Where “Yes" May Lead You

Twenty-seven years ago, God asked me to work with teenagers, and I said "yes."

There's a story that leads up to that moment (which I won't share with you today), but what was most surprising was:

1) I was twenty, so barely out of the teens myself,

2) I never had the desire to work with teens. In fact, I was a little afraid of them, having had not-the-best junior high and high school experience,

3) I had my doubts. I had no "training." I had no clear direction.

Nevertheless, I said "yes," without knowing where that "yes" would lead me.

Soon after, I started a leading a small youth group at my church.

After graduating from college, I was hired as a French teacher at a private junior/senior high school.

Then I got married, became a mom, and spent about the next twelve years or so NOT around teens. I was hanging out with other toddler moms, chatting it up about nap schedules and cloth diapers.

And I forgot about my "yes," until I got involved in my teenagers' youth theater company (how this happened is another great story).

What a shock! I never would have imagined that I would be teaching music to teens and directing them in shows. And the best part is that I love it! I love working with teenagers and being a supportive adult in their lives.

But along with the highs come the lows.

Two years ago, a lovely, spunky eleven-year-old came to audition for Moana Jr. She then went on to be in The Wizard of Oz and The Sound of Music, making many friends along the way. Shortly after her third show, she was diagnosed with brain cancer, and two weeks ago, she lost that battle. This was heart-breaking news for everyone in our company.

Twenty-seven years ago, I wouldn't have pictured myself in a bedroom, strumming a guitar through tears, leading a small group of girls in singing Christmas carols, witnessing the final moments of their friend's time on earth. I couldn't have imagined our time afterwards in the foyer, crying and holding each other for comfort. And I never would have known that in working with this young girl, I would be asked to sing songs with her friends at her memorial service.

Her service is tomorrow. I feel nervous and anxious. I put my two-year-old to bed, then lay next to her for a few extra moments just to pray. I ask God for peace. And I hear this song in my head.

This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine...

And that's all God is asking from me when I say "yes."

Christmas Memories, A Song

I had forgotten about my last blog post. 

"Sometimes, a writer writes just because..."

Now I wrote a song that I can't sing.

It's not because the notes are too difficult or the range is too high. It's because every time I try to sing it, tears start streaming down my face.

But I had to write it.

A few months ago, my friend told me that she has cancer. She is 36 years old. Then soon after, I learned that a young girl I know has cancer. She is 14.

My heart at times feels like it's held in a vise. I want to yell, but I have no words. When I visit, I see the parents smiling, but with a sad, tired look in their eyes. If my heart feels like it's in a vise at times, their hearts must feel like that every day. Day in and day out, around the clock, they are selflessly caring for their daughters, while knowing that there is no hope for recovery. I can't imagine the feeling of watching my child in pain, slowly becoming a shadow of the person I knew. I can't imagine how Christmas, usually a joyous time, will be for these families this year.

And so, I wrote this song. For them, for me, for you if you've lost a child. I find myself holding my little one closer these days. Remember, you have only so many Christmases with your children.

Christmas Memories

I have Christmas memories

Of you seated on my knee

As I read you stories in the glow 

of lights upon the tree

I have Christmas memories

Of the sound of little feet

Running to my bed to wake me 

with your laughter and your glee

Long ago

But it feels like yesterday

When I watched you run and play

Then I held you as you slowly slipped away

So many Christmas memories

Some are sad and some are sweet

Now my only Christmas wish is to hold you close 

Just like I used to do

And to make more Christmas memories with you

The holidays are a beautiful time of year, but especially hard for those who are missing loved ones.

Here is a blog post from my friend Susan, who recently lost her father-in-law. If you're having a difficult time this month, may this be an enoucragement to you.

When the Holidays are Hard

When You're Emotionally Exhausted

I don't know what you're going through right now, but with the holidays coming, wounds that you thought were almost healed feels fresh and new again.

So I want to share with you the words of my friend Susan. Her father-in-law passed away suddenly a few weeks ago, and she writes about it on her blog.

If you're grieving, read her words. May you find hope and peace.

When You're Emotionally Exhausted

No Words

"Aaaaaaaargh!"

Sometimes there are no words for how you are feeling.

On Thursday, I wanted to raise my eyes to the heavens and scream.

I wanted to ask God, "Why?!?!?!? Why did she get cancer??!??! Why couldn't You heal her???!!"

Because it hurts. It hurts again. Another friend has passed away after months of praying. I just want to know why.

God says He cares for the sparrows. But I've found baby sparrows dead, fallen from the nest, too late for me to save them. And it happens again and again.

And this happens again and again. Another friend has lost a daughter. Another friend has lost a wife. In two and half years, I've said good-bye to six friends, three of them to cancer.

And I have no words.

It's hard to praise God at times like this. I admit it. I praise Him through gritted teeth and streaming tears, like an angry child who doesn't understand but won't argue the fact that his parent loves him. 

So I keeping praising Him–for what He knows that I don't know, and what He can see that I can't see.

The finite human mind cannot reach into the recesses into the infinitely transcendent mind of God. But the end of understanding does not mean the end of trust or love or obedience. ~Gregory Floyd

If you are grieving right now, for whatever reason, know that it's okay to tell God how you feel. Or, if you don't have the words, just raise your eyes to the heavens and scream. I'm not going to try to explain grief, or suffering, or God's will, but if you would like to read more, I recommend C.S. Lewis's book "A Grief Observed." If someone you know is grieving, I recommend Nancy Guthrie's book "What Grieving People Wish You Knew about What Really Helps".

The Aches of Pains of Growing Old (and the Hope of Christmas)

 As I grow older, I experience more aches and pains. 

Sometimes it's the physical ache–the tendonitis that just won't go away, or the lower back pain that keeps me from running like I used to.

But more and more now, it's the heart ache. The older I get, the more sadness I experience. I've seen friends suffer through cancer, young people die, families say goodbye to a spouse, a parent, or a grandparent. There are many people who will be going through this Christmas with a hole in their heart. And this gave me a new perspective on Christmas.

The tree is lovely, gift-giving is lovely, the lights are lovely, but the focus of Christmas should be on the very fact that there was pain involved. Mary faced rejection when her neighbors and friends found out that she was pregnant out of wedlock. Joseph had to look people in the eye even if they talked about him behind his back. Jesus was born naturally, with no heavenly epidural to ease his mother's contractions.

And this baby grew and experienced the death of his father. He experienced prejudice, being a Galilean. I'm sure he experienced bruises, cuts, and illnesses too. And ultimately, he experienced torture and death.

This sounds like a big downer at a time like Christmas, but THIS is what gives us hope! Christmas is the celebration of our Rescuer coming to be "God with Us." He isn't a metal robot who is immune to feeling nicks and scratches. He isn't a God who is out of reach and out of touch. He KNOWS what we're going through, and He's right there with us as we're going through it. And... get this... this is not the end of the story. This is not the end of YOUR story. There is more to come... more hope, more joy, more peace, more love.

If you are experiencing loss right now, hold on to the Hope of Christmas.  That's what I'm clinging to with all my might as my heart prepares to say good-bye to a friend soon.

Hope When Days are Dark

I haven't written in a while because I didn't have the words.

After losing two friends to cancer, then finding out that our "pet" bird was put to sleep, then saying good-bye to some of my closest friends as they move across the country, then hearing that another friend's newborn has Down Syndrome and has trouble breathing and needs heart surgery, all within a month, I didn't know how to express all the thoughts and emotions in my heart and mind.

The world felt dark, and I found myself in a strange place.

Every time I went outside, I would take a breath and smile at the beauty my eyes beheld, and almost the very next second I would feel tears welling up inside me. Every time I started to sing in worship–sing songs of God's love and salvation–I choked on the words and more tears fell from my eyes. I was having a difficult time reconciling the beauty of the world with the sadness in it. And how the God of love and joy could allow this pain in our stories.

The only thing that kept me going was hope, and not the kind of hope that is really just wishful thinking (this hope disappoints), but the kind of hope that knows, the hope founded in my faith in the God of love and joy. I know that even in the darkness, a Light shines. I know that the darkness would not consume me, even as I felt crushed underneath its weight. I know that whatever happens, the baby, the move, the bird, the cancer, will lead to something good. These stories are not over. 

I don't have all the answers. I haven't stopped shedding the tears. But hope allows me to laugh and smile and continue to strive to love and heal this broken world.  

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. 
~Hebrews 11:1

Growing Weary

The weather is warming and the sun is shining. I should be happy as I'm hanging laundry on the line but the only words I hear in my head is "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity." (Ecclesiastes 1:3)

Because the world is full of pain. Two of my friends are dying from cancer. Other friends are dealing with the loss of a baby or other loved ones. Children are in need of food and homes and safety. And here I am hanging laundry!

Sometimes I want to ditch the mundane things and focus all my energy on helping the world. Having a clean house is small beans compared to the amount of filth in the world that needs cleaning up. But I know that taking care of my family is no light matter and if I just keep plugging away at what I do everyday, I can make a small difference.

Lately, though, I've been feeling more like giving up. The pain is too much. I am an ant trying to move a mountain. I know that it is not my task to save the world, but I can't help but feel the burden of grief.

"And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up." These words from Galatians 6:9 are what is bolstering me right now. It may be hard to see the difference today, but in the end, the little I do does matter.

Trading My Sorrows

My eyes filled with tears as I watched the couple slow dance to 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'. Ben, gently swaying with his arms around his wife, closed his eyes for a moment. He was fighting back tears too.

It was in that moment that I saw the pain amidst the joy, the duality that defines so much of Ben's life right now as he cares for Judy, who has Alzheimer's disease. He cherishes every smile, even when Judy isn't fully aware of her surroundings. He cherishes every word, even when Judy doesn't fully understand the conversation. And even as Ben lives with this deep pain, God has filled him with a new joy and peace that cannot be explained. When Ben is not with Judy, he is ministering to families and teaching others about Alzheimer's. 

Later, when I had a chance, I asked Ben how he has learned to manage the daily sadness of slowly losing his wife–if he has a routine or Bible verse that helps him get through the feeling when it overwhelms him.

"I don't have any one thing," Ben replied in his quiet way. "But I have learned to let myself feel the emotions."

The words struck me. I had learned at a young age to stifle certain emotions. Strength, I thought, lay in the ability to push through fear, doubt, despair, and sadness and tough it out. Why cry when I could do something about the situation? Why feel sadness when sadness hurts so much?

But as I recently discovered, sometimes crying is pushing through. Last summer, when I found out that I was expecting Baby #8, fear crept into my heart. But I didn't address the fear; I only told myself, "God wants to teach you something. So find the lesson." Then the baby came, and I found my fear realized as I struggled to manage everything. But I told myself, "I can do this. I just have to try harder." All the while, I became buried deeper and deeper in my dark emotions, sometimes lashing out at my husband or children, sometimes beating myself up for not doing enough. Joy and peace seemed elusive. I felt like everything was going to fall apart if I stopped moving. But it was really me that was falling apart. And all I was really doing was putting duct tape on a bursting pipe. I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong… until I allowed myself to cry.* If you've ever watched Pixar's Inside Out, you would understand.

And I discovered that crying goes beyond a psychological or physiological need to expel pain. Whenever I try to avoid feeling loss or pain, I am really trying to hold onto self-reliance. I put on a good front. I tell people "I'm fine." And I keep trying to fix the problem. I try not to feel the pain in the hope that by the time the problem is fixed, I can move on to happier emotions. But in doing so, I also keep a death grip on my pride. Which means my hands are closed, and I am unable to receive help, or anything, from God. 

All this time, I kept asking God to reveal to me what He wanted me to learn, not realizing that I was unable to learn it. That was, until I cried. Until I humbled myself and let go. Until I admitted that I couldn't do it on my own.

I would have found this in the Bible too if I had thought to look. My friend Susan (thank you, Susan!) reminded me that centuries before me, the authors of the Psalms cried out in despair and hopelessness, sounding almost blasphemous as they accused God of abandoning them. David, in Psalm 13, wrote

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?

How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart?

How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.

Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;

my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

Notice, though, how David ended his song. 

But I trust in your unfailing love; 

my heart rejoices in your salvation.

I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.

David did not just cry out to feel better. He didn't cry out to the sky just to release pent-up emotions. He traded his fears and sadness for peace and joy.

And that is what Ben is learning. And me also. By being honest with myself and admitting my weakness, I find strength, real strength. By allowing myself to fully feel the heartache, I can then be healed. And I've felt joy, peace, and patience return to me, though my situation hasn't changed much. 

Yes, there is a release when you cry, but what's even better is when you can release the emotions and the whole situation to the One who can do something about it.

(*See the post from May 11, When Mamas Need a Good Cry.) 

Let there be light!

Wow, this post becomes more relevant to me with each passing day, even though I wrote the first draft almost one month ago.

At that time, I was 39 weeks pregnant and feeling more discouraged, more tired, more sore, and more anxious that I had ever felt while pregnant. I was having strong contractions on and off for several weeks and all I really wanted was to have my baby, but at the same time, the fear of labor pains and my new life afterwards loomed over me at all hours of the day and night.

All I could do was try to stay busy. I excused myself from the family to run to the Chinese grocery store (Chinese food– my biggest craving) and heard this song coming through my van's CD player:

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth

The earth was without form and void and darkness was over the face of the deep

And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters

And God said, "Let there be light"

And there was light

The lyrics are straight from Genesis 1:1-3. As I sat listening to the soothing melody, I was reminded that God is the ultimate Creator. He has been there since the beginning, creating and holding the universe together. And He was still creating now, in me! There was a whole new person inside me! How amazing that I can be a part of God's creation process.

And even more encouraging was the fact that God brings order to chaos, light to the darkness. I picture God's great hand giving shape and meaning to the turmoil and confusion of the uncreated universe. Similarly, anytime I am feeling unsteady and fearful, God guides me through it.

And guided me He did.

That very night, just a few hours after I started writing this post, my water broke. I then experienced my hardest, most painful labor ever because the baby was posterior facing. But after laboring through the dark night, the baby was born at 6:49am, March 4th, healthy and whole. And how perfectly fitting that her name is Nariah, which means 'God is my light'!

But we are still in the midst of the chaos. Nariah is having trouble nursing, so I pumping around the clock, supplementing, and trying to teach her to like the breast again, which also means I can't pay as much attention to my other children or keep up with daily chores. I still have moments of darkness, even more so now because sometimes I feel like I'm failing as a mother, to the baby and all my other children...

Then I remember God's words, "Let there be light!" And I am reminded (again and again) that this present darkness is not forever, not when God is in charge. I may feel inadequate as a mother of eight, I may not know the reason for the timing of this baby, I may want to think that God has made a mistake (or more likely, that I have made a mistake), but those are all NOT true. God is sovereign. God is present. God is orchestrating all the details of my life, and Nariah's young life too.

So be encouraged as I am being encouraged. Maybe you are in your first trimester, or your 39th week. Or maybe you just lost a child. Or you are going through illness. We all have periods of darkness, when we wonder if God has abandoned us or if this time will never end. Remember that God was there at the beginning and that He is in charge. Only He can make something out of nothing and create beauty out of the ugly.

One more thing, if you are looking for uplifting music with lyrics straight from the Bible, check out Seeds Family Worship (and hear the song mentioned above, 'God is Creator' from Genesis 1:1-3). I am so glad my friend Ariel gifted our family with the Character of God CD. Listening to the Seeds Family albums are also a great way to memorize Bible verses!

God With Me

I am tired.

Physically tired. Emotionally tired. Mentally tired.

But I am joyful and grateful. A friend asked me on Friday, "How can you be so calm during all this?!"

Well, it's been a bit of a journey. This is a situation I would have never expected to find myself in.  But let me begin at the beginning.

A few months ago, my husband and I began to notice a strange stench in our bedroom, a foul smell that came from under the house. My husband tried all he could to locate the cause of the odor, but could find nothing. Since we had done all we could, we called the landlord and told him about the smell. We also had to start sleeping on the sofa bed in the living room because the smell  was bothersome and overwhelming at times. We wondered if it was a leak, or mold, or worse.

One plumber came. He could not find a leak. Maybe it is the rain water? he said. I told him about the smell. He said, it must be the rain water.

A restoration specialist came to test for mold. How do I get under the bedroom? he asked. There was no entry that we knew of, I told him. Only these two little vents. Then I can't do anything, the man said. And he left.

Finally, workers came to fix the possible rain water problem. They dug trenches in the front yard to lay a French drain, and they jackhammered the cement in the backyard to level the ground. After two days of noise and demolition, the workers told me, the only way to see what the smell under the house was to go through the bedroom floor. I called my husband and he came home right away to help empty out our bedroom.

We then tried to manage normal living in a house full of furniture and clothes. We continued with school. I went to my prenatal appointment and baked cookies and made split pea soup for dinner. But then one of the workers came to me and asked, Do you want to see what we found under the bedroom floor? I wasn't sure I wanted to, but I followed him to my bedroom.

Under where my bed had once been was basically a pond of muck. Toilet paper and scum floated about. An old, broken pipe stuck out,  the only clue to this mystery. We stood staring into the hole in the floor, flabbergasted and speechless. 

The only solution was for my family to live elsewhere for a few days while the workers shut off the water and fixed the pipes. And that is where we are in the story today.

"How can you be so calm, Rita?!" my friend asked.

Calm. The calmness she saw was an answer to prayer.

My friend didn't know how months before I had been searching daily on Craigslist for rental houses that could accommodate our large family, all the while worrying about the increase in rent. I wanted to pack and move immediately, if only to escape my present  circumstance.

She didn't know about my prayers to keep my baby safe, and for the many times I almost panicked because I couldn't remember when I last felt the baby kick. Then I prayed specifically for a flutter or some sign that the baby was okay, just to calm my heart. 

She didn't know about the night I felt so helpless and anxious that I just cried in bed. I called out to God for peace. And that whatever happened, that I would trust Him through the situation.

He has answered my prayer, times a hundred.

The problem under the house may be a major inconvenience, but it is fixable and not the danger we had imagined. We did not lose our home. We did not lose our belongings. We will not need to move after all.

It has not rained in eight days. The surprisingly warm and sunny weather has only aided in the clean-up of the unwanted water. 

Our friends Jason and Susan enthusiastically welcomed us into their home and said that we could stay as long as we need. I've been able to cook and do laundry. My children have been playing with their children. I can relax and feel at home because of their hospitality.  

We are not sick, in pain, or suffering in any way. My baby is 26 weeks old now and healthy. I feel her kick when I play the cello or sing.

So, this hasn't been the holiday season I wished for, but I have come through this time of uncertainty with a peace that goes beyond the twinkling lights and merry holiday music. 2017 was not the year I had expected it to be. Never would I have thought that I would one day be pregnant with my eighth child and living in my friend's house. But I see the way Emmanuel, 'God with us', has walked with me through the years, and the way He is walking with me now... right into 2018.

Where Mothers Cry No More

My most recent song… the first two lines were written by C.S. Lewis.


There are far, far better things ahead
Than any we leave behind
Days of peace, contentedness, and rest
When we'll be satisfied
No more longing, hearts grown sore
All that's lost will be restored
There are far, far better things ahead
This I know, I know for sure

There are far, far better things ahead
That words cannot describe
We will see goodness at its best
And our faces shine in His light
And I have glimpsed that distant shore
The only place where mothers cry no more
There are far, far better things ahead
Through that door, that sacred door

When I walk through that door
I will cry, cry no more
When I walk through that door
I will cry, cry no more
There are far, far better things ahead
This I know, I know for sure

To Lose a Baby

When I gave birth to my first child, I also gave birth to all my vulnerabilities. 

And now I have six children. A turtle without a shell has it better than me.

I take it back. A turtle could never love as deeply as I love my children. I am a different person because of my children– more kind, more sensitive, more humble. To be vulnerable is not a weakness. If I ever lost a child, I would not regret the pain. But I wonder how I would respond.

My friend's baby died today, a week and a half before the baby's due date. I cry for them. There are so many questions, but no answers. I think about MY baby's heart beating in me. I remember how I loved him, even before he was born. Before I met him, I already knew him. If it had been my baby, would my faith be shaken? Would my deep sorrow drive me to hate God, or cling to God? I would pray that I could see God's goodness in the situation and remain faithful.

If you had ever lost a baby, my heart cries for you too. But I pray that you cling to God, though none of it makes sense, though there are no answers, though you feel worse than a turtle without a shell. Keep loving your baby, and God can use that love to change you.

The Great Healer

A new week began today, but I don't know where to begin here.

Our pastor is still in the hospital.
My friend Judy's Alzheimer's has progressed to the point where her husband needed to move her into an assisted-living facility.

News from the Zeller family is bad becoming worse (read the blog Charlie's Song for the details).

And my husband today came home late from work because he helped a young mom and her four-year-old son find a place to stay for the night.

And my heart cannot even express the injustice I feel about all this. My chest aches with a different kind of pain. When I was young, I wore my heart on my sleeve and wondered, "Why is it so hard for the world to live happily and peacefully?" The answers were so obvious to me. Then when my own heart got trampled on, I wanted to hide my heart forever and stop caring.

But God doesn't stop caring. Ever. And I have learned that He doesn't want us to stop caring either. Ever. And it does hurt. It hurts to care. It hurts to love. It hurts to give. It hurts to see injustice. But remember that God is the great Healer. It was Misty Zeller who reminded me of this verse: He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. (Psalm 147:3) Yes, God can heal our pastor. He can heal Judy. He can heal the Zellers. He can heal the lives of the homeless mom and her son. And He can heal my heart when it feels trampled upon.

Compared to many people, I have suffered little, which makes it easier for me to turn my back in apathy when others suffer, or to throw my hands in the air and shout, "What's the use? There is nothing I can do!" But there is always something I can do. I can pray. I can give, no matter how little. And I can care, with my heart on my sleeve, and carry the burden of pain.


It used to be
My heart was free like a sparrow
Flying wherever it would
It rested on my shoulder
Then went to the people it chose

But over time
When my heart returned to me
Its wings were ragged and torn
So I caged my little bird
To keep it away from harm
Away from harm

Then one day
I saw my heart in the open
You had found the key
What's a heart if it's grounded?
It needs to love, to be

But I asked
What about the danger
The storms, the wind, the rain
You opened your hands to me
"I can heal every pain,
Heal every pain."

Testing, God's Sovereignty, and His Steadfastness

I know the Bible says that God tests our faith. 

Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction. (Isaiah 48:10)

I won't get into a theological discussion about it, but I do know three things, the first being that when we face trials, we either push God away, or draw closer to Him; there is no middle ground.

Our pastor was suddenly rushed to the hospital on Sunday. He is in intensive care now, after a miraculous surgery that led doctors to the cause of his internal bleeding. But our Body is still fervently praying, for him, his wife, his children, and his grandchildren, because he is not completely out of the woods yet. And we are drawing closer to God, because we believe that there is joy in the circumstance despite our worry and sorrow. This is the second thing I know: God is sovereign. He is not defined by our terms. We want to know that God is reliable, and our definition of reliable is that He is predictable.

Which He is not.

But He is steadfast. This is the third thing I know.

But you, O God my Lord, deal on my behalf for your name's sake; because your steadfast love is good, deliver me! (Psalm 109:21)

I don't have the answers. For the three things I know, there are a million more that I do not know.

I don't know why yesterday, a friend of ours was rushed to the hospital, for unknown reasons. A CAT scan has given us no answers. 

I don't know why tornadoes, earthquakes, and hurricanes devastate cities, towns, homes, and families.

I don't know why God answers some prayers and not others.

I don't know why people like the Zellers should lose so much, and why Misty should have to endure the death of three babies.

I don't know why God chose to preserve the lives of my pastor and my friend Sarah last year.

I don't know why it is not my own husband, or child, who is in the ICU.

But I choose to dwell on the things I know, not the things I don't know, not that I am living in ignorance, but that I choose to draw near to the One who gives us hope. Whether our pastor lives or dies, my faith will grow, and God will still be sovereign and steadfast.

Desert Heartaches

I have some rough days, but I wouldn't consider my life the 'desert' right now, especially after reading the story of the Zeller family. All in one year, the Zellers lost one baby at 37 weeks of pregnancy, had two more miscarriages, possible cancer diagnosis for Misty (the mom), toxic mold found in their house-- which meant moving and throwing away most of their belongings-- and hospital debt that led to them losing most of whatever belongings they didn't already lose. Like Job, Misty has had heartache after heartache and no time to heal.

If you need perspective, you should read Misty's blog, Charlie's Song.

If you need encouragement, you should read Misty's blog, Charlie's Song.

If you need an example of true faith, you should read Misty's blog, Charlie's Song.

If you are grieving, you should read Misty's blog, Charlie's Song.

Her writing is beautifully and brutally honest. There are moments of joy (though Misty would probably tell you that she feels like she's scraping the bottom of the barrel sometimes) but most of her entries drip with her tears. If you have a moment, pray for them. And if you would like to materially bless this family, click on the links below to find out how you can.

Medical Fundraiser for the Zellers
Zeller Family Amazon Wishlist

Giving It Up

It's hard to give things up.

You're probably thinking about how you gave up Facebook for Lent, or refrained from chocolate cake last night, but I'm talking about really giving something up.

I'm talking about Abraham preparing to kill his only son Isaac, Esther putting her life at risk to face the king, the widow who offered two copper coins, the last of all she had.

Did they sleep the night before?

Did their hearts beat a hundred times a minute until they almost broke?

I imagine that the widow didn't waltz into the temple and drop her coins into the temple offering like a little girl in Sunday School.

No, she walked slowly, hesitating a few times before reaching the temple treasury with the coins in her fist. With all her will, she released her grip and dropped the coins into the collection plate or box. And maybe she wept all the way home because she didn't know where her next meal was coming from.

The word is sacrifice.

In the Old Testament, the Israelites sacrificed animals to temporarily cleanse them of their sins. In the New Testament, Jesus became the ultimate sacrifice. Sacrifice draws us close to God once more. It means stripping away the things that are barring us from God.

I remember three sacrifices I've made for God: breaking up with a man whom I thought I was going to marry, working through fear to become a youth group leader and eventually high school and junior high teacher, and moving out of our home when my husband was unemployed.

I spent nights crying, reevaluating, looking for a way around it. Then I finally surrendered, just to spend more nights crying. Deciding to make the sacrifice didn't mean it was over. There was the pain of going through with it. My heart felt shattered, so shattered that I was sure it would never heal.

But giving something up does not mean you're abandoning it. When you give it up, you are "giving it up." You are handing it over to God, allowing him to take care of it for you. God says, "Lean on me instead of this. I will turn it into something beautiful."

And He has. I have three stories proving so.

(I dedicate this post to my dear friend Fern. I love you.)

Shadow Life

Last Thursday, we received the news that Aunt Leanne, my mother-in-law's youngest sister, had died. They were sudden and unexpected words to hear, the end of a long and tragic story on earth. I find it strange when someone dies, because it only seems like the person has gone away on a long vacation. Maybe that's the echo of our eternal spirit. And I do believe that Aunt Leanne's story is not over.

I loved Aunt Leanne. She was a very colorful and energetic person, a lover of music, art, and nature. She never stopped. I remember the day she came home from hiking and camping in Yosemite, and within a half-hour, was in downtown Chico, attending the local jazz festival. But though she loved singing Christmas carols and all things beautiful and joyful, she never wanted to know Jesus. Though she loved creation, she lived only a shadow life because she never knew the Creator.

I will not be writing for a few days, due to travel and time with family. If you remember, please pray for Leanne's three children, her ex-husband, her parents, and her siblings.