yet and still: "though you slay me" (featuring John Piper)

yesterday i told you about kylie and her battle with bone cancer.
i asked you to pray for her and for her family.
i'll ask that again today.
please pray.
pray big.

and since yesterday's post, i've heard from some of you ... questioning ... demanding ... desiring to know what all this is and where it all comes from and what it all means.

and i'm right there with you ----
in those questions. and in those doubts. and, yes, even in the overwhelming sense of outrage.

how, in our fragile humanity, can we be anything but that ... anyplace but there?

AND YET ...

God, the Father, Abba ... oh ... He is so present in all of it.
as our community cries out to Him ... He is so very present in the pain and so very good even in grief.
and that doesn't make one bit of sense in the limitations of my brain ...
only in the deep places of my needy, needy hurting heart.
only there.

and, yes, somehow, even when the world wrestles with the very hardest stuff of life ---
He is there. He is good.

there's absolutely no tidy packaging or processing for the grief so many feel for precious kylie and her family ... we join them flat on our faces ... begging for God's healing ... for mercy.

but running in the wild current of all that this is ...
we, as His children, can know-trust-believe ... 
He is here.
He is present.
He is good.

last month, the day my mother-in-law passed away, rick's dad shared this video with me. it ministered to the rawest places of my heart. of my hurt. i pulled it out again this morning and wanted to share with y'all.
shane and shane join with john piper to deliver a powerful message for those in deep places of hurt.
i encourage you to find a quiet moment in your day and watch.

"though you slay me
{yet} i will praise you.
though you take from me
i will bless your name.
though you ruin me
{still} i will worship ...
sing a song to the one who's all i need."  
~ though you slay me

friend, are you feeling slayed, ruined, emptied, taken, destroyed, despairing? 
hear piper's words, your pain, "it is not meaningless!"

"so we do not lose heart.

though our outer self is wasting away,

our inner self is being renewed day by day.

for this light momentary affliction is preparing 

for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,

as we look not to the things that are seen

but to the things that are unseen.

for the things that are seen are transient,

but the things that are unseen are eternal." 

~ 2 corinthians 4:16-18

"what do i do with this God?"

since my last couple of posts have dealt with the passing of my mother-in-law and her battle with cancer, i was planning my next writing to be something lighter, brighter, uplifting. something, maybe, even sweet.

except this morning i woke up to news on our friend's caringbridge and all plans for light and bright and sweet have shot right out this february window.

i sit here in the wee hours of this winter(ish) morning and feel instead the weight of their words.
the news clear. the sadness deep. the ache sharp.

and i'm sorry i can't give you anything breezy and easy in this post.
and i'm sorry it's not going to feel very uplifting -- at first. but, make no mistake there's hope.

and though the words aren't easy, there's encouragement and even evidence of something, yes something, sweet. even in this devastating news shared -- there's that. somehow.

because in this news and in this knowledge and in this very painful knowing there is still and always the Good News of Jesus.

i've written before about the myers family.

last spring their youngest daughter, kylie, was diagnosed with ewing's sarcoma. and the cancer battle began. truly you've never seen anything like it. this family has been amazing as they've rallied around their 12 year old daughter and exhausted every imaginable resource in this hideous fight. they are that kind of family. they've allowed an entire community all over the world to share in their story and have always continued to point anyone watching back to Jesus.

kylie and her family at the
make-a-wish gala this past year.

we've known them for many years. our older kids all lined up together in school ... so we've shared lots of life with them at perimeter school. they have always been a family easy to love, respect and admire ... but, oh friends, even so much more in this year of childhood cancer.

sweet kylie has been through so much. but, i'm telling you, even in this horrible diagnosis the myers family has held hard to their faith. they've inspired and encouraged and uplifted many of us -- multitudes of people -- in their hope.

kylie's hallmark, her smile. from coast to coast people know her story ...  know her struggle ... know her smile. #smiley-for-kylie!

kylie's make-a-wish trip was scheduled for this week. after finishing recent treatment, that was the plan: they'd be on their way to new york city for a broadway tour! that was the wish. that was the destination. that was the desire.

but last night kylie's dad, mark, shared this instead ...

I've never been much of a poet or poetry reader, but I have always had a favorite poem. It has resonated with me even though I never fully understood its meaning.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

by Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold.
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief.
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

I understand it now. I understand it and wish I didn't.

I never thought I would be writing this entry. I never wavered in the belief that we would be rejoicing in Kylie's complete healing. That does not appear to be the case. After we left Charlotte, we knew that she had another tumor. We assumed that meant we had more radiation treatment ahead. Things descended rather quickly from there. She started to have pain in two other locations. Very specific, sharp pain that came on suddenly. Even though we tried to tell ourselves it could be something else - the flu or a virus, I think Robin and I knew. The pain was too symptomatic of everything we've experienced to date. We made the decision to go full bore to New York on her Make-A-Wish trip because anything else would devastate Kylie.

But on Sunday, she began to get sick and feel very bad. In the late afternoon, we made that familiar trip to Scottish Rite. Our every intention was to speed healing so that we could have a blast on the trip. We got admitted and spent the night. Kylie was put on oxygen because her breathing became unsteady. In the morning, the conversations I had with doctors ripped my soul to shreds. Terms such as disease burden and incurable by standard treatment were used. I had to make decisions that I am completely incapable of and sign forms no one should ever see. The last 48 hours have been torture. The doctors were all on board with getting her in travelling shape and sending her to New York. MAW arranged oxygen there and we were set to go. We decided to let her have this trip before we burdened her with what we were learning.

This morning as I lay on the stupid, red sofabed listening to her shallow breathing, I felt a sudden and clear shift. I decided that since we have never withheld information from her, we needed to tell her everything and let her decide. I told Robin and she agreed. And so we had an awful, terrible conversation with our little girl. I watched it sink in. I watched her process it. I cried with her and answered all of the questions that I could. There are so many that are unanswerable. She decided immediately that she wanted to be at home. Home is her balm. We are not going to New York.

So here we are. What do you do with a little girl who rubs her daddy's beard and tells him it will be alright? What do you do with a baby who reaches out to console her weeping mother? I watched in awe as she accepted each of her wailing sisters into her arms and one by one stroked their hair and told them everything would be okay. How can the patient be the comforter - especially when she is 12? It's because she is Gold. She is better than me.

On a personal note, what do I do with this God? He has provided abundantly for us during this crisis in every way. We have felt loved to an embarrassing proportion. He has bound our hearts together and actually strengthened our marriage. Somehow, we have been united on each and every terrible decision we have had to make. He has given us so many evidences of himself during this time, yet for some reason He has chosen to withhold His hand of healing. I don't understand. What do I do with Him? We have some talking to do, but I have decided that I will follow Kylie in the matter. Somehow, she still holds onto her faith and hasn't given up on Him, so I won't either.

We do not know what the next few days hold. She looks perfect, speaks to us clearly and we all laugh and cry together. But inside, there is an insatiable monster eating away at everything. Our options for further treatment are very limited. We can enter clinical trials, but she has to be 14 days purged of the radiation to even start. We are exploring any option, but her body is so weary it will be a hard call. So we don't know what to do except pull together as a family and love on Kylie.

We aren't ready for an influx of visitors. We will try to respond to texts and emails as we can and will read comments and try to share them with Kylie. Soaking up every minute with Kylie is our main focus. Thank you all for praying for us and encouraging her with your smileys. We aren't giving up and continue to pray for a miracle.

friends, i'm sharing this, first and foremost, asking you to pray big for kylie and her family this week. mark's last sentence: "we aren't giving up and continue to pray for a miracle," spurs us all on.  please pray!

but i'm also sharing this knowing that some of you have asked and are asking and will ask the same question kylie's dad asks:  "on a personal note, what do i do with this God?" 

what do i do with this update on kylie?
what do i do with this issue in my own life?
what do i do with this disappointment or discouragement?
what do i do with this this struggle, this sadness, this need, this news, this no?
what do i do with this, God?

go back and re-read the paragraph with mark's answer.
read it.
read it again.
that final sentence: "somehow, she still holds onto her faith and hasn't given up on Him, so i won't either."

this week i wanted to write something of hope and beauty and life. and instead i woke up and i read this update from the myers family. and i am feeling crushed for these friends. crushed and crying out, "Lord, why? why? why?" 
how can this young girl's make-a-wish week turn into this kind of news? 
"why Lord? why?"

"what do i do with this God?"

and many times already this morning i have had to re-read that paragraph written by kylie's daddy. "somehow, she still holds onto her faith and hasn't given up on Him, so i won't either."

on this same morning, after reading mark's post and writing all that above, i had to rush out the door and attend the chapel program for our lower elementary students. bella's 1st grade class was singing "o worship the King."
i sat in our beautiful chapel waiting for the program's start and mark's words continued to play through my head. "on a personal note, what do i do with this God?"

and in the peace of that chapel, listening to these precious kids worshipping their King, i was overwhelmed with the scope of this life. this time. these years. this gift we hold sometimes too tightly ... sometimes too loosely.

we met the myers family back when our oldest girls, meredith and emily, began 1st grade together. these girls who are now in college, they were these same 1st graders once singing in a chapel program. girls in navy sweaters and khaki skirts. and we were those young parents sitting and watching and listening and loving our six year olds. our very youngest children not yet even born. our dreams all still intact and our hearts beating only to the rhythm and wonder of our oldest girls starting out. beginnings. bright futures. so many blessings.

and that seems just yesterday.

but, just like all of us, we've added some years and babies and joy and laughter and, yes, some pain and suffering.

and today i sit listening to my youngest -- another 1st grade girl.
and today all these 1st grade children stand in chapel singing "o worship the King" ... 
worship Him in the beautiful sweetness of life ...
worship Him in the heartbreaking sadness of life ...
but, worship Him.
worship Him.
w o r s h i p.

and that's what the myers family continues to do. even in the overwhelming sadness of this week. they wrestle and they weep and they cry out wild in their grief, but, they worship the King.

and that's the hope i want to point y'all to today. i can't give you easy and breezy, but i can give you real and raw ... and i can show you a tiny glimpse of a family who couldn't be dealing with deeper grief, and yet who continues to worship their King.

kylie. this girl with a beautiful smile ... this girl who placed her arms around her hurting sisters ... this brave and joyful child of God ... this girl, who her dad calls "gold," she worships her King.

last year, a "smiley-for-kylie" picture perimeter school did to show kylie their support and love!

the sacred steps of life and death

“then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered 

them from their distress. He made the storm be still, 

and the waves of the sea were hushed.… the waters were quiet, 

and He brought them to their desired haven. 

let them thank the Lord for His steadfast love, for His wondrous works …” 

~ psalm 107:28-31

just a tiny step behind loving her family and Jesus, my mother-in-law loved the ocean.

she loved her toes in the sand and a good book in her hands. and that’s how we’d like to picture her as she passed this week from her earthly pain to her eternal place in heaven.

only two months from diagnosis to death – hard to understand, even harder to accept. but we are so thankful that God has been good and gracious in these final days. we praise Him for her life, her laughter and her great, great ability to love others well.

we adore our mom, wife, grandma, sister and friend … and trust that someday, because we share Jesus, we will share the beauty of His creation on the shores of heaven.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

i’m not sure i have a category in which to place these last days spent with marilyn in hospice. but if i did, i would call it the sacred. for to sit at her bedside in the final hours of her life, that’s exactly what it was. precious. a privilege ... pure and sacred.

to watch this woman who has been so much more than just a mother-in-law --- who, truly, has been a second mom. a woman who has molded my husband into the excellent man he is today. a woman who has always embraced and enjoyed her role as grandmother to my children. how grateful i am for the way she has poured into my life. and how grateful i was to be included in this family ... in their great moments of joy and in their great moments of grief.

and just as in life, these final days were that sweet blend of both. 

God – the giver of life -- the giver of all good gifts -- gave joy and grief. and as mom traveled closer to the gates of heaven, we moved back and forth between the laughter and tears.
and it was absolutely sacred.

tuesday was her best day. somehow she seemed more peaceful, settled, sure. we saw the fear leave her face. her smile was soft and her wit quick. karen, her dear friend, dad, and i, sat with mom discussing the details of her funeral service. she wanted it this way. she was able to offer input; shake her head, say yes or no, and share her requests. we read lyrics, listened to songs and suggested scripture. what a sweet, sweet time. morbid to discuss one’s with funeral with them? --  no, not at all. not morbid, but sacred.

the day ended with all of us gathered around her -- loving husband, sister, and children. words were spoken. prayers prayed. hands held. my sister-in-law, jen, brilliantly opened a bottle of champagne and we toasted mom. marilyn couldn’t manage a sip, but i wrapped her hand around that plastic cup and helped her hold it. she was able to lift it with us when jen declared, “to mom! to marilyn! cheers to her life… to her beautiful life!”

it was as sacred as any communion wine ever taken. 

sacred to see God’s glory shining in the life of His good and faithful servant.

sacred to hold the hand of a woman who has held us all in her arms, her prayers and in her heart.

sacred that He would grant grace and provide peace.

sacred that He would hold off death until relationships were restored and a stronger love resurrected.

sacred that He would hold us all in these final moments together.

the next day was harder.

wednesday the struggle of passing from this earth to eternity became more obvious to all of us. mom wasn’t really communicating any longer and with each passing hour we were losing her more and more. it's a heartbreaking place to be.

that evening, jen and i ran out to grab a quick bite to eat. jen, sleeping with her mom each night in hospice, hadn’t left marilyn's side since monday. when we returned we found rick in the chair next to his mom. both asleep and rick holding her hand. mother and son. when i saw the tears streaking his face, i knew i was seeing yet another kind of holding … another moment of sacred.

on that last night of marilyn’s life, her daughter, jen, curled up right by her side. she was there for the final breath of her mama. holding her. comforting her. mother and daughter. beautiful and heartbroken, and yes, so very sacred.

we celebrated mom's life yesterday in south carolina. (another service will be held next weekend in her hometown of oakmont, pennyslvania). our oldest children read scripture, rick, jen and i had the honor to speak about our mom. the music, the eulogy, the words, the friends who came --- all of it a testimony to the woman marilyn mcnatt was. all of it evidence of the godly life she lived. all of it pointing to her faith as a follower of Jesus -- and all of it, absolutely sacred.

i know my father-in-law, ron, wants to give a special thank you to the friends who have been reaching out and to those who celebrated marilyn with us on saturday. your words were so kind and encouraging. it is amazing to hear and see the people who were impacted by marilyn's life. i can't tell you how many people said to me, "she was an inspiration!" when i got up to speak, i asked people to raise their hands if they had ever been ministered to by marilyn --- hand after hand after hand was raised.

our family also wants to say a special thank you to pastor chris spires and robbie taylor from the first baptist church of murrells inlet. they not only did an outstanding job on yesterday's service, but also have been a constant source of encouragement and support for my in-laws throughout this journey.

last night, after the service and celebration of mom, our kids headed to the beach. it had been a rainy kind of day, but the sun came out just in time for a glorious sunset. my oldest, emily, said, "maybe one of the best i've ever seen on pawleys island!"

my photo-crazy kids captured these images ---

and in the click of their cameras over the water, and in the dance of their feet upon the shore, and in their laughter and in their love of this glorious ocean, is evidence of their grandmother's legacy and life.
i have no doubt, marilyn elliott mcnatt would have been so pleased.
she loved the ocean -- the demonstration of God's beauty and His power here ... and the hope and promise of what He has for us beyond the horizon.

---- the sacred steps of life which lead us into the loving arms of our Father in heaven.

“when we are on the beach we only see a small part of the ocean.

however, we know there is much more beyond the horizon. we

only see a small part of God’s great love, a few jewels of His great

riches, but we know there is much more beyond the horizon. 
the best is yet to come, when we see Jesus face-to-face.” ~ corrie ten boom

700 miles to hug our grammie

this weekend, the kids and i made a quick trip to south carolina.
six hours to pawleys island and six hours back to atlanta.

we drove this distance so the kids could hug their grammie.
we drove this distance so they could tell her they love her.
we drove this distance so that their grandma could hug them tightly ... whisper words of love ... and even share a few little laughs together.

it was a moment, both precious and painful.

tomorrow morning grammie will begin hospice.

this cancer battle has been unfair from the very beginning. unfair and unrelenting. and, frankly, our grammie has better things to do than hang out with this insidious beast.

our grandma, our mom, our marilyn, well ... she has Jesus to meet.

it's not that marilyn’s given up. oh no -- she's a fighter! she is! this amazing mother-in-law of mine, well, she'd wrestle and wrangle with the best of them (you know, mom, i mean that in the sweetest way possible)! but this dear woman has always been a big believer in quality over quantity. any of you who know her, know this about her --- she’s a quality gal through and through. and, let me tell you, for her, the quality hasn’t been all that great these days.

this earthly body is failing and God's heavenly hand has been clear.

and saturday she asked to see her grandkids.
(jen's kids -- from utah -- had just been with her over christmas).

it was a quick trip.
a short visit.
and a not long enough hug.

mom was amazing this morning with her grandkids. she really rallied! this week has been especially hideous and hard on her, but when the kids walked into her room today she had her beautiful smile and even managed a little spunky bantering with all of us.

and it was worth every one of those 700+ miles we traveled.

toward the end of our visit we had a chance to read through today’s Jesus Calling devotional. it's the daily devotional which marilyn and i have both been using this past year. and, this morning, when i woke up and read today's passage, i knew i’d have to share it with her -- and so with all of us together in her hospital room, we read these words:

"Come to me with a thankful heart, so that you can enjoy My Presence. This is the day that I have made. I want you to rejoice today, refusing to worry about tomorrow. Search for all that I have prepared for you, anticipating abundant blessings and accepting difficulties as they come. 
Come to me with all your needs, knowing that My glorious riches are a more-than-adequate supply, Stay in constant communication with Me, so that you can live above your circumstances even while you are in the midst of them. Present your requests to Me with thanksgiving, and My Peace, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your heart and mind." ~ Jesus Calling

what a day to be reminded of God's promises ---
"this is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." ~ psalm 118:24

and, "do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  ~ philippians 4:6-7

reading these scriptures to my mother-in-law, i was overwhelmed with the assurance that for her these words are pure truth, pure treasure, and yes, even pure triumph.

marilyn isn't facing hospice tomorrow morning, she's facing her Holy God, her Savior, her Redeemer.

cancer isn't going to win this battle, because we know, just as she knows, Christ has already won the war.

and that's what marilyn would want you to know --- no matter how this looks and feels here on earth, cancer is only a vicious disease, but Christ is her Victorious Defender.

"He will swallow up death forever! the Sovereign Lord will wipe away all tears." ~ isaiah 25:8

cancer, do you hear that?
do you hear that?
HE.WILL.SWALLOW.UP.DEATH.FOREVER.
you can bank on it.

"o death, where is your victory?
o death, where is your sting?" ~ 1 corinthians 15:55

yes, hearts are heavy and tears keep coming. we are sad. brokenhearted. we had all hoped this would go differently.
but this weekend, we went to south carolina and hugged grandma, told her we loved her ...
in some ways those words and hugs felt sadly insufficient. just not enough.
but sufficiency comes knowing that she loves Jesus and that He loves her.
no matter how much we love each other in our earthly way ... it is only the heavenly love of our Father which can ever be enough.

rick, his dad, and his sister, jen, continue to stay close by mom’s bedside. they have been an amazing team especially in these past few days. they love her so much.
after getting the kids home to georgia and settled, i’ll fly back to be with them this week.
we covet your continued prayers. it's hard to express our gratitude for your words, encouragement and kindness.
we know so many of you love marilyn dearly.

the art of scrambling an egg

i'm kind of embarrassed about it actually.

i mean i'm 46 years old.
i've been married almost 25 years and cooking meals for much longer than that.

i should have known.

except i didn't.

it took my middle daughter -- the almost 15 year old -- to point out my opportunity for improvement. we all know 15 year olds have an uncanny knack for noticing our imperfections.

apparently, i have been making my scrambled eggs ALL WRONG MY WHOLE LIFE and it took a girl who has never once bought a carton of eggs to tell me.

i'd like to blame my culinary ignorance on my own mother, but i can't. i'm sure she shared the secret and i'm sure i was much too busy or much too rushed or much too smart to listen.

no, i can only point the finger at myself. you see, for years i've been making scrambled eggs. in the past couple of decades i've probably scrambled upwards of a few thousand eggs. heck, they are a great means of protein, always accessible and easy to make.

in our house, eggs, simply are a staple.

my kids and husband and houseguests have been happily (or so it seemed) shoveling my eggs into their mouths for years. no one has ever said anything -- (not to me at least).

but every time i would go somewhere for a real breakfast -- whether it be greasy diner or swanky brunch place -- i always would think to myself,  "my eggs are just not this good."

my in-laws make wonderful eggs. in fact, over the years my kids have made many comments on how good grammie and grandpa's eggs are. once i paid attention to the pan they used for their eggs and i went out the very next week and purchased a brand new pan. seriously, y'all, i did.

i purchased a new pan but i never stopped to ask them what they did differently.

so all these years and all these eggs later, i have been guilty of serving rubbery, dried-out, pathetic plates of breakfast. at the speed of morning light i've scrambled and scurried around the kitchen. i've added milk and cheese and more salt and still my eggs were not all that great.

until today.

until this morning, when after googling (yes, googling) an article about the best way to scramble eggs, i came upon these not-really-revolutionary hints.

1. whisk them way longer than you think necessary.
whipping your eggs creates air bubbles and (i don't really understand why) but this is good for your eggs. they'll be lighter, creamier. better. trust me.
so people, whip it and whip it good! crack that ... egg. (devo, 1980).

2. don't add anything. 
there's no need to add milk. WHAAAAT???
i grew up a child of the 70s. we added milk to everything -- something to do with "stretching" our food, i believe. but no need with these eggs. better to leave it out altogether.

3. cook them on low and cook them s l o w.
shoot! i just knew that was coming. i could have guessed this would be on the list. it always is. no matter what i'm doing -- whether painting a piece of furniture or reading with my first grader or scrambling my eggs -- i always find out, be it from google or God, that i should slow down.

and so that was it.
these three easy steps.

who knew?

well, you all probably did.
this is probably like some great-egg-conspiracy and i am probably the last 40-something-year-old woman to become egg-enlightened.
but, here's the deal, i'm wondering if, deep down, i ever really wanted to know. whenever i've scrambled eggs for my family i've always felt --- "THERE! a hot breakfast. it's gotta be better than a bowl of fruit loops." 

and taking extra time to whisk or wait for slow cooking? are you kidding me ... 
no, i've taken those eggs from carton to pan to plate in a matter of minutes.
i've probably prided myself on my expedited eggs.
i'm all about cutting corners and shaving off seconds.
heck, i'm surprised i haven't just shaken the egg raw and served it with a straw.
KIDS: HERE. HURRY. EAT. EGGS.

but we all know this isn't just about eggs.

i mean look at those lessons:
1. take time to prepare them right
2. don't add anything extra
3. go slow and keep it low

those hints aren't only for eggs, but for everything.
these aren't only culinary lessons, but life lessons.

when we take time to do things right, keep things simple and move a little more slowly things taste better, go better, ARE better.

maybe you disagree.
maybe this is only about eggs.
maybe i'm stretching it (child of the 70s).
maybe you are a little worried about  me knowing i've just devoted an entire blog post to eggs.
maybe i'm just weird.

speaking of weird, for years i've been trying to convince my husband that we need to get us some chickens. i can just see it out there in our backyard. (right next to the trampoline) ... a darling little hen house, a cocky rooster and his beautiful brood of egg layers.
i mean, can't you just picture the children right before school, each day, gathering fresh eggs in a basket with a blue and white checked cloth? -- {yeah, me neither. that part is definitely stretching it}.

but maybe now. now after my great egg epiphany. now that i've learned the art of scrambling. now my husband might be more egg-static (sorry) about us getting a few chickens! i'm going to go ask him ...
right after i finish another plate of eggs!

light and life

this weekend always feels a tiny bit dark for me.
the weekend after new years when we take it all down.
clean it all up.
put it all away.
don't get me wrong, i'm ready.
i'm ready to sweep all that (once) glorious pine from the cracks and crevices of my home.
sweep. vacuum. one year i used a blower. (yes.i.did).
it's time. but this morning, the house feels dark. the tree lights are back in the boxes, the candles gone from the windows, the mantles bare.
the shimmer of Christmas now silent.
and this verse is running through my early morning brain ---

"Jesus spoke to them saying, 'I am the light of the world. whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." ~john 8:12 

we can wrap up our christmas lights, but if we choose to wrap ourselves closer to Him, we aren't left to live in darkness.
there's something really lovely about the lights of our holiday ...
but there's real life in the light of the Holy One.
--- the light, not of a season, but the light of a Savior.

when january begins to darken for you ...
light a fire in the fireplace.
light a candle on your kitchen counter.
but be reminded.
reminded of the Light-Bringing-Babe.
open His Word to the illuminating presence of Jesus in january ... february ... march ... april ...

wishing y'all light and life in this new year! xoxo

some holiday thoughts from the homegoods' aisle

{a short encounter from earlier this month ...}

i survived a cart crash today.

car(t), not car.

a shopping cart, to be exact.

she turned the corner and -- smash!

bam.

bang.

our plastic carts collided in the aisle of homegoods.

it wasn't that black friday frenzy, just a normal first thursday in december.
i'm not sure about her, but i was only minding my own business ...  looking at bath towels, if you must know.
there was no mad dash for a must-have purchase, nor was i in hot pursuit of an unbelievable deal.

but we crashed and, for a quick moment, she looked crushed.

a frazzled woman and her very full cart.

"i'm sorry," she said, "it's been that kind of day.

actually ...  it's been that kind of month."
(i refrained from pointing out that it was only the 4th of december).

"so sorry, just hoping to get it all done ... you know..." she laughed at herself.

empty.

hollow.

hopeless.

a shoulder shrug and she steered around me, away in a rush of holiday hurry. and that was that --
my brief encounter with yet another december-wild-woman amidst the mayhem of merchandise.

"it's the most wonderful time of the year," piped from the intercom above, accompanying our little scene.
i stood watching her push into the weight of her ladened basket and, despite the
lilting music swirling around our aisle, i felt her heaviness.

i didn't know her and had no idea her story, but, still, could almost feel her hopelessness.

(we don't have to chalk that up to my being incredibly intuitive, more likely, just a little bit weird).

her words, "just hoping to get it all done ..." traveled with me the rest of the day.

and she wasn't the only one. i've sensed it elsewhere this week --- yes, even in my own home.

this feeling of false hope.

this: it-will-all-be-okay-if-i-can-just-get-it-all-in-the-basket-and-push-it-all-to-the-checkout-line-or-finish-line-or-whatever-line-of-christmas.

it will all be okay ... IF. I. CAN. JUST. MAKE. IT.

the race toward the 25th
the rush of the holiday.
the run of our december.

a countdown to the coming of christmas.

a hopeless hope.

everyone nodding and gathering and decorating in hopes that maybe this year - this year - it will all be right. it will all be beautiful. it will all be - surely - the most wonderful time of the year.

if we can only make it to christmas ...

kind of like that game we played at parties when we were children: the race where you carry an egg on a spoon across the backyard.

some of us are treating christmas just like that: eggs on spoons and finish lines.

all will be right with the world if we can keep focused, stay fast, be balanced and brave.

heads down and feet in motion. joy to the world and jingle bells.

and we hope.
eagerly.
with anticipation.
teetering on the very edge of our december toes ...

for christmas to get here ... for hope to arrive.

and the funny thing is, we're not that far off.
finding hope in christmas is kind of the point, right?

we just have our human way of messing up the holy wonderful.

Jesus came down, heavenly babe to lowly manger, in the name of hope.
Jesus traded the wood of cradle for the wood of cross because He is hope - the only hope.


it's not about getting the presents bought or the tree decorated or the parties perfectly planned ...
it's not about getting to christmas ... it's about getting christmas.

getting it.

getting what it really is.

Jesus in the manger.

Jesus who became a gift that we might get grace.
Jesus who became human that we might have hope.
real hope.
not just our casual crashing in the homegoods aisle hurried kind of hope.
but, the real thing.

Jesus.

hope doesn't come from making it to christmas.
hope comes when we make it to Christ. 

and when we make it about anything else, we make it harder. we make it less about hope in Him and more about hope in our hurry and that's exactly what leaves us feeling heavy in a season which should be all about finding light.

oh dear ones, were you scrambling today?
was your list long and your time short?
have you been going full-throttle since thanksgiving?
does your holiday hustle have you hard by the throat?

what is it that you are pushing around today in your race to the christmas finish line?


my suggestion: crash that cart of hurry and walk away from that version of hopeless hoping.

sit by your tree.
tree not decorated yet?
then sit by someone else's tree.
or go outside and find a tree.
or forget the tree ...
and just sit somewhere.
anywhere.

but be still.

spend some time in true advent.

PAUSE the hopeless activity of hurry and PONDER the hopeful awaiting of the Holy one -- Jesus.

because whatever we are piling high in our carts isn't all that important when we take time for looking low into the perfect manger.

how do you handle this kind of news and not know God?

it's christmas time and i'm at the beach.
there are palm trees with twinkling lights and garland decorated with seashells.

and i bet if i stopped there, you'd think, "wow, how cool. how lucky. maybe even, how downright lovely to be at the beach come christmas."

at first glance, yes, it might seem that way.

but this weekend i'm not really here for a december vacation or a holiday visit, but to stay with my in-laws for a couple of days --- to help out a little where needed.

a few weeks ago, rick's mom, marilyn, was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer. just days before thanksgiving, a doctor sat knee to knee with her and said, "i'm so sorry ..." 

and none of us have truly been able to wrap ourselves around this news since. even with a recent surgery to extract the tumor and upcoming chemo, none of us can really believe this diagnosis was delivered  ... that these words were uttered. not to this woman. not to marilyn. not to our mom ... our grandma.

not my mother-in-law who has dedicated her entire life to nursing and serving and ministering to others -- surely, this news wasn't meant for her. she has always been the one bending over the hospital bed, holding the hand of the heartbroken, encouraging the weak, and praying for the patient. always. i've known marilyn for almost 28 years and i'm pretty sure each of those years included a long list of people who she has come alongside -- family members, neighbors, church friends, strangers  --- no one exempt from the realm of her capable and caring hands.

she's a caregiver at her very core.

in fact, the other day, i remembered the first time i met rick's mom she was wearing her nurse's uniform. i don't know why i thought of that, but it's a crystal clear picture.

and now this.

and now there's not a one of us who doesn't want to shake our fists at the heavens and cry out, "this isn't fair. this isn't right. this isn't possible."

she has always been in amazing health -- doing absolutely everything right. appointments and check ups and health scans and lifestyle ... and, well, everything. i know it's a nurse thing, but she's always been on it. always careful, always going above and beyond what was ever required or recommended.

and today, she and i sat, side by side and stared out at a december ocean.
mother-in-law and daughter-in-law gazing at the deep blue, drinking in God's grandeur.

that was her one request when i showed up yesterday. yes, i could do a little cooking and shopping, "but," she said, "what i really want is for you to drive me to the beach. i want to sit in the sunshine and breathe in the ocean."

and so, today, we sat. shared. chatted. talked about a lot of things ... but the most memorable thing she said was this, "i don't know how people handle diagnoses like this without faith in God. i simply don't know how they could do it."

she went on to say, that it was one of her very first thoughts after the doctor gave her the news. "how do people who don't have God hear this and handle it?"

God who understands the heartbreak and the sob and the fear and even the fist shake. God who is sovereign and all-powerful, but completely understands the questioning and the wrestling and the grieving of His children.

God of the universe when our world spins wildly out of control .
God of real peace when our pain seems too much to bear.
God of our days when our doubts begin to dig deep.

how does anyone do this without Him?

this past summer, i sat here at this same ocean and watched my mother-in-law boogie-boarding out in the waves with her grandchildren. it was the week she turned 69 and she was riding waves and body surfing with the kids. laughing in the ocean she loves. loving her time with her family. living life at its fullest.

it was a different kind of day at the ocean this afternoon. the beach was empty, the water was calm and our mood certainly more subdued.

but, you know what? it was beautiful.
and even in the midst of this awful, painful stuff, we both felt the peace and presence of God.

God who holds the oceans in the very palm of his hand (isaiah 40:12), will hold this woman who holds on tightly to Him.

so i share this tonight, asking you to keep my sweet mother-in-law in your prayers.
we love her and we'd like an army of people praying for her!
yes, she knows the water ahead is deep ... but she also knows she's not alone in this ocean.
her hope is in Jesus who holds and heals and has a plan for her.

 and peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” so peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus.  but when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “o you of little faith, why did you doubt?” and when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. and those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “truly you are the Son of God.”  ~ matthew 14:32

when christmas finds us fragile

 with a few moves in the past few years, it didn't surprise me -- after all, things do tend to break.

most of our christmas ornaments and decorations did okay in our recent (annual) upheaval,

but we were bound to have at least a few casualties.

and this year, opening up the holiday crates, it was clear ... we did.

we can chalk up some of the breakage to our moving and some of it to just our normal mayhem. and of course there's always the few we lose each year because little hands are helping. we could do it ourselves and tell them to "stand clear" ... but that wouldn't be right.

easier, yes. right, no. 

heck, this year, i was the culprit carelessly crushing one of my very favorite ornaments in my hurry -- uugh.
it almost happens daily -- just this morning i found an ornament smashed on the fireplace hearth. it must have, unsuspectingly, rolled off the mantel in the middle of the night. poor thing.

it's what happens when we deal in the delicate.

and ornaments are one thing, but, isn't there a lot about christmas that can feel fragile?

no doubt, it's the most wonderful time of the year, but it can also be the most vulnerable time.

there's nothing better than celebrating christmas when you're in that sweet spot of living. when it's all going grand and everyone's healthy and the children are all happy and the days are both merry and bright. nothing better!

but what about when life isn't going along quite like that?

what about those who have lost jobs or spouses or children or their health?

what about those who are broken and bruised and heavily burdened?

i think it's possible, christmas can feel not festive, but instead, more fragile.

maybe for some, it even seems smashed to smithereens like the ornaments in the bottom of our boxes. 

yes, even like that.

because life has a way of rolling us, unsuspectingly, off of high mantels and onto hard places.

and some years, when christmas comes, we find ourselves not in peace, but in pieces.

fragile.

sitting here this morning, i'm thinking about the way Jesus came at christmas -- a newborn baby. fresh and fragile. this delicate deity born to a girl, fresh and fragile herself. a girl overwhelmed, unprepared, ill-equipped, vulnerable. probably even pretty darn scared.

can't you see her shaking arms as she transferred tiny babe to feeding trough?
maybe some motherly resistance to this crude-type cradle.
but maybe also a mix of relief on her face to put something so small into something so strong.

dirty, perhaps, but still solid and safe.

baby Jesus laid in a manger of wood. wee babe placed in a box built strong to endure oxen and ass. 

tender meets tough.
frail meets firm.
soft meets sturdy.

God come to His wooden cradle to become God on His wooden cross.

God in His birth and God in His death --- human. fragile. even broken.

but come.

come.

come down from heaven to live amongst the smashed pieces of our sin-riddled world.
come down from the perfect right hand of God to this place where things are far from perfect or right and, let's face it, sometimes way out of hand.

come.

He didn't have to.

i know i probably would have argued that one out with the Father -- (thanks, but no thanks).

but Jesus came.

and because of the cradle and because of the cross we have something strong to hold on to in the weakness of our frail living.

and for you --
overwhelmed mama, out of work man, rebellious child, hard-hearted husband, weary woman, lonely grandparent ...
for your pain and your problems.
for your diagnosis and your disaster.
for your fears and your failures.
for you. for me. for us. for all.

Jesus came.

and this Jesus who left a throne in heaven and came vulnerable in His humanity to the throes of earthly pain, understands our need for something solid in our suffering.

He not only understands it, but was willing to sacrifice Himself to be it.

come laid in wood 
and hung on wood 
that He would 
take our place 
and take our pain.

to be the thing which is both tender enough and tough enough for our tears.

mary laid Jesus in the rough cradle of wood and the angels rejoiced. for this humble place with this holy babe, held the strong Salvation of the world. and those angels, they knew it.

maybe this christmas you are feeling fragile.
{alone. angry. afraid. hurt. hopeless}.

my prayer this sunday morning for you dear one -- and for all of us -- is that in this christmas, we would keep our eyes on the cradle and on the cross. that in the fragile parts of living, our faith might find strength in His coming.

"I came that they might have life and have it abundantly." 

~ john 10:10

a little end note:

i started this blog post yesterday - saturday - and in the middle of my writing, the christmas tree fell over. yep. no reason. no one was in there. just toppled over. broken ornaments galore! talk about fragile. just had to share that hopefully for your amusement. =)