Thoughts on Jubilee

Maintaining a state of jubilee has been harder than I had imagined. It is difficult to live in mental, emotional and spiritual freedom when the walls of my world are continually closing in. It isn't easy to not think of myself as a sick and struggling mother when that is my reality on most days. It is almost impossible not to fixate on my symptoms when they are constantly changing, surprising me and even sometimes making me laugh at the strangeness of it all. On the other hand, it is an effortless thing to allow my mind to wander to the things I would like to be doing that I cannot do, to my disappointment that I am not the mother I desire to be and to my growing realization that getting better is going to be far more complicated than loosely following a diet for a couple of years.

When I first began the GAPS diet last September, I envisioned a slow and steady journey toward healing. I saw myself getting better and better until--voila! While I rejoice to report that my digestive symptoms have improved significantly during the last 7 months, the ground has unexpectedly crumbled beneath my feet in other ways. My environmental sensitivities continue to worsen. In addition to toxins, fragrances and latex, I have become violently allergic to peanuts. I came very close to going into anaphylactic shock on Sunday evening after attempting to make peanut butter for Micah. I simply breathed in peanut particles released from the garbage can and within a few minutes my body temperature dropped, my sinuses swelled shut and I was struggling for breath. Now, peanuts are banned from the house indefinitely, and life has become even smaller. Weirder, too--I have ordered a good-quality cotton mask to wear in public as a safety precaution. If you ever need a giggle, just imagine the thoughts of my fellow grocery shoppers. On the bright side, a mask may make occasional church attendance possible again.

If the only opposition to my efforts to live in liberty were physical, it is possible that I would be having more success. But we are whole people whose bodies, souls and spirits are all intricately intertwined. When one part of our make up is assaulted, the other areas suffer. If our entire composition is assaulted at once, it is only by the grace of God we stand.....or at least get back up again.

Jenny received disheartening news at her last two doctor's appointments. I know she is going to hate reading this, which is why I feel it necessary to remind her that I love her as my own soul. I can't separate the two anymore so it is impossible for me not to take her hard news personally. (So there! You can't be mad at me.) A couple of weeks ago, she was told that the chemo was no longer working. The liver tumors were larger. The cancer in her esophagus had returned, and it had spread to her lungs and stomach lining. Experimental medicine was considered, but last week she was released from the trial because they had run out of the smaller sized pills and Jenny could not swallow the larger ones. I will not for a moment pretend that the difficulty of the past few weeks has nothing to do with her circumstances. Jenny continues to amaze me by her capabilities in spite of constant pain and a grim prognosis. As she often reminds me, she still has today and God will provide her with breath until He is ready to call her home. I'm just afraid He's going to call her before I am ready to let her go. I know it won't be a goodbye--rather more like a "Bon voyage!" and an "I'll be along soon"--but I tremble when I anticipate the pain I fear is coming.

I have been under considerable duress physically and emotionally, so it follows that I would be affected spiritually. And I have been. I have felt distant from the God I so need, the God I so depend upon for everything from what to put on my daily to-do list to the strength to pull it off. I haven't liked it. With no way to fix myself, I asked Him to fix me for me. I searched His Word for answers. I  prayed. I quieted my soul so I could hear Him. When He was ready, He spoke--

"Let go. Trust me. Give thanks."

The message came to me in no less than five books I was reading at the same time over the course of three days. It came to me in emails, in conversations.

"Let go. Trust me. Give thanks."

I heard it in a podcasted interview online. I saw it on Facebook. It was spoken in a sermon.

"Let go. Trust me. Give thanks."

After several days of being pummeled by these instructions, I received this helpful hint--

"P.S. It's all tied together."
  
It was during a conversation with Jenny that I realized what had happened and was able to verbalize it. "You know?" I said. "I think my problem is that I am suddenly doubting God's goodness."

Now, I know God is good. I have known that since I was three. I have memorized Scripture passages teaching the theology. The cross proves it. Without thinking, several examples of God's goodness to me in particular come to mind. The truth of God's goodness is a part of my spirit's bone structure, but my soul had lost touch with my spirit's conviction in the midst of the day to day struggle of being me. Because I had lost touch with this truth, I was suddenly trying to place the circumstances in my life in an order that made sense to me. It wasn't working. I was becoming frustrated, feeling overwhelmed and getting sick....er.

I had to let go. I needed to trust God. I was called to give thanks. The three instructions are pretty interconnected. To let go, I have to trust. When I give thanks, it's easy to let go. When I'm trusting, I can clearly see God's goodness, and gratitude is a natural by-product of the process. But I couldn't start with letting go or trusting because I can't will myself to do either. However, I could will myself to give thanks. I didn't have to look far to find things for which to be thankful.

1) Jubilee Farm coming to life

 Thanks for the photo, Ann Marie!

2) Baking with babies

3) Sara's first egg hunt

4) Meeting Mr. Clarence, the precious man who provided me with goat's milk last summer when I could eat little else.  Mr. Clarence belonged to my Uncle David's congregation at Good Hope Baptist Church. He gave to me because he loves my uncle and our Lord.

 

5) The first planting and planting party at Jubilee Farm

 Our beautiful plants purchased from Yak's Farm on Hwy. 33

 Enjoying a tomato just a few minutes before getting stung by a wasp. Poor baby!

 Meet Rich who might as well already be a part of the family as Micah now asks for Auntie and Richie. :)

Only two and a half weeks after beginning my Gratitude List for 2013 (inspired by Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts) I have 45 gifts recorded in my journal. That's forty-five items that remind me that God is indeed very good and worthy of my trust. Forty-five items telling me I can let go.

Living in a state of jubilee is not pretending that life isn't hard or putting on a good face. Jubilee is saying, "God I trust You have our good at the center of Your plan" even when we can't make sense of things. It is looking at the world as a giant gift and life as a grand adventure. It is believing that life is still good even when it is painful. It is being able to say "thank you" when you are lying on a mattress only conscious enough to know that if you close your eyes for a moment you may wake up in Heaven. It is being able to pray as you are about to toss your cookies into the toilet. It is a peace that goes so deep that it doesn't matter if you never get well because healing isn't your real prize anyway. It is knowing that even if you lose a part of your soul, you'll get it back one day. Jubilee is Jesus, and that is something I always have and am never without.

It's Going to be Alright

Several people have recently asked how I am doing, so I thought I would take a moment to answer that question for all of you who have prayed, encouraged and ministered on my behalf.  (May the Lord be extravagant in His blessings to each of you.)

The short answer is, "I believe that I am going to be alright." Thanks to some shared wisdom of a family friend, this is what I will tell people who ask in passing conversation until I am better. Most people want a short answer, and they want that answer to be positive. I can't honestly say that I'm "better" yet in the way the word is meant, and honesty is important to me. A comfortable compromise, the above answer meets my need for honesty and the need of the one asking for brevity and hope. From time to time, I may add, "Continue to pray for me as you think of me," for I certainly still need prayer.

I can say that in regard to my nutritional health, I am better. When my body grew sensitive to goat milk, I scrapped my elimination diet plan because my caloric needs simply could not be met by eating rice cereal and vegetables alone. I was growing weaker by the day eating that way, so I feel that by becoming sensitive to the milk, God was just looking out. I miss the milk, but I am deeply grateful to be able to eat meat. I could never be a vegetarian. My metabolism requires meat, and my body was becoming increasingly cranky in its absence.

In addition to meat, I am eating most vegetables, some fruits (apples, pears, avocados, grapes, and blueberries), select oils (canola, grapeseed and sunflower only), egg yolks, potatoes and rice. Nothing I eat is processed.  My mom (God bless her) has been baking zucchini cakes for me made with rice flour, zucchini, eggs, oil and sugar, so that has been my major indulgence. I will be sad when zucchinis go out of season. If I want to try something new, Brandon performs a simple physical test that has without fail tipped me off to new allergies. My naturopathic doctor showed us this neat little trick. At first, with nothing in my hands, I hold my thumb and middle finger together as tightly as I am able. Brandon tries (without excessive force) to pull my fingers apart to establish my finger strength. I then take the food in question in my opposite hand as he performs the test again. If I am able to hold my fingers together, I am not allergic to the food. If he easily pulls my fingers apart, I avoid the food. The test does not detect all of my sensitivities, so I sometimes still "react" to foods, but it does keep me alive.

Even with the increase in calories, I am still underweight. I have lost around 15 pounds since my health crisis began, and that's 15 pounds after I had lost my baby weight. I am the thinnest I have been since I was 17, and I was borderline anorexic at the time. I don't look terrible, but I don't look healthy either. I am hoping that I will have a breakthrough with my nutritional health soon. I plan to begin reading The Food Allergy Cure by Ellen Cutler this weekend. The book, recommended by my naturopathic doctor, is supposed to offer me the information I need to desensitize my body to various foods. I doubt that I will ever be able to eat wheat, nuts, corn or soy again (which is no huge loss, really . . . . except for corn chips and popcorn . . . I'm really going to miss corn chips and popcorn), but I do hope to be able to eat chocolate, peanut butter, bananas, goat milk products and maybe even dairy products again. I would love to put on some weight, and have fun doing it!

Meeting my dietary needs has been important in helping me better manage my pain. I have found that my pain has not gone away or lessened, but my pain tolerance increased when I was no longer starving. Hunger is a formidable foe, making all other battles far more difficult. Since I've started eating again, I have been able to ignore and push through my pain with the exception of this week. (The change in weather threw my body into a flare, which means that I cannot function normally.) I have slowly gained independence over the past few weeks, and am now able to keep the kids by myself during the day, give Sara a bath, take the kids outside for a few minutes daily so I can do my physical therapy (pushing Sara in the stroller up and down the driveway for about 10 minutes) and get some sunshine, (mostly) keep the kitchen clean and usable, keep the laundry from eating us alive and cook simple dinners. It may not sound like much, but it's a far cry from the state I was in a few weeks ago. As an added bonus, I was able to take Micah out on a mother-son date last Saturday, which is something I've wanted to do for awhile now.

The pain is my constant companion, but I've learned to be thankful for it. The pain in my limbs means that I still have use of them. The discomfort I feel means than I'm still alive with my husband and children. (It's not that I would be very opposed to being brought fully alive through death by my Eternal Love and Savior. Rather, I believe that I am where I am most useful and where I am meant to be for the present time.) I have much for which to be grateful.

In addition to pain, I suffer from depression. I have bad days and better days. I am feeding on God's Word as if it were actual food. I am praying as if my life depended upon it. I am fighting for joy, clinging to song. I am practicing gratitude. (See my blooming "Gratitude Wall" below.)

I am actively seeking emotional health, but like the pain, the depression is my constant companion. Also like the pain, while the depression is there, it does not ruin me. It has not taken me over, although I would let it if I didn't have the children to tend to. Thank God for Micah and Sara! My kids are supposed to need me as their parent. Instead, I find myself needing them. Their needs call me out of bed every morning when I honestly would prefer to stay there, hiding from the world under thin covers that have no power to protect me or take away my problems. When I have a particularly hard day, I spend a little time doing laundry in the utility room, reading over my gratitude wall. Each post-it warms and energizes the cold emptiness inside. It's like coffee for the soul . . . which reminds me--I really miss coffee.

The improvement I am most happy to share with you is that regarding my spiritual health. I have never experienced the Lord like I am experiencing Him these days. I have set before Him my full heart, and in return He has faithfully exposed some of its dark and nasty places, giving me an opportunity to heal in ways that I did not expect when I first began asking for healing. With His presence, He is bringing to light long-lived sinful patterns that have been holding me captive--patterns of which I was not aware. The bondage of bitterness I didn't know was there is falling away, freeing me up to love. Deep-seated fears I've harbored all my life are melting in the Light of His glorious presence. Pain and depression are not my only companions. These last few weeks, I have also walked with peace unlike anything I've ever known. I have danced with joy, which is able to extend far beyond the feebleness and frailty of momentary happiness. My heart is slowly beginning to unfurl into the blossom of genuine love for others that the Apostle John so passionately calls us to in his first short letter. The Creator Himself is my friend! God is making all things new, and I am so glad that His first order of business is my spirit! What good would this sickness be if I were only to be made physically well?

There is much more to say that cannot be said on a public blog, but know that God is working observable miracles in my life, my family and my household. And because of this, I know that no matter if I live with allergies, pain and depression for the rest of my life, however long that may be, it's going to be alright.

In closing, allow me to share the lyrics of a favorite song by a favorite songwriter who happens to be my daughter's namesake--

"It's Going To Be Alright"

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I can tell by your eyes that you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you're sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

I believe you'll outlive this pain in your heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,

I believe
I believe

I did not come here to offer you clichés

 I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you

It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright

--Sara Groves, from her album Add to the Beauty

I don't know what pain or hardships you are experiencing, Dear Reader, but in Christ Jesus, I can promise you that it will indeed be alright.

Panning for Gold

"Gratitude is an art of of painting an adversity into a lovely picture." Kak Sri

Kak Sri and I speak two different languages. We live on different continents. We don't share the same religion, culture or skin-tone, and we don't like the same foods. I can't even properly pronounce his name, but in this statement, we agree. You don't have to have much in common with a person to learn from them, or appreciate the eloquence with which they are able to state an idea that has been buzzing in and around your head for awhile.

I think I'll add "the ability to learn from others regardless of our differences" to my list.

Yesterday, I began compiling a list of 1,000 gifts because I read a book that dared me to do so, written by an ordinary woman, only a bit more like me than Kak Sri, who was dared to do the same. I've mentioned One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are in my last two posts, so if you read regularly, you may already be weary of reading my rants about it. But believe me, it's worth ranting about.

While reading the book, I learned that gratitude actually equals a great many things. Kak Sri mentions one in his quote, but this book states many equivalents--clear sight, purpose, joy, intimacy with God--all of which, I desperately desire.

Last week, like much of life, was difficult. I won't give details, but you know how difficulties seem to come in sets of three? Well, I am a witness to the phenomenon. Yesterday morning, I told Brandon, my husband, "I really hope this week isn't like last week." By yesterday evening, my hopes weren't looking too good.

Yesterday was a grey day with scattered rains and impressive wind gusts that seemed to only feed my melancholy. While Micah napped, I made a choice. I couldn't change my circumstances, but I could change my hopes. Instead of hoping for a different week, I decided to hope that I would be distracted from my troubles by offering my thanks to the Giver of Gifts. Without yet knowing of Kak Sri's words, I put them into action.

It may seem short-sighted and childish to look to gratitude as only a distraction, but at the moment, that is what I need. In my quest to be distracted, I am completely, by a God who loves me and gave Himself for me. Yesterday, my list was distraction, an today, my list is joy. We all have to start somewhere.

1) Small hands, stained by bright blue sidewalk chalk
2) The peaceful sound of the wind rolling through the trees, reminding me of ocean waves meeting their end on the shore
3) A soft, soaking rain
4) A crisp, Fall pear fresh from the tree
5) An unexpected meeting with a friend (I so needed her smile and happy spirit yesterday.)
6) Three unsolicited kisses from an adorable red-head--one on each cheek and one on the mouth
7) A black-spotted dog rolling in the grass, basking in the sunshine
8) A mild, beautiful day in early September
9) The caress of a steady, cool breeze on my face; the gentle kiss of a sun ray on my shoulders
10) A two-year-old's belly laugh
11) The ability to learn from others regardless of our differences

Who cares that my only aim was to sift through the sand and muck so I could only see gold? The point is to see Gold. I believe that God is transforming my desire to be distracted from trouble to being distracted by Him, a work that will only continue as I add to my list.

Before I sign off, I want to direct you once again to Ann Voskamp's website. I encourage you to go there, and be blessed. If you are so inspired, order the book. $10 is a bargain price for a good wake-up call. http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/01/its-all-for-you-one-thousand-gifts-and-trailer/

I also want to share my new favorite song. I can't think of a song that more aptly describes the current state of my heart. You can't yet find it on Youtube, and I can't yet add it to my playlist, but it's worth the trouble of clicking on this link and scrolling down to play the song for free, and/or reading the beautiful lyrics below--

"I go to the riverbed, shoes on the shore
I’m shaking a little bit, hardly know what for
Oh, and the water’s cloudy as the sky
I’m looking for answers in the riverbed of life

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold

I go to the pages handed down and worn
I’m hearing the sages with the Truth on their tongues
Sifting beauty from the layers of ash
I’m tracing the universe with my fingers in the sand

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold

It’s there in the city, where the nations converge
It’s in the graffiti and the shapes of the earth
Choir lofts and kitchens, where voices ring loud
Reflections of grace, shining glory over doubt

I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Until I have all my heart can hold
I’m panning for gold, I’m panning for gold
Take all I can hold

I go to the riverbed
I go to the riverbed"


May I meet you all at the Riverbed, pans ready and eyes wide open. There is Gold to be found by all who would see.

The Magic of a Thunderstorm and a Sleepy Red-Head

This afternoon, a thunderstorm swept in during the early afternoon, and decided to stay awhile. The weather never became treacherous. Rather, the sky turned an almost friendly shade of grey, the wind tugged gently on the trees, thunder rumbled low and comfortably, and the rain drizzled more than drilled over our parched little patch of earth. The weather called me to bed for awhile, and kept Micah happily dreaming longer than usual.

I rolled out of bed in the late afternoon, and peeked my head into Micah's room to see if he was awake. He blinked sleepily, only half-awake, and reached his arms toward me. I pulled him out of bed and into my arms, and settled into the squeaky glider in the corner. He nestled his head against the blanket I had thrown over my shoulder. I cradled him awkwardly, draping him along the left side of my growing belly, and began to rock.

The room was darkened by the cloudy day, and there in the dark, I had one of those precious "Mommy Moments." I held my son as I had many, many times when he was a baby, chest to chest. He so rarely allows me to hold him this way now . . . I breathed in the faint scent of his baby shampoo which still clung to his auburn-red strands from last night's bath. I listened to his rhythmic breathing against the shrieks and groans of the glider as I moved it back and forth. I kissed his hair, his forehead, his neck, his shoulder. I closed my eyes, and enjoyed the weight of him in my arms and the kicks and rolls of my unborn baby girl.

I thought about how important moments like these really are. These moments are fleeting, and they are meaningful. Every moment in which you say to your child with your actions, "There is nothing more important than sharing this moment with you," you tell your kids that you love them far louder than if you only spoke the words. They need to be sure of that love for so many reasons. They aren't whole without it. How can a child comprehend the love of God without experiencing anything with which it can compare, however dimly? And oh, how good it feels to give that love. It makes me whole, too.

I then began to think of myself in the reverse role--as the child nestled on the chest of the loving Parent. Micah and I weren't talking, reading or doing anything other than being present with one another, and both of us were perfectly content with our state of do-nothingness. Why do I always feel that I have to be talking, reading or studying when I meet with God? What am I missing that keeps me from only being present with Him, enjoying Him in quiet and stillness?

I kissed Micah's head again, smiling when he sighed and murmured something unintelligible, yet contented.

"Bliss. This is bliss," I thought. And while I am hungry for more moments like these with my son and my daughter on the way, I am starving for them with God, my Father. It is my prayer that in the months to come, I will learn the art of quietly resting in His arms, silently enjoying Him. Only Him. Give me Jesus.

In Everything . . .

I haven't written in awhile. I could excuse myself in a number of ways, but the truth is I haven't felt like it. The plan was to write a post about our family trip to the Buffalo River which took place the first week of June. I even began mentally composing it the moment we arrived. It should have begun:

"I love coming to these mountains year after year. After better than 16 trips to and through the Ozarks, they almost feel like a second home. Each time I travel through, it's different. I've seen these mountains as a frozen world covered in a snowy blanket, and I've seen them alive with life as Spring draws to a close and Summer prepares for its grand entrance. This year, the cicadas are present and many, and as we exit the vehicle, we are met with their welcoming screeches which come at us in boisterous, rolling waves."

The post was supposed to begin this way, tell a lovely story about Micah's first float on the river, and end with a pleasant sentiment. But tragedy struck and sucked away all of my desire to tell that story. Smaller, yet significant, traumas bookending the trip left me a little dull and lifeless. I didn't quite have a case of writer's block. It felt more like writer's hangover. I had become drunk with the heavy and strong drink of bad things happening and the possibility of other bad things happening, and I couldn't quite get my head clear enough to sort it all out. After a little time--time to view the events of the past few weeks with some distance and biblical perspective--I think I'm finally ready to tell the story. I no longer feel any apprehension about sharing the story because the news and papers had no problem sharing the story, and did so incorrectly, might I add. Besides, they left out all of the good parts. So here goes--

I love coming to these mountains year after year. After better than 16 trips to and through the Ozarks, they almost feel like they belong to me, a second home. Each time I travel through, it's different. I've seen these mountains as a frozen world covered in a snowy blanket, and I've seen them alive with life as Spring draws to a close and Summer prepares for its grand entrance. This year, the cicadas are present and many, and as we exit the vehicle, we are met with their welcoming screeches which come at us in boisterous, rolling waves. I missed the undercurrent moans, forewarning me of the day to come, but I was unable to miss that the day was hot and alive.

The group joining my family was a lovely mix of old friends and new. Souls I had loved as a young child when my family attended Central Baptist Church were mixed with newer friends and brand new faces. Derek Crockett, who I had wanted to marry when I was 3 years old, had his two boys along with him. James Liner hugged my neck, and told me how much Micah reminded him of me as a toddler. My parents' long-time friend, Leo Honeycutt, was there, and as always, provided excellent food and comic relief for everyone. In all, there were 29 people with us, and the mix of people was perfect. However, the meeting of new faces would have to wait until later. Micah and I were exhausted after the long trip, and needed an early bedtime in preparation for the even longer day on the river.

The next day dawned bright and clear. The water was the prettiest I had seen it in a long time. The sunlight pouring from the heavens revealed pleasant shades of blue and green in the deeper pools, and the water was just right for carrying a two-year-old on his first float. Micah excitedly climbed in the canoe with expectant cries of "Catchy fish! Catchy fish!" It promised to be a very good day. (And allow me to interpose here that it truly was.)

The young boys and teenage girls splashed and smiled and tried to tump each other's canoes. The adults relaxed and laughed as they tried to ease into impossibly cold, mountain water. Micah enjoyed dipping his hands in the water off the side of the canoe, taking turns in our laps, and throwing rocks from the canoe into the water until he finally, after a serious effort to fuss himself out of the need of a nap, surrendered into a quiet sleep in my arms.

I watched children and adults alike leap off of Jim's Bluff, and laugh heartily as they surfaced the icy water. It was my turn to laugh when I watched my middle aged parents succumb to peer pressure, and swim out to deeper waters for this photo op.

Later in the day, our group stopped at the trail head to Hemmed-in-Hollow Falls, a beautiful feature on the upper leg of the Buffalo River. Because I was pregnant and Micah was two, our little family stayed behind to enjoy swimming and fishing as we watched the majority of our group disappear into the foliage. Micah couldn't have been happier with our choice. He found the largest rocks he could manage, picked them up grunting, "Heaby," and joyfully tossed them back into the water. He also reeled in a couple of Daddy's catches, and even kissed a fish!


While we were having a good time at the riverside, everyone else was having a good time up at the falls.

When our group returned from their hike, they all made their way back to their canoes. It was getting late. Everyone was getting tired, but we were all in good spirits. The day had been a beautiful blessing.

This is the point of the story where I want to close with a warm, fuzzy, "happily ever after" ending. This is also the part of the story where things from my limited, human perspective go wrong . . .

Brandon likes to be in the back of our canoe caravan because he likes to take his time and fish. We watched the canoes pass safely through a small set of very ordinary rapids one by one until only a handful of canoes were left. James Liner and his young partner had some difficulty with the rapids, and flipped the canoe. Brandon and I didn't see it flip, but we caught a canoe paddle and other paraphernalia as it drifted downstream. Another couple helped them right the canoe, and get back on course. As they paddled past us, I noticed a cut above Mr. Liner's eye. He had bumped his head against something. I asked him if he was alright, and he grinned, saying he was fine. There was no reason to doubt him.

Over the next half hour, Micah grew a little fussy. It was his dinnertime, and he hadn't gotten a good nap that day. Every time the canoe jarred a little against the rocks, he became uneasy. One such bump sent him over the edge into a full-fledged wail, which confirmed my decision that we would stay at the camp the next day so he could rest.

It was immediately after this incident that we saw them. We saw the three standing, performing CPR first, all from our group--a nurse and her husband, one of Mr. Liner's nieces. Then I saw other canoes from our group banked on the shore, their inhabitants sitting stock still with faces blank. And then I saw him. I knew at once who it was even though he wasn't the right color. I knew at once that he was no longer with us. And while we have no way of knowing what happened for certain, my brain quickly jerked back to the cut above his eye.

Micah wailed until Brandon shoved us to the bank. A small miracle, Micah immediately hushed himself and grew still and content in my arms. Without a word, Brandon joined the party performing CPR. Tears formed in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I may have been the only one blubbering there like a baby, and that is a little embarrassing, but I was hyper-aware of the fact that Mr. Liner's son and nieces were watching and what this would mean for my dad who had loved this man for most of his adult life. My heart broke for hearts breaking. Brandon called for one of my Epi-pens. I tossed it to him. It was no use.

I watched five people, Brandon included, from our group perform CPR for an hour while we waited for help we weren't sure would come. They breathed heavy, and pumped hard. I wept. I prayed. I tried to figure out how help would come. There was no place for a helicopter to land.

Micah remained calm and happy though it was well past his dinnertime and nearing his bedtime, so happy that I was sure it was a God-thing. God was good.

Tami, one of Mr. Liner's nieces, remained strong while she called out to him, hoping he could still hear her. God was good.

Eventually, help came trickling in from downstream. God was good.

There was a sense of peace that fell on all of us, and we let the knowledge that James was no longer with us sink in, yet in a silent pact, kept working and praying for the sake of his family. God was good.

Finally, a group of EMTs poured out of a tiny pig's trail that, wonder of wonders, led straight to our beach, and took over. God was good.

A lot of people sit in the camp of "death is natural" because everyone dies. I, however, see death as the ultimate reminder that all is not right with our world. We were not created to die. Death is man's greatest judgement, an enemy. All the while, it is very good to know that God never abandons us, even in death. His presence was near us the entire day, but especially near in the moments of death. I must remember, as we all should, "See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; It is I who put to death and give life. I have wounded and it is I who heal" (Deuteronomy 32:39), and I must remember that God is good.

The next day, almost everyone in our group departed for home, overwhelmed by tragedy or necessity. I was in mourning, and the words that Tami, one of Mr. Liner's nieces, spoke to someone else expressing their condolences--"It's okay. God numbers our days"--rang louder in my ears than the screeching cicadas outside. It didn't feel okay. I opened the book I was reading, hoping to distract myself from the events of the day before, the images and sounds I will never be able to erase from my memory. This is what I read--

"I know there is poor and hideous suffering, and I've seen the hungry and the guns that go to war. I have lived pain, and my life can tell: I only deepen the wound of the world when I neglect to give thanks for early light dappled through leaves and the heavy perfume of wild roses in July and the song of crickets on humid nights and the rivers that run and the stars that rise and the rain that falls and all the good things that a good God gives. Why would the world need more anger, more outrage? How does it save the world to reject unabashed joy when it is joy that saves us? Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn't rescue the suffering. The converse does. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small, who give thanks for it and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring the fullest Light to all the world. When we lay the soil of our hard lives open to the rain of grace and let joy penetrate our cracked and dry places, let joy soak into our broken skin and deep crevices, life grows. How can this not be the best thing for the world? For us? The clouds open when we mouth thanks." --from One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

Out of my sadness and temptation to see this trip as, well . . . the worst trip ever, here was this call to leave behind the despair of death and find life by offering thanks. I recognized this to be not only a call for the moment, but for the long term. I also realized that I wasn't only to offer thanks for the good that had happened, but also the "bad."

"In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God." --1 Thessalonians 5:18 (Italics mine.)

I found it difficult to do so, but I thanked God for everything I could think of--Micah's safety, fish to catch, the hot sunshine, the cold water, rocks to throw, every one of James' smiles, the quick and quiet nature of his death, CPR, EMTs, pig trails and every glimpse of God I could find in the details. As promised, I felt more alive with each offering.

Learning to be thankful for everything is a scary thought for me, a thought that has kept me a little pensive and sober for the last few weeks. What if something even more terrible happens, and I am required to say, "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord?" That thought puts a chill in the bones.

The good thing is that God knows where I am, and only asks that I begin learning to give thanks for everything, including the good and the bad, in a place where the good and the small dwell. For now, I can give thanks for fresh blueberries, the rain that poured from the heavens earlier this week, the sun that warms the world, Micah's smile and the gentle kicks of the baby girl growing in my belly.

That's right! I haven't officially stated this on the blog--It's a girl!!!


While these things are all pleasant, everyone has to start somewhere. I'm glad my Father knows that I am but dust, and brings this challenge to my door in a relatively sunny season.

What happened is still hard. I no longer think about it every day, but I think about it often. If I close my eyes and see things I don't want to see, I consciously recall Mr. Liner's smiles and laughter earlier in the day. I remember that he no longer suffers, but lives in a place where the only tears are happy ones. I remember the memories made on the river that day with my family and friends that can't be stolen away by the shadow of death. I remember that God is good, I say a prayer for the Liner family, and I give thanks . . . for everything.

Everything Changed

Winter has settled in for its three month long stay. In Louisiana, that means that the temperatures will shift between comfortable and cold, the weathermen will falsely predict snow a half dozen times, and the locusts will fall silent until the arrival of spring in March. The trees have lost much or most of their brilliantly fall-hued foliage. Their bare arms are reaching for the sky in the hope they can catch the illusive sun, or flag it down, and convince it to stay another hour. As winter arrives, Christmas awaits just around the bend! I love this time of year for many reasons. I love the generosity that spreads around like the flu. I love gathering with my family over and over and over again--as long as we all manage to behave ourselves. I love the music, the lights, the parties and the food. This year has been especially enjoyable, and it has almost everything to do with Micah.

This year, I was able to watch Micah help his Daddy decorate the Christmas tree.I have enjoyed taking out Micah's nativity set almost every day. It thrills my heart to hear him call Mary, "Momma," Joseph, "Daddy," and the Baby, "Jesus."
I love the fact that Micah prances around the house wielding wrapping paper rolls like swords, ready to challenge anyone--man, woman or black and white spotted dog--to a duel. I have to warn you--he cheats. He always uses two, like Antonio Banderas in Zorro, as opposed to my one and Daisy's . . . . none. I enjoy hearing him quasi-sing "Jingle Bells" and trip over the lyrics of "Hallelujah." The boy loves some Handel, and who can blame him?

I love Christmas pictures made in Christmas outfits put on Christmas cards, which are then sent out to friends and family.

Most of all, I enjoy this time of year because it reminds me of the reason I hope for a better tomorrow. It reminds me of the vast lovingkindness and compassion of our Awesome Creator God who doesn't owe us a thing, yet is on a continual rescue mission on our behalf. It is for this reason that I would like to cordially invite you to the Christmas Eve service at Crossroads Church in Ruston, LA at 5 p.m. on December 24th. I helped plan the program and prepare the choir. I know that you will be blessed by the music, the fellowship and the worship of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The Christmas Eve worship service at Crossroads is special to me because it is the service that drew me to Crossroads three years ago. The week of Christmas in 2007 was one of the worst weeks of my life. The events of that week left me reeling and broken for months. Had God not been especially good and gracious to me in the days, weeks and months that followed, I might not have darkened the door of a church of any kind ever again. That sounds dramatic, but it is no stretch to the truth. Three years ago, my good friend, Erica Kordsmeier, invited me to the Christmas Eve service, knowing that I would enjoy the music, but having no idea how God would use that event to change my life in ways that I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams.

My friend, Erica

Brandon and I sat in the back. I didn't know many people, which made me feel a little better about quietly crying through most of the service. I cried because my heart was broken. I cried because the music was beautiful. I cried because I could feel the love of the believers in the room. Most of all, I cried because in that gathering, I felt the presence of the Lord more strongly than I had felt it in years. In a room of strangers, my famished soul found nourishment. I lapped it up with the grace of a starving dog. I probably looked like I had attended a funeral when I left, but the time had acted like balm to my invisible wounds. Okay, okay, enough with the cliche metaphors.

The service didn't fix me--let's be clear; Jesus fixed me--but it made me hungry for more of the Spirit at Crossroads. It began a domino reaction which led to the following: More crying through services. Healing. Forgiveness. Church membership. Christian friends. Spiritual revival. Discipleship (I found two women to disciple me). Spiritual growth. Service. Discipleship (I began discipling others). Joy in the Lord! Helping to plan and prepare the Christmas Eve service in the hope that it will draw someone else to the greatest adventure of his/her life.

While at Crossroads, God has changed everything. In a time of hurt and rebellion, this service wooed me right into His hand. This God, the Highest Being of the universe, humbled Himself by coming into this world in the vulnerability of an infant's body. He did this to show that He is not only for the great in this world, but for the lowest of the low, the poorest of the poor--the group of which I consider myself a part. That God, was born to die so that we could have life in Him. I was dead without Him, and now I am alive! He brought me to life, healed my brokenness and replaced my tears with laughter. Every quest and desire for happiness is met in Him. I have seen many miracles in the past three years. Yes, many. But, one of the greatest miracles I have witnessed is how He has turned one of my greatest heartbreaks into the greatest good in my life. When I allow my heart to venture back into the hurt of three years ago, I can only smile. I remember my hurt as if through a haze. What I feel today is gratitude and joy. Only God does that, and He can do it for anyone.

Funny how something as simple as a single service . . . or the birth of a Baby changes everything.

Merry Christmas.

November In Review

Due to noveling escapades, too many musical appointments and general holiday hullabaloo, I haven't blogged in . . . . like . . . . awhile. So, here is November in review. I'll have to get to December later.

Halloween was awesome. Why was Halloween awesome?

That's why. That, and the fact that Micah totally "got" Halloween this year. All Dum-Dums, peppermints and M&Ms beware--Micah knows now.
Other Halloween highlights include:

1) The twins went as two peas in a pod.

2) My studio rocked it out on their Halloween tour of the nursing and retirement homes of Union Parish. These places offer both pros and cons to young performers. On one hand, the people who live there don't really care about the quality of the performance, they just want to see the kids. On the other, nursing homes can be scary, smelly places, understandably frightening to young children and adults alike. In spite of that fact, they played well, had fun prancing around in their costumes and brought a ray of sunshine into each home that day. They are my heroes, and I love them.



3) Micah enjoyed carving pumpkins with his dad. I love that my husband loves to spend time with our son. I love the enthusiasm in Micah's voice every time he calls out, "Daddy!" I love their bond, and it is one of my dearest hopes that their bond grows thicker, richer, stronger and deeper throughout their lifetimes.

Around Halloween, something truly incredible happened--I reunited with my sister, Emily. Some of you remember her as the precious 3 year old who lived with us for a year all that time ago. Well, she isn't 3 anymore. She's beautiful, smart, witty, fun and 16 years old. I'm so excited about getting to know her again. The more time I spend with her, the more I love her, and the more sure I become that God orchestrated this whole crazy thing. He must have GREAT things in store for her, and I plan to be around to see it. More to come.

On a final note--I did it! I wrote 50,149 words during the month of November, meeting my goal. My novel is far from complete. After I finish writing the story, there is much editing to do. I'm not even sure it will be any good. However, quality wasn't my goal. My goal was to quit whining about wanting to write, and actually write. I did that, and do you know what I discovered? I can. I also discovered that if I bring my characters through all of the trouble I have brewing in my brain, I will have a series, not a single novel, on my hands. I am excited about the prospects and the adventure ahead. I will keep you all posted. As my friends, supporters and prayer warriors, you all deserve it.

Moving On

We will live here at 150 Sunflower Drive, Farmerville, Lousiana for three more days, and I never expected to feel so sad about it. I am really surprised by the nostalgia that seems to physically attack me as I pack all our belongings in prescription medicine and milk boxes. (My husband is a pharmacist at a grocery store.)


The truth is that I was afraid of this house when I first saw it. I remember the creepy feeling in my gut when we walked in and saw that the master bedroom had a deadbolt on it that could lock someone in the room. I remember how much I disliked the old man who sold us the house. I remember my extreme feelings of irritation at the outrageous amount of awful wallpaper the previous owners had put up and at the fact that they had stained the light-colored carpet with orange wood polish in many places. I also remember the hideous bathroom with it's black linoleum countertop and floor, brown oak cabinets, and cream, maroon and silver wallpaper. And when we finally decided that it was all we could possibly afford as we had no down payment and Brandon would be the sole breadwinner while I attended college, I still wasn't happy about it.

It became ours the day before I forever changed my name, and our family moved us in while we were off on our honeymoon. When we returned home, my husband scooped me up, and carried me over the threshold. Then began the task of making the house a home. We began with removing the gosh-awful wallpaper, and creating lots of passionate memories--passionate love and passionate fights, in cycles. We bought new furniture and borrowed some old. We unpacked and found places for all of those wedding gifts, some useful, some bizarre. A year later, we brought home a rat terrier puppy who pissed all over that light colored carpet, adding to the stains. And a year after that, we ripped up that stained carpet and laid down laminate flooring with our ridiculous tax refund, and from that point on, there never was a question of where Daisy was in the house. You can hear her loudly clicking her toenails from any spot within the prescribed 1,000 square feet.

This place saw old friends move away and the beginning of new, lasting friendships. It saw plenty of card games, plenty of chicken and hamburger dinners cooked on the George Foreman (I didn't know how to cook back then), dinner parties established right in front of the door (we have no official dining area), slumber parties (my guests would happily sleep on our living room furniture or air mattress), the beginning and expansion of a piano/voice studio, several strange diet attempts (the most radical being the elimination of gluten when I discovered my wheat allergy), and multiple Christmas parties. These walls witnessed three major heartbreaks, a university transfer, and a church change. They witnessed alternating periods of mania and depression from my end and a strong, steadfast love and growth from Brandon's end. They witnessed lots of laughter and soul-wrenching sobs and the pain and joy found in finding comfort in one another's arms. They witnessed lots of self-discovery--Brandon and I not only loved each other, we liked each other, too; I didn't want to be an English professor. I wanted to stay home with my future children, give lots of children the gift of music, and write a bit on the side; Brandon found that he was not only cautious, but adventurous, too and embarked on an spec-house adventure; I discovered that I loved the stage; Brandon discovered that major changes aren't always bad.

And then Micah was born. Here was a soul alive for the first time, and as a result, my soul found life again. My heart for the Lord had grown cold during the years of my college education, and when Micah came into the world, I experienced Him afresh. Over the past year (Micah turns 1 year old on Friday), this home has been more full with laughter and life than I would have thought possible when we bought this creepy thing five and a half years ago. Micah has grown from a tiny, squinty-eyed infant who could do nothing but eat, sleep and poop into a little boy who can say 8 words, light up the world with his belly laugh and captivate everyone in a room by his red-headed, fireball presence. And I was almost a dead soul that was about as unhappy as a person can be because I had tasted the joy of the Lord and had lost it. Then, by God's grace and infinite mercies, I slowly found my way back to the heart of the Lord and am once again experiencing the life He intends for all people--abundant life.

And this place saw it all . . .

And because of that, it will never be forgotten.

Praise be to the God who saw potential in this home when I did not. You are better to me than I deserve.