Blue is the color of Heaven

Oh I've been an uber facebook poster today.... It's been comforting to know that so many believers are praying in unison and aching together for the comfort of families, friends, communities that have been ravaged by this latest tragedy in my beloved home state of Oregon.

I myself have been pushed to my emotional limit recently in the face of my husband's inability to breathe...

The effects of it are still raw and I am near tears without much provocation.

 

I know the experience of fearing for the welfare of someone you love.

 

For your child...

 

I still remember the chalky pallor and bloated face of my son when he came out of cardiac surgery.

 

I remember the surgery team explaining that he could have a heart attack, stroke, or even die during the time he would be in the operating room.

 

He nodded that he understood.

 

I felt like my limbs were made of cardboard.

 

Or the time when my youngest daughter contracted a virus that spiked her poor body into a fever over 105 degrees for several days in a row.

I was pregnant with my youngest son, nauseated around the clock, and my poor little girl's veins were collapsing with every attempt of the ER nurses to get life-saving fluids into her rapidly dehydrating body.

 

So many times I have lifted the 5 children I birthed up to the Lord in prayer for healing.

I asked with all my being that the Lord would heal my kids. That they would play again, laugh again, that they would live.

And His answer was yes.

I will forever be grateful for the healing He has orchestrated for my children on so many occasions. I am humbled by this merciful gift for sure.

But what if His answer had been no?

I'm sure that many of the parents of the students that were killed at UCC prayed for their children.

For safety.

For protection.

For blessing.

Could it be that in His infinite wisdom and eternally flawless knowledge His 'yes' just looks different than we thought it would?

My youngest son walked into my room today and said, "Ya know Mom, it's really awful what's happened in Roseburg and I'm praying for the families and friends of all who were involved. But isn't it awesome that we know where those students are? That they're with Jesus and are happier than they ever could've been here on Earth? It's super sad, but I think that's the good part."

 

He's right.

That's the best part.

They are safer than they ever could be here.

They are protected in a way that we can only dream of.

They are blessed beyond imagination in the presence of the King.

His comments yanked my head up from the news trolling I was doing to see any updates on the situation, and I'm so glad he spoke up.

The real promise of Heaven.

If we keep our eyes fixed on Heaven and on the Face of our King...

 

Maybe we will see that His 'yes' is what we have always longed for.

I pray for the eternal salvation of my kids daily. 

I have two in Heaven already.

I imagine them in that timeless place waiting for me.

Their faces lit by the light of His face.

Their beautiful feet walking on the flawless sapphire floor of the Throne Room of God.

Blue is the color of Heaven.

 

 

 

What beautiful truth we can clothe ourselves in, the truth that in Jesus no one is ever lost.

That in that eternal timeless place we will all meet again and all sorrow will be gone.

I love my children.

All of them.

And I pray daily for their safety, health, wholeness....

But first and foremost I pray for their beautiful souls.

And for the day we will feel blue together in a whole new way.

With all my heart and everything in me...

Alexandria Eden

Daniel John

Hannah Jane

Gabriel Michael

Elisha Nathaniel

'Til Death Do Us Part.... I thank God for you Rick Spears

It's Friday morning at our house.

Fifteen times...

Can that be right?

I know I heard it fifteen times...

That familiar whoosh and quick inhale of air that marks my asthmatic husband using his rescue inhaler.

I can tell when I look into his eyes that I heard correctly.

His pupils are dilated, I can see the pulse in the artery running down his right temple...

He's scared.

But when I ask him about it he says, "I think I'm okay.... I just can't get a full breath."

And so we begin the dance of knowing how to read his facial expressions and how to listen to his respiration rather than the tight words he struggles to get out...

He insists that we go ahead and follow through with the music that we are scheduled to play at the 55+ Senior retreat at Warm Beach Camp.

I know better than to try and force him otherwise.

He uses the inhaler a handful of times on the way...

His cough has been consistent for several days, a yearly head cold?

It's always so hard to tell with asthma...

I'm amazed that we get through our last song, but we both were praying that we would...

We gather our things, drop our mom off at home, and head straight to Urgent Care.

His breathing sounds thicker... harder... 

He uses the inhaler several more times before we arrive....

Once there they rush us right into a room and start a breathing treatment...

The first of two.

They don't help much at all.

I sit in the plastic chair in the exam room holding my purse, he's on the table holding the breathing treatment tube...

His blood pressure and heart rate is in a range that warrants the barrage of questions from the nurse about chest pain, pressure, squeezing....

I listen for his answers more intently than she does.

No.

No pain, no pressure, no squeezing.

Well, at least there's no immediate cardiac issue.

But he still can't breathe.

The medically analytical part of my mind is scanning like wild for possible insight.

I come up with nothing.

The emotional part of me is on pause as I try to stay absolutely calm while the doctor asks about past intubation for asthma...

I've seen people on a vent.

I try not to think about it.

I look at my husband and I feel like I am a thousand miles away behind 3 foot Plexiglas.

I'm not used to not being able to help.

There's nothing I can do except remain calm and reassuring... and pray.

So I do those things with all I have.

I shoot the occasional text to two dear sister-friends that are praying with us every step.

And we wait.

I can tell that the doctor is doing what she believes is best.

And usually the breathing treatments work.

But not this time.

They administer steroids, (the side-effects made the asthma worse), and we wait some more.

We are told we will be discharged, our instructions are to take the meds as prescribed and head to the ER if he spirals downward again.

He's still not breathing much better.

Weird thoughts fly through my head...

Like...

The garage is a disaster... I can't possibly take care of it alone.

The lawn tractor is still broken, how am I going to figure out how to put the new part on?

Why did I nag him so much about posture?

I should have smiled more.

Why did I ever complain about anything?

He is the nicest person I've ever known...

Have I loved him with all my heart like I promised on our wedding day?

Why did I doubt, or fear, or worry?

I should have put him first all the time.....

I am so selfish, and ungrateful, and over committed...

Oh God please let him breathe.

Let him live.

Help us....

And you know, He is.

Rick's breathing has gone from a 3.5 on a scale from 1-10 (with 10 being normal breathing) to a 7.5 currently.

He's gotten more sleep the last two nights.

The antibiotic that's on board is addressing the infection that was causing the asthma to be so awful.

And the rescue inhaler is working.

This experience has shaken me to the core. Us to the core.

I have spent hours in repentance and tears, and then thanking the Lord over and over and over for another chance with new mercies to be more of the wife he has called me to be.

My husband is my greatest treasure on this Earth. No human has ever loved me and cared for me like he has.

He has embraced me at my most fragile and loved my children and I beyond what I could ever have imagined.

I wouldn't wish to repeat Friday ever again, but I am so grateful that the Lord uses even the most terrifying moments of our lives to bring about good.

When I married Rick I had no idea what love was. Real love. Sacrificial love that gives and doesn't think about reciprocity.

I have learned so much about who God is and how He loves me through the fierce devotion and gentle love of this man I am humbled to call my husband.

He is precious to me beyond what I could ever express.

Thank you Lord for your mercy toward us.

Let me never forget it. 

 

"My Name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Ever had a moment where you're listening to a song you've heard a thousand times, or reading a book you've read since Jr. High, or watching a movie that you know WORD FOR WORD and a line hits you sideways and out comes a whole heap of connections and thoughts that have been floating around in your head disconnected until that very moment?

Yeah, me neither.

Okay wait...

That very thing totally happened to me last night as we were watching The Princess Bride with a group of staff and volunteers from Camp.

I literally have the entire movie memorized.

I'm pretty sure most of my kids do too.

Anyway, while half-watching the movie last night, (I had my grandson Bradley here and he's just too cute to give ALL my attention to anything else...), I heard that familiar line in that familiar scene where Inigo finally slays the 6 fingered man... 

"My Name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

He had a life mission to avenge his father.

The passion in his face is unmistakeable.

The pain too.

He just wants his father back.

I can relate.

I won't go into painful details of my past with my father, but I will say that I grieve for what never was and never will be now that he is so very ill with neurodegenerative disease.

There has been redemption in the midst of it all, and I know my father loves me and he knows I love him... but it just isn't, and hasn't been, a fairy tale in any form.

I was angry for a long time.

Angry at him. Then angry at God. Then angry at me.

Then I gave it all over to the Lord and asked him to take the anger away.

And He did.

I have peace now in that same place that the anger lived in, and I also have a whole lot of fire and determination about certain things.

Things like nutrition and neurology and mental health and fertility and chronic disease and epigenetics and wholeness..... and how all of it is so intricately connected.

I get pretty long winded and stand on a fairly large soap box when I talk about it all...

Consider yourself warned.

It's huge.

The implications are so far reaching no one really understands it all...

But I have already seen miraculous results in my own family... in my own life... in me.

I'm not exactly sure what the process was that has led to my father's neurological degeneration, or his father's suicide, or my years and years of depression/anxiety/ADD... but I do know that I'm closer.

I'm living proof.

If our bodies aren't getting what they desperately need to function properly, to heal as they were made to, then what can we expect?

Degeneration on every level.

And you don't have to wait until your 70's to see it.

I started experiencing health issues as a small child... a toddler.

I've prayed and prayed about what the Lord would have me do to help as many people as possible to be free from similar issues. To have bodies and minds that function as closely as possible to what He intended.

And you know what?

He answered.

So...

I'm pursuing my certification as a Master Holistic Nutritionist, amongst other certifications, and I am so thrilled to see what the Lord is going to do with all of this!

I've been researching on my own for years so a lot of the information is familiar.

(Those of you who know me well are not shocked at all I'm sure...)

He really does use all of the little nerdy quirks that make me who I am...

The only intimidating parts are the weight of my Anatomy and Physiology Book and my time management skills....

So if you feel led, pray about those!!

I know that He is in all the details, and that He will provide for every possible need in this.

Just imagine, if people could think properly not controlled by their emotional state gone awry... If anxiety and depression and ADHD were all but gone... If there were less heart disease, stroke, Parkinson's, dementia, the big C.... If autistic people could be helped in ways that were thought impossible...If so many miscarriages were a thing of the past.... If addiction was a word we had to look up.... If we could serve Him and our families all that much more because we could function properly...

The Enemy's playground would be a whole lot smaller in our homes. 

It's totally possible.

And not too far away.

If you are someone that prays, please pray for me as I move forward.

This is what I was born for, I feel it in my bones.

Isaiah 61:1

John 10:10

Denouncing Disappointment

I'm done being disappointed.

There, I said it.

One definition of disappointment is: "the feeling of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one's hopes or expectations."

Sadness.

Displeasure.

Nonfulfillment.

I've had sleepovers with these three more often than I would care to recount.

'...one's hopes or expectations.'

I think therein lies the real issue.

Where do I place my hope?

And what do I expect in any given situation, from any relationship, from myself?

Disappointment is a real destination. There's no debate about that.

But my pattern has been to set my watch, my calendar, my thoughts, my attitude, maybe even my GPS to the melancholy metronome of disappointment.

It's not that I'm not qualified to be disappointed.

I've got a laundry list longer than some of reasons why I should wear the Dismally Disappointed jersey...

Divorce
Disease
Rejection
Awful Choices
Awful Consequences
Pain
Lots of Pain....

And wear it I did, for a LONG time... far too long.

Number 75, that's me.

40 years of reasons to dwell in disappointment.

But I'm not gonna do it anymore.

The prefix "dis" means, 'to utterly reverse, to negate'.

And the word "appoint" is defined as, 'to name or assign to a position'.

Who or What have I allowed to utterly negate my position?

What is my position anyway?

As a follower of Jesus I am positionally loved, positionally clean, positionally forgiven, redeemed, restored....

Positionally hopeful in things that never change.

Like Heaven

Like Hope

Like Jesus' outstretched hand that never shrinks back regardless of my circumstance.

New Question:

Who or What can utterly negate my position?


The only right response is this:

No one

and

Nothing.

If I have been appointed by God Himself, who never changes, then there is nothing and no one who can change his decision.

Period.

Now back to Disappointment being a real destination.

Our definition said that disappointment is a 'feeling' that involves sadness or displeasure.

I agree.

Disappointment is most certainly a feeling.

And feelings are real to be sure.

But what  I have found is that feelings are good at taking direction.

Taking direction from our choices and focus.

I spent a lot of years making choices based on my feelings only to find myself in a constant merry-go-round of nauseating consequences for myself and everyone around me.

But one day while in a deep valley of illness I had the realization that my choices dictated my feelings. Making choices based on my feelings was like trying to keep catching the same soap bubble I had blown and recycling it endlessly... they just aren't made to work that way.

And neither are we.

It works like this:

Our beliefs dictate our thoughts.

Our thoughts dictate our attitudes.

Our attitudes dictate our choices.

Our choices dictate our feelings.

Our feelings dictate our behavior.

And our behavior dictates our circumstances.

Whew.

Feelings come in on the list WAY down the line, which is really good news.

It means that we have a lot we can do about what kind of feelings we have and how much they affect us.

This is AWESOME news for me.

My feelings had been such a horrid slave driver because they had been allowed to be out of the order of command.

Like a young dog in a pack that suddenly finds himself the Alpha Male... He doesn't have what it takes to really do the job well.

Neither do my feelings.

Disappointment wasn't meant to be at the helm.

My beliefs are.

Better yet, Who I place my belief in is...

Captain Jesus.

So away with you Disappointment!!

I am only temporarily REappointed at best...

Appointed to pray, to love, to hope in the One who has appointed me in the first place.

Denouncing Disappointment....

Join me?

Triumphant Loser

She was obviously not the fastest runner in the longest girls race at the track meet.

A girl from another high school, average height, average build.

She started out at a decent clip, nothing to shout about but steady.

But as the race wore on, the girls going round and round, her brow began to furrow.

Toward the end she was a full lap behind everyone else...

But she was still running. 

Still at the same pace she started at.

Still with the furrowed brow.

Maybe there was a reason she ran at that pace,

Maybe she was injured,

Or a novice,

Or sick,

But she kept going.

Even as the last of the runners jogged off the lanes to cool down and stretch...

She headed into her final lap...

Alone.

I watched her all around the track

My eyes glued to her french braid as it bobbed behind her

And one word thumped like a heartbeat in my head...

Faithful. Faithful. Faithful.

She wasn't going to give up no matter how far behind she was.

She was running her race.

Her race.

As she came around the last bend and began her last pass in front of the bleachers I cheered,

Her team mates cheered

Everyone cheered...

Cheered for her determination

Her steady steps all the way to the finish line.

In my eyes she won.

She really won.

The competition that's the hardest is always in our own head, and she beat it.

She was triumphant.

She didn't just not come in first

She was in last place...

The last girl running.

The consummate loser.

I can so identify with her.

I have felt like the ultimate loser on so many levels.

Loser at academics

Loser at relationships

Loser at parenting

Loser... loser.. loser. 

Back in the day when I was in Junior High that was the word

You know, with the hand gesture to go along with it...

That big sign language L on the forehead.

And then some kids thought they'd be witty and start calling people winners instead

Totally wiping out any positive connection with that word.

Kids can be so cruel.

People can be so cruel.

Life can be cruel.

But the other day I didn't see any cruel at all.

Just cheering as that courageous, determined, steady young girl finished her race.

It's really all we're called to do.

To stay in our lane and finish our race.

It doesn't matter if we're a lap behind

Or two laps behind...

Or maybe it's dark out and the stands are all empty 

and our knees are bloody from falling

and we're crawling...

But right there at the finish line will always be our Coach...

With eyes full of love and compassion. 

I saw the same girl later running laps around the parking lot with her coach.

What a different countenance she had...

Laughing and smiling.

Both of them.

She had run her race and he was proud of her. 

Well done...

That's my goal.

To run my race until I cross that finish line

To fall into the arms of my Coach and hear Him say

Well done...

Not because I did everything well

Or because I was the best at anything

But because I stayed the course when I wanted to bow out.

Because even when I knew I had failed I kept trying.

Because I lifted my eyes back to Him even when I had fallen in the dark and got up again.

Let the sound of my steps be...

Faithful... Faithful... Faithful...

to the last stride of my race.

Internal Leprosy...

Sick as a dog...

Who came up with that term anyway?

I mean, I've seen plenty of dogs sick. And for the most part they still wag their tails and recover fairly rapidly... So long as it isn't something terminal.

Definitely sad...

But cats?

Cats on the other end are GNARLY when they're ill, at least in my experience.

Especially with respiratory stuff... The wheezing, the coughing, the runny eyes and bubbling mucous from their teensy nostrils....

Gnarly.

I'm currently sick.

Caught a bug from my sons and it's running it's course through my head and joints...

 Not necessarily gnarly, but it got me thinking...

My husband read a devotion to me a few mornings ago about Jesus and the Leper.

Leprosy is gnarly.

Gruesome.

Debilitating.

Isolating.

A person with leprosy in Biblical times was marked.

Commanded to cry out 'Unclean!' as they made their way through the streets to warn others of their approach.

Hopeless.

As a girl who scored a 12 out of 12 concerning touch as my Love Language, the thought of being ostracized and untouchable makes me shudder.

As my husband read the devotion he was noticeably moved. He could relate to the feelings expressed by the author.

The shame.

The horror.

The disconnectedness.

The ridicule.

Painful doesn't really do it justice...

Leprosy starts out painful but results in numbness.

Deadness.

Irretrievable loss.

What begins as a wound ends as a gaping vacancy.

There is an innate inability to heal.

We always pray after we do our devotions and that morning wasn't different.

As he held my hand I was grateful for his touch in a new way.

But as he prayed he said something that pierced me....

"Lord, I can't begin to comprehend what it would be like to be a leper. But I do know what it's like to feel shame. To feel marked. To feel disconnected. To struggle daily. To live with internal leprosy in desperate need of a Healer..."

Internal Leprosy...

What started out as a wound now numb and rotting,

or maybe even just gone.

Oh it rang through the halls of my heart and found so many places to land!

I too walked so many years with the internal dragging of emotional and mental limbs.

The rot of sin and it's consequences eating away at the beautiful gifts the Lord so carefully placed there.

The injury of abuse, divorce, addiction, unforgiveness, envy, selfishness...

And in my mind always the echo of  "Unclean... unclean.... unclean..."

On the outside, however, everything looked pretty great...

The to-do list was checked off.

The smile was intact.

The house was reasonably clean.

The obligatory duty to God and man was in order...

But inside?

Rotting.

My husband and I know that all too well...

The exhaustion of constantly covering up...

And finally the admittance that we desperately needed the Healer.

The Leper in Matthew 8 went in search of Jesus,

1 "When Jesus came down from the mountainside, large crowds followed him.² A man with leprosy came and knelt before him and said, “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean."

He approached Jesus...

in a large crowd.

Do you think that he was crying out 'Unclean!' as he moved in that crowd?

Or do you think that the had carefully bundled himself so that nothing showed, making sure not to let anyone get too close, planning each movement with meticulous care to assure he wouldn't be identified as...

Grotesque

Unacceptable

A lost cause

Beyond help?

I tend to think the latter...

It's my opinion for sure, but it fits the image that Scripture paints for me.

Jesus would have been the focus of the crowd.

The Leper knelt before Him.

I'm thinking the Leper was right in the middle of it all...

And how many of us are right in the middle of it all?

The middle of ministry

The middle of chronic illness

The middle of grief

The middle of parenting

The middle of mental illness

The middle of loss...

No one is immune.

We're all in the middle of something.

But I guess the question is: 

Are we in the middle with Jesus?

The Leper believed that the Jesus could heal him if He was willing...

And this was Jesus' response:

³ Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man. “I am willing,” he said. “Be clean!” Immediately he was cleansed of his leprosy.

"I am willing."
 
 Jesus is compassionate to depths that are unfathomable to us.

He was willing and the Leper was cleansed immediately!

I understand the heaviness of trying to make sure that my internal leprosy is covered so that I'm not identified in negative ways.

I understand the numbness that results from years of rotting wounds that eat away at mental, emotional, and spiritual nerve endings.

Jesus does too.

He knew that the wounds on the heart, mind, and soul of the Leper were in even more dire need of healing than his eroding body.

And He was willing to cleanse them all.

He has done it for me...

And He has done it for my husband.

As we continue to come across areas that fester we kneel before Him and say:

  “Lord, if you are willing, you can make me clean.”

And He is.

Push through the crowds in your careful wrappings if you must.

Plan your steps meticulously and keep others at a distance if that's where you're at.

But make your way to the feet of Jesus.

Come in all your wounded, rotten, numbness.

Ask Him for wholeness, for cleansing, for healing.

Jesus is still about the business of healing leprosy of all kinds.

Even yours...




 

Too Far Gone...

Don't believe the lies.

Oh, I mean they are convincing, and sometimes even based on your reality.

You know them like the back of your hand.

The ones tailored to fit your insecurities like a glove.

Sometimes they come floating in like a stray cloud, soft and seemingly harmless.

Only blocking the sun a little.

Other times they move in like a storm front, in droves, and you're caught in the howling mayhem of their force.

And then there are the dripping lies.

That one that you've been listening to for longer than you can remember.

You can almost ignore it.

But in the quiet of your heart, in the moments when you get still enough, it's there.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Failure. Hopeless. Too Far Gone...

Too Far Gone....

That's one that likes to slither into my thoughts pretty regularly.

But enough about that... for now.

Yesterday I was gardening.

At the first signs of Spring my husband and I get the urge to go outside and poke around in the dirt.

Botanical Therapy. 

It's good for us. Body and Soul.

I find myself pondering life and praying a lot when I work outside.

There are things I love about it, and things that I honestly wish were not in existence.

For example: I think stinging nettles are from the pit.

Conversely, I love Hens and Chicks.

Hens and Chicks are like little roses gone succulent in my mind, and there isn't anything more adorable in my opinion than the little babies that shoot off from under the mother plant.

Hence their name.

So, yesterday I set out to attend to the Hens and Chicks.

I had received a whole passel of them, like a third of a large black trash bag full, last Fall.

It was so exciting to me!

The moment I saw the ad for free Hens and Chicks I jumped on it.

I've always loved them.

Really loved them.

I had large containers of them years ago that just went wild in the California heat.

But last fall I dropped the ball with these.

I live with chronic health issues, (that's another blog post), and last fall things were headed downhill... again.

When we head down one of these trails my energy levels bottom out, my motivation nearly disappears, and strength and memory don't show up to do their job.

My sweet husband asked a few times what I would like to do with them, and the first few times I said something in the neighborhood of, "Oh, I'll get them in the pots soon."

But it didn't happen.

And finally they were carted off to sit in a corner by the trash cans.

A monument to failure and neglect.

They sat there until yesterday.

I remembered a few days ago that I had planned to put them in the ground last fall, and that maybe that black bag was still out there.

I had a moment of guilt wash over me when I decided I would go look and see if there was anything left worth rescuing. Just a moment.

You know, the guilt that comes that has nothing to do with the present at all but is tied to a whole paper chain of failures from eons ago.

Yeah that.

But I shook it off and headed back to the trash, gardening gloves on (stinging nettles are the most potent teachers), and hopeful tray in hand.

(It's handy when your health care team finally nails down what's going on with you and you can begin to sort of get some ground back memory-wise.)

I rounded the corner of our garage and trained my eyes on the spot where the bag had been.

I didn't see it.

Maybe my dear husband finally threw it away to save me from the pain of another incomplete project, of seeing these things I love go to waste.

He's like that.

Loves to shield me from unnecessary pain.

But this time he hadn't.

The bag was there, much smaller than it had been last fall.

Much.

A puddle of rainwater had formed on the top, and the mouth of the bag was a large frown similar to an unhappy toad.

I set my tray down on the grass beside me, and opened the bag.

My heart sank.

It was a mass of decaying goo.

There were worms and slugs noshing on rotten roots and squishy black masses.

I'm pretty sure at this point if I hadn't grown up a consummate tom-boy I would have gagged and tied that bag up for good.

But I didn't.

I felt an urging to dig around in that pile of muck and sludge.

I felt some small hope that I could find maybe just one little plant that was still viable.

So I reached in and grabbed a mound of rot...

And upon touching it I felt something firm!

I turned the mass over in my hand and there were three perfectly good Hens staring back at me!

Not just one....

Oh yes, they were covered with muck....

They looked as if they had showered in cow excrement.

(There, that's more accurate.)

But they were not just viable, they were lovely.

So I heaped them on my tray and began to dig through the rest of the sludge with renewed hope and a determination that I would save any that were retrievable.

I spent thirty minutes digging meticulously through the smelly goo, working my way through knots of worms, fascinated by the sheer girth of a green and black spotty slug I encountered.

It was search and rescue on a small botanical scale.

When I had finally come to the end of the bag, the bottom was filled with rainwater and a black murky soup from the decay, so I pulled up the top and headed off with my HEAP of plants.

I got the hose and set up a small metal table to begin the process of clearing off the filth and rotten petals.

Tedious work.

My tender husband helped me.

Some of the petals had become so engorged with the excess water that they literally fell off when we touched them.

Some petals were pure white from lack of sun.

A few of the Hens taproots were gone and had only thread-like roots left to obtain nutrients.

I started out with my gloves on, already covered with the glop and mess from the bag, I worked at getting all the decay off the Hens and separated knots of roots to free each plant.

And then came the moment when I needed to take the gloves off....

The tiniest Chicks needed to have my bare hands to work with them.

There was just no way to feel all the small ridges and avoid damaging them further behind the barrier of the gloves.

So off they came.

I continued to work on the little plants, the rot getting all over my hands as I removed the slimy yuck from their roots.

As I gave each one a final rinse I smiled at their beauty.

It didn't matter that the overspray was covering my own feet with their sludge.

It didn't matter that some were only a fraction of the size that they started out to be due to petals that couldn't take the pressure.

It didn't matter that some had grown crookedly straining for any chance of light in that disgusting bag.

No.

They were alive!

Totally usable.

In need of care? Yes.

In need of planting and watering? Yes.

In need of time and a Gardener that remembers them? Yes.

And they have it...

What joy! What satisfaction!

What botanical redemption....

The experience spoke to my soul. The deep down part of me that for the most part doesn't get any air time.

I have felt too far gone.

November 1st of 1991 I felt that way for sure... That night that Jesus saved my body and soul.

But it wasn't true then...

And it's not true now.

There are situations in my life that feel too far gone, relationships that are fractured, health issues that are mind-numbingly complicated, some days it's just the tasks that pile one upon another until I become so overwhelmed it's tempting to hang up an 'Out to Lunch' sign and not come back....

But feelings and truth are rarely friends.

I feel overwhelmed, but the truth is that in Christ I have access to unlimited strength and peace.

I feel hopeless about shattered relationships, but the truth is that Jesus is the restorer of the seemingly impossible.

I feel weak and unwell, but the truth is that in His time and His way He will heal me. 

The Lord is all about the search and rescue.

It's who He is.

There is never too much sludge.

Too much wasted possibility.

To many slimy worms lurking about.

Too much time gone....

He comes in and gently begins the process of redeeming.

Even the most delicate are safe with Him.

Redeeming it all.

With the pure, clean, life-giving water of His word.

And His own tender hands...

 

Breaking the Silence... with Love...

It's been months since I've written anything here.

There's lots of reasons for that. Some good, some just... reasons.

The Holidays are always heavy for me, always.

Heavy with memories of hard times, good times, bittersweet times.

Heavy with heart ache.

Heavy with grief.

Grief that is growing instead of lessening as time moves on.

Heavy with schedules, and performing, and gifts... and food.

(Food is another blog for another time... oh yeah.)

Holiday time is heavy with the weight of sacrifice and gratitude for Jesus life, and death.

And at the close of the Holiday season, at least for the last several years, comes severe health issues.

Apparently my Auto-Immune Disease doesn't like the heaviness of the Holidays...

Last year at about this time I was in Scripps Hospital in San Diego.... they were ruling out a possible stroke or heart attack.

Not Good.

This year, I recognized the change in my biological weather before it hit hurricane status and we caught things before they were completely out of control again.

I mean, they were out of control for sure, but not to the degree that I needed to be in the hospital.

(Photo Credit: My 13yo son, The Squid)

So off for lots of testing.

And now we wait.

I can't count how many times my life has felt out of control.

My choices out of control.

My eating out of control.

My family out of control.

My reactions out of control.

My circumstances out of control.

And then it hit me...

My Saviour is never out of control.

He is always, ever, continually in control.

And peace rushes in like fresh air on the Oregon Coast...

I can rest in Him because He knows it all.

He knows how all this started, where it's going, and how it ends.

If I quiet myself to spend time with Him he gives me insight into how to navigate these waters and assures me that He is with me all the while.

His banner over me is love... even if I'm laid up in bed with bones that don't know what they want to do, or not do.

It's an interesting life for sure, full of way more good than bad, living with auto-immune disease and other health issues that really like to give me a run for my money... But I know this more than ever, that He is TRULY in control. That He loves me and wants the very best for my life, even if it doesn't look that way to me... especially if it doesn't look that way to me.

Gratitude washes off the grime of years spent focusing on elaborate lies cloaked in fear.

The Lord has built a step ladder out of thousands upon thousands of daily love gifts to me that allows me to peek over the wall of health issues... and the view is stunning.

I'm surrounded by miracles.

I don't have to look far and I see them, talk with them, walk around in them, hold them in my arms, watch them play football, listen to their coos as they nod off to sleep on my lap....

Jesus has been so good to me, good for me, good around me.

He is so good. 

I'm thankful for His guiding hand, His light for this path, His healing here or There... For Him.

For His endless love gifts all along the way.

And for opening my eyes to see them.

Life gets heavy for sure, but it never outweighs His love.

Never.