To Repent of an Inadequate View of God

Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!

    How unsearchable His judgments,

    and His paths beyond tracing out!

 “Who has known the mind of the Lord?

    Or who has been his counselor?”

 “Who has ever given to God,

    that God should repay them?”

 For from Him and through Him and for Him are all things.

    To Him be the glory forever! Amen.

Romans 11:33-36

Tomorrow marks three years that my son has been in Heaven. The mother in me goes insane at the thought of that reality. I have been fighting the approaching date, knowing that it will eventually arrive, but not knowing what to do with it. The impossibility of honoring the meaning of such an anniversary makes me want to ignore it. Three years in the presence of God. My mind doesn't even know how to comprehend that.


On this side of eternity, the earthly pain of the anniversary was ushered in early via a wrong number dialed on a teen-age boys cell phone last Friday. A friend pushed the wrong button and the call rang through to our house and was answered by Rob. When he kindly asked what was up, the young fellow responded that he was headed out to go skiing with the youth group. Instant flashbacks found a grown man bauling in the kitchen on Valentine's day.


Flashbacks have been a constant companion of mine, also, the past few weeks. Paralyzing memories that bring on panic attacks and mind numbing apathy. Desperate prayers, void of any further desire other than for God Himself to come to the rescue. Longing for the reminder that this suffering is for His glory.


This morning, the dawning of the eve of the anniversary, found me in a sorrier state than I thought I was already in. Thinking that I could stoically make my way through this, God soon revealed that He had other plans. Plans to put me on my knees physically and spiritually. Plans that included many tears and much repentance over the lowly place that I have put Him.


Without realizing it, I had dethroned the King and minimized His very being. Whining and pathetic, I have enjoyed wallowing in my own created pity party and refused to even look up.


Nevertheless, in His mercy to haul me out of that pit, God revealed a glimpse of Himself and what I saw was glorious.

In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord,

high and exalted, seated on a throne;

and the train of his robe filled the temple.  

Above him were seraphim, each with six wings:

With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet,

and with two they were flying. 

 And they were calling to one another:

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty;
    the whole earth is full of his glory.”

 At the sound of their voices the doorposts and thresholds shook

 and the temple was filled with smoke.   

Isaiah 6:1-4

I was graciously reminded that this was the God that Trent stands before right now. The God whose robes fill His temple. The God who sits seated upon His throne, ruling His universe perfectly. The God who gives me breath for this moment is the same God that chose the day of Trent's death, the ways to make Jesus' name known through it, and the same God that will sustain me until I see His face.


I was reminded all over again of my inadequate view of God.

For all you sweet well wishers who have prayed me through this trial and have wondered how I am faring this week, please take the time to watch this video by John Piper. This is how I'm doing. This is what I am hoping in:

John Piper: The God of Holiness and Hope

Cabin Fever

My children are witnessing to the dog.

Do we need any other evidence that cabin fever has set in with a vengeance? Creative excuses to get out of home school for the umpteenth cold day in a row runs rampant by this time of the winter season. Their great desire to assure that Lady goes to Heaven probably has little to do with the state of her canine soul and more to do with dealing with their fear of sending their good friend off to her new home. Besides Lady, there are her brood of barking offspring that are just about ready to find somebody else's house to chew everything in sight and demand potty breaks numerous times a day from their lucky new owners. Eight weeks of puppies and I am about dogged out.

The heralding ground hog saw his shadow over the weekend, assuring us that there would be several more weeks of this glorious winter wonderland. Honestly, I am glad. I have taken somewhat of a personal responsibility on myself for torturing all the rest of you in the northern region with such a ferocious season of cold and snowfall. You see, I have needed just such a winter and have prayed often to ask and thank God for it. The longer days have only added to the realization that the time is short to finish the work at hand.

In the midst of our big move I have been convicted to finish several huge projects before the weather turns nice, and the deep freeze has provided the opportunity to stay home and work on them.  Eight picture books are officially completed as of last night and just waiting for the finances to get them printed. Eighteen hundred and some collages later, with an average of at least ten pictures per page, (which doesn't even include all of the pictures taken in the last six years) and figuring that those pictures needed to be handled at least six times before their final format, means that in the last three months I have viewed and sorted some 110,000 pictures give or take. Hmmm.... anybody else convicted that we mothers just might take a few too many photos? But I wouldn't trade a one of them, nor do I regret the many hours behind the camera or the computer screen, other than the fact that my children are tired of not seeing my eyeballs and my back has become a tangled knot from being so hunched over as I peer into the little box of blinking lights.

The collages have been a therapy for me. A grueling, heart aching therapy. To relive Trent's life, and our life, before and after the accident has been emotionally exhausting. One that needed a long, cold winter to sort through.

My next project is to finish the two books that I have been plugging away on for too long now. OurCrazyFarm the Book is our story of life at the farm. Probably just for the family, it chronicles our move here and all the crazy adventures that were lived. When Hope Survives is a devotional book based on First Peter 1:3-9 that lays out God's glorious hope for the sufferer. After those accomplishments, I have great ideas that I feel God leading me towards to continue to write, write, write. Knowing that the time is short, I long to be faithful.

As far as the farm, we *think* it might be sold. A family who looked at it last summer has been trusting God to lead them to their desired farm, and this just might be it. Final details are working themselves out and we await a signed purchase agreement, but the tentative plans are to close by the end of March and move by June. I'm trying not to hold my breath while I anticipate that it could be this easy.

Everybody is starting to get nervous about the move. Living in limbo is so hard, and fear seems to be the first response to the unknown. That and witnessing to the dog. Upset children about getting the room that is minuscule inches smaller and has the window in the wrong direction are really screams to long to be in control. To give up every earthly thing that brings comfort is one of God's hardest and most gracious ways to pry our fingers off of this world. As I try to give the right answers, I am praying that it's the heart that will be changed rather than the living accommodations.

As for myself, I am almost refusing to let my brain race ahead. I am committing myself to the tasks at hand, trying to finish well here at the farm. Wrapping up the photo albums and the books are top on my list, along with home school, college planning, and a graduation in the Spring. Longings for what the new place will mean in terms of serving and seeking God continue to pop up, but I force them to stay in their little compartmentalized places until the other priorities are taken care of. But I can't help it. I am so ready to have our lives poured out in ways that we can't right now due to financial and time restrictions. To live as if Heaven is reality and this life is a mist. To be able to store up treasures there rather than building our Kingdoms here. I can't wait.

So for now we will work diligently on the tasks that God has given us. Continuing to plug away and wondering if this will be the day that Jesus returns. Hoping and praying for it, while at the same time attempting to be faithful until it is.

But if it is...

I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; 

I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. 

Ezekiel 36:26

I could almost feel it as I lay there. That still rock-hard place in my heart that revealed my unbelief. Somehow it has been allowed to linger, and the unspoken questioning has caused it to grow until I could sense its presence even physically. The results of letting it manifest were becoming evident, and only predawn heart searching was able to fully reveal it.

"What if?"

The phantom question that must ring through every mortal's mind as they seriously consider a God they cannot see or touch. What if it is all just a made up book? What if God isn't real? What if there is no eternity? The barrage continued from unnamed whispers, from my fear of man, from my own apathy to not bother to battle them back. Prayers, even in the midst of my own doubt. A crying out, a lifeline to the God that has to be there lest this is all a charade.

But if it is real...

What if there is a God, as the evidence so clearly points to? What if there really are angels, seraphim and cherubim, hovering over a throne? What if the glory of God really does fill His courts? What if the saints are crying out "Holy, holy, holy" constantly in His presence because He is that holy? What if eternity is forever? And what if Trent is really there right now?

Then what?

As I repented, and asked God to remove the hardness, He was faithful to take it away. Took away the stone that was forming and fleshed out my heart once again. Calming the doubts and overwhelming me with His truth.

Which led me to more questions...

What if I am wasting my whole life investing here, only to see the reality of God's face on "that day"? There will be no doubting then. How should I live right now? What should I pursue? On that day, where do I want to be found? Seeking hard after Him, or building my kingdom here?

The truth that I know - know that I know - is that we will all see God's face, some sooner than others. We will all bow, some willingly, others not. My prayer for you is that this Savior Jesus Christ would give you the desire to seek Him now, and cause you to desperately long for Him now, so that you will be ready on "that day."

Fenced In

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Psalm 16:6a

It's 1:45 a.m. There is no reason why I shouldn't be pleasantly sleeping, snug and cuddled down under several blankets in the middle of a cold, dark night. But my eyes are wide open and my mind is racing. The digital numbers on the alarm clock show that it's way too early to start the day. Instead, I lay there tossing and turning for a while before I realize why I've been startled awake.

The panic again. To know, even during subconscious hours while I should be snoozing, that Trent is not here. Waking up to that reality over and over becomes almost unbearable. As long as I am moving I can run ahead of it, but laying in a bed in a dark house means that only my mind is active. Normally, lately, I try stuffing it, holding the information at arm's length, setting it aside so that I can function, pretending that I can go forth with life. But 1:45 a.m. is too early to get moving and keep the depths of grief at bay by busyness.

So I turn instead to where I should start rather than just end up. To God. "Here I am, Lord," I usually say when it's middle of the night conversations that He desires, hoping, in all truthfulness, to not have to hash out where exactly I am with my son's death in light of the Sovereign One.

I am immediately overwhelmed with prayers for the salvation of my children. A certain teen-age boy has been where I've been battling the hardest these days. My desire to see him grow into a young man who longs for God above all is my constant plea. The list goes on for those that I love until I realize the cover up that even prayer can be. Honesty is so hard, especially with God sometimes.

I begin to wonder where God went. I can tell myself all the theological answers, but they don't make up for my longing for Him. I desire that closeness again, and soon realize who has moved. I realize that I don't get down on my knees anymore, but instead have settled for mediocrity. I am scared to draw near. Scared to feel so much. Scared to be honest. Scared to listen. Scared to say that Trent's death is a reality and this is how life will forever be. Scared to wonder if all of my children are never saved how will I ever survive eternity. Scared to let God be God if my heart is only faking the peace. Knowing that there is no faking with God.

The words of Psalm 16 ring through my brain. How the Holy Spirit whispers so sweetly as I swirl down in my own emotional spiral never fails to surprise and comfort me. I look around and realize that as I have been trying to keep all the plates spinning and the answers in line I have forgotten to look up until I have almost been swept away in the dizzying attempt to do this myself.

"The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places." Psalm 16:6a

I have been fenced in. When I read the words earlier in the day they had stood out to me, and for the third time in twenty-four hours they made a big impact on this walk. Scripture says that God has set His lines in pleasant places. Trent's death is a boundary line drawn in pleasant places.

The pleasant place that God has boxed me in to is the place where He matters. A place where life and death matter. A place where my soul has to constantly be in the process of being made right with my Creator. A place where eternity is reality and this temporary life is a facade rather than the other way around. A place where Scripture is truth and a life line. A place where I have been tenderly placed for my soul's own good. A reminder that there is a "boundary placer" who has me just where He wants me: in pleasant places.

I forgot the next part of the verse until I ventured down the stairs in the dark and opened up to the marked page in my overflowing Bible: "Surely I have a delightful inheritance." Psalm 16:6b

Again, the reminder of eternity. A delightful inheritance filled with joy in the presence of God (Psalm 16:11). The God who has me fenced in.

Tell the Truth

{If Blogger would let me upload any pictures you might see a beautiful one here... Grrr}


For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.

Philippians 1:21

I have a friend who scolded me recently for saying, in front of my children {gasp}, that I wanted to go to Heaven. This dear lady, who lives an authentic life seeking after Christ, was innocently concerned about their welfare to hear their mother talk like this. After all, the poor darlings might get the idea that I didn't love them enough to want to stay until I am ninety-two and have held all of my great-great grandchildren.

It's bizarre, really, the thought of Christians who don't desire to literally go to Heaven any time soon. After all, isn't God in Heaven? Isn't He our desire? You would think, when talking to many professing believers, that it was such of a horrible thing to depart and be with the Lord rather than to be here in the realm of sin. I wonder at the thought of how many of God's children get so wrapped up in this foreign world, weaving their attachments so tightly here, that they can't fathom going "home."


If you need a little extra conviction about this subject in your own life, I challenge you to check out the following Francis Chan video link. "Tell the truth," he says. Do you really desire Heaven?

Francis Chan YouTube

Fuzzy Teeth Day

"What I mean, brothers, is that the time is short.

From now on those who [mourn should live as if they did not]."

Paraphrase from 1 Corinthians 1:29-30

It's after noon and I realize that I'm still sitting here at the computer, in my PJ's, with fuzzy teeth. A nasty realization on this chilly January day. I've been lost in a huge picture project, and honestly, it's been too cold to even want to think about stripping and putting on fresh clothes, let alone showering. The PJ's are comfy. If I did yoga I'd call them yoga pants, and along with the big sweatshirt they pass for being dressed. Until the mailman comes with a special delivery, that is, sending us all scurrying and being glad that the teenage boy is into the whole fashion thing lately. Fuzzy teeth: a sad realization that I am a forty-some year old housewife.

The apathy seems to be a side effect of the hibernation that sets in this time of year. After the holidays have subsided (and I realize that I've survived them yet again) we settle in to quiet projects. There has been more home school finished around here in the past couple of weeks than since school started in September. Biology, American History and Economics are all crossed off the list. Whew! With an anticipated move once the weather warms up, we are all in the zone: the get school done zone.

We just endured a week where the mercury barely rose above zero for four days straight. Brrr. Makes me think South sounds good. Missions in India. A tropical beach house. Or, perhaps, gracing the doors of the gym would be enough to feel warm again. Then I remind myself that I haven't even made it out of my pajamas today. Lazy bum.

I pray that God would continue to do His work with Trent's story while I can't muster up the energy to do anything. Emotionally, I am maxed out. Getting off my duff is asking a lot. Spiritually, I am dry. I am reminded of Isaiah 55 and God's offer to the thirsty. I come, but am only able to take a sip. Sometimes, a sip is all that one can handle.

As I battled this morning for some kind of victory this side of eternity, the comparison of our waiting for our physical home move and our moving to Heaven donned on me. At this time of dullness I realized that God is still doing His work (Romans 11:33). I forget that how I classify His work is not His way of classifying His work. I want flashing, glorious, loud, clear, blasting. God often does quiet. And heart searching. And soul changing. And fuzzy teeth sitting at a computer kind of work. Somehow the waiting is significant, even if it only looks like lazy in my do-something-Martha eyes.

The apostle Paul reminded me, as one who is mourning, to live as if I wasn't. God could not have been more direct in answering my pleas for Scriptural hope to go on today. Live as if I am not mourning. Why? "Because the time is short." (1 Corinthians 7:29-31)

Several souls in our community have entered eternity recently. There was a horrible accident involving the deaths of three children that touched the lives of our small towns. A patriarchal, elderly gentleman has also faced God after a long battle of physical ailments. The vet's secretary has passed from this life. And on, and on, and on. I browse the list of the "lives lived" section of the newspaper and realize how much more significance there is in that simple reference. One week of worldly glory having your name on the front page, a well worded obituary in the back, and then their memories are long forgotten by the vast majority. But their souls go on.

Sitting in bed, innocently reading a book, the thought came to me for the umpteenth time that Trent is in Heaven. As we have been forced to get used to him being gone from our daily routine, he has been experiencing Heaven. Everyday waking up to the glory of God. I wonder what that looks like, to wake up in Heaven...

As I tucked my kids into their beds the other night I was suddenly overcome with the paralyzing fact that Trent has no one to tuck him in. People have naively encouraged us that it must be so wonderful to know that Jesus is taking care of him now. And, yes, granted he would be almost sixteen, but I'm his mother. I took care of him his whole life. I want to tuck him in and kiss him good night.

I force the verses to reign as my body sinks down the wall and the tears slide down my cheeks. This is never something a parent will get used to. You continue to live, you have no choice, but as a Christian, your life becomes about learning what it is to die for the sake of Christ. Really die for Him. To trust Him, and to be real with yourself, asking again and again if you really do trust Him.


I don't recall that God ever said living for Him would be easy. He rather said that it would be nearly impossible, but that these present trials would not even be worth comparing to the glory to come. He said that He would walk with you through the trial, giving the needed grace to endure to the end, not that He would take away the trial. The longing for a perfect eternity in His presence grows deeper with every twist of the pain.


It was not for this day and age that Jesus endured, but for the coming Day that He will reign. The Day when sin will be fully done away with and all things will be put under His feet, including death. Victory will not be obtained fully here, but instead, through suffering, a Christian is given a foretaste, an hors d'oeuvre of the feast to come. There is so much more. "If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied," Paul said (1 Corinthians 15:19). I continue to force my brain to look beyond this day. To that day when the victory will be complete.

The time is short. I wait for God's energy to get me to the glorious part. I attempt to live in the now, doing the menial things that I feel I am called to right now rather than the "big" things I prefer to do. Sitting, staring at the blinking lights, sorting out the past and hoping for the future. I wait for the sun to shine again in our cold part of the country, knowing that with it will come the energy to do the work that is waiting.

Spurgeon

I stumbled across this video of an old Spurgeon sermon on YouTube. Oh my, here's a man of God preaching the word of God. It spoke volumes to my heart. Hope it does to yours, too.

*************

 

{My notes while listening, then the video link follows.}

God intended His trials to be felt.

It is feeling a trial that makes it a trial. The essence of the trial lies in the feeling of it.  God's blows fall just where He intends us to feel them the most. He smites us where we are sure to be affected. Trials which are not felt are unprofitable trails. If there be no crying out then there will be no emptying out of our depravity. It is just so much as we feel that we are profited. A trial unfelt must be a trial unsanctified. We are only blessed by feeling it under God's agent, the Holy Spirit. Though He slay me yet I will trust Him. For God sent the trouble that we might feel it. Not excessively that we would murmur against God, but that we may feel the rod; that we may kiss the rod.

Let the smoke {trials} come - they reveal our hearts. Trials till the soil of our heart. They make us know our blackness. We feel worthless, good for nothing, useless. How empty we become in trials. All our hope is gone, we feel empty, we need a full Savior to save us. In trials we are capable of being affected.

Christians, though they have trouble and feel their troubles, they do not forget God's statutes. Heaven and earth shall pass away, but not one word of Scripture. All Christians must carry the words of Christ, all must take up their cross and follow Him. His statutes are statutes of promise, as faithful as the God who uttered them. Hold fast to God's statutes. Our trials are only the smoke, not the fire. They might smoke, but they do not destroy us. There is nothing that will burn the Christian. Smoke might blur our vision, but it does not destroy us. There is no cause why we should forget our God in the midst of our trials.

We are washed on the shores of Christ by our trouble. Remember that Jesus is in the smoke with us. God's statutes are in the furnace with us, too. God's word is subject to the trial and it will come out shining brighter in the end. The more flame there is, the better we will be able to see our Master in the smoke with us. And if my sufferings may augment Thy praise, behold me well content, let sorrow well attend.

God's statutes are in our soul, where trials cannot steal. Christ and grace are unaffected by the smoke of trials. The outward man decays, but the inward man is being renewed day by day. Hold fast by God's word. If under our trial and troubles we hold fast to God's word, we can take assurance that we are children of God.

Guilty, weak and helpless I may be, but there, in God's arms, unshaken, will I rest until this vial body dies. If you can stand a little smoke, then you may believe yourself a child of God. Fair-weather birds are good for nothing. God loves those who can move in the storm, those who can make the wind their chariot. "I  know whom I have believed."  If you do not swerve from your post when the trials come, then you are verily a child of Heaven. Constancy, endurance and perseverance are the true marks of a hero of the cross and are the invincible warriors of the Lord. Know that every man is expected to do his duty.

Those who overcome will receive a crown of glory. Be refined by your trials. Do not consume {triumph by yourself in} your own trial. Let God consume you in them. Suffering Christians might be pitied now, but our light trials are working for us an exceeding glory. Our temporary trials are allowing us an escape from an eternal trial of punishment.

If thou art not a sinner, I have no salvation for thee. If thou art a Pharisee and knows not thy sins, I have no Christ for thee. But if thou art a real sinner, I have this for thee: Jesus Christ.

Listen to the sermon - Charles Spurgeon: Heaven and Hell

The Monster

Grief is such of a monster.

There is no better way to describe it on this cold, snowy morning. The holiday season was spent in a blissful numb. Several times I would attempt to take a mental temperature and try to gauge just what it was that I was feeling, expecting the pain to overtake rather than the ability to enjoy the events. Numb is okay, as Alexis reminded me. None of us minds Novocain while sitting in the dentist's chair after all. Another Christmas spent without your firstborn son and a little numb is just fine.

But like the fuzzy lip, it doesn't last long. It's reminiscent to the feeling after the first anniversary. Being all pepped up to do it well, face it all, go through the motions at least. Then it hits ... hard. Coupled with the fact that I've been on a marathon picture sorting, collage making frenzy doesn't make it easier. In grief, I have found,  you do what you can do and you do what you think you have to do, even if it might seem irrational to everybody else. I have gotten it into my head that I have to have all of my pictures sorted and printed into book format before we hope to move in the Spring. I have gotten through two and a half years, nearly 1,000 collages. Which brings me to 2011. And we all know what happened in 2011.

As my mom said the other day, I'm living in three realms: the past, the present, and the future. When I first started the project I couldn't convince my brain again that Trent really wasn't here. As if he had just been hiding in the woods for the past three years, like in the pictures. I almost called him in for supper a couple of times.

Then there is the jolting present. Shutting off the computer and seeing the empty chair and bed. No Ken-doll locks, no giggle, no smacking kisses goodnight.

But then there is the future, the glorious future. To keep my eyes trained there often times becomes difficult. It's reality seems unreal, lately. As if God has asked too much. I force my heart to repeat the promises. Clinging to the hope in them. Battling for victory.

Victory.

The victory to overcome this deceitful heart of mine. Victory over unbelief. Victory over thinking that it would be better to have Trent here. Victory to live victoriously.

I felt strong enough to venture into the February 2011 pictures today. I figured I better do it while I thought I could. I realized again the depth of my weakness. A son in a coffin three years later is harder than it was that day. I see the people again, the ones who were here with us. I see the bewilderment, and even the lost-ness, on so many of their faces.

Then I look at my face in the pictures. I can almost see the grace of God being poured out. I wonder where that it is now. I wonder why God lets it get so hard. Not blasphemously wondering, just wondering at His good plans that includes our total weakness. I wonder if at the foot of Jesus' cross it was the same. Mary, looking at her son... fully trusting God, but wondering... how is this the good plan? I envision Jesus at Gethsemane, asking if there wasn't another way. Accepting that this was the wisest way.

Somehow glory is only seen through the impossible. Our faith is only proven through the impossible. To make it to the end, longing for God alone, only happens through the impossible.

The pictures that were taken the days, even months and years, before the accident were so worldly. To see my heart three years later, and what it desires now, is enough of a reason to praise God that His ways are higher than mine. His love baffles me. Why me? Why grant this suffering to me? The other option would have been to let me go on living only for here and now, indulging even more into my kingdom rather than His. There is no appropriate description for how deep my longing runs for Christ, to see His face, to bow at His feet, to know His glory.

Would I trade that desire for a lifetime of a son, when it would mean trading an eternity of being satisfied in God? No.

The perspective helps. This blip of a life is kept in check. I try to remember to look up from the grief once in a while. For as debilitating as it is, it drives me nearer to God.

Christmas Cards

I wish thee no greater good than that God break in upon thy careless heart,

and shake thee out of thy false peace, and make thee lie down at the feet of Christ. 

~Richard Baxter, The Saints Everlasting Rest

I seriously considered inscribing our Christmas cards with that line this year. But then I thought otherwise. My smiling, polite genetics got the best of me and I went for a safe, happy, NIV, non-eternal verse: "Rejoice in the Lord always! I will say it again - Rejoice!" (Philippians 4:4) I made it through the picture taking this Summer, made it through the collage process this Fall, and have even started a list with the intention of really sending them out before the blessed holiday is over.

And then the kids who were brave enough to venture out into the below zero weather to trek through the snow banks to the mailbox started bringing me Christmas cards. Safe, happy, NIV, non-eternal versed Christmas tidings with pretty covers and well wishes for a happy holiday. I handled it well to start with. I made it through the first few. And then I cried. Cried because everybody else gets to send out happy cards this year. Cards with all their children smiling in goofy poses. Cards about how big Johnny has grown, and how sister got a new car and brother is getting straight A's.

While I pondered my past year, and considered what I would write for a cheery holiday letter, I thought of the many mornings waking up to fight the battle just to get out of bed, fighting for God's glory to reign, fighting to say "thank you" for my son being in Heaven with the next words from my lips being a plea for the salvation of my children who are still here; the constant weight of their eternities laying on my heart like a rock.

Or watching my daughter cry her eyes out, focusing on grieving not as those without hope, and trying to come up with the perfect answer to the barrage of people who think her greatest achievement this past year should have been getting a driver's license rather than a deeper walk with the Lord, that time spent behind a wheel would have been better spent than time behind a Bible.

And, rather than my husband getting a promotion, how I've watched him work two jobs to support a family in this hard economic time, how I've watched him battle for victory to lead us well in the midst of his own pain, how I've watched his desire for God to reign over his desire for the world, how I've watched his strong hold to Scripture win over his flesh.

I could write about letting it all go, giving up our kingdom of a farm and material possessions in attempted obedience to what we hope will be a life of being poured out for God's kingdom. But somehow it seemed wrong to report those growths, as if I would be destroying the façade of everybody else's joy at this time of year.

Then I remembered that God loves me. He really, really loves me. Loves me enough to "wish [me] no greater good than that [He] break in upon  [my] careless heart, and shake [me] out of [my] false peace, and make [me] lie down at the feet of Christ."

Then it struck me how sad I was. Not so much in being sad that Trent isn't here, though I miss him like crazy, but sad because in my own power I cannot change one single person, especially the ones that I love the most, to value God's glory and "break in upon [their] careless heart, and shake [them] out of [their] false peace, and make [them] lie down at the feet of Christ." Instead I watch so many professing believers walking around careless, with peace, not lying down at the feet of Christ. As Casting Crowns puts it (Spirit Wind), "Believers leading carnal lives... wonder what they're fighting for."

Along with all this, John Piper's book, The Pleasures of God, has my head swirling with his chapter on God's glory in bruising the Son on the Cross. He talks about God's delight in His own glory, and how the suffering of Jesus to take on the curse of sin in obedience to the Father was a measure of Jesus' love for God's glory. It's as if Jesus and God are battling to prove their love for each other, round and round, one-upping the other in proving it. Which all causes me to look fresh at my own suffering and how I view God in it.

If, like Jesus, the measure of my own suffering is meant to reveal God's glory and will result in God, and myself, delighting even more so in His glory, then I am right where He wants me. If suffering weighs out our truest affection, and if one of God's greatest delights is His glory, and if He allows His children to suffer to prove their greatest desire (all the while acknowledging that the ability that it would be His glory that rises to the top ultimately comes from Him), then what a joy it will be to see the measuring rod on that day that I enter God's presence and He says, "Well done good and faithful servant. You loved me this much and trusted me to portray my glory through you while you suffered this much." 

It is not the suffering that is rejoiced in, but what is accomplished by God via that suffering: the revealing of His glory that works out even our own salvation. To come to an end of ourselves just may be God's greatest mercy. To be sure, salvation only comes about by the finished work of Jesus Christ on the cross, but God continues to prove it by increasing our longing for Him throughout our lives.

Which brings me back to the Christmas cards. And how much easier it would be to have five children posing, but how much greater is the work that is being done to only have four. So all that rambling to wish you this holiday season:

No greater good than that God break in upon thy careless heart,

and shake thee out of thy false peace, and make thee lie down at the feet of Christ.

Puppy Love

 

Another blessed event of new life has occurred on our farm. Probably for the last time, making it all the more cherished, Lady our lab dog delivered six beautiful little pups. She even made it super convenient for us and had them in the middle of the day when we had no other scheduled plans rather than in the middle of the night. Four girls and two boys, including the bonus chocolate babe. It's all I can do to not give in to Micah's pleas to keep just one. Aahh, puppy love.

Warning

 

Don't read John Piper for an hour immediately before going to bed lest you wake up with thoughts like these swirling in your brain in all out attempt to connect the dots, before the coffee is even done brewing, and causing you to wonder ceaselessly, yet again, just who this God is that has chosen you to have a sneak peak at the unfathomable beauty of His glory to come:

* One of God's greatest pleasures is His delight in His good plans for His children.

* God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.

* So, when I am satisfied in God's good plans for me, I will be most satisfied in Him.

* To be most satisfied in God I must be most satisfied in God, not other things.

* When I pray and long for God to be glorified in me, it means that I must be most satisfied in God.

* For God to answer that prayer He must first make me delight in what He delights in, namely His glory.

* To prove that I delight in Him, as a Christian's desire would be, he removes what I do delight in to reveal what my greatest delight really is.

* The pain comes when it is discovered that it is not God, or His good plans, who is my greatest delight.

* God takes away what I desire more than Him for my own good, for my eternal good, to prepare me to delight in Him above all else for an eternity in His presence. He makes Himself my greatest desire so that I can say as Paul did in Philippians 3:8, "I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ."

* Nothing else will satisfy me like God will. Attempts to be satisfied elsewhere will graciously fail if God is going to be glorified in me.

* When I am fully satisfied in God, my delight in Him will overflow.

* God is like a mountain spring, never ending, never needing filling, freely offering my thirsty soul to fill on Him alone to be satisfied so that I will be able to run down the mountainside and share with others, knowing that there will always be enough grace and He will never run dry which means that I can be filled yet again.

* God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.

~My thoughts from the book by John Piper, The Pleasures of God

 

And the Winner is....

And the winner of the camera giveaway is ...

Paige!

First of all, thank you to all those who shared the giveaway, and to those who didn't enter:) Thanks for allowing the camera to bless somebody who was truly in need of it. I wish I could give one to each person who entered. The stories behind the need were so beautiful and deserving. Paige, I know what a joy it will be for your family to have this long awaited gift, and I will be excited to see the pictures that you take with it. Watch your mail, a package will be arriving soon!

A Mother's Prayer

I had to repent yet again the other day. As I was driving along, by myself, which was probably why the complete thought occurred, I realized that my greatest desire for my children is still that they would thrive in this world. That they would be comfortable, successful, loved and praised here. That they would look for, and find, their joy now rather than seeking and longing for it in eternity.

The humbling had come a few days after a conversation with Alexis where she accidentally mentioned a wound she had been given quite some time ago. Her nosy mother pressed her for details and got upset enough for the both of us, then I proceeded to go into momma-bear mode in order to protect her from every mean teen-age girl in the universe. My pride swelled for this daughter that I adore so much that I hardly noticed her godly approach to the matter that had already been forgiven and dealt with by her.

 “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” John 15:18

A few days later God used that verse to align my soul back to reality. If the world hates Alexis, keep in mind that it hated Jesus first. Keep in mind that it reveals my daughter's allegiance to her King. Keep in mind that it hates her because she shines Light. Keep in mind that the world will not be her friend and will continue to hate her as long as Christ keeps her faithfully bearing witness for Him.

As I was praying this morning, sending up my petitions to the Almighty for my children (salvation, character, bold witnesses, love for Scripture) I revisited this little incident as I got to Alexis' name. Praying for her future, my thoughts went immediately to happy scenes: a happy college experience, followed by a happy missions experience, followed by a happy marriage and child raising experience, followed by a happy death in her sleep at ninety-two where upon she faces God with little to nothing to have to give account to for trusting Him because her life was so simple and indulgent that she never needed Him. Amen.

Tears came because, on the surface, that is what I want for my daughter. I know the alternative: pain, hurt and brokenness which would result in a desperate need for her Savior. My flesh wants the easy path for her, while at the same time I know which road will lead her closer to Christ. As scary as it was to pray, I handed her over again to this God whose ways are higher than mine, as far as the heavens are from the sky, and trusted His plans for my daughter. Attempting to see into eternity, I prayed for more than what this world has to offer her. I prayed for that hurt, that brokenness, that desperate need for God. If it keeps her soul awake to eternity, I would rather have her uncomfortable here.

Now I'm going to start praying that God would give her mother the strength to watch Him work His glory in her life.

The Poor Momma's Camera Give Away

As I've been sorting through my pictures in an all out attempt to organize them and eventually print them into book format, I have been so saddened by the many months that I only had a cheap digital camera. I don't say that whining, because at the time a $30 Dollar Store camera was wonderful. But as grateful as I am to have all those fuzzy memories, and as much as I realize we couldn't financially justify a nicer camera at the time, it still makes me sad to have hundreds of blurry pictures of my children. So, in the spirit of the giving season, I am glad to be able to host:

The Poor Momma's Camera Give Away

I realize that there must be other Momma's out there in the same position that I was in a few years ago, that, for whatever reason, you find yourself with no digital camera in this age of digital everything. So, I am offering to the lucky winner a Canon Black PowerShot SX160 IS 16MP 16x Optical Zoom Digital Camera, with a 8GB memory card and 2 year warranty from WalMart.

The rules are simple: just leave a comment on this post for a chance to win.

The details: I'll close the contest in one week, December 11, 2013 at midnight, and pick a winner soon after so you can hopefully get the camera in time for taking Christmas pictures. Shipping only to the lower United States. Please, only enter if you are truly in need. It doesn't have to be dire straights, but let's give somebody deserving a camera the chance to win. You don't have to technically be a Momma to enter, just somebody in need. This contest is hosted by MoreGloryMinistries. Feel free to share this post on your blogs, etc, etc. Let the praise go to God!

Good luck!

************
Just a sappy side note to all you Momma's who don't need a camera but have taken the time to comment anyway~ I love ya all! So glad to have you as bloggy friends:)

 

I Like This Guy

 

 

Rob has gotten us hooked on YouTube music videos lately. I am much more of a reader than a visual person, but I have to admit, torturing the kids with oldie-but-goodies music videos from the seventies and eighties has been pretty entertaining on these cold, dark nights. Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, George Straight, Kenny Rogers, Patsy Cline ~ we're calling it history. But I also discovered some awesome preachers on YouTube. Francis Chan and John Piper being at the top of the list, but I recently stumbled across David Platt and, from what I've heard so far, I really like this guy. Check it out...

 

 

Smiling Through Thanksgiving

I admit, the beginning of the holiday season last week did not thrill me. Turkey Day loomed on the horizon, but the Blaze Orange Holiday of Wisconsin deer hunting was the toughest to anticipate. I ignored it all as long as I could, stayed busy, and resisted making any definite plans until hard pressed. The baton of our long standing hostess position was offered up to my sister. Unfortunately, it wasn't to be so, when they ended up with what was first thought to be a child with the flu that eventually would up being an emergency room visit and a trip to the big city for an overnight stay in the Children's Hospital. An eye opener to all about what we are truly celebrating on this gluttonous day. Needless to say, we never did make it to their house, but instead disappointed all of the cousins and will have to plan for a Christmas sleepover.

My well laid out plans to ignore the week morphed into being one of the best holidays that we've enjoyed for years. This humble farmhouse became a revolving door as we welcomed old friends that we haven't seen for many months as well as friends and family that we see regularly, a couple of nights of sleep overs, and an unexpected visit from relatives on Thursday. There was no turkey in sight, but instead authentic Indian chicken curry, home grown steaks on the grill, and too many pieces of Éclair cake and cream cheese pumpkin pie.

Some of the highlights that found us smiling:

*A house overflowing with loud, laughing kids.

*Familiar faces who have made up Thanksgivings past and present so memorable.

*Friends who sent emails, little knowing the power of their simple words.

*Frosting turkey cookies.

*Cranking the grinder to make cranberry salad.

 

*Paper plates.

*Playing tag in the dark.

 

*House movers who found time to move a house during this festive week.

*Tears for friends who have new babies welcomed into the world and at the same time other friends who have said good-bye to their mother; an ushering in and out of this little blip of time in the midst of eternity.

*The overwhelming knowledge that God would continue to use this broken vessel for His glory.

The crash seems to come afterward. When all the people have gone home, and the sugar rush is winding down and there isn't enough to do except wait for eternity to begin. When again the extra chair is empty and the days are long. How I desire for the work of God to overwhelm me so as to pass this time quicker. How I need a place to invest for His sake. Ministering, cooking, serving, encouraging, challenging, hugging, loving, even driving to pick up a momma and her son curbside at the ER makes this doable. I smiled through the Holiday. I thought of and prayed for so many of you, hoping that you were able to smile as well.

OurCrazyFarm

One of the best parts about not moving immediately is the time to linger through the packing process. We have been at the farm for six years, which culminates in a lot of stuff and a lot of memories. A majority of the clean out was done over the summer when we sold off the machinery, farm equipment and animals. In anticipation of hoping to move right away I even did a pretty major clearing out of closets and rooms. Pictures came off the walls, kitchen cupboards were sorted, and the outbuildings cleaned.

Now that I have nothing to do but wait six months until I can physically move anything else, I have been overwhelmed to close this chapter on our lives by recording it in both written and photographic form. I bought my first cheap digital camera shortly after we purchased the farm and proceeded to capture nearly every experience of our kids' childhood, so, luckily I have the {literally} thousands of pictures taken since we moved here. Unfortunately, they are all un-sorted on the old computer instead of the newer laptop, which meant that Grace had to teach me how to use a flash drive to move them and now I get the fun job of sorting and printing them.

I've also been writing a family memoir, called (what else?), OurCrazyFarm~ The Book. It was actually begun the summer of 2011 after Trent's accident when I could still recall how it was when life was normal. I've relished living in both the book and the photos. Easier to be there than look around some days; easier to stay there than to live now.

I'm hoping to have both projects done by Christmas. Hah! I'll be lucky to have it done by next Christmas, but since I work best under pressure, Christmas is what I'm telling my brain. Even Christmas presents, to surprise the children, you know.

It will be good to have something physical to look back on, but at the same time, I am anxious for what the future holds. It feels easier to live a new life at the other place. Hope seems easier there, rather than surrounded here by choking memories. I want them to stay where they are happy memories, not crying ones. The book has done that so far. Laughter is the tone of it, because there was much laughter back then. Death did not loom. The photos reveal the change. Innocent faces were all that was seen prior to 2011. The recent photos reveal too much contained pain; too much knowing of grief.

I have been praying for and anticipating what God has in store as we move on. Thoughts of ministry in India has left Rob speechless, but knowing that we will be entering a stage of our lives where we expect to have an abundance of money and time, something that we really have no experience with, has me wanting to proceed with caution. I've been asking the big question: what do I want to do with the rest of my life?

Above it all is the hope of the "renewal of all things (Matthew 19:28)." We begin this next chapter with the thought of eternity. What will matter then? How do we live it out now? What is of utmost importance?

For now, I keep plucking away at the keyboard, forcing my brain to live five years ago, five kids ago. Smiling, laughing, enjoying innocence and not feeling too guilty to let the kids cook as we can always call it Home-Ec.

A Woman Can Hope

The fact that we have over a dozen chickens left on the homestead, and have not collected one single egg in over a month, must be living proof that we have made the right decision to leave the farm life behind. The old biddies have a good excuse to have slowed down on their production, after all, a chicken can only be expected to lay for so long. Lucky for them they are grandfathered in due to their good looks, but the new pullets are dangerously close to being labeled as free loaders. Six month old egg machines that don't lay eggs have begun to raise this retired farming wife's suspicions. Our hope is to bring the flock (preferably an egg laying flock), chicken coop and all, to the new place next Spring. Until then, it looks like fake, white store bought eggs for all.

Different Plans

 

"You of little faith," Jesus said, "why did you doubt?"

Matthew 14:31

I have selfishly attributed the warm Fall weather as a gift from God especially to our family. I'm sure that many others are benefiting from it and enjoying soaking up the forty degree sunshine in November, but to me it came again as a reminder that God gives to His children before they even know what to ask for. His pre-ordained plans are perfect and come at His perfect timing, never before and never too late even if we are tempted to think otherwise as we watch life unfold around us with what sometimes only appears to be chaos.

This warm weather is very untypical, the cement contractor told Rob, and we couldn't have asked for a better scenario to pour a foundation so late in the year. Earlier this Fall, after giving up the house dream for the time being and committing ourselves to let God be God and move mountains if that was His plan, He did. Almost literally as we let go, God swooped in and gave us something better than we had been pushing for.

As much as we loved that old farmhouse that we wanted to move to the new lake view property, we see now how ill-suited it would have been for us and how it quickly had morphed into not fulfilling our desire for leaving the farm. With its lure of an attic writers loft and the great big front porch to tempt us, realistically it would have been four stories and a large mortgage after the moving expense, plus several thousands more to fix it up. Yes, we would have done it, but now we're so glad that God took it away.

Instead He transformed my heart, to which the family is still commenting. "No trailer house," were my exact words when we started this. I am a bit biased, and I have a fetish for old farm houses. But a trailer house that we could pay cash for, and that was a double wide that pleased the town ordinance, and that had three bedrooms, two living rooms, two bathrooms (one with a Jacuzzi tub), a den, skylights, and nearly every upgrade imaginable changed my mind. Yep, that'll work.

The plan of no mortgage in a very short time. Check.

Freedom to invest our energy and finances into Kingdom work. Check.

A reminder of our temporary status and a greater longing for our eternal home. Check.

A big enough place to easily entertain (angels, perhaps? Hebrews 13:2) and minister. Check.

Little maintenance or upkeep. Check.

The green room that the boys wanted and a purple room that the girls wanted. Check.

In a whirlwind of finding house movers, slab contractors, and personally transporting nearly seven-hundred cement blocks ourselves, we now await the final transportation of the house to the land. While it's too late to put in the sewer and water this year, we will bunker down at the farm for some much needed rest and focus on homeschool until the weather warms up again.

And to top it all off, the serious lookers at our house hope to be ready with their down payment and a purchase agreement at the same time that we would hope to be moving. So we have officially taken the farm off of the Craigslist market and won't have to worry about showing it for several months.

We all feel like we can almost breathe again.

I'm going to head out and soak up some of that concrete drying sunshine and enjoy the blessing of it  before the snow decides to come.

And that verse at the top:

"You of little faith," Jesus said, "why did you doubt?"

Matthew 14:31

I find great encouragement in it today not only for these temporary things, but for the day when I stand before God, standing next to my son. Yes, me of little faith, why do I doubt? Committing the big things as well as the little things to the One who promised to carry them all.

Monday Morning

 

It's Monday again. How the days go by so fast, I don't know. This chilly morning brings with it extra kids snuggled double in a bed, cousins excited for doughnut day at Aunt Terri's house (click here for the recipe if you, too, find the desire to add an extra five pounds to your hips). The noise level is a bit higher in this old farmhouse, and the boy energy has been flowing since before eight o'clock. I make my face smile, squeeze extra tight with the hugs, and clench my coffee cup as I push the dog off the recliner while seeking a quiet corner to right my heart before my Savior.

The conviction of luke-warmness, with a dollop of bubbling anger, has boiled to the top lately. I now wake up without immediate thoughts of a son in Heaven. I wonder how the funeral predictions could actually be coming true that eventually you do go on and begin to survive without the ever-pressing force of grief. The normalcy of life without Trent is forcing its way in. Still not a day goes by without tears, or a fervent missing and crying out to God, but they are going by with less intensity.

As appealing as that sounds, I fear for the lack of impact it has on my soul. The expectation of eternity has waned, the realization of this mist of a life has dwindled and is being replaced by thoughts of paint colors and decorating schemes.

...anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me;

and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.

Matthew 10:37a-38

That verse may not challenge anybody else, as my dear {young teen age daughter with no children} daughter pointed out that she doesn't have any problems with it or loving Jesus the most. But this old mother was convicted to the core. I imagine standing before the throne of God on that day that my name is called to give an accounting for my life, especially for this time that I was granted the privilege of suffering in order for God to do "his will, and work in me what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever" (Hebrews 13:21).

I've realized, recently, how unwillingly I have taken up this cross to follow in the path of Jesus. How quickly I would take back my easy life, pre-child death, and live contently until the ripe old age of ninety-two without a care or thought of eternity. The outcome would be not seeking Jesus this way. Not counting the cost. Not being forced to look the powerful truth of Scripture square in the eye. Not having to acknowledge who I love the most, Jesus or fill in my own blank. Not knowing if I would be found worthy.

Not being tested means never realizing the worth or validity of your faith. Not being tested means not seeing God's power revealed. Not being tested means remaining stagnant. Not being tested means risking your eternity.

And what do you do with that?

I plead with God to right my motives and make my days count. Somehow pursuing eternity, investing here only as much as is absolutely necessary, and making sure my salvation. I ponder how to store up those treasures there, where moth and rust will not destroy, while treading this earth and needing it's resources to physically live. I pray and trust that my children will not be warped as we refuse to indulge them with the goods this life has to offer, but would instead constantly find their joy in and turn their attention to an unseen Judge and Savior.

As Rob read Scripture to the kids the other night, pondering in the book of Acts about Jesus ascending to Heaven to take his seat at the right hand of God, I sensed a precipice of sorts. I recalled, not so long ago, five young children squirming on the couch listening to their father proclaim the promises of life ever after. Now one child is living the reality of the words while the rest of us try to imagine it; try to live our lives expecting it.

I wonder how to lay out the importance of it to the rest of them. Failing on my own, and instead relying on prayer and God's grace. Longing to impress upon their young souls the foundation of loving God the most, assuring them that it is easier to start serving Him young rather than when the stubbornness of age has established it's rugged path in their daily lives.

Sigh.

The reality of how to live out these Biblical truths reveals itself in the smiling faces before me. Investment into those whom God brings into our lives. Being where He calls us, faithfully serving where He leads us. Counting the minor things as major.

The houseful of children get nervous when I finally rise from that old, worn out chair, two cups of coffee later, with an opera song rolling sweetly {annoyingly?} from my lips as I dance with the smiling blonde girl. It's time for doughnuts, kiddos. I'm sure the extra sugar will make this Monday all the sweeter.