Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 5

Thank you for being patient with my story.  I am humbled by all the text messages, Facebook comments, emails, and conversations at church that I have been bombarded with over the past few days.   Joe came home from church begging me to finish the story because several women came up to him to talk about it at church.   Bless his heart.  He is my biggest cheerleader and has begged me for years to write a book.  Some day.  Some day.  For now, I am simply humbled to know that the Holy Spirit has used my writing to encourage others.

Here’s is the ‘rest of the story’ that I wrote back in February of this year.

The next Sunday we did hear the pastor preach.  Though the message was good, we were not as impressed as the majority of people seem to be with our pastor the first time they visit our church.  (Remember Joe and I can be a tough crowd to impress.)

If you ask most people in our church, they will tell you that from the very first Sunday they came to The Church at BattleCreek and heard Pastor Alex preach that they knew they wanted BattleCreek to be their home church.

When someone asks us  why we joined The Church at BattleCreek,  we actually find it fun to jokingly say, “well actually we joined BattleCreek despite Alex’s preaching.  He’s really good but far from the best we have heard.”  When we say that, we sometimes get the response like we have just said Elvis isn’t the king of Rock and Roll.   We go on to tell them the story of him not preaching on our first day and tell them, “What impressed us the most about him was what he DIDN’T say on that first day we came.”

As I write this story it is February of 2011 and it has been almost three years since that day we first visited the church.  Over those three years our hearts have experienced tremendous healing from the scars left by the words and actions of  that pastor years before.  We found places where we could serve in our church and have allowed God to use our gifts to minister.

We have missed very few Sunday morning sermons in the past three years.  Though God has spoken to us many times through the words of Pastor Alex, never has He spoken as clearly as He has this past  Sunday.   For the past few Sundays I have listened to our pastor teach through the book of James and watched and felt the power of the Holy Spirit moving through our church in a way I have never felt before.

On paper I have been considered a part of the Church at BattleCreek’s staff for over a year now.  Joe and I voluntarily took on a position in the children’s ministry and in a few months we were asked to come on staff to run it.  I seriously took out a piece of paper and listed all the reasons I did not want to have a staff position at a church.  God was not convinced by the case I presented.

Though the position is not something that we would consider our ‘sweet spot’ of service, we are confident that God has used the position to reaffirm in our hearts God’s anointing on both of our lives.

Two week ago in the worship service, God told me “you need to go to the church all staff meeting tomorrow.”  I have been able to avoid those my entire time of being ‘on church staff.’    In my heart I know part of it was because I didn’t want to open up an opportunity for me to get closer than an arm’s distance from the leaders of the church.

The next afternoon I found myself sitting in the corner of the room of about thirty staff members.  As I sat in that meeting and listened to the conversations, I felt healing come over my heart.  The wounds that had layers of thick scars were immediately ripped open and healed to be like new.

For several years I had battled the temptation to believe that somewhere in the course of history, churches in America had gotten off course and I had begun doubting that God would ever use churches to bring substantial change to the world.

In that meeting I was reassured that God wants to use His church to reach the lost world.  Something I never expected to happen in a church staff meeting.

The next Monday I went to the staff meeting believing that this time it would likely just be another ordinary meeting.  However once again I had an unexpected encounter with the Holy Spirit in the meeting.  God spoke to my heart and said, “It is time.”  I realized God was saying “it is time to step down from your position at this church.  You are healed.”  I went home to discuss it with Joe and he was in total agreement.

The next day I let my supervisors know that God was calling Joe and me to step down from our positions at the church and take a leap of faith.   Though we had been honored to fill a need of our church and lead in the childcare ministry, we knew that God was calling us to give up the positions so that we could use our time, talents, and gifts to serve Him in another capacity and pursue the dream that God placed on our hearts for at-risk children and families.

Though our dream does not have a clear definition, we know that God has always been faithful to guide our steps after we take leaps of faith.

This preacher’s kid, seminary graduate, and former pastor’s wife must confess that I had almost lost hope that God would use churches to reach the lost world.   The evil one had almost convinced me to believe that God would never allow me to use my gifts and callings on a church staff.

God used a church to convince me otherwise.

That concluded what I wrote back in February of this year.  It is the long answer to the question, “Holly why are you stepping down from your position at church?”  In March, after a month of prayer and several discussions with other staff members, I actually agreed to continue to lead in the ministry for a little longer. 

 Several weeks ago, Joe and I decided that the end of December was God’s timing for me to step down for good from our church’s childcare ministry. 

 I cannot clearly define for you what our leap of faith is.  Oh, how I wish I could.  It is a little clearer than it was back in February when God called us to take it.  What I do know is that God knows what the future holds for our family.  I would ask for you to pray for us over the next few months as we seek Him and His plan.

 Lord willing, this spring Joe will officially have completed all the requirements for his counseling license.  We have not heard from God as to whether He wants us to plant ourselves in Tulsa or pursue our dream of ministering to at-risk children and families elsewhere. 

Until then….maybe I just might get started writing that book.

This is why I love my church so much. I spent countless hours making preparations for our childcare ministry to watch the children of 1000 volunteers for two days during our annual Toys for Tots weekend. I also got to slip away from the childcare to help with the decision counseling. My favorite moment of the weekend came in the last 30 minutes of the event at 7 pm on Sunday night when I met this family. A mom who thought she was just coming to get a toy she could give to her 11 year old daughter for Christmas. Not only did she take home toys, she got to watch her 11 year old and 19 year old daughters receive the eternal gift of Jesus. What a joy to get to walk with them on the journey and see them all be baptized together!

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 4

Did anyone really believe I would finish it up today? I really did. But then, I sat down again at the computer to read the ‘rest of the story’ that I wrote back in February and decided that I needed to rewrite some of it to make it flow better.

It is Friday, December 9^th and I still have not decorated my house for Christmas. I will not be home all weekend because I will be busy helping at my church as we give out 6000 toys to Hispanic children, foster children, and other children in need.

Joe and I will be child counselors this weekend, and so I want to ask you to pray that many of these children’s hearts will be open to the Gospel and that God can use us to lead them into a forever relationship with Jesus.

So, those are my excuses for only taking the time to edit about half of ‘the rest of the story.’ I need to decorate and I need to spend time alone with the Lord preparing my heart for this weekend. If I don’t find the time today or the rest of the weekend to edit the rest, please forgive me, and I will do my best to get it wrapped up and posted on here by early next week.

So here is a little more of the story…..

We got everything moved into our new rental home that evening. Surrounded by a maze of boxes, tears once again welled up in my eyes. We had a new place to live, but I was all too familiar with what the scene meant: months of work of unpacking boxes and endless lonely nights in a city where no one even knew we existed. I got overwhelmed in that moment and even though it was only seven o’clock, my wise mother told me to ‘go take a shower and crawl in bed. ‘

We had moved enough to know the first thing you do when you move into a home is set up the beds and put up the shower curtain. So I took a shower and crawled into bed. Instead of sleeping, for two hours I buried my head in my pillow and soaked it with tears.

The next morning was Sunday morning. I woke up to a completely unpacked kitchen and an invitation from my mother to take me to ‘find a Wal-Mart’ so she could take me shopping for essentials. That morning we spent two hours in Wal-Mart. It was the perfect distraction from the fact that it was Sunday morning, and we did not have a church family to go worship with that morning. Well, almost perfect. If I had known at that time Tulsa had a Target…that would have made it perfect!

Over the next few weeks, I spent my days unpacking the boxes one by one. Joe came home every day pleasantly surprised that he loved the boys at the facility and felt that indeed God would use him to minister to them through his counseling.

We started attending a church near our house, and after a month of attending signed up for the membership class with every intention of joining the church. We kept thanking God that we didn’t have to ‘church shop,’ and that the very first church we visited was beginning to feel like home. To top it off, one sweet girl had called me several times to check on me and invited me to a party she was having at her house. It looked like I even had a potential friend.

We went to the membership class after church one Sunday. After the class, we got in the car and looked at each other. It was obvious that each of us wanted to say something but we really didn’t have to say anything. For no specific reason, we both knew that the Holy Spirit had separately told us that we were not supposed to join that church. The thought of starting all over visiting a church was sickening but we knew that was what we were supposed to do.

A friend from my hometown had been to church in Tulsa once with some friends of hers, and she had written down the name of the church on a little piece of paper that I had shoved into my wallet before we moved. My friend had recommended we at least go visit that church once because it was ‘cool.’ Joe and I have never been ‘into’ cool, but now that we weren’t going to be committed to a church, we decided we would go visit the ‘cool’ church before we started looking for a church home again.

The very next Sunday morning, we drove 20 minutes to the ‘cool’ church and slipped into the back row. The music was good. The people were nice. However, we had been in churches with fabulous musicians. Both of us grew up in churches with the nicest people in the world. We weren’t particularly impressed.

Then it happened. The pastor took the ‘stage.’ We knew he was a former student pastor and now ‘topical series’ style teacher, so we did not have high expectations for his preaching abilities. Joe and I both spent our childhoods learning under pastors who are known all over the state of Oklahoma and even the world for their preaching/teaching abilities. Both of us have Masters in Theology and have studied Biblical languages. We are always a tough audience for preachers.

Much to our surprise, when the pastor began to speak, it was if God reached out His healing hand from heaven that morning and wrapped it around the hearts of the Buxton’s. So what was the sermon?

There was no sermon. The pastor walked up to the stage and announced that there would be no sermon that morning. He told the congregation that there was a sermon on paper that he had prepared to preach. However, the pastor went on to explain that he felt that he could not preach it that morning because he was too broken and felt like he was under attack. Immediately the church responded.

Instead of the church members hearing a sermon that morning, they surrounded their pastor and prayed for him. I had been in hundreds if not thousands of church services in my life, but never has a service spoke to me and healed my spirit like that service.

We left that day knowing that God had led us to our new church home. I remember thinking to myself, “God how will we ever fit in at this church? Joe and I are the farthest thing from ‘cool.’ Some of my favorite songs are old church hymns. We don’t even use our cell phone, and we drive a Grand Marquis.”

Over the next few months we attended membership classes, joined Bible studies, and volunteered for different service opportunities. In those months, it was confirmed in our hearts over and over that God had led us to this church. We began to see that the vision of the church lined up with the vision that God gave Joe and I for our family.

To be continued and hopefully completed soon! Now it is off to take boxes out of the attic. Shhh don’t tell Joe I am doing this, he wants me to wait on him to get home. He doesn’t trust me walking up and down stairs with heavy boxes. I have no idea why. . . .he will be so excited that it is all done when he gets home…Right? Just pray my size 11 and a half feet cooperate with the ladder steps!

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 3

Okay, I know I said that I would finish the story today…I lied.  I sat down this morning to copy and paste the remainder of what I wrote back in February onto my blog.  But I remembered an incredible part of the story that I didn’t include back in February.  So the portion of the story below is something I wrote today, December 8, 2011.  Sorry if I got your hopes up that you would have the full story today and you could stop coming to my blog.

Please forgive me.  God wanted ME to remember this part of the story because I really needed to be reminded today that He hears my prayers.  Writing the story below caused me to revisit the day that I drove into Tulsa for the very first time in 2008.  

So instead of wrapping up the story today, I felt like I should encourage you to read the words of a Brandon Heath song.  I have included a YouTube link if you would rather listen to it.  This morning listening to this song took me back to a moment when God reached His hand down from Heaven and used my hand to turn a radio dial so I could hear His voice.

 So I plan to wrap this story up tomorrow.  But….I can’t promise you. 

With our Uhaul packed, we once again left seminary with the excitement that comes from starting a new adventure.  However, anyone who has every moved knows that in the back of your mind is this fear that lingers.  Fear of the unknown.

I drove the entire trip alone to Tulsa, leading the caravan of the vehicles carrying all of our life’s possessions.  The entire trip I cried.  Though the previous months had been tough financially and spiritually, on that drive I cried buckets of tears from the sadness that comes from leaving dear friends and a city I considered home behind.

Our entire marriage we had been either seminary students or on church staff.  The vast majority of our friends and family had been supportive of our decision for Joe to accept a position in the ‘secular counseling world.’   There were a couple of naysayers who made us feel like we were ‘leaving the ministry,’ joining the ranks of thousands of others who couldn’t not take the heat of serving on a church staff.

On that trip, I cried out to God begging Him to calm my fears when the voices of the naysayers would fill my head.  I remember asking Him to overwhelm us with the joy that comes from living each day in faith and to give us signs and miracles along that way in the next few months that let us know we have heard His voice correctly and have indeed moved our family to where He is working and wanted to use our gifts to minister for Him.

When I prayed that prayer, we were just minutes outside of Tulsa.  I began scanning the radio to see if Tulsa had any Christian radio stations.  I stopped scanning when I heard the familiar voice of Brandon Heath singing “Na Na Na Na Na.”

I started singing along with the radio as I was gazing at the hills that greet you as you enter Tulsa from the west.    I looked out over those hills and thought about the fact that this was going to be our new home and that I knew not even one soul who lived in this city.

It took me to the chorus of the song to realize that God had just sent me my first sign.  The song I was singing was “Don’t Get Comfortable.”  I had heard it a hundred times before but never felt what I felt that day.  I knew that God had reached His hand down from Heaven and used my hand to turn a radio dial so I could hear His voice.

Comfortable, don’t get comfortable
I’m gonna move this mountain
Then I’m gonna move you in

Yesterday, this is not yesterday
You were standing on my shoulders
Now you’re standing on the edge
You were lookin’ for a sign all this time

I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song

So afraid that you don’t have to be afraid
Even if you make mistakes
You know that I’ll remain

You were lookin’ for a sign all this time
If you seek you find me every time

So I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song

Can you feel the call of love?
Is it moving you?
To be a child of God? Of love?
Is it reaching you?
It’s everywhere, the call of love

I just wanna show you what I mean
I just wanna love like you’ve never seen
Do you wanna live like you used to dream?
Then I got a song for you

‘Cause I am gonna show you what I mean
I am gonna love like you’ve never seen
You are gonna live like you used to dream
This is your new song, you got a new song

I will stop there for today.  Go listen to this song on YouTube and I will post more of the story tomorrow.   I hope to wrap it up…but I have been known to lie.

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kid Part 2

This is part 2 of what I wrote back in February of this year.

But, that was not how the story went.  After only a year of serving with our whole hearts at that church, Joe and I were both personally wounded by the words and actions of one of the pastors.    It was as if God had led us into ministry just to see us be wounded and be made to feel like failures at our first church to serve full-time as a part of a church staff.

Though we knew the vast majority of the people of that church and on that staff loved us, the words and actions of that pastor left us feeling all alone and like God would never be able to use either of our gifts on a church staff.   We immediately began crying out to God, and asking Him if we had misunderstood what we felt was His call on our lives to serve Him in ministry full-time.

For the first time in our pain, Joe and I had honest conversations of ‘is it worth this?’  ‘Are the rewards here on earth and in heaven, worth all the pain it seems to have brought us throughout our marriage?  Do we really believe that God sees us in our pain and that He will rescue us?’

Those conversations ended always ended with a confident, “Yes, we believe.  Help us when we lose sight of our belief.”

When I share my testimony I truly like to focus more on the triumph than the pain.    The great thing about God being the Author of your life’s story is that eventually you come to realize that your life story is really God using you to help Him build His Kingdom.

All the pain and heartache we have experienced was a chance for God to reveal His glory through our lives:

The estrangement from Joe’s family has turned into a beautiful story of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Though we still feel the pain of losing three babies to miscarriage, we now get to experience the joy of having two children in our home and have had countless opportunities to reach out to others who have lost babies.

Our bank account still does not overflow with abundance.  I find myself heading to the piggy bank from time to time to be able to splurge on a fancy cup of coffee.  However, we can say very confidently that God has been faithful to meet our every need.  I believe that our commitment to continue to tithe at our church and give to those in need even when we felt our income would not allow us to, opened up God’s mathematical blessing.   Not enough income + tithe + giving =More than enough to meet our needs.

Once again this past week, I experienced the power of God taking my pain and heartache and using it for his glory.

The wounds that were inflicted by that pastor several years ago were very deep.  Pain so deep that Joe and I determined that we would never again let ourselves get too close to leaders in a church.  We would stay at an arm’s distance lest we find out they were more into making a name for themselves than bowing at the name of Jesus .  We have never been ones that needed to be in the spotlight or have a title to serve, so we would volunteer and keep our distance.

Through serving as a children’s pastor at churches for six years, Joe discovered his passion for helping families and children one on one.  Even though we were now both in our thirties, we followed God’s leading to head back to seminary for Joe to get another degree–this time in counseling.  No more church staff dreams for us.  This degree would allow us to do what we felt we now wanted to do:  work in the secular world and volunteer at a church distanced from the church staff.

God worked true miracles to move us back to seminary, which was 12 hours away from where we were living.

At this point, I had been a stay at home mom for three years.  We decided that the quickest way for Joe to get his degree was for me to go back to teaching full-time.   I made one phone call to a former principal, and in less than 24 hours I was offered a teaching job before I had even filled out the application.

We had owned a house for a year, and it sold the first day it was on the market.  We had been warned to expect to lose money.  Instead we found ourselves getting a check in the mail after it sold.

The seminary had one family townhouse left for our little family of four to move into that August.  Not only was it the perfect place for our family, it was right next door to two families who became dear, lifelong friends.

Once we moved, we planted ourselves in a church and continue to be faithful in our attendance, tithing, and service.  However, this was the first time in our marriage that we were ‘regular’ members volunteering our service as teachers of our daughter’s Sunday School class.  It was just what we needed at that time.  We were soaking in Biblical teaching of an incredible preacher, and praying that God would heal our wounded hearts and not allow us to become bitter towards serving in a church.

In two and a half years, Joe was able to complete his Master’s in Marriage and Family Counseling.

The excitement of graduation was tainted by the reality that I had quit my job in faith trusting that the Lord would provide a full-time job for Joe.  Instead, with three seminary master’s degrees between us tucked away in a drawer somewhere, Joe was supporting our family by working in a mechanic shop and driving a trash truck.

After 7 months of searching for a full-time counseling job that would support our family, God opened up a less than dream job at a maximum security boys correctional facility outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma.  Once again we loaded the Uhaul and were excited to once again uproot and plant ourselves in a city where we knew not even one person.

As we prayed about the move, we prayed for God to lead us to the church where He was working and where He wanted to use our gifts to minister.

I will stop there for today and post the remainder of the story tomorrow.  I warned you it was the long answer to why I am stepping down from my job.  Part three is the most exciting part. . .

Confessions of a Preacher’s Kids Part 1

What I will post below (after the italicized part) is something I wrote back in February of this year when I was stepping down from a staff position at my church.  I only shared it via email with family, a few close friends and a few people at my church that were an instrumental part of the story. 

Writing is a huge part of my relationship with the Lord.  Before I post something on my blog, “for the world to see,” I pray about whether it is something that He wants me to share. 

In February, God did not want me to share this writing.  For one thing, it was way too long for a blog post (my posts are already way too long…I know…but I am not out to attract a huge readership.  My blog is just a place to share my heart with friends)

I only post things on here when I feel the Holy Spirit tell me, ‘Holly, post what you wrote today, because I am going to use it to speak to someone who will read it.’  For whatever reason, the Holy Spirit did not prompt me to post this back in February.

At the end of this month, I will officially be stepping down from a staff position at my church.    I have the privilege of supervising a staff of over 50 childcare workers.  On any given week through my job, I minister to well over 200 families through the childcare ministry I supervise.

In the past week I have had more people than I can count ask me ‘Why are you stepping down?’  My answer has been ‘because it is God’s timing.’  But I really wanted to share with each of them the BIGGER story that answers this question.

 I wanted to make it clear that though I am stepping down, I have loved leading the staff I supervise.  The absolute hardest part of my decision was that I will miss serving with my team each week.  My prayer is that they will continue to work with the same perseverance and excellence that they have in the time that I have been honored to lead them.

I wanted to make it clear to the families I have ministered to, that I have counted it an honor for God to use me to love on their children while they are in Community Groups and serving in other areas of the church.

Finally, I wanted to make it clear that I LOVE my church.  At my church, The Church at BattleCreek, I have finally been able to live out a calling that God placed on my heart when I was a child.  I am very humbled that they would allow me the honor of being a part of their church staff.   God has used people at The Church at BattleCreek to heal my wounded heart, and this leads me to share with you the ‘longer answer’ to the question of ‘Why are you stepping down?’

So now is the time to share the ‘why’ in more detail.

You can thank me in advance.  I will break it into parts or this blog would set records for word length.

The following was written in February of this year….

Hello.  My name is Holly.  And….. I am a PK.  That is easy for me to say these days.  However, there was a time in my life when that was something I was hesitant to admit about myself.   In my childhood to be tagged a ‘PK’ was often an insult.  We all knew the ‘stereotypical’ preacher’s kid. . .the kid who always acted like a wild child in church classes and at school, yet all the adults in the child’s life were too intimidated to let their parents (the preacher and his wife) know about it.  Therefore, the cycle of wildness continued and often ended in moral or spiritual disaster in the teenage or college years.

That is not my story.  I am proud to say that is not the story of either of my siblings either.  Instead our stories are quite the opposite.  Though our parents were by no means perfect, they provided a home filled with love AND boundaries.  Everything that was done and said in our home growing up was expected to line up with the Word of God.  Our home was not guided by the rules, it was guided by love.  . . the love of Jesus which provided rules with grace.

Though I did not grow up in a ‘perfect’ home, when people ask me about my childhood I often respond, “I grew up in a glass house, that was padded inside with lots of love.”  On top of that, I grew up in the absolute most loving and supportive church family who partnered with my parents to use the Word of God to mold me and my siblings into children and eventually adults who follow after Christ with every ounce of our beings.

In fact, if I were to list the heartaches I experienced as a child, I would be embarrassed because they pale in comparison to the tragedies many children face in their childhoods.  In high school and college I can remember going to conferences and hearing ‘amazing’ sinner to saint testimonies and wishing in the back of my mind that my testimony was more exciting.

What I did not know at the time was that my parents and church family were giving me the solid foundation of the truth of the Bible that would be essential for me to make it through my twenties without turning my back on the God of my childhood.

It was as if, like in the story of Job, Satan went to the throne room of God and said, “Let me have her for a decade.  I think we will find that she is not the God lover that everyone has thought she was her entire life.  Of course she loves You.  You have been protecting her from heartache and trials her entire life”

The scene of my life changed.  No longer was the backdrop a padded glass house.  Those on stage with me were not my loving parents and church family.  It was if those who were so instrumental in writing the story line of my childhood were asked to step off stage and watch my life from a distance.

Enter pain and struggle stage left.  Enter heartache and disappoint stage right.  The storyline took a dramatic turn.  No longer would my life story be one of a small town PK who was protected from the arrows of pain and heartache of the Evil One.

Instead, the next decade of my was filled with life circumstances that brought me to my knees  and for the first times in my life I found myself crying out to God, “Where are you?”  “Why don’t you take this pain away?”  “I have faithfully served you my entire life.  How could this be my reward?”

In those years, my story included being diagnosed at age 20 with an incurable debilitating condition that forced me to change my career plans and even drove me, a straight A student, to the depths of depression to where I almost gave up on college all together.  You can read about that time in my life here.

Then at age 21 I found myself engaged to a man who I thought was my prince charming, the husband I had prayed for my entire life.  However, this too resulted in pain and heartache when just two months before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, it was revealed to me that indeed he was not the man of God he had convinced me he was.  It had all been deception. He had been living a double life and had fooled all my family and friends.   Most wouldn’t even believe the details of the story if I told them.  You can read about that time in my life here.

These two trials caused me to reexamine my life and God led me to follow a call on my life to go to seminary.  At age 24 I found myself once again engaged.  This time to my amazing husband, Joe, who I met the very first day I set foot on the seminary campus.  I wrote about that day here.

In the back of my mind I thought that surely now that my life was on the course of full-time ministry, I would return to the protected life I once knew.

Instead, in the first six years of our marriage, a marriage we offered up to God for his service, it seemed that we were plagued with more pain and more heartache.

A week after our wedding we had family members who severed ties with us for getting married.

We lost our first three babies to miscarriage.

We often found ourselves literally emptying the piggy bank just so we could pay a bill and stay on the path of ministry to which God had called us.

Then it finally happened.  Joe had landed his first full-time job as a children’s pastor.  Surely now that we had been faithful to prepare ourselves educationally and held fast to our faith through the heartache and pain, God would bless us with protection.

To be continued …..

One of my favorite parts of my job…encouraging my staff and the children to ‘give to others.’ This is our childcare ministry ‘Share the Warmth’ tree. Our staff and children in the ministry brought hats and gloves to give to Safe Harbor, our church’s food/clothing pantry.

My team. I love them all. I have made lifelong friends with many incredible people through my job. Ms. Tami will forever be 'my crazy friend who makes me smile even when life is stressful."

Everyday is a good day. Some days are just better than others.

I know at least 25 people in the past few days asked me this question.  “How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

That question is comparable to someone asking the question in passing, “How are you today?”

These are the ‘generic’ questions we ask when we are trying to be polite when we cross the path of an acquaintance.  At some point in our lives we learn to give the answer to those questions that the asker really wants “Good.  And you?”

We all try to avoid ‘THAT’ person who will honestly answer those questions.  You know those people.  The coworker or friend at church you dodge in the hallway because you know that if you smiled and asked those questions, THEY would be honest and you would be stuck listening to all the ‘not so good’ moments of their day.

Negative Nancy.  Debbie Downer.  We all know them.

I think that people who know me best would say that I lean more towards being a Positive Polly.  So, usually when I answer “Good.” to the question, “How was your Thanksgiving?” or “How are you today?” my answer is honest.   Typically even on those ‘bad’ days, I can find something good about the day.

Two of my favorite people I have been blessed to cross paths with in my life was a dear retired couple in Cape Girardeau, Missouri named Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce.   I will never forget the first time we met them.  Joe and I were fresh out of seminary, and had moved twelve hours from family to serve on staff at a church.  Mrs. Joyce and her husband Mr. Eugene walked up to us to introduce themselves and joy literally oozed out of their faces and words into us.

A couple of months later, we ran into this sweet couple at the local fair.   (I mean if you want to get to know the culture of a community, where better than the fair?)  Mr. Eugene in his Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes was walking around holding the hand of one of his grandchildren.  Mrs. Joyce had her hands full of fair treats.    It was evident that they were having as much fun as the kids at the fair.

We stopped and talked to them for a little while.  Joe asked, “How are you guys?”  (Like it wasn’t apparent that they were having the time of their lives at the fair)

Mrs. Joyce’s answer is one I will never forget.  “Joe, every day is a good day.  Some are just better than others.  Today is a really, really good day.”

We went on our way that night and enjoyed pushing our then six month old son around in a stroller taking in all the crazy things that one sees when they go to a fair.

I don’t remember if I ate a corn dog or cotton candy that evening.  I honestly don’t remember much of anything about that trip to the fair.   If I remember correctly, I forgot to take my camera that night.  So I am stuck with the memories that were imprinted on my mind and in my heart.

What I will never forget about that day in September are the images of Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce making memories with their grandchildren and the impactful words that were spoken to us.  That evening on the drive home I remember Joe and I telling ourselves that we want to live our lives with that kind of joy and be the kind of grandparent that count it ‘a really, really good day’ when we get to take our grandchildren to the fair.

We only lived in that community for two years.  For a few years after we moved, Mr. Eugene and Mrs. Joyce sent us a handwritten Christmas letter from Arizona….where they spent the winter months.  I loved reading about the fun things they did during the winter.  It seems the letters always came on a cold winter day when I was stuck inside our tiny seminary townhouse counting down the days until I could take my two little ones outside to play.    Mrs. Joyce’s letter was always a reminder of the joy that I wanted to spill out of my life into others.

One Christmas the letter did not arrive.  When time and distance separate people, the correspondence seems to naturally stop at some point.  I assumed that this was the case.

Early the next year I got the email.  Mrs. Joyce emailed me to apologize for not sending a letter over Christmas, but while in Arizona for the winter months Mr. Eugene had suddenly passed away and she didn’t get a chance to write us.

My prayer for Mrs. Joyce over the coming months was that she would not lose her joy for living and that in the midst of utter pain and sadness, she would still be able to see a glimmer of good in each day that God gave her here on earth.

Romans 8:28 (NIV)   And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

“How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

“We had to cancel our plans to go to Joe’s parents because Brooklynn was sick.”

“We didn’t eat turkey because I was holding out until Thursday morning that we would still get to leave, so I didn’t buy one to cook.”

“I cried a few tears of loneliness knowing all my siblings and their children were sitting around tables eating my mom’s turkey and dressing.”

“My heart ached deeply at times because it was the first holiday without Joe’s grandmother.”

“This time of year always seems to bring up some painful memories of the first couple of Thanksgivings Joe and I spent together as a married couple when we were estranged from his family.”

“Instead of using my money to buy gifts on Black Friday, the money had to be spent on a Doctor’s visit and prescriptions.”

“Joe and I had a really big argument.”

“I had a really bad ‘mommy’ moment with one of my kids.”

Lest you tag me a Debbie Downer and start avoiding me in the stores or the hallways at church,  I will refrain from completing the ‘honest’ list of answers I could give to the question, “How was your Thanksgiving, Holly?”

So, can I really say that EVERY day is a good day?

Let’s see.  Amidst all the things that seemed not so good there is another list.

“There was a place to stay and food to eat.  My little family of four got to spend three days together in our cozy, warm home.  Though there wasn’t turkey, my husband smoked some mean chicken for us to eat.”

“I was reminded that my family is loved.  A staff member from our church texted me to let me know she was praying for me. A precious friend named Flea (who’s as fun as her name) offered to bring over an entire Thanksgiving meal spread.  I have loved ones who called me and let me know they were missing me.”

“In my mind there were precious memories of Joe’s grandmother.  Time and prayer have healed the wounds of holidays past and the memories fade a little more each year.” 

“I had the security of knowing a doctor could help me figure our what was wrong with my sick daughter.  There are many mothers around the world who have to live in fear when a fever strikes their child.”

“Even though we argue at times, my husband is committed to me ‘til death do us part.’   And…though I have bad mommy moments each day, if you ask my kids they would tell you that they think they have a really, really good momma.”

“How was your Thanksgiving Holly?”

Thanksgiving was good. It was not one of my really, really good holidays.  It was probably towards the bottom of the list of best Thanksgivings in my thirty six years.

But truly every day is a good day, some are just better than others.

Smoked chicken doing its best to replace Thanksgiving turkey

McAlister's tea...can make any meal look a little better.

Family Zumba danceoffs, Football watching marathons, and into the night crafting...not too shabby of a Thanksgiving agenda

I officially caved and my farmer boy husband was laughing. I always said I would never be one of those city folks who pretend to be country folk by going to Atwoods and buying feed sacks to decorate my city home...if only this burlap Christmas wreath were not so darn perfect for my city front door. Makes me miss Love County Oklahoma upbringing where feed sacks were for feeding animals and jumping in to race friends across the pasture.

When God’s answer is ‘wait.’

I’ve heard the answer a hundred times.  There have been times in my life when I have even found myself repeating it to friends and acquaintances when I get the question, “Why did God not answer when I prayed to Him?”

The answer to this question can roll out of my mouth without my even having to think about it, “Well, sometimes God’s answer to our prayers is ‘Yes.’  Other times the answer is ‘No.’  And then very often His answer is ‘Wait.’

This answer seems to be the catch-all.  From this I can easily turn to stories in the Bible in which God chose to answer prayers in these three ways.   My parents and seminary professors would be quite proud of my ability to use Scripture to answer this question.

I slept through every one of my Dad’s Sunday night sermons until I was 12 years old.   I was in my third trimester of pregnancy when I took preaching lab in seminary and spent more time trying to get comfortable sitting in my desk than listening to the professor.  Still, I could probably throw together a pretty decent sermon on this topic in less than an hour.

Being able to have a conversation or write a sermon about this question is one thing.  To live in faith believing the Biblical truths that answer this question is quite another.

It was June 20^th.  The date our family had looked forward to with both hope and fear.  On June 20^th, 2011 my sister Monta was scheduled to have heart surgery to receive a new valve.  Monta was born with a heart defect and her life is nothing short of a miracle.  As a child, she endured two heart surgeries and is among the first generation of survivors of childhood heart surgeries.

Though modern medicine makes open heart surgery seem almost routine, there is nothing routine when it is your loved one who is on the operating table.

On June 20^th there were literally thousands of people all over the world praying prayers of healing for Monta’s heart.  Though I battled thoughts and fears for months before the surgery, as I waited in that hospital waiting room I had an unexplainable peace that everything was going to be okay.

Monta was not the only one that I was praying for that day.  Thirty miles away in another hospital, my best friend’s mom, Pam, was undergoing a surgery where the doctor would be investigating a mass in her abdomen.

My best friend Jessica and I spent the morning of June 20^th texting each other with surgery updates.  I will never forget the final update I received from Jessica.

I had just gotten into the ICU room where I was getting to see Monta for the very first time after the surgery.   My eyes were filled with tears of joy and thanksgiving as I patted my sister’s arm.  Though her body required a ventilator to breathe, and she was swollen almost beyond recognition, doctors were fully confident that the surgery had been a success and that in a few months, Monta would feel better than she ever had before.

As I was standing there in awe of how God had answered my prayers, I felt a vibration of an incoming text.  I looked down and saw these word, “Well, it is not good.”

I remember taking a deep breath, kissing my sister’s forehead and then walking out of the room so that I could read the rest of the text in privacy.

Jessica’s text went on to explain that the mass in Pam’s abdomen was indeed cancer.  The tumor was larger than the doctor had thought, and they were unable to remove it because of its size.

At that moment I experienced the most drastic change in emotion that I believe I have ever experienced.  Immediately the questions flooded my head.  “How could the same people be praying the same prayers of healing and there be two very different results?”

Knowing that my sister was stabilized, I immediately left the waiting room where everyone was hugging and smiling from the joy of a successful surgery, and I hopped in my car to drive to the other waiting room thirty miles away.

In that waiting room was a family that had been utterly devastated with bad news.  Pam, their beloved mother, sister, wife and friend was going to have to face yet another battle with cancer.  And from what the doctors reported, this battle looked to be much fiercer than the one Pam had victoriously overcome just the year before.

I will never forget how my faith was challenged that day in that waiting room.  My heart should have been rejoicing and praising God over my sister.   Yet, as I sat there next to my best friend, uttering words of praise to God did not seem appropriate.

It has been five months since that day.  In those five months, I have done a lot of soul-searching.  My prayers have been filled with many questions.  Questions I know may not ever be answered here on earth.

This past week I found myself in that waiting room again.  .  .the very same waiting room that I spent six hours in back in June waiting on the report of my sister’s heart surgery.  After months of investigation to determine the origin of the cancer and chemo treatment to reduce the tumor size, surgeons were once again going to attempt to remove the tumor in Pam.

Just as I had prior to my sister’s surgery, I had offered up countless prayers of healing for Pam.  Many days in the past five months were spent fasting for God to perform a miracle in Pam’s body.

In the past five months, my mind often turned to the stories I know where God’s answer to prayers of physical healing or protection was, “No.”  I hear these stories all the time.

The young mom who died of cancer and left behind small children, even though churches had held prayer vigils pleading for God to spare her life.  The teenager who didn’t survive the injuries of a car wreck despite the fact that his mother had prayed diligently for God to keep him safe while he was driving.  The soldier whose life was cut short even while his wife on the other side of the world had  prayed  prayers of protection for him every night before she went to bed.

In the past five months, I have spent a lot of time wondering about the difference my prayers make in God’s answer being ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ or ‘wait.’   This is one of those tough theological issues we must grapple with if we place our faith in the God of the Bible.  For me it is right up there with the question ‘Who created God?’

In my life God has answered my prayers in all three ways.  By far I believe the most difficult one of the answers for me to accept with joy is ‘wait.’

‘Wait.’   Wait has been the answer to prayers for Pam for the past five months.  Then this past Thursday following surgery, Pam and her loved ones were once again put in a position of waiting on the Lord’s answer.  Following an eight-hour surgery where doctors were able to successfully remove the tumor from Pam, the surgeon commented that only time will tell if the surgery is enough for Pam.

The reality of life here on earth is that at some point here on earth each of us will be forced to look the reality of death in the face.   We are all mortal beings and at some point even the most powerful medicine and the most acclaimed surgeon will not be ‘enough’ for us.

There are times when physical healing comes in an instant.  At times, God does indeed answer the prayer of healing in a way that medical science cannot explain.  At times in life we are forced to wait on God’s answer to our prayers of physical healing and see if medicine will be ‘enough’ to heal our mortal bodies.

Pam’s surgeon was wrong.  We do not even have to wait to see if the surgery is enough.  Time and medical science is NEVER enough.  Only the grace of Jehovah Rapha, the God who heals, is enough to bring ultimate healing to our bodies that are daily wasting away.

It is during the times that the answer to our prayers is ‘no’ or ‘wait’ that God draws us closer to Him.  In the Bible the apostle Paul writes.

2 Corinthians 12:8-10

Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.  But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

God’s grace is sufficient.  Whether the answer to our prayer is ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ or ‘wait.’  God’s grace is enough.

Jessica and I waiting. and waiting. and waiting.

Pain. One of my life’s greatest teachers.

Since I was a small child, I have had the tendency to keep quiet about the painful struggles in my life.  You see, I am a melancholy, introvert.  The people who know me best know this about me.

I know.  I know. Some of you do not believe me.  The woman who just dressed her entire family, including her reserved husband, up as Lego people for Halloween cannot be a melancholy introvert.  I am sure I have just disappointed some of you reading this.

One thing we melancholy, introverts have a tendency to do is to keep quiet about struggles we face in life.  Because of my personality, I have never really found it difficult to seek the help and wisdom of the Lord before I seek the help and wisdom of people.

This may seem like such an advantage in the Christian life.  At times it is.  However, what I have come to learn in my almost thirty years of walking with the Lord is that not only does God want us to reach out to Him in our pain, but He desires for us to find comfort in the family and friends and church family that He has place in our lives.  

I was reminded of that yesterday.  Yesterday was one of the most physically painful days I have experienced in the last decade of my life.  Up until about two years ago when I wrote about it here on my blog, only my family and a few close friends knew that I suffer from a debilitating nerve disorder.

Because I wrote about it in detail two years ago, I will just direct you to that blog if you are interested in the details.  Through this disorder, I experienced the only instant physical miracle in my life, and I detail that miracle in the blog linked above.

In short when I was in college I was diagnosed with a condition that affects my ability to hold a pen or pencil and write.  Because of this condition, I have to awkwardly hold a pen or pencil when I have to write something.  I also have to write very slowly to make my handwriting remotely legible.

With this disorder, I have also had to learn to be a pain manager.    The nerve and muscle pain that occurs after I have written something can range anywhere from slight to excruciating.

Praise the Lord, I live in an age where there are very few things that require me to write.

However, this does not negate the fact one of the things that I desperately want to be able to do is sit down and handwrite letters and cards to friends and family like I used to be able to do.  My heart longs to get off this computer and pour out my heart with a pen and journal with prayers to my God.

Though I am eternally gratefully that I still have the use of my fingers to type blogs and journals and emails, in a heartbeat I would give up technology for the rest of my life to be able to write in a journal with a pen or hand write a letter without the consequence of physical pain.

Yesterday the nerve and muscle pain was excruciating.   I was at work at church and I didn’t feel like burdening anyone else with my pain.  My husband even called once and asked how my day was going and I didn’t even mention the pain to him because I didn’t want him to worry about me.  So, I sat there in my office by myself in pain.

It wasn’t until I got home and was telling Joe about the pain, that I realized that once again I had allowed my personality to interfere with what God could have done in my life during the day if I had only reached out and asked someone to pray for me.   I could feel the burden of bearing the pain on my own lifting as I shared the struggle with him and asked him to pray for me.

I woke up this morning and the pain is slightly less.  However, the burden is significantly lighter.  I was reminded of one of my favorite verses and that the truth of God’s word is like medicine for my soul. 

Matthew 11:29-30 (NIV) Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

This morning I was also medicated with a huge dose of perspective.  This evening I am heading to Dallas to go spend the day tomorrow with my childhood BFF, Jessica.  I wish it were for a fun day of shopping together and reminiscing about old times.

Instead we will be spending the day together in the waiting room of a hospital waiting on the word from the surgeon who will be operating to remove a tumor in her mother, Pam .  Pam has been battling ovarian cancer for the past five months after having just overcome breast cancer last year.

Pam has been a second mother to me since I was in Kindergarten.

Pam taught me to cook French toast.  Pam encouraged me to memorize scripture in Sunday School as a child.  Pam drove me to GA (Girls in Action) camp where as a young girl, I developed a passion to pray for missionaries and persecuted believers around the world.  Pam took me to my very first concert to see Amy Grant.   On my very first day as a teacher, I walked into my classroom and on my desk were flowers from Pam.

For every major struggle or victory I have gone through in life, there has been a card in the mail from Pam.

I do not believe that it is a coincidence that this past Sunday our pastor’s sermon was “How to Pray For a Miracle.”  I spent Sunday morning at church on my knees praying for a miracle in Pam’s body.  Along with countless other people, I have prayed for over two years for God to free Pam’s body from cancer for His glory.

I learned my lesson yesterday.  When I have a painful burden, not only does God want to me to talk to Him about it but He wants me to share my pain with others so that my burden is lighter for me to carry.

So, today with a heavy heart and tear filled eyes, this melancholy introvert is to asking you to pray.  Pray for my BFF Jessica as she battles the fear of the unknown with her mother.  Pray for a miraculous healing in Pam’s body.

It is humbling to know that just by asking, many will be joining me at the throne room of our Heavenly Father praying with me.  I do not know why it has taken me so long to ask.  You would link I have a Lego for a brain or something!

Inside of these two binders are years of letters that me and my BFF Jessica wrote back and forth to each other when she moved in fourth grade. Hundreds of handwritten letters that document my life from age 10 to 22. My mom and Jessica schemed and secretly gave me these binders as a surprise college graduation gift. Kind of ironic that my life is documented in my own handwritten letters.

One of the first letters I wrote and mailed to Jessica when we decided we would remain BFFs.

We have the necklace and keychain to prove the forever part.

My excuse lately for being so hard headed....Lego brain.

Hello. My name is Holly. And I am a thief.

I have never had a difficult time admitting that I am a thief.  I know.  I know.  I memorized the Ten Commandments when I was four years old.  You do not have to tell  me that ‘thou shalt not steal’ was number eight on the list of most important things God wanted Moses to tell His people.

On Friday I had some friends over to my house.  These friends had never been to my house.  On my table sat my three book pumpkins I had made for my kid’s school teachers.  Hanging above my table was the curtain and banner I had made and hung up two months ago for our back to school party (yes I plan to take it down before Christmas…hopefully).  In my dining room turned office, there are shelves and boxes of every color of ribbon and paint sold at Hobby Lobby.

In the halls, hang my world prayer map with pictures of friends around the world.  On my kid’s doors hang homemade wreaths.  You would think that I would not be shocked when one of my friends commented, “Holly you are so creative and crafty.”

I have gotten this comment a lot in my life.  I have hot glue scars that date back to the 80s when I was in middle school.  However, for some reason I have never considered myself creative or crafty.  When people who know me best think of me, I really don’t think that those are words they would use to describe me in ten words or less.

But, in recent years I have come to terms with the fact that this ponytail princess likes to be creative and  likes to craft.  I still have a difficult time calling myself creative or crafty.  To me, those words are reserved for the idea generators of the world.

In the past few years I have been privileged to go to church with women who are creativity geniuses.   My dear friend Lori is like no one else I have ever met in the world.  She can make me laugh on my toughest day and inspires me to want to make my home beautiful.   I got the pumpkin idea from Lori when we were working on a women’s event together for our church.  You should check out her Facebook page at Lori Kroh Designs.  Yes I know her.  Yes she is my friend.  And yes someday I will say “I knew her when.”

Then there is my dear friend Lissa.   You have people who try to be cool and then there is Lissa.  She oozes cool with everything she does.  When she is not busy being our children’s pastor’s wife and leading worship with her amazing guitar playing abilities, she is hard at work in her garage turning reclaimed wood into the most amazing furniture.   I cannot even dream of being as cool or creative as Lissa.  You have got to check out Lissa’s blog.  Again, someday I will get to say “I knew her when….”

As if my church were not already bursting at the seams with creativity from these two ladies, you will never guess who else I go to church with…none other than THE Ashley Ann from Under the Sycamore.  If you have never visited her blog, you have really been missing out.

I know….you want to come to my church don’t you?  I could never even attempt to use a hot glue gun like Lori or Ashley, nor could I ever use a table saw like Lissa.  Those three women are in a creative league that is way beyond the skill set God gave me to work with in life.  So, to think that I would even post a craft instructions blog makes me laugh.

But that is the intention of this post….to answer the many questions I have been asked about my book pumpkins I posted pictures of on Facebook last week.

Though, I might never admit to being crafty or creative, I have no trouble admitting to being a thief.  A really, really good one too.

I learned early in life that there is a lot you can learn from other people if you simply take the time to pay attention.  God has made each of us unique.  Sometimes we are tempted to sit around and mope about what God did not make us.  God did not make me as creative and crafty as some other people.  However, He did make me smart enough to know a great idea when I see it and to ‘steal’ it.

Therefore, many things I have gotten credit for in my life are really simply attributed to my ability to see great ideas and put them into use for myself.  This ability came in handy as a  public school teacher.  My greatest lesson plans were never 100% original with me.  I was simply a great lesson plan thief.  The best teachers are the ones who know which classroom ideas are valuable enough to steal.

That is how I feel about my ability to craft.  Rarely is something I make all my original idea, but an idea that I took from someone or somewhere else and then used it for myself.  Thanks to Pinterest, there are now millions of valuable ideas at my fingertips just waiting to be stolen.

So for all of you who asked on my Facebook page, here’s a pumpkin book tutorial.  Yes, I stole the idea.  Thank you Lori for sharing the idea you stole from Pinterest so that I could steal it from you so that now all my friends can steal it from me.

‘Thou shalt not steal.’  I’m sure God wasn’t thinking about craft ideas when He spoke those words.

So here it is.  My first craft tutorial.  You have permission in advance to steal the idea.

Two books that I found at garage sales a couple of years ago. After doing a few of these, I found that older books with yellowed, crisper pages made a more sturdy pumpkin. One other helpful hint: pick a medium sized book. I made the mistake of thinking a large book would make a better looking pumpkin. The large book simply took way longer to make and I didn't think it was any better than the smaller ones I made.

The tutorial I followed said to make a template in the shape of half a pumpkin. Maybe I will next time I make one. I simply freehanded it on the first page.

Pick up the first 10 or so pages (according to how sharp your scissors are) and cut out the shape.

As you cut out the pumpkin, you can tear off the extra as you go.

Instead of a template, I just laid the cut pages on top of the uncut pages and traced the shape. This worked for me.

You could take the cover off before you get started. I didn't but I just tore it off after I got started.

Once you cut all the pages you will have something like this. At this point I tore off the back cover. You could do this before you get started. Doesn't matter.

I discovered that it helped to fan out the pumpkin if I weakened the binding. So break all the rules the librarian taught you about caring for a book and bend away!

After weakening the binding you are ready to attach the stem. I used cinnamon sticks because I found them for a good price at Sam's. I was planning to use twigs from my yard before I found cheap cinnamon sticks.

Hot glue the stem.

You are ready to fan out the pumpkin. Put hot glue around the edges of the first page. Quickly fan out the book aligning the last page with the first page and glue them together.

This is what mine looked like at this point.

Now you will need to fluff the pumpkin. I did this by taking two steps. First I laid the pumpkin down and pressed pages toward the pages that I had glued together. This helped some.

To spread the pages out even more, I pulled a few pages at a time toward the pages I had glued together and placed a dab of hot glue near the binding to hold them in place. I continued to do this every 5 to 10 pages until I was happy with the way it had fanned out.

I dusted the completed books with spray paint. I also found out the orange spray paint can make a white girl like me look like she put on bad self tanning lotion.

Okay...this idea was 100% from my brain...so maybe I am a little creatively crafty. To cover the spray paint smell, I sprayed the pumpkins with some yummy smelling pumpkin air freshener...I know...brilliant!. Watch out crafting world here I come!

These beauties were for my kid's teachers. Since I taught public school for five years, I have an extra special place in my heart for teachers. Everyone does things for teachers at Christmas and during teacher appreciation week. I try to do pick me ups for them during other times of the year. Notice the gift card I attached for McAlister's sweet tea. Simply punched a little hole in the card and Viola! I loved seeing the smiles on the teacher's faces when the kids handed the pumpkins to them.

August…a month of smiling through the tears

I wrote the journal entry below in August of 2009.  Two years later I am still battling the same emotions.  This week I sent my son off to 3rd grade and my baby off to 1st grade.  On the second day, just Brooklynn wanted me to walk her in to class.  By day three, she woke up and said, “Momma.  I got this.  I want to walk myself to class.”

Smiling because I am so proud of the confidence she has. 

Smiling because dropping her off in the car line is so much quicker and easier for me. 

Tears because I know the years are slipping by so quickly, and I know I will blink and I will be dropping them both off at college. 

Tears because I know that there are so many mommas out there who have children that went to be with the Lord before they could feel the proud moment of sending them to school.

As you read this blog, please pray.  Pray for all those mommas in your life who grieve a child that they never got to drop off at Kindergarten.  This week our family is grieving the loss of our precious Daisy Elizabeth. 

August. The month of August has had several different meanings to me over the years. As a child I can remember the flip-flopping feelings of anxiety and excitement as August rolled around.  Anxiety because August meant that the freedom of summer was coming to an end.   Excitement because August meant new classes, new teachers, new textbooks and I have always loved change.

As a teacher I again had mixed emotions as August rolled around. When I turned the page of the calendar from July to August, there would often be knots in my stomach as I thought about all the work ahead preparing for the new school year, while at the same time I would be filled with joy as I thought about the new students, the new lessons and the prospects of getting a fresh start.

Last year again I experienced yet another version of the mixed feelings of August. As my first child started kindergarten, I found myself on the edge of tears one minute and the next minute my heart would be bursting with pride at the young man Caleb had become. We gave our son, who was conceived after three miscarriages, a middle name that would remind us to always celebrate his life…to never take his life for granted.

Caleb’s middle name is Matthew. We named him after a special young man named Matthew, who was a part of one of our children’s ministries. I will never forget the mixed feelings as I sat in the halls of Cook Children’s Hospital chatting with Matthew’s mom, knowing that in the next room her son was dying while at the same time my first child was being knit together in my womb. Matthew’s mom told me that when she hears a mom say that she wishes her child would stay young forever, she felt like screaming, “no you want to see them grow up. You need to be excited to see them grow and experience life.”

This August took me by surprise. Caleb was starting 1st grade and my daughter, Brooklynn who is 4, would be at home with me for one more year. I expected that the emotions I would feel would be very similar to last year, but on a lesser scale. I was wrong. In late July, I found myself battling off unexpected bouts of sadness and tears.

I really couldn’t pinpoint my feelings until one afternoon I was sitting in a Starbucks drinking my usual grande black coffee, and I found my eyes filling up with tears as I watched three preteen girls giggling as they sipped their iced coffees. I started imagining Brooklynn and her cousin Ashlynn as preteens and then realized that I was imagining my niece Daisy giggling along with them. I had to stop my daydreaming short, because it was likely to send me into an ugly cry and I wasn’t sure if I had put on waterproof mascara that morning!

You see, last August my beautiful niece Daisy went to be with Jesus before she even took a single breath on her own here on earth. I will never forget the night I got the call that my sister-in-law was alone in a hospital half way around the world, and had been told that her daughter had died in her womb just weeks before she was due to be born into this world.

This August I have found myself battling back a new emotion. . . the emotion of what will never be. I will never have the privilege of taking the first three babies I conceived to their first day of school. As I walked Caleb to his class, I found myself wondering what it would be like to have four kids in school already. Granted….getting one child to school on time was stressful enough and I really don’t think that I could possibly get three more ready in the morning and to school before lunch time but…. just knowing I will never have an opportunity to see those babies grow into independent young people can bring a tear to my eye at a moment’s notice.

This August I also was hoping to be celebrating my nieces 1st birthday. Instead of a pink princess crown and a new birthday girl onesie, my brother will be buying his daughter a gravestone to mark her all too short life. This August I was hoping to celebrate my husband Joe’s sister’s baby’s 1st month of life. You see his sister and her husband have longed to be pregnant for many, many years.

After years of infertility treatments, she finally became pregnant last fall only to have the pregnancy end in a miscarriage. Her baby, due to be born into this world on July 7th, would have been giving us his or her first smiles this August. Instead of the joy of life, she had to experience the sting of death as mother’s day and her 40th birthday rolled around this year.

August. A month that is filled with such memories. Some full of joy. Some full of tears. But as I remember Matthew, Daisy, and my three babies that I never got to meet face to face, I am determined to celebrate.  Determined to celebrate another day of my own life. Though I look forward to the day that I will meet my Maker face to face and see the beautiful souls that have gone on before me, I don’t want to miss out on the joy that is available to me here on earth.

Though tears may fall each August, my comfort comes from knowing that every life no matter how short that life may have been, is of significance to our Maker. My days are numbered, and I desire to honor my Creator by celebrating each of them!

Psalms 139:13-16 (NLT)

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.  Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.   You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb.  You saw me before I was born.  Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.

The precious hand of Daisy Elizabeth touching her momma’s hand

August 2011....another battle of the joys and tears of watching my children grow up