To My Teenager on Picture Day

To my teenager on picture day: I know you hate getting your picture taken. I know you think picture day is stupid. I get that you would much rather wear your baseball jersey and athletic shorts to school today than clothes that are a little nicer looking but far less comfortable. 

Here’s the thing, though. For the past 15 years, God's primary calling on my life has been caring for and raising my kids. Your smiles, laughter, silly stories, milestones, accomplishments, heart-to-heart talks… these are what have made my life so wonderful since you came into it. The little munchkin voice that used to chatter away at me is now so deep and grown-up sounding. That curly-haired boy who used to cuddle up next to me or climb into my lap is taller than I am, and becoming more of a man with each passing year. 

Yes, I love watching you grow, and it brings me unbelievable joy to see you becoming the young man God is shaping you to be. I treasure this stage of life just as much as I have treasured each stage of your growth along the way. But you must try to understand something. Every thing you have learned to do on your own, every time you have accomplished something without needing me, my heart has swelled with such pride in you. Yet, at the very same time, there is a feeling of loss that comes with each step you take toward independence. 

All too soon you will be on your own, and your priorities will shift to your own family. As they should. And I will learn how to be the mother you need for each new phase of your life. But you must allow me the pleasure of looking back at those pictures of you and recalling the joys of these years. 

When I sat in the hospital with your grandmother during her last days of life, she kept reaching for the picture of her grandchildren. She would point to each one of you and smile. Pictures matter. They are not stupid or meaningless. Sometimes, they are everything. So, please, indulge your mother with a nice shirt and a genuine smile on picture day. 

Remember, I cook your dinner every evening.

Remembering Mom

I thought I was prepared.

The last few days of her life, we knew my mom was not going to get better. We sat by her bedside and watched her slip away from us, little by little. We had time to say goodbye. We released her from the bonds of this earth and a broken, weary body into the glories of heaven.

Yet when the time actually came, I was not as prepared as I thought. To have lost both parents, so young…

So as we drove away from the Hospice home, I dabbed at my tears with a Subway napkin I found in the center console of the car and tried to pull myself together.

With tears in his own eyes, my husband said to me, “It’s almost like your parents were so faithful and so diligent in doing God’s work, they accomplished everything He had called them to do early, so He took them home.”

Lars and I both know my parents did not earn Heaven because of their faithfulness to God. They received Heaven because of God’s unfathomable grace, the blood of His Son shed on the cross, and an empty grave that means death on earth is really just the beginning of eternal life with Christ.

Yet God also rewards our faithfulness to Him: “ Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men,  knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ” (Colossians 3:23-24).

My parents worked heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, all their lives, and they have received their reward.

The day before my mom entered Heaven, our pastor put this simple sentence up on Facebook: “We are preaching our eulogy right now.” Simple, but profound.

My mom wasn’t a person of many words. It used to frustrate my dad, in fact, because he always wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling, and she often didn’t say a lot.

But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve realized she didn’t need to. Her life spoke for itself. She taught us by what she did, not what she said.

Her life taught me what it looks like to serve alongside your husband as his partner, supporter, and encourager in ministry. She remained faithfully by my dad’s side through the “for poorer” part of their vows. And when the “in sickness” part came, she was devoted to caring for him and always put his needs before her own.

By example she showed me how to be a mother who puts her kids first, no matter the sacrifice required. She taught me how to love, what it means to be a servant of Christ, and what others see when you love Him with all your heart.

My mom spent her life giving to others. She loved and accepted everyone. She had a way of making you feel special.

She had a quiet strength that took life as it came, one day at a time, not because she knew she could handle whatever came her way, but because she knew God could. I often found her reading her Bible or praying silently. That’s why I saw Jesus in her – she spent enough time with Him to know Him well.

And when she did speak, we knew we better listen because she chose her words carefully and they were full of wisdom.

About a month before my dad passed away, she told me about a book she had been reading, in which one of the characters made the statement, "Only God is good. God is only good." She said, "That really hit me. How many times have I accused God of not being good because of circumstances in my life? But God is only good."

It was that truth she clung to as she walked through the valley of my dad’s death, followed by her dad’s death just two months later.

It was that truth that gave her the strength to hear a diagnosis of ALS and Frontotemporal Dementia and bear it with grace and dignity.

Yes, there were times of tremendous sadness and fear. But she would always return to the fact that God is only good. And she would point us to His goodness. Even in her last days, when she couldn’t speak a word and her strength was fading, she was still teaching me.

Tomorrow, we will gather to celebrate her life and the difference she made in ours. We will place her body in the ground beside my dad, knowing her soul is in her Heavenly home.

And we will remember that God is only good.

My Better Story

Fear. Worry. Anxiety. Whatever you call it, it has the potential to paralyze you.

If you have read my testimony, you know I have been quite familiar with fear and worry since I was a little girl. I remember lying awake at night, looking at my sister sleeping on the other side of the room, and thinking, "When I'm big like her, I won't be scared anymore." If only it was that easy.

As an adult, I became increasingly afraid of sickness; I was consumed by the fear of my kids getting sick. Anxiety was my constant companion, and I began to experience panic attacks. It was a very dark time in my life,  but God carried me through it all. He delivered me from that darkness and gave me victory over the panic attacks.

So I put my testimony into words and posted it on my blog. But that wasn't the end of my story. God wasn't finished writing it yet.

God gave me victory over the panic attacks, but He didn't wave a magic wand and make me worry-free. I daily have to rely on Him for strength. And sometimes, when I take my eyes off Him and let doubt creep back in, worry still gets the best of  me.

So here it is. I am afraid of bad things happening to the people I love. That's the truth. The heart of the matter. The Bible does not promise a life free from pain, trials, and suffering for the Christ-follower. In fact, we are promised that we will have trouble in this world. And that is precisely what I'm afraid of. I feel so much like the father of the demon-possessed boy in Mark 9 who told Jesus, "I believe. Help me overcome my unbelief." I know God can protect my loved ones, but I'm not sure He will.

When my dad passed away in December of 2012, my world was shaken. God was infinitely patient with my hurt, my doubts, my questions, my desperate attempts to understand why. I wrote about my journey toward healing in several blog posts beginning around that time period, if you haven't read them and would like to look back at them.

As I tried to process my dad's death and the suffering that came beforehand, I let Satan steal my song. I didn't want to sing. I love to sing, but I couldn't do it anymore, other than at church. Even then, I couldn't make it through a worship set without tears streaming down my face. Then, one evening, standing in my kitchen, God put the song 10,000 Reasons into my heart. And I started to sing. As I sang the line, "whatever may pass and whatever lies before me, let me be singing when the evening comes," I was struck with a realization: This is not a plea for only good things to happen to me today so I will still feel like singing at the end of the day. This is a plea that, no matter what happens to me today, I will still choose to sing His praises, because He is worthy. Even when the hurt is so great I don't know if I can take any more, He is worthy. Because He gave everything for me.

Just as I thought I was reaching a place of healing, my mom was diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of ALS and dementia. And this brings with it a whole new realm of fear. Of bad things happening to someone I love dearly. Feeding tubes and loss of communication. Weakening muscles and weakening mind. What does the future look like for her? What will we have to watch her go through, help her through? What if it's genetic (though we have been told it most likely is not)?

This weekend at our church services, I listened to a powerful testimony about overcoming fear. I sang the words, "I'm no longer a slave to fear. I am a child of God." And I knew. I have believed the lie that I will always be afraid. I've told myself that with God's help it doesn't have to control me, but it will always be there.

No. That doesn't have to be my story!

Today our pastor posted this on his Facebook page: "God will give you more than you can handle, so you will know only he can handle it."

Truth? I am afraid because I try to handle things on my own. I don't want anything bad to happen to the people I love because I don't trust God to be in it with them. I would rather He simply spare them the pain than grow them through it. And that is so very, very wrong.

So today as I spent the day with my mom, I read to her from the Psalms. I don't even know how much she understood, but I believe God blessed it and helped her wrap her mind around His Words to her. His promise. "The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer. My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge..."

It's the same fear I face with my children. And it's time to stop. Stop striving and just listen. This is what He is saying to me:

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
    and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
    and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God..."
-Isaiah 43:1b-3a

I have called you by name.

You are mine.

I will be with you.

This goes for the people you love, too.

Your mom who has ALS and dementia? She is mine.

Your children? They are mine.

Your husband? He is mine.

So stop. Stop fearing and let me be enough.

Let me pass through the waters with them, because only in the waters can they learn that I am all they will ever need.

Let me walk through the fire with them, because only in the fire can I refine them and make them into who I have designed them to be. I have begun a good work in them. Let me complete it.

I will never like it when sickness, disease, pain, or heartbreak come to the ones I love so dearly. But I do not have to be afraid of those things. God is enough, and He will see them through.

Only when we are brought to the point of desperation, of crying out, "God, I can't handle this!" can we see Him step up and handle it for us. Only then can we be released from the fear that has a hold on us. 

This is new territory for me. I really don't know how to live without worry. But God is still writing my story. And He's making it a better story.

God is Great, God is Good

When I was a little girl, we would hold hands around the dinner table and say this prayer together:

"God is great, God is good. Let us thank Him for our food. Amen."

They are fond memories for me, those family dinner times that were always a priority in our home. As we grew older and learned how to express our own thoughts to God, the "God is great" prayer gradually became nothing more than a childhood memory.

For some reason, that prayer came to mind the other day during my quiet time with God. I say "for some reason," but in truth I know the reason: God brought it to my mind. And I was struck by the powerful truth contained in this simple prayer.

God is great!

The Bible is alive with stories of God's greatness.

He spoke the world into existence; without Him nothing was made that has been made. He gave a son to a 90-year-old woman and 100 year old man. His power terrified the Egyptians and parted the Red Sea to let His people walk across on dry land. He crumbled walls. Made the sun stand still. Sent fire from heaven. Used a boy to slay a giant. Confounded armies. He gave a son to a virgin. Healed the sick, the lame, the deaf, the blind. Cast out demons. Raised the dead.

Our God specializes in doing the impossible!

But it's not enough to believe God is great. The ancient Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans all believed their gods were great, and their lives were a constant striving to please the unpredictable, unforgiving gods. Because greatness without goodness does not inspire awe; it evokes fear.

God is good.

Let me give you an idea of what I think God's goodness looks like.

Two weeks into Stefan's seventh grade year - his first year in a public school - I got a call from the secretary saying he had fallen off a swing on the playground and his wrist was in a lot of pain. (Turns out he didn't fall off the swing; he did a back flip off the swing and landed off-balance.) The moment I saw it, I knew it was broken. And the doctor at the Med Plus clinic didn't have to say a word to confirm my suspicion. The look on her face and small shake of her head said it all. Unfortunately the bone was not aligned, and they could not set the bone there. So off to the ER we went.

Only the doctor in the ER didn't set the bone, either. He felt it was "as close as we could get it," so he sent us home with a follow-up appointment with an orthopedic doctor to put the cast on. The orthopedic doctor took an x-ray of his own and told us he was surprised they had not set the bone in the ER. He would have to push the bone back in place before he could put a cast on Stefan's arm. And so, with absolutely no pain medication, Stefan lay silently on the exam table while the doctor pushed on his broken arm until the bone was back in place.

As I sat there and watched my son bravely endure that intense pain, all I wanted to do was take his place. The injury really was his fault. He shouldn't have done that back-flip off the swing. That didn't matter to  me. He is my son and I love him. If I could have taken his pain, I would have. But I couldn't.

Before I came to Christ, I was facing the consequences of my sin, and what I was sentenced to endure was much worse than the pain of a broken arm. God looked upon me, condemned to die and face eternal separation from Him. Because of His goodness, He wanted to take my pain, my punishment. And because of His greatness, He could. He did!

Jesus hung on a cross and took every bit of excruciating pain I deserved. He bore the punishment that was mine. That I brought upon myself. Just consequences. But He took them upon Himself all the same. In spite of my sin, He loved me enough to take my place on that cross!

Life hasn't been free of pain since I came to Christ. I lost my dad when he was only 66. My mom has dementia and ALS at 64. God is great. In one moment he could touch my mom and heal her. Give her back to us, like I have begged Him so many times to do.

But God is also good. And so I know that if He never heals her in this life, He is accomplishing a far greater purpose than I could ever imagine.

God is great. God is good. Let us thank Him for the work of the cross. For taking our place. For loving us enough to want to.

Beauty in Suffering

Allow me to introduce you to someone. Her name is Kara, and God used her words to change me in two profound ways: she has helped me find beauty in suffering, and she has shown me the importance of sharing my story.

I’ve never even met Kara, but her willingness to share her story has profoundly impacted my life. I love how God can take a child of His who is simply willing to tell others what He is teaching her, and multiply the fruit. Maybe someday Kara will know how many people’s lives her story touched. I don’t have a lot of followers on my blog and I haven’t written a book, but God is revealing Himself to me, gentle and glorious and far too wonderful for me to keep to myself.

For a long time after my dad died, I struggled – not even with the death as much as with the suffering that came before. Diabetes. Dialysis. Multiple surgeries, including two leg amputations. And always the sickness. So much of what he loved was taken away from him. I suppose part of the beauty of suffering is that it helps you see death as the ultimate release from bondage. A most precious gift of mercy. He is free from the suffering now, and for that I am grateful.

So I struggled not with the why of his death, but the why of his suffering. In an earlier post, I wrote about feeling like somehow my dad deserved better than that. After all, he served God his entire life. What God taught me was that the suffering, the sickness, the loss of independence, the need to let others “do” for him – all of this was meant to bring my dad to a place where there was no more self-sufficiency, but only God.

Still, there’s a difference between seeing the good that comes from suffering, and finding beauty in the suffering.

Nine months ago, I sat across from a neurologist with my mom and asked the question, “Can she get better?” The answer was a sad shake of the doctor’s head.

At that time, we didn’t even know the extent of her illness. Test after test came back inconclusive. At one point, one doctor said to us, “I know something’s wrong, I just don’t know what it is.” We seemed to be hearing that a lot. Meanwhile, she was quickly losing her ability to communicate, to swallow without choking, to remember and understand things. And when the physical weakness started, that’s when they knew. Frontotemporal Dementia with ALS. Lou Gehrig’s Disease.

I have watched my mom fade until some days it’s hard to remember she is the same woman who used to lift my dad’s heavy wheelchair in and out of the car trunk on an almost-daily basis. The same woman who cared for everyone else’s needs and rarely allowed a moment of weakness to show. Dad was the emotional one; she was the strong one. Only Dementia and ALS are aggressively taking her strength away.  And I have asked the same why questions all over again.

Then, a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon a blog called “MundaneFaithfulness,” by this amazing woman of faith named Kara Tippetts. I bought her book called The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard. And God has used Kara’s honest words about her struggle with stage IV cancer as a 30-something mother of four to change my perspective on suffering.

“What if our journey was intimately planned to be hard, and that story is the good story?” Kara asks. “What if the glow of prosperity isn’t a glow at all but a unique stink? What if suffering isn’t to be avoided but received and embraced?”

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. –Romans 8:28

I’ve always known God never promised a life free of suffering. Accepting Christ as your Savior isn’t a magic ticket to a pain-free life. In fact, it’s the opposite. Suffering and death entered the world the moment man made the choice to sin. As a result, they are two things that are guaranteed in this life.

But I missed the full meaning of this verse until I read Kara’s words. I’ve always taken this verse to mean God works through the pain, the suffering, the messed up “hard” of life and brings something good out of it. But what if the good isn’t just the end result? What if the suffering itself is part of the good?

“No one ever imagines disease, heartbreak, and horror in their story,” Kara writes. “But the God I know, the sovereign God of the Bible, knows well my story of suffering and offers Himself at every turn. If the honesty with which I tell my story were the limitation of His strength, well, I would be utterly screwed. But imagine if He were intimately involved in my story, which He is. Imagine if He showed Himself in my hard, which He did, and what if the hard of my story is the beautiful redemption of my today? Could suffering then take on a different hue? Could the coloring of the hard not be so dark, so hateful and gloomy? The well-meaning e-mails that admonish the way I speak about my story cause me to wonder at the depth of grace that can be understood without the presence of God in the midst of our suffering. If our hard is the absence of a good God, then how can anyone walk in faith?”

My family and I have opportunities to serve my mom in ways we never would if disease was not robbing her of her strength. I don’t always know if she understands the things I’m saying to her, but I know without a doubt she understands the unconditional love with which I meet her every time I visit her at my sister’s house. I know she understands that same love from my sister as she does for my mom what my mom never thought another person would have to do for her. Beauty in suffering.

Today I met a lady at the bank who remembered my dad coming in to do their banking. The two things she remembered about him? He had lost a leg, and he was a kind-hearted man. As I left, she told me she was praying for my family. Beauty in suffering.

Look again at the last four words of Romans 8:28: “according to His purpose.” The most incredible part of His purpose for me includes His beloved Son, bloodied, bruised, and battered, hanging on a cross and taking my punishment. He took the suffering upon Himself that was too great for me to bear. Any suffering I or my loved ones may endure in this life only helps us to identify with Christ, to share in His suffering on the cross, and to bask in the love of a Father who holds us close enough to hear His heartbeat through it all. That is a love I cannot fathom. A love for which I am overwhelmed with gratitude. A love that makes suffering truly beautiful.

I want to leave you with a few more of Kara’s words:

“Your story is a good story. In the grief, pain, and hard, the Author has a plan. It may feel like a desperate breaking of your very heart, but suffering is not the absence of God or good.”

“My hope is not in the absence of suffering and comfort returned. My hope is in the presence of the One who promises never to leave or forsake, the One who declares nothing ‘will be able to separate us from the love of God’ (Rom. 8:39). Nothing.”