Trusting the Father

Of Course I Will!

joyouschild Faithwalk, Joy in the Journey, Persevering through Pain, Trusting the Father , , ,
My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.

It has been one of those days.

I woke up with a headache.  I cried at the breakfast table because I felt unappreciated by my children.  I cried on my walk because Keith was not here.  He (usually) knew how to make me feel better when I was in one of these moods.

I walked along, tears flowing…whining to God (gotta be honest here).

I knew I was about to reach where Renee stands in the morning, waiting for the school bus with her charge.  I met Renee walking but found out she attends the same Wednesday night service I do.  I dried my tears and smiled.

“Good morning, Renee!”

“Hi, Liz.  How are you this morning?”

“Fine, thanks!  How about you?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Great!  Have a good day!”

And I walked a few more steps.

Then God spoke to me in my spirit.  Nope.  Own in.  Go back.  Tell her.

So, swallowing my pride, I broke stride from my walking and went back.

“Actually, that’s not entirely true.  I am having one of those mornings.  Will you please pray for me?”

With a big hug, Renee said, “Bless your heart!  Of course I will!”

And I walked on, feeling better.  Provision!

I could now hear the birds singing.  I even found a quarter…that will go in the missions box the boys and I are currently filling.  I smiled at the others I normally see and speak to on my walk.  My world had tilted back in the right direction.

My morning was just some of life’s “light and momentary troubles” (2 Corinthians 4:17).  They happen to us all.  Jesus promised they would.

I am thankful for a God who is gracious enough to put people in my path (literally) for the times when I need them.  And I am thankful that He knows I sometimes need that extra little push to take what He has so graciously given to me.  Sometimes, it is just a matter of me looking beyond myself  As I reflected on this, I could see many blessings in my life, things that had been hidden from me as my thoughts circled myself instead of the bigger picture.

At the end of my walk today, I ran into my sometimes-walking-buddie Carol.  We greeted each other and she asked how I was.  And I could honestly tell her that I am doing…OK.

Praise God!

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.  — John 16:33

Crows vs. Hawks

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On my daily walk the other day, I heard…long before I saw…a murder of crows harassing a hawk.  (Yes, I looked that up.  That is what you call them.  Word lesson for today completed.)

Oh, they were really giving it to him–circling round and round, cawing away.  He gave them  a couple of shrill cries in return, but they were really dominating.

As I watched the exchange, I realized that I could see myself in that scene.  And sometimes I am the crows…and sometimes I am the hawk.

I can be a fuss-er.  I sometimes get focused on something and worry it to pieces.  Whether it is finances, or boy behavior, or the cleanliness of my house (or lack thereof), I get hold of an idea and won’t let go.  Like the crows, I fuss and fume.  I try to bully the ideas, pushing and shoving them into what I think they should look like. I continue the harassment, regardless of the facts, and God’s plan…seeing threats where there probably aren’t any.  Sometimes I even find my own “murder” to fuss with me.

Sometimes, however, in my better moments, I’d like to think I am the hawk.

Sometimes I doggedly maintain my God-directed course, taking the attacks as they come, and maintaining my place in the sky, like this hawk was.  I don’t see the harassment and obstacles–whatever form they may take–but stay the course.  When the opportunity presents itself, I, like the hawk, cry out my side of the story, but from a position of calm statement, not from a position of stressed excitement.  This hawk calmly held his position, and so do I–or at least I try.

So why am I not able to be more hawk-like all the time?  Why do I take that drift toward the stressful group-think of a murder of crows, seeing threats everywhere, real and imagined?

Usually it is because I have taken my eyes off the Ruler of the Skies…if I may be so bold as to give Him a name like that.

I get freaked out and stirred up when I don’t spend enough time with the Lord…in prayer, reading His Word, seeing things from His perspective.

I also get in a tizzy when I choose to be around the “murder” instead of alone with the Lord.  Oh, I am not discounting the value of good friends…not by any means!  But we all need to be careful of miserable comforters.  Time alone with the Lord can get me soaring again instead of squawking.

May I find those moments today!

Though youths grow weary and tired, and vigorous young men stumble badly, yet those who wait for the Lord will gain new strength; they will mount up with wings like eagles, they will run and not get tired, they will walk and not become weary. — Isaiah 40:31-32 (NASB)

The Importance of Being

joyouschild Faithwalk, Griefwork, Persevering through Pain, The Storms of Life, Trusting the Father , ,

I have a dear friend walking her days with a very serious illness.  No one but God knows what the outcome will be.

Sitting with her this week, she had a lot of questions for me…about Keith’s last months and days.  She is exploring and preparing for what may be.

I knew the questions were coming.  I knew she was thinking.  I was blessed to be able to share.  Keith would approve, too.  He loved this dear woman, too.

The talk went fairly smoothly…not too many tears from either of us.  I told her some things that the average person does not know about that last day…some even my family does not know.  That day was hard, personal, and very private in some ways.

This dear, sweet, Christian lady told me again and again that she is not sure what she is supposed to do.  She said she keeps asking God, but is just not sure what to do.  I gave her some form of answer, but felt there was more to say.

I have thought about that statement all week and have come to some conclusions, which I am sharing with you all…and with her.

Sometimes being is enough.

We are go-getters, especially as Americans, I think.  We feel that we need to be doing, acting all the time.  I think part of it comes from all the opportunities we have here…constant entertainment, work, activities for ourselves and our families.

It is hard for us to be still and know that He is God.  But sometimes that is all we can do.

Be still.  Know.

This precious lady is in the palm of God’s hand.  He has her.  He has this illness.  He will heal her — this side of Heaven or that.  In that she can rest and just be.

She can be other things, too, even from her sick bed:  wife, mother, grandmother, friend, sister.

The bottom line is that none of us is guaranteed tomorrow.  None.

I have a couple dear friends who lost their spouses in the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan.  They had more of an inkling, perhaps, that something could happen.  I have other friends whose spouses took some sort of a trip (fishing or to the dump) and never came back.  Others faced longer sickness, multiple tests, lingering, and finally failing, hope of healing here on earth.

That is life here.  Death happens.  To some sooner than others.  To some with more warning than others.  To all eventually.

We all face the life-and-death questions that this sweet sister faces, whether we realize it or not.

This is not scary…or shouldn’t be.  God’s got it.  He is in control.  His Word says that again and again.

And sometimes all we can do is be…and the most important thing we can be is His child.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. – Jeremiah 29:11

Mousetraps

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This morning I saw a mouse run across my kitchen floor.  I literally heard the little scampering feet and looked up to see a little dark streak out of the corner of my eye.

My first reaction was to fuss at Dakota, our Great Pyrenees, who was not 6 feet from there, dozing while I did my Bible study.  She should be reacting to this little invader.  She surely reacts strongly enough to every random car and child on a bicycle that comes near the house.

Next, I stalked the little critter to see if I could tell where he had gone. Alas, no luck!  I also had no shoes on, if he did run out at me.  Yes, I would stomp him if I could.  Bloodthirsty or no, he has invaded my territory and the gloves are off.  He’s going down!

So, I pulled out my box of mouse-eliminating paraphernalia.  Oh, I have some of everything!  Old fashioned, standard mousetraps, and glue traps of various shapes and sizes.  (I don’t do poison because of dogs and children.)  They are now placed in some strategic locations.

Then I started looking for the why of the situation.  Is there spilled food somewhere that I missed that is attracting him?  I checked in the pantry and then headed to the garage.  Sure enough, I found a ton of dog food on the floor behind the dog food container.  Note to self:  find a better way for the 5-year old to dip up the dog food.  I cleaned up the dog food and went back to my Bible study.

I probably should have been more prepared, had my traps out already.  It is fall and we have had some cooler days.  Inevitably this time of year, some furry critter is foolish enough to try to find hospitality at the Wright house.  And, inevitably, he never makes it out alive.  I am determined here.  I don’t want those nasty creatures in my home, touching my stuff.

But am I this determined when it comes to keeping out the nastiest creature of all — Satan?

Y’all, I had a whole blog post prepared for this morning.  Reading back over it, it was a bit…whiny.  I know that days like this come, that they are part of life here on this rock, especially in grief, but do I need to wallow in them?

I had been unprepared for the Creature scurrying in under cover of night whispering yuckies in my ear…and he is the one who is in charge of the night!  I should have expected him.  I should have been better prepared to handle the situation, both before and after.  That negative poison is no good for me…and certainly is not good to spew out and pass on in this venue.

In my personal Bible study this morning, I was reading toward the end of the book of Nehemiah.  The remnant who had returned rebuilt the wall in record time, and they praised God for that, but they still had some concerns…chiefly, their brothers and sisters still in captivity.

Know what they did?  They spent time rereading to the assembly the Word of God and retelling the God story they had been given.

My God story over the past nearly-five years could fill a book…in fact, I hope to do just that.

God has been there, there, there!  By recounting that story, remembering all the times He has taken care of me, held me up, saved me from the darkness that could envelope me…I can be free of it.

But it is all about choice.

I have to be prepared, then be ready to take action…away from Satan and toward God.

God can handle my bad days.  After all, He knew they were coming.  In His word, He says “in this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33).  But He also says to take heart, for He has overcome the world.

So my whining will be replaced by rejoicing.  It could be much worse than it is.  Those negative thoughts, that whiny-ness serves no purpose.  I can acknowledge the tough days to God and move on.

The ugly little thoughts are going down, just like the critter in my house.  I am determined!

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding;in all your ways acknowledge Him,and He will make your paths straight. – Proverbs 3:5

A Tale of Two Gifts

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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

Duct Tape, Anyone?!

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Yesterday at Alex’s soccer game, I made a mom-of-teen faux pax.

He was the goalie, the ball passed by on the outside of the goal (good for his team), and headed toward the road…where there was a car coming.

I couldn’t help it.  Before I knew it, out of my mouth comes, “Watch the car, Alex!”

He shot me a look that said, “Really, Mom?!”

The other parents around me tittered.  They knew I had blown it…and that I would hear it from my teen.

They were right.  He told me later that I had thrown off his game, and that he missed the next shot that came to him at goal because he was afraid what would be coming out of my mouth.  He also told me he would be keeping duct tape on hand in case I lost control again…and that he would leave the field and come use it.

I believe him.  He was steamed…and embarrassed.

I slunk away mentally, properly chastised.

In my own defense, I still have a 5- and a 7-year old.  I have to say that a lot still.

My little ones in particular seem to pay no attention, skipping (Jackson literally) through life, regardless of the dangers that may be there.

It is aggravating and frustrating.  I feel like they should know by now to look both ways…not play with scissors…stop fighting or someone will get hurt…not tip the chair.  I also feel like they should know to flush, to wash their hands, to bus their dishes at the end of the meal…on and on.

Sometimes I correct them patiently.  Sometimes not.

But you know what I have discovered?

God, as my Parent, has to do the same thing with me.

In some ways it is exactly the same as when I correct my kids.  I sometimes do the equivalent eye roll at the King of the Universe, thinking I know better than He.  I threaten and cajole, trying to get my sinful way, even though His “no” has been very clear.  I pout.  I whine.  I act like a total stinker.

But…in some ways, this Parent-child relationship is markedly different.

God does not lose control with me.  He has high expectations of me, to be sure, but He does not have humanness to get in the way of the discipline…or the praise.  He treats me with love always, regardless of what I have done, but corrects me each and every time I need it (which is a lot, let me tell you).  He gives me the wings to soar when I need to, and hold me in His lap when I fail, encouraging me to try again.

Just this morning, I had a conversation with a dear friend whose wife is ill.  I told him about pouting to God and telling Him, the God of the Universe, that I could not handle raising these kids on my own, that I must have Keith here to help me.

Some days I have felt like a failure in the area of parenting (see above…) and some days I have felt like I am doing OK.  Regardless, God is there to correct me, reprimand me, guide me…but above all support me on this journey.  No ego on His part, no ‘tude being sported, no forgetting what I am capable of…and no mistakes.

May I follow that model as I raise my own children!

But, just in case, I’m headed to the store for a roll of duct tape for Tuesday’s game.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.  For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight.– Ephesians 1:2b-4

"Love you, too!"

joyouschild Faithwalk, Joy in the Journey, Trusting the Father

I never realized how much I would miss saying, “I love you.”

Sure, I still say it to my kids and my parents.  (Well, I text it to my teenager – he seems to like it better in that form.)

But the person I said it to most was Keith.

We would say it at least once in every conversation.

We were actually quite silly about it, now that I look back on it.

Our conversations went like this:  I love you.  You.  You.  You.  You.  You…..You…..You…………You……………You…………………You.…………………You.

Now I have to content myself with new ways to say “I love you”….and to receive them.

My sweet friend Tammy is big about saying it.  Many conversations we have, she ends with “love you.”  I respond back, “love you, too.”

And I do love her.  She is a good friend and a good neighbor.  She is a blessing in my life.  I am happy that she tells me that she loves me, and I am happy to tell her.

It is a word we don’t use enough in general language.  Oh sure, we use it for TV shows, coffee, new clothes…but that is not where it is really appropriate (well, maybe for coffee…nah, not even coffee).

But do we use it to tell those in our lives who mean a lot to us how we feel?  That we get that they are a gift from God and that we appreciate that gift?

So…I am freer now with the I-love-you’s.  I tell all my friends and family that I love them.  (If I haven’t gotten to you yet, know it’s coming!)  I end emails and texts with “love you” or “luv ya” or xoxoxoxo — or all of it!

Time is short.  I don’t know how many opportunities I will still have to say “I love you.”  Things can change in an instant.  So my view is say it often, say it with truth and meaning, make it count.  You don’t know how much someone needs to hear it.

I know I need to hear it.

And God knows that, too.  He tells me a million times in a million ways that He loves me.  My soul hears the words and glories in them.

– The sun is shining gloriously today.  God saying, “I love you!”

– My children are healthy, happy, and well fed.  God saying, “I love you!”

– We have had a good first week of school.  God saying, “I love you!”

– My seven-year old is making connections in Bible learning that are amazing.  God saying, “I love you!”

On and on, over and over, His love shines in all I do, all I see, all I can be.
 
I  bask in His grace!  Little ole sinful me is loved by the God of the universe!  Mind-blowing, when you think about it.

And I love Him, too.  May I always express to my Lord just how much He means to me — in all that I am and all that I do!

But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever. – Psalm 52:8
 

Iceberg Emotions

joyouschild Faithwalk, Griefwork, The Storms of Life, Trusting the Father

The other day we went downtown to visit the National Archives.  We saw the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.  Very moving.

I cried, unashamedly.

My boys think I am silly, especially when I cry in public.  They thought so that day.  Even the friends we were with did not totally understand the depth of the emotions I was feeling.

Neither did I.  It just hit me–the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this document coming to be.  The hours of intense living that went into the whole idea of freedom.  The greatness of a God who allowed a little upstart group of people to have Providence.

The guard told me that lots of people cry.  He said, “It’s your declaration.  It’s your country.”

Amen!

I feel that way about my grief journey.

I feel that way about my life journey.

The American Indian proverb says, “Never criticize a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.” (I looked it up to make sure I got the wording right.)

I still cry over Keith.  Not every day.  Not in predictable places and at predictable times.  I may always cry at those unpredictable times.

It’s my declaration.  It’s my grief.

It’s not that I am ignoring the grieving.  I have waded in with both arms open and have embraced it.  It is just a long, involved process.  Like learning to walk again…or run…after an amputation.

It’s not that I am weak.  I just have these tears God gave me, this pain God gave me.  I am not wallowing in it.  Embracing is not wallowing…at least it doesn’t have to be.  I am exploring, testing, growing, changing — all because of this pain.  And I thank God that He loves me enough to give me this chance to refine off some hard edges and become even more His child.

We all have stuff we are going through…we are all on a journey.  Mine just happens to be a grief journey.  But we are all being refined in the fire.

We just have to allow ourselves to be refined.  And that sometimes is the hardest part of the journey of all.

Another old saying says, “God loves us just the way we are, but too much to let us stay that way.”

Praise be to God!

Even for the Refiner’s fire…especially for it!

For you, O God, tested us; You refined us like silver.  You brought us into prison and laid burdens on our backs.  You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but You brought us to a place of abundance. – Psalm 66:10-12

Thanks for the Memories

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We sold our first house to friends.  It is in the neighborhood over from us.

Today I dropped Matthew off there for a birthday party.

Even after 6 1/2 years, it is still a tiny bit odd to be in the house.

It is not that it is still home — it truly isn’t.  It’s just that it was home.

We brought 2 babies home from the hospital to there.  Three learned to walk there.  We celebrated our 10-year anniversary there.  It is flooded with memories, even though the colors are not the same and the furniture is in different places (just as it should be).

And somehow that makes me…just a little sad.

I drove away and off to run errands…missing Keith.

My memories of there are ALL with him.  We bought the house together and worked on it together.  It was the first either of us owned.

I am a creature of habit, I know I am.  I would make a good blind person, as I never move my furniture.  When I think of repainting, it is not to change the color but to touch up what was already there.

I think that makes my grief just a little harder at times.  I want to fall back and cling to the past.  I fight the rut.

But God loves me enough to kick me in my complacency on a regular basis.  He is there to pick me up after He does, but He does not let me wallow, He does not let me dwell.

My dear friend and fellow widow Theresa puts it in terms of the rear view mirror.  We all have one in our cars because it is important to know what is going on behind you.  We have to be able to move from in front of the fire engine or know when to stop for the police car.  But we cannot spend too much time looking behind.  If we do, we will inevitably get in an accident.  The focus of our lives has to be in front — where we are going, not where we have been.

I finished my errands and headed back home — the dream house we built a year and a half before Keith died.  More good memories.  But not all these memories involve Keith.  I have lived twice as long in this house without him as I lived with him.

Oh, the evidence of him is still all around.  The man painted 17 — yes, 17 — colors of paint here for me.  We still refer to “Daddy’s closet” and “Dad’s dresser.”  But there are things here he never did see — including one currently-barking dog, and another currently-whining dog.

But somehow, after all the living here, the memories with and without Keith all have a place and are…just right.  We miss him here, but feel close to him here as well.

I’ll tell you a secret.  The day we closed on this house, my big, strong, Marine husband cried.  He felt so blessed by God to have this home, and so thankful to my mom for providing for us even after her death so that we could.

I am still blessed – to live here, to have been provided for equally well in death by Keith, to be able to continue to homeschool my boys…to live among the memories, and to have the freedom to create new ones.

I guess the suddenness of the onslaught of memories got me at the old house, and I started looking a little too much into my rear view mirror.  Now, I am back on track, glancing in it periodically, but firmly looking forward as I travel forward in my life…blessed…so, so blessed.

You hem me in behind and before, and You lay Your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. – Psalm 139:5-6

Stoned or Walled In?

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The Lord tears down the house of the proud, but he sets the widow’s boundary stones in place. – Proverbs 15:25

I read this verse earlier this week and it struck me.  I thank God every day that He maintains my boundary stones.

Today it happened again.  This verse became real as God upheld my boundary stone…in the form of my wall.

This morning I stepped out of my bedroom and felt water on the carpet.

Living in the house I do–with the people and animals I do–I bent down to smell the floor and make sure it was really water.  (It was.)

Then I realized we could be facing quite a conundrum here.  Especially since I had just been spending time in prayer with God discussing the schedule for the next few days and how tight it would be.

God is forever setting my boundary stones in place as far as my time. 

That’s because I really, really, really need it.

I have once again over-committed our family, which inevitably leads to stress and confusion.

When I get these checks from God it simply makes me prioritize my life better.  He is looking out for me, and keeps my boundaries in place by the way He pushes me to move at times.

So…blessing number one:  the water was simply overflow from the drip pan on the A/C in the attic.  My neighbor Jeff was home this morning and snaked it for me and cleared out the clog.  He also told me to dump in some bleach to clean out the gunk in there.  Easy for me to do.  

Blessing number two:  looking at the complicated nature of our schedule, my oldest graciously decided to not attend the lock-in at church tonight so that my stress level is down–no fussing, no complaining, totally gracious.  He continues to surprise me with his maturity!  What a blessing he is!

Blessing number three:  even in this, I did not lose control, stress out, or fuss at anyone (too much)–real progress for me.  (My children were so impressed they gave me a round of applause.)

My boundary stones are in place!  God acted, changed me, refined me some, and it wasn’t even too painful.

Praise God for His indescribable gift!