(this)

Why can't I write?  I wonder tonight while I run, cicadas threatening to drown my soundtrack, sunlight fading, running, not because I love to run, but because my sisters run and because I'll never be thin and because I love food and because running is supposed to negate everything I ate last weekend.

 

Why is pain seemingly easier to write about than happy days and good stuff?

 

I could write books on grief and loss and pain and loneliness but my husband took me to Jamaica for a week in November and I don't know how to write about that.  Is it because it's all too beautiful and fragile, these days, months, now years of joy creeping through?  We leave the kids with their grandparents and drive to O'Hare, pinching ourselves like two little kids, buying mismatched clearanced swimsuits because it's winter in Chicago and I hadn't thought about that; chocolate and granola bars and Nike sun visors at Target and carefully laying out our super crisp passports (we are green to world travel) and asking the hotel desk for a three am wake up call.

 

We fly to Montego Bay groggy and hungry and disoriented and squinting in the blinding sunlight and then a sweltering bus trip and free-flowing alcohol and winding streets and smells and the ragged beggars and haunting faces out of broken hut windows and I wonder why us, why here? We don't belong here, tourists, vacationing Americans, I don't deserve this, I could never have dreamed of this back when we had nothing but each other and nothing to our names but hard work and delivering papers and furniture and babysitting and stretching ends to meet each other. This is too good to be true. 

 

Cool tile and palms and pools and the ocean right there and hours on the sand with books;  at the pool bar we order everything under the sun sans alcohol and the salt cracks my lips; we eat jerk chicken on the beach with our fingers; fresh coconut milk, which tastes exactly like soap, cracked open with a knife right in front of us, and we drink it for the experience.  We promise to watch the sun rise and never do, exhausted and spent from our demanding life, we sleep in like kids on summer break.  Lying in bed one night watching TV, I hear Sara Bareilles' Brave on a HP commercial and wonder why I've never noticed it before:

 

Maybe there's a way out of the cage you live

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

Show me how big your brave is

 

And it's easy to let the light in here, on an island, with chocolate croissants for breakfast and music late into the night, but sometimes it's scary to let the light in at home, back in my little hometown with so much responsibility and our uneasy truce on whether or not to move and my entrepreneur husband's goals that seem to take him further out of my life. 

 

I want to be brave and sometimes brave is being happy.  Sometimes brave is letting go of the grief.  Sometimes it's closing a chapter and moving on.

 

And maybe fear would have been saying no to this beautiful week, choosing to stay in the mundane, choosing to close the door to adventure and choosing to play it safe and secure and so much less extravagance.

 

We rent a sailboat and go out in the bay and then to the ocean and watch another boat capsize;  I'm terrified and lose a twenty dollar bill out of my pocket in the wind and Daniel laughs harder than I've heard in a long time. We can see clear to the bottom, light all the way down to the sand, but we can't find my lost twenty and it doesn't matter anyway because money can't buy happiness, only a little freedom, and money can't prevent heartache, only pay for the aftermath, and we know all of this from painful experience. 

 

I've held a $127 masculine wedding band in my hand and said I will and I do,

 

and I've held a tinny (and tiny) navy blue cell phone and begged my girlfriend Allison to come visit me in this town where I'm so lonely and know no one,

 

and I've held a pregnancy test with two lines through it far before I thought I was ready to be a mama.

 

I've held nothing, I've held loneliness, I've held invitations, tentative friendships, I've held shingles and helped my husband roof our first little house, I've held my first child and felt my heart burst wide open with love.

 

I've held toddler hands and preschool pencils and a little sister's wedding invitations and one morning my little son who wasn't alive anymore and then I held loss in my hands.

 

I held kleenex and my sobbing mouth and dirt on a grave and cold winter snow; held on too tight and let go of some things I shouldn't have and held my husband as he drifted away from me; in humiliation held the edge of a counselor's couch and in shame I've held letters written with my own hands, wishing I could have taken back bitter, angry words, hurting the broken man I loved. 

 

I held grief and years of darkness and then another tiny son and I held him and terror, too, watching him creep toward the one hundred twenty-eight day mark.

 

And I wrote, wrote, wrote about all of this.  What do you have in your hand? God asks.

 

This, God.

 

This sorrow.  That's all. 

 

Tears are healing and life can be wildly healing and our people breathed grace into our broken hearts and then one day my hands held hope.

 

I held another shocked grieving mother, crushed her to me and stroked her matted hair and rocked her on my shoulder and looked into her swollen eyes and met the grief and I held little black babies all the way in Africa who were alive, but without love, and I learned about this, too, a different kind of loss, and maybe my grief tunnel had gotten a bit narrow and maybe I wasn't the only one suffering.

 

I held soccer schedules and then school books and choir programs and so much work;  Jamaica and rest and joy and somehow the iCloud loses all of my photos but it happened and I hold it in my heart:   this, sun and salt and water and joy and ten years with someone who loves me all the way to my soul.

 

And then I held my coffee cup in a restaurant and watched my husband buy a business;  held a pen and signed under his name, too, in shaky handwriting, and I held packing tape and moved to a dream house, brick, and front porch and on the same street as my beloved library, held my breath and said goodbye to that little bedroom where my son had breathed his last, held a cloth and wept as I wiped off the chalkboard wall:

 

love will hold us together

make us a shelter to weather the storm

 

Somehow the storm seems weathered and I don't know how to document this, the joy.  I feel so undeserving.  I remember being the sleepless insomniac, reading grief blogs, resenting and almost hating the ones who were happy again.  How could they forget the pain?

 

But now I know you don't ever forget the pain; your heart just opens up wider to hold everything- loss, joy, pain, happiness again- and this, this is a gift.

 

Lewis writes, "Aim at Heaven and you will get earth thrown in; aim at earth and you will get neither."  Earth is thrown in  now for me, and peace and happiness are fragile, unexpected gifts.

 

 

What is that in your hand?

Exodus 4:2

 

 

This is in my hand, now, God - joy, and thankfulness and I will thank You and and let the light in again.

Rice Nights

Sitting at a wedding last fall, I listened as friends described a mission conference their church had just finished hosting.  One of the nights a meal was going to be served, and there were many different ethnic foods displayed, but when it came time to eat, the only thing served was. . . rice. 

One bowl.

Our friends described the shock and underlying surprise of the attendees who didn't expect to be served rice;  and the impact that this rice meal had was great as the leaders went on to explain the reality of hunger and poverty that Americans just don't comprehend.

Can you imagine your daily meal being a bowl of rice?

This idea, of serving rice and thinking about how the other half lives, stayed with me and in January we implemented our very first rice night.

We served rice and water, that's all, googled some world hunger facts [that were frankly, staggering], and then each week we've followed our own little youtube video trail searching relief, World Vision, Compassion, children and poverty.

Did you know that every five seconds a child dies from hunger related causes?

It has been eye opening for our kids.  I love that they're seeing another side of compassion;  our family has focused on grief so much that sometimes its easy to forget that there are many more needs out there in the wild cruel world. 

On a teaching note, the geography absorbed is phenomenal, because the kids like to see where the stories are coming from.  Last week we were watching something about a little boy in Niger and Jacob piped up oh, yeah, that's right below Algeria.  I, of course, had no idea if that's true cuz my world geography is pathetic, so I snuck over to the globe to see if he was right. . . yeah, he was.  ;)

And it keeps reality in view.

We've been given so much.  Most of us have no idea what hunger truly is, what famine and poverty and water shortage really look like. 

This was a rice + lentils night. :)

Then we ran across this great organization when our friend Rachel married Jonathan, the operations director for Live58.  We were intrigued by the line Live 58. . . a challenge to believers to live Isaiah 58.  Daniel looked it up via YouVersion and read aloud from the NLT to me:

“Shout with the voice of a trumpet blast.
Shout aloud! Don’t be timid.
Tell my people Israel of their sins!
Yet they act so pious!
They come to the Temple every day
and seem delighted to learn all about me.
They act like a righteous nation
that would never abandon the laws of its God.
They ask me to take action on their behalf,
pretending they want to be near me.
‘We have fasted before you!’ they say.
‘Why aren’t you impressed?
We have been very hard on ourselves,
and you don’t even notice it!’

“I will tell you why!” I respond.
“It’s because you are fasting to please yourselves.
Even while you fast,
you keep oppressing your workers.
What good is fasting
when you keep on fighting and quarreling?
This kind of fasting
will never get you anywhere with me.
You humble yourselves
by going through the motions of penance,
bowing your heads
like reeds bending in the wind.
You dress in burlap
and cover yourselves with ashes.
Is this what you call fasting?
Do you really think this will please the Lord?

“No, this is the kind of fasting I want:
Free those who are wrongly imprisoned;
lighten the burden of those who work for you.
Let the oppressed go free,
and remove the chains that bind people.
Share your food with the hungry,
and give shelter to the homeless.
Give clothes to those who need them,
and do not hide from relatives who need your help.

“Then your salvation will come like the dawn,
and your wounds will quickly heal.
Your godliness will lead you forward,
and the glory of the Lord will protect you from behind.
Then when you call, the Lord will answer.
‘Yes, I am here,’ he will quickly reply.

“Remove the heavy yoke of oppression.
Stop pointing your finger and spreading vicious rumors!
Feed the hungry,
and help those in trouble.
Then your light will shine out from the darkness,
and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon.
The Lord will guide you continually,
giving you water when you are dry
and restoring your strength.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like an ever-flowing spring.
Some of you will rebuild the deserted ruins of your cities.
Then you will be known as a rebuilder of walls
and a restorer of homes.

“Keep the Sabbath day holy.
Don’t pursue your own interests on that day,
but enjoy the Sabbath
and speak of it with delight as the Lord’s holy day.
Honor the Sabbath in everything you do on that day,
and don’t follow your own desires or talk idly.
Then the Lord will be your delight.
I will give you great honor
and satisfy you with the inheritance I promised to your ancestor Jacob.
I, the Lord, have spoken!”

 

 

We were both a bit stunned by the directness clarity of these words, humbled to realize that often our lights as believers are clouded because of our selfishness and the modern day equivalents of fasting to please ourselves can mysteriously look like

 

squabbling over sunday school room placements

 

righteous indignation over music preferences

 

endless critiques of public Christian leaders

 

proving that my philosophy of ministry/outreach is better than yours

 

how this must grieve the heart of God.

 

 

For us, these little rice nights have been a tiny step in a direction of opening our children's eyes to the real, physical needs of little ones around the world. 

 

I pray that God breaks my children's hearts for a world in need of Him, the living Water and Bread of Life.

 

 

ten reasons i am leaving my children for two weeks: here we come south africa

Daniel and I leave in four weeks to go to South Africa with a team of eight people from our church, serving the least of these at the Restoring Hope Village.

Three million + orphans in SA.  That is a staggering number.  Our tiny offering of time and love to give is a drop in an endless sea of need, but we want to start there, giving our little bit. 

This has been a matter of prayer and in the works for some time and we are so excited to go and follow God's leading. 

The trip was overwhelmingly and promptly funded, confirming that money is rarely an issue if God calls you to do something.  We're so thankful for the people who gave so freely. {you know who you are}

Below are my notes from sharing with our church family the reasons we each chose to go. 



I love top ten lists; some of you know that Daniel even used a top ten list to ask me to marry him.  There are so many reasons I want to go to South Africa, but I decided to put them in my favorite top ten format. 

So here they are.

1.  Thankful for the hope of eternal life that my salvation brings; wanting to share hope, knowing that only Christ brings hope for the pain life brings.  I accepted Christ as a child and knew the talk, walked the walk, but our son's death changed everything I believed into something more real.  You can't just be here, then gone, and that's the end, with just this little shell left of you.  There has to be something more.  There has to be eternity;  because if not, where does your soul go,  the part of you that's you?  Everything I believed about God became startling and clear and real to me.  Eternity = hope.  I want to share that.

2.  I know what hopelessness feels like.  It's crushing, it's demotivating, it's dark, dark, dark.

3.  I know what it means to be given the gift of hope.  That gift- that so many of you have given to us. . . is priceless.

4.  I want to honor and follow my husband's leadership. It can be a little scary to be married to a man who walks with God.  You kinda never know what he's going to do.  Daniel told me over a year ago that he was going to go on a mission trip, and I was like. .  . oooookaaaay!  When Louis and Amber came, during their presentation, Daniel leaned over to me and said, this is it, I'm going there!  I was really happy for him but then I started thinking. . . what if God tells him something big while he's there, like adopt or move to Africa. . .   maybe I should go so that I could know what my future might look like!  But I also want to go just to share in this experience with him, rather than haave him explain it to me when we get home.

5.  I want to say yes to God.  I'm blessed by so many people in our church who say yes to God and lead by example, and I want to be that.  I just don't want to start saying no to Him:  I want to say yes.

6.  I want to listen to wise counsel.  When we first started talking about me going too, we sought counsel from people that we were sure would advise me to stay home with our children.  Our parents floored us by enthusiastically supporting the idea and tripping over themselves to watch the kids during our absence; no, don't go wasn't what we heard.  I then went to my beautiful Mrs. A. . .sure that she would tell me to stay home and take care of my children.  Instead she pointed out that they would be fine, following God was more important than following safety, marriage priority > children priority and she also made me aware of point # 7.

7.  I want to teach three little white kids that the world is bigger than smalltown, USA.  And they are so excited and supportive of us going.  They want to go.  I hope they will eventually.  We aren't fans of children running family direction, but we wouldn't go if they weren't okay with it.  They're okay.  They care about these little people without any mom or dad.

8.  Because there's no substitute for human touch and compassion; $$ can't hug.  Just that.

9.  Seeking a wider perspective of the work God is doing globally. We don't have the corner on ministry here.  I know that zooming out can bring clarity to our vision and I'm so excited to see what God is doing in another part of the world.

10.  Because the world will know we are Christians by our love for one another.  And I think that extends to loving the least of these.

And then there's the many who are called to be faithful at home;  Africa isn't in your future, but lots and lots of endless laundry and Sunday School teaching and feeding hungry neighbor kids and being there when people need you and sharing hope with your coworkers and employees and the list goes on and on. . .

You are important, you are needed, we are not all that and a bag of chips because we're going a little farther than across the street. 

My sister writes about staying home when others go.  Read it, she's awesome.  That's her quote below.

This is my life, Lord,
Help me not to wish it away,
Waste it away
Or, not taste the joy of the people around me.
Lord, help me to be a joyful giver of Me.

playlist replacement

So this week I am removing my playlist and posting our current top ten "songs."

Songs.

I need a better word.

Beautiful therapy?

Musical theology?

I don't know.

I'm posting two today, since I was a little busy yesterday with a pajama party for eight little girls.  {More on that later.}

The first, Hero, is the best way I can think of to decribe the Jesus I call God.

If you don't know this Jesus. . . listen.  This is the Man who loves you beyond anything your heart can yearn for.  He is amazing.

If you do know this Jesus. . . listen and remember why you love Him.

The second speaks so loudly to my heart right now. No one needs to have all the answers for pain and sorrow. . . but everyone needs someone to pray them through. My challenge to you: be the person who says if you fall down. . . let me carry you. . . I'll carry you. . .

they were meant to be

Remembering a really special guy today. . .

Pastor A met Jesus last year today.

Our children loved him.

His going-home was their first experience with death.

Pastor A's precious other half, Pauline, has opened her heart wide to my children and as they walk their own grief-road, she is walking it with them.

They never forget him.  They know he belongs with her.  They love that he is in Heaven.

We spent some time with one of my favorite people in the whole world yesterday.  I tell her, "Speak, O Wise One, and I will listen!" and she laughs.  We looked through pictures of their lives together. . .

His football uniform. Did you go to his games? I ask and she says of course and that she was just distraught watching him be carried off the field after an injury once; his eyes twinkle at us from the black and white photo.

She tells me about an announcement she gave in an assembly meeting at school and how he sat in the audience, listening to her, and that he leaned over to his buddy and said that's the girl I'm going to marry.

His first car. . . I tell her that Pastor A's chest is puffed out cuz he's so proud. . . new car and a pretty girl hanging onto his arm. . . their joy is real and alive and almost like you could reach out and touch it.

And then the picture I fell in love with. . .

two people, madly in love with each other. . .

headed off into life to serve a God who is faithful. . .

to raise an incredible family. . .

to see sorrow and loss. . .

to impact countless lives. . .

their beginning.

Love them both so much. . . one in Heaven and one still here. . .

They were meant to be!

on skeletal comfort

Notes from church this morning. . .

Genuine

must meet

Truth.

One without the other

is like separating

bones from the body.

Genuine care

must meet

God's Word.

Sincere listening

must meet

real prayer.

Acknowledgement of pain

must meet

pointing to eternity.



Care without Christ feels good but lacks the strength of the {bone structure} of the Word of God.

Simply handing Bible verses out to the hurting, without genuine care, is skeletal comfort.



We are blessed by so many who have showed us these truths in real life. . . praying for the wisdom and sensitivity to be this kind of comfort for others.

( . . .rain. . . )

I don't usually post videos.

I definitely don't watch tv preachers.

And I never look up inspirational "talks" on YouTube.

But when Daniel came home after watching this at a mens night at church, he looked it up for me and made me sit down and watch.

It's moving.

I wept.

The love that a father has for his son - the images reminded me of that morning and watching my husband and son.  And to realize that God loves us through the rain and storms of life. . . overwhelming.

If you have ten minutes. . . watch this with an open heart.