Category: Thoughts

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When Anticipating Mother’s Day is Bittersweet…

If you find yourself in a position of anticipating Mother’s Day this weekend with a bittersweetness in your heart and a catch in your throat, I’ve been there. And this morning I wanted to share from my heart with you something I wrote called Two Pearls, posted at Expecting With Hope, as I recall my very first Mother’s Day six years ago… and even as I anticipate this coming Mother’s Day. These days, I look like a mom. 🙂 You’ll see me babywearing or pushing a stroller, my purse is really a diaper bag, my kids’ outfits & hairstyles are much more put together than mine are, and a glance in my car at three carseats squished side-by-side in a single row would confirm that I totally drive a mom car.
And I embrace that with so much thankfulness and joy! But when someone sees me in the grocery store parking lot with my three little miracles and smiles with a comment like, “you’ve got your hands full, mama” they really have no idea. My hands may look full, but my heart is even more full.

This Mother’s Day, I am mommy to twelve: eight singing in heaven, three running around my ankles, and one fighting for life in my womb.
This Mother’s Day, I continue on the journey of knowing what the past held and wondering what God holds for our future.
This Mother’s Day, I fully embrace the gifts the Lord has given me, both here and in heaven, and pray for His grace to joyfully accept what His sovereign hand delivers into mine.

As I wrote in my journal, “it was my very first Mother’s Day—although I did not have either of my children in my arms, I fellowshipped with one in heaven and held the other in my belly
”

So as another Mother’s Day arrives, I remember those of you who are in similar shoes—who have loved and lost and now love anew, who know what the past held and wonder what the future holds, who have Mother’s Day fears and Mother’s Day hopes, who know you are a mom (perhaps of many!) even if you have “nothing” to show for it but memorabilia like my two pink pearls. Those pearls were my reminder of what God had done. Those pearls continue to be a reminder to me of God’s faithfulness. And I still get joy out of telling my son how one of the pearls was for him and one for his big sister he will meet in heaven where we will see the most beautiful pearls imaginable (Revelation 21:21).

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Epistolary Artistry

This morning I had a “first experience” ~ I was interviewed on camera for a spot in a video curriculum. I’ve known this was coming for a number of weeks, but once it came down to it, I really felt like I just didn’t know what to expect. A week ago the interviewer sent me a list of nine potential questions for the interview and I was able to take the time to write out my answers, just for a dry run at things. I’m so much better in writing than in spoken conversation! It’s really too bad that the interview itself could not have been conducted through letters. ;) That being said, my interviewer and my husband both congratulated me on accomplishing a job well done at the end of things, and it sounds like I was able to answer questions that would be pertinent to the study being covered in this particular video course. I am looking forward to seeing the final edited version of the interview myself! I would love to know what I said. :) It should be interesting, too, because it was held in my own home, with my own writing desk behind me. Perfect ambiance, I guess you could say
 and at least I had a chance to dust a little before the film crew arrived at my home. Always a good thing.

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Some of the points I actually got to touch on during the interview were what I was expecting, and some weren’t (a lot more focusing on my courtship with Steven, and the role that written correspondence played in that ~ they even panned over to Steven a couple of times for his take on being the recipient of my letters). But here are a few things that I think I was able to say during the conversation, and I am hopeful that something here will be a blessing to the students in their studies.

I have been writing letters since before I remember. Officially, I know I was heavily penpalling by the time I was twelve years old, but I know I wrote letters in the form of pictures and simple notes to my grandmother and one of my cousins when I was very young, four or five years old. By the time I was twelve to fourteen years old, though, I had roughly fifty official penpals with whom I corresponded on a very regular basis, mostly in the United States but some internationally as well—I corresponded with girls as young as seven years old, and with women in their nineties, although the largest portion of my penpals were teenage girls like myself. These were all old-fashioned, handwritten letters at this point, and I think I wrote roughly three letters a day—some just a notecard perhaps, but most of them being rather lengthy as is simply my style—up to twenty sides of stationery pieces was not abnormal for me.

Letter writing is in my blood and also was simply part of the culture my parents instilled in me. My parents courted across the country before the age of cellphones and internet, so they wrote countless letters to one another, and my mom just loved writing letters and communicating with people through the written word, so I grew up watching her write letters, seeing her pour over stacks of mail, loved going through her stash of stationery and pretty return address labels. I grew up loving the artistic elements of letters: I collected stationery, postage stamps, stickers, different sizes or colors of pens.

I didn’t choose letter writing—it was put before me, ingrained in me, part of the culture around me, and it just organically expressed itself in myself as well.

My parents even considered my profuse letter writing part of our homeschooling routine. Sometimes they would read the letters to offer their suggestions on spelling, grammar, or even artistic and communicative flow.

I even loved the licking the envelope and tasting the different kinds of glue each one seemed to have—some were definitely better than others. Stamps used to have that same kind of tasty glory, but of course that’s been replaced by self-adhesive stamps these days. I think reading and journaling were two other ways that I developed some letter writing skills as well. It wasn’t something I was taught to do exactly, it was just instilled into me as part of our family culture.

I mean, really, there’s just nothing like opening your mailbox to find something other than catalogs, advertisements, and bills.

My parents specifically, clichĂ© or not, have inspired me the most. As I’ve alluded to previously, their long-distance courtship through letters always inspired me. Someday I would love the pleasure of reading all those letters—for the most part, I’ve seen the envelopes and heard about the romance cultivated therein, but have never read the correspondence. I think the general feel of L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen, and the short diary-based series of books called Dear America were somewhat forming in my style—but they were not generally themed on letters so much. And then both David and Paul in Scripture have also been inspiring to me in the way they poured out their souls in writing both for God’s glory and for the encouragement of others—perhaps not so much in forming my style for letter-writing but in the foundational aspects of why I write, why I love writing, and why I need to keep doing it—they continue to be authors who have deeply affected me personally.

I don’t utilize a lot of the modern forms of communication that are so popular these days—texting, facebook, twitter, etc. I don’t have them and I don’t want to. I do have email and a blog, and I do utilize those things to a large extent, but I use them in such a way that I am trying to pursue deep relationships, communicate on a deep level, and both maintain and pursue further connections with people. I don’t know a lot of the shorthand lingo that people use these days, which probably makes the chasm between my style and a typical modern style even larger and more obvious.

I came up with routines, stances, and rhythms that simply work for me. When my husband and I were courting long-distance we had the blessing of the internet to aid our communication, unlike my parents had had—so we largely emailed our letters to one another. I had spent many years typing (letters, a magazine for Christian young ladies, short works of fiction, etc) and had grown fast—very fast.

I have always felt that I am more myself in writing than in any other medium, and part of that IS simply due to speed. I can actually write faster and more accurately what is contained in my heart than I can speak, and I get less distracted while doing it.

In To The Letter by Simon Garfield, we’re told “the poet William Cowper was credited with a phrase equally attributed assigned to his contemporary Jane Austen—that letter-writing may be best described as the art of silent speech, the notion that the best letter to a friend was a ‘talking letter,’ something that read as if you were telling it to them over tea” (p281), and I think that is part of the inherent personality in my letters: they are read just as I write them, which is to say, directly from my heart and just about as quickly penned as they pop into my head.

That is one of the beauties of typed words, though, especially when you are quick and accurate with your typing—speed CAN be a blessing, especially if you don’t have an excess amount of free time on your hands. But the sacrifice of taking the time to write by hand may be an even bigger blessing, especially in this modern world where we are all-consumed by techie communication forms.

There’s just nothing like handwriting. Each person’s handwriting is unique to themselves, their fingerprint. I can pull out a stack of mail, and when I see the handwriting on the envelope, I can tell you immediately if it’s from my grandma, my best friend, my husband, my mother, my father, a childhood penpal, or someone who has never handwritten me a letter before. You can’t do that with typing: we all look the same when we write in Times New Roman, or whatever font. It’s like hiding behind a veil. There is something precious about that fingerprint of handwriting, and I love to utilize that.

I love how letters take a journey between hands—a letter that I write and seal and pop in the mailbox then takes the rest of the journey without me—in a car, maybe in a truck or on a plane, sometimes just across land but occasionally across an ocean—and how many hands it touches before it reaches the hands for whom it was intended, I will never know. I love that little sense of romantic mystery about it.

I don’t start with a plan in general—but I think I do have an unofficial style, in thinking about it. I generally open with a greeting and close with a farewell, each at least a sentence long: and in the body of the letter, I think I tend to try focusing on the other person first and then focusing on myself second. I’ve always been taught that we always put the other person before us: in our heart attitudes and even in grammar, so I think that just naturally carries over into my letter writing. So I will first answer anything pertinent from the previous letter and respond accordingly, after which I would then add my own news and thoughts. Part of the purpose of a letter for me, at least very often, is to be a blessing and encouragement—I need to remember that’s not all about me. But at the same time, the person receiving my letter may well want to know my newest news, perhaps wants to pick my brain on a certain subject, wants to know how I am faring and what God is doing in me and through me. So I don’t want to overlook those aspects either—it’s a balance.

My word choices, especially in relational aspects, definitely differ from person to person. How I sign my name at the end of a letter definitely has implications depending upon the relationship. And also, my knowledge and understanding of the recipient’s place in life as well as spiritual depth have a real implication on the shape my letters will take. I may communicate the same ideas to six different people in six different ways, depending on my relationship with them; I may change my wording, my inclusion of details, even my handwriting.

A letter’s depth can also vary, however, not so much depending upon the depth of your relationship with the recipient, but also the purpose for which you are writing. I write a lot of notes of encouragement on a spiritual level, whether to people in the body of Christ just to be a blessing to them and let them know I’ve been praying for them, or to people I know who are suffering the loss of children because that is something I have suffered and have a heart for in particular ministry. Sometimes the purpose of a handwritten letter completely outweighs the fact that the person I’m writing to has never heard my name before, doesn’t actually know my story, and probably will never write back to me.

And when asked what tips I would specifically give to someone desiring to develop the skill of letter writing, my main points were easily summed up into five categories… with a little p.s. at the end. 🙂

Practice handwriting. In this modern day and age, handwriting is going by the wayside, so my first encouragement would be to write by hand. Write legibly and write often. Typing is great, and it certainly has its place and enormous blessings, but try writing by hand.

Keep a journal. Journaling is one way to write one-sided letters. It isn’t the same thing, but it can be good practice. I have a large box in the basement full of journals, which I have kept by hand since I was eleven or twelve years old. Outside of true correspondence, journaling is the best practice I have received—both for formation of carrying on a one-sided conversation on paper as well as for the physical practice of actual handwriting.

Find a penpal. I honestly don’t know how people find penpals as much these days, but when I was twelve years old, give or take, we had these things called “slams” or “friendship booklets” and they were really just little papers stapled together, and girls (because yes, it tended to mostly be girls—but maybe that’s just because I was a girl—I know my brother had at least three penpals through the years, so I know for a fact that penpalling does not necessarily have to be a female-only art) would write their name, address, age, and interests on it—then stick it in a letter and send it on to another penpal. It would get passed around to a dozen or so people before it was filled up, and then someone would send it back to the person who originated it—and anyone who received it along the way could take down the information of anyone on it, and strike up a penpal conversation by sending a letter to one of the people listed. I don’t know if there is a modern equivalent or not. I have had penpals who I wrote for years and eventually met in person—I have had penpals who were children of people my parents knew—I have had penpals of long-distance relatives—I have had penpals that I met via those little friendship booklets, one of whom I have corresponded with for fifteen years and have still never met in person, never spoken with on the phone. So there are lots of different ways to acquire a penpal. Be creative. Find a friend at church who would like to write, or see if there is an exchange student from another country who would like to practice English by writing letters (I’ve done that too), or see if there is a way to find someone utilizing modern technology (facebook maybe?) to put out a request for someone who would like to also try their hand at real, old-fashioned, handwritten letters. You could even correspond with a parent or grandparent—communicating through written words is an amazing way to speak to one another’s hearts, and to glean wisdom from someone who is older and wiser and who loves you unconditionally.

Be practical with your choices—use a writing implement that will serve you well (a pen that doesn’t smear or skip, or a pencil that is just sharp enough), sit in an environment that will aid you rather than hinder you (trying to write notes while my children are playing pirates nearby is not highly conducive, for instance), and choose paper that will fit your purpose (for example, if you expect to keep your note short and to the point, choose a small card or sheet of paper rather than something that you will leave largely blank—that just feels awkward; but, on the flipside, be prepared to add additional sheets of paper if you have the feeling you may extend past your original card because being cut off at the end can be disturbing or disruptive to both the author and the recipient).

Practice, don’t give up, writing the kind of letter you would want to receive. Remember what Jane Austen favored, amongst numerable others, that one should write as one speaks. Even if you start with thank you notes, you can build from there. Remember that this is not only an art, but it is a gift. Think of the joy you will give to someone—and think of the joy that you may receive by receiving a letter in return. Don’t let a hand cramp or needing white-out or spending half a dollar on stamps keep you from sending notes. Bless people—you’ll be blessed too.

 p.s. (that means post script
) sign & date your letters! Never assume that if the envelope says the recipient’s name, the card inside doesn’t also need their name. It may get separated. Always include the to & from and the date.

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Honoring My Mama

Proverbs 31:10-31… a beautifully common passage of Scripture when it comes to describing femininity and the multifaceted work of a godly woman. This is a passage which is both loved and scorned, because of its depth and breadth, because of its high aims and claims. How many of us, especially women who have been churched for years upon years, have done studies on this passage? can quote it by heart? know its ins and outs, ups and downs? who cling to it with joy and promise? who maybe even look at it with doubt and worry, wondering if we can ever live up to it?

Well. Today I’m not here to encourage you in the paths of Proverbs 31, to exhort you to pursue these many feminine graces, to show how God wants to accomplish these incredible things in you and through.

Today I am here to honor my mother.
Today is my mother’s birthday, and today I am recalling what an excellent woman she is in so many facets and incredible ways. I am musing upon the mighty works of the Lord in her and through her, for her and by her.
Today I am looking at Proverbs 31:10-31 and contemplating just a small handful of ways that I see God has worked out these wonderful deeds and characteristics in my own mama.
Today I pray for God’s continued hand to be resting mightily upon her, for Him to bless her with grace and glory because of Christ, for Him to lift her spirits and strengthen her body, for His power to continue being evident through her words and her deeds ~ she belongs to Him, and I am just so thankful to say that He has given part of her to me too.

Mama, I love you entirely, deeply, and forever. Thank you for being my mama. Thank you for being my babies’ grandmama.
Happiest of Birthdays to you, and many happy returns.

An excellent wife who can find?
    She is far more precious than jewels.
The heart of her husband trusts in her,
    and he will have no lack of gain.
She does him good, and not harm,
    all the days of her life.

My mother was, of course, already a wife by the time I knew her. She had been married for over eight years by the time I was cradled in her arms. My father knew her well… they met when they were only ten years old, and were married at twenty-one. I have known my mother for thirty years, and never have a seen a wife more trusted than she; and never have I doubted that she does good to and for my father all the days of her life. He has never had a reason to doubt her, and their hearts are united in such a way that they simply beat as one.
She seeks wool and flax,
and works with willing hands.
She is like the ships of the merchant;
she brings her food from afar.
She rises while it is yet night
and provides food for her household
and portions for her maidens.
She considers a field and buys it;
with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard.

My mother has always been industrious. Some of my earliest memories of her, and definitely some of the fondest, include spending time at Michael’s craft stores or Jo-Ann’s fabric stores and watching her collect items that she would then work on to make into beautiful and functional things. I have early memories of gardening and grocery shopping with her, and a library full of memories of cooking, baking, sewing, creating, decorating, party-planning with her. We weren’t a processed food kind of family… she always cooked from scratch, baked our bread, catered meals and parties and office luncheons from menus she created herself and concocted frugally with ingredients she picked up in the freshest places we had available. My mom always made sure there was more than enough: never “just enough” but always with an abundance. She has been frugal and wise and capable. She emphasized productivity and industry with her purchases yet beauty and aesthetic with her finished products. She can make anything look beautiful, and make anything taste delicious. She spends money with a deft hand: she saves it with wisdom. The Lord blesses this kind of balanced insight, and He causes the increase. I’ve seen this in and through how my mother has planned, prepared, purchased, planted, and produced.

She dresses herself with strength
    and makes her arms strong.
She perceives that her merchandise is profitable.
    Her lamp does not go out at night.
She puts her hands to the distaff,
    and her hands hold the spindle.

One funny thing about my mom is what a night-owl she is, and always has been. I’ve always smiled at the thought that her lamp does not go out at night. But what I wanted to focus on here is strength. My mother is a strong woman, in body and in spirit. She is no limp noodle. She has always shown me the value of physical exercise, of bodily exertion, of eating healthy, of taking care of the physical body God gave to me—and she has, even more, shown me the value of spiritual strength. My mother is continually seeking to grow more and more in the knowledge of the Lord, deepening her understanding of Scripture, widening her girth of ministry, advancing her battle-waging prayers, and becoming ever closer to her Father and Brother and Comforter. She does not grow weary in these things, and does not give up when things require extra strength—she digs in her heels, grits her teeth, and uses all the strength God has given her, while continuing to ask Him for more. Whether speaking of spiritual graces or materials works, my mother is diligent and labors industriously, for the good of others, for the blessing of her family, for the glory of God.
She opens her hand to the poor
and reaches out her hands to the needy.

My mother is a generous woman. If she hears of a need, she does what she can to fill it. She loves to share things with people. She loves to give. She gives gifts, she gives money, she gives food, she gives cards, she gives phone calls, she gives counsel, she gives time, she gives countless prayers. She would never be the first one to tell you—in fact, most often, she keeps her generosity rather a secret unless you’ve been blessed to be on the receiving end of things, because while she is very generous, she is very discreet and loves to share of her bounty and her graces behind the veil. God blesses her for that, and I love her for it.
She is not afraid of snow for her household,
for all her household are clothed in scarlet.
She makes bed coverings for herself;
her clothing is fine linen and purple.

Even when my parents were young and dirt-poor (yes, there was a time when they didn’t have two nickels to rub together), my mother sought to beautify her home to create a haven for their family and for those around them to whom they would open their doors. Those were the days when sewing and crafting were the frugal way to do things rather than simply the chic way
 so she could pull together clothes, curtains, table linens, wreaths, and bed sets on pennies and grit. She took delight in doing that. As time has changed and the Lord has blessed my parents with more than two nickels through the years, she continues to seek wise and beautiful care of her home and her family. She knows that these things are a gift from the Lord, and she puts herself to use in being a physical conduit of His grace in these ways.

Her husband is known in the gates
when he sits among the elders of the land.

If there’s one thing my father has never been, it’s hidden. He has always been well-known, and he has always used that for God’s glory. He is well-respected, well-honored, well-loved—and with good reason. Not only is he a jack of all trades in the sense of being a true Renaissance Man, excelling in everything from plumbing to doctoring to woodworking to preaching to composing poetry, but he is an adamant lover of God above all else. This is something that my mother has loved about him and encouraged in him since they were teenagers. My mother is not ashamed of his position in our community as a well-known, popular, albeit somewhat controversial (hey, that’s what being an outspoken conservative Christian will get you these days!), medical professional—nor is she offended by his incredible love of learning Scripture, continual desire to deepen his knowledge of God’s character, his sharpening by & of other Christians by discussion and reading and asking and searching and praying. My mother is constantly encouraging him and uplifting him, honoring him and seeking his good.

She makes linen garments and sells them;
she delivers sashes to the merchant.

My mom has always been a stay-at-home mom, but that doesn’t mean she has not worked in the marketplace during my lifetime. I remember when she would host craft fairs with a friend of hers
 I remember when she would make things to sell
 I remember when she taught our church’s monthly craft night for women and led Bible studies. She also spent years catering the office luncheons my father held for his staff, and when begged for recipes, she even put together cookbooks of her favorite things. She has always been a woman who has done good work, things that people enjoy and value—and she has taken delight in various ways at various times in sharing these things with others around her.

Strength and dignity are her clothing,
and she laughs at the time to come.
She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

Strength, dignity, laugher, wisdom, kindness, speech—I really feel like these things particularly embody my mother. If you know my mom at all, you know she loves to converse, and never on a superficial level. My mother, if she’s anti anything, is anti-superficial. Have you ever heard the saying, “still waters run deep”? That describes my mom. A good part of that comes from her depth of wisdom and kindness, which the Lord has graced her with by His merciful care. And she is stalwart: strong and dignified, never wondering where God’s sovereignty is going to land but confidently resting in His plan with peace. These are some of the things that God has equipped her with that have specifically blessed me in recent years of my own struggles and griefs. My mother is the type of Titus 2 woman every young woman should have in her life, not because she has all the answers, but because she has the characteristics that God delights to give older women who are resting and growing and passing His fruits of the Spirit on to others through love and good deeds.

She looks well to the ways of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.

I’ve heard of women who, once they reach the stage of empty-nesting, take up all kinds of hobbies (whether self-serving or otherwise)
 that’s not something my mother has done, nor has she any desire to do it. She continues to give of herself, her time, her love, her resources to look well to the ways of her home and family. She does not sit around reading novels or watching soap operas. She doesn’t even sit around quilting or knitting or gardening, even though those would be delightful and creative and profitable things to do. She gives herself to caring for her home, nurturing her family, teaching her descendants about God, and spending time with Him and His people. Some people have come into my parents’ home and made the comment to my father that he has done pretty well for himself, and I recall him once saying, “my wife does a wonderful job with what the Lord has given us.” She is not idle, and she cares well for what the Lord has put under her care.

Her children rise up and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women have done excellently,
but you surpass them all.”

My mother is mama of two, mama-at-heart of two more, and grandmama of sixteen so far (that’s a pretty good return on investment right there). Nobody takes more delight in this honorable, delightful, godly, wise, kind, competent woman than her husband, children, and grandchildren. I think that’s because we are ones who are blessed to know her most intimately. She is a humble woman, but we are not necessarily humble about her—we love to tell the world how marvelous she is, and we love excuses to tell her how much she means to us. We don’t want to wait to tell the world about her until she has died and we have to write memorials and obituaries—we want her to know now what a blessing she is, and in what ways God uses her in our lives.

Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain,
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Give her of the fruit of her hands,
and let her works praise her in the gates.

My mother may be charming and beautiful, but her fear of the Lord is the most prominent thing about her. The fruit of her hands is obvious and abundant but honors and praises her in delicately sweet and graceful ways. She has been a lifelong homemaker (full-time for the last 33 years), and her home continues to be a place of beauty and rest and hospitality. She is the matron of a God-fearing, Jesus-loving, Spirit-filled family of children and grandchildren who cling to her, body and spirit, with joy and dedication. And I think that is one of the most rewarding fruits that have been thrown from her fruit-laden branches—the generations that are following her are following her example of faith—and these are fruits that will not return to dust but will flourish throughout eternity.

Mama, I love you completely and thoroughly. I want to be like you when I grow up—I pray the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree so that I can grow and drop the same kinds of fruits you do. They’re delicious. Happy birthday, and may you have many more fruitful years and joyful birthdays. MJ

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Easter Outfits

As I was just getting Easter outfits set out and prepared for this upcoming weekend, I was remembering back to just a handful of years ago when I was anticipating Easter. I remember how painful it was to pick out clothes for Gabriel ~ and nobody else. How he was my only one to dress up. He wasn’t a stairstep kid. He didn’t have siblings on earth. I couldn’t put bows on his sisters’ hair, because I can’t reach all the way up to heaven. I didn’t get to pick out matchy-matchy stuff for brothers, or even think about finding coordinating things. Sometimes he got to coordinate with his cousins (thanks to Grandmama’s excessively good taste and love of filling out the grandkids’ wardrobes), but sometimes that was more painful than fun for me.

Easter of 2011, I was raging with pregnancy hormones and new drugs, painfully aware that the baby in my womb may not survive to the next Easter. Going to church on Easter to celebrate resurrection almost made me feel like a fraud. I was stuck in death and waiting… it didn’t feel real to celebrate new life and resurrection. I went through the motions, but it felt fake. Forced. Habitual. I saw families at church with coordinated outfits. I saw little girls everywhere with bows and hats and patent shoes and purses and flowers and plastic bead necklaces.

I remember feeling like I was surrounded only by shattered dreams. And I remember that depth of anguish.
I simply can’t forget.

But here I am, just a few years later. And oh God, how merciful You are to me, a sinner… You saw fit to come down and lift my downtrodden state… You gave me stairsteps, and You even gave me a daughter. Oh God! I cry at the thought! Why would You do such merciful things for me?!

So today I cried as I laid out two little plaid shirts, grey pants, white bow ties and suspenders… and a poofy flowery dress, patent shoes, tiny tights, a big white bow… and my own THREE miracles, my little darlings I dreamed of but nearly despaired of ever holding in my arms… they will sit in the Easter service singing and praying and eating candy and shouting “He is risen, indeed!” in their matchy-matchy outfits, nearly stairstepped in size (Gabriel is like the landing on a set of stairs, haha).

And this mercy is not lost on me.

Nor is the pain that my joy could be causing someone else.

So I will pray for infertile women, suffering mothers, bereaved mamas, single women. I will pray for hurting hearts that will throb and bleed when they see my own little brood of Resurrection-Life children. They may not know what a miracle it is that I have been given this gift… but I know.
I simply can’t forget.

And so on Easter morning, I will look again at these miraculous children… these gifts of life that followed so much death and so much waiting… so much sitting-at-Christ’s-feet… so much crying to God why-have-You-forsaken-me… and I will feel mercifully, undeservedly, bountifully blessed. And I will shout with tears in my eyes as I think of all eleven of my beautiful children, “CHRIST IS RISEN!!! ALLELUIA!!!”

Christ came. He conquered. He lived. He died. He rose again. He gives us hope.
Hope even for a woman who is raging with hormones, dealing with awful drug side effects, grieving for a daughter I don’t get to hold again… hope that resurrection has happened, and it will happen again.

That’s what packing Easter outfits did to me today. It reminds me of broken dreams, and of dreams come true.
Death inevitably follows life, but for those of us in Christ, life follows death. Hosanna! Alleluia!

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Glimpse of a New Corner

Beginning this month, I am a new contributor for a (mostly) online ministry called Mommies With Hope. My first post is scheduled to be live in a couple weeks, and I’ll post the link when it comes out. In the meantime, take a look around Mommies With Hope, and please pray that the group of Christians there would band together to increase God’s glory, hallow His name, and to further His Kingdom through the ministry of coming alongside others suffering infertility and babyloss.

This is just a little glimpse of a new corner where I get to minister, and I’m pretty excited to see what God’s great plans will include.

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Thirty Thankful Thoughts

This last week, I finally reached the blessing of being thirty years old! And in light of this gift of continued life by the grace of my Father in heaven, I wanted to highlight thirty things for which I am extremely thankful. I’m humbled to be given the gift of life, thirty whole years of breathing oxygen thus far, and especially to have the gift of a redeemed life by grace
 and just want to share (in purposefully random order) some specific thankfulnesses with you.

Psalm 107:8-9
Oh, that men would give thanks to the Lord for His goodness,
And for His wonderful works to the children of men!
For He satisfies the longing soul,
And fills the hungry soul with goodness.

1. The one husband God has given me makes me dizzy with thankfulness—each day with him is a cause for praise. That I get to fall asleep in his embrace, cry on his chest, laugh in harmony with him, be the one he comes home to every night, gaze at his handsome profile across the table as he interacts with our children. That we create memories together, that we fill in gaps for one another, that we sharpen one another in our unity and diversity, that we serve the same God and build the same Kingdom, that my people are his people, that his family is now mine too, that our families melded into one. That his red hair complexion and his love of the psalmist David are what first drew me in, and are still two of the things that continue to draw me deeper every day.

2. Grace. The incredible, indelible grace of God, and how He graciously gives me so much of it that I simply want to let grace pour off of me and onto others around me. That I don’t have to understand it to receive it. That I don’t have to recreate it in order to reproduce it and regift it—because I can’t.

3. The written word, and the ability to write words with simple little taps of my fingers (talk about a grace). I don’t know what I would do without written words—I’m so thankful for written words.

4. My daily toil. The fact that I am called to daily toil. The specific daily toil God has put before me. The repetitive nature of that daily toil. How I get to improve on the same little tasks all the time. The way I get to try out new things all the time. That my toil involves making beauty, making messes, making chaos and making order in turn, making new things old and old things new. That it is for glory and because of glory. That it is good toil. That it aids generations—both the ones that eat its fruit now, and those that will glean from its dropped fruit in the future.

5. Windows, both physical and metaphorical. For my eyes to see that the world is much bigger than I regularly remember. For the sun to stream in. For dimply little faces to press against, peer through, cover with mouthmarks and fingerprints.

6. Theology (particularly right theology, hah!). That it helps me understand God and Scripture. That there is always more to glean. That it challenges me—that it makes me think, makes me need to know, makes me want to grow. That it shows me Gospel and grace. That it shapes me, that I cannot shape it.

7. My musical instruments—the one that I frequently play and the ones I desire to play more frequently. I am thankful for these things, made from wood, metal, gut—touched, plucked, thumped, fingered by me—full of vibrations, air, movement. That sound gets from these things into our ears—that these sounds reach my soul in ways not much else does. That the layer of dust on these musical instruments has not ruined that magic. That I can work harder, day by day, on including more music in my daily toil. And that if it doesn’t happen, there’s grace for that too.

8. Dates with my husby. Whether at home or out on the town, spur of the moment or planned in advance. Nightly connecting through conversation, weekly cheese & wine dates, occasional family dates on a weekend, the gift of “just us” dates for shopping or coffee or calendar-planning. I am thankful for time spent together (which is really the only qualifier to us as far as “date” goes), and thankful that we’re only 6 Âœ years into the married lane—that means we, God willing, have many more dates ahead of us than behind us!

9. Water. What a gift—and what a picture, too.

10. The blessing of life, and that not only have I been given that gift myself but I have been given the gift of interacting with other lives—sharing life together with other lives—family, and friends who are as dear as family. The incredible fact that lives have even been made, created, formed, grown inside of my own body. The challenge of life, and how it reminds me that I need that Creator to continue creating and sustaining—because I’m just dust, and we know what happens when dust is left to itself. (Really—just look at my piano.)

11. My eleven children—they are such a unique blessing to me, and I am so thankful for each one of them. I never knew I wanted to be a mommy to eleven children
 and if I’m honest, there is a big part of me that still doesn’t know I want that. But I am thankful for each child God has given to me. I’m so thankful to know that life in eternity is going to be so much bigger than life here on earth—each of these children has a calling, a purpose, a place in the history of God’s world and universe and plan. I am thankful that He chose to use my humble womb to add to His Kingdom. I didn’t know before just exactly what an incredible mercy that is—and I still can’t put it into words. I still can’t believe I have eleven children.

12. The internet. But you can’t blame me for this one, because without it, I would not have met my husband—and that is a slippery slope to all kinds of horrible “would not have beens” that are the makings of nightmares. Plus, in the wake of grief, the Christian community God has given me via the internet has been an incredible grace. And then there’s always the perk of quick communication, and easy access to
 well
 just about anything in the world.

13. Crying. I am thankful for tears, and the strange gift of crying them.

14. The Psalms—reading them, singing them, praying them, writing them out, memorizing them, reciting them. So much found in the Psalter resonates with me, and I am so thankful that God in His sovereign grace gave us those 150 chapters to cling to as we walk through life and face so many of the emotions and scenarios that are addressed therein. The Psalms really remind me that Scripture is for me.

15. Food—cooking, baking, eating together, watching Food Network shows, its smells, its tastes, its allegories, its chemistry, its artistry—and how it reminds me of my mother.

16. Hot coffee, especially when it is creamy and frothy with sweetness and milkiness.

17. Wood—its strength, its grain, its versatility, its smell, its many facets, its presence in my home in various manifestations, the metaphors it paints—and how it reminds me of my father.

18. A bedroom that smells of Yankee candles, massage lotion, and freshly showered skin. ‘Nuff said.

19. Fresh bread—making it, smelling it, eating it, slicing it, breaking it together with those I love. What a gift, and what a picture it shows of God’s active grace.

20. I am thankful for Sunday. For worship and the depth and breadth of that, which I cannot fully comprehend. That I get to covenantally ascend into heaven on Sunday and worship with my entire family—that I get to share this not only with my children here but my children there too. For fellowship and the love that oozes from conversations, hugs, candies, handshakes—the passing of the peace and the breaking of bread that flows from the grace and Gospel ridden worship of Christ’s people in the beauty of holiness. For rest in varied forms. For laughter like on no other day of the week. For our family traditions—popcorn, ice cream, and movies with the kids; wine, cheese, and chocolate with my husband—for the way this day of the week embodies and influences our family culture for the other six.

21. Siblings. That word is fat and full to me, and I am thankful for the what, how, and why of that.

22. That in the course of my life I have had the unique privilege of not only knowing all four of my grandparents (and got to meet two of my husband’s grandparents), but also four great-grandparents and one great-great-grandmother—while I do not claim to fully comprehend the multitude of blessings that come from such multigenerational living, I do heartily acknowledge and embrace that there is indeed a multitude of blessings that I continue to reap from having known and loved (and been known and loved by) these ancestors of mine.

23. Living in the country, with trees and mountains, fields and wildlife as my close neighbors. And as the icing on the cake, living here in a house that we designed together and oversaw the building process together, and now consider it our privilege to turn it into our home and family refuge. There is more thankfulness in that than I can describe.

24. Hands. I love hands. I love having hands, holding hands, seeing hands at work, using my hands, massaging with my hands, feeling hands rubbing my neck, helping hands learn new things.

25. Modern medicine. In more ways than I could begin to describe, and for more reasons than you need to know.

26. Wisdom: the pursuit of her, the winning of her, the fruit of her, the love of her, the challenge of her, the Book of Wisdom about her, the fight for her, the desire for her, the receiving of her.

27. I am thankful for gifts. Take that in as many facets as you can conjure—I mean it each way.

28. Two sons and a daughter—here with me today. Their dimples, their laughs, their cries, their creativity, their struggles, their victories, their outfits, their crazy questions, their interactions, their artwork on my fridge, their photos in my albums, their bodies embraced between my arms, their varied redhead shades
 I am thankful for everything about these three amazing children. So thankful that I get to be the one who daily participates in how God is shaping them, preparing them, using them, growing the Kingdom by them, and battling the Enemy through them.

29. Memories—they are hard to come by, but impossible to let go. And the scars they leave. I’m thankful for each one, both the bitter and the sweet, that God has engraved into me.

30. For thirty years, my daddy & my mama have been my counselors, and have loved me more than I even know (and I know they love me pretty darn deeply). I’m thankful for their hoary heads, the wisdom they impart, the love they shower, the grace they share, and how they not only keep covenant together so beautifully but encourage us to do the same. I’m thankful they are my parents, my neighbors, my friends.

 

It is certainly just the tip of the iceberg
 but these are the first things that came to mind as I pondered thirty things which fill me with thankfulness. I thank my God and Father in heaven for giving these things to me, for giving me the eyes to see them, for giving me an avenue to share them so that He may be further glorified for His wondrous works. Amen.

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Facing Giants with a Shield

Ephesians 6:10-18

be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. Put on the whole armor of God that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace; above all, taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God; praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, being watchful to this end with all perseverance and supplication for all the saints


I have always loved the imagery Paul used in Ephesians 6 of the warrior’s armor, and particularly the emphasis on the shield of faith—he says, “above all” that we need that shield to quench the darts that will be thrown at us. Without faith, we will not be able to deflect those darts. We need the shield, we need faith, we need Christ, we need God.

Throughout Scripture, a shield is often used to describe God Himself in relation to His people—He told Abram that He was his shield, his great reward (Genesis 15:1); He told Israel through the mouthpiece of Moses that He was the shield of their help (Deuteronomy 33:29); Solomon tells us that the Lord is a shield to those who walk uprightly (Proverbs 2:7); Agur proclaims that God is a shield to those who put their trust in Him (Proverbs 30:5).

And then there is David. The man himself who, as a mere boy, faced the famed giant Goliath with no warriors armor, weaponry, or shield—except for the shield of faith which Paul describes for us in Ephesians 6. This David frequently describes his God and King as a shield throughout the Psalms (3:3, 5:12, 18:2, 18:30, 18:35, 28:7, 33:20, 59:11, 84:9, 84:11, 89:18, 91:4, 115:9, 115:10, 115:11, 119:114, 144:2). When David was delivered from his enemies, he praised God with a song, calling God the shield of his salvation, a shield to all who trust in Him (2 Samuel 22:3, 31, 36).

So what does this teach us, and how can this help prepare us when we are facing giants? Because I don’t know about you, but we’re in battle with a couple specific giants right now, and we need to be strategic and wise in our battle plans.

There are many different tactics one can use in battle—one tactic may be simply deflecting the weapons of a giant. There can be great wisdom in simply holding your ground, clinging to your faith with all you’ve got, walking uprightly, trusting in God—not returning arrows, darts, slashes of the sword, but simply standing firm because you know God is the One fighting the battle, He is the shield of your help, He is your great reward.

Sometimes fighting giants requires pulling out other weaponry to prioritize in a specific battle, but do not neglect the power of a shield. There are battles where the wisest defense involves hunkering down behind the shield of faith and wielding that glorious bulwark—when you trust in Christ, when you walk uprightly, when you cling to faith, when you rest in His salvation, you can battle giants because the Lord is your Refuge and your Victor. He will lift up your head, bless you, deliver you, help you, scatter your enemies, cover you with the shadow of His wings.

Psalm 91:1-4
He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust.”
Surely He shall deliver you from the snare of the fowler
And from the perilous pestilence.
He shall cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your shield and buckler.

 

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Not Forgotten

It is easy to feel forgotten. Even Scripture has evidences of God’s people feeling forgotten by Him.
And to be honest, right now, I feel forgotten too.

Psalm 77:7-9
Will the Lord cast off forever?
And will He be favorable no more?
Has His mercy ceased forever?
Has His promise failed forevermore?
Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Has He in anger shut up His tender mercies?

Psalm 42:9
I will say to God my Rock,
“Why have You forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”

Isaiah 49:14
But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me,
And my Lord has forgotten me.”

And in these moments where I can so easily feel forsaken and feel forgotten, I have to rely not on feelings and not even on circumstances, but on what I know about God, His character, His faithfulness. And so I must talk to myself, rather than listen to myself. I must remind myself about truths of God, not give in to the feelings that I have about where God has me right now.

Isaiah 49:13, 15
…the Lord has comforted His people,
And will have mercy on His afflicted.
Can a woman forget her nursing child,
And not have compassion on the son of her womb?
Surely they may forget,
Yet I will not forget you.

Psalm 10:12
Arise, O Lord!
O God, lift up Your hand!
Do not forget the humble.

Luke 12:6-7
Are not five sparrows sold for two copper coins? And not one of them is forgotten before God.But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows.

May God remember me in His mercy ~ by being with me in this dark valley, and by graciously bringing me to the other side of it back onto the heights someday where the sun still shines.

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They’re too big to miss

As I miss my baby girl (yes, Heritage is a girl… and apparently her chromosomes look a lot like her mommy’s… which makes me dream about what having a second little clone of me would have been like, just 18 months younger than her precious big sister…), I am clinging to faith, and clinging to Christ and His promises BY faith. There are giants in the land. Some of them have to do with the death of my baby daughter, and some of them are giants of other nations that we are facing at the same time. And what we are seeking is to approach these giants by faith, and to rest in God who is the One we trust will not only guide our steps but also equip us for battle, as He triumphantly gives us victory… one giant at a time.

 

We have to recognize the importance of fighting giants.
It is truly odd that pictures of this (in Bible story books, and so on) do not record the fact that Joshua led Israel into the land of giants, in order to displace those giants. This is a motif throughout Scripture. 

[W]hat are the giants in your life? What are you called to do about it?
The Great Commission says what it says very plainly. The Christian faith is a religion of world conquest through evangelization.
Are the giants here big enough to qualify as giants?
There are two approaches to take with giants — the first is that of unbelief and the second is one of faith.
Unbelief says that the giants are too big to defeat.
Faith says that giants are too big to miss.
~Douglas Wilson, blog

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Facing Giants

As I laid awake last night in the darkness, trying to find rest and peace and sleep, all I could think about was giants. I keep thinking about being in Egypt, and how horrible it is to be in a type of Egypt… how peaceful it is to trust that our God is leading us from the familiar chains of Egypt into the unknown but reportedly beautiful Promised Land… and yet how terrifying it is because there seem to be giants standing between us and that place of blessing.

I rolled over and said to Steven, trying not to cry, “I’m scared of the giants.” He reached my hand, and eventually said, “The thing about giants is they’re supposed to be scary and you’re not supposed to be able to fight them by yourself.” He paused, then continued, “The only way to conquer giants is for God to do it for you. Case in point: David and Goliath. The only way to overcome the giants is by faith.” I said, “But I feel like I’ve never seen a giant before, and I feel like I don’t know how to have that faith.” Softly and comfortingly, Steven said, “oh but you have, and you do.”

As I lay there trying to fight an emotional and spiritual battle during the night, I relied on the psalms to hold my thoughts captive: I distinctly recall quietly singing 6, 22, and 40 to myself. How thankful I am that God has given me weapons fit for battle with giants.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I re-read Numbers 13-14 (and skimmed a lot beyond that too) this morning, thinking about what it was like to be glancing ahead toward Canaan where there was promise of beauty but everything was ultimately unknown… thinking about the temptation to glance backward toward slavery where there was knowledge of pain but everything was familiar, and how even the hard things have a thread of comfort to them when at least you know what you’re enslaved to.

Moses sent some men to spy ahead, to see what was ahead of the people he lead, and told them to “be of good courage and bring some of the fruit of the land” (Numbers 13:20). I want to glance ahead, too, to spy out what lies before me: I want to be of good courage, I want to see that there will be fruitfulness in the place where God is leading me!

What did the men find? Well, for starters, they found grapes, pomegranates, figs (Numbers 13:23) ~ these were signs of fruitfulness, of promise, of blessing. They carried them back with them to show others, and to remind themselves, that there was a tangible reason to be of good courage. God was providing. He would continue to provide. He is faithful.

When the spies came back to Moses and the multitude, they told of the blessings that lay ahead: milk, honey, fruit! But then they reported of fortified cities, of strong peoples, of giants. It seems as though they were saying, “enormous blessing lies ahead of us! But there are giants, and they are terrifying.”

I don’t know about you, but that is something I completely identify with at the moment.

I confidently trust and believe that God has beauty and blessing ahead of me… but in order to receive that from His hand, I have to get past some giants. Some of those giants live in fortified cities. And it is terrifying.
There is part of me that wishes I could simply grasp for the beauty and blessing without having to face the giants ~ and another part of me that cries, “it isn’t worth it! Let me go back to slavery! It might be choking my spirit and drying out my bones, but at least I know what I’m facing there! Don’t make me face unknown terrors! Don’t make me conquer giants in order to obtain the bigger blessing!”

Part of me speaks like Caleb, knowing that by God’s grace and Christ’s equipping strength, “we are well able to overcome it” (Numbers 13:30), but part of me speaks like the weak-kneed men with him, “I seem like a grasshopper in comparison to the giants!”

It isn’t that I want to doubt the Lord, it’s that I am sinful by nature. It isn’t that I have forgotten the past faithfulness and provision of the Lord, it’s that I am sinful by nature. I need to fall on my face as Moses and Aaron did, I need to repent as Joshua and Caleb did, and proclaim by faith, “if the Lord delights in us, He will bring us into this land and give it to us… do not rebel against the Lord… do not fear the people of the land… the Lord is with us, do not fear them…” (Numbers 14:5-9)

Oh that God would give me the faith and humility to say like Moses, “please let the power of the Lord be great as you have promised, saying,‘The Lord is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, forgiving iniquity and transgression, but He will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, to the third and the fourth generation.’ Please pardon the iniquity of this people, according to the greatness of Your steadfast love, just as You have forgiven this people, from Egypt until now” (Numbers 14:17-19).

May I not grow weary in following the Lord and His commands, may I increase in my desire to obey Him, may my joy be full when His wisdom is what guides me. May I, like Moses, who was not even permitted to enter the Promised Land when all was said and done,

Your eyes have seen what the Lord did… you who held fast to the Lord your God are all alive today. See, I have taught you statutes and rules, as the Lord my God commanded me, that you should do them in the land that you are entering to take possession of it. Keep them and do them, for that will be your wisdom and your understanding in the sight of the peoples… For what great nation is there that has a god so near to it as the Lord our God is to us, whenever we call upon Him? And what great nation is there, that has statutes and rules so righteous as all this law that I set before you today? Only take care, and keep your soul diligently, lest you forget the things that your eyes have seen, and lest they depart from your heart all the days of your life. Make them known to your children and your children’s children… (Deuteronomy 4:3-9).

This isn’t the last you will hear from me about facing giants ~ rather, it’s the tip of the iceberg, I believe. I see giants before me, and I need to rely on Christ’s strength and God’s faithfulness. Like my husband told me last night, the only way to conquer giants is for God to do it for me, the only way to overcome them is by faith in Him. That’s what I am seeking. May God grant it to me not because I deserve His blessing but because He is near when I call upon Him ~ I want to believe it, see it, claim it, live it, and make it to known to my descendants.

Giants? Yes, there you are, I see you. I may be a grassphopper to you, but God is on my side. Amen.