Today marks the end of Advent and the end of this Advent Journal, so this entry will be a series of random yet related reflections on the past three weeks…

*If He calls, He equips…When I felt the Lord nudge me to try this Advent Journal again, it seemed crazy. My days are filled with more than ever before, and I didn’t see how I would find the space necessary to hear from the Lord much less put together coherent thoughts about what He shared with me. The fact that I did not miss a day of writing is a testament to His faithfulness to equip us for whatever He calls us to do. I pray that as I listen for His direction in this next season of my life, I will remember this little lesson and not be afraid to take on whatever work He has for me to do.

Seek Him first…After 23 days of reaching for my phone and finding a devotional in its place, I have developed a habit I am not about to break.  It is amazing how spending less than ten minutes reading Scripture and a devotional first thing in the morning can set the tone for the day.  It is so much more fulfilling than scrolling a newsfeed or checking email, and it allows me to tell Satan to take a hike when he tries to tell me that I haven’t sought the Lord.  It isn’t remotely enough of His presence for a day, but seeking Him first gives me a reserve to draw on that keeps the day from going awry.

He speaks through our God-given passions…God instilled a love for words in me. I have always loved language, reading, and writing. I knew that journaling was one of the main ways I connected with God, but I always thought it was the venue through which I could record things I heard from Him through readings or sermons or a vehicle through which I pour out my feelings to Him in notebooks full of hand-scrawled prayers. But as I wrote this Advent Journal, I realized that He also speaks to me WHILE I write. The very act of writing brings me His revelation. I suspect that is true of all God-give passions. Artists and runners and chefs and musicians likely receive truth from Him as they paint and run and bake and sing. I hope I remember to make time to do the things He has made me passionate about, recognizing that that is one way to spend time with and hear from Him.

*Rise up…When I received the shocking news I wrote about in the Miracle journal entry, I was sure that would be the end of my Advent Journals. I could not fathom writing in the midst of so much pain. But God immediately interrupted that enemy attack with His own perspective. I heard Him say, “No. Now more than ever, you are to write. I have much to reveal to you about this situation. Rise up ‘with wings like eagles.’ You may feel too weak, but my Spirit within you is as strong as ever.” Oh, that I would remember that in all painful situations.

*Tell your story…About a week after I started writing these journals, my counselor told me that it is time for me to start to tell my story so that I will accept it. When I look back on the entries, I see her imprint in them. The first week, I mainly referred to hard times and life changes in vague terms, but in the second week I saw my entries shift to sharing more specifics about the past few years. That was difficult for me because there are many things I just wish were not true. But I know that speaking them will help me accept them and possibly allow others to feel less alone in their own painful situations. Telling my story not only helps me accept it; it also helps me heal.

*Wash away the grime…A man from my church powerwashed my new house last week. I was not home while he did it, and when I returned, my house, sheds, and deck looked as I had hoped they would—free of the patches of mold and mildew that had been scattered around them. What I did not expect was the appearance of my driveway. It was white with specks of tiny grey and tan decorative stones that catch the light of the sun—quite pretty for a driveway! I told Mr. Hudson that I had no idea that my driveway looked like that because I had only ever seen it the dark grayish color it was before he cleaned it. I wondered how much of what I see in my own life or the lives of others is just grime covering the true beauty underneath. I don’t want to accept a dirty, grimy covering over myself or my life. I want to do whatever it takes to remove that layer of built-up dirt so that my true self is exposed and free to shine—even if the process requires some forceful washing. I think writing is one way God helps me to do that; it is so therapeutic and revealing to me.

*Advent is truly the very best part of Christmas…Today is Christmas Eve, and I am excited to attend the service at my church tonight, watch my kid sing in the choir, eat some of Marina’s delicious food, and see my kids open the simple gifts I wrapped yesterday. But instead of these things being the climax of my Advent story, they feel like the resolution. They will be a nice way to close out the season, but for me the daily seeking and waiting and eventually hearing what the Lord had to share with me was the very best part of Christmas. I also loved seeing Lydia’s enthusiasm for the Christmas story, which she listened to and sang about with great attention and devotion all month.

To all who took the time to read this or any of the other Advent Journal posts, thank you for being my “audience.” For those who shared that a particular word or entry spoke to you in some way, thank you for affirming God’s direction to me for that particular day. For those who read these in future years, I hope that you see evidence in my life that I applied the truths God revealed to me this Advent season, for that is my heart’s desire.

Merry Christmas!

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6, ESV)

A few hours after publishing this final 2018 Advent Journal, I attended a lovely Christmas Eve service at my church with my kids.  At the end of the service, Lydia wandered out of the sanctuary. Marina found her in the lobby…praying to baby Jesus.  This is the perfect picture to conclude this journal because it captures the greatest lesson I learned this Advent season and the best Christmas present I could have received.  As J.R.R. Tolkien once wrote, “Not all those who wander are lost.”

“And the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued the people of Israel…The Egyptians pursued them, all Pharaoh’s horses and chariots and his horsemen and his army, and overtook them encamped at the sea…When Pharaoh drew near, the people of Israel lifted up their eyes, and behold, the Egyptians were marching after them, and they feared greatly. And the people of Israel cried out to the Lord…And Moses said to the people, ‘Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today…The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.’ The Lord said to Moses, ‘Why do you cry to me? Tell the people of Israel to go forward. Lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the people of Israel may go through the sea on dry ground…Then Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and the Lord drove the sea back by a strong east wind all night and made the sea dry land, and the waters were divided. And the people of Israel went into the midst of the sea on dry ground, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left. The Egyptians pursued and went in after them into the midst of the sea, all Pharaoh’s horses, his chariots, and his horsemen…And the Egyptians said, ‘Let us flee from before Israel, for the Lord fights for them against the Egyptians’…Moses stretched out his hand over the sea, and the sea returned to its normal course when the morning appeared. And as the Egyptians fled into it, the Lord threw the Egyptians into the midst of the sea. The waters returned and covered the chariots and the horsemen; of all the host of Pharaoh that had followed them into the sea, not one of them remained. But the people of Israel walked on dry ground through the sea, the waters being a wall to them on their right hand and on their left. Thus the Lord saved Israel that day from the hand of the Egyptians…Israel saw the great power that the Lord used against the Egyptians, so the people feared the Lord.” (Exodus 14:8-9a, 13a, 14-16, 21-23, 25b, 27-30a, 31a)

Last December, God began sending me word after word related to this passage of Scripture. I was in despair over a second failed marital reconciliation attempt that prompted one of the most stunning and evil acts anyone has ever taken against me. The result was devastation in almost every area of my life. I had been believing God for a miracle in my marriage and stood immobile in utter despair.

I attended a small worship night at my church one Friday night. Only a few people were in attendance, and near the end of the service, my beloved pastor prayed for Tess who was still hospitalized. His prayer unleashed my tears, and as I knelt on the floor sobbing, our worship leader Oliva shared a word from this passage in Exodus. She spoke of the hopelessness that Moses must have felt after all the effort he had put forth freeing the Israelites from bondage. There he was with a frantic, ungrateful nation of people trying desperately to finish the deliverance God had orchestrated through him. They were being pursued by Pharaoh’s army on one side and faced an enormous body of water on the other side. No visible escape in sight. Yet in that hopelessness, God made a way.

Deep in my heart a seed was planted—a seed of hope for my marriage. There was no rational cause for this hope. No words or actions hinted of anything worth redeeming. But as I wrote yesterday, my hope was not in my husband or the devastating circumstances but in a God who drowns enemy armies, parts seas, raises the dead, and brings life to dry bones.

I clung to the word Moses gave his people: ‘Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which he will work for you today…The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.’

And so I watched and prayed and waited and worshiped and hoped. I continued to examine my own life, faced more hard truths, sought healing, changed a lot of broken parts, and felt the Lord put me back together again. And I waited for my miracle. For the sea to part. For the enemy to drown and release all that he had stolen.

I prayed a version of Daniel’s prayer over my marriage and family:

“O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled, turning aside from your commandments and rules.  To you, O Lord, belongs righteousness, but to us open shame…because we have sinned against you. To the Lord our God belong mercy and forgiveness, for we have rebelled against him and have not obeyed the voice of the Lord our God by walking in his laws, which he set before us. Our family has transgressed your law and turned aside, refusing to obey your voice.  All this calamity has come upon us; yet we have not entreated the favor of the Lord our God, turning from our iniquities and gaining insight by your truth. And now, O Lord our God, who brought your people out of the land of Egypt with a mighty hand, and have made a name for yourself, as at this day, we have sinned, we have done wickedly. O Lord, according to all your righteous acts, let your anger and your wrath turn away from our family.  God, listen to the prayer of your servant and to our pleas for mercy, and make your face to shine upon your sanctuary, which is desolate. My God, incline your ear and hear. Open your eyes and see our desolations. We do not present our pleas before you because of our righteousness, but because of your great mercy.  Lord, forgive. Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, my God, because our family is called by your name.” (based on Daniel’s prayer for his people in Daniel 9)

Months passed and the devastation grew. Evil seemed pervasive in our home, and it was corroding all of us physically, emotionally, spiritually, and practically. In desperation, I did something that in hindsight was rather odd. I went to see the marriage counselor who had attempted to help us navigate our two reconciliation attempts. That session did not go as I expected. I thought he would counsel me about the mistakes I had made in our reconciliation attempts and help me chart a path that would lead to the Red Sea miracle I so desperately wanted.

Instead, he opened my eyes to the reality of my situation, named it for me, showed me what was in my circle of influence and what I needed to accept, and chastised me for staying in an environment that was so harmful to myself and my children. He asked me why I had elevated my husband and my marital status above the Lord in my life. He told me to shift my focus from hoping for reconciliation and restoration to creating a safe and sane home for myself and my children and living as the strong, independent person God created me to be. He told me that God was not restricted by time or place and that He could still work a miracle in my marriage no matter where we lived. He reminded me that he had counseled us to separate residences the previous summer in order to allow space for necessary healing that could foster reconciliation—something that I had wanted desperately but been unable to secure.

This man’s counsel equipped me to take the necessary steps toward deliverance for myself and my children, and God flung doors open to provide for us in amazing ways. On the outside, it probably appeared that I had given up on my miracle, but those who know my heart intimately knew that I was still standing at the Red Sea waiting for it. Not because I saw any sign in the people or circumstances involved but because I had hope in a miracle-working God.

Five days into the writing of these Advent Journals, I received a message that revealed shocking news of betrayl by someone I mistook for a close friend—someone I had opened my heart and home to in the midst of this vulnerable season. The choices and actions revealed by that message told me unequivocally that my marriage is over.

Even though this appeared to be the most probable outcome of our story, the certainty of it was like experiencing a new death and a new wave of grief. As I processed the news with my counselor, she gently told me that she believed God allowed the betrayl because He knew that it would take something that extreme for me to let go of the hope I had buried deep in my heart. She said that He knew that ultimately, I would be much better off. Vaneetha Rendall Risner describes it like this: Everything is needful that he sends. Nothing can be needful that he withholds. God knows what I need and has chosen for me what I would not have chosen for myself, given my limited perspective on life and my penchant for my own comfort. But if I had God’s perspective and knew what he knows, I would undoubtedly choose what he has given me. It has all been necessary. ” (The Scars That Have Shaped Me, p. 84)

In the midst of my grieving, a dear friend called to cry and pray with me and said that God had given her a word for me…from Exodus Chapter 14…the same chapter as the passage above that I thought I had read inside and out since receiving that first word a year ago.

Right after the Lord told Moses to lift up his staff and stretch his hand over the sea, the following occurred:

“Then the angel of the God who was going before the host of Israel moved and went behind them, and the pillar of cloud moved from before them and stood behind them, coming between the host of Egypt and the host of Israel. And there was the cloud and the darkness. And it lit up the night without one coming near the other all night.” (Exodus 14:19-20, ESV)

As my friend delivered this word to me, I knew that I had missed more than a section of scripture. I had missed my miracle because it didn’t come in the form I expected. God didn’t break bondage, end abuse, soften a hardened heart, or resurrect a dead marriage. He put an angel on one side and Himself on the other, and He held this daughter through the darkness of the night. That is the miracle. Being held by Him. HE is the miracle.

And as the end of this Advent season approaches, I cannot help but see the parallel. So much of the world missed and still misses the Christmas miracle. Because it didn’t come in the form they expected. God didn’t charge onto the scene on a white horse wielding a sword and overpowering evil Roman rulers, and He doesn’t charge into our lives, mending all that is broken. Instead, He sent an angel of the Lord to an ordinary teenage girl, put Himself inside her womb, subjected Himself to torture and crucifixion, and delivered this world from the darkness of the night. That is the miracle. HE is the miracle.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone…For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this. (Isaiah 9:2, 4-7, ESV) 

“My hope is in you, God
I am steadfast, I will not be moved.
I’m anchored, never shaken.
All my hope is in you.”

(from “Hope’s Anthem” by Bethel Music)

This was the song I sang all the way to the hospital on the morning of May 14, 2013 after receiving the call that Timothy had been rushed to the PICU with an extremely high fever and heart rate.  It was the song I quoted in Timothy’s Caring Bridge Journal late that same night when I updated friends and family on his precarious condition.  And it was one of the worship songs we sang at his Celebration of Life ten days after he died.

Four days later, I wrote this in my prayer journal:

“Two weeks ago today Timothy left us.  How can it be two weeks?  Where did they go, and what did I do?  Did I really go shopping for dresses and shoes?  How did I do that?  The adrenaline is gone now.  His body is buried.  The service is over.  The flowers have wilted.  The outpouring of love and support has understandably dwindled.  And now, I see it—the huge, gaping, empty hole where he lived so full of life—so time-consuming and demanding in his own way.  Not the way I wished, of course, because he wasn’t here in our home, but the thinking of him and dreaming about him and driving to and from the hospital and the time I spent with him and the nurses and doctors and hospital workers who were as close to friends as they were allowed to be.  Now they’re all gone.  My friends at the security desk and in the parking garage booth.  I miss them.  But mostly, I miss him.  And my heart hurts and aches and cries and screams.  I focused so much on what Timothy gained two weeks ago, and I am only just now realizing how much we lost.  And how we can never get it back.  He was perfect for us.  We knew that from the start.  Everything about him was perfect for our family.  You told me that we “can NEVER adopt the wrong child,” and You were right.  

But now he’s gone. The black hair; the soft, dark skin; the sweet temperament; the smart, quick-thinking, determined little boy who was going to grow up here is gone.  I have just now realized how very uniquely You made each of us—completely and utterly irreplaceable—every last one of us.  How did I not see it before?  No two alike—like snowflakes—but a little too much like snowflakes because snowflakes melt and disappear and never come back.  Just like little baby boys sometimes.  Snowflakes melt. And people die.  And it is the same really—only no one cries and mourns over the snowflakes.

I told a friend just a short month ago that I know how to do surgeries and hospitals and disabilities, but I don’t know how to do grief or death or dying.  I guess I shouldn’t have said that—almost like praying for patience.  Well, I don’t want any more patience, God, and I sure don’t want to know grief either.  I was happy in my blissful ignorance.  But You never called us to be happy, only to trust You and trust You, I will.

Oh, Mighty Comforter—Healer—Giver of Peace, come and soothe my soul and mend my broken heart! You, who knows how it feels to lose a Son.  You, who created the snowflakes and the baby boys, even though they eventually melt and die, sometimes way too soon.  You, who wipes the tears of those who grieve.  It is in Your name I pray…in Your name I trust…in Your name I hope.  Amen.”  (May 29, 2013)

Through it all—the frantic drive to the hospital, the agonizing two day fight for life, the numb activity of the days that followed death, and the days of waking up to the reality of loss—hope was the one constancy.

The world would have you believe that hope depends on the outcome of the circumstances that precipitated its need.  However, that mindset misunderstands the nature of hope.  Hope is not a dependent entity that exists only under specific circumstances.

Viktor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist who spent three years in a Nazi concentration camp later wrote about those experiences in a book called Man’s Search for Meaning.  In that book, Frankl argued that the difference between those who survived the camp and those who did not was that the survivors found meaning in the most dismal of circumstances.  Frankl concluded that “[e]verything can be taken from a man but one thing:  the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.”

For a Christ-follower, that attitude is an unshakeable hope in the promises and person of God.

Corrie ten Boom, who not only survived a Nazi concentration camp but used the experience to teach timeless messages of forgiveness and healing, titled her memoir The Hiding Place, both in reference to her family’s home that hid and saved the lives of many Jews and to a passage from the book of Psalms: “You are my hiding place and my shield; I hope in your word.” (Psalm 119:14, ESV)  Reading that memoir leaves no doubt that Corrie’s hope in His word fueled her survival in unthinkable conditions and that sharing that hope with fellow prisoners gave Corrie the meaning of which Frankl wrote.

In Scripture, Job is a man enduring the most dismal of circumstances.  He has lost his home, his possessions, his health, and all of his children.  Interestingly, a word search shows 21 verses in the book of Job in which “hope” is mentioned.  After 37 chapters of lament from Job and very bad counsel from three of his friends, God appears on the scene in a whirlwind and speaks truth into this situation.  His lengthy answer to Job includes some of the most powerful rhetoric in all of Scripture:  “Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?…Have you commanded the morning since your days began, and caused the dawn to know its place…Have you entered into the springs of the sea or walked in the recesses of the deep?…Have you entered the storehouses of the snow, or have you seen the storehouses of the hail…Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go and say to you, ‘Here we are’?…Is it by your command that the eagle mounts up and makes his nest on high?” (Job 38:4a, 12, 16, 32, 35; 39:27, ESV)

Two chapters later, God instructs Job: “Behold, the hope of a man is false; he is laid low even at the sight of him…Who then is he who can stand before me?  Who has first given to me, that I should repay him?  Whatever is under the whole heaven is mine.” (Job 41:9-10, ESV)

Contrary to what the world may say, hope is not a wish for a specific outcome of a specific circumstance. It is not dependent on that outcome transpiring. No man or woman has the capacity to give you hope or to take it from you. Instead, hope is an absolute confidence in the promises and person of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit who reign over everything “under the whole heaven.”

“My hope is in you, God.  I am steadfast, I will not be moved. I’m anchored, never shaken. All my hope is in you.”

“Put not your trust in princes, in a son of man, in whom there is no salvation.

When his breath departs, he returns to the earth; on that very day his plans perish.

Blessed is he whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord his God,

who made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them,

who keeps faith forever”  (Psalm 146:3-6, ESV)

“When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream.

Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy;

then they said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’

The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.

Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like streams in the Negeb!

Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy!

He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing,

shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.”

(Psalm 126, ESV)

One of the best things about being delivered from darkness is rediscovering joy.  Tonight I spent two hours in a land of whimsical magic watching Mary Poppins Returns.  I’ll be honest.  I went primarily to see Lin-Manuel Miranda.  He is my former celebrity crush—from the year I fell in love with Hamilton and had the opportunity to see the original cast on Broadway.

We saw the show on a Wednesday night, which meant that Lin would be hosting a Ham4Ham in front of the theater that day at noon.  After sightseeing all around the city the day before, every part of my body hurt.  But just before going to bed, Marina and I decided it would be worth the effort to get up and make the trek back into the city to try to see Ham4Ham.  That meant waking up earlier than we really wanted, driving to public parking, catching the ferry, walking numerous blocks, and taking the subway to Broadway and the Richard Rodgers Theater.  No small feat just to try to catch a glimpse of Lin.

Our efforts were rewarded when, partially by dumb luck and partially by our own cunning, we scored spots front and center of the theater’s side doors where this little street show would take place.  We had the perfect view, and I even captured the event on video, which unfortunately also captured me squealing “We love you, Lin!” as he took the mic to introduce the performer for the day.  That may have been a little excessive for a married mom of eight, but I’m claiming no regrets.

Another memorable moment that took a little effort to achieve took place during our family’s Disney trip two years ago.  We secured a last minute appointment for Lydia to receive a makeover at Cinderella’s Castle early in the morning before the place swarmed with parkgoers—a very considerate perk offered to children with special needs who struggle with sensory overload.  No one in our family wanted to miss the makeover, so we all had to be up and out of our room in time to catch the ferry to the park since the monorail wasn’t running that early.  Seeing the sheer joy on Lydia’s face when her fairy godmothers whirled her chair around was worth every bit of stress it took to get there.  She proclaimed, “I am beautiful!” to which the fairy godmother replied, “You were already beautiful; we just made you sparkle.”

Some of my most cherished memories were preceded by challenge, but the struggle somehow made the joy that much richer.

I love the promises in Psalm 126 and the sowing and reaping principle it extols.  The psalmist promises that “[h]e who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him.”  (verse 6)  The implication is that the weeping is literally the seed for joy.

This truth sheds light on the exhortation that opens the book of James:  “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds.” (James 1:2, ESV)  That has always been a tough scripture to reconcile—count our trials as joy?!  But if our trials actually produce joy or at least the capacity to feel and appreciate it, then counting them joy makes all the sense in the world.

However, this only occurs when we keep our eyes off our circumstances and fully focused on the Lord.  Focusing on our circumstances breeds blame, bitterness, anger, depression, and a sense of helplessness.  It fosters a victim-mentality.  I wasted too much of my life making that mistake, and it was miserable.  Hiding ourselves in the Lord breeds trust, security, hope and ultimately, joy.  Even before the situation is resolved and even when the resolution is painful, joy is present.

The Christmas carol, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” also captures this truth.  The chorus sings of “tidings of comfort and joy.”  The two seem like a mismatch, but in light of Psalm 126 and James’s exhortation, it makes complete sense to proclaim a desire for comfort and joy simultaneously.

There were so many fun parts of Mary Poppins Returns (in addition to gazing at Lin for two hours):  cheery music, colorful fantasy scenes, Mary Poppins herself, and an endearing story.  Woven throughout the movie were some thought-provoking nuggets of truth, some even based (perhaps unknowingly) in Scriptural truth:

“When the world turns upside down, be upside down with it.”

“You are too focused on where you’ve been to know where you’re going.”

“Nothing’s gone forever, only out of place.”

“Everything is possible.  Even the impossible.”

“You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a child.”

“Whenever I lose my way, I just look up.”

A night of whimsical, magical, colorful fantasy.  Suspension of reality.  The new, yet eerily familiar story of a family recovering from hardship and rediscovering joy.

“But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy, and spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may exult in you.”  (Psalm 5:11, ESV)

My friend Kiva makes beautiful jewelry. I noticed her creations the first time I worked with her in the Tab room at a speech and debate tournament two years ago. I almost never wore jewelry until I visited her Etsy shop and treated myself to some earrings (practically had to re-pierce my ears to wear them, but it was worth it!). When life took a southward turn two summers ago, I bought a necklace that Kiva had made…a simple silver chain with a small, stamped tag that said “But God…” I wore that necklace faithfully as I prayed fervently for its words to be true in my life. I could hear the future testimonies ringing in my mind…Our marriage was shattered, but God…A torpedo devastated our family, but God…She lost herself in grief, but God…

And then one day, I reached up to feel the necklace around my neck (I never took it off except to polish it), and it was gone. I searched around my house, my driveway, my car. No necklace. I was distraught. In my mind, the necklace represented a particular outcome that I desperately wanted and prayed would become reality. I texted Kiva to let her know it was missing and that I may need to order a new one. But before I could do that, something happened that woke me up to the reality, that this particular story may not have a “but God…” At least not the kind I was expecting. As I wrestled with God about this possibility, I repeatedly heard Him telling me that all He wanted me to do right then was trust Him.

A few weeks later, a package arrived from Kiva Slade Designs. I had not ordered anything, so I opened it curiously. Inside was a simple silver chain with a small stamped tag and a little green bead. The tag simply said “Trust” and the clasp was sturdy and strong. Kiva designed and made it just for me. I have worn this necklace for almost a year now and have found God abundantly worthy of my trust.

But when He closes a door or allows yet another trial, I somehow forget all of His faithfulness and lament the loss or try to change the situation He has allowed. I fret and question and take matters into my own hands. None of those end well. And later when I look back and see what He was actually doing, I realize my foolishness and His trustworthiness all over again.

The other Advent devotional I have been reading posed this question: “Hasn’t He already unequivocally earned trust? You can take your hands off your life—you don’t have to try to save yourself. Behold Him everywhere, and be held.” (The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp—p. 190)

Behold Him everywhere—in the order of the days, in the intricacies of nature, in His word, in worship, in His faithful provision.

I spent several days studying this Psalm soon after moving into my new home:

How lovely is your dwelling place,

    O Lord of hosts!

My soul longs, yes, faints

    for the courts of the Lord;

my heart and flesh sing for joy

    to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home,

    and the swallow a nest for herself,

    where she may lay her young,

at your altars, O Lord of hosts,

    my King and my God.

Blessed are those who dwell in your house,

    ever singing your praise! Selah

Blessed are those whose strength is in you,

    in whose heart are the highways to Zion.

As they go through the Valley of Baca

    they make it a place of springs;

    the early rain also covers it with pools.

They go from strength to strength;

    each one appears before God in Zion.

O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;

    give ear, O God of Jacob! Selah

Behold our shield, O God;

    look on the face of your anointed!

For a day in your courts is better

    than a thousand elsewhere.

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God

    than dwell in the tents of wickedness.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield;

    the Lord bestows favor and honor.

No good thing does he withhold

    from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts,

    blessed is the one who trusts in you!

                                    (Psalm 84, ESV)

Reading it overwhelmed me. The Psalm speaks of blessing after blessing that God has provided FOR ME! He has repeatedly shown me the joy of being in His presence. He provided a home for me and my young. He transformed my “Valley of Weeping” into a “place of springs.” He has been my strength and my protection. He has shown me that a simple life devoted to serving Him is far superior to dwelling “in the tents of wickedness.” He has given me favor, allowed me to walk with honor, and withheld no good thing (though He has withheld a lot of things I THOUGHT were good).

When I got to the last verse of the Psalm and saw that these blessings stem from trust, my mouth dropped. That had been my command from Him a year ago, and now He was revealing to me that the act of trusting Him opened the door to countless blessings.

Kris Vallotton once wrote: “It is our responsibility to trust God. It is His responsibility to deliver, protect, and save us.”

For those of us use to fixing our own problems (and everyone else’s), the idea of trusting can be terrifying, but the alternative is trusting ourselves, a far riskier and less promising option.

May the Lord answer you in the day of trouble!

    May the name of the God of Jacob protect you!

May he send you help from the sanctuary

    and give you support from Zion!

May he remember all your offerings

    and regard with favor your burnt sacrifices! Selah

May he grant you your heart’s desire

    and fulfill all your plans!

May we shout for joy over your salvation,

    and in the name of our God set up our banners!

May the Lord fulfill all your petitions!

Now I know that the Lord saves his anointed;

    he will answer him from his holy heaven

    with the saving might of his right hand.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses,

    but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.

They collapse and fall,

    but we rise and stand upright.

O Lord, save the king!

    May he answer us when we call.

                                    (Psalm 20, ESV)

Necklace made by Kiva Slade Designs (kivasladedesigns.com).

Last year I spent Christmas Day in the hospital with Tess. She had had five brain surgeries since October and had just gotten out of the PICU after spending over a month there trying to clear a shunt-line infection that settled in her brain and abdominal cavity and did not leave willingly. We listened to Christmas music, visited with the nurses, opened a few gifts, and tried to make the best of the day. Once she fell asleep, I went to a late showing of The Greatest Showman, a movie that I connected with so deeply that I saw it three more times in the two months that followed (not sure if it was the music, Hugh Jackman, or the story that ended the way I wished my story would end at that particular time). It wasn’t the first Christmas Day I had spent with a child in the hospital, but it was the first time I had not seen my other children on Christmas Day. My standard for a good Christmas Day was not falling apart, and I hadn’t. Mostly, I was just relieved that it was over.

Tonight as I watched Tess literally run laps around our house in her walker, I thought about how far she has come in the last few months. She was discharged from the hospital last January into a family that was beyond broken. The day after her discharge, I spent the entire day in the hospital myself. The months that followed were some of the worst of my life. Having a mom in crisis did not help Tess recover from all that she had been through—her basic needs were met but not much else.

Some may look into the window of our lives this Christmas and find it lacking—money is tight and gifts are few, some members of our family are missing, and we have downsized significantly. But those who live out the days with us have a different perspective. They see peace, order, routine, safety, and a lot of love. And in that soil, much growth is occurring—some visible, some internal.

I have had such a different perspective on Christmas this year. I have written a lot but wrapped nothing and honestly don’t have much to wrap. We have a beautiful tree and lights on our house that have brought us all much joy, but that is the extent of our decorations. We have been reading devotionals, listening to music, visiting live nativities, and participating in our church’s Christmas festivities. No hustle and bustle, no frantic planning, not much baking or shopping. Instead of anticipating Christmas Day as an event, it feels like the kids and I have been experiencing a season of Christmas—a time of seeking the Lord and soaking in what He has to teach us. We are cherishing an extended celebration of the new life God has given us, the people He has brought to share it with us, and the growth we are experiencing within it.

One of the Advent devotionals I have been reading captured this perspective perfectly: “Into the often heated competition between wants and needs, Jesus comes to refocus our energies and to claim our hearts. The things we need are safety, shelter, healing, meaning, and purpose…All the rest is window dressing, despite the fact that we spend so much of our time, energy, and resources on such things.” (Expecting God’s Surprises by Robert E. Dunham—p.56)

Last Christmas, the kids and I needed almost all of those things desperately. This Christmas, we have them all, and I am awestruck at the goodness of the God who provided them. We not only have shelter, but we have a home that is truly my favorite of all the homes I have ever lived in. We have meaning and purpose as we spend our days trying to love, encourage, serve, teach, and learn with one another and those whose lives have intersected with ours. We are (mostly) safe from abuse and toxicity, and God has administered great physical and emotional healing for all of us in the past four months.

It is less than a week away, but I have no idea what Christmas Day will look like this year in terms of food, gifts, or activities. I expect them all to be a bit sparse. But interestingly, I am unfazed by the lack. As our needs have been met, our wants have just disappeared.

Listening to Tess call out “Bless you, Mommy!” when I sneeze, seeing Lydia and Titus hug one another and proclaim themselves “best friends,” watching Jonah laugh with his friends, hugging Hamilton, collaborating with therapists and care attendants who serve my kids so faithfully, connecting with my NC family, engaging in meaningful conversations with treasured friends, savoring Marina’s warm presence around our home, sipping tasty holiday beverages, listening to the Lord throughout each day and trying to capture what He shares with me in these journals…simple but cherished moments in ordinary days. Each one a gift from the Giver to me—along with the grace to see them.

Perspective.

“And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19, NIV)

“Now when John heard in prison about the deeds of the Christ, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?’ And Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.’ As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds concerning John.” (Matthew 11:2-7a, ESV)           

At that point in Matthew’s narrative, the reader braces for a reckoning. Here is a man, miraculously conceived to infertile parents, set apart for a mission he does with power that could only have come from the Holy Spirit, privileged to baptize Jesus at the start of his ministry…a man clearly full of faith and strength and power beyond that of most (all on a diet of locusts and honey!?!). This man preached repentance and pointed others to the one “who is coming after me [who] is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry.” (Matthew 3:11, ESV). Yet that same man just sent word asking Jesus if he is “the one” or if they should look for another!?!

Even more amazing than John’s doubt is Jesus’s response: “Truly, I say to you, among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist.” (Matthew 11:11a, ESV)

Yesterday, I was led to write about faith and as soon as I posted that journal, I knew I also had to write about doubt. At first glance the two may appear opposites, but they are not. The opposite of faith is fear; the two cannot co-exist. But doubt can exist within faith, and thankfully God repeatedly demonstrates His willingness to help us work through it.

A desperate father brought his son to Jesus in hopes of freeing him from a demon that Jesus’s disciples had been unable to cast out. The man described the horrible ways the demon had afflicted his son and then cried out, “if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”

“And Jesus said to him, ‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.’” To which the man replied, “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:22-24, ESV)

For many years, I sought solace in this passage of Scripture because my faith in God was honestly not very strong. I had not lived enough life to see Him at work, and I struggled sometimes to even believe He was real and that He cared about me. I would often repeat my own version of that father’s prayer: “Lord, I want to believe; help my unbelief!”

That isn’t my struggle these days. My faith is my lifeline. It has sustained me through my darkest days and brought meaning out of tragedy. Trials no longer weaken my faith but strengthen it. Despite this, I still find myself doubting God’s promises to me.

In the story I shared yesterday, I intentionally left out a detail. When daylight broke the morning of our gut-wrenching decision, Timothy’s regular surgeon arrived and learned of what had transpired overnight. I went to him immediately to ask the question I had wanted so desperately to ask him in the night: What would you have advised us to do? I realized later that my question was loaded with doubt. Even though God had spoken to me in that OR waiting room and we had made a decision that could not be reversed, I desperately sought affirmation of our choice. What was this beloved surgeon to say? Even if he disagreed with the path we took, he certainly wouldn’t help us or Timothy by saying so. My underlying question was, “Can you please affirm what we did so that I can sleep at night?!?”

God answered my early morning pleas with a promise that His sovereignty would reign no matter which decision we made, yet I seized the first opportunity I had to seek reassurance outside of Him. How quickly I moved from faith to doubt!?!

And today, even after God provided a peaceful home for me, the support of friends and family, and word after word of hope and encouragement, I still give in to moments of doubt about how and when He will fulfill His promises of justice, provision, and protection.

In church we often sing a worship song by Housefires called “The Way.” I love the honesty of this part of the song’s bridge:

“Cause it’s a new horizon and I’m set on You

And You meet me here today with mercies that are new

All my fears and doubts, they can all come too

Because they can’t stay long when I’m here with You”

Even though my faith is strong and I am so incredibly grateful for this new horizon to which God has brought me and the promises He has made over me and my children, I am equally grateful to know that He makes room for my doubts and that they do not hinder His work in my life. He can handle my questions just as He did John the Baptist’s, and He can bring healing to my family just as he did for the demon-possessed son of the father who so desperately wanted to believe. Doubt does not negate or extinguish faith, and if I keep my eyes on the Promise Maker and not on circumstances, it can even be a conduit through which He can multiply my faith.

“And Peter answered him, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.’ He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, ‘Lord, save me.’ Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him, ‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’ And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, ‘Truly you are the Son of God.’” (Matthew 14:28-32, ESV)

“And behold, a woman of the city, who was a sinner, when she learned that [Jesus] was reclining at table in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster flask of ointment, and standing behind him at his feet, weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head and kissed his feet and anointed them with the ointment…Then turning toward the woman he said to Simon, ‘Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not ceased to kiss my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much… And he said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’ Then those who were at table with him began to say among themselves, ‘Who is this, who even forgives sins?’ And he said to the woman, ‘Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’” (Luke 7:37-38, 44-47b, 48-50)

The biblical stories of healing or forgiveness that are directly connected to the faith of the individual can be daunting to read. If faced with such circumstances, would my faith be strong enough to save?

But doesn’t our faith always save us? It seems to me that faith is what holds me together, and that it is only when I forget to have faith that despair enters in. I have heard it preached that fear and faith cannot co-exist, and I believe that is true. But the thing I really must remember is that faith doesn’t depend on me. Faith isn’t something I do but something God gives. So I don’t lose my faith—He doesn’t take it back from me—I just forget to live in it. And when I do, the enemy is right there ready to slip into any crack he may sense in my faith—or my remembrance of my faith—and to fill it with fear.

I experienced this most starkly in the wee hours of May 15, 2013. Timothy had been rushed to the PICU the morning before with the rogue infection that would eventually take his life. His intestines had been externalized in a silo, and we had almost lost him. By early afternoon, he seemed to be out of the woods only to return to the edge later that evening. The doctors and nurses had worked diligently to stabilize him, and I had gone home to care for the other children and try to catch a few hours of sleep. I had barely laid my head on the pillow when a call from the hospital propelled me back into my car and down the bypass. It was after midnight, but I had been told to hurry because Timothy was headed to the OR for an emergency procedure.

Our trusted surgeon who had saved Timothy’s life the morning before intended to open his silo in a planned procedure around lunchtime on the 15^th, save what he could of Timothy’s intestines, and remove what the infection had killed. Instead, Timothy’s vital signs were worsening, and the on-call surgeon had decided to open him up right away to see what could be done.

I don’t know how many times I have sat in CHKD’s surgery waiting room—too many to count—but this was the most memorable. Since it was after midnight, we were the only ones there. When the doctor came out, he was noticeably distressed. Timothy’s intestines were almost all completely dead. He could see only a few pink pieces that could possibly be dissected and patched into a salvageable tract, but it would not be enough to sustain him. He would need TPN and eventually a transplant—IF he survived the procedure in his precariously fragile state. This alone would not be so daunting except that this little boy already had a mended heart, compromised lungs, a trach, and a g-tube. He had lived all but one month of his life in hospitals. All of this ran through our minds as the doctor explained the options and told us to take a few minutes to decide whether to attempt the procedure or to close his silo and probably guarantee death soon after.

I don’t know how long he left us there to ponder this option, but I know that we were distraught. Neither one of us had slept, and the previous day had been a roller coaster of the greatest proportion. We didn’t say much except to say that we did not want to be in this position. We didn’t want to make this decision. I put a call in to our former pastor and his wife, knowing that they would be sound asleep and unable to help. We wanted someone to tell us whether either option was biblically “wrong.” Instead we were left alone with our decision and gripped with fear.  I remember flipping desperately through the book of Psalms in my oldest, most beloved Bible, hoping to find some word of instruction.

The doctor impatiently checked back with us, saying time was critical and Timothy was at risk just waiting in the OR. It was then that I heard from the Lord—not with an answer but with a reassurance.

What God revealed was that it did not matter which path we chose because He was sovereign in either situation. If we opted for the procedure to continue, Timothy would either die on the table or survive and make his way with little to no intestines. If we opted to close him back up, miraculous healing could still occur or death could be imminent. The doctor had assured us that either option was medically reasonable, and in that moment, God led us to have faith in Him to carry out His plan for Timothy’s life in either scenario.

With full confidence that our decision in no way limited God’s power to heal our son if He chose to do so, we told the surgeon to close the silo.

I have shared many stories of Timothy’s life and death over the past five years, but this one is the most difficult to tell. Because at some level, it felt like we had given up on Timothy’s life after all of those months of advocating for him in every possible way.

I have no idea whether our decision was “right” or “best.” For me it was not a choice between life and death but a choice to have faith in the sovereignty of God over every situation and a choice to give our son the most dignity in life or death that we possibly could.

Jesus told the woman her faith had saved her and to “go in peace.” Our faith saves us—from our sins, from death, from our fears, from thinking we are ever outside of God’s reach. And peace follows–peace that transcends the outcome of the situation…because it is grounded in faith.

“But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2: 4-9, ESV)

“…she took for him a basket made of bulrushes and daubed it with bitumen and pitch. She put the child in it and placed it among the reeds by the river bank.” (Exodus 2:3, ESV)

Moses’ s mother is one of the bravest women in all of history. A Levite woman who gave birth to a son just as “Pharaoh commanded all his people, ‘Every son that is born to the Hebrews you shall cast into the Nile.’” (Exodus 1: 22, ESV)

Can you imagine the love it took to place that baby boy in that basket and walk away? It wasn’t that she didn’t know whether he would survive. She was counting on the fact that he would and took precautions to ensure it. She stationed his sister nearby to stand watch “to know what would be done to him.” And Scripture implies that she strategically placed him where Pharaoh’s daughter came to bathe.

“Now the daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river…She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her servant woman, and she took it. When she opened it, she saw the child, and behold, the baby was crying. She took pity on him.” (Exodus 2:5-6a, ESV)

The baby’s sister then offered to get a Hebrew woman to nurse the child for Pharaoh’s daughter, which amazingly resulted in Pharaoh’s daughter paying Moses’s own mother to nurse him for her. Eventually, though, her job as a nursemaid ended.

“When the child grew older, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son.” (Exodus 2:10, ESV)

I wonder which release was the most difficult. The first literally saved his life, and the act brought her baby back to her in a temporary but protected state. But that walk to Pharoah’s palace must have been heart-wrenching. She had nursed and cared for her son and yet had no choice but to release him back to the very family who had caused the situation in the first place by ordering the death of all of the Hebrew babies, the family of the man who enslaved her people.

But in time, her released son became the instrument by which her people (and possibly she herself) were delivered from bondage.

Many years later, “standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister…and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his other and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold your son!’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother!’ And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home.” (John 19:25-27, ESV)

And in that release of His mother and His death that followed it, Jesus—God the Father incarnate—freed her from eternal bondage.

Scripture tells of other examples of necessary releases—Hannah released Samuel to fulfill the promise she made to God that led to his birth. Abraham released his only son Issac to be sacrificed at God’s command, only to receive him back immediately as a faith-reward.

One of the most powerful stories of release is that of the prostitute mother who came to King Solomon in a dispute with another woman. Both women had infants, but one of them had lain on her son in the night causing him to die. She claimed that the other woman’s son had actually died and that the living infant was hers. Solomon wisely ordered that the child should be divided in two. “Then the woman whose son was alive said to the king, because her heart yearned for her son, ‘Oh, my lord, give her the living child, and by no means put him to death.’ But the other said, ‘He shall be neither mine nor yours; divide him.’” (1 Kings 3:26, ESV)

King Solomon then knew who the child’s real mother was because she was willing to sacrifice her child to save him.

As parents, we are all called to release our children. In an ideal scenario, that release occurs naturally as they grow to adulthood and leave our homes. That natural release is hard enough. I was privileged to experience it twice, and both times it was bittersweet but good and right.

Other times we are forced to release our children in painfully unnatural ways: to a death that comes far too soon, to circumstances we spent our lives praying they would never experience, and even to people willing to divide them in two to get what they want. All three are unbearably painful.

And when you have cried until the tears dry up, you fall on your face before the Lord and do the only thing you can do…the same thing Moses’s mom and Hannah and the prostitute mother did…release your child to the Lord and trust Him to honor the release, knowing that even unnatural releases orchestrated by evil men like Pharaoh can be redeemed for good…to save the child himself, to save a nation…or in the case of Mary’s release…to save the whole world.

“And she said, ‘Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord.’” (1 Samuel 1:26-28, ESV)

“In those days Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord’…And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home.” (Luke 1:39-45, 56, ESV)

After hearing the angel’s stunning announcement that she would supernaturally conceive the Savior of the World, Mary went “with haste” to the home of her relative Elizabeth who was experiencing her own miraculous conception. Their reunion brought the power of the Holy Spirit upon both of them, and they proclaimed joy and blessings, including Mary’s famous Song of Praise, “The Magnificat,” which translates “my soul magnifies the Lord.”

I have no biological sisters, a fact that I have long lamented, but God has abundantly blessed me with many heart sisters and daughters over the years. This morning I enjoyed a beautiful Christmas party planned and attended by the sisters in my church family. This week one of my sisters spent her evening with me enjoying a Christmas Village through the very excited (and sometimes impatient) eyes of my children. Tonight another sister is taking me to a ballet!

It doesn’t surprise me at all that Mary went straight to Elizabeth’s home with her shocking news. Can you imagine the conversations these two women shared in their three months together? (With Zechariah silenced, they must have had unlimited time to talk!) There is nothing like a trustworthy, Lord-loving sister to help you process all that life brings.

I’m not sure where I would be right now without the sisters and daughters in my life who pray, encourage, uplift, exhort, and speak the hard honest truth to me. I recently read an article by Greg Morse on the Desiring God website called, “Find a Friend to Wound You.” He wisely stated that “godly friends are not less than EMTs (emergency medical technicians) who will rip open our carefully crafted excuses and stun us back to life. They wound us for our good.” In contrast, he said that ungodly friends “cheer us on toward destruction. They bequeath the kiss of flattery—the Dementor’s kiss. They coddle our egos, telling us what we want to hear, not what we need to hear.” He exhorts us to recognize that our “souls need friends who are willing to risk wounding [our] pride in the moment for the long-term good of [our] soul.”

I have had several such friends speak into my life over the past year as I sought the courage to walk away from a toxic but secure situation into a peaceful but very uncertain future. In the midst of that terrifying walk, I also experienced the shocking betrayl of one of those friends. A few short years ago, I would have shut down after experiencing that—closed and locked the door to my heart—but that is exactly what Satan hoped I would do when he orchestrated that situation. He would love nothing more than to isolate me and leave me to my own counsel.

Instead, I am running “with haste” into conversations, outings, service, fellowship, burden-sharing, mistake-making, feeling-hurting, wounding, giving, forgiving, and life-giving community with my sisters. And I fully expect the Holy Spirit to show up for us just as He did for Mary and Elizabeth, bringing blessing, joy, and fulfillment—our own little canticle of souls trying to magnify the Lord.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him—a threefold cord is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, ESV)