Our Next Chapter

It’s a beautiful Tuesday morning.  The sun is shining and I’m sitting in a cozy chair in my bedroom, you know the one, the chair that had dreams of being used for relaxing and reading, maybe doing some work, but in reality is always covered in laundry… either fresh from the washer or preserving the previously worn clothes, that could be worn again.  But today it’s cleaned off, for the first time in a long time, and ever since I cleared it last Friday, I’ve been planning to sit in it to write this blog post.

It’s a simple thing, I’m finding joy in the peace of my bedroom, while in the bedroom next door my oldest is working.  She doesn’t live at home anymore, but has come home for this time, for companionship, safety, and probably, most of all food.   My college student is attending online classes now that Spring Break is officially over, and my younger two are in their respective corners working on their schoolwork for the week.  My husband is grilling up some meat in between work meetings in the living room and on the deck.  This is our new normal.

In just a few short weeks, our world has gotten smaller, we run considerably less errands, all those meetings and places and things that we are always running to have been kept at a distance.  If this were a vacation it would feel relaxing to get away from it all, however, nothing about this feels relaxing.  And it’s more than the things we don’t get to do, but it’s also the people we don’t get to see, the people we know who are suffering. People who have lost jobs, who are fighting to keep their businesses alive, are fighting for their health, fighting depression and isolation.  People confined to their homes in unhealthy relationships, stuck at home with nothing to do but worry about the future, ministries struggling to keep supplies on their shelves and so much more.

We are writing the next chapter of our stories, individually and as a community.  How my brain receives this information and processes it, very much depends on the voices I allow to be the loudest.  My memory of this time will, in large part, reflect what I choose to pay attention too.  There is so much that could hold my attention, choosing the hope & joy and the life-giving is a conscious choice I have to make.

The stories are endless.

Writing an Epic Story

Our rural school district has gone to online school, while knowing that not all of our kids have access to internet and have lost their access to lunch & breakfast.  So, what are they doing about it?  They are sending out buses, every morning to central stops and offering free breakfast & lunch to any kids who show up.  Those buses are also offering wifi hot spots for those kids to download/upload their assignments for the week.

A local ministry is having trouble keeping the basic food supplies on their shelves, today a friend is dropping off two 50 lb bags of rice that we purchased to help.  Others are doing the same, it’s not a lot, I’m limited to one bag of rice per day just like everyone else, but together, we can keep them running.

A local upholstery company got a shipment of medical mask material.  What did they do?  They made it available for free to anyone willing to sew medical masks for their community. One person with a giant roll of mask material can help, together, we can take a huge step in supporting our community.

I’ve seen picture after picture of hearts in windows and sidewalk art to encourage our neighbors.  We are not alone.  We see each other, we see you.  One encouragement can save a life, together, we can save a whole nation.

Local Churches are rising to the challenge, offering online services, worship, youth meetings, prayer.  Individually they will provide hope to some, together, they can show the world the hope of Jesus.

Today I choose to sit in my chair and share the good stories.  I choose to be in the moment, not the future.  Today the sun is shining.  Today my chair is clean.  Today my kids are home with me.  Alone, I can focus on the good and share it with those I love, and we can write a better chapter, together, we can write a great one, and epic one.

“”None of us, including me, ever do great things. But we can all do small things, with great love, and together we can do something wonderful.”                                                      – Mother Teresa 

Our Rescue Story

In Need of Rescue

When I was 12, I moved.  It wasn’t my first move, as the daughter of a career Army family, moving was a regular thing, but this time was different.  Our previous assignment had been in a German community away from American Bases, and so, for the first time in my life, I had connected with people that didn’t move every few years.  Additionally, that assignment was 4 years long, I had never stayed anywhere that long before, and it was definitely home. My unwillingness to leave my home, partnered with the awkward age of starting Middle School in a new country did not make for a smooth transition.  Turns out the cultural differences between pre-teen Germany and California in the 80s were significant. For the first time in my life, I didn’t fit it.  I wasn’t up to date on the current trends, styles, make-up or even the right TV shows. That first year was hard, I was lonely, depressed and homesick, but had managed to form a small circle of friends.

Rescue is Coming

My new best friend invited me to youth group.  Her parents were making her go and as her friend, I felt obligated to go with her. Church in and of itself held no particular appeal. I was raised in a family that went to church on Christmas eve, primarily out of tradition.  God was the Jeanie in the bottle you prayed to when you wanted or needed something, usually an item or a fun activity. What I found there was my own rescue.

I met this group of people who loved each other, had great friendships, were real about life- they were family and I was hungry and desperate for that. I wanted to be a part of this so I attended youth group for several months, continuously turning down offers to come to church.  Finally, after months of attending only youth group, I agreed to go to church.  I couldn’t tell you what the message was but I do know that the Pastor asked us all to bow our heads and say a prayer- when it was done- he said if you prayed those words for the first time and meant them, that you were now saved and to connect with someone who could help you get to know Jesus and what salvation meant. That started and amazing life with Jesus- not always smooth, but my life will never be the same. The rescuers in my story, include that Pastor who ultimately made the alter call, but the path to that day, included teenagers who loved me, included me, invited me; volunteers who offered rides, repeatedly invited me to church, talked with me, and taught me; and parents who valued my attendance as much as their own kids’.

Called to Rescue

March is here, and with it comes the promise of Spring, of new beginnings, and very soon the Easter season will be upon us.  As we get ready to celebrate the greatest rescue of all, we would like to spend the next few weeks talking about everyday rescue.  We were rescued and now we are called to rescue. 

So, this month we will take a look at rescue, what exactly is it that Jesus is calling us to.  I would like to suggest that rescue may not be about fixing or saving, that’s what Jesus offers, but that our rescue of each other is found in offering moments of hope, of holding space for each other, for simply being present. 

Cayla’s Story – Dec 2017

Two days ago, my dad had a severe heart attack. They have had him sedated for two days. He has a machine breathing for him, another is pumping his heart for him, there is a machine for everything his body should be doing. I have spent a lot of time staring blankly at walls. I still have so many unanswered questions and prayers waited to be fulfilled.

But I have to tell you something about people. In the coldest winter I have ever felt, people will not let me shiver. They are astonishing.

When I arrived at the hospital Wednesday morning, someone I loved waited and walked in with me. When the nurse brought me to my mom, she was surrounded by people we loved. While we waited hours to hear what had happened, they all stayed and prayed. While they prepared my dad for the ICU, my siblings and I were whisked away for a few hours of distraction and joy. When I tried to run away, my friends gave me a place to rest. While my brother had to experience his 18th birthday without my dad to sing to him, the people who love us carried the tune, and brought cards and balloons and cupcakes. While my world is so many question marks and I don’t knows, people surround us and pray. And pray. And pray.

I owe my people more thanks than I could ever speak aloud. When my world feels like darkness, they come and light candles. There are hundreds of people that deserve endless thanks right now:

The people who have refused to leave my mom alone in the hospital: thank you.

The people who have texted, commented, or spoken their regards and prayers: thank you.

The people that bought my brother cupcakes and cards and sang to him in the midst of crisis: thank you.

The people that took my car keys from my hand and began fixing it without being asked: thank you.

The people that have taken in my siblings and I, with unconditional love, comfort, and kindness: thank you.

The people that have held me close and let me cry, made me laugh, and just held my hand while I stared blankly: thank you.

That’s all I have. That’s all I can give. I will thank you and thank you and thank you until my voice goes out, because you have overwhelmed me with love. And I will sing hallelujah until my vocal chords burn because God has given me all of you.