Category: Faith

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What Utter Joy

It is often hard to put one’s experience down in words, and even more difficult is the task of penning one’s innermost ponderings. Not just what I have experienced, but how that experience has molded me and what I retain now from the experience.

Asher is three and a half months old already. I have posted pictures and happy updates during that time. Our happiness is broadened and our joy is immense. The goodness of the Lord in the land of the living (Psalm 27:13) is a truly marvelous thing. The utter beauty and joy I find in the daily grind of repetitive, monotonous, and largely thankless tasks is nothing less than wonderful. To have turmoil turned to peace is an experience that I am unable to pour into words. Instead, it just usually pours out in tears.

God heard us and sent relief. His  mercy is abundant and the gladness in our hearts & home is immense, let me tell you.

Psalm 4:1, 7-9
Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness!
You have relieved me in my distress;
Have mercy on me, and hear my prayer.
There are many who say,
“Who will show us any good?”
Lord, lift up the light of Your countenance upon us.
You have put gladness in my heart,
More than in the season that their grain and wine increased.
I will both lie down in peace, and sleep;
For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.

But that may yet be only part of our story. The saga will continue. It does continue even now. Life and sanctification, joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, sunshine and rain, diamonds and dust ~ it continues with each breath we take.

Wouldn’t you think it would be easy to move from sorrow to happiness? Yeah. Me too.
And it IS easy.
And yet it isn’t only easy.
As He has long sustained us in the past, so our Father yet sustains us now. He will continue to be faithful, for He can be nothing less than perfectly faithful. No matter where He leads us on our journey.

Long is the way, and very steep the slope;
Strengthen me once again, O God of Hope.

Far, very far, the summit doth appear;
But Thou art near, my God, but Thou art near.

And Thou wilt give me with my daily food,
Powers of endurance, courage, fortitude.

Thy way is perfect; only let that way
Be clear before my feet from day to day.

Thou art my Portion, saith my soul to Thee,
Oh, what a Portion is my God to me!

~Amy Carmichael~

We are so thankful for the children in our home. I still catch my breath when I say, write, or hear that word. Children. Will I ever get used to it? Will I someday take it for granted? Will the novelty of life eventually give way to the normalcy of it all? God forbid.
Yes, the Lord has given us great things. But we clearly remember what He brought us before He delivered Asher to us. And it seems beyond possible to me that we could ever take our sons for granted, or life in general, or medical science, or fertility, or romance, or a godly spouse for granted. And yet, but for the grace of God and the Spirit’s stirrings within us, we would quickly take His goodness and mercy for granted. We are sinners, and grossly imperfect.

This afternoon I have been meditating on Psalm 16. Some verses have particularly popped out at me and are repeating over and over in my heart. Not only has the Lord been good to us, causing our lines to fall pleasantly of late, but He is the One who has given us counsel. He is the One that has been our Captain and King through all of this! He is the One whose arm is mighty to save (Isaiah 63:1, Zephaniah 3:17)!

Psalm 16:6-9
The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places;
Yes, I have a good inheritance.
I will bless the Lord who has given me counsel;
My heart also instructs me in the night seasons.
I have set the Lord always before me;
Because He is at my right hand I shall not be moved.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoices;
My flesh also will rest in hope.

In Scripture, I love how “night” is often a metaphor for more than simply the dark hours of a 24-hour cycle. It can imply inner darkness, such as sorrow or grief. So when David says that his heart instructs him in the night seasons, I give thanks that we can proclaim the same. The Spirit inhabits our hearts, and as we remain faithful to the Father and set the Lord always before us, He will instruct us even when our path leads through terrible darkness. Amen! God has been our Sovereign Lord through our recurrent miscarriages, through treatment trials, and eventually through a full pregnancy and delivery of our son. It is because of Him that we have not been moved, that our faith has remained strong, and that He has been glorified.

We ARE glad! We GREATLY rejoice! And we DO have hope!

What kindness.

This is one of those things that I just can’t adequately describe in mere words. I try. And I fail miserably. Every time.

A young lady at our church who competes in speech and debate tournaments around the country interviewed me a number of weeks ago, in order to compose an interpretive speech about my “story.” Her speech would be ten minutes long, once it was finely honed. The fact is, at first I wondered how in the world she would find enough solid material to fill up ten minutes. And then I started to wonder how in the world she could ever capture the height, depth, width, breadth, and spirit of my story in just ten little minutes.

As the days move on, I get to find joy and gladness in cleaning, cooking, laundry, hospitality, playing trains, reading Frog & Toad, drinking tea by the blazing fire, watching Bald Eagles perch in a tree right behind our house and then swoop down to feast on something (along with a coyote, no less), washing diapers, making silly faces, singing psalms, answering countless “why?” questions, kissing away countless tears, soaking in dimples and smiles and new red fuzz atop my baby’s head.
And at the same time, I remember. I remember seven little sweeties who so quickly stole their way into my heart. I see their seven little boxes lined up on top of a dresser in our room. I see their names hanging from arrows in a hunter’s quiver. I wear those names on a necklace, where they rest right near my heart.
I still have shadows of scars from injections. I have a shelf full of leftover medical supplies. Certain smells, certain feelings, certain places ~ and I’m right back there again.

Grief.
I no longer live in grief. Now I live with grief.
It isn’t who I am, but it has shaped who I am.

When I see our boys, my Gabriel and my Asher, I feel like I can see pieces of our other children in them. I wonder if Hosanna would have had his brother’s steely eyes. And I wonder if any of their sisters had their long eyelashes and cuddly natures.

The perspective and thankfulness we have as we raise these boys for the glory of God and for the furtherance of His Kingdom is a blessing. It was painfully won, but it is a reward we reap.
We get the privilege of teaching, training, disciplining, discipling, and catechizing these boys.
We get the pleasures of playing, reading, wrestling, singing, running, cuddling, exploring, and living with these boys.
We get to clean up their messes, listen to their laughs, dry their tears, feed their bodies, fill their souls, and shepherd them for their life both on earth and for eternity.

What. Utter. Joy.

Father, hear us, we are praying,
Hear the words our hearts are saying;
We are praying for our children.

Keep them from the powers of evil,
From the secret, hidden peril;
Father, hear us for our children.

From the whirlpool that would suck them,
From the treacherous quicksand, pluck them;
Father, hear us for our children.

From the worldling’s hollow gladness,
From the sting of faithless sadness,
Father, Father, keep our children.

Through life’s troubled waters steer them;
Through life’s bitter battle cheer them;
Father, Father, be Thou near them.

Read the language of our longing,
Read the wordless pleadings thronging,
Holy Father, for our children.

And wherever they may bide,
Lead them Home at eventide.

~Amy Carmichael~

Thanks be to God. I know some deep sorrows of motherhood. But I also know deep pleasures. I know the faithfulness of God during the day as well as the night. I have been sustained by Christ in all things. And I glorify Him, offering my hands and my home, all that I am and all that I have, for His glorious service.

Not pretending that I have even begun to truly scratch the surface ~ but realizing that now I get to go live out what I am writing, as I go away from the laptop and back to the beautiful boys God has given me and the beautiful tasks He has put before me.

Selah.

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Casting Anxieties

1 Peter 5:6-7

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.”

This is something I am praying daily for strength to do. Particularly right now, I have anxieties about the house-building and moving timing, and anxieties about Baby Nine’s life. These are big things in our life and there are big anxieties associated with these big things. But they are not too big for Christ. I am called to cast my anxieties on Him, no matter their size or weight. And why am I called to cast my anxieties on Him? Because He cares for me! HE cares for ME! How incredible is that! My anxieties are not too big for Him, but they also are not too small. He cares about the little details that press upon my heart. Christ is not one to roll His eyes and tell me to get over it: His method is to enfold me in His mercy and carry the weight for me.

I am anxious about how the house is going to come together in under four weeks… but each day, God is showing me things that He is accomplishing out there and reminding me that He is faithful. No matter what gets done, no matter what is left undone: He is faithful and will provide for our needs in all of it.

I am anxious about Baby Nine’s life… in fact, when I was lying awake during the night last night and wasn’t feeling him move, I laid there crying and just asking God to give me the comfort of kicks or wiggles. I still fight fear daily that he will die. When I rolled over and laid on my stomach (which I know he doesn’t like…), he started wiggling, and my tears of anxiety changed to tears of thankfulness as I finally fell back asleep. It is so hard to hold my children with open hands, no matter their age. But these children are HIS, ultimately they do not belong to me at all. I am praying for bigger faith and trust as He cares for these, His children, in whatever ways His providence has ordained as best.

I realize that the life of the Christian is one of daily giving up our anxieties to God and hourly placing ourselves at His feet. As I continue to grow in my knowledge of Him and His character, I want to grow in my faith and ability to cast all my anxieties at His feet and lay all my burdens on His shoulders. May the Father strengthen and enable me for this enormous task of daily Christian-living.

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Thoughts on “grace” ~ a link

“Grace deals with sin purposefully.  It doesn’t make excuses.  It doesn’t ignore, soften, or cast a blind eye.

It approaches the sinner only after resting in grace himself and then he goes to the sinner, or child with a firm hand, but a compassionate heart.”

Click here for the rest of the short post by a former pastor and dear friend of ours, Ben Alexander. We sure miss Ben in our community (he was called away to another church, and we know God is sovereign), and are thankful for the internet as a medium which allows us to continue gleaning of his wisdom.

His thoughts here on grace being persuasive and winsome has been evidenced in our home in our discipline routines. I am so thankful for resources like this which God uses by His grace to pour out grace upon us so that we may then be equipped to shower grace upon grace on the heads of our children.

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Songs in the Night

“I have been through the valley of weeping, The valley of sorrow and pain;
But the ‘God of all comfort’ was with me, At hand to uphold and sustain.

“As the earth needs the clouds and sunshine, Our souls need both sorrow and joy;
So He places us oft in the furnace, The dross from the gold to destroy.

“When he leads thro’ some valley of trouble His omnipotent hand we trace;
For the trials and sorrows He sends us, Are part of His lessons in grace.

“Oft we shrink from the purging and pruning, Forgetting the Husbandman knows
That the deeper the cutting and paring, The richer the cluster that grows.

“Well He knows that affliction is needed; He has a wise purpose in view,
And in the dark valley He whispers, ‘Hereafter Thou’lt know what I do.’

“As we travel thro’ life’s shadow’d valley, Fresh springs of His love ever rise;
And we learn that our sorrows and losses, Are blessings just sent in disguise.

“So we’ll follow wherever He leadeth, Let the path be dreary or bright;
For we’ve proved that our God can give comfort; Our God can give songs in the night.”

~Streams in the Desert~

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Fragrance from Bruised Hearts

“Awake, O north wind;
and come, thou south, blow upon my garden,
that the spices thereof may flow out!” (Song of Solomon 4:16).

Look at the meaning of this prayer a moment. Its root is found in the fact that, as delicious odours may lie latent in a spice tree, so graces may lie unexercised and undeveloped in a Christian’s heart. There is many a plant of profession; but from the ground there breathes forth no fragrance of holy affections or of godly deeds. The same winds blow on the thistle bush and on the spice tree, but it is only one of them which gives out rich odours.
Sometimes God sends severe blasts of trial upon His children to develop their graces. Just as torches burn most brightly when swung to and fro; just as the juniper plant smells sweetest when flung into the flames; so the richest qualities of a Christian often come out under the north wind of suffering and adversity.

Bruised hearts often emit the fragrance that God loveth to smell.

~from Streams in the Desert by Mrs. Charles E. Cowman~

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Sorrowful Yet Rejoicing

A year ago today I posted here about seeking courage to drink the cup the Lord had given me and continued to give me. Through the last year He has continued to be my strength, both in giving me courage to drink from His draughts and to give me courage to ask for that courage. I praise Him for His sustenance and provision! New mercies and sweet graces are continually surprising me, in the many & varied forms He shows them.

Today I continue to walk the path He has prepared for me. The path that still stems from the past and disappears into the future that I can not see. He continues to be my only strength to put one foot in front of the other. Even now, yet as before, we can only do what He leads us to do at any present given time. The past still influences and characterizes and molds us; that part of the path may seem left behind to those who continue to watch me walk forward… but it isn’t.
The road is, in fact, more like a river: the waters from before mingle with the current that urges me forward now into pools of even newer waters that I can not yet see. But the droplets all mingle together into one flowing river. You can not tell where yesterday ended and today began, and I can not predict where tomorrow falls in the river.

So I am yet sorrowful because the past is still fresh & raw, still mingling with today, still influencing & effecting & molding me… yet I am rejoicing, because of the beauties that past sorrows have grown ~those flowers that bloom only in the shadows~ and because of present beauties that lighten our load and give us hope for what tomorrow may hold,  understanding that they do not hold any guarantees for tomorrow yet that bring such rejoicing as I flow along with the river’s current wherever the Lord directs it.

My heart is overflowing with such joy and rejoicing ~ again I say, we rejoice!! But the past is not forgotten. It is not distant. I have to daily work very hard to hold my thoughts captive and have courage over my fears. I continue to need strength to endure medical treatments. I still pass due dates, loss anniversaries, see marker babies, grieve with others, hope with others, and walk the line of living the dichotomy of sorrow & joy ~ grief & hope ~ death & life.

So today I share a meditation I recently read in Streams In The Desert by Mrs. Charles Cowman that has blessed me and that captures the spirit of my daily journeys so eloquently. May it encourage you also, as as you bear your own burdens ordained by our Father and carried by His Christ, whatever your own sorrows & joys may be.

The Lord be with you and give you peace.

~~~~~

“As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing” (2 Cor. 6:10).

Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there on the soft green moss below.

When Sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale, and in her eyes was the unexpectant gaze of one who has ceased to look for coming gladness. She could weep in tender sympathy with those who weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her.

Joy was beautiful, too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning. His eyes still held the glad laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine’s kiss. When Joy sang his voice soared upward as the lark’s, and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat. He could rejoice with all who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him.

“But we can never be united,” said Sorrow wistfully.

“No, never.” And Joy’s eyes shadowed as he spoke. “My path lies through the sunlit meadows, the sweetest roses bloom for my gathering, and the blackbirds and thrushes await my coming to pour forth their most joyous lays.”

“My path,” said Sorrow, turning slowly away, “leads through the darkening woods, with moon-flowers only shall my hands be filled. Yet the sweetest of all earth-songs–the love song of the night–shall be mine; farewell, Joy, farewell.”

Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of a Kingly Presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him.

“I see Him as the King of Joy,” whispered Sorrow, “for on His Head are many crowns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great victory. Before Him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, and I give myself to Him forever.”

“Nay, Sorrow,” said Joy softly, “but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is a crown of thorns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great agony. I, too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be sweeter than any joy that I have known.”

“Then we are one in Him,” they cried in gladness, “for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow.”

Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, “as sorrowful yet always rejoicing.”

“Should Sorrow lay her hand upon thy shoulder,
And walk with thee in silence on life’s way,
While Joy, thy bright companion once, grown colder,
Becomes to thee more distant day by day?
Shrink not from the companionship of Sorrow,
She is the messenger of God to thee;
And thou wilt thank Him in His great tomorrow
For what thou knowest not now, thou then shalt see;
She is God’s angel, clad in weeds of night,
With ‘whom we walk by faith and not by sight.'”

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Sermon

My own sweet Steven was asked recently to give a short sermon at our church, and he preached this last Sunday. Our normal sermon length is over 40 minutes, but Steven split the time with a missionary to the Alaskan bush that our church sponsors, so he had roughly 20 minutes to preach. He spent 2 1/2 weeks diligently praying, studying, preparing, writing, getting wisdom from men he respects, etc. and then confidently brought the Word of the Lord to the congregation on Sunday. I will admit that I cried twice during the sermon, mostly when thinking about how we come to Zion in our corporate worship, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect ~ it is the closest communion I have with my seven children who live within those celestial gates, and when I participate in worship, I am participating with them and it brings my mommy-heart to all kinds of humbled, thankful, and overwhelmed feelings. :happytears:

I have to say, I was so proud of my husband’s perseverance, diligence, and dedication in this. Gabriel and I helped by praying for him a lot and by giving him long quiet evenings by himself to do his study, prayer, and preparation. 🙂

Please click here to take a listen and see how the Lord would encourage you through Steven’s sermon on Hebrews 12:22-24, where he expounds on how the blood of Christ speaks in our worship.

Hebrews 12:22-24

But you have come to Mount Zion
and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem,
and to innumerable angels in festal gathering,
and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven,
and to God, the judge of all,
and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect,
and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant,
and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

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Stay Tuned

Stay tuned for something straight from my heart!
I was asked to write a specific short essay from my heart for a website connected to a ministry where I have planted roots.

Four years ago, I became a mom—a few weeks later, we lost our baby to devastating miscarriage. We sought rest in the shadow of the Lord’s wings as we focused on God’s great love for us, regardless of the trials He brought our way (Psalm 36:7).

So tune in on Monday for the link to this little piece of my heart.

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my vineyard

This morning in church, I sang a meditation based on Habakkuk 3:17-19. The Scripture reads,

“Though the fig tree should not blossom,
nor fruit be on the vines,
the produce of the olive fail
and the fields yield no food,
the flock be cut off from the fold
and there be no herd in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD;
I will take joy in the God of my salvation.
GOD, the Lord, is my strength;
He makes my feet like the deer’s;
He makes me tread on my high places.”

The words of the song read,

“Though the tree shall not bloom,
and the vine bears no fruit,
Though the field shall fail and yield no food,
Though the flocks are cut off from within the fold,
And though all is destroyed both young and old…

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
Yes, I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord; I will rejoice in the Lord.

Though the winds rise up
and the rivers roar,
Though the thunder may crash and storms destroy,
Though the mountains may fall and the seas rush in,
And though nations invade by the hands of evil men…

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
Yes, I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord; I will rejoice in the Lord.

And the Sovereign Lord is all my strength
And He makes me to walk upon the high place!

And I will rejoice in the Lord,
Yes, I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Savior,
I will rejoice in the Lord; I will rejoice in the Lord.”

You can listen here to a clip of the song by the composer/arranger Nathan Clark George, but when I sang it for the meditation today I slowed it down, did it acapella, and in general tamed it a little bit for the conservative nature of our church. 🙂

Anyway.

It was an interesting start to the day. Steven and I memorized this song last winter, shortly after our little boy died. Incidentally, today was our Hosanna’s due date. It’s the first time (since after Gabriel, with my six back-to-back losses) that I have reached a due date without having another miscarriage in the meantime. I can’t tell you what a balm our Baby Nine is. Heartbeat and kicks and general sickness have been sweet reminders today of this balm that God has so generously gifted to our family. This life doesn’t replace Hosanna (or any siblings), but it does somehow balm the pain. My arms may not be holding a newborn today like we had hoped, prayed, and thought they would be… but my womb is not empty and our hope is not completely gone. The Lord’s mercies are still new every day. We still have the privilege of anticipating heaven. We still have the unique blessing of having extra sweetness to look forward to when we reach heaven; because not only do we get to see Jesus face to face, but we get to see our children again.

Anyway. Singing the Sanctus today was hard too. Singing “hosanna” at the top of my lungs, knowing that covenantally I too was praising God in the midst of His glorious sanctuary, lifted up by Christ into the heavenlies in corporate worship with all the saints who have gone before ~ including my own Hosanna Praise. I was meditating on a verse today in honor of our Hosanna boy and praying it to our Father even in church, Psalm 106:47 “Save us, O LORD our God… that we may give thanks to Your holy name and glory in Your praise.”

Plus it was Father’s Day. Two years ago, our Promise died the day before Father’s Day, so last year her birthday/anniversary was on Father’s Day. This year on Father’s Day we have the bittersweetness of Hosanna’s due date. And for once, our church actually mentioned the Hallmark holiday numerous times (usually we don’t emphasize Hallmark holidays at all at church; we reserve such acknowledgments for holy days on the Church calendar). It actually pained my heart more than Mother’s Day this year. Why, I’m not precisely certain. But I think it did. Because of my history and because of my exposure to so many many hurting couples (who experience various forms of infertility and loss), it just ached in my heart. I hurt not only for my husband who has had to bury seven of his beloved children (and who has had to watch his wife suffer such grief, which has been such a burden for him to bear), but also for other men I know who ache to have children and to hold their babies on this side of heaven. But Father’s Day was yet sweet for us, too. It included a special meal (steak and potatoes and wine, to boot) and gifts and fresh cherry pie as one way to honor my husband, the father of my sweet little brood of nine. While they can’t all smother him in kisses, scribble him Father’s Day cards, or climb into bed for morning tickle games before church, I am quite certain that every one of these children honored and loved their daddy. I don’t know if they could possibly know how much he sacrificed for them… but I know. And it grows my respect and love for him all the time. Watching him father and parent these nine children has been a true privilege (if not bittersweet), and I am thankful that God has given such a precious gift to me. I can’t imagine mothering these little saints beside anyone else. The Lord is merciful indeed!

But okay, back to my original thought. Habakkuk 3:17 talks about unfruitfulness, barrenness, things that ought to grow but aren’t. And yet in the midst of that fruitlessness (when, in fact, we may have been not only hoping for but truly expecting much fruitfullness!), it emphasizes praising the Lord and rejoicing in Him. It doesn’t say that we need to rejoice in the barrenness. It says that despite the barrenness, we rejoice in the Lord. How beautiful!!

The mention of “vine” also made me think of Psalm 128. Of course that’s Gabriel’s favorite psalm right now, and he sings it a dozen times a day on average. 🙂 We even sang it at our wedding four years ago. We sang it at one of Gabriel’s baby showers. And we’ve sung it in our home countless times during our life together. But the words are always bittersweet to me. I have wondered how I could be called a fruitful vine (Psalm 128:3 says “Your wife will be like a fruitful vine
within your house; your children will be like olive shoots around your table”) when my womb has failed to bring forth fruit season after season after season. Of course everyone consoles me with the idea that “fruitful” doesn’t just mean “fruit of the womb” (although in the context of that verse, it certainly seems connected, doesn’t it?), but it means fruitful in service, in ministry, in wifehood, etc. In so many areas that aren’t limited just to motherhood. Okay fine. But you know what? As far as the womb goes, my fruitfulness has been so different from what I had always expected it to be!! In the postmillennial view of things where heaven is what matters I have been incredibly fruitful. 🙂 More fruitful than I ever planned on being! We certainly weren’t thinking I would be the mother of nine children. So in that sense, God had planned way more fruitfulness for me than I had imagined! But in the short-term sense as far as life and ministry on earth, I have been so much less fruitful than we had expected. To have my body physically incapable of carrying seven of our children to term is incredibly deflating, to say the least. It makes me feel way beyond fruitless. It makes me feel like a dead, rotting vine that spreads disease to any grape that dares to try to grow upon it.

And that feeling can be very debilitating to me sometimes. (more than sometimes…)

But you know what I was reminded of while singing the meditation this morning? In some sense, fruitlessness doesn’t even matter. If the fruit is not on the vine, blessed be the name of the Lord anyway. I don’t have to find joy in my lack of fruit on the vine, but I can still find joy in the Lord regardless of my lack of fruit. Despite the recurrent miscarriages that have plagued our home for years, the Lord has been our joy. He has, indeed, caused us to walk upon His high places! Even in the midst of incredible grief, He has lifted us out of the mire and sustained us.

And that is beautiful. That is worth shouting from the rooftops to the entire world. I may not have had the best harvest off my vine over the last couple years, but the Lord has been praised in our household anyway, by the strength of His sovereign grace.

So, friends, as I remember my children today ~specifically our little Hosanna boy~ and as I honored my husband (and our fathers) and as I welcomed the balming presence of Baby Nine on this day… I rejoiced in the Lord, for He is faithful in all circumstances, regardless of whether there is fruit on the vine.

AMEN!!