In Comforting Silence

My dear friend and mentor was faced with terrible news this week. Her son-in-law was diagnosed with a serious form of cancer. Before 24 hours had passed she was already hearing comments that were not only unhelpful, they were painful. She posted the article, What Not to Say When Someone has Cancer. I read it with great interest because not only to I want to be a comfort, I've been on the receiving end of some of the worst comments ever.

Three weeks before my wedding my brother was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia or AML (as if abbreviating it makes it better). Within four days he had passed away leaving our family and a small rural Colorado community devastated. We lost a brother, son and friend, Rangely lost a beloved school teacher and part time forest ranger.

The timing of course couldn't be worse but really, there is never a good time to face death. The words "This was a really bad time for this" not only brought confusion, they weren't at all comforting. It didn't help that there were diverse opinion on whether or not we should postpone the wedding. What some didn't know (and some admittedly didn't care) was that my brother had told my Dad, "No matter what, that wedding WILL go on." (In hindsight I think my brother knew what even the doctors were surprised by.)

It seems that humans have developed this economy of grief. Meaning, each loss or trial we face has a value placed on it. For example, the loss of a child trumps the loss of a parent which trumps the loss of a sibling which trumps the loss of a friend followed by the loss of a pet. To some extent, I agree that there are different but all the same, grief is grief. It hits us all in such different ways that to minimize the ache someone else feels with platitudes and (mostly) well meaning words don't bring comfort to the receiver  Sometimes I think it is to calm down the one who thinks they are just being helpful.

My amazing Mom gave me some lasting wisdom the morning of Glen's death. As usual, even in her own grief, she was forging ahead and doing what she did best. She was encouraging. She told me as I walked in "Put on your duck suit. People are going to say really stupid things and like water off a ducks back, you need to let them roll off". Easier said than done but one of the best pieces of advice ever.

This is not a time for stories. It is not a time to outgrief each other or try to make them feel better by telling them how much worse it could have been. It isn't time to quote verses or to point fingers of blame at water, food or sin. Leave the "perspective" and "it could have been worse" next to your ego right at the curb with the rest of the garbage.

To deny someone else's perspective is to diminish the work that God wants to do in our lives. To believe that only the big lessons are worth learning will negate all of the small lessons that make our journey a step by step process. This is their journey. It will look, smell, taste and feel different from yours. Although there maybe some familiar landmarks, let them take your hand, not the other way around. Walk beside them and don't try to push them from behind.

Sometimes the best thing we can say is nothing at all. There are times when silence is the best place to seek comfort. Ever wonder why a chapel is so often a place of refuge? A place of contemplation? A place to seek God's face? There is a reverent silence found there. It is in the beauty of silence that friends can speak to the heart.

Over thirty years ago, barely an adult, my life took a crushing blow when my dearest friends were in a car accident. They had been married for six months when a drunk driver slammed into their car, killing the husband and causing a permanent brain injury for the wife. There were a steady group of friends who sat in the ICU waiting room, waiting to go in for a short  moment every hour.

At the funeral, as the wife lay in a coma across town, I stood outside the church not wanting to go in. One of our friends came and got me, telling me one of the guys really needed me. I made my way to the front pew as my he sat with a torrent of tears running down his face. I don't remember saying anything. I don't remember if I held his hand or touched his shoulder. I only remember sitting there while he cried because it was his moment to grieve.

When we follow Christ we become the Church. We become the sanctuary to wounded hearts and longing souls. We become the hands and feet of Jesus. I remember the first time I heard someone ask a crowd to be "Jesus with skin on" to a newcomer in the community. I like that because Jesus who not only held all the answers but he wrote them all still knew when to be silent. His words and everything else he did were to draw us in to full healing and intimacy. When Lazurus was dead He wept. Even though He knew that resurrection would come, He grieved with the family in front of the tomb. He never told Martha to suck it up and be strong, He wept. Quietly His heart ached with His friends.

My friend, can I encourage you to do the same? Be willing to ache with a friend. If the hurts of others is too uncomfortable to bear, may I suggest that you quietly pray from your home? On the other hand, if you are willing to push past the discomfort, to sit in the silence until the grieving one breaks it, then by all means reach out. Offer a touch or a meal or a soothing drink.

Prepare a reverent place for tears and questions. Offer the quiet cathedral of your heart so they can hear the One who comforts best of all. 

Always,



Hope

In Times of Grief

My cousin Louise was one of the funniest people I knew. Confident and quick witted, she had us laughing at some of the most awkward times. She had compassion that ran deeper than some may have known. It was obvious that she had a special affection for The Princess.
She would call me out of the blue "just because" or on special occasions to see how we had celebrated. We had several conversations about my 50th birthday clambake. She wanted to know if my blueberry peach cobbler is as good as it sounds. (It is!)
When my Mom passed away she called me several times to check on me. We talked about our moms often and how very hard it was to be without them.
I thought about that tonight when I heard the news that she had passed away.
Her daughter and I have been scheming and planning a trip to Disneyland for a couple of months now. Louise told her that Disney was on her "bucket list" so we coordinated our efforts. Her daughter and I were giddy today as we chatted about the trip, looking forward to going together and excited to see the joy of a family vacation.
As soon as we hung up the phone, she received a call from the housekeeper, Louise had peacefully passed away.
Family is a really big deal.
Loving them while you can is even better.
Tonight I ache for the loss of my cousin. I pray for the comfort of her dear family and thank the Lord that they are an example of love.
Also, I urge you to cherish your connections. Pour love on your families. Repair what is broken and celebrate what is whole. Take time to get together, even if it is just for a meal, value the every day.
We are rejoicing for Louise tonight as she sits at her Savior's feet, most likely singing her favorite hymns and telling those around a joke or two.
Always,


Hope

Banana Bread and Casseroles

In the late '80s the television drama "ThirtySomething" caught my attention when the storyline dared to tackle ovarian cancer. The day that Nancy had her surgery, every person who came to visit her brought a loaf of banana bread. It was an integral part of the storyline as if no one knew what to do in the crisis so they baked. I don't know why but that is one of those moments that have stuck with me.

Six years ago I sat in my home, feeling as if my guts had been ripped out and not knowing if I would survive. No one seemed to notice or to be in the culinary mood but just maybe they just didn't know what to do.

We had been pursuing adoption again for four years. We fostered a sibling group for six months in order to show the committees that we had the ability to adjust our family to the various needs of children in the system. Our beautiful girls were placed in a home on the opposite coast. It was painful to watch and question the choices of those who made the decision. Nine years later I can say they made some very big mistakes. It was nothing compared to  what came next.

After receiving a call from our adoption counselor and a visit from a social worker, we were convinced that we could provide two boys in need a permanent home.  We made arrangements, brought them home and fell madly in love with them both. At the time we were told that they were 99.9% sure they would be with us permanently. Looking back I should have bought a lottery ticket because apparently we fell into that very tiny percentage.

I had two sons for six months. They called me mama. They lived in my home, took up a substantial part of our hearts and for those very short months, filled our lives with energy that couldn't be contained.

The day they left we took them to the respite provider as requested by their social worker, the oldest one called to me from the back of the Suburban. The conversation went like this:
"Mama?"
"What buddy?"
"You aren't coming back to get us are you?"

I didn't turn around. Not wanting to reveal my tear soaked face, I just kept looking forward. Glancing at my husband, I stifled sobs almost choking on them as they threatened to burst out of my throat. We got out, I held it together the best that I could and hugged both of my sons goodbye.

To this day I don't remember anything about the drive home except flood of tears that burst through the weakened dam. Most of all I remember feeling very alone and uncared for outside my own family.

The comments that followed were by far more unhelpful than they were healing. "It was for the best, you had enough on your plate already."
The one the branded my heart like a searing iron, "Why did you do that? It's like taking puppies back to the pound!"

Thankfully, my dear friend and mentor said, "You just need to let yourself be sad." So I did.

A couple of weeks later, some friends came to visit, they wanted to go visit the agency that had helped them adopt twenty years before so we took a trip north. As we drove up, in large letters above the door was written,

"Every Child Deserves a Home"

I waited in the car, weeping, crying out and questioning "I gave them a home and a family and my heart! Dear God, what happened?" He was silent in the hollow moment. I only heard the sound of grief crashing into my heart with its devastating wind.

No one brought a casserole. At the very least I was sure I had rated a banana bread. For the next several months, at random moments, someone would see me at the store or church and ask "Do you have a babysitter today? Where are all of your kids?". It was as if no one knew and those who did, didn't know what to say.

There is no protocol for losing your children to disrupted broken adoption. There is no grave to visit, no memorial service and no flowers. Just photos. Most of which you can't share because of privacy rules. Very few friends could say they have been there. Those who did, touched me in unimaginable ways.

In the years since, I am not only finding peace, I have found joy in God's plan. "My" boys have a permanent home and from all reports, it is a beautiful, loving home and they are thriving. Learning to reach out to the forgotten grievers has become a mission of sorts for me. Knowing that God was there through the pain, in the silence and among the tears has strengthened my faith. It has brought me to a place of intimacy with my Savior that I had asked for but perhaps didn't truly believe I would ever have.
I doesn't mean I don't miss them. I always will. Even today, as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks, their beautiful faces are on my mind.

Always,

Hope


PS Tears were already nearing the surface when I read this wonderful piece on adoption at A Deeper Family by Kelley.  Her unique perspective on adoption is something we all need to hear. It was one of the inspirations pressing in on my today. It was a balm to my soul. Head on over and let it touch or inspire you too.

A Time to Be Born

It was in a cold hospital room that I found my voice for a couple who desperately needed to be heard. Their infant son was born that morning. No one knew exactly why but he wasn't breathing. The call had come in right after church. Our pastor wanted to know if my husband could stop by and pray with them. As I relayed the message to him it was clear, this was my visit to make. This one fit me. Shortly after I arrived it was clear, I couldn't just pray and leave. They needed someone to advocate, minister and cry with.

It was only a few years before that I worked upstairs in the emergency room. Working with the patient advocate office gave me experience with families facing trauma and death. Parenting a child with medical anomalies helped me see the other side as well. My position was phased out the year after we left the church that had been our home for so many years. It felt as if everything I did was a copy of someone else or a feeble attempt to create a place to serve. On that day though there was no trying, it was a matter of surrendering to the calling. It was being willing to to be drained in order for another soul to find strength.

The mother has some developmental disabilities and the father would probably best be described as delayed. The father understood more of the situation but still couldn't grasp enough to even help with the most minor decisions. The nurse assigned was his Special Olympics coach and a few months pregnant herself. The doctors and nurses were fighting valiantly to save the life of this precious child in the other room but nothing they did could keep him with us.

After the decision was made to cease all heroic efforts, we readied the mom as best we could to say goodbye to her newborn boy. The father sat nearby proclaiming that he couldn't "go through this again" and he wasn't going to hold him. The pediatrician carried him in, the only sound was the rhythm of the bag on the mask pressed into his perfect face as she kept the oxygen flowing through his little body. He was placed in his mom's arms. The breathing tube was removed.

As mother cradled son, the irrepressible sobs behind me broke through the stillness. She kissed his soft head and we prayed. In her innocence she looked up at me, asking more than once "I don't get to take him home?"  I could only shake my head subtly as a whispered "no" forced past my throat. Not completely understanding the gravity of her situation, she picked up his hand and let it drop a few times against the swaddled blanket.

In a prayer that fell awkwardly out of my lips, he was dedicated to Jesus. There were no words to fit this moment. Nothing made sense so we thanked God for the strength He would grant a grieving family. We offered gratitude for the presence of an almighty Creator who knew the pain of losing His only Son in a cruel, fallen world. This was no longer just a hospital room, we were standing on sacred ground. The Holy Spirit brought comfort and undeniable peace we would treasure as strength.

Soon she placed him in my arms, physically light but the weight of the privilege pressed into my arms. Drawing him to my chest I whispered over his body, "You are safe now and so very loved." I brushed his face against my cheek allowing a tear to fall across his face. When I had my fill, I handed him to another waiting comforter in the room. More than once a prayer was prayed in the muffled sobs. Bit by bit, we cleared the room leaving a couple of friends to help prepared for the photographer.

Five days later I presided over my first infant service. Speaking of pain, comfort and destiny my words echoed through the small chapel. Light blue balloons disappeared against the cloudless sky that afternoon as we sought to release our sorrow. We hugged doctors, nurses, family and friends. 

Every life, every soul, every breath we take is more precious than we know. The shortest lives still hold deep significance to the story of this world. They connect us in ways so unexpected yet no surprise to our Creator who says we are "fearfully and wonderfully made." They move us to pray, seek and hopefully love.

May we never allow the sacred moments in life cease to change us. Even the saddest ones.

Always,


 Hope

This story was shared with permission, please do not copy or use it without contacting the author first.

One of Those Days

There are days in your life that are memorable because they mark celebration or accomplishment.

Other days you know for the deep sorrow, pain, loss.

Today is one of those days.

Before the sun had risen on that day 23 years ago, I awoke to my father kneeling by my bed. I was staying with a family friend as we prepared for my wedding less that three weeks away. He sat there without tears, just the hollow expression on his tired face.

You always remember the words someone uses when they deliver sad news. "Your brother went home to be with the Lord." shocked but not utterly surprised. As I went to bed the night before, it had settled in my heart that the diagnosis given just four days prior was grim. Although he had flown in from his rural town to one of the world's best cancer hospitals, the diagnosis came too late to save him. God has a way of preparing our hearts. We just don't always recognize that.

My soon to be husband and i drove to his work to request a leave for a few days. While sitting in the cab of his El Camino I was amazed at how the cars next to us were filled with people going on with their days. It was so obvious to me that their world was still intact. It seemed as if the world was still going around us as I sat in a blur of grief laced emotion.

As the firstborn in our family, Glen had to navigate life on a path unfamiliar with the rest of us. Born in 1954 to a dad who had been raised by a single father became a prototype for the rest of us. Parenting theories were tested on him as were many of his generation. Thankfully we had one of those dads who was willing to work at being a better parent.

Reading was a struggle for him. Somehow the way he processed letters and words was off so he had to try harder. He had a fifth or sixth grade teacher who didn't give up on him. They came up with a system that allowed him to read more fluently. The influence of Mrs. E went far past elementary school.

My brother loved baseball. He didn't just go to the games, he actually kept score on the program each time we went. His love for the game was contagious. Even after he moved away, we rehashed the big plays on long distance calls back when you paid by the minute.

He didn't just pass on his love of sports. A love of George Winston's music, In-N-Out Burger and a passion for education were gifts he imparted. His belief in the underdog never went unnoticed by anyone who knew him.

As a gifted educator, he always encouraged me to follow my dream to teach. His voice is still in my head. While assisting in a sixth grade science class last week I thought of him the entire time. I could picture his interaction with each student. His odd sense of humor, twinkle in his eye and unmistakable compassion drew out the best in his students.

He left me his love for education. Although I never became a licensed teacher, I am an educator. He is often on my mind when I encounter students that need an extra dose of patience or a cheerleader to break through the feeling of impossible.

On the day of my wedding, during picture with my family. The photographer told us, "After this one, Mom and Dad will step aside and I'll take one with you and your brothers." I remember gasping, turning to my mother to exclaim "They're not all here!". She talked to him quietly and he took a break to "change film".

There have been countless moments since then when it is so obvious that he isn't here. When my grandmother passed away, we gathered for a "cousins" photo. Something was said about everyone being there. I turned to one brother and whispered, "Am I the only one that knows we aren't all here?" It hadn't escaped his notice either.

Today, as life goes on around me, while people get on with the business of their day, I am aware. Just as aware as I was on the day he left us that he is not here. We can think of all the helpful things about him being in our hearts, how we'll see him some day but I miss him. I always will.

Always,


Hope

50 Days to 50 - Strength to Push Through

Days 15, 16 and 17

"Sometimes" Pooh said "The smallest things
take up the most room in your heart"

This is one of those weeks of my life I will never forget

I'm not sure if I want to if that even makes sense

It wasn't memorable for the right reasons

No one has been able to make sense of it

We've all tried

He was full term

8 lbs 1 oz, 21 inches long

Plump arms, perfect hands and feet

He is gone

No one could stop it

It is still hard to believe

Today we said our goodbyes

Doctors, nurses, friends and family gathered

We cried together and we cried some more

This was an infant

There was no funny stories

No anecdotes from his life

We prayed, we mourned and we comforted

I conducted my first infant funeral

We sent balloons to the sky

Now we look for purpose

We lean on each other for strength

We push past the whys

We hold on to hope

We rejoice that one day, we will see him again

He will be whole

Always,

Hope

(NOTE: This is my Jubilee year. Scripture speaks of this year as a time for restoration and debts to be cancelled. I see it as a time to reflect and to count my blessings. Knowing how precious life is and how miraculous it is, I want to write about His goodness.)

50 Days to 50 - Lessons Learned from Fiery Trials

Day 9

Mt Baldy

The above photo was taken from one of my favorite places in the world to go away and get alone. I made countless trips up that mountain during my 20's  to push my "reset button". When life would head sideways, I would climb into my little red car to wind my way up the curvy road as George Winston's music filled my soul. Sometimes I would take a picnic with friends, others were just for me to breathe in fresh air to clear the confusion from my mind. Many times it was my sanctuary. It was a place I could count on hearing from God.

Sadly, on my last visit, (it had been about 20 years) I discovered that a fire had wiped out the entire mountain the year before. It was already growing back but would never be the same.

Wildfires have a way of changing the landscape in irrevocable ways but that isn't all bad. Oftentimes the underbrush becomes so thick that new growth can't survive. When a fire occurs, it cleans out dead brush, allowing for sprouts of newness to grow up and become strong. There is no doubt that in the process, the landscape changes forever. Along with the loss comes life and a chance for a fresh start.

Aren't our lives that way? Don't we all have things in our lives that feel it is just too hot? Some experiences are even "fiery trials" that make us feel as we will never survive. These are the times when we find shelter in an all knowing God who continues to be strengthen and freshen us. All the time we feel as if we are being destroyed. Survival seems doubtful. Any hope of quality seems to be demolished but that isn't the whole story.

That is the blessing I am counting today. Trusting His heart for me. No matter what the trials are, I will continue to seek the one who pours Himself out for me. When I am parched, I'll let His Living Water quench my thirsty soul. Although my landscape will change, what grows back will be healthy, vibrant and lush. My desire is that I will be a place of quiet rest. My heart will be ready to rejuvenate others and my life will be used of God to create a place to find His refuge.

Always,

Hope

(NOTE: This is my Jubilee year. Scripture speaks of this year as a time for restoration and debts to be cancelled. I see it as a time to reflect and to count my blessings. Knowing how precious life is and how miraculous it is, I want to write about His goodness.)

50 Days to 50 - A Refuge

Day 5

When darkness casts a shadow on my soul,

when it presses through to the edges of my heart,

I find myself weary, desperate, seeking rest.

Sometimes the ache comes from life's turns

and with those there is a sense of acceptance.

The knowledge that sometimes things "just happen"

can in itself be a form a comfort when human hands

cannot turn the wheels of circumstance, we find resolve.

Then there are those times when the cruelty of others,

selfishness, hate, greed and insecurities rain down

into our lives and threaten to crush us under the weight.

Even in those times, I am found by His goodness,

surrounded by His faithfulness,
saved by His infinite love for me.

The grace He extends for me,
He gives in abundance so I may

extend it to those who He calls my enemies.

The times I feel bombarded and in my weakness

He becomes my refuge and strength.

Psalm 139: 7-12 (NKJV)

"7 Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Or where can I flee from Your presence?

8 If I ascend into heaven, You are there;

If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.

9 If I take the wings of the morning,

And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

10 Even there Your hand shall lead me,

And Your right hand shall hold me.

11 If I say, “Surely the darkness shall fall[a] on me,”

Even the night shall be light about me;

12 Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You,

But the night shines as the day;

The darkness and the light are both alike to You."

Always,

Hope

(NOTE: This is my Jubilee year. Scripture speaks of this year as a time for restoration and debts to be cancelled. I see it as a time to reflect and to count my blessings. Knowing how precious life is and how miraculous it is, I want to write about His goodness.)

50 Days to 50 - His Promises

Day 4

The morning that I left home to be

with Mom for the very last time,

I stepped out on my porch and saw this.

This is a bad cell phone picture but to me it is art.

Like the rainbow that God gave to Noah, this was my promise that the upcoming flood would not destroy me. He promised that he would never leave me or forsake me. Although rain has come and there have been days that I feel as if I am drowning, I am never alone.

Always,

Hope

(NOTE: This is my Jubilee year. Scripture speaks of this year as a time for restoration and debts to be cancelled. I see it as a time to reflect and to count my blessings. Knowing how precious life is and how miraculous it is, I want to write about His goodness.)

Soothing My Soul

Worship is one of the things I love most about Sunday mornings. The gathering together of the saints to celebrate our Saviour and to encourage one another in the faith is priceless. I know that the freedom to meet together should never be taken for granted so every time we can, we do. (We don't meet out of obligation but out of pure joy!)
Yesterday, the worship team led one song that struck a chord in particular. There is actually a story behind it for me.
When my mom passed away, as we planned her memorial, I requested two songs that we would sing all together. "Because He Lives" reminded me that God would give us the strength to get through. I also chose it because Mom loved that song. We sang it at my niece's service many years ago and Mom found comfort there. I remember her telling me so.
The second song was "Blessed Be Your Name" written by Beth and Matt Redman. It had already been a balm to my soul and I wanted to share it with my family. The middle verses were especially perfect following 11 years of watching her battle a long drawn out illness that stole her away bit by bit.

"Blessed be Your name

When the sun's shining down on me

When the world's 'all as it should be'

Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name

On the road marked with suffering

Though there's pain in the offering

Blessed be Your name"

During the service the piano started to play and I knew within three notes, the old hymn, "Blessed Be THE Name" was ringing out. The pastor leaned over and began to profusely apologize. He had even checked with me ahead of time to make sure but somewhere along the line, the worship leader got it mixed up. The song I wanted to share, would stay tucked away.

So yesterday, as we have so many times since that day, I had another chance to soak it in, to sing it out and to once again feel the comfort of the Spirit pouring through me. Instead of this song taking me back to a most difficult day, it takes me forward, closer and more intimate with the Saviour whose name truly is blessed. No matter where my road leads, no matter what the path holds for me, "my heart will choose to say, blessed be your name".

Always,

Hope

The Cross Through the Eyes of a Mother

During this Holy Week, I can't help but reflect on the most precious gift ever given to humankind, the gift of life. This gift is the most priceless as well. It took enormous sacrifice, we as Christ followers know this. We have heard the story for years told in so many ways that we often get immune to the depth and the price that was paid.
Our church body is in the fourth year of presenting the story called "The Passover Lamb". It is a beautiful portrayal of Jesus during the last days of Holy Week and Passover. A few months ago I was asked to portray Mother Mary and I accepted. During the first rehearsal of the crucifixion scene, the director gave me a picture of how she wanted this part to come across. The horror that Mary saw when she looked upon her son hanging from a cross, beaten, bloody, dying and being mocked by the crowds that surrounded her was to be conveyed.
As I kneel at the foot of the cross during each performance, I see a very small glimpse of what Mary must have seen. It is chilling. My ears tune in to the jeering of the crowd. The voices of the same people who earlier in the week would have been shouting, "Hosanna", "Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord"! After He dies, we are left alone, the only sound you hear is the wailing of His friends. As He is carried away by the guards, another wave of grief sweeps through and the reality of His sacrifice sets into another layer of my soul. Then there is a time of hollow mourning. Where numbness and grief intersect. There is no more energy for wailing, only empty sadness.
Then it happens, as it did in reality, the triumph of life over death. The stone rolls away to reveal a risen Saviour. Our God who came in the flesh to pay for what I could not, emerges from the tomb.
The hope that He brought with Him on that day is my constant companion. It has carried me as I am sure it carried Mary on the dark day so long ago. We know the accounts of what she saw on the day He died, we can imagine the joy when He rose but today represents the in between. Today, on the day in between, the confusion, the suffering, the sadness she walked through on that day. Although she knew what He had taught, she also knew that man has freewill and perhaps it was freewill that murdered her Son.
Today, during the "in between", as I prepare to celebrate His resurrection, I will contemplate the heart of a mother whose pain was real. A woman who willingly accepted what it meant to serve God with everything. She never once turned from her commitment and continued to trust in her God, even in the middle of the unimaginable. The God who asks us to trust Him with everything we have as well.

Have a blessed Resurrection Weekend!


Always,


Hope

Is God Enough? Part 2

My oldest brother was diagnosed with Leukemia three weeks before my wedding. Four day later, he died from a ruptured spleen because His cancer had been misdiagnosed for several months by an incompetent "doctor" in a small rural town. There were countless questions that even when answered weren't enough to bring comfort. Jesus was not only enough, He was our comforter. When our depression set in, He was our deliverer. When we were bewildered, He was our answer.

If God can be enough in life's most painful moments, then we need to choose to trust Him with the direction of our lives in the smaller moments. If He can see us through the darkest hours He is more than enough to get us through the times that are confusing. When we are treated in ways that make us feel insignificant, we need to remember, He is our significance.


A couple of weeks ago, I began to feel insignificant within the body of Christ. (Note, that was a feeling based on feelings. Not on the truth.) I was reading into the actions of others and I bought into the lie that no one noticed my existence. It was one of those times where I was starting to fall back on what I was doing for my worth. My focus was on my activities of service positions more than on my position in Christ. Being in His presence, belonging to Him and being open to whatever He brings is significant.


There are times in the body of Christ when we are equipped for a job but not chosen. We can even be called to it but because of man's freewill, still be passed over for a position. Be assured, God will still use it to shape us in some way. My good friend told me this past week, "He won't let anything go to waste". What we think may be ashes are what God time and time again will turn to beauty.


So that brings me back to the question, is God enough? Oh my dear friends, He is always more than enough.


Always,


Hope

Two Bibles and Two Women

A year ago today, the body of my mother was laid to rest in a cemetery outside of Los Angeles. We know she wasn't there but the arms that held me as a little girl, the warm eyes that greeted me as a confused teen and the smile that stayed with me as a joyous bride won't be seen again. They all belonged to a body that had done its job here on earth. The sweet soul that was once among us, is now peacefully worshiping at the feet of our loving Saviour. There is significant pain that is soothed by hope and a peace that truly passes understanding.
My recent routine in the morning involves sitting by the fireplace with my hands clasped around a steaming cup of creamer doused coffee. On my coffee table, side by side are two bibles that both hold deep meaning. Both are in need of new covers, both have highlighted pages and occasional notes in the margins. One I have had for almost 25 years, the other only one very short year.
The red one, a New King James Version of the Open Bible, with my maiden name engraved on the front. Never one to be like everyone else, I wanted to spell it Kaye with an "e" (long before I was ever introduced to Anne of Green Gables, I was sure that adding an "e" to my middle name would somehow make it more interesting). So when my parents bought me the new bible, Mom had the printers add the extra letter.
It was a beautiful Christmas gift, given at a time in my life that I am frankly surprised I didn't reject it. This was one of the darkest periods of my life filled with insecurities, doubt, discouragement and deep depression. I had strayed away from the beliefs I had at one time held dearly, creating a chasm between myself and my family but even worse, between myself and my God. The beauty of the timing is that when I was ready to return, my Lord was waiting and so was this treasured Christmas gift.
The mauve colored bible on my table is a thick study bible and as I have mentioned before, it is highlighted with the sweet verses that were so meaningful to Mom. There were words that she memorized and kept in her heart in order to comfort herself in those later days when she could no longer find the pages. She used them to comfort herself when confusion would overwhelm her. As her mind was slowly drifting away, the one thing that never did was the peace and calm she found in resting in her Lord and Saviour.
Both are precious to me. I like hopping back and forth between the two different versions to gain clarity. Its delightful to read what was precious to Mom and what she thought about certain passages. When I pick up the one that guided me through so many years, I see old notes. Some mark the times that I was struggling and others when I was experiencing triumphs or learning key principles for my life.
The past year has emphasized even more for me that I don't have time to take anything for granted.  My relationships, my faith and whatever time I might have left on this earth are priceless. Those two beautiful leather bound books hold within them the heart of my Heavenly Father and the love of an incredible mother. A mother who never stopped praying to or praising her God. A woman who never stopped believing that the love of her God could deliver a confused and helpless soul, entrusted to her to raise into a grateful and blessed woman.

,

Always,

Hope

The Ornament I Could Have Waited For

We have a growing collection of special ornaments. It started back when my brother passed away suddenly in the midst of my wedding preparations. One of the beautiful arrangements that came held a bird in a nest. My Mom's dearest friend, (we call her Auntie Fran) made a beautiful ornament to display every year. Ever since, when someone close passes away, we honor them with an ornament that reflects or depicts them in some way.
For several weeks, I have known that we were going to get one to to remember Mom but what? How do you depict a person that touched so many people's lives in different ways. She was a mentor to young moms, a friend to other women, a gentle grandmother, forgiving mother and devoted wife. One option was a Hallmark® frame that spoke of "remembering" those not with us. I couldn't bring myself to do it. It just wasn't right. I don't have to be reminded that Mom isn't here. It is painfully obvious.
Today, on Christmas Eve, while running a last minute errand, I found one. One that speaks of family as the people we love and cherish. A tribute that keeps her love in the present. The legacy that she has passed on that will warm our Christmas this year. So although I would have rather waited, event hough I wanted her to still be here, we will remember why she is missed, not just that she is missed.

Always,

Hope

Seeing The Season Through Grief's Filter

I have amazing memories of the Christmas season. My feelings of anticipation are colored by the warmth it pours into my soul every year. The giving, the celebration, traditions and making memories are always things I look forward to when Christmas rolls around. Adding to the joy, I became engaged to the Coffee Guy (at that time the FedEx® Man) on Christmas Eve and three years later gave birth to my Ray of Sunshine the day after Christmas not to mention the Princess was brought home from her birth state in December as well.
Those things will still bring joy this year though at times it is muted by the pain of this being the first Christmas without my mother. Even when she lived far away, there was the trip to Macy's to see Marsha (the sweet sales clerk with years of experience) to pick out the right outfit. There will be no phone call or anticipated pictures from my Dad. Instead, this year, we will pick out a special ornament that represents her. We will think of some of the great gifts she made or found for each of us. Gladness will fill our hearts when we picture her first Christmas in Heaven and sadness will spill in tears down our cheeks when we face the empty void in our hearts.
I am aware that I am not the first person to lose their Mom, nor do I believe it was the most tragic of losses. She lived a good long life and left a beautiful legacy. What I do know that it is our lives will never be the same. Christmas this year won't be quite as vibrant and I need to keep reminding myself that little things will seem bigger. My emotions may seem unstable but its from a heart that is still healing.
To my fellow bloggers who have experienced loss this year, I pray for God's comfort to envelope us and for His peace to heal our wounded hearts.

Always,

Hope