Happy Independence Day

"It's time we asked ourselves if we still know the freedoms intended for us by the Founding Fathers." 

~Ronald Regan 

Deuteronomy 8:11-14, 17-20

Be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God, failing to observe his commands, his laws and his decrees that I am giving you this day. Otherwise, when you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You may say to yourself,"My power and the strength of my hands have produced this wealth for me." But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth, and so confirms his covenant, which he swore to your forefathers, as it is today. If you ever forget the LORD your God and follow other gods and worship and bow down to them, I testify against you today that you will surely be destroyed. Like the nations the LORD destroyed before you, so you will be destroyed for not obeying the LORD your God.

The Song in my Heart

Life has been full lately.  Is it ever not?  Death and major surgery, birthdays and VBS ...  from the significant to the mundane, never a moment is dull.  Sometimes a dull moment would be nice, wouldn't it?  And yet, in the fullness, God provides ample opportunity to see His hand at work, the gifts He's scattered in my days.

Last night's adventure, in the midst of birthday festivities, was getting slammed out of the blue with a stomach bug.  As I lay miserable throughout the night, I continuously asked God why He allowed this now.  Never really did get an answer.  But, as seems to be His mode of speaking to me lately, He gave me a song.  Started with just the chorus "for you are good, for you are good, for you are good to me..."  It ran through my head a few times before I realized the rest of the song.  Timely, wouldn't you agree?  And finally something to be grateful for.  I had been struggling to find something in those ill hours!

He's given me more to add to my growing gratefulness list today -- parents who willingly came down to help, a husband who pitched in to play both our roles, rubs on my shoulder with "mom I hope you feel better" wishes, God watering my flowers with a rain shower so we didn't need to worry about watering today.

I pulled out my journal to number them with pen when I realized a new song was playing through my head.  We sang it in church last Sunday and the lyrics resonated.

Ten Thousand Reasons

Mark Redman

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing your song again

Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes.

Bless the Lord oh my soul

Oh my soul

Worship His holy name

Sing like never before

Oh my soul

I worship your holy name

You're rich in love and You're slow to anger

Your name is great and Your heart is kind

For all Your goodness I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find

It's easy to number God's gifts when life's sun is shining and the birds are singing.  That grateful heart doesn't come so readily when the skies are dark and we are travel-weary.  Yet my soul's desire is, like in the song, to be singing no matter what lies before me.

In his biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Eric Metaxes quotes the hymn Paula Bonhoeffer, Dietrich's mother, chose for her son Walter's funeral.  Though greatly suffering from the grief of losing a child, Metaxes notes that she took the sentiments of the hymn seriously.  May I, in the darkest storm, be able to sing, from my heart, such lyrics as well.

What God has done, it is well done

His will is always just.

Whatever He will do to me,

In Him I'll ever place my trust.

Memories, Lessons, and a Legacy

My grandfather passed away Saturday.  I knew it was coming, said my good-byes back in March.  Still, the tears sneak up on me at the oddest times and memories I haven't considered in years randomly crackle across my mind like an old film.

He was a strong man, had broad shoulders and working hands - big, heavy hands that, when laid on my shoulder as a child, made me wonder if my knees would buckle.  He wasn't effusive in his affection, yet that simple act of laying his hand on my shoulder said everything it needed to.  That he approved of me, enjoyed me, loved me.

I learned a lot from grandpa....

...that God has given us much to be thankful for...that ham and cheese sandwiches taste best on Grandpa's homemade bread, eaten in a boat, fishing pole in hand....that it's unwise to slow a 32 foot motorhome for a crow in the road....that "dingbat" can be a term of affection...that sometimes love is cloaked in gruffness.

The older I got, the more I appreciated him for the man he was, the more I was able to see through the gruff exterior to the heart underneath, the more I recognized the twinkle in his eye.  One summer when I was in junior high or high school, he injured his index finger in a table saw.  The injury made his usual activities - gardening, baking, canning - challenging, and I became his sidekick that summer.  My phone would ring early in the day and the conversation would be brief, "Wanna go for a ride?  I'll pick you up in 30 minutes."  -click-  (Grandpa didn't see a need for ending phone conversations with the expected "goodbye" and on the few occasions he did, my mom and I would bemusedly make note of it.)

He and his little terrier would pick me up and away we'd go, sometimes to Costco to buy butter and sugar, other times to go back to his place.  That summer he shared the art of making his famous peanut brittle, demonstrated that scalding tomatoes takes the skin right off, showed me how to knead and pinch and shape the perfect loaf of bread.  He told me stories of being in the war, of growing up on the farm in North Dakota.  And he taught me generosity, always making enough of whatever we were concocting to share.

Grandpa had a beautiful bass singing voice.  I loved sitting next to him in church.  It wasn't a safe position, as he would usually instigate some sort of silent game that would get us both in trouble with Grandma.  He'd poke me with his thick fingers and then feign innocence when Grandma would raise her eyebrows and whisper sternly "that's enough."  I think part of his fun was watching Grandma get riled up because when she'd look away he'd smirk, his eyes twinkling.

After I got married, Grandma and Grandpa came and visited us for a weekend.  I sat next to Grandpa in church that Sunday.  We were singing Jesus, be the Center.  The alzheimers hadn't yet come to steal his voice.  And he was harmonizing.  I can't hear that song anymore without closing my eyes and going back to that moment.  It's been twelve years, and I can still hear Grandpa's voice as clear as if it were yesterday, his rich notes filling the air around us.  This week, I've been so aware of Grandpa in Heaven, free from the clutches and bondage of that horrid disease.  But it wasn't until yesterday that something clicked, that I realized he once again is able to harmonize, to lift his voice in praise.  And that the lyrics of the song he sang those years ago have been truly fulfilled.

Jesus, be the center

Be my source, be my light, Jesus

Jesus, be the center

Be my hope, be my song, Jesus.

Be the fire in my heart

Be the wind in these sails

Be the reason that I live

Jesus, Jesus

Jesus, be my vision

Be my path, be my guide, Jesus.

Happy Mother's Day!

Dear Mom,

For 

ankles swollen,

sleep sacrificed,

vegetables served,

prayers submitted,

example lived,

verses spoken,

patience kept,

time given,

morals taught,

lines in sand drawn,

jokes made,

dances fluttered,

husband adored,

pets endured,

guests welcomed,

classics read,

poetry memorized,

brokenness comforted,

praise offered,

grandchildren nurtured,

beliefs defended,

Bible instilled,

gratitude perpetuated,

kindness required ...

Thank you.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you.

The 1000 Mom's Project

Miracle Baby

The following is an email I wrote several years ago in response to a miracle God did in the life of our youngest.  Recently, several people have asked about her miracle.  In an effort to answer questions and perhaps share her story with more people, I'm posting it here.  I will say, to many her story is unbelievable, improbable.  Most miracles are.  But those who walked with us that day agree that the events have no explanation beyond God's supernatural touch.  There is some part of me that would like to clutch this close to my heart to avoid the scoffing that inevitably accompanies things physically unexplainable.  However, since the beginning, I have been aware that her story is not mine to keep and so, I pray that God uses this for His purposes.


Left my kids with a friend so I could go to my 12 week prenatal appointment.  The appointment was routine until my OB tried to find a heartbeat with the doppler.  When she couldn't find it, she opted for an internal ultrasound.  I could tell by her expression that something wasn't right, but she continued to look and punch buttons on the ultrasound machine.  Finally, she asked me if I'd had any cramping or bleeding (no).  After what seemed like forever, she turned the monitor so I could see it and said, "Chloe, this is your uterus.  There's nothing there.  Maybe the fetus wasn't forming properly so your body reabsorbed it.  The only sign of pregnancy is thicker lining of the uterine wall."

She went on to ask about my previous appointment which had been with a nurse practitioner who had found a bean-sized baby and cardiac activity with an external ultrasound around eight weeks.  I had witnessed it on the monitor myself.

My doctor left the room to talk to her nurse, and I sat there in shock.  It's a very surreal feeling to enter a doctor's office with a blooming tummy for a 12 week prenatal appointment and hear that you have no sign of pregnancy, especially when you've had no sign of miscarriage.  The nurse returned saying she could get me a radiology appointment for 4:15 that afternoon.  I had four hours to wait, to wonder, to agonize.

I headed downstairs for bloodwork, feeling like a character in some sort of "twilight zone" type show.  By then the reality was starting to sink in, and I was having an increasingly hard time keeping my emotions in check, although my ongoing thought was "God, I know You have a plan in this."  I didn't really pray, just kept saying, "I know You have a plan."  Eventually, though, I had to flip open the funny pages of a dated Reader's Digest to distract myself.  Thankfully the nurse called me ahead of others waiting before me, one of many fingerprints of God in my day.

Finally, I made it back out to my car and lost it.  I called my husband and scared him because he thought I had lost our middle child, so choked was I with emotion.  (The ugly cry has garnered that name for a reason!)  I cleared that up, and he promised to come home early to go to the radiology appointment with me that afternoon.  I was so emotional, I was in no condition to drive, so I called my MIL to pray with me.  Unbeknownst to me, she had just finished a prayer meeting when her phone rang.  When she found out what was going on, she immediately started praying over me.  After she hung up, the ladies in her prayer meeting prayed over her as she stood in proxy for me.

I regained enough composure to finish the conversation and get to my friend's house.  I distinctly remember walking in and saying "they said I lost the baby."  To which she responded, "but your tummy is growing!"  I cried with her, prayed with her, and gathered my kids to get them to their own doctor's appointment.  It was a God-thing that my eldest had her little friend to distract her from Mommy being distraught.  Before leaving, my MIL called me back and told me to not lose hope.  My friend's parting words were a promise to pray for green lights on the way to the pediatrician.  Amazingly, I think I only had to stop for one or two.  That's unheard of on the road I was traveling.  Another touch of God.

Sitting in the ped's waiting room thinking I'd lost my baby was awful as I watched all the moms with their new babies.  Again, my cry to Heaven was "God, I know You have a plan.  Please help me trust You in this." Numerous things crossed my mind:  Intense gratitude for my two healthy children, replaying the last 3 months - did I somehow imagine being pregnant?, did I lose the baby unknowingly in a midnight trip to the bathroom?

Kids' appointment finished, I picked up DH and we headed to radiology.  The receptionist had to have been placed there by God Himself.  I got the impression she had squeezed me in at the end of the day.  She was kind, compassionate, sensitive, personable.  The technician called me back and placed the wand on my belly.  Immediately, a busy, healthy baby, appeared on the monitor.  She didn't have to go searching or prode for signs of life.  I could count baby's fingers and toes, watch her do somersaults, and hiccup.  If I had any tears left, I would have wept.  We left with pictures of a properly developing 12 week old little girl.

Out in the car, I called my MIL to tell her the good news, and she got the giggles.  Not exactly the response I expected!  She said she had been waiting for that call.  One of the ladies in her prayer group felt God laying things on her heart to pray for, including an assurance that the baby would be healthy.  MIL said she had never left a prayer meeting with more assurance that God had everything handled.

My doctor called later, apologizing for scaring me.  All she could say is "this is just so bizarre."

I am still in awe.  I suppose there are those in the medical community who could come up with an explanation of what happened, although a dear friend from said community smiles with the confidence that only God can explain such an occurrence.  My doctor sure can't come up with a scientific explanation beyond that the baby must not like her!  ;-)  In my heart, there is no doubt that God gave my sweet one back to us that day.  I don't know why.  Have no way to explain why I would be given a second chance when thousands of others are not.  It is humbling. I feel unworthy.  And yet, I trust that God has a perfect plan, and I am honored to be a part of it.

Trusting

God painted the sunrise and lined the clouds gold just for me the other morning.  Sounds a bit presumptuous, I know, but He did.

I was driving to an early appointment, leaving #2 sick to his stomach, in the fetal position on the bathroom floor at home.  And I was fighting to put puzzle pieces together and begging God for insight.  See, my dear one has been having unusual tummy problems.  First I just assumed he picked up a stomach bug.  Now, eight months later, I'm not convinced.  Whatever the nasty thing is, it leaves the poor kid sobbing over the toilet wishing he could go to Heaven.  Yep, he's asked.  Several times.  Leaves this mama feeling beyond helpless.

As I drove through farmland in the early hours, symptoms and scenarios ran through my head.  I struggled to find commonalities while I kind-of prayed for wisdom, but more fought the what-ifs and formed battle plans of how to fight this unnamed enemy.  Then I glanced to my right.  It was a typical overcast morning.  Light was dawning, but the source was hidden.  Until God took his finger and touched the clouds and they parted, just a little, in front of the sun.  And he dipped his paintbrush into the most ethereal gold paint you've ever seen and lined the clouds with thin, brilliant strokes.  The result was breathtaking.  

How precious of God to add some beauty to my messy morning.   No sooner had I whispered thank you when He spoke to my heart, "If I can do this, don't you think I can take care of your son?"

We still have no answers, no concreate reasons an unhappy stomach randomly interrupts his sleep in the wee hours.  But time after time when the what-ifs start to whisper their lies, when exhaustion and impatience threaten to overtake gentleness and compassion, I picture that sunrise, recall God's voice, and remember that the One who rims the clouds golden holds my son in the palm of His hand.  And peace returns.

Growing Up

"When does a woman become an adult?  Perhaps it's when she stops comparing her life to other women's.  When she stops waiting for 'Mr. Right'.  When she stops wishing she'd married someone else or that her children were at an easier stage.

"We grow up when we see our life and role from God's perspective; when we thank God for the role He has assigned us and begin to see our cup as a gift instead of a cross; when each morning we ask, "God how can I glorify You today in my given role?"

from Calm My Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow