Guido and the Music Box

Packing for littlest one's Children's Hospital eye surgery time:

Means a momma who knows she won't sleep much as part of that preparation.

In the quiet of night, wondering:

What movies should I bring?

What books to include?

What treasured toys for the bag?

Well. 

The well-worn "Cars" from Radiator Springs are a must.

(And better pack a few Star Wars action figures, for a youngest boy to keep up with those big brothers back home.)

As I rummage through our large box of car toys, I find myself sitting criss-cross-applesauce next to the shelf of toys. Searching noisily for those beloved "Cars" characters. 

McQueen, Mater, Fillmore, Sarge, Sally, Red, Doc, Sheriff, Ramon, Flo, Luigi, Guido... 

Wait, where is tiny Guido?

(You know those moments where your mind focuses on and demands the ridiculous-but-oh-so-important: 

that the missing Guido is absolutely essential for this time away from home!)

More digging. 

Where is that blue "Cars" toy?? 

Furrowed brow. (As though the fate of the coming days is dependent on this sweet lil' metal toy.)

And then, down the way of the toy shelf, in the nearby Thomas the Tank engine box of familiar Sodor friends, lays that missing Guido car. 

Smile to myself. All will be fine... All is found, all is together where it should be.

(My pre-surgery nerves are tightly wound!)

Okay. 

So now I need to find an empty box to hold these precious "Cars" toys for our travels.

Head to the basement and look at the shelves of stored toys. Ah-ha. A clear, empty box. Pluck it off the stock pile and step back into the center of the room. 

Wait, something is inside this supposed-empty box...

I set the box down on the ground. What IS that black thing?

Ooooh... as I unfasten the lid, my spirit stills.

Over a year ago, my parents gave us a small wooden music box with a picture of our family framed on top. 

The song of the music box? 

"In Christ Alone."

One of those songs that has long held a special place in my heart. 

So powerful, its message. 

So gorgeous, its music. 

It has reminded me, time after time, of God's promises and presence.

And the boys also loved this inner-working of the music box: 

This piece was often removed from the box itself and carried around, the song playing on repeat in their hand, their pocket while they played. 

(And I had given it up as missing these past many months!)

And yet, there it was. 

A cherished surprise: the reminder of Christ's presence in this time.

This time of still-another surgery for still-another little boy of ours.

Of being immersed in the mental and emotional and spiritual and physical muddle of constant preparation and processing and wishing for control and answers. Waiting and praying.

And a reminder in the form of this lone music box in the "empty" box?

GOD CARES.

GOD IS NEAR.

Time has brought increased familiarity and knowledge of this eye surgery process. But each experience holds its distinct place in my memory. 

And God has carried my family through each step of our journey.

And as I've been learning this past week:

An essential aspect of trusting? Of joy? Of worship?

Remembering how God has carried us through in the past.

He has been faithful in His promise to care for us in the past; 

He will continue to be faithful in His promise to care for us yet today and tomorrow.

"Remember the former things of old;

for I am God, and there is no other;

I am God, and there is none like Me."

Isaiah 46:9

"Trust: 

I can walk the planks from known to unknown 

and know this:

He holds." 

(Ann Voskamp)

Memory Lane...

February 2011:

Zachary's surgery.

February 2013:

Luke 1st surgery.

January 2015:

Luke's 2nd surgery.

And now, March 2015.

Returning once more to the waiting care of the beautiful Rainbow House...

And the truth? God will be right there. Every moment.

And yes, Guido is absolutely coming along on this journey.

  

Prayers are cherished.

Blessings,
Elizabeth
(Your local children's eye surgery support team.) 
:)

"In Christ Alone"

(Singer: Adrienne Liesching)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ENtL_li4GbE

Waiting for those Strawberry Days

A few weeks ago, I was inspired. 
Smoothie after smoothie in the blender. 
Bananas, apples, strawberries.
And the simple image of strawberries, prepared to be mixed, caused me to stop. To be still in the moment and enjoy completely.

And then, there are afternoons like this one. 
Where the mere thought of smiling over strawberries was a far, far reach.

I was taken aback by the midday hours: 
I slowly found myself tunneling into another of those sinking battles with depression. 
With no understood reason, no circumstance that created this shift in my day, week. 
Just falling into that ugly quicksand of despairing.

The afternoon grew into evening, and nothing plucked me out of the dim.

The time drew near to pack up for our Wednesday night church ministry, and my downward gaze was on my striped makeup bag, wondering if this was a week I should stay home. 
Yet I felt that gentle inner tug to stand up and go. 
Still not sure, I plucked up my undereye concealer from the bag and ever so slowly untwisted the cap. Then twisted it closed it, then repeated this over and over. 
Upset that I was back in "this" place again, of listening to my dear family laughing and wrestling together in the very next room, but feeling mentally paralyzed to even glance up or shake my head with a smile at the sweet chaos. 
Just twisting and untwisting. Again and again.

Until the minute came to choose. 

To stay behind in the familiar comfort of these walls. And to keep up the foggy, wandering introspection.
Or to stand up. Pull on those brown leather boots, adjust my cherished Scotland scarf and reach beyond myself.
Silently, I grabbed the keys off the wall hanging and quietly nudged the boys to the van. Knowing within that the Need was to go, to breathe in the outside last-days-of-winter air and get my eyesight on the Need ahead of me. 

The beautiful Need:
Our church has an AWANA program. With 200+ children and youth and adult leaders who gather together once a week.
Who gather together with open and eager hearts, eyes, ears, spirits: 
To be taught and to learn of Jesus. Of the Bible. Of faith and salvation and heaven and life. To be cared for and shown love and guidance. 
And these young ones come to us from countless backgrounds and circumstances: some lovely and nurturing; some terribly difficult and painful. But we gather together. 
The children and youth have a Need to know Jesus and to be loved. 
And it is the most beautiful, humbling, invigorating, life-giving opportunity to be a part of, to be immersed in for those few hours.
And that is exactly how it blessed me tonight.
In the giving, the listening, the caring, the answering, the laughing, the hugging, the smiling... my heart strengthened, my spirit began to soar. 

To answer questions about my Jesus. 
To repeat Jesus' words from the verses kids are learning. 
To offer some kind of explanation about faith and heaven. 
To encourage the hard work and unselfish support of each other. 
To share how this program was part of my own life in those elementary-aged days (how learning the order of the Bible books way back when has stuck with me these 25+ years). 
To congratulate a little boy with weighty family baggage, who finally earned his workbook and t-shirt.

These moments, these beautiful opportunities, offered from my own heart... regrouped my own heart and gave me back that inner smile.

(And then, to receive a handwritten note. Of true encouragement. Humbles, refocuses, causes gratitude beyond imagine.)

A theme in my mind this past week has been Bridges:

"Every time fear freezes and worry rises,


Every time I surrender to stress,


Aren't I advertising the unreliability of God,


That I really don't believe.


But if I am grateful for the Bridge Builder, 


For the crossing of a million strong bridges,


Thankful for a million faithful moments,


My life speaks my beliefs,


And I trust Him again. 


I fearlessly cross the next bridge...

If the bridge shakes and heaves 

and you feel like you're falling, remember this:

In Christ, we are always safe.

He holds."

(Ann Voskamp)

This afternoon-into-evening was absolutely a struggle for me.

Some of you have not been plagued with this kind of hardship in your days: 
Be grateful! Be sensitive. Be a light to those who are needing light.

Some of you have day-by-day walked through this battle: 
There is purpose in it. Along the road. Shaping us into deeply precious, refined-through-the-desperate-times, Brave souls. We may get angry about this battle, we may grow oh-so weary, we may want to close our eyes to it all... 

• But I must remember this night of AWANA: When giving of my broken self healed a bit of this broken self. 
• And you must search and imprint those moments in your own story: When you recall that bit of healing and courage in your own inner battle.

And, yes:

"There is 

always, 

always, 

always 

something 
to be thankful for." 

(Anonymous)

 (From Jan Karon's "Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good.")

"It is Well (Live)"

Kristene DiMarco & Bethel Music

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Txg5nOIZYO8

"Through it all, 

through it all,

It is well.

And this mountain that's in front of me

will be thrown into the midst of the sea.

So let it go, 

my soul

And trust in Him."

Blessings as we walk on. 

(And as we await those beyond-beautiful strawberry smoothie days. When life seems lighter. And the lightness showcases the joy.)

Elizabeth