Lessons From the Garden

I have this crazy idea: I’m growing my own fruit and vegetables. Instead of the weekly discouragement in the grocery store (too expensive, too ripe, not ripe enough, what did they spray on it, how have they re-engineered it, etc.), I can play in the dirt and feed us healthy, whole food with less expense and angst. No food dyes, no additives, no sugar, chemicals, or preservatives. I come from a long line of farmers on both sides of my family tree, so why not?

Last fall, Michael built a place for me to grow things—lots of things—in our suburban townhome {small} backyard. And God isn’t wasting this opportunity. While He has me alone out there in the sun, with my hands busy and my mind focused, He’s teaching me deep truth, truth that translates to various and sundry places in my life, especially the places affected by hidden disabilities.

Lessons I’m Learning In the Garden

1. Take time to find your rhythm.
Gardening isn’t like cooking a meal; when growing food, having everything ready at the same time can be counterproductive. Depending on the crop, there’s an appropriate season for planting and a best time of day for harvesting. Staggering planting times provides a better chance that produce will continuously be available. Planting with intention helps the crops to last through the growing season.

With Cami, although we try valiantly, we often fail at following a schedule. Some days, our ideal schedule comes to fruition: school in the morning, lunch on time, chores accomplished, tired when it’s actually bedtime. Other days, we set aside our ideal schedule and finish reading that exciting book, spend time playing with friends, and take dinner to our pregnant neighbor. Mostly, we’ve learned to find the rhythm in our lives and to move with the wind as it blows—without becoming uprooted. We trust that Jesus is directing that rhythm, and it’s safe to dance with Him.

2. Pay attention.
Plants give warning signals when things are out of balance for their growth. If the beans grow tall and bushy but aren’t producing many beans, their soil probably needs more nutrients. If the cilantro and parsley leaves turn yellow, they probably are being watered too often. Last year, in one evening, a single hornworm ate my one-and-only tomato plant in its entirety.  This year, I’m checking the tomato plants daily for any signs of chewage.

As Cami moves into adolescence, her sensory integration struggles and her hormones make for some interesting combinations. As she grows taller and her limbs grow longer, her growth spurts and her vestibular challenges make walking hard for her to navigate. She stumbles a lot. She often steps on the back of my heels. When I pay close attention, I see her struggling to judge how long her arms are, how long her legs are, how far to step forward in order to walk with me and not step on me. I can’t “fix” the awkward stages in her growth, but I can help her understand them, navigate them, and learn to be patient with herself.

3. Spread out.
Young plants need room to spread out and grow stronger. For seeds, being lumped together is a productive place to be. There comes a time, though, when seedlings need to be thinned out so the baby plants have room to grow into strong adult plants. This might mean one row of lettuce turns into three. Let me tell you: thinning out lettuce is tedious work. Sproutlings are tender and crush easily, but giving each lettuce sprout enough room to grow will yield many more healthy heads of lettuce.

I have to let Cami go more often now, and it’s tough for this momma. She needs to spread out, to try more open spaces, and I need to let her. The time for my holding her close to me and being her buffer is drawing to a close. It’s time for me to let her stand out, to be different in a crowd without trying to shield her from how that feels.

4. Find your niche, then bloom there.
Boundaries are not only beneficial, sometimes they’re downright necessary. Each plant has needs specific to its growth and productivity. Some plants need lots of sun and not much water. Other plants need to stay cool and moist. Planting crops with differing needs in the same space impedes their growth and fruitfulness. As we establish our garden, I need to keep each plant’s needs in mind and place it in the garden accordingly if I want it to produce good fruit.

All along the way in this journey, there have been places, people, and activities that just don’t fit us as a family. I used to feel guilty about that, like I was being exclusive, or intolerant, or snobby. Now I see: we’re all made for different places and different things. God anoints my family to walk and serve in places no one else walks and serves. That isn’t less; it’s His more.

5. When you need more room, think up.
There’s limited growing room in our roughly 16′ x 12′ planting space. The crops we’re growing—especially the zucchini, squash, eggplant, strawberries, and beans—need room to sprawl. In order for them to bear a good crop, we need to give them room. Because our spreading room is limited, my husband and I are researching different ways we can garden vertically.

Michael and I don’t always know how to provide enough room for Cami’s growing. In those many, many times, we stay on our knees and think up: God made her; He understands her; we ask Him to make room for her. And every time, He does. And the space He provides fits her just right. Unconventional as the growing solution often looks, it always gets the job done.

Strawberry

The first strawberry from our garden, Mother’s Day, 2013

17So Isaac left there, camped in the valley of Gerar, and lived there. 18Isaac reopened the water wells that had been dug in the days of his father Abraham and that the Philistines had stopped up after Abraham died. He gave them the same names his father had given them. 19Moreover, Isaac’s slaves dug in the valley and found a well of spring water there. 20But the herdsmen of Gerar quarreled with Isaac’s herdsmen and said, “The water is ours!” So he named the well Quarrel because they quarreled with him. 21Then they dug another well and quarreled over that one also, so he named it Hostility. 22He moved from there and dug another, and they did not quarrel over it. He named it Open Spaces and said, “For now the Lord has made room for us, and we will be fruitful in the land.”  (from Genesis 26, HCSB)

Hoping your Church Day is filled with springs and open spaces,

Candi

Why I Love Being Cami’s Mom

Oh, what joy for those
whose disobedience is forgiven,
whose sin is put out of sight!
Yes, what joy for those
whose record the Lord has cleared of guilt,
whose lives are lived in complete honesty!
(from Psalm 32, NLT)

This Mother’s Day Eve, as I think about what to post that will both express our lives authentically and encourage you wherever you are in your life, I’m tempted to just post a scripture and be done with it. After all, what can I possibly add to the many blog posts floating around out there about Mother’s Day? (See the bottom of this post for a few of my favorite links for the “holiday.”)

Yet, God won’t let me stay comfortable this evening. While it’s true that God’s Word is always the best thing to say in any situation, I feel His encouragement this evening to include some of my own vulnerability. As I try to write about Mother’s Day, I think about all of us who dread this second Sunday in May. My heart is heavy for all of us who are so tired and worn that calling attention to the reason for our tiredness and worn-ness is the last thing we want.

Some of us find it hard to celebrate being a mother when being a mother is so hard.

I remember how my heart broke every Mother’s Day that marked another year of my infertility. While I love and appreciate my own mom, I found it difficult to feel grateful on Mother’s Day when my heart felt so empty and abandoned. I understood Hannah’s grief first-hand: “Crushed in soul, Hannah prayed to God and cried and cried—inconsolably” (1 Samuel 1:10 in The Message).

And then it happened. All the prayers and all the waiting and and all the infertility treatments finally worked: I was pregnant! You’d think I would’ve felt elated, right? After waiting for so long and trying so hard and crying so much, I felt two things: relieved and terrified. 

I was relieved that I was finally pregnant, that I was finally going to experience my lifelong dream of being a mommy.

I was terrified that I was finally pregnant, that I was finally going to experience my lifelong dream of being a mommy.

I remember, after the phone call from the doctor with the good news, lying on the couch and begging God, “Please. Let it be real this time. Let it be okay. Please, Lord, let this baby be healthy. I can’t handle having a child with special needs.”

Oh, yes, I did. I prayed that prayer. And I believed it, too: I could only handle so much, and special needs were not in my repertoire. My mom had worked for years with physically and mentally handicapped children, and I’d recognized my own inability to connect with her students. It upset me so much to be around her students that I would visit her at work only after school hours, only after all the students had been dismissed and bussed home. Looking back on that immature, selfish, high-school me, I see now that my angst wasn’t really about those students. My angst was about a seemingly-loving God Who allowed such (as I perceived it) struggle and heartache. I know now how much joy and blessing I missed by not connecting with those kids.

I sit here this evening realizing that, among all the other struggles and blessings that they are, Cami’s hidden disabilities provide the God-given do-over for this selfish heart of mine. Time after time, I reach the end of my know-how, the end of all my teacher-training, all my intelligent assumptions, and I’m left with no idea what to try next with my girl. And time after time, God meets me in my insufficiency and proves Himself to be my El Shaddai, my All-Sufficient One, my Strength-Giver, my One Who is mighty to nourish and satisfy. Time after time, when I run to the Maker of my precious daughter, He shows me what to do and how to do it.

Mother’s Day feels a little like arriving at an art-gallery opening where the featured Artist hands me His most prized canvas and says, “Here. Sign your name to it.” And I say, “But all I’ve done is admire Your work and paint where You’ve told me.” And He says, “I know. It’s My gift to you.” It feels out of sync to be celebrated as the mom when I can’t take any credit for the beauty my girl is. God has done it all.

So I’ll do what I’ve done for almost 13 years now: I’ll enjoy the masterpiece that is my daughter and treasure the gift that she is to me.

Glamour Cami

BananaMama

kitchen drawer

ScooterPootin Blues

StaticHair

scooterpoot on her scooter

Beautiful Girls Easter 2007

Christmas 2008

sams

Me and my girl

trampoline rocker

DC Adventurer

wind

IMAG1581

bookstore

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IMAG0590

Luray

atlantic girls

2 girls

I’m the one who is so stinking blessed.

*A few of my favorite links about mothering:

♥ Lisa Leonard’s When I Became a Mother on (in)courage’s blog

♥ Lisa-Jo Baker’s beautiful Mighty Mom video and printable

♥ Lisa-Jo’s Tired Mother’s Creed printable

♥ One more Lisa-Jo post: The (Real Life) Dictionary Definition of “Mother”

♥ Ann Voskamp’s Why Mother’s Day Is For the Birds

Praying you take time to breathe in El Shaddai’s love and grace.

He is all you need.

Candi

Lessons from a Scarecrow

Meet one of my scarecrows. His name is Eddie.*

Eddie the Scarecrow

Eddie the Scarecrow

Eddie is a motion-sensitive sprinkler. When something moves in the garden, like birds or critters, Eddie spouts off. He varies the patterns and duration of his spray each time, to keep his air of mystery—and to keep the birds and critters guessing.

Eddie has a sensitivity knob. His motion detecting can go from a 1 (least sensitive) to a 10 (the wind blows, and he spurts). A sensitivity setting of about a 7½ is sufficient for our tiny garden. So far, Eddie’s doing a great job. I haven’t seen any squirrel-dug holes in the raised beds recently.

Eddie’s sensitivity doesn’t encompass the entire back yard, tiny as it is, so he has a partner. Franco* keeps an eye out from the opposite corner of the yard. Franco is a motion-sensitive sprinkler just like Eddie, with a sensitivity knob and the same job to do: protect the garden from unwelcome intruders.

You’d think both Eddie and Franco’s sensitivity knobs should be set at the same number, right? (Here’s where the scarecrows have been schooling me.) Eddie guards the part of the yard closest to the house, away from the trees behind our fence. Franco guards the part of the yard near the back fence, where the trees’ leaves and branches frequently fall. There’s also a wind chime that hangs almost directly over Franco’s head. Franco’s corner of the yard experiences more movement than Eddie’s does, so Franco’s sensitivity knob needs to be set to a slightly different level than Eddie’s sensitivity knob. By trial and error, we’ve found the best setting for both scarecrow sprinklers, and the garden is well guarded.

The scarecrows Eddie and Franco remind me of my husband and me as we parent our daughter. Michael’s sensitivity knob sits at a different setting than mine does. There are times when I jump to alarm at every little nonverbal cue I think Cami might be giving and I end up hovering (yes, I am a recovering helicopter mom). Just the same, there are times when Michael misses the subtext in Cami’s body language and her feelings end up hurt or misunderstood. Each of us have different approaches and bring different filters to our family life together. We don’t always get it right. Through trial and error, though, we’re getting it right many more times than we’re messing it up. Cami needs both of us, even when our sensitivity knobs are at different settings. Together, we make a good team.

Looking forward to a bountiful harvest,

Candi

*Michael named the scarecrow sprinklers. Just sayin’.

Contactcassandra@chosenfamilies.org

The Right Size

Max Lucado remember you are specialAs far back as I can remember, I’ve thought of myself as overweight. Indeed, for many years, I have been overweight. Last summer, I embarked on a journey to reach the weight which God designed my body to carry. I’m well on my way in losing the extra poundage. (Thank You, Jesus!)  In this current season of my life, as I discover what my true body type is, and what styles best suit my physical frame, I’ve discovered another curious thing:

For much of my life, I’ve been content to wear clothes that are too big for me.

Today, for the first time in literally years, I put on an extra-large-sized t-shirt. And it was just a little too big! I have to tell you: the shirts in my closet in recent years have run as large as a 4X. And honestly, I’m not sure I was ever that large.

I just thought I was. Other people in my life affirmed that assessment of myself that I’d made. Overweight people wear plus sizes; I’m overweight; therefore, I must wear a 4X. Those big shirts hid my actual shape and, I dare say, made me look heavier than I actually was. But I wore them because I believed they were what I should wear.

As my body shape changes, wearing the right-sized clothes takes getting used to. I have to make a mental adjustment to my pants snugly fitting me and my shirts showing off my waistline. I don’t have adequate words to describe to you the freedom I’m finding as I give away the too-big shirts and purchase the fits-me-like-a-t clothes that are populating my closet now. I feel beautiful for maybe the first time in my life.

In the same way, finding the right fit for my daughter, and discovering the right size for our family, has transformed the way we do life. I shared with you awhile back the clothing hoops we jump through in order to accommodate Cami’s sensory struggles. Yet the fit I’m talking about here is in her environments, in her activities, in her friendships, in her transitions. Sometimes, it takes a major shift to find where Cami fits and what works for her. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a little tweak here and there in the status quo. Every time, it takes paying attention and being brave enough to say, “This isn’t working. Let’s try something different.”

My friend Betsy used to describe it as being a student of my child. She used to tell me that Cami’s learning glitches­—the dyspraxia, the dyslexia, and sensory processing disorders (vestibular, visual, and auditory)—were gifts from God because they made me slow down and pay attention to my girl. She was right. When we pulled her out of public school kindergarten all those years ago, we took time—time for Cami to heal from the traumas at school, and time for us to figure out who we were and what worked best for our family. We took time to discover the right fit for all of us.

We stopped looking at Cami as a problem to correct and instead embraced her as a puzzle to solve, an intricate, sometimes frustrating but always fascinating treasure to unlock. God forced Michael and I to take Cami out of the box the benchmarks and growth charts and child development books tried to keep her in. He helped us turn our girl loose in an open field and say, “Go be who you are. Let’s see what happens!” What we’ve discovered is this amazing human being who loves God with all her heart, loves other people in a truly selfless way, and loves to learn. We’re also discovering how to look at each other the same way we look at Cami.

We’ve stepped out of the trap of “supposed to be.” We’ve stopped comparing our family and our rhythm of life to other families around us. We’re finding the right fit for us. It isn’t easy. Sometimes, it’s downright chaotic. But every millimeter of the journey is worth it because we’re following Jesus, and I have to tell you: our family is brimming with life. Our hearts are settled and at peace with Him and with each other. We genuinely like each other!

As parents and caregivers, we must be careful—and intentional—to allow our loved ones to be who God created them to be. He made them fearfully and wonderfully, seeing them as His masterpieces, His beautiful, glorious works of art. He made us all that way, infusing us with His image. We are all different. It sounds like a cliché, but it’s true. Each one of us has a unique fingerprint, a unique DNA sequence, even a unique ear shape! God takes such great care to craft us each unique from anyone else. So why do we spend so much time and effort trying to look like everyone else? be like everyone else? do life like everyone else?

Be brave enough this week to ask Jesus to show you the right size and fit for your family. Just ask Him. And when you ask Him, be ready for the most amazing discoveries you could ever imagine.

Now glory be to God! By His mighty power at work within us, He is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope. Ephesians 3:20, NLT

Flattening boxes of fear and expectations, dancing in fields of grace,

Candi

Contactcassandra@chosenfamilies.org

Reminiscing (A Photo-Psalm)

We’re headed south on another unplanned family trip, this time for a funeral. In addition to packing for ourselves and the dog, and gathering the homeschool supplies and the specific-to-my-eating-plan food, I also attended the Accessibility Summit at McLean Bible Church this weekend. My brain and heart are still spinning from the useful information, the new connections, and the sheer delight of meeting some of my fellow Chosen Families bloggers face to face.

Whewy.

It’s too much for one blog post. It’s too much for one weekend! With no hope of focusing my attention directly enough to give you a readable anything today, I thought I’d share some snapshots of precious moments in my life with my girl in the hopes that you will giggle like I do when I look at them and remember. All through the Old Testament, God told His people to remember what He had done for them, the many ways He loved and cared for them. Just think of this post as my photo-psalm of praise to God, my Rock and my Shelter. He has done so far above and beyond what I ever dreamed possible for me and my child.

From this small scary beginning at 2 days old

At the beginning,
when she couldn’t breathe on her own
and I couldn’t hold her,
You were there.

In every minute of the screaming, You were there.

In every minute of the screaming,
You were there. 

Waiting for playgroup to start, 6 months old

When we hosted playgroup at our house for the first time,
and we didn’t know what to expect,
You were there. 

Playing with Buddy Dog, 2 years old

When she squinched up her eyes and growled at the dog
because she wanted his toy, 

when she let him wear her necklace,

when she let him wear her necklace,

when she played in the bathtub when it wasn't bathtime,

when she played in the bathtub during not-bathtime,
unsupervised with necklaces galore around her neck,

when she buried herself in her toybox and shut the lid,

when she buried herself in her toybox and shut the lid, 

when she climbed into the sink, unlocked the medicine cabinet, and drank the cherry cold medicine, You were there, Lord. You kept her safe.

when she climbed into the sink, unlocked the medicine cabinet,
and drank the cherry cold medicine,
You were there.
Lord, You kept her safe.

When I chose her outfit,

When I chose her outfit,

and when she dressed herself, Your arms were always around us.

and when she dressed herself,
Your arms were always around us.

When she recuperated from ear tube surgery

When she recuperated from ear-tube surgery

and when she prepped for eye surgery,  You held us close to You and close to each other.

and when she prepped for eye surgery,
You held us close to You and close to each other.

Through the rough seasons

Through the rough seasons

and relaxing times,

and the relaxing times,

You love us well, God.

You love us well, God.
Thank You for giving us each other to love.

What a good God we serve.
Happy Church Day!

Candi

 

Neutral Moments and Common Ground

Parenting a child with auditory processing disorder sometimes feels like bowling in the dark: it’s difficult to get your bearings. You head in what you think is the correct direction, trust the gutters to keep the ball in your lane, and hope that you walk in a straight line. Without being able to see those little arrows on the floor, you don’t have the perspective to orient yourself at all. It’s hard to enjoy the game when you can’t improve your aim.

Many days have found me at the end of my frustration because I just don’t get my child, and it feels like she doesn’t get me either. I speak; she stares back at me, and I can tell from her blank expression that she hasn’t understood one word I’ve uttered. And I don’t know how to say it any plainer.

When those moments happen, I’ve learned to just back up and try again later. Sometimes our frustration escalates beyond what can be salvaged in the moment. Because I don’t want to lose her heart in the struggle to communicate, I wait for a different moment, and in the in-between, I find a neutral moment to sit quietly with her and debrief our breakdown in communication. Sometimes I forget that her brain can only hold on to two directions in a row, and I give her a list of five tasks. Sometimes she forgets that when I ask her to do something, if she doesn’t do it right away, she’ll forget to do it later because her brain gets full of other things. Those times of debriefing are valuable in learning how we both work best.

Where do we find those neutral moments? In the common ground we share. When it seems like I can’t reach my daughter, and she isn’t coming to me, I take us both to a new location, a safe location where we haven’t been struggling to understand one another. One common ground we share is our love for outdoors and all thing nature. We’ve been blessed to have wooded paths near our home since Cami was a baby. From the time she was itty bitty, we’ve walked together. Not power walks where we walk as fast as possible, but more like meanderings where we wander slowly enough to not miss anything.

Meanderings are wonderful neutral moments for my girl and me. As she’s grown older, the specifics we discuss during our meandering moments have changed, but the subject is still the same: I love you. I want to better understand you, and I want you to better understand me. Where did our communication break down, and how do we adjust our methods so that we hear each other better next time? Sometimes our walks together are filled with words, and sometimes we just practice listening—to the wind, the birds, the trees, the frogs. Consequently, we’ve grown more capable of hearing ourselves, and each other.

We’ve improved our aim.

12Therefore strengthen your tired hands and weakened knees, 13and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be dislocated, but healed instead. (Hebrews 12, HCSB)

Grateful for level paths and boundary lines that fall in pleasant places,

Candi

 

 

Comfort From Lamentations

I don’t know where this first weekend in April finds you. It finds me with a headache from squinting, a furrowed brow being the sign I’m thinking too hard. It finds me feeling pressured to equip my girl to face an uncertain world that doesn’t understand her. It finds me feeling inadequate for the tasks at hand. When I make a list, I think, “No wonder I’m out of breath!”

  • homeschooling (planning, implementing, motivating, evaluating, planning some more)
  • housework (dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, straightening, organizing, decluttering)
  • dishes (providing food for my family, and all the steps that go into that endeavor)
  • laundry (there’s constantly a pile of clothes—dirty, needs to be folded, folded, needs to be put away—somewhere in my house)
  • relationships (God, husband, daughter, parents, friends, neighbors)
  • writing (several projects in various stages)
  • everything else I’m responsible for

This first weekend in April finds me tired, overwhelmed, and struggling to find an end to the seemingly-endless work before the end of the never-long-enough day. Today I keep hearing God’s word deep in my heart, a verse I memorized years ago because it was a song we sang in church:

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning, new every morning.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O Lord! Great is Thy faithfulness!”

That’s what the Spirit has been whispering to me all afternoon and evening. I was curious as to the context of this scripture. I thought I remembered it being in Psalms. It’s not. It’s from Lamentations 3. Granted, Jeremiah, as God’s prophet in Israel, wrote these words from horror and loss after witnessing Yahweh’s people exiled from their lands. He suffered in ways we can’t even imagine. Still, I pray God’s Word from Lamentations comforts you and help you know when to call it a day. Whatever is left over and undone from today, there will be more mercy from Jesus to continue the work tomorrow. He promised.

from Lamentations 3 in The Message:

God Locked Me Up in Deep Darkness

1I’m the man who has seen trouble, trouble coming from the lash of GOD’s anger.

2He took me by the hand and walked me
into pitch-black darkness.

3Yes, he’s given me the back of his hand
over and over and over again.

4He turned me into a scarecrow
of skin and bones, then broke the bones.

5He hemmed me in, ganged up on me,
poured on the trouble and hard times.

6He locked me up in deep darkness,
like a corpse nailed inside a coffin.

7He shuts me in so I’ll never get out,
manacles my hands, shackles my feet.

8Even when I cry out and plead for help,
he locks up my prayers and throws away the key.

9He sets up blockades with quarried limestone.
He’s got me cornered.

10He’s a prowling bear tracking me down,
a lion in hiding ready to pounce.

11He knocked me from the path and ripped me to pieces.
When he finished, there was nothing left of me.

12He took out his bow and arrows
and used me for target practice.

13He shot me in the stomach
with arrows from his quiver.

14Everyone took me for a joke,
made me the butt of their mocking ballads.

15He forced rotten, stinking food down my throat,
bloated me with vile drinks.

16He ground my face into the gravel.
He pounded me into the mud.

17I gave up on life altogether.
I’ve forgotten what the good life is like.

18I said to myself, “This is it. I’m finished.
GOD is a lost cause.”

It’s a Good Thing to Hope for Help from God

19I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.

20I remember it all–oh, how well I remember–
the feeling of hitting the bottom.

21But there’s one other thing I remember,
and remembering, I keep a grip on hope:

22GOD’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.

23They’re created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!

24I’m sticking with GOD (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left.

25GOD proves to be good to the man who passionately waits,
to the woman who diligently seeks.

26It’s a good thing to quietly hope,
quietly hope for help from GOD.

27It’s a good thing when you’re young
to stick it out through the hard times.

28When life is heavy and hard to take,
go off by yourself. Enter the silence.

29Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions:
Wait for hope to appear.

30Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face.
The “worst” is never the worst.

31Why? Because the Master won’t ever
walk out and fail to return.

32If he works severely, he also works tenderly.
His stockpiles of loyal love are immense.

33He takes no pleasure in making life hard,
in throwing roadblocks in the way:

34Stomping down hard
on luckless prisoners,

35Refusing justice to victims
in the court of High God,

36Tampering with evidence–
the Master does not approve of such things.

God Speaks Both Good Things and Hard Things into Being

37Who do you think “spoke and it happened”?
It’s the Master who gives such orders.

38Doesn’t the High God speak everything,
good things and hard things alike, into being?

39And why would anyone gifted with life
complain when punished for sin?

40Let’s take a good look at the way we’re living
and reorder our lives under GOD.

41Let’s lift our hearts and hands at one and the same time,
praying to God in heaven:

42“We’ve been contrary and willful,
and you haven’t forgiven.

43“You lost your temper with us, holding nothing back.
You chased us and cut us down without mercy.

44You wrapped yourself in thick blankets of clouds
so no prayers could get through.

45You treated us like dirty dishwater,
threw us out in the backyard of the nations.

46“Our enemies shout abuse,
their mouths full of derision, spitting invective.

47We’ve been to hell and back.
We’ve nowhere to turn, nowhere to go.

48Rivers of tears pour from my eyes
at the smashup of my dear people.

49“The tears stream from my eyes,
an artesian well of tears,

50Until you, GOD, look down from on high,
look and see my tears.

51When I see what’s happened to the young women in the city,
the pain breaks my heart.

52“Enemies with no reason to be enemies
hunted me down like a bird.

53They threw me into a pit,
then pelted me with stones.

54Then the rains came and filled the pit.
The water rose over my head. I said, “It’s all over.’

55“I called out your name, O GOD,
called from the bottom of the pit.

56You listened when I called out, “Don’t shut your ears!
Get me out of here! Save me!’

57You came close when I called out.
You said, “It’s going to be all right.’

58“You took my side, Master;
you brought me back alive!

Moving the laundry piles off of my bed so that I can lie down,

Candi

The Easter Gospel

It’s approaching 2 a.m. on Easter Sunday. I’m still awake and still listening hard for what I’m supposed to write in this space today. Please don’t misunderstand: I am grateful for this place to write and for the time you take to read this blog. I don’t take this privilege lightly. On the contrary, I believe this space matters greatly in God’s economy. So I want to use it well.

In this space, I try to honestly proclaim the many times and different ways in which God is faithful to our Chosen Family. I try to tell stories that I hope will matter to someone else; I try to say in a loud voice, “You are not alone, and God hasn’t abandoned you!” As I’ve been asking God what He wants me to write about this week, He keeps reminding me that it’s Easter, the culmination of the Gospel story of Jesus Christ.

Have you heard the Gospel story?

When I was a little girl, I wanted to live in heaven with Jesus when I died. My parents, my pastor, and my Sunday school teachers told me that the only way to get to heaven was to ask Jesus to come live in my heart. When I was four years old, I asked Jesus to come live in my heart and make me ready to live with God forever. I remember that day vividly. Even though I was very young, I know it was a real experience. I have seen God work in my life and in my family ever since that day.

My understanding of the Gospel has broadened and deepened since that day on February 18, 1970. On this Easter Sunday, let me tell you the Gospel story—what Jesus has done in my life, what He wants to do in your life, and why it all matters anyway. Because it is really important, I want to tell you the truth, just in case you’ve never heard it before.

There is only One God, and His name is Yahweh. It makes Him sad that because of our sinfulness, our selfishness and envy and pride and all the other yucky parts of us, we cannot live with Him. He is holy, blameless, righteous, glorious, and good—and we are not.

Because He so desires us and wants to live in relationship with us, He made a way for us to be reconciled to Him, to be brought back together with Him. He made a way for us to be able to live in His presence, to sit with Him and talk to Him and listen to Him. He sent Jesus Christ to earth, to live with us, to be like us, only sinless: only good, only right, only holy, yet human like we are. When Jesus died on the cross, it was to pay the penalty that the One True Holy God demands for sin. Jesus died instead of us. He died so we don’t have to be punished for our sin.

Here’s the best part of the Gospel story, the part that makes Christianity different from all other religions: Jesus didn’t stay dead! Jesus died, was buried, and then rose to life again after three days in the tomb. Jesus walked on earth for 40 days and was seen by many people before He rose up to heaven to be with God again. He told His followers at that time, “I won’t leave you alone. I will send My Spirit to comfort you after I leave. The Holy Spirit will teach you the ways of God, and will remind you of all the things I’ve told you.” (See John 14:16-18 and 25-26.)

That’s why other belief systems and Christianity—the Jesus-kind of Christianity—can’t be the same thing. No other god or prophet came back to life after being dead. No other god or prophet lives in the human heart and teaches people how to live like the One True God created and designed them to live. Only Jesus Christ does that. Only Jesus.

I remember when my grandmother was in the hospital for the last time. I remember holding Mimi’s hand and telling her I was there. She couldn’t talk because she was on a ventilator, but the expression in her eyes changed when she realized I was there. I hadn’t seen her in probably more than a year. Her eyes smiled when she saw me. Then she saw Michael leaning over my shoulder, and the corners of her eyes crinkled up like she would be smiling from ear to ear if she could.

She squeezed my hand so tightly. I told her how much I loved her, how much I would miss her when she moved to heaven to live with Jesus. Michael and I had been going through infertility treatments, and we wanted a baby so badly. I remember that I said, “Mimi, when you get to heaven, you and Granny and Aunt Marlene get together and help Jesus pick out some precious children to send to us.” She squeezed my hand even more tightly and nodded her head “yes” just slightly. “But don’t send me too many at one time, now! Only send me what Jesus and I can handle.” The corners of Mimi’s eyes crinkled up when I said that. Mimi moved to heaven just a week later, on July 18, 1999.

In November of 1999, Michael and I found out we were indeed expecting a baby. I know Mimi and Granny and Aunt Marlene look down from heaven and delight at my Cami girl, how much like them she is, how much like Jesus she is. She asked Jesus to come live in her heart when she was five years old, and I clearly see Him living in and through her.

Even though our time on earth comes to an end, our lives don’t end. God created us to be eternal beings. That’s why I could say those things to Mimi: I knew she would see Jesus and Granny and Aunt Marlene again because I knew they would all be together in heaven. I knew they would be in heaven because I’d seen the evidence in their lives on earth, evidence of the Holy Spirit changing them into new creatures, just like a caterpillar changes into a butterfly.

At Easter, Christians remember the Cross of Christ: His amazing grace that saves us from God’s wrath because of our sin; and His complete sacrifice, the shedding of His blood that washes us clean from our sin and gives us right standing with God.

At Easter, Christians also remember the empty tomb: proof that death no longer triumphs, that Satan is defeated and eternal life is ours in Christ. What happened in the tomb where Jesus was buried? God’s mighty power raised Him from the dead! In Ephesians 1:19-20, 3:20, and Colossians 1:11, the Apostle Paul tells us that we have that same power—God’s mighty power!—living in us through the Holy Spirit of Jesus Christ. The very Son of God in all His power and glory takes up residence—dwells, abides—in and through our very lives. How cool is that? That power, the Apostle Peter tells us in 2 Peter 1:3, gives us everything we need for life and godliness as we know Jesus more and more. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel like what I need is overwhelming, and what I have isn’t enough for what I need. But if I believe scripture (and I do), the truth is that I have everything I need for anything I’m going through because I have God’s mighty power in me, and it’s enough power to raise Jesus from the dead.

Today, look into your heart. Be honest with yourself: does Jesus live in you? Does He live through you? If He doesn’t, when you die here on earth, you will be separated from the One True God forever. He doesn’t send our spirits to earth over and over again until we learn to live correctly. We will never live a correct life on our own. Only Jesus lives a correct life. That’s why we need Him to live His life through us.

He loves you so much, Friend. He wants to live with you forever. But you have to invite Him into your heart to live in you and through you. It isn’t a choice that your parents or your siblings or your loved ones can make for you. You have to choose.

Please choose Jesus.

I pray that God, whose name is Yahweh, the One True God, will open the eyes of your heart so that you can understand all of His love for you, how much He wants to live in you here on earth, and with you in Heaven after your time on earth is over. I pray that the Holy Spirit will speak the truth to your spirit so that you will understand the hope He calls you to. I pray that you will feel Jesus hugging you closely, that you will know that He is near and wants to live with you forever.

I pray that your struggle—whatever hardship, trouble, pain, or strife you’re facing—is just like the chrysalis that a caterpillar spins. In the dark of that chrysalis, the caterpillar changes from a squirmy crawl-on-the-ground creepy thing to a beautiful butterfly which floats and flies on the breeze. I pray that you, too, will become a new creature—an Easter person—who is new and whole and free.

“We are an Easter people and alleluia is our cry,” Saint Augustine wrote.
Alleluia means I have found God in the here and now.
I celebrate the presence that gives life quality and gives life meaning always.
I sing to Monday mornings, alleluia;
to washing dishes, alleluia;
to friends and work, alleluia;
to dawn and dusk, alleluia;
to old things and new, alleluia.

Say alleluia, alleluia, alleluia to life.
That’s what it is to be “an alleluia people.”

~~Sr. Joan Chittister
Benedictine Sister and spiritual writer

Alleluia! He is risen!

Candi

To Visit or Not To Visit

I begin writing this post sitting in a hotel in North Alabama, where Cami’s great-grandparents live. We drove here from Northwest Florida, where Cami’s Grammy and PawPaw live. We flew there from Northern Virginia, where we live.

Stick a fork in all three of us because we. are. done.

This six-day, two-state adventure is specifically for visiting family, some from Michael’s side, some from my side, all from Cami’s side. If we want Cami to spend any time with extended family, we have to travel to see them. Traveling, especially using multiple modes of transportation, agitates sensory processing issues like nothing else I know of. Traveling pushes more sensory buttons than a trip to WalMart. That’s saying something.

For instance, airplane seats are not very wide. Even very skinny people brush elbows with the passengers sitting next to them. Which is fine, unless you’re my daughter and you’re tired and still trying to adjust to Daylight Savings Time plus switching time zones for a week. Then, you don’t want strangers bumping any part of you, politely or not. You just want to hide and be left alone.

Waiting at the airport gate for a maintenance crew to fix the airplane you’re supposed to ride in for your connecting flight can be disconcerting. If you’re my daughter, it can also be b-o-r-i-n-g. You can’t find something fun to do as a distraction because you can’t wander far from the gate; when it’s time to board the plane, you have to be there. You can’t take your backpack off because it takes too much time to put it on again. You have to wear your backpack on your back, not your shoulder, and even that won’t prevent the bag from banging against seats and people because airplane aisles are not very wide.

If you’re my daughter, when you finally arrive at your first destination and your grandparents are waiting for you, you have to hug them. And really, you want to hug them because you love them, and you’re excited to see them. But you have to remind yourself that grandparent hugs are worth the momentary sensory discomfort because you’re just so tired of the sights, sounds, and smells from your already-long day, you really don’t want anyone touching you at all.

And it’s only lunch time of Day One.

If you’re my daughter, Day Two of visiting family means riding six hours in the cramped backseat of a rental car. The economy car sits low to the ground, so you feel every bump like there’s nothing between your rear and the road. After banging your shoulder on the door every time you climb out of the car, it doesn’t take long for you to miss your mini-van’s roomy back seat at home.

Traveling sometimes means sleeping in hotels. Hotels sometimes have scratchy blankets. If you’re my daughter, you have a daddy who requests—and receives—an actual comforter for the sleeper-sofa because he suggests the housekeeping service take it out of an empty room. The poofy comforter is better than the scratchy blanket because it’s softer, adding weight on your body and soothing you so you can sleep.

Traveling means sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, not on your own pillow, not being surrounded by your books and collections. Traveling (this time) means your dog isn’t with you; you’re not in your own house, not in your own space, and out of your routine. Is traveling with sensory processing issues worth it? We could just stay home. So why travel?

If you’re my daughter, the trade-off for traveling with sensory integration challenges includes irreplaceable experiences:

  • Walking around WalMart telling jokes to your PawPaw, who’s one person in your world who loves corny jokes like you do because they make him laugh.
  • Playing Madlibs with Grammy while she works in the kitchen, and loving her belly-laugh when you read back the silly story with her answers filled in.
  • Visiting a little French pastry shop with your dad, and choosing treats to take back to your grandparents’ house for everyone else to try. (The cheesecake is the best, although the pistachio macaroon tastes better than everyone expects.)
  • Touring the grounds of your great-great grandmother’s dilapidated and abandoned house while your mom uses her memories to paint a picture for you of how it used to look, and collecting nature treasures from the grounds and crying when the pine cone crumbles later in the car. (The crumbling pine cone gives you a chance to vent your emotions, though, a reason to cry because you’re at the age when you still think you need an actual reason to cry.)
  • Listening to your great-grandparents tell stories about the Great Depression, remember having gospel singings at their house when they were young, and recount the locations where all their people are buried.
  • Eating sandwiches, homemade French fries, and barbecue potato chips for lunch with your great-grandparents at their dining-room table.
  • Taking a walk around the hotel with your Nana to look for leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day, and not minding so much when you don’t find any because it’s a beautiful day to just be together.
  • Drawing a picture of a fairy and of a dragon, and hand-delivering the pictures to your aunt and uncle.
  • Touring the rows and rows of antique cookware and car and boat parts at your great-great uncle’s house in the country.
  • Finding fossils in your great-great uncle’s driveway gravel, and hearing the cow across the street moo so loudly, it makes you laugh out loud.
  • Riding back down the road to your great-great grandmother’s homestead to collect a replacement pine cone.
  • Sharing a meal with another aunt and uncle at a restaurant, and enjoying the slider burgers even though they are extra-peppery.

Why do we ask so much transition from our sensory-challenged child all in one week? If we had an endless supply of money and opportunity, we could visit family more often and in shorter spurts instead of packing it all into one busy trip. Michael and I do the best we can with the resources and time we have. So does Cami, who has learned many different strategies to adjust to the transitions involved in traveling. The most effective coping mechanism happens when we return home, when she stays in her room for the entire day, when the only people she talks to are her dad and me until she’s ready to be with people again.

It’s a tricky balance to strike sometimes, this traveling with sensory processing challenges. It takes courage and constant adjustment. The memories Cami has of who she is and where she comes from are worth every single struggle.

Counting as blessings the many family connections we have,

Candi

The God of Angel Armies

One of my favorite recent worship songs is Chris Tomlin’s “Whom Shall I Fear” from his Burning Lights album. Cool tune, powerful truth, and a unique name for God:

The God of Angel Armies.

Last week when I was reading in The Message Bible, I saw that name for God in print. Eugene Peterson’s modern translation of the Bible renders “the LORD Almighty” and “the LORD of Hosts” as “GOD-of-the-Angel-Armies.”

On this weekend when I’m raw and vulnerable,
with so much emotion and not enough words,
I find myself clinging to the truth in this song.
I hide in the scriptures that promise God’s strength on my behalf,
the scriptures that promise that God will fight for me
if I just stand still.

Like Hannah when she prayed in her barrenness,
and David when he stood against Goliath,
and Elijah when he answered King Ahab,
and Jeremiah and Isaiah and Haggai,
I’m running to the LORD Almighty,
and cowering behind the LORD of Hosts.
I’m trying to remember and desperate to believe
the GOD of Angel Armies is always by my side.

Watch the song video here.

You hear me when I call.
You are my morning song.
Though darkness fills the night,
It cannot hide the light.
Whom shall I fear?

You crush the enemy underneath my feet.
You are my Sword and Shield.
Though troubles linger still, whom shall I fear?

I know Who goes before me.
I know Who stands behind.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.
The One who reigns forever,
He is a Friend of mine.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.

My strength is in Your name,
For You alone can save.
You will deliver me.
Yours is the victory.
Whom shall I fear? Whom shall I fear?

I know Who goes before me.
I know Who stands behind.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.
The One who reigns forever,
He is a Friend of mine.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.

And nothing formed against me shall stand.
You hold the whole world in your hands.
I’m holding onto Your promises;
You are faithful. You are faithful.
And nothing formed against me shall stand.
You hold the whole world in your hands.
I’m holding onto Your promises;
You are faithful. You are faithful.
You are faithful.

I know Who goes before me.
I know Who stands behind.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.
The One who reigns forever,
He is a Friend of mine.
The God of angel armies is always by my side.

Humbled by and grateful for this mighty God Who lives in me,

Cassandra