Nuggets from the Fire

Each year at this time we celebrate Daddy’s Alive Day at our house. It is our way of remembering just how much God has done for us. Many of you don’t know the story so I felt like this year I would give a summary. The whole story would be a chapter in book, or maybe its own book.
Twenty-four years ago today my husband Bill was in a terrible car accident. The phone rang while I was home tutoring a child. I was trying to start a tutoring business while I went to graduate school and I had my first and last client that day. I was also waiting tables and had just started a new job at a tearoom in Roswell. When I answered the phone, a lady at the other end asked if this was the home of Ray Gunnin. Somehow, even though I would have normally referred them on to Bill’s dad, I said yes. She asked if I was Ray’s wife and I said yes. I just knew she was talking about Bill. She proceeded to tell me he had been in an accident. Foolish woman that I was I asked what his condition was. For future reference, if someone has an accident and cannot phone you themselves it is probably not a good idea to ask this question until you get to the hospital. She said, “Non-responsive. A neurosurgeon is on the way.” I don’t know how I got to the floor exactly but the next thing I know she is waiting for me to catch my breath asking me if I have anyone who can drive me. No I said, I will drive myself. And so my life had changed. In a split second, nothing about our newlywed life was the same. The world was spinning.
At the hospital in the ER, I could not go in right away. I sat and waited for my family and friends to show up, not really knowing much except that he had a brain injury and that it was a life or death situation. However, I could hear him screaming and that was the hardest thing I had ever done. I didn’t quite understand that non-responsive meant he was still semi-awake. In a higher stage of coma they told me, but able to talk without any making any sense. He said random things, and yelled a lot. Before they took me back, they told me how to get out of the room if I felt I was going to throw up or pass out, and not to worry because he was restrained. They also told me not to loosen the straps tying him to the bed, no matter what he said. Real comforting. They weren’t lying. His face was crushed, head had a star split to the skull on his forehead. There was a lot of blood and he was pulling against the restraints. I figured out that was the cause of his screams, trying to get loose. He was in fight or flight mode and he was all fight. It took 7 people to get him in the ambulance what he came to at the scene. He had to be handcuffed to the bed. His life they told me was in danger. The brain swells when it is traumatized and that is a very bad thing. The first few days are watch and wait with the uncertainty that emergency surgery might have to happen at any time to relieve the pressure on the brain.
They moved him to ICU and the long nights began. I could only see him every other hour for 10 minutes. Lots of love from family and friends as well as prayers and sleeping pills got me through those first few days. One day they said he was out of the woods and we all rejoiced. Little did I know that the hard part was only beginning. He was moved to a surgery unit so they could rebuild his nose. His mom and I took turns spending the night with him since he was still not really with us mentally. Many of you came to see him then when his eyes were black and swollen closed. Several of you fainted. It kind of got to be a joke with the nurses. In appearance, he looked terrible but his behavior was even more scary. He counted backwards from 100 faster than you can believe. He fixated on counting and would not stop no matter what. When people wanted to turn on the TV, we would all jump up in unison and say NO! Whenever he saw a number, like a TV channel he would start counting and we couldn’t stop him for hours. When the doctor asked him who won the super bowl, he smiled, pointed to himself and said, “I did.” His emotions were on a rollercoaster. He would say, “don’t leave me”…then in the same breath tell me to “get out.” One day when I went in he had pulled all his packing out of his nose, and his IV’s out. He said the packing was “Kleenex.” He threw a wheelchair at his nurse and pinned his doctor against the wall. He threw his food at me and called me terrible names, which I will not repeat. I was done. His mom was done.
The next day he was moved to a rehab unit for brain injured patients and stroke victims. Once there, he had a 24 hour sitter with him so he would not hurt himself or others. Only he didn’t know that they were there to help him. He was in the paranoid stage and thought they were going to get him. He would call me at all hours of the night telling me they were trying to kill him. One sitter in particular was a kind of effeminate man. Bill thought the guy was making a pass at him. “He follows me every where and he won’t let me alone.” He told me at 3:00 am one morning. I told him the guy was paid to follow him, to no avail. The next day he picked up one of the tables in the dining room and threw it at the man.
They asked him the same questions each morning at breakfast and he changed his answer every time. He thought he was at Ga. Baptist hospital. (That is where he was born.) He thought that Jimmy Carter was president. (It was Ronald Regan.) He didn’t think knowing what day it was was important. He would look at his calendar before going down there and still not know when they asked him. They would give him a list of items and he would have to recount as many as he could remember. He would get very frustrated because he said I always have to have a list and I have to ask the lady at the register what day it is when I write my check, everyone has to do that. There is nothing wrong with me. And he really believed that.
He also did what they call confabulation. If he didn’t remember something he just made stuff up…basically lying. He would tell me he had been to the store. His dad got a necklace for Bill to give me for Valentine’s Day and Bill told me he had shopped all day for it. Of course, he never left the hospital, but it was still so sweet when he gave it to me. He looked like a 5 year old he was so proud of that gift.
I was not allowed in the rehab unit except for visiting hours from 4 to 8 each night. I went back to work at the tearoom during the days and then straight to the hospital. One day the nurse came and said for him to tell me what he had done that day. He got this shamed look on his face and hung his head. “I tried to run away.” The nurse said, “No not that. The good thing.” He puffs his chest out and says, “I got dressed all by myself.” It turns out that he tried to leave the hospital and got all the way to the parking lot before someone figured out he was a lost patient. But it was the first day he had been able to dress himself.
One of the most alarming things was that he wouldn’t listen to music. I had all of his favorites and he would just throw the tape player across the room. I had recorded scriptures and he would throw them too. We went through several tape players. I took one of his keyboards to the hospital at the request of the therapists. He wouldn’t even play. So when I see him now in worship it is a constant reminder of the resurrection power of God.
So my brief summary has gone much longer than intended. Bill was in the hospital for 2 months. He was in rehab for 6 months after that, but it was probably 2 years before he was anything like himself. They told me he may never fully recover, and though we jokingly say he has brain damage, the recovery he has made is nothing short miraculous. During the time he was recovering I was told by a couple of people that God would surely understand if I didn’t stay with Bill. After all, he wasn’t the guy I married. But my vows said,. “till death do us part.” I made that vow to Bill, but also to God and so I committed to stay and to walk through it. I have never regretted that decision. There is a bond and a depth between us that could not have been formed any other way.
I will not pretend that I did not have words with God during this time. But I also found a deeper relationship with him. I could be honest in my pain, and on the nights when I cried myself to sleep the Holy Spirit came in and was more real to me than life. That intimacy can never be taken from me…in fact it is the foundation that has carried me through every hardship since. So on this day of remembrance I am grateful to God that my husband is alive. Without him, I would have lost my best friend. The bond of love we share would not be as deep. Our family would not exist. There are so many ways my life would be different if things had not gone the way they did. I cannot help but look back and replay those dark days, in the hindsight of God’s grace. As much as I would not have chosen the hurt of this kind of trauma, I am beyond thankful to God for the fruit of such pain. Worship is sweet. Prayer is powerful. Relationships are real. Weakness is strength.

Happy Bill’s Alive Day!

I sat up and stared. A glorious sun streamed through my window, brighter that usual, as if it was calling me to come and look. Stepping outside the cold nipped at my nose, but I didn’t notice for long because my eyes were drinking in the beauty of an ice covered wonderland. Trees dipped in silver shone all around me. They reached for the sky dressed for the day…the day the Lord made. I rejoiced and was glad. Gleaming. Shining. What a dazzling picture the mountains made, sparkling as if they were covered in diamonds. The reflection of the sun off the ice radiated its glory. Silver is the color of redemption in the scriptures…the trees were a testimony of God’s redemption on Sunday in a magnificent display of ice covered branches.
Later, as the sun warmed, the ice melted. Drip. Drip. Drip. All throughout the woods it sounded like it was raining, except for the frequent crashing of ice to the ground. I found it an unfamiliar sound. Yet was taken with it just the same. Nature does that to me, surprises me and thrills me with its flow. Ice coating everything gives way to warmer days in which the thaw is fascinating to watch. It seems to say that life is right around the corner. The silver trees of redemption transform as the hardness of the ice disappears.
Our hearts are like the trees. We are redeemed. It is a glorious state to be in when you realize the love Jesus shows us. Then after he redeems us, he melts our hard hearts. The warmth of the Son, causes the ice that encases us to fade away. This is the day the Lord has made…I will rejoice and be glad!

I ventured back into Cancerland yesterday. Before everyone panics, let me explain. I did not go back as a patient, but a visitor. It was time for my six-month check up. I changed doctors because my group now has an oncologist in Gainesville…much closer for me. This new office will not require me to take ½ a day off for my appointments. It also contains its own mini lab so I don’t have to go to a separate location for my blood work. All in all it is a better situation for me.
So I go in to get my blood work done two days early, which as you know is always a thrill for me.  The nurse got me on the first try…hurray! Yesterday when I went back for my appointment, I was told the sample was bad. No problem they say, we just have to take another sample. I roll up my sleeve, but as I am sitting there, I notice that I am in the chemo lab. The way his office is set up, you have to go into the chemo lab for any blood draw. I didn’t really notice it on Monday when I went because the lab was empty, but yesterday there were people there. It was like going back in time to the raw emotional place you live in when you are in treatment. The sights and smells all so familiar that it transports you back, your throat tightens and your pulse rate jumps up. In the lab, there were people weak from the disease-killing poison. In the waiting room, there were women with fear in their eyes and wigs on their heads…only this time I was not one of them. However, that did not take away the feeling of empathy and an overwhelming sense of being in their shoes. I tucked all that away in the back of my mind when I went in to meet my new doc. I liked him. He gave me a good report, and because of my visit to the lab and waiting room, I was even more grateful that usual that I am healthy.
A little later, when I drove up to church and the blood mobile was out front, tears welled up in my eyes. (They do every time I pass one, by the way) Fresh from the doctor’s office, I was still in remembering mode. Seeing that blood mobile brought a brand new wave of memories of my transfusion, and how grateful I am that people I do not know will let someone else stick a needle in their arm and take their blood. You have no idea what a gift it is to someone who is sick. It is breath. It is life.
I got brave this time. I went in to thank the people in there, both the donors and the workers. I have always had an urge to do it, but the tears always stop me. I mean who would want a crying blubbering woman coming in to disrupt the flow of things? This time I climbed the steps and opened the door. Tears came but I didn’t care, I told the people in there how much what they are doing means. How those few minutes of their time can literally save someone’s life. I’m not sure they had really thought about it much. They are doing the right thing…they want to help people, but to hear HOW it helps. To see a person who benefited from it seemed to strengthen their resolve, and it gave me a chance to say thank you.
Here at the three-year cancer free mark I am ever so blessed. Yet, if you know my family at all, you know that we celebrate the hard things. We go back and try to remember them. Daddy’s Alive Day (Feb. 2) and now Mommy’s Alive Day ( Jan. 2), are days to glance back and see the hand of God in our lives. It is not as morbid as some think. (In fact, some of the things Bill after his brain injury were quite funny.) But the bible says to build a memorial that shows what God has done for you and to tell your children of his deliverance, lest they forget his power. We do not dwell in this place of remembrance for long, just enough to consider all the times God has rescued us. It reminds us that we are living on borrowed time. It helps us to cherish the relationships we have and to realize what is important. It reminds us to live fully in each moment because you may not have another. Remembering is a gift.

I have said it before and I’ll say it again…I love snow days. Not only do I get the day off, but my family does too…which means we get time together, all six of us. We sleep in, read, and play. We sit by the fire with our hot chocolate, make snow ice cream and smores. We strategize our snow battles, create snow people, and admire our snow angels. While around here the fun is usually as short-lived as the snow, it is a much needed respite from the daily world in which we live.
In the South, snow days are simple. Simple is good. I’m not sure I would want to live in a place where it snows all the time. In those places, life goes on despite the snow. In those places, they laugh at us for calling school off because snow is predicted. But here, we relish every flake. We treasure them…and because they are rare, they are very valuable. Just go into any elementary school when the flurries begin if you want to see how much we cherish frozen precipitation. As students crowd around the window to watch, the smiles on kid’s faces could light up Atlanta at midnight. No video game can compete with snow falling in the south. The energy level in a classroom goes up past Christmas parties and fire drills. Anticipation sparkles in every eye in the room…especially the teachers. If a teacher is brave enough to take them out in the snow, she will see them run, jump, hop and twirl. Laughter bubbles up as smiling faces turn towards the sky to see if they can catch snowflakes on their tongues. “Teacher, teacher!!! I caught one!” The lesson of the day is that snow is fun…class dismissed.
As the buses go up the hill, full of excited kids with faces pressed to the windows, we thank God for the bus drivers. We ask that he get the kids home safely before the roads freeze over…and we ask for enough snow to sled. We rarely get that much, or if we do it is slush that is not conducive to a fast ride down a hill, but we ask anyway.
In the quiet of the next snow covered morning, he answers. The snow glows in the dawn. A white blanket that turns ugliness into purity covers everything. Amazing. I never tire of it. I never tire of the beauty. It is the perfect picture of his righteousness, his grace, and his mercy. A white robe of righteousness covers the earth reminding us of his ability to cover our dirt. Then as the world wakes to the wonder of it, laughter echoes across the valley. Children giggling as snowballs hit their mark and snow men take shape. We play in his grace. The purity of the fresh snow splatters on us, and sticks to our clothes. We jump, trying to sled and ride down the hill on his mercy. Our problems are distant when his grace is so evident. We are all childlike in the snow…simple.
Tomorrow will be like any other day. The snow will be gone because that is the way of snow in the south. Like life, it is fleeting…requiring you to stop everything and play while you can…living in the moment…playing in his grace.

I have said it before and I’ll say it again…I love snow days. Not only do I get the day off, but my family does too…which means we get time together, all six of us. We sleep in, read, and play. We sit by the fire with our hot chocolate, make snow ice cream and smores. We strategize our snow battles, create snow people, and admire our snow angels. While around here the fun is usually as short-lived as the snow, it is a much needed respite from the daily world in which we live.
In the South, snow days are simple. Simple is good. I’m not sure I would want to live in a place where it snows all the time. In those places, life goes on despite the snow. In those places, they laugh at us for calling school off because snow is predicted. But here, we relish every flake. We treasure them…and because they are rare, they are very valuable. Just go into any elementary school when the flurries begin if you want to see how much we cherish frozen precipitation. As students crowd around the window to watch, the smiles on kid’s faces could light up Atlanta at midnight. No video game can compete with snow falling in the south. The energy level in a classroom goes up past Christmas parties and fire drills. Anticipation sparkles in every eye in the room…especially the teachers. If a teacher is brave enough to take them out in the snow, she will see them run, jump, hop and twirl. Laughter bubbles up as smiling faces turn towards the sky to see if they can catch snowflakes on their tongues. “Teacher, teacher!!! I caught one!” The lesson of the day is that snow is fun…class dismissed.
As the buses go up the hill, full of excited kids with faces pressed to the windows, we thank God for the bus drivers. We ask that he get the kids home safely before the roads freeze over…and we ask for enough snow to sled. We rarely get that much, or if we do it is slush that is not conducive to a fast ride down a hill, but we ask anyway.
In the quiet of the next snow covered morning, he answers. The snow glows in the dawn. A white blanket that turns ugliness into purity covers everything. Amazing. I never tire of it. I never tire of the beauty. It is the perfect picture of his righteousness, his grace, and his mercy. A white robe of righteousness covers the earth reminding us of his ability to cover our dirt. Then as the world wakes to the wonder of it, laughter echoes across the valley. Children giggling as snowballs hit their mark and snow men take shape. We play in his grace. The purity of the fresh snow splatters on us, and sticks to our clothes. We jump, trying to sled and ride down the hill on his mercy. Our problems are distant when his grace is so evident. We are all childlike in the snow…simple.
Tomorrow will be like any other day. The snow will be gone because that is the way of snow in the south. Like life, it is fleeting…requiring you to stop everything and play while you can…living in the moment…playing in his grace.

I am struck by how difficult a year it has been for so many of my friends and family. For them, it will be a relief for this year to be over in hopes that 2010 will be a fresh new start, but first we must get through the Christmas season. How hard is that when your world has been turned upside down…to look at holiday traditions in a new and different way when all you want is for things to be the same as they have always been. My heart is breaking, even as I celebrate joyfully with my family. The pressures this year has brought for so many were weighing heavily on my heart last night at the Christmas Eve service. I thought of all the broken pieces of lives…a child or grandchild lost to death, prison, or their own troubled mind…a spouse ravaged and stolen by disease…the destruction of a home that took a life-time to build…a heart-wrenching diagnosis and the reality that comes with it…the uncertainty of sending a son or daughter to war…the loss of a job, income, or the closing of a business…the death of dreams…nests that are becoming empty…family structures that are changing for one reason or another…crushed and broken hearts, throats tight with sorrow, eyes filled with tears. It has been a tough year.
As I gratefully sat in the warm, dry church with all of my kids next to me, I pondered the lives of my hurting friends. I prayed that they would be comforted and that despite the traumas they would find peace amidst the tears. I prayed that his peace would wash us all so that the circumstances would be smaller, and God would be bigger in our lives. When the communion plate was passed, I reached to routinely take my piece of bread, but as I looked into it, I saw all the broken pieces…like mosaic tiles in jumbled mounds, each square portion a small part of the body of Christ. It occurred to me then, that the pain we suffer makes us more Christ-like than we can understand. His body was shredded, literally, to pieces. Imagine how his heart was torn, as he was utterly rejected and alone. Even the Father turned his face away. It came to me that as I take the bread, I am doing more than just eating it…I am tasting his pain. I am aligning myself with him in his heartache.
When the cup was passed a question came to my mind…How do we get grape juice? We crush the grapes, they are stomped on or squeezed until the skin is ripped and the juice flows out. That is why we use grape juice to represent the blood of Christ…he was crushed in body and spirit until his powerful blood oozed from him. Again, it is about compression and broken pieces. When I take the cup I am ingesting the sweet result of his painful death…I am dying with him so that his powerful blood can have its miraculous way in me. His death, and suffering lead me to mine. Then, as the bread and the cup work their way into my body…his body…his life begins to flow. The pain of death eases, and life begins. It is a great mystery how he uses pain to bring life and only he knows the secret…yet we all are the benefactors. His pain brings us from death to life.
In a candlelight service, one spark lights the first candle into a flame of hope. Hope for the future. Hope for new life. As each candle ignites, hope grows until all of the pieces of his body…his children…glow with his light. He is the light of our hearts. He is the light that shines in the darkness of life. He is the light. That is why the angels sang. That is why the shepherds and kings came. That is why we worship him even now, because in the midst of a year that brought unthinkable changes and hardships, we know that he is still the light of the world. Even as we look forward to the new year, we can look back and believe that communing in his suffering and death will bring us new life and that somehow all the crushed pieces of our hearts will grow to be a glorious picture of his grace. Merry Christmas! And may your new year be filled with his peace!

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive, are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you. It is written: “I believed; therefore I have spoken.”With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you in his presence.All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

2  Cor. 4:7-18

There is a scene in the church Christmas production, at least one, each year where tears bubble up and spill over because of the profound reality portrayed. For me, this year, it was the resurrection. Specifically, the lyrics to He’s Alive sunk deep into my spirit. When you have felt the hand of death try to steal your breath, the truth of the message in that song becomes overwhelming. The dramatic pause as I watched the sacrificed body of Christ disappear, and the chill that came when the light shown around the stone in the thundering silence of the moment, brought the reality of what he has done for me, from the depths of my spirit up to the surface. My quiet weeping through the song is because of the visual testimony, which showed the spiritual truth. I am alive today because of what he did. The reality is that even if death had taken the breath from my body, I would still be alive with him. “Oh death where is your sting?” The tomb is empty and therefore my grave will be so as well.
And oh the grace…amazing does not begin to describe how utterly magnificent the grace of God is. To take my place, in that tomb, despite my lack of holiness…only love is that strong. Only unconditional, self-sacrificing, abundant love for me could have put him there and only God’s power and unbelievable grace could have raised him. In reality, God’s all encompassing love for me was his motive for allowing his son to be killed. It was the only way he could be with me…and so he endured the heartache of watching his only son die, while Jesus endured the agony of a brutal death for the same reason. You know he didn’t have to come then. He could have waited and come at a time when “humane” death is the execution of choice, but he didn’t. He knew blood had to be part of the sacrifice. If that doesn’t make you think about how valuable you are to him…nothing will. He thinks I am worth it. He thinks you are worth it. Whew…it blows me away to see his love demonstrated on my behalf. The sacrifice, the pain, the blood…all of it was worth it to him to be with you each and every day.
The scene at the very end, when baby Jesus was held up in the spot light for all to see, was a stunning reminder of why we celebrate “Christ”mas. Life. He took off his glory to show us his love, in innocence and purity. So we celebrate his birth…his coming to the rescue as an innocent baby…and we rejoice with our tears that he carried out his plan so that we can stand in his grace…and worship. It is all because of our great worth to him.
Merry Christmas!

Thanksgiving

Only in America do we take a humble holiday in which we show our appreciation to God for his blessings, and make it all about shopping. And while it appears that we have misplaced the true meaning of Thanksgiving, underneath the mountains of food and the anticipation of Black Friday, I believe that we have not completely forgotten that we live in abundance. Otherwise, why would we set aside a day to spend with our relatives? Do you know how hard it is to get 20 or 30 people from all over the country together in one place for just a few short hours? If you think of the schedules, the travel, and the preparation made for one meal it is mind boggling…but we do it…year after year. That tells me that it is a highly valued celebration. Way back in the day, families lived and worked on the same land. They knew each other more closely and were familiar with all their aunts, uncles and cousins. The bounty of the land provided them with a harvest worth celebrating each year. God had given them another winter’s worth of food and the health to reap it. It was a generous time of good will to celebrate each other…to embrace family in all of its eccentric and varying forms. That part of the holiday remains the same, as we acknowledge our heritage.
This year to start our holiday, we went to mom and dad’s house in Clayton. They are preparing to sell it and despite the fact that we have known it for a couple of years, this was the time to take what we wanted. It seemed so wrong just to take stuff off the walls and shelves…like I was disturbing history. However, when I realized that now is the time to integrate the heritage of the family into my own home, it became easier. (Not that mom and dad are going to kick the bucket anytime soon…far from it, they are simply lightening their load, changing seasons so to speak.)
As I went through the family bibles back to my great grandmothers, the family legacy of faith became clear. The prayers written in the margins of these bibles are standing next to me breathing and wanting to learn more about these old books in my hands. I think of these women gathered around in heaven watching my mother pass their gifts to me. They smile as I share the moment with my daughter and sons. The old photos, the quilts that were sewn with love, and the handcrafted furniture of a generation, blend with the bird’s nests I collected as a child and the hand drawn pictures of my own children. So we pass our shared history around and take it with us to our bookshelves and walls to add our own colorful designs to the family tapestry. In the future, my own grandchildren and great grandchildren will read the words of faith I have penned. There will come a season to pass them along to the next generation and to continue the legacy of our family, with its blood ties, limitations, and humanness…the good and the not so good. And so the cycle continues throughout time. We loose some strands along the way as things change, yet the most important threads remain unmoved…faith, family, hope, character, and love. The truth is that Thanksgiving is a celebration of all of these things. It is more than just a great meal, but rather a feast of spirit that unifies us and reminds of the important things in life. I am thankful to God this year for my family and the abundance of love that he continually pours out upon us. I am humbled by such a show of extravagance by the creator of the universe on me and mine. My grateful heart has no words. I bow my head in reverence and awe at the heritage he has built within our family. This Thanksgiving, I say with all genuineness…Thank you God.

Have you ever noticed there are some people that seem to go through more than the average amount of hardship? It seems that these Job-like people are continually facing trials and heartaches of monumental proportions. My friend Kathy is one of these people. Losing her husband to cancer a few months ago was tragic. We all watched as she walked through his illness with her chin up. She was inspirational in her quiet, determined way. Since the funeral, she has been a trooper as she works while she grieves.
Now the unthinkable, last night, her house burned. She and her children are fine, but the “why her” question hangs in my mind like a fog. As I walked through what is left of her house this afternoon, the smell brought memories of our own fire. The mess and the overwhelming feelings of lost-ness…a sense of what do I do? What is my next step? It is kind of an aimless feeling of helplessness just wandering from room to room, taking stock of what you have…and what you have lost.
I have to admit, I have wondered what Job must’ve felt like at time or two in my life. I have admired his determination to hold fast to God even in his confusion, even when his “friends” tried to convince him to “curse God and die.” (What great friends he had!) Even when he questioned God, and God answered his questions with more questions Job saw his error and humbled himself with great speed. It was in that moment that he saw the truth of who God is. It was that realization which made his trials grow strangely dim.
It seems to me, that in traumatic life changes we must go back to what we know to be true. Not that we have left it exactly, but to revisit the truths of God in the dark moments of life brings perspective. We learn lessons of wisdom throughout our journey and it is this foundation, which we build upon…because it is solid in the midst of the storms. So what do we know? God is good. He can see the bigger picture. God loves us more than we can comprehend. He is for us and with us. God never leaves or forsakes us…even though sometimes we wonder about that. He is trustworthy. God is faithful. His ways are not our ways…and in the end, that is usually a very good thing.
If I were God I would not have allowed me to have cancer, but then I would not know how precious every moment of life is. If I were God, I would not have allowed my house to burn, but then I would not know how little material things really mean. If I were God, I would not have allowed _____________. Fill in your own blank. With every trial comes a life altering epiphany. A new view. Hard and painful as they may be, the heart wrenching moments transform us. In the midst…not so great. Afterwards…grace-filled life, compassion, perspective, and abundance. A reality filled with the love of Christ, which has walked the very same places we now tread. A bond with the Savior through shared suffering. It is the tenderizing of our hearts, so that we can intimately commune with him.
I would not wish cancer, death or fire on anyone. I am sure my friend would agree with me on that one. However, I know that despite the emotions, a work of grace is in progress. During tough times, no matter what kind of tough times, God draws near the brokenhearted. He holds them close. He weeps tears with them. Then he creates beauty out of the ashes, and replaces the mourning with dancing. It is his way and he teaches it to us, his beautiful children, because he so loves to see us dance.

I have been asked why I am not writing lately. Actually I have been, it has just been for specific people going through specific issues, which require specific personal encouragements. I don’t know about you but it seems to me that the world is under more pressure than usual. Many of my friends are walking through the valley of the shadow…heart wrenching circumstances that test the very fiber of belief. When I say many, I mean at least 10 people, which is a huge number to be facing monumental life changing events. Loss seems to be the common element in this painful journey into the darkness. All the situations are completely different from one another, yet they are all the toughest circumstances in the lives of those they touch. My dear friends are facing places they never imagined they would be, walking down unforeseen roads without a map. Pressure. Loss. Fear. Pain. Along with questions.
Where is God? Has he abandoned us? Does he know amount of pain we are in? What about our dreams? What about hope? Does he even care? I know the questions. I have asked them all at one time or another. I have not received answers for every one of them, however, I do know that he is not absent. He may not feel close, but he is close…as close as your breath. When you take a deep breath, he is with you and in you. He whispers to you, “Hold tight to me. I have been where you are. I will show you the way. I will not leave you or forsake you. Trust me. I love you more than you can dream. I will wipe away your tears. There will be beauty from the ashes.” Can you hear him? He whispers hope. So my friends hold on. Be encouraged. One breath at a time.