First Love

I am up early on a day when I could be sleeping in. These days are few and far between now as our life has drastically changed over the last few years. But I must write...

I went to bed last night with a heavy heart. "No one" sat by my girl on the bus. This isn't something I wanted to hear after we picked her up from a very LONG tournament day of volleyball games. I asked the usual questions and said the same things as this wasn't the first time she has slumped into the car and muttered these first words. Somehow, my nudging about how that must have been nice to have a seat to herself for sleeping fell flat. What it really boiled down to is that she didn't have a friend to talk to. Being a former band nerd, I know those long bus rides, and having a seat to yourself is king. Having a friend to talk to while you sit on the edge of your seat is even better. We did all the usual back and forth about being a good friend even when no one seems to be your friend. I even asked her if she wanted to quit, but there's a fierce determination in that girl who shook her head and said a resounding, "NO." So, we did the only logical thing on a late Saturday night when you're too tired to even eat ice cream. We prayed and kissed goodnight.

There's a lot of back story here that does matter but should not. I am an over-thinker. I know we are new here. It's a very small town, and we've only lived here 3 years. We homeschool. We are from a totally different culture. We are not the same church affiliation as most. The list could go on, but my thinking cannot. I get stuck after all this thinking. The one thing that rings over and over and over: IT SHOULD NOT BE THIS WAY.

It is a slap you in the face type moment when you see your child hurting. Maybe it hurts worse because we know what being well loved feels like. We know what it feels like so well that we almost had no idea what brokenness felt like anymore. We were so far gone into the good country that we forgot what it looks like to those who haven't experienced the richness of God's love that we have.

So, it hits me hard this morning from God's word: We love because He first loved us. He knew the ultimate loneliness, and He died and rose again so that we would not have to experience that ultimate loneliness forever. Now, He beckons us to that same call to die to ourselves in an over and over again type way. He modeled the ultimate way to love, and His love involved DYING.

This is the thing that needs to be what I over-think on: how are we dying today so that others will know the greatest Love? Maybe yesterday it meant serving a bunch of middle schoolers breakfast burritos, closing our business for a day, driving 6 hours, and laying a sad little girl to sleep. Because here's the deal- they won their very first games of the season yesterday, but that is not what she cared about. The caring is what she cared about.

His love demands that we show His love to others and live to care for one another. He may give us hard moments where showing that kind of love is the among the most difficult thing we do. Surely that's why dying is called dying. Less of me. More of Him.

We have made plenty of mistakes, and we will have many more mess ups ahead. We will get parenting wrong sometimes. We will react wrongly. We will show unkindness at times. We will want to be selfish. However, I know that it's not supposed to be this way. I know a greater love because I have been loved by it. We have been loved by it. We have lived long years in the rich love of Christ centered community, and I want others to know that same good place so desperately. That love is what compels us to stay in the hard places when it would seem easier to leave. That love is what I tell my girls about when they are sad that life is hard here. That love is what I preach to myself when I am sad and long for my far away friends who love Jesus so much and loved us so well. This kind of love is worth dying for because it is what makes life worth living.

Oh, Jesus! May we live our lives within the reality of how sad it will be for those who don't know you and the love you love us with. Please turn our hurt in times of loneliness into what eternal loneliness will feel like for those who don't know you. Help us die well so that others can truly live.

Dear Grief

I knew my father was dying. Essentially, aren't we all? It's this chaotic mixture of living while dying. A seen march toward an unknown end date. He had only been sick for a short while, but what a sickness. Cancer and all the treatment options- doctors and hospital visits. And medicines. And bills. All the rearranging of life.

I guess you could say that I was looking at this thing a little one sided. I didn't even really consider how his death might affect me. While he chose to try and beat his cancer monster, all I could think of is how much better death seemed. Although he always said he'd never want to live that way, once diagnosed, it's what he chose. You think you know what you would do until you're in that situation. He chose to fight, and all I could really think these past months is, "Wouldn't Heaven just be so much better?!"

Yes, Heaven is so much better. Jesus is so much better. To be present with Him is our greatest joy - the thing that propels our very essence of life on earth. When you get the Gospel, it changes you. You live differently. It's not a living out of obligation but a life fueled by love. A longing for a life well lived. A journey worth going. A race worth winning.

So, why did he even chose to fight this cancer with such slim odds? That's a question I'll never know the answer to, but seeing him so ill, so overcome with disease... It really did make me look at grief one-sided. His side. He would be so much better off. In a better place. With no sickness. No cancer.

It's been a few weeks since Dad's final home going. We had his memorial service a week ago.

But here's what I forgot. Here's where I underestimated all this grief. This is the side I failed to see. My side.

Dear Grief,

I sincerely underestimated you.

I forgot about you when I grabbed my phone to text a picture of my daughters on the fishing pier to their PawPaw. Dad loved the gulf.

I didn't know you would show up while I walked the aisles of Buc-ee's and happened to see the orange slices. I didn't realize grief could transport me to my childhood and see Dad emptying a bag of his favorite candy into the candy jar. He loved orange slices.

When we traveled back home after your service, you left me feeling like life sucked out as we drove through west Texas and into New Mexico. Dad loved the west. I'm so glad he got to visit us here.

And Grief, the tears are easy to understand, but I failed to realize that you come through as anger and untimely, random acts of who-knows-what, too. I guess you're what made me clean my house the second I walked in the door after being away from home for nearly 3 weeks. You are so weird.

I didn't know you would show up at my daughter's piano recital as she played "Jessica's Theme" from Man from Snowy River. She had learned that song for Paw-Paw because it was one of his favorite movies. And she played it at Christmas...on a piano in front of a Christmas tree. (Dad loved Christmas so much that he actually left their house decorated year round for the past 3 years!) Grief, you threw a sucker punch there. My tears weren't understood by the crowd around me.

And that's another thing. Grief, you didn't warn me about crowds! For Pete's sake, I am a people person! Who knew all I would want to do is avoid crowds. And, plus it's Christmas! I am supposed to be attending parties and shopping for presents. But I can't fight you right now, Grief. So, I'll settle for warm blankets, a cup of coffee, a few holiday obligations, and maybe I'll somehow get some shopping done between your waves.

There are places I expected you to show up, Grief. Like when I find Dad's handwriting on the box of Christmas keepsakes he gave to me. There's the Christmas village that he took me to Lowe's to buy. We added new pieces each year. I knew you'd show up as we unboxed it yesterday. I expected you then.

I also knew you'd wash over me afresh when I read Dad's hand written notes to me in the book in which his poem was published. I fought you, Grief, but you were at least expected there.

I really have to give you credit for the anguish I feel about living so far away from my mom. I had no idea how hard it would be to drive away from her house last Monday. Although I know she'll be fine, she's dealing with you right now, too.

I understand that you're going to be with me for awhile. But Grief, I also know that you're going to gracefully bow out at some point soon. I get that you have a job you're helping do right now. That you are bringing about the mourning. This is good. It's part of it. And, truly, I thank God for you.

But.

JOY is coming. MORNING is coming. and PEACE... already here.

So, Dearest Grief, do your job because Jesus is doing his. He will allow you this and even use you for my good and His glory. But: Know this, you are a means to an end.

55 

"O death, where is your sting?

O death, where is your victory?

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. 

But thanks be to God,who gives us the victory

through our Lord Jesus Christ."

1 Corinthians 15:55-57 (ESV)

Fun

We watched her paddle out & wait for a wave worth riding. I know we were all thinking that these waves were likely not really worth riding, not worth such effort...too small to provide much excitement. Before we knew it, she was up, gliding over the glassy gulf waters. Before she knew it, the ride was over. 

Brandon made the obvious remark about all the effort for such a small reward. Then, it came. Clara, our 9 year old said, "Yeah, but I bet it sure was fun!" 

Hearing her words sent me rewinding my thoughts to several weeks ago when I had a conversation with my dad. I was telling him how well Libby & Clara were doing with their music lessons but how I was feeling a bit overwhelmed in my own study of learning to play the mandolin. He told me that I just need to have more fun with it and that one day I was going to look back at life and wish we would've just had more fun. 

That was the last time I got to talk to my dad with any detail. It's been a week since he went Home, and today, I find myself standing on a pier...hoping I can learn to have more fun... More fun. All the effort, all the fun. Life to its fullest...or rather- funnest. ;-)

#66celebration Party of THANKS!!

YOU. ALL. Just wow! Never in my wildest dreams did I think that something so amazing could come together is just a few days time. As of July 18th, we asked and you have KEPT ON delivering! So many of you have shared our posts, given money, cheered us on, and championed with us through prayer. Now, we hold the banner of thankfulness high - so high - and say THANK YOU!! And a big WOO HOO! You guys are all just so awesome!

Our week long #66celebration birthday campaign has continued well past our 7 days. It's been like the 7th day that just won't stop! As of today, 7/27, $4,699 has been given to #66celebration. Along with other donations given since 6/9/15, my dad and mom have been blessed with nearly $6,500 in donations. Though there are many medical bills, several of them have been paid off or paid down significantly. Most importantly, my dad has been able to purchase immediately needed medicines.

Your hugs, gifts, prayers, and overall concern for my dad continue to mean so much. Every day is truly a blessing. I know that my dad's spirits have been lifted in these recent days. God is so good to take our offerings and turn them into hope in a person's life. That is only something that He can do. You have helped pave the way for hope to come. Thank you!