purpose

There is something incredibly comforting in the knowing (and trusting) that God is sovereign.

I woke up and hurried along the morning routine. We needed to be out the door by 8am, a task not to be taken lightly with a companion such as mine. She is so easily lost in wonder at the "twinkle stars" on the toothpaste tube or a long lost toy discovered under something in the corner or the "need" to fill a purse or ride her bike or sing and dance. Encouraging her to move quickly is a test for all involved. How kind of daddy to push back his start time at work so that he could stay home a bit longer. I couldn't have made it out the door without his thoughtfulness and hard work.

The frosty car windows were no match for Sasquatch, our trusty window scraper. We were buckled in and on the road right on time. How beautiful the morning is...the fresh crisp air, the fog hanging low over the open fields, the people who left home a few minutes late and need a racetrack to get to work 5 minutes ago. Evie filled the car with stories and songs. We saw a bald eagle perched high in a tree above a river.

We stopped in at Grandma & Grandpa's and Evie announced herself. "I'm here!" she said and took off her coat and boots. I kissed her sweet little cheeks goodbye and left her, snuggled in Grandma's arms.

My drive was uneventful, but not silent. I sang along with Kari Jobe in praise to God and prayed for the moments to come. A barium breakfast and photo shoot to follow.

I was filled with peace beyond comprehension as I stepped into the hospital. The people were kind, the chalky, flavored beverage almost tasty and in my miles of walking through the halls I gathered a generous pile of (long expired) magazines to read. My, ever mysterious, body decided to process things at a snails pace and made the test take way longer than expected. Throwing the timing off became a problem and caused some confusion, which affected things. Long story short, they missed the opportunity to finish the test leaving me wondering and not so peaceful about the results being accurate. The doctor was angry. The nurse was kind.

And God is sovereign.

His plan is not thwarted. He was not surprised. In fact, He was working, weaving a bigger picture. Sometimes, God gives us the opportunity to look back and see His workings. He shows a glimpse of the bigger picture and the good that resulted in what He allowed. In the past few weeks, He has shown me much grace and has allowed me to see the bigger picture in the story of my past few months. I was amazed at how He protected, provided and guided me absolutely perfectly. How good God is to faithfully lead and care for me, even when I doubt His loving heart and ability to do the impossible.

And that's what I wrote. But, it didn't feel done. So, I put it on the back burner to simmer away while I went about my day. And then I heard some news...

My test was normal. You might think that this would give me cause to jump for joy. It didn't. I grieved. I questioned the results, the incomplete test, my sanity. And then I felt peace. Because I told myself that God was sovereign. This unexplained suffering is not without purpose.

This morning I saw a miracle. The kind of God story that may seem small but was so personal. I have been out of gluten free oats for a few months, but the store that I purchase them from is a drive I haven't been able to make. I have really missed them. This morning, I opened my cupboard to gather the ingredients for breakfast and there, front and center, was a bag of oats!! Right there, beside the other food items I use daily. A seemingly small but very tangible gift from God to remind me that He cares and provides.Thank you, God, for your Sovereignty, your tenderness and gluten free oats.

"I would have despaired

unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord

Be strong and let your heart take courage

Yes, wait for the Lord." Psalms 27:13-14

farewell old friend

There she stood, precariously perched on top of her wooden wine crate bookcase, with her face plastered against the cold window. "Look!" she exclaimed,"my couch is outside in the snow!" She asked me when we were going to bring it back inside.

And there it was, it's faded plaid pattern a cheery compliment to the dirty snow on the boulevard. To it's left, our garbage can sat, tilted towards it as if sharing a word. Perhaps encouraging it in it's despair of being left alone, in the cold, on the curb, an invitation to our garbage company to pick it up and take it to the land where retired couches live happily ever after.

I'm sentimental.

About 5 months ago, the thinning fabric on cushion #1 gave way to the soft padding underneath and Evie delighted in removing it in large handfulls. Not only did I have an unsightly couch, but now there were piles of fluffy white cotton dancing across my hardwood floors. It bothered me, but it really bothered my mom. So, after cushion #2 burst headlong, I found a fancy flowered fitted sheet, in my hall closet, and stretched it across the cushions. My ordinary old couch now had a shabby chic feel to it.

And so we saved our pennies and looked on Craigslist and got used to our unsightly err, shabby chic decor. That's how we roll..trusting that God will provide at just the right time.

And He didn't disappoint. I love the fancy red blessing sitting in my living room today.

As Evie and I doodled about the house, I heard the familiar vroom of the garbage truck coming down the block so I scooped her up and we plastered our faces against the front window. We goodbye to our faithful old friend. We watched as the garbage man tipped it on end and leaned the padded armrest into the mouth of the compactor on the back of his truck. Like a hungry animal, it bit down and the other end of the couch lifted into the air, fighting for it's life. No match for its opponent, the couch succumbed and, with snaps and cracks, was broken into pieces and disappeared. Evie cried out and I consoled her.

As I watched the gory scene, my mind played back memories of the couch from the past 5 years. Painting and setting up the furniture weeks before we were married and would make this house our home. Snuggled up on Sunday afternoons on it's generous cushions, reading books. The sweet blessing of kinship and the friends who snuggled down into those fluffy cushions and filled our home with their laughter. Bringing the TV upstairs on Halloween so we could watch movies from our couch in between trick-or-treaters. Having a new baby and finding myself propped up on those cushions feeding and comforting her round the clock. Fighting a fierce battle with post-partum depression and spending endless days sitting there, holding my sweet baby and staring blankly out the front window. Quiet mornings of worship in the presence of God. When I washed the cushion covers with Oxyclean and they no longer matched the rest of the couch. As Evie found her legs and cruised up and down on the floor, holding tightly with one hand. The spit up stains on the arm rests. The brown spots from a chocolate bar who's crumbs were pressed down by the weight of a really good-looking man. The water stains from sippy cups with leaks. The pacifiers, toys and popcorn that burrowed, like frogs in the mud, between and under the cushions. The nights I spent huddled up with blankets in agony, blogging about courage. The long afternoon naps....

I could go on and on (well, perhaps I already did)..,.and maybe, I could shed a few tears (well, perhaps I've done that too)...

Evie tried to console herself by saying that the garbage man would bring the couch back tomorrow. Wanting to reassure her, but needing to be truthful, I told her that the couch was gone forever. But, in it's place, God had answered our prayers by blessing us with our new couch. She hasn't warmed up entirely to one. Perhaps because we've stressed the importance of the new couch being something we treat kindly and with respect. (It was easy to let that slide with a faded, ripped, 15 year old version) Hopefully, she will soon find comfort in pulling books up onto the firm, red cushions and snuggling up for a good long read.

And then, it didn't help, that the garbage man had a friend pull up in an old red Honda and they stood out there, right where we watched our faithful friend lose it's life to the giant green couch eater, for 15 minutes and shared some stories and some laughs. And so, because the truck and the orange vested man, were still out there, Evie begged me to stay there with her and watch the scene. Perhaps she was hoping the truck might change it's mind and spit out her beloved couch or perhaps in awe of the man who so easily pushed our fluffy friend to it's demise. Either way, we stood there for 15 long minutes, grieving, imaging life how it was and what could never be again.

So we grabbed a book and settled down on our new red friend. It is beautiful, cozy and has a lot of memories to make...

hold my hand

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, I knew that this day would be remarkable.

Evie's sing song voice called me from my dreams and into the reality of a warm bed and the sunshine streaming in my windows. Such beauty. And better still, that my love was sound asleep beside me. He did not have work today. Such a mixed blessing that is. Money isn't made with idle hands, but money pales in comparison to the sweetness of togetherness. The day feels better with him in every moment. 

Much was accomplished. We crossed the "dones" off of our "to-do". We read Curious George books to our sparkly eyed princess. We cried when we received some disappointing news. We talked. We laughed. We went to Wal-Mart (and laughed some more). We walked through our day hand-in-hand.

I am a blessed woman.

word wrangler

The cattle were restless. Something had disrupted the herd and caused panic. Wild-eyed, they scattered in every direction. Their snorting, heaving bodies smashing into each other in their desperation to escape. It was frightening, deafening.

The cattle were not alone. A cowboy had been lazily resting in the tall grass beside the herd before the stampede began. At the first sign of danger, he jumped up and mounted his horse. He was new to the job, but at first glance, the situation seemed manageable. He would ride around them and direct the cattle back into the security of each other.

The wrangler and his trusty steed started in on the job. They darted this way and that, trying to pull the group together, to keep them from heading off into danger. It took all that he was, all that he knew.

Heavy hooves pounded the ground beneath him and matched his heart, beating wildly with fear. The situation was out of control. They were terrified and he felt utterly powerless.

He felt like giving up but knew he couldn't. The sweat poured into his eyes, his mouth was filled with dust. Leaning into his horse, he pushed him harder. Round and round they went pushing those white-eyed beasts back together.

All at once he began to see improvement as the sweaty brown hides slowed their pace. He whispered a word of thanks and continued his work. It wasn't time to quit yet but the sight of hope revived him.

Finally, things were calm. The cattle were tired. He was spent. A good rest was on the horizon. He slipped off his horse and untied his canteen from the saddlebag. Settling into a patch of soft grass, he took a long swig of cool water and poured some into his hand to share with his trusty steed. Whuffling his gratitude, his sweaty companion lowered his head and began to graze.

I love words. I love writing words.

Words are my trusty steed. In the face of life's stampedes, I feel equipped to wrangle those wild-eyed creatures as I pen each word. Words of prayer and petition to my Lord. Words of truth to calm my troubled heart. Words of joy and laughter. Words of praise. Words of encouragement to another in need. Words to tell a story of my sparkly eyed girl or to recall a tale of days gone by.

For each word, a brushstroke, as I paint the pictures of my heart.