A Daring Adventure

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

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

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

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

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

Who among you fears the Lord?

Who obeys the voice of His Servant?

Who walks in darkness

And has no light?

Let him trust in the name of the Lord

And rely upon his God.

Look, all you who kindle a fire,

Who encircle yourselves with sparks:

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

This you shall have from My hand:

You shall lie down in torment.

(Isaiah 50:10-11)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Alone

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


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

We are NOT alone... you are NOT Forgotten

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

Mother's Day 2014

Mother's Day 2014

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

It's Time to Go

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I felt very, very sorry for myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think it was this one, the Pearl Crescent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sophie!" her mom called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how He loves me!

Beautiful Things

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

Ethan, my 17-year-old:

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

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

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

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


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


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

Allyson, my almost-8-year-old:

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

Mother's Day 2014

A Big Help

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are you going?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes it can. Ask her."

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

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

Beautiful Things

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

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

Life is beautiful. 

Unpredictably Delightful

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


"Yeah."


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Sweet Claire, Age 3

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


But that wasn't the end!


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


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


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


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


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

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

It Surpasses Knowledge

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


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


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


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


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


So, back to the unexpected blow....


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


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


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


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


Her room was empty.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


But where was she?


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


I stacked several more dishes in the dishwasher.


I need a walk with Jesus in the park.


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


No, now. I need to go now.


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


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


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


"Why am I afraid?"


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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


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

It's Already Here

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

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

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

I read these great tips on finding contentment:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June 2006

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

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

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

Forget

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

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

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

My word is "forget."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allyson, Just Minutes Old

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Big Enough Blanket

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

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

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

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

"I tried that but--"

"Jiggle the handle!" I repeated.

He obeyed, and the water stopped.

"I'm sorry, I--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nnhhh," they replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fran, Leisa, Me, Lisa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allyson in the Marshmallow Sweat Shop

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

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

"It's a present," she said.

"For me?"

She nodded.

"From who?"

"From me."

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

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

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

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

Me, Emily, and the Best Christmas Gift Ever

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

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

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

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

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

The Beautiful Artist and Her Beloved Aunt

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

Her Favorite Santa Gift

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

Stocking on Left

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

Merry Christmas to you and yours.

Santa's Workshop Event at Allyson's School