debily

Archive for the ‘Life’s like that’ Category

Lately it seems like there’s an epidemic of blessing going around.  In the past month I’ve heard story after story of one friend after another who’s been promoted, or moved into their dream home, or been healed from serious illness or injury, or gotten that fancy new car, or seen God move and provide in ways they never imagined possible.  And that’s great.  Honestly, I’m happy for them.  I rejoice with them.

But a little piece of my heart still asks, “What about us, God?  What about me?”

I’m not jealous.  Really, I’m not.  I’m happy with my car, I love my house – though if God decided to bless us with an extra $100K to finish the patio, upgrade and complete the landscaping and install a pool, He’d get no complaints from me – I love my family and I love my amazing friends, both those I see in person on a regular basis and those I connect with virtually.  When I look at what is really important in life, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I, too, am blessed.

But a little piece of my heart still wonders, “How long, God?  How much longer must I wait?”

It’s not a lack of faith, or at least I don’t think it is.  I can fully see God’s hand moving the pieces of our circumstances around like a cosmic chess board, playing out His omniscient strategy for the ultimate win.  And in that, I’m hopeful.  I’m optimistic.  I believe that God is ultimately in control, that He knows what He is doing, and that He – and He alone – knows what is best.  He has promised to complete the good thing He has begun, and I am confident that no matter how difficult the process, that is exactly what He is doing.

But a little piece of my heart still cries out, “This is hard, God.  This hurts!”

It’s not that I’m not willing to wait.  I’m not being impatient.  In the deepest places within me, I truly want what is best.  I desperately desire God to accomplish what He set out.  I crave His perfect timing, His perfect plan to be executed, no matter how long that takes.  I’m willing to surrender – to His leading, His direction…even His correction when necessary.  I’ve gone down that road where I’ve impulsively or impatiently taken control, where I’ve refused to listen to His direct instruction, where I’ve deliberately disobeyed and rebelled against what He’s asked me to do…and missed out on untold blessings because of it.  So this time, I’m settling in – gladly, willingly, expectantly – for the long haul.

But still a little piece of my heart still fears, “How far will You take this?  How deep are You asking us to go?”

And God reminds me: this isn’t just for me.  This trial, this period of testing, this time of waiting and searching and praying and trusting isn’t just to grow *my* faith.  God has also begun a good work in Matt and our children, and He has a plan to complete that good work as well.  God desires to grow their faith, to deepen their walks with Him, to bring them to new places of faith and understanding and trust.  And beyond that, God can use their testimonies to reach their circles of influence.  Their lives can become lights and impact others.  Their experiences can be used to encourage others and teach them about God’s amazing provision and love.  It’s not just about me.

And so, a little piece of my heart now says, “Yes, Lord.  I will yield.”

As I lift my hands in surrender, I discover that they are in a perfect position for God to reach down, take hold, and – as the loving Father He is – lead me forward.  As I open my hands to yield to Him all that I cling to so tightly, I see that those hands are now open to receiving His blessing…the blessing I know is waiting for me if I endure, if I am faithful, if I trust, if I obey.

And so a little piece of my heart waits.  Because I know the blessing is coming.

I’m not all that much into chicken soup.  Don’t get me wrong, chicken soup definitely has its place in the grand scheme of life.  But for me, comfort foods are more about sweets you can sink your teeth into than watered-down broth with slurpy noodles.

And frankly, Little Debbie snack cakes make me happy.  They always have.

Something about peeling apart the double layers of the zebra cakes and licking the creamy frosting filling off the top of the bottom layer makes me smile.  I take great joy in unrolling the Swiss Cake Rolls and scooping out the filling with my finger and licking it clean before devouring the chocolate-coated cake part.  And don’t even get me started on the gooey, melty goodness that is an oatmeal cream pie.

And so that’s why I get so excited about my Little Debbi Sermonettes.  Those little nuggets of biblical goodness that make me feel all bubbly and giddy inside.  Those moments when God whispers a truth in my ear that makes my heart nearly burst with excitement.  Those “aha!” revelations when my heavenly Father wraps me up in a great big bear hug with a special message of love just for me..but one that I absolutely can’t keep to myself.

This weekend, God did that.  He sent me another snack cake for my soul.  The best part?  It was a TWIN PACK!!  Two delicious treats of yummy God-created goodness wrapped up together in one package.  Sweet surprises like that deserve to be shared, so hold out your hand and prepare to be blessed!

You have kept a record of my wanderings. Put my tears in your bottle. They are already in your book.  Psalm 56:8, God’s Word translation

This week, an exciting event occurred in the Speer household.  For several months, Trey has insisted that two of his upper molars were wiggly.  Try as we might, Matt and I had a hard time getting those so-called loose teeth to move.  For one thing, braces kind of got in the way.  And then there was the retainer, a hard plastic mouth-guard which had to be worn All. The. Time. except when eating.  And to be perfectly honest, I’d rather not engage in a tooth-wiggling struggle when there is food in the mouth.

But then came the day when the retainer-wearing ordinance was relaxed and we could finally have access to those teeth.  It wasn’t long after that we discovered – much to our horror – that the permanent teeth were descending ON TOP of the baby teeth.  With dollar bill signs and thoughts of extra orthodontic treatment looming large in our brains, we set Trey a-wiggling.  Wiggle in the morning.  Wiggle in the evening.  Wiggle in the in-between times.  Just wiggle, wiggle, wiggle…and get that tooth out!  On Wednesday, it happened.  Just after he walked in from school, I saw that tooth dangling, took a firm grasp and with one mighty twist – POP! – out it came.

Though Trey is now officially “in the know” regarding the secret identity of the Tooth Fairy, we still did the whole routine and in the morning there was a crisp new $1 bill waiting for him.  As Trey collected his dues, he asked me, “What do you do with my teeth?”  I informed him that Matt has saved every single one of them in a special box in our bedroom.  “WOW!!  Can I see them??”  was the next, all-too-10-year-old-boy question I was asked.  “Sure.”  I responded…and we did.  And he marveled over every single one.

When I read the verse above this weekend, I was reminded of this scene.  Why, exactly, do we as parents save our kids’ teeth?  What good reason do we have for holding on to something that is so useless, so worthless, and frankly, so GROSS as old teeth?   Why don’t we just throw them out and move on?  Because they are REMINDERS.  They remind us as parents where our children have come from.  They represent milestones of our children’s journeys from infancy to maturity.

And that is exactly why God collects our tears in His bottle.  To remind us of what we’ve come from.  To show us that when we shed those tears of sorrow or grief or loneliness or anger or hurt or disappointment or joy or gratitude that He was journeying through those times with us.  To show us how far we’ve come in our own personal journeys with him.  To demonstrate how much He – our heavenly Father – loves us and cares for us as His children.

The next time you feel those tears welling up within you, know that your Father stands close by, ready to catch them with His bottle, so that He can remind you of all that He is…and all you are becoming as you journey to His heart.

See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.  Isaiah 49:16

I may be old, but I do remember being in high school.  And believe it or not, in those days, kids didn’t have cell phones.  We barely had CORDLESS phones…and I’m still convinced my family was the *last* family on earth to discontinue use of a rotary phone.  When something important came up during class – like needing a friends’ phone number, or when that cute guy I had a crush on told me to meet him at a certain time in a certain location, or when a bunch of people were getting together for a party or event and I desperately wanted to be there – and I needed to write it down FAST, where did I put it?  Yep – on the palm of my hand.

I did go to college, too, in those long-ago days.  I well remember those busy days of classes, labs, student teaching assignments, projects, and crazy adventures with friends.  When a friend wanted to meet for a late-night snack-shack run, or when a bunch of us made a study date, or when I needed to know that cute guy’s room number or phone extension, where did I write it down?   Sometimes, little post-it notes got lost or misplaced or the sticky just plain wore off.  Sometimes, I didn’t have any paper with me other than a gum wrapper or the project I’d stayed up all night working to complete.  You guessed it…I hastily scribbled it on the palm of my hand.

I did manage to graduate from college and get a “real” job in the “real” world.  My days as a teacher were busy and full.  Juggling responsibilities in ministry and vocation, all while maintaining some sort of social life kept me going all day every day.  If I needed to remember to pick up milk and bread on the way home from work, or if I suddenly was able to get a doctor’s appointment changed, or if my singles’ group decided on the spur of the moment to go out for a late-night movie, where did I record that information so I would be SURE to remember it?  Yep…once again, on that trusty old palm of the hand.

Now I live life as a wife and mother, busy with responsibilities of caring for a family, maintaining a job, and being involved in ministry.  Some days, keeping my ducks in a row is a harder task than it sounds.  I shun to-do lists because they overwhelm me.  I don’t carry a calendar with me because it distracts me.  So where do I write those important little to-do’s that I can’t forget to-do?  Yeah…on the palm of the hand once again.

So why would God tell us that He has engraved us on the palm of His hand?  For the very same reason we write those important notes on our own palms.  So we remember.  So we don’t forget.  Because those people, those things, those numbers or dates or times or grocery items are important to us.  And in the same way, we’re important to God.  He remembers us.  He won’t forget us.

Because you see, there’s one important difference between our hands and His.  When I write my new friends’ name and phone number on the palm of my hand, I can be assured that at some point it will wash away.  My hands get dirty, filled with germs, and unclean.  I’ll need to use soap and water and scrub for 30 seconds under warm water…and that name will be erased.  No longer visible.  Forgotten.

Not so with God.  His hands are pure.  His hands are clean.  And you can know for a fact that once your name is written – better yet, ENGRAVED – there, it will NEVER wash away.  You name is written on His hand for eternity.  Indelible.  Inscribed.  Permanent.  He will NEVER forget you.  He will ALWAYS remember you.  And I imagine that when He looks at His hand and sees your name…He smiles.  Because He loves you.

September 23, 1997…the day I buried my father.

So I guess it’s fitting, then, that today was our annual “Day of Remembering.”  As usual, we met at Restland for the traditional placing of the flowers and taking of the photos:

We tried something new with our joint picture this time…one at the gravesite.  We’ve never done this before, and it definitely has its challenges, but we managed to get a pretty decent shot.

I’m never sure whether I should smile in these pictures or not.  I’m not totally sure what’s appropriate.  I don’t know what people will think.  But I like to think that Dad would smile at us having joy in the midst of our sorrow, still having fun without him, laughing through the heartache of missing him.  So I smile.  If for no other reason than to honor him.

And – as has become custom – Mom asks her usual hard question.  This year, her question was “If he could come back for ONE day, what would you do?”

After she assured me that she’d get her own day to spend with him, I gave my answer:

• meet in Boston, with Matt and the kids with me
• introduce my children to their grandfather
• take a train to the Boston Children’s Museum, for some true “Grampa” time
• enjoy a picnic lunch at the Boston Public Gardens, reading “Make Way for Ducklings”, taking pictures with the Mallard statues, and riding on a swan boat
• hop a train to Fenway to watch the Red Sox win!

I couldn’t imagine a more perfect day.  But I know he can…and someday I’ll get to experience it with him.

I know the song says Brother Noah did, but after the past two days of hard rain we’ve had, I’m tempted to.

When we moved to Dallas from Miami, there were certain things I was excited to leave behind.  For example, I was glad to leave behind the days of super-high humidity and move to a more arid climate.  I looked forward to having hair days where my hair wouldn’t frizz unless I wanted it to.  I was excited to leave behind hurricane season and all the trouble of boarding up the house and taking down the awnings and securing all the equipment only to endure countless hours spent cooped up indoors, unable to see outside, playing board games and listening to the sound of rain pelt our metal window covers.

After living here for a couple decades, I’ve only got this to say:  so much for that idea.

This week, we’ve been blessed by the visiting Tropical Storm Hermine.  She’s blessed us with enough rain to fill our entire year’s quota in the 48 hours she’s been upon us.  Okay, so I exaggerate.  A little.  But not much.

Here’s the proof:  We’ve lived here for coming up on 6 years now.  And never in all that time have we seen this:

Yeah, that’s the pond across the street from our house.  This is what it looked like from our garage door:

Overflowing the banks, covering the sidewalk, flooding the street.  The spillway across the main road through our neighborhood was up over the road – a good 8 feet or more up from creek level.  And shortly after I returned home from teaching my homeschoolers, the entrance to our subdivision was blocked off by police for high water.

The question remains if the rain will stop in time for the kids to get home from school this afternoon.  Guess I better get hammering.  I’ve got an ark to build.

The first day of school is always exciting.

You get to use your brand-new backpack and lunch box for the very first time.

You get to wear your brand-new clothes that Mom has said “no” to every day since you bought them.

You get to color with those brand-new crayons that have NEVER BEEN USED.  They’re not broken or dull, and they even have the little paper wrappers still on them.

You get to see your friends again and have a new classroom and a new teacher and a new routine.

And, if you’re lucky, you lose a tooth moments after you arrive home.

Or at least that’s how Crisana rolls.

As she got ready for bed last night, we had to make preparing for the Tooth Fairy part of the routine.  She brought out all the stops: her tooth treasure box, a candle to light the way, and – in case the Tooth Fairy was confused – an explanatory note.

And of course, the Tooth itself, tucked carefully away in the Tooth Treasure Box, awaiting the arrival of the blessed Tooth Fairy.

And in the morning, she discovered a crisp new $1 bill, which she promptly announced she was giving – along with her “2 quarters” (really a dime and a penny) – to church for the children at the Yellow House in Monterrey, Mexico.

Exciting times.  In fact, so exciting, she decided to do it all over again…losing another tooth moments before our neighbor arrived to pick her up for school.

And that’s the tooth, the whole tooth, and nothing but the tooth.

Tomorrow morning if you wake up

and the sun does not appear…

I will be here.

Days of darkness…we’ve had our share.  Job losses.  Deaths of parents and loved ones.  Cancer.  Times when it seems like a dark cloud is hanging over us.  Times we’ve wondered if the sun would come up in the morning.  Through it all, we’ve been together.  We’ve held on to one another, relied on one another, comforted one another, and reassured one another.  Looking ahead, there are sure to be storm clouds on the horizon.  It’s somewhat frightening, since we have no way of knowing what those storms will be.  But I promise you today, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

If in the dark we lose sight of love,

Hold my hand

and have no fear:

I will be here.

Times of stress, of fear, of doubt.  We’ve had our fill of those, too.  Financial struggles, endless to-do lists, pressures of work and family, the constant struggle to balance ministry and marriage and parenting.  When our emotional wells run dry it’s easy to lose sight of “us”…to begin blaming…to fight and argue…to demand and expect and withhold.  But in the end, we’ve always come back to one another, found ways to rekindle the flame of our love, been able to reconnect in our hearts and souls.  Looking ahead, we still have a lifetime spread out before us, filled with years of work and ministry and family.  But I promise you today, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

I will be here when you feel like being quiet

When you need to speak your mind, I will listen

And I will be here, when the laughter turns to crying

Through the winning, losing, and trying

I will be here.

Times of trial, of trying and failing, of striving and falling short.  Times when each of us has felt defeated, lost, and unsure of ourselves and our abilities.  We’re very different, you and I.  But God brought us together because we fit each other so well.  Your strengths complement my weaknesses, and I’d like to think I smooth out your rough edges.  When I fall, you’re there to pick me up.  When you fail, I’m still the one who cheers you on and encourages you to try again.  We’re not perfect, but I believe we’re perfect together.  Looking ahead, I know there are potholes in the road.  There will be detours and wrong turns.  And so I promise you today, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

Tomorrow morning, if the sun comes up

and the future seems unclear

I will be here.

Times of uncertainty.  Times of fear, doubt, and questions.  Times when we’re not sure which way to turn, which direction to take, or how what we’re supposed to do.  Sometimes it seems like God has been silent.  We’ve felt alone, with no direction or guidance, fumbling our way along, hoping to stumble across the path God has chosen.  But we’ve never truly been alone.  God’s always been there, even when we haven’t seen or felt Him.  And we’ve always had each other, to lean on, to talk to, to share the journey with.  We’re still walking along this road of life as it stretches toward the horizon.  Looking ahead, I can’t see where it all leads.  There are hills and bumps and twists and turns, obscuring the road signs.  So I promise you today, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

Just as sure as seasons are made for change

Our lifetimes are made for these years

So I will be here.

Times of change.  Changing jobs, changing responsibilities.  New addresses, new homes.  Different ministries, different churches.  The only thing that stays the same is that nothing ever stays the same.  In our years together, we’ve witnessed a lot of change.  There have been changes in the world around us, but also in our own little world.  We’ve had friends come into our lives for a season, only to leave abruptly.  We’ve been engaged in activities and ministries that have energized and captivated us for a season…and then faded away as our interests waned and our focus changed.  But through all the changes, I could always count on you as my constant companion.  The one who would be by my side, holding my hand.  The one who’s encouraged me to grow in areas I never expected.  The one I’ve poured my heart into and watched blossom into an amazing husband and father.  Looking ahead, I can’t see who we’ll become, or how the road ahead will change us.  I know there will be seasons of plenty and of want, of harvest and planting, days when the winter winds will howl and days when the warm spring breezes will blow.  And I promise you today, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

I will be here

And you can cry on my shoulder.

When the mirror tells us we’re older, I will hold you.

And I will be here

To watch you grow in beauty

And tell you all the things you are to me…

I will be here.

Times of remembrance.  Times to reflect and look back on where we’ve been.  We’ve shed tears as we’ve laughed so hard we could hardly breathe.  We’ve shed tears as we’ve experienced losses so deep they’ve torn at the very fabric of our souls.  We’ve created memories that have interwoven our hearts so completely it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Our friendship has always been the basis of our relationship, and on that friendship and shared faith we have built something of beauty.  We can speak without words, through just a touch or a simple look.  Looking ahead, I can see the crow’s feet deepening, the grey hairs multiplying or simply falling out.  The effects of gravity are inescapable.  But still I promise you, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

I will be true to the promise I have made

to you and to the One

who gave you to me.

Times of renewing.  Times when I am reminded just how deeply I love you and how grateful I am that you love me, too.  Times my heart is nearly bursting with pride to share your name and be called your wife.  Times I am honored to call you my husband.  But none of this would be possible without the One who brought us together.  Through a divinely choreographed dance, God’s hand guided us along the twists and turns, the hills and the valleys, to that straight and narrow path to the altar.  As I stood before our family and friends and even God Himself, I made you a solemn vow to love you, cherish you, honor you, and be faithful to you to the end of our days.  Looking ahead, I can see us walking together along that road, hand in hand.  Sometimes it’s a leisurely stroll, other times it’s more of a sprint.  No matter what, I promise you, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

Tomorrow morning if you wake up

And the sun does not appear,

I will be here…

We’ll be together…

‘Cause I will be here.

Times of togetherness.  Now and always.  Looking ahead, it’s just the two of us.  Living life in love together.  No matter what, I promise you, as I did seventeen years ago, I will be here.

Sometimes, I’m such a twit.  I can’t tell you how glad I am that God, in His infinite patience and endless love and mercy, never actually says that to me.  But I’m sure there are times He must feel like it.

This epiphany came to me this weekend after spending several days trying to climb out of the deep dark emotional funk I’ve been in.  The circumstances of the past couple of weeks, coupled with a never-ending list of stuff I gotta do, have worn me down.  Physically, I’m tired.  Mentally, I’m frazzled.  And spiritually, I’m empty.  The sum of all these parts is depression.  Darkness.  Despair.  And as much as I hate being in that place, I’ve been unable to find my way out.

Until this morning.

As the sun pierced through the windows in my studio, it was like God opened a ray of light into my soul and spoke directly to my heart.  I was re-reading our passage of study for our Uganda trip meeting when suddenly He had me park here for awhile:

I am not praying that You take them out of the world but that You protect them from the evil one.  John 17:15

As I meditated on this, He gently moved my eyes back a few verses to read this:

I have told you these things so that in Me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world.  John 16:33

And then He sent me here:

Consider it a great joy, my brothers, whenever you experience various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance.  James 1:2-3

You’re probably more of a quick study than me.  By now, you’ve probably noticed a theme, a trend, an obvious connection.  Eventually, I did too.  But what struck me is that these verses contain a promise, too.  Maybe not a happy, all-warm-and-fuzzy, let’s-get-together-and-sing-Kum-ba-Yah kind of promise, but a promise nonetheless.  These verses promise us that as believers – heck, as human beings – we will experience trials.  There’s no escaping them.  We might as well accept that fact and be prepared, because it’s gonna happen.  Cancer.  Job loss.  Accidents.  Political strife.  Some trials are more difficult than others, but there is no escaping that promise.  Trials will happen.  Life is hard.

Oddly enough, as God reminded me of this promise, I began to feel energized.  Renewed.  Fearless.  And – ironically – hopeful.  Crazy as it seems, this reminder that hardship is inescapable, that trials are promised, that life is difficult brought me a sense of calm and restored optimism.  Because there is more to the story.  Like all optimists, I search for the silver lining.  And there’s a big one.

Our trials have a happy ending.  It’s guaranteed.  I don’t know exactly what that happy ending is, because it’s different for everyone and unique to each situation.  We are protected from the evil one.  Christ has overcome the world.  We have the strength to endure – which means an end is in sight.  We will get through it.  We will succeed.  We will have joy once again.  Just read those verses again and I’m sure you’ll see it.

Is it any wonder, then, that this song spoke so deeply to me this morning as I had the privilege of singing it at church with my favorite trio?

Most people, when they are preparing for a mission trip, spend a lot of time shopping for supplies for international travel.  They shop for new clothes appropriate for the culture in which they’ll be traveling and the work they will be doing.  They purchase snacks and little travel-size toiletries and certain creature comforts which may be difficult to find in a foreign land.  They get immunized and ensure their passport is ready and do research on their country and maybe even learn a few words in the natives’ language.

So what do I do?

I get my team together for a COPY PARTY!!

I couldn’t understand why one person was particularly excited about this event until I realized she thought I said, “COFFEE PARTY.”  Needless to say, my party didn’t exactly live up to her expectations.

We met up at church yesterday to begin the VERY BIG task of copying the materials we will use during our ESL lessons.  With 72 children, that means a lot of copying, cutting, collating, and laminating.  I must admit, I get a serious adrenaline rush just thinking about it.  Seeing the ideas in my head come to life, watching as our team comes together for a common goal, knowing we’re doing something good and making a long-term impact in the lives of others is enough to boggle my mind sometimes.

But enough about deep thoughts and serious moments.  So there we were, makin’ copies.  On the copy machine.  Bein’ the copymeister.

And for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, here:

(disclaimer: I have tried to find an original online but this is the best I can do.  It’ s not as good – or as funny – but he does capture the essence pretty well.  Just put Rob Schneider in the place of the Richmeister and imagine it’s an SNL set and you’ll be all set.)

In my last post, I was “abiding.”  That was before the past four days.  I know Mom said there’d be days like this, but we’re more than halfway to a full week…and counting.

I almost don’t even know where to begin.  This has been a week of daily tragedies.  Something new every day that rocks my world, shakes me to the core, and tests the limits of my faith.  Something new every day that causes me to cling to the feet of the one on the throne, to grab the very soles of His feet and hang on for dear life, to trust that somehow, some way He knows what He is doing and has all of this chaos under control.  Something that makes me lift my tear-filled eyes to meet His, searching, seeking for assurance and answers.  Something that makes me realize how incapable I am of handling life on my own.  Something that makes me know how desperately and completely I need Him.

So, in a nutshell, here is the week-at-a-glance…and bear in mind, it’s only Wednesday.

Sunday

We received word that the organization we will be working with in Uganda – an organization that is dedicated to rebuilding the lives of orphans devastated by years of war and civil unrest, an organization whose very name infuses HOPE into the lives of the hopeless, an organization of peace and love and healing in Jesus’ name – was the victim of serious (and false) legal and political accusations.  In order to protect those involved, I will not share the nature of these accusations, but be assured they were serious enough to shut down the whole operation and destroy all that God has spent the last three years building up.

Monday

I awoke to the horrific news of the bombing in Kampala.  Our church had just sent a team there to do church planting/revival and medical clinics.  In fact, Sunday’s worship service was a celebration of their trip and reports from the various team members who participated.  One of the local nurses who worked with our group lost her 26-year-old daughter in the bombing.  And most of you have probably heard of the tragic death of Nick Henn, who worked with Invisible Children rescuing Acholi orphans from devastating circumstances.  Though I don’t have a direct connection to Nick or Invisible Children, the organization I will be traveling to Uganda with (and yes, we will be traveling through Kampala on our way home) also supports Acholi orphans.  We are definitely on the same team, and for that, I feel a special kinship with Nick Henn.

Tuesday

We received a call from some dear friends whose lives have become intricately layered with ours over the past couple of years informing us that the husband had been seriously injured in a motorcycle accident that evening on his way home from work.  Though his injuries do not appear at this point to be life-threatening, they are multiple and serious, and will require a rather long rehabilitation.  To make matters worse, it was the day of their 14th wedding anniversary.

Wednesday

And then came today and an unforgettable “good news/bad news” phone call.  We had planned to take advantage of a discount ticket opportunity to visit Hawaiian Falls for the day.  Matt had gone in to work and would plan to meet us around 2:30.  The kids and I would arrive closer to lunch time and enjoy a picnic-style lunch before splashing our way through the afternoon.  About 11:30, as I was on my way to the park, Matt informed me that the good news was he was leaving then to meet us, since he had the rest of the day off.  The bad news…you guessed it.  He also has tomorrow off.  And Friday.  And next Monday.  And so on.  And so on.  A baker’s dozen of employees were let go today and he was one of the “unlucky 13.”  And while we are optimistic and have faith that ultimately God will provide – a new job, finances in the meantime, and full funding for my trip to Uganda now that we have no “fallback” option – that doesn’t mean that the process is easy.  It’s discouraging.  It’s disheartening.  It’s depressing.  It’s stressful.  And only God knows what the future has in store – for us, for Matt, for our home and ministry and family.

At this point, I might be tempted not to wake up tomorrow.  To fear what lies ahead and what tragedy awaits in the next 24 hours.  But thankfully I know the One who holds tomorrow:

• He’s the Judge, who will deliver justice to those who oppose His plans.
• He’s the Conqueror, who will destroy His enemies and reign victorious.
• He’s the Great Physician, who heals our wounds, and restores us to life abundant.
• He’s the Provider, who ensures our needs are met above and beyond anything we could ask or imagine.

He is.  He was.  He ever will be.  And I will choose to cling to Him.

I’m happy to report that Mr. Scale and I have reached a truce of sorts.

Sure, he’s still a bit stubborn and, frankly, a tad arrogant.  And I am by no means perfect, though I think I’ve made far more of an effort to change my behavior this week than he has done to change his attitude.  But whatever.  He can be like that.  Because I have a new bff to hang out with: Ms. Measuring Tape!

See, when Mr. Scale gets all pigheaded and bullish and refuses to compromise or see things my way, I can go to Ms. Measuring Tape.  She is all kinds of niceness and positive reinforcement.  Because she confirms what I’ve known all along: that regardless of what Mr. Scale tells me, I’m thinner, leaner, and trimmer than ever!  And those smaller sizes I’m now wearing reinforce that she’s right.

So even though Mr. Scale still tells me I’m about 15.5 lbs. away from my goal, I can rest assured knowing that I’m making progress in other ways.  And that’s all the motivation I need to keep going.