And then I hear Your voice.

photo credit Tom Raven Photography

Fierce tides are raging all around and my boat feels very small.  My clothes are wet and my fingers are tired from gripping the side of the small craft. I take a chance and look over the side and into the raging waters:

alarm clocks, gasoline prices, college tuition, court dates, jury duty, car registrations, on-line schooling, HTML codes, status updates, follow me, dishwasher repairs, grooming bills, mortgage payments, IRS bills, job applications, orthodontist bills, mammograms....

I close my eyes and pray I am not swallowed into the ocean of it all.

And then I hear Your voice. 

"He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed." Psalm 107:29

"God is here when we are wholly unaware of it." A.W. Tozer


{Wrote it all and added the pictures and links in 5 minutes} 
{Blog Hop 5 minute Friday...this week write on the word STILL}

Six Word Ordinary Saturday Adventure

 

Okay, well, if you don't know me...maybe that is a little misleading. I am not a "sister wife" nor, am I a jilted lover. I am, by the grace of God and for reasons I don't always understand, a Pastor's wife. 

It 's a good life. 

Now. 

Actually, it has been a good life the whole time. It was just that there were a few years where my perspective was a bit off. Somewhere in the closet of guilt and grief, I allowed boxes of bitterness and selfishness to pile up. These were ugly boxes full of spiders and snakes, and every once in a while one of the creatures would crawl out of the closet and into the place that could have been pleasant. 

But, long story short--the boxes aren't there anymore.

And, today, my man, my husband of almost 24 years, is performing a wedding ceremony for a young couple at a beautiful venue in Newport Beach, California. And, I get to watch without any spiders or snakes to ruin my day.

Happy Six Word Saturday. Happy me. 

Topsy Turvy YOGA...for a cause?

photo credit: www.thiscrazyweb.com

I love Yoga...or wait, let me say that again. I love the idea of Yoga. I can imagine myself doing Yoga and it looks awesome. But, when I look in the mirror while I attempt it, it doesn't look so great. It's the illusion that I enjoy, not the reality. The reality of me doing Yoga is painful and embarrassing. The reality of me doing Yoga is when mirrors collide. Up looks backwards and down looks insane. It becomes a topsy turvy world--and I am at the center.

But most of the things happening in our world are topsy turvy, aren't they? Take the issue of feeding the homeless. The cities where there is greater wealth have a harder time taking care of their indigent than the cities with a lower median income. The richest nation in the world has people suffering from malnourishment. And, it's a little upside down when we have to explain to Christians that we should help. The belief that it is a political issue and that the welfare system needs to be revamped is argued as if anything that is decided in Washington DC would ever excuse what Jesus has called us to do as individuals.

photo credit: www.giantbomb.com

And then the Topsy Turvyness of it all assaults my senses. I open my pantry and I see my excess and I choose items to give away. But, I could do more. I could give more. I could give up things that I have and do more.  I could...give...but what?

In my community there is a prestigious workout center that does Yoga. I would never go there--because watching me do Yoga is not a reality that I want anyone else to have to endure. And I am comfortable in my NOT going--because going would take money. 

But what happens when mirrors collide and it is actually a benefit to someone else for me to go to Yoga? Bikram Yoga in Covina is hosting a food drive. Bring in 5 cans of food and get a Yoga class for FREE. Yep. During the weekend of July 29-31st ~ Yoga Yourself for Families in Need. The food will be distributed through the Bumper Bag Ministry of Christ Church of the Valley in San Dimas. You can find details about the event on Facebook HERE or contact Janna Mascarin, in the CCV Food Ministry to make a food or monetary donation (jannam@ccvsocal.com)

When we truly, truly give of ourselves, up looks backwards and down looks insane. It becomes a topsy turvy world--and Christ is at the center. And, I love the idea of that!

Linking today with Holly to Pay It Forward :)

Why I Am Not God - Reason #247

photo credit to http://flic.kr/p/4oLDMs

I like to halfheartedly tease my daughter and tell her that she suffers from a co-dependent disorder. Her desire to be around people has always been strong. Since her first after church play date, when she was 3 and half, she learned quickly that having a friend around was better than not. But, being that I am much more introverted than she, I see a world of possibly in what is to be discovered in one's time alone. And, naturally, being that I am the parent, when I notice the small flaws in my children, I want to help them over come.

She takes my teasing, perhaps, because she is fully aware that her Mother has issues of her own, one of which being that this Mother doesn't have the relaxed social skills that her Daughter possesses. She knows that I am the one who has the problem with intimacy in friendships. She is comfortable doing whatever it is that she intended, with any friend who wants to join her, whereas, I am weary at inviting someone to join me, because they may not really want to come along, or what if the conversation begins to lag, or what if aliens attack and we are stuck in an elevator for 12 days and all we have to eat are orange flavored tic-tacs.

So, she looks at my life and doesn't always understand how I can be so comfortable doing things alone, and I look at her life and DECIDE that she needs to be more independent. I make a judgement and a decision about her lifestyle, because even though she is a grown, married woman--I am her Mother, and I know what is best. 

Less than a year ago, she booked a flight to Colorado to be a bridesmaid in the wedding of one her lifelong friends. I was so proud of her for making this trip on her own. She had traveled alone before to see this same friend in Florida, but that was so long ago--and I was feeling like she needed to make some more strides in her independence. Well, the night before she was to leave for the airport a series of text messages revealed that not only would she be on the same flight as some other friends who were also traveling for the wedding...but she was sitting in the row just behind them! I had to shake my head, and then humbly offer up praise to One who was obviously taking care of my little girl.

The Jurors ~ just last month...

Well, this week, God, once again, reminded me, that I am not He and that He will continue to work in her life as He pleases. My daughter was married just one month ago, and so her mail is still trying to find her, by way of our mailbox. She received a summons for Jury Duty, which is to be served in the local courthouse, building 15 on August 1st. This is her first time to be on Jury Duty. I looked at the letter and thought, "She's going to have to do this alone. She can't take a friend to this one." Well, within seconds, my mind was a little confused by the twin envelope in the mailbox. Another call for Jury Duty...this one for her Dad. He has been called to the same local courthouse, building 15 on August 1st. 

Well, what do you know? I am ever so gently reminded that God's plans are not always as mine. He knows what she needs and His timing is perfect. The best I can do is continue to humbly offer praise for the way He takes care of my little girl. 

O Lord, You are my God;
I will exalt You, I will give thanks to Your name;
For You have worked wonders,
Plans formed long ago, with perfect faithfulness.

Isaiah 25:1 

The Jurors...just moments ago ;-)

 
Linking today for Thought Provoking Thursdays with somegirlswebsite.com!

Shower Doors Opening in Heaven

The sermon at our church led into the topic of whether we will recognize one and other when we get to Heaven, leading me to a memory that I have from so long ago and bending my mind to what I believe on the subject of Heaven.

In January of 1995, on a Sunday night, I was giving our 19-month-old daughter, Molly, a bath. Over the weekend, we had just moved into a new home and so Molly was enjoying a new tub. This particular tub was also a shower and it had the frosted glass shower doors attached to the tub. Our previous tub did not have these and so our daughter was fascinated by them. As she sat in the tub, I would pull the door closed and then open it again,  "Peek-A-Boo" with a shower door. After a few times, she learned that she could do it to me. She would close the door and then wait. Then the game evolved to her just wanting to close the door if I opened it. Then she would put her little face up against the glass and try to see if I was still there. And, I would see the outline of her. I couldn't see her completely, just the outline of who she was. And she would see my outline--and giggle.

I remember this bath time as clearly as if it was last night. Perhaps the reason I remember this so clearly is because it was just two days later that she was gone. Gone to be in the presence of the Lord. And, then it was just a few weeks later that I was sitting in that same tub on a cold February night--trying to erase the chill of grief--and staring at those doors. I was thinking of that special time of Mother and child and I was imbedding that memory into my mind. I wanted to hold onto it, to remember it forever. 

And, I don't know why, but that night, God used those doors to help me have a little better understanding of Heaven. While here on earth, I use my eyes and my ears to recognize those I know and love. When my family returns from a trip, I see them coming down the escalator at the airport and so I quickly approach them, ready to love on them. I use my eyes to know my family, because God has equipped me with vision. When someone in my home comes through the door, they drop their keys in the glass bowl on the hutch--I hear the keys and I say, "Hello?" And the "Hello" that returns tells me who has arrived. I recognize my loved one's voice because this is the tool for earth. In Heaven, I will use more. 

We are living our lives looking at each other through frosted glass shower doors. We can see each other--somewhat. We can make out enough of the outlines that we know who we want to approach and who we do not. But, when we are in the presence of the Lord and we are stripped of these bodies and living in our perfect bodies it will be as though the door had slid open and we can finally see each other. The enhancement of our spiritual nature will out weigh our physical side.

Will I recognize Molly in Heaven? Yes. The glass door will slide open and her perfect body will show WHO she is completely. No more distractions by shadows of aging. No cloudy outlines of an infant verses the elderly--just who she is.

"There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; 
but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, 
and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. " 
1 Corinthians 15:40

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One Thousand Days

Today I will attend the funeral of a woman who had just begun the journey into her 20's. 

The timing of this funeral feels unfair. 

Decades too soon to bury this young body.

But, Grace survives. 

Her soul survives and lives. And rests. 

Thankful for God's promise that one day is like that of one thousand.

Her thousand days are just beginning.

Grief is real, but even in the midst of it, 

God will take care of the ones who loved this beautiful soul. 

Goodnight sweet woman. 

Good morning child of God.

You're Looking at it Wrong

His name was Robert and he had a really cool last name that sounded as if he had just stepped off a boat from Ireland. He had an unusual middle name; given the name of a family friend, his middle name was the color Gray. He had sandy, brown hair, played the guitar and, similar to me, he liked the Beatles. He also liked me. I was his first "serious" girlfriend. He had just finished high school and I was a woman of 20, living in an apartment.  Just me and my pet bird, Ben. Everything I did at the time fascinated him. 

Yes, there I was in my red, leather boots, belting out my Olivia Newton-John songs at the Black Angus Lip Sync competition. And there he was, in the audience falling more and more captivated with each pretend note. Everything that I attempted was glorious to this young man. Not so much to his Mother. 

To this young man's Mother, I was her greatest nightmare. She had plans for him, and my world of red sequins was no where in those plans.

She was determined to put an end to her son's growing attachment to this City College girl. Somewhere between curfews and groundings, I began to lose grip of the relationship. His mother made more and more demands of his time, mostly in an attempt to keep him away from me. Our relationship turned secret in nature and began to bring out in me the first signs of what I now see as my tendency toward Obsessive Compulsive behavior. (I think by today's terms I would have been a stalker...) 

One morning, we were to meet at the beach, when he never showed. In 1985, we had to use pay phones to reach one another. Standing near the pier I used my quarter and called his home. His line rang and rang. At that time, rarely anyone I knew had an answering machine. Completely frustrated, I drove to his home, I didn't care if his Mother knew. After all, we were in love, and maybe a little more love would make it right. No one was home that overcast morning and it was at that time that I realized--it was out of my hands. I drove to the workplace of my own mother and cried in her arms. At some point there was an official break up, and soon after he was given a brand new Black Truck. I never rode in that truck.

This was my last relationship before I began to live my life as a Christian. It was a hard time for me. I was so alone and no matter how I tried to "fight" for this relationship, it continued to fall apart. Everything I touched seemed to decay. I was like the hand of cancer and I didn't know why. Looking back, it is all so trivial now, and equally meaningful. 

Now, I can see myself in Robert's mother. The desire she had to keep her son safe from a woman of the world. Her yearning for him to accomplish great things and not be distracted. I understand her desire to keep her son innocent, even to the point of purchasing that virtue.

I see the silliness in the wants of the young woman, whose desire for wholeness led her to desperation in her relationships. I see how obvious it all is now. I see that not getting what I thought I wanted led me to the place of finding what I needed, so that one day I might live in the light of what I really wanted all along. 

But, here is the strange part. I still struggle with the same issue. Deep in the core of me, I still want. I want and I think I need. And when I do not get "what I want" I feel confused by it all. I have multiple lifetimes, within my life and the life stories of others, that prove to me that when I don't receive what it is I think I need, it is quite often the hand of God protecting me. He doesn't always give me what I think I should have. His love for me is greater than that. He withholds out of His kindness and out of his sovereignty.

In as much as I believe that the sun is hot, and that the air conditioning will power us through the heat of the summer, I believe that God loves me and He will power me through this "trial". And, the truly ironic thing is--it is only a "trial" because I call it one. If I choose to look at the situation differently, it is no longer a trial, but a blessing. I am in the midst of a blessing and when I get to the other side, the reward will be much greater than getting "that boy". It doesn't feel that way today, but my feelings are about as honest as a teenage love affair. I cannot trust what I feel to lead me, I have to rely on the word of God and His plan for my future. 

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Enjoy other Thoughts on Thought Provoking Thursdays at Some Girls Website. :)

An interesting thing happened on the way to the alter...

...and so begins my daughter's new life. The beauty of my daughter's wedding will be treasured in photographs and in the memories we cling to. And while one of those is fairly simple: find a great photographer, mail him a check--PRESTO! Brilliant photographs, with the perfect editing, to seal the day! The second part, the memories we cling to--this part is a little more tricky.

The morning after the "big day", I sat with two of my best friends and my parents in IHOP and we debriefed on the previous night's events. It was interesting to hear the stories of what others had gone through while I was so intently focused on my daughter. One of my favorite stories was hearing about how my dear friend had lost all use of his iphone in route and had no address to the venue (thanks GPS) and no phone numbers (thanks speed dial) and no idea where to go. He had tried a few exits in the general vicinity of our home and had finally stopped at a Starbucks. Sitting in the coffee shop he stared out across the parking lot, when he noticed he was staring at an IHOP. (Yep, it was my IHOP). Knowing that I often walk to breakfast, and knowing that I probably don't walk far--he knew that our home must be near. So, he ventured back out onto the streets and, eventually, found our home (he has only been to it a couple of times prior). He pulled up to our house just as my youngest son, looking amazing in his tuxedo, was walking out the door. Ahhh...the hand of the Lord at work on a special day.
But, the next day, there was the temptation to focus on some of the frustrating things that had happened. There was a temptation to relive some of the things that were painful and disappointing. And, over pancakes, I shared my fears with these dear ones. How do I remember the good and let go of the bad? And, then, my father after hearing my heart said, "The stories you tell are the things you will remember." 
That statement struck me and has stayed with me all week. I have a lifetime of events, good and sorrowful that prove my Dad's theory to be accurate. The things I remember from the wedding where I was the bride--are the stories I have repeated. The memories I cling to from the day my daughter died--are the tales I have told. My mind has the capability of holding onto every moment of every event, but the stories I tell become my reality of the events.

With my daughter's wedding, my desire is to hold onto the beautiful things that happened, not the disappointments. My flesh is battling against my spirit and if I want my spirit, God's Spirit inside me, to reign-- I have to make the choice to tell the stories that will bring Him glory.
Rather than focusing on the lack of something on this momentous day, I have to tell the stories that will remind all, that on this day--God was faithful.

God was faithful when I sent out text messages and emails begging people to help us set up, decorate, shuttle and serve--beautiful servant leaders in our church showered down on us to set up chairs, prepare food and tie table clothes. God was faithful when he provided us with the skills and knowledge of some gifted and talented women to lead me through the planning of such a big event in a backyard venue. God was faithful when the bride, my beautiful daughter, began to have an allergic reaction (just before she was to take pictures) and her left eye began to swell closed and turn red, and as we called out for Benedryl (and no one could find even one pill) He led me, her Mother, to lead them-- her friends and her faithful bridesmaids--to lay hands on her pray. It was one of my favorite moments, sitting on a chair in the bathroom, overlooking those fabulous hills, we bowed before God and praised Him for being the creator of all things, including Benedryl, and we praised Him for stopping the swelling, because we believed that He would.  Within moments of praying--Benedryl appeared. Today, I am so thankful for that allergy induced eye reation. I am so thankful for it, because on the last day that my daughter was merely my daughter, and not yet a wife, when she faced what was quite frightening, God led me to lead her to Him. I am so thankful that in spite of any of the the times I failed at doing this--on this day--I did what pleases Him.
And so it comes to this, as the days pass and my treasure box of memories threatens to be emptied out and replaced with ugly disappointments, I continue to think of the wise words of my Father and I am determined to be more careful with the stories I tell.

Y is for Yo-Yo

Things couldn't be better. My marriage is healthy, filled with laughter and communication. I am fulfilling my role as a wife with ease and my husband enjoys "hanging out with me". God has blessed me with a beautiful daughter, and we are working together to plan her wedding--which is coming so soon, we can almost touch it! My eldest son has been accepted to begin studies at a Christian University, and next week he is being honored for his academic achievements in his college work thus far. My youngest son has his license to drive and was able to drive himself to school for the first time this morning. He is handsome and fun, and people tell me constantly how much they enjoy him--he's the life of the party!

Things couldn't be worse. My husband and are struggling to communicate about the simplest things happening in our household. He is busy with work and with school and when he has time for me--I feel like blogging. My daughter is frustrated with me because my stress level is affecting the time that we spend together to put the finishing touches on her wedding--which is coming much too quickly! My eldest son is trying to juggle school, his job and finishing his fundraising for his upcoming Missions trip to Africa and anything I try to do to help is causing more friction in our relationship. Last night, my youngest son decided, at the spur of the moment, to make a "singing toast" to his coach at the High School Sports banquet, and I found myself sneaking out of the room to avoid looks from the parents who did not enjoy his humor. Did he ruin their party?

The string never moves, but the spool goes up and then down. I want to make it stop. I could learn to live with where ever it landed, but this up and then down is making me dizzy. When up at the top, I know I can make it, but when spiraling down--I become certain that this is the end. Surely the string will now break and I will fall to the floor. The spool will detach and I will roll away. Landing perhaps under the fridge. But, alas, the string doesn't break and I am pulled spinning back up. 

Oh, to become something else, other than this. To become a lamp or a table, what a joy it would be to stay in one place. But, the Hand at the top has made me this way, so I have to learn to trust him and not the lies in my head. The answer is easy, yet it is a trial everyday. Keep the string tied to the hand and then trust in the string. It will not break, I will not roll away. 

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5

W is for Words With Friends

I've discovered that I cherish this game, this Words With Friends game that I play. It's not the computer Scrabble game--the app for my phone. It's this blogging, this twittering. This game on Facebook that we play. We engage one another with our words. Our words become the toys that we play with while we socialize--and I adore it. We are using our words to encourage, inspire, influence and amuse, and when I consider the embracing of these words, I believe that I was born "for such a time as this". 

I've been a journal-er for most of my life. Quietly, in my room, on my bed, writing out words and turning them into thoughts. Taking a journal and dedicating it to prayer, I've allowed the Lord to lead my words to a place to transform my heart. But, it was always just me. My thoughts were exposed to no other, a secret they remained~then suddenly, my new normal to "say" them aloud. Tossing out thoughts into cyberspace has become part of how people "see" me, a part of how I've transformed. (Like it or not ;)

It's a strange time that we live in, this internet instance. I've got people in Maine and Malaysia who know more about me than the lady down the street. Our words are connecting us to people of like mind, heart and spirit. These powerful, wonderful words. And, then as I ponder these Words With Friends, I think of the truest friendships I have, and I am not surprised that they have been formed while experiencing "Word" with friends. 

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

John 1:14

I am blessed to have friendships that are built around our relationship with Christ. It is no surprise that these are the people I cherish so deeply; I call them my family. There is something transforming that happens when we spend time with other people exploring the nature of God, praying to Him in the name of his Son. Pure relationships, built on trust, develop and we are not left void from our time investing in them. I have loved being a part of relationships that were formed in the workplace or out on the Little League field, but it's this adding of God's Word that takes my breath away. It's like playing a 316 point word on the Scrabble board.

This challenge I issued to myself several weeks ago, this challenge to discover what to do when the words are hard to find, has opened my eyes to so many things about myself. But, among the greatest is this: The time that I spend in the presence of the Lord has the greatest power to transform my mind and influence my writing. There is no "writers block" that the power of the Lord cannot break through. If the Lord wants to use my words, He will always help me find a way.

Now, off for the rest of my day, which--if you friend me or follow me, I am certain you will "hear" about.

F is for "the F-word"

You knew what I meant. I could actually end this post right now and my point will have already been made. I am fascinated by the fact that we have a word in our language that has become so sensationalized that we don't even have to say it, and others know what word we are speaking of. If I tell you to think of the M-word, what did we do? Well, you may have thought of a monkey, while I thought of a motorcycle, and someone down the street thought of a mountain lion. But, not so with the F-word.

It makes me wonder if, when all the words gather for the Annual Dictionary Academy Awards, do the other words look towards the Red Carpet and say..."Oooo, here comes the F-word, and look what she's wearing!" The F-word is more popular than Cher. She requires four letters...this word needs only one.

The reason this fascinates me is because it is evidence that society has admitted that there is a moral code. Anyone who believes that this word is not a word that should be thrown around lightly, whether they believe in God or not, is professing a moral standard. Words are not something that a child can touch; he will not cut his finger off with a sharp word or become addicted and overdose on a word. But, even those who will not say that there is a God have determined that this word is unacceptable for a child to hear, let alone say. And that gives me hope. Because in the forming of our lips and the pushing out of the air that makes words, we have determined that there is a right and a wrong. There is a moral code. And, whenever we admit to a moral code--we are, either consicously or unconsicously acknowledging the existence of God. Without God to determine the difference between good and evil, who draws the line? Who determines what is acceptable? This word is wrong, but if I change a few letters, why does it become acceptable? And, why is ANYTHING wrong if there is no absolute. This word alone helps to prove the supreme sovereignty of God, and our need for Him in our society

Another reason it fascinates me is because with the extreme ugliness of one word, there has to be an opposite. There has to be a word that is diametrically opposed to this word to describe this act of marriage created by God. There has to be a word so lovely and treasured, so calming and complete that it can win the war of good and evil. There has to be a word that can beat down the world, and the enemy's attempts to intimate with this appalling word. There has to be something that is stronger than the coarseness that this word inspires. For everything that is dark and scary, there is always a contrary, an opposed, a light. The best word I can think of is love. Real love.

SHARE WITH ME

What is your word for the LETTER F? 

And why?

D is for Divine

When I woke up this morning I felt like "D" was for Dread. I had been asked to go do something that I enjoy doing, but I was filled with a new set of doubts, so rather than feeling a sense of excitement for the opportunity to use the gifts that God has given me, I wanted to bury them in a hole. But, seeing as the Master doesn't look too kindly on those who bury their talents in holes, I wasn't reaching for the shovel as a way out. 

I have been doing "public speaking" for as long as I can remember and I am always in awe at how the Lord continues to open doors. Speaking is something that keeps me on my knees, for fear of failure. It seems that no matter how many times I speak publicly and it doesn't kill me, I still drive to the next place with an overwhelming amount of anxiety. I begin to behave as though-- this time...I will surely die. In my pre-speaking imaginative reality, people scoff and throw vegetables; I am deemed unworthy and invaluable. Anger ensues at my utter attempt and madness reigns the meeting.

This morning the enemy attacked with a new set of weapons, and this time I found myself fearful as I dodged new arrows that I were not familiar at all. The group of women that I was to be addressing were a little unknown to me, and when I walked in the room, I kept hearing the lies play in my head, 

"What you have to share will not matter to them!"
"They will not find relevance in your words!"

With all the lies trying to intrude, I had no choice but to battle with prayer. I found peace in those moments, because no matter how alarmingly fierce the enemy's new weapon might have been...mine was still fiercer. My sword is always sharper and my shield is always more sturdy. I prayed over and over,

"Please God, use something I say to touch one woman's life"

"Please God, don't let them see me--let them only see YOU."

As I stood in the room, meeting lots of new women, I noticed that a familiar face came through the door. A woman I know came and stood by my side. This woman is a treasure that I have only recently stumbled upon, and she is blessing my life, and the life of my daughter, with her generosity and hospitality, in a way that a Mother only dreams.  She leaned in to me and said, "I don't know why I am here, my daughter told me I had to come today."  So, I smiled at her and said, "You're here for me. God wanted you here." 

I don't remember much about the time while I spoke, I know that there were things that I said not knowing I would. I guess those are the things that God wanted revealed. I just know that as I looked into their eyes, saw their tears and heard their laughter, I knew that by not burying my talent, I was being blessed once again. 

God is constantly working out a masterpiece, just one moment at a time.  Whenever I try to give Him back what is already His, whenever I try to serve Him, whenever I do what He calls me to do--He always, ALWAYS blesses me more than I bless anyone else. 

On the way out the door, two women came and handed me cards. Both of them had taken the time to write out a special thank you. I was touched as I read what they shared from their hearts. I was amazed at how what I had shared was so specifically applicable to what they needed to hear, and to how they needed to be encouraged. Thinking about the things I had shared, I was awestruck at the timing, in relation to the one woman's current trial.  My heart ached for the things she shared, and I was so humbled that I was the one God wanted to use, to remind her of His sovereign plans, on this day--this truly divine day.  

Adrianna, in His hands

I have a soft spot for teenagers. I always have—even before I was one, I found them captivating. The young person with a carefree attitude and the easy laugh, that so often masquerades a tender heart overburdened with a truckload of pain, can draw me into their world to the point that I can even lose sight of my own age. I was so drawn to teenagers, as their own species, that it was partly what drew me to my husband when we first met. He was in Bible College, preparing to become a Youth Pastor, and when we would spend time together it was often in the setting of serving within our church's Youth Department. Marrying him would mean that teenagers, and all that accompanied them, would be a large part of our lives. It meant that serving the Lord would not only encompass the stress that comes with being a Pastor's wife, but also the release of first time decisions, baptisms, summer camp and slumber parties.  And so it was. For most of our marriage we were involved with teenagers and college age people.The number of times we have had our home decorated in toilet paper is  unknown, as is the number of giggles I've heard as I accompanied a group of teens to do the deed to someone else.

So, basically, it is safe to say, between the teenagers who have been a part of our ministries and the teenagers who have lived under our roof—the adolescent years have been a constant in my life since I was…well, a teenager.

 Recently, a group of women at the church I attend, had a prayer gathering to pray for a teenage girl in our church. Her name is Adrianna and she is incredibly sick. She is an innocent beauty who is shriveling before our eyes. She has systemic sceleroderma and her prognosis is not good if she doesn’t get the cord-blood-stem-cell transplant treatment she needs soon. Her condition has been growing worse so rapidly that it is hard not to be fearful for her and for her family. She has had a feeding tube since October, which makes me wonder--how many times have I enjoyed Chipotle, or a cup of coffee, since October? My food intake becomes about so much more than nourishment, and I take even the simple act of eating for granted. She is currently in Washington state at Seattle Children’s Hospital waiting to undergo what may be her last hope for a cure. She will be the first minor to undergo this type of treatment. If this works, she will, hopefully, begin to get well. If this doesn’t work, she will most likely die.

She is 14 years old. She is old enough to understand how sick she is and old enough to know that this is not fair. And even knowing that this is not fair--she loves Jesus. She loves her church and her Pastor.  She looks to her parents for answers and asks her Mother questions that her Mother struggles to answer. She loves her two little sisters, dancing, and McDonald’s Chicken McNuggets. She has fluffy pink slippers and before she got sick she had waist length chocolate brown hair.

When the women at the church met to pray for her, I felt humbled to be a part of the gathering. I only just recently met Adrianna's Mother, Scarlett, through another woman in the church that I also just recently met..  I don’t know Adrianna well enough that they should consider me worthy of her time, and yet, I was allowed to sit with her and pray for her. This teenager who is so obviously surrounded by angels was sitting near me, letting me hold her hand.

And, about her hand. It was so thin and frail. Holding it, I had to remind myself to be gentle.

The day we prayed was a Wednesday and we met just before the lunch hour. As I was sitting on the floor looking up at her big brown eyes, I was overtaken by a very strong thought:

“This is not where she wants to be”

I don't mean that she did not want to be prayed for, because she did. She wanted very much for the power of the Holy Spirit to wash over her and ease her fears. But, given a choice, this isn't where she would choose to be. The more I thought about it, the more it weighed on me, like a brick. As I said, I don't know her well, but I do know teenage girls, and I know that, most likely, her desires are not to be at the church in the middle of the week with a group of grown women. She would probably choose to be at school; to be watching the clock and waiting for the bell to ring, so that she could meet her friends in their predetermined lunch time spot. She shouldn’t be worrying about needle pricks and bone marrow. She should be less encumbered--spending her time text messaging her BFF and giggling when "that boy" from Algebra looks her way. I left the building feeling slightly irritated that things were not the way I want them to be.

I continued through my day, which included going to my 16-year-old son’s swim meet, where I would volunteer to help time the races. Upon arriving at the pool, I stood at the end of a swim lane, with a stopwatch in my hand, and I prepared to do my best to help with the races. As the first whistle blew and I clicked my stopwatch, I looked at the body of the young girl diving into the water. Her skin was brown, like Adrianna’s, but her muscles were strong. I turned and looked at the girls on the relay team that would be climbing on the block to dive in soon. They were obviously Freshmen. The swimmers were all about 14 or 15 years old. As I watched them gathering their long chocolate brown hair into ponytail holders, I became a little overwhelmed with emotion. I hid my burden behind my sunglasses, my shield for privacy, and continued to time the swimmers. The girls each took their turns and at the end of the race, as the final racer reached her hands toward the wall—I starred at her hands. They were so plump and perfect, strong enough to pull her out of the pool—not fragile and weak.

Looking at her strong hands made me angry at Adrianna's illness. Quite frankly, the swimmer's healthy hands made me angry at God.  I know that He is sovereign, and I respect that His plans are always good. But, being that I am  incomplete in my human state—I am not able to see it from here.  My brain is not wrapping around the "why" of her illness. Even being a Mother who has lost a child, I feel inept in the words I want to use to encourage Adrianna's Mother. I know, however, that I am not the only one who doesn’t understand. I know that many people, who are stronger in their faith than I, do not understand the "why". And, for reasons that I cannot explain, knowing that they also struggle helps me for some reason. Maybe it is because when no one has answers to something this vital, it forces me to leave it in the strongest hands of all. Never weak or frail,  always powerful.  I leave my fears for Adrianna in the ever gentle hands of God. 

I have never written a blog like this before. I have people who I love fiercely and deeply, who have struggled with intense loss and suffering, and I haven’t been able to write about them because I am not sure that I have the right to tell their story. But, I wanted to share about Adrianna because I want to appeal to those of you who don’t know her. As a blogger, this is the first time that I am going to ask you for something. I need your help. Adrianna needs your help. She is struggling with loneliness and moments of depression and she needs to be lifted up in prayer and in words. I want to give you some links so that you may follow the Holy Spirit’s lead and help how it best fits you. And, I want to ask you to be willing to do something that may feel a little uncomfortable. Nowadays, people are so afraid of awkwardness that it stops them from doing the will of God.

ENCOURAGEMENT = Adrianna is stuck in a hospital bed in Seattle. She is away from her sisters and her Daddy. Send her a message through her Facebook. Even if you are not friends with someone—you can send a message and share some good news! Send her a verse, send her a link to a worship song on youtube or send her a picture of puppies! Who doesn't love puppies!? CLICK HERE TO LINK FOR A MESSAGE TO ADRIANNA.

FINANCIAL = Adrianna’s Dad is working two jobs to support two households while he and Adrianna’s two sisters live in California and Adrianna’s Mother stays up in Seattle.  They need help to pay for medical bills and so many of the other financial hardships that are rocking their world right now. They are working with an organization that helps families facing these types of catastrophic illnesses. The Non-profit organization is called Faith's Hope. CLICK HERE TO MAKE A FINANCIAL DONATION TO HELP ADRIANNA.

LOVE the MOMMA. Her Mother is writing a blog to let people follow her journey and to know how to pray. Read her blog and leaver her a comment. As a blogger, I can tell you, there are days when I wonder if anyone reads a word I've written and I consider never sharing again. Then, I will receive the most beautiful comment that serves as an encouragement that I am not alone. As a Mother who faced grief, there are days when I've felt like everyone in the world was too busy for my tears and they really wished I would tell a joke instead. CLICK HERE TO LOVE ON ADRIANNA'S MOMMA.

Fear Factor: India

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." ~Meg Cabot

I am not immobilized, I know this because (1) I'm writing. When I get so fearful that the fear is in control, I cannot bring myself to open my laptop, let alone figure out where to place my fingers on the little black alphabet squares. So, the fact that I am caressing this keyboard and letting my fingers do their job means...the fear has not paralyzed me!
I also know that I am not immobilized because (2) I asked for help. I was fearful and so rather than basking in the "what ifs" I prayerfully challenged them with some "then God will" responses. This is how it works:

"What if the money for India doesn't come in?"
"Then God will have to find another way to get me to the other side of the world for this mission."

"What if I try to sell 'honey sticks' to raise the money and people laugh at me?"
"The God will see me through that in His own 'sweet' way"

"What if I send out letters asking for support and everyone decides instead to use my letter as a backdrop for their dartboards or lining for their birdcages?"
"The God will repair the dart holes and clean the bird droppings from my face"

So, in other words...
"What if I am unable to...?"
"Then God will ..."

Immobilization would have found me under the covers in my bed, unable to communicate with one person (let alone ALL of YOU), and envisioning the impending doom that awaited me. Sometimes this place that I hate, this ugly and fear-filled place of ruins, is exactly where I feel the most at home. The pain feels so bad, that it feels good. It reminds me of the feelings that I felt the day my daughter died--and any connection to her (good or otherwise) is still a connection. I know that isn't what people like to admit to--that we sometimes choose to feel fearful or sad. But, being a martyr in our everyday lives does happen. We allow it, or at least I do. I believe the lies of the enemy and I revel in my pain for just a few minutes. But, minutes can turn into hours and hours can turn into months and months have suddenly turned into "that really bad year when I my kids were in Jr. High". So, I have to battle for the sake of being in God's will, which is not depression and fear-filled. For the sake of the living, and for the sake of His will I cannot go to that desperate place.

Going to India is causing me to become fearful. Not for the sake of India. I would never pretend that anything I may encounter would be less than trivial compared to those who live in poverty stricken areas day in and day out. Going to India is making me fearful because I have to believe that God is in control while I am raising the money to get there. Quite honestly, on my own, I do not have the money.

I need to send out letters asking for support and I am fearful. I feel like that 14-year-old girl who walked up to that 15-year-old boy in 1979 and asked him to go to the "Hearts & Flowers Girl's Choice Formal Dance" at La Mirada High School. Standing in the middle of the cafeteria staring up into his dark brown eyes, I presented my request for him to be my date. I can still see his longing for this moment to have never happened, and I can still see his lips forming the word "No." All around us, I can hear the sounds of the other teenagers moving through the cafeteria; the sound of the food scraping off their divided trays and into the trash cans near the lady running the dishwasher. I looked away from him and gulped back tears of disappointment. Unable to know where to look, avoiding his eye contact and the eye contact of my friends who watched from a table, I left the torturous room--uncertain if I would ever be able to face my peers again.

Alright, so maybe, just maybe, I am a little dramatic. I guess I take after my Creator. He is dramatic. He loves drama and He loves that He is the star of it all. He loves that this is bigger than me, because in the end when all the necessary funds come in...He ALONE will get the credit. I can sell my sweet honey sticks, I can have a garage sale--these are the things I can do along the way, but raising $3300.00 is bigger than those things, so when it happens it will all point back to Him.

"For I am the Lord, your God,
who takes hold of your right hand and says to you,
Do not fear; I will help you."
-Isaiah 41:13