The goodness of God

There is a song, "Goodness of God" by Jenn Johnson that I play over and over on Spotify. The lyrics sing to and soothe my soul:

I love Your voice:

You have led me through the fire,

and in darkest night you are close like no other.

I've known you as a Father,

I've known you as a Friend,

And I have lived in the goodness of God.

My one and only post of 2018, in January, declared that family and faith would make it an amazing year. How overly confident and presumptuous, because in many ways, 2018 was an absolute disaster. Then again, it was a triumph in how God showed His goodness to me. 

In April 2018 I suddenly entered a series of scary, painful, and life-threatening health issues. From a kidney stone, to septic shock due to medical negligence, to an infected knee requiring surgery to flush it and 21 stitches to close it, I endured a physically miserable summer. The unknown world of home health care, the E.R. and I.C.U., infectious disease doctors, orthopedic surgeons, physical therapy, and prescription meds became the norm. I had no energy, no appetite (except for coconut cream pie!), no focus for reading, and a lousy attitude. Bill and Katie took over all my household tasks, the family I work for showed grace as I healed, and our extended and church family supported us. I absolutely hated being so dependent.

The spring and summer days slid by and bed became my retreat from constant pain, from the reminders of my limitations. Every step, every turn of my body, even standing to make eggs and toast, were reminders of my weakness. Some days it took me to a dark place of self-pity.

To add insult to all the injuries, the avalanche of medical bills began. Because of the nature of my insurance and the fact of several hospital stays, doctors, and surgeons, we were soon tangled in an indecipherable web of bills, statements, and phone calls that took a full ten months to completely sort out. It was, truly, almost worse than all the physical healing.

And yet. Now, with almost all of it behind us, I see much more clearly. Could God have prevented the sepsis? Yes, I believe He could. Instead, He used it as an opportunity to draw my family and me closer to Him. God doesn't "give us only what we can handle," quite the opposite. He allows trials that we cannot handle, that are far too big and hard and painful for us, so that He will be shown strong in our very weakness. 

I had a 50% chance of living or dying that April weekend and only now, more than a year later, do I see the goodness of God in sparing me. I've always been a stubborn rebel at heart, self-sufficient and for many years not thinking I needed God. "Thanks, God, but I've got this." Well I didn't have it last year, and in my darkest moments I realized it with clarity. Not only did I need a physical rescue, I needed a spiritual rescue as well. 

'Cause your goodness is running after, it's running after me.

With my life laid down, I'm surrendered now, I give you everything.

I had no choice but to give God everything. The pain, the fear, the depression, the mounting bills. It was so very hard, but it was so good. His goodness ran after me and showed me His big love through a big rescue. Is life perfect? No. We are still stumbling financially a bit, and I will probably never chase my grandchildren like I used to. But in that, a greater good has come: eyes to see God's goodness. 

And all my life You have been faithful.

And all my life You have been so, so good.

With every breath that I am able,

oh I will sing of the goodness of God!

Had I succumbed to sepsis, would God still be good? Why do children die and mothers get cancer? Why did my friend's teen desert her family? Where is God when Alzheimer's derails retirement plans? Even the most faith-filled cannot know. But in the book of James, we are told to "Consider it joy [JOY!] when you face trials ... because the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work  so that you may be mature and complete ..." [That is, complete in Christ.] (James 1:2-4) WOW I go back to this passage time and again. So much there.

I sense a quiet stirring in my spirit. I am almost 65 (yay, Medicare!) and I think God has more for me. I am excited for what lies ahead.  

Even if tomorrow is my last day, I have seen the goodness of God. And it is enough.

Ten little Indians! Now there are 11, since the arrival of Jude William last month.
L to R: Jake, Ari, Noah, Ethan, Peter, Jordan, Lily, Maddie, Ashlyn, and
I'm holding Simon.  (Photo by Katie Haller)

changes

Where there is a thankful spirit, there is joy.

Oh dear, what in the world?? My blog posts have played hide-and-go-seek these many months. Can't tell you how many times I've printed in all CAPS on my to do lists: BLOG, to no avail. Gah!!

I continue to write for Heart of Ohio Magazine. The kind folks there kept me on board. Check out our beautiful magazine! Better yet, treat yourself to a subscription!

This week I'll make a stab back here on the blog. It's spring break from my school job. I appreciate you readers who have asked or said you miss my posts.

The past year has been amazing, in good ways and hard. How can anyone know exactly how a big life move will play out? Living in the same city as half our family is wonderful, as imagined. And living more central to all the kids proves the move from Ohio to North Carolina was right. We've made trips to Florida and Virginia (kids and grandkids both directions) and of course spend time with the kids/grandkids here.



Thanksgiving weekend 2016



I LOVE the weather in North Carolina. Spring comes with the calendar, none of that snow in April nonsense! We have a lovely front porch, perfect for morning coffee and afternoon reading. Hot summers, yes, but in college I lived in tents at Girl Scout camps in Tennessee and Florida ... THAT was hot. We can take day trips to the Blue Ridge Parkway and breathe in the mountains. Spectacular.

What I didn't fully anticipate was the difficulty of adjusting to a large, new city (even though we'd visited Dan and Jenny here for eight years, I didn't really learn the city), where to shop, friends, church, routines, and well, just EVERYTHING changed. At our age it's just harder than when you're young or have kids around to light your fire.

I spent a few months seeking part-time jobs and finally landed one which began after Thanksgiving. That's what seems to have anchored me a bit. I'm a reading tutor in a public elementary school and while learning all the pieces of the job was a challenge, the stretching has been so, so good. I work with some amazing women who are passionate about helping kids read, write and understand better. I love being part of a little army of encouragers to some kids who need it.

We've had some houseguests throughout the year: friends and family stopping over on trips north or south. Fun!

If there's one thing I'd do differently as a wife/mother/woman, it would have been to keep up a career of some sort. Yes, God makes my way but I believe He has something more beyond mothering and grandmothering and at this age it was extremely hard to find a niche where I can use my gifts.

Our quiver continues to fill: grandchild #8 is due in June (Mark and Jill's fourth) and #9 in September (David and Chelsea's first)! I'm excited to have the summer off for a change of pace although I doubt the pace will slow down. And really? I don't want to slow down because at my age I may not get moving again!

So that's where I am. Bill is driving for Uber and he's amazing at it! He needs to keep a journal because he comes home with hilarious and interesting stories from the road.

 

Perhaps the best lessons the past year have come through the hardships. I've learned gratefulness in the very hardest things because that's when I stretch, grow, and lean more on God and His faithfulness.

 

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is

God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

 

 

crazy, happy, hard

Here's what I've been doing: I'm spending the afternoon on our back porch, working on a magazine article. After our brutal winter, the sun and wind and daffodils under the pines are like heaven.

At this moment my life is crazy, happy and hard. So much has happened since Thanksgiving. And I thank HIM, the God of universe for all of it, hard as it is to walk with the hard stuff.

We learned that we get our tongue-in-cheek hope for another baby in 2015. (Four generations of us born in '5' years) And we get TWO, due five days apart in early June! I think they're both boys. We'll see when they come because neither mom is finding out her baby's gender. Love, love that!

Bills' mom Elizabeth, 98, had a nasty fall on Christmas day, another hospital visit on my birthday in early January, and entered Hospice care. We thought we'd lose her within weeks but she rallied and has had ups and downs since then but seems stable. It's an emotional and physical journey for those who love her and particularly Bill and his brother Bob, who visit her every day. Which goes to show, it is God who numbers our days. Not doctors, not hospice. I invite you to pray for Elizabeth's comfort and peace.

I've had a fun little part-time job for about 18 months ... I'm a mother's helper to a family with six children ages 3-17 and their mother Noelle homeschools every one of them. Some think I'm crazy, but my time there is a blessing to me, especially in the midst of Elizabeth's decline. In their home is life and love and NOISE and music (lots of piano) and laughter and I love it. It's a little trip back in time.

In February our oldest son, David, proposed to his girlfriend Chelsea. (last post) And since they live two hours apart and are just crazy about each other, it won't be a long engagement. In July we will trek to Florida for their wedding! The other boys' weddings were local, so this is different in many ways. Lots of texts, phone calls, questions and answers, and really, getting to know Chelsea better at a distance. I couldn't be more blessed by my daughters-in-love!

Our Michigan cabin is back on the market and we are talking more and more about moving south when the time seems right. It's been a decision long in the making and ya know how when you make a decision you just want to get on with it? I battle impatience and resting in God's timing. But faith is trusting God even when we don't see what we want, when we want it.

And that is what I pursue and rest in, day after day.

seven from heaven!

The word is out:

by mid-June, two more Haller babies will join our family, making SEVEN

grandchildren under the age of six for us!

Yes! Jenny and Jill are both pregnant.

Both have chosen not to find out the babies' genders ahead of time

and I think that just adds to the excitement!

 

The newest Haller cousins are due just five days apart

so I pray for healthy deliveries, robust babies, and strong mamas. (and daddies)

And ... it would be nice if the babies aren't born within hours of each other
 so that Baba can manage to get to them in a timely manner. (-:

 

 

God has surely blessed us more than we could ever imagine:

with our children, daughters-in-love, and now

these precious grandchildren.

 

Thank you, Lord.

For love.

For life.

For a new generation.



the old Christmas trail

This post, by Donna Boucher (a blogger and photographer I love) set my mind near an old familiar trail. I took this trail every Christmas for too many years.

It started the year my mother died, 1979. Bill and I drove to Memphis to spend Christmas with my dad and siblings. Though we went through the motions of roast turkey and a trimmed tree, a heaviness hung over the house. Always the maker of Christmas in the family, my mother's absence was raw, sharp and devastating.

As the years went on, little things hit me. "Angels We Have Heard on High," a favorite carol of Mom's, would bring me to tears. Gifts hidden in closets. Christmas morning coffee cake and cheese grits. Once our children came along, emotions only heightened. I tried to make Christmas wonderful for my kids, to give them memories they'd always cherish. But by December 24, as much as I tried to ignore it, the combined stress and sadness swept over me. It really wasn't the proper focus at all, for me or the kids. I hope they "got" Christ at Christmas despite my gloominess.

My mother's death pre-dated my spiritual rebirth by 8 years. But by the time I yielded my life to God, habits were firmly rooted. Habits like fixing my eyes on the seen, not the unseen. Valuing a worldly view over an eternal one. And yes, allowing memories and the idea of a picture-perfect Christmas to overwhelm me.

These days? It's much better, though my mind can dally near that old trail. I pray for a heart focused on Christ and his will for my December. To give, to serve, to love better. And to be comforted by God.

Still, perhaps I'll always struggle with a damaged heart around Christmas time. It seems to be a condition shared by so many. If you find yourself there, I understand. As Donna Boucher says,

 

"I won't tell you to snap out of it. I can only say, I know."

I pray blessings, peace, contentment and eyes ever on Christ this Christmas.

the beauty in dying

Did you read the story of Brittany Maynard, the 29-year-old with brain cancer in Oregon? She plans to legally end her life on November 1. When I read her story and watched her heart-rending video this week, I was saddened and horrified, especially by the support and encouragement she is receiving regarding her decision.

But then, I'm not dying of cancer. I didn't know how to express my sense of how Brittany's decision seems so wrong. I couldn't lend credibility until I read a post on Ann Voskamp's blog, A Holy Experience. Ann's friend Kara Tippetts, a 38-year-old mother of four, also has stage 4 cancer. Kara opens her heart to Brittany, imploring her in love to reconsider her decision that looms less than a month away. It is tender, affirming and loving in every way. Please read and decide for yourself:

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2014/10/dear-brittany-why-we-dont-have-to-be-so-afraid-of-dying-suffering-that-we-choose-suicide/

"In our dying, He meets us with His beautiful grace," says Kara. How I came to know this truth on my four years of trips to Nashville to be with my dying father. I hated those trips. But I loved them, too. In that last year, as painful as it was to witness Dad's agonizing decline into dementia and death, I emerged on the other side realizing that beautiful grace.

God granted me the beauty of getting to know my father: a man who managed to hide his real self. God showed me how to stretch beyond my comfort and pain-free life to hold the hand and heart of my dying father. He comforted me on every drive home from Nashville as tears fell. God drew me ever closer through music and scripture, speaking to my heart that He had me, and He had my dad.

If this wasn't grace in dying, please tell me what is. Grace. It's a gift, an unmerited gift. My father's death was a gift of grace and powerful love for us both as we drew ever closer.

Had my father been able to take a pill to end his life, well, the gifts and grace and intense beauty would have been stolen. And his life would have ended before God had planned. God creates life and it is He who takes it away.

My times are in your hands ...

Psalm 31:15

As for God, his way is perfect ...

Psalm 18:30

one year later: choosing joy

My brother Pat called one year ago this morning. "He's gone," he choked out.

We knew it was coming, we actually prayed for Dad's release from his prison of dementia. Still, it was a hard, hard day.

An emotional week followed: getting to Nashville, all our kids and my siblings and their kids, the service in Nashville and burial in Memphis, and an 11-hour drive straight back to Ohio. The comfort of my stepmother Sally and her family was wonderful.

In the past year I got a new job. Made trips to see grandchildren. Moved Katie to Florida and was stunned by the sudden death of dear friend Pat. We made three trips to our cabin (for sale) in northern Michigan. Bill's still dealing with significant back pain. His mom, Elizabeth, is almost 98 and growing more frail.

Life goes on and there seemed to be more challenges over the past year. But God is faithful and I choose joy: joy in seeing my children strong and independent. Joy in a loving and supportive husband. Joy in the truth that God is always good, his ways and timing perfect. Joy in the memories of having had two parents on this earth whose presence is missed but whose teachings I hold close.

Life isn't always what we want or hope, nor can I demand to always be "happy." But I can choose joy, seek peace and practice contentment.

... I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

Philippians 4:11

love holds fast

I stepped into his room a year ago. Looking small and frail in his bed, my father opened his eyes as I leaned over and took his hand. Not the hands I once knew, but tiny and white waxy.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked. In the screaming, silent moment, my throat tightened. This time he might not know me.

"You're my daughter," he answered finally.

I spent that day at his bedside and knew for certain it would be

my last with him on earth.

The last day I would print off a name tag at the front entrance to Richland Place.

The last time chuckling as I tried to punch the right code for the elevator,

a procedure to prevent confused patients from leaving their floor.

The last time "going to dinner" meant heading down to the resident dining room to eat cabbage rolls and drink sweet "tay" with Dad. 

And the last time he'd say, "let's get some breakfast" at three in the afternoon.

And we did.

The last time I would sit, thinking of something to say to pull him

into reality and as he dozed off, shift my gaze to golf on TV. 

The last time I'd sympathize about the "bugs on the ceiling" or the prospect

of Dad "having a meeting about buying this hotel."

I can accept death. It's the journey of dying, my father's slow and painful slide to the end that haunts me still. His loss of personality, physical strength, and life quality brought me to tears each time I left him to drive home from Nashville.

Though I wanted to run, I held his frail hand and sat beside him for ten hours on our last day together, June 10, 2013. He slept most of the day and I thought of leaving.

 It wasn't my will that held me there nor even a perceived obligation.

It was love that held me fast.

One of the last things I said to him was, "Dad, do you love Jesus?" And at that moment his eyes focused on me. "I do, I love Him a lot." And my heart was comforted.

I arrived home the next day, exhausted. Bill, Katie and I ate dinner on the porch. All I could say was, "I hope you never have to watch someone as I have watched Dad."

God created us for eternal life with him. I rest in that.

But holding fast to the dying: hard to take.

Then again, it was love that held Christ, too.

Love held Him fast to the cross.

 

... everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.

John 3:15

February 2013

living expectantly and thankfully ~ eucharisteo

 I'm going on 60.

I've seen loved ones age and die and don't think for a minute

that mortality isn't on my radar. 

Losing your parents will do that and it shakes you. 

I decided this is the year I need to get serious,

to ask God to pierce my heart for what He is calling me to do, to be, to write.

I want to live expectantly for God.

And thank Him ... in the waiting, the not knowing, and yes,

even the deaths of loved ones.

 

So I pray. I contemplate.

I've found it can be easy to feel a bit "washed up" when children do

what we raise them to do: take care of themselves.

I fully expect God isn't going to shelve me and the gifts He gave me.

He will come through and speak joy and challenge and direction. 

But then, being God, He will speak whatever He decides. And I will listen.

 

Right now I'm reading two books at once. (Something I never do.) 

Each has 11 chapters, so it works.

One is a second read, Writers in the Spirit by Carol Rottman.

I won this little treasure in a writing contest judged by Carol.

It's part devotional and part practical advice for aspiring Christian writers.

 I "get" so much of what Carol writes.

The other is New York Times bestseller One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp.

It is deep, metaphorical. In fact, I started it a month ago but had to start over. 

But wow it's shaking me up. Ann's writing style is poetic and she challenges me with transformative messages.

Eucharisteo - thankfulness.

 I am beginning my own one thousand gifts journal 

and I'm certain it will change my life.

Check out Ann's blog ... the music alone has me transfixed every time.

 

I want to share a quote or two from One Thousand Gifts but as I skim the

pencil-marked pages, it's proving impossible.

Ann's message is simple yet complex to fully grasp:

thanking God for everything, in everything.

 

She quotes Saint John of Avila at the start of chapter 5 ...

One act of thanksgiving, when things go wrong with us,

is worth a thousand thanks when things are agreeable to our inclinations.

 

This is the heart of who God is

and "makes meaning of everything," according to Ann.

 

Life change comes when we receive life with thanks and ask for nothing to change.

~ Ann Voskamp

 

 

love

Happy Valentine's Day! So much has happened in our family in the past year. It was about this time a year ago that we first saw the orthopedic surgeon and learned Bill would need a spinal fusion. (Ten months later, he is still recovering; some days are just an effort for him.) We welcomed two precious grandsons over the summer. My dad died in early September after a long journey through dementia and my adoptive mom, Pat, passed away suddenly in January. Finally, I helped our daughter Katie move to Florida last month. Bill's mom, 97, lives here in town in assisted living. She seems physically well but her memory is not.

Every family encounters trials and joys, but the past year seemed to give us extra helpings of each. All of our children and grandchildren now live out of state. Some days I really struggle with this. I never imagined we'd want to "follow" our kids as they move away, but now we are beginning to talk and pray about possibly relocating. I don't know, maybe losing Dad brought this into focus for me. I don't want to be an absent grandmother. And while yes, we can "take road trips" (a comment I hear often), honestly it's getting old to have to drive 450 miles to hold a grandchild or celebrate a birthday.

Some retirees look forward to travel, hobbies and socializing and I'm fine with some of that. Bill and I enjoy our quiet evenings, dinners for two, and bike rides. But my heart aches terribly in missing those five precious little ones. I never want to be intrusive or overbearing in the lives of my children and grandchildren, but I do want to be available, to know, love and enjoy them.

I think it comes down to love. Things like houses and vacations don't much matter to me. They certainly won't matter in eternity. After God, family is the only thing I need to love.

And so while I seek God's wisdom and grapple with Him stirring my spirit, I trust He has the best plan, the best timing and will prepare us for whatever is to come. Also, I am reminded to "be content whatever the circumstances." (Philippians 4:11). No matter what I may want, I choose to trust God in all things.

the ups and downs

When I stop to think about it, this year has been one of incredible ups and downs.

In March we learned that Bill needed spinal fusion surgery, which he had in April. It changed our lives for weeks. In May our first grandson, Noah, was born in Charlotte. Our second grandson, Ethan, arrived Sunday, September 8 and my dad died Friday, September 13. Our beloved cabin in Michigan is up for sale, too.

Birth, death, serious surgery: it's all a part of life. The older I get, the more I am able to keep perspective. Parents will die. Our children will move away as they make their own lives. Circumstances change and plans do, too.

This year our church is working through a book called The Story. It is the entire Bible, mostly scripture, but presented in chronological order so it reads more like a novel. What we're learning is God's "upper story" of His great love for us and how He wants to redeem us will win out over the "lower story" of our lives here on earth. This study has reminded me to keep a proper perspective as I go through life's challenges.   

We have been in Virginia since Wednesday night, finally getting to meet little Ethan! I hope he understands that his Baba and Popsy love him so much, but life's ups and downs have kept us from getting there sooner.

Be back soon, with some photos of a very soggy weekend near D.C.!

bookends

Today is the due date for our fifth grandchild,

a boy, Lily's little brother.

Jill saw the doctor yesterday and thankfully,

everything is fine with the baby and with Jill. Just no labor yet.

Lily came just 3 hours past her due date!

 

with Lily last November


And so we wait for the exciting news of labor and joyous arrival of a new life.

The news from Nashville is that my dad continues to hang in there,
but there is overall decline.
In this window, this specific time, I feel I am between bookends.
One is the beginning of life.
My new grandsons are being born into loving families and
before them lie the hopes and dreams of what God has ordained.

The other bookend is Dad, winding down a full life.
He'll leave this world to his grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
a world far different from the one he entered nearly 89 years ago.

Though I accept that Dad's time is nearly over,
my heart is burdened and my mind feels overwhelmed with what lies ahead.
The new baby and my dad are each 400 miles from me,
bookends 800 miles apart!
 
Things have a way of working out and I believe God is in the details.
He's also wooing me to lean fully on Him
and trust Him as I welcome one new life and await the inevitable loss of another.
Are any of us good at waiting?
Oh, how God is teaching me to trust and wait.  

 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition,

with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6



Happy 35th anniversary, my love

For the past three and a half years, our married sons and their wives have been filling the quivers. Ari born on New Years Day, 2010. Ashlyn in 2011, Lily in 2012, and now two baby boys: Noah was born in May and Mark and Jill's son due in just a few weeks. We're crazy blessed and thankful!
 

Last November in Virginia ... this photo already outdated!

On the other end of life, our two surviving parents are declining significantly. They occupy a good part of our thoughts and attention. We definitely feel that sandwich generation label.

There's really no secret to staying married this long. God should come first. He thought up marriage and has the corner on it. Then my husband, children and self. I also think a healthy dose of common sense got us this far. I often wonder why somewhere around 50% of American marriages go off track.

No relationship, no marriage will ever be perfect because no person is perfect. I know I do things that bug Bill. And he can push my buttons. The culture says "my happiness first," telling us to please ourselves above all else. Problem is, won't there be faults with the next spouse, too? At those times when my husband was driving me bonkers, I kept in mind that I will never find the perfect husband so I may as well stick with the first one who is pretty great. Not saying subsequent marriages can't work, but it seems so many people believe the grass will be better in another pasture so off they trot. If our pasture was parched, I guess I just waited until the next hour, or day, or season when a fresh rain fell and the grass grew tasty again.

I think marriage is a lot like a relationship with God. Satisfaction isn't *poof* guaranteed after the wedding. That is when the work begins. It was when I began to learn that to make this work, I'd have to die to self a whole lot. I'd have to listen even if I knew I was right. (ha!) I'd have to consider the preferences of my husband, and apologize when I wronged him. I'd have to let little stuff go and realize that most things are little in the big picture. I mention God because it's a perfect parallel. As in marriage, my walk with God has taken work, too. When I work at learning who God is and how to please him, our relationship intensifies and is sweeter.

I don't mean to get all analytical with marriage and dampen the celebration of this anniversary. But younger people do ask, "what's your secret?" I just want to say there's no secret, no magic formula. We live in a microwave society, but a lasting marriage takes time, thoughtfulness, commitment to the one you love, hard work and at times incredible patience.

When I first married, my father gave me one piece of advice. "Making marriage work isn't 50/50 effort. Sometimes it's 60/40 or 100/0. Try to give more than your share. Don't try to keep it even because it won't be." I think Dad gave excellent advice.                   

I'm not always a selfless giver. But I love you, Bill, and am overwhelmed by the blessings of these 35 years. Here's to many more!


Due to distance and the kids' jobs, we all get to gather about once a year.
November 2012

35 years!

I joke that every time we had a baby, we moved. This certainly was the case from 1984 to 1988. In the spring of 1984, we left our beloved little house in Lake Worth and headed north with baby David. Our new home: a Girl Scout camp in the hills of West Virginia. The culture shock might have rocked me if not for the fact that we jumped into directing and managing the camp that summer. A camper died on the opening day of camp, we had numerous staff issues, oh, and I got pregnant.

One of the most endearing of Bill's traits is that he helps me to slow down, take a breath, and think about our situation. That August we packed David into our Mazda and took a road trip to Maine for two weeks. We needed a break after that crazy summer, and time to talk about our future. Another move came of it: Bill landed a job as a financial adviser and we moved to the northwest Ohio town of Defiance a week before Christmas and just a month before our son Dan was born.

That winter nearly stole my sanity. It was brutally cold and snowy. I didn't have a single friend. And no family. Bill was studying in the basement and driving to a distant town for training. Our house, near the historic Defiance fort grounds and public library, felt like a prison at times. Bill was so busy I'm not sure he realized the depth of my loneliness. But he has always, intentionally or not, left me much to my own devices emotionally, and I am the stronger for it.

One raw winter day as I left the library holding David's hand and bundling Dan inside my coat, I noticed another young mom heading to her car with two small girls. "Hi," I called out. "Do you go to story time?" We exchanged numbers and I invited Jean over to the house for coffee; she invited us to her farm north of town. It became a fun friendship.



In our kitchen in Defiance. Check out the maternity overalls I made!
Seriously, I have very few photos of Bill from this era.

Our three years in Defiance taught me that while marriage came first, I couldn't rely on my husband for my every need. If I wanted friends, I'd have to make them. If his job required long hours away from us for a time, I'd have to stay busy with the boys and be creative in breaking the boredom. While the boys napped, I curled up with parenting books by James Dobson to solve my current challenge: usually potty training or disciplining toddlers. The real blessing was that I focused on my job and got to know my boys thoroughly. I had no cell phone or computer to distract me. We cooked, read books, colored, played cars and trucks, visited parks, the library, and grocery shopped. Money was tight, so when the boys were in bed, Bill and I made a simple dinner for two and played board games on the porch for date night. I know I grumbled at times and lost my cool. But I knew the toddlers would grow and (hopefully!) so would Bill's business. Life is ever-changing, no doubt about it. A new season would come.

I also met God during that time through the solid teaching at First Church of Christ, now Defiance Christian. My spiritual sponge received a quenching and my life, my marriage, and role as a mother came into focus. How very thankful I am for that body of believers, and Bill, who insisted we go to church.

It was a hard season at times, no lie. But by the time our third son was on the way and our next move in the works, I had grown as a wife and mother, though still had a long way to go. As husband and wife, we were in this thing for the long haul!


"Yard work" in Defiance, 1987

Next: parenthood moves into high gear, and we move again: twice!

precisely unfilled

“There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us,

and one should not even attempt to do so.

One must simply hold out and endure it.

At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort.

For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled, one remains connected to the other person through it.

It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness.

God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve - even in pain - the authentic relationship.

Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances,

the more difficult the separation.

But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy.

One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain.”

~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

1960

Ten days ago, a young husband in our church lost his vibrant wife Kala. Her unexpected death left three young girls without their mother.

As I sat through Kala's service on Saturday, I was inspired by her deep and abiding faith in God. Kala was, in the words of one close friend, "mildly inappropriate" in her zeal for living and loving, for her family, and for pointing others to God.  

Yesterday I came across this Bonhoeffer quote on another blog. It struck me as deeply profound  in light of Kala's recent death, and in the death of my own mother, who slipped away 34 years ago today.  

I think Bonhoeffer is saying we should not struggle and shake our fist at God at the loss of someone we love. God certainly comforts. But to ask God to fill our empty longing is to diminish the beauty and authenticity of our relationship. God leaves us intentionally and "precisely unfilled" to preserve the memories, love, and joy. In time, this emptiness becomes a deep, unshakable and precious gift.

God is, after all, a god of relationships. It's what He wants most of all with us. And so God redeems and transforms the pain of loss into a gift. The gift of a hidden, preserved relationship.

Make no mistake: losing my mother was devastating. The pain of it reared its ugly head as I brought my babies home from the hospital, rocked them, and raised them with only stories of their grandmother. For years I couldn't stand to pass the Mother's Day cards at the store in early May.

Like everyone, I wouldn't be the person I am without my mother's influence. But I'm also a different person by having lost her so young. I am stronger in spirit, with a more compassionate heart, at least I like to think so. And best of all, I've learned to rely on God, not my mother, not anyone really. Her spirit, her kindness, her crazy ways live on because God allowed me to be "precisely unfilled" for a very long time.

For that I am grateful and now experience a silent joy.

the lesson of the sandpiper

We made the most of our last day in St. Petersburg with David. Loved his church! It was full of worshipful energy ... how great to worship with people who love God. And how fun that we had met a dozen or more people Friday night at David's and got to see them again on Sunday morning.

David and I headed to the beach for the afternoon. A little bit of haze kept it very comfortable, so I didn't mind the very long walk from the parking lot. Probably 300 yards: what a wide beach! David and I walked, watched the parade of people in, um, interesting swim attire, and read our books.

And as always when I go to the beach, I was fascinated by the shore birds. They skitter effortlessly up and down the packed sand, darting just to the water's edge and back as waves come in.

As I squatted on the sand and watched these birds, I got to thinking.

If I listen consistently for God's voice, I can be like the sandpiper,

running with wild abandon toward life's challenges.

I have no reason to question what's in the waves.

 God has my back and gives me freedom to do my job;

to run up and down the beach

fearlessly, in sweet trust. 

OK, so my metaphor is cheesy?

Who's to say?

Through all of God's amazing creation, he can use a little sandpiper

to remind me that he's in charge and has my life in his capable hands.

That evening, David took us to Bonefish Grill for our January birthdays.

Outstanding! And the company, too. Thanks, David!

And so ended our visit to both coasts of Florida.

Sadly ... we started north the next day.

speechless

"You're as healthy as a horse!" my mom used to say. Since I rarely got sick, I assumed she meant that neither did horses. But as a child who disliked school, I secretly wished I would get sick now and then.

I do remember catching what was ominously called the "Hong Kong Flu" when I was about 12. It was miserable, keeping me bed-ridden for days. My fever spiked so high that I think I was hallucinating.

But otherwise, even in middle-age, I continue to fulfill Mom's declaration of good health. No surgeries. No medications. Very rarely even a cold.

So last Monday, when I awoke with a sore throat and overall lethargy, I didn't handle it well. I've dragged around all week, to-do list undone.

Since last night, I've been unable to talk above a whisper. Which is funny, because I'm finishing a study of the book of James. In it, the half-brother of Jesus teaches Christians how to live. Good stuff! He says true faith must be one of action, not just words. He also talks about our speech.

When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we can turn the whole animal.

Or take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds,

they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go.

Likewise the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts.

Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark.

James 3:3-5

So, this "healthy horse" would be wise to remember the teachings of James. In my little season of silence, I am considering my words and their effect. I desire them to be good and fruitful, building up others. Somehow, my silence is a gift to slow down and meditate more on areas where I need to grow, and ask God to correct and redirect me.

I love his timing, always perfect!

fly

In over 30 years, the only time I saw my mother-in-law cry 

was the night we moved away from her.

She cried as she said good-bye to my small sons in their bunk bed.

Her emotions took me by surprise. 

But now one of those sons is moving away with his family.

And I know.

I feel the impending ache of empty arms 

as a tall, strong son leaves to make a better life for his family. 

And I cry with sadness and wonder over the love that

knits the hearts of my daughter-in-love and me.

  

In church on Sunday I nuzzled my lips across Lily's warm, fuzzy head,

brushing her little bit of silken hair.

And I prayed.

I prayed for strength for the coming separation.

I prayed to have trust in God's promise to always care for us.

I asked for a confidence to push away my doubts, desires and emotions
and simply let God be God and do His thing.

It is the right thing to do, and what choice do I have?
But it's oh so hard.

Because I hate letting them go.
And letting go is a matter not of the heart, but the will.
I am at times a weak believer,
not strong in the ways of God. 

Then.
I remember the promise made to myself.
That I will not put selfish desires before the needs of my growing children.
When I sense they need to learn, I'll let them find a way.
When they need to try, I'll stand back.
When a failure will teach them, I'll allow them to fall.
When they seek God, I will not undermine their obedience to Him.
When I see Him working in their lives, I will thank Him.
And when they need to move away,
I'll stand aside
and encourage them to fly.
By God's grace, I will release them
so they can fly.

We know that all things work together for good
to those who love God.
Romans 8:28

The goal of faithfulness is not that we will do work for God,
but that He will be free to do His work through us.
- Oswald Chambers

how to raise kids well

Whenever I'd become a bit smug over our kids,

my husband Bill would say: "the jury's not out."

He was right of course.

But now our kids are grown,

so I have a few things to say about raising them.

First, my kids aren't perfect.

And I'm not perfect, not by a long shot.

Nor was I a perfect mother. I yelled too much, slammed a few doors,

and exasperated my children at times. Some days I felt like a horrible mother.

But I want to share what I thinks works in raising kids, and what doesn't.

Take it or leave it.

Dear moms and dads,

You chose to have children; they didn't choose to be born to you.

They aren't returnable, so do your best to love and cherish them.

Remember they won't be yours forever.

I believe they're a gift from God, on loan for a time.

Your main job, from the moment of their birth, is to prepare them to leave you.

Do for them only what they cannot do for themselves.

Like brushing their teeth for them at 18 months old.

And changing their diapers.

Do not do their homework, repeatedly deliver a forgotten lunch to school,

pay them for doing nothing, clean up their kitchen messes,

or do their laundry once they're old enough to do it.

They will soon have to do these things on their own. 

And if you've done it all for them, then what?

They will try to give you crap from a very young age.

Do not take their crap. DO NOT.

Crap includes disobedience, manipulation, defiance, and disrespectful talk.

I don't think it includes simply acting like a child.

It's hard because lots of parents take crap; I see it all the time. Even whining is crap!

When crap happens, address it then and there.

Don't pass the buck onto your spouse.

Mothers and fathers can be equally skilled at dealing with crap.

If you're sick and tired of your kids, don't tell them.

Just send everyone to his room, including yourself, and read.

If it's raining and everyone is sick of each other,

sit on the couch with them and read and read and read.

I think reading is better than any drug.

Remove a disobedient child from a public place and deal with her behavior.

It's ok to leave your cart in Wal-mart and go to the car for a talking-to. Or spanking-to.

Don't humiliate your child and yourself by disciplining in public.

And know the difference between punishment and discipline.

The word discipline means "to disciple," teach or train.

The more training you do early on, the less punishing you'll need to do later.

Take time to teach proper manners, etiquette for the occasion, and clear expectations,

and your child will have a better idea of how to act.

Please think carefully about the "count to 3" method.
Do you want them to obey you immediately,
or learn to delay obedience until you count to three, or ten?

Be the parent now. It's ok to be friendly, but not at the expense of being a parent.

Be there for them, but not overbearingly so.

It's a very delicate balance. A dance, if you will.

Try to strike a balance of rules and relationship.

Take each of them out on a date now and then. It's a very special time to them.

Ask about their days, their dreams, their frustrations.

And really, really listen.

Even if you "don't come from a hugging family," hug them often.

Remember they aren't you. They are them.

Let them find who they are and be content in it.

Find God and show them how important he is. Pray with them, pray for them.

One day, they will be under someone else's authority and you'd better hope it's God's.

Little by little, let go. Don't micromanage their lives. Trust them to do it.

And when they finally go to college or get married or get a job in California,

tell them you believe they will succeed.

Then go to your room, close the door, and cry for awhile.

That, my friends, is how I tried to raise my children.

a sandwich, anyone?

I am the tuna salad on a whole wheat roll, mushed between the lettuce and swiss. I am the turkey in the middle of the club sandwich. Heck, I'm also the cheese, mayo and banana peppers. Most of the time, I feel grilled. I am part of the sandwich generation.

Four weeks ago I witnessed the birth of my third granddaughter. The mystery and wonder of new life, Lily is a tiny miracle. So are two-year-old Ari and 8-month-old Ashlyn. They call me Baba and I hope they will treasure their time with me. Together we'll pray, read, bake, garden, hike, swim, and eat ice cream. So much to look forward to.

My children now move in and out of my life like yo-yo's. With each passing year, they roll back to me less and less. As it should be. They are busy with families, careers, friends and figuring out adult life. With four of them, well six, there is frequent enough contact to keep me on my toes.

Then there is my father, age 87, unable to completely care for himself. He's imprisoned by dementia. While I'm not his caregiver, my visits and phone calls are highly emotional for me. Oh, he still knows me, but when I call, I get the feeling he's still trying to be my in-charge dad. The strong and smart provider he used to be.

"I had a meeting yesterday. Someone wanted to talk with me about my experience in franchising," he told me today. "And they served spaghetti! Can you believe that?" It's all at once endearing, and sad. I want to go spend a couple of hours with him, but 400 miles is a little far for that. And so I wonder how much farther he'll slip before my next visit.

This is the meaning of the sandwich generation. It's a huge hoagie of good and delicious things: layers of love from delicate newborns to frail fathers. From tall young men and blossoming daughters to mothers like me who feel unsure of our role. Our hearts drink in the tenderness of new grandchildren, and weep at the slipping away of our parents. At times, we are physically and emotionally spent. Other days, we are bursting with energy and joy.

I am reminded of Christ's words to Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Paul responded, "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." God met Paul's need, giving him the grace needed to meet his challenges.  And Paul didn't just make the best of it - he made the most of it. Grace does that.* Wow, what encouragement!

I navigate these years with acceptance, hope and the promise of God's grace. And when I am weak, it's ok. I know He is strong.

* these thoughts borrowed from With the Word by Warren Wiersbe.