“Dear Jesus,  Please help Mommy’s broken heart get better.  Amen.”

Today I sat in my special chair overlooking my beautiful creek holding my precious son with tears streaming down my face, and he prayed this prayer for me.

Some days everything goes wrong. You cry yourself to sleep the night before because you just crash and need to let out a stockpile of emotions that you had been holding in to get through the holidays. A bad dream about a fire brings one child into your tear-stained bed at 5am. You stumble out of bed shortly after to find that another child disconnected her feeding tube and has Pediasure and stomach acid literally pooling on the floor under her mattress. You strip the sheets and gather them into a bundle, trying not to let the formula drip all over the floor between her bed and the washing machine, only to forget to remove her wet overnight diaper. A few hours later, your washing machine is broken from whatever the contents of diapers do to washing machine pipes. You get some really bad news from the insurance company. Your bank account balance does not look ready for the mortgage payment that is about to be auto-withdrawn from it. You hurt the feelings of someone you adore, and your apology is woefully inadequate. You mess up a few other million little things in your day. And eventually, the tears just pour out all over everything.

And then your son prays for your broken heart and tells you he really hopes God will make it better. And you promise him that Jesus is a miracle worker and is amazing at healing broken hearts and that you are sure He will fix yours. And your son says, “Like the way He stopped the storm?” And you say, “Yes, just like that. Only sometimes He doesn’t stop the storm; He just makes you safe in it.” And then your son says, “Like Noah?” And you stop and stare in amazement. Because how can a five-year-old boy who struggles to remember the names of the colors and the numbers understand such a profound truth about God? “Yes,” you mutter. “Just like Noah.”

I have missed writing since Advent ended and have been praying about how and whether to continue writing regularly. I decided to commit to write weekly on my blog…no set day, no set topic, no set agenda. All I know is that I want to chronicle this journey God has me on and to write my way through it so that I can hear Him over the noise of my everyday life. So I can know where He is taking me and how He wants me to get there.

I chose my word for 2019 (http://myoneword.org): FORWARD. I want to focus forward, think forward, move forward. That doesn’t mean I am living with my eye on the future. It just means I am headed in the right direction.

My friend Beth constantly reminds me not to look at the past unless I do it through Jesus’s eyes. It’s a tough challenge. I try to go back there so many times. What if…? If only…? Why…? Why not…? Remember when…?

I also get overwhelmed at the uncertainty ahead. How will I…? What will I…? What should I…? What am I meant to…?

I keep little reminders all around me.  A picture above my bed with a C.S. Lewis quote:  “There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”  A John Piper quote above my computer:  “Occasionally, weep deeply over the life you hoped for.  Grieve the losses.  Feel the pain.  Then wash your face, trust God, and embrace the life you have.”  A screensaver on my phone that says:  “Don’t look back.  You aren’t going that way.”  Sometimes they work; sometimes they don’t.

One of the things I value most in all the world is transparency. I love genuine, real people who aren’t afraid to share their hurts and mistakes and flaws and are willing to hear and accept mine but also encourage me to overcome them.

So in honor of transparency, I am writing my first 2019 entry on a truly pathetic day. A day filled with tears. A day filled with failure. A day filled with screw-ups.

But also a day filled with friends reaching into the muck to give me a hand, a word, a prayer, a smile, and some sound advice. Because He doesn’t always stop the storm, but He does teach us to build arks to keep us safe in them. And once we build them, He gently shuts the door with His very own hands. And closes us in where the rain and the wind and the lightning cannot touch us. And He moves us forward—the only direction worth going.

And when we forget, He uses little five-year-old boys to remind us.

“They went into the ark with Noah, two and two of all flesh in which there was the breath of life. And those that entered, male and female of all flesh, went in as God had commanded him. And the Lord shut him in.” (Genesis 7:15-16, ESV)

(Photo cred:  Ashlyn Hockman)