Stories

I'd say it started in the spring of 2009 when I purchased a CD by Matthew West.  The lyrics "You've Got Something to Say"¹ resonated inside me -- demanding some sort of response.  Not sure of what I had to say, but knowing there was something inside me, I started a blog.  I haven't written with enough regularity to inspire a following, though.  It seems I couldn't really find something to say after all.... 

In the fall of 2010, Matthew West's next CD, The Story of Your Life, was released.  There wasn't a song on it that didn't speak to me on some level.  I loved the way he'd taken other people's stories and given them a voice.  He did it again with his next CD, Into the Light -- giving voice to even more people who had shared their stories with him.  Every song, every story, on that CD speaks to me in some way.  It has played over and over in my car -- to the point my family begs to hear something else, anything else!  But... people's stories are powerful.  They connect.  They touch.  They give comfort and hope.  They encourage and inspire.

Now I'm reading To Be Told, by Dan Allender.  I'd recently read another of his books and had been intrigued enough by his writing and theology to want to read more.  It's funny how one thing leads to another sometimes....  In To Be Told, he writes about reading the story of your life; how the stories form a theme, a pattern of something God wants to say through your life.  He encourages you to look at your story; to study your story; to write your story; to share your story.   This, too, is resonating with something deep inside of me.  Stories....  First Matthew West, then Dan Allender.  Seeing a pattern here?  I'm starting to....  It probably doesn't hurt that in the last few months both my psychologist and my pastor have independently encouraged me to do something with my writing.  So... yeah... I'm thinking about stories. A lot.

In reality, though, I know this story didn't really start in 2009.  It started many years before that.  It started as I found myself lost in the wonder of books at a young age... and as I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television watching The Waltons.  Yes, I really did watch that show... and something in me longed to put words to a page like John-Boy.  To write... stories.  I can remember in middle school penning the words, "How do you get the world to taste the saltiness of a tear?"  I wanted to somehow make people feel through what I wrote; to express myself so well that they would be right there with me -- feeling the emotions... tasting the tears.  So where did I lose that dream?  What killed it?  What makes it so scary for me to even think about it now?

In that first blog entry in 2009 I wrote, "I know I feel totally unqualified to say much of anything. I don't have the imagination or creativity for a novel. I don't have the education or maturity for non-fiction."  That's part of it: fear.  Fear of failure.  Fear of not being good enough.  Fear of the unknown -- I don't have a clue what I'm doing, and that scares the bejeebers out of me!  I hate not knowing what I'm doing (and, yes, that's probably part of my story).  But beyond that... is also the fear of figuring out what to write... looking into my soul and discovering what is there.  What is my story?  I'm not so sure I know it myself.  Sometimes I haven't been sure I even want to know it....

I have so many fragmented stories....  So how do I know which is really "my story" to write and to share?  Is it the sexual abuse I experienced as a young child?  Is it the ridicule I faced on the school bus in elementary by the boys who were once my best friends?  Is it the experience of being the "nerd" who didn't fit in anywhere in high school -- made fun of for the poetry journal I carried with me for those moments of inspiration or needed expression?  Even now I cringe to admit I wrote (and sometimes still write) poetry.  Cool kids don't do that -- only geeky outcasts....  Or is it the humiliation of being betrayed by one of my best friends to one of my worst tormentors?  Is it the devastating death of a church which we had poured our hearts and souls into... and the journey through the heartache and damaged faith toward forgiveness and healing?  Is it discovering, after years of struggle, that my daughter has cyclothymia (a mild form of bipolar)... and the long and difficult path of pain, discovery and healing we've traveled through that?  Is it the experience of being the parent of a prodigal daughter, learning to let go and trust God... and the joy of her return?  Is it discovering my own mood disorder?  Is it the journey of discovering and fixing the broken things in my marriage? 

How do all those stories come together?  Which are the important ones?  What is the theme I'm supposed to be discovering?  And... sigh... how can I write about it, try to encourage someone else with it, when I haven't figured it all out myself yet?  I'm still broken; still growing up; still on the same road the rest of the world is traveling... most of the time feeling a little behind, even.  I haven't arrived.  I don't have all the answers.  Each day I'm actually finding I'm even more broken than I've realized.  So what could I possibly contribute? 

Truth is, those words I wrote in 2009 are still true:  "I feel totally unqualified to say much of anything. I don't have the imagination or creativity for a novel. I don't have the education or maturity for non-fiction."  Yet...  something inside me screams for the release of putting pen to paper.   To share.  To craft a sentence that will impact another's heart. To use my experiences to help and encourage someone else.  Because stories... the stories God is writing in each of our lives... are powerful.  I believe we all have stories we are meant to share.  Our stories are unique.  Each of us is given a different story.  Each of us has been given a different way to share our story.  So... I want to encourage you to ask with me -- What is my story?  What is the Father saying about Himself through my story?  How am I to share it?  Because... in the words of Matthew West, "You got something to say... and no one can say it like you do."¹

This is the story of your life
Go tell the story of your life
Cause it's a story worth telling²

-jenn

¹Something to Say, Matthew West
²The Story of Your Life, Matthew West

In the Middle of a Song

We stood singing “Because He Lives” in church this morning.   Having moved back to rural Indiana from the “Live Music Capital of the World” (Austin, TX), I have to admit that sometimes I miss worshiping to the latest music from David Crowder, or Gungor, or any of a number of more modern worship bands.  But this morning, as I sang along to the 70’s song by the Gaithers, my heart stopped when we came to the second verse.  I suddenly flashed on the last time I remember singing the words:  I was singing through tears; struggling to choke back the sobs and surrender to faith.  It was only a year ago.  At the time, my heart was breaking for choices that my daughter was making.  It was a time in her life where I as a parent just had to stand back, pray, and... watch.  God was telling me to trust – to stand back and let Him handle it.  It’s so hard when it’s your little girl headed for disaster.  And yet…  I heard Him.  And so, when I came to the second verse that day, the words were very real to me:

 

How sweet to hold a newborn baby,
And feel the pride and joy he gives;
But greater still the calm assurance:
This child can face uncertain days because He Lives!

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone;
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living,
Just because He lives!

I choked back sobs as I sang those words that morning:  cries of heartbreak for where I knew my daughter was heading… and cries of hope as I listened to my Daddy assure me that I could trust Him to hold her.

So this morning… as we approached the 2^nd verse…  I suddenly remembered those moments… singing a year ago with chest heaving and throat tightening -- a strange mix of heartbreak, surrender, trust and faith.  And…  I smiled… because I’d nearly forgotten that moment… because today we are in a much different place.  Oh, the church still looks the same – the same stained glass windows along the side… the same cross up front… pretty much the same worship team standing in front of us.  But today… my daughter is home.  Not in the physical sense.  In the physical sense, she’s actually in a van loaded with our church Bible Quiz team on their way back from a quiz in Pennsylvania.  But her heart is home.  The robe has been thrown around her shoulders, the ring placed on her finger. Our prodigal is home!  That dark place is a piece of her past.  He holds her future.  And we have seen the proof that she can face uncertain days… because… He Lives!  I’m so thankful for the unexpected reminder… for the glimpse of where we were then and where we are now… in the middle of a song.

-jenn 

Every Detail

Small answers to prayer. There were two this morning. Both were seemingly insignificant. Both were small enough to forget. Both, though, showed Your care for the small details of my life. I don’t want to forget that, so I’m journaling them here so I can be reminded later.

I went to bed last night knowing that we had a forecast for overnight snow starting around 3am.  I'm still a little shell-shocked from my 180 on black ice last year.  When I can take my time, it's unnerving enough.  When pressured to get my child to school on time... yikes!  So I drifted off to sleep last night asking that the snow hold off just until I got my daughter safely to school. When I awoke this morning, I peered through the blinds above my bed.  No fresh snow! And not only did I get my daughter to school on clear roads, but the snow didn't start falling until after I pulled back into our drive.  The big, fluffy flakes started gently falling as I sat in my driveway reading Your word.  Beautiful!  And the timing was oh so cool!

That wasn't the only place I saw You this morning, though. As I drove around Starbucks, intending to take the new step of adding Your name and some scripture to my “Drive-thru Difference” note, I wasn't sure I was actually going to have the courage to go through with it.  So... I silently asked for a certain barista – one that has been especially encouraging. When I pulled around to the window, still hesitating over the note in my shaking hand, there she was! I nervously smiled as I paid for the car behind me and handed over the note.  The barista smiled, promised to give it to the car behind me and told me "God Bless" as I prepared to drive away.  A small detail.  A little encouragement.  Another step forward. :)

And now I sit reflecting… and I remember the scripture that struck me just a few days ago:

“The LORD directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives.” – Psalm 37:23

You delight in every detail of my life! Wow. Thank you, Daddy, for Your whisper this morning! Thank you for showing up in the small details that shouldn’t even matter to a God who has the universe to run!

On those days when the details of my life don’t seem to be working out the way I want them to, I want to remember times like this morning... to know You ARE in the details... You CARE about the details. So if they are not what I think they should be, it's probably either that I’ve forgotten to bring them to You… or… I just can’t see the bigger picture yet. And... it's okay if I can’t see or understand... as long as I remember that You are God; You are there; and You do care -- right down to the barista! :)

-jenn

P.S.  For the curious... the note I penned for the Drive-Thru Difference this morning read, "You are loved with an everlasting love. (Jeremiah 31:3  Isaiah 55:3)" Go ahead... click on the links... look it up... and know you are loved with an everlasting love... by a God who delights in every detail of your life! :)

Not So Hot After All....

Drive-Thru Difference.  A local Christian radio station has been promoting making a “drive-thru difference” by paying for the car in line behind you.  I’ve done it a few times during my morning Starbucks stop, getting more bold as time goes on.  The first couple of times, I simply paid for it.  After a few times, though, the drive-thru worker asked if I had anything I wanted to give the car behind me.  I stuttered a few moments and then muttered something about “Tell them... ‘Have a great day.'"  The next time I was ready and asked the barista to tell the woman behind me “I hope this is a good start to a great week.”   

This morning as I drove towards Starbucks, I thought about what I wanted to say.  It’s a brutally cold morning out there, so I quickly came up with “Hope this helps warm your morning.”  This time, rather than just telling the barista, I took the time to write it out on a post-it note.  I really considered adding a “—God” to the bottom of the note, but at the last minute decided not to.  What if something about that should offend them/turn them off to the blessing I was trying to give?  I handed my note to the barista who smiled and exclaimed “How sweet!  We love getting to see the reactions on these.”  I drove away with my hot caramel apple cider feeling pretty good about the whole thing.  I patted myself on the back for getting more bold and told myself one small step at a time.  I would be even more bold next time….

That is, I felt pretty good until I pulled in my driveway and sat in the car with my hot drink to spend some time in Bible study.  I use two, completely unrelated devotionals each morning.  The first one this morning:

"Paul was not ashamed because his message was the gospel of Christ, the Good News.  It had life-changing power, and it was for everyone.  When you are tempted to be ashamed, remember what the Good News is all about.  If you focus on God and on what God is doing in the world rather than on your own inadequacy, you won’t be ashamed or embarrassed."  The study then referenced Romans 1:16

Ouch.  Okay.  Moving on to the second devotional.  The first sentence in this longer, more in-depth devotional?  From II Timothy 2:15:

"Be diligent to present yourself approved to God as a workman who does not need to be ashamed, handling accurately the word of truth." 

I then read it in the NLT:

"Work hard so you can present yourself to God and receive his approval.  Be a good worker, one who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly explains the word of truth."

Ugh.  As I sat and thought about it I realized…  If the mention of God kept the individual behind me from receiving a temporary blessing in their morning, then what was the loss?  The blessing I offered was merely a temporary smile on a cold morning.  There was nothing any more permanent than that.  And her reaction would’ve been her choice. On the other hand, if the mention of God, along with my expression of His love, might have pointed them to something deeper?  Ugh.  That missed blessing, of much greater import, was my fault.  My choice.  Yeah…  I’ve still got some work to do!  Seems the Drive-Thru Difference... just may be a difference in ME!

-jenn

The Power of a Prayer

This afternoon I left a note for the stranger in the booth next to me. It was written on a scrap of paper dug from my purse. He had done nothing. I left it for him anyway... And then I practically ran from the restaurant. My hands were still shaking half an hour later... and tears threatened to spill... but there's a smile on my face and a joy in my heart. Yes, that's a teaser.  So now... the rest of the story....  ;)

Yesterday a man and his young son were ahead of me in line at a build-your-own-burrito-type restaurant when I noticed he appeared to be carefully calculating what his lunch would cost.  I was tempted to pay for his, but it was a little awkward the way the restaurant was set up -- I was at the other end with my order not even started.  I guess that was still in my mind this morning because at the end of my quiet time I decided that today I would pay for whomever was in line behind me (an idea sort of borrowed from a local radio station).  I actually prayed several times throughout the morning that God would bring the right person into line behind me -- someone who needed the blessing.

After dropping my daughter off at work, headed towards the restaurant, the whole thing started feeling very silly to me.  What are the chances that someone counting pennies is really going to end up in a restaurant for lunch?  One where I normally spend over $9 for a bowl of soup and a medium soda?  So I started praying that it would at least be a person who needed some encouragement.  The closer I drove to the restaurant, though, the more silly the whole thing seemed.  I walked in and almost sighed with relief when no one entered behind me.  Sort of.  There was also a small twinge of disappointment. 

The table where I usually sit was taken so I slid into the booth in front of it, watching the captions on the news station on the TV.  As I watched, my heart was drawn to the man in the booth between me and the TV -- the man sitting in "my" normal booth. He was a slightly older gentlemen, dressed in business attire, working on a laptop and with his back to me.  I couldn't tell you why, but I started praying for him -- telling God that I didn't know what was going on in the man's life, but He did... and asking Him to work in it.  There was nothing about the gentlemen that should've initiated those thoughts or prayers...  he looked the picture of the successful businessman.  He held himself well.  The face wasn't the same, but his age, build, dress and his posture/composure reminded me a lot of Mitt Romney.  He appeared to be a guy who had it all together.  But... something in my heart just wouldn't let it go.

At one point the man stood up and gathered stacks of papers and folders.  I saw his profile and his wedding ring... and increased my prayers.  Again, no reason - but my heart just sure that he needed it.  Then, instead of leaving, he sat down on the other side of the table (now facing me), and pulled his laptop around.  I saw him shake his head as he stared at the screen...  and the way his fingers rested against his temple as he glanced through the paperwork in front of him...  I just started praying harder.  After awhile he stood up again, this time putting his laptop in his bag.  He glanced at the papers in his hand and something in his posture just... I don't know...  there was an uneasiness in his spirit.  He left his things at the table and returned to the cashier area -- apparently to return a pen.

I had a flash of an idea... but knew I didn't have time.  When I glanced back up, though, he was nowhere in sight.  So... I started rummaging through my purse.  No notepad.  I remembered I had a printed report and wondered if maybe there was a half sheet I could tear off.  After a few moments, I found one.  I tried to quickly tear it on the edge of the table, but the table was too rounded to give a clean tear.  And I needed to tear off yet another edge to remove a printer footer....  Ugh.  So now I had an extremely jagged-looking scrap of paper.  Great.  I was out of options, though, so I pulled out my pen and wrote, "This may be weird... but I prayed for you over lunch today."  

As I finished writing, the man started to return to his table and I figured I'd lost the opportunity... but then he was gone again!  Frantically, I shoved papers back in my purse, not even zipping it; slapped the note face-down on his table; gathered my trash; and practically bolted towards the door.  

I rushed out to my car, wondering if I should've left the note face-up... maybe he wouldn't even see it.  That's when I realized I was parked directly in front of the window where he now stood gathering his things.  I ducked my head and fumbled with getting my keys in the ignition, lifting my head just in time to see him reach for my scrap of paper and flip it over.  I hesitated... and saw him read it.  He just stood there for a moment, staring down at that jagged little slip of paper in his hand... then a slow smile spread across his face.  I should've had the car in gear... meant to have the car in gear... meant to be gone already... but something held me.... I was still there when he looked up.  He glanced around the parking lot for a few seconds, searching... and then met my gaze.  I froze.  Then I managed a smile... kind of a "knowing" smile...  hopefully an encouraging smile.  Heart pounding, I put the car into reverse and took off -- my hands literally shaking.

As I pulled away, though, I realized... God had this exact encounter in mind when He had me praying for someone whom I could bless with my lunch hour.  His plan was different -- and so much better -- than what I had envisioned... but He was in it all along.  And then... I reflected back to my quiet time this morning and was stunned to realize just how planned it all was (you'll understand why in a minute).  And as I realized that, it also hit me what was playing on my CD at that very moment -- "The Power of a Prayer" by Matthew West.  Wow.  Major God-wink!  So here's the journal entry from my quiet time....

November 28, 2012
I realized something this morning.  On the way in to drop my daughter off at school, it hit me – I was actually looking forward to pulling back in the drive, opening my Bible and seeing what You had to speak to me today!  I also realized that it was the first time in a long time that I came with expectation.  For the last couple of months, I have been regular because I knew it was what I should be doing… but not because I really felt like I was hearing from You.  That’s changing.  And… I realized… it took stepping out in obedience even when the “feelings” weren’t there.  And it took time, coming consistently even when I wasn’t feeling or seeing results.  And… the same probably applies to other areas of my life as well.  I’ve got to keep trying, striving, even when I don’t “feel” anything; when I don’t see results.  Not what I wanted to hear!  LOL!  And I’m not sure how ready I am to apply it, either.  So… keep working on me, Father.

It's funny how two different devotionals this morning touched on prayer.  Funny, too, how my “random” Psalm reading ended up containing the “scripture of the day” from my Bible app (Psalm 19).

I think of prayer and I think of my Great Grandma Cora.  To be a woman like her!!!

At one time, I was headed in that direction.  I remember praying for things like my niece's hearing aids – and suddenly they worked!  I remember my sister even joking, "Just have Jenn pray for it!"  I remember feeling so close, so confident, so connected.  When did that change?  When did I stop praying?

Cora Monroe was more than just a prayer warrior.  There was a sweet spirit about her.  A discerning spirit.  I’ve often wondered what she prayed for my sister and me.  I don’t know.  I do know I believe the spirit she had was Yours; from spending so much time at Your feet.

So... bring me back to that place where I believe my prayers matter.  Where I want to spend time with You.  Where my first thought is prayer.  Let me be a woman like my Great Grandma Cora – one who spends so much time at Your feet that others can smell your scent all over me; see your peace surrounding me.  I am NOT Cora Monroe by any stretch right now.  Any resemblance that comes will be Your doing, not mine.  Ignite that small ember of faith in me, Father.  I know it’s still there.  Fan it with Your breath… until its fire consumes me.

May the words of my mouth
And the meditations of my heart
Be pleasing to You,
My Rock & my Redeemer!

 May my every thought turn towards You!

Believe it or not, I honestly wasn't thinking about that journal entry when I felt the prompting to pray for the man in the restaurant.  The tears I mentioned in the teaser?  They were simply due to realizing that God had reached down and used me to encourage someone else... just the realization that God was moving in my life -- that He allowed me to see with His eyes for just a second, and be prompted to pray... then to see the smile brought to the man's face as a result.  That in itself was amazing.  

Then... when I finally put it all together with the journal entry/devotions on prayer this morning... with my request to be brought back to a place where I believe my prayers matter?  Wow.  What an answer!  And my heart swells -- because I know that God is definitely on the move.  He is faithful to His Word... generous to His child.  Very, very cool. :)

 -jenn 

 

1000 Sleepless Nights...

I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I’ve posted anything here. First, things were busy with a move out of state. Then… the things that most occupied my mind weren’t things I could readily share.  Truth was, they weren’t mine to share. They’ve impacted my life and my faith immensely, though, so I am going to share that… because I am simply amazed at what God’s doing in me.... 

Ten years ago I faced some hard circumstances in my life.  Those circumstances have in effect shaped me this last decade – while I still believe, it’s been difficult for me to always trust; to always have faith.  But the last several years have had their own set of difficult circumstances as well – hard stuff… really hard stuff.  To be honest, prayer wasn’t always my first response.  I’m a “fix-it” type person and so my inclination is to try to figure out what I need to do to, well… fix the problem!  In recent months, though, I've been slowly coming to the end of myself and I’ve found myself praying more and more.  I’m actually beginning to really understand that whole “pray without ceasing thing!”  I've been praying when I'm not even fully conscious!  Yet… I’ve still been trying to figure it out as well – what action of mine will help to bring the desired results?

One night earlier this week, as I was thinking and praying about it, I suddenly had this thought come to me:  the “fix” wasn’t going to be anything that I say or do.  Whatever was going to happen, it was going to be God showing himself through the situation – totally out of my control or abilities. The next day, though… with some other things going on… I still thought that I might have some impact.  It didn’t happen.  The day was a total roller coaster.  Any hopes I had were pretty much crushed. 

That night I found myself sitting on the porch swing over-looking the lake in the dark, remembering the “thought” from the night before, and crying out to God in total surrender… surrendering things that I hadn’t been sure I could ever surrender.  But I did.  I gave Him permission to totally break my heart… praying, “Whatever it takes, God – go ahead and do it.”  I knew the “whatever” could be – and probably would be – pretty awful to go through. I can't begin to explain how awful.... But I was convinced that the thought from the night before – that it would only be God showing himself through the situation – was truly God speaking.

So... I’m now going through each day knowing that nothing I do or say is going to matter in this situation – that I can’t “fix” it. That knowledge shouldn’t be freeing, at least not by the world’s standards. Yet… it has been. My heart has been lighter, a weight taken from me.  Every once in awhile my mind still starts churning on ways I can try to fix it, influence the situation in some way... but then I turn around and remind myself – it’s not up to me to fix it! I just have to turn it over… lay it in God’s lap... trust... and love with everything that I have.  My heart lightens again.

I’m not saying that the situation is anything different than it was… or that I’m any happier about it than I was.  But…  I’ve found freedom in trusting God.  The storm hasn’t changed... but... I have…. Which…  considering how much I’ve struggled with faith and trust the last decade… maybe there was something to all those sleepless nights….

… what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
And what if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
 
What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst
this world can’t satisfy
 
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise

- Laura Story, “Blessings”

BTW – I know... it’s not really over... it’s going to be a continual struggle to keep surrendering... especially for a “fix-it” type like me... ;)   So… don’t expect perfection from me just yet! ;)

-jenn  

 

Addendum/Clarification:  I don’t believe in any way that God brought this situation into our lives simply in order to change me. I don’t believe He works that way. Sin and a fallen world have brought pain and suffering into all our lives. But God has used it -- will always use it when we let Him -- to bring something better... in this case growing/restoring my trust and my faith.

Faith to Believe

I did something on Sunday that I never thought I would ever do:  I found myself texting in church.  As our pastor was speaking from the front, I pulled out my cellphone and initiated a text conversation with someone not even in the room.  I cringed as I imagined my oldest daughter, a few rows behind and to the side of me catching sight of what I was doing.  After all... hadn’t I threatened her within an inch of her life if I ever caught her doing the same thing?   Then there was the fact that I was in plain view of my pastor as well as all those around me.  I could only hope that either (1) he didn’t see me (yeah, right) or (2) he knew me well enough to know that something unusual was happening as I made furtive glances towards my phone and then slid open the keyboard to enter a reply... more than once.  Me... texting during the service.  Definitely not something I ever envisioned happening.

But, then, something else was happening that I hadn’t ever envisioned happening.  I’d come dangerously close to standing in the way of my husband’s leadership... and closed my heart to not only his leading, but God’s.   And the very thing I nearly resisted was something I’d found so easy in another lifetime.  Not literally another lifetime, of course... but it seemed a lifetime ago.  But that was before something happened that had shaken my faith.  And now with weakened faith, logic had nearly over-ruled it completely.  I can remember several years ago sitting in a meeting on the other side of that fence – me, sitting with faith, and watching logic over-rule it.  I remember crying afterward knowing that I’d just sat through a meeting where people had gutted the very programs God used to build that church because they were looking at dollar signs instead of changed lives... and forgetting the God who had always provided – usually just in the nick of time, but never, ever, failing.  Now... here I was... in another church... and I was the one clinging tightly to logic.

The small church we are now attending recently initiated a capital campaign to raise funds towards a property purchase.  We were asking members sign commitment cards  indicating a pledge over the next three years (which the bank will consider when approving a loan amount).  We were also asking for one-time gifts on this same commitment card.  Several times over the last few weeks my husband had brought up the topic of what we wanted to do.  Each time I indicated that I thought we could do a one-time gift, but I didn’t see the three-year pledge as something we needed to do.  We were, in fact, not even going to be a part of this church much longer – we were moving out of state within a couple of months.  We also had three daughters who were getting scarily close to college, a house to sell in a tough economy, the smallest amount in savings we’ve had in a long time, a lot of unknowns with the upcoming move... and were already giving above and beyond a “tithe.”   It just wasn’t our responsibility.  We’d been to a vision meeting for the campaign; we’d participated in the day of fasting; we were behind it 100%.  But... it just wasn’t our responsibility.  I had the feeling that my husband felt otherwise, but I didn’t give him much room for discussion.  It was time to take care of our family. We’re supposed to do that first, right?  All through the campaign it had been stressed that we cannot sacrifice the necessities of our own family in order to provide for someone else.

It was now Commitment Sunday, when our commitment cards would be collected.  I had woken that morning from a dream in which my husband and I had agreed on a number for the one-time gift that was much higher than what I was planning on.  It wasn’t a bad thing in the dream -- we both came to the number separately and felt good about it.  It was higher than I was comfortable with in my now-awake state, though, so I took a deep breath and asked my husband what he had been thinking and got a surprise – his number was even higher!   That was a new experience -- always before we’d been of one mind; separately coming to the same numbers.  After some talking, the number we agreed on was much higher than what I’d originally thought (and a bit lower than what he’d thought), but it was close to what I’d had in the dream.   

We arrived to church a bit late and my husband headed to the nursery where he was serving as I slid into my place behind the front desk.  We had a slow trickle of people coming in after the service started, so I stayed out front a little longer than usual.  I missed the announcements; the first couple of songs; the meet and greet time... and finally slid into a seat beside my daughter for the last couple of songs.  I can’t remember what we sang or what was said – it couldn’t have been much, since I missed most of it.  But as I settled into my seat after that last song, as our pastor said his first few words, I suddenly knew...  I HAD to text my husband... right then, right there... in the middle of the pastor’s message.  Ugh.  Feeling extremely conspicuous, I slid my phone out of my pocket, put it on silent,  and typed as discretely as I could,

“U wanted to do something per month for the 3 yrs., didn’t you?  I’m holding back what u felt led to do, aren’t I?”

I waited what seemed like forever before I saw the notification light blink.

“Maybe.”

I slid the keyboard open again, and with a furtive look up at our pastor still speaking up front, I began typing again.

“Maybe?  LOL”

He answered with a smiley/wink as I typed my next question:

“What were you thinking per month?”

The reply to this one took longer.  I tried to be patient – he was in the nursery with several babies after all.  But I had no idea at what point in the service those commitment cards were going to be gathered, so I kept staring down at the screen – like my constant vigilance would make it light up.  Finally he answered with a number.  To my surprise, it was a bit lower than the one that I was prepared to write down.  Somehow I’d expected to come to the same number like we used to.  I quickly typed in my number in reply, thinking as I did that the one-time gift we’d settled on had been lower than what he’d originally suggested, so maybe this worked out.  I waited....  and I waited.... and I waited...  trying to listen to our pastor and watch for that little green light to blink.  Finally:

“ xxx is fine with me! 

Sorry, got three  babies back here and one wants to help me text!”

I smiled and pulled out the pen to fill out the commitment card – not with a feeling of fear, reluctance, or even obligation, but gratefulness.  I listened to the rest of the message, definitely applicable to where I was.  And for the first time in a long time I realized how much we’d been given – and why.  I remembered how good it used to feel giving, knowing that God was trusting us, using us.  And I hoped maybe this small step was the beginning of healing my damaged faith.  I wanted to get back to that heart I once had – the one that trusted completely.  And I wanted to see what He was doing.  

At the end of the message, the baskets were passed for the commitment cards as our worship leader sang “Blessings” (by Laura Story) with the words displayed on the screen behind him.  I’d heard it a thousand times on the radio, but now I sang it with my eyes opened just a little wider.  Then we came to the bridge.  Somehow, I’d never really quite caught the words before.  But now they hit with full force:

We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
And we cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt Your goodness, we doubt Your love

My throat tightened with emotion and tears streamed silently down my face ....

As if every promise from Your Word is not enough
All the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we'd have faith to believe

And into the chorus, tears still flowing:

‘Cause what if Your blessings come through raindrops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights
Are what it takes to know You’re near
And what if trials of this life... are Your mercies in disguise

Wow.

And what if... surrender and faith comes in the form of a text message typed during the Sunday morning message... just in the nick of time? :) Seriously, I honestly have no idea what God actually used to work that change in my heart. But I’m glad He did. And I can’t wait to see what else He is up to! :)

++++

The amazing thing? After I finished typing everything written above, I walked out to the mailbox to find a totally unexpected, fairly large check from our mortgage company – an unexpected “overage” in our escrow account. Received on Monday after surrendering on Sunday... into an open hand that had been tightly clasped the last time the mail was delivered. Amazing timing from an AMAZING God, huh? And, yes, I’m thinking this oughtta be good..... :)

-jenn

 

There... in the Small Stuff

I've got to admit that in the darkness of the early morning, preparing to wake my children with bad news, I briefly wondered where God was in all this.  Today was my daughter's 15th birthday.  But in the wee hours of the morning, while the kids slept upstairs, Carl and I had rushed our family dog to the ER.  As we'd knelt over her in the darkness, Carl had immediately realized the date, the importance, and cried out "Not today!"  Now, several hours later, I woke my daughter up not with a "Happy Birthday," but with the news that her dog may not make it through the day... and she needed to get dressed to come with us to the ER if she wanted to see her.  Not a good start to a birthday.

Her birthday had actually already taken a hit even before Ava's trip to the ER.  The kids were originally to have the day off from school and I'd scheduled a fishing trip for Jess.  But I'd canceled the trip when our school board had unexpectedly changed the day into a makeup day for a previous ice day.   Disappointing.   And now... now I had to tell her that today may be the day she has to say goodbye to her dog. Not the kind of news you want to break to your daughter.  Especially on her birthday.

As the kids one by one came down the stairs, still grappling with the news, my youngest pointed out that we hadn't had a chance to make a pawprint with Ava.  For all three of our previous dogs, we'd known the end was coming and had dipped a paw into a concrete stone with the kids, decorating the stone as only kids can do, and etching the dog's name into the wet concrete.  With Ava, there'd been no warning.  No time to make our traditional pawprint.   It was something Carl had already thought of in the wee hours of the morning, but I'd pointed out that our vet's office had given us a pawprint with the last dog we'd said goodbye to -- and it was much nicer than what we we had done, anyway.  I thought the problem was solved.  But Kayla stood before me and told me it wasn't the same.  The pawprint the vet would give us wouldn't be decorated.  And we wouldn't be able to set it out in a walkway like we could the others.  She was right.  So I told her maybe we could take the one the vet gave us and set it into concrete -- making our own stone, decorating it, but with the print from the vet as the center.  Quietly, to myself, I wondered what the vet would think if I asked for TWO pawprints -- one we could set in concrete and the other to sit on our mantle with the other.  I hate asking for things, though, so I let it go. We headed to the ER to pick up Ava and transport her to our vet.  Our vet recommended trying some different medications, so we left Ava in her care and went home to wait... and sleep... and I never gave the pawprint a second thought. 

I guess maybe I still didn't quite believe what was happening, because later in the afternoon when we received the call from the vet letting us know that there had been no change for the better and that a decision had to be made by that evening, the questions came full-force.  I wondered, "Why today?"  Where was God that He'd let this happen on my daughter's birthday?  ANY other day, but today.  But today?  Why on earth today?  He had the ability to push back the events of this day by just one day.  But He didn't.

We grappled with the decision in front of us -- knowing, really, what had to be done, but just not wanting it to be THIS day.  Jess, with tears in her eyes, and a tremor in her voice, proclaimed that it wasn't fair to Ava to hold on till tomorrow.  So our family of five filed into the vet's office at 6pm that evening to hold Ava for one last time as we helped her the best we could.  As I filled out the necessary paperwork, the receptionist asked me if we wanted a pawprint made.  When I answered yes, she asked what color.  I knew to expect the question -- I'd seen them ask another patient just a week before.  But I hesitated for just a moment as I tried to think how to describe the last one they'd made for us - kind of a marbled/streaked brown and tan.  In that moment of the slightest hesitation, though, the receptionist looked at me and offered, "We could do two of them if you would like."  Shocked to hear my earlier, unspoken, thought voiced by someone else, I blurted out "That'd be great" and then went on to describe the color.

Two pawprints?  I hadn't said a word to anyone about the thought I'd toyed with earlier that day.  I hadn't even thought about it in recent hours!  Two prints was not standard, I knew.  And yet... there was the receptionist, standing in front of me, asking if that's what I'd like.  Where was God in this day?  He was in the small stuff... showing He cared even in the midst of grief and ruined birthdays.  I still don't understand why it had to be that day.  But I do know He was there... in the small stuff.

And that fishing trip?  We rescheduled it for that Saturday.  Our guide had told us that the forecast was for moderate fishing at best, but Jess was anxious to get out anyway.  As we walked out to the dock, though, the weather wasn't what had been forecasted.  It was overcast and breezy.  That little weather change meant I was chilled, but it also meant the fishing was much better than anticipated!  We pulled in 45 fish, twice as many as the "maybe 18-24" that our guide had told us to expect.  And pulling up to the dock after our trip, I heard two different parties say they'd come in with just 1 fish.  Wow.  I know part of the reason for our success was our guide (Bob Maindelle of www.holdingthelineguideservice.com).   Part of it though... I really think... was a God with a fish story of His own... giving my daughter something to grin about.  There... in the small stuff.

-jenn