Reconstructing

Reconstructing. 
Each day. 
How to do dinner. 
What the table looks like. 
His car in the driveway. 
All how to live without my son. 
Each day.
Learning. 
The path. 
God has ordained. 
Not my will. 
But His. 
And so I learn. 
While my heart misses. 
I open my heart to the will of the Father. 

A young teen plays Elijah's drum set at church.
A young man unaware of the story.

Playing to Worship. 
The same God. 

All for His Glory. 

So I learn, to trust more. 
Rest where there is chaos. 
Quiet when the screams seek to find a voice. 
Peace given. 

A purpose beyond what I can see. 

Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

So many times I have picked up the phone to call. 

My heart hurts missing Elijah. 

Yet you reign with him on high. 

It was April vacation. 

I missed our time together. 

It was always so much warmer at your house. 

Such a perfect time to be away. 

We would sit on your screened in porch. 

How you loved that addition to your home. 

We'd drink coffee and argue. 

Goodness we never could see eye to eye on very much;

except our love for our Lord. 

I went to a family baby shower. 

Your presence missed so much. 

You just had an air about you that made a party. 

I took a walk with a friend. 

She shared part of her to do list. 

Buying flowers for her mom. 

I remember the last time I sent you flowers. 

I know there's a picture in one of your albums. 

Your Birthday and Mother's Day only days apart. 

I called to order you flowers. 

Our hometown florist. 

Folks you went to school with. 

She asked me what to put on the card. 

I couldn't speak. 

I started to cry. 

I didn't know how long you would live. 

Cancer had been your companion for 9 years. 

I couldn't pull myself together. 

I felt so foolish. 

When I gained composure,

I said, " Happy Mother's Day, Love Gary, Tammy and the kids."

And that was that. 

The last time I would send you Mother's Day flowers. 

2012.

Now, I need to head to your home.

To take all the memories and store them in other places. 

Oh, there are so many. 

How you loved life. 

Even your cancer could not, would not, destroy your joy. 

Photo Albums showing the legacy of the life you lived. 

Embracing moments. 

Capturing events forever. 

These are the hardest to sift through. 

What do we do with the life time of memories?

Today dawned beautiful again. 

After days of dreary weather, it has been wonderful to see the sunshine. 

The college girl will be coming home next week. 

Her freshman year finished. 

She's changed though. 

Divided. 

This place no longer holds her. 

She's changing and growing into the woman God has called her. 

She won't be home for Mother's Day. 

I don't want that to affect me. 

I have had the gift of being a mom. 

A joy for which I am eternally grateful. 

A longing in my heart; given. 

Many times. 

I miss you mom. 

Even in the Rush. . . We Can Slow it Down

The sun shone this weekend. 
For the whole weekend. 

There were no extra activities. 
Time seemed to slow.
No rushing. 
Dinner with friends. 
The farm boy playing music. 
Time with my farmer. 
There was hand holding. 
Time to talk. 
Slow. 

Last minute guests at the guest house. 
Sheets on the line. 
Book work. 
Time for listening and dreaming. 
A fire at my partner in crime's home. 
Coffee.
Slow.

Soaking in the sun. 
Compost delivery. 
A ride in the truck to visit neighbors. 
No rush. 
Connecting. 
Each step an act of Worship. 
Intentional. 
Slow. 

I wrote the words,

"I just need to hang on until May," 

Our transition date to Organic Farming. 
I wrote it as if it was the day that will change everything. 

As if a moment in time will take all suffering away. 

A moment can change everything. 
A moment when your son looks into your eyes and says, "Good bye, love you." 
He bounds out the door with excitement. 

And never returns.
Moments can define us. 
Change us. 
But this. 

Hanging on until May. 

Will everything really change? 

Have I put my hope in a transition date? 
The thought causes me to wonder. 
The slowness of the weekend has caused me to wonder. 

I am so weary and tired from the struggle. 
Ways to make ends meet. 
Cash flow projections until my head hurts. 
So afraid of making the slightest mistake. 
Driving kids to activities. 
Micro managing a schedule. 
Each moment filled. 
Tense. 
Irritable.
It's not until I say the words,
"I just need to hang on until May,"
That I realize what I've done. 

Somewhere faith has walked out the door. 
My trust in God in the details has all but walked away. 
I've been holding on so tightly. 
I didn't even know it. 
Fists clenched. 
Jaw tight. 
Pain in my joints when I wake. 
Tension. 
Rushing. 
Here and there. 
So distracted.
A tool used by the enemy. 

I'm missing the lessons in the struggle. 

I do not have eyes to see. 
I shifted the gaze. 
Not by much. 
But enough. 
I moved from the here and now. 
To what lies beyond. 
Skipping through the day. 
Hoping it to end. 
To step into another. 
Just to have it done. 
While along the way. 
Lessons unfold. 
Moments of grace missed. 
Because I didn't slow it down. 
A fast paced life can't be helped. 
Dashing and living may be the season. 

It is the intent with which we live in that season that is crucial. 

There is much to learn in this transition season. 
Much I have missed while racing to have it over; 
to be done with the struggle. 
There is a little over a month to go. 
The hardest stretch. 
The greatest distance. 
I am shaking off the tension today. 
Unclenching my fists. 
God knows about this transition. 
He's aware of every step. 
He is in the struggle. 
He will not let us fall.
The sun is shining again today. 
I'm heading to make crepes for a house full. 
It's vacation. 
A night of sleep overs. 
Blessings abound. 
Lots of giggles. 
I am continuing to slow it down and have eyes to see. 
God shows his love for us; 
not when we're perfect and all refined. 
But when we're at our worst. 
Grace.
He came to change us. 
To make us more like him. 


Romans 5:8
But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: 
While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

The struggle is real. 
Life is challenging. 
But there are lessons to learn.
God is doing the work. 
It is by his Grace that we will complete this Transition. 
I want Him to receive all the glory. 
This farm is His. 
All that we have is His. 
Yes. 
Even our children are His. 
He is doing something beautiful. 
Even in the pain. 

Lord.
I continue to hand over all my life to you. 
This farm is yours. 
Do as you will. 
Guide us. 

We give you all the Praise and Glory. 

An Empty Bed

He didn't come home that night. 

His bed was empty. 

Last night she didn't come home. 

Her bed was empty. 

It's been 25 months since I have seen that
 red headed boy of mine. 

2 years and 1 month. 

And how my heart still aches. 

Somehow times marches on. 

In some ways I am stuck. 

And will always be. 

On July, 28, 2013. 

A piece of my heart that remains, there. 

She, on the other hand. 

Has flown the nest. 

Spreading her wings. 

We moved her into her dorm room. 

So much ahead of her. 

But, that. 

Is what we call success. 

That red head has graduated too. 

To the place we all long to be. 

The place for which we were created. 

Somehow. 

Her journey; more elevated. 

These are the things I ponder. 

On which my mind ruminates. 

The new path is begun. 

I'm filling this day with many things that need to be done. 

I am choosing to trust. 

I can feel the prayers of people. 

Moments of despair pass over me. 

Yet I am pulled to that place of peace. 

Heaven is our forever home. 

Earth our temporary one. 

I am going to eat lots of ice cream. 
Because ice cream makes everything better. 

Alone

Alone.
That's how I find myself this week. 
Plans to spend time with the youngest. 
Changed. 
And now. 
Alone. 
At first. 
I do not know how to react. 
Alone. 
In a room. 
A clean room. 
2 beds. 
Meals prepared. 
Solid biblical preaching. 
All alone. 
My own schedule. 
Clean towels everyday. 
Coffee. 
Everywhere. 
In the room. 
In the lobby. 
In the dining hall. 
Alone. 
I don't do alone. 
I find someone to accompany me to the store. 
I fight off the panic that threatens. 
It is then that I hear the small voice. 
Commune with me. 
How I have longed for more time to dig deep. 
To study the word. 
Commune with me. 
I don't know if I can.
This God that I want to know intimately, allowed my son to be taken. 
He allowed my husband to have cancer. 
He has allowed our finances to be stretched. 
In short amounts of time he allowed my Aunt, my parents best friend and my mom to journey home. 
He allowed my parents dog and our puppy to die premature deaths. 
He has allowed my dad to date the memory thief. 
He is also the same God who allowed a beautiful grand daughter to be born. 

Commune with me,  he says. 
I love Him and I will serve him. 
Yet spend alone time with him? 

In the quiet? 
I don't know if I can. 
I am raw.
 I am vulnerable.

Typically I recharge by being with people. 
But I don't have that energy any more. 

I open my mind to the possibilities. 

Richard Blackaby says,
 "Unless you make an adjustment. .. you're not going anywhere." 

And I cry out to God. 

Hasn't an adjustment already been made? 
An adjustment I didn't ask for or ever desire? 

Richard Blackaby continues his talk. 
He talks about his Father, Henry. 
One of the most influential men of our time. 
A man devoted to the word of God. 
A man so knowledgeable. 
He shares how his dad still longs to grow. 
To know more of God. 
To dig deeper. 
He challenges us to continue to be hungry for God. 
To find out what is holding us back? 
We are the ones who are limiting what God can do in our lives. 
What am I doing in my life that would require a miracle? 

I don't know where God will take me this week. 
Commune with me. 
I know that spending time, alone, with Him, is a starting place. 

I am embracing this gift of this week. 
I am willing to face everything, boldly. 
I am sure I may not like all that will transpire. 
But I am going to continue to be real. 
I don't like this path I am on. 
I did not ask for it. 
I do not like it. . . one bit. 
But, I do love the Lord. 
And the morning that Elijah met Jesus. 
I sat in my living room. 
Alone. 
My farmer and Cedric had gone to the barn. 
The girls were still sleeping. 
Their world still in tact.
The power was still out. 
There was darkness. 
And I was alone. 
I could barely breathe. 
 I did the one thing my soul is able to do. 
And that is to Praise. 
It is our first language. 
Praising the God of the Universe. 
It is what we will do when we see Him face to face. 

Jeremiah 29:13
You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

So in this time;
Alone.
I will dig deep into the Word. 
I will allow God to move. 

Are you willing to get real with God? 


Lauren Daigle
Trust in You

When you don't move the mountains I need you to move
When you don't part the waters I wish I could've walked through
When you don't give the answers as I cry out to you
I will trust, I will trust, 
I will trust in You!

When You Become Older Than Your Brother

Today. 

She is 18.

The age her brother never saw. 

The age we were anticipating. 

She, now older than him. 

We knew this would happen. 

He will remain. . . Young Forever.

She,will forge on ahead. 

A life full of hopes and dreams. 

She will cling to her rock. 

Her Savior. 

Trusting for each day. 

At Summer Bible Camp she gave a testimony. 

Brief. 

Yet a reminder that Jesus reigns. 

That her life belongs to another. 

Her pain and sadness is known by a Holy and Loving God. 

That Elijah is safe. . . at home. 

With God. 

Truth.

I marvel at her strength. 

Her perseverance. 

Her willingness to share; God is in control. 

Her desire to live intentionally. 

We will celebrate this life given to us. 

No matter how hard the walk grows to be, One thing remains;

Isaiah 40:28

Do you not know? Have you not heard? 

The LORD is the everlasting God, 

the Creator of the ends of the earth. 

He will not grow tired or weary, 

and his understanding no one can fathom.

Today. 

She is 18. 

Today. 

We choose to celebrate. 

This picture is. . . and will remain one of my most favorites. 

Happy Birthday Clarissa! 

Whom Shall I Fear?

I cut his hair. 

This man I call dad. 

My hero.

Handsome. 

Fun. 

Handy. 

Now ordered and known intimately by the memory thief. 

He cracks a few jokes. 

We visit. 

It's time to go. 

I can feel the lump. 

The elevator;  a mind of it's own today. 

My brother and I stand and wait. 

It's the leaving. 

I head to my car. 

I call my farmer. 

I can barely talk. 

I list off the "not right's" and the pain of the past 27 months. 

All the losses. 

So many. 

It clouds my evening. 

It is not until the morning, when I wake to a new day;

when I walk to the end of the drive way;

and see the freshly fallen snow. 

Snow that covers the ground as a blanket.

White. 

Clean.

The air heavy with silence. 

It is only then that I am reminded:

Deuteronomy 31:8

The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged."

Even this part of the journey,

is passing through the Father's hands. 

He goes before us, he goes behind us. . . and he goes with us. 

This was Gary's prayer at my brother Trevor's wedding. 

A prayer I still remember so well. 

And here on this snowy morning. 

I rest in the knowledge that we are not alone. 

Even in this. 

God is here. 

I look around me. 

There are so many changes taking place. 

27 months have changed my world forever. 

But I will not be discouraged. 

I will not be dismayed. 

What about you? 

Can you take courage today? 

Are you able to step into joy? 

I'd love to hear your story. 

We all need each other. 

Whom Shall I Fear?

Chris Tomlin

Monday Musings

He talks about a heart change. 

About the bubbling that can spew from our mouths; a condition of our hearts. 

Another speaks of having every thought held captive. 

And my heart sours. 

These young people. 

So many. 

Once the youth in bible study and youth group. 

Now parents of small children. 

And I am taken back to the time when they were younger. 

How I loved their digging deep; their probing questions. 

And now here. 

When they are grown. 

Digging deep together. 

This is a gift. 

I usually teach. 

Not a student. 

I haven't attended a Sunday School class in 15 years. 

Teaching; my gift. 

My desire. 

My passion. 

But a son snatched from this earth and the 
diagnosis of cancer stifled any thoughts of teaching. 

Sundays painful. 

Barely wanting to attend church. 

The questions. 

The music. 

The whole families. 

Mine broken. 

Missing. 

Hurting. 

Death knocking, knocking. 

Now, a year later. 

Cancer prayerfully on the other side of the wall. 

A different way of living without the oldest farm boy. 

Sunday School seems to be an option and after the holidays we take the plunge. 

We face the crowd.

The stares. 

Only to find. 

Warmth. 

Digging deep. 

Hope. 

Intense study of God's word. 

Hebrews 4:12
For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

The gift of all these young people.

These young people who have returned to the church of their youth. 

To unwrap scripture. 

I gaze around the room. 

Multigenerational. 

I breathe deep.

Mark 8:18
Do you have eyes but fail to see, and ears but fail to hear? 
And don't you remember?

We have to keep our eyes open to see the beauty. 
To capture the gifts. 

They are there. 

Each day. 

Each moment. 

Have you seen one today?