Tuesday, December 18, 2018

They say true joy can never be broken;
Why does mine lay in rubble at the bottom of my heart?
Or are these shards just memories of life cut short 
Or simply the pieces of my own shattered heart?

They say true joy can never be broken, 
But has their joy ever been tested by the spoils of life?
Have they covered their beloved for the very last time, Held their fractured children
Or no child at all?
Has experience yet come to be their teacher?

Perhaps, true joy can never really be broken,
But on days like this, it’s hard to hold 

All those pieces at the bottom of my heart. 

Written for a friend and his beloved on their first anniversary apart...

Friday, December 14, 2018

Five years later

This December has been different; my grief is softening.  Five years have passed since ugly cancer changed everything. The chaos of the last 15 months is settling and I love being back in my own home that’s decorated with two trees and a lot of red! Last night,  I walked into a party and for the first time didn’t feel awkward; I was comfortable being plain old solo me, surrounded by a lot of friends.  And boy did I have fun!
But let me be honest, every December is rough. There’s the day Rob died, the day he was buried, his birthday and then Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Every December day, I have to choose to get up and get through it.  For five years I’ve asked God to use me and for most of that time I’ve waited. Much of that time I’ve wondered if I make most folks uncomfortable; am I a big, glaring reminder of their biggest fear?  Where in the world do I belong?  Will I ever feel normal? But He’s beginning to reveal His plan for my next chapter; I’m being used.
Recently I’ve embraced a new joy, the acceptance that my Rob is more alive than ever before. I had head knowledge of this truth, but it wasn’t buried in my heart until now.  It’s bringing great peace.  I’ve also accepted aloneness as a beautiful gift; I’ve drawn closer to my Heavenly Father than ever before.
So to my dear friends who are numb, hurting, lonely this December, I so get it! I’ve lived it! May I encourage you to watch the joy that spills from me this season for it’s a reminder that yours will come... And when it does, the music will be sweeter, the friendships warmer and the Light much brighter.  Keep taking baby steps. Let those a bit further down the road into your pain. Know that you’re stronger than you think; God is carrying you.  Joy is coming!

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Our old piano bench sits waiting for the Christmas tree to takes its place. It soon will be off to the upholsterer for a new plump cushion in an updated color. 
On this dreary Halloween, though, I linger a while at it, running my hand over the worn spots where we sat for hours. Sometimes, just Rob, practicing Chopin or enjoying contemporary favorites, other times with a child in his lap and another by his side, banging out Beauty and the Beast along with some great impersonations of Gaston!
This morning I had the strangest longing to slip in next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and listen to him play “O (Fly On).”  Rob would have channeled his best Chris Martin and I would have tried to join in harmony. 
Rob did not make it long enough to hear Coldplay’s haunted “Ghost Stories,” but I know he would have immediately sat down to play this song after hearing it for the very first time...by ear, of course...
And I would have fallen in love with him all over again!
Yes, Rob, maybe one day I’ll fly next to you. 
Fly on. 

Saturday, October 27, 2018

A flurry of furniture deliveries monopolized this week. With each new arrival, the house begins to look more like a comfortable home. My etagere for the den, the final big purchase, arrived yesterday afternoon. I am ecstatic! It's a really cool piece made of rosewood and rebar in Indonesia. The perfect home for my pottery collection.
I really love how the house is shaping up, a totally new look and feel to it.  Of course, I still need art on the walls, rugs on the floors and drapes covering the windows, but it's feeling like home...my home.
Even with all of the excitement, I've battled some guilt. Rob was never able to experience the remodel that we planned. He just worked, putting money away for the new purchases. Even that effort was barely realized as insurance has funded most of it. 
But this I know, Rob has no desire to return to his former home, to be here on Earth...in this house...with me. Scripture makes me believe he longs for his family to join him, but he has no desire for his old life. Sometimes, that stings, but then I rest on where he dwells: Paradise.  No, I do not believe he floats on clouds or plays a harp (maybe a mean piano.) Heaven is a real place with real things to do, an exciting home that defies our wildest imagination. Who in his right mind would exchange paradise for man-made digs? 
This truth triumphs over my temporary guilt and puts all this accumulation of stuff in proper perspective.   
For me, home is where Jesus and his joy resides. Remember, it was not long ago that I found joy and thanksgiving living in the Tuckers' spare bedroom and then, above a kind neighbor's garage.  It's not where, it's with whom! So, I'm reminded not to get too cozy here either; there's a better place waiting for me.

For this world is not our permanent home; we are looking forward to a home yet to come.           Hebrews 13:14 NLT

 Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it.  1 Peter 2:11 MSG

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Relapse

CS Lewis
Out of the wound we pluck
The shrapnel. Thorns we squeeze
Out of the hand. Even poison forth we suck,
And after pain have ease.
But images that grow
Within the soul have life
Like cancer and, often cut, live on below
The deepest of the knife,

Waiting their time to shoot
At some defenceless hour
Their poison, unimpaired, at the heart’s root,
And, like a golden shower,
Unanswerably sweet,
Bright with returning guilt,
Fatally in a moment’s time defeat
Our brazen towers long-built;
And all our former pain
And all our surgeon’s care
Is lost, and all the unbearable (in vain
Borne once) is still to bear.

Because of Harvey...many of us are still plucking out shrapnel.  The sting of reliving the waters rise, the escape, the barricade of debris, and the unforgettable stench of sewage-filled water on this first anniversary of the storm remains.


Wounds are ripped wide open with one look at our bank accounts and the moments we remember, "Oh, I don't have that anymore."
Trauma 
Remembers
Flashbacks
A cry of something that needs to come out and does
so in the only way it knows how.
Triggers
Anything can nudge an emotion and bring it to the surface.
Numbness
Pushing the monster far down until it eventually raises its ugly head

But Harvey doesn't have the last word...We do! Today we remember but eventually we too will rise from the devastation. 
It will take time and guts, but through conversation, writing, bringing it before our God in an honest way, we can find a greater appreciation for life, new purpose, values and strength and a deeper faith.* We don't have to remain a flood victim.

Because of Harvey...We are survivors and we remember that the LORD, our God brought us out of there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm. Deut. 5:15


*Thanks  to H. Norman Wright, an amazing grief and trauma counselor and author, for his sensitivity on trauma. His thoughts are stuck in my mind, so I'm sure much of this would be found in his extensive writings. I must give him credit.








Monday, August 13, 2018

My six prayer journals have grown to eight! I have two "adopted" grand boys that discovered my new colorful books and I asked if they would like me to fill ones with prayers for them. Big smiles and nods...
In my last post, I mentioned a pastor friend referring to loneliness as a gift. One week before Rob's cancer diagnosis, we attended our church's annual youth camp as sponsors. We always looked forward to Scot Pollok's messages. I don't think the video of that Wednesday night's sermon made it online, but it's embedded in my memory.  On that hot summer night, I clearly knew Scot's [God's] powerful message was directed at me. That's only happened a few times in my life and it would be affirmed in the hard days ahead. 
As I was unpacking storm boxes yesterday, a folded note with one of the quotes from that sermon, slipped out of a rescued book. No accident, I believe!
Loneliness is a gift because it gives you a chance to become very intimate with God.
When is the last time I embraced loneliness as an invitation for intimacy with my LORD?   Instead of struggling with my present loneliness, I wish to  cherish this uninterrupted time with Him. 
Lingering with God always spills over to others; like a seed germinating in the dark soil, intimacy with the Master eventually produces. 
My prayer: God grow something useful from the hours alone with You. May I become crazy jealous for our time together...

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

Loneliness...it is an insidious creature.
I'm not sure which has been the most debilitating, anxiety or loneliness. Moving back into the house has increased both; the battle continues.
A preacher friend once said, "Loneliness is a gift." 
I'm determined to discover the Gift Giver no matter how painful the journey.
Like many of my hard seasons, I'm risking exposure in this search; many walk the same path and together we might find goodness and treasure.
What if we trade loneliness for aloneness with the One and Only? 
I've been asking for a word of guidance, wisdom.
Not an antidote for loneliness, but a hope that my pastor friend is right...
Several days in, I already see opportunity in the lonely hours...PRAYER.
My pastor is preaching his heart out about intimacy with God through prayer. I'm joining him in this discipline.
I've started with six prayer journals, one for each grandchild. In those quiet hours, I'm devoting myself to praying for each one of my precious charges, building a spiritual trust fund for this future generation.
I'm confident the gifts will continue.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018





We gave a lot of bells to our grandmother, Daisy Bell Hand; her cabinets were full of them.. We'd buy them on our vacations or purchase her birthday gift from a gift shop at the local Metcalf South Mall. She treasured them, but darn if she wouldn't write our names on each one of them, even the expensive ones. Today, as I was sifting through another Harvey box, I ran across this old plaque. You guessed it...I found a Sharpie and scrawled "Mabel Gullickson," Rob's maternal grandmother, on the back of this beauty. 
I get it now; we want them to remember.

Remember the days of old; consider the years of many generations; ask your father,and he will show you, your elders, and they will tell you. 
Deuteronomy 32:7 ESV


Monday, July 16, 2018

I've really missed Rob lately. I'm not sure if it is the anticipation of moving back into the house alone, the recent loss of friends, the fifth anniversary of our cancer journey, or just a big jumble of all of the above. Again, I find myself anxious about life without him.
Author Lori Reynolds Streller jolted my inbox this morning with this one statement:
We've lost enough. Let's not choose to give more to death than it has already taken.
Anticipating the pain of the missing. It can be downright crippling...if we allow it.  
I'm sure I've written about my encounter with a seasoned widow minutes before we left MD Anderson for the last time. She was a soft spoken artist. She asked to draw Rob. In a rush to get him home again, I declined the kind offer, a decision I shall always regret. But as the nurse prepared Rob for his ambulance ride, this wise sojourner drew a picture on my heart. She assured me that I would never lose Rob. I would take him everywhere I went, not hand in hand anymore, but perched upon my heart.
She was right...and in a few days, I'll carry him along with the last boxes into a new chapter, a reset, an opportunity. Our memories will quietly grace the walls while new memories are made. May our home  be filled with joy and laughter, family and friends.
Death, I won't let you steal one more piece of my heart.

Sunday, July 1, 2018

My dear friend, Becky, has collected for me the Houston Chronicle series about Hurricane Harvey heroes over the past weeks. Ironically, I'd not read many of the personal stories from those tragic hours of rising waters and dramatic rescues; I was living my own story, too overwhelmed and busy to open a newspaper or watch nightly news. 
The articles have deeply moved me, reminding me how important it is to tell our stories of pain, courage and joy.
The anniversary of Harvey collides with the fifth anniversary of Rob's cancer journey; it surprises me how this timing effects me. I'm slowly moving back home and as I unpack Rob's stuff, I grieve even more. I've been forced to clean out his upstairs closet of ignored belongings. You know, it's often easier to just shut the door, but eventually we must sort and let go.
One newspaper article details the rushing, chest-high water the night of many rescues. I must admit, I was a bit traumatized reading it, as I remembered my own encounter with the escaping reservoir.  However, nothing compares with the pain of living through this without my Rob and children. Like so many treasures lost in the flood, I can't retrieve precious moments or holidays forever lost with my grandchildren.  I've felt powerless, not being able to support my loved ones in their own personal hardships as well as achievements.  And the hardest hurdle remains: crossing, for the final time, the threshold of my finished home without the man who helped make it a home. 
As I share my personal thoughts, I'm reminded there are so many neighbors still waiting to even begin the process of rebuilding their homes and lives. Their personal storm stories continue and they need heroes who will continue to rescue them from the aftermath of Harvey. They will not have a hurricane-free day until the last box is unpacked. Consider unpacking some encouragement, delivering cookies, offering to carry off the empty boxes. My biggest cheerleader, Laura, handed me a Starbucks card during our VBS. Between house details and dozens of kids, I had no time to take care of myself. Her kind gesture fueled my frantic mornings. Dozens of tasks remain or have been ignored... energy sappers! A boat might not be needed now, but trucks, muscles and anything that beats this brutal heat are lifesavers. Most of us will not ask; you'll need to just show up!
Until the last home is finished...

Friday, June 29, 2018

Chloe Elizabeth
June 28, 2018
7:57 am
7 lbs. 9 oz.   20.5 inches
You will bring great joy to our lives!

Wednesday, June 27, 2018


A dear friend reminded me why I continue to share my five year journey of grief. 
“Thank you for the grace-filled loving "permission" that you give to grieve... it is truly one of the greatest gifts I have ever received “
Grief does not end at the one year anniversary; it ebbs and flows. There are weeks when one believes they have triumphed and then a tsunami knocks them off their feet again.
The good news: we can always begin again.

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Pastor Duane has been encouraging us to enter Sabbath rest, a time to tune out all the noise and focus on the LORD.  He reminds us that it looks different for each one of us, but it needs to be intentional.
Saturdays seem to work best for me and I'm trying to make Wednesday mornings a midweek break from the chaos as well. All said, it's a lot easier for someone who has raised her kids and retired from the workforce. Even so, I have to make it happen.
I have a beautiful handmade prayer journal, a gift from my dear sister-in-law; it's filled with prayer prompts: quotes from pastors and writers, prayers I've copied, some I've scratched myself.  The pockets are filled with Bible verses I'm memorizing and a running log of prayer requests.
It's such a treasure that helps me focus.
John Piper's thoughts direct my Sabbath rest. 

Consider Jesus. Know Jesus.
Learn what kind of Person it is that you say you trust and love and worship.
Soak in the shadow of Jesus.
Saturate your soul with the ways of Jesus.
Watch Him.  Listen to Him. Stand in awe of Him.
Let Him overwhelm you with the way He is.
                                                                              John Piper

What does your intentional time with God look like?
Let's encourage one another.

Friday, May 18, 2018


This photo at our favorite beach popped up on my feed the other day. It was jolting. It marks the last normal month before beginning goodbyes and finding my way without Rob.
What makes the five-year mark so unsettling? Perhaps, because we often count life in intervals of five...and milestones.
Are there milestones in grief?
Yesterday, I had to figure out my home energy plan. I struggled and desperately wanted to defer to Rob.  I'm not sure I made the best financial decision, but I decided to go with a 3-year fixed plan. 
Where will I be in three years? 
Eight years of singular stinks of permanence. Fixed...alone?
I attended my first gala post Rob last night. I entered alone, sat among strangers; it was really hard. I don't feel any stronger for doing so. 
Are there some things better put to rest?
Could I possibly be ready for some real change?





Monday, May 14, 2018

I'm a reluctant risk-taker and so when strong comments left a wound, I just wanted to crawl back into my worn journal...a safe place. But, my friend, Debbie, asked me to continue to share thoughts in this blog. I really do believe this wise woman has a direct line to God, so I'm trying to remount the saddle and give the soul bullies a run for their money.
I can't think of a better day than the Monday after Mother's Day to post this letter about my second mother.


Dear Joyce, 
You walked into my life when I was seventeen. It was not long before I felt adopted by you.
My other mother and dear friend!
You gave me your blessing when you casually mentioned that Robbie's last girlfriend was not so high-type like me.  I so wanted to fulfill your expectations; I'm still trying.
It must have been hard for you to see your first born spend so much time away from your family as our teenage relationship grew, but you were gracious to share your child with me. 
You walked by my side, supporting me when life at home was not always the best and you taught me so much about trusting Jesus with my life. 
You raised a beautiful son with great love and sacrifice; you gifted me with the best husband ever. 
You adored your grandchildren and they, too, adored you, their g-mom.
You taught me about courage as you battled your last earthly fight.
I miss you today, my precious mother-in-love. 
I'm not clear how all this heavenly stuff works, but I smile at the thought of your first born greeting you each day. 
I officially proclaim the day after, Mother-in-Love Day! You mothers entrusted us with your grown babies, thus blessing our lives beyond measure. You deserve much acclaim.
Mother Joyce, I celebrate you on your special day with much love and gratitude.
See you later...Robin

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Recently I’ve been posting a link to my entries on FB, but I’ve been uncomfortable with that. I never want someone to think I’m promoting myself. My writing has always been honest and sometimes very  raw. I love that God has used my story to speak to many of you around the world. For now I’m suspending my posts and asking God if He can still use my thoughts. Much love and prayers!

Friday, April 27, 2018

8 months later...

Don't push that publish button! Good thing I reconsidered, because my last uncensored post would have brought a mighty rescue team to my doorstep. 
My desperation over relentless Harvey decisions has caught up with me once again, but this time I can't dismiss it. I'm staring at depression and the soul bullies are madly at work; what has unleashed them?
Two giants: comparison and loneliness.
My builders are amazing! Their craftsmanship is impeccable, they build great things. But they are also sensitive to a woman trying to restore on a fixed income. They've saved my countertops, mended tile, found fixtures that haven't robbed my bank account. They've worked miracles and I will move into a beautiful, updated home that's perfect for the neighborhood and most importantly, me. So why do I find myself comparing my rebuild to the ones I see on social media? The gorgeous chandeliers, staircases, high end appliances... It's simple; I've invited in the comparison monster. You might say that's just human nature, I say it's a debilitating danger.  I almost lost sight of the original goal: restoration. (and yet, sometimes something extraordinary and new and better springs forth in putting the broken back together.)
 Thankfully, I have a great plan of action to fight this nasty bully: gratitude, name each provision one by one. It always licks the enemies.
However, I'm clueless how to fight goliath loneliness.
The isolation of living in an efficiency for eight months has taken its toll. And if I might be terribly honest, I feel like I've also lost my family in the storm. But most painful, the silence of Rob's absence is deafening. If you've walked the loss of the one who completes you, you will understand that no activity or friend ever quenches the thirst for your lost partner. We attempt to fill the void, but it's temporary.  Of course, I understand that only God truly satisfies, but He also recognizes our need for human intimacy. The trauma of Harvey has increased my need for someone to help share the highs and lows of this uninvited chapter.  So have the endless decisions!
So those soul bullies keep chipping away. What's wrong with you? Why can't you hang on to the ones you most love? Why are you so weak and indecisive? Where's your faith?  As my father in law used to quip about thoughts, "Your bees are swarming." So they are, Dad, and sometimes they sting. 
I don't have my routine wrap up today.  No angle, no wit. I just know I must walk this journey of loneliness for which I have so little understanding. I hate to camp here long, but I'll stay and listen and learn so it can be used, just like the other hard things.


Tuesday, April 3, 2018

His Goodness

Rebuilding is not for the fainthearted. There's a flurry of activity at my house this week. Dust is flying along with buzzing of saws and popping of nail guns. An amazing pantry is almost finished and there are new baseboards taller than the waters that invaded my home seven months ago. We are at the point where I must choose a paint color.  Who knew gray could be so complicated?
Just as I think I can't make one more wonderful decision, another one comes my way today. It appears I might have room to make one or two more upgrades. (Shh...can't give away the surprises all at once.)
Driving home this evening, my head still spinning, I had this consuming thought: But God, I don't deserve all this goodness. I just don't deserve all this beauty.  
My dear friend, Jan, had just given me an hour long pep talk and I was still drowning in guilt.
 I just don't deserve all this goodness!
And wouldn't you know it, I heard it, that audible God-whisper that shouts deep! 

No, you don't deserve it.
You don't deserve anything!
I just want to gift you. I love you and want this for you. Please accept my gift. Please let Me love you. Just be grateful, my child.   Yes, it's Me...God

If you know me well, you know extravagance is not my style. I'm frugal; I live simply. Past remodels, even the necessary ones, were difficult for me, because...well, I just don't think I deserve them. They were usually  completed with a huge dose of the reluctance and some never began because someone else had better need of the funds.  This is foreign territory for me, folks.   Very foreign!
But these days, when God speaks, I listen well.
So tomorrow, I will walk in the house and give God the praise He deserves for his lavish gift. I'm going to let Him smother me with all his goodness.
All this blessing: a construction team that is clearly His hands and feet, friends that love me through all my quirkiness and indecision, manna from unexpected sources, a newly resurrected rose bush that reminds me of my Rob who shared this space with me. He would have been very grateful of all this goodness.
He led me to a place of safety;
    he rescued me because he delights in me.
Psalm 18:19


Thursday, March 29, 2018

Thin Places


I love the smell of freshly cut wood, I love the smell of progress! Demo is complete, doors are hung, and cabinet framing has begun. The kitchen plans are clean and simple, much like the desire for my new chapter.
I stepped into one of those thin places yesterday.
Standing alone in a bare, dusty shell of my former den, I found it hard to distinguish heaven from earth for a few beautiful moments. God was so present and I was so grateful. I wasn't concerned with keeping up with the neighbors, I was simply basking in the goodness of a caring Father.  Grateful that He carries me...goes before me...protects me in the details. Free from the demon of comparison...just a delighted child showered with exactly what she needs.
For the past few weeks I've found myself grieving the rustic Hill Country home that we'll never own during our retirement years.  Yesterday, I realized this restored home is his better plan. 
Complete joy and peace in the places we meet and trust God.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

What Now

"Getting enmeshed in a resisting “no” and in the unanswerable “why me?” is a recipe for self-inflicted suffering." David Malham-ALS patient/former grief therapist.

 "No" will return, making infrequent visits, but I must not feed them. 
Focus on the What Now.
I've never questioned the blessings. Why should I question the trials?
There is an appointed time for everything. 
It's time to heal.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Reset

I'll be returning home in a few weeks. Nothing will be the same. It won't be filled with my plans, my things, my people.
How does a 60-something on her own begin again after a devastating blow?
I planned to be a full-time, hands-on grandma with a full-time grandpa by my side in a house filled with Lego's and tea parties. I've been filling that bucket for a long time, but the reality keeps draining my dream.
Others look at their bright side of my reconstruction; please look at it through my life!
I can't find any gleaming redemption today.

There are only two alternatives: give up or reset.

Most of you know I'm brave enough to speak real and raw . There's always someone hanging by a thread who needs their ugly validated...who needs a fellow valley traveler.
One reader finds a local furniture shop specializing in one of a kind global pieces; she's ambushed once again, grieving the collection she amassed while working abroad.  She wanders the store, tears flowing, wanting more than her memories, wanting her own treasures to welcome her home.

I want my living, breathing treasures.




Then God whispers...or does He shout?  
A man without a home stops this "pitty partier" right dead in her tracks with one simple exclamation. 
Life is a gift...everyday, life is a gift!
And I realize I can't reset until I swallow whole this truth.
I've stopped counting the gifts...yet, there are so many to name.
I have a pulse; somewhere there's a new purpose.
I inhaled and exhaled first thing this morning; God will breathe life into my new home. 
My wise friend only dreams of four walls and a roof over his head, I've been gifted with a real live house!

Reset...
Get up! Give thanks! Leave the rest to God.


I tell you, get up, pick up your mat, and go home.
Mark 2:11



Saturday, March 17, 2018

Twin Fruit

So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them. Exodus 2:25 NIV
The LORD said, "I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. Exodus 3:7 NIV
So the people believed; and when they heard that the LORD was concerned about the sons of Israel and that He had seen their affliction, then they bowed low and worshiped. 4:31 NASB

Planning for an upcoming retreat, I ran across the word concern throughout the story of Moses.  The verb (paqad-cared enough to visit) intrigued me. After a rather lengthy search on the topic, leading me to the fruit of the Spirit, I am learning kindness and goodness can't be easily separated. 
You just can't have kindness (chrestotes -tender concern) without goodness (agathousune-uprightness of heart and life.)
Kindness is a tender(concerned) heart that naturally leads to goodness: kindness in action. 
Pretty heavy stuff when you think about it. If we are following the heart of God, we can't have passive concern. We act upon it. 
It's a lot more than manners; it's a matter of the heart.
Throughout Scripture, God repeats his deep concern for the heart of man: the spirit, the attitude, the motivation behind our actions. David writes that 'God searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts.' (1 Chronicles 28:9)
So what is the state of my heart as I prepare for Easter?
What heart condition has God found in me that needs repair and remorse? Does He find delight in a heart in sync with His?  During this Lenten season, what kind of heart would you ask Him to create in you? A tender or pure heart...a giving or even, forgiving one?
Did you catch create in you in the last paragraph?  This whole twin fruit kind of living is a supernatural thing; we cannot attain it on our own. Paul testifies, "but it is Christ who lives in me." Galatians 2:20  As with all of the fruits of the Spirit, we must be filled so we can be emptied. The character of Christ flowing from us...Did you know generosity is a huge outpouring of these two fruits? Without Christ living in us, how quickly do our open hands fold into tightly clinched fists? Without a constant filling of the Spirit, our heart grows stingy.
Will you join me in asking the Lord to fill us with tender concern for others as we approach Passover and Holy Easter Week?
Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life...Psalm 23:6 KJV





Friday, February 23, 2018

Six months

Six months...and this is the progress on my home. At least there is some; many still can't find a contractor.
Many can't afford a professional builder.  The wait takes its toll.
We are so tired! I, personally, have slipped into an undeniable brain fog. I can't string two thoughts together, not to mention pick between Sherwin Williams' Crushed Ice and Simple White for future walls
What I most fear is that I'm too exhausted and broken to care for my family and friends even though I dearly want to be present in their lives. 
I think I speak for a good lot of Harvey victims survivors. The heavy malaise of six long months spreads through our neighborhoods and the recent rains have dampened spirits as well as debris- lined streets.  Even those back in their homes stare at floor to ceiling boxes just waiting to be unpacked. And then they realize on important days, like "dress like a cowboy" day that boots and hats never made it into cardboard homes. The still to do lists, purchases, tax considerations loom heavy. Harvey never ends!
In the midst of mass murder and devastating diagnoses, Harvey seems a bit insignificant, doesn't it? We really are thankful for the support of friends and strangers over the months. We really are...
But the realization of six months smarts a bit.
We're still a needy bunch; hugs and encouragement welcomed.

Thursday, February 15, 2018

Lament

Yesterday...we all were looking for love, some in red envelopes, others in the ash.
I was busy spreading joy in my own corner of the world because living without my valentine is unbearable unless I choose to reach beyond the pain and love others.
While weaving valentine deliveries amidst the mundane, I was unaware that students and educators huddled in closets, texting their families frantic heart cries. Some their last.
Like many, I ended the day in sorrow. Once again, a senseless shooting shattered our peace.
This morning, questions lay unanswered.
Why God? Why does this have to happen over and over, especially to our children?
I want to huddle myself, hide from another tragedy.
How many can one personalize?
The usual indictments and solutions cover the airwaves this morning, yet, again, they fall short.
Where do I run when I can't find the answers?
Where do I run when the talking heads leave me weary?

I lift my eyes up to the hills, to my Maker.  Not for answers or solutions, but for help. Help to continue to feel the pain of others, help to continue to spread joy amidst the ashes. 
Chris Martin echoes: Still I always look up to the sky; pray before the dawn. 
I sit in the ashes of sorrow and look up!  To the only One who can heal the brokenness, who can keep us from evil. 
I enter this Lenten season looking up, praying before the dawn and into the night—laying bare my life to the One who keeps it. I pour out my sorrow for being part of the broken. Today, I don't seek answers; I seek the Answer.