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. 

My Name is Tammy and I Make my Bed Everyday

I haven't showered. 

Laundry is piled on the floor. 

Book work stacked on the table and in piles. 

It's tax time you know. 

And the beat of that clock is ticking. 

I can feel it. 

I make my bed. 

Yes. 

In the middle of all the chaos. 

There is one thing. 

Constant. 

I make my bed. 

What does that say about me? 

I am sure psycho therapists would have a field day. 

Of all the things that need to get done. 

I make my bed. 

Every day. 

With out fail. 

I wash my sheets too. 

Almost every week. 

I have curtains that are falling apart. 
Clutter everywhere. 

But sheets that are crispy clean. 

I don't know why I do these things. 

I do know they bring me great comfort. 

A routine. 

Get up. 

Plug in coffee. 

Use the bathroom. 

Make bed. 

Get dressed. 

I don't even have to think about it. 

Nothing else seems to be routine. 

It all seems jumbled and chaotic. 

A spinning, whirling mess. 

I come up for air at times. 

Only to plunge again into the rhythm of living. 

There are days that I don't feel. 

The day structured so I can move 
through methodically. 

Folding laundry. 

Correcting math. 

Driving to dance. 

Cooking dinner. 

All without a thread of feeling. 

It is those days I wonder. 

How can I do this until eternity beckons?

Because the long term hurts. 

Short term is easier. 

I can do anything for a short time. 

I can make it. 

Small goals. 

But long term? 

Seems too far out there. 

Too many unknowns. 

Too many risks. 

That is how I feel. 

I don't even know how to risk anymore. 

Or do I? 

Can I run this race? 

Hebrews 12:1
 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

So, am I still a risk taker?
Can can I go the distance? 

When I think on my day. 

The risks far out weigh the safety of anything else. 

Each day I watch and navigate as I lead children
 in the way they should grow. 

Often on little sleep and a super tight budget. 

We mamas rise up. 

We balance meals and check books.

We negotiate and implement multiple strategic
 plans throughout each day. 

 Building an Army for the Lord. 

Raising children to serve Him. 

To be empathetic;
in a world hostile to the gospel.
 The clock is ticking. 
Ticking closer to eternity. 

There are precious moments left. 
What will you do with those moments? 
How will you spend the time until Eternity beckons?

I will still make my bed. 
I will enter the struggle of the pain and joy. 
Yielding to the Father. 
Rising up in His strength. 
And yes. 
I will still make my bed. 

Because hidden deep in that task is the decades
 old practice of bowing low.

Getting out of bed. 
Seeking first the kingdom of God. 
Pulling up the sheets.  
Praying for the day. 
Straightening the comforter
Pleading for a marriage bed to be pure. 
Arranging pillows. 
Seeking guidance. 
Admitting my inability to do this journey alone. 

That is how I will do the long term. 
By living in the short term. 
For Him. 
By His grace. 

Isaiah 40-29-31
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.

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!

A re- working of All In The Same Moment

We had been in Maine. 

We came home. 

It was so quiet. 

 No white tornado puppy to great us. 

I had been thinking about our home going and what it would be like. 

How quickly my son would experience that journey. 

Each step of every day draws me closer to the anniversary of the day. 

We attended a Birthday for a sweet family friend. 

We sang Happy Birthday and she opened her presents. 

On the TV ran photos of my children when they were little. 

Pictures of Elijah. 

His blue eyes sparkling. 

The kids so little. 

How quickly it all went. 

It seems like yesterday, my kids were the ones celebrating their first birthdays. 

Now I am about to recognize the  Anniversary of my sons death. 

It's wrong. 

So very wrong. 

I feel like I have been in a bubble. 

Between the deaths and the cancer something has been askew. 

There has been one constant that has been right. 

Each moment held by grace. 

Wrapped in love. 

Feet planted firmly. 

My go to place.

The solid rock.

Psalm 18:31

For who is God besides the LORD?

 And who is the Rock except our God?

My faith in Jesus Christ. 
My years as a mom, wife, believer. 
I am still learning. 
Yet, have gained some wisdom along the journey. 

With love and grace, I pass it along. 

If you have children. 

Slow down. 
Even if you don't; slow down.
Cancel the week long camp. . . go camping. . . even if it's in the back yard. 

Love more. 

Laugh at inappropriate times. 

Take yourself a little less seriously. 

Talk about God. 

A lot. 

Teach your children to pray. 

To love; with every act. 

Be respectful. 

Go to church. 

Live in a Community that knows your name.
And even if they don't; where they will still love on you. 

Find ways to be creative. 

Say I love you. 

All the time. 

Even when you don't feel like it. 

Trust God. 

Breathe deeply. 

Always kiss them good bye when they leave. 

Always.

Hold tight; yet let them spread their wings and fly. 

All in the same moment. 

Here's To Mom's

Here's to moms who've lost a child. 

Whose hearts have teetered on the edge.

Whose world stopped for just a moment in time.

When the eternal met the sweet, earthly soul. 

The mom's that have shed a thousand tears. 

While piercing pain rips through their soul. 

Mom's who get up every morning. 

Put one foot in front of the other. 

Who press through the day and create a home

A home fractured and never the same. 

The mom's that stand by their child's bed.
With wracking sobs. 

Never to caress the forehead again.
The abdomen that swelled with life.
Now silenced.

The longing that sears. 

The ache; a gaping wound. 

Here's to the mom's that have bowed their knee to the ground in
 humble submission to the Savior and King of Kings. 

The same King who now holds their precious bundle. 

Here's to the moms who shed tears in private.

Who carry the ache. 

Who listen to words of "you'll heal" and "someday it won't hurt so much". 

All spoken by well meaning friends who have no idea. 
The mom's who smile and nod and ache inside.
Whose arms are empty.
Here's to the moms who go through this life always missing.
Who need an extra hug.
Who catch their breath at the what will never be's.
Here's to those moms.

Here's to the promise that will carry those moms through.
The life giving breath from a Savior on high.
The strength that will rise.
The hope of a reunion.
Pushing through the days until we meet again.
Remembering we are held. `

Jeremiah 31:3-4
The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.I will build you up again, and you, Virgin Israel, will be rebuilt. Again you will take up your timbrels and go out to dance with the joyful.

Sometimes, It's Really Not Fair

The email pops up.

It's your birthday take $25 off your order. 

My mind racks. 

Whose birthday?

I look. 
He rarely used his e-mail for anything.
He used mine. 

My stomach lurches.

The reminders painful. 

I try to remember to breathe. 

I can't hold my breath each time; each time there is a reminder. 

Death is permanent. 

What's on the other side is eternal. 

But here, this side of eternity; it's permanent. 

And it will tear you apart. 

The missing reaches into places you never knew existed. 

It can twist and turn until you're in knots. 

That which you can never, ever have. 

Him whom you bore 9 months. 

Watched walk across the stage to receive his diploma.

So handsome.
So full of hopes and dreams.

The beginning of a new journey. 

Commencement. 

Yet it was his ending. 

Isaiah 40:8
The grass withers and the flowers fade,
    but the word of our God stands forever.

I am left here to step forward. 

To redesign my walk. 

Yet I stumble and I hit a wall. 

So, this day. 

I will cry. 

I will say it's not fair.

I will shout for anyone who wants to hear that driving by the bank every day IS HARD. 

Yet, I won't stay there. 

I will say thank you every time I drive by there.

Someone has so faithfully placed plants and cut the grass back.

The flags have been replaced and the old ones delivered respectfully to me. 

All the hope and loss wrapped in a package.
The steps through this journey purposeful.
Seeking.
Hoping. 
Holding tightly.
Where are you today?
How are you walking through your journey? 

This Is Not All There Is

It's less than 10 days-

he would have had here on this earth. 

We had no idea. 

These days were his last. 

Each moment priceless. 

I step forward each day  . 

Missing. 

Yet needing to press on. 

Washing, cleaning, cooking. 

Bills, groceries; life. 

Life that is holy.

Purposeful.

I check in with the kids and ask how they are. 

The sweet girl, more woman than girl, says she's fine. 

I push her. 

She looks at me and says, really, I am fine.

He's better off. 

It's where I want to be. 

She's lost so much. 

So wise. 

This is not where we belong. 

Hebrews 13:14

For this world is not our permanent home; 

we are looking forward to a home yet to come.

We are destined for the eternal. 

This life is fleeting. 

The time we have here, lived to glorify the One who gave himself for all. 

Pressing on toward the goal which Christ has called us heavenward. 

Philippians 3:14

I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me 

heavenward in Christ Jesus.

The pain of this world spurs us on to the next. 

This is not all there is. 

There is more. 

Clarissa and Cedric will travel to camp this week. 

This is monumental for them. 

A week later their lives would be forever changed. 

Please join me in praying for them and the many other kids who will wrestle with the gospel. 

May they be challenged and encouraged. 

I pray that their faith will increase. 

Their joy; richer.

Hope; unleashed. 

Each one of these milestones bring about a richness in the fullness of Christ. 

We have no other hope than in Him. 

It is because of Him that we are able to say. 

"It is Well With My Soul"

Horatio Spafford lost his son, experience financial ruin and then a tragic loss

 at sea where his four daughters drown; only his wife survived. 

This is the hymn he penned after that loss. 

How Does One Let Go, When You Want To Hold On Tight?

How to walk this road; nobody knows. 

Learning to let go when you want to hold on tight. 

The future torn from you. 

Death.

The silent thief. 

Knows no boundaries. Respects no heart. 

We, a people, not meant for death. 

Created for life. 

Abundantly. 

The searing pain rips through. 

Again, and again.
A walk past the room.
A graduation cap and gown.
The sound of a siren.
Again, and again, the pounding pain.
He is no longer here.
He is no longer here.
There are no coming homes.
I do not cook his favorite meal.
I write no letters and receive none in return.
The pain like a knife.
We are human.
We are made in His image.
Therefore my pain is real.
He was my son.
Never forgotten.
Always missed.
A piece of me.
Gone.
Awaiting the reunion with great anticipation.
Longing for the moment to see Him again.
Pushing to put Christ over my son.
My yearning for heaven is Jesus. Not Elijah.
But in all honesty the desire is for my child.
I held him and rocked him.
I watched him grow,
I saw him cross the threshold from High School to manhood.
How does one let go when you want to hold on tight? 

You let go to God. Give rest to your soul.
Isaiah 41:10
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. 
I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
You seek peace in each corner.
Cry out in prayer.
Because letting go, when you want to hold on tight. . . is hard.

Finding Joy And Grace For This Very Moment

Before I even open my eyes, I feel it. 

I have a headache and the missing is there. 

Some days it is not so apparent. 

But today it will be my constant companion. 

The deep longing. 

I want to wriggle out of this skin. 

I want all that has been lost to be restored. 

But it can't.

The weight of the loss and what the future will hold threatens to pull me down. 

The hot burning has returned. 

I make coffee and look at the piles of laundry and book work still needing attention. 

The floors that need to be mopped, 

the clutter of the Christmas tree and all that comes with entertaining.

Yet I will spend the day at the hospital. 

And some days I just wonder what is this all for? 

What is the purpose in all this suffering; in the laundry and the cooking, the decorating. 

I know there is none, absolutely no purpose, apart from Christ. 

It is in him that we move and have our being. 

Acts 17:28

For in him we live and move and have our being.' 

As some of your own poets have said, 'We are his offspring.'

It is for Him that I live. For His purpose. To work out our salvation each day. 

Philippians 2:12

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed--not only in my presence,

 but now much more in my absence--continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,

That is the purpose to each day. To seek His face. To find that which is holy. 

How do we share the peace that passes all understanding. . .

even in the midst of death, cancer, financial strain. 

God is still there through it all. 

There are lessons to learn. 

There is joy to be found. 

Blessings to count. 

We had visitors yesterday. The kind that bring joy to my heart.

  Elijah's friends.

Friends who hold memories and stories that bring smiles to the room. Stories that remind you of the wonderful young man he was. Stories that link you close for a moment. 

And it is there I must remain. 

In the memories, in he hope that all will one day be restored. 

That Christ wills and purposes in each of us, each day, who are called by his name. 

The laundry will wait. The book work will wait. 

 I will have a date with my farmer.

I will snuggle with the kiddos who will still let me. 

We will stay warm because people gathered in community to serve. 

The impact and magnitude of that event is still with me. 

Though I still wandered in a dense fog, I knew the importance of this gift.

But I didn't know how important it would become. 

Or how our world would continue to change.

Each day that we are warm and no one has to head to 

 the woods for a bucket of wood I am deeply grateful. 

There is hope. 

And no matter how hard it gets or how unsteady the ground feels.

There is still One who knows the future. One who not for a moment turns His head. 

So today I will reach deep down to the hurt and the pain of loss and the fear of the unknown and I will seek the hope that is there.

I will spend the day on a date with my farmer and I will breathe deep 

the opportunity to spend the day with him. 

I will find the joy and grace for just this very moment. 

You said you'd never forsake me or turn your face from me. 

You hide me beneath your wings

Though these trials may shake me, you won't let them rake me

And I'll find a reason to sing.

This will be a new day!

There will be a new song!

Lord your joy is my strength.

I have a hope

Do you know that hope? Do you feel that peace?

I long for that, for all.