On Christmas, a new year, and turning 50 ...

Some of us tend to be more, shall we say, passionate about God, and our faith, than others. Not that I think I'm anything special ... this is more from the perspective of, he who is forgiven much, loves much.

But shoot, we’re more intense about everything. Which is not only exhausting for those around us, but for ourselves as well.

Couple that with an upbringing where I learned to question and second-guess every thought and feeling, and it’s pretty much added up to a lifetime of not being sure I ever said or did the right thing, or knew whether my own opinions have any validity.

And then, the day after New Year’s, my mom passed peacefully to Heaven during her afternoon nap, leaving me without the one person whose love and prayers were a constant.

It promised to be kind of a weird year, anyway. Aging had never particularly bothered me—at 30 I felt a kind of relief at leaving the 20’s behind, and 40 didn’t faze me, either—but for some reason I’ve had a hard time with the idea of turning 50. Part of it was watching my mom’s health deteriorate so much the last few years, and finding I wasn’t as strong physically as I wanted to be, to care for her, but on my 49^th birthday I was having a serious pity party, until God pointed out to me that my life really wasn’t over yet, and even suggested that the year between 49 and 50 would be my “jubilee” year. For those not familiar with Old Testament law, that was the year according to Hebrew reckoning where God commanded the freeing of slaves, the forgiveness of debts, the returning of lost property to its rightful owner—a general renewal and resetting of society. Somehow, thinking of the coming year in those terms really helped my perspective, and I was able to look forward with an attitude of expectation and not dread.

And then ... Mom’s passing.

I miss her terribly. I miss her constant prayer cover. And for weeks I struggled with wondering how many “good” years I had left, given that my own body seems to be failing as hers did. (Diabetes is a terrible thing, and one’s body doesn’t always do as well on the medications as the pharmaceutical commercials lead you to believe.)

But the Lord is gracious not to leave us in a place of crisis. As I slowly grappled with the loss I thought myself prepared for but discovered I wasn’t, and all the implications of now being for all intents and purposes the family matriarch, God met me—and fed me—in a thousand different ways. I’m still not the intercessory warrior she was, but ... I’m growing. And when my birthday came, He provided such an outpouring of good wishes (thank you, Facebook) and peace, and a reassurance that my journey is by no means done, despite the year’s losses and missed timing and misunderstandings.

But there were also things this year (and last) that the Lord seemed to be unearthing from inside me, shaking off the detritus of years and holding them out for me to face, things I thought I’d well healed from or at least buried deeply enough to not affect me again. Loves and hopes that had died, leaving me with only the whisper that I just wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough, that I would always be too much or too emotional or simply unsuitable in some other way.

I really did not appreciate those ghosts resurfacing.

But again, the Lord didn’t leave me to myself, and His tending culminated in a pair of beautiful Christmas messages, one from Christmas Eve and the other delivered by my own husband the next morning. Both highlighted how amazing it is that God stooped to be born as a human baby, not just for some nebulous “hope” but to live as one of us, to become the once-for-all atonement for the wrong we could never make right, indeed to redeem us and make us His own forever. “And to those who believed on Him, to them He gave the right to be called children of God.” We are heirs to His glory! We have the very right to claim Him as Father—even to address him as “Abba,” a tender and intimate Aramaic term that translates in our language as “Daddy.” And this is a Daddy who’s never distant, who never disappoints, who never allows hurt without purpose ... who’s always so delighted just to have us come lean on His knee and invites us to throw in His lap every little thing that upsets or weighs upon us! Which of our human parents was ever all that for us, without fail? Mine certainly never could be. My own mother tried but was so painfully human, too. I had a natural father who was smothering and predatory by turns, and an adoptive father who was loving but reserved.

I’ve often wondered if those who had close, loving relationships with their earthly parents could really appreciate the magnitude of what our Heavenly Daddy can be to us. I’m sure there’s a dimension of trust they experience that I still struggle with. But this Christmas, and facing a new year full of even more uncertainty than usual, the magnitude of this perfect Daddy love, breaking over my soul and spirit, washing me in glorious peace ... I feel the hurts of the past soothed as never before, as I realize God really has taken me from a terrible past and written me into the most beautiful Cinderella story ever imagined. That by His stripes my wounds truly are healed.

I am a princess on the way to her throne.

I Will See You Again

When did it get to be September?

This is the month, a year ago, of Mom’s long hospital stay after her big “event” (heart attack, several TIA’s, whatever else they were or weren’t able to ascertain that she’d suffered). A year since I attempted to bring her back and care for her at home again, then gave up ... yes, it still feels like that. A year since the close of that last, precious summer with her, mid-May to late August, and the memory still haunts me of how the exhaustion eroded the edges of my gratitude for that time.

We aren’t supposed to waste time angsting over our failures any more than we should linger over our accomplishments ... “one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead” ... but sometimes the guilt and questions and insecurities swamp us.

I am weary with my groaning;

All night I make my bed swim;

I drench my couch with my tears.

My eye wastes away because of grief;

It grows old because of all my enemies.

And the grieving is a palpable, physical thing sometimes.

God never leaves us, I know this. I know. And He doesn’t abandon us to our grief and guilt—but the deliverance isn’t always immediate. In fact, it rarely is. And I find myself thinking about that lately, what it looks like when “My grace is sufficient for you” doesn’t mean deliverance at all (Paul’s thorn in the flesh or the heroes of the faith referred to in Hebrews 11) but instead is the searing core inside that shoves us from one aching, weary step to another on this journey.

The month hasn’t been completely without consolation, though. Another budding branch of the family has come to visit, then sent on their way after a wonderful week. Leaving us with another layer of mourning.

Sometimes I feel like life is nothing but layers of mourning.

And then, today, I was reminded of this verse:

Therefore you now have sorrow; but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice, and your joy no one will take from you.

Just as we look forward to the next time we’ll see our older kids—the occasion of a wedding—there’s another reunion coming, the ultimate in family reunions with all who believe in Christ. The ultimate wedding, when we join our Redeemer and Lord, the One who shed His own blood for us. And then, as I said elsewhere, there will be no more pain, no more misunderstandings, no more worrying about appearance or performance, no more sorrow or separations.

And I, for one, cannot wait.

On asking why ...

Story, Lord. I don’t get it. Is it really just all about the story?

Here you made me a writer, and I’ve spent years now, studying story. Here I am reading Accelerant, and thinking ... Haegan, poised on the edge of doubt and fear, longing to be released from his own calling ... yet guarded unseen by two Deliverers. Why? Why Haegan? Why don’t the Deliverers just mete out divine judgment, and be done with it? Why the long, terrible, painful journey?

Why my own journey? Why do You choose fallible men to carry Your word and do Your will? Why do You continue to let us slash and hurt each other, disappoint each other, trample Your grace and spurn Your mercy, and yet ... You love us? You choose us and draw us into Your kingdom, to have us do Your work and eventually make something of us?

I don’t get it. What’s the point? Why not torch the word into oblivion? It’s what we deserve.

And later—much later—I’m thinking about the propensity of life to set us up for heartbreak. Is that You? Just as we writers search for the great dramatic irony that fuels our stories, are You also building that into the story that is our lives?

... when I am weak, then I am strong ...

... God’s light shines brightest in the darkness ...

... after death, then resurrection ...

 ... His loss, our gain ...

... humble yourself, and He will exalt you ...

Really, why? What is the point?

And He whispers to me, You don’t need to know that yet. Just trust.

I realize, maybe that IS the point. To trust. To walk. As I’ve said before, not the destination (at least not any that we perceive with our human minds as a destination, here on earth), but the journey.

Every step of the way toward the One who, as He told Abraham, “I am your shield, your exceedingly great reward.”

Because HE is the point. He is our destination.

And I guess that really is all I need in this moment.

On Books: To Review or Not To Review

For anyone who follows me on Goodreads, you may have noticed how terrible I am about updating my reading lists. Several reasons for that. One, my reading habits are often random and sporadic. Two, as someone who's trying to walk a fine line between being honest and yet not putting a stumbling block in front of others, I may not always want to admit what exactly I'm reading ("do you have freedom? good, enjoy it between yourself and God and not before those who would be offended"--a rough paraphrase about "meats offered to idols" issues). Three: I might be reading for contest judging and can't really SAY that.

Of the ones I admit to reading, I review even fewer. Part of that is because I know I'm picky ... I hate hurting people's feelings ... and I'm blessed with SO MANY writing friends that I can't possibly read everyone's stories, much less be perfectly objective about the writing. I did recently offer to read and review a novella written by a fellow Colonial Quills author, Tamera Kraft. It was a very good story, lingered with me long after I finished it, and yet I only gave it 4 stars.

Why?

For starters, Goodreads has a slightly different rating style than, say, Amazon. 4 stars according to Goodreads is "I really liked it" while 5 is "it was amazing!" I rarely give books a 5-star rating anymore unless I'm just head-over-heels in love with it ... but I've read a lot of perfectly good stories, perfectly enjoyable ones, that might not peg the "amazing" in me because of some nitpick or another. So they get 4 stars.

I'm a writer too, for crying out loud. And studying the craft tends to bring out the nasty internal editor. It's been a hard fight to regain the love of reading for its own sake.

Also, I'm picky. Did I mention that I'm picky? :)

This year, because of the prodigious (for me) number of books I've read already (many of them contest reads), I decided to keep track. As of last night I've read a total of at least 65 novels and novellas, just this year. If that seems excessive, I assure you my husband and children read a lot faster than I do! I won't tell you everything I read but I might, just for fun, tell you about some new favorite authors, and what I like about what they do.

In the meantime, if I've reviewed your work in the past, or if I happen to offer a review in the future, please try not to be disappointed if I "only" give you 4 starts. Because after all, 3 stars on Amazon might translate as a "meh," but Goodreads says it's "I liked it." :) But if I feel like I can't give you at least 4 stars, I probably won't write a review.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Resurrection of Hope by Tamera Lynn Kraft
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A young woman still grieving the loss of her fiancé, a young man determined to take care of her as penance for that loss ... he knows he’s no substitute for his friend, who died in the Great War, but he’s loved her forever.

One problem, though ... he can’t risk telling her how he really feels.

The opening scene of this story sucked me right in. The rest is a little slower, a little less emotionally gripping, but this is a very sweet story. I could feel the ache and weariness of Vivian’s grief, of her struggle for Henry’s attention and approval. Though painful at times, the emotional and spiritual journey of both characters is brought to a beautiful and satisfying conclusion.

I was given a copy of this book by the author for an honest review.

View all my reviews

And life goes on ...

So much for my intent to post more often!

We just finished up a very busy week of visiting with our oldest son and his wife and our grandbaby of not quite 9 months old, celebrating our second-oldest daughter’s graduation from high school, and having front-row seats to our second-oldest son proposing to his girlfriend. So much joy, so much life, so much potential for even more life and joy ... and at some point, more sorrow and heartbreak.

Because today the son and daughter-in-law and grandbaby had to pack up and drive back to her parents in Omaha to catch their flight home in South Carolina. And the front-row seat to the other son’s engagement was via modern media, 1600 miles away.

And graduating one kid from high school at home is always bittersweet because the uncertainty of college and adulthood comes next.

And ... we’re all waiting for news of whether my oldest daughter, after dealing with infertility for almost three years, and suffering the pain of a very early miscarriage last month, is finally carrying a baby with hopes of holding it in our arms and not just in our hearts ...

The newly engaged son called very late last night, choking back tears that his Grammy is in heaven now, and he can’t immediately share with her that her last prayer for him was answered yesterday.

As wonderful as life is, sometimes we can hardly wait for the coming day when there are no more goodbyes, no more separations and no more loss. As I told them all last night, it isn’t that we immediately want to go end it all, but it seems every experience just sharpens our longing for that.

I have to remind myself that we need to embrace the longing as fully as we seek to embrace the joy.

Because there are joys enough on this journey to savor and celebrate, as well as the joy that awaits us at the end.

And that grandbaby is absolutely beautiful. :)