a time to dance

it is early monday morning,  the sun not up yet, nor this mama out of bed.  asleep, i feel his kiss gentle on my cheek and hear his whisper in my ear, "have a good week sweetheart." and then he is gone.  the sound of his carry-on luggage and him moving down the front staircase.  quiet steps before dawn.  he leaves early every monday and returns late every friday.  home now just for the weekends. kind of like a sweet country love song.  except he returns to five children, saturday sports and yard work.  often when he rolls in late on these friday nights, the fridge is empty and the house is wild and the woman is just plain worn out. i am pretty sure we're in the middle of some crazy dance, but a slow country ballad it is not.


early on in all this weekly travel we made his homecoming an event.  in typical sarah elizabeth fashion, our middle daughter one friday night created a welcome home banner, complete with plugged in christmas lights.  "i want to make sure he can see it when he drives up to our house in the dark," she explained.  she knows her daddy returns tired too.  his week is long. his days are longer. the distance from his family grows greater each week. how many more months of this long distance living?


dinnertime without dad is another thing.  clearly we need his steady presence at the end of our oval shaped table.  it has been strange these past months eating our weekday meals without him.  i suppose the silver lining is now we all fit comfortably around the kitchen table intended to seat six. with rick gone, and one less body, it works.  but not really.  i'd much rather be smooshed together with one child perched on a pulled up stool, than have the extra space from a father on furlow. but it is the dance we are doing right now.  this tricky dance of transition where we attempt to balance what we are leaving and where we are heading.  we all feel it in some way. it is different for my husband who comes and goes, then it is for me.  not easier, not harder, just different.  then there's our teenage daughter. oh,  how my heart breaks for her.  people keep telling me how resilient and adaptable children are.  and i have to agree, they are.  but teenagers aren't really children and they aren't really adults and no matter what anyone says right now it's painful. it's just a plain old hard dance for her these days.


so we move on through our weeks in the whirlwind clash of closing down and gearing up.  all of this as we approach the month of may -- the busiest season of all for those with school aged children, mind you.  and when i peek into my calendar something in me wants to shut it back tightly and sneak it fast into the bottom drawer of my desk. something in me wants to pull those covers back over my head and pretend i have nothing to do and nowhere to go. how do i open my hands wide and willingly accept the long list of items in need of attention?  mom's attention. my attention.  how do i look across the breakfast table and meet the eyes of all five kids in need of me, one woman. how do i step into the dance and embrace this season of change.  this season of mondays and fridays, of comings and goings, of the comfortably well-known and the utterly unknown. i'm not sure. if i'm being honest, i'm just not sure how to do it somedays.


but how about you? what's the dance you're doing right now? we all have them.  mine might be unique to me, but the dance of life is intended for each one of us.  we all have some kind of  swaying which takes place in the midst of our given number of days.  God hasn't left any of us to be perfectly still and sluggishly at ease. He wants movement in our life.  it is part of the dynamic way He has created us.  sometimes the dance is about living in the moment and wrapping ourselves fully around the present...and sometimes the dance moves us forward, faster than we'd maybe like to go, madder than we'd like to be, headlong into the future.

i don't know when i will get to it all. somedays i stare at the pile and realize i have no plan and begin to feel discouraged and clumsy.  spinning. twirling. dipping. it all seems too much, feels too fast for my simple steps.  it is at these weary moments though when i am most reminded about the reason we dance.  
"let them praise HIS name in the dance; let them sing praises unto HIM with the timbrel and harp."  (psalm 149:3) 
i am reminded that it is not about dancing gracefully, but dancing gratefully.  i don't dance for myself or even for my family, i dance to bring Him praise.  and even a stumbling, clumsy gal like myself can do that when i keep my eyes on my partner...on Him.  and my weary, overwhelmed self can rest in His arms when i stop trying to direct the steps and allow Him to lead.   it may not be a slow country ballad...but even this wild dance can be a sweet song...a love song...when He leads.

there is a time for everything, 
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

  a time to be born and a time to die,

   a time to plant and a time to uproot,

  a time to kill and a time to heal,

   a time to tear down and a time to build,

  a time to weep and a time to laugh,  
a time to mourn 

            and a time to dance.

         ecclesiastes 3:1

 (okay, i'll admit, shameless sharing of my girls and their ballerina photos...

emily and sarah - both in 2nd grade.  bella's first recital is next monday!)

april 19th: the act of forgetting and the art of remembering

it was april 19th, one year ago today, when i sat beneath a giant tree in my friend's front yard and heard "jody, i'm sorry, but the tumor is malignant."  

was that really only a year ago? it seems just yesterday and yet, in a strange way, it also seems somehow a lifetime ago. 
i won't quickly forget that sunny april day. 
those blue skies. 
that giant oak. 
the feel of the phone awkward on my ear. 
the tears hot on my cheeks.  
the breath leaving my body hard and the friends sitting close by, holding my hand tight.  

that day marked me. seared something deep within. it changed a lot.

but now a year later, after surgery and medicine and too many doctor appointments to count, life has gone on. i have plenty of days where i wake and don't even think about the ugly C word. somedays i make it all the way to dinner without giving it a thought. sure, when i pop that tiny white pill in my mouth each evening, i am quickly reminded. but we've moved away from the gut wrenching fear of last spring, from the all consuming cancer and what ifs.

there are absolutely still things i worry about. my friend, beverly (also diagnosed), and i text back and forth at times about the "what ifs" and the worries.  we probably shouldn't do that.  as grown women, we know better...but we have found a little bit of shared comfort in each other's affirming words, "yeah, i think about that too..." we say to each other.  even a good prognosis has its share of concerns and anxieties.  it just does.

this year may have been physically altering for me, but even more so, it has been emotionally, mentally and spiritually altering.  it was a year which taught me the importance of clinging to truth...not just positive thoughts and good wishes, but truth.  in situations like this, boy is the difference crystal clear.   and how thankful i was throughout this journey to know i had a God who was completely in charge...absolutely in control.

just last week our 12 year old, sarah, had surgery -- tonsils and adenoids removed. and as we were driving to her surgery, she was sharing some of her fears about the day ahead.  at age 12 she verbalized the fact that trusting God was in control meant knowing He could even choose to take her life at any time. wow. where do you go with that conversation on an early monday morning in rush hour traffic? 

we had no option but to dig in and address it — "yes, that's exactly what it means. God is in control of each and every breath. He knows the number of hairs on our head and the number of days in our life."  i get why that can be a little scary. but let's talk about the alternative: 
He doesn't know?
no one is in charge?  
life just happens?  
everything is random? 
there is no plan? 
we have no purpose?  
i don't know about you, but to me, that seems infinitely worse.

i've written a lot this year. more than ever before. the stuff just keeps coming, but i'm not surprised.  a year ago, early in the days of first diagnosis, one morning in my devotions, i stumbled across a verse from the psalms: "i will not die but live, and will proclaim what the LORD has done." ~ psalm 118:17

i'm not sure i had ever seen that verse before. but on that morning, it felt like a special message from God.  this verse sort of became my banner.  my battle cry. it became my lifeline.  i clung to it often.  repeated it to myself frequently and relied on it heavily. my oldest daughter, emily, painted that verse for me on mother's day last year, a week before my surgery.  it rested on the armoire in my bedroom and in those days of recovery where i had to lie still and behave myself, i kept my eyes fixed on that verse. soon after, i began writing more than ever before. post after post came pouring out.  part of my healing-soul.  part of my proclaiming-God.

perhaps some of you are tired of hearing from me.  "oh, it's her again. for heaven's sake, doesn't she have five children to feed or something to clean?"  but my dark dance with cancer somehow ripped wide open in me the need for words and a desire to proclaim what God has done... is doing... and will do.  honestly, i think one of the things i am most frightened by is the potential to stop talking and writing and then to forget.  because we are like that.  we are forgetters.  like the israelites in the desert cursing God, stiff-necked and scrambling for their manna, they forgot this God of their exile was the very same God of their exodus. they forgot this was the God who had parted waters and defeated pharaoh and lit the night sky with a pillar of fire -- this was the God of their rescue.  and just like them, we, too, forget what God has already done.  though there are parts about the cancer i'd like to put behind me, i don't ever want to completely forget.  i don't want to forget God's great rescue in my life. i want to move on from my cancer, but not forget what it gave me.  i want to move away from the fear, but hold tight to the lessons i learned.  i want to stay soft to the sweetness of His presence. 

when we were going through that valley, our family began to treat life dearer, closer, kinder. my kids stopped bickering for awhile. i'd really like that to continue. (especially the kid thing). i don't want to go back to that place where we take things for granted or treat each other as if we'll always be here.  but it's hard.  life returns and so does the nonchalance of hurried living. i snap at my husband and snip at my children and race through the grocery store. i grumble over grass stains and get huffy when i have too much to do. forgetting that even grass stains are a gift. and i find myself wading knee deep, again, in the ugly ungratefulness of a woman stretched thin. sometimes it seems i am almost drowning in my failure to remember.

but God remains faithful and patient with me.  and often, just on the brink of blurry living, i am reminded again of God's goodness when He gently tilts my head and turns my eyes in the direction of blessing.

the april blue sky.
a giant oak tree.
hot tears.
soft touches.
kind words.

the glimpses of loving. the gift of learning. the art of seeing. the blessing of remembering. the beauty of living.  

and a year full of healing.

april 19th.

my blessings

a life well lived

in a post a few weeks back i told you about a friend of ours who has been battling cancer for 16 years. defying all medical odds, he endured four separate stage 4 cancer diagnoses, multiple surgeries and 16 years of different treatments. today was tom's funeral. the battle is over, the pain is gone, the needles, tubes and treatment all behind him now.  and this morning his life was celebrated well.

my oldest three children were in attendance.  as a mother, how grateful i am for them to have a chance to hear the words and thoughts shared in this morning's service. how blessed i was to listen to the beauty of his story. tom maiwald's body may have been taken by cancer, but his life was lived for Christ and everything, absolutely everything shared today, pointed to that end -- pointed to that victory.  in a day where there seem to be few role models and even fewer heroes, i am thankful that tom maiwald and his family have intersected briefly with mine.


for 16 years tom battled cancer hard, but proclaimed Christ even harder.  tom was an exceptionally articulate writer.  his caringbridge site has blessed and encouraged thousands of people over these years -- me included.  a year ago when i was dealing with my own diagnosis, tom's words and fighting spirit were an incredible inspiration to me. in post after post, he declared God's purpose and plan.  he declared peace. even in the midst of his excruciating pain and bitter disappointment, tom and his authentic words pointed always to Jesus.  though our world tries to come up with flimsy alternatives, there is no other answer.


i remember the day he stopped over to return a bike he had borrowed from rick.  it was just a week or so after my diagnosis.  he stood in our driveway, a medical mess himself, and asked me,  "jody, how are you doing?  i mean, how are you really doing?"  i almost felt foolish with him asking me.  my diagnosis paled in comparison to what tom had been through and was going through.  my prognosis was clearly a thousand times better.  but something about the authentic way in which he asked and the sincerity clear in this man's eyes, wiped away all feelings of foolishness.  he genuinely cared and he absolutely empathized.   both rick and i were blown away by that exchange over a borrowed bicycle.


but that is tom.  from all that has been shared in the past few days of remembering him, these are the stories of tom maiwald.  a man who, because of his deep love relationship with Christ, has been able to love others deeply even in the midst of his own incredible and intense suffering.  really, my words cannot do justice to this man's life and testimony. but because i know so many of your stories and know the encouragement so many of my readers seek, i am taking this opportunity to point you in the direction of tom's caringbridge: (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/tommaiwald). there's little doubt in any of our minds that his site will someday be published in book form.  be prepared.  it is deep and driven with the passion only Christ can inspire.


to give you a taste, i'll share a tiny piece from one of his posts last month.  tom writes about hardship.  and who in in this world doesn't understand at least something about hardship?  few of us grasp it as well as tom, but all of us have suffered in some degree and each one of us stand in need of encouragement when we struggle in this place of earthly pain. 


tom's words:
What if this hardship we call life today is just a pause between the original perfection of Eden and the ultimate restoration of heaven on earth?
It is. It’s as if a beautiful fabric of infinite value were torn in half, leaving loose strands hanging with no hope for repair. Perfection seems lost. But alas, the God of living hope steps in and the tattered fabric of our lives is repaired. God is up to something, even if we don’t experience it until after we die. But what is amazing is that God doesn’t just patch up the fabric of our lives leaving seams and stitch marks. He makes us beautiful.  No holes. No seams. Perfect.  That is the picture of peace that I hold on to. Although I’m far, far from it today, the Bible’s description of God making all things new encourages me and gives perspective on the bigger, more glorious work of His grand plan that I’m unable to fully see now.


this from a man who knew his days were numbered.  a man who rejoiced even in this knowledge.  a man who continued to live life fully and joyfully to the very end.  what a treasure for those who knew a man who so deeply knew God.  tom's funeral service this morning was beyond inspiring.  i was told he planned and wrote much of it himself.  i know i will not be the only one forever changed having attended such a celebration of a life well lived.  tyler's entire 8th grade class sat a few rows behind me.  they were there in support of their classmate, nate, tom's son.   i couldn't help but think of the impact on these 14 year olds sitting in these rows, sitting on the edge of their future. 


a couple of tom's friends shared the story of how tom walked around always with a packet of seeds in his pocket. these seeds were his reminder of his life's mission. he believed in something called the "harvest principle."  you reap what you sow.  you reap more than you sow. and you reap much later than you sow.  i looked around our sanctuary at the large number in attendance... a harvest indeed.


tom leaves behind his sweet wife amy and two children, abby and nate.  please keep this precious family in your prayers.


one of the verses tom chose for today.
"therefore we do not lose heart.  though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  for our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands."  ~ 2 corinthians 4:16 - 5:1

the rusty purple one

"i'll take the rusty one."  i heard the words tumble out of her mouth.  cheerfully.  willingly. "what?" i thought to myself.  perplexed. confused. amazed. did my 12 year old daughter really just agree to ride the rusty bike to the beach?  it was our final morning of vacation.  for six days straight there had been a battle brewing over this outcast bicycle, this pedaling pariah. we were spoiled with just enough bikes for everyone at the beach house --  two families worth. what more could we ask for?  except one was purple and rusted and kind of ugly...the seat cover torn and the gear shift cranky.  as the children began to line up with who would ride what, the bike sat unattended.  undesirable.  unwanted.  one girl would get the pretty white and turquoise bike bearing hardly a scratch and the other daughter would be left to ride the unappealing rusty purple.  you can imagine the conversations each morning as the slew of kids would finish bowls of cereal, hop on bikes and ride wildly to the beach. towels flapping and flip flops pedaling.  oh you can imagine.


but this morning, this final morning, as i stood packing snacks into the cooler, i heard what every mother is dying to hear.  i heard what every parent dreams of hearing from their child:  sacrifice...willingness...agreement.  i heard my daughter offer to take the rusty one.  i heard my girl choose to take the high road.  she put someone ahead of herself and it about knocked this mama right off her sunburnt feet.  and it only took six days.


it's hard to take the rusty one, isn't it?  we're supposed to.  we're supposed to put others first.  Christ couldn't be clearer.  "do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves."  ~ philippians 2:3  we are supposed to, but we're not wired to. our God says consider others;  our human nature says consider me.  let me be first! give me the best! i want the biggest! and we claw and clamor to have our say and get our way and the greed swells and the contagion spreads and, ultimately, no one feels especially happy.

i had grown up hearing about how we are all born sinful.  even small children.  even babies.  theoretically, i got that.  but i think the first time i clearly understood what the natural, sinful state of man looked like was at a child's birthday party.  it was emily's 4th birthday and we had some kind of butterfly theme going that year.  the children were all wearing wings. i remember those wings. they stood around the table as i sliced the purple and pink cake and almost every one of them began asking me for the big piece with the butterfly.  the biggest one.  the most icing.  the best slice.  cute as buttons they all were in their curls and bows and butterfly wings.  but each one of them demanding to be first...desiring the lion's share.  i stood there with cake knife in hand feeling flustered, certain i was in over my head with this parenting thing.  i had managed large classes of unruly high school students for years, but these four year olds were a whole different thing.  greedy mutiny was at hand.  for a split second i considered climbing onto the dining room chair and pointing my frosted fingers at these bellicose butterflies, a battle cry at my lips.   thankfully, i regained my composure, set down the knife, and in a very low voice told them i had a special secret:  only patient and quiet butterflies would get a slice of cake. it wasn't eloquent or brilliant, but it helped to restore order....that is until we had to decide who would sit next to the birthday butterfly and then the clamoring and positioning began once again.


that was long ago.  emily is 16 now and no longer wearing wings.  and though she still loves cake, she would probably pass on the piece with the most frosting.  but there are other things.  i thought i was in over my head with those wing-wearing four year olds...now with five children from toddler to teen, i am drowning some days.  drowning and still desiring to climb up on a chair and annihilate that sneaky selfishness which is an ever present undercurrent in our home.


but i'm the real problem.  the kids may, on occasion, act out of selfish ambition, but so does their mama.  there are plenty of days when she, too, wants to stomp her foot and raise high her hand and yell, me first, me first!   i've heard about some women who after becoming mothers just naturally turn all sacrificial and sweet. who willingly give up their seats and their soup and their solitude. but not me.  that isn't natural.  it may be spiritual, but it has to be worked at.  i heard one woman say she hasn't bought herself a new outfit in over a year because she is so busy buying for her kids. personally,  i think that's a bit extreme.  i am pretty sure that's not what is being asked of us mothers.  but i kind of get it.  if i make eggs and divvy them up to five plates in front of five hungry kids, a lot of times there isn't anything left over for me.  i sip my coffee and take pleasure in watching my children eat something warm.  and it is fine and natural and easy.  but there are other times in my motherhood where i want my way and am willing to fight for it.


so we pray for softer hearts in our house.  that's it.  that's almost every night.  Lord would you give us soft hearts and gentle words?  Lord would you help us to put others first? Lord would you teach us better, "the first shall be last and the last shall be first."  it isn't easy, but it is how Jesus modeled life for us and we know it is right.


the children raced to the shoreline on bikes that last morning of vacation. hair flapping out behind them, the sun just in front of them and a touch of sweetness between them.  someone had sacrificed just a little.  what would life look like if we truly lived this way in our homes and in our hearts.  what if we could every day embrace these words of Jesus.  what if we were more willing to ride the rusty purple bike?


softer. gentler. kinder.  sweeter.


as i jot down this little piece, easter evening, i can't help but think my bike story a bit trite.  i was all impressed with my daughter's willingness to ride the undesirable...i even called it sacrifice.  and yet you and i both know, that is nothing compared to the sacrifice Christ gave at the cross.  it is nothing compared to what He willingly chose to do for all of us.  He wasn't a slightly spoilt child at the seashore, He was the perfect son of God.  yet still, He chose the unwanted and undesirable and unappealing. 


 He chose the ultimate ugly rusty purple...for undeserving and unworthy us. 


 He chose the cross.

so as not to confuse you...this is NOT the rusty purple bike.  just a sweet picture of sarah and her friend.

brown eggs and in charge

we were just making eggs, the littlest one and me. that's it -- scrambled eggs.  i had let her crack one over the blue ceramic bowl.  but it didn't go entirely well and i was in a bit of a hurry to whip up these eggs before my lacrosse playing son had to run out the door for an evening practice.


"no bella, just one.  let mommy do the rest.  you can watch."  
bella promptly brushed aside my hand and my answer, cutting me off with, "okay, okay, okay.  wait, i have an idea, mom.  w'ere both in charge!"
i stopped in mid-crack.  did she really just tell me "we're both in charge." and without waiting for my response, bella had another egg in her hand poised and precarious over that blue ceramic.
"whoa...wait one minute little miss," i explained, carefully taking the egg from her tiny hand.  "we're not both in charge. not at all.  not one bit.  mommy is in charge here." 
scooping her off the battered kitchen stool, i sat us both on the floor.  the great egg rush suspended for the moment.  little miss and i had some things to discuss.  a few things to get straight.  a couple of things to clear up.


the eggs would wait.


later that night, i was laying in bed, thinking about her little assertion over those brown eggs.  "i have an idea -- we're both in charge!"  and of course i laughed.  and of course i thought her both brilliant and beautiful and a little bit bad.   but what really struck me is how often i live my life just like this.  poised with fragile egg over  blue bowl and impishly telling my Father, "we're both in charge."


does He ever get tired of my ideas?  ever get tired of my strong assertions and immature demands for control? i truly must wear Him out with how, day after day, i try to step up alongside Him and take charge, take control.


"trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him
and he will make your paths straight."   ~ proverbs 3:5 - 6


so i have memorized that verse countless times -- as a child, a teen, as an adult.  over and over again, i have committed those words to my memory...attempted to write them on my heart, even desperately scribbled them out on a 3x5 card and taped it to my dashboard or refrigerator door.  i certainly desire to live that way, but find it hard.  just below this well known verse though, is one more line.  a line which, in my estimation, really needs to be included when memorizing this passage.


verse 7 :   "do not be wise in your own eyes..."  


ah! that's it for me.  my eyes.  i see the situation and i want my way.  i think i am ready to hold alone that delicate egg, but that's the perspective of my own eyes.  i often forget how inept and unable and downright small i am in the midst of it all. i forget how limited my vision.  i am blinded by my way, my wants, my will.  and so, i too, on occasion have to be scooped up and set down a bit.   like bella, i need to be set straight on the matter of who exactly is  running this show.


so bella and i talked on that dirty kitchen floor one evening this past week.  she was quick to come around with her little southern "yes m'am."  "yes m'am mommy, i know."  "yes m'am mommy, you are in charge...and daddy and my teacher and tyler too."  (not sure why she threw in tyler, but, sure...okay...that works for the most part).


she's easy.  even with her four year old strong will, she's nothing like her rebellious and broken mama.  me?  sometimes i think i am a lost cause.  hopeless and hard-headed.  trying to trust in myself...attempting to lean on my own understanding ...acknowledging him not...oh so wise in my own eyes... and, ultimately, making a big old mess of that pretty brown egg.


fragile and foolish.  broken and sometimes slightly beaten.


but He scoops me up and  He sets me down... He looks me in my not so wise eyes and quietly takes what i cannot hold, whispering the words, "trust me." 
 again. and again. and again. 

standing in the gap

"i'm standing in the gap with you."  those were the words of my friend missy.  she may not remember, but she wrote those very words to me last year when i was going through cancer.  and now, just today,  she again sent that same message to me as a few of us are trying to help another family deal with newly diagnosed cancer.  but this time for a child.  yes, a child, a ten year old girl named bailey.  a sweet 4th grader just diagnosed with bone cancer.  they went to the doctor's last week to address what they thought might be a sport's injury and came away with cancer. cancer. 


bailey's mom, tiffany, and i did bible study together for a few years.  bailey and her brother attend the same school as our children.  we see this family of six at our church every sunday and are also connected with them in our community of adoption.  they adopted their fourth child from ethiopia and are waiting for a fifth child -- a little girl from china.  the connections are many.  and now this...this cancer.  oh how my heart breaks tonight to pound out these words to those of you who read.  but i desperately do so to ask for your prayers. would you take some time and pray for bailey? i am certain our heavenly Father hears. He is listening to the begging and pleading words of many.  just as my friend, missy, wrote to me earlier that she is standing in the gap, i am asking those of you willing to intercede on behalf of bailey -- pray now.  stand with us in this gap filled with fear and grief and utter bewilderment.


tiffany and i have traded some emails back and forth since this awful news.  we've decided there is no comparison.  i'd much rather take on cancer myself than know one of my children has been diagnosed...and she responded, but the fear of leaving children motherless is almost as bad.  who knows.  there is absolutely no comparing.  it is all hard.  hard. awful. gut-wrenching, bone-breaking, heart-shattering hard.  and unfortunately, our community here in atlanta and at our church seems to know these scenarios well lately.  so many of us are walking around shaking our heads and asking, "what in the world is going on?"


just last friday, friends spent the day fasting and praying for another loved one, laura.  a mother of two boys, who after a breast cancer diagnosis in 2009, has been battling once again.  a year ago the cancer came back -- violent and with a vengeance.  it has moved through her body and is now in her central nervous system.  laura and her family are faced with the hard decisions of treatment or quality of life.  there seem to be few good medical options for her raging cancer.  she has two boys and a husband who love her.  why Lord?


and then there's our friend tom.  tom has been battling cancer for 15 years.  this man seriously defies all medical logic.  considering how sick he's been and how far gone the cancer is, he shouldn't still be here battling....but he is.  God has continued, time after time, to spare his life.  tom has had so many different types of treatment and so many surgeries, he and his wife, amy, say they've lost count.  tom's daughter is in high school and his son, nate, will graduate 8th grade with our son this may.  


another family we are close to has also been blindsided by cancer this month.  headaches and slight cognitive issues turned into a brain tumor and surgery.  surgery showed malignant cancer in the brain -- stage four.  greg is the father of david and anna.  he and his wife, jennifer, were thinking about the idea of adoption a few months ago, not brain cancer.  oh friends...how we weep with the heartache and heaviness of it all.  it seems too much.

i first saw the grand canyon at age 14. that trip created a lot of memories as my parents, siblings, and i traveled by van from ohio to arizona one winter break.  add to that my grandparents came along for the adventure.  and because our van did not have enough seats, my dad strapped down aluminum lawn chairs for grandma and grandpa. my three siblings and i were left to roll around the back of our gray van from ohio to arizona.  all 8 of us traveling out west, day after day.  (i read a lot of nancy drew that trip).  and though i don't remember everything about the vacation, i do vividly remember standing before the grand canyon (finally!) and staring out over it breathless.  when you are 14 and cool, not a lot takes your breath away, but the grand canyon hit me hard.  i wasn't prepared for how massive it was.  it seemed we'd landed on another planet.  this vastness couldn't possibly be part of the same united states which held my elementary school and softball field and favorite ice cream store.  it was completely foreign -- belonging elsewhere, not before my small and somewhat sheltered eyes.  if you've ever seen it, you know of what i write.  it is almost too much, too great, too grand.

"I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall 

and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land..." ~ ezekiel 22:30 

and so my friend writes a note, pledging to stand in this gap -- this incredibly large canyon of pain.  and i think to myself, but the gap is so great.  it is so vast. so big. so beyond me.  i look at that gap and feel myself lost in its enormity.  but that is exactly what God asks of those who follow Him.  He asks us to stand in the gap for each other.  He asks us to be the bridge in times of trouble.  simon and garfunkel may have written about the bridge over troubled waters, but it wasn't their idea first,  it's actually biblical. it is what we are supposed to be doing for each other in times of need.  more so, it is what Christ does for us.  when He died on the cross, He laid down His life.  He bridged the gap. in fact, He closed the canyon.  He stood with us and for us and because of us.


standing in the gap means bringing pans of lasagna and bags of groceries. it means picking up the younger siblings and dropping off the dry cleaning.  it means cutting the lawn and carpooling the kids.  it means holding hands and giving hugs and, at times,  weeping in each other's arms.  it means praying.  praying. praying. it means going before the Father and interceding on behalf of someone unable.  i can tell you from experience, there are times in our lives when we are absolutely unable.  when cancer first gripped our family less than year ago, i was paralyzed -- almost unable to go before God on my own.  for a time i was speechless, thoughtless, frozen, numb.  i couldn't hardly line up my words to resemble anything close to a prayer.  and that was when i felt the prayers of so many going out on my behalf.  a chorus of words i couldn't recite -- not from my own lips but from those around me interceding for me. begging God's mercy on behalf of me, my husband, my children.


not one of us knows when we will need others to stand in the gap.  i was always the one eager to stand there for someone else...never thought i'd be the recipient.  never really considered i'd someday be the one in need.  we never think it will be us. i know that is what tiffany and her family are going through right now in these first weeks of diagnosis -- wondering when they will wake from this nightmare. and so i am writing tonight to share a little piece of her family's new story and ask for those of you who feel compelled, to pray for little bailey's healing.  the gap is great...but our God is much greater.


one last thing i feel compelled to share tonight...
all of these friends and families i've mentioned above, well, they share something more than the horrible "c" word.  each one of them has continuously and consistently pointed to Christ. in all of this pain and grief and horror, they have faithfully continued to glorify God and trust His sovereignty.  i wish you could read the words of their caring bridges and blogs and posts. each story is different, but they share the same thread of knowing God is in control, He is on their side, and He has not failed nor forsaken them -- not even in this thing called cancer.   


so friends, might you consider praying for bailey and laura and greg and tom tonight?  would you stand in the gap?

When you're weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

the SOLD sign

okay, i have to admit, i am feeling a little silly now.  after posting that piece last week about selling the house, the realtor's last minute call and the imagined mad dash for the door...i am feeling a bit sheepish this morning.  the house sold this weekend.  yep, sold.  no realtor, no mad dash, no dirty laundry loaded, no smelly onions cooking, and no sign.

all that worry for nothing, right?  and isn't that so often the case. for heaven's sake, i sat down and pounded out that last post, "living cleanly," certain it would be my life for the next few months.  houses don't sell these days. at least they don't usually sell in a matter of days.  we posted some pictures on facebook and low and behold!  the first two families to come visit both presented offers two days later...with a third offer right behind!  sunday afternoon we accepted one and are now working through the details.  both were incredible offers, both were incredible families.

"but we never got a sign," connor said to me this morning.  you know the one he is talking about -- that big real estate sign someone comes and pounds into the ground of the front yard which makes the neighbors whisper and wonder.  "what is going on with the mcnatts? where are they going?  and why?" that one.  that sign.  somehow i guess to a nine year old boy this whole thing didn't seem completely legit without an official looking piece of wood out front.  and, of course i wonder, where will we plaster our big SOLD announcement? (thus my picture above). 

but sometimes we just don't get signs.  we all like them.  i sure like them.  i like to know i am headed in the right direction.  i like to know i am on the correct path and following the correct plan.  but that's not always the case.  since friends and neighbors have found out about our quick house sale, i am hearing comments like, "it's a sign!" one friend said, "clearly God is showing you this is the right move!"  okay, honestly i'd really like to believe that.  i'd really like to jump up and down and say "yes! see! it's a sign! now we know...now we're sure, without a doubt, we are supposed to move to minnesota!"  except that it is still hard and there are still doubts and i am still feeling awfully fragile about the whole crazy thing.  so was it a sign?  is it a sign? does a sign in my yard or in my life make all that much difference? hmm....it certainly gives me something to ponder.

if you are anything like me, than you probably also, on occasion, wrestle with the will of God.  i really do want to know what God wants from me -- from us -- from the mcnatt family.  i not only want to know it, but i want to be sure.  i want to be able to touch and taste it  -- to feel it deep in my bones and strong in my gut.  there probably isn't one of us who hasn't wished at some point for a direct memo from God on some thing.  but i have found in my forty-odd years, there are a lot of things i've done, decisions i've made, places i've gone, and projects i have attempted which didn't come with a crystal clear course.  they didn't come with a bold blueprint or an audible voice.  there have been times when it felt like i was just putting my toe in the water and watching the ripples.  times when it was just going on a hunch...and more times than not, on a wing and a prayer.  it isn't like we don't pray about it -- oh baby -- we pray.  we pray and we pray.  i know God hears these prayers and i know  sometimes He chooses to give us a clear sign and make it obvious and sometimes He just whispers quietly in our ears, "trust me. i've got this."

though i prefer solid wooden signs and easy to read roadmaps, i know that faith isn't about always knowing or always seeing.  it isn't about the tangible or the touchable.  i mean, God is pretty clear about His purposeful ambiguity, ironically, He tells us plain as day:  "now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."  ~ hebrews 11:1.  i'll be the first to admit, i don't always like that.  i don't like that there are some gray areas in my living...in my life.  i'd much prefer it to be all spelled out and laid out, so that i can, accordingly, plan it out.  but somehow i am pretty sure God knows this and even this is a part of His plan and design for me.

so we didn't get that sign.  but we did get the blessing of a house quickly sold.  and we'll take that.  this mother of five will accept that gift with grateful and thankful hands.  and though i am not sure if we can call it a "sign" or not, i do know God was in control of even the details of this past week. even the simple selling of our home is part of His story --  a God story and for His glory -- and on that, i am 100% SOLD.

"so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." ~ 2 corinithians 4:18

"we live by faith, not by sight."  ~ 2 corinthians 5:7

living cleanly

"who can  ascend the mountain of the Lord? who can stand in His holy place? 
 the one who has clean hands and a pure heart..."  ~ psalm 24:3-4

i ran into my friend, lisa, this morning in the parking lot of whole foods.  i ran into lisa, her laundry and her large dog -- all of them sitting in her white suv on a rainy tuesday morning while a realtor was showing her home.  they had just listed the house this past weekend and today was their first appointment. we chatted for a few minutes about both of our upcoming moves before i loaded my groceries into the back of my own suv and headed home.

that's going to be me,  i said out loud to my empty car.  

in the next few weeks that will be me, with the dog wrangled and the dirty laundry loaded and the last minute basket of random ugly items collected.  i, too, will be forced to find a place to park my overloaded vehicle when the time comes to quickly vacate my home for an hour or so.  when a sign goes up in the front yard, inevitably, the hysteria level in the home goes up as well.  

and because life works in messy ways, that call from a realtor will occur right about the time when the children are all home and the dinner is all out and the chaos level is all consuming:

"hi there, mrs. mcnatt, we'd like to show your home today. would that be possible?"
 with the phone clutched against my ear, my eyes will take in the scene.  the onions cooking on the stovetop and my children with crumpled homework and their afternoon snack sprawled across every surface of my kitchen...
and i will answer, "of course..."
"good. thank you mrs. mcnatt,  we are already on our way.  actually, mrs.mcnatt, to be honest, we are in your neighborhood already!  but please, take your time."
and the panic will move through me as i turn off the onions and begin shoving dinner preparations back into the refrigerator. 
the youngest one will toddle into the room with a trail of blue popsicle dripping behind her and i will begin to reconsider. 
 "well..." i'll start to say.
"oh mrs. mcnatt," and ms. realtor sensing my hesitation, will cut me off quickly, "you see, my client is only in town for another hour and they really must see your home now...yes, mrs. mcnatt, right now.  mrs. mcnatt, these people are ready to buy."
and in my best dramatic form, i'll mouth silently and motion violently to the children to clean up their stuff.    
"yes... well, okay...we'll be ready." and i begin my full out sprint around the house.
"oh good, thank you for being so flexible mrs. mcnatt.  we've just pulled into your driveway."

and with the click of the phone disconnecting i will begin barking orders at my unsuspecting children.  "everyone listen to mama: go make your beds, flush your toilets, someone pick up these crayons, light some candles, turn on the lamps, hide your legos, fluff your pillows, grab the dog, vacuum the back stairs...who spilled this orange juice? why are there catepillars in the guest room sink? and what is this goo on the dining room door? kids! quick! hurry! everyone! now! fast! go!" 

it will be like a five alarm fire...all hands on deck...all of us running.  scrambling.  screeching.  stuffing things into drawers and pushing possessions underneath beds.  wiping down sinks and walls and windows and whatever... all at full speed.  we will pile into the car and try to count heads hoping everyone made it into the backseat somewhat unscathed... and then i will remember the onions still stovetop.  back into the house i will head, and then back once more to the car with our chaos and our confusion, and, of course, our pan of cooked onions.

how can we do it any differently? i suppose we could move out.  some families do that.  i am pretty certain a realtor or two might recommend it at some point.  but, for now, we are here.  and though our family is not altogether conducive to "showings", we must continue to be here.  as a family of seven, we must continue to live.  

a couple of days ago, i sat the children down and explained we'd have to live cleaner now.  "i can't whip this house into shape everyday at the last minute, you are going to have to be better about picking up your things, putting items back where they belong, making your beds, cleaning your bathrooms, that kind of thing..."  i rambled on and on, taking note of their glazed eyes and wary expressions.  they hesitantly nodded heads and agreed they could do this...and they can.  but, as their mother, i know that living cleanly isn't always easy.  no, let me change that, it is almost never easy.  especially when you are 9 and prone more to tracking things in then to picking things up.  no, this will not be a simple task.  our children are required to do chores and help around the house regardless of selling.  this has always been expected of them.  they clear their plates and load their dishes.  even the littlest ones know how to wipe down a sink or put away their laundry.  but... still...we are a busy, big family and we can't help but make a mess wherever we go.   we need help.  we need to be reminded.  we need to be encouraged. and we absolutely need be held accountable.  all of us.

and isn't it so like our walk with Christ.  in psalms, david asks "who can stand in His holy place?"  he wants to know who is worthy to be in the presence of God...who is able to ascend the mountain of the Lord?  and the answer is "he who has clean hands and a pure heart."  and don't we read that and sigh? don't we read it and wonder: how in the world can we do it?  how can we have clean hands and a pure heart?  we are sinners and sinful and constantly seduced by the ways of this world.  every one of us.  no exceptions.  no one can live perfectly pure and constantly clean.  just the thought makes me tremble. it just can't be done.  instead we will get that last minute phone call and find ourselves frantically racing around trying to clean up our act,  trying to pull it together, trying to stuff our sinful ways underneath something -- and it won't work.  it can't work.  because like those cooked onions on my stovetop, we smell.  sorry, but we do.  all of us.  there is no amount of scrubbing and scouring which can make much of a difference. 

i mean maybe it would be like moving out of our home.  perhaps if we completely removed ourselves from the world.  perhaps a monastery or a mountaintop or at least a deserted island.  maybe then it would be better.  easier.  cleaner.  maybe.  but, for the most part, we're here and we have to keep on living and there's no easy way around the mess.  at least not in my house and certainly not in my life.

and though sometimes the dirt and filth of this world and its ways makes me crazy, we are not without hope. God provided a plan through His Son. "cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow."  i love the simple sunday school song..."Jesus paid it all, all to Him I owe; sin had left a crimson stain, He washed it white as snow."  

and what's more.  we don't have to be kind of clean for this to happen.  God isn't looking for "good candidates." He doesn't judge us on our ability to organize linen closets or on our talent for de-cluttering kids' rooms. He meets us right where we are.  maybe even in the mud...the mire...the mess of our living space.

"He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth..." ~ psalm 40:2

so we do what we can, knowing, we can only do so much.  our hands are not always clean, but they are open and willing to be washed.  and this is how we live while sculpting a life or selling a house or seeking the Lord --  hands open and willing to be washed.  living cleanly, only because of Him.

"come near to God and he will come near to you. 

wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts..."  ~ james 4:8

(p.s. come see my house this week -- it's clean!)