A Shed. A Shop. A Vision.

October 15, 2022 / 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.

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?

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.

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

Taking the Next Step

February 21, 2021 / walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

“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 ~

January 1, 2021 / walkingthisjourneysite / Leave a comment

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

The Reluctant Traveler – An Unexpected Detour

November 14, 2020 / walkingthisjourneysite / Leave a comment

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

Rescued.

July 22, 2020 / walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
~Anne Frank~

I don’t know when I have last written nor when I have even given this blog more a passing thought. The world, for many of us, came to a screeching halt back in March, as we were suddenly faced with fears of a worldwide pandemic and all the surreal discord, fear, and anger that continues to threaten to overtake all logic and respect for human dignity and life.

In the process of navigating these issues and working through the overwhelming circumstances within my own family, I found myself unequipped for the battles that awaited me. Courage left first as my greatest foe, Fear, wrapped his tendrils around my heart and mind. His whispers assailed and assaulted me from every side until I could no longer hear the voice of my Savior. My faith began to weaken as my words vanished like a vapor in the night.

I never felt more alone. I never felt more abandoned. I never felt more lost.

Many can toss their words into the wind without thought or care for where they land but that is not how I live. My nature is quiet. Words are often hard for me to share. It took years for me to learn how to talk and begin to share my thoughts with others. It takes courage for me to even look anyone in the eye. It takes courage for me to speak a word that opens the shutters of who I am inside. It takes courage for me to write because I know words to be powerful … whether for good or for evil.

I believed my words were forever lost as I finally fell before my enemy on an isolated battle field, wounded and afraid. Too weary to do anything more than whisper, “Where are You?” and “What have I done? Has it all been for naught?”

My enemy began to turn away, certain of my demise. He knew all along I lacked the courage for a battle of this intensity and that I could be easily defeated. I could hear him laugh in disgust as he walked away, leaving me abandoned in the bloodied dirt. I would have stayed there in misery for the rest of my life …

But God.

In the haunting silence that often follows a particularly brutal battle, I gradually became aware of a different whisper, at first spoken through the voice of a friend/counselor.

“You have to keep feeding your mind Biblical truth. ‘I will never leave you or forsake you… (Hebrew 13:5)’ ‘No one can snatch you out of My hand… (John 10:28) ‘The good shepherd will leave the 99 to seek and save the one that is lost…’ (Luke 15:4-6)“

Over and over I heard the words, “I will leave the 99 to find you.”

I began to recognize the voice of the Shepherd beckoning His lamb who was lost.

The one who thought she had been abandoned. Forgotten. Left behind.

My head lifted as I began to search for my Shepherd and I saw the enemy swivel on his feet as he turned to face me once more. Our eyes locked as he lifted his sword and all I could do was whisper one name …

The name of Jesus.

A shadow fell over me and I saw fear in my enemy’s face as he saw who stood over me ready to fight to protect His own.

The Good Shepherd. My Rescuer.

Jesus Christ.

“For the Lord will not forsake his people; he will not abandon his heritage;…”
Psalm 94:14

I am not sure how much writing I will do as I am honestly trying to figure out how to live truthfully and righteously in the overwhelming and difficult realities of this life and particularly, this season of life. To say I still feel inadequate and unworthy is an understatement but I know these feelings are not to be trusted. I have been called to live as one who has been rescued … and if I write, it must be as one who knows she has been rescued even in the darkest of seasons.

One who has seen the ugliness of the battle field and who has faced almost certain death at the hand of the enemy rarely speaks of her own goodness or fortitude in battle … but rather, she speaks of the One who rescued her when all seemed lost.

She will not attempt to point to anything or anyone other than the One whose very presence can cause darkness to flee. She will gladly stand in the shadow of His presence and trust in His strength as the battles of life continue to rage around her.

She knows she has been rescued and is aware that she has to learn to live in this truth, even when every circumstance in her life seems to tell her otherwise.

So I write these words and offer them to you as one who is planting the minuscule seeds of courage in hopes that it will grow once more.

“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 lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, 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.“
Lamentations 3:19-26

Come and Dine

January 10, 2020January 10, 2020 / walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

**This is Part one of a series on focusing on the value and beauty of reading God’s Word.**

You’re hungry.

As a pilgrim on a long, and often, arduous journey, you find yourself so weary that you might not even realize how famished you are until a door opens and the first wafting aroma of prepared food hits your senses.

Your stomach growls as your hands begin to tremble.

You step inside and discover a dining table completely hidden beneath the abundance of every wonderful kind of food you can imagine. Substantial food meant to nourish and strengthen the body. Nourishing soups, healthy vegetables, hearty meats — foods intended to fuel your body for the demands of the day.

Off to the side you notice another table filled with sugary desserts. The kind that are appealing and pretty, all sugar and fluff. Experience tells you they are sweet and easy to eat, but lack the nourishing qualities of the more sustaining, life-giving food at the first table.

Your body craves nourishment but from which table will you choose to eat?

Will you bypass the table of substantial foods to satiate your cravings with sugary fluff from the dessert table, simply because it provides an immediate, yet temporary relief from your hunger and tastes so sweet? Will you eat your fill of it until you no longer crave anything more?

Or will you sit at the first table and fill your plate and body with meat, vegetables, and fruits until your strength is renewed?

Which will you choose?

No, this isn’t a post about changing our lifestyles, ditching junk foods, or focusing on whole food diets, plant based diets, or anything of the sort.

Friends, what we feed our souls and minds is so much more important that what we feed our bellies.

*
*

I grew up in a church that valued the Word of God. Now, that doesn’t mean how the Bible was interpreted and taught was necessarily always correct, as the church functioned within a strong legalistic-minded belief system. But there was an emphasis made on the Scriptures and I always had a Bible readily available to me, memorizing significant portions of it throughout my childhood.

However, I did not read my Bible consistently on my own nor did I always understand what I read. Therefore, as I listened to a message or Bible lesson, I simply accepted what that person said to be truth; After all, they read a verse from the Bible supporting their thoughts, so it had to be true, right? I never learned how to study the Bible and certainly questioning anyone was never an option in that environment, but I would do my best to read simply so I could check that duty off of my ‘How to be a good Christian’ to-do list.

The truth of it? Reading my Bible was a chore … a constant source of guilt from not remembering to read it daily or from reading it through the lens of poor theology.

As a young adult, I began attending a new church and eventually married, which began to awaken a hunger for something more. I found myself in a life that was not being supported very well by the shaky spiritual foundation of my youth. A variety of books came my way and I began to devour these writings by Christian authors because they flowed so easily and made me feel somewhat better. I thought I would finally find some answers to the burning hunger inside me. In the mornings, I would sit at the table with my Bible and these books. I intended to spend time in the Scriptures but those books were so much more appealing so I was drawn to them first. I didn’t have to think … I just read the thoughts of another. They became my bible.

But then life began to grow more challenging and confusing, while the hunger inside of me deepened. I couldn’t find the answers nor the guidance I needed in those books I was reading. They weren’t enough. There was no real substance to them in the face of trial and heartache. There had to be more. I turned to my Bible again but often grew frustrated with the antiquated language, the poor theology/teaching of my past, and my overall lack of understanding.

I was starving — spiritually starving.

My spiritual foundation began to shake and crumble into dust beneath me.

One Christmas, I decided to buy my husband a new Bible. He still used a paperback student Bible from his youth and I thought if he had a different Bible, then maybe, well, maybe something would change. I asked for guidance from a man in our church and that Christmas, I wrapped up a new study Bible, in a version I knew nothing about, and gave it to my husband.

And you know what? Change did begin to happen … in me.

One morning, out of curiosity, I opened his Bible and began to read familiar passages. They were the same, yet different. The clear wording and the study notes at the bottom of each page opened an entirely new world to me and even though there was still so much I didn’t understand, I began to delve into the pages of God’s Word in a way I never had before. I began to feast at the table God had set before me. Eventually, I received my very own copy of the Scriptures like I had bought my husband – I was overjoyed and dug in deeper.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…”
Psalm 23:5a

But life only became more perplexing. I went from being in church services all the time to sitting in a nursery or backroom with my autistic son and my other babies. Fellowship with other believers became increasingly more rare as I spent day after day caring for my children and night after night staying awake with my son. My world grew very small until it became a journey of walking through a barren desert of isolation.

This is when God’s Word started to become more real to me.

At the recommendation of someone who expressed concern for me and my children, I visited a different church. I needed help. My children needed help. I was desperate. After one solo visit on a Wednesday evening, I was intrigued by the teaching and began taking my younger children to their kids Bible club program. Within a short period of time, I moved my whole family to this church. The clear teaching of Scriptures, whether from the pulpit or in counsel, presented without drama or harshness, drew me in and began the process of building a new foundation in my life and in the lives of my children. A foundation built on the Word of God.

Ironically enough, life did not become any easier. I tried to get involved, to be part of the church community and find my niche, but it didn’t work, largely due to the needs of my autistic son. I made sure my younger children were at every service and every event, but I rarely had the freedom nor the stamina to participate myself. My world grew smaller as I cared for my son with autism and began homeschooling my other children. I just could not understand God’s plan in all of this as the journey grew increasingly dark.

This is when the Word of God became my Light and that … changed everything.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet
And a light to my path.”
Psalm 119:105

Come and dine, won’t you?

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December 31, 2019 / walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

We stand at the dawn of a new year.

The time when we diligently make new goals, bravely set (or reset last year’s) resolutions, and in general, feel a need to shake things up.

Make changes or possibly, insist we are fine, just as we are.

In any case, be the master of our own destiny.

But what does that look like for the believer? For the one who seeks to follow God?

Here are my thoughts … offered hesitantly and humbly.

*
*

As a child, I had hopes and dreams, albeit they were mostly simple and shallow. For example, driving home from church on a summer Sunday evening and hoping that my Dad would skip the turn to go home and instead go straight towards the local dairy parlor for ice cream.

Their chocolate ice cream was so good!

I never asked him but he knew we always wanted ice cream. Each drive home from church, I would sit in the backseat, silently wishing and repeating over and over, “Go straight, Dad … please go straight.”

If the car still turned towards home, I would be disappointed but never upset. I could wish for an ice cream cone all I wanted but, as my father, it was his decision whether or not it was a good time to provide it.

As a child, I was dependent on my father to provide and even when I didn’t understand, I usually trusted him.

Or what man is there among you who, when his son asks for a loaf, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, he will not give him a snake, will he? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!
Matthew 7:9-11

We human beings tend to be independent, rather self-focused creatures, wouldn’t you agree? We want what we want, when we want it. We want comfort, security, success, the admiration of others … and more independence.

As a teenager, I often frustrated my Dad because I never told him when I needed something. When I was driving one of his vehicles, I never mentioned if I needed gas money. I would simply take money from my birthday stash and put gas in the car. Some of it may have been family circumstances at the time, but a large part of it was a stubborn independent instinct that had been stirred awake. If I needed something, I instinctively searched for ways to provide it for myself. I didn’t want to be dependent on anyone. I didn’t want to be a bother. I probably hoped that my Dad would give me gas money, but I certainly didn’t ask.

Not asking became normal. Discouraging any hopeful expectation became a habit.

So I was surprised many years later, when my current Pastor mentioned that I don’t seem to ask God for very much. After being a witness and a voice of counsel on my journey for a number of years, he finally said, “Tanya, you really need to learn to ask God for more.”

I was taken aback.

What? Ask God for more?

Why did that seem so … scary?

Why did my instinct scream that I couldn’t possibly ask God for more?

Well, like many of us, I have very distinct memories of God not answering my prayers.

The desperate prayers of a young teenager who didn’t feel she could face another day as she soaked her pillow with tears each night.

The heartsick, confused young wife, still staining a pillow with tears as she struggled to understand.

The broken tears of a mother as she watched autism steal her son away.

I couldn’t ask God for more because deep inside, I had stopped trusting Him.

He didn’t answer my prayers the way I had pleaded with Him to do for so many years.

When I begged Him to move life straight forward towards that coveted chocolate ice cream cone, He turned onto a road that led a different direction. Definitely not where I wanted to go. He didn’t give me what I asked for and eventually, I stopped trusting Him. I stopped asking.

Sure, I paid lip service to Him but deep inside, I became more intent on being independent. I would find a way to survive this life He had given me. I would do something good with it. I would say I trusted Him … and yet, I never did as I held tightly onto the reins of my life.

“Tanya, ask God for more.”

*
*

The very nature of my life does not allow for much freedom so the concept of asking for ‘more’ seems counterintuitive and pointless. The details of why this is are not important to this post but my journey has often been one of a solitary pilgrim walking in a hidden, desert place. I fought this journey for years, desperate for a life that allowed the freedoms that I watched others enjoy. I resented the restrictions of my life and struggled with a deep bitterness. I pushed hard to find ways to gain more freedom and independence and, in the process, wore myself out and received no blessing from the Lord. Essentially, it was more His will to keep me hidden, than flying free. My life began to resemble a bird imprisoned inside a cage. I longed for freedom but the circumstances of my life were as bars surrounding me, preventing my escape.

I beat my wings against those bars, trying to break my way out until I was completely broken inside. Then I set about making that bird cage the nicest it could be. If I had to be stuck, it was at least going to be a noteworthy cage. But, the One who has allowed all the restricting portions of my life has never allowed me to have my own way. He purposed to teach me how to live the life I have from the only One who knew how.

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 11:28-30

Spending time in the Scriptures, learning of Him, seeking Him in all the hidden details of my life, is bringing about an understanding that far surpasses the God of my childhood.

I have studied His character and I am learning to find rest in His sovereignty and grace. I am continually learning that God is good. He is so good to me.

The Lord, the Lord God, merciful
and gracious, longsuffering, and
abounding in goodness and truth.
Exodus 34:6

You know, I may have been disappointed when I did not get that chocolate ice cream cone as a young child, but it never changed how I viewed my Dad. I spent enough time with him to understand his character and that I could trust him even when he didn’t give me what I wanted.

When we invest time in our relationship with the Lord, we learn the character and nature of our God and this is actually what sustains and carries us through the hard seasons of life. We might not understand the purpose of our suffering but we find all we need when we understand the character of the God who allows it. When we depend on Him as the source of our strength, He takes on the yoke of our burden and walks beside us on our journey. He teaches us how to live this life the way Jesus lived His earthly life … sacrificially and honoring to God the Father.

As we live in the knowledge of His character, our response to hardship will change from, “God, why are You doing this to me?” to “God, I trust that You have allowed this in my life so teach me how to walk through it Your way.”

In the last 14 years, God has pretty much taken away every crutch I have ever used to limp my way through this life. He has not answered many of my prayers in the way I wanted. But instead, He has been doing something else altogether.

During the hardest seasons when I think I can’t take one more step, He is there carrying me through. When I don’t know what to do next, He provides direction. When I want to give up, He never lets me. Sometimes He tarries and lets me wait in silence. Sometimes He allows me to back myself into a position where I am forced to take an unwanted step … and then I see Him move on my behalf in amazing ways. His grace sustains me, His strength carries me.

Through it all what remains true is that the character of God is unchanging. He is good and pure in all His ways. When we can’t see the way in front of us because of the fiercest storms, we can trust the Captain who guides our ship.

This is what I have learned of my God while waiting as a bird, in a bird cage.

O taste and see that the Lord is good;
How blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!
Psalm 34:8

So more recently, when I heard our Pastor give a charge to our church body to ask God for ‘more’, it became a thing of beauty as I pondered the past and looked towards the future. ‘More’ became a word of hope … of promise.

Oh God, I want more of You. I want to be more of a gentle, quiet, burning candle shining fervently with the light of your mercy, love, and grace. I want more of You in the lives of my children. Please God, I want more. More of a life that is led by You and not by my own fear or selfish ambitions. I want to be more dependent on You and less dependent on myself. I want more. More dying of self and more love for others. Less of me and more of You. I want to trust You more when I don’t understand the journey and the loneliness of it threatens to steal my joy away. I want more of the work of the Holy Spirit in the depths of my being and outpouring in the fruits of my life … even if You are the only One who ever sees. Oh God, I ask You for more.

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*

Set all the goals you wish for this upcoming year of 2020 … but my challenge for you, for my children, and for myself is to walk with God more. Learn more of Him from His Word. Spend more time in prayer. Seek more of Him in every detail of your life. Confess and repent more of sin. Let nothing stand between you and God. Die more to self. Put Him first above all. Please join me in asking God for more … more of Himself.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.”

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

*Turn your eyes upon Jesus – hymn written by Helen Howorth Lemmel

My Christmas Testimony

December 28, 2019 / walkingthisjourneysite / Leave a comment

One of the elements that had long been missing from my Christmas decor was a Nativity scene … a physical representation of the birth of Christ.

It was never from a lack of effort or desire, but rather, it was mostly due to autism.

Let’s just say, I have a number of broken nativities tucked away in my attic.

But finally, the year came that I felt that a nativity set would be safe from the hands of my son and with a little income at my disposable, I decided it was time to get the nativity I had wanted for so, so long … a Willow Tree Nativity.

The aesthetic appearance of Willow Tree figures has appealed to me from the very first time I saw them. They are simple in form, yet so peaceful and serene.

I deposited the money I had earned from a house-cleaning job and then I ordered the basic Nativity set … Joseph, a young shepherd, a couple of animals … and a kneeling Mary, holding the baby Jesus. I was so excited as it seemed I was in a new season of life and being able to purchase this set was a representation of that.

I remember when the package was delivered and I gingerly unwrapped each figure. I couldn’t wait to set it up so I quickly cleared off the stone mantel above the fireplace and carefully placed each piece. It was simple, it was restful, it was peaceful … it was everything I longed for, in a nativity set, in Christmas — and in life.

True to the nature of life, that sense of serenity didn’t last very long. During one night, a kitten I had rescued walked across the mantel and sent my Mary crashing to the stone slab below … shattering her to pieces.

I was heartbroken.

The following Christmas, I unpacked the Nativity scene once again and looked over the broken pieces of Mary. It seemed an impossible task but eventually we glued her somewhat haphazardly back together and placed her carefully on a shelf inside a closed cabinet.

Fragile with missing pieces … forever broken.

A couple of days before Christmas this year, I woke early to wrap my children’s Christmas presents so I could get them hidden away again before my son with autism woke. I sipped my coffee and settled into the rhythm of methodical wrapping while my children slept and my thoughts wandered.

It didn’t take very long until memories began to stir in the midst of the rustling paper and whispering scissors. Memories of long ago that seem to rise to the surface whenever I am wrapping Christmas presents.

I remember the Christmas when I had just the two boys, before my daughter was born.
I don’t remember much from that time but I know I didn’t wrap any presents that year.
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t do it.
I’m pretty sure I bought gifts for my boys and I may have bought wrapping paper —
but somehow, wrapping those presents seemed far too monumental a task.
Autism, intense sleep deprivation, behaviors, a fussy baby, and difficult family dynamics.
It was a hard season.
While there are many gaps in my memory, I’ve never forgotten those unwrapped presents nor the lingering guilt.

Those memories wandered through me once more and, same as years past, I thanked the Lord for the beauty of being able to wrap Christmas presents for my children now. This was going to be a good Christmas … I was going to make sure of that.

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Before I finished wrapping the presents however, my oldest son came down the stairs and before long was in the midst of a seemingly random meltdown. By the time I had worked through that relatively mild crisis with him, the restful joy I had been feeling as I wrapped presents was slowly vanishing like the morning mist.

Then I saw pictures on social media that sent the last of it flying away. There is such an overwhelming sense of sadness that hits when one of your children is left out of a circle of friends. This time, it triggered something deep inside.

I found myself in a war between deep sadness, old anger, and a desire for righteousness.

I prayed. Oh, how I prayed.

I didn’t understand the depth that was stirred in me nor where it had come from.

Suddenly, this Christmas, like so many before, had become overwhelming.

*
*

Then a different Christmas memory began to stir. A memory I have always wished I could erase from my mind completely. I was nine or ten years old when an adored family member chose to go a different way in life. There were a series of decisions and selfish behaviors that sparked significant grief in my family and inspired a rather traumatic scene that Christmas. As those memories replayed through my thoughts, I realized just how deeply that time period had affected my life … and how I viewed Christmas.

My family’s entire reality changed that year. The childhood I knew was gone. And Christmas, that year and every year thereafter, was forever altered.

As I pondered these memories, the word, ‘expectations’ to mind and I began to understand that, because of the gaping hole left behind from that crushing Christmas, I have walked through life looking for something, anything to fill the empty spaces that were left behind. I began to understand that my identity had been intrinsically tied to memories of that Christmas and that overall traumatic time in my family’s story.

However, because of the work Christ has done in my life in recent years, I could also see the emptiness of my own efforts trying to glue the pieces back together … the futility of my own works.

I looked at my broken Mary on the shelf and realized she was me. Broken, with pieces missing, held perilously together by glue, ready to fall apart with the slightest touch.

But I also knew this was not who God created me to be. God’s plan for me does not include walking through life with holes and broken pieces from the decisions and actions of others … or my own, for that matter. God’s plan for me does not include using a glue gun to gingerly hold pieces together so I can at least look like I have it together. The brokenness of the past no longer defined me.

On Christmas Eve, I confessed my sin to God and handed Him my broken memories and missing pieces. Then, as I looked at my broken Mary in the cabinet, I asked God for more. More of Him. More wholeness. More of His transforming work in my life and the lives of my children. My only expectation would be Him.

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

*
*

Christmas morning, after my children opened all their presents, my daughter brought her gift to me and knelt before me in anticipation, her eyes shining like stars in the night sky. After opening the box, I pulled out something wrapped in layer upon layer of bubble wrap and by the time I got to the last layer, I could see what lay inside …

A new Mary.

Unbroken. Whole. Complete.

My precious girl understood that the broken Mary was a source of sadness to me and apparently had been wanting to replace her for some time. When she earned some baby-sitting money, she reached out to her Grandmother and older cousin for help and between all their efforts, a new Mary was purchased.

After some tears and sweet hugs, I immediately went to the cabinet and carefully removed the broken Mary, who came out in pieces. As I did so, I noticed something I had not seen before. Mary was shattered into pieces, but the baby Jesus she was holding was not.

Mary was broken, but Jesus never was.

In my hands I held the truth that so long had evaded me. Life had caused sorrow and ripped holes inside of me. I had patched them together as well as I could but my efforts could not bring wholeness. Yet, Jesus has remained unbroken, solid, and completely true through all of the years. He was the center of what held the remainder of the broken Mary together.

I tenderly placed my broken Mary on the table and then picked up my new Mary, also holding sweet baby Jesus in her arms. As I placed her in the cabinet, a passage from Zechariah 3 came to mind … in these verses, the high priest Joshua was being accused by Satan as he stood in his own filthy clothes before an angel of the Lord. This is a picture of us in the filthy rags of our own righteousness standing before the Lord as we are also being accused by Satan. But, for Joshua the high priest, as well as, for the believer today, this is not the end of the story.

Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments and standing before the angel. He spoke and said to those who were standing before him, saying, “Remove the filthy garments from him.” Again he said to him, “See, I have taken your iniquity away from you and will clothe you with festal robes.”
(Zechariah 3:3,4)

Christ has removed our iniquity as well by the sacrifice of the cross. When we accept His gift of salvation, our filthy garments are replaced with beautiful robes of His righteousness. No longer can Satan accuse us.

Christ’s gift, His sacrifice, makes us whole.

*
*

On Christmas day, I stood between my two Marys … one broken and one whole.

One purchased by her own works with broken pieces held together by worthless glue and the other, whole and complete … a gift.

One Mary representing who I was and the other … who I am now and will be in Christ.

A promise, if you will.

I will rejoice greatly in the Lord,
My soul will exult in my God;
For He has clothed me with garments of salvation,
He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness,
As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland,
And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
Isaiah 61:10

You know, it was not in my power to make Christmas ‘good’ this year
— but Jesus made it beautiful.

**Come, Thou long expected Jesus written by Charles Wesley**

Jesus is Still in the Boat

December 9, 2019 / walkingthisjourneysite / Leave a comment

I took my son to the doctor for a physical this past week. I know, I know … probably not a news-worthy story to most people. I understand. But in my world, this was a matter of significance and great importance. My son is 18 years old now, of considerable size, has autism … and anything medical related is scary, But, due to a different need, this physical was required. You see, my son also has a life-long, intense anxiety regarding dentists, which inhibits even the most basic of exams. A couple of months ago, I finally learned of and reached out to a new dentist who offers sedation dentistry at a surgical center near their office, well over an hour away from our home. This dentist specializes in children, but also works with special needs adults … many of whom share my son’s fears. With the support of his teacher, we attempted a consultation visit with the dentist, which by the standards of most was not successful, but allowed him to be scheduled for sedation. The dentist assured me that they would take him on as a patient and, with those words, a significant burden began to lift from my shoulders.

The process to be seen for sedation is quite involved, both from the surgery center’s viewpoint as well as, from the needs of my son, so I have been working towards this appointment for the last couple of months. It has been a stressful but I was so thankful. For the first time ever, I didn’t feel as alone in this particular battle. I paid the upfront expenses and scheduled the sedation appointment. All the pieces were coming together fairly well so that the only major task left was the physical, which was required by the surgery center to clear him for sedation.

Now, my son is only slightly less fearful of doctors than he is of dentists so I was concerned about the success of this appointment; However, medical desensitization is a goal written into his IEP at his specialized autism school. Staff have been working with him, as I have been, for a number of years and he has made progress. I was nervous but hopeful the appointment would go well enough that the doctor would be able to supply the information the surgery center needed.

In a situation such as this, all I can do is prepare my son as much as possible, support him every step of the way, pray (pretty much without ceasing), and trust the Lord for the outcome.

My son was successful with this physical in the eyes of the Doctor, his teacher who was there to support him, and especially me. Even though he refused to allow certain things, we were able to do more than ever before and the doctor cleared him for sedation. We were so proud of him!

I was incredibly thankful as it appeared all was well and going according to plan. We just had one more week until his sedation appointment and then the worry of his teeth and the weight of this appointment would be behind me … just in time to focus exclusively on the Christmas season.

*
*

I have been reading the book of Luke this advent season, trying to read a chapter a day so that I can finish the account on Christmas Eve. It is so easy to lose sight of why we observe this most treasured of holidays in the midst of all the bustle of festivities and concerns of this life, so I decided to focus my reading on the birth, ministry, death, and resurrection of Christ. I started out a day behind and, as a result, I ended up reading Luke 5 on December 6th, this past Friday. Now, I have read the story of Jesus telling Simon to take his boat out to the deep waters and cast his nets countless times before. It isn’t new to me. But on this particular morning, as I read Simon’s response, my breath caught and to my surprise, tears filled my eyes.

Now it happened that while the crowd was pressing around Him and listening to the word of God, He was standing by the lake of Gennesaret; and He saw two boats lying at the edge of the lake; but the fishermen had gotten out of them and were washing their nets. And He got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little way from the land. And He sat down and began teaching the people from the boat. When He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”Simon answered and said, ‘Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing, but I will do as you say and let down the nets.’ (verses 1-5)

Wow, Simon’s words reverberated through me with considerable force. I have worked for years trying to help my son. I would take him to the doctor by myself and those appointments were battles. Very real battles. I tried taking him to the dentist and those battles were even uglier. I would drive him once a week to a dentist office 45 minutes away just to work on desensitizing him by myself. My attempts to take him places backfired. Special diets were not helpful. Special therapies did little. I rarely, if ever, saw any fruit from the labor. I grew exhausted from the continual battles and lack of help. My nets were always empty.

This grew into a discouragement in its rawest form. Trying to help a child who is not typical in any way and who was unable to respond to my efforts. Carrying the weight of those nets myself without a single soul to help. Learning to hide those failures from others because I knew they simply couldn’t relate and often would condemn. Feeling guilty that my best efforts weren’t enough. Building walls to protect us both. Feeling frightened for the days ahead.

I know a thing or two about empty nets.

But let’s look at what happened when Simon obeyed the command of Jesus, even though his own experience and earthly knowledge must have counselled him otherwise?

“When they had done this, they enclosed a great quantity of fish, and their nets began to break; so they signaled to their partners in the other boat for them to come and help them. And they came and filled both of the boats, so that they began to sink.” (verses 6-7)

All night Simon and his companions had worked casting their nets into the waters, yet not catching a single fish. They must have been weary and discouraged with their circumstances and nothing to show for their labor. But once Jesus stepped into his boat and told him try again, their nets were soon filled to the point of breaking and sinking their boats because of all of the fish! What was the difference?

Jesus was in the boat.

*
*

A few years ago, I sat in my boat and looked at my empty nets. I was at my end and uncertain how I could possibly face another day. Then Jesus stepped into my boat and told me to go out into the deep waters once more and cast my nets. I was undeniably weary from my own efforts so with broken faith, I obeyed the voice of my Savior. I cast those nets in waters that I had fished countless times before but this time, something odd began to happen. Over time, doors began to open that had been previously closed. Support arose from places that had been hidden before. My son slowly began to mature and make the kind of progress I had given up on ever seeing. While the journey was (and continues to be) still hard, it was clear that Jesus was in the boat.

As I read the interaction between Jesus and Simon in Luke 5 this time, I became overwhelmed with thankfulness. My best efforts in the past produced empty nets because even though I prayed, I usually worked in my own sufficiency, while rooted in fear. But with Jesus in the boat, I have seen full nets on many occasions. So that morning, as I read Luke 5 and contemplated the upcoming sedation dentist appointment for my son, I hoped for and anticipated the same kind of results. I was anxious to see a net full of fish.

*
*

The surgery center called a few hours later. As soon as I heard the nurse’s voice, I sensed something was wrong. It took her a moment before she could say the words … the anesthesia team had reviewed all the information regarding my son and decided they could not accommodate him at their facility. So, after months of working towards this goal and just one week away from the appointment, they cancelled his sedation surgery.

Shock is really the only word I have for what I was feeling as I listened to the nurse and then the anesthesiologist who explained their reasoning. As their words echoed through my mind, I could only think of the amount of work, time, prayer, worry to the point of sickness, and lack of sleep that have occurred over these last two months as I have worked towards this long-awaited goal. I was stunned to have it so abruptly halted without any sense of resolution. The hope I had felt for the first time was ripped from my grasp.

Heartbroken silence surrounded me as I stood at the edge of my boat, staring blankly into the depths of the waters around me, with nothing but empty nets to show. I never felt more alone.

But …

Jesus was still in the boat.

*
*

It is advent season, a time to observe and ponder the earthly arrival, ministry, and sacrifice of Jesus, the Son of the Most High. As a Christian, this is a most precious and joyous time.

In the book of Mathew, the first chapter begins with the genealogy of Jesus and then gives the account of the angel talking to Joseph in a dream as he considered what to do with Mary, his espoused wife.

“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.”

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel” (which means “God with us”). Mathew 1:20-23

Emmanuel … God with us.

We often enter this blessed season with great expectations of tidy, neat gifts under the tree, happy children, cooperative and loving families, Christmas plays and cantatas, good will and kindness, and well, perfection. But what do we do when we enter this season and our realities simply do not match those expectations? What do we do when we don’t get what we wish for … or even long for?

At this point, I am unsure what to do about meeting the dental needs of my son. I have learned that people around me simply do not grasp what this journey has been like, even those in my own household, so once more, it feels a lonely and heavy weight. I threw the nets where I believed the Lord was directing me and yet, here I sit with them empty once more. In the days since the phone call, I have been praying in the quiet, letting all of this sink in, and considering the next steps, as the name, Emmanuel has been echoing through the silence …

God with us.

Friends, this is our hope always but, most especially during a Christmas season when circumstances are difficult and we are unsure what to do next. We can remember the fact that Jesus, the very Son of God, humbled Himself and came to Earth in the form of a baby. We can ponder the works He did and the words He spoke as He walked this world. We can consider the depth of His sacrifice on the cross as He suffered and died on our behalf so that we could be free from sin and death. We can rest and rejoice in the fact that He rose from the dead and now sits at the right hand of God the Father, interceding on our behalf.

Because we believe this to be true, based on the Word of God, we are never alone, no matter the circumstances, challenges, or trials we face. He is our source of comfort and strength. He will fill our empty nets in His time and in His way.

Emmanuel … God with us.

Jesus is still in the boat.

His Mercies are New Every Morning

October 20, 2019October 20, 2019 / walkingthisjourneysite / Leave a comment

Guilt.

There is an appropriate time and place for guilt. When we have done wrong, that sense of guilt can be God-given and God-honoring if we respond rightly. If we are Christians, the Holy Spirit convicts us for the purpose of repentance, restoration, and redemption.

We repent, God forgives, we move on … it is that simple.

As far as the east is from the west,
So far has He removed our transgressions from us.
Psalm 103:12

For many of us, however, it isn’t always that simple. Some of us walk our journeys with the weight of guilt and shame bundled in heavy sacks across our shoulders. It impacts every step we take. It clouds every thought. It makes the day to day tasks even more exhausting. It is a brutal way to live.

Sometimes people speak highly of us and while we are appreciative of the kind words, inwardly we cringe and think, ‘Oh, if they only knew.’

How often have we said or heard another woman say, ‘I should have handled that differently’ or ‘I should have made a different decision’ or ‘Maybe I should have done this instead’ or ‘If only I had …’?

How many of us build walls and hide ourselves from people around us as a result?

Probably more than we realize.

I’ve been pondering and working through these thoughts for years but more intensely over the last few weeks as I have been entrenched in an ugly battle with anxiety and fear. The kind that awakens the old gremlins in my stomach so they start tearing me apart as though they are trying to escape. The kind of battles that refuse to let me sleep as my brain relentlessly recounts all the times I have messed something up. The kind that make me afraid to write because I feel like a sham. The kind that makes me afraid to talk with people because I feel worthless. The kind that drives me into the deepest recesses of my mind so I can hide from everything.

This is me. This is the battle I have been fighting my entire life.

Every decision in my life has been made out of fear. Every decision I have avoided making has been due to fear. Literally every step in my life has been dictated by fear.

That much fear cultivates the soil perfectly for guilt seeds to thrive.

Those guilt seeds, in a sensitive-natured person like myself, quickly become an overgrown weedy patch of shame … which, in turn, triggers a whole lot more anxiety and fear.

Talk about a nasty cycle.

I have a series I’ve been contemplating writing that would highlight the lessons God is teaching me through all of this … but for today, I want to share only a few thoughts that might be useful for someone else.

Sometimes we carry guilt simply because our perspective of a situation is wrong.

Sometimes we carry guilt for sins not confessed.

Sometimes we carry guilt for sins confessed but our pride refuses to release.

Let me share a personal example as an illustration …

When my son was diagnosed with autism years ago, there were still articles and people around that blamed the mother for autism. ‘Refrigerator Mother’ was still a relatively common term. There were (and are) still plenty of articles and people around who will blame a mother if her child doesn’t progress well on the autism journey.

I carried guilt for years that my son’s autism was my fault. I carried guilt for years that the severity of my son’s autism was my fault. That guilt I carried never allowed me to simply grieve the diagnosis so we could live the life we had been given.

Logically I can understand that I did not cause my son’s autism. But the guilt I carried, compounded by my fearful/selfish nature and other difficult life circumstances, caused me to make decisions (or avoid making decisions) that may have impacted my son’s autism journey.

To carry guilt that my son has autism is foolish. That is a guilt that was never mine to carry.

However, I am responsible for what I did after the diagnosis … and yes, I do tend to carry a lot of guilt because I know I could have handled things better. It took years for me to learn how to be his mother and love him well. We have grown up together in many ways.

Now, to confess poor decisions from the past before the Lord is wise and the correct thing to do. To continually beat myself up over past poor decisions is foolish and is mostly likely a sign of pride.

Here is another example …

My attends a private autism school while I homeschool his siblings. I used to struggle with guilt that I was sending him away even though I knew he needed the resources that a specialized school could provide and I needed those resources as well. This was a misplaced guilt.

However, if I don’t attend meetings or implement behavioral strategies at home, then guilt would be valid. But sending him to an environment where he can best learn and then investing that time into his siblings is not a valid occasion for guilt.

Does that make sense?

Lamentations 3 has been a source of encouragement to me on this journey and I want to share it here so these beautiful words of hope might encourage someone else.

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 lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
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.
Lamentations 3:19-26

It is important to spend time with the Lord concerning issues that invite a sense of guilt or shame. Sometimes it is even helpful to talk them through with a wise and trustworthy counselor, Pastor, or friend who can share insight that we may not see. Where there is sin to be confessed, we absolutely need to do so and then leave it at the cross. If the sense of guilt or shame is not rooted in sin, then we need to learn to speak truth into the lies and walk freely.

It is imperative to learn how to discern between God-given guilt due to sin and our human tendency to feel of guilt/shame concerning issues that have nothing to do with sin.

However, in each and every case, we need to remember that the Lord’s lovingkindness never ceases and His mercies are new every morning.

Every day is a new opportunity to make wise decisions.

Every day is a new opportunity to do the right thing.

Every day is a new opportunity to choose not to define our lives by misplaced guilt and shame from the past but to find our identity in Christ alone.

Great is His faithfulness!

The Brown Bird's Song

Abiding Acres Farm

Faithfulness