life - Narrow Paths to Higher Places

80 Candles: A Lesson in Living as Light

I can only imagine what they thought of me.

A sixteen year old girl, just recently surrendered to the cross even though there had been many years of truth, rebellion had prevailed. And on the journey back to God and his redeeming grace, there was always the refining. So much to refine. The hot fire burning away the sins that had entangled during those years of mutiny, raging against God, the immaturity of a child who thought she knew so much.

I had my sights set on their oldest grandson. I can imagine that they might have worried about what kind of influence a girl like me would be on their grandson, who was also trying to follow God. But I can also imagine that they saw through the façade to a girl who just needed grace. And grace they knew well, practiced so hard, extended so abundantly.

Grandma Dorothy and Grandpa Harry

And even years later, after I had married their oldest grandson, He still used their lives to speak volumes about what true love and grace looks like. During our first month of marriage, when we were still children in so many ways, we stayed in their small guest room on the far side of their home to work and save money to move to Oregon. The steady routine of seeking God, thanking God, and walking with God was always present in their days.

They were veterans in this journey of faith.

They had raised their four children to love God.

They had ministered with their whole lives, not just from the pulpit where he preached for so many years, or in the community where they worked, or with the many people that were drawn to them by their obvious heart for God, but in the prayers said for each of us every day as they sought the Lord on our behalf.

I thank God for those prayers.

Their marriage was a testament to the power of God’s design at work. As Grandma Dorothy served her potato cheese soup and we gathered at the table to pray and give thanks, this family that had eaten this very meal a thousand times over the years, celebrated the majestic in the mundane task of breaking bread together. Their affection, and comfort with each other after all the years together spoke eloquently of a partnership God had brought together to impact future generations.

And they did. Impact future generations. The grace and gentleness they extended to me as a lost young thing at their table the summer I was sixteen and had come to visit Josh, struck me deep. I didn’t have grandparents of my own. I hadn’t known Christians who were mentors instead of peers. I was an apprentice of their wisdom. Of these generations ahead of me soaked deep in the word of God and rooted in humility and kindness.

I was adopted in so many ways.

5 months pregnant with Kaia and her great grandparents

When Grandpa Harry passed away, I broke down and sobbed because I had lost my grandfather. The only grandfather I had ever known. A gentle man who loved to make the grandchildren laugh, who lived a life of integrity, who lived the gospel. I clutched Josh and we grieved raw at the loss of a man who showed me Jesus every time I was in his presence. I can’t wait to see him again when we enter eternity.

Grandpa Harry with Kaia

But for those of us here, remaining each year and aging, we are reminded by each passing birthday of the life we have lived so far. Each candle on the cake represents years in which lives were birthed, friends were met, places on the map were seen, memories were made, marriages were formed, and loved ones passed.

Today, Grandma Dorothy turns 80 years old.

Eighty years of a life devoted to God, to her husband, and her children, to her church, and her friends, to her neighbors, and her community. And to me, a girl who was so very confused and lost but was welcomed at the table anyway. Who was loved, and prayed for and who desires with all of her heart to impact future generations with the grace she has received.

Grandma Dorothy with Nehemiah

Grandma Dorothy, Thank you so much for your beautiful example of what a godly Christian wife and mother look like. I thank you so much for all the prayers sent up on behalf of Josh and I and our children. We love you with all of our hearts and pray you have a wonderful 80th birthday. We pray that each candle flickers with happy memories of a life lived with great love.

Hugs and kisses, from your adopted granddaughter, Alia.

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Comments: 6 Comments Category: Faith, Family, Love Letters, Relationship Tags: faith, God, influence, life, marriage, service

What Would You Do for a Child with a Broken Heart?

People whose hearts are stirred by compassion can accomplish so much. We should love justice and mercy. It is the marrow of our souls and out of it should spring forth live giving service and love towards God and others.

I know so many wonderful people who want to make a difference. It’s hard sometimes as a stay at home mom, home schooling the kids, doing dishes, changing diapers, cooking dinner, and answering a billion questions fired at you from the kids, to feel as though we have a profound impact on this world. We do, of course in the raising of our children, our marriages, our witness in the community, and in our compassion.

We cannot do great things in this world, only small things with great love,-Mother Theresa

And it’s true. Small things with great love go a long way. It’s not the size and scope of your contribution, but the heart disturbed by a fervent love for God that will not be quenched with pew warming, empty, token prayers or denial of the things that beat in His heart.

Do we act when we see need, in prayer or in our pocketbook or both?

Do we step in for those who can’t stand up?

Do we rally for and around the unprotected, the unloved, the forgotten?

Do we break with the broken and pray for the poor?

Do we LOVE?

Do we feel our contribution too small, our voice too irrelevant, our service too inconsequential?

These lies, so prettily packaged by the enemy are meant to inspire complacency and an apathetic eye with which to view life’s injustices as a mere annoyance or worse yet, as something too big to even concern ourselves with.

Yet, I am overwhelmed by the generosity of those around me and their hearts to bless and serve, which is why I know I can share with you about Fatao. Fatao is six, the same age as my daughter. He lives in Burkina Faso, which is located in West Africa.

His heart is broken. He needs an operation to fix it. It costs. This child on a continent across oceans, and whom I do not know, has a hole in his heart. If it is not fixed, as he grows, he will literally outgrow his heart and the demands on it will be too great to support his dreams of becoming a mechanic like his older brother, or being able to ride bikes, or play soccer, or grow into a man.

He was diagnosed at a year and his parents could not afford surgery. They tried native cures like scarring his skin with small holes and filling them with herbs and washing with boiled leaves. He remained broken hearted.

In December 2010, Fatao was registered at the local church into Compassion International’s Child Sponsorship Program. At his first medical check-up the doctor recommended that Fatao see a cardiologist.

The cardiologist confirmed the diagnosis of ventricular septal defect in August and recommended surgery. For the surgery to take place, Fatao needs to travel to India. The total cost of Fatao’s surgery, including passport, visa, travel, the surgery itself and follow-up care, is $23,000.

We need to help fill the hole in his heart and we have the power and privilege to be able to do that by donating and raising awareness. The cost of a cup of coffee, the amount you were going to spend on a night out, your last few dollars or the money to get your hair done this month. Let God dictate your compassion and help fix this broken-hearted boy.

And please help to raise awareness of this need. Tweet it. Share it on Facebook. Email it to a friend. Print it and send it by carrier pigeon. Make your voice heard. Small things done with big love fill hearts and help make them whole.

You can follow the progress toward the $23,000, donate, and see updates here.←

A Quick Update- Compassion International reached their goal at $23, 013. Thanks for you generosity, and you can see updates about how he’s doing on the Compassion site.

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Comments: 2 Comments Category: Compassion, Faith, Suffering Tags: faith, God, kids, life, service, suffering

My Struggle with Depression: Pain in the fog

My kids love to play Lego. I join them. We build other worlds in our imaginations. And I sit on the floor in front of their Lego tables criss-cross apple sauce as the kids say. My body can only take sitting on the floor for so long until my feet fall asleep. Completely numb. And when the Lego blocks are arranged and my life summons me to cook dinner, answer emails, or plan lessons; I emerge from our kingdom, numb and tingling. I have to stand still first as the needles prick my feet and the tingling bubbles through my nerves. I can’t find stable footing until I can feel completely. I stand wiggling a toe at a time, before I can begin to walk.

This has been my experience when I surface from the blinding white. When the world starts to come into focus, and I begin to make out shapes in the hazy light.

After over a year of postpartum depression ,which had remained undiagnosed, I became pregnant. This pregnancy was brutal from the very beginning. I spent the first 14 weeks clinging to the toilet bowl, retching. Exhaustion claimed me and I sunk even further. I expelled everything that crossed my lips. And then, it seemed to lift. I started to feel better physically and the nausea receded.

The jelly was warm and gooey as it spread over my belly. Josh sat in the corner of the room holding Judah. Our first meeting with our new baby. The ultrasound wand danced over my skin and the doctor frowned. My head angled to see the grainy screen. The faint outline of a baby, my baby, floating still and silent. And then these words, ” At 16 weeks, we should see fetal activity and a definite heartbeat. I’m so sorry, but I don’t see any signs of life. It appears that the baby has passed.”

The glare of the fluorescent lights above pierced deep and as I squeezed my eyes shut tight to block it all, my lashes failing at holding back the flood of tears cascading down my cheeks.

Pain shot through me. Vibrating and jarring me awake, like the sudden blast of a shrieking alarm clock.

And there would be more pain. Drawn out long. Operating rooms and bleeding, infection and fear. Anger at the why me? Sorrow and weeping. Loss.

flickr photo by freewine

The world became hazy. I was no longer blinded by the white. I could see the faint silhouette of my former soul but I was helpless to grasp her. My doctor looked deep into my eyes and saw the despair. He scribbled out an introduction to an ally that would help me in this battle on his white doctors pad. A little white pill that would help me to find my way back. The scales were beginning to fall from my eyes and new light was coming in. Not harsh or blinding, but soft like the dawning of a fresh new morning.

And it was painful. The pins and needles shocking me as I began to move parts that had been stagnant for too long. The adjustment to all sensation coming back. The wiggling of toes and the feeling creeping in. The ability to see where I had been and to begin to talk about it. To connect to those around me and find healing in my story. A story whose final chapter is yet to be written. But when the tingling pain subsided, and I was finally able to move again, I could take my first step.