What I Would Have Said

In the 25 years after my first husband Byron and I divorced, our relationship gradually grew from tense cordiality to a mutual commitment to co-parenting, and finally to a friendship rooted in decades of shared experiences. Nevertheless, I was still a little surprised at how frequently I found myself thinking fondly of Byron this past Christmas season. 

Starting a few days before Christmas, I kept hearing the song "Here Comes Santa Claus," and each time, I smiled as I recalled Byron walking through our house singing along with it at the top of his lungs. He always made me groan with his own silly lyrics in places, typically something involving farts. Recalling these happy moments from so long ago triggered other Christmas memories from our 11-year marriage, such as the way we liked to do all of our shopping in one marathon trip to Target.

Christmas Banquet, Circa 1993

All of this reminiscing brought me welcome joy in the midst of the last-minute frenzy that marks my shopping and preparations these days. Several times, I thought, "I should send Byron a text to let him know I'm thinking of him fondly," but each time, I simply made a mental note to text him later. There were stocking stuffers to buy, presents to wrap, food to cook, and stockings to stuff.

The last time I heard the song and thought of Byron was on Christmas morning, and I really wanted to send him a Merry Christmas message, but I didn't pause to do that during my hurried breakfast preparations, nor after Ethan, Sumer, Allyson and I had eaten and exchanged gifts. Instead, I raced to feed the cats and pack my car for the three-and-a-half-hour drive to my oldest sister's home in Nacogdoches.

I arrived late in the afternoon, just in time to open gifts with Melody's family, our mom, and our sister Amy. I thought of Byron again as we unwrapped gifts, remembering the way he'd give money to my little sister Emily and ask her to buy me a bunch of clothes. It was always so fun to see what she'd picked out; she had much better taste in clothes than I ever did.

Definitely, definitely I would send him a message on the 26th, after things had settled down, I thought.

Homegoing - Part 3 of 3

When the sun finally came up on Sunday, August 4, Dad made signs asking me for his glasses and hearing aids. I helped him turn the hearing aids on, but I couldn't figure out how to put them in. His hands trembled so much that it took him about ten minutes to get them positioned properly, and in the correct ears. The whole time he labored over that task, I prayed that God would guide his fingers because without those hearing aids, he is deaf.

When the hearing aids were in, I reread the verses from Sam, Melody, and Amy and then read two more verses I'd found in my devotional that day:

"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." John 15:27 

"The LORD's unfailing love surrounds the one who trusts in Him." Psalm 32:10

The day nurse, a woman we hadn't seen before, brought Dad his pills, but he simply shook his head.

"He can't swallow now because of his swollen tongue," I explained. "Is there some other way he could get his medication? Maybe an injection? He wasn't able to take his anti-arrhythmic last night."

"I'll ask the doctor," she said.

"And what about water? He's really dehydrated. Maybe that's part of the problem with his tongue. Would it be possible to give him some IV fluids?" 

"His latest labs showed reduced kidney function," she said. "If we give him too much fluid, it will build up in his lungs again."

"He's really suffering," I said.

Again, she promised to talk to the doctor.

Love Across the Miles

Around 7:30, Dad managed to communicate, with much effort, that he wanted to call his younger sister Donna. I handed him his phone, and he pressed the large icon on the home screen labeled Donna. When I saw that the call had been answered, I spoke into the microphone. 

"Aunt Donna," I explained, "Dad can't speak because his tongue is swollen, but he can hear you. I can't hear you because the sound is going into his hearing aids, but he can hear you. Would you please talk to him and pray for him?"

I couldn't hear her answer, but I could hear her voice emanating faintly from Dad's hearing aids. As she spoke, I leaned close to his ear and picked up a few words: "Dear brother... Heavenly Father, wrap your arms around him... in your love." 

Dad smiled and grunted to let her know he was listening. After a couple of minutes, he motioned for me to disconnect.

We called his older sister, Carol Jean, next. I couldn't hear her voice at all, but whatever she said seemed to soothe him. 

The Longest Night - Part 2 of 3

Friday, August 2

On Friday night, Dad's third night in the hospital, my brother Rick and I sat side by side watching him sleep peacefully. I leaned close to Rick and lowered my voice. "I'm kind of scared that Dad might pass away while I'm with him. I've never been with a person when they died. I want to be with him, but I'm also afraid."

Rick said he understood. He talked with me about his daughter Mindy's passing, and how it had been very difficult for him, but much more peaceful for his wife Diane. 

After I left the hospital, I prayed, "Lord, if you want me to be the one with Dad if he dies, I'm willing." I felt my heart accelerating. "But please, I'm afraid. Please help me be strong if that happens." 

Hopes Raised – Saturday, August 3

On Saturday morning, Dad felt so good that when he phoned Rick, he sounded just like his old self. His vitals were stable, his coloring was good, and the doctors began talking about moving him out of ICU. He'd been asking for food for the last 24 hours, which we thought was a good sign. Unfortunately, due to difficulty swallowing from his previous esophagectomy, along with his current pneumonia, the risk of aspiration was too great. Therefore, he needed a swallow study before he could resume eating, and that apparently could not be arranged before the coming Monday. So gnawing hunger was added to the list of discomforts he must bear.

As I sat with Rick in Dad's room that evening, we expressed a shared hope that he might be able to go home, just as he had after his esophagectomy, multiple bouts of pneumonia, an obstructed bowel, and a bleeding ulcer. "It's almost like Dad has nine lives," I whispered. 

Shortly after Rick left, however, I got the first sign that all was not well. Dad's speech sounded slurred, though his mind was sharp as ever. He's just tired, I assured myself. 

Life in Death - Part 1 of 3

This is the first in a series of three entries about my father's last few days. At the time of this writing, Friday 8/2, I did not know that he was going to die. 

I have to warn you that these entries will be painful to read, as they were to write, but there is beauty in this story. Although Dad was 93 years old and had faced many health issues, his passing still took us by surprise. I think that we don't talk about death enough, probably because we don't like to think about our own mortality. If you choose to read about Dad's courageous battle, I and my family will be honored. 

On the morning of Wednesday, July 31, my father woke up with chest pain, pain in his right arm, and severe nausea. After consulting with my brother Rick and me, Mom called his doctor and then headed to the emergency room. 

Within a few hours, he was diagnosed with an ischemic heart attack. We learned that he had a blood clot in his heart, and his heart function was at 30 percent (50 percent is normal). At that point, he was in stable condition but feeling terrible due to the nausea. However, the medications he received made him much more comfortable by that evening, and it seemed that the heart attack might have been a mild one. They started him on IV heparin to clear the clot, and we settled in to wait for the results of his cardiology consult. 

I wanted to be with Dad, but my sister Amy was staying with me, and I couldn't leave her alone. It would have been difficult to take her with me, and only two people were allowed in the E.R. room, so we said a prayer for him and went to bed, thankful that the attack had been mild and that Rick could stay with him through the evening.

Dad Looks So Strong in this Photo Taken by Rick at 9:05 p.m. on Day 1 of Hospitalization

Tough Decisions

The next morning while I was preparing breakfast, my phone rang. 

"Are you the daughter of Richard D-?" asked a heavily accented, male voice.

Never Forget

Over the last year or so, my physical, mental, and spiritual health has steadily improved. Despite all the challenges with Covid-19 and the resulting isolation, in recent weeks I've recognized hope and joy blossoming in my heart again.

Against this bright backdrop, the shocking events in our capitol last Wednesday seemed even darker. For the first time in months, anxiety squeezed my chest, and a heaviness weighed me down as I struggled to put together something for dinner. A familiar question that had plagued me for months last year resumed its oppression: "What is the point?" 

Now it was not only my life that was falling apart, but apparently my country also. And all I could do was watch it crumble.

These bleak thoughts wrapped my mind and heart in darkness until bedtime, when I finally spent a few minutes in prayer. Following advice from a recent entry in Jesus Calling, the devotional that has been so instrumental in rebuilding my faith, I pondered the power of Jesus and His infinite love and said, "I trust you, Jesus." Quieted, I sank gratefully into sleep.

On Thursday, though, I couldn't resist the pull of news stories and videos that portrayed the horror more vividly. Tears rolled down my cheeks when I saw a "Jesus Saves" flag waving amidst scenes of violence. What made my heart most sick was the intensified divisiveness I observed on social media. How could it be that the terrorist attacks on 9/11 had drawn our country together so poignantly, yet this attack from within had driven the wedge between opposing groups even deeper? Where would it all end?

Don't Close Your Eyes

On Sunday my baby turned 14. You know how people tell you when you have a newborn, “Don’t blink, or you’ll miss it”? It’s true, of course. One moment your sweet, cuddly baby looks like this:

Hospital Picture

Ethan and Allyson

And then she’s thinking about things like nail polish.

And then she’s starting school, and she’s so smart and sweet and kind that you can hardly bear it. You just want to squeeze those cheeks and plaster that face with kisses, but already she won’t let you.

First Day of Preschool

The next thing you know, she’s in middle school. She’s busy with soccer and volleyball and track and homework, and the rest of her time goes to her friends. 

That’s when you wish you could’ve stored up those delicious snuggles, when you get lonely for the lovely young woman who still lives in your home yet feels worlds apart sometimes. 

Me Enjoying a Delicious Snuggle

But then...

Just when you’re getting dizzy from the relentless passage of time and the frenetic pace, the world grinds to a halt overnight. Enter COVID-19 and the quarantine.

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Ten days ago, in the middle of my workday, I received a text that made my heart sink. My 33-year-old cousin Adam had passed away unexpectedly. My first reaction was sharp pain as I thought of my Aunt Sue and Uncle Jeff. Ever since I've been a mother, hearing about the loss of anyone's child tears at my own heart because I can't help putting myself in their shoes.

My second reaction was regret. I had been out of contact with Adam for a couple of years, and he'd been on my mind that very week. I wondered how he was doing and thought that I should send him a letter to catch him up on all of my teaching adventures. I'd had similar thoughts off and on for a long time, and now I was kicking myself for not taking the time when I had the chance. 

Although Adam was 14 years younger than me and lived 1100 miles away in Indiana, I was probably closer to him than to any of my other 25 first cousins. Our friendship began in 2011 when Aunt Sue asked several family members to write Adam while he was in prison. Through the influence of a chaplain, he had grown closer to Christ in prison and had a strong faith, but he was lonely and sometimes discouraged by the poor conditions he encountered there. 

A recent picture. Don't his eyes draw you in?

Let's Talk About Love

I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about love in the last few weeks. For much of the last two and half years, I've tried very hard not to think about love, but lately.... Maybe it started when I first heard the song "Broken Together" by Casting Crowns.

I was just minding my own business, cleaning the kitchen late one night, when the most beautiful song came on the radio. I laid down my dish scrubber and listened, hanging on every word. It seemed to be a song about marriage--real marriage--the tough, excruciating parts. It was also about love, the realest, toughest love. I sank into a chair and put my face in my hands when I heard these lines:

Maybe you and I were never meant to be complete. 

But could we just be broken together? 

In an instant, I was back in the unbearable pain of a dying marriage, powerless to save it. And now, after months of happiness, tears streamed down my cheeks.

When the song ended, I just had to hear it again because despite the pain it stirred in me, it was exquisitely beautiful, and these days I don't often take the time to appreciate beauty. So I googled the video, which paints a vivid story of lost dreams and bitter disappointment that end in healing and reconciliation.

Are you married, or do you hope to be married one day? Or do you know someone who's married? Then you need to watch this video. Go ahead, watch it. I'll wait for you.....

Anyway, after watching the video twice (or maybe three times), I went to my prayer closet for some much needed time with my Beloved. I told him all about my bitter disappointment and asked Him why it still hurts me so, after over two years. I asked Him to hold me, to quiet me with His love. And He did. After that, I slept like a baby even though the sink was still full of dirty dishes.

Since then, I've heard that song over and over on the radio. (Evidently I'm not the only one who loves it.) I've gotten to the point that I can listen and sing along without shedding a tear, but it still gets to me. I just can't stop thinking about the beauty of marriage, and how so many of us miss it because it isn't what we dreamed it would be. I keep thinking about how different real love is from the romantic crap they feed us in the movies, starting with Disney when we're little girls.

It's bitterly ironic because now I really get it. Marriage is incredibly tough, no way around that. No matter how amazing your Prince Charming seems when you're falling in love, he's going to hurt you because he can't be perfect. And you're going to hurt him too because you too are far from perfect. But if you can be real with each other, if you can accept each other for who you are, if you can love each other the way Jesus loves us--well, I don't know. I've never been there. But I believe it must be so beautiful on the other side of the struggles that lead too many of us to divorce.

Now I have all this untried wisdom and a different sort of idealism than before, but I don't see myself marrying again. See, I'm not just divorced, but twice divorced. I doubt that the third time's the charm, so you can understand that I'm in no hurry to get involved with anyone, let alone get married again.

Honestly, songs like "Broken Together" leave me a little confused. On the one hand, I can appreciate the beauty, and I can thank God for the way He designed marriage, and I can rejoice for the others who get to experience that. But on the other hand, I feel left out, as if this treasure is only for other people, not for me. Because I had my chance (two chances) and I blew it.

Last night, I heard the most amazing story of an every-day marriage with all the struggles and joys of 39 years of commitment--for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. The tenderness and toughness of this love story made me choke on a sob. Yes, this was exactly the kind of love I'd been thinking about.

For just a moment, I felt the usual stab of alone-ness as my own crushing loss took my breath away for the thousandth time. But then, I smiled for my friend, and I thanked God for giving us marriage.

Soon after, I had an epiphany. I don't have to be married to experience the kind of love in the Casting Crowns video. I am broken, and I am surrounded by broken people, and we can be broken together. I can love my friends and my neighbors and my sisters and my brother and my parents and my kids and the young girl at my favorite grocery store the way Jesus loves me. I can love them with all of my heart, soul, and strength. I can serve. I can give myself. I can be real with them so they can be real with me, and I can love them all exactly where they are despite all their imperfections. And many of them will love me back despite all my imperfections.

What a gift our Father has given us all, in this capacity to love! Life is way too short for me to waste time wishing I could go back, or wishing for a different future. God has put me right here for a very important purpose, and He has given me only one command: to love others as Jesus loves me.

I think I'll start with these two.

Ethan, age 17, and Allyson, age 8

And you, too. Thank you for reading.

Loving Our Sweet Mindy

Today we will bury my beloved niece Mindy, the daughter of my brother Rick and his wife Diane, the little sister of my nephew Mitchell and the heart sister of Mitchell's wife Michelle. She passed away unexpectedly this past Thursday from a medical condition no one knew she had, only two months after her 25th birthday.

There is so much on my heart to share about Mindy; it's hard to know where to begin....

Mindy was such a sweetheart. I don't mean that in the trite way. She really had a sweet, sweet heart. She was gentle and kind, and she loved her whole family, from her grandparents to her cousins and their children.

Mindy was quiet and laid back, but she wasn't shy. I've heard over and over the last few days that Mindy could light up a room, and that is true. It was her dazzling smile, which I always felt was especially for me. Each time I came to Rick's for a family gathering, I rounded the corner to the kitchen to find Mindy at the stove, trying out a new recipe that I knew would be delicious. Her whole face would light up because she was delighted to see me. I felt like the guest of honor no matter how many people were there. And I suspect we all felt that way.

She had a dry, irreverent sense of humor like her father, and she could always make me laugh. I loved to listen to their banter.

Oh how she loved dogs. I've never seen someone who loved them more. I'm not a dog person, but the love she lavished on her two Dachshunds made me wish that I were. Howie and Chloe were her joy.

Mindy and Howie

From a very young age, Mindy loved travel. She's a big part of so many of my best family vacation memories. She camped with us, went to San Antonio with us, and flew to Canada with us twice. Having her along added so much joy for us because that girl just really knew how to have fun. She loved any kind of outdoor activity, and I had the privilege of watching her learn to water ski, wake board, rock climb, and snowboard. She wasn't exactly fearless; she was certainly nervous. But she didn't let fear stop her from having fun, and whatever it was, she was confident that she could do it.

Probably my favorite picture of Mindy -
Sledding with Uncle Bill in Vancouver

On the Vancouver trip when she learned to snowboard, she spent a lot of time on her behind, as all people do when they are learning. Yet she still managed to talk me down one steep hill when I kept having those wipe-outs where your skis go flying. "You can do it, Aunt Sarah! Don't give up," she called, as she drug herself back to her feet. When we finally made it to the bottom, we laughed over the irony of a niece coaching her aunt.

I wish I had time to tell you all the stories stored up in my heart. I'd like to share one silly one that maybe no one else knows. Mindy posted this comment on a blog entry I'd written about running a country convenience store back when she was a very small girl (about 9):

Oh man do I remember those burgers, they were to die for! My memories of Mitchell and I staying out there with y'all are vague but one really sticks out in my mind. When he would bully me or give me a hard time, I would write it all down so that I could tell my parents when we got back and they could punish him for all of the horrible things: "Mitchell hit my arm", "Mitchell called me stupid 2 times", "Mitchell told me to to shut up!". Lol I think by the time I got home I was so excited to see my parents that I forgot all about it.

I'm happy to say that she and Mitchell worked through their differences and have been dear friends for years now.

My favorite recent memory of Mindy is the pasta cooking lesson we attended with Rick in December 2012.

Rick, Me, Mindy

Family Pasta Night at Rick's
Family Friend David in the Back

It had been less than a month since Bill and I separated, and I was hurting terribly. Mindy was a normal, busy college student, and it was the Christmas season, yet she made time to spend a whole Tuesday evening with her aunt. Laughing with her and Rick was medicine for my torn heart.

Mindy and I developed a closer bond over the next couple of years. She was compassionate and kind, always concerned for me. She didn't necessarily say a lot, but she had a way of drawing me out. She was a great listener, and a cheerleader for me as my heart began to mend and I started enjoying life again.

We loved to talk about cooking and about eating. She shared my love for vegetarian meals, and we liked to swap recipes.

Mindy was a strong, determined young lady. She had some struggles with college, and it took her some time to find the right direction. But she stuck with it for seven years and finally achieved her goal this past spring. I was more proud of her than I could have been if she had breezed through it in four years.

I don't know how we can bear losing our sweet Mindy, but of course we must. Rick shared his concern last night that because Mindy was the glue that brought the family together, that we might drift apart. Mindy was the one who thought up activities and arranged them. She was the one who organized the cancer walks.

Me, Rick, Diane, Mindy - Undy 5000

We agreed that this was Mindy's legacy. She loved family. I think it was because of the ordeal of Rick's colon cancer in her mid teens. She visited him every day after school, and she sat with him during every infusion. She never forgot what it was like to almost lose her daddy, and she never took any of her family for granted.

Last night we vowed to honor Mindy's memory by making our family time a priority from this point on. Right now we need each other desperately, but truly we always need each other.

These last few days have been a good start. The love binding us together has been palpable. We've hugged each other tighter, and much longer--way beyond the usual quick squeeze. We've added kisses to the hugs. We've rubbed backs and squeezed shoulders. We've said, "I love you so much."

In the middle of her own loss, Diane has comforted her nieces and nephews, speaking words of affirmation and hope.

Diane with Susie, Allyson, and Halle

I see the same strength in her that held her family together during Rick's illness. Here is what Mindy said about that in a comment on one of my blog entries titled Circle of Strength:

I love that you wrote this. I vividly remember that day.
I never really stopped to think about just how much of a Mama Bear that my mom was during that time but you described it perfectly. She was (and still is) definitely the rock in our family. When my dad was suffering, I was falling apart and Mitchell was shutting down, she kept herself and us together.

Diane is still a Mama Bear, but I pray she will realize now that she doesn't have to be strong. She is surrounded by people who love her, and we are still a Circle of Strength. I've never been more thankful for the love of my family. This is surely a treasure in the darkness. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5)

Mindy, we are so thankful that we had 25 beautiful years with you. You touched our lives deeply and we will never forget you.

A Big Enough Blanket

This year, I wasn't looking forward to the Christmas season at all. In my mind Christmas was all about family traditions, and it seemed that most of those were pretty much wrecked.

What I dreaded most was decorating the tree. Part of me wanted to skip it this year, but I knew that wasn't an option. So on the weekend of Thanksgiving, Allyson and I went to Walmart with my sister Amy to pick out a $39 pre-lit tree, a pretty star, and a $2.50 tree skirt.

On the first Sunday in December, I sorted through a box of memories, about twelve years' worth of ornaments. That was hard on me, but fun for Allyson as she asked the history of each decoration. We took about half and saved the rest for Bill. And then the two of us wrestled that sparse tree together.

After dinner, just as we were about to start decorating, Ethan calmly asked if I could bring some towels. Why? Because the toilet was overflowing. I raced into the hall to find rivers of dirty water flowing across the tile to the carpet. "Jiggle the handle!" I shrieked as I flung open the linen closet and pulled out all the towels.

"I tried that but--"

"Jiggle the handle!" I repeated.

He obeyed, and the water stopped.

"I'm sorry, I--"

I tossed him a beach towel as I hit my knees with my own towel. "Just soak it all up as fast as you can."

Twenty minutes later, after I'd thrown every towel we own into the wash and mopped the bathroom floor twice, I called the kids out to the living room to decorate the tree. I had to laugh, because I felt about as Christmasy as... the Grinch.

At that point, Allyson pointed out that we had no eggnog. "We always drink eggnog when we decorate the tree," she said. (I'm clearly not the only one who's hung up on traditions.)

"I'm sorry, but Ethan drank it all and I forgot to buy more," I said.

"Can't you go to the store?" Ethan asked.

"No! I'm not going to the store!" I snapped. In a softer, more reasonable tone, I added, "It's almost Allyson's bedtime."

So I got on the Internet and found a recipe for homemade eggnog. Another 15 minutes later, I presented each kid with a frothy mug of deliciousness and cholesterol. For tradition's sake, I had a token serving even though I usually avoid both eggs and dairy.

Allyson took two swallows and said it was okay, but she was full, thank you. Ethan took one swallow and said it was gross, not at all like the kind they sell at Braum's.

"This is wayy better than that gloppy store-bought stuff," I protested.

"Nnhhh," they replied.

I couldn't possibly waste such amazing eggnog, so naturally I drank both of their servings. And now I had a bellyache to go along with all of my other aggravations.

At first, Ethan sat on the couch and watched us hang the ornaments. "That's a pretty crappy tree," he commented.

"It's a cheap tree," I agreed. "But I think it's cute. It's a Charlie Brown tree."

"What's a Charlie Brown tree?" both kids asked.

"Oh, you guys have got to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas," I replied. (Allyson and I did, on Christmas Eve.)

When Allyson asked if she could hang his ornaments, Ethan finally got off the couch. In the end, the tree looked pretty sweet, especially with the two of them beside it.

That evening, we started a new tradition, the Jesse Tree. Each of the 24 nights leading up to Christmas, we sang "O Come Emmanuel," read a story of a person in Jesus's family tree, and hung an ornament. Actually, we stopped hanging ornaments after we ran out of ornament hooks and paper clips. But we thoroughly enjoyed the singing and the stories. (To be more accurate, Ethan only tolerated the singing.) On Christmas Eve, we read the story of Jesus's birth and then sang "Silent Night."

After Allyson had gone to bed on the night we decorated the tree, I started another new tradition. Before, my favorite part of decorating the tree was admiring it afterward over a glass of wine, hand-in-hand with my sweetheart. I thought of sharing this tradition with Allyson, but school was already going to come way too early the next morning. And Ethan? Not happening.

"Oh, Lord," I prayed. "This hurts. But I know that I am not alone. Will you sit with me?"

So I poured myself a splash of wine and sat in the darkened living room in front of the tree. I thanked Jesus for coming to dwell with us. I thanked him for my family and all of our memories. I asked him for peace, and then I rested in it.

The next evening, I went to a ladies' dinner at my friend Leisa's church, along with two of our coworkers. The speaker was Kelly Minter, a Bible study author and singer. She read the story of Mary visiting her Aunt Elizabeth, who was pregnant at a very old age with John the Baptist (Luke 1). Kelly pointed out Elizabeth's words: "The Lord has done this for me." Of course, John's conception was part of God's plan to change the world for all of us, for John came to prepare the way for the Messiah. But the fact that He did it for all of us in no way detracts from the fact that He also did this wonderful thing for Elizabeth, who'd suffered decades of shame because of her barrenness.

Kelly urged us to take the Christmas story personally, to realize that God gave us Jesus because He wanted to be near each of us, individually. I pondered her words as I sang "Oh Come Let Us Adore Him," hand-in-hand with my three friends. In that moment, I thrilled to the true meaning of Christmas as never before. Oh, I'd always known it was all about Jesus, but.... (How can I explain this?) Because I rejoice in my salvation all through the year, to me Christmas had always been more about family traditions than about the Christmas story itself.

How foolish that seemed now. What did it matter if I couldn't celebrate all the same traditions in exactly the same way? Didn't I need Jesus, God-With-Us, more than ever this year? All the way home, I marveled that the Savior of the world knows my name, that He delights in spending time with me. Just then, I had an inkling that I would do far more than just survive this Christmas season.

Fran, Leisa, Me, Lisa

The lesson at Celebrate Recovery the next evening added to my Christmas joy. We reflected on grace, and what it had meant in our recovery. One lady compared grace to a coat that covered not only herself, but also her son. Another lady called it a blanket in this cold world. My tears splashed down as I realized what had been bothering me most about all of our broken traditions.

In all that I've gone through the last year and a half, I've never been bitter because I know I'm simply reaping what I sowed years ago. It's not that I'm being punished, but that I am experiencing the natural consequence of my past choices. This brings me comfort because I know that my future is being written by the better choices that I'm making now. But I have big regrets for my children, who are reaping what they did not sow. And that hurts even more now, when I cherish my own childhood Christmas memories.

In that open sharing circle, understanding dawned! If God's grace can cover my own sins, can it not also cover my children? His grace is a big enough blanket for all of us!

I basked in that truth for days, but at times my sorrow was still sharp. One night I was brushing my teeth when a wave of grief struck without warning. On the floor of my prayer closet, I asked God for signs of his love. "I need my manna, like you gave me before."

Throughout the Christmas season, God answered that prayer in beautiful ways. For example, when I cried at the thought of filling my own stocking this year, my friend Gentle informed me that she'd had a call from Santa, and I was not to worry about my stocking; he had it under control. And she also offered to come and help me wrap presents, another thing I'd been dreading.

When she arrived a few nights later to be our personal Santa's elf, what did she find on our porch but a box from Santa himself! Allyson gaped at the inscription: "To Sarah. Do not open until Christmas. From Santa."

Oh, how that mystery tormented her over the next couple of weeks (and me, by extension). Why would Santa send me a box? What was in there, and why didn't he just bring it on the sleigh? Most importantly, did the box contain goodies for herself? It was literally her first waking thought nearly every morning.

Allyson was briefly distracted by our tradition of making marshmallows and handing them out to our neighbors. This year, at her suggestion, we used tiny cookie cutters to make Christmas shapes. This worked out well because that meant we got to eat all the crazy scraps ourselves.

I'll pass on a little wisdom we learned this year: never buy treat boxes at the dollar store. Just don't. It took about 30 minutes and a ridiculous amount of Scotch tape to put together seven boxes (which should have been eight).

Allyson in the Marshmallow Sweat Shop

My next bit of manna came at a Moms in Prayer meeting one Wednesday morning. I confided that I'd been struggling, and the other moms prayed fervently over me. Victoria prayed, "We know this is not Sarah's portion. No, you came to bring peace and grace. You delight in giving good gifts, and you came to set our sister free." As they prayed, it seemed that a physical weight was lifted as I felt God's love wrapping around me, that blanket of grace.

And then there was my family's gift exchange, this past Saturday. When my 16-year-old niece Hillary set a large gift bag at my feet, I eyed her quizzically; we don't usually give gifts to the adults.

"It's a present," she said.

"For me?"

She nodded.

"From who?"

"From me."

"You're going to make me cry," I said, as my vision blurred.

She laughed. "You haven't even opened it yet."

My curiosity mounted as I waited for all the kids to open their many gifts, and then Mom and Dad, too. (It was almost as bad as Allyson's suspense over the Santa box.) At last, Hillary said it was time to open her gift.

With trembling hands, I drew out a purple canvas with a cross on it. When I read the verse, I began to sob. "I told you she would cry," my sister Emily said. And then I was laughing and crying at the same time.

Me, Emily, and the Best Christmas Gift Ever

The reason I cried so much was because, on a walk with Jesus a couple of months before, I'd asked God to help me let go of some negative thoughts that kept plaguing me. "I need a scripture that-"

The answer came before I could even complete my thought: "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine." Since then, that verse has come to mind over and over. And I'd been searching for scripture art featuring that verse to hang over my bed. But the only thing I'd found was a black and red plaque that totally clashed with my purple decor. Frustrated and disappointed, I asked God to please help me find the perfect piece so that I could have that daily reminder that I am His.

Around the middle of November, Hillary and her sister Savannah asked about my favorite scripture. I gave them several, and I also mentioned to Hillary that I wanted Solomon 6:3 for my room.

A week or so after that, Hillary was assigned an art project at school, to paint a place that had meaning for her. She decided on the cross. (Hallelujah!!) And then she decided to give it to me, for my room. But she couldn't remember which verse I'd wanted. So she asked her Aunt Amy to find out for her. Which explains why Amy randomly texted me one morning and asked for my favorite verse. I'm sure I gave her several because it's impossible to choose just one, but thankfully Hillary was able to remember which one I wanted.

And that is how Hillary came to paint the very verse that I asked God to help me find for my room. It was her very first painting, and she chose to give it to me!

The Beautiful Artist and Her Beloved Aunt

"I think this is the best gift anyone ever gave me," I said. "I know I will treasure this for the rest of my life."

And then I smiled all the way home, and all the way through cleaning my disaster of a kitchen. I was smiling when I fell into bed at 1:00 a.m., and smiling when I woke up the next morning. And each time I think about it, I still smile. I suspect I always will.

One more story before I call it a night.... On Christmas Eve, it took so long for Allyson to fall asleep that I feared I might fall asleep myself and then Santa wouldn't come. Around 11, I started on their two stockings. With a pang of guilt because I knew how Allyson had been looking forward to opening that Santa box, I cut it open with a steak knife. Inside was the most gorgeous stocking I'd ever seen and a gift bag. I set both on the hearth without so much as a peek and left the opened box next to the fireplace.

In the morning, after announcing that Santa's cookies were gone, Allyson asked, "Why is the Santa box open?"

I pressed my lips together and feigned interest in the apple pancakes I was pouring (which she was far too excited to eat). "I guess Santa must have opened it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Sometimes things just remain a mystery, Allyson."

"Oh," she said. And then exploring her stocking drove away all her questions.

Her Favorite Santa Gift

After breakfast, I opened my own gifts. They were full of treats and little treasures that made me feel so loved. But the best part was that every item was emblazoned with a scripture. That stocking and gift bag were chock full of treasure!

Stocking on Left

Oh no, I didn't just survive Christmas! Surely I will look back on this season as the most special ever. What did I ever do to deserve such love? Nothing. And that's what makes it so precious.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Santa's Workshop Event at Allyson's School

She Went Gently Into That Good Night... But I am Still Alive

Our week started with some sorrow. Remember our cute little hamster, Fluffy? Well, she'd been ailing for the last few weeks. We first noticed a small bald patch on her side the week we were moving into the new house, around the first of September. It looked almost like she'd cut herself somehow. That bald spot and sore area grew gradually, until at last she was about a third bald. And then she started to slow down. When she ran on her wheel, her legs no longer made a blur. And when I cleaned her cage each week, she was easier and easier to catch.

A few weeks ago, I looked up the lifespan of Russian dwarf hamsters and was disappointed to learn they only live about two years. We don't know how old Fluffy was when we bought her, but we got her two years ago in February. I began to prepare the kids. "I think Fluffy's dying," I said several times.

This last Saturday when I cleaned her cage, I got teary eyed. She toddled around like an old man, and she mostly sat still in her exercise ball while I worked. But the worst part was when I put her back in the cage, where I'd laid out her favorite treats (carrots, oatmeal, and bits of torn spinach) on the upper level of her cage. She headed straight for the food, but she couldn't make it up the ramp! She kept sliding backward. I tried to give her a little boost, but then she toddled for the safety of her house.

I moved the upper level as low as it could go, and then she could make it up the gentler slope, but she was unable to pull herself through the hole at the top of the ramp. I finally moved her food bowl and water to the lower level.

"Oh, Lord," I prayed. "Please let little Fluffy pass peacefully. I don't want her to suffer. Please ease her pain."

Over the next few days, she was pretty quiet, and we had to check several times a day to make sure she was still alive. I did notice that she had managed to drag herself up that ramp after all; all of the carrot bits and spinach, and most of the oatmeal, were gone. I had to admire her tenacity. Maybe she was going to rally.

On Tuesday night, Allyson opened the cage and lifted up Fluffy's house. "She's not in here!" she exclaimed.

For a moment, I wondered if she could have escaped. I thought back to the one time several months ago that she somehow squeezed through the tiny bars of her cage and wrought havoc in my living room. I don't think I ever told you about that. One morning, I woke to odd bits of fluff all over the living room. They seemed to have come from under the couch. Suddenly a flash of fur caught my eye, and I jumped. A mouse! No, it was Fluffy. I glanced over at the cage, which was securely closed. "How did you-?" I muttered.

And then I crept over and knelt down, holding out a hesitant hand. No way I could catch her, I figured. But she sat still and let me scoop her up. I bet she'd worked up an appetite after a night of exploring and nesting under my couch.

"Could Fluffy have gotten away again?" Allyson asked.

"No, she's too weak to crawl through the bars," I answered from the kitchen. "I'll come look for her when I finish the dishes."

Indeed, the cage appeared empty. I pulled out her little igloo house, and then I spotted her curled up in the corner, her tiny form barely visible in the cedar chips. She almost looked asleep, except I could tell she was stiff.

"Fluffy died," I said softly.

Ethan and Allyson hurried over to see. "Aww," Ethan said. Allyson said nothing, just slipped an arm around my waist. A moment later I was surprised to feel her sobbing quietly. For a couple of weeks, she'd been talking about getting Fluffy's replacement, so I hadn't expected the tears. She cried for a few minutes, snuggled in my lap on the couch next to Ethan.

I prayed, thanking God for the time we had with sweet Fluffy. I thanked Him for letting her pass so that she didn't have to suffer any more, and I asked him to surround her with her favorite things up in heaven. I thanked God for always being close to the brokenhearted, and I asked him to let Allyson feel His love through my arms.

After her sobs had faded, she asked in a tiny voice, "Can we bury her tomorrow?"

"Of course," I answered, wondering how I would manage this. Burying things had always been Bill's job.

Yesterday we borrowed some gardening tools from our new friend Jenny, and Allyson dug a little hole in the soft dirt in our entryway. The timing was perfect because a neighbor had just dug out some greenery that the home inspector identified as a termite hazard, and it had rained afterward.

"Should we pray before, or after?" I asked.

"Can we pray while I dig?" she asked.

So I prayed about Fluffy returning to the dust and becoming part of God's good earth. Again, I prayed for Allyson's comfort and asked God to help us remember the good times with her. Allyson sobbed again, harder than she had the night before. I held her close, and we swayed silently.

After she'd placed the tiny toothpick cross she'd made, we each recounted our favorite memories of Fluffy. I talked about how she ran so fast that she went upside down on her wheel and fell off. Allyson talked about the fun of showing her to friends, and playing with her in the bathtub. We both laughed over the way Arwen liked to lean up against the bars, nose to nose with an oblivious Fluffy. (She had just started to make tentative swipes with her paws, and I think it was a mercy that Fluffy passed peacefully in her sleep, that she went "gentle into that good night.")

After the funeral, Allyson dried her tears and enjoyed the rest of her afternoon.

Other than losing Fluffy, we had a really good week. On Saturday, and then again on Wednesday, we made pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and handed them out to our new friends in the neighborhood. Allyson did all the measuring on the second batch, which turned out even better than the first.

I had just met one of the recipients this past Saturday. Her name is Amanda, and she was the best friend of our house's former owner, Jackie. It turns out that both of us are total hippies. Like me, she grinds her own grain and bakes bread, and she's into making her own cleaning solutions out of Dawn, vinegar, Borax, etc. The four cookies we brought her netted me a dinner invitation for next Tuesday. Reminds me of the time we got a homemade pumpkin pie after we brought our old neighbors candy canes.

Even better, we finally got to meet the people who bought our first dream house. One of our other neighbors wasn't home when we tried to drop off some cookies, so I told Allyson, "Why don't we take these cookies over to the new family?" (They'd moved in about a month after we moved into our house.)

So we traipsed right over there and knocked on the door. A pleasant young woman answered, and Allyson held out the cookies. I explained that we were handing out cookies for Halloween, and we wanted to welcome them to the neighborhood. Beaming, she invited us in even as she apologized for already being in pajamas at 5 in the afternoon. "I'm eight months pregnant," she explained, "and the first thing I do when I get home from work is get in my jammies."

"I understand," I said.

I learned that her name is Amber, and her husband's name is Dayton, and they are expecting their first child, a baby girl. They have a cute little Dachshund who loved playing with Allyson. Unlike me, Amber has a green thumb, and she said I can come over any time I want to tinker in the lush vegetable garden I fell in love with when we looked at the house.

She told us that the timing was perfect when they bought the house. They'd just paid the earnest money on another house, but she had cried as she remembered this house. It turns out that Dayton loved this house, too, so they withdrew their first offer and made another offer that same day. "There was just something about this house," she said with a smile.

"Yes, I know," I said. And then I told her the story of how we'd tried to buy it but then the deal had fallen through.

"So you're the first buyer!" she said.

I asked her about the foundation damage, and she said that they'd consulted a couple of structural engineers, who had disagreed about how bad the problem was. She and Dayton had decided to buy the house as is and deal with the foundation later. "Around here, every home is going to have a problem eventually," she said. I nodded in agreement; that was just what the foundation repair person had told me when he'd examined the house.

We both marveled at how everything had worked out. I told her how crushed I'd been, but I said I was happy now because I realized that this house was meant for their family, and my house was meant for mine. Because the house had been tied up for a few weeks with me, it was available for them when they were ready to buy. And the house meant for me had come into my price range at just the right time.

I don't know how God works out all these details, but aren't you glad that He does? And I love how he lets our paths cross with others who can bring such joy to our lives. Just a week ago I was feeling isolated here. Although my neighbors had all been quite friendly, what I really wanted was a close girlfriend on my street. Now I have four!

As you can tell, I'm in much better spirits this week. That may change tomorrow, but that's okay. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but today I feel very alive. And so blessed.

And now, a few pictures I must share before I call it a night....

Today at school, and tonight during trick-or-treating, Allyson became a blonde Cleopatra.

Jack O' Lanterns on Daddy's Porch
Allyson's is the Witch.

Here's my handsome boy on center snare during the halftime show at a football game a couple weeks ago:

Ethan and Jeremy

And here he is at Allyson's school yesterday, for Red Ribbon Week. Allyson was very proud, though she wouldn't admit it.

Can You Believe the Resemblance? 

It's Still Being Written

I have a couple of happy stories stored up to tell you, but I'm going to save those for another day. One of them is about our annual trip to Vancouver, which was both better than I expected and harder than I anticipated. But I don't have custody of the camera, and I want to share the pictures with the story.

Tonight, I want to share my heart with you. It's been a tough, tough day. A relapse day, when I've wanted to pick up the reins again instead of trusting God with my future. Today I've been thinking that I really can't be happy unless my life turns out the way I wanted it to, the way I thought it would. I've been thinking that God's love is really not enough to satisfy me. Oh, I know all the verses about God giving me a hope and a future, and all things working together for my good, and the plan He's had for me since before I was born. But my heart isn't listening. I just feel heavy, broken, empty.

So it's a good thing that I had my first Celebrate Recovery session tonight. There I met a lot of messed up people, just like me. But the good news is that they are celebrating recovery. The first principle of recovery is exactly what I need at this moment:

• Realize I’m not God; I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing and that my life is unmanageable. (Step 1)
  “Happy are those who know that they are spiritually poor.”

And the third, even more:

• Consciously choose to commit all my life and will to Christ’s care and control. (Step 3)
  “Happy are the meek.”

On the drive home, I remembered an experience I had on the plane home from Vancouver last Thursday. I'd been feeling sorry for myself, fighting tears, when I suddenly thought about the mercy God has shown me over the last 12 years, and how I'm not the woman I was back then. I wrote a letter to God, thanking Him for the experiences and people He brought into my life, always at just the right time. I thanked him for leading me to Psalm 139 in a hotel room, for connecting me with the Thursday Group, for helping me push past my awkwardness and grow a friendship with Gentle, and for bringing Laura to me.

And then I realized something so important: No, I'm not the woman I once was. And I'm also not the woman I'm going to be. Here's what I wrote about that:

I thought the testimony I shared at MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) was so beautiful, how you worked in all things for my good, even in my sin. I don't know if I would have ever known my need for a savior if I hadn't come into such shame....  

The last seven months have been such agony for me. I'm suffering still.... Even though I've wavered in my faith many times, I feel much closer to you than ever before. I realize my desperate need for a savior, a redeemer.

I know my testimony is still being written. This is hard mercy! But I know you are merciful. You are removing everything I don't need out of my life. When I come out of this trial, I'll be a different woman. I'll have such compassion. I'll be able to love even more. You will use my pain to minister to others who are suffering. Your glory will be revealed in me. It will be worth every tear, every sleepless night. 

And I know there will be joy for me. I have no idea what that will look like, but I will laugh and dance for joy. One day I will look back on this time and see your hand at work. I will know why it was necessary for me to hurt so much.

I don't know why I felt compelled to share this with you tonight. But I look forward to the day when I'll post a link back to this entry and say, "See how God used this suffering for my good."

Please pray for me. Pray that I will surrender to His will and find the rest and peace that comes from obedience. And pray that He will continue to make His love real to me.

Alive in His Hand

There's no easy way to say this. Bill and I are separated. I didn't choose this path, and I don't want to walk it, but I have to believe God has a purpose for me that I don't understand right now. It'll be a week tomorrow, and up until last night I was taking it pretty well.

Over the last six months, and again in the last few days, God has led me to these verses, which give me great comfort:

• And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast. (1 Peter 5:10)

• I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. (Romans 8:18)

• Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

Over the last week, I have definitely had the peace that surpasses understanding (Philippians 4:7). I have a lot of wonderful people who are loving me and taking care of me and my family. Many of them have told me, "You are so strong, Sarah."

I let myself believe I was strong, and maybe I even patted myself on the back now and then. 'Round about bedtime last night, though, I realized the truth. I am NOT strong. Not at all. I am absolutely weak. But that's a good place to be. For when I am weak, then He's strong. To quote a favorite song, I'm empty handed but alive in His hand. And that's a start.

Please pray for all four of us. Pray that God continues to make his comfort real to me, that I feel his unfailing love even now when the pain is so strong it takes my breath away. Pray that I will have strength and wisdom and love to walk with my children down this hard road. Above all, pray for God's mercy on us.

Interrupted By Love

Over the last week or so, I felt I was winning the battle against my ongoing personal struggle. The key was praising God for my circumstances. Each time I felt hurt or resentful, I immediately praised God for the work He's been doing in my heart. I praised Him because I trust His plan, and I know He can bring something good out of everything that happens in my life (Romans 8:28).

On Thursday morning, I reflected on the victory I'd experienced over my negative thinking and wondered whether I was truly changing my thought patterns, or just suppressing my negative emotions. "I want to keep praising you," I prayed, "but I don't want to stuff down all my emotions. Help me find the balance."

It was that same day that I suffered a big setback. My heart hurt all day long. I felt alone, angry, even bitter. I tried to praise God and thank Him for continuing to conform me to His likeness, but it didn't work. That is to say, maybe praising God made some difference in the spiritual realm, but my thoughts and emotions continued to spiral. I even knew that I was being disobedient to dwell on these negative feelings instead of surrendering them to Jesus, but I felt powerless to stop.

I was up most of the night on Thursday, and on Friday I felt a deeper, duller sadness as well as a tightness in my chest that signalled the old anxiety returning. It was a busy day with no time for moping because we'd taken Allyson to the Hawaiian Falls water park to celebrate the last day of summer break. She was fearless, riding the steepest water slides without hesitation, flushed with triumph when she reached the bottom. I enjoyed seeing her have fun and also enjoyed riding the slides myself on some level, but the stone in my heart just felt colder and colder as the day wore on.

Last night, Bill had hockey, so Allyson and I spent some quality time reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and then comparing the scene of Aslan's death and resurrection with Jesus's crucifixion and resurrection story in the book of Matthew. This was a precious time to me, but I was still looking forward to some quiet time in my prayer closet.

Naturally, Allyson's willingness to settle down was inversely proportional to my desperate need for some alone time. I prayed with her, cuddled, with her, brought her drinks, and finally started threatening to spank. Nothing helped.

At her request, I stayed in the TV room, a stone's throw from her bedroom, instead of going into my closet to pray. Instead of praying out loud, I poured out my heart in my journal, writing out my prayer for God to help me let go of my own desires and submit to His will.

All the while, Satan harangued me with lies: "You haven't made any progress at all.... You haven't changed one bit.... You're back at square one.... You don't have what it takes to follow Jesus. Maybe you should just give up."

"I can't give up," I thought. "What other hope do I have except in Jesus? Please, God. Please."

Just then, Allyson hollered, "Mommy, please come cuddle me again!"

I groaned. "No," I yelled. "I already cuddled you."

"Please!"

"Go to SLEEP!!"

"Please, Mommy. I'm really scared."

I stomped into her room. "Okay, just for a minute, but you need to go to SLEEP. I am so tired and it's been a long day and I'm sad and I really, really need to pray and you keep interrupting."

When I heard my own harsh words, remorse pierced my heart, and I started to cry. Through all of my struggles for the last three months, I've tried to shield Allyson from my sorrow and not burden her with my pain. But there was no holding these tears back.

I collapsed onto my knees and laid my forehead on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry," I whispered, and then I just sobbed.

Gentle fingers rubbed at my scalp, tangling in my short hair. "Everything's going to be okay, Mommy."

I sniffled. "That feels nice, Allyson."

"It feels nice to me too. I love to rub your hair."

As she rubbed my hair, Allyson kept up a stream of soothing words that no doubt came straight from my Father. "Everything will get better, Mommy. It doesn't feel like anything is changing, but remember how you told me that God does things in His own time? We just have to be patient and keep believing. And we need to rejoice and feel in our hearts like our prayer is already answered."

"You're right, baby. Will you pray for me tonight?"

"I will if you'll start."

So I repented aloud for clinging to my self pity and desiring my own will. Allyson piped up then and prayed that God would help us feel His love settling over us. We took turns praying whatever came to our hearts.

After we said amen, Allyson tugged at my arm. "Come up on the bed with me so I can really cuddle you."

I climbed in obediently and pulled her to my chest. She nestled under my arm and nuzzled my neck. And then she started to chatter. Part of me figured I should tell her to go to sleep, but I didn't want to spoil the sweetness.

"I think it's hard for people to change," she said. "Especially adults, because they've been the same way a long time."

"Yes, it is. Especially when we want to go our own way. But going our own way brings us heartache. I know this from experience, Allyson."

"It's like when we go to Canada," she mused. "Think about us flying all that way, and when we're almost there, I remember that I left Allum at home. We can't go back for him because we're almost there."

"No, we couldn't go back." I smiled, wondering where she was going with this cute analogy.

"It's like that with you, Mommy. You've gone a long way on this path with Jesus. You can't go back now."

Chills ran down my arms. There was no way she could have known my thoughts of giving up. Surely God was speaking directly through my six-year-old daughter!

"Thank you for reminding me of that, sweetie. You're right. I can't turn back now."

Just then I heard Bill's truck pull into the driveway. "Okay, no more tears," I said. "I don't want Daddy to find me crying."

But Allyson wasn't finished. "Remember what you told me. Sometimes you have to let your tears out. If you hold them in, it makes you sad much longer. But if you let the tears out, you'll feel better."

"Yes, baby." I kissed her cheek, but then she puckered her lips for a kiss on the mouth, and we made a smacking sound. "You are such a treasure, Allyson. I'm so thankful to have you in my life."

"Me too, Mommy. Now will you ask Daddy to come snuggle with me? I've been waiting and waiting for him to come home."

While Bill snuggled with Allyson, I tucked myself into bed. Heeding Allyson's advice, I let the tears pour out in a torrent as I whispered my prayers, surrendering all of my desires and asking God to change my heart, to make my heart want what He wants for me. It hurt so much, but as I cried and gave up on my own hopes, a peace settled over me that truly surpassed my understanding. And I slept like a baby.

Today, I can't stop smiling over how God "interrupted" my prayer time to shower me with love through my sweet girl. Oh, how He loves me!

My Treasure and Me This Afternoon