“But now, [Child of God], the Lord who created you says:

Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you.

I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you go through deep waters and great trouble, I will be with you.

When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown!

When you walk through the fire of oppression,  you will not be burned up;

the flames will not consume you.

For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior …

Do not be afraid.“ ~ Isaiah 43:1-2 & 5

My friend, I needed this today, so I pass it on to you. We are capable of more than we know. Look at what we’ve already endured and find rest in these Promises. There’s Peace for difficult days. And Pugs. Just ‘cuz they make us smile 🙂

Photo from Pixabay.com

Some of my best memories are connected to gardens. Outside or in the house, Mom could grow anything. It’s weird talking about her in the past tense because she’s still here. On a good day, she’ll tell you, “I’m still kickin’. Just not as high.”

But, over the years, we’ve lost her in bits and pieces. Probably started long before we realized. We just chalked it up to stubbornness.

Mom was born in the bedroom of a South Dakota farmhouse and some of her best memories were running open fields with her younger brothers.

Now, that work-outside-from-morning-to-night woman doesn’t like being outdoors. At all. That piece of her is gone. The one that loved to plant and tend and grow, and putz around woods and along shorelines. The one who collected scads of drift wood and rocks and feathers and lotus pods and cool weeds and pine cones … anything that spoke to her soul … as much as we could carry.

I used to spark her memory of picking radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green peppers. How we’d slice them up fresh from the garden~with the sunshine still in them~and crunch them on bread with mayo and salt and pepper. I don’t try to take here there anymore because not remembering makes her anxious. Sometimes she thinks I’m making stuff up and  looks at me like I’m “two bricks short of a load.” That’s what she’d say on a good day.

I’m not always sure she remembers me though. She senses the connection but can’t always find my name. I tell her it’s okay. If I had six kids, I’d get them mixed up too. And I remind her, “It’s okay, Momma. It’s our turn to take care of you.”

We’ve learned to roll with this new mom. If she’s unsettled, we compliment her freshly braided silver-silk hair or her painted finger nails. The ones that used to be chipped and stained from the soil. Now, she loves them painted fiery red by the CNAs at the nursing home.

We’ve learned to pray that wherever her mind takes her, it’s a happy place. Where she’s not worried about forgetting or fretting about stuff she had to leave at her house.

It’s a heart-rending journey, isn’t it? To be patient, to be creative, to see what makes them smile and roll with it. My mom’s eyes still light up at red Geraniums. My dad’s favorite. They bloom outside her window in a raised bed next to her bird feeders.

It’s strange how someone changes and all we can do is try to keep up. One minute we’re detectives helping recall a word or a name or a place. The next, we’re time travelers meeting a ninety-year-old back in time as she waits to see her mom on Mother’s Day.

My childhood friend, Laura, inspires me. She’s a bit further on this journey, as her mom has passed on. Laura lost her in bits and pieces and loved her beautifully through it.  She writes, “The loss of memory has a mind of its own that no one can predict.”

So true. From one moment to the next, a flash of clarity or maybe even a whole conversation. Or confusion and hallucinations. Then we change the subject and tease them for ordering chocolate ice cream for breakfast. That’ll spark a childlike grin.

I know it’s exhausting, my friends. Leaving their room and driving away is difficult too. But, as we let go in bits and pieces, keep looking for joy in bits and pieces. Those small but big moments when we fully live, fully present.  When we take an extra few seconds to soak in toddler hugs or  to sip creamy root beer floats with friends. Go ahead and order that loaded pepperoni pizza or maybe even soak in the sunshine of a fresh garden sandwich.

Peace, joy, and rest for your journey.

 

 

Photo from Pixabay.com

 

 

Our daughter, Ashely Nicole, was born May 1st, 1984. We had her for nine days before she passed away. My husband and I were nineteen with a toddler at home. We had no clue what to do with such head-spinning, heartbreaking grief.

And here we are forty years later and May is upon us. If you read my other posts, you’ll see I don’t shy away from talking about grief and heartbreak …

… but today we celebrate.🥳

Because not long ago, life got hard again. Really hard. For a while, I lost sight of the joy parts of my story. Maybe you’ve been there.

Our joy hides.  And so do we.

But God calls us out of hiding. He wants to lift our heads.

It’s amazing what we see when our sights are raised above our struggle. It’s not about stuffing our pain or forgetting our people. It’s about turning it around. Moving forward with our grief and letting it inspire us: our life, our love, our purpose.

Then a little bit of them lives on ~ in us and through us.

Do you sense the power in that? God can use a heart gouged by sorrow. That raw space opens us up to  more joy and more healing. To a deeper compassion and a deeper appreciation.

We honor the ones we miss by engaging and embracing the ones still here.

A few days after Ashley Nicole died, a hospital chaplain gave us pins that say, “I Am loved.”**  Sometimes, I use my little pin to tell her story. How God wrapped us  in grace. How he patiently waited as we finally found our zig-zaggy way to him. How he gave us beauty for ashes. And still does.

I’ve kept my little red and white pin close by over the years. In a shadow box, in my purse, now on a book shelf amid my rocks. It reminds us we’re strong. It reminds us we’ve persevered through some really tough stuff. We are resilient.

And it reminds us how God reaches in and rescues us. Even when we try to hide.

Ashley Nicole’s little life leaves a legacy. And I intend to use it for good. This moves me forward, determined to turn the pain around, to redeem it.

Because joy is a gift. It’s part of who we’re created to be. So we have the capacity to choose it every day. We won’t always feel joy and that’s okay. We just need to remember …  it’s not gone. It’s just hiding.

Jesus came to give us abundant life. To take our most difficult situations and turn them around. Even grief.

May we let Jesus lift our heads and keep moving forward. 💗☮🙏🏻

One way I turn sadness into joy is to bless others on Ashley’s birthday. Click the link below to read about it:

Click Here to Read “Grief & Joy Can Coexist?”

**Thirty years after the hospital chaplain gave us our “I Am Loved” pins, we discovered a whole bowl of them at Helzberg Diamonds in the mall! We had no idea where they came from. We are forever grateful for their message. They gave a bit of light on one of our darkest days. Thank you, Helzberg Diamonds! 😊

 

“Don’t forget that in the midst of all your pain and heartache, you are surrounded by beauty, the wonder of creation, art, your music and culture, the sounds of laughter and love, of whispered hopes and celebrations, of new life and transformation, of reconciliation and forgiveness.”~ W. Paul Young

 

I’m in a love-hate relationship. In fact, I’m in over my head.

Some days I’m totally into it. Most of the time, I want to run away screaming and never look back. Some days I do. Scream, that is. Running’s never been one of my strengths.

This book and me. It’s the toughest relationship I’ve ever maintained.

Thirty five years of marriage hasn’t been a breeze, ya’ll. But, this book project? Four years in and I’m stretched like Silly Putty. But, that’s what I asked for when I decided to do something bigger than me. When I invited you in on this search for our God-created identity.

Our original design hides inside all of us. The one who’s meant to live in freedom. The one who’s meant to find joy in life even when it’s flat out hard.

But, we wrestle with our God-given design. Even when we don’t intend to, sometimes we make life harder than it has to be. I believe we’re all wired as rebels at some level. To doubt, to question, to push back a tad.

My two-year-old grand-babies, Alex and Luna, are strong-willed. I don’t see it as “terrible twos.” I marvel at the potential of all that sass. So, the challenge is not to crush their little spirits, but redirect their energy for good.

Let’s not be too quick to toss a vital piece of how we’re made. We are fighters.

Jesus was a fighter. And we’re made in God’s image. So, I guess it’s a matter of using it for good, right?

Jesus rebelled to give us abundant life. He beat our soul’s enemy who seeks to keep us living below our created potential. Jesus fought to turn our eyes and hearts back to the most important part of our divine design: Constant connection with our Creator. Father, Son, Holy Spirit.

That’s what this book writing is doing for me. It’s magnifying my need for Him. Not just in my writing but in every part of life.

When we get in over our heads, God’s rebel Spirit keeps us in the fight.

What are you facing that’s bigger than you? When all you can do is cry out, “God, I can’t do this … I quit,” He lifts your head, scoops you up, and reminds you who you are and Whose you are. You are loved beyond measure. Treasured beyond understanding.

And yes, you are equipped. With all you need.

“Be confident in this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion .” ~Philippians 4:6

Now, my friend, let’s rock this day.