Letting go...

I can hear my sister's voice ringing in my ears today...

"I think he's gone..."

She was there in the room with our father when he breathed his last just two weeks ago.

I was packed and ready to leave when I first spoke to her that morning.

She said he was not doing well at all.

When I saw him two months ago he resembled a melted candle version of himself.

So thin, so frail, so ravaged by the disease process that would ultimately end his life.

I was virtually holding my breath all these hundreds of miles away as she left work down in the Portland area and made her way to check in on him.

Her first call on arrival was to tell me to get down there now...

Then, just minutes later, he was in Heaven.

I breathed then.

Sharp painful inhales.

Almost like labor breathing.

Then I walked to our bathroom, closed the door, and howled like a toddler.

It's what always comes when I think of my Dad.

I was so very small when things changed and he was no longer in our home.

My mother says I howled and called for him each night for months after he left.

She would rock me in her lap until I was calm enough to sleep.

I don't remember those times.

But I do remember the feeling.

It's embedded deep into who I am.

This longing for my Dad.

When I was able to stand up and stop the howling after hearing he was gone, I came out of our bathroom and into the presence of my precious husband who was waiting just on the other side of the door.

He comforts me in ways I can't describe.

He bought me 3 old fashioned pink and cream roses that day.

I kept them alive in their tiny vase for 10 days.

Each night as I lay down in my sister's spare room after days of sorting through details, emotions, memories, and Dad's belongings I would look at them standing so tall and beautiful. Enduring their severed state with such grace.

They spoke volumes to me.

They traveled hundreds of miles north and south and north again with me...

And a few days ago, long after the sun went down, I went to a bridge over a river nearby that holds precious memories for my husband with his father and grandfather...

and I let them go.

I said words that I would have loved to have said if I could have been there with him at the end.

I let each petal float down along with those words and land on the slowly moving water below.

I couldn't see through the dark to watch their path, to know if they were caught in the bank, or sucked below by a fish or frog, or continuing on freely to some distant destination to be transformed into something even more beautiful than before.

I trust that they will arrive exactly where they were meant to be.

The deepest part of the ache stopped that night and I have been able to hold onto the precious and the admirable in my memories of Dad.

We turn on his old Joan Baez albums, or bluegrass, or Nat King Cole... and sing, and dance, and let the tears come if they want to.

What a sacred ache.

See you soon Dad...

 

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...