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

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..."

Sunday Afternoon

Yesterday was Sunday.

A glorious, sunny, Sunday.

Big poofy clouds, birds singing, everything saturated with color and freshness.

I got up extra early, ate breakfast in our van, and sang on the worship team at our church.

(Having the ability to do that is miraculous in and of itself.)

I saw friends, I heard a great message preached, and then...

I came home and blew it.

Yes, me.

I blew it.

I let our current circumstances, my memories of past pain, the fear that is ever waiting right outside the door, my hormones, fatigue.... I let it all become bigger than the words I sang that morning.

And I sang them with sincerity.

I meant it when I sang, "Oh Lord, fill me, fill me up."

And, "This is amazing grace. This is unfailing love. That you would take my place.... That you would bear my cross...."

I was sincere for sure, but I was also holding onto things that so desperately needed laying down.

Let me just introduce myself,

Ahem...

Hi. I'm Margaret. I don't know how to say 'no' very well.

No to myself, no to good opportunities that take away from the best things of life, no when it might disappoint someone....

I like being a YES person... maybe a little too much.

That reality being highlighted in a whole new hue during the message may have been the trigger for the emotional earthquake that followed that afternoon.

The reality is: I AM scared. I AM overwhelmed. I AM fatigued. Our circumstances ARE uncertain....

But I forget in the midst of the baying hounds of doubt that 'I AM' has always been faithful to me personally, and to us as a family.

My Heavenly Father says:

I AM that I AM.

I AM enough.

I AM in control.

I AM your strength.

I AM working out the details of your life.

I AM trustworthy.

The problem? I frequently allow my life to get so busy, my schedule to get so full, my mind and body to become so overtaxed by over committing that I can't hear Him.

This is not a recent development.

This is a well-worn path that I have traveled ad nauseum.

Admittedly, I don't do big changes well. I don't do major disappointments well. My fleshly tendencies are to turtle-in or run like mad. Neither of which are a productive, relationship enhancing, trust building option. (Just ask my husband.... but wait a few days. Poor guy)

Big Hurts Heal Slow.....

I came into our marriage with more than my fair share, and my major coping mechanism was busyness. It put a decent band aid on my pain for quite some time... but my body decided to stop allowing the busy to continue. Oh, it had help from some serious damage from a horrible medication, but it said STOP nonetheless.

In my introduction, did I mention I have a tendency to be stubborn. Well, yes, there's that too.

But yesterday, when I blew it, I heard things come out of my mouth that gave me some big clues that
there are still some deep hurts in need of healing in me. Also, the red flags that I have been ignoring for near a month stopped waving and were getting tighter and tighter around my throat.... Don't you just love red..... ugh.

I went to the Lord and asked His help.

I asked my poor husband to forgive my meltdown.

I reached out for prayer and the Word.

Then I did what I always do.

I go to trusted authors and read their insights about Jesus....

Well, the Lord in His sweet kindness laid this one on me today:

     "God loves you just the way you are. If you think His love for you would be stronger if your faith were, you are wrong. If you think His love would be deeper if your thoughts were, wrong again. Don't confuse God's love with the love of people. The love of people often increases with performance and decreases with mistakes. Not so with God's love. He loves you right where you are...

      God loves you just the way you are, but He refuses to leave you that way."
                                                                                                                             ~ Max Lucado 

I sat reading those words that I KNOW so well with big fresh tears in my eyes.

He knows my frame, He made it. He knows my limitations better than I do, and doesn't think any less of me for them. He loves me before, during, and after my emotional meltdowns. He is that I AM.

I won't even try to describe the freedom I feel when I experience the forgiveness and reassurance that only come when I run to the Cross, broken and guilty, knowing full well that the same Saviour that said "Come just as you are" over 20 years ago is saying those same words today.

What a blessing to have such a clear call to stop and wait at His feet.

Oh Lord, help me to listen sooner.

And thank you for a marriage where we are quick to apologize, and even quicker to forgive.

Flawed and Forgiven.

What a miracle...

The most beautiful thing I have ever seen...

Junkie to Jesus Follower

Lunatic to Lover of God

Rebel to Restored

Sick with Sin to Saturated with Salvation...


It's all about Redemption.


I've said it a hundred times, and I will say it a thousand more... Redemption is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

I can't even begin to comprehend that the Creator of EVERYTHING would care enough to make a way for me to be right with Him. That He would give up his most precious creation ever, His only Son, for me to have hope and healing and life forever...

I think sometimes as people we walk into a church or a group of other people and we compare our insides to everyone else's outsides.

It's a game you can never win.

I picture a woman on a church stage singing with the worship band. She walked into church that morning with a nice looking husband and a couple of older kids. They sit up near the front and are friendly with the people around them. The pastor greets them with familiarity when he arrives at their row. They seem to have been a part of this congregation forever, they have friends at every turn and are involved in several ministries....

What people don't know is that the woman is a survivor of severe abuse. That she used to be a drug addict, struggled with suicidal thoughts and depression since childhood, battled eating disorders and insecurities, and really only came to know her true identity in Jesus in her mid thirties.

They have no idea that her husband was in bondage to crippling sin for most of his adult life, that he went through a divorce that made him wish he were dead, and that his business that flourished for several decades has barely had a pulse for over a year.

No.

They see the redemptive work of Jesus. The love and joy that only come from His touch on a life that has been reduced to ashes.

They see Grace.

I know this couple so well because the woman and her husband are us. My husband and I.

I see other examples of the Lord's awesome redemption frequently in other people's lives and I am always tempted to write about them. But today during the Sunday morning message the Pastor said this, "When we are blessed we should do two things: First we should thank the Lord for the blessing and next we should ask him how we can share the blessing with others."

Now, I know that we are blessed to be a blessing, that's something I believe wholeheartedly, but this impacted me in a whole new way. Having attended one of the most beautiful weddings I have ever been a witness to last evening, redemption was fresh on my heart. The bride is a dear friend of mine and her story of redemption is nothing short of a miracle. The Lord pulled out all the stops to bless the wedding of she and her husband. His grace was tangible in the air and the work of the Cross was declared in such an amazing way.

It was Redemption at it's most precious, most beautiful.

The Lord brought to mind my own redemption story and the story of my husband. It is a huge blessing for sure to be free of so many chains that bound us both for so long. It is something that should be shared. His redemptive work goes on and on, reaching into areas that we weren't even aware of. He is thorough, patient, and kind.

I used to be one of those people that would walk into an event and compare my insides to everyone's outsides. I was miserable. I couldn't ever make up for my assumed deficits. I always left feeling more insecure and inferior than I had when I came.

The problem?

I didn't really know who I was.

I had bought the lie, FOR MY WHOLE LIFE, that my circumstances... my choices... my appearance... the things I had survived... my family or lack of it, defined me. It's an impossible burden to bear, a maddening mirage to try and chase. The idea that anything we do, or that can be done to us, defines us... is just that: A lie.

If we are in Christ, then we are absolutely and utterly defined by who He is and what He does.

The circumstance of the Cross defines me. His patient endurance of unimaginable abuse defines me.  His choice to die the death of a criminal in my place defines me. His appearing after being laid in the tomb defines me.  His Love, and the Love of the Father defines me.

I am Holy because He is Holy.
I am Loved because He is Love.
I am spotless because of His precious blood.

I am redeemed because He is my Redeemer.

I hope there never comes a day when I am not utterly awestruck by the beauty and miracle of redemption.

It would mean not recognizing the fingerprints of the Redeemer Himself.


"...who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion... "
 Psalm 103:4

Forever Grateful ~

Learning to Stay...

Have you ever spent time with a dog that's been in a shelter for a while?

So long that maybe he doesn't know his name anymore, doesn't want to touch his food, doesn't look you in the eye?

I have.

I used to work in a shelter. A no-kill shelter, which meant that we often had animals that were nearing permanent residency.

When I first walked into the shelter I remember recognizing the body posture of an animal who had given up. The slow breathing, head hung low, dry nosed resolve to never leave. To never trust again. The loss of hope.

This doesn't happen to every animal in a shelter situation by far, but when it does it is utterly gut-wrenching.

Dogs by nature are so unconditionally loving, so forgiving, so resilient that when they give up it is only because they have been pushed to their limit.

I could instantly relate to these dogs, and cats, that I worked with. It would take patient persistence to bring them back to the possibility of trusting a human again. I had had my fair share of experiences that lent to not trusting humans and that gave me a radar that some people just don't have. The compassion and commitment that it takes to woo one of these sweet creatures back to the place of trusting taught me volumes about the love of Jesus toward his wounded children.

He really does use everything...

Once you get past the barriers to trust there is a long road to being able to obedience train these animals.

Trust is fragile, yet it is essential to obedience training.

I had a rescued terrier once that I took months to trust train. Everywhere I went he went with me. I actually had his leash looped through my belt loop... he wasn't thrilled to say the least. He had been the dog that would act like he didn't understand English, only to find out months later that he knew tons of commands. He was also the dog that would leave me "presents" that he made his-very-own-self in precise intervals the entire length of my closet floor when I had upset him by telling him no.

But I knew that he was also the dog who had been raised since he was a pup by a service man and his wife only to be dumped when the husband was overseas and the wife decided to leave. He then had been shuffled from family to family in hopes that someone would have time for him and found himself in a laundry room for 12 hours each day with a temporary family who really did have the best intentions but realized they didn't have the time to care for him properly.

That's where I came in.

Boy howdy did that dog know how to ignore with precision.

The first moment I took his leash and spoke to him he didn't even turn his head my way... I spoke his name again and he responded by promptly walking over to the nearest stationary item and marking it with his signature scent.

 Oh me. 

I knew I was in for a challenge, but I also had had the sense that this challenge had my name on it from the first moment I saw the information about this dog. So, I put him in the kennel that came with him and headed back to my house.

I had done trust training in shelter settings in the past, but never to the extent that this dog required and never in my own home. Strapped to my side; he got up when I got up, he laid down when I laid down. He even went in the restroom with me and stood by my side while I cooked dinner or folded laundry.

It was an all day, every day experience that lasted months.

Then one evening as we were all sitting around reading by candle light he did something that shocked me.

He jumped up on the couch and one by one he went to each family member, stood on our laps, and licked one of our cheeks while slowly wagging his tail.

Trust.

It had come.

He finally knew that we were not going to just arbitrarily dump him or lock him away in some room for all his active hours every day. He knew he was safe.

The hardest command I ever taught him was Stay.

Terriers by nature are easily distracted. They love to chase small animals and thirst for the hunt once they catch a scent or sight in on one. Squirrels were not helpful in my endeavors, or birds, or butterflies, or snarky fence-balancing cats.

But he got it.

Lots of treats, and much praise was a big encouragement. That and an extra long leash...

The side-by-side tethering was one tool that worked wonders for this dog that had lost his faith in humanity. Another is the Gentle Leader. It looks a bit like a muzzle but isn't really a muzzle at all. We have a rescued dog currently that was taken from his mother much too young and wasallowed to be  mishandled by very young children. These cicrumstances led him to become very nervous on a near constant basis and to have fearful aggression tendencies on certain rare occasions.

The Gentle Leader reminds him that we are RIGHT THERE. The gentle pressure on his muzzle mimics the pressure from a mother to a pup and lessens his anxiety considerably. It is a wonderful tool of help for him, and an essential one for us to be able to integrate him into situations that would normally be overwhelming to him.

The lessons I have learned from working at the shelter and from owning my own pets are innumerable. They serve as a mirror to show me the Lord's training in my own life.

He is patient.

He doesn't take me anywhere that He Himself isn't willing to go.

He is liberal with treats.

He understands why trust is hard sometimes.

And it is possible to learn to stay...


~ In Honor of Tobias Longbottom, Louie the Meatball, and all the other furry blessings that have graced our lives.

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.....