Finding God in a Box of Salt

We have had quite a year of "opportunity for growth" (as my friend calls it). First I broke my leg, then our daughter had a miscarriage, then, before my leg was completely healed, I developed ian infection in my foot and a month later had to have surgery to drain it, then developed sepsis and subsequent renal failure. I was very sick and had to be on daily IV antibiotics for weeks. When I was finally almost better, I fell off a friend's deck and had bruised ribs for a few weeks. As that was healing, my husband had a stroke, landing him in the hospital for a week. A week later he ended up in the hospital again.

The bottom line is we are running at about half power income-wise right now, have medical bills that exceed our mortgage, and are in a place of having to completely trust God for our provisions and our health and our future. Frankly, this is where we all are anyway, whether we realize it or not; it's just absolutely clear in our lives at this moment.

Five years ago this season, we lost my mother-in-law to a stroke. Nevertheless, she is still here with us in our hearts and memories. She used to say, "Out of salt, out of money" and my husband still says that. This past month, my son had used up the last of our salt doing various science experiments, and the almost empty container sitting on the counter calls out to me, mocking me, "Out of salf, out of money."

Today, a friend brought a care basket from some coworkers (most of whom we don't even know). As I was putting various items away in my pantry, I came upon a box of salt. And this precious box of salt spoke over and above the empty one sitting on the counter. "I see your need. Your provision comes from Me, and I will take care of you."

While I was pondering this, my son skipped into the kitchen, noticed the salt on the stove and said, "Mommy, how did they know we needed salt?" God knows.

As Deep Cries out to Deep

I have experienced some dark times this year. I'm not sure which was the darkest part; the days after my surgery when I was so sick I thought I was going to die, or the weeks after I got home when I was so sick but didn't know if I would ever get well or just live in misery forever.

First off, let me say, I would be happy to die. I know that a much better place awaits me. But all I could picture, as I lay there pleading with God for my life, was my 8-year-old son, my husband, and my grown daughter. My daughter would get through, but she has already suffered so much this year with the loss of her daughter. My husband would make it, I think; but it would be only by God's mercy and grace. It takes both of us to raise our son, and both of us to keep us afloat financially. I could not imagine how he would deal with the stress, physically, financially, emotionally, psychologically. God would provide, but still, if I could spare him that road... And most of all, my son, who has so much growing up to do, and who really needs the balance of both his mom and dad. I called my friend Laurie in tears, begging her, "If I die, please make sure my boys are taken care of." And then things got better. Laurie came the next day and we had a time of worship and the whole atmosphere of the room changed...and things began to improve, though I was still quite sick. God put me on Gordon's heart that night and he prayed for me. Friends from church came the next day and prayed for me. Laurie and Dan came the next day and prayed for me, and that night was the last of my fevers and chills and sweats and vomiting. People kept coming and praying, and calling, and praying for me.

After I came home, nausea and fatigue and diarrhea still plagued me. On top of that, I had people coming to my house, poking me and prodding me and just invading my life. And there were countless doctors demanding I come see them. And Gary was stressed out, trying to work and take care of me. He couldn't fit in driving me to town for all those doctor visits. And I was too exhausted to go. Did I mention the overwhelming nausea? Forcing myself to eat, but having no appetite. Feeling like I wanted to heave my innards out all the time....On top of that, no one could tell me why I felt so miserable. Perhaps the kidney failure? That was the best guess. And no one could tell me if my kidney function would ever return to normal--or even improve. I was faced with the thought of living the rest of my life sick beyond bear.

The worst part was that I had no hope. If someone could just tell me, "Yes, you will get better." Then I think I could have tolerated it better But I had no hope. In the hospital, I could draw myself to worship God. I could say to Him, "Not my will, but thine." with regard to whether I lived or died. But this nausea. This unknowing. This hill that had no end. These waves that just kept coming and coming, with no end in sight. At least death would have been an end. I was struggling so with making peace with God about living the rest of my life in nausea.

I had to get to church, but I could not drive our manual because I could not push in the clutch with my left (wounded) foot. Gary got sick, very sick, with a GI bug and could not take me the second Sunday after I got home (the first Sunday, I was just too weak to go still). So I asked a friend to give me a ride the next Wednesday, but when she didn't show up, I knew that it was the enemy keeping me from where I really NEEDED to be. I needed to physically submit myself to God and go, to say PHYSICALLY, "I will still worship You; I will still acknowledge Your sovereignty, even though I don't understand or know what You have planned, or have faith or hope in my future." And so I climbed into my truck (after Gary moved the car for me) and drove myself to that Wednesday service.

And people were glad to see me. And they prayed for me. One woman told me she had faith for me where I did not, that I would get better, completely better. Another man told me that they were not letting me go. I needed to hear all that. I DESPERATELY needed to hear all that. By the next week, the nausea was gone and I had improved immensely--to the point that I could have hope for myself that I would continue to improve.

Forgive my personalization of Psalm 42:6-7, etc.

My soul is downcast within me; therefore I will remember you from the land of RiverBend; from the heights of kidney failure--from immense nausea. Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

And in the future, remembering how He has brought me through, I will say, "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God."

When to Praise the Lord

Deuteronomy 8:10 "When you have eaten and are satisified, praise the Lord your God for the good land he has given you."

Every morning, my cat Mermott comes in and jumps up on my desk, sitting between me and my monitor, and we have a short little session of head butting and cheek petting, before she jumps down and does whatever she does all day. This morning, however, she did not jump up on my desk, but stood on the floor beside my chair. When I tried to pet her, she walked away. When I tried to pick her up, she let me know in no uncertain terms that she wanted down. After a while, I realized the bathroom door, where we keep the cats' food, was closed. Later, after she had eaten and was full, she came in and jumped up on my desk, ready for pets and full of purr.

Luke 22:17-19 "After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, 'Take this and divide it among you. For I tell you I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.' And he took bread, gave thanks, and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.' "

A short while after Mermott had eaten, Buster came in from outside and stood at the office door meowing at me. I talked to him and he talked to me, as is our routine; and then he went and ate, and left.

One cat thanks me with a belly full, the other thanks me for the meal he is about to receive. I remember when I first read that Deuteronomy scripture, I wondered, why then do we pray before we eat?

Over the last weeks, I have struggled. I have struggled with doubt about whether God would bring me back to complete health, with whether I would spend the rest of my life living with this horrid nausea, with how expensive I was going to be to keep alive, and how much my life was worth. Perhaps these things seem obvious or trivial from a different perspective; but from the depths of nausea and depression and in the midst of the unknown, these are not trivial questions. Part of me knows that God will give me the grace and the means to do anything He calls me to. If He asks me to live with nausea for the rest of my life, He will give me the grace to endure it. If He asks me to live with kidney failure, He will provide the means for treatment for that. But, on the other hand, there is the nitty-gritty, day-to-day struggle....and it's been hard...and I have been losing the battle. I don't see God's grace provided to me. I'm not able to do what I want to do. I'm barely able to be civil to the people I love most.

But last Wednesday, at church, people prayed for me. Dennis said, "We will not let you go." And others told me they had faith that I would get well--even when I didn't have that faith. I realized that they were holding me up. When I could not stand, when I did not have faith, they held me up and had faith for me.

And as I pondered my two cats this morning, I realized that I was being Mermott, praising God for what I had already eaten, for the healing that had already taken place---but God wants me to be Buster, to thank Him for the meal I was about to eat, for the healing that will come.

Hiatus

Just in case any of you are wondering where I have been. I got an infection in my foot that had to be surgically opened and drained, and then I developed sepsis from the bacteria getting into my bloodstream, then my kidneys failed....So I am home now, after 10 days in the hospital, on IV antibiotics for weeks still, battling nausea and waiting for my kidneys to recover. Prayers are welcome. I will post again soon, but I think I need to feel better first.

To My Angel

The following was written by Laura. Today is the day Nadia Joy was due. Sadly, she died before she could see her mommy and daddy. But we all love her dearly just the same and look forward to seeing her one day in heaven, completely whole and untarnished by this world.


To my angel.....

My sweet girl,

You were due today. It seems strange to even think about that, since it's so far from when you were born. Maybe all mothers remember the due dates too... You'd be 16 weeks old now, if you'd have stayed. Smiling, cooing, those wonderful milestones. I'd best not linger on the things I miss, lest I forget what I've gained. I miss you terribly! It's like waves at the beach. I won't even know where it came from, but I miss you again so fiercely...

I've changed so much these 16 weeks. It amazes me still that you've done more in such a short time than I'm likely to accomplish in my whole life. You've taught some that there's more to life than their world. For others, you've softened their hearts. You've taught some how to grieve, and how to be vulnerable. That it's okay to cry, and to feel. You have deepened relationships, and secured friendships in ways you'll never know. Most of all, you have brought people to the Father. For some it's a new relationship, for others, it's a deeper one. I know that you yourself are not capable of these things, and that it is indeed the Father himself who has used you for His glory.

I miss you so. But you have brought me closer to my Father, and I know him better. I have found new Joy nestled in His arms, a security I never could fathom. And He is still my hope. I still wish I could hold you, hear your voice, see your smile. I wonder what kind of woman you'd have grown into. I love you. I love you more than I can express. I will always love you.

Though the sorrow may last for the night, His joy comes in the morning.

It's been many nights, and many more will come. But He is still holding me up. I was thinking the other day about God holding me, and comforting me. He understands my pain. I realized that He really does! He lost a Son! He knows what it's like to lose a child! I started thinking more about His understanding, and I realized that he doesn't ask us to do what he hasn't. He understands loss. He can grieve with us. He lost a child, and at some point Joseph died, so he lost a parent. He knows what it's like to be tempted, and what it's like to be misunderstood. He's had neighbors and siblings. We constantly shun Him, tell Him he's not good enough. When he asks us to give up ourselves, he's done that too!

What an awesome God we have! He has indeed brought good from the pain, and I know he's not done. He's given me a new insight and a deeper understanding of who He is. I can say with certainty, "God is good!"

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified. " Isaiah 61:3

My prayer now is one of thanksgiving. That though I miss you, and will miss seeing you grow, I have gained a treasure more precious than silver. I will never stop missing you, and I look to the day when I will see you again, ever praising the One who created us.

Mom

He was my Sunday school teacher.

The men in my family are pretty closed about their emotions and pain. K boy, when he is hurt, usually crawls off into a corner and suffers quietly. It's when the house is quiet that I know to be concerned. And when he took a wrong turn over a waterfall recently and landed on rock in an inch of water after a five-foot drop, he merely said, "I'm okay, I"m okay." And when I insisted he MUST hurt, he said, "It's only pain."

So when one of his Sunday school teachers (his friends in the know say his favorite Sunday school teacher) died unexpectedly and suddenly last week, I was not surprised that he took it on the chin without wincing. This is his style. I have looked for subtle things over the past days to see if there was any indication of "hurt", but he remained stoic.

The memorial service for his teacher, Don, was today, originally scheduled at the same time as K's swim meet. So I left the choice up to K as to which one to go to. He thought all afternoon yesterday about it and decided he wanted to go to the swim meet. But God knows what K needs and arranges things. The swim meet went really quickly and was over by 2:30. The memorial, about five minutes away, got pushed back to 2:00; so I made the command decision that we would go. All K would say was, "I don't want to." I asked him why and he only repeated, "I just don't want to." Nevertheless, something inside me said we should go. So we went, and being late, stood out in the foyer listening and watching on the monitor to Brian's beautiful tribute to Don, and I picked up a "program" with Don's picture on the front. A card fell out, and as I didn't know Don well, I tucked it back into the stack of programs. But K said, "What was that, Mom?" So I told him it was a card to write a memory on. When I turned back to look through the window, K pulled the card out of the stack, took it to a table where there pens and started writing. When I glanced his way, he said, "Don't look. I don't want you to read this." But later, as I was helping him find the basket to put it in, I read it over his shoulder. It was unsigned and simply said, "He was my Sunday school teacher."

So, Cindy, when you find a card, written in an 8-year-old's cursive, in big letters because he did not have his glasses with him--please know that it came from the depths of the heart of a boy who did not know how to express the hurt in any other way.

Picking Blueberries

My friend and I went walking through town early the other morning and we went a block or so out of our way to pass by some blueberry bushes that the city planted by the old train engine. As we were picking the ripe berries off the bushes, leaving the green ones (there are several different varieties planted), an older man got out of his car and said, "Are they ripe yet?" We answered, mouths full of juicy, sweet berries, "Oh, yes." But as we wandered away to finish our walk, he looked at the remaining berries on only one bush and said, rather annoyed, "They are NOT ripe yet!"

The fact is, apparently we are not the only ones who have come to appreciate the berries. Many people now, as they walk by, selectively pick only the perfectly ripe berries, and leave the rest to ripen for another day.

Years ago, a friend of mine bought the rights to a blueberry patch, and recruited quite a few of us to help pick for her. Picking blueberries for the harvest is quite a different experience than picking them in the park one at a time. When you pick them for harvest, you wrap both hands around each clump, and strip the berries off, ripe and unripe together, and then later sort through them, discarding the overripe and the unripe berries, as well as any leaves and twigs.

It occurred to me, as I sat in church listening to Gordon talk about Don Gibson, who recently--unexpectedly and suddenly--went to be with the Lord, that perhaps now God wanders through the believers, picking only the ripest, sweetest ones. But the day is coming when He will harvest ripe and unripe together, and sort us all out later.

Lost Marble

In 1989, we bought a little over an acre of land that had been horse pasture for as long as I had lived in the area. At the back were three fruit trees, the remnants of an orchard (ancient fruit trees, even then). Using my imagination, I could look back in time and see little pioneer children playing, and after that, children of the depression, and so on. The house two lots to the west of us was probably built around the turn of the century. The houses flanking us were probably built in the 1930s and 1940s. The acreage we bought belonged to the people who formerly owned the house to the east, and several properties to the east and north of that.

So, often, when digging, I would find treasures. On the eastern fence line, not too far from the neighbor's house, I found the remnants of an old burn pile--melted metal and melted ancient hand cream jars, lids, and so forth. When digging out on the western fence line, to the north, in what has always been pasture, as far as I can tell, I found an old, pre-matchbox era, toy fire engine. This spring, in our south pasture, to the west, where a little lean-to has stood for maybe a decade (Jake's house), a sparkle in the dirt at just the right time of day caught my attention. When I dug it up, I had a light blue and green marble. To me it looks old, especially given the imperfection at the top. I assume this is a hand-blown marble, and I don't think it was my daughter's. So I assume that it was lost by some child in a very long-ago time.

This marble seems to delight in being lost. When I found it, I stuck in my pocket and brought it in to wash it off. But when I set it down, it rolled to the floor and disappeared. A day or two later it reappeared right in the middle of the floor. So I picked it up, and not wanting it to be lost again, and wanting to show it to my daughter, to see if she recognized it, I set it in a flower pot that had been given to us, which had some living plants in it and little polished rocks like a little stream.

A few days later, I walked by the plant and remembered the marble and remembered that I wanted to show it to my daughter, but later that evening, when my daughter and son-in-law came by, the marble was nowhere to be found. I took all the rocks out and dug around in the soil, but the marble was lost. This became rather a joke to my family--me losing my marble and all. But it bugged me.

The plants died in the pot, so today, when I took it outside to clean it out, I sifted carefully through the dirt and found that marble. I don't intend to lose it again, but it seems to have a mind of its own. Nevertheless, at least I have a picture of it now, so people will know what to look for if they intend to help me find my marble.

Tolerance

I think God uses special people to help our areas of weakness. I know by the son that He has given me that I needed to grow in the areas of patience and tolerance.

Patience is a long lesson, built like a strong wall, brick upon brick upon brick. I get it. I get opportunities to learn patience almost daily. Brick upon patient brick.

I did not know I was not tolerant. I guess the opposite of tolerant would be critical, condescending, judgmental. I suppose I am and/or have been all of those things to some degree, because God is sure using my son to teach me about tolerance--from the other side, from the side of being criticized and judged, on account of my son.

He's such a special kid. He is exuberant and enthusiastic, full of life and energy, intellegent. But he has a blindspot for social things. He has never had a sense of personal space, first of all. I don't know if this is because of his vision or because something in his brain is wired differently. (I hesitate to say "wrong", because I believe that God knew what He was doing when He made K the way he is.) And so I find myself constantly reminding him that people like to have an armslength between them, when talking and such.

Another social area that we work on continually is reading body language and facial expressions and listening to words other people are saying. It's so hard when he sees other kids wrestling and such and he wants to get in on it, but he doesn't understand how to be gentle at the same time, and he doesn't realize how much bigger he is than other kids. When does "no" really mean "no"? He doesn't pick up on the subtle clues that differentiate "no" from "no". Are they smiling when they say it, or are they turning away and frowning? The subtle nuances that you and I take for granted, he does not see.

Last year, a parent called him a "bully" because of this. I suspect, now that the parent has known him for a year and through other sports and such, that he would not call K a bully now. But that was, nevertheless, his first impression. I can feel parents this year criticizing me because of my son's lack of social "comprehension", because they don't know him, and they don't know me, and they don't know us.

And it hurts. And there is nowhere to go with it. When I was raising my "other" child, I was the condescending, critical one--if not overtly, at least on the inside. So I guess, in my old age, and because I am on the other side of the coin now, I will think before I have a critical, condescending, judgmental heart. We are not all wired the same (thankfully!). It isn't necessarily lack of good parenting that makes a child blurt out what comes to his mind or play too rough or too long. It isn't a matter of 'us' and 'them', but it is 'we'. How can we help each other and encougage each other, rather than criticzing and judging each other?

Growing into the people God wants us to be sure is painful sometimes....

Weeds, Rain, and Getting God's Heart

We almost always have a relatively nice spell in February when I can get out and weed the flower beds. And they look nice for a while, but then in April when I get to them again, they are overgrown with grass and weeds and clover and bedstraw. It would be nice if I could just weed them once in a while and be done; but that isn't how life goes.

Similarly, in my own heart, I might think I have weeded out a bad thought pattern or some bitterness or have forgiven a hurt; but then something will happen to make me look closely, and there are those rotten, ugly weeds again.

I have marveled at my son's high tolerance for pain. But with my recent broken leg, I think I understand how he comes by it. When we were putting our garden in, in the first weeks of my injury, digging about two holes per day for my tomatoes was about all I could handle if the ground was hard. But I would not notice that I was in pain, only that I was getting short-tempered and cranky with my son. It seems I have a similar way with my feelings. When I am hurting, I might not recognize it; but I will start criticizing others or speaking harsh words.

Sometimes, the weeds that reach the furthest are the easiest to pull. Bedstraw and clover will cover a large amount of ground, but when you trace the vines back to their origin, with one pull a whole lot of weed comes up; and the ground cleans up easily. This is how it has been lately with my closest friend of decades. My whole life will be overcome with a hurt or a misunderstanding or something stupid I have said or done; but one heart-to-heart with her and forgiveness, and loving words of reassurance, and all that weed is gone... I just have to find the stem.

My garden was tilled in horse pasture this year, where hay and grass seed had fallen. I put soaker hoses on the garden, to only water the plants I wanted to grow, and the weeds were easy to control. But then God sent a great downpour and now my whole garden is growing in a carpet of grass. I know we need the rain, but I do find myself a little irritated at how much weeding I have to do now because of it!! The Bible says that God sends rain on the just and the unjust, meaning that God blesses everyone, not just those that follow Him. He wants us to follow him for reasons other than His provision. But I have to say, that sometimes I find myself a little jealous--like Cain, I suppose--that other people get blessed when I feel like I'm working so hard, and they are not. Personally, I think it is easier to care for animals than to work the ground, plant, weed and harvest. I think Cain probably felt the same way. But I have to keep reminding myself of C S Lewis' words, via Aslan, "I tell no one any story but his own." I can't compare MY story with anyone else's, because I am unique and God, to be just, must treat me uniquely. I almost think, when it comes to dealing with God, that I need to wear "blinders" so that I am not tempted to compare my story to someone else's.

On the other hand, we are called to be a part of the body of Christ. We cannot live as an island and also function as part of the body. A friend prayed this morning in church, "Lord, teach us to be a part of the body, because we don't know how to do it." And Gordon read out of the New Living Translation this morning (which is slightly different than my beloved NIV), Ephesians 4:2 "Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. "

"Making allowance for each other's faults". It's so easy to get frustrated and irritated with each other when we don't see eye to eye and we cannot bring the other person around to our (correct, of course) way of thinking. But we are called to "make allowances" for our differences...for their faults, and them for ours. It's hard to make allowance for someone else's faults, especially if that isn't a particular fault of our own. But when we are made aware of our own faults, our "weeds", it is freeing beyond words to have others make allowances for us. It is humbling and it is comforting. In the way that we know that God will never forsake us, it is comforting to know that there are people who will also never forsake us. And we need to be the kind of people who won't forsake others.

In the same way that "he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus", he will also carry on that good work in the people we walk with--the other members of the body. Last week, Mark McCoy talked about 1 Corinthians 13, and how God was making us all to look like that. He talked about watching Bob Ross paint and how Mr. Ross would get a painting started and Mark would think, "Wow, that looks pretty good. He could stop there." But then Mr. Ross would paint a river through the middle of it, and when he was done, the painting would so much more awesome than Mark had imagined it could. That is what God is doing with us. He is making a masterpiece. We think we look pretty good, but then God paints a river through us and we think, "Don't!! You're ruining it!" But in the end, God had something even better in mind. And the fact is, He is doing that with all of us. So, if our blinders happen to be down and we happen to see God start to "ruin" what we think someone else is supposed to look like, it's okay, God has something better in mind.

So, if you hear me being negative or critical:

1) tell me to recognize if I am hurting,

2) tell me to go do some weeding,

3) remind me to put blinders on ("I tell no one any story but his own."), and

4) remind me that He who began a good work in me (and every other part of the body) will carry it on to completion.

I'm reminded of a little song that we used to sing in college..."I am a promise. I am a possibility. I am a promise, with a capital P. I am a great big bundle of potentiality. And I am learning to hear God's voice, and I am trying to make the right choice. I am a promise to be anything God wants me to be." Funny, it means so much more NOW than it did two and a half decades ago.

How deep is the night...

Here is another post from our daughter Laura, who lost her first child, Nadia, six weeks ago at 24 weeks' gestation. We continue to mourn, but we are not without Hope.


Often, the vast darkness and emptiness of pain and grief feels blinding. It's cold, and lonely, and seems ready to devour me whole. I can't see past it, or through it. How I need a light! How thankful I am that I have a light. I have the ultimate light source in my Father. He is my hope and my strength, my light in the utmost darkness.

I've often wondered, along with my friends and family, how anyone can go through this kind of pain and grief without God. I don't know how it's possible. The pain has been so great, yet I know I'm held tight, and I have hope. What darkness it must truly be without any hope or security!

I was thinking about this darkness on our recent vacation. Justin and I visited the Lava River Cave near Bend, OR. It's about a mile long, and you walk in until you can't, or don't want to, go any further. Then you walk the mile back out. It was sunny and pushing 80 degrees outside the cave, yet there was ice 50 feet in. About 100 feet in, still bathed in the dim glow of the entrance, the darkness ahead was so great that our flashlight wasn't enough for us to see. While Justin went back to get a lantern, I waited in the cave. I was standing in the light still, but I couldn't see what was around me. Waiting in the cold, in the dark, I marveled at how the light disappeared into the walls of the cave. The emptiness and darkness seemed to be waiting to swallow up all that ventured in. Only when we had the strong light from the lantern could we see the path ahead, and see the scarred but beautiful walls from the lava long ago. Such beauty from fire!

About a week before we lost Nadia, I was listening to my audio book version of "The Last Battle" by C.S. Lewis. Near the end of the book, after the battle, the main characters find themselves in a bright meadow, not the dark stable they were expecting. There they meet Aslan and are reunited with him. As they wander about, they see the dwarves huddled together, stepping on each other, and acting as though they were blind. When Lucy and the others talk to them, they find that the dwarves can't see the meadow or the light. All they see is the very dark interior of a stable that doesn't exist. They are in complete darkness, yet surrounded by light. Aslan talks to them, but they refuse to believe him. They refuse to believe that he is there or that he is real, and in that choose to remain in the darkness while the others continue "Further up, and further in!".

I'm always struck by that picture. Alone in the darkness, void of all hope. Complete darkness, like in the lava cave. How lonley and cold it is when we separate ourselves from God. A word of belief and the dwarves would have seen. A willing heart and we shall have our light that never fades or fails. God will never leave us in the valley of the night. He will not allow the darkness to swallow us. He is there with us, letting us see what gems He has hidden in the darkness, if we will only allow Him to.

"If I say, 'Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,' even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like day, for darkness is as light to you." Psalm 139:11-12

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust." Psalm 91:1-2

"You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday." Psalm 91:5-6

I find myself thinking about Psalm 23. " The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." He's here. He's my light in the darkness, for to Him, there is no night. Even in the valley of the shadow of death, He can see. When I'm blinded by my grief, and when the pain surges anew, I need only remember that He can see clearly. He will lead me gently, and I need only to trust and follow.

It's still night. Not as dark as it has been, but night nevertheless. I will not fear the night, but look for the beauty and treasures hidden in it, for my light is everlasting. I am safe, I am warm. The storm rages around me, within me; the thunder cracks, the lighning flashes. But I am safe in my Father's arms. What a hope I have! What a hope those who know Him have. I have a place to rest. Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

Oh yeah?

I broke my leg three weeks ago. The day before I broke my leg, my 8-year-old son decided he wanted to learn to use the lawnmower. This was providence. Why? Because I somehow miscalculated the amount of hay I had left in my neighbor's barn (or someone helped themselves to it) and so in order to stretch what hay I had remaining, I needed to mow several wheelbarrows of grass per day for the horses. This is not a problem, as I have access to not only my own front pasture, but my neighbor's as well. However, with a broken leg, I am not able to mow it. So my mighty little man has won the job. He does not always do this with a willing heart. But he does do it. Of course, as he is only 8, I need to watch closely that he takes all the safety precautions I have given him. The grass is long and often damp and often clogs, at which point he has to shut of the mower and either empty it or unclog it. I feel like a broken record, telling him over and over to back up the mower off the pile of grass under the blade before starting it. Unfortunately, I have too often worded it in a way that triggers his Richter gene.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Richter gene (though I suppose it could also be labeled the "Smith gene"), it is that tendency of our family to stand up in the face of "It can't be done." I have been told that if you want to get a Richter to do something, you merely have to tell them it can't be done. Thus, when I say to my son, "Back the lawnmower up, you can't start it where it is." His Richter gene answers, "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" And one particular day last week, on the third wheelbarrow, when his "Oh, yeah? Watch me!" had earned him a sore neck and shoulder, and my thousandth chorus of "Back it up" was somewhat lethargic and unemotional, I finally added, "Well, you CAN start it that way, but IF you back it up, it will start easier." And it finally sunk in.

Then tonight, I had asked him to put our dalmatian in her crate, which is under his loft bed, before he climbed up, but he had forgotten, and he said, "It's okay, I can do it from up here, " and I said, "No, you can't reach it" triggering that ol' Richter gene, "Oh yeah?" Of course I move in with my crutches to try to close the crate before he gets to it, and also to catch him when he falls...which is what would happen....

So what is the deal? And how do I corral this spirit of his? I don't want to break it. I think this determination is a God-given attribute, and I know, that if directed properly, it will serve him well. But how do I direct his challenges away from needing to prove me wrong? I think part of this is coming in response to me needing him to do things for me because of my leg. I think he is gaining a sense of importance and "manliness" from being needed. But at the same time, I want him to respect me and not meet every "negative" thing I say with, "Oh yeah? Watch me!"

Perhaps it is simply the way I am wording things. But for the life of me, even if I word it like, "Maybe if you try it this way..." I am still met with resistance. He wanted to be in the horse pasture with me today when the farrier was trimming our pony's feet. I had him put some hay out for the mustangs to keep them occupied, and he was thinking he could play in the pasture with us because they were distracted. When I told him no, that I could not be in there with crutches AND look out for him AND hold Jake, he stomped his foot and turned his back to me. So I sent him inside. And I was right. Our horses have been so neglected because for 3 weeks I have not done anything with them, they were all over the farrier and I begging for scratches and attention....never mind the food.

Poor boy. He comes by this gene honestly. Whether it is indeed a Richter gene or a Smith gene, I suspect most families carry it. It is expressed more obviously in some than in others. But certainly, it is strong in me. I was the same way to authority as a child. I was telling a friend the other day how I used to steel myself when a spanking was coming and would not cry. Is he destined for a life of difficulty because he resists authority?

And I think about how God has dealt with me. It hasn't been with lashes and stanchions. A will like mine will only fight harder when confined. I have been like a wild horse at the end of a rope. God has just let me have plenty of rope, pulling on the rope gently to guide me this way or that. But over the years I have learned that the suggestion of the rope is generally in my best interest, and so I have learned to resist my first instinct to pull back against the rope, and have learned to trust the person on the other end. And it has been through building relationship and trust that God has tamed my spirit. Often, my first instinct still is to pull back; but it might only be a twitch now, rather than the battle it would have been in my youth.

I hope that God gives me the wisdom and the courage to give K lots of rope, and to calmly call him back, again and again and again......

(Suggestions are always welcome!)

Marred in the Potter's Hands (The Easter Tree)

When we moved to our acre in 1992, I purchased a tree from one of those nursery catalogs you get in the mail. It was a flowering cherry and was never really supposed to get very large, maybe 8 feet tall, with a span of 12 feet or so. I had a vision that it would mark the boundary between our "parking area" and the "front yard". We put a mobile home on an acre of pasture that formerly housed horses--for as long as I lived in Junction City anyway--so I use the term "yard" loosely. It was not very big when I planted it--no taller than me, having arrived in the mail.

It was a quaint little tree. And it marked the corner of the parking area well. Then one day, after it had been growing in it's spot for about 10 years, we had a really big windstorm. Limbs and entire trees were falling all around us. My neighbor had a sequoia in his yard that forked about 5 feet off the ground, and during this windstorm one of the forks fell, essentially cutting my little tree in half.

I was heartbroken. I loved my little tree. But I didn't cut it down. I decided to wait and see what it would do. Six weeks later, it bloomed.

The next winter, when I pruned it, I left every branch that was reaching over to fill the gap. Clearly, the tree wanted to live. Just a little over a year after the storm that tried to kill it, it was again the focus of my mother-in-law's Easter tradition. In fact, we have dubbed this tree "The Easter Tree". We had called it that before it was ever damaged because it is esseintally directly in front of our living room window, the "centerpiece" of our front yard, and was small enough that my mother-in-law could hang treat-filled plastic eggs from it for our children on Easter.

But beyond being a tree to hang eggs from, it has become, to me, a tree of hope, a tree of resurrection. I had thought it would die, but with careful pruning it has flourished. When you look at this tree in full bloom, you probably would not guess that it had ever been bisected. You are caught by its beauty and fragrance. If your eyes land on its trunk, the scars are evident. It's only when you see it in the winter, stripped bare of its leaves, that you can read the story of injury and regrowth.

And now, seven years later, the tree has seemed to flourish, growing bigger than I ever expected it to. It is now big enough for a tire swing. Every spring we enjoy its fragrant blooms and the "snow" when the petals fall. The cats play tag in its branches. It provides camoflauge and rest for migrating canaries and finches every year. It sends up suckers from it roots 40 feet away! But most of all, it is a continual reminder that life follows death, spring follows winter, and restoration follow loss.

Nadia Joy

Our precious little granddaughter, Nadia Joy, went home to be with Jesus this week. The following was written by our daughter. Grab a kleenex.

Saturday, April 25, 9:49 p.m.

Our girl's gone home.

If you didn't know I was pregnant, I'm sorry you're just learning now. For the rest of you, I want to share the amazing events of the past couple of days...

First, I want to say thank you to all of you who have been supporting us, either through prayer or with your presence. I can't thank you enough. There really are no words.

This, like many pregnancies, came with it's own set of trials. Early on, I had been spotting and we thought we might lose our baby then. With lots of prayer we got our miracle, and by 20 weeks our precious little girl was perfect and perfectly healthy. We were looking forward to another 20 weeks of a healthy pregnancy. I had to have another ultrasound at 24 weeks because she wouldn't show her face, and the doctor needed to see it to know if she had any special needs that might come up at birth. So all was normal and fine until then.

At the 24 week visit, her heartbeat had slowed dangerously low. It hovered between 60and 70 beats per minute, when it should have been twice that. It also stopped at one point during the ultrasound. There were many things that could be wrong, but we needed to do some blood work on me and see a specialist in the morning. I went home with the knowledge that our best bet was to make it another week at least until she was just old enough to live outside the womb. She needed to make it to 25 weeks to even have a chance of living. There was a lot of prayer for healing, and preparing for the worst.

When we got to the specialist's on the morning of the 24th, they started another ultrasound. Having had five with this pregnancy, I've gotten pretty good at knowing what to look for. There was no heartbeat. The tech was silent, and I did have to ask to make sure, but our sweet little girl was gone. Justin and I both had a chance to cry and absorb the initial shock. Justin's parents had come, as had my mom, who had been with me the previous day. They came back and we all sat and cried while we waited for the doctor to come in. We talked about our options, and I decided that I didn't want to wait to have my labor induced.

I went to the hospital and was admitted around 10:45 a.m. They started the induction at 11:45 a.m. They had no idea how long it would take before she was born, but it could be later that night, or as late as Sunday. Only time would tell. We were gearing up for a long, grief-filled process.

At 1:12 a.m. our precious Nadia Joy was born. She had already been home with the Lord for probably a day. She was perfectly formed. She even had lines in her footprints already! She had blond hair that you couldn't really see, but it was there. She even had eyelashes! She was 1 lb, 4 oz, and 12 inches long. We had family and close friends there with us to meet Nadia and hold her. We were very fortunate to get to hold her and see her so perfect.

Ok, so those are the facts.

The rest of the story is the spiritual one. We are so blessed. We had so many people praying for us and with us. As hard as this is, God has given both Justin and me so much peace. I know that's what many of you were praying for, and God truly does answer prayers. For me personally, this whole thing has been such a blessing. I got pregnant when the doctors thought I couldn't. We had a pregnancy that lasted longer than we thought it was going to at first. I got the experience of feeling my baby move and react to sounds, I've now been through labor, though I'm sure it will be different next time around, and I got to hold my little girl. Justin got to see her grow in me, he got to feel her kick, and he got to hold his daughter. Both Justin and I are definitely grieving, and there are times that will be harder than others, but we both have peace that only God can give. We don't have any anger about the situation, just frustration about not understanding. I can speak for both of us when I say that we don't understand God's will and His choices, but we accept it fully. I can't even begin to express all of the peace and understanding and faith that I have seen in the past 36 hours. We now have an amazing testimony to the power of God's peace and the ways that he uses us. We have already seen some of the ripples and changes that have been made in attitudes and actions because of this. I'm sure God will use this to change many lives that I won't ever know about. I have complete confidence and trust in my Lord and what He does, regardless of my understanding or lack thereof.

One thing I realized this morning after coming home without our girl was something about how God must feel about His children. I was crying, and telling Justin that I just didn't understand how I could love someone so much in so short a time, and know so much about them without them knowing me. I realized that God feels that way about us. He makes us His perfect creation, designed to love Him and have a relationship with Him. He waits expectantly for us to know Him, to be born again, and for us to spend our whole lives learning about Him and who He is as our Father. When we refuse to have that relationship with Him, and refuse Him in our lives, it's like the stillborn child. Perfect in every way, created to love and be loved, and to spend a lifetime getting to know the ones who bore us. They just never make it that far. They are still loved, still wanted, and there are still hopes and dreams that we have for our children and that God has for us, but they will never have the chance to be fulfilled.

I am so grateful to have such a wonderful family and such wonderful friends who have stood with us through this, and will continue to. I am also so thankful for our family who understands that this is the loss of a child, not a pregnancy. She has a name, a birthdate, she is an individual. She is still one of the grandchildren, or great-grandchildren, the others will just never have the opportunity to play with her. She will always be our firstborn, and she will always have a place in the family. I'm so grateful that the family shares this idea with us, and that they were there with us to hold her and mourn with us. It's an experience that has touched so many lives already, and I'm sure it will touch more. My prayer now is that God will use me to further His kingdom by my being able to point to all that He's done though me.

I am so blessed to be thought of highly enough by my Lord to be used by Him to carry His little girl, that though I may not have had her for long, He let us share in a life that was too special for this realm. I'm so thankful that my girl didn't have pain, and that she didn't have to ever experience the pain of this world. I know I will see her when I go Home, and until then she is well. As a friend's child said, "Oh good! God loves playing with babies!" God loves playing with babies, and who could take better care of mine than the one who created her.


(photo courtesy of Anne Nunn Photography, see http://annenunnphotographyblog.com/ A Beautiful Life: Nadia Joy)

For Good

I had the privilege of seeing "Wicked" in Portland this week--a birthday present from my husband and daughter. My daughter drove us up there and we attended together. I had never even really heard of it. It's basically the back story of the witches of Oz; but it's not about sorcery and witchcraft at all. It's about power and manipulation, revising of history, truth and deception, truth and perception, and friendship.

I'm still reeling from the music and the concepts, the twists, the surprises. But that day, I was most moved by the song called, "For Good". The lyrics are below, as well as a link to a (probably illegal) video of it. I'm sure the song is more moving if you know the rest of the story, but it has merit on its own. To set the stage, Elphaba (the Wicked Witch of the West) is saying goodbye to her longtime friend, Glinda the Good. As I sat there listening to the lyrics, I thought of my friend Laurie, who has stood by me for more than 20 years. I can't imagine ever having to say goodbye, but even so, these words are so perfect. "So much of me is made of what I learned from you. You'll be with me, like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine by being my friend..."

In the past few weeks I have met up (via Facebook) with some of my old college friends and so have been thinking back on those days a lot. Thinking about the girl I used to be and the person I am now. Thinking about how I did, or did not, influence others' lives. Thinking about how other people influenced my life. I have regrets, so many regrets. But I know that we don't grow into maturity overnight. I know that most 20-somethings go through a stage of legalism where they have it all figured out and they aren't very gracious. I was no different. I wish I could go back and be gracious instead of legalistic, cooperative instead of competetive, giving instead of seeking. But I can't go back. I can only go forward and thank God for His grace in my life. I can only go forward and when those 20-somethings come into my life, not take it personally, but understand, and speak kind and gracious words to them. I can only go forward and be thankful, oh so thankful!, for those handprints on my heart....so very many handprints. And go forward, knowing that those God brings into my life bring me something I must learn. And know that when God brought me into others' lives, it was to help them learn something...

Nevertheless, I hate goodbyes. I hate the goodbyes I have said in the past and I dread the goodbyes to come. I don't want handprints on my heart, I want hands.

(Elphaba):
I'm limited
Just look at me - I'm limited
And just look at you
You can do all I couldn't do, Glinda
So now it's up to you
For both of us - now it's up to you...

(Glinda):
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

(Elphaba):
It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine
By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you

(Glinda):
Because I knew you

(Both):
I have been changed for good

(Elphaba):
And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for

(Glinda):
But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share

(Both):
And none of it seems to matter anymore

(Glinda):
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood

(Elphaba):
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a bird in the wood

(Both):
Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better

(Glinda):
And because I knew you...

(Elphaba):
Because I knew you...

(Both):
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good...

For Good

How Deep our Father's Love for Us

My friend Emily was involved in a car accident last week. It was a "small" accident as car accidents go--low speed, superficial bodily injuries (though the psychological ones go deeper), dented metal, broken tie rods... But this is what she said in writing about it,

"i was crying half because it was scary
& i was in pain
& the other half because i was so
relieved that the kids were okay...
it's amazing how their well-being is
so much wrapped up into my everything.
i know it's like that for all parents...
we would always take the pain for our kids
if we could..."

I love that line "it's so amazing how their well-being is so much wrapped up into my everything". Every parent feels that way. Every parent SHOULD feel that way. It is God in us, at our very core. He created us to be that way so that we would understand HIM better, so that we could better comprehend HIS love for us.

I have been sensing in people lately, and hearing it outright as well, an uneasiness about our economy, our future, our jobs. And although I have had trouble putting it into words, I think Emily put it very well. If we know how to give good gifts to our children, how much better does our Father know how to give good gifts to us? We are His everything!! And He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. His wealth and his ability to provide for us have nothing to do with the economy.

Pruning, pruning, and more pruning

It's that time of year!!

When I was in college, one NT professor had us memorize massive passages of scripture. Until then, I had only learned a verse here and a verse there. I had no idea I was even capable of memorizing whole chapters! (Thank you, Dr. Root.) One of the passages that lives in my heart and that comes up at least once a year--way more often than that, usually--is John 15. It starts off like this, Jesus is talking to his disciples, probably at his last meal with them before his death, or perhaps on the way to the olive grove, where he would be arrested:

"I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he trims clean so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything I have learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you to go and bear fruit--fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other. "

Pruning is an art form. We prune for many reasons, with different results. Roses seem to thrive on pruning. We cut them back all summer and they just grow and bloom more and more. Then in the winter, we cut away the dead wood so the new growth has room to grow. I prune my arborvitae hedge so that is will remain fairly low, so that I can see traffic over it, and traffic can see me. I prune the fruit trees I just planted to encourage root growth, and for the next few years I will not let them put their energy into producing fruit at all, but will pluck the fruit while it is small so that the trees will put their energy into growing strong roots and a strong trunk.

This has been a year of much growth for me and I feel like I am in a dormant, rather numb state right now, with changes in our business and the loss of my grandma and brother. But the truth is, I'm ready for God to prune away. Pruning the dead wood does not hurt. it changes what I look like, I may have to give up things I'm used to--and heaven knows I don't like change!--but it's all for the best. The dead wood will be in the way of the new growth. I need to surrender to the Gardener.

Some of the pruning God is doing in me is to make me more suited to His plans. I had neglected to prune my arborvitae hedge for many years, and did a severe pruning this year, taking it from 10 or 12 feet down to about 6. It is all level and neat-looking now and I asked Mr. K what he thought. "I liked it better the old way." We do get used to ourselves and it's hard for us to accept change in ourselves, especially when we cannot see the purpose. I'm sure my hedge was thinking "Up, up, up I grow. Oh how lovely and tall I am!" But my desire is that if a horse escapes and runs down the driveway, any traffic coming might have 50 feet to see it, rather than 6. I may like growing tall and wild; but God may have another purpose for me. I need to yield to the Gardener.

Some of the growing I did this year was hard and the kind that is meant to last. Some of the pruning God is doing in me is to keep me from fruiting in certain areas so that my trunk may grow strong and my root system may flourish, so that in the future I will be able to support and sustain a rich harvest. Did you notice how all the apple trees this years seemed to be overladen? If my limbs grow too fast, when the time comes to fruit bountifully, my limbs may be too weak and break. I need to accept the Gardener's de-fruiting, even though it seems contrary to my purpose in life. I need to trust the Gardener.

Some of the pruning He does to make me more productive. Sometimes he picks roses for a bouquet for His delight, or dead-heads the previous blooms to encourage me to flower more. I need to take joy in the Gardener's pruning, as He takes joy in me.

Whatever the Gardener chooses to do in me, I need to yield and surrender to it willingly, joyfully and trustingly. I am in His garden, planted for His purposes, and for His delight. I want to live in His garden forever. So I will accept this season of rest and pruning; knowing that Spring is just around the corner, and I will be all the more useful and productive in the long run for the pruning I have embraced this winter.

(photo by Hannah Mills)

Another Blog Worth Repeating....

http://youhavemyword.blogspot.com/2009/01/pendulum-parenting-article-from-world.html

This is really good. Focus on what really matters (for parents).

ooooh, the light!

We have been sopped in with fog for a long time--it feels like forever. The fog never lifts, the sun never breaks through, it is barely above freezing, and our eyes are getting used to the grayness. Friday I drove to Eugene and the sun was shining. I could barely see, the sun was so bright. When we headed back home, I could see to the north a wall of gray extending clear to the ground, and within just a few miles the sun was but a memory and the fog once again surrounded us, muffling sounds and dimming light.

I again drove to Eugene on Saturday, but this time when I drove home, the sun stayed with me and was out all day. It was a much noisier day at home and much brighter (and MUCH colder).

This morning was so beautiful, though. The sun was shining, frost glimmered on everything, and the birds were singing--not loudly, but rather subdued, as if the sunny morning were a matter-of-fact event, rather than a really exciting change of events.

But how accustomed we become to our environment and our culture and the evil around us,that pretty soon it all becomes "normal". We need to remember the sunshine, how glorious it feels and how it fills our hearts with joy and hope and anticipation. We need to remember the "good" in our lives and keep it always before us--those times when things went perfectly and we had little glimpses of what heaven must be like.

The fog wants to always settle down around us. It comes insipidly, falling silently like the snow. It blocks out the sunlight and mutes the sounds around us. It locks us into our own little spheres, lulling us into complacency. Pretty soon we become accustomed to our neighbor yelling at her grandchildren, the high school girls wearing too-tight clothes, the disrespectful language around us, hand signs and honking horns not meant to convey courtesy, "public displays of affection" that are more willful acts of lust than of affection, and lewd behavior in general. We need to recognize evil for what it is and rebel against even the littlest vestiges that waft down around us.

We can't always make the fog lift. There is evil all around us. But we can choose not to participate it in, not to react in kind, not to accept it as "normal", but to call it what it is. And we can fix our minds on the "good" things in life, the acts of kindness and selflessness, the beautiful things. We can be the light in our own little "spheres" and drive the fog off, at least in our realms.

Philippians 4:8 "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things."

I Can Only Imagine

There is a popular song by the group Mercy Me called I Can Only Imagine. If you have never heard it, the lyrics are below. Take a minute and listen to it and let it soak into your heart.

Either by design or by conditioning, I tend to be a fairly reserved person. I love my church, but I don't really fit in to the worship style. I'm not saying I don't enjoy it; but I sometimes I lack the inhibition to just let myself worship...This is an area where God is working in me--and I'm pretty sure it's WAY down on the list. But this song always makes me feel like whatever my response to God is, it's okay. I don't have to conform to what everyone around me is doing.

When I was 12, we moved from Vancouver to Anchorage. We took the scenic route, but our dog and cat took the plane. I remember going to pick them up at the airport. Our dog, in his crate, was sitting silently. Our cat, in her crate, was letting the whole airport know, in her operatic yowling aria, that she was not happy about her circumstances. I'm sure, had there been a translator present, people there might have heard, "I demand to see the owner. You have no right to keep me penned up. Don't you KNOW who I am? I have rights! When I get outta here, heads will roll...."

It had been at least a week, perhaps more, since I had seen my pets, and I was as excited to see them as they were to see me. I still remember my cat's voice then. Before I could even see the crates, and before my pets could see me, I called to them. Immediately, my cat became silent and my dog began singing a happy, yippy, I'm-SO-glad-to-see-you song.

The contrast was so great, that I still remember that moment, more than three decades later, and will probably remember it the rest of my life. It was almost funny, how opposite their reactions were, both to being crated and alone, and to hearing my voice.

I think about that in worship, when I am quiet and my fellow worshippers are dancing and waving their hands. I imagine, should Jesus return at that moment, speaking to us from the doorway, that they would fall flat on their faces and be still, and I would be dancing and singing and jumping around like a happy dog, reunited at long last with his family. I can only imagine.

I Can Only Imagine

I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by Your side.
I can only imagine what my eyes will see when Your Face is before me.
I can only imagine, Yeah.

Surrounded by Your Glory, what will my heart feel?
Will I dance for you, Jesus or in awe of You be still?
Will I stand in Your presence or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing "Hallelujah"? Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine.
I can only imagine.

I can only imagine, when that day comes, and I find myself standing in the Son.
I can only imagine, when all I will do is forever, forever worship You.
I can only imagine.
Yeah, I can only imagine.

Plumbing and Letting Go

For those of you who haven't been following my facebook groanings, our recent dips into the teens played havoc with our plumbing, and my husband's injured back combined with the temporarily tight quarters in the shed made me the chief plumber--a job I would gladly relinquish, although now it seems I'm a pro.

Long story short, we had to replace a lot of shattered PVC pipe, only to discover that our check valve had a split in it, and when we replaced that, we somehow did not get a good connection between the metal elbow and the plastic-type pipe that goes into the ground, allowing air to get into the line between the check valve and the submersible pump. The effect of this was that when the pressure tank got empty (i.e. no water to the house) and the pump kicked on, it took 3 to 5 minutes for the pump to refill the pipe between the well and the pressure tank. This wouldn't normally be a big deal, unless you happened to be brushing your teeth and had to stand there with a mouthful of minty toothpaste for several minutes; had just lathered your hair and had to stand in the shower all soapy and unable to see for several minutes; or had just gotten your hands really yucky dirty and the last cup of water in the tank was not enough to cleanse them, and you had stand there for several minutes contemplating hiring someone else to clean up any unfortunate accidents (where ARE Thing One and Thing Two when you really need them?)

I kept thinking I just needed a clamp that would fit tighter around the pipe. But the tighter I clamped the pipe, the bigger the leak got. In frustration, I loosened the clamps to the point of the least leak and gave up, at least temporarily, realizing this was actually a livable circumstance and hoping for inspiration in the meantime.

I was sitting in church today and I realized there was a lesson in this. (Sorry, Gordon, I can't even recall what you said that sparked this realization!) My motivation and my attitude about my recent water crisis was "Fix it!" And I tackled each new challenge with an "I can fix this!" mentality. And frankly, I think that's pretty much how I approach problems. I put my head down and boar into it. Once I know what I am supposed to do and have a plan in place, my stress level goes down immensely. I don't deal well with situations that I have no concept how to fix. My mind goes round and round and round until I at least have a plan, or have a plan to talk to someone who might help me make a plan. I'm not good at waiting....

I was trying to verbalize this to G on the way home from church today and he said, referring to Mark McCoy's recent sermon, "Oh, you mean you have trouble letting go?" Mark's sermon was about a man who was trying to get to this really interesting person of light, but the shadow in him kept pulling him back. Every time he would try to approach this interesting person, his shadow fought him. Finally, the person of light said to him "Let go," and he realized it was not the shadow that was holding onto him, but he who was holding onto the shadow.

I would like you to know that in the intervening weeks when I have been pondering my water problem and "letting it go" so to speak, it has improved itself. I don't know if this is "divine intervention" or if loosening the clamps allowed the joint to vibrate into a more optimal angle, if our well has suddenly become semi-artesian, creating enough upward pressure to counteract the air leak, if slugs have crawled into the gap and sealed it for us, or ????. But now the wait is 3 to 10 seconds for the water to come back on, and that is almost unnoticeable.

I'm not saying that we need to let go of all our problems. There is a time to attack them. But there is also a time to let go...and wait. The challenge is knowing the difference!

Just Like Me

So, it's probably no secret that the boy's feet are almost as big as mine now. In fact, I gave him a pair of my sneakers for basketball until we could afford to buy him his own pair (which we did this week). Read on and you will see why this is significant...if I haven't already given away the ending...

So, after lunch yesterday, the boy was bouncing off the walls and both G and I, noting a break in the heavy rain, said to him "Go outside and RUN!" which, of course, he was happy to do. Fast forward a few minutes. I am putting lunch away and G is looking out the front window, watching K frolicking in our long, gravel driveway.

G says to me, "He really loves to play in the mud puddles."
"Well, he gets that from me."
"Really!"
So for quite a few minutes I regale G with stories of my childhood, ending with "Even in 9th grade, during track practice, when we would all go for street runs, we would jump in puddles and see who could get the others the wettest."
"So you don't mind that he's wearing YOUR shoes to do it?"
"No!" I thought he was pulling my leg.
"Yup. His shoes are right there."
"I don't believe you."
"Look for yourself." So I did. And there sat G on the couch laughing hysterically, as I leaned out the front door, having seen my ONLY good pair of shoes missing from the pile by the door, and threaten the boy, "Those had better not be my GOOD shoes you are getting sopping wet in those mud puddles!!"....and the rather contrite boy ran in from the driveway..."Sorry, Mommy. Are you mad at me?"