A heavenly Jesus Loves Me

On October 15, my wonderful Grandma went to be with the Lord. She was 100 years old.

There are so many things about her I never want to forget:
the way she clasped her hands, dropped her jaw, and exclaimed "oh Susan" every time she saw me;
her sweet, humble apologies for the quiet but pesky cough that she never could get rid of (and that truly never bothered anyone but her);
the fact that at 95 she was still making us lunch when we came to visit -- usually ham rolls, potato chips, Sprite, and chocolate chip cookies;
her remarkably consistent way of sending birthday cards to her grandkids and then great-grandkids;
her Valentines cards with a five-dollar-bill inside, and when I called to thank her, she always laughed and said she knew five dollars wouldn't buy much these days, but I should go buy a hamburger or something;
the amazing grandparents' journal that she hand-wrote four times for each of her grandchildren, including pictures from when she was a child;
how special she made me feel to be her only granddaughter;
her ability to understand technology even at 100 years old: we FaceTimed on many occasions so she could see the kids;
the split-level house on Lincolnwood Drive that she and Grandpa lived in before Greenspring;
shopping with mom every year for their Christmas presents: a new sweater for Grandma and a flannel shirt for Grandpa;
their after-Christmas visits to Raleigh and how Grandma brought a tin of her forgotten cookies every time. She knew how much I liked those cookies, so one year she brought me my own tin of them, and I literally put it under my bed so that I--and only I--could enjoy every last crumb. Oh to have another one of those cookies.

I've always known I was special to still have living grandparents in my 30s. I've always felt proud of my grandparents' marriage and legacy. Recently it hit me afresh how fortunate I was to still have a mother figure on this earth, having lost my mother five years ago and my other grandmother many years before that. Now that Grandma is gone, I feel a deep, true sense of mother-less-ness, an island that thankfully won't always be my home, but while I'm here, it stings with lonely sadness.

She was wonderful in every way. Adorable even in a hospital bed. Drew and I got to see her two weeks before she died. The stroke had stolen her capacity for speech, and she was frail and mostly asleep in that giant hospital bed. But when each of us leaned down near her face and spoke to her, she opened her eyes, reached for our face, and coo-ed the most wonderful sounding coo, an internal groan that spoke of her love for us even more than if she had used words. I'm pretty sure Grandpa got the loudest coo, and rightfully so. Before we left her room, Uncle Bill asked if she wanted us to sing Jesus Loves Me again. She nodded, and we gathered in a circle around her bed, holding hands, and singing. All the while, Grandma directed us like a choir director with her pointer finger, perfectly on beat. I'll never sing that song the same again.

I am happy she had such a wonderful, long and healthy life. In fact, for the past two days, I've been telling myself that I can't be sad because of it. There's not the often-accompanying injustice to Grandma's death that there are to so many other deaths that happen either too soon or with too much suffering. She was 100. She was loved and she loved well. She wasn't too plagued by the common failures of her flesh as she aged. Yes, in this life she fared very well. I always think of the many Bible verses that link obedience to God with a long satisfying life. It's not a rule or a promise, but it was true for Grandma.

But even the most "appropriate" death feels anything but appropriate when it happens. Today, I mourn death's power to separate us from our loved ones--even if it is (thankfully) just temporary. I mourn the loss of my wonderful Grandma, because even 100 years wasn't long enough.

At her 100th birthday party in August

Grandma and me

The Lincolnwood house

The great wait

A friend recently shared a quote with me that I keep thinking about: "The need is your call."

Since March, Ryan and I have been attending meetings and filling out paperwork for Christian Adoption Services, the agency we're using to adopt our third child.

Our reasons for adopting are many, and typical of me at least, they might sound more practical than revolutionary.

First and foremost, we believe Scripture and what we know about Jesus affirms our decision to adopt.

Jesus loves children. Jesus tells us to love children and to care for orphans. Jesus has given the Thomsens more than we need, with the intent that we share with those in need.

Since March, I've also learned that when everything in your life is bent toward something--your resources, your time, your desires, your faith, Scripture, your husband--it's unnatural to go the other direction. So that's where we find ourselves: taking the next, natural step on this narrow path of faith we call life. (That's not to mention a close friend who is blazing the trail with the same adoption agency and has proved invaluable to me, five-year-old Will who prays for a baby brother or sister, and Christian friends who affirm that adoption seems right for us.)

Last Wednesday, we turned in the last of the paperwork and officially embarked on this very strange pregnancy otherwise known as adoption. A pregnancy that, for us, could last a week or nine months or longer. Instead of birth pains, we'll have waiting pains. Instead of my water breaking, we're going to get a phone call.

If you're reading this, we probably know each other, and that gives you permission to remind me later of the things I'm about to say: When I'm not lassoing my thoughts as I should, I dream up situations that worry me. Of course I do. What if I don't bond with the baby? What if the baby has an illness? What if the birth mom changes her mind? What if the birth father comes around after the fact? Basically, What if it's not easy? 

Here's what you can repeat to me later in a text or email or straight to my face: I have eternity to be comfortable. I can reserve convenience for later. For now, I'm trusting I'll feel the Lord's pleasure during the newborn baby days and during the identity-crisis teenage days, and during every day of parenting three children in between. And I'm also trusting and hoping that none of you have to get in my face later because our new baby will in fact be a great fit in our family--in ways I've thought to pray about and ways I haven't.

Our church just finished a sermon series on sharing our faith. I, like most other Christians I know, struggle with following Christ's command to make disciples of the nations. While it's not our only motivation to adopt, Ryan and I are excited about the opportunities that adoption will afford us to share the gospel with people in the grocery line, at the gym, and on the playground. The simple truth is that we are adopted, too.

And that's really the beauty of it all. Jesus inherited a disease-ridden, wayward child when He adopted me. I hope recognition of this and gratitude for it will help me as we embark on this minuscule model of a much greater reality.

And then of course there's the sentiment I expressed at the beginning of this post: Need. If there are babies that need loving families, who's going to do it if we don't?

Practical? Maybe.

But when practicality lines up with Scripture lines up with desire lines up with circumstance, there's no way to go but forward.

And so for now, we wait.

And jump when the phone rings.

Lasting good

Last week, Will turned four and threw his pacy in the pond in our backyard. Today, I moved too-small clothes out of both boys' drawers and replaced them with the next size up. John started Mother's Morning Out at BayLeaf, and Will now goes to preschool three days a week. Will's adorable vocabulary now sounds more like adult vocabulary: "I didn't realize that, Mom." "Actually, I'd like milk instead." And his little brain is thinking bigger stuff, too: "Why do leaves swirl when they fall off the tree?" "What do kangaroos eat?" "If a tree burns down, how will the squirrels find a new home?" And, these days, John does more than grunt and scream for what he wants. He points and he nods and he says "hot" and "treat" like they're going out of style.

Today, as I was folding John's 12-month clothes to put them in the bag for the attic, I got to thinking: Why does change, particularly my kids growing up, carry with it such a sting of sadness? It's actually totally impractical to feel sad about them growing up because I obviously would never want the alternative. So why do I feel sad?

For a while now, I've noticed when I give Will a treat, he usually always asks: "Will you get more of these for us?" Or when we go somewhere fun, "Can we come back here?" His concern about the lasting nature of his enjoyment always strikes me. He can't enjoy the present until he knows it's going to last. Once I nod, he happily carries on.

We all want good things to last.

Mom confession: I haven't corrected Will when he asks if I'll "do him a favorite (favor)," or if I'll let him push that "bunt (button)," or if he can ride the "ebelator" at the mall.

I want those little bits of adorable goodness to last as long as they can.

Of course I hope and trust the next phase will be as good as this one, but like all things future on this earth, that's unknown.

Just like Will with a bag of M&Ms, at every good phase of my life, I want to be assured. "Lord, can we do this again? Can this goodness last?"

Truth is, Lord willing, my kids are going to grow -- past toddler-sized clothes, mispronounced words, sloshing in mud puddles, obsessions with garbage trucks, even past snuggles and kisses. But thanks be to a gracious God who reminds me today that it's not them I should be clinging to for lasting, unchanging goodness in my life. That's only going to come from Him. The One who never changes. The One whose goodness is truly eternal. To look for it elsewhere will definitely leave me sad, at best.

I pray He'll write these baby phases on my heart in permanent marker, I pray the next phase will bring as much happiness and adorableness as this one. And I pray that the God who never changes will give me contentment and joy with every changing phase of my (and my kids') lives.

(And p.s., For those of you reading this who are thinking, "Man, she just needs to have another baby," -- because I know someone is thinking that -- I said I wanted to stay here. Not go back there. Smile, smile, wink, wink. Love ya, mean it.)

Who wouldn't want to freeze this adorableness:

That is MY kitchen from when I was a kid. Perfect condition for 30 years.
No lie: Will shattered one of the cabinets within 30 minutes. See below.

#boys

Practicing to be in Uncle Derek's wedding

Will's first day of preschool. 3-year-old class.

John's first day of Mother's Morning Out.

Throwing pacy in the pond b/c 4 year olds don't have pacys.
Lord, help us.

Honestly, I don't know why more people don't think to wear
goggles in the bath.

John's first haircut. June 2016

Just a typical afternoon at the Thomsen house

Loving easy

I love easy.

No, really. I really love easy.

A pack of nabs, wrinkle-free clothes, crock pots, auto-draft, evites.

And sleeping in. Oh, and staying home. And letting somebody else. You know what I mean. Just letting somebody else.

Who's with me?

About three months ago, my love affair with easy took a downturn. Don't get me wrong. I'm still infatuated with easy. Daily I fight for easy.

But I've realized therein is my problem.

Precious baby John joined the Thomsen ranks behind two-year-old brother Will back in April, and easy took a vacation. A long one. In fact, I'm not sure if easy is coming back.

Now again, let me disclaim this entire post: If it sounds like complaining, forgive me. I don't intend it to. If it sounds ungrateful, or selfish, or whatever the adjective is, go ahead and think it. If it sounds like true confessions of a woman whose profession (motherhood) is challenging her beyond her wildest imagination, then hear me out. We're tracking.

We took a three-day family vacation to Hilton Head this week. After crawling back up into the front seat at midnight on the drive home from consoling John in the inferno, straight-jacket, torture-chair contraption otherwise known as a car seat (his words, not mine), I bemoaned to Ryan:

I don't think I'm cut out for newborns. I do everything I know to do. I've switched formulas five times, I've put the pacy back a thousand, I've bounced, I've rocked, I've walked, I've swayed, I've worn, I've strolled, I've burped, I've swaddled, I've vacuumed, I've darkened, I've medicated, I've read, I've literally typed "Does it get easier?" into Google, I've cried, I've thrown my hands up. Meanwhile, friends on Facebook are posting their home made dinner menus for the week, pictures of their kids reading during home school and other pictures of their newborns napping in strollers at the pool. (Babies do that?)

Does anyone else have this problem but me? 

Newborns are unpredictable. I don't like unpredictable. Newborns are just impossible to figure out!

Newborns aren't easy. 

In his usual cool, unintentionally insightful way, Ryan responded, "But don't you like a challenge?"

I mulled over his comment the rest of the drive home.

The  next day (the day after vacation, which by the way, I hereby declare to be Dooms Day), Will put grass in the lawnmower's gas tank, John cried, Will spilled his apple juice (three times?), John cried, Will pooped and stuck his hand in his diaper, John cried, Will climbed out of his crib, onto the window sill, and broke the blinds in his bedroom when he was supposed to be napping. And John cried.

Later that night, I crawled into my bed, got out my Bible (was that dust on it?), and joined John in his favorite past time.

I only had a few minutes, but in the quiet, the sweet Holy Spirit met with me:

Stop loving easy.

Stop craving comfort. Stop waiting for each day to "get better." Stop complaining about the job being hard. (And stop being surprised when it is.) Stop wondering when it will end. Stop striving for convenience.

 Work hard, with love and gratitude, and stop loving easy.

It was like I got hit in the head with a two by four, except much better. The Holy Spirit enlightened my heart to a sweet reality. I was convicted (still am), but it felt wonderful. 

Ending my love affair with easy means I get to begin one with rewarding. I get to meet strength and perseverance coming from a place I know isn't me. 

The day after the day after vacation (Redemption Day), John seemed to cry a little less. Or maybe it was just because I quit expecting him not to. 

Perspective changes everything.

By the power of the One who never once loved easy (the Cross, hello), I'm putting an end to my love affair. May I love rewarding, may I love persevering, may I love His presence at work in me, but may I never settle for loving easy again.

They're worth it.

What the Lord bestows

I stood in front of the receptionist desk and tried hard to think about what she was asking:

"Can you come in on July 7?"

My mind was elsewhere, trying to sort out the conversation Ryan and I had just had with the doctor at the Duke Fertility Clinic. Five failed rounds of fertility treatments, and he said it was time to move on to a new course of action.

Percentages, multiples, thin lining, endometriosis, maternal age, insurance, cost...

How did I get here, and how do I make it stop?

I fumbled in my purse for my phone to look up July 7 on the calendar, but before I could get to that screen, I saw a text from a friend. She knew about our infertility struggles but didn't know I had an appointment that day. (I just love when the Lord does that.) The text said:

"Read this the other day and thought about you:
'For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor. No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly' Psalm 84:11."

A crack of light disrupted my darkness, right there in front of the receptionist.

It was as if Jesus Himself walked up to me, leaned in, and whispered in my ear.

"Remember I am FOR you, Susan. I am FOR you in this."

"Yes, July 7th. I'll be here," I said

*****************

If I had it my way, I'd have been pregnant with number two in January of this year.

As is often the case, the Lord had other plans. Other plans which included leading Bible study at church and starting back to work at IBM.

Yes, in the midst of our longing and struggling and striving for another baby (and if I'm honest, my overall attitude of discontentment), the Lord in fact answered my prayers for something new. 

******************

I was at the lake with Allison this summer when I got the text (another one). I pushed the phone back in my pocket and ran to put sunscreen on Will.
It's too soon. I'm not ready. This is not what I was praying for.
The lake, three small kids, dinners, clean up, nap times, and play kept me occupied until I got home, reopened the text, and shared with Ryan.

"Denise texted me and said she has a part-time position back at IBM if I'm interested. I'm not interested, right?"
"Let's just see what the details are, " was his response.

Stability. Practicality. I love that man for both.

Long story short,  I accepted the job at the end of July. (And now finally, a legitimate reason why I've neglected this poor blog. Apparently, a girl can't simultaneously have a job and a blog.)

My motivation for accepting the job was simply this: How can I feel discontent, pray for something new, and then turn it down because it's not wrapped in a baby blanket like I hoped?

I couldn't.

And by the grace of God, I didn't. 

"A man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps" (Proverbs 16:9).

I've now been working part-time from home for two and a half months. And I've had the privilege of leading a group of ladies in Bible study on Tuesday mornings for one and a half.

The July 7 meeting at the fertility clinic came and went, and the doctor recommended a month off of treatment before climbing the next rung. I actually welcomed the time off. I pushed the box of medicine I'd received in the mail to the back of my fridge and concealed it with a bottle of ketchup and bag of Oreos. For one month, we weren't going to live in that world.

Well, one month of not living in that world led to two and now three.

All because this happened:

I always say I'm impossible to surprise. I'm always thinking, always preparing, always trying to set up my life to be as predictable as possible. In one sense, the world of infertility actually kind of fit into that mentality. I'd take a drug, get pregnant, and know the exact day and time it happened.

I'm happy to report: Not. this. time. No drugs. No expectations. Total surprise.

The Lord, in His abundant kindness, bestowed favor and honor. I don't know why, because we certainly don't deserve it. I pray hard that He'll do the same for people dear to me who are still walking that dim road, waiting for their favor and honor.

Today, we give Him heartfelt praise for our news.

(Baby is due April 7.)

The road to the farm

When I started this blog, I thought I'd write about our journey with the new property and record Will's milestones.

It's safe to say I've accomplished half of my goal.

In fairness, the lack of updates on the property is due to ... well, lack of updates on the property.

The bank offered us better financing on a construction loan if we owned the property a year before we applied. May 8 was our one-year anniversary with the "farm," as we've started calling it (sounds better than the property).

As of a few weeks ago, we now have a construction loan, and we have one more box to check before the builder can break ground.

We've had some initial meetings with the builder, and after each one, our excitement grows. We're thrilled to be stewards of this land and incredulous that we'll actually live there one day.

But, that's not to say we haven't been challenged over this last year with thoughts like:
Did we do the right thing?
In ten years, will this turn out to be the good investment we thought it was?
Did the Lord really lead us here?

And those questions call for us to start leaving a trail, which is the purpose of this post.

In Joshua 4, the Lord tells the Israelites to set up stones as remembrances after experiencing the Lord's faithfulness in crossing the Jordan. The people of Israel and their children could come back to that place, remember what the Lord had done, assure themselves that He had done it, and worship Him for acting on their behalf.

Much in the same way, we want to erect some stones of remembrance about how we became the stewards of this land.

I said in an earlier post that Ryan first became aware of the land when he was looking on a map to see the location of a friend's new house. (In other words, we weren't looking!) Add Ryan's innate curiosity to a large plot of land for sale inside Wake County, and you've got the ingredients for a major investigation (and little did we know at the time, eventually a purchase!).

A week before Ryan launched his investigation on the land, he met Janet at one of his Edward Jones seminars. Janet was a realtor with an office two doors down from Ryan's. Janet agreed to join Ryan on his rabbit trail. If ever there was someone with negotiation skills and determination parallel to Ryan's it was Janet.

Around the same time Ryan met Janet, he also met Alois, the son of one of his clients, who just happened to be a surveyor. Alois coached Ryan on which questions to ask and ensured he did his due diligence before buying. The land purchase would not have happened were it not for Alois.

We got another big confirmation when Ryan's uncle Bart came in town from California to watch his son play a baseball game at UNC. Ryan has always admired Bart, for his faith and for his savvy in the real estate world. Bart owns several mobile home parks in California and is extremely knowledgeable about real estate investments. Not to mention, the only other time Bart was in Raleigh was for our wedding six years ago. The fact that Ryan was able to show the land to Bart, talk through the details, and get Bart's opinion (and nod of approval) was invaluable to us, and we counted it as a huge confirmation.

The lot we bought is actually two lots, one is 9.1 acres and the other is 1.1 acre. We later learned what a sovereign divide that was -- the bank was willing to offer us financing on a personal residence, but only up to 10 acres (not 10.2). That would be sovereign enough, but then we were able to negotiate a lower price on the smaller lot, which, after the appraisal, meant we had enough equity to use as a down payment on building the house.

(And a note on the appraisal: Tough lending requirements from 2008 allowed us to get a generous appraisal because the existing house on the property checked so many boxes (even though in reality it was a dump). The appraiser had to go by the grid and not his subjective opinion, which greatly worked out in our favor!)

So far, the story has been all about Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. I'll be honest and say that's an accurate portrayal. The whole time this was going on, I was at home, telling Ryan he was crazy, there was no way we could afford this, he was wasting his time, and on and on. It ain't pretty, but it's true.

I was worried about the money, yes. I was also worried about a life outside of a neighborhood. Growing up, I rode bikes and played kickball with the neighborhood kids. When mom got sick, our neighbors (along with the church) brought meal after meal to us for years. When mom got to the point of being bedridden, our closest neighbors came by for a "tea party" with her every Tuesday afternoon. This, to me, is life. Or, healthy life I should say. As much of an introvert as I am, I know it's not wise to live apart from others. Would buying this property do that to us?

Ryan came home from one of his "explorations" one afternoon and told me he had driven through the neighborhood that backs up to the property. He had even knocked on doors, and he told me he had some great news. The house closest to the property (as in you can see it clearly from the driveway) is owned by a young couple with a three-year old little girl and a little boy on the way.

Neighbors. Our same age and stage.

I no longer had the neighborhood rebuttal at my defense.

When setting up stones of remembrance, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention prayer. What better trail to leave in the woods than prayer? I could never say we prayed as much as we should have ("pray without ceasing" the Bible says), but we did pray: about whether we should be doing this, about the Lord sovereignly knocking down obstacles in our path, about Him helping us keep a loose grasp on things when we started to get excited, about Him ultimately doing His will, not ours.

In the end, I have to credit prayer and Ryan's leadership as the reasons I finally came around.

Wouldn't you know, a month after we closed, I was informed that I was going to be laid off. Several friends were worried: But you just bought this land! Praise the Lord, we had no reason to panic. Ryan knew of my dream to stay at home with Will, and all along, we had run the numbers based on his paycheck, minus mine.

Sovereign God.

The last stone I'll lay down is this:

Everyone who knows Will knows that he's an explorer. He's never still and hates to be confined. He loves being outside, in a large area where he is free to wander. Every day his personality is an assurance to me that the kind and loving Lord has given us this land, if for no other reason than that it is perfect for Will.

If we build a house, like we are planning to do, and we live on and enjoy the land for years, we'll praise the Lord.
If He takes it from us tomorrow, and we never get to live there, we trust in His Spirit that we'll still praise Him and be thankful for the journey this last year has been.

For now, we're laying down these stones of remembrance on the road to the farm and praying that in the future, they'll invoke in our hearts the assurance and gratitude for which we laid them down.

The road to the farm

(*Thanks to Brain Frost's sermon years ago about setting up stones of remembrance. I've obviously never forgotten it.)

Look at the birds

[I wrote this for my Women's group at church.]

"Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them." Matt 6:26

"As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease." Genesis 8:22

I take my son for a walk every day the temperate is above 50 degrees. We see cars and trucks and flowers and birds. We always see birds. My son points his little, almost-two-year-old finger up in the sky at those soaring, chirping creatures and exclaims: "birr, birr!"

And I reply: "That's right, Will. Birds! Look at them! You know, if God cares for the birds, how much more does He care for us!?"

It rolls off my tongue, like the memory verse I recited in Sunday school growing up: "Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them" (Matt. 6:26).

But it wasn't until recently that God's care for even the birds really reached my heart.

When I'm not pointing out trucks or acknowledging the dog that Will and I just strolled past on our walk, I use the time to think: I think about the godly woman I know with breast cancer who just can't seem to catch a break. I think about our dear friends whose son has undergone several surgeries and hospital procedures and he's not even two. I think about my own mother, whose 16-year battle with brain cancer ended just over a year ago.

I think, and I grapple. I somehow feel the need to make myself okay with these situations, to see them and see God and not feel a conflict in my soul. God, are you really faithful? Are your promises really true?

And then a bird flies overhead.

"Look at the birds," He whispers.

Looking at the birds brings me back to the basics, those things I too often take for granted that signify God's unchanging faithfulness: the dawning of the sun each day, the turning of the seasons, the birds that my son and I will undoubtedly see every time we go for a walk.

I may not "come to terms" with every difficult situation my loved ones and I face here in the flesh. 

But my gracious God has given me some marvelous assurances of His steadfast faithfulness, even when my situation at hand is hard to understand.

He is faithful.

If my soul is ever tempted to doubt it, may He graciously lift my eyes toward the sky, to see the sun by morning and the moon by night and to consider for a moment those soaring, worryless creatures that He lovingly sustains.

Whether enjoying an afternoon walk with my two year old, or grappling with the sickness, pain, and death of this life, may I never forget to look up and do as Christ said.

May I always remember to look at the birds.

World's hardest job

When I used to hear people say that stay-at-home moms had the hardest job in the world, I thought it was a nice and polite thing to say about those lucky people who set their own schedules, had no real responsibilities, and could be found at Chick-fil-a, Homegoods, or Target at 2pm on a Tuesday. I used to think stay-at-home moms needed the confidence boost, and therefore people had learned to tell them their job was the hardest in the world.

If I could slap myself for the way I used to think, believe me, I would.

Let's just say my thoughts have changed since joining the ranks of stay-at-home mom-dom.

I can say with experience that being a stay-at-home mom is the hardest job in the world. A demanding, unpredictable (albeit cute) boss sets your schedule, you bear the enormous responsibility of another life, and if you go to Target at 2pm on a Tuesday it is because you've exhausted your bag of 1001 tricks at home and the walls are truly about to cave in.

I don't write this post because I need the confidence boost of someone else thinking I work hard. In fact, this post is not headed where you probably think.

I can explain my absence from this blog over the past several weeks: I've just been super busy at work.

Add to that my usual cycle of insomnia that comes and goes as it chooses, and you've got a girl who's been focused on one thing lately: surviving.

This is an honest post, coming from an honest place. And I'll go ahead and share the moral of the story: The Lord shows up when we're weak.

Wait for Him.

Several weeks ago, lifting the toothbrush in the morning felt like more responsibility than I could bear. The days dragged, and the black hole just kept getting deeper and blacker.

Rescue me, Lord. Get me out of this cycle. Give me peace. Give me something! Just rescue me!

Several weeks ago, a friend from church moved into the apartments across the street from my house while she and her husband (and one-year-old twin girls) search for a house.

Let me say that again: Several weeks ago, a friend.

I've thought of a lot of ways the Lord could answer my prayers, but sending a friend to live on my same street didn't cross my mind.

"Will just woke up. Can you walk?"
"Want to bring lunch over to my house today?"
"How about the playground this afternoon?"
"We've got to get out of the house. Can we come over?"

I've learned that black holes dry up in the presence of friendship.

Some of my friendships are 30 years old and others are just in their infancy, but the Lord has provided burden-carriers for me my whole life. And in my most recent trip down Black Hole Lane, He used other stay-at-home-mom friends to redirect me, even if they thought we were just taking our babies for a stroll.

You all know who you are.

The Lord says "weeping may remain for a night, but joy comes in the morning."

Who knew my joy in the morning would be in the form of a friend down the street?

I am humbled and thankful for His provision in my weakness.

When we traverse this road together, the world's hardest job certainly feels a little less hard.

Will and his twin girlfriends (he's the one not looking at the camera, of course!)

Tribute from a friend

Our dear family friend Gwen Whiteman wrote a devotional for her church for Lent, and it's about Mom. It is so precious, I asked her if I could share it here.

Thank you for writing this, Gwen. It is such a tribute to Mom, and it makes me so proud to be her daughter.

Devotional for Friday, April 11, 2014 by Gwen Whiteman

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." Luke 10:27

Anne was the first person to greet our family when we moved to our neighborhood 25 years ago. She quickly organized a coffee for me so that I could meet others. Then she invited me to an in-home Bible study where half a dozen women studied the letters of Paul under her guidance. When a neighbor was involved in an automobile accident that left her comatose, it was Anne who organized the provision of a year's worth of meals to sustain a grieving husband and two daughters. And it was Anne who comforted all of us when another neighbor family lost a precious child.

She never asked for a lot of credit. She just cared for others in simple ways. She listened. She made people laugh. She was there every Christmas Eve with a plate of cookies and there to water plants, pick up the paper, and feed a cat when families went on vacation.

My dear friend died on the winter solstice in 2012, after a courageous, fifteen-year battle with cancer. But Anne was always about new beginnings, for she was one of the Easter people. My memories of Anne instruct me that when we live our lives after the manner of Christ, we can bless the world in ways that are eternal.

Prayer: Dear God, thank you for friends who give us a vision of you through their generosity and loving kindness. Amen.

   

Gwen and Mom, 2007

Until Daniel

His speech was slurred, and he had a scar down the back middle of his head.

And he sat in front of me in 10th grade computer class.

If you polled my graduating class today and mentioned his name, I'm certain only a few people would recognize it.

His line on the roll said Daniel O'Neal.

His medical chart must have been a little more descriptive. Probably: 15-year-old male. Malignant brain tumor.

Daniel was a high schooler and a brain tumor patient, but few people in school knew about the second part. While the rest of us struggled with algebra, Daniel secretly waged war against cancer.

Algebra never sounded so good.

Maybe I was drawn to Daniel because Mom had been diagnosed with brain cancer the previous year, and the Lord had already begun to exercise that particular sympathy bone in me. Or maybe it was just the Lord's sovereign will that my life come in contact with his. Whatever the case, I was drawn to him, and when I think of him now, I think of two things: the first time I remember the Lord answering prayer, and Mom.

It might take a couple of posts, but I'll explain.

****************

I finished my typing exercise, flipped around in my chair, and began thumbing through my new yearbook, waiting for the bell to ring. The Millbrook High School yearbooks were works of art -- huge and hard bound, with pages so new they stuck together and that fresh-off-the-print smell that was synonymous with the end of the school year.

Everyone got a yearbook. They weren't cheap, but still, I didn't have one friend who didn't buy one.

Well, until Daniel.

He saw me flipping through the pages and asked if he could look.

"Didn't you get one?"  I asked him.

"No, we don't have the money for that."

"Do you want one?"

"Yeah, of course."

Sympathy bone engaged.

I should note how timid I was in high school. I was just beginning to walk with the Lord, so I had moments of courage, but I was naturally shy, fearful, and easily intimidated.

Right behind cheerleaders, I envied the high school yearbook staff. They worked all year on this one highly anticipated product. They had one shot to make it good. I envied those people who could handle that pressure. And to top it off, Mrs. Taylor, the yearbook teacher, had quite a reputation. She was stern and she picked favorites.

I kept my distance.

Until Daniel gave me a reason to get close.

After that conversation with him in computer class, I remember asking the Lord to help me find a yearbook for Daniel. I knew it would probably mean talking to Mrs. Taylor, and, no surprise, she intimidated me.

At the sound of the final bell the next day, I walked to Mrs. Taylor's classroom and stepped inside. She was moving around the room, cleaning up, and talking over her shoulder to a football player member of the yearbook staff. She barely noticed me walk in.

I didn't waste any time. The moment I caught her gaze, I laid it out there, like dropping a heavy piece of luggage:

"Mrs. Taylor, I was wondering if you had an extra yearbook we could give to Daniel O'Neal. Do you know him?'

"What happened to his? Didn't he buy one?"

"No. He didn't buy one, but he wants one."

"I'm sorry, but we've made the final orders on those books. I don't have any extras."

"Okay, that's okay."

I started to walk out, disappointment overtaking my courage. Lord, don't you want Daniel to have a yearbook? How are we going to get him one? You want me to give him mine? Surely You don't want me to do that?

Lost in the silent conversation inside my head, I almost missed what happened next.

I realized Mrs. Taylor was still talking.

I turned back around.

"I do have this one book that I need to return because it's damaged. You want this one? Go, give this one to Daniel."

The joy of answered prayer sprung up in me like a bubbling fountain. I remember it because it was the first time I'd really felt it. The Lord came through!

"Oh, yes, that'll be fine. Thank you so much." I tried to temper the excitement in my voice for fear she'd think I was weird.

The book was "damaged" on one corner. Same thing would have happened after two days inside a book bag.

The next day, I found Daniel and gave him the book.

"This is for me?" he asked.

"Yep. It's yours." The bubbling fountain inside of me was still brimming over.

I got on the bus that day and smiled all the way home.

Daniel may have gotten a yearbook, but I got more than that.

Before the yearbook incident, I knew God answered prayer. I knew it from His Word and from stories other people told. But I didn't know it personally.

Not until Daniel did I know it for myself.

God answers prayer.

Thanks to Daniel for the invaluable lesson.

A sovereign I love you

I mentioned in my last post that Dad got a message from Mom on Saturday. It was an expression of God's extravagance toward us that we will never forget.

Here's the story in Dad's words, as he posted on his Facebook page on Dec. 22:

"One year ago yesterday, Anne went to be with the Lord. Yesterday, one year to the hour later, I had a minor chain saw accident. After returning from the ER, I was missing how Anne would dote on me whenever I was sick or injured.

While changing the dressing on my wound, I reached for one of several Ace bandages we had collected over the years. As I wrapped the bandage around my dressing, I saw, on the bandage, a piece of masking tape. On the tape, in Anne's crippled writing were the words, "I Love You! Anne".

Probably needless to say, I had a moment. Thank you Lord for revealing Your love and Anne's love for me with such perfect timing."

 

I dare say, Dad's favorite Christmas present this year.

 

Thank you, Lord.

 

Merry Christmas, all.

When your friends see it coming

I have to admit, prior to yesterday, I never really understood why the death anniversary of a loved one was such a difficult day. That sounds naïve, insensitive, and ridiculous, I know.

But now that yesterday is over, I get it. Some things you gotta learn by experience.

Somehow, a whole heck of a lot of my friends anticipated the difficulty of Mom's death anniversary on my behalf and showered me--truly showered me--with love.

A friend wrote on my Facebook wall yesterday morning: "I am specifically praying that you feel His sweet embrace all day today in a tangible way. That He would show you His extravagant love like you have never known." The Lord heard and answered her prayer all day.

I got cards and text messages and emails and Facebook posts like it was my birthday (far cry from it, but still).

I have to write about one particular gift I received because it symbolizes (along with everything else) the extravagant love my friend Abby prayed I'd experience. And it's unique (something I want to remember to do for someone else!), and it's shareable in this venue. But let me say: Every single word of encouragement I received regarding the significance of yesterday meant the world to me. Not one word or thought or gift or text was more cherished than another!

I want to remember these expressions of love for years to come.

The Lord is so faithful through His people.

So, mid-last week, I got a package from my friend Becca in the mail, and in marker on the front it said: Do not open until Dec. 20.

Then, the morning of the 20th, I got an email, with instructions for how to open the package. My dear friend had anticipated what a difficult day December 21st would be and so she sent me "24 items/ readings/listenings to help keep my spirits up at least the first minute of each hour."

I posted her whole email (with permission) at the bottom of this post. Here's a sampling of some of what she sent. The captions are from her email.

6am- Tea and Tissues 

9 am- flowers- one for you and one for you to take to the church for me.
- I have no idea what these will look like [when you get them].

10 am - more tea and you can open the M&Ms now and begin to eat them throughout the day
(or all in one sitting, I will not judge)

3pm- happy ornament from Georgie

4pm- Food and Wine Mag

5pm- Psalm 104: 15 "wine that gladdens the heart of woman, oil to maker her face shine,
and bread that sustains her heart" - wine glass (plastic so you can take it in the tub)

8pm- leg warmers-because everyone needs leg warmers

10pm- funny decoration for Will to laugh at- probably
broken because George couldn't stop bending the hat all around. 

Dec 22nd: 12am- A New Year - calendar of beaches.

 be calmed and soothed by our favorite place

2am- Luke 2:14 "Glory to God in the highest and on earth PEACE to men on whom his favor rests. "
and mint tea- just in case you cant sleep.

And that's not even everything. (I don't have pictures of the truly best parts: the Scripture verses and links to worship songs she sent in her email.)

Here's a pic of all the gifts:

I. Feel. Loved. And that's what you need one year to the day after your mama goes to Heaven. Thank you to every single one of my friends.

I have one more thing along these same lines to share tomorrow (or soon), and if you're on Facebook, you've already seen it. But the message Mom sent to Dad yesterday (yes, you read that right) must be recorded so that generations to come will know about it. Let me just say: God is extravagantly good.



*******************************************************
Here's Becca's whole email. If her awesomeness makes you want to read more about her (and I can't imagine it doesn't), here's her blog: http://southpasadventures.blogspot.com/

12/20:
Start by C/V this link and listen to this song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPI_DIqICP0
Find the card in the box and open it. 
Now read your card, followed by your poem while you listen:

Clear

Its been a year

You've shed many a tear

but have no fear

for to many, you are dear. 

I wish I were near

to share a beer, wipe your tear, lend an ear.

All I can do is pray, and try to steer

your thoughts in a brighter direction-

even cheer.

No one will ever love you the way she did and I will not begin to try, but I will do the best I know how and it starts here.

The next 24 hours might be the hardest in a while so I thought I would send you 24 items/ readings/listenings to help keep your spirits up at least the first minute of each hour.

 Its ok if they don't work.  But at least you know I care about, remember and respect the race you have run this year. 

Keep your chin up my love.

Becca

Now you can open the box.


If you wake earlier or later than 6:00 just open 6:00 am first and then follow with the others.  Of course, I will not care if you open them all at once or not at all on Saturday, its just my OCD kicking in here.  Do what you want with it :) Some hours do not have gifts, just a verse or a song. Hopefully the links will work, but if not you'll have to C/V. 

12/21

6am- Tea and Tissues
7am - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPI_DIqICP0   - "10,000 Reasons"
8am- Romans 5:2 "…And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God" vs 5 "…and he does not disappoint us because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit whom he has given us"
9am- flowers- one for you and one for you to take to the church for me. - I have no idea what these will look like.  When I put them in the jar they looked like this:
but I don't know what a week in a box with moisture will do to them. Just throw it out if they are black.
10am - more tea and you can open the M&Ms now and begin to eat them throughout the day (or all in one sitting, I will not judge)
11am- 1 Cron 16:11 "Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always."
12pm- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrPQ-isJnd8  - Hurt and the Healer
1pm- nail polish/ file
2pm- hot chocolate and Psalm 119:76 "May your unfailing love be my comfort, according to your promise to your servant"
3pm- happy ornament from Georgie
4pm- Food and Wine Mag
5pm- Psalm 104: 15 "wine that gladdens the heart of woman, oil to maker her face shine, and bread that sustains her heart" - wine glass (plastic so you can take it in the tub)
6pm- Psalm 23 "…he restores my soul….I will fear no _____ (fill in the blank)….your rod and your staff they comfort me…..my cup overflows….goodness and love will follow me….I WILL DWELL IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD- forever"
7pm- brownie mix
8pm- leg warmers-because everyone needs leg warmers
9pm- Rest Tea and bath gel for a bubble bath
10pm- funny decoration for Will to laugh at- probably broken because George couldn't stop bending the hat all around.
11pm-https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18lZDVZ1QuE   -  "What a Story"


Dec 22nd
12am- A New Year - calendar of beaches. be calmed and soothed by our favorite place-
1am- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENtL_li4GbE - "in Christ Alone"
2am- Luke 2:14 "Glory to God in the highest and on earth PEACE to men on whom his favor rests. " and mint tea- just in case you cant sleep.
3am- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zulKcYItKIA "Worn" 10th Avenue North
4am- Ephesians 2:14 " For He himself is our PEACE…."
5am- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ht9j1RU9Tqg- Fires Matt Redmon


Isaiah 9:6
"For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of PEACE."

******Isaiah 61:2-3*******
"to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor………… to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion- to bestow on them:
a crown of beauty instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. 
They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor"