Category: my story

Things happen; and life goes on.

I thought I’d sort of continue on from where I left off yesterday (and then life goes on).  Things happen; usually a bunch of things have to happen in order to arrest our attention – unless someone yells, Fire! or someone comes in bloody or the phone rings in the middle of the night.  Those things get out attention.

Unfortunately, there are a whole bunch of other things happening (and not happening) that don’t get out attention — at least not until some crisis happens.  Even then, we may address the interruption and move on… never seeing — really seeing — what’s going on.  Thus, the damage being done by too much computer/electronic device games or text messaging  is not so easy to see (harder to admit). Things happen, though, and we see them if we would break away long enough to listen and if we’d stop long enough to see.  Just take a look around — anywhere — everywhere — you’ll see distracted individuals all connected and disconnected at the same time.

Things happen; and life goes on.   Here’s where I hope, today, to be of some help.  When things happen that bring us to our day of reckoning, we might foolishly focus on the day of reckoning instead of on the “things happening” and we might wallow in our despair over what we think we’ve lost instead of the damage our actions (or inaction) caused.   On the first day of the greatest sorrow we’d ever faced, my husband asked me for my computer — and as I’ve written in the past (here) you know that I humbly and gladly did so.   I recall thinking: Anything! Anything at this point, I will do it. I knew.  I didn’t need to be asked twice and I didn’t need an explanation — nor did I give one.  I knew.  My days of being overly distracted by the computer had culminated in a breach of attention to my home and resulted in a deep time of sorrow, chastening and redemption.

Time and space do not allow for recounting of the marvels and miracles the Lord showed and did on my behalf and on the behalf of my family.  In the 97 days one of our daughters was away, in the near death experience of our missionary son, in the loss of friendships and in the division of our home church, God worked deeply, powerfully, tenderly, painfully and lovingly.   I cannot blame, nor do I seek to blame, anyone or anything… but this I know: what the devil intended for evil, God is working for good.

The life goes on part is this:  When we face trials and temptations, we can be assured of these very things: God is working all things together for our good and His glory and “There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.” –1Cor 10.13

The days I thought I could not bear: passed.  They passed by and underneath were the loving Arms.   They way of escape?  A humble and contrite heart seeking faithful obedience.  Period.  I don’t know how else to explain the outpouring of grace in those dark days (and these).   When we seek Him, He is faithful and just to hear our prayers — and though the consequences may continue on (and be ugly!), you can rely on this:  God is and will be at work as time goes on.  He is the restorer of the breach — He truly is!  He is the lover of our souls — He truly is!  And every son [daughter] He loves, He chastens — ouch, He truly does!

So then what?  What’s after a big fall?  I learned a valuable truth about God in the earthquake, the wind and the storm — the Lord taught me this at the time and then later during a study of 1Kings.  It’s what I most longed for — then and now — the still small voice of the LORD.  “.

And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD.
And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.
1 Kings 19.11-12

After the fire: the still small voice — and isn’t that the sweetest .

Next: (part 3-ish) Make no provision for the flesh.

And then life goes on.

In the midst of a transition, it’s really hard sometimes to see that things are ever going to change — be any different — than they are today.  It’s hard to see past today sometimes.  Well, actually, it’s hard to see past the moment sometimes.  I’ve found this to be true so many times — and, like most things that happen to me, I learn that they are, or have been, happening to others as well.  Trouble is, most of the time, we’re too isolated (or proud) to confess where we are or what we’ve done — especially if it’s not pretty.

So I thought I’d write a chapter — it’ll actually be two — on a couple of things.  First, I’d like to share more with you about life after computer addiction and then I’ll write a bit on life after rejection.  You’ll see how they’re related — as are most things — and how after the crash or the event or the trial or the test… life goes on.  So, the thing happens: And then life goes on.

As you’ve perhaps read, a number of years ago I began to have glimpses that things weren’t right here in River City (or in my life, rather).   I was spending too much time on the computer — so much so, that I didn’t even realize it after awhile.  You can read about my computer addiction here and here and here. So addicted was I that I had moved from the wonderment phase, to the thrill of the newness phase, right on past the excitement at receiving mail, friendship and keepers-at-home-camaraderie phase, past the I want to do this phase… right on to (and past) the I need to do this phase.

Well, back to the point…  At the time of the great crash of my life that led to the sobering reality that I was an internet addict, I sincerely didn’t see how I was going to get past that time — that grueling, painful, humbling time.  But I did — though not alone and not without some personal anguish and occasional resentment.  The resentment didn’t come right away — bcz, sincerely, I knew I needed to squarely face my behaviour and decisions — I knew my husband was right — I knew my children were right and I knew I was wrong to have spent so much time reading, browsing, creating, writing, corresponding, researching.  Every now and then the resentful thoughts slipped into my mind: I ought to be able to use the computer, this is important, I’m a mother, I need to know different things… yada, yada, yada.  As you’ve heard me say many times, one of the greatest enemies of best things is good things.  Many good things.  And there are really and truly so many good things to read, see and do on the computer/internet.  But what I hadn’t filtered was the fact that *I* didn’t need to be doing all/many/most of them and I certainly didn’t need to use the precious time I had in the way I was using it.  I know that, now.

One of the greatest things — among many — that I’ve learned is that God is the God of now — He deals with us where we are and leads us where He wants us to go if (and that’s a big if) we will yield ourselves to Him and He isn’t caught up in the feelings of a matter or the fears of a matter.  He seeks my life, He draws me to Himself and He carries me through.  And along the way He shows Himself strong on my behalf.  The minutes of obedience become hours and the hours become days and the days become weeks and so on.  Do you see what I mean?  God’s concern for me is eternal and His plans are eternal but He lovingly guides my footsteps and as I yield to Him, taking His Hand to trust in His guidance, He does make a way for me to pass through.  So when I thought I’d never make it or when I thought I’d never live through those days, He proved Himself strong on my behalf.  He demonstrated His love by the presence of His Holy Spirit.

Now, that’s not to say that the year was smooth sailing — I missed a lot of cues and bumbled my way through.  And, as I mentioned, my thoughts weren’t always what they should’ve been.  But, deep down, I knew at the time — and I know it much better now — God was clearly in control.   Eventually, a year passed by and now another year has passed and, to my deepest regret, I am beginning to get a glimpse of the high price I was willing to pay to be online.   And now it’s not so much how am I going to get through this? as much as it is, Lord help me never again waste the time, resources and gifts You’ve given me. Life after computer addiction is sweeter — sweeter bcz the squeeze out was so hard and the price so precious.  The lessons I’ve learned I immeasurably valuable to me and I pray to use what I’ve learned to inspire others to measure the time and price being paid to be online without strict barriers. 

When a mother’s face is to the screen, her back is to her home and children, and then life goes on.

Captivated

You know I’ve written about internet addition… e-mail… group list mail addiction… AOL… Geocities… One-List… eGroups… screen addiction… information addiction… whatever could be looked up… early on: Ask Jeeves. Bling.  Ask him… ask him anything.  Then Yahoo, then Google… click, click, click… Bling.  You’ve got mail… Bling!  Click, click, click… Blogs! Bling!  Facebook. Bling! Pinterest. Bling!

I write what I’m learning… I share what I see, what I experience, what God is teaching me.  You know; through a series of trials, disappointments and losses I was presented face to face with the reality that I was/am an internet addict.  By the grace of God and through the love of my husband, I had to face this reality and, after some time had passed, learn to make changes — and when it was obvious I could not be self governing, I had to have boundaries — literal restrictions — placed on my computer.  Like a drug addict, I am powerless over media.  And… like a drug addict, I didn’t realize what was going on around me, nor did I realize I was causing others to resent me — the time I was spending online and the time I  was not spending with them.  And guess what the fruit of this was/is?  Yes… in many ways, family and friends addicted to media.  That is not sweet fruit.

So… I implore you today.  Get fences.  Get restrictions on your media.  Get pruned.  Get staked.  Learn to live within the boundaries so that you will be more fruitful, more fragrant, more productive… You’ll see.  And you’ll be amazed.

Two years ago, when I handed my computer to my husband, I knew I had to come to grips with internet addiction/family hurts and my walk with the LORD.  Then, months later, when I had worked through and walked through where I was, what I’d done and what I needed to do: my one hour’s use per day almost seemed like a worse prison than no computer use per day… but that time was actually a school of prayer and more repentance, more revelation of what had happened (and why it happened) and what needed to happen.  What I thought was a punishment was a blessing.  What I thought was too hard was actually a marvelous mercy.  What I thought was too restrictive has become my greatest freedom.

Now, as in this little window of allocated/measured time, I have freedom — permission — blessing — to use this computer and I can choose to use the time to browse,  listen to sermons, to research,  to read/write devotionals, blogs, connect with my children and friends… bcz I’m in step with the plan for my days.  It’s freeing.  This humbling limitation has given me so much assurance and freedom.

It’s joked about sometimes around here — this restriction — and it reminds me of people’s comments to me early on when we only had one vehicle for many years and my husband was gone all day.  I could walk to the store for my groceries — returning with what could be carried or hung on the stroller.  It was freeing to me to not “run around” in the car — to plan my days and outings, to live within those boundaries.  I didn’t always know it and probably couldn’t appreciate it.  But I know and appreciate it now.  These things affirm to me that God never wastes a thread.

The rest of the story

I’m going to write a part of the rest of the story today.  You know how Paul Harvey used to close his commentary — just before that seemingly eternal pause before he’d say (or seem to say it in the form of a question):  good. day.; he’d say: And now you know… the rest of the story.

Nearly 6 years ago I wrote a letter to the father who raised me… the man who married my mother, adopted me (and my brother) and two years after that, he took me down a road that would, on many levels, totally change my life.  I would eventually receive salvation in Jesus and I would marry and move far from that home and decades would pass.   The letter I sent him was returned to me.  It was not the first letter I wrote to him, nor the first to be returned.  It was, though, the first letter I wrote to him in which I detailed the many painful events of sexualabuse and sincerely sought to offer him my forgiveness (even though, generally forgiveness is given to a repentant person) and prayer for his salvation & faith in Jesus.  I posted the contents of that letter online [3/19 edit, the website: imtellingonyou . org is no longer active] when it became apparent to me that he would not read mail I sent him.  Later I would send him a postcard with the address for the letter.  Though others acquainted with him responded, he never responded.    With the passage of time I found myself wondering how I would react if/when he did respond.  I recall gasping one day, a year ago, when a business acquaintance of his emailed me — and through some exchanges, I would learn that there were other people seriously and negatively affected by the man I once called, Daddy.  I wondered how I would react if he called.  I wondered how I’d react were I to hear news of his death.

Now, I want to say that I recognize that whenever a person tells their story, they’re telling someone else’s story, too — and some stories are painful.  Some are intended to inflict pain.  This blog entry is the former and most certainly is not intended to be the latter.  Through the years I’ve come to realize that God has used my life, my experiences and my candidness to relate to other women, to encourage other women and to offer hope — encouragement that there is hope and healing in Jesus, hope that others have passed this way, too, and hope that there are brighter tomorrows after tragedy, loss, rejection or failure.  I have experienced all of these to some degree or another and I know there is hope and joy and life on the other side of mountains and valleys.  There is  hope in Jesus.

Over the years I’ve wondered how I would react to the news of the death of the father who raised me.  You know… I always thought I’d be relieved.  I always thought I’d have “closure” (whatever that is).  But whatever I thought, I didn’t think I’d have the reaction I did.  And, I’d never have believed I’d respond as I did  — I responded by calling his wife ( this is not my own mother, to be clear, he and my mother were divorced 33 years ago) — to simply ask if he had been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb.

I had the wonderful privilege to join my husband on a business trip last week — a trip I now know was part of the masterful handiwork of the Lord.  I needed that time.  I marvel that my husband would have a week of work in the winter in a distant location and I would have the opportunity to spend the week walking and talking with one of my oldest, dearest and most loyal friends.  I believe it was marvelous preparation for me as I would receive a couple of letters first thing the next morning after returning from that business trip.  Many, many times in my life I’ve experienced an unusual or strange working of the Lord — God’s remarkable work or provision — just after or just before a trial.  Never the same work… but always unmistakably the work of the Lord.

Such was the case this past week.  The subject line of both email letters was the same… the  name of the father who adopted me as a little girl — the man who, for twelve years, I called: Daddy.   I was not prepared for what I would read.  The first I read, was in the form of a sort of arresting statement.  The second, a question.  Both would convey he had died — kicked the bucket was the phrase one writer employed to tell me the news.  Not surprising, really, for that man had experienced great loss, as a business professional, years ago.  The passage of time hadn’t softened his opinion nor dimmed his view of the man.   The other letter would contain the obituary — the incomplete obituary.  In death, as in life, truth was covered over.  I should not have been surprised, but I was.

In my letter to him six years ago, I wrote:  You’re where you are today because I never told on you.  The letter didn’t garner the reaction I hoped it would — and news of his death didn’t bring the consolation I thought it would.  I’m still glad I wrote the letter.  I’m sorry he never answered it.  I’m glad my story has given so many women the courage to face their abuser.  I’m sorry I’ll never know if the abuser repented or if he spends eternity in heaven or in hell.  Child sexualabusers die. Memories of child sexualabuse does not die.

I never thought I’d react the way I have.. to the news of The Rest of The Story.  You might think I’m wishing ill on him — But I assure you, I am not.  God’s worked such a work in my heart that I sincerely hope that, in the end, he chose eternal life — that in the end he chose Jesus — though I doubt that was the end of what seemed to be such a pitiful man, I sincerely hope that  salvation was the rest of the story for him.

 

Joy and Sorrow

The older I get, the more I see it: the look — the longing look in a mother’s eyes when things didn’t turn out like she hoped.  It’s not necessarily disappointment or despair or even bitterness — it’s just sort of: sorrow.   There’s another look, too — it’s the hopeful look in a mother’s eyes at the mention of one of her children, a memory or an event from days gone by… it’s joy.  Joy is in her eyes.

Well, that’s what I’ve come to think motherhood’s all about:  joys and sorrows.  Motherhood is a call to sorrow; Motherhood’s a call to joy.  Truly, sorrow skips no home — but joy — joy’s not far behind, either.

Throughout these many years of motherhood, I look back and see the braided events… the joy, the sorrow — and the Lord.  I know I’ve got sorrow in my eyes — but I’ve got joy in my eyes, too.  All around me is the braid: the cords of joy and sorrow.  It’s as if He’s just been holding the whole braid together — for, were it not for Him, the joy and sorrow would just be a tangled, knotted twist — but somehow — marvelously — He’s the central strong cord that’s made it a long braid: a long braid of years — a long braid of joys and sorrows intermingled with His cord of grace and mercy lovingly held in His gracious hands.

I suppose He could’ve prevented or not allowed some of the sorrows — but I so needed them, for without them I’d not have appreciated or understood the deepness of joy.  And, I suppose He could have withheld some of the joys — but without them I wonder if I’d not have been able to accept or endure the sorrows.  Without the sorrows I’d still be going along unrepentant, unchanged, unrestored.  Without the joys I’d be weary, weak and probably feel without hope.  He could have done many things differently. He could have given or withheld.

But He didn’t.
And I’m glad.

In His great wisdom and merciful kindness, He allowed a blending of the two — and as I’ve experienced the reality that He’s the one with the cords in His loving Hands I see more and more how surely I have needed both.  But I forget that sometimes.  I wonder: how will a situation be resolved?  I fret: _________ will never be different than it is today.  I weep: how will this son or daughter make it?  I cry to Him: what will the end of all of this be?  I laugh with joy and ask Him:  how could I possibly be this blessed?  I smile and exclaim to Him: how could I be so fortunate to have the life I have or the family or the health or strength I have today or  have had all these years?   All the while all of these facets of the cords of joy and sorrow are gently (though sometimes it feels anything but gently) turning in His hands gently twisting, braiding, blending, strengthening the braid.

Sorrow’s right around the corner.
Joy’s right down the path…
I need them both.

What if today was your last?

What if you knew today was the last day you’d be alive. What would you do — or how would you spend this day? It seems that most of the time people think of what’s on their “bucket list” — you know, the list of stuff people want to do before they die. I don’t know why the thought of death triggers an urgency to get out the bucket list to see what could be done. But I was thinking that, in reality, the bucket list is a pretty self-serving deal and pretty much adds nothing to the lives left behind.

I wrote the above and a few more lines for my Welcome Home page on Facebook this morning.  I’ve thought about it throughout the day as I’ve worked in and around our home.  I thought about it as I drove into town on an errand.  What if today was my last day to…

My thoughts drifted into different areas of life.  I thought of the different people in my life — my husband, my children, my parents, all the extended family, my church family and friends… I thought of all the intersecting circles of acquaintances and wondered what I’d do if I really knew today was my last day to see them, to talk to them, to thank them, to bless them… what if I never have another opportunity to see them again?

I think I’ll start a new journal — a thankfulness journal or a gratefulness journal or a gladness journal.  I don’t know what I’ll eventually call it, but I will start to write one and the title will come to me, I’m sure.  Maybe I’ll call it the blessing book.  Yes, that would be a perfect name — bcz I want to write all the blessings I can remember.  O, I’ve done this through the years in all my journals: recording whatever blessing is happening at the time — but I’ve never written a book of blessings — everything in one place.  It would be a perfect book to write bcz I also want to write down the things I want to give people — in terms of blessings.  I want to record the blessings I pray the Lord will work in specific individual’s lives.   So, it’ll be a book of what’s been done for me, what I’ve seen done for others and what I pray the Lord will work in people’s lives.

As an example, I will write the blessings of marriage — and then, specifically, my marriage to my husband.  Not just the wedding, but what God has done through the years bcz of this blessing.  I pray our children — each one — will know the blessing of marriage.  I pray our daughters will know the blessings of motherhood and I pray our sons will know the blessings of fatherhood.   I will write the different faith-builders — the valleys, the mountaintops and pray the Lord will do so in their lives as well.

If this were the last day I could live on the earth, I’d want to be careful to express my gratitude — I hope I wouldn’t want to see one more sunset, eat one more this or that thing, experience one more major accomplishment.   I hope I’d remember to tell each one of my children some specific way they’ve blessed me and how I pray for different and specific things for each of them.  I hope I’d remember to say important things instead of wanting to linger to accomplish more things.

If this were the last day I could live on this earth, I’d want it to be a profitable day for the memories of the people I love.  I wouldn’t want them to remember: On mama’s last day, she checked off another item on her bucket list.  No.  I’d want them to remember an encouraging word, a prayer, a joyful memory, a word of inspiration, a kiss of thanks.

I’d want my last day to be a blessing – so that when it was over, a fragrance would linger.

Vision

A dear friend recently wrote a letter regarding losing vision and had several thoughts regarding the danger of lacking vision, and the importance of having vision or purpose.  I’ve mulled that over.  And over.  I empathized and I actually sort of felt sick at the thought, the tragic thought of losing vision.

And then it struck me (but it wasn’t the first time) that I’ve lost vision.  If you’ve never “lost vision” before, then it’s probably hard to understand how someone could go along, have a great track to run on and then suddenly lose vision.  But it happens.  And if it’s happened to you, you understand. You totally understand.

I started losing vision a long time ago.  For some things — not for everything, for some things.
I got off track — or was rolling down what I see now was a sort of parallel track — thought I was going along fine.  But a parallel track that’s off by 1 degree soon is off by a gaping distance.  In the beginning it’s not so noticeable.  And, maybe for quite a while it’s not so noticeable… but down the way a bit — it’s very noticeable.  Usually to everyone except the one who’s in the car on the now-not-so-parallel track.

I’ve been very tempted to stop writing.  You know… listening to enemy’s voice: why do you write, you don’t have anything to say, you’re worthless, you don’t have any wise words and on and on.  I was tempted to stop accepting invitations to share with women in different venues.  And I did — I did stop altogether.  For a time.  And then I thought: wait a minute — everything I believed I still believe. Everything that was previously important is still important. I may have made a mess out of a lot of things.  I should have done so many things differently.  But I didn’t — and time went by. I’m thankful for the Lord’s great blessing of encouragement and re-creation!  By His grace, many — if not most — of the trials that I thought I’d never pass through have been redeemed and used for my good and His glory.  I wait on Him for finish the work He’s begun — for I know that I know He will complete the work.

Some of my experiences may seem like failures, or circumstances may have changed, but the Truths I stand on, the Truths that guide and inspire me have not changed.   I was tempted — have been tempted many, many times to drop commitments, drop the website, drop this blog, drop other writing projects and move on.  The website’s antiquated.  This blog’s out of date.  The many writing projects are unfinished.  The vision for all these things seemed lost.

The best thing about space and time is that perspective is gained in the passage of time and vision is gained from distance to an object.  For both, clarity is a great blessing.  My indecision has turned out to be a blessing  — I don’t really want to dump the website — it took twelve years to build — it can be redone, it can be redeemed.  And I don’t want to quit writing — I love to write.  I’ve been redeemed.  The Lord has given me a great opportunity. And I really don’t want to miss opportunities to share messages with sisters in the Lord — because He has given me so much.  He has turned my messes into messages.

So, now…
Some of the messages have become messes.
Some of the messes have become messages.

And thinking on this has given me a new vision.  The messages that have become messes?  I’ve decided not to just dismiss them entirely for they are part of who I am and where I’ve been, but I hope to turn them, by the grace of God, back in the messages.

So, now…
My new vision is to clean up some of the messes, give them new meaning.  Share some of the messages that have come from the messes and, again, by the grace of God, be a vessel He can use.  I might add, I’m sure thankful for the husband the Lord gave me — why the Lord blessed me so, I will never know but I’ll be forever grateful!  His insight, his perspective is a gift.  I know, we women tend to see things as all or nothing sometimes — and it takes a wise husband to point out the anchor is still holding… that the ship may be tossing or listing to one side or the other — but the Anchor holds.  The Anchor holds.

Only God can:
turn a MESS into a MESSAGE;
a TEST into a TESTIMONY;
a TRIAL into a TRIUMPH;
a VICTIM into a VICTORY.

One year ago…

Though in many ways it seems longer, it was a year ago today that the Lord gave us a great gift in the form of a miracle.  We know it was by the grace of God that Timothy, who was deathly sick with cerebral malaria, awoke from a coma.

Our family had been at the Oregon Coast for a family reunion; Timothy had just returned from Ghana, West Africa.  He was sick and getting worse by the day.

After several days and medication for what was thought to be Typhoid, his condition was grave, he was so thin and frail; hardly responsive at that point: we knew Timothy needed to get to a hospital right away.  Clearly, the medication he was taking was not addressing his sickness.  It was there after some initial treatment and many liters of fluids that Timothy was slipping into a coma and the doc in ER of Samaritan Hospital began the transfer plans to have Timothy airlifted to OHSU in Portland.  I wrote the story of this whole miracle — you can read it here.

I don’t really know why I snapped the photo (below) with my cell phone that day… I guess it was perhaps a thought that it would be my last opportunity.  I don’t know.

More from my journal that day: “I cannot be bitter should it be God’s plan to take Timothy.”  I read a quote that afternoon inside Timothy’s Bible, “The sovereignty of God is a precious thing if you’re on the right side of it.”

Later, I wrote, “It’s the middle of the night… the waiting room looks strewn with sleeping bodies — all like me, waiting for news, waiting for the morning or maybe the mourning… It just struck me as the nurse told me to come back in 45 minutes, Timothy might not make it.  We might leave here alone — without him.  The thought leaves me unable to breathe.”

It’s a bright and sunny day… it’s now a year later.  Timothy doesn’t remember much of that week, very little of the time in the hospital after he awoke and now, so much has transpired from that time to this.

Timothy has once again traveled to Mexico, to cities in the States for the gospel tent meetings and just returned from Ghana, West Africa.  There is so much work to do, so many who need the gospel… the Lord is not yet finished with his servant, Timothy.  I’m so thankful.

Stuff’s going to work out.

I know.  I’d probably grimace if one of my kids started an essay: “Stuff’s going to work out.”   But, it’s on my mind today: stuff — and how it works out.   But I want to begin by saying: stuff’s probably not going to work out how you thought it would — or even how you hoped it would — but, truly, in the end, stuff’s going to work out.

Last year, the year you’ve heard me describe as the most sorrowful year of my life,  I heard a song… it was one of two songs that so resonated with me that I played them over and over and over again.  Hymns and psalms and spiritual songs minister to my heart, they lift my thoughts heavenward and they seem to dispel the darkness of doubt and despair.

Over and over in my head I would hear the words, It’s going to be alright.  I knew this — because I knew that God only does all things well — but I also didn’t know this — do you know what I mean?  I didn’t know – know – know this because of what I was *seeing.*  What I was seeing looked to be anything but alright.  But in my wrestling, I knew the it was so big God must be in it.  In my wrestling I knew that none of it had escaped His gaze and that He would work it together for good.  He could not do anything other than that.  And I knew that.   But for ninety-seven days I struggled.  Struggle still.  Sometimes.

On the night that my whole world seemed to come crashing down around me I didn’t see that it was going to be alright.  I didn’t see how it could be alright.  Through a series of events, that led to one of our children leaving home for ninety seven days, I learned to see, believe, trust and hope in God as I never have before — and what I didn’t know at the time was that God was, indeed, using that event as an instrument to both chasten and strengthen me — to both humble and lift me — to crush me and to fill me.  I needed all of that — I needed it much more than I needed to know that it was all going to be alright.  What I needed to know was something I thought I knew but didn’t.   It was something I taught I knew but didn’t.  Maybe that’s a bit harsh — I guess, in reality, I knew as much as I knew of that truth — but I didn’t know as much I know of that fact now.

That child was longing for love, attention, time, affirmation… and I was busy.  I was distracted.  I was doing good things but not best things.  And that child went away — to my great shame, regret and sorrow — but by the grace of God returned ninety-seven days later.  Returned home, broken, completely restored and strengthened in faith and was genuinely welcomed home — such a beautiful testimony of the mercy and grace of God.  I, on the other hand, very humbled, broken and filled with such regret and sorrow, was still trying to gather up the shards and pieces of my life.  I am only now beginning to understand all that the Lord had for me in that lesson.  And,  I so do not want to miss anything He had for me in that very expensive and painful lesson — and though I’m not speaking financially at all, it was, truly,  a very costly lesson — I cannot afford to miss what He had, or has, for me in it/through it.

I won’t elaborate on the details of those days — but I’d like to say that the lessons I learned in that valley were and are very, very precious and have given me great hope and great faith in the Lord’s dealings with me — with us all.  He showed me, in so many ways, how resourceful and creative He is.  He showed me that none can pluck one of His little ones out of His hand.  He showed me that He cares for my child — my children — more and better than I ever could and He showed me He loved that little one… and never shifted His gaze.  And He loved me, too.  No matter that I did not deserve His mercy and His love.  He showed me that He loved me too much to leave me where I was – going on the track I was going.  I needed that correction.  I needed it so much.

One thing kept ringing through — I knew for certain all through that dark valley was that I was going to to need what I received there – I was going to need that faith, that hope and that trust in God.  I didn’t know how, I didn’t know why and I didn’t know when — but I knew I was going to need it.  I said to myself over and over: you’re going to need this.  You’re going to need this one.

And I did need it — not only for the following, but for many things since:  Only a couple of months later…  it didn’t take long and it wasn’t at all difficult to figure it out  when our missionary son returned from Africa – and then the following week lay sick in the hospital — in a coma, very sick with cerebral malaria.  It was then that I knew that I knew… the Lord truly is all I have and all I need.

It’s a real risk sharing stuff sometimes — but I think it would be pretty selfish not to.  If you barely hanging on… if you feel like you’re sinking in too deep… if there’s some pain that’s tearing you apart, then, would you cast your cares upon the Lord Jesus — would you trust Him that it’s all going to be alright — that He truly is going to work everything together for good — for your good and His glory.  He who cannot lie — cannot fail.  And He, who loved you first… loves you still.  And stuff’s going to work out.  Really… you have His Word on it.  Maybe not like you thought and not like you hoped… but stuff’s going to work out.

The words to the Sara Groves song: It’s Going to be Alright

It’s going to be alright, It’s going to be alright

I can tell by your eyes that you’re not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you’re sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that

It’s going to be alright, It’s going to be alright

I believe you’ll outlive this pain in you heart
And you’ll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that

It’s going to be alright, It’s going to be alright

When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,

I believe, I believe

I did not come here to offer you cliche’s
I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you

It’s going to be alright, It’s going to be alright

It’s going to be alright
It’s going to be alright 

I can tell by your eyes that you’re not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you’re sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that

It’s going to be alright
It’s going to be alright

I believe you’ll outlive this pain in you heart
And you’ll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that

It’s going to be alright
It’s going to be alright

When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,

I believe
I believe

I did not come here to offer you clichÈ’s
I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you

It’s going to be alright
It’s going to be alright

What you’ve been through…

Browsing through a bunch of papers and stuff… a slip of paper… the quote:

“It is in the quiet crucible of your personal private sufferings that your noblest dreams are born and Gods greatest gifts are given in compensation for what you’ve been through.
–Wintley Phipps

The paper is yellowed, the ink is smudged.  I mull the quote over in my mind – having done so many times before, I reflect on what it’s meant to me – what it means to me today.  I know it’d be real easy to just think on the first part… the crucible part — the suffering part.  Then it’s easy to move on to the dreams part and camp there for a while and consider what dreams have come from times in the crucible — the times of suffering.  But my eyes leap to gifts.  God’s greatest gifts.  I can’t even carry — can’t even recount — all the gifts the Lord has given.   You might not think this just looking at my life…  you may see the high points, low points, the scattered tragedies of misunderstandings, losses, failings, joys and sorrows, blessings and wasted days.  You may see all that and more… God sees a girl He’s redeemed.

I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t see many things as gifts from God if I hadn’t been through the valleys I’ve been through.   And I surely didn’t walk through them alone – I may not have seen this at the time, but I surely see now… looking back, God’s been with me through them all.  ‘Seems He’s sometimes been with me in the front.  Other times He’s been with me from behind.  Sometimes my footsteps have left no imprint in the valley — those are the times He carried me through — and the print of the valley is on my heart.  Still other times I see now that it was His hand firmly around mine that guided me through the dark.

I don’t see these valleys from mountaintops, not really — though the many mountaintops have been great blessings and cherished gifts.  I actually see the valleys better when I’m in them.  Recently, walking through a valley, I had the keenest sense of awareness that I’d passed this way before.  A few times, actually.  And I had the strangest yet most familiar feeling of security… the valley imprinted on my heart.  And then I knew for sure… ahhhh, yes,  Jesus has been this way — He followed me here… He watched over me here… He guided me here… He covered me here… and He carried me out.

I don’t know what you’re doing today – I don’t know what you’re going through — but I do know this: whatever it is, wherever you are: Jesus is near.  You may not even know Him as Saviour and Friend, but He truly is near.   Even if you’re in the darkest valley of despair – His hand is not shortened that it cannot reach you. Nothing you’re facing, nothing you’re going through, nothing that’s concerning you is a surprise to Him. Nothing escapes His merciful gaze.  Do you know that?  Do you know that in Him you *will* — you surely will — find all you need?

I’m praying for you right now.  Turn around.  Look… call on Him.   If you, in faith, call on Him, He will — He surely will — answer you.  Repent…  turn your eyes upon Jesus; give Him your life.   The Bible says: “That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised Him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.” — Romans 10.9    And you can rest in His Truth:  “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”  — 1John 1.9

He will live in your heart… whatever you’ve been through.  He tell you that you’re clean and forgiven.  His love for you will say: welcome home.