What Do You Have To Lose?

I just found out I lost another former classmate to suicide. Yes, I said it. Suicide. Because if we truly want to be there for them, we need to be willing to “go there” for them…to the uncomfortably dark places they’re in.

My heart has been breaking a bit today. Not just for the loved ones that are left behind (I’m so sorry) but also for the despair experienced by the one they lost. Because I’m acquainted with the kind of pain that makes you resent a sunrise, loathe your next breath, I can’t help but wonder if they knew the only One that can meet you in despair, and pull you through. Yes, this is where I’m going to talk about Jesus. The only topic more taboo, I think, than suicide.

Every grieving loved one left in the aftermath of suicide knows, you can’t be with them every moment.

I’ll say it again, because if you’re grieving their loss, you’ll be doubting and agonizing over that statement.

You couldn’t be there. You couldn’t have know exactly when that moment of hopelessness would come. We don’t have that kind of control, though we wish we did.

So for those currently in despair…this is your HOPE.

Jesus can save you here just as He does for eternity. I know, because in despair is where I experienced the LIVING God, as close as that next dreaded breath.

Just as any of your loved ones would tell you, you are absolutely welcome to call me, text me, reach out to me, and I will love you as best as I know how. But unlike some others, I’ll tell you honestly that I’m also very aware I’m not enough. At some point I know you will be alone when that despair crawls in and settles so heavy on you that you can’t breathe, a darkness so pervasive, you can’t see clearly the painful destruction you’ll leave behind. When all you can see and feel is agonizing pain.

So, I implore you. Set aside whether you recognize your need for a Savior. Set aside your belief of the existence of heaven and hell. Set aside any past hurts from religion or the church. You need not even share your weakness with anyone else!! But, please, give Him a try. In the privacy of your own home, PRAY. As if your life depends upon it. Because. It. Does. Ask, seek, knock. Storm the gates of heaven with your cries for help. Grab hold of His robe and DO NOT let go until He reveals His face to you. He will not disappoint. You will not regret it. What have you got to lose if I’m wrong?

And what have you to gain if I’m not? Relief? True joy? The assurance that you’re NEVER alone? Fully and truly loved?

Twice Saved

I met her twenty years ago, before either of us had met Jesus. Back then she sat in her recliner opposite the matching one her husband occupied, wearing what I would come to recognize as her typical uniform of worn out flannel and faded sweatpants. Hair cropped short and not a stitch of artificial color on it, or her face, she sported twenty year old glasses and a deep, rough, smokers laugh as she told stories of hunting and “mudding” and cleaning fish with her bare teeth. Okay, I made up the last part about her teeth, but she definitely cleaned her own fish, along with anyone else’s. She was “butch” before being butch was cool. She fascinated and scared me in equal measures…and I was dating her son.

Over the next several years, we’d shop together, eat together, smoke together and laugh together. Turned out she wasn’t as scary as she seemed and neither was her son. I married him and gained her.

She liked to tease that she liked me better than him and that there were no refunds, he was mine for good. But she’d prove over and over again that she loved us both the same. She called me her daughter, and he was still her son. She’ll always be my Mom.

We built our home, and our family, right next door to this lady with the men’s size 10 feet. And those feet would regularly make the trek between the houses for awhile. Three grandkids would soften and delight that rough around the edges lady in ways I hadn’t seen coming. They’d light up her face and dull her colorful vocabulary.

Until those work damaged arms screamed loud for pain meds. And the doctors gave them.

And then gave more.

Until that hard working, hard loving, hard living Mom stayed put in that worn out recliner for years. Barely recognizable, she stopped working, stopped loving and stopped living. Sometimes only awake for a few hours a day.

We thought we lost her for good then. That generous lady that sent diaper coupons to distant nieces and nephews starting their own families, dozens of bottles of baby soap and lotion to the ones that were close, paper plates and napkins for every family get together and cards to everyone for every occasion.

Then, just when we were grieving our own personal tragedy…she met Jesus.

Now, when a person taking enough oxycontin to bring down a horse tells you they’ve been talking to Jesus, you don’t take them too serious like. You start believing that this is about to be another personal tragedy. And you start crying out to your own personal Jesus (the One that tends to speak to you through His Word, in your prayer closet, not in the flesh) for some relief.

That’s when it happened. It turned out her Jesus and our Jesus were the same and He told her to dump out her pain medication, that she didn’t need it anymore. So she did.

Because Jesus can reach you even in a drug induced fog and when He tells you to do something….you do it.

Twenty years of narcotic use fell away like as many chains, gone as quickly as those pills skittered and slid to the bottom of the garbage can. And those doctors that gave them to her? Kept her for three days to witness a miracle by the Great Physician. No withdrawal, no pain. Until they finally said they had no reason to keep her and no medical explanation for what just took place.

Her miracle wasn’t without some consequences though. Twenty years of increased doses did some damage to both brain and body but for the next two years she learned to live and love hard again and we enjoyed every minute of learning to live with, and love her, back.

She played BINGO, returned to competitive shooting, watched middle school orchestra concerts and elementary school programs. She went to movies, the town fair (complete with kiddie rides), filled grandkids full of junk food and ice cream, and even learned how to use a debit card. She laughed, and played, and even though she might not have had the capacity to read and study the Bible, I absolutely believe she knew and trusted Jesus as her Lord and Savior.

In fact, she’d tell you He saved her twice.

Today, my greedy, selfish, heart is a little disappointed it doesn’t appear that He’s going to save her a third.

I’m grieving the pending loss of our Mom and Grammy from this world while trying to remember to be grateful for the gift she was. Trying to thank Him for giving her back to us once, long enough to soak up her silly personality and sweet generosity at a time we desperately needed both.

Praising a loving Savior powerful enough to save us from both the grave, and the chains that bind us here.

Rejoicing in the knowledge that no matter what, we will meet again, in heaven.

Surgery and Procedures: A Guide For Caregivers

There are oodles of articles, brochures and pamphlets on how to prepare a child for surgery or procedures. I know, I’ve had the pleasure of reading many of them. They’re extremely helpful. What I’ve found over the last few years though, is that they’re not extremely helpful in preparing the adult that is accompanying and caring for the child. So, as we’re headed in for a procedure today, I thought I’d provide my own list of things I’ve found the most useful to know as the caregiver accompanying a small person for what can be a very stressful time.

What To Bring

The hospital should have what’s called a “Child Life Specialist”, or something similar to keep your child entertained during the endless waiting and to lessen their anxiety with activities and electronics. You’ll likely have your hands full doing the same. But, once they’re wheeled in, you will find yourself with plenty of time on your worrying hands.

First, bring your people. Family, friends that are family, church family, whatever. Bring a person that can run for food if you need it, grab some tissue if you need it, enable you to run outside for some fresh air and most importantly, distract you when the hands on the clock don’t seem to move. These people should also ideally be positive, easy going and good at waiting. This goes for a hospital stay if you have one afterwards too! If you’re looking at an extended stay, come up with a schedule ahead of time. I’d really recommend this if you have a large number of people so that both you and your child are well supported, but not overwhelmed.

Bring easy brain activities. I wouldn’t recommend any difficult novels, studying, or important work you can’t make mistakes on. I’ve often wished I knew how to knit. I think that would be a perfect waiting room activity. My personal recommendations are adult coloring books, your Bible, and conversation.

I’d highly recommend dressing in comfy layers. Temperature often varies drastically by the room you’re in and no matter the procedure or surgery you’re waiting on, it’s going to be a long day.

Bring a cell phone charger and let family and friends know ahead of time you may not be able to update at regular intervals. Depending on where you are in the hospital will depend on what kind of cell phone service you have.

On Your Way

On your way to the hospital, allow extra time to stop for your favorite coffee/ tea/ beverage and several snacks. For you. Since your little one likely can’t eat anything, you’ll feel bad consuming a large breakfast in front of them.

Or, if you’re like my husband, maybe you won’t.

But, either way, there are usually few decent food options in the waiting room, if any, and you may not want to make a run for food for fear of missing an update. Also, a muffin from the grocery store is far cheaper than the $5 dry and tasteless muffin wrapped in cellophane you’ll likely get at the hospital.

While You Wait

Once they’ve been wheeled away from you and you’ve said your very brave goodbye, you will get to experience the phenomenon of “hospital time”. The clock that, at times, flies by or stands completely still.

Now is when you want to take any opportunity to eat, drink, and use the restroom. I would advise against too much of the waiting room coffee, however. I still don’t understand why they provide every poor quality diuretic known to man. Not only does the caffeine not help anxiety, but about ten minutes into waiting I’m already too worried about missing an update to use the bathroom. And the only thing worse than anxiously waiting to hear how things are going, is anxiously waiting while simultaneously holding a full bladder.

This is the point I’m currently at. Doing my “busy” stuff, having a snack and trying not to watch the clock. Whatever you do, sit somewhere you can’t see a clock.

Sometimes, depending on the hospital, you’re back in the waiting room and sometimes you’re waiting in the pre-op room. I actually prefer the waiting room, if you have an option.

Here’s why. Look around you. Nothing helps distract you like connecting with other families in a similar situation. One of my best waiting room experiences was an all day affair during which two of my children were having surgery at the same time. Why? Because while I was waiting I was able to talk to another brave, waiting momma. This sweet lady was several states from home, by herself, with a medically complex kiddo while Dad was at home caring for their other young child. She’d been staying at a hotel for a week to have access to specialists, testing and surgery not available where they live. Things practically in my backyard that this particular anxious momma can forget to be grateful for.

Finally, try not to panic about time frames. You are literally at the mercy of the schedules of dozens of medical personnel. It rarely goes according to the schedule you’re given. If you’re worried, never be afraid to ask someone. They’re used to soothing worried parents, especially in a children’s hospital.

Do you have any helpful advice you’d add for caregivers? Please comment with it below!

Know a caregiver concerned about an upcoming procedure or surgery? Feel free to share!

Do you have a procedure or surgery coming up for a loved one that you’d like prayer for? I’d be happy to pray for you.

Seasons

I stepped outside last week and smelled it. That “fall is coming” smell. Even though it was 80° and humid I could still make out the crisp, wet, smell of decay in the slight breeze. This makes some people excited. They start posting on Facebook about sweatshirts and bonfires and pumpkin flavored everything. Usually paired with pictures of pretty leaves. Other people, like Hubby and Mini Hubby look forward to the first frost with eager anticipation to put an end to their allergy induced misery. I am not either of these people.

I hate fall. I know, some of you probably just cringed and gripped your pumpkin latte a little tighter. Bear with me. I’ve really tried to like fall. I have! I’ve tried to embrace the changing leaves but in the Midwest, this is a VERY short window. I’ve baked a gazillion apple pies. I even tried buying some mums. But alas, to me, fall is simply change.

You may remember that I am not a fan of change. Nope. Predictability, sameness and boring. That’s me. So, I do not look forward to daylight that ends at 4 in the afternoon. I don’t look forward to adding twenty minutes to my morning bundling children, heating up the van and looking for the dreaded missing glove. I don’t enjoy the look of bare trees and dead plants. I want sunshine and color.

I like summer. No bulky coats and flip flops every day. I like long days outside in the fresh air, fresh fruits and veggies at every roadside stand, late mornings and later nights. With my kids.

Ahhh… here is part of my hang up this year. I am especially distraught this fall because my last baby is leaving the house for kindergarten. Mini Hubby has been looking forward to it for months. His backpack has been packed, hanging on it’s hook, for a month. His lunch box has been put on the counter at least once a week in preparation. He’s very excited to be heading to school like the big kids. His momma is not.

Seasons.

It’s been fifteen years for me. I have thoroughly enjoyed this season. And, like summer, I don’t want it to end. I don’t want fall. I don’t want my babies to go to school. What I want, is for them to be little forever. I love snuggling babies, sitting in a rocking chair all day and folding tiny socks. I love chasing toddlers with chubby feet, sticky hands and belly laughs. I love playdates and coffee dates. I love baking and cooking family favorites and volunteering in classrooms and on field trips. I love being able to serve my family and my church family in as many ways as my schedule allows. I also kind of like yoga pants and ponytails and worshipping barefoot in my kitchen.

But I’m done with these things. You see, I’ve got a job. Now, don’t freak out, my stay at home mommas, I am certainly not implying you don’t have a job. Remember, I think it’s the best job. But, I’m starting an actual paying job. And it’s a good one, I think. I will be working in the special education department of our High School. So, really, I’ll be even closer to Oldest Son and right across the street from Mini Hubby. Technically, closer to them than I’d be if I was at home. This job has many good things about it. The type of work (really, I’m so excited to meet these kids!), the same schedule as my babies, and maybe the added bonus of keeping close to them during some really tough years. Not to mention a second paycheck for when a car breaks down. It’s going to be good.

Really.

As soon as I get past this grieving over ending seasons.

There are a few things I need to work out. Like, how does one serve God faithfully in a secular position?

I’ve kind of enjoyed singing and dancing and reading and praying through my hard days. How do I do that now? I feel like that might turn some heads at the High School.

Why is it that the first child out the door clings to your leg in tears and the last one practically runs out on his own?

How do I serve my family well when so much of my time will be poured into other people?

How can I possibly love this next season as much as I’ve loved this last one? Will I ever?

This is the part that has had me crying at the drop of a hat this last week. Well, that and probably some hormones and a decided lack of chocolate due to this elimination diet I’ve been on over a month. But those are different blogs altogether.

So many questions, so many unknowns, so many feelings. This last week I have almost constantly reminded myself that God Is faithful, He knows exactly where I’m supposed to be, and He’s got me during this season, just as the last. But, if you’ve made a similar transition, if you’ve struggled through a changing season yourself, feel free to leave me some encouraging comments and/or reminders of Truth! I’d appreciate it!

UPDATED: Approximately four hours after publishing this post, I was curled up in my closet. You know, trying to work through some of these questions. I was listening to YouTube when this song came on immediately after praying for peace with our changing seasons. I’ve never even heard this song before. I can’t even make this stuff up if I tried. Listen!

New Things

I was at a friend’s house this week in the historic part of our little Midwest town. As we caught up over the sound of squealing and under the sound of small elephants racing above our heads, I smiled wide at the memories our kids were making upstairs and the conversation we were having downstairs.

I will admit to being slightly distracted though. Not by the cacophony above our heads, but by the fact that it took a minute to distinguish exactly where each noise was originating from. You see, this house is a plethora of old wood floors, charmingly squeaky and winding staircases, clever little nooks and lots of original cabinetry disguised as furniture. I love it even more for it’s scarcity. One of the things I miss the most about New England is it’s history. The way nothing is torn down, but made new. How old homes change with each new owner. Everything here is new construction. And though I love our own home here, it has not yet achieved the character that this one has.

I’m falling a bit in love with it’s noises when I remember another favorite house of mine. My grandparent’s house when I was growing up. Oh, the sweet memories of racing around that house with little cousins! Laughter bouncing off walls as we bounced down the “hidden” staircase. Screaming scared at having to retrieve something next to that old boiler. The endless circles as we raced and explored every crooked inch of that house. Every corner a hidden treasure.

I think what I love the most is how these old houses have morphed, changed, grown and adapted to their occupants. A wall here, new shelves or flooring there, they evolve with the families they hold.

And over time, as their contents grow, they often do too. An extra room for an extra child. Maybe a garage when Dad’s paycheck grows too. Eventually, they’ll burst at the seams with big kids, big personalities and big future dreams.

And just like a new birth, just when there’s no more room in there, they send forth bright, shiny new (hopefully) adults.

And….now I’m all misty. Forgive me while I have a mom moment. There were lots of big “firsts” in my house this week. Loss of last baby tooth, loss of first baby tooth, etc. Also, I may have just fully comprehended that I am sending Oldest Son to High School.

I’m also sending Baby Girl to Middle School.

And as if that’s not enough for one poor mother to handle…Mini Hubby is starting Kindergarten.

Feel free to send me Kleenex.

And waterproof mascara.

So, I’m waxing nostalgic and thinking of how quickly this time thing goes. About big, old houses giving birth to new generations. Yup, sappy. Maybe more like a brand new car off the assembly line? Except each one completely unique. Boasting a sticker, Hand Crafted, Handle With Care, or maybe, Organic (If you’re considering smell).

Yes, I’m a tad emotional this week. I’m also worrying about our house. About what it will look like someday. And are we making the right choices to ensure the best outcome and best possibility for our kids to be fully independent someday? We have a lot of unknowns. But I’m also grateful. Because as I’m tempted to worry about the future of my own little unique creations, I am reminded that they bear another sticker, SOLD.

They don’t belong to me. They have a Father who loves them more than I’m capable of loving. One who knows exactly what’s best for them and is with them even when I can’t be (like in kindergarten, middle school or high school). They’ve been paid in full. And the cost that was paid for them was phenomenal! You don’t make that kind of investment and then not take care of it. Whenever they leave this nest, I know they’re in good hands.

Buying Into Busy

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I pulled into our local big box store’s parking lot and being a creature of habit, pulled into our usual spot. Also as usual, the begging for junk food and toys started hardly before I’d put my beloved minivan in park. This time though, I was distracted by “the smell”. If you were ever a teenager with no money, you know the one. That hot, greasy, mechanical smell that indicates (far more reliably than those lights on the dashboard) something expensive is wrong underneath the hood. If you’re like me, and you smell it while driving, you hope that it’s the guy in front of you. But if it’s still there when you’ve parked, you know you’re in trouble.

I was in trouble.

I sent a quick text to Hubby to break the news. Then, an SOS to Auntie Mamie in case I wasn’t able to go pick up Oldest Son. Whom we had just dropped off at tennis practice. And in that three minute timespan my other two darling offspring decided this was an opportune time to fight over spilled water. It’s almost as if they can smell my nerves fray as strongly as “the smell” coming from the van. I hustle them out of the van, past the Expect More, Pay Less sign, and into the air conditioned entry so they can argue over who is going to clean the germ infested handle of the cart. Really, have they no sense of self preservation at all?!

Considering our property taxes are due the end of the month, Hubby has a bad tooth and no more dental for the year, the dog needs a trip to the vet, and my van has “the smell”, I am now seriously counting on this store to live up to it’s pay less promise. Herding (now wet) cats through the store and trying to remember my grocery list, I’m also texting with Hubby and Auntie Mamie about the van. In light of the impending cost of repairs, I’m mentally crossing off batteries for the Xbox controller as I make plans for Auntie Mamie to follow me home and promise Hubby I will do no further driving. He’ll stop on his way home for parts and we will have to postpone our fishing trip with grandpa.

I’m distracted by the fact that no matter how I rearrange my plan, there is just not enough time, or money, in this day. But still I’m trying to squeeze a few more minutes and a few more dollars for what they’re worth as I squeeze more into my cart. And almost walk, distracted, by a sister. As we talk, I’m reminded of meals I’m getting ingredients to make. And the sweet lady that needs them. I share the request for prayer for that family and possible needs they may have in the future. In those five minutes of conversation, God purposefully drew my gaze from me. And toward Him. Away from my texts, away from my shopping list, away from my undone chores at home, my schedule Tetris, and away from my bank account.

How easy it is to fill my cart, fill my life, with anything but Him! And isn’t that exactly what the enemy would have me do? Fill my every moment, my every thought with something else?

If time is money, where am I spending my time? What am I spending it on?

Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

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What am I buying with my time?

I look into my cart and I realize I’m too often buying busy. I’m buying distraction. I’m buying into probably the biggest lie of our age. I don’t need more time. I need less “stuff” to fill it.

This road we’re on the last couple of years has taught us so much. When you walk through the fire, God has this way of burning off a lot of the excess. Out of necessity mostly, we’ve purged not only a lot of “stuff” as far as possessions, but a lot of “stuff” that took up our time. The result being we have less “stuff” to take care of, to spend time on. And, we’ve been trying to be very purposeful in stewarding our time as well. Limiting kids’ activities, electronic time for all of us, and saying “no” more often to things so we can invest our time wisely. (The learning to say “no”, even to good things, to say “yes” to better things, always reminds me of Jesus leaving the multitude to pray.) Turns out though, that this learning and adjusting is apparently a continuous process? Sigh.

Finally in the check out lane I pry Mini Hubby’s hands from the totally fascinating toy he has to have but would forget about by the time we got home and get an email from another box store telling me the things I need to get because I “deserve them”. This is when I may have asked Baby Girl to go put back the box of Peanut M&M’s I may have impulsively grabbed to make me feel better about “the smell” on the way home. (You know, because I deserved chocolate.)

I’m much less frazzled on my way home with Auntie Mamie tailing us to make sure we get there and the post tennis, smelly, teenage boy in her vehicle, not mine. The kids get to work unloading groceries and unorganizing my pantry while I talk with a friend about her latest trial and make plans to have coffee and talk in person. I take a break to video tape Mini Hubby’s latest Imaginext superhero adventure so he can watch it when he’s done and then promise to listen to Oldest Son’s latest favorite song after he’s done showering. Lunch and a nap for Mini Hubby leaves me with a little Minecraft time with Baby Girl before spending some time in prayer.

My van is still in need of repair, Hubby’s tooth still hurts, the dog hasn’t gone to the vet, we still have to cancel fishing plans, my chores aren’t done, but somehow I feel like I’ve made the right investments for the day?

Trying not to buy into “busy”. Jesus, help me!

Treasures-in-Heaven

Hand In Hand

Twenty years ago our paths intersected somewhere the other side of Early Adulthood and there was something attractive in the easy, confident, way you walked. Even if I left a safe, observable distance between us for a bit. Eventually though, your persistence closed the gap and we stepped out together hand in hand for the first time. Hearts and fingers tentatively entwined and overlapping. Questioning, sideways glances through lowered lashes revealed a contrast of broad, safe shoulders, thick, strong forearms, but genuine, kind blue eyes and gentle smile. Always smiling. How does a girl resist a combination like that? A girl whose road up until that point had been a little dangerous and lonely?

We continued into a new territory, Together, me and you. Though I’ll admit my focus was most often on you, I was quite amazed at all the new things I could see. With you beside me. Shadows weren’t so long or menacing and you taught me to jump over puddles and sidestep hazards, smiling all the way. Before I knew it, I had almost stopped looking back over my shoulder and was learning to live facing forward.

This next leg of our journey, though, brought us into Commitment and required a quick jump over a broom. Youth shiny new and dressed in finery we glowed and holding hands, made the leap and the promise to stay the course together, forever.

Then, holding our forever hands with new joy and confidence we continued on. The whole world seemed to open up, spacious, in front of us. Oh, how beautiful those days were! The way the sun shone on Possibility in the distance and all sorts of lovely trails appeared as we checked the map. We spent hours wandering along the way, discussing and deciding which one to choose. There were a couple of rough patches (much easier to navigate together) in the beginning then, but nothing that slowed our progress.

Feeling like we could conquer, together, any path we chose, we went for what appeared the most challenging. We took a deep breath and passed the sign welcoming us to Parenthood. Things sure speed up a lot then. Sometimes I wondered why there wasn’t a better description on the map, or more warning signs at the entrance, for it sometimes felt like we’d picked the diamond run as amateurs. But for the most part, we navigated all of the obstacles “Dirty Diaper Ditch”, “Pacifier Pass”, “Sleepless Slide” and several “Trust Falls” together. The going was tough, but the rewards were great and we emerged on the other end with three precious people we’d been entrusted with for the rest of our journey. They’re loud, expensive and exhausting but we found they definitely make the trip more beautiful.

Checking our map again, we realized our choice to visit Parenthood limited our next steps briefly and the terrain looked slightly more winding and definitely slower going (as we’d come out with more baggage than we’d thought). Given our three extra hands to hold, we decided to stay awhile next to Family Forge and focused on raising up and providing for our pack of five. We settled in and made plans for “after”. For when they finished school, chose paths of their own and found someone to travel with. We worked, saved, spent, planned and enjoyed the time and things we amassed here.

Looking out across the hills one day we watched storms gather menacing in the distance. We’d been relatively protected from extreme conditions in that forge but as soon as I saw that horizon turn purple, the little hairs on my arms stood up and I glanced at you scared, waiting.

Giving my hand a quick squeeze, you didn’t smile, but turned away and set to work. This time though, the broad shoulders and work rough hands were no match for the approaching storm. We sold what we could, searched high and low for shelter, to no avail. As the forge flooded and filled we held on to each other for dear life and even though we still had each other, we were tossed so violently to and fro we could barely keep our heads above water. Terrified, my foot brushed up soft against an Anchor. I’d picked it up a few years before, had moved it into our home and had been studying it when time allowed as it seemed to lend a constant, quiet comfort. That moment though, it seemed to come alive and hold me fast. The storm didn’t cease it’s battering, but held firm by the Anchor I was able to once again grab your hand and those of the children.

The waters receded, we caught our breath, but we’d be forever changed. You kept on moving, working, fixing, taking on anything you could to restore what we’d had, to forget about the change of the landscape as if by sheer force of will you could move the mountains that had shifted directly onto our path. We often held hands in the quiet, without words. You with the weight of us on your shoulders and me with my gaze on those mountains. Exhausted, we had no idea what to do or which way to go next. Gone seemed our confidence and definitely our joy.

But during the clean up. Sifting through the debris, I kept resting on the Anchor. The workload for the days seemed unchanged, the mountains remained immovable, the horizon still tinged grey, but there was always the promises of the Anchor to hold me fast. In those promises I found the joy I thought carried away. And it remained, regardless of circumstances.

I’ll never forget the day you tripped on that Anchor. The way you wrestled with it for days.

You didn’t need the Anchor.

It was enough that it was in our house…right?

But that load you were carrying left you too worn out to fight it for any longer. Led to the Word to study the Anchor of our souls, the Creator of our mountains immovable and the love of our Savior, you invited Him in. Into your heart, into our home and into our marriage.

We’re working our way now, hand in hand, following Christ, around our mountains. Sometimes hand in hand is through tears. Sometimes it’s through laughter. But still together. Always thankful. Because now we both know our final destination (even if we don’t know what will happen in between), that we’re never alone, and our God is bigger than any mountain we come up against.

A couple weeks ago you insisted we jump over that broom hand in hand again. Renewing former promises and making a few more that are meant to last the rest of our journey together and acknowledging the source of the love that has, and will continue, to sustain us along the way.

Blessed to make this journey hand in hand, with you, Hubby.