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?

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

Thanksgiving Tour

It's been three months, and we still think of this as The New House, but it's definitely home. Several of you have asked me to post pictures, and I'm finally getting around to it. In honor of Thanksgiving this week, I will share some things I'm thankful for as take you on a tour through our dream house.

We'll start in the front yard. See that giant brush pile? That is one of my unexpected blessings.

My friend Gentle once told me that being newly single gives me the opportunity to learn new things. I don't remember if I said it out loud, but my initial response was that I had enough things to do already and didn't care to learn any more, thank you! But she was right. Learning new things does give me a sense of satisfaction and makes me feel more confident.

A couple of weeks back, we had a lovely Saturday, and I decided it was tree trimming day. One of my two neighbors named Steve brought over a tree trimming pole that was literally about 15 feet tall. On the end there was a curved saw and a scissor-like appendage that you could close by pulling a string.

I loved the scissor thing for the smaller branches, but it took a long time to get the hang of sawing a branch 10 feet over my head. I just couldn't keep the saw in the groove, and Steve had to take over several times, which hurt my pride. When he left, Mom came out to help me, and together we sawed down several of the crepe myrtle branches that the home inspector had said would ruin the shingles over my kitchen. As I sawed each branch, I looked up until my neck got stiff, and then I stared straight ahead while Mom guided me: "A little to the left. There, you've got it. The saw dust is coming down."

Oh the triumph of watching those big limbs fall! It was worth the blisters. But for the record, I have to admit that Steve probably cut three-fourths of the limbs in that big pile. And I'm very thankful that he was happy to help, wounded pride notwithstanding.

Okay, so come on in the front door. Here's the living room. That's my 12-year-old, perfectly serviceable couch, with two lovely new throw pillows that I found on clearance at Pier 1 after much searching and praying. They have both green to match the couch and three shades of blue which will tie into the blue walls that I will have some day. That console table under the mirror is where Fluffy used to live. I'm thankful that she's in a better place and not hurting any more.

Here is the fireplace I love, and the pretty mirror that Jackie left for me.

What I am most thankful for in my living room is memories of reading the Bible together in the evenings, sitting on the couch with Ethan on one side and Allyson on the other, trying to scratch both of their backs while simultaneously holding my page in the Bible. We're reading through Luke right now, and I think we will read the gospel of John next, which I love to read at Christmas time. "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... The Word became flesh and dwelt among us." How thrilling those verses are during the Christmas season, or any other time of the year. 

Here is my dining room. I'm thankful that we listened to my sister Amy on moving day when she insisted we really could get that buffet and table into this space. I had resigned myself to storing the buffet in the garage, but see how beautiful it looks! A perfect fit. The mirror came from my bedroom, and the antique tea set from an antique shop in Nappanee, Indiana. The lamps I found, after much searching and praying, for 40% off at Hancock Fabrics when I was looking for something entirely different. 

I've decorated the space above the cabinets with Ethan's and Allyson's art projects from school. I laminated them and put them each on a tiny easel that I found on sale at Hobby Lobby. I'm thankful for their amazing art teacher, who knows how to bring out their talents. And I'm thankful that they do have artistic talent, which they certainly did not get from me. Seeing their colorful paintings brightens my day.

I'm also thankful that we have tasty, nutritious meals on our table. I'm thankful for the amazing variety of fruits and vegetables I've been enjoying since starting my vegan diet last March. For example, last night I enjoyed butternut squash pasta sauce over brown rice noodles. Who would have dreamed you could make pasta sauce out of butternut squash? 

Here is the freshly painted guest bath, which hopefully looks a bit less garish in person. The color combination and the shapes on the shower curtain and mirror were inspired by a hotel bathroom that I saw on our summer trip to Austin. I found both the shower curtain and the mirror on clearance at two different stores, after only a little searching and praying, on the most magical shopping day ever. 

Dad painted the bathroom for me, and he did a meticulous job even with his over-80 eyes. I'm so thankful for all the hard work that Dad has done in my house, hanging pictures and weedeating and painting and wallpapering. But I'm getting ahead of myself....

What I'm most thankful for is to have Dad here with us after his battle with esophageal cancer and the horrific surgeries he endured. 

Here is my bedroom, which I plan to paint a very pale lavender. Even without the paint, it's shaping up nicely. I found the down alternative comforter after LOTS of searching and praying, when I definitely wasn't looking for it. I was grocery shopping at my favorite grocery store in the world, Aldi, when I spotted that comforter for only $25!! And the purple sheets I found when I was grocery shopping at Sam's Wholesale Club. They were less than half the price I'd seen for similar sheets at Bed Bath and Beyond. I found the throw pillows on sale for half off at Bed Bath and Beyond, and I couldn't pass them up even though I was afraid they might not match the sheets. But I was wrong. They were made for each other! 

But the best thing in the preceding picture is the portrait Allyson painted of me and herself. It was my Mother's Day Present last year. If you click on the picture to enlarge it, you'll see that it is a very fair likeness of Allyson. Did I mention how thankful I am for Allyson's art teacher ?

There is the chair I found on the side of the road. I love to sit in it at the end of the evening and talk to God about my day.

Here's the amazing desk I found at Salvation Army for just $65. I spent almost a hundred more on American Paint Company chalk paint in Dawn's Early Light plus a shiny topcoat. This was another thing I learned to do; it was my first time to paint anything, let alone furniture. What made the experience extra special was that I did this project with my mom. It was fun learning something new together. It is very imperfect, but it's supposed to be. That's the beauty of chalk painting--that, and the fact that you don't have to sand before painting.

Inside the desk are both of my computers, all my peripheral devices, lots of cubbies, and a file cabinet drawer. Plus, Dad installed a fluorescent light and a mail rack with hooks for my headsets. It's the best desk I've ever had, at home or at work!

On top of the desk, I used the plaque that Gentle made me to hide the ugly Internet router. This plaque makes me thankful for two reasons: It reminds me of Gentle's friendship and of the growth I've experienced through Celebrate Recovery. Even today I am learning to accept what I cannot change and to focus on what I can change: my attitude.

Here is one of my favorite things about my bedroom, which I discovered on the very first day I woke up in it. Every morning, sunlight streams in that crescent window, and as my squinty eyes adjust to the light, I'm greeted with the most spectacular view of golden light dappling the green leaves. In recent weeks, I've enjoyed watching the fall colors coming in. Soon the graceful branches will be bare against the gray sky.

And now for the room you've all been waiting for.... 

Allyson's Ocean-Themed Room!

Gentle made the window seat cushion. She had just enough foam left over from her children's own reading nook plus the perfect piece of plywood. So all we had to do was buy the fabric, which we got for 50% off (of course!). Allyson and her friends love to sit and read here. 

The sea shell mobile hanging to Allyson's left was a find from her Vancouver trip in the summer. The dolphin painting is a print from a painting by my sister Melody, an award-winning artist. Can you see how perfect the colors are for Allyson's room? You'd think she had painted it specifically for Allyson. 

Allyson picked out the beach umbrella online for $16. I tried to talk her out of it because I thought the print was too busy, but it's perfect! The purple ties in with the window seat and the fish painting on the other wall.

I had bought the comforter and sheets on sale at Target for $20 each, and Allyson hated them until she saw the whole room come together. We also argued over the paint colors, but we prayed about it together and were able to come to an agreement at last.

Allyson picked out the orca whale wallpaper border online, and Mom and Dad put it up one day while I was working. They did an excellent job, and every time we look at it we are reminded of their love.

Here is Allyson's amazing dresser, hand painted with love by my dear friend Jenny. The starfish drawer pulls I found on sale for 50% off at multiple Hobby Lobbies. It was worth all the running around to hear her squeals of delight when we unveiled the dresser.

Do you remember how the dresser looked before? Here, this will refresh your memory:

It was a hand-me-down from my sister Emily's daughters, who received it as a hand-me-down from my brother's daughter Mindy. I think Rick and Diane got their money's worth out of that dresser!

And remember this desk that I found on the side of the road after making two wrong turns on the way to drop Ethan off at the school one morning?

Well, here's how it looks now! And that lovely original oil painting was another Salvation Army find. When Allyson spotted it, I told her we might not be able to afford it. And then I saw the price tag: six dollars!

This is a project Allyson and Daddy made for her new room. It has pictures of all of us on the beach.

I'm so thankful for how this room turned out, and for all the help from family and friends. Allyson and I still marvel over how we managed to pick out so many things online and in so many stores, all before we found the perfect paint combination, and yet everything blends perfectly. We both know that was God. I'm so thankful that he cares about the little things that matter to us. 

Well, now you've seen most of my house. I will show you Ethan's room when we get around to decorating it. But here is the futon that we got for free from Jackie. He says it is very comfortable. 

Who's that in the picture with the futon? That's sweet Arwen, who is such a joy. Next to her is the dorm fridge that Ethan got from his dad. I'm sure he's very thankful for that. 

I hope you've enjoyed your visit. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

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?