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​Dear Mom,

It is your birthday today and somehow another year flew by undetected. The years are tricky that way, especially now that I am an adult. Because of the busyness, the goals, the tasks, the mess, and the life, it often seems that the years disappear before they even truly begin. Was it always that way? Has it been that way for you too? 

For as long as I can remember, you have spent your life for others. You lived fully for those closest in your circle, for the littles around your feet and in your lap. You birthed us, served us, fed us, brushed our hair, watched us play ball, drove us on adventures, cooked for us, cleaned for us, shaded our eyes with your hand in the sun, gave us the last bite of your favorite foods, held us when everything fell apart. You spent your time with us. Your years. Your decades. Spent freely and extravagantly on us. How can I possibly thank you for such a deep, wonderful love?

The truth is, it is your birthday today and if I could make a wish, I would wish that I spent more time paying attention. My childhood years were self-centered and singularly focused, a blur of adolescent wants and needs, of unrealistic expectations and a chorus of, "Mom, look at me! Mom, watch ME! Mom, why can't I go? Do I have to do that?" I wish I would have looked. I wish I would have paid attention.

Sometimes I wish we could have been contemporaries, that we could have grown up alongside one another. I wish I could have been with you when you learned hopscotch or jacks... when you bickered with your sisters and then resolved it... when you rode with Grandpa in the pickup or helped Grandma in the kitchen. I wish I could have seen you as a young woman flirting with Dad and trying to make him jealous. I wish we could have giggled and gossiped and stayed up all night talking about our lives. I bet you would have been a great best friend... one who laughed easily and quickly... who kept secrets well and cheered on the friends around you.

I believe that, because you did such a good job of these things as my mother. 

So, for your birthday, I want to say thank you for being my best friend, Mom... 
                                                even when I wasn't looking.

They laid him to rest yesterday... an old friend... someone that I hadn't seen in years. I know that I am supposed to be sad, to feel like life is short and I need to embrace those that I love, but my overwhelming emotion is anger. I am mad. Furious, actually. Some deaths make you feel like life has been cut short, some leave you destitute and on the floor in misery for decades, and some, like this one, MAKE YOU ANGRY.

Why am I angry? Well, I am angry because he was robbed. This friend of mine was robbed in the worst way imaginable. In John 10 of the Bible is says that “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy” and that is precisely what has happened to my friend. The thief lied to him, robbed him, and in the end destroyed him.

Sin robbed me of a friend. It robbed a boy of his father. It robbed two parents who were already grieving. Sin is a thief. Some might argue that sin doesn't exist and that all people are just doing their best. Well, frankly, that is a lie. How do I know? Because this friend of mine was good, and kind, and generous, and a helper of men, and a comedian, and full of life. This friend of mine loved people and was loved by people. Sin stole that from him and left him broken, depressed, addicted, and hopeless. I miss the friend who I knew. The friend who Jesus knew. And I am furious that sin robbed his potential, stripped him of his self-worth, and left him to die. I'm furious.

Here is what the Bible says about sin in James 1:13-15
13 When tempted, no one should say, “God is tempting me.” For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; 14 but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. 15 Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

Let me be clear. I grieve my friend. I grieve what he was created to be and what he was blossoming into during this life. I grieve the beautiful way the LORD knit together his heart and his spirit and I grieve the plans that the LORD intended for him. I grieve my friend and I abhor the sin that brought such wreckage.

The entirety of that verse in John reads, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” John 10:10 Only in obedience can we experience the fullness of the plan God has for us. This death haunts me and makes me angry over my own steps toward sin and away from God and people. I lament my own inferiority to defeat the habits that bind me and I cling to Jesus who is the only one who can undo those cords.

How now should we continue through our grief and through our anger? How can we move forward with this burden? I charge you with this--
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”
Romans 12:1-2

We are not running alone, friends. Let us reach out to others for help and be willing to humble ourselves enough to accept correction and discipline. Let us cling to Jesus who authored our faith, who sustains us in that faith, and who alone holds the keys to salvation.

A little something that God put on my heart about a month ago... enjoy!

And THIS, my friends, is one reason that I have THE BEST in-laws!  I am so thankful for them, for their love of life and for the love they show their grandkids! 

A repost

Monday I planted a tree. A weeping willow. I envisioned this tree and mentally placed it in the ground last spring as we moved into our new home. In August I ordered it. It arrived Monday tucked inside a cardboard box with wet paper wrapped around the roots, a set of growing instructions, and a skinny green stake to be its ground partner and to hold it up through the wintery winds.

I probably should not have been so terribly excited to receive a little tree in the mail, but I was. And I am. Immediately I grabbed a shovel, whistled for the my outdoorsy dog companion, and trudged down toward our creek. I knew where this tree was supposed to go.

As I pushed the shovel into the earth, I was amazed at how soft the ground was... how it gave way to my design willingly with no resistance. It felt good to dig. Good to see the rich brown soil and the worms hiding therein. It felt RIGHT to tenderly unwrap the roots, to spread them, and to place them in the welcoming earth. As I knelt and pushed the dirt back into the hole, I used my hands just so I could feel the life and richness of my task. Fittingly, there were leaves all around... God-given mulch for the newly placed life.

I walked back to the house using my shovel as a walking stick and stopping periodically to pet and encourage my lion of a dog. As soon as I walked into my living room, I looked out the windows and sighed contentedly at the little stick of a tree sticking out of the ground about 100 yards from my house.

I smiled every time I walked past my window those first two days. Then, the rain came.

Lovely, I thought. Every newly planted tree needs to be watered.

Then the rain continued. The creek began to swell and I concern crept into my heart. After worrying about it for a time, I got on the phone and queried my husband. Should I remove it so that it doesn't get flooded? No, dear. Leave it alone. But the creek might sweep it away. Leave it alone.

I left it alone. For about 30 minutes. Then I threw on my husband's oversized farm jacket, trudged out to my shed, grabbed a shovel, and headed to the creek. A few minutes later I was standing next to the willow with my foot on the shovel, ready to dig, and I thought,
I can't do this. I cannot dig up this tree that I planted just a few days ago. I need to leave it alone.
What if it floods?
Well, what if?
I invested time and heart into this tree. All will be lost... and I hate when things are lost.
A still small voice kept saying, “Leave it alone.”
Maybe it was just the echo of my husband's advice. Maybe it was my own conscience. But maybe it was the LORD trying to teach me a lesson. I sighed heavily, blinked slowly, picked up my shovel and strode back up the field to my house.

So for the past three days I have been sitting in my warm living room, looking out across the gray, desolate sky, and watching the creek waters rise and rise. Fear rising with those waters. It is irrational, I know, to care so much about a simple leafless, dormant tree.

It is still raining. The water long ago covered the planting site of the tree. About 10 feet into the water I can see a little willow tree with its green garden stake sticking up defiantly out of the flood. Will it survive? I don't know. I guess I won't know until spring. The odds are not good. But the fact that it still stands offers me hope. As I watch the flood waters swirl around the stick of wood in the ground, as I watch debris pile up next to it and then get swept away by the current, I feel a deep sense of tension, of hope, of fear, and of triumph. At least it stands. At least it stands.

This week as I received news of sickness, death, and destruction touching people that I love. That poor, barren tree standing out of the water has been a beacon of hope for me. A symbol of letting go and leaving the outcome to a God who is great and GOOD. He told me to leave the tree where it was. He didn't tell me that it would survive. He didn't promise me anything. But, He has used it for my good. He has been Good and He will be Good regardless of my expectations or my outcomes. He will not let me control this life. No matter how many times I try to wrestle the reigns, He keeps whispering for me to let them go. Leave that tree where you planted it. The outcome is Mine.

“But now, this is what the Lord says--
he who created you, Jacob,
he who formed you, Israel:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.
3 For I am the Lord your God,
the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...”
Isaiah 43:1-3

Kristy L. Wheeler

"He was a rock.  My rock.  A stone hewn from the One Great Stone.
He was solid, unbending, unending in my heart.
He was.  He is. 
Just not with me.  Not right now.  But again.  Again he will be with me.
In this waiting time I tuck myself into the One Great Stone who holds us both.

I hide what is left of me inside the cleft of Him who creates, upholds, strengthens, provides, and makes me whole.  I crumble into the Stone who is solid, faithful, and true.  In my crumbling, I am held."  KLW

The fairest of fairs. Ferris wheel gasps. Ferris wheel giggles. Oh Mom, can we? Matching hand stamps. Genuine grins. Feet dangling from swings. Wind tickling through hair. Funnel cake air. Fluffy grand prizes. Holding hands. Eyes wide and shining. Blue ribbon artwork. Best day ever, Mom. Her. Me. Enjoying. Time flying. Time standing still. If only it would.

My children have deserted me.  They have absconded with the grandparents and if I know them well (and I THINK I do), they will not be happy to see me when I pick them up.  Mamaw's house is TOO much fun and if they had their choice, they would never leave.  In light of that, I decided to write a little piece about what MIGHT happen while the kids are away.





When the kids are at the grandparent's house,

• You might wake up at 6:30 because you have forgotten how to sleep in.

• You might tiptoe around the house because you think they are still sleeping.

• You might read your Bible before the world awakens. 
  

• You might play Candy Crush in your PJs just because you can.
  

• You might hide the iPad when your husband wakes up so that it LOOKS LIKE you were working.

• You might actually start to work.

• You might scrub all the bathrooms and think about how you need to give your boys better potty training instruction.

• You might do five loads of laundry in hopes of making a dent.

• You might eat at a NON-McDonalds restaurant for EVERY meal.

• You might find out that your child has been sleeping in a bed full of colored pencils, stuffed animals, teeny tiny beads, roughed up blankets, and one stray safety pin.

• You might be followed into the bathroom by two pets who are as lonely for your kids as you are.

• You might plan seven new projects and go to Lowes only to realize that you cannot complete any of those new projects before the kids come home.

• You might research curriculum for the fall and daydream about what a good parent you are going to be and about how your kids are already virtual rocket scientists.

• You might thank the Lord approximately 400 times for your own parents and their willingness to watch your kids.

• You might plan a vacation with your husband even though you have no money and no time to take it.
• You might mow the lawn.
• You might decide that you and your kids own too many things.
• You might pay your overdue bills.
• You might find the overdue library books.
• You might say, "FORGET all this cleaning! I am going to the movies with my best friend."
• You might scream FREEEEEDOM as you exit your driveway! 
  
• You might sheepishly turn the car around because you left your phone on the table and there's a chance that your kids might call you. 
  
• You might remember how much you love your kids. and how you TRULY LOVE being a mom.
• You might wish they were home.
  

Thanks Mom and Dad for watching my kids this week and giving them such priceless memories.  Turns out that when the kids are at Mamaw's, you might just also start a super secret blog...