His grace is sufficient

Remembering Hope

joyouschild Griefwork, Loving Again, Raising Kids Alone ,

A couple years ago we met a new family at soccer.  As we were talking about our common love for Christ, our common activities, and our common friends, I shared that I am a widow.

I don’t always share my widow status with others. Never wanting to garner pity, I prayerfully consider before sharing this fact. Is sharing this part of my testimony going to be beneficial to them or to me…or would it simply be some sort of stumbling block, causing a sense of difference between me and them.

This day I was rewarded for my sharing with a picture that has stayed with me since then.

That dad, a big, strapping guy, military reservist, currently in law enforcement, was nearly undone at the thought that my little boys did not have a daddy here on earth.  He looked at me, not with pity, but with a compassion that stirred my soul and still gives me a warm feeling when I remember on it, coming close to tears as he reflected on boys growing up without their dad.  And right then I knew what kind of father he was.

And, as usual, it got me to thinking.

Jackson is currently reading Johnny Tremain by Esther Forbes.  In it, one of the characters, Mrs. Lapham, continuously talks about her “poor, fatherless girls” as a pity play.

Now, I could go there.  I could pity myself.  I could bemoan my state in life, the lack of a dad here for the boys.  I could see this even with our friend and just one more example of how much we are missing.

I choose instead to see hope.

I see in this friend the fact that good men do exist.  Strong fathers exist.  Men care about others.

It may not be in God’s plan to give us another man in our lives.  But it may be.  Only He knows at this point.

Regardless, He’s got it covered…my life, and that of my boys…and He will give us what we need.

Of that I am absolutely certain.

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. – Luke 12:6-7

I am a Four-Eyed Freak

joyouschild Griefwork, Widow Walk , ,

Now I don’t just have two eyes, Mom…I have FOUR!  I can see even better!

Ah, the perspective of a child!

Matthew had just gotten his first pair of glasses and this momma was worried.  How would he adjust to them?  Would he feel…different?

I needn’t have worried.  He did feel different…and he was…glad.

When I found out we had lost Keith, the first words out of my mouth were, quite literally, “I’m a widow.”

The reality of that did not hit me at that moment.  Well, maybe on some levels.  But not as fully as it later did.

Now, nearly five years later, I can truly tell you that I am…glad.

I know that sounds odd.  How can having your heart ripped out, your life ripped apart, be something that makes you glad?

Ah, my friends, therein lies the mystery of God.

Today a dear friend of mine prayed for me as we were ending a play date…”Lord, help her to feel You as her Husband, first and foremost, above all others, all she needs.”

Mostly I feel that–feel God as my Husband.  Mostly I count my blessings more than my stresses, my joys more than my sorrows.

If you know me, you know me to be a glass-is-half-full kinda gal.

Thank God I am!

But it is a choice, one I have to make on a daily basis, sometimes a minute-by-minute basis.

Like my sweet Matthew, I choose to look at my lot in life as a gift and not a stress, a way to help me see better…

To see my Lord!

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, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthians 2:17-18

Watermelons and Old Sayings

joyouschild Grace Again and Again, On the Inside, Widow Walk , ,

I was just cutting a watermelon in my kitchen.  As I cut the first slice, I snitched a piece.  It was…okay.

Hmm…maybe the next watermelon will be sweeter.  It’s early in the season yet.

But…as I learned as a child…waste not, want not.  So, I kept cutting.

Inevitably (for me, at least…perhaps you have more willpower), I snitched another piece farther into the watermelon.

It was…incredibly sweet!

Remember another old saying…don’t judge a book by its cover?

I was introduced to a friend’s husband recently in this way:  This is Liz.  Remember, she is the one I told you about, the widow who homeschools her four sons?

Now, I’m not poking at this dear friend — love her to pieces!  And all she said is true…that is my reality, and consumes a large part of my waking hours.

But it does not define all of me…

Another old saying…peel an onion, there are a lot of layers.

Who am I down in my core, the part that only God sees?

I guess maybe I see a difference between my reality and what defines me…maybe I am only seeing that difference as I write this post.

I am a child of the King.  I struggle, I fail, I fall, I get up.  But I love God and He loves me, and that is enough.

It does not give me permission to quit, but it does give me grace when I fail.

And that grace is…incredibly sweet!

So I will continue to operate in my reality of widowhood — a reality that is not always sweet but can be just okay; a reality that people see and will define me by whether I am only that or not.

And I will pray for the opportunity to show them the inner me…the me forever touched by grace.

Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day.  For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. — 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

How We Spend Father’s Day

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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

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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





A Good Day to Remember

joyouschild Faithwalk, Grace Again and Again, Praising God , ,

We are a military family.  We always have been.  We always will be.  No matter what happens.  It is something of which we are very proud.

Keith was buried at Quantico, the Crossroads of the Marine Corps, as per his will.  Each Memorial Day, you can find us there.

It is a good day for remembering.

We remember Keith:  his quirky smile, his annoyed face (the “ferp” face), his infectious laugh.

We also remember bigger things:  that freedom isn’t free, that men and women are in harm’s way even as we barbeque, that others carry burdens as big as ours.

It is a day for the waterproof mascara.

I wish you could see Quantico National Cemetery today.  Four-hundred-plus next-of-kin flags grace the drives, waving proudly, bravely, majestically.  It is a day of pageantry there as we listen to the Marine Corps Band, and Taps and a three-round volley play a tattoo in the hearts of all present.  It is worth every tear.

As we sing God Bless America, I can really see it and know it in my heart.  A little, upstart group of colonists, under-trained and under-prepared, beats the great military power of the day.  It is a story with blessings of Biblical proportions.

God has blessed America.

I pray that we will always remember that and act accordingly.

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.  Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. — Galatians 5:1

Teetering Through Life

joyouschild Grace Again and Again, Priorities, Raising Kids Alone , ,

Sometimes I sin against my children.  Big, glaring sins.

I’m not proud of it.  I’m not trying to glorify it.  But it happens.

And it’s not because I’m a single mom.  At least, not directly.

A dear friend had me over to tea this past Saturday to have the “are you taking on too much?” talk.  Praise God for friends who will listen to God and call me on stuff!

I don’t think I am taking on too much.  But I’m teetering on the edge.

Remember those little birds of glass, complete with red hat and red liquid inside?  You watch and watch the swaying and eventually that swaying turns to tipping.

And my children get caught in the fallout.

When taking on a new project, I sometimes use the justification that I have no husband to care for, so I have additional ministry time.  That is a true statement.

What I sometimes fail to remember in my equation of time is that I wear both hats in my family, and when I start swaying close to the tipping point, I have no one to pass off the excess to, no one to step in and even temporarily take something off my plate. The swaying of this constant balancing act of managing my life becomes top-heavy and I tip.

My stress level manifests itself as intolerance with my children.  I am mad at me, but I take it out on them.

More fallout.

And I feel broken and like a horrible mother and a horrible witness.

This happens more than I would care to admit.

When it does, it is time for a deep breath, a cup of coffee, some praise music, and lots of prayer.  It is time to have a day of chucking the schedule and just enjoy being a family, watching funny movies and staying in our pajamas all day.  It is time for thanking God for His grace and the fact that I have truly grace-filled children who cut me slack.

I am sure I will get to the tipping point again.  Life is like that.  I only pray that when I do, I will handle it with more grace myself, and not create so much fallout for my family.

If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. – 1 John 1:9



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

What’s a Cross?

joyouschild Griefwork, Persevering through Pain, The Power of the Witness, Widow Walk , ,

Recently my dear friend Judi asked me if I felt losing Keith was my cross to bear.

Here is the long and short of my answer…it’s not a cross, it’s a blessing.

About 4 weeks after Keith died, a dear friend who is a fellow widow called the place we are in “a privilege.”  Now, at that point in my journey, Keith had been gone just a bit of time and Christmas was around the corner.  I was not feeling privilege, I can tell you.

But I did remember; I did ponder those words.

For years.

I gotta be honest.  Some days stink.  It is really hard to be a single mom.  Some days, even now, I ache for Keith’s arms around me.

But, yes, I believe it.  It is privilege.

Joy in the journey.

God is there.  At night.  When I have tough decisions to make.  Raising the boys.  When hard stuff happens.  When good stuff happens.  When I am hurt.  When I am happy.  When I am scared.  When I am confident.

The boys have learned things about the provision of God, the sovereignty of God, the love of God that Keith and I could not have taught them together.  They know that they know that they know.  They have seen and tasted that the Lord is good.

I have gotten to see God work in the lives of people simply because He gave me this great need and the foresight to let them in to help.

I have gotten to cry with others on this journey, knowing what they are feeling.  And also to laugh with them.

I have grown and changed…a butterfly out of a cocoon, able now to go different places than I could go before.

I know my Lord better…closer…dearer.

And that changes my whole perspective.

I have always thought of the cross as a place of pain and suffering, and it certainly was that.

But…maybe…it was also a place of joy because Christ knew that through it, the redemption of the world would happen.  He could see beyond the moments to the big picture.

I don’t compare my suffering to that of Christ in any way, shape, or form.  That would be pure arrogance.

But the changes wrought in me…and I do mean wrought…have made a difference.  And in that I can glory.

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.- Romans 8:18

Groaning

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We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.– Romans 8:22-23

Even as I write this, a dear friend is in labor.  She is waiting, expectantly and anxiously, for Baby #3 to make his/her appearance.  Water broken, hard labor not started yet, she is in a holding pattern and has been since last evening.  Nothing to do but wait, watch, and pray.

I am there, too.  Certainly with this sweet sister, as all night I kept waking and dreaming of her, praying for her well being and that of my coming “niece” or “nephew.”

But also in my own life.

I wait, not too patiently at times, for the things of my life to work themselves out, to be born in me and my family.

I long to be the creature I was created to be–me, but different.  Not so sinful, more patient, more loving, more focused on God instead of me.

I want to see the bigger picture, know how to lead my family on the path God has laid out for us.  Sometimes I feel like I am right there, hiking along as I should be over the rough terrain; other times I feel lost in the weeds, tripping over little rocks.  I hasten to what I think is the right way to go, but forget to look where I am going, forget to take all the steps necessary to get there, forget to follow my Guide.

Other times, circumstances totally beyond my control have me laboring.  The world steps in, clouding my vision in the rainstorms of life.  Well-meaning people, and not-so-well-meaning, provide distraction and confusion.  I stumble, I fall.

But I get back up.

Like my sweet friend who cannot escape her labor pains right this minute, I cannot escape mine.  Nor would I want to.

I eagerly await the temporary prizes and successes here on earth…many that are quite meaningful for a season.

But even more, I look toward my forever-prize in eternity.

Labor is hard, but I know that with that first cry, the first look at that sweet little face, it will be all worth it for my dear sister.

With my first cry of hallelujah before my Lord, so will mine.

Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.- Philippians 3:14-15