Sundays in the South

Sundays have always held an extreme importance in my life.  Sundays are special everywhere--but especially in the South.  Worship.  Family dinners.  Fellowship dinners on the grounds.  Rocking chair talks.  Good times.  Much needed relaxation.  From the time I was a little girl, Sundays have meant family.  Family worshiping together.  Family meals together.  Family time--just being together.

In recent years, Sundays have taken on new meanings.  With Katie, now 22, living away from us in a group home, Sunday is her day with us.  Her day for coming home; chilling out; and eating bread.  Yes, that sounds odd, but it's true.  Several of her roommates deal with diabetes, so their carbohydrates are limited overall in the group meals.  So on Sunday, she gets to "break the bread" with us literally!  From "Sister Shuebert" rolls to biscuits, she dives right in!  The biggest bread binge yet was tonight--5 "Hungry Jack" biscuits with meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and fried okra!  (Topped off with homemade oatmeal raisin cookies!!)  It does a "momma" good to see her babies eat, and Katie does just that!  She is such a blessing to us, and her joy, despite her disabilities, continues to strengthen my faith in God's plan for her, and for us, as her parents!

In recent weeks, Sundays mean Colton going back to college if he has come home for the weekend.  I don't believe that weekends have ever gone by so quickly, and this mom dreads Sunday evening because it means my boy is going back to west Tennessee.  I'm so very proud of him because he has oriented into college in an amazing way!  But, every time he leaves, a little piece of my heart goes with him.  The rest of my heart smiles for his accomplishments and the life he has before him. 

Tonight, Conner is still gone on a church trip, but we will be getting him in a couple of hours.  Mom's ready to see her baby, and I know he will have stories to tell from his retreat weekend!  But, the house is quiet for now.  The laughter that was here just a while ago is now silent.  So, my heart is a little sad; however, it is more glad than sad.  Glad that we have Sundays to worship the Father.  Glad that we have Sundays to be with family.  Glad that we have Sundays to recharge for the week ahead.  Glad that I have all the happy memories of Sundays past, and glad that I have the hope of many more Sundays in the future.  But most of all, glad that I had today--a particularly beautiful Sunday in the South!

A Painful Paradox

Batman has been a staple of American youth from comic book days to Adam West's portrayal of the caped hero during my childhood.  I learned the literary term "onomatopoeia" by the use of "BOOM" and "WHAM" from the televised "Batman" series!

From the time he was a little tike, my son, Colton, has LOVED Batman.  From lunch boxes to backpacks to birthday party themes, Batman has been part of his 18 years of life.  (Little brother, Conner, always had to be Robin!) 

For weeks now, the excitement over the new Batman movie has been evident in our house.  This movie premier would be one of the final times Colton and his high school friends would hang out before going their separate ways to college.  A planned night out with buddies and a beloved youth group coach was planned, and tickets purchased weeks in advance to the midnight IMAX presentation.  Batman costumes were bought, and a great night of fun for all was almost here!

I'm sure this scene was repeated throughout the country yesterday.  In Nashville.  In Atlanta.  In San Diego.  And in Aurora.

But another scene was also repeated yesterday.  A scene of violence.  A scene of cowardice.  A scene of hatred.  A scene of terror.  A scene of fear.  A scene of contempt.  A scene of horror.  A scene of murder and mayhem.  

Twenty four hours ago, a young man was planning a horrific crime at a movie theater.  Guns were loaded.  Ammunition was bought.  Black clothing and a gas mask were readied.  A plan of immense terror was calculated in the mind of a supposedly "normal" guy.  The parents, teenagers, children, and movie workers had no idea of his plan as they stood in line last night for the midnight premier.  They laughed.  They talked.  They anxiously anticipated what they believed would be a great next three hours of their lives.  Little did they know that their excitement would soon turn to survival as they scurried for their lives away from his random bullets. 

Earlier this week, there was speculation that this movie might just break box office records of all time.  People throughout the country enjoyed the long awaited Batman sequel just a few hours ago.    My son and his friends sat in a theater in Hendersonville, Tennessee.  They sang the praises of the movie, and they walked out of the theater alive.   Other innocent people sat in Theater 9 in Aurora, Colorado, and they did not. 

"Can You Hear Me Now?" -- God

Television commercials have always amazed me.  The creative advertising minds seem to really know what sells, and what doesn't!  Most of us have seen the popular cell phone commercial with the nerdy guy repeatedly asking, "Can you hear me now?  Can you hear me now?  Can you hear me NOW????"

 This ad appeals to ANYONE who has ever experienced a dropped call or an infamous "dead zone".  Constant communication has become an apparent necessity in our lives today.  Our cell phone is as important as our wallet, and we wouldn't dare leave home without it!  It is our life line.  An hour without a call, text or Twitter update has us worried that our cell battery is not fully charged.  We live in the communication age, and instantaneous communication has simplified our lives.  (Really?)

Cell carriers jockey for our business promising the best service; biggest screen size; and boldest apps.  It is essential that we have the latest and greatest device on the market that will ensure 24/7 communication at our fingertips.  At any given time in our home, one might see my husband scanning YouTube (he's addicted!); my oldest son playing Song Pop; my youngest son playing Xbox Live; and me checking my email--ALL ON OUR PHONES!  We are 100% sold on this communication revolution. And I don't think our family is alone!  I'm not certain of any reason why we need to have a cell phone growing out of our ear or hand, but it seems we do.

In thinking of the humorous, "Can you hear me now?" slogan, I cannot help but think of God saying those words to me.

"Darlene, can you hear me now?  Can you stop for just a moment?  Darlene, can you make a little time for me?  Darlene, can you stop texting long enough to hear what I have to say?  Darlene, I'm your Father, and I want to talk with you."

And my answer:

"Well, yes, God.  Of course, I hear you.  I know you are here, but can you hurry?  I'm expecting a text, and I have a stack of papers to grade.  I've got to help Conner with Algebra, and I've got to get dinner cooked.  You know, I am only one person!  Everybody expects so much from me!  You know, my life is just so busy.  I love you, God, but can I call you back a little later?" 

Sometimes amid the busyness of life, we just don't hear Him.  It's not necessarily that we cannot hear Him, possibly, we just won't hear Him.   Maybe we choose not to hear Him, or just don't make (or take) the time to hear Him.  The gifts He has given us--a family, a home, a job, good friends.  All of these things are wonderful, but sometimes we get too lost in life to hear from Him, our Creator.

Psalms 46:10 tells us, "Be still and know that I am God."

Be still.  How hard is that?  We are NEVER still.  Our bodies are on the move constantly.  We have errands to run; children to taxi; groceries to buy; emails to send, and reality television to watch.  Our minds race with thoughts of all we have to do.  Those thoughts are often a jumbled mess of not really knowing what we need to do first on our "to do" lists.  We toss and turn in bed at night thinking of all that we have to do "tomorrow," and all that we did not finish "today."

How can we "be still" and listen for God, when we live in such a hurried life?  We are taught to multitask, and to use every minute of time we have.   We don't have time to sit and listen for God.  We don't have time to simply stop and talk with Him in prayer.

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the man of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.               (2 Timothy 3: 16-17 NIV)

God speaks to us through His Word any time we want to hear Him.  The answer to any of life's problems can be found in His Word, if we just take the time to look.  His Word is as fresh today as it was two thousand years ago, if we just allow it to quench our spirit.

Satan will allow our lives to become so bustled and busy that we don't seem to have time for God.  That's his plan, but it is not God's plan.

So, amid your busy life, make sure to take some time for rest.  Take some time for revival of your spirit.  Be still, and know that God is calling to you.

Can you hear Him now? 

Tribute to Marriage

Anyone who has a spouse knows it requires a full time commitment.  Some days it's 50/50.  Other days it 80/20.  Some days it feels like it 100% to nothing!  And WE are the partner giving that 100%!  Been there.  Done that.  Got the T-Shirt!

As Jeff and I approach our 27th anniversary in a few days, I am reminded of the many peaks and valleys we have had during our journey.  Fortunately, time serves to heal those valley wanderings, and the peaks are much more memorable.  But did you ever think, the mountains would not be so beautiful if it were not for the valleys below? 

In one of my previous blog posts, "Walking Her Home," I introduced you to Dennis and Terre Conner.  Dennis and Terre have been two of the most influential people in my life, as well as to countless others.  Terre has been enjoying her reward in heaven for almost two years; however, her legacy lives on.

Yesterday, Dennis posted these words on facebook, and I wanted to share them with you.  Nothing I could write would be any more fitting a tribute to the institution that God ordained--marriage between a husband and wife.

From Dennis' facebook:
Today, 37 years ago, Terre and I were married. The note below is from the Carepages blog I kept during her illness and the year after her passing. I posted it here a year ago and wanted to share it with you once more on this occasion. As then, my hope once again is that it encourages someone today. I was blessed and honored to be loved by Terre, and now I am thankful to the Father who is able to turn our sorrow into joy and our mourning into dancing as He has allowed me the honor to begin another new painting with Sherie.


"We were both 20 years old, almost too young and surely too naive to understand what we were getting ourselves into! What lay before us was an empty canvas waiting to be filled with the colors and brush strokes that would eventually take the form of a work of art called our marriage.


Early on, for various reasons, we were painting on different parts of the canvas from one another, painting separate lines and forms that seldom intersected. But then, over time as God unleashed the creative powers of his grace in our lives, the colors became brighter and more complementary, and the separate forms began to blend into a shared understanding of what the image on the canvas should look like; two were becoming one.


The colors that were splashed onto the canvas were sometimes bright, other times more subdued if not gray or black. The brush strokes were at times frenzied and without focus while at other times smooth and confident. What emerged was a deeply textured painting that in the end bore witness to two hands painting together with a single brush.


That’s one way of thinking of a marriage…it’s a work of art. In the best marriages no one says, “There, the painting is done” until the last breath of the artist(s) is drawn. To pronounce a painting done before then is to settle for mediocrity.


I was reminded of that while Terre and I were on vacation in the mountains those final days before her death. Weeks earlier the hospice nurse had explained to the family that when someone young like Terre is dying, there is a sense of urgency to take care of unfinished business. We definitely saw that in Terre as in the final weeks she made all kinds of lists of things to be done and projects to be finished. We all understood that and made every effort to help her finish anything that was important to her.


As we packed to leave for vacation there were some things that Terre wanted to take along, but there simply wasn’t enough room. So, I persuaded her to leave them behind. We drove to Rockford for my birthday and then to our destination in the mountains and proceeded to share our last days together. We arrived in the mountains on Sunday evening. By Tuesday evening, I think it was, Terre was clearly agitated about something. As we lay in bed that night it all came out. As we talked she wanted to know why I wouldn’t let her bring the other things she wanted to bring. I told her that I didn’t want her to tire herself out by working on things and then I reminded her, as I had done before, that there simply wasn’t room in the car. She disagreed and an unheated but emotional argument ensued with Terre insisting that there was room in the car and me insisting that there wasn’t. Finally, she said, “There could have been room. You just did a lousy job packing” (the irony is that it was actually one of the best packing jobs I had ever done, after many years of learning from Terre). Her words stung me and I rolled over, my back to her, saying nothing more before drifting off to an unsettled sleep.


The next morning, as I gave Terre her pain meds, she asked me, “Are you still mad at me?” I assured that I wasn’t mad, only tired. I’m not altogether sure that I was entirely truthful. I did share, though, that her criticism had stung and hurt me. She was not at all defensive or self-justifying and with tears in her eyes said, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so sorry.” I held her and kissed her and then she said, “I guess marriage is a work of art up until the very end.” I will never forget those words.


The problem with many marriages is that one or both partners stop painting before the very end arrives. They settle for what is—they stop collaborating—which can eventually lead to a ripping apart of the canvas itself. On the occasion of our final argument Terre added the brush stroke of a heartfelt apology. But I, too, needed to apologize. Terre went on to explain to me that those things we left behind represented some of the last unfinished projects she wanted to complete—polishing some glass like stones from Israel, polishing her jewelry and getting it ready to give to her loved ones. I apologized to her for my insensitivity and made arrangements later to get the things to her that she wanted. When those things arrived, her feeble hands came alive and she was happy! And we continued to paint together yet a little more.


So, regardless of where you are on the canvas of your marriage, just remember: marriage is a work of art up to the very end."

WOW!!  So if you have a spouse, keep these words in your heart today . . . tomorrow . . .  next week . . . next year . . . always.  Marriage IS truly a work of art created by the master artist Himself!

 

Rising From The Ashes

In literature, the "pheonix" is a mythical bird that was able to bring life from hopeless death.  After a life-span of about one thousand years, this legendary bird would settle in a tree to die.  At the moment of death, the bird would burst into flames, only to be given life and rebirth from its ashes.  The phoenix serves as a symbol of hope in a time of despair.  As Christians, we don't look to a bird for our hope.  We look to Jesus.

Sometimes life seems to cloud that hope.  The older that I get, the more often reality checks come.  I am just about to the point of not watching the news anymore.  Tragedy strikes daily.  This morning's headlines covered a story of a family in New York driving to a family reunion, when the driver lost control of the car.  The mini-van plummeted sixty feet into the Bronx Zoo, killing all seven family members.  A precious family in the middle of a Sunday afternoon drive-- gone in an instant.

Last week, I learned of a friend's diagnosis of inoperable brain cancer.  He is the father of three children, in the prime of his life.  Also, last week, we celebrated the life of a wonderful friend and mentor who lost (or won, however you may look at it!) a nine year battle with cancer.  Sometimes it is so hard to make sense of life.  Sometimes, life seems almost too difficult.  The hard times blot out our remembrances of joy.  The clouds roll in, and it seems as if they will never again part to reveal a ray of light.  Life is hard, and it is so easy to lose our faith. 

As Christians, we are called to serve those in need.  To hold up those who are weak.  To give strength to the weary.  But how do we support and help those going through such terrible heartbreak?  I try to teach my children daily about empathy--not sympathy.  Not just sympathy of feeling sorry, but true empathy.  Being able to put yourself in another person's shoes.  Being able to really feel their joy and their pain.  Being able to use our experiences in life to help other people in a way that only we can.

Suffering and joy teach us, if we allow them, how to make the leap of empathy, which transports us into the soul and heart of another person. In those transparent moments we know other people’s joys and sorrows, and we care about their concerns as if they were our own.”
~Fritz Williams

Several weeks ago, our school family suffered the tragic loss of one of our students.  Matt, was a junior, and his smile is engraved into my mind for all time.  A star football player and overall great young man, Matt was taken from us so suddenly.  The impact of his death has been so evident on our student body.  The students give hugs and love much more freely.  Typical high school drama has taken a backseat to more important things.  Matt's positive influence lives on, although his laughter was noticeably absent from our banquet last weekend.  I have thought of Matt's father, Pete, a thousand times in the past month.  Pete admittedly was Matt's best friend, and Matt was his whole life. I cannot imagine the pain; the loss; the void.

Friends have ministered to Pete in the past weeks.  Prayers have been offered daily that God bring healing and comfort to this grieving father.  Prayers that somehow good can come from such loss.  God has been present and working in those few weeks.  Yesterday, Matt's influence shined extremely bright as Pete took on the Lord Jesus in baptism.  What a tribute to his son!  What a remembrance that God, too, lost a son, and through Him, we are given the promise of eternity!  What an example of rising over tragedy! 
What a blessing that God used people to minister to another!

In thinking of the joy in the midst of sorrow, I am reminded of an Old Testament story about David.  David has always been one of my favorite Bible characters.  David is said to be "a man after God's own heart," but he messed up -- ALOT!  (That gives me hope!)  After an adulterous affair with a woman, their newborn son becomes extremely ill. David prays and prays for God to heal the baby.  He fasts and puts on sackcloth, begging God to spare the child.  God answers is "No."  After the baby's death, David arises, washes himself, and eats.  He states that although he cannot bring the child back, he can one day go to the child.  When I heard of Pete's baptism, I couldn't help but think--Pete cannot bring Matt back, but he can surely go to him one day!  What a blessing to begin healing his broken heart!

So today, I encourage you (and me!) to be an encouragement to someone in your life.  Someone who is going through a difficult time.  Think back to a time when you were in a valley, and how support was so needed and appreciated.  You never know how your smile, your presence, your kind word can uplift another.  Be the imaginary pheonix in someone's life, and help them to rise up.  Be Jesus in someone's life, and give them the hope that only He can offer!

What a Weekend! What a Savior!

Earlier this week, Danny Gregg, youth minister of Donelson Church of Christ, here in Nashville, spoke in our school devotional.  As he tried to help the students wrap their minds around the sudden and tragic death of a class mate, he spoke of God's victory over death.  He spoke of Jesus being raised to a new life.  He spoke of Heaven, a place where death's sting will never again be felt.  He spoke of resurrection moments. His words have remained in my heart this week, and I've seen so many of those little glimmers of hope and healing.  Those are not coincidences.  Those are God's works.

As I enjoyed my new routine of daily walks this morning, I was amazed by the beauty of spring around me.  Every tree is bursting with new life.  Roses are blooming in brilliant colors of reds,  yellows and pinks.  Tulips are lifting their gorgeous little heads to a vibrant blue and cloudless sky.  The birds are chirping and readying for new life in their nests.  Lawns are being mowed, and shrubbery is being mulched.  It's Easter weekend, and there is a sense of happiness in the air.

I've always loved Easter.  I remember it being such a special time when my three children were younger.  My mother and I always "stuffed" hundreds of plastic eggs for our family's annual Easter Egg Hunt.  (Yes, they were spoiled!  Three children did not need hundreds of eggs!)  The last egg hunt we had was in 2006, just a few months before she went to be with the Lord.  We decided it would probably be the last one we would have when Colton and Conner physically fought over the $25 golden egg!  I almost never got the grass stain out of their Easter pants!

But Easter is not all about bunnies and baskets.  It's about a Savior, and the Lord put these thoughts on my heart this morning.

As we enjoy this Good Friday, I am reminded of a fateful Friday two thousand years ago.  A day much like any other day in the lives of most people.  A day when babies were born.  A day when an elderly woman drew her last breath.  A day when the sun rose just as any other day.  But this day was different.  This would be a Friday when men in high places, who had plotted against our Lord, would carry out those sinister actions.    This would be a day when a beloved friend would do the unthinkable for a bag of silver coins.  This would be a day when a mother's heart would be broken as she saw her son hung on a cross.  This would be a day when Satan would feel like he had won. 

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would make a conscious decision to be beaten and shamed.  Scorned and spat upon.  Mocked and ridiculed.  He had asked God to take this dark cup away from him, but he obediently fulfilled the will of His Father.  He would endure this because of His love for people.  His friends.  His family.  His followers.  Even those who hated him.  Even those who had never seen him.  Even those who had never been born.  Even me.  Even you.

On that Friday, my Lord, your Lord, God's son, would have nails driven through his body.  He would be raised on a cruel cross at Golgotha between two criminals.  He would be offered vinegar to drink when he asked for water.  He would cry out in agony.  He would promise paradise for eternity to one of those criminals hanging beside him.  He would ask his loyal friend to take care of  his mother, Mary.  Hateful eyes would gawk at His writhing body.  Hateful hearts would turn stone cold as they witnessed this treachery.  Hateful souls would be happy when this "Jesus, King of the Jews" was dead.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, could have called ten thousand angels to come to his rescue.  He could have called a legion of hosts to rein down vengeance on the hateful mob.  He could have taken Himself down off of that cross.  But He didn't.  His love for me won out over the hatred of that day. His love for you was more than the hateful actions of the mob.  His love for His Father trumped it all.  God had asked Jesus to complete this task, and that was enough.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would cry out one final time before it was finished.  His side would be pierced, and blood and water would freely flow from it.  Darkness would cover the land as His Father showed His own power.  The veil of the temple would be ripped in two, as evidence that truly Jesus was the Son of God.

On that Friday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, died.  His lifeless body would be taken down from that wooden cross.  It would be lovingly washed and prepared for burial.  Tears would flow by all that loved him.  But tears would not bring him back.  Jesus was dead.  That torn and tattered body would be placed in a borrowed tomb.  Friends would leave that place in a state of shock  It would be a Friday they would never forget.

I can only imagine the hurt.  The loss.  The feelings of not knowing what to do.  Jesus, the Savior, was dead.

This was real.

But on Sunday, my Lord, your Lord; God's son, would burst forth from that grave.  That torn and tattered body would be filled with new life and new hope.  Death would be conquered.  Christ's resurrection would take away the pain of death.  The pain of separation.  The pain of hopelessness.

On Sunday, my Lord; your Lord; God's son, would show His power, and His love for me, and for you.  The sting of death was lessened.  Separation might be temporary, but salvation would be for eternity.  This earthly life would pass, and with it would come physical death.  But spiritual life everlasting was promised because Jesus came out of that grave on Sunday!  Death had no victory!   

On Sunday, the plan of those men in high places had failed.  The betrayal for a bag of silver had been of no use.  On Sunday, a mother's heart would be healed.  On Sunday, Satan would be defeated. On Sunday, I was given a promise of eternal life.  On Sunday, you were given that same promise.

What a gift!  What a weekend!  What a SAVIOR!

Mustard Seed Faith

Sometimes life just seems a bit too overwhelming.  In the past weeks, I have watched friends go through  immense seasons of sorrow.  Young people lost in traffic accidents, just as their lives began to unfold.  A high school buddy gone before his 50th birthday.  A dear friend ending his courageous battle with cancer.  Parents  taken from their families right in the prime of life.  Sometimes I think that we forget that Death is not a respecter of persons.  Death does not seek out to rid this world of only the wicked and treacherous.  Death comes to all of us at some point, but seems extremely "off schedule" at times.  Young people are supposed to be born, grow up, get married, raise a family, and grow old before Death comes for them. 

I'm reminded of an old church song that we don't sing very much anymore.  "No Tears in Heaven" was one of my daddy's favorite songs.  His quartet sang it often, and I can still hear the harmonious bass runs of the chorus in my mind.

"No tears . . . in heaven fair; 
No tears . . .  no tears up there; 
Sorrow and pain will all have flown.
No tears in heaven will be known." 

The older I get the sweeter those words seem to get.  I long for a place where there will be no more tears.  No more pain.  No more separation.  No more doubt.  No more guilt.  No more stress.

But, what do we do until we get to that place?  How do we smile through the pain?  Laugh when our hearts are broken?  Believe when the unbelievable shakes our world?  Be strong for our children, when our own knees are buckling beneath us?

Our faith somehow gets us through this life.  But what is faith, and how do we get it--or keep it when life throws us those  proverbial curve balls?

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (Heb.11:1).

Faith is trust and belief.  It acts as the support structure to hope.   It gives us the ability to get up some mornings. It gives us the knowledge that "this too shall pass."

Romans 12:3 states that God gives us a "measure of faith."  Later in Romans 10:17, we learn that "faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God."

Jesus tells us in Matthew 17, that we don't have to have a tremendous amount of faith.  He says that only a small amount, the size of a mustard seed, will suffice.  A mustard seed is tiny.  It is smaller than an eraser tip on a pencil.  Yet, the Bible tells us, we can do great things with only this small, seemingly insignificant, amount of faith. 

Our faith is increased when we dive into Bible study and prayer.  Getting into God's word allows Him to speak to us, and to our situations.  God is our Father, and He loves us.  Sometimes I have to remind myself of that almost daily.  He is MY Father.  He loves ME.  Although sometimes I don't understand that, it is true.  And MY Father understands when I hurt.  He understands when I'm crushed.  He understands when I cannot go another step.  That's when HE offers comfort.  HE offers peace.  HE picks me up and carries me.  God WANTS to hear from ME.  He WANTS me to talk to Him.  He WANTS me to cry out to Him in those tragic times.  He WANTS me to KNOW that He cares and has a plan to carry me through all this jumbled mess of a life. 

Many times it is not until we have gone through a valley of life that we truly "get it."  We fully  understand that God was right there beside us during those difficult times.  The untimely death of a parent.  A stage 4 cancer diagnosis.  A miscarriage of a much wanted child.  An unfaithful spouse after thirty years of marriage.  A death of a young person seemingly snatched from the cradle of life. 

My mother was a shining example of faith in my life, and I've thought of her everyday since her death in 2006.  Following my father's suicide in 1984, Mother sank into a real depression.  She dealt with all of the "if onlys" and "what ifs" that follow such an event.  After a year or so, her faith blossomed.  There was nothing she could do to change the events of my father's life, but she could use that experience to help others.  In the twenty plus years that followed, Mother ministered to families that experienced suicide.  She spent hours just talking to spouses that had gone through the same valley.  She wrote notes of encouragement and understanding.  She became an advocate for persons with mental health challenges, and she was a beacon in many lives.

She told me many times that the things of this life can make us "bitter or better."  Those words ring in my ears in so many instances.  Satan uses our situations for his glory too many times.  Life throws us junk, and we turn our backs on God.  We blame God.  Someone is surely to blame.  God could have stopped this if HE had wanted to.  God could have changed this if HE had wanted to.  But He did not.  So, HE does not love me.  And I, in return, do not love him.  We cannot let the troubles and trials of this life pull us from God. 

Ecclesiastes 3 speaks of various "times" in life.  There is, indeed a time for everything.

  There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under the heavens:   
  a time to be born and a time to die,
   a time to plant and a time to uproot,
  a time to kill and a time to heal,
   a time to tear down and a time to build,
  a time to weep and a time to laugh,
   a time to mourn and a time to dance,
  a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
   a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
  a time to search and a time to give up,
   a time to keep and a time to throw away,
  a time to tear and a time to mend,
   a time to be silent and a time to speak,
  a time to love and a time to hate,
   a time for war and a time for peace. 

Isaiah 3:11 states that God will make everything beautiful in its time.

I love that promise.  Everything will be beautiful in time.  So, although to day is such a gray, cloudy day for so many around me, the sun will shine again.  It may not be tomorrow.  It may not be next week.  It may not ever be the same as it was before, and sometimes life is changed forever.  But it will shine again.  


Don't be afraid, for I am with you. Don't be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand. (Isaiah 41:10)

God is right beside of us today--and always. We hurt. We ache. Our hearts are broken. But we are His children, and His love will get us through these challenging days. Do we understand? No. Do we question? Yes. Will we ever fully comprehend? Doubtful. 

We just have to grab on to that small grain of mustard seed faith today. God will do the rest.