{the space in between}

I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to parent a teenager. I don’t know how to move from helicopter mom to teaching my daughter how to fly. I don’t know how to navigate this space in between child and adult.

Those were the words left on my computer screen after I got the call from my husband that I needed to take Zach to football practice, and the message from our carpool that I also needed to pick Tali up from cheer. I have been thinking and praying about this topic for weeks, how to write about this place I find myself in with my daughter… this space in between. As I sat down to write yesterday morning, those were the only words I had. I don’t know how to navigate this. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to transition this relationship in a healthy way.

I typed them, and then went about my day, praying for a way to articulate all of the wrestling in my spirit. Parenting is hard. But now I'm seeing that parenting a teen is it's own special variety of hard. I'm not good at relinquishing control. I'm not good at watching people I love make less than ideal decisions. As I closed down programs in my computer before climbing in my big, silver taxi and hitting the road [again], they flashed across the screen at me.

I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to parent with space. I don’t know how to give Tali the room she needs to stretch and grow and fall down and pick herself back up. Especially when I see so much of myself in her.  When I see the me that had everything in front of her and made such poor choices. When I see the me that is afraid to invest emotionally. When I see the me that can’t open up to people.  And I want to tell her the easy path. I want to pour into her the lessons I have learned and have her “get it”- ALL. Without the harsh learning curve I had.

When they are little, when we see them running faster than their little legs are equipped to keep up with we can stop them. We can yell ahead “Don’t run!!! You’ll skin your knees!!! Slow down!” We can keep them from so much hurt. But even when they are little… sometimes they still run. Sometimes the warning comes too late. Sometimes the knees still get skinned.

And here I am with this teenager… and I want to yell “DON’T RUN! Slow down!”… but the truth is, there are going to be bruises and wounds along this path.  And not only can I not keep her from all of them, but it wouldn’t be in her best interest if I did.

Sometimes we learn our best lessons from the skinned knees.

Sometimes that is the only way we figure out how fast our feet can carry us without toppling over.

The thing is, when it’s a six year old’s knee, we can kiss it and put a Band-Aid on it, and offer up a popsicle (because they make EVERYTHING better)… but when it’s a heart. Oh, it’s so much more difficult. And the mama bear desire to protect and guard is strong…

And that’s where I found myself standing in the shower, tears running down my face asking God… how far do I let her go? How closely do I guard?  Oh Lord, what decisions do I let her make, and which ones do I make the call?

And He answered… how far will I let you go, Becky?

And I know, He will let me go as far as necessary to learn to lean. He will guide and direct and steer with the power of His Holy Spirit, but in the end, the choice is mine. The path is laid out before me, His way and Mine… and I get to choose.

And so it is in this space in between with my teen… I can guide and direct, I can lay out the options and explain the consequences… but in the end she will decide. She will choose to be home by curfew or not. She will choose the way of honesty or not. She will save sacred spaces in her life or not. 

I recall my mom warning me when Tali was two years old and throwing a temper tantrum… “what seems cute and harmless at two isn’t so cute and harmless at thirteen, you are setting the stage now”.  She was so right. Oh, moms of littles, imagine that temper tantrum or talking back or ignoring the rules on a teenager and use that as a gauge as to how seriously you will take it now.  How far will you let them go, now? Because when they are teens those are the tools they will have in their tool belt to make their own decisions.  Be mindful of the pace you set for them now, because tomorrow, they will need to know how fast they can run.

My job as a parent is far from over, but it is definitely changing. My littles are now 11 and 13, and just aren’t so little anymore. It’s a season of transition and I don’t know exactly what it is supposed to look like or how to know if we are doing it well. I look back and hope and pray that we have laid a firm foundation. I pray that we have the courage to let our children fly, even when the nest seems so safe. In the end,  it's not even about her heeding my advice. But learning to hear the Father's voice. Following His call on her life. Letting Him pick her up when she stumbles.

I know that I can warn (and I will), I can call out “don’t run!”… but in the end, these years are about Tali learning how to set the pace. Learning how fast she can run without toppling over. Learning who she is and setting her sights on who she wants to be.  Learning how to navigate disappointment and words that hurt and relationships that are complicated and friends who aren’t.

And maybe, the best thing I can do is be there with a hug and a popsicle when the knees get skinned a little.   

But it’s hard. It’s hard to bite my tongue when I want to offer advice. It’s hard to navigate a space where words are easier spoken via text message than face to face and to know if that’s okay. It’s hard to see so much of me.  It’s hard not to guard and protect against every hurt.  It’s hard not to micromanage. It’s hard to honor the space she needs to grow.

And so that is where I was yesterday, as I typed those words on my computer screen.

I don’t know how to do this.

I don’t know how to navigate this thing. I don’t know how to parent a teenager because I’ve never done it before… and it’s too important to mess up. I feel inadequate and overprotective and scared and excited and sad all at the same time. This space in between… it’s hard.

Those words… I don’t know how to do this… danced in my head as we pulled out of the high school parking lot and the tears began to trickle down Tali’s cheeks. She poured out her hurt and her frustration and her disappointment, and I thanked God that she trusts me with these things, and asked Him to please help me have words that would encourage and build up and teach and challenge…

We talked. I told her that it did suck. I told her that it was okay to be upset and frustrated. I told her it was not okay to give up. I told her to remember she is good enough, and not to let anything change her smile.

And that’s when I opened the envelope with six one dollar bills in it. Money that someone had just given me unexpectedly. Money that I didn’t even realize I was “owed”.

Looking at the money I had a crazy idea…

“Steve and Kinzi are behind us… what do you think they would do if we threw this money at them?”

“What?!” Tali asked… and a smile began to spread across her face… “we could throw it out the sunroof!!”… so I gave her three dollars (because really, throwing money out the window IS crazy, and Dave Ramsey would NOT approve, and so we were only gonna toss half of it because apparently that makes it –OK–). And one at a time she tossed them out the sun roof.

Tali's Facebook Status last night. #worthit

Turns out, money is quite dramatic flying out a sunroof at 60mph.  

And it was hilarious.

We watched the shock on our friends’ faces as the money flew back toward them….

And we laughed til the tears changed.

Her friend called her, and we giggled even harder. She also threw one more dollar out just for good measure.

It wasn’t a Popsicle. It wasn’t a Band-Aid. But it was the best $4 I have ever spent.

When I got home, I opened my computer and I saw those words again…

I don’t know how to do this.

And the truth is, I don't. But in that moment I heard my Father speak loud and clear... but I do. 

Father, help us lean on you as we parent. Help us lean on you as we navigate new seasons. Help us lean on you to guide and direct our yes's and our no's. Be the Light to this path, Jesus. In Your Name we pray, AMEN.

{don't step here}

A few weeks ago I interrupted my kids' summer plans of vegging-out-in-the-air-conditioned-house-alllllll-day by forcing them to come pick wild flowers with me. I was helping with a party for a friend, and with the wild flowers in bloom along every country road in Southern Indiana I knew we could get enough to decorate.

I had been scoping good spots on my adventures to and from photo shoots for a week or so, and knew there was a place that had shoots of beautiful little purple flowers that would be perfect, so we would start there.

Begrudgingly, they helped me get containers of water in a galvanized tub and off we went.

I parked at the side of the road and headed into an overgrown patch of purple flowers that had caught my attention days before. All of the space around these intermittent patches of flowers was mowed and as I neared I saw why the mowers stayed away from here- it was wet, "marshy" looking soil. As I walked directly to the flowers I realized there was a small ditch full of water, and that just on the other side of it was muddy, soggy soil- just enough to keep me away from any of the flowers on this side.

"Don't step here!" I cautioned the kids, "it's nothing but mud." I turned and walked away to see if we could get to them from the side or back, away from the road and the ditch, thinking it would be a bit drier that way.

And then it happened.

"Hey mom! You can go right HERE------" and taking a big step over the water, she stepped HARD into the DEEP mud just on the other side of it.

And with a squeal, Tali was in mud almost up to her knee.

Pulling her leg out, her favorite Cons were caked in mud. Her new white shorts splattered.

I could have been mad. I just told her not to step there.

But all I did was shake my head, laughed out loud, and said "I told you not to step there... there's a towel in the back of the car", and went on looking for a way to the flowers, which I found.

As she cleaned herself up, and moved on to an easier location to cut flowers across the road, I happily collected the perfect purple flowers for my decorations, and thanked God for providing them at just the right time, mud and all.

And then I could see it.

I could see how He so often says "don't step here, Becky... this way is nothing but mud" and in my stubbornness and pride and thinking I can find a better-faster-quicker-easier work-around than His way... I step right in it.

At one point in my life, I actively sought out the mud. But that's not what I saw here. Tali didn't want to get mud on her brand new white shorts, and she DEFINITELY didn't want to have it seeping in every stitch of her Converse. She just wanted to help mom get to the flowers and thought she knew the way.

She didn't realize that my words of caution weren't about the obvious water in the ditch, it was because I could see the soggy soil on the other side. I recognized the mud shining just beneath the tall grass that obscured it from her sight.

Being a parent looks a lot like that. It's guarding our children and saying "don't walk there" because we can see the mud. We can see the heartache, we can see the pain, we can see the compromise, we can see the danger. I have said to both of my children at various times "I don't say no because I hate you, even if it feels like that- it's because I love you enough to say no".

Sometimes I have had to say no to things the kids really wanted to do. "All" of their friends would be there, or are playing that game, or seeing that movie, or are allowed to... Honestly, the easy thing to do would be to say yes. Honestly, this momma's heart never wants her kids to miss out. Honestly, I don't want to be the "lame" mom.

Honestly, I want to fit in too.

So I get it.

But at the end of the day, Jim and I are set as guards about our children, and their hearts. And sometimes our job is to say no. Even when the yes is a lot more comfortable.

And each of us have this Heavenly Father who is so much better than us at parenting. Sometimes I miss things. Sometimes I let something go and then look back and realize the slippery slope we've found ourselves on, how easily it would be to slide into the muck, and we have to regroup (which is even harder than the "no" would have been in the first place). Video games put on the shelf indefinitely. Television shows no longer tuned in. Relationships learned from.


But if I'm really honest, there was this voice in my ears all along saying "Becky, this is the way... walk in it". If I'm really honest I wanted to say YES to them so much more than I wanted to heed His "no".

My walk with the Lord has been one of learning that His "no" always has a purpose. A protection. I am learning that He sees things just beyond the obvious that I cannot know. I am learning that His way... that narrow road is worth it.

And my heart rejoices that my children are learning that too.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to give Tali what felt to me to be an all-too-familiar NO to something. I can't even tell you now what that something was, but I do remember the conversation we had later that day. We were in the car when she said: "Mom, you and dad always say yes unless you have a REASON. We know if you tell us no, there is a good reason why."

And my heart sang. For you moms with littles and it seems so hard and the answer always seems to be NO and it feels like a lot of chasing and stopping and disciplining... let me offer you this hope... someday they will see.

Some day you will be riding in your car, sipping on a Lic's milkshake, and your daughter will say "I trust you" and it will be worth it. 

Some day your child will tell you that he had a choice to make, and he chose honesty. And it will be worth it.

Some day you will have a daughter navigating an entirely new kind of relationship and you will give her advice and she will say "I just told him the same thing last night!!!" And it will be worth it.

They might not always like it (and we have had heated discussions in GameStop or via text message because of it), but somehow in this crazy-hard journey that is full of so much joy and adventure and peace... they are learning the purpose in the no.

Somehow, in this crazy-hard journey that is full of so much joy and adventure and peace... I am too.

I am also seeing that there is a lot more "yes" than "no" in our Father's heart. Tali said the same thing over those milkshakes- "Mom, you always say yes unless you have a reason".

Father is perfect in His love, and so, if he is telling you no, you can trust Him. Our God knows that the mud, whether it sneaks up on us or allures us, is a thief. It steals our time and our joy and our purity and our peace. When He says "this is the way..." it's not because He wants to keep us from the joy of another journey, it's because He so clearly sees the pain down that path.

Father doesn't want us holed up in our homes all of the time- He wants us out picking the flowers.  He wants us enjoying the journey. He wants us living this life, and living it to the FULLEST. He knows it can get messy out there, but if we will listen He will show us where to step. He will show us the way.

I think about Michelle Duggar from "19 Kids and Counting"... when she is talking to her children she will say "I need your eyes" because she knows "when you have their eyes, you have their attention".

As we walk this out, I hear our Daddy saying "I need your eyes"... He needs our eyes fixed on Him. He needs our ears attentive to His voice. He needs us to trust His path and His good purpose in our lives. Would you give Him those things today? Would you give Him your focused attention in this next step He is asking you to take? Would you allow Him to guide your parenting? Your next career step? That relationship decision?

Will you listen when He says "Don't step here, it's nothing but mud..."

{overwhelmed}

After months of planning, dreaming, talking, saving, we arrived at Hilton Head Island. In the middle of a horrendous downpour. Unable to do the anticipated mad dash to the beach, we instead unloaded, unpacked, and headed to the grocery store to buy what we would need for the week. By the time we got back to our villa and had supper it was no longer raining, but it was also completely dark.

Despite the late hour, I still wanted to touch the beach... to see the ocean... even if by a moonlit sky. We were only a short walk over the boardwalk away, after all. And it had stopped raining. And it was our first time ever at Hilton Head. And my first time ever to see the ocean... and so we went.

As we walked across the boardwalk in the dark, I thought about my only other attempt to visit the ocean. I was eighteen years old with a friend of mine. We set out on the road for Virginia Beach, only to have the transmission go out on our car in the middle of the night in West Virginia. Days later with a brand spankin' new transmission we headed on... only to arrive in Virginia Beach in the middle of a tropical storm that had all local beaches closed. We spent one night within walking distance of the ocean, yet I headed home never having laid eyes on it.

This trip would not be the same. Come storm or high water or late arrivals- I would see the ocean. And not just the glimpse we could catch from our balcony... I wanted to touch it. To take in the enormity of the OCEAN... to gaze out over the endless waters and marvel at the fact that God measures all of it in the cup of His palm. I wanted to be overwhelmed... by the ocean, by the beauty of creation, by my God.

As we neared the ocean, the remnants of the evenings storms were still palpable in the air. The wind was rushing into our faces, making the perfect towel-cape blowing scenario for an eleven year old boy.  Yet within me was a growing unease. We passed only four people on the entire boardwalk. We saw no lights and heard no other voices in the night air. The roar of the waves grew louder. And with clouds overtaking the moon, darkness closed in on us as we stepped from the boardwalk to the beach. 

Jim, having been to the beach many times marched onward toward the waves. Tali, flashlight in hand followed close behind. Zach stood with me on the beach path for a few minutes, then seeing that nothing swooped in and swept away the rest of his family, he joined his sister and dad further down on the beach.

And I stood, frozen. The ocean was so LOUD. Why didn't I realize it would be so loud? A short distance away I could see the white waves crashing against the shore but other than that there was only the black of the night sky meeting the black of the water.  With the wind howling around me, darkness surrounding, and the roar of the ocean overtaking my senses… I was gripped with fear.

A couple came stumbling toward me as my family giggled a few yards down the beach. “Be careful!” the guy laughed… “you’ll get lost!” The girl picked up where he left off telling me about their nighttime adventure strolling the beach. Their words were full of joy… and yet they drove the stake of terror deeper into my heart. Lost?! The couple wandered away, giggling and holding hands.

“Let’s come back tomorrow” I called out to my family. They were straying too far into the darkness for my liking. While I couldn’t really see the ocean, I could feel it’s power and immensity. I was overwhelmed in the purest sense of the word. I was paralyzed with fear and terrified for my family to go any farther on the dark beach.

My son ran by me, towel over his head and flying behind him in proper fashion. Tali investigated something with her flashlight. Jim called out for me to come join him. But my feet would not move from their spot at the end of the boardwalk. Fear was gripping me, growing from a nagging concern deep in my heart to an overwhelming anxiety and confusion. I couldn't make sense of anything, it was all so unknown. As hard as I strained into the darkness I could only see black with a bit of white foam interrupting sporadically. 

Once, it took a storm to keep me from realizing my dream of walking in the ocean. This time, it took only my own fear of the unknown. I was 37 years old, standing on the shore for the first time in my life, and I was terrified. 

As I stood there, I could hear God whispering... teaching. I had come to the ocean to see His face, in a way. I wanted to TOUCH the immensity of the ocean that He holds in the depth of His palm. I wanted to look farther than my eye could see and know there was STILL MORE… that the waters went on and on and on and on. That they went down to depths I can't even imagine… just like this God that I love. Just like this God that loves me.

But we want to meet God in the bright light of day. In the comfort of a church sanctuary, or in the blessing of a new baby. We don't want to meet God in the darkness... when confusion and chaos abounds and all we hear is the roar of His power.

How many find themselves frozen at the end of the boardwalk when God is right there. Unable to see clearly, we don’t know where to step, or what this journey will require. How far can we go and be safe? How far can we go and not get lost? What if it overtakes us? What if it literally overwhelms us, sweeping over our heads and requiring everything? What if?

I looked at my family’s reactions to the exact same beach in the exact same dark with the exact same wind blowing their faces and the exact same ocean roar assaulting their ears.

My husband, having been to a beach at night before knew that there would be soft waters at the edge to warn you that you are close. He understood the gradual slope of a natural beach, and how far one would have to go to get even knee deep in the dark waters.  If he feared, he did not show it. He trusted what he knew about the ocean and the beach… and he marched confidently toward the waves.

My daughter, flashlight in hand and close behind the one she knew would never, ever lead her into danger didn't register a hint of fear either. She had a bit of light in her hand to illuminate her steps immediately before her, and was close to one that she trusted.

My son, hanging back at first. Pacing fearfully… yet anxious not to miss out on a single adventure this vacation had to offer. Waiting to make sure dad and sister were okay- then running with abandon around the beach.

They were not hindered by fear, at least not their own.

They were not hindered by fear, until I called out to them to return. Until they heard it in my voice, despite my chipper “let’s come back in the morning, when it’s light… We can come back when we can see and explore”… I am certain they all knew from my frozen stance on the beach that mom was not comfortable with this scenario. Not one little bit.

They were not hindered by fear, I until hindered them with mine.

Today we returned to the same beach by the same boardwalk. The wind is blowing in my face as I type these words. The roar of the ocean drowning out the squeals of nearby children.

But it’s entirely different in the light of day.

The ocean has not changed. It is still immense. Powerful. As I waded out in it this morning, waves crashed over my head and I cried out with delight. Psalm 42:7  immediately came to mind… “Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me.” Literally His waves and breakers swept over me. And in the Light… it was welcomed and beautiful.

Before we know God… before we have His Light… He is so much. The power and the might and the majesty is just… too much. It is too dark and too frightening… too awesome. And we are overwhelmed. But if we would trust one who had walked before us, or take with us a tiny hand held light from His Word, or look to those running with abandon even in the unknown of His presence… maybe then we would have the confidence to step out of our fear and into the enormity of who He is.

Having met the ocean in the light, I’m curious what my response will be if we return tonight. I have a feeling that, having known the Light I will now have the confidence to explore even in the night.

When I came to the Lord, it was initially terrifying. I looked into my sin stained life and knew… the requirement would be high. I knew that He wasn't a God satisfied with a portion, but that in time, He would want it all. Everything. But, like the sun rising in my life I could see His beauty. I could see both His immensity, and the gentle way He crashed to the shore… the gradual slope of the beach into His depths. Even how, if we plant ourselves in beach chairs a safe distance from the crashing surf… He will eventually make His way to us with His rising tides tickling our toes.

Last night as we returned to our villa, not having touched the ocean, the Lord asked me if I was willing to trust Him in the dark, as well. To trust Him in the unknown… to trust Him in the dreams He has planted in my heart. To know that He is the same God at night as He is during the day… to take my knowledge of His gentle surf into the darkness with me. And to TRUST.

I wonder, reader, where you are in your experience with God? Is He still an overwhelming unknown? Take comfort in the scripture that says “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom”… know that as He did with me, on this beach last night… He will meet you in your fear, and begin to teach you the unsearchable truths of His Kingdom. Also remember that this is only the beginning of wisdom- He never desired that we would stay in this place. Rather He tells us that perfectlove casts out all fear! Take a step into the unknown, and then like dawn His light will begin to shine over your life. You will see and know the wonders of our Lord…

Or maybe you are like me… you have been walking with the Lord for some time now. You have known His miracles and seen His good works. You have seen His hand of protection and providence in your life. You have learned to trust Him in the light… but now the path before you is uncertain. It’s big and frightening and it seems as though it may overtake you. He wants you to be reminded today that He is the same God in the dark as He is in the light. He is the same God in the day as the night. He is the same God who met you in your first adventure on the beach, and He is the same God that will be there when your dream is within reach. He is the same.

Don’t let your fear tell you anything differently. Don’t let your fear cause you to focus on the roar of His power and miss the gentle tickling of the surf on your toes. Don’t let your fear convince you that the darkness will win. Don’t let your fear hold you captive at the end of the boardwalk.

Don't let your fear hinder you. 

Don't let your fear hinder the ones you love.

I wish this tale was one of a family who, in their excited first night at the beach, giggled and ran along the shoreline. How we got lost… and then found our way again. How we made memories that first night that will last a lifetime. But instead, my fear caused us to turn just shy of the ocean and return to the safety of what we already knew. I let my fear keep them from a memory, hold me back from putting my toes in the ocean...

Today we get a re-do. Today we sit at the beach and enjoy the surf and take in the wonder of God's

handiwork. Today, I stood at the edge of an endless ocean and cried tears at the enormous beauty of it all. Today we played in the surf and napped at the waters edge. Tonight we can walk to the beach again, and take with us the knowledge of what we saw in the light. I can step into the unknown confidently, taking with me the lessons learned last night.

We don't always get a re-do in this life. Friends, don't let your fear of the unknown you paralyze you at the end of the boardwalk. Don't let the dream you can't see clearly fade into the distance as you return to the thing you have already known. Don't miss out on adventure with our great, big God because His power seems so overwhelming in the darkness of this life.

Step into the sand. Let the enormous power of the ocean meet you with gentle surf. Take it all in.

Don't let fear hinder you... or the ones you love.

{when you miss your dad}

I was a little girl who looked at her daddy with all adoring doe-eyes. He loved me well, took me under his wing when the father the world had assigned to me threw me away… he could do no wrong in my eyes.  I would stand on the top of his cowboy boots and straining my neck to look straight up into his eyes we would dance around.  He could set up a tent in the dark of night by only the lights of our pick up truck.  He could embarrass my mom as we made our way through 3D (remember that store?) in ways unimaginable to most families. We laughed. A LOT.

Once, we were on our way to family church camp, and the hood flew up on the bus completing obstructing the windshield. Everyone on that bus remembers with laughter how he stuck his head out the window and calmly guided us to the side of the road, hopped out, tied the hood down with a rope, and then got back in- all without breaking a sweat.

That is the super-hero daddy that I knew.

Looking back, I know that he didn’t get it all right. Looking farther back into his past I know that he flat out got some things very wrong.  But my memories are so full of joy, that my heart cannot rest on the mistakes for very long.

I am not one to get caught up much on dates on the calendar. Since he passed away, I note the date that marks the anniversary of his death, and of course his birthday… but generally I have said that I miss him no more or less on those days than any of the other days of the year. Father’s Day comes and goes year after year with very few “woes” to me and my daddy’s girl heart because I’m busy celebrating the amazing dads still here in my life- my husband, step-dad, father-in-law and countless others.

No, it’s seldom a holiday or anniversary that causes that dull ache in my heart to split open into a sharp pain. But that doesn't mean I don't have them... it's just that, for me, they creep up at the most unexpected times.

It’s passing an amazing bunch of wildflowers on the road and thinking “Dad so would have stopped to get a bouquet of THOSE for mom”. A thought that I haven’t had for years, but seeing these giant purple blossoms brought that pang of remembrance and longing. Telling Zachary stories of many a wasted hour picking “weeds” we saw as flowers with my dad, more often than not while we were on our way somewhere and already running late. Pulling over with Zach to grab a picture (my version of a bouquet)… and thinking how much my little man would have loved my dad. How much Papaw Joe would have loved this kid and his quick wit. How loudly he would have cheered at football games. The shirts he would have made that said "Tali & Zach's Grandpa"... he was just that kind of guy.

It’s sitting on concrete benches at the Bicknell ball park as Jim coaches our son, remembering sitting on those very benches as dad coached the little “Mets” ball team (they were just as uncomfortable as a ten year old girl as they are now).  Watching him out on the ball field in his coach’s shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots cheering on the little guys on his team with everything he had and arguing unfair calls even more energetically. 

could I have sat any closer to him?

It's glancing over my shoulder from that concrete bench and pointing out my childhood home to the friend sitting with me. A little gray house on a corner, close enough to the ball park that we could enjoy rocket pops and fun dip all.summer.long.  I think about playing Frisbee in the field across the street. Learning to ride my bike in the road right behind me. The swing that sat outside that house and played such a prominent role in our happiest summer nights. Fireworks set off on the Fourth of July.  And this feeling creeping in that it’s not really fair that he was never able to see a single one of Z’s games, or Tali’s dance recitals. Oh the bouquet of flowers he would have brought her! I imagine a few weeds stuck in for good measure…

It’s walking through a thrift store and catching sight of a wagon-wheel clad couch… you know the ones, brown and cream and orange with dark wood trim in all of their early 80’s glory. It’s remembering sitting with your hero on just such a couch as the record player crooned the words to “Rose Colored Glasses”, your daddy singing along in that out-of-tune way he had about belting out his favorite songs.

It’s driving down the road with my knee. Spinning donuts with Jim and the kids on an empty parking lot after a snowstorm.  Seeing the way my brother smiles, cocking his head to the side with a glint in his eye that must be genetic.

Or last night, as I photographed a bride in white dancing with her daddy. The way that they looked at one another- a daddy’s girl all grown up but still looking into the eyes of her hero.  And wishing I could have had that memory. Wishing that one last time, I could have kicked off my shoes and stood atop his cowboy boots and twirled around a dance floor. A princess, and the man who made her feel that way…

Most of the time, when I think of dad it is with a happy smile and joy in knowing I will see him again. But occasionally, it is like this feeling of longing and what-if and missing out.  I am learning, that’s okay. For years I have choked back these feelings of sadness. I have pushed them at arms length for fear that the feelings would actually overwhelm me, overtake me. But Jesus is teaching me that, even in this, He is my strong tower. And that the only way to march through the waves is to let them hit you. As my sweet friend, Lauren, reminded me this week... our Father is a good one who will lift us at just the right time, so that the waves don't overtake us.

Maybe you are missing someone like that too. Take heart, dear one. Take heart that our Heavenly Father understand our grief. He understands the pain of separation from the One He loves. And like any good Daddy, he holds us in these moments of grief. He weeps with us, and whispers gently words of comfort and love and understanding.

He doesn’t want us to stay in this place, but He does want us to be honest with Him about it. To ask Him why, tell Him we don’t understand, to lean our heads on his ever-strong chest and let Him catch each tear that falls. He wants us to trust Him when the waves feel strong... and at just the right time He will lift us... or even better, He will part the sea and let us walk through on dry land.

Would you let me pray for you?

Father, oh God... Abba... I thank you that you are a good God and a good Father. I thank you that you come right where we are, that you meet us even in grief and sadness. Lord, I pray for those who are hurting tonight, for those who, like me, are missing their daddies. I pray Lord that you would be near to the brokenhearted, as your Word promises. I pray that you would be near to this daddy's-girl-heart tonight. I am thankful to know that in Jesus, we have a Savior who knows exactly what we are feeling, that He also wept, and that it's okay to rest for a while in our feelings. To actually FEEL the things some of us have kept at arms length. I thank you God, that you are the lifter of our heads... would you keep our eyes focused on your goodness, your mercy, and your love. Would you remind us of the great hope we find in eternity, and the great reunions that will some day take place? Would you mend hearts tonight? Catch tears? Would you capture us up in your arms, and dance with us atop your ever strong, ever steady feet? I thank you, Father, that all that you are... you are for each and every one of us. In Your Son's beautiful Name I pray... AMEN.

For more on how our Daddy God holds you in your grief:  a daddy's love

To read more about my daddy, and how he loved me: tale of a father's love

a daddy's love

I answered the phone knowing what he would say...

"I found Lily" and then, voice cracking, "she's gone."

Details, question- where, how, are you sure? How does she look? Can Tali see her? What should I do?

"I will have her on the back deck, Tali can see her."

The walk to Tali's room filled with prayer. And she knew the minute she saw my face. She had just been helping her daddy look for her Lily, he had just sent her inside...

"No Mommy, no..."

And then she ran outside... to her daddy... to her beloved pup... to a scene that broke this heart wide open.

Jim stood on the steps, cradling the ball of fluff that was our Lily girl in his arms... sobbing. The voice that had cracked on the phone, was overcome when his little girl came bursting through the back door in search of her "little ball of love" (as Tali once described Lily in a school paper).

We all loved Lily. but I knew standing their that Jim's grief came more from seeing his baby girl broken as anything else.

That's a daddy's heart.

It's a heart that seeks to protect and guide and care for... it's a heart that breaks when his children's breaks. It's a heart that will sit on the back deck, cradling the lifeless body of a dog, for as long as his little girl needs to say goodbye.

As I stood there in the cool of the night watching the scene unfold... my heart was wrecked. It was wrecked for my little girl, grieving. It was wrecked with love for my husband, such a good, good daddy. And it was wrecked with a vision of how our own Daddy God loves us.

Jim's construction green shirt showing the evidence of a long days work, hands stained from an evening repairing his truck... and his strong arms gently cradling the eight pound dog he just carried from the highway.

And I thought... This... this is how our Daddy God carries OUR grief.

Despite the big things going on in the world... our Daddy captures every one of our tears in a bottle. Each is precious to Him. He meets you in your grief. And He will sit with you, on the back deck, for as long as you need to work through it.

He will enter into your grief with you. Not a distant being gazing at you, watching from afar... a person, there, holding your grief in His strong arms. Present... in the moment. Grieving with you.

I think about Jesus as He made His way to Lazarus's tomb... when Mary threw herself at Jesus's feet, wracked by grief over the loss of her brother... Jesus wept.

Jesus joined her in her grief... even though He knew He would be bringing Lazarus back... Why? Why would Jesus cry? He wasn't grieving because He would never see Lazarus again. He didn't cry because He was late to the funeral. He grieved because the one He loved grieved. He hurt because she hurt.

He hurts when you hurt.

I saw such a beautiful, heart wrenching picture of this on Monday night.A daddy's tears shed one for one for the tears of his daughter. Strong arms carrying her affection and grief. Not rushing her to move through her emotions... but joining her in them. Processing with her. The utmost of respect given to a grave, a dignified spot in the yard, a stone to mark a little life full of love. And later, when sleep would not come, pulling his little girl onto his lap. Validating her brokenness and in doing so, beginning the fine work of putting her back together again.

Such a good, good daddy.

So much like another Daddy I know.

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! 1 John 3:1a

[You can read about the day we found Lily here]

Also- to update, Tali is processing her grief well. She still has tearful, "Lily is really gone" moments... and I certainly have never seen her grieve so deeply, but am proud of how she has leaned on us and her Daddy God to comfort. 

living in the {in between}

The debate was long and wavering. Do we stay in the new house or not? Aunt Sharon still had a few things to pack... I wanted to give her the space to do that, Jim was ready to get IN. The kids were excited to start their new school year from The New House. We had people lined up to help move on Saturday. This was Wednesday. Could we not wait a few more days for the dream God had planted in our hearts to be realized? Isn't patience a virtue?

Tali, the kid who always says the thing everyone in the room/family/group is thinking [not sure where she would get that from??] told Sharon (in conversation) it wouldn't really be our house til we slept here. Aunt Sharon answered "well, you can start sleeping here anytime you want!"

Yes, that's all Jim needed to hear.

The next day I called to see what he was doing... "taking the bunk beds apart". He was matter-of-fact. There was no room for discussion or debate. We were sleeping in The New House. Tonight.

This is for real.

I was driving in my truck and suddenly those tears that I had held onto for so long began to flood down my cheeks.

We are really, really, really moving.

After the disappointment of "the other house"... it was so, so, so, hard to let my heart believe.Despite the promises, the talk, the blog post, the facebook statuses, the decorations purchased, the plans made... I have to be honest with you, friends... I didn't really believe it until that moment. [insert ugly cry here]

The reality of God's faithfulness hit me like never before. He is a God that does what He says He is going to do. I have said that dozens, hundreds of times. Now I was living it.

How can something make you feel so small and so significant all at the same time? The awe of a God who is SO BIG that He gets to do whatever He wants to do? A God who knew from the BEGINNING the plans He had for our family? That the same God that spoke the UNIVERSE into EXISTENCE would give a flying fig where the Boyles family lived!? That He would love us so stinking much! That with the injustices of the world and the millions of prayers whispered, spoken, screamed every day... that He would hear MINE. A God so faithful that He would take us through the pain of disappointment so that we could learn how to lean... who let us feel *that* so we could fully appreciate *this*.

And so, the beds moved to Bruceville.

And with them, the Boyles family.

our first night in the new house

That evening was a blur. We ate some sort of supper that night, I think... [Lord tell me I fed the children the night before their first day of school?] We packed the back of my truck with clothes, bedding and other necessities. Beds went up. Jim made more trips back to Edwardsport for this or that which we needed to survive [back packs]. The kids lay on the living room floor watching a show in their kindle fires. And then we headed to bed.

I will never forget the feeling of laying there in my bed in this new house. I felt foreign. Like I was somewhere I didn't belong... sleeping in someone else's house.  Walking in the promise we had stood on so long. Jim and I could not sleep. Despite our exhaustion we talked through the night. I found out the next day, Tali and Zach lay awake deep into the night as well.

The next day I visited the old house. I expected to walk in and be washed by a wave of nostalgia, maybe even a tinge of sadness... but instead I found that it felt even smaller. More claustrophobic. The decor more dated. Less like home. In fact, it felt foreign too.

That night I told Jim, "here we have two houses... and neither of them feel like home"... don't get me wrong, we were over-the-moon, out-of-our-minds ecstatic about The New House... it just didn't feel like home yet. 

After exhaustion finally won the battle in the man next to me, I lay there alone with me thoughts. Two houses, no home.

As I talked with God that night... He whispered to my heart that this is a little bit like the life He expects us to live on this earth.

Friends, this world is not your home, so don't make yourselves cozy in it. Don't indulge your ego at the expense of your soul. Live an exemplary life among the natives so that your actions will refute their prejudices. Then they'll be won over to God's side and be there to join in the celebration when he arrives. 1 Peter 2:11 MSG

This world... no more our home than that old house. This world, crowded, claustrophobic, less than His desire for our lives. Toilet that doesn't flush right. Wallpaper border torn by the busy hands of a toddler. Carpets stained. Cracks in the ceiling from a tree limb that fell. And so small in the face of His Kingdom. The Kingdom that stretches across time and space.

Yet how many of us really feel at home in this Kingdom-life either? How many of us feel like we don't quite belong. We aren't quite good enough. We don't deserve a garden tub in our bathroom. Or more kitchen cabinets than we can fill. A living room that can comfortably host our friends. Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for THIS promise:

..."In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you..." John 14:2 NIV84

Jesus Christ, raised in the home of a carpenter... likely taught the trade by his earthly father... Preparing a HOME for me... for you... for us... in His Father's Heavenly kingdom!

When I think about that... the tears flow just as they did the moment Jim said "I'm taking the bunk beds apart".

This is really happening. He is really preparing a place for us. As amazing as this new house is... it is nothing compared the the one He is preparing in eternity! Good enough? I did nothing to deserve this house. I can do nothing to deserve Heaven. It's all His grace. His beautiful, astounding, extraordinary, amazing GRACE. This is the Kingdom life He has promised us, the eternity He has prepared for us... to join Him where He is.

But until then... we find ourselves living in the {in between}. In that place of being in the world but not of the world. In that place of knowing that our real home is with God, and feeling like aliens and strangers here... hearts that reside in the Kingdom, bodies in the world.  Laying in your bed, in Aunt Sharon's house.  But don't think that this {in between} time is just a time of waiting... no, it's a time of taking down the bunk beds and moving them on into the Kingdom. It's bringing Kingdom Living to this earth through our lives. It's living the Promise, and inviting others to live it with us. At first... it's going to feel pretty weird. When you first move into the Kingdom, it might feel a lot like you are living in someone else's house, enjoying someone else's promise. But the more time you spend in the Kingdom, the more time you spend painting the walls of your heart with the Word, the more time you spend communing with family there, inviting friends over and feeding them from your table... the more it will begin to feel like home.

We have been in the new house for three weeks tonight. We are still figuring things out- like how much cold water to mix with the hot in the shower (you know how you have it dialed right in to that perfect temp after fifteen years in the same shower?) How many clothes it takes to make a full load in that giant washer and dryer. That one must only use a small (very small) amount of bubbles when adding them to a bathtub with jets. That we can sweep the kitchen floor a dozen times a day, and it's still going to get tracked on. Where the outlets are (all fifteen trillion of them, it's GLORIOUS). We have painted the kitchen, hung a few pictures, decorated the tops of the cabinets... left towels on the floor overnight. We have begun to settle in.  Bibles on tables. Photography stuff piled in the door. This is where we live. In this promise fulfilled.

Tali told me that a couple of nights ago, she was laying in bed reading a book when she just closed it, and lay there thinking "I have MY OWN ROOM. This is MINE."

It's still surreal. Part of me hopes that it always is. That I can always feel the wonder of a dream fulfilled by the only One able. That as I walk through this house, bumping into things in the dark, I will be reminded of what it's like to walk out of this world and into the Kingdom. Eventually I will be able to navigate with my eyes closed... oh that my heart would be so comfortable in the Kingdom living that I will be guided by my spiritual eyes rather than physical ones!  That the grandfather clock chiming would always be a reminder that He is an ON TIME GOD. That our family will be forever changed by His faithfulness, and that we should never, ever, ever forget how faith opened the door to this new home.

Lord, would you help us see the beauty of your Kingdom here on earth? in our hearts? Will you help us to live this {in between} life... aliens here longing for there... to the fullest glory of You? Will you remind us daily of our blessings, of our abundant life in you, of the things that really matter. Not houses, not paint, not pretty decor... but eternity spent in you. Letting your Kingdom reign in our hearts and in our homes... bringing it to our communities and the people who desperately need it the most. Thank you Father, for your faithfulness, for hearing our prayers, and for loving us so stinking much...

A few more pics for your viewing pleasure... bringing the Boyles' touch to a new house is fun. bringing your heart into the Kingdom is even better :)

t&z on our back deck the first day of school

a rare picture of zach painting. this lasted approximately ten minutes.

on the mantle. surreal.

kitchen decor. and that's our new-fangled chore sheet on the fridge
(used a sharpie for the lines, and dry erase marker for the rest so we don't have to print one every week)

just portion of our counter space- and this picture alone is more than we had in our entire kitchen at the old house.

above our sink so that we may never, ever forget

and then He said YES.

Scripture tells us to take all of our requests to God, and that if we are praying according to His will, we will have what we have asked of Him. So often we take that scripture and twist God into some sort of genie in a bottle… granting wishes and desires just because we asked.

But that’s not who our God is. He is a wise Father who knows what is best for us. He knows the beginning from the end. And sometimes, His answer is no. Sometimes the thing we ask is not according to His will. Sometimes the best thing is not the immediate thing.

I have written a lot about that “no”. The “no” hurts. It’s confusing. Hearts are broken. It doesn’t make sense. I know all about the "no", I have learned much from those two letters.  

But sometimes… God says “YES”. Today I finally get to tell you about a major "yes" in our lives... one that was made possible because He first said "no". This is the story of an answered prayer, not in my time... but His. It is a reminder that He often works in delayed dreams. And for you to really understand the miracle... I have to go where Paul Harvey spent so much of his time... telling "the rest of the story"...

When Jim and I moved into our cute little starter home in Edwardsport, we only planned to be here until we started having kids. Unfortunately, we were young and dumb, and we didn’t guard our credit like we needed to in order to make that happen.

[BIG mistakes were made]

And so, in 2006 during one of Kathy Stephen’s Bible Studies she handed out little notecards on which she asked us to write our list of “impossible” situations… and to take those situations to a God for whom nothing is impossible.  I hesitated to even write it… because the reason for the “impossibility” was of my own making… yet there at the very bottom of the card I finally wrote “a bigger house”. It’s not that I wanted square footage or room to entertain… my heart just wanted to give Tali and Zachary their own rooms.

For three years that card rode around in my Bible, and when I saw it, I would take that impossible situation back to God. 

And then we saw it. The House on Morgan Road. [all capitalized, because that is the position it took in my heart]. It was empty, a foreclosure, stripped of everything that could be removed from the home… but bigger. And perfect. And… an answer to prayer.

I set off to the courthouse to get information, which led me to the Sherriff's Dept. I was given the name of the attorney who handled the foreclosure and the warning that they may not be able to give me any information. Each step of the way my prayer was the same... "God if this is not your will, please close the door".

I had been telling Jim that we should go walk around the house seven times with his shofar, praying all Jericho-style, asking God to deliver it over into our hands. He thought I was a little nuts [nothing new], but had seen God answer my crazy prayers enough that he would pull in and walk around the house once every time we drove by. After getting the number of the law firm and making a call to them, I decided today was the day for The Official March.

Stomping through weeds as high as my knees I trekked the uneven ground around The House on Morgan Road seven times. “God, you are a good God! And you are a faithful God! And if you want to, if this is YOUR will, you can make this house ours! YOU CAN DO THAT GOD, and I know you don’t do these kind of miracles for the sake of the miracle, but so that YOU will be glorified… God I just ask that if you are going to do this, you will keep the door open. But if this is outside your will that you will shut the door…”

At some point in my prayer I laid out the fleece… “God, if this is your will, would you cause that attorney to call me back as soon as I finish my seventh lap around the house?” It seemed ridiculous, but I’m the kind of follower that asks for ridiculous confirmations.

As I started my seventh trip around the house, I wished quietly that I had that shofar… and then in the distance a train horn blew. Every detail.

I finished in the front of the house.

I pulled out my phone and looked at it.

Nothing.

I sank to my knees in the front lawn.

I poured out all of my requests and dreams and desires to Him.

Still no call.

Deciding that it WAS ridiculous to ask God to do that, I got in my car, and pulling out of the driveway I aimed my car toward home.

And then it rang.

The moment all four tires were on the pavement, the attorney called me.

I was totally blown away. I am one to ask for ridiculous confirmations, but am still shocked when HE provides them!

Talking to the attorney, I was given the name of a contact person within the mortgage company that had possession of the house. I learned it was a home purchased with an FHA loan, which caused all sorts of complications with the purchase of it, and that I would have to work directly with them. Another phone call was made.

Another ridiculous request put before God.

“God, please don’t be angry with me… but I need to know you want us to pursue this… if you do… would you please have the mortgage company call me back while I’m waiting to pick the kids up from school?”

A fleece laid out that couldn’t be wet for three more hours. Crazy.

And then, at 3:05, sitting in my car outside the kid’s school…

The phone rang.

I can’t make this stuff up.

I learned that because the house was insured by the FHA, the purchase would be tangled up for a while. I was given an email address and told to keep in touch, but that it could take a while. God had confirmed it, and so we waited. 

The next Sunday in church, Seth preached on Luke 1:37. For nothing is impossible with God. The small notation in my Bible says “House on Morgan Rd-11/29/09”. 

A week later while case managing, I noticed yard signs everywhere with this same scripture. “Nothing is impossible with God”. Dozens of them.  Overwhelmed, I parked my car and called a friend. And looking up was a literal billboard that said the same. Nothing is impossible with God. 

He was going to do this thing! He was going to give us a house!!!

And we believed.

And we waited.

For a year.

And then, on February 25, 2011 one of my monthly emails came back with the following:

This property was transferred to HUD. Please call 1-800-CALL-FHA for more information.

It was GO TIME. This meant the home would soon be going up for auction. And the Lord had kept the door open this whole time.

We believed.

We dreamed.

We decorated rooms and painted walls and had friends over and cleaned up the yard and lived in that house… all in our minds… for over a year.

And now it was time for God to do what we knew God was going to do.

More investigation, more following up, contacting a local realtor, learning the process… God was so evident in every single detail. 

Then a Saturday morning call from Jim, “we need $3000 today to stay in the running for the house”.  We didn’t have that much cash, and we couldn’t even get to the bank in time to try to work out a loan. Again, "God if you are going to do this thing, keep the door open..."  

Within an hour, that entire amount of money had been secured through the generosity of friends and family. $1000 here and a $100 there. I drove up to our little "starter" home to find my husband, the tough guy, sitting on the front porch in tears. "He is going to do this, Becky!" Monday morning another miracle, and we were able to secure the rest of the bid amount from the bank.

We were blown AWAY.

God was going to do this!

We placed our bid. We signed on the dotted line. And when we doubted our bid on the way home, God took us directly to John 15:7... "if you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you."  We trusted our bid and we left it alone.

What a roller coaster it was… but it was so much fun because we knew it was going to end with us living in The House on Morgan Road.

And then came the no. We didn't win the house. We weren't even close.

And it hurt so bad. Not just because of the no… had I been told no that day I was looking for information, it would have been one thing. Had we not been able to get the initial bid amount together it would have been another. Had someone else bought the home outright from the mortgage company, we would have seen God closing the door. But He took us to the very last step in the process and we believed with everything within us that He was going to do this thing... so much so that it didn't feel like we were being denied something, but that something we already had was being taken from us. 

I would like to tell you that I put on a big faith-filled smile and said "God is so good, He must have a better plan!" or that I embraced the text messages that said "Prasing God for the BETTER thing He has in store!!!" but I did not. I was hurt, and confused, and sad. And Jim was just mad. He had gone from such faith and belief to questioning and doubt in the span of one two letter word.

The next week I wept before the Lord a lot. I had a good old fashioned pity-party. And then I finally asked… “Lord, won’t you help me understand? I understand the ‘no’… but why in the world would you take us all the way through the process just to shut the door?”

And He said to me “I need you and Jim to trust me as much in the ‘no’ as in the ‘yes’”.

And I realized, that had God let us get that house, Jim would have let me put John 15:7 up on the wall. But what would it have meant??? That our faith is strong when God is giving us what we want… but what about when the answer is no? Where is our faith then? Do we trust Him in the “no”? Do we trust Him when His plan does not make sense? Do we trust the path He has us on, even when it turns unexpectedly? God knew my heart's desire for a home... but He knew my greater desire to see my husband and myself grow in our reliance on Him. 

And so the wait resumed.

I told God that if my kids graduated high school and were still sharing a bunk bed, it would be weird, but not the end of the world. And that if my house was never big enough to host another family or two comfortably, that would be okay too. And that if my kitchen was always so small that I could touch the fridge, stove, cabinets, and sink all from standing in the same spot in the center, that would be fine (I don’t really like cooking that much anyway).

But that I still believed He could do it.

Jim and I did walk through several modular homes. We looked online at real estate listings. We looked at ways we could make it happen. But there was never a peace about that path. We even considered ways to add on to this home, wondering if that was God's will instead. But that didn't feel right either. We could have forced the issue, we could have forced our way into a larger house, we could have taken loans we couldn't manage at the time... but He told us to wait. And so we waited.

And then God did something unexpected to all…

Jim’s Aunt, recently widowed for the second time… fell in love.

And she didn’t just fall in love, she fell head over heels in love with an incredible man of God who is just as smitten with her. 

[It’s adorable.]

And soon after falling in love, they were engaged. It was at the family get-together the day of the proposal that Tali asked Aunt Sharon where she was going to live after she got married… what would she do with her house?  

Aunt Sharon answered “Well, I was going to talk to your mom and dad about that, actually”.

[and this, reader, is when my tears start to flow, because God IS so good, and He is able, and His timing is perfect…]

I’m not going to lie, although I love Sharon and know her as my own aunt, and can’t imagine anyone I would trust to their word more than her… my heart had a hard, hard time believing. I told the kids not to tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone. Even when people asked me about it (because Sharon or family had told them we were moving) I would say something noncommittal like “oh we think so” or “it sure looks that way”.

I had been so hurt by The Last House…  could I risk my heart again?

For months Sharon would talk about us moving into her home. And although I believed, I needed help in my unbelief.

And this last week, I told her that. I told her how hard it was for my heart to believe. How excited the kids were, and that we had even gone out on faith and bought a few decorations for their new rooms, but that I still had this fear of something freakish happening and the whole deal to fall through.

That night she called to let Jim know she had started moving all of her stuff out, so that we could get in. She sent a picture, and in that moment my heart knew…

God was saying “yes” to that prayer from December 2006.

He was answering that impossible situation in the way only HE could orchestrate.

He really is doing this thing.

And so, this last Saturday, we began to pack up fifteen years of living into cardboard boxes.

We are moving.

Can I say that again???

We ARE moving!!!!

To a bigger house with three bedrooms and a full basement and two bathrooms and a human sized kitchen and CLOSETS. Oh glorious CLOSETS.

We are moving!!!

The kids will have their own rooms.  Storage will no longer be in the living room. Our bedroom will no longer house THREE dressers because the kid’s room is too small and the closet space abysmal.  We will be able to go to the bathroom while someone else is showering.

God is so good!

And although His goodness is still hard for me to grasp [confession: I just texted Jim “I wrote a blog about us moving, that’s okay isn’t it? I mean this is REALLY happening right?” and couldn’t bring myself to post without his "go for it" form of reassurance]… He is helping me in my unbelief.

He is helping me see how His timing is perfect.  How Jim and I just completed Financial Peace University [btw Dave Ramsey approves of the kind of arrangements that will be made in the purchase of this home ;)], and have already made great strides in the path to financial freedom… how we are ready for the commitment a new home now. How we used that money secured for The Other House to put a new roof on our house, making it rentable or sellable.  How the school corporation consolidated last year, so that the kids won’t have to change schools now with the move. How family moving into her home bring a measure of peace to Sharon.

How He had a plan all along. How He knew what He was doing… taking us down that path and teaching Jim and I to trust Him in the no. How His ultimate goal is not about a house… but about making us mature and complete in Him… and that each step along this way has refined and grown us, individually and as a couple.  That even this yes is growing us. Teaching us to trust God’s will more than the good thing, but at the same time learning that as a good Daddy, He does like to give good gifts to His children. And that even though we don’t deserve it…  He loves us enough to do this for us.

In the same way that He loved Sharon and Myron both enough to give them each other.

His plan is so intricately woven, such a beautiful design… it’s hard to imagine what it will look like when we peer back over the tapestry of our lives in His presence.

The next weeks will be a flurry of cardboard boxes and trash bags. There are things in this home that I have not laid eyes on in a decade, I am sure (once you make your way to the top of my closet, you stay there). It will be bittersweet at times… Tali’s first steps were in my bedroom. Zach’s first bath on my kitchen table. We watched 9/11 unfold over and over in replays from this living room. Friends and family who have crashed on couches. Christmases and birthdays and brand new babies home from the hospital. Dinners served for friends out of that tiny little kitchen.  A pet cemetery in the side yard marks pups and cats gone by. Fifteen years of living. Of pictures. Of memories.

But oh, how I look forward to the next chapter.  How thankful I am for His grace and mercy and love… How thankful I am that HE made a way, where there appeared to be none. 

And finally I can say how thankful I am for the "no", the "no" that made this "yes" possible...

Thank you, to those of you who have walked with us on this path. You have prayed for us, supported us, and comforted us when the answer was no. Thank you, Sharon and Myron, for your generosity and desire to make this house work out for us. You are a blessing to our lives and we are so, so happy for you guys and thankful to be a part of your lives. Thank you, to my husband who has been patient with me as I allowed my heart to believe this is really happening, and for waiting to pack until I was ready. And most of all, thank you Jesus... for hearing all of those prayers for years... and answering them in just the right way, at just the right time.