Sitting In A Postcard

Sitting In A Postcard

The darkness wraps around me like a soft blanket. Colors are muted into the shades of pre-dawn. The sound of the waves lapping against the beach, rhythmic, calming. My view from the 18th floor of this exquisite hotel down onto the beaches of Waikiki is limited only by this gentle darkness.

I was awoken this early by the soft voice and gentle touch of my angel. My four year old son. He is my miracle. When I wonder if God is real and if He is good...(Lord, please forgive my humanity) it is his innocent face and voice saying "Mommy" that reminds me of God's factual, provable, indisputable ever-loving reality.

I sit here in the pre-dawn darkness on my balcony in Hawaii. The notes of "Give Me Jesus" flowing around me, a hot beverage, and this darkness. But it is not a darkness to be feared. It is a gentle darkness, full of warmth, and promise.

To my left I see the twinkling lights of Waikiki, mirrored in long gold columns onto the waves. Directly below me is the infinity pool, glowing turquoise and tranquil with the lighted tiki torches dancing in the breeze. When I look directly out I see nothing. Nothing but a soft black/gray. The sky is the same color as the water creating kind of a fuzzy, eerie, warmness that holds me. This world of simplicity is quiet. I like it.

It is the morning of our second day here in Hawaii. My family is around me. The only thing that has ever mattered. To say it is surreal would be an understatement. As much as I have traveled I have never been to Hawaii. Its always been on my list, but places like Italy and Africa took precedence. I wish I had not waited so long. I love it here.

But we are here for a reason I wish never existed. DIPG. My Julianna. As I sit here, alone, nothing but the sky, the water, and You, Lord....I ask "How does one reconcile this beauty and pain? Hope and   humanity. What used to be and what is?" I asked God to help me not overthink this trip. Not to struggle with the "I love Make a Wish because they are making this possible for my Julianna and I hate them because they have to," kind of thoughts. I prayed many times for that not to be in my heart here. It would taint it. She would see it on our faces. She would know...

How does one reconcile the "What could happen" with "What is happening"? I heard the most poignant message for church the Sabbath before we left. A sweet friend, used by God, spoke about fear and faith. She said that Faith is a decision. Not a feeling. So true. Many of us wait to "feel" faith. I am sorry but it will not come. You will have times of great feelings toward our friend Jesus, but Faith is the choice to believe He is Good, He is real when you have no feelings left. Satan whispers lies in our ears that if we don't FEEL God is is not there. Father of lies.

Our friend said that fear is really saying "God I am not completely sure that what You have planned will work out so I need to make a backup plan." That resonated so deeply with me. Like a voice saying what my heart was feeling. How arrogant of me to think that any plan I made would be safer, wiser, better then one made by the hand of God.

When we got off the plane here in Oahu the air filling our lungs was sweet, warm, Hawaiian. Looking down onto the beach, seeing the green mountains, surfers balancing on the white capped waves, pineapple juice in my hand....I had the distinct impression that I have fallen into a postcard. That I am sitting in one. This sand is too white, the water is too turquoise, the people are too beautiful to be real right?

I have had the feeling before, when I went to Aruba with a quartet I was part of in college, beaches, palm trees, white sand. When I stepped off the train in Venice, the colorful buildings, the canal...the trees in Africa...Postcards. All of them. Places I had dreamed of going, seen pictures of and when I finally came it was like "Wow, this is real! This wasn't just a story, or a photoshopped promotional tool! It is even more beautiful then the postcard!"

The sky is changing to a muted grey, with streaks of deep purple and pink. I can see the outline of the tall mountain across the water. Black and two dimensional, it is majestic. Appearing out of the darkness like a stately guardian that was there all the time but I couldn't see it. I think that is how God is....There, big, solid, real....but with the darkness of the world we just can't see Him till the Son comes.

I remember Julianna saying to us while she was in the hospital right after she had gotten diagnosed. "No more sad tears, only happy tears. Lets fight this!" That is the message of this trip. However improbable we are here, in this postcard, together. Every moment is real. Every moment is precious not in the morbid make-memories-cause-you-may-not-have-long-left-together kind of way that the doctor said....NO. In the this-is-where-we-are-today-and-we-are-blessed kind of way. No sad tears. We will sit in this postcard for these five days and feel goodness. Blessings. Togetherness. Whatever happens when we get out, well....I will leave that to Gods' planning.

She smiled yesterday. Really really smiled. Giggled, laughed, shrieked, swam, mothered my son as she used to do. It filled my heart. To see her happy. Like HER. She did a little happy dance once. I almost burst into happy tears. It was so like herself. Today is here. I am here with her. To see her see Hawaii, and that is a gift.

I see my sister and brother-in-law. I love them so. I am so proud of them They are the best parents anyone could ask for. They may not feel like it, but the love, and focus on the now they show inspires me.

I see the water now. The fingers of sunlight are reaching from behind the black mountains and shooting across the sky. I see a dark figure of a surfer on their board, paddling out into the blue. Tranquility. The ironic part is, when you think about going to a "postcard place" you think that it can't possibly reach your expectations. That the water can't be as blue, or the air as sweet, or the sun as magnificent. You are sure these postcards have been photoshopped, I mean really, isn't everything made to look and sound better then it really is?

The irony I have found is this. Postcard places are BETTER in real life. Genuine places of beauty and peace cannot be captured in 2-D. I am struck, sitting here on the 18th floor gazing down on paradise....What if Heaven is that way? We have just a "Postcard" view now. An image given to us in the Bible of what it will be like. How it will feel, what we will do. In our human way we try to bring it to life. The song "I am Only Imagine" says " I can only imagine, what it will be like, when I walk by Your side....surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel, will I dance for you Jesus, or in awe of you be still, will I stand in Your presence or to my knees will I fall, will I sing halleluiah, will I be able to speak at all I can only imagine...."

We are living with only a postcard view of heaven. A promise. When we get there...Oh when we really get there, step into that place...the air will be sweeter, the sky will be brighter, the colors more exquisite, the peace...deeper, the pain....gone. Let us hold onto that hope. That what we see now is shrouded in that fuzzy darkness and soon we live in the real paradise.

Today we are swimming with dolphins. We will be here. All here. Thankful for these moments. Stacie told me that she had read about a teenager with DIPG who said it really stood for "Determined I'm Praising God." What a testimony. What an example of faith in the midst of death. I pray to have that faith and to soak up every moment of this life.

From the beaches here in Waikiki, we send our love to u all. Thankful hearts. Blessed hearts. but mostly hearts filled with hope, for the day we step into heaven and realize that postcard view we had of it....wow....it didn't even come close to reality.

The Dark Side...Waiting For the Light

The Dark Side...Waiting For the Light

Facebook has always been a quandary to me. An odd place where life is filtered, pictures that represent only a moment in time are posted as representative of reality. "The Facebook Life" is a real phenomen that drives some mothers to tears as they compare their real life exhaustion to the photo-shopped image with their counterparts. Feeling like a failure because they don't measure up to the non-reality.

Well, over these past few months I have found much good about this venue. It is an incredible method of disiminating information, rallying the troops and connecting with individuals who can support you in your time of need. I am thankful for Facebook. And for each and every person who has clicked on Julianna's website, donated, and most of all prayed. 

However, as I become more intertwined in this community of DIPG warriors, families, advocates, and read each of their stories, I am overwhelmed. There are too many. Too many little faces in the innocence of childhood. Too many Mommies and Daddies, Aunties and Nana's desperate for help. 

Its odd actually. At first I felt no part of this community. I mean surely this is a dream right? The rain drops pounding on the windows outside the hallway of the pediatric oncology unit were not real. The little red wagons being pulled around the nurses station, filled with little ones are an illusion right? IV lines disappearing under little shirts, pumps being pulled behind by hollow eyed parents with smiles of desperation. They all look the same. Why is my Julianna in one of them? How can those be her little braids disappearing down the hallway in the wagon pulled by her Daddy? 

We will wake up tomorrow and she will come bouncing in all smiles and curls and sparkle. Petite and agile, a little dynamo. 

But it wasn't a dream. The pain of it would surely would have woken us up by now. No one could stay in a dream and still have this much pain.

Well if it wasn't a dream then it is a giant mistake. Yes that is it. It's an error. They have the wrong child. They haven't done their safety checks (thinking as the ICU nurse I am) and made sure they have the right patient, right chart, etc. Seriously people, you should check your stuff before you scare people to death....

But they did and we are.

I remember vividly the moment we heard the words it seems all DIPG families here. The oncologist was standing in the room. She had come in all chipper and smiling. I had not seen the MRI scan myself yet and asked her to show it to me. I might be an ICU nurse, but it didn't take one to see the large, glaring glow of foreign tissue in the middle of my Julianna's brainstem.

I found my eyes kept looking down to the lower lefthand corner of the MRI. Where her name was. I kept checking to make sure I had read it right. That it was still there. That I was still there.

As my eyes kept returning to her name. The name we as a family had talked so much about before she was born, the oncologist just sort of droned on and on. I am sure she was saying words that mattered, and they probably even made sense. But, honestly all I could think of was "I wish you would just be quiet. Stop talking. Go away."

I know that it is probably horrible for me to admit it. I am kind of ashamed to but it is the truth. These thoughts I had. I share them only to give insight into the moments that shape us. So that others who have walked through moments such as these don't feel alone if they have thought similar things.

It's uncanny how the words were heard on that diagnosis day have been heard, almost word for word by other families with the same diagnosis. "Go home and make memories." "Well, its inoperable, and we don't have any real treatments so....you should probably just...make the most of the time you have left."

As these words floated from the lips of the oncologist into our ears...I remember strange things. The way her pants were creased down the front. The way her smile stayed intact as those impossible words roll out of her lips. Why is she smiling? Stop smiling, this isn't a time to smile. I wanted to wipe it off her face...literally. The way her hair curled up around her ears. Why did she bother to curl her hair? Who curls your hair when you have to tell a family their little girl is going to die? She should be wearing sackcloth and ashes for crying out loud....The way Julianna looked so ok. On the bed, her mommy arms around her. How can she have a time bomb in her little head? This is ridiculous. I am picking her up and walking out the door. Enough of this dying rubbish.

I remember the way the pattern on the floor was symmetrical. How could it be so even when everything just fell apart? The world is off kilter and the floor is still in nice even patterns. I don't blame the oncologist personally and I should feel badly for picking apart her appearance but it was what my mind did. I will never forget those details. 

Two months later, as I sit here, I realize that I have come to another reality. The shock has not worn off. The wish for different news is still there. But we have spent time educating ourselves. We have become acquainted with other families who are living this same reality. Facebook is a wonder. A resource of information, encouragement, and support. 

I am thankful for each of these amazing people who have banded around us and offered information, contacts with others who are walking down similar roads, and support. 

I thought DIPG was rare. They told us it was rare. It isn't rare enough. There is a wonderful Facebook page dedicated to the support and awareness for families fighting DIPG. Almost every day they share stories, ask for prayers, send out encouragement and advocate for these precious children. Almost every day there is a new face, a new family has heard those words, a new child warrior is facing this DIPG monster.

Every day these amazing advocates send out the faces, the stories, hopes, and needs of each of these little warriors. Collages of their precious smiles, all fighting for their lives. Each smile is a story. So easy too scroll past. Its not MY child right? I couldn't happen to me. 

I have likened this journey to sitting down and watching TV. Your show goes to commercial and a commercial for St. Judes comes on. Tender music, valiantly fighting little people with no hair and a lot of courage. The pleas for help, funding, and support come from the mouths of mommys and daddys.  While your heart may be moved by these stories, you feel only a twinge of guilt when you change the channel to something less uncomfortable.

We can't change the channel. That child in the bed, walking down the hall with the IV pole is OUR Julianna. We can't seek another view when it gets too uncomfortable or heartbreaking. I am not shaming those who do "turn the channel" both literally and metaphorically. Not at all. I am simply trying to explain something that I can't explain. 

Today it happened. I was scrolling through Facebook and came across a collage of DIPG warriors. There she was. There was her face. My little Julianna. My first reaction was "What? Why is SHE in this collage? I don't understand? Thats not right. She doesn't belong there. There has been a mistake somehow I will have to get in touch with them and make sure they fix that." But it is real. It made it more real somehow, seeing her face there.

I don't want it to be real, but it is. I want to fight, to hide, to run, to scream. To, as a dear friend of mine so elegantly captured my heart " Scoop her up and run to the mountains where she can be wild and free."

But that will do no good. All I can do is fall on my knees. While not literally moving, falling to my knees is the only way to make progress. To find help. To keep breathing. It is the hope we have.

As I sit here and think about it, her face, there, I am thankful for the creators of those collages to do that. To speak her truth. To let others see her amazing spirit, her smile, her heart. While I would do anything to take it away, it is real and I am thankful that her story is being told. It matters. SHE matters. She is not just a number or a diagnosis. She is a life. Full of promise, and hope, and courage. 

The national cancer research budgets allocates only 4% of its annual budget to childhood cancer research. 4%. And of that 4%, the amount devoted to DIPG is miniscule. Ridiculous. Unthinkably small. How can this be? How did I not know this? I read the following quote awhile back. 

It really hit home. I realized that we all have a mission of some kind. Often grown from a personal tragedy or hardship. Yes, it might be a little overwhelmingly sad that nowadays my Facebook feed is entirely devoted to cancer, children fighting for their lives, and asking for financial help. I am not sorry about that though. She lives with this every moment and so will I. As she fights for her life, the least I can do is speak of her courage.

Bottom line. Life can change in a heartbeat, appreciate the moments. That isn't just a quote, a feel good sign to hang in your living room. It is real. I know that our minds can only absorb so much reality at a time. I realize that despite the darkness GOD IS GOOD. THERE IS HOPE. Don't feel sorry for us. 

I have a new perspective on others who may look, walk, talk, or live differently. As I walk through the grocery store, hand in hand with my hero, I see the faces of curiosity, sometimes pity from those who pass by. A little girl, unsteady on her feet, a big red service dog at her side. I know they are thinking "What has happened to her? Why does she have a service dog? What is her story?"
I know that their curiosity is not malicious. I find myself so proud of walk beside her. If they only knew. Big battles, little warriors.

Sitting here tonight, odd thoughts rambling through my mind and jumbling onto the keyboard. I don't know what my goal of sharing this was. Just felt like I needed to capture them. Thanks for being here with me. For me. For all of us. And mostly for my little Julianna. Who inspires me and drives me to pray for heaven like I have never prayed before. 

She is teaching me to live NOW. She is teaching me to love with all my heart NOW. She reminds me that the life we have here is merely the foggy moments before the sky clears and the light breaks through. Her courage and bravery fill me with the yearning for heaven. Please come soon Lord. Thankful for all of you who have been here for us and for our Jesus who has never let us go...

The Story of My Hero

I made this video about my Hero. 

She inspires me with her grace and courage. Her love for Jesus in the midst of unthinkable darkness her light still shines.

Would do anything to see that smile! Love you baby girl!

Feel free to share this video and raise awareness of DIPG, and help send her to London for treatments.

Thank you from my heart

All That Glitters

All That Glitters...

          I have never really liked the color gold actually. I mean, as far as colors go it has never really been in my arsenal of preferred hues. Anyone who knows me knows that I wear black, almost all the time. Not in a morbid, depressive way but in a I-like-black-because-it-goes-with-everything-is-slimming-and-basically-I-just-like-it sort of way. However, if I had to present a color on my person, honestly? I wouldn't choose gold.

         When I was younger I had my "colors done." You ladies probably know what I mean. Shades draped over you, hues held up to your cheeks and the undertones discussed in detail. I was told I was a "Winter." I was also told that my undertones would better be enhanced by wearing cooler tones, less peach and more pink. Less orange and more red. Less gold and more silver. 

         I have also never been much about bling. More subdued less sparkle. Bling has always been something that felt too showy on me. Good for a lot of others but not really for me.

         Its amazing how things can change in a moment. Now I am all about GOLD. In a moment, with three simple words...seventeen letters,  gold became a powerful color. 

Julianna has cancer

         Gold is the color of Pediatric Cancer Awareness. Although many colors were considered, gold was agreed upon as the ideal choice for childhood cancer awareness because gold is a precious metal, and is therefore the perfect color to reflect the most precious thing in our lives—our children.

        It doesn't matter if the hues of gold may not bring out the best in my undertones, I will wear it with pride. It doesn't matter if sparkle has not really been my style, it is now. When I see the sparkle on my wrist or around my neck I am reminded of HER sparkle how her eyes dance and her giggle bubbles up adding sparkle to everyone who hears it.

       

       Though colors and sparkle do not change outcomes, do not fight the actual cancer, they are weapons against despair and discouragement. The flash of color reminds us of the solidarity of the fight so many face. The precious souls that fight this fight should NOT have to. It breaks my heart when I hear Julianna's sweet voice say, "I like gold because gold is the color of support for pediatric cancer." I want to scream that she shouldn't have to know that. She shouldn't have to understand how a color can represent so much. But she does know...all too well.

       So, despite the fact that it doesn't change some things. It does add courage. So now we carry gold sparkly bags, seek out the shine of gold to remind ourselves of the fight. The fight that so many precious souls carry. Too young to carry these burdens, yet they walk forward, braver then anyone I have ever seen. The courage they and their families face every moment inspire me. The courage Julianna has...no words to express it.

      We wear gold to show support. We wear gold to remind ourselves of the fight. We wear gold to raise awareness of the struggle so many face every day. 

      I pray for each of these precious children that face this battle for their mommy's and daddy's and siblings...Their Nana's and Aunties.   I pray for a world where the only gold we see is the gold on the streets of heaven. Where there is no need to raise awareness because this evil called cancer is NO MORE. 

      Until that day, may we wear GOLD as an honor. To hold the banner of courage high. To pay tribute to each little soul from whom this golden light flows. May the light of their bravery shine into our souls and inspire us to walk as they walk.

I Just Wanna Go Home...

      I Just Wanna Go Home... 

       I have worked as an ICU nurse for the past 10 years. I have seen people in some of the worst moments of their lives. Tragedy, accidents, illness, injury, death. Held their hands, kneeled at their bedside as they fount for their lives. 

       It has always amazed me how no matter who it is, no matter the age, the gender, the nationality...at that moment when someone is at their lowest, when all is spent, and hope seems gone...all they say is...

"I just want to go home."

No one wants to be in a foreign place when they are in pain, when they are hurting or scared. We want the comforts of home. The safety it brings. Surrounded by our family and security. We long for home when we are at our lowest. 

       As someone who LOVES to travel the world I can say that even if you are in the most amazing island, the most glorious or fulfilling destination...there will always come a time when the longing for home will creep up on you. 

      As a Mommy I sometimes hear my precious child say those same words when he is especially tired, or if he gets a boo boo, or if he is feeling sad. "I just want to go home!" I have even heard my own voice echo his sentiments. At those points in your life when you are broken, empty, powerless, lost. Crouched on the floor, unable to lift yourself up by your own power. Sure that your eyes should be empty of tears as they have all fallen into your hands...yet there is always more. I have heard my own voice, foreign to my own ears cry "I just want to go home, please take me home." Awkward as I am sitting on my own floor, in the safety of my own house.

      Yet, there is a yearning in our hearts for home. For that place that holds safety, where the weight lifts off your chest and you can suck air into your starving lungs. Where you will wake up and realize it is a bad dream and you are protected, safe, understood. The sentiment of home that we yearn for is not really held in within the beams and drywall of our house. It is deeper, harder, longer, stronger than that.

       I realized something as I drove home from work tonight. It was dark, the snow was falling heavily and the roads were slippery beneath my cars tires. 

I want to go home

      I walked around outside my hospital at work today. A thin sweater on despite the freezing wind and heavily falling snow. I wanted to wake up. To feel the cold and flakes fall against my cheeks and have the icy cold break me out of this bad dream we are in. But alas, it was not to be. This snowy world is reality. The chill of DIPG is here for real. Our hearts long to be home. Yet, even when I arrived home, I still felt the yearning.

      I realized that it makes sense to me now. We long for home even when we are in our house because THE WORLD IS NOT OUR HOME. We are foreigners in an inhospitable world. Our hearts long for the safety of Jesus' arms. The assurance of no more tears, no more DIPG, no more oncology units, or radiation masks. No more port access pain, or prognosis talks. No more swallowing tears to keep a brave face in front of the other kiddos...

       Home. Though I don't have a physical vision of what Heaven looks like, I somehow think our hearts can see it still. Somehow in those moments of fear and pain, on the floor with our demons attacking, our hearts can distill the clutter and sees our real home. Where we belong for real. It is in those moments we need to hold onto that feeling. Remember that this feeling is the promise of home to come. Feel it. Let it surround you and fill you with bittersweet longing. May we forever yearn for our true home with Jesus.

Revelation 21:4 He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

Revelation 22:1-5  No longer will there be anything curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. 

Philippians 3:20-21 But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ

Windows...

     

Windows

        They offer a view into another place without having to experience the elements therein. As I sit here looking out this big picture window, watching the snow swirl and drift in the world outside, I wonder how the chill of that world has crept into my bones...the window has not offered protection from the cold world this time.

       It will likely be the last time I sit here and write, gazing at the snow fall on the other side of this glass. This house in Spokane has been a shelter for us way-faring travelers these past weeks. While Julianna has has her 6 weeks of radiation against this DIPG, our family has found refuge in this house. Owned by a stranger-turned-friend, who has turned out to be a guardian angel.

       I wonder what the next weeks hold? As odd as it felt to live here the first few weeks it has turned into some kind of a home. A place to rest and be together with the puppies. Finding this house was an answered prayer. The leading of God, the generosity and tenacity of friends, and the kindness of strangers.

       It has been winter every since Julianna was diagnosed. Not just the metaphorical winter of a bleak prognosis and chilling realities, but actual winter of frost and snow. More snow then we have had in many many years. Drifts, piles, and swirls. It seems that alot of snow has fallen outside windows as the fear has swirled and heaped in piles inside my soul. 

      The window looking out of the third floor hallway of Sacred Heart Children's Hospital Pediatric Oncology. Standing there gazing out of that window, my tears clinging to the glass on the inside seeming to mingle of the drops of rain and snow just outside.

       The front window of my car...my eyes clouded with tears join the snow flakes and the swishing back and forth, back and forth of my windshield wipers. Driving to Spokane on the November 20th, 2016 to see our girl. To hear the words, "She has cancer." Driving back and forth from home, to here, to Seattle, to home to here...Swish swish swish goes the wipers, drip, drip, drop goes the tears.

      The window of the Seattle Children's Hospital play room, waiting for Julianna to get out of recovery after her brain biopsy. A needle traversing her life center (brain stem) to reach the deadly tumor inside. Praying it wont damage anything important and leave lasting effects. That window held the warm air in and the cold out yet I remember shivering...

      I know there will be more window to look through. Winter weather will forever bring these days back to my mind...my heart. But for now, I sit and gaze at the golf course beyond the back yard unrecognizable by the piles of snow.

"Now we see through a glass half darkened, but soon we shall see face to face." 

(1 Corinthians 13:12) 

      We live with the promise that the view through these windows is not the final view. That what we see outside that glass, the chill of fear in our bones, the drifting snows of pain and doubt are not the real picture. It is the darkened picture of this world that we see only. We live in hope of the clear view, the full picture being revealed.

      On that day, then the darkness will be lifted and the glass will vanish and the scene our eyes will behold will be clear, and bright, and victorious! Holding onto that day, holding onto that hope. Please come soon Jesus...

- Sis

Christmas Prayer

A Prayer for the Brokenhearted

I came across these words, this prayer and it said what my heart is trying to say. I read it before Christmas and wanted to share....
__________________________________________

"This week was the winter solstice. For us northerners, it is the longest night of our year. It is almost dark by 4 o’clock. Here begins the longest night. Up in northern Canada, friends report a never ending night on this day without even a glimpse of sunrise or sunset. We turn on our lamps, we curl up with blankets and books, we light candles, we make friends with the stars, we put the kettle on. What has to be endured might as well be enjoyed.

I know these days can be hard for so many of us – you may be tired, heartbroken, estranged from loved ones, yearning for more, settling for less, broke, afraid, betrayed, rejected, struggling, addicted, disillusioned, lonely, isolated, thwarted, doubting, numb, any or all sorts of things that aren’t showing up on the easily resolved Hallmark Christmas movies or the shiny-happy-Jesus-people. Or maybe they are just better at hiding it, who knows.There is something about Christmas that makes the unbearable even more painful, isn’t there?

Last night, watching the candles burn on the longest night I thought of you all in particular, broken-hearted ones. I wanted you to know that I praying for you this Christmas in particular.
Your sorrow isn’t overlooked by God, I know that.

A Prayer for the Broken-Hearted at Christmas 

Matthew 11:28 which is from one of Jesus’ sermons: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

I remember how it felt when he said, “Sarah, I know you’re tired and worn out and burned out on religion. I’m praying that you will recover your life. I’m praying you’ll take a real rest. I’m praying you’ll walk with Jesus and watch how he does it, that you will learn the unforced rhythms of grace. Remember that if it’s heavy and ill-fitting, if it’s a burden, you don’t need to hold it. I pray you’ll keep company with Jesus and learn to live freely and lightly.”

So come close. Here we go. I pray that God would be near to you, a strength to you. I pray for comfort. I pray for a friend who knows, a friend who sits with you, a friend who doesn’t try to jolly you up.

I pray for endurance in your heart and in your mind and in your soul and in your strength, I pray for perseverance beyond what you think you can bear. I pray that you would be someone who does not give up but continues to take up the space you need. I pray you will know how to ask for what you want. I pray for a community that meets you where you are at.

I pray for comfort. I pray for warmth in your home. I pray for candles and for lamplight, for good books and for movies, for long walks in the darkness lit only by street lights or stars. May your voice crack with tears when you sing anyway how there is a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices because you are longing for a bit of rejoicing. May you fall asleep humming good songs of hope. I see you trying to sing in your sorrow and I think it’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.

I pray for courage. No one ever told us how much courage it takes to have a broken-heart, did they? No one told us how brave we would have to be to simply carry on. And yet here you are. I pray for courage to rise up in you so that you can get up out of bed for another day and do what you need to do to carry on. I pray for an appetite to eat good food and I pray you’ll go to bed on time and sleep well, I pray you’ll be good to your own self in the midst of all this. I pray for your hands to find work you enjoy doing and for creativity to give you a respite.

I pray for you to find the intimacy of the Holy Spirit in these days. I have often found that it is in the wilderness and in the darkness and in the loneliness that the Spirit draws near. I pray for the active and intimate presence of the mystery of God to be close to you in ways you couldn’t name or explain or understand. I pray for dreams that will comfort the hours of sleep you are given.

I pray for peace in you and through you and about you. I pray for glimmers of reconciliation. I pray for bad jokes and for the kind of laughter that makes you want to whoop and pound the table a time or two. I pray for friends who become family and I pray for family to become friends.

I pray for God to be near to you in ways you never could have expected. I pray that this will give birth to a great compassion in you, a love for our suffering world like you’ve never known.

After all, now you’re in the company of the people of the unanswered prayers: we can hold both hope and grief together.

I know there is something for which you cannot even pray, there is no faith left in you: I pray for that unnamed thing, too, I have a bit of faith and you can have it. I don’t know what it is in you but I know you carry it and the better thing is that God knows.

I have always been so thankful that Jesus is described in Isaiah as a man of sorrows, a man acquainted with grief. This is a man I can let into that inner chamber of grief: he is acquainted with my sorrow and he will deal so gently, like a good mother, with our broken-hearts.

I pray for hope to rise, unbidden and unforced and surprising, like a flower breaking through the cement in a parking lot. I pray for you to tend that tendril of hope like a gardener, protect it, let it grow wild and unexpected into the places you least anticipated.

I pray for opportunities to serve others in your life. I pray for Jesus to bring you people into whom you can sow your inexhaustible love and your flagging energy. I pray for eyes to see the company of the broken-hearted around you and that you will become a place of rest for each other.

I pray you will find something or someone to love in these days.

I pray for real reciprocity of relationship – that for everything you receive, you are able to give someday. I pray for the prayers of children to be spoken over you. I pray for the love and joy and the peace and the hope of Advent to be yours. Maybe this isn’t your season for celebration but the good news is that Advent and even Christmas isn’t just for the ones who feel happiness; it’s also for the ones who are afraid and wondering, who are refugees and who are broken-hearted. You, as you are right now, were written into the Story from the beginning and you have a place here, you belong at this Christmas table.

And I dare to pray for joy for you. I pray that everything you are sowing in grief, you will reap in joy. It will be a different sort of joy, we both know that. There is the uncomplicated joy of those who haven’t suffered and then there is the joy that is born of suffering, the joy that is deeper for the loss that preceded, the joy that is in seeing redemption and yet knowing the scars you bear from the wounds are beautiful to those with eyes to see.

And may the Light break through the darkness to warm you and guide you somehow.

We have turned towards the sun now. The days will imperceptibly grow longer again. We won’t be able to notice the moment it changes over but now we know what we’re spinning towards, one day at a time, one morning probably sooner than we know, we will wake up to the long day of light."

Amen.


-Sarah Bessey

New Years Ponderings

New Years Pondering...
(Written on 1-1-17)

New Years.... traditionally a time to cast off the burdens and mistakes of the current year and rush hopefully into what tomorrow holds in store.
A time for new beginnings and sometimes "good riddance ". A time to plan and hope and wish and feel hopeful.

As I sit here....10 minutes away from 2017, I find none of those emotions filling my heart. It's a different kind of new year. No casting off of today's perplexities. They will come with us into tomorrow. No freshness seems to wait around the corner.

To be completely honest, I dread 2017 I bit. I don't feel the usual anticipation for what this new year will bring. I don't want to know. Don't want to go there. I am a little afraid of 2017.... what will it hold for our angel girl? More pain? More changes and losses? What awaits us?

On this night of future thinking, where the world is poised and all wondering about tomorrow I come to the conclusion I have come to so many times before. What don't I remember this better? Why do I need reminding over and over of this truth?

Our God is in tomorrow.

Our God holds it in His gentle powerful hands.

He is not surprised by tomorrow.

He is not surprised by anything...

He is the strength and courage and comfort that each tomorrow will need.

"For I know the plans I have for you" says the Lord. "Plans to help u and not to harm you. Plans to give u hope and a future"

Jeremiah 29:11

Therefore we do not dread tomorrow. We do not peak around the door into 2017 with fear in our hearts. Yes it s true we have not idea what this new year will hold. But honestly we never have! We just thought we did.

God is in tomorrow and we can rest tonight knowing He loves us and will be beside us not matter what. The love of a father for His child... I see it in Julianna and her daddy. It is a thing of beauty. A tie that cannot be severed by illness or time or any other force. God loves us that way. May we snuggle into His great arms and rest. 

Peace to each of you and your loved ones. May this year bring you closer to Jesus.
Thank u for your love and support.

❤️