Redeeming the Future

A Heart of Thanksgiving

2011-11-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

As the calendar rolled around to the first of November, I noticed that many posts on various social media sites are focused on 30 Days of Thanksgiving. Friends plan to post about something they are thankful for each day of November. I thought about joining in, for indeed this November I have a heart full of thankfulness. But I know a) I really do not have the time for daily postings, and b) I admittedly do not have the discipline (or brain cells) to remember to post something each day of the month.

Since I have taken a five-month hiatus from my blog (for reasons that will become evident in this post), I decided to share all in one place some of the things for which I am most thankful this November ~ to express the gratefulness in my heart and to update many of you on the events of the past five months.

A Heart of Thanksgiving

I am thankful for ~

Tony, my dear husband, who survived a near-fatal heart attack on May 21st.

God, who was pleased to give us more time together.

The life-saving team of paramedics from Kingsburg Fire Department who responded to my desperate 9-1-1 call at 10 pm that evening.

The surgeons who placed three stents in Tony's blocked arteries to save his life.

The faithfulness of God to supply all our needs during this time of healing and growth.

The wisdom and generosity of our New Path Center Board of Directors for their guidance and grace during the months of recuperation.

Family and friends who prayed for us, visited us, cooked for us, and carried this burden with us. We continue to feel the love!

Our new heart-healthy eating habits ~ our diet is nearly all plant-based and we feel terrific. We have lost a combined 50+ pounds since May!

The joy of living in the same town as our daughter, Amy, and son-in-law, Jeff, and our three precious grandchildren. Some of the best medicine around. Such a blessing! (They loved Grandpa's hospital bed.)

The turn of the seasons ~ fall has always been my favorite time of year. I love living in this agricultural area, and like the orchards around us, we shed the remnants of a busy year and prepare to enter a season of rest.

Birthdays! November brings two birthdays to our home. We celebrate my birthday in a couple of weeks (I will be 59 for the first time. Really.) And we remember the sweet sixteen years we had with Scott on what would be his 32nd birthday.

The blessed hope of a glorious reunion with loved ones who have gone before ~ what a comfort to know that the best is yet to come.

My heart rejoices this November as we truly could have experienced such a different outcome last May. This coming Thanksgiving, almost six months to the day of Tony's heart attack, we will gather around the table with family to rejoice and acknowledge that the things for which we are most grateful in life are, indeed, not things!

The Last Thing We Talked About

2011-04-23T08:47:00.000-07:00

I vividly remember the last day of my mother's life. As a family, we sat vigil around her hospital bed. Although she experienced few moments of consciousness ~ when we were aware she was really with us ~ we shared precious words of love and gratitude for her life well-lived. We knew it was her last day and these would be the last things we talked about with her, as her body finally could no longer support life. It was a precious time ~ a holy time ~ to be present as she left her broken earthly tent and enter her eternal rest.

I also remember the final twenty-four hours of my son's life. Scott wanted to hang out and talk about something he had on his mind. We never in our wildest dreams would have thought that it would be the last thing we talked about.

Scott sat in the oversized chair in the living room, his long legs swung over one armrest, and his hands cradled behind his head. He asked a most profound question ~ So, where was Jesus between Good Friday and Easter? I know his body was in the tomb ~ but where was HE?

We spent time looking at Scripture. We talked about the Apostles' Creed and the hope that is in us. We talked about Holy Saturday, those hours between His Death and Resurrection. We talked about the Harrowing of Hades when many believe Christ descended to break down the gates of Hell.

Little did we know that it would be the last thing we talked about ~ for the next day, Scott himself would enter his own eternal rest.

Today is Holy Saturday ~ it is the day between the grief of Good Friday and the hope of Easter. And I find myself reflecting upon that final conversation with Scott. Did Scott somehow sense his own mortality? Did the Spirit place these thoughts on his heart, knowing that in God's sovereign plan, Scott's life would soon hang in the balance?

Whatever the reason for that conversation that night, the last thing we talked about now brings a smile to my face and joy to my heart. For it was during these hours, when Christ's body lie in a cold, stone tomb, that Scott's future, my future, indeed, the future of the world, was truly redeemed.

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him ... For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words.
~ I Thessalonians 4:13-18

Mary Did You Know

2011-04-22T09:58:00.000-07:00

Good Friday always finds me pondering the sorrow of Mary as she stands near the cross and watches her son in anguish. The weight of grief she carried as the life of her first born slips away. It is perhaps not so strange that during the holiest of weeks I hear the words of that modern Christmas song echoing in my head ~ Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?

As a mother who has laid her son in the arms of God, I lament with Mary. I grieve for this mother who bore a son only to have his life cut short. I weep with this mother who longed to wrap her arms around him one.more.time and tell him how much he is loved.

And yet, I find my own grief overcome with joy because, unlike Mary, unlike those who stood near the cross that day when the sky darkened over Golgotha, I know with assurance what Sunday brings.

In the midst of my longing to fill the void left by the death of my own son, Scott, I find comfort in the words Jesus speaks to his mother from the cross. In his own anguish, he sees her tears and looks down from the cross ~ to meet her in the form of her need, to fill the deep void now created in this mother's heart. The account of the events of Good Friday found in John 19 tells us ~

When Jesus saw his mother
and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby,
he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son!"
Then he said to the disciple,
"Behold, your mother!"
And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.

As I bend beneath the grief of Good Friday, the hope of Easter lifts me. I embrace the power of the resurrection that brings a glorious reunion with those who have gone before. I hold firm to the promise Jesus taught his disciples about his Kingdom, ushered in by his very death.

You have sorrow now, but I will see you again,
and your hearts will rejoice,
and no one will take your joy from you.
In that day you will ask nothing of me.
~ John 16:22, 23

May I stand today in awe of the One who sees my sorrow, wipes away my tears, and saves our sons and daughters. May I bow as the Centurion beneath the cross and say ~

Truly this is the Son of God who redeems the future by his sacrificial death, even the death on a cross.

Photo: The Pietà (1498-1499) is a masterpiece of Renaissance sculpture by Michelangelo, housed in St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City.

Redeem : Repair : Restore : Renew

2011-03-16T13:11:00.000-07:00

re·deem

verb \ri-‘dēm\

1 a : to buy back

b : to get or win back

2: to free from what distresses or harms: as

a : to free from captivity by payment of ransom

b : to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental

c : to release from blame or debt : clear

d : to free from the consequences of sin

3: to change for the better: reform

4: repair, restore

5 a : to free from a lien by payment of an amount secured thereby

b (1) : to remove the obligation of by payment (2) : to exchange for something of value

c : to make good : fulfill

6 a : to atone for : expiate

b (1) : to offset the bad effect of (2) : to make worthwhile : retrieve

Source: Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

What comes to mind when you hear the word, redeem?

One childhood memory immediately comes to my mind. Back in the day, I would redeem my soda bottle for a nickel at the store. I returned the bottle to be reused, recycled, and refilled again.

Another image is my mother used to redeem S and H Green Stamps. She redeemed her booklets filled with stamps for free merchandise from their catalog.

Many thoughts come to mind from my faith tradition ~ from the verses in scripture and words of hymns that tell of being redeemed ~ a price paid to free me from the wages of sin and death.

When I started this blog almost three years ago, I knew I would call it, Redeeming the Future. As I looked at the events of my life, I did not want the lean years to devour the rich years. I realized that, like me, there were others who may one day find themselves on a similar journey ~ on a difficult path filled with obstacles that obscured their hope of ever experiencing peace.

What truly comes to mind when I hear the word redeem are two powerful words that are signposts along my journey ~

HOPE ~ a strong belief that there is a pathway through difficult times that can bring us to a healing place; a place where we can once again know the joy of experiencing peace

TRANSFORMATION ~ the decision to not be destroyed, but to be transformed by those things that seem to be quite literally more than I can bear

I am not just another Pollyanna ~ an excessively or blindly optimistic person. The message of Redeeming the Future is not a pie-in-the-sky kind of gospel. Redeeming the future does not take away the reality of the pain, loss, and disappointments of the past or the present. But that simple six-letter word ~ redeem ~ provides a new lens through which I can look back at the difficult times with hope, knowing that I can be transformed; I can become stronger in the broken places.

I love the following quote by author Maria Robinson ~

Nobody can go back and start a new beginning,

but anyone can start today and make a new ending.

And that, my friend, is all about Redeeming the Future.

So, what comes to mind when YOU hear the word, redeem?

A Reversal of Values

2011-03-08T16:48:00.000-08:00

Mardi Gras ~ Fat Tuesday ~ a day characterized by excessive eating and drinking, and lewd behavior before the sacrificial season of Lent. What a stark contrast this day is to Ash Wednesday.

Perhaps it is only coincidental that today ~ Fat Tuesday ~ I have been reminded of another contrast. One of my FB friends posted a link this morning to a podcast where Tim Keller shares some reflections of living in God's Kingdom.

In the podcast, Keller takes us to the sixth chapter of the Gospel of Luke. It is there that Jesus holds up the values of the world in contrast to those embraced by those who choose to live in His Kingdom. The essence of Keller's thoughts are summed up by this quote from author Michael Wilcock.

In the life of God’s people will be seen first of all a remarkable reversal of values (6:20-26). They will prize what the world calls pitiable, and suspect what the world thinks is desirable. Values which are taken for granted by other men are questioned by them, and are considered in the searching light of spiritual truth, hidden reality, and a future life.

~ The Message of Luke, pp 85-86

It is this very reversal of values that brings to light the blessedness Jesus speaks of in this passage. As Keller says, a blessedness that is impervious to weeping; that is increased in times of weakness. It is a spiritual truth that remains in stark contrast to what the world holds as truth. A hidden reality that allows those in His Kingdom to feel His blessing in the midst of weakness and sacrifice, grief and exclusion; without which, the future would have little hope of being redeemed.

I highly recommend that you brew a cup of tea or pour another cup of coffee and settle in to listen to Keller's words on The Community of Jesus.

The Lens of Lent

2011-03-07T11:40:00.000-08:00

I was raised in a faith tradition which did not observe the season of Lent, a Christian tradition celebrated in the forty days leading up to Easter.

I find myself lamenting that many aspects of this tradition had been part of my upbringing ~ to make time in life's hectic pace to dwell on the passion of Christ and all that He established; to rejoice in the blessed hope of His resurrection.

To be honest, I often allow the circumstances of life to rob me of the peace and joy that was established through the death and resurrection of Christ. These temporary struggles seem to lay claim to much of my concentration. With the Lenten season beginning on Ash Wednesday this week, I savor this place of mindfulness. I look forward to entering this season; to rest in the reality that the redemption so freely given on the cross, continues to redeem the future.

I want to focus my thoughts, my desires, and even the events of each day upon the promise of Colossians 1:20, 21 ~

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,

and through him to reconcile to himself all things,

whether on earth or in heaven,

making peace by the blood of his cross.

I find that a verse in The Lorica of Saint Patrick truly expresses this place of rest for me during this season as I recognize the fullness of His being, the depth of His love, and the truth of His promise to redeem all things to Himself.

Christ with me,
Christ before me,
Christ behind me,
Christ in me,
Christ beneath me,
Christ above me,
Christ on my right,
Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down,
Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye of every one who sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

May the passion of Christ and the reality of the resurrection illuminate for each of us the hope of redeeming the future.

Art work entitled, Toward Calvary by Michael O'Brien

It Is Never Too Late

2011-02-28T19:41:00.000-08:00

It is never too late ... to redeem the future. This is one of my personal tenets. I love when I have the chance to witness a redeeming moment. Let me share my recent experience ~

This photograph of my sister and I from the mid-1950s pretty much illustrates my childhood. I grew up in a home filled with love and joy. Life was good growing up in southern California!

Part of the story of my childhood includes how our family came to be. I honestly can't remember a time when I didn't know that my sister, Kathy, was adopted. It simply is part of our loving story ~ that God gave my parents a precious daughter when it appeared they would never have a child.

And I never tired of hearing our mother tell the story. How our father's cousin, Stewart Hiatt, was a doctor in California's central valley. How "Uncle Stewart" ~ as we called him ~ telephoned my parents in the spring of 1950 to see if they wanted to adopt the baby of one of his patients. How much joy they felt as they brought Kathy home from a Modesto hospital at the age of three days old.

Then ~ wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles ~ almost two years after adopting Kathy, my parents discovered they were expecting me! Bill and Adele Goodrell, who thought they would never have children, were soon to have two daughters to call their own. And, as they say, the rest is history!

Then last fall Kathy came for a weekend visit to our home. I showed her the family trees I created on Ancestry.com. If you have worked on this website or watched NBC's Who Do You Think You Are?, you know that Ancestry is a vast database of genealogical information. When the information you enter into your family tree matches something or someone in that database, a small, green, spinning leaf appears next to that name on your tree to tell you that there is information in the database about this individual.

As Kathy and I talked together there in my home office, she expressed her longing to find her birth mother. I decided to start another tree ~ one that contained what little bit of information we knew about her birth family from the certificate from the hospital, past conversations with Mom and non-identifying information which Kathy had received from the state. Then we sat there talking and waiting and watching the computer screen for a spinning leaf to pop up. Quite a while passed before we accepted the fact that there was not a match for her birth mother's name. For the next three months, each time I logged into my account on Ancestry, there was nothing new to help me find Kathy's birth family. That is until about three weeks ago.

After months of trying various spellings of the only names we knew, and researching leads that led nowhere, I decided to try a different search; to compare the names I knew with names that were part of other public trees stored on the website. Within a couple of minutes, I noticed a match. One particular tree contained a name that was on Kathy's unamended* birth certificate, although a subsequent marriage had changed the surname.

A public tree on Ancestry is exactly that ~ public, for any and all to see. Additionally, through the website, it is possible to message anonymously the creator of the public tree with questions regarding individuals or dates which are listed. I was quite nervous as I typed a well-thought-out question into the message box of someone I had never met. I even changed my User name to something less obvious and more obscure so if I was about to disturb a hornet's nest, I could not be easily identified. I thought to myself, What's the worst that could happen?

Over the next 48 hours, the owner of this tree and I exchanged messages; each message I sent asking more questions that might provide proof that I had found the woman who gave birth to my sister sixty years ago. It was late on Sunday night when I received a message giving me the confirmation that I needed. I had indeed found Kathy's birth family. I stayed up till almost 3 a.m., just connecting the dots between all the facts that I now knew.

The following morning I shared all my findings with my husband to check the accuracy of my information before calling my sister with the news. I was blessed to make the initial telephone call to the birth sister who was four years old when Kathy was born. What an experience to know that, although her birth mother is no longer living, Kathy's birth family now includes five siblings.

The past three weeks have been an adventure as I dig through boxes of our family photos and compare pictures of Kathy with pictures of her birth mother and siblings. The resemblance is truly remarkable! There is so much to share from my perspective of watching this precious, long overdue reunion. I find great joy in the reality that the very process of redeeming the future is taking place before my very eyes.

Note: Since my wonderful experience with Kathy, I have had the opportunity to help two of our friends, also adoptees, begin the work of redeeming the future.

*Amended Birth Certificate: A term used to refer to the new birth certificate that is issued for an adopted child after an adoption becomes final, which shows the new name of the adopted child and the adoptive parents as the parents of the child, as though they are the biological parents. This new birth certificate is placed in the public records in place of the child's original birth certificate. The original birth certificate is then stored in a separate secure location that is not accessible to the public, and may be viewed only by court order. (From http://glossary.adoption.com)

***UPDATE: Kathy's sister, Connie, flew out from Texas this past week to meet all of the family. We had a wonderful time welcoming her into the clan, and looking at pictures she brought along. It was absolutely amazing to see the family resemblance even into the third generation!

The photo shows three generations of

Redfern~Goodrell~Briggs~Robinson families,

including the Hardwick~Doolittle~Warner families!

Top row: Tony, niece Kelly and her son, Tyler

Middle row: the sisters ~ Kathy, Connie and Bonnie

Front row: our daughter, Amy, and her daughter, Kaitlyn;

Niece Kara, and her daughters, Cameron and Brooklyn

Valentine's Day 2011

2011-02-13T09:29:00.000-08:00

While we were dating in college, Tony made me a beautiful wooden clock. Beside the fact that it was handmade ~ for me, by him ~ what melted my heart was the poem he decoupaged on the face of the clock.

It was then I knew I had found a safe place to love and be loved. The words of that poem are just as meaningful on this Valentine's Day as they were some 40 years ago ~

A friend is one to whom
you can pour out the contents of your heart ~
chaff and grain alike.
Knowing that the gentlest of hands
will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping,
and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

So today, I celebrate love ~

~ A love that embraces and forgives.
~ A love that sacrifices for the highest good of the one loved.
~ A love that knows the past and chooses to stay around to redeem the future.

Happy Valentine's Day to all who know this transforming love!

Grief's Grip ~ God's Grace

2011-02-05T11:59:00.000-08:00

Today I feel the grip of grief. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to escape its clutch upon my heart. And yet, my soul is not anxious to find a place far from this shadow of death. For it is truly in this dark place, in this wilderness of my soul, that I find God to be so near.

I am no stranger to grief's hold. I have known it now for fifteen years. And over this past decade and a half, I have come to realize that I must eventually surrender to my grief.

In one sense, I find myself asking this today ~ Has it really been 15 years? And then I hear my heart ask ~ Has it really been ONLY 15 years?

I recall so vividly that phone call, fifteen years ago this very hour. I remember the thirty hours of waiting with hope only to be forced to reconcile my heart to the horrific reality of brain death.

Yet, as I reflect on my journey of grief, I can truly say that I am grateful for God's unlimited provision of comfort, grace and peace. He has remained faithful to His Word ~

He keeps count of my tossings and put my tears in His bottle.

Psalm 56:8

He draws near to my broken heart and saves my crushed spirit.

Psalm 34:18

I waited patiently for the Lord; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog,

and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.

He put a new song in my mouth,a song of praise to our God.

Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord.

Psalm 40:1-3

How blessed I am when I mourn, for I will know God's comfort.

Matthew 5:4

I can rejoice that He does not waste my sorrow. That through the things He has taught me along this path of sorrow, I can say of Scott, as the author of Hebrews said of Abel ~

Though he be dead, he still speaks.

Hebrews 11:4b

And if I can trust Him with this great loss, I can have confidence in His promise of reunion ~

But I do not want you to be uninformed, Bonnie,

about those who are asleep,

that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.

For since you believe that Jesus died and rose again,

even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him

those who have fallen asleep.

For this I declare to you by a word from the Lord,

that you who are alive,

who are left until the coming of the Lord,

will not precede those who have fallen asleep.

For the Lord himself will descend from heaven

with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel,

and with the sound of the trumpet of God.

And the dead in Christ will rise first.

Then you who are alive, who are left,

will be caught up together with them ~ with Scott ~

in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air,

and so we will always be with the Lord.

Therefore encourage one another with these words.

I Thess. 4:13-18

Photo: Christ in Agony by Michael O'Brien

Faith for Foggy Days

2011-01-21T14:36:00.000-08:00

The winter of 2010 is one for the record books ~ bringing a white Christmas to many places that normally only dream of snow; it's blustery cold continuing to dump snow and ice for weeks. Many schools have been forced to call extra Snow Days and cancel classes.

Where I live, winter brings the Tule Fog (pronounced too-lee). Tule Fog is a thick ground fog that settles in California's Great Central Valley, named after the tule grass wetlands (tulares) of the Central Valley. When the fog "hits the deck" (as they say in weather talk) the schools call s Foggy Day Schedule, delaying the start of the school day until the fog lifts enough for the buses to safely make their rounds to pick up their precious cargo. There are winters when we do not see the sun for weeks!

I remember when our children were school age, we could almost predict if a Foggy Day Schedule would be called as we could not see the house directly across the street. Yes, Tule Fog is that bad. I have driven at night in Tule Fog and needed my window down just to see at least three yellow dotted lines ahead of me, to keep my car in my lane and on the road!

Today it is very foggy outside once again. As I watched the list of Foggy Day Schedules grow on the morning news, I thought about times in my life when my path seems foggy. Times when I can not see very far ahead because the stuff of life blocks my view. Times when I am not certain I am still on the road.

These are the times when my faith grows. Those days or weeks when I cannot see the purpose, I do not feel the joy, I am unsure if I am where I should be, and life just seems like a fog. At times like this, the words in of Hebrews 11:6, become, in essence, my yellow dotted lines ~

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

The foggy days of life are when my faith is stretched to not trust in what is seen or felt, but on what is hoped for and what is known to be true. I have walked enough foggy roads in life to know that my faith in God is not a product of His willingness to clear out the fog or to create the life which I desire. No, my faith is rooted in my belief that His will cannot take me where His grace cannot keep me. It is a faith that knows, even in the Foggy Day Schedules of life, He will illuminate for me a path through the fog, to fulfill His purposes.

Acceptable Sins

2011-01-17T13:44:00.000-08:00

I find it interesting when I hear individuals in the faith community discuss sin. It is usually not every sin that is discussed. Just certain ones. Case in point ...

We have a dear friend who recently married. He lives quite far from here so we were not able to attend the wedding. I mention that because if we had been present at the wedding, we most likely would have noticed the baby bump under the bride's wedding attire. Last week, we received a message from him, confessing his sin of having sex with his fiance before marriage, and announcing that he would soon be a father. He noted that he withheld this information from us because he was ashamed to share it with us, that we may think less of him.

Did he sin? Definitely ~ and I can give you chapter and verse ~ Galatians 5:19. Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, ...

Is he forgiven? Absolutely ~ by God and by us. And our love for him is not diminished by his sin. Quite honestly, in our eyes, our friend is not defined by his sin of immorality but by his heart of contrition.

Here is what I find interesting. There is a comma at the end of the verse I quoted above. The comma says that the list keeps going into verses 20 and 21. Here is the complete list of sins noted in Galatians 5:19-21 ~ works of the flesh, as Paul calls them.

Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these.

In Christ, there is no hierarchy of sin. Whether it is babies conceived out of wedlock, angry words spoken at a spouse, an unwillingness to forgive that leads to divisions and estrangement, a heart of jealousy, or materialism (ie, idolatry). These are all works of the flesh. Missing the mark. Unholy behaviors. Sin.

Paul adds to that list in 2 Cor. 12:20 ~ quarreling, jealousy, anger, hostility, slander, gossip, conceit, and disorder.

Why are we so biased toward one sin and not the others? Is it any less sinful to talk about the young couple who obviously had to get married than it is to conceive a child out of wedlock?

In the eyes of a holy God, there are no acceptable sins. Even our biases increase the strife and division among us. Jesus tells us in Matthew 7 ~

Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, Let me take the speck out of your eye, when there is the log in your own eye ... first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.

Living in a redemptive community means we are not deceived into thinking that there are acceptable sins. Redeeming the future begins with the humbling and hard work of logging ~ getting my own heart and life in line with what God desires.

We are All in the Same Boat

2010-12-31T12:10:00.000-08:00

I began this New Year's Eve morning by reading a wonderful note from my cousin. Looking ahead to the coming year, Janey shared a few lines from the inspirational writing of Sue Monk Kidd. As I looked up the quote and read the entire piece by Kidd, I found her words convicting and compelling as I contemplate the coming new year.

On a bitter night in January, I sit on a train that rumbles away from the airport in Atlanta ... I'm supposed to be flying home to South Carolina, but minutes before my departure, the entire airport closed because of an impending ice storm ...

It's a long ride ... Soon there are only three of us. A middle-aged woman sits across from me. I look at her for the first time and notice that she's crying. As she wipes tears with the back of her hand, her gaze lingers on my face ... She's asking for my attention.

... I feel sad for her, but what can I do? She's carrying her own troubles and I can't fix them ... I look away from her, retreating into the murmur of the train. Quietly, uncomfortably unavailable.

... The second night she comes powerfully into my dreams. She sits across from me, this time in a rowboat. Her tears gush over the tiny precipice of her eyelids like waterfalls. The boat is filling up with this sad water, and I realize that if I don't do something, we're going to sink. Both of us ...

The dream cracks my heart, and I wake with solemn wonder, reunited with an old truth:

People with profound human needs and suffering do not, as I have half-imagined and half-wished, travel in a boat separate than mine. In ways I have scarcely appreciated, we are all in the same boat, and I can't be unavailable to their suffering without jeopardizing my own soul. We will sink together or we will float together.

Excerpted from Firstlight: The Early Inspirational Writings of Sue Monk Kidd, Guideposts Books, 2006

Similarly, Jesus spoke of the opportunity to share in the sufferings of others in Luke 10:30-34 ~

A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he say him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him.

I am moved by the words Martin Luther King, Jr., in response to Jesus' Parable of the Good Samaritan ~

The first question which the priest and the Levite asked was: "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But ... the good Samaritan reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?"

Convicting. There have been times when I did not stop when those around me were asking for my attention; times when I may have stopped and merely watched as they strained at the oars. There have been times when I ~~could have~~, no should haveclimbed in the boat to bail water or simple sit still to balance the boat against the storms of life. I admit, it is so much easier to rejoice with those who rejoice than to weep with those who weep. But that is the essence of living in community.

Compelling. My prayer and hope for the new year is that I would be willing to be fully present in the lives of those around me; to recognize that we are all in the same boat, and I can't be unavailable to their suffering without jeopardizing my own soul. We will sink together or we will float together.

May these thoughts be more than New Year's Eve sentiment, but truly motivate me to redeem the future that lies ahead in the coming year.

At the Crossroads

2010-11-26T11:40:00.000-08:00

The Prophet Jeremiah wrote ~

Stand at the crossroads and look;

ask for the ancient paths,

ask where the good way is,

and walk in it,

and you will find rest for your souls.

What simple steps to discover rest for my soul. And yet, Jeremiah ends the passage with these sad words ~

But they said, "We will not walk in it."

How often I find myself at the crossroads. I hear the words of those who have traveled these paths before me, directing my steps toward the good way. Yet, something inside of me chooses to not walk in it.

I have found as I travel through life, the choices I make now ~ in the present ~ is how I redeem the future.

In the words of Jeremiah, my prayer for myself and for you, my friend, is that even as Thanksgiving ushers in the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, we will give ourselves the gift taking time in the present to redeem the future. As we stand at the crossroads, may we humbly ask for insight from those who have gone this way before, choose the good way, and walk in it.

And may we find rest for our souls.

Happy Birthday, Scott

2010-11-23T09:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Scott,

Today is your birthday. I remember the day you came into this world on November 23, 1979. I could never have imagined then that the day would come when I no longer had the joy of your presence in my life.

You would be thirty-one years old today, Scott. I wonder how you would look as a man. What would you be doing with your life? Who would have won your heart and be your wife? How many children would you have? Oh, how much I long to have you still be present in my life.

I remember a few weeks before you died, you came home from babysitting Ciera and Matthew Fry. You sat down on the couch, put your hands behind your head, and with such an air of confidence, declared, I can't wait to be a Dad!

You loved to spend time with children ~ to play with them, share your faith with them, and teach them things you knew how to do. I remember another night about that same time when you babysat so Dayn and Kati could go out. Garon could not get to sleep that night. You told me you just sat next to him on his bed, rubbed his curly-haired head, and sang Alleluia, because that is what helped you go to sleep when you were his age. You would have been a great Dad, Scott!

You have been gone from us for almost fifteen long years. So many years to wait to see you again, and yet, so much time to cherish the memories of your short sixteen years of life. Memories are where the proof of life is stored. I treasure my storehouse of Scott-memories. I thank God that you left so much proof of your relationship with Jesus Christ that we wait with an assurance and a hope that there will be a blessed reunion, we will see you again.

Your are loved and missed by not only Dad, Amy and I. You are missed by Jeff. The song he wrote ~ The Brother I've Yet to Meet ~ shares his desire to have known you and have you be a part of his life now. Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack miss you ~ we share our memories of you with them, and they love to hear and tell Scott stories.

Kaitlyn asked me yesterday, How old is Uncle Scott going to be tomorrow? I loved that she asked me in the present tense because although you are not physically part of our lives, you are forever part of our lives as we have transformed our relationship with you from one of presence to one of memory. Kaitlyn knows with confidence that although your life on earth has ended, you are more alive today than ever in His presence.

Perhaps the words of the song by Mercy Me captures the content of my heart today ~ If home is where my heart is, than I'm out of place ... I've never been more homesick than now.

Happy Birthday, Scott.

Love,

Mom

Birthday Blooms

2010-11-20T11:03:00.000-08:00

Last November, for Scott's thirtieth birthday, we added a new plant to Scott's Memorial Garden in our backyard. When we went to the local nursery to make our selection, one of the things we wanted to be certain of was the hardiness of the plant. Would it withstand the drop in temperatures as fall and winter settle into our valley? We chose a Camellia Sasanqua with semi-double white flowers and ever-so-slight pink edges. It made a lovely addition in the corner of the garden.

It is November again. Scott's birthday is just a few days away. And fall has finally arrived over night with a wonderful gift of rain. I walked out into the garden this morning to see how the various plants had survived the downpour.

There in the corner of the garden was Scott's birthday bush ~ covered with blooms, and many buds waiting to open! Little did I realize that this hardy plant was going to bloom each November (as I am really just a poser when it comes to gardening).

What a wonderful surprise to know that every year on Scott's birthday we will have a display of flowers to say how very much Scott is loved and missed by us all. What a beautiful image as the chill of winter settles in that we have a blessed hope of a glorious reunion.

A Victim of God's Design

2010-11-19T10:31:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who lives in Democratic Republic of Congo. Luc is a fine young man who was my translator when I taught at his seminary in Kinshasa a few years ago. He has tried on numerous occasions to acquire a visa to come visit my family in America. But Luc's application has been repeatedly denied. In the face of this rejection, I love his perspective . . .

I am a prisoner in my own country ~
a victim of God's design.

But oh, what a lovely victimizer,

who has never allowed me
to walk the streets naked

or go to bed without at least a pinch of a loaf.

With Thanksgiving only days away, many in my country will take time to express their gratitude for the many good things that fill their lives.

And, if they are like my own family, they will sit down to a Thanksgiving feast, with culinary delights prepared to perfection; to consume a couple of day's worth of calories in one sitting. Incredibly, they will save room for the array of desserts to be enjoyed later in the evening.

But this Thanksgiving, Luc's words seem to echo in my head. I am convicted of my own indifference at times toward those less fortunate. I am challenged to check my assumptions ~ what things in my life I take for granted as rights, when they are, in reality, privileges.

Luc's words bring an renewed awareness this season of how often I forget that I too, am a victim of God's design ~ that He is the one who provides this life filled with so very many comforts and conveniences. He made me who I am and allowed me to be born in this nation of plenty. This Thanksgiving, I want a heart focused on His design. I want to be fully aware that I am nothing without Him.

November

2010-11-17T15:20:00.000-08:00

Yellow, brown, and red

The colors change

A chill in the air

Fall is

When I most miss you

From When I Most Miss You by Nicol Smith

When All is Said and Done

2010-10-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

It's been almost fifteen years since I first heard the song by that title. Darin Peterson, one of Scott's teachers at Immanuel High School, recorded the song by Geoff Moore on a collection of songs he compiled to comfort us in our loss. The song speaks to what really matters in life; what will be remembered ~ when all is said and done.

About five years ago I participated in a two-year program on leadership being offered at my church. The final assignment was to write a Personal Mandate ~ a capstone for our twenty-four months of training. In writing my Personal Mandate, I had to ask some serious questions. How will I choose to live? Why will I live the life I am living? What will be my legacy ~ how will I be remembered?

Quite honestly, I moaned and complained about this project. It totally stretched me to break down my life into a statement of purpose, articulate my core beliefs and create the strategies to achieve a desired legacy. I remember that for me, the best way to accomplish the task, was to start at the end and work backwards. So I began with the question in that Geoff Moore song ~ what will be said about my time here on earth, when all is said and done?

I have to admit, in the end, I loved writing my Personal Mandate. I find it to be a solid rock on which I balance in my life, and determine how to invest my time and energies in those things that conform to my God-given purpose for living.

That brings me to this week. Through the wonders of technology, I was able to be present for the funeral of Todd MacDonnell, a former pastor from our church. Although his memorial service was held in the small community of Pierz, Minnesota, I was able to participate in the service from our local church sanctuary via a Skype connection.

Todd was just 48 years old. Eleven short weeks ago he went to the eye doctor for a sudden change in his vision. As glasses did not help, and other symptoms surfaced, Todd was sent to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. There he was diagnosed with Creutzfeldt–Jakob disease. No known cause. No known treatment. No known cure. Todd's health declined dramatically, and he went to be with the Lord in less than 3 months.

At his memorial service, speaker after speaker stood to read some of the thousands of notes and letters which were sent to Todd during his brief battle with CJD. Again and again, each writer spoke of how Todd had been instrumental in helping them become who they are today. Each commented on the consistent and faithful way Todd lived out his faith ~ never wavering, even with his impending death.

As I listened to the tributes ~ Todd's legacy ~ I remembered the words of that song once again ~

When the music fades into the past,
When the days of life are through,
What will be remembered of where I've come?
When all is said and done?

Will they say I loved my family?
That I was a faithful friend?
That I lived to tell of God's own son?
When all is said and done.

Of how I long to see the hour,
When I would hear that trumpet sound.
So I could rise and see my Savior's face,
And see him smile,
And say 'Well done.'

You can forget my name
And the songs I've sung,
Every rhyme and every tune.
But remember the truth of Jesus' love,
When all is said and done

When all is said and done.

And so this morning, I am thanking my friend, Todd MacDonnell, that in life and in death, he continues to urge us on to greater things, for eternity's sake. With my Personal Mandate in front of me, I am once again focusing on the importance of leaving a godly legacy ~ when all is said and done.

It is never too late to redeem the future and leave a legacy that will continue to speak, when you have nothing left to say.

NOTE: For information on how to write a Personal Mandate, please leave a comment with your contact information, and I will share the process with you.

Irresistible Invitation

2010-10-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

I am often amazed at how much news coverage there is when a state dinner takes place at the White House. The limos. The tuxedos and gowns. The pomp and circumstance.

Everyone seems to want the details ~ from the design of the place settings to the details of the menu; who's in and who's out.

Now we even have White House party crashers who somehow get in under the radar to see for themselves what is going on, even though they never received an invitation!

Truthfully, I really do not find the thought of attending a state dinner very exciting ~ not that I would ever expect to be invited. Seriously ... How many pieces of silverware does one person need to enjoy a meal? How much does a dress need to cost to be acceptable? Everything about the event seems to revolve around outward appearances.

I am reminded of an invitation of a different sort. One where there are no expectations. No need to put on airs ~ just come as you are. In fact, the invitation states for those who accept, to put away all pretense, forget about outward appearance, and become real.

Incredible!

Irresistible!

Nourishment for your body and soul, absolutely free!

This invitation truly embodies the spirit of this blog. For I am firmly convinced that it is possible to redeem the future, transform those things that seek to destroy me, and find a healing place for my heart and soul. This invitation offers me a place to come just as I am ~ with all my baggage, sorrows, disappointments and fears.

This invitation beckons me to that healing place of transformation described in Psalm 85, where ~

“Mercy and Truth have met each other:
Justice and Peace have kissed.”

The invitations have been sent. The question remains ~ am I willing to accept this Irresistible Invitation? To look at my life through the lens of TRUTH and receive His MERCY? To accept His JUSTICE which ushers in PEACE? He invites me to come to this healing place, to attend His banquet, to allow Him to bring restoration and transformation.

It really is an irresistible invitation!

Footnote: The original copy of this invitation is in Old Testament writings, believed to be written sometime around the Babylonian captivity, near 580 BC. The invitation is no less irresistible today.

Come, all you who are thirsty,come to the waters;
and you who have no money,come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost.
Why spend money on what is not bread,
and your labor on what does not satisfy?
Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,
and your soul will delight in the richest of fare.
Give ear and come to me;hear me, that your soul may live.
I will make an everlasting covenant with you,
my faithful love promised to David.
See, I have made him a witness to the peoples,
a leader and commander of the peoples.
Surely you will summon nations you know not,
and nations that do not know you will hasten to you,
because of the LORD your God,the Holy One of Israel,
for he has endowed you with splendor."
Seek the LORD while he may be found;
call on him while he is near.
Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts.
Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him,
and to our God, for he will freely pardon.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

Isaiah 55:1-11

Apple Hill

2010-10-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

Early in our marriage, we made our home near Sacramento. It was a great place to live. The cities surrounding the capital still have a rural feel to them. It is such a beautiful area ~ did you know that Sacramento claims more trees per capita than any other city?

Remembering our years spent in northern California always brings a smile to my face. Our children were born in a small local hospital. We made friendships that remain part of our lives today. We learned many lessons about faith and life that strengthened our marriage. And, every October we went to Apple Hill.

Apple Hill is located in the Sierra Nevada foothills in the small El Dorado County community of Camino. The original sixteen apple orchards that made up Apple Hill have grown through the years to include 55 ranches, wineries, a micro-brewery, spa and vineyards. The various orchards offer many ways for visitors to experience the fruit of their labor ~ fresh-pressed cider, apple donuts made-to-order, apple pies, apple milk shakes, caramel apples, and the list goes on! You can even grab a bucket and pick your own apples!

It has been almost 30 years since we moved from northern California to make our home here in the central valley. Many years have passed since we loaded up our two small children to spend a day in the orchards.

Last year we took a road trip back to Apple Hill with our daughter Amy and our grandchildren. Amy was only three years old the last time she was there! How fun to see it for the first time again through the eyes of Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack, and taste anew the delicious treats!

Well, it is October again.

We are finalizing our plans to travel north again to reconnect with friends and spend a weekend at Apple Hill with the whole family! The trees will put on a grand display of fall foliage and the scent of apples will permeate the air. Aside from the vibrant colors and edible delights that are part of Apple Hill, for me, it is a privilege to retrace my steps, to remember how things used to be, and to focus on God's faithfulness over the years of my life.

You see, there were times in those early years of our marriage when we went to Apple Hill because it was free ~ money was very scarce. Those who walked with us then know the many ways God provided for our every need ~ money slipped anonymously into an envelope, bags of groceries delivered on our porch, and even the time the doorbell rang and we found a Christmas tree leaning against the door jam. We may have had little in those days but we were truly blessed.

Apple Hill is a place where we were a family of four. Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined that someday Scott would not be part of this life. But even in losing a child, God has graciously cleared a path and caused our feet to not stumble. The sights and smells of Apple Hill remind me of who I am ~ the mother of Amy and Scott.

The orchards of Apple Hill are a reminder for me of the different seasons of life. Some seasons bring forth fruit; some seem cold and harsh. Some provide a time of refreshing; thankfully, some usher in the promise of renewal. So I look forward to once again immersing myself in Apple Hill. To see and feel God's faithfulness. To remember and renew my hope in Him.

Bulbs

2010-09-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

Something caught my eye last week as I hurried through the garden center at the hardware store. (The afternoon temperatures where I live seem to challenge the fact that the first day of fall is just around the corner.) I was surprised to see the bags of bulbs on display. As I rushed past them, I found my thoughts drifting to another time.

I vividly remember the cold February morning when two friends knocked on my front door. It was about a week after Scott's memorial service. There they stood ~ gardening tools in one hand and bags of bulbs in the other. They simply announced that they had come to plant bulbs for spring flowers.

There was something so symbolic in their work that day. I watched through the living room window as they dug down through the cold dirt. Carefully they placed each bulb in a warm bed of earth just below winter's chill. And there the bulbs completed their winter rest ~ protected from the last blast of cold air, warmed by the ground which entombed them.

It was not many weeks before I noticed the first push of tiny plants through the dirt in the garden. Then the thin stalks began to grow and buds appeared. Sure enough ~ as winter became spring ~ so the buds on the stalks opened to reveal the beautiful display that had been tucked away in each bulb.

As I reflect on the bulbs planted in my garden that winter in 1996, I am amazed how the experience often parallels my own life's journey. Each of those bulbs is really a dwelling place ~ formed to protect the beautiful plant from winter’s chill, just waiting to be roused by the warmth of spring. The bulb also contains nutrients to ensure the plants' survival during its winter nap. Many plants that grow from bulbs are perennials. Although each will die back to the ground during a dormant period, they are protected from the harsh realities of winter, as they wait for the promise of spring to bloom, year after year, at their appointed time.

And so it seems with my life ~ the seasons come and go. I know there will be winters to endure, times to nurture and renew my soul. And at an appointed time, the warmth of spring will bring forth the beauty of redemption and restoration.

Deep inside every man there is a private sanctum

where dwells the mysterious essence of his being.

A.W. Tozer

Good Grief

2010-08-23T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today I share my blog once again with Jessica ~ one of my traveling buddies.

My traveling buddies are friends and family who find themselves on a similar path . . . a journey with no up-grades, many road closures and a heavy burden of grief. We are members of what I call, The Bereaved Mothers Club. Membership is weighty: placing a precious child in the arms of God.

Jessica, and her husband Travis, lost Kade, their sweet two-month-old son to SIDS in the fall of 2007. Kade's birth and death dates are coming soon. Jessica knows she is entering a season of grief. She shares with honesty about how moving toward her pain has brought healing along her journey.

It's Good for Me ~ by Jessica

We went to the dairy together last night to take a ride on the new mule. (No, not an actual mule; it's a cross between a golf cart and four wheeler.) The girls rode in front with Travis, and Brody and I rode in the back. It was a fun little outing and the cool evening breeze was refreshing.

We always love being at the dairy as a family and I know it means a lot to Travis that we are enjoying it. He especially loves it that Macey can carry on an actual conversation about the dairy. Tonight Travis told Macey that a calf had been born and it was a girl. To which she replied, "Oh, it was a girl? Don't you mean a heifer?" Travis darted a surprised and proud look in her direction and put up his hand to offer her a high five. It was a proud moment for both of them.

As we made our way around the dairy, we came to the maternity barn to see the calves that had been born just hours earlier. In the first pen lay two heifer calves. Their mama was leaning over their lifeless bodies, lovingly licking their bodies clean. My mind started racing as Travis explained that they were stillborn.

Why did you just leave them there? I asked. I felt annoyed and a little angry. I felt protective for the mama cow, and didn't want her to have to stand there unable to revive her babies. I didn't understand why Travis didn't hurry and take the calves out to keep the mama from knowing that they hadn't survived. My eyes began to burn.

It's good for her, he explained in a compassionate tone.

I began to feel emotional as I tried to understand. How could that possibly be good for her? It's just plain mean. But as I thought about it more, the Lord began to remind me of some precious truths that he's revealed to me.

Kade’s season is upon us, and my heart and mind are in full processing mode. I have had a busy few months; working through my feelings and grief has been put on the back burner. They are always there but just a little tucked away. I have moments of my own, usually in the late evenings during Brody's last feeding. My mind often wanders to what life would be like if Kade were here and how although our home is full of life and busy little bodies, it can somehow manage to feel a little lonely and not quite noisy enough. My days are full and I sometimes feel unable to handle it all. But how I wish I had a 3 year old little boy running around adding to the chaos. I miss him so much I ache inside.

After our ride at the dairy, I couldn't stop thinking about those words. It's good for her. My mind went to all of my sweet friends, near and far, who have had to give a child back to the Lord. Some I know well and some I may not meet until glory. I thought of their experiences and how the Lord has made the process good for them.

I thought of my own experience ~ finding Kade's lifeless body; the car ride to the emergency room; the look on all of the doctors and nurses as they left the room after being unable to save Kade; the coroner driving away with his body; the loved ones who came to love and serve us; planning a funeral; picking out a casket and burial plot, and many other memories that have become fuzzy with time. That process was horrific. I remember feeling like I was in the middle of one of those nightmares where no matter how hard you try you can't wake yourself up. I've been living this nightmare for three years now, and I've learned that although the process is often brutal, it is vital.

Those days that I spent preparing to bury Kade played a huge part in my healing. I took time to celebrate his life, to honor the Lord and acknowledge that although His plans were proving to be far different than my own, I was going to follow Him. I took the time to care for Kade on this earth in any way I could. I picked out burial clothes, decorations for his service, flowers for his casket, and my mom and I even cleaned the room at the funeral home where his viewing would be. I was intentional about feeling it all, facing my heartache head on so that I could begin healing in a healthy way. I didn't want to ignore anything only to uncover it years later after it had festered and become rotten bitterness in my heart. All of that was good for me.

That mama cow was spending time with her babies ~ smelling them, licking them, and in her own way loving them, and in those things, finding healing. She was getting a chance to care for her babies even after they were no longer living. This process would make it possible for her to live a full life, give birth to more calves and produce quality milk. She would be able to serve her purpose on this earth more fully by going through the process. Isn't it incredible that the Lord created that process for animals too? Amazing.

As I near this season for the third time, I am amazed at how the Lord has been so faithful. I can hardly believe that Kade would be 3 . . . 3! Crazy. I feel like this is the first time that I am actually looking forward to the process. I don't feel afraid of it or unsure of how to handle it. I'm not wondering if I'll survive or be unable to function. Allowing myself to go through the process has given me the chance to fulfill God's purposes for my life. I have not been hindered by my grief, rather I have allowed the Lord to use my grief to comfort others with the comfort I have received. Although each year has been different, I have learned to be confident in the Lord's perfect plan for the process and that celebrating my precious son is joyful, painful, emotional, healing and, it's good for me.

To read more of Jessica's journey, you may visit her blog, Seeking His Face.

What a Difference an * Made!

2010-06-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

It was at my high school graduation when I realized that I had believed a lie about myself for many years. When June comes each year, I am reminded how words can destroy or transform the way people view themselves and the future.

I distinctly remember the night of my graduation from Lakewood High School. We were all so done with school by the time that night finally arrived. We marched into the stadium to our high school band playing their best rendition of Pomp and Circumstance.

I remember I walked next to Narcy Hogan. Narcy was the smartest person I knew. She had a gold tassel on her cap as well as a gold stole and cords draped around her neck, showing the world her academic success. I was proud to call Narcy my friend. We had been friends since our days together at Herbert Hoover Junior High. And now we were experiencing the last event of our high school days together.

We took our seats in the metal chairs set up in rows on the football field. I opened the program we were handed as we walked in. I looked through the order of events, the special guests and when the choir was to sing. Then I began to read the names of the graduates.

When I came to my name, I noticed something unusual. There it was, followed an asterisk.

Bonnie Jean Goodrell*

I leaned over and asked the smartest person I knew ~ Why is there an asterisk by my name?

I'm so glad Narcy was not only smart, but also thoughtful and kind.

She excitedly replied, It means you graduated with honors!

With honors?

Really? So many thoughts ran through my mind during that graduation ceremony. I remember standing on the risers with my choir to sing No Man is an Island and You'll Never Walk Alone. I know I walked across the platform to receive my diploma. But in all honesty, I was not really there ~ at that time; at the place. In my mind, I was no longer sitting on the football field of Lakewood High School.

As soon as Narcy spoke those words, It means you graduated with honors! ~ I was transported back to Oliver Wendall Holmes Elementary School. I was running my hand across the tiny desks. I was playing on the playground with the slide and swings and monkey bars. I was sitting inside the classrooms looking out the windows. All of those things flashed through my mind. And then, as if someone placed a record on the turntable, and slowed the rpm's way down, I heard the voices of my elementary teachers. They seemed to be repeating the same thing, again and again, in that slow-motion kind of voice that just stays with you ~

Bonnie has so much potential, if only . . .
Bonnie could be such a good student if she would . . .
If only Bonnie would . . .

Those are the words I heard year after year from my teachers. Those are the comments I read on the back of my report card when my mother brought it home from parent conferences. And sadly, those are the things I grew to believe about myself. Because that is what I was told.

But something changed that evening in 1970 as I sat in the metal chairs placed neatly in rows on the football field of Lakewood High School. One small * asterisk made all the difference in how I viewed myself, my potential, my future.

You know what? I drove back to Lakewood High School the next morning. I walked up to the window of our small student store on campus. And for $1.00, I bought my gold tassel. I never had the chance to wear it ~ to let others know I had potential. But I wanted it for myself. To remind me that words can hurt or heal. Words can destroy or transform a child's view of how they see themselves. Comments made in frustration, even if meant as motivation, crush a child's spirit.

It brings tears to my eyes every time I retell this story. To think that I did not believe in the grades I received in my high school classes that qualified me to graduate with honors. I believed the words that played on a tape in my head. I had believed a lie. Words spoken about me years before that I allowed to rob me of future joys.

Yes, it's June and time for graduation. It is both a time of excitement ~ to think about what is to come, and a time of reflection ~ to remember the many experiences that have taken place to bring each student to this place and time. I wonder what words these graduates will hear as they reflect upon this journey?

I pray they hear words that transform and redeem their futures!

Sharp Contrast

2010-05-31T11:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, life is harsh ~ and I admit ~ it is difficult to see a redeeming path through suffering.

Quite honestly, I have found that redeeming the future requires a conscious effort to look for beauty amid the sharp contrast of pain; to look for a glimpse of hope in the middle of despair.

As Tony worked in the yard this morning, he noticed some new blooms. He called for me to come and see "something beautiful, absolutely beautiful."

There in our small cactus garden was beauty ~ in sharp contrast. It would be so easy to miss these tiny flowers, unless your eyes were trained to look for beauty, even in the unexpected places.

Oh that we may train our eyes to see a redeeming path, in sharp contrast, to the pain and suffering that comes our way.

A Healing Place

2010-05-09T22:21:00.000-07:00

It’s Mother’s Day, and it has been an emotional day. Grief is an unpredictable companion along life's journey.

We had a lovely day together as a family. The guys and the grandchildren fixed a scrumptious dinner for us, and we finished off the day with fresh strawberry shortcake. But even as I celebrated with my daughter, Amy and her sweet family, I found myself thinking about how many should be sitting around our family's table. I wondered what this day would be like if Scott had not died. Especially today, I found myself longing to feel his hug one.more.time.

Yet, with this burden of grief, my heart finds comfort tonight in the imagery of Psalm 85:10. There the psalmist speaks of a healing place where “Mercy and Truth have met each other: Justice and Peace have kissed.”

Each element ~ truth, justice, mercy, and peace ~ brings perspective and potential for experiencing peace with loss.

For those who grieve, Truth is about what to remember and how to remember. Truth casts her eyes toward the past, remembers the way it was before the loss, and underscores the value of treasuring my relationship with Scott. Justice is about what can be done now to restore wholeness in my life and renew the relationship that has been forever changed by death. Justice looks at the present and recognizes the full weight of grief. I am so thankful the psalmist did not stop with Truth and Justice, but included Mercy and Peace.

For Mercy and Peace look to the future and help me consider ~

How can I live without Scott in my life?
How can I transform my relationship with Scott from one of presence to one of memory?

Yes, Mercy and Peace gaze toward the future and what life can and will be like as a result of this loss.

I love the way John Paul Lederach writes about this imagery in his book, The Journey Toward Reconciliation ~

For Truth without Mercy is blinding and raw; Mercy without Truth is a cover-up and superficial. Justice without Peace falls easily into cycles of bitterness and revenge; Peace without Justice is short-lived and benefits only the privileged or the victors.

As another Mother's Day comes to a close, I recognize that along my journey of grief some days will be harder than others. Some days will scream for Truth and Justice. I am also aware that there is a healing place where the reality of my loss is embraced by Mercy and transformed by Peace.

And for that, I am ever so grateful.

Walking In My Comfort Zone

2010-04-16T11:14:00.000-07:00

I'm stepping out of my comfort zone.

I just signed up to participate in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. The goal of the 36-hour walk is to bring awareness and raise funds for cancer research. (I am glad it is a relay of 36-hours. I will be walking with Tony in the 6-7 a.m. slot.)

It will be inspiring to walk along side cancer survivors and their family members. I am proud to raise dollars that will fund research that may someday put an end to pain and suffering caused by this dreadful disease.

And yet, I am entering a different kind of comfort zone. Matthew 5:4 promises that those who mourn, shall be comforted. You see, my reason for participating in this relay walk is actually quite personal. I'm walking to make a deposit in a bank of a different kind. A deposit in the memory bank of family and friends who mourn the loss of a loved one from the ravages of cancer.

I am walking in the memory of my niece, Heather Smalley Stevens. She fought a long and heroic battle with pancreatic cancer, which took her life in June of 2006.

As I have posted before, memories are such a gift for those who grieve. Remembering the time shared and the life lived helps link us to those who have passed away. Norman Cousins said it best ~

Memories are where the proof of life is stored.

If you would like to contribute to this cause, to support my efforts or to donate in the name of someone dear to you, please click here to go to my personal page. You can choose an amount to donate and enter the name of someone you wish to honor.

I'll let you know in a future post how much we raised together and how I survived, out of my comfort zone.

{this moment} . . .Spring

2010-04-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see.

God's Redemption Center

2010-04-14T11:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'll admit it ~ I hate to recycle STUFF! Rinsing out bottles and cans, sorting paper and junk mail seems somewhat futile.

I understand all the reasons we recycle ~ and I'm all for saving natural resource and energy, and promoting clean air and water. The internet is filled with helpful sites, like Earth911.com or Replanet.com. Cities, large and small, have recycling bins for households to do their part. Parking lots have drive-up recycling centers that accept just about anything . . . non-living.

But in the back of my mind I keep hearing that little chorus I learned as a child ~

Jesus never fails,
Jesus never fails,
Heav'n and earth may pass away,
But Jesus never fails.
© 1927 by Arthur Luther

And so, in my mind, it seems that no matter how many bins we fill in our effort to Save the Earth (said in that deep announcer-like voice) ~ someday this planet, as we know it, will pass away. And a New Earth will be created!

But this week as I was reading Isaiah 61, I was impressed with a different recycling program ~ one that truly spoke personally to my heart. Listen to the words of the Prophet Isaiah in the first four verses of this chapter ~

The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn;
to grant to those who mourn in Zion—
to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;
that they may be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, that he may be glorified
They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastations of many generations.

This is God's recycling program ~ the ULTIMATE Redemption Center ~ where human resources are accepted in any condition ~ to be rescued, restored, renewed from the burdens that seek to destroy them ~ and redeemed into someone with eternal worth.

Can you envision what this means?

God's Redemption Center
Everyone Welcome, Regardless of Condition

Do you know someone poor or brokenhearted; a friend held captive by the prison of their past? Can you think of one who mourns the loss of a precious loved one? Do you know families whose lives seems to be in ruins?

Perhaps you are broken, abused, or faint in spirit. You struggle under a burden of grief. Your life seems to be crumbling around you.

As the Prophet Isaiah, I can say, God has an awesome recycling program. He faithfully continues to restore my brokenness. He is the God of all comfort. The Blessed Controller of all things. The One who brings beauty from ashes. He makes the lame to walk and the blind to see. Nothing is wasted in God's economy ~ not our tears, our past, our deepest scars; not the mess we have made of things. He longs to rescue us from ourselves, restore our worth, renew our hope and redeem our future.

Do not lose heart. God does more than recycle. He transforms us into new creations for His good pleasure.

Sunday's Coming

2010-04-03T09:40:00.000-07:00

I think it was Tony Campolo who first coined the phrase, It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!

Those five words truly capture the contrasts of this Easter season. Holy Week begins on Palm Sunday with Jesus exalted as he rides through Jerusalem only to find his body buried in a tomb on Holy Saturday.

And in between, Mary watches her son beaten and scorned, nailed to a cross.

Jesus sees his mother's grief from the cross and speaks to her loss ~

“Woman, behold, your son!" Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother!” And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home. ~ John 19:26, 27

It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!

Mary and the others who find the tomb empty and realizes the fulfillment of Scripture and the hope of resurrection.

It's Friday, but Sunday's coming truly resonates with my soul. As a mother who has laid her son in the arms of God, I have known Friday. I grieve the loss of a child almost daily in my thoughts of what.could.have.been.

Yes, life in His Kingdom is full of contrasts.

Those who mourn are comforted.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. ~ Matthew 5:4

Those who grieve have hope.

Dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and was raised to life again, we also believe that when Jesus returns, God will bring back with him the believers who have died. ~ 1 Thessalonians 4:13, 14

Those who die in Christ are truly alive.

For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. ~ 2 Corinthians 5:4

Many of us have known Friday and we long for Sunday.

One of our local pastor's truly captured the heartache of Holy Saturday and the hope of Easter ~

Holy Saturday is really like the world we live in ~ it's the in-between day . . . We believe in the Resurrection and we know it is coming, but we patiently wait as we grieve, knowing His promise will be fulfilled. ~ Pastor Gregory Beaumont

Jesus said ~

I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world. ~ John 16:33

This life is full of Fridays but do not lose heart because Sunday's coming!

Painting: Jesus Taken Down From the Cross, Michael O'Brien

Forgiveness from the Cross

2010-04-02T23:11:00.000-07:00

When I survey the wondrous cross

On which the Prince of Glory died

My richest gain I count but loss

And pour contempt on all my pride

See from His head, His hands, His feet

Sorrow and love flow mingled down

Did e'er such love and sorrow meet

Or thorns compose so rich a crown

Oh the wondrous cross

Bids me come and die and find that I

May truly live

It is late and Good Friday is almost over. I crawled out of bed to make some sense of the scenes and words I heard tonight that just keep playing in my mind. I attended a local production of the Passion of Christ earlier this evening. I know the story of Easter. I can re-tell all of the events of Holy Week.

But tonight, as I stood with believers from all around my town, I was struck once again with the words Jesus spoke from the Cross ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

I watched tonight as they beat him, whipped him, and spat on him. The crowds jeered at him as he stumbled under the weight of the cross and the burden of my sin. The soldiers mocked him on the cross ~ Is this your King? And then he spoke ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

I began to think of the times in my life when I have been mistreated ~ words spoken to me in anger, stories repeated that were not true, laughter at my expense, exclusion rather than embrace. These hurts and offenses pale in comparison to what He suffered during the last 24 hours of His life.

So how was He able to forgive them for all the suffering and pain? Because it never was about Him. It was always about us ~ you and me, the soldiers and chief priests, the rulers and the commoners.

Oh that I would learn to die to self. That I would release my need to be right and choose to be reconciled with even my enemies. May I be the one who speaks the words ~

Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.

Painting by Master of the Starck Triptych
The Raising of the Cross [center, left, and right panels], c. 1480/1490

Morning Has Broken

2010-04-02T21:38:00.000-07:00

Morning has broken, like the first morning,

Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird.

Praise for the singing,
Praise for the morning,

Praise for the springing fresh from the word.

Sweet the rain's new fall,
Sunlit from heaven,

Like the first dew fall, on the first grass.

Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden,

Spring in completeness where His feet pass.

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning,

Born of the One light, Eden saw play

Praise with elation, praise every morning

God's re-creation of the new day.

Hymn written by Eleanor Farieon in 1931,

sung to "Bunessan", a traditional Gaelic tune

Photo by my friend, Holly in Flagstaff

The Garden of Gethsemane

2010-04-01T23:19:00.000-07:00

Tonight is Maundy Thursday ~ also known as Holy Thursday, Covenant Thursday, or Thursday of Mysteries. For Christians around the world, Maundy Thursday is the holy day falling on the Thursday before Easter. It is the day when Christ served His disciples what is commonly known as the Last Supper of Christ. As evening fell, Jesus and His disciples crossed through the Kidron Valley and climbed the Mount of Olives to enter the Garden of Gethsemane.

For most people of faith, Easter Sunday is the most holy of all days in the Christian faith. I too am thankful that Easter presents us with the Empty Tomb, which brings the promise of resurrection and the blessed hope of reunion with loved ones who have gone before.

Many others view Good Friday as the most significant day of Holy Week. For indeed, it is the Cross which held the final sacrifice, the shed blood of the Lamb, which provides the forgiveness of sins.

But this night ~ the Thursday before Easter ~ I find myself contemplating the last night of Jesus' life. Like Him, I am drawn to Gethsemane. Here in this Garden on the Mount of Olives, Jesus came to wrestle with the pain and sorrow that was to come to him. Here in this place Jesus came to pour out his fear, to protest what was to be, to plead with the Father to let this cup of death pass from Him.

I find this Garden to be an interesting place for Jesus to come the night before his crucifixion. In Hebrew this place is Gat Shemanim, meaning literally an oil press. Here in the grove of olive trees just outside of Jerusalem was a huge stone press where the olives were placed on the huge stone press. As another large stone turned round and round over the olives, the weight of the stone crushed the fruit and forced the oil within to drain down into containers below.

Gethsemane ~ a place to be crushed ~ is where Jesus came. Some dictionaries offer Gethsemane as a synonym for a place or occasion of great mental or spiritual suffering.

Gethsemane ~ where Jesus allowed his pleadings and protests to be transformed into submission and obedience.

Gethsemane ~ where Jesus climbed into the lap of Abba Father and found His anguish replaced with acceptance.

So here I am ~ with Him in the Garden ~ thankful for the Cross and the Empty Tomb ~ but needing to linger a little while in this place.

Oh, may I bring my hurts and my sorrow, the injustices and the inequities of life, and may I leave this place transformed into an instrument of Your peace.

Painting: Christ in Agony by Michael O'Brien

The Aroma of His Glory

2010-02-20T09:24:00.000-08:00

There is a sensory memory that I will carry with me throughout my life ~ it is the delicious smell of Mom’s pot roast, simmering with oven-browned potatoes and carrots. The rich aroma filled our senses each Sunday as we arrived home from church!

It is amazing to me that sensory experiences are so strong. Scientists describe it as odor memory, that is, our ability to remember the scent and the memory connected to the scent. In fact, they have found that only two synapses separate the olfactory nerve from the amygdala, that part of the brain where we experience emotions. That explains why these aromas from childhood form such a strong connection for me ~ like a time and date stamp ~ they connect me not only to Mom’s delicious cooking but the deeper emotion of family dinners together..

So it comes as no surprise that God would chose the metaphor of aroma when he talks about how we live our lives. Paul writes in Ephesians 5:1-2 that when we live a life of love, our very lives become an offering, a fragrant sacrifice to God.

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children; and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma.

This metaphor of aroma is both powerful and personal to me. When our sixteen year old son died, I wrestled with questions of meaning and purpose. Why would a loving God allow this tragedy? What benefit could come from the death of my son? How could this tragedy bring God glory?

I distinctly remember the day I read Paul’s words in II Corinthians 2. Paul writes that our lives can also be an aroma of Christ’s glory to those who seek him.

But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life.

I realized that it was not Scott’s death that would bring God glory. It was my response to Scott’s death that had the power to be an aroma of Christ's glory and eternal life.

I firmly believe that Satan intended to gain a victory through Scott’s death; that this loss would destroy our family's hope in the promises of God. Yes, we felt broken and confused. Yes, we struggled to redefine our theology on a daily basis as we sought to understand this tremendous loss through God’s perfect will. But in time, with God’s grace and mercy, we are being transformed not destroyed by this loss.

Perhaps theologian John Piper expresses my thoughts more clearly in his book, God is the Gospel.

The supreme value of the glory of Christ revealed in the gospel is what makes Satan so furious with the gospel. Satan is not mainly interested in causing us misery. He is mainly interested in making Christ look bad. He hates Christ. And he hates the glory of Christ. He will do all he can to keep people from seeing Christ as glorious. The gospel is God’s instrument for liberating people from exulting in self to exulting in Christ. Therefore Satan hates the gospel.

The events of this fallen world are real. Divorce, the death of a loved one, a rebellious child, upside-down mortgages, economic hardships, layoffs . . . the list goes on. These are painful, gut-wrenching situations. Each one has the potential to destroy us. But I believe we have a choice in every situation ~ to be destroyed or transformed. The choice is ours ~ to be an aroma of Christ’s glory to those who are being saved and those who are perishing. Will we be a fragrance of death and destruction, or a fragrance of life and transformation?

Oh, may the aroma of Christ's glory pour out of me.

Clear the Deck First

2010-02-16T11:04:00.000-08:00

Each morning I receive a quick read in my Google Reader from Today's Stress Tip ~ some tidbit of wisdom to apply to my busy life. I don't always agree with the advice, as was the case last week. But for the most part, I usually come away with something I can use to transform my daily life.

Then there are tips like the one posted this morning, that seem so common sense until I read it over a couple of times, and realize ~ This is so much more that just surface talk.

Before you begin a project, first clear your desk, kitchen counter or work area of the clutter that will surely get in the way. Then take out and organize the implements you'll need to get the job done, leaving yourself ample room to maneuver. That's it. The minute or two it takes to do this will save you a considerable time and aggravation over the course of the project. Clear the deck first.

Pretty much common sense here ~ clean off your work space, make sure you have all the ingredients before you start, and plan your time so you can finish what you begin! Got it!

But are there areas of life where we tend to not apply this common sense? As a mediator and conflict coach, my mind takes this tip ~ from the desk, kitchen counter or work area ~ to our relationships.

When it comes to relationships, it seems we tend to clear the deck with a broad stroke ~ quite literally sweeping away problem people in our lives. The trend we see in our mediation center is to simply dispose of individuals who cause us conflict, avoid people who hurt us, and begin again with a new set of friends, a new spouse, a new family, even a new faith community.

What if we took this common sense tip and applied it to our personal relationships? How would we live it out?

Before you begin a new relationship, first reconcile the ‘clutter’ in your heart and mind from past relationships that will surely get in the way of making new relationships. Then take out and organize the interpersonal skills you'll need to establish a lasting relationship, leaving yourself ample time to put these skills into practice. That's it. The time it takes to do this will save you considerable hurt and aggravation over the course of the new relationship. Clear the decks first.

I know it is never that simple.

But here is the bottom line: if we don’t deal with the brokenness in our old relationships, we carry it into our new ones. Many people call it baggage. I call it our default response to things that confront us ~ our usual reaction to conflict, pain and loss. It is what we bring into each new relationship, learned from our family of origin and past experiences.

When the pain and hurt is not addressed; when the broken relationships are not reconciled, we simply bring all that clutter into new relationships, hoping each one will be better than the last. Take today’s tip and think about how to clear the deck in our personal lives. Not with a broad sweep of the arm that pushes all the hurtful people out of our lives, but with a purposeful act to restore relationships that are sure to get in the way as we creating relationships in the future.

Love That Does Not Disappoint

2010-02-14T10:42:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I read a tip on how to reduce stress in my life.

Don't believe for a minute . . . you'll get the number of servings the recipe says you will . . . you can perform a complex computer task with a single click of the mouse . . . your call is important to them . . . the "push here on red" button will get you across the street any faster . . . you're indispensable to your company . . . your cake will look anything like the one illustrated on the box . . . the battery will last anywhere near what they claim. Get smart. Lower your expectations.

That's right! I can reduce my stress in life if I don't believe the claims, think of myself as dispensable, lower my expectations, and basically, just plan to be disappointed!

Know what? I am not only stressed by that tip-of-the-day, I am disappointed! Lower my expectations? Settle for less?

Don't take me wrong. I know I can’t believe all of the claims I hear. I agree there are times when I do trust them and find myself stressed. Like when I spend two hours assembling something that clearly states on the box can be assembled in five easy steps.

I began thinking about Valentine's Day in light of this stress-reducing tip. Many people have high expectations of how they will feel loved today. Many have a little jingle playing in their heads ~ every kiss begins with Kay ~ and dream of a small velvet box filled with something that sparkles! Many envision how the events of the day will fall into place to create the ultimate romantic evening. And, I predict, many will be stressed out if their valentines do not live up to their hopes and expectations.

Today my valentine is not feeling so good. In fact, my valentine is asleep on the couch hoping the combination of decongestants, antihistamines and cough suppressants work its mojo to help him feel better.

The sight of my valentine lying there in his sweats could be cause for disappointment. I mean ~ nobody is receiving breakfast in bed this morning and there won't be much hugging and kissing going on. It is just not going to be that kind of day!

When we base our view of love on what the world claims, we are in for disappointment!

I am thankful that there is a love that does not disappoint; not based on circumstances or the actions of others. A love that is as much an act of the will as it is a response of the heart . . . that seeks the highest good of another . . . with claims that are trustworthy and believable. It is a love that transforms circumstances that seeks to disappoint.

Love is patient; love is kind and is not jealous;
Love does not brag and is not arrogant,
Does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own,
Is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered,
Does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth;
Bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
I Corinthians 13:4-7

Here is a new tip-for-the-day for Valentine’s Day ~

Don't believe in what the world calls love . . . you will get what you deserve . . . it is all about you . . . love comes in small velvet boxes . . . it is alright if he yells at you ~ at least he comes home at night . . . she better look great . . . if it doesn’t feel right, find someone new . . . Get smart. Raise your expectations.

Decide today to embrace

a love that does not disappoint . . .

and expect your relationship to be transformed.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

2010-02-13T11:19:00.000-08:00

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not ~ perhaps you recited these words as you pulled the petals from a flower, one by one, to try to determine whether the one you love will truly returns your love. It always seemed like a childhood game.

But more and more it seems that marriages reflect the sentiment of those words.

On this Valentine's Day Eve, husbands and wives will stand in the aisles of Walgreen's to find a card that expresses the words they meant to say to one another throughout the year. There will be dozens of roses delivered. The sweet smell of chocolate will fill the air. And couples will say I love you in the glow of candlelight.

I don't mean to sound cynical, but on Monday, February 15th, lives will once again be overflowing with the demands of the dailies ~ dirty dishes, unpaid bills, loads of laundry, sick children, upside down mortgages, furlough days, dead batteries ~ you name it! ~ any number of situations that create a climate of crisis for the family. The romance of Valentine's Day will quickly be replaced with the challenging day-to-day responsibilities of life, and a commitment to love one another will once again fall victim to circumstances.

Lack of commitment is not new. It is not unique to this generation of over-stressed, economically-strapped Americans. Even in the first century, a series of oaths were required to guarantee that one’s commitment would remain true. Jesus enters this system of oaths and offers a solution.

In Matthew 5, His words seem almost too simple to be taken seriously ~

Let what you say be simply Yes or No.

The people of that day would recognize Jesus' use of a cultural idiom. Jesus is basically saying ~

Let your inside Yes match your outside Yes,

and your inner No match your outer No.

In essence ~ mean what you say and say what you mean.

Anything less is duplicity, doubleness, sin ~ saying one thing, living another.

Oh that we would choose today to be transformed and live a life of love that is characterized by commitment, not duplicity ~ where the words and tones we use, and the actions we display, would truly communicate an unconditional love. A love lived out everyday ~ not just on Valentine's Day.

A love that says to one another in spite of the dailies . . .

I love you and there is nothing you can do about it!

Where The Rhythm Seems Lost

2010-02-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

Thirty days hath September,

April, June and November.

All the rest have thirty-one

but February's the shortest one.

With 28 days most of the time,

until Leap year gives us twenty-nine.

I am not sure when I actually learned this short poem from my mother. I just remember knowing it most of my life. And I have used it in many ways over the years ~ to know the date to write on checks, to plan vacations, to find the 100th Day of School in my classroom, and to help my students learn the number of days in each month.

I remember thinking as a child ~ the first three lines have an arranged pattern of rhythm, a sense of completeness and predictability of what sounds come next.

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest of thirty-one.

These three lines were the easiest to memorize. But the remaining three lines have always stumped me. The rhythm of the poem seems to change in those last three lines. The words seem crowded.

Little did I know what a word picture this poem was to become for my life.

My February, as with the pulse of this childhood poem, is marked with syncopation rather than a predictable beat. The rhythm of its days has been modified and my focus is drawn to weaker sounds.

They are the sounds of mourning and groaning and loss.

For February, in its short twenty-eight days, marks the sudden death of my son, Scott, as well as the death of both my mother and father.

So, as each February comes around ~ like struggling to make the words of the poem conform to the rhythm of each line ~ I slow down and consider how best to experience the full weight of these losses and redeem the days to come.

I spend time in my storehouse of memories. I grieve what could have been. I give thanks that this one short month is not like the rest of the year. I rejoice in the hope and promise of a blessed reunion with my loved ones.

What If I Knew . . .

2010-02-05T11:39:00.000-08:00

What if I knew today would be the last day I had with my child?

Would it transform the words we exchanged?

Would it alter the non-verbal messages I expressed?

Would I focus less energy on the chores left undone?

Would I linger a little longer as we hugged goodbye?

The morning of February 5th, 1996 began like any other in our home. There was no forewarning that it would be my last day at home with our precious son, Scott. But at 11:36 a.m., I received the phone call all parents dreads. Your son has been in an accident. Scott was declared brain dead on February 6, 1996.

As I reflect on our last days together . . .

I am grateful for Scott’s humble spirit on February 4th that caused him to seek reconciliation and forgiveness.

I am grateful for our loving and fun conversation that morning.

I am grateful I took time ~ on that particularly hectic day of school for me ~ to say Goodbye and I love you.

Psalm 90:12 reads ~

Teach us to use wisely all the time we have.

Oh that His Wisdom, His Grace, and His Love would transform relationships in our hearts and homes.

Resurrecting My Resolutions

2010-01-23T08:00:00.000-08:00

Yes, I know that 2010 is less than thirty days old.

Yes, I know I just made my New Year resolutions.

But if you are like me, New Year resolutions made on January 1st are often D.O.A. before the end of the month. I like to think that I am not a flake. I do not consider myself unmotivated. But what I know about myself is this ~ I am a creature of habit and old habits are hard to transform.

Oh, I breathe life into my resolutions for a few days ~ sometimes for two or three weeks. More often than not though, I finally remember them about mid-month. Quite honestly, at that point, I tend to just declare them pulseless and non-breathing. As I go through the ritual of mentally burying yet another set of New Year resolutions, I am struck with both guilt and grief. I heap loads of guilt upon myself for failing ~ once again ~ and allowing my good intentions to fall lifeless along the roadside of the routine of life. I mourn the fact that it was not my old habits that died, but my good intentions that are once again found too weak to survive.

Sadly, this year’s resolutions are no different. Knowing my habit of making and breaking resolutions, I made just a couple. I kept them for a few days. But alas, as the number of days of the month increased, so did the number of fatalities on my list of resolutions.

Then, this past weekend, I remembered the words of a wise friend ~ words spoken in a sermon over 30 years ago. Ben West was the pastor of the small church we attended in northern California. Near the end of January, sometime in the late 1970's, Ben delivered a homily about keeping our resolutions. The focus of his sermon was not so much about making resolutions but rather on breaking them. That’s right! He wanted to address those of us who seemed to not be able to keep the resolutions alive for more than a few days or a couple of weeks.

It was one of those sermons where I felt he was going to preach directly to me. You know, when you feel like the pastor must be looking in the windows of your soul! I prepared myself for another dose of guilt.

Ben’s words that morning were not accusatory. His message was not filled with ‘should of’ and ‘ought to’. Rather, his words were gentle, encouraging and full of hope. Here is what I remember from that Sunday morning over 30 years ago.

We make New Year resolutions and we break New Year resolutions.

We can focus on our success at keeping them, or look at our failure of breaking them. Rather than focusing on what was not done, focus on what was accomplished because you made the resolution.

Maybe today you are able to say:
I exercised 5 days in January ~ when your habit is to not exercise at all!
I read my Bible for 3 days ~ when your Bible usually collects dust during the week.
Realize that you have accomplished something because you made a New Year resolution. Take heart and keep going from there.

Ben’s words were life-support to my dying resolutions back then, and are again life-giving in 2010.

Thank you, Ben, that today I choose to resurrect my resolutions and keep going from here.

Thank you that I can redeem this new year as I again breathe life into my desire to change old habits; as I lay aside the guilt and grief of failure; as I keep on being transformed into something new.

Hope of the New Year

2009-12-31T14:20:00.000-08:00

Here is a fact you may not know. I am sentimental. Very sentimental!

Perhaps nothing makes that point quite as much as the small gift tag from Christmas 1992 that I have tucked away in a drawer. As I remember, this tag was not attached to a very memorable gift. But this tag is in my mother's own handwriting. It simply says To Bonnie, Love Mom and Dad. She passed away the following February. This tag marks the last of the forty Christmases we shared together.

So it comes as no surprise to my family that I tend to become ~~sentimental~~, okay, pensive as New Year's Eve approaches. I want to hold on to those precious memories of the past twelve months, and yet, I long for the fresh start the New Year brings. I have to confess that in my desire to learn from my past mistakes, I often take them to heart a little too much ~ rehashing them again and again in my mind.

I want this year ~ 2010 ~ to be a redemptive one year!

How will God redeem my failings and transform me into a better wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, friend, and mentor?

With all honesty, I am very hopeful this New Year's Eve. I am relying on His power that redeems all things to Himself. I am resting in His promise to restore and reshape me for His good pleasure; to re-establish my path; and to renew my thoughts with His thoughts.

As I read the prayers of the Daily Office for December 31st, it included the wonderful story of the healing of the crippled man found in The Gospel of John. Here is the story in the Apostle John's words as it appears in the Book of Common Prayer:

After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Aramaic which has five roofed colonnades. In these lay a multitude of invalids ~ blind, lame, and paralyzed ~ waiting for the moving of the water; for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool, and stirred the water: whoever stepped in first after the stirring of the water was healed of whatever disease he had. One man was there who had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.” Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”And at once the man was healed, and he took up his bed and walked.

Now that day was the Sabbath. So the Jews said to the man who had been healed, “It is the Sabbath, and it is not lawful for you to take up your bed.” But he answered them, “The man who healed me, that man said to me, ‘Take up your bed, and walk.’ They asked him, “Who is the man who said to you, ‘Take up your bed and walk’?” Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had withdrawn, as there was a crowd in the place. Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you are well! Sin no more, that nothing worse may happen to you.” The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had healed him. ~ John 5:1-15

What an incredible story of transformation! Jesus not only restored this man’s health, but redeemed his future ~ Take up your bed and walk . . . sin no more! The man did not leave his bed behind, but took it with him, perhaps as a reminder of the transformation he had experienced. The man obeyed and took those first courageous steps of faith as he walked out into the city of Jerusalem on his own two feet ~ for perhaps the first time! The man was truly transformed ~ from the inside out as he was encouraged to sin no more.

And yet, as I re-read the story, I find Jesus' question to the man a little strange. Why would Jesus ask a man who had been invalid for 38 years if he wants to be healed? Isn't the answer pretty obvious? I think Jesus asks the question because Jesus knows that lifestyles are hard to change. We tend to be quite comfortable, thank you with how we use our time, how we spend our resources, and how we treat one another. In many ways, we have become invalids ~ stuck in our own bed of old habits and traditions.

I want this story of redemption found in John 5, to be my New Year’s story! I want Jesus to restore to health to those areas of my life that He knows need healing. I want Him to redeem my future. May I Him with all of it, and be willing to take some courageous steps of faith as I walk where He leads me and become who He wants me to be!

Yes, I am quite hopeful this New Year's Eve ~ as I fix my gaze on the His redeeming love ~ that 2010 will be a redemptive year .

Happy

New

Year!

A Picture That's Worth A Thousand Words

2009-12-31T12:46:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I didn't mean a thousand words. But this morning my friend Robin posted this photo on her Facebook profile after a recent day in the snow. My mind immediately filled with words inspired by this tiny pine tree in the snow.

Hope.

Courage.

Strength.

Determination.

Overcoming.

Faithfulness.

I hope this picture encourages you in the 'winters' of life ~ to know that He is able to produce in us a life that brings Him glory and draws others to His kingdom - no matter what.

What words does this picture say to you as you consider the new year?

Photo by Robin Manuszak 2009

An Empty Chair

2009-12-23T09:07:00.000-08:00

Do you have an empty chair at your table?

We found ourselves with an empty chair in our home almost fourteen years ago. Dinner time became such a severe reminder of our grief. We always set four plates at each meal. We each had our place at the table. Then, in a matter of 30 short hours, our family was forever changed by Scott's accident.

There were times early on that I instinctively included Scott in the count as we set the table for special occasions ~ oblivious of my mistake until someone graciously made me aware of it. It was just normal to count Scott among the guests, especially at holidays and birthday celebrations. But the normal we had always known was never to be again.

As Christmas draws near, I am aware that many homes have an empty chair as families prepare to celebrate the season. Many may be feeling this void for the first time; some have faced it for years. Setting the Christmas table can be as much a holiday tradition as trimming the tree ~ deciding who sits next to whom, and making the table a place that invites everyone to nourish their bodies and their souls as they participate in the family traditions.

My heart is heavy for those of you who have empty chairs this Christmas. Some of you, like me, have an empty chair because you have placed someone precious in the arms of God. Some are praying even now for their runaway to come home and take their place at the table. Some have a loved one serving in the military in far off places. And yes, there are some families who harbor unresolved conflicts and those empty chairs serve as a reminder of broken relationships which need to be mended.

My cousin has not lost a child to death but he has an three empty chairs this Christmas, and he is definitely feeling the void. He shared a wonderful idea with me this morning. His son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughter are missionaries serving in Europe and they will not be home for the holidays. So my cousin purchased large picture frames to hold recent photographs of his son’s family. This year, my cousin is placing the frames around the home to include in spirit those who cannot come home in person.

Well, I am considering including Scott once again in the count this year. I am thinking about setting a place at his empty chair. I really think I want to make our memories of Scott a part of the celebration. In reality, no one who gathers around our table is unaware of the void created by Scott's death. So why not create a new normal? Why not set a place for him? Why not?

Yes, this Christmas there will be an empty chair and a place setting with a photograph of Scott as part of our table setting. We will remember and laugh at Christmases past, like the year he coined the term glassables for those ornaments that could break. We may shed some tears at what might have been as we long to experience a reunion with him once again. But I am convinced, when the meal is finished and we push our chairs away from the table, we will have smiles on our faces because Scott’s chair was pulled up to the table one.more.time, and we treasured what he brought to our lives.

Do you have an empty chair at your table?

Why not set a place for someone, add a photograph, and speak the name?

Why not nourish your soul this Christmas with some precious memory work?

Why not?

Egyptian Wisdom

2009-12-22T13:37:00.000-08:00

Last weekend we visited the de Young Museum in San Francisco to view the King Tut and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs Exhibition.

It was an amazing display of wealth and power which filled many galleries in the museum. As I walked through the exhibit, I was aware of the empty hope the Egyptians had in eternal life.

The final gallery was a display of the actual treasures found in the Boy King's sarcophagus. Amid the cache of gold and jewels, I noticed a nugget of wisdom ~ an Egyptian proverb written on the wall above the display. It read ~

To speak the name of the dead is to make them live again.

This powerful proverb resonates well with me as I reflect on my own grief journey, and the journey of others who hope to experience peace with loss.

To speak the name of the dead is to stir the memories we treasure; to rouse the precious hours, months or years we had together; to address the void that is so very present, no matter how skilled we have become at suppressing or denying it.

To speak the name of the dead restores the relationship in our hearts and keeps them a part of us.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

2009-12-17T11:21:00.000-08:00

In 1943, a new Christmas carol ~ I'll Be Home for Christmas ~ raced to the top of the charts. Think about that year in the life of America. We were in the midst of World War II. Soldiers, far from home on the front lines, could only dream of being home for Christmas. Their families, gathered around the Christmas tree, longed for their loved ones to be home at this most wonderful time of the year.

Today, the message of the song remains the same ~ there is a desire to be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.

I'm sure the song elicits a range of emotions. Some will head home to the smell of grandma's cookies and to find their stockings still hung by the chimney with care. Others will gather together with relatives coming from near and far.

But for many, the song truly depicts just a dream. Christmas 2010, finds children wondering which 'home' they will be in for Christmas as divorce has divided their family. The current economic hardships have left many families out on the streets, where home is where ever they can find a place to lay their head. Unresolved conflict will keep some families from coming together in the same home, even at Christmas.

For those who find themselves on a journey of grief, this song elicits both dreams and memories ~ I dream about the way things should be and cling to the memories of the way things used to be at Christmas time. To be completely honest here, it took more than 10 years after Scott died before I could listen to this song without tears filling my eyes. I longed for Scott to walk through my door and be home for Christmas. I wanted things to be like they were in Christmases past. I repeated the last line of the song again and again ~ If only in my dreams ~ long after the music stopped.

What finally transformed my thinking was when I realized the song's attempt to create a picture-perfect scene for the hearer. Now before you think me a Grinch, please hear me out. I know the song brings warm thoughts and precious memories for many of you. It did for me at one time; I believe it will again someday. But the song also creates many assumptions about the holiday and the experiences it brings. When someone's reality falls short of this wonderful Christmas scene, what remains are thoughts of disappointment and regret. Look at the lyrics ~

I'll be home for Christmas;
You can count on me.
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree.

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love-light gleams.
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.

Here is the assumptions I hear ~

Assumption #1: We each have a home to which to return ~ a significant, memorable place where you and yours gather for Christmas. For some, their home was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

Assumption #2: The weather will cooperate to produce a White Christmas ~ another one of Bing's famous recordings.

Assumption #3: There will be presents under the tree ~ regardless of the balance in one's bank account.

Assumption #4: A home is filled with so much love that it creates a love that glows.

Assumption #5: Circumstances and surroundings are what makes Christmas special.

No, my heart is not two-sizes-too-small! Believe me, when it comes to being sentimental, I am right near the top of the list. (I have the closets and boxes full of treasured items to prove it!) But if I have learned anything on my own journey of grief it is this ~ most of us live in an assumptive world. And our assumptive world almost always disappoint us.

Christmas never was about being home or snow or presents on the tree. It is kind of ironic when you think about it. Christmas is the time to remember the Christ Child who left his home in heaven to be born in a manager. Christmas is not about dreaming and wishing you were somewhere other than where you are right now. Christmas is filled with promise and hope. For it is the very Babe of Bethlehem who has secured an eternal home to everyone who believes.

This Christmas,

may you find

your home

in Him.

Wet Cement

2009-12-03T20:51:00.000-08:00

I was working with wet cement again today. Yep.

And it's not the first time I have worked with this material. I've been in the business for 32 years, to be exact.

The trouble I find working with cement is the potential for it to harden into something I never intended it to become. Sure, I have the mold in mind, but sometimes I just get caught up in accomplishing the job that I forget about what I hoped I would create. Try as I will to control all the elements, I usually find myself trying to smooth out the deep impressions I hope do not leave a permanent mark. But I have learned that most of my mistakes are ~ as they say ~ set in concrete.

Now, before you decide that you would never, ever allow me to lay concrete for your patio, let me explain.

Today I hired my three grandchildren to help me stuff, stamp and address my Christmas cards. We send out almost 200 cards each year and many hands make the work light!

Kaitlyn has assisted me with this project for the past few years. At 9 ½ years old, she can nearly do it all! Kyle is almost 8 years old. He is eager to help but needs a predictable task to keep up his confidence. And then there is Jack! He is 5 ½ years old and full of energy. He thinks he can do it all, but in reality, he requires something that cannot be ruined by bouts of impulsivity. (I think I said that diplomatically, don’t you?)

We really had fun working together. I shared with them about some of the people the cards were addressed to: lifelong friends from elementary, junior high and high school; first, second and third cousins; co-workers; and people with whom we just like to stay in touch.

But I must admit, there were times I really could have lost it this afternoon! I mean really ~ many of our friends will receive our Christmas picture with finger smudges all over it as the photos just did not seem to slide in the envelopes very easily for the boys. A few of the envelopes are badly wrinkled. Some people will receive cards with our return address stamped upside-down. And . . . let’s just say that Jack now knows that the United States Post Office requires ALL postage to be in the top right hand corner – and NO WHERE ELSE on the envelope!

Yes, there were many times I really wanted to take over the tasks I had delegated to them. I could have made the Christmas cards more important than their feelings or self-esteem. I could have taken the joy right out of working together by needing everything to be just so.

But tucked away in my mind is the message found in a wonderful book by Anne Ortlund. Back in 1977 as I awaited the birth of our first child ~ Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack's mom, Amy ~ I read Anne's book, Children are Wet Cement. Anne talks about how children are so impressionable ~ like wet cement. As parents ~ and grandparents ~ there is little doubt that we love and value each child. We visualize what we hope each one to become. Yet in the stress of the day, in our rush to accomplish all we think we must get done, in our desire to have everything turn out right, or with our pride on the line, we forget how moldable and vulnerable each child is. The words we use, the tones we add, those sighs we are so quick to express ~ all have the potential of leaving lasting impressions.

Yep ~ I was working with wet cement today.

Eager little hands that wanted to help me stuff, stamp and address my Christmas cards. The potential was there for me to turn the experience into something I never intended it to become. This time, I kept the mold in mind. This time, I did not rush the job. And I am proud to say, the permanent mark left on all of our hearts was love.

The Hope of Advent

2009-11-29T10:08:00.000-08:00

What were those weeks and months like for Mary as her body began to reveal that she was with child?

I'm sure she heard the whispers; she noticed the heads turning away to avoid eye contact with her. What gave her the courage to carry this Child in the face of such disgrace?

What were her thoughts as she traveled with Joseph from Nazareth to Bethlehem, being great with child?

The journey must have been physically difficult and emotionally demanding. What was the source of her comfort along this predetermined path?

Today is the first Sunday of Advent. Worshippers around the world will light the first candle ~ the Candle of Hope, as we recognize that our longings, our desires and our hope are found in the Babe of Bethlehem.

Mary was most likely well aware of the writings of the prophets. Perhaps she found great courage in the words of Isaiah ~

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord.

Possibly she received comfort as she focused not on the pain of the present but on the promise and potential found in the Child she carried.

In His name the nations will put their hope.

Hope ~ the anticipation of a good yet to come.

As I come alongside individuals desperately seeking peace with loss, HOPE is fundamental. It is perhaps the essential value for survival ~ a source of courage and comfort ~ as one negotiates a pathway of grief. Hope brings into view a purpose for living in the face of loss. Hope enlightens our awareness that a relationship of memory creates a legacy to be embraced. Hope conveys anticipation that we can be transformed and not destroyed by our loss.

Hope ~ the anticipation of a good yet to come.

May today's Candle of Hope illuminate for you a good yet to come.

Scott's Garden ~ A Healing Place

2009-11-25T10:12:00.000-08:00

Early on in my grief journey, I knew I wanted to create a memorial garden in our backyard. I knew I needed a physical place to embrace my memories of Scott. A sacred place to cradle his ashes. A living place to celebrate his life.

Although my desire from the beginning was to create a place of remembering, it took us almost five years to find the energy to create Scott’s Garden. The lethargy of grief is very real ~ often impeding travelers along the journey from moving forward, even toward a healing place.

I remember some of my thoughts as we worked to clear out the overgrowth that had crept into our side yard. The task was difficult ~ down on my hands and knees in the dirt, pulling up the weeds that clung to the ground. I remember thinking ~

I am not done being Scott’s mom. How I long to fix your favorite meals, wash your soccer uniform, help you with homework, spend time talking and laughing with you. Oh, how I wanted my job back.

And then I realized what a healing place Scott’s Garden was to be. Each sprig of spurge I pulled up by the roots was indeed an act of love, an investment in what had been, and a tribute to his short sixteen years of life with us. Each flower and tree we planted became a testament to life.

There have been many lessons learned as we transformed this plot of yard into Scott’s Garden.

This past week as we celebrated Scott’s 30th birthday, we worked in the garden with our daughter Amy and our three grandchildren. Although we cannot give Scott actual presents, we chose to purchase new plants for his garden.

And as we dug around the soil to find the best place to plant the newest signs of life, we uncovered dormant bulbs from lilies set out at Easter time. I shared with my grandchildren the excitement and symbolism of these bulbs.

For there in Scott’s Garden where we grieve with hope ~ remembering his death and celebrating his life ~ there was the promise of reunion. Jesus said in John 12:24-25 ~

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

So, here in Scott’s Garden, I recognize that I am still Scott’s mom as I cherish my relationship of memory with him. Here among the dormant bulbs and pruned roses of winter, I embrace my sorrow that he is not here. And as I stand back and recognize the beauty of God’s creation, I rejoice in the hope of that blessed reunion that is to come.

Happy Birthday, Scott

2009-11-22T19:18:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow ~ November 23rd ~ is Scott’s birthday. He would be 30 years old.

To be perfectly honest, while I rest in the assurance of where he is, I wrestle with the reality that he is not here.

Tonight, my heart cries out for Scott to be present in our lives. My ears long to hear his voice. My arms ache to hug him.

I struggle to envision what he might look like, all grown up. I can only see him as he was ~ a fair-haired, freckle-faced teenager . . . with a contagious laugh and smile! I remember one of the first things our grief counselor told us in those early days after Scott’s accident ~ You will forever be the parents of sixteen year old boy. I did not understand it then, but I know it all too well now.

I have been on this journey of grief long enough to know that I really cannot fight the emotions, or bury the sorrows. So today, I surrendered to my grief. I allowed the tears to come to the surface. What deep wisdom is contained in Jesus’ words in Matthew 5 ~ Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

In anticipation of Scott’s birthday, Tony and I drove to one of our favorite local nurseries this afternoon. We thoughtfully selected new plants to add color and life to Scott’s memorial garden in our side yard.

Amy and our grandchildren ~ Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack ~ will join us in Uncle Scott’s Garden tomorrow. We will prune back the perennials and place in the soil each new sign of life. Our work will be a labor of love as we strive to not lose heart. As we toil to bring beauty to what is seen, we long to bring into focus what is unseen, what is eternal.

In this small way we celebrate the life of our precious Scott and give thanks for the sixteen years we had with him. All the while, we cling to the hope of our blessed reunion when there will be no more sorrow, no more tears, and no more goodbyes.

Happy Birthday, Scott ~ I love you!

November 17th

2009-11-18T10:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever heard a song on the radio ~ and instantly you remember where you were and who you were with when you first heard it?

Perhaps you have walked past a bakery and the sweet aroma sends you right back to a special time in your childhood.

Memories are such a powerful force in our lives. They can fill us with fear, move us to tears or bring joy to our heart. For those who grieve, memories can be a sweet retreat ~ a place to go as we treasure and renew the relationship with someone who is no longer present in our life.

I witnessed the power of memory this week as my nieces and nephew shared together memories of their dad. Ray died seventeen years ago, yet each year my nieces and nephew remember him on his birthday. (If you read my blog, you know that one’s death does not change one’s date of birth. It may seem like a matter of semantics but it really matters to those who love. Ray’s birthday is, was and always will be November 17th.)

I was blessed to participate in their exchange on Facebook. It began with a comment of tenderness and sorrow ~ Happy Birthday, Daddy. I love you and miss you. Then, each shared a funny remembrance of their dad. They recognized their regrets for the things they cannot experience with him today ~ like watching him be a fun grandfather to his grandchildren.

I am proud of you, Kevin, Kara and Kelly, for your willingness to transform the relationship with your dad from a relationship of presence to one of memory. It demonstrates your great love for him and the value you place on redeeming the future.

Memory is where the proof of life is stored.

Norman Cousins

He Still Speaks

2009-11-13T11:20:00.000-08:00

During the weeks following Scott's death, I struggled to make sense of the countless emotions which had taken residence within me. I read books on grief and hope, on suffering and grace as I attempted to bring some meaning to this tremendous loss I had experienced.

One book I read was by a bereaved mother who also lost her teenage son in an accident. I sadly do not recall much about her story but the title of her book remains vivid in my mind. Roses in December has become somewhat metaphorical of a precious part of my grief journey that I discovered while reading in the Book of Hebrews.

The eleventh chapter of Hebrews is known as the Hall of Faith ~ where tremendous examples of faithful living in difficult times are shared from the Old Testament. There in Hebrews 11:4, right along with the heroes of our faith, are listed the names of Cain and Abel. I often wondered how a chapter which focuses on faithful living would list the names of a) Cain, a brother who murdered his sibling and did not live faithfully, and b) Abel, who died as a young man. As I dwelt on this verse, I began to understand some of the mystery of redeeming the loss of my own son.

There is was ~ just a half of verse, actually, that has become a source of joy and hope to me. Hebrews 11:4b states ~

And through his faith, though he died,
he still speaks.

Just like unexpected blossoms in the winter and beauty among ashes, God brings value to our loss as we hear others speak of how Scott’s life, although cut short by death, touched their lives. I received just such a bouquet yesterday!

A classmate of Scott's ~ Immanuel High School Class of 1998 ~ found me on Facebook. She is married and lives with her husband and their three beautiful daughters in southern California. In her message to request my FB friendship, she wrote:

I became a trauma nurse because I couldn't help Scott the day he was injured . . . I save lives every day in his honor, maybe to make myself feel better for not knowing what to do that day, or maybe because that's the way it was designed to be. I have always wanted to find you and tell you that Scott is saving lives . . . through people that are still here like me. You may not know all of us anymore, but we are out here doing the work! Recently, I was given the opportunity to teach others how to become nurses at a college level. This should yield crops of life-savers, and I am so excited that thousands of lives will be saved because of my experience with your son.

Stories like this make the words of the Hebrews passage live again for me. Her words are truly like roses in December, giving off the sweet fragrance of life, eternal life. We cannot change the fact that we carry this burden of grief. But God is continually gracious to give us a glimpse of His bigger picture ~ one with eternal value ~ that allows us to understand how those who are gone, through faith, still speak of His faithfulness.

Two Dozen Red Roses

2009-11-10T10:45:00.000-08:00

Thirty-six years ago today, November 10, 1973, I worked the afternoon shift at the JC Penney store in the Lakewood Mall. To my surprise, when I arrived home from work there were TWO ~ not one, but TWO DOZEN red roses waiting for me. The card enclosed with the flowers read:

Tonight is going to be very, very, very special!

Love, Tony

Tony and I have known each other most of our lives ~ my earliest memories of him go back to age five. We grew up in the same southern California town, attended the same church and saw each other at children's meeting, social events and gatherings. My dad was his third grade Sunday School teacher. His mom was my sister's Sunday School teacher. We knew each other for many years when we began dating in 1970.

After three years of dating, I knew that the roses ~ the TWO DOZEN red roses ~ meant only one thing: that night I would be asked to become Mrs. Tony Redfern! He reserved a table at The Gate of Spain restaurant on the top floor of a building along the Santa Monica coastline. He paid the maitre d' for a window table. After our meal, he pulled a handkerchief, with my engagement ring tied to it, from inside his coat pocket (he said he was so afraid of losing it)! And he asked me Will you marry me?

So tonight, like every November 10th over the last 36 years, Tony asked me out on a date! It will be a tender time ~ maybe even tearful time ~ as we celebrate the decision we made to make a lifetime commitment to one another thirty-six years ago, and the faithfulness of God to carry us through the best of times and the worst of times.

Thanks for asking me ~ my answer is still YES!

I am so proud to be Mrs. Tony Redfern!

I love you!

Time Travel

2009-11-08T20:35:00.000-08:00

Time travel ~ that’s what it feels like when I find myself suddenly, once again, surrounded with the pain and reality of Scott’s death.

It always amazes me how fast I can go there.

This morning I decided not to go to church. I have fought this flu bug for almost two weeks and I decided to give myself an extra day of rest. So I poured myself a cup of coffee, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV.

A woman was speaking to a sanctuary filled with parishioners. (I recognized the church right away; the glass windows surrounding the sanctuary were a sure giveaway.) I really did not intend to keep listen to her, but she was very engaging and the story just kept pouring out of her. I did not hear all the details but her story was about the faith of children who prayed for a miracle. She was an administrator at a Christian elementary school and she asked all the students to pray for a young friend who was having surgery for a brain tumor. The results of the surgery were not good. She shared how she had to go back to those students to tell them that their little friend was not going to get better ~ the little girl had been placed on life support. Doctors saw no signs of life and were advising the parents to turn off the machines.

The children couldn’t understand why they should stop praying. They believed in a God of miracles and were going to pray anyway. The next day, the doctors told the little girl’s parents that they saw a small hint of life in their daughter. Then the next day, they saw more life, and so on, until the little girl made a dramatic recovery.

And in that instant, I was overcome with doubt. In a matter of seconds, I traveled back in time. I was standing next to Scott’s bed at the medical center. I was holding his unresponsive hand. The nurses were coming in and out to check for any changes in his condition. His chest would rise and fall with each vent from the respirator, but there were no signs of life in him.

Scott did not recover. He was declared brain dead. He became an organ donor.

As I sat there on my couch this morning, I found myself once again questioning brain death and comas and vegetative states. It is personally very difficult for me to hear of someone who was declared brain dead and then wakes up after who-knows-how-many-years. Perhaps what complicates this for me is that these terms (brain death, coma, vegetative state) are used interchangeably so often by the media and those sharing these stories of recovery.

So once again I found myself wrestling with our decision. I went to the computer ~ again ~ and googled brain death. So many of the events of Scott’s final hours came into my mind as I fought against feelings of despair.

The statement from the neurosurgeon who first admitted Scott’s airlifted body ~ I see not life in your son.

The maxillofacial surgeon who operated on Scott for more than six hours ~ I literally just closed him up; I did all I could.

The 100+ high school students ~ many on their knees in the hallways ~ praying for a miracle.

The CT scan that was performed ~ convincing two neurosurgeons to declare Scott brain dead.

The blood flow test we demanded ~ and not one drop of dye went past Scott’s brain stem.

It is not that I don’t rejoice with the speaker this morning. I am so grateful that even one family did not have to live with the grief of losing a child!

What I want to say is that I believe in a God of miracles, too . Sometimes we do not receive the miracle we ask for. I truly wanted my son to survive. I still wish I could somehow have my son back. But that was not the miracle I received.

The miracle I received was grace ~ deeper and wider and higher than I ever knew before.

A grace that has the strength to carry me when I am weary.

A grace that is tender enough to catch all my tears in a bottle.

A grace that draws near to my broken heart.

A grace that transforms mourning into dancing.

A grace that guarantees a time to come when there will be no more tears, no more death, no more goodbyes.

And then it happens again ~ His grace transports me with those everlasting arms and gives me the courage to face the realities of life, and brings me the hope of a blessed reunion.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.

Revelation 21:4

A Silent Malignancy

2009-11-07T10:05:00.000-08:00

I have a friend whom I have known for about 50 years. (Yes, it may be hard for some of you to believe that I am old enough to have known a friend for almost 50 years. It’s a fact!)

My friend is actually a little older than I am. As a young teen, she lived nearby and occasionally babysat my sister and I (poor thing ~ not that I was a terrible kid ~ but I did have my moments). Then, as newlyweds, she and her husband were sponsors in my high school youth group at church.

They have remained young at heart ~ staying active, enjoying traveling, appreciating art ~ and still in love after all these years. So it came as quite a shock this past spring, when her husband was diagnosed with a tumor ~ a large malignant tumor near his kidney and in close proximity to his aorta ~ that remains inoperable. As a healthy man, he experienced no discomfort, no signs that these cancerous cells were growing inside of him. If he had not gone in for a routine physical, they had no reason to suspect the presence of the tumor.

Over the past few months, he has undergone tests, scans, countless appointments with specialists and massive doses of chemotherapy. He lost his full head of hair. His body reacted to the chemo treatments and began to retain fluids. His energy level dropped to limited activity around the house. The good news is that the tumor did shrink. He no longer requires chemotherapy, and his energy level has improved to almost where it was before the treatments. The bad news is that the tumor did not shrink enough. He is scheduled to begin radiation treatments in a little while.

My friend keeps an online journal of their journey with cancer. One of her entries this week truly made me stop and think ~ how well am I?

Here is a summary of her entry . . .

It is almost hard to remember the days when he felt the effects of chemo; to recall how hard it was during those endless days and nights. He feels so normal now. We almost forget that he still has a malignant tumor in his body. There is no pain, no sign of it that he can feel or know, or be reminded that it is there. These last eight months that we have been on this journey have been experienced because the doctor told him he had a problem. He never knew ~ and still would not know simply by how he feels ~ that he has a tumor which will kill him. This is really rather stunning when you think about it. How can there be something deadly in one’s body and have no idea it is there?

But it is still there, lurking in the dark, waiting for us to forget; to leave it alone so it can grow back and take over ~ how sinister! It reminds me of how attitudes and thoughts can take over in our spiritual lives ~ small or big, quietly yet deadly ~ growing . . . hoping to take over our minds and hearts if we are not watchful and prayerful about how we live and breathe, always asking God to show us those areas where we need His care and healing to remove them, to make our spiritual health intact, to live and grow in Him and bring glory to Him through our life.

Her words reach deep within my soul!

Sometimes I think we are quite good at masking reality. Denial, at the moment, may seem an easier path. But like any cancer ~ cells of unrighteousness and unforgiveness, of anger and disappointment, of hurt and envy ~ will fester and multiply. The Great Physician desires to heal us ~ redeem us ~ in every fiber of our being. His Spirit scans our mind, our heart and our soul, and reveals the thoughts and attitudes that seek to destroy our peace with God, our relationships, and ultimately, our very purpose for living.

I am reminded of the story in John 5 when Jesus visits Jerusalem. He passes by a pool where the blind, lame and paralyzed lay ~ each hoping for someone to come and meet their needs. Jesus approaches a man who has been an invalid for 38 years and asks him, "Do you want to get well?" It sure seems like a redundant question to ask someone who has been sick all of his life if he wants to get well. But Jesus knows our tendency to not deal with hard issues ~ thoughts and attitudes we choose to ignore. Jesus looks at what life could be if we are willing to face these silent malignancies that hold us back from the abundant life he truly desires us to live.

Jesus also knew wellness was going to cost this man. The invalid would no longer be carried everywhere; no longer have food brought to him. A well man would need to accept responsibility for his life.

Oh, to have eyes that see and ears that hear His offer of healing. I pray we take the first steps to redeem the future . . . acknowledge there may an area of the heart ~ a silent malignancy ~ which needs to be restored.

Do you want to get well?

But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear.

Matthew 13:16

No November!

2009-11-02T11:38:00.000-08:00

For the majority of my career as a teacher ~ 20 of my 25 years, to be exact ~ I spent my days with five and six year olds. Gotta' love kindergartners and first graders! When the calendar in the classroom changed to November, the following poem was always a part of our fall celebration. It came to mind today as I noticed the date.

No green grass

No blue sky

No bare feet

Going by

No birds

No bees

No fall leaves

On bare trees

November

Although November brings many changes to my heart and the world around me, it is a blessing and comfort to know that the God who created the changes that mark each season, holds me in His everlasting arms.

What Word Are You?

2009-10-29T12:45:00.000-07:00

I recently enjoyed a good read sent to me by my son-in-law, Jeff. I really connected with the short article entitled Can You Sum Up Your Life's Message in Just One Word?

The author, Bradley J. Moore, encourages his readers to find a word ~ one word ~ that is an appropriate descriptor of all the time and effort and passion one spends to integrate one’s faith into the day-to-day world. Although written to those in the business world, I believe it is an interesting challenge for anyone of faith to consider. What one word best describes how we live out our faith as teachers, parents, friends, electricians, dentists . . . you fill in the blank?

The article reminds me of a post I noticed recently on Facebook: Let's see how honest FB friends are. . . . Leave a ONE WORD comment that you think describes me. It can only be one word. No more. Then copy and paste this on your wall so that I may leave a word about you.

When I first saw that post on FB, a word did come to mind - RISKY. This innocent appeal could very well serve up a dose of in-your-face reality, quite difficult to swallow.

Seeking to find one word to express the integration of my beliefs into my daily world requires the answering of a few essential questions. Is there true integration of my faith across all areas of my life? Am I living a life of integrity or one filled with duplicity? Does my walk match my talk?

For me to find just one word to describe my life assumes that I live a life of integrity. Integrity is more than simply being someone who speaks the truth, although that is certainly a major element of its meaning. Living a life of integrity means that my life ~ the integration of my faith beliefs and my actions ~ is not divided, conflicting, or contradictory. What I say I believe is confirmed by my actions, aspirations, achievements and acquisitions.

The rub in finding a single descriptor comes when our lives are characterized by duplicity. The ancient Hebrews had an idiom that expresses the notion of living a life of integrity or duplicity. Let your yes be yes, and your no be no. In other words, let your inward yes ~ what you believe, be the same as your outward yes ~ how you live out what you believe.

The question in Mr. Moore’s article presupposes a foundation of integrity. One word ~ no contradictions, no opposing life styles, no duplicity. One word ~ a single descriptor that communicates how we allow what we believe on the inside to influence how we live out our lives on the outside. In essence, it is faith gone public.

What word are you?

Remembering Kade

2009-10-27T19:11:00.000-07:00

Remembering Sweet Kade Visser

Born to Jessica and Travis on August 28, 2007

Placed into the arms of His Heavenly Father October 28, 2007

Many are the plans in a man's heart,

but it is the purpose of the LORD that will stand.

Proverbs 29:11

May we continue to see Your glory

as we await the blessed reunion with our sons

Changing Lens

2009-10-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

The chill of fall is definitely here. I feel it creeping in under the doors and moving through me to envelope my heart once again.

Perhaps it's the seasonal soccer games that cause me to take the first steps along this pathway. As I watch my grandsons at their weekly games, I am instantly there. And I know it is not always a conscious choice I make . . . to go to thoughts of Scott. It is just a natural place to be. So when Jack so proudly defended his goal, when he repeatedly kicked the ball away from the box, it just came out. Go, Scott! On the sidelines of the soccer field my thoughts inexplicably go to how life was, how life could have been . . . and how.life.SHOULD.be.

Perhaps it's in knowing what the chill of fall brings. It is inevitable ~ cooler nights and shortened days will escort in the grip of winter. It is easy for me to find myself emotionally, mentally, and socially preparing to close down for another winter of grief as the shadows of my sorrow stretch long across the landscape of my heart.

The chill outside brings the awareness that my winter of grief will soon be upon me. Just as the cooler days drive me deep into my closet to drag out my sweaters and jeans, so too I begin to consider how to protect my heart from the harsh realities that so readily seem to consume me.

Honestly, it is only by changing the lens through which I look at this season that brings warmth to my grieving heart. The Apostle Paul writes in II Corinthians 5 that this earthly tent of ours ~ the mortal body ~ will one day be torn down. And when that happens, he writes, that what is mortal will be swallowed up by life. Did you see that? Can you bring the contrast of those words into focus? When this mortal body is no more, we are not swallowed up by death. We are swallowed up by life.

Changing lens does not mean that the brutal force of winter will not be present in my life. The seasons of grief are quite predictable to those who mourn. But this new lens illuminates the fact that the chill of fall and the hard freeze of winter, also brings the hope of life ~ in the warming days of spring ~ and forever in eternity.

(Photo courtesy of my cousin, Bev Henry.)

The Noticer by Andy Andrews

2009-09-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

I recently became a book reviewer for Thomas Nelson Publishing. From time to time you will find a book review here on my blog. Here is my first one.

Life will never be the same for the folks who live in one small Gulf Coast town. The transformation of these individuals begins the day Jones arrives. By his own admission, Jones is a noticer - "It is my gift." Jones not only knows everyone’s name – he mysteriously knows everyone’s life story. He knows the events and players many have hidden from view. Although his gift brings new perspective and hope, in the back of everyone’s mind remain many questions: Who is Jones? Where did he come from? When will he show up? How does he know so much about the people he meets?

The beauty of The Noticer is its ability to connect with the life of the reader. The experiences of the people Jones encounters are not unique – most people have events and individuals in their past that play a role – in positive and negative ways.

Although I think the book had a few too many scenarios, I enjoyed the story line and getting to know the characters. Jones brought many new perspectives into focus for me as I carry his thoughts on the purpose for living – “If your purpose has not yet been fulfilled, then the most important part of your life has not yet been lived.” His words on forgiveness, trust and respect resonate well with my soul and my work as a mediator – “Forgiveness is about the past. Trust and respect are about the future.”

Parting Gifts

2009-09-19T19:03:00.000-07:00

Badger's Parting Gifts is one of my favorite books to read to children to help them understand death and loss. It is a story about the day Badger dies. His friends from the forest are all so sad. Then one of them has an idea! Perhaps if they thought of all the gifts Badger left them, it may help them with their grief. One by one, the animal friends remembered Badger ~ something he taught them to do or a new way of looking at life. It is a lovely example of transforming the relationship with those we love who pass away.

Every summer, since the 1996, the year of Scott's passing, in the Redfern backyard, we receive some of Scott's parting gifts.

This story really begins when Scott was seven years old. He wanted a box turtle and he wanted to name it 'Bubba'. Scott worked very hard to earn the $40 he needed to buy Bubba. He built a cool deck with wheels to hold Bubba's glass aquarium. He kept Bubba in his bedroom at night, and each morning he would roll Bubba out to the sunlight that came in our sliding glass door during the day.

One day we bought a book about box turtles. Much to our surprise, we discovered that Bubba was not a 'Bubba'. Who knew? This didn't bother Scott. He simply changed her name to Bubbette!

It was not long before Scott earned more money and decided he would shop for another turtle ~ one he could really name, Bubba. Scott took care of Bubba and Bubbette. He built a raised garden in our backyard when he was about thirteen years old. He loved to add elements to the turtle's habitat - like shelters made out of broken clay pots and strawberry plants to give them shade and eats. Scott would gather snails from the yard and watch Bubba and Bubbette devour them!

Then in the spring of 1996, just about three months after Scott died, we were weeding the raised bed when we noticed Bubbette digging a deep hole with her back legs. She was able to dig a hole about six inches deep with her short three inch legs. And then, as if we were watching a nature show on PBS, she laid five eggs in the hole. And just like that, she filled in the hole with the pile of dirt she has removed from it.

This ritual has continued each summer since 1996. In fact, Bubbette sometimes lays up to three batches of eggs. If we happen to see her laying them, we mark the area with some small stakes. Then we wait. It is odd, but Bubbette normally lays the first batch around the end of May, near Memorial Day. We normally see the first hatchlings sometime around the start of September, near Labor Day. It is almost like clock-work!

Our turtle book tells us it is hard to raise turtles from eggs. Most eggs born in captivity do not hatch. They must have the perfect humidity as well as soft enough soil for the babies to dig out of their earthen womb. Yet, each summer we have new babies. That is why I believe the baby turtles to be some of Scott's parting gifts. He never saw Bubbette lay eggs. He never held a tiny hatchling ~ some no bigger around than a nickel. But each year, as September comes, we experience the joy of Scott's parting gifts.

Here are two babies we found this week ~ eight babies in all hatched this summer. Bubba and Bubbette have outlived Scott. These babies will outlive me! Scott's niece and nephews will continue to receive parting gifts each summer and share the memory of Uncle Scott for years to come!

Rogue Waves

2009-09-17T11:47:00.000-07:00

Tony and I do not watch much TV. First of all, we only have basic cable - no premium channels, no TIVO, no DVR - so our choices are usually slim. Secondly, there does not seem to be much on TV these days that encourages us in our daily lives. Lastly, we do not have too many evenings when we are home with absolutely nothing to do.

Once in a while, as we surf through the channels, we come upon a show called Deadliest Catch ~ about the men and women who make their living fishing the depths of the world's oceans. It has some amazing footage of these vessels, the crew and what they encounter. It actually can make one sea-sick just by watching.

The work on these ships is tough, the weather is fierce and the living conditions are cramped. As if these realities were not enough, there is another threat for those tough enough to hold down this job. There is the possibility of rogue waves ~ waves that seemingly come out of nowhere and have measured upward to 100 feet tall!

Scientists are still working to understand completely what causes these killer waves to occur. One theory is that these giant walls of water form when strong winds push against the ocean current, or when swells react to the rise and fall of the seafloor. It may also be that smaller waves converge at the same place and time to combine into a monster wave. Can you imagine how many little waves it would take to come together to build at just the right time, in the same place, to become a rogue wave?

Whatever the cause, rogue waves are rarely predictable. They rise up spontaneously, without warning. Captains and crew members of ships have little warning except the visual image of a wall of water coming toward them. And by then, it is often too late.

Although I live with both feet firmly planted on dry land, I often find myself facing killer waves - situations, circumstances, events and at times, personalities - that seem to come out of nowhere, with little to no warning. And like an oceanic scientist, I find myself trying to figure out what just hit me and why!

Sometimes I find myself in a place where I have allowed too many little things to just build. Am I the only one who keeps saying 'yes' to things and then finds myself over-committed, way in over my head? (pun intended) Other times, I may sense life taking me one direction, and I fight against it, like a fierce wind pushing against the ocean's current, only to find the pressure of the current wins in the end. And I am left treading water rather than swimming with the flow. It seems I can look back (with 20/20 vision, of course) and see how I could have predicted the wave, planned for the wave, and maybe even avoided the wave.

But there are times in my life when - without any warning - I am hit by a rogue wave . . . a monster, killer wave. It comes out of nowhere. And I feel like I am drowning. I'm sure you have been hit by them too. The phone call that tells of a fatal accident. The diagnosis that means life will never be the same. The devastation left by the wildfires. The layoff. The foreclosure.

Life . . . at times, it can feel like a rogue wave ~ sucking us under, towing us into the deep where we can't stand, swallowing us, taking our breath away.

The day before our home was hit with the massive rogue wave of 1996, my husband, Tony, was teaching an adult group at our local church. There were no indications that a monster wave was in the making. No way to know what the next day held for us. Yet, Tony's text for that morning in early February was a passage in the New Testament about when Jesus' disciples were gripped with fear as their small boat was tossed around by the winds and the waves on the Sea of Galilee.

To illustrate his point, Tony drew a small boat on the white board. He added waves crashing over the sides of the boat, and 'stick figures' of disciples yelling out from the boat. Then he drew a rock, just below the water line, holding the boat steady. Tony commented, "Even in the midst of the storm, Jesus is our rock, holding us as we ride out the waves." I think every person in the room that morning will always remember that drawing.

Just 24 hours later, our boat was fighting to stay upright against a killer wave. We were taking on water fast. We were drowning in our own tears. We could hardly breathe. And yet, we survived the loss of our precious son.

Jesus said to his disciples that day on the stormy sea, "Oh, you of little faith! Have you not learned anything . . .?" Jesus had proved His power and strength ~ to keep them, hold them, provide for them ~ and yet, they did not remember His faithfulness in this time of need.

When rogue waves are looming off on the horizon and it is as if a towering wall of water is ready to overtake us, let us call out in our weakness from our small boats to the One who made the seas, who calms the winds, who holds our very lives in His hands in the midst of the storm. He remains our hope. Our rock. Our cleft in the storms of life.

His Slot is Full

2009-09-13T08:42:00.000-07:00

Tucked away in the inside cover of my Daytimer is a short article I clipped from a Compassionate Friends newsletter thirteen years ago. It is ~ I must admit ~ a sorry-looking piece of paper. The edges are crumbled and torn. But the words printed on that small scrap of paper are of great value to me.

It was not long after Scott died that I found the article. It was written by a grieving father who had lost his teenage son. The father was responding to an innocent question often asked of parents after the death of a child. Will you have another child?

Many wrestle to find an answer. As I companion young moms and dads on their grief journey, some share about the confusing emotions tied to that question.

~ Will having another child appear
as if we are replacing our precious child?
~ If we have another child
won't we have new fears of losing another child?
~ What if having another child
causes us to forget the child we lost?

One young mom shared with me the fear that gripped her when she found out she was expecting again after the loss of her baby to SIDS. Babies who die of SIDS leave may unanswered questions for parents. There are few known causes and a multitude of medical conditions that create the possibility for an infant to die of SIDS. And this mom, like many others, expressed honest, heart-wrenching emotion ~ how would she ever experience peace, knowing she could lose this precious one as well?

Some parents ~ their empty arms too much to bear ~ choose to have another child right away. (Let me say, there is no right time to have another child - every one's grief journey is unique.) Yet, the birth of another precious baby will not take away the pain of losing a child. It may provide comfort for those who grieve. It may fill empty days with the joy of new life. But it will not take away the hole left in one's heart by the death of one's child.

And that brings me back to that scrap of paper, the article which so well explains that hole left in one's heart after the death of a child. Yet, it also teaches us about the sacredness of that hole, that slot, as the author calls it.

His Slot is Full

Yesterday, a young teacher, a man who had known

Olin, Kathy and me over the years,
asked if we thought of having additional children,

and if we did, would they fill Olin's slot,

that empty space in our lives.
I answered as best I could -
that those parts of us that love are never empty.
Save but for the space they physically filled,
our children live, both spiritually and in us.
While I live, Olin is as recent as the moment,
alive and laughing, forever seventeen.

There are many slots in our hearts for others,

but his is filled.

What I have and he took,

what he gave and I took
will never be lost.

Love is there

beyond the dust and ashes that awaits us all.

There will always be room for others,

but he has left no slot to fill.

Even amidst the pain and the sorrow,
it was never empty.

(Don Hackett, Hingham, MA)

After thirteen years of traveling my own grief road I can tell you that Scott's slot ~ the hole left in my heart by his sudden death at a young age ~ is still there, but IT.IS.FILLED! Filled with memories that feed my heart and soul on days when his absence still envelopes me.

These precious memories fill Scott's place in my heart and allow me to maintain a relationship of memory with my dear son. Friends who are close continue to make deposits into his slot as they retell stories and let me know they have not forgotten.

It is all part of living with grief.

Made In HIS Image

2009-08-27T12:17:00.000-07:00

Kimberly Claire, a former neighbor and childhood friend of our daughter Amy, is on staff at Scum of the Earth Church in Denver, Colorado. Interesting name for a church, don’t you think? The name comes from the passage in 1 Corinthians 4:12-14 (ESV) that reads . . .

. . . and we labor, working with our own hands.
When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure;
When slandered, we entreat.
We have become, and are still, like the scum of the world,
The refuse of all things.
I do not write these things to make you ashamed,
But to admonish you as my beloved children.

Mike Sares is the pastor of Scum. Recently he offered this post in their church newsletter, Rubbish (nice touch in keeping with the theme). Mike wrote:

It has been said that ever since God created us in His own image, we have more than reciprocated. It would be sad if it weren’t so humorous. We are ever prone to make God look, act and feel like a human, In the old movie, The Ten Commandments, they used Charlton Heston’s voice for the voice of God talking to Moses (played by Charlton as well). Perhaps they did that because that is how God sounds to people – just like themselves! Greek and Norse mythologies are about gods behaving like men and women complete with our own petty jealousies, capriciousness, and immorality. To this day, we all project our inconsistencies upon God; God likes the people we like, puts up with the ones we put up with, ridicules the ones we ridicule, and way too often tells us exactly what we want to hear, I am afraid! (The song by Mark Heard, Everybody Loves a Holy War, is all about this as well.)

The God of the Bible exhibits amazing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control toward a human race that not only distorts His image, but treats people in ways He would never intend. Because of what Jesus did on the cross, God intends to form that love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control in us through His Spirit (see Galatians 5:22). Be on the lookout for the times when this “re-creation” is happening. Allow God to make you into His image, not visa-versa.

I don’t know if those words speak to you, but Pastor Sares’ words shout to me. I think my own responses ~ in times of stress, disappointment or working with difficult people ~ make the image of God I display for all to see look more like an image from those House of Mirrors, where the reflections are bent and distorted. Oh, that I would reflect His true image laid out in Galatians to a world that needs redeeming.

I am reminded of the many passages where we are told ~ not suggested ~ but commanded to image God’s character. You have probably read the pattern of words in verses like . . .

Just as I am ____ (fill in one of God’s character qualities),
So be ____ (the same character quality).

We are told in 1 Peter 1:14-16 . . .

As obedient children, do not conform
To the evil desires you had when you lived in ignorance.
But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do
For it is written:
“Be holy, because I am holy.”

This passage, and the many others like it, do not offer some magical formula to reflect His character, His image. No hoops to jump through; no level of greatness to achieve. These passages simply say ~ just be like Him. The only requirement is a willingness to allow His spirit to transform us to reflect His image for the world to see.

I pray that I will begin to consider my attitudes, affections and aspirations. I pray that God will not sound like me and that I will hear His voice and reflect His image to those around me. I can think of no better way to Redeem the Future than to reflect the image of God who offers comfort, hope and a future to all who follow Him.

Mixed Emotions

2009-08-20T18:59:00.000-07:00

We spent a fun filled week at Hume Lake this summer. Amy and Jeff, along with Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack,shared the week with us.

Tony and I have spent at least one week each summer at Hume Lake for most of our 35 years of marriage. My family vacationed there in the 50's when I was a little girl, and I went to high school summer camp there in the 60's. Hume Lake is full of memories and brings many emotions to mind.

Amid all the fun of making new memories with my grandchildren, there are many linking objects - a normal part of one's grief journey. There are so many things and places that remind me of the 16 years we had with Scott. Tony went to Father-Son and Father-Daughter Retreats many times with the kids as they were growing up. Scott made the decision to make Christ the Lord of his life at Hume during one of those times with Tony. He made a commitment to be a tool for Christ his last summer at Hume.

We are grateful for friends who allow us to stay in their cabin each year. It too is filled with memories - as we summered and wintered there with family and friends. Tucking Kyle and Jack into bed upstairs one night, I told them, "You know, Uncle Scott slept right here in these beds when he was your age!" Their big eyes and wide grins were precious. How I wish Scott was here to meet his nephews and niece.

We took Kaitlyn, Kyle and Jack fishing one morning. Even the lake weed they reeled in linked me to Scott. He and his buddies were given "lake weed duty" by Dayn (camp dean and future youth pastor to Scott and Amy). Scott spent his free time one afternoon pulling lake weeds from the boat channel as a consequence for some of his ingenious pranks.

One morning we drove up to Buck Rock. We climbed the 172 wooden stairs that cling to that huge rock that stands at 8,500 feet. It was Kaitlyn and Kyle's first trip to the top to the fire lookout station. Scott's ashes went off the landing at Buck Rock.

The pile of rocks, placed there 13 years ago as an Ebenezer, are still there - a testament that we do not grieve alone. It was precious as Kaitlyn and Kyle helped me pick wild flowers to place on the pile of stones that are a memorial to Scott and represent the emotions of so many friends and family.

Kaitlyn's eyes filled with tears as she laid more flowers on the stones. She has such a tender heart. I remember when she was about five years old and we met with friends at this Ebenezer to begin the memorial bike ride. I was holding Kaitlyn's hand as we walked to this pile of stones to remember Scott before the ride. As the riders took off, Kaitlyn turned to me and said, "But where is he?" "Who?" I asked. She replied, "Uncle Scott - I thought he was going to be here today." That was the day she began to understand how we often groan in these earthly vessels to be reunited with our loved ones for all of eternity.

And quite honestly, groan is a good descriptor. I always enjoy my week at Hume, don't get me wrong. I love making new memories, and savor the old ones. But several times during our week at Hume, I found myself fighting back many emotions - sorrow in Scott's absence, thankfulness for the years we had him, and at times - protest, that Scott should be here to enjoy this with us, to be present with his niece and nephews, to ride the Buck Rock ride with Tony one.more.time.

Please Don't Throw Up In My Car

2009-08-01T14:51:00.000-07:00

I am going on a date with Tony tonight ~ just like I did 39 years ago today. We have gone out on a date every August 1st since our first date in 1970.

During my last two years in high school, I hoped Tony would ask me. When I graduated from high school, I looked forward to the many college age events at our church because I knew Tony would be there. So it was such a wonderful surprise when he asked me out at our weekly college age volleyball games.

Our first date was somewhat of a group date ~ the college age kids were going to the Hollywood Bowl to see a musical. I had not planned on going until Tony asked if I would go with him!

Saturday night finally arrived. Tony picked me up in his very cool white MGB-GT with leather interior. We drove to the church where the college group was taking the church bus up to Hollywood.

The weather was perfect for the outdoor concert and I was thrilled to be with Tony Redfern!

When the concert ended, we headed with the crowds back to the parking area. I remember feeling funny ~ like I might be sick ~ so I turned to Tony, looked back in the direction we came for a restroom, and collapsed in his arms. Yep ~ real romantic-like, with my eyes rolled back in my head!

Don't even start laughing yet ~ it gets worse! Tony very carefully laid me down on the sidewalk, right in the middle of the crowds of people walking to their cars. It didn't take long before I came to only to begin throwing up all over myself . . . in front of Tony and all those strangers!

A first aide nurse from the Hollywood Bowl came out to help move me over to some curbing where I continued to throw up. This nurse began asking Tony questions about me. I will always remember one of them. She asked him if I was pregnant, to which he answered, "No . . . I don't think so . . . are you?" Great! (The answer was NO.)

Needless to say, the ride home on a bus on the freeway was about all I could take. When the bus parked back at the church, I ran off the bus and threw up some more. When I finally stopped, Tony knew he needed to take me home. He opened the back of his very cool white MGB-GT with leather interior. He took out an old beach towel. He opened the car door for me and helped me sit down. He tucked one end of the towel into the edge of the dashboard by the windshield. He tucked the other end of the towel in the neckline of my blouse, under my chin. Then he said, "Please don't throw up in my car."

Needless to say, he did not kiss me goodnight on our first date. And, I did not throw up in his car. It ended up that I had an inner ear infection and I was very sick for weeks.

Tony did ask me out again and again and again.

It is August 1st, 2009, and I find myself getting ready for another date with Tony. I am so thankful he did not dump me after such a horrible first date. I am thankful we still love to go out on dates after all these years together.

As we get in the car to go out to dinner tonight I can guarantee he will tell me,

"Please don't throw up in my car."

Seeking God in the Night

2009-08-01T14:00:00.000-07:00

Today I share a post written by Jessica ~ one of my traveling buddies.

My traveling buddies are ladies who find themselves on the same journey as me . . . a journey with no up-grades, many road closures and a burden of grief. We are members of what I call, The Bereaved Mothers Club (BMC). I pray you will not ever become a member of BMC.

Membership requirements are weighty:
we have each laid a precious child in the arms of God.

I have been on this road over 13 years. Jessica entered this journey more recently ~ joining my travels about 2 years ago when her sweet son, Kade. passed away in his sleep on his two-month birthday.

This week, Jessica posted a glimpse of this journey and how this dark road can lead to transformation. I asked permission to post it here for those of you who follow my blog and look for the hope of redeeming the future. Her struggles are real. Her doubts are many. But her hope is secure. I am encouraged by her words.

Here, in Jessica's own words, is part of her journey . . .

I woke up at 3 a.m. from a nightmare that was all too real. I dreamt that we lost Tori and were struggling with the fact that we had lost another child. Obviously I was thankful to wake to find that Tori was sleeping soundly in her bed without a care in the world. While I breathed a sigh of relief, my mind went to Kade. I lost it. Poor Trav woke to me bawling like a baby, and quickly realizing I needed him, slid his arm under my back and pulled me close. We have spent many a lonely night this way. Night time is hard.

There's something about the dark that feels hopeless and overwhelming. The Lord has taught me much about the night. He speaks of the night throughout His Word and I've asked Him to give me His view of the darkness. He says that "the night shines as bright as day" and that "nothing is hidden in the dark" and "weeping comes in the night but joy comes with the dawn" which are some of my favorite passages to meditate on in the night watches. I'm still learning this concept but I have found great comfort in knowing that the Lord sees no difference between night and day and that as His child I can trust that He remains constant no matter the amount of light around me.

But last night as we lay together in the dark my faith was small. I asked Trav the hard questions that I know he desperately wishes he could answer for his wife. "How can a God who loves me give me such a precious gift only to take it back? Why would He allow something so tragic to occur in my life that I question His very existence, sovereignty and love for me? Why would He want me to doubt His love? Doesn't He want me to rest securely in it?" Trav just shook his head, unable to give me an answer that would ease the pain.

While I wrestle with these feelings, they are fleeting and are instantly squelched by truth. Even in my darkest moments, moments like last night, I hear the Lord speaking to my heart. He does love me. He sacrificed HIS son so that I could spend eternity with MY son. I can rest deeply in His love for me that is beyond measure and unchanging. I can fall down at the throne of grace knowing that He keeps each tear in His bottle and takes note of them in His book. It's in the most vulnerable of moments that my Savior is most real to me. It's when I'm doubting His love that He takes the opportunity to flood me with it. It's in those moments that His kindness and grace reaches down and pulls me out of the miry clay I'm sinking in. It's the very thing I doubt that rescues me.

Still I struggle with what to do now. One of the biggest adjustments has been learning how to walk this road that was never one I had considered. I feel like I'm being forced down this path that was never what I imagined my life to be. The truth is, it was always the road I would travel. Since I wasn't handed a map I had created my own itinerary, and forgot to include the pit stops and detours along the way Looking back over past 22 months without Kade, I have seen how the Lord has grown me up, pushed me forward and lavished His grace on me for every step. The Lord has provided some amazing fellow travelers that are making the journey much more bearable.

So what now? I'll just keep putting one foot in front of the other toward eternity, my Savior and my son.

Jessica says it well. We put one foot in front of the other as we move along this journey to that blessed reunion with our children. There isn't an exit off of this road. There is no closure. The reality of losing a child is always with us ~ and quite honestly, we want to remember, as we cling to memories as proof of their existence. But there is the hope of redeeming the losses of this life. There is the promise of transformation.

Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me!

O LORD, be my helper!"

You have turned my mourning into dancing;

you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,

that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.

O LORD my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

Psalm 30:10-12

I love you, J ~

To read more of Jessica's postings, visit her blog Seeking His Face.

God is Good . . . No Matter What

2009-07-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

Maybe it is just me, but at times I feel some tension when I hear people express their gratitude for God's goodness because things went well for them.

You know - the news camera pans the street of homes destroyed by a tornado in the small Midwest town, save one house left standing. The homeowner of the house spared by the twists and turns of the tornado, stands among the rubble of her neighbors' homes and tells the reporter, "God is so good. Our house was spared." Am I the only one thinking about all the families whose homes were flattened - was God NOT good to them?

I remember a coworker sharing with me about her grandmother who was very ill in a nearby hospital; she was so excited that her grandmother had made it through the night. With great joy she said, "Isn't God good? My grandmother is better this morning."

I rejoiced with her that her grandmother had not passed away. Then I gently and lovingly said, "Even if your grandmother did not make it through the night, God is still good."

When our son was on life-support for 30 hours in 1996, we prayed for healing. But there was no healing. Was God not good to us?

It seems so easy, so natural to speak of His greatness, His goodness, His faithfulness when we experience things going our way.

God is so good - our bid on the house was accepted.

God is so good - my cancer is gone.

God is so good - we get to go to Disneyland.
(I know that last one is lame, but folks, I've heard it!)

I don't want you to think I am insensitive when people recognize and rejoice in God's goodness. I know that every good and perfect gift comes from Him. I know that He is the provider of all that we have and the sustainer of all that we are. I am grateful for His goodness.

But I wonder how many of us look for His goodness, His greatness and His faithfulness in the disappointments and heartbreaks, and the griefs and losses in our lives? God is still the provider and sustainer of those individuals whose homes were lost by the tornado. God is still a good God even if our loved one dies.

This age of technology which allows us to warn communities of severe weather conditions, diagnose and treat major diseases, and in many ways cheat death, also gives us a sense of expecting the good . . . and only the good.

We are amazed when bad things come our way. How could a loving God allow that to happen? Where was God when that plane went into the ocean? Why did their son have to die so young?

And yet, in the midst of our pain and suffering, there is a GOOD GOD who is still the Blessed Controller of All Things. Proverbs 19:21 says,

Many are the plans in a man's heart,
but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails.

This verse tells me that there will be times when things will NOT go my way. There are times when I will think God LET ME DOWN.

How do we see His goodness in the depth of our struggle? We train our eyes to focus on HIS purpose. He promises to bring glory to Himself and draw people to His Kingdom. He promises to one day reconcile all things to Himself.

The writer of Lamentations knew this. Have you ever thought about the life someone must be living to write a book called Lamentations? That fellow knew suffering and sorrow. He writes in chapter 3, verses 18-26:

So I say, "My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped from the LORD."
Remember my affliction and my wanderings,
the wormwood and the gall!
My soul continually remembers it and is bowed down within me.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
"The LORD is my portion," says my soul,
"therefore I will hope in him."
The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.

I am not advocating that we stop praising God for His goodness when we feel blessed. I am proposing that we look for His faithfulness, His goodness, and His mercies in all circumstances. They are there even when we do not feel or see them because our plans did not prevail.

God is good, and His mercy and faithfulness are new every morning, no matter what.

Seeing the Forest and the Trees

2009-07-15T21:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you have heard it said that there are some who just can't see the forest for the trees. This idiom describes those who focus on the minutia of the present rather than the vista of possibilities. It implies that something can be gained by allowing our gaze to go beyond the present realities (the trees) to see what might be ahead (the forest).

As one certificated in death and grief studies, I companion people who often can only see the trees - the overwhelming sorrow, the enormous hole, and the indescribable loss. They are doing well to see the trees - to wake up each morning, feel the weight of grief, and make it through another day without the presence of their loved one.

To them I say - "Let's just sit here among the trees. The forest will be there when we are ready to see it."

This week I am with dear friends who have many trees growing on the horizon and the forest is becoming obscured as they deal with life and death issues. (With: to make a conscious decision to carry in thought and prayer the burdens of another)

I have to say - these trees are OMINOUS, as trees go.

~ Not like the giant sequoias that display strength and stability; these trees are brittle and spindly, as if their branches would snap under the slightest weight.

~ Not like the mighty oak that beckons travelers to sit under the shade of her sweeping branches; these trees offer no relief, as their twisted branches reach out and snag passersby.

~ Not like the lush trees that flourish along the banks of a river; these trees are thirsty and dry, and suck the very life out of all who travel among them.

Even in this age of technology, there is no Garmin - no simple, lightweight handheld device to navigate through this rugged terrain. There are no guarantees that the medical procedures available on the horizon will change the reality that their precious “Little Man” may not survive.

As I sit with them in the landscape of their lives - the reality that their child’s life hangs in the balance - it is impossible to tell if the moans I hear come from the winds of change blowing through the menacing branches or the hearts of those who find themselves in this place.

But it is here we sit, in the dark night of the soul, waiting until God lifts our gaze to see the forest beyond this place among the trees.

Please join me in being with this dear family engulfed by the foreboding trees of reality that they may . . .

. . . Feel God’s presence in this darkness

. . . Hear His voice among so many

. . . Recognize His leading as He clears a path for them

. . . Know His peace as they wait with hope in His eternal will

For more information and to follow their story,
please visit A Heart of Worship

Thirty Five Years

2009-07-11T07:00:00.000-07:00

Thirty five years ago this weekend,
I married my best friend.

Can we really be that old -
to have been married for thirty five years?

As children I watched you play, never dreaming our two lives would someday become one.

And then, God placed you in my heart

and me in your heart, and on July 13, 1974

we began a journey as husband and wife - best friends -

trusting God to make known the path He had for us!

I remember a few years ago, you began telling me,
"You know we are living out the greatest love story ever!”

And I boastfully thought to myself,
“Wow! We must be pretty good at this marriage thing!”

Then you gently told me what you meant by this assertion.

God places such a high calling on marriage that He chose the greatest love story of all time to describe how a husband and wife should love and live together. How we live out our marriage
can show the world His greatest love –
wherein Christ laid down His life for His Bride, the Church.

Although WE have changed in our outward appearance as 35 years has left its mark on us, I can say that we are still
living out the greatest love story of all time!

So in honor of our 35th Anniversary, I say thank you . . .

Thank you for promising to travel together as one,
to live out our lives together.

Thank you for holding my heart so tenderly,
in times of great joy and deep sorrow.

Thank you for listening to the voice of God
over the many voices of this world.

Thank you for willingly and faithfully providing
for our family along the way.

Thank you for being a godly leader for me,
and our children, to follow with confidence.

Thank you for teaching and modeling
the pathway to peace for our family.

Thank you for remaining my best friend.

After all these years,

I would say yes

all over again!

I love you!

The Crisis and The Beau

2009-07-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

I have heard said . . . crisis reveals one’s true character . . . and I tend to agree. In fact, after the events of Sunday afternoon, I believe adding an element of crisis during any dating relationship may well make or break a relationship.

Sunday I witnessed a crisis and saw the true character of one’s Beau. Here is how the circumstances unfolded that led to the crisis.

First of all, you need to know that I am grateful to have some of Scott’s friends in my life. Spending time with these young adults helps me make deposits into my storehouse of memories – laughing about Scott’s love for practical jokes as well as sharing his compassion for others. It also makes me very aware of the stage of life he would be now, if he had not left us so very young.

A couple of weeks ago, one of his classmates made plans to come by with her special friend, whom I will call THE BEAU. THE BEAU lives out of state and was coming to town for the long 4th of July weekend. She wanted us to meet THE BEAU – someone she is quite fond of and wanted to see what we thought of him. I have seen pictures of THE BEAU online, heard about the gracious and loving ways THE BEAU treats her, and have personally witnessed the fact that she talks and texts THE BEAU day in and day out. But I really did not know THE BEAU, until this weekend.

I looked forward to the opportunity to meet THE BEAU, watching and listening for any red flags that may go up. My husband and I tried to think of questions to ask THE BEAU that would provide an opportunity for him to reveal something about himself – his values and his intentions – without sounding like future in-laws, which of course we are not (but at times we may seem like impostors).

We sat outside on the patio under the umbrellas, eating strawberries over vanilla ice cream while my friend’s seven year old daughter swam in our pool – a nice diversion that allowed us to talk mostly uninterrupted. Watching THE BEAU interact with my friend was great to see – he seemed to be patient, courteous and thoughtful. He seemed to genuinely care for her well being.

I was equally impressed when THE BEAU began interacting with my friend's daughter in the pool. He offered to toss her daughter in – you know, launch her from the edge into the pool. At first her daughter appeared a little hesitant but then decided to let THE BEAU toss her in. In a couple of minutes, her daughter was begging THE BEAU for more.

So THE BEAU gently gathered her in his arms and told her to count to three. One . . . two . . . three . . . and again she went sailing through the air and into the pool. As THE BEAU leaned to make sure she cleared the edge of the pool, THE BEAU lost his balance. With arms flailing in an attempt to reverse the forward motion, THE BEAU himself became airborne and landed in the pool! Shirt, jeans, socks, tennis shoes, watch and wallet, all under water.

When THE BEAU came up for air, his face displayed a wide grin as he laughed along with us and said, “This feels great! I haven’t been swimming in a long time.” THE BEAU tossed his wallet, shoes and socks on the deck, hung his shirt on the fence to dry, and dove back in – in his jeans! THE BEAU spent the next twenty minutes swimming and diving with my friend’s daughter.

I thought about THE BEAU’s reaction to what could have been a humiliating situation. THE BEAU knew he was there to meet us (i.e., impress us). THE BEAU could have come out of the pool and pouted, embarrassed that he had fallen in. THE BEAU could have blamed the daughter for not letting go soon enough. THE BEAU could have gotten upset that his clothes, shoes and wallet were soaked.

But THE BEAU was not undone by the crisis.

THE BEAU’s true character was revealed in this moment of crisis . . . and I, for one, approve!

Molding Memories

2009-06-26T12:03:00.000-07:00

Today I grieve the loss of another young son, just four months of age, whom God called Home this week.

Today I call upon the God of all comfort to sustain another mom and dad as they close down the short life of their dear son.

Today I once again go to a mortuary to hold a precious little hand and a tiny foot, and press them into soft clay to mold a lasting memory of this dear son's earthly body.

The death of a child is so painful. It is a period before the end of the sentence. It is not only the loss of the present but also the loss of what might have been . . . the milestones and relationships that will never be.

As a fellow traveler on a journey of grief, a bereaved mom who has walked a little ways down the road, I can say that the future brings opportunity for transformation. But in the present, the here and now, in the rawness of this loss, the weight of this grief may at times seem too much to bear as this young couple begins to create a new normal that does not include their precious son.

Today I offer this young mom and dad a small gift as they begin their own journey of grief, as they move toward transforming their relationship with their little man . . . from a relationship of presence to a relationship of memory. They are still his parents; he is still their son. Death does not change that. But it does mean that their precious memories . . . how he looks, laughs, plays; his sweet smell, tender cries and warm hugs . . . these will forever be spoken of in the past tense, and will be what sustains them over the coming decades.

Author Norman Cousin wrote, Memory is where the proof of life is stored.

As you remember this family, whether or not you know them personally, bathe them in prayer. If you are near to them, share stories of their precious son. It is true that your comments may bring tears to their eyes, but oh, how their hearts will be filled as you make deposits into their storehouse of memories.

May they feel the everlasting arms of the Father, the God of all comfort, who knows the sorrow of the death of a son, carrying them until they once again hold their precious son in their arms for all of eternity.

Wedding Showers in June

2009-06-02T17:40:00.000-07:00

I am told
there is an old Italian phrase
about rainy weddings ~
Sposa bagnata, Sposa fortunata.
It means, Wet Bride, Fortunate Bride!

Eleven years ago this Saturday, on June 6, 1998, our house was filled with excitement. Amy and Jeff were getting married in a few short hours!

We spent that day decorating the lovely yard of the Jackson's home beside the Kings River. Friends brought the bouquets of wild flowers they had grown to decorate each table. Twinkle lights and white tulle draped the edge of the yard and the center aisle where Tony would escort our daughter. Amy and her bridal party were upstairs in the Jackson home, having their hair and make-up done. It was a wonderful day and a fairy tale wedding was in the making!

Then, about 4:30 pm, the clear blue sky darkened. Out of nowhere, two storms merged over central California and the rain began. It did not just drizzle or sprinkle. No, it was a downpour. Although sunset was not for another four hours, the sky was dark. Soon lightning and thunder filled the sky. And the fairy tale wedding, the beautifully decorated tables, the white tulle and twinkle lights, were drenched.

Records from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which date back to the 1800's, state for June 6th:

1998: An evening storm drops 1.80 inch of rain in six hours on the Fresno- Yosemite International Airport, part of a total of 1.88 inch for the event. This set records in Fresno for the wettest calendar day in June, the wettest June overall and the wettest 6-and 24-hour periods in the month of June. Across Fresno and Tulare Counties over $27 million dollars in damage occurred to crops damaged by hail and trees downed by the wind. The Reedley area was especially hard hit with 414.8 million in damages.

I remember the tears that rolled down my checks as I watched 400 guests wade down that long Jackson driveway under their umbrellas to join us for this blessed event. Amy had dreamed of an outdoor wedding. Hoping the rain would stop, we decided to have the reception first! All our wonderful friends helped set up the buffet lines under the carport. Guests walked on soggy towels to keep from slipping on the wet cement.

It did not stop raining that evening, but it did not keep us from having a wedding. We hastily set up the candelabras on the hearth, and guests found a way to see or hear from throughout the house; some were able to see and hear the ceremony. The music began, and Amy came down the winding staircase on Tony's arm. She was so beautiful, and what had been planned as a lovely outdoor wedding was transformed into an intimate setting around the hearth of this welcoming home.

I have favorite snapshots in my mind, moments I have tucked away of the day of my daughter's wedding. But there is one memory which truly symbolized for me the choice that was made that evening.

As we set things up for the ceremony to take place in the house, we made sure we dried everything off as we brought it inside. We lit all the candles in the candelabras to be sure they would light for the ceremony. But we forgot to dry and test light the Unity Candle.

When it came to that part of the ceremony, Amy and Jeff picked up their candles to join their individual flames together into a single flame. But the Unity Candle would not light. The wick was thoroughly soaked. After many tries, Amy removed the Unity Candle from its stand, blew her candle out, and set Jeff's candle in the place of the Unity Candle.

I remember all of us laughing with them at the situation. But as I look back on that moment; Amy's actions at that time speak volumes of how she and Jeff would approach their life together.

I know; fairy tale weddings are what most little girls dream of having someday. But too many fairy tale weddings end in broken promises, bitter custody disputes, or merely settle for relationships that have more to do with selfish desires than unconditional love.

What I saw that night, sitting on an ottoman in the Jackson's living room, witnessing my daughter and her husband make vows to one another before God and these witnesses was an act of commitment to take a higher path through life. The rain could have destroyed the wedding. It could have brought out the worst in these two young people. But they chose to find a path of transformation.

Married life is not always sunshine and blue sky. There will be storms and times when it seems the rain just will not go away. Some may make a choice to be destroyed by these times; others will be transformed in spite of them. I am so proud of the marriage that came from that rainy wedding night eleven years ago. I am grateful to watch Amy and Jeff love, honor and respect one another, in good times and bad, as they raise up another generation who are learning that when life sends a storm, you pull on your boots and pop up your umbrella, and find joy in the puddles!

Happy Anniversary,
Amy and Jeff.

How Serious Am I?

2009-05-14T14:35:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I can trace my thoughts over the past two weeks to conversations with my cousin Dave. He and his wife, Rachel, are missional artists in Köln, Germany. As a potter, his story of reclaiming broken clay is all about redeeming the future. I posted about brokenness and the impact of his work a few months ago.

Dave and Rachel spent a week with us this month while in the US on Home Assignment. I spent many hours talking with and listening to them as we shared about the struggles and brokenness in our lives through the eyes of The Potter of Jeremiah 18:1-4.

It seems my thoughts continue to dwell on these things. Am I centered on His Wheel? Am I willing to be formed into something that pleases The Potter? With all the pressures of life, can I even feel His hands molding me?

Today I received a link to a video entitled, God's Chisel. I watched with tears as I realized how I fail to address the things that keep me from reflecting Christ. I know what they are. Yet I ignore, excuse, forget, dismiss, cover up . . . you pick the verb . . . I just don't want to deal with the things that get in the way of what really matters.

I know the video is 9 minutes.
Who has 9 minutes?
My prayer is that you will
give yourself 9 minutes
and see how He transforms
and redeems us for His glory.

Memories and Realities of Mother's Day

2009-05-10T06:48:00.000-07:00

Today ~ Mother's Day, 2009 ~ I am rather emotional. Sweet memories and painful realities have me torn to know what I am really feeling. So if this post seems to meander past green pastures and arid wastelands, all in the simple curve in the road, that about sums it up. For Mother’s Day, perhaps like no other day, seems to send me on a journey.

As a child, I fashioned priceless gifts for my mom on Mother’s Day. You remember the treasures ~ an empty tin can painted to be a pencil holder; a colorful paper flower with each petal displaying a pledge to do chores for her; a pin made with sequins and beads. Perhaps my favorite Mother’s Day gift I gave my mom was a shiny necklace with a scene of a tropical paradise, all made from butterfly wings. I sacrificially purchased it with my tickets at the school carnival. Really. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and when she wore it, we both recognized the enormous value of that second-hand piece of costume jewelry.

I became a mother in 1977. Amy was due to arrive three days before Mother’s Day, and I eagerly awaited my first Mother’s Day. Sadly, she came 10 days late. I was well aware as I shuffled into church on Mother’s Day, 1977 that I would have to wait until 1978 to officially qualify to be honored on Mother’s Day.

When Amy and Scott were little I was awaken each Mother’s Day with breakfast in bed. Amid the giggles and battling elbows to be the one who carried the tray, I knew I was receiving the most delicious peanut butter toast any mother could ever consume. And, they presented me with their own priceless, handmade gifts, which I still treasure.

This year is different. To be honest, I am grieving. My heart breaks once again for what might have been if Scott were still alive. My soul is heavy as I carry the loss of other young moms who have placed their children in the lap of Abba Father. My eyes weep for my friends whose infant son has lived all of his two and a half months of life at Children’s Hospital.

And yet I find that it is when I am in my darkest place that I more clearly see the pain of others. On this Mother’s Day, I grieve with those whose arms are empty because their wombs are barren. I see the pain in the eyes of young women who always thought they would marry and have children of their own. I am saddened for the children who never knew the love and nurture of a caring mother.

So today, as millions of moms are honored . . . as you honor your own mother, or open handmade trinkets or expensive gifts in your own green pasture . . . look around you. There are arid wastelands where you can be a stream of refreshing love, as you become the arms of God’s grace today.

Surviving the Present

2009-04-28T10:18:00.001-07:00

I know there are times it is too much for me to even think about redeeming the future; when today is just too overwhelming ~ I hope I can just survive the present. You know those kind of days.

You are or you have been the mother of small children and you do not have one.more.ounce of energy to offer. You have deadlines and responsibilities that seem to consume every brain cell. You are battered with images from your past that rob your joy. The memory of someone loved who has died opens that hole in your heart to allow all your strength to drain away. The future just looks hopeless.

I know there are times I just want to survive today. I cannot think about redeeming tomorrow.

I am thankful our Lord knew we would have days like this. Listen to his words in Matthew 6:34,

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

I am grateful for God's promises in Lamentations 3:19-24 when I encounter these times.

Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness. Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me. This I recall to my mind, Therefore I have hope. The LORD'S lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, For His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. "The LORD is my portion," says my soul, "Therefore I have hope in Him."

How precious, how refreshing, what a hope-filled picture, as I face one of those kind of days, to know He is the great I AM, offering His lovingkindness and compassion, renewing my hope, and filling my portion.

I know I will have days where I do not have one.more.ounce of energy to offer; where it seems every brain cell is consumed with deadlines; where the brokenness of my past robs me of the joy here and now, my strength is simply draining away, and I feel hopeless.

When those days seem to find us without the energy, joy, strength and hope we need, may we dwell on the promise of His strength for today and His bright hope for tomorrow. As we wait on Him to renew us, restore us, fall a fresh on us ~ as we survive today ~ we ARE investing in the future that He promises to redeem in His perfect time.

Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father;

There is no shadow of turning with Thee;

Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not;

As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.

Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth

Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide;

Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow,

Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!

Easter Reflections

2009-04-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

Easter stirs so many emotions for me. It seems my reflections are intricately woven with the events of Jesus' last week on earth.

As I approach Holy Week, I feel myself drawn to Gethsemane. It is a place of protest, you know, where Jesus went to ask the Father to let this cup of death pass from him. I have stood among the old olive trees in Gethsemane on a trip to Israel in 1997. The year before, I quite literally found myself begging God to let the cup of death pass over our family. I have laid a precious life in the lap of Abba Father and uttered the words,"Not my will but yours be done," as I learn to trust Him with the pain.

As I awake on Good Friday, I find myself identifying with the sorrow of Mary, whose son's life is slipping away as he hangs before her on the cross. And yet I find comfort in the words Jesus speaks to her in John 19:26, 27. He sees her tears, and looking down from the cross, he meets her in the form of her need, to fill the deep void created in her mother's heart.

When Jesus saw his mother

and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby,

he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son!"

Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother!"

And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.

And then the hope of Easter comes upon me. I realize the power of the resurrection to bring a glorious reunion with those who have gone before. I recognize the promise of Jesus to his disciples as he taught them about his Kingdom that would be ushered in by his death. Jesus tells his disciples in John 16:22, 23 ~

You have sorrow now, but I will see you again,

and your hearts will rejoice,

and no one will take your joy from you.

In that day you will ask nothing of me.

My Easter reflections always take me back to a Garden in Jerusalem, where I stooped to enter an empty tomb. I praise Him for the promise of resurrection, the hope of reunion, and the Kingdom where he will . . .

. . . wipe away every tear from their eyes,

and death shall be no more,

neither shall there be mourning,

nor crying, nor pain anymore,

for the former things have passed away.

Revelation 21:4

One Week to Live

2009-04-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Today is Palm Sunday. I remember from childhood the palm branches that adorned the sanctuary to signify the importance of Jesus' triumphal entry in our faith's historical record.

Many of us know the story well ~ the disciples get the donkey and tell the owner The Master has need of it, while the people of Jerusalem line the road to get a glimpse of Jesus as he enters Jerusalem as their King. Pastors across the nation today will probably use this text and historical context to focus our thoughts and lives upon OUR response to Jesus.

This year as I think about this first day of Holy Week, I find my thoughts on Jesus' response to the fact that he has only one week to live. As Jesus sends his disciples to get the colt, he knows he has one week to live. No disrespect intended toward the very King of Kings, but what might be on Jesus' Bucket List as he mounts that donkey and enters the city of David?

The movie The Bucket List suggests to its audience to think how we might redeem the last few days, weeks or months of our lives, if we knew when we would die. Following the lead from the movie, people have created extensive inventories as they envision projects to accomplish, places to see and people to meet, before they breathe their last breath.

In the last scene in the film The Bucket List, Carter Chambers expresses the transformation that has taken place in the life of Edward Cole. Both men spent their short time left on earth accomplishing many things important to them ~ traveling to places and meeting people. As the camera focuses on the mountain where Edward is buried, Carter says,

I know that when he died,

his eyes were closed and his heart was open.

In the account found in Scripture of this final week in Jesus' life on earth, I am struck by the fact that nothing he chooses to do that week has anything to do with his wants and desires. He does not travel to far off places. He does not seek out old friends to hang with. Rather, he moves confidently toward the cross, hoping to redeem the future for eternity as he teaches the crowds about the coming Kingdom and presses the religious leaders to recognize the Father who sent him.

As the Scripture account of Jesus' life pans from this joyous Triumphal Entry to the somber climb up the mount called Golgotha, it is quite clear that Jesus' eyes were open to God's purposes AND his heart was open to increasing the Kingdom for eternity.

I am challenged anew this Holy Week to not only respond to Jesus but respond like Jesus. I want to spend however many days, weeks, months or years I have left, glorifying God and peopling the Kingdom.

May our prayer this Palm Sunday be ~

God, open our eyes and our hearts to how we can redeem the future ~
with what time we have left on this Earth.

The Triumphal Entry by George and Diana Voyajolu, Iconographers, Kamena Vourla, Greece

Happy Birthday to You, Tony!

2009-03-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to my . . .

best friend
counselor
companion
supporter
husband and love of my life, Tony Redfern!

First of all, I need to know, how did you get to be 60 years old so fast?

Wasn't it only yesterday . . .

. . . I watched in disbelief as you and Bobby Elliff, Mark Hanna and Glen Plowman messed around in the back row of Children's Church at Lakewood First Baptist?

. . . I saw you drive up to volleyball in your sporty white MGB-GT, with leather interior?

. . . You literally swept me off my feet (quite another story) on our first date at the Hollywood Bowl?

. . . You sent me 2 dozen red roses, paid for a window table at the Gate of Spain Restaurant on Santa Monica Bay to ask me to marry you?

But in reality, you were born in the first half of the last century, and that was six decades ago!

We have been together almost 40 years ~ 4 years of dating at Biola, and 35 years as husband and wife this coming July. We have enjoyed sunny times and weathered many storms.

Happy 60th Birthday!

I love you.

I cannot imagine how my future would ever have been

so redeemed without you by my side.

Come and grow old with me . . . the best is yet to come.

Robert Browning