PLEASE REMIND ME

It is a New Year unlike any other for me, in that I find a sense of dread attached. Normally I am excited for the fresh start, motivated by some new theme for the upcoming year, and happy to be moving forward. It's just...different this time.

We were well into December before I even considered the need to pray into a new word for 2019. As 2018 draws to a close, I see where the word "Refresh" has held true. I have made great strides in pausing to breathe deep before reacting, in asking for new perspective, and in taking time for soul food. A trip to the East Coast eased my inner ache for the ocean, and year-end feedback restored the confidence and passion in my career. 

In many ways, I have much to be excited about - both this year and in years to come. The birth of our first grandchild inspired me to continue the search for a weight loss program that works. There are proposals, home purchases and more grandbabies ahead. One might say we're just getting started!

Still, there's this dread: a deep, if unexplainble, knowledge that the coming year will hold significant challenges. I am at a bit of a loss to explain my confidence in choosing the word "Freedom" for the year ahead. Suffice it to say that I hear God's voice primarily through repetition, and that has been evident in the choosing and confirmation of this theme. Perhaps the dread stems from the knowledge that freedom means leaving something behind; I am terrified to find out what the "something" might be.

This brings me to my request:

If at any point in the days/weeks/months to come you sense that I am struggling, please remind me. Remind me of my deep and abiding faith, confirmed as recently as this morning after a conversation with a dear elder in our church. After I confided my feelings on the coming year, the opening prayer gave thanks for God's presence in our trials as well as our celebrations. 

Remind me of my commitment to see every day as an adventure with Jesus, and my belief that nothing surprises Him. Remind me that freedom never comes without cost - but it is a prize worth pursuing. Remind me that I am a survivor, and that my creed continues to be Philippians 4:13 - "I can do all things through Christ, Who gives me strength." Remind me that nothing we live through is ever wasted: it either makes us better personally, or gives us a means to help others. 

Onward, then, to the New Year. To freedom. Thank you for traveling with me.

P.S. This photo just "randomly" showed up in my social media feed. 😏

WHO IS HE TO YOU?

"Who do you say that I am?" ~ Matthew 16:15

The question is nearly as old as time: who is God to you? Is He your emergency backup when things are going wrong? Is He your once-in-a-lifetime, couldn't-live-without-Him love? Is He your personal Santa Claus, granting success in busines and relationships, and any other number of wishes?

As I was getting dressed last Monday morning, I was thinking about Christmas. It is a time of year when much energy is devoted to talking about the reason for the celebration, and documentaries discuss who Jesus was/is. Because my husband loves these documentaries, I was disturbed to learn that the latest theory paints Jesus as an alien.

I thought of all the people in Bible times who questioned: Is he a prophet? Is he a madman? Is He a Great Teacher? Who is He? 

And all they needed to know was His name: Emmanuel. God with us. 

You see, when Hagar was running from Sarai, He was El-Roi, the God who sees me. When Elijah was under a tree being fed by ravens, He was Jehovah-Jireh, my Provider. When David was running from Saul, He was El Elohim, my strong Protector. 

And all of these are summed up in one name: Emmanuel. 

God was with Israel in battle. 

God was with Hagar in isolation. 

God was with David in danger. 

God was with Elijah in desperation. 

God is with us. In joy and in grief. And when they mix. 

Jesus didn't come to be the perfect baby in the manger. He came to get dirty; to experience scraped knees and a bruised heart. He came to experience loneliness and shattered friendships, and even loss through death. He came to know the spotlight, the applause, and the silence: to experience the hillside crowds and the Garden solitude.

Is it so hard to believe that He came to be with us? Is it really easier to think of Him as an alien than as our self-sacrificial Friend? Do we believe that we are too difficult, our lives too messy, to be loved by the Redeemer?

Oh, but that's why I adore Him! He does redeem us -- and our mess! Still, right in the middle of the corporate success, interpersonal disasters, loss and discontent - He walks with us. He waits only to be acknowledges and invited. 

Immanuel: God with us. 

Blessings to you, my friend. I pray your Christmas holds the peace that only comes from knowing Him.

PEACE BE STILL

Today has been one of those days. You know the ones: where the date on the calendar tells you it will be a struggle. Where emotions run high and patience runs low.

On this day in 1999, a baby girl was born. Through some display of grace I could never have earned, I became a second home to her and her brother. No sweeter sound was ever heard than the word "Mommy" from a child; perhaps even more true when they weren't originally your assignment in life. 

After 6 years together, Baby Girl was forcefully separated from our home. For the 4 years that followed, I wept and prayed and loved like mad. I attended therapy and made visits together special and sent her to her 3rd mother figure's home with physical reminders of her family and how much she meant to us. And in the end, it was still the end.

Fast forward 12 years. My Dad was placed in a nursing home 10 days ago. My mother neglected to tell his only sister. Just as I'm fuming about the level of ignorance, my mother messages to say she's puking in the bushes outside the nursing home because she knows Dad is inside crying. And today, my baby girl is turning 19 and planning for her graduation prom in the spring. Add last night's discovery that the relationship I have been rebuilding for 8 months has been a one-sided effort.

Lord, please walk through this day with me. I am going to need Your strength today. And wisdom, Father. Please show me when to stand firm and when to give grace. I have the distinct feeling that small things could otherwise become battlegrounds today. 

Thank You, Father. For knowing my heart. And for loving me, even through the lessons You are teaching me.

Dare I admit that I'm scared? Frightened, actually, by all the unknowns of the future.

My Dad is pretty determined to die by the time he's 70. His 69th birthday is only a month away. What if I never see him again? Have I said everything? What will I regret? And why does the time before the inevitable ending not feel like a gift?

Baby Girl is 19; high school graduation is all that stands between her and freedom. Will she come to us, even if only for a visit? What do we say? How do we counter all the lies we know she's been told? On the other hand...what if she doesn't come or call? What if the damage to our family is permanent?

Thank You, Heavenly Father, that You are Lord of the unknown. Your thoughts and Your ways are a mystery to me - but I trust Your heart. I choose to believe that the plans You have for me are good.

What was it the minister spoke on Sunday? "Peace is active," he had said. And suddenly, the words "Peace be still" had taken on new meaning in my heart. It was as though I heard Jesus speaking to peace - instructing peace to be still. To settle over me. To soothe my heart. "Peace! Be still! Peace! Be still. Peace! Be. still." 

How quickly we forget! A powerful word is dropped into my spirit on Sunday, but by Tuesday I am depending on my own strength again. I was never made to handle these days alone; my strength, like ocean tides, ebbs and flows. I need a Rock.

"From the end of the Earth will I cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed; Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I." ~ Psalm 61:2

Peace like a river. Peace like a flood. Peace that passes understanding. No change of circumstance required - only my stance. Kneel, arms extended, palms turned upward. Regardless of who I lose or gain in the days to come, my Heavenly Father holds my heart. His hands are the only safe place.

"You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You." ~ Isaiah 26:3

I have made it through this day. I am going to lay down my head and sleep. In peace. God is alive, awake, and on guard. Nothing surprises Him - what have I to fear?!

LIVING ON THE FRONT LINES

This year was the most unusual Remembrance Day I have ever witnessed. It was, to my recollection, the first time our family did not attend an official Remembrance Day ceremony together. Instead, I took our youngest child to church, were we observed the traditional moment of silence; the remainder of the family each observed the day independently.

I spent some time today thinking about how to present the subject of war to my 7-yr-old. He knows there were soldiers who died, but he has yet to see any videos or historical literature of the subject. Although I could easily turn on the TV and choose an appropriate show to share with him, I wondered if it would just seem like a movie to him. That's not how wars are fought today; it looks like a movie scene to our youngest generation.

So what do you say when your child asks if they will ever have to go to war? I have to be honest - my mind reels at the thought of my children ever being near an actual war zone. Yet, more importantly, we fight a war every day which we rarely talk about. It is a battle for our souls, our minds, our joy, and all things good and precious; we live on the front lines of a spiritual warfare every. single. day.

In any war, the first thing you must know is: Who is my enemy, and who is my ally? It is not so different in the war for our mind and soul. Besides Satan himself, I consider anyone an enemy who tries to sabotage my joy, my confidence, or my family. Allies are people who cheer for us, even when others would believe the worst of us. If you are unsure whether someone is for you, odds are very good they're not; true allies are vocal - not unlike parents on the sidelines of sporting events.

The next important thing to know in war is: What is my mission? I imagine in wars past the soldiers often questioned, "Why this hill?" Lives were lost claiming small pieces of land at a time; aren't we still like that today? We will risk a relationship to claim the small hill of being right. We will sacrifice our contentment for the prize of keeping up with our neighbor. Be careful which hills you choose to battle for; always consider the cost versus the reward.

If I were in a physical war, I would want to know what my weapons are. It is no different in the war for my well-being, or the war for my eternal life. Key weapons I have identified thus far are the promises of God, the power of prayer, the current of friendship, and the lantern of hope. Any one of these may get us through the day, but the combination is enough to carry us all the way to a victorious finish.

Perhaps the key question we can ask is: What am I fighting for? Our veterans fought for justice and liberty. Many wars today are about power and money. The war that is relevant to each of us, waged on our minds every day, is for eternity. There is no enemy attack where there is no prize to be gained. Rest assured that if you are feeling weary, battle-scarred and wounded, the enemy of your soul is trying to shift your focus to things of today so that you ignore all thoughts of eternity.

Show up to the front lines of your life today! Is your joy being robbed by fear, jealousy or bitterness? "Stand against the devil, and the devil will run from you." (James 4:7 NCV) Are you convinced that you don't have the strength to fight? "...And after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then..." Just stand. Your weapons - prayer, promises of God, friendship and hope - will serve you well if you do nothing but stand. Just show up.

Life is a battlefield, but there will be a winning side! I choose today to rebuke anything that would steal my peace. There will be days of loss and hardship, but the big picture says there's a big reward for just standing my ground. I'd love to have you standing beside me.

Please leave a comment below if I can pray for you today. None of us fight alone. That's the one beauty of a war zone.

Hugs,
Vicki

A THANK YOU TO FRIENDS PAST AND PRESENT

 

It is always the hardest seasons that bring forth the most growth in my life. So it has been with mixed emotions recently that I have dug deep and begun to remove the old to make room for the new. This is definitely hardest when it comes to people.

I have always thought friendships should last forever. Every single time I am wrong, I cry like a newborn who is abandoned and starving. It hurts my heart to lose someone who once knew my favorite treats, my hardest days, my moods and my secrets. I do not throw my heart open easily, and I am careful with promises. The end of a friendship feels like failure to me.

With all of that in mind, I feel that I have apologies to make. A recent challenge to purge the old, prepare for the new, and preserve the good has redefined my heart. 

 

 At the end of a growing season, the fruit is harvested from the garden. When there is excess, much of it is preserved, or prepared for storage. If one were to place the fresh food on the counter and simply leave it there, regardless of how much water and sunlight and company it receives, the food would rot. It must be preserved while it is still good and fresh. 

Preserved food still nourishes. In fact, once you have made pickles or jam/jelly and sealed the lid, you can even choose whether the food will nourish your household or someone else's. I am coming to understand that friendship is the same way. 

It is my duty to determine whether a friendship has been given to me for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Friendships given for a reason typically identify themselves quickly: You know when you encounter someone who meets a need in your life. The difficulty for me has been differentiating between the seasonal and lifetime friendships. 


And so comes my apology. Some of you were meant to be my friends for a season. We were apples  on different branches. We grew side by side for a while, sharing sunny days and weathering rainy ones together. Then our branches grew in different directions. 


Yes, we could still hear the same soundtrack: birds singing sweetly whole children grew and flew our nests, then grandchildren arrived. We were still nourished by the same roots: whether it was childhood memories, a love for God, or our involvement in a group together; the memories bonded us. But we were farther apart now, and nothing could change the fact that we were heading in different directions.

I kept listening to the soundtrack, hoping we could continue dancing in step together. I didn't understand that apples are seasonal fruit; as such, they must fall. Some will wind up in the same pie, having spent all their days together. Others will land in separate baskets, and while they may be aware of each other's fates, it is from a distance. I tried to keep us both attached to the tree, and risked us both rotting there; changing seasons demand to be recognized. 

Like fruit picked in season, our time together has ended. Like apples turned into a jar of jelly, you are in the storage room of my heart. And when days grow cold and my coffee is poured and I sit with the Bread of Life, the jelly of memories made together will nourish us both. It will keep my heart soft, while the prayers I offer with your name whispered will find their way to you as blessings big and small. 

Thank you, my friends for a reason. Whether you met my need or whether I met yours - I am blessed to have been with you. 

Thank you, my friends for a season. I would not be who I am today without our days together. And falling hurts, but it preserves us.

Thank you, my lifetime friends. You are few in number, but rich in grace and love. We have been through every season and you still see value in me. 

If friendship were a garden, I have grown the most beautiful flowers. Keep blooming, my friends. 

I'M NOT DEPRESSED

I'm not depressed. The doctor said I'm not depressed.

I went to the doctor months ago. I told him I have a heavy feeling in my chest and I can't stay awake. He asked if I entertained thoughts of suicide; I said no. He told me I'm not depressed.

I'm not even really sad. I don't spend hours crying, and I still participate in life. I enjoy time with friends, I love to read books and drink coffee or tea, and recently I even love my job! But I nod off at my desk because I literally can. not. stay. awake. But I'm not depressed.

I have a new grandbaby, and I love to steal her for cuddles as often as possible. I look forward to watching her grow, and I adore her giggles. I have reasons to want to see the future. I am not depressed.

When I can't be with my granddaughter, I still have my 7-year-old cuddle buddy. I took pictures last night of him pinning me down in his sleep. At all times, an arm or a leg is on top of me, ensuring I don't leave his side. In waking moments, he says the most romantic things to me! He makes me feel beautiful and loved just the way I am. I would do anything for more time with that little boy! I am not depressed.

 My husband does all of the cooking while I nod off on the couch. I am zapped of energy when I walk through the front door. But I am not depressed.

My husband does most of the cleaning. I spent $500 on new crate cupboards so that the dishes and baking goods are more accessible and I could reach to participate in kitchen activities. But I live in between naps and touch the cupboards fondly while I'm getting a drink in the middle of the night. But I'm not depressed.

Every day there is more bad news in mainstream media. Conditions around the world are frightening, anger-inducing, and heart-wrenching; yet, on the average day, I feel none of that. It took a story about a missing 7-year-old whose 3 older siblings were looking for him to bring a tear to my eye. Because I saw my 7-year-old and his 3 older siblings. I have no emotional investment until it relates to me; this is new for me. But I'm not depressed.

I live in hope that things will change - that I will get back the old, passionate, emotional me. Maybe when menopause has passed. Or maybe after my weight loss surgery. Or maybe this is just a funk and I'll find my way out of it. At least it's not permanent ... because this is not depression. The doctor said I'm not depressed.

GRACED TO GROW

It has been six years since our family was blessed with a fresh start. After living through divorce, blending our families, and then losing our youngest family member, we were beaten down and soul weary. When you consider the number of friends and allies we had lost, there is no other word for our rescue than "grace."

In my early years - and well into my adult life - I believed mercy and grace to be the same thing. Learning the difference was a revelation to me. If you are still waiting for your moment of clarity on this subject, I would summarize it this way: Mercy withholds the punishment we deserve, while grace gifts us with what we have not earned. Mercy subtracts, grace adds -- and gratitude multiplies all.

I have never been less than teary-eyed grateful for the life I am now living. I have, however, been challenged with passing the grace I have received along to others. It can be easy to settle into a greatly-blessed and highly-favored mentality, expecting everyone to get in line with how I feel I should be treated. After all - God has blessed me, and what mere human dares defy Him?!

Recently, I read a verse that I had memorized as a child. Somehow, I saw it with new eyes, and felt it smash into my heart like a ton of bricks. "And forgive us our sins," it read, "for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us."

Right away, I identified the problem. This verse didn't feel right because it simply wasn't true in my life. I have not forgiven everyone indebted to me. If I were honest, I had no intent to ever fully forgive a couple of them. They hurt me, in ways they couldn't begin to imagine or care about; they don't deserve my forgiveness.

Then the voice of my Good, Good Heavenly Father whispered:

"...As we forgive..." You mean that other verse in Mark about receiving the same measure we give applies to forgiveness?

"Not just that," my Heavenly Father whispered. "You are called to go the extra mile."

The extra mile?! You mean basic forgiveness isn't enough? I have to give them a combo deal with dessert, too? What does that look like?!

And, as He always does, He answered:

Oh, I don't know if I can do this. It has taken a long time to even think about forgiveness. I could gradually acclimate myself to kindness, I suppose - especially if we maintain our lives at a distance from each other. But tenderhearted? God, you're asking me to tread impossible ground right now.

But wait. Was I more deserving? One of the good things about social media is that it offers a memory of each day from years past. Let me tell you that my memories from 10 years ago are humbling in every manner of the word! Did that version of me deserve the life I lead today? Many would argue "No."

And even as I think these things through, I enter the church on a Sunday morning. The worship is incredible; the songs minister to my heart. And my wonderful pastor takes the microphone. He begins to speak on "Conquerors Are Reconcilers." He issues a challenge to write the name of someone we had written off, and to begin to pray for them.

I can't, Lord. It's too soon - I need time to warm up to this idea.

But you've had 18 years and a cross-country move. Your kids are grown and safe, and you have the blessing of a grandbaby. To whom much is given ....

I know. Deep in my heart, I know. This is the time. This is my proving grounds.

I wake in the middle of the night to what feels like a giant blood blister just inside the corner of my mouth. Completely taken aback as to how it got there, I stand in front of the mirror to examine the thing. While it feels like a blister, it has the appearance of a canker sore. My first thought is, "I haven't had one of those since ... well, I was still with my ex-husband!"

And my spirit hears the Heavenly Spirit whisper so clearly: "Now will you pray for him? Every time you feel that blister, will you pray for the one person you've written off? Can you bring yourself to understand that you were no more deserving of grace than he is?"

No, God. I can't.You don't understand.

Except ... He does understand. My parents, lost friends, and even my ex-husband have hurt me no worse than I have hurt my Heavenly Father. In ways that only He and I fully know, I should have been written off years ago. Yet, here I stand. Except for grace ...

And so begins my journey. From basic forgiveness to luxury-edition, full-out grace. It may not be instant. It will for sure tear my heart in every direction as I strive not to leave my kids feeling betrayed or bewildered. It will be scary, as my current marriage often feels as though it is on its own proving grounds at the moment.

I have no idea what this grace and forgiveness will look like. But I am committed to praying it through. My heart stands on grace, and I am pushing down every wall. My heart will be as free as the air I breathe. My cup of grace will overflow with bubbles of joy. I will stand in wide open spaces, throw my arms in cross-shaped form, and confidently declare, "I stand amazed."

WHO DO YOU THINK I AM?

Have you ever been re-reading your favorite book and discovered a brand new line of content? Not that the words weren't there before - just that you hadn't seen or absorbed them. That's what happened to me recently while reading my Bible.

"People thought that Jesus was Joseph's son." ~ Luke 3:23 (NCV)

When you read that phrase, it makes perfect sense. Joseph was there when Jesus was born, and certainly played the role of earthly father to Jesus. Short of a DNA test, why would anyone suspect otherwise?

What's interesting to me is how Jesus responded to this popular belief. He didn't wear a t-shirt captioned "<------ He's not my dad!" Jesus didn't announce at the beginning of every sermon that he was raised by a step-father. Nor did He post signs or pay the media to clarify who He was. Jesus allowed people to learn the truth behind His identity by drawing near to Him, and by listening to His teachings.

So how do I compare? When someone makes assumptions about me or my life based on a passing glance, how do I respond? Do I deal harshly with them with glaring eyes and sharp words? Do I post on social media about it? Do I invest energy in turning my friends against my assessors? Or do I invite them to come close and hear my heart?

I'm afraid I've been guilty of reactingrather than responding. I take flight rather than invite. And, to be bravely honest, I probably induce more judgment upon myself with my resistance.

Some people will tell you I scare easily. Others will tell you I am highly critical of how men treat their lady of choice. Still others will tell you that I am too selective with whom I accept as friends on social media. If I allowed you to linger and hear my story, you would know all of those things are both true and related: it's part of surviving domestic abuse and abandonment.

Some will meet me only in passing through business transactions, and will label me as a difficult customer. Those who know me will tell you it's a combination of my desire to be a good steward of my money, the knowledge I have gained through my work in Warranty, and my passion to blaze a trail for those who come behind me.

Professionals who worked with my older children would tell you I was a strict disciplinarian. One woman once told me my children were too well-mannered - likely out of fear, she assesed. Professionals who work with my 7-yr-old today will tell you that they rarely see me be serious with him, and that he is somewhat indulged. Listening to the opinions of the passers-by would confuse you, but step into my home. See the photos of a beautiful girl who took a piece of my heart with her and forever changed how I parent.

Some who have known me all my life question my relationships with family. Only those who walk with me will see how hard I try, how consistently I am rejected, and how much it costs me to keep trying. This past week has been one of the most hurtful in years, and I considered using social media to set the record straight again. And then I read the Scripture verse I shared earlier: "People thought..."

Only when the crowds paused to hear Jesus teach did they learn, "If you have seen Me, you have seen my Father. I and my Father are one." Only those who remained at the Crucifixion heard Jesus call out "Father! Why have you forsaken me?" And even Joseph knew, this child came with DNA and destiny far greater than what people thought.

So I extend a peaxe offering. I'm not here to argue with what you think of me; I'm here to invite you in. Come to my table - at home, at the coffee shop, or at the local pizzeria. I'm inviting you into my arms - at church, at the office, or at the grocery store. Let's throw away the labels that keep us from hearing each other's  hearts. Let's not be people who thought, but rather people who taught ... love and compassion.

TIME FOR A CHANGE

"Nothing gold can stay," the poet says. It sounds depressing, but I don't believe that was his intention. Rather, this is a poetic way of stating a fact of life: it's all about seasons and change.

This poem has come to life for me in recent days, as harvest begins on the prairies. Fields covered with golden canola blossoms just weeks ago now stand in tones of burnt blonde, or lie swathed and waiting for pickup.

Beaches which were well-frequented and highly populated all summer, now looking more solitary in the evenings.

As if on cue, my mind and body recognize a new season and begin to change. Muscles, tense from a season of sitting at a desk, begin to relax with time in the lake/pool, bicycle rides and yoga ball stretches.

I have time to devote to memories and goals. Some of this is healing, while some of it just leaves the heart feeling raw. Similar to the harvested crop, I'm mostly ready to put the good parts to use and prep for a new season and a different product.

It's not awful, this fading of gold. I love the cooler mornings, the comfort of owning my skin, and the view in the rear-view mirror. The hiĺls and valleys made me stronger, the lonely stretches forced me to know myself better, and the seasons of color marked me with laugh lines and happy tears. The horizon is full of unknowns, but I'm thankful for that, too. I would spend too much energy dreading the hard days.

Golden canola blossoms turn into food products. Golden tansy flowers become a salve that soothes my aching feet. Gold coins turn into beverages shared with friends. Golden sunbeams turn into moonlight, cuddles and dreams.

Nothing gold can stay,
But when it fades away:
Oh the joy change brings
To those who choose to sing!

A DECADE OF DECISIONS

Today marks 12 years since my baby girl was taken from me. Twelve years of tears and tough decisions - of healing and hoping and praying and pressing pause.

The emotions of that night have never left me. I remember the shock, the fear - and the sting when I stopped at the church campgeound for prayers and comfort. I remember the buried needle on the dashboard, my mother-in-law wringing her hands, and the sound of my husband's voice. And I cry anew.

I remember little of the days that followed, yet all the rawness is fresh. Like a smoky sky, the haze of depression hung low and heavy. I remember the tears of her siblings, the feeling of helplesness, the inability to sleep, and the waves of nausea.

This memory surfaces even as I mourn a friend's failed adoption this week. This was the one - the first time in 12 years I was able to see the beauty in adoption again. This was the adoption restoring my hope that Heaven has a Master plan, and all things are redeemed.

I received very personal promises from God in prayer for this adoption. And while I have a head knowledge that His Word is sure, my shattered heart again begs the question: Why, God?! And what about Your promises?

If there is anything I have learned in the last 12 years, it is that God is close to the broken-hearted. You can't ask questions of someone if you're not speaking to them. So the more questions I have, the more time I spend talking to God. While it may not change the situation, prayer always changes me.

So I bring all my broken pieces, all my shattered hopes, and all my regrets to the Master. He is the weaver; I'm just a dreamer. And I dream of the day where mothers hold babies close to their hearts while being held close to the Heavenly Father.

I continue to live in hope.  And if you're reading this, my singing cuckoo bird, I pray that you are hearing His whispers of hope, sensing His healing hands, and know you are loved.

A HEART PREPARED

There is a time for everything,
    and everything on earth has its special season.

There is a time to be born
    and a time to die.
There is a time to plant
    and a time to pull up plants.

There is a time to kill
    and a time to heal.
There is a time to destroy
    and a time to build.

There is a time to cry
    and a time to laugh.
There is a time to be sad
    and a time to dance.

There is a time to throw away stones
    and a time to gather them.
There is a time to hug
    and a time not to hug.

There is a time to look for something
    and a time to stop looking for it.
There is a time to keep things
    and a time to throw things away.

There is a time to tear apart
    and a time to sew together.
There is a time to be silent
    and a time to speak.

There is a time to love
    and a time to hate.
There is a time for war
    and a time for peace.

~ Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I was thinking today of how blessed we are when our hearts are given time to prepare for the next season:

* When leaves turn color and begin to fall, and we prepare for the coming cold.

* When we learn of new life amd we begin to prepare space and clothing and other essentials.

* When children grow and approach graduation and you spend the months preparing to see them off

I love the Bible stories of Zechariah, father of John the Baptist, and of Mary, mother of Jesus. For Zechariah's doubt, he was smitten mute until his son was born. For Mary's obedience, she was given a spirit of peace to "ponder these things in her heart." In each case, a time of preparation was given.

But what about the news you could never imagine and were not prepared to absorb?

* The sickness is terminal.

* Your job is suddenly terminated.

* Your loved one was in an accident.

* You've invested in a one-sided relationship.

* You've lost everything to a natural disaster.

I had one of those shocking moments today. It's a relationship I have literally invested in for my entire life. I recently accrued some credit card debt to travel across the country to invest in this one relationship. 

Knowing it may be my last chance to do anything meaningful or significant, I agreed to work the overtime required to miss two shifts. During my visit, I gave praise where it was due, encouragement where it was needed, and dignity where it was called for. 

And all that mattered to them was 2 minutes of someone else's time. As in, not mine.

For all of our differences, we are all just asking to matter. Some would ask to matter to one special person, while others would prefer honor on a grander scale. Regardless of the number of people one wants to impact, the desire is the same: to feel loved and valued. To matter at all.

Disappointment is a double-edged sword. It cuts equally as deep to be disappointed by someone as it does to be a disappointment to another. The difference is that you can live guarded against being disppointed; but when you pour yourself into giving and doing and think jumping one more hoop will be enough, nothing prepares you for one more letdown. I have found that rather than becoming accustomed to the feeling, it just stings a little more each time.

Alas, how beautiful to remember the story of the lost sheep. Jesus spoke of a shepherd who left 99 sheep safe in the fold to go find the one that was lost. And my head knows the lesson: He cares as much about what I have to offer as He does about the Billy Grahams or Mother Theresas of the world. The King of Heaven pursues relationship with me daily with messages of love and instruction on repeat. But my heart - oh, to get that knowledge to settle deep in my heart!

And so I learn the importance of a heart prepared: prepared to both give and receive love; to expand and stretch; and sometimes, to break and be re-shapen. 

A heart prepared to absorb disappointment and pour out compassion. 

A heart prepared to turn my grief into His glory - one that makes less of me and more of Him. 

And slowly and ever-so-gently, the love of a King makes me feel like a Princess. And my heart is prepared to sing.

"You're a good, good Father..."

OH THE HUMANITY!

Life is full of humbling moments, and I seem to be "enjoying" my share these days. You know, the ones where you call someone out for a mistake and then make the same mistake the next day? About that.

I am ever learning to keep my words sweet, lest I need to eat them later. The challenge lies in calling out the best in others without coming across as though I, myself, am perfect. Nothing could be further from the truth!

Proverbs 27:17 reads, "As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another." As much as I want to be the iron that sharpens others, sometimes I, too, must be sharpened. And that's humbling. I learn best from those sharpening experiences which leave me feel as though someone has imparted wisdom to me - not the ones where I leave feeling embarrassed or like I just screwed up one more thing.

And I'm learning. I'm learning that it's OK to be on both sides of the sharpening tool. I'm learning to be careful with hearts. I'm learning the power of words - something we start learning at a very young age, but don't fully understand until many years later. I'm learning the value of friends who call out the best in me and invest in me.

Another verse that comes to mind is 1 Corinthians 10:12, which says, "If you think you are strong, you should be careful not to fall." I picture a runner falling on the track, or a bodybuilder suddenly dropping the weights previously lifted so easily. Can you imagine how humiliated they might feel? How important it would be in such a moment to have members of your community who can say, "I've been there!" - and mean it!

Last week, I wrote here about my disappointment with the support my daughter received/didn't receive. And within days, I learned that I had failed to support a dear friend through a very hard chapter. Sure, I noticed her absence in our usual circles - but when I asked, I was told she was investing some time in relaxation and yard care. And I assumed she had chosen another circle on Sundays. There's that word "assume" again ...

The truth is, she lives less than a 5 minute drive from my home. The truth is, I should have knocked on her door and asked her directly where she'd been. The truth is, I need to be better at sending text messages instead of using my phone for social media. The truth is, I am now on the other side of the sharpening knife. And it stings a little.

So I continue learning. I'm learning the true definition of grace. I'm learning that grace must be given before it can be received. Last week, I rebuked the spirit of bitterness, knowing that I may well be the next person to let my community down. This week, I am so grateful that grace is like the water in a decorative fountain: it is continuously drawn up and poured out again.

To all of my "sharpening" friends: Thank you! Thank you for grace, and for seeing the shine underneath my rough exterior. You are treasures, buried deep in my heart.

Blessings to each of you today.

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS

I love the Scripture that talks about how good and pleasant it is for God's people to live in unity! I have stood at several altars with arms entwined around each other while the congregation sang:
            "You're my brother, you're my sister,
              So take me by the hand,
              Together we will work until He comes;
              There's no foe that can defeat us
              When we're walking side by side,
              As long as there is love, we will stand."

Ahhh, there's a catch, though. We must continue to stand together in love. And I think that's what I'm struggling with these days: feeling loved by, and together with, my people.

I guess I allowed myself to become a little disillusioned over the past few years. Notes/comments on social media have been quick to proclaim that our family is loved and missed and should come "home" for a visit.

Then I did. And precious few of those note writers observed my presence. And so began my feelings of disillusionment. Had I really invested 15 years of my life in building community with so many people who couldn't - or worse, wouldn't - spare 15 minutes?

And then I came back to my new home, where I have found my stride in life. I felt blessed to be covered in the love and prayers of new friends as I journeyed back East, and couldn't wait to return to open fields, open skies and open arms.

Except the arms I expected weren't open. It was coworkers who asked the details of my dad, my mom, my gay boyfriend and the ocean. The prayer whisperers were absent in the aftermath.

I chose to count myself doubly blessed: I had friends for praying and friends for staying. Those people who need only interact Monday through Friday during business hours have become woven into the fabric of my heart. They choose to care at all hours.

I spent the next three weeks fielding questions about my daughter. My first baby who is about to give birth to my first grandchild. "What does she need? Is she getting excited? Will there be a shower? I have stuff for her! Tell us when and how we can help or drop things off!"

The baby shower was advertised on flyers around town. It was posted liberally on social media accounts. And it was attended by exactly two people who were not family. One of those two makes no claims to Christianity. Again, though, coworkers came through with a stroller/carseat combo and numerous items of furniture and clothing.

My daughter lives directly across the street from my church. Many from the congregation nod, wave, or even chat with her each week. Still, the day after the unattended baby shower, several watched her excuse herself from the dinner-on-the-grounds lineup when she didn't have enough money, as she assumed it was the price of a donation. And my heart shattered.

When did we, as the family of God, forget how to be family? When did we stop linking arms with the sad and the poor and the loner and the weak? When did we begin to believe it was OK to offer lip service but be of no actual service?

I am challenged by these events: to be better, to do more, to love harder. To see a need and meet it. To bind up the brokenhearted. To stand in the gap for someone who has no one. To take every thought captive and stomp out the root of bitterness. We are better together.

If I have ever neglected you, please accept my heartfelt apologies. If I have disappointed or made you feel less than, I am so sorry! If it's not too late, I'd like to be better at being part of your community. If there are specific ways I can help, please don't hesitate to ask!

When life gives you lemons, I would like to be the shade for your lemonade stand. Because sometimes the best thing is just to show up and stand.

Together.

Heart Hugs,

V.

YOU'VE BEEN GOOD

One week ago today, I flew across the country to say Goodbye to my Dad. It has been a whirlwind of activity and emotion; my heart is full, and my pen is unsteady.

As with any situation in life, my family has not disappointed in the drama department during my father's illness. I have struggled to get updates on his condition, and my arrival on site taught me that while a picture is worth a thousand words, it also covers a multitude of truths.  This was clearly our last visit.

I am weeping as I write this, and I realize this is the first time I have given my tears permission to flow this week. Crossing 6 times zones in 4 days is a terrible idea, and having something scheduled every evening could be positive or negative, depending on what you wish to accomplish. While it may result in snoring at your desk, it also gives the heart time to ponder without really processing.

My Dad has had Multiple Sclerosis for a number of years. Sneaky disease that it is, it allowed him to have normal and lengthy telephone conversations that gave life the illusion of normal. Until the Congestive Heart Failure jumped on board a few weeks ago, I did not know that he had not spent any pleasure time outside in over a year. I could not hear him shaking in a manner similar to Parkinson's, could not see his tongue thick and on the verge of escaping his lips in moments of stillness, and could not see the scoliosis they've now diagnosed. He says he didn't realize anything was wrong; he's just sitting how he always sat while driving truck. 

He dropped other tidbits, too - stories told twice in ten minutes. A neighbor of several years mistaken for a high school friend. His line in the sand - he wants to be "in the ground at 70" - and he's already 68. "Don't forget, Vic - I wanna be buried upside down." Yes, Dad - so the world can kiss your ass. "You got 'er," he says, laughing.

Laughter is my Dad's legacy. Despite how little we have known of each other through the years, we share this gift of humor. It turns these 2 days together into a lifetime of memories. His video chat with my middle son makes me roar laughing - until he refutes the offer of a visit saying, "You've been a good grandson; I could at least make fun of you." The threat of tears prompts a hasty end to the phone call because this, too, I share with my Dad: say it quick, move on, and avoid the depth of it.

It is quiet from across the country upon my return to the prairies. Today I sent my mom a text message - just a silly Snapchat photo of myself with kissing lips. "Tell Dad I say hello; he's been awfully quiet." She responds that he sometimes has a down day, but it's been 3 days - the lowest she's ever seen him. My heart breaks as I realize my Dad actually knows I'm gone. And then he wakes from his nap.

"He says it's an improvement on your looks," the text reads.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from him," I respond with a giggle.

"He says he is glad you're not disappointed. He is laughing ... nice to see."

Awww Dad. You don't disappoint. You've been a good dad; I could always have fun with you. 

Love,

Your #1 Youngest Daughter

LOOKING PAST THE DIRT

I grew up on Canada's East coast, where laws strictly govern the state of your windshield when driving. The main concern there, of course, is snow in winter months. Occasionally, some concern arises from a severely cracked windshield.

In the spring, when mud is everywhere, it is not uncommon for rear windows to look like peepholes. Numerous Jeep-style vehicles may even be coated from tip to tip in mud, as mud bogging is the sport of rednecks of all ages, shapes and sizes.

 

Since moving to one of Canada's prairie provinces, I have become acquainted with a new kind of obstructed windshield: it's dust-covered. No moisture is required for the dust to stick - it just does. A full week between windshield washes is unheard of in the heat of summer, as the dust buildup is exceeded only by the volume of dead insects accumulated.

Road dust here is used for some pretty creative graffiti. Although I haven't yet experienced a butt print as pictured below, I have been the victim of any number of words, phrases, names, gestures and genitalia.

Pulling up to the pumps at the local full-serve station this weekend, I was greeted by the usual litany of questions:

"Are we filling it today?"

"Yes please - with regular."

"Sure thing! You wanna roll your windows up and we'll give 'em a little swipe for ya?"

Now, I know this lady fairly well. She once covered my Timmies order when the zipper on my wallet refused to move, holding my money hostage, citing the fact that she knew I would come good for it. I know that she only hires students who participate in sports teams, because she believes in work ethic. So I thought I'd slip in a little humor.

"Listen," I responded, "as a middle-aged woman who may *actually* die of heat stroke, I'm willing to look past the dirt if you are!"

We both chuckled, but my heart was instantly awakened to my own words. "I'm willing to look past the dirt ..."

Isn't it funny how willing we are to do something physically demanding, but struggle to do the same emotional task? 

I can live with peering at the beautiful scenery through a layer of dirt. Pass a person in front of me who has hurt my feelings or made poor choices in life, though. Am I still looking past the deposits of debris to see their beauty?

I will sacrifice vision for comfort, when I am actually called to do just the opposite! We are all called to step out of our comfort zones before we can truly follow the road before us. 

I am tired of gathering dust and merely looking past it. I am going for the clearer vision of life. I know that I will lose some "graffiti" in the process: some drawn on my life by skilled hands, and other trashy pieces deposited on me at random. But when the view is clear, I can see the best in myself, in others, and in the days/years to come. 

Join me in cleaning the windshield this week! Leave a comment below to share what the idea of looking past the dirt has meant to you. 

LIVING IN-BETWEEN

I have heard people describe parts of life as seasons or chapters or numerous other analogies. What I had yet to hear or understand was that some parts of life don't qualify as neat-and-tidy segments on a calendar or a page: they are, rather, in-between.

Much has been written about the sandwich generation: those who care for aging parents while raising children. While I knew those people existed, I absorbed little of the information because I felt confident it would never describe me. After all - my parents had always been healthy and of my four grandparents, the three who have passed away were taken by a heart attack, cancer, and naturally while sleeping. None of them required extensive physical care or experienced significant mental decline. No, this "sandwich generation" was not to be my lot in life.

I went about my business, then, building a life for my kids. I put my career on hold to be at home with them in their early years. We joked as they got older about the need for them to take care of us one day. Still they, like us, were experiencing healthy parents and grandparents; there was no real cause for concern.

Suddenly, when my dad was in his 50's, he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. His physical health took a sharp turn for the worse, but his faith and mental clarity remained strong. My sister and I began to understand that we may, indeed, need to "take care of" our parents one day.

The years have passed quickly, and much has changed. My husband and I moved our family across the country. My sister moved closer to home. My dad continued on such a slow fade, I didn't fully realize what was happening.

Meanwhile, my kids continued to grow. They graduated from high school and moved out to attend college, start work, and establish long-term relationships. It seems I barely blinked and woke one day to hear the news: I was going to be a grandma!

It takes some weeks, or even months, to thoroughly absorb this kind of news. And then you start to panic about all the furniture and the clothes and the diapers and .. and ... and ... more! I would be lying if I said my credit card hasn't taken a beating. I would also be lying if I told you all of it was justified. Sometimes a grandma has to get some practice in for the spoiling routine!

And then, smack in the middle of packing the Welcome Wagon for my grandbaby, came word that my Dad was sick. Not just a flu sick, but the kind of sick that would keep him in hospital for 2 months to date. Observing his health in recent weeks is like a nightmare roller coaster. And I realize that, although it came out of nowhere, this is my rite of passage to the "sandwich generation."

I have a living grandmother. I am becoming a grandmother. I am in middle of 5 generations.

I am parenting adult children. I am also parenting my mother equally as effectively these days, it seems. And a 6-yr-old. It seems impossible to decide how old I *feel,* as it seems to change from day to day.

I am worming the career I trained for, but looking forward to training for the career of my heart. I dream of counseling victims of domestic abuse some day.

I crave the sounds and smells of forest and ocean, but I love the wide open of the prairies. My husband and I have discussed purchasing a home near our favorite campground someday: on the edge of a salt-water lake. It's a happy compromise.

So how do we keep movimg when we're mired down in the middle of all? How do we rest when we're not anywhere we aim to be?

I was reminded this week of the verse in 2 Corinthians that reads, "We all...are being transformed into [His] image from glory to glory..." From glory to glory - and all points in between. The points that feel like a sharp decline from where we once were. The points that feel like an uphill climb. The in-betweens. They are part of the journey; they matter.

I am so grateful for those who join me on the journey and love me between the high points of life! One day, when we all get where we're going, we will see that the in-betweens colored most of the canvas of life. And it will be worth hanging in for!

ROOM FULL OF RUNNERS

I awoke in the middle of the night from a dream which, while seemingly unrealistic, I knew I must share with you.

In my dream, I entered a gymnasium-style room full of runners. Each person in the room was wearing sneakers and stretching in preparation for an imminent run.

In the next scene of my dream, the runners were all seated, and I was addressing them as a group. I was encouraging each of them to find a person or a small group with whom they synchronized well; they were then asked to run together. As I was encouraging them to run the race well and see that no one was left behind, I woke - and I was actually chanting "Run together!" out loud.

In waking, it seems such a relevant message for all of us! Whatever your struggle is in life, find someone who is running the same track as you.

Do you find parenting small children exhausting? Find another couple or a play group you can join once a week for a time of sharing stories and feeling less alone in the battle. Are you struggling in your marriage? Find a counselor or a marriage mentor who can adjust your pace and help you conquer the track. Do you battle with mental health issues? Join a support group or seek out someone who is on the same journey.

When you seek your running partner, do not worry about the pace they are running or how seasoned they are. Perhaps some have many miles on you, or appear to be nearer to the finish line. Did you know that sometimes runners get "lapped"? This means, while they appear to be closer to the finish line, they've been passed or "lapped" by other runners on the track. Sometimes the people we assume have it all together are really struggling the most.

Each of us should find, and seek to be, a runner who will adjust their pace. The runner who gets the prize knows when to run at full speed and when to hold back. This is knowledge we need to share with each other. Let me share some examples:

Seasoned mothers in my life have certainly lent valued advice on when to have the hard discussions with my teenagers and when to stand back and let them learn. Marriage mentors have taught me to draw my boundaries carefully with my husband: what changes I can request, and what changes must be prompted by the Holy Spirit. Even in my career, I have learned from my professional mentor how to dress for the job I want - not the job I have; this advice has promoted me on more than one occasion. 

Each of us has something to contribute to another. Each of us has something to learn from another. In today's world, where loneliness and suicide are rampant, how important it is for us to find others running the same race! We must adjust our pace, link arms with each other, and run together! Ecclesiastes 4:9 (NLT) says it this way: "Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed."

That is our mandate: to help one another be successful. When someone partners with me in my personal success, it makes me feel loved and valued. Who wouldn't want to be that person for someone else?!

Is there some way I can help you run today, friend? Do you need someone to stretch you into a more confident version of you? Do you need someone to run beside you, in the form of a weekly coffee date or actual telephone call? Do you see me falling behind on my track, and have some words of wisdom to help me reach my goal? Leave a comment to let me know how we can run together! 

 

DEAR FARMER

Dear Farmer,

You and I work at opposite ends of the ag industry: I work in Ag Manufacturing, where we build the equipment you use.

My husband works in the Shipping Department. With skilled hands he pressures up hydraulics, torques tires, and fastens safety chains. He marks shipping pins, touches up paint, takes pictures of pieces often claimed through Warranty, and reads the riot act to truck drivers who feel the need for speed. He is proud of his work - and scared of the Warranty Administrator. That's me.

I review the Pre-Delivery Inspection performed by your dealership. I compare it against in-house reports and photographs taken during testing and shipping of your machinery. I approve or deny the claims, based on whether we screwed up or it was damaged in transit.

And then the machinery is delivered to you: the farmer. You walk around a machine worth nearly a half-million dollars and, with eagle eyes, you look for everything from leaking hoses to rust spots and missing decals. Within 6 short weeks, you will know this machine inside out: its capabilities and limits, its quirks and strengths and weaknesses, and why we claim to build the brand that produce the best crops.

What you probably don't know is that, as you become an expert on our machinery, I am learning from you.

I learn about the long hours you put in from the voice mails on my phone and the tired voices of our Service crew. I learn about all the elements beyond your control by following your social media accounts. I learn about the hazards of your job from the news, and I weep when a life is lost on your family's farm. I am continuously learning from you, and continuously praying for you.

I wave to every farmer in the cab of a tractor: whether in the field or on the road. And I pray for your safety and prosperity. I drive past you slowly, and often in tears. I see you.

I listen to news broadcasts and weather forecasts and lunchroom chatter. And I pray for sunshine and rain and wind and snowy winters - but not excessive amounts. I remind God to send just what you need and no more ... like He needs my instruction!

I sign petitions so that family farms do not fall under the same labor laws as other employers. I get righteously indignant at city slickers who think all tragic accidents are avoidable. I smile at teenage boys who rip out of school parking lots because they can't wait to be in a tractor.

I question dealerships about why they didn't repair your machinery in a timely manner. I challenge our QA team to step up their game. I sit in meetings to explain why spending less money in Warranty isn't as easy as saying "No." I deal in shades of gray when it's not really Warranty but it's the right thing to do. And sometimes I say "No" and hold my breath while waiting to see who's going to challenge me: you or your dealership.

I shake your hand when you come to meet with our Executives and talk about how to improve our product. I smile when I see you critique our engineers during an open house event - because you are the true expert in the field. I am so proud when you give us a verbal acknowledgement or a great review on social media! Because you are helping us work toward excellence. You recognize that we're trying hard to be the customer's best choice.

As we move through another seeding season, I would like to thank you for who you are and what you do. Thank you for your patience: with your livestock, the crops, your hired hands, your dealership, and your manufacturers. Thank you for your eye for detail, your nurturing spirit, your common sense approach to life, and your never-say-die character. Thank you for the years of study, the years of experience, and the dedication to the ag lifestyle. Thank you for eating in the field so that your field will feed us.

May you live long and prosper. May your crops keep growing and your equipment keep going. May your family enjoy health and your efforts yield wealth. May the gophers die and the corn stalks stretch high.

God bless you, Farmer.


Sincerely,

A Villager