Loneliness

Thoughts From My Flower Beds

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In the silence of the early morning hours, I slipped outside with a mug of hot coffee in one hand and my gardening gloves in the other.  With a sense of purpose to my steps, I made my way down to the bank in front of my home and beside the road.  It was this bank that sat neglected for years until I decided to tackle it this past spring.   I wrote a little about that process here -> Where Beauty Dwells

When I finished that job a couple of months ago, it was the neatest it had ever been.  The weeds were gone, flowers were added, and all of it was carefully covered in mulch.  The difference was amazing and I was quite pleased with the result of my labors and soon moved on to other projects and life responsibilities.

In the first few weeks after the completion of the job, I would take a few minutes here and there to stop by and pull little weeds as they popped up.  But then life got a bit crazier and you know, I didn’t give that bank much thought.  The project was done and I had other things to do … surely all the work I had put into it was enough.

Now in the morning’s quiet, I figured I could get the bank cleared out again in no time.

Oh, but those weeds that I had worked so hard to eradicate had taken over once more …

Vines spreading all over, poison ivy everywhere I looked, and my sweet flowers all but choked out.

It did not matter how much work I had put into that bank just a couple of months ago.  It did not matter how well-cared for it had been or how lovely it had been with the addition of colorful flowers.  Just a brief time of neglect was all that was needed to revert back to its old ways.

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Every time I pull weeds, I am reminded of my own sin nature.

Sin is just as pervasive and resilient as the weeds in my flower beds.

We go to church and we dedicate our lives to God.  We confess every sin we can think of and we walk away feeling so much cleaner … so much nicer.

We work through a Bible study and as the Holy Spirit reveals hidden parts of our nature, we pledge to eradicate them from our lives.  We are refreshed and renewed.

We attend a conference or a weekend retreat.  We feel challenged and encouraged and convinced we’ve got this Christian life figured out.

Then we get caught up in our crazy lives and we have the best of intentions to read our Bibles every day and talk to the Lord every day … and we really do intend to keep an eye out for those weeds of sin that we ripped from our lives.

But what happens?

One day we notice something … our hearts are overcome with sin once more and the loveliness of Christ is being choked out.

Just a bit of neglect allows our hearts to revert to its old ways.

I find this the most disheartening thing.

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As I worked on the bank and pulled at the weeds, I became aware of the amount of poison ivy that had become very pervasive.  I realized that I was not dressed appropriately to battle poison ivy and if I continued, I would soon be covered by a terrible rash.

I admit, I was briefly tempted to take my chances and just continue with the fight but my extensive history with this notorious plant cautioned me that this would be a grave mistake.  One that I would deeply regret.

So I returned to the house and dressed until I was completely covered.  Then I pulled on two sets of gloves before returning to the battle.  Appropriately armed for the fight gave me an advantage to fight aggressively against my foe.  I knew if I was well-protected, the harmful effects of the poison would not cause me great harm.  I could easily still be touched by the poison as it has gone through clothing before, but I knew if I was properly protected, the effects would be minimal.

So with sin I must be properly prepared and armed for my battles against it.

Ephesians 6 reminds us that we must be strong in the battle against sin and to do so, we must be fully dressed in the armor of Christ…

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.  Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.  Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place,  and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.  In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.  Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.”
Ephesians 6:10-18

 

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As I pulled the weeds in my bank along the road, I noticed that some had very shallow roots and they came out quite easily.  Others were deeply entrenched and took a lot of muscle power to pull.  Still others were connected by intricate and strong vine systems that made it almost impossible to remove.

I found this so convicting.

As I pulled each weed, I asked the Lord to show me those kinds of sins in my life.  The superficial shallow ones that can be addressed fairly easily.  The ones that have grown so deeply into my nature and personality that it requires diligent muscle power to pull.  And the ones that are connected deep below the surface … these are the ones that spread and take over, often without me realizing it.

I am convinced the Lord loves these kinds of prayers because the Holy Spirit has been working overtime on this heart of mine!  And, as always, it is a pretty rough process.

On a side note, I am also convinced that if we talk to the Lord (or other people) more about the sins and faults of another than talking to Him about our own sins … something is wrong.  We have to honestly deal with the big ol’ log in our own eye first.

So the Lord has been graciously shedding His light on the weeds that I have allowed to take root and grow.  Deep, entangling vine-like sins such as bitterness and resentfulness.  I have had to confess these over and over the last few weeks as I have been walking through some deep trenches with my family.   My personal poison ivy is probably the sin of envy and no other season brings that out in me like summer time when I see what typical families get to do together.  It is a deeply rooted sin that continually needs addressed.

But what about the more shallow sins that most of us might not recognize to be sin?  Well, if the Lord convicts us about it, it becomes sin.  For me, I have noticed my old use of sarcasm coming alive again.  Is sarcasm sinful?  Maybe not for you but in many situations, the Lord challenges me and convicts me every time it slips out.  I have become more and more aware that the Lord wants my words to be careful and sure … guarded, if you will.   Carefully seasoned with truth and gracious.  The Bible is full of verses that caution the use of our tongue and for me, I feel a strong conviction to guard my words carefully.  But oh so often, those words slip out and the Spirit sends a sharp word of rebuke as He yanks that weed of sin out.

Sigh … you know, it is never ending work to keep those weeds out of my flower beds.  I have resigned myself that is part of living in a broken world.

It is also a never ending task to keep sin out of my life.  It requires constant vigilance and even more humility.  It is never easy to submit to the Lord and watch as He allows me to sin so I can recognize my own human frailty and absolute dependence on Him.

After all, He died so that I might be free from sin … how wonderful is it that I can be dependent on Him?

There is great satisfaction as I look over my flower beds and see the beauty of my labors.  I am always glad I have done the work and removed the weeds.  Even if I know I will have to do it over and over again.

Can I submit to you that there is an even greater satisfaction and peace when the Lord removes sin from the flower bed that is my heart and mind?  It is never easy nor is it ever fun … but the end result is worth the cost.

Just some thoughts from my flower beds.

 

 

 

Set like Flint

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“For the Lord God helps Me, therefore, I am not disgraced; Therefore, I have set My face like flint, and I know that I shall not be ashamed.”
Isaiah 50:7

abstract brick bricks brickwork

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I can’t tell you how many years I have begged God to change certain circumstances in my life.  I don’t want to tell you how long I lamented those circumstances when they did not change and simply grew more difficult as years went by.  When seasons of heartache last upwards of 20 years and some 35 years and beyond, one grows weary.

By last fall, I found myself teetering on the edge of despair.

Overwhelmed by the isolation of the storms, weakened by the longevity, and discouraged by the lack of growth, help, intervention, and relationship.

Disquieted because of what seemed as silence from the heavens above in the ongoing midst of these trials.

My nature tends to be more quiet and reserved.  Life experience on top of my personal nature has caused me to become more observant and introspective as time goes by.  I understand that some people don’t like this about me.  I rarely respond as others seem to expect me to and frankly, I no longer even try to.  My soul runs deep but I am mostly gentle and simple at heart.  I am loyal until betrayed and intensely protective of those I love.  Contention, strife, game-playing, blame-shifting … these are all enemies of my soul.

I have been, unfortunately, the ultimate people-pleaser.

And this has gotten me into considerable trouble.

For much of my life, my identity was based on what I heard and perceived from others.

I gathered all the words and perceptions and I built my identity on them.

Not only that, but I carried them throughout my life.

A whole bunch of crap, tied up in a burlap bag, and strapped to my shoulders.

It was a life built on a shaky foundation.

A foundation that I knew God was systematically dismantling, but I admit that I was not fully aware that He was also in the process of rebuilding…

A new foundation grounded in truth and on Christ alone.

A foundation tested and tried because of the very trials I despised.

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Over the last number of years, my studies have often been directed towards certain portions of the Bible over and over.  Passages that the Lord knew I needed to grasp in order to change and grow within my circumstances.  For a long time, the writings of James and Paul consumed my studies as I sought to understand the purpose of trials and sufferings.  Instead of fighting against God in these storms, I needed to learn to walk through them in His strength and leading.

Then 1 Corinthians 13 became a focused part of my pondering and studies.  Learning to love others as Christ loves us is often spoken of loftily and easily.  The reality is that it is a brutal process of dying to self and learning to seek the good of others before my own.  This just does not come easily to any of us, no matter how much we like to pretend it does.

More recently, Hebrews 11 has been the focus and I have to admit, I have not always appreciated this part of my studies.  Specifically because these tremendous people of faith died, never getting a happy end to their story.

“All these died in faith, without receiving the promises,
but having seen them and welcomed them from a distance,
and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.”
Hebrews 11:13

This bothered me, to be honest, because I wanted a guarantee that I would have a happy ending here on earth.

The beauty of what is commonly known as the ‘Faith’ chapter is that these warriors of the faith, lived and died (sometimes horribly), not seeing the purpose of their sufferings and trials, yet remaining solid and true until the very end.  Their reward was not known to them on this side of eternity.

This has become achingly beautiful to me over time.  Living a life of faith and complete dependence on God, without ever knowing relief nor the reason until eternity.  These are my heroes.  These are my examples.  These are the ones I turn to when I grow weary in this journey. These are the cloud of witnesses the writer of Hebrews tells us about:

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witness surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and has set down at the right hand of the throne of God.  For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”
Hebrews 12:1-3

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Last week, I experienced something that has led to all these rambling thoughts.  An out-of-the-blue, random, and somewhat public attack on my character.

I was startled and taken aback.

Imagine it like this … envision a woman walking along her life’s journey, neither perfect nor without sin, yet minding her own business and simply accomplishing the tasks before her, when suddenly … randomly … someone hiding behind some shrubbery, hurls a rock in her direction.  A rock written with words seemingly intent to inflict harm.

The rock itself doesn’t hurt badly because it was thrown at a distance but still, it stings a little.  She finds herself knocked a bit off balance by the surprise of the attack.  Stunned by the words written on it.

She knew who threw the rock but still she looked around to see who was watching.

Would anyone come to her defense?

Had they seen the words?

Would they believe them?

She slowly reached down and picked up the rock and as she stood back up holding it, she looked directly at the thrower.

Yes, I see your words and I see you.  I see more than you realize.

And then, unsure how to respond, she turned away and continued walking because her journey doesn’t stop simply because someone else chooses to throw stones.

But she was still carrying that rock.

So what do you do with it?

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I have watched a considerable amount of stone-throwing in my lifetime.

Now, just to be clear, I am not talking about confronting a believer with the truth in Scriptures as a means of restoring them to righteousness.  That is speaking truth, even though it may come across as hurtful, for someone’s good.  It is not stone-throwing.  What I am referring to is the intentional (or sometimes even unintentional) use of words that harm or destroy a person’s character, testimony, or their emotional state.

So again I ask, what do you do if you are on the receiving end?

Well, perhaps you are like me.  I used to gather everything that was said or that I thought had been said, and I carried them across my shoulders.  Not only that, but I would look at them all the time … and I believed them.  Those rocks were my identity.   I chose those words over Christ.

Thank you Jesus for the cross and that I no longer have to carry that burden.  I still do sometimes because it is so familiar to me … but I am free to not do so.

Perhaps you are much more likely to respond quickly in anger, grabbing that stone before it can even touch the ground and hurling back towards the other person.

Matter of fact, there is a good chance you are able to grab a few extra stones lying around to send flying along as well.

Because they deserve it, of course.  

Maybe your anger doesn’t ignite that quickly but tends to simmer over time.  Eventually, the stones inspire a deep root of bitterness that seeps out through passive-aggressive, snide comments.

How dare they?  Don’t they realize how much I have done for them?  They owe me.  I’m the victim here.

Of course, sometimes we are too intimidated or maybe just unsure how to respond so we bottle it up inside until we explode onto some unfortunate, innocent soul who is completely in the dark.

Children, spouse, random grocery store clerk … 

All of these are common, instinctive responses and yet, none of them are right.

None are healthy.

None are righteous.

None follow the example of the Savior, who although completely innocent and pure (unlike you and me), stood silent before his accusers.  Nor does it follow the examples of the cloud of witnesses given to us in the book of Hebrews.

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I knelt alone, still holding that stone and reading those words.

Feeling a bit dejected and unsure …

But mostly I felt alone.

But yet, I wasn’t.  My Savior stood beside me.  The very one who set his face as flint as He stood unashamed before His accusers.  The very one who was the only innocent person to ever walk this earth and the only one without sin.

My Savior and my example.

He stood in the silence with me until I handed Him the stone and asked Him to show me what to do.  I know I am capable of any of the typical responses but I wanted His help.

Once in His hands, the truth became clear.

The words spoken of me were not true.

Neither were they my identity.

I began to understand anew the purpose of the trials, the trust that can arise from the deepest places of despair, the strength that grows from endurance, and the value of a solid new foundation grounded in the truth of a Savior.

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”
Matthew 7:24-27

 

You know,there is an interesting thing that can happen when you give an ugly stone that was intended to harm you to Jesus.   In my hands, that stone would only continue to be ugly and harmful, whether towards myself or others.  But in His hands, those words become meaningless and the ugliness of the rock transforms into a bright and shining pebble, which He carefully places to create beauty along my pathway.

Each stone serves as a reminder of who I am in Christ.

 

 

assorted color flowers

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Where Beauty Dwells

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In the darkness of the night, while the rest of my family slept upstairs, I sat up with my son as he escalated into a full-blown autism rage.

Given that his verbal skills are very limited, he was not able to explain to me why he was awakened at two in the morning or why he was feeling so enraged.  In these situations, I am always left guessing and trying to stay two steps ahead so I can either avoid these storms altogether, or at the very least, keep him safe and help him deescalate as quickly as possible.

On this particular night, however, all the pieces fell into place for a truly terrible storm.

As the worst of the storm began to ease, what was left of my strength and self-control broke as if it were delicate china plate dropped onto a hard tile floor.

A million pieces, jagged and sharp, scattered everywhere.

Shattered.

My heart was broken.

It was a dark night of the soul.

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

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When I went outside to pull weeds in my flower beds the next morning, it was a matter of will … not heart.  Time to invest in outdoor work is limited and procrastination only creates a bigger job that still needs done later, so I am learning to do what I can, when I can.

The memory of the previous night was deeply entrenched in my thoughts and with each pull of those tenacious weeds from my flower beds, it felt as if I was pulling every dream and every hope I have ever had and simply tossing them away.   Some of the big dreams that yet remained, but mostly it was the more simple dreams that I hold onto most deeply … friendship, companionship, community, belonging, love.

The pervading question that has been following me though out my entire life broke through once more in a weakened cry towards heaven … Why am I here?

Please Lord, is this all you have for me?

A cry whispered, not in self-pity or with a complaining spirit, but simply with a heart that has been broken time and time again.

“My eyes are continually toward the Lord, for He will pluck my feet out of the net.
Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted.
The troubles of my heart are enlarged; Bring me out of my distresses.
Look upon my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.”
Psalm 25:15-18

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As I cleared out the beds of weeds and freed the budding flowers from their grasp, I was reminded once more of the beauty springtime brings to my home.  My ancient lilac bush with its fragrant blossoms filled the air, while I cleared around my astilbe and forget-me-nots.  The bleeding heart that I transplanted last fall, now grew splendid and full.  Even the lush (and overgrown) green grass captured my attention as I pushed the wheelbarrow through the yard.  I found myself stopping just to stare at the sweet little dandelions and violets that speckled it, like freckles across a little girl’s sun-kissed nose.

Everywhere I looked there was the glorious color of spring.  Each step revealed a new fragrance and a new part of nature awakening from its long winter’s nap.

The Lord used this beauty of new life to reawaken a soul disillusioned and weary.

Beauty was the word I heard over and over.

And you know, that began to trouble me.

“I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.  Wait for the Lord, Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord.”
Psalm 27:13-14

 

 

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In the days since that difficult night, there have been more challenges and entire days spent outside working, meditating, and seeking God’s wisdom.

‘Beauty’ … a word not typically applied to me continued to whisper through my thoughts.

When I began to tackle the long-neglected bank in the front of my home, I soon found myself immersed in a project much larger than I anticipated.  The weeds were deep but beneath them were elaborate root systems and winding through it all were many vines of poison ivy.  The bank was ugly.  It was overrun with weeds, dead grass, trash tossed from the cars driving by on the road … and that poison.  As I worked tenaciously and ripped at those weeds, I began to see small remnants of beauty from years past.  The fern-like greens of poppy flowers sprung out in relief as I tore the weeds that were overpowering them.  Dozens of earthworms wriggled and squirmed as I loosened the earth around them.  Beautiful, massive rocks placed for landscaping began to emerge and even though I was weary from battling the vines and weeds, I was becoming entranced by the beauty that lay hidden and neglected for so many years.

It was and continues to be a process to unearth and awaken that beauty, but I can almost see what it is to become.  What it was meant to be.  What it could be.  Even though I am covered now in poison ivy and rain is falling, my thoughts are often focused on the work that yet needs to be done … the work to reawaken the beauty of that bank.  A gentle beauty that I hope will be a welcoming sight to all who pass by.

It is a slow transformation process.

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I have spent a lifetime longing for and seeking after beauty.

Nothing I tried ever worked and truthfully, I know I don’t have much to work with.

But, even girls like me long to be seen as beautiful.  We want to be loved and cherished as much as anyone.  We long for the day that someone will see beauty in us because often, we cannot see it for ourselves.

When I married, I foolishly followed my naive heart.  I thought the only reason someone would marry me was because I was loved … I was finally seen as beautiful.  I tried to do whatever it took to earn a love that I thought was meant for me.

What took me years to understand was that people don’t always marry for love.

And sometimes, no matter what you do, you will never be able to earn love.

The reality took years to sink in and the impact it had on my soul was even more devastating than the pervasive poison ivy and weeds that overtook the bank in front of my home.

I know what it is to live a life completely imprisoned in sin and brokenness.

I know what it is like to be unwanted.

Disillusioned.

Alone.

I also know what it is to be a mother watching her child suffer with a hidden disability and unable to tell me what is hurting him so deeply.

I know what it is to go without sleep for years.

Without touch.

Without communication.

Without hope.

I know and have experienced more that you may realize.

And because of all this, I am confident in what I am about to say.

I know Jesus is the answer.

Jesus comes into our lives with more love than we can possibly imagine and He takes on the difficult task of ripping out the lies of deception that are entangled throughout us.  He takes the tools of truth and loosens up the hardened soil that entraps us so He can set us free and transform our lives into beauty for His glory.

Sisters, your world might be falling apart and you might be thinking there is no way out.

Maybe you think if you leave your marriage and find a different man, it will be better.

Maybe if you have one more drink, you won’t need to feel.

Maybe if you stay just busy enough, you can hide the ugliness inside with your own works of beauty.

Maybe … maybe.

I can tell you from experience that only Jesus can bring beauty from the ashes of our lives.  Only Jesus can set us free from the life-killing weeds of sin and loosen the packed earth around us.  Only He can undo the neglect.  Only Jesus.

There are no maybes with Him.

“For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 1:6

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When I started this post, I was going to call it Moments of Beauty and simply share what I could while staying detached from the word ‘beauty’.  Kindnesses of others … flowers … budding trees … all safe topics from a woman like me.

But as the days and weeks passed, the phrase that kept coming to mind was ‘Where Beauty Dwells’ 

I can’t share with you what I know of beauty unless you understand a little of where I come from and why beauty is not my normal.

My heart knows brokenness and ugliness.

But because of Jesus, my heart also knows and recognizes beauty.

Through the redeeming work of the cross,  He is in the process of sanctifying and transforming me to become more like Him … and that is where beauty dwells.

Maybe not the kind of beauty the world wants from me … but a hidden, internal beauty that seeks only to glorify Christ.

Wherever Jesus dwells and transforms, there is beauty.

What beauty are you seeking?

 

“… And provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
    instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
    a planting of the Lord
    for the display of his splendor.”
Isaiah 61:3

 

 

 

 

 

Finding Rest in the Lonely Journey

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If the Lord sets you to guard a lonely post in perfect stillness from all active work, you ought to be just as content as to be in the midst of the active warfare.  It is no virtue to love the Master’s work better than the Master’s will.
Hannah Whitall Smith

 

It’s been awhile since I have written here because my life has been a whirlwind for the last several months.  A whirlwind of challenge after challenge and while I do have blog posts started and others floating around in my mind, this really isn’t one of them.

One thing I have learned about myself is that I have thinking seasons when I am battling through the challenges of life and learning about God and His ways and then I enter processing seasons when I can articulate those musings in writing.

This season of challenge started last fall when my son with autism entered one of his more difficult times of intense anxiety and anger.  Coping with that personally, while desperately trying to help him, homeschooling my other children, teaching a homeschool co-op class, and trying to keep everything as stable as possible for my family as a whole, took a serious toll on me.  Those I turned to for help didn’t seem to understand the depth of the struggle so I worked through it alone, realizing the greatest loneliness of my life.

In November, I injured my knee and that, compounded with a shoulder injury that happened in August when my 200+ lb son had a massive meltdown on one of our walks, and a strong negative reaction to medication I was taking, knocked me down even more.  Physically, I have always been very strong and able to withstand and rebound from almost anything, but this time, I found myself in constant pain and not recovering well at all.

December eventually brought relief for my son as his doctor added a new anxiety medicine and he began to smile once more.  What a blessed reprieve that was for everyone and I found my own spirits lifting somewhat as a result of not dealing with his intense anger issues day after day.

January and February were filled with school closings and delays for my oldest son and this created a fair amount of disruption and schedule changes for him, my other children’s homeschooling and co-op, and for me as I had to cancel quite a bit on my calendar and work in my cleaning jobs days when I could.

When I accepted that the knee pain was not going away and was limiting what I could do, I visited my doctor and learned that a ligament was stretched and inflammed and the meniscus were likely torn.  This led to wearing a knee brace and taking inflammatory medication for two weeks, which helped the inflammed ligament but not the torn meniscus.  I found this out the hard way when I was walking across the parking lot of our local grocery store and my leg completely gave out and cramped up so badly, I couldn’t move or put any weight on it.  I had to call my husband to come pick me up, drive me back across the parking lot to my van so I could drive it back home (using my right, uninjured knee of course).  I was completely incapacitated for a couple of days and could only move around using crutches and eventually a cane.  I eventually saw an orthopedic doctor who gave me a cortisone shot, which provided significant relief allowing me to cautiously return to most of my activities, including regular exercise.

When I went in for my physical earlier this week, my doctor and I discussed the likelihood of future surgery for my knee and she determined that my left shoulder has a strained and inflammed rotator cuff.  I didn’t bother to mention the discomfort I woke up with in my right shoulder because I figured I had only slept on it wrong and it would soon work itself out.

Boy, was I wrong!

By that evening, I was in agony.  A throbbing pain in my right shoulder that kept me awake all night as I struggled in vain to find a position that would allow me enough comfort to rest.  In the morning, I didn’t say anything to anyone but silently dealt with the pain as I got my son with autism off to school, my other children started on their day, and prepared to finally be able to attend a ladies Bible study at our church.  I felt very rough but figured the pain in my shoulder would eventually have to ease.  I was only at Bible study a short time before I received a text that I was needed at home so I swallowed my disappointment and left.  I am so glad I did.  The pain in my shoulder began to spread down my arm and throughout my right side, as my fingers tingled and grew numb.  By that evening, I noticed a couple of odd spots on my wrist and hand and experienced some of the most intense pain of my life, while my body responded with a low-grade fever.

To my dismay, the next day I was diagnosed with shingles.  A illness I had previously believed only affected folks much older than I.  My family was very surprised when I shared this news and admitted to how much pain I was in but now they have watched the rash/blisters spread and seen my lips whiten with pain when I attempt to do certain tasks.  They are stepping up to help as much as possible.

So, here I am this morning … the shingles have not responded to the medication as I had hoped and I am still in significant discomfort.  My right hand (and arm up to my elbow) is covered in a painful rash and only my index finger tip has been spared, allowing me to slowly peck away at these words.  My shoulder and ribs still ache from the pain but thankfully, it is nothing like it was earlier this week. I am exhausted from the toll this illness has taken on me, as well as, from my own sleep disturbances and those of my son.

However, what I have learned from each ugly battle of this long season of trial more than makes up for any hardship.  The Lord has been so gracious every step of the way and I have learned more from Him than ever before.  It has been a journey of settling into my own identity, following His voice, letting go of the past, walking in Truth, and practicing contentment in every circumstance.  As a result, I feel more loved and cared for by Him than ever before, which allows me to love and care for others more freely than ever before.  My relationship with my children, most especially, has blossomed even more abundantly.

I have learned the beautiful gift of prayer and surrender.  I have learned that it is a privilege to lift the names and burdens of others to this Shepherd who walks with me and, as a result of my own trials, I have learned a greater compassion for those who suffer far more than I.

I have also learned that I have nothing to prove and it is okay to walk alone.

It has been a lonely journey but, through it all, I have learned to rest.

To rest physically with awareness of my own needs…

To rest inwardly with the practice of contentment in all things…

And ultimately, to rest fully in the safety of my Savior’s love.

 

“Contentment, then, is the product of a heart resting in God.  It is the soul’s enjoyment of that peace that passes all understanding.  It is the outcome of my will being brought into subjection to the Divine will.  It is the blessed assurance that God does all things well, and is, even now, making all things work together for my ultimate good.”
A.W. Pink

The Faithfulness of God

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The Faithfulness of God.

Such a deep well from which to draw, knowing full well I will barely touch the surface.

Yet, a drink from this well is not meant to quench our thirst but rather it should draw us to toss the bucket aside and jump fully into the limitless supply.

His faithfulness has no bounds.  His goodness has no limits.  His grace overflows.

Even in the hard seasons.

I will say, most especially in the hard seasons.

Those times when it seems that God is nowhere to be found.  When it seems that our prayers are not being heard and our tears have evaporated before they even touched the ground.  When we simply cannot see God anywhere and we feel isolated and broken.

In those times, when circumstances insinuate that God does not care and we do not know which way to turn, I believe we have a few choices.

We can give into despair and believe that God has forsaken us.

We can create our own path and justify what we want in order to convince ourselves and others that God only wants us to be happy and therefore we are free to do whatever it is we want to make our lives ‘easier.’

Or … we can diligently spend time with God our Father by consistently reading and meditating on His Word with the clear intention of getting to know Him instead of picking and choosing Scripture to fit what we want.  We can apply our time in prayer as we learn to discern the voice of our Shepherd.  Then we can make the daily choice to pick up our cross and follow Him and in this process, we begin to die to self, learn to be content in all things, and ultimately, choose to obey and follow His will … and not our own.

The first choice leads to defeat and a sad, empty life.

The second choice certainly may lead to temporary happiness as we elevate ourselves and indulge in all the riches of this world while still using all the right Christian words to sound holy.  The problem with this is that it is truly temporary and terribly short-sighted.  What makes me happy now, will lead to trouble later.

I can eat an entire 5 lb box of chocolate now because it makes me happy.

But there will be a cost to pay later.

The third choice may mean limited earthly happiness.  Choosing to follow the example of Christ and dying to self is hard and rarely does it mean getting what I think I need to be happy.  It means taking my eyes off of myself and my needs and it means opening myself to hardship and trial for the cause of Christ.  This is where His faithfulness becomes real and the depths of His love supplies every need.  This path of obedience requires a heart and eye for eternity, understanding the promise of God may not be given to us until we cross the threshold of eternity and kneel before our Creator.

Only one of these choices lead towards an eternal reward.

The Trials of Yesterdays

When I  used to think back to the days when my children were young, I always felt a sense of guilt and failure.  Those were hard years raising three little ones while walking through the many difficulties and challenges of autism, depression, isolation, marital discord, family trouble, and more.  My perception of the past altered my memories and distorted my current sense of identity.

I believed myself to be a terrible mother.  A failure.

A couple of weeks ago, I was searching for some important paperwork that I could not find anywhere and in fact, had not seen in years.  After searching through every place I could imagine,  I finally thought about those boxes in the attic.  Those boxes that have been dodged through every purging and organizing frenzy.  Those boxes that rarely get a passing glance from me as I carry various other items in and out of the attic space.  Those boxes, filled with pictures and various memories, that signified to me, my complete failure as a mother and person.

However, desperation to find the missing paperwork and a sense that God was calling me to face those boxes, led me to finally start carrying them down from the attic and begin the slow process of sorting, organizing, and looking at these memories of the past.

Initially, I was overwhelmed with sadness.  My perception of the past has been so colored with certain memories I have held tightly onto that I simply could not see the reality.  But the Lord, with the utmost gentleness and care, began a healing process in the deepest places of this mother’s heart.  In almost all of the pictures of my children, I found smiles.  There are pictures of my oldest looking sober and somewhat vacant as the autism stole more and more of him away but for the most part, the pictures showed children happy and content.  My younger children would look over my shoulder as I worked through the pictures and would share happy memories with me.  As I continued I found picture after picture drawn by my children that read ‘I love you Mommy!’  Pictures that I had saved but didn’t remember saving.  I began to realize that my children do not remember how hard those years were.  Their memories were never distorted or broken as mine have been.  As a result, they have never viewed me as I have viewed me.  My children have never thought of me as a failure.  I am the only one who believed that.

As I worked through the memories of the past, the Lord began to change my perception of those years.  Oh, most definitely, if I could only go back, there is much I would do differently.  I would hold them more.  I would teach them better.  I would do almost everything differently for my son with autism.  But, the Lord began to help me see that even during those trying times, He was working.  Even when I thought He had abandoned me and my children, He was behind the scenes and faithfully filling in the gaps that were being missed.

In the last box of pictures, I found a photo that someone took of me and my children.  I have no memory of who took the picture or why it was taken but when I uncovered it, tears filled my eyes as my soul swelled with thankfulness.  The photo was taken in the nursery of the church we were attending at the time.  I am kneeling on the floor holding a felt board I had bought in an effort to teach my non-verbal, highly visual autistic son Bible stories.  All three of my very young children are across from me in various stages of busyness … and I remembered.

I remembered that there was no place for my incredibly busy autistic son in the other Sunday School classes and no nursery for my younger ones.  So every Sunday, I would prepare a lesson and try to teach them myself.  After Sunday School, we would go upstairs for the service where I sat every single Sunday back in the cry-room with my children because my oldest couldn’t handle sitting out in the service.

Most would not be aware of this, but that picture was taken as I was in the process of emotionally and mentally crashing beneath an unbearable load.  This is a season of life that I’ve always looked back on with sorrow.  I would have told you that I ruined my children.

Yet now, when I look at that picture and others with my children, I see the amazing faithfulness of a loving God who preserved both me and my children through some soul-crushing circumstances.

Where the enemy sought to destroy, God protected.

When I had given up, God refused to let us go.

When I ran from Him, God followed and brought me back.

When others deserted me and even spoke against me, God never left my side.

When I couldn’t see the next step ahead of me, God gave me the courage and just enough strength to take the next single step. And then the next.  And the next.

When I was weak, God taught me faithfulness and credited it to me as righteousness.

You see, the faithfulness of God is not dependent on us getting everything just right.  He does not call us to do life perfectly but He does call each of us to die to ourselves, pick up our crosses, and be obedient to the calling He has given us.

When I look back now, I see the hand of God working through all those fiery trials and challenges.

I can trace His rainbow through my tears.

I can see that He was in control.

And my heart is thankful.

His Faithfulness Today

This morning, as I finish writing these thoughts and try to bring this to a thoughtful conclusion, I am weary.  My almost 18 year old son with autism woke in the night with a sense of agitation.  I have been walking this journey a long time and often, the days (and nights) are still filled with difficulty.  But even when the way is rocky, I continue to learn  a complete dependence on the steady, never-changing faithfulness of God.

Hebrews 11 provides us with so many examples of those who have gone on before and how they lived a life of steady faith and reliance on God with the understanding that they might not see His promises fulfilled until eternity.  They trusted in the faithfulness of God and their own testimonies of faith that developed through their trials should be a resounding battle cry to us to never give up and to never take the easy way.

I have seen the fruit of God’s working in my children in these most recent years.  While my younger two children asked Jesus into their hearts when they were younger, just last year I watched God do a work in my oldest and I was able to finally lead him to Jesus.  A long-awaited answer to a prayer that was silently and tearfully given for years.  I am watching this same young man continue to struggle through the strong challenges of his autism yet, I am also watching him learn and grow in new ways.  My younger children have developed a heart of compassion and a hunger for truth.  They enjoy being involved with our church and are appreciative of Biblical teaching.  Just in these last couple of weeks, both have individually told me that they are so glad I am their Mom.  They live a life of simple appreciation for all things.  They regularly practice contentment. They teach me daily even as I endeavor to teach them.

I am humbled to be their mother.

As I write these words and ponder these thoughts, I can only lift my eyes to the One who has consistently loved, protected, and led us through all of these years … and offer a song of thanksgiving to our Faithful God.

He is so faithful.

This my song through endless ages, Jesus led me all the way.

He lowers us to raise us
So we can sing His praises
Whatever is His way all is well

He makes us rich and poor
That we might trust Him more
Whatever is His way all is well

All my changes come from Him He who never changes
I’m held firm in the grasp of the Rock of all the ages

All is well with my soul
He is God in control
I know not all His plans
But I know I’m in His hands

*Photo credit to my son, Andrew Shenk
**I have alluded to a number of songs in this post including:
All the way my Savior leads me by Fanny Crosby
All is Well by Robin Mark
Oh Love that will not let me go by George Matheson

 

A Lesson from the Christmas Garden

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The last few months of my journey have been hard.

My son with autism entered one of his more difficult seasons and everything in life had simply become overwhelming.

The words from Philippians 4:13 that I have diligently been teaching my son were constantly on my lips as I walked through each day …

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

But as a deep anxiety riddled through me day and night and a depth of sadness and grief pervaded my being, I questioned whether I really could do all things … even with the Christ who offers strength in every moment.

Through it all, I have come to understand the depth of my Savior’s love as never before.  He has faithfully walked with me on each step of this difficult journey — allowing patience to do its perfecting work (James 1:3,4) as He leads me into a new place of obedience and trust.

It is with all this in mind, that I share with you another lesson from the garden … (You may want to read these first -> Lessons in the Garden and More lessons from the Garden … ) This time it is  A Lesson from the Christmas Garden.

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Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When I was a little girl, Christmas was a simple, yet magical and delightful time of year.  We did not have Christmas parties, attend candlelight Christmas Eve services, or spend massive amounts of money, but we did have our family traditions. The Christmas season for us began the two weeks before Christmas, which is when we would make the yearly pilgrimage to the attic and bring down the boxes and boxes of decorations to adorn our home.   It was a family ritual as we placed each item in its designated spot every year.  There was such a sense of comfort and security in this tradition.

Then, the week before Christmas, we would head out to find our Christmas tree.  I don’t remember if we had a traditional place to get our tree but we certainly had a traditional kind of tree we searched for … the fatter the tree, the better.  Once we cut down and brought our tree home in the back of my Dad’s pick up truck, it had to stand in the garage for a day while Dad would perfect its appearance.  More than once I remember him drilling holes into the trunk where there were bare spots so he could fill them in with branches he had cut from the bottom.  When the tree was just right, he carried it in, set it in the same spot as the year before, methodically placed the lights around it, and then stepped back as the rest of us rushed in with our favorite ornaments.  Our Christmas tree looked the same every year of my childhood and I loved it.

As a youngster, I think I loved Christmas Eve best of all.  I would get in my pajamas (no special Christmas PJs needed), the tree would be glowing in the darkened house,  Johnny Mathis, Jim Reeves, and Andy Williams crooned my favorite Christmas classics as the records would play on the old record player, and my Mom would set out all the delightful Christmas treats she had spent days preparing.  My Dad would often make a fire in the fireplace and I would spend the evening going back and forth between the crackling fire in the front room and the Christmas tree in the living room, all the while anxiously anticipating the presents that I knew would be under the tree in the morning.

I never believed in Santa Claus, we certainly did not have Elf on the Shelf, I didn’t know you could make gingerbread houses, and ugly Christmas sweaters weren’t a thing.

My Dad would sometimes read to us the Christmas story from the Bible and then I would go to bed, almost bursting with excitement.  It seemed I would never fall asleep, but soon enough, my sister would be shaking me awake saying, “Wake up, Tanya … it’s Christmas!”  She and I would quietly sneak down the stairs where my eyes immediately went to the bulging Christmas stockings hanging at the fireplace.  I knew they would be filled with all sorts of candy that we only saw this time of year but I never thought to dump it without permission from my parents.  As I gazed at the stockings, my sister would turn on all the red and green lights around the house,  bringing it to life with a festive glow.  Then we would go into the living room and when she plugged in the tree lights, my eyes would widen in wonder as I looked at the presents neatly piled around the tree.  My brother’s presents were usually on the left … my sister’s on the right … and mine were always directly in the center.  My Mom always chose wrapping paper specific for each of us (mine often featured kittens) and my Dad used his technical skills to perfectly wrap each gift using a minimal amount of tape.  I remember feeling so content as I sat on the couch in the darkness, watching the lovely lights on the tree flicker onto the wrapped presents below.  As much as I wanted to open those gifts, I think I enjoyed this early morning time of anticipation most of all.

As a young child, Christmas was a time of tradition, family, and love … I was mostly oblivious to difficulty or grief and I am most grateful to have these memories.

But, while I was still quite young, my family experienced a Christmas that was completely different from all the ones I knew before.  Heartache and trouble had hit our family in an unexpected way that year and everything in my world changed … even Christmas.

christmas tree with baubles

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

In the 35-plus years since that last magical Christmas, I have been, rather unknowingly, in pursuit of finding my childhood Christmas again.  The Christmas steeped in tradition, family, and my greatest wish of all … security, belonging, and love.

Sometimes we can long for something so deeply that it takes a preeminent position in our lives.  Our thoughts, actions, and emotions are all geared towards pursuing this ‘holy grail’ before us, even as we live out the day to day of our lives.  On the outside, our work appears noble and loving, but on the inside, there is a sense of desperation as we drive ourselves to distraction in our search.

Essentially, the very thing we long for, becomes an idol.

Something that takes the place of Christ in our hearts and lives.

For me … that has been the sense of security, belonging, and love like I used to know at Christmas.

christmas ornaments on christmas tree

Photo by freestocks.org on Pexels.com

The unexpected beauty of trial and difficulty is that the Lord can use them to refine us — to essentially strip away the very things that we may long for, but which serve as a distraction from living a life honoring to Him.

As long as we can ‘do’ something in our circumstances, we don’t need Him.  If I can surround myself with activity, chase every tradition, and give gifts, I can generate and even create the sense of the belonging, security, and love that I crave.

On this most beloved of holidays, we, as Christians and followers of Christ, celebrate the birth of our Savior — Emmanuel, God with us.  It is a season that has become steeped in tradition, family, activities, and gifts galore and, while I find all of this delightful, let us not forget this most important truth.

Christmas is when we remember the birth of a baby — the baby who is the Son of God and who came to this earth to redeem us from the wretchedness of our sin.

In Him we find forgiveness for our sin.  In Him we find freedom from tradition and vain pursuits of our own righteousness.  In Him is life more abundant.

I sat in the Garden of Gethsemane this week as I contemplated my pursuit of Christmas and all my vain striving to find my own sense of security and belonging, not just at Christmas, but in all of life.  I thought on my Savior as He prayed in that garden in desperation before acquiescing to the will of the Father.

I knelt at the foot of the cross and considered His suffering as he battled the very darkness and evil  that seeks to destroy us.  Then I remembered His cry … “It is Finished!”  as He completed the work God had given to Him to do forever defeating sin and its hold on us.

I stepped into the tomb that now stands empty and remembered that death could not hold Him and that this very baby that we observe in a manger during this season, now reigns in heaven and in my heart.

In His birth, we are offered hope.

In His death, we are offered freedom through His sacrifice.

In His resurrection and ascension to glory, we are offered comfort and help.

 

Jesus came to this earth because this was part of God’s redemptive plan for humanity.  He is the Light in this sin-darkened world — a Light that will always shine brightly through every circumstance of life and throughout eternity.

This Christmas how can I do any less than to give Christ the preeminent place in my heart, my thoughts, and my life?

christmas scrabbles bokeh photography

Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com

Our Christmas tree died almost immediately after we set it up this year and even though it is still standing, I have not been able to enjoy the delicate beauty of its lights.  Our church had its annual Christmas cantata but because my son was having an especially difficult day, I was unable to attend, as has been the case for many church services lately.  Even the smallest of traditions have not been available to me this year and these last two seemed the final blow to my heart.

But then Jesus met me in the garden — the Christmas garden.  He reminded me that in Him, I have been given the greatest gift of all … Himself and the unparalleled wonder and joy that entails for all eternity.

For the one who may also know a sense of sadness this Christmas season, this little piece of writing is my gift to you — the reminder of the greatest gift of all.  Jesus.

 Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life.”
John 8:12

tealight candle on human palms

Photo by Dhivakaran S on Pexels.com

 

‘Tis a Merry Christmas indeed.

More lessons from the Garden …

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The last time I wrote, I shared the hymn, ‘In the Garden’, as I lightly touched on a current season of life where I seem mostly alone with my Heavenly Father.  If you like, you can read it here – Lessons in the Garden.

I’ve decided that I am going to continue lightly touching on various lessons I am reluctantly embracing as I sojourn on this portion of the journey.  It is a difficult journey at present, but I find this makes the lessons I am learning even more poignant and valuable.

An ongoing lesson of late has been —

 Finding courage TO change and finding freedom IN change.

When I married, 22 years ago, I moved into a picturesque, yet unfinished, log cabin that my husband had started to build prior to meeting me.  It sat atop of a small mountain at the end of a mile long, rugged dirt lane.  It was a small cabin, set into that mountainside, and designed for the life he intended to live alone.  Instead, he ended up marrying me.  Even so, it was definitely his house and even though we lived there from 1996 to November of 2007, it never truly seemed as though I belonged.  These were hard years in many ways and my overall growth became stunted.  I lived in fear and I generally lacked the courage, conviction, and ability one needs to grow and mature.  Then my babies began to arrive, autism hit like a non-stop hurricane, and the isolation, loneliness, lack of sleep, and constant demands almost completely destroyed my sanity.

After a few years of praying  and timidly advocating for a move to a different home that would be more suitable for my growing family — especially considering the added demands and needs the diagnosis of autism brought — the Lord finally opened the door to the house we have now.

Oh, it is a problem house for sure.  It seems to be falling apart around me and currently I have at least two destroyed ceilings that I don’t think will ever get fixed.  It is an old farm house that had been added onto over the years and the last update was likely in the 1960’s which means, the counter tops are orange, all the walls were ‘updated’ with paneling (and then covered with all different colors of paint), and the ceilings were dropped and covered in cardboard-like tiles (most of which are ruined and sagging).

But I love it.  I love the four beautiful acres that my home sits on and the breath-taking view that surrounds it.  I love that I can see the road and even though I often still feel a sense of isolation due to some life circumstances, I can at least look outside and see life happening.  People can actually ‘just stop by for a minute’ without subjecting their vehicle to the beating of that old dirt lane and I am just minutes from family and the nearby town.

This is the home that I have raised my children in for the last 11 years and this is the home that allows me just enough safety to grow into a new place of Christ-centered identity and emerging freedom.

It is a house that is evolving and changing even as I mature and change and it is becoming a home that more reflects the woman I am … not the woman I once tried to project myself to be.

So what does that mean currently?  Well, it means my home is not perfect nor beautifully staged — neither am I.  It currently is in a state of flux and in desperate need of repair — just as I am.  It means it is in a season of transition, as also am I.

The majority of the downstairs features a relatively open floor plan in the style of a typical old house with numerous add-ons over the years.  One room flows into another and then another until you reach the large, sunken living room.  The only exception to this flow of rooms is the one just off the kitchen — it has always been designated as the dining room.  The dining room has always been my most favorite room in the entire house.  It gives off cozy vibes and is generally the warmest room during the cold winter months when the rest of the house is freezing from the winds blowing through the drafty windows.  It is a peaceful spot as it seems its own sanctuary set apart from the other rooms and it is the room that beckons me to enter most often.  I have long desired to change it from a dining room into more of a library/office and create my own little space — a designated spot of my own to work out of or retreat into as needed.

I would share my desire of making this change from time to time but I always faced considerable resistance.  It is sufficient to say, I have more than one person in this house who strongly resists any sort of change.  There are more than enough battles to fight in any given day that I simply never had it in me to fight this one.  So for years I’ve been telling myself that I would create the space I’ve longed for … “someday.”

They say ‘Necessity is the the mother of invention’ and that may be so, but I believe desperation tends to be the mother of change.

Desperation has driven me to a place where I need to take action.  Positive, moving forward action.

So a couple of weeks ago when I began to feel the nudge over and over to switch two rooms around and set the dining room up in a different area of the house so I could create the space I’ve longed for within my favorite room, I understood that I needed to heed the promptings from above.

“Someday” is now.

God provided the courage I needed to initiate a change within my home that was not warmly welcomed by some in the household.  In the process, I had to allow Him to make a change in the way that I think and perceive.  I had to accept and affirm that:

1- My time, work, and many varied responsibilities have value even if no one validates them, and
2- My needs and the things I long for are important to God, even if no one else sees.

With this new courage and change of perspective that the Lord is graciously building in me, I am in the slow process of transitioning spaces and creating an environment within my home that will reflect who God is transforming me to be.

And in this state of transition and change, I am discovering a sense of freedom even in the midst of what has been a dark season.

The freedom to simply be who I am.

 

 

The Brown Bird’s Song

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In my last post, A Journey of Grief, I wrote about my experiences working through the grieving process regarding my son’s autism.   As I reflected on the feedback I received after this and a few other of my posts, I thought it might be helpful for others to understand my thoughts and approach to writing.  A few of my earlier posts had been written within a day’s time but now, most of my pieces are pondered for days in advance and then written over a series of days.  Sharing a new post only on certain days of the week, helps ensure that a post is carefully thought through and written before seen by others.  It is a considerable commitment and use of time and brain energy.  In some of the pieces I write, there may a certain vulnerability that seems to make some friends a bit uneasy, but because I know what lies behind my writing and what I don’t share, I believe that my vague bit of vulnerability is helpful and wise.  Interestingly enough, I have a seemingly growing group of readers and folks who visit the blog yet, this blog would never be considered a success.

So why do I do this?  Why do I share the things I do?

Why do I write?

 

Vintage_Birds_on_a_wire_Clip_Art

When I was in 9th or 10th grade, our English teacher gave us an assignment during class to write about a memory of some special moment in our lives.  I remember writing about a simple memory, a sweet moment in time that I found endearing.   As she walked  around the classroom, she peered over my shoulder, read what I wrote, and then in her most sarcastic voice said, “Well, you’re a very boring person, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, the piece I had written, which seemed so sweet and innocent just moments before, became odious to me.  I felt ashamed as I listened to her praise the writings of the other students, not because their writing was superior to mine … but because she found their memories … their stories … more interesting than mine.

In that moment, my writing changed … I changed.  I no longer wrote anything that was real in my life.  I only wrote the words I thought someone wanted me to write.  Words that would be acceptable and even pleasing to others.  Words that would bring praise instead of ridicule.

For that assignment, I chose to write a different piece instead.  A completely made up story that never happened to me, but was filled with enough drama and pretense to excite the reader.  That piece caught her attention.

It wasn’t true but it was engaging.

When I went to college, I took a writing class with a wonderful professor.  She was encouraging and kind as she challenged us in our writing and verbal presentations to the class.  With each word of encouragement, I found that I grew to enjoy the process of writing but, even so, very little of what I wrote was true.

Writing simply became a way to alter the perceptions I thought others had of me.

On a side note, I’ve been working on another blog post about pretense ~ I guess this will be its introduction.

After college, I didn’t write again for years.  The next time I picked up a pen was after my son was born.  I began to pour out my prayers and thoughts to the Lord in journal form.  Inspired by a Christmas program being held at my church, I wrote and performed a one person drama written from the perspective of Mary, the mother of Christ.  I considered the depth of love I had for my own son as I wrote about Christ’s birth, life, death, and resurrection … all from the eyes of a mother.

It is still scribbled on notebook paper but it remains my most favorite piece of writing.

Eventually, I had access to the internet and was introduced to social media. I began to share little stories from life on Facebook and eventually people would encourage me to write more … whether in blog or book form.

I opted for the blog.

My first attempts were mostly the outpouring of words held inside too long.  Stories left too long unspoken.  Yet, while those attempts may have engaged the reader and triggered the emotions, they were written in the style of the past.   The stories were real but the way I wrote them didn’t reflect me … it reflected the past.

So that blog was left by the wayside … I don’t even remember what it was called.

Then,  one year ago, it seemed like it was time.

It might be helpful for the reader to understand that my life tends to be one of significant loneliness and isolation.  I am not free to be around people and involved in community life as I would dearly love to be.  I have spent years trying, searching, and praying for relationship, friendship, and belonging, but to little avail.  In this past year, the only answer I have received to my prayers has been that it was time.

Time to begin investing in writing, intentionally and thoughtfully …

As an outlet for me, sure.  But more so for the glory of God and the potential good to others.

The first few pieces, I still struggled with the need to write in a way that I thought would be pleasing to people.  But as God continues to work in the quiet places of my life, my writing is evolving into a more accurate representation of the way I think and live.

Not necessarily attractive or engaging to the masses but that is no longer my goal.

If you have made it this far, let me share the real reason I write the way I do.

 

bird drawing

A number of years ago, I wrote a short story.  It was an allegory generically entitled, The Little Brown Bird and, surprisingly enough, the main character was in fact, a little brown bird.  She was a nondescript kind of bird, nothing special or eye-catching about her.  The story was set in a beautiful garden that had been designed and cared for by the Master Gardener and it followed her journey as she spent her days on the sidelines of life, comparing and desperately trying to be more like the other birds in the garden who were more beautiful, and those who flew higher and more majestically, and those who sang more beautiful songs.

The little bird could never understand why she was so plain and different from the others and she grew increasingly discouraged when all her attempts to be more like them ended in dismal failure and even injury.  After the final attempt, which resulted in a broken wing, the Master Gardener captured the tiny bird and carried her to the cottage nestled where the edge of the garden met the deep forest that lay beyond.  There, for her own safety, he placed her inside a cage on the cottage porch.  He tenderly cared for her wounds but, in her fear, she fought against him and the bars of her cage, desperately trying to escape.

As the story progressed, the pitiful little bird ended up in a tiny cage, in a darkened corner of the cottage, with a blanket carefully placed over top.  She was completely encased in darkness and consumed with a terror which was paralyzing.

In that place of darkness, her true healing began.

Interestingly enough, sitting in the restricted darkness of that enshrouded cage, the little bird began to listen, truly listen, for the first time.  She could not see anything and she was not free to pursue her own plans or desires, so she began to listen intently to the Gardener as He moved about the cottage.  His words were unlike anything she had ever heard before and she found her fear began to ease as his words found their way through the darkness and into her place of isolation.  Often, as he worked, she would hear him softly whistle a lovely tune that awoke something inside of her that she had never felt before.  It stirred both an ache and a desire.

The story continued with an ongoing dialogue between the little bird and the Gardener as she learned that the melody that he had been whistling, was actually the song she had been created to sing.  A song that could only be learned in captivity.  A song so achingly lovely, that it could only be learned through difficulty.  A song that she could only learn when she was no longer free to compare and strive to be like the other birds … a song she could only learn when she was alone with the Master Gardener.

But it was a song that she had to choose to sing.

The Little Brown Bird makes her choice and if I were to write a follow up to where I left that story, I would expand on how her song and story fits into a much bigger story … a greater song.

Maybe someday.

But for now, it may help you to understand that I am that Little Brown Bird and she is me.

When I write my stories and insights now, I am singing the song that God has been gently and systematically teaching me to sing for years.

A song I am still learning.

It is a song filled with sorrow and longing.  It is a song of quiet joy.

It is a song of love.

It is the song of a bird still held within a cage.

A bird still invisible to most around her, yet singing a song of eternal significance.

I write because this is the song God has given me.

And this is the voice He has given me to sing it.

The beauty of a song is not in who hears it, nor in who sings it.

The beauty is the song itself.

This is why I write.

This is The Brown Bird’s Song.

“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 40:3

 

 

A Quiet Joy

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 2 Comments

In that moment, something seemed to beckon me, drawing me towards that old piano of my youth.  It has moved with me from home to home and yet, it has sat for a number of years, untouched and alone.  A collector of dust and a mantle for pictures … nothing more.

Yet somehow, almost without conscious thought, I walked over to it, where it sat hidden in the shadows of a darkened room.  I clicked on the lamp, pulled out the bench, picked up an old church hymnal from years gone by and carefully set it open in front of me.  Slowly, I reached to lift the lid, noticing as I did, that the piano was due for a good dusting.  I was surprised to see how yellowed the keys had become since I last played and how many of those keys were indented and stuck.

I tentatively laid my fingers onto the keys and played a few notes, wondering if I could even remember how to play.  The harsh sound of an aged piano that is beyond the scope of being tuned clanged hard to my ear and my fingers had clearly lost the dexterity of their youth, and yet, I soon found myself lost in the melody of years gone by.

 

piano

 

I learned to play the piano when I was a child, following in the footsteps of my older sister, wishing to do anything that she did.  Once she stopped playing and moved on with her life, the piano that had originally been purchased for her use, became mine.  I was never a very diligent piano pupil nor did I have much talent, but playing the piano soon became the expression of the thoughts and emotions I held deeply inside.

When I was still quite young, I was asked (or rather, told) to play accompaniment for our small church’s congregational singing during our weekly Wednesday evening service.  For some reason, the memory of that phone call to my Mother and the list of hymns I needed to learn are still deeply embedded into my mind.  I did not want to play in front of all those people, but I don’t remember being given the chance to say no.  This was the first step of several years playing the piano within the walls of my childhood church.

I mostly blundered my way through those years of playing and looking back now, I wonder why I never figured out a way to gracefully step out of that lime-light.  There were a number of younger girls coming along behind me who were far more talented and quite eager to take my place.  I felt inferior to them and to the other talented pianists in our church and kept trying to change my playing style to match the way they played, but I could never boast their talent and I certainly couldn’t fake their skill.

At home, however, nestled in the living room of my parents’ home, away from watching eyes and high expectations, I found sweet release and freedom whenever I sat at my piano.

Only at my piano could I cope with the grief and brokenness my family was walking through, the isolation and difficulties of life at school, and not being able to find my place  of belonging within the church.  Life felt very confusing and only at my piano could I make sense of the chaos.

It was the only place I felt peace … a sense of connection with the One who often seemed most distant.

 

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The concept of joy is one I have long pondered and puzzled over.  As the years have worn on and I have found myself stretched between varying extremes, often fighting the grief I often know and feeling guilty that I can’t seem to show an expressive, outward joy.  Isn’t a Christian supposed to exuberant and joyous in their faith?

That morning a few weeks ago when I first felt the nudge to play the piano again, I had been pondering this very thing, yet asking questions I never thought to ask before. I wondered if one could possibly feel joy and sorrow at the same time?  Could I experience joy without it appearing as overt happiness?  Could joy simply manifest itself as a sense of contentment in the middle of difficulty?  Feeling the sadness yet trusting the Lord?

Does joy look any one particular way?

Must it be an effusive display of emotion?

Or could it possibly be quiet and subtle?

Like a faint rainbow arching across the sky as the rain droplets and sunlight meet …

Could joy shine out through my eyes, even when they are filled with tears?

I asked my pastor for his thoughts and his response was that “Joy is a contentment of the soul” and reminded me that this is rooted in accepting what God has given us, even when it is hard and doesn’t make sense.  Paul refers to his experience with this in the book of Philippians …

 “Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, 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.”
Philippians 4:11-13

Joy certainly may manifest as an effusive display of emotion in some people, but mostly, I wonder if it should be a disciplined sense of contentment in the midst of every season of life because one knows and fully accepts the goodness and the character of God?

Joy is like a rainbow in the soul.  A constant reminder of the promises of God.

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I had intended to neatly wrap up this post here but then this morning happened…

I pulled into the church parking lot, very much looking forward to the service.  The last few days have been very rough and because I had anticipated that I would need a break by this point, I had already asked a friend to sit in the back with Ty during the service.  As I had shared in an earlier post, my other children are away with their Dad and my family this weekend, so it has just been me and my oldest son for the past few days.  You can read about that here, if you like -> Someday …

My son has been unexpectedly very anxious about his siblings being away and between that and the illness he has been battling, the days have been difficult.  I thought today would be the easy day and I have been hanging onto it as a lifeline.  Unfortunately, as soon as we pulled into the church parking lot, my son began to display significant signs of agitation.  It only took me a few seconds to realize what was wrong and once I did, I knew I was about to lose the battle.  He evidently thought he would find his siblings and my vehicle at church and when he realized they weren’t there, his anger and anxiety surged upwards again.

The tears silently poured down my cheeks as I pulled back out of the parking lot for the drive back home.  How often have I done this over the years?  Been to church and left again without seeing a single person, making a single connection?  How often have I left in tears feeling completely unseen? The sense of disappointment and grief was overwhelming as this journey of isolation struck an even heavier chord.

My tears flowed before the Lord as He ministered to my soul on that long ride home.

Once home, I went upstairs and changed back into my old, comfy everyday clothes.  I stopped in the bathroom long enough to remove the remainder of my tear-ruined make-up and then came downstairs to sit before my piano again … feeling every bit of beaten-down and broken as it looked.  The yellowed, stuck keys that struck harshly resonated with the confusion and disappointment I felt.

Yet, as I opened my old hymnal and touched the keys, the gentle songs of adoration for my Savior flowed almost effortlessly.  Sure the keys stuck, the tone was dreadful, and I made plenty of mistakes, but the music still poured out of my soul through my fingertips as it did as a teenager, confused and lost in her way.

But now I know the Truth of the words that my soul sings.

God is forever good and holy.

I can learn to be content even when I am lonely.

I can learn to be content even when I don’t understand.

I can learn to be content even when tears fill my eyes.

This is where my joy lies.

Not a showy display that attracts attention or praise.

Nor an attempt to be like someone else.

But rather a joy that shines as a faint rainbow through the mists of life.

A joy that rests in the Savior for all things.

A quiet joy.

 

Someday …

/ walkingthisjourneysite / 1 Comment

This wasn’t a planned blog post nor is it the one I have been working on this week (yet, upon writing it, I’ve discovered it is a nice lead-in for my next piece).  It is a hastily-written kind that I am hesitant to share because there is always a fear someone will think I am feeling sorry for myself or seeking pity … and that isn’t the point.  Compassion is helpful, as well as, kindness,  perhaps a bit of understanding … but not pity nor condemnation.

Just some thoughts …

Two of my children left yesterday morning for a short vacation to the beach.  In the culture in which we live, this is typical and normal, but for my children, this is anything but normal.

They’ve not been on a vacation since they were babies.

They, along with some members of my family and their Dad, are finally going to experience a vacation.  I planned this for them and I am so pleased that it has worked out.

The reasons why they have not been on a vacation and the reasons why my oldest son and I are staying home, are not relevant to this post.

If it could be different … we would all go.

And my heart wouldn’t know this sadness of being left behind.

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I actually started this post yesterday morning before they left and planned to finish it once they were gone, but I did not anticipate the sadness that would grip me when I saw my van pulling out of the driveway with my children inside.

People often tell me how strong I am and I always look at them in puzzlement because I don’t ever feel strong … I just know how to distance myself from emotions in order to keep up with the demands of my life.  This isn’t always the healthiest of options, but given all the realities of my life, it often has been my only option.

I wasn’t strong yesterday.  Oh, my kids only saw the Mom who sent them off with hugs, smiles, and so much love … but as soon as I reentered my empty home, I started to shake and the tears flowed.

I couldn’t finish writing the thoughts I intended to share.

I will do that now.

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The day before my younger childrens’ trip, I had to make the 50+ minute trip to pick my oldest son up from school.  When I sent him in the morning, he didn’t seem to be feeling quite well, but since he couldn’t tell me and wanted to go to school, I went ahead and sent him.  It is actually quite rare for him to be ill so it was hard to gauge what he might be feeling.  I sent an email to his staff informing them and asking that if he appeared miserable and ill, to please call me so I could bring him back home.  That call came around 11:30.  There were no overt signs of illness that would require him to come home, but he was clearly not feeling well at all.  So, I made the two hour round trip and brought him home.

It was during that drive that it really began to hit me that my younger children were leaving for the beach the next day but, not just any beach … my favorite beach.  I have spent quite a bit of time in at Cape May, NJ and adore it’s peaceful, quaint atmosphere.  It is a sanctuary from years gone by.

As I was telling my children about it and the different aspects I wanted them to experience, I tried to remember when I was last there … I think it was when my oldest was a toddler, before autism completely stole him away.  So, I guess it has been around 16 years.

All of these years, I’ve been hoping for a day that I could go back.

A sadness began to fill me as I helped my children gather their clean laundry and begin to pack.  I felt selfish feeling sad but it was a deep emotion.

I am a ‘still waters run deep’ kind of person and these depths of emotions are the kind I don’t have time to deal with.

I began what is typical for my counter-attack for sadness.  I reminded myself to be thankful that my children were getting to have this experience and I truthfully have been quite thankful.  I then began to pray and think about the possibility of Ty someday maturing to the point of being able to take a vacation with his family and being willing to sleep away from home.  Or perhaps the day would come that he would be in an environment where he would be content and well-cared for and then I could go on a vacation myself, knowing he would be okay.

Someday, I told myself … maybe someday.

Hope like this is a fragile thing.

That someday may never come …

Which opens the door to a different kind of hope …

One that is grounded in faith.

930baf59972260f046ba3c720d33e421_rustic-wedding-borders-clipart-clipart-kid-clipart-wedding-free-clipart-borders-and-lines_236-236“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
Hebrews 11:1

 

As I fixated on the beach and the possibilities of somehow finding a way to fix what is broken, I was suddenly reminded of something of greater value …

I have been spending time lately reading and pondering on Hebrews 11 … commonly referred to as the ‘faith chapter’.  My focus has been on certain specific verses … ones that someone pointed me towards a couple of weeks ago as I struggled with the nature of certain realities in my life.  Specifically verses 13-16 …

“All these died in faith, without receiving the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.  For those who say such things make it clear that they are seeking a country of their own. And indeed if they had been thinking of that country from which they went out, they would have had opportunity to return.  But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them.”

As well as, verses 39-40 …

“And all these, having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised, because God had provided something better for us, so that apart from us they would not be made perfect.”

 

My earthly hope is always for me to have my children together … to live life together … go places together.  The reality is generally the opposite, which always weighs heavily on me.   The sadness that I often feel is a natural part of living in a sin-cursed, broken world.

But … faith reminds me that someday, in heaven, all that is broken will be restored.

There won’t be autism.

There won’t be broken relationships.

And someday, I will be in the glory of the Father with all three children by my side.

Never to be separated again.

Together to worship, serve, and glorify the Almighty God who redeemed and restored us to Himself.

It is okay for me to know sadness in this present life because I know that God has promised something better than a vacation to my favorite beach.

He has promised me eternity.

This is my hope.

A hope that is grounded in faith.

Something I cannot see …

but something that God is growing in me through the difficulties of this life.

There is a greater someday coming.

I can’t wait.

930baf59972260f046ba3c720d33e421_rustic-wedding-borders-clipart-clipart-kid-clipart-wedding-free-clipart-borders-and-lines_236-236“Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom also we have obtained our introduction by faith into this grace in which we stand; and we exult in hope of the glory of God. And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.”
Romans 5:1-5