Fragmented to Repurposed

It's broken. 

This beautiful mug. 

It came in a package. 

From Germany. 

With love. 

A college room mate. 

A friend. 

Packed a box full of love. 

It made me laugh and cry. 

A hug from so far away. 

But one mug was broken. 

And it made me sad. 

Until. . . 

I held the fragments in my hands. 

Fragments. 

Fragmented. 

The way I feel. 

Most of the time. 

In pieces. 

Broken. 

Useless. 

Worthless. 

Spent. 

Fragmented. 

The pieces sat on the farm house table. 

Moved from one place to another. 

Until. . . 

Our friend Harold was sitting at the table. 

The engineer in him needed to put the puzzle together. 

He needed to solve the problem. 

Fix it. 

He glued each of those pieces back. 

Painstakingly tedious. 

Restored. 
Useful.
With a different purpose.
By a master. 

And there it was. 

The broken cup. 

So beautiful. 

Genuine. 

The pieces placed together again. 

The broken places visible. 

Imperfect. 

Not able to hold that hot, steamy liquid I so love. 

As I turned the mug over in my hands. 

It struck me. 

Repurpose.

Changing. 

Even the fragments from a broken mug can have a purpose. 

It's use; forever changed. 

Yet, still. 

A purpose. 
Some still unknown. 
A reminder. 
God takes the broken. 

He repurposes. 

He restores. 
Oh how he loves us. 
He will take this broken vessel.
He will take all this hurt and ache. 
He will use it for His glory. 
To bring Honor and glory to His name. 

I will never be the same. 
I am broken. 
I am tired. 
I am weary. 
Our God though. . . 

Psalm 121:4
indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

He watches over all. 

It's been 27 months, 
on a journey I did not initiate. 
I trip I never planned.
A path I do not like. 
A way I must travel. 

With each breath I have left,
with each step I take. 
I will sing praise. 
I will keep my eyes turned heavenward. 

Psalm 121:1
 I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

Lessons From the Coffee Pot

No rich smell of coffee reached my senses as I stumbled through the kitchen. 

My caffeine deprived system trying to register the day, the mess all at once. 

That is when my eye sight cleared enough to see. 

My coffee pot. 

In pieces. 

With no rich, aromatic coffee smells emanating from it. 

No beautiful perking sounds. 

Just pieces and parts on the counter. 

I knew this might be happening.
I had inside information and I failed to act. 

Yesterday, it was a 2 pot kind of a day. 

After 20 years of marriage my farmer bought a timer and makes my coffee.

Such a gift!

So fun. 

But that morning we needed more than the one pot. 

And so, I made another. 

Per usual, I got distracted and after a time remembered there was more 

hot, steamy liquid ready! 

As a good hostess I poured my house guest her cup first. 

The look on her face alerted me to a lack of coffee bliss. 

The coffee was cold.

I touched that percolator. 

The usually hot exterior was stone cold. 

I fiddled with the cord. 

I checked the outlet for power. 

I stared at my friend. 

Could it be? 

Could the coffee pot be unusable? 

It's usefulness finished? 

God bless her she gulped the rest of the cold, dark fluid. 

I rushed to the stove to warm my cup. 

The days needs usurped anymore discussion of the fate of the percolator. 

Until. . . we went grocery shopping. 

My dear friend suggested we stop at the Kitchen Store to purchase a new Percolator. 

I declined. 

Me. 

I declined the offer. 

Stating that I felt my farmer should look at it. 

He should see if it really needs to be replaced. 

Those percolators are not cheap. 

I wasn't willing to give up on my constant companion. 

My friend, being the wise woman, just shook her head; knowingly. 

She doesn't understand I thought. 

My other dear friends bought this pot for me. 

My other one failed the day Eleanor came into this world. 

Thinking back. 

They didn't ask. 

They just bought it. 

I came home from the hospital to delicious, freshly brewed coffee. 

It's been almost 10 years since that day. 

10 years of of perked coffee. 

The top long broken off. 

The contacts for the cord rusty and delicate. 

But this morning; when I stumble to the kitchen. 

I am greeted with parts and pieces. 

I could have had a delicious, hot, steamy, aromatic cup of coffee in my hands. 

But I had said, "No" to a gift. 

I call my farmer to share my shock and horror at 

the insides of the coffee maker on my counter. 

And my great distress at no hot coffee this morning. 

His words were compelling;  harsh in a loving way. 

I had been offered a gift and I had turned it down. 

James 1:17

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

My friend had offered a gift. 

I was unwilling to accept. 

It's hard to accept sometimes. 

Even after all these months of God's lessons in accepting from others. 

It is still hard. 

So this morning I drink a cup of coffee from the Keurig. 

It is not the same. 

But it does the job. 

A warm cup of java in my hands. 

My way to start each day. 

The Keurig a gift as well. 

A sweet gift given. 

I think on these events. 

The giver of the gift sought the joy in giving; in meeting a need. 

God's gift of love is given so freely. 

To all. 

Offered at the cost of, "yes". 

May you all know the joy of receiving the best gift ever given. 

All you need to do is say, "yes". 

I Snapped The Memory

I wake and I can feel the oppression. 

It is heavy. 

The weight of loss; the ache. 

Sometimes it's so hard to pray. 

I don't know what to say. 

It feels trivial. 

I've said it a hundred times already. 

God please be with me. Please, do not leave me. 

I pray 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.

I say the verse over and over. 

I long for Him to strengthen me. 

To hold me. 

These days are hard. 

I will take the kids to camp on Sunday. 

It will be a year since Cedric has seen his brother. 

Cedric went to camp for a week,

He came home and went straight to the haying field. 

He never saw Elijah. 

I am so grateful I took this picture. 

Taken with the iPhone I didn't want to get. 

Still learning how to use it; I snapped a memory. 

These boys had fought so much through their growing years. 

Both strong willed; determined. 

Heads butting over menial issues. 

Lately though, things had begun to change. 

There was a comaraderie. 

A new appreciation for each other. 

Elijah's departure to the Marine's looming. 

They were changing. 

My farmer and I were reveling in the dinner conversations and harmony 

that was descending as these boys matured. 

I snapped the memory. 

Now that is all there is left. 

Did my spirit know and understand how monumental this moment was?

This wasn't a typical moment. 

Elijah reached in the car, to hug his brother. 

It would be the last. 

I am grateful I have this photo. 

The memory etched clearly in my mind. 

Gifts of photo's of each of the kids taken within the last year. 

Moments of grace given. 

Gifts that did not have to be bestowed. 

They were. 

Even in death God is present and active. 

He has never stopped working His purpose. 

Even in the raw and hard. 

I will bow my knee low to the ground today as I walk this weary road. 

I will wait upon the risen Lord to fill my soul with his abounding love. 

Psalm 121:1-2

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?

My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

Being Molded Hurts

My washing machine is broken.
It's been that way since Saturday.
It's a 5 minute fix.
A sensor that has repeatedly needed to be replaced over the past 4 years.
 5 days, so far, of no laundry.
With 6 people, a dairy farm and hot and humid weather this is a stinky situation.
It is also one that is testing me to the core. 
I don't like the answer I was given.
To wait one week to have a washer serviced is unacceptable in my book.
I have paid for a maintenance warranty.
I have expectations.
They tell me I have options.
I can rent a washer.
My farmer says no.
The last time the technicians installed the washer they did it wrong and
he spent hours fixing the mess they made.
My other option is the Laundry Mat.
I BOUGHT A WASHER SO I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO THE LAUNDRY MAT.
I am inconvenienced.
I am so unsettled in my soul.
I want the service department to be diligent.
A week to me is not good service.

I know, first world problems, as Elijah would say. 

 I am trying to be grateful for the inconvenience.
Trying to embrace what God would have me learn through this situation.

Philippians 4:12
I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. 
I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, 
whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.

I struggled to be calm with the service personnel on the phone.
I prayed for her.
I wanted my way.
I am inconvenienced. 
I feel like a child.
I want to scream and get my way.
I am hurting and everything seems overwhelming.
 I need to be content. 
There is a reason.
Being content leads you to grace. 
Grace brings a humbleness and reliance on God.

I head to the Ancient Word.

I read about obedience.
Regardless of the situation.
Obedience is most important.

It is not about me.
It is about being refined and molded into the person Christ wants me to become.

Malachi 3:3
He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; 
he will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver. 
Then the LORD will have men who will bring offerings in righteousness,


Purify my heart Lord. 
Even when things don't go my way, I want to be humble.
I don't want to usurp your ways.
Help me to be content. 
Teach me to see beauty in these situations.

My heart's one desire
Is to be holy
Set apart for you, Lord
I choose to be holy. . .
Purify my heart

All In The Same Moment

This time last year 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 One year old. 

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 first Anniversary of my sons death. 

It's wrong. 

So very wrong. 

I feel like I have been in a bubble this past year. 

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. 

If you have children. 

Slow down. 

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. 

To be respectful. 

Go to church. 

Live in a Community that knows your name.
And even if they don't, 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. 

I Said Yes, When Every Ounce Of Me Wanted To Shout, "No!"

I choke back the real answer I want to give. 

I hold my emotions in reserve. 

Every ounce of me wants to shout, "No!"

She wants to go to the drive in with her friends. 

She needs money. 

Another night spins in my head. 

I didn't want him to go. 

I asked him not to go. 

I give her the money. 

I make popcorn and put it in a bag. 

I want her to be small again. 

I want to bathe them all and read stories while they all fight for a space on my lap. 

I want to pray and hear their gratefulness for the day. 

And then I want to tuck them into bed. 

Kiss them good night. 

Lean into the door frame and silently pray a blessing over them.
Deep gratitude for being a mom. 

That was then. 

This is now. 

And now rips at my heart. 

The now forces my hand. 

I can not cave to fear. 

I John 4: 18

There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.

 For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.

The enemy seeks to devour. 

I will not fall. 

I will stand on the truth I know.

I thank God for my daughter.

I need to let her go. 

She needs to see the strength in me; not the fear. 

Psalm 23:4

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,

 I will fear no evil, for you are with me; 

your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

She needs to see that when I am weak, then I am strong. 

2 Corinthians 12:10

For when I am weak, then I am strong.

She is well aware of my angst. She texts and calls. 

I pray. 

She's been very understanding. 

But she still went. 

She stood her ground in a gentle and firm way. 

We made it through. 

I am exhausted from being up so late. 

Yet I am encouraged. 

She is much like her dad. 

Each moment a choice. A decision. 

Confident. 

A walk into peace. 

A peace that is above all earthly expectations. 

John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. 

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

Thank you God for the lessons you teach us. For the ways you force our hand to conform more to your likeness each day. Thank you for your gentle and loving spirit that carries us through. 

Thank you for loving us enough to change us. 

The Farm Boy Left Behind

He loves to be out doors. 

Always has. 

He'd cry when the farmer was heading out. 

We'd strategize how long he could stay outside. 

When his nap should be.

Often it was taken with a  grease rag  pillow; somewhere in the tractor. 

 Wanting to be with his father. 

Longing to be close to the earth. 

Now he races tracks on this land. 

He tills and toils and lifts and creates, 

Jumps and turns. 

It exhausts him. 

He pushes his muscles and expends the relentless energy. 

So committed. 

Yet, still so young. 

A child some days.

Full grown man others. 

The death of his brother leaving him the oldest brother. 

A confusing place.

Roles changed. 

Piercing pain, yet pulled to lead. 

The 4 walls of a classroom claustrophobic. 

Knowledge flowing easily when the hands seek the learning. 

Struggles. 

Tension.

Wrestling with, who am I?

This man boy. 

So different from his brother. 

Yet so a like. 

Searching for truth. 

No hypocrisy. 

Closing in on a year. 

The last picture taken together. 

The last time they saw one another. 

The next the sweet reunion, in Glory. 

I pray for this man-boy.
My only son.
I watch him.
Longing for him to have joy.
My prayer is not for my child to be happy.
Nor is it for him to be successful.
I long for my boy to make choices that will make a difference in this world.
To not be a taker.
To take the gifts he has and use them for God's glory. . .not his own.
We're headed off the two of us to the races.

Praying for sweet time together.

Colossians 3:17
And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, 
do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus,
 giving thanks to God the Father through him.

When The Day Begins

Will the overwhelming feeling ever leave? 

Each morning before I wake. 

It is there. 

I fight for each thought. 

It is those moments I surrender. 

I breathe deep. 

Fear not for I am with you. 

We will make it through this day together. 

My God and I. 

He will give me the strength. 

He will give me eyes to see beyond the pain. 

He alone will guide my steps. 

The ache and pain. 

I hand over to Him. 

He will bring good from this mess I see. 

He is the source for my hope and strength. 

He is the calm in the storm. 

The shelter when I am weak. 

2 Corinthians 12:9

 "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

The sun peaks over the mountain. 

The day is beginning. 

Signs of Spring are beginning to show. 

The farm is a glow of green transformation. 

Each shade a staggering glory. 

I will be present in this moment. 

I will choose to see the beauty. 

His mercies are new every morning. 

I will rest. 

Be still. 

I will only boast in Christ.

My hope remains steadfast. 

Isaiah 40:31

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.

A Broken Pot (Yes Very Cracked) But Not Beyond Repair

The thoughtless words come spewing out. 

I am angry. 

My anger is directed at no one in particular.
The tender soul of the blue eyed girl receives the brunt. 

I feel out of sorts. And lashing out is my first reaction. 

Those words can not be taken back. 

No matter how deeply I ask for forgiveness. 

They came out.

I Corinthians 13:4-6
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.

They were in my sin ladened heart. 

It's the forgiveness I sought. 

But it wasn't forth coming. 

She was hurt. 

And my words; the one's asking for forgiveness meant nothing. 

The others were piercing and that's what she's thinking.
How we need to watch our words. 

Proverbs 16:24
Gracious words are a honeycomb, 
sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.

Words that can encourage and breathe life.
Not painful, hurtful, biting remarks.

Psalm 119:103
How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!

My heart constricts at her coldness.
I offended my sweet daughter and I feel awful.
She unwilling to forgive.
We both have lessons to learn.
Raw emotions leave us open for hurt.
Unwilling to let go.
I gaze into those baby blue eyes brimming with tears.
How could I let the words fly?
How could I hurt this tender soul?
Sometimes I just want off of this spinning journey we call life.
I can't seem to do it right.
The stress of the day and the tierney of the urgent reek havoc with my sense of calm.
So when I blow, it's a mess.
These are the moments Jesus shows up.
He reminds us of our sin and brokenness.
 He also reminds us of how much we have been forgiven.
Because we aren't always going to get it right.
We aren't always going to say the right thing.
But we are a forgiven people.
God in his mercy extended grace.
I will not always be forgiven by my children.
I will not always get it right.
But I will always be loved and cherished by the One who created me.
I am a work in progress.
A broken pot. (Yes very cracked)
But not beyond repair.
Jesus longs to reach down and fix it all.
At the end of the day. When the exhaustion has taken over and the mist of sleep is heavy.
I whisper to the blue eyed child again.
I am sorry. So sorry. 
She reaches up, gazes into my eyes, and hugs me tight.

Colossians 3:13
Bear with each other and forgive one another 
if any of you has a grievance against someone. 
Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

A Walk He Chose To Take

We celebrated his life. 

This man who was larger than life.
Who bent his knee to the Creator to be changed. 

Who took my broken heart into his hands and gently poured in grace. 

He taught me to receive. 

 His life; love in action. 

His sons talked of his faith. 

His love for words. 

And I know he loved coffee.
 He would show up at my door with his mug.
I loved that. 

He was a kindred spirit. 

As I sat in the back of the church I reflected on how almost 9 months ago
I sat in the front row remembering my son.
 Celebrating his brief life here on this earth.

 The life he was meant to live.
 No less. No more.
Part of the plan known only to King of Kings.

Today we will walk step by step towards the cross.

Each stop intentionally listening to the words spoken by Jesus. 

Our feeble attempt to "join" in his suffering. 

It is Good Friday.
The day on which all of creation hangs in balance.
Our Father turns his face from the filth of our beings.
He watched as his son bore the sin and shame meant for us.
Willingly Jesus moved to His death.
With each step He moved closer.
He at any time could have called 10,000 angels.
But He didn't.
He hung on the Cross over 2,000 years ago so that we might reign with him.
It is a debt I can never repay.
It is out of love and obedience that I serve Him.
Even when I don't understand Him.

As we wait and contemplate the cross.
I am reminded of a sermon.
It is one my boys repeated, over and over.
It is full of hope.
I encourage you to take some time to listen.
In the words of EV Hill.
It's Friday. . .And Sunday's comin'.

Are you ready? 
I can't wait. 

The Cost Of The Cross

Snow. In April. 

Poor man's fertilizer. 

The temperature has dropped 30 degrees. 

The water has traveled outside it's boundaries. 

Warm air has given way to a bitter wind. 

Reminding us that winter has not had it's final say. 

It is Holy Week. 

For some, this means nothing.

For me. 

It is everything. 
The journey Jesus took to the cross is the defining piece of my faith. 

He came into Jerusalem Hailed as King and left Jerusalem via the cross.

He took on the dirty and broken; so that we might live. 

He died to save a wretch like me; 

when He himself was sinless. 

And as we travel to the cross this week. 

I weigh the cost. 

It cost him everything that I might have life. 

He had no regard for his own being. 

He willingly laid down his life for mine. 

It was not taken. He gave. 

I do nothing to deserve it. 

It's mine. Because He said so. 

As I watch rivers skip their banks,

 and water erode a section on a road in a matter of moments;

I am reminded that things of this earth are temporal. 

This is not our home. 

Matthew 6:19-21

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, 

where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal;

 for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

We're not home yet. 

This journey here is but a moment in the eyes of the Lord. 

We grieve this week for a friend. 

I am trying to sort it all out. 

We rejoice that he is home. 

He dances the streets of Gold with my son. 

He died serving. 

The cost of the cross. 

Doing what He felt God called Him to do. 

My heart knows this. 

But when that calling was for you the guilt thief struts in.

Bold and brass.

He died to help a wretch like me.

We will pay our last respects and celebrate his home going. 

Tucked right in the middle of Palm Sunday and Maundy Thursday. 

There is deep spiritual significance there. 

I will wrestle with this joy in the midst of grief. 

We are a people who grieve with hope; no matter how heavy the load becomes. 

All I know is I'm not home yet

This is not where I belong. 

Take this world and give me Jesus

This is not where I belong. 

A Beautiful Place To Be

It washes over me like a wave. 

He's gone.

I have to take the older kids to the doctor for their sports physicals. 

We're in the car. 

A familiar song comes on. 

They turn up the volume. 

We rock to the music and sing. 

My heart constricts. 

He loved this song. 

He loved music.
We listened to so much music.
He made music.

 

And now;

He's gone.

My flesh and blood. 

The magnitude of the loss is crushing. 

How can we do this?

How does the scheme of the family go?

Who is first born? 

No one seems to know. 

My only boy now, says, I don't even know who I am. 

And it's true. 

Who are we in this family?

All our roles have all changed.

Death, cancer, depression; 

Words.

My constant companion. 

A friend mentions how can she do things when she feels broken?

I think. . . we are all broken. 

Whether it looks that way on the outside or not. 

We are all broken. 

Whether you want to admit it or not. 

We are all broken.
Yet we are redeemed.
Through Christ. We have hope.
Hebrews 6:19
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, 
firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,
The promise of eternity.

I don't know how to walk this road. 

Most days I don't even want to. 

What leads me on is the mystery of how God will work all this out. 

His word is Truth. 

In Romans 8:28 

He says, " And we know that in all things 

God works for the good of those who love him, 

who have been called according to his purpose."

In Jeremiah 29:11

These things I know. 

I also know that He is good because of who He is; not because of what He does. 

So with all these truths,

I need to be ready to see where God will lead.
He's going to take this brokenness and he's going to do something.
He will take the pieces of my shattered heart and he will place
 them back together according to his will. 

My role may have changed.
Who I am has been forever altered this side of heaven.
 But who I am in Christ has remained unchanged.
I am a new creation.
I have been redeemed.
And that is a beautiful place to be.