For One Hour

I very rarely dream about Joseph. I would really love to, and I pray to. But I can count on one hand the number of dreams I've had about him. Without fail, in each dream he still has his little limp he acquired after his surgeries, and he is still sick. I'm not sure why that is. I think maybe in some way I'm still worried he needs me and I long to take care of him. And the dreams always include his hands or feet. I don't know about you, but I notice hands and feet. I think they tell a lot about a person. With children, the hands and feet are precious. "Hold ma handy." "No want to wear shoes." I saw a lot of Joseph's feet because he hated shoes, and I hated battling him on this. So, he went bare foot a lot. Oh, those feet. One thing that devastates me even still is my lack of gratitude while Joseph was little. How I didn't cherish little things and whined a lot about minor inconveniences. I didn't know the glory in front o...

As I stepped gingerly out of his room, still peaceful from the cozy snuggling and warmth and feeling full from this baby love, I cherish that soft, wispy hair, those clear slowly-blinking eyes and the love that can only exist between a mother and baby. Oh, to prolong these days-- to make them last-- just one of them, into all eternity. It was then I caught sight of them, the dozens of leaves whipping by, beautiful in their dying splendor. The wind bends the branches, leaves resign and let go, chasing air. I'm drawn to the activity, the beauty, the light. Sun makes its entrance gloriously and shines heat upon my face. Oh, thank you Jesus. For beauty and warmth and light. A car whips by, stops abruptly in front of me and honks. Once, twice, three times. Let me in the gate. It speeds down the short driveway. Driver jumps out, ready for action. It is Sunday morning, but he is dressed casually, maybe for golf? What is the hurry? Why the honking? The rushing, the racing to the next...

Recently, I've had the honor of sharing in the grief of two different friends. I feel honored that they would share with me their hurts because I know how difficult it can be to share pain. There is a high risk of not feeling cared for or nurtured. As I have observed both of them I have seen God's glory even in the midst of ashes. Both of them are searching for God in their pain and choosing to trust Him even while feeling barren and disappointed. I've heard, "I just feel angry," or "Is this punishment for something I've done?" Yet I've also heard, "I'm choosing to lean into Jesus. Pray that I would do that," or "Even on one of my saddest days, it was also a good day. We laughed and had great time together as a family and I couldn't help thinking it was a good day." And I've praised God for these beautiful examples. Because death hurts. Sin hurts. People hurt. But with God, everything is backwards. The las...

Have I mentioned I've been drinking in Ann Voskamp's writing lately like a parched desert traveler who has just found water? My soul has been refreshed and encouraged and I'm thankful for her humble yet brave writing that chooses to spread God's fame. I feel like God had already been causing me to wrestle with what joy is and how do we fight for it amidst diaper changes and midnight feedings and messy kitchens and piles of laundry and....I could go on and on. It seems there is always something to discourage and dismay, and it's easy to get bogged down with problems, fears, and worries and miss the wonder and joy God provides in each moment. The more I think about it and ponder it, it seems joy is something we must fight for. It doesn't fall peacefully on us. What falls peacefully upon me is not always good. It's easy for me to peacefully believe I'm a failure and a hypocrite. I must fight to believe I'm loved and forgiven and a treasure. Gala...

This morning I woke up already frustrated. For the second day in a row I have set my alarm for six o'clock....p.m. The girls woke up early and played happily together, miraculously for almost two hours. I rolled out of bed at 7:45 to immediately feed the baby, then take requests from the girls for juice, snacks, help with handstands, etc. And I was annoyed. I barely got to enjoy my coffee before it turned cold. I snapped at everyone, feeling behind and defeated before the day even began. How are things always out of control? The kitchen looked like a bomb of markers and paper and breakfast dishes had exploded in it. What happened to the joy I had felt the night before as I had fallen asleep thankful for my precious children and husband, grateful to the Lord for such lavish blessings? The girls and I have been studying the fruit of the Spirit in school, and today's lesson was kindness. Ouch. I couldn't even bring myself to teach them, feeling like my behavior that ...

I just read this post over at Ann Voskamp's blog and it has encouraged me to write and revel and wrestle with what God is doing in this world and in my world. This is my fourth blog in as many years. My first blog was a small record of my sweet little one's lives, Joseph and Holly. I didn't even write much on there...just posted pictures. I didn't write because I thought, "Who would want to read my thoughts? I'm just taking care of two little kids every day and why would anyone care for my commentary on that?" Then November of 2007 happened. I was living my small little life with my small little kids when something very big happened to him and to us. My unimportant job suddenly became very important. My words became the conveyor of important information. We found out our precious firstborn son, Joseph, had a large brain tumor in his brain stem and cerebellum. Our lives flew into a flurry of surgeries, hospital stays, flights, moves, and devastating...

When I imagine a picture of a strong woman, this is usually what I come up with:   Or maybe this: Either way, this woman has definitely had time to shower, comes across calm and together, and makes time to stay physically fit. My picture is usually not this: But the longer I'm alive, the more convinced I am that this is where real strength lies: Complete dependence. Not on yourself. Not on others. But on Him. We don't have it in us. Others don't have it in them. The only safe place for the depths of our sorrows, pain, burdens, and joys is in His arms. I love this verse in Jeremiah: (verses 7-8) "But blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, whose confidence is in him. He will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit." Oh, how I long to be a tree planted by the water, conti...