I stumbled upon a journal entry from 2016, where, for some reason, I had penned a letter to my future self to be opened a decade later. At the time, I was 38 years old, and as I read through it today, I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer absurdity of writing to my 48-year-old self.
Recalling the juncture my life was at, I remember that moment in time, stepping into a bi-vocational career, feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life I had cherished for 14 years.
feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving behind the stay-at-home mom life
Transitioning to a 9-5 desk job at a local university while also taking on the role of a part-time worship leader was daunting, to say the least. I had zero admin experience but enough customer experience to get me the job. I held onto a quote by Christine Caine: “God doesn’t call the prepared; he prepares the called.”
As I read the page intended for my 48-year-old self, I felt a surge of pride knowing that my eldest would soon graduate from college, with her two siblings following closely behind. My 38-year-old self had expressed hopes of seeing her kids in college, perhaps even married by then. I chuckled as I read that line to my husband, relieved that we still have two years until that “expiration date,” leaving the jury out on that status.
I had wished for myself to visit Italy and explore parts of Europe, a dream I’d harbored since high school. Despite numerous attempts, it seemed elusive until last spring, when Jon and I embarked on a 28-day adventure through London, Paris, and Italy. Dining on French cuisine under a Parisian moon or cruising through Tuscany’s picturesque hills—experiences beyond surreal.
In 2016, when I embraced the bi-vocational lifestyle, I had no clue how to sustain it. Some days were challenging, others incredibly rewarding. Working in higher education introduced me to remarkable students who inspired me to be my best self while leading worship in our home church allowed me to collaborate with immensely talented individuals. There were days when both roles seamlessly intertwined, and others when the weight felt unbearable, juggling deadlines and responsibilities.
A month ago, the chapter of worship leading abruptly closed. The news hit me like a sudden amputation—no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community.
no discussion, just an abrupt end to 16 years of serving our church community
Despite the shock, I cherished the memories: working alongside my husband, watching my son excel as a drummer, and witnessing my daughter’s musical prowess and leadership. The abruptness left no room for goodbyes, only a hollow explanation.
Reflecting on this letter, crafted eight years ago, reminds me of life’s unpredictability. Since then, my father passed away, my mom remarried, close friends faced divorce, and my father-in-law continues his battle with cancer. My children, once youngsters, are now young adults, preparing to leave the nest. Yet, amid uncertainty, I’m grateful for the foresight to write that letter. Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life that paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.
Embracing the challenges of the bi-vocational life paved the way for unforeseen opportunities.
I’ve learned that nothing is wasted in the Kingdom of Heaven. Even toxic leadership experiences can be redeemed, shaping me into a better leader. While I can’t predict the future, writing a letter of well wishes to oneself serves as a poignant reminder of life’s essence. As Paul wrote in Romans; our sufferings produce endurance, character, and hope. I eagerly anticipate what lies ahead, knowing that every season, sweet or bitter, holds a purpose.
I might have an inkling of what’s next and anticipate God to do what God does; create an ending better than I could have ever imagined.
When have you had a moment to reflect on where you have come from and where you are going?
I have been digging into this question with my therapist and the answers aren’t’ really there yet. It could be that as a kid, I moved around A LOT. Before I graduated high school my family moved to 7 different states and in one five-year period, we lived in 5 different houses. I’ve wondered how my mother stayed sane packing up a household with 4 kids is beyond me. As an adult, that level of instability has made me dislike change but when I was a kid I saw the adventure in it. I remember with each new location what adventure could be had.
For example, one of the first moves that I can recall as a 5-year-old was our move from Bend, Oregon to Delta, Colorado. The house we rented was situated behind a beautiful apple orchard a block from my grandmother’s house where we could have Sunday Supper (That’s lunch if you’re not a southerner) and experience her incredible biscuits and gravy or ride in our grandpa’s tractor to our heart’s content. Eight months later we moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming where in five years we relocated houses five different times.
Not my grandmother’s actual biscuits. 🙂
That year I started kindergarten. I remember I had the most amazing kindergarten teacher and I also remember that we moved into a house with a walk-in bird cage to which my dad brought home a duck for us to care for. I don’t remember what happened to that duck but I do remember that cleaning up bird poop was not fun.
Me in the lovely rainbow shirt with my eldest brother, eldest sister and little brother in front of the bird-cage house. The elderly woman is our “Aunt Dot”.
The following spring we moved a few miles across town to a neighborhood that backed up to the Air Force Base. We had a fabulous backyard with a view of the runway. My little brother and I learned if we stood on top of the trash bins we could see jets take off almost every day and antelope run in the hills.
A year later we moved a mile down the road into a two-story duplex that we occupied entirely. It had two kitchens, an upstairs and downstairs! Oh, the fun we had making cookies in the downstairs kitchen while my mom cooked dinner upstairs. We moved yet again as I entered third grade. This house we stayed at to help out a friend while they were deployed. It had an oil pit in the garage that my dad really liked. Plus we were across the street from my elementary school so my walk was just a hop, skip, and a jump away.
The final home we lived in during the five years in Cheyenne was a three-story single-family home with throw-up-green shag carpet
The final home we lived in during the five years in Cheyenne was a three-story house single-family home with throw-up-green shag carpet but a backyard that was epic for making snow forts. That year we ALL had our own room and I got my own pink phone and Barbie mansion. I think both were hand-me-downs but I had no clue and loved them both so much!
Just before the end of my 5th-grade year, we moved to what was one of my favorite locations of my childhood, Lake Havasu City, AZ. We lived there in my formative tween years which had us a few miles to the beach and a view of the water from our kitchen window. I could wear a bathing suit and shorts all day long because with temperatures of 100+ you were either at the beach or in a pool. I went barefoot to Sunday night church sometimes just to see if anyone would notice and they didn’t.
Lake Havasu City- the beginning of my love affair with a water view.
I had my own room with a door that led to our courtyard. I felt like a princess in that room. My friends during those years were some of the best people and it was the first time in my young life that nothing changed; not my friends, my church, my home, or my school. I look back now and it was the first time there was stability that I could recall.
it was the first time there was stability that I could recall.
With a month left of my 8th grade year my parents broke the news to my little brother and I that we were moving from Lake Havasu City, AZ to Indio, CA. Just days before this news my Junior High Choral teacher asked me and to be a part of a high school quartet that would sing the National Anthem at all the athletic events. My sister who was graduating high school had had this privilege all 4 years of her high school career so I was ecstatic to follow in her footsteps and to sing with my 4 best friends was the icing on the cake!
My parents assured us that we could finish out the school year in Lake Havasu and have the summer to acclimate in our new city. My brother who is two years my junior would be entering 6th grade that upcoming school year, which in California was the first year of middle school. The thought of me starting high school in a new state sounded devestating.
I grieved that move for weeks. I cried in choir class with my singing buddies who huddled together trying to think of the good side to this. I cried in the church youth group thinking that no other church could be as fun and inclusive as this one was. I cried when my boyfriend gave me a real gold cross chain and thought that was really the end. I cried at home and refused to pack the kitchen utensils and genuinely pouted for days thinking my little 14-year-old world was over.
Two weeks after school let out we moved to Indio, CA where my dad would take on his second pastorship. We moved without my older siblings since they were both in college. As we entered the city limits in the Uhaul truck, I noticed that Indio was dry and barren with not even a Walmart yet. It was not much different from the little town we had come from in the sense of size and amenities but even worse, it was without a lake. Any beach was hours away in either LA or San Diego and no one we knew yet had a pool even though the temps in Indio were almost the same as in Arizona. I moaned to myself, “How could my parents bring us here?
Eight weeks after moving to Indio my mom signed me up for a tennis camp called “Pam’s Tennis On Wheels” in order for me to get to know some kids in the neighborhood. I met a few people one being a tall 9th grader by the name of Jon. I spoke to him a few times but my attention was occupied by the fact that, at the moment, I was in “love” with a boy that attended the church my dad was now pastoring.
I began my freshman year at a private school. It was a tough year being the new kid at such a small school. Thankfully, I made amazing friends that year but with the news of a news high school opening we decided that was where I would go next. It would begin as a small school beginning with 9th and 10th grader only and each year adding a new freshman class. A few of my friends from the private school would attend with me and we all were excited about the change.
On the first day of school as I entered the brand new courtyard, I recognized a tall sophomore with curly hair and a cross earring. I remembered meeting him at the tennis camp I had attended over a year ago but couldn’t remember his name. I went right up to him and said, “Do I know you?” It took us a minute but we pieced together where we had previously met. Over the course of that year we would become best friends. Three years later we would graduate from that high school along with our classmates as the first graduating class and five years later we would marry.
Our wedding day, June, 1999
As of today we have had a stable life here in San Diego, only moving four times in 20-plus years. First to our new apartment as a married couple. Then after Jon graduated college, we relocated to a downtown apartment with my sister then from there we moved to an apartment east of downtown as we went from just the two of us to five of us. Our final move to date was when we purchased a three-bedroom condo that we have called home for over fifteen years!
I truly believe that if God had not allowed my parents to change jobs and move us from the little beach town of Lake Havase to Indio, CA I never would have met my husband. What felt like the end of the world became the beginning of my current reality. In those early years of marriage and starting a family Jon would help open a hospitality business that he continues to work for all while supporting me in my entrepreneurial endeavors. As of June, 2022 we have celebrated 23 years of marriage and I can say without a doubt he is my very best friend. Yet, when change comes I pout, I panic, I moan, and I complain that I can’t see what around the corner. Why do I still do that?
My amazing family!
Yet, when change comes I pout, I panic, I moan and complain that I can’t see what’s around the corner. Why, why do I do that?
Recently, I have been reading the book of Exodus about Moses and the Israelites enslaved by Egypt for a class on the Pentateuch (That means the first 5 books of the bible if you don’t know Latin) and those poor Israelites get such a bad rap. First, they are released from 400-year bondage in Egypt and escape with their lives while being led by a “pillar of cloud” by day and a “pillar of fire” by night, which the book tells us was the Spirit of God in that pillar leading them. Days after leaving Egypt, the Egyptian army begins pursuing the Israelites and soon they are trapped between the army and the Red Sea. Moses raises his rod and the miracle of the Red Sea parting is before their eyes. They are able to safely cross then look back and see the sea crashing around the army and killing the enemy.
Can you believe one of the first things out of the now free Israelite’s mouths after that miracle is “Oh, how we wish that the Lord had just put us to death while we were still in the Land of Egypt.”(Exodus 16:3) Oh wait, they did remember to worship and praise God for the miracle they witnessed but just three days later they soon began to complain. I read that and I am like, “Sheesh, ya’ll, get a clue!” But then I ponder their reaction and realize that in the same breath I have seen God do amazing things in my life and provide in ways I never asked for but doubt that he has my best interest in mind.
When things don’t go how I want them to or how I see fit I whine, complain, and say,” God, where are you? What am I supposed to do? How could you let this happen?”
90 days after the Israelites get a bit settled, God “sits them down” if you will, and gives them their road map on how to live among each other and survive the desolate landscape they are in. (Exodus 20) God shares with them the covenant that had been in the works for a very long time and the laws that would set them apart but also bring humanity and dignity to their tribes since the world around them was so barbaric. This was also after God had led them away from the Philistines because God knew they would run right back to Egypt if they had to immediately fight for the land promised to them. (Exodus 13:17)
I won’t go into the nitty gritty details but if you want to go read the story of the Israelites I encourage you to start reading Exodus chapter two. I can honestly say, I think I give the Israelites a lot of grief for being so quick to complain after experiencing miracles when I know I am guilty of the very same thing.
Here’s the good news…
When it comes to worry in the Bible, scholars say that “Fear Not” is mentioned 365 times and Jesus himself tells us not to worry and reminds us of God’s provision in his New Testament teachings. Jesus says “Do not Worry” five times alone in Matthew 6:25-24. Isn’t it good to know that God knew it would be something we struggled with? It’s in our human nature to not trust what we cannot see. It is in our nature to think about the worst-case scenario instead of focusing on the blessings that occurred.
I know I forget to count the times I have seen plans go better than I could have ever foreseen. I hope that when you feel overwhelmed with the unknown like I do, or like the Israelites did, you will remember that there are enough uplifting scriptures alone to acknowledge your worry and that no matter what comes around the corner you can trust that God will provide a path for you. And like the Psalmist said, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:6)
Tonight my 14 year old daughter and I got into it for the umpteenth time this month. She is slacking in her school work and I’m beside myself frustrated with the level of effort she puts into it, or lack thereof. If only she put as much effort into her school work as she does her socializing I found myself thinking. Then I heard my mother’s voice echo in my ears. Did I really just say what I know my mom said more than a dozen times? How is it that we can be so utterly shocked when our kids push back, lie, be lazy, disrespect us, find ways to get around the rules, when less then 2 decades ago we were doing the same exact thing???
Earlier this evening that same daughter was confiding in me that her friend, who is 4 years older than her is most likely pregnant. She told me before beginning, to relax, “she’s a good person and I’m not being influenced by her,” she assured me. This young lady was heading into the military come graduation and now pregnancy may derail those dreams. While cooking dinner, I listened to my daughter share with me her friend’s fears and worries. She relayed to me how she told this girl, “Now see, I told you that guy was nothing but trouble. Mom, this is exactly why I will not have sex before marriage. I am not going to live my life as The Secret Life of an American Teenager.” “Plus,” she says, “I told her she could come talk to you because you would be concerned for her and feel sorry for her situation.” At the time I laughed and chided her a bit for being harsh with her friend. She assured me she was kind in her approach. She told this young lady that she could come over and that I would help her figure out what to do. THEN she said, “And I told my friend, she HAD to tell her parents the truth immediately!” Yeah, 2 hours later I find my daughter “forgot” to tell me about a Spanish test tomorrow. What was that about having to be truthful with your parents, daughter of mine??
Here’s where I am at in this moment. I am in awe at the mother daughter relationship. How it can be all hugs and cuddles to practically a cat fight the next. How my daughter wants to emulate me in every way, but can’t stand any critique or advice I may give. How my daughter can hug me one minute and have nothing to do with me the next. How she can find the ability to confide in me with the heavy things life throws at her, but afraid to ask my permission might I say no. I know its hormones and the struggles of growing up, but I also know it’s a reflection of how I treat her. In those cat fight moments I find myself speaking down to her and mad at her lack of work ethic or drive. Yet, I am in awe at her ability to stick up for herself, to live life with such zest and tenacity and to love so fiercely. In the aftermath of our tiff over homework and upon hearing my mothers’ voice echo in my ears, I realize now, more than ever how much she is watching. I think even more so than when she was 3 and wanted to try on my high heels.
She is watching how I respond after I argue with her or her father and how we make up. She is watching what I post on social media and if I call in “sick” to work or not. She is watching how I treat our crazy neighbors or if I pick up our dog poop when no one is watching. I forget how much she is watching and learning and trying to find out what works for her and what doesn’t. I am glad she doesn’t want have sex before she is married, but will she be able to resist when the man of her dreams is whispering how much he loves her and cherishes her? Will she tell the truth even when no one will know the difference? Will she study hard for that test not because her mother is screaming at her to, but because she wants to succeed? I don’t know. All I know is, every day I want to give up. I literally want to throw my hands up and say, “You win and I’m out!” Then I see that girl turning into a women and I look in the mirror of that girl who turned into a woman. I survived the trials and I learned from my mistakes and eventually began to listen to my mother. I persevered because my own mother never gave up. So, I too won’t give up. I will start again tomorrow with a hug and a kiss and some cuddles; if, she lets me.
A few weeks ago I was in the dentist’s office getting a cavity filled. My first cavity in 18 years, so no judging. 😉 I was lying in the chair doped up on laughing gas when I had a sudden flashback of my son in pain. My youngest child, Jackson, flashed across my mind. He was 3 in my recall and I remember huge eyes with horrific pain and fear in them that I had never seen before. I remember him reaching out to squeeze my hand and I let him til the pain subsided.
It was summer and we were enjoying my youngest brother’s wedding when out of the blue Jackson began to limp. We thought he had jumped in the hotel pool wrong and tweaked something, but after coming home from the festivities his limp came and went for 2 weeks. I decided to take him into the doctor. I took him in to see our pediatrician and after a 30 minute look-over they deemed him fine and that maybe he bruised a bone jumping or playing. We went home thinking it had just been some fluke. Over the next few weeks though, it would suddenly hurt enough to where he could not walk well or run. It was very concerning to us. This was our little agile “spider monkey.” This was our son who at 5 months stood up in his pack in play without holding the sides, at 6 months he could shimmy his way out of his crib by putting one foot on either side of the rails and inch up until he could swing himself over the side. At 18 months he did a chin up onto the kitchen counter to reach the sugar bowl; so for him to suddenly not be able to run, jump or play, we knew something was up. I took him back to the doctor. Again she could not find a reason for his limp and of course in that moment his limp was not very pronounced. I went home a bit frustrated but thinking I was probably over reacting. A week later he began to cry out in pain every time he took a step. I went back to the doctor and the mama bear inside of me came out and I refused to leave that office until they ordered an x-ray and could tell me what was wrong. They ordered an x-ray, yet were still unable to tell me what was wrong. However, the nurse practitioner knew something was not right, so they sent us to a pediatric orthopedic specialist here in San Diego. I cannot for the life of me recall the doctor’s name,but it is not an important piece, thankfully.
My husband and I both went to the appointment with our toddler in tow where we were told that Jackson had Legg Calve-Perthes Disease. We stared blankly back at the doctor, “Leg, what?” The doctor told us it was named after the three orthopedic surgeons who discovered the illness. He went on to explain that the blood supply had been cut off to the femoral head (the ball part of the hip) and caused the bone to begin to die. According to Jackson’s x-ray the ball of his hip was flat, not round and was pinching every time he walked. I remember not feeling panic, but feeling somewhat numb. He then went on to tell us that he was taking a leave of absence because he was undergoing heart surgery and would refer us to Dr. Wenger. He assured us Dr. Wenger was the best orthopedic surgeon in the San Diego region. Even though he was out of our HMO network, our insurance would cover him because of the referral. Little did we know what a miracle that moment would turn out to be.
The following Monday I went to the bible study that I lead at the time. One of the ladies brought a friend with her named Linh. At the end of every meeting we take prayer requests. When the time came for me to share I told the ladies the journey we were about to embark upon. I explained to them that our original doctor was taking a leave and had referred us to a Dr. Wenger. Immediately after I said that, Linh spoke up and said, “I work for Dr. Wenger. I am a physician’s assistant in his office.” Here in front of me, days after my son’s diagnosis, was a woman who worked for the doctor we were referred to! I felt like shouting, “Are you kidding me? This is amazing!” I was stunned, yet excited and full of questions. Over the next few months Linh was a huge blessing. She helped us maneuver through this disease and explain the care we were going to receive. Fast forward four months; Jackson was three months past his third birthday and we had our surgery scheduled to help rectify the problem. Dr. Wenger was going to clip the tendon attached to his pelvic area, they would then stretch his legs out into a V position, cast it, then leave it on for 6 weeks. He would not be allowed to have any weight on it for many weeks after that. This would allow the ball to get the needed blood flow and allow the bone to heal. Before this day none of our children had ever had surgery or been hospitalized. We had not even experienced a broken bone. Here we were; two 28 year old parents completely inexperienced in hospital care and dealing with doctors, surgeons and insurance companies; but we felt peace.
The day of the surgery I remember being in the pre-op waiting room when the nurse came in to collect Jackson. She seemed to sweep him up very abruptly and place him on the gurney. I remember panic rising in my throat as I watched him be wheeled down the hallway through the double doors. I wondered, did I hug him or kiss him enough? What if he didn’t wake up from the surgery? The surgery was a short procedure, about one hour. When we were given the OK to go see him in recovery I felt such relief. Especially when I saw his little happy face sucking on his Popsicle. Thankfully he was nice and numb, oblivious to the pain that he would soon experience and that I spoke of earlier. Once we were in his room and all settled with videos and more Popsicles, the drugs began to wear off. The nurse warned me that he would have muscle spasms; this was the tendon getting used to its new position. When his first spasm came just a few hours after getting settled I will never forget that look of sheer terror on my 3 year old’s face. His hazel eyes became huge with surprise, then a look of horror as he cried out in pain. His little body would tense up and he would squeeze my hand so tight it made my heart hurt. The nurse quickly administered the meds that put him at ease. Those spasms would continue for a solid week. We were sent home with strong medications to ease his pain. From beginning to end, Jackson was a trooper. He loved all the attention from aunts and uncles, neighbors, church friends and grandparents who came to visit and brought him goodies to take his mind off his situation. He loved the wheel chair and getting to go naked half the day since his pants couldn’t be put on very easily; until my crafty mom made him a pair of pants with Velcro to slip over his cast.
I wish I could say that from the moment that our journey started I walked around with constant peace, but I cannot. As I look back though, I am so thankful that I can list for you the positives things that happened. First of all, we met Linh. Linh helped guide us and maneuver a very scary situation and a very quirky doctor. Without her, I would have said, “There’s no way we can do this!” But she assured us he was amazing and he was! He was concise and knew exactly what to do. I know that because of him our journey was a short 8 months rather than years. A second positive aspect was Jackson’s age; most kids with LCPD are diagnosed at age 9. Jackson was 2. He was in a v-cast for 6 weeks the first time and 4 weeks the second time. I’ve thought many times about how much more difficult it would have been to carry a 9 year old to the bathroom or up the flight of stairs to our second floor apartment. The third reason was the wonderful support of family and friends who brought food, entertainment, prayers and encouragement those first few months of his diagnoses and surgery.
Yes, there were challenges; he peed on his cast many a times which then caused his cast to get wet inside. When he went to get his cast cut off the technician went too deep and cut his little thigh. He still has a scar. The physical therapist that we were referred to did not do the correct exercises with him and was the cause of him having to go back into the V-cast for another 4 weeks. His second casting was in August where the high was 108 degrees. It was not fun and many a days he couldn’t go swimming; he would be so sweaty and itchy he just would cry and I would cry. He wasn’t allowed to run, jump, or play sports for 2 ½ years after his cast came off for the last time. Imagine trying to tell a 3 year old they cannot do any of those things? Once the cast was off he could swim and bike. Both of those exercises were a saving grace, not only in getting his energy burnt off, but they were great therapy that built his muscle and agility back up. He got back to climbing counters and added trees and door frames to the mix.
What I always feel when I think back to that season of our life, is gratefulness. I don‘t know why our son had LCPD. We learned that it may have been genetic and my grandfather may have suffered from it his whole life. I don’t know why our journey was “easy” compared to the families I met in the lobby of the x-ray room telling me their son had had “multiple surgeries, pins and couldn’t play little league for the third year in a row.” My heart always broke for them and I was given a new level of empathy every time I left those wonderful moments of conversation with other moms. What I do know is this; this was our journey and all I can ever be is grateful for the experience and the healing Jackson received. The best thing about all of it was that it is and was the strongest interaction to God’s strength and peace I have yet to experience. I honestly think that this is what Paul is talking about when he said in Romans 5:3-5 NIV “Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”
As you may have read in my previous posts that I have read Brene Brown’s book The Gift of Imperfection. Her work has opened my eyes to a level of vulnerability and authenticity I never knew I could experience. Recently I read Guidepost #3 and she talks about how she discovered that hope is learned. Not only do we have to put one foot in front of the other in moments of struggle and suffering, but I believe we have to look at the signs being given. We need to teach ourselves and our children that in every situation there is hope to be found. To this day I believe the reason I was so hopeful is because I was able to see the pavers placed on my path. This kept me sane, kept our family striving for healing and did not turn into a negative season of asking, “Why me?” but allowed us to move toward hope and peace. I‘m not for one second saying I see good in all things or that every day I smile and say that I enjoy suffering, but remembering what I learned from this experience helps me to put my daily struggles into perspective. Now when I experience financial trouble, parenting strife, marital disunity, or friend drama I stop myself and list the positives. I can tangibly see that God had his hand on our son’s life. He took a scary situation and lined up people and circumstances that allowed us to come out of this disease on the other side. I can now always look at the pavers God places on my path that point towards hope.
Today, my son Jackson is an active 11 year old who is a joy to my husband and I’s life. He’s played little League for 5 years now, climbs every door frame, tree, and jungle gym. He loves Jesus and his mommy, and wants to be just like his daddy.
ISIS, It’s everywhere, yet so far away. So removed from my everyday, yet every time I see a glimpse of the news or think of friends who are so bravely moving to the Middle East to be an aid to those engulfed in all of the pain and anguish, it begins to feel close. Yesterday 21 Christians were killed because of their faith. Their faith, MY faith.
This month I have been consumed with many things that have been seriously stressing me out. Our eldest is heading into high school and we found out that we are not in the boundary of the school we want. My husband’s company has had to drop our insurance for a year or two starting at the end of this month. So I’ve been spending my days worrying and planning for the worst, visiting as many doctors and dentists as I can fit in over these 4 weeks. I wake up in the middle of the night wondering if we can afford insurance on our own or will we have to move in order for Klarissa to get into our choice high school? Should we short sale our house so we can rent in our choice neighborhood?
Then I read that 21 men are beheaded for their faith. I felt my vision narrow in, like when you look through a telescope and all you can see is what’s directly in front of you, not to the left or the right. My first thought was, would I die for my faith? Would I die for the Jesus I say I believe in? Do my children, husband, friends, family know I love Jesus that much? Would they say, “Yes, she would give her life for her faith, I know it.” I believe that my own personal daily dramas are important to my Heavenly Father. I don’t think for one second He would say I was being silly worrying about things that are important to me and are right in front of me, but Jesus also tells us to not worry about tomorrow. I don’t have a theological back ground to break things down for you. I just know that sitting here in my living room listening to Mike and Molly in the background after tucking my kids in bed, my heart hurt that these men were killed. My heart felt so heavy when I honestly wavered if I would be able to hold my head high with conviction and confess my faith to horrible men ready to take my life. All I know is I am going to seek that answer. I am going to ask God to give me the ability to stand up for him and I want everyone who knows me and who reads this to know that ISIS, or no ISIS, I believe in God the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. I will do everything in my power to show those around me the love, mercy and grace I have been given through the cross.
I started this blog to journey with others towards authenticity, but I never imagined less than a week later my first real topic would be letting you into my deepest thoughts and sharing one of my biggest fear. I believe the petty drama in my life will be resolved, because my God is bigger than all of that. I hope that if you know me or meet me, the love of Jesus shines through me.
life on the back burner 