February Nineteenth

It is February nineteenth today.  This makes sense, as yesterday it was the eighteenth and presumably the twentieth will follow.  It seems so inconsequential.

But it's always funny that dates mean something, isn't it?  Society decided that January 1st begins a new year, so millions of people dress up and kiss each other the second it comes and begin diets the next.  There is power in observing dates.  Creating rituals.

Eight months ago my mother died.  This time eight months ago people were slowly trickling out of our house and I finally got somewhat dressed and sat in heavy sunshine for a while.

A year ago, however, my mother was cheerfully clacking away at the computer, updating her CaringBridge site.  She had exactly four months left on this earth--how inconceivable!  But, as she mentions in her post, she knew she was 'mainstream in His Ways.'  

Going Deeper Written Feb 19, 2012 12:51pm by LeMei Littlefield

Hi there, dear friends -  Rejoicing in Him with you this day! 
This past week has been a very good one of rest and recovery. There  were two painful bouts of reaction to meds and injections but they have since resolved and I now have increased energy and appetite-:-) !  Looking forward to this next week of strengthening before round 3 of hospitalization begins February 28.  

As we move deeper through this progression of weeks, the Lord continues to pour out His amazing presence and comfort, His Life and Love without limit. We are completely undone by the joy of knowing Him!   And there is the sense of being in the mainstream of His Ways, so much higher, wiser, more loving than our own. How infinitely worthy of our worship and trust is our Creator and Redeemer, LORD of all history, all peoples, places and times! 

The gift of your fellowship and prayers is one we can never adequately express our thanks for. It's like a current of life flowing through our days.  We bless you in His Name!  

P.S. And, Very thankful for answers to prayer -- we have arranged for an excellent place for my Mom to move to once she is out of rehab, within the next couple of weeks!  A HUGE thank you to JoLene who helped us scout out the possibilities!    

I was going to share some more of my story of 2012, but it is more macabre.  I don't want to dishonor Mom by distorting her five and a half months of victory into a petty story of oh look how hard my life is, woe is me!  Or even a, feel sorry for my mother's suffering, it's hell!  

Mom was given the strength to suffer and still rejoice.   

Our suffering is slower than the 600 hours of maximum strength chemotherapy.  It hasn't, so far, made my eyelashes fall out.  Hair's as thick as ever.  But we live on this earth and miss her like our hearts were cut out, and so we suffer.  

We too have a chance to rejoice in our sufferings.  

God help me, that still seems like blasphemy written by the insane (well, it was Paul).  But after witnessing Mom with that same insanity, I believe that we're the crazy ones.  There really IS grace for this.  


And it ends in hope.

"...we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."  ~Romans 5:3b-5

endowed with splendor

Well, let's see how a very sleep-deprived Stacia blogs!  Should be fun.

 Let's talk about BEAUTY.  Oh dear, when I write it like that, it seems so daunting.  Let's not be so epic. 

When thinking about beauty, I always think of a verse about differing splendors.  Thank you, Paul (NOT whom I'd expect for beauty insights!).   I Cor. 15:38-41:
"Not all flesh is the same: People have one kind of flesh, animals have another, birds another and fish another. ⁴⁰ There are also heavenly bodies and there are earthly bodies; but the splendor of the heavenly bodies is one kind, and the splendor of the earthly bodies is another. ⁴¹ The sun has one kind of splendor, the moon another and the stars another; and star differs from star in splendor. "

Each of us is endowed with splendor although we differ from another in splendor.  Every woman is beautiful in a very personal way.  The God who calls the stars out by name ensures a handcrafted beauty.

We display His splendor (Is. 49:3, 60:21, 61:3. 62:3).   He has endowed us with splendor (Is 60:9). [Yes, those verses are about Israel.  We're grafted in.  They're also about the redeemed and the already-but not yet kingdom of God.]. 

yeah yeah yeah there are many things in this world that try to destroy beauty (and I think some of the major ones are frantic attempts FOR beauty, e.g. botox and eating issues).  But as we draw closer to God (THE BEAUTY), the ashes themselves become beautiful.  Restoration Resurrection HOPE. 

One of my favorite things is the moment when a veil is lifted and I see a woman's beauty.  It's especially fun if there are things that might mar the beauty.  When you're talking with her and she smiles or looks a certain way... and LOVELINESS is revealed.
Simply and irrevocably.  Oh I love that moment.  Then you know how to see, and you can see God's splendor whenever you see her.

May we all have Jesus' eyes to see.

Just one more note: we are beautiful just because God gives us beauty.  None of it is our own.  There is incredible rest in that truth.  It's all to Him and through Him...and FOR Him.  God loves beautiful women, he created a lot of us!  And we can rest in our beauty, for it depends on Jesus, not us.

Let me end with a movie quote from Twister.  I never ever thought I would write that sentence. 
The aunt catches the leading lady primping in her bedroom, and says, "Well, there's nothing you can do.  You're beautiful."

:)

poked stars

if vision is the only validation then most of my life isn't real (black&gold)

Sometime when there's a full moon, or at least a very sizable sliver, you should try very hard to imagine this:

Stars are just pinpricks into REALITY-- glittering eternity. The moon is our best peek because a thumb poked through the black canvas, revealing what's really out there.

Of course, if I really believed that the stars were holes, then they couldn't sing, and I love that the stars sing (read Job. or just look at them).

But it bends my mind just enough to remember that there's such a deeper, firmer, MORE bodily reality than we can comprehend.

sing to me of the song of the stars

of your galaxies dancing and laughing and laughing again

when it feels like my dreams are so far

sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again

so i lay my head back down

and i lift my hands and pray

to be only yours,

i pray

to be only yours

i know now you're my

only

hope

Hope

hope.

It's funny how events pass and you think nothing of them, but then life happens.   And as you look back, you realize that only by those events were you sustained.

I was looking back over my journals--way too irregular--and I saw an entry that I wrote just after last Christmas.  It was when I was in CA visiting Stephanie's church, and I had gone up for prayer after the sermon.  As a rule, I always go up for prayer at her church; I love her church.  It's a place where I consistently feel such tangible love and the presence of God.

Anyhow, three women prayed for me.  The first touched my shoulder and prayed blessing and favor and general wonderful things.  

The second reminded me of a moth (but only the best qualities of a moth) because she had a high, quiet, almost warbling voice and touched my shoulders and back with a series of soft pats.  She didn't stand, she hovered.

And she prayed for wonderful things that I will remember if I look back in my journal--and she sensed that God was doing a great work in me.

The third woman asked if I had been prayed for, and I said, "a little..." because I felt so thirsty and facing insurmountable horribleness.  And she smiled and asked if I wanted more, which I confirmed.  She drew me into a warm hug and rocked me back and forth and prayed over and over, 

hope

hope 

hope

Hope for this daughter!

and I was filled.  

I wrote all this down, but remember not thinking much about the 'hope' aspect of it all.  

And then I drove back to Colorado and survived January, February, March, April, May, June, July....  so many times I thought I wouldn't make it.  There was one week that I call the crying week where I just couldn't stop crying.  I mean I'd wake up, cry, make myself stop to wash my face and put on makeup and eat breakfast, cry, drive, make myself stop to walk into school, cry, set up chairs, make myself stop to teach first period.  cry at lunch.  after school.  in the dark on the way home.  especially in the shower.  in the quiet dark frigid night. make myself stop to go to sleep.

It would have been frustrating if I wasn't completely robotic at that point--the tears were the only sign of life.  

But God was there.   

Once on my lunch break I took a walk around the block, and on the way back I felt God wanted to whisper to me.  As I walked on the pavement, I felt like He said, "-I am -with you -I am -with you" in rhythm with my steps.  And on early weekday mornings I just sat and listened to worship music and often didn't even read anything, didn't even pray, but just clung to any scrap of God I could.  And He came... stronger and more real than on weekends, it seemed.  I'll never understand.

Then one fine July day in the midst of summer classes and final thesis editing, I reread the journal.  HOPE.  

it was the hope of hope that kept me going, I think.  I'm still realizing and processing everything, but now I'm finally moving from the hope of hope to HOPE.

And always love, eternal and everlasting.

It's ironic, I wrote a song about hope last summer and now think it's pretty crappy.  I was entranced by a line from an Emily Dickinson poem that I fell across: "Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul."  

Songs heal me.  Now the song that's 'my song' is the "Never Let Go" by David Crowder Band; I listened to it on repeat for literally a couple of hours today, and God's using it in me.  AND he talks about when hope takes flight, and when hope had flown.   Interesting... maybe there's something to hope and birds, or at least hope and flying.  Maybe it's a seagull--hope floats. :)

hehe.  Ok I should wrap up, this is getting silly.

I just wanted to write about what is happening in my heart.  another song of 'mine' is on the new Desperation Band album, and the bridge is: "Joy will come, believe, Joy will come, Joy will come."

I first heard it in April, I think, and I couldn't sing it yet.  But I heard others sing it out and I didn't choke on the words as much.

When clouds veil sun

and disaster comes

O my soul, O my soul

When waters rise 

and hope takes flight

O my soul, O my soul              O my soul

Ever faithful ever true, you are known, you never let go

you never let go

you never let go

you never let go

you never let go

you never let go

you never let go

when clouds brought rain

and disaster came

O my soul    O my soul

when waters rose

and hope had flown

O my soul    O my soul     O my soul

you never let go

What is this hope I feel It's helping What is this peace beyond 

understanding You fix the broken heart

There's healing in Your wings

Your love comes like the dawn 

and spreads its light over me

You thunder in a whisper

As I tremble you speak to me

And all I have known

Bows low in your throne room

and all I think I need

Melts as you rest in me

Your love cried in the mourning

that turned my heart into coal

You broke the winter

and brought Christmas to my soul...

To songs and healing hearts.  I love that God raises the dead

--and He calls us to hope.  

Eph. 1:18-23