Cowboy Spurs

Today I remember a little blondie, who could always be found cowboyed up from head to toe. He had the brightest blue eyes, and could be spotted sporting a Kool-Aid moustache smile. Our Clay - he would have been eleven years old today. Seems strange, almost like time should have somehow stood still. In many ways, it has.

Our family will gather together in celebration today, with pizza, Sunny-D and mint chip ice cream. Those were Clay's favorites. The hearts who knew and loved Clay best will pause, if only for a moment, and remember what it was like when the world still seemed safe. There was a time when something as awful as losing a child was what happened to other people. Not us.

We love you Clay, today and always. Our balloons will rise as a tribute. Your life mattered to us, and it always will. We choose to still believe in miracles, knowing that healing meant heaven for you.

This day we lift our eyes to the sky, trusting that the blue balloon will in fact reach heaven . . . bursting only with the touch of a cowboy's spurs.

Ties That Bind

I wasn't going to post today . . . I have much to tell, but my comfortable bed is calling. Inspiration cried out and beat tiredness, as my heart welled with a gratefulness for the God-sized connections that have been created in the blog world.

Checking in on friends this afternoon, not through a meeting at Starbucks nor a walk through the park. I would venture to say that I never dropped a greeting card, nor did I pick up the phone. But as my eyes fell on fresh posts, I joined with friends in a deep and meaningful way - feeling connected and a part of something so much bigger than myself.

Sure, this blogging thing might prove to be just another trend - here today, gone tomorrow. But what this girl discovered through a click here and another there, is a peek into the life of somebody else who has witnessed God.

Whether through the tells of a vacation, or an update of the latest family fury - God's presence is so powerfully magnified when we tell our stories. Fellow bloggers . . . keep telling, be vulnerable, stay real and record what you can see.

For it is in the twinkling moments of life that God is witnessed. And every account recorded brings hope to all who see.

Simplicity

Nothing complicated today. I've chosen to set the swirl of emotions aside, and basque in the beauty of simplicity.

Putting my kids to bed tonight took a little bit longer than usual. Grateful for every hug, every smile. I found myself chuckling inside about the twenty questions after the last kiss . . . oh, and then the drink of water.

I will be down for the next week or so - the surgery fairy will be paying me a visit. That was kind of a silly thing to say. But when the joy of the Lord has gotten a hold of your heart, being silly becomes second nature. I find great freedom in being my silly self.

As I face the uncertainty of things, the pain and fatigue which is inevitable - I will not be afraid.

Like these little white flowers, I will turn my face toward the sun . . . and wait with songs of sparkling praise.

Common Ground

I sat in silence this morning, wishing the minutes would move faster. The large clock on the wall indicated that it had been exactly three minutes since they took Makayla back. Tick, tick, tick . . . I dried my tears, closed my eyes and began praying.

She was a woman to be admired, one of beauty and grace. She entered the office with her teenage son. I didn't notice them right away. My own thoughts kept me from paying any attention. Being taken back to sixth grade, Men at Work played over the loud speaker. "Who can it be now . . . " I rustled in my purse for a tablet of paper. Lists needed to be made - plans for the week ahead. One item was written, and then the next until it was complete.

By now she was sitting to my left, and after handing her son a ski magazine, she began thumbing through one of her own. Dressed very well, hair done up, make-up soft and professional. I wondered, like I often do, what this family was like. What was their morning like on the way in to see the oral surgeon? Was her son having a tooth pulled just like my little girl?

Moments later, her 6ft 150 lb son was called by the nurse. As the door closed behind him, I ignored my impulse to keep to myself. Something bonded us together, and I couldn't miss the chance to say so.

I don't remember exactly what I said to her. It has something to do with the fact that no matter how old they are, that doesn't change the delicate heart of a mother. Her serious demeanor melted as our eyes met. She felt understood. And so did I.

There we sat, powerless to what was going on behind closed doors. They had our children, preparing to inflict pain - all for the betterment of dental hygiene. There we sat, poised and surrendered. Doing all that we could to help our kids through some of their own hurdles, and leaving the rest to God.

I never did get her name. I'm not sure how her son is feeling after having four impacted wisdom teeth pulled. I can't help but to smile, knowing that she is probably getting just as much joy as I am through bowls of ice cream and jello.

This afternoon, my lil' punkin' is doing just fine. From one stranger to another, one mother to another - I pray that hers is too.

Surrender

As I awoke this morning, a nagging thought brought me out of warm covers
and safe dreams. I began to think about my upcoming surgery, and some of the other loose ends in my life. Fear began welling up. And as the day wore on, it reared it's ugly head more times that I could count.

"Surrender" was God's remedy, and the lesson for this beautiful Wednesday. Not feeling much like myself today, things were a bit rocky and bouncy. I can't say that I passed this particular test with flying colors, but I held on to the concept with every ounce of strength. It was something that I had to apply - again and again. A dash here and a pinch there - all of which required a new level of selflessness and trust.

I've always considered myself one of God's most surrendered hearts. If it was about trying hard enough, I would be doing pretty well . . . but I'm learning that trying is not what God requires. It is the end of trying - the end of myself that God's grace works best.

Realizing that I cannot change on my own has been half the battle. This tired heart is not in much of a mood for digging in my heals. So instead I choose to rest, while waving the white flag in surrender.

My surgery, and the hundreds of other mountains -- I can't do this alone, "God, I need You desperately!" I renounce any attempt to control my circumstances, and I choose to look up where clouds of radiant white, soften the blows of this world.

There is nothing quite like being held by God - while navigating through the eye of a storm.

To the One who holds it all . . . I surrender ALL.

Tribute to Tyler

I have a beautiful friend, with a beautiful heart. Today was supposed to be the day her baby would be born. But something horrible happened, taking baby Tyler away.

We all have them - that thing in life that just doesn't make any sense. It makes functioning difficult, and poses the big question into the vastness of the universe. The question of, "Why?"

I don't know why God would allow such pain. I can't say that I understand the reason . . .

I write this morning not to share some great jewel of wisdom. I won't try and tell you that my friend hasn't been through hell, because she has. But what I will say is how proud I am of her.

Why do I admire her so much? Because she moves and breathes and trusts God - anyway. She has a smile on her face. She spends her time looking to bless others. She has not allowed the grief to swallow up what is still good.

Built to be a mother from head to toe, she is truly a hero to me. I would only hope to face tragedy with as much grace as she.

Tyler James, we remember you today. Your mom . . . she's an angel.

Challenge

Back a few Sundays ago, Pastor Dave encouraged us to stand and face our Giants. With a determined heart, and a pocket full of stones, I took my stand. My giant? F-E-A-R

"What if you weren't afraid?"

I've tossed this idea around since last week sometime, after entering a pact with a good friend of mine. Today she sent a challenge my way. It wasn't an arm wrestling kind of thing, nor did I feel threatened by any kind of brain twister. If nothing else, I felt called to rise to a newer and safer place - a place of provision and promise.

My battle with fear. If you've stuck with my posts for any length of time, you have probably been able to trace a pattern. Some days will be sprinkled with a little less than sunshine, while others mirror uncertainty. Wondering too much about this, worrying a bit about that. All of it being something that has not come from God at all. My God wouldn't be recognized in such hum drum. I serve a God who makes all things new.

This is the challenge: To keep each other accountable when fears arise, so that we can pray and encourage one another. Okay, sounds simple enough. So as I began my work day this morning, a familiar dark monster lurked more often than I have ever realized. Regular everyday happenings were triggering some pretty unusual responses. One phone call had me expecting the worst, while another brought thoughts of terrible tragedy - all of which was made up in my head. This exercise has made me realize just how often I entertain these kinds of thoughts. I am tempted to fear just how often!

What a great exercise. I'm sure that I will have sore muscles in the morning, but beyond the pull and strain of implementing God's Truth, I will have a faith stronger and true. If your eyes happen to land here, I send the same challenge in your direction. Do you find yourself fearful now and then? Do you wrestle with exaggerated imaginations that take you down a path of darkness and defeat? You don't have to go it alone.

Find somebody to keep you accountable - a friend who will help you out of that ditch. Some walls were not meant to be scaled alone. Two is better than one -- twice the amount of stones, twice the power behind them.

And when victory is shared, so much greater the return.