He is Faithful

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“To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul.  O my God, in You I trust,
Do not let me be ashamed; Do not let my enemies exult over me.
 Indeed, none of those who wait for You will be ashamed;
Those who deal treacherously without cause will be ashamed.

Make me know Your ways, O Lord; Teach me Your paths.
Lead me in Your truth and teach me, For You are the God of my salvation;
For You I wait all the day.
Remember, O Lord, Your compassion and Your lovingkindnesses,
For they have been from of old.
 Do not remember the sins of my youth or my transgressions;
According to Your lovingkindness remember me, For Your goodness’ sake, O Lord.”

Psalm 25:1-7

These were the words I read early this morning as I sipped my coffee and pondered the days ahead, even as my soul remained downcast and unsure.

To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul … in You I trust …

I opted to interrupt my normal Bible reading to spend some time in Psalms this morning. It has been a challenging season and by last evening, I was becoming increasingly discouraged to the point of inching ever closer to the vile pit of despair. Like Peter in the narrative in Matthew 14, I was allowing my focus to shift away from the Savior who has called me to walk on the water, to the stormy waves that surround me on every side.

Those waves can be pretty intimidating, my friend.

However, God’s Word, especially the Psalms, is a refuge in the storm.

A shelter, a guide, and a perspective changer. A sword that is discerning and sharp.

Good and upright is the Lord;
Therefore He instructs sinners in the way.
He leads the humble in justice,
And He teaches the humble His way.
All the paths of the Lord are lovingkindness and truth
To those who keep His covenant and His testimonies.
 For Your name’s sake, O Lord,
Pardon my iniquity, for it is great.

Psalm 25:8-11

Truth be told, I think those waves begin to loom larger when we first begin to take our eyes off of Christ and instead, place the focus on ourselves. When we focus on our own efforts and what we are doing instead of looking to Him and trusting in Him to lead and guide us. Then, when we get smacked with a wave and find ourselves beginning to sink into the depths of the storm, we cry out in anger, “God! What are You doing to me?” Or perhaps in fear, “God! Where are You? Why have You deserted me?”

God forgive us.

“Who is the man who fears the Lord? He will instruct him in the way he should choose.
His soul will abide in prosperity, and his descendants will inherit the land.
The secret of the Lord is for those who fear Him. And He will make them know His covenant.”

Psalm 25:12-14

As Peter sank into the waters, he then remembered to cry out to Jesus for help and the Lord immediately lifted him from the waters and brought him to the boat with the others. But what is our response? Do we immediately panic and plead for God to rescue us from the towering waves? Do we thrash about in the stormy waters trying to find our own way to shore? Do we cry out in anger against the Lord for allowing the waves in the first place? Or do we tremble in fear at the thought of drowning in the storm even as we sink lower into the depths?

I sometimes wonder what might have happened if Peter had kept his eyes on Jesus?

But much more often, I wonder what might happen if I keep my eyes on Jesus?

My eyes are continually toward the Lord,
for He will pluck my feet out of the net.
Turn to me and be gracious to me,
For I am lonely and afflicted.
The troubles of my heart are enlarged;
Bring me out of my distresses.
 Look upon my affliction and my trouble,
And forgive all my sins.
Look upon my enemies, for they are many,
And they hate me with violent hatred.
Guard my soul and deliver me;
Do not let me be ashamed, for I take refuge in You.
 Let integrity and uprightness preserve me,
For I wait for You.

Psalm 25:17-21

The waves are real and the storms of life can be incredibly violent at times, there is no doubt about that. But as I pondered these things this morning, a different Scripture came to mind from the book of Matthew … here Jesus says,

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. 
Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me,
for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 
For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.”

Matthew 25:28

As I then pondered this passage, the stormy waves around me began to lose their intimidating height because I realized I have the incredible privilege of learning to walk on these waters while sharing the yoke of my Savior.

I could get lost in that thought all day.

In fact, this is where I will end this unplanned post … contemplating the beauty of Who my Savior is and His boundless faithfulness … and the incredible privilege I have to learn from Him as He shares His yoke with me.

Suddenly those waves no longer seem as daunting as I ponder Him.

He is faithful.

A Shed. A Shop. A Vision.

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

Dear Reader~
I know, this blog has been silent for a long time. I also know I can’t expect people to stick around if I am not consistent in writing but truthfully, the last few months have been hard. Adjusting to my present reality, coping with significant losses, caring for elderly parents as needs and significant health concerns arise, and being a full-time caregiver to my adult son with autism has been quite an adjustment. Most days I simply do not have any brain energy left to form two words together, let alone enough to fill a blog post. But this simply means that when I do write, the words are coming from deep inside and are the words I believe the Lord would have me share. Such is the case with this post. Read on and if the Lord stirs you to help whether through prayer, physical work, or financially, I would be immensely grateful.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Years ago, while my oldest son began attending a specialized private school for children with autism, I was in a conundrum regarding schooling my younger children. Actually, it was more than that, I was backed into a corner. A corner that did not fit into my plans or desires. With my defenses up, I argued with the Lord for a long time but finally, I could no longer fight against Him as the walls pressed in tighter and tighter with each passing day.

I reluctantly made the decision to homeschool my younger children.

It was never an ideal situation for me or something I desired to do. It was, quite simply, an act of obedience.

So for the entirety of my children’s school years, I walked the very tricky tightrope of homeschooling two children and caring for a son with severe autism with little to no support. I often questioned why God allowed certain things and why life had to be so difficult all the time … why did it feel like I was slowly dying from the inside out?

Photo by Julia Kuzenkov on Pexels.com

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24

I am finally reaching a wonderful place of hindsight and while I surely cannot see all that God was doing in that incredibly long season, I can see some of the fruit that came with learning to live a life of obedience and dying to self. My younger children have seen God provide and work in unbelievable ways and, as one is excelling in college and the other is in her final year of high school, over and over they have expressed gratitude for the journey we have walked together. They are thankful that they were homeschooled and that they were challenged to mature, taught to think for themselves and question everything, and learned some hard lessons in dying to self and obedience.

Homeschooling my children was never my passion and I never felt qualified or capable but God blessed my obedience to the calling He placed on me and then He provided for them.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live,
but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh
I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me.
Galations 2:20

Why am I sharing all this? Thoughts I probably have never really shared with anyone other than a lone confidant? The reality is, I am finding myself once again backed into a corner … a place not of my own choosing but a place where the circumstances are crushing and all other options have been taken away.

It is a place where the only option is obedience to the calling God seems to be placing on my life and stepping out in faith, trusting Him for what I cannot see nor accomplish on my own.

My oldest son aged out of the school system in June. This certainly was not unexpected and I knew it was coming. His team and I spent years planning for his adult years and my hopes were that he would be able to eventually move into a group home, have enough supports to work a part-time job, and enjoy a life of his own without me being a constant presence. My personal plan was to be able to get a job, become financially independent, and lead a quiet life. That is really all I wanted.

But bit by bit, the walls began closing in and I had to take a step backward. The organization that had opened group homes for individuals with needs like my son and who made so many promises realized that they weren’t being practical and there simply wasn’t enough funding for what they were trying to do. The homes have all been closed with very little hope that they will open again.

Then the pandemic hit and in the fallout, every single plan we had worked on for my son fell apart before my eyes. Every single one. Where once there had been at least a certain amount of options, now there were none. Each week brought the walls inching in closer and closer until I found myself with my son home full time with me as his 24/7 caregiver and support person.

I am backed into a corner and it is a hard one.

But what is the difference this time? Now I can look back and see how God was faithful over the years of raising and teaching my children. I can see how He used an unqualified and often weak mother to bring up these children for His glory. I know the beauty of obedience and dying to oneself.

I know what God can do with a heart that is willing and trusting.

I also know how hard that is.

However, when God backs us into a corner, it is not time to argue or indulge in self-pity, it is an opportunity to trust Him and step forward in faith.

This is where the shed comes in.

Over the last few years, I have pondered and prayed over what would lie ahead for my son as I watched the options slowly fade away, I began to consider what I could do here at home, in my rural Pennsylvania community where there are no real options for individuals like my son. Could I start a program patterned after others in surrounding counties that might provide more opportunities for folks with extra needs who require additional support? Maybe I could start a business that might potentially provide job and/or volunteer opportunities for my son and others? What could I … what should I do?

After months of constant caregiving and many challenging life circumstances, I have found myself completely depleted of energy and resources … and now God seems to be saying, “It is time.”

I had set aside a room in my home as a workspace for my son and me a few months ago. I work with him building birdhouses and I make candles, soaps, and such. But this work area is in my office/library and it simply is not working well for us. So as my son enjoyed his pool this summer and I worked outside nearby, an idea from the past resurfaced … what if I cleared away all the overgrowth and debris from an old shed foundation on our property and placed a new shed there? A shed that could house a work area and more …?

This is where the shop comes in.

As I pulled weeds and picked up broken glass, I prayed continually. You see, in my rural community, my son’s situation is not an isolated one. Many individuals and their families are faced with extremely limited resources and almost no help. Parents are forced to leave their careers once their child ages out of the school system or other family members offer care until they reach an age that they can no longer help. There are some programs but waiting lists are substantial and often the programs do not match the individual’s needs and honestly, in our community, it often seems as if our children and families are invisible. While most of us are used to fighting for our children, I find that as we age, we oftentimes simply grow weary … weary of asking for help and not being heard … weary of covering all the bases for our child with special needs and our other kids … weary of fighting so many hidden battles every single day … weary of crying ourselves to sleep at night and fearing for our child when we are no longer here … and weary of living in a world where no one seems to see our children and their potential.

Sometimes when our children reach adulthood and we realize the absolute lack of resources and concern within the system and our communities, we just shut down. We give up. We stop asking for help.

This is where I found myself after these last few years. A place of shutting down. A place where I just didn’t have any more fight left in me. A place of absolute and abject weariness.

I’m not alone in this.

So as I pondered not only a shed but the rest of our four acres, I began to see potential … not only for my son but in time and Lord willing, for others as well. I began to envision a cottage garden overflowing with flowers and herbs that I would use in my own soaps and salts. I pictured vegetables and berries growing nearby and paths that would draw a weary soul into a sheltered place to rest. I envisioned patches of lavender and sunflowers that exuded peace and joy. And in the midst of it all, I saw a shop … a shop and a small greenhouse. The shop would house a work area for various projects but it would also contain enough space to open a small store where we could sell the work of our own hands but also, the work of others.

Most importantly, I saw a shop and four acres of land filled with opportunities. My son is capable of many things when he is given the opportunity and the support he needs and I am confident that he could partake in almost every aspect of running a small business. The same is true for many people with special needs and varying disabilities.

I close my eyes and all I can see is a place where individuals with varying needs would be welcomed and valued for who they are because, like everyone, they are deserving of an opportunity.

And Lord willing, if I can provide this opportunity for my son on a small scale, maybe one day, I can be a part of providing it for others within our community.

That’s the vision.

Want to be a part of it? The most important thing any believer could do for us is to pray… pray for the Lord’s provision and leading. Without Him, there is no vision. However, if you are interested in supporting the purchase of a shed, a GiveSendGo site has been set up by a friend and you can find it here ->
https://givesendgo.com/G9BWD?utm_source=sharelink&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=G9BWD

I don’t expect this sharing site to remain open for much longer but I do have a special savings account set up at a local bank that will remain open as a means of supporting this ongoing vision.

Thank you so much for reading these thoughts and for any support and wisdom you may have to offer. Lord willing, I hope to write and share more in this space in the days to come but for today, this is sufficient. ~Tanya

My Soul sings

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I plan on updating my blog soon so this will likely be my last piece on this format but I have a story to tell. A story of God’s faithfulness.

When I was a very young girl, my family had an old piano tucked away in a back room. It was terribly out of tune and many of the ivories were broken but it was my first introduction to an instrument that would one day become my greatest companion.

My older sister began taking piano lessons and my parents invested in a newer piano, which proudly sat in our newly finished living room. But in just a few more years, it was my turn to learn and that piano gradually became an extension of me. I’m sure I drove my poor mother almost crazy with my youthful playing but nothing brought me more joy and peace than coaxing music from those keys, no matter how jarring that music must have been.

I was still quite young when I was asked (or told) to play accompaniment to our church’s congregational singing at our Wednesday night services. I even remember the very first song I played … ‘I Gave My Life for Thee‘ (written by Frances Havergal).

I continued to play accompaniment for church all through my teen years and up until age 21 when I moved on. But it was at home, without eyes watching and on my own instrument, that my greatest joy was experienced. Playing the piano was what kept me sane during the tumultuous teen years when my family was walking through incredibly hard and dark things. I would come home from a difficult day at school, drop my books, and head right to those keys. I would play until my fingers could play no more, starting strong and slowly easing into the softest of notes as the stress of the day faded away.

Playing the piano had the same effect as writing does for me now. It was how I processed life and coped with life’s heartaches.

That piano moved with me into my first apartment and then it moved again a few years later when I got married. Eventually, we moved to our present home, and naturally, my piano moved with me. But around this time, the piano tuner noted that my piano was in bad shape and there was nothing more he could do with it. The entire inside needed to be rebuilt and honestly, the piano was not worth the cost and I certainly didn’t have the resources to rebuild it or buy a new one.

Eventually, I began to play less often. Life was stressful as my oldest son’s autism was often intense and life became increasingly difficult. Over time, the piano’s condition deteriorated until I could no longer bear the sound of its broken notes.

As I look back now I understand that I was just as broken as my piano. I was a jumbled mess of off-key notes and shattered ivories and just as the music ended for my beloved piano, the music began to die in me.

It has probably been 13 or so since I have played with any regularity. It has been 13 years of really hard things and 13 years of being broken down and slowly rebuilt.

I had to learn to process life differently and thankfully I had a Pastor who stepped into that role. What I once could only process through my piano, I had to learn to process in words as we walked through a long counseling process. In time, I found my words were most easily expressed in writing and I found a new creative outlet.

But music has always been the language of my soul …

a language that I thought had died.

Photo by Steve Johnson on Pexels.com

My son with autism turned 21 this week. I have to be honest and admit that I have long been afraid of this season of life because soon, the school van will stop coming and the routine of his school days will end. The adult world for an individual with a profound disability is a scary place and it has only grown more uncertain over recent years. All the plans and dreams I had for both him and I have disintegrated and I honestly have no idea what lies ahead.

In addition, I am watching my parents’ age and know my time with them is limited and, at the same time, I have had to come to terms with my life inside a dysfunctional marriage. My time as a homeschool mom is coming to a close as my second child will also be graduating this year and my daughter will then finish next year. I recently had to put my dog, my most faithful companion for almost 14 years to sleep just the other week and a few days after that, I learn that my Pastor was resigning from our church. I don’t even know if I have a future with the church at all considering the needs of my son and my rapidly increasing limited freedom to attend and be involved.

The depth of loneliness in these last weeks had reached new depths and the milestone of my son’s 21st birthday was one I did not feel ready to face.

But I should have known God was up to something. Even in the loneliest places, I have known a sense of peace. Even as I cried tears of sorrow over the losses, my heart could only whisper praise and thankfulness to my God who has sustained me through every season of life and in whom I knew I needed to trust for the future … no matter how scary it may be.

The Saturday before my son’s birthday, I was cleaning my home and preparing a small party for him. At one point I stopped and picked up my phone and opened Facebook and to my surprise, the first thing that popped up on my screen was a posting from Marketplace … of a baby grand piano.

Lord have mercy. What pianist’s heart doesn’t beat a little faster when they see a baby grand? Even one like me who hasn’t touched the keys of any piano in years?

But my heart began to beat even faster when I saw the local location of this piano and the cost … only $500! I have never seen a baby grand for sale at that price. I showed the listing to my daughter and confided in her that I wanted this piano so badly … but I knew logistically, it was out of my power to attain. I did not have $500 and I knew moving such an instrument would be difficult and I knew I would face more resistance than I had the strength to deal with. Owning a piano such as this one was beyond me.

So I let it go.

But God did not.

The next day, the day before my son’s 21st birthday, was his party. I only had a few family members there because I needed to keep it small for his comfort. As a few of us were sitting around the table, my Mother randomly mentioned she had been talking with a man at her church about finding a piano for me. I told her that I had just seen a local baby grand for only $500 and when I was questioned if I had called about it, I had to honestly admit that I didn’t have that amount of money right now. My Mom looked at me and said that she and my Dad did … and they would love to loan the money to me for this piano … I could pay them back later. This announcement set off a series of events that I could never have imagined for immediately those closest to me grew excited and begged me to find the listing again and to reach out to the owner. My hands started to shake and I couldn’t find the post anywhere so my sweet daughter took my phone and searched until she found it. Surrounded on most sides with encouragement, with only one lone voice of doubt and gloom, I contacted the person who listed the piano and set up a time to see it the next day.

It was surreal. I was going to look at a baby grand piano with the intent and means of purchasing it … this was something my mind could barely fathom.

The next day I sent my now 21-year-old son off to school and with an envelope of borrowed money, we drove a short distance to look at the piano. We met the owner’s daughter at the door (the owner was in the hospital at the time), and as we walked inside the first thing I noticed was not the piano, but a painted mural on a wall with a Scripture verse … a significant one.

Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.
Isaiah 40:31

Friends, I have been weary. I have been barely holding on for months and I have questioned how I could possibly keep going. This verse has often come to mind but I reached a point where I had begun to dismiss it but there it was, beautifully displayed right in front of me. Then I looked to my side and there stood the piano … and something came alive in me.

I listened to the story of this instrument and learned that it is close to one hundred years old and that it has been a cherished part of this family since 1981. The Mother/Grandmother of this family was the owner of the instrument and everyone was attached to it. But due to downsizing, she had decided to get a smaller piano and needed a new home for this piece, not an easy thing to do with such a large instrument at its advanced age.

I didn’t sit down to play but I touched a few keys tentatively and felt the smooth touch. The notes sounded especially sweet to me and I knew without a doubt this piano was meant for me. I glanced at the hymnal that sat on top and then I looked in the eyes of the owner’s daughter and told her that I would love to give their piano a new home where it would be cherished and well cared for as it has always been. I handed her the money and after more conversation, we left, at this point uncertain how I was going to get it moved.

I listened to all kinds of planning and worry about moving the piano ourselves the whole way home but I felt such a peace that somehow, it would be okay. As soon as we got home, I had a message from the woman I had just met with asking if she could call me, and of course, I said yes … honestly a little concerned that there was a problem and they had changed their minds. Her words, however, stunned me for she gave me the numbers of professional piano movers and offered to pay for the move herself, up to a certain amount.

My goodness, when God does a thing … He does a thing.

Two days later, that beloved baby grand stood in my home.

I contemplated what would be the first song I would play on this instrument and the answer was clear … ‘Great is Thy Faithfulness’ (Thomas O. Chisholm) …

Because God is faithful.

On my son’s 21st birthday, a milestone I have long feared, God provided and brought music back into my life. In a season of loss and change, He has brought comfort. In a season of loneliness, He has brought a companion. The baby grand now stands in my living room as a testimony of the faithfulness and love of my God.

He will provide in all the uncertain days ahead, just as He has provided in the past.

He has brought music back to me and because of Him …

My soul sings.

My soul sings
Now my soul sings

What blessed assurance
I’ve found in You
I’ve found in You
I won’t be shaken, I will not be moved
How steadfast Your strong hand
Is keeping me
Is keeping me
I won’t be shaken, I will not be moved
Oh, blessed assurance

*CityAlight ~ Blessed Assurance*

Ashes & Beauty

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

Sometimes in life, we find ourselves standing at a crossroads, facing a decision that could alter the course of our life considerably.

We have all been there. I certainly have been a few times.

I was just there recently.

At a crossroads, I did not expect.

It caught me off guard, to be honest.

A voice of counsel, given in a long season of hardship and difficulty, offered me a way out … a step into a life of freedom for which I have long desired.

And suddenly, there I was … facing a crossroads.

The traveler stood alone and forlorn as the winds whipped fiercely around her with no regard to her weakened state. The road to reach this point had been long and the woman was as worn as her threadbare clothing.

She had reached a juncture in the roads, a place where two paths met but then went separate ways. She wasn’t sure which way to turn and she felt perplexed by the differing advice other travelers had given her.

Finally, her exhausted body could withstand no more and she fell to the ground as her tears mixed with the dirt below. She was covered with ashes, her eyes were dim with despair, and deep anger stirred in her soul as the call for freedom, her freedom, tolled like a bell echoing across the valley.

There was a battle being waged at that crossroad and it was one that would determine not only the course of direction for the woman but also for those who fell under her care. It was a battle fierce and long, but it was a battle cry quickly silenced when she lifted her eyes to heaven and quietly whispered, “Help me, please.”

And at that moment, the battle ceased.

Quiet filled the air as the woman slowly rose to her feet, took one last look at the path which promised her freedom and a return of her independence, and then fixed her gaze on the path that would lead her down into the valley, away from all she longed to have.

She knew the direction she needed to go.

Crossroads in life are a bit intimidating, I find … especially when you are alone but also responsible for others. At this particular crossroads, I heard different counsel from people I respect and it caused considerable confusion and frustration. Ultimately, the decision was up to me and it was a decision that weighed heavily for days …

Until I looked up and whispered, “Help me, please.”

At that moment, the quandary was settled, the course forward was determined, and … my heart was grieved. Terribly grieved. While both paths would prove difficult and challenging, only one seemed to offer the one thing I wanted so desperately – my freedom, and my independence. To follow the other path meant to lay down my life as a sacrifice once more and to pick up my cross and follow my Savior.

There could be no other path for me.

I rose to my feet, still covered in ashes from the fight, wiped away the tears that slid down my cheek, and set my feet on the path my Savior trod long before me.

You may be wondering about the title of this piece, Ashes & Beauty. Well … I could think of nothing more suitable to represent my journey at this point. In Isaiah 61, we read …


The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor
    and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.

Reader, I so look forward to a day when I am given a crown of beauty to replace the ashes, and the oil of joy in place of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of despair but I don’t believe I will fully know that reality until the day I leave this world behind and stand before my Savior. Until that day, I will seek to follow Him, even when I am covered in the ashes of this fallen world and I will look for the beauty that comes from a heart set on Jesus alone. This life I have, it is one of both ashes and beauty … joy and mourning … praise and despair.

Until I see Him face to face.

~Tanya

The Shadow of a Dream

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I listened as rage poured from my son. Verbally unable to adequately express whatever turmoil had built inside him, anger had built up and exploded like a volcano with lava erupting from its depths.

At 20 years old, he is a relatively big guy, certainly much bigger than me. It can be a little intimidating sometimes. This week, in particular, has been rough.

My son has autism and intense anxiety. Often sweet and usually gentle, he also is filled with landmines and ticking time bombs that can explode unexpectedly.

Life is often uncertain for me as his mom and caregiver. The weight of responsibility weighs on me constantly and fear for his future and mine nags at me night and day.

People have said that I should place him in a home for my own health and for the sake of my other children who are presently 18 and 16 years old. When I share this advice with them, wondering at their thoughts, their immediate responses are always frustration, touched with anger. The thought of forcing their brother out for their sakes is incomprehensible to them … and wrong. But more than that, they understand the reality and as my 18 year old wisely stated …

“Do people really think you have options? If you had different options, don’t they realize you would have already done them?”

Life is often hard but my teens understand hard realities.

These are not the dreams I had for life. This is not what I had planned.

When my son was first diagnosed, the entire direction and course of life was abruptly and forever altered. Doctor’s appointments, therapists, IEP’s, private schools, report and report after report, and meetings galore soon consumed my days. Worries, fears, and anger filled the nights as I was stayed awake to keep my son safe. Those years were undeniably heavy and I was horribly ill-equipped in the tasks before me.

I found myself desperate to find meaning, purpose, and even my identity in the autism journey and because of that, I often made my son’s diagnosis about me and my journey. I did some writing and was given opportunities to do public speaking and was often told my words were inspirational. “Ah, here,” I thought to myself, “this is my purpose. God, you heal my son and I’ll tell the story.”

But an interesting thing happened over the years. The opportunities to speak became fewer and fewer … the journey itself became increasingly harder … my responsibilities grew as I began homeschooling my younger children … my son’s behaviors grew more and more intense and exhausting … and I found myself often isolated.

It is hard to be ‘inspirational’ when you are falling apart bit by bit as your drag yourself through each day. It is hard to be ‘inspirational’ when you find yourself questioning the character and goodness of your God. The ‘fiery furnace’ was effective in revealing the true nature of me. It was not a pretty sight.

Sometimes I pause in my busy days and I remember. I reflect on those years and what has led to this place where I am now. I wish I had known then what I know now and I wish I could do things differently even though I have no desire to go back in time. Sometimes, especially lately, I find myself once more growing fearful and worried for the days that lay ahead.

My son will be transitioning out of school next year and into the adult world, which is presently in dire straits. There may not be funding for him and even if we can access it, it may not be much and there may not be staffing. I cannot really plan for our future because there is so much uncertainty and not much upon which to place my hope.

Except for God.

Can I tell you what I would tell the younger me if I could go back in time?

I wouldn’t tell her how hard the days coming were going to be. She wasn’t ready.

I wouldn’t tell her how lonely and isolated her world would be. She would have ran.

I wouldn’t tell her she was about to discover what the dark night of the soul means. She would have ended it then and there.

I would tell her that no matter what she thinks in the days ahead, God will never desert her. I would tell her that while it seems God is not hearing her cries or answering her prayers, He is working in a totally different way. I would tell her to love her son and not worry about family or friends who will desert her. I would tell her to love her son and not listen to the doctors. I would tell her not to pressure herself or her son to be anyone other than who God created them to be. I would tell her to trust God and rest in Him when nothing makes sense. I would tell her she has so much to learn in the days to come and all the hard things are part of the process. I would tell her to repent and turn from her selfishness and pride sooner rather than later. I would tell her stories of how God will provide in the smallest of ways and sometimes, in ways that will blow her mind. I would tell her that God doesn’t need her to be a certain way or to be perfect or like anyone else. I would tell her that His will and His plan for her son are not dependent on her doing all the right things.

I would tell her all the things I had to learn the hard way and I would whisper in her ear, “It’s going to be harder than you could ever imagine but God is going to prove Himself greater than it all. Trust Him.”

These are the things I am telling myself now … today.

All those years ago, I did not have any idea what lay ahead and I was afraid. I tried to find meaning in all sorts of ways and now as I look back, I only see that I made it about me.

It is no surprise that all those dreams turned to cinders in the fiery furnace of these years. It is no surprise that I find myself mostly surrounded by ashes as so much of my efforts and pursuits have burned away as dross.

But I also see what has been refined in the fire…

Me …

My children.

This is where I see God making beauty from the ashes.

I was thinking about dreams today.

I have one.

I have always wanted to own my own shop, ever since I was a little girl. I have dreamed on it over the years. I would sell the books I hoped to write. I would sell the candles that I poured. I wanted a shop in the middle of town where I could finally be in the middle of things and part of a community. I had all kinds of plans.

Most parts of that dream are in the pile of ashes.

But some of it remains and it too has been refined in the fire.

You see, my dreams these days consist of a little, white cottage-style shop right where our old, ugly cinder block barn now stands. I see a cobblestone or brick walkway drawing a visitor into the gentle warmth that lies behind the closed door. Inside I see crafts and goods created by the skilled hands of others from local and afar. I see a table or two tucked into a corner near the counter where teas and coffees are served. On one side I envision an open space surrounded by windows and filled with books, both new and old. A spot that beckons the reader to peruse, explore, and learn. Outside the shop, connected by another path, I see a small greenhouse with just enough greens to brighten someone’s day. Around that corner and connected to the back of the shop, I would build a room. A space that could serve as a retreat or a possible source of added income. And all of this is surrounded by the lovely four acres that God has given to me to love and someday to hopefully share with others. I dream of this land being a refuge for others as it has for me.

A refuge even as the storms of life rage.

My greatest dream is that I long to share this with my son and others like him that the world wants to cast away.

A place to work. A place to be part of a community. A place to be loved and welcomed. A place where God is at work and honored in all we do and I am not the focus, but only Him.

For He is our refuge.

This is my dream. It is but a shadow of a dream since I haven’t the means or abilities to make it happen. But even as I hold it loosely and hold the fruition of it up to Him, I know my lack has certainly never stopped God before.

I walked by a flower bed yesterday and I was startled by a burst of color I had not seen there just days before. Most of my flowers are slowly fading as October guides the way into autumn, so I had to investigate this unexpected delight. To my surprise, it was a plant I had planted earlier in the spring. It was supposed to bloom in the summer but never did it even bud. I thought it had died in the brutal summer heat we experienced this year and honestly, when I weeded that flower bed the last time, I pulled some of it out, thinking it was just another weed. Something stopped me that day, I remember, and I left the rest of those greens in place, thinking I would deal with them later.

But now that the burning heat of summer has passed, that plant has bloomed into a lovely display of late autumn beauty.

It was only a shadow of a plant. Planted in the spring, forgotten about over the summer months and scorched by the sun’s heat, and then ripped from the dirt and mistaken as a weed … only to arise from the ashes and gloriously bloom at just the right time.

God’s time.

That’s how He works.

How blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked,
Nor stand in the path of sinners,
Nor sit in the seat of scoffers!
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
And in His law he meditates day and night.
He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water,
Which yields its fruit in its season
And its leaf does not wither;
And]in whatever he does, he prospers.
Psalm 1:1-3

What Love is this?

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What Love is this that chose a frail, lost sinner –
Long before the earth would know to speak her name?

What Love is this that offered up His life blood –
To be the sacrifice for the wrath that was hers by right?

What Love? What Love?

What Love is this that picked among the least –
Now spotless and redeemed to be His beloved child?

What Love is this that guarded and protected –
When that child fought what the Father had deemed His best?

What Love? What Love?

What Love is this that set the gears in motion –
So that His chosen could only seek His face?

What Love is this that waited patiently –
Until it seemed all hope was lost?

What Love? What Love?

What Love is this that works oft’ times in the shadows –
In the darkness where no light can seem to shine?

What Love is this that brings into His Light –
The sorrows darkness likes to hide?

What Love? What Love?

What Love is this that enlightens darkened eyes –
And restores the wicked heart to God?

What Love is this that can abide no sin –
Yet in temptation, offers freedom and escape?

What Love? What Love?

What Love is this that will not let me go –
Yet will not allow me to remain the same?

What Love is this that fills the soul with such peace –
Even as the storms may threaten the weary soul?

What Love? What Love?

What Love enables the heart to trust –
Although the way ahead may seem unclear?

What Love is this that draws us closer to Him –
Until the day we’ll see Him face to face?

What Love is this?

A poet I am clearly not, but sometimes the thoughts that race around my brain beg to be hastily written in poorly constructed verse. Such was the case yesterday. I am overwhelmed by the depth of God’s love and how He often works in such mysterious and hidden ways to orchestrate and conduct His will and plan in the world around me. When I contemplate these matters, I am saddened by my own tendencies to mistrust Him and doubt His sovereign work in my life and in the lives of my children. To be loved by such a God requires the Christian to hand over control and to, instead, pick up our cross and follow Him. We often speak these words lightly, but if we can grasp the reality of Who God is and what He has called us out of and into, we might better understand the verse that instructs us to ‘Work out our salvation with fear and trembling.’ (Phil. 2:12)

As I woke this morning still ruminating on these thoughts, the timeless words from the hymn, ‘The Love of God’ (written by Fredrick Lehman ~ 1868-1953), came to mind and I will share them here in closing.

The love of God is greater far
than tongue or pen can ever tell;
it goes beyond the highest star,
and reaches to the lowest hell.
The wand’ring child is reconciled
by God’s beloved Son.
The aching soul again made whole,
and priceless pardon won.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
and were the skies of parchment made;
were ev’ry stalk on earth a quill,
and ev’ryone a scribe by trade;
to write the love of God above
would drain the ocean dry;
nor could the scroll contain the whole,
though stretched from sky to sky. 

Refrain:
O love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
the saints’ and angels’ song.

What Love is this? It is the incomprehensible love of a holy and just God. A love that rescues from the pit of darkness, redeems from an eternity of suffering, restores fellowship with Himself, transforms the object of His affection into the image of His Son, and promises eternity in heaven with Him forever.

What Love, indeed!

Confidence

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I will rest
In Your promises
My confidence
Is Your faithfulness
(Yes and Amen by Housefires)

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that it fell silent some months ago. This extended break from writing was not intentional on my part but it has been a needed time for me to work through some challenging life issues and heart matters. It has been a season of quiet, as well as, a season of work, wrestling, and waiting. But I noticed that when I did want to try writing again, my words froze — I became almost paralyzed and could not continue. The longer I stayed away from writing, the harder it became to even gather and process through my thoughts. I understood somewhat what might be causing the block in my head but I did not know what to do about it … so I stayed silent. I would rather not speak at all than to speak foolishly.

A couple of weeks ago, I began to pray about my inability to write because quite honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to continue. The last months have taken the last bit of steam I have had left in me and the future has been weighing heavily on my shoulders. “What is the point of my writing?” I often wondered.

But last evening as I pondered the future once more regarding what lies ahead for my son with autism and myself, I asked the Lord what I could do … and I heard one word, ‘Write.’

And I, foolish person that I can be, argued with Him. “Lord, I don’t know. I’m really not that good of a writer and my style of writing is not what most modern people who call themselves ‘Christian’ want to read. I’ve read the successful blogs and I see who attracts people and readers and Lord, I am just not that person. I don’t want to be. Isn’t there something else I can do … something more hidden and behind the scenes? I just … I just don’t think I can continue. I don’t think I should try to write anymore. I just don’t know.”

Have you ever been in a conversation with God where you can almost hear Him sigh and you can almost see His eyebrow lift as He bestows a fatherly glare upon you?

I tend to get that a lot.

But like the gracious, heavenly Father He is, He did not just give me ‘the look’ but slowly began to enlighten my heart and mind … He began to teach and instruct me in His ways … and He is helping me to understand some things that have been eluding my thoughts.

You see, I have not been able to write because I have lost all confidence. Now you should understand this about me: I am not a confident person. Never in my life has the word confident been applied to me – never. My Pastor is wise to this so years ago he began to tell me that I was capable. Over and over, he used the word capable to describe me and eventually, it began to stick. Eventually I would look at a hurdle or situation and while my first instinct would be one of fear, I was able to say, ‘Hey, I am capable of handling this’ and handle it I would. With that new foundation, I slowly began to build a little confidence as I grew and matured in my faith and that was what allowed me to write here and on social media.

But that confidence slowly dwindled away over these last months/year and once I stopped writing, I could not seem to be able to begin again. Any confidence that was being nurtured in me has since faded and so I did the only thing I know how to do … I grew silent and waited.

Reader, I have lost confidence.

I have lost any confidence in myself.

I have lost confidence in the world around me.

I have lost confidence in many believers.

I have lost confidence in church.

It is a rough place to be for a woman who started life as a Pollyanna of sorts. A girl who was often nick-named ‘Sunshine’ when she was little because her gentle smile glowed. It is perplexing for a girl who grew up in the church and believed if she just ‘hung in there’ and tried to do right, God would make it all okay some day.

But in these last months, I have been navigating through the somewhat bitter reality that it will not be okay … at least not as I thought it would be.

God has not done what I asked of Him. He has not fixed my family and restored any relationship with my siblings. He has not allowed me the community, friendships, nor the safety for which I have longed; In fact, He continues to take more and more away. He has not fixed or changed a broken and dysfunctional marriage but instead, He has caused me to walk alone and to lead my children in His ways while dealing with great loneliness and loss. He has not cured or made the way any easier for my son with autism and as I look at the days ahead once he enters the adult world with limited supports and services, God has actually taken away most of the help and freedom I thought I would have.

At this point of life, my reality is looking pretty bleak and frankly, help and encouragement seem hard to find. The last years of political unrest and pandemic craziness seems to have caused even the strongest Christians I know to become increasingly cynical and calloused. When I have a rare opportunity to share conversation with an adult, it seems as if politics, the pandemic craziness, and vaccines are all that can be talked about. I have grown weary of this.

So last night I lifted my eyes and my heart heavenward as I cried out to God with the sorrows that perplex my soul and He, with all the gentleness and kindness of a gracious Father, showed me that my confidence needs to be in Him and Him alone.

I always believed I couldn’t be safe in this world unless I was loved and accepted fully by others and He has never allowed me that. I always believed I wouldn’t be safe until I was loved and cherished in the marriage setting and He hasn’t allowed that either. I always believed I wouldn’t be safe until my son’s autism was easier and not as hard and perplexing and He has not made the way any simpler. If anything, God has allowed my life to become increasingly more difficult with each passing year and any hope I may have had of earning the love of those around me or attaining some level of confidence in myself has been destroyed in these last months and carried away like ash in the stormy winds.

So what do I have left? How can I lift my head and take the next step when everything seems so uncertain and grim? I can do so by trusting in the faithfulness of God. My confidence as I face each day can only be found in Him and through Him.

The truth is, I have had to learn that things really will be okay but I may never see that until I enter the gates of heaven. The truth is, I am loved but I may never really understand that until I stand before my Savior and see Him face to face. The truth is, in this world we will have trouble and it is a fallacy to think that God is all about making life easy for us so we can be happy and without trouble. The truth is, we can have peace, contentment, happiness, and rest in the fiercest of storms because we can know absolute confidence in Who our God is and that our lives are not about us. This truth stands in absolute defiance to what so many around me seem to believe.

So like a single candlestick that stands alone in a darkened room, God seems to be challenging me to shine His light, even if my thoughts and words flicker uncertainly in the night. He can use the most unimpressive and diminutive light for His glory and His purpose … and that is my confidence.

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,
    whose confidence is in him.
They will be like a tree planted by the water
    that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
    its leaves are always green.
It has no worries in a year of drought
    and never fails to bear fruit.”
Jeremiah 17:7,8

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This blog has been silent for a couple of weeks simply because sometimes there are far too many words and too many thoughts in my head to sift through and construct/deconstruct/reconstruct into meaningful, insightful sentences. What you may not know about me is that I often (always) struggle intensely with anxiety and often, I can become completely overwhelmed with life — my own life in particular.

Some who are friends with me on social media might say, “But you’ve been sharing pictures from your garden on Facebook – you seem fine!”

Yes, you’re right. I have been intentionally sharing light and fun posts on my social media accounts. If you see me in person, I intentionally smile and endeavor to make easy conversation with you. These are skills I have learned from a lifetime of dealing with anxiety and difficult things.

Why? Why do I work so hard to maintain a sense of joy and live a peaceful life even when my mind is racing and there is a fear lurking around every corner, ready to consume and distract me?

Because my life has been redeemed … It is not my own. Because even when my heart and mind are in a race contest with each other, Jesus is still on the throne. Even when my head gets foggy and I am not sure what to do next, God is still in control. Even when I am so weary with the heaviness of my own life (not even thinking about the state of my country and the world right now) that I can barely lift my head, I am still at peace because He is faithful.

I know I can trust Him even when my mind tells me otherwise. So I choose daily to pick up my cross and follow Him … wherever He leads. (Matthew 16:24)

Someday I may share about the anxiety and fear I still struggle with in my day to day life. But right now, I am learning to persevere in the midst of the battle. I am learning to not ignore the battle that is raging inside while deadening myself with activity or nothingness. Instead, I am walking through the overwhelming panic that continually rises inside of me. I am taking every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5). I am talking with my Pastor, who is the only one who knows my full reality and who can speak truth into the chaos of my thoughts when I need help. And I am looking for beauty — God’s beauty in this broken, fallen world.

When I watch the first flowers bloom in the Spring, I am reminded of God’s faithfulness in hard seasons. When I see the first seedling break through the dirt in an effort to reach the light, I am reminded of His goodness and strength, which enables me to do hard things. When I see the leaves on the trees begin to bud and turn green, I am reminded who is the Source of my life.

And in all of these things, I find joy.

So for now my blog is more silent but there is a reason — like my outdoor plants that were dormant in the winter, needing a period of rest and silence before they could enter a new season of growth, the same is true for me.

My main reason for hopping on here today was simply to share some Scripture I read this morning during my quiet time. I am presently reading in 1 Kings but after finishing today’s portion I flipped over to the Psalms and read one of my favorite passages. I thought it might be helpful for myself, and possibly others, to share here because this is how I seek to live even in the midst of hard things. I want this to be the testimony of my life ~

But as for me, I shall sing of Your strength;
Yes, I shall joyfully sing of Your lovingkindness in the morning,
For You have been my stronghold
And a refuge in the day of my distress.
O my strength, I will sing praises to You;
For God is my stronghold, the God who shows me lovingkindness.
Psalm 59:16-17

The world around me seems wrought with chaos, hatred, and ignorance. My own life is incredibly overwhelming and uncertain. But as for me … I will sing of His strength.

He is so faithful.

Mary’s Story ~ Part 2

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This is the second part of a piece I shared on Good Friday.
For context, you should first read Part 1 here -> Mary’s Story ~ Part 1

“For the next day, darkness and gloom seemed to hang over us all. Disbelief and sorrow filled our souls as we grieved the death of Jesus … my son and our only hope.

But — on the morning of the third day, someone began pounding at my door again. This time John rushed in the door before I could open it and he was actually smiling at me, with a light shining in his eyes.

‘Mother,’ he cried out, ‘We were just at Jesus’s tomb; The stone has been rolled away and He is no longer there! Do you know what this means? Jesus has risen from the dead, just as he said he would do!’

I stumbled backward in disbelief as he continued, ‘Everything happened just as He said it would. We just did not understand at the time. He told us that ‘We would go up to Jerusalem and the Son of Man would be delivered unto the Chief Priests and the scribes and that they would condemn him to death and deliver him to the Gentiles. He also said, ‘And they shall mock and scourge Him, and shall spit upon him and shall kill him: And on the third day, He shall rise again!’ (Matthew 10:33.34)

‘Mother, that is exactly what happened and now he must have risen from the dead, just as he said he would do!’

Oh my friends, after John left I sank back down into my chair, absolutely weak with relief and wonder. I needed time to think and ponder this news and as I did, I began to remember …

I remembered the words of Isaiah the prophet when he said, “Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call HIs name, Immanuel, God with us.” (Isaiah 7:14) Then I consider once more the words the angel of the Lord had spoken to me many years ago when he told me I would conceive and bear a Son — a Son called Jesus who would be the Son of God. Then the words Joseph said the angel had told him in a dream when he was troubled over the surprise news of this baby came to my thoughts next —  “Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus because he will save his people from their sins.” (Matthew 1:20-21)

And then, the words spoken by Jesus Himself came back to me … ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.’ (John 3:16-18)

I fell to my knees and lifted my face towards heaven as I cried out, ‘I believe! Oh God in heaven, I believe! I believe Jesus is Your Son and that you sent Him to this earth to pay the penalty of sin for Your Children – No! To save me from my sins! It was for my sin that Jesus came and it was for my sin that He suffered and died on that cross. Forgive me — forgive me.

Oh, friends, Jesus may have been my son for just a few short years on this earth, but I understand now that He is no longer my son – He is so much more! He is my King, my Messiah, my Redeemer – Jesus is my Savior!”

Listen … This is the Christmas story: Jesus left His throne in heaven to be born into an earthly body in a lowly stable. We must always remember that humble beginning; But, my friends, Jesus is no longer that babe in a manger.

We must also remember how He willingly offered up his life as the sacrificial lamb of God, on that cruel cross of Calvary – and that He did this for you and for me to free us from the penalty of death. He who knew no sin became sin for us. We must never forget that sacrifice; But my friends, Jesus is no longer on that cross.

When they laid Him in that tomb, death and hell thought they had finally won and we must always remember His death and burial. But my friends, Jesus is no longer in that tomb. After three days, Jesus rose from the dead, thereby gaining victory over sin, death, and hell forever for you and for me!

And then, Jesus ascended back up into heaven and there He sits on the right hand of the Father, surrounded by all hosts of heaven as they cry out, “He is King of Kings and Lord of Lords! And He shall reign forever and ever!”

This part, and the ending in particular, seem rather lackluster as I write them here, but that may be because when I shared it in my church so many years ago, this was when I faded out and Handel’s Messiah began to ring throughout the sanctuary in honor and praise of our Merciful Savior. Perhaps if you take the time to listen to it now, it will help.

It’s funny, as I reread these simple words of mine once more, they have taken on a much deeper value than they did when first written. I see the simplicity of my understanding and I am so thankful for all that God has been patiently teaching me through these years. However, one truth remains the same: Jesus is the Son of God. He came to this earth to satisfy the wrath of a Holy God and redeem His people from our wretchedness and sin. We are hopelessly lost without Him and so, God provided a way … and that way is Jesus. This is what we celebrate on this Resurrection Day.

 But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8

Mary’s Story ~ Part 1

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Twenty years ago, I became the Mom of a sweet little baby boy and, as a result, my perspective about so many things began to change — Christmas included. As the holidays approached that year, our church decided to host a special program and it was suggested I find a poem to share. Now, that first Christmas as a new Mom I found myself thinking on Mary, the mother of Jesus, quite often so I began to search for a suitable poem that matched my enlightening thoughts but found nothing that was strong enough to challenge me to stand before others. The words I wanted to read from another plagued me for weeks and, almost on a whim, I began speaking my thoughts aloud and then writing them down on paper and before I realized what I was doing, I had written a one-woman portrayal of Mary, the Mother of Christ. It covered the beginning of her story when the angel Gabriel visited her and finished with Christ’s ascension into heaven after He had risen from the dead. Then, to the surprise of all, I did something completely out of character — I dressed as Mary and stood in front of the church as I presented both the Christmas and Easter stories as one from my interpretation of Mary’s perspective. After that presentation, those handwritten pages were put away, never, I thought, to be seen again. But last week, as I pondered what I wanted to write for this season, I was reminded of those words I had written so long ago. I was unsure if I still had those old pages but a quick search through my files revealed that they were indeed still there.

So, I am sharing that simple writing once more, mostly untouched with only a few alterations to make it slightly more reader-friendly. Please remember as you read that this was written twenty years ago from the perspective of a new mother who, for the first time, pondered what the life and death of Christ might have been like from His mother’s eyes. It was also written to be portrayed in verbal speech, as opposed to a reading format and I did have to leave out many parts simply because of time constraints. Finally, I did employ a certain amount of creative freedom in this piece but much is taken directly from the Bible and, of course, as it covers the crucifixion of Christ, there are disturbing elements. I may make apology for the simplicity of the writing, but I will make no apology for the details of what my Savior suffered for me.

I’ve broken it into two parts and this is part one of the story shared today on Good Friday. I will share the second part on Easter Sunday, or as I prefer to think of it, Resurrection Day.

And so, as you begin to read, create a picture in your mind of an older woman, perhaps similar to a Grandmother you may know, gently rocking in her chair as she gathers her thoughts to tell a story … her story.

“Listen, my friends, and I will tell you a story. Many call it the Christmas story but, it is the story of my life and the life of my son. My name is Mary and my son — His name is Jesus.

My story begins many years ago when I was a young woman, not much more than a girl really. I was engaged to a wonderful man, my husband Joseph, and I spent many hours daydreaming of our future life together.

One day the most amazing thing happened! An angel of the Lord suddenly appeared to me and told me that I was highly favored and blessed among women! I was troubled at his words but the angel told me not to be afraid for I had found favor with God. Then he told me I would conceive and bear a son. A son whose name would be called, Jesus.

“How can this be, for I have not known a man?” I remember crying out to him.

The angel explained that it would be by the power of the Most High through His Spirit and that the child that would be born to me would be called, the Son of God. “For with God,” the angel said, “nothing shall be impossible.”

Still amazed by all the angel had said, I could only lower myself before him and answer, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord, be it unto me according to your word.”

And so it was.

As time progressed, my womb began to swell in evidence of this child growing within me. Every kick and every movement brought an overflowing joy to my soul and I would laugh in delight with every hiccup I felt inside. I already loved this baby of mine and I couldn’t wait to meet him!

I’ll never forget the night my son was born. Joseph and I had just traveled many miles to Bethlehem and I was great with child. There was no room for us in the inn but the kindly innkeeper, upon seeing my condition, offered us shelter in his stable. And it was there, in that humble dwelling, surrounded by all the animals, that I gave birth to my son. I wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and snuggled Him close as I gazed into His eyes, before laying him down in a manger that Joseph had filled with clean straw.

He was such a beautiful baby.

Well, time passed and my son grew, as children always do. His childhood years were incredible He had so much wisdom for one so young and often amazed me and Joseph. He also had such compassion for people; Always having a kind word to say or being willing to help someone in need. Why, it seemed before I knew it, he was a grown man and it was then his real ministry work began.

Oh how well I remember his first miracle! We were at a wedding in Cana and the unthinkable happened! They actually ran out of wine to serve the guests. Fearing disgrace for the bridegroom, I turned to Jesus for help, as I often did in those days, and didn’t he turn those barrels of plain old water into the most wonderful tasting wine? Just like that, he did!

After that it seemed he spent all of his time teaching, traveling from place to place, and doing all kinds of miracles. How my heart swelled with wonder and pride when I heard the stories of him raising the dead to life and healing so many sick and crippled people. I especially loved the time he fed all those thousands of people with just five small loaves of bread and two little fish. That’s just how my son was — so full of compassion.

(Silent pause)

But then came that day, such a dreadful day that I shall never be able to forget. I was in my little home when someone came pounding at the door and when I opened it, they told me that my son, my Jesus, had been taken prisoner the night before by the chief priests and Pharisees. He had been put on trial before Pilate and he had been sentenced to death.

in disbelief, I ran out the door and rushed down the street to where I could see a mob had gathered, angry and shouting. As I drew closer, I could begin to make out what they were yelling: “Crucify him, Crucify him!”

“Crucify him?” I thought to myself, “Who do they want to crucify and WHERE IS MY JESUS?”

Just then the still-shouting crowd parted and there, slowly coming towards me was a figure, nearly bent over beneath the weight of a heavy, wooden cross. I gasped in horror as that figure drew nearer to me and I could see how beaten and bloodied he was. Every inch of that poor soul, from the top of his head where a vicious-looking crown of thorns was cruelly driven into his skull, all the way down to his bloodied feet, was an open, bleeding wound. I had never seen anyone more viciously beaten and abused. I ached for this man and for his mother who would never be able to recognize him for his visage was so badly marred.

Just then, that man stumbled beneath the weight of his cross and the soldiers grabbed a nearby man from the crowd to carry the cross in his place. For one brief moment, the man on the ground lifted his head and his eyes looked straight into mine — almost as though he knew me. His eyes looked so familiar to me as if I had looked into them many times before …

Oh dear God in heaven — that’s my Son!

I followed in numb horror as the soldiers led Jesus and two others to the dreadful hill of Golgotha to be crucified. I remember how they had to force those two thieves onto their crosses, but not Jesus. No, when it was his turn, the soldiers watched in surprise as he willingly laid down on his cross and painfully stretched out his arms.

I had to turn away as they began to pound huge nails into my son’s hands and feet, holding him fast. I sank to my knees as I remembered the night He was born and how I counted and kissed each little finger and toe. How many times had I washed those little hands and feet when he was little — and still, still they continued to pound those nails deeper. How many miles had those feet walked to reach someone who needed Him? How many times had those hands reached out in love and compassion to the wounded or to gather a small child into His arms? Now nails were driven through those hands and feet.

When I looked up again, the soldiers had raised the crosses and there was my son, between two criminals, high on a blood-stained cross. I knelt beneath him and watched as his precious blood ran down that cross and puddled on the ground. I listened as the Chief Priests, the Roman soldiers, and even the one thief mocked him — spat at him — laughed at his pain.

But he said not a word in response.

Instead, I heard Jesus speak in a low tone, ‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!” as he watched the soldiers gamble of the clothing they had stripped from Him.

When he looked down and saw me at the foot of his cross, he spoke again. ‘Woman, behold your son and son, behold your mother.” I felt a trembling hand touch my shoulder and when I turned, there stood, John, one of His disciples, with tears streaming down his face. Even in such agony, Jesus was caring for another.

The day grew long and just when it seemed he could take no more, the sky suddenly darkened and a new agony overcame Jesus as he cried out, ‘My God, My God, why have You forsaken me!’ Oh, how I trembled in fear as those words echoed deep within my soul. But then, strangely enough, a peace gradually filled my son as he softly spoke these words, ‘Father, into Your hands, I commend My Spirit.’

For a brief moment, his eyes lifted heavenward as he cried out, almost triumphantly, ‘It is finished!’

With that, he breathed out a final breath and died.

After the soldiers were assured of his death, men came and lowered my son from the cross and gently laid his now lifeless body on the ground. I ran and gathered Him in my arms as I had done so many years before. I couldn’t help but rock gently with him in my arms as I cried bitter and angry tears over his broken body. Then they took Jesus away, wrapped him in clean linen, and placed His body in a borrowed tomb.

For three days I sat in my home, unable to move, eat, or sleep. When I tried to sleep, all I could see was the broken body of my son. When I tried to sleep, all I could hear was the pounding of the nails that held him to that cross. I sat alone, consumed with bitterness towards those who had killed my Son. Why did Jesus have to die?”

All hope seemed lost as darkness covered the hearts of many.

When I transcribed these words into my computer this week, tears filled my eyes as I reread and pondered anew the words that spoke of His suffering. The sacrifice of Christ impacts me so much more now than it did twenty years ago because I can better understand the truth of His love in a way that I could not before I entered a life of my own suffering. Such love is far beyond anything a mere human can fathom.

As I typed and ruminated on these thoughts today, one song came to mind that I will close this portion with: Wonderful, Merciful Savior, sung by Selah ~

Wonderful merciful savior
Precious redeemer and friend
Who would have thought that a lamb could
Rescue the souls of man

Come back for Mary’s Story ~ Part 2 when we pick up with her question, “Why did Jesus have to die?”