Personal // It Is Good

To be honest, I dreaded this birthday. Between turning another decade and memories from last year's birthday that still leave me in tears, how could I not? 

So when I'm standing at the sink doing a mountain of dishes alone, still in sweats and the afternoon is flying by, with coughing children on the couch and germs flying in the air- things weren't looking up for this year and I'll admit, depression was setting in. 

It's been one long year. 

Cancer. Betrayal. Death. A horrible family emergency that's still underway. World-traveling. Often being responsible for 6 children when I least expect it. Joy. Tears. 

I stand at the sink and tell mom I don't feel like celebrating. My heart feels as grey as the winter sky above, flakes falling swift and sure, smothering the world below. 

But if you have to do it, you might as well make the most of it. Do something and your heart will eventually follow. I pick out mismatched plates in bold colors (chevron and zebra stripes, anyone?), hang a pin-the-tail-on-Zevi-the-Zebra on the door, try to get in the spirit of joy. Phone rings, I answer, and the bestie's voice bubbles on the other end. She's excited about my birthday, can't wait to show me something....and slowly, joy rubs off on me. 

I hang some streamers to celebrate. Another friend sends me a text out of the blue, makes the sun start to peak around the clouds. 

Mom comes home and surprises me with a bouquet of daisies, dressed in bright bold blues and yellows and pinks and greens. I start arranging them in my favorite little vases I picked up at rummage sales, and the smile comes. 

Yes, this birthday is good. 

Good to leave the past behind. Good to walk through this season and heal. Good to walk life as an adult and take responsibility for my choices. 

I get tangled by a rowdy bunch of kidlets at the door, all clamoring for hugs and kisses. I take the oldest niece to pick up my gluten-free/dairy-free pizza, and we chatter in the car. I share a Virgil's with my grandpa and spin the kids dizzy for pin-the-tail-on-Zevi. 

Yes- it is good. 

And when my Energizer Bunny Boy comes down with a fever and his little body shakes cold, I head out to the store on a medicine run and spend the rest of the evening rubbing Vicks on little feet, coaxing down medicine and wiping tears. Yesterday it was cleaning up blood and rocking the youngest, keeping her calm after a major bloody nose. Two days before that it was doing math and spelling at the kitchen table with six voices asking questions and me trying to wrack my brain to remember the answers (why didn't anyone tell me that I really would need to remember the things I learned in school?). 

Yes- life is good. 

So hello new year- let me take you on with shoulders squared, boots on, and pack empty. Here's to dancing for the audience of One and living fully where He has me- bloody noses, drama, and all. 

Carving time to Breathe

Things have been silent on the screen, but much has been happening away from it. Another adventure to pack for, suitcases laying wide to be filled on the old honey-colored planks of floor, outfits spilling over the bed- a hodgepodge to be sorted, ordered, and made sense of. Evenings like this make my heartbeat quicken, makes it yearn for the things He's going to do. 

Yet it's a quiet evening, because in the midst of skirts and snacks and journals I carve out time for myself to simply breathe. 

This playing softly, in anticipation of a holy weekend of worship. Tea steaming in my old grad mug, perfect size for little hands like mine. Scripture scrawled on the wall, a reminder of His branding on my life, my very being, what He names me. Candles flickering on the table. 

I close my eyes and breathe. Breathe prayers of eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Grace. Joy. Ponder the work He is doing, how He's weaving this story of mine. Taking frayed ends, tying them off, and weaving threads of gold through this tapestry instead.  

Who knew a story would be written like this? Not I.

So much higher. So much more beautiful. So much more meaningful. 

It's not just my story- it's yours, too. He's in the midst of your story, too- scripting and sculpting and burning away the dross. Bringing beauty from ashes. It's a promise- I've seen Him do it. 

So take a step back and pause. Close out the world. Take the time to breathe- when we stop rambling into the windy storm, shut our mouths and just listen, we will hear His still small voice in the whisper of the breeze. Enter in- and let Him show you the glory He's weaving, the ends He's snipping, and an awe-stirred realization of His faithfulness in your life. 

He's there in the quiet if you carve the time out to meet Him there. 

Grace-filled Simplicity

Growing up, summer was always my least favorite season. I hated the heat, the humidity, the sticky feeling when you go from AC to 90's. But this year, after a winter of darkness and cold, of chemo and pain, the sun's rays have seemed like soothing nectar to my soul. I've never experienced it before.

I can't stop drinking it up. 

Perhaps it's because after a taste of a muggy Southern summer I truly appreciate my balmy Northern one, or perhaps it's because my mighty Elohim is healing my soul- showing me how to sing again, to LIVE again. 

You only get one life to live- we have to embrace it. 

We have to get past the pain of chemo and the sting of relationships and the trama of death of loved ones. We have to learn to open our fists again and fully accept this crazy grace- HIS crazy grace. Choose to see these gifts He's given, to fully be alive and embrace every joy. 

I've found it in simplicity. Taking things slow. Recording these gifts, a living record of His faithfulness. 

I'm going to enjoy this summer to it's fading golden rays. Sometimes it's big things, like glorious weddings and traveling this beautiful country. Joy isn't materialistic things- it's dancing praise with all your might as your bare feet pound the plywood floor with a hundred other hearts, it's spending Shabbat by the lakeshore, it's mending relationships and building bridges. It's little things like sharing chips and pop in the shady grass with a fraction of the passel of nieces and nephews, it's coffee dates with mom, it's swinging on the hammock with my brother as the sun fades and we unburden our hearts to each other. These happy gifts are laughter, fresh produce, new friends and hearing from old ones. It's wrestling prayer, the breezes of fresh air, curly hair and long dresses that make me feel like a princess.

It's choosing to see everything with new eyes. Put the computer away, shut off my phone. Even if it's just for an hour or two- or maybe a whole week media free.

It's recording these moments of grace, these beautiful gifts He bestows on His unworthy bride...

Because love? It never stops giving. 

--
(care to share your list of grace gifts today? can we see if everyone can name at least 10- from sunlight flickering on the windowpane to cupping a hot mug of pumpkin spice latte? share yours in a comment below!) 

Finished

Cancer steals. Destroys. Devours. 

And I'm helpless to it all. 

I've told you about Kelly before. I met her high above the Texas skyline, and we caught the last glimpse of the sunset together. She was beautiful- wore a pretty hat to cover her head, hairless from what chemo stole from her. She smiled through the pain, her body attached by tubes and wires to a tree of life- or death?- with fluids and toxic materials pumping through her. Her quiet southern voice somehow illuminated the room, kept the shadows at bay. Sort of made the sun shine, even though it had slipped below the horizon. She told us of her two lovely girls back home, how God was still working, how she still prayed for the miracle. I gave her a hug before we left, told her we would be praying for her. Told her to keep trusting.

The elevator door closed, and it was the last I saw of her. Last time I ever will have seen her. Cancer claimed her body but five short months later. 

===

A father in our community discovered cancer was taking over his lungs soon after Ryan's tumors were removed from his. We've been praying, trusting, knowing that God is still working. I never knew this man well, but from the times I did spend with him I knew him to be a man of worship. Had a smile that somehow made you feel like you belonged. Quiet, but when he spoke they were words of life. Like David, he worshiped the Father will all of his might, with ever fiber of his being. 

Today I got the phone call everyone dreads, the one you pray against. The one you hope you never have to answer. The phone call that, as a cancer family, you pray you never have to make. 

It'll only be a few hours now. 

I hang up. Dad calls- I answer, and I weep. I grieve. I cry for the children, whose father is their world. I cry for the wife, so strong yet how can frail shoulders hold up the load of everything and watch as the love of her life suffers? I cry for the friends, the extended family, the community who is loosing a mighty warrior of Elohim. 

My soul longs to pour forth prayers but no sound comes from my throat. Dad prays for me instead. 

And Heaven weeps. 

The rain pours from the skies as my tears fall, as our prayers rise upward. Not long after, another phone call follows. 

It is finished. No more pain except the pain that is in our hearts, no more sorrow except for the tears we weep. No more questions, except for the ones we may shout in our frustration and grief. 

Finished. 
__

{please, be praying for this family and our community tonight and in the days/weeks/months to follow. thank you, from the bottom of our hurting hearts.}

Sundays are for...

...baking blueberry muffins...

...wrestling prayer...

...wearing "new"/thrifted jewelry...

...aviators in wavy hair...

...chai with mom in my favorite (local) city...

...shopping at organic healthfood stores...

...trying new gluten free items...

...walking around on the balcony as the sun sets...

...catching up with friends...

...watching a movie with mom...

...pretty envelopes waiting to be mailed on Monday...

...pondering the concept of transformation...

..."Ani Ma'Amin" in the kitchen...
...dabbling with watercolors...
...flickering lantern light...
...days of gratitude...

One Foot

My sneakers pound pavement. It becomes a rhythm, injected with snap, crackle, and pop as  the wet gravel squeaks beneath my feet. 

The only way to move forward is to move forward. Put one foot in front of the other. Pound life's pavement. And you know? It's not easy. 

The blister on the back of my heel is rubbed raw, reminding me of last evening's escape from a soggy outcome. The clouds were black, chasing me, as the clouds rumbled. I wasn't prepared for this. Wore dressy shoes and ended up jogging home on a sprained ankle, big fat droplets of H2O hitting my skin from time to time. 

Sometimes, you just can't be prepared for life. 

Life turns and twists when we least expect. The sidewalk cracks under our feet. Some slabs raise for the sheer purpose of clipping our toes and tumbling us upon the cold earth. Others sink as we lose our footing. You can't be prepared- but you have to keep going. 

In order to move forward, you have to leave something behind. Put one foot in front of the other despite the pain. Leave behind broken dreams and promises. And you know? Sometimes your failures will look like inviting lawn chairs in the cool of the shade, inviting you to chill there. Become complacent. Sit lazily as your soul rots away- because we were made to move forward. 

We can't stay still. Can't sit there and nurse our wounds, can't stay and siesta in the sun. One foot. One foot in front of the other. Again and again....and again. 

If we're not pressing into Yehovah God, then who are we pressing into? Our own selfish desires? 

...

Relentless pursuit of Him. It's what He's calling us to. He's asking us to trust Him to take care of the pain, to bandage the blisters and to stitch up the wounds of our heart and soul. Leave the soulful healing to Him- keep pressing through the discomfort and the stripping away of all that hinders us from running fully to Him. 

Abba, strip it away in me so that my feet run swift and sure to Your Throne. 

A Tied Heart

It happens every time. My heart gets tied. 

I was born and raised in the North. I breathed in industry, metals, rubber, plastics and oil. I drive through smoggy cities and jammed roads. I've grown up walking under the shade of buildings rather than that of trees. 

And I've loved it. It's my life, it's all I've known, it's the familiar. It's where I know I fit in, because it's in my blood. 

My first trip south was a culture shock. 

Life was completely different. The slow pace, the landscape, the houses, the fields, the roads, the people. To be honest, I couldn't wait to return North. I didn't belong in this Southern place where my voice gave my identity away and animosity towards the Civil War still ran strong. The climate was vastly different. The way of life was vastly different. No one could relate to my love of the city. My life was foreign to the South, and their lives foreign to me. 

But time has a way of changing things. 

Expectation is the killer of joy. My expectations of the South can make or break my enjoyment of any trip there, or a trip anywhere else for that matter. I've learned to let go of expectations and accept circumstances for what they are, as either a blessing or a lesson from God. I've learned that people need a few days to forge friendships in the South, unlike our fast-paced relationships of the North. I've grown to love the people with every trip I've taken, and every time I leave, half my heart stays behind. 

So when I packed up this week and headed out for the long trek home, tears came and I didn't want to go. 

Home is where family is.  And these people, these people have become my family and make the South a home for my heart. 

Back home in the North, my heart is still trying to adjust to the life I've always known. Life without the people who have become so dear within such a short amount of time. 

Funny how a vast city can feel so empty. Funny how there was a time when I dreaded to go to the South, and now I'm counting the months, weeks, days, until I'm reunited with people whose hearts are bonded to the same cause as my own. 

We're bonded by faith. By love. By grace. 

That's what makes people family. But the South doesn't have to be the only place that holds the fellowship. The beauty. The community. I have people here- family here- too. 

I've returned North with a vengeance. To reclaim and rebuild and to restore. To do my part to bind us all in unity. It's a lot of work. It's an uphill battle. But the South is not the only place in the world that can hold the love. 

Our hearts are big enough to hold it all, too. 

So while my heart is tied, torn between two places that I cannot be at once, I'm doing my part.... how about you? 

You don't have to catch the ball

I tend to bite off more than I can chew. 

I'm in the midst of putting out a (very late) newsletter, organizing a large girls' ministry event, trying to go over lesson talks and get all my ducks in a row before I host a discipleship internship for young women with my dearest friend. I am so blessed to have people in my life who help me out, help me shoulder the yokes, and take the time to encourage me. They push me and remind me of God's calling on my life whenever I selfishly allow myself to wallow in doubt or fear. They join me in wrestling prayer. They catch sight of the vision I've been given and then offer their talents to help with the work. 

This is my life. It's hectic and it's crazy, but it's the life that I love. Ministry is what I love. Reaching out to people is what I love. Being God's Hands and Feet is what I love. 

But I've got to learn to say no. I don't have to catch every ball that's thrown my way. Sometimes the "good" things keep us from the "best" things.

Dad offered me a job position yesterday that promised steady pay, unlike the sporadic hours I've been working. In the midst of trying to start up my own business, juggle ministry projects, and my current job working for him, I was completely overwhelmed. I knew he needed someone, and I was about to say yes- to bow my neck as another yoke was laid upon my shoulders. Another (big) responsibility clamoring for my time. Spread my minutes even thinner than they already were. 

The good things can keep us from the best things- and I had to say "no". Although the good money would've helped towards my flight out-of-country this fall, the job would prevent me from the best thing- the opportunities to reach out and minister to others, to be who God has called me to be. 

I have to say, saying "no" is painful. 

I don't like disappointing people. I don't like admitting that I can't be Super Woman. I don't like passing up opportunities that have amazing potential. I get frustrated at myself because I can't solve the world's problems, end hunger, stop slavery, and be everywhere at once to meet the needs of everyone. 

But that's where His grace comes in. He's going to finish the good work He's started. 

I just have to take one step at a time. Catch only the balls He's throwing. Choose the best over the good, and let Him walk me through every opportunity that comes my way. 

He never lets go

I heard her panicked gasp. Even from downstairs in the studio, I knew what it meant- it's the same sound mom makes every time she realizes that the door or gate has been left open and one of our animals is on the run. I laid aside my alterations, expecting to go after our old dog (a proven runaway). No, not the dog, she said. The cat- have you seen the cat?

How does one go about finding a small white cat (a proven escape artist) in a big, mean world? 

He couldn't have gone far, dad says. I walk around in the front yard, but see nothing. Breathing a prayer, I go into the back yard and check around the entire perimeter of the fence, assessing which popped boards the little fuzzball could have squeezed under. Our tall wooden privacy fence is backed by our neighbor's metal one. I pull myself up with my arms, high enough to see that our side neighbor's fence is connected with the neighbor's fence behind us- forming a passage. Mr. Kitten couldn't be too far away if he escaped from here. 

I hear voices floating over the fence behind me- one neighbor lady speaking with the other about the lilacs in bloom. I can't see them, the privacy fence towers over me. But the woodpile....I could stand on the woodpile and ask them if they've seen my cat. 

I push aside the awkwardness of just popping tall above a privacy fence and shocking my neighbors. "Um....excuse me?" The neighbor lady looked around, not seeing me. "No, over here. Uh, hi. Didn't mean to frighten you." She looked at me blankly after she spotted me through her flower bush. "Have you seen my white cat?" She thinks for a moment, says she hasn't. But then I look down...

And who is just standing there behind all the foliage, crying when he sees me? 

I have mom stand on the woodpile, talking to him and keeping an eye on him as I run around the block. Three streets later, I entered another neighbor's backyard (who was pulling weeds in her flower beds. Unfortunately I don't think she understood what I was doing, either) and scooped the runaway up in my arms. Safe, he starts to purr. 

It didn't last long. 

Not even two minutes after I rescued him, he started clawing, wanting to be put down and chase the birds again. When I held tighter, he began hissing at me, batting my face. He didn't understand that it was for his own good. I patiently endured his scratching, his hissing, his crying during the entire long walk home. He drew blood through my shirt on my ribs and my arm was treated worse than a scratching post. 

But I never let go. Because I think, isn't this us? 

The Father, He goes after His lost sheep. We're proven escape artists- always wanting to know what's on the other side of the fence. We forget about the safety we're privileged with and wander about in the alluring world. But then- the shadows loom darker and the wind grows colder. Suddenly it's not as fun as we thought it would be. We cry out- and the Father meets us there. Scoops us up in His arms, close to His heart. 

We're relieved- but only for a moment. 

How quickly we forget our misery and long again for the wild life, the adventures and the pleasures that flashed past us. We cry and we whine and we slap His face.

But He never lets go. 

He keeps walking us, enduring us, loving us. It's like the princess book my nieces beg me to read- after the princess has gone out and lived like the world, after she comes shamefaced home, after her father the king opens the door and cleans her up and tucks her in bed, after she sees how her muddy clothing has stained the king's royal robes...the princess whispers, "Never again. Never again will I ever treat him this way."

The king's response? "Yes, my child- it will happen again. And again. And again. But I will always be here when you cry for help, and my arms will always be open."

He's never more than a cry away. 

Hey Girl

Hey Girl. 

Did the words hurt you? I know the feeling. They hurt me, too.  They say sticks and stones break bones and words will never hurt- but they don't just hurt. They crush. Leave you feeling worthless. 

Oh, how I know. Girl, you're not alone. 

They say the truth hurts, but I think it hurts worse when the truth isn't known. Lies are spewed. Your lungs scream for the freeing air of justice. Your back is against the wall and their hands are raised with stones, poised to strike. You never thought they'd do this, did you? Yeah, me neither. Didn't think it would come to this. Forgot that there's wolves in sheep's clothing and that there's tares among the wheat. 

I'm standing here, and I want to scream for justice at the top of my lungs. To silence the accusations. To set free the truth that's captive. To make known the innocent. You've been there, too, yes? You know the feeling. The burning flame. I can sense your heart is beating it, too. 

But take a deep breath. It's all you really can do when your hands are tied behind your back with pointed last words. Breathe with me, please? Lean your head closer to mine so you can hear my whisper. I've got my eyes closed, head tilted to heaven. Girl, this is going to shake your world...listen carefully now: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Soak it in- take your time. It took me a while, too. Do you see the injustice of thorns and spikes piercing the Body of the Son of God? Do you hear the curses, the lies, the accusations, the anger, the falsehoods that are slandering the character of the innocent and sinless Messiah? And after they flog Him and whip Him and mock Him and tear Him and diminish Him to nothing but a sagging package of bones struggling to make that walk with a stake on His back....He begs the Father to forgive them. 

But it's more than that, Girl. It's more. And this may shake your world even more: He opened not His mouth. 

It's called forgiveness. Compassion. Love. Grace. He extends it all to those who persecuted Him. All those who laughed in His face. Slapped His Face. Tore His Face. 

Soak that in, Girl. Try to process it all in. I'm still trying to fully comprehend it, too. When they're spitting their venom at us, and every fiber in our body demands retaliation...He didn't. Therefore, should we? Let them spew away, Girl. It's hard. It's painful. It's hurtful. But don't hold it in. Count yourself worthy- and know that He knows exactly how you're feeling. He's going to bless you. That's a promise. Count on it, Girl- He's going to get you through this with a spiritual strength that cannot be bent, with a testimony that will touch others, and with a new dependance and reliance on Him. He's going to make beauty from the ashes. 

Say it with me, Girl: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Say it out loud. Claim it while they continue to shoot their arrows at you. Those arrows don't pierce as deep now, do they? Compassion is seeping into your sight. You see how they don't understand His grace and forgiveness towards them. You want to reach out your hand in love to them, to try to break the callous hearts, to help them see all that they're missing. You're weeping for them. It's a different ache you're feeling now. 

Forgive them. 

The shackles fall from your wrists with those words. The arrows won't let up, no- but the prison door will swing open.

When It's Time To Stop Waiting // Jump Out Of The Boat

Life is full of waiting. Some self-imposed, some God-imposed. Some things make sense, while others are blurry visions of things to come. Go ahead, raise your hand if you are waiting…

…for a husband…
…for a job…
…for an education…
…for a child…
…for God to work in someone’s life…
…for God to work in your life…
…for enough money to do this or that…
…for more time…
…for more talent…
…for forgiveness…

…I’m sure I haven’t covered all the bases, so add your two cents here: I am waiting for ______________. Fill in the blank. You’re not alone. 

We’re all waiting. 

But when is it time to stop waiting? Stop waiting to live our lives until the perfect love, perfect friend, perfect job, perfect situation transforms our lives? Isn’t it time that we stop pacing back and forth and actually do something? To you young women out there, don’t get me wrong- I’m not saying that you need to go out and find yourself a husband here. I’m not saying that we need to speed up God’s timing. I’m not saying that we should not wait. 

We need to wait. But we also need to live. And sometimes? While we’re waiting for that big moment to present itself…it’s really God’s gentle push saying, “Jump out of the boat.” 

For me? It’s the fear that’s keeping me waiting in the unknown. 

God wants to bring us to the place where our eyes are fixed on Him and Him alone. He wants us to be focused solely on being abandoned to Him. He wants us to do hard things. 
Peter had that opportunity. 
Messiah called him out to the impossible of walking on water, and his fire-zealous heart leaped at the chance. He took the step of faith. He left the boat…but his eyes riveted off of the Master to what if. The waves were there, and what if they took him under? In that moment, there was no longer full abandonment. There was no longer full surrender. 
A quarter was given to the enemy.
It was all that was needed. Soon fear grabbed his heart, pulling him into the deep. It was a downward spiral to the depths of darkness. He knew he was going under, and he cried out for the Master to save him. 
And He did. As soon as the words had left Peter’s lips, He was by his side. 

I’ve always had a strong connection to Peter. I, like Peter, am zealot-hearted. I, like Peter, am bold when my soul feels free- but when the enemy looks me in the eye, I do the unthinkable and cave in to safety. My heart, like Peter’s, beats the Gospel, but my most desperate pleas are “Lord, save me!” and “Give me grace!”. 
Oh, Peter, I think we would’ve been friends…because your acquaintances Fear and What If visit my house, too. I’m pacing the boat, uncertain of the waters, wondering if He’s going to let me sink or stand. 

And I blame it on the “waiting game”. 

I say I’m waiting for more time, for more courage, for more talent, for more provisions. I blame my refusal to jump out of the boat on things I think I don’t have- forgetting that He will give us all that we need. Fear keeps me chained in the shallow end because the thought of doing what He’s asking me to sends me into cardiac arrest. Fear keeps me bound on the solid ground of self because I know that if I do what He’s asking me to, it’s going to make me vulnerable and uncomfortable and scared out of my wits. Fear keeps me enslaved to complacency because if I leap out of the boat, I’m going to get wet. I’m going to struggle. I’m going to thrash. I’m going to take great big gulps of water that flood my lungs and make me feel like I’m drowning…because I completely forget that He’s just a call away. He’s not going to let me drown in the deep end. 

He’s calling me- and you- to leap out of the boat and live. He’s calling us to pick up our swords, look that monster named Fear in the eyes and say, “You will not run my life-no way.”  It’s a daily battle. Being a Believer isn’t a walk in the park or a tea party- it’s a wild roller-coaster and a battlefield. We have to fight our flesh and die to self so that He can live in us. 

He’s asking us to live while we’re waiting for the things He’s asked us to wait for, and asking that we walk by faith and not by sight. Today will never come again- how are we going to make it count for the Kingdom? How are we going to give Him every heartbeat, every quickened breath, every action of our hands and feet and ask Him to make them count for His glory? 

I swing my legs over the side of the boat. I want to be on the water with Him. The boat lurches at the shifting weight, wanting to dump me overboard. My fingernails claw at the wooden rail of the familiar and the safe. Yet, I want to go. I want to. Fear is looking over my shoulder- I can feel his heavy shadow loom. 
But my eyes look to Him. His hands are outstretched. I can barely hear Him whisper over the wind and the waves- the things that scream that I’m foolish, the things that boss me to do something else, the things that yell that I’ll never make it out there. I can barely hear Him, but I can lip-read enough to know. “Trust Me. Your life is now.” 
My toes touch the water and I abandon the ship of self security to live fully on the waves where He’s calling me. 

He's Passed Over // N.E.D.

I've been cleaning for days, trying to uncover any last remaining bits of leaven from this house. But today, it seemed longer than the rest. Passover Eve and still so much to do. I'll be honest, I didn''t do it all as cheerfully as I ought. Something was dragging me down. Chaining me. When life throws so much at you, sometimes you can only function in a fog. 

By now it's past 10:20 at night and I'm bone tired. Exhausted and barely able to keep standing at the computer. But we've been waiting. All evening we've been checking, waiting for my brother to finally tell us what his good news was. Waiting. Waiting. 

I didn't expect much. I know that now, because what he said put me in shock. 

He said the three most beautiful letters in the alphabet. 

N.E.D. 

The three most beautiful letters in the alphabet that I never thought I'd ever hear. N.E.D. No Evidence of Disease. I stand there in shock as mom starts rejoicing in the kitchen at this late hour. Did he just say...? My brain can't comprehend it. The only word it comprehends is HALLELUYAH. 

In that moment, the shackles fall from my ankles. The world rolls off my shoulders. 

My brother's living another day. Amazing how three little letters can change your world. 

I fall asleep with a praise on my lips. In the midst of the night, something disturbs my slumbers. I squint. Why is my room flooded with sunlight? It's 3 in the morning. I groggily pull back a corner of the blind. It's been months since I've seen such a bright moon. But in that moment I remember...

It's Passover. It was under this same bright moon thousands of years ago that Yehovah lead the children of Israel out of bondage. He lit their path, made clear their way. Tonight? He has passed over us, too. 

My mind screams "N.E.D" over and over and over again. If Ryan didn't live clear halfway across this great state, I'd beg him to waltz me around the room. To dance before the Father. No, Ryan is not the firstborn- but the Father has spared his life another day. Passed over. Passover. 

He's leading us out of Egypt. 

Raw Blessings

I started this blog so I could have a place during this cancer journey where my heart could bleed out words- so that it could heal through setting them free. My writings are raw because I tell things the way they are, the way they feel, the way they effect myself and my family. Cancer is not a happy topic- no hardship, illness, or trial is.  You can't sugarcoat heartache or emotions. Because of that, I will not tell you to lighten up through the trials you're facing. I will not tell you that you just need to get over the hurt and pain. However, I will tell you this: you have to wrestle through it- claim Him as your God, no matter what happens. I can tell you that, because I've gone through it. I could list pages of hurts, trials, disappointments, tears, frustration, and then some that this cancer journey has handed me. 

But I could also list pages of blessings. 

I can tell you the blessings of learning to wrestle in prayer, the blessings of treasuring every day as a gift from God, the blessings of loving and serving my family, the blessings of LIFE, the blessings of tears shed together, the blessings of someone's arms around you for comfort, the blessings of the Body of Christ coming together to encourage you and pray with you, the blessings of memories, the blessings of knowing how to help others in the same situation you're going through, the blessings of having nothing left to cling to but His promises, the blessings of a deeper and richer walk with Him as He walks you through the valley...

Sometimes, our biggest blessings...they come through raindrops. Tears. Sleepless nights and fears. The raw heartache. Emotion. 

This woman, she knows. The song "Blessings" was born through her husband's battle with a brain tumor. This song wrestles through all the things we want, the things we view as blessings...but comes to realize that maybe, we've had the wrong definition of blessings all these years. He's showering us with gifts, even through the storms. We just have to choose to see them as such. 

It's a feeling and a knowledge that I cannot describe in words. You'll only experience it when you're the one walking through the valley. I'm not just talking of cancer- we all have our shadows of darkness that we must walk through, whether it be broken relationships, job loss, death, or defeat. It's in those moments when you realize that your relationship with God is not fluff, it's not fancy words, it's not the glamorous blessings of prosperity...

...it's that He's there with you. Carrying you. Causing you to see that He is your all in all- everything you will ever need. Showing you how to cling to His promises. Knowing that even though we're blinded by our human instincts of frustration and anger and doubt, He's standing strong before us- guiding us and lighting our way. 

And that is the greatest blessing of all. 

(let's make this a declaration, shall we? share your raw blessings in a comment below. declare the promises you cling to. no matter who you are, whether i know you or not...we're all on this journey together. so let's praise Him together, yes?) 

Ponder Me This

There's a lot to ponder about in this life.

Some things, they're worth pondering. Others, well, they just aren't. So I ponder myself this:

What's wrong with this Body? 

Why do we have division? Why do we have strife? Do we all need to walk through a cancer journey in order to realize that we only have one life, only one shot to be His love, only one try to show a dying world who He is? Do we all need to sit in the cancer ward with our lives flashing before our eyes or have toxic orange fluid drip into our chests and burn away all the worthless pursuits and meaningless time killers and petty disagreements? 

Do we care more about being right and being on top that we forget that we are called to be children of Peace- to do anything and everything within our power to make peace? And if we're not children of Peace- who's children are we?

It's like Ann recalls- we're looking more like Christ's Estate rather than Christ's Body. We're divided by fences and lines rather than joined together by the sinews and veins. 

So when are we going to put down our signs, cross over the lines, and love like He did? And I'm not talking about the outside world here- it seems we can love them fairly well. We gladly put on smiles and extend hands of love in attempts to build bridges with the lost. But inside this Body? 

We just keep on building fences. 

Have we so quickly forgotten the second greatest commandment? Do we forget that it's LOVE- love that covers over a multitude of sins? That we must first show love to our brother before we can show our love to Him? And if we paused before we eagerly look for the spec of dirt in our brother's eye- we'd see the beams of filth in our own life? 

Is this what Christ died for- so we could all just trample grace and refuse to give it to our hurting brother and keep on building fences? 

It doesn't have to be this way. It shouldn't be this way. 

So what are you going to do about it?

This is our responsibility. It boils down to us individually. What are we going to do to restore unity, to be a healing balm and gracefully begin restoration within the Body? 

Is it an e-mail? An apology? Time spent on your knees in tears, begging the Father to break your heart like this dysfunctional Body breaks His? Is it inviting that person over to dinner, or meeting them for coffee, or writing them a note of grace? Is it a hug? Saying "You're needed in this Body"? A gift? Going out of your way to make sure that person feels loved and needed- regardless of petty doctrinal disagreements? 

How are you going to break the fences and link arms once again with your fellow sisters and brothers? 

(please, go read this post. ann's words ring so true. i had "Holy Spirit Bumps" chill my arms as I read. take it as a challenge- and be the change. do something to bring this Body back to unity. because in the end? it all starts with you and me.)

Hope // Flood Me

"We have this HOPE as an ANCHOR for the SOUL, firm and secure." 

-Hebrews 6:19a- 

It's underlined in purple pen, the silhouette of an anchor penciled next to it. The pages worn, a spot in Hebrews that always falls open without much prompting. A secure hope. A promise of His that binds my soul, like a grappling hook from my heart to His- a way to bring down these promises, a source of constant hope. 

But sometimes? The storm blows, and the anchor starts to tug away from the cleft in the rocky seabed- and my heart bobs at the top, like a buoy tossed helplessly from the controlling wind. 

Hope. 

How can you live without it? What is there to look forward to without it? Why am I trying to live without it?

Hope. 

Ironic that such hope comes from links of metal, a solid weight, something that drags. We picture such things as bondage, as slavery, as children destitute to hopelessness. But these chains? They're a lifeline. Something sure in this storm, something we all must grasp until our knuckles turn white like it's the only thing left. 

Hope. 

When the cancer consumes and we're sitting here not knowing what to do next, when we're left alone and those you thought would stick around have abandoned you, when you've been tossed back and forth by these waves for weeks and months and years, when you're in the midst of all this- it's hard to see a break in the clouds, a glimmer of sunlight...a ray of hope. 

Hope. 

This hope, it's prayer. It's the certainty that Yeshua has entered into the Inner Sanctuary, petitioning on our behalf. It's praying and tossing this anchor into the heavens, praying His kingdom down. 

Hope. 

I struggle with it. The winds of fear blow me until my vision is blurred and my head is swimming. But I must have hope. Hope that the Son will come. He will shine from the Sanctuary, that the Father's mercy is not exhausted- His Hand is not too short to save me. And sometimes- no, all of the times- He's got us in the deep end for our good. To teach us, to grow us, to stretch us. 

Hope. God, flood me to overflowing. 

(hey you- keep clutching the anchor. i know it's tough. i know it's hard. but cling to Him 'cause He's not going anywhere. firm and secure, girl- those are His words to your storm-battered heart)

Please do // Please don't // How to best help cancer families

Please do pray fervently  //  Honestly, this is the most important thing you can do for cancer families. Don't just tell us that you're praying- do it. Take even just ten minutes out of your day for undivided prayer and wrestle in prayer for us. Beg the Father to give us the strength, faith, trust, and courage to go through what we're going through every single day. Ask Him to pour out His mercies on us. Yes, do pray for the miracle- but also pray that we are humble enough to accept His will as good. Pray for our doctors to have wisdom. Pray for us to have wisdom. Pray for you to have wisdom on how to best be an encouragement to us. Ask the Father to reveal to you what you should do and what you should say- and then do it. 

Please don't say these things  //  Don't say you understand what we're going through because your sister-in-law's father's cousin twice removed has a co-worker who had cancer five years ago. It's so not the same as having a brother, a son, a parent, or even a grandparent or other close family members go through cancer.   Don't say that it'll all work out for the good and not to worry about it when we're sitting in the surgery room. We're human. We get scared- it's our loved one under the surgeon's knife and against grim statistics. Don't say that there's always hope when we've just gotten the news that the cancer has taken over the body. We need to face realities, not fantasies. Don't say that our medical choices are wrong. If we choose to do chemo or choose to do natural remedies, it's because that's what we've prayed about and researched about and we don't need to be condemned for it. Words have much power, to hurt and anger others or to give them comfort and encouragement. If you are at a loss for words, tell us "I have no words to say." Sometimes the most comforting thing is hearing you say "I don't know what you're going through- but if there is anything I can do for you, I'm willing to do it." 

Please do respect our emotions  //  Cancer isn't just physically exhausting- it's mentally and emotionally exhausting. If we look tired, then know that now is not the time for a long chat over tea about the latest treatment plan that has been chosen. Know when to give us space, and when we need to be alone with our loved ones who are battling this disease. Don't be offended at this- we want to spend time with you, too, but know when it's time to say goodbye for now. 

Please don't be a prophet  //  We don't know the mind of God. We don't know what His plan is. So don't tell us, "I am already praising God for entire healing." Don't say, "I have the faith that God is going to give you back your loved one completely cancer free." Let's face it- most of these cancer journeys do not lead to complete healings and normal lives. Please be sensitive to that. This is a life and death journey. We cannot demand anything of God. It's hurtful and it can shake our faith when you say things that God has not said. 

Please do reach out  //  Please do drop us a note, comment, e-mail, text, letter, package, phone call, (you name it!), especially if you haven't heard from us in a while or if you know that we're going through another rough spot. We treasure these forms of your support. If the Father has laid something specific on your heart to do, please do it. It's so comforting to know that you're there, that you're thinking of us.  If you aren't sure of how to help, don't be afraid to ask us "What can I do to help you?". Also, take initiative. We can get overwhelmed with so much going on that we can't think of what we really need help with. Be specific. Ask if you can bring us a meal, or if you can watch the kids for a doctor's appointment. 

Please don't shy away  //  Don't be afraid or uncomfortable or overwhelmed or hide in the corner because you don't want to face the problem or don't know what to do or say. We need you. We can feel alone, and we need encouragement. We need your love. We need your support. Really and truly, the best form of comfort is just being there- take the time to sit with us. Don't think that you have to keep a conversation going the whole time. There doesn't need to be a word spoken. Just be there. Be available to be a shoulder that we can cry on, a hug that warms our heart, or even someone who will pray with us when we have no more words of our own.