Eyes open. Hold tight.

Perspective. Values.

In a rush (as typical), I grabbed my yellow coffee mug off the shelf. 

Unknown to me, drips of coffee splashed down out onto the carpet.

My husband tried to tell me, as I looked down onto my mug, coffee still inside:

"It's dripping. On the other side." I looked slightly to the left. Nothing. 

"No, on the other side." I looked a bit toward the right. Nothing. 

"No, it's on the other side, down there." I finally looked underneath. Yes, the tiniest droplet of coffee was poised, about to drip. Ah. 

Perspective.

An analogy came abruptly to mind. 

About our values, what we see as the "only way." 

If we open our eyes and our hearts, we will be flooded with the views and perceptions of others... What is important, essential is that when you are considering a different viewpoint, you do not drop your own cup. Don't let go of your grasp onto your foundation of what you believe, to that pull of your instincts. Yet, do make sure you do take a look around and attempt to view that cup from other angles. Be empathetic. Be understanding of differences. 
Know your perspective, and what is truth. Show love to others with different perspectives, different ways of viewing the same.

Like my dear Curious George mug, there is much for the senses to take in, much to observe and enjoy. But it was wise of me to keep that secure hold on the handle.

Be firm in what you hold to be truth. 

But. Do it in love. 

Truth + Love. 

(Add to those, wisdom...)

I think of our culture, our world... I think of what our children are being exposed to. 

How, just last night, our oldest son asked, innocently enough, a question containing a "bad word." 

...How my heart dropped.

...How I questioned the circumstances we allow him to be in when away from home, our grasp. 

...How it is not possible to protect him from the world.

...And how I actually want to have him in "the world" and exposed to a world outside of his home; how I pray each school morning that he will be a light, that he will be a good friend and show love to others, that somehow his little life will change others' lives... yet my spirit questioned our decisions).

I talked with a wise woman this morning. One who has already raised her kids, who now has preteen/teen grandchildren. Although I don't recall her exact words, her perspective encouraged me deep within. To continue to allow our children to be out in the world, but to be continually active in the teaching, in the building and shaping of their values. That we, as parents, have a beautiful ability to have tremendous impact on the people our children will develop into (for better or worse, right?), and that it is better to allow the exposure to the world when they are young and we have the ability to shape their maturing character, then to bubble-protect/hide them from the world, which can lead to their own inner struggle once the world bombards them in young adulthood. 

Just thoughts I'm considering today. 

Thankful for wisdom. 

And PERSPECTIVE.

Truth + Love + Wisdom.

(And add to those trust...) 

Trust that we have a God who knows our hearts and knows our intentions, knows our hopes. And to know that we do not have control over much in this life (although we sure strain for that sensation of control). But, we are able to seek after God and trust that He will instill in us HIS perspective, HIS truth, HIS ways. 

Truth + Love + Wisdom + Trust = Perspective.

Speaking of seeking perspective...

This ridiculous season of winter/spring/winter/spring has created a muddy "situation" in our back porch. Boots, mud, snowpants, mud, toys, mud. 

(Yes, we have 5 in our family. Yes, the smallest one doesn't even own boots yet. Yes, we have LOTS of boots.)

The beauty-seeker in me desires a house scrubbed clean and fresh.
The realist in me has given up at some point. I am trying to live by this motto:

And truly. When I open my eyes, these 3 small-but-growing boys are absolute treasures. They are muddy. They like being muddy. I can choose to look down at the scuffed up carpet, littered with mud. Or I can look into their bright eyes and rosy cheeks and ruffle their little buzzed heads. And I will HOLD TIGHT to those boy shoulders and squeeze, for this season is a gift, and these lives are a gift. To this undeserving, looking-down momma.

Truth + Love + Wisdom + Trust = Perspective.

Perspective.
In values.
In control.
In heart.
In life situation.

Random assortment of thoughts, but all stemming from that yellow mug, filled with coffee.
(Ahhh... coffee.)
;)

Blessings as we start this week,
Elizabeth

Yet: A letter for the hurting.

"The soul would have no rainbow if the eyes had no tears."

(Native American Proverb)

Dear hurting ones,

These have been days that seemed to be created simply for asking the Whys.  Why must we hurt? 
Why do people suffer?
Why do injustices sometimes prevail?
Why does this world have such ugliness?
Why can't we hide away from the pain?

WHY IS THE WORLD THIS WAY?

I cannot write to answer these questions. Too much. 
I can write to process. I can write to (hopefully) help ease that ache in your heart and mine. I can try my best. I must try my best. Compelled.

Yesterday. Phew. 

Yesterday seemed to be a day wrapped in the revealing of intense pain and grief. Loss of life. Of very young children near my town. Of a young man in my town. Of a preteen girl in my oldest sister's town.

2 deaths by accident. 
1 death by a natural but sudden cause. 
And 1 death by evil. 

It has been enough to capture my heart and squeeze it tight. Very tight. 

There is much, much ugliness and evil in this world. Can we be surprised? 

Wise words from my friend, who has been in the middle of this very ugliness:

"When something pure evil happens in this world, 
people begin to grasp to things to help them comprehend and deal. 
They grasp onto things like blame...

Some evil is so dark it cannot be comprehended and made sense of. 

And instead of grasping onto blame, we need to grasp hold of each other in love."

(Christina Flood)

And there have been absolutely beautiful ways of "holding onto each other in love"... 

• wearing pink, wearing purple to remember those small girls who have been taken from this earth...
• wearing blue to support a young teenager who will likely struggle with heavy questions of "what if"...
• wearing Hawkeye or Bears clothes to grieve at a funeral service, the favorite teams of a young man who suddenly is no longer with his family, friends, community...
• turning on your porch lights this weekend, to honor the life of a young girl who lost her life in an unimaginable way...

I have been struggling deep within as I desire to again be reminded of those age-old answers of the reasons God allows, permits suffering. To be reassured. 

And then last night, while in dinner preparations, I became very.angry. 
In addition to the taxing, emotional, rocking questions of the day's suffering, I became angry at the enormous injustice that had taken place, that had an indirect impacted on my family. 

I saw blame. I saw unfairness. I tried to stifle the foul from spilling from my mouth. #$@&! (Yes, even me. Ashamed.)

I finally asked my husband as he stood next to me, "WHAT can I do with this anger? All this bad news? I can't deny it. That would be Pollyanna and a lie. What do I do with it?!" 

An understanding man, he reminded me of truths we have been hearing this week, from a message series on the radio. About pain, about this broken world. I want to share some of what we've listened to with you...

Some of those thoughts from Chip Ingram:

"The key to moving through a broken world experience: 

Ask God a pivotal question. Ask WHAT instead of WHY.

What do you want me to learn?

What do you want to do in me?

What do you want to do through me?

When we suffer, the world watches you respond: Like, "I can't imagine how (you) made it through that situation with that attitude, apart from a real God, who is really alive."

Those who have been hurt deeply tend to love deeply. 

Those who have suffered deeply, those who have been wounded deeply: 

it produces something in you that you didn't have, that causes you to reach out and care in way that you never did before.

How we endure hardship shows the world how real God is."

(Chip Ingram,

There is an incredibly relevant message series you can listen to online for free: http://livingontheedge.org/series/rebuilding-your-broken-world/daily-radio)

The reality we face: there WILL be pain and hardship on in this world. No doubt. But how do we not become consumed with despair, with depression, with giving up?

"Yet I call this to mind, and therefore I have hope:

Because of the Lord's faithful love, we do not perish.

For his mercies never end. 

They are new every morning;

great is Your faithfulness.

I say: The Lord is my portion, therefore I will put my hope in Him."

Lamentations 3:21-24

Yet.

That is the word that makes ALL the difference. 

What do I do when I am overwhelmed? 

Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. 

Key to remember: HIS PROMISES.

Why am I not consumed? 

Because of the Lord's great love. 

HE is what gets me through.

How do I know God will keep loving me? 

His compassions never fail.

When will God's love show up? 

When it is needed each.new.day. 

(Like manna)

There will be a new way He expresses it to us EACH day. 

LOOK. 

FOR. 

IT.

(notes from a message by Pastor Dave MacKinnon, 
Westchester Evangelical Free Church,

December 30, 2012)

"Yet I will certainly bring health and healing to it and will indeed heal them. 

I will let them experience the abundance of peace and truth... 

They will tremble with awe because of 

all the good and all the peace I will bring about for them."

(Jeremiah 33:6,9b)

Yet.

Yet, with all the ugliness, there continues to be sources of strength out there, ready and willing to remind us of those essentials of life. What we may lose sight of in the stress, the anxiety, the busyness, the blur, the pain.
Music. Relationship. Nature. Hobbies. Solitude. FAITH. HOPE.

Just one avenue of blessing for me? Choosing just a couple of those countless blogs that overflow with words of blessing, words of encouragement, words that urge us to remember... our placement of priorities, our value as individuals, our need for grace and peace, the benefit of living in the moment, of recognizing and grabbing hold of the joy.

Please:

Keep on searching. Keep on processing.

(Me? I process by just this: typing out, writing out words. Writing down makes the intangible somewhat touchable.)

Are you like me? 

Then write.

Does it help to share aloud, to expose those thoughts, to unravel the knots, the hurts, the emotion?

Then talk.

Does it help to run, to exert?

Then run. (Like my oldest sister, get out that jogging stroller with your newborn baby and run.)

Just PLEASE give yourself grace and give yourself healthy ways to process this journey, these questions, those struggles. To somehow feel a thread of control, in this world that spins crazy.

Oh, I feel such a burden for you, fellow suffering one.

"Did I not weep for him, whose day was hard? 
Was my soul not grieved for the needy?"

(Job 30:25)

"I'm convinced that the greatest act of love 
we can ever perform for another person 
is to tell them about God's love for them in Christ."

(Billy Graham)

So the words in this picture below are what make my heart beat strong, what gives me passion to wake up each morning. Like a New Year's Resolution... 

Blessings, dear ones, as we are on this up-and-down-and-up-again journey together,
Elizabeth


P.S. Just a few more treasured gems with truth on suffering, struggling:

"The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, 

known suffering, known struggle, known loss, 

and have found their way out of its depths. 

These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life 

that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. 

Beautiful people do not just happen." 

(Elisabeth Kübler-Ross)

"I don't look at happiness as being a great goal.

A sense of peace, definitely,

but it's like the seasons.

I think we're meant to have a spring, summer, autumn and winter.

I'm not looking for a perpetual summer, 

because that would be a flat line."

(Joely Richardson, after the sudden death of her sister, Natasha Richardson)

Struggling and joy are not chronological. 
But concurrent, fluid moments. 

"STRUGGLING CAN DEEPEN JOY."

(Ann Voskamp) 

Thank you, Dad

Tomorrow is my dad's birthday. February 18th. 
My dad and I share this same birth month. As we said goodbye yesterday afternoon, I told him, "Happy birthday." He smiled and responded, "You, too!" I smiled. 

Something exists in my dad that I long to grab hold of and build inside of me. He is a man of great patience. That picture above? I looked out the window of my childhood bedroom the other day, to see my faithful dad outside shoveling the driveway. Steady. Unrushed. Thorough. One solid step in front of the other. (His third daughter? Not so much. I rush, I scurry, I have a furrowed brow. I make messes and regret my haste. My dad? He patiently completes his work, whatever the task on his mind. Quietly, focused, paced. Not rushed. I sigh. Can this trait be grown in this impatient daughter of his?)
Thank you for humbly modeling this, Dad.

It was in the midst of graduate school that I began to be blessed with recognizing a bit more of my dad in myself. (Well, what I want to see in myself!)
The way he is a man of carefully chosen words. Not full of unnecessary comments, but instead well-thought out words for conversation. The result is this: when my dad speaks, others listen. This is beauty. 
Thank you for your words, Dad.

I am living my adult years in the same town of his childhood days. What an unexpected, yet tremendous, connection we share! My heart swells with pride in this home of mine, his hometown... now the very place my own children call their hometown. And now the stories and details of his growing up days are understood and cherished in an entirely different, real way. Connection. Reconnection with Hurd relatives. My dad's and my evenings we worked side by side, planting flowers outside my little white house. 
Thank you for your devotion, Dad.

My dad has the most contagious laughter. When he laughs, you will, too. Especially when listening to those infamous jokes from that infamous little black notebook. When he laughs, his face is completely involved. His eyes dance and you cannot help but smile, even join in. 
Thank you for your joy, Dad.

I have the same uniquely pointed elbows as my dad. 

I have the same freckled, sensitive skin. 

I have the same preference to not be in front of crowds, to not be the center of attention. We do it when we are needed, but we prefer to be behind the scenes, I believe.

Thank you for sharing these traits with me, Dad.

Never will I forget that day I approached my dad for advice. It was a conflicted situation with a friend. I yearned to reconcile, but was also oh-so nervous. His experienced words of wisdom are etched in my memory. ("May the words of my heart and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight, Oh Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer." Psalm 19:14) 
Thank you for your support, Dad.

Another cherished memory from years back? When I was engaged to be married, when my dad and I went on a date night. Crystal Tree for dinner and "Finding Nemo" in the theater. A rare gift, which I hoped to make more tangible with a stuffed Nemo for my dad. How proudly the bright orange stuffed fish was placed on my parents' navy-burgundy-white quilted bedspread. Not caring it completely clashed, but my dad shared Nemo was the only (one of the only?) stuffed animals he ever received. Made me smile big every time I passed their bedroom. 
Thank you for your love, Dad.

My dad is a man with a burden to pray. A man of prayer. Prayed at our wedding. Prays for his children. Prays for the world. Continues to pray, always pray. With tears in his voice. How I love that he can't help but show his heart with his emotions. You cannot help but receive the genuine from my dad.
Thank you for your heart, Dad.

My dad taught us kids to learn the Bible. To memorize. Even when remembering the agonizing repetition he had us do to review our AWANA verses, I now appreciate his emphasis on the Word. He has read the Bible. Often. Daily. Dedicated. 
Thank you for the life lessons, Dad.

And now I cannot stop these thank you notes for you, my dad:

For those family adventures as we traveled in my growing up days. Countless memories of unique scenes taken in, lessons learned, history made real, creation appreciated, family growing in our bond. 
Thank you, Dad.

For transcribing our simple thoughts into those small diary books as we read Bible stories and Mini & Maxi Muffin books with you each night. We learned how routine and questions taught us to understand our faith, even in that childlike way. For drawing The Bridge illustration for me on that May 22, 1988 Sunday morning when we returned home after church. And praying with me those words as I made that choice to follow Jesus with my life.
Thank you, Dad.

For enjoying your Balder grandsons. For helping them feel special, feel smart and unconditionally treasured, for causing them to laugh. For giving of your hours to play alongside those energetic little boys. Who may someday be husbands, dads, grandpas themselves. 
Thank you, Dad.

For teaching me how to do my best as a parent. Priorities, love, discipline, love, modeling, love, affection, love, boundaries, love. How each night, my boys insist I ask them, "And WHO loves you most of all?" "JESUS!" (Hmm, wherever did that question and answer come from?) For passing on important traditions, like The Purple Book at Christmastime
Thank you, Dad.

For being committed to my mom. For helping with the dishes after meals. For shoveling the driveway. For getting all those oil changes. For writing those notes overflowing with words of affection for her. For allowing us kids to feel stable and secure in your marriage to mom. For always giving her those kisses while we faked being grossed out. For lovingly caring for her after her hip surgery. For consciously/unconsciously showing me through daily life what kind of man to choose as my own husband. 
Thank you, Dad.

This list could continue with words and more words... So much more I could add.
I hope you can recognize what a man of humility and respect and character and integrity you are, Dad.
Thank you for being faithful and dedicated and a man of faith and commitment. For providing for your family. For teaching me what is most important in this life.

Happy birthday, Dad. As I tell my boys, I love you to the moon and back, just in case you ever wonder!

Father of the bride, in pictures...

 (My dad, quietly serving, to make a day special.)

Growth Spurts

This morning it was just me and my littlest one, together in the nursery.

It was a date. 
With broken up, bite-sized animal crackers. And a sippy cup of whole milk. 

A baby who could hardly stuff the snacks into his mouth quickly enough. Frantically. Like I was about to snatch away the treat I had just given him.

I sat in the tiny red chair next to him, just watching him. Seeing his soft, slightly chubby arms (bare this morning, despite the winter chill). Pangs of motherly love and deep affection ached in my heart as I took in the sight of my ever-changing baby boy. Those darling chomping noises, as he munched away happily. Little feet swinging as he sat in the chair like a big boy, pressed up against the plastic red table. 

A desperate cry would pierce the air every few minutes as he realized his snack pile had diminished. He would gulp down milk from his green sippy cup, or would look pleadingly at me for more to stuff-and-crunch from fist to mouth. (With much evidence of cracker lingering above and below those tiny red lips!)

As we participated in our sweet snack routine, I let my mind drift. Into thoughts that linked between my son's recent enlarged appetite and my own appetite and hunger. 

Hunger. Appetite. Growth.

Growth spurts.

My youngest son has been smack in the middle of a growth spurt, it seems. He has been increasingly demanding that his stomach be filled, replenished. When in doubt for a reason for his tears, try food. He has been hungry. Freakishly hungry. 

Seeking to be nourished. 
Needing to be nourished. 

Babies, children need food. Right then. Now!

We need food. More than the physical food, but the deeper kind. The rich, soul-deep kind of food. 

As much as the physical nourishment is needed, the intangible mystery is necessary to meet our own aching void/lack/hole in our spirit, heart, mind, soul. The spiritual. The hunger that seeks for us to examine, to investigate the meaning, the reason for our being. The outlook of our future. Of becoming the person we are designed to be, of who we could be. Of living beyond ourselves.

Are you like me, with occasional times you are in the middle of a Growth Spurt? Of realizing the deep-down hunger and appetite for satisfaction? Of being full, needs met. Of growth that you cannot describe, but can feel almost tangibly within.

Then there are also those seasons when we are picky eaters. When we lack an appetite. When we have neglected our need for such nourishment. When we have forgotten that provision is available for us to simply realize and go after. 
But, eventually... we must remember. We must be reminded that we will continue to grow. To mature. To develop into who we could be. 
In order to do this, we need to pursue and discover the source of nourishment. 

Animal crackers and milk... to fill the tummies of little children.
Reading, listening, praying, meditating, learning, growing... to fill the aching, tired void in each of our days. GROWTH.

Like in Ephesians 4:14 and 15- "Then we will no longer be little children, tossed by the waves and blown around by every wind of teaching... Let us grow in every way into Him."

As I write this, my mind scrambles for recent ways I have become filled during times of desperate hunger and need.

Here is one vivid way...
Francis Chan's BASIC series. 
1) Fear God
2) Follow Jesus
3) Holy Spirit
4) Fellowship
5) Teaching
6) Prayer
7) Communion
You can watch the video segments here:
http://basicseries.com/

And another way...
Billy Graham's My Hope America video series. You can watch those videos, including The Cross, here:
http://myhopewithbillygraham.org/programs/

And countless other ways...

• Through asking trusted ones our questions. Listening for their answers. 
• Absorbing Godly messages given by our pastors, teachers.
• Playing songs that inspire and remind and prompt.
• Wandering through beautiful places. Appreciating. Being in awe.
• Digging into books. Highlighting, marking, journaling.
• Focusing our attention on the Bible: our source for knowledge, wisdom, understanding, encouragement, challenges, passion.
• And prayer. Stillness. Listening. Listening. Listening. 
• Living...

How do you grow? 
What satisfies your hunger, your appetite?

Just my thoughts on this Sunday...

Blessings to you,
Elizabeth

Held Tight

He was so tired. 

Recovering from some rough days. 
Wanting to be close, not alone.

Even in the desire to be held in my arms, he fought against me. 
Crying out, pushing away, wiggling into new positions.

But. 
As his momma, I knew he needed to be held. I felt within me that it was not for his best to let him lay down alone or to let him keep playing with his brother or let him work his way out of my arms. 
I knew what was best for him was to be held close, held tight. And it took patience on my part to put up with the sadness and orneriness and anger and confusion. 

And as I wrapped my arms around his little body and his softest blankets, I held him securely. Without letting go of my motherly grasp. 

And then he suddenly stopped his striving. His crying out ceased, his movements relaxed. His eyes were still open, gazing with peace in his eyes.

And I smiled big. 

Holding time. Lowers defenses, reminds of care and nurturance. Of not being alone.

Then it struck me. 
How God is this way with me. 

When I am in the midst of a struggle, or difficult circumstances, or in the fog of uncertain seasons, or under the burden of depression or anxiety or anger or ugliness of spirit...
I am held close. I may fight the holding. I may not understand why the arms are wrapped around me, not letting me on my way. And yet.
Yet I am absolutely grateful for those arms. For that faithful, unconditional presence in my pain and journey.
And when I allow my pent-up breath to release, my shoulders to let go of the tension, and I can lean back into the strength that is beyond me... peace sprouts up from the dirt, and life can be handled again. Only now with a dependence on those arms, whether I can sense them holding me tight in those moments of fear and confusion, or whether I can believe they are present, even if not so closely felt. 
And it takes patience on HIS part. To put up with my angst, my fighting, my striving. 
But HE knows it is what I need. To be held.

Just like a young child in his mother's arms. 

Without my own little one being fully aware of why he needed his momma, he came to KNOW that it was just what he required, what helped, what soothed, what allowed him to slow and relax and switch into a new understanding... that being held is what enabled him to progress and move into what would meet his every need.

And realizing we are held close, cared for faithfully and lovingly by our God, we can progress into that deeper understanding that our needs are already met. We can rest on those arms, and gently absorb that strength. 
And the lesson of being not alone can gradually become a real truth in our lives. 
And that is beautiful.

Like my baby in the photo above, eventually we can rest. And like my baby, we can each continue to hold tightly with our own grip onto Him. Peaceful rest.

And it all makes Him smile big.

The eternal God is your refuge and dwelling place, 

and underneath are the everlasting arms.

(Deuteronomy 33:27 AMP)

Blessings.
Elizabeth