Where We Find Peace

Didn't mean to drop off the planet for the last two weeks!  Between traveling and school starting, it's been a busy time.  Despite the blazing heat I feel the seasons changing--new routines and schedules as we settle into school and the coming fall (bless it can't it get here already!?!)

In the midst of this season of transition I've also been reminded that this fickle, random, broken world will disappoint us, will knock us around and sometimes bludgeon us nearly to death.  Last week I found myself at the hospital, hugging and praying with an old friend while her little boy suffered in agonizing pain.

Once again, Lord, we cry out: why?

Why is he suffering?  Why is anyone?  We want to understand...but these things can't be understood. The other day I stumbled across a re-broadcast of a Charles Stanley sermon.  I love him.  He was preaching about suffering, and about why God sometimes puts us through some things.  (Can't you just hear him saying "Watch this?")

I love Charles and that man's got wisdom, but watch this: not all of this hardship is from the Lord. Does God sometimes allow or cause trouble in our lives?  Sure, I believe that.  But I also know that most of the time, he doesn't need to.  The world does enough of that on its own.

The good news--sometimes the only good news--is that we are never alone in our suffering.  As we cry out, Jesus is right there crying alongside us.  Remember, He's already suffered under every sin of this fallen world, including those that make no sense.  And remember, in Him alone we find our victory.  In Him alone we find peace.

In painful moments sometimes all I can do is bring my broken heart and hand it over to the one who knows it best.

Today, if you are asking why, look to Jesus.  He may not answer the why but He has already overcome it...and through Him, so can you.


P.S. These pictures were taken at Graylyn and in the nearby Reynolda Gardens in Winston-Salem, NC.

What Brings Me Peace

Pretty Little Coco

Last week I had to make the painful decision to put my 12-year-old cat to sleep.  She had been pretty sick for the last couple of months, and I knew this day would come.  The vet said she was 100% sure it was time, and I know it was the merciful thing to do.  Yet...the rawness of the loss is still so hard.  It was hard to lose her, and hard to be reminded of what loss feels like.  I wept a lot that day. Prayed grateful prayers that God showed me when it was time.  Hugged my puppy extra hard.

Last week I also had a chance to visit not one but two botanical gardens.  Those visits ended up being like a balm to my hurting heart.  You know what cheers me up?  Flowers.

I took these pictures at the Orchid House at Daniel Stowe Botanical Gardens:

I took these at the McMillan Greenhouse at UNC Charlotte: 

Being in the presence of such exquisite natural beauty sets me on a path to peace. I hope my pictures today bring you a little peace, too.

Paris, Je t'Aime

Paris, je t'aime.

My words are few, but my heart is breaking.

Praying today for the citizens of this most beautiful of cities, those who live there, and for everyone impacted by the violence Friday.

The Pool Moves With Me

Have you heard about this guy Ben Lecomte?  At the end of this month he is going to jump into the ocean in Tokyo and swim for eight hours a day, every day, for six months.  He will eventually end up in San Francisco, having crossed the entire Pacific ocean.  That's just amazing to me, that someone out there can actually do that (he crossed the Atlantic in 1998), and also that someone would want to (I'm not exactly a swimmer).  His goal is to bring attention to sustainability and the environment, especially overfishing.  I just think it's awesome.

But the thing that really got my attention was what Lecomte said when asked about the challenge: "I never jump into the water thinking about the entire ocean, I just cut it into small pieces.  When I am in the middle of the ocean, I think about being in a pool and the pool moves with me."  Source: NPR.

"The pool moves with me."

Could he cross the Pacific if he was thinking about all those miles ahead?  Maybe not.  And in this way, maybe I actually can relate to Lecomte.  Alas, I will probably never even swim across my local pool, but there have been many times in my life when I needed the pool to move with me.  When my sister died, I was thrown into an ocean of grief...and I had to simply keep treading water...day after day, for years, until life became different.  I reached a new shore. When years ago I faced difficult relational issues I learned to recite (and focus on) "One Day at a Time."  Later, as mom to toddlers, it was more often "One Minute at a Time."

The best news is that while we focus on our small pool or our one minute, God is holding onto us and our futures. When Paul was imprisoned in Rome and awaiting trial under Emperor Nero he wrote to the Philippians, exhorting them to rejoice in Christ and live by his example.  Paul, imprisoned and subjected to all kinds of difficulties and discomforts, told them "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Phil 4:6-7.  He didn't say we would receive peace by handling everything, or by knowing the future; rather it would be through prayerfully and thankfully seeking God.

Paul goes on to say that he knows the secret to being content in any circumstances.  Through any trial, through any vast ocean, the secret is Christ.  "I can do everything through him who gives me strength."  Phil 4:13.  So often this verse is interpreted as a blank check, as if through my own strength I can achieve all manner of success by merely attaching Christ's name to my efforts.  That's a hollow interpretation.  The way Paul meant it was this: the world and its circumstances will grieve you, but you can overcome through Christ's strength alone.

What ocean have you thrown yourself into, or been plunged into through no fault of your own?  I hope its encouraging to remember that you don't need to handle the whole thing right now.  Take it one minute at a time.  Imagine shrinking that ocean down into the size of a pool, and let the pool move with you.  Then, trust God with the rest.  You can overcome any trial when you allow Christ to strengthen you.

As I hit publish, I am praying for God's peace to be with you.  And stay tuned...I'm super excited to be making a big announcement later this week!

Rest.

My sister and I, circa 1982.

Twenty years. 

That’s how long it has been since my life changed forever.  The morning my little sister died was unspeakably horrifying…traumatic...indescribable, really.  Losing her felt like something exploded inside me, and left a gaping hole, and I was so hurt, and I was so unbelievably angry.  I was just sixteen years old then.  Now, looking back, I barely recognize that girl.  Twenty years.  So much in life changes in two decades, yet it feels like just yesterday I was with my sweet sister; playing, fighting, sharing secrets and dreams and loving each other like the best friends we were.

I’ve spent much of these twenty years going through all those stages of grief: the anger, the denial, the acceptance, the bargaining, the depression…I list them in no particular order because grief has no order.  It travels its own circuitous route, coming back around to places you’d thought you’d already been and taking forms you’d thought you’d never see again.  Grief has a beginning, but it does not have an end.

But God has shown me something lately, and it has made all the difference.  It has nothing to do with healing.  It is all about rest.

See, usually as the anniversary of Mindy’s death approaches I feel my heart sinking and depression begins to seep in…I will get flashbacks of the morning she died, remember the fear and the swallowing grief of those first days. 

This year has been different.  It began when a few months ago God laid it on my heart to commit Matthew 11:28 to memory.  Then, a few weeks ago, I had to learn about resting in a different way.  What happened was I was indulging my obsession with moving to a different house.  I had found a great fixer-upper and had contacted my realtor to go see it.  (Never mind that I don’t have time for my normal life, much less moving into and renovating an old house.  Never mind that my husband and I have decided to focus on paying off our obscene student loans, not buying houses).  I called my realtor…then I prayed.  And when I asked God directly what we should do, He didn’t say, “Don’t move,” or “Pay off your loans, stupid.”  No.  The single word I heard deep in my heart was: “Rest.”  

And it was a command.  A command to bring every burden, every worry to him.  To settle down, already.  And I’ve been trying to obey that command when I have too much to do, and when my children are sick and need me, and when life feels overwhelming.  So this year, as my biggest sorrow comes back around, I’m resting.  After twenty years I am allowing Him to keep His promise.  I feel His arms around me.  I feel His tears where mine usually are.  My grief hasn’t gone away, but He is holding it for me.  So I can finally rest.

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

                                                                                                                                 --Matthew 11:28-30

Do y'all know this song?  It reminds me that God is good, all the time.

Is there something that He can hold for you?  Somewhere in your life where you just need rest?  His promise is to give you that.  Even when the healing isn't there yet...even if the healing never comes..."you will find rest for your souls."  

Our Little Towns

There's a great post I stumbled upon yesterday over at Simple Homeschool called Newtown as I Know It.  It's about Newtown, the way it should be remembered.  

Some of you know I lived for six years in Blacksburg, Virginia and went to Virginia Tech.  I often tell people that's where I went to school, and then have to talk about the shooting tragedy there.  I know the people of Newtown now face having their town inextricably linked to this horrible tragedy, and I identify with Jamie wanting to share what is beautiful about her adopted hometown.  

There's been another heart-wrenching piece published over the last few days about the failures of our mental health systems.  This one was tough for me.  When I was an attorney I worked for a while with troubled youth, and immediately recognized my young, hurting friends in the profile of this woman's son and possibly in Adam Lanza, and who knows how many other young people. 

There's a lot to say about what happened.  And a lot that just can't be expressed.  I've been avoiding most of it, but I wanted to share these little bits.  

As for the loss of the children, I can't even begin to go there.  I have a child in Kindergarten and spent the whole weekend in denial, and the last day or so in pain for the parents of those babies.  Praying for them, for a peace that surpasses all understanding.

On Grieving and Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.  I hope you are spending today with your family, eating great food and celebrating this holiday.  I sure am, soaking it up.  But, there's also something heavy on my heart today: almost a year ago my cousin Jenny passed away.  Today is her birthday, and I've been thinking about her family and about how holidays can be so hard for some of us.  

Jenny, who I always thought was the coolest girl in the world.

There have been many holidays (days of all kinds, really) in the 19 years since my sister died that seemed like nothing more than a black hole.  The last thing I wanted to do was celebrate, and it was salt in the wound that everyone around me was happy, and I couldn't be.

Some of you might be feeling that way today.

If not, and you're good, please shut me down and go have some fun.  But for those of you missing your dear ones today, I’m here to tell you, it gets better.  Possibly you might not believe me, or maybe a part of you doesn't even want it to.  Being sad today is part of how you remember that he or she is gone.  But trust me, learning to enjoy today doesn't mean you have forgotten yesterday.  I hope eventually you will agree with me that there’s so much in this world to be thankful for.  For me, it’s the time I had with my precious beloved sister, and my Grandmother, and my cousin.  People I have loved and lost but whose influence on me, whose impact on this world, whose presence remains.  People who I still love, and who I believe I will see again.  Today, I am so thankful for a God that makes that possible, and also for a love so big that this kind of hurt is even possible, and for a God that is always, truly, healing love.

To my dear sweet cousin Jenny: I remember you today.  You were absolutely sparkling.  Everyone who knew you saw it, your life and energy illuminated the world around you, from the time you were a little girl until the end.  When we were little, I wanted to be just like you: beautiful, sassy, amazing.  When you won beauty pageants, I wanted to be like you all over again…and when you became an awesome mom I found out there were even more ways to aspire to be like you.  You were a beautiful person, a great sister, daughter, wife and mother.  And on your birthday, I am giving thanks for you.

And that’s all I want to say today.  I grieve.  If you are here with me, you get it.  But this too: even in this place there is a powerful, amazing, redemptive hope.  I'm thankful, and I want that for you, too.