Truth

Carol’s Song

/ bobbiblanchard / 2 Comments

Tucked into some trees at the edge of a lake is where I found her. Well, first I found her in the yellow pages. Yes, back when there was an actual paper book and there were no maps, photos of facilities, or reviews to help you make your decision. Nope, my hope was simply that I’d find the “right” place when I really didn’t know What I was looking for.

I can still remember following the instructions for parking and the ramp to the side door. Still smell the warm pine trees, hear the skittering of birds in the trees and tiny critters in the leaves and hear my lone footfalls on the wooden ramp. Still remember my nervousness opening the temperamental door (that needed an extra nudge in the summer and sometimes didn’t close all the way in winter) and finding my way to the waiting room. And sitting on the loveseat, filling out paperwork, getting my first glimpse of Carol.

I would later wonder how someone so small in stature would come to be one of the most powerful humans I know. But at that time, I was comforted by my first impressions. Soft spoken with even softer eyes, I was reasonably certain she was someone I could talk to. You know, just long enough to sort out this anxiety that didn’t make sense.

And over the next few years, she would. Help me sort it, that is. She’d gently walk with me through childhood trauma, help me manage hard parental relationships and start changing generations of unhealthy thoughts and behaviors by teaching me how to parent my own littles and love my husband well. And all the while there was a Song in that room. Most of the time it was a consistent undercurrent, radiating from that small, gentle woman in the rocking chair. But every once in awhile it would peak and reverberate off the walls in a more audible question, or an observation.

Have you ever stopped and prayed when you feel overwhelmed like that?

When I’m thinking about the big questions in life, sometimes I find those answers at church. Have you ever been?

I know when I was a young mom, I really needed relationships with other young moms. It can be isolating spending all your time with young children. Sometimes they’ve got mom groups at the local churches. Have you tried one?

And the Song would tug at my heart and my thoughts until I did go to a church and ask the big questions. And got big answers. And I realized, a carol is a song.

And MY Carol is a Song.

Or rather, possesses and reflects, the Song of Christ. That gentle calm that attracted, comforted, enveloped and walked alongside of me? It was the promised Comforter the whole time. And later, that same Song would be positively fierce in protecting me. Fighting for me. And loving me through some of the darkest, most painful moments of my life. Christ in that tiny woman would make her powerful enough to help lift me bodily out of some of the deepest depths of despair.

I remember reading John 14:16 and believing Jesus when He said that the promised Counselor (or in other translations, Comforter) would be better for me; but sometimes still wondering how it was better for me than if He was still with us bodily and not in Spirit. It was much later when I would realize that it would be through that Counselor, in my counselor, that would testify to the same Spirit within me and bring me comfort that would surpass worldly understanding or expectations. And help me know Jesus in a way I couldn’t have had He not been in me, always.

John 14:16

16 And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Counselor[a] to be with you forever.17 He is the Spirit of truth. The world is unable to receive him because it doesn’t see him or know him. But you do know him, because he remains with you and will be[b] in you.

And now, the Song is familiar, but no less attractive, no less powerful, and definitely no less comforting. And I still hear it in every conversation with my Carol. The in dwelling Spirit that constantly, sweetly, and faithfully points me to Christ.

Ephesians 3:20

20 Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us

But here’s the crazy thing. I didn’t ask. I didn’t imagine.

I didn’t even KNOW to ask or imagine. I simply dialed a phone number, found in the antiquated yellow pages.

And God still gave me a carol. Wooed me with a Song. And through that Carol, gave me more than I could have asked for or imagined. He gave me a spiritual mother that has often doubled as a physical mother to not only grow and encourage me and my faith, but helped to grow and nurture the faith of my family. He gave me a safe place to learn to trust, so that I could learn to trust my Father. He gave me someone to laugh with, cry with and always point me to Him. He gave me a treasure I will forever thank Him for. Because through my Carol, His Song, He has not only richly and generously blessed me, but He has fostered a legacy of faith in my family. In Hubby and my not so littles.

I can only pray that one day, I might reflect even a fraction of the Christ I’ve seen in her over the years.

That on occasion, those with me might hear an echo of the Song of Carol. For many years to come.

2 Corinthians 2:15-17

15 For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, 16 to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? 17 For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ.

You unravel me, with a melody.

You surround me with a song.

Do you trust Me?

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

Outside my room family life goes on as evidenced by the scuffling of two dogs, the clanging of dishes in the sink and the musical notes signifying the end of a wash cycle. But inside, the fan whirs and a sliver of light slashes across the comforter through closed shades where we lay trying to find the calm and quiet. Her head in my lap, my hands in her hair.

I whisper soft words as her whole body trembles and her breath comes fast and choppy. Almost as fast as the tears sliding down her face. I hold her in my arms as I’ve done since they handed all 6lbs 4ozs of her to me. And like too many times in her sweet little life, I can’t make it stop. So I just keep holding her body while it lies to her, stuck in fight or flight mode, and whispering truth to her heart while her mind tries to convince her that her body is right.

“Take deep breaths. There you go.”

And I do it with her because I need them too.

I rub her back and feel her breath hitch as she fights for control.

And I bite my tongue to keep from crying myself.

“You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is okay.”

“But it’s not.” She says. “It doesn’t feel like it. I don’t understand things. People get mad at me. I make too many mistakes. I need too much. No one stays.”

“You are doing just fine. You are loved exactly as you are. You don’t need too much. I stay. Jesus stays.”

But I’m also entering fight or flight mode because I don’t understand this. Oh, the panic I’ve experienced, but the panic that is a result of mixed up genes and mangled myelin and messy hormones? This I don’t understand and I don’t know what more to do to fix it. We’ve tried all the oils, done all the therapies, taken the walks, ordered the weighted blankets, breathed really deep, talked all the talks, tried the meds, and PRAYED. SO much.

And now I’m the one that is convinced I’m not okay. That I keep making all the mistakes. That I need too much in order to help this girl. So I pray some more. For more help. More wisdom. More ideas. And I ask Him to stay. Because I feel far from okay.

Then, there’s another wave of fear and tears and I pull her closer and whisper, “Do you trust me?” and there is a muffled nod with more than a little snot rubbed into my shirt.

“Do you trust me when I tell you that you’re okay? Do you trust me enough to tell your feelings that they’re wrong, that everything is going to be okay?”

And for just a second I can see it…….

My Father bending over me, bending over her, saying, “Do you trust Me when I tell you that you’re okay? Do you trust Me enough to tell your feelings that they’re wrong, that everything is going to be okay?” And I breathe deeply in unison with Baby Girl and we hold each other as our bodies relax and our heartbeats slow and I praise the One that stays.

I can’t understand it. I can’t fix it. I’m not enough. But I know the One who does understand. I know the One who can fix it. And I know the One who is enough. For both of us.

So we’ll keep trying to figure it out. We’ll keep trying the things. We’ll keep making the mistakes. We’ll keep praying. And we’ll keep trusting the One who holds us. Even when our feelings and bodies tell us differently.

Do Not Be Deceived….

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment
No.
Uh uh.
Just stop.

There are few lies out there that get me more hot under the collar than this one. There is certainly no shortage of twisted scripture, verses taken out of context or outright lies out there. In fact, it took me only a couple of seconds to find this garbage, and hundreds more like them, in the dump of social media. However, this particular lie has hurt me and so many I love. Just look at the natural progression of thoughts…

He doesn’t. He knows our every weakness and knows that we are only dust.
Oh, beloved, He knows.
He knows, and it’s okay.

What could be more discouraging than knowing, without a doubt, that you can’t handle something and being told you are wrong?

If this is true, what is wrong with me that I can’t handle this thing?

If this is true, what is wrong with God that He doesn’t know my limit?

I am convinced this particular lie originates in the pit with the sole intention of driving us to despair. Hoping to convince us to give up. On ourselves and our God. And like most lies, there is usually a small measure of truth. And that’s where I think this one is dangerous. Here is where this Truth was twisted. 1 Corinthians 10:13 says, “No temptation” — or test, since it is the same word in Greek — “has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted [tested] beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” The key part of this verse is left out of all the “inspirational quotes”. HE will also provide the way of escape! By His grace, His mercy, HIS POWER, HE will enable you to endure it! NOT your own strength! What a relief that this burden, whatever it is, does not fall on me alone! What freedom in knowing I can fall to pieces on occasion because I know my God has it! What peace in the assurance that my all knowing, all powerful, all loving God will enable me to endure through this thing!

No pulling up of bootstraps, no putting on my big girl panties or acquiring the stiff upper lip (whatever that is)! Thank God!

So, what do we remind ourselves when we have reached our limit? What do we tell the friend that has lost the child, the beloved parent, the spouse to adultery, the health to cancer, the house to financial hardship, the family and friends to addiction, etc.? We tell them the Truth and light up the dark places and we tear down the lies threatening their peace that surpasses circumstances.

  • God does not give you more than you can handle WITH HIM. And if you are in Christ, you are NEVER without Him.
    • Matthew 28:20 “teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
    • Psalms 139:7 Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?
    • Psalms 145:18 The LORD is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.
    • Hebrews 13:5 … God has said, “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”
    • Joshua 1:9 “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”
    • Isiah 41:10 “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
    • We could do this all day…. But you get the idea.
  • God DOES give us more than we can handle. Even the Apostle Paul assured us he was given more than he could handle. None of us are immune. As stated in our original verse in 1 Corinthians 10:13, trials are, unfortunately, common. We live in a fallen, broken, world.
    • 2 Corinthians 1:8 For we do not want you to be unaware, brothers, of the affliction we experienced in Asia. For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself.

During a time of year that is stressful for many, overwhelming for others and often full of grief and disappointments, don’t fall victim to this lie! Don’t let the enemy drive you to despair. Be cautious with the “inspirational”, seemingly biblical quotes and memes that abound. A true test of the truth of many of these is to ask the question, “Is this making much of me, or God?” and, “Is this asking me to rely on myself and my own understanding, or God’s?”. If the answer to these is God, it’s probably good. However, don’t stop there! Look for yourself. Get into the Word, our only source of Truth, and make sure you’re not being deceived!

Friend that is struggling during this season, do not be deceived. Christmas is not merry for everyone. But our Hope is not in our current circumstances. If we’re in Christ, our Hope is in what He did on the cross, taking the punishment for our sins, that we would spend eternity with Him. And the MANY promises that we are not alone and He will enable us to bear what we carry here.

Identity Lane

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

I take a trip every fall and it seems every year it is slightly different. Oh, the smells are the same, the colors of the leaves don’t change and the destination is always a welcome one. But, it’s the road to get there that is always changing.

These are my thoughts as we sit in the bus. Hubby and I. As passengers pile on and settle into seats I start to people watch, because that’s what I do. People fascinate me. For example, there’s a young woman opposite the aisle of Hubby and she has wasted no time in pulling out her laptop and ear buds and is checking her Apple Watch; no doubt waiting for her next Zoom meeting to start. As she taps her beautifully frivolous, brand name, high heeled shoe, she radiates anxiousness and I notice the carefully manicured nails that almost hide the chewed corners of her fingers. She glances my direction and I smile what I hope is a warm smile and turn away, acutely aware that I’ve been caught staring. Staring at a younger me. Oh, how I remember the dreams of grandeur of the young IT professional. Fresh into a career, enjoying my first financial freedom and all the temporal possessions that come with it. And realizing that it did not offer an ounce of the security and peace I thought it would bring.

While I reminisce about a thinner, more energetic and selfish me, and our bus finally departs the station, Hubby has started up a conversation with a gentleman in front of us. As is typical of any laborer I’ve ever met, he is telling him about one of the office buildings we just passed. How he worked on it years ago, who he was working for and with and where he used to eat lunch. As his work roughened hand grips the seat in front of him and he laughs at his own dad joke I smile. Not because it was funny, but because I love and appreciate things that stay the same.

I’m distracted by a tapping. Because I’m a mother of three, I instantly know the source to be someone under three, whose feet are conveniently located directly behind my backside. Hence the tapping. On my backside. Thankful for padding, I slowly slide down in my seat, turn towards the back of the bus, and peek my head up enough to see pigtails and a tiny face sticky from the lollipop clutched in her chubby right hand. We commence a game of peek-a-boo and mom appears visibly relieved I’m not annoyed by the tapping. She reminds the little with pigtails to keep her feet off the seat and I ask her where she is from. They’re close and new to the area and I inquire as to whether they have found a church home. Because I am a Director of Children’s Ministry and I very much want to tell pigtails about Jesus. Invitation given and my stomach starting to roll from facing backwards I take deep breaths and turn back around to hear the chiming of my cell phone.

I’ve got mail. Emails to be precise. Regarding the newly formed CTX Alliance. Of which I am now co-president. Did I forget to tell you about that? Very exciting stuff. I quickly scan the emails, because, car sickness. There are details on a video that needs to be made and a couple of upcoming meetings. Oops, and a couple of emails I’ll need to respond to for work. Which reminds me to interrupt Hubby’s conversation about his favorite service opportunity, Ruby’s Pantry, and inquire about when we can coordinate a video recording, drivers Ed, our homeschool field trip up north and the kids’ latest lab testing. Now my stomach is upset and my head starts to hurt and Hubby gathers his stuff to get off. We’ll have to coordinate via FaceTime. Here we part ways for a few days as he heads out of town for work.

And here is where I look over and see the younger me and long for the simplicity. Because selfish me is still very much alive and kicking and right now she is sure that the Lord has made a mistake in all He has called her to be. There is a beautiful weight to wife and mother. I feel a rightness and peace in caring for the day to day, practical, educational, emotional and physical needs of my family. But all these other things? Ministry in the church both to children and their families, Mother to children with rare diseases and all the extras that entails, Advocate for the undiagnosed and diagnosed too late…I am not enough. I do not have enough time, enough energy, enough IQ points, enough patience, enough selflessness to be what He has called me to be. He must have made a mistake. Now I’m frantically looking for a way off of this bus. An escape from the weight. But all I see is a road unknown and I’m sure I’m traveling it alone.

September 5, 2021

Then all at once there is a brightness and a warmth and an inaudible Voice. I am all at once alone, yet the least alone I’ve ever been.

“Here is where I called you first.”

And the Truth of the words rush silent through my head.

1 Peter 2:9-10. But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.

I closed my eyes and bowed my head to the overwhelming beauty of Truth and now I can see it. As clearly as if it was right in front of me. How and who He created me to be.

Psalm 139:13-16 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

There can be no doubt that I am exactly where He means me to be. No mistakes, not if He has ordained every one of my days. But who has He called me to be FIRST, in all its complex simplicity? A chosen daughter of the One True King specially equipped to declare His praises to all whom He places before me. How do I continually forget?

My destination once again reached, I step off the bus into Identity. As a wife, mother, special needs parent, home schooler, family advocate, and ministry leader. But first, and most importantly, as a Child of God. By His grace….that I can do.

Rock of Ages

/ bobbiblanchard / 1 Comment

Maybe it’s because we’ve just experienced the longest stretch of sub zero temperatures in almost a century, or maybe it’s because of all of the Facebook posts of people’s warm climate escapes, but I dreamed of an ocean last night.

Knee deep in calm, blue waters the ebb and flow gave little relief from the glaring sun. At that depth, the water was more like bath water. It was a new to me beach though and I’d spent a considerable amount of time trying to decide if there were any dangers below the surface. Behind me, there were a group of children using drift wood to examine a washed up jelly fish and I was keeping an eye out for any of it’s more fortunate mates. I had no idea where along this coast we were. Could it be shark season here? There were many people, far less cautious than I, that had entered these waters at the same time as I had and were now enjoying their relief from the heat, dipping below the surface and swimming in cooler water further out.

But there I stood, searching for unknown dangers, studying the water and what lay below the surface and looking longingly at the playful couples splashing in the distance. Distracted by all of the noise behind me, I glanced back to see a boardwalk full of people and a beach packed with blankets, umbrellas and countless families. There was volleyball playing, sand castle making, sun bathing and shell hunting. Shops crammed full of souvenirs destined for the landfill were teeming with customers in tiny bikinis and giant jewelry. The smell of fried food from several food booths mixed with the salt in the air and my own sun screen. Every time I looked longingly back out across the ocean, uncomfortable in the heat, my attention was drawn back to the commotion on the shore. So I stood in the in between. Not quite in, and not quite out.

That’s when I heard it. You’ve probably heard it before too. The “Oceans” song. If I closed my eyes I could hear it more clearly…

“You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep my faith will stand”

And there I stood, worried that venturing further, my feet would fail. Certain that my faith would. But drawn none the less. So I stood still and sang along.


“I will call upon Your Name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine”

That’s when it happened. Looking down, I watched as the water pulled back as if Someone had pulled out a giant plug somewhere out in the great unknown. Suddenly, all people and their accompanying sound disappeared with the water and I was left with a foreboding empty silence. The sand beneath my feet had been drawn along with the water and I watched the ground hollow beneath me. My heart raced as my gaze lengthened to the sea bed in front of me. A myriad of things revealed in the stripping of the sea. Some beautiful, some ugly. I stood exposed, alone, in the quiet open. Waiting. And then I heard it. A roar of rushing water. Louder than anything I’d ever heard. I looked up in time to be enveloped by the wall of returning sea. The wave that slammed me into the Rock of Ages.


“Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand will be my guide
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You’ve never failed and You won’t start now”

And there was incredible fear. Floundering, there was no place for my feet. No up or down, no left or right. No air in my lungs. No solid ground. No foothold.


“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior”

I vaguely remembered hearing and singing along to the song. If only I’d known what it might look like when I’d asked to be taken deeper! Would I have sung along? Would I have asked for faith without borders?


“I will call upon Your Name
Keep my eyes above the waves
My soul will rest in Your embrace
I am Yours and You are mine”

Then there was a letting go. Not a giving up, but a giving in. I once again closed my eyes and heard You call. But this time, I called back.

Wherever You call me, Lord.

Then I woke up. To the quiet peace around me and in me. Grateful to keep my eyes above the waves, I was reminded of my favorite Charles Spurgeon quote:

“I have learned to kiss the wave that throws me against the Rock of Ages.”

I don’t know that I’ve learned to “kiss” the wave of special needs children. I still pray earnestly for healing. But I’ve certainly learned to be grateful for it, and what it has accomplished. I am far less distracted by the people and the commotion on the shore. Lord knows it has never been more ridiculous and frivolous than it is now. The things of the world still appeal, but don’t pull like they used to. I’ve seen them fade in comparison to the eternal. I am no longer terrified of the unknown. I’ve seen what lies beneath the surface and experienced the grace hidden there. I am no longer standing in the in between and there are others that are “all in” beside me. Now we collectively beckon to those stuck in the in between. We help each other on the long days when the persevering is hard and celebrate all the victories in between. On the hard days I’m content to wade in the deep waters surrounded by these brothers and sisters and on good days… I’m walking upon the water with my Savior and there is no earthly joy that can compare.

Who needs a warm weather destination anyway? This morning, I just spent a little longer snuggled into blankets and basking in the warmth of God’s promises. I will, however, still need a coat today.

Sometimes I’m wrong…

/ bobbiblanchard / 1 Comment

Have I ever told you I never planned to be a Stay-At-Home mom? It wasn’t what I thought my family would need. I thought my future family would need things like reliable vehicles, family vacations and savings accounts. It turns out my family would need a mom that could devote hours a week to paperwork, phone calls and appointments for a couple of medically complex kids so they could get a diagnosis in one year, instead of the average fifteen. They would need a mom that could stay home and research, fight for answers and fight insurance companies until she got them. Thank God, He knew I was wrong about the career and making money thing.

I was wrong again when we finally got our first diagnosis and I decided to bring Baby Girl shopping for school clothes. At Justice. We don’t normally shop at places like Justice. Because shopping at Justice falls into the same financial category as family vacations. If you don’t have a tween daughter, just take my word for it. But somewhere in my sleep deprived, grieving mind, spending a ludicrous amount of money on Baby Girl seemed like… justice.

So we walked in the door and I said the craziest thing, “What do you like, Baby Girl?”. Two hours later I had agreed to a pile of clothes that not only exceeded our clothing budget (for the year) but also some hard and fast rules I had on 8 year old modesty.

Then there were “the shoes”. Because of Baby Girl’s deteriorating coordination, footwear had been limited to Velcro laces and flat, functional shoes. She did not find flat, functional shoes at Justice. She brought me a pair of the most ridiculous, sequined, flashy, silver platform sneakers… with tie laces.

And I took one look at her hopeful little face, thought of what that doctor had said two weeks before about her being in a wheelchair within ten years… and placed the shoes on the growing “keep” pile. Three years later, we do not believe that first diagnosis is what God has for Baby Girl. And I’m absolutely sure that she didn’t need “the shoes”.

I was recently wrong again. I know, I’m as shocked as you are. I was sure once the kids were all in school, I would be able to go back to working outside the home. We would have things like savings accounts and there would be vehicles we could at least afford to fix. And bless sweet Hubby’s heart and broad shoulders, maybe he wouldn’t have to keep taking all that overtime…

Oh, I knew I wasn’t going back to a career in IT with long hours and longer commutes, but when Mini Hubby started kindergarten this year I was pretty sure a job in the school where Oldest Son was starting High School would be a perfect fit. It almost was.

These last several months my heart grew for kids in tough situations, with big obstacles and even bigger attitudes to overcome. I learned how to better support Oldest Son socially and in academics. And because I had the opportunity to see what he sees of the world on a daily basis (trust me, their world is far bigger, scarier and less restricted than ours was) I know what kind of conversations we need to be having regularly. I also had the chance to work among adults again. I won’t lie, it is far more entertaining than working with myself. I found a whole bunch of new people to love.

There was also puke.

So.

Much.

Puke.

Strep throat.

A few times.

The loss of my mother-in-law.

A surgery for tonsils and adenoids.

Some problems with some crucial labs for Oldest Son and Baby Girl, and finally….

The realization that God was sending me home, again.

Usually when I’m wrong, it feels a lot like… failure.  I’ve made the wrong choice, my plan didn’t work. It can feel like I’m giving up, letting go or making emotional decisions (“the shoes”). Because I can’t see the full picture. My vantage point is far more limited than God’s. But, in hindsight, it is a joy to see how He purposes my missteps. Redeems them all and uses them for my good and His glory.

Right now though? I still can’t see what He’s doing. And that’s hard. So I’m holding tight to a few of these Truths.

And maybe this song. 😉

Buying Into Busy

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

busy_poem

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.

bible-verse-luke-1234-where-your-treasure-is-there-your-heart-will-be-also-2014-for-slideshow-e1455421849201

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

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

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.

The Other Mothers

/ bobbiblanchard / Leave a comment

This mother’s day is a bit different than the past four. In a good way. Or a mostly good way. It started a few days ago when Oldest Son and Baby Girl had their latest appointment in neurology.

Neurology hasn’t been my favorite. This place of MRI’s, EEG’s, spinal taps, bloodwork and few answers but more questions makes my heart race nervous in the parking ramp. That day though, kids touched noses, hopped on one foot and images stayed the SAME. This momma breathed deep, exhaled grateful and smiled to her eyes for holding steady. Steady hands, steady legs and steady labs. This momma stayed up late overflowing grateful. And guilty. Heart rejoicing and heart weeping. Oh, she sang praises on the floor of her closet, wrapped warm in undeserved grace. Then prayed hard for the other mothers.

All of this mothering is hard. SO hard. But there is some mothering that hurts more than others.

The kind of mothering that happens when you lose a child to mother. I saw that this week. Prayed for that momma and hurt for that momma as she stood in front of a school she no longer had a child at. What does one do when you have a lifetime of love for that child and the lifetime is far too short?

The kind of mothering that happens when a child goes their own dangerous way. Prayed for one of those beautiful mommas this week too as she watches and prays and waits. Waits for that child’s saving, fully aware that she can’t be the one to do it.

The kind of mothering that happens when one does all the things to be a mother, but hasn’t been given the gift of the child. I prayed for one of these precious ladies too. For she has helped mother my own babies. Will continue to pray that she understands the beauty of mothering whatever children God gives you, no matter what that looks like.

And finally, the kind of mothering that happens with a special needs child. These other mothers weighed heavy on my heart this week. Because not all of them get to hear good, steady, news.

These other mothers stare fiercely brave into the hardest things. Things they won’t tell you. But I will. So you can pray for them too.

Their sleepless nights last far longer than those infant years. These warrior mothers navigate hospital halls, insurance denials, government paperwork and medical equipment. Always advocating, always fighting. They have grieved a diagnosis, mourned a prognosis. And if it’s a degenerative condition, they’ll grieve the loss of each ability, one by one, over and over again. And at the end of their hard days, their want to give up days, they might break a little knowing the only break they’ll get is when their heart breaks.

Or, they don’t have a diagnosis at all. Oh, I’m hurting for these other mothers too this week. You see, our diagnosis is CTX. And after years of research, I know about all the mommas before me that knew something was wrong. That did all the things to find the answers. And lost their babies before they found out what they were. I also know that there are likely hundreds of mommas out there right now, praying for this diagnosis and might not get it in time.

You see, I know I’m the momma that’s had a few hard years. But I’m also the one that gets the diagnosis, the treatment, the good doctors and the steady news.

So this Mother’s Day, I’m rejoicing and grateful for good news. And I’m praying for all the other mothers. That they know The Good News. That they find their rest in the only One who can give it to them. And that they know that there are mommas praying for the comfort and strength they need to persevere.

Multiplied

/ bobbiblanchard / 2 Comments

basket-bread-rolls-fish-750x330.jpgI unloaded the kids’ school paraphernalia out of the back of the van to make room for the two black construction size bags filled with clothes that needed to be dropped off at our local clothing center. I was already fighting a panic attack before I’d even left the driveway.

Before you ask, no, I don’t always panic at the thought of being separated from the clothes I’ve dug out of the bowels of my children’s closets. Nope, you see, the donation was a well timed front for my true destination. Which was giving me all the early symptoms of a panic attack.

I pulled into the parking lot at dusk, wishing it was just a bit darker. Shutting off the van I took a deep breath and opened the driver’s side door, right next to a sweet girl I went to high school with. Because that’s what happens when you don’t want to be seen in a small town. All one has to do is not shower, have a bad hair day, or forget to put deodorant on, and you’re guaranteed to run into someone you haven’t seen in awhile. Every. Time.

Except this time I was showered, my hair was presentable and though I was sweating, I was still okay in the odor department. This time, I had something bigger to hide than poor hygiene. No worries! I have my two bags of donations, they’ll never know what I’m up to. It’ll be fine! Until she kindly offers the services of her husband to carry said bags for me. Still okay! I will just drop the bags and they’ll be on their way. As we walked through the parking lot catching up a bit she tells me they’re headed into the building too, for a community education dance class for the adorable toddler holding her hand. My nervous brain finally processes the pink leotard and leg warmers. My too bright smile masking the new panic as I realize they’re headed in the same direction I am.

I drop off the bags, say my goodbyes, and head back to the safety of my van. That’s it. I’m not doing it. I even start the van again before I realize I don’t have a choice. The refrigerator is as empty as our bank account and pay day isn’t for three more days. This is when I start to think I’m suffocating. That someone has snuck up and sucked all the air out of my van and caused this crazy fear to grip my throat. I jump back out of the van, sucking in deep breaths of air. You know the kind. In through the nose, out through the mouth. I stuff all that fear back down to wreak havoc on my stomach instead and jog to the entrance of the food shelf before I can change my mind… again.

That’s right. My super secret, anxiety provoking mission is this tiny little grocery store replica tucked into our community center. I step quickly inside and take a seat with my back to the front door. I fill out the required paperwork and wait for my number to be called. The worst part seems to be over, as far as anxiety goes, but now I’m battling a new fun thing. Shame. I can’t even meet the eyes of the sweet ladies helping me. What I really want to do is curl up and cry. Then, I want to explain why I’m here. Then I start a running dialog with God on why I’m there.

How did this happen?

I did all the right things!

(Whine. Whine. More whining.)

Just as the tears start to win, a lady from the desk comes and stands next to me. It takes me a minute to figure out what she’s saying. And when I do, I’m a little confused. She’s asking about my purse. I think she likes it? I struggle for a minute to remember that I had inherited it from my mother’s closet. I told her I’d considered it a step up from the diaper bag I’d been carrying for what seemed the last 12 years. She laughed. I laughed. And I finally looked into her eyes. Where there was no condemnation, no pity, just kindness. Once she had my attention she started showing me the “ropes”. That it’s just like grocery shopping, only there’s limits listed on the signs. When you’re done, you bring your shopping cart to be weighed to “check out”. And then there’s a very sweet gentleman that will help you carry your things to the car, or you can pull up if there’s room.

As we’re loading my bags, in full cover of darkness now, I still take a few glances around hoping I haven’t been spotted. I thank the volunteer for his help and make a quick exit.

It occurs to me on the drive home that there is something probably wrong with my reaction. That though we’d routinely supported the local food shelf in the past ourselves, I had quite obviously had a few misconceptions not only about the “kind of people” that used it, but the way it was run. As the days and weeks passed, I became more and more convicted of my pride and self righteousness.

As the months wore on it became more and more clear that my faithful, thorough, relentless and loving God was totally committed to purging me of some of these blemishes of my character. Trust me, by the time we’d sold anything with value, come perilously close to losing our house, borrowed from our parents to get our daughter to the latest specialist and still had to dig through the change in the van to pay for the hospital parking fees… all semblance of pride in our circumstances had pretty much evaporated. Everything I have is a gift.

Now, this has been a couple of years ago now and God is continually chipping away at some of these ugly parts of me (which can be depressing) but sometimes I have to look back to see how far He’s brought me.

This week I was reminded of this day when I was feeling enormous guilt. Why? Because we bought new appliances. Like, brand new and delivered. There was a time I wouldn’t have truly appreciated them. A time I would have been the most excited about the way they looked and telling everyone about them (And now, as I’m typing, I realize I’m telling everyone about them. 😅 But in a totally grateful, praise be to God for His provision kind of way, right?).

I wouldn’t have blinked an eye at the invoice or agonized over what this money could do for someone else; where it might be better spent. I wouldn’t have thought long and hard on if I truly NEEDED them or not. I certainly wouldn’t have waited until only one burner on the stove worked and the dishwasher was continuously leaking before trying to replace them. And that crack in the sink? That wouldn’t have lasted a week, never mind three years!

Now, I’m not saying I don’t still roll in the mud of pride and self righteousness. That I don’t still care far too much about how my life “looks”. That I don’t regularly hourly need to be washed clean by the blood of Christ. But, every once in awhile I’m reminded that I’m a work in progress. The key word there being… progress!! I may not be who I want to be, but I’m not who I once was! Praise God!!

ef671dea865e9b7c31e033f5d1df6a7b.jpgIn celebration of the gift of another year of sanctification, 😉 I’m asking anyone that might be considering a card or gift for me to instead support our local food shelf. They were not only there when we needed them, but they showed more kindness than I’d imagined. Let’s help Five Loaves continue to multiply.

5 Loaves Food and Clothing