The Last Day of School....

There are almost no words to describe this day in our region...

No mother raises her child to send them off to school to die.

Or pull a gun out of a backpack and shoot people in the cafeteria.....

...and then turn that gun on himself.

I have prayed and cried and prayed again and again today...

People just keep coming to mind that desperately need the help of someone in charge.

Someone who can do something.

Someone who is in control when

everything

is 

out of

 c o n t r o l....

Just three weeks ago I sat in the bleachers with my husband at Marysville Pilchuck High School. I distinctly remember thinking about the moms on the other side of the field... about how right at that moment we were cheering against each other, but in the face of something harder... a real battle perhaps... we would be on our knees together. I told my husband that as we left the field that night...

...and today is that day.

Nothing can prepare you for something like this.

Nothing.

But I do believe, with all my heart, that you can be carried through something

JUST

LIKE

THIS....

By Jesus Himself.

I asked today that the Lord would carry the parents who were frantically trying to locate their kids...

 The teachers who were doing their best to protect and direct terrified students...

The law enforcement officers that were responding...

The medical staff that were readying themselves to attend to unthinkable wounds...

For teens across the region that would get this news and respond in every imaginable way...

And that as people look for answers that they might find The Answer in Jesus Himself.

Only He can make sense of this. 

Only He can comfort and heal on the level this requires.

I sit here in my quiet room, my chosen coping mechanisms close by, (hot tea and sunflower seed/thompsons raisins mix), and two peaceful pups relaxed from the bath I inflicted on all three dogs this evening as part of a therapeutic exercise as well. I hear my son clomping around downstairs with his size 11 shoes...

and I am beyond thankful that he is down there doing whatever it is that his teenage stomach is dictating.

I lit a candle today in the midst of the unfolding of the details of the horror at MPHS, to be a tangible reminder that Jesus IS the light of the world. That no matter how dark the situation, that darkness doesn't dim his light. No, He shines all the brighter. 

I don't understand the whys of today.

But I do know Who.

Jesus. 

Always.

Jesus.

Nothing is too big, or terrifying, or horrific for Him.

He is always the First Responder... For He is always, ever, there.

I will be praying for everyone involved, all those affected by this tragedy, for a long time to come.

And especially for the families of the students whose last day of school was

today. 

Ever faithful.... Ever true.... Jesus in the Fire.

Communicating isn't easy at the moment...

This body fights me sometimes in ways I can't even fight back.

My perspective has changed so radically, so drastically, so completely.

I can remember thinking constantly about what other people thought of me, of my kids, my clothes, my car....

Fear had me by one hand and Pride had me by the other.

I put Jesus in a box with a glass front painted with the words, "In Case of Emergency Break Here."

He was my plan B.

I don't like seeing that in type. I don't like admitting it. But it was true.

It WAS true...

I have seen the most devastating things build the most beautiful moments in the midst of rubble as far as the eye can see... literally.

I can't pretend that Jesus isn't GOD.

That He isn't on the throne of all Heaven.

That NOTHING HAPPENING ON EARTH will make Him get up and pace that sapphire floor....

Nothing.

Not Ebola.

Not cancer.

Not financial ruin.

Not broken relationships.

Not war or famine or death.

He has seen it all.

He knows that in the end everything will be alright.

He's already there...

He is from Age to Age the same.

From before the foundations of the Earth.....

Jesus

I have been at the end of myself on a road I didn't know with my children crying out to Him with tear stained faces in between asking me if we were going to live through that World's Largest Tornado... 

...and in that moment I could say, with my heart banging like an old tractor engine, "I don't know. But if we don't we know where we will go. Jesus will never leave us. He will carry us home."

Truth.

Solid truth that you can stand on. That you can hold onto when the winds are raging, and the floods are rising, and the sky is swallowing homes and cars and people...

Stillness in the Storm, He is.

Direction in the Chaos, He is.

The Hand that reaches out, not to hold your hand, but to HOLD YOU.... He is.

There hasn't been a moment in this day that I haven't prayed for a dear family that I love that is going through a nightmare... a raging swirling nightmare of pain and suffering and love and praise and prayer and aching and hope and courage and terror..... It's their world's largest tornado.

It's a storm they can't navigate alone...

I watched as the people in the actual Tornado Alley banded together regardless of income, race, beliefs, age.... they came together because there was such great need. They sat together on half obliterated curbs and ate barbecued pork sandwiches out of foil wrappers that some college guys brought all the way from Texas.

They came together to share their strength. Their love. Their understanding. 

I drove across the U.S. those times not because I wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself, but because I understand devastation. I understand desperate need. Pain and suffering are no stranger to me.

Pain and suffering are no stranger to Jesus.

I prayed yesterday over a task that I really wanted to do well at. I was feeling shaky at best and I said to the Lord, "I just really want to nail this Lord."

His reply was, "I already have."

And in that moment I saw his nail scarred hand and I remembered the truth that IT IS FINISHED.

He has already gone before me and prepared the way, for everything.

There is nothing I will face that He is not aware of, or makes Him shaky at best.

He is the Author and the Finisher.

In my heartache for my friends facing this terrifying inoperable brain tumor I have come to the place where I just say His name...

Jesus Jesus Jesus...

I know that He is with them because He is with me.

He says He will never leave us or forsake us.

Never.

Not in the wildest storm.

Not in the darkest night.

Not in the deepest pain of the body or soul or mind.

Never.

That scene of Daniel's friends in the fire there in the Old Testament has been in and out of my mind for weeks now off and on...

My husband and I are in our own fiery furnace... So many dear friends in fires of all sorts... and I am reminded time and again that the only things that were lost in those hottest flames were the things that bound them....

If Jesus is in the fire with me then I can count on only being more free on the other side of it.

Truth.

Unchanging Truth.

Those three men so long ago walked around in the fire with Jesus. 

WALKED AROUND IN THE FIRE.

They were bound up and thrown in that furnace, but once they were in the flames...

They were free to move. To walk. To walk with Jesus.

Even the flames obey Him. They can only do what He allows.

And Faith says that what He allows sets me free...

Oh Lord I DO believe.... I DO.

Help my unbelief...

Watching friends and family members suffer is so hard. The temptation to ask God "Why?' at every new twist and turn in the road is sometimes like the worst itch you just can't reach.

I don't think He minds the why's. He knows who I am. He knows what I'm made of and how He made me.

I remember my little children looking up at me asking why about more things than I can count...

So inquisitive. So observant. So smart.

I didn't mind their why's either. 

Oh to have faith like a child... 

Complete trust. 

Sometimes the best prayer I can offer in the fire is, "I trust you Jesus. Thank you for being here. Thank you for your faithful love. Change me Lord. Change me."

I used to want for my circumstances to change so badly. I just knew I would be happy when...

I had a better smile.

I could live in a different place.

I had more time, more money, more hair...

Oh no.

No no.

It just isn't really like that.

Ever.

You are who you are wherever you are.

Not my circumstances Lord....

"Change me Lord. Change me."

There is no glass to break in case of emergency.

No glass... just His name...

Jesus. 

He's with me in the fire.

He's with us in the fire.

Delivering from those things that bind...

Ever faithful.... Ever true....

Free to walk with Him

Jesus,

in the fire.










 

Waking up late.

Even as a child I loved to stay up late.

My mother was so concerned in my toddler years that she actually took me to the pediatrician to ask why I didn't sleep.

He told her, "That's just the way her clock is set. She's fine."

I'm not so sure I agree with his opinion.

It's hard to get up early in the morning when you stay up late.

An obvious truth for sure, but it's so hard to get your hands around that when staying up late is what you've been doing... what you've been choosing... what you've been told is normal, for so very long.

I remember getting my first, and only, referral in school. It was for being argumentative.

Who, Me? Have an opinion? Speak before thinking? Not give much thought, and certainly not any weight, to possible consequences?

You can bet your blue suede shoes on that...

My childhood was marked with difficulty falling asleep, vivid night terrors, painful issues socially, and increasingly poor choices as adolescence closed in.

I can recall laying in my bed at night, covers up under my chin, long flannel night gown wrapped around my legs, eyes closed tight just trying to will sleep to come.

Angry leg cramps would come and go like unexpected squalls on the Oregon Coast. The ache all over my body and gnawing hunger that was a permanent resident in the depth of my stomach are sentinels at the gates to my youth.

Psalm 139:14 says, "I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

Fearful is a term I can relate to, but wonderful?

With all of these physical, emotional, relational issues.... wonderful?

Definition of Wonderful: inspiring delight, pleasure, or admiration; extremely good; marvelous.

Almost a decade ago I asked the Lord to restore my sense of wonder about the world, about life, about Him.

The answer He gave was not what I expected... 

I have always been a person that likes to understand things. I like to know how, why, when, what, where and who.

I can research things ad nauseum, and I have.

I was only 4 when I began reading. I have always loved reading and books. There were a couple of different encyclopedia sets in our house, and a set of Childcraft books (which are often referred to as the How and Why Library) that I loved to snuggle up with in the corner of one of our upstairs rooms.

My mother worked for a local hospital and she had been given a Physicians Desk Reference from a previous year that sat in the built-in shelves by our fireplace. The lure of the deep red hardcover pulled me in on many afternoons and I would sit on our scratchy green davenport and pour through it's pages.

When I cried out to Jesus to save me in 1991 I brought a lot of things with me...

Homelessness...

Teen pregnancy...

Addiction...

Fear...

Every imaginable need.

But somewhere in there, under all the wreckage and pain, I still loved to read.

In my childhood home we had lots of books, and I added to the pile on a regular basis, but one that stands out for sure was our Bible.

It was BIG.

It had an off-white hard cover and gold-edged pages. There were glossy full-page illustrations for many of the key events. I remember seeing it open to the picture of Jesus in a manger with the Star of Bethlehem in the sky above at Christmastime. A little sprig of holly was laid there in the pages by my mother. It evoked wonder in me even then.

But I wasn't allowed to touch it. That huge, beautiful, gilded book was just for looking at.

Not snuggling up in a corner upstairs with.

It was something to be revered, but not used for reference.

A Family Bible for sure, but not familiar in the true sense of the word.

Definition of Familiar:  well known from long or close association.

Long is accurate for sure, but close? Maybe not so much...

So fast forward back to my request for wonder...

Somewhere in the library of all the hows and whys I had amassed since my childhood, I lost wonder.

Definition of Wonder: a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, familiar, or inexplicable.

Wonder can be stolen by so many things....

Trauma.

Neglect.

Abuse.

Betrayal.

Illness

Bitterness.

Intellect.

The list is probably as varied as our fingerprints, but no matter the thief wonder still needs to be restored.

It's difficult to experience wonder when you're exhausted, when sleep has been illusive like trout in a quiet mountain lake. Everything is set up just right... bait's on.. only quiet voices.. you even have your lucky fishing hat.. but no bite.

My prayer for wonder came in my late 20's.

Late in the throws of a terrifying season of my life.

I even prayed the prayer late at night.

And the process of restoring my receptors of wonder began.

When someone is afraid, the antidote that is often suggested is familiarity.

Just learn about it, figure it out, read up, ask questions...

But the only true antidote for fear is faith.

Definition of Faith: a belief that is not based on proof.

So there goes all the research...

The answer to my prayer for wonder has come through time spent in prayer, in studying the Bible (I now have several that I'm allowed to touch), and in waiting at the feet of Jesus Himself for wisdom, answers, and direction.

I have woken up late to so many things...

...to the reality of the gift that this life is.

...to truths about Who God is and who I am in Him.

...to the treasure that my family and friends are.

...to the beauty of sacrificial love and genuine commitment.

There have been so many answered prayers, so many comforting verses from the Word, so many unexplainable 'God moments'.... I awake in wonder now.

The Lord is not a cruel master, flipping a bright light switch in tandem with a much too loud voice stating, "Get up! You've overslept and now you're really going to get it..."

No.

He has been more than gentle in His dealings with this sleepy head.

Patient, truthful, faithful.... wonderful.

I heard a saying once that went something like this, 'Feel free to restart your day anytime. You can start from right where you're at and make it a good day.'

I have to say, I think that suggestion was inspired by the heart of God Himself. It's really true. You truly can start from wherever you are right now... from whatever circumstance you find yourself in...

He welcomes even the late arrivals... who've maybe stayed up trying to figure out the hows and whys a little too late on their own.

His timing is perfect...

...and His ways are, well...

wonderful.

Does your housekeeper love you?

Okay, most of us average people don't have a housekeeper.

But we do have the Barista that we see regularly.

Or maybe that cashier at our favorite store.

Or the Librarian that has been wearing the same vintage glasses since they were in fashion the first time....

Perhaps the person that comes to mind is someone who you've gone to Zumba with for over a year now... Works in the cubicle next to yours... Sits directly behind you at church every Sunday... Lives on your block... Drives your child's bus... Has your same last name and the eyes of your Grandfather... Or maybe even placed a ring on your finger and made promises to you that echo into forever...

I woke up one morning last week with this partial verse running through my head on repeat:
"Do everything as unto the Lord...." (Col. 3:23)

It went round and round and round.... and then it stopped.

The echo that remained was the word EVERYTHING.

I got up from my bed and headed to the bathroom to get ready for my day and a new thought stream began to flow....

Everything as unto the Lord....

As unto the Lord....

Get out of bed as unto the Lord.

Look at my reflection as unto the Lord.

Choose my clothing as unto the Lord.

Take in the beauty of Autumn outside my window as unto the Lord.

Listen to my children roaming through the house as unto the Lord.

and then...

Complain as unto the Lord?

Stress about the future as unto the Lord?

Criticize my husband as unto the Lord?

Procrastinate as unto the Lord?

Focus on constant negativity as unto the Lord?

Harbor unforgiveness as unto the Lord?

Put off what I know I should do NOW as unto the Lord?

WAIT.....

I looked in to the mirror. Really looked hard at my reflection there.

I asked the Lord, "Why? Why is it that I struggle with focus? That I forget daily that everything I do is AS UNTO YOU. An offering to you, my daily gift to you. Why do I struggle with hanging on to these things, avoiding these things, training my eyes to look in one direction when I feel you calling me in another... why?"

And the answer came so quickly I had to hold onto the counter to keep from buckling under the truth of it....

UNBELIEF.

The word flashed on a white canvas in my mind in 50 different fonts and every color I have ever imagined....

...but the last time it landed, right in the middle of the mess, it was bold and red and BIG....

UNBELIEF

I took a sharp breath in, not in shock or surprise, but with familiarity. Like being confronted with an old bully from Jr. High. My gut turned over and I felt that old sense of failure and captivity that comes with that word.

Unbelief.

It has manifested itself in so many ways in my life. So many levels. Subtle. Flagrant. Sophisticated. Grungy. As quiet as a whisper and as loud as a fog horn.

We are not strangers.

I came down the stairs to start the day with a heart tuned to the voice of the One I say I believe in.

And oh I do. I believe...

I felt much like the father in that story in Mark chapter 9....

 “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

I believe in the Lord, I believe that He came and died on a cross and rose again on the 3rd day and is preparing a place for all those who believe....

Believe...

Belief...

Unbelief.

There I was again. That word.

So I did what wordy people do... I looked it up.

And here's what jumped at me when I did, 

Unbelief-
In the Greek: apistia: unbelief
Part of Speech: noun, feminine
Definition: unfaithfulness, distrust

Ouch.

Another word that felt more like a void that cold winds blow through...
  
Trust-
Definition: firm belief in the reliability, truth,
ability, or strength of something or someone
Synonyms: confidence, belief, faith, certainty,
assurance, conviction, credence, reliance


 Do we have to go here again? This crevasse that I can't cross. This exercise that only highlights my total inability to complete Even One REP... It's not that I don't want to. I DO. I always have... I, just, well... I don't know how.

Trust is earned. Trust is given. Trust is modeled....

But it's always felt like trust is an enigma. A mystery. The Unicorn grazing peacefully while crystal rainbows form in perfect circles above her pristine white mane.... 

Yes... No...WAIT......

Trust is belief. 

Belief is trust. 

Unbelief is Distrust.

Distrust is Unbelief.

Oh me. 

When will this never ending cycle ever end?

I'm cruising along through life and everything is going just great and then one morning I wake up and I'm challenged. Challenged by the Lord.

This isn't the first morning like this. No. I've had many. But the usual M.O. is to get busy doing things that don't highlight the myriad of reasons why my Trust button doesn't work.

Who wants to sit and think about all that junk? 

But on this particular morning, all those familiar painful memories flew by my mind like cards being shuffled. Slow enough for me to recognize them, but fast enough that the usual feelings attached to them didn't have time to land.

Mercy...

Again.... "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief."

My unbelief.

My broken trust.

My lack of confidence, certainty, conviction....

Where do I find the key Lord? The key to unlock my unbelief?

...and the answer floated down like a feather from a clear blue sky...

forgiveness...
 Ahhh.... now this is a muscle I'm familiar with.

Sore from use in forgiving myself for so much sin that I once held like a blanket and now hate with the very fibers of my being. 

But the Lord had some specific forgiving in mind... He began to bring to memory situations that I hadn't thought about in decades. 

Horrible, gruesome, true memories of cruelty and evil.

And in those memories certain frames would stop, stark and still, and in THOSE moments the Lord would say "Forgive there. Right then. Forgive and pray. Forgive now."

So I did.

In my minds eye, I looked right into the eyes of both of the people that the Lord brought to mind. In THOSE moments... and I forgave. It was like a paralysis being reversed. 

Tears came. I prayed as I felt led to, and I sensed light shining into places that had long been dark.

"I do believe (trust); help me overcome my unbelief (distrust)."

Jesus is reliable. I know that well. He has never let me down, He never will. He can't... it's not in His nature. 

 I know that He is trustworthy. I have trusted in Him for many things. For my salvation. For my healing. For the lives and eternal lives of my loved ones. For the very breath I breathe.

 Do everything as unto the Lord. 

Everything.... Lord. It's all yours. 

Release my past as unto the Lord.

Walk my remaining days redeemed as unto the Lord...

I went back to the Strongs Exhaustive Bible Concordance Online and looked up forgiveness...

Forgiveness-
Definition: release from bondage or imprisonment,
to pardon, the cancellation of a debt
Part of speech: noun, feminine
Synonyms: pardon, excuse, extend mercy

I went back and forth between the definitions of unbelief and forgiveness.... I couldn't help but notice that both were nouns in the feminine form...

The feminine form...

Which feminine form do I want to be?

I have had the opportunity to witness many believing, trusting, faith-filled women in my life. Many are my friends and loved ones. I am honored to know them and blessed to have the examples to follow...

One such woman is my friend Jenni Sprunger.

She chooses to be a believer. A truster. She chooses to have faith in the face of heartbreaking trial and tragedy...

Face your husband's inoperable brain tumor as unto the Lord.

I see her determination to love her Lord and love her man no matter what, and I see the feminine form I want to be.

Another woman is a sweet sister in Christ that just went home to Jesus last week.

Joyce Hamilton Graham...

She battled vicious bladder cancer and faced it with a smile and love for her friends and family that shined the love of God like sunrise over the Grand Canyon.

The testimonies of her love and joy and faith in the steadfast redemption of Jesus at her memorial yesterday are another example of the feminine form I want to be.

I sat next to her housekeeper of a decade and watched as tears rolled down this young woman's face at the loss of such a gracious and genuine lover of God and His people.

Her housekeeper loved her.

The young moms she mentored loved her.

Her god children, grandchildren, grown children loved her.

Her husband loved her.

Right up until the very end she was loving on people...

Live a life of love even when you're facing your own death as unto the Lord.

I don't have a housekeeper. But if I did, I want to be the feminine form that she would love. 

Because I'm a believer, a truster, a forgiver. 

Because Jesus loves me, helps me, gives me the strength to be the feminine form he made me to be....

Yes. 

I 
     do
             believe. 

Broken Things

I own a lot of broken things...

This awareness came to me one day last week when I remembered a broken necklace that I have had for a while and have resisted repairing it...

I took it to my Dad-in-Love's house this summer to fix it, but after I left I had this distinct feeling that I was supposed to leave it broken....

At least for now.

Holding the two broken pieces in my hand I was reminded in a tangible way of the promise that Jesus is close to the brokenhearted. (Ps. 34:18)

I stood there looking at the delicate design, admiring the workmanship, knowing all the while that I have what it takes to fix the broken part of this beautiful thing...

But for right now it serves a better purpose for me in it's brokenness.

I have always readily identified with broken things. Not that I'm fond of junk per se, but I love to take something that was once lovely or functional and repair it or remake it into something new.

I'm certain that this trait is a reflection of my Heavenly Father and His desire to restore and redeem.

But for some time now I have had this nudge to leave things broken.

So I do...

Jesus understands broken...

I love the nativity set that I saved from the trash.

With some patience, (and super glue gel), I was able to repair a broken camel tail, restore a Shepherd who had a broken neck, and make a few other small repairs...

But what about baby Jesus with His missing hand?

I couldn't just leave Him that way, could I?

He who is Holy, whole, complete, lacking in nothing?

The One who brought His flawlessness to trade for all my shattered pieces?

All my shattered pieces...

All those parts of me that don't work so well.

The ones that I don't usually let anyone see....

Because, really, who wants to be broken?

This delicate tea cup sits in my china cupboard unrepairable.

I broke it one day while rearranging things and several pieces were so small they couldn't be saved.

From the front, outside the glass of the door, it looks perfect. Functional. Delicately stunning, (For those of us that appreciate tea cups.) But I know that it's broken. 

I own it.

It's mine.

I understand fully that it will never be able to do the task that it was originally intended to do...

and I keep it anyway.

I'm not usually one to write in the wee hours of the morning before anyone is awake at our house...

sleep has been an illusive friend these last many nights.

Usually I'm an evening writer, choosing to wind my day and mind down with the soothing keystrokes that I have loved since adolescence. 

I started this post many days ago. However, every time I started to move toward writing I felt the word "wait".

Waiting is not my strong suit, I'm getting better as I age, it's never come easy to me...

but this time, I did.

I tend to write from experience, I think that's pretty common, and the last several days have brought a level of brokenness that is new and uncharted for me.

There's nothing like a serious health issue with someone you love to rip everything about your reality into sharp focus.

And if you're going to navigate without losing your sanity, your hope, your ability to function.... then Jesus had better be right in the middle of that focus.

In fact He needs to be THE focus.

I remember when someone else in my family had a health trial that had me on my knees and pushed me past my ability to handle things myself.

It was my son then.

He was 12 years old when I got a call from the school that he was having an issue with his heart.

I'll never forget his chalky pallor and violet hands.

My son who had always been the healthy kid. 

The one who didn't pick up whatever bug was going around at our church nursery.

My athletic toddler who could ride a scooter, with the handle as low as it could go, along the tops of curbs.

The deep thinker, the loud laugher, the star pitcher, great hugger, ever active boy....

Broken.

He had been running the mile at his middle school and his heart decided not to fire it's electrical impulses correctly.

Those were long months while we figured out what was going on.

Doctor appointments, testing, episodes with his heart that sent me racing down the Interstate to Seattle Children's Hospital praying that I could make it before... 

I can feel the urgency even now. 

And then the five and a half hour cardiac surgery that brought a new diagnosis smack in the middle of it, and was finally declared unsuccessful by the surgeon himself...

It was all so difficult. 

We had no idea what the future looked like for him, for us.

I remember bringing him home to our little temporary house on the campus at Warm Beach Camp and sleeping at the other end of our comfy couch from him the first few nights as we let the arterial incisions in his legs heal.

The instructions I was given were this:

"If you notice any blood at the incision sites, ANY BLOOD, apply firm direct pressure and call 911."

Did I mention that Warm Beach Camp isn't particularly close to any major freeways? 

The thoughts that race through the mind of a mother that hasn't really slept well for several months when she hears instructions like that are enough to steal your breath and not give it back.

Those were scary times.

I was keenly aware of my lack of coping skills, of being pushed to the limit, of the brevity and delicacy of life itself.

Brokenness does that.

And now I sit with a new brokenness that unlocks the floodgates of a fresh torrent of thoughts and realities that I have been somewhat seasickly navigating.

Looking down the barrel of uncertainty doesn't usually bring out the best in people, and when I say people I mean me.

I have learned to handle uncertainty on some levels very well.

We all live with it daily.

There are tons of things we can't truly be sure of... job security, national security, other people's choices, even simple things like our car starting when we need it to.

Unexpected things happen and for the most part I have learned to live with that and ride those waves fairly well.

But being faced with with a potential diagnosis for this one I love that carries a discouraging prognosis at best...

Well in my book it feels like a tsunami, and there's no riding that.

All I can do is head to Higher Ground.

In all my brokenness, my lack of great coping skills, my inability to fix, change, control anything....

I run to Jesus.

He knows I'm broken anyway.

He owns me.

I'm His.

My broken things remind me of my own brokenness. 

Broken doesn't mean unlovely, unlovable, unloved.

It just means I need to be repaired.

Someone to be strength where I'm weak, to be functional where I'm not...

Maybe someone to just Hold me in His hand and gaze upon His delicate workmanship knowing all the while that He has what it takes to fix me....

and maybe, just maybe, right NOW I serve a better purpose for Him

broken.

Messy (2014)

Life is messy.

No big shocker to any parent out there.

Any janitor, nurse, school teacher, pastor, emergency personnel, student, victim, prisoner, beauty queen....

Anyone really.

Life just IS messy.

I've been on a journey this last two weeks with a dear friend of mine that I have know for going on decades. She and I decided that we needed more levity and reality in our days and decided to send a first-thing-in-the-morning NO PREP selfie to each other every morning.

Every Morning.

Yep. We sit up and snap it.

I will spare my sweet, similarly-quirky friend, (you know who you are and what you look like already), but I won't be so guarded with myself.

This is some of what I send:

I don't usually spend much time looking back at these, once is enough... or so I thought.

After I took this morning's picture, (the last one shown above), I was stunned for a moment at how closely it resembled how I looked in high school.

High school was not pleasant for me. I don't usually talk about it much because it was so painful and, well, messy.

By my Junior year I was addicted to alcohol and drugs of various sorts, (nothing IV due to a horrific overdose I witnessed earlier on), and I was looking for acceptance and my idea of love at any cost.

I was lost in the most profound way.
 
In the Autumn of 1991 I looked nearly identical to that photo, except that I was 14 pounds lighter and my eyes wouldn't have been that open...

It was right before I shaved my head to avoid being recognized by private detectives who were hired by my family to find me.

I was a runaway.

As long as I can remember I ran away. If life got messy I would go somewhere and hide.... in the towel closet, in the basement, in the upstairs attic space, in a nearby gulley under a giant willow tree....

Finding places to hide, to create a new reality even if just for a moment, came easy.

Facing difficulty head on did not.

I remember the first time my world shifted in a never-going-back kind of way.

The day my Grammaw Freda died.

I was at her house, as I often was, and we were just about to start a sewing project to mend a vintage Barbie gown.

She was an amazing seamtress... She could create or mend ANYTHING.

It always appeared as if there was nothing she couldn't do.

So, when she told me that she had to take care of something on the roof before the rain got going I didn't even bat my little 8 year old eyes.

She left the room with her Keds on, and at 68 years old she climbed up on the roof to clear a blocked gutter that cloudy Portland day....

Her husband had been a construction man. He built brick homes in North Carolina, many of which are still there today. He also was someone who could do anything.

Well, except beat Leukemia.

He died at 52, leaving my Grammaw a widow at 53.

But in all my time with her at that little grey house on 39th Ave., I never once heard her complain about being alone. She just did what needed to be done.

And that day the gutter needed clearing.

So she went out to do it...

and didn't come back.

Oh, I saw her again for a little bit, when I ran out to see what the loud clanging of the ladder on the gutter had been....

When I ran to her side there on the grass just beginning to show signs of the rain....

When the men I alerted from across the street carried her ever so gently into her house and onto the couch out of the storm she had known was coming...

And the last words she spoke to me were,

"Bless your little heart...."

It was messy in the worst kind of way.

That singular event sent my life into a tailspin that nearly took me off the radar several times.

Who knew that it was all connected?

My parent's divorce when I was 4, losing my dear Grammaw at 8, self-image obliterating abuse at 11, suicide attempt at 13, abortion at 15, anorexia and full blown drug addiction by 16, and then the association with evil men with even worse intentions and the overdose that was carefully orchestrated by the Enemy of My Soul to forever render me silent...

JESUS KNEW.

He knew all along.

He saw every tear, heard every curse word, sat by my side as I took another drink, another drug, another chance with the life I had no idea was a gift.

He never left me.

Not once.

I truly believe that's why when I called out to Him in the foggy frigid air of the San Francisco bay that November night in '91 He answered me so quickly...

He was right there...

The messes of our lives are so good at clouding out His presence, His love, His voice.

I look back now with new eyes and a soft heart and I can see his finger prints everywhere.

Even on THAT day, kneeling next to the woman that I loved more than my own life, with her can-do heart and her eyes the shade of the West Virginia skies she was born and raised under.

I know what His presence feels like now, because I draw near to Him every. single. morning. Not because I have to, but because I GET TO. I WANT TO.

Like my sweet, honest, REAL friend.... He loves me at my messiest, He always has.

He always will.

Beauty from ashes is His specialty and binding up the brokenhearted is Who He Is.

Take heart if you are reading this and are grieving. The tears running down my face even now bear witness that the pain does fade, but it doesn't ever leave.

There IS however joy in the morning....

I thank God for real friends, for real hope, for REAL redemption, and the real promise of his ever present love.

Jesus is there. 

Jesus is here.

Even in the messy.....


Psalm 34:18 "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed."
 
~Me