Smiling Again

Praise the Lord, all you nations;
extol him, all you peoples.
For great is His love towards us;
and the faithfulness of the Lord
endures forever.
Praise the Lord.

Psalm 117

I woke up smiling this morning. A smile on my lips and from my whole being, inside and out. I had almost forgotten what that felt like; the beaming, the joy, the freedom. I had dreamt about Trent. I woke up with him still in my arms. And then I remembered that he was in heaven. And I praised my God for it. I praised Him for a son in heaven while my arms clung to my empty chest and the smile stayed, inside and out. Then I went to my knees and praised God again; for his sovereign plans, for the good works still left for me to do, for an eternity to look forward to, for another day to trust Him, for more opportunities to share about Jesus, for children and a husband still here to minister to, for a son in heaven. The sun beamed through my bedroom window, as if to celebrate with me, and to announce the glory of God in the coming day. It feels good to smile again.

To Smile Again

I don't know, anymore, how to delight in the simple joys of this life. I can only vaguely recall what it felt like to get out of bed with my only thought being that of looking forward to coffee, and sneaking down the stairs before the kids or the dogs woke up to enjoy the quiet of the morning curled up with my Bible in the recliner. I can't remember what it felt like to just play with my kiddos who are still here without this dull ache in my chest, or the fear of loving them so much, or enjoying them too much, or praying such big things for their lives. To all curl up on the couch with a good book used to be a treasure, now the thought brings tears. Pizza-and-movie night often finds me avoiding looking at the corner of the couch that Trent always claimed. I can hardly remember what it used to be like.

Or maybe I can, and that's what scares me.

I'm smiling on the outside, but the inside still hurts.

I've Seen Their Faces

I spoke to a young man this past weekend about Trent's death. A young man, a teenager, who did not know God when he was allowed to be a role model in my son's life without even realizing it. A young man, whom I am not even sure if he knows my God yet.

But I saw his face.

I saw his jaw clench. I saw the words penetrating his very soul. I saw the fight between his pride and the tears stinging behind his eyes. Then they started . . . one by one. Tears dripping down a handsome face of a young man being broken by God. A young man that saw too clearly everything his parents diligently tried to teach him all these years was true. A young man who sin not very long ago threatened to rule, who was steeped in that sin until the stench filled the very church he has attended for years; the very church that embraced him and forgave him and loved him still when he repented. I saw his face. It revealed his heart.

Then I saw another man.

A stoic man, a man that refuses to have his heart revealed. A man who preaches it, but is not allowed to live it. A man that cannot bring himself to reveal the tears, or feel the touch of an embrace, or let the hurt run deep enough to be shattered. I fear for this man; the man with the Bible in his hand, the man without tears.

Light And Momentary

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.
For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake,
so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body.
2 Corinthians 4:10-11

We forget that the men who were inspired by the Holy Spirit to pen the New Testament were Jesus' friends. Flesh and blood, walked by His side, ate with the Savior, watched Him bleed, friends. Two-thousand-and-some years later it is pretty easy to pour a cup of coffee, with extra cream and sugar, and curl up in our recliner's and read these words. But this was their friend. Death is cruel; crucifixion crueler yet. It was under that vivid memory that they walked their walk and preached their gospel.

It is written "I believed; therefore I have spoken."
With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak,
because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead
will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in His presence.
2 Corinthians 4:13-14

You cannot live the same after experiencing death. And after experiencing a resurrection . . . it goes without saying, your life would change. I know that Trent will rise again one day because of what Scripture says (2 Cor 4:14). I know that my life has changed because of experiencing his death. I can no longer live as if this world matters and will last forever, when right before my eyes there is too much evidence that it does not. There is more. Jesus is the "more". God proved it by raising Him from the dead.

For our light and momentary troubles
are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen,
but on what is unseen.
For what is seen is temporary,
but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:17-18

Do you live for the "seen", or the "unseen"? Do you groan, longing to be rid of these mere earthly tents that we live in, longing to be clothed with your heavenly dwelling (2 Cor. 5:1-2)? Do you long to see that glory? The eternal glory that far outweighs anything here?

We live by faith, not by sight.
We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body
and at home with the Lord.

So we make it our goal to please Him,
whether we are at home in the body or away from it.

For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,
that each one may receive what is due him for the things done while in the body,
whether good or bad.
2 Corinthians 5:7-10

I feel the shame creeping in even writing these words. I fear that "man" will not be pleased to hear them again. I fear for the deaf ears that they will fall on, for the hardened hearts that will refuse them again, the dull souls that will ignore them. The warning has gone out; the choice is yours, the choice is mine. This day . . . yet again this day, there is still hope, there is still time to call on the One who can change your heart. His name is Jesus.
Be reconciled to God.

God made {Jesus} who had no sin to be sin for us,
so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.
2 Corinthians 5:21

Do you even understand that? Do you understand the depravity of sin? Your own sin? I cannot begin to see the depth of it, yet it is simple enough for a child to understand. We have sinned, Jesus paid the penalty of an eternity in Hell for us somehow through His death on the cross, and proved the power of God when He was resurrected from that death, and He said He is returning one day in judgment. Sound the warning, shout it in the streets, repent and be saved! Beg God to open your eyes, live for Him who matters.

As God's fellow workers we urge you not to recieve God's grace in vain.
I tell you, now is the time of God's favor,
now is the day of salvation.
2 Corinthians 6:1 and 2b

I have seen death. I have felt its sting. I have known it's reality. I have seen the hard faces that refused to be changed by it; I fear for those souls. Be changed. Let God change you. Give up whatever you are clinging to here in this world. Turn to God. Surrender today; the day that He is still offering salvation.

All too Real

So often lately I wake up in a panic that Trent isn't here. And more so because I can't remember him vividly being here, and "here" now means no Trent. I woke up this morning in the middle of some dream that he wasn't in, and I couldn't get my brain to figure out how to put him in it. I couldn't figure out how he would fit even if he was in it. I gasp for breath as I cry for my son. I raise my hands as I praise my God. I tell God I want to shut this blog off. I don't want to be real anymore, God. I just want to go hide somewhere. He says No. I don't know how, God, I can't lead; but He still says No. Grieve real, Terri. If you quit you'll only stuff. Walk it real. Fighting brothers still here make it all too real. Eternity will be real quicker than any of us can imagine. They're not ready. Have they forgotten that they can never get the morning back? Have they forgotten that even kids die and face judgement before God? Cherish each other; give your little brother the stupid whatever it is, help him button his shirt and find his Bible for church. Sitting in the church pew the tears threaten, both over the song and over reaching out and only finding four kiddos. Not remembering, and then remembering all too well. My outstretched arm reaches for God. Come now, Lord, come now. Some days I can't reach high enough.

Joyful, Patient, and Faithful

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord.
Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
Romans 12:11-12

It has come to my attention that there are certain people out there who have been waiting with much anticipation for a rip-roaring blog post after an amazing God conversation. Or maybe such person just wanted to butter me up for a free Aunt Terri babysitter. Either way, my brain could use some sorting. So, here we go, just some thoughts and observations from the past week on this bizarre walk of grief.

What keeps coming to my mind over and over again, after having several conversations about Trent's accident, is the thought: "You don't have to apologize for my Sovereign God." Right, wrong, politically correct or not, that has been where my brain keeps returning. Next week it will probably come up with another theological nugget to turn and polish and find God's glory in, but this week it is the observation of the lack of joy (or trust, or belief, or plain-old not knowing) in God's good plans for His children.

I can count on one hand (well, probably, my brain doesn't work so well these days to remember stuff) the number of people who were happy to hear the news that Trent died, even those who knew he was saved and therefor in heaven. And I know all the "we're sorry for you, we're sad for you, we're crying 'cause Jesus cried when Lazarus died" lines. They are the nice words to say, they are a natural response, and we should cry when somebody dies. But hardly anybody smiles and says, "Hooray for God's sovereign plans! Hooray for Heaven!" Even eight months later.

I'm scared of getting bitter. I guess that would be considered the required Anger Step that everybody who experiences a tragic death is supposed to go through. "Be mad at God, He can take it." The problem is, tho, I am having a really hard time finding that verse in my Bible. Doesn't that sort of turn the tables and put us right back on top of being in charge of the whole intricate workings of the entire universe rather than God being the one in charge?? It screams that my ways are better than His, rather than what Scripture says, that His ways are better than ours (Isaiah 55:8-9).

As my sister Traci reminded me in my whining the other day, "Have you forgotten you are a daughter of the King?"

Well, yes, actually I had, and a good swift kick in the behinder was what I needed. My Heavenly Father is the King. The King of all Kings, actually. He said so in His book, the Bible. And somewhere there is another book that has my name written in it. "Terri, my precious one, the one I love, the one I have good plans for; plans not to harm her but for her good. Plans to reveal Myself in her, and through her. Plans to reveal Myself in a way that she could never know Me without. Plans to give her hope and a future. Plans to answer her prayers for her son's salvation."

Grief is exhausting. The battle is real, the soul is weary, the mind can't handle much extra. This world is a distraction as of late. It's trinkets don't charm me anymore. I barely notice it's glimmering attraction. But God consumes me. Somebody mentioned the other day how sorry they were for me, how I looked like I had lost so much weight, was it the stress she wondered?

"My dear Christian sister," I wanted to tell her, "don't you know this God of ours is greater than even death? Have you not tasted of Him and found Him to be better and bigger and greater? Do you doubt that He would carry His children?" But as words so often fail me in speech, I could only gather my eight months of experiencing the tip-of-the-iceberg of God's glory being revealed before my very eyes by saying, "Food hasn't mattered so much lately. I have been consumed by God." She looked at me strange. "It's a good thing," I assured her.

And you all thought you were watching me in my little fishbowl. The observation of grief, especially in Christians, is just as interesting on this end.

And here's another thought . . .

Do we create yet another idol when we seek God's glory, or ways to glorify Him (as if we could bring Him any more glory by our mere deeds), rather than seeking just Jesus? Does our striving to bring glory to God through what we are trying to do for Him really become a works based faith that we have mastered to try to win our Father's loving affection? Somehow we have been duped to think that He doesn't love us enough to pry our fingers off of this world if He causes pain. I have seen just the opposite: the pain is the love of God. Pain is how He sanctifies His children, and how He shines His glory through them (Zec 13:9).

Just splitting some more hairs between the sinful nature and the God of the universe and finding myself revealed more of a sinner than I thought I was yesterday.

I don't know where this post will find you today; saved by Jesus, not saved, seeking Him or running away or not even knowing that you really don't know Him. I can't even begin to fathom where God chooses to bring these rambling words of mine. But I pray for you often, dear reader. I pray that the Holy Spirit moves how He said He would move~ through the Word, through honesty, through shattered lives.

Since it will all reveal God's glory someday, it is under God's sovereign hand, and if it means eternities will be changed, then "Here I am, Lord. Shatter me."

As A Child

For the wages of sin is death,
But the gift of God is eternal life
In Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 6:23

Micah and I were working on memorizing Romans 6:23 yesterday. I found that I really don't know how to clearly present the gospel to a six year old, let alone explain to him how our bodies can stay here when we die, and yet we can still live in heaven until we get our new ones. I couldn't quite find the words to explain the depravity of the human soul before salvation, either. Trying to explain sin and the offenses so great against a Holy God that an eternity in Hell is the only just punishment? Ummm . . . hitting your brother?

He listened, and the wheels of his little brain were spinning. He could connect sin, it turns out there wasn't much that needed to be explained. That squirming when I first mentioned the word revealed his heart. "For the wages of sin is death." God only owes us punishment for what we've done, like when Mommy has to discipline you when you've been naughty. He got that part.

And then the gift . . . "But the gift of God is eternal life." His birthday is coming up, so he understood gifts. But trying to put the glorious gift of salvation into simple terms, a gift that would last for eternity, a gift that I can't even fully comprehend, was challenging. To try to explain to him how God gave Trent that gift, and yet Trent is gone, and to six year old boys disappearing and never coming back home is a scary thing. But this is a good gift, Micah. The best gift.

I tried to explain (tried, because my brain has a hard time processing it fully) how we can be in heaven with God, and that's a good thing, fabulous thing, yet it means being away from Mommy and that's okay because you're with God. It's even okay for Trent. It's even okay when we all miss him so much because God said it was okay.

And then I tried to explain eternity . . . forever, and ever, and ever, and ever. And how important it was to decide what we were going to do with this gift from God now because it would make a difference throughout that forever.

The best news of all is that it is a gift from God that is only found "in Christ Jesus our Lord." Now, if trying to explain sin and depravity, and eternity and salvation to this kiddo was hard, imagine trying to explain the very Son of God without misrepresenting Him.

But I think he got it. On some six year old level, he got it. Jesus is good, sin is bad, eternity is a long, long time, and salvation matters.

For the wages of sin is death,
But the gift of God is eternal life
In Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 6:23

The Father has sent His Son
To be the Savior of the world.
1 John 4:14

And Then Came Facebook

I was doing okay. I was breathing normally. I was content to wait on God. And then came facebook. Just a couple of goofy pictures on somebodies sister's facebook page from two years ago that somebody else thought I would appreciate. And I did. And than I showed Rob. And he had to leave before we all saw a grown man cry. And I stuffed it, because people were watching and best friends of twelve-year-old boys shouldn't see a grown woman cry~ it scares them, believe me. Do you know how hard this is? Some days it's harder than others. I miss that goofy kid so much.

Just Sustain Me, Lord

For you were once darkness,
but now you are light in the Lord.
Live as children of light and find out what pleases the Lord.
Ephesians 5:8-10

I woke up again barely able to breath this morning. Panic attacks, anxiety, grief, womanhood; give it whatever label you want. My flight response wants to escape, but there is no where to run.

As a prisoner for the Lord, then,
I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.
Ephesians 4:1

I have no choice, the Holy Spirit continually yields my heart back to God. I am constantly forced to check my heart, check my motives, line them up with God's Word. I am constantly found wanting. My flesh screams out the injustice of this life and the pain it brings. My greed longs for it all to be about me; for it all to be my way.

But to each one of us grace has been given as Christ apportioned it.
Ephesians 4:7

After the tears, I can begin to feel the grace. The things I can't say, I will have to trust the Spirit to relay. The real hurts, the depth of that pain, even if it's only the pain of my pride being exposed, are washed clean in the presence of my Savior Jesus. My fear of rejection is forgotten as my eyes are turned back to Christ and the Cross. He said I am His. He said to follow Him how He leads. He has called me precious.

Surely you heard of Him
and were taught in Him
in accordance with the truth that is in Jesus.

You were taught, with regard to your former way of life,
to put off your old self,
which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires,
to be made new in the attitude of your minds;

and to put on the new self,
created to be like God
in true righteousness and holiness.
Ephesians 4:20-24

I am not called to follow Christ as an imitator of how others are. We have all been given gifts, we have all been created in God's image to reflect Him in who He made us. He has prepared us individually for our very own works of service so that the body of Christ may be built up (Ephesians 4:11-13). When I stray from who He made me, how He has called me, how He leads, and try to copy somebody elses walk, then I have successfully failed to bring God any glory; I doubt the very intricate making's of the soul that He has made me.

I do doubt when the pain rises, and I feel the hurts and the rebellion in my heart, that God will use it for good. But somehow He does. After the tears I can hear His sweet, soft voice comforting, leading, admonishing, rebuking, loving; clearly perfect in exposing my deceitful heart. The Word that never fails, the hand that always leads, my God who always loves me and forgives.

Today, I am just broken. And broken is okay, because I know the One who fixes "broken".

This is Grief

The thought dons on me regularly: Trent is still Trent. And then I begin to wonder for the umpteenth time where he is. Where heaven is. Where God is, where God dwells face to face with His children. And then I miss him, again. And then I wonder about what heaven is like, and what he's doing and experiencing, and about the things that he knows but I can't even begin to imagine.

And then the fear sets in.

I read that the first year of grief is covered by so much denial that you can't really even feel it; that the reality barely begins to sink in. The second year is harder, they tell me. And then this week I met a couple who lost their child several years ago. The tears still rose in their eyes and the day at the hospital was still vivid as they told me about it. But then they looked at me strange when I began to talk about my joy of Trent being in heaven.

I fear that I am missing something here. Aren't Christians supposed to be excited about going to heaven? I fear that doubt really will sneak in. I fear that one day I, too, will begin to think that God is not good and sovereign and that this world really is the only forever. Where are the stories of those who believe in the Promises of Scripture during times of deep suffering? I can't find them. I don't want any more nicey-nicey faith stories. I want the warriors. Those who stood fast to the Word of God. I barely even see the Word of God in those grief stories, let alone the gospel, or sin, or eternity. Where are you Christians? Who is fighting this battle with us?

I fear seeing God for the first time only to have not believed whole-heartedly every single word that He said. I fear being so content with what I can see here that I quit lamenting over my son being gone, because ultimately it was sin that lead to death, and I was able to somehow find that normal.

"Do you see him now?" Lucy Pevensie asked Trumpkin in Prince Caspian when they all stood on the shore of that river before the great Aslan himself. Yes, he saw him now.

I want to stand before God proclaiming that I never doubted His plan. That I did fight. That I did believe. That I knew He only did things for my good and His glory in my life. That I did trust His hand that was leading. I want to stand before Trent, holding him in my arms, telling him of what God did with his life and death, how I missed him, how I always knew he was in heaven and was rejoicing that he made it. That because of it I fought the fight harder. I long to let go of all that hinders here so I can run the race well, for the prize that matters.

I don't want to be entertained anymore, world. I don't want to be comforted by the only hope being that grief gets easier with time, or that my faith is so "nice" and it's good to see that I think there's a god somewhere out there. I don't want my tears to be in vain. I don't want to become apathetic. I want to live with my eyes wide open to eternity that will come only too soon.

I want to live smiling because my son is in heaven and I trust the God who was gracious enough to bring him there to be gracious enough to pour out His mercies in my life until the day that He chooses to bring me there. I want to feel the depth of the raw pain that God ordained. I want to know Him in the deeper parts that can only be known through this suffering. I will not trade perishable rewards for eternal ones. I will settle for nothing less. No tarnished wordly trinkets can compare.

I only want Jesus and all that He promised.

Just Breathe

Grief is like a vice. I feel it squeezing in too tight sometimes. I feel it wrapping itself around my chest, then crawling it's way up into my throat, the dull ache and the too common stinging in my eyes until the tears are barely contained. I try to shut off the thoughts that bring it on, then I realize that it's no use. I might as well think them and go forth. I might as well feel the pain and cry the tears. And when it's over, then I can just breathe. In, out, in, out. Just breathe.

Another first today. The first day of going back to work in eight months. My employer has been so generous to allow me as much time off as I needed, and I probably wouldn't have had to even gone back today. But it was time. Time to just face it, do it, cross off another first. To feel the love and the hugs, to answer the dreaded "how are you" question, to drive the same drive, pray the same prayers, park in the same parking lot, punch the same time clock, walk the same halls as the day the phone call came. And all those ladies . . . if only they didn't have to be so wonderful, if only there weren't so many mother's with their arm's open wide who have been broken, too, for us the past eight months. Who have lifted up prayers and well wishes and really wanted to know how I was. Some smiled, some cried, some know my God, some don't, some agreed, too, that the world should have stopped when my son died.

I didn't realize how much I was stuffing until I turned back onto our road heading home after my shift and realized that I would walk in the door this time and hug all of my children who are still here. This time wouldn't be like last time. This time when I walked in the door I wouldn't have to ask if my son was dead or not. I wouldn't have to call my Mom or Traci or Jerry or go to Duluth. I could delight my children with fudgsicles instead and go play outside in the sunshine with them. I could live. If I could just stop crying. Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe. One. Breath. At. A. Time.

Better Than a Hallelujah

The honest cry of a breaking heart is better than a Hallelujah
Amy Grant, "Better than a Hallelujah"

Writing is a release for me. Freedom, in a sense, to let things go. A record to see where God has taken me. My struggle with blogging has always been to write for myself, with the glory going to God in it, without the fear of man. So I shut the comments off, again, and allow myself to be where God has me. It's good to lay these thoughts down. It's good to stop carrying them, thinking them, trying to remember them, to quit being scared of forgetting them . . .

Lately I have found that the high of rejoicing is turning to a stoic contentment, contentment to steadfastness, and steadfastness to a hope that is still full of much underlying joy, all tinged with a deep missing of Trent and the sorrow of grief. It's always there, and I assume it always will be. I feel a deep resolve setting in. I refuse, in my genetic stubborness, to let God's glory get out of sight as the days, weeks, and months pass by. I refuse to let this become normal. How is it normal that your son dies? Do we not get used to sin being normal, then, if our only hope is to strive to learn how to function normally after losing a child?

The reality of eternity is already losing it's impact, though, as much as I thought it never would or could. It has barely even been my first thoughts the past few days. I woke up this morning and realized that already eternity wasn't as vivid as it was eight months ago.

Eight months. It's been eight months today. I can remember when it hadn't even been eight days. I remember sitting in the front pew at the funeral looking at Trent's body beside me in the coffin, thinking, "It's been six days already, Trent's been in heaven for six days." I am sure when it's been eight years, and more, I will be thinking, "It's been eight years already." I don't want eternity to lose it's impact. I don't want to live without heaven being my forethought in everything. I don't want to live as if death is normal.

God said,
"Even to your old age and gray hairs I am HE, I am HE who will sustain you. I have made you, and I will carry you. I will sustain you, and I will rescue you."
Isaiah 46:4

I went to my knees again this morning, down on the floor, face to the ancient wooden boards. I went in obedience. I long for obedience, and I detest myself for being so dull to hear and obey God's voice. What did He say? Am I really being faithful? Have I really listened? I long to see the grand plan of all of this. I don't know how one twelve year old boy, one night of talking at the dining room table and one changed heart after many years of prayers, then one skiing trip followed by {probably} many more years of tears can result in God's glory. I don't know how the Holy Spirit moves to cause repentance through that, let alone salvation.

Salvation occured yet again under our rooftop over the weekend. As I slept in my bed upstairs, God was doing His work dowstairs. Teenage girls sat giggling while deciding which movie to watch next, and then the topic changed, and an eternity changed. I am baffled. I am amazed. I stand in awe to be a vessel of that kind of work.

I spent the day lamenting. Uncontrollable tears for years of pain that I can't understand, tears for the fear of people that I can't do anything to change, tears that wouldn't stop. Tears for people that I can't reach, souls that I am not even sure that God wants me to try to reach, as odd as that seems. People where I have no ability to even minister when I am in their midst.

I lamented for the trappings of their lives, the trappings of their own choosing in a way, and the blindness that sin causes. I cried because I have felt the pain of that trapping, and because I long for their freedom, and because I am terrified that I am being trapped as well. As polite Christians we don't say names, we don't point out each other's sins, we barely even dare to call sin, sin anymore. But it's still sin, and sin still traps, and God does not bless disobedience. Until there is open repentance and confession it will continue.

Events of the past eight months have been rolling through my brain. Faces of teenage boys come to mind. One young man at the funeral, who had been on the skiing trip with Trent, crying uncontrollably, admitting to me that he knew he would be in hell if it had been him. His mother, looking on, praying I am sure, as she must long for salvation for her children as much as I long for salvation for mine. I haven't seen him since. I don't know if God chose to save him or not.

Another young man, another friend of Trent's that had been on the trip that Friday, who was also at the funeral. I have seen him several times since, I have asked him repeatedly where he would be, where he is with God, and I have gotten the same answer. And still he refuses to accept grace and salvation. He can't accept grace and salvation until God grants it to Him. So I keep praying for him, this boy whom I could love as my own. Why some, and not others, God?

I think of pastors, four of them and their wives, who have not had the time in eight months to ask how I am, who have not allowed us to share our joy with them, to share God's good work with them. Then there's the church lady who has only cared to ask about who my sister is dating now than how severe our hearts are breaking, how God has moved, how He has sustained.

Cousins, friends, aunts, uncles, grandparents, neices, nephews, fellow teen-age football players: their faces come before me. I wonder where they are spiritually. I wonder if they remember the songs, the sermons, the power of that day. I wonder if they have considered their own eternity.

I think of the people who continue to search for Trent's name nearly every day on the world wide web and find the blog. I wonder about others that are sent here by some simple search for making soap or feeding calves, and find the gospel instead. I wonder if I present the gospel clearly. I wonder about how God moves. I wonder how my breaking heart makes a difference. I long for God to use it to make a difference.

There was a missionary who spoke at our church the other day. One thing, especially, that he said has stayed with me. He talked about mission minded churches, and stated that the only way that a churches light {of the gospel} could shine all the way to the other ends of the earth was if it shone strong and bright at home, which is the source.

I thought about how easy it is to "shine" our gospel across a pretty computer page. Or to send money to the orphans in India. And then I wondered if I shine bright close to home. More and more God has revealed my "missions" field as my children and husband. The day will come, Lord willing, when again I am called to sign up for every project at church, but for now I am called to shine where I am at home.

Days without the distraction of a computer has left more time for prayer and for visiting. I have been inducted into a group of women in our community who have lost children. There are too many of us in our little town. God has renewed my heart for them in these past couple of weeks.

Grief is lonely. Sometimes lonely is easier than awkward, though. Who else could understand (well, besides aunts, and a few certain other's)? To overhear two mother's who have lost children discussing phone calls and hospitals and funerals and month's of grief would be an odd conversation for an outsider. Especially mother's who are happy that their son's are in heaven.

Now I'm rambling, which must mean that it's time to go make some peanut butter cookies with my little dumpling's who are still this side of heaven.

God loves a lulluby
In a mother's tears in the dead of night
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

God loves the drunkard's cry
The soldier's plea not to let him die
Better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

The woman holding on for life
The dying man giving up the fight
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

Better than a church bell ringing
Better than a choir singing out, singing out
We pour out out miseries
God just hears a melody

Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts

Are better than a Hallelujah (Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)
Better than a Hallelujah (Better than a Hallelujah sometimes)

I Can't Even Imagine

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God!
He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm.
Let nothing move you.

Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord,
because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.
1 Corinthians 15:56-58

I have found myself praising God so many times over the past couple of days for how Trent died. I'm sure that has to sound morbid. I could never have imagined myself even thinking those words eight months ago about my son. But over the last couple of days I have seen, again, the grace of God to ordain Trent's life and death the way that He did. Even in death God pours out His mercies on His children.

Over the past year and a half there have been five accidental deaths of young men just in the extended circle of our little community. Most of those deaths have been horrendous, and the parents have suffered much. And more so, I don't know that God revealed the clarity of those young men's salvation. Knowing that Trent is in heaven still makes grief hard; not knowing~ I couldn't even imagine.

Hearing of the twelve year old boy who died over the weekend has begun to sink in. I want to shut off the thoughts of that mother's pain. I don't want to think of her walking this road. I wouldn't know what to say to her if I could. I come back to the truths of God's sovereignty. I do not have to try to explain away why God does what He does, I only have to trust Him for who He is and that His plans are far better than my own.

I have been pondering First Peter the last couple of days. I have been pondering God's glory, and eternity, and how we live our lives here. I have been able to grasp {in a teeny, tiny, minute way} the honor of suffering in anticipation of God's glory that will be revealed throughout eternity for it. I can't even get the complete concept of God's glory to register in my brain~ what is it? How is it manifested? What is the depth of it?

Matthew 13:43 says that the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father . . . what must God's glory be like in it's fullness if His children's righteousness will be as bright as the sun? How will it look without sin to blind us from it? At 93 some million miles away from the sun it was still 84 degrees in Wisconsin yesterday~ what does that look like close up? What does that look like translated into glory? What would that look like even if it was only 92 million miles away?

And then, why do I not just rest in this eternal God? Oh, that He would continue to draw me near. First Peter 2:4 says that God's children are precious to Him. Precious. Not just tolerated, not servants, not only children, but precious children. He calls us to entrust ourselves, our very lives, even our suffering, to Him who judges justly (1 Peter 2:23). He redeemed our souls through the blood of His own son, Jesus. Because we are His, we are called to live holy lives, set apart for obedience to Him, because He is our Father and He is holy (1 Peter 2:24, 1:2, 1:15-16).

A common topic lately that has come up in several conversations is how to live here, but still live for God. How does one live for the glory of God? How does one live eternally minded, yet still function here until Christ calls us home?

I had the privilege of talking to a dear Christian sister yesterday who has suffered much physical pain over the last decade. She was weary, and new ailments have plagued her for the past several months with no immediate relief in sight. She had no choice but to submit herself to God, to His trials, and to His timing.

She felt the pressure to conform to those around her, those who thought perhaps she was going on too much about the wheelchair she has been in and implied that it might be time to get over it. She needed the reminder that God is good and sovereign in all He does. She started to think these trials would go on for ever, that this short life and our daily struggles were all that there was, that God would not reveal His glory one day through these sufferings. As I shared the Promises with her, I was telling them to myself just as much. I needed to hear them, too. I get weary, too. I start to forget, too.

Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange where happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when His glory is revealed.

Humble yourselves, therefore, under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.

And to the God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To Him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.
1 Peter 4:12-13, 5:6-7, 5:10-11

I can't even begin to imagine what that glory will look like.

I pray that you know this Savior of mine.

Another Twelve Year Old Boy

I certainly didn't want to post this post today. I only wanted it to be another sunny Monday morning and upload a dozen pictures of making soap, or of farm critters, or of kid's doing school. But today, again, I plead with you to consider eternity, dear readers. Today, I request again, your prayers.

We just heard the news of a family, about a nephew of a couple who attends the same church, that lost their twelve year old son in an accident over the weekend. I don't know them, I don't even know their names at this point, but I know their pain, I know the details of the next few days, I know the path they are just beginning to walk. I feel helpless. I feel eternity pressing in. I feel the fleeting days. I feel the need to cry out the warnings of salvation, to tell you to decide today, to call on the name of Jesus, to not put it off. Time is short. We are not guaranteed to see the end of this day.

Hold your children closer today, parents. Love them deeper. Tell them about Jesus, teach them in His ways, lead them in holiness, pursue it with all that is within you, beg God for their salvation, consider your own salvation. Please pray with us for this family today.

Here I am!I stand at the door and knock.

If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in.

Revelation 3:20a

The Romans Road to Salvation:

For all have sinned and fall short of the Glory of God.

As it is written: There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one. Their mouths are open graves; their tongues practice deceit. The poison of vipers is on their lips. Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery mark their ways, and the way of peace they do not know. There is no fear of God before their eyes. For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

God demonstrated His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. If you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved. For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Jesus replied, "If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching.”

Romans 3:23; 3:10-18; 6:23; 5:8; 10:9; 10:13; 5:1; 8:1; 8:38-39; John 14:23a

Why God gave us Sisters

"Is a love affair with the God of the universe, an affair so deep that it drops you to your face in beseeching Him, in standing in awe of Him, really something that you want to get over??? Do you really want to go back to my realm, of seeing such little of His greatness and glory? The rest of us only catch a glimpse of what God is revealing to you. Not to sound crass or to dismiss your pain. I think you are the voice that Christians need to hear in this. I am sorry that the pain of missing your son is involved in revealing Christ's majesty."

Some encouragement from my sister, Traci.

***

I am unworthy to try to proclaim God's faithfulness. The temptation in my soul to conform to the world has been intense the past few days. I have been going back to wanting to make my "watchers" happy and grieve how they want me to grieve, how the world thinks I should grieve. I have been tempted to deny where God has me so that I can please the masses. I have been scared to profess too much of God in this lately.

But, beyond anything I have ever known, I know there is a sovereign God who loves me. I know my son is with Him. I know He is coming back one day, and I will give account to only Him. I draw near, and sense His presence. I reach out, and long to physically feel His hand leading me. No, I don't ever want to get over that. I don't ever want to stop standing in awe of Him. I don't want to forget His greatness and His glory that was only revealed at this time because of Trent's death.

My God knows His purposes for it being this way. I will continue to fight to not lose hope of that. I will continue to profess that. I will continue to praise Him. I will continue to trust Him. I will continue to seek Him. I will strive to be where He has me, right now. I will battle to stay close to Him. I will continue to profess Him. Nothing else matters; nothing. I will beg you to consider Him before it is too late. Do you know my God? Do you know my Jesus? Really know Him?

You answer us with righteous and awesome deeds, God our Savior, the hope of the ends of the earth and of the farthest seas.
Psalm 65:5

Truly He is my Rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
Psalm 62:6

The LORD lives! Praise be to my Rock! Exalted be God my Savior!
Psalm 18:46

But may all who seek You rejoice and be glad in You; may those who long for Your saving help always say, "The LORD is great!"
Psalm 70:4

I wait for your salvation, Lord, and I follow your commands.
Psalm 119:166

The Honor of Kings

It is the Glory of God to conceal a matter;
It is the honor of kings to search it out.
Proverbs 25:2

This morning I went face down, refusing to stay in the apathetic place I have been with God. Not on my knees, not kneeling by the bed, but face down on the old wood floor; begging God to reveal Himself, begging Him to carry me, pleading for His grace, longing for real praise from my soul rather than just this ache that has accompanied me for so many days.

On your knees you can only accept what the King has to offer you; no more, no less, no great expectations, just total humbleness. I felt my insignificance; I sensed God's power and His majesty. I acknowledged Him as Lord and Master like never before. Lying there, I realized the feel of complete surrender.

Tonight I find myself near tears again at flashbacks from seven months ago. The shock must be wearing off. I tried reading some articles on grief to make sure that I was doing everything right and only found a lack of any Godly council. Many theories and statements are out there about how the first year of grieving a child isn't even the hardest part, and that the second through the seventh years are harder yet. But pretty much they all agree that you never really do get over it. And especially when it was an accidental death~ no chance of ever recovering from it.

Where are the Christians who have lost children? Where is the hope in God? Hope in His plans, in His sovereignty, in His eternity? Where are the Hebrews 11 people who are willing to trust God and wait on Him? Some days I feel like I am losing my mind. I conform too easily to what "they" say, and then I get scared. I wonder if I can barely do this today, how can I do it the rest of my life?

So I go back to my knees, back to prayer, back to God. I hold on tighter. I cry more. I trust God all over. I keep thinking that in 800-billion-years from now I won't even remember this day. I try to put it all in perspective somehow. I go back to the truth of Scripture and refuse, again, to be shaken. I repeat the verses over and over and over:

For those He foreknew He predestined; Precious is the death of the saints in the eyes of the Lord; Never will God leave me or forsake; I am in the palm of His hand; God knew Trent and the plans He had for him; Jesus is coming soon; God only does things for our good; one day, one day this will all be made right.

Then I realize that I made it through another day. I realize that Trent's salvation was made clear before his death. I realize that God doesn't make mistakes, and that He knows what broken hearts feel like. I realize I am praising God again.

"Blessed are those who believe in God when they haven't seen him," Alexis reminds me. "Mom, that means you. You are blessed."

I am one day closer to being in heaven. I pray harder for my children who are here. I pray for my husband. I pray for those God calls me to pray for. I pray to live as if this is my last day. I anticipate meeting Jesus face to face. I long for salvation for many souls. I long for the glory of the Lord to fill this land. I proclaim, again, what is only foolishness to so many: Jesus saves, only Jesus saves. Won't you call on Him today when He can still be found, dear reader?

Stuck

My brain is stuck. What an odd word~ stuck. All I feel in my body today is a tightening in my chest, not even tears stinging at my eyes, or that familiar lump in my throat. I feel the ache in my arms, literally, from longing to hold Trent some days. Finally, after that thought, the tears can come, and the stomach curls as the sobs fall. The lips fight to remain upright; the jaw clenches. It feels better than numb. It feels better than raw.

The outside world wants to quickly heal a person who is grieving. Funny~ at first everyone thought I should be crying, now they don't seem to think I should be, or maybe they just don't know what to do with me still crying, or maybe they don't know what to do because they aren't still crying. But it is only God that I stand before, it is His timetable that I grieve on. I will cry as long as He wants me to cry.

Life is somehow going on. Alexis and I were lamenting over that fact the other day. My little sister and I were struggling with the age old question a couple of weeks ago about why are we here~ and especially as Christians, when all we want is to be with the Lord, why are we still here. I found myself missing Trent this morning for not being here for football this year. Then I stopped myself, and realized how little I realize what reality is.

This is Satan's kingdom.

It is not Trent that I should be weeping for, it is my other children who are still here. Now don't think I've gone off the deep end, I have only seen a glimpse of what Scripture is talking about these past seven months and am trying to sort the reality of it. I have also been reading a book by Steve Gallagher called "Intoxicated with Babylon", and that reality is all too real. Eternity is on the line, people. We are playing in Satan's sandbox and enjoying it, and only want more.

What if everything Scripture says is true, dear Christian? Remember all those verses about this world being the devil's kingdom since the fall of man, and the reason that God sent His son Jesus to die on a cross was to ransom His own, and that His own should live in this world as aliens, not as citizens, and that one day He would come back to surprise us, rescue us, and establish His kingdom. But most of us don't want to be ransomed. Most of us like it here. Most of us have established our own kingdoms here and can't see beyond. We think we are entitled to this world's pleasures, and even that they are a gift from God. Remember who's pleasure's they are. Gallagher goes on to say that we have become drunkards enjoying this world's every little trifle rather than seeking our true King and His kingdom.

Wake up. Please wake up.

That is what my plea has been to God; let me wake up, let me see clearly, let me live faithfully, let me repent of anything that is not glorifying to Him, let me live obediently, let me live eternally minded, let my eyes be open.And to think, I would have traded all that just to see my son chase a little ball around a field on a cold, fall evening. He is with his God. He is with his Savior. Dance before your King, my son, and when I get there we'll dance together.

Empty Hands

Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord!
Psalm 134:2

When we come to God with empty hands we will not be disappointed.

It is only when our hands are clenched tightly to "my plans, my ways, my possessions, my ideas, my hurts, and my expectations" that we are disappointed in Him. When we let go, and let God be God, there is freedom. Freedom to trust Him. Freedom to let Him lead. Freedom to drop our burdens. Freedom to rest from carrying a load that is too heavy.

Arms can be raised with those same hands open to the heavens; tears can fall, and praise can come from our lips yet again. Our fight with our Creator ends when we surrender Him to be God in our lives in everything that He chooses to do. And not only God, but Master. When we turn and follow Him is when the way is paved smooth, the light shines the brightest, and the peace is the greatest. He is worthy of leading. Are you following?

Anyone who trusts in Him will never be {disappointed}.

Romans 10:11

When Hope Rises

I have dreaded going to bed at night because I know that the morning will be greeted with another wrestling match, and I will have to come to terms again with God about Trent being in heaven. This battle between soul and mind is constant. Scripture says that the heart is wicked and deceitful and is beyond cure. Our flesh is still flesh; consumed with sin and longs to go astray from our Savior, mine included. Too easily the emotions shift directions and I get swept away. So I fight. I fight with Scripture, I fight with prayer, I fight by making myself accountable and even vulnerable to what my true thoughts and emotions are. And it is exhausting.

As defeat longed to rule yesterday morning, there was suddenly a hope that rose stronger. Hope in a sovereign God, hope in the plans He has for my life, hope in His word. The thought consumed me that this was not a day of defeat, but rather it was another day to bask in God's grace. It was another day to look for His mercies, and His provision, and His faithfulness. It was a day that is a mist, a vapor that will one day pass into eternity.

In that eternity I will never have the opportunity to trust God in this way again. What is veiled now will be revealed then. "Blessed are those who do not see, and yet believe," Jesus said. In heaven God's grace will be different. It will be a grace by sight, not by faith. What a gift to know God, then, in this way for the time He has granted it.

After a good day, my night finished off on that same hope by reading in Scripture:

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of God. Consider Him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart."

Hebrews 12:2-3

What a truth to hold on to: Jesus Himself is the author and perfecter of our faith. Alexis and I sat together in awe pondering those words. As she sat writing her book-in-the-works the reality of an author only sunk in deeper. And if Jesus is the perfecter of our faith, that means, then, that everything He does is also perfect.

Even taking twelve year old boys to heaven.

What freedom there is in serving a Sovereign God.

~~~~~~~~~
Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons.
No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.
So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what He has promised.

For in just a little while,
"He who is coming will come and will not delay.
But my righteous one will live by faith.
And if he shrinks back,
I will not be pleased with him."

But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed,

but of those who believe and are saved.

Hebrews 12:7, 12:11, 10:35-39

They Shall See His Face

For the past seven months there has been one thought that has consumed me from the beginning: Trent is in heaven. I don't mean that he's gone, but that he is in heaven. Look at your son. Now, try to imagine if your son knew what heaven looked like. Try to imagine if your son knew what the face of God looked like, what the scars on Jesus' hands looked like, what the throne looked like and the souls of the martyrs under the throne, besides the cherubim and the seraphim, and the Book of life. All those things we teach our kids about in Sunday school are reality for Trent. The things I long to know first hand, he knows.

We were at the zoo the other day. Half way through as we were marvelling at yet another of God's creation, it dawned on me that Trent is probably doing the same thing on a grander scale. "Look at that, look at that, can you believe God made that, look at that!" I can't even imagine.
I am beginning to live worldly again. I hate it, but it's creeping in. The reality of salvation is becoming commonplace again. The ache for God to save my children is slowly becoming a ritual again, rather than a desperate mother pleading before her King.

Today's plans and the farm repairs are rising in importance next to soul's lately. I suppose there are those who are breathing a sigh of relief and are glad that I might lay off of the "Jesus thing" now a little bit, but I am asking God for the exact opposite. All my days left here I want to be used for His Kingdom, not this one. I don't know how to balance that. The calf shed that was started last year still needs to be finished. It is important that the last pieces of siding get put on so that we are wise stewards of our possessions, but the joy of seeing that dreamed about building coming to completion is not there anymore.

I was beginning to wonder if it was the numbness of grief, but I am slowly seeing it as God's grace as I look beyond that little white shed. My mind is trying to sort what's really important and what's temporary. Mostly my brain is on survival mode at this point, and I am only functioning enough to keep my head and my soul above water. The rest gets put aside.

Goose hunting is going on in full force around us. I try to pretend that it doesn't matter, that it doesn't bother me or make me miss Trent more. But then I tell myself to quit pretending. I know that if he were here I would not have been lying in my warm, cozy bed this morning at 5:00 AM, but rather I would have been dressed in camouflage sitting in a frosty field somewhere.

I had the opportunity to share Trent's story with three different men this week; doctor's who aren't normally in our daily life, but who God put there to work miracles through. Last year we expected nothing other than scheduling our yearly checkup for September; this time when I checked out and scheduled our appointment for next September I wondered what would be different a year from now.

I thought of how we impact each other's lives without even realizing it. I thought of these men just coming to work to punch the time clock every day, not understanding the lives that they are changing. I thought of how God changes our lives in a single day. I prayed that God would use a little slip of paper to change their lives. I wondered if that doctor realized how much it meant to me that he broke professional protocol and gave me a hug when I told him my son was in heaven. I praised God for using us.

Yesterday I cried over fence posts. Yes, fence posts. Fence posts that were put in last fall with Trent's help. I touched the post, longing for any possible physical connection to my son. I fought tears as I picked up sticks and when I carried white steel siding. The tears finally overflowed when I realized I had spent the whole morning frustrated over trying to clearly communicate with a man half way down in the nation about what color I wanted used on a book cover about my son who died.

I can't explain how odd it is that Trent is gone. Just gone. You would think that seven months later I would be used to it. Someone said to me the other day, "I don't know how you will ever get over this. I don't think you will ever get over this." I gave them credit for saying anything. It wasn't as hard to hear that comment this time around as I have already heard it before. They did go on to share some very encouraging stories, offered their sympathies, and told me of how losing our child had changed their lives as well.

But still, I don't know how I will ever get over this either. I have come to realize it is not something to "get over". It's not a disease that there is a cure for. No magic pill or potion will take it away. It is a daily walk, a daily trust, a daily hope in Jesus. The only place I need to be is where He has me. Too easily I succumb to where others want me, not intentionally on their end, but where I think they must be thinking I should be. I fight to be where God has me, whether that be crying, remembering, happy, or rejoicing. They are all emotions from Him, not any of them bad in themselves, but only more reasons to remember God's words and reflect Him in them.

I wonder if I am leading or God is leading sometimes, so I stop my plans and let Him show me. And He does. I am glad to be out of the "battle zone" where I was a couple of weeks ago. There is no doubt in my mind that there are eternal battle's going on that we are not aware of. One day we will see. I think of the intensity of a friend who shared how she had been battling in prayer for me one day. Little did she know how I needed exactly that, exactly then.

The other day I realized that somebody must be praying for our marriage. Thank you. It dawned on me a while ago how God has pulled Rob and I together at a time that we could easily be pulled apart. I can't express the strength that God has given us, or the grace, or the togetherness, or the power (not sure if that word describes it right) to glorify Him together. It dawned on me that this, too, is a blessing from God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city.

No longer will there be any curse.

The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve Him.

They will see his face,

and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light.

And they will reign for ever and ever.

The angel said to {John}, "These words are trustworthy and true."

Better Than Chocolates

Last night Trent's name casually came up in conversation, and out of the blue, Grace, Micah and I entered in to deep theological matters that I have forgotten to be in awe of. I can't even remember what was said about Trent when Micah commented, "I wish people could come back from heaven."

I explained in simple terms, on a six year old level, "They do, Micah."

"They do?" he asked, eyes wide. "Can he come back today?" The three of us went on to discuss how Jesus was raised from the grave as the firstfruit, how God is going to restore this earth, how people will come back from heaven.

"Well then we better keep his stuff in his trunk for him."

"But I think we will probably go to heaven before Trent comes back from heaven, honey," I tried to explain.

"Well, then maybe Russell can take care of it for him." Russell is our 80-some year old neighbor.

So I tried a different tactic and told him, like Isaiah said, that we will throw all of these earthly belongings that we hold on to so tightly here and put so much meaning in, to the rats and the bats when we see what Jesus has to offer us. I think I summed it up by saying, "Jesus has lots better stuff for us."

"Like gold money, and it has the chocolates inside?"

"Yep, Micah, like gold money with chocolates inside, and even better than that."

"Better than that?!" he could hardly believe it.

I wish I could capture the "awe" in his voice by typing mere words on a computer. I wish I could capture the excitement of his childlike faith. I wish I could capture his wide eyes and expectant face for a God who was just revealed bigger than he could have ever imagined. I wish I could somehow pen the joy in my own heart to be reminded, yet again, that people do come back from heaven, and God has better things in store for His children. Better, even, than gold coins with chocolate inside.

Even in Laughter

Even in laughter the heart may ache
Proverbs 14:13

I am taking one step forward at a time. One step I have been having a hard time taking is home school. It symbolizes another first of our very way of life. It involves having to take Trent's name off of the schedule and then planning a new schedule without his name on it; preparing books and curriculum for the ones left here. It means deciding whether to leave his unfinished books on his shelf where they have sat since last winter, or remove them. It means working around his empty desk. It means trusting God all over again, moment by moment: trusting, praising, believing, going forth. It means laughing in the midst of the heartache. It means loving my children more and longing for God to do more. Longing for more grace, being here where I am, accepting where that is, and then moving forward, one little step at a time.

800 Billion Years Later

As the speaker said at camp last weekend: "There will come a day in eternity when you have your 800 billionth birthday, and if that isn't hard enough to grasp, there will come a day in eternity when you can't remember your 800 billionth birthday." Today I can barely get past Monday morning and the fact that it's six-and-a-half months later. Off to peel a billion or so apples . . . Lord willing, I'll be back later to blog about it.

Have You Met My God?

He wakens me morning by morning,wakens my ear to listen like one being taught.

The Sovereign Lord has opened my ears,and I have not been rebellious;
I have not drawn back.

Because the Sovereign Lord helps me,
I will not be disgraced.

Therefore have I set my face like flint,
and I know I will not be put to shame.

The Lord said, "I, even I, am He who comforts you.

Who are you . . . that you forget the Lord your Maker,who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth,that you live in constant terror every day?"

Gladness and joy will overtake them,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

But my salvation will last forever,
my righteousness will never fail.

From Isaiah 50-51

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If I could somehow take you down with me into the pit of the despair of grief, I don't know that I would even do it. It's a scary place down there. A place with no hope, and only a furious clawing and trying to grasp anything . . . anything to hold on to. It's dark, and lonely, and painful. It makes you want to turn in on yourself and give up. I know first hand: I have been there most of the week. I don't want to go back.

I have realized that my god is too small. The god that I was creating to replace the Sovereign God, anyway. I could only see days of forever without Trent, and I could only feel the pain, and I couldn't comprehend a god who would ever be anything other than far away in his heaven as I missed my son, and went on in this life without him. That ache weighs you down. If you have never lost anybody there is no explanation for what this feels like. If you have ever lost somebody you can begin to comprehend it. If you have never lost a child, you cannot even come close to trying to imagine it.

I give in to this pain too easily. I give in to the hopelessness too easy. I get tired, I get busy, I get consumed elsewhere, and it hits me. The only way out that I know of is prayer and Scripture. I even called in the troops this week and called in some mighty prayer warriors. Then I set everything else aside other than an intentional drawing closer to Jesus. Feeling Him hold me, love me, comfort me, carry me. Fully trusting Him, letting Him lead, remembering that He is leading, and then I turned and faced that pain. Running is no good, it's still there. I look for the core of it, what is it really that I fear?

I fear that God might have made a mistake. I fear that God might not be enough. I fear that one day this will be twenty years later. I fear that I will forget my son. I fear that mother's won't still be mother's in heaven. I fear that this depends on me and that somehow I am responsible to carry it all, knowing that I can't. I fear that one day the pain will be too much and God won't be enough.

And then I wonder how I ever forgot the promises. I wonder what it was that led me to look to the here and now as the eternal. I have let my guard down in this battle. I have forgotten that there is a battle. I have forgotten what the battle is about. It is about souls. It is about eternity. It is about God's glory. Somehow those things get muddled in the midst of pain.

I try to comprehend eternity. I think of the eternities that have been changed because of Trent's death; I think of Trent's own eternity that was changed simply because of Jesus' salvation while we sat at the dining room table less than a year before the accident.

We are scared of death in our culture, but ignoring it doesn't pretend it away. Every one of us will die. Our children will die, our neighbors will die, our parents will die. And we only wonder what's on sale at Walmart or should I have that second piece of desert?

If we knew the consequences, good and bad, would we live differently? If we really believed that we would face God and give an account one day would we choose differently? If we really believed that He would punish every sin for an eternity, and that Jesus really was the only way to heaven, would we repent quicker? If we really believed that God would simply be faithful to every promise in Scripture, would we live and trust more faithfully? If we believed that He really does hear and answer our prayers, would we pray harder? Pray more?

My god is too small, but my God of the Bible says that this will all be made right someday, He says that He knows what He's doing, He says that I can trust Him, He says that He is leading me by the hand, He says that He is sovereign, He says that it is better to be with Him rather than here, even for my son.

Grief is lonely. The best intending Christians don't even get it. There are few who are called to walk in the trenches with you as you grieve. Know, dear ones, how precious you are to me who have crawled in and not let go of me down here. I long to see your rewards when Jesus does come for carrying me, for feeling my pain, for being faithful in prayer, for encouraging me, for crying over my son as if he was your son. Jesus has your names written down, and you are all written on my heart, as well, as precious friends.

I am living your worst nightmare, dear mothers. And I am here to proclaim the goodness of God in it. But don't be scared of me. Don't leave me here alone. Ask me how I am. Let me cry on your shoulder. Praise God with me, give Him the glory with me, seek Him with me. Let "me" be that mother in your life that needs you to hear her cry. Let "me", be you. Come into the trenches, be willing to walk with Him, don't be scared of the high things He will call you to. I have a feeling He wasn't kidding when He said that He was coming back soon. I have a feeling that we won't regret trusting Him in any of this.

My son is in heaven. My God is right in all that He does. Rejoice with me!

So . . . Have I Mentioned?

So . . . Have I mentioned that I wrote a book? Shortly after Trent's death different people started saying, out of the blue, that I should write a book. Finally, it dawned on me that maybe I should write a book. Maybe God was calling me to write a book. I prayed and layed out my fleece before the Lord and asked Him for Rob's overwhelming approval if I should go forth with our story of Trent's death. Before I even finished the sentence, he was nodding his head. So . . . I sat down and started writing, and writing, and writing. The words just flowed, and when there were enough they stopped.

"Now what, God?" I asked.

So he sent an editor at the time that I needed an editor. After the editor, it was time to see just what to do with the book and how to publish it. I looked at various options, and in the midst of my looking, God sent a coupon for a huge (huge!) discount off of a publisher that I only dreamt of publishing with. So I signed up with WestBow Press.

WestBow has quickly done their work, and now it has become the time to work on the cover. Hmmm... professional photographers were quickly ruled out because of the staggering prices for a photo session. So instead, I found a teen-age daughter, put the camera in her hands on an early, sunny morning and found myself on the other end of the camera hoping and praying for the perfect shot that will reveal the hope, trust, and depth of our story.And throughout it all, God has continued the encouragement. Often times people keep saying, out of the blue, you should write a book.

It's an odd thing to have wrote a book. Like I told Anne before, it's kind of like standing on main street in your bikini~ after birthing 3 children and with my farmer's tan and all. The mixture of the fear of failure, too much pride, what's my real reason, and simply being obedient are all mixed up into one, besides the countless hours of typing, decisions, and revisions. But it's been pre-read, and read, and read again, and is nearly ready to publish.

So . . . now I will wait again on God and see what He's going to do next. My continuing prayer is that He will use it to bring salvation to many and much glory to His name. When I get to heaven and give an account for my life, I want it to be one that was walked in faith (Romans 14:12) . What a joy it is to use a simple gift of writing as I follow where my Savior leads me.

When Normal is Grace

I have been fighting God lately. I have been fighting His grace. I have been fighting letting normal be His grace. I don't want normal. Not yet.

I want to stay where every thought is about Trent. I still want to envision him in his bed every night when I walk up the stairs. I still want to long to race him up from the barn everytime I do chores. I still want to mistakenly set out 7 plates on the table, three times a day, 365 days a year. I still want to keep on finding his same shorts in the laundry every week. I still want to look back and see him in the van and ask if he brushed his teeth. I still want to pause everytime I pass a picture of his. I don't want normal yet.

But there it was, again. Standing at the kitchen sink this morning, filling up the coffee pot with water to make a fresh batch of brew, looking out the window over the farm yard, seeing the sun peeking up, and thinking, just for a moment . . . not about grief, not about pain, not about Trent . . . but just normal thoughts with joy, and expectations, and looking forward to upcoming events.

Grace. Just grace in the normal. I always tend to think that God has to do something grande, with lights flashing and trumpets blaring to shower His children with good gifts. Who would have thought that coffee and a sunrise would be all that it took to reveal His goodness? Again.

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Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
He rises to show you compassion.
For the Lord is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for Him!
Isaiah 30:18
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