Blessings and Raindrops

seeking joy in the midst of the ordinary

There is always a reason to hope.

Recently, Dave spent the night patrolling the pasture for predators. This spring, we lost five sheep to predator attacks. We’ve grieved each loss immensely. We’ve triple-secured our fences, ensured the donkey is on alert and locked the sheep up at night.

We have cried and have hard conversations with our kids. We’ve held them as they cried. Yes, I know this is part of farm life but it’s the one aspect I absolutely hate.

I’ve debating sharing any of this. I’ve held it close because it has been too tender. These animals are gentle and helpless and well loved here on our farm. To lose even one is devastating.

While so much is happening in our world and our nation, I also worry that sharing this now will seem trite. Yet, I feel compelled to do so because God has used these sheep to instill spiritual lessons many times over the years and now this painful experience is serving as a reminder of Truths that cannot be ignored, particularly in this dark time.

What I’ve learned through these losses:

  1. We have a very real enemy who seeks to steal, kill, and destroy. Like the pack of coyotes patrolling our pasture, the enemy is vicious and constantly on the prowl. He will find our weakness (like the coyotes will find a weak spot in the fence and they will attack at night when we are asleep) and use it to his advantage. Like in our pasture, he is relentless and will even jump a well-secured fence to attack. We can’t rely on our strong fence or even our guard animals. In spiritual terms: we cannot become complacent. 
  2. The enemy thrives on division. Unity is a defense against his attacks. I can do a quick google search and find over 100 verses appealing to believers to seek unity. What I’ve learned from the attacks in our pasture is that the predators attempt to divide the flock in order to take down individual sheep. In spiritual terms: we absolutely need one another. 
  3. We have a good Shepherd. Our God watches over us and He never sleeps or slumbers.  In his humanity, Dave had trouble staying awake while watching over the pasture waiting for the predators to return. He woke when he heard the sheep running along the fence and jumped up to figure out what had been attacking. That’s when he saw them – a pack of large coyotes. They were startled by his movement and ran off. The sheep were safe yet the threat remained. In spiritual terms: the threat remains, even if we can’t physically see the enemy. Even still, our Shepherd has the equivalent of night vision goggles and will stand on patrol and will act as our guard to keep us safe.

With our world feeling dark and uncertain; and hatred and division and evil seem more prevalent than ever, I find myself pleading with God for peace and joy and justice. I’m reminded that this earth is not our home: it is a broken place filled with broken people. While I’m tempted to throw in the towel on hope, I know that is not the answer. We are image bearers of a good God and we are called to bring forth His Kingdom here on earth.

I can’t fall into despair when I keep my eyes focused on the reminders of His goodness around me. While I mourn so much tragedy happening in the world, I also celebrate life with birthday cake and singing. While I pray for peace, I note the first hydrangea blooms of the season. While I fight off fear, I watch the sheep graze in the pasture without fear of the future despite the attacks of the past.

In spiritual terms: there is always a reason to hope. Because, in the end, love will win. While we await that day, we can steadfastly cling to hope, boldly stand on the side of righteousness and relentlessly love our neighbors.

“The grass withers, and the flowers fade, but the word of our God stands forever. ” – Isaiah 40:8

He will carry us home.

I came across a long-ago written post in my draft folder this morning. I had shared a condensed version on my friend, Amber Haines’, site four years ago, yet something about this longer version caught my eye today.

Maybe it has to do with this current season of global uncertainty we are in. The truth of the matter is that Jesus is right here with us. He is sitting alongside us as we wring our hands, watching the news and looking to projections and experts to tell us what will happen next. He is patiently waiting for us to turn our faces to Him and keep our eyes fixed on the only certainty we can ever hold tight to: His goodness. As my sweet girl taught me all those years ago, He will never leave us. He will carry us home.

Her context of home was this physical place here in NW Arkansas. Yet, I would argue there is greater wisdom behind her words. He will carry us all the way to our Heavenly Home. He will never leave us in this world of trouble and heartache and confusion. He will remain steadfast.

I’m sharing the full post below, written in January of 2016. Long before this pandemic and at the tail end of an intense season of uncertainty for our family. I hope it provides some encouragement.

The staircase conceals its brokenness. At first glance, you may miss how the fourth spindle from the left wobbles and turns. 

Just last night, a friend casually mentioned her affinity toward that broken spindle. I hadn’t considered it before. I had only noted yet another repair. I hadn’t seen the way that spindle, in its brokenness, represented more. I hadn’t appreciated the way it continues to hold steadfast to its anchoring nail regardless of the tugging and twirling of little hands seeking amusement and levity, nor had I seen the way it serves as a reminder to guests in our one-hundred-year-old home that this is a place where we welcome imperfect people into an imperfect space. After all, true, authentic, Kingdom-seeking community can only be forged through the revealing of brokenness.

The last several years have been fraught with storms for our family. Many times, the pulling and tugging of my soul left me weary and depleted. The battle my family unknowingly entered into when we said yes to an abandoned little girl across the sea left us all bruised and battered. Yet, God’s promises remained steadfast.  Even when we lost sight of hope and stumbled toward despair, He was there. Holding on.

Just like that nail at the bottom of the spindle. 

Our brokenness remained anchored securely in Him. He faithfully remained regardless of the yanking and demanding of our own hands, begging to be released from the pain of the desert march.

***

Torn from every familiar thing and placed into our family, my daughter entered into persistent grief and debilitating fear on the day she landed in America and into my arms. That day, the one I had desperately waited for, for 602 seemingly endless days, was mistakenly seen as exclusively celebratory. I cringe at the headlines scarcely able to skim the surface of her tender, raw identity. An orphan no longer! A “rescued” child! A family reunited!  

Although her circumstances were bleak in her home country, it was all she had known. The terror of new people, new sounds, new smells, new food, and a new language was vivid in those early days and months under our roof. We willingly stepped into her brokenness and committed to remain steadfast as we faced the darkness together. 

God’s love poured through us and allowed us to hold on even when our home felt like a trauma ward. Even when the brokenness threatened to overwhelm, we could stand firm on His promises of redemption and restoration. 

***

These days, as we lay side by side singing “Jesus loves me” before bedtime, my daughter often turns to me and shares profound truths in her soft, little raspy voice. She whispers in the dark, “God never left me, momma. He carried me home.”

Oh, baby girl. He will never leave. He will hold on, just like the persistent nail at the bottom of that broken spindle. 

When all is quiet after the littles have gone to bed, I often stand in my kitchen and look around at the toys scattered, the dust bunnies in the corner, the chips in the paint left by flying Matchbox cars, or that broken old spindle, and breathe in immense gratitude. I’m ever grateful for the joy intermingled with sorrow, the laughter echoing in our four walls after an intense season of pain, and the strength of love forged through brokenness and refined by fire. 


The well of grace.

For the first time in my lifetime, humanity – with all of our differences and cultural realities – feels united. Albeit, by a terrible virus, yet united nonetheless. The world has changed and, regardless of how we feel about the quarantine, or our current fears or our uncertainties, we are all in this strange season together. Our quarantine routines and daily lives may look different than one another – some of us are strictly homebound, some are working as essential employees – yet, the thing that unites us is the fact that our cities and towns and “normal” daily lives have all drastically changed. 

For Dave and I, this is a season of working (construction is an essential business) and planning and designing new projects while juggling homeschooling four elementary-aged kiddos and a baby. Needless to say, our closets remain unorganized, the “honey-do” list remains unchecked and the laundry piles are the only constant. For our family, the quarantine hasn’t been the total halt that is has for others. Yet, so much has changed. 

Our jam-packed calendar has mostly cleared. So many good things – like field trips and sports games and art camps – have been cancelled. The normal busy spring schedule we maintain as a family of seven has slowed dramatically.

While we mourn the loss of so many good things, we are embracing and appreciating the slower pace at the end of each day. Not rushing into bedtime routines in anticipation of early mornings allows us to take long walks and play games and watch movies together. 

Yet, we are desperately missing our people. By nature, our family is all about hospitality and opening our doors to friends. During a typical spring season, our home is a revolving shuffle of friends and family coming by for dinner or stopping over for coffee on the front porch. We love our people and we adore sitting around the table for hours of laughter and conversations and good food. 

While I’m ready for life to return to “normal” in so many ways, I want to tuck away lessons from this season. I want to hold the words that have risen to the surface close. Words like simplicity, slow, and intentional. I want to hug my people and open my doors and fill my table once again. I want to linger over a delicious meal with good friends while the candles burn low. I want to continue to take long, unhurried walks while the sun slowly sinks behind the horizon. I want to continue to embrace gratitude for the mundane and the momentous. 

I want to breathe deeply from the well of grace. I want to pray and live out this Sabbath prayer a dear friend read this morning on our church’s zoom call (from The Common Book of Prayer):

Lord of Creation, 

create in us a new rhythm of life

composed of hours that sustain rather than stress, 

of days that deliver rather than destroy, 

of time that tickles rather than tackles. 

Lord of Liberation,

by the rhythm of your truth, set us free

from the bondage and baggage that break us,

from the Pharaohs and fellows who fail us,

from the plans and pursuits that prey upon us.

Lord of Resurrection,

may we be raised into the rhythm of your new life,

dead to deceitful calendars,

dead to fleeting friend requests,

dead to the empty peace of our accomplishments.

To our packed-full planners, we bid, “Peace!”

To our over-caffeinated consciences, we say, “Cease!”

To our suffocating selves, Lord, grant release.

Drowning in a sea of deadlines and death chimes,

we rest in you, our lifeline.

By your ever-restful grace,

allow us to enter your Sabbath rest

as your Sabbath rest enters into us.

In the name of our Creator,

our Liberator,

our Resurrection and Life,

we pray.

Amen.

Take a deep breath today, friends. Pray this prayer aloud and soak in the beauty of God’s grace and rest. Lay down your troubles and worries and fears for tomorrow. Trust in the firm foundation of a good God who is still on the throne and will never turn away or forsake His kids. He is only good. 

In the words of Peter, “May you have more and more of God’s special favor and wonderful peace.” {1 Peter 1:2b}

He is Good.

By nature, I’m an optimistic person. Often, I’m so hell-bent on Hope that I appear to be naive. And, I’m okay with that. Because I’ve lived enough life to know that even when I’m overwhelmed, terrified or bone-weary, I can always trust that God is right here in the muck beside me. He isn’t offended by my bad attitude or my tendency toward fear or the rabbit trail of “what if” scenarios I often spiral down.

He promises to never leave me. Never. No matter how far I run away or how deeply I bury my head in the sand, He remains steadfast.

This is why, after a long and frustrating morning of school work, defiant attitudes and one sick kiddo (we are fairly certain it’s strep and thankfully the antibiotics already seem to be working), I can reset my day with a deep breath and a desperate plea for grace.

Psalm 142 was like a soothing balm for my soul this afternoon. If you’re in the same place today of feeling overwhelmed or stir crazy or just plain over this quarantine, I encourage you to read David’s prayer and be reminded that God is our place of refuge and He is ready and willing to listen to our complaints and our troubles. 

"I cry out to the Lord;
    I plead for the Lord’s mercy.
2 I pour out my complaints before him
    and tell him all my troubles.
3 When I am overwhelmed,
    you alone know the way I should turn.
Wherever I go,
    my enemies have set traps for me.
4 I look for someone to come and help me,
    but no one gives me a passing thought!
No one will help me;
    no one cares a bit what happens to me.
5 Then I pray to you, O Lord.
    I say, “You are my place of refuge.
    You are all I really want in life.
6 Hear my cry,
    for I am very low.
Rescue me from my persecutors,
    for they are too strong for me.
7 Bring me out of prison
    so I can thank you.
The godly will crowd around me,
    for you are good to me.”

- Psalm 142, emphasis mine

A few more practical tips to stay sane during this season: turn off the news and get some fresh air. Even if you are in an apartment and are only able to open a window. Do it. Allow a chilly gust of wind to hit your face and breathe deeply. I firmly believe that fresh air and sunshine are little gifts from a good God to help lift our spirits no matter the circumstance.

Sending love and grace, friends.