It's Like God Sent Them to Us

Okay, here's the happy story I've been saving for about two weeks now...

On Wednesday the 9th, I was feeling pretty blue on the way to the office, so I called my dear friend Gentle, who never fails to lift my spirits. Sure enough, she had many encouraging words, including a scripture she'd found during her Bible study that morning. She said she thought of me when she read it, and she prayed it over me. Here was the verse:

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)

In that moment, I felt pretty courageous. But with the distractions of work, I soon forgot about the verse. While I was driving home, Gentle called and told me she had a surprise for me, something she'd made. She was laughing with delight, but she wouldn't give me even a hint of what it was. Of course, I swung by her house immediately.

Here's what I found:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.

My eyes filled with tears when I saw the plaque she had hand lettered in beautiful colors. Just that morning, I'd mentioned being moved by the Serenity Prayer at Celebrate Recovery, and she wanted me to have a daily reminder. So she just whipped out this little masterpiece! (It's now hanging over my desk, so I can look at it all during my work day.)

I was in high spirits when I brought Allyson home from school. As usual, Allyson scampered to the mailbox. "What are these?" she asked, holding out two cardboard cylinders.

"I don't know," I said. "I didn't order anything. Hmm... But these do have my name on them." After a moment's thought, I concluded that they must be some sort of inspirational posters from work, nothing to get excited about--not that I don't need inspiration, mind you.

Inside, we threw everything on the floor and went straight to the kitchen table with the tubes. "Open them, Mama!" Allyson said. I was already struggling to pry the lid off of the first canister.

Inside was a wall decal imprinted with a scripture. Can you guess what it said? I bet you can. Yep, it was another sacred echo, the coolest yet!

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged,
for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1:9)

Of course, I thought of Gentle. I initially thought this was the same verse she'd read me that morning, but then I realized that her verse was from Deuteronomy, while this one was from Joshua. Still, Gentle knew I wanted to plaster my walls with scriptures, and this was just the sort of thing she would do.

I fired off a text: "Did you send me scripture decals? I got two. One is the verse about being strong and courageous."

Her answer set my heart thudding. "No!!"

What were the odds that God would lay a verse on Gentle's heart for me in the morning, and on the very same afternoon the same message would mysteriously land in my mailbox? I'm thinking God really wants me to get the message: Don't be afraid! I'm always with you!

Allyson and I practically danced a jig with excitement. "Who could have sent them?" I said over and over.

"It's kind of nice not knowing," Allyson said. "That way it's like God sent them to us."

"Well, I'm sure He did, honey."

When I opened the second canister, I had an idea who my angel might be; over breakfast the previous Saturday, I'd told my friend Jenny that the first verse I wanted to put up in my house was Joshua 24:15.

I emailed Jenny, and she fessed up. What an incredible gift! I will feel both her love and God's every time I look at those scriptures.

Here's the ironic thing. After reading the meticulous directions, I was decidedly un-courageous about putting them up on the wall. One wrong move, and a decal could be wrecked. So I called for reinforcements. Gentle has lots of experience with wall decals, and she was happy to help--okay, to do it all while I stood by and prayed that the letters would stick.

Gentle and Her Helper

I think it took almost an hour. The end result was flawless:

I'd like to conclude with the full Serenity Prayer. Previously, I'd been familiar with only the first part. I love every word of it, and I'm trusting God to help me put it into practice.

God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His Will;
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with Him
Forever and ever in the next.
Amen.
(Emphasis added... the parts that make me cry)

Who's In the Mood for IHOP?

For months and months, I haven't had a lot to say to you. It just seemed that nothing blog-worthy was happening to me, probably because my sense of humor seemed to have departed. It's been a rough few weeks, yet now the blog stories are starting to stack up in my head like they used to. Only now I don't have time to write them. Tonight I'd planned to tell you a particularly wonderful and amazing story that I've been saving up for over a week, but something else happened that I just have to share....

This evening I met four girlfriends for a birthday celebration. We met at Brio, a great Italian restaurant where we talked and laughed and ate way too much, and then laughed some more.

Afterward, we walked over to the theatre next door. When Fran stepped up to the counter, she cheerfully said, "One senior ticket for... which movie are we seeing?" [Senior moment?]

We all laughed. "Parental Guidance," we chorused.

"That'll be six dollars," the teenage clerk said. "That's a discount of three dollars. There are perks to being a senior!"

"Yes," Fran agreed.

"Hey, you should go to IHOP [International House of Pancakes]. They've got great senior discounts there."

Fran nodded, barely able to contain her laughter. When I stepped up to the window, I heard roars of laughter as Fran repeated the conversation. Laughing, I asked for a senior ticket, too.

The boy didn't laugh. "That'll be six dollars," he said, sliding the ticket through the slot.

My grin faltered. "Hey, I'm not a senior! I was joking."

He shrugged. "I'd say take the ticket and run," he answered. And then he said something about IHOP, which made me wonder if he thought I was lying about not being a senior.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I laughed. And then I laughed again while I repeated the whole conversation to the girls.

The movie was really, really good. It was funny and sweet and touching. When it was over we sat there for a minute, talking about our favorite parts. "It's too early to go home," Joanne said. "We should stay out."

"What time is it?" asked Fran.

"About 9:15."

"That's 10 minutes past my bedtime," Fran said.

"Since we're seniors," Rhonda said, "We should go to IHOP."

"Fran, you'll have to share your senior discount with us," Leisa said.

"You too, Sarah!" Rhonda said.

We laughed all the way to the car. And I smiled all the way home.

It's Sleeting Styrofoam Balls!

Remember that time I mistook a Kix cereal ball on my living room floor for a hailstone? Well, I made a similarly ridiculous mistake the other morning. As Allyson and I raced out on our daily dash to school Monday, I shuddered at the cold. The temp had dropped to a frigid 29 degrees (-2 Celsius) overnight, most unusual for our area.

It wasn't until I'd careened out of the driveway that I noticed a most perplexing sight. Stacked on top of both windshield wipers were precariously balanced piles of tiny, perfectly uniform white balls. I squinted at them as I rounded the corner. A few pieces lost their balance, carried away on the wind. Weren't those... Styrofoam balls? The kind you see in packing material? But how? Why? Who?

It had to be one of Ethan's friends playing a trick, I concluded. What a bizarre prank!

"Look at those little Styrofoam balls!" I exclaimed. "I wonder who put them there."

"What balls?" Allyson asked, from the backseat. "Oh, I see them. Weird!"

As we waited at the stoplight next to the school--seven minutes till the bell and counting--I glanced at the cars ahead, trying to guage whether we'd make the next light or whether Allyson would be tardy. I leaned forward when I saw something familiar on the truck in front of me: a faint trail of white lining the cracks in the rear bumper.

For a fraction of a section I marveled at the coincidence. Two neighborhood vehicles targeted in a Styrofoam prank! No, wait a minute. Weren't there balls on the windshield of that white SUV next to me, too?

The light finally dawned in my sleepy, addled mind.  "Sleet!" I said as the light turned green and I fought the instinct to gun it through the school zone. I shook my head in disbelief, pressing my lips together in a sheepish smile. Sometimes I wonder about myself!

"What's sleet?" Allyson asked. "Oh, is it like hail?"

"Yes, only smaller. But I've never seen such perfect balls of sleet before. They're usually slushy and stuck together."

By the time I dropped Allyson off and pulled into the line out of the parking lot--with two minutes to spare, woo-hoo!--the tiny balls had started to melt into slush:

But I found these perfect specimens on top of the trash bin back at home:

The little balls were everywhere, actually: on the roof, the grass, the bushes. I was surprised I had missed them on the way out.

Chances are you're wondering why I would get so excited about a bit of sleet. Well, we don't get much frozen precipitation around here. So you can imagine how excited we were the next day when we woke up to this:

Ethan would have been even more excited if there'd been no school for the day, but no such luck. Sure was pretty while it lasted.

Vancouver Visit and Family Pasta Night

In my last entry, I mentioned that I've been saving up some happy stories to share. Here they are...

Vancouver 2012
On Christmas day we went for what will most likely be our last family vacation, and probably my last trip to Vancouver as well. For that reason, the whole experience was very bittersweet.

We had a rough start as our plane was initially delayed by about 20 minutes, during which time snow started falling thickly. "Ooh! Look at the pretty snow!" Allyson and I exclaimed. (We don't get much snow in Texas.)

We wouldn't have been so excited had we known that that snow would cause us about a six-hour delay. First, we waited interminably for de-icing. Just when we were next in line, a flight attendant announced that we were returning to the gate. Due to a federal law passed to "protect our comfort," we could not remain on the tarmac more than 2.5 hours. "Merry Christmas," she said wryly.

So we sat at the gate another hour or so while they figured out what to do next. While we ate federally mandated cookies and had a sip of federally mandated water, the flight attendant explained that most of us would probably miss our connections in Seattle, and there was no guarantee we could get a later flight. She cheerfully added that there was no guarantee that we could get a flight the next day, either. And the airlines was not going to pay for accommodations in Seattle since the snow was not their fault. (They conveniently forgot that we would have missed the snow had we departed on time.) Also, if we were to exceed the 2.5 hour maximum wait again, our flight would be canceled. "Merry Christmas," she concluded. About a third of the passengers disembarked, including my seatmate. Sweet! Now it was just me and Ethan in the back row, right across from the toilets that were probably near to overflowing by the end of our ordeal.

We decided to take our chances and stay on the plane. About two hours later,  we were de-iced and in the air! And after about ten hours on the plane, we arrived in Seattle. When we landed, we found we'd been automatically booked on the 11 P.M. flight, about three hours later. But Bill's dad had driven down to pick us up, so we claimed our luggage and climbed in the car for a 2.5-hour drive. I think we all preferred that to boarding another plane.

So we arrived at the house shortly before midnight. Despite the late hour, we sat down for Mom's customary soup and sandwiches. Delicious!

The rest of the trip went much better. The highlight for me was an 85-minute massage at the Harrison Hot Springs Resort, compliments of Mom. This was a wonderful blessing as I'd been longing for a massage for months. I also greatly enjoyed soaking in the hot pools, which were heated by the local hot springs.

Or maybe the highlight was playing cards and dominoes with Bill's family--especially when I beat them all on New Year's Eve.

For the  kids the best part was probably skiing at Hemlock Mountain, where Allyson had her first lesson. She had the 16-year-old instructor all to herself, and he did a great job with her. It must have been rather harrowing for him to ski behind her on the tow rope; she usually ended up sliding backward when she got off, and he had to catch her before she knocked all the other beginners down like dominoes.

 

Looks Like She's Playing Twister

Practicing Her "Pizza" Stance

At the end of 1.5 hours, the instructor pronounced her ready for the easiest chair lift, and Bill bravely took her up. He said she got off the chair easily enough, and then she took off down the mountain at breakneck speed. I guess she forgot her pizza and went with french fries instead. Daddy had told her to sit down if she couldn't stop, so she tried to sit but ended up in a tuck position and went even faster. At last she fell, flipped, and got a face full of snow. (That's the way she tells it, anyway. Bill says it wasn't such a bad fall.)

She'd made it about a third of the way down the slope, but now she was spooked. It took 30 minutes or so to go the rest of the way down because she'd ski about six feet and then make herself fall down. But they finally made it to the bottom, all in one piece.

Allyson's cousin James learned to ski also. Trevor pushed him up the bunny slope over and over, and he fearlessly skied down. For the next day or two, he kept saying, "I love to ski."

James (Age 4) and Bill's Brother Trevor

I'm told Ethan has now totally mastered snowboarding, but I never got to see him this time. I wish I had a picture to share.

We also went walking along the sea wall at White Rock Beach. The kids enjoyed looking for crabs and shells.

Katie, Allyson, James

Katie and Allyson

Mom limited each child to two shells. "Can I keep one, too?" I asked. She smiled and nodded. I had found a lovely purple clam shell. I brought it home as a reminder that--for a clam, at least--a painful bit of sand results in the iridescent beauty of a pearl. I pray beauty comes out of my pain as well.

As always, there was one sumptuous meal after another, plus all our favorite treats, including way too much shortbread. I gained five much-needed pounds while I was there. I also caught up on my sleep. One morning I even slept until 11! I don't remember the last time I slept that late.

I have to share one more airport misadventure that occurred when we landed in Dallas. As we exited the Jetway, I stopped and bent over to put some books into my carry-on bag. I didn't notice that the man ahead of me had stopped also and was bending over to put something in his bag. Nor did I notice that he had about three inches of pasty white butt crack sticking out of the top of his sagging jeans. So when I stood back up, I very nearly put my nose where the sun don't shine! I all but yelped as I backed away. Bill caught my eye, and we both cracked up, so to speak. It felt good to laugh with him.

Family Pasta Night
The night after our return, Allyson and I went over to Uncle Rick's for what I hope was the first of many Family Pasta Nights. Rick and Mindy had prepared the dough ahead of time, and I helped knead it. Then we passed it through all six settings on Mindy's new pasta roller. Allyson manned the crank, and the rest of us took turns feeding the dough in and catching it as it came out.

Here's how it looked on the first setting:

By the last setting, it was 10 or 12 feet long!

Rick, Mindy, and Rick's Friend Dave

Here's how it looked after we cut it into segments and ran it through the cutter attachment: 

We served it with Gorgonzola walnut Alfredo sauce and roasted kale. For dessert we had Purdy's chocolates from Bill's mom. It was all unbelievably delicious, better than a fancy restaurant!

It's Still Being Written

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

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

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

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

And the third, even more:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Santa's Helper

This was Allyson's second year to help Santa pass out gifts at a local nursing home. This time Bill got to go with her, and he said she was very popular with the residents. She tells me she gave out a lot of hugs.

This year the nursing home requested gently used stuffed animals. Allyson donated about five from her ridiculously large stash. She could have donated three times as many, but as we sorted through them a week or two ago, she just couldn't part with most of them. "That's one's special," she said. "That one too."

No matter, they had plenty to go around.

Here she is with the best Santa I've ever seen, our coworker Mike.

 

 

Yes, that beard is real. And he keeps it all year long.

My Next Kitchen Gadget
On Tuesday night, I took a pasta cooking lesson with my brother Rick and his daughter Mindy. Working in groups of eight or so, we made a thick dough from all-purpose flour, semolina flour, and LOTS of eggs. Then we rolled it through a pasta roller a total of 11 times, at 7 different thicknesses. Each portion started out about the size of a paperback book (only thinner) and ended up over 6 feet long.

As the dough got longer, it became a two- or three-person job. One person pressed the dough into the roller, one person turned the crank, and a third person caught and straightened the dough as it was extruded from the roller.

We cut the pressed pasta into six-inch segments and then ran it through the other side of the pasta roller, cutting it into fettucini.

Rick, Me, Mindy, and Our Fettucini

We also made a gorgonzola walnut alfredo sauce. Technically all I did was strip some thyme leaves off their stems; Rick did most of the work.

The best part was eating our freshly boiled pasta and sauce. Good times!

Rick and I are going to buy a pasta roller soon and have family pasta nights. I'm sure you will hear about it when the time comes.

Many Hands Make Light (But Stinky) Work

The oddest thing has been happening as I've taken on some unpleasant new responsibilities in recent weeks. Take yesterday, for example. It was the first time Ethan helped me pick up dog poop. I braced myself for a big battle, but Ethan just said, "Okay, I'll be down in a minute."... And then he actually came!

I told him the shovel was a little heavy for me, and would he please do the scooping while I held the grocery bag for him? He shrugged. "Sure."

Just like that, my 15-year-old boy calmly scooped up a week's worth of poo, literally about 15 piles. There was even a sense of camaraderie as we commented over each new find. "Shoo! That one really reeks.... Did that seriously come out of Lola's butt?... Man, that's a big one."

And then we were done. No big deal. It was almost fun. (But ask me again in the summer, when the smell will surely be much more rank.) I was so proud of my boy!

Fluffy's Contribution
Next came my first time to clean the hamster cage. Bill had shown me how to take the cage apart, replace the bedding, and clean everything up. He made it look really easy, but apparently I didn't pay close enough attention.

After two weeks, the cage was smelling pretty ripe, and I knew there was no more procrastinating. I asked my mom and Allyson to help me, or at least to provide moral support.

The first task was to snap the top off, catch Fluffy, and put her in her ball. Allyson eagerly volunteered for this, and I was happy to let her do it. She got the job done, but first she gave me a heart attack when she squealed, "She's getting away!" Not to worry, Allyson scooped her up and set her gently in her ball.

The rest of it was pretty easy and not all that gross, except when it came time to put it all back together. Getting those thin wire walls to line up inside the grooves on all four sides was tough! And while it seemed there was only one way to put the second floor in, the way we initially chose wasn't it. We sweated and grunted and shoved, but that piece would not fit. Just when I was about to call Bill and have him come get Fluffy and her stupid cage, Allyson said, "Mom, the food bowl goes on this other side. Turn it around."

I narrowed my eyes. "No, because then the slide's pointing the wrong way."

Allyson grabbed the slide and twisted it into position.

"Ah, you're right," I admitted. And the three of us managed to screw it into position. But it took another ten minutes to figure out how the exercise wheel went back in. Whew!

After that, Allyson expertly chopped a bit of carrot and some lettuce into tiny fragments and set them inside the cage on a tiny Tupperware lid. There! Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

I have to say we made a pretty good team. I certainly couldn't have done it without Allyson, who obviously paid much better attention all those times she watched Daddy clean the cage.

Some Things Don't Change
In addition to cleaning pet excrement, I did a few more enjoyable things this weekend. On Friday, I went to Ethan's Christmas concert. Mom, Allyson, and Bill came, along with Ethan's father Byron and stepmom Jen. It felt so good to sit there all together clapping for Ethan, just like we do every year. My heart was positively bursting with pride during his band's first song, in which Ethan expertly set the tempo on the lone snare drum.

I was very moved by the symphonic band's performance of Amazing Grace, which was dedicated to the families affected by the school shooting in Connecticut that same morning. I wanted to lift my hands to heaven like I do at church when we sing that song, but I was afraid I'd scare off Ethan's girlfriend, who sat on my right. Instead, I grabbed my mom's hand and held it as tears of sorrow and peace trickled down my cheeks.

Byron and Ethan After the Show - So Handsome!

On Sunday, I went to Allyson's annual choir concert with Mom, Dad, my sister Amy, Ethan, and Bill. And I felt the same joy and pride I always feel when I see her singing her heart out and concentrating fiercely on her dance moves. But this year, the songs about family were a lot more poignant than ever before. There were happy tears and sad tears and I-don't-know-what-I'm feeling tears. But it was all good.

Life goes on, doesn't it?

Joy in the Struggles

Doggie Duty
In the short time Bill's been gone, I've gained a new appreciation for all he did around here. Now I get to gather the trash, clean the leaves out of the pool, clean the hamster cage, and... pick up doggie doo. This past Friday was my first time to take on that unpleasant task. Ethan made himself scarce, but Allyson eagerly volunteered to help. The only problem was that the shovel was too heavy for her, and she just about conked me upside the head. Plus she flung poo dangerously close to my ankles.

So I took the shovel from her and handed her the plastic grocery bag full of poop. She stuck with me through the first three or four of Lola's "deposits," but then the stink was too much for her, and I was on my own. I held the bag in one hand and the shovel in the other. It wasn't nearly so easy as Bill makes it look, but I managed to get the job done.

I was just putting the shovel into the shed when Allyson shouted, "You missed one! Over here!" I shouldered the shovel with a sigh and plodded over to the swingset, from which Allyson gleefully pointed out the pile I'd missed.

I set the bulging grocery bag on the grass and headed back toward the shed. I hadn't gone three steps when Allyson got Lola riled up, so that she tore across the yard and right over the bag of dung. It split down the middle. Argh!

I got another bag and gingerly eased the broken bag into it. Whew! And Pee-u!

Allyson and Lola on Poop Scooping Day

A More Pressing Concern
Doggie doo is really the least of my concerns right now. My biggest problem has been insomnia. Although I've felt at peace in the daytime, trusting God with all of my worries, I've passed hours and hours of sleepless nights in my big, empty bed. The first night I realized we were going to separate, I was not at all surprised to be up the entire night. My mind whirled with thoughts and fears.

But over the subsequent two weeks, the insomnia did not subside. During that time I got only one full night of sleep. The other nights I would sleep from one to four hours, or many nights not at all. I can't explain it. I don't lie there worrying or even thinking. My mind is mostly still, and if it's not still I'm praying or praising God. But my body refuses to let go and drop into sleep. If I do manage to doze off, I usually jerk myself awake with a violent kick.

About a week in, I saw my family doctor, who prescribed a sleep aid which worked wonderfully.... at first. And then I seemed to develop tolerance.

This past Thursday night, I asked my mom to come stay with me so she could help me get Allyson ready for school the next morning. Before bed, I soaked in a lavender-scented bath, took a preparation of melatonin, lemon balm, and chamomile, and then prayed over the phone with my friend Rhonda while my mom hugged me.

I was so relaxed! I felt like a limp noodle, deliciously drowsy. I fell right asleep.... and was wide awake just 30 minutes later. At first, I was calm. I read over the scriptures about rest which I'd copied down during the day, and I read over the prayer my friend Gentle had emailed. Here's a portion of what she wrote:

"I will refresh the weary and satisfy the faint." (Jeremiah 31:25)
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28)
He doesn’t say, “Let me think about it, maybe tonight, maybe another night.” No. Your Father says “I will give YOU, my sweet daughter, the rest you seek.” Believe it Sarah. All your HOPE is in Him for everything else. Put all your hope for sleep and rest in your Father…who will surely give it to you.
"I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me." (Psalm 3:5)
"In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord make me dwell in safety." (Psalm 4:8)

I lay down again, comforted and quieted, and waited for sleep to take me. It didn't. I prayed, thanking God for sleep. I praised him for the rest that I knew was coming. I felt that rest, but there was no sleep for me.

At 1:00 I climbed out of bed and knelt in my bathroom. (I think I was too aggravated with God to go in my prayer closet.) I rocked back and forth, in a full-on panic attack. My chest was so tight that I felt the knot of anxiety as a physical pain. Tears trickled from my eyes, but I didn't even have energy to cry.

"Why have you forsaken me?" I whined. "Why don't you help me?"

I don't really remember what happened next because I was so tired. But I remember rereading Gentle's email and turning to the book of John. In chapter 4, I read the story of the official who asked Jesus to heal his son. He wanted Jesus to come with him, but Jesus said, "Go. Your son will live." (John 4:5)

Here's what caught my eye and set my heart thumping, in the next verse: "The man took Jesus at his word and departed."

"Okay, Jesus," I said aloud. "I'm going to take you at your word. Your Word says I can come to you when I'm weary and burdened, and my soul will find rest."

Kneeling on the bathroom floor, I sang a song that has brought me much comfort these past months. "Just as I am, I come... Oh, Lamb of God, I come."

After four choruses, I thought maybe it was time to go to bed, but then I felt the need to open the Psalms. My Bible fell open to to Psalm 62, and my eyes were drawn immediately to verse 1: "My soul finds rest in God alone."

"Yes!" I said. I meditated on that whole chapter until my eyes felt too heavy to read anymore. My mind was calm, but my chest still felt tight.

I climbed into bed anyway and asked God to wrap his love around me. Within moments, I felt absolutely soothed. The pain in my chest dissolved, and in its place was a warm sense of security. As I dozed off, I woke twice with a grin. I clearly felt God saying, "I'm taking care of you. This is my plan." And then, "I'm taking care of Allyson too. This is all for your good."

This was around 1:30. I'd like to say I slept peacefully until morning, but I didn't. When Allyson joined me at 3:30, I woke up and couldn't settle back down. But I was able to enjoy the warmth of her sweet body against my chest, which had grown tight again. I breathed with her breaths and delighted myself in this time with her, and again the anxiety melted away.

It wasn't until morning that I was awake enough to recognize the sacred echo God had given me. First  there was Gentle's email about putting all my hope for rest in God, and then the same message in Psalm 62. In retrospect, I know it was worth a sleepless night to hear so clearly from God.

 All the next day, the peace and love I'd felt in the night stayed with me. I knew God was close to me, and He was giving me strength. Since then, I've continued to struggle with insomnia, but God has given me grace and comfort. I'm also taking a different prescription sleep aid, and that helps too.

Life Goes On
In the meantime, life goes on. Christmas is still coming, with all the joys it brings. Last night my family and my friend Elizabeth came over to decorate sugar cookies. We had such a wonderful time together. We ate a crazy meal of cheesy beans plus asparagus, sauteed zucchini, and a delicious salad that Elizabeth prepared. Plus lots of sugar cookies, of course.

Allyson Pouring Lots of Sprinkles

 

My Sister Amy and My Silly Niece Savannah

My Sister Emily Cleaning My Wreck of a Kitchen

Allyson with Beautiful Cousins Hillary and Savannah

Nephew Charlie Being Cute

So many treasures in the darkness!

Alive in His Hand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sacred Echoes

I'm sorry I have been so quiet. I'm just weary. I've had a blog entry growing in my head for a week or two, so hopefully this won't be too long. I'm not making any promises.

A few weeks back I told you about the manna God was giving me, showing me little signs of his love on a daily basis. As I've begun to feel better, I haven't always needed daily reminders, but God has continued to lavish His love upon me on both the good days and the bad days.

One way He does that is through sacred echoes, Margaret Feinberg's term for how God speaks to us in a repetitive nature. I've always called those instances confirmations, but don't you think sacred echo sounds so much more... mysterious?

Don't know what I'm talking about? Let me give you some examples.

It so happens that Margaret Feinberg spoke at a ladies' retreat at our church weekend before last. On that Saturday morning, as I enjoyed my daily walk with Jesus, I suddenly thought of the Apostle John, and how he always called himself the disciple whom Jesus loved. I remembered my strong connection with that sentiment. "Lord," I prayed, "please help me to remember that I am Sarah, the woman Jesus loves. Help me to really live like that."

Can you guess what Maraget spoke about just an hour or so later? Yep, it was John's assurance that he was the one Jesus loved. She said we need to live like John, so full of God's love that we're dripping with it, like when you step out of the shower and reach for a towel, and you fling water everywhere. Oh Lord, make it so!

I'd experienced another sacred echo just the day before, when I hosted a Moms in Prayer meeting for Allyson's school. Our group leader was late, and I thought maybe we should get started the way we normally do, by praising God for one of the attributes of His character. Since Elaine had the prayer sheets, I had no idea what was on the agenda for the meeting. The moment I started thinking about it, God's compassion popped into my mind. "Boy, am I thankful for compassion," I thought. I was just opening my mouth to suggest that theme when the doorbell rang. Elaine came in and set the prayer sheets on the table. Right there at the top of the sheet, in bold print, was "Compassion." Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I felt an extra sense of awe as I praised God with the other ladies.

Over the weeks before that, there were sacred echoes at each Sunday service. Whatever I prayed for most fervently in my morning prayers was echoed in the worship services. For example, I prayed, "Lord, please bring these dry bones to life. Let your spirit come alive in me." And the first worship song that morning was Bones, by Hillsong. The words sent shivers up my spine: "You can take my dry bones, Breathe life into this skin.... Oh, Jesus, Alive in me."

On another Sunday, I was struggling with remorse over past sins. Picturing myself at the foot of the cross, I knelt on the landing of my stairs (one of my oddest favorite places to pray) and prayed for Jesus's grace to wash over me. At church, we sang a song with the very same words, about a river of grace flowing down from the cross and washing over us.

I could go on and on, but I'll content myself with just two more examples. Earlier this week, my friend Fran sent me a devotional about coming boldly to the throne of grace to receive mercy in our time of need (Hebrews 4:16). At the very moment I was thrilling to this promise, my ears tuned in to the song playing on the radio: "Take Me Into the Holy of Holies." How does He DO that?

And here's my favorite, because my sign took such an unexpected form. Last Wednesday I was watching Allyson's first gymnastics lesson--she loved it!--when a young man's tattoo caught my eye. Ever since I got my own tattoo, I've been noticing them everywhere, the way you get a new car and then notice the same model everywhere you look. This tattoo wrapped around the forearm in very ornate Old English script. The first letters were "Jo." I immediately thought of John's gospel. I craned my neck for a better look. The end was "33." Yes, a Scripture reference! After five minutes of shameless staring, I determined that his tattoo said, "John 16:33." Although I had no idea what that verse might be, I felt a flutter in my heart, as if this were a personal message for me.

Back at home later that evening, my fingers trembled as I looked up the reference. Yes, a message for me!

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

So are you thinking, "Yes, but where's the echo?" I'm getting to that. Yesterday Fran forwarded me another devotional, this one about God being our refuge in time of trouble. Nestled in that message was a reference to John 16:33. Even without the message from the tattoo, I would have been encouraged by that verse. But seeing it twice in less than a week really drove the message home.

While I Was Still Praying
I have to share one more story, the one dearest to my heart. One night last week after a hard day, I was feeling sorry for myself. As I knelt on the floor of my beloved prayer closet, I let the tears fall. "God, I just need you to hold me. Please hold me!"

Even as I made that plea, I thought, "Now how is God going to hold me? What I want is a real hug."

But thank God I was wrong! While I was still praying, I heard a faint voice behind me in the bedroom. "Mom?" It was Ethan. I guess he realized then that I was praying. "Just wanted to say good night," he said, turning for the door.

"No, wait!" I said, leaping to my feet and crossing to him. I pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for coming to tell me good night," I said. "I appreciate it."

He ducked his head and grinned. "You're welcome."

"Have a good sleep," I said. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Back in my closet, I thanked God with wonder. It wasn't only that my 15-year-old boy sought me out to say good night, though that was surprising enough. What really amazed me was that Ethan had already said good night and shut his door, and I'd heard his box fan go on, which meant he really was in bed. I had the distinct impression that God told him to go look for his mama, because He knew I needed a hug. Who says God can't give you a real hug?

What made this story even more meaningful was a lesson I'd just completed in my Beth Moore Bible study on the book of Daniel. I had marveled at the story of the angel coming to Daniel with the answer to his prayer--while he was still praying (Daniel 9:20-21). So I guess this story was yet another example of a sacred echo.

How about you? Would you share examples of the sacred echoes in your own life?

A Pirate's Fondest Wish

For Halloween this year, Bill helped Allyson pick out a pirate's costume, complete with a sword and a skull necklace with "ruby" eyes. I had jury duty that day, so I had the misfortune (or good fortune, perhaps) to miss the annual trip to Party City with its throngs of rambunctious children and grumpy adults. But I did get to share the fun when Allyson modeled her costume and props.

And I was there on that first day when she broke both the sword and the necklace. "Maybe Daddy can fix them," she said, her voice barely over a whisper.

"I bet he can," I agreed.

"But let's put everything back in the bag so you don't wreck anything else before Halloween," Bill said.

In the weeks that followed, Allyson often repeated her hope that she'd be able to wield the sword and wear the necklace on the big day. But her fondest wish was something that seemed much more iffy. Her front tooth had been loose for weeks, and she dearly hoped she would lose it before Halloween; she figured a missing tooth would give her pirate's costume a more authentic look.

"I don't know, sweetie," I said. "It's not that loose yet, and it takes a long time to lose a tooth."

She continued to wiggle her tooth morning and night, day in and day out, and hoped for a Halloween miracle.

Last Sunday, before we took Allyson to Trunk or Treat at our church, Bill managed to mend the sword with a bunch of clear Duck tape. Good as new! And then he broke out the hot glue gun and affixed the crossbones behind the skull pendant.

"I knew Daddy could fix them," I said.

Allyson grinned, but then she frowned. "I wish my tooth would fall out before we go."

"I don't think it's going to fall out in the next hour," I said.

Even with all her teeth, she made quite a convincing pirate:

And, for a one-eyed pirate, she did amazingly well at all the carnival games. There were beanbag tosses, soccer and basketball goals, and even a game where she threw rolls of toilet paper into a stuffed "toilet." Her favorite game by far was a big inflatable (like a bounce house) with holes to kick a soccer ball through. The holes were way over her head, but she came so close to scoring. She went back over and over, making more than 20 attempts. Despite her tenacity, she never quite got the ball through the holes. But she never got discouraged, and I was so proud of her spirit.

The day after Trunk or Treat, Allyson rushed in from school and greeted me with a huge, toothless grin!

That tooth had come loose during class, creating quite a commotion among the kids as it dangled wildly, blood trickling out. Her teacher waved her to the bathroom, where Allyson held a paper towel to her mouth. And then the tooth popped right out. Losing a tooth wasn't the only first that occurred that day; she also got to go to the nurse's office! The nurse put her tooth into a tiny tooth-shaped container and hung it around her neck.

That night, she wrote this note:



The Tooth "Fariy" left this reply that night, along with three whole dollars! (Bill explained that you get a bit more for the first tooth since it is so special.)

You will get it back one day.... T.F.

So all of our pirate's wishes came true. On Halloween night, she went trick or treating with a snaggle-toothed smile, an almost perfect taped sword, and a skull necklace-with crossbones. I think she was right. That missing tooth added just the right touch:

She had a glorious time, I'm told. I was in Las Vegas for a conference at the time, and believe me when I say, Halloween is craazy in Vegas. As for Allyson, would you believe she broke that sword again?

Jack O Lanterns
This year it was only Allyson and Bill who carved pumpkins as Ethan had decided to pass on that tradition this year (sigh). As usual, all I did was take pictures.

The cat was Allyson's own design. Pretty nice, huh?