The Pumpkins Came...and...Went

All summer long, I worked tirelessly to help sustain the life of my petunia plants. My heart's desire was to nurse them along... until the pumpkins came. The survival of the petunias became deeply important to me as we have been fighting, in a sense, for our own family's survival. For those that may not know, our family's needs are primarily met by a little eBay business that we started a few years ago. Without going into too much detail, owning and depending on your own small business can be is crazy-making. We ride the waves of a fickle economy and fragile sales trends, and we trust...that there will be enough. Well, often, there isn't, so we listen and look for signs of hope in the everyday whispers from God that it will be okay. Summer is our slowest business time, and my petunias became symbolic of making it through the summer. If they could hold on until the pumpkins came (autumn, when business normally picks up), then so could we. Carrying all of these things in my heart, I parked my vehicle and walked up to our local market. You cannot imagine the relief I felt when I saw huge crates overflowing with pumpkins. The petunias made it. Spindly. Barely. But they did. Whew!

THE PUMPKINS HAD COME!

I felt like... maybe... I could at least breathe in and breathe out. I felt like... maybe... we were going to make it, too. The hope I had in the petunias shifted to the pumpkins. The life-cycle of my beloved petunias was complete, and I felt free to let go and plant fall mums in their place.

The arrival of mums is one of the first indicators that harvest will soon be in full swing. Oh how our souls have longed for this year's autumn harvest. We tried to soak in every hope and encouragement from the arrival of pumpkins and the planting of mums, because we barely made it out of summer alive. Actually, I am not convinced we really did, but harvest time would bring new grain into the storehouse, and new hope to our souls. Right?

Two short weeks after I purchased the pumpkins, I walked outside to discover that they had rotted.

THE. PUMPKINS. ROTTED.

My heart sank to my toes. Tears quarreled with anger and won. I couldn't begin to imagine what this symbolism meant for us. We were slammed with discouragement, and I threw my pumpkins in the garbage. 

My dear friend, Carrie, began messaging me the chronicle of her own petunias sometime around mid-August. Too much rain? Too much heat? Were they going to make it? She would send me an update once every week or so. Our hearts and souls and hopes were both engrossed. Towards the end of September, her messages to me were more timely than she would ever realize. She had given up deadheading her flowers, but they were still hanging on. Her pumpkins weren't rotten, either. {wink~wink~smile} By mid-October, she shared with me how she felt bad for giving up on her petunias. Even still, they were prospering.

This was the last picture that Carrie sent me on October 24th. She included with it this description:

"Long after the pumpkins came, way longer than what was expected, and long, long after all hope was given up..." Her flowers were still blooming.

This truth prodded my soul, but my petunias had long been thrown away, my pumpkins were compost, and our lives... sigh... just sigh... Where was our harvest?

The very same day I received the picture of my dear friend's still-flourishing flowers, I walked outside to refill the bird feeders that were on our patio. When I turned to head back into the house, this is what I saw. 

God bless this tomato plant. Ragged. Frayed. Tired. Bedraggled. We had long given up hope on this, as well, much like Carrie and her petunias.

Every branch, whether appearing dead or alive, was laden with tomatoes. This precious plant had more than 60 tomatoes to gift us.  

My thoughts were so consumed with the petunias and pumpkins, I had lost interest in giving this tomato in our backyard proper care. I had abandoned it, yet, against all odds, it was still working hard to bear fruit.

Hope was trying to nudge me from somewhere I had never even considered, and I needed fresh perspective.

I WASN'T LOOKING FOR HOPE IN THE RIGHT PLACE.

Something else wise Carrie said to me, "God's message is everywhere." Yes. Yes, it is. When all appears to be forlorn, open your eyes, and look elsewhere.

Determined not to let rotten pumpkins haunt me, I took my kids to the pumpkin farm to choose fresh-from-the-field pumpkins.

And at the dinner table, I couldn't have been more poignantly reminded that a form of harvest was right there in front of me.

Our life circumstance still hasn't changed, but we are hanging on and trusting for harvest, even in the eBay business. 

I came across this box of flower bulbs at the pumpkin farm yesterday. I didn't notice it until I got it home.

Thoughts that have been swirling around in continual prayers for weeks finally united. My eyes were opened and I chose to see hope here in this new place. 

FALL IS FOR PLANTING.

Maybe...just maybe, for the Sargent family, the harvest will still come? I HAVE TO BELIEVE that it will, and WE MUST PERSEVERE. Maybe...just maybe, you are waiting, too? Even though fall is typically thought of as harvest time, right now we are going to choose to plant, wait, and trust. 

HARVEST. WILL. COME.

Until the Pumpkins Come...

I love petunias.

If I had to choose one flower that reminds me of my childhood and my green-thumb grandmother, petunias would be that flower. Every spring for as long as I can remember, I have grown killed (sigh) petunias in honor/memory of The Farmer's Wife. This year, I was bound and determined not to murder them by mid-summer. 

I thoroughly researched, and watched several expert YouTube videos about how to properly care for petunias. I discovered that I had been pruning them incorrectly, and maybe...just maybe...I had a chance of getting my beloved flowers out of the month of July alive. I devoted my efforts to the two large potted petunia plants that greet you at our front door. I have hoped through the hours of deadheading (such an odd term when you are trying to keep your plant from dying!) that my care would be enough for them to at least reach the end of August. 

To properly prune a petunia blossom, you need to remove the entire base of the blossom, not just the spent blossom itself. When the rains come, it can be particularly difficult, because many spent blossoms will fall off, leaving the start of a seed pod behind.

I have eagle-eye searched and gently fingered through stems and sticky blossoms of my petunias to find left-behind seed pods.

Among the leaves, they can be tricky to spot, especially as the plant grows and thickens. When I discover seed pods I have missed, a wave of panic floods me, and I go over my flowers several times more so I can rest knowing that I removed all the pods. 

If a seed pod accidentally gets left on the plant, it sends a message to the petunia to "set" seed and stop growing flowers. Stems become spindly and wither, eventually shutting down a thriving plant. I know this is the plan. This is the natural way of things. It's okay when this happens, but I don't want this to happen until the end of summer. 

I DON'T WANT THIS TO HAPPEN UNTIL THE PUMPKINS COME...

If you have been following our story, you know that summer is a hard time for an ebay business owner. We are hanging on with mustered hope that we will, also, make it out of the summer alive. The quiet hours that I have spent watering and pruning have slipped into prayer hours. Prayers, unintentionally, turned my precious petunias into a symbol of perseverance and hope that we, too, might make it until the pumpkins come. 

A few days ago, I discovered a little Audrey II (from Little Shop of Horrors) staring me down. Jaw set, I immediately removed her before she could shout at me, "Feed me, Seymour!" I kept thinking that this was NOT going to happen on my watch. How much more does God care that WE make it out of the summer alive than I care about my silly plant? I could almost hear God whisper to me, "Not on my watch, Shanda."

NOT ON MY WATCH.

In brutal honesty, one of the potted petunias is getting a tad spindly, the stems are becoming more stiff than lush, and the deep green leaves have turned to a pre-death-yellow hue. In further brutal honesty, we are getting a little spindly, too. But as I sit here on my patio swing writing this, crickets and cicadas serenade my words, cooler evening air comforts, and the sunset swirls in pre-autumn pink and gold over the rooftop of my house. Fall is just around the corner, hope is hanging on, and...

THE PUMPKINS ARE COMING.

VERY SOON.

"Lift up your head...I know things were bad but now they're okay." (lyrics from "Suddenly Seymour")

The Right Place at the Right Time and Pay it Forward Perspective

A few weeks ago, IronMan turned... ahem... forty-five. With all of the changes our family has been through, and a lot of the struggles, too, last winter, IronMan took on a part-time job at Home Depot to help fill in some gaps. It just so happened that this birthday was the very first birthday since I have known him that he had to work, and it also happened to be quite a long shift. I wanted to try to make his birthday extra special and have everything done ahead of time, so when he walked in at 9:45 p.m. from work, he could relax, and we could immediately spoil him.

The first matter of birthday planning is usually the cake. Our oven wasn't working at the time, so I decided to make an ice cream cake. To make it extra special, I wanted to make it from scratch. IronMan loves mint-chocolate, so I thought a grasshopper ice cream cake would be perfect. I checked the cupboard for the needed ingredients and headed to the store for the fill-ins. I went to three different stores, and couldn't find the needed creme de cacao, so I decided we would have to make the cake without it. The clock was sufficiently dissolving my minutes away into some unknown twilight zone, and I was now in super-fast-mom-go-mode. When I arrived at home, I made the slightly messy, slightly complicated crust for the ice cream cake. Perfect! I put it in the freezer and quickly got to work on the filling. The recipe called for 2 tablespoons of creme de menthe. I should have listened to my gut, but I'd never made this recipe before. I checked, double checked, triple checked and quadruple checked the recipe. Even though it seemed like way too much, I trusted the web, and in went the 2 full tablespoons. I taste tested the filling, and let me tell you, I think my tongue is still burning. It was the potency of Five Brand Rain gum times a hundred. HOOOOOEY! Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Sigh. Into the garbage and on to plan B. I headed back to the store with young IronMan in search of mint cookie ice cream to go with the perfect crust that was chilling in the freezer. Of course, the store didn't have any type of cookie ice cream in stock, so plan C, and I grabbed mint chip. Rushing past the produce to get to the checkout, Young IronMan asked if we could please get a watermelon, so we grabbed one. I safely nested the watermelon in a blanket in the back of our Durango, and prayed the ice cream wouldn't melt while we stopped at the dollar store to pick up balloons.

The first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and SEVENTH balloon choices I wanted were out of stock. Ugh. Finally, my son said, "Mom, just get the monkey one." A monkey balloon? Good grief. We needed to get home, so I hesitantly asked the attendant to prepare a monkey balloon, and young IronMan and I hurried to the checkout line. There were two customers ahead of us. The first was a well-put-together lady, probably in her mid-sixties. She had pretty, silver-gray hair, nicely done make-up, and a beautiful, turquoise-blue silk shirt on. The lady directly in front of us was nearly her same age, but opposite. She had long, scraggly, half-bleached hair, a mismatched outfit, and a ragged handbag. The first lady had a cart completely full of items: crossword puzzle books, yellow silk flowers, magazines, a small get well balloon etc. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Wouldn't you know it? The first lady decided to pay her total bill, $37.45, (Yes, she had thirty-five items in her cart) with piles of nickels, dimes, and quarters. She poured her change out on the counter and began to count out one-dollar piles of change. Right up to this very moment in time, with the exception of the perfect crust waiting in the freezer, my day was frittered away by frustration after frustration, and I really needed to get home to finish my birthday preparations. BUT  I would quickly find out that I was exactly where I needed to be. Had the day not clunked around earlier...

I WOULD HAVE MISSED THE BEAUTIFUL THAT GOD WANTED ME TO WITNESS.

I WAS IN THE RIGHT PLACE AT THE RIGHT TIME.

The pretty, silver-haired lady counted out twenty-seven dollar-piles of coins. She looked at the cashier and asked, "What was my total bill, again?" She was out of coins. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. She looked at the items in her cart and wilted. She started to look through bags, and was having a hard time deciding what to put back. She somberly told the cashier, "I can't put anything back. I am going to have to go home and get more money to pay for my bill. Can you hold my order?" The ragamuffin lady directly in front of me shifted on her feet. She looked at the cashier and quietly asked what the silver-haired lady's total bill was. She pulled her checkbook from her tattered bag, and started to write out a check for the total amount. Distraught, the silver-haired lady was already leaving the store. The cashier ran to get her to tell her that she could collect her bags, and her piles of change. Her entire purchase had been paid for. The silver-haired lady came back with tears streaming down her cheeks. She told the ragamuffin lady in front of me that the items were for her son. He was in stage four cancer and only had a few weeks to live. She wanted to bring him some sunshine. I imagined those yellow silk flowers in a sweet vase cheering the room where her son stayed. I imagined him sitting up in a hospital bed propped with pillows with his mother beside him talking through crossword puzzle clues and looking at magazines together. I imagined the get-well balloon beside him offering hope that wouldn't exactly come, and a mother's breaking heart while trying to keep a smile on her face for her son's sake during his last days. Suddenly, my clock stopped ticking and reminding me that I had to hurry. The tick-tock was silent. As I pulled out of the Dollar Tree parking lot, Silver-haired Lady and Ragamuffin Lady were exchanging phone numbers and hugging. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I know I was allowed to witness something just a little bit holy.

WHEN YOU PAY IT FORWARD, YOU MIGHT BE BLESSING MORE PEOPLE THAN YOU ORIGINALLY INTENDED TO BLESS.

When we pulled in the driveway, young IronMan opened the tailgate of our vehicle. The watermelon had freed itself from its blanket nest and fell splat on our driveway. I couldn't help but laugh. My son said it was an awesome experience. ;-)
I salvaged the half of the watermelon that didn't land face down on the concrete. When I got into the house, the meat I was going to grill wasn't even partly thawed. It seemed like everything that I had hoped to do was sabotaged, but somehow it didn't matter quite as much as it did earlier in the day.

A LITTLE BIT OF HOLY CHANGES YOUR PERSPECTIVE.

Despite the earlier frustrations of the day and expectations dashed, I did the best I could do to be ready to celebrate IronMan's birthday. Instead of being frazzled, our atmosphere was peace. We were here. We were surrounded by the gifts that mean the most. We had all of our family around us, plus two more special souls. The decorations got put up (even the monkey balloon was okay), the ice cream cake was fabulous, and dinner was a little bit later than the 9:30 p.m. I was aiming for, but really, what more could we ask for? The tick-tock was hushed and it doesn't matter what time you celebrate. The point is that you DO celebrate. IronMan turned forty-five, and we celebrated him. A mother across town won't get another birthday with her son, and a lady who sacrificed to pay it forward gained a new friend. Yes, friends, a little bit of holy, indeed, changes your perspective.


SOMETIMES...IT CHANGES EVERYTHING

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I Don't Want to Do This Anymore... Broken Hope

Just a few days prior to the incident, I'd mustered up the courage, and hung hope on a galvanized pole suspended, quite fragily, between doubt and belief. It wasn't ONLY about the birds that I had hoped would find the Mason jar feeders we'd hung on our milk can contraption. It was so much deeper than that. It was about the birds that didn't find the feeders, and how we had hoped that life would come in some form right to our backyard. And...It did. Encouragement finally came and successfully muffled doubt when the birds found the seed we had lovingly placed for them. (If you would like to read the full story, you may do so HERE.)


Five short days after the birds came, when hope had a heartbeat, an unexpected gust of wind whipped underneath our red patio umbrella and shot it like a weapon directly towards the milk-can-clothesline-pole-miniature-bird-sanctuary-thingy. Sigh. Hope alive crashed into a thousand pieces of glass on the ground, and birdseed scattered... EVERYWHERE. IronMan and I stood in disbelief. It felt like we had mustered all of the hope between us to allow this precious contraption to become a symbol of hope to our aching, wondering hearts. I looked at IronMan, and I said, "I am done. I am so done."

HERE LIES GOOD OLD HOPE... DEADER THAN A DOORNAIL... WHICH IS PRETTY DARN DEAD.

I don't want to do this anymore. This roller-coaster of hope, death, hope, death, hope, death, hope, death. We are tired...so tired.

 NO! I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE!

I am tired of something going wrong every turn of the corner. I am tired of things NOT being in our favor. I am tired of having to fight for everything. EVERYTHING. I am tired of feeling like we have an enemy attacking us, and we never seem to catch a breath. I am tired of working hard and not getting the full benefits of that hard work. I am tired of seeing my IronMan work endless hours and there not being enough to make ends meet. I am tired of praying and praying and praying that we will make it, and we always end up on the edge. I am tired of wondering why prayers seemingly go unanswered, and why God is allowing this...

HE HAS TO BE ALLOWING THIS.


What do you do when the vulnerable, precious hope you have lifted to God crashes, and all that is left are useless shards laying on the ground? Honestly, this has been indicative of the last 18 years of our journey. We are beginning to wonder if something is wrong with us. I have to believe that I am not alone in that question. What hard are you facing? What tragedies are in your past that cause you to question, too? I want you to know, whatever it is that haunts from the past or weighs on you presently, or a combination of the two, you are not alone.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

So what are we to do about this? As much as I would like to crawl under a rock, find a cave to hide in, or run off deep into the mountains with my family, we can't do that. I know it might not always feel this way, but...

NO MATTER HOW BAD IT IS, IT COULD BE WORSE. IT REALLY COULD.

I am not diminishing the ache, grief, shame, wounds, or struggles you are facing. I promise. But I know even in the midst of the deepest of griefs, even compounded griefs, there are still GIFTS. There is still LIGHT. We can find HOPE.

I know. I know that it probably feels like it cost you just about everything to hold your hands cupped together with little bits of hope dripping through your fingers to ask God, one more time, to please show up and do something, and it hurts when it feels like hope dissolved.

We have to dig deep, dear ones. We must. We cannot let broken hope have the last word. We have to look at those jagged pieces of shattered hope and find a way back... AGAIN.

I looked at those shattered pieces of glass on the ground, and I couldn't even cry. I felt numb. It was such a minor thing in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like the last thing my weary heart could handle. The broken glass pieces and hope of tending to sparrows tumbled on the ground right along with my heart. All I could do was shake my head in disbelief. IronMan bent down and carefully picked up hundreds of pieces of broken Mason jars. I know this hurt him, too, but he scrounged around enough of something to at least begin to pick up the disaster. The next morning, he was the first customer in the store where we purchased the bird feeders. He found  one last Mason jar feeder hiding on the bottom of a shelf. It was, literally, the very last one. We combined two of the broken bird feeders to make one complete feeder.

WE PICKED UP WHAT WAS BROKEN, DUG SOUL-DEEP, AND FOUND A WAY TO OFFER A FRAGMENT OF HOPE, YET AGAIN. IT FELT LIKE TAINTED HOPE, BUT NONETHELESS, IT WAS HOPE.

I am choosing to believe that even if God has been allowing this hard journey, He must be forging something in the deep. The alternative is to believe nothing at all, and that doesn't seem like a good option to me. Even in the midst of some extremely dark circumstances, I have been carried by Him. I also have to believe that somehow, some way, even if it doesn't feel okay, we will make it, and you will make it. We may cry a river and heave from the depths of our beings, we may feel angry, frustrated, devastated, wounded...but at some point we will be breathing again, and sometime the darkness will lift.

FIGHTING FOR HOPE IS THE BEST DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARKNESS THAT WE HAVE. IT IS WORTH FIGHTING FOR.

I took the leftover top of one of the broken Mason jar feeders and made an itty-bitty lantern, about the same size as the hope we could offer. I put a tea light in it to shine against the darkness that comes when everything presses against hope. We don't yet know the outcome of our current circumstance, but we are trusting, and with hands cupped, we have lifted to God in our broken-best the most hope that we could offer...itty-bitty.

"And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with love." (Romans 5:5 NLT)


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"More of Our Story... and a Few Birds to Feed"

When I woke up today I decided that I'd better find a way to start writing again, or bust. It's summer, and I am supposed to have more time in the summer to write than during the school year when we are busy homeschooling. Right? Well, I've been trying to take a few intentional days when summer life has allowed to catch up on deep rest, reading, a few landscaping projects etc. I have poked around with writing a little, but every time I would get my computer out and my coffee made, my kids would need something, laundry would need switched, or some other pressing thing hijacked my plans. BUT this morning, the moment my eyes opened, I knew. TODAY was the day to get back to writing. I'm not sure how other writers go about the process of writing, whether they are bloggers, or full-blown authors. Honestly, I am neither. I write when my heart feels stirred to share something and space allows. I feel FREE, because I'm not trying to be or do something. I just share my heart when I feel led to share. I don't have a particular plan or schedule. Ummm... my last blog post was four months ago. Enough said. But again, THIS MORNING, I knew my directive was to write. The best way for me to make sure that will happen without any interruptions is to leave the house. I know that's probably terrible, but if I don't prioritize carving out the space to do this, then it won't happen. So bless my heart, I get to sit in the Starbucks' air conditioning, listen to calm and soothing Lord of the Rings music in my ear buds and see where my prayers and heart lead me. I was working on another piece (that hopefully, I will get back to), when my husband texted me a picture. I scrapped the plans that I had for writing, and I am going to tell you the story about WHY I am now sitting here CRYING in Starbucks.

*********** 

First, I need to give you a little background.

I have only blogged in bits and pieces about our family's story. Maybe eventually, all the bits and pieces will come together into a completed jigsaw puzzle for you, but for now, I will share a few more puzzle pieces to fill in a tiny bit more of the picture. I started this blog in February 2011 to be a place of raw transparency where others could find the truth of grace and know they had a safe place to share or land, if needed. At the time I began my blog, IronMan was the senior pastor of a small church in Michigan. We were there for a decade, but we knew when we arrived after being at the church for just three days that it was going to be a very long haul. And THAT it was. After ten years (almost twenty years in full-time ministry at the time), we were just done.  

WE COULDN'T DO IT FOR ONE MORE DAY KIND OF DONE.

So we packed up our four kids ages 5-15 at the time, every humble earthly belonging we had, and the ONLY LIFE WE HAD EVER KNOWN, and moved to Colorado to live with my parents. We thought we had been fully stripped the decade we lived in Michigan, but let me tell you, there is nothing more humbling after being on your own for 20 years to have to move back in with parents. We were bankrupt in every sense of the word. Every sense. We walked away from a career, church, income (INCOME!), what little security we felt we had, INDEPENDENCE, and left for higher hopes in the Rocky Mountains. We thought, perhaps, we might live with my parents for one year or less just to get back on our feet, and that IronMan would be led to a great job. It was going to be the start of a brand new life for us. I know life isn't always hard for everyone, but many of you can relate in some manner. For us...

IF THERE WAS A DOOR TO OPEN AND WALK THROUGH, THERE WAS A BRICK WALL ON THE OTHER SIDE.

We half-jokingly say around our house that we are Sargents and nothing is ever easy for us. But after being on this journey with IronMan for 25 years, I can affirm that to be true. Sometimes, things are just hard for people for whatever reason, and we are those people. I am not being negative, or even down-in-the-dumps. I share from the reality that we have had a hard road, and it's not for lack of prayer, trusting, or trying. Our journey is scarred. Believe me when I tell you that it is. I am not just saying words, because they sound authentic to say. WE ARE SCARRED. In a thousand different ways. Nearly unrecognizably so. Before I get too far off point, I will get back to when we arrived in Colorado. Our humble savings and profit from our huge moving sale in Michigan dwindled faster than we could keep milk in the fridge and bread on the table for our children. IronMan applied for jobs everywhere. EVERYWHERE. We just assumed that God would provide SOMETHING, but He didn't. The very moment that we were released from Michigan and led to Colorado, the local job economy in Colorado took a nose-dive. It was the worst time since 2001 to find employment in the state. Common jobs like grocery baggers were 500 applications deep. I thank God for my parents' generosity to us, because without them, we would have been homeless, but we still had bills to pay. We were, literally, down to our last $35 with no job prospects in sight. Along with desperate financial concern, the emotional transition out of church was excruciating. We had to find a way to healing and we also had to help our children find a way to healing (tears come even thinking about it) after the deep damage that was done. We all lost our identity, and we had to keep ourselves from looking back to "Egypt" and painting it in a light that it surely wasn't.

WE LEFT DARKNESS HOPING (AGAINST ALL ODDS) FOR LIGHT, AND ALL WE ENCOUNTERED BY MOVING TO COLORADO WAS MORE DARKNESS.

Out of utter desperation for income of some kind, IronMan took our last $35 and went to an auction in Denver to try to multiply our less-than-meager funds. He bought an old cookie jar, a vintage coffee maker, and a box of pathetic junk. He listed those items on ebay, and made a $200 profit. It felt like a small miracle. He then went back to the auction, bought a few more items, and did the same. BY GRACE, we now had a small income. BY GRACE, for the next three years, IronMan (who is not a businessman) grew the ebay business. The hope that we would only have to live with my parents for a year turned into nearly four years. They were closing in on retirement, and naturally, they wanted to have their space back. They were so gracious to let six of us live freely in their Colorado home, and during this stretch of four years, those Rocky Mountains and Colorado blue skies did, indeed, bring a measure of healing to all of us, but it was time to transition again. We began to fervently seek God about where we should live in Colorado, and it became quickly, and absolutely clear that we were not supposed to be in Colorado at all, but we were supposed to return to our roots in Indiana. My generous parents, ONCE AGAIN, fully enabled us to follow God into the unknown He was calling us towards. We packed our belongings into one moving truck, ebay stock into another moving truck, shed lots of tears, and leaving a little bit more soul-healed than we had arrived, we left Colorado for the next leg of our journey.

Now before you think that this part of our journey has finally been smooth, please remember that we are Sargents, and nothing seems to be easy for us, ever. Truly. We have been here for almost 18 months, and last summer, ebay betrayed us and almost hook-line-and-sinker-crashed. Having been in the online retail business for nearly five years, we know that there is a summer lull and we expected it, but being independent again, our needs were greater, and the usual summer lull turned into us running the gauntlet. If we don't have ebay sales while all of our potential buyers are sitting ocean-side with their toes in the sand sipping fruit-filled umbrella drinks (who can blame them?), you can liken that to not getting a paycheck for the week. During the summer, we go without several paychecks. Not many regular people can sustain that, and we are definitely regular people. This summer, even with a few protective income precautions in place, we have found ourselves still running the gauntlet. Sigh. We survive from sale to sale, miracle to miracle, breath to breath and hope to hope. Don't think for a second that because I am able to write this that it doesn't rattle the cages of faith. Our faith has been shaken right down to the bones over and over again, and we have kicked, scratched, and clawed our way back to trusting through the years in things even far deeper than finances. But, somehow, some way, we are still here.

CURRENTLY, WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GAUNTLET, TRUSTING FOR PRACTICAL MIRACLES, BREATH, HOPE...

...AND BLESS OUR HEARTS, THAT IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING.

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So much life... light and darkness mingled together... has happened around and between these few puzzle pieces of our journey.

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Now, back to me crying in Starbucks.

A few months ago, IronMan bought this crazy milk can contraption at auction with what looked like a galvanized clothesline pole welded to it. He purchased it to resell the milk can, but when he put it in the car after the auction, he realized he couldn't remove the galvanized pole. He brought it home to me pretending it was some grand and thoughtful gift that he had purchased just for me, and he tried to talk me into how amazing it would be in our yard (read sarcasm in my tone). At first, I thought the thing was hideous, and I was sure we would get angry glares from our neighbors if we put it in the yard. On Sunday, IronMan randomly decided to paint the milk can portion barn-red to see if I would like it. If you know me, you know that red is my favorite color, and barn-red is my favorite-FAVORITE color. That man of mine is a sly one. {wink~wink} With the milk can portion being barn-red, I slowly warmed up to completely fell in love with the idea of this unique milk-can-pole-thingy. We have a lot of birds around us that we enjoy watching, so we thought it would be sweet to hang feeders from the galvanized pole. We, being as broke as we are right now (summer gauntlet), went to Hobby Lobby with sale information from a friend, and bought the last two Mason jar bird feeders they had at a 66% discount (basically, they were next to free). I decided where I wanted our new barn-red contraption to go and placed it, filled the feeders with a heart full of hope, hung my beloved birthday-gift wind chime, and placed a trailing geranium on the crossbar. I did a little bit of research, and I found out that even if you have several birds in your area, they still might not find the feeders you place. I was a bit discouraged, but we have a lot of birds. Surely, they would come, wouldn't they?

Two long, long days went by, and not a single feathered friend found our lovingly placed feeders. I was so discouraged, and thought for sure my hopes would be fully dashed. Today, when I came to Starbucks to write, I was originally writing a different story to share. My phone vibrated with a text message from IronMan. There were no words, just a single picture.

 


While I wasn't looking, the birds came.

WHEN I WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION, HOPE WAS FULFILLED.

This is the picture IronMan sent me which he took through the kitchen window screen. There are five birds, FIVE. When I spoke with him later, he told me there were at least FIFTEEN birds around the feeders at any given time. I know it probably seems a little silly, but tears flowed at the deeper truth that this spoke to me. When you have had a hard journey (even if you haven't), it can be hard to find your way back to hope of any kind.

WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN BRUISED AND BATTERED BY LIFE, HOPE IS AN OFFERING THAT YOU GIVE FROM DEEP WITHIN, BELIEVING FOR SOMETHING MORE.

Hope can be fragile. Deepened trust or full-out joy may or may not end up being the fruit of  your hope offering, but dear ones, it is a risk that we have to find the strength to take. Over and over again. If we don't have hope, then what have we? It's why the tears slipped from my eyes, right down my cheeks and fell in Starbucks.

EVEN THE SMALLEST BIT OF HOPE FULFILLED IS SOMETHING.

Last night, I was at a sweet little women's group, and the young hostess with a deep, beautiful heart confirmed this thing stirring in my soul. "We live miracle to miracle," she said. Yes. Yes. Yes. I have been using that phrase and living it for years, and I understand the tight rope you have to walk between faith and despair that stirs such a statement from the depths. Only those that really "get" that would utter such a phrase. And on this day that my tears fell in Starbucks, I am grateful for tiny sparrows that came floating with a message on their wings to bring fresh hope right to my heart. Hallelujah. The birds came. I am going to call my young friend and tell her, because even when it feels hopeless, even when we aren't looking, the birds will come. I don't have the answers, but I do believe that one way or another, if you fight your way to hope, it will all be okay...

MIRACLE TO MIRACLE...

BREATH TO BREATH...

HOPE TO HOPE...

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All is grace...always grace,

One Tiny Crocus

We moved into our home last winter at the end of an icy, cold February. Fifteen years prior to our arrival, our home was constructed for the sole purpose of becoming a rental property, so occupants put very little effort into the home, including the landscaping. When we bought our house, we had no idea what our snow-covered yard would look like. As the winter freeze began to thaw, it revealed that the landscaping needed some tender-loving care, to say the least. The long flower-bed between the sidewalk and house was covered in tufts of brown, dingy, spring grass. Our work was definitely cut out for us. We could hardly wait for spring to fully arrive, so we could get started on the transformation. One day, just as the days became balmy, my son came running to tell me there were yellow flowers that had poked through the ground.

I quickly followed him outside to find golden crocuses smiling through the gloomy backdrop. Those tiny flowers brightened our spirits after an emotional, and exhausting winter.

Pretty pink and purple hyacinths were the next to surprise us with spring's hope, followed by a rainbow of tulips. Despite being a rental property, someone through the years cared enough to take the time to plant bulbs that would eventually produce hope-filled blooms. Unfortunately, the bulbs weren't planted intentionally, and the entangled mess of spotty grass, weeds, and bulbs would have to be removed from the flower bed to make way for something new.

We weeded, dug, hoed, sweat, raked, planned, prepped, and worked. As we made our way through the soil, we came upon at least a hundred flower bulbs. We removed them all, but felt guilty throwing them away, so we salvaged as many of the larger bulbs as we could with the intention of replanting them in the fall. We stored them in a cardboard box in the garage where they would have to wait until the right time for planting.

Last autumn on a gorgeous Indian summer day, I took the box of bulbs from the garage, and got to work. I counted and separated according to variety.

I took a handful of bulbs in amazement that these homely little things held the hope of spring's beauty beneath their onion-like layers.

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE THAT SOMETHING SO BRIGHT, COLORFUL, AND BEAUTIFUL COULD EVER COME FROM SOMETHING SO UGLY.

I surveyed our flower-beds and the landscaped areas we created last summer, and thought about where I wanted to see flowers bloom. I decided to plant the yellow daffodil bulbs underneath the curve of the one-leaf tree.

The spring-pink blossoms of the weeping cherry tree would be a pretty contrast to daffodil-yellow. I got down on my knees and moved the mulch aside with my hands. I cut a half-circle in the weed barrier and dug a trench with a hand trowel heaping earth on each side. I evenly lined up the bulbs around the half-circle. I held the first bulb in my hand, carefully pushed it down deep into the cool earth, and my soul hushed as I realized...

THE BULB WAS IN A TOMB.

The bulb had to be planted in an earthen tomb, or it could not bloom. Last October, I designedly planted spring-hope in little tombs all across our flower beds.

SOMETIMES...

THAT'S ALL WE CAN DO. 

PLANT.

TRUST.

WALK  AWAY.

WAIT.

KEEP  TRUSTING.

The winter-wait can be long and dark. As spring approaches without marked signs of life, it can be unbearable. It's definitely been a long, dark winter here. In truth, it's been a long, dark WEEK! 

The snowy, cold weather broke last week, and I've been keenly watching for any sign that the bulbs I transplanted survived. Would they burst through their little graves and flourish? Would they break FREE from their dark tombs? 

I've been vigilant in checking the curve under the (currently) no-leaf tree for signs of life that the daffodils persevered through the winter and lived through their big replant. So far, there have been no signs of life. I investigated the hope of tulip patches and hycinth row. Nothing.

Deep in my bones...

I NEED THESE FLOWERS TO BLOOM. 

I NEED THESE FLOWERS TO LIVE. 

I feel desperate that if they don't make it, maybe we won't either. I need a SIGN that life will make it, that we will make it, that...

SOMEHOW...

SOME WAY... 

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY!

I did my rounds yesterday checking for any evidence that my flowers lived, and I couldn't believe what I found.

I WAS SEARCHING FOR HOPE IN THE WRONG PLACE.

The flower-bed we ripped from end to end, the flower-bed where we pulled out every bulb, big and small, the flower-bed where I sifted the ground through my fingers and raked through the dirt with my hands yanking out every weed, flower, seed, sign of life, good or bad...

THE FLOWER-BED HAS A SURVIVOR!

As much as I want my other bulbs to break through their dark-ground graves and explode into rainbows of spring color, it matters little for this one tiny crocus. One tiny crocus hung on despite the odds that it shouldn't have survived. One tiny crocus burst forth with the first hope of spring. One tiny crocus, about the size of a nickel, changed EVERYTHING in my heart.

I'M GOING TO BE OKAY.

YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY.

KEEP TRUSTING.

WINTER WILL END.

SPRING WILL ARRIVE.

For today, I will hold on to the hope that one tiny crocus has brought, and I hope you will hold on, too.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.


"And now, God, do it again—
bring rains to our drought-stricken lives, so those who planted their crops in despair will shout hurrahs at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing with armloads of blessing." (Psalm 125:4-6 MSG)


***********

All is grace,