Tag Archives: family

The pink backpack

I don’t know about you, but today, my whole household is so thankful it’s Friday!  What a week.  Weathering peaks and valleys, failures and victories, at the close of this day we will tuck this week into the history books and look forward to much needed rest this weekend.

But before I can go into chillaxin’ mode, one last day must be completed.  This began with 2 carpool runs to the same school.  My kids were struggling to get ready on time, and when one was finally good to go, I decided to make the first run.

On the way, I passed a dad walking his little girl to school.

Once through the drop off line, I headed back home for my second child.  Making an about face with my van, I headed back to school with my teen in tow.

Going through the same carpool line again, I noticed at the intersection of the school light was the dad and little girl I passed before.

They stood on the corner together, and what they were doing caught my eye.

He had her bubblegum pink backpack on his back and her lunchbox in his hand.  Slowly, he pulled the backpack off and gave it to her.  He handed her the lunchbox and told her he loved her.

I’m sure it was the blazing morning sun shining offensively in my eyes that made them water.  Or was it?  Pulling out of the school parking lot, I rounded the corner and glanced at them in my rear view mirror.

All the way home, I replayed the image of this very tall dad with a small, pink backpack strapped to his back.

I stopped the day long enough to grab some breakfast and have a moment with God.  I read my devotion, some Scripture and began to pray.  This week, I confess, has been filled with prayers on the run.  Not something I am proud of.

Today was different.  After hearing a message from David Jeremiah yesterday on the radio about the importance of giving our daily priorities to God, I realized I had asked God to go along for the ride instead of asking Him to drive.

So today, I stopped and prayed.  My raw, honest words surprised me.  I said something like, I’m sorry God that I cannot present to you a prettier me.  I am weary.  Weary of the stuff in life that won’t turn me loose.  I’m trying to live in the spiritual realm, but it’s really hard when tangible stuff grabs a hold of me and won’t let me go.  Things that demand my time and attention.  I feel like…like…like my office desk.  I am the desk, and all of the stuff in life is burying me.  Everything demands, ‘Do me first!’  Everything screams, ‘I’m most important!’  Paperwork, phone calls, emails, errands, medical stuff, school stuff, volunteer stuff, so many kinds of stuff!  I am supposed to take care of everything, at the same time and with the same amount of energy and effort, while standing and holding myself and all of it up – with a bad foot.  It’s just so much!  I’m weary of it all.  And, I’m weary of my foot recovery.  I’m weary of my husband’s injury and the havoc both of these have reeked in our family life.  I’m weary of homework, watching my kids struggle for sleep, clutter everywhere because 24 hours in a day aren’t enough, and that no matter how behind I feel, or how slow I’m moving with my dumb, hurting foot, life just keeps bringing it.  I dread getting out of bed in the morning because from the moment my eyes open, the problems are right there – staring at me while I bury my head in the pillow.  From the time my feet hit the floor, the issues demand my attention – before I can brush my teeth.  I wish I could present to You a beautiful bride of Christ who radiates calm and who is organized, and efficient.  Instead, it’s me.  The office desk.  Flat, silent, and who feels more practical than pretty.  Will You help me order my day?  See, I’ve written it all down.  Everything that must be done.  Please arrange it according to Your divine plan – and grant me the strength to do it.

God met me in that moment.  He brought to mind that dad, his little girl, and her backpack.  He said, I’m with you Baby Girl, every day, from the moment the sun rises.  In fact, I’ve been with you all night.  Watching over you (Psalm 121), singing over you (Zephaniah 3:17) and tending to you.  Everything you have on that list is packed in your backpack.  It may not be bubblegum pink, but it’s heavy for you, with things you must do and what is expected of you, like that little girl’s was.  And like her father carried her load for her, so I want to carry yours.  Let me strap it on and walk with you on this journey we call Today.  I’ll even hold your hand and carry your lunchbox full of needs.  I’d carry your backpack of demands even if it were girly pink because I am secure enough in who I AM to my children.  I am strong.  Capable.  Loving.  Willing.

Wow.  God has a way of breaking through walls around our hearts and going right into the deepest part of our souls.  The hidden places we guard so carefully.

I remembered feeling so touched by the moment of watching that dad and his little girl, but couldn’t put my finger on it as to why.  Now I understood.  It was bittersweet, quite honestly.  Part of me felt sad, okay, maybe a little sorry for myself, that not for one day in my entire life have I felt the tender touch of a father.  Neither by my biological father or stepfather.  Not for one day have I known what it’s like to rely on either dad to help me or be there for me in the tough stuff.  I felt those feelings first.

But, God paralleled those thoughts with Truth.  I may not have a human father figure to care for me, but God is my Abba Father, a.k.a. Daddy, and He loves me very much.  He always has, and always will, be happy to help.  He is there to share the journey, hold our hand, and provide for our needs.  Moreover, He’s not just there to accompany us, but He offers to carry our load for us while we sojourney the 24/7/365 with Him.  His grace, love and faithfulness to His promise to never leave us fills my heart with peace and gives me everything I need to do the day…and smile doing it!

I’m glad my kids were running late today.  What began as a harried moment, transformed into an entirely different perspective on the day.  Had they ridden the bus, I never would have seen that dad and his little girl – or her pink backpack strapped over his broad shoulders.

What was heavy for her, was easy for him – sipping his coffee as they walked.

What’s in your backpack today?  Is the weight of it cutting into your shoulders or bruising the muscles in your back?  God is more than willing to carry it for you – if you will trust Him and release it into His care.

Psalm 91:1, He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

Psalm 55:22, Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.

Isaiah 40:11, He tends his flock like a shepherd:  He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.

1 Peter 5:7, Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Matthew 11:28-30, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Hope thrives

Yesterday, my husband and I went to grab a quick bite for lunch.  He is working from home these days following his rock climbing accident on Monday which left him injured.  We hobbled into the restaurant together, both donning a right surgical boot – him limping with a crutch.  We look comical, really, and were given many stares and glances at our predicament by those around us.  Twinsies.

As I stood in line to order our food, I noticed on my left a very elderly man and his aide, a home health assistant.  They were engaged in conversation, and what spoke most to me was her softness toward him.

Having had my grandmother go through the assisted living regime in her later years, I am quite familiar with all it entails.  I have known attendants that were so sweet and kind and loved their jobs, and unfortunately, those who felt the opposite.

This woman was precious.

When he said something to her (I couldn’t hear over the noise), she laughed and he touched her cheek with the back of his hand.  She could be his granddaughter, or great-granddaughter, and it seemed as though she felt that way to him.

While enjoying a coveted, rare lunch break with my husband, I periodically glanced over his shoulder to watch them in the background.  It was obvious that going on a lunch excursion was a big feat for this man and his disabilities.  An effort, but worth it.  Toward the end of their lunch, I watched from across the room as she wheeled him to the restrooms.

Attendants are unsung heroes.  Their job requires more self-sacrifice than what others will experience in a lifetime.

After some time, they reappeared in the dining room and headed out the door – as she gently pushed him in his wheelchair.  We left a few seconds behind them, hobbling back to our van.

As we drove away, we passed them approaching their car.  He looked at us, smiled and waved, with his attendant at this side.  We waved and smiled back.

In a time with so much sorrow and pain in our nation, this woman was such a testament to the human spirit.  She was caring, attentive and considerate.  He thoroughly enjoyed his lunch out because of the way she treated him.

I remember with my grandmother, I needed to walk slower than my usual pace, repeat myself numerous times, and be willing to adjust plans on a dime because of unexpected health concerns or circumstances.  I remember waiting with her in the doctors’ offices, picking her up for family events, and simply spending time together whether watching my young children play on the playground, walking the aisles of the grocery store, or sitting on the couch and talking and talking and talking.  This was precious time to me.

The reason I have so many fond memories of that time in my life is because she modeled these things for me first.  My mom did her best, but from an early age my grandmother helped raise me.  She picked me up from school when I was sick, took me to get an ice cream cone on special days, and taught me how to be a lady.  She played games with me, advocated for me when I needed it, and countless hours were spent sitting at her pink-tiled kitchen counter talking and talking and talking…usually over a home-cooked meal she spent the entire afternoon preparing.  She did the best she could to finish raising me after Mom died.  She was smart, gentle and funny.  I learned through my grandparents that the generations ahead of us have an unending plethora of wisdom and knowledge to offer those following behind.

We were made for community.  With God’s help, community gets us through the tough stuff of life.  None of us can handle everything completely alone.  We weren’t supposed to.

Watching this sweet woman yesterday, and thinking about all that my grandmother did for me over the years, a flicker of hope in my spirit fanned into a flame that together, we can survive the storm – whether it be physical, relational, or weather.

God puts people in each others’ paths to share the journey.  Let’s not miss an opportunity to be that person to someone today, or to welcome someone’s help in our life.  Either way, we are all more blessed in the end.

Legacy of a Letter

For the Lord your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who shows no partiality and accepts no bribes. He defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the alien, giving him food and clothing. And you are to love those who are aliens, for you yourselves were aliens in Egypt. Fear the Lord your God and serve him. ~ Deuteronomy 10:17-20

I received a letter in the mail a couple of months ago.  A letter that hasn’t left my mind ever since its words lifted from the page and inscribed themselves on my heart.  We have a sponsored daughter through Compassion International.  The letter we received from them announced her impending graduation from the program.

I knew this day would come, but I didn’t want to think about it.  For her, this is incredible news!  This means she made it! She has survived severely impoverished, third-world conditions and is now skilled in a job that will serve her for the rest of her life.

For me, however, it means letting her go.  As I’ve written before, I have a hard time with change, and this year has seen a lot of it.  My father died nine months ago.  Our senior pastor, who is my mentor and friend and someone I highly admire and respect, retired after twenty-one years of faithful service to our congregation.  My husband’s aunt died suddenly, and her memorial service marked a new chapter in our family’s history.  I closed a three-year chapter of homeschooling two of our children, and find myself missing my lunch buddies, their jokes, camaraderie and company in my days now.  We finally sold my husband’s car – a 1997 Honda Odyssey.  It was good to us, crossing 300,000 miles on the odometer, but it was time to acquire something that meets our current needs.  Our eBay car purchase served us well for six years. Silly, I know.  It’s just a car – especially for people who don’t place an unhealthy value on “things.”  But, it was familiar.

Perhaps that’s what’s hard about change for me…losing the familiar.

Compassion’s letter to our family was a request to write our Compassion daughter one…last…time. Ug.  My heart sank.  I kept that request on my desk for four months.  I simply couldn’t bring myself to write it.  This is the last communication I will have with her this side of heaven.  What do I say?

Compassion suggested we write words of wisdom, encouragement and Scripture.  These are the last words our beautiful daughter will carry from us for the rest of her life.  No pressure.  She who can’t ever stop talking sat speechless at my computer with our daughter’s picture smiling at me while the curser impatiently blinked on the blank page.

Dear God, I don’t know what to say.  Where do I begin?  How do I end?  Please help me give her the words You want her to hear.

As I began the letter, my mind flashed back over the 14 years she has been with us.  I remember the night we found her.  My husband and I were at a Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant Christmas concert in 1998.  During intermission, we strolled through the arena, curious as to what this Compassion thing that Amy Grant spoke of on stage was all about.  We came to a table and spread out on it were many children’s profiles.  My eyes scanned their sweet faces; many of them revealing a deep hopelessness in their expressions and thin bodies clothed in rags.

My eyes wandered to a beautiful girl.  Seven years old.  Across the sea from us in a land filled with conflict – dangerous for any female.  I picked up her card and read her story.  Her mother dead, her father removed, she lives with her grandmother and brother.  My breath caught in my chest and eyes stung with salty tears.  This was my story – this side of the ocean.  Replace the brother with a sister and she is me.  Captivated, I held her card close to my chest and knew she was meant to be a part of our family.  I wanted to offer her a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29:11) that God gave me in my darkest hours of trauma and loss as a child.

Through Compassion, we could pay for her medical needs, clothes, food and education.  Christian education.  If she couldn’t live with us, this was the next best thing.  We signed up immediately, knowing that we were committed to this for the long haul.

Over the years, we loved receiving her letters.  We learned about her culture and landscape, farming and weather seasons.  We learned about her life.  We prayed her through the dry seasons and rainy seasons.  We prayed every time her brother became ill and when she had trouble in math.  She wrote her favorite Scriptures to us and told us about her friends.

Each Christmas and birthday, we were given the opportunity to send her a monetary gift.  By American standards it wasn’t much at all, but it is reasonable for their economic geography.  Every time we sent a gift, she wrote us and enthusiastically told us what she bought with it.  It was always the same.  She bought: a new dress for herself, a goat for the family and sweets for her friends.

Her purchases sparked great conversation in our family throughout the years about giving and receiving, thankfulness and kindness.  The fact that she always shared her gifts with her family and friends touched our hearts in inexpressible ways.  She was thankful.  Can we say the same?

We told her about where we live, too.  We shared favorite school subjects, hobbies, pets and what we do in a regular day.  We shared our prayer requests with her, too.  Having a pen pal across the world was priceless to my children.

One day, when she was about 15 years old, she wrote and told us that a preacher was visiting their village to evangelize in their community.  She was asked to go along with him to preach the Gospel.  I will never forget how I felt reading her words.  Choking back happy tears, I said to myself, She’s got it.  She has her own faith and is now able to share it with others.  She’s going to be okay.

This news gave me so much joy and peace!  Despite her bleak circumstances, she accepted Christ as her Savior and knows there is an eternal home waiting for her.

When Compassion expanded its ministry to include online writing, versus handwriting, I was so excited!  Handwritten letters are always best, but not as practical as writing something online that could be sent immediately for translation.  I remember writing to her telling her this news of online writing.  I will never, ever forget her response.  I was excited that this would be quick and easy, no need to hunt for a stamp and was technologically up with the times.  Her response?

I thank our God that He has provided you a job so you can have the money to buy a computer to write me.

Talk about perspective!!!  Think about her response for a moment.  Deeply ponder it.  Without knowing it, she continually taught us so much about life, love, thankfulness, contentment and commitment.

When my husband lost his job in 2001, a week before 9/11 and in the middle of the .com crash (of which his job was directly affected), we had no idea how we were going to feed our babies 1, 3, and 5 years old.  We had no health insurance, no gas money, no savings.  We had nothing but our vehicles and our house – that we feared we could lose in a heartbeat.  We never once considered stopping our sponsorship of our Compassion daughter.  This is no kudos to us.  Through sponsoring her, we learned even more what commitment looked like and what trust in God felt like.  We could no more stop feeding and clothing her than we could our own children, because like our own children, if we didn’t meet her basic needs – who would?  We totally relied on God to provide for us, and for her, and He did.  She never knew any of this.  Her life is one of great struggle and hardship, and even in our most dire straight, we were still wealthy beyond measure simply because of the longitude and latitude in which we live.

In her last years with us, she wrote about graduating high school.  This was quite an accomplishment!  The letter came announcing she was accepted into nursing school.  Nursing school!  I remember jumping up and down and cheering with my children.

This meant, not only will she have a job she can be proud of, but she will be able to financially support herself and her family, AND it saves her from a dangerous and demoralizing future so many young women face trying to earn money to survive.  Wow!  Her future has never looked brighter.

She is truly a part of our family, and this final letter literally pained my heart to write.  How do I tell her words of wisdom as a mother, when my own mother never had a chance to speak them over me?  I feel like the blind leading the blind.  I don’t know where to go with this.

As I struggled with my letter, my heart brought to mind a very special book* by Susan Polis Schultz. This book has priceless value to me.  It is a book written by a mother to her daughter.  It is full of letters, encouragement, love and advice.  This is the last gift given to me by my mother.  She gave it to me on Valentine’s Day, 1987, three months before she died of breast cancer when I was sixteen.

She wrote on the inside cover that she had a hard time putting into her own words what she wanted me to know, so she used this book to say it for her.  In it, she starred, underlined – double underlined – words and phrases.  These are what matter most to me.  These are her words to me.  However, I have only read this book a few times in 26 years.

I am unable to express my hesitation in words.  It hurts to go back to the most painful time of my life.  It hurts to hear her speak to me through writing, because once I finish reading it, I am again left with an emptiness that she is no longer here.  The process of reading her words is emotionally draining, yet healing at the same time.  That’s the best I can do to explain my feelings.

While writing to my Compassion daughter, my mind drifted to this precious book and with my mom’s inspiration I began to write.  Space online is limited.  It took me three letters to get it all in.  Oh, I could have written more, but knew at some point, the end of the letter was inevitable – as hard as it was to admit.

I wrote how beautiful she is, and to never neglect herself as she cares for her patients.  To love deeply, laugh a lot, and stay close to God.  I quoted my favorite Scriptures and spoke blessings over her.  I gave her practical advice and (hopefully) words of wisdom.  I promised that, just as we have done for 14 years, we will continue to pray for her every day for the rest of our lives.

Wrapping up the third letter in the series, I told her:

I don’t like goodbyes.  I won’t say it to you.  Although we may never see each other on this earth, we are both Christians and will have eternity to spend with each other.  Life on this earth is very short.  So, instead of goodbye, I will say I’ll see you soon.  Whoever makes it to heaven first, wait for the other at the gate. 

I paused writing and broke down and cried.  I cried happy tears for all she has accomplished and overcome, and sad tears because the season of her life entwining with ours has come to a close.  However, Christians have a unique relationship.  We are brothers and sisters in Christ, because we are related by blood not of this world.  Christ’s sacrificial blood pumps through our spirit, and this bond is something no one can take away.  We are family indeed, and no amount of time or circumstance can separate us from one another – even if we are physically apart.

My children are still in my nest.  She is the first one to launch into the world and follow her dreams and the destiny that God has prepared for her.  I’m new at this launching thing.  I have no idea what to say.  I told her how much we love her and how incredibly proud we are of her.

It seemed that telling her how proud I am of her was a repetitive theme.  Perhaps it’s something I long to hear myself.  Both of my parents are gone and my biological father was only in my life for the past 8 short years.  Maybe I spoke to her some of the words I have been starving to hear.

Upon finishing her letter, my heart was nudged to pull my mom’s book off of the shelf.  I sat down and gazed at the simple artwork on the cover.  I gently turned the yellowed pages and read every word she marked for me.

I have felt a little lost with my writing lately.  Perhaps recovering from surgery has dimmed my creative juices, and I am physically more tired as I heal.  Ironically, my eyes fixed on one particular passage she underlined…

“Write your feelings down.  Create something based on your feelings, but do not keep them inside.”*

I soaked in her encouragement and let it penetrate my soul.  Her words were perfect timing for my life.

Through committing to child sponsorship, I thought we were rescuing a child and offering her opportunities to realize her dreams.  I hope we did just that, but I can tell you that this journey has rescued me and sparked hope for my dreams.  Even down to the last letter, when I was drawn to the words my mom left for me so many years ago for a time today when I really needed to hear her voice.

My mom left a legacy of a letter in the book she gave me.  We left a legacy to our Compassion daughter through the letters we wrote to her.  She left a legacy to us in her letters.  Her perseverance and hard work inspired us to continue with Compassion.

In her honor, we now have two more sponsored children each in a different part of the world.  They are young, sweet children who have their whole lives ahead of them.  I close my eyes and imagine the years of letters we will, Lord-willing, have to share with each other.  I look forward to expanding our family across the seas and investing spiritually, financially and emotionally into these two lives.  I smile with anticipation of all we will share.

It is easy to be discouraged from sponsoring a child because the financial commitment seems scary in this economy or we believe one person can’t make a lasting difference.  However, I know firsthand that our family can’t afford not to.  I am hopeful we made a difference in her life – but I am absolutely certain she made the world of difference in ours.  We are changed by her selflessness, love and tender spirit.  We are challenged by her resolve, strength, optimism and determination.  We will champion these same qualities in our new Compassion son and daughter.

If our paths do not cross in this lifetime and I reach heaven first, I will eagerly wait at the gate for my Compassion daughter.  I have a big hug I’ve been saving up a lifetime to give her.

It’s All Good

I wrote the other day that I’ve had surgery recently.  Not to add insult to injury, but while my life has been temporarily upheveled, I decided to take care of some skin issues resulting from years of sun damage as a child because I figured I’d be home and out of public eye.  So in addition to my temporary disability, I now look horrible.  It’s one of those processes that gets worse before getting better.  I told the doctor, I’m just that vain enough to not want to go out in public until this is done.  Dignity is worth something, right?  It was the perfect plan to execute my makeover and no one would be the wiser.  I’d just show up in public one day with radiant skin and two legs that work just fine.  I’d make a subtle, yet grand, entrance like I’m some Hollywood star.  Ha!

On the morning after the skin procedure, my phone rang unexpectedly.  I must admit, with the surgery and life still blazing a trail at 100mph, I can’t keep everything straight.  Perhaps the anesthesia is still working its way out of me.  I don’t know.  I do know I’m fuzzy on details of the day.  When the phone rang, it was a precious mom from our Moms in Prayer group (I have only met these women once) saying she couldn’t find my house as she was en route for our prayer time.  I sat stunned.  I knew it was today, but in the midst of trying to get 3 kids out the door, 2 of them still finishing homework and one needing to be early to school, I just lost a grip on the day’s calendar.

I gave her directions to my home, knowing she was right around the corner, hung up and took a look around.  With Fall here, leaves are continually trekked into our house.  I usually vacuum several times a week to keep them out, but I can’t vacuum right now.  Opened birthday presents were on the fireplace, laundry was strewn about, and clutter was everywhere.

My family is trying hard to keep the ball rolling here, but with several unexpected things that seem to pop up every day, I know everyone is doing all they can. They are great helpers, but there is only 24 hours in a day – minus sleep.

I hobbled around the house in the few seconds I had to pick everything up.  There was just no way.  It was what it was.

Then there is me.  I’m a mess!  I really didn’t want anyone seeing me like this.  In fact, at the time the doorbell rang, I couldn’t remember if I had brushed my hair, much less had any make-up on.  Earlier, I chose an old, faded t-shirt to wear because of the high neckline to cover the skin procedure, and because of my surgical boot, I chose shorts that, although they are fairly new, the inside seam unraveled after the first wash, so there’s a big hole in my pants.  Not to mention my shoes.  One gigantic surgical boot and one brown sandal.  The doctor said I need to even out the height of the boot so my back doesn’t suffer from walking at two levels, so the only shoe that works is this old brown sandal (that in no way matched my shirts and shorts).

I met not one woman, but three ladies at the door and invited them in.  Welcome to my chaos! I said with a laugh.  I was SO embarrassed.

I’m not pretentious, nor do I feel I need to impress anyone.  But, at least let my house be clean when people come over.  At least let me have washed my face and put on decent clothes.

They were extremely gracious – even when one mom went into my kitchen and saw both sinks full of dirty dishes and some unknown sticky substance on the counter after the daily brigade of breakfasts and lunchboxes flew through like a tornado.

I just couldn’t get over being embarrassed.  Do I really care that much? I asked myself.  But, I never thought I did.  Why is this bothering me?  

Martha Stewart I am not.  We are a crazy house of 5 extroverts who use every square inch of its space.  Creative juices flow, and usually so does something my kids want to try to bake or a science experiment, or a string of our dog’s toys that makes it look like a preschooler lives here.

Mess.  This day, my house was a mess.  I was a mess. There was nothing I could do.

God met me in that moment and reminded me of something He told me a while back.  He said, This school year will be a year of healing for you.  But…it begins with brokenness.

He wasn’t kidding.  A broken foot it is.  At least, that all I thought He was talking about.

I didn’t realize that there may be other areas of my life that need to broken to be healed.  My foot needed to be broken so the problem could be fixed.  So does my heart.

God’s ways are different from mine, but His ways are right – every time.

This particular morning showed me that I want to be accepted and approved by people more than I should.  This was the first time these ladies were meeting at my home, to accommodate my surgery recovery, and it drove me nuts that I couldn’t create an atmosphere (or image) that everything is semi-perfect.

It’s not!  Life is not perfect!  The only bell and whistle I could do was light a cinnamon candle.  Whoopie.

I had to accept the fact that I look like a wreck, because physically I am one right now.  How humbling!

God brought me from a place of panic that they were on their way, to humility over what my house and myself looked like, to a place where I could see what was most important -prayer with other Christian moms for our kids and their schools.

To live like we are created in the image of God, we make choices to reflect Him in our words and deeds.  This requires a lot of dying to self.  Approval is an issue I’ve struggled with my whole life.  Every time God works with me on this, I feel His fingerprint on specific situations as a gentle reminder that He is not cruel or uncaring, aloof or oblivious.  He is acutely aware of our frailties and weaknesses, and He desires for each of us a life of victory.

Living in strength and victory means we are wise enough to discern a situation and respond (not react) to it according to what pleases God, not ourselves.  We can trust this process, because God promised He is working all thing good for His children.  It’s a precious circle of love.  When we break out of the circle and go our own way, we forfeit the blessing of having His workmanship revealed in our circumstance.

For me, I could barely concentrate on what we were praying about because of the state of my house and my body.  It really wasn’t pride, as much as it was me wanting these women’s approval that I am at least acceptable.

Truly, it’s only God’s acceptance that I need to crave.  When I have it from Him, I am full and satisfied.  Everything else is gravy.  When I fill my tank with people’s acceptance, I am constantly having to refill it because people, frankly, let each other down.  We don’t perform to each other’s expectations.  We love conditionally.  We forgive when we feel like it.  And we are selfish.  When we seek God’s favor first, He has freedom in our lives to set us up for success in other areas – like bringing good friends into our lives.  Friends who will come to us to pray, when we can’t go to them.

That morning was so uncomfortable for me.  But, the lesson I learned in it made me more pliable in the Potter’s hand.  A huge benefit to me was that I could scrap the embarrassment over my house and my body and welcome others into our home who have since brought us meals, and I’ve felt comfortable inviting them to sit and chat.  Even yesterday, a friend from church brought us dinner, and as we sat in the family room talking, 3 loads of laundry stared at us from the sofa just feet away.  Underwear and all!  I chose to embrace God’s acceptance of me and enjoy my visit with a dear friend who took the time to come see me.  I told her with a laugh, For a couple of weeks, this stuff really doesn’t matter.  It’ll get done eventually.

Also, I breached my own vow of solitude to attend my son’s football game yesterday.  I look like I have a plague, but who cares!  My son was playing football and my friends were going to be there.  Those two things were way more important to me.  Yes, I looked like a sports diva sitting in a chair with an overhead canopy AND an umbrella fastened to the chair to avoid all sun, and had another chair in front of me to prop my boot leg on.  I said to my friend, I wasn’t sure I was going to come, but I knew ya’ll would love me regardless of how I look.  She replied, Of course we do!  I wanted to show my son, the one who made the love note for me (in the photo above) and left it on my laptop as a surprise, that he was more important than my internal issues…because he is.

Today, between the endless, monotonous hours of icing and elevating my foot, I will shed more of my embarrassment as my family meets two of our favorite families for frozen yogurt to celebrate two birthdays between all of us. I love these families so much, and I know they love me back.  I can feel free to show up just like I am because they are family to us.  I wouldn’t miss the laughter, fun and memories we make every time we are together just so I can stay home and save face (literally!).  No way.  Life is too short.  People are too precious.  We have some very special girls who need to be sung Happy Birthday.  Memories are just waiting to be made. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.  I’ll even let myself be in the pictures…how about that!  This is largely in part to an incredible bog post I read recently by Allison Tate on the subject of having moms photographed despite ourselves. 🙂 Take a look! click here.

Yes.  This whole experience has taught me a lesson I didn’t know I needed to learn.  When we fully release ourselves to God, even the secret places, untapped possibilities await.  Whatever we’re holding onto, whatever holds us back, whatever holds us down, let’s release it.  Then, with open hands and an eager heart, we are prepared to receive the abundant blessings God wants to give us.  And that, friends, is healing for the body and soul.

Sand and Water #3 Perspective

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

Sitting on the beach, I was quite content to people watch for a while.  My youngest son and I had finished playing a fun game of frisbee and other beach games, so he set off to try to make a home made kite from a plastic bag, 2 boogie boards and red plastic string.

A family nearby had also enjoyed a full day playing in the sun – mom, dad, toddler and grandparents.  Nearing late afternoon, the mom, grandmother and daughter ventured into the surf together – hand in hand.  I watched them with curiosity.  Then, it happened.

My heart sank, and I instantly knew why I felt like my heart weighed a 1,000 pounds.  There were 3 generations enjoying the beach together.  Something I will never have with my mom and children.  Once again, reality has a way of sneaking its way into a dreamy moment.  One moment, the grandmother and mother were swinging the toddler above the waves with me blissfully watching on the sidelines, then, in the next breath the stark reality of what I will never feel, hear, see or experience hit me like a roaring wave of sadness.

However, what happened next totally caught me by surprise.  As fast as my heart sank, it was as though a life preserver had been thrown my way.  With fresh eyes, ones given to me by believing God in all things and living by faith, what I watched through a grieving filter of a hollow past was now something I could look forward to enjoying in the future.

I may not be able to have this kind of beach moment with my mom and daughter, but hopefully I can have it with my daughter, or daughter-in-laws, and grandchildren.

Ah ha!  Everything looked different.

It is our choice to walk backwards on the path of life on which God has allowed us to journey.  It is also our choice to walk forward.  I was caught up in a moment of walking backwards over things that have already taken place, and in doing so I temporarily forfeited the opportunity to get excited about what I hope is to come.

Is there a guarantee that I will ever get that moment?  No.  But, without hopes and dreams, the reality of life can mercilessly pound us like relentless, crashing waves.  For today, I look forward to the many moments God will prayerfully give me with my family – but I will also treasure the ones He’s given me right now.

Yesterday, we had an awesome day together.  In the sand, sun and water, we made the most of the day and went to bed delightfully exhausted and a little sunburned.

I snapped a photo (above) of the family, our sandy neighbors, whom I had the pleasure of watching. Instead of bringing despair, they offered me hope.   Instead of walking backwards, I will walk forward to whatever awaits on my path.  And, I will soak in every laugh, every hug, every tender moment with my family that God gives me right now.  They are balm to my heart and water to my soul.  I have a smile on my face this morning, over precious memories made thus far on this trip and with hope for more special moments to come.

Summer with teens and a tween

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Cool update!  A devotion of mine was posted today on the devotion website I write for.  Hope you can stop by and check it out! ~Kristi

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When my kids were younger, a good summer day involved any of the following:  digging up worms in the backyard, a dollar matinee, blowing bubbles, swimming in a small plastic pool with a layer of grass floating on the water’s surface, nap time, teddy bear picnics, playgroups, board games for hot days, pillow forts on rainy days, snuggling in bed with my little ones and watching Blues Clues or Dora; and mother’s morning out for me to run my errands and go to my appointments.  This sounds picturesque, and I am blessed to say it often was, but our younger years weren’t without the occasional tantrums over refusing a nap; the ever-stressful event of one of us needing to go to the bathroom while in Target with a cart full of sundries and three little ones in tow; continuous mopping of the kitchen floor over a new baby food rejected by said baby or a youngster convinced they can pour their own cup of milk; and the endless hours before my husband came home from work and the loneliness that accompanied those hours.  It was an era of teaching them to say please and thank you and the instruction to share.  I juggled being a wife and a stay-at-home mom while holding down a freelance job – all of which are a blessing.

When they got a little older, summer meant play dates with friends, bowling with gutter guards, teaching them how to mow the lawn, television limits, more board games, lemonade stands, and the ice cream truck.  They were a little more independent and toys like LEGOS and Barbies entered the scene.  Dress-up time was regular and my daughter wanted me to paint her nails in bright, glittery colors.  My boys wanted more road pieces for their Matchbox cars.  The basketball hoop got a little higher, and although they had outgrown naps, the also outgrew the fits that required them.  They learned how set a proper table, to hold the door for Mommy and others who needed help, and that sharing was a good idea after all as they learned the justice and injustices of right and wrong.  Life got a little busier, and I often fell into the trap of trying to provide too much fun for my kids.  I am certain it was some psychological righting of wrongs from my own dysfunctional childhood, and I became exhausted from trying to please everyone all the time.  But, I loved organizing birthday parties, baking cakes, and got used to our house guests growing in number as sleepovers became a normal thing – as did pancakes that accompanied them the next morning.

My kids are two teens and a tween now.  I am the one stealing an occasional afternoon nap.  My daughter has discovered stick-on fake nails (though she still likes me to paint hers) and her dress-up time has shifted to wanting to don stylish clothes and highlights in her hair.  My boys have all but forsaken tv and video games for Minecraft – though LEGOS are permanent family members.  All of them mow the grass in clean, straight lines; they sleep in a little later; they handle the laundry and dishes and other household work quite well; and reasonable bedtimes are antiquated as we stay up late – all 5 of us – watching movies as a family.  Social calendars are much busier, and for the first year my eldest went on his first job hunt and now drives me around town.  They water ski and whitewater raft and travel internationally on missions trips.  They get grounded until bedrooms are clean and have succumbed to their regular housework – though they’ve tried to pay each other to do their work (but they don’t have any money,  so that didn’t really work out!)

They have their own opinions about life and love the Lord and have their own faith.  Sharing one bathroom is a daily challenge for my kiddos, but they laugh together and love each other, so we try not to sweat the small stuff.  When sibling issues arise, I remind them one purpose of families are to prepare them for the real world of studying for hard college classes, enduring a boss they may not like, and how to manage their time and money and get along with their future spouses.  They are all great cooks, which will be a bonus when it’s time for marriage.  All of the years of cleaning up splatters from mixers gone crazy or measuring cups falling off the counters or bags of flour spilling onto the floor, practicing separating egg yolks from the whites and how to properly handle raw meat – were completely worth it as they maneuver their way well through the kitchen these days.

I want to miss the “old days” when they were little.  Everyone tells me I should.  They tell me that at this point in life I should be looking back on the days when the worst thing that happened all day to them was a skinned knee from a bike fall.  They tell me I should be lamenting about childhood naivety, simple schedules and unconditional, endless hugs.

Well, I do have those moments of mamma sadness when I see how much they have grown, but the excitement of watching them grow is awesome!  Just yesterday, I had one of the best hours with my oldest all summer.  He and I were alone for about an hour.  As he washed the dishes and I folded clothes, we talked about tough stuff.  He asked deeply spiritual questions and I silently prayed to the Lord for the right answers.  He and I talked about the world – what’s right and what’s wrong with it and how he feels about all of it.  It was priceless time with him.  He talked.  I talked.  We both listened as we did the housework.

This era of our lives is way too important to miss physically, mentally or emotionally…and most importantly, spiritually.  We stay busy, but I don’t want to be so busy that those special conversations never have an opportunity to blossom because we’re never in the same room at the same time.  I don’t want to be so wigged out about college financial aid or the car we need to buy as ours is quickly dying, daily woes, or anything else that I don’t hear the prompting from my kids when they want to talk to me – uninterrupted, about the tough stuff of life.  They are so much more independent now, I don’t want to take advantage of that and begin my “next chapter” too soon.  If I jump the gun of life with grown kids, I will miss being a part of them finishing growing up.

Parenting this age is exhausting and exhilarating.  Terrifying, trying  and terrific.  Sometimes all at once!

When I hear my youngest talk about what he wants to build as the cure for cancer, or my oldest discuss genetics, or my middle girl be loved on by so many small children who she sits for and volunteers with who adore her – my heart swells with gratitude.  It’s these summer days that I want to remember as much as the early ones.  Days when we take a long bike ride or indulge in our favorite frozen yogurt joint and the world’s problems take a backseat – if only for an hour, but preferably an afternoon.

Do politics and problems and worries roll around in the back of my mind?  Sure.  But, while my kids are still in my nest, I will tend it as best I can.  I love the fact that my daughter chooses me to go back-to-school shopping with.  I will absolutely go, and go with great joy, as I help her navigate her through the aisles and aisles of inappropriate clothes and find the hidden jewels – clothes that don’t compromise modesty for style – as I help her understand how far up the leg rips in the jeans should go, how low a neckline should be and why exposing bra straps is never an option.  We talk about how modesty is the most beautiful form of fashion, and it can be found in her favorite stores!

I like when my boys talk at length to me about a computer game or movie and I have the precious opportunity to talk about our family’s values and where God fits into video games and television and books.  No topic is taboo in our house, and my husband and I have found that oftentimes they want to talk when we are tired or distracted.  When I am tempted to sluff off an open door in the name of more sleep or a little mindless time on Facebook, the Holy Spirit prompts me that I should embrace those moments, moments that won’t always be here.  Like puppet shows behind the couch and wearing Halloween costumes to the grocery store just for fun, these are historical days that one day will be relieved only in our hearts and photographs.

Thankfully, some things never change.  We still flag down the ice cream truck, still like lazy Saturday mornings flipping pancakes, and I relish receiving endless hugs. The teen and tween years can be challenging as we all continue to grow individually and as a family, but they are priceless in their own right.

We will milk this summer for all its worth, and when the new school year begins, I will embrace that season with arms full of special memories, tender moments and kids that still want my hugs.

Family Jewels

“Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the Lord.” Leviticus 19:32

I had the most delightful conversation with my stepmother yesterday.  We have been playing phone tag for quite some time, and finally we were able to catch up.

She is an incredible woman of strength and even temperament.  Even with losing my dad in December, she remains faithful to our Christ and is slowly finding a new sense of normal – though she misses him terribly.  We chatted about everything we could think of.  I loved listening to her talk from her perspective about the important things in life.  Wisdom that only comes from having lived through it.  It’s like a sneak peak at the future with tips and advice on the tough stuff.

After our conversation, I thought about my family and pondered how important the generations ahead of us are to us and those coming behind.  They have so much insight and wisdom to share.  It is, indeed, their priceless legacy.

My grandmother was a woman of incredible strength and poise.  She was a southern lady – soft as a flower with the tenacity of a tiger.  She taught me invaluable lessons about relationships, cooking, budget-keeping, well, almost everything!  Her mother, my great-grandmother was also a beautiful and strong woman.  I was 12 when she passed away, and growing up my claim to fame was that I knew someone born in the 1800s.  1899 to be exact.

My great grandmother and I sat together many summer afternoons on my grandmother’s couch and snapped green beans.  And I loved sleepovers with her.  As she got ready for bed, I was amazed at the regime of hair rollers, facial cream, etc. she performed every night.  When it was time for bed, she and I would lie there and play “Guess Whose Sleeping?”  A game (I think she made up) where we had to be completely quiet, and the first person to fall asleep would say, I’m asleep.  Silly.  I know.  But fun.  Our generational gap showed once when I was a tween and came over to visit in my brand new bleached jeans.  They were my favorite birthday present!  She looked at them and said, Why I wouldn’t have even picked corn in those pants.  Ha!  We agreed to disagree. 🙂

My grandmother was my second mother.  She made the best blue cheese dressing and was my daycare because my mom worked.  She was a very funny lady, and family meant everything to her.  When she grew older, she sat me down once and showed me the linens that had been in our family for generations and told me what was what and who it was from.  Family was her heart.  Mess with any of us, and you had to reckon with her!

When I was young, these ladies told me a true story that defines who they both were.  Back in America’s unfortunate days of segregation, my grandmother and great-grandmother went shopping in downtown Atlanta.  While in a clothes store, they saw a young African-American girl who was in distress.  They approached her and asked her what was wrong.  She had to use the restroom really bad.  She was desperate, but the only bathroom was for white people only.

In the days of great hostility and shakeup, these ladies decided to buck the system and help this young girl.  My great-grandmother hid the young girl under coat and assisted her to the store’s white’s-only restroom.  My grandmother stood guard outside.  Trust me, no one was going to get past my grandmother.  She was too smart, too sweet and knew how to use both to help this precious girl.

Hearing their story showed me how to put the Bible into real life practice.  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

My grandfather was an upstanding man in our community.  Everyone knew him and liked him.  He knew how to stretch a dollar and make touch decisions as the leader of the family, but he had a real soft side that only a few of us saw.  I would describe him as a pillar.  Strong.  Unwavering.  Kind, generous and practical.

The best financial lesson I ever received was from him right after Bruce and I got married.  I was a young 19, and had lived with my grandparent s for 3 years following my mom’s death.  I visited them one day about a year after the wedding, and my grandfather surprised us with a washer & dryer for the tiny foreclosure we bought.  However, he sat me down at the table on the back porch and took out his wallet.  He opened it (never taking anything out of it) and said, This is the last time we will help you.  You are married now, and it’s up to Bruce and you to handle your finances.  Then, he literally, physically, shut his wallet and put it in his back pocket.

Wow!  How’s that for an object lesson?  There was absolutely no ambiguity of where he stood, and it was the best thing he could have done for us.  From that day forward, 22 years later, we have been completely on our own financially, making good decisions and accepting the consequences for the bad.  I learned in about 30 seconds that my life was my responsibility.  It is one of my life’s greatest learned lessons.

Our society truly undervalues the older generation.  However, they are an untapped resource of knowledge and strength from which to draw.  During my mother-in-law’s recent battle with cancer, she told me one day while we sat together, I’m not ready to go yet.  I have so much to still teach you guys.  Like how to use newspaper for lining the insides of your shoes when they wear out.

That conversation stuck with me.  We have thousands and millions of people right at our fingertips who know what it is like to live through rationing; to work as a community for the good of the whole; to give us advice on self-sacrifice (something my current generation and the one after me doesn’t know) and leadership.  We need people to tell us how to live within a budget, how to work hard – even if it is for the benefit of someone else, and that less truly is more.  We need to be told the beauty of appreciating simple moments and be admonished on just how short life really is – something those ahead of us have much to offer to the conversation.

The way things are in the world right now, we should be having lots of conversations with those who know how to survive and thrive in the face of unpredictable hardship.

On thing I love is that we worship at church with the elderly.  We have Widow Sunday periodically where the widows are given a white rose to wear, and everyone who sees them gives them a hug.  This is respect that is biblical and esteemed by God.  I love to watch the older generation at church.  Sometimes I glance around and watch them sing, with their eyes closed, hymns like It Is Well and Amazing Grace because there are decades of history in their voices.  Decades upon decades of living in God’s faithfulness – and in theirs to Him.  I study their faces and think of the hard times they’ve survived, loved ones they lost, and health crises they’ve faced – yet here they are, every week, worshiping God. I think to myself, Teach me.  Show me.  Guide me.  They are an example I want to follow.  One I want my children to follow.  Inter-generational worship, be it in church service or spending time with those of the older generation, is extremely important for everyone’s benefit.

My heart was so touched when my oldest teen told me that he saw our special widow friend at church and went up to her and gave her a hug and chatted – all on his own.  They were both blessed.  We live in such a “me” generation, and the one coming behind is even more so.  We as parents must teach our children the value of all people – not just those who are in the same season of life as us.

Studies show that communities where the elderly are honored, respected and highly regarded have a considerably longer life expectancy.  Interesting.  The fact is, we will all be there one day, hopefully, and it will be our turn to share advice, stories, and life lessons.  Will anyone listen to us?

So thankful for Selah Day!

My peeps and I are taking the Sabbath to rest and rejeuvenate from a wonderfully busy and blessed weekend. One of our family’s mantras is…

We do nothing really well!

Join us in enjoying doing nothing.  Monday will thank you. :)Tomorrow we will continue our Favorite Fifteen.  See you then!

Kristi

Count your blessings

I took a chance yesterday and posted the funk I’ve been in lately.  For the rest of the day, an old truth mulled around in my mind.  When we’re down about something, the way to dig ourselves out of the pit is to help someone else and/or count our blessings.

While looking for an opportunity to help someone, the neatest surprise came my way.  I was in a store visiting a friend who worked there.  I had my kids and dog with me, when the door chimed that a new customer had entered.  I turned to see a young mom, her mom, and her special needs son in a stroller.  My dog caught his eye.

I saw him reaching out for her, so I knelt down beside the stroller, with his mom smiling and looking on, and held my dog near him so they could meet.  She was pleased to make his acquaintance (she’s so good with kids!), and it made him happy to pet her.  A simple pleasure – it totally brightened my day! 🙂

A while later, noticing a napkin lying on my car seat, I fetched a pen from the bottom of my purse, and began writing down the blessings I have received in the last 24 hours.  At red lights, in check out lines, waiting to pick up the kids, I wrote everything that came to mind and heart throughout the day.  In doing so, the heavy load I am carrying seemed a lot lighter.  Even dare I say, doable!

Between the precious friend my dog and I met and my blessings list, my perspective on the day did a 180.  You know, God could’ve been the parent we children want to avoid by lecturing me for how good my life is, how easy I have it, or how thankful I should be.  That approach seems to quickly be tuned out by kids of all ages.  Instead, He gently, tenderly reminded me of all the ways He is working in my life, for my good, while I run my race, by bringing the blessings of the day to the forefront of my attention.

24 hours of blessings:

* I was involved in a near miss between two vehicles – if one had hit the other, the large SUV would’ve slammed right into me.  Thankfully, no harm no foul (other than a near panic attack for me as I was driving our car that is on its last leg and this would’ve done it in!).

* After a trip to the pediatrician yesterday, my daughter, in fact, does NOT have a burst ear drum from screaming too loud on a roller coaster on our trip!

* As of 1:30am this morning, our taxes are done!!

* I have a husband willing to stay up, after a long workday, to do our taxes – yeah!!  Thank you!

* Received news that our beloved, extended family’s flight landed safe & sound.

* A hearty laugh with an old friend.

* When getting the van inspected yesterday, we were surprised that they also washed and detailed it – inside and out – for no extra charge.  Nice!

* Enjoyed a beautiful family walk under sunny, blue skies and a brisk breeze.

* I have the health to take a walk.

* The kindness of two strangers who stopped traffic to let me pull into the school parking lot this morning at the last minute so my son wouldn’t be late.

* Heard my teenage daughter’s favorite worship song on the radio, “How He loves me” by David Crowder Band and thought about how this song sings of God’s loves for us – and that my baby girl knows, believes, and accepts His radical love for her.  Oh, how that warms my heart.

* My youngest son surprised me with a rare, guilty pleasure – strawberry milk.  And, he served it in my favorite blue glass…with a smile…just because he wanted to.

* How glad my dog is to see me after our trip.  She is my shadow and literally smiles at me when I walk into the room.

* My oldest teenage son still comes to me for hugs every day. 🙂

* A good night’s sleep!!

* Read a new letter from our Compassion daughter in Asia and heard how well she is doing.  I love the picture she drew of her family!

* The joy of watching my daughter and our dog play hide-and-seek.  Yes, my daughter really taught her how to play this game and they love it.  Too cute!

* Took a moment to enjoy watching the first chipmunk of the season scurry off with a nut.  Aww.

* Had the privilege to attend mid-week church services without the threat of political or religious persecution or harassment.

* Thanking God for those in the military who, past and present, have given their time, energy and lives for our religious freedom.

* Met with an AMAZING group of women last night.  I am inspired and encouraged by their stories, their hearts, and the beauty of God in them.

* All chicks are back in my nest.

Blessed indeed.  It’s good to stop and give God due recognition for the blessings He gives us every day.  Like my mom always said, If you have the choice to laugh or cry…laugh.  Mom, you were right.

Old House, New Heart

Ephesians 3:20-21 – Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen.

What a week!  Our family has really enjoyed getting away and seeing dear family and friends.  There were many joys experienced and memories made, but one in particular stands out for me.

We had just gotten into town, and I wanted to show the kids my childhood home.  We slowly drove down the familiar street, looking at all of the houses to see which ones were original, remodeled, or torn down and replaced.  My house was at the end of the street.  I was nervous to look.  After my mom died, I had no dad to care for me, so legally I had to move out of my home because I was a minor.  From there, the house fell into disrepair by renters; then it was sold and was completely let go.  It has been years since I had seen it, but the last time I did it was downright painful to look at it.  Shudders hanging on by one nail, paint chipped off, the yard a disaster of weeds and dirt.  There was nothing at all maintained, much less nice, about my old home.  I could only imagine what the inside looked like.

My mom’s words from over two decades ago haunted me, This is the only house I will ever own.  I plan to live here until I die.  Her terminal illness cut that vision short, but I knew what she meant.  Now, her azaleas were gone; her one beloved rose bush was gone; the quaint white ranch house with black shudders was a wreck.  It would’ve broken her heart.  I thought about the “weed parties” she made us do as kids pulling up weeds for hours; roller skating on the driveway; garage sales under the carport; Sunday afternoons on the back porch reading the paper in her church dress and house slippers; first-day-of-school pictures at the back door; birthday parties; watching the royal wedding live on her 13” color television in her bedroom; my great-grandmother’s vintage furniture in our living room; Christmases; Saturday morning cartoons;  trick-or-treating; Friday night pizza; good times with friends and family – our house was truly a home.

The last time I saw it, it was in shambles.  Although it is just a structure, its poor estate gripped my heart because it was quite symbolic of my life in the aftermath of the extreme continuum of overwhelming tragedies that befell our small family.  Parked outside several years ago, I simply stared at a house that reflected so much of how I felt for years – unloved, forgotten, left behind, rejected, uncared for – a mess on the outside and vacant on the inside. Indeed, the world had moved on, but I was stuck with a heart and life in disrepair…just like my old home.

Through the years, however, God redeemed my life.  He gave me a faithful, loving husband, amazing children, and friends that are nothing short of hand-picked by Him for me.  I put in a lot of homework to grieve and move to the next season God had prepared for me.  It was hard work.  Really hard.  God put just the right people in my path to help me through a maze of mourning, and little-by-little the healing began.  Today, and for many years now, I am healed, whole and am fully embracing the abundant life Jesus spoke of in John 10:10.  I’m in a better place than I’ve ever been in my life, and I have often thought of my old home and wondered if it, too, survived.

Last week, my family warily drove toward my house.  My heart pounded and palms sweated.  Could I handle what I was about to see?  I had no idea.  We pulled up to find a delightful surprise!  It looked great!  It had a fresh coat of paint, shudders hung proudly, new roof, new fence, new driveway, and cut grass.  The old pines were gone and landscape beds were healthy and blooming.  I got out of the van to take a closer look.  My husband took my picture in the front yard.  I smiled as I told the kids about Mom’s rose bush and azaleas, where I roller skated, and named the trees in the backyard that we could see peeking over the fence (I gave our trees names when I was a child).

I took a deep breath and stared at the door.  It was the same red door with fresh, glossy paint.  I turned to my husband and said, I have to.  He knew what I was talking about because he knows me that well.  I have to knock on the door, I said.  Go for it, he encouraged.  I walked up the steps to the door.  The kids and he followed behind.  Ding dong the doorbell rang.

A young mom cracked open the door, looking wary at five strangers on her front stoop.  A young girl hid behind her leg, quizzically peeking at us.  Hi, I began with a big smile.  You don’t know me, but I used to live here. I grew up in this house, I explained.  Oh, she said, a little taken aback.  I just wanted to tell you how beautiful your house is.  The last time I saw it, it was in disrepair.  It’s so great to see it cared for and loved.  The little girl stepped forward and invited us in.  I politely pretended not to hear and just smiled.

We heard a man in the background mumble something, and the young mom surprisingly said, My husband said you all are welcome to come in.  I nearly jumped for joy!  But, I held my composure, Are you sure?  I know it’s dinnertime I said as we smelled food wafting from the open door.  Yes, we’re sure, she replied with a smile.  Thank you so much!  I said eagerly.

She opened the door and we stepped inside.  It was the first time in what felt like forever since I had walked into my home.  It was very different.  Walls were changed, an addition on the back, new kitchen, but it felt quite familiar nonetheless.  They let us walk through every room, and I was able to tell my kids which rooms were which – including my old bedroom.  Although it had changed inside my heart’s eyes saw it just the way it used to be.  This is where the Christmas tree went.  This used to be a back porch.  There was a door here.  I had so much fun reliving the memories.

I was aware of their dinner waiting on the table, so we didn’t stay long.  But, we had great conversation with the new owners about the history of the house.  I filled in historical gaps, and so did they.  Together, we painted a complete picture.

Complete.  That’s exactly the way I feel.  Not only did I get to see the outside of my house beautiful again, the inside was as well.  In fact, it looked even better than before.  The mom apologized for seeming standoffish at the door.  I reassured her that our spontaneous visit was unusual.  We made new friends that day.  Ironically, she said, It’s funny.  I never ever answer the door.  I don’t know why I did this time.  I know why.  God planned this divine appointment.

I got the closure I have looked for all these years.  The house is a home again.  A young family is filling its walls with new memories and lots of love.

A second chance.  That’s what my house got – and I did, too.  My old house was once a vibrant, fun place to be.  It suffered a huge loss and spiraled downward for many years.  Then, someone came along and decided it was worth something and should not be torn down for a bigger, newer model.  Sure enough, a young family agreed and is taking tender care of it.   That’s pretty much my story… and that someone was God.  He told me I was worth redeeming, not letting life utterly demolish me.  He gave me a second chance with a precious family of my own.

I feel like my home finally got the happily-ever-after that I was granted.

When we began our trip, we had no idea this was going to happen.  Oh, but God did.  Don’t you know He counted the minutes until our van pulled up to the front yard.  I can see it now…God shushed the angels as I approached the front door.  With His hands grasping the arms of His throne, elbows high in the air, and eyes looking downward upon the earth, He leaned forward and said under His breath,  Wait for it.  Wait for it – as the doorbell rang.  Yes?  the mom said from the beginning…God, quite pleased with Himself, sat back with His hands folded on His lap and grinned as He watched everything play out.

Had He not nudged me to ring the doorbell, I still would’ve had the blessing of seeing the exterior of my yard and home being well-cared for, but I would’ve missed the enormous blessing of being able to walk through it and seeing for myself that all has turned out beautifully.  If we take a step of faith (literally!) and ask Him for what we normally wouldn’t dare, who knows – our request may just be granted!

What big thing would you like to ask God for today?  Do you believe He is able answer it?  Are you willing to step out and ask?  God knows best, and He loves giving good gifts to His children.  Step out today and ask.  You just never know what door may open.