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. 

 

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. 

Staying Home

It's been 25 years since I left my childhood home.

Large windows, green shutters with matching flower boxes, white stately columns out front. Rhododendrons, pink dogwood tree, doorknobs that looked like diamonds, and wallpaper that was patterned like a cowboy's red bandana.

A beautiful Craftsman style house built in 1908... long before my time.

Home.

The place I was brought as a newborn, where I learned to crawl, to walk, to roller skate.

I skinned my knees on the sidewalk out front for the very first time.

I learned to ride my bike on that street, ground the bricks that were crumbling along a neighbors driveway for blush with a mariposa blossom as my applicator, befriended elderly artists and made pottery in their hidden studio.

I remember the munchkin sized door under the stairs that led to storage in reality, but I had dreams of another land under those stairs.... if only I could have found the key.

I can see my sister standing at the top of the long staircase with her purple eyeshadow and Farrah Fawcett hair. Her smile was perfect to me and her eyes more beautiful than Bambi's.

I knew every board that made up our fence, every knot hole that was my height at any given year that I could peer through into the massive garden behind us.

The memories are more good than bad now that 25 years have gone by. I don't think there's been a single day that I haven't missed it in one way or another.

We called it 'The Big House'.

In the last quarter of a century I have lived more places than I care to remember, some I actually think I have completely forgotten. (Thank you Lord.) But I do know that I haven't had the same adress for more than a few years a time in all those years.

I adopted a gypsy mentality out of necessity after bouncing from place to place more than a handful of times. I made it a sort of adventure and purposed to not become attatched to any one place knowing the pain that would come if I allowed myself to grow roots only to have to rip them out again.

It was effective for years. A tried and true survival technique.

But ya know what?

It got lonely.

I made friends, got involved at churches, my kids made friends, we started to know our neighbors, grow a garden, learn where all the best places to walk or ride our bikes were.... and then we'd have to leave.

I didn't have much control, if any, over so many of those moves. It was painful watching my kids have to endure the jostling for no real good reason.

And then there was the move in 2011 when my new husband Rick and I lost our home in California after the market crash in 2009.

Rick and I had talked about all of this jostling and unstable circumstances before we married in '09. We both had a deep desire to have roots somewhere and allow the last 3 kids in our care to have a permanent place they could call home, so when we realized we were not going to be able to keep the home we were in it was a real step of faith moving from California to Washington State.

We clearly heard the call of God on us to move here. We both had peace for sure, but we had NO IDEA how all of it would work. We knew we were losing our home, and any potential equity in it, we knew that we would have to relocate Rick's buisness, and we knew we needed to have a home in Washington within ten months of our moving there.

Can I just say that THE LORD BLEW THE DOORS OFF? 

We have known that the house we have been living in is nothing short of a miracle. It's a long story, but just so I don't kill you with curiosity:

1. We prayed and asked God to show us where He wanted us.

2. My husband felt led to a particular home.

3. I repeatedly reminded him that this wasn't a rental, that it was for sale, and it was a REALLY nice home that was probably out of our price range even if it were for rent.

4. My husband contacted the realtor anyway. (I love this man.)

5. We wrote a letter explaining our entire situation to the owners.

6. Our 13 year old son went in for a five and a half hour heart surgery the day after we mailed the letter.

7. I promptly forgot the letter AND the house.

8. The owners contacted the realtor and wanted to work with us based on the letter.

9. I wept like a baby IN PUBLIC when we got that news.

10. Without references, financial records, or any other proof of who we are, a deal was struck for us to be in a lease/purchase agreement at a rate that is truly unbelievable.

11. We have lived here for the last two and a half years.

12. It has become Home.

Okay, now that that's out of the way...

The agreement was more than fair, and both parties have honored it.We based our timing on our anticipated income, which was based on an established pattern that stretched over more than a decade.

But things don't always go the way we anticipate do they?

Relocating a buisness is hard. Establishing a client base is hard. Making a name for yourself in a new area is hard.

The last year and a half have been some of the hardest my husband has ever seen professionally. It's been tough to say the least. But he keeps his hand to the 'plow' and isn't a quitter, he will succeed. I know it. He's one of the most talented people I have ever known, and he's great with people.

It just takes time.

But now we are up against a serious challenge: our agreement is up in 90 days. We have until the end of November to secure a loan for the balance of the purchase price of our home.

For a several reasons, that will take a miracle.

I believe in miracles...

Everytime I see my son running down the field, his frame loaded with gear, jumping to catch a football... the same son who had the cardiac surgery that wasn't successful... I see a miracle.

When I look at my grandson and see the smiles on his teenaged mom and dad's face even though they are facing hard times themselves, I see a miracle.

When I see my father-in-love pull up and park in our driveway for a family dinner after having had hemorrhages in his eyes that were supposed to leave him unable to see, I see a miracle.

Truth be told, everytime I look at any of my children, at my father, at my husband... when I look in the mirror, I see a miracle.

I know that the Lord led us here, there is no doubt about it. Only He could do what has been done here.

It's the first place in these many years that has truly felt like home to me. Our home.

My prayer is that we could stay.

He knows the details, and I trust His will for sure.

But He says to 'come boldly before the throne', so I'm coming...

...come with me?

2 Sam 7:11b
"The Lord Himself will establish a house for you..."

Compared to What?

I received some news today that carried with it a certain amount of stress.

The news wasn't altogether shocking, but it was unwelcome for sure.

I heard the words, took a deep breath, and then began to pray and feel the myriad of emotions that come at stressful times, all at once.

It wasn't pretty.

My body doesn't seem to know what to do with stress. My head tries to give instructions, my heart believes all the right stuff, but my body.... well, it just doesn't listen.

And life? It just keeps going.

House cleaning, dog feeding, football practice chauffeuring, teenage parenting, they all still demand the same amount of attention.

Don't they know that my world just changed and my body's freaking out??

I found myself in a local grocery store a bit dizzy.

Not fun.

My husband and I had been in communication all day, texting some... talking some... and we decided to go to our parents for prayer and discussion, (always a good idea in our case), praying with them helped and I left a bit lighter than when I arrived.

But it didn't last long. Am I human or what?

I climbed back on that roller coaster of  emotions and began to feel pretty ill again. I asked to drive down some scenic roads instead of the usual ways home, so we did. No relief. I bought some coconut chocolate ice cream. No relief. I tried to think about the positive aspects of this news. No relief. I talked about how I was feeling with my husband. No relief.

I was miserable.

I felt mislead. Disappointed. Lied to in a way. I felt angry and sad and ridiculous for feeling all this stuff.

At home I gravitated toward normal comforts... prayer, pups, comfy couch. I chatted with a few trusted gals online.... and kept praying.

Then I asked the Lord for a new perspective....

...AND BOOM.

He changed it alrighty.

I had opened a tab that held links to all kinds of  good stuff on another blog I frequent, but I had never returned to look at the links... much less click on them and really take them in.

The Lord immediately drew my attention to one link and it was as if he moved the mouse over the link and clicked it for me. As the page opened I saw two people in hospital chairs hooked up to IV's. I recognized the body types... Cancer.

The photo journal that followed was pictures of the author's parents who had been both diagnosed at the same time with stage 4 cancer. He with pancreatic, she with breast cancer.... again.

I held my breath.

This has been a week of breathless moments for sure.... watching my middle son who not so long ago had five and a half hour cardiac surgery walk onto the field for his first high school football practice in our town... reading the news of a fellow home school mama of four precious little children whose 31 year old daddy and sole provider was killed by a hit and run driver... hearing our news that changes our world some... and then this.

These beautiful people married 34 years facing the meth-infused demon called Stage Four Cancer.

The photos were not incredibly recent, the husband had lost his battle with pancreatic cancer, but they are incredibly perspective altering.

I can't really help the way my damaged auto-immune disease ridden body reacts to stress, but I can choose how I filter it. What my attitude will be. Where I turn for wisdom and support. Who I trust. I have choices about how I handle the things that I didn't choose. The things I focus on and the way I react are mine to claim.

I looked at one of the photos and soaked in the smile of the wife as the husband did a funky dance move to get her to grin.... Her resolute and regal expression as she was being fitted for a new wig... Taking turns driving to treatments while the other slept in the back seat...

But the one that really got me, even beyond the photo of her mastectomy scar, was the one of their embrace. She so bald and thin, he bearing scars from countless treatments.... holding each other come what may. I'm not sure what the mood was, or the moment that spurred the photographer to capture it... but it caught me. I gazed at it a long while appreciating their willingness to share the heartbreaking intimacy of such commitment and compassion in the face of such a relentless enemy.

My shoulders softened. My breathing slowed. The permanent wrinkle between my eyebrows got a little less etched.... and I looked again at our news...

It's hard news for us sure, but COMPARED TO WHAT?

I asked and I received.

Maybe you did too.


See the photo journal here>>> http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/12/17/cancer-family_n_4455720.html


Help the mom with her 4 sweet kids here (her husband did really just die yesterday) >>> http://www.gofundme.com/dbo2mw


Proverbs 3:5-6
James 1:27

Jesus be all you need and so much more.....

This Godless Place...

That's what I thought to myself I as walked the campus of our local High School.

It was the first football practice of the year and I was waiting to hand off my son's mouth guard as he ran onto the field. I found myself standing near a bunch of sturdy high school guys putting on their cleats for about 5 minutes, and by the time I left I felt like maybe some Q-Tips and bleach were in order for my ears...

Call me sheltered, Bubble-Girl, or whatever... but I was taken back by the use of a certain word like a Valley Girl of the 80's would have used 'like' or 'totally'.

I tried not to show the effect the word was having on me in my facial expression, not so easy for a billboard face like me, and once I had successfully handed off the mouth guard to my son I began my long walk back to the van.

"Wow, the language in this Godless place...." I thought to myself.

... and the Lord caught me up short.

He spoke to my heart and said to me, "There is no such thing as a Godless place. I AM EVERYWHERE."

I stopped mid-stride and nodded my head in agreement. I apologized to the Lord for my erroneous thought, and began to walk again.

"There is no such thing as a Godless place." I said it out loud. I said it to whoever or whatever was listening.

You'd think I would have a firm grip on that truth by now. I have certainly had my fair share of foul mouthed years, behavior and choices that would make any decent moral person cringe, and circumstances that could have definitely been labeled 'Godless'.

But I've known for quite a long time now that He has always been there. Always.

There has never been a moment without Him. Not one millisecond since the moment I was conceived, and part of me really wants to believe that He was there long before even that.

So I stopped being shocked and I prayed for those guys. Well, I started with THOSE guys and then I prayed for the whole team... the whole school... all the young people I know and love... even those I don't. I know that in my years of running full speed ahead in to walls made of all kinds of things there were people praying for me. I am beyond grateful for that now.

I know the power of prayer and the efficacy of praying for God's will. I also know that it is absolutely God's will that every single young person, every single older person, EVERY SINGLE PERSON... would know and truly believe that He loves them beyond what any words could possibly say.

And that is exactly what I prayed for THOSE guys. That they would come to know the awesome, powerful, all mighty Love of Jesus in a life changing way. As I sat on the hill above our team I felt the Lord move my heart for the generations coming up in a whole new way. I have never had a good experience with public high school myself, or with my children thus far. I'm a home school mom, and I love it. But when the Lord made it loud and clear that His call on my son's life included public high school and football my husband and I bowed our knee to Him, and we walk forward into this adventure/battle field knowing that the God of Angel Armies is truly at our side.

My experience with teens these last many summers has given me a love for them that I just didn't see coming. I have a burden to pray for them and love on them that is immeasurable. I admittedly am not used to harsh language or blatantly rebellious behavior anymore, but I see now that those things are just an instant call to pray. What an honor!!

So pray for us on this journey please. I obviously will need it. But also join me in praying for our youth. Every time you're out and you hear a harsh word, or you see an obvious attitude, let it be an instant prompt to pray. Our kids need it now more than ever.

Thank you Lord for using the darkest things to remind us to shine your light, to bless where there is cursing, to smile into the frown, to love where there is pain.

Thank you Jesus for always being here. Always.

Oh my word...

'Free' is my word this year.... 

You see, every year I ask the Lord for a word. A word to learn from, frame my thoughts with, filter my attitudes, and shape my perspectives.

 A few years ago I got 'focus'. I learned much from that word, that year, about my focus. Where my thoughts were focused, where my life was focused. It was invaluable.

Then, last year, I got the word 'enough'. Boy howdy did that do a doozy on my perspective. Lots of areas where I had never realized before that I have enough.... enough love, enough stuff, enough time, enough hope, that Jesus is enough in any and every situation. The events of the last year have certainly put that word to the test and then some.

So... as 2013 was coming to a close, I once again asked the Lord for a word. I have grown to be quite excited about my word for the year, and when I received the word 'free' from Him I was thrilled. 

WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE FREE?

Apparently the answer to that question is: Me.

At least it used to be.

Growing up I didn't have many friends. Oh, I knew a lot of people but I wouldn't say I had many close friendships. My childhood was hard, we'll leave it at that. The circumstances of my young life made it hard for me to bond and my social cues were off. Trust was an impossibility for sure. None of that lends to close life-long friendships. It is important to say that most of my friends were boys. I was a true blue tomboy growing up, and I liked it that way. Girls were hard for me to relate to, reminded me of painful things, and I chose to distance myself from nearly all girls and women for many years.

Fast forward to the last 15 years. By the grace of God, and His restorative love in my life, I have developed many strong relationships with women of all backgrounds and ages. They have become some of the greatest treasures of my life. Women's Bible study has been a life line for me for many long seasons, and the fervent prayers and encouragement that have blanketed me in some of the darkest moments of my life is nothing short of priceless. It is a rich blessing to have and to be such dear friends, sisters really, in the Lord.

No surprise then that I found myself at the Women's Retreat for our church this year. Mildly surprising perhaps due to that fact that I had been very ill for many months before. A no-longer-mystery illness that likes to flare and render me near bedridden had crept up in January  and then lowered a major boom that led the doctors at Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego to suspect a possible heart attack or stroke. Thankfully neither had happened. 

The why of my being at the retreat, at least from my perspective pre-retreat, was the request of my youngest daughter. It would be her first Women's Retreat and she really wanted me to be there. She had decided to go on her own, would be rooming with her future mom-in-love, and just wanted me to be close. I LOVE all that! So when she asked me to go, and I was bed-ridden near 95% at that time, I prayed. I said, "Lord, if you want me at the retreat then give me what I need to go. You know my body, you made me. You know my heart, and the desire of my girl. Have your way." I knew that I would need to be physically stronger and medically more stable to even think about going anywhere, let alone a retreat in a little over a month. I also had a little pity party about my dear friend Lydia not being able to go this year but it didn't last long. I have learned to lay those things at His feet sooner than later, and in His sweet mercy He made a way for her to go. I can't imagine anyone else as my roomate with the condition I was in.

I am usually involved with music in one way or another at retreats and women's events, I love being able to reflect the love of Jesus that way, but this year there was no need for me to do that. Not directly, not up in front, anyway. I ran sound. Never in all my years of being on worship teams and performing have I EVER run sound. Granted, this sound board was very simple to run but I had no less desire to give my 100%. So I ran sound, and I loved it. My view of the room was totally new to me; watching people listen, learn, whisper, worship. It was beautiful. To see my daughter worshipping Jesus, to laugh, to truly be at ease and enjoying her time with all of these women at her young age blessed me beyond words.

No expectations. I really had none for this retreat. I had prayers going up for strength and safety, but truly had no expectations for me to receive anything. My daughter's request had cemented my desire to go, and my prayers for strength and enough health to go had been answered. That was enough for me. 

But 'enough' was last year's word...

During Saturday morning's teaching time we were told to think about the root issue that holds us back from joy in our lives. I knew instantly. We were told to write it down, or assign it in a way of our choosing, to a rock and then dispose of said rock. I felt some resistance in me begin to rear it's ugly head.  

I had prayed since before I really knew Who I was praying to about this fear. This mind-numbing, choice controlling, breath stealing, crippling, wretched fear. Others had prayed for me. I had pages and pages of scriptures that specifically spoke about fear, I would read them out loud and ask for the fear to be removed. All of these things brought the terror levels down for a while, but the underlying feeling of dread always seemed to stay. I think I had just finally accepted the fact that I was never going to be rid of it. 

I got up from the sound booth to get my rock for the exercise and promptly picked up a smooth, round, white one. Not for me you see, for Lydia. I love rocks. I have smooth rocks of various shapes and colors all over my house, in my car, even in my guitar case, but I knew that the rock for this particular occasion wasn't to be beautiful. It was to be an ugly rock. So, I picked the lumpiest, uneven, ugly rock I could find. I tried to hand the lovely white rock to Lydia, but she quickly traded it for a thin shard of a rock that was equally as unattractive as mine.

Our assignment was to be a personal experience, so I propped my feet up on another chair and began to read the suggested Bible verses and to pray. As I ended my devotion time I asked the Lord what He would have me do with the rock. I knew that I was to write the word 'fear' on it, but I wasn't sure how He wanted me to dispose of it. I envisioned throwing it into the frigid pond in the middle of the retreat grounds. The sound of the stone plunking into those cold waters already was a welcome sound to my imagination. So, I quieted myself and awaited confirmation of my plan. Confirmation didn't come. What I heard in the quiet of my soul was, "Put it in your shoe." I love how the Lord speaks to me, always in a way that I can understand and never leaving much room for interpretation. Leaning forward I promptly unzipped the side of my knee high moccassin and put the lumpy rock in the fold next to my foot. As I began to zip my boot, however, I heard Him loud and clear: "No, no. Under." Under? Okay then. Under. I grabbed the rock and shoved it under my foot into the cramped space in my arch. Then I rezipped my boot and put my foot back up on the chair opposite me. 

I wondered if He wanted me to sit and really feel the pressure of the rock in that truly uncomfortable and tender place. So, like always, I asked. His instructions were: "I want you to get up. I want you to walk, to visit, to eat lunch, to go to the next sessions, to leave that rock right where it is and not tell a single soul by word or expression that it's there." I knew what was coming.... pain. Pain and I are not strangers. Pain of all kinds has been with me daily since I was a young girl. A little less than happily, I got up from the sound booth, gathered my things for the next session, and began to mingle with the ladies in the room. I found myself altering my walk, which caused other parts of my foot and leg to hurt. I began to dread the next place I had to go due to the difficulty the rock was causing. I walked on carpet with pain, concrete with pain, and up stairs with pain. I ate lunch with pain, mingled with  pain, and even prayed with a sweet sister with that pain, and the pain was increasing with every moment. It spread to my lower back, and eventually my shoulders. It was truly miserable. The pain the rock was causing was mind-numbing, choice controlling, breath stealing, crippling, wretched..... sound familiar?

Several times in those 4 or so hours I asked the Lord if I could remove it. I heard a gentle 'Not yet' every time. I submitted myself to trust Him, I prayed that I would learn whatever He had for me in this. I know now that no pain is wasted in His economy. 

So, I went on. I did my best to try and pay attention at the first break-out session on Loving Well. I took notes, paid close attention to the visual lesson on burdens using a backpack full of heavy rocks. It truly hit home for me. At the conclusion of the class I wondered if it might be time to remove the rock but just as I was asking the Lord if I could, I heard Lydia's voice saying, "Which session are you going to now?" Hmmmmm, there were 2 choices: the first had to do with life controlling issues, and the second had to do with fear. Kill two birds with one stone, sure why not? As long as I could use the stone in my boot...

I got up to leave the session we had just been in, and pain shot up my leg from the rock. I kept a straight face and headed across the way to the next building ever so grateful that it was close. I remember entering the room, having a short discussion with Lydia about where to sit, then feeling intensely congested with the dull throb of a headache joining the deluge of sensations to amplify the misery. The notes I took were cryptic at best but what really hit me was the song that the facilitator sang toward the end. There was a refrain that kept repeating about trusting the Lord. Choosing to trust him. The facilitator kept talking about fear and trust. Deep inside I could hear the echoes of the many times the Lord has asked me that very thing, "Do you trust Me?" I battled the physical misery and closed my eyes. 

I knew as we prayed to close the session that I was to throw the rock into the ravine behind the builidng we were in. I wondered at why the Lord would have me throw it there. I wanted that rock GONE. I was done with the pain and misery it was bringing me, done being so limited and having to fake being okay. I even questioned Him about it, "Lord, why do you want me to throw it in the ravine? I wanted this rock to be some place that it couldn't be easily recovered. Some place that even if I looked I couldn't find it. In the ravine, if I really wanted to, I could go find it.... my writing is on it...that word... F E A R."

Lydia and I got up and began to talk with other women in the room, all agreeing that what we heard was certainly much needed. As we got to the exit I asked Lydia if she would go with me out on the balcony, figuring I needed some fresh air she agreed. I then asked her if I could show her something. I loved the response of raised eyebrows and a prolonged 'yeessssss?'. Leaning over I unzipped my boot and, with a sharp inhale, removed the rock. I then told Lydia about my quiet time, about what the Lord had instructed me to do, and about the word I had written on my rock. I held the rock out for her to see the word but as I turned the rock over in my hand I realized that the writing was gone. I had written it in permanent marker... how could this be? My walking exactly as He had instructed me to had begun to remove the fear with the first step...

I told Lydia about the life-long grip that fear had had on me, and knowing my story she nodded with an understanding smile. I closed my eyes and prayed, I asked the Lord to take that fear from me, that Spirit of Fear from me, and I committed everything, all of me, all of this life to Him. I chose trust... and then I hucked that rock into the ravine never to be found again! She gave me a hug that only your closest friends can, one that communicates joy and peace and love all in one movement.

We walked back to the main meeting room with smiles on our faces and gratitude in our hearts. I knew that the Lord was doing a deep work now that He had full access to every part of me. All throughout the evening the pain in my lower back, leg, and foot was diminishing by degrees until just a lingering soreness was in the arch of my foot. Healing had certainly begun.

That evening as we laid in our beds I felt a heaviness. I assumed it was my heart as my health issue has caused it to be weak and sluggish at times. We did a short devotion and then went to sleep. I awoke about half an hour later with a jolt. I was looking for my husband despite knowing where I was and who I was with. Lydia awoke as well immediately asking if I was alright. I told her that I thought so, but that I felt strange. She got up and came over to pray for me and as she did I felt more peace and less heaviness. We both laid in our beds near an hour talking and praying. At one point I could hear a sound of heavy old chains being reeled in, getting farther and farther away. An internal hearing, like remembering an old song. We prayed again, thanking the Lord for what He was doing. Then I heard the Lord clearly say to me, "YOU are mine. You ARE mine. You are MINE." I told Lydia what I heard and she sat up in her bed stating the Lord had given her a song during the quiet time that morning. Usually in songwriting she has to record promptly or she loses the song, but not this night. She remembered it all and, as she sang it for me, the words in the chorus echoed His voice.... You are mine.... You are mine....


I fell asleep that night with the sweetest smile on my face, and I awoke with a lightness about me in the morning that I don't think I've ever had. 

Free.

Free!

I came expecting nothing. Hoping for nothing. Resigned to remain in my chains, unpleasant and crippling as they had become, they were familiar. I had learned to live with them, to make allowances, to alter my walk, to live with the devastating consequences of their ever tightening presence. 

But my word this year is FREE...

John 8:36 "So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free."


Thank you Jesus. What incredible Joy!


'My Chains Are Gone
I've Been Set Free
My God My Savior 
Has Ransomed Me'.......