Remembering

In the early 80’s, I remember praying and telling God with tears that it was hard for me to spend the little money I had on toiletries. (To give you an idea, my tithe was $1.73!) I asked Him to please help me with this and then forgot about it, not telling anyone. Not long after, I received a box in the mail from my mother, filled with shampoo, conditioner, and lotion samples that she and my dad had acquired in their travels. I was blown away - so small and yet so huge!

On the morning of a doctor’s appointment, I found $20 in my shoes. (This happened several times.)

One time, while traveling, my alarm clock broke. After a concert I had performed somewhere in CA, a woman I had attempted to share Christ with on an airplane months before, came to hear us sing. She came to the concert and afterward handed me a small box, wrapped up in pretty paper. You guessed it: an alarm clock!

These are the “small” things, but they are just as significant as the much needed “ram in the thicket” gifts that came unexpectedly when needed. (Like the desperately needed $5000 that came from a church I'd never been to.)

The wonderful part of all this is that He hasn’t changed, He continues to provide grace and strength for each day, one day at a time. I have learned that one day is all that I can handle, anyway.

Remembering Him and all that He does is hydrating to the heart.

Six Weeks

Six weeks ago, I was figuring out how to get to Wheaton, IL, where my husband, Burt, was about to undergo emergency bypass surgery.

My first instinct for help in quick traveling, was to call Frank De Jong, and that instinct proved to be correct! Within minutes, he was at my door, a printed itinerary in hand, with the mission of getting me and my hastily packed bag to the DFW airport in record time. That 80 plus miles blurred past my window, as I texted family and friends, and spoke with the OR nurse who felt so very far away.

As my plane began taxiing, I had one last medical interaction as the Physician's Assistant called to let me know Burt was wide open on the operating table and things were in full swing.

My last nine years with horses have contributed to my ability to live in the moment - not an hour ahead or behind - and I believe this mindset helped me to endure that flight as I played a mindless game on my phone. Arms of grace wrapped around my heart, and held me in perfect peace.

As the plane was about to land, I mentioned to my seat mate that my husband was having unexpected open heart surgery as we flew, and she looked rather wide eyed, trying to find appropriate words. My phone rang as we hit the pavement of the O'Hare runway and I was updated on the surgery as if I were merely in the waiting room a few feet away.

All was well, Burt was doing great, the bypass was complete and they were going to start sewing him up.

This is the face that greeted me when I finally got to his side at dinnertime that evening, minutes after the respirator was taken out.

My husband, helpless on his back, smiled at me.

He's still smiling, and I am smiling back.

Something I wrote in January and never got around to pushing the "publish" button...

January 6th

The reality of going to Hyderabad, India in about four weeks is beginning to press itself into the fore front.

Although the Christmas decorations and tree have been mostly cleared out, they remain in their boxes on the front porch and behind the couch, waiting to be lugged to their place in the “barn”. 

I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the warm glow of my pretty village houses and lit garlands for a year, their beauty was still bringing a smile to my heart.  But, my husband - willingly and of his own accord - just started dealing with it.  I’m no dummy, so I just sat here on the couch, determinedly knitting my first pair of booties, and I let him do it.  All. By. Himself.  Twenty four hours later he did harumph a bit when I asked him to please remove the unlit, undecorated tree that was blocking the window.  (The window that brings in the best light of the year into our sometimes dark house. I place a high value on light, and I was ready to let it come shining in.)  So, cold weather and all, the tree has been dragged to it’s place to die.  It is sad, really, because it is the best tree we’ve had in years and it was still alive.  In fact, the way you can tell how fresh and alive a Christmas tree is by how much water it soaks in.  (There's a sermon for ya'!)

Malorie and Austyn have been gone a little over 48 hours.  They left early on Saturday morning and did their drive in a day to beat the snow that met them upon their arrival in Wheaton.  I’m glad they have been able to enjoy a few days tucked into their apartment watching the beautiful snow from their third floor window.  

So, as I said, I’m going to India.  I don’t know why in the world I am going!  I have this latent Mother Teresa living inside of me who pops up her aching head and thrusts me into the third world every few years.  I guess it’s to show myself once again that it’s all really too much for me.  There is only One Person who can actually understand and do anything about the massive problem of human suffering which is rampant throughout the world.  Oh Lord God, how I ache when I look at the pictures of the the lepers we will be visiting.  I hope You will burn purpose into my heart and do something of value through me and within me.  How I need You every hour.

I truly feel that I am sometimes the most selfish being on the planet.  I want rest.  I want quiet.  I want to sit in front of the fire and think thoughts about God and His love.  I’m not really a doer first.  I am more of a be-er.  I can’t put a value judgment on these things, because both are needed.  We’ve all heard a sermon bashing one and lifting the other.  It seems that condemnation lurks, ready to pounce on the religious, willing victim.

So I say, “Get out of here, you religious spirit and leave me alone.  I could never be enough or do enough for you anyway.  Besides, you’re just jealous.  You’re the one with no purpose.  And you’re the one not needed.  So leave me alone.  Amen.”

That said, I think I will stop typing and breathe for a while.

I am in the saddle in front of a lake and it is lightly misting out. 

As the water gently tickles my face, I am reminded of the people with whom I "walked to the gate" as they entered eternity. 

It seemed to me that heaven touched earth for a little while, and it was kind of like the mist I am experiencing now.

I am remembering those goodbyes - comforted - knowing that for them it was a joyous hello.

I love mist.

As parents, most of us love to document the victories and milestones of our children's lives. We take picture after picture and shoot endless footage of brain numbing video because we simply want to remember.

We want to remember their first steps, their first birthdays, even the mundane moments between the happy holiday highlights of November and December.

With this in mind, are there milestones in us that God the Father celebrates and remembers?

What if heaven rejoices when we choose to believe even when our hearts are wrenched with grief?

Does God notice when we worship Him when all around feels oppressive and dark?

I bet it melts His heart when we declare before the forces of darkness that He Is Good No Matter What.  (It is a high honor to have the privilege of walking by faith.)

Being created in His image, we mirror Him in ways we don’t understand; if we celebrate the first steps of our children, surely He celebrates ours.

I look forward to seeing from His Perspective, but for the time being, I imagine My Father's Smile, and it spurs me on.

Yesterday's Ride

The “Old Tyler Highway” stretched endlessly ahead as my horse and I started our four hour ride at The Mineola Preserve. 

The wet mush under Traveler's hooves gradually became thick mud, and I started to feel a little lonely as the ground got lower and more difficult to travel.  Then four angels appeared - on horses of course.  Angels in the form of people,  all of whom were about 15 years older than myself.  It isn’t often that I come across  geriatric riders - one with pure white hair - sitting astride their saddles as if the thought of arthritis  had never entered their minds!   I joined their entourage as we made our way out of the mud, back up to  where I started. Enjoying their banter, I silently smiled, thanking the Lord for riding companions.  Their kindness to include me touched my heart.

We rode along paths on high ground that I hadn’t seen for years, and the views were serene and beautiful.  It was so much fun.  

At one point, we had to slog through some marshy water and Traveler did something he has only gotten away with one other time. I thought he was dropping his head to sneak a sip to drink, but HE LAID DOWN in the ice cold water.  The last time that happened, I was riding with strangers, too, but it was a very hot day.  SO FUNNY.  He will not be getting away with this again for a long time!  (Though I took it all in stride, I was happy to get my wet socks off when I got home.)

How grateful I am for the blessing of a long ride on a beautiful day with new friends.  In my community, my role is usually that of mentor.   It was nice to be in the company of those who have lived longer than me. They have probably dealt with some of the battles that press upon me and they have lived through them all.  This comforts my heart.

We will all get through whatever it is that is bogging us down.  We will get where He is taking us and He will not forsake us there.  He will lead us by the hand, and though we may look back and wonder how, it will all be okay in the end.

It was a great ride.

Tears

Yesterday, I was broadsided with the pain of an already grieved loss. It unapologetically imposed itself upon me and demanded the release of unquenchable tears. The sight of a person associated with the death of my mom triggered something seemingly dormant, but was evidently alive and well within. Why would I be surprised? It would have been so easy to just walk in the other direction, but the innocent act of speaking and acknowledging my mom's former nurse opened the door to the hidden torrent within.

I almost always enjoy the cathartic event of crying, but when the need to sob materializes while trying to check out at Sam's, causing me to forget my PIN and flustering the cashier, the joy of release threatens to be lost! How many times have tears gotten stuck behind my eyes, taunting me with the pressure, but refusing to be released? Their secret joy must be in taking me by surprise, reducing me to a sniveling little old lady whose fragility seems to elicit a hug from the pubescent girl behind the counter.

Not that I was ashamed to cry, everybody needs to cry, being that tears are a gift. When a good howl is needed, it's just better to be safely hidden away with ones cats, horses, dogs, or people, whomever has the power to comfort most. Who knows how many tears live inside? Maybe they are hiding in there, just waiting to yell, "Surprise! You thought you were fine! Ha ha, we gotchya!"

Maybe tears are a sign of life, kind of like an emotional pulse. To let them flow, embracing one's humanness in the middle of consumer land is probably not so bad, so I lifted my head and I cried. No longer was I just one more person hurrying through the line, but a girl grieving for her mother. These tears were a gift. I spoke through them, smiled through them, and let them flow as the young girl counted my items at the door and highlighted my receipt. They refreshed my face as I walked through the dark parking lot, and reminded  me that I am grateful for the arms of God, a wonderful husband and sisters to call. And call them I did, and then I cried some more.

Life is good, even with its pain; I am happy to be alive, grateful to have had parents to miss.  Thankful for the years I was able to take care of them. Humbled that I was present as they were ushered into eternity. 

Starting another day, will tears once again present themselves? I'll let you know.