Be a cucumber

Do you see the cucumber vine, reaching out? 

A tiny little curl, stretching, with faith that it will find something to hold on to as it grows. 

That is us my friends. 

That is the choice we have to make. 

Stretch, with faith. 

Reach out, choosing to “cast all our cares on Him because He cares for us”. 

1 Peter 5:7, paraphrased

Be a cucumber. 

I am re-reading, for the third time now, Practicing His Presence. It is a compilation of the works of two different missionaries, from two different times. Frank Laubach, from the 1930’s and Brother Lawrence, from 1692. 

When I read it the first time, over 20 years ago, it seemed striking. I was young and in college. Ready to change the world. I was going to commit every moment to Jesus. I was going to avoid every distraction. I was ready to practice the presence of God.

When I read it the second time, about 10 years ago it was a beautiful, gentle reminder. I had toddlers and time was hectic, so the reminder to give every second to my Savior was needed. 

This time it was striking in a completely different way. 

Why did I need the reminder? How had I forgotten to give every second to a Him? What was wrong with my walk!! 

And then, in my angst filled guilt trip, my Savior reminded me that He feels the cucumber vine. 

When I reach out, He notices. 

Every single tiny reach.

When I am washing the dishes and lifting up requests, He hears. 

When the music is going as I fold the laundry, He is hearing my praise. 

When the meds are more than I can take and an afternoon nap is needed, yet again, as I pray myself to sleep He is hearing that too.

This is the side of my fridge. 

Every time I turn around, every time I walk by, someone on it gets a prayer. 

Add yourself. Send a picture.

It looks full, but I will find a place for you. 

I think that perhaps my favorite quote of the book, in all of it’s simplicity is this- 

“This is the best way to act: talk a great deal to the Lord.” Frank Laubach 

Be a cucumber.

Reach out.

Talk a great deal. 

Take the time to listen as well. 

This is a gentle reminder to commit every moment, and to remember that “every moment” includes the busy ones and the boring ones, the beautiful ones and the ugly ones. Please, spend some time in focused prayer, on your knees before God. But don’t forget to talk to Him as you dig in the garden, or paint the living room, or cook, or knit or clean up spilled milk or break up yet another fight. 

Talk to God. 

Be blessed my friends.

Know that you are prayed for. 

Squashed joy?

Yesterday I sent this picture to my mom and sisters, talking about that tiny little squash peeking out, and the joy of the new life of spring. 

Today I feel like the poor little pepper plant that you can barely see being squished by the squash plant in the far left of the picture. 

 My epilepsy is being difficult.

I am tired. 

I forget to support my men when I am tired, and that makes me feel bad about myself. 

So much depends on perspective. 

So much depends on attitude. 

So very much is a choice. 

I will preach that over and over. 

Rejoice in the Lord, always. 

Even when you don’t feel particularly rejoice-full.

Even when perhaps you feel slightly squashed. 

The enemy of our Savior does not like it when we are joyful, so I am fairly confident it annoys him when we share it. 

So share that joy, even when you are feeling slightly squashed.

Rejoice in the Lord, always! 

Again I will say, REJOICE! 

Where the focus lies

 I read an interesting blog from someone else talking about chronic illness, saying that perhaps this Coronavirus is giving those without sickness a view of what life is like for us, those who are fighting to stay alive. 

 The daily not knowing.

 The “realness” of life.

 I don’t think Coronavirus has affected me much, emotionally. Fear, and the fight against it, is a daily thing for me. I have been fighting against diseases that want to kill me for my whole life. I have packed my husband up and sent him off to jump out of planes and be prepared to not come home for nearly 20 years. Covid 19 truly hasn’t been anything. 

No, the past has prepared me for fighting already. 

 I wrote this following paragraph, a quick jotting down of my feelings in the notes section of my phone, in October of last year in the middle of a really bad blood sugar day. It isn’t the first time I have felt it, and I doubt it will be the last.

 I am tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of trying. When someone has cancer they are allowed to just quit. It is almost seen as admirable and honorable. I am not allowed to just stop taking meds and let the disease finish it’s run. Diabetes and epilepsy are both ones you are supposed to beat. Or at least fight. What if I don’t want to? What about when I am tired of fighting, just to stay alive. 

 Please Lord, give me some energy to keep fighting. One minute at a time.

 I remember that soon after Joey Feek passed away her husband released a film showing the journey of their last years, their last joys, their last battles. To Joey, with love. We watched it soon after it was on video and I had to admit to Andy that I truly was jealous of her. She got to go home. She was able to be free, to be done with the fight. 

 He didn’t like hearing that, obviously, and looking back I can understand his reaction... and that is why I am unsure of how to post this here. I need you all to understand that this isn’t depression. This isn’t a death wish. This isn’t me being suicidal. This is just honesty: there are moments when having to fight my WHOLE LIFE to stay alive gets exhausting. Exhausting like running a marathon. Like birthing a child. Like fighting a war. 
 You are tired, both mentally and physically. You don’t truly want to quit. You have things you are looking forward to; finishing the race, holding that baby, winning the battle. But sometimes in the middle of it all you are just so tired that you almost forget how to breath. That is life with multiple diseases.  
 I think that Louisa May Alcott said it so beautifully, describing Beth’s last days in Little Women,
 "...to make her forget the mortal weariness that was almost as hard to bear as pain." 

Mortal weariness sums it up. Just so very tired. Two seizures, a blood sugar of 355 and one of 42, all in 48 hours is enough to make you just so..very... tired...

 A couple days ago when the sun was shining and the birds were singing and I was pulling weeds and enjoying flowers and finding tomatoes already starting to show their beautiful selves, well, the tired wasn’t as heavy, it wasn’t as tiring. 

 Tomatoes, peeking out!

Just a spot of beauty

 I am not always exhausted. Not always. 

 But since March was so ugly and I am “at risk” with a compromised immune system and don’t want to end up needing the ER because of an over abundance of seizures, my neurologist has put me back on another (of my old) seizure meds (in addition to my current one). So, I am in that lovely stage of working my way up in dosage, slowly adjusting to the exhaustion then adding another pill so I can be even more exhausted again. 

 It has been a rough couple weeks, emotionally and physically. It would have been, even if there hadn’t been multiple deaths across the country from a disease that we don’t understand. That’s the thing- my body is always failing.

 I am always, always, choosing to fight to stay alive. 

 Choosing to have joy, or not. 

 Choosing to see the tomato plant and rejoice, or not. 

 Choosing to pull the weeds knowing they will return again tomorrow, but to pull them anyway, or not.

 I need you to understand that this is a choice I make. 

 Every day. 

 It is never easy. 

 Sometimes it is not as hard, but it is never easy. 

 But here is the thing... I think that, unlike what the blog I read earlier and my own selfish moments want to insinuate, so are you. We all struggle. Everyone. Every day. 

 Pain. Fear. Anger. Exhaustion. 

 Different amounts. Different levels. Different reasons.

 We can all be overwhelmed.

 It is a choice, every day, how we respond. 

 I am not the only one. Perhaps Coronavirus is making things a little stranger or the pain a little stronger for some of you, but this isn’t a brand new thing. 

 It is the same choices as always. 

 So, please my friends, choose JOY! 

Can you see the difference between those two nearly identical pictures? 

Where was the focus? What was the focus? 

It only took a split second to change, to make the choice where to focus my attention. 

We can focus on the thorns on we can focus on the flowers. 

That is the choice, over and over. 

I am positive that we will fail at times and only see the thorns. 

Then we get to blink, and refocus again. 

Make a different choice the next time. 

In the middle of writing this, in the middle of discussing with Andy the beauty of focusing on the rose instead of the thorn I realized that my life is a rose bush. My thorns -the diabetes, Graves’ disease and epilepsy- are here to stay. But they serve a purpose too. Thorns on a bush offer protection. They are sharp and dangerous and sometimes painful, but they do serve a purpose. My thorns do too, if I pay attention. If I remember to notice. The places I have been and the people I have met because of my thorns. The places I have not been and the people I have not met because of my thorns.

 These thorns at times exhaust me. 

 Truthfully though, they make me who I am and I will choose to celebrate them. I will choose to celebrate the sometimes overwhelming but always beautiful rose bush of my life. 

See the roses, and the thorns. 

Enjoy the beauty and the strength.

 Be blessed my friends, in the choices. 

 Be aware of them, time after time. 

 Make the right ones, exhausting time after exhausting time.

Beautiful scars

 Those wounds that need binding come in so many different shapes and from so many different sources. Some are deep and need stitches to stop the bleeding. Some are more shallow, but so very wide that they seem to stretch out forever. Others will scab over, then get opened again and again and again. I have seen emotional and spiritual wounds that require “surgery”, the complete removal of a limb, for healing to happen. 

 But healing is always happening, if we allow it. 

 The thing is, there are often scars left behind. Healing stops the bleeding. Healing closes the wound.

 But the scars are still there. 

 What do you see when you look at a scar? Do you see something ugly or the mark of a battle won? Are you inspired with pride because you survived?  

 I think they are beautiful. 

 As time passes the scars smooth out. They show how we have grown and changed and matured- but they remain, as gentle and beautiful reminders of the battles we have won and the wounds that our Savior has already healed. 

 There will be new battles and new wounds. We will need new healing, over and over, and there will be new scars along the way. 

 And they will be beautiful too. 

“He heals the wounds of every shattered heart.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭147:3‬ ‭TPT‬‬

https://www.bible.com/1849/psa.147.3.tpt

What we carry in our body

When I made this verse image I was planning to talk about the news of Jesus still being bigger than the news of Coronavirus. That the bad news all around that threatens to overwhelm does not have to be the only thing we see. That the negative news that the “news” tends to project does not have to be the only angle we hear. 

 Joy is still stronger, and bigger, and a choice. 

 That is still true, and perhaps God will still have me write that post, eventually. 

But I got distracted by my own self centric story... and somehow I feel that God is allowing that. 

Here’s the thing- I was waiting to hear what comes next for my brain. 

Waiting and waiting and waiting! 

March was a rough month. I had at least nine seizures- and those were only the ones I was awake for and aware of. Most likely there were others at night, or small enough that my meds contained them. Nine that broke through and made themselves known. 

Nine that left me exhausted, and confused, and at one point very, very unsure of things that should be obvious. (Like the names of people I am related to.)

The appointment to find out more, to discuss the surgery from January and the WADA from February, was set for March 30th. Then, in mid March the world fell apart. Coronavirus became the center of the news, the center of events, the center of the world. UAB hospital closed down everything that wasn’t necessary for life.

Thankfully, the neurology department can do quite a lot over the phone! The team still got together to make the plans and discuss the current cases and I was placed before the board. 

 Dr. Pati said I was actually one of the easiest. My case was obvious and didn’t require much discussion. That is always nice to hear. 

Laser is what is recommended for me. 

I technically qualify for the brain surgery, cutting out a portion; or inserting the “pacemaker” type thing as well. If for some reason laser doesn’t work we can discuss those, but they are all very hopeful that the simple laser zapping of the part of my brain that misfires will make my life a lot better. 

Obviously, this summary is very non-medical. The doc used big words and fancy terms. But I prefer the news in simplified English. 

“Zap it. Fix it” 

 That works me for. 

The problem for now is that the medical world is focused, correctly and without complaint from me, on one major event. 

Brain surgery is, strangely enough, optional. 

So, we wait. 

Again. 

That is the lesson God chooses to teach me over and over. 

Wait. 

That is the “news” I share today. 

But I think I will return to what the original thought was anyway. 

“The new of Jesus went out to the surrounding territories.”

That was “good news”...but it was striking, and big, and hard to hear. 

It was different and confusing and nothing that anyone expected. 

Sound familiar? 

Big news. Frustrating news. Overwhelming news. 

Those are never ending. 

How we respond is still our choice. 

How we respond, always, is our choice! 

Let the life of Jesus be revealed in you my friends. 

Shine joy. 

Share hope.

Live with faith. 

Wait with patience. 

Be blessed, and recognize those blessings!

The Healthy People Challenge

 The medical field is absolutely breathtaking.

 There was a cartoon recently portraying them lifting the flag, like the famous photograph of the marines at Iwa Jima. I can’t post it here because of copyrights, but I would love for you to go see it and be inspired. 

 My world is full of those breathtaking medical people, both for my medical needs and in my personal life: doctors (like my Uncle Bill and my sister’s husband Travis and several friends from college) the amazing array of nurses (like my long time friend Kelli, and Theresa from church who teaches nursing to this next generation) and the first responders, (like my friend Andrew Denman) are amazing. I don’t think I have any personal friends who are pharmacists, filling meds, or the scientists working to create new ones.. but, we need them just as much! 

 Here is the thing, I would die within a few months without my prescription meds. Depending on how violent my seizures became (which is usually the case when I am off my meds) I would injure myself easily. Without insulin my body destroys itself, eats itself rather than turning food to energy. And even the basic antibiotic that Travis called in for me over the weekend is very needed to keep an UTI from becoming a serious problem, rather than just uncomfortable. 

 The public gets grumpy when their doctor’s appts and prescription co-pays are higher than they want. Truly, I understand. There are other things we would prefer to spend our money on. But I want to challenge you to remember how much they paid to get where they are. How much time they spent in school. How many hours they spent researching. How many millions of dollars was invested in equipment to test meds and create equipment to scan you and equipment to help you breath or check your blood sugar or simply pee without pain. Hours and hours, millions and millions. 

 We have to support these amazing doctors and scientists. We have to encourage them. We have to love them. 

 We have to!

 Be the hands and feet of our Savior, and the voice of encouragement to the medical staff around you! I challenge you to show love, visibly, to exhausted doctors and nurses and first responders and pharmacists and scientists. The whole group! 

 Ready, set, GO!

Planting seeds and tearing down fences

 Weary. Oh, what an appropriate word! I am certainly weary this evening!

 It has been a very full week. Very full two weeks, actually. 

 We had gone to GA to see lots of people that we love for Spring Break. Then, while we were there the world sort of fell apart. We ended up coming “home” early, since everything around us was closing - schools, churches, jobs and stores. We never got to visit several people that we loved, because suddenly germs, and sharing them, were a much bigger fear than ever before. 

 Coronavirus. 

 We started this week unsure of everything. 

I think that perhaps we are ending it still unsure of quite a few things. 

 But we stayed busy! Andy does not know how to sit still, and I am not very good at telling him no. 

 So, we tore down the back fence. 

Then moved it back about 16 feet. 

 We “dug” a lot of holes, (he got an auger for his birthday) and leveled and cemented new posts into them. 

Actually, we were able to reuse most of the old posts. We discovered the reason the fence was falling over was, in part, because there was so little cement used the first time it was built. 

Most of the fence tear down and rebuild was Andy. The boys helped a good bit, obviously, and I chipped in some, but truly, that man has way too much energy! 

He is a huge part of why I am “weary” here at the end of this week.

But not the only reason!

I also planted things.

The herbs survived the winter beautifully, one in each bed. 

 I added a few plants and a zillion seeds and spent some time cheering on the beautiful little surprise growth springing up in all three. 

 Some of it was weeds, obviously, but I am almost positive there are about a dozen tomato plants and a dozen peppers and several squash as well. We’ll see if my judgement is right in a few weeks. For now I will let them grow. 

 Then I bought some berry plants too! 

You can’t really see them but there are six, each peeking out of those mounds of red clay, attempting life in the Deep South. 

 And sweet Samwise has been so confused! He knows where the fence use to be, and walks to the edge of it and smells, then stops, afraid he will get in trouble if he goes farther. In the above picture he is laying right at the border... testing things. 

That seems to be the summary of our lives right now, I think. 

Testing things. 

What works and what doesn’t? 

How do we best help our neighbor? 

How do we plants good seeds without being weary? 

 Some of that was literal. The neighbor girl came and planted seeds with me. She fed me joy while I gave her attention. I don’t think we succeeded in staying 6ft apart the whole time, but we soaked up sunshine and placed seeds into egg cartons. 

 So, that is how I want to close this- plant some good seeds with your neighbors. 

Tear down some fences that you usually don’t have time to even consider. 

Use this change of schedule for something beautiful. 

Be blessed my friends, in the middle of the unknown, 

Plants good seeds! That wonderful harvest is promised!

Two choices, always

 That big bold star below, surrounded by the dark night around it, spoke to me today. 

Oh, how beautiful is the light it shines, despite feeling overwhelmed!

 Have you felt what that verse is expressing? Cut off? Alone? Alarmed?

 I don’t think I will believe you if you say that you haven’t, but since I can’t hear you, you are only speaking to yourself anyway. So, don’t lie. 

 And for the rest of us, who have felt all of those emotions and more, this Psalm is breathtaking. 

 Read it again, please. 

 Our Father God hears us, even when we think He can’t. He hears us when we have given up. He hears when we think we are cut off. 

 I had a rough day on Sunday. I had two of my seizures, which are small and wouldn’t be noticed by the world around me but which wipe me out, during opening worship. I then spent almost all of the sermon time trying to figure out who I knew and who I didn’t, and why and how. 

 As I have written on here before, memory is very important and when it decides to abandon you it is problematic. 

 I had a third seizure very near the end of the service and feel like I forgot most of everything after that. I still knew how to walk, but not well. I didn’t pee my pants, which we will celebrate since that isn’t always true. We will choose to find the good. 

 I was feeling cut off. I was feeling overwhelmed. I was feeling confused. 

 That pretty much sums up Sunday. Memories eventually returned. I finally gave up and asked my kids to tell me a few names of people I love a lot and could picture in my head but simply couldn’t find a name for. I woke up “all better” on Monday. But fear had done it’s dirty little job and snuck back into my safe place. 

 So, the fight against it was renewed! Remember that, please. Fight again, fight more, fight harder. 

 There are two choices:

 You can be afraid, or not. 

 You can be overwhelmed, or not. 

 You can feel cut off, or not. 

 You sometimes have to feel everything. I think it is good to accept and respect all of those emotions in every part of your life. They are healthy and manageable and good when they are just an emotion, just a feeling, just a moment. But they are not the rule, they are not the ruler. Don’t let them be. 

 Remember that He hears our cry for mercy, always.

 March 30 is my next neurology appt. Then, hopefully, we find out the next step in this battle against epilepsy. While we wait join me in the Psalms, in this proclamation of hope.

Rejoice. Make that choice!

I can’t fix it

The theme of this blog, recently, has been to write about “what God is teaching me.” I haven’t written in days and oh, how I wish it could be because God had declared that I know enough, that I could take a break from being taught. 

 As I am sure you are aware though, that is NOT true. I never get to stop learning. I think instead that God was asking me to learn more in one weekend than ever before. Again. 

 Mom was admitted to the hospital, again, on Thursday. It was her SPS in December. A heart attack in January. Her SPS again on Thursday. (This second link is a fairly long video but the first 30 seconds, showing this woman’s spasms, give an idea of what this disease is like.)

 Plus I myself spent 8 days in the hospital in January and had a procedure that only required one day but left me sore and exhausted for a week in Feb. 

 I am tired of the hospital. I am tired of sickness. I am tired of being tired. 

 This weekend was already fully planned. My turn to have fun. 

 Friday was the unit formal event - Army ROTC prom basically. 

 Mom, Emilee, Kelsey and all of their children were suppose to drive down to my house while I was at the ball Friday night and spend all day Saturday playing at our house. We had created a kid friendly army event. Camouflage gear, protective glasses, loads of nerf guns and a course to run in order to “beat the bad guys” (named Canaan and Zion). Plus Andy had built several other toys that go “boom”, just for the fun of it. 

 Sunday would be clean up and recovery, a fun breakfast all together and then loading the family up into their vehicles and sending them home.

 See what I mean- fully planned. 

 Then Thursday Mom was admitted to the hospital again and there was nothing I could do to fix it. 

 That is the key point. 

 I could not fix it. 

 I couldn’t change the army event that Andy was required to attend, or make him available to drive me to GA. 

 I couldn’t make Mom well. I couldn’t even help her pain. 

 I couldn’t clear the schedule for the sisters, or their husbands or the friends who are always there to help. 

 I had absolutely zero control. 

 I could not fix it. 

 That verse sums up how I feel today, looking back on my emotions on Friday. (And Sat, and perhaps still Sun too) I have to learn this lesson over and over. I can’t fix it. 

 Andy reminded me that there was nothing I could do, so he told me to paint my nails, put on my heels and simply have fun with him. 

I did have fun with him.

 Friday night Kelsey left her kids with her in-laws and went to Mom in the hospital. Saturday morning Emilee loaded her crew up and came to me. She doesn’t like to put her kids online, so there aren’t any cute, clear pics of them. But you get the idea :)

 A “bad guy” getting painted up, my Zion.

The practice event, showing how to take cover and run toward the goal. 

Teaching the littles how to reload their guns. 

Another “bad guy” who couldn’t be painted because he had to leave for work soon but wanted to participate. So my Canaan dressed up like a “ninja” instead. 

One of the littles really didn’t care about the guns or paint. 

He just wanted to play with Samwise.

Another of the littles can’t walk yet, so he just enjoyed the sunshine on momma’s hair.

 Here is the point to this. I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t help Mom. Not physically. Not spiritually- she has to rest in God herself. Not even emotionally because I was too upset about my carefully laid plans being messed up. I couldn’t fix anything. 

 And that is okay. 

 I went to the formal with my amazing husband. 

 I threw a party with some of my nieces and nephews. 

 I took my meds as required, read my Bible, ate pizza and soaked up love from and poured it back out on one sister and her kids.

 That was enough.
 I couldn’t fix anything, but I could do something new.

 I know you have all been there before. Maybe you are there right now.
 You can’t fix it. Not for the people you love. Not even for yourself.
 I promise you that God has something new, something different than you expected. Keep learning. Keep looking.
 You can’t fix it and that is ok.
 HE Can.

Samwise Gamgee, again

 I have been reading old blog postings the last couple of days. Re-learning the beautiful lessons that God taught me years ago and being so very glad that I wrote them down! 

When I wrote this I had only been having seizures about 2 years. We had never dreamed that I would someday have a service animal, but I am positive, looking back, that God gave Andy this revelation for my future need of my Samwise seizure dog.

(This is just a silly picture of him “dressed” as a super hero after a bath)

So much has changed in our physical world since I wrote this.
I suppose things have changed spiritually too - hopefully we have continued to grow and mature.
But what stood out to me is that this lesson stays the same. We need our supporter, our helper, always.

 Keep seeking that!


Tue, July 13, 2010
We watched Lord of the Rings, Return of the King today - just because. (Truthfully, I need to read the book. I am almost embarrassed to admit that I haven't!)

We had played outside in the morning, before the heat and humidity became unbearable. The boys had worked some puzzles, and later woke daddy up. (He's on late shift again, so sleeping til 12 is the way it works around here...) 

But it was 12, and they were bored, and a movie seemed an appropriate idea for a lazy summer afternoon. 

Daddy watched some of it with them. I got to sit for portions also. But my boys sat and soaked up every minute. 

I am pretty sure that every moment that I watched made me cry. The rallying cry for the men of Rohan to "ride for honor and freedom". The ghost warriors earning their ability to rest in peace after finally fighting as they had promised in life. Arwen stepping out from behind the banner to greet Aragorn, the new king and her true love. 

Near the end, when Frodo is hanging off the edge of the precipice and Sam entreats him not to let go, I commented to Andy and the boys that even though the evil of the ring had captured Frodo's mind and heart for a while, his friend had stood by him. We need our friends to back us up. 

Andy thought about the movie for a minute and said "Really, Sam is like the Holy Spirit". Throughout the movie, he is the quiet voice encouraging Frodo. He tries to help him make the right choices. He carries his food, and blankets. He uncovers his face so he can breathe again when the spider captures him. He even carries Frodo up the hill to the fire of Mount Doom. But -he can't carry the ring. Nor could he throw the ring away. Frodo had to do it. He had to make that decision himself. 

We have an encourager, who travels with us everywhere we go. Trips as simple as the grocery, or as distant as the moon. He gives us advice - what to say, how to respond, reminders to smile rather then scowl and to swallow rather then scream. However, we have to make the decision to follow that advise. We have to "throw the ring". 

The longer Frodo carried that ring, the heavier it got. It left marks around his neck, and began to scar his mind. Sin does the same thing to us. Especially a sin we favor. "It's not a big deal"... "No one really notices"... "It doesn't hurt anyone"... "It's not even mentioned in the Bible"... 

You know what I am talking about. Those little nudges that the Spirit says "stop", and the marks are your neck are getting bloodied from, but still, you continue to do. 

Listen to your Sam. Throw away the ring. 

I really didn't get on here planning to preach tonight. I just wanted to talk about how much I love my hubby's ability to find the Holy Spirit in an action movie. But, sometimes my fingers just type, and someone else is doing the talking - so, whoever needed to hear this, blessings. Throw the ring in, and feel the release from around your neck. 

And remember, not only do you have a friend in your Sam (the Holy Spirit), I promise that you have me too.

At home in My love

My friend Amanda texted this verse to me this morning. 

“Remain in My love.”

 How is it that friends know what we need before we do?

The MSG translation says “Make yourselves at home in My love.”

I have been at home in His love from before I have memories. 

This picture of my parents and I speaks to me so much right now.

 Look how young they are! They have so much still to learn, about Jesus, and each other, parenting and the body of Christ. 

 But they had already given me to Jesus.

I was already “abiding” in His love. (NKJV)

Hold onto that, please, while I change subjects. 

This is my new insulin pump. I got it, and a new CGM, on Wednesday. 

The potential for the teamwork is beautiful, and I am hopeful, but learning new tech while recovering from several other recent medical “issues” is complicated. I might be slightly overwhelmed.

And after a beautiful three weeks off, the seizures decided they were ready to come back early Thursday morning.  

My blood sugars have been ALL OVER the place, and this new machine is set to “tell me” every time. The seizures were more exhausting then usual, just because I am weak after a few weeks off. Mom was having trouble with her heart, again, and a relative of Andy’s passed away yesterday and my nephew was having some sort of allergic reaction, over and over, at 5 months old. 

I was discouraged. 

I was letting discouragement win. 

Then, I greeted this morning with that first verse in a text and very shortly after the verse shown on my insulin pump picture popped up in my reading.

“Haven’t you learned to trust (me) yet?”

I laughed.

I might have cried a little too. 

I think my Jesus might have to be frustrated with me. 

“Still no trust Bethany?”

Then I looked up at the mantle, at the sign Andy bought me just a few days ago, the reminder that I can do this...because I don’t actually have to do anything. 

Just let faith be bigger than fear. 

Remember that I can trust Him. 

Hold onto that promise that I am “at home” in His love. 

That is so simple. 

It is enough.

Stay on the boat?

The story of Jesus calling to his disciples, pulling them away from what they knew and what they were comfortable with, has always been exciting for me. The chance to go and follow Him is beautiful. Stirring. Inspiring. 

 I wanted to be James and John, Simon and Andrew, walking away from the boat that I already knew how to navigate. Learning something more. 

 But until yesterday I had never given Zebedee much thought. I respected him, for raising men that were willing to walk away and brave enough to try something scary, but truly, I hadn’t really given him much thought. 

 Yesterday this verse reached out and grabbed me when it was on the “highlight” list of a woman I respect a lot. It made me ask questions of myself. 

 Then, when it was a part of my “assigned” reading this morning, I figured it was time to really give it some attention. 

 When is it time to be Zebedee? 

 Sometimes, are we supposed to just stay behind, on the boat? 

 My boys are becoming men. At 16 and 14, their ability to make decisions isn’t fully mature and the strength of their convictions is not done growing. They have so much more to learn still, about Jesus, and people, and right vs wrong and the blurry place in the “middle” that confuses us all at some point. 

 But they are becoming men. 

 Right this minute I think I might be having a Zebedee moment. 

 The book of Mark doesn’t say if he argued with them, encouraged them, or simply sat quietly while they walked away. Did he want them to be brave? Did he know they were about to be part of something that changed the world?

 I have to assume, knowing the rest of the story, that he was a man who was seeking after God. What could he do other than hand those boys of his over to Jehovah?

 I have always wanted to be one of the disciples, but right this minute I just want to be strong enough to be Zebedee. 

 When are we called to stay on the boat? 

 I don’t know the answer to that question, but I want to learn. 

 I want my boys to be each a “man after God’s own heart”, like David. 

 Not perfect. None of us find perfection. 

 But aware of their calling, aware of their faults, aware of their Savior. 

 I will continue to pray over them, forever. I will offer them advice when they are willing to hear it, forever. But I cannot be what makes them. I cannot be what holds them. I cannot. 

 So I will seek to be as strong as Zebedee, and listen to my Savior when I am called to stay on the boat. 

 Join me?

Visible love

People are beautiful.

Truly. 

We have so many different personalities, opinions, passions and interests.

But visible, tangible love is just so beautiful.

The body of Christ here in Troy stepped up and poured love out on us my first several weeks home from the hospital. 

And it was sooooo hard for me! 

I want to BE the hands and feet. I don’t want to need them!

Oh, the beautiful things God teaches you, and the beautiful people HE uses to help you learn. 

I was struggling. Obviously, my body really was fairly messed up the first several days. 

I needed help...whether I wanted to accept it or not.

But the last two days I think that, perhaps, I didn’t really NEED it any more. 

I could make something to eat. 

We could eat frozen, or fast food, or make do with sandwiches. 

What I did NEED though, was the amazing peace that comes from love poured out over you. 

I was “down”, feeling useless and without purpose when I was reminded that I am still serving Jesus.

My words could be filled with His words. 

My hands weren’t very capable, but that didn’t make me useless. 

Thank you, amazing people who poured love out on me, and amazing people who asked me for love. I needed you both! 

Tomorrow is the WADA. We will hopefully learn enough to answer some questions about surgery. 

But, even if we don’t learn enough still, I have love pouring over me, and I have love to give back to others. 

That is enough. 

Now, go out there and pour love out, in whatever way God had asked you to share it. 

Be blessed my friends!