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O Love, That Will Not Let Me Go

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walkingthisjourneysite's avatarThe Brown Bird's Song

“O Love, that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee;
I give Thee back the life I owe,
That in Thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.”

George Matheson penned the words of this beloved hymn well over a hundred years ago. Insightful words of surrender and love that have withstood the passing years and continue to remain a source of comfort and encouragement for so many.

Mr. Matheson was born in Scotland in 1842. He was well-educated and on the path to a prominently successful life. By the age of 20, he was happily engaged to a young lady he adored, studying for ministry, and according to one source, had already written two books on theology. What a joyful season of life this much have been, filled with such promise and expectation!

But then, tragedy touched his life. He developed an eye…

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Jesus Paid it All

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Sometimes my thoughts and the words I want to write simply cannot make their way outside of my head. Such has been the case this week so, instead of what I originally planned to write, I am going to share the words of an old hymn that I’ve been singing and, at times, weeping over as of late. Written by Elvina M. Hall (1865), the hymn, Jesus paid it all, is widely known in Christian circles and often sung in church services. Today, her words, first penned as a poem and later set to music by her Pastor, are the thankful cry of this woman’s heart, 156 years later.

 I hear the Savior say,
“Thy strength indeed is small,
Child of weakness, watch and pray,
Find in Me thine all in all.”

Never have I been so aware of my own weakness and frail nature. Never have I been so acutely aware of my tendency to lean on my own understanding and my own strength, trusting in my own works of righteousness instead of resting in my Savior as truly, my all in all.

Refrain:
Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

Never have I recognized so clearly this within myself and never have I felt this depth of grief at my own sin nature. Never have I identified more with the Apostle Paul when he wrote, “For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of good is not … Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?” (Romans 7:18,24)

But this also is true — never have I been more thankful for a sovereign God and the sacrifice of Christ when He laid down His life for me. My sin was a crimson stain that I never could wash out on my own or redeem on my own but His sacrifice, offered with a love that is beyond my comprehension, washed the stains away and made me white as snow before a holy God.

Christ paid the debt that I could not pay and because of Him, I can further agree with the Apostle Paul when he wrote, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! So then, on the one hand I myself with my mind am serving the law of God but on the other, with my flesh the law of sin. Therefore there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 7:25-8:1)

My heart is often saddened by how prone I am to wander and prone to leave the God I love (Hymn: Come Thou Fount, written by Robert Robinson – 1758). As the prophet Jeremiah wrote, “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; Who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9) But, such is the heart that recognizes its true nature of sin and wretchedness and, as a result, begins to understand its absolute need of a Savior, through the leading of the Holy Spirit.

Lord, now indeed I find
Thy pow’r and Thine alone,
Can change the leper’s spots
And melt the heart of stone. 

Because of the sacrifice of God the Son and the working of God the Holy Spirit, I know this sinful heart of stone is melted through His power and His alone. Because of this, I echo the words of Paul once more: 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. (Galatians 2:20)

I am fully dependent on His grace, day by day, because He alone bore the penalty of my sin and calls me His child. I can walk this journey of life confident that at the end, I will see Jesus face to face not by my own merit or works, but because of Him alone. Jesus paid it all — All to HIM I owe.

What a wonderful Savior.


Jesus paid it all,
All to Him I owe;
Sin had left a crimson stain,
He washed it white as snow.

The Perfect Storm ~ A Perfect Savior

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“Be not far from me, for trouble is near;
For there is none to help.”
Psalm 22:11

Her weary, red eyes were dull as she shielded her face from the sun’s harsh rays, flinching in pain as another piece of driftwood crashed into her. It was bad enough that her boat had capsized in the waves caused by the great storm, but now she floated helplessly as the restless water continued to toss the splintered pieces haphazardly about, mindless of her plight. She had lost track of how long she had been drifting along, sometimes trying to swim, but mostly just grasping at pieces of her old boat as they drifted by and clinging tightly, it hopes one would carry her to shore.

She no longer cared upon what shore she landed for she was despairingly desperate to feel solid ground beneath her feet once more. The dreams she cherished when she first set sail, the plans she painstakingly mulled over as she planned her trip, and the boat she had meticulously crafted herself all had descended to the deep, destroyed and swept away by what only could be described as a perfect storm. A storm so unexpected and intense that she never could have planned for it.

She was not even sure how she survived.

But here she was, clinging to a splintered piece of driftwood as she drifted along in the current, alone and afraid, searching for land but seeing none. Her will to fight was fading fast, her desire to live seemed to be sinking with the setting sun. Hopelessness encircled her, ever-threatening like the fearsome sharks that lurked nearby. Her grip on the driftwood was slipping as her eyes slowly blinked once — then twice — and then remaining closed as she let go, her body sinking silently into the depths.

It seemed the storm had won and the deep waters were eager to claim their prize as darkness began to engulf her lifeless body as she sank lower still. But suddenly a brilliant flash of light tore through the waters, enlightening the blackness as a strong hand reached down and grasped her limp one, quickly lifting her from the depths, bringing her into the light once more. She gasped as new life was breathed into her lungs and slowly opened her eyes to see the eyes of her savior.

In my most recent posts, I have alluded to what I perceived as unanswered prayers from the past, as well as, my concerns for the future, specifically as it pertains to my son who has autism. You can catch up with those posts here, Taking the Next Step and Thoughts on my Son’s Birthday – How Deep the Father’s Love.

For this post, I intended to delve deeper into those prayers of the past and how the Lord is changing my understanding of prayer and teaching me to fully trust Him in all matters of life. That is what I started to write but, as I sat in a quiet place and pondered the past, old memories rose to the surface, details that had been lost in the stress of the season, seemingly irrelevant at the time. I wrote down a timeline and then began putting some of the old shattered pieces together and soon, I saw a picture I had not seen before. It was a picture of the final blow that sent me floundering for years, destroying the boat I had built to reach the land of my dreams, and leaving me adrift in the ocean’s current.

It was the picture of a storm — a perfect storm.

If I were to develop the above story a bit more, I think it would illuminate the life of a woman determined to reach a desired land, desperate for the safety she was certain it held. I would have to ponder it a bit more but I believe if we picked up her story at the beginning and followed it through, we would have seen how she built her little boat on her own and placed all her earthly possessions inside, believing she had no other choice; Not seeking guidance, but rather, relying on her own understanding and instinct while being driven by fear.

We all have a story and sometimes I tell portions of mine not because I am particularly comfortable opening the doors of my past but because stories have a way of illustrating the way God works in the life of a believer — even when she thinks He is nowhere around.

Just over 15 years ago, I stood in my little log cabin with my three young children — a four year old son with autism, an almost two year old son, and an infant daughter. This was the day the storm sent the wave that finally crashed the little boat I had built myself and repaired time and time again. This day is forever lodged in my memory as the day I shattered as my boat, or the very foundation of my life, finally fell apart.

I know the years that led up to this cataclysmic moment and I’ve always known it was more involved than PPD (Post-Partum Depression), but there was one detail I had forgotten — one event that I’ve talked about before but I never pieced together with this season of life.

2005 ~ I was expecting my third baby, just 20 months after my second one. The needs of my firstborn son with autism had escalated to their highest point and this was the season where he rarely slept. I usually dozed on the floor of the tv room while he watched Thomas the Tank Engine or Veggies Tales all night long. Days were spent keeping after my toddler, who was a challenge, and running my older son to therapies, appointments, or preschool. This was also the season where I began to understand the realities of my marriage and the utter helplessness I felt in it. The way my mind worked during this pregnancy began to change and I shifted to a life lived in overdrive, always striving towards something.

I was intent on reaching a land of stability and love. A world where things felt normal and secure. Years before I had built my little boat and in it I had set sail, certain I would reach my dream. But, by the time my third baby was due, my ship was battered by the harsh storms that had already hit it. There were leaks and missing pieces but I drove myself and my ship hard, determined to reach that distant shore. The harder the storms hit, the harder I pushed.

The night I gave birth to my daughter, my third little love, I had already been awake for over 24 hours. My son had not slept the night before and I had been pushed hard all day to keep up with him. When it was time to bring my sweet daughter into the world, I did not have any strength left and my body began to fail. It was the frantic yelling of my midwife that kept me awake long enough to finally birth my little girl. The only thing I remember in the moments after was the now quiet voice of the midwife telling me she was so sorry she had to yell at me and then softly telling the others to let me rest — I was too exhausted to remember anything else.

Despite this, I made sure I was discharged from the hospital 23 hours later because I was needed at home. Once there, I promptly drove myself to the store because we needed groceries and I knew I would be completely on my own the next day. I never stopped moving. I never stopped trying to fix my little boat. I never stopped watching for the destination I was so desperate to reach.

This much I remembered and this is what I thought led to an emotional crash later that year that was so devastating but, as I reflected this week, I remembered what else happened that year — that was the summer I took my oldest son to see the Developmental Pediatrician, the one who officially diagnosed him with autism. I remember I left my toddler with my parents but I had my infant daughter with me when we entered the doors of that office. This was the appointment where I was told my 4 1/2 year old son had severe autism and would likely never talk and would never be independent. There was no kindness or compassion but rather, a harsh telling of facts.

I don’t remember anything after that until one particular spot on the way home — a stop light at the top of a hill just a few miles from the hospital. It was there darkness overwhelmed me, completely obscuring the far shores of the land I hope to reach one day. It was then I lost hope.

On the outside, all continued as normal. I still ran my oldest to various therapies with two little ones in tow. I still cared for my home, ran a small business, and did as many of the ‘Mom things’ I could. I still drove myself with an intensity that sometimes amazed others. I still never slept and dealt with countless autistic meltdowns. But on the inside, I had detached. I had lost the hope of reaching dry land. My boat was listing badly and taking on water but I no longer had the means to repair or cover the holes.

It was the perfect storm and those waves that started after my son’s appointment stirred up more waves that dredged up hidden memories of the past. All of them combined continued to pummel me for days, weeks, and even months. These waves hit under the shadow of that darkness, telling me that God obviously did not care about me or my prayers. The lightening strikes that accompanied the storm hit me with the harsh words that He had left me alone in this fiercest of storms. It was in that storm I began to repeat to myself the words I heard in the darkness that I was truly alone and God was not there.

The final wave hit that day as I stood in my little log cabin with three little loves all around me. My boat shattered beneath the force of those waves and I was tossed into the depths of the sea, grasping for anything to hold onto, constantly pummeled by the debris around me.

I floated helplessly along, carried by the currents, subjected to the fiercest of elements.

I would have told you all was lost.

I would have told you there was no hope.

I believed this completely for there seemed to be no other explanation for the storms in my life.

Yes, I believed there was a God and that He was holy and good —

I just stopped believing that He loved me.

My eyes were dull and blood-shot with exhaustion as I cast one last glance towards the land of my dreams and then they slowly began to blink, once — twice — and then remaining closed as my hands slipped from the wood to which I had been clinging. The darkness cheered as I began to slip into the depths of the water that were so anxious to claim me as their prize. But the darkness had not reckoned with the Light that broke through those depths, nor the Hand that reached down to grasp mine. The darkness had forgotten that it was trying to claim a life that belonged to another — One who never lets go of His own.

It was a perfect storm most certainly —

But it was no match for a perfect Savior.

I share these words cautiously, as they represent difficult memories I prefer to hide. Memories that have long been shrouded with a sense of shame and failure. But now looking back, I no longer see it exclusively as a devastatingly hard season but rather, I understand it as when God stepped in to rescue me. As I study and learn more of His sovereignty, I realize that the One who created the water and could calm a storm by simply speaking, is the same One who brought the waves that destroyed that boat of my own making. As long as I was self-sufficient and depending on myself, I did not need my Savior. As long as I worked to build my own identity, I could not find it in Him. As long as I believed He did not love me, I lied to myself and mispresented the truth of Him to others — especially my children.

That day now represents to me the turning point of my life. The beginning of a new journey — at times, an even harder journey than before for the way of the cross is a life of sacrifice and dying to one self.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after Me,
he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me.
Matthew 16:33

I am not sure entirely how to close this post. It has taken a few days to process and write these words and I planned this morning to pen an ending that would offer encouragement and hope to a reader who might be in a season of life when the storms are heavy-hitting. But my autistic son must have decided I needed a refresher in sleep deprivation so he has kept me awake since midnight — just like old times. As a result, my brain is a bit muddled this morning and I simply cannot find the words to express the point I long to make. So, I am going to close this instead with a passage from the Bible that I held onto through some of my hardest years — a passage that offered hope when I thought there was none.

I waited patiently for the Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
 He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear and will trust in the Lord.
Psalm 40:1-3

There will be storms, fierce storms in this life —

But they are no match for A Perfect Savior.

Thoughts on my Son’s Birthday – How Deep the Father’s Love

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It is wonderfully appropriate that when I first began writing this, the song playing in the background was, “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us”, for nothing more identifies our life together than God’s incredible love for us. It is with those words in mind that I write my thoughts today.

My son turns 20 years old today. Of course, his birthday and his life looks considerably different than most young people this age because of the way autism significantly impacts his life. He is not in college like many of his typical peers nor does he work a job or attend a trade school. Driving a car is not an option nor is having his own apartment. In fact, as far as I can see, he will continue to live with me and I will continue to be his 24/7 caregiver for all the days of my life. What happens beyond that, only God knows.

This is not the life I expected for my firstborn child and it certainly is not the life I dreamed of for myself.

But both are lives covered by the love of a merciful and gracious Heavenly Father.

When I discovered I was expecting, it seemed the pieces of my life were finally coming together. I had waited and longed so greatly for a child of my own but I recognize now, as I reflect back upon the years, that longing was rooted in selfishness. I wanted a child so I could feel complete. I prayed many years for a baby and when I learned I was carrying this firstborn child of mine, my prayers intensified. I begged God not to give me a child with an illness or disability; I pleaded, as most do, for a healthy baby.

For the first few weeks of my pregnancy, I held the sweet secret close to my heart. I was not ready to share the news because no one knew of the heartaches that led up to that positive test. No one knew what was happening in my world or the deep secrets I carried and I found I simply wanted to cherish my happy news myself before I had to share with the world. But, just six weeks into the pregnancy, I developed heavy bleeding that sent me rushing to the doctor. For the next several weeks, I had countless ultrasounds and blood tests as doctors struggled to determine the cause of the bleeding and whether the life inside me continued to live.

For indeed, there was life inside of me even then.

Ultrasounds continued to show a tiny heartbeat, beating still despite the doctors’ dire warnings. Blood tests continued to show elevated levels in my blood, indicating I was still pregnant. The bleeding gradually lessened as the life in my womb continued to grow, but I only grew more fearful.

It is hard to explain my thought process at the time, but I believed that I had to earn love, even the love of my Heavenly Father. When it seemed likely I would lose my baby, I began to sink into a place of survival, willing myself to withstand another failed attempt of being worthy enough to be loved. I numbed myself and I waited — waited to see what would become of my baby — and me.

At the 20 week ultrasound, I saw a wriggling little body moving all around as I watched that little heart beat steady and strong. I received the welcome news that my baby was whole and seemingly perfect. For the first time, since I initially saw the positive pregnancy test, I began to feel a shadow of hope again.

But it was only a shadow.

It was that shadow that carried me through the remainder of the pregnancy as other dreams continued to fade and struggles grew. It was what carried me through the crisis of an early and traumatic delivery. It was what covered me even as I cared for my baby under the watchful eyes of the NICU nurses for the first six days of his life.

I continued to carry that fragile shadow of hope when I finally brought my newborn baby home, completely unprepared for the days that lay ahead. I rocked my baby for endless hours as I sang over him and pleaded for God’s working in his life. Over and over, I told the Lord what I wanted him to do. What I was convinced He needed to do.

The sleepless newborn nights eventually transitioned into not meeting developmental milestones, toddler night terrors, countless appointments with doctors, therapists, and specialists and finally, the words, “Your child has classic autism. The most severe kind. He will probably never talk and he will never be independent.”

The fragile and weak hope that I had been tenaciously hanging onto dissipated in that instant, for it seemed as if God Himself had turned His face away from me.

But that little heartbeat that fought against all odds in the womb of his mother, continued to beat strong.

For the little person who held that heart was being held in the merciful hands of a Heavenly Father.

My son turned 20 years old today. The little heart that fought to keep beating as the placenta surrounding him hemorrhaged, has grown into the strong heart of a young man. A young man who continues to live with some very challenging aspects of autism and deep anxiety. A young man who continues to struggle with being able to express himself and rarely uses words. A young man who will always need 1:1 support and constant supervision. A young man who loves well and works hard to develop self-control even when in the deepest of internal battles. A young man with a crooked smile that shoots straight to the heart. A young man who loves his mamma and who is treasured in return. Today is his birthday.

I considered all the things I wanted to say on this birthday but the amount of them would fill several pages and take a lifetime to write. I pondered the stories I could tell and the heavy concerns I carry for the future as adulthood is looming ever closer. I weighed the lessons of the years of raising a child with great needs while balancing raising two other children who have their own needs. So much I would love to share on this day I pause to remember his birth and all the many years that have followed. But I will end this post with these two thoughts that are most pressing on my mind ~

First, I wish the world could understand the value of all life. In the womb, as my tiny baby fought against all odds to grow — he had value. As a newborn who stopped breathing and required around the clock nursing care — he had value. As a toddler who stopped meeting milestones and regressed with his language — he had value. As a young child with boundless energy, no words, and challenging behaviors — he had value. As a pre-teen with emerging anger issues and great anxiety — he had value. As a teen with all these issues and more — he had value. And now, as a young man who does not meet the norm of society and who continues to require constant supervision and care — he has value. His value was not assigned at birth when I held him and gave him a name. His value comes from God alone — the Creator of all life. He knew my son long before I held him in my arms and He counted the very hairs on his head. Life, all life, has value.

Secondly, as I considered all these years and contemplated the stories, the challenges, the victories, and the heartaches, I am left with this one final thought … How deep is the Father’s love for us. God could have answered my prayers as I wished and given me a child with no extra needs. He could have allowed me the sweet, easy life I wanted simply so I could ‘feel’ like I was loved and worthy of love. He could have patted me on the head and mollified the great need I had with superficialities that would have never satisfied the deep longing in my soul. Instead, according to His own plan, He gave me a child with such intense needs that I would have to walk a lonely journey to learn the truth. That truth? I do not need to ‘feel’ any superficial kind of love to be okay because I have learned that I am loved fully and completely by God. My value, just like my son’s, comes from God above. He knows my son’s name and He knows mine.

On this, my son’s 20th birthday, I can only lift my eyes to heaven and say ‘Thank you.’

How deep is the Father’s love towards us.

*How Deep the Father’s Love for us, written by Stuart Townend

Taking the Next Step

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“By faith Abraham, when he was called,
obeyed by going out to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance;
and he went out, not knowing where he was going.”
Hebrews 11:8 

She reached the crest of the hill and there, overlooking the valley below, she finally saw it. A river so wide, the bank on the other side was indiscernible. Up until this moment, it had only been a thin blue line marking a boundary on her weathered map but now, she had her first glimpse of the real thing — and it was a terrifying sight to behold.

Other travelers she had met, those somewhat familiar with this river, warned her that it was especially treacherous in the section she was to cross and, now that she could see the watery giant herself, she understood their concerns.

She knew there was no bridge that spanned those waters, nor was there a ferry nearby to carry her across. All she could see on her map was the long, winding road of her journey leading right to the very edge of the river — and there it seemingly ends. She knew not how to cross nor what lay beyond.

Standing silently on the hillside, overlooking the river below, she pondered the remainder of the path that would lead her down towards its banks. She considered the dreams she had been carefully crafting all these long days on the trail, plans for crossing the river and hopes for the land that lay beyond. Now that she had seen the river, however, she understood it was beyond her power to navigate and cross alone — her hopes and plans suddenly seemed futile and useless. Hopelessness tugged at her as she shifted her gaze back towards the path that would lead her downward, into the valley where the great river waited for her.

There was nothing else she could do — but take the next step and trust that her map would guide the way.

I sat at my desk, allowing the words of the email I just read to sink into my thoughts like a rock tossed into the lake, slowly working its way to the bottom. My almost 20 year old son with autism is growing ever so much closer to aging out of the school system, a system that has been a guiding force in one form or another since he was three years old. Back then, the age of 21, which signifies the end of his schooling and transition into adult life, seemed so far away. It was but a cloud on the horizon, yet now, we are just over a year away from the adult world that is not suitable at all for an individual with his depth of need.

His adult years were rarely far from my thoughts once my son hit his teenage years. That’s when the word ‘transition’ began to become a constant refrain in meetings with school and staff. At the age of 14, it becomes a regular part of plans and communication. The school setting he was in at the time was no longer suitable for him and they offered no plans or support in regards to the adult years that lay ahead. After much prayer and seeking of direction, the Lord opened a door that had long been closed to me and He provided a way for my son to attend a much better autism school, with a program that has a strong focus on preparing students for life after school.

At the time, there were great hopes and big dreams, which were just starting to form and take place. Group homes designed for individuals like my son who require a high level of support and care, as well as, an adult day program, which would support job building skills, volunteer work, and all manner of community involvement. As fearful as I had long been of the future, I began to feel a sense of relief and hope about the new possibilities that now lay ahead for him — and for me.

Unfortunately, like many big dreams, built on intense needs, grandiose ideas, and massive hope, it all began to dissolve before my eyes. The funding for such programming in the adult world for those with great needs is very limited — simply put, the cost to fund and staff these kind of homes and programs is substantial and that level of financial support simply is not there. As a result, the decision was made to close all the group homes. The adult program continued to function but the demand was great and the finances so limited that it was uncertain if it would still be an option for my son once he was of age to need their services. Each step I took with my son, leading closer to his adult years, the more I learned how difficult it is to access the funds needed and how limited our options would be. Yet, I held tightly onto the remaining hopes of the adult program since they had assured me that they could come to our community and build a program for my son here. Whenever my thoughts or conversations regarding my son’s adult life transpired, I held out that option like a lone, flickering candle in the dark.

Two weeks ago, I met with the team (via phone conference) that is vested in and working toward his transition from school to adult life. We discussed our limited options and the devastating impact the closures from the pandemic have had on his schooling and preparation into the adult world while they continued to reiterate the challenging obstacles of getting the support he needs. I continued to hold out the hope of the adult program — surely that would be the lifeline.

I hung up the phone from that meeting, drained and exhausted. I stood on the crest of the hill, overlooking the river of transition for my son, the great divide between school years and adult life. The journey leading up to the point had been so hard and now, the hopes I had for both of our futures were fading away as I gazed at the immense body of water.

Then I saw the email — it was a response following up on my query regarding the adult program that I hoped would come to us and work with my son in our community. I was informed that they have tightened the area in which they will work and to which they will travel and, unfortunately, we live well outside that area. The candle I had been holding was snuffed out and I lost the last hope I had. The last plan to help my son and I cross that great river of transition, into the unknown world of adulthood and autism.

Hopes, dreams, and plans … years of working towards goals only to have them dissipate before my eyes, never coming to fruition. So now I sit on the hillside, while my eyes gaze over the broad expanse of water below, and I can only wonder — what now?

 Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 
For by it the men of old gained approval.
Hebrews 11:1,2

Now I have to tell you, I love stories with happy endings and honestly, for years I have dreamed of the Lord giving my son and me a ‘happy ending’ of our own by this point of life. I thought things would be different. I hoped and prayed they would be different. I longed for healing for my son, not necessarily from autism, but from the deep anxiety and incredibly challenging behaviors he lives with and that I live with as his caregiver. I hoped for marriage and difficulties within the family to be different. I hoped for church life and involvement to be different. I prayed for a community and for so, so much more. In full transparency, I thought by now, I would be standing before a group of women and sharing a story of God’s triumphant working in my life and my son’s life — just as I have heard numerous speakers do over the years. I wanted a happy ending because that’s the kind of story that we all love to hear and I didn’t think I would have a story worth telling without one.

But I am going to be even more honest with you — while I appreciate a happy ending, I have never found them to be especially encouraging or helpful. I would often read a book or sit in a ladies conference, desperately hoping she would tell me how to persevere in the incredibly hard situation I was facing — multiple hard life circumstances which held no promise of relief or end. I hoped, just once, that I would not hear a happy ending or another story just to make us laugh, but rather I longed for a woman, while tears of grief rose in her peace-filled eyes, to look at us and say, “My story didn’t end the way I wanted. God didn’t answer my prayers the way I asked Him to but, in the process, He taught me about Himself. He is teaching me to love Him more and to trust Him even when I can’t understand. Yes, I wish I had a happy ending right now to tell you but I wouldn’t trade these hard things I am living in even now for anything. Let me tell you what He is doing in the midst of the darkness. Let me tell you about my Jesus.”

These are the kind of stories I most want to hear and I doubt I am the only woman who thinks this way.

So I sit on the hillside, pondering the journey behind and the path that lies ahead — the path that leads right up to the deep waters of that unknown river. I cannot see a way to cross it nor can I see what lays beyond its far-reaching shores. I lift my eyes up to heaven as I remember the One who has been my guide through every step of the journey thus far and I do the only thing I can …

I take the next step, trusting that my God will lead and guide in all the uncertain days ahead because He alone is faithful and good.

This is my story.

~But As For Me ~

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But as for me, I will watch expectantly for the Lord;
I will wait for the God of my salvation.
My God will hear me.
Micah 7:7

I have been silent here and the silence has been intentional — purposeful. The weeks leading up to Christmas and the end of 2020 were challenging and heavy, not only due to all the stress of the past year and the very different holiday season, but more so because of a dental surgery scheduled for my adult son with autism just a few days after Christmas.

Because of a heavy burden I have long been carrying and the realities that few knew, I entered a season of quiet prayer and waiting. I shared songs and thoughts on social media but I did not share what was driving those meditations and ponderings. I did not share the fear, anxiety, and memories of the past that were hounding me day and night. Truth be told, I needed to see God work. In this past year of one hard thing after another, I needed to see God and Him alone.

My soul, wait in silence for God only,
For my hope is from Him.
Psalm 62:5

As the weight pressed in, I understood anew how little control I actually have. Matters of life that I have fought so hard to figure out and fix were simply not mine to control. The safety that I struggled to have so I could feel secure was not mine to create. As blow after blow continued to fall and worry began to consume me, I realized there was really only one option left to me ~

Worship.

To worship simply means to express reverence and adoration towards God. To worship God is to ascribe to Him what is true and rightfully His. For years I did not quite understand how I could do that while the sense of fear troubled me so or as tears filled my eyes. I thought that to worship God meant I had to defeat fear and sin first. I thought worship meant I had to always be joyful and radiant.

I’ve come to understand differently.

When the news came to Job that all of his children had been killed and everything he owned was destroyed, his initial response was not a surprise. He tore his clothes, shaved his head, and fell to the ground in grief. But there is a second part to this that I missed before ~ in that place of intense grief and sorrow, Job worshiped.

Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head, and he fell to the ground and worshiped. He said,

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
And naked I shall return there.
The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Through all this Job did not sin nor did he blame God.
Job 1:20-22

Job, in the midst of great sorrow and loss, did the only thing he could ~ he showed reverence and adoration towards God. He ascribed to God what he knew to be true. We can read the beginning verses of chapter one and discover why God allowed such great trouble to touch his life, but Job did not have that knowledge. He did not know the why ~ but he knew Who was in charge.

So he worshiped.

Through Job’s example, I have learned that lifting our hearts and minds in worship, in the midst of difficulty, aligns our soul with the proper perspective that God is in control. It does not mean I will not feel sorrow or grief. It simply means I can ascribe what is true of God while grieving. It does not mean I will not be impacted by the stress and cares of this world. It simply means I can be reverent as I carry my cross. It does not mean I will not cry. It simply means I can lift my eyes in worship, even as they fill with tears. Worshipping God is not about waiting until everything is okay and life feels momentarily safe, but rather, it is about trusting God and praising Him even as the storm clouds gather.

As I considered the story of Job, I realized my only option was to lift my weary soul and tear-filled eyes to the heavens and worship that very same God — the One who is still in charge.

So I worshiped.

Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy.
Though I fall I will rise;
Though I dwell in darkness, the Lord is a light for me.
Micah 7:8

On Sunday, the day before my son’s surgery, I grew overwhelmed. After this past year of crisis after crisis with no breaks or rest in between, I was depleted and exhausted. I felt alone and not the least bit capable of the demands required for an undertaking such as this. No one really understood the history of my son and dentists. Not many knew of the trauma his first dentist caused to both my son and I. Few knew of the harsh words of blame thrown at me that I have carried all these years. Few knew how I tried to find a dentist willing to work with my son or one who would attempt sedation to limit further trauma. Few knew how many times we were turned away. Few knew the weekly drives to a distant dentist office trying to acclimate my son to the environment, to desensitize him to the very place he knew great fear. No one knew of the sleepless nights as I tried to figure out what to do. It has been a lonely battle. In December of 2019, it seemed we were finally going to have help we needed, but, just one week away from a dental sedation appointment with a new dentist at an out-patient surgery center, the anesthesiology team cancelled it. They deemed my son too uncooperative to be seen in their facility. I was heart-broken.

Then 2020 hit with all its nastiness ~ emotional breakdowns, pandemic, shut downs, extended school closures, heart surgery, illness, and hospital stays with my Dad, and so much more. It has been a very hard year.

Near the beginning of December 2020, the Lord reopened a dentistry door and after one email from me to last year’s dental office, He began to move mountains. I learned that the dental office now had hospital privileges and were more than willing to try helping my son again in that setting. I learned that where there had been no openings for almost two months, a surgery slot suddenly became available. In a short period of time, every little detail fell into place with very minimal effort on my part for my son to finally receive the dental help he needed in the environment that was necessary. It was amazing to watch God work.

But I was afraid. Not of the sedation nor the care he would be receive, but I was afraid of my son’s response. I knew it would be hard and I knew it would potentially be ugly. I knew he would fight and I was afraid that his response would hinder him from receiving care as it always has in the past … and if I am honest, I was also afraid more harsh words of guilt would be heaped on my shoulders.

I did what I could do to prepare my son but I knew the one thing I could not control was his response. I could not control his fear or the ensuing behaviors that were sure to follow. This opened the door to worry, which I knew would not help the situation at all.

What I could do instead, however, was worship.

So as fear wrapped its fingers around my throat until I could barely catch my breath, I worshiped. When memories threatened to lash at me once more, I worshiped. Over and over, I entrusted my son and the days ahead to God and I worshiped Him, even as my body trembled at the thought of what was to come.

Full disclosure ~ while certain aspects of his surgery day went surprisingly well, the hours before my son was fully sedated were ugly and difficult. They were every bit as bad as I feared they would be. I feared the anesthesiologist would cancel the procedure because we struggled to get my son safely sedated but he looked me in the eye and told me not to worry. “We’re fine. We’ll get through this and we’ll get him there.”

And we did. The stories I could tell from that day would fill a book. It was hard and at times, quite ugly, but God was there. Every moment of that day is etched on my mind, not only because of the difficulty, but more so because of the love and care that was poured over my son and his weary mother as well.

In a place of impossibility, God made it possible. In a season of despair and weariness, God brought hope and strength. In a situation that was filled with darkness and fear, God brought light and peace.

He will bring me out to the light,
And I will see His righteousness.
Micah 7:9

In the quiet hours of the following morning, as I reflected over the events of the day before, this song of worship filled my soul:

“And I stand, I stand in awe of You
I stand, I stand in awe of You
Holy God to whom all praise is due
I stand in awe of You.”

I can only stand in awe of what God has done.

So my friends, I leave you with this final word as I close the year 2020 ~ As I have pondered the personal hardships I have walked through in this past year, the intense spiritual journey, the desperate loneliness, the hidden sorrows, and ultimately, the great care of a sovereign and holy God, I am left with only one thought to carry me into a new year that will surely be filled with its own uncertainties and trouble ~

But as for me, I will watch expectantly for the Lord ~ and I will worship.

*“I stand in awe” ~ Written by Mark Altrogge

*“Ascribe Greatness to our God” ~ Written by Don Meon

God With Us

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I had a number of different posts I was hoping to share in the weeks leading up to Christmas, which to the Christian, should be a most joyful and meaningful season. These were writings I had wanted to share as encouragement in a year that desperately needs a touch of life-sustaining hope.

But the week before Thanksgiving, my son’s autism school closed unexpectedly for two weeks and then, two days before that holiday, I received word that they would be remaining closed until the end of January. This, along with other life challenges, altered my plans considerably and increased the demands on my time and my brain energy. Simply said, I haven’t the ability in this present season to write the words that have been sifting through my thoughts, nor would I have the courage to try.

However, I know this is a heavy season for many. The year has been trying and so many of us are weary from the storms we have been walking through and enduring alone. So I am just going to share the one Scripture verse that has most been holding my thoughts in these last weeks and it is Matthew 1:23 —

“Behold, the virgin will conceive and give birth to a Son, and they shall name Him Immanuel,” which translated means, “God with us.”

God with us. I have long considered these to be some of the sweetest words in all of Scripture and in these present season of difficulty, loneliness, fear, and challenges, I find great comfort in them. Because Jesus came to this earth as an infant so long ago, as part of God’s predetermined plan of redemption for His people, we can live in the reality that God is indeed with us.

In our sorrow … God with us.

In our grief … God with us.

In our fear … God with us.

In the storms of life that no one sees … God with us.

In our loneliness … God with us.

Whatever we are walking through in life right now … God with us.

This Christmas, if you are also finding it difficult to capture a typical sense of delight in the season, I want to encourage you to ponder on these truths, as Mary, the mother of Christ, did so long ago. Read the accounts in Matthew and Luke and spend some time pondering on what ‘God with us’ means and how that impacts the circumstances in which you may find yourself. You may not be filled with seasonal Christmas joy and merriment, but I do believe you can find comfort and encouragement for today.

God with us.

A Thankful Heart is a Contented Heart

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The Lord is my strength and my shield; My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped;
Therefore my heart triumphs, and with my song I shall thank Him.
Psalm 28:7

Thankfulness. Even though this is not the post I have been working on to share this week, it seems obligatory in light of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday to touch on the subject of thankfulness, especially in a year such as this one when many of us might be struggling with feeling thankful.

Even though we may be in the midst of a season of hardship and trial, I do believe it is a good time to truly ponder and consider the idea of thankfulness and what, for a Christian, should be the foundation of a truly thankful person. One who has a reason to give thanks in every circumstance. In light of that, I think the best thing I can do with this space is to share part of something I wrote a few weeks ago. It was originally intended to be shared with my church but I didn’t do that, so I am going to share it here, modified considerably for this setting.

I grew up in church and have been involved with almost every aspect of church life and service in some way since childhood.  But the churches of my youth and younger adult years were rather lacking in solid Biblical teaching.  As a result, when I entered the doors of this (our present) church with my children twelve years ago, I had a very distorted image of who God is and who I was in Him. 

As years passed and my children grew under the solid teaching of our church, my own life became increasingly more challenging and my freedoms more limited. I would hear the words of Apostle Paul spoken over and over … “Not that I speak from need, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am”  and I would be so frustrated, even a bit angry.  How does one do that?  How does one really learn to be content when their days and nights are filled with difficulty and trouble?  When their child with autism screams and rages or keeps them awake night after night?  When close broken relationships can’t be fixed despite following all the counsel you are given?  When life is just one hard thing after another and nothing you do makes it okay? How can I possibly be content?

You know I did not get the answers to those questions then, but I found myself faced with a different question altogether … the question of, Who is God?  You see, as life grew harder and all my old ways of coping with it were no longer effective or reasonable, I was faced with the reality that I did not know the character and nature of my God as I should.  I believed in Him and gave Him my life as a child, but my understanding of him was flawed and broken.  So, I opened my Bible to the very beginning and I began to read, asking Him to show me the truth of who He says He is.  As I read, pondered, prayed, and sought counsel, the Lord graciously began to enlighten the eyes of my heart and to teach me about Himself.  Even though the years have been filled with difficulty, those hard things were essential in helping me learn a proper perspective of who God is.

But you know, even with that growing knowledge, life didn’t get any easier.  Understanding the character of my God helped me step away from areas of sin and trust Him more each day, but I still often fought against the circumstances and hardships in my life.  Yes, I still listened to the voice of my God and grew to love Him more but I would grow restless beneath the trials of this life and the many restrictions that kept me limited.

Over the years I have learned much on the sovereignty of God.   I have long understood the concept of God being in charge and yet, I lacked the practical understanding and application of it.  For you see, if God is fully sovereign, then how do I understand my son’s autism and the many struggles of his life?  If God is fully sovereign, how do I make sense of  broken relationships that don’t improve no matter what I do?  If God is fully sovereign, then that means He chose me and He gave me the life I have for a reason.  I didn’t like that very much because it meant I couldn’t control any of it and I certainly couldn’t fix it.  

This past year has been hard. Between my oldest son’s increased emotional struggles at the beginning of the year and all the uncertainty and difficulty of shut downs due to the pandemic (especially how that impacted my son with autism) and the ongoing health issues of my Dad, it has been an unbelievably difficult and draining year.

When the doors to our church finally reopened (with restrictions), it meant a happy return to some sense of normalcy for many. But for me, one of my greatest concerns of the past year became a reality.  My autistic son, T, had settled into the new ‘normal’ of staying home so even the mention of returning to church  triggered intense anxiety. For the first time in my life, church seemed to me a closing door and, as it closed, I felt as if I was watching my last remaining lifeline slip away.  It was in this place, as life circled around in a frenzy of chaotic craziness, that I began to question everything and wonder if I was mistaken about everything I thought I knew about God. 

I felt abandoned … where was He in all this?

Sounds rather bad, doesn’t it?  But thankfully, my story does not end there.  You see, it was only when I came to the complete end of myself and all I could do to ‘fix’ things, that God Himself stepped in. He used this passage of Scripture from Lamentations 3 to anchor me in height of the storm … 

“Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness.  Surely my soul remembers and is bowed down within me.  This I recall to my mind, Therefore, I have hope.  The Lord’s lovingkindness indeed never ceases, for His compassions never fail,  They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness.  The Lord is my portion, says my soul, Therefore I have hope in Him.  The Lord is good to those who wait for Him.  To the person who seeks Him.  It is good that He waits silently for the salvation of the Lord.”

Aren’t you so thankful for His never failing compassion and faithfulness towards us?

Then the Lord, with all the firmness and tender mercy of a gracious Father, began to walk me through all the years and tears of my life, showing me His hand through it all.  He traced His rainbow through the rain and as I waited, He began to teach me what His sovereignty looks like in reality … in the daily, often hard things of life.  There is no way I can deny the works of His hands.

This is what I am learning: If God is sovereign, then He is fully sovereign.  That means His hand is in my son’s autism and all that entails. Every single aspect of it. It explains even the hard things in relationships that haven’t improved no matter what I’ve tried to do.  It explains why my world continues to grow smaller despite all I have tried to do to change and improve it.  God’s plan for me is something altogether different than I want. But, in His sovereignty, He alone knows the purpose of the hard things and the necessity of them in my life. 

It is a bittersweet truth but I am beginning to see the comfort of resting in the sovereignty of a holy and loving God.

I had mentioned earlier the words of Apostle Paul in Philippians 4, regarding being content, and how they frustrated me so.   I’d like to share them with you now. “Not that I speak from need, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with little, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

I was pondering the hand of God in all the day to day struggles of life when those words of Paul came to mind.  As I considered them this time and wondered anew at the deep faith of this Godly man, the Lord opened my eyes to something I had never seen before.

Paul could be content in whatever circumstances  he was in because he understood and rested in the sovereignty of God.  God is sovereign in both trial and prosperity, so Paul could be content and rest in either situation because of that.  ~Still seemed impossible to me~ But then he followed that up with verse 13, ‘I can do all things through Him who gives me strength.’ 

Oh my! That’s a key I’ve been missing all these years. The God who is sovereign and allows/causes/sets into motion every circumstance and situation in our lives is the same God who will give us the strength to live in contentment in those circumstances and situations. 

So then, not only does God gives us His strength to bear the crosses of this life, His strength enables us to live in contentment as well as we trust and rest in His sovereignty and goodness.

I have written and rewritten this piece so many times because it has been difficult bringing clarity of thought to this topic in a format such as this. It is only because I have been up much of the night with my son that I can offer this final edited version … this is the best I can do. However, these have been my thoughts over these last many weeks and what I am pondering in the days leading up to this very different Thanksgiving holiday. Life is not easy and for all of us, it is a bit uncertain. Personally, I am walking through a valley of grief as the Lord seems to be closing chapters in my life and moving me in a direction I never really wanted to go. But this I am learning to hold fast to, God is Sovereign and all His ways are good. I can trust Him in all things and learn to be content, even when I don’t understand. That is the place from which thankfulness comes, for when we can give thanks in every situation and season, we find contentment and rest.

I will give thanks to the Lord according to His righteousness
And will sing praise to the name of the Lord Most High.
Psalm 7:17

A Day in the Life

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This post may be a bit different than my normal style of writing and, if I can actually stick to my tentative plans, it will hopefully become a regular feature on this blog.

Don’t hold your breath waiting though because my plans are usually just will-o-wisps in the night. A mirage that disappears once reality hits.

By all appearances, I closed a chapter in life over the weekend. It was a hard decision for me as it is something of immense importance and value and something I have been working at for over 19 years. I have begged God and I have told Him what to do more than once — but it has been 19 years of beating my head against a brick wall. I have driven myself into the ground so many times trying to make all the pieces fit and make it all okay. But this year has been tough in more ways than one and as I contemplated it all, it seemed time to let go. Certainly, that doesn’t mean I stop praying for God to work in the situation, but it does mean I am letting go of telling Him what that work should look like. So I closed the chapter on what I tried for so many years to accomplish myself and now I wait. I wait to see what the Lord will do. I hope He opens the chapter again and I hope He blows me away by what He does.

Following that and as I’ve been contemplating so many things, both personal and in the world around me, I’ve decided it’s time to settle into my present reality and try new things. That includes trying to write here a little more often and a little more openly — Not because I think I am an exceptional writer or that my words and thoughts are particularly compelling, but simply because it is something I can do. It’s a way to grow and honor the God I love at the same time.

So welcome to ‘A Day in the Life …’

In preparation for future posts, this will be a little longer as I am going to give a little background and share just a little more about my oldest son, ‘T’, who is 19 years old. He is diagnosed with classic autism, IDD, and severe anxiety and truthfully, he is significantly impacted by it all. He is not completely nonverbal but his language skills are very limited. His receptive language is much stronger than his expressive language, so he understands more than he can express, but if you pay attention, he’ll communicate in his own way. He is quite intelligent and capable of many things, he has a sweet smile and his laughter will brighten any day, but he also has a lot of challenges and behaviorally, he can be considerably complicated. Those who truly know him, love him fully. Those who don’t, tend to be put off or intimidated by what they see and hear.

Can I be transparent with you? It has never, ever been easy with him. There has never been a single area or time where he has followed ‘normal’ or has done what was expected of him. The simplest tasks are hard and they are hard day after day, year after year. Life is complicated every single day and every single day, I feel like a failure as his mother.

Over and over, for so many years, guilt and blame were often heaped on my shoulders by others — but most often by me. As a result, I’ve lived many years trapped within the walls of guilt, shame, and an overwhelming sense of failure … not only because I felt like a failure as a mother but, also in part to a rather complicated marriage which stirred the same kind of emotion.

It’s hard to let anyone in when shame consumes you. It’s hard to ask for and accept help when you believe yourself to be a complete failure.

But this is what is important … being my son’s mother has both broken me and matured me. God, in His infinite mercy and wisdom, gave me a child that wouldn’t fit into any label or follow any natural rule and who would never allow me the courtesy of feeling good about my parenting or myself. He did this not because I am some special kind of mother or one who is strong enough to face the challenges, but rather because it was part of His sovereign plan. A plan I cannot possibly see nor understand. I do know however, that He gave me a child who would require me to become broken, desperate, and needy before a holy God. He caused me to be broken so fully that only His truth could make sense of the pieces that lay shattered before me continually.

I am so grateful to be T’s mother and humbled that God allows me to grow beside him each day.

Over the long months of shut-down due to ‘the virus’, I was desperate for things to do both for myself and for T. My other children are able to fill their own hours but T, well, he needs constant prodding, supervision, and assistance to do anything besides watch YouTube videos, play Minecraft, indulge in problem behaviors, or become destructive in his boredom. Personally, I spent as much time outside as possible working and cultivating the four acres of land we live on because I have a long-term vision for the property. One of the first things I did was to put out extra birdfeeders. I know the birds are more than capable of foraging for themselves during the warmer months, but watching them flutter around my feeders was like watching flowers dancing through the sky all around my house.

So I enlisted T’s help in keeping those feeders filled for our feathered friends.

Now getting T to help with any task is an ongoing challenge. He definitely lives in his own world inside his head and he isn’t always very willing to be bothered to leave it. My approach has changed somewhat as he has aged and it is always tricky to properly and respectfully navigate these waters. He is 19 years old and therefore, he is a young man. An adult. Yet, on the inside, he actually functions and comprehends more as a young child. His emotions and thoughts often seem torn between a maturing understanding and a child-like mind. Since he is technically an adult, I endeavor to treat him as one. Yes, he still will draw on the walls, make a mess in the bathroom, and have meltdowns, but he also tends to respond better to me if I talk to him as I would a typical peer his age. When I get frustrated and use the ‘mother’ voice, he reacts negatively. So my approach at this point is to approach him as a young man as much as possible. When it came to filling the birdfeeders, I simply asked him to help me. I appealed to his need of being needed and valued.

That worked great initially. Once he had settled into the new reality of being home during the shut-down, he appreciated having fewer demands and he grew more relaxed and calm. So if I appealed to him to help me, he was often willing to do so (at least for a little while). We would get the birdseed from the garage and walk around the yard to the various birdfeeders and then he would fill them himself.

Since he is back at school, in person (half days only), he has been less willing to help me out. My guess is, he is already maxed out on the demands he is willing to accommodate by the time he gets home so he is more inclined to stubbornly refuse to do what I ask. He’s not not unlike most of us when we get home from work or school, we simply want to be left alone.

As a result, I’ve been filling those birdfeeders alone while trying to gauge what’s happening, weighing all the possibilities and reminding myself of the goal, and then creating a new plan of approach.

Yesterday, I brought the two feeders that needed filled onto the back porch, along with the birdseed. When the time was reasonable, I showed him the visual and simply asked him to help me fill them. I knew the way I was approaching him was only giving a very minimal demand and I very much wanted to create a successful, productive moment for him, so I quietly stood firm in my request.

It didn’t take long for him to join me on the porch and complete the task.

Once he completed what I asked, I thanked him for his help and let him go on his way. He smiled at me and I knew the moment had been successful. Next time I will handle it the same way. There may be times he will be willing to go outside with me to fill them and when that is the case, that’s what we’ll do. But if the only way I can get him involved successfully is to bring the feeders to him, then that’s what I will do.

The goal is simply to encourage him to work with me on whatever task is at hand because, as far as I can see, that’s what we will be doing every day once he ages out of the school system and transitions into what the adult world holds for him.

We’re becoming a stronger team, my son and I, as we grow together.

In the weeks ahead, I hope to share more ‘A Day in the Life’ segments as T and I find more new things to work on together.

I hope you’ll join us.

The Reluctant Traveler – An Unexpected Detour

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A few weeks ago I wrote a post entitled, Survival 101 – Probably Not What You Expected. Today’s post is a follow-up to that so you may find it helpful to read (or reread) it before continuing. The key points I mentioned in that piece were Experience, Preparation, and Navigation and how they are absolutely necessary on this journey of life. But what happens when the unexpected happens? When a tsunami-sized wave comes crashing in over us or when our journey faces an unexpected detour? When happens when we are at the very end of our resources and everything seems lost? Come with me as we follow the experience of another traveler who finds herself in exactly that situation.

She lifted her backpack slowly and hoisted it across her weary shoulders, as a grimace of pain lightly crossed over her face. It was a heavy bag but she always carried it with her wherever she went, it was her constant companion. She was a well-seasoned traveler with many miles already logged in, but now she was facing an unexpected detour, a delay that would hinder her from reaching a much-needed shelter, a resting place. Weary though she was, there was nothing she could do but adapt to the ever-changing circumstances and keep going. So with a heavy sigh, the reluctant traveler adjusted the straps on her bag and started walking.

But then more news reached her — the two week detour was going to be extended. It grew to four weeks and then six, without a single rest in sight. Then it went from six to eight weeks. Finally she learned it would be at least five months of non-stop travel before there was even any chance of reaching a place of rest or replenishment. The bag on her back became burdensome, as the days and nights grew longer and discouragement and weariness began to overwhelm her. The journey was hard and what she carried suddenly seemed much too heavy for her to bear.

Her eyes were filled with tears so it is no surprise that she didn’t notice how close she was to the edge of a deep ravine. It only took one distracted moment for her to lose her footing and tumble deep into the darkness, her bag and all its contents breaking open and scattering across the bottom.

Our traveler laid silently on the rocky bottom of the ravine. She hadn’t made a sound as she fell and no one knew the danger she was in. She didn’t have the strength even now to call for help and she didn’t believe anyone would care anyway. So she curled up and settled into a troubled sleep as the darkness descended like a blanket covering her.

For days she lay huddled on the ground, unable to move and no longer caring whether she lived or died. The journey had proven to be too much for her and the detours had taken her to her very limit. The bag which had been with her all her life had become a burden, much too heavy for her to carry anymore. She looked at its contents strewed across the ground and she began to understand the absurdity of the weight she carried. Her bag had been filled with memories of her travels, relics of the past, and the weight of them alone was too much for her to bear. Her situation seemed dire, even hopeless, as the sense of abandonment and loneliness threatened her every thought.

But one morning, just as all seemed lost and her body and spirit began to fail, a gentle wind came whispering through the valley that held her captive, echoing with these words,

“Remember my misery and my homelessness,
the wormwood and bitterness.
My soul certainly remembers,
And is bent over within me.“

And remember she did.

She looked around her until she found where her well-used guide book had fallen. It had been some time since she had bothered to read it, but she knew where those words came from and suddenly she remembered where to find help. She crawled to the book, carefully opened its worn pages, and tearfully began to read the rest …

“I recall this to my mind,
Therefore I wait.
The Lord’s acts of mercy indeed do not end,
For His compassions do not fail.
They are new every morning;
Great is Your faithfulness.”
Lamentations 3: 19-23

This is when our weary and broken traveler knew she was going to be rescued. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know where the strength would come from to follow the voice that whispered in the wind, but in this moment of deep despair, her rescue had begun.

Can you relate to the reluctant traveler in the story above? I think after the year we’ve had, all of us can to a certain degree for it has certainly been filled with detours and challenges.

During the summer, I wrote a post simply entitled, Rescued. After I wrote that, someone asked me what the story was behind it but I never was able to answer that question, largely because I was still very much in the battle. I was still in the process of being rescued.

What I didn’t understand until recently, however, was that I wasn’t being rescued from danger, but rather, the danger was my rescue.

Hang on, I’ll try to explain.

With March of 2020, there came a huge detour in life; It affected everybody. No one was exempt although I think it is safe to say, it impacted each of us differently.

For me personally, it has been a hard detour, one that followed a very long series of other detours. But tell me, what would you say if I told you those detours, although hard and often soul-crushing, were actually for my good? Would you understand if I said that the path I am on, even though it is not a path I want or would have chosen, is the one God chose for me, therefore, it is good?

What if I told you the things that are the hardest in my life
are the very things God is using to rescue me?

I grew up in church, Bible-believing churches, all through my youth and young adult years. I asked Jesus into my heart as a child. I attended every church service (and there were A LOT) and I participated in every child and youth ministry. I served in the church in almost every capacity from my youngest years. Church was my life — it was my community.

I was a believer and by all appearance, a ‘good Christian girl’, but on the inside I struggled terribly. I was afraid all of the time, vulnerable to all kinds of things and people, and prone to searching for a sense of safety/security wherever I could find it. I was an empty shell of a person, always seeking identity, validation, and love. I was on a path that was clearly heading away from God, although I would have denied that at the time.

When I was 21, one of the first real ‘detours’ of my adult life hit. I moved into my first apartment and lost my home church (through a difficult church-split type of situation), all in one weekend. Losing my church meant losing my entire community that had been in place since I was a very young child.

That life detour led to another detour … and then another. What seemed like speed bumps on the road at the time, proved to be life-altering changes that led me on a path I never intended for myself.

Like the traveler in my story, I’ve carried a bag on my life’s journey and it too has been an often heavy, burdensome piece to carry. At various points of my journey in the past, the Lord has caused detours to come my way that helped me begin to understand how heavy that bag was and how useless much of the contents were. The longer the detour, the harder the path I had to walk, the more I noticed and fell beneath the weight of the baggage I carried. What was all in the bag I carried? Fear, bad memories, legalistic thinking, hurts and wounds from the past, guilt, shame, poor Biblical teaching and understanding, and a incorrect view of God and who I am in Him … and much more. It’s a bag I kept hidden for years because I was so ashamed of the contents it held inside.

But as the detours of life continued and as the intensity of my journey increased, the Lord began to deal with the contents of my bag, sifting through the nonsense and replacing junk thinking with His truth. Over the years, through this work of the Holy Spirit, the weight of the bag has grown significantly lighter.

But over this past summer, the detour that hit my life proved to be especially grueling, with little to no support or reprieve from the intensity. I was weary and grew distracted from the weight I was carrying and, as a result, I took a wrong step and tumbled down into a steep ravine. Just like the weary traveler in my story, the remaining contents of my bag went flying through the air, scattering across the ground.

For a time I laid still, also not caring whether I lived or died. The journey had been much too hard for me and the burden on my shoulders too heavy to carry. The darkness of the night covered my soul in deep silence even as I carried on outwardly with the responsibilities of life.

I would have stayed there for I had lost any will to fight … but God.

But God.

Down in the ravine where I was hidden from view and completely alone, God stepped into the darkness and brought His light. He gathered some of the wretched contents of my bag and began to show me the absurdity of the things I carry. Remnants of a broken past tampered with my own understanding, instead of His. Then, as the old hymn says, ‘I traced His rainbow through the rain…’ and in the quiet of the night, I began to see the detours of my past from His perspective, instead of my own…

I saw beauty. I saw love. I saw discipline. I saw the protection of a sovereign and holy God towards one of His more vulnerable, yet stubborn, children. I saw grace, immeasurable grace. I was humbled as I sat in silence at the feet of my Savior.

All the detours that, from my perspective, made life so much harder and different from what I wanted, were actually the paths my Father laid out for me to bring me to a place of rescue.

Rescue from myself and my own sin tendencies. Rescue from a faulty understanding of who He is and who I am in Him. Rescue from a life lived in constant fear of others.

Reader, the hard things in my life that I so often fight against and resent, are the very things God is using to transform me into the image of His Son.

He is using the dangers and detours of this life to rescue me.

So where does that leave me now? Well, I’m not sure honestly. The last couple of months have been a slow process of climbing out of the deep ravine with the steady assistance and care of a loving Shepherd who will leave the 99 to find the one that is lost. Life continues to be uncertain, challenging, and wearisome and I am not sure what lies ahead for me or what direction my path will take. So I endeavor to take each day one step at a time, trusting in Him to lead me in the direction He wants me to go.

Reader, I shared all this to challenge you — Whatever path you find yourself on, whatever detour seems to have changed the trajectory of your journey, you may find it helpful to look to the Savior. Could it be that He has a purpose for the detours and hard things in your life too?

Don’t waste the detours.

Oh, the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
 How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!
Romans 11:33