Through the Stillness

 

My oldest turns nine tomorrow. How is that even possible?

Earlier today we were at the park with some friends. We were catching crayfish and Luke wanted help over a rock. We somehow ended up with me carrying him like a baby. We joked about how I never get to hold him anymore. As I held him, I almost dropped him because he was so heavy. It was a moment of laughing on the outside and weeping a bit on the inside.

There was another moment. He climbed inside the Gaga Ball pit. The other kids were talking to each other, not Luke. A friend of mine asked if I wanted her to go over there to make sure the others would include Luke. I smiled and said she didn’t need to and told her to watch how Luke wiggles his way in with ease. He did. A minute later they were playing. I don’t think he realizes how brave he is.

And, one more moment. His brother had a rough start to the day. Nothing was going the way he wanted. (Don’t we all have those days?) Luke looked at him and gently said, “Listen, Oliver. I would say about three-quarters of life will not go your way and that’s normal and okay. Nothing is supposed to be perfect. We just have to learn to be okay with it.”

The mother in me wanted to step in and lighten it a bit. Three-quarters? That may a bit of a stretch. Then I thought of Luke’s life. He has Ocular Albinism and knows he may never drive. Seeing is hard for him which makes everything harder for him. He has ADHD as well. So, thinking is hard, learning is hard, regulating his emotions is hard, and on and on. So yea, maybe three-quarters isn’t a stretch.

Like I said, I don’t think he realizes how brave he is. Nothing stops him from living life full of love, fun, and spunk. Did I mention that he does great in school too? I’m thankful God chose me as his mom.

The end.

 

Do we blame the murderer?

Or do we blame his alcoholic father who beat him and his mother?

Do we blame the weak mother who stayed with the alcoholic father and allowed it to happen?

Or do we blame the mother’s stepfather who raped her every other night for three years?

Do we blame the stepfather’s uncle who snuck in his room one night when he was visiting from out of town?

Or do we blame the uncle’s mother who died, or his father who abandoned him for a life of drugs?

Do we hate and look down on them for not having the strength to break the cycle?

Or do they hate and look down us for not loving them, our neighbors, as ourselves?

Do we think our sins are less than theirs?

Or do we see our pride and judgment for what they really are?

Do we think it’s okay to hide in our ignorance and in our safe bubbles?

Or do we see what it means when we ignore or condemn the freaks, the one’s we don’t understand, or the ones whose sins are “greater” than ours?

Do we think we are good or better than anyone?

Or do we see our own sins and especially our “lesser” sins that contribute to the sins of others?

Do we blame us poor pitiful sinners for what we’ve done or haven’t done, for what’s been done or not done, and for whats been given or not given to us?

Or do we go to the beginning and blame the serpent who orchestrated all the sins of yesterday, today, and tomorrow?

Do we strive to do better once we know this?

Or do we know we can’t trust in ourselves to do better, but only in God’s love, goodness, and power that works through us?

Again I ask, do we?

 

 

 

Dreaming of one fine morning, my impatience wildly grows. This spring has produced icicle covered branches far beyond the expected span. I long for the beaming of the warm sun on my face.

I think of springs past. I see my great-grandma slowly rocking on her back porch staring into the mist-filled mountains. Her soft shaky voice told stories of family history. There was good and there was bad. The happiness of waiting for a baby to arrive. The painfulness of waiting to see a loved one again. There was always some sort of waiting involved.

A spring like ours pulls us into a different sort of waiting. It is still waiting, nonetheless. Our anguish grows and we struggle to feel anything other than the cold and dreary. It will eventually melt away, although it feels otherwise. The buds will emerge and bloom. Then fall will come back around and the petals will wither and blow as winter forces its way in once again. The cycle, by nature, will carry on until one day the seasons as we know will cease. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine how it will feel. The light that will envelope and lift me up. My little brain cannot know exactly what it will be like or what it will feel like. Though, it brings me peace and joy trying to conceive a glimpse.

I wonder if in this waiting there can be more––if we can be more. My wonder is probably less a questioning and more an urging from the Holy Spirit. There’s no need to dig deep to find the answers are yes there can be more and yes we can always be more.

Christianity should always be a quest to push away the weak, dull, and cheap grace and to lean into the powerful, sharp, and rich grace that cannot be obtained by worldly standards. It’s the type of grace that shines through us and evokes wonder in others. We want people to want what we have in Christ and yet we are scared. Like Rudolph, we cover our light to fit in with the rest of the world.

While we wait to fully bloom or while we wait for our next season, we should be continously humbling ourselves. In humbling ourselves we are shown control, power, and faith in this world (or ourselves) will never bring us peace. It is in humility and a repentant heart that we gather the strength to defeat this world. Our load is lightened and we can further the kingdom. Just think of Hebrews 12:1 which says, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”  

We will indeed fully bloom one fine morning. Until then, remember our waiting doesn’t have to be in vain.

Prayerfully yours,

Stacy

When I first asked this question to a group of kids, most of them answered a week with Jesus. One kid turned the question around on me and asked what I would choose. I quickly answered that I too would like to spend a week with Jesus. I thought it would be life changing. I pictured myself sitting across a table with a cup of coffee chatting with my savior. Just think about how cool that would be. The kids giggled at my enthusiasm as I explained my reasons.

Last week during bible study we read Jesus appears to the Disciples (Luke 24:36-39). I’ll bold the part that stuck out to me the most.

³⁶ While they were still talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.”

³⁷ They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost. ³⁸ He said to them, “Why are you troubled, and why do doubts rise in your minds?³⁹ Look at my hands and my feet. It is I myself! Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.”

⁴⁰ When he had said this, he showed them his hands and feet. ⁴¹ And while they still did not believe it because of joy and amazement, he asked them, “Do you have anything here to eat?” ⁴² They gave him a piece of broiled fish, ⁴³ and he took it and ate it in their presence.

⁴⁴ He said to them, “This is what I told you while I was still with you: Everything must be fulfilled that is written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms.”

⁴⁵ Then he opened their minds so they could understand the Scriptures. ⁴⁶ He told them, “This is what is written: The Messiah will suffer and rise from the dead on the third day, ⁴⁷ and repentance for the forgiveness of sins will be preached in his name to all nations, beginning at Jerusalem. ⁴⁸ You are witnesses of these things.⁴⁹ I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”

Doubt. After all the disciples had seen and heard. They had doubt. They thought Jesus was a ghost! I mentally jotted down the question, “How often do we doubt His presence?”.  Bible study continued on then it was over. Matt and I left, commented on how good it was, and went on with our day––err shall I say days?

Yesterday, as I was cleaning my house, it was like a strong breeze swept over me. Then as forceful whisper I heard, “How often do we doubt His presence?”  I fell right into my chair and my bible flew open to just the right page. Just kidding. Actually it was a lot less exciting. It is more like this: My mental notebook has a way of recalling things much later than I want it to at times. See, I wanted to come home right after church and jot down my question. Nope, didn’t happen. Yesterday I decided to review the bible verses simply because I wanted to. I grabbed my bible, sat down, and my dog nestled in my lap. Before I read the verses I remembered the question and jotted it down. It was an ordinary moment, like much of life is. Those are the moments we can doubt the power of His presence the most. Right?

As I was flipping through my bible, I found the index card and I began thinking about my answer again. I still would choose a week with Jesus. I still picture sitting across a table from him with a cup of joe in hand. I feel a bit differently now. I automatically assumed it would be life changing. Maybe it would. I hope it would.

I now see how doubt crept into the disciples, not just here but other times as well. I see how doubt creeps into me. I wonder if my story was in the bible, what parts of His presence and power in my life would others see that I simply overlook because I’m in the midst of it? Reading these verses again,I also remembered something that came after this. The Holy Spirit came! Like really, we have the Holy Spirit and how often do we overlook this gift?

All I can say is thank God for His working through our weaknesses (despite our weaknesses). Yeah, that’s just the kind of God we have!

Questions:

1. Would you rather spend one hour in Heaven or one week with Jesus on earth?
2.  Is there anything different that sticks out to you the second time reading this?

 

 

 

 

It was early morning and the boys energy was rising quicker than the sun. I went into our room to grab something and noticed my husband in peaceful slumber. I decided to change out of my pajamas and take the boys down to the beach so Matt could catch up on some much needed rest.

Walking along the shore and simply soaking up the peace the morning brings, I listened to the waves rolling in and my boys laughter as they fell into the rhythm of beach life. Luke ran up to me with a large piece of something and asked what it was. As I recognized it, fragmented childhood memories arose of walking along the shores of our favorite island with my two brothers collecting the same wonder my son was now holding it his hand. “Those are called sand dollars, Luke. There’s a beautiful legend of them, but I cannot remember all of it. When we get back to the condo I can look it up. Okay?” I described what they look like when they are whole and Luke became determined to find one or as many pieces as possible to put together.

Back at the condo, Luke gathered all his pieces and began placing them together in a circular shape. I grabbed my phone and began reading the legend:

“The legend of the Sand dollar
That I would like to tell
Of the birth and death of Jesus Christ
Found in this lowly shell.
If you will examine closely,
You’ll see that you find here
Four nail holes and a fifth one
Made by a Roman’s spear.
On one side the Easter Lily,
It’s center is the star
That appeared unto the shepherds
And led them from afar.
The Christmas Poinsettia
Etched on the other side
Reminds us of His birthday,
Our joyous Christmas tide.
Now break the center open
And here you will release
The five white doves awaiting
To spread good will and peace.
This simple little symbol,
Christ left for you and me.
To help to spread His Message
Through all eternity.”

-Author Unknown

The remainder of our vacation, Luke tried to find a whole sand dollar. The place most likely he could have found one, we weren’t able to make it to this trip. I found some in a shop and surprised him Easter morning. When we broke one open, there was one perfectly shaped “dove”. We held them in our hands and basked in the awe of how much they resembled actual doves. We then set them aside and got ready for church.

Throughout the day, I began thinking of creative ways to preserve the fragile reminders. The one was so perfect, I wanted to display it somehow. Necklace maybe? Frame it somehow? Just thinking of possible ideas was exciting me.

Later in the day, the neighborhood boys showed up at our house. It was their after Spring Break reunion. They shared vacation stories and ran around our house playing. Luke was in the kitchen and saw the doves. He picked up the “perfect” one to show his friend. I looked over and saw our perfect little dove dropping to the ground. Both wings broke at the tips. Luke was devastated.

Luke became quiet and Oliver stepped in explaining the significance of the dove. I whispered to Luke that it was okay. He nodded and then explained to his friend as well. After their friend left, I told the boys how proud I was of them of how they handled the situation. It wasn’t perfect, but they still managed to share their faith. That is what matters most, I told them.

Sitting here today after I have fully come to terms with our perfect dove being broken, I decided I’m still going to find a way to display the dove. Why? Because now there’s even more value to the dove. Think about it. That is the beauty of the gospel. That’s the beauty in spreading good will and peace to others. We have to see and accept our own broken wings to grow our faith and trust in God. And, we need to see and accept everyone else’s broken wings to share our faith and to love the way God loves us.

 

 

I went to a nursing seminar with my mother-in-law today. The nerd in me loves, loves, loves seminars. I think I could sit through a seminar on a subject that I could care less about and still enjoy it. Maybe not, but you get my point. Today, though, was the first time I sat through one and had to fight back tears. I learned some new things and also received a great reminder on life and love.

We’ve all heard stories on social media about Human Trafficking. Most of them consist of a mom being at a grocery store with her child and a stranger approaches them. It is scary and sad and makes us always look over our shoulders in parking lots. It makes us look suspiciously at people in stores who may have glanced at us and our children one too many times. I cannot imagine how shook up I would be in a situation like that.

Did you know that those situations make up only 2-3%? Trust me when I say that I am not diminishing those stories by any means by pointing out the 2-3% of those forced into such a horrible life. But after listening to the speakers I cannot help but want/need to share my feelings on one of the more common forms of Human Trafficking.

As I’m sitting here trying to figure out where to begin with all of this, I look down and see my new phone case that my husband got me. It is purple. Purple has been my favorite color since I can remember. Many times when I see the color purple, I think of my 8th birthday. My parents locked me out of my room for about a week. There was some work they had to do and it wasn’t safe to go in there, they told me. The morning of my birthday, they unlocked the door and all I could see was purple. The walls, my bookshelf, my dresser, and even my comforter on my bed was the most beautiful color in the world. I felt loved. I felt special. Actually, I more than felt it. I knew that I was loved and special. As a matter of fact, I am crying right now as I type because there hasn’t been a day in my life where I haven’t felt loved. Yes, there have been days where I didn’t feel love from a particular person––but I have always had others that I knew loved me.

Not everyone has that. I met someone today who bravely shared her story and reminded me of how many of us carelessly forget not everyone has real love. Yes, it is carelessly that we do. Because, if it wasn’t carelessly, we’d be fighting more to stop it. We’d be judging less and loving more the way God wants us to.

I know I cannot do her story justice, but I will try to share what I got out of it. She was in and out of foster care homes. One day, her mom contacted her and said she set up for her to go live with her sister and brother-in-law in a different state. She, for the first time, felt her mom loved her and was trying to take care of her. She went. She remembered an exchange of money before getting in the car to go to there. She didn’t think too much of it. Her mom was taking care of her for the first time. She was feeling good.

It began with mental abuse. A slow breaking her down. Then physical abuse. Then sexual abuse. All by her brother-in-law.

Then it really began. Her brother-in-law threw her a “party”. He said it was because he was proud of the beautiful young lady she was becoming. This “party” started with a doctor doing an exam. Then one man, another, and another and another…it was six total men she was forced to have sex with in one night. In between each encounter the doctor came in and reexamined her. It only stopped at six because the last one broke her nose for crying. Her brother-in-law was furious and kicked the man out. He and the doctor swept in and cleaned her up. They took care of her. She felt loved because she had never been shown what real love was. This continued from the age of thirteen to seventeen. A friend at school reported some bruising and said she just knew something was going on. She was taken out of the home. Now, years later, she fights against Human Trafficking.

I’ll share one more story from the main speaker, a nurse. There was a patient––a frequent flyer to the Emergency Department. You know the one, she is always drunk. She doesn’t take care of herself and on and on. She’s the kind of patient most of the staff rolls their eyes at because she’s back again with the same old thing. Here’s the thing with this patient, with this human being. She was drunk because the only way she could cope with her life (because she was a human trafficking victim) was to drink day and night. They found that out. Yep.

Oh, one more thing. Many victims of trafficking have what is called Stockholm Syndrome. They have loyalty to their trafficker, to their pimp. Why? Because they don’t know what real love is. We are all created with a need to be loved and taken care of. They have never been given this basic human need.

Just think about all of this as you go about your day.

What was it like in Eden? To walk with God, like literally walk with him? My feeble mind cannot even fathom. I used to get near angry when I would think about how they could screw up something so perfect and peaceful. I used to wonder why God would let them screw up. I used to wonder why Eve would converse with a serpent in the first place. Why listen to something so wrong, and ugly over good and God?

I’ve been a bit distraught, a bit fixated, a bit taken down by suicide and drugs. No matter how well things are going in my life, these thoughts are always there lingering in my mind. I know it’s because the last couple years I’ve lost two family members and an old friend to these evils. All three of these people were smart…actually really smart people. If you know me and my lifestyle, you would see why I cannot stop thinking about it. It isn’t something I am used to. Two of these people became lost in their addictions––to the point you wouldn’t know how beautiful and smart they were at one time. The other was just tired of all the pain. Why, why, why has been stomping around my mind for way too long now. I finally see. I finally understand. I still don’t like it, but I see and understand.

Last Sunday during bible study, all my settled questions that had nestled comfortably in my mind were escorted out by a retired pastor who was subbing for the day. I guess I never even thought to go to the beginning to find my answers. The beginning, as in Genesis 3: The Fall of Man.

How many times have I heard this? My goodness, I know he was a crafty serpent. I truly didn’t think I would get much out of the study until he pointed out things I always brushed right past. He then, in a mockingly tone, repeated the words of the serpent, “Did God really say?” He said it over and over again and I pictured myself standing amongst a group of teens. I pictured the ‘popular’ leader of the pack. She rolled her eyes, mocking her friend who was repeating her parents rules. “Did your parents really mean? Will your parents ever even find out if you do this just once with us? Come on, everyone’s doing it…”

He then asked us what we thought the serpent looked like. Oh, the looks on our faces as we pondered this. Hmm. No where in Genesis 3 does it even hint Eve was scared of this serpent. We don’t know for sure what the serpent even looked like. In my limited mind, I always pictured the serpent as scary. I always picture evil as ugly. But, as we all know, evil is many times wrapped in beauty. Our eyes deceive us, our minds fall prey to believing because we want to feel cool and capable and free. Think about Eden the best you can and then ask if Eve would have been scared of the serpent. I know it is hard, for we are sinners from birth. Eve existed for some time before the fall. Peace exuded all around her. She wasn’t exposed to what we’ve been exposed to. She still chose wrong!

It will always hurt when I think about the ones who lost their lives in horrific ways. My questions are gone though. Again, I don’t like it, but I now understand. It’s really quite simple. If the serpent could tempt Eve who lived in Eden, he surely can tempt others in this broken world. The crafty serpent came to them and wrapped the drugs and suicide in an idea that didn’t scare them, but instead preyed on their weaknesses. It is what he does!