Faith Community

A Tale of Two Gifts

joyouschild Faith Community, Faithwalk, Griefwork, Joy in the Journey, Trusting the Father , ,

This week I got two precious gifts of flowers.

My sweet friend Shari, knowing that Keith’s birthday had just passed, and knowing that gifts are my love language, sent a wonderful dozen multicolored roses. They grace my kitchen counter in their full array, seeming to burst further open each day, yet staying fresh and lovely.  As I looked this morning, their centers are actually starting to show, they have opened so far…yet not a petal has fallen.  They are some of the prettiest roses I have ever received.  They make me smile just looking at them.

The other gift was much different…but equally as sweet.  A four-year old girl came with her mom for the first time to Bible study.  As she left her house, she picked a clover from her front yard, and told her mom she wanted to take it to “Mrs. Liz.”  When she arrived, she shyly presented me with her gift, and we found a vase to put it on my kitchen counter.  This sweet little clover is one of the sweetest gifts I have ever received.

It seems to be a week for me to receive gifts…and God has been no exception.

I have been studying the gift of manna to the Israelites this week, and this gift has a special meaning to me.

God’s provision and His grace floor me…quite literally.

A few weeks after Keith died, a woman called me to come do a security investigation on one of my neighbors for his new government-related job.  This is a pretty routine thing in our area.  As we were talking about my neighbor and the family, I talked about how they had been assisting me since Keith had died, which I found to be a strong indicator of their character and beliefs.

The woman asked me if I was a believer and we started talking about things that were a lot more important than Chris’s security clearance.

She told me the story of her church, which had been going through a really rough time and had lost a couple young members of the congregation.  Her preacher had preached on manna as part of his messages of healing, and about God’s grace wrapped up in that manna each morning.

For the Israelites, there was always enough manna for each morning.  Whether they collected a little or a lot, when they measured the amount, it was always enough to meet their needs.  Not extra, not some to save for tomorrow, but always enough.  As long as they tried, it was enough.

As a result of our conversation…and her promise to pray for me, I am sure…I started mentally picking up my manna for the day each morning as I nursed baby Tanner.

And I got by.

More than that…we continued to thrive as a family.  The manna was enough.

I get asked all the time, “How do you do it?”

The answer is daily reliance on my Savior.  In my own strength I cannot do this.  Not for a day.  Not for an hour.  Probably not for a minute.

In my own strength, I am short-tempered, sometimes mean, and often whiny.

I do not do this in my own strength.

Every day, I am in nearly constant communication with my Lord…through His Word; through His people; through prayer; through uplifting music; through wise words from books, devotions, and sermons.

And it is enough.

The manna has always, always, always been there.

And I know it always will be.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. – James 1:17

Manna to this Momma

joyouschild Faith Community, Raising Kids Alone, Widow Walk , ,

God’s got it.  I know that.  He has shown in so many ways, and in so many instances!  I have faith in Him.

But sometimes in my heart of hearts, I wonder how He will work it out.

Today, I got a bit of an answer.

My dear friend Lorie had my little two over to play at her house with her youngest.  They were playing Playmobil and had invented a game with families.  Jackson was the dad, and Lorie started listening.  Did he get it?  Did he understand the dad role?

Praise God, he did!  She said he was the proper mix of kind and strong and firm and loving.  He gets being a dad, even though he was 2 1/2 when his dad died.

Now, I will take very little credit for how he learned the dad role.  I certainly don’t act the part “dad” but stick to “mom.”  It would not be a real representation of dads anyway, nor of moms.

My oldest steps up and acts the dad a bit, being a very loving big brother, especially with the little two.

I think, though, mostly Jackson has seen it modeled around him, and for that I am so grateful.  Men at church have taken all the boys under their wing and modeled Biblical manhood for them.  Neighbors and friends have allowed them to help them build things, fix things, take care of the house.  They have talked endlessly about sports and guns and “guy stuff.”  They are crucial to me surviving as a single mom.

Even in a world where dads are often ridiculed as dumb, unnecessary, or irrelevant (look at most TV dads), the men around us are coming out of their comfort zones and away from their own busy home life to work with my boys.  My guys are getting what they need to be dads themselves some day.  The gap is being filled.

God’s got it, and I don’t have to worry.

And that is certainly manna to this momma’s heart.

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.– Ephesians 3:20-21

Holes or Holy?

joyouschild Faith Community, Raising Kids Alone , ,

My dad used to tell this old joke:  You know why I am saving these socks for Sunday?  They are hole-y!

(Bad puns run in our family.)

That seems to be the way my life goes, though.

I have been blessed with the task of raising four boys to become young men after God’s own heart (I pray).  That is a daunting task under the best of circumstances.  Add widowhood into the mix, and the task could seem insurmountable.

I could focus on this great big hole in my life.  I miss Keith terribly.  Some days it is incredibly hard.  But…

We have a God who takes holes and makes them holy.

Today alone, I have had four men — yes, four — offer to take my guys places, do things with them, speak into their lives on how to be men for God.  God be praised!

These men are working to patch the holes left by Keith’s early graduation to glory, making them holy instead–God’s work, helping my boys become God’s young men.

And that is glorious.

 His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of Him who called us by His own glory and goodness. — 1 Peter 1:3

How We Spend Father’s Day

joyouschild Faith Community, Raising Kids Alone , ,

Often I have been asked if this holiday in particular is difficult.

Blessedly, it is not.

On this day that honors fathers, we instead choose to focus on what we do have, not what we have lost.  And that is truly a lot!

This year, as every year since Keith died, my boys have figured out cards for the men at church whom God has convicted to be part of our lives.  This year’s card said, “As a father figure, you’ve nailed it.” and we included a nail in the cards.  We passed out upwards of 18 cards, and probably could have used a few more.

They get really excited, dashing around church looking for each of the men.  They welcome them with a big hug and present the cards.  They even fight over who gets to give cards to which man.

The men were touched.  One of our friends even got a bit teary (yep, I said it, though I won’t confess which friend).  I myself got choked up a few times.

This year we had the added blessing of taking a dear friend whom the boys call “Uncle” out to lunch.

All in all, a happy day here.

It’s HUGE that so many men from our congregation have followed the Biblical model and taken care of this widow and these fatherless boys.  I have said it before, and will say it again:  I cannot be a guy.  If I even tried, it would be dishonoring to myself as a woman, and dishonoring to my Creator.  Therefore, I rely heavily on the men in our lives to come alongside my boys to “father” them, modelling for them Biblical fatherhood.

And these men have never let me down!  There is always one ready to jump in and catch a ball, wrestle a boy, pat a shoulder, give a high five, teach a manly skill, or fix a door.

No question about it, my boys will remember the love showered upon them by so many, and, Lord willing, will model it in their own homes and in their own churches when they are grown.

And they will also remember the source:  the Lord God Almighty. Everything that has been done for us and to us has been in the name of the Lord.

Even though their earthly father took the early train for glory (going ahead to prepare our mansion, as I told baby Tanner so often right after Keith died), they have a heavenly Father who’s got it covered here on earth.

And so do I.

Because of the Lord’s great lovewe are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.” — Lamentations 3:22-24

Grieving the (W)Right Way

joyouschild Faith Community, Widow Walk , ,

One of my sweet friends had the following comment to my blog, Seasons of Soccer:  “Beautiful blog Liz! God works in such mysterious ways. Just when you think He is providing for you, He may actually be doing it for someone else!”

Now, I have not put this on to give myself praise.  (Though I do appreciate it, Diana.  More than you know.)

This really contains the message for how I have chosen to do all this grief work.

Within two hours of Keith’s death, quite literally 20 of our friends had come to the hospital to be with me.  More were there in spirit.

We had a prayer circle just before we left.  (BTW we included the patient advocate who had been assigned, a sweet German lady who reminded us to pray for the hospital staff because it is hard to lose a patient.  I have.)

As I was holding hands with so many close friends, God spoke to me in my spirit.

Let them in.  They need to grieve, too.

Well, for this Martha who was convinced she could handle the whole wide world, this was a revolutionary thought.  But, the word was strong enough that I gave it a try.  Couched in terms of doing it for someone else, I figured it was worth a shot.

The next day, I accepted everything that was brought to me.  Several of my friends even cleaned my house, something I never would have let be done before.  I must admit, it was not hard that day.  I was in shock.

But as the days progressed, I continued to let people do whatever they felt led to do.  Some gave us things–amazing things like a swing set, financial assistance, and secret sister presents.  Some did things for us–fixed computers, mowed the yard, took the boys places.  Some shared the pain with us–the first Memorial Day at Quantico, the first holidays, the first birthdays.  

God has been very evident in our grief through the outpouring from others.  Different people are called to assist at different times and in different degrees, some of them are things I have known I needed and some I had not even realized I needed.  

And in the midst of all this, we have grown closer to many, many people.  The common need, the lack of artifice and pretense in the sometimes raw nature of grief on my part and on theirs has broken down walls of pride–and not just in me.  People whom I have allowed to join us in the journey have been touched. 

And isn’t that what it’s all about?  Community built for the common good?  Sharing the tender places in our soul, without embarrassment?  Sharing all that we have and all that we are?

I have become just a vehicle, a means of blessing.  And that is blessing in and of itself!

Perhaps the way we have done this grief would not work for everyone, but boy, am I glad that I have done it this way!  

Thanks, Lord, for speaking to my soul in ways that I would understand.  Thanks for the tangible, visible ways you have helped me, and for the intangible way you have grown my community for Your glory.

Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.  If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God.   If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever.  Amen. — 1 Peter 4:10-12





In Praise of Girlfriends

joyouschild Faith Community, Praising God ,

You know who you are.

Or maybe you don’t…

You’re the one who complimented me on my children’s behavior on the day I felt like a failure as a mother.

You’re the one who called at dinner time nearly nightly to get the debrief of the day.

You’re the one who laughed with me about men and marriage and sex on the days I wanted to cry and wallow in self-pity.

You’re the one who bought the flowers Keith would have bought for our anniversary.

You’re the one who thought to include us in your holiday gathering rather than let us be alone.

You’re the one who called from miles away to tell me you were holding me and the Lord was holding me.

You’re the one who saw to it my grass was mowed when I was overwhelmed with the kids and would have let it grow over the top of the house.

You’re the one who brought over a check on Christmas Day to cover expenses you had no idea I worried about.

You’re the one who watched my kids so I could have dinner with a friend without the constant clamor of “Hey, Mom, guess what…”

You’re the one who cleaned my bathroom on your hands and knees just as it was beginning to resemble one in a gas station.

You’re the one who prayed for me while you were getting ready for church Sunday mornings, figuring I was facing some challenges (I was).

You’re the one who checked in on me while I was driving long distances, and insisted I call when I got there.

You’re the one who cried with me at the cemetery on Memorial Day, and brought flowers for Keith’s grave.

You’re the one who took me for my first pedicure on Mother’s Day and sat laughing with me.

You’re the one who shared out of your bounty for the holidays to make sure I had something to open, too.

You’re the one who still called me with your prayer needs, realizing that I needed to take the focus off me and do things for God.

You’re the one who pulled up a tissue and sat down, chocolate in hand, to spend an hour with me.

You’re the one who listened when Jesus whispered in your ear that I needed you.

And for that I thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity. – Proverbs 17:17

A Happy Mother’s Day, Part II

joyouschild Faith Community, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk , ,

A second lesson from the Mother’s Day baskets:

I contacted the ladies to deliver the baskets.  I even sent a picture of the baskets, all scattered about my living room.

The overwhelming response from the moms was, “For me?  There’s one for me?”  They were incredulous that someone would care that much, put that much effort, into someone they do not know, and may never meet.

When they find out there is, then come the tears.

You see, as single moms, we get used to doing without.  There’s always another bill or another growing child who needs shoes.  It often is not as much fun to buy something for yourself, so we skip it, save the money and move on.

Aren’t we all like that?

We have this incredible gift in our loving Savior, and we sometimes look at it and say, “Is this for me?”

We see our unworthiness.  We have gotten used to doing without.  We fail to see the blessings ready to be heaped on us.

I have a secret to share.

We had a lady join the group recently, the week before the baskets came out, in fact.  She needed the comfort of a basket blessing from unknown friends.

I gave her mine.

I am not saying this was easy.  For this girl whose love language is gifts, it was a pinch.  I had been looking forward to the surprise.  I knew it was coming.  But mine did not come.

But it’s OK.  Really OK!

I got more out of delivering the baskets, of passing on a material blessing in favor of a spiritual one, than I thought would be possible.

And God taught me a bit more in the process, refined a few more rough edges.

And that’s what it’s all about.
 
In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. – 1 Peter 1:6-7

A Happy Mother’s Day

joyouschild Faith Community, Praising God, Widow Walk , ,

My love language is gifts.  (read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, www.5lovelanguages.com)

That means that the holidays and I continually do this great dance to see if my needs will feel met.  It’s just the way it is.  Not right or wrong, just reality.

When Keith was alive, we exchanged gifts at each holiday.  I was usually happy to give him hints, pick it out myself, or call some house project my “gift.”

But not for my birthday.  Then, I needed a surprise.

Since Keith’s death, God has continued to send me surprises.

Even for Mother’s Day…maybe especially for Mother’s Day.

We are on the eve of my fifth Mother’s Day without Keith and each year God has touched the heart of someone to bless me in an amazing way.

One year, a dear friend took me for a pedicure while her hubby and my boys cleaned out and washed my car.

One year, I looked out the window to find my sweet neighbors mulching my front beds.

One year, friends came over to make breakfast at my house.

One year, flowers arrived the Saturday before.

It is almost like Christmas morning when I was a kid, when I eagerly tripped down the stairs to see what Santa left me.  Wise Santa, my parents told me, always knew what I needed and of my list what would be the best gift.

This year, God had a gift planned as well.

My dear, sweet friends from a local MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers, www.mops.org) group felt led to make Mother’s Day baskets for our widows’ group.

When they asked me months ago whether they could do this project, I was touched.  When I saw baskets, I was flabbergasted.

These were not tokens.  The ladies went all-out in filling the baskets until each one was a rich, loving expression, mom-to-mom, of what a struggle it is, what a joy but a pain it is to be a mom.  They may not be single moms, but they got it, appreciated us.

When we picked them up, they overflowed the back of my car.  I cried.

But that was the beginning of the gift to me.

I got to have the joy of delivering these precious baskets to each of the ladies, to see their faces, feel their gratitude, wipe their tears.

God in action!  And, praise Him, I got to be part of it!

Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. – 1 John 3:18

Of Puzzle Pieces and Memories

joyouschild Faith Community, Joy in the Journey, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk , ,

A few weeks before Keith died, our preacher, Mike, preached a sermon involving puzzle pieces and wholeness in the body of Christ.  It touched Keith deeply.  He set his puzzle piece on the makeshift desk he had on the main floor.  It was constantly in view during the last weeks of his life.

We buried that puzzle piece in the time capsule we created for him.

I have thought of that puzzle piece often over the past 4 1/2 years, nearly every time I find a stray piece around the house.  Keith still thought of himself as a viable piece of the body, even as an ill man, weak and at home.  And he was.

Even in death, my faithful husband was, and is, a piece of the puzzle.  There are still the fingerprints of his work at our church, and at his office.  And definitely here at home, in us.  I am a better mother, daughter, and child of God from having been married to this Godly man.

Since Keith’s passing I have often thought of my own contribution as a puzzle piece.  How do I “fit” now that he is not here?  My puzzle is jumbled and I can’t seem to find where the edges meet.

I don’t fit as a wife any more.
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.
I don’t fit in the couples’ gatherings any more.
Yet I am an important piece in the puzzle.
I don’t fit with the women talking about the husbands (or complaining about them).
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.
I don’t fit in at boy scout meetings or with the soccer coaches.
Yet I am an important part of the puzzle.

When doing a large puzzle, if I have trouble finding where a piece goes, I try turning it, looking in a new section of the puzzle.  That is what I need to do with this new life.  I may not fit in the old places where the puzzle piece went, but I need to find new ones.

And the cool thing is that the Master of the Puzzle will give me insight as to where that is.

Here is the lesson I take from Keith’s life:  puzzle pieces have a purpose, they complete things.  If I neglect to add my piece to the puzzle, it is incomplete, not what it was intended to be.

I can’t help but think of my own contribution as a puzzle piece.  Can God’s fingerprints be seen as clearly on me?  I pray so!

I also think about the Puzzle Piece of Eternity, our Risen Lord.

By His death, we are healed.  By His stripes, we can forgo ours.  By His love, we have eternity waiting.  Praise Him for His indescribable gift!

Insight into the Why

joyouschild Faith Community, Priorities , ,

There is something special about sharing the burden of my sisters in Christ.

I have the privilege of crying with two dear sisters at church over the past weekend, holding them while the pain and hurt engulfed them, letting it engulf me too so that in some way I could share it.

I’ve been there.  Different pain, perhaps, but I have been there.

When Keith died, friends would come over or call just to cry with me.  They came with open arms, prepared to help me carry the burden for a bit.  They knew they could not ultimately take away what was mine to carry, but they wanted to ease the burden for a time, bearing part of the weight, supporting me so I could breathe for half a minute.

It was hard, but it was joyous as we grew closer together through that sharing.  It helped everything make sense for a moment, and that moment was enough to help me have strength to face the next moment.

Fast forward to today.  I am better attuned to my sisters in Christ.  I am more able to be that worker who shows up, knowing I have a load to lift, a soul to lighten, if only by catching cathartic tears.

And for that, for my friends, for that privilege of burden-bearing, I am forever grateful.

Thank You, God, for that insight into why my life looks the way it does!

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.  – 2 Corinthians 1:3-4