Simply Wonderful

Last Saturday, the day of Ethan and Sumer's wedding, dawned chilly and overcast. Though it had seemed quite bearable when I arrived late in the morning, the temperature began dropping as sunset approached. By four o'clock, it was cold enough to set my teeth chattering despite the beautiful winter white coat I'd borrowed from my sister Emily, but I was grateful that at least it wasn't raining.

As Sumer slowly walked from the bridal suite toward the outdoor ceremony area, I asked to carry her train. I'd already extricated a leaf or two from the lacy hem, and I wanted it to be pristine when she walked down the aisle. At my side was Ethan's stepmother, Erica. Tottering over the paved walkway on numb toes in my unaccustomed heels, I alternated between worrying about breaking an ankle and savoring the gathering of in-laws, exes, and ex-laws to honor and celebrate with two young people whom we all loved.

At that moment, Allyson hurried around the corner in her own unaccustomed heels and a beautiful full-length, velvety green dress. "Mama," she called urgently. "Where have you been? You're the first to go down the aisle!" 

"What? I'm part of the procession?" 

"Yes! Ethan is walking you and Sumer's mom down the aisle first. Hurry up!" 

Precious in Our Sight

On Monday morning, I started my day the way I usually do, with prayers for my children. 

Ethan and His Fiancée, Sumer

Allyson - Dec 2021

In the last minutes between my daily mini trampoline workout and logging on to my laptop, I continued the prayer I'd been saying aloud for Allyson. "Help me love her like You do," I concluded. "I know you love her even more than I do. She is precious in your sight."

Never Forget

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

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

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

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

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

Un Lugar de Sanación / A Healing Place

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO

[Here is another bilingual travelogue entry, chronicling both my travel experiences and my progress with Spanish in a Costa Rican language immersion program. Note that all grammar errors in the dialogue are mine.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS.

[Todos errores gramatical en el diágolo son mios.]

Después de una cena deliciosa en la casa de Macha, y una larga ducha caliente en la casa de mis nuevos amigos, me acosté en mi habitación tranquila a las 8:30.

Un poco calor quedó del día, y debí que dormir con las ventanas abiertas. (En la casa de Macha, puedo dormir con las ventanas cerrados porque el aire tiene de menos calor.) Aquí no hay ventanas de tela metálicas para protegerse contra bichos, pájaros, y geckos.

En este cuarto, solo las cortinas me separan de las criaturas afueras.¡Esperé que se queden afuera! Me descansé  en la cama y escuché a los insectos, un concierto familiar y también inusual, porque vivo en la ciudad normalmente.

En mis pensamientos, Dios habló. “¿Nina de mis ojos, do you hear me singing over you (me oyes cantar sobre ti)?”

Contesté en inglés, “¡Sí, Papá! Oigo. ¡O, gracias! Gracias por tu amor. Te amo, Amado.”

Pages Yet to be Turned

After our first phone call, Juan and I talked every day, sometimes for hours. Each conversation ended with a bilingual prayer, and always we declared blessings over each other and over our children. The most beautiful blessing that Juan prayed was something like this: 

Padre, yo pongo Sarah y sus hijos en sus manos. Gracias que ellos son cubierto con el sangre de Jesus, con una valla de angeles alrededor de ellos. (Father, I place Sarah and her children in your hands. Thank you that they are covered with the blood of Jesus, with a fence of angels surrounding them.)

I can't share the details here, but a few days later, I saw evidence that God was answering that prayer, and I was so grateful to have someone praying for our protection.

When we talked about starting a relationship, I warned Juan that I would surely struggle with many insecurities; he would be the first person I'd dated since my divorce six years ago. "I don't want you to be my practice boyfriend," I said. 

"Do you think you're ready for a relationship?" he asked.

Sometimes a Week is Just Too Long

Up until my second coffee date with Juan and Darwin, I had only attended Palabra Viva once per week due to my busy teaching schedule. But I couldn't resist going to church that next day; a week was just too long to wait.

You can imagine my disappointment when a quick scan of the parking lot revealed that Hermano Juan and his orange Mitsubishi were missing. Where could he be? He was always at church, and always on time.

Inside, I knelt at the altar and repented for coming to church, in a cute outfit and matching jewelry (on a work day!), for the wrong reason. My Father was here, and so were many of my brothers and sisters. I asked God to help me receive everything that He had planned for me this evening.

After our individual prayers in silence, Hermana Lupita led a corporate prayer. I was happy to see that I could understand her prayer just as I could Juan's. Her prayer, like his, encouraged me greatly.

After service, I enjoyed chatting with a sweet lady over café y pan (coffee and sweet bread). Ulda is learning English, and I'm learning Spanish, so we are a perfect match. 

In the end, I was glad that Juan had been absent, because had he been there, I would have been talking with him and would have missed the opportunity to make a new friend.

But a week was still too long. As soon as I woke up on Friday (at 6!), I typed this Facebook message with trembling fingers:

Just Coffee... Or Something More?

Remember my big adventure at the beginning of the year, when I somehow ended up visiting a Spanish-speaking church where I knew just one person, only as an acquaintance? In this blog entry, I described my struggle between playing it safe and trying something new:

Could I really show up at a church full of strangers who speak a different language than me? Surely it would be safer to stay where it's comfortable, where life is predictable, if rather boring.

"Lord, thank you for being my gatekeeper," I prayed at bedtime. "You know the hearts of every person, and I trust you to bring all of the friends that you have chosen for me into my life. So, should I go to this church tomorrow?"

God let me choose, and I decided to take a chance. If you've been reading for a while, you know about my first couple of visits. I've been attending Wednesday services there since January, and everyone there has welcomed me as una hermana (sister).

My goal in visiting Palabra Viva (Living Word) was to practice listening to Spanish; I can read, write, and speak it fairly well, but I can't converse because I have a difficult time recognizing the spoken words. I now think that God's plan in bringing me there was very different, though I still don't know the end goal.

So Proud of You

A few weeks back, one of my struggling readers stayed after school for a behavior conference. Julia* and I had a relaxed conversation while she helped me clean graffiti off the desks.

"Tell me how it is for you in my class," I said. "I know you don't like it. What's going on?"

"Well..." she said, hesitating as she scrubbed off a SnapChat user name.

"Go ahead," I urged. "Be honest."

"Well, usually I'm just bored. I don't get what we're doing. Sometimes I want to try, but it's too hard. And then my friends tell me to do things to make them laugh, so..."

"So you do things to keep them entertained?"

"Yeah."

I Love You Even Then

Please forgive my long silence now that school has started. What a year it has been so far! There have been so many blog-worthy moments, but no time to write about them. I've lost track of the days I've gone home wanting to quit, but there have been many other days that made my heart sing. Yesterday was one of the latter, and I've decided that grading papers can wait. 

I thought this year would be easier than my first year because I'd be teaching the same subject and could use some of the same lesson plans. Plus, I learned a lot from my mistakes last year, and I planned to start the year off on the right foot this time.

There was only one problem. Our students came to seventh grade reading at much lower levels than last year; our average student reads at the fourth-grade level, and some of them read at the second-grade level. It only took a few weeks to realize that last year's model was not serving our students. There is no point asking students who cannot read a passage questions about point of view, setting, and author's purpose.

What these students really need is time to actually read. As I've told them all year long, the only way to get better at reading is reading. But there are two problems with that: 1) The ones who need it most despise reading, and we can't force them to do it. They will use any diversionary tactic to avoid reading and to prevent their classmates from reading, too. 2) We are a middle school. We don't have books on the second- and third-grade level. [Our principal just now obtained funding to provide us with leveled libraries for our classrooms, as well as a consultant to help us implement a reading workshop approach. Hallelujah!]

For the last two weeks, I've devoted over half of my class time to silent reading--in theory. But a handful of students have made that time both unfruitful and highly stressful, at least for me. Wednesday was the low point. On the advice of an administrator who has been helping with my most challenging class, I sent every disruptive student to the office and set up parent conferences. Guess how many I sent out in one period? Six. Six! With all of that drama, only the most determined readers could have read anything.

Un Tipo Diferente de Aventura / A Different Kind of Adventure

EN ESPAÑOL ABAJO...

[This is not your typical travelogue, but an important part of my story in Costa Rica. For this bilingual series, I compose the story in Spanish and then translate into English so that we can see my progress in learning the language. (By the way, I'm back home now. It was a difficult adjustment.) Disclaimer: All grammar errors in the dialogue are my responsibility.]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION FOLLOWS.

[Todos errores gramatical en el diágolo son mios.]

¿Se preguntaba sobre que pasó con Walter? Me preguntaba tambien; pensaba sobre esto mucho. 

El domingo siguiente mi tour de su campo, Zeidy y yo debíamos tener una cita en su casa. Recordé el consejo de mi amiga Kim el día antes mi viaje: “Pinta sus uñas. Quizás tú vas a conocer al amor de su vida.”

“No tengo tiempo,” he contestado. 

“Si conoces a un hombre guapo, vas a desear que había pintado sus uñas.”

Decidí que corro el riesgo.

Choose Love

Don't you love the way God works in such mysterious ways? I especially love it when He answers prayers in ways that I could never have dreamed up. 

On a Thursday about six weeks ago, I hosted our monthly student prayer meeting. Only two kids showed up, plus one more who was actually there for a behavior issue but took me up on the offer to stay for prayer rather than coming back the next day for a conference. All three boys were from the same class, my second hardest class at that moment.

I took advantage of the opportunity to talk and pray about the issues we were struggling with: mainly just the rude, obnoxious behavior--and constant projectile throwing--that you might expect from a class of 12 seventh-grade boys and 6 seventh-grade girls.

I prayed that God would amaze us with the way He would turn around our class. "Has God ever amazed you?" I asked my fellow prayer warriors. They all shrugged shyly, and then one shared a story of surviving a near drowning.

I shared one of my favorite stories, the time when God astounded me by delivering the same message through a phone call and an anonymous gift that came in the mail that same day:

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)

"Wow, miss!" they said when I'd finished my story.

"You just wait!" I said. "Just wait and watch what God will do. He's going to amaze us."

Blessed One

I can't believe I'm halfway through the fourth week of school already. Then again, in some ways it seems like it's been longer than that. Just like last semester, teaching has been a roller coaster. I've been treasuring up so many stories in my heart to share with you, but tonight I (sort of) have time for just an overview and one story.

Here are the pros:

• I still love my kids. All of them. Even the tough class. Even the ones who get on my last nerve. God has knit my heart together with theirs. 
• I have the most supportive colleagues imaginable. They help me, check on me, pray with me, laugh with me, and cry with me. 
• We have two weekly prayer meetings, both on Wednesday (AM and PM). I go to both, with bells on. Today we waged spiritual warfare after work. We spoke prophetically over our students, teachers, and leadership. We claimed our school for the kingdom of light, and we rejoiced that "the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." We recognize that the enemy is fighting us on many fronts, but we know the battle is God's and the victory is ours. We expect glorious things at our campus this year. 
• When I accepted this job, I was prepared to love my 130 students. What I never considered is that many of them would love me back. Already, I have many students who greet me with wide smiles (or shy ones), fist bumps (or elbow bumps when their hands are wet after rushing out of the bathroom), and warm hugs. A few of them visit my classroom multiple times a day, and I always tell them I need a hug. 
• When I get frustrated, my students remind me that I am blessed, just as I asked them to on our first day. I've also overheard them calling each other blessed.

Had to buy this shirt. My kids love it.
I've even heard them telling other kids about it.

Thank You, and I Love You

When I posted an entry the other day about an upcoming breast biopsy, I prefaced it with a comment about possibly breaching the rules of etiquette. Some of you asked me why I thought that.

No, it wasn't because the story was about my breast. I was concerned that some people would think I should keep my "minor health worry" private because it would be inconsiderate to cause you worry when I didn't know yet whether there was a major health problem.

Until the Day I Die

On Saturday night, I came across a very moving video on Facebook. If you have 3 minutes and 29 seconds, I hope you will watch it: Man Sings to 93-Year-Old Dying Wife. Just make sure to have some Kleenex handy.

I watched it with tears streaming down my face. The woman is blind, and her husband is nearly deaf, but they can still communicate their love beautifully.

"You're my sweetheart," she says.

"I was your best lover..." he replies.

"Oh, I know it," she agrees.

When he starts singing, she murmurs, "Behave yourself."

After their granddaughter repeats her words, he laughs heartily. "I'm always good."

As I reflected on this example of the truest romance, I thought of my own grandparents, Verna and Paul. Now if Grandpa ever serenaded Grandma, no one ever told me about it, but their love was apparent in other ways. Example: When Grandpa had to go into the nursing home for care around the clock, Grandma visited him every day. Although he could no longer speak, his face lit up each time he saw his true love, and I'm told that on those rare days when she could not come, he was downcast.

My cousin Jolinda captured these beautiful pictures a few years back:

I love that last one of their aged, tender hands, their golden rings sparkling with the promise they kept to one another for over 70 years. I know from transcribing their autobiography that their marriage took them through times for "the worse" as well as for "the better." Through it all, their commitment held strong.

He's Already There

I've continued to pursue the dream God brought back to life in my heart, to become a public school teacher again. What a ride it has been so far! At first I was very afraid of the challenges, but then I threw myself into research, online classes, and classroom observation. The more I discover about the latest research on learning, the more excited I am to try those strategies out for myself.

In fact, for a time I was so excited that I couldn't think about anything but teaching, even when I should have been sleeping. For several nights in a row, I lay in bed utterly exhausted but too keyed up to sleep because I couldn't stop thinking of things I might try, books we might read, things I wanted to say to my students. Even as I pleaded for sleep, I thanked God for putting such a passion in my heart.

At other times, though, my fear has taken the upper hand. One example was the first time I observed Mrs. I. at the middle school just around the corner. It was such a blessing to be there. All I had to do was email the principal and ask if he had an English teacher who wouldn't mind a visitor, one he thought a returning teacher would want to emulate.

The Sweetest Valentine

Meant to post this on Valentines Day, so that for once I wouldn't be totally behind on my stories. Oh well...

This may have been my sweetest Valentines Day yet. Allyson and I planned our usual Valentines dinner, complete with kids' champagne and candles, though our lighter was out of fluid and we couldn't find any matches.

Allyson still made the table special...

She made place cards... just two.
(Ethan had dinner with his own Valentine)

She'd wanted her favorite yellow rice and chicken, our typical menu, but she settled on baked potatoes with grilled chicken and cheese instead because I can't eat rice, and she didn't want me to eat something different. I was touched by her thoughtfulness. We made saffron rice on the side, and I laughed when she piled it on top of her potato. Her meal was the very opposite of low-carb!

Allyson dressed up in a pretty dress and borrowed Mama's makeup. And then she informed me that this dinner required fancy attire, and made me change out of my faded jeans.

I was glad she did, so that our Valentines selfie was much prettier:

Allyson is loving her new selfie stick. 

She tried to get Arwen to model for a shot, but she wouldn't cooperate.

She made me this cute and clever card:

And then made this one for good measure, because she hadn't had time to write a sentiment inside the first card:

She made Ethan a card, too. She drew a picture of a cute little cat and wrote, "I have felines for you."

As I wrote in Allyson's card, I am so blessed by her romantic heart, full of the truest love. She spent a few hours making cards for her family at both houses, for all of her teachers, and for many of her friends. In addition to the witty puns she'd copied from the Internet, she wrote sweet messages in each one.

And now we are going to eat the very humble apple pie we made this afternoon. I'm sure it will be much tastier than it looks...

Five. Minutes. Later.

Oh, my goodness! That was so delicious. Allyson and I just finished off half of our little pie. I guess I should have made a full-size one.

Funny, Allyson thought I should have looked for a pretty pie photo online to post, but I thought you'd appreciate the real thing more. But as payment for my vanity in posting photos of my food, I actually dropped my phone into it. If you look closely you might spot the dent in the lower left corner. That was my piece. No matter.

I hope your Valentines Day was just as sweet.

Let's Talk About Love

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

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

Maybe you and I were never meant to be complete. 

But could we just be broken together? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think I'll start with these two.

Ethan, age 17, and Allyson, age 8

And you, too. Thank you for reading.

Loving Our Sweet Mindy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mindy and Howie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick, Me, Mindy

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me, Rick, Diane, Mindy - Undy 5000

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

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

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

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

Diane with Susie, Allyson, and Halle

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

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

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

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

Labor of Love

As usual when I sit down to write, it's getting late and the kitchen is full of dirty dishes. But I've been wanting to write for weeks, and I'm about to have much bigger news to write about, so I'd better tell you all the stuff you might be wondering about now before the old news gets superseded...

We moved into our new house on Labor Day weekend and have been busy settling in ever since. Here's how the boxes looked going in:

And here's how things looked in the middle:

Stuff everywhere.... Love that fireplace!

And now it looks... great! I just haven't had time to take pictures yet. But I promise I will.

Where's the story, you ask? Of course there's a story! It all came together in my head this past Sunday, when I was painting Allyson's room with my sisters Emily and Amy. We worked hard for several hours, having fun talking and laughing at ourselves when we got paint on our hands, feet, and butts and in our hair, too. Amy and I used the rollers while Emily meticulously cut in with the brush. Meanwhile, Dad and Emily's husband Paul hung a big iron mirror, and then Paul and Mom broke down all the boxes I'd been collecting in the garage.

By the time we finished dinner (which included lentil sloppy joes, yum!), it was after 9. When I thanked everyone profusely for the tenth time, Emily replied, "I was happy to do it. It was a labor of love."

A labor of love. I grinned as I realized that phrase truly describes my move, from start to finish. So many people have demonstrated their love through their hard work:

• It started with Gentle, who single-handedly packed just about everything I own over the course of several visits. She was happy to do it! 
• As soon as the house was officially mine, Gentle helped me carry the first big load of boxes and helped me get started unpacking the kitchen. Oh, that kitchen! For the first time in my adult life, I have a place for absolutely everything. It's glorious. But I digress.
• Two days after closing, my friends Jana and Tammy and Tammy's 16-year-old son Jimmy helped me move all the rest of the boxes and our clothes in the sweltering heat. It was evening, but it was still near 100 degrees (38 Celsius). These are my newest friends, yet they were happy to come at the end of a long, hot day.
• On the moving day, Mom and Dad, my brother Rick, and my brother-in-law Paul helped with the big stuff. I had hired moving help, but there was plenty to do.
  
  On a side note, I have to tell a couple stories from moving day. The youngest helper seemed very inexperienced, and it was stressful to hear the other two snapping at him, "No, don't do that! No, do it this way." When we arrived at the new house, the glass storm door wouldn't stay open, so the new guy propped it open with one of my decorative wooden crosses! One of his coworkers immediately corrected him, but Paul quipped, "Hey, that's the power of the cross."
  
  Despite my concerns, nothing broke in the move except a screw for my bed frame. You can imagine my family's amusement when I ran next door to the neighbor man "for a screw." Speaking of the neighbors, they are so wonderful. This neighborhood is amazing. People just congregate in each other's driveways and chat. And they are very happy to help with anything I need and to let me borrow stuff. And Allyson plays with the neighborhood kids for hours at a time, riding her scooter around the cul-de-sac. We couldn't be happier.
  
  Anyway, back to the list...
  
• Mom, Dad, and Amy worked tirelessly with me on Labor Day--doing labor, how fitting--to clean Bill's house top to bottom. It was back-breaking work that ended up giving me a stiff neck, but there were treasures in it. I learned lots of great cleaning tips from Mom, and I also learned that I rather enjoy spring cleaning, even in the summer. I particularly enjoyed vacuuming the blinds. Also, Allyson was a big help, and Grandma was so impressed with her that she gave her $5. The next day, Mom and Dad came back out and worked for several hours more with me. 
• Mom and Dad have come out a few more times to help me hang pictures and get unpacked. Dad also installed a fluorescent light in my Salvation Army desk and put in a mail rack with hooks for my headsets. I love that desk and hope to tell you more about it soon. 
• My friends Gentle and Elizabeth fed me and my family several times while my kitchen was packed up. Elizabeth even fed Mom and Dad, too. 
• My own labor of love is everything to do with organizing. I've developed an (expensive) habit of buying all manner of gadgets. Like this stuff to untangle the rat's nest of cords behind my beloved desk:

• And last on the list is sweet Jenny.... 

Back in the summer, I was praying about finding affordable furniture for Allyson, and Jenny told me to keep an eye out for garage sale finds. She assured me that she could make just about anything look beautiful. It turns out that I didn't have to buy a thing. Emily passed down a dresser that her girls had inherited from Rick's daughter Mindy. It needed a lot of work, to say the least. Allyson was not impressed.

Next, I found this desk the side of the road one morning while driving Ethan to school. I was so exhausted that I missed my turn, and then another turn. It's as if God led me right to this beauty.

Even when it looked like this, I could see the potential. I drove back for it after dropping Ethan off, and I was amazed that someone would throw away such a solid piece. This was no cheap Walmart desk. I tried to get it into the trunk of my tiny Sentra, but there was no way. I said a quick prayer and then took out the drawers, unscrewed the bottoms of the legs, and wrestled that desk into the backseat, with one end hanging out the open window. When my neighbor helped me unload it later that day, she asked me how on earth I got it in there by myself. "Divine intervention," I answered. 

As you might guess, Allyson liked this item even less than the desk And she was about as unhappy to be inheriting Ethan's old bed, which was perfectly good and only a couple of years old but very plain. I told her not to worry, just to trust God that Ms. Jenny would be able to make it all look beautiful in her ocean-themed room. And oh, did she! Allyson and I were so delighted with the finished furniture that we just about cried. Okay, I probably did cry. During bedtime prayers that night, Allyson put her thoughts into words beautifully: "Lord, I thought that stuff was all just junk. I had no idea it could all be so beautiful." 

Isn't that just like God, to take junk and make it beautiful? 

Would you like to see the furniture? Sorry, I'm not going to show it to you yet, not until we're ready to unveil Allyson's entire room. We still have the orca whale wallpaper border to hang, plus Gentle is making Allyson a cushion for her window seat. For now, I will just show you this inscription that Jenny put on the back of the dresser. We didn't discover it until we pulled the furniture out to paint the walls a week ago:

Hand-painted for Allyson - 2013

Even the winds and the waves obey Him! Matt 8:27

I cried when I saw the ocean-themed verse. I'd needed that reminder that I could rest in God's powerful hand. 

Speaking of free furniture, I have to tell you about my easy chair. As soon as I knew the house was mine, I started thinking about when I might be able to buy a chair for the sitting area in the master bedroom. "I sure would like a chair," I prayed, "but I know I can't buy everything all at once. Still, if you could help me find a good chair for a great price, I'd really appreciate it." 

A couple of days later, I decided to take a break from packing. I left Gentle with a bunch of boxes in my kitchen and drove my niece Hillary to Sonic for some drinks. (Gentle promised she didn't mind. I think it was easier for her to pack with me out of the way.) On the way back, I naturally had to drive Hillary by the new house. As we approached, I drew in my breath when I spotted a beautiful couch and two matching chairs on the side of the road. "Could they be giving those away?" I asked. "But they're so nice. Mind if I stop and look?"

"Of course not," Hillary said. 

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? If Ethan were in the car, he'd be down on the floorboard right now." 

She laughed. "Go ahead." 

I walked all around the three pieces. They were covered in a neutral colored damask fabric that was clean and in very good shape. All I needed was one chair, and I hated to break up the set. But I couldn't pass this up! I debated over whether to take the more elegant wing chair or the comfy easy chair. Comfort won out. [Over the next two days, the other two pieces went. So nothing was wasted. Whew!]

With Hillary's help, I tried to cram that easy chair in my trunk, but of course it didn't even come close to fitting. (This was about two days before I found the desk.) I was afraid to leave the furniture, but it was too hot to sit there and guard it until Gentle could bring her mini van. "Think you could help me carry it to the new house?" I asked Hillary.

"Sure!" 

So we huffed and puffed in the hundred-plus temperature and carried that chair two doors down, across the street, and up the driveway, all in our flip flops. Whew! Here's Hillary hanging out at the new house before it was mine, in my classy lawn furniture:

It looks even better in my bedroom. And every time I sit in it, I think about how much God loves me.

That's the end of the official story, but I have to share a few first-day-of-school pictures before I turn in.

Our Second Grader!

Teen Beach Movie Backpack

First-Day-of-School Ice Cream with Mommy, Daddy, and Ethan

Ethan won't let me take his picture any more

One last thing. Are you wondering about that bigger news I referred to? All I'm going to say is this: It has to do with a cat. Tomorrow. More soon, I promise. 

Interrupted By Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please!"

"Go to SLEEP!!"

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

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

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

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

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

I sniffled. "That feels nice, Allyson."

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

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

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

"I will if you'll start."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Treasure and Me This Afternoon