Living

I've talked a little about sometimes feeling like I'm just merely surviving the day and not truly living...making the most of each day. Yesterday, I mentioned the rain...and a bit of a melancholy spirit. Today, was not a day of just surviving. Today, the sun was shining...and I was living...truly living.

I was blessed to attend the Special Olympics in our area today. The entire first grade class of the student I work with was allowed to attend the Olympics to support their classmate, who was participating. So, we loaded on the bus equipped with signs to hold up as we cheered him on. It was a beautiful day, which began with a storm...but ended with sunshine and held some moments in the middle that I will never forget.

He ran the first race like lightning, with his walker wheels flying, to the finish, where I stood waiting and cheering him on to victory. His efforts earned a first place ribbon...which he accepted with a big grin on his face. As he lined up for the next race, it appeared that he would be the only one competing in his division. His class began chanting "Go_________, Go!" Soon, the entire section of the field stopped what they were doing and joined the chant, cheering on this determined, precious soul. He slowed his pace and stopped in the middle of the track to turn to his class as they shouted his name. The energy was electrifying as more voices joined those already cheering. The moment was overwhelming. Tears streamed down my face...and even now, as I write these words, the tears come. My heart swelled with pride for his accomplishment, and humility that God notices every little one of us. He gave him that moment, with the entire stands shouting his name, cheering him on. That beautiful, amazing moment. "Keep going, dear one. I love you...I see you...you are a much loved, dearly treasured gift. I delight over you with singing." As I stood in the shadow of his moment, I felt the same words being whispered into my soul, nourishing, restoring, strengthening me. The same God who caused strangers to rise to their feet and shout the name of a child they did not know, loves me...sings over me...sees me as a dearly loved, treasured gift.

I ran beside him for a moment, reminding him to finish the race and he ran into the arms of his dad...with another big grin...and another blue ribbon.

And today...today was about living. Really living...

So, dear ones: Finish the race...your Dad is waiting at the finish line with His arms wide open...waiting for you...

(Oh...and thank you all for your prayers and kind thoughts. I am still physically under the weather, but my spirit is encouraged!)

Friends and Seasons

You know how they say there are different seasons of our lives? And some people are only in our lives for a season. Well, I don't like that very much. It's one of the reasons (one among many) that I'm going to love heaven. No more good-byes. No one that will only be in our lives for a season.

I'm not feeling very well today, and there is supper that needs cooking, a tired, hungry husband who would appreciate the aforementioned supper, a little boy that needs tickled, and a teenager somewhere that I'm sure has been saving up some sass just for me. So, I will try to be brief. Also, as an added bonus, it is a chilly, rainy day. Now I know some of you out there love you a good rainy day. I am not really a fan...unless of course I am allowed to spend it in my bed under the covers with a good book, which is really where I wanted to be all day today. But, I wasn't. I was at work...so I didn't love the rainy day. Anyway, my mood is a little cloudy. Sorry about that.

On my mind today are those friends in my life who have been so dear to me...but only stayed for a season. As far as friends go, Tim and I are quite blessed with some pretty amazing people. We live in the town where we grew up and our children attend the school where we went as children. I even work at my childhood school, alongside my childhood teachers. We love our church family and love to spend Saturday evening and Sunday morning with them. We have friends that have been in our lives since we were twelve (and...even younger than that!). Friends that have supported us through the losses we've endured...through my mother's illness...who support us in our efforts to serve through our ministry...friends who laugh and cry and pray with us. I have friends to golf with, talk with, reminisce with, and lunch and shop with. Some friends...special, dear friends walked with us through the valley of the shadow of death (more than once). And I mean walked with!

Some friends just get you...you know what I mean? It's so great to connect...to find people who know you (flaws included) and love you anyway. Friends you can just "be" with...no effort, no facade...just be. We all need a place where we are just loved and accepted. No strings attached. I have had a few friends like that. And recently...one of my favorite lunching shopping, being-"me"-with friends has moved on to a new season. It is a mutual drifting as we are going separate ways, but I am not a fan of this moving on. It breaks my heart that we change and tear away from relationships. I like the never say good-bye part of heaven. On my mind today are several sweet friends who spent much time walking through various journeys with me, but who are in another season now. I miss them.

Lately, I have less time and interest in the lunching/shopping stuff. (Not that I've spent an overabundance of time doing these things before.) But I find myself kind of nestling in with my family and focusing more on the needs before me. I want to enjoy life...and I am a huge fan of fun! But, I also have appreciated something in blogland that I haven't found much in real life friendships (although there are a few dear friends who have been supportive - and you know who you are! Thank you!). In blogland, I have found some who are really focused on reaching out to comfort grieving families or to share the love of Jesus. While many encourage and support us, and we are so grateful, not many in my life are burdened or understand the passionate desire in my heart for Sufficient Grace Ministries. That's O.K....I understand that. God lays different things on our hearts. It isn't something I can really share and have someone understand.

Until now. I am so thankful for blog friends I have met who share the desire to reach out to others and share the comfort that God has given them as they have walked through various trials. Hearts that are burdened to pray for grieving mothers and to offer them hope. I am blessed and encouraged daily by so many of you. And while my heart breaks for the friendships whose seasons have ended in my life...I rejoice at the new friendships I have been blessed with...the bond of connection that I feel with some I have never met. What a beautiful gift. Thank you for your part in that. Thank you for making this path a little less lonely. A lot less lonely.

Love to all...

Liberty

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Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage. ~ Galatians 5:1

Freedom. Men have longed for it, bled and died for it, written about it, spoken fondly of it, and fought to protect it. Families have risked life and limb for the promise of it.

Freedom...liberty. A beautiful gift we enjoy in this great land of ours. A land where we can worship as we please, work where we wish, send our children to the schools we choose, and vote for leaders to uphold the law of our land. We have choices and freedoms that we enjoy and maybe even take for granted everyday. The freedom we enjoy came at a price. Brave men and women have given their lives for the freedom we hold dear. Wives have waited at home, praying for husbands...for the fathers of their children...praying for their safe return. Mothers have said good-bye to sons (and daughters).

Yes, our liberty comes at a dear price. And, although we speak of being free...are we really? We enjoy so many choices, and opportunities are all around. But are we truly free? Are we free from the burdens of sin, selfish choices, our past, debts, the opinions of others, the cares of this world? Do we walk and talk as one who has been freed from the yoke of bondage that once held us in it's grip? The ways of the world that we once followed?

Just as we enjoy freedoms in our country because of the sacrifice of generations of brave men and women, our freedom from the bondage of sin came at a great price. Jesus gave His very life to buy our freedom...to pay our debt...to grant us complete liberty in Him...the ultimate opportunity of a new life, a new identity. He promises to make us a new creation in Him, cleansing us and forgiving us of our sins...freeing us from the bondage of all that entangles us...all that wears us down, all that is keeping us from being the person He intended us to be. He wants us to be free to spread our wings and soar.

I often find myself feeling burdened and entangled. Sometimes it is with the day-to-day schedule. The to-do list. The mounting disorganization of my house, my purse, my car, my office/basement, my thoughts...my entire life! I don't always "feel" free. Sometimes I feel like the prisoner who has been set free, and stands in the cell with the doors wide open. He just has to walk through. Like I'm holding my breath and waiting for life to begin. Like I'm just putting my head down and surviving the day, instead of really living the most of each moment. Seeking what the Lord has for me in every breath. The prison walls have come tumbling down. He has granted me complete freedom. He wants to see me fly... and sometimes, I just stand there.

Please don't get me wrong. I know that I am already completely free in Him. He has already granted me that freedom, and in many ways, I do take His hand and experience the joy of walking in liberty. But sometimes, I sense that there is more freedom from the burdens of this world...that He has something more for me that I have yet to grasp. A different way to live. A freedom that I sometimes experience...sometimes I have tasted a hint of what He has for me. Sometimes, my flesh is quiet and my spirit feels fully free...unburdened, unentangled by the cares of this world, complete. Other times, it is a great battle to stand fast in the the liberty by which Christ has made us free...a "taking every thought captive into the obedience of Christ" battle.

Why is it a battle? Because I grow weary when I try to go out over and over in my own strength. I grow weary of the ways of this world, the inadequacies of my flesh, the ugliness of my sin. Weary of my out-of-order list of priorities. Weary is not good.

And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all, especially to those who are of the household of faith. ~ Galatians 6:9-10

And...what helps us to keep from getting weary? What reminds us of the beautiful freedom we have in the arms of our Lord? Encouragement...how I have longed for encouragement today. And, I found it in His Word. (Big surprise!) :)

And may the Lord make you increase and abound in love to one another and to all, just as we do to you, so that He may establish your hearts blameless in holiness before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all His saints. ~ Galatians 3:12-13

So, we must stand fast in liberty...Keep our eyes on Jesus, and Keep on Keeping on in Him...abounding in love, resisting weariness, and resting in the promise of the sweet freedom that is ours if we surrender all to the One who set us free.

The Missing Place...and Another Place You Won't Often Find Me...

I woke up a few hours ago, suddenly overcome with the heaviness of grief. Overcome with the "missing", as I often refer to it in real life. You see, I am not in the fresh throws of grief over the losses in my life, like so many are (so many that are on my heart daily). I have written about the beauty that comes from the ashes of our sorrow...the sufficient grace we are blessed with daily. Of the hope we have in Jesus. And, the truth is that we do have hope...and that when He makes the beauty in our lives the ugliness of the ashes for the most part fades away. When He does a new thing, He does a new thing...the old passes away. I cried many tears, oceans of tears in the thick of my grief, but God has restored my joy. Completely, abundantly restored my joy. I say that so that you will have hope. The same God who carried me through the storms of grief will carry you too, if you cry out to Him. And He will restore your joy, as well.

In saying that, I hope what I am about to say does not take away from the steadfast truth that our joy is restored. There is still something that we will always carry, until we are in Heaven's glory. Something that will not be fully restored until that sweet day of redemption. There is a place that most of the time is masked as I walk through my days. I call it the place of "missing". Something can sweep past me and unmask the covering over that tender spot in my heart...the spot of missing. And the ache will wash over me anew...the ache of missing the one who is lost. The spot is tender and raw and the ache is deep. It could be a memory that suddenly appears. It could be the sorrow of seeing someone else walking in the valley of shadow of death. It could be the changing of seasons as the winds blow in, reminding us of the passing of time, and days gone by.

Although I spend a lot of time with those who grieve...praying for them...walking with them...seeking ways to support them...remembering my own days of great sorrow so that I can have compassion and understanding...I do not consider myself one to wallow in my grief. Those who know me probably wouldn't describe me as melancholy or a woman of sorrows. Probably, a better description (one I like better, anyway) is my friend Dinah's mother, Ruth who always referred to me as the "girl who laughs".
But there are days...moments when the "missing" comes, and it will...as long as I walk this Earth.

Mother's Day is this weekend, and the "missing" is so strong this morning...the missing of the generations surrounding me. I am so grateful for the gift of being a mother. So thankful to see my boys live life with such zeal...the kind of zeal that only boys can display! So grateful that that I am called "mom". I'm also thankful for the short time I was allowed to mother Faith and Grace...for the tender moments I carried them within me and learned their personalities...for the gift of briefly holding them in my arms...and that I was allowed to see them wearing pink lace and ribbons, if only for their funeral. I'm so grateful for the time I was given with sweet Thomas...for all the lessons his life taught us about faith, and believing without seeing...for the moments I held him in my arms...for the moment he opened his eyes and looked up at his mama...for the immense privilege of singing to him as he went straight from my arms to the arms of Jesus. I'm thankful that I have been allowed to tell their story, and that others have been comforted through our ministry because of their brief lives...lives that hold precious value. And I am thankful that I am my mother's daughter...that God redeemed the years the moth had eaten and restored the broken places in our relationship before she passed. Thankful that He showed her His great love for her and that she received it. I am thankful that she no longer feels the physical pain that wreaked havoc on her body the last ten years of her life. Thankful that her arms no longer ache for her grand babies, and her heart no longer aches to be loved perfectly. I'm thankful for her grace and beauty and all the gifts she gave me in this life.

I am thankful...but aching...and missing...missing them.

After Mother's Day, comes Memorial Day. And, with a Marine as my step dad and also a Marine brother-in-law, Memorial Day is not something that means just a day off school (although we are always happy to have a day off school!). Attending the Memorial Day Parade and Ceremony is not negotiable. And we have come to love it...to cherish it...to instill in our children the importance of honoring and remembering those who have sacrificed their lives for our freedom...to honor the memory of those who have gone before us. I expect my boys to wave their flag with pride and put their hand over their hearts when the flag passes by and keep it there until every last veteran parades past.

Why am I talking about Memorial Day in the middle of my post about the "missing place"? Well, because it's also a day where all the cemetery plots are decorated nicely because many will be visiting on that day to pay their respects. The cemetery is on my mind this morning. I've had a little tugging on my heart to take out some flowers and to check on the graves of my babies and my mother. I don't want them to look sloppy when everyone else's look cared for and loved. (Although my step dad religiously visits my mother's grave and cares for it...as do others in our family.)The thing is...I am not a very good grave caretaker or visitor of graves...at all. Sometimes years have passed without me visiting. I know this is a tender subject. I see so many of you visiting and caring for the graves of your children. I know that in a way, it is an act of mothering for many. And that some find great peace and comfort in such a beautiful serene place. And, I can understand that and there is
beauty in it...in that act of love. In the early days of my grief when my arms ached so desperately to hold my babies, I did visit more...needing to perform some act of mothering...even if it just meant putting flowers on a grave. I hope you won't judge me for struggling with it, myself.

Many feel close to their child or loved one at the cemetery. I do not. I do not wish to remember that day of raw grief. I do not wish to think of them there. The ache is smothering for me in that place. And the finality that I don't believe to be true. It just doesn't bring me comfort. And sometimes, I feel guilty that I don't visit. I have even tried a couple times. And, I will say, it is easier for me to visit the grave of my children than my mother's. I will pull in sometimes and start to walk toward it...and then back away. I just cannot. I take comfort from thinking of them alive and in heaven with Jesus...where I know that they are. And, I know those of you who visit the grave...many of you take comfort in heaven's promise as well. But for me, I do not even wish to look upon the grave.

This year, I am going though. I may not stay. I may quickly put the stakes of my floral arrangement in the ground and back away from the smothering ache. But, I will go. And I will leave pretty flowers in a place that seems dull and gray to me. A picture of beauty from ashes. And when I leave and the ache comes like it has come this morning, I will take some time to weep in my Father's lap...for the daughters and son my arms still ache for and for the mother's voice I long to hear. He will wipe my tears and remind me that I will hold them again and I will hear her voice. And...when that sweet, sweet day comes it will take away, forever, the ache of the missing place. And, I'll never have to visit the grave of someone I love...ever again.

Grandpa Dundee

O.K...I'm totally late to the party...but I hope you'll walk with me a little anyway. To share your own sweet memories click the button above and link up on Lynette's blog. Happy Wednesday Walking...



Today, I just wanted to share a little about my Grandpa Dundee. That's what we called him when we were kids, (because he had a Crocodile Dundee hat). It was a late eighties movie for those of you who have no idea who Crocodile Dundee is. Anyway...Grandpa Dundee has always been quite a character. He would always tell us stories...elaborate, unbelievable stories. We never really knew if they were true or not, but then again, Grandpa was such a character anything seemed possible. One story involved a bar and a peacock. Some were from his boxing days...or stories about other interesting characters he knew. He served in the army, and then worked construction in the mountains. He was on the crews that blew up mountains and made roads through them. (Yes, I know that could have been described much better...but I'm not on top of my game today, O.K.?) He had an Atari and an Intellivision that we loved. And a keyboard that played different rhythms. He usually lived in places that had hills or mountains...so it was always a beautiful drive. Much more to feast our eyes on than the flat lands of our home in the Midwest. I especially loved to visit him in the fall when the trees were changing colors. Gorgeous tree-covered mountain splendor. We would play car bingo and eat snacks on the way. One time, we found the best walking stick ever and walked around the mountains with our find. My brothers loved it! You really can't beat a good walking stick. Grandpa was telling us stories about mountain lions (which may or may not have actually lived in the area) while we walked.

Don't ask me why...but right now I'm remembering a story my mom told me about when she was young and they lived in the hills. They had a neighbor they called "Billy-Rud-Dud" who would slide down the hill on his bottom. My mom had four brothers and one sister. They didn't spend a lot of time with Grandpa Dundee (mom's dad) growing up. He and my grandmother divorced, and he wasn't around very much. There were a lot of things about that time I'd rather not share, but it wasn't a pleasant parting. Mom made peace with her dad, though and they remained close. So close, in fact that he was someone she leaned on a great deal during her battle with cancer.

When she lay in the hospice center battling for her life, Grandpa rarely left her side. We never left mom alone for the four weeks she lived at the hospice center. My stepdad was there most of the time, of course. And, although there were family members in and out daily, it was Grandpa, my little brother Sean and I that stayed there together a lot of the time. We would all sleep in the room with mom. One on a cot, one in the recliner, and Grandpa on the uncomfortable chair right beside her bed. We argued about what caused which war, who was the best boxer of all time, which Rocky movie was best. We shared memories. We laughed when Grandpa would get frazzled about something and couldn't get the words out right (that's happened since his stroke a couple years ago. Don't judge us for laughing...our family laughs about almost anything! It is a term of endearment...and we were laughing with him, not at him.) I read the bible, prayed, and sang to mom. We cried and laughed as we went through the box of pictures I brought to jog our memories. We ate our meals in the hospice cafeteria. We sat together in silence. We went through the motions together in exhaustion.

We didn't sleep, except for maybe a couple hours here and there for that entire month. I never knew it was possible to survive on so little sleep. When mom was awake and coherent, we soaked in every moment. And through it all, grandpa sat by her side. He was so loving and such a trooper. The day I collapsed exhausted and was a little out of my mind. (Apparently when you go so long without sleep, your body can break down and you react as if you are completely intoxicated.) I was crying and not making sense. They carried me out of there. As Grandpa drove me home to try and get some sleep, my brother kept trying to make me laugh.

There was so much about that time that I don't know if I can ever share. But walking through it with them bonded us in a special way. Maybe like it bonds soldiers who fight in a war beside each other. Those that were there know what it was like. And we were all grateful that we didn't walk that path alone.

So, whatever happened in the past between our crazy old Grandpa Dundee and our family, we will always remember the beautiful love he showed during those last days with our sweet mother.

Grandpa was just battling for his own life in the hospital recently. He woke up not able to walk. He crawled to the door and drove himself to the hospital. After frightening a nurse when he motioned to her to come to the car (it was the middle of the night.), someone finally brought him a wheelchair and got him into the hospital. Yes...most people would have just called the EMS. Grandpa Dundee is not most people. After being told, his chances were very grim. And if he walked again, he would have to recover in a nursing home, Grandpa said, (not so sweetly) that he would have none of it. He walked out of the hospital several days later. And he is currently at home, in his house in the country, refusing a nurse's care. Watching the squirrels slide down the pole (that he greased, so they couldn't steal the bird seed in the bird feeder!) And eating his six year old turkey jerky. Because he can.

Out of the Pit

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I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me,
And heard my cry.
He also brought me up out of a horrible pit,
Out of the miry clay,
And set my feet upon a rock,
And established my steps.
He has put a new song in my mouth-
Praise to our God;
Many will see it and fear,
And will trust in the Lord.
~ Psalm 40:1-3

How many of us have cried out to the Lord? How many of us have been "brought up out of the horrible pit"? I can close my eyes and see the darkness of the pit surrounding me...the miry muck of death and sin...loss and grief...despair and hopelessness? The heavy darkness. On my face...crying out. And then...the lifting. The cleansing. The freedom. The light. He doesn't just lift us out of the horrible pit...which would be more than enough. More than we deserve. After he lifts us, he sets our feet on a rock...solid ground. Our rescue is secure. He establishes our steps. He is our guide as we go forth in the freedom and grace we celebrate as we walk with Him...away from the pit. And...I love this...as if all of that were not enough...He puts a new song in our mouths. A song of praise for the God who rescued us from the pit, cleansed away the miry clay, set us free from our despair, placed our feet on secure ground, and replaced our sorrow with a new song. A song of joy. How I pray that in our lives, many will see the works He has done and will put their trust in Him.

Many, O Lord my God, are Your wonderful works
Which You have done;
And Your thoughts toward us
Cannot be recounted to You in order;
If I would declare and speak of them,
They are more than can be numbered.
~ Psalm 40:5

Great is His faithfulness...

A Not Me Monday Post I've Been Saving Up For Awhile!

Welcome to Not Me! Monday! This blog carnival was created by MckMama. You can head over to her blog to read what she and everyone else have not been doing this week.

O.K...I've never actually done a real Not Me! Monday post...but I've been saving this one up for a long time. And, in celebration of Stellan's wonderful recent reunion with his sweet MckFamily, I thought I'd join the party. WARNING: After reading this, your opinion of me may be forever changed. But, humility is always a good thing...and laughter is a close second! So, here goes...

This winter, I was NOT with my teenage son running errands, while driving my husband's truck. I am NOT uncomfortable driving his truck. I feel completely confident and at ease. Especially when it begins to snow large snowflakes, and the traffic increases. I really LOVE that...I do NOT get incredibly stressed in that situation.

We did NOT go through the drive-through at McDonald's. And, we did NOT notice when we arrived at the Wal-Mart parking lot that my son's french fries were missing from his order. I did NOT tell him to "Just deal without the fries because I didn't want to drive through the snow and ridiculous traffic." No...I love to drive my husband's truck, through the snow, and the heavy traffic. Love it.

I did NOT give in because he thought he was starving and couldn't live without his fries. I also did NOT grumble with him about it. He did NOT begin arguing with me in the process...and I certainly wasn't sucked into arguing with my teenage son. That never happens.

I did NOT pull into the drive-thru lane in a huff and pull up to the window asking politely (I really was polite...no need for rudeness!) for our missing fries. The person at the window did NOT look a little perplexed and frightened.

He did NOT ask, "When did you come through the drive-thru, ma'am?" (Perhaps it should of occurred to me that this wasn't the person who originally took my order. It really did not! No...really.)

He did NOT continue to look confused as he asked me to pull ahead. I did NOT continue the argument with my son as we waited. When the gentleman came to my window with our fries, he looked in my car and did NOT say, "Ma'am, you have a McDonald's bag in your car."

"Yes", I did NOT reply.

He did NOT hold up the bag containing our fries, and say...

"Ma'am, this is Wendy's."

I did NOT apologize profusely and then begin to laugh so hard I cried. My son did NOT shake his head and roll his eyes. And the Wendy's worker did NOT fail to see the humor in the situation. He did NOT just give me a curt nod and walk away. We did NOT proceed to McDonald's to retrieve our missing fries, while still laughing hysterically, and wondering at my level of competence. I did NOT wonder for days afterward if I should even leave my house...because of my ridiculous tendency to be easily distracted! Not me...no way!