Tis the Season...

It is a very natural feeling for me to always think about Advent this time of year. As I sat at my desk the first part of this week, I was overwhelmed with the thought of how important it is, and how I wanted to blog about it but wasn’t quite sure where to begin…

The first thought that came to my mind was, “Tis the season…”

The season for busyness, chaos, shopping, tight finances, overly excited kids that tend to stress me out. There are so many different factors that can play a role in “tainting” this time of year. My thoughts become preoccupied with how can I possibly get everything done and purchased before December 24th gets here? Not to mention that the people in my life have become more and more difficult to shop for as each year passes…

The word HOPE has resounded within me for the past several weeks, and yet with all that I’ve mentioned above, it momentarily slips out of my vocabulary.

This is the season of HOPE.

If there ever is a time throughout the year that we should hold onto this truth, that time is now…

Advent is marked by a spirit of expectation, of anticipation, of preparation, of longing. There is a yearning for deliverance from the evils of the world… It is the cry of those who have experienced the tyranny of injustice in a world under the curse of sin, and yet who have hope of deliverance by a God who has heard the cries of oppressed slaves and brought deliverance!

It is that hope, however faint at times, and that God, however distant He sometimes seems, which brings to the world the anticipation of a King who will rule with truth and justice and righteousness over His people and in His creation. It is that hope that once anticipated, and now anticipates anew, the reign of an Anointed One, a Messiah, who will bring justice and righteousness to the world. www.cresourcei.org/cyadvent.html

This is the season of HOPE.

For the hurting…
For the broken…
For the sick…

For pain to be removed…
For broken relationships to heal…
For miracles to happen…

It is impossible to take a look at this world and the ones we love and not have HOPE.

Monday began with the thought of a blog.

As I was sitting at my desk today, a gentleman who appeared to be homeless, walked in to my office and introduced himself. He lost his job. He has no money. He has no home. He’s hungry. He wanted to earn some money for food and offered to clean or do anything that he could for a few dollars. Today was a day that I wished I actually carried cash on me. Instead, I pointed him to our shop to see if there was anything he could help with out there. It’s been two hours and he’s still “earning his wages.” In those two hours, I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. I had to leave to run a few errands for work, and as I was driving I thought about how I didn’t even remember him telling me his name. I know he did…why was I not more attentive?

I stopped to grab a few pizzas and came back to the office. Walking up to him, he was startled. I apologized, introduced myself and asked him his name. I explained that there was hot food in the break room and he could help himself to a soda in the fridge. He was very appreciative and replied with a “Thank you, Miss Angie.”

I can’t believe how much I stress about whether or not I should buy an iPod for my son for Christmas when there are so many people that don’t have a roof over their head, a penny in their pocket, or a hot meal to eat. They have what’s on their back and nothing more. They probably don’t even know what an iPod even is…

It’s a bittersweet feeling knowing that you’ve bought someone lunch and then have to leave them on the street as you lock the door to head home to your warm house and comfy bed.

HOPE. Not only should we look for it ourselves, but we ought to find ways to offer it to others. It may be all they need…

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. –Romans 15:13

Lord...the one whom you love is sick

“Lord...the one whom you love is sick.”

These were the words that found their way into my heart this morning as I was on my way to work…

This past week, one of my uncles has been in the hospital. It began as an infection in his elbow, which then brought about concern with his kidneys, and as of last night, has led to a heart attack that will result in open heart surgery the first part of next week.

My uncle is one of God’s soldiers. From a very young age I can remember him holding this position. Always being armed for battle, he has followed God’s calling to preach the Word to every single person he passes by.

He has five sons and two daughters, his daughters being one year older and one year younger than I am so I spent a lot of time over the years at their house.

I will never forget riding in a car with him on my way to my grandma’s house. If I had to wager a guess, I would say that I was somewhere between the years of 8-10. While meal and bedtime prayers were always said as well as evening devotional time with his family, he spoke one question to me in the car that day that really caught me off guard…

“Angie, are you saved?”

My initial (silent) reaction was, “What kind of crazy question is that?” I grew up in a church, never missing a Sunday, or so it seemed. I went through confirmation, memorized Bible verses, sang in the kids’ choir, went to the front of the church for the children’s messages, but to my recollection I had never been asked that question.

“Yeessss…????” I am pretty sure I said with hesitation.

He must have sensed the uncertainty in my answer and in the few brief moments that we had left in the car he was kind enough to further explain the question.

“Do you believe in Jesus? Have you asked Him to come into your heart and be your personal Lord and Savior?”

Of course I believed in Jesus. But that last part? How can Jesus live in my heart?

And so began my journey of slowly beginning to understand what being a Christian was all about. It’s been a long journey that has taken me several years to completely understand. Several years that have included falling, failing, and while I never realized it at the time, running away…

Shortly after I had Nick was when I came to realize the depth of God’s forgiveness, His grace, mercy and love. All of which were …extremely undeserving for this little girl who had been consumed by sin for many years.

Yet I will never forget the seed that my uncle planted in my life nearly three decades ago. Knowing that he loved his niece so much that her salvation was of utmost importance to him.

Even more than that, the importance of complete strangers’ salvation has always held a top priority in his life. He has been ridiculed, I’m pretty sure he’s been cursed at over the years, and maybe even lost a few friends. But he’s done it all for one reason:

To help bring people into God’s eternal kingdom.

“Lord...the one whom you love is sick.”

In the story of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, the sisters sent a message to Jesus with those simple words. Not knowing what the outcome of the illness would be, they had faith and knew that the only One they could place their trust in and turn the situation over to, was Jesus.

There is not a doubt in my mind that God has something planned for my uncle within these next several days. I know that He can heal him completely before the operation is scheduled, and He can take him to his eternal resting place this very instant. The selfishness of my being screams out healing. He has two new grandbabies and a few handfuls of older ones to tickle. He has two daughters and five sons that still need him. A beautiful, faithful wife…

…and a niece that isn’t quite ready to let him go either.

Lord…the one whom you love is sick. I thank You for placing him in my life. Thank You for the example he has been to me personally over the years. I know that You alone, can do all things. If Your Will is to heal, then it will be done. If it is Your time to bring him home to You, the purpose You had for his life has been complete. He has been Your faithful servant for many years and I am extremely thankful and blessed that You have chosen him to reach lost souls. He is Your child and in Your hands. I ask that You continue to be with him and his family during this time and always. Amen.

Silver Dollar Blessings

This past weekend I took my car to the carwash for a long overdue and very much needed bath. When I purchased my little Honda nearly 6 years ago, the color black seemed appealing at the time. Over the years I have decided that this will more than likely be the last time I own a black vehicle.

Anyway, I made my way to the change machine to cash in some dollar bills for some quarters and then proceeded to drop them into the machine to begin the wash. One of the coins wasn’t fitting in the slot and I assumed that it had been battered and bent, so I slipped it into my pocket.

Later on that day as I grabbed the remaining change out of my pocket to place into my change jar, I noticed that what I thought was a battered and bent quarter was in fact a silver dollar. I got a little excited as I realized that I was given $1.75 for $1.00. It kind of felt as though I had won the lottery or something!

Days passed and the scenario found its way back into my mind. These past few months have been so insanely hectic. And good. My life seems to really be falling into a place that I believe to be what is right for me. After many years and what seems like an eternity, I can almost sense the rays of light at the end of the tunnel. I can feel its warmth, and I am at peace as I see the glow.

I hold on to the silver dollar as I am reminded that God hands us silver dollar blessings quite often in our lives. Sadly, we sometimes don’t notice that we have them until hours, days, and sometimes years pass by. Yet I have to wonder if that isn’t God’s divine plan for us.

…I wonder as I slap myself on the forehead questioning how I could have missed it when it was right there to begin with…

You know, in one of those, “What was I thinking?” moments.

My mind stills as I hear the answer.

“You weren’t ready.”

I believe that blessings are handed to us every day. Sometimes God reveals them to us immediately and other times He simply waits until we’re ready for them. Until we are completely willing to appreciate them, to cherish them, and to be thankful for them.

That’s where I am today. In this very moment.

As Thanksgiving approaches I clutch that silver dollar and I don’t think I will ever spend it. Not because of its “money” value, but to remind me that God's blessings are always present.

...even when we can't see them...

Making a Difference

A few weeks ago after I had picked Nick up from practice we had a brief conversation that lingered in my mind for many days.

Nick began his conversation by saying, “Mom, I don’t know if I want to go to River Valley next year.” This immediately shocked me because from the moment ground was broken for this new high school he had his mind set on going there. There was a time that I wanted him to go to a smaller high school but even I have adjusted to my son being a Falcon next year.

I asked him why all of a sudden he was having doubts.

Nick doesn’t share a lot of things with me. Part of me wants him to, and a bigger part of me remembers what it was like being his age and the last person I really wanted to confide in was a parent. So I’m ok with him not pouring his heart out to me every second of the day. I try not to pry and hope that if it’s not me he chooses to talk to that he has someone else.

This particular night he allowed me the opportunity to share in what was troubling him…for a little while. Then he remembered that it was his mom that he was talking to and ended the conversation just as quickly as it had begun.

From what I gathered, he was disheartened in hearing his peers talking negatively about someone and he realized that he didn’t want to attend a school where kids/friends did that to others. Sadly, that’s a very inevitable season of “growing up” and it won’t matter if you attend a school of 300 or 3000. Hazing, backstabbing, mockery, lying…all seem to be the price you pay to become “popular” in a teenage society.

Thankfully, I have a boy with a big heart. I have a son who knows the difference between right and wrong. A child who is troubled when he recognizes how evil some people can be.

As I thought about this conversation there was one thing in particular that stayed with me. God had placed something on my heart and I was compelled to share it with Nick.

A week had passed and as Nick was getting his football gear ready for practice I told him I wanted to share something with him in regards to the situation.

“Nick, I know that you may not feel like you want to go to River Valley anymore and I understand. But one thing that I would really like you to think about is that maybe God wants you there so you can stick up for those kids. It’s not an easy thing to do, and surely isn’t the “popular” thing to do, but you might be the only one who cares enough to take a stand.”

As I spoke those words to him I began to tear up. Not just because I was having this conversation with my own child, but as I spoke those words to him I thought about the people in my own life.

How am I extending kindness to those around me? How can I reach out to extend compassion on a complete stranger? What am I doing for “the least of these?”

Everyone is placed in our lives for a reason. Do we look for that reason or do we let the moments slip by and assume someone else will meet their need? Sometimes we are only given one chance to make a difference.

What we might think is a small gesture of kindness could end up meaning the world to someone else.

My Journey on a New Road

I have been driving the same stretch of highway to work for the past 8-1/2 years. Five days a week and there are days I think I could make the drive blindfolded. Knowing that would not be the most intelligent thing to do, don’t worry I won’t.

This morning as I was on the county road getting close to merging onto the highway, I noticed extremely bright lights up ahead. At 6:15 am it’s still pretty dark, so as I saw these lights I assumed something major was going on.

There were road construction signs on the shoulder, indicating a one lane road ahead. Could it be? They have been working on a new four lane along this stretch of Highway 99 for the past few years. As I approached a man holding a sign, waving me to the other side of the road I actually became a little excited.

…Until I got to the newly operating stop light at the intersection…

I almost began to panic. I knew that I needed to go south because that was the way to Sacramento, but why were there cars on the opposite side of me. Where were they coming from? Where does that road lead?

It was dark. There was the inability to see exactly where I was going. The road was extremely unfamiliar to me as opposed to the road I was accustomed to drive on. I wasn’t sure if I was excited anymore. Actually, it was starting to freak me out a little.

Trying to gather my bearings and figure out where I was only confused me more.

However, after a few moments on this new road I began to enjoy the ride. And once the new road merged with the old and I knew exactly where I was, I uttered the word, “huh” to myself in the car.

The brief time I was traveling on that section of road, all I could think about was this past week…

I encountered a new set of emotions within me. At 37 years old, one would think that they have experienced every emotion humanly possible. Ha!

As I try to sort through this new feeling, the journey to work this morning reminded me that it’s ok to venture down a new road. And that while the road is somewhat dark and unfamiliar, all I have to do is trust that it will lead me where I’m supposed to go.

A new road is smooth. Flawless. So why does it frighten me so? Somehow panic and doubt seem to rob us from merely being able to enjoy the excitement of a new journey...

Driving home this afternoon I know I will see things differently. And I know that as the days go by, the same will be true in my life as well.

The Time In Between

A few of the things I love include having the opportunities to see the sun rise as well as the sun set…

A sunrise indicates that a new day is upon us. A fresh start. New beginnings.

A sunset indicates that another day has passed. A time to reflect upon the events of the day. The ending of whatever chapter we may have encountered throughout those 10 or so hours of daylight.

And then there are those seconds that tick away in between…

How do we spend those moments? Do we live with gratitude or do we allow the dark situations all around and within us to consume our time? Do we ponder the beauty of this thing called life and count our many blessings or do we shut the rest of the world out and sulk in the misery of situations gone wrong? When we look at the landscapes as they turn from vibrant colors of spring to the browns of winter do we view them as barren, dull, and boring or stop to contemplate the concept that in order for newness to come forth, there has to be a dying of the old?

I think about that last part a lot…

Not only as a person who loves to spend time outdoors but as someone who looks at her own life, where she’s been and what’s in store for her life.

Saturday was definitely a day like no other. Every possible emotion that could be felt and seen, was.

Between games my dad, my son, my nephew and myself took a little break from the football stadium and ventured on a little drive. It was a much needed and very enjoyable distraction from the grip of reality that had been holding us all so tight.

For two hours my mind was clear and my perception changed. Strange how being outdoors can do that to a person. I feel very fortunate that I am the type of person who can let everything go and find that sense of peace.

Aside from having the opportunity to see these things on our drive, I was struck by a pretty emotional moment later on at the football field as well.

It happened within minutes of the final buzzer of the game just before Nick’s. One of the best players on River Valley’s team had taken a hit and was motionless on the field. After a moment, he was on his feet and limping to the sidelines, hand across his stomach, hunched over in pain. Crying. His dad is a coach on that team and as they made their way to the sidelines the two of them stood together. The boy’s head on his father’s shoulder, his dad gently stroking his son’s head as if to comfort. The boy’s body was shuddering through the sobs. I don’t know exactly what happened, but an assumption was this 12 year old had the wind knocked out of him.

The buzzer sounded. The boys lined up to cross the field and shake hands with their opponents. All of them but Dante. All of a sudden, this mass of kids in red surrounded him. They patted his shoulder, rubbed his head, shook his hand, and gave him hugs. It was absolutely, utterly amazing. While he may have had the wind knocked out of him, that moment literally took my breath away. A random…very meaningful act of kindness. Maybe not for the people in the bleachers sitting around me and maybe not for the other 40 or so players on the field. But that moment truly spoke volumes to me.

When life knocks the wind out of us…and it will, there’s comfort. If we seek it. When bad things happen…and they do, there’s hope. If we look for it. Always.

Just as the grass fades from bright green to brown through a season. A new season is just around the corner…

Don’t miss the beauty during the time in between.

A Lesson from the Sidelines

A few weeks ago, River Valley hosted a scrimmage at the high school for the Junior Falcon football teams. Our day began bright and early with my nephew’s games.

This was the first time the boys were sporting this year’s game jerseys and they looked absolutely adorable! The younger kids played their games on the practice fields that were blocked off and measured a little shorter than half of an actual football field. With parents lined up in lawn chairs surrounding the “mini fields” the teams began to play and parents began to cheer (or in the case of my brother…shout).

While Landon’s team had a break between games, I sat in my chair and observed two of the other teams playing in front of me (I am, after all an avid people watcher…). Whenever I’ve seen this (unnamed) team play this year, my eyes are fixated on this one particular coach, and it’s NOT because he’s a handsome lad! He’s crazy. He yells at the kids like they’re 18 years old and not 6. He jumps up and down on the field like he’s slammed more than one energy drink. When they play…they play to win at all costs. These kids are 6 years old!!! I don’t know if he thinks that every game is the Super Bowl or what, but he’s one of the most aggressive people I’ve ever seen. And that’s NOT to compliment him… He intimidates me, so I can’t even begin to imagine how these poor little boys feel when they’re on the same field with him.

Anyway, the scrimmages are played with 10 minutes of offense and then 10 minutes of defense. At this particular moment, the (unnamed) team was on offense. I believe they had just scored and were on their way back to the opposite side of the field to start another play when I noticed this little guy from the other team lying on the field, flat on his back. A few of his coaches walked over and stood above him. While this was going on, “crazy coach” was corralling his boys to line up for the play. There seemed to be more interest in the clock running down and running out of time than there was in stopping for a moment to check on the welfare of this boy.

Typically in a game, each player is taught that when there is an injury, regardless of whose team it is, everything stops and every player takes a knee. I was disappointed and disheartened in how this incident played out.

Until…

The little boy got to his feet and began to walk off the field. As he walked within 20 feet of the sidelines, one of his teammates walked out to meet him, placed his arm around his shoulder, and walked with him the rest of the way.

I was so touched with this little boy’s concern and sensitivity to help his friend that I almost cried. To me, that’s what life is all about. Interacting. Helping one another. Having compassion for those in need. Extending mercy and grace to someone who may have never received it otherwise.

As well as almost crying, I really wanted to walk up to the crazy coach, point my finger directly in his face and sternly say “shame on you.” These boys are at a very impressionable age and sometimes I wonder how some people can’t seem to grasp the concept that if we don’t help encourage and uplift them, we’re setting them up for a greater failure in life than if they simply lose a game…

Where are our priorities as adults…as leaders to the generations behind us? No wonder this world has gone crazy and values and morals are so far out of whack.

The little boy that walked out on the football field could have taught the crazy coach a very important lesson, had he been paying attention to the bigger picture rather than the sound of the buzzer.

This little boy taught me a lesson that day. To become more aware of those who surround me. To try and be an encouragement, not merely to the people I know, but to random strangers as well. There’s an old saying that goes something like this: People pay attention to the way we act more than the words we speak. And his actions spoke volumes to me…

Scuffs on our Helmets

One of the crazy, yet very cool changes to football season this year is the addition of my nephew Landon to the River Valley Junior Falcon’s Mighty Mite team. This change is crazy because every Saturday my family and I will spend at least 10 hours at the football field for the next few months.

I still can’t get over how cute these 5-6 year olds look in their football gear. The pads in their pants seem to go past their knees and they look like a bunch of hyped up “little people” running back and forth aimlessly.

The past few weeks I have been able to catch a few of their practices before running over to watch Nick practice. See…crazy!

This week as Landon’s team was finishing up for the night in their team huddle, his coach was giving them a pep talk in regards to how hard they’d been working. He had the boys look at their helmets. He said that when they were issued their helmets, they were brand new, straight out of the packaging. They were shiny and bright…flawless. And now each one of them had colored markings…scuffs on them bearing the colors of the paint from their opponents’ helmets which means that they are all playing really hard.

As they were walking away towards their parents, the coach yelled out a “Brooks! Come here!” So I ran out on the field as fast as I could…just kidding.

Landon turned back around to meet his coach, who asked him to remove his helmet. He spoke to Landon individually and proceeded to show Landon the scuffs on his helmet. As Landon walked back over to meet his mom and dad he was proudly wearing a grin, stretching from ear to ear.

I sat there and watched my adorable little nephew as he showed his daddy the marks of accomplishment from his hard work as a football player…

Prior to practice the following night, my brother stopped by to pick up Landon. He walked through the door, frustrated and stressed not only because he was running late, but because as he drove to the house there was an indication that the transmission was going out on his truck. I believe his words were either, “I don’t know what else could possibly go wrong for me right now.” or “If one more thing could possibly go wrong in my life I just might lose it.” And as he loaded up the boys for practice his assumption proved correct as he had no reverse gear and the transmission was gone.

After they left, I looked at my dad and said, “You know…I think Satan is knocking at my little brother’s door.”

My brother is one of the hardest, if not THE hardest working person I know. Not only is he a physical laborer, but he labors long. He has a full time job and when he’s not working for a salary, he’s working to help someone in need for no other reason than to help. His work ethics far exceed the norm. And somehow he manages to take what little time he has to be an amazing father to his kids. I hated seeing him frustrated, stressed, and feeling like his world was crashing down around him.

Then I began to think about Landon’s coach the night before and his speech to the kids. How true that message is for all of us.

We’re all football players in the grand scheme of things, with one Head Coach. When we are born again, we are given a brand new helmet (life) straight out of the package…flawless. As we tackle every one of life’s obstacles, our helmets get scuffed in the struggle to conquer them. Because our helmets are on…we can’t see the progress of our hard work and struggles. And often times we feel that instead of a gain in yardage we’re getting pushed back and about to lose possession of the ball…

These are the moments when we need to listen to our Coach as he asks us to remove our helmets and take a good long look at the scuffs. One of my biggest and darkest scuffs is single parenting. Yet when God asks me to focus on that scuff, I see my struggles reflected in a beautiful 13 year old boy. Happy, sensitive, encouraging, and carrying a faith in God himself. I am reminded that Scripture tells me that in this life there will be struggles, but because of Jesus there are no struggles that can not be overcome.

This past weekend I was able to sit down with my parents and watch a movie called “Letters to God.” It is based on the true story of this incredibly strong 8 year old boy and his struggle with cancer. During the movie there is a scene involving a non-Christian man who is searching to find his way in life and sits down to have a conversation with his boss. It was a divine appointment as they conversed on a bench outside of church. In tears, the man explained how everything he cared about was slipping through his fingers. His boss told him to place his hands together and interlock them. He placed his hands on his employee’s hands and said something to the effect of, “When your hands are like this…nothing can slip through them.”

I pray for those who feel as though they have no where to turn in the difficult times. For those who don’t have a relationship with their Coach.

I look forward to the final buzzer of the game. When I can take off my helmet for the last time and not have to worry about ever putting it back on again. But until then, I will embrace the struggles and wear the scuffs with pride, knowing that they all have great meaning and purpose. And I want to play the game well…

Knowing When

The beginning of last week began my son’s persistent demands to have me take him back to the doctor to get a release form for his strained ACL. Tuesday marked the second week of recovery, and the doctor originally advised he stay off of it for three weeks. Nick…was determined to convince me that it was healed.

I waited until the latter part of the week, spoke to his coach, and decided to take him for his word, that it indeed was healed and that I would take him in on Friday to have the doctor look at it again.

My concession didn’t come easily and after the news of 3rd baseman for the Atlanta Braves Chipper Jones collapsing on the field mid-week from a torn ACL, I began to wonder if this would indeed be the wisest thing to do.

I’m not entirely sure that the doctor was easily convinced either as he spoke to Nick in the exam room. The middle aged man asked Nick to promise him that if at any time it began to flare up again, he would back off of practice and give it more time to heal. Nick nodded his head as if to understand in compliance with “Doctor’s orders.”

The good news is his first day back at practice is today. One day shy of the three week mark. I’m trusting Nick is familiar enough with his body that he knows when it’s back to normal…and that he’s not merely saying it’s better because he’s itching to get back on the field.

Sadly, one of his team’s strongest players collapsed on the field this past Saturday with an ankle injury. Apparently this is a recurring injury that requires him to wear an ankle brace; however he failed to wear it which may result in having to sit out for a bit as well.

All too often we spend our lives rushing into things with the hope of satisfaction of some sort. Typically, when we rush, whatever satisfaction we acquire tends to be “short term.” And because we rush…we risk the possibility of becoming disappointed and often times, wounded.

Something looks or sounds good and we dash to grasp. We rush towards it with tunnel vision and don’t heed to the warning signs, telling us to stop, yield, slow, or even turn around. Seldom do we seek the advice of others because the last thing we want to do is entertain the idea that someone else may see the bigger picture of potential disaster.

As I heard the words “I’m ready” come out of my son’s mouth last week, my stomach turned with doubt and concern. I cringe at the thought that he may face the possibility of further injury.

Sometimes I find myself telling God those very same words. “I’m ready,” I say as I proceed without waiting for God to respond. Failing to realize that even when I can’t hear Him speak, He’s preparing the way for me and if I simply wait for Him, He will make my way perfect.

Ecclesiastes 3:11 says, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” My timing isn’t His, and trying to make everything beautiful on my own only destroys the beauty He’s preparing. And knowing that I can’t fathom what He’s already done and continues to do should be more than enough of a reason to sit in peace…

And so I begin this week in prayer, praying that Nick knows when he's strong enough to push forward and when to heed to the instruction to ease up when he's hurting. And I also pray for my own discernment, that I know when to wait on God's timing and not my own...

Life Lesson Through a Strained ACL

I cannot believe that it’s August already…

August marks the start of football season, and this year has proven to be pretty eventful so far…


Practice started the last week of July, which just so happened to be the time I set aside for a “last hoorah” trip. Destination Los Angeles.

Nick began his first week of football with what they dub “hell week.” My son has made it an annual tradition NOT to prepare for intense drilling and once again found himself getting sick in the middle of night number one. His response to me that first night was, “I just wasn’t ready for it.” Hmmm….

Night number two brought him home limping and complaining of a sore ankle.

As I watched him walk to the car after night number three I noticed that he wasn’t drenched in sweat. When I questioned it, he confessed that he sat out of practice because of his ankle and was told to put ice on it.

Night number four marked the first day of my vacation and the evening before Nick’s started. After a phone call before bed he confessed that he sat out once again and his coach advised that he go in to see a doctor.

As Nick arrived in Orange County that Friday morning, I watched him limp towards me like an 80 year old man with a prosthetic leg. He had been living on Aleve and I decided that we should make a quick stop at a drug store to pick up some Ben Gay or Icy Hot to help the muscles.

I honestly felt bad for him as I watched him painfully walk around the entire weekend. He didn’t complain much, but I could tell he was hurting.

Upon our return home last Monday, I took him in to Urgent Care before practice to have a doctor tell me what we’d already diagnosed it to be.

A strained ACL.

No football practice for 3-4 weeks.

As we drove home I could sense the disappointment in my son’s being. He has come to terms with the fact that this year will be the last year that he will play football because he knows the intensity of the sport, what is required to perform at his best, and he has somewhat acknowledged that there are some things that he knows he simply cannot do…

Sitting in the doctor’s office, I had asked Nick if the ankle he strained was the leg that he has problems with and he said yes. I then explained to the doctor that Nick had been diagnosed with cerebral palsy a few years ago and the only thing that was affected from this disease was his leg…could it be that the lack of “working” nerves in his leg resulted in the strained ankle? His response was…absolutely. He continued to stress the importance of exercising that ankle and leg to build up extra strength, which ironically was the advice given by his doctor at the Shriner’s hospital.

So back in the car, I put on the “stern parent hat” and explained to Nick how important it is to listen to the advice that a doctor gives him. Saying you understand and are going to work on it is very different than actually doing it. With tears building up in his eyes on the verge of pouring out, he quietly said, “I knew you were going to think this was my fault.”

One of the greatest difficulties for me as a single parent is trying to find that balance between the roles of mom and dad. Sadly, I believe I find myself telling my son to “buck up” more often than wrapping my arms around him and telling him it’s all going to be ok… My prayer is that one day he’ll fully understand the things that are truly important to me in regards to raising him. To love him the best way that I know how, and to help him become a man of strength, courage, and integrity. To build him up and encourage him along the way. To teach him the importance of morals and the things he should value.

I felt as though I let him down on our drive home that day from the doctor…

It makes me wonder how God does it with us…finds that balance between the stern discipline and wrapping his arms around us in comfort, to let us know that it’s all going to be ok. How He hurts more than anything when we’re hurting and yet will continue to discipline us as needed. How He must rejoice when we fully understand the depth of His love, mercy and grace.

And for a moment I was the 13 year old in the car, seated next to Jesus in the driver’s seat. Tears swelling up in my eyes as I felt the blame placed upon me… All of the advice I have never heeded to. The endless number of times I felt things never went my way. And He looked at me with piercing, compassionate eyes. “It’s not your fault… I have done what I’ve done because I love you…and I have greater things in store for you than you could ever possibly imagine. It’s not your time now, but it’s coming. And all the pain, heartache, and disappointment will blossom into life’s greatest blessings for you. I promise.”

Life is full of all kinds of lessons, and thanks to God for allowing them to shine through in my life...

Saving Grace

Yesterday morning as I was checking toddlers in at church, my boss gave me orders to page the grandma of one of our little boys because he had a rash on his skin and there was no explanation given as to what it actually was. Under normal circumstances, pagers are issued to the adults dropping the children off. But occasionally they aren’t handed out which as luck would have it…was one of those times.

Knowing this little guy’s grandma, I offered to go into the worship service to look for her, not thinking about this particular service being the largest in attendance over the weekend.

I walked through the doors during worship and began panning through the hundreds of heads that were standing. As I panned, more and more people poured through the doors to find seats which added more difficulty to what I was trying to do. After failing to locate her from the back I made my way over to one side, walking up and down the isles looking like a confused, lost soul. No luck on the left so I moved to the right. Up and down the isles, scanning hundreds of faces. Nothing.

A few of the ushers asked if they could help me look for someone, which would have been great had they actually known who the woman was!

I’m starting to get a headache…

I took a position at the back of the sanctuary once more as the congregation sat down for a moment. Back to front, side to side. Still nothing.

I walked back to the nursery to check in and give an update on my pathetic findings. I was informed to keep searching, as there was a room full of little ones and a single boy with an unidentified rash.

Back to square one…

This time, I started on the right. Walking up one isle and down the next, I was beginning to wish that I was carrying some sort of sign that indicated who I was looking for. More and more people could tell that I was struggling, or entirely crazy and would stop me to offer their help.

Now I was beginning to wish that our video screens had some sort of “ticker” scrolling across the bottom like on ESPN.

I went back to the nursery yet again, frustrated with myself. I felt as though I had been looking through a “Where’s Waldo?” book for the past half hour. I asked if there would be a way to have someone make an announcement before the sermon, or at least take this little boy into the sanctuary with me this time to attract attention. Permission granted! I scooped him up, knowing that somehow this time would be a success!

On the way in, I tried to make a game of it with him. “I need you to help me find your grandma, ok?” He smiled in excitement. As soon as we stepped inside, the lights went completely out. Seriously? After a few moments, they came back on and knowing the pastor would begin preaching very soon we hit the isles again. By this time the congregation had to think this was hysterical. Two sections down, and all of a sudden his little arm pointed straight out as he touched grandpa.

I’ll embarrass myself right now by saying that I eyed this woman several times. The only difference between this woman and the woman I was looking for was newly added highlights. I even questioned my co-workers. “Did any of you notice her hair today? Did she get highlights?” And the response given was no. So I dismissed the possibility. As the ever-so-annoying saying goes, “my bad.”

The whole congregation should have erupted with clapping and a standing ovation. After all, it was…well deserved. I’m joking. I was just ecstatic that this needle in a haystack adventure was resolved…

As relieved as I was, I became aware of how often I put myself through similar situations. Rather than taking the easiest way out, I stubbornly seem to think I can take care of everything myself. Rather than seeking first the wisdom from the One who knows me better than myself, I create my own navigation system through my life. Had I taken this little guy with me on the first trip I would have saved myself frustration, caused a little less distraction, and been available to do other things in that amount of time.

Sometimes I feel as though much of my life is wasted in trying to figure things out. Trying to locate Waldo in a sea of faces, feeling my way through the darkness, and feeding into my stubbornness.

Yesterday, my saving grace was a two year old boy. Every day, my saving grace is a Loving Father. I need to remember that…

Bellevue, Iowa

This past week, my heart has definitely been back "home."

I grew up in small town Iowa, with several neighboring small towns where everyone literally knew everyone.

Last Sunday, July 4th, my Facebook updates were flooded with links spreading the news of a parade tragedy in a nearby town called Bellevue. Apparently a pair of horses that were pulling a family in a buggy/carriage were spooked and took off from the parade route onto the sidewalk lined with families and small children. 24 were reported injured at the time.

I spent most of that day in shock and prayer for that community.

A few days later, a friend of mine who is in law enforcement and grew up in Bellevue, posted a link to the actual dispatch call from this tragedy. I sat in bed Tuesday night listening to the familiar voice of the dispatcher and the officers that were frantically trying to work at getting EMS where they needed to be. It brought tears to my eyes. My friend added on his link, "Ever get a chance...thank a dispatcher. Nice job Bellevue and Bob Lane and crew at Maquoketa Law Center."

Most people wouldn't know this, because it isn't typical in this day and age for Emergency Response/Dispatching to be done in one location, for several communities. Maquoketa PD was practically a second home for me when I was in my early 20s. I was working in the small town, and dated one of the men in blue for several years. He was also from the town of Bellevue. The dispatcher in Maquoketa is responsible for communication between at least five small towns, as well as the county. He is the link between the PD, FD and EMS. And he typically works his shifts solo. That's a lot of weight to carry in the midst of a tragedy...The dispatcher whose voice I heard this week, was the very same dispatcher 17 years ago.

Throughout the week I searched on the internet for news stories reporting on the accident. KCRG TV did a great job at keeping people informed and covering the community well.

As I thought about Bellevue, I thought about what a great community it is and has always been. Its population consists mainly of a handful of families, and that's exactly what the town is. One big family. Nestled along the Mississippi River, it is one of the most beautiful places in the state of Iowa. I always enjoyed visiting whether it be for a walk along the river, or lunch with my grandma. If I could bottle up this small town and place it anywhere, I would want to scatter it everywhere!

Later on in the week, I noticed a Facebook page set up specifically for this unfortunate event. It listed all of those who were injured which included a few names that I actually knew.

Below is a link to one of the news reports. As I watched it I was truly touched as I recalled what small town life is truly about...

http://www.kcrg.com/news/local/Bellevue-Mayor-Medical-Response-was-Amazing-97901619.html

"The human touch outweighs anything else in Bellevue." What a statement. What a motto we all should live by. Can you stop for a minute and imagine what our world would be like if we spent every day of our lives living by this simple truth?

What an honor, that I can say I'm from a small town. You hear some people complain that small towns mean that everyone knows everyone's business, and yet at the end of the day, small towns pull together like no one else does. And that is what truly matters in the end.

Peaceful Chaos

Yesterday afternoon I had the opportunity to visit with my friend and her beautiful family of eight.

Whenever I pull into their driveway I chuckle because I see the cars and feel like I’m intruding on some sort of get-together but then remind myself that all of the cars belong to their crew!

As we pulled into the drive, the dad was heading out for a run, their oldest was standing outside as their family friend was working on her car’s air conditioning, and my friend, with a houseful of little ones awaited us inside.

We walked in and Nick was greeted as if he was some sort of “fresh meat” ready to be devoured. This is typical whenever we visit and I love watching them attack Nick because the one thing he doesn’t have in his life is a sibling to tug at his leg, jump on his back, or wrestle around with. As long as my friend is ok with Nick playfully reacting to her boys, I am perfectly fine with merely letting the boys be boys.

We sat in her family room and conversed as plastic toys flew to and fro, boys jumped from sofa to sofa, latched onto Nick’s leg as he drug them across the floor. It literally was a combat zone filled with giggles and laughter. While mom tried to calm them down to no avail, I sat there and couldn’t help but laugh myself. Are you kidding? I thought. This is GREAT!

What makes it so great is the fact that while these boys are running wild, the evidence of love abounding under that roof grips my soul. Family pictures line the walls. Christian books sit on the end tables. And rather than four boys yelling at mom because “so and so hit me over the head with such and such” there is laughter. Something I would consider “peaceful chaos.” It’s what makes her house a home…Life under the roof of my friend’s house is an example of how homes should be.

As I sat there bursting with laughter on the inside I glanced across the room to see a frazzled, yet submissive look from my beautiful friend. And while she may have many moments of which she just wants to take a walk alone, I know…without and ounce of doubt, that she wouldn’t trade her life for the world. One of the many things I admire about her.

Another thing that I admire her greatly for, is her love for Jesus. Seldom does she speak of any one thing and not bring up the name of Jesus, mentioning His mercy and grace, His sovereignty, His love, His teachings. She has an amazing passion. And while we share the love of Jesus, we also share our struggles with humanness. Our frustrations, our anger, our questions.

Amidst the noise and dodging toys, if there were moments I had to sit and read her lips for lack of audibly being able to hear her, I was comforted merely by seeing the look of passion on her face. Her eyes truly are the window to her soul and I’m pretty sure that everyone who knows her feels the same.

When her husband arrived home from his run, they rounded up the rest of the boys to take them into town to go for a swim and leave us girls alone, for some “girl time.”

As the front door closed, the house was quiet and still. And I have to wonder what I would do if I didn’t have the sound of laughter and love in my life. How empty it would make me feel.

We spent the remainder of our time together expressing our concerns of others. We spoke of the heartaches and hurts of this earthly life. We cried. We prayed. And I walked away feeling so blessed to have moments like that. Thanking God for knowing who to send in my life and at just the right time. And encouraged by words spoken and seeing love displayed through the art of “peaceful chaos.”

Built up Pressures

As I was getting in my car on Monday to head home from work, I opened my trunk to put a few things inside and glanced at the two cases of Diet Coke that were there. Knowing that this was an accident waiting to happen, I opted to leave them there rather than taking them out and putting them inside. Monday’s high temp was 109 degrees.

As I merged onto the interstate to head home I hit a bump on the road. With the ac blowing on high and the stereo blasting I immediately heard a “ping” sound coming from my trunk. A few seconds went by and there was another ping. This went on for the next couple of miles. I was expecting to arrive home and find a sticky soda explosion caked all over my trunk.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the end result and the only damage was a handful of expanded, very deformed cans of Diet Coke.

As I thought about this scenario, I began to see the similarities there were between us…and a case of overheated, carbonated beverages. The heat caused a tremendous amount of pressure that was bottled up in each 12oz can of soda. This was caused as a result of not storing it in a room temperature environment. If it was 109 degrees outside, I can’t even begin to imagine what the temperature was in the trunk of a black car with absolutely no ventilation.

As a Christian, when we step outside our environments, we risk having to feel the effects of pressure. And if we’re not careful, we subject ourselves to those pressures building enough to cause an “explosion.” Unfortunately, for as long as we walk this earth we are out of our environment, because this world is not our home…

This week I have been reading from the book of 1 Kings and studying Elijah. The New Testament refers to Elijah as being a man who was “just like us” (James 5:17) When I think of Elijah, I think of a man who was obedient, who was anointed by God, and was used to stop the rain from falling for 3-1/2 years. But as I read 1 Kings, my eyes were opened to see Elijah in a way I had never fully understood before, which led me into some deeper study of this man who was just like us…

I found a fairly extensive study online by J Hampton Keathley III. In one of his lessons he spoke about Elijah’s bout with depression.

Elijah was a man with a nature just like ours. Just like the rest of us, he experienced the problem of depression-that mental and emotional condition marked by feelings of discouragement, worthlessness, dejection, guilt, apprehension, and failure...
…But alas, we all have feet of clay. Keeping our focus on the Lord and our minds relating to God in the midst of a fallen and evil world that says, “happiness, security, significance, i.e., your needs, are found in the details of life,” is not easy. We are bombarded with a general attitude that is illustrated in slogans like “life is short, so play hard. You only go around once, so get all the gusto you can.” Even when we are not affected by that kind of thinking-and Elijah was not-it is still difficult to maintain our spiritual equilibrium or orientation to God. It is easy to get lost in the fog, the dense clouds that sometimes envelop us. We try to fly by the seat of our pants rather than by our biblical instrument panel. As a result, we get lost or we crash and burn emotionally.

When Elijah started to feel the pressure he, in essence stepped outside of his environment.

Being disappointed, Elijah got his eyes off the Lord, became fearful, and ran for his life down to Beersheba and then beyond into the desert. He was alone…He was tired, exhausted, and in the wilderness by himself without food and water. Of course, he was not alone because the Lord was there, but he felt totally alone, helpless, fearful, hurt, a failure, and he wasn’t thinking with the viewpoint of the Word.

If only I had a mere penny for the times that something similar has happened to me. The moments in which I feel as though I have lost all control, which realistically opens up the door for God to remind me that it’s not about me being in control anyway.

So here’s Elijah. Alone in the wilderness, sitting under a tree he prayed for God to take his life and then fell asleep. The Lord provided for him through food and water and Elijah continued on a forty day journey to the mountain of God.

And the word of the Lord came to him: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” (10) He replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, broken down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.” (11) The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.” Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. (12) After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper…
…Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

-1 Kings 19:9-12

God came to Elijah in a gentle voice. He came to remind him that He was still in charge. And to remind us that when pressures build up and we feel like running (which we will), we should focus on running to Jesus and rest in knowing that He will calm the storms, He will keep us safe, and He will provide. Always.

Scars

As I was lying in bed last night, thoughts encircling my mind, I let out a silent chuckle as I recalled seeing the face of a toddler in the church nursery this past Sunday.

I was filled with happiness when I saw he and his daddy walking down the hallway, as they had been on my mind for the past few weeks. I hadn’t seen them in church, and when someone is absent I begin to worry and wonder if things are okay.

I wished his dad a Happy Father’s Day and mentioned how I had missed them. I glanced down at this little guy as he was standing tall, eyes as wide as lemons, stretching his neck out and turning his cute little head from side to side. Not realizing what this was all about, I bent down to his level and gave him my undivided attention.

His face was a little battered. Faded bruising around his deep brown eyes. Scars that were healing on his cute little nose and grazing the bottom of his chin. This little guy looked like he had been in a battle, and he wore his battle wounds so proudly that morning.

Apparently he had figured out how to unlatch the tailgate of his daddy’s truck. And as the tailgate slammed open, little Braiden tumbled onto the ground. Knowing better than to ask this question I sputtered it out anyway. “Was it moving?” His dad would never be so careless. He is one of the most loving fathers I have ever met. He’d shield his kids with his life. And being a parent myself, I already know the self-blame that occurs when your child gets hurt.

As a parent, your number one priority is to keep your baby safe. But unfortunately accidents happen.

They happened a lot to this little girl. If something seemed “accident-proof,” yours truly could find a way to prove otherwise. From running full speed into a log splitter that was parked behind a tractor in our driveway, to slicing both of my index fingers as we creatively placed a garden hose at the top of our METAL slide on a hot summer day. I have scalded myself by pouring a pan of boiling hot water down the front of my chest and seared my arm on the muffler of the lawn mower. Drove a 3-wheeler through a barbed wire fence and a dirt bike through our garage door. My name is included in the definitions of accident and injury. When Miss Congeniality made its way to the big screen, my boyfriend at the time laughed because she reminded him of me. And it wasn’t because I resembled the beauty of Sandra Bullock but rather the lack of grace her character displayed throughout the movie. I was born a klutz and I believe I will remain a klutz until my time on earth has passed.

Although self-inflicted wounds may appear to be my specialty, they certainly aren’t my preference.

While I still trip over my own feet and hit my head on an open cupboard door, I walk through my days with caution. However the older I get, the more I have realized that the battle scars from a few stitches and abrasions seem to heal a lot more quickly than the emotional scars that are found on my heart. A dab of Neosporin on a Band Aid speeds up the healing process for a scrape or a cut. There are aerosol spray cans to relieve the pain, and there’s Aloe Vera to cool the burn.

I am learning that my internal scars, the scars that can’t be seen by the naked eye or physically touched by the human hand are gradually being healed by the One who knitted my being. The scars that I’m shameful of are constant reminders to me of the life I once lived. They are healed, yet kept there to remind me of the hurts, the mistakes, and the careless choices I’ve made. Reminders that by the grace of God, prevent me from inflicting them on myself again.

Which is hard for me. Most of my scars are remnants of relationships. Results of wanting to be loved, and to desperately love another, while injuring myself in the process. If God created man to love…how can one stay guarded?

By staying grounded.

By having annual check-ups.

In the moments that my emotions seem to peak…I remember those scars. I remember the pain as they were being carved into my soul. And I retreat. To my safety. I turn back into the arms of my loving, faithful, and protective Parent. Because His greatest priority is to keep me safe.

My scars can strengthen me, or consume me. I choose strength.

Braiden’s dad explained to me that after the trauma sheltered the pain, his wife took him in to clean off his battered face. Prior to nursing the wounds, she asked little Braiden if he’d like to pray for God to take away the pain. And miraculously, as she scrubbed, he didn’t flinch.

After I heard this, I looked back down at “B-Man” who was still standing tall with his chest out, and I said, “You’re a very tough little man!” Once again he swayed his head back and forth, proud as all heck of those wounds.

I still have visible scars from my clumsiness on my chin, arms, fingers, and ankle. I can tell the stories of how each one got there. I can also share every story of my internal scars, too. Although there are plenty I’m not proud of, I am proud to say that the wounds have been kissed and healed by the world’s greatest Physician.

Sticking Thistles

When I was a little girl growing up on our farm, every summer my brothers and I would get handed a spade and receive our orders to head out into the pastures to stick thistles.

As I heard my dad beckoning us to get our work clothes on, I wondered why he would make us do something so tedious. Rouging the bean fields, for as much as I despised it, made sense. Sticking thistles? In the pastures? It’s not as though anyone is going to run barefoot across that grass… And who in their right mind gives tools with blades to young siblings and turns them loose in a field?

But who argues with my dad when he gives orders?

So the three of us would set off on our journey of never-ending-thistle-sticking.

If my memory serves me correctly, I don’t think we thoroughly covered the hundreds of acres. Then again, I’m not quite sure I presently believe that my dad set us out on this mission because the thistles were, “bad for the cows” either. If anything…it was busy-work for his kids. Something to keep us out of trouble, and maybe…just maybe some tactic to instill some kind of work ethic in us.

I don’t think I have ever worked so hard as when my dad would put us to work on the farm.

We would begin just on the other side of the fence. Still being within eyesight of our dad, we made a very conscious effort to look like we were working hard. We’d spread out, far enough to where we’d each have our own section of ground to cover, but close enough to talk…or argue.

As we made our way into the valley or over the hill, it would typically turn from work…to a game. Sticking thistles turned into sticking cow patties and occasionally picking them up (we’d have gloves on) and launching them like they were Frisbees. Or ammunition. I think I’ve had my fair share of getting pegged with cow patties.

…For those who have heard me claim to be a “Tom Boy” maybe now you can understand why.

Anyway…for whatever reason, this memory came over me today. Sticking thistles. And I really didn’t know where I was going to go with this blog and the correlation between sticking thistles until this very moment.

Sometimes God calls us to a task that seems anything but logical to us. And sometimes God creates circumstances and situations, devastating as they may be, to grab our attention and work out His plan if that’s the only way He can open our hearts and minds and turn us towards Him.

My morning prayer time with God lately has included a whirlwind of emotions. There are so many people in my life that are in desperate need of emotional, spiritual and physical healing. Pregnancies with complications, family members in need of relationships with Jesus, harbored bitterness, untimely deaths, terminal disease, shattered marriages, tragic car accidents, financial distress.

As I pray…God sends comfort. Knowing that there will be struggles in this world, He reassures me that He is in control. While I sit in heartache and confusion, He beckons me to continue to pray…and allow Him to do His work.

“How can I pray for one situation to turn out one way, and yet selfishly desire for another situation to be different?” I confess.

“Because you’re human…” He whispers. “It’s ok…I know the desires of your heart.”


I received news this past weekend that a friend of mine was in an unfortunate situation which led him to the hospital in the ICU. That was the first part of the news. The second part of it…is the miracle. A tragedy that has the potential to be turned into God’s triumph. A testimony in the making. So while our initial response is, “What more could happen to this man?” God is shaking His head and saying, “You keep praying and trust in Me. I’m working here…and you will be amazed.”

Like my dad…God calls me. He tells me to get my work clothes on, and hands me the spade. He orders me to remain faithful in prayer. He reassures me that if I am obedient in this, He will take care of the rest. And while often times my mind is confused, He sees through to my heart. When I may not understand, He does. While I stand in never-ending-fields of thistles, wondering why I’m being called to such a task, He sends messengers with news like that of my friend in ICU.

Pray. Honestly. Fervently. Obediently.

Who argues with my Dad when He gives orders?

Dad's Day

Here I sit, quietly in my room thinking about the day. Father's Day.

I love my dad. Sometimes I wonder if I would fall into the "Daddy's Girl" category. My dad has never spoiled me. My dad has never given me everything I have asked for, but what I have been given, he's made me work for. I respect that about him. I know he loves me...and his love usually comes with a lesson. Sometimes I grasp it immediately, but sometimes it takes several years to comprehend.

I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to spend my childhood years living next door to my grandparents. Not that this is my story to share, so I'll tread lightly...but my grandpa and my dad didn't have the best relationship during those years. It was a classic case of one never being able to do/be "good enough." As I look back at those years I can see images...flashes of two broken men. One wanting to be a loving father but not really sure how, and another of a son, desperately wanting to have a solid "father/son" relationship with his dad.

This atmosphere spilled over into our household. Growing up with two and a half brothers (I say that because my youngest came several years down the road) there were many moments under our roof when words were exchanged and physical and emotional blows were thrown around like a violent hurricane. Again, I see the images of broken men. One of a father wanting to avoid being a reflection of his father but not knowing how, and the other of two young boys, looking up to their dad with such great admiration, desperately wanting to be the sons their dad could be proud of, yet always feeling as though they "fell short."

Thankfully, the years have come and gone and that stage of life has been outgrown. It wasn't an easy transition. The good news is, it's not then. The bad news is, those years will be remembered forever.

Almost two years ago, I saw my dad broken yet again as he stood over his father's casket prior to being lowered into the ground. The few moments we stood at the cemetary I was flooded with memories from the past 35 years. Three generations. Years of frustrations, fatigue, and failures. One has to wonder. Were there more hurts than hugs? How much love actually poured over into their lives?

I know my dad loved his dad. And I know my brothers love our dad. Sadly though...those emotions...that affection doesn't come full circle until someone passes away.

As we sat at the dinner table today, my mom suggested we pray. At that moment, she began to sob as she thought of her dad not being here. And then my dad said, "Well my dad's not either." As we were giving thanks for fathers, I sat next to my little guy and wondered "What in the world goes through his little mind on a day like today?"

Most people who have lost their fathers, have lost them to death. My son has a "father"...but a father who has chosen not to take part in his life.

BUT... (I love it when there are "buts" to the story)

Nick has had an amazing man to look up to in his grandpa. He wants his grandpa to be proud of him, and he lives for those moments when he can grab whatever time he can with him.

I have three brothers, all who have contributed at some point in time and in some way or another to Nick's life. Each in their own way. Nick admires them, he respects them, and the two that are fathers, are incredible fathers. They are great role models for my son.

And then there are the men at church who have made a commitment to invest time in Nick's life. The Bible says to look after the widows and orphans and I never really considered my child to fall into this category, but he does. And the male influences that God has chosen to use in his life are amazing. And I am grateful.

So Happy Father's Day to all the men out there. Fathers, brothers, sons, and friends. And thank you...thank you for being such a blessing in our lives!

Seasons

Sunday afternoon Nick and I took a ride in the Jeep with my parents and we headed up to one of the local reservoirs to see what the water levels looked like. After we checked out the dam, my dad took us on a little detour to this cute little town called Dobbins, around a lake and through the Sierra Mountains to a section of the Yuba River.

It was a warm afternoon, and while I would have enjoyed taking the boat out on the water, I settled for catching some coolness as we drove through the mountain shade.

As we drove around a few bends in the road, we came upon this section of mountainside that was covered with charred trees and portions of dead grass. Shortly after we came upon this view, my mom recalled the fire that swept though this area last summer.

Wildfires are a pretty common thing during a California summer. Factor in some strong northern winds with the dry ground and it can quickly turn into a chaotic, smoky, sometimes devastating time of year.

Because I am such an outdoors kind of gal, I was absolutely mesmerized by what my eyes were seeing. Thousands of trees that looked like black twigs sticking out all over the land. It was so incredibly barren. I thought, how frightening for the residents in this area. Some houses looked abandoned, some houses were up for sale, and then there were driveways that led to nothing but a foundation with a camper sitting off to the side. Bricks were stacked up. Piles of metal gathered into heaps. I also thought about the wildlife that once roamed that portion of land. What a sight that would have been while flames engulfed hundreds of acres.

We drove to the base of the valley where the Yuba River runs. There is a very large water power plant nestled at the bottom. So I’m standing there, listening to the water pour out through these enormous tubes that run from the top of the mountain into the river. The river is raging, a man is fishing. The sky is a deep blue and the sun is blasting warmth. Then I looked up to see the brown, dead hillside. And I wondered to myself… How long will it be before it turns vibrantly green? How long will it be before new seeds are planted and the evergreen trees begin to sprout up? When will the wildflowers take over and spread like watercolor on an artist’s canvas? This is almost depressing to look at…

On our way back up the hill, I asked my dad to pull over so I could get out and walk for a bit. I touched what remained of a Manzanita tree. The bark on them is typically a deep, almost mahogany red and very smooth in appearance. This one was bare. No leaves, just black branches. On the side of the road was a tree that had been cut down.
I’m pretty sure this was all in my imagination, but it was almost as if you could still smell the ashes…

In a place where I would generally be snapping pictures like mad, I had my camera out, took a few shots and then looked for some indication of life. Newness.

And there was. Just off to the shoulder of the road, there were traces of green. A handful of wildflowers beginning to strengthen and take over. Nothing much…but it was a glimpse of what’s to come.

While enduring the winter season, it is typical to become anxious for the spring and summer seasons to arrive. The funny thing is that when they get here, we approach them with hesitation, not knowing what devastation it may bring. And we complain about the heat. The dryness. It’s like that old saying goes, “Sometimes good isn’t good enough.”

The seasons we go through in our lives are quite often the same. We wait with great expectation. Sometimes we may even try to rush through from one season to the next. …And like the mountainside in Yuba County, sometimes the season brings death and destruction.

I learned this past weekend of yet another broken marriage within our church. Someone of whom I worked beside as a youth leader. Her husband is going through this season. I stood and talked to a very dear man who has been battling a disease that will ultimately take his life. His wife will one day be walking through this season as well.

These times often come upon us unwarranted, unwanted, and undeserving. They approach us when we least expect them. They hurt, they can haunt, and it may feel like these seasons last for an eternity…

The good news is, that whenever we find ourselves in such a season, God is working behind the scenes to bring newness. He can work in hearts, He can work in health, and He always works in love. He is the One working beside us, helping us gather up the bricks, the pieces of metal and stacking them in a pile. He is continually planting new seeds in our lives that may take a while to sprout up, but in the meantime He is nurturing those seeds. He is caring for them as a gardener with the best fertilizer on the market. He is splattering watercolors all over our canvas and then, when He is finished with His work of art will we fully be able to see the beauty from our brokenness. Soon the wildflowers of our lives will begin to strengthen and take over. We will realize that only God can take a dry, barren, devastated land and create such a vibrantly colorful landscape of our life…

Keep the Candle Burning

I love candles. Period. Especially Yankee brand candles. But I have a problem with candles. No, I don’t forget to blow them out. I hoard them. I buy a few at a time and place them on a shelf in my room.

After running out of shelf room I decided that I should start bringing them to work with me. The air happens to get a little stuffy and stagnant and nothing smells as good as a Yankee candle!

Today as I sit at my desk I observed two things with my candle.

#1: It is burning in the middle and not melting the wax on the outside.
and
#2: It won’t stay lit.

History has shown that typically, when something irritates me or causes me to ask the question, “What’s up with that?” a revelation is birthed and sets my wheels a spinning…

When lit, a candle illuminates. When lit, a candle produces a beautiful, soothing aroma.

il·lu·mi·nate
1. to supply or brighten with light; light up.
2. to make lucid or clear; throw light on (a subject).
3. to decorate with lights, as in celebration.
4. to enlighten, as with knowledge.
5. to make resplendent or illustrious: A smile illuminated her face.
6. to decorate (a manuscript, book, etc.) with colors and gold or silver, as was often done in the Middle Ages.

Illuminate is a great word. It is a beautiful word.

We are called to be lights of the world. There are many, many days when I feel like the candle on my desk. The flame is burning, but barely. The wick sparks, but doesn’t catch hold entirely. What does burn, burns down and through the center but the outside wall shows no effect. I sense the flicker, the passion, the desire to illuminate…but lack the motivation to completely ignite. Herein lies the danger…the flame could be extinguished.

Candles typically carry an aroma that they release when the candle is lit.

a·ro·ma
1. an odor arising from spices, plants, cooking, etc., esp. an agreeable odor, fragrance. 
2. (of wines and spirits) the odor or bouquet.
3. a pervasive characteristic or quality.

An aroma is pleasant. It is soothing.

The candle at my desk, although barely burning, is still producing an aroma. Faint as it may be, it would pack a punch with a fully ignited wick. As it continues to flicker, but occasionally burn itself out, the aroma of spices is quickly overpowered by the odor of the smoke as it floats through the air.

The interesting word in the definition of aroma, is the word “pervasive” which comes from the word pervade and it means, “to become spread throughout all parts of.”

I want to illuminate. I desire to live my days on this earth in a manner that glorifies my Creator and blesses those I encounter. I want to maintain a passion for serving. I want to pour out encouragement into the lives of others. I want my light to shine brightly, my flame to be radiant, and my illumination to be soothing.

As I sit and think about intertwining the definitions, I come up with the perfect sentence that I want to be defined by and remembered for…

A smile always illuminated her face, and she was pervasive to all who knew her.

My Man

Within the past few weeks, I have felt as though I have been on a brand new journey. A journey in discovering more about myself in regards to the person God has created me to be. I have been trying to deal with my insecurities, some mistakes that I’ve made, as well as what I can do in order to turn some of those choices I’ve made around to become more aligned with God’s will for my life…

I’m not perfect. I have never claimed to be, and in all raw honesty I am so glad that I’m not. Because my failures and my faults, usually bring me to my knees and it is in that very moment that I feel closer to God than ever before. I think God knows that about me, and possibly even you that are reading this as well. I don’t believe that God’s intentions are for us to fall, but I do believe that if that’s the only way that He can grab our attention, He will allow us to. For no other reason than to be the first One that stretches out his arm to help us back to our feet. Most days I simply want what I want, not fully acknowledging the fact that God has other plans for me.

During this time, I sat down with my mom to watch a home video of my child. It was his graduation from pre-school, 8 years ago. There he was, dressed in his white gown, with his white cap sitting cock-eyed on his cute little head. As they finished one song after another, he stood as proud as he could be, applauding in between, grinning from ear to ear. I don’t know who held more pride. Nick, at 5 years of age, or myself as I watched the video that night…

A few weeks ago he was belting out a Mercy Me song while walking down the hallway. Little did he know he had changed a part of the lyrics to something that was insanely comical to everyone who was within earshot. For the past year he has proudly stood next to my mom, chest out just to show us he has reached the point of towering over her and has gradually been doing the same thing to me. I still have about an inch and a half on him, and have also reminded him that height doesn’t hold a candle next to strength!

I love my son. LOVE HIM! From him knowingly trying to crack me up, to unknowingly he is amazing. And one thing I don't ever want to fail at, is in raising my boy...

I was reading an article this week about Integrity, Conviction, and Courage written by someone named Kay Arthur. The article is in regards to being a man of those sorts. She quoted a letter that was written by General Douglas MacArthur as a legacy to his son.

"Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid. One who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat and humble and gentle in victory. Build me a son whose wishbone is not where his backbone should be, a son who will know Thee, and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge. Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm. Let him learn compassion for those who fail. Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men. One who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep. One who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past. And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he will always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength. Then I, his father, will dare to whisper, ‘I have not lived in vain.’”

As a single woman, I can only hope that I will one day have the blessing of calling a man like this my husband. In the meantime I will do all that I can to make sure that I will raise my son to be this very example to others…

Not "Just" a Sunset

Whenever a storm comes through, I have an extreme urge to jump in my car and take a drive. You see to me, the sky is never more beautiful than when it is filled with storm clouds and the different shades of blues and sometimes even pinks.

Yesterday afternoon I missed the hail storm that brought along thunder and lightning, but the "aftermath" resulted in an absolutely amazing sky, so at dusk I decided to take a little trip.

After this quick stop I drove around to the other side of the Buttes in hopes to catch the sunset. Which I did...

I sat there for about 20 minutes and snapped picture after picture, enjoying one of my favorite moments of the day.

I found myself thinking about how beautiful the sky gets shortly after a storm has passed and how the very same thing can be said of our lives as well.

We find ourselves in the eye of a storm, sometimes fighting for what we believe in, wrestling with our situations, or simply riding that storm out, waiting for the beauty that will be showcased once the storm passes.

I learned something else as I was out and about that night. As the sun was setting, and the time became late, I decided I needed to pack up and head back into town. A few minutes down the road I glanced to the West and saw this amazing glow of golden yellow bursting from the sun into the sky.

...the beauty intensified after the sun had actually set.

I had become, in a sense...impatient because it was getting late. I witnessed a beautiful sunset and thought "that was it." Yet the beauty became even more amazing. And had I been more patient, I would have had the opportunity to stand in awe, soak that beauty in completely, and be thankful to have had the opportunity to see something so incredible unfold.

In life...I do the same. I rush, I become impatient, and usually miss the complete beauty that comes when the storm passes. So the next time I catch myself saying, "Well, that was it..." and begin to move on, I am going to remember what happened with the sunset and watch for the end result...the beauty of life...to intensify.