My daughter, Ashley Nicole, breezed into my life on May 1st, spring’s new cleansing breath. She lived for nine days and died on my darkest night. But, thirty-nine years later, I rest in what she taught me. One who never spoke a word.

When we carried her out of the hospital, joy was new and bright like sunshine and birdsong. When she died, my days grayed. Grief slithered in to steal Ashley’s joy. But it’s back, because I fought for it. Well … not at first.

Our souls have an enemy. Where there’s joy, there’s a battle.

Our pain is painted on in layers. Some by others, some by our own choices. When Ashley died, my suffering sealed all those hurting layers. My empty arms ached and anger towards God spiraled me further into a pit. My pursuit of relief and escape took me where I never imagined. I dulled my sorrow with alcohol, drugs, and relationships.

Some of us lash out, over-eat, or over-shop. Whatever works to make us feel better, to maintain control, or to make others pay for our pain. Anger will shackle us to a victim mindset as we relive the pain, keeping our wounds fresh.

I know because my identity was wrapped tight in that victim-skin. It was a soul-killing, twisted comfort that kept me trapped for years.

Since childhood, I’d sensed a light beyond my reach, coaxing me past my pain. It was something stronger than my parents’ persuasion or my religion’s rules. Something personal. I called it false hope until grief’s weight and sinful choices broke me and I finally let Jesus into my selfish world.

He showed me that my husband and children deserved better than what broken-me gave them. He revealed who I was underneath my fear and shame: whole and healthy. He challenged me to believe that hope is real, peace is possible, and healing is available.

I learned a lot from my baby girl who breezed in and out of my  life. Through the pain of her leaving and the pit I sank into, she taught me that a sin-soaked past can be turned around for good and there’s always a higher road to rescue me. She taught me that heartache, though a part of life, doesn’t define me.

By God’s grace, I  can resist whatever or whoever tries to steal my joy. I’m no longer a victim and I’m proof that grief and joy can coexist in a heart where peace reigns.

My baby girl led me to the One who died so I could live fully and freely. Ashley Nicole showed me Jesus.

Photo: Robin & daughter, Hannah, born ten years after Ashley Nicole

 

©Robin Melvin 2016

The calendar shows the Easter season is over. Perhaps you contemplated and celebrated Jesus’ death and resurrection ~ those great and powerful moments that split history. For us who believe, Easter can be an everyday experience. Each morning, we can wake to the resurrection power of new life, redeemed by Christ.

The absolute greatest moment in my life is when I made, what 19th century minister Oswald Chambers calls, a “complete and effective decision about sin.” It happened when I knelt at a dark-stained pine bench in a little Arkansas church.

Pastor Mike knelt on the other side and leaned over to talk to me. The piano clanged, “Just as I Am,” and drowned out most of his words. I couldn’t speak but I cried and nodded. Yes, I believe Jesus died for my sin. Yes, I want Him to be Lord of my life.

That’s when Christ’s resurrection power split my story and I stepped from death to life.

Though I didn’t completely understand what happened to me, I was at peace. After my first sweet taste of freedom, I was determined to die to everything holding me back from my God-given identity. I was sick of sin and grief and shame. There was a lot to learn, but I was done letting them steer my mind and my life. I was done letting other people and their sin against me have power over my present and future. I’d made that “complete and effective decision about sin.” Chambers calls this “co-crucifixion.”

In Romans 6:5-7 Paul urges us, ^“Since we have been united with him in his death, we will also be raised to life as he was. We know that our old sinful selves were crucified with Christ so that sin might lose its power in our lives. We are no longer slaves to sin. For when we died with Christ we were set free from the power of sin.”

It’s nailed to the cross. It has no power over us unless we give it.

I walked out of that little church forgiven and free. The sun was brighter because I didn’t look at the ground anymore. Jesus removed my guilt, gave me hope, and lifted my head. My past sin was nailed dead, and my daily sin—he’d teach me to strip, piece by ugly piece.

Chambers explains that when we decide to kill sin in us, it’s the greatest moment of our lives. We’re not called to simply restrain it, suppress it, or counteract it, we crucify it. Mentally and spiritually, we may know it’s the right thing to do. But, we must actually make the decision. No one else can do it for us.

What if you let Jesus’ death and resurrection split your story? What if your past simply becomes a chapter that leads you to a new beginning and a glorious ending? As the old you dies to unhealthy thinking and bad attitudes and wrong actions—the new you lives to find and become who you were created to be, whole and free. Trust me. It may not be the easiest decision but it’s the best one you’ll ever make.

Abundant life is waiting, my friend. Let every day be Easter. 

 

 

Photo by Connie Zink      http://www.facebook.com/connie.zink1

Do you ever miss an important moment because you’re preoccupied? Something else grabs your attention: Facebook, TV, a text, or a tweet? I’ve been there too. But for me the thief is often more subtle. It’s an attitude that robs me of engaging in the now, being present in the present. Let me tell you about a moment I almost missed.

My granddaughter, Madison, was three when the rose bushes drew her in. Cupping a Barbie-pink blossom with both hands, she nestled her face into its petals. I knelt in the dirt yanking weeds that invaded my flower garden and my sense of justice. Even Madison singing my name didn’t soften my attitude.

“Meema, your woses smell so good.”

“Be careful, Madison, don’t smash it.”

The day before, I’d returned from a weekend trip to a cluttered home. Now, the overdue weeding stoked the fires of my martyrdom to a rolling boil. I have to do everything around here. I live with the laziest people on earth. And, why am I raising my granddaughter? I, the victim. I, the under-valued. I, so sweet and blessed just days ago at a women’s retreat.

Mid-pity party, I turned to see a bush half-stripped of roses. My face flushed hot.

Madison twirled. Eyes shut, head back with pony tails poking straight out, she raised her arms, palms to the sky. Rose petals fluttered from her hands and floated to the ground. A pink path meandered around the other two bushes, now nearly naked. Silky shades of pink to white blanketed the brown mulch and covered those noxious weeds that wanted to rob me of the moment.

Wobbly from her dance, Madison tried to stand still. Her blue, wide-open eyes admired her work. “Oh, Meema. Isn’t it boo-tee-ful?”

The harsh words rising up in me had already dissipated. “Yes, Madison Grace. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

Eyes off myself, I embraced God’s gentle reminder to take it all in. But I almost missed it.

Selfishness can lock us into a martyr mentality, a victim mindset. It’s an attitude that blinds us and binds us to thinking life is all about me. My comfort, my happiness. A me-centered world is quite small and in it, no one else measures up.

As a Christ follower, I’m called to mirror the attitude of Jesus. When I study His character and seek it, He keeps me selfless and sacrificial. When I remember my mess before asking Him to guide my life, I’m grateful for each day.

Is there someone who needs you to be fully present? Maybe a spouse, a friend, or a parent? Remember, roses grow back, but people grow old and children grow up.

Choosing abundant life in Christ empowers us to live fully in the now. Sometimes we’ll mess up. But we press on because we don’t want to miss one more breath-stealing moment.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.” –Oogway, Kung Foo Panda

 

Photo from Pixabay.com

My biggest writing challenge is not a lack of ideas. I have scads. The glitch comes when my brain compels me to write my current emotional struggles. To which I reply, “Again? No. This isn’t fun. I don’t want to be a Debby Downer.” Sure, I can copy and paste a happy-sappy piece from last year. But, as usual, I’m drawn to a mental venting.

Writing’s been my therapy since my pre-teen days. Well, that and a shameless love of dancing. If not sitting on a riverbank filling notebooks with thoughts of my latest crush or my adolescent life with an alcoholic, I was outside choreographing dance moves to “Stayin’ Alive” blaring from a cassette player.

So, what’s on my mind today? An unresolved conflict with my husband. This morning, I woke the same way I fell asleep. With tears stinging puffy eyes. I didn’t want the day to start as I reached into the freezer for Alex’s teethers to press onto my eyelids.

People tell me I have a “non-anxious presence.” Not yesterday. I was a blubbering, stress ball sitting in the car at Kohl’s. Honest communication can be hard. But I asked for it.

Before I showed up at my desk, I poured foggy thoughts onto paper. They’re prayers really. Not eloquent or pretty, just candid and gritty. I wrote until I broke free of hurt and emotional weight. I got past myself. Then I gained perspective.

While I sit in my home office, comfy in yoga pants and drinking fresh coffee, Jeff’s in front of three computer screens wired to corporate America. He deals with power outages and multi-million-dollar budgets and motivating people to do their job. There are hundreds of emails and spreadsheets and repairs, oh my.

When we get past ourselves, we see that others struggle too. Work and home and relationships are often complicated and heavy. Even for those usually upbeat, like my husband. If he’s not smiling, singing, or whistling—he’s stressed.

Marriage, family, and friendships bond us together. But, we’re each on our own journey. We need to give others space for mistakes and opinions and imperfection. We listen, we hear, we love, we cheer.

Today, I arrived at my desk inspired by my good and messy life. One like yours, perhaps. May we not let our challenges distract us. The best and strongest among us need our encouragement.

Who in your circle needs you to see past their words, their walls, and their stress? How can you let them know their loved and appreciated?

Thanks for sitting and listening, my friends. I am encouraged. I pray you are too. Love and Peace for your journey.

 

 

Photo from Pixabay.com