Love for the Hurting ~ Advent Four

And just like that….it’s Christmas Eve!

Before we know it the decorations that were put up only weeks or days ago (or in my case, yesterday!) will be wrapped up and packed away for another year. But while we’re still anticipating Christmas there’s something that’s been on my heart all week and I do pray I can find words to adequately express it…..

It’s about disappointment. (I know this is supposed to be about love, but I’ll get there!)

We’ve been exploring the advent themes of hope, peace, joy and now love together this year through the honest lens of being in a place where these things aren’t easy to pick up and put on because the calendar says it’s time. If you’ve been following an Advent blog for the hurting, it most likely means you are, and it’s for you that I’ve written every word. ❤

Having back to back tragedies isn’t the norm for most families, and there are still days where I long to turn the clock back and warn everyone of what’s to come….to seek shelter and cover my children with my own life. Any mother would – but of the many choices we are given in this beautiful life, the clock-turning-back thing isn’t one of them. (Believe me….God and I have had extensive talks on this one….He patiently insists it’s not a good idea!)

So, when grief began to ease it’s clutches around my heart just a bit, there was something that seemed to grow in that place for a while, less distinguishable but just as painful. It took some time before I could put a word to it, but eventually I realized what that feeling was……was disappointment.

It’s a common emotion that everyone can identify with and one that I’ve had fierce battles with in recent years. It basically means feeling let down by an unmet expectation. (And when you’re a person that tends to plan and perhaps over-anticipate , expectations can become huge disappointments when not met.) So it’s been on my mind of late, and it recently occurred to me that disappointment is a huge part of grief. Which leads me to Mary. As in the mother of Jesus. =)

If any mother in history had reason to be disappointed, it had to be Mary. I don’t know of any other woman who had an angel sent from God to proclaim a miraculous pregnancy and that – oh yea – her baby would be the savior of the world. When she agreed to this angelic proposal I’m sure she didn’t see a manger in her child’s future….or those years on the run from Herod….or a nomadic son teaching from hillsides and causing upheaval in the Jewish community – her community.

She didn’t see a brutal crucifixion of her beautiful, kind, angelicaly promised boy.

Disappointment. So hard for her. So hard for us.

Let’s take a collective deep breath here and admit that whatever has left us hurting this season is in part an unmet expectation. We saw a different future. We believed in a different promise. We don’t know why something has happened and we want to go back and change everything. It’s OK to feel those things – it’s only when we face them that we can begin to heal. And now finally comes the love part….

God knows, dear ones, and he cares! None of the heartaches, the grief, the desires to go back in time, the disappointments….none of these are surprises to God. He knows our brokenness and he knows our questions are real, and His love for us weaves through and covers every part of our suffering. Scripture doesn’t speak of any other angelic conversations Mary or Joseph had during the whole 9 months of pregnancy, nor while whey were on the road to Bethlehem, nor while they were trying to turn a stable into a nursery. They were on their own and had to be wondering what the deal was. They had done a very hard and brave thing in agreeing to this whole arrangement and where was God now? The baby was born, presumably with the help of Joseph instead of a doula, and none of it was planned. Talk about unmet expectations!

And then something happens no one could have expected. Shepherds show up at the stable/nursery and tell Mary and Joseph that angels told them all about the birth of Jesus and they were compelled to come and see. That had to have brought such relief! Finally….a sign of confirmation that it wasn’t all a big mistake. God hadn’t forgotten them – He was at work the whole time, even when they were confused and afraid and felt alone.

I can’t explain how, but I know with everything in me….that God loves me and loves you. He’s provided all we need out of his deep, deep love for and commitment to us, and even when I don’t understand – even in my disappointment – I trust Him. I believe He is at work in my life (and in yours) even when we can’t see. Shepherds may not show up at my door tonight to remind me that God hasn’t forgotten his plans for me (though that would be AWESOME!) but I don’t really need them to. He’s given me “signs” all around me in the kindness of friends and the beauty of scripture and most of all in the ever-present, intimate relationship I have with Jesus – the same Jesus who was born in the stable/nursery and was crucified out of that same love for me. Such amazing love!

My prayer for you today, tomorrow and in all the days to come is that you know you are loved, that you are seen and heard and that you know you are never alone. You can count on it. Love does that, ya know. It may not come how we expect it, but it always comes when we need it.

Thank you for taking this little journey with me through these weeks of advent – your companionship has been a blessing, and your stories have and will continue to be held in my prayers and my heart. God has loved me through you this season!

All the Christmas love,

Shellie ❤

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Joy for the Hurting ~ Advent Three

Joy for the hurting.

Joy……for the hurting…. 

Joy.

Seriously?

Hardly seems fair, does it? And trust me, I can feel you across the bits and pixels and bytes (I have no idea what those things are – they just sound computer-y) but I invite you to stay with me on this one. I’m figuring it out myself! But I think I may have taken a few steps closer in understanding. So let’s look at it together, OK?

I’ve been doing lots of reflecting lately, pondering how we get from here to there in life, and it’s still a mystery to me how resiliency works, but I am living proof that it does. The first Christmas after the four Warrens became three, all I felt, (along with a desperate clinging to the other two Warrens) was a sense of numbness and longing so deep I couldn’t see the end of it. The idea of finding joy in the midst of so much sadness was like looking for something I used to own but now had no idea where to find it. But time doesn’t stop for joy or for pain and mercifully moved along that Christmas season. And the next. And still another. And while joy and I are still doing that side-eye stare thing that my dog does when he wants to see if you’re looking at him, it’s no longer my enemy. 

This has been a year of growth – of slowly learning to live again, and that no longer feels like quite the betrayal it once did. And one of the things I’ve been up to is completing the college education that I began decades ago. It’s been hard and has come with a price, not only of tuition, but of lost time for others and lots and lots of sleep! But it’s also been the pivoting point on my grief journey that has given me reason to look ahead rather than only behind…… So this past weekend I stood along with several hundred other black-robed graduates in a huge arena, listened to speeches about potential and took that walk across the stage that was the culmination of effort and much loving support. Then something happened that I didn’t expect….as the graduating class of 2018 was conferred and we were invited to move our tassels from the right to the left, I felt such a sense of…..joy. There it was, probably where it’s been all along, but like so many other things it was just hidden above the fog. It felt good to feel it again, and to know that I still could.

After a full day of celebrating and time spent with friends and family who have supported me so faithfully and graciously, I finally settled down at my computer later that evening, still feeling full of love and gratitude for the turn my life is taking. And just like that, came the quick, hot, familiar tears of grief and longing for the one Warren who was not there to share it with. Not that I’d forgotten for even a second (I’d even tucked a picture of the four of us under my cap!)  But even as I gave myself permission to have that deep cry that had been building all day, I realized that for the first time, grief wasn’t eating up the goodness of the day as it usually does in its hungry Pac-Man sort of way. Joy was standing up to grief and both were somehow present in that moment.

Because it’s hard to feel joy doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Because we grieve whatever it is we are missing this Christmas season doesn’t mean that joy still doesn’t belong to us. Much like knowing peace even when everything isn’t peaceful, I have learned that we can know joy though everything isn’t joyful. 

Oh friends, I understand that the last thing we need is stories of other people’s joy when ours is still lost…..It’s easy to believe that the lights, music and colors of Christmas aren’t for us any longer, but that’s not true.  It’s OK to enjoy what we can and save the rest for later, because the true meaning of Christmas, the reason for those lights, the music and all the rest is with us in the person of Jesus Christ, and He cares far more about us and our hearts than any of those things anyway. He is for us, on our side, always with us. He loves us and isn’t turned away by our sorrow, in fact he is drawn to it and lives through every moment with us. He bought that joy for us and is abundantly able to teach us how to find it and how to keep it.

So this is what I’ve learned about joy; it isn’t the opposite of sadness. It is what Jesus brings to us where we are even as we heal and learn to hope. Give it a chance. Let joy stand up to your grief, your loss, your pain and see if they can’t be present in the same space together for you as well.

You are never alone!

So much love,

Shellie ❤ 

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Peace for the Hurting ~ Advent Two

A couple of years ago the vicar and I spent a cold and snowy December weekend at Yosemite National Park. We arrived late in the evening on a starless night that was very, very dark. I’m not speechless very often (just ask the vicar) but the next morning when I opened the door and stepped outside, there were no words that could possibly describe the wintery awe of snow-covered ground, snow-laden trees, snow-capped granite cliffs…well, you get the idea. It was sheer magical magnificence, and I couldn’t wait to get out and explore! For two days we bundled up and hiked trails that were “mostly” marked – when they weren’t covered with snow – and just took in the sheer beauty all around us. On the second day I wanted to spend some time alone before it was time to head down the mountain, and set out on a 3-mile hike with little more than a trail map and a prayer. There are many things I remember in vivid detail about that hike, but none of them surpass the sense of absolute quiet, the only sounds being the crunch of snow beneath my boots and the occasional plop of falling snow from the branch of a pine tree. That was it – no people, no cars, no machinery…just the occasional sound of the river, and even that seemed to be muffled in the same blanket that hushed everything under the weight of freshly fallen snow. I’ve never experienced that kind of peaceful quiet in the outdoors, and it was truly profound. 

Christmas traditions are such a large part of the season, and for the vicar’s family, there are added traditions such as cleaning up after the Christmas Eve service, which for most years ended at midnight. After the sanctuary was straightened, the candles were out, the luminaries stored away, the doors locked and the remaining bread and juice finished off by the youngest two Warrens, it was time to go home and…..finish wrapping presents! It wasn’t unusual to finally fall into bed after 2:00am, but before that, were always those beautiful, sacred, peaceful moments when everything had finally been done and I knew that the next day would be just for us – sometimes I would stay up even longer just to sit in front of the tree in the stillness of the early morning hour just to hold on to that feeling….

Recently I was blessed to be able to spend a few hours with a newborn baby, and what a joy it was! It’s been such a long time since I’ve just held one so little for as long as I wanted and to my delight this tiny guy was a snuggler! I leaned back into a corner of the couch, laid his swaddled little body on my chest, and for the next hour I just listened to him breathe and felt his tiny heart beating as he slept completely at peace in my arms.

Peace.

The word can mean so many different things, and for some it’s the last thing they are feeling during the holidays. This Advent series is especially devoted to those who are hurting, and there is something I want you dear ones to know about peace….

The hushed trail I hiked that snowy December was at one time charred and devastated by forest fire.

The sacred early morning moments between Christmas Eve and Christmas will never hold the same joy when one of the Warrens isn’t here to wake up to.

That precious tiny baby boy I got to hold was born drug addicted and is being nurtured by a loving foster family.

Friends, if we define peace as the feeling we get when everything is right with the world, we may never find it. But if we can dare to step a little further and think of peace as more than a feeling we get when all is right with the world, just maybe we can learn to find peace living alongside the pain and the loss. In that place, peace isn’t just for the joyful or the mentally healthy or for picture perfect families, but for you and for me, wherever we are and however we feel.

That silent night we sing about this time of year? It came following the fear of no place to safely bring Jesus into the world. It came following the pain of childbirth. Peace didn’t come because everything was right in the world. It came precisely because it wasn’t….

On this second Sunday of Advent, when we light the candle of Peace, I encourage you to do just that. Find a candle where you are, strike a match and light the flame of peace. Not because you feel it. But because even if you don’t, it’s yours just the same. He knows, friends….he knows how difficult it is for us to hold onto peace when it hurts so much.  But the good news is that Jesus didn’t come to bring us peace. He came to be peace. And no matter what happens, no matter what it “feels” like….he’s not going anywhere. If he spoke to the wind and waves to calm and they did, he can certainly quiet our hearts. So, my prayer for all the hurting this season is to know the one who is peace, and in Him to find hope and healing. You are never alone!

Much love,

Shellie ❤ 

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Hope for the Hurting ~ Advent One

There are times when you know something makes no sense – that you can’t possibly – that there is absolutely no time – that it wouldn’t be up to your standards – that (fill in whatever excuse handed to God as though it would make any difference….).

That’s how I’m feeling about writing through this Advent season. Though I miss blogging dearly, writing for the last couple of years has been consumed with essays, research projects, and zillion-page finals, leaving little time to sleep, let alone find inspiration to write something that won’t even be graded! But I’ve learned that when a thought won’t leave, when it keeps pressing on my heart and finding its way into everything else I’m thinking about, it’s time to put aside what I “can’t possibly do”, surrender my excuses and start listening. So it is that I’m writing blog posts for each of the four Sundays of Advent.

Christmas! It is beauty and light and tradition and story and family and baking and gifts and shepherds and pine trees in the living room and presents that we may or may not be able to afford. But above all, Christmas is hope. And the reason I believe God has pressed me so to share these few hastily written words is because many are just not finding it. So many friends come to mind….too many….for whom Christmas this year holds little more than pain, and hope seems so very far away. It feels like a betrayal to see what we believe to be everyone else’s perfect everything….they seem happy and healthy and full of blessings with homes spilling over with family and friends, feasts and laughter.

They are full. We feel empty. And where is the hope in that?

So, this first post of 2018’s Advent season won’t be for everyone. It won’t even be for most. But it is for those who feel left out and lonely. It’s for those who are struggling to make sense of life in general, and for whom the holidays just seem to mock what they are already feeling (or not feeling.) So if you’re still reading….it’s just for you. ❤

There are some things I’ve learned about suffering. True, they are MY things, because no two situations and no two hearts are exactly the same, but there are things that are common to the path through pain and it’s so important to know….really know, that you aren’t alone.

  • No one knows how you feel, even if they say they do
  • It’s OK to feel whatever you are feeling, even if it’s anger at God
  • It’s OK to be bewildered as to why God isn’t fixing everything as you know He could
  • God holds every tear – not just those of sorrow, but of bitterness, envy and disappointment
  • Even though you can’t see it……hope is here.

I remember one Christmas when I was about 9 or 10. All I really wanted was a Barbie (don’t judge.) I didn’t care if she was sporty or glamorous, I just wanted a Barbie to dress up in the evening gowns I had crafted out of old knee socks, so that was what I asked for that Christmas and hoped beyond all hope I would find her under the tree on Christmas morning. When it was my turn to open a present I went straight for the 12 inch tall, rectangular box that could only ever be a Barbie! With fluttery heart I unwrapped the paper, wondering if she would be blonde or brunette…..and what she was…..was a “Fashion Doll”.  ’70’s girls know what I”m talking about. It was the doll that was the substitute for Barbie when you couldn’t afford a Barbie, usually purchased in drug stores. I tried to hide my disappointment but I’m sure it was all over my face. The Fashion Doll was the same proportions as a Barbie. She had clothes and tiny shoes that never stayed on and a purse to hook on her permanently outstretched hand. So close to the real thing. But she wasn’t a Barbie. She was a Fashion Doll.

When God saw the world that He so lovingly and passionately created suffering in ways that were never intended, He sent a healer. And hope was born. I love that from the very beginning Jesus was a revolutionary. He turned the world upside down and started the process of setting things right again. He started the process…..and that’s the tricky part, isn’t it?  The nature of hope is that you can’t see the thing you’re hoping for, and when you are hurting it can seem to take a very, very long time for things to feel right again.

For many, maybe for you, this is a Fashion Doll Christmas. There are lights and trees and carols and pine trees in our living rooms and so much is almost like the things we remember and wish we had……almost. But it’s not. And it hurts. And it’s hard to find hope when we’re struggling to get through the painful days that used to hold so much joy.

But the thing about Jesus being the Healer who came to set things right again is that he gets it. He knows suffering. He knows despair. He knows loss. He knows us. And he’s come to not just offer hope but to be hope.  I’ve prayed a thousand prayers that my heart could feel whole again, that there would be an end to the sorrow. That hasn’t happened yet, but what I’ve learned is this; my hope can’t be in things or people or plans, because those aren’t guaranteed to last. At best, they’re substitutes for the real thing. My truest and only hope is in the one who knows me best and loves me most, and I don’t have to wait for the perfect day when all is right again. Hope is here. Hope is here, for you and for me….for all the brokenness in this really big world.

At the beginning of this Advent season when we aren’t really sure what to anticipate, but we know that nothing feels the way we want it to be…..know that you aren’t alone. You are seen and held and dearly loved because Hope isn’t out there ahead somewhere.

Hope is here. He is here.

And that’s something to hold on to.

So much love,

Shellie ❤

 

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Giving Up Fear

Tonight marks the fourth of the forty days before Easter commonly referred to as “Lent.”  And I’m not writing a daily Lenten blog….and that feels….strange.

I first began the blog site discoverlentwithme.com in 2012 in response to a challenge from a young woman fighting cancer to “do something hard – something you’re pretty sure you can’t do” to stand in solidarity with her as she found the courage to undergo treatment.  Thinking of something to write about for 40 straight days – and then posting it for the world to see – seemed to fit the “pretty sure you can’t do” criteria, and so it began.

I wrote another series of 40 days in 2015, a year following Kelsey’s accident that changed all of our lives.  Daily I sought God for a word – a thought – a hint of something that might be useful or meaningful first of all to myself, and then hopefully to anyone reading.  It was a transforming and powerful experience as day after day God came through and met me in some very hard places with hope and healing.

Then in 2016 – less than a year after the loss of our son, Brett – I once again found myself blogging through the days of Lent.  This time it wasn’t as much to encourage others as it was for my own personal spiritual survival.  I was lost.  I was lonely.  And I was oh so desperate to feel God’s presence and guidance as I daily sought – and many late nights all out fought – to hear His voice and find my footing.  And you know what happened?  Once again, He showed up.  The God of heaven and earth, the creator of all things and the savior of the entire world – met me in the dim light of my Dell laptop night after night as I cried out to Him for hope – for healing – for some word that would get me to the next day.

2017 is a different kind of year for me – transitional would probably be a good word.  Even as recently as a month ago I had every intention of writing another Lenten series – in fact had been really looking forward to it!  But in the blink of an eye I’ve gone from exploring the idea of going back to school to actually being IN school and with that has come lots of demands on my time.  So, though I am a bit disappointed at not writing again this year, I am also kind of in awe at what God has managed to do without my even being fully aware of it.  I’ve been praying for so long for hope – for something to make me look forward to the next day and the next chapter in my life.  And suddenly, here I am…so busy I don’t have time to do something I truly love because I am doing other things that I have always wanted to do!  (How do you do that, God?) 

So, once I became reconciled to the idea that writing this year wasn’t the best idea, that left me wondering just how I was going to observe this time that has come to mean so much to me.  After spending some time thinking of things to “give up” or things to “add to” my life for 40 days, nothing seemed to feel quite right.  So as I was out for a long walk recently I was asking God what He would like for me to focus on for this season and my mind kept wandering to the future and what might – and might not – happen to my little family and myself.  Then I would shake my head – pick up the pace – refocus and ask God again for an idea for Lent.  Again, I felt the anxiety and fear of the unknown creep into the deepest places of my heart and interrupt all the great intentions of my “what do to for Lent” prayer!  Ever been there?

It was out of that frustration of not being able to focus in prayer because of all of the anxiety and fear of the unknown that kept invading my prayer time that I finally heard God speak quietly but firmly:

“Give that to me.”

“What?  Give what to you?”

That….the worry – the anxiety – the fear of things you can’t see yet.”

“Um….I don’t think you understand how this Lent thing works, God.  You see, I give up something like coffee or chocolate or my time.  Or maybe I add something to my life like a specific service or act of kindness.  See?”

“Those are your ideas….not mine.”

“But how in the world do I give up fear?”

“Trust me….I’ll show you….”

So, there you have it.  So often my mind and heart race ahead to all of the “what if”s and before I know it my heart is pounding and fear has taken me to ridiculous places that I know God doesn’t have planned for me.  But when you’ve lost much you worry about losing more – about the other shoe that feels destined to drop – and it’s so easy to let fear rob you of peace.  So, though I don’t know how exactly, I’m committed to at least try.  That’s all God wants.  Just to try – to come to Him first with my concerns about family and future and faith….and to trust Him.  And so, I’m giving up fear for Lent.  For the remainder of these 40 days whenever I feel that familiar dread come creeping into my head and heart like an unwanted pest I’m going to grab it, hold it up to God and let it go.  Faith over fear.  Trust over anxiety.  Peace over chaos.  It was God’s idea….so I leave it to Him to supply what I’ll need.

Oh, friends….life can be so hard!  But God knows….He’s been there before us and is with us and goes beyond all the suffering that ever has been or will ever be.  He really does love us and wants to teach us a better way to navigate and overcome.  Will you join me?  Let’s let our faith be bigger than our fear!

Faithfully,

Shellie ❤

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear….”

I John 4:18

faith-over-fear

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Foggy Days

It was a foggy day.  Like, an official “school starts three hours late and no busses run because of zero visibility” kind of foggy day.  There were pile-ups on multiple highways and late arrivals all around as people tried to navigate the unexpected inconvenience – and hazard – of the dense morning fog.

I live in the central valley of California where the fog actually has a name.  It’s called Tule and it’s famous for laying low and thick over wet ground in the fall and spring months.  We haven’t seen much of Tule in recent years due to severe drought in this agricultural part of the state, and little rain means little moisture and sparse fog.

But we’ve been blessed with a wet winter (finally!) and that means we’ve also been visited by the dangerous valley menace, Tule fog.

So as I was driving across town on my way to work I was glad to be very familiar with the roads, crossings, stops and traffic lights on my route.  I could anticipate their proximity and not get turned around, which is really easy to do when you can’t see a darned thing!  I was raised in this fog and learned to drive in it at an early age.  It’s simple, really.  Drive slowly with at least one window down to listen for traffic and use your headlights.  If you come up to a car in front of you, don’t run into it.  And leave yourself enough room that if you get rear-ended you don’t hit that car in front of you that you’ve so diligently been avoiding!

So as I was carefully making my way to work (slowly, window down, headlights on, not hitting anything) I knew there was a traffic light coming up ahead, though I couldn’t see it anywhere.  I slowed even more, afraid I’d come up to a red light too soon to be able to stop, and there it was.  Through the thick milky fog a single form started to take shape straight ahead.  All else was hidden but one lone red left turn arrow in the lane I was in.  I slowed to a stop and it hit me in the way that so many ordinary, seemingly random sights and experiences seem to do in this crazy brain of mine; I know this place.

OK, not the lane or the intersection, though I cross it every day, but I’ve been here….in the fog and haze and mist of confusion and uncertainty, just watching and waiting for signs and signals to point me in the right direction, the next turn and the clear path to safety.  As I sat there staring at the tiny red arrow, waiting for it to turn green so I could be on my way, I could see literally nothing else.  No cars, no houses, no road signs or lane markers…..just the single red light up ahead that had my full and undivided attention.  I was focused.  I was alert.  I was confident that that red arrow would eventually turn to green and it would be my signal to go.

Wouldn’t it just be convenient if God would give us arrows above the mist and haze of confusion and sadness and fear to let us know when to stop, and when to begin again?  (I’ll add this to the long list of God questions….)  I know this is a ridiculously simplistic metaphor, even for me!  But that morning, as I sat there waiting for the light to change, I had absolute faith in that light.  Other cars could have still ignored their lights and run through the intersection, and don’t think that didn’t cross my mind as I finally got to slowly turn left through that very big, very wide intersection.  But I couldn’t have done anything about other cars….I could only control my car.  And follow my one little light.  In the fog.  In faith.

I don’t know if this will speak to anyone else but me, but I found comfort in my left turn light that morning.  Tule fog is dangerous.  Zero visibility is no joke, and it’s important to navigate carefully, to be sure.  And there are so many other dangers that are out of our control, aren’t there?  Failing health….broken relationships….political unrest….loss of loved ones….so, so many things that  seem to assault us and leave us in the murky fog of hurt, loneliness and disappointment.  It was good to be reminded again that God doesn’t expect us to blindly navigate through these tough places.  And even if the way ahead seems to us to be small and seen only through the fog of our need, we can still trust God to always point us to the next step…and the next….until we’re in the clear.

One of the amazing things about Tule fog is that it takes a warm upper layer of air to create that thick blanket below.  That means, just above all the haze and danger is a beautifully warm, sunlit day just waiting to be discovered.  Foggy days don’t last forever.  And neither do our heartaches when we trust them to the One how knows us best and loves us most!

Love and Hope,

Shellie ❤

Homeward Bound by Kristene DiMarco

I will run, I will run this race
And I will do it all for love
Your love compels me forward
Your love controls my heart
And I just can’t, I cannot get away

So I will fight, this good fight of faith
And I will do it all for love
You are my great reward
You’re so worth fighting for

And I cant wait to see your face

And I cant wait to see your face
And I cant wait to see your face

Hallelujah
Hallelujah

paths

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The Thing About New Years

 

Anyone who knows me well will vouch for the fact that I’m an obsessive “lister.”  I make to-do lists….shopping lists….wish lists….goal lists….basically, if it can be put on paper I’ll find a way to categorize, prioritize and organize it in such a way that it makes sense to me and might actually be achieved.  While this might be a handy personal quality to have in certain areas of life, it can also be a huge pain when things don’t fall neatly into place in an ordered and predictable way.  Which is like….most of the time!

I’ve always liked the turning of a new year.  It fits my listing ways perfectly.  =)  Old, unfinished plans are either scrapped or reordered into new plans to fit the new year, which can then be re-categorized, re-prioritized and….well, you get the idea.  January 1st is the day that we get a chance for a do-over as we head into a brand new, shiny full-of-promise beginning, and it just feels….hopeful.  We all have things that we would like to see differently, relationships we would like to see strengthened or goals that we’ve never quite made time for in the craziness of just living all of these glorious 365 days we’re given in a year.

But what if you come to a point where you don’t want to look ahead?  What if there comes a time when all you seem to want or yearn for or dream of is behind you?  It’s possible, you know.  I wouldn’t have ever understood that had we not had these impossibly hard past few years.  But, can I be honest?  I’ve had a hard time looking ahead for a while now.  My heart hasn’t seemed to be able to let go of the Warren 4, and all that I seem to want is to go back, not ahead.  It’s not like I think it’s correct, or healthy or even possible, but the heart wants what the heart wants….so I’ve been sitting with that and waiting for the day when “ahead” seemed like a good thing once again.

Many things have been happening in this momma’s heart recently – things that don’t really fit handily on any list I’ve ever devised. Grief is messy.  It doesn’t cooperate or play well with other emotions at all.  It demands its way and pushes itself into every relationship, every task, every plan and every crevice of heart and mind that can possibly be found.    As hard as I’ve tried – and oh, how I’ve tried! – to conquer this beast, I’ve learned that it just takes too much….too much energy, too much time, too much joy, too much precious life.

So I’ve decided to stop trying.  Crazy, right?  And not only am I going to stop trying to rid myself of grief, but I’m going to take its hand and make it my friend.  I think there are things it needs to teach me; things that I won’t ever learn if I keep trying my darndest to outrun it.

 Grief and I have shed lots and lots of tears together, but lately – since we’re getting to know one another better – something kind of amazing is happening.  My heart is actually opening some.  I feel it oh so slightly, but it’s definitely real, and the place it’s opening up to the widest is with the One who knows me best and has always loved me most….

This song by Audrey Assad sums it up beautifully. God is good to me.

I couldn’t say that without tripping all over the feelings of it for what feels like a very long time.  But this is perhaps grief’s newest, best gift to me; no matter what has happened or what will happen, no matter what I gain or lose…….God is still good to me.  Grief and I have stood side by side in the presence of the One who makes all things new and declared our desire to keep looking back instead of look ahead, and God stood there with us.  No judgement.  No disappointment.  No impatience.  Only love.  Deep, deep love.

The road is still so very long.  And I’m not saying I won’t ever stop longing for what was.  What mother would?  But it’s time to pack up my heart, my hopes and even my grief and bring them all into the new year.  I don’t know what it will bring – do any of us, really?  But I know I am abundantly more prepared for what may come with the once again rock solid knowledge that God is still good to me.

And God is still good to you.  I don’t know why I was so prompted to write of these things after such a long absence from this blog, but if you are reading with a wounded, heavy heart perhaps it was just for you.  You don’t have to have it all figured out, friend.  God isn’t as much about where we get to as how we get there and what we experience along the way.  And you don’t have to travel alone.  This is perhaps a lesson I was able to teach grief.  It tries to tell us we are alone, but that’s just not true.  We just have to find that truth in our own time and our own way.

And especially to my community of grieving friends who aren’t ready to see these words.  I hurt along with you.  I grieve and mourn and remember right alongside you, and probably always will.  And it’s Ok.  I love you so, so much.  It comes when it comes and until it does, you are held tight and loved right where you are.  Always.

Much love,

Shellie ❤

“Good To Me”

Audrey Assad

I put all my hope in the truth of Your promise
And I steady my heart on the ground of Your goodness
When I’m bowed down with sorrow I will lift up Your name
And the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy

Because You are good to me, good to me

I lift up my eyes to the hills where my help is found
Your voice fills the night – raise my head up to hear the sound
Though fires burn all around me I will praise You, my God
And the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy

Because You are good to me, good to me

Your goodness and mercy shall follow me
All my life
I will trust in Your promise

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