Lucky

Lucky.

As I was making the bed a while back God impressed upon me that I was the lucky one (as in the definition meaning "favored one") . Grief longed to consume that morning; the impression had been preceded by many tears, prayers, and waiting for strength to start the day. As the tears continued, the blessings that come with suffering began: I realized that I can't even get out of bed in the morning without the thoughts of heaven and eternity; I can't begin my day without coming to terms with God; I no longer consider my days my own, let alone my dreams, ideas, or my very life, but wait for God's leading.

"Lucky" is having your eyes opened to God, no matter the cost.

I spoke to a young man the other day about Jesus. My walls had been built high and strong, and I had vowed there would be no break in them for my own protection, but then this young father broke all protocol and walked over to where I stood alone. After the small talk, I asked the all important question, "How's your walk with God?"

We've all learned the game, the game of Sunday smiles and every body's saved; life will go on forever anyway and there's always tomorrow to ask and decide. But life doesn't go on forever, and tomorrow may never come. The facade of the game is shattered, and I can't stomach the rules of it any longer. A bit of digging revealed the truth, to both of us. Game over. Now truth can begin, truth can be said, fears are revealed, honesty is given words, genuine prayers can be lifted for a brave man who is walking the line of no decision being a decision that one day he will wake up to the realities of.

I talked to a mother a while back. She wondered how you get to where I am; I wanted to ask her where it is that I am. Please tell me, because I don't always know.

Where I am is clinging to God. Where I am is battling, moment to moment, for grace to believe, to trust, to hold-on. Fighting for breath, literally; fighting for reality; fighting to see beyond this world to a sovereign God who holds it all in His hands, including me. Where I am is on my knees, begging for strength. Where I am is in the Bible, constantly repeating the words and promises, trusting in them. Where I am is looking intently for God's glory, now as well as future. Where I am is believing in the One who gives and takes away. Where I am is waiting for Jesus to return and make this all right; waiting for the curse to be lifted and for the tears to be wiped away.
As the tears flowed down her face, all I could ask her was if she trusted God with her teen-age son's life. That's all that I'm doing; that's where I am.

I have been reading Uncle Tom's cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe. When I remembered part way through that the little girl dies I almost quit reading, but I am so glad that I have continued. As much as the book is about the atrocity of slavery, it really is a testimony of the gospel at it's core. After Eva's death, the author says:

"Thine is the victory without the battle - the crown without the conflict."

Some battles are won even before they are fought; other battles continue for years. I think of Trent's short life: he was a child his whole life, he never tasted of the cares and concerns of adult trials, or battled the battle's of years worth of sins. His was the "crown without the conflict".

I realized the other day that I could potentially live another 50 years . . . waking up every morning for another 50 years to fight for the victory of this battle. I thought of the blip of our lives on the screen of eternity. How would you even begin to measure eternity? And where would 12 years, 50 years, even 88 years fall on that line? In the grand scheme of things, isn't it the other side of eternity that matters? Isn't it where we are on that side that we should be more concerned about rather than our short time here?

Another line from the book was said by Eva's father, St. Clare, shortly after his daughter died. He had been indifferent to the gospel his daughter continued to share with him, until he had to come face-to-face with who this God was and what eternity held. He said, "I am braver than I was, because I have lost all; and he who has nothing to lose can afford all risks."

Eleven months ago I held on to this world and it's trinkets with a tight grip; I have been forced to let go. Actually, it was God's mercy that released my grip; it was a direct answer to prayers that Rob and I had been praying for right before the accident. Prayers for God to wake us up to Him; prayers to draw us closer, to know Him deeper, to live our lives for Him, to use our son in a mighty way for the gospel. We are braver now, because we have lost all. We see eternity clearer now, we see God clearer now, we see our short days clearer now and are counting the cost of how we live them. There is nothing in this life left to lose; we can afford all risks that hindered us before from trusting God, knowing God, telling others about God.

St. Clare asked Uncle Tom at one point, "How do you know there's any Christ, Tom? You never saw the Lord."

"Felt Him in my soul, mas'r - feel him now!" was Tom's reply.

I feel Him in my soul; feel him now. I long for the day I will see Him with my eyes; see what Trent see's; know what Trent knows. Fifty more years here does not thrill me; the sooner I see my Savior face to face the better.

Second Thessalonians 1:10 says that those who have believed will marvel at Jesus when He comes in His glory. Marvel at Him. First Peter 1:5 says that God Himself is a shield through faith. As the waves of grief consume, the panic attacks, grasping for breath, flashbacks of hospitals and policemen, I envision that shield of God Himself surrounding me. The enemies arrows are poised and thrown, but the shield of God protects. I hold on to God's grace that He continues to give; His eternal encouragement and good hope (2 Thes 2:16). Eternity is where my eyes are focused; eternity is what I continue to look forward to.

Stuff

And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.
Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance;
perseverance, character;
and character, hope.
And hope does not disappoint us,
because God has poured out His love into our hearts
by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.
Romans 5:2b-5

The camp called yesterday and left a message asking if Trent might want to come to the youth retreat in February. I know . . . just let that sink in for a bit. Just another goofy grief thing that seems to never end. Umm, no, Trent won't be able to make it this year, he has better plans. I laughed, I banged my head on the table, and then I cried. A book will be in the mail soon . . .

It's been a week of "haunting"~ making enchiladas for movie night again, pulling into the grocery store parking lot just as an exact snowmobile-coat-clad-patron walked by, vivid dreams, the ushering in of the "seconds" with the birth of the new goats. I figured once the firsts were over we'd be on the easy side of grief; I guess I was wrong.

Cole tripped on the china hutch yesterday, which refreshed more eleven month old memories. The day before the accident Trent had been running through the dining room, tripped on the leg of the hutch, the door flew open and out came crashing down numerous long-stemmed glasses that we use for our fancy birthday suppers. He was going to tell me and apologize the next day. I never got around to making any fancy birthday suppers the past year to realize they were missing.

My brain has refused to think this past week: complete overload. So I let it rest, and I rest, and I function on auto-pilot to keep cooking, and doing chores, and raising kids, and waiting for eternity to begin. Words could barely even break through as the balm that they usually are. I stayed where God had me; I trusted His leading. I indulged in ignoring the computer; I indulged in loving my kiddos; I indulged in letting life be simple.

This morning God led me to the Romans passage to wrestle again with suffering, hope, joy, glory. My brain doesn't understand justification through faith leading to peace with God at this point. My brain just wants to stay fuzzy in it's vitamin D lacking winter hibernation: sometimes it feels safer there.

But on my knees I know this God; this God of big words and bigger truths. I long for this God, to really know Him, and realize that suffering is a huge part of it.The suffering is what causes us to look for hope.

It's a grasping at this point; barely holding on by the fingertips as I strive to live moment to moment some days, but it's still there: hope. Hope in the glory of God, hope in the glory yet to be revealed, hope in an eternity to see it clearly. Hope worth rejoicing in, even in the suffering.

Finding God in the Goat Barn

Dixie is our goat herd matriarch. She is older, and is carrying a huge belly right now as kidding season is about to begin. She is pretty pathetic looking as she only has half an udder, and that teat hangs nearly to the floor at this point, as we were naive goat farmers when we bought her all those years ago and didn't know a good udder from a bad one. I promised her I won't breed her next year, poor thing, and will keep her forever no matter what our farm motto states. But she loves being a momma, so I couldn't deny her one last opportunity to try for pretty spotted babies before we sold that handsome buck.

I was crooning to her last night, and petting and kissing her, and crying to her about no Trent to sit with us at delivery time this year. I had to rub her back for the both of us. Constantly I remind myself that this is God's battle; He will come out victorious. Maybe in eternity there will be goat farms and sons to sit by again without the fear of death. Even if heaven was only that, it's all it would take to make me happy forever.

I was reading in Hebrews 12 about the thousands upon thousands of angels in assembly in the city of the living God, and about the great cloud of witnesses that surround us watching what God is doing. Watching for how He will cause His children to persevere in this race that He has marked out for us. This race that is so hard. Once again, I fixed my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, and set before myself the joy of the cross that makes enduring this all possible.

Because of the cross I am forgiven, because of the cross Trent is in heaven, because of the cross I will be able to be presented before God holy and blameless, because of the cross I call myself a stranger here in this world, because of the cross my Heavenly Father disciplines me for my own good so that later on a harvest of righteousness and peace will be produced.

Lord willing, I will not refuse this God, but will look forward all the more to His heavenly kingdom that cannot be shaken.

Even if that means right now it hurts, and I cry and cry and cry. But I have found freedom in the tears; a sweet fellowship with Jesus that I have never known so deep before. I guess God will bottle up tears cried to goats, too.

Ice Skating

Ice skating ~ it's one of the highlights of a Wisconsin winter. And 40 degree January days only make ice skating sweeter. The kids dug through the bin of garage-sale skates that we have had for years and years and claimed a fitting pair to own for the season. Rob checked and gave the "okay" for the ice safety, and off they went~ twirling and swirling, whooping and chasing.

I joined them today to take the obligatory 200 pictures of every newly created memory that none of us will ever want to forget. The "martha" that I am, I also picked up the shovel and helped clear the snow off the ice. And I cheered everybody on, and I watched the greatest ice-skating tricks that I've seen since last winter, and laughed and hugged and smiled and enjoyed my kiddos.And missed Trent. And thought of last year. And tried to live now.

Life is tainted when a child dies. No matter what you do, it's always with you. The pain sneaks in along with the memories; the hope of heaven sneaks in, too. There is no more contentment with today, but always looking back or looking forward. Maybe because the today is too painful. Or maybe the pain goes away eventually: but then do the memories go away, too? How can a mother want to enjoy the rest of her life without her child? I don't know . . . just rambling; thinking out loud; working my way through this process.

And then I watched Micah slide down the dock, thought "what a crazy, wild kid!" And then I asked him for a turn on the sled and went down the dock myself, off the jump, and slid all the way across the pond into the cat-tails ~ screaming for joy all the way ~ because life is short and I'm still here.

Two Plus Two Equals God

If what Scripture says is true: "Those who call on the name of the Lord {Jesus} will be saved." (Romans 10:13)

And: "To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord." (2 Corinthians 5:8)

Then: My son is with God.

God.

God.

My son is with God.

And, if my son is with God, then I need to decide what to do with this God that my son is with. I need to figure out how to live the rest of the short days that I have on this earth until I meet this God. I get to quit crying, quit hurting, quit whining . . . because my son is with God.

God.

Trent knows what God looks like. He knows what Jesus' face looks like; what the nail holes and the scar on His side looks like; what His robe looks like; what heaven looks like; what Jesus' glory looks like; what the angel's look like; what the throne looks like.

What I can't imagine, Trent knows. He is with God . . .

With God.

Yet somehow my days still need to consist of feeding goats and choosing what's for supper, and ultimately trying to figure out how to glorify God in all of it.

I stand in awe: Trent is with God.

What I Found on the Floor

My soul, wait silently for God alone,
for my expectation is from Him.
Psalm 62:5 (NKJV)

What I found lying on the bedroom floor, crying and broken, was everything that I had tried to stuff too deep. I found the pain that I refused to feel, the burdens that I had carried too long, the pride that I thought I was entitled to, the fears that I couldn't manage, the release that could only be found at the foot of Christ's cross. I found the freedom to live exposed. Exposed to myself, exposed to others, exposed to God Himself. I felt my smallness; and eternities greatness. I realized that when it comes right down to it, all that really matters is the state of my soul before God. Am I obedient, am I seeking, am I trusting, am I surrendering? Is Jesus glorified? Or am I still glorifying myself; ultimately putting myself in His position? Have I let Him be God? Have I surrendered to His sovereignty? Have I quit kicking and fighting and writhing under His ways? Have I yielded my personal rights and expectations to God? Have I truly yielded them to accept being shattered? Again . . . today . . . fighting the good fight.

Bargaining

I realized today that I am bargaining. I think I forgot that verse about God's thoughts being higher than my thoughts.*

Why, God? Not blasphemous, just why. Why couldn't people have been saved without Trent dieing? Why couldn't people have been taken deeper in their walks without it being my son? Why did I have to love him so much? Why does it have to be ten months later? Why does it have to hurt so much now? Why can't I have that peace and joy and certainty of heaven again? Why does this battle rage so hard? Why is there such an intensity to doubt? Why can't eternity just begin now~ wouldn't it be a perfect day for Jesus to return?*

I was even toying with the idea of exchanging those promised rewards*~ maybe I could trade them in for what's behind curtain number three and we could all go back to last February. Curtain number three may have been eighty years with my son whom had never gotten saved. Eighty years here or eternity at age twelve . . . Eighty billion years from now I would have gladly picked his eternity to start now.

My thoughts go to Jesus' temptation in the desert.* That separation from all that He knew, to be tempted when He was at His weakest point by Satan himself. What sustained Him was the Word of God, the ministering angels, the Truth, the hope, the joy set before Him. How revealing temptation is; I don't like revealing.

I've realized that at some point I have to let Trent go. I feel like I am in a tug of war: Trent pulling me heavenward, and everything else pulling me back to this world. Somehow I have to embrace living here again; yet the thought makes me want to puke, literally. So instead I somehow think that staying in bed, or finding a comatose state for my brain of not feeling, might help.

Every project I even think of immediately reminds me of the fact that Trent took nothing with him to heaven. Everything here is temporary, and only what is done for Christ will last. I don't have the energy to invest in temporary things anymore; yet at the same time I find myself coming back to thinking that the next temporary thing really will bring complete satisfaction and would be worth investing my time, money and energy in . . . only to know, deep, deep down, that it won't. So how do I live the rest of my life? Why am I still straining for earthly glory? Why am I not pressing into God harder?

Or maybe I am, and the pain that I feel is really the disappointment of the reality of this world which I have trained myself to be so comfortable in all my life*. Maybe the pain is because I can't lie to myself anymore and think that achieving the highest heights here matters so much. Maybe I really just want to go back to living how I was a year ago and be content by only crossing off the next project, but I know at the same time that I can never deny the truth that I have seen. Maybe I am grieving what I thought was reality for thirty-some years. Maybe I am finally being forced to acknowledge where my allegiance lies: my own selfish self, or God.

I am where I am, and that is grieving my son, as my sister reminds me if I try to justify anything. Those sisters~ they don't let you fool them. Grieving my son: I hate the words, yet I love the God he's with. God doesn't accept bargains; but He holds breaking hearts.

* Isaiah 55:9, Revelation 19, Revelation 22:12, Luke 4, 1st Corinthians 3:12-14

Repentance and Rest

"In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength..."
Isaiah 30:15

A lazy bum: that's what I've been for the past week or so. We took a vacation from school, so besides doing chores (when Cole doesn't do them before me), and reminding the kids to do their chores, and going up and down the basement steps umpteen times a day to fill the wood stove, I haven't been doing very much else. Alexis even told me one day, "Mom, you do have to remember to feed us!" I happen to not be a big eater, and "forget" to eat regularly, especially when there is no schedule to follow. Good thing there are some budding chefs around here who do remember that it's time to make something for lunch.

I miss Trent. I miss living without the pain of missing my son. And I knew it would be harder over the holidays. Therefor, I committed myself to very little else other than grieving.

Exhaustion only causes me to forget the Promises, and they are easier to forget when the pain crashes in, wave after wave. I don't want pity; I just need to acknowledge where God has me and allow myself to be there. This is tough; it's a real battle. A battle to believe, to not give up, to not grow weary, to keep going.

I don't know how to hope for tomorrow, so I just focus on getting through today. I focus on getting out of bed in the morning to be able to kneel and pray; to be real with the God of the universe and allow the tears to flow over missing my son~ trusting God, but missing Trent. I make the bed, remembering how Trent used to always come in and snuggle. I walk past his bedroom, where there is no longer a sleeping teenage boy on the bottom bunk. I start the coffee and check the wood stove, then sit down in the recliner to read my Bible. An hour later, I am still begging for the strength to start this new day.

"In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength."I remember the words: the words that have been impressed upon my heart for nearly a decade. "Repentance and rest" in a world of hurry up and never take the time to stop and ponder eternal truths; they are a welcome sign to sit at my Saviors feet. During a quiet time of prayer the repentance can come, followed by the rest. The rest of a forgiven, satisfied heart, a truthful heart, a broken heart. God knows, there is no reason to pretend that He doesn't.

Quietness and trust. When the chaos is too loud I can't hear God. In the quiet He whispers, and then my heart remembers His words, and the trust comes easier. But quietness in a busy household is hard to come by. I intentionally carve it out of my days, and I guard my mornings to achieve it. The kids know my ritual and honor it as much as seven-to-sixteen-year-olds can, and my husband has long given up on asking me anything or intruding on that much needed time until I rise from my chair with a smile on my face.

"Let us not become weary in doing good,
for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up."
Galatians 6:9

I am weary lately, so very weary. Ten months into this and I feel as if I am no closer to eternity myself. Galatians 6:9 has been my anchor verse this past week: "Don't grow weary, don't grow weary, don't grow weary . . . for at the proper time, proper time, proper time . . ." I have repeated to myself over, and over, and over again. Even a friend encouraged me with those words today. I remind myself that it is all done at God's proper time, not mine.

And then I see a picture, or a card, or a pair of boots or Trent's shorts in the hamper (it's funny how all these months later those same pair of shorts keep getting cycled through and nobody claims to know why they were on the closet floor or under a bed) . . . and the battle begins again.

On Christmas Eve afternoon I was working in the kitchen and muttered under my breath, "I just don't want to do this."

"I can tell," was Alexis' reply. The soft words were soothing, not harsh, as she wrapped her arms around me.

I was surprised that the honest thought had been said out loud rather than just in my heart. I really tried: I tried to make it a nice Christmas. I helped cut down and decorate the obligatory pine tree, I went to the parties and plays, I made the cookies for the neighbors, I wrapped the presents, I made the Eclair cake, and then I ate half of the Eclair cake. But it still showed: I didn't want to do it. I didn't want a Christmas without Trent.

So I repented and I rested. I stayed quiet and I trusted God. I kept doing the good things for my family and refused to become weary in them. I longed even more for my Savior Jesus to come and make it all right again.

In repentance and rest is my salvation, in quietness and trust is my strength. In God's strength, I will refuse to grow weary of doing good things, and will look forward to that harvest which will come in God's proper time.

Luke

Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.

Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied.

Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.

Blessed are you when men hate you,

when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil,

because of the Son of Man.

Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven.

Luke 6:20-23

I have been reading in Luke lately and have been soaking up the words of my Savior. Sweet words that are a balm to my soul; words that go deeper than just letters on a page.When the Lord saw her {the mother whose son had just died}, His heart went out to her and He said, "Don't cry." Then He went up and touched the coffin, and those carrying it stood still. He said, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother. Luke 7:13-15

"Tradition says that while Christ was hanging there {on the cross}, the angels drew their swords. They announced, 'We are going to rescue you.' God said, 'No,' and the Scripture says that God spared Him not." Billy Graham

As I read that passage this morning I could just about imagine Jesus as He walked the streets of Nain, when along came the weeping mother and the coffin. I didn't have to imagine the mother; I knew her all too well. Being the very Son of God, Jesus realized what she couldn't see at the time: that her son would one day rise again. Scripture says that Jesus' heart went out to her.

Those words were said at Trent's funeral, that one day Jesus would say to Trent, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" And Trent will rise, coming forth with a glorious, imperishable body.*

How Jesus' heart must go out to His hurting children. How hard it must be to be bound by sovereignty for the sake of greater glory for our Savior to have to wait to say those words. The pain He must feel to see mother's weeping, all the while knowing Himself the depth of their pain and the joy that is coming.

Do the angels draw their swords while the enemy appears to be conquering, while mother's cry the tears and fight back the doubts? Is the great cloud of witnesses that surround the believer amazed or disappointed for the level of our faith?*

I have often wondered what went on in the angelic realm the day that Trent headed down that ski slope: did the angels have to be restrained from rescuing this little one that they had been put in charge of*, not knowing fully, either, God's perfect and sovereign plan?

For God's ways are higher than our ways; higher than the heavens are from the earth.*

Luke reminds us to Rejoice - Rejoice! - and leap for joy. He tells the poor, and the hungry, and those who weep now that great is our reward in heaven, and that we should look forward to it; a reward so great that it's worthy of the weeping. Therefore, we go on rejoicing, trusting, and weeping day by day until we receive it and see face-to-face this mighty God who is wise enough to have ordained it all to be this way.

* Hebrews 12; Matthew 18:10; Revelation 20; Isaiah 55:9

I Was Thinking

. . . it is for God's glory so that God's Son may be glorified through it.
John 11:4b

I was thinking about Lazarus today. As I was doing the farm chores, just feeding the horses some hay in the blustery cold, I turned to head back to the barn and the thought struck me: Jesus didn't come right away; He stayed where He was. His friend was sick, His other dear friends were crying, and Jesus stayed where He was. Scripture says that He knew Lazarus would die, but Jesus stayed where He was because His glory would be seen greater if He waited. My thoughts then went to ten months, ten years, twenty or thirty years . . . how much greater will Jesus' glory be then, if it was that great when He waited only two days?

I have a friend who keeps a "nothing book". It is just a book that sits out on her countertop and any family member can come along and write whatever they want to in it; a book filled with the "nothings" of life that turn into the "everythings of life". It is filled with the silly memories of everyday childhood, and being a family, from various perspectives.

Years ago I tried to write books for each of the kids about the silly things that they did: washing kittens in the sink, their little sayings, Christmas presents and traditions, and favorite foods. As they have each learned how to write they have been required to take over the recording by writing daily journals for home school. Since I enjoy words and memories so much, especially the ones written in the penmanship of those I love, I decided to start a "Trent book".

Over four years ago, when Rob, Trent and I were in India to bring Micah home, I bought a beautiful book, created with hand made paper, at an Indian shop. It has sat on my desk, in the original wrapper, awaiting the perfect purpose; never did I imagine that it would be for this purpose. All those memories, the big and the small, the "Oh, remember whens", the laughing one's and the crying one's, will now have a place to be; a place to come back to, a place to own, a place to be visited often, especially on the day's that we can't remember when.

I held the package in my hands for the longest time this afternoon, not sure just how to begin such a monumental book. What word could hold enough meaning to be the first word penned on that beautiful paper; which memories do you record, how can I do this, how can I not do this, what happens when the pages are all filled up? So, it's sitting on my cupboard friends, and aunts and uncles, and grandmas. . . it's your story to tell, too.

And talking about books . . . God is using How My Savior Leads Me in way's that I can't even begin to imagine. Our little newspaper's picked up the story, there has been minimal marketing yet sales are going well, I had a great opportunity to share {survived the interview:} on the blog talk radio show, and we had a book signing at the local library a couple of weeks ago. I see only clearer that it is God doing His work through me as I feel so incapable of attempting to minister in-and-of myself to the deep needs of those He brings to us. The stories, and the hurts, and the pain of lives that people have shared already make me see how good God has been to us and I appreciate His grace all the more. I pray daily for the words in that little book to shine God's glory and bring many to know Him.

And from this morning . . .

{Jesus} rebuked them for their lack of faith
and their stubborn refusal to believe . . .
Mark 16:14b

Sort of gave me the swift kick that I needed in the midst of my whining this morning. As far off as eternity seems sometimes, I found myself wondering if it would be a rebuke that I hear for my refusal to believe God's Word rather than a "well done, good and faithful servant." Either I believe Scripture or I don't; either I will live it or I had better give it up. But, since I do believe it, then I have no excuse to not live it. Like a friend likes to say, "Suck it up, Buttercup." God said it, so believe it, go live it, and don't quit sharing it. Souls matter; eternities matter; God's glory matters.

When Even the Coffee's Bitter

You know it's going to be a challenging day when you're grumbling before you even open your eyeballs. When it's day three of rain and drizzle and warm spring like weather, but you know it's only December and a long way off until real warm spring like weather. When you meet the youngest on the landing of the stairwell because he's up already, too, bouncing and ready to go. And the other son has been up for an hour and a half (again) and has already done his day's work and is ready to talk and practice adding suffixes to adjectives, all before you've even started the coffee pot that has now peetered out to the point that it takes twenty minutes to make a batch of black brew.

So, in my impatience and desperation, I pour a cup half-pot and settle with drinking really strong coffee. Yeesh! A morning person I am not. Well, actually I am a morning person, if this old farmhouse is quiet and my brain can finish it's God thoughts and the phone doesn't ring and there's plenty of cream and sugar.

"Only those who have known sorrow and suffering can have fellowship with those in affliction," is the quote from the book The Faith of Billy Graham that I happened to flip open to this morning. Interesting, considering that my thoughts and prayers this morning centered around this verse:
Philippians 3:10-11 "I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead."

I have been trying to wrap my brain around that verse for quite some time now, even before Trent died. I can't honestly say that I have truly, at my core, really, really ever wanted to endure great suffering. At my core I am really a wimp. But, as odd as it sounds, and as I have watched others suffer, and have seen a glimpse of the grace poured out on them, I have longed for that grace; especially the knowing of Christ in that way. But knowing Jesus Christ that way only comes about through the fellowship of sharing in His suffering. And this fellowship goes beyond me, all the way to God's glory, and only God's glory.

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:1-5

That's another verse I have been pondering for the past near 10 months, because it is not enough to suffer for only MY perseverance, MY character, MY hope, MY fellowship with those who are afflicted, MY, MY, MY. It has to go beyond . . . beyond me.

And this verse points to that beyond, all the way to Jesus; our hope is in Jesus alone. I don't know how, I can't see it clearly, but somehow the suffering we are called to in this life produces in the Christian the hope of Jesus making this all right one day; and beyond right, all the way to glorious; His glory shining in a way that we can't begin to fathom. Our eyes turn to Him in a way that they would not be able to without suffering. And His Spirit brings endurance, and grace, and faith, and mercy, and joy, and hope one day at a time, often one moment at a time.

I've found myself in therapy this week. Therapy for me is putting my hands to a pitchfork or a hammer. What I build is usually not pretty and always far from perfect, let alone level; there is a reason why I build on the back of the forty. All year I have hardly been able to even get up the gumption, let alone had the physical strength, to even pick up a hammer or a pitchfork. But this week I did. So I cleaned out the much overdue goat barn, and Cole and I mucked out the chicken coop and started preparing the kidding stalls for next month. And then Traci stopped over and we laughed and talked God and she held boards and swung a hammer with me and we built a hay feeder for the goats. And I think she appreciated the therapy, too.

And then the thought struck me . . . that last night, eons ago it seems, I was dreaming about spotted goat kids and farm plans and preparing kidding stalls and there were five kids playing in the haymow. The haymow that I can barely go up to, the thoughts that keep on coming, trying to paralyze me from trusting God and living in His good plans.

"Can't I just pitch a tent here, God, and stay on this mountaintop?" I asked Him. I've never understood Peter so well. (Matthew 17:4)

"Let's not go down, keep me in this place of safety and trust, God. Don't let the thoughts invade, or the peace flee, or let me be consumed with here and now; keep me in the palm of Your hand; delight over me again; pour out Your grace until I get there, too." If I let them, the thoughts do invade and the lies swirl and I am consumed again with the sinking of despair and I lose sight of my sovereign God's hand. "Let's just pitch a tent and stay on the mountaintop, God. I don't want to go down there."

But I go where He leads, and I take the good days along with the hard days. I pray more on the hard days, I know Him more on the hard days, I hold on tighter and look harder for eternity on the hard days. And on the good days . . . I smile, and my prayers turn to rejoicing, and I long for His glory to shine more, and I hold on tighter yet and look harder again for that eternity and His glory that will be revealed only greater because of suffering. And then I remember that Trent is in heaven . . . heaven . . . so I quit my whining and drink my coffee.

Plain and Simple

I am a goat farmer. Plain and simple. I find great pleasure in being in a stinky barn mucking out stalls. Big bellies, hours of assisting does in labor, and slimy afterbirth covered hands holding a new kid thrills my soul. Raising bottle-calves with that goats milk, and then watching those steers grow into large, healthy bovines is right up there with tending to the goats. And then there are the chickens: the farm fresh eggs, the cackling hens, and the job of shutting a little chicken ramp on a cold wintry night to keep them all warm and toasty inside their fancy coop brings a smile to my face like not much else can.

But I've realized that maybe I am too simple. Maybe I am too easily satisfied. I have found in the mornings that I am having an increasingly harder time trying to worship this God I love because I can't even begin to imagine Him appropriately; I can't fathom His greatness; I can't go beyond the little box I continue to put Him in to take in His grandness. I get stuck. What words could there be to describe Him?

My mind goes to Scripture to try to identify just who He is: King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the great I AM, Wonderful Counselor, Savior, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. I don't know how to encompass a God like this into my little brain and my little world, and then find words to honestly praise Him in a way that is fitting to His majesty. A God, who while sovereignly running the entire universe from time's beginning to time's end, comes down to my bedside to hear the lamenting and crying of my heart and my little pleas, and then responds by reminding me of what He says in His Word:

"The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing."
Zephaniah 3:17

I think of my son being with this God, this God that I can't contain or begin to see the depth or beauty of, and I find myself not even being able to long for Trent to be back today. So I attempt to praise God more as I'm down there on my knees; to praise this God who gives strength, His strength, and mercy to His children for whatever He calls them to endure until we do see Him face to face.

Therefore . . .

Therefore we do not lose heart.
Though outwardly we are wasting away,
yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.

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 4:16-18

I'm thinking this will be my new verse to memorize, or maybe I'll have Alexis write it out in calligraphy and put it in a frame to hang on the wall. "Light and momentary" being the key words, as well as "glory and eternal", and then there's "seen and unseen". With the holidays, and all the new firsts, those things have gotten harder to remember lately. I think these are the day's all those kind people warned me about nine months ago when the hope was still so fresh and eternity didn't seem so far away; it now seems pretty far away. So, I pray harder, cry more, and hold on tighter. In desperation I call on my prayer warriors, only to find out that they are already responding to God's urging to go to their knees to hold me up in prayer at this time; just another testimony to God's never-ending provision. So I pray for them right back. Light and momentary, glory and eternal, seen and unseen; holding on tighter to my Savior's hand until I see Him face to face for myself.

Hiding in God

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways,"
declares the Lord. "
As the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways,
and my thoughts than your thoughts."
Isaiah 55:8

I have forgotten that the past few days. I have forgotten the vast distance between my thoughts and God's thoughts. Somehow, I fell into the trap of thinking that I knew best, that I could control my little universe, that my plans would work better than His.

"Sometimes God comes down and asks great things of His people; God puts us on a course of His own choosing." I wrote the words down during the sermon at church on Sunday, and have come back to relish them again today. The pastor was talking about Mary when the angel came to tell her that she would be the virgin mother of the Son of God; definitely not a path of her own choosing as a young teenager. Her response? "I am a servant of the Lord, let it be as you said." Luke 1:26-38

Not sulking, not defeat, not defiance. Humble obedience. Total trust.

God offered me an invitation to the thirsty this morning by bringing me to Isaiah 55. And I am thirsty for Him; so thirsty. "Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live." (Isaiah 55:2-3)

Hope; I forgot about hope. Hope beyond today, hope beyond pain, hope for eternity. The mail-lady delivered a little book by Joni Eareckson-Tada this week called Hope . . . the Best of Things. In this inspiring little booklet, she writes about Christians being called to take up our cross daily and follow the Lord Jesus (Luke 9:23). But her cross, she says, is not her wheelchair; it is her attitude towards her wheelchair. Ultimately, her attitude towards God for putting her in that wheelchair.

Ouch.

My cross is not that my son died; my cross is my attitude towards God for working out His plans which included my son dieing at age twelve. "His ways are higher than mine," He reminded me, "higher than the heavens are from the earth." I can't see eternity. I can't see the ripple effects of one boy going to heaven. I can't see beyond the pain some days. But God has let me choose: my ways, or His ways. Ultimately, there is no choice, other than to see that I have taken my eyes off of the cross, off of Jesus, and that I have resorted back to trusting in my own ways.

. . . if you honor it by not going your own way and not doing as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the Lord . . .
Isaiah 58: 13b-14a

Jibberish to one who does not know the Lord; overwhelming peace to one who looks forward to the coming of the Lord Jesus and that day when salvation will be revealed and our King will reign, defeating His enemies, including death.

Seek the Lord while He may be found; call on Him while He is near.
Isaiah 55: 6
Blessed is the man who does this, the man who holds it fast. . .
Isaiah 56:2a

Contentment

Laying in bed expecting sleep to come, and realizing that the odds are against me thanks to that big cup of tea I drank at 4:30, I crawl out from beneath my warm covers to let the barking dog in . . . a good excuse to write and get these thoughts out of my head.

The thoughts of being content in God, and God alone. I know I am supposed to be, and I long to be, but too often I catch myself, again, looking here and now for that contentment.

I see it running rampant in my children, too, with the Christmas season approaching. For as much as we think we are not training them up to seek their treasures here, they still have their own lists of what they hope will ultimately make them happy: dolls and electronic gadgets and remote control trucks to replace the one that survived less than twenty-four hours from last week. Always more, always longing for something else. Maybe the lists are so long because, deep down, we all hope the "next one" will fulfill the ultimate satisfaction we seek on some level; the ultimate satisfaction that is only found in Jesus Christ when He reigns.

I have been pondering heaven again lately. First, the fact that Trent is there. Just that thought alone makes me pause. I have to stop what I'm doing, literally, and can't even go beyond that realization sometimes. He's there. My son, my Trent, is in heaven. He's still Trent, and he's in heaven, knowing what I can't begin to imagine, knowing what Jesus looks like, knowing God spirit to spirit, in heaven. He made it, he's there.

What I have been pondering, after I get over that fact, is that even in heaven our souls are incomplete. Better, by far, with no sin and being in the presence of your Savior, but still incomplete. As our pastor pointed out, and as I read in Revelation, the saints are crying out "How long, Oh Lord?" We were created to be complete with both soul and body: there are no bodies in heaven for those who have died. They, too, are waiting for Jesus to return to make all things right again; including receiving their resurrected bodies. "How long, Oh Lord?" we cry with them as we wait for Him, too.

In the past nine months I can hardly get my thoughts off of heaven and God. One foot here, one foot there; loving my children here, loving my children there. Trusting God for all of it. And the sweet Word of God, oh, the sweet Word. I feel the need to marinate in it, to soak it up by my whole being. It is powerful, and convicting, and life changing.

Eternity. Just imagine: eternity. There is no end to that word. There is an end to our lives here, but not to eternity. We put so much stock into this life, so much is invested here, when really, we should be investing there. What would it look like if Christians lived with eternity constantly on their minds? If we lived wondering, even expecting, what if today was the day we would enter that eternity, and see our God?

I feel like I am just waiting . . . waiting for eternity, or for Jesus to come back and make it all Right.

The Tears of the Saints

. . . and as she stood behind {Jesus} weeping,
she began to wet his feet with her tears.
Luke 7:38a

How many tears would it take to wet a man's feet? To wet them enough to require the need of wiping them dry? And how humble must one be to bow and dry them with your own hair? And how great must be the sins, and the awareness of them, to cause all those tears in the first place?

I've cried; but never enough to wet more than my own face. I've wept over my sins; but never before a room full of mocking men. I've knelt before my Savior; but never have I kissed his feet.

"Now which of them will love Him more?" Jesus asked.
Simon replied, "I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled."
"You have judged correctly, " Jesus answered.

I weep this morning because my debt was cancelled. I weep this morning because I haven't wept enough before. I weep because I have never seen it so clearly; because there haven't been enough tears shed; because my debt is the bigger debt; because my Savior chose to cancel my son's debt.

Who will love Jesus more?

The one who had the bigger debt canceled.

Just Stand

And after you have done everything; just stand.
from Ephesians 6:13

Just stand. Or lay. Or get on your knees. Sometimes there is nothing else to do. And as a "doer", doing nothing is the hardest thing in the world. So I {fitfully, anxiously, nervously} just stand.

Anxiety hits hard, and at unexpected times, like at 5:30 a.m. after Rob has already gotten out of bed and the dark is dark and the thoughts won't quit. What if God isn't there? What if eternity never comes? What if I am swallowed up today by this reality? What if the whispers of the enemy are true? Why can't I remember the rest of that verse about God being faithful and that Jesus is really coming back one day?Just stand.Although I feel withered, and beat, and tired and bent, I will still stand.

Just stand.

Stand firm in the Word, firm as the battle rages, firm as the shame heaps from within and my arms and my whole being feel weak; I will stand firm in my Savior's tight grip.

As Elijah (1 Kings 19), I resort back to simple rest. Food, coffee, a bed and a book. A needed respite from the world that continues to invade with it's never-ending demands. Rest for my weary soul, rest to fight the battle again, rest to remember the Promises.

I wait for the peace again, the calm in the storm. I wait to be renewed. I wait for the comforting whispers from a voice not my own. "Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you."

But as for me, I will always have hope.

I will praise You more and more.

My mouth will tell of your righteousness,

of Your salvation all day long,

though I know not its measure.

I will come and proclaim your mighty acts,

O Sovereign Lord;

I will proclaim Your righteousness, Yours alone.

Though You have made me see troubles,

many and bitter,

You will restore my life again.

My lips will shout for joy when I sing praise to You~

I, whom You have redeemed.

Sweet Promises from Psalm 71

Letting the Hurt, Hurt

Today, again, grief just hurts. I don't know why I am so stubborn and refuse to realize that and so often try to stuff it instead. I just want to fight it, as if I could fight the pain. It just hurts. We were not ultimately created to know death; it is the deepest, darkest taste of sin. Death is too much reality of the world we live in; so much proof that this world is in need of a Savior to make it all right. Oh, that Jesus would come soon and make it right.

Some days I wonder why I had to be the one to experience this, to feel this, to live this. Why couldn't I just go on with my rose colored glasses living my merry little life? But then other days I praise God for waking me up; waking me up to reality. And I praise Him for showing me the brevity of life, and for showing me the way of salvation, and for showing me Trent's salvation, and for giving me hope beyond this pain.

God asked me if I trust Him. Do I really believe what He says? Do I really believe His plans are best? Do I really believe in eternity where all will be made right? "Yes, Lord, I do" is my weak reply as I lay in my bed trying to figure out how to get out of it this morning. Then let the hurt, hurt.

The tears come when I go to my knees to try to worship this Creator God; this God with His perfect plans of pain. He is good; so good that I can't even fathom how good. My words are not sufficient, only tears are. Tears that will one day be wiped away. Tears over sons, and lost souls, and faithful prayer warriors.

I Love You More

If I love you more, will you love me less?
2 Corinthians 12:15

"I love you more." It's been a regular saying around our house for years. I think it started out with a little bunny book nearly a decade ago when we didn't know what tweens or teen-agers were. "I love you more." The battle still continues today, especially at bedtime, especially with a little tween girl. It's a good battle.

I heard God whisper it today as I sat in my broken recliner, drinking my hazelnut flavored coffee, looking out over the frosty yard, hair uncombed, listening to four kids (who were supposed to be) quietly working on school books, or lost in their own little world with God. "I love you. I love you more."

My morning rejoicing over Trent being in heaven has gone to a morning contentment lately; one can only stay on the mountaintop so long. Even rejoicing becomes exhausting. After nearly nine months I find (I know, I know, duh) that I keep coming back to the same reality: this is still real. It's not going to change. Trent is not here. Graciously, God continues to constantly point my eyes to Him, to His truths, to His joys, to eternity.

But it's a battle. A battle that becomes ferociously intense at times. So I praise the Lord that He made me too stubborn deep down in my genetic core to refuse a good fight. My husband can attest. As can my sister who is too much the same way.

God is the author and perfecter of our faith. What He uses to grow me may not be what He uses to grow you. But are you growing? Are you fighting? Have you bowed to Jesus as Lord?

This trial leads me to recite over and over and over again the promises of Scripture. I put no confidence in the flesh; my God is sovereign; it is God's will that I should be sanctified, therefor I put my hope in God alone; I will strive to be joyful in hope, patient in affliction and faithful in prayer because I know that this present grief and suffering won't even be worth comparing to the glory of Jesus Christ that will be revealed; throughout it all God is refining me and proving my faith (and Himself).

Salvation, and God's word, and Jesus Himself continue to be my greatest joy. I mostly look forward to eternity: not to next week, or next year, or when the goats are due, or the mortgage is paid off. I have never prayed "Lord, let your Kingdom come" with such a fervency and longing before this trial.

I stop often and look up at the stars and the moon at night. I have been known as of late to even stop on my walk up from the barn and just lay down in the cold grass to look up. Two kiddos looked at me odd the first time I was laying there, but soon found a comfortable spot of their own to gaze upon the heavens. One day I will know what the face of the God looks like who made those stars, and the sun, and the moon and put them in their place. Genesis 1:16 almost makes those little twinkling lights seem like an after thought when God was creating the universe. If the stars are the after thought, what then is the creation? What, then, is the worth of salvation? Especially considering that salvation cost the Creator His own Son?

It's as simple as "I love you, too, God." I think He wins. He does love me more. I'll just bask in that knowledge today.

Do You Think there are Tomato Schmears in Heaven?

"And I know this man . . . who was caught up to paradise.

He heard inexpressible things, things that man is not permitted to tell."
2 Corinthians 12:3-4

Do you think there are tomato schmears in heaven? Do you think boys will still want to kick box with their moms? Do you think they will make that popping, kissing noise when you tuck them into bed at night? Do you think there are mud hills so I could slide down with my son, rather than ewe-ing about the dirt and just standing back and taking pictures? Do you think I could cover myself with mud and dive into the pond to rinse off? Do you think there will be duck boats so I can just sit back and enjoy the ride again with my boys at the oars?

Will there be mornings of breakfast in bed, with pudding and cool whip and a cherry on top? Will there be stairways so I can take a turn riding the mattress down? Or forts to build, or trees to climb, or homemade boats to sail, or short horses to ride, or four wheelers to get stuck? Will there be tents to pitch or squirrels to chase? Pheasant's to mount or big fish to catch? Rivers to explore and lakes to enjoy?

For an eternity I will be able to look out into a crowd and spot those ken-doll locks and expect a young man to walk up and put his arm around me and rub my lower back just because he loves his mom and knows I need him close. I will see the twinkle in his eyes again, the sparkle reflecting from his Savior, as we go forth without the fear of death. If mud hills and duck boats and silly boys were this good this side of heaven, what must the other side be like?