God is Not Faithful! (dot... dot...dot...)

This is the one. This is the post where some of you will stop reading/listening to what I have to say. Believe me. I know it is a generous grace that you have read/heard my thoughts at all through the years, and for that, I am truly grateful. But this post is going to be different. I would guess that 95% of you might not be able to relate, and for that, too, I am grateful. It means you don't know or experientially understand the perpetual pain from which a piece like this is born. Your life is probably vastly different from mine, and that is okay, but I have to write this for the other 5% that need to know they are not alone, that are barely hanging on by tattered faith, and have no idea where God is in all of this mess. I know the risk. I have had this post in some type of written form in my blog dock to share for over a year, but fear kept restraining me from posting, because I know human nature, and I know the nature of very human Christians. Some of you will chuck me, and I am just going to have to be okay with that. To bury this journey is to bury part of me. The drive to share has become far more pressing than these haunting thoughts:

NO ONE IS EVER GOING TO READ ANOTHER THING YOU WRITE, EVER, IF YOU PUT THIS OUT THERE!

SOME THINGS MIGHT JUST BE TOO RAW FOR SHARING.

SAYING CERTAIN THINGS MIGHT DAMAGE THE TRUST OTHERS HAVE IN YOU, ALONG WITH THE GUIDANCE YOU OFFER IF YOU SAY THEM ALOUD.

REGARDLESS OF MY FEARS, BRACE YOURSELF. 

I AM WRITING FOR THE 5%. 

GOD, HAVE MERCY.

I am going to have an out-loud faith crisis right here, right now. I will do my level best for this not to be a rant, because it is so much more than that. 

Endless sorrows. 
Years of suffering. 
Out-of-the-blue derailing.
Unanswered prayers.
A silent God.

I HAVE HAD ENOUGH. 

I knew this was coming to a head. I have been feeling it for a while. I feel it now. I sense that I am at a spiritual crossroads, and the battle at the crossroads has become more fierce than ever to STAY ON THE FAITH-ROAD. 

"We have had our fill..."

Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes. There are limits. Human limits.

I am tired of being ground into dust and our family never getting the chance to come up for air for a real, tried-and-true breath where oxygen can fill spiritual lungs and finger out into peace where there is rest (even if only for a minute or two), and dare I say it, we can experience JOY. But everything is tainted. Strings are attached everywhere. Strings strangle, and we are dying here.

I am tired of our family having to experience these things so that we know this kind of to-the-bone suffering. Why were we chosen to have to live this? Is it solely to encourage others? It is so difficult to abide by that anymore. It seems that every single time it looks like there will be a breakthrough, we are slammed backwards even further than when hope was stirred, and dashed hope is then added to the long years of grief. When will the suffering "bucket" be full so we can move on from this? IronMan and I were both given deep-feeling hearts and he was given deep-seeing spiritual eyes, but we are tired and so very exhausted. I get it, though. Rare, God-gifted truths come from my IronMan, even if it's just to a handful of others, but he is weary, and we are weary, and I don't know if we want to be or can be *THOSE messengers anymore. Elijah ended up collapsed by a tree, and an angel brought him a jar of water and fresh baked bread. The angel also PROTECTED Elijah so he could rest "enough" for the next part of his journey (see 1 Kings 19). God gave Elijah what he needed to continue on. His needs were met. Our needs are not being met, and we are in dire need of bread, a jar of water, and protected rest. I wonder if we will ever be able to become the messengers of breakthrough and hope and joy? I want to be the one to tell others that God will INDEED show up right spot in the middle of your circumstances if you trust Him. Yes, you can count on Him, no matter what. I want to be THAT messenger, not the messenger that struggles to believe God is a promise-keeper, John-didn't-get-out-of-prison, Stephen-was-stoned, and I don't know for sure if God really is a LOVING FATHER after all. 

There is no platitude I want to hear. Trust me. I know them all. It doesn't help. I used to use them years ago myself to encourage others before I truly understood. Forgive me if you were a recipient. They are empty words. Bless you, but if you are a fellow believer and you don't know deep suffering, please, please do not be offended, because I mean no offense, truly, but I don't care what you have to say. I care about your heart and that you *want to say something, but you have no idea what you are saying or speaking into someone else's life if you don't personally walk with a "limp," if you haven't been damaged, experienced deep grief, or been accompanied by sorrow. I have thought this for a while, and I am becoming more and more convinced that on this God-journey of leading people spiritually, it is NOT a seminary degree that qualifies you (yes, I do know this is important), or years of climbing the modern church infrastructural ladder, but your own brokenness and suffering. Pain qualifies you. The human experience qualifies you. ALL surrendered in deep trust to a Holy God qualifies you, but I worry we won't survive this "all surrendered" with faith intact.

When thinking of other people (maybe even close family or friends), we need to put blinders on and keep them on, because looking at how God has seemingly been a companion to others can add to the sorrow. So many give God honor and thanks for the many blessings they have in their lives, while some of us ruthless God-trusters might start to wonder what in the world is wrong with us, and why is God treating us differently. Sometimes, there are no answers or explanations. Other people might even begin to make us feel like something is wrong with us. Unintentionally, people do subtle things to make you feel lower than they are, and it is so very hard. The truth is, perpetual sorrow and suffering can isolate you. If you are sensitive, it undoubtedly will isolate you. This is a lonely journey, and I am sorry for you...I am sorry for us. 😔 IronMan and I have been married for 27 years, but the last 19 years have been mauled by nightmare after nightmare, desert after desert, utter ruins after utter ruins. Before that, the first 18 years of my life were mostly hell-on-earth, as well. Currently, faith is stuck on that rickety bridge, belief seems to be the elusive bank on the other side, and our hope is enervated. Our struggle has been years long with pain on top of pain on top of pain on top of pain, and no real resolve, relief, or breath from any of it. We are drowning in compounded grief. I understand the dark night of the soul, and why one might need to experience the utter depths of that darkness, but 19 years back and forth in that torment... it feels like too much. I know there are people that have been to the very pit of hell, their hearts have been fully rent, and they still stand to say that "God is faithful." I honor that, and I honor them. I truly do. Each person is different, and it isn't for me to judge the depths of their grief or their journey. There will always be someone who is in circumstances far worse, and there will always be someone who is in circumstances far better, but all is felt as anguish. It is not for us to qualify or quantify suffering. We need blinders for suffering as well as blessing. This is about my personal journey with God and your personal journey with God, not someone else's.  I want to say that God is faithful...that He has been faithful to us. I really do want to say that in truth. I feel strongly that it does not matter whether God pulls through or has pulled through for someone else. Honestly, I find little encouragement from their stories anymore. It's truth for me right now, because whether or not God came through for them doesn't matter. WE NEED GOD TO COME THROUGH FOR *US. If you are reading this and your heart resonates, I know it matters little whether or not God pulls through for me or my family, because YOU NEED GOD TO COME THROUGH FOR YOU.

Yes, it is as the 123rd Psalmist said... 

"Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy, for we have had our fill..."

This ache... This lonely, terrifying ache of these thoughts walks me back and forth across this rickety bridge between failed faith, and hanging on. I might fall through the ragged boards all the way through to my death below if I don't get this hammered out and get across this bridge to actual safe ground. What if we are John and we don't get out of prison? I can scarcely breathe thinking that our circumstance might not change. John sent word to Jesus from prison questioning if he, indeed, was the "one." Jesus told his disciples to report to John, "The blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the Good News is being preached to the poor." (see Matthew 11) Jesus had the power to do all of that, but surely John had to wonder if Jesus was going to use that same power to free him from prison. I'll bet Ol' John might have been looking for the sparkle in Jesus' eyes to appear through the bars of his dank prison cell right up to the moment the blade was drawn to take his head. Did he, too, wonder if God was faithful? Because God is always faithful, right? I feel like I want to drive a stake right through this fragile truth, claim it sure and strong, and declare that this, somehow, is what His faithfulness looks like, because if it isn't, then what in the love of all things holy is it? If it is true that God is always faithful, then this mess that I am left here to stand up underneath must somehow have God's stamp of faithfulness on it. Sigh. But life. Oh Life. How you plow us deep and abandon us as hard clods in a desolate field, and we are left struggling to FIND God's faithfulness instead of God FINDING and SHOWING us that He simply is.

What happens to us when life breaks hearts at the deepest of levels, and mars faith down deep in soul-hollows, when WHO you believed God to be becomes shattered by your personal experience? I know you might be shaking your head at that. But in this walking with God business, let me tell you, your PERSONAL EXPERIENCE with the God of Jesus Christ IS this walk. Maybe I am not seeing clearly? Maybe this shattered circumstance is what it’s actually all about, so that we will press in deeper, harder, unrelenting until He shows us Himself and WHO He really is among these faith shards.

He, as sure as I am writing these words, isn't who I thought He would be and what this journey would look like. 

WHO ARE YOU, GOD? 

ARE YOU FAITHFUL, OR NOT?

BUT WOW...

When you wake up to this and realize that IT'S OKAY TO ASK THAT QUESTION, & THAT MAYBE GOD WANTS YOU TO STARE RIGHT INTO THE BLOODY FACE OF IT, because when you have that deep of a wondering about God from being left in a life-heap, you might finally be getting down to the heart of the matter.

I realize that to a lot of faith people, my words are dangerous. It is far easier to dismiss me, and cling rigidly to your beliefs without trying to feel what other Jesus-lovers feel, especially in the midst of soul-destruction. If you are relating to any of this, you already know this is a soul-lonely journey, and even your closest friends and family may not "get" you or this. It is far too easy to leave broken, hurting, aching, wondering people in the dust when you simply don't understand. Brokenness can be scary, and questions are scary, because no one wants others to know what they might think deep down and openness is too raw, vulnerable, and revealing. BUT QUESTIONS ARE NOT FAITHLESS, AND BROKENNESS IS NOT LESS-THAN. 

We are not fair weather followers. We have staked our life on a few principles:

"Trust the Lord with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do, and He will show you which path to take." (Proverbs 3:5-6)

"Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well." (Matthew 6:33)

"You will not have to fight this battle. Take up your positions; stand firm and see the deliverance the LORD will give you..." (2 Chronicles 20:17)

These are just the tip of the iceberg, but they begin to express our hearts and our belief that if you TRUST GOD... SOMETIMES RUTHLESSLY... HE WILL TAKE CARE OF YOU. We are not fainthearted God trusters. WE ARE FULL-DEPENDERS. We are probably even a little bit crazy how we keep getting back up again and finding a way to keep trusting. We actually believe that if we seek Him, He will speak, and if we wait, He will direct. Apparently, that sometimes gets you stuck in the muck, or even just about dead! If God is who we believe He is, then where is He? If God isn't who we believe He is, then we have spent our whole lives pouring out, leading others to Him and His fierce love and grace, and teaching them the same; if you seek, He will lead, and He will provide. We have God's undeniable fingerprints dotted across our journey, but when you are standing on the bridge with rotten, creaky boards and the bottom is about to fall out, you are begging your Father for help, guidance, direction, provision, and a way, any way, off the dangerous bridge, but He is silent and withholds his helping hand, what are you supposed to believe and what are you supposed to do?

WRESTLE.

Would God have you accept crushing life without question, or would He rather have real, authentic lovers of Jesus wrestling in the ashes, pressing into Him for real assurance, even if there were no unequivocal answers? Muster up one last bit of something from these shards we are left with and find a way. Slam your fists on the table and scream from the soul-depths. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE ABANDONED US, even if every last evidence points to the fact that He has. Jesus felt like His Father had abandoned Him, too, so I guess we are in good company. I know we have entered this particular wrestling match already injured and limping. The fact is, we have crawled, scratched and clawed our way with bloody fingers and scraped raw knees, but if I have to concede this fight with whomever or whatever I am fighting, that means I have to concede everything I have ever believed and trusted. Sure, faith is rattled to the very core of who I am right now, but I am not going down without this one last fight, without this one last open-handed offering with bloody hands giving every last bit of me. I will fight to the brink of death if I have to. I AM HOLDING ON AND I AM NOT LETTING GO. I am begging God for a Jacob-type breakthrough. 

A BREAKTHROUGH. 

A CHANGE IN OUR CIRCUMSTANCES.

If we lose this fight, it feels like all will be lost, but what choice do we have? Either God is who he says He is, or He isn't. God is either fully faithful and trustworthy, or He isn't. It seems to me the only choice I have is to put this all on God. It is God's own reputation that is at stake. He can choose to do what He wants to do with that. He is responsible for the truth of His reputation, even if it is just to me and my humble little family. We have given Him all of our trust. He either is or He isn't faithful... and it is time, Father, to get the Sargent family to the bank and off this rickety bridge.

God, have mercy...


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His Eye is on the Sparrow, but Not Mine!

When we moved into our home in 2015, there was a clothes line in the backyard that we wanted to remove. One of the T-poles was wood, and came out of the ground easily. The other T-pole was steel and set in a large amount of concrete. There was no way we were going to be able to easily remove the pole, so I embraced it. I painted it red, did a little bit of modest landscaping around it, and (my favorite thing) I hung a birdhouse that a friend made for us as a housewarming gift. I was looking forward to the possibility of enjoying birds in our own yard. The first spring, we didn't have any feathered visitors claim our little white birdhouse as their own, but early the next spring, to our surprise, black capped chickadees came. When they were finished raising their sweet young, equally to our delight, little wrens came. The next spring followed the same pattern. First the chickadees came, raised their babies, and then the wrens came again, as well. This spring, we were looking forward to the return of our two sweet songbird families, but strange chaos was about to destroy the concept of our little bird nursery.

Mr. Woodpecker was the first to come. He did a thorough job of pecking around the entrance hole of the birdhouse making it bigger than it should be to keep the tiny wren family safe from predators. Not long after Mr. Woodpecker decided the little white birdhouse wasn't up to his expectations, a bluebird couple came and argued with the returning chickadees wanting rights to nest in the space. To both of the bird couples' dismay, house sparrows came on the scene bargaining for the space, as well. The three bird couples flitted about, sang accusatory songs, and chased each other off until the house sparrow couple finally won early spring nesting rights to the house.

I felt frustrated that it was common sparrows, not my beloved chickadees or bluebirds that were building a nest, but then I was reminded that the sparrow is the lowliest of birds, and they needed a home, too. I tried to make my peace with it. 

SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE CARE OF THE SPARROWS, RIGHT?

"What is the price of two sparrows- one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it." Matthew 10:29 (NLT)

We have a heart for ragamuffins and those broken by life. Who better to take care of the lowly sparrows than us? Though disappointed, I tried to let the heart of what was happening soak in. I went the extra step and hung a bird feeder on the crossbar opposite of the little white birdhouse. I would make it as easy as possible for the sparrows to thrive until they flew away after raising their young, but... 

THEY NEVER LEFT THE NEST! THEY NEVER FLEW AWAY!

I started to become worried about what would happen when the little wrens came if they found their home occupied. The chickadees and wrens shared the space together in perfect harmony, but the sparrows stayed... and stayed... and stayed. They wore out their welcome.

The wrens did, indeed, return about two weeks ago. They flitted around the clothes line pole singing concerns to each other about their hijacked home. They finally gave up, and I thought they would be gone for good. By now, It was an all out struggle for me to embrace what seemed like lazy sparrows taking over our beloved birdhouse and just camping out because it was easy, yet the words of the old hymn swirled around my head and heart and brought nothing but guilt.

"I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free, for his eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me." (Civilla D. Martin) 

Ugh! What an internal battle I was in about these sparrows! 

To my surprise, the wrens came back and discovered that we had an uninhabited birdhouse hanging on our patio. It was a perfect little wren house with a small entrance for their protection. Satisfied, Mommy and Daddy Wren began to build a nest in the little red birdhouse. I was thrilled that the wrens came back and found a safe place to call their own. They busied themselves, driven to build their nest, and my heart finally rested over this crazy bird dilemma. 

Two days after fervent nest building, the house sparrows did something that changed my perspective forever. I had just returned from taking my daughter to work, and heard constant angry chirping coming from our patio. I opened the blinds on our sliding glass door to find the oversized male and female sparrow (no doubt fattened from their hearty food supply) tag-teaming against the sweet little wrens. The bully birds were actually attacking the wrens and fly-diving at them to chase them away. Those fat sparrows wouldn't have been able to fit in the little red birdhouse if they tried. I angrily chased the sparrows away at least thirty times only to have them return quickly with their antagonistic tones spewing bitterness at the sweet little wrens. I decided that it was long past time to consult Google to figure out what might be going on with these sparrows.

The following is from Pest Management Professional.

"House sparrows have since become a common pest bird that lives in close association with humans, greatly depending upon them for food and nesting sites. The birds are associated with the transmission of more than 25 diseases of humans and domestic animals... House sparrow feces deface and foul structures, park benches, outdoor lunch tables, statues and stair railings, and contaminate walkways around buildings. Their uric acid droppings can even damage automobile paint. House sparrow nests often clog roof drains, plug gutters and downspouts, and cause roof leaks. Their bulky nests made of grass, straw, feathers, hair, weeds and other dried plant materials, strings and other miscellaneous flammable trash are serious fire hazards—especially when nests are located in electrical equipment, light fixtures, around power lines and electrical substations. House sparrows are opportunistic, quarrelsome, aggressive, persistent, relentless and pugnacious competitors, and they’ll frequently out-compete, drive out and displace desirable native songbirds.Bird houses that are placed out to accommodate songbirds are often usurped by house sparrows."

I was shocked! House sparrows are flat out evil! I told IronMan all that I had learned about the house sparrows and he did a little bit of research on his own. He learned that a house sparrow will raise 3-5 broods a season. No wonder they didn't leave the white birdhouse! They were multiplying right under our noses. He also said that if you try to remove their nest, they will attack and kill any area songbirds out of spiteful vengeance before they leave the area. The wrens wisely left and never returned the morning I tried to chase the sparrows away from the little red birdhouse. Maybe this way they have found a safe place to nest and they will ultimately be protected from these bully sparrows?

I feel like I was naive to allow the house sparrows to come and stay. I ignored my own reservations, and made it as convenient as possible for them. I even provided for them by feeding them choice birdseed. It was easy for evil to come and camp out, rest (does evil ever rest?), and stay awhile, and I was completely unaware. Evil seeps in slow moving and desensitizes us until we are okay with it. Its steadily growing roots finger down until its grip is fierce, it's either too late, or it becomes a GREAT BIG deal to get rid of after causing untold damage. I am awake to this now, and it is my responsibility to stay aware of other ways evil much worse than sparrows may be creeping in. I am known for championing grace, and I don't often talk about this, but if you are allowing things in your life and your family's life that you know shouldn't be there, wake up! Don't be naive. Take care of things before they take root. This is truth. We have a very real enemy that seeks to destroy us in any way that he can. I am not an alarmist or a person that thinks there is a demon around every bush, but I have also lived a little, and I can tell you that this is real, and attack seldom shows up like a loud parade at your door. I thought it was a good thing that I was going to take care of these house sparrows, but allowing them to stay did nothing but destroy the good.

"Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour." 1 Peter 5:8 (ESV)

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly." John 10:10 (ESV)

I HAVE DECIDED THAT IF GOD'S EYE IS ON THE SPARROW, THAT'S OKAY. GOD, HIMSELF, CAN TAKE CARE OF THEM! I'M OUT. 😉

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Hard Thanks

Thanksgiving is just two days away. Grocery store aisles are crowded, boxes of Stove Top are flying off the shelves, there's a run on turkeys and hams, cranberries boil and pop in shiny saucepans, houses are cleaned spit-spot from top to bottom, and heavenly smells waft through our homes as prep work sometimes seeps right into the wee morning hours. Soon, the white noise mishmash from dishes clinking, coffee brewing, conversations and laughter, prayers around tables, marching bands, football, and children playing will mingle from floor to rafter in homes across America. It is a time of JOY. Thanksgiving wells up in our hearts and spills over into the space of this one day that we share together corporately from Maine to Florida all the way to California, Alaska, Hawaii, and every state in between. It's one special day to say "thanks" together. BUT. There's always a but, isn't there?

Last week, I received a message from a long-time friend. She and I go all the way back to sixth grade. Her little sister's life was tragically stolen by the relentless tormentor of cancer. She was thirty-seven. She was stunning. She was a mother, sister, aunt, daughter, cousin, friend. She is gone. This morning, I received a message from another friend. Her cousin, a senior in high school, was in an ATV accident. He had his entire, amazing life ahead of him, but he was ripped from life to death in one single, disastrous moment. How? How in this hell-hard grief do you say "thanks"?

The truth is, hearts are broken all across this same America that is supposed to pause for gratitude this week. Marriages are falling apart, jobs have been lost, news from doctors has devastated, finances are fragile, gaping soul-wounds fester, alcoholism rages, relationships have been betrayed, depression lurks. There are so many different forms of death that cast a shadow across our souls, and if it isn't happening to you, I guarantee there is someone you know or someone your path has crossed that it is happening to. We are broken people in a broken world. AND it's Thanksgiving. What do we say to the motherless children, the parents who have buried a child, the widow who lost her beloved, the man whose wife ran off and left him with kids to raise alone? I ask again. How in this hell-hard grief do you say it?

...thanks...

Let all platitudes be silenced. There simply are no words for soul-bending pain.

***********

To the hurting and broken, even with God, some things don't make any human sense. We turn them over in our minds a thousand and one different ways, but God is not a genie god answering prayers like wishes granted to bless us with a perfect, untainted life. When we have pleaded and prayed from the depths of our soul-bones for something that meant the world to us, yet our world makes no sense at all, it can leave us in an utter faith crisis. Sometimes, our world gets rocked right down to ash and there is no explanation.If you are aching and feel abandoned this Thanksgiving, I want you to know it's okay. It might be hard for you to get out of bed, let alone to try to get your heart around to being grateful. You don't have to, but if it is in your heart to try to offer a thank you, I want you to know that whatever fragment you can muster to hold up with trembling hands, that priceless fragment, is likely more valuable than a million thanks easily uttered from a place of abundance, because that fragment or shard will probably cost you everything. In giving it, you will have given ALL. If you can't, it's all right. You are not alone. You are understood. I keep thinking about Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before he was hauled off to his accusers to be tortured and murdered on rough-hewn beams. He was asking His Dad for another way through the soul-crushing path he was on. I don't recall Him saying thank you, but he did ultimately surrender in the midst of asking for a different way through or around His circumstance. Hear this. For the love of all things holy, Jesus pleaded for an answer He didn't get! If you are hurting, be gracious to yourself. I won't promise that your pain will make sense, but I know you can get through this, even if it is one breath at a time. If you can't say thank you, let it go. That will be okay, too. Focus on breathing.

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

It is enough.

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If you know someone carrying unspeakable wounds, I want to encourage you to let your love and compassion be evident in actions. Weep with those that are weeping. Sit beside another in their sorrow. Even well-intentioned words have the potential to sprinkle salt on open sores. Staying quiet is often the most loving action you can offer. Take a meal. Give a hug. Offer your service. Be a listening ear. Whatever you are led to do, do it without expectation. Be kind to those who need your kindness. Maybe your smile will be the very thing that keeps someone else's head above water for a day. You never know the full impact of simple things. Be mindful of those who might be lonely this Thanksgiving. Holidays are a difficult time for a lot of people. By all means, soak up all the joy you can if you are surrounded by it this holiday. Don't be ashamed of that at all! It's a beautiful gift. Just try to be aware and others minded. You might be surprised what beauty will come across your path as you selflessly give love and care to one who truly needs it.

You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

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Notes from the Ordinary- Vol.2

When we moved into our home nearly three years ago, it was in the middle of snowy February. Under a blanket of icy white, our home had many mysteries to be discovered with the upcoming seasons. One of the mysteries for me was the younger tree that graced our front yard. If you know me personally, it is likely that you also know my favorite color is red. Keeping true to my love of red, one of my favorite trees is a red maple, and I have always longed to have one of my own. Little compares to the fiery bright splendor that warms the world in its contrast against an autumn sky than that of a red maple. I am not a tree expert, so I wasn't one hundred percent certain that our new front yard tree was a maple, but I hoped, longed and wished that if it was, it would also be red. Spring came, and the tree branches became dotted with brand new buds. The buds soon swelled and unfolded into tiny, perfect leaves. MAPLE LEAVES. Again, not being a tree expert, I had no idea if there was a way to tell if this maple was a red maple or not, so I patiently waited. The first autumn in our home arrived, and the first signs of color change revealed red leaves on the tips of our maple's branches. I was thrilled! I had a red maple of my own! This felt like an unexpected gift. But as the next week or two progressed, the remainder of the tree's leaves changed to yellow. I hadn't paid enough attention to yellow maple trees to know that the first leaves that change color usually turn from green to red hues. Simple hope was dashed, and some days it doesn't take much after a long hard journey to be discouraged. Autumn 2015 was a disappointment.

I was prepared ahead of time for a yellow maple tree the second autumn in our home, so at least hope wouldn't be dashed. I began to plot our yard in my mind and plan a place for a future new tree, a red maple tree. If I wasn't gifted a red maple, I was going to plant one myself. We only live on a half acre, and the way our home is situated on our lot gives little place for another tree to grow, mature, and thrive. I turned it over and over again in my mind, but I couldn't find a viable place to plant a tree unless we wanted to sacrifice the humble fire pit, or the spot where we put up a small pool for our kids. One tree just for me was not worth the sacrifice of many things that our entire family enjoys. Autumn 2016 was also a busy time for our family with our firstborn getting married, so I didn't have a lot of time to sulk about yellow or red trees even though I confess that many times I wondered why the tree we currently have couldn't have just been red. How hard would it have been for the tree's planter to plant a glorious red maple instead of a plain ordinary yellow one? God surely would have known how much I would have loved red, and He knew at the time of planting that this would eventually be our home. It seemed so simple to me. Why not just this one thing, God? So many other big, hard, heart-wrenching things have paved our journey. Couldn't I have had just this one tiny thing that doesn't really even matter to anyone else in this world except for me? But it wasn't meant to be, and there was no way to fix it myself in the yard space we have. As silly as it seems, autumn 2016 held more disappointment.

I noticed several weeks ago that the autumn colors seemed to lack this year. Our family took a quick trip to southern Indiana to view the fall foliage, and it seemed to be the same there, as well. At home, our young tree did begin to faithfully change from red tips to blah yellow, and fall just felt flat. Many other life-deep, soul-deep things have been stirring, so the outside seemed to perfectly reflect my inner being. Then, autumn 2017 took me by surprise. Right in the middle of an ordinary morning on an ordinary day, I stepped onto our ordinary porch stoop, and looked up at our ordinary tree. Golden beauty literally took my breath away.This was a different fire than a fiery red maple. This tree shimmered dreamily with steadily glowing embers that cast a lovely golden hue over the entire corner of our yard, and I was frozen in its hush.

 Every single leaf changed from dull to vivid yellow overnight.

It was stunning, and it shamed me that I have been complaining about this tree for far too long. Honestly, I don't even need to bring myself to a place to try to embrace it. IT EMBRACED ME.

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL WAS RIGHT BEFORE MY EYES, AND I NEARLY MISSED IT BECAUSE IT WASN'T THE THING I WANTED IT TO BE.

How often do we do this in our lives? How often do we do this with God? I confess that I do this more often than I really want to admit. I scoff and complain about my circumstances. I grumble because I have this thing and I want that thing. I am bitter because our situation should be that way, but it's this way. I have thrown my fist in the air and stomped my feet demanding for something to change. Dear ones, I confess to you that I know I am missing beauty that's right in front of me. Life, just like this golden, glorious tree holds a precious lesson.

SOMETIMES, YOU HAVE TO GET UNDER A THING TO REALLY SEE ITS BEAUTY.










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Notes from the Ordinary- Vol.1

It's been nearly a year since I last posted a blog. I know this goes against every single blog rule in the book, but I have never really been one to follow all the rules (*wink*). The truth is, a whole lot of life can happen in a year, and sometimes, it isn't quite time to put your heart out there for the world to see right in the midst of it. Discernment dictates that it's best to let things settle before sharing, and it is my firm belief that there is seasoned wisdom in knowing when to be silent and still. For today, I am going to choose to let the "silent" things be, and I will unpack them with you as God leads me. For today, I am gently stepping back into writing publicly, and I will share here in this tiny corner of the internet as heart things stir.

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To catch up a tiny bit, we have experienced several momentous changes in our family this past year. Last November, our oldest daughter was married to a beautifully-hearted young man right here in our home by her daddy. It was a labor of love to prepare for this special day, and having the ceremony in our home was a precious, intimate experience that we will all remember for a lifetime.

This past summer, we helped move my parents 1,200 miles from Colorado to the mid-west. It is currently a sweet time in the life of our family, and my growing-up-too-quickly kids are soaking up the days having their grandparents right around the corner. There is a whole lot of good-old-fashioned spoiling going on doused with buckets of extra laughter. The past year has gifted us precious family treasures, and we do not to take a single moment for granted.


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There have been many things I have processed these past twelve months. There is one thing that has recently percolated to the surface. I am identifying that it might be a contributor to one of the reasons I haven't written. You see, I am quite ORDINARY. There isn't really anything about me that stands out in the crowd. My life is probably considered quite mundane to most. The days are so similar that they run together, and as a busy, homeschooling, stay-at-home mama, I don't really get out of the house as much as I would like to, need to, or should. I don't have any outstanding gifts or talents. Someone else will always be better, faster, stronger, prettier, wiser, smarter, more successful, more capable, more talented, more, more, more. But you know what? It's okay! So often, ordinary people are dismissed, marginalized, or ignored. I am SHOUTING this from the ROOFTOPS that this is a monumental mistake. We ALL have our own beauty to offer, and only you can offer your kind of beautiful to the world, and only I can offer my kind of beautiful. 

WE ALL HAVE BEAUTY TO OFFER EACH OTHER. 

You don't have to be the best at something to be able to offer it as a gift to someone else. Since when did we believe we were worthless if we weren't the best? Our streets, stores, churches, businesses, schools, and homes are full of ordinary people that have tucked their beauty away because they don't think it is worth offering. I am here today to tell you to stop being afraid, dig deep, be brave. Uncover the gift you might be hiding and share it with someone else. If you are a baker, bake cookies for your neighbor. If you sing, sing a song to a loved one. If you are an encourager, speak your uplifting words over those who need your truth. If you paint, paint your joy and share it with a friend. If you are a teacher, teach. If you are a writer, write. If you are a server, serve. 

YOU ARE THE ONLY ORDINARY PERSON THAT CAN DO THESE THINGS IN YOUR VERY OWN WAY, AND THAT MAKES YOU EXTRAORDINARY. 

Let's all choose to take the time to make the world brighter by putting a little bit more of our extraordinary in it. 


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"If you only look at us, you might well miss the brightness. We carry this precious Message around in the unadorned clay pots of our ordinary lives."  (2 Corinthians 4:7 MSG)


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