Poodles, and Other Ramblings

"Do not let your hearts be troubled.

Trust in God, trust also in me." {Jesus}

John 14:1

In an attempt to speed this time of anniversaries and birthdays, I have scheduled and relished in the chaos of busyness: 200 chicks, 6 puppies, new goat kids and more does to deliver, a couple of days at work, plus a soap class to teach, along with the norm of home school and farming. An unexpected head cold that swept throughout the house was not part of my idea, though, and has confused my well laid out plans, along with those six poodle-pie-pups who were supposed to sleep through the night so I could, too. Goat babies weren't supposed to die to unknown reasons, either, and I have decided that mother's should not have to choose how they want to celebrate their son being in heaven for one whole year.

I have hardly taken a single picture all week. Or wrote anything. Except attempting to figure out the checkbook to squeeze in paying for a set of new van tires and 500 pounds of feed this month. My attempts at cooking have mostly failed. The chicken noodle soup and raisin cinnamon bread were a flop, but the M&M cookies luckily turned out and were still almost-warm when the pancake-eating cousins stopped by to help us eat them all.

It has finally dawned on me that I'm running. I don't know how to feel, I don't know how to answer the questions, I don't want pity, I just want to draw nearer to God and I am scared to do that because it means more tears and more truth. But He continues to draw me near; there is no where to hide that He is not. He sends the arms to wrap around me, His conviction comes gently, that truth that I want to deny penetrates deeply. I stop in the busyness, and find Him in the pain. And He's there, just like He's in the joy, constantly pointing me to the cross and the glory beyond it. I fear being this near to the Creator of the Universe. Like Peter, I know who I am; I don't know why He would choose me. I feel so incapable of what He's called me to. Just let it all point back to Him.

I heard a song the other day, I don't even know what it was, but there was a line saying that God's grace was enough if we would let it be. Lately I haven't let it be. I waver back and forth, fighting hard to let it be, then pushing it away. Sometimes the pain, and the qualifying martyrdom rights, and simply wanting to be justified in my sorrow feels better than accepting the reality and letting God be enough when my son is gone. Everything screams at me that I am supposed to be the wailing, weeping, hard mother who hates what God has done. More lies, more deceit, the only accepted way to grieve, my flesh resorting back to only what it knows. But my soul fights because I know this God who says otherwise; this God who says He's telling the truth. The trials are only for a little while, the glory to come is unimaginable.

An elderly lady from our church passed away over the weekend. She was a faithful church goer who always had a smile on her face, and a hug and kind words to share. Her family is stunned at the unexpectedness and quickness to which death comes to us all. It was reported by a son that she had a premonition of her death. This matriarch is no longer here; her days are done on this earth. I wonder about her first glimpse of God. I wonder if she was ready. I wonder if the Sunday smiles were really salvation shining through. I wonder if she thought her 70-some-years went too fast. I wonder what she would have done differently after seeing that there really is a God.

This past week marks anniversaries that are measured in way's other than death, too. I am also celebrating life; real life. A year ago I asked a certain man, "Where would you be if it had been you?" I was overwhelmed when he walked into my kitchen this year on February 18th, again because of Trent and to join us in our sorrow, and I asked him the same question. The difference was that this year we both knew where He would be: Heaven. God chose to use Trent's death to grant salvation, to open eyes, to change eternities. How do you fathom a God like this? A God who gives and takes away.

John 16:20; 1 Peter 1:6; Luke 5:1-11