until it hurts.

Pour

"As for me, my life has already been poured out as an offering to God. The time of my death is near." (2 Timothy 4:6, NLT)

 

 

I have a confession to make. By the end of most days, my drama queen comes out and wants to commiserate with Paul here. "Tell me about it, Paul. I've been there, man. Near death due to excessive self-sacrifice? Yes. I think I'm there right now after the day I've had."

You can laugh at me. I'm laughing at me, because I know this is not what Paul meant when he wrote these words. And yes, I do realize that I have never been beaten, imprisoned, starved, or shipwrecked for the sake of Christ. I have no right to lump myself with Paul.

But, the truth is, I have been pulled in ten different directions in any given hour, puked on, pooped on, peed on, spit on, shot with dart guns, laughed at, cried at, yelled at, complained to, tattled to, and countlessly begged and questioned. I feel used. And I think this is a common complaint among women, whether or not we are mothers. Women, in my experience, give and give until we often feel sucked completely dry.

 

Our third inspirational woman has been on my heart for months. Her act of worshipful giving and what followed has helped me see my life with new eyes:

 

Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus’ honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

“Leave her alone,” Jesus replied. “[It was intended] that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me.”(John 12:1-8)

 

I feel like I've been having a never-ending conversation with God about this passage. He's kept me here, I think, because what I can learn is so life-changing, He doesn't want me to leave until I get it. I'm still here. I might be here for awhile, but these are some things I've learned so far:

The difference between living a "poured-out" life and a "poor me" life is all in my mind.

Loving my family, my job, and my life is not enough. Despite all the love, every now and then I'll catch a naughty thought running around in my mind like a naked toddler:

 "Everyone around here gets the weekend off but me."

"If I weren't here this place would fall apart."

 "Nobody realizes how much I sacrifice."

"Why doesn't anyone else see all these things that need to be done?"

 "I'm tired of volunteering for stuff. Let someone else have a turn."

 If I don't catch these thoughts right away, in a matter of minutes they can put down roots in my mind and start growing. Before I know it, I'm living the "poor me" life playing the part of Bitter Betty, Martyr Mommy and Worn-Out Wife all wrapped up in one frightening package. 

It turns out these roles are completely unfulfilling, because the thoughts they are based on are only half truths at best and really more like outright lies. The Bible tells me lies have a father and his name is Satan. I really don't want Satan's babies running around in my head. Ephesians 4:23 tells me instead to be made new in the attitude of my mind.

No one forced Mary to pour out her expensive perfume on Jesus. She didn't feel obligated or guilty. She wasn't resentful that no one else was doing it. I believe she did it because she wanted to. She was compelled by love for Jesus and Jesus alone. But dare I say even loving Jesus is not enough? Because no matter how I love Him, even still the thoughts will come. So how do I be made new in the attitude of my mind? There is only one way. My mind is renewed by the Word of God. A lying thought comes. I must catch it quickly and bring it to my Lord.

"Lord, Your Word says to come to You and You will give me rest."

"Lord, Your Word says that You are the one who holds all things together--not me."

"Lord, Your Word says that when I humble myself before You, You will lift me up."

"Lord, Your Word says that whatever I do, I should do it in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father--not complaining."

"Lord, Your Word says to never tire of doing good."

 If I want to live a poured-out life for Jesus, I must renew my mind.

I am the perfume.

 For quite a time after I began meditating on this passage, I tried to re-create the scene between Mary and Jesus. I wanted to do what she did and have that precious moment with him. I would kneel down in my bedroom, close my eyes, and imagine a jar of perfume in my hands. I imagined Jesus before me and myself pouring the perfume. Only I could never decide whether to pour it on his head or his feet. If I poured it on his head it might sting his eyes. If I went for his feet it didn't seem like enough coverage. As silly as this sounds, I actually had some sweet times of worship as a result, just telling Him that I wanted to pour my praise on Him. But then I would leave my room, be instantly confronted with the chaos of life, and it would all evaporate.

One day, I finally heard what he had probably been saying to me the whole time: "You are the perfume. There is nothing more expensive or dear that you could give me but you. Your worship is not just a moment in your quiet room. It is every moment if you choose it. Every breath you take, every word you speak is an act of worship if you make it so." Yes, of course! Didn't I already know this? I thought I did. But I don't really know something until I've lived it. And I haven't lived this way. Not really. But, oh how I want to.

In that moment when I am dog-tired, the last one up, and crying for bed, and realize that I have forgotten something that must be done before morning--it is then that I want to stop myself before I sigh and whine. I want to be perfume poured out then, while I do what needs to be done with a heart that remembers Jesus did everything for me. He died for me. And in living every moment for Him, I am sweet perfume, poured out on my Savior.

There will be naysayers. Go ahead and let them say nay. 

Mary was criticized for what she did. The room did not stand up and applaud her or thank her for her inspirational display of generosity. There will always be someone to criticize my efforts at living a poured-out life. Instead of encouraging a life of self-sacrifice, many will argue that it is more important to fill my days with "me time," pampering, and self-indulgence in order to make me a happier, more fulfilled woman. But, I just can't seem to find that verse in my Bible. What Jesus teaches is quite the opposite. And it is what He thinks that really matters to me. Jesus defended Mary. He acknowledged her sacrifice and called it a beautiful thing in the book of Matthew. What the world calls foolish, Jesus calls beautiful. 

Living a poured-out life smells good. 

I love that what Mary did for Jesus affected everybody. The whole house was filled with the fragrance of her perfume. I will tell you the opposite is also true. When I am in a "poor me" frame of mind, I stink, and everybody around me smells it. My whole family gets cranky when I am cranky. But when I am intentionally worshipful throughout my day, the house is filled with sweetness. Not only is Jesus blessed, but so are the people with me.

Jesus is the best example of a poured-out life.

Follow God’s example, therefore, as dearly loved children  and walk in the way of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.(Ephesians 5:1-2)

Jesus was a fragrant offering on the altar that should have been mine. He poured out His life for me. The greatest thing I can do in response is to imitate Him.

Oh, let me see You, Jesus, ever before me as I go about my work. Let me see your face on every person I encounter in this life. Let my life be an act of worship, fragrant and pleasing to You. I pour out my thanks, my praise, my adoration, and all my love on You.  

 

 

 



Treasure and Ponder

(This post was specifically written for the women who attended the Heart Retreat at Windermere, but even if you didn’t, you are not excluded! Feel free to read and apply this to your own experiences.)

 

Since my last post about gleaning, you’ve been frozen in my mind like a graceful statue, a bundle of grain in your arms, a wistful smile on your face, and the corner of your dress lifting gently in the breeze. This makes me laugh, because if you are anything like me, you dropped your grain days ago to make room for turkey and pumpkin pie. But that’s okay. The whole point of this little follow-up study is to remember and apply the good things the Lord did in us at the Heart Retreat. We can continue to do that with just a bit of time and effort, even in the midst of recovering from Thanksgiving and preparing for Christmas. Let’s take a look at Mary, the mother of Jesus, as our next inspirational woman.

 

“When they (the shepherds) had seen him (Jesus), they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.” (Luke 2:17-19)

I like the way the New Living Translation describes Mary’s treasuring and pondering: “…but Mary kept all these things in her heart and thought about them often.” Ruth showed us the importance of gleaning the good things the Lord has for us, and I think Mary’s example can teach us how to turn our gleanings into food for our hearts. But how do we treasure and ponder? What does it mean?

treasure:  1: to collect and store up (something of value) for future use: hoard

                 2: to hold or keep as precious: cherish, prize (Merriam-webster.com)

  

ponder:  to weigh carefully in the mind; consider thoughtfully (dictionary.com)

 

 

The Lord has done many wonderful things in my life, but I have never accidentally kept them in my heart and thought about them often. If I am going to hold on to these precious things and consider them in a thoughtful way, I have to be intentional. Treasuring and pondering is certainly not a strength of mine, but when I do it, I feel like my heart has had a Thanksgiving feast. I really like the first definition of treasure: to store up something of value for future use. I like to think of it as putting my grain into the storehouse of my heart for the lean times that may be ahead of me. Pulling it out and feasting on what the Lord has done in the past will help to see me through those dry seasons. 

 

So, what did the Lord give to you at the Heart Retreat? Did you make your list of gleanings? If so, let's start storing the grain in our hearts.  

 

1. Read through your list. If you don't have one, you can still make one! Read this post, called "Glean" for ideas.

 

2. Pray. Ask the Holy Spirit to teach you how to treasure and ponder the things on your list. (Disregard the rest of this list if you feel He is leading you in a different direction. He is the best teacher!)

 

3. Consider this verse: "Great are the works of the Lord; they are pondered by all who delight in them." (Psalm 111:2) Take some time to tell the Lord that the things He gave you at the retreat are great and that you delight in the works He has done for you.

 

4. Ponder! This comes naturally to some, and for others may be like pulling teeth. I think I fall somewhere in between. Choose one thing from your list to ponder for now. For example, one of the things on my list is that the Lord reminded me at the retreat to let go of the things I can't control. To ponder this particular thing, I chose to dig a little deeper by studying. I looked up the word "control" in my concordance, and I'm so glad I did! For one thing, I found a prayer of Jeremiah's that really spoke to my heart. And I was also reminded of the different kinds of control: self-control, God's control, and also Satan's control. (If you don't have a concordance, you can use one online! Bible Gateway is one that you can use to search in different versions of the Bible.)  

 

5. Write it down. I wrote what I learned about control in my notebook. I also wrote down my own prayer about it, too. I think this helps get it in my heart a little better.

 

6. Relax. One of my favorite things to do is to take a nugget from my day and ponder it as I'm falling asleep at night. You might like to try this with one of the things on your list. Put it in the front of your mind as you close your eyes to sleep. Ask the Lord to speak to your heart about it during the night. If it is a verse, dwell on it, saying the words to yourself as you drift away. Don't be surprised if you wake up in the morning, or even the middle of the night with fresh insight on that particular subject. My spiritual ears just seem to be more alert when the rest of me is sleeping.  " I will praise the Lord, who counsels me; even at night my heart instructs me." (Psalm 16:7)

 

7. Repeat for the other items on your list.

 

I would love to hear of other ways you treasure and ponder, if you'd like to share. I hope you will stick with me for our third inspirational woman, coming soon(ish)!

 

 

Glean

(This post was specifically written for the women who attended the Heart Retreat at Windermere, but even if you didn’t, you are not excluded! Feel free to read and apply this to your own experiences.)

I love getting away. And I love coming home. But I do not love unpacking or the feeling of being thrown back into the mess of everyday life where any joy or refreshment I received in my time away gets instantly lost under the pile. I know I don’t even have to explain the pile to you. The pile is one of our common bonds as women, right?

I’ve been talking to the Lord about this Heart Retreat we just came home from, not wanting any one of us to lose any good thing under our piles. And you know what? God cares about this, too. After all the inspiring women we were around this weekend, I feel His urging to take a look at three other inspiring women from Scripture and gain some wisdom from them. I thought you might like to come with me and look at one of them now:

As she got up to glean, Boaz gave orders to his men, "Even if she gathers among the sheaves, don't embarrass her. Rather, pull out some stalks for her from the bundles and leave them for her to pick up, and don't rebuke her." So Ruth gleaned in the field until evening. (Ruth 2:15-17)

Ruth gleaned in the barley field because she and her mother-in-law were hungry. She had favor with Boaz, the owner of the field, so that she could follow behind the harvesters and gather stalks of barley that had been dropped. Not only that, Boaz went so far as to ask his men to purposely leave behind some extra stalks for Ruth to gather.

I don’t know about you, but I am hungry for spiritual food, and I believe as a Christian woman, I have favor with my Father. He has stalks of barley for me, but He doesn’t drop them straight into my mouth. It takes some effort on my part. Gleaning is work, but it is worth the bending over.

The Heart Retreat was so packed full of fun, fellowship, tears, laughter, food, activities, music, gifts, testimonies, and teachings! You might have felt energized, overwhelmed, or a little of both. You are not the only one. What can we do to sort through the range of emotions we experienced?  I believe taking the time to glean the stalks that our Heavenly Father left for us is one way. The fun part is that each of us has something different to glean, because our God is a personal God who treats us as unique individuals.

So, how do we glean? I don’t think it needs to be complicated. Here are some simple steps we can take to join our sister Ruth in the field:

1.       Pray. Ask God to show you what specific spiritual food He has for you to glean from your time at the retreat.

2.       Listen. Be quiet for a little while and wait.

3.       When He shows you something, pick it up. Now, don’t start bending over grabbing at imaginary items, or you’re going to get some raised eyebrows. It’s probably better to just make a list. Write down your gleanings.

4.       Now look at your strong arms full of barley. You may have a new friendship lying there, or you might have a Scripture that the Lord used to speak just to you. You may have a new heart(!) or maybe a hope after a time of hopelessness.  Maybe it’s a deeper understanding of God’s love for you, or the healing of a hurt. Perhaps you have fresh vision into a certain situation or a confirming word concerning a God call on your life.  You might have new strength lying there to overcome temptation.  Whatever your gleanings may be, let’s thank the Lord for our harvest! Ruth and Naomi were so grateful for their barley, and we should be, too. Take a few minutes to thank Him for each item on your list.

5.       Share! Ruth shared her gleanings with Naomi. I believe sharing spiritual food with others feeds not only the recipient, but nourishes us as well. There are many ways to share. After you work through this exercise, feel free to come back and share right here in the comments section or on the Inspire Facebook page. Or share with your spouse, friend, co-worker—whoever the Lord puts on your heart. If your gleanings are just too personal, God still did something good for you, and just telling that to someone is enough. We are overcomers by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony! (Revelation 12:11)

And now, a short word about chaff:  Chaff is the debris of harvest. It’s the part we don’t want to eat. Did you just catch some chaff in your stalks like I did? When a group of women get together, you know there is going to be some chaff floating around. That is the work of our enemy, trying to destroy God’s work in us. I’m talking about the chaff of comparisons, inadequacy, self-depreciation, jealousy, pride, unforgiveness, and this list could go on and on. I know I picked up some chaff that God wants to help me throw in the fire. If you picked up some too, pray with me for His help to blow it off and let it burn.

Thanks for gleaning with me! If you like, save your lists and bring them along next week as we take a look at another inspiring woman of Scripture!

Hi. My Name is Rachelle, and I am Inadequate.

I had agreed to babysit for a friend again. So today I had two preschoolers and a ten-month-old, in addition to my own three. In the afternoon, chaos erupted between the two preschoolers, and I swept them into the backyard to diffuse the situation. As I knelt down, talking calmly to them at their level, I suddenly realized I had left the ten-month-old unattended. So, like the wise mother that I am, I abandoned the little tots in the backyard and ran screaming into the house for the baby. Panicked, I followed his trail out the front door, where I found him operating the leaf blower in the front yard next to the street. Relieved that he was alright, I scooped him up in my arms and held him close. It was then that I noticed the neighbors had gathered around and were casting looks of cold disapproval in my direction. I was an unfit mother. I could see it in their eyes.

 

And then I woke up. It was only a dream. But the reality of my inadequacy was hovering over me and my pillow like a grey cloud.

 

The day before had been Orphan Sunday, and despite my fear of public speaking, I could not ignore the intense urging I felt that our church needed to acknowledge this day. So with dry mouth and sweaty palms, I stood before the congregation and shared God's heart and mine for orphans and foster children. I also chose this time to share with our church the decision Bob and I have made to be foster parents with the hope of adopting. At this point, the congregation applauded, which startled me. I had practiced my speech in the shower and in my van, forgetting that I would actually be talking to people who might respond.

 

Something about the applause bothered me; it made me feel guilty in some twisted way. Perhaps if someone in the crowd had shouted the things I have said to myself, I would have felt better. "Hey! Aren't you the lady who lets your kids run around like maniacs in the parking lot after church?" or, "You can't even control the ones you have! What makes you think you can take on any more?" Great question, blunt, imaginary congregation person! And the answer is, I don't know! We must be crazy.

 

Try as I might, I could not go back to sleep after my disturbing dream. I lay awake in the five o'clock quiet and wondered how I was going to have enough time, love, patience, wisdom, and strength for a child I don't even know. I thought of the hours of training we have received, the mounds of paperwork we have completed, and the thorough going-over of our house by outsiders. We have been finger-printed, background checked, and questioned about our personal lives. But the truth is, we fall short.

 

In my heart, in the dark, I began the conversation. "Lord! I fall short as a wife and mother. I fall short as a teacher and housekeeper. I fall short as a friend and as a Christian. I fall short as a person. I am woefully inadequate."

 

Like a best friend who lovingly tells me the truth, and not just what I want to hear, I felt Him answer me: "I know, and that is exactly where I want you to be. I use people who know they are inadequate, because they are the ones who know how much they need Me. Don't let your inadequacy discourage you--let it drive you to complete dependency on Me. Cling to Me. Let My strength be made perfect in your weakness."

 

I thought of Peter, the Lord's disciple who is well-known for his epic failure--denying even knowing his beloved Christ. Poor Peter. His weakness is remembered every Easter and any time we need a good example of someone who fell short miserably. But the conversation Peter and Jesus have after the resurrection is revealing and redeeming. Jesus simply wants to know where Peter's heart is. "Do you love me?" At Peter's affirmative response, Jesus replies, "Feed my sheep."

Jesus doesn't want or need to spend time hashing and rehashing my past mistakes and the many ways I fall short daily. He knows getting to the heart of the matter--loving God and loving others--is the sun around which everything else either revolves or flies out of orbit into the void.

So what now? Shall I embrace my inadequacy? I think I won't. I think I will embrace the Saviour who loves me in spite of it, and who requires loving Him and His sheep as the basis for everything else I do. I will embrace the One whose glory shines through all my weak spots, cracks, and holes. I will not despair. I will depend on the One who gives me everything I need to do what He asks of me.

( And...I will remember to read this if any child in my care ever ends up by the street with the leaf blower.)

Aspen Inspiration

Last year, when we were in Colorado, I fell in love, just as I always do, with the Aspen trees. The Aspen woods we walked through were so fresh. I noticed that the greenest of greeny ferns seemed to flock around the Aspen trunks like so many children around a mother's legs. These lovely scenes inspired me to write a poem. Today happens to be the first birthday of Aspen Joy, the darling girl of my dear friends, Kris and Brooks. I dug out my notebook from last year and found my poem and am posting it as a happy birthday wish to that sweetie little girl.

A Mother and Her Children Observed in the Mountainy Woods

Straight and still, the trunk of Aspen is mottled black and white.
How unlike her are the children playing around her feet.
How wild are the frilly ferns, and greener than the greenest green.
Joyful in the cool damp, the youngest hug their mother's knee, while the rest embark on a woodsy rite of passage.
Sunlight teases and dances on fronds.
The fern children sparkle.
But do not think Aspen oblivious to her flock.
Only cast your eyes upward and notice her trembling leaves.
Turn your ear toward that tender sound.
She is laughing in her graceful way.

Mmm...after I read this again, I think I would like to be that mother. Graceful, peaceful, serene, yet quietly laughing, as my children frolic around me. Only in a poem, right?

Happy Birthday, Aspen! May God richly bless you as you enter your second year of life!

Sam's Story, Part 3

It's been almost a year since Sam was diagnosed with Russell-Silver syndrome. It took some days to process that information, and I struggled with the projected adult height for him of 4 feet, several inches. But I did what I often do, and wrestled on my own for a time, not wanting to get really messy in front of God. Like Adam and Eve, I think I can hide from Him. I think I can cover my nakedness with polite and appropriate prayers: Lord, I have so much to be thankful for, it really doesn't matter how tall my son is when he grows up. Perhaps you are calling him to be a missionary to a hidden tribe of really short people, and that's okay with me. This could be good for him. Maybe strengthen his character. So, really, God, whatever You think. I'm fine with whatever.

I remember the day and the field I was sitting in when I forgot my manners and let Him see what He already knew anyway. While wild wheat swayed and birds soared overhead, I groaned. God, I don't want this for him! The truth is, my mother heart longs for the very best for my son. I want him to have a normal life. I want him to be able to drive a car comfortably and reach the top shelves at the store. I want him to play sports with his friends and not get stepped on. I don't want him to get a crick in his neck from gazing up at his wife. I don't want him to be defined by his height. I let it all come spilling out...all my fears, my pain, and disappointment. 

And despite the vastness of the field, I felt like the Father hugged me and spoke the words I needed to hear. I know. I'm a parent, too. I understand, and it's okay for you to want these things for Sam. You can ask me for the things you want. Don't be afraid to ask me. I love to give my children good things. I will always have Sam's best interest at heart, and I will give you even more than what you are asking me. So with beating heart and tear-stained face I asked. I asked for no less than what His own Son, Jesus had when He was a boy: to grow in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and men. (Luke 2:52)

And almost a year later, this boy is growing! We see Dr. Smart every three months, and each visit is another dot on his growth chart. His dots have always floated in that vast blank space that hangs below the standard growth curve. But now, we see his dots are doing something. They have a purpose. They are making a path up to that bottom line. Almost there! Almost a line to hang on to. Soon, no more floating in nothingness. And we look at each other and smile every time, because we know Who it is bringing Sam up out of nothingness and setting him on a rock. "Phenomenal growth!" said Dr. Smart at our visit this week. "One inch in three months!" One inch in three months! Thank You, thank You.

Back when the diagnosis was still a new wound, I felt the Lord speaking to me the story of the little boy with five loaves of bread and two fish. These he gave to Jesus, and what Jesus did with them was so astounding, it boggles the mind. If this boy had kept his lunch, he would have been fed. But in giving it away, not only did he still get fed, thousands and thousands of others were also fed. And they were fed to the full! There were leftovers.

The same week the Lord placed this story in my heart as something meaningful related to Sam, my pastor preached from this very passage. Isn't that just the way? His sermon point for this story was God is a God over shortage. Almost made me laugh. Yes, I thought, we are having some shortage issues, not only in height, but also the amount of money needed to pay for growth hormone. But God is a God over shortage, and look what He does when we give Him what we have.

So, every night when Sam gets his injection, we pray. We do what Jesus did. Jesus took the food that wasn't enough and thanked the Father for it, and the Father made it more than enough. So, while lights are going down, and teeth are being brushed, we take this milliliter of liquid laboratory and we give thanks, for this is all we have. This is what we have, Lord, and we put it in Your hands. Do that thing You do. Multiply. Grow this child. For his good, for Your glory.

When Sara asked if we would continue the injections, I said, "Yes! It's working!" But Sam was quick to correct me. "Mom, it's God who's working." Yes, indeed.

(For parts one and two of Sam's story, you can read here and here.) 

Time in the Tunnel, Dr. Nice, and Being the One

My day starts with ten leprous men. Those hideous outcasts join my children and me at the breakfast table for Cheerios and conversation. As I read aloud this accounting of Luke's, I am pierced again by Jesus and his ways. He does not hesitate to answer those ten desperate cries for help. This is why He came. To do the will of his Father. Do not all ten feel the joy of realizing they are clean, every sore and pain gone without a trace? Yes, of course they do. But only one knows what to do with the gift. Only one lets the joy come bursting loudly from his lungs, falling down and thanking at the feet of the One who did the giving.

The Cheerios are almost gone now, and we are saying out loud the things we are thankful for today. The autumn light is gold coming in the window, and it is good, but I move them on, push them to finish their school work. This is MRI day for me, and I don't want to go, but I don't want to be late. We have other things to do, but in the middle, Sara comes to me with her Bible. She has searched and found the story of the one who thanked Jesus. She is proud of finding it, and she wants to read it to us. We need to keep moving, but I smile and nod her on. Sam wonders aloud why we need to read this again, and I am thinking we need to hear this as many times as it takes. I want to be The One Who Thanks.

Later, alone on my forty minute drive to the hospital, I am anything but thankful. Sam is doing well, but the situation with his growth hormone drug is frustrating. I spend my forty minutes on hold and talking to the pharmacist, and my stomach feels twisted when she tells me we will need to pay twice what we were told at the first. This feels like an impossibly difficult situation, and I find myself stomping and muttering my way into the hospital.

It is forever November 8, 2007 inside this place for me. My dad is here, coming out of surgery. The cancer is mean, and it is invading his brain, stealing land it has no right to claim. His mouth is dry and his head hurts so badly, I need to look away. I want to leave this place now and walk away from the memory, but I walk down the hall to MRI. They know me here. I've done this before. I take off my earrings, put on my gown, and go into that tunnel where nothing exists but closeness, heat, and blaring beeps, thumps, and tappings. This machine is seeing into my brain, and it saw my dad's brain, and our stories have turned out so differently. 

I close my eyes and try to relax. My face feels hot. But words come with the tapping of the machine. Do not be anxious...do not be anxious. About anything...about anything. But in everything...but in everything. By prayer and petition...by prayer and petition. With thanksgiving...with thanksgiving...with thanksgiving...with thanksgiving. Present your requests to God. Okay. Okay. Breathe. Thank You, God. Thanks that You are taking care of this situation.

I drive across the street to the neurology office. I sign in, put an x by Dr. Nice's name, and notice also the name of Dad's doctor. He is the one who said those words to my dad that we are all afraid of--You have only a few months to live. My dad sat here in this waiting room, and I sit here now, reading a book, and our stories turned out so differently.

The book I have in my purse is Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. She is telling the story of the ten lepers, and I think this is no coincidence. Three times in just six hours the Lord has given me this story, and I think I should pay attention. Be the one, He whispers. Be the thankful one. In a world full of stomping and muttering, be the one who falls at my feet to thank me.

Yes, Lord, I will! I am! You have healed me, and I am so thankful. You have Sam's best in mind, and I am thankful. You provide all we need, and I am thankful. You've given my dad a home in heaven, and I am thankful.

The nurse calls me back. "What drugs are you taking for your MS?" she asks. I startle slightly at this, and tell her I don't have MS. She looks confused, checks my chart again. "I'm sorry. I was just going by what your chart says." She reads something else. "Oh, I see. Okay." She looks at me again, and I don't know what she is thinking. After she leaves, I open my book again. My eyes glance up and catch the words on the drug ad poster on the wall: "Which One Are You?" I am the one who is thankful, I answer.  

When Dr. Nice comes in, I smile. I like this guy. "What are you reading?" he asks. He sits next to me, takes the book into his hands and looks at the pretty cover, two hands extended full of potential, a bird's nest with two eggs. "It's a book about being thankful," I say, a very simple synopsis.

 "That's good," he says, and with more expression and emotion than I have ever seen from him, " and you have much to be thankful for, because your brain looks ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS! Really beautiful. I mean, I am just so surprised. I really thought you would have MS. I really did. This just doesn't happen. You are the rare case. You are a lucky girl."

I think my face might crack. I can't smile any bigger. My eyes fill partially with tears, but my smile never wavers. He looks at me, really looks, then looks down, but comes back. He's looking straight into my eyes, now, and he's lingering, and I think I know why. I think I know what he sees there. It's what I hope he sees there. It's the Jesus Joy. The Light. I know it's there. I can feel it beaming right out of my eyes.

His words, You are a lucky girl, have vibrated the air around us, and now have fallen silent, and I want to counter them with a higher truth. I speak gently into that silence, "This is God. I am blessed," my simple synopsis. Dr. Nice nods, and becomes excited once again as he recalls a study he once read about the power prayer has on one's immune system. He's recounting the details and looking at me, and I think he's deciding it just might be true, and I smile. "Yes," I say, "absolutely."

With joy, now, after the exam, he tells me it is a pleasure to see a case turn out this way. He shakes my hand goodbye, and tells me to inform the check-out girl that I have graduated. I tell her and the tears come. I don't have to come here again. Our stories did not turn out so differently after all, mine and my dad's. He graduated from this place, too. He won't come here again. To live is Christ, to die is gain. I am living. Living for Christ. He has gained eternal life. Both are good. We both have good stories.

My drive home is so much different than the drive there had been. I marvel inwardly, as I have oftentimes, that joy makes my chest hurt. My heart is so full, it brings me a physical sensation of pain. I say Thank You. And I say it again. Thank You. And again. Thank You. And this is breaking something in me I didn't know was there. Now I say it over and over. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Over and over. And the tears are pouring out, and the laughter comes out, too. And I can't say anything else right now, because this is all I need to say. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You.

Jesus is talking me through this somewhat odd experience. This is why you get that full feeling inside you sometimes. It is the thanks trying to get out. You need to let it out. This is a new level of thankfulness for you, and it blesses me so much. This what the woman who poured her perfume out did for me. She blessed me. You are pouring out the sweet fragrance of thanksgiving from your heart and it is blessing me.

I weep and say Thank You some more. I say it until the last Thank You is out. How do you feel now? Jesus asks me. I check my heart. It isn't painful anymore. It is gooooooooooooood. It feels groovy. It feels peaceful. Yes, of course, after the prayer and petition with thanksgiving, comes the peace of God, which transcends all understanding. It guards my heart and my mind in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)

Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. And I have a knowing that as often as I pour out my perfume, He will fill it up again. This could never get old. Yes, I will be the one, Lord.   

   

 

A New Old Friend

Hi, my sweet friends. Just wanted to share my new blog friend with you today. Her name is Beth, and she is actually an acquaintance from college. I have recently discovered that she is a kindred spirit in my quest to find the God kind of beauty every day and to live a life full of thanksgiving. She is hosting something called New Friend Friday, and I am her featured friend for the day! Click on over there to read my short interview. And while you're there, take a look around. She has some great tips and thoughtful ways to inspire us to start paying attention to the beauty around us. I recommend this post for starters.

I Will

Happy Birthday, Dad.

If you were here

I would kiss your face off

and touch your beard

with trembling hand.

I would sing you a song,

and though I am unpracticed

and probably faltering,

I would play you a tune on my piano,

because I know how you love to listen.

I would show you how the kids have grown,

that the boys love their slingshots

and my girl has a tender, quirky heart.

I would go for a walk with you,

so we could talk

and marvel at how the maples

have turned scarlet.

I would be tempted to shower you

with a thousand birthday gifts,

but none of that would matter,

so I would shower you with all my love instead.

But today, in your absence,

your very great absence, 

I choose to make I would, I will.

I will kiss my children's faces off

and touch their golden heads

with trembling hand.

I will sing them a song

and play a tune on my piano,

because I know how they love to listen.

I will show them your picture

and remind them of the things

that made you unforgettable.

I will take them on a walk,

and we will talk

and marvel at how the maples

have turned scarlet.

I will be tempted to shower them

with a thousand store-bought gifts,

but none of that really matters,

so I will shower them with all my love instead.

In Which the Splendor of a Mountain Vista Inspires a Lofty Query

(based on the true adventures of Bob and Rachelle in the Rockies)

The sun warmed our faces as we rose above the tree line. Here, the cold air stung, and our lungs needed more with each step. Our boots crunched rock. A marmot popped his brown head above a boulder, spotted two hikers, and disappeared again. The silence on this mountain was not the same as any silence below. It was hushed, reverent, as if every created thing was holding its breath. Not one wished to disturb the near perfect vision they were revealing to us.

Jagged peaks proudly stood above, draped here and there with smooth glacier snow. Alpine flowers in shades of glory dotted the tundra. Their bobbing heads told us we could reach our destination. Their tender strength filled us with hope. The sky was our sapphire backdrop, its one white cloud within arm's reach. A great eagle soared through this bejeweled atmosphere, daring us to defy gravity along with him.

"We are almost there," we said to each other. We said this often, not because we knew it, but because we wanted to believe. Our vision now became narrow out of necessity. We were fixed on feet and hands, finding our way safely across changeable terrain. The weight of our backpacks taunted us, testing our resolve. The muscles of our legs cried out for rest. One more step. And another.

Just one more now.

There.

Finally.

We made it. A dark emerald pool lay still and cold, hidden from all in the world but the two who had dared to find it. The small lake nestled between parental peaks that faithfully guarded such a treasure. Stepping to the edge of the silent water revealed a depth of color. Darkest emerald lightened and blurred at its edges, becoming cerulean. Here was a ribbon of amethyst. And there, a streak of iridescent orange sapphire.

Turning around to face the way we had come broke our vision open wide. We were suddenly two specks on top of a world that lay completely below us. Tiny green pines dotted the slopes back down to earth. But here we were in heaven. Neighboring mountains sent silent greeting from far off lands, so it seemed. I smiled at my partner in this spectacular adventure. He had been my faithful leader toward this lofty height, and I valued what he might say. He looked at me with an intensity I recognized. His eyes searched the depths of my soul for an answer to the question he had in that moment.

"Are your ears popping?"

 "No," I answered softly, "but I sure need to pee."

To the Summit! (bloody stubs and all)

Wake before sunrise. Eat a hearty breakfast. Dress in layers. Lace your boots. Fill your camelbak with cold water. Strap on your backpack loaded with supplies. Check the map. Hit the trail.

I miss this. Bob and I had six fairly carefree years of marriage before the three little blessings came along. We sometimes ask each other what in the world we used to do back then. Our lives are so full of family activity now. But if I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate, I can remember what we did:

ANYTHING WE WANTED!

This included hiking up several of the Rocky Mountains.

We had a dream of reaching the top of all the 14ers of the Rockies--those mountains 14,000 feet and higher.

As of this writing, 48 out of 53 of those 14ers are still untouched by our boots.

But the ones we did climb are pretty cool notches in our belts. Each one gave us different stories to tell and unique learning experiences to put toward the next climb.

And of course each one had that final victorious moment: reaching the peak. It's a thrilling, singular experience to realize you are almost as high on the earth as your feet can take you.
  

But really, the mountain climbing hasn't ended for us. We're just climbing a different kind of mountain now. It's called Mount Parenthood, and from here, it looks much higher than 14,000 feet. We have a long way to go, but I have hopes and dreams about the summit. I want us to reach the top with children who have grown into confident, happy adults. I want them to know that they are fully loved and to be able to give that love away. I want their hearts to beat in rhythm with their Heavenly Father's heart. I want them to "shine like stars in the universe as they hold out the Word of Life" (from Philippians 2).

We've already completed several legs of this journey: the newborn leg, the two-in-diapers leg, the pre-school leg, the adding-a-third-isn't-that-bad leg, and the deciding-to-homeschool-and-actually-doing-it leg. I figure we're up about 10,000 feet. Making it through the teen years must get you at least 30 or 40,000 feet higher, right? I shudder.

We recently had the joy of taking the three to our old hiking area and showing them them ropes.

Look. Ben praises the Lord we finally made it.

Mountain hiking is good for body, soul, and spirit.

  

Sometimes it's tough. Sometimes a duck tries to eat your granola bar.

Sometimes you can't believe how many miles you have left to walk.

Sometimes you cut your finger on a pine tree. Blasted pine trees!

And sometimes you just hafta sit down 'cause your feet feel like bloody stubs.

If you are paying attention on your journey, though, you will notice the gifts: like smooth sticks that were made just for your hand, to help you with the walking,

ferns that fill your thirsty soul with heavenly green,

smaller accomplishments along the way that give confidence for what lies ahead,

chipmunks who stand tall and give speeches to tell you how well you are doing,

little girls who offer to carry your backpack for a spell,

bridges safely crossed without incident,

the perfect shade of lavender,

birds to remind you that you can soar, if only you will jump off the edge of your fear,

and then...then, you can see it. You are almost there.

And then you realize...you know... for you have lived it,

that beauty is worth the struggle.

Joy is worth fighting for.

What kind of mountain are you facing?

Whatever it is, you can climb it. Be encouraged! Take heart! You are not climbing alone.

God goes with you. He will lead you beside still waters.

He will let you lie down in a green meadow and rest.

His rod and staff will comfort you.

He will anoint your head with the oil of joy.

Your cup will overflow!

His goodness and love will follow you...right up to the summit.