Thankful for the EACH

Well, now that my entire blog has re-routed to my Facebook page...again, I guess its time for a current update. When I woke up this morning and y'all were commenting on stories that I had written on my blog...I freaked a little.  I thought I had unlinked my blog with FB awhile back.  But, as I went back and began to re-read all those writings, I was moved.  There is something about writing that helps me.

Each story, each moment, each time I sit down to write it helps me focus.  By saying that, I guess I am saying that I'm thankful for what I've been through; each valley, each mountain top, each death, each life, and each person I've had the chance to cross paths with along the way.

Maybe not thankful at the moment to be going through the emotions, but many times, after the pain subsides, there lies each beauty and each purpose. I read this short story the other day. I think it describes beautifully the value in the EACH. Sometimes when we get caught-up our life, God uses something to help us remember things that are truly important.  

The value of the each... _____________________________________________________________________

She was young, only about 8, when in the midst of a normal school day, a girl named Anne turned around from the desk in front of her and spoke these words matter-of-factly… 

“My mom left us today.”
 
Unsure of what to do with such personal information, Rebecca’s young mind began to process what her classmate had shared. 

After asking her enough questions to understand that the abandonment would be permanent, she eyeballed Anne’s long, thick hair and wondered many things about what her mom leaving them might mean. 

It was then that Rebecca asked the question most near to her very innocent female heart. 

“But who will brush your hair, everyday?” 

Young Anne shrugged her small shoulders, as if resigned to something she’d already thought about. 

Ever the caretaker, Rebecca wouldn’t accept that this important task might not get done and her friend would come to school without the proper grooming. 

So she decided to step in. “I’ll tell you what,” she said to her friend. “Why don’t you bring a brush to school in your book bag, and I’ll brush your hair for you?” 

And that’s exactly what her friend, Anne, did. Everyday. For years. Rebecca brushed her hair, in the absence of her mother.

_____________________________________________________________________

We can do great things that will many people will notice. We can give huge amounts of money or sing a beautiful song. But who among us will serve in the trenches? Who will care for the people with no names? Who will brush a little girls hair? 

There is value in each person.  Today I am thankful for each!

Everyone poops.

I am a fighter. So many times throughout my life people have used the word "strong" to describe me. Not in the muscle category (now that's hilarious), but an inner strength that continues on when life throws curve balls my way. I am a living, breathing example that God does indeed give strength to the weak. I am thankful. As Christians we're promised that when we are weak, we become strong.

In the past few months, however, I've come to realize how quickly a strong person can become weak when life feels unsafe. To anyone who has ever walked through the deep, dark hole of depression, you know, depression sucks! However, even while walking through gloomy valleys, I am being stretched and being taught. It is for His great love for me, I am blessed.

Y-e-a-r-s ago, when life was chaotic at home, I found refuge at church. Often times, Pastor would open the doors at night and lock us in to sleep in the sanctuary, just to feel safety. The peace of God was so real and close there.

As I've grown as a Christian, I know that the "church" isn't just a building, but people. Jesus lives in our hearts if we invite Him in. I'm not talking here about a particular church, or people group, but God's Church. The Church, as a whole.

Recently, my safety net was shaken. I read the following sentence (by Lisa Whittle) and it reminded me...

Safety. Trust. Jesus people. Sadly they don't always go together.


I continue to ponder that thought. I can sit in the very room and experience church happening, yet feel unsafe by wondering what is being said about me behind my back. I can walk into a restaurant and see two christian friends sipping coffee and feel as if they wanted to get together without me to talk about me. Could this be because I was hurt in the past? Could I feel this way because of wounds that go deep. Sure. But feeling this way is unsafe, unhealthy, and ugly.

I began to realize the error of my ways. God wants me to be dependent on HIM! Not a building, not on people, not on friends, not on food, not on money, not on anything else but HIM. He loves me. He LOVES me!!!! HE LOVES ME!!!!!!!

People will hurt us, even Christian people. Friends will hurt us, even Christian friends. We are commanded to forgive and I'm thinking it might be much easier if we don't set our expectations so high to begin with. Here's a secret - everyone poops (even Pastor's)!!

I think that as 'the church' we sometimes think that we are this elite group of people that go around being all high and mighty. WE ARE NOT! We have no right to judge or gossip. We are called to be salt and light.

No one is exempt from this ick called 'sin', therefore, no one is exempt from this beauty called grace. All that is required is to ask Jesus to come and live in our hearts.

I will be the first to admit that I have battle scars - wounds I wear because of people who have hurt me. But doesn't Jesus have scars too? He does. In fact, He wears scars from my sins.

If our safety net is wrapped up in a particular church, friendship, job, or relationship, let's not be surprised when the tree shakes. God really does love us and have our best interest in mind. Let us put our trust in Him.

My Andy

It's been a couple weeks since I've written. Class reunion, followed by my baby's 17th birthday. Living Life. Living a thankful life. Some days not as I would have written them, but nonetheless, I'm learning to be at peace, to be thankful for the little, for the plenty and for the small.

A couple days ago, my MIL took a tumble. She ended up in the hospital with a broken wrist, elbow, and neck. I've had time to reflect. A lot of time. My mind swarms with questions, fear, doubt, mercy, love, gratitude. I have had to choose which emotions to pick up and carry.

I watch my husband, her son: Strong. Hard working. Wise. Thinker. Full of mercy.

I practice thoughts and words, both spoken outside my head; he is a man of few words. I write; he processes. I cry; he plays angry birds. I am messy; he is neat. I do laundry monthly; he every week. I am complex; he is simple. I am woman; he is not. We are a perfect pair.

In the short year and 11 months we have been married, this dear man has been dealt situation after situation. Event after event. I have yet to hear him complain. Nope not once. He is a man of few words. He is my man of few words. Men of few words are the best men.


In the words of Ann Voskamp:

"Love needs few words, it only needs will.

The words that matter most are the ones that we live and you teach me how to write a love letter.

I lay down my pen.

I long to write you real words.


Your very lives are a letter that anyone can read by just looking at you. Christ himself wrote it — not with ink, but with God’s living Spirit; not chiseled into stone, but carved into human lives…"


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