{Pearls}

"Oysters make pearls in response to an irritant, such as a grain of sand or another object. When any irritant makes its way between the mollusk's shell and mantle, the creature produces nacre, a protective coating that helps reduce irritation.  Nacre is also referred to as mother-of-pearl; it's made of microscopic crystals of calcium carbonate, and it also lines the interior of a mollusk's shell.

Layers of nacre coat the irritant, eventually forming an iridescent gem (the pearl).

The only difference between naturally developed pearls and cultured pearls is that a pearl farmer embeds an irritant between the shell and the mantle by cutting into the mollusk's tissues.  With freshwater pearls, irritants do not need to be introduced; simply cutting the oyster's soft tissues is enough to begin the pearl-making process.

Some pearls can develop in a period of six months. Larger pearls can take up to four years to develop."

Americanpearl.com

Have you ever really sat and thought about this? I mean, yeah - it seems pretty much as cliche as it gets. I can just hear some  responsible leader figure type, spouting off the significance of irritations helping us to grow...

But really, let's think about this for a minute.  No one really tells an oyster what's going to happen in this process, or that this is even a thing.  Mama oyster isn't like, "Ok, so we have this thing - where every now and then something irritating may get lodged into our shell....but something beautiful is created in the process.  Trust the process,  just stick it out!"  - I mean, this just happens,  right?  It's another amazing thing we can credit our Creator for.  This process of pain and beauty.  It's his thing.  He really excels at that. 

Guess what?  I have irritations in my life. ;)  Oh man.  I know I've been kind of silent on here lately, but life is full and beautiful and boy can it be irritating too. It's hard, you guys.  Every single one you can attest to that.  

I've just really been camped out here on this pearl thought lately though.  I want to filter the hard in my life through this thought process.  That God is making beauty form from my irritations - if/when I handle them well, trust him with the process, don't fight it, don't try to fling the irritation out.  You know my default instinct, right? Pain -Bad! Get it out! Make it go away! -  What would we miss out on if oysters did that?  A pearl seems so unique,  so pure,  so priceless.  To think, that all starts with an irritation!  Something that "gets under our skin". 

I believe that there are times God sees our potential and our endurance, through His own strength,  so much more clearly than we do and he may even cause a freshwater pearl experience to manufacture beauty we didn't know we contained. His beauty.  {cutting back soft tissue, or even introducing an irritant to begin the pearl making process}


What do we do with this kind of thinking?  Do we serve a God who would get kicks out of irritating us?  Is it a game?  

No and No.  First of all -  this life?  It's not about us.  We were created to bring honor and glory to God, and for his pleasure!  He knows the beginning  He knows the process we must go through to bring beauty from ashes, He knows the glorious end result.  

In my life it's coming down to this simple truth.  Believe Him.  

Believe that He is good, that He sees what I can't see.  Believe that He would NOT introduce or allow any irritation, any pain, any kind of discomfort just to see us struggle.  Because he is good,  he allows things for OUR good, and the ultimate good of His Kingdom.  

When you aren't living your life just for yourself you can glimpse it.  Glimpse the beauty of the pearl.  The beauty of trusting the process.  The beauty of letting go and allowing God's plan to play out in your life.  

I'm breathing deeply and letting this sink in.  Friends, it's my goal to trust God when tough stuff embeds itself in my life.  *Exhale* 

Let it lay there.


Let it be.

No panic.

No digging at it to fling it out.

Let

            it
                           lie there.


{Some pearls can develop in a period of six months. Larger pearls can take up to four years to develop}


Ouch.  My fingers tap the keyboard and anxiety creeps in just forming the words.  Of letting pain lie.  Leaving it.  Trusting the process.  Not running from it frantically.  Not cramming a million other things in to drown it out. 

But just *be* with the pain. 

{the creature produces nacre, a protective coating that helps reduce irritation.  Nacre is also referred to as mother-of-pearl; it's made of microscopic crystals of calcium carbonate, and it also lines the interior of a mollusk's shell.

Layers of nacre coat the irritant, eventually forming an iridescent gem (the pearl)}

Don't fling it out - let the natural process happen.  There is a "protective coating" - even as the irritant stays there.  How cool is that?  The protective coating eases the pain.  It's *part* of the formation of the pearl.  

I want to produce beauty in this life.  I want to be an example to my precious boys of enduring, of sticking with the process, of trusting God, believing Him in what he allows.  

{Happy 6}

Dear Malachi,

As is my annual tradition, I am writing your birthday letter.  Yes, your birthday was three weeks ago.  And what a three weeks it has been for you.

{Deep breath}

I think perhaps my busyness and inability to string three sentences together on your actual birthday was divinely appointed, because NOW - well, now I think the sentences will flow more coherently.  This birthday letter was meant to be written today. It's not late.

It's time right now to talk to you about how brave you are and how wonderful these six years have been.

Someday you will look back on the week you turned six and all of these memories will come back to you.  Turning six was fun and festive.  You love everything about birthdays, so taking cupcakes to your kindergarten class, having "birthday punch" at awana, and going to Build-a-Bear with Grandma were all reasons for that huge grin you wore daily.

And then the next week happened.

Your first broken bone.  You don't do things half way and everything is done with gusto and enthusiasm.  So, obviously you would not break a bone delicately, right?

It's that call no parent wants to get from the school.  Your daddy got it and he lovingly cared for you through the ER visit and the re-setting of your two arm bones.  You may or may not remember all of this.... but rest assured you impressed all who came in contact with you.  You took it all in stride. Quietly and pensively, but never breaking down.

I have often heard it said that a parent would take a child's pain onto themselves if possible. Sometimes it has been said in a cliche form.  Of course I know it is a truth. My heart-ties to your brothers have already shown me there's no question about it.  Anyone who has nurtured in a motherly way - whether it is through mentoring, fostering, adoption, or giving birth, knows this instinctively. We would take the pain. 

This morning I held your body and cradled your little head as you woke up from your second round of anesthesia after your second round of setting those uncooperative arm bones.  And as you whimpered and squirmed, tried not to cry,  and told me that your arm hurt and you just wanted to go home I would have broken every bone in my body to heal yours. 

Dear Malachi, there are a million things I could write in your sixth birthday letter.  I could write about your stubborn will,  your perfect giggle,  your ability to get adoring attention everywhere you go,  your already impressive work ethic,  your endless chatting,  your crazy bully-ish streak,  your deep questions, and even your sparkling eyes - but I just have to pause here and write this one thing.

When I held you this morning all I could wrap my mind around was that God loves you more than I love you.  And that thought was nearly unfathomable to me.  But that feeling - the thought that I would break all my bones and break my body for your healing was enough to keep what God has already done for your precious little self, and mine, in the forefront of my mind.

He created you for some incredible things.  By His wounds you have been healed.  Don't ever forget that littlest man.  You bring so much joy to this family.  We are celebrating you and hurting with you, taking care of you, and praying that physical healing of that arm happens so very soon.

And mostly -  We are so beyond thrilled to see evidence of God himself working in your young life. There's no greater joy.

Happy six, dear one.

~Mama

My people

Yesterday I took a little road trip to meet with my November bride at her gorgeous wedding venue.  It was a great planning  meeting and we really "got" each other.  It is always my intention to serve everyone equally but sometimes there's just a special kind of chemistry between myself and the couple I am photographing.  It's kind of a rare thing - and it always makes the job go beautifully.

After hashing over all of the fun wedding photo details we got onto the subject of my boys (happens every time).  I was so refreshed to see her face light up when our conversation turned to K,  autism,  CP,  and epilepsy.

 "Oh, he must be  a pretty neat guy".  It wasn't patronizing or forced at all.  Cause I have this radar of such things and I know the difference quite well. 

He is a neat boy.  And sometimes I get frustrated in the day to day and forget the privilege.  And much of the time I get flat looks of pity when people who don't know me initially realize that I have a child who has special needs.

 It kind of changes the view.  It changes the perspective.

But this family - they had sincere questions and uplifting comments.  They shared about a family member with autism and how great he was.  They spoke in both a respectful and yet matter of fact tone.  I realized how refreshing it was to neither be pitied or regarded a saint.  My parenting gig deserves neither.

Sometimes I am the one who distorts my parenting gig as something to be pitied or sainted.  And that's kind of gross.  While it is not my intention to base my perspectives on how other people view what I do,  I think we all fall into that to some extent.

My experience yesterday made me think about how blessed I am.  I don't always have that positive experience with acquaintances,  but for every pitied look or awkward response, I have a solid foundation of care and support to fall back on.

I am overwhelmed with thankfulness when my hard seems harder than everyone else's hard (this is an actual conversation I had with a friend over coffee a couple of weeks ago - that many ridiculous  uses of the word hard and all).  You know how sometimes there's just an increased awareness of how much we need our people?  Being a parent can really highlight that.  Being the parent of a child with special needs can beg a certain amount of support and reassurance.  If I didn't have my peeps,  I would surely want to crawl in a hole some days.  And just get pretty comfy in that hole.

It's a given that my biggest support here is the one parenting with me.  We are 100% in this together. My Dave and I. We enter into a rather sacred celebration and confusion over all of this.  There's alot of unexpected and I'm so glad I don't have to know this journey without him.

My mom and mother in law are very foundational to the support holding me up. From day one, they have been there.

But I also have this network of girls. They are important to me on many levels - however,   I find their support specifically helpful as I navigate parenting K.

Dala doesn't even have to say much because she's living it and there's just an intrinsic knowing.
 "You can do this"

Emily's voice is quiet but laced with great strength.  Really one of the most influential - telling me to stick with the hard, everyone has hard, and our ministry to our family is #1.
 "Be faithful"

Kathy's voice has been with me for several years and she's always willing to listen - no matter what.
"Share your struggles, be real, don't give up"

Rachel, Joy, and Sarah are further away, but their voices are with me because they fill important parts of my heart and my parenting adventure.
 "Hang in there" "God's got this" "Don't you dare try to do this on your own"

My sister Trish leads me by example and is one of my biggest cheer leaders.
"Do what doesn't make sense to bring glory to a God whose ways are higher"

My newer people - like Megan, Sara, Steph, Janelle, Kate, and  Rikki stand with me in prayer at the drop of a hat.  They've jumped in with practical help without batting an eye and have never made me feel bad for needing it.
"We're here"

Kristin and I have hung on by a thread together and she shows me that sometimes a good laugh and a (few) cup(s) of coffee can change a perspective when things are hard.
"We'll make it"

Hannah's not a mom - but I've never experienced someone, in such a different stage of life as me, get it like she does. She sincerely cares and prays me through the hard.
"Trust God"

The list goes on.... I could never even begin to write an all inclusive list.

And they show me that my K - he is a privilege.  They have time for him.  They value his life.  They value my responsibilities.  They take the time.  They believe that every life is precious - and it's not a bumper sticker kind of of belief.

They don't leave when I sit on the floor and hardly have the strength to raise my head.  Most of them have seen me hold K down while he melts down.  Sometimes they have watched him lash out at me in a contradiction to his pleasant nature - and turn into a ball of rage.  And while I know it's hard for them to watch,  they haven't left.  I have experienced some who have backed away from closeness with me because it's uncomfortable and hard and they don't know what to do or say. These have not.  It's different and can be very challenging to be one of my people at times.  I know.  I get it.

That makes it even more valuable to me.

They lighten the mood and clink their glass with mine.  They open the Word and repeatedly show me black and white truth.  They send silly texts - the more emojis the better... right?! ;)  They don't get scared off by the ugly cry,  and often match running mascara with running mascara.

Sometimes I feel like I have no one - because that's what human (sin) nature will do.  It's the greatest most effective lie our enemy will use to cause us to stumble.

You're alone

Your hard is definitely harder than anyone else's hard

No one cares

You have to shoulder this all by yourself

So, I write this to combat that.

Sometimes I have a memory loss problem. And all of that ^^ presents itself as truth.

I'm surely blessed by God in this journey and I know I could never do it alone.  My perspective changers.  My people.  My grace givers.  They hold my arms up when I'm too weary.  It's worth writing down - because we all need the reminder we are NOT alone.

Life at the beginning of 2014

I thought it was perhaps time for a loosely informative, more free writing type post from over here.  How's that for a preface? *smile*

2014. It's good. I don't make resolutions, per se, but I do have vision. I am a girl full of dreams and desires of betterment.

Can I say though - I am also a girl who has struggled greatly with discipline in the past. I will start out strong, full speed ahead (All The Excitement. All The Good Intentions)…and generally find myself on the up-climb of some steep hill, sputtering out a few, "I think I can's" - but pretty much deciding in my heart that "I know I can't".

But Jesus.  He lives in me. He is strong in me. And that has never been more clear than in the last 6 months. On those inclines, where the Wendi of the past shuts her eyes, and coasts back down (oh so many times), I am now grabbing on to something bigger than myself, and I'm moving upward. So slowly, but forward motion is being made.

2014 - no more coasting backwards. I'm not pretending that doesn't mean sometimes simply standing firm, yet standing still.
But not backwards.

This is proving true with:
Eating
Exercise
Home organization and basic management
Time management
Patience in parenting
Marriage
Teaching
Ministry

I'm feeling some freedom here guys, and that's huge! It's a different kind of freedom than you might think. It's a freedom through discipline and through dependence. Kind of takes some time to wrap your mind around that one.


I'm not going to rant about the cold.
I'm not going to rant about the cold.
Hey - guess what? I'm not going to rant about the cold. ;) I have never really minded winter. I love the beauty of the snow. I have however never been a huge fan of cold. I feel like I am cold 3/4 of the year. :) I am, at this moment, in flannel jammies AND wrapped in a fleece blanket. So yep, this is me not ranting. Silver lining: Twenty degrees (you know, above that little "zero" mark) is so very tolerable.



I'm currently grappling with a barrage of thoughts on what it means to reflect Christ well. These thoughts are longing to be written, and threatening to become a word avalanche I am afraid, but are extremely unorganized as of yet. My heart is still in the truth seeking phase.

I'm going to go out on a limb and jot down some of the essence of those thoughts. As already written though, remember - unorganized and still seeking. 

Thoughts about our "rights" - real and perceived.
They are thoughts on obedience and grace.
What that means, and really - what it DOESN'T mean, that many say it DOES mean.
Um, so that's clear as mud, right?! ;)

Thoughts about the air of entitlement that seems to permeate the American culture. And the Christian culture.  
About being peacemakers,
being gentle,
honoring other's,
loving deeply

…and not being tolerant (by the worlds standards),
lukewarm,
or fickle.

About standing firm on truth.
About refusing to elevate myself based on personal convictions and choices.
Reaching past comfort.
Engaging our culture.
Allowing my heart to break and my hands to get dirty for the Kingdom of Christ.

So, it's alot. There is a slight possibility that my darling husband has had an ear full and maybe even lost out on some highly valuable sleep (his alarm still sounds at 4 am…) due to this mental piecing together that I am in the middle of… (he's wonderful).



I am presently fulfilling commitments, but looking to a time when my schedule will look very different than it does right now.  Around the time that the snow begins to melt, some of my commitments will as well. I am pouring myself into them while it is still cold, for sure. But I know that God's call is falling on some different areas, and that soon…. soon it will be different. Not necessarily less - but more focused and different.  I'm not going to go into these changes much, yet, because nothing is written in stone. When I know a few more details - I'm sure there will be much to say. What I am sure of is this: There will be leading and teaching from God's Word. I will have opportunities to pour into lives, and that makes me infinitely excited!



I have been booking 2014 weddings, and ever so grateful that God has continually brought these my way. One of the best compliments that I have consistently heard from potential brides is that they saw my work, felt my style, and chose me based on how obviously the images reflect my love for what I do. Yes. Goal met. :)


Friends, grab a fleece blanket, some hot chocolate (do not even think about leaving out tons of marshmallows), and just stand firm on this up-climb. It won't last forever. ;)

{When the call comes, and That Door opens}

I've written minimally about my work with the non profit organization Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. Obviously there's confidentiality and  respect for the families, which makes this a rather private endeavor. At this point I have done several of these photo sessions for grieving families. Although I have not yet tried to put many words to my experiences with NILMDTS, my heart and head are very full on this subject.

These are some of my free-flowing thoughts, finally making their way down to the blog. 

For more on this organization, you can see the NILMDTS website. 

********************

I'm behind the door in the space that has been their home for the last 48 hours. Forty-eight excruciating hours.  I'm trying to be as unobtrusive as I can be, to melt into the walls. It's not that I do not want to be there, for I am truly in all action mode and I am ready. I am feeling every bit of the professional that I need to be for the moment.

My eyes are seeking, and my mind is ready. I wait for the moments. I'm watching this family unite and converge in a common grief. No, it's not fun. It's not about fun. It's about Ephesians 2:10. Hearts are shattering all around me, but the peace in my spirit is all consuming, and there isn't a second of anxiety or indecisiveness. I know what I need to do, and I am doing it.

I frame up the family hands clasped around the sweet little baby, so brief a life. My camera comes to my eye and the flash of light suddenly seems too bright. Brighter than it has been in the past. The electronic click that usually dissolves into background noise seems suddenly harsh and startling. I look around. They don't notice a thing, and I am glad. Their focus is on the preciousness in front of them, and the assault of pain crashing down around them. My heart twitches, but it never caves. I know the difference between their pain and my pain. It's not about me. 

Grandpa looks away from baby. I study him for a moment, and catch his far away look with my camera. He glances distractedly in my direction. He's ok with my presence now. I'm glad. He wasn't sure when we met in the waiting room. That corridor overflowing with love and pain and questions. But mostly love. As a stranger looking in, I felt the nearly palpable concern and affection that this group had for one another. I had knelt at each chair and quietly inquired who each individual was, and briefly explained my role in this nightmarish day for them. He hadn't heard, and had approached me warily. Something about him reminded me of my own father; maybe the beard, maybe the gruff cover up for tenderness. I pushed back the intimidation I initially felt, and lightly touched his flannel clad shoulder.

"I'm here to take pictures."

"Yes, she asked for me to come." 

The grieving mother is his baby. The little breath of heaven, now returned there, was to be his first grandchild. IS his first grandchild. And there's no way he can wrap his mind around all of that. He is protective and detached all at once.

"No, I don't work for the hospital."

"No, these photos don't have to be taken."

"No, no money, no orders, they are for you all, and they are a gift. No charge."

He looked up from the floor and for a second he allowed his eyes to look into mine. And we were okay. I don't know what he saw there, but after that, we were ok.

So, I'm still in their "suite", that hospital room with the pale yellow walls and the slight antiseptic scent. I am watching something stunning and ethereal unfold all around me. I stoop down and turn to the side for another perspective. I'm nearly breathless, and how can I explain it? So many people can't grasp why anyone in their right mind would do this job. I can't promise that I am in my right mind, but maybe I don't need to be.

The young father, so focused on his beautiful + brave wife, yet torn by his shock and pain steps to my side. "Thank you, thank you!" - He's already said it so many times, and I just smile. We are all repeating ourselves alot. I've said it before, but I squeeze his hand and just whisper, "She's going to be ok". His gaze is locked on her. She goes from smiles to gut wrenching sobs in seconds.

His best buddy is sitting there; a true dichotomy of tough meets tender. His work boots and inked skin  mean nothing in contrast to the broken sobs.

At some point we exit and return to the red and yellow couches in the waiting area. I don't know when, or where, or how. I'll later realize I was there for over 2 hours, but time has no relevance at the moment. Mr. Ink + work boots tries to get a hold of himself and in a jerky motion points a thumb in my direction while wiping his face with his other hand.

  "I'd hate her job."

His voice is husky and thick with emotion.

I get it. It's very hard to understand.

Why do I do it? Is my heart so walled off that I click the shutter, void of feeling? Oh no. Not even close. But I have a job to do, and it is immeasurably valuable.

So, I approach him and give him the open look that says, "go ahead and ask all that you need to ask".

And he does.

Why?
Do you know of this pain?
Who drives an hour in a snowstorm to do something so heart ripping as this?
{He doesn't say "What is wrong with you?" - but I see it between the words that are uttered}.

As much as none of this is about me, I briefly answer. Yes, I do know some of this pain. And I do it because I know that someday this is going to be a treasure to a family forever scarred. - That those scars will turn to a beauty for ashes story, and these images will be a part of that redeeming process.

And I care. No, I've never met them before this hour, but yes I care. If you don't understand, I don't really have words to express why. My heart is overflowing with a love that has poured into it, and I care. 

His eyes are tender, if perhaps still rather disbelieving. We care for this couple. We are all in this nightmare together, so we say "okay, yes, let's do what we can."

I'm exhausted when I exit the parking structure. You know the adrenaline crash and the emotional effort. Yeah, it's that. But again, peace and fulfillment.

Of course it brings memories, and opens That Door. The door that compartmentalizes the ache of personal loss. There's no way around That Door. To do this work, we go through That Door. But God has covered That Door in softness and peace, and He Himself gently opens it and leads me in - sometimes even carries me in it and through it. And when each job is completed, images retouched and edited, letter written, prayed over and, with love, sent out in the mail, He graciously pulls the door half way shut. 

It's not latched, and certainly not locked. Because shutting the door on my pain shuts the door on my empathy.

And That Door doesn't even shut anymore because the pain is a part of me.

And it will be opened up all the way again when that call comes, so I keep it ajar and I pray to continually be strengthened for the job he puts before me.


"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn."

From Isaiah 61

The one without the bow

I've had a blog post waiting to be written.

It's been ruminating.

Waiting in the wings.

Straining at the gates of my mind, to be articulated, typed, and let out.

But here's the thing about that blog post: It was going to be pretty. It was going to have an orderly sequence, some cause and effect, logic, sprinkled with rainbows and happy thoughts, encased in an unveiling of this really cool thing that God did...

...and then tied up with a bow.

I was just waiting. You know,  for God to do that really cool thing. 


Rarely have things in our lives looked like that.

Real life, you know?

Orderly?

Makes alot of sense?

Tied   with   a  bow??


Oh Wendi….. 



It's not ruminating anymore. It's not waiting in the wings.

It's not going to be written.

There are things that I have intentionally left out of the blogosphere. Things pertaining to what has been going on in our hearts; what we have felt was a clear calling to full-time ministry, and changes that we hoped would be occurring for our family. I have cautiously referenced these things a few times, and  referred to a couple of "possibilities"…

To back track a bit - in July of 2011 we attended an alumni celebration at the ministry that Dave served with for 3 years, when he was single. Life Action Ministries  is a ministry that really is close to our hearts. One of those ministries where you are nodding your head or whispering, "yes", to the ministry updates, podcasts, or radio broadcasts from them. Just solid and biblically based. At this Life Action event, nearly 2 years ago now, our hearts were being tugged in a unified direction - towards full time ministry. Dave had brought the subject up  a few times since we had been married; would we ever be in full time ministry, as he had been a few years before?  But his inquiries seemed more of just a "testing of the waters". How will she react to this thought? How will my wife, so entrenched in settling down, putting in roots, and in l o v e with security, respond to this thought? - And he was right. Every time he mentioned it, he was met with my selfishness and fear.

This time it was different. We were making the 2 hour drive home from the Life Action Headquarters and it was late, 10:30 pm or so. It was dark, but the glow from the dash lights made it possible for us to see each-others expressions and body language.

"What if we were to….come back here?

Be here, serve here?"


And I was all, "yes".

Just that. Just finally, "Yes".


So God was doing alot, and we began seeking. He was breaking down our walls, and pulling earthly security right out from under our feet. He pulled our talons out of our comfy life here, and we said, "Okay God, say go and we'll go". What started as a fearful process of saying goodbye to my beloved, safe,  and secure life, quickly became the most exciting thing I had ever embarked on. Because God can be trusted. And knowing Him means letting go.

During this time Dave was attending school. He was doing an accelerated adult studies program to get his bachelor's degree in organizational management.

 That was not an easy time for us. What it required of each member of our family, at times, stretched us to our limits. Especially him. Full time work, involved in ministry, husband, father of 4 busy guys, etc. Yeah, alot. But there was this unmistakable affirmation driving us all forward. It was a clear knowing, that this was the time. This was what we were supposed to be pursuing. So we did. One day at a time. We did it. In the back of our minds, we grasped at the fact that God would reveal to us the why. We hoped for the neatly tied up gift of a reason. The tidy bow on top of the reward. And day after full, tough day - we plodded on.

We knew that no matter what we were being called to do, we had to first finish what we started. So until this degree was reached, we were to be here.

And then another ministry possibility showed itself. And I have to be honest,
we wanted it. 

Knowing the implications of not having the experience or all of the qualifications desired, we kind of fell for this position.

In many ways this possibility was very different from our initial option.

Our hearts were intwined already.


For eight months we tried to tell ourselves that we weren't counting on it.
We were.

We waited, and as we waited we threw ourselves intensely into the ministries we were already involved in.

Mentoring, leading Bible studies, counseling at the Center for Women, worship team, teaching Sunday school, teaching kids programs, leading Mom's group, etc.

We lovingly refer to this phase as "The Year Of Yes". We felt strongly that God had called us, for a time, to say "Yes" to anything we were asked to do. It was still important that we take each individual thing to him and ask again, "this too, God?" - but he always said yes.

During the "Yes Year", the coals of passion we had for ministry literally burst into flames. For Dave and I both - we were being led by the Holy Spirit to a deeper and more abundant knowledge of Him through serving. Nothing has been as exciting as this for us. We grew closer to the heart of our Creator and closer to each other. There were days that we were beyond exhausted, and yet we were jumping right into the next thing with this power and adrenaline that is not explainable. It was, without a doubt, supernatural.


I'm typing this and my heart is aching. I'm sorry about that. And I will be okay. I will be, because I think that we will be there again some day. But right now we are not.

The Year Of Yes was just that; a year. No one can really sustain the kind of energy and, you know - yes-ness, that we had going on.

As the Yes Year was coming to a close, the position our hearts were yearning after became a closed door as well.

You know how there are times in your life that you are booking along, and then can pin point when the wind literally is knocked out of your sails? Yes.

In full disclosure, we are there.

We know that God is good. So much. And boy am I glad that we know that, because the feeling of going from a fiery passion and unleashed energy to flirting with apathy and walking through a desert is very very hard. 

This is not about a job and it is not about feeling like God let us down. It's about stepping up a notch in the ladder of learning our God. He calls the shots. His ways are higher. We can make our plans as much as we want, but it is God's plans that prevail.

Shifting gears is not an easy thing to do. So as we do it, we are just s l o w i n g  everything down. We are coming up for a breath. And frankly some of this still stings. Some of it feels personal, and there are all kinds of things woven in; family. passion. thinking we heard the voice of God. hurt pride. questions. our hearts. 

I am, by nature, a very perky person. Some would argue, annoyingly so *wink*. I don't do things half way, and I feel passionately about nearly everything I am called to do. There have been tears this week because neutral feels so foreign to me. I'm used to fire, and passion, and zeal, eagerness, gusto, and being driven. I'm used to hearing the unmistakable voice of God. After the yes year, I have become accustomed to "holding on for dear life" and tasting an excitement I had only dreamed of previously.

S l o w i n g  way down, almost screeching to a halt, feels… weird.
Detached, neutral, passive, waiting. Dude, I don't even know those things. But here I am feeling them.

I know it will be back. I know I will be back. But no one can push "fast forward" on any one phase in their life. We have ended one and right now we will just "be", as we wait for the next. We have no clear direction right now. We know what we are supposed to do for the day as we wake in the morning, but beyond our ultimate heavenly home, we are not moving towards something. That is hard. There may be some whip lash from changing gears. We may not recognize ourselves for a while as we leave our Yes Year, and slow down to regroup. Really, we are kind of leaving the ride f the last 3 years, rather than one. - Deciding to go to school, trudging through that, being called to ministry, holding on for dear life, and now… screech.

Stop.

So, how's that for messy? No neat presentation, no beginning, middle, sweet resolution…

… and The Big Ending. 

No bow.

Just our family learning, as one friend so aptly put it, "Oh, girl, welcome to the life of full time ministry. It's never that easy."

So here we go.

Maybe it will be back to option one. Maybe it will be something that was never even on our radar.  Or…. it could be that God used all of that time, that precious time while our hearts took fire, and we dove in with all that we had and all that we were, to show us that this is it.

Like,

"Ta-da!"...

raising the curtain on... this, 

just this, and saying, "Okay, here you are. This is what you are called to do. Ta-da! And... you are already doing it".

Many people have expressed a sentiment that they feel that God has something waiting. Something big that will surprise us, knock our socks off. But we have listened to those things very, very cautiously. Because oft times God's big is little and Man's little is big.

We'll end with the three words that look least like a pretty bow:

I  don't  know. 

Happy "spring"

Today - spring {day2} means 20 degrees and snow on the ground. Wind chills that kind of hurt and no sunshine. It's okay. If that' what it is, then nothing I do/say/demand will change it.

So, that's what the second day of spring here in Michigan will be.
Hello big, soft, pretty snowflakes.

Today - my Thursday means jammies, antibiotics for 2 (my gut says these numbers will be on the rise), and staying home. Can I wave a magic wand and say "strep be gone"? No.

So that's what today will be.
Hello comfy couch, little boy cuddles, and a much needed day to just chill.


It's been that kind of a week. I've pretty well confirmed what I have already known about myself in regards to last minute changes and "things-going-differently-than-I -saw-them-going-in-my-head". 

It makes me dizzy and brings out the 'tude.

Gets me every.single.time.

Dave was out of state all weekend. No biggie. I was excited about the opportunity for him to have some time away from his 1,000,000 responsibilities. He needed it. I was prepared for what it would take to do our weekend without him.

I wasn't 100% prepared for realllly cold weather and all it would take to heat our wood stove dependent house. I learned it. My upper arms are more defined. ;)

He got home Monday night, and It was super awesome to see him again. I love having him around, simply because I really like that guy {alot}. In addition to that, our week was packed full so he was needed. Dentist and doctor appointments dotted our calendar for this week, most of them scheduled for around the same time as school pick up. He was oh-so-needed.

And then federal jury duty for him. It was only for a day, and everything fell into place. Still - that kind of a week, y'know? 

I  mention just a couple things in a decent sized list of switches and changes and disappointments from this past week. - Nothing hugely staggering or life altering mind you. Just these "wait, that's not how that was supposed to go".

:) Oh my. When will I get it through my head-full-of-expectations that this life is an adventure not planned by me? Where would the breathless beauty be if I planned it all and knew exactly how it would play out? As much as that may appeal to the more practical part of my brain, I know that's not what I really want. More importantly, that's not what a life of trusting and clinging to an all powerful God looks like.

Even just in the past 7 days, I have had more of a clarity in my heart and mind on what it means to trust. Purely trust. Without question. Just say "yes Lord".

If you know me, you know that this is very hard for me.  And even if it's just a little bit of progress in this whole trusting and giving up bits of control, it is good. Like, blooming flowers, singing birds, green grass, and bare feet good. 

*smile* 

That dash { - }

I don't have time to write right now.

I'm going to write right now. ;)

This week we hit the ground running after our short but sweet trip west and back east again.

I'm tired and not feeling like I am in 100% good health right now, but it is enough. I have enough strength for each minute, and I am learning that is all I need. 

He is enough,
they are enough,
and right now I.have.enough. 


Lots of grappling with life,
and earth vs. heaven,
and God's sovereignty,
and finding light in the midst of darkness. I know, it's alot. That's where I am at right now.

I remember just a couple of short weeks ago, standing at Joshua's head stone on the 10th anniversary of his death. I usually trace his name with my finger, and my eyes scan the carving of Jesus holding a baby. That's my usual point of fixation.
His name.
My last name.
Jesus holding him.

This year though, I just could not take my eyes off that tiny dash.

Joshua David McCallum 
1-2-03 - 1-12-03

-

Just that  -


When my focus was on that dash I felt a mixture of grief and an excitement bubbling up in my heart, compelling me to action.

In the last 3 weeks we have faced this 10 year anniversary,
we have found out that my aunt had passed from this world to the next,
and then my uncle, at age 59, as well.

And really, I just keep thinking that it could be any time for me.  It could be 10 minutes from now, it could be 60 years from now.

But that dash;

the simple -

I want it to count. 

I want that little line carved in stone to be representative of big things. I want it to be screaming "that date before me, her date of birth, until that date right after me, the date she no longer lived in this place, there was so much!

She didn't hold anything back.

She didn't care if she fell flat on her face while trying to live the life full of good works that God had planned for her before she was even born.

She lived with reckless abandon to bring glory to her Father in heaven! 

She lived for the date after me.


And the bad news has not stopped coming in.

A friend with an aggressive breast cancer… and wee babe growing inside as this disease sneaks in.

More cancer… more friends…. more darkness.

People I love who are grieving and wrestling and struggling.

It can be overwhelming.
Dark.
Heavy.


And then I fix

                      my

                           eyes

                                  on

                                       Jesus.


And when I do that, the heavy leaves. Because he is more than able. He is more than enough. We don't get why He is allowing some of this. We just don't get it some times.

 {We are made from dust, and sometimes dust can't quite comprehend the heart of the maker}

But I DO get that He is GOOD. He is faithful. He is unending. He is all powerful. And he is all about eternity. Sometimes during that dash;

that little - 

we will face things that don't seem fair,

that are uncomfortable,

and that may even feel excruciating,

but…

He sees the end and the beginning.  And He says,
"Hold on, you can do this.
Lean on me, and watch my glory shine through you.
Watch your life count for something of eternal value.
Watch redemption happen."

{My reasonable service}

I came across this quote by Elizabeth Elliot today, 

"This job has been given to me to do. Therefore, it is a gift. Therefore, it is a privilege. Therefore, it is an offering I make to God. Therefore, it is to be done gladly, if it is done for Him. Here, not somewhere else, I may learn God's way. In this job, not in some other, God looks for faithfulness."

It really struck a chord with me. 

I thought of all the times that I wanted a "different cross to bear." - Because surely some one else's troubles would be lighter than mine, right?!

 Um… no. :) Different… sure. But we have each been given a distinctly unique area to glorify God in. We have a choice:
to embrace it, 
run with it, 
and radiate light while we are living it, 

or 

complain about it,
suffer discontentment from it,
and wish our days away. 

I have been able to see the testimony that I can have with the experiences I have been given. But, can I be honest? Oh the times that I have stubbornly grieved "my issues" - and wanted some other testimony. Another way to bring glory to God.         

...Times I haven't wanted to have the platform of the mom of a special needs son.
Changing a 10 year old's diapers,

Meetings upon meetings at school to figure out placements because of delays and fatigue and frustrations.

Doctors appointments all over the place.

And then he just looks at me, and his eyes sparkle, and I squeeze my eyes shut and say, "yes, this is mine - may my response to it be a sweet offering to you, Lord."

…Times I haven't wanted the stigma of loving my husband through the times he has struggled with what he puts before his eyes.
Really?
Do we have to go there?
Maybe he could be tempted by something else...

But oh, what I have learned about God, and his great love for us through this!

…Times that I haven't wanted the platform of being the mom who lost a baby. 

And there I found the very heart of God.

I could think of a ton of other "issues" that seem initially easier to bear. Perhaps a little more to my liking. 

I mean, hey - what if we could each "have it our way?!" Like a fast food restaurant. If we absolutely had to pick a few struggles, and we could choose from a flashing menu board?

"I'll have….anger, maybe impatience, and a  side of rebellion, hold the lust. Maybe a small helping of "sick child", but leave off the chronic special needs, please. And certainly no death. Let's just add a few minor struggles, if I have too, but miniature size that. Thanks!"

-And I just have to laugh. I know myself, and I know that I would be able to find plenty of ways to throw fits over any hand I would have been dealt. 

But this is mine. 

I lift my face towards the Son, and own it.

This

Is

Mine.

This is what God knew would be on my plate when he created me. Some days I can see the truth; that this is my reasonable service to Him (Romans 12).

That "bearing" all of this is nothing in light of what Jesus did for me, and even in light of what so many around me are in the midst of! 

That this is (*deep breath*) a privilege.  Yes - an honor, to joyful serve my Jesus in the middle of what he has placed me in.

It's mine, and I am giving it back to him with joy and surrender. 

-Doesn't mean these labels which define my roles are easy, but there is certainly a buffer on the raw pain when I imagine this……

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

It will be worth it all, when we see Jesus.

Life's trials will seem so small, when we see Christ;

One glimpse of His dear face, all sorrow will erase,

so bravely run the race, till we see Christ.

                                                           -Esther Kerr Rusthoi                  

I believe it. With my whole being I believe this. And that, my friends, is what gets me through. 

{My spring}

Today I googled the neonatologist who signed Joshua's death certificate. It has been 10 years, so I wasn't sure where she would be. It turns out she is on the west coast now. She has been for the last 8 years. No reason to find her, or see her face, or figure out what she is doing now. Just one of those strange emotional impulses. I'm really not a stalker (much).

She is in a specialty medical group helping critically ill newborns and researching respiratory support for sick little babies. I'm so thankful for those who are investing their lives into this field. It amazes me. Really, I can't imagine…

I am thankful for Dr. N, and her soft spoken and straight forward ways. We were in contact with her for 3 short (but oh-so-long) months, but of course she will have a lasting impact on us. There were 7 neonatologists that we worked with. It could have been any of them on duty that night, but I believe that it was her for a reason. There was a lot of compassion, and it was needed. She was kind and gentle, but she did not sugar coat anything. I am grateful for that because, believe me, if anyone would have thrown out any manner of false hope, heaven knows I would have clung to it stubbornly with all that I had.

So, she told us that there was some hope of possibly keeping him alive for maybe a few more days. Maybe. With intense medical intervention. And then she laid out the facts. His kidneys were non functioning. He was on a high frequency ventilator getting an absurd amount of breaths per minute. He was on a constant morphine drip. He was in pain. His little body was swollen to twice its previous size.  *shudder* That was hard.

She let us break all kinds of rules that day; letting family and friends filter in and out throughout the whole day. Letting anyone and everyone hold him.

Oh, holding him was hard. I wish I would have felt something that day - just let all of the raw emotions flow through my arms, and feel his warmth and his softness. I felt nothing. I held him and put him back in Dave's arms, and would eventually hold him again. And feel nothing. Sometimes my cheeks were wet, but it felt strange - like some one else's tears were falling down my face.

 I guess I could do numb. I couldn't do what January 12th 2003 was demanding me to do, but I could do numb.

She came on duty later in the day, I think. She would just be there, doing little tasks here and there. Then she would be gone when we needed privacy. Her intuition was greatly appreciated.

I don't think she knew that we had finally made the choice she had been inquiring about, until all of our family was gone. The doctors needed to know… They wouldn't push or demand, but we had been asked what our wishes were. He was too small for a kidney transplant or dialysis, or anything like that. They laid it out plainly a few times… and they waited.

I remember insisting that he have a blanket. Weird stuff becomes of heightened importance during times of intense grief. I wanted to keep the blanket that he had been wrapped in all day, but the thought of Joshua being without a blanket… even as he slipped away from this earth and into his heavenly home, was horrific to me. What silly, earthly, tangible things our minds want to cling to when they don't know where to land. Pretty sure heaven will be warm enough… But nonetheless,  the way she brought me that super soft yellow and blue blanket, and sweet light blue flannel gown for him is something I am still grateful for.

I wrapped him so carefully, and she slowly removed each tube and wire form his little shell of a body. She smiled and I saw glistening moisture in the corners of her eyes. I'm sure this had happened, in her line of work, over and over and over again. We found out later that she had slipped out of NICU room #2 and went into a private spot in NICU room #3 and sobbed. I don't know what kind of thoughts she was processing that night. Her authentic emotions were comforting to me though, and I think they helped begin to thaw mine.

The flannel gown that she brought Joshua had a butterfly on it. I still have it, because our dear friend, Chris made a custom designed gown for Joshua to be buried in. So the flannel one that he had on while we held him and said our final goodbyes is now folded neatly as a keepsake. The butterfly on the front is made out of medium blue ribbon. It makes me think about spring and new life and growth.

It makes me think about where we are at now.
It makes me think about beauty bursting forth from a pile of ashes.
It makes me think about Jesus,
and transformation,
and passion,
and redemption.

Right now it is winter here in mid Michigan, and when I look out my window I see two colors; brown and white. All of the bright green vegetation, and vibrant flowers are not necessarily dead. Much of it is waiting. In a state of dormancy. Expectation. Sometimes everything has to die, or appear dead, before it can truly live and thrive and burst forth with beauty. Like a butterfly.

My heart is full of thankfulness for the fact that God gave us Joshua, and one of the main reasons I can say I am thankful to have experienced his life and death is that he has rearranged my heart, changed my priorities, and showed me Jesus. Would I care so much about heaven? Would it be so real to me? Would that veil which separates where we are now from our final destination be so thin? I think not.

The winter of my heart has most definitely turned to spring. The thawing process and the Beginning to Feel was excruciating. Yes.

But I would not trade it for anything. I neither believe that it was God's plan for Joshua to die nor do I think he said, "Wendi needs a more eternal perspective, I will give her a baby and then take him back after 10 days in order for her to learn, for her eyes to be opened, for her heart to feel more, to show her myself."

-But instead I think that as his heart wept for me, and as he allowed the ripple effect of the sins of human kind to touch one of his beloved, he cradled my heart in comfort and said, "This will not go in vain. What was meant to harm you will be used in a million ways to strengthen you, and most importantly - to shine my light in this tainted world. Your spring will come."




Missing you Joshua David. 1-2-03 - 1-12-02

The Scene in a Target store

You could hear her throughout the entire Target store. All the way in the back of the store, next to the bicycles and exercise equipment, - extremely loud screams could be heard. At first I just smiled a little smile, one that said, "whew, I am kid-less for this afternoon, and the poor mama over there has her hands FULL!" - and dismissed the noise. I'm pretty used to sounds such as these. They are a part of my world, and they come and go.

But after a while it wasn't quite so easy to dismiss the clamor. Yes, I am used to fit-throwing and loudness, but this became something different. This little girl, out shopping with her mommy and brother was all kinds of losing it. The screams only got louder, closer together, and more intense. 

My shopping was done, and I was making my way up towards the front to complete my purchases. - Up towards The Scene that was now in full swing. I was surprised by what I saw when I approached the area near where this little family was. Everything had slowed down. Shoppers were stopped in their tracks, literally gawking as this mom tried to settle her little girl. The girl would have none of the settling. "I wanted those ear muffs! I won't leave until you buy them for me!" - If it wasn't the ear muffs it would have likely been something else. The young one appeared to be over-tired, and of course stubborn. I know the drill.

 I've been her, I've been her mama. 

 But what I did not want to be was the other patrons of this Target store, whose jaws were nearly on the cold cement floor. 

I wanted to be the one to break the trance they all were in. Jump from aisle to aisle and say "Show's over folks! Either encourage her, or be on your way. Stop the staring, as if you've never seen a child throw a fit. Stop!" Maybe they hadn't. Perhaps they would never dream of having a child of theirs lose it in public. Must be nice. 

The mom held it together surprising well for a good long time. She was talking sternly, but not loudly enough to be heard by anyone except her children. She slowly moved through the line as her daughter continued the screaming and then added kicking. She kicked her boots off in the aisle. Mom calmly told her she would be awfully cold outside without her boots. The little girl began to scream that she hated her mom. No one moved. All check out aisles were pretty much halted as This Scene played out. I engaged the man in charge of my checkout aisle in conversation, in an effort to get things moving again. 

And then out of the corner of my eye I saw this mom break. How embarrassing, right? This had been going on for at least 15 minutes, and all of her efforts to quell the fit were unfruitful. She grabbed the girl's arm and this time quite loudly, let her have it. My heart rate was rising, because I knew where she was at, and I just wanted to get through the checkout line so that I could help. 

How? I don't know. 

What would I do? I didn't know. 

What to say? No idea. 

But my heart was compelling me to break the staring, and the negative head shaking, and the standing there like a statue, watching the train wreck. 

The guy checking out my purchases was saying something about "some people's kids" etc etc etc. I told him that I hoped he had a good day, and I meant it, but I hurried away.

I just touched her arm, because she wouldn't have looked up if I didn't. Her head shot up and defense was written over ever square inch of her face. Other heads snapped up too. Someone was approaching "The Scene?!"

"Hey, I've been here before.

 Right where you are at. 

And… and I get it." - It sounded utterly weak and meaningless in the moment, but it was all that came through my lips. I had been praying - begging God for the past few minutes that I would say and do the right thing. The clearest answer I had was "of anything you could do, just don't do nothing. Do not stand and stare, and then breeze by."

I didn't look at my audience, but I felt the eyes burning into the back of us. I didn't care what kinds of things were being said, but I heard the buzz of words around us. I got down on my knee and looked at the flushed and tear stained face of the little girl. "Rough day, huh?" - She just stared, wide eyed, but she stopped screaming. I patted her arm gently - while still trying to give them space. I could see that the mom wanted to bolt. She was suspicious of me, and I get that too. I stood up and touched her arm again, "I have four boys…" - She seemed to relax just a little bit. My heart was compelling her to just stop, 

take a break,

step back, 

breathe. 

She was so close to reacting, and falling apart, and I wanted to give her a brief moment to regroup. 

I smiled into her eyes, and then I quietly left. I felt that anything more would be too much for her. 

But anything less would have been disobedience. And it made me think of all the times that I don't want to talk 

and touch 

and feel. 

Enter in 

and get hands dirty. 

Take a hit, 

field comments, 

be different. 

How many times has God whispered to my heart,
"move,
get up,
go over there,
feel,
talk,
 act!
Whatever you do, do NOT be apathetic. I did not create you for apathy, girl! Go."

And I have laughed it off as a silly compulsion, and went on my way.

May God make me miserable if I ever walk away again.