Archive for the ‘Thoughts’ Category

Why Must We Suffer?


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I settle in to my rocker and thoughts swirl in my mind. Having just scanned through Facebook, I’m left stunned. I don’t know why today, any more than any other day, but I’m struck by the suffering in this world. Why must we all suffer so? My fat and healthy 3rd born nuzzles in closer. We’ve had a lazy morning, after a long spring rain last night. Playing blocks, rearranging momma’s cabinets for her, a breakfast of blueberries, eggs & coffee for momma. I get a roast seared and into the crockpot and little miss is demanding her nap. It was a long night of teething and waking and rocking. I sit in the dimness of her room as she nurses contentedly, thinking about loss. My tears land on her perfect round, white cheeks. Tears for a momma whose toddler passed in her arms, 2 years after suffering a cardiac arrest and living, just to die quietly and suddenly one morning.  Why must we suffer? A couple’s prayed-for baby boy is born with only the left side of his heart. What anguish? Friends in Texas walk in faith as their 4th child is born with the same condition that killed their 3rd sweet angel before his first birthday. Only a few weeks old and she needs a lung transplant. Why Lord? Our simple minds cannot connect these dots in reconciliation to our hearts. We cannot. Why do I sit here, blessed beyond comprehension, rocking peacefully as others are wretched with the ache of empty arms. Is it all for your glory God? For so long this concept has plagued me. How can such pain and suffering glorify You? Why is it that walking through the valley of the shadow of death is necessary to fear no evil? It struck me in the silence this morning. And maybe I’m a slow learner. But is this brokenness simply to draw for us a striking contrast to the wholeness and the perfection of Christ? And then, for Christ to point to the Heavens and say, “Look, I come from a place that is whole, that is perfect, that is peace beyond your understanding. My Father, the King, is the source of perfection, which you desperately long for and cannot find on this earth. He is the maker of that bundle in your arms, seemingly perfect to you, but a sinner in need of saving just the same. That sweet bundle is just a glimpse of the Father, of His perfection, of His love for you. You cannot understand it all, but that baby is just a hint, a glimpse. The feelings aroused in your heart at the warm scent of your beloved’s fuzzy head, it’s just a fraction of what the Father feels when you lift your voice to Him. He just wants you to nuzzle in, draw near to Him. He will call you to your true home with the ultimate comforter in the blinking of an eye.” I can’t lie, some days my human brain feels desperately discouraged by this reality. But it’s that very desperation that keeps me searching, longing pushing on in search of the Lord and the hope that only He can give me.

Mark 9

23) Jesus said to him, “If you can believe, all things are possible to him who believes.”

24) “Lord I believe! Save me from my unbelief!”

My heart


posted by on Thoughts, Uncategorized


Some days I’m so tired, I feel as though my body is walking about without a brain, and even more so with out a heart. It’s like the strain of sleeplessness steals your tenderness, your gentleness and gives you an edginess in return. I often wonder, where is the girl I used to be? I am I just a shadow of who I once was? Then as I pass through a room, I see a photo pop up on the screensaver that makes me stop. It’s my first born, now 7, with baby fat rolls, in just bloomers and a whisp of a pony tail, 17 months old. She’s squatting down to see new baby brother, just 5 days old in the photo, still so squinty & puffy from the transition of the quiet & warm of my womb to the harshness of the world. My eyes are wet and a lump rises. There’s my heart. They have it. Sometimes I forget. In the day to day of Brush your teeth, Why are your clothes still on the floor? Get your shoes on! Get off her. Stop touching him. That they have my heart.

You know when you’re young, and you fall in love, and you get your heart broken? You just know you’ll never be the same. You’ll never get that piece of you back. Lost love leaves a gaping hole in your heart. Then you find the one, you get married, you get pregnant and this love, this is different. Nothing prepares you for it. This love makes your heart grow, and expand, and it covers any gaps from any previous hurts and it even overflows so that when the little one is born you have an abundance. You have this abundance that pours forth. And you give it to them. You birth this child into the world with your blood, sweat and your tears and out of that hurt bursts forth the abundant joy. And you hold them in your arms, pouring your abundant love into them. And in no time, they are crawling around eating legos & old pretzels hidden under the table, running through your clean house with muddy shoes looking for a nerf gun, or trying on your shoes, wearing lipstick without asking and poking you in the rear telling you how giggly you are. Yep. They have my heart. I can’t lie, it gets harder with pieces of it running in different directions. But the miracle is, the Lord keeps giving me more and more. Each morning anew. Enough love to go around. 
Newborn Trip 17 mo Joss



The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

His mercies never come to an end;

They are new every morning;

Great is thy faithfulness.

Lamentation 3:22-23

Unpacking Boxes


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I head downstairs with my coffee in hand, fire crackling in the fireplace, ready to face the disorganization in this blank canvas of space. I unpack one box and stand there for 5 minutes, staring and contemplating its contents. It’s a big responsibility to sift through what looks like junk or even trash to me, but may very well be the treasures and creations of little hands. I can understand how they feel, as I myself often vacillate between project junkie and a “get-all-this-stuff-out-of-my-sight-before-I-have-a-melt-down!” state of mind. So, I make piles for them to sort through, binders to store favorite pieces of artwork, sneak some things away, hoping they’ll never remember and ask me what I did with that one. When I get to the bottom of the box, seems like every one, a moment of nostalgia hits me. I find crumbled pinecones and I take a sharp breath in. The mountains. I sit down and swallow the sudden lump in my throat. What a love hate I had with my life in the mountains. In such a whirlwind I was thrown into that old house, alone with the kids to suddenly wait. Wait for what? Who knows. Wait to adjust, to get my mountain legs under me, to catch my breath from the change in altitude. Or to be eaten by a mountain lion (which I really did cry over one night). All of those things came in time. And it was the walk that was so slow and sometimes treacherous that became so bitterly sweet. My best friend finding herself and letting her heart heal, while living in our basement, driving our kids school bus through the switchbacks and snow. She was so close to me, but so far away. Just downstairs. Finding my creative voice with the help of an unlikely match: friend and employer and inspirer in one package. I miss her. I miss the shop. The smells. That’s probably a whole nother story. Is ‘nother’ a word or did I make that up?

The song on Pandora changes & I’m brought back the crumbled pinecones. Sigh…unpacking these boxes. One at a time. Now I hear my angel baby’s voice…mummummmumm…” and my coffee is cold. Dang it.