His Deeds

Oh (Joan) give thanks to the Lord,

call upon His name;

make known His deeds among the peoples (of Chosen Families)….

I Chronicles 16:8

Tonight as I sit by the absolute last embers in the fireplace, watching my college girl scooch as close as possible to those fading embers to stay warm (in true “cinder”rella fashion), I’m reflecting (in a dazed sort of way) on all the things that happened this year – so many things I did not know were coming….

if it were not for God’s deeds on behalf of our family, we would be toast.

For instance, this time last year I did NOT know my husband (in a matter of weeks) would be in a full blown worst-in-twenty-years manic episode.  There are some things I just do NOT need to know ahead of time. God decided that would be one of them.

BUT, I also did not know God would use that episode to help us change doctors and medications — something we had been needing for YEARS. God accomplished those Medical and Marital Deeds through the manic episode.

I did not know, simultaneously, I would have to move an aging relative into assisted living. I’m too sentimental to be good at those kind of decisions…much less during a long manic episode.  But unknown to me, God would do many Moving and Logistical Deeds on my behalf, helping me dismantle and condense 84 years of life and belongings into a single room, in a city 16 hours from where I lived.

Don’t get me wrong – I still felt like God had double booked trials last winter (unnecessarily). But, as can be expected from Omniscience, He knew what was coming the REST of the year, and why that task had to be done THEN. (I thanked Him later). Not only that, but the “double booking” forced my blistered soul to live with elderly saints for 2 weeks, giving me fresh courage to endure the long manic siege.

On a different note, I did not know if my son, with learning disabilities, and ADD (and aversion to all medications) would graduate college last May. It would not have been the end of the world it he had not. But he DID! If you are reading this, you know God did 16 YEARS worth of Educational Deeds to make that happen.

Nor did I have the slightest clue this son would choose a bride this year. You would think, with the bipolar and then some disabilities around here, he would just go take a long walk off a short pier. But no. Because God is merciful, He answered our son’s prayers, and ours, leading him to a Jesus-loving life mate. Even though she lived half way around the world, one of God’s deeds was to make their paths cross!

I wish we had been the only ones with a manic episode this year, but we were not. One  dear in-law suffered as well, disrupting their young family for months, as the long search for the right med blend depleted their resources.  They were just getting some relief when they came for Thanksgiving….

SO…the sweetest moment of Thanksgiving for me was after dinner, when we were taking turns, naming God’s deeds on behalf of our family. It has been a HARD year because of hidden disabilities. But lo and behold, here we were, alive and well (all things considered)…I wept as I listed His deeds….

Thank you, dear Chosen Families readers, for letting me “make known His deeds” to you each week…for understanding what I mean, even when I am not skilled enough to explain….

Dearly Dependent on His Deeds,

Joan

 

 

Rockwell and Reality

I don’t know about you but I often get caught up in the “wish it was” moments of the Holidays.  I so long for that Norman Rockwell picture of the holidays.   All of the family together as one big happy family.  Sharing gifts.  Sharing a beautiful meal.  Sharing laughter and memories.

Our home isn’t that Norman Rockwell picture.  We are broken by hidden disability and it affects that picture.  It is sad in some ways.  And it isn’t just sad for our little family.  It affects the extended family also.  It isn’t their “Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving/Christmas” either.

It is important to acknowledge this.  It is that elephant in the room that needs to be acknowledged.  It is important to acknowledge because without acknowledging it there will be hurt feelings, unrealized expectations, crushed dreams.  But by acknowledging it we open ourselves to new perspective.

Just because it isn’t Norman Rockwell doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.  It just has to beautiful in the way that works for YOUR family.

I was pondering this early this morning and praying for God to show me His heart about it.

And I was reminded of the reality that this is why Jesus came.   He came to redeem all of these broken places.  The broken places in our health.  The broken places in our hearts.  The broken places in our families.

Jesus came to redeem our brokenness.  He came to give us abundant life today.  But abundant life doesn’t mean it will look like Norman Rockwell.  Norman doesn’t live at my house.

He came into this darkness to bring His light.  And He reminded me of this lovely song I have been singing all morning.  Listen.

Isn’t He, by John Wimber

Isn’t he beautiful?
Beautiful, isn’t he?
Prince of peace,
son of God.

Isn’t he?
Isn’t he wonderful?
Wonderful, isn’t he?
Counselor,
almighty God.
Isn’t he?

Yes, you are beautiful!
Beautiful, yes, you are!
Prince of Peace,
son of God.
Yes, you are!

Yes, you are wonderful!
Wonderful, yes, you are!
Counselor,
almighty God.
Yes, you are!

____

I pray as you enter this holiday season you will embrace the beauty of God’s presence and see the beauty in your life.

Warmly,

Shannon

Saying Grace

Today, I will bow my head over the largest meal of the year. A meal conceived from groceries that spilled from counters and tables onto the floor in their abundance. There will be turkey and mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce no one but my father eats, the wild rice casserole that is in the second generation of its iteration, and the din of barking dogs and kids asking if “they can be done yet.” It will be a big, fat, happy mess.

We have so much, our family. Even as we contemplate another series of complicated diagnoses for Noah’s brother, we are buried in abundance. We have great cause for Thanksgiving. We have been shown such grace.

“All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God. Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” (2 Corinthians 4:15-16) (NIV)

At some point, my mother will pass the blessing cup, and into it, we will each place a clove. The clove will represent our thanks for a particular blessing. One of us will give thanks for a job, one for health. Another will give thanks for the salvation of their children, for their spouse, for the safety and warmth that a home provides.

This year, I will give thanks for grace. After all, ‘tis grace that brought me safe thus far.

It is God’s grace that provided what can only be described as an “escape hatch” when certain financial death loomed on the horizon. His favor was apparent in Matt’s speedy recovery from a surgery warned to involve a difficult recovery. God’s leniency was apparent in the speeding ticket I might have received the other day when based on past…shall we say…motor vehicle “indiscretions,” I might have had my license suspended, instead. His favor: in the doctor’s appointment we got in less than a week, when we were originally told it would take months; in the money that shows up in the mail; in the promises of friends to help us pack and move an entire life during the dead of winter. There is more of this – so much more, that you’d never stay awake through the tryptophan to read it all.

“Only you,” they say of our family. We are the “skin-of-their-teeth”-ers.

Really, I think the Lord just prefers a bit of flourish with His grace. It’s often so apparent, all I can do is shake my head and laugh. When He knows I need the reassurance of His presence, I can practically feel His hand upon me. And I don’t deserve any of it. None of us do.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)

Which is why today, when I bow my head over a plate piled abundantly high, I will say – and give thanks for - grace.

~ Sarah

Upside Down

My focus has had me contemplating my navel here lately. “What if?” “What, then?” “How will we…” I’m focused on the “cup” of difficulty the Lord’s handed in my direction. It brims with challenges. And I want to pass it back to him, with a “No, thanks.”

“Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42)

“And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame” (Romans 5:2-4).

It’s November, the perfect time to exercise gratitude and remind myself of God’s constant, unchanging presence. Of the little ways He shows me love during the day. Of the blessings big and small. I need to turn my cup upside down, empty it of its difficulties, and refill it with what is good, and what I’ve maybe been missing.

There are the three little elves that call me “Mama,” with personalities as big as their mouths: Jesse, my lover-fighter, he of the morning snuggles and the “Hold me, MAMA’s!”; Grace, my artistic athlete with arms open for my hugs, and a new picture colored for me every day; and Noah, my enigmatic leader, whose charisma and wacky giftedness enters the room before he does, and who’s brain I will not ever fully understand.

There is my husband of under-covers footsie, and shoulders wet from crying on, and the one big enough to take my ranting and my instabilities. The one who loves me as close to God as anyone.

There are our scrabbling dogs, and closets with clean laundry (though it does not get there without much wailing and gnashing of teeth). The pantry abounds with food, and the fridge that stores the surplus is humming with an electrical current that means we have enough to keep it on. The cars run, and though it recently took two new batteries to keep them that way, they both inch toward 150,000 miles with no car payments to be made.

There is my wallet, full with the Aetna insurance card that reminds me of the health care I can get whenever it’s needed; the coupons I’ll use when grocery shopping, the gift card I received from a friend, the number for a babysitter that will buy Matt and me a little sanity, and the note that Noah wrote and hid there for me to find later: “Mom, I love you. I hope you have a grat [sic] day.” There is not a dollar anywhere in its folds. But my wallet is full to bursting with things of value.

And there is the big bay thoroughbred standing in a field some miles from here with a new blanket on his freshly-clipped hide who may act like a pill while I tack him up, but after our ride, will put his nose on my shoulder and smell me quietly in a gesture of something like love.

It turns out my cup was full of something else.   And it overflows.

- Sarah

The Country Road

Thank you, Lord, for the country road.

Thank you for the broad span of white horse fence and the gravel under our tires. Thank you that “rush hour” most commonly means a combine harvester is taking up both lanes of traffic. Thank you for the neighbor girl on her paint pony that brings a petting zoo to our doorstep. Thank you for a cul-de-sac that is a natural corral for bicycling children. Thank you, God, that when my son elopes, he is likely somewhere close, somewhere safe. And if I cannot find him, thank you that there is nearly always a neighbor who knows where he is.

Thank you that passing a donkey and a field of sheep on the way to school is a certain way to buy a few moments of peace because Your animals are always a pleasure and a great diversion. And a braying donkey, as it turns out, is louder than a screaming toddler.

"Hee haw" beats "STOP IT, NOAH!" any day.

Thank you for a neighborhood tractor ride on Halloween, and a road safe enough to take a walk on, and that if the dogs are barking, it’s only at a fox or a deer ambling through the uncut alfalfa in the back acreage, and not something worse. Because I’m pretty sure someone looking to burglarize would get lost on the way out here.

Thank you for the country road because today, it’s the quickest thing I can think of. Noah’s pulled his guinea pig from its cage again, and because “Bubblegum” is fat enough at this point to qualify as a cat, he takes half a cage’s worth of shavings with him onto the floor. The floor I just vacuumed yesterday. The dogs are taking turns using the formal living room as their own personal litter box in a territory marking “pee off.” I managed to suffocate half the houseplants because I don’t have the time to water them, I can’t see my bed for the unfolded laundry, and last night, my Noah who never sleeps woke me up at 1:00 am to ask sweetly, “Is there anything I can get you, mom?” Hmmm…How ‘bout a decent night’s sleep?

Thank you for the country road because it brings home a husband who’s constantly traveling. Thank you for the country road that helps a boy with ASD quiet his neurological system by running as fast as his torn shoes will carry him. Thank you for the country road that brings the wind up to our porch, and with it, the harmonies of bullfrogs and the nicker of horses hidden in the dusk.  Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever (I Chronicles 16:34). On the days I forget to thank you, the country road helps me remember.

- Sarah

On Giving Thanks

 

“Thank you for buying me that new jacket,” my daughter says as she hugs me.

“Thank you for taking us out to dinner,” my son says as the waiter presents us with the check.

“Thank you for buying salami,” my daughter says as we carefully put the groceries away.

“Thank you for letting me have a friend over today,” my youngest daughter says at the end of a quiet weekend.

“Thank you for letting me eat pasta for breakfast this morning.”

My children are thankful.  They know how to communicate their thankfulness.

Even when things don’t go their way, they somehow know to give thanks to me and Ben for the things in life that they enjoy.  Sometimes the things they give thanks for are simple.  Sometimes they are profound.  But they always give thanks with hearts full of joy.

I have a lot to learn from my children!

I Thessalonians 5:18:

Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

 
~ Nancy

 

Thanksgiving (A Conversation with Cami)

As I tuck my 11-year-old Treasure into her loft bed, she looks down at me with those huge hazel eyes and says,

“Mom, I have so much to be thankful for this week.”

The Holy Spirit whispers, “Pay attention now.”

I say, “Tell me what you’re thankful for.”

Cami says, “Well, since growing up isn’t bothering me right now because I’ve decided to not think about what might happen in the future and I’m only going to live in today,” deep breath, “I don’t really have any problems right now.”

I smile and say, “It feels really good to not have any problems, doesn’t it?”

Cami says, “The only problem I have is that sometimes other people–you know, kids–think I’m weird.”

It grieves my heart when she says this. “How do you know they think you’re weird?”

She calmly says, “The way they look at me sometimes.” A pause; then, “But that’s okay. Even I think I’m weird.”

I have committed to speaking truth over my daughter to try to counteract all the lies.  I open my mouth and let the Truth fly. “Sweetness, you aren’t weird. You are unique, and God made you exactly the way you are for His purposes, which include showing His glory through you.”

Cami says, “I know, Mom. They think I’m weird in a crazy way, but I think I’m weird in a good way.”

It’s quiet for a beat while I listen for the Holy Spirit’s prompt of what to say next, how to encourage her, how to build her up.

I’m surprised at what I speak next. “You know what? People think I’m weird, too.”

Cami says, “But in a good way,” and smiles.

I say, “I like you. A whole lot.”

Cami smiles her beautiful smile.

I’m grateful to be living life with this Treasure of a girl. How blessed I am.

Counting my many blessings,
Cassandra

Tribute

I ask Him for so much.

I am always begging for help. “Heal my brother of his cancer.” “Let his plane land safely.” “Keep the kids in their beds tonight.” “Give my Noah friends.” (“MY” Noah. As if he were ever truly mine.) I write this with a sailor’s knot of anxiety coiled tight in my chest. How will we afford the anniversary, three birthdays and Christmas that fall within six weeks of each other? HELP me, Lord. GIVE me guidance. MAKE it happen.

My day is full of supplication. It often lacks gratitude.

I am effusive with thanks when someone gives me something. Right on time with thank you notes and tokens. But when I cannot see His obvious hand, I neglect to recognize how He’s once again saved me from the precipice. I often fail to give Him the tribute He’s due.

Why? Because I cannot see past the miasma of my own worry. My eyes are clouded; they do not recognize His constant provision. Instead, I am focused on the troubles that swirl round my feet.

My son Noah, the consummate worrier, is paradoxically skilled with his thanks. The fretting is constant (a hallmark of his disability), but so is the thanks. Take, for instance, the tribute that adorns his room. “I cannot believe the Lord died on the cross – for me!” he had said that day. Gratitude flooded his soul, and he wrote:

Translation (he’s still learning to write after all): “I love my God. He sees me. He did die on that cross!”

“But be glad and rejoice forever in what I will create.” (Isaiah 65:18). Rejoice forever. Be grateful always. Offer Him a tribute even when the clouds of adversity make the ground uncertain. We are, after all, not asked to watch the ground – rocky or smooth – but only the crook of the Shepherd up ahead.

So here is my tribute, my testimonial: the Lord has given me three beautiful children, a loving, committed husband, a roof over my head, a soft bed, clothes in my closet (many would argue, too many – but that’s another post), and food in the refrigerator. He’s given us knowledgeable doctors who are successfully treating my brother’s Lymphoma, my son’s autism, and my Behcet’s Disease. We’ve just paid off our second car. We have the love of family and friends. We are able to support the work of others in foreign and domestic fields as they spread the gospel. I am afforded opportunities to write and horseback ride (two of my great loves). Above this all, the Lord has paid the price for me, and claimed me as his own.

When it comes right down to it, I have all I could ever want.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I pray to remember HOW to pray: first, “Thank you.” And then, only then, “By the way, help me.”

- Sarah

Three Hebrew Names

Sometimes, just when I feel like I’m ruining my daughter because of how we’re raising her, God leads me to a memory or a journal entry where I’ve recorded His faithfulness. He really does lead us as we parent our Cami Girl.

We don’t take Cami to church. (More on the whys in another post.) Even though we’ve arrived at this decision after much prayer and godly counsel, it still feels weird. Most days, it concerns me. Sometimes I feel panicked about it. It’s always on my mind.

Yesterday, I laid my concerns at the foot of the Cross—again. God comforted me with a memory from two years ago, a memory of how faithful He is to shepherd us—all of us—and how He delights to show us how He alone draws our hearts to Him.

I’m reading my daily scripture passages on one living-room couch while Cami reads her fresh-from-the-mailbox recent issue of her kids’ magazine on the other living-room couch. (We’re not big believers in chairs. We like to sit together.)

I am enjoying the discoveries in a Bible story I thought I knew. It’s a fresh breath after Jeremiah 19 and 20, passages which outline God’s planned destruction for His people and have Jeremiah and Baruch in hiding. The next stop in the NLT Chronological Bible is the book of Daniel. I can’t help but think of Veggie Tales and the chocolate bunny statue that I know is coming.

That’s not the part that grabs me. It’s this part:

The king ordered Ashpenaz, who was in charge of the palace officials, to bring to the palace some of the young men of Judah’s royal family and other noble families, who had been brought to Babylon as captives. . .”Select only strong, healthy, and good-looking young men,” he said. “Make sure they are well versed in every branch of learning, are gifted with knowledge and good sense, and have the poise needed to serve in the royal palace. Teach these young men the language and literature of the Babylonians. “Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah were four of the young men chosen, all from the tribe of Judah. The chief official renamed them with these Babylonian names: (Are you ready?)

    • Daniel was called Belteshazzar.
    • Hananiah was called Shadrach.
    • Mishael was called Meshach.
    • Azariah was called Abednego. (Daniel 1:3-4, 6-7)

I didn’t know that.

We remember Daniel by his Hebrew name. But we remember the other three young men–the three who eventually confound the king by way of a fiery furnace–by their Babylonian names, their re-named names, their captivity names.

Why is that?

The living room is quiet with discovery.

I keep reading. At the top of the next page, I encounter those Hebrew names again. I try them out aloud: “Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah.”

From the other couch, I hear a sweet voice say, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”

I can’t catch my breath.

“Cami, how do you know that?”

“What?”

“How did you know what I was reading?”

“Those are the original names for them, the names they were born with.” She looks like she thinks she might be in trouble.

I am just so amazed at the whole exchange, my tone of voice is louder than normal. “Who taught you their original names though?”

“Oh.” Like Whewy. I’m not in trouble. “Mr. Ben told us. At church.”

“When?”

“Oh–a few weeks ago when he told us that story.”

Now, here in my living room, God speaks not only to the “What will it be like for her to ‘promote’ to the third grade Sunday school class?” angst I have, but also to the “Am I ruining her with the way we do homeschool?” angst that I hide inside.

Mr. Ben, the gentleman that tells the Bible stories that include Hebrew names changed to Babylonian names? He is the third-grade Sunday school teacher, the teacher Cami will have after Promotion Sunday.

There’s more in this day’s reading for me. It all has to do with diets and differing opinions of what’s healthy and how one should live to the fullest:

“Test us for ten days on a diet of vegetables and water,” Daniel said. “At the end of the ten days, see how we look compared to the other young men who are eating the king’s rich food. Then you can decide whether or not to let us continue eating our diet.” So the attendant agreed to Daniel’s suggestion and tested them for ten days.

At the end of the ten days, Daniel and his three friends looked healthier and better nourished than the young men who had been eating the food assigned by the king. So after that, the attendant fed them only vegetables instead of the rich foods and wines. God gave these four young men an unusual aptitude for learning the literature and science of the time. And God gave Daniel special ability in understanding the meanings of visions and dreams.

When the three-year training period ordered by the king was completed, the chief official brought all the young men to King Nebuchadnezzar. The king talked with each of them, and none of them impressed him as much as Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. So they were appointed to his regular staff of advisers. In all matters requiring wisdom and balanced judgment, the king found the advice of these young men to be ten times better than that of all the magicians and enchanters in his entire kingdom. (Daniel 1:12- 20)

I hear an application for me that echoes back to verses in Jeremiah’s story:

For Israel has forsaken me and turned this valley into a place of wickedness. The people burn incense to foreign gods – idols never before worshiped by this generation, by their ancestors, or by the kings of Judah. And they have filled this place with the blood of innocent children. They have built pagan shrines to Baal, and there they burn their sons as sacrifices to Baal. I have never commanded such a horrible deed; it never even crossed my mind to command such a thing! (Jeremiah 19:4-5)

Do what He commands, the “Do this, and do it this way,” nothing extra, adding our own embellishments. That is obedience. Obedience leads us into living the way He designed us to live: with health and vigor, in fullness of life, walking in rightness.

Think of it! God designed this captivity Daniel and his friends were in. Yet, in their captivity, He gave them “unusual aptitude” and “special ability” for His purposes. They stuck out of the crowd. Even as they were renamed to fit the culture, Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah walked as God had made them: Hebrew diet, Hebrew God. They knew who they were—and, as we’ll see in tomorrow’s reading, Whose they were—and they lived that way.

In my daily foray into God’s Word, He gives me personal nuggets: applications, promises, prayers to pray back to Him. The one for how I parent Cami comes from Psalm 33:15: He made her heart, so He understands everything she does. When she baffles me–which is often–I remind God, “Lord, You made this child. . .show me what she needs. What do I do? What do I say?”

He’s done that on this day, through three Hebrew names spoken aloud in my living room.

Everything He does is worthy of our trust!

Oh, to trust Him more and more,

Cassandra

 

In Which Sleep and Power Don’t Mix

Sometimes Cami has trouble going to sleep at night because her brain is so full. Years ago, in a moment of silently-breathed prayer (“Lord, how can I help her go to sleep??”), God inspired me with an art therapy for her, which I only pull out on the most desperate occasions.

One Thursday evening, bedtime arrived at 9:00 p.m. Cami really tried to fall asleep, quietly snuggling her favorite stuffed animals, listening to homemade CDs of her favorite music, breathing deeply and evenly. Nothing worked.

Finally, after hours of my checking on her and encouraging her to keep waiting for sleep, she asked if she could draw “just one picture, Mom. Then it won’t be in my brain anymore. It will be on the paper.”

This image shows what was in her brain at 1:00 a.m. that Friday morning:

Thank You, Jesus, for the grace to let my girl be who she is, for the insight into how to help her live fully in her skin.

Seriously. How can a girl sleep with all that power in her head?

~ Cassandra