Thankfulness - Especially in the Darkness

I ran across an old journal tonight when I was looking for something else. I sat down in a plastic storage tub, on top of an ancient comforter that now serves as a drop cloth. Immediately I was transported back in time. First, I relieved my friendship with sweet Laura, and how God allowed me to love and serve her and her family in her last days and beyond. That experience forever changed me and opened my heart to love others. How God has enriched my life by bringing me so many dear friends after I took a chance and let myself love Laura!

In one of those entries, I wrote about Laura's cousin, who had told me how God worked during her separation from her husband, and how both of them were drawn closer to God through it. I saw the glory of God shining in her eyes as she recounted that story, and I wanted that kind of joy and peace for myself. But I shuddered at the price of it.

I wrote this prayer on July 11, 2011 (11 months before my marriage fell apart, almost to the day):

Lord, have mercy.... What might that mercy look like? Am I strong enough to survive it? Please prepare me for whatever the future will bring. Let me be so rooted and grounded in your love that I'm not shaken by the hard times, but instead send my roots down deeper.

Tonight, tears of joy and wonder streamed down as I realized how faithful God has been to answer that prayer. When I wrote it out (with trembling fingers), I had no idea what was coming. But God did, and He already knew how He would use it all for my good.

Fast forward one year and four months, to November 2, 2012. This was about three weeks before Bill and I separated, when I was in the deepest despair I'd ever known. In that entry, I wrote a list of everything I was thankful for. I didn't say why I was writing it, but probably it was to help me focus on what is pure and lovely and excellent and praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8).

I'm thankful for my health. For sleep. I'm thankful for morning walks with God. For sunsets and sunrises, and eyes to appreciate them. I'm thankful for trees, flowers, birds. I'm thankful for chocolate peanut butter banana smoothies, for homemade bread from freshly ground wheat. I'm thankful for food on the table and for my family together at dinner each night.

I'm thankful for Allyson's laughter, her hugs, and her kisses. I'm thankful for Ethan's musical talent, his intelligence, his love of learning. For our home, our yard, our dog, our pool. For heat and air conditioning and clean water. 

I'm thankful for a peaceful home because Bill and I try to treat each other with respect..... 

I'm thankful for God's love that never fails me, even when I fail Him. I'm thankful for peace that surpasses my understanding, not a peace that the world gives. 

I'm thankful for second chances and hundredth chances. I'm thankful for mercy and compassion. And music. I love to sing praises to my God. 

I love morning snuggles and bedtime songs with Allyson, back scratches for Ethan, reading Scripture to my children.

I'm thankful for Bible study, for the ladies who love me and encourage me and pray for me. I'm thankful for the truth of God's word and for a heart that longs for God. I'm thankful for the storm I'm in! Because God is using it for my good. I'm 42 years old and I'm changing and growing and learning. 

I'm thankful that I don't need to worry because God is in control. He loves me, and his plan for me is good. He ordained all of my days before one of them came to be. He guides me with his light. He knows where we're going because darkness is as light to Him [Psalm 139].

I'm thankful that I am never Forsaken, always Beloved. That I can nestle under His wings and be carried against my Shepherd's heart. I'm thankful that He sees me, knows me, takes delight in me. He rejoices over me with singing! He quiets me with His love [Zephaniah 3:17]. He redeems my life from the pit. He crowns me with love and compassion. He satisfies my desires with good things. [Psalm 103].

He heals me with His Word. He never leaves me or forsakes me. My heart is steadfast when I trust in Him.This is His book, and He is the author of my salvation. It's going to be a good story, one that brings Jesus glory. 

I am thankful to be alive, thankful for a grateful heart. May I ever be so, Lord. 

Amen! May I never forget my Father's faithfulness. His mercy is beyond my comprehension.

They Don't Miss Nothin'

Disclaimer: This story might shock a few of you. Feel free to bail out if you feel uncomfortable at any time. However, chances are that none of you is more of a prude than me, and if I survived the  actual experience, you can probably survive reading about it. I'll go easy on you, which is more than I can say for my masseuse yesterday. But I'm getting ahead of myself....


On Friday we celebrated my sister Amy's 50th birthday. True to form, I didn't even think about what I might buy for Amy until that morning. On the way to Allyson's summer day camp, I asked her for ideas.


"Gently used kids' tattoos?" [Leftover from her belated birthday party the night before; more on that soon.]


"Um... no."


I thought about it off and on through the day, but all I could come up with was a massage. The only problem was that, according to Amy, I promised her a massage for another birthday a couple years back and then forgot about it. So how could I promise her another now?


I prayed about it, but still came up with nothing. Before long, I was off to the party empty-handed.


While Amy opened the presents that other people so thoughtfully purchased or even made, I stood around feeling like a pretty crappy little sister. Okay, so I'd offer her a massage, and we'd schedule it right on the spot. But when? The next several weekends were booked....


Just then, I tuned into a conversation between my sister Melody and her friend Dana. They planned to go to the King Spa the next day. Melody and her husband Joe had been talking about this Korean bath house for years, and I'd always been curious about it, but not curious enough to spend the money.


The gears spun in my head for a moment. Hmm. What if Amy and I went along? It could be a sisters' day. A sisters' and friends' day. But I could hardly buy Amy a massage and not also buy myself one. What would I do while the rest of them got pampered?


"It isn't in the budget," I thought.


"Be quiet, Dave Ramsey," I answered. "Amy only turns 50 once. And I could use a massage, too."


"...and it's pretty cheap," Melody told Dana.


Those were the magic words, though I later learned that "cheap" is all a matter of perspective.

So Long, Hope and Laughter

If you were paying close attention, you may recall that I promised to tell you about our hermit crabs, way back in February. Time to make good on my promise....


Last September, when we got Arwen, Allyson started lobbying for her own pet. When our beloved hamster Fluffy passed into glory in November, she became even more insistent. What she really wanted was a cat of her own, but I told her we'd have to get used to taking care of one before I'd be ready for two. So she tossed around several ideas: bird? guinea pig? snake? (just kidding; that was Ethan's suggestion, promptly nixed).


I was as noncommittal as possible as she pitched each option. "Yeah, maybe.... Sure, honey, one of these days."


When Christmas rolled around, she came home from Canada with a pocket full of money from Uncle Jack. She'd scarcely kissed me hello before she announced breathlessly, "I know what I want with my Christmas money! A hermit crab! Can we go today?"


"Maybe tomorrow," I hedged.


A cursory Google search told me what I needed to know: Hermit crabs are cheap, easy to take care of, and don't live that long. Yes, yes, and yes.


Allyson did an online search of her own. She'd decided to name the crab Laughter, but she thought that sounded weird, so she looked up the Spanish translation: Larisa.


"That's a weird name," Ethan said.


"Not as weird as Arwen," Allyson retorted.


"Why would you name a crab Laughter?"


"She can name her crab anything she wants," I said. "You got to name Arwen, remember? And I think Laughter is a great name."


We hit Petsmart the next day. We purchased the $20 starter kit, an $8 crab, a couple of extra shells, small bottles of salt water and fresh water, and a little bottle of food pellets. Back at home, Allyson immediately dumped the half inch of gravel into the tiny plastic cage and leaned the metal climbing rack against one side.


She gingerly transferred Larisa from her Styrofoam cup into her new home, while I took pictures, which I've inexplicably lost. [Argh!!!]


"This house looks too small for her," Allyson said, and I agreed. "How often are we supposed to feed her?" Allyson asked.


"I forgot," I answered. "Let's look it up online."


For the next two hours, we read all about the care of hermit crabs. Guess what? They aren't nearly so easy to take care of as I'd thought. And guess what else? When properly cared for--which they usually aren't--they can live up to 30 years! (I'd be in my 70s!) The reason they usually die within a month or so is that they are slowly asphyxiated outside their natural tropical environment. They can die even more quickly if the temperature falls below 70.


It turns out that the little kit all the pet stores sell is wildly inappropriate for hermit crabs. They need a much larger space, and they need high humidity because they breathe through modified gills. Their habitat (or crabitat, as crab lovers affectionately call it) needs to be between 70 and 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Also, they need a deep substrate that they can burrow into. And that sponge that comes with the starter kit is a breeding ground for germs.


That's why, one day later, we marched back up to Petsmart and returned that $20 starter kit. We replaced it with a 10-gallon fish tank and coconut husk substrate, a mister bottle, and a realistic log for Larisa to climb on. Let's just say all of that added up to a wee bit more than Allyson's Christmas money.


But it was worth it to see my little girl's joy as she hydrated the coconut husk brick in a mop bucket and then arranged all the accessories just so. After that, she affixed several beach themed pictures to the outside of the crabitat, "to make her feel at home." [Sure wish I could show you the pictures I took that day.]


It reminded me of what she did for her ill-fated goldfish back when she was 5.


Larisa seemed very happy in her new crabitat that evening. After that, we could only guess... for two reasons: 1) Hermit crabs are nocturnal, so she only came out to eat when we were sleeping. 2) Like all hermit crabs, Larisa loves to burrow. Every now and then we could spot her pretty shell along the side of the glass. And once we got very excited when we realized she'd exchanged her original shell for one of the shells Allyson had brought home from White Rock Beach after summer vacation last year.


Beyond that, there was very little excitement. Okay, no excitement. Allyson got it in her head that what Larisa needed was a playmate. According to all that we'd read online, hermit crabs are social creatures despite their name. Maybe if we bought another crab, Larisa would come out and play.


So I forked over another $8 for Esperanza (Spanish for Hope). Hope was a bit bigger than Laughter, with a very impressive purple pincer that we were both afraid of.


Within an hour or so, we had two buried crabs that we never saw. Allyson promptly lost interest, and I was left to care for our seemingly imaginary crabs. (It reminded me of the time Bill told Ethan there was a hamster in the empty hamster cage, shortly before we bought Fluffy.)


And it was really a pain in the neck, because:

• They didn't much care for those convenient food pellets. Instead, they preferred itty bitty chopped up bits of fresh fruits and vegetables, tiny dabs of peanut butter, bits of beans, laboriously cut-up sunflower seeds, etc. And those bits of fresh food got moldy quickly in their warm, moist crabitat.
• Maintaining the right humidity level was a crapshoot. When it got too high, mildew was a constant problem. A bit of mildew was actually a good sign, but it had to be removed daily because it could make the crabs sick. When I removed their moldy food shell at night, I often felt I was really just feeding the mildew. If the humidity dropped, the mildew went away, but it would be only a matter of time before the crabs strangled. If the temperature got too low, they would sort of hibernate and might be in danger of dying, but if we used the heat lamp, the moisture dried up. One solution would have been to raise the temperature a few degrees for the whole house, but I wasn't willing to pay higher gas bills.
• Their water bowls tended to get slimy, and I wasn't supposed to use soap to wash them (nor tap water, for that matter). So I rinsed and rinsed them under the tap and then tried to dry them with paper towels, which left bits of paper that were probably toxic for them.

The one advantage to taking care of them was that they were hardy little creatures who could go for many days without food and fresh water. I tried to feed them every other night, but that was hard to remember. Sometimes it was three days, or four. And the time I forgot to ask Bill to feed them when we went camping, it might have been a total of five days. Sometimes their water bowl was stone dry. But they clung to life stubbornly.


As the months passed and I continued to chop produce for these pets that we didn't see for literally weeks at a time, I became resentful. I didn't mind scooping Arwen's poop and feeding her twice a day because sometimes she'd let me pet her. But what was the point of putting food in a cage that might as well have been empty?


I complained to God about it now and then, and I suppose part of me hoped they would join Fluffy in heaven.


A couple of months back, I asked Allyson if we could give the crabs away to some true crab lovers. At first she refused, but then she realized she might be able to get a different pet. "Sure," she said.


I asked several neighbors for advice on getting rid of crabs, to which they replied that I shouldn't say that out loud. "Seriously," I said. "I'd like to put them on Craigslist, but I'm afraid to have a stranger come to our house to pick them up. And if I take their tank out some place to meet someone, what if they don't want them? That would be a big hassle."


I'd hoped one of the neighbors would take them off my hands, but for some reason after all my complaining, nobody was interested. One neighbor suggested cooking them in a soup, and I shuddered.


I continued to complain/pray about getting rid of them, but I think God knew I needed an attitude adjustment. Each time I trudged to Allyson's room at 11 PM to feed them (because I never thought of it until I was crawling into bed, and my conscience wouldn't actually let me starve them), I'd ask God to help me be a better caretaker to these innocent creatures who were entirely dependent on me.

I'd like to say I learned to love Larisa and Esperanza, but that would be a stretch. Instead, I learned to accept my duty and to serve them without (too much) complaint.


It wasn't long after that when Conrad, the big brother of Allyson's constant companion Ellie, got a hankering for hermit crabs. Allyson enthusiastically offered him the crabs and all of our supplies. He said he'd have to check with his mom. I crossed my fingers and prayed.


Within 24 hours, the crabs were gone... to a much better home where they will be loved and played with and appreciated. I have to admire Conrad and Ellie's mom, who already has two dogs, birds, and two big turtles. I guess the more, the merrier.


It was so fun to see Conrad and Ellie's joy as they set up Allyson's crab tank.

They put tin foil and a towel over the mesh lid, just like we did. 

When I ran into Conrad the next day at Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market, he excitedly described their night-time antics and told me how fun it is to hold them. He's not at all afraid of the purple pincers.


And neither is Ellie:

Ellie and Lisa, a.k.a. Larisa

There, now you've seen Larisa. Now that she's no longer part of our family.

Soon you may be hearing about Allyson's next pet. She's already scheming.

A Daring Adventure

Many times now, I've told you how excited I am about whatever's around the bend. And that was so. In the abstract. When I think about the rest of my life, I have no fear because I know the story God's writing is beautiful. But....

When I think about next week, that's when I worry. Because next week I have to make all sorts of choices that affect me and my children. And what if I make a wrong choice that leads me into more struggles? Yes, next week is pretty darn scary.

But there's something even scarier than next week, and that's today: when the journey begins. I told you just a few weeks back that I was ready to Leave so I could Go. I was ready to leave my past behind and go wherever God would send me--without having any idea where we were going. Again, that was true in the abstract. I didn't get terrified until it was time to take the first step.

For the last few weeks, I've been seeking God's direction for this phase of my life, asking Him to show me what changes He wants me to make and to give me the courage to be obedient. The only problem is I still don't know where we're going. I've prayed and prayed, asking Him to show me the path, but I haven't been able to hear His answer. Probably that's because I'm not good at being still. Instead of listening after I pray, I ponder my questions endlessly, examining them from every angle and trying to solve the dilemmas with logic. It's exhausting!

Just yesterday morning, I was grappling with confusion and anxiety about my future. I felt utterly lost in the darkness, like I was crying out to God and He wasn't answering. No, not that He wasn't answering, but that I couldn't hear Him because I was too far out in the wilderness. The sermon at church seemed to have been written just for me, and it gave me hope. Our pastor shared some darkness his own family is dealing with, and the purpose they are finding in it. He talked about this passage:

Who among you fears the Lord?

Who obeys the voice of His Servant?

Who walks in darkness

And has no light?

Let him trust in the name of the Lord

And rely upon his God.

Look, all you who kindle a fire,

Who encircle yourselves with sparks:

Walk in the light of your fire and in the sparks you have kindled—

This you shall have from My hand:

You shall lie down in torment.

(Isaiah 50:10-11)

Pastor Bill assured us that being in the darkness doesn't mean we're not where God wants us. Isaiah's words show us that we can fear (revere) God and obey His commands and yet still be in the dark. He said God allows us to walk in the dark for a purpose, that there's always something He wants to teach us. He encouraged us to trust God to lead us and to resist the urge to light our own fire. Figuring out our own way out of the darkness, he warned, would only lead us to more sorrow.

At some point, he shared a thrilling quote from Helen Keller: "Life is either a daring adventure, or it's nothing." I was convicted by her courage; both blind and deaf, she focused on life's adventures instead of her struggles.

I felt most encouraged at church, but it wasn't long before I was trying to light my own fire again. All through the day, I mulled over my dilemma. What if I made this choice? Where might that path lead? Or that choice? Oh no, I was afraid to go there. Maybe I could just make no choice at all?

By bedtime, I'd decided that I would just run back to the last place I felt safe and comfortable and forget about this whole Leaving and Going thing. I felt disappointed, confused, worn out, and defeated. On the floor of my closet, I poured out my frustrations to God. "Why did things have to change?" I asked. "I was happy before. Now I'm scared. I want to go back."

And then the Holy Spirit led me in a totally different direction. I realized that I didn't need to run away from the circumstances that were causing me pain, but that I needed to run toward God and let Him heal my pain. Oh, the comfort I found when I laid all of my hurts at the foot of the cross!

I sensed His tenderness then, saw Him cradling my fragile heart in His powerful hands. I remembered how precious I am to my Beloved, and I knew He would protect me from harm wherever I might go.

Only then could I find the direction I'd been pleading for. "Please," I asked. "Hold my hand. Lead me out of here. I'm tired of striving. I can't figure this out, and I don't want to try any more. I don't need to know where we're going or how to get there. I trust you, Daddy."

I drifted to sleep feeling absolutely loved, safe, contented.

Can you guess what happened next, you who know me so well?...

 No. That's not what happened! I woke up this morning feeling just as peaceful, just as settled as I'd felt when I fell into bed last night. I still didn't have specific answers to any of my questions, but I had an assurance that God would lead me one step at a time.

During my morning quiet time, I decided to meditate on Psalm 73, which Christian artist Ellie Holcomb had quoted during the Celebrate Freedom concert this past Saturday. My heart thumped when I read these verses:

Yet I am always with you;
    you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
    and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
    And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
    but God is the strength of my heart
    and my portion forever. (Psalm 73:23-26, emphasis added)

Here was God, answering me back with a sacred echo. Yes, He will hold my hand and guide me! This familiar passage came alive to me in a whole new way.

I thought, I've always wanted to see Rome. But suppose someone dropped me off in the middle of the city with no map and said, "Go explore the city. Have fun! We'll see you back at the hotel tonight." I'm sure there are a handful of you who'd think that a great adventure. Not me. I would probably sit down right there on the sidewalk with my back against a wall and wait for someone to come find me.

But what if there was a tour bus waiting at the side of the road with a guide who'd grown up in Rome? I'd climb on in a heartbeat. It wouldn't matter at all that I didn't know the ultimate destination, nor the route we would take. I'd trust that guide not only to get us where we needed to go, but also to make sure we didn't miss any of the good stuff along the way.

That's an adventure I'd sign up for. And that's the adventure I have signed up for. I realize at last that God is not going to give me the itinerary, because I don't need to know all those details. I don't need to know what's happening next week, or what will happen if I take this path or that path, as long as I don't let go of my Guide's hand.

It's going to be a daring adventure. I don't want to miss a minute of it.

Not Alone

I can't believe I forgot to share this picture in yesterday's post.


About three minutes after the sweet little girl tried to walk with me, I found this chalk drawing. It was blurred from recent rains, but I could still read it.

We are NOT alone... you are NOT Forgotten

I've been meaning to share some of the beautiful messages I've found in the park over the last few months, always by an angel named #carried.

Mother's Day 2014

Mother's Day 2014

When LIFE gets TOO HARD to stand... Kneel.

It's Time to Go

Oh, I've missed you guys. I've thought of you often, and the stack of stories in my head is getting so tall it's about to topple. Here's one of them....

I recently came across an inspiring article in a magazine called Studio G. It's about the difference between leaving and going, illustrated by the story of Abram and Sarai. This is the part that I've been chewing on for weeks:

To leave... means "to depart from permanently; to quit".... We are not walking out our faith correctly if we are not leaving something behind. In fact, it’s impossible to start a faith walk without leaving some things permanently behind us. It’s important to leave.

To go... means "to continue in a certain state or condition; to be habitually".... Going in this sense has nothing to do with where you are going and everything to do with how you are going....

See! Leaving is NOT going. As long as you are looking back at your past you are not going, you are still leaving. Going only happens after you leave (permanently quit) whatever you have walked away from. We leave by obedience, we go by faith!

Remember my word for the year? Forget. Sometimes I think I'm making progress toward that goal of forgetting my past hurts, my past dreams. And then I am reminded of what I had before, and the pain of loss is sharp.

A few Saturdays ago, I met with my new friend Lizzette to do something I haven't done since I was pregnant with Allyson: scrapbooking! With real paper and sticky tape and stickers. (But my fancy pens had all dried up.)

Sorting through stacks of old pictures, I remembered who I was before.... before. Of all the happy photos, this is the one that brought tears.

It was my first (and only) eyebrow waxing, back in January 2010. And it was unaccountably fun because I got to giggle with both of my sisters-in-law. Sheryl, who worked in a classy spa that I couldn't afford, did the waxing while Lisa laughed and took pictures. The whole trip was absolutely delightful.

Looking at this picture in Lizzette's kitchen, it seemed I was looking at an entirely different Sarah, and I missed her terribly. I missed being carefree and seeing my whole life stretched out before me, just as I'd dreamed it. I missed being able to relax and have fun instead of being frantically busy and overtired all the time. I missed all of my beloved in-laws.

And I felt very, very sorry for myself.

On my Sunday walk with Jesus the next morning, I told Him all about my hurts. "I want to let go. I want to forget," I prayed. "But sometimes I just want to go back to where it was comfy. It hurts."

We walked in silence for a few minutes as I took in the beauty of the trees, which never fail to quiet me. And then I remembered the article. "Oh, God," I breathed, tears trickling down my cheeks. "I want to leave. Please, help me leave. I don't want to go back to my past. I know I have to leave before I can go. I want to go. I don't know where we're going, but I trust you."

In that moment, I realized the truth. I don't want to go back. That was a beautiful life, but so is this. In the last two years, I have grown more in my faith than I ever thought possible. I have learned that God never leaves me, that His love alone can satisfy my longings. Oh, how I love Him.

I paused on the path, inhaling the scent of damp earth and honeysuckle. A grin stretched my cheeks then, still wet with tears. I thought back to the most thrilling part of the article: First there's leaving, and then there's going. And in the going is becoming. When Abram and Sarai reached the place God wanted them to be--geographically and spiritually--they became the father and mother of many nations.

"Oh, God," I whispered. "I want to-"

At the very instant when I uttered the word become, a butterfly unfurled its wings literally right in front of my eyes. It was exquisite, with markings similar to the Monarch except that a delicate blue line traced each wing.

I think it was this one, the Pearl Crescent

For a few seconds, it gently fluttered its wings, giving me a chance to admire it before it closed them again and looked like a curled leaf. In those seconds, I thought of its journey from caterpillar to cocoon to this gorgeous flying creature. I'm sure it wasn't comfortable being confined to a cocoon. I bet it missed its life as a caterpillar, inching along the tasty green leaves. Could it have even fathomed floating on the breeze, flitting from flower to flower? Could it ever recognize its own beauty, shining with all the glory of God's creation?

"God, I want to become," I prayed as I walked on. "I want to go wherever you lead and I want to surrender my life and will to you so that I can become who you made me to be. I want your glory to shine in me, the beauty of your character that draws others to you."

At church a couple of hours later, I cried for joy as we sang a song I'd never heard before, something about our home being with God, and wanting to be wherever He is.

Oh, what a glorious day that was. If only every day could be like that.

You probably know me well enough by now to guess what happened next. Just a few days later, something happened that stirred up all of my hurts, fears, and insecurities. It wasn't even a bad thing, just something that upset me and left me balled up on the floor of my prayer closet, shedding most un-joyous tears.

For the next few weeks, I did a lot of crying. I wondered, as I so often do, whether I'd made any progress at all. I felt silly to have believed, even for a moment, that I had really left my past behind. Instead, I felt utterly shackled by it. I felt as if the scab had been ripped off of my incurable wound.

But... my Father loves me so much that He used all of that suffering for my good. In my weakness, I turned to God, over and over. I poured out my pain and frustration, and then I laid it down (several, several times). I thanked God for allowing that scab to be torn off so that He could heal my brokenness. I thanked Him for reminding me that I am His Beloved, and nothing can ever separate me from His love.

One More Story
Tonight, I felt down after a disagreement with Ethan over a driving lesson. [Yes, he is learning to drive, and I am his driving instructor!] I had nothing planned for the evening, and I hoped to walk in the park with a friend. Turns out, one friend wasn't home, another had company, and the third just didn't feel like walking. So I went by myself.

Now the funny thing is, I usually love walking alone in the park. But only in the morning. In my mind, evening walks are for jabbering with friends. I don't know why I feel that way. I just do.

So despite all those green trees that never fail to quiet me, I was... pouting. I felt really, really alone. Ethan wanted nothing to do with me, Allyson was at church camp, and all my friends were busy having fun without me.

"God, I know I'm not alone. I know you're walking with me here, like you always do, but I.... Please, help me to know that you're here."

Just then, two young women and a toddler rounded the bend just ahead. The little blonde-haired girl beamed when she saw me. First she waved, and I waved back. And then she reached out her little arms and hurried toward me.

"Sophie!" her mom called.

Sophie was positively radiant. When she reached me, she held out her hand and turned around.

I laughed. "Oh, are you going to walk with me?"

I didn't want to scare her mom, so I started to walk on. I couldn't resist looking over my shoulder, and sure enough, this sweet little stranger was following me! Her mom caught her hand and dragged her away. "Wave goodbye," she said.

And we waved at each other until I had rounded the bend and vanished from her sight.

I laughed when I heard this: "You need to teach this girl about stranger danger."

It was one of the oddest things that has happened to me, yet it really lifted my spirits. What did that little girl see in me? Why was she so determined to reach out to me?

"God, was that you?" I whispered. I smiled as happy tears filled my eyes. "Yes, that was you. I am not alone."

Oh, how He loves me!

Beautiful Things

In honor of Mother's Day (which was now over a week ago), I'd like to tell you why my children are my greatest treasures....

Ethan, my 17-year-old:

• Is passionate about learning - as long as it's something he's curious about. It doesn't matter how bad his mood may be, all I have to do to turn it around is ask a question about the time and/or space, like "How did they figure out the speed of light anyway?" Ethan's face lights up as he tells me all about what "we" have discovered about the universe so far. I love it when he teaches me things!
  
  In recent weeks, he's talked of becoming an astrophysicist, which I think is a perfect fit for him except for the 8 years of college. (He only tolerates school.)
  
  "Would they call me 'doctor'?" he asked. "Dr. Ethan?"
  
  "Well, probably they'd call you Dr. O," I said. "That would be pretty cool. I'd say, 'Have you met my son, Dr. O? Actually, he really is a rocket scientist. Did I mention he has a PhD?'"
  
  Ethan beamed, and so did I.
  

• Is a talented musician. Did I ever tell you he's the center snare on his high school drum line? Yes, I think I might have mentioned it once or twice. Seriously, he's worked very hard to perfect his skills, and I am one proud mama.
  

After a drum line performance - Ethan volunteered for the picture!

• Has a delightful sense of humor. He can always make me laugh, especially when I need it most.
  


• Is content with a little. We have a tight budget, and he understands that. He doesn't ask for the expensive clothing brands, and he's thankful for everything I buy him. He says things like, "I don't really need three pairs of jeans. One would be plenty."
  


• Looks out for me. Although he grumbles about helping with chores, he takes care of me in the ways that matter. More on that in a moment. 

Allyson, my almost-8-year-old:

• Loves God with all her heart. It excites me to see a depth in her relationship with God that I didn't find until my thirties.
  
  
• Prays with faith. She trusts the Lord. Period.
  
  
• Loves to learn. She's a thinker, and I'm amazed at the things she knows.
  
  
• Laughs a lot. I know just how to make her laugh, even when she's too tired to open her eyes in the morning. For example, when I tried to take her breakfast order the other morning, her only answer was a sonorous fart. "What was that your bum said?" I asked, tickling her ribs. "I didn't catch that. Was it peanut butter toast?"
  
  "Mama!" she groaned. But she couldn't help but giggle.
  
  She makes me feel funny, and that's a good thing because I tend to be way too serious.
  
  
• Is one strong little girl. I've watched her deal with the heartache of divorce with grace, faith, and strength. She is content with her circumstances. She accepts what she can't change, and she finds joy everywhere. I want to be like her when I grow up. 

Mother's Day 2014

A Big Help

Both kids are a big help with chores, whether they like it or not. It was a real struggle teaching them to do dishes a few months back, so much so that I wondered if it was worth the effort. This is one area where they were ridiculously slow (or obstinate) learners. But now they do make my busy life a bit easier.

Allyson loves to cook, especially any recipe that requires getting her hands dirty. Ethan recently had a how-to presentation for speech class, and she saved both our butts. I was tutoring a friend's daughter in algebra that afternoon, so I got a late start on dinner. Ethan was busy making a multimedia presentation about how to make sausage balls, which I found ironic because he's never made a sausage ball in his life.

So Allyson single-handedly mixed up the ingredients and formed the cheesy sausage balls while I simultaneously took pictures of her progress and worked on a dinner that took so long that I had to admit defeat and take the kids to Subway (at 8 p.m. on a school night!). When we returned, Allyson cheerfully made the last batch of sausage balls while I finished what was now tomorrow's dinner and tried to clean up after the explosion in my kitchen. The wonder of it was that I didn't stress over the blobs of raw sausage and cheese that were ground into the floor and stuck to the "stainless" steel refrigerator door. No, I saw this time as the treasure that it was. I was so proud of my girl!

Ethan was a huge help in a very different way, recently. Some of you may recall that I was the last person on earth who didn't have a smart phone. I was determined to keep my old phone with its slide-out keyboard because I DESPISE touchscreens. (I once had a traumatic experience involving a touchscreen and an alarm system, but that's another story.) Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, my beloved slide-out keyboard gave out, and I was reduced to tap-tap-tapping the number pad to respond to the huge volume of texts that I get on a daily basis. After less than a day, I went out phone shopping.

I was pleased when Ethan agreed to go along, but I thought I was just taking him to keep me company. Turns out, he came along because he knew that without his help, I would "pick the wrong phone." He stuck with me through an entire Sunday afternoon, through trips to three phone stores (plus a second trip to one of them) and Walmart. At a glance, he could tell me all about each of the models in the discount cell phone store: "Droid. Droid. Droid. Windows phone; don't get that one."

He waited patiently while I agonized between the Samsung Galaxy and the LG Rhapsody. He persuasively explained why I really should get the Galaxy but then graciously accepted my decision to get the Rhapsody, which was $150 cheaper.

On the way home from Walmart, after I'd decided to return to Metro PCS for the Rhapsody, I stopped by the snow cone stand to treat him. After that quick break, I started to turn toward the house.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I thought I'd drop you off. Now that I know what phone I'm buying, I thought you might not want to drive across town again."

"Nah, I'll go along," he said.

I grinned from ear to ear.  "Really?" I didn't even bother to try for a nonchalant tone. My boy wanted to spend time with me!

And it was a good thing he did. When I was checking out, he leaned in and whispered. "Ask her to transfer over your contacts."

"I don't think my old phone can do that," I said.

"Yes it can. Ask her."

And he was right. Within ten minutes, all 244 contacts and all of my pictures were on the new phone. I didn't realize at the time how much I'd appreciate that over the next few weeks. My plan had been to learn to use the touchscreen by manually typing in all my contacts. Ha! I am baaaad with typing on this phone. I think I would have needed medication if I'd had to type all those names and numbers!

When we got home, Ethan reapplied the screen protector, which apparently had bubbles that were too small for my over-40 eyes to notice. And then he changed a bunch of settings to make it (somewhat) easier for me to understand. And then he and Allyson stood over me and showed me how to use my new toy.

Beautiful Things

My young friend Meggie said something in a text yesterday that I don't want to forget. She said that when you love yourself, your heart and soul open up to let in more beautiful things that you treasure. But your heart never fills up; it keeps opening up for more beautiful things to find a home in your heart.

When I read that, my eyes filled with happy tears. That is the perfect description of my life over the last few months. Just about every day, something beautiful happens to me, and I store it up in my heart. Sometimes it feels like my heart is positively overflowing with love and joy. I'm learning to let it splash out on the people around me, which begets more joy.

Life is beautiful. 

Unpredictably Delightful

I remember dreading my birthday last year, my first uncoupled. Months of pain lay ahead, I thought. And that was true. Yet there was so much joy mixed in.


I think it was a good sign that I didn't give my birthday much thought this year. Allyson was the one to ask what we would do to celebrate.


"We'll go out for a free birthday dinner," I said. Ethan's friend Donald had invited us to a training event at the new Chili's where he works. Not cooking sounded like a pretty good birthday plan to me, though I did feel a little blue about not having a birthday cake.


When I coaxed her out of sleep on Friday morning, Allyson's face lit up with a sleepy grin. "It's your birthday, Mommy!"


"Yes, I'd forgotten! Scoot over. I need a birthday snuggle before you get up."


"And then will you open your present?" she asked.


Bill had taken her shopping the night before, and 12 hours had never seemed so long to her. She'd chosen a big candle, blood orange scented. There was also a sculpture she'd made in art class--really beautiful.

What a glorious morning it was, after several days of unseasonably chilly temps. The gentle sun on my upturned face felt like a birthday kiss from my Father.


I met my dear friend Michelle for a brunch of pancakes and the crispiest hash browns ever--plus a whole lot of yacking while her sweet four-year-old, McKinley, waited patiently.


Despite the longish lunch break, I planned to knock off a bit early because I'd already worked more than a full week's hours trying to finish my current project before the deadline. (Missed it.) I had just a teeny bit more work to finish the course and get it out for review. I figured a long bike ride in the park would be just the way to celebrate both my birthday and finishing my project.


But that last bit was much harder than I'd expected, and there were phone meetings, and I didn't finish until 2:59, just in time to walk to school to pick up Allyson. Oh well. There was still the free dinner to look forward to.


As you may have guessed, that didn't pan out either. We weren't able to hook up with Donald to get our invitations. Boo. I had nothing planned for dinner and hadn't budgeted for dinner out. But it was my birthday, and I was determined not to cook. 


By now it was 6:00, and our stomachs were rumbling. As I racked my brains for someplace both cheap and good, preferably with vegetarian options, Allyson played with the phone. Somehow she played the messages, including an automated reminder from our church about the Good Friday service that evening... with an egg hunt.


"Ooh! Can we go to church? Please?"


I hesitated, eyeing the clock. Service was starting in just under an hour. "I don't know, baby. We still have to get something to eat."


"Please, Mama? Don't we have some macaroni?"


I sighed. Kraft macaroni for my birthday dinner? Still, it warmed my heart to hear my daughter begging to go to church (egg hunt notwithstanding).


"I guess we can go," I said. "Want to invite Ellie?"


"Yeah."


To my rather sheepish texted invitation, Ellie's mom replied, "Sure!"


Ethan started on the boxed macaroni while I drove to a nearby cupcake shop, my mouth watering for the inch-high swirls of frosting. Turns out, the cupcake shop was long gone. Darn it!


Just then, I saw a text from my new friend Nicole. "I'm making you a cake," she said. I told her we'd be by after church.


About halfway through the service, I decided this was way better than a free birthday dinner at Chili's--even if I did have to eat two-day old mahi mahi that I didn't like all that well on day one. (I couldn't bring myself to eat processed cheese, even on my birthday. Ethan and Allyson were happy to have bigger portions.)


I'd never taken communion on my birthday before, and that was a gift to be sure.


Around 8:45, we swung by Nicole's and picked up a beautiful layer cake, still warm and swathed in fudgy frosting. I cut out a large wedge for her family, gave her a quick hug, and loaded the girls back in the car.


A few minutes later I had a crazy idea. Why not invite all my neighborhood girlfriends to eat cake with us? At the next two stop lights, I sent out texts to four friends that basically said, "Wanna come eat cake?... In about 10 minutes?"


To my surprise, two of them said they'd be right over. Ellie's mom, Ana, came over with her son Conrad and a lovely bouquet of daisies. Kim brought her adorable three-year-old, Claire (already in her pajamas). And that's how I ended up laughing with new friends at 9:00 in my messy kitchen, in plain view of a sink overflowing with dishes dating back to breakfast.

Sweet Claire, Age 3

My eyes got misty while they sang happy birthday by candle light. It felt like a hug from God, who lovingly picked out this house and these neighbors just for us. How could I have guessed I'd have so many friends here in just seven months? This is nothing short of miraculous, considering that just a few years ago I felt nearly incapable of making friends.


Ana had to leave after a few minutes, but Kim stayed for a while longer.


For the second time in a day, I flapped my jaw with a girlfriend. Meanwhile, the three girls ran around cluttering my already cluttered house, shrieking with laughter. When Ellie's brother Carter came to collect her, I was shocked to discover it was 10:45! Kim and Claire departed then, after a round or two of hugs.


Then it was some quality family time washing dishes. Not only did Ethan help, but even his friend Christian lent a hand. Who would have guessed that that late-night chore would bring more peals of laughter?


After pulling open a utensil drawer, Ethan jumped back and cried, "There's a giant cockroach!"


[Can you believe I'm telling you this? If you can't, you haven't been reading this blog very long. I just can't resist a good story.]


"Ethan!" I groaned. Did he really have to announce it like that?


"I know, I saw it a minute ago," Christian said quietly. [So polite. I just love that kid.]


I leaned over for a look and jumped back myself. It wasn't a common house roach, but one of those horrible palmetto bugs--over an inch long! I've been seeing one about every month or so. I don't think they actually live here full time because they're so huge there's no way we wouldn't see them. But they do wander in from our wooded yard now and then, and it's always very traumatic.


"You guys need to take care of that for me," I said. "You're the men."


Now if Christian hadn't been here, Ethan would have long since fled the kitchen. As it was, he reluctantly agreed but said that Christian had to help.


I brought in the vacuum and attached the crevice tool to the hose.


"I think it's too big to fit in there," Ethan said.


"No, I think it'll fit," Christian said.


"Okay, just hurry before it runs away," I said, holding out the hose.


After a long pause, Ethan took it from me. "You lift up the spatula," he told Christian, "and I'll suck it up."


I hovered nearby, while Allyson watched from atop the kitchen island.


We all jumped and shrieked when the giant bug seemed to leap into mid-air as the suction caught it. Ka-klunk! [Even now, I shudder at the recollection.]


"You guys are officially my heroes!" I said. And everyone but Allyson--who may need therapy--laughed in amazement and relief.


"I'll call an exterminator," I promised.


The next part of my amazing birthday actually did go as planned. Allyson and I read our latest library book in my bed. She managed to keep her eyes open for just one chapter; by now it was near midnight. A quick kiss and a murmured prayer, and she was out. I wasn't far behind her.


But that wasn't the end!


After just a few minutes, I woke with a jerk. This happens to me most nights, and I've learned to relax and wait for sleep again. But on this night, I had chocolate-cake belly, and sleep just wouldn't come. As I lay there reveling in birthday memories (except for the roach part), I remembered what I'd meant to do: make a list of blessings from the past year of my life.


So I disentangled myself from Allyson's legs and crept to my closet, where I knelt in the darkness. I thanked God for every bit of my day, and for all of the new friends I've made in the past year, and for all the joys I wasn't expecting, and for the sadness that made the joy all the sweeter, and most of all for the spiritual growth that came through leaning close to Him through all of it. I thanked him for my crazy, unpredictable life and for how the best moments in life are the ones that happen when I've planned to be doing something else.


And then I dedicated my next year to God. I told him He could have all of my days, and He could lead me wherever He wanted me. I thanked him for the joys that will come, and the struggles, and the doors He will open as He reveals his purpose for my life.


"Thank you for waking me up to spend time with you," I whispered as I hauled myself up off my numb knees.


I crawled back into bed, my cheeks wet with happy tears. My sweet girl immediately snuggled into the crook of my knees. And though my belly was still heavy with cake, I drifted right off to sleep. It was the perfect end to an unpredictably delightful day.

P.S. I found one more belated birthday present this morning. I'm pretty sure when I went to bed last night, there was only a handful of roses. Look at them now!

It Surpasses Knowledge

I'm sorry I've been so quiet lately. I'm just so busy. There never seems to be a free moment, or enough energy. I had at least two other stories lined up in my head that I wanted to share, but they just got bumped....


Are you ever just going along, minding your own business, feeling happy and well-adjusted, and suddenly you're blindsided by a blow that knocks your feet out from under you before you even see it coming? That's what happened to me this evening.


To say I was feeling well-adjusted to start with could be a little inaccurate. Actually, I'd felt a bit unsettled all day. Allyson and I saw God's Not Dead last night, and (ironically) all those questions of science and creation and evolution and the Big Bang stirred up some doubts that I've struggled with for years. I agreed with the young protagonist that the only logical explanation for a Big Bang that created all matter in a flash of light would be that God spoke the universe into being, starting the work of creation with the command, "Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3). Still, I was troubled with the idea of so many brilliant minds disagreeing, and of so many religions with other people just as ardently believing something different. What if, just what if, I could be wrong about God?


I'm used to it now, this tug-of-war between doubt and faith. I used to think, each time God did something incredibly wonderful and inexplicable and tender for me, that surely I would never doubt again. But the doubts always come back. And they always shake me at my core. My faith is not something I do on Sundays; it's the very center of my being. So doubting my faith makes me wonder who I am and what this life is all about. It makes me feel, in a word, crazy.


I knelt in my prayer closet last night and talked to God about it, but I was just too sleepy to have a meaningful conversation with anyone. So this morning, I prayed about it again. "Lord, I'm so tired of these doubts. Please, help my unbelief." But I was still sleepy despite a full night's rest, and there was no time to really talk it over. So I pushed those thoughts away and started my work day.


So, back to the unexpected blow....


At the kitchen table over the last few bites of dinner, Allyson and I were enjoying a chapter of our latest book before Bill came for her. Monday's usually his day, but he'd been at the Rangers' opening (baseball) game, and I'd been savoring those few extra hours with her after school. The faint sense of unease following me all day had receded, and I felt... perfectly well-adjusted and content.


In the middle of a chapter, Allyson left the table, muttering something about being right back. I nodded absently and finished off the last of my vegetarian shepherd's pie (which, remarkably, Allyson loves).


When she still hadn't returned a few minutes later, I hollered for her. "Come on! Let's finish this chapter before Daddy gets here." I carried my dishes to the sink before hollering again. Still no response.


I headed for her room. "Did you put your socks on like I asked?"


Her room was empty.


I checked both bathrooms, hollering for her all the while. Empty.


In a moment, I was back to that day in September when I tore up the house looking for a naughty cat. My voice shrill, I yelled, "Come OUT, Allyson. This isn't funny.... WHERE ARE YOU?"


I yanked open the linen closet door, ripped open the shower curtain, fell to my knees and looked under my bed.


I could hear the desperation in my voice as I cried, "Allyson, come out immediately!"


Reality sank in: This is a little house. Allyson is bigger than a kitten. She really isn't here. A scream rose in my throat and tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes. "ALLY-SUNNN! ALLY-SUNNN!"


Part of me was afraid that someone had somehow snatched my daughter from inside my house, but even in my panic, that didn't make sense. I hadn't heard any doors open, hadn't seen or heard a hint of an intruder. So where was she?


Now this next part is embarrassing, but I'm going to admit it....


My thoughts went where they used to go when I was a little girl and I couldn't find my sisters or my parents. What if Jesus had come back for his church, and I'd been left behind? I shook away that thought. No, if I'm still here when Jesus comes back, I know I'm going.


But where was she?


I ran into the garage and screamed, "Allyson!"


At last, I heard a faint response that I couldn't make out. It sounded like it was coming from the front yard.


I raced out the front door just as Bill pulled up in front of the house. And there was Allyson, sitting on the brick communal mailbox and waving at Daddy.


I swallowed my tears and started scolding. "Oh, Allyson! You scared me. You can never go outside without asking me."


"But I did tell you. I said I'd be right back."


"I had no idea you'd gone outside. I thought you were in the bathroom. Didn't you hear me screaming?"


Bill scolded her too. I kissed her, and then she was gone. And I was left alone with my swirling fears and my giddy relief.


Now that I think of it, I realize I felt the same way the time Allyson almost suffocated herself. And if I'd been able to pull my big girl onto my lap and snuggle her like I'd done that other time, I think I would have been okay. Instead, I plodded to the sink and started on the dishes with trembling hands and a throat raw from screaming.


What's wrong with me? I thought. Why did I panic like that? Why didn't I think to check outside? Why didn't I think to pray?


I looked out the window at Allyson's friend Ellie on her bike and remembered my bike ride in the park this morning. What I needed was a walk.


I stacked several more dishes in the dishwasher.


I need a walk with Jesus in the park.


I filled a bowl with water. Yes, after I finish the dishes.


No, now. I need to go now.


So I tore myself away from my dirty kitchen and pulled on my Five Finger shoes. Out on the street, I waved to Ellie and her mom and crossed the street to the park.


As soon as I was alone, I started whispering to God. "Something's not right with me. Why did I have that thought about being left behind?" Tears slipped down my cheeks as I smiled and nodded to a passing cyclist. "God, do I really believe that? That you would leave me?"


I will never leave you or forsake you. (Hebrews 13:5)


"Why am I afraid?"


I whirled to look behind me as a car sped past. Heart thudding, I remembered how it had felt to be chased through the darkness by a strange man, and how I'd been afraid to walk alone after that for months. Part of me wanted to go back home, but it was too beautiful outside. Besides, I wasn't alone. I was surrounded by people walking dogs and jogging and riding bicycles and corralling children. "And You are with me," I whispered.


I walked slowly, taking in the budding trees and the green grass and the last golden rays peeking through the branches. I listened to the birds singing and the squirrels scrabbling in the underbrush. One of them ran right in front of my feet, and I shared smile with a man coming the other way down the wide path.


"Quiet me with your love," I whispered. "Hem me in, behind and before. Keep your hand upon me."


In my favorite section of the park, where the path loops around under heavy green branches, and you can hear only the wind and the trickling brook and occasional muted traffic sounds, I sighed deeply. "Look at all this beauty you made for us," I said. "The heavens and the earth declare your glory. So why, why do I doubt? I'm never going to be free of this, am I?"


I remembered the words of a visiting pastor yesterday about how to pray in temptation: "Jesus, help me or I'm going to do this."


"Jesus, help me or I'm going to doubt," I said. "Please, don't let the devil steal the joy of my salvation from me. Don't let him take my peace."


I didn't hear any Words from God, but He did quiet me. I saw all those happy people, heard the happier birds, felt the light breeze raise goose bumps on my arms. I drank in the green leaves and the long, swaying grass. And all was right with the world again.


I'm glad this happened tonight. I needed to know about these deep fears, that I will lose my children, that I will lose my faith, that I will be all alone. I'm glad I know God's perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18).


I suspect that I will always grapple with doubts, and that's okay. God understands, and He loves me just as I am. I found something encouraging tonight when I was searching (unsuccessfully) for a C.S. Lewis quote on doubts:

Any faith system that gives a "neat" answer to such complex situations is going to be too simplistic for an intelligent hurting person to believe. In the midst of that kind of pain and complexity, faith is going to largely come down to trust in a Person. Those who hold to their faith in the midst of hardship most often do so out of relationship more than rationality.

This actually echoes my prayers in the park tonight, for the love that surpasses knowledge (Ephesians 3:19). When I'm tangled in doubt, I can't figure it all out.  The reality of God surpasses my knowledge. I can only know Him and experience His love through the Holy Spirit in me, who causes Christ to dwell in my heart through faith and gives me power to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.


That love is what I can know, what I do know. He's proven it to me so many times. And He will continue proving His love even when I doubt. Because that's the kind of God I serve.

It's Already Here

Oh, I've missed you! So many stories to tell, and never any time to tell them. I have a few minutes tonight, and I'm not sure yet which stories will make the cut.... 

In my last entry, I shared my one-word goal for 2014: Forget. In the last few weeks, God has been showing me the secret to attaining that goal.

In late January, I started a new Bible study called Calm My Anxious Heart, by Linda Dillow. It's been well over a year since I've done a ladies' Bible study, and I'd forgotten the sweet anticipation of cracking open a new study for Day One. But it all came back to me.

I read these great tips on finding contentment:

• Never allow yourself to complain about anything--not even the weather. (Upon reading this one, I immediately felt convicted over complaining about my severe allergy attack, both in my words and in my very grumpy thoughts.) 
• Never picture yourself in any other circumstances or someplace else.
• Never compare your lot with another's. 
• Never allow yourself to wish this or that had been otherwise. (How?)
• Never dwell on tomorrow--remember that tomorrow is God's, not ours. 

I was simultaneously inspired and discouraged. How could anyone attain these goals?

Day two's homework gave me a clue. Our assignment was to memorize Philippians 4:11-13:

...for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.

Being the compulsive rule-follower that I am, of course I immediately began memorizing the passage. But a tinge of disappointment shadowed my excitement over learning a passage that so clearly fits in with my resolve to forget my disappointments.

Over the last few months--many months--I'd been idly asking God what my next memory passage should be. I've lost track of how long it's been since God revealed a new passage for me to memorize, but I'm sure it's been at least two years. I hadn't been praying fervently, just asking and forgetting about it and then asking again.

So here was my next memory passage, and it was a great one. But... In the past, God was the one to give me the assignment, not a stranger named Linda Dillow. And in the past, my memory passages came with one or more external confirmations, what I now call sacred echoes. My shoulders slumped just a little as I studied verse 11 on its little scripture card. So this time, I wouldn't get any confirmations. It would just be a homework assignment, nothing more.

Still, I couldn't help feeling a thrill as the first phrase began imprinting itself on my heart: "for I have learned." I can learn contentment! It's not impossible to attain.

That evening I had five minutes to read over my solitary dinner, just before rushing off to Celebrate Recovery. It seemed rather pointless to read for five minutes, but I felt almost compelled to pick up Boundaries, a life-changing book that I hadn't read in several weeks.

I read about Paul's unanswered prayer for God to remove his "thorn in the flesh" (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). Although God did not grant all of his wishes, "he met Paul's needs to the point that Paul felt content and full."

Guess what the next paragraph was? A block quote of Philippians 4:12-13. "Cool!" I thought. "Neat how Cloud connected the passage on contentment with boundaries." He said we shouldn't give people everything they want, but we should try to give them what they need, which may lead them to contentment.

Now wouldn't you think I'd have recognized that God had just given me my beloved Scripture Memory Confirmation? Yes, but you'd be wrong. I was so busy contemplating how contentment fit with boundaries that I didn't even notice it.

At Celebrate Recovery, I sheepishly confessed that my struggle that week was trying to be content despite my allergies. "Every time I sneeze," I said, "I say, 'Thank you for the mountain cedar, God!' But so far it isn't working very well." We all laughed, agreeing that if my deepest struggle is dealing with allergies, I've come a long, long way. But I was serious. I wanted to learn to be content in any and every situation, even my allergies.

By some miracle, I was ready for bed by 10:00. But as I slipped into my fleece jammies, I remembered that I needed to look up an address so I could get my in-laws' Christmas cards in the mail the next morning. (Yes, I was sending Christmas cards in late January. That's my life these days.)

So I got onto Facebook to look up a message with my sister-in-law's address. And you can guess what happened next. At 10:40 or so, I shut down the browser window and literally slapped myself upside the head. "Sarah Louise!" I scolded. "For once you could have gone to bed early, but no. You had to waste 40 minutes on Facebook."

While I was at it, I decided to check my email, another risky move. But I'm so glad I did! My friend Kynna had sent me an email at 10:24 PM, apropos of nothing as far as I could tell. It was a Chinese legend about how only God knows whether anything that happens to you is for good or bad. At the end of the story was someone's commentary. My sleepy eyes opened wide when I read this in the second to last paragraph: "But the Apostle Paul wrote in Philippians 4 that he had learned to be content, even happy, in all circumstances."

I broke out in goosebumps. That made three times in one day that I'd come across the same passage from Philippians 4! And this last time was in a message I wasn't supposed to have seen because I'd wanted to be asleep.

I fired off an ecstatic response to Kynna, explaining that God had just used to her to confirm my latest memory passage. In her response, she replied to the burning question that I hadn't asked: what had made her send that email to me? She said she'd been telling a mutual friend about the Chinese legend and had promised to look it up and email it to her. And just when she'd been ready to hit Send, she felt God telling her to send it to me, too.

I laughed out loud, and I had the distinct impression that God was sharing both my amusement and my joy. Just because my new memory passage had been given as a homework assignment instead of through some mystical revelation, I had assumed that He wouldn't confirm that this was the passage He'd chosen for me. But even though I hadn't asked, He did confirm it. And when I didn't notice it the first time, He kept me up (on Facebook, of all things) long enough to see the second confirmation that He'd prompted Kynna to send.

How does he DO that? I smiled in the darkness for a long, long time. Oh, how well He knows me. And oh, how He loves me. Truly, I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine.

Since then, I have meditated several times a day on the new passage, and I can already feel the Word bearing fruit. You know how I've written over and over about something good just around the bend? Just last week, I realized something that made me weep for joy. I'm no longer waiting for something wonderful to happen that will make happy, though I'm sure God has planned many wonderful things for me.

No, I'm no longer waiting because my joy is ALREADY HERE. And here's the coolest part. Nothing has changed in my circumstances. But I've changed. Hallelujah! This is what contentment is about.

The great thing about contentment is that, although it doesn't depend on happiness, it tends to bring happiness along with it. I guess contentment opens up your eyes and your heart to all the little joys around you.

For example, recently the kids had a day off school due to icy weather conditions. I let Allyson sleep ridiculously late because I was working. In sharp contrast to our typical school mornings, I woke her slowly, mainly by raining kisses on her face and arms and running my fingers carefully through her tangled hair.

As she slowly opened her eyes, she gazed up at me with the same look of adoration that she'd had back when she was nursing. Just like she did back then, she reached up and touched my cheek.

And I was filled with such a sweet joy. Ahhhh! I felt my heart stretching with it.

June 2006

It's not only Allyson. More and more lately, Ethan has been doing something shocking. He's been... talking to me. As if I were a regular person and not just his mother. It's very enjoyable! We talk about unimportant things like Arwen's antics, and about deep things like the meaning of time. Yesterday he astonished me by comparing the present to zero on the number line. He said the present, like zero, doesn't really have a quantity, that it's just the transition point between future and past. It made my head spin, and I loved it.

Ethan Back When He Always Enjoyed My Company
First Day of Kindergarten - 2002

So there you have it. I think that's enough for one night, though I haven't even told you about the hermit crabs yet. That will have to wait for another day.

Forget

During a recent coffee date, my friend Kathy mentioned a challenge she'd given to her Bible study ladies. She asked them to come up with a single word describing their spiritual goal for the new year. Her own word was "surrender."

I thought that was an interesting idea, but I didn't plan to come up with my own word because it seemed too much like a New Year's resolution, and I don't do those. Mainly because they are so hard to keep, and I end up feeling like a failure.

But over the next few days, my own word for 2014 came to me of its own accord. It grew into a deep desire, and then a determination.

My word is "forget."

At our last service in 2013, a guest minister had asked us to pray about what we needed to leave behind in 2014. I'd been meaning to pray about that, but I'd forgotten. Now it all came together. What I need to do as I leave 2013 behind is to forget. As I talked it over with God, the list grew. I need to forget:

• my hurts, which I clutch to my heart and shelter so tenderly
• my disappointments
• my old plans and dreams
• my shame
• my regrets
• my fears
• my offenses, and those of others. With God's help, I want to tread them underfoot and hurl them to the depths of the sea (Micah 7:19). 

As I lay in bed pondering my list, my thoughts naturally turned to one of my first memory passages:

Forget the former things;do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? (Isaiah 43:18-19)

Of course! I realized that I must let go of everything. Everything. Only then can I embrace the new and better thing God has planned for me.

I felt that peculiar mix of excitement, urgency, and drowsiness that I sometimes feel just before I drop into sleep. This is a time when I think I hear God most clearly, probably because I'm too sleepy to interrupt. I was still smiling over the new thing springing up in my life when another scripture came to mind:

A woman giving birth to a child has pain because her time has come; but when her baby is born she forgets the anguish because of her joy that a child is born into the world. (John 16:21)

Yes!, I thought. I know firsthand the pain of natural childbirth, and the wonder of the anguish melting away in that moment when you first hold your baby to your breast.

Allyson, Just Minutes Old

Somehow, this pain I've suffered the last year and a half has been preparing me for something. It has birthed a stronger faith, a dearer walk with Jesus.

I lay there smiling at God in the darkness as tears slipped into my ears. "I trust you," I whispered. "Help me let go. Help me forget. I know what's coming is so much better than anything I could have imagined."

The next night, when I gave my testimony at Celebrate Recovery, these words thrilled me as if someone else had written them:

Psalm 139 says that all the days ordained for me were written in God's book before one of them came to be. When I read a good book, I enjoy seeing the plot unfold slowly. It's harder when it comes to my life, but I know God is the most gifted author. I have no idea what the next chapter holds for me. But I'm excited to find out. 

This is not a new revelation, but I am embracing this truth more than ever before. All my life, I've been a planner. I had to know what was coming, and when things didn't go the way I expected--as they often don't--I battled disappointment and anxiety. But now... I have no idea what's going to happen next, and I am not anxious at all! In fact, I find it very exciting to relinquish all illusions of control and just go along for the ride.

I think I'm starting to forget my own plans. That's a great start.

So what's your goal for 2014? Can you sum it up in a single word?