Morning

It was another hard week, but it was sprinkled with sparkles of light. Friends who reached out to me. Time spent with people who love me. The sunlight coming in my windows. A few hours spent painting. 

Yesterday I went to church for the first time in about a month. It is so hard to be there, and I can't quite understand why. But I went anyway - snuck in 5 minutes late and left the instant the benediction was spoken so I didn't have to talk to anyone, answer a million questions, bear the sympathetic looks even though they also comfort me. 

Yesterday I was once again challenged by the idea of being Christ's light, of sharing His Good News, of living the joyous life while my heart is totally broken. What does that even mean? And how are we supposed to accomplish that? While sitting in my chair, tears welling in my eyes at the impossibility of what it feels is being asked of me, of the balance between wanting to shine Christ's love and joy and peace, but also wanting to live an authentic, truthful life, I was so clearly reminded of the verses that say:

There's a season for everything and a time for every matter under the heavens:

a time for giving birth and a time for dying, 
a time for killing and a time for healing, 
a time for crying and a time for laughing, 
a time for mourning and a time for dancing, 
a time for embracing and a time for avoiding embraces, 
a time for searching and a time for losing, 
a time for tearing and a time for repairing, 
a time for keeping silent and a time for speaking...

A sense of relief and peace filled me. Now is my time to mourn, to cry, to be sad, to keep silent when I have no words. Now is my time to speak that truth, to be honest when I'm having bad days, to allow others to know I'm hurting. 

And within that will come times of peace and hope, times when I feel God my Father holding me and comforting me. And as I heal I can tell that story, too. 

This morning, sunlight poured into my windows, steam rose from my coffee, and a quote from a favorite movie came to my mind. I'll paraphrase it here:

And this morning I think he might be able to use that aching arm one more time to push the sun back up in the sky and give me one more day of hope.

My Jesus, with his aching arms stretched out on that cross - those arms that were embracing all my sorrows and all my pain, all my losses and those I have lost, those arms that hold me tightly even when I am writhing in pain - those arms push the sun into the sky and allow my eyes to see the sun as it fills my house and my heart. 

Hard work

I catered a wedding this weekend. It is such hard work! 4 days pretty much non-stop - 3 of those 12 hour days on my feet. But the result is amazing, joyous...and delicious! And for a bonus? While cooking, I was fully distracted and immersed in the experience and (mostly) filled with joy. 

The colors astounded me, as if it was the first time I'd really seen the colors of food. I marveled at the beautiful green of celery and onion as it softened in olive oil. The orange and creams of the butternut squash and apple stew. The pure creaminess of mayonnaise and sour cream as I whisked it together made me smile. A cutting board filled with perfect rounds of sliced carrots.

And serving the guests at the wedding? Seeing the happy faces of the bride and groom? Hearing the nice things people were saying? Joy, satisfaction, and such a blessing to me to be able to bless others. 

The days pass, one by one, and some are like that - filled with good things. Other days are filled with tears, thoughts of "what if....." and stabs of pain that come and go. I remain unmotivated, incredibly low on energy, with a distinct lack of concentration.They call it "complicated grief". Yuck.

The past 3 months have been some of the hardest of my life, and a tremendous amount of that pain has been not just the loss of Matt, but the trauma that surrounds his death. It jarred my nerves, my brain, my physical body. But as hard as the past 3 months have been, I actually have mostly been distracting my mind with television, books, sleep. My counselor says I've been giving my subconscious mind time to work through the trauma of it all. 

Now it's time to get on with the equally hard task of grieving and healing.

Here's my plan: I mean to start purposefully journaling to allow myself to feel - a little at a time - so I can process those feelings and not keep dampening them with tv and books and sleep. 

I plan to spend more time with God praying, reading the Bible - so that my mind and soul will be filled with truth and not lies, lies like, "If you had spent more time with Matt..." or "You didn't push him hard enough to seek help..."  

I hope to start reading through a book on grief - so that I don't fall back on what I have learned in the past, but keep learning how to work through this loss in a healthy way. 

To be honest, I don't want to do any of this. I want to keep watching Call the Midwife on a loop and napping through the afternoon and only crying when it bursts through the little bubble I've put around myself. But I know what old grief looks like - grief that has never healed and has turned sour inside, grief that hardens the heart. And that's not where I want to live. 

So here I go...

Better

What a difference a day makes. 

The roller coaster ride of grief is ridiculous. I cried all day Sunday and half of Monday. Today I feel like I’m back on my feet. I know this is how it is. I’ve walked this road before. And yet, it drives me crazy. 

And so, in the midst of all this, I am very thankful for the constants. 

My fat cat who loves to sit on my lap and get snuggles. 
My husband who is kind and loving. 
My family and friends who walk alongside me. 
The sunshine that bathes my house in the mornings. 
Favorite tv shows that still make me laugh. 
Hot, sweet tea. 

Even a roller coaster slows down at the top of the climb, and if you are paying attention, you might get a beautiful view. 

The new year

I struggle to say, “Happy New Year” or to look forward to what the new year will bring as the last several years have each held huge and difficult challenges. As I look back and can see the resolution of each of those challenges, they seem manageable. But from this vantage point, with the loss of Matt still so new and painful, I feel like I’m waiting to get knocked off the precarious edge on which I stand. It feels like it wouldn’t take much. 

I feel our loss like lead in my pockets, like an onerous task looming on the horizon. It lies behind me like the memory of a devastating storm, and before me like a mountain that must be climbed. Nine weeks isn’t enough time to do much healing, especially in the midst of the holiday season. Thanksgiving and Christmas felt like obligations to grit my teeth and survive. I struggled to keep my eyes on Jesus during Advent, but took good steps to focus on Him. 

And now the holiday season is over. On to whatever “normal” life is going to look like. I began this morning by listening to songs that had encouraged and helped carry me through the early days, and their words encouraged me still. 

I tried to choose to keep my eyes on Jesus during Advent. And keeping my eyes on Jesus will get me through the coming days, as well. 

Letting go of every single dream, I lay each one down at Your feet...

When You don’t move the mountains I’m needing you to move, 

When You don’t part the water I wish I could walk through, 

When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You

I will trust in You. 

I know You’re able and I know You can save through the fire with Your mighty hand, 

But even if You don’t my hope is You alone. 

I’m tired, I’m worn. My heart is heavy from the work it takes to keep on breathing. 

My soul feels crushed by the weight of this world. 

And I know that you can give me rest, so I cry out with all that I have left,

“Let me see redemption win, let me know the struggle ends, that you can mend a heart that’s frail and torn.” 

I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life, 

And all that’s dead inside can be reborn - cause I’m worn. 

I know I need to lift my eyes up, but I’m too weak. 

Life just won’t let up. 

But I know that you can give me rest, so I cry out with all that I have left,

“Let me see redemption win, let me know the struggle ends, that you can mend a heart that’s frail and torn. 

I want to know a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life,

And all that’s dead inside can be reborn - cause I’m worn.”

MIssing

I miss his hands and the way they gripped a pencil. I miss the awkward hugs he insisted on giving. I miss his scratchy voice and how every phone conversation started with, “Hi, Cindy, it’s Matt,” as if caller id didn’t exist. I miss his car pulling up to park in the back of my house. I miss his crazy questions, his insightful questions, his tough questions. I miss his presence in my house. I miss his patchy beard and mustache. I miss, I miss, I miss, I miss......

These are the hard days, when we return to life’s routines, but a huge part of that routine is gone. These are the hard days when Christmas lights twinkle and shine and they bring a mix of joy and sadness. These are the hard days when we keep thinking he’s just around the corner or a phone call away.

These are the hard days...

I made a decision. 

Since the middle of November I’ve been trying to think through how to handle Thanksgiving and Christmas. I have an amazing counselor who has affirmed my gut instinct to choose what activities I want to join in, what decorating I want to do (or not do), whether or not to go Christmas shopping or choose to just give cards this year. It has been a real struggle and until this evening I hadn’t made any progress in knowing how Christmas-y I wanted my house to be. 

After a very strange day - a morning filled with quiet and peace; an extraordinarily difficult afternoon filled with tension and sorrow - I blessedly spent the evening with my best friend. As I drove through my neighborhood, I was struck by the beautiful Christmas lights, and for the first time this year, the twinkling, the colors, the beauty brought me peace and not sadness. 
















What I know and believe suddenly bubbled up to the surface of my mind and I remembered: For me, every light, every twinkle, every shining globe is there because Jesus is the Light of the World. Jesus came to save us. Jesus came to shine down his love and bring us back to our Father who never forgot about his children. 

Every light. 

And I want those lights. 

I want that reminder in my house, to fill my eyes, and be the last thing I see each night as I fall asleep. 

For me, Christmas is not just a celebration of the birth of Jesus, of the little babe in the manger, of the angels and shepherds, of Mary and Joseph and the adoration of the Magi. Christmas isn’t even the beginning of the story. Christmas is the fulfillment of centuries of prophecy, is the opening of a door that had been closed, is the sigh of relief at the arrival of the Messiah. Christmas is the fulfillment of Emmanuel - God with Us. 

And this is the space in which I live my life. I believe it with all my being. Rain or shine, heart breaking sorrow or bubbling joy, with broken dreams or in bliss - it is the Truth, the bedrock of my life.
 
So I’ll decorate for Christmas - with the sadness of missing my brother, with the roller coaster of emotions I’m still riding, but with the joy of the shepherds and angels who saw before them their Messiah, the Light of the World, the God who saves. 

Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others - the armies of heaven - praising God and saying, 

Glory to God in the highest heaven, 

and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.

Luke 2:13-14

Seasons change

Seasons of life come and go, holidays roll around the calendar, and we search for meaning in it all. 

I started out my marriage with what seemed an obvious purpose - to do all I could to help my husband who was working on first his Master's, then his Doctorate in Engineering. I worked full time while learning to run a household - grocery shop, keep up with laundry, manage our money. 

But my "purpose" has shifted and changed over the years, and at times it has been with great struggle and sadness - moving several times, losing my mother and father, struggling through infertility and coming to the full knowledge that I would not be a mother. 

Last year, as we saw my brother's health declining, I wondered if my purpose, if God's design in not allowing Tim and I to have children, was so that we could care for Matt, bring him into our home, and make him a full time part of our family. 

But now he's gone, too, and so that purpose has fallen away. 

So what is my purpose? As I wrestle through this once again, I come to the same conclusion I did several years ago. My purpose is to love God with all my heart, mind and spirit, and to go where that leads. I don't need children to pour my life into others. I don't need to care for my declining brother to have a focus for my energy and love. 

Hanging in my bedroom for many years was a picture that said, "Heart's desire". I thought my deepest desire was to have children, but in truth, there is an even deeper desire that carries me through all this loss: My deepest heart's desire is to love God. 

So Matt is gone, and I must wade through the mud of that sadness and loss, but my bedrock remains - God's purpose for my life. To love people. To be involved in lives. To give what I can to those around me. 

It won't be Matt I pour my life into. But God is faithful. He has always given me people to love. I know he will do so once again. 

Sunshine

The sun is shining into my dining room and I decide I will try to be productive. I'll do some laundry, I'll sort through this pile that has accumulated on my desk. I'm taking care of business, sorting through papers, throwing away unneeded items, even making a new pile for Goodwill. 

And then it happens. I see one item that reminds me of Matt. An event we attended together, a dinner we ate, a movie we watched, a flicker of sunlight on leaves that reminds me that he will never make his way across my backyard again, he will never eat another meal in my house, he will never make another sarcastic comment. And my heart plunges to the floor and tears fill my eyes and I want to curl in bed under the covers and sleep and sleep and sleep until I feel better. 

But instead I pour out my feelings into this virtual journal, the very act of summoning words for my thoughts a catharsis of sorts. I won't collapse in a puddle on the floor. I will choose to keep going. But for how long? I guess until God calls me home or comes again. 

There is joy to be found in folding laundry, in feeding my husband, in laughing with friends and contemplating a homemade Christmas. And as each year passes, this heavy layer of sorrow will lighten and joy will come again - pure like a cold autumn morning, like a single bird singing, like a child laughing.

I know this is true.

Just keep swimming

We’re coming up on 4 weeks. A month. A cycle of the moon. And one holiday is done and dusted. 

The good days are so...well, good. I feel pretty even emotionally, I have confidence that I will make it through this. 

The bad days are... the opposite. Up and down, leaking tears all day, fear about the future and how I will cope and whether or not I will be able to handle this process of grieving and healing in a healthy way, without falling into a pit of sadness. All I want to do is stay in bed with my cat or watch stupid TV. Or disappear into the mountains for a month of solitude and sleep and beauty and crying alone on a porch as the snow falls. 

So laundry piles up, bills aren’t getting paid on time, I’m scattered and leave the grocery store with strange combinations of food. But we have food, so that’s good. And I’m putting some systems in place to help me keep up. And I’m determined to keep on living, because Matt would be pretty angry if I didn’t. He’d give me that look and say something that anyone else would find incredibly rude, but I’d smile and know he was actually saying, “I love you. Be strong.” 

The emerging Christmas lights and carols floating through the air bring moments of panic. How will I Christmas shop? (I probably won’t do much at all. Homemade Christmas this year will allow me to stay home and avoid those happy crowds.) How will I get through Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, remembering the times he spent at our house, the quiet community we shared, the joy he brought us? (I’ll keep my eyes focused on Jesus and the gift of Emmanuel, God with Us.) And I’ll cry and cry. It’s ok, though, because I remind myself that my God has not given me a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, love, and self-control. I can claim this promise and hold onto it like an anchor for my soul. 

So I say out loud the things I know are true even if I don’t feel them. I affirm to my soul that God will bring comfort and healing. I speak the choice of forgiveness for those who have wounded me. And I call on Emmanuel, our Comforter, my Father God to carry me and bring me through to the other side. 

He will. Even when I don’t feel like it’s true, I know it is. For that I’m so very thankful. 

Another day

The sun rose this morning and I blinked my sore, tired eyes and looked out the window at the bright blue sky. Another day. Two weeks since my brother died. Seems like a thousand years. Or yesterday. But the morning came and passed, the afternoon was peaceful and quiet, the evening looks to be the same. One day is hellish, the next is calm. Grief is strange, that’s for sure. 

But we press on. And each day has it’s own joys, too. Joy in the midst of sorrow. Isn’t that just the way of life? 

The dark truth

Speak gently of your grief. Find the silver lining of each loss. All sorrow comes to an end. 

These are the things we’re supposed to do and say. These are the thoughts people want to hear. But the truth is that I want to sit in a dark room, heavy metal bass and drums filling the air, screaming and crying. I want to burst my ear drums so my heart will stop hurting. I want the sun to stop shining and mourn with me. I want the birds to stay silent in their nests. I want the skies to pour rain so my tears will be invisible. 

But these thoughts scare people, make them worry, and so I don’t say it out loud. Instead, I say I’m doing all right. I’m finding my way. And I will. Don’t worry or be afraid for me. But today, I want to disappear. 

W.H. Auden says it perfectly:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 


Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,]
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.


The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good. 

Choices

How quickly my brain fired. How I sprang into action when I read the letter that began with, "I am sincerely and profoundly sorry to put you through this..." and ended with, "I will kneel before God..." My counselor told me that as humans we only have 3 choices when faced with a true crisis: fight, flight, or freeze. Feeling confused, I asked her, "So what did I do?" She looked at me with such compassion and said gently and softly, "You fought. You and Tim both did. And you've been fighting for Matt all along."

But now my brain is molasses. Keeping clean underwear and vegetables in the house is enough of a challenge. Life marches on. Tim and I both have work we need to do, and the holidays approach. I will choose to fight through all this, too. I may not be as ambitious as I am some Christmas seasons, but Matt wouldn't want me to give up. He'd want me to delight in the company of my friends, make jam and candy, and decorate my house.

The twinkling lights of a Christmas tree will be bittersweet again this year. But we'll fight. We'll fight to find joy, fight to show love to one another, fight to keep Matt's memory alive by making our own memories and celebrating this life we've been given to live.

We'll keep fighting.

Into the Wild

This morning I was reminded how much Matt loved the movie Into the Wild. It engendered many conversations between us about independence, adventure, responsibility, society, family. Matt spoke of having an adventure of his own, unfettered by convention or physical limitations. I told him he could do it, he could absolutely run off, disappear, explore the world on his own. But he followed obligation and (maybe) wisdom instead, finished his architecture degree, and got a good job. 

But how he longed to hit the road, to disappear for a time, to have an adventure that was totally his own. To see places none of us had seen, to explore with only his desire and curiosity guiding him. I imagine him returning home, full of stories, full of pride and satisfaction at the journey he took. I imagine how he'd tell us about all he saw, metering out his stories, drawing it out to the best effect, minimizing his struggles and highlighting each hilarious incident. 

I guess he's on that journey now, way ahead of me, exploring where I can't yet go. And he's blazing a trail. Don't you know it? He's making his own way in the light of the Son, free from anything holding him back and he's in those wilds of Alaska or the dessert of Arizona lying on a rock in the sun or kayaking down a river, free in a way he never was here on Earth. 

So we begin again

The day breaks and my eyes fill with tears and the bright full moon sets and I face today. The busyness is almost over which means the daily hurting missing adapting begins. The impulse to text him, invite him, be with him. The desire to see him and hear his sarcastic voice and watch for his car pulling up to the house. To cook his favorite meal and make plans to see a movie or play a game. I know this path, I know that the pain will slowly slowly painfully slowly ebb but I dread the process. But I can't go back to sleep so I sit in the slowly lightening house, listening to the distant train, once again typing words into the great big electronic community. 

Memorial Service for Matthew Compton Lee
Sunday, Nov 5, 4 pm
HarvestDowntown Church
411 N. Weber St. 

A deep sigh of relief

Finally, after a hectic spring complicated by tough emotional battles and wrestling with God and myself, it feels like I can settle into a summer routine. I am facing summer with a healthier perspective on some personal issues and hoping to carry forward the lessons learned.

I woke up extra early this morning and wandered into my garden to plant just a few more things - a "Farmers' Market" blend of lettuces and some swiss chard. I had my headphones on, listening to a playlist that includes pretty, pensive songs like Michael Buble's "Home" and and Alison Krauss's "Gravity". The sun was up but hadn't made it's way past our garage roof or the trees in our backyard, so the light was still cool and green. Worms wriggled in the soil I loosened. I sprinkled the tiny seeds, then gently spread the dirt over them. In a week or two, that black dirt will be covered with a fine layer of tiny green seedlings. It makes me smile.

This process of gardening does something good for my soul. Every spring I enjoy thinking about what I'll grow that year. I do pretty much the same thing each summer, but have experimented occasionally with pumpkins, various cucumbers, and varieties of green beans. I love choosing my seeds, preparing the soil, waiting for those tiny plants to push their way into the light, then picking and eating something that God and I grew. It is like a tiny miracle in my own yard.

As I pick up my tools and get ready to head inside, I hear the tinkle of Ruca's collar. My neighbors' dog is my good buddy. I put my hand through the fence and she comes close so I can give her ears a good morning scratch. And then here comes Kai - the little boy who has done so much to heal my soul, to heal the hurt of not having children of our own - a miracle in itself. A smile breaks across my face as he toddles over, smiling and cooing, bringing me one of his dad's yard tools.

I am so thankful for this quiet morning full of lovely gifts. An early snuggle with Egg. The joy of my garden. Ruca's moist kisses. Kai's smile. The peace of my garden.

How wonderful the quiet of summer mornings. How wonderful the neighbors and friends who fill my life. How wonderful.

Another milestone...

May 9th of this year was the 28th anniversary of Tim and my first date and we have been in love ever since. Not a day, since that first date, have we been apart in our hearts. Perhaps this is why we tend to celebrate our first date more than our wedding anniversary. :-)

I am so thankful for the man, the friend, the husband with whom God has gifted me. He is my best friend, my strongest supporter, my funniest friend, my love.

He is an extraordinary husband who works hard to provide for me, who desires to love me the best way he can, who wants me to have peace and joy every day. What a privilege to live each day knowing I am loved, adored, appreciated.  

Our marriage is, by no means, perfect, but we are so thankful for the special relationship we have, the peace we've cultivated, the trust we have in one another, and the healthy patterns that God has helped us learn. 

Happy anniversary, baby. 

Rich

What is fruitcake? Why is it such a big deal?

Just recently I was asked about the history of fruitcake, and I had to make some guesses, but here's what the Smithsonian has to say:

...the modern fruitcake can be traced back to the Middle Ages as dried fruits became more widely available and fruited breads entered Western European cuisine. ...variations started springing up: Italy's dense, sweet and spicy panforte dates back to 18th century Sienna; Germany's stollen...has been a Dresden delicacy sense the 1400s....

In the 18th and 19th centuries, due to the cost of the materials, fruitcake was a grand indulgence. And it still is! Some years I catch all the ingredients on sale. Bonus!

How it became associated with Christmas and how it fell from grace are both mysteries; however, the nail may have been ...driven into the coffin in the early 20th century when mass-produced mail-order fruitcakes became available, creating the regrettably classic image of a dry, leaden cake encrusted with garish candied fruits and pecans.

Leaden? Dry? I say, "Fie on thee!"

I think the first time I had fruitcake was about 10 years ago when my sister was visiting me. We pulled out the Joy of Cooking (classic cookbook!) and made our grand baking plans. And why not include fruitcake? Wasn't it supposed to be delicious? Wondrous?

So began my tradition of baking fruitcakes. I love them. And what's not to love? I start with premium dried fruits - dates, cranberries, golden raisins, cherries, currants - and then I soak them in good quality rum. Seriously? What's not delicious about that? :-D

 

Then I cream together a rather large amount of butter and brown sugar, and add a good number of eggs. Oh, the luscious combination of butter and sugar ... and to add the richness of eggs to that? A classic batter. Delish.

Then I mix it all together (along with a few other things), line my pans with parchment and more butter, spoon in the thick concoction, cover it all with foil, and bake it slowly, allowing my house to fill with amazing smells. Ooooh!

The result?

Rich, sweet, fruity, buttery cake that I slice thinly and serve on beautiful china. It is worth the effort. It is divine to eat. I love it!

Still not convinced? Stop on by ... and we'll share some together with a nice pot of tea. I'm always up for a challenge. Changing your mind, that is... ;-)

Beauty

I am surrounded by beauty. 

Friday evening I went to a madrigal dinner that a very good friend was in. I've never before been to a madrigal, and oh how I enjoyed it! The costumes, the humor, and the music. Oh, the music! The voices were rich and full, the songs beautiful, the warmth of the evening warmed my whole heart. When I got home late that evening, I stood for a moment in my back yard in the cold, the snow, the quiet night and just took a moment to breath it all in. A special moment, an early Christmas gift.

Saturday I taught two lovely young ladies how to make jam - pear preserves, specifically. Laughing, talking, working together, the house filling with the sweet smell of sugar and fruit, the windows steaming from the boiling pots. Such fun! And such a privilege to be friends with these ladies. One of them told me recently that, even though I'm not that much older than her (she's being kind) I have a very motherly spirit. She said she doesn't see me as a mother figure - just a friend - but that motherliness touches her. Wow - that speaks right to the depths of my heart! Such affirming words. Another gift.

Sunday - we hosted a party for a newlywed couple who wanted to share their leftover wedding cake with friends. I make chili and coleslaw, they brought beer and bread, and about 20 people crowded into my little house and spent the afternoon together. It was downright jolly. I love it when my house is filled with friends - the sound of their voices, their laughter, just their presence is a gift to me.

And then this morning, I woke up unusually early. I needed to clean-up some from yesterday's party as my sister is coming over to bake today! Yay and fun! :-D I stood at my sink washing dishes, and at just the same moment, Harry Connick's "Ave Maria" began to swell and the sun broke through the clouds, golden morning sun lighting the snow and bare trees outside my kitchen window.

My heart feels so full this morning. I feel like I'm being given daily gifts - music, a peaceful home, friends, family, winter's beauty, affirming words. What a miracle for me to feel so much peace and joy. I am thankful.

December 1

We sang Christmas carols in church on this first Sunday of Advent, and it gladdened my heart.

To be honest, as many of you know, the holiday season has for many years not been a time of great joy for me. It has been a season of much hurt, stress, and sadness. There are lots of reasons for this, but much of the time it has centered around Tim and my loss of children and the loss of both my parents. These have left holes in my heart that are only highlighted this time of year by the innumerable family-centric events. Every commercial on television, every church event, every party it seems involves families celebrating together.

But this year feels different.

Just a week ago, Tim and I were involved in an event that highlighted these very losses. I came home feeling really down, teary, sad. It wasn't a good night. But as I closed my eyes for sleep, God spoke such words of comfort and tenderness to me. He reminded me that my life isn't an accident. He reminded me that the losses I've sustained are, in fact, a part of his plan, part of his master weaving of my life, and they are part of what makes me who I am and allows me to live the life I lead - to be involved in so many people's lives, to walk alongside friends who are hurting, to love friends in a special way when their hearts are broken.

Perhaps it seems odd that this was a comfort, but it indeed was. A deep comfort. It reminded me of the great things about my life, the many friends I have, the time I have been allowed to spend with friends - the kind of time that mothers of small children just don't have. What a gift that has been to me! How it has filled up the empty places of my heart in a real and palpable way!

And so this Sunday, I rejoiced in the truth of these lines we sang:

You are so good to me
You heal my broken heart
You are my Father in heaven....

How blessed I am that the God of the universe, my Father in heaven, loves me, cares enough about me to mend the broken places, fill all my needs, take my earthly father and mother's places, and walk with me through all of life.

The ultimate gift.

Ah, Friday

 Anyone who knows me knows that my house is a mess - especially this particular house in which my hubby and I live. Truth be told, we haven't effectively downsized from our previous house, and the result is pretty much a constant mess. I swing back and forth between feeling content enough ("This is just how we live") and feeling incredibly frustrated about it. 

Mom's bear - Nicholas

It's been an odd week. Monday I had a fever and in the afternoon a migraine. Tuesday I was still battling the fever, and that evening my left eye became very irritated. Wasn't sure what was going on. During the night it became clear I had conjunctivitis (pink eye!), and that raged all through Wed, but was much improved on Thursday (thanks, Becky, for the drops!). This morning (Friday), I woke up with a cold. Bother.

Not an ideal week on the health front.

But on the upside, despite feeling pretty crummy most days this week, I actually accomplished quite a bit. I almost kept up with the dishes, we ordered out supper only 1 time, I eliminated 1 1/2 large piles from my desk, I sorted through some of our storage stuff, I did some laundry (washed and put away), and I had a couple great conversations with friends. So all in all, it was a great week!

This afternoon the fall sun is shining in my windows, my hard wood floors and pretty flowered and striped curtains are practically glowing from the light, and the piles of stuff just aren't bothering me very much. Perhaps it's because I am actually making progress on the problem areas. Perhaps God is teaching me more and more about being comfortable in my own skin and loving myself enough to extend grace to myself. Perhaps it is just the warmth of this lovely November day.
 

 Whatever the case, this lovely feeling is a pretty darn good way to end such a crazy week! I'm feeling warm, thankful and peaceful. Wonderful! :-)