Getting Ready

It was New Year's Eve - 1999. The year I graduated high school. The year I ventured out into the real world as a freshman in college, discovering the tastes and sounds and culture of the magnificent city of Chicago. And the year that was rumored to lead into the supposed Millennial Apocalypse. The news stations were smothered with instructions to stock up on water bottles and flash lights. Computers would no longer be working after midnight. This was it.

And apparently, I was very concerned. It was my first Christmas break from college, and my first real quality time spent in Memphis, Tennessee, where my family had relocated just prior to the start of my schooling. I had no friends in this city - and I'm honestly not quite sure how I ended up with this particular group of college age "kids" but I was at some one's house that I didn't personally know... avoiding the runny jello shots and trying to fake laugh at the crude humor in American Pie, which up until this point in my life I had managed to never see, and didn't care if the world ended that night because I wouldn't be sad to miss the end of the movie. The lights never went out, the TV never went black and I was left to fend for myself in an incredibly awkward situation. I sat in my recliner, pretending to sleep through the rest of the movie... wondering if there would be a shortage of water bottles and bread for those who didn't stock up on it.

The most popular question I've been asked in the past week has been, "So, are you ready for 2015?" I'm sure thousands of people thought they were ready for the new millennium and all the mayhem it was going to bring. And then there are New Year's resolutions... a preparation to change. Most likely temporarily. But over the years, no matter how much we think we are ready - events happen that prove we were no where close. April 19, 1995. September 11, 2001. August 23, 2005. April 27, 2011. April 15, 2013. In fact, every day of every month of every year holds significance for someone somewhere. A day they never saw coming... something they never expected.

So when I am asked if I feel ready for the new year, how can I even respond? I thought I had a great start to this year. If 2014 was a boxing ring, the first trouble I met knocked me flat on my back and the lousy ref never intervened and I just continued getting kicked while I was down. How could I have prepared myself for that? How could I have known it was going to be such a rough year?

Because Jesus told me so.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

I think I have always viewed the new year through a rose colored lens. It's a new start... I can determine my fate if I make smart choices, stick to my goals and keep my head up. The thing is, the new year isn't really a new start at all. It's just a new page on the calendar like every other month of the year. My tears from December will roll into January... because time doesn't just stop at 11:59 on December 31 - allowing us to become completely new people with blank slates and new habits - and then start rolling again when the ball drops in Times Square. I heard U2's New Year's Day on the radio last night. Bono's words, "I will begin again..." kept turning around in my head. The truth is, we can "begin again" on any day of the year.

In my 2014 boxing ring, I wasn't just the unfortunate soul who got her butt handed to her. I was also the ref. Jesus told me I would have trouble, and instead of calling the cheap shots for what they were, I stood there and watched injustice play out before me without saying a word. In a very difficult yet invaluable teaching moment, I realized what God was trying to show me this year.

The apostle Paul, imprisoned and facing death, urged his fellow believers on with this letter, which was placed so timely in my line of sight, right when I needed to read it. 

           In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge: Preach the word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction. For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry. For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time for my departure is near. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. ~2 Timothy 4:1-8

Paul was a fighter. He raced to the finish line, never losing faith. He was prepared - in and out of season. He endured much hardship and STILL PRESSED ON. Oh, how I want to have faith like Paul's! He didn't try to control his fate nor did he just sit back and let life happen to him. No - he took Jesus' hand and together, with his Savior by his side - THEY happened to IT. Testimonies aren't powerful because things happen to us. They are powerful because we take the hand of our Savior and we fight the good fight. And we win.

Lamentations 3:22-23 tells us that God's mercies are new every morning... not just on January 1st. Instead of looking at 2015 as a whole, I want to take each day as it comes. I may not know what each day will bring, and some will be much harder than others. But I am done asking the question, "Why is this happening to me?" When something happens, I will be ready.  

Synonyms for the word ready: accessible, adjusted, all set, all systems go, anticipating, apt, arranged, at beck and call, at fingertips, close to hand, completed, convenient, covered, equipped, expectant, fit, fixed for, handy, in line, in order, in place, in position, near, on call, open to, primed, qualified, ripe, set, waiting, wired.

I can't be physically ready for what is to come. But my Savior is. He is close to hand. He is complete. He is at my beck and call. He is accessible. He is equipped. He covers me. He is fit, near, set, waiting... and He is mine. And I am His. With His Word close to my heart, I know with confidence that I can do anything through Him who gives me strength. I know that with my God I can scale a wall. And if one of these days I fall, I know he will be there to pick me up, pray with me as we watch the sun set, and carry me... to the next day. Where I will begin again.

Clearing the Rubble

My husband and I have owned a beautiful 10 acre plot of land for a little over a year now. We have dreams to build a home on it, plant a huge garden full of veggies and fruit trees, and of course there will be a weeping willow in the front yard somewhere. I have always wanted a willow tree. It's a must. This past year we planted corn on the land. We cleared thorny trees and planted white pines and spruce trees in their place. We tore down barbed wire fencing. We had electricity installed, so now my man can run power tools out there. But the greatest accomplishment by far is the tree swing Eric built for the boys. He precariously stood on top of a fully extended 30 foot ladder that barely grazed the bottom of the elm branch he was wrapping rope around. The giggles and squeals that accompany an excited Heaton boy as he swings back and forth, around and around, is priceless. Our newest venture is going to be constructing a Morton building - a place where Eric can operate his business, and the site where many parts of our future house will be birthed.

In order to build this shed, we needed to break up a concrete slab that remained from a pre-existing structure on the land. It actually looked like mini ancient ruins, overrun with weeds, tall grass, and random trees protruding from the cracked concrete. With a back hoe and a manly growl (what I like to compare to a gorilla beating his chest) my main squeeze busted up that concrete into chunks of hard gray rubble. Then, he immediately cleared the rubble away by moving it next to the road, where he can jack hammer it apart later into rock that he can lay as the floor of the building.

It amazes me how God can hammer in a point sometimes. (Pun intended.) I am currently leading Kelly Minter's Nehemiah Bible study at my church. I come together with an amazing group of tenderhearted women every Wednesday morning to explore the significance of Nehemiah and his calling to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem after the city lay in ruins. The timeliness of this study has me marveling at God and His perfect ways. Let me explain.

This year has been a rough year for me, to say the least. January led with a bang - a personal blow that left me feeling broken and confused. The hardest part of dealing with this situation was the aftermath of thoughts in my head. I knew I wasn't outside of God's will, which is why I didn't understand why I had come under fire. I should expect by now that following God's voice does not mean things will always go smoothly for me. But this confusing situation left me open and vulnerable. I had suffered a major blow - and I was standing in a pile of rubble. Just weeks later, I found a lump in my breast while my husband was oversees leading a mission trip. For over a week I convinced myself that I had breast cancer. Fear consumed me and the pile of rubble grew around me. Though it was just a cyst, the "lump" took a life of its own. The fear and uncertainty that came with it left me feeling afraid for the next attack. Over the next few months, we experienced two deaths in the family, a couple of very difficult circumstances surrounding my husband's work life, and a trip to the dermatologist that determined I had some pre-cancerous cells that still need to be surgically removed. And underlying all of this, my husband and I have been trying for over a year to get pregnant. And it ain't happening.

As the pile of rubble grew around me, so did my anxiety. I never really struggled with anxiety before. I'm usually known for remaining calm in stressful situations. But as these arrows kept firing at me (or so it felt like) I had no defense against them. Fear had grown roots inside of me, in the form of anxiety. My walls - my armor - were laying around me, in a heaping mess of rubble, as evidence of the blows I kept incurring. It got to the point where I was just anticipating the next attack. What was next? Do I have cancer somewhere? Is that why I can't get pregnant? Is someone dear to me going to die? Is our house going to burn down? I had crazy thoughts running through my head, and as I stood in the midst of the ruins around me, remains of a strength I once knew, I told God that I just couldn't live like this anymore.

Enter Nehemiah.

The city of Jerusalem - the home of a people set apart by God - had been pillaged, God's temple burned, the walls of the city broken, the gates demolished by fire, and anything of value destroyed. And God put it in Nehemiah's heart to rebuild the city. At the time Kelly Minter was writing this Bible study, she had recently finished helping with a restoration project that helped families who had lost their homes during the Nashville flood several year ago.

       She says this, "After the Nashville flood I helped rebuild three homes, and during the process I learned a worthy lesson: The difference between building and rebuilding is rubble. Building starts with a clean slate and means new, freshly-scented materials. Rebuilding means maneuvering through piles of brick, metal, and junk before you get to hanging the stunning chandelier you found for half-price, the one God ordained for you to own before the foundation of the world... The problem with rubble is that it hangs around well after the initial destruction. Though the attack of Jerusalem's walls had long since passed, the rubble was still present."

This revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. (Again, pun intended.) I was standing in the pile of rubble that I had allowed to continue growing with every blow I was dealt throughout the year. I had never cleared any of it away. The lingering evidence of these hardships was scattered around me and manifesting itself in the form of anxiety. Of course I was just waiting for the next attack... because somewhere along the way I had thrown my hands up in defeat.

Eric immediately cleared the broken concrete away so that a new structure could be built in its place. Seeing this physical representation, along with God's Word loud and clear in my mind, I understood what I needed to do in order to move forward. I needed to remove the rubble in my life, and rebuild. I began to pray for the Lord to replace my anxiety with His Peace. He did. I turned to my family and trusted friends and asked for their prayers and intercession on my behalf. They did. As I have dug further into this Bible study, I sense God reworking my heart as we - together - rebuild Heather, not to who she formerly was, but as a new creation. 2 Corinthians 5:17 us "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" I find such encouragement knowing that my Great God can take a broken woman, standing in a messy field of ruins, and pluck her right out of it, holding her in the palm of His hand as He gently sculpts her into the woman He longs for her to be.

Since I have cleared away the excess baggage, I have noticed God's still voice ever so clearer. Things that brought me anxiety only a couple of months ago, I now have peace about. He is working and changing my heart towards BIG things that only He could move me to do. I am not the person I was 10 months ago, but a stronger believer with a greater understanding of who He is and what He desires from me. And I've learned that, when an attack comes, if I simply just let go and fall back into His arms, He will catch me... and I won't break.

Fanning the Flame

An open road lay before us. The windows were rolled down, my hair blowing wildly in the wind. The maple trees were just starting to catch fire in the setting sun. Early signs of fall were everywhere. Burning bushes ablaze, stretching pines casting shadows on golden oaks, and brilliant yellow sunflowers adorning the cottage fronts. A quiet Lake Michigan sparkled on our right as we entered the quaint little Door County town that claimed the name Baileys Harbor. Eric and I left our beloved children with their grandparents and planned a weekend escape to northern Wisconsin for some much needed one on one time. As we pulled into the parking lot of the Blacksmith Inn, we were greeted with warm smiles, hot apple cider and delectable Door County cherry oatmeal cookies. We took our mugs of steaming cider down a meandering path through cat tails and tall grass to a pier that overlooked the harbor. As we sat there, sipping our drinks, breathing in the crisp lake air and scanning the color-changing trees along the shoreline, we held hands and exchanged smiles that were full of meaning. We really needed this.

Before we had kids, Eric and I were adventurers, loving a lifestyle full of spontaneity and new experiences. We lived in Colorado for a year and a half, so finding excitement was never a difficult task. Our first morning in Baileys Harbor, we planned out a 13 mile bike ride to the Cana Island Lighthouse. Neither one of us had ever been on a tandem bike before, so we thought that would be a fun way to go.

We lasted fifteen seconds before I hopped off and requested my own bike. The bike ride to the lighthouse was beautiful and scenic. We pedaled past rustic cabins with views of the serene lake. Everything was calm here. Quiet and peaceful. We enjoyed exploring around the lighthouse, learning about the history of those who had claimed it as their home. After the bike ride back to the Inn, we checked out and headed to Ephraim, where we would be staying for the next two nights. The following days were spent indulging in excellent food, wine tastings and tours at several wineries and cider mills throughout the neighboring towns, perusing art galleries, and driving through Peninsula State Park (which included a climb up a 100 and something step tower with an overlook of the entire park - which Eric deemed "unsafe" and he couldn't "believe those beams were holding that structure together". When stuff like that comes out of a carpenter's mouth and you are a mile high in the air, it can cause just a little panic.) We watched the sunset every night, from a different point on the harbor.

 

 

 

During a recent sermon series at our church, my Pastor claimed an important truth of which I needed to be reminded of. My marriage needs to be Christ centered, NOT child centered. In this particular season of my life now - with a 4 and 5 year old in tow - that truth has been difficult to claim for myself. My children demand so much of me throughout the day. By the time my husband walks in the door at the end of the day, I'm spent. My energy has been used up on my boys, and I don't feel that I have much left to invest in him. My husband deserves more than that. Much more.

 

Harvest season is underway. Eric worked all weekend, even on my little one's birthday this past Saturday. I get it - I don't begrudge him at all. I know the work needs to be done. But this time of harvest is a difficult season for our family, because my husband is out the door before the kids are awake and home after they go to bed. I get a healthy dose of what single parenting is all about. And its not easy. But most of all, this time of separation between my husband and I leaves me feeling alone and vulnerable. I miss him. That's why we have made the effort to take a getaway trip every year since we've moved here, about this time, to connect, refocus and remind ourselves of the love we have for each other. It helps us endure this busy season of life.

 

Marriage is hard work. It requires a constant investment of ourselves into a person we love, though don't particular like at times. It requires sacrifice, selflessness, grace, mercy, ready forgiveness and a whole lot of trust. This recent trip to the beautiful Door County reminded me of some things I hadn't paid much attention to in recent months. With God's beauty in the changing colors of the trees, the vibrant sunsets, bountiful vineyards and sparkling waters, the message He spoke to my heart was loud and clear.

 

Marriage isn't just about me and my husband. It is a three way union. When Eric and I stood before our friends and family ten and a half years ago and took vows to love, honor and cherish each other, we did so by inviting God to be a part of that covenant. God tethers me to Eric, and Eric to me. By honoring my husband, I am honoring my God - who blessed me with such an amazing man to provide for me. Remembering that God is not only what tethers us together, but also the foundation on which our marriage is built, demands my commitment to invest in maintaining a Christ-centered marriage.

 

I have always been one that finds myself drawing closer to God when I am in beautiful environments. There is something majestic about standing before a sprawling mountain range, or sinking into the sand on a white beach with waves rolling in. As I took in the beauty around me this past week with my husband, God brought something else to mind. Marriage is a gift from Him. He gave us the gift of marriage as an example of what life is like when we walk with Him. God is always there for us, in sickness and in health. He loves us so much that he sent His only son to die on our behalf. He has the power to heal us, restore us and lift us up from the darkest places. He is always listening to us, even when we aren't speaking. Marriage on earth is a representation of the unity we have with Him when we invite Christ to be a part of our lives. So when I draw near to my husband, God is also inviting me to draw near to Him.

 

I was also gently reminded this past week that it is imperative to fan the flame. We invest our time, energy, emotions, heart, soul, and passion into so many things. Too much busyness and too many hardships have the potential to wedge themselves between my husband and I throughout the year. With the demands of daily living with small children and my husband's crazy work schedule, I honestly don't know how we would have made it this far had we not taken the time to invest in each other... had we not taken time to fan the flame. Flames will eventually burn out if the fire is not tended to. We are living in a culture where divorce is a declaration of a smoking pile of logs. Too many people are letting the flame die. If I am being honest, I believe our flame has come pretty close to being snuffed out - perhaps only a burning ember was left at one point. But I am thankful for a God who never leaves us or forsakes us - who is small enough to hear our silent prayers, and big enough to keep the fire from going out - all on His own.

 

This weekend getaway allowed us the chance to pay attention to the details... enjoying the fine wine, stopping to smell the flowers, and witnessing the radiant sunsets that cast a fiery red glow on everything they touched. I am so thankful for the gift of marriage, and how God's love for us is spoken in and through it.

 

 

 

Some Things Aren't Better Left Unsaid

One night, when I was 8 years old, my younger brother and I snuck into our baby brother's room and hid under his crib. We were always finding new places to set up forts and secret hiding spots. What we found under the crib was a surprise to us both. There was a trap door... that led to another world. We fell through the door, finding ourselves in a magical wonderland. I became a princess. My brother was a knight. Our adventures included battling dragons, rescuing each other from dangerous villians, and of course, I fell in love with a prince. Life was always an exciting journey with my brother by my side.

My dad called our bedtime stories "The Adventures of Heather and Travis." Travis and I would crawl into his bed, snuggled up in our pj's, ready and excited for whatever tale my dad was going to narrate. My dad never disappointed us. Travis and I journeyed through a land of dinosaurs, and even experienced the crazy wild wild west. For years this tradition continued. It is one of my favorite childhood memories, and just recently it became something I started doing with my own boys.

We have an unfinished basement, and in that basement is a tiny little tent we leave up in the middle of a play area. I found myself crammed in there with Jack and Gabe (and a few dead spiders) not too long ago, and the idea washed over me like a tidal wave. This is where it would begin.

Jack and Gabe found themselves running through the field behind our house, coming across a huge sprawling Maple with a giant hidden door in its trunk. They entered into a magical world where they could ride Thomas the Train, race with Lightening McQueen, and fly through the air with Rocket and the rest of the Little Einsteins. The three of us laughed so hard in that little tent, and now it has become the place where we go to tell stories... and have adventures.

It's fun to recall fond memories from childhood. I treasure the memories I have of story time with my dad, and I am so blessed to be able to continue the legacy he began.

My mother grew up poor, in a family of seven. Her dad had purchased an old inn, with intentions of fixing it up for his family to live in. For three months, while waiting for the inn to become move-in-ready, my mom and her pregnant mother, father, and siblings, lived in a two-story cabin near a river. Both floors of the house were open - no separate rooms, and there was no running water or electricity. Fetching water from the river was a daily chore, and taking baths in the river was just a way of life. While their dad was tearing off the shake shingles from the roof and sides of the old inn, my mom and her siblings would go around collecting the nails as the shingles fell. Each child received a penny for every bucket full.

My mom laughed as she told me this story, which was fresh to my ears, until recently. My mother is the definition of excellent work ethic. I believe this story illustrates why. My mother's childhood contrasts my own in so many ways, which only yields more respect from me... because she never forgot her roots. Her stories of her upbringing were used in teaching my brothers and I how to appreciate the blessings the Lord had given us.

There are many different types of stories, and some are easier to tell than others. We can look back on our lives and decide what stories we feel comfortable sharing, what will be well received by others, and what will make us look good... strong even. Of course we can still appreciate and learn from these stories that are shared. However, seasons of brokeness and despair, moments of weakness, and personal struggles that locked us in the grip of sin, are typically not in our "go to" mental box for story sharing. It's much easier to stuff the unpleasant moments of our lives deep down into a place where the sun doesn't shine... we tell ourselves that what's in the past is in the past, and there it should stay.

Here's the thing - a legacy isn't just something we leave behind after we die, its a continuing impression we imprint on the lives of everyone we encounter. Isaiah 26:8 has been my personal mission statement - "Yes, Lord, walking in the way of your laws, I wait for you; your name and renown is the desire of my heart." By sharing our stories, we allow others to see Christ working in our lives - through the good times, and the bad. It blesses me when I hear a friend share about a personal struggle and how she is pushing and growing through it. Why? Because 9 times out of 10, I can relate.

This year has been a rough year for me. I can attribute it to some stressful situations, but if I am being honest, I feel like I am stuck in a period of waiting. Waiting for answers... results... resolution. Waiting for the stars to align and for my life to be perfect for just a moment so I can ditch the anxiety in the pit of my stomach and find joy - the purest kind. I am finding myself wanting to pull myself closer and closer to Jesus. I know he is the only One who can give me peace. But it is hard. It's really hard sometimes to do that.

It's not easy to say some things out loud. I recently had a conversation with a dear friend who challenged me to say my fears out loud. When we say them out loud, it makes them seem more real, and that is scary. But saying them out loud opens the door for real conversation to take place. I love my husband and my kids and my family. I am so blessed and I recognize that daily. But life is just hard sometimes. I suppose this is my story right now. I kind of wish I could find my way back into that bedroom with the crib and slip underneath it into a world where I create my own destiny. I have been in funks before, though not quite like this. I don't anticipate it lasting much longer, since I don't believe its where God wants me to stay.

I have been journaling for 15 years. I can look back through the pages of the story of my life and read about how God delivered me from this harmful situation and that devastating loss, and how He brought this amazing person into my life and brought me that incredible life-changing opportunity. Sometimes I laugh at how silly some of my thoughts were... but I see how much I've grown and how EVERY season of my life had a purpose with a lesson attached to it. As I was going through my old journals, I came across a poem I wrote back in the summer of 2001, which was during a time of difficult transition in my life. I can relate to it all over again, and I will end with it here.

 

Flames envelop my body and I gasp for air

My arms shoot up, reaching for a Savior

Smoke clouds my vision and I grope for that hand

Tears begin to stream down my charred face

And then I feel it.

Water.

So fresh and clean, it drowns me in purity

I still cannot open my eyes, for the pressure is too strong

My heart beats faster and faster, for the water is freezing

The weight of my drenched clothes pulls me down

I feel a current dragging me into a stream

A river.

A raging river that is tossing me about

I start to sink, the water encompassing my thrashing limbs

I cannot breathe

Again, I reach out

And feel a branch.

I cling to it and pull myself out onto a thorny shore

As I gasp for air - fresh, cool air, I am stung

Pierced.

By the brush on the sand and rocks around me

Vines begin to wrap around me, squeezing tighter and tighter

I am pulled to the ground, and cannot move

Snakes begin to slither around me, like the binding vines

I can't scream, for my lips are sealed by sticky, pricking leaves

Then I feel it.

Wind.

It rushes in so fast it feels like a blast of fire

The air is blowing so strong, it carries the snakes away

The vines unravel and I begin to tumble

I feel myself rolling down a hill

I cover my face, for the dirt and dust are stinging my eyes

Then it stops.

The wind stops.

I open my eyes.

There it is.

Towering over me as I rise to my knees

It stands there so beautifully

Casting a shadow of grace that covers me

I felt the water, the branch, the wind

The calming of every storm

From that wonderful, radiant cross standing before me

Freedom.

The hand that saved me.

And lifted me up.



Momma's First Day of School

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

What? Why is my alarm going off at this ungodly hour? Then it sunk in...

It's Jack's first day of kindergarten.

My heart jumped in my throat as I clenched my pillow. The tears rushed to my eyes. Lord, protect him. Always stay by his side. Bring him wonderful, Christ loving friends. Fill his teacher's heart with grace for him. Give him confidence and peace, help him focus, keep his mind open. Bless him today. Amen.

I have been dreading this day, I'm not going to lie. I have spent almost every day of his almost six years of life with him. What is a stay at home momma to do when her first born starts going to school all day? I've had an emotional couple of weeks leading up to today. I began coaching myself with a little chorus I wrote... I'm sure you can guess the tune.

Let him go! Let him go!
Can't hold him back anymore!
Let him go! Let him go!
Let him walk through every door!

The only thing I remember from my first day of kindergarten was the little girl sitting next to me. She was wearing a frilly red dress and white wool stockings. And she peed her pants. I can't tell you a THING about my first year in school other than that. Dear Lord, please help Jack to remember to use the bathroom every now and then. Amen.

I finally climbed out of bed. It took little effort, since I knew I needed to bring my A game this morning. I was standing outside his door when he emerged, sleepy eyed and rubbing his tired head. I embraced him and we sat on his bed for a minute and prayed together. As he got dressed, I couldn't help but be proud of this handsome little boy standing before me. Perhaps one or two tears mingled with his eggs, but eggs need a little salt anyway so it was okay. As he was eating, I asked him what he was excited to learn about. "I don't think we are going to learn about tractors, are we," he said with a smile.

We gathered up his bags and supplies and headed out the door, pausing for a quick picture.

Then Eric, myself, Jack and Gabe sat on the front porch step and put our arms around Jack. Daddy prayed for Jack's day and first year of school. We piled into the car, excitedly talking about all the fun things that would probably happen in Jack's day. We walked into school together. As I walked behind Jack, with his John Deere book bag hanging off his back and his tractor lunch box in his hand, I could feel the tears wanting to push their way out. Someone somewhere was praying for me then, because the tears never surfaced.

We walked into his classroom. He knew right where to go. He hung up his bags and sat behind his desk. He glanced over his shoulder to eye the other kids in the class. He smiled at them, then turned to look at me.

Eric and Gabe hung back by the classroom door. Gabe called out, "I'm going to miss you, Jack!" Jack smiled, ready to go, already opening the book that had been carefully placed on his desk. It was time.

I approached the door, wanting to stay but excited for him and this milestone. I could have lost it in the gym, but somebody else, somewhere, was praying for me, and I held it together. Gabe and I headed over to our favorite bakery in town for a date to celebrate the special time the two of us would have together now. I knew I needed to be in a public place or else I would probably be home sobbing. We ran into many friends while eating our treats, who were full of hugs and smiles. I was actually shocking my friends with the fact that I hadn't actually cried yet. I was shocking myself.

Now here I sit, typing and doing puzzles and playing Chutes and Ladders with my three year old. There is no fighting in the house. Weird. I miss my little five year old. I wonder what he is doing right now? I've been asking myself... what are my fears? Besides simply letting him go... letting him move forward to the next season of his life... what are the thoughts that are nagging at me? I suppose I worry that he won't be accepted. Will he be teased? Will he struggle to understand things? I love this kid SO much. And as I sit here and type this, I know - that my love isn't enough for him.

For the past five years I have held an umbrella of protection over him. I suppose, I have known deep down, that all the while the Lord has been holding an umbrella of protection over the both of us - our entire family, actually. Psalm 121 tells me that the Lord watches over us always - He never slumbers. He watches over our coming and going and will keep us from all harm. Today as Jack walked out from under my own umbrella, I felt peace knowing that he was still standing under God's protection.

This process of letting Jack go has reminded me that the only way he is going to get to know and form a relationship with the Lord is if I give him the independence to do so. My love runs deep for my children but it cannot save them. Only God's love can do that. As hard as it is to be separated from him this first day, I am excited to bear witness to God's work in his life and how Jack will begin to lean less on me and lean more on Him.

Last night I had a hard time falling asleep. Too many worries running through my head. Pen and paper usually help, so I busted out some poetry to sort my thoughts...


When I drop him off and leave, will he notice? Will he care?

That is ever lovin' momma is no longer there?

What about his teacher? Will she get him? Will she see?

The smart, sweet little boy I always know him to be?

When he opens his lunch bag, will he feel loved?

Will it be the First Day of School lunch he's always dreamed of?

Will he fit right in and make lots of friends?

Will he be sad when his first day of school ends?

Will he make it through the day without needing a nap?

Will I make it through the day without being a sap?

Will he always remember that his momma loves him so?

Will he always remember that God loves him more?

I pray, Dear Lord, that you hold on to him tight.

I trust you will never let him out of your sight.

Teach Him your Word, let it dwell in his heart.

Remind him often that you will never be apart.

Thank you Father, for the gift of this sweet boy.

He is so special and has brought me much joy.

May He serve You well.

May he be a mighty arrow in Your hands.

May he look to You always.

Amen.

Small Town Livin'

The first time I visited this small farm town of which I now call Home, I was less than impressed. I was a 21 year old college student attending a university in the great city of Chicago. Driving out of the city into the expanse of cornfields and red barns was like stepping out of a desert directly into an ice age. Complete shock. Ironically, my husband and I were only at the "just friends" stage of our relationship at the time, but he had already told me that I was the one he was going to marry, and I was just trying to catch up. This visit was not helping his case.

A tour through the tiny town of not quite 10,000 people left me feeling somber. I did not see any young people... no hot spots, no Starbucks, no shopping of any kind really, and not many restaurants except the ones I didn't like. Plenty of nursing homes, abandoned store fronts and uneven brick roads helped me come to the immediate conclusion that this would never be a place I would choose to live. Ever. I remember walking into a little boutique (which, even as a college student, I thought was pretty cute and I remember thinking "well, at least the town has this"). A woman approached me and asked me if I needed help. When she saw who I was with (my "friend" and his mom) the following conversation revealed that she was a second or third cousin of Eric's - once or twice removed, they weren't quite sure. This struck me as odd. I have a total of six cousins in existence, who all live in opposite corners of the United States. I have never really had close relationships with many of my external family members, since distance was always such an obstacle. Did I even have second cousins?

It was the holiday of Easter that had brought me to this little neck of the... cornfields, of which, in my family, was celebrated with just me and my siblings and parents and an awesome ham. Eric's entire family was present for this particular feast, and after I had met his mom, dad, brother, sister, sister's boyfriend, aunt, uncle, grandparents, cousins and their spouses I had just decided to claim the title of "Eric's girlfriend" because explaining anything else was just getting too complicated. (Yes, that is how it happened, folks.) Eric's familys' roots ran deep in this town and it was evident everywhere we went. Driving around the country led us past old farmhouses occupied by relatives of all sorts. I never thought in a million years that I would grow to love those stretching corn fields.

Fast forward nine years. It is August 17, 2011. I step inside an empty house that belongs to Eric's grandmother, who recently moved into a nursing home. Though there is nothing inside this house, I can still picture the furniture that used to hug every corner and the old pictures that adorned the walls. My 11 month old is resting on my hip, my two year old is... somewhere. And I am thinking, "This is it. Our new home. Lord, you promised to prosper me, not to harm me. Please make good on that promise. Please."

Hardly a week had passed since we had moved into our new home. I opened up the front door one morning to find this sitting on our porch.

 

This was a big deal to me. Moving (which included leaving my family behind) was so hard - emotionally and physically. We were receiving gifts from strangers and finding fresh home grown veggies delivered to our door step. This town showed my sweet little family more love, generosity and acceptance in several weeks than I ever could have asked for. And it helped. The outpouring of friendship reeled me right in.

 

My 21 year old self had no clue what my 30 year old heart would yearn for, yet it was those initial judgements that I clung to which shaped my negative view towards this town. As I watched my eldest son climb on a combine for the first time with his daddy and ride off into the fields, his excitement erupting into giggles and questions and ear to ear smiles, I knew this was the best place for me to be raising my two sons. My husband was happy to be doing what he loved doing. My children were loving farm life and all the dirt, big wheels and green it had to offer. 

 

We have since found a church that we love, friendships that are blessing us richly, and both Eric and I are using our spiritual gifts to serve others within the community. I always run into someone I know when I am grocery shopping or running errands in town. I have a "usual" at my favorite coffee spot. My hair stylist is a dear friend - getting my hair done turns into a girls night on the town. So is the receptionist at the doctor's office up the road that my boys and I frequent in the winter. Only in a small town can you walk in the doors of a business, meet someone you think is friendly and end up scheduling a play date a few weeks later. But one of the best things is when a friend's child sees you across the aisle at the store and runs to you with arms wide open. We are doing more than cultivating friendships here. We are growing a family - a network of people who genuinely love each other, caring about the lives of every member.

 

I was very judgmental when I visited this small town a dozen years ago. I surveyed the area, made claims against the place and decided them to be true... A town with no Starbucks could never offer me a place where I could be inspired to write. I don't see any young families walking around so there must not be any which means I will have no friends. The churches are so small, there is no way I will be able to serve in the same capacity as my previous church with 5,000 members. There are no good restaurants anywhere so Eric and I are never going to be able to go on a date again... 

 

I have very limited eye sight. I am so thankful for a God who sees the big picture. And I am so blessed to say that He proved me wrong with every single one of those claims. Sure, there are times I get frustrated that I have to drive 25 minutes to buy organic fruit, and I really wish my favorite sushi restaurant wasn't 45 minutes away, and it sure would be nice to have the boys' doctor and dentist a little closer, BUT I love running into a friend when we are dropping our kids off at sports camp and spontaneously decide to grab a cup of coffee, and I am so thankful that we live so close to family, and I ADORE the fact that the boys can go to work with their daddy and learn what it means to work hard. Life is slower here.

 

But life is fuller here.

 

I have learned an important life lesson through this journey. Just like my momma taught me to never judge a book by its cover, or a person by their outsides, I should never judge a situation or circumstance before completely immersing myself in it. I don't believe I've changed either. I'm still the same woman - with the same wiring and past and experiences and fears as my 21 year old self - but I've allowed myself to grow. Judgmental attitudes stem from the fear of personal growth. Often we stunt our own personal growth because we are afraid of what it means for our future - and it feels safer to stay where we are. I still love visits to the city. I will never embrace the farmer's flannel. I just can't. But I have allowed myself the opportunity to embrace a life full of richness and blessings, and I have grown so much in the process.

 

Eric and I recently took the boys on a bike ride through the town. We rode through neighborhoods, down Main Street, through the fairgrounds, passed the train tracks, around the hospital, through the park and even stopped for ice cream. We invented a game as we pedalled along, waving at everyone, mostly people we knew. The game was called "You know you live in a small town when..." We laughed at some of the scenarios we had experienced since we had moved here. My favorite was "You know you live in a small town when you call to order a pizza and the pizza guy on the other end of the line asks for your name, exclaims, "We have the same last name! We must be related!" and come to find out... you are related."

 

This is the kind of town where friends trade home grown tomatoes for fresh farm eggs. It's the kind of town that rallies behind those who are ill with benefits and auctions to help support families during difficult times. It's the kind of town where everybody knows your name... (sing with me!). It's the kind of town I want my children to grow up in. It's the kind of town I want to live in.

 

I think I've come along way. For those of you that know me well, I actually started listening to country music the other day. I know, shocking. It's all about choosing to grow... blooming where you are planted. Embracing the life God has in store for you because He knows best. And He knows what I like better than I do.







Love, Loss, and Legacy

Family vacations taken during my childhood were always an adventure... of sorts. I have fond memories of jumping in the Atlantic waves that rolled into Myrtle Beach, braving the tallest water slides with my Dad, and souvenir shopping with my mom. Whether we were travelling someplace exotic (compared to central New York) or visiting family, a very long car ride was inevitable. My dad had an affinity for Flock of Seagulls, Peter Gabriel, and the Yardbirds, which only added annoyance - like icing on a cake - to the already complaining younger brothers who missed the cup quite often when attempting to pee in the car because my dad's eagerness to reach the final destination trumped stopping the vehicle. And forget about scouting around for cute boys - I was too busy trying to locate one brother who had mastered the disappearing act in the middle of the busiest places. Now as an adult, I look back on the memories made and cherish them. The laughs, the annoyances - all of it. The day we were strolling along the boardwalk and stumbled across a Jesus Jones concert while they were rocking out their popular radio hit that my dad and I actually both liked, and the night we all dressed up for our elegant dinner on our first cruise, and the time my mom's whole side of the family decided to rent a house near Virginia Beach - with her three sisters and brother and my three brothers and a cousin and grandparents - crazy fun. Moments we were all together, stepping out of regular life into a moment where time stood still and we could just... be.

My mom and I were talking earlier this year about how my youngest brother was going to be leaving for grad school in Japan at the end of the summer, and how the whole family (parents and four siblings with families) hadn't all been together in over a couple of years. We decided on the spot to rent a beach house in Gulf Shores and have one last hoorah before we sent my brother to the other side of the world. Plans were quickly made, everyone was on board. Just three weeks before our departure date I made a paper chain that my boys could rip apart daily as a countdown to our beach trip. With only a few paper chain links remaining, I received a phone call from my mom who informed me that her and my father would be driving to Connecticut (from their home in Nashville) to be with my grandma who only had a few days left to live. Because my parents had so graciously rented this house for us, along with the uncertainty of when my grandmother would actually pass, my brothers and I decided to proceed with our vacation plans, praying that my parents would be able to join us soon.

I wrote about my grandmother in another blog post (The Story Before Your Story). She had lived a long, full life and old age wasn't being kind to her anymore. My grandma Mary passed away the morning we all set out for the beach. The car ride that day was long... thinking about her and her life. Sad that I wasn't able to be there for my dad, missing my parents who I knew in my heart wouldn't be making it to the beach... all while maintaining excitement for the two little boys who sat like angels in the back of our Explorer, anxiously looking out the window for a glimpse of the ocean. When we arrived at our destination, my two little sweet peas morphed into cannon balls as they shot out of their car seats and flew towards the sand and water. I trailed behind them, the sand sticking to my legs, my lungs filling with air tinted with salt water, the sound of the crashing waves growing louder with every step I took. Warm embraces from my brothers and excitement about the beautiful house, getting settled and grilling dinner kept me from shedding more than the single tear that found its way out as my heart wished for this family gathering to be complete.

Our first full day at the beach house was perfect. The three little cousins had fun burying one another in the sand and chasing a crab they collectively named Crab Apple Peanut Butter. Eric found himself swimming next to a sting ray, and my sister-in-law and I enjoyed watching the dolphins frolic and flip right out in front of us. The smell of sunscreen, salty kisses and sand in every crack and crevice of our bodies was a constant reminder that we were exactly where we wanted to be. That night we gathered up the entire clan for some family pictures.

 

 

 

This family blesses me. Things may not have worked out exactly how I would have preferred, but the time that I had to bond with my brothers and their families this week was precious to me. Life is so busy. All the time. One thing that Eric and I have realized over the past few years is that we MUST take a family vacation every year, and him and I MUST take a long weekend getaway - just the two of us - every year. It's so important to have time to connect and focus on each other without distractions and the demands of every day life. Beautiful things happen when you have time to clear your head, sit back and relax, and say yes to every silly request your kids have. Stripping life down to just family time invites peace and joy to be abundantly present. And after a busy planting season, our little family of four desperately needed this time away from the craziness of daily life.

 

Eric and I took the boys to visit the USS Alabama in Mobile. The second we pulled into the parking lot of the military park the tears started flowing. I'm sure, in part, it had something to do with the fact that we had all watched Lone Survivor the previous night. Having so many relatives who are or had served in the military really invited me into claiming a part of a legacy I never really acquainted myself with before. As we explored the huge battleship (which Jack would have happily lived on for the rest of our vacation) I felt a tug to be connected to it somehow. The stories of men and women who served on it, the sleeping quarters displayed to give you a glimpse of what life was like for someone who lived aboard the ship, the guns and cannons reminding us that this was not a toy boat - all pointed to legacies that had been interwoven into the fabric of the ship.

 

 

 

In the back of my mind, I knew I was being sentimental, as it was also the day of my grandmother's funeral. Deep down I was evaluating my own life and the legacy I was leaving my own children. As I thought about my grandmother and the countless men and women who had served aboard the ship, so many other names and faces came to mind whom I had known or loved, and had lost. The lyrics of Nichole Nordeman's song Legacy began streaming through my head and I realized that it's important to remember our lost loved ones, but even more importantly, to celebrate them. This week long vacation of celebrating family and love, peace and joy, blessings and gratitude - was also about remembering where we came from... and Who we belong to.

 

That night as the sun was setting, we carried some colorful flowers out to the water's edge, and took a moment to celebrate my grandmother. In remembrance of the beauty and gift of her life, we cast the flowers into the waves and watched as the tide drew them into the deep ocean.

 

 

 

There is something so pure about a child playing. Watching my boys crash into the waves with laughter and excitement, instilled a strong sense of freedom within me. I tend to over complicate things. When I look at my life with a magnifying lens, its no wonder why I see so many imperfections. As I twirled Gabe in the water and searched for shells with Jack, God took a moment to gently remind me that the more important things in life don't require a magnifying lens to see. They are right there in front of me - waiting to be claimed by love and acceptance. And as I choose to embrace love, the legacy I leave becomes like footprints in the sand... a journey with a history and a future, intersected with others' lives, continually washed over with abounding grace, all while God tenderly draws me into His deep oceans of love.

 

My brothers and I decided to surprise my parents in Nashville, who had returned from Connecticut, on our way home from the beach. We all enjoyed a big, loud meal together before we went our separate ways. Twelve bodies packed together around the dining room table, celebrating one brother's birthday, Father's Day and another brother's admittance to grad school. The clinking of our glasses was the highlight of the week - a celebration of love and togetherness, the essence of family.

 





 



A Season of Sowing



Lately I have been in a funk. I feel tired. Worn out. From what exactly? I don't really know. Eric just wrapped up his planting season at the farm. So, technically I have been a single mom for the past month. I have so much respect for women who take on single motherhood every day, every month, every year. I can handle most days with my boys - but there are some nights I am looking at the clock, just waiting for my husband to walk through the door... so that I can walk out. I've always been an introspective person. I get stuck in my head a lot, and that isn't always a great place for me to be. I actually don't even feel like writing a blog right now, but I am trusting that God is trying to pull me out of this funky head case so I am going along with this.

Do you ever just feel like everything is hard work? Getting up in the morning, making breakfast for multiple mouths, doing three loads of laundry back to back while trying to scrape food off of plates that have been sitting in the sink for three days, remaining calm and patient with screaming and fighting boys running around and between your legs, the list goes on and on... Sometimes no task is small. I suppose I should mention too that there are a couple of things in my life right now that I am waiting on... I thought baby number three might be on the way by now. God clearly has other plans. And then there is the slow, almost painful process of saving money to build our future house. By the time the bills are paid we are lucky to be able to save anything at all. It sounds like I am complaining. I assure you, I am not. I am one blessed woman, and I know it. But my mindset is off right now. I know this because of what I am focusing on. I have recently decided that God has placed me in a season of sowing. I'm hard at work - doing life, as simple as it sounds, though it is not. And I need to remind myself that following EVERY season of sowing, comes a bountiful harvest.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.  (Galatians 6:9)

I just recently finished planting my garden. I have to admit, digging in the dirt is my least favorite part about gardening. I have princess hands. Though I have learned how to wrestle, touch worms and kill spiders - courtesy of being a mom of boys - I was born a girly girl and will forever be. I know, though, that from each seed I plant comes wonderful, tasty goodness in the form of succulent fruits and vegetables, so digging in the dirt is very worth it to me. I love watching the first sprouts push out of the cracked earth. Every little plant gets my full attention as I pluck the weeds that encroach it. Maintaining a garden is no easy task, but I enjoy the labor because of the fruit each plant yields. I dream of BLT's with fresh purple heirloom tomatoes and basil aioli, garlicky green beans and homemade bread and butter pickles... Mmmm... Just a few more weeks and I will be tasting these sweet treats.



This illustration of planting my garden makes my life make sense right now. Just like I don't like digging in the dirt, I am not crazy about these tougher times that seem to demand more than what I think I can offer. But like any season of sowing, growth brings maturity - in plants and people alike. We get our hands dirty when we sow, and we are stretched and tested as we grow. I constantly pray for God to use me in mighty ways. However, when the going gets tough, I often get weak and miss opportunities to grow in my relationship with Him. He promises me that I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength (Philippians 4:13). By choosing to lean on Him during these moments when I am feeling funky, I am widely available to be used in mighty ways by Him. If I can find joy in the tediousness of gardening, then surely I can press through these challenging seasons by focusing on the beauty of the season itself - taking notice to the way God is choosing to grow me.

I have clusters of green strawberries taking over my garden. Soon enough, I will be harvesting the fruits of my labor. I cling to God's promise to bless me with a harvest in my own daily routine, and with a trip to the beach in the near future, I am counting on doing some reaping then!









Peace in the Storm

There are some days you just don't forget. Days that impact your life - sculpting your destiny. Days that leave a mark on your soul, which reappear in stories, scrapbooks, newspapers and memorials. These days are full of detail - the recollection of smells, sounds, and feelings not too far from memory's reach. April 3, 2004 - my wedding day. November 18, 2008 - the day I became a mother. I remember these days so well, as if I can just pop a DVD into my brain and view the moments within them at any time.

Then there are those days that cling to our memories - days we wish we could forget.

I woke up to the phone ringing. I stumbled out of bed, barely making out my roommate's mother's words as she urged me to turn on the TV. I stood in awe and fear as I watched the World Trade Center dissolve in ashes, with the date - September 11, 2001 flashing across the ticker on the bottom of the news screen.

Some days are beautiful - full of fun and wonder. Other days are the eye of the storm, a storm that perhaps has been raging for quite some time and we wonder if we will make it to the next day. I am quite blessed to say that - ER trips and health scares aside - my story as a wife and mother does not have too many pages that contain days I wish to forget. Because even on the toughest days, I still saw God's hand in delivering us through it.

I shared briefly in my very first blog post about how I never had intended on becoming a farmer's wife. Farming was NOT in the cards for me. EVER. Or so I thought. I was clinging to the false illusion my darling fiancé had drawn for me... we would live happily ever after somewhere not near Illinois farm country where he grew up. He pinky swore.

Every year, at harvest time, he would venture back home to help out his dad and brother on the farm for a couple of weeks. I figured it was really good for him to stay connected with his "old way of life," envisioning that our "someday" children would love visits to the farm to experience tractors and combines and corn and things like that. After one of his yearly trips, he came home and told me that he felt called to move up north and farm with his family. The music stopped. Puppies everywhere were sad. WHAT. "Who called you?" I remember asking. "Are you sure it was God? He knows who you are married to!!!"

We had been married for a few years at this point, with no kids in tow just yet. I told Eric I would "pray" that God would call me to be a farmer's wife IF He was, in fact, calling Eric to be a farmer. And we would just see about that.

Well, several years and two kids later, things had started to change. By "things" I mean, my heart. Eric's desire to move back home to farm country had grown stronger. So had my resistance. I was adamant that God was most definitely NOT calling me to be a farmer's wife. I enjoyed Starbucks and easy trips to Target. What would the boys do without the splash pad at Bridge Street? Life was good in Huntsville, Alabama. But... actually it wasn't. 2010 was a rough year. Eric and I weren't seeing eye to eye on this whole moving situation. I had been hurt by a particular situation at the church we had been attending, so we were hopping from church to church on Sundays, and certainly not consistently. Relationships were changing all around me, and for no apparent reason. I was growing restless, and couldn't attribute it to anything. I began to feel isolated and disconnected from my own dream. What was my life shaping out to be?

It finally hit me one day that I was growing discontent with living in Alabama. I complained about the dang fire ants every day, couldn't stand the heat in the summer and missed snow in the winter. I remember praying one night, asking God why I was so miserable, and heard a response ever so clearly. I wasn't going to be "called" to be a farmer's wife. That was going to happen when I submitted to my husband and allowed him to be the spiritual leader of this family. By not submitting to my husband's leadership, I was being disobedient to God. And God was allowing me to grow discontent right where I was at. He got my attention, loud and clear. I remember the moment when I told Eric that I would agree to move up north and begin a country life. And immediately, our prayers shifted from a big IF to a big WHEN.

Now I need to interject here, that even though I had submitted - both to God AND my husband - I was still kicking and screaming about it. This wasn't an easy choice to make, and a huge part of it was because I'd be leaving my own family behind in Huntsville. My mother and I are extremely close, and the thought of living that far away from her was just about unbearable. Of course the Lord knew all of this, and that's why he very carefully and deliberately placed Kelly Minter's Bible study on the book of Ruth in my hands, in April of 2011. As I dug into this study, I felt myself identifying with Ruth's story. A woman - an outsider - lost her husband but remained faithful to her widowed mother-in-law, Naomi. At a pivotal point in Ruth's story where she has a choice to stay with her own family, or follow Naomi back to a new and foreign place, Ruth made a plea Naomi couldn't refuse.

"Don't urge me to leave you or turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me."   Ruth 1:16-17

As my eyes fell on these verses I saw flashes of my own life intertwined within them. I felt confidence, for the first time, that God was really calling our family to Illinois. Ruth - a pilgrim with reflections of my own heart - her story written on the pages of the Book I trusted more than any other, was leading me towards the life I was destined to live. As I unraveled this book of the Bible verse by verse, I felt myself awakening to the possibility that this life I was being called to might be... a really good thing. As I gained peace about the decision to move, Eric and I looked ahead for possibilities of when this move could happen. Finances, a very poor housing market, and uncertainty as to where we would live once we moved (if we could even sell our house), pointed us towards the following year at the earliest. The idea that we would make the move soon - as in a few months - wasn't even a possibility as far as we both were concerned.

It was the end of April. Spring was in the air. The Bradford Pear trees were in bloom and an array of colorful tulips were brilliantly stretching towards the sun. Eric was needed at the farm to help with the planting season. I couldn't go with him because Gabe, who was 7 months old at the time, had an appointment with a specialist in Nashville that we couldn't miss. So, Eric took Jack with him to the farm for the week, and left Gabe and I behind in our cozy little house. After three days of precious mommy and baby bonding, along came one of those days...

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

I woke up to the sound of storm sirens blaring. It was 5:something in the morning. I did what I always did when I heard the sirens - I turned on the TV. The weatherman mentioned strong winds and heavy rain, and if I am being honest, NOTHING ever came of any of these storms. The sirens went off almost every week during the spring and even in the fall at times. I was pretty much numb to them. I turned the TV on mute, eyes still fixed on the small little blob of red moving across the screen, and drifted back to sleep.

A hungry baby woke me up not too long after the sirens went off. And then the sirens went off again. And again. By 8:30 am, the sirens had screamed five different times. A huge storm passed through mid morning, knocking trees down in our neighbor's yards and covering the ground with hail that measured over an inch wide. After this storm passed, I collected some of the hail in my hand and sent a picture of them to Eric. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the ground was white with ice. I'd never seen anything like it. I decided after this crazy and relentless weather, that it might be a good idea to sit at the table with a cup of hot chocolate and do my Bible study for the day. I'm so thankful I did.

My study for the day was titled, "Arriving : A Hopeful Glimmer." At this point in the study, Ruth and Naomi were arriving at their new destination. For Naomi, it was a home she had left long ago, for Ruth it was new and unfamiliar. I was prompted with a question: "Have you prayed or waited for something for a long season? If so, have you seen a glimpse - no matter how small - that God is working?" As I thought about the number of years Eric and I had spent in prayer about whether or not farming was a lifestyle meant for us, I read the portion of the study that brought Ruth to her new home in Bethlehem as the barley harvest was beginning. As harvest was beginning... these words settled on my brain like magical pixie dust and before I knew what I was doing or saying I had Eric on the phone and was informing him of the revelation I just had. We would be living in Illinois by harvest time. I felt it in my bones. There was no doubt in my mind. God had given me a picture that exploded in my mind like a watercolor painting in motion. I saw me and my boys, watching Eric in the fields as he harvested the corn. God had given me a glimpse. A hopeful glimmer.

As I wrapped up my study and went about the rest of my day, I felt such peace. I couldn't believe it. We'd be moving in just a few months. How would all this work out? I had no idea, but for the first time in years, I knew it was right. I knew it was from God.



By 2:30 in the afternoon, another hail storm has passed. The sirens had wailed at least six more times. My parents were coming over for dinner, so I had just finished searing a beautiful roast, drowned it in some really good wine in my dutch oven, threw in some fresh rosemary and thyme and placed it in the oven. The house smelled AMAZING. At 4pm, I was on the phone with my mom when the sirens went off for the 14th time that day. As I was speaking to her, I lost power in the house. She informed me that she had lost power too. There went the roast. I hung up with her just as my phone died and went to peek in on Gabe, who was asleep in his room. I headed for the window in my bedroom which gave me the best eastern view of the sky. My heart stopped beating.

The sky was an eery fluorescent green color, with a long, dark gray cloud that cut straight across the horizon like the blade of a knife. The cloud then dipped drastically towards the ground, making contact with the earth in a place I could not see. I ran through the house to look out the front windows but the rain was hitting the house sideways like someone was standing in front of it with a fire hose and I couldn't see a thing. The rhythm of the wind pushing against the house was like that of a propeller blade - a whoosh, whoosh, whoosh... relentless and strong. Panic set in quickly. We had nowhere to go. Our ranch style house was sitting on a slab of concrete. I stood in the middle of my living room, watching the tall oak trees in my back yard bend and sway. It was as dark as night outside.

Lord, is this it? Is that a tornado out there? We have nowhere to go... nowhere to stay safe. God, please protect us!! Anchor the trees in our yard. Don't let them fall on us. Lord, keep the walls of our house strong! Jesus, please protect us!

I remember crying as I prayed, the words pouring out with fear and worry. And then it hit me like a wave and washed over me from head to toe... peace. The storm was raging outside, the pictures on the walls rattling... but my heart was still. And I heard Him whisper to me...

Did I not just give you a glimpse of where you will be at harvest time?

Yes. Yes, He had given me a glimpse! I saw ALL of us in that glimpse. We were all there, standing amidst the harvest that my husband was currently sowing. Tears of fear turned to tears of relief, and I knew in that moment that Gabe and I were going to be ok. That hopeful glimmer was all I needed.

The wind eventually died down. The power did not turn back on. The F5 tornado that just missed our house by 1/2 a mile had been on the ground for over a hundred miles. Gabe and I spent the night in a quiet house lit by every Yankee candle I owned. The following morning, upon hearing that the northern part of Alabama was in a state of emergency and would be without power for at least five days, I packed up the only cooler we owned with every bag of breast milk I had in the freezer and made the nine hour trek up north to be with my husband.

As I drove past the leveled and obliterated houses that I had passed every day for the past several years, I wept. This all was too close to home. An older man, a grandfather perhaps, stood in the middle of some rubble that used to be a bedroom. A partial wall still stood, painted purple. He shifted a large piece of debris and found a doll that he handed to a little girl standing beside him. I had a long, emotional conversation with God during that cross-country drive. I was wrestling with some big questions and raw emotions. But I settled on the fact that our God is a good God. The same God that delivered peace and protection to me and my child during that storm would deliver peace and provision to the families who lost everything.

Three years later, I am experiencing God's faithfulness to the glimpse he gave me on that day. Not only are we all here, living in a quaint little farming community, but we are living that life ABUNDANTLY. We are so blessed here! The very life I was so resistant to claim, was the life that would bring me more joy and purpose than I could ever imagine. Today I am thankful for a God who knows me better than I know myself. I am also thankful for the storms I have experienced. Without them, I wouldn't have seen God's deliberate and protective hand weaving my story into His.

The Big Ten



April 3, 2004. Blue skies all around. Church bells chiming in a melodic tune. Every person who had loved me and whom I had loved during my 23 years of life on Earth was within an arms reach. It was my wedding day and a perfect day it was. A few moments stand out to me. My favorite part of the day was right after Eric and I were announced as husband and wife, and we walked hand in hand down the aisle. We snuck into a quiet room in the back of the little chapel and just held each other and cried. It was official - we would be together forever and live in eternal wedded bliss. At the reception, I danced with my brother (ten at the time) who told me I looked beautiful. I remember thinking that he was such a precious, sweet little boy and I knew I just had to have one like him someday. Now I have two beautiful, tenderhearted boys that tell me I am beautiful every day. I also recall watching my groom's grandparents tango to Def Leppard at the reception. I'm sure I was admiring their young hearts and hoping that someday I'd have the chance to get to know them better. We are currently living in their house. Ten years later today, as I sit and reflect on the incredible journey my marriage has taken me through, I have challenged myself to think of the ten biggest lessons I have learned while enduring my "eternal wedded bliss."

1. We are polar opposites, and that is why we work together so well.

When Eric and I were busy falling in love in college, I think we may have been "love" blinded to our natural differences in our personalities. I'm sure this happens a lot with new love. Eric and I had (and have) so many common interests and beliefs, that, personalities aside, we clicked naturally. It wasn't until the first year of marriage began to unfold for us, that we discovered just how different we were from each other. I am the East. He is the West. POLAR opposites.



Halloween 2001 (Oh, the irony of this picture.)

He's outgoing, and I am shy. He wants to take risks when I want to play it safe. I am a flighter and he is a FIGHTER. But just as quick as he is to fight, he wants to resolve things quickly, where as I tend to hold on to things. He is more likely to be spontaneous, and I tend to appreciate planning things out first. I am quite alright with waiting for things (like... a sign from God that we are supposed to do something), where as he will jump in feet first into whatever thing I am wanting to wait on. His idea of a relaxing "family" weekend is letting the kids run around the yard while he builds a deck, or a tree house, or a dining room table... and for me its going on a picnic, then a hike, then stopping for ice cream on the way home. You get the idea. 

What has brought me to appreciate these differences over the years is that these extreme opposites have helped us find a middle ground where something productive happens. Growth. We challenge each other to be better versions of ourselves. He alone has the ability to draw me out of my comfort zone when we are in big groups of people. His desire to fight with me keeps me from withdrawing, and my desire to withdraw keeps him accountable to the way we work out our conflicts. His spontaneity brings adventure to our marriage, where as my planning enables us to do more (because we have reservations). Our opposites become a big strength in our marriage because they keep us working together, as a team. We bring two different thought patterns to the table, allowing us to see every situation we find ourselves in with a well rounded approach to resolution. Because we are in synch with our faith which guides us, our opposite natures have proven to be a blessing to us both by constantly pushing us outside of ourselves, into the arms of a Father who unifies us.

2. Forgiveness isn't an option - its a command.

We've already discovered that I am a flighter and Eric is a fighter. In the first year of marriage this proved to be an impossible obstacle to surpass. I am not a confrontational person, and I HATE fighting. When things get bad, I end them. Why put myself through pain and difficulty that isn't necessary? This was my mindset for many years. And with some situations, it still is. I may be able to walk away from certain unhealthy relationships that aren't bearing fruit in my life, but I can NOT walk away from my husband and just end things. Now I need to clarify something - when I label Eric a fighter, I am illuminating his desire to work out the conflict right there on the spot. As a flighter, I tend to walk away and close the door, give the matter some thought, cry, wish I locked my bedroom door after grabbing my phone so I had someone to call. Neither approach to conflict was healthy, and began yielding some resentment in our marriage.

We began marriage counseling during our 7th year of "eternal wedded bliss." It was during this time where we learned how to appropriately resolve conflict that allowed Eric to feel like he was resolving things quickly, without denying me my "cool down" time. We were in counseling for almost a year. This intense season of work on restructuring our marriage also shed light on areas of unforgiveness. Colossians 3:13 tells us directly, "Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you." We made a decision that there would be no more room EVER for bitterness, resentment or unforgiveness in our marriage. Eric is not perfect. I am not perfect. Each one of us will screw up the other's plans or expectations at some point and I would rather be standing under an umbrella of grace that is being extended to me by my Love, than in a raging storm of anger and fury. Forgiveness is salve to an open wound. It empowers us to heal and move on.

3. The way Eric and I treat each other now will determine the legacy we will leave later.

Eric and I recently attended a marriage conference. As we watched other married couples' stories unfold on a big screen in front of us, we both walked away with a similar conviction. The legacy we are leaving our children is underway now. Its so easy for me to get in a pattern of thought where I dream about how much "better" I will be in the future when I'm not as tired, have more time to spend with my husband, have less things to complain about because EVERYTHING will be fixed by the time the future rolls around... and I write off any of the above inconveniences as an excuse for my current negative behavior towards my spouse.

I may be able to rationalize my actions in the heat of the moment - I'm tired, I'm hormonal, I'm RIGHT - but how do my children rationalize my behavior? When they see Mommy and Daddy angry over who used the last of the mayo and forgot to write it on the grocery list, are they learning how to extend grace to each other, or get mad when the other makes a mistake? If there is anything I want my children to remember about their mother and father is how much love and grace we extended towards one another, modeling unconditional love for our children to witness and apply to their own marriages someday.

4. Marriage is NOT a 50/50 partnership.

I asked Eric what the biggest lesson he learned over the past ten years of marriage was, and this was it. He said that we each should always expect to give more - putting in more work than our "fair share." There are times when I am down and out, and he pulls through like a champion race horse and carries the family to victory. The house never looks cleaner than when I am sick because he cooks, does the dishes and vacuums, picks up the toys scattered all throughout the house and does the laundry (not sure what this says about me as a stay at home mom??? Clearly, I married Superdad.) Then there have been times when Eric has been gone for extended periods of time, and I have had to play the role of both mom and dad. Yes, there are times when I feel like I am the only one contributing to the marriage. I'm sure he feels that way too. But each of us will have our difficult seasons when we need to rely a little bit more on the support of our spouse to get us through. If we approach marriage like a 100/100 partnership, then we can always ensure that we got our spouse covered.

5. My husband does not complete me.

This lesson has been a hard pill for me to swallow. Every little girl dreams of a Knight in shining armor who will sweep her off her feet someday and rescue her from life's perils. I was no different. I thought that Eric would be able to meet my every need - cheer me up when I was sad, affirm me in all things, read my mind, know what I wanted before I did, meet all my expectations - spoken and unspoken, validate me and my feelings, the list goes on. I learned the hard way (over countless agonizing tears shed wondering "why doesn't my husband love me?") that it isn't Eric's role as my husband to fulfill my every dream and meet my every need. That role is meant for God and God alone. Eric is human. He is flawed and destined to fail me if I constantly turn to him for completeness. The thing is, God is meant to complete him too. By turning to God (especially during moments when I feel like Eric is failing me), I am reminded of my own weakness and need for a Savior. When I invite God to fill me up, I release Eric of the incredible burden he must feel when I place crazy expectations on him. Finding completeness in my Lord brings me joy, and shifts my focus from how Eric can fulfill my needs to how I can meet his.

6. When one of us weeps, the other tastes salt.

I saw this quote on a sign somewhere long ago and it stuck with me. It's so true. When Eric is sad, my heart is broken with his. When I experience something difficult, he is there to jump to my defense and either wrap his loving arms around me or threaten to murder the adversary. One of the biggest components of unification in a marriage are hardships. How we handle them and press through them defines our relationship. I am so thankful that I have a husband who has my back no matter what. We are each other's cheerleaders. GO TEAM HEATON! When we experience anything, we experience it together.

When I recently told Eric that I had found a lump in my breast, I saw the concern in his eyes. He had no fear, but he knew I was scared. His tenderness towards me and his prayers that covered me in the days leading up to my doctor's appointment revealed his deep concern and love for me. And I don't see Eric cry often, but when I do, it moves me. I feel his pain as if it is my own - a true sense of oneness. This ability is a gift - love that is able to exist only because we were loved first (1 John 4:19).

7. The biggest weapon we have against discontentment in our marriage is prayer.

Eric and I were facing a fork in the road... only a few months ago. We were either going to fight for our marriage, or try a separation. After an intense heart to heart conversation full of honesty and revelation, we decided to fight. Throughout our marriage, we had committed, maybe a couple weeks at a time, to following a devotional of some sort. Busyness kept us from being faithful to it. The day after our heart to heart we made a commitment that we would start our day EVERY morning with a devotional and prayer time together. Three months later, this plan is still in effect and I don't believe our marriage has ever been stronger. I have done countless Bible studies since we have been married. Eric has been in numerous men's groups. We have done couple's small groups and read every book on marriage from The Five Love Languages to Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus. Nothing comes close to promoting unity in our marriage like prayer does. Praying together unites us as we present our requests, fears, worries, and praises before a Great God.

Eric is usually up first with the boys (BLESS HIM) so right before he is ready to go to work, he comes in the bedroom, picks up our devotional book, sits down next to me and my entanglement of covers, and reads the day's inspiration. We are currently reading Sarah Young's Jesus Calling (which I highly recommend). After we finish our devo, we discuss what we feel to be the biggest obstacles the day will bring and we pray for each other. This commitment to pray for each other daily has saved our marriage. We are essentially inviting God to work in every part of our lives, giving Him complete control over our marriage and everything that is thrown at us.

I am the East, and Eric is the West. God is our due North. The further we pull away from each other, the less "pull" we feel from God. But when we meet Him in prayer together, we are locked together like magnets with a strength that is impossible to break. This morning prayer time helps us stay Christ-centered in thought and in deed, which governs us throughout the day.

8. Don't make your husband wait ten years before making him enchiladas.

This one is a biggie. After ten years of asking me to make enchiladas, I finally caved last week and made my husband the dinner he wanted. Honestly, I don't like enchilada sauce. Or corn tortillas. That's the only reason I have for never making them before. I will tell you something - it is EASY for me to be selfless with my kids. They eat every meal first. They get dressed before I do. They get all the good fruit. They get to pick what movie they want to watch, ALL the time. My tasks throughout the day get interrupted every 30 seconds to tend to a need of a child. And it is just the way I am wired, as a mom, who loves her kids. It is much more difficult for me to be selfless with my husband. But it is required of me. And when I am selfless with him, he yearns to be selfless with me, and that is a cycle I am ok with being stuck in.

And I HEART the Pioneer Woman. Ree Drummond and I are like kindred spirits. I do not blame her for nobody else liking the enchiladas the other night. I think my little boys and I have anti-enchilada sauce taste buds. I am thankful that Eric devoured his enchiladas and said they were the best he'd ever had. But... if anyone out there has any recipes for unconventional enchiladas (no red sauce) please send them my way!!

9. We are currently living yesterday's dreams.

I have always been a BIG dreamer. I mean, my teachers use to make comments on my report cards about my "tendency to daydream in class." (Whatever. I still got good grades.) But when you put TWO dreamers together - watch out. Big dreams require big action. Eric and I know this well. We have big dreams for our family, including the desire to build our own home someday. We often find ourselves mulling over floor plans, home design books, and checking out the latest and greatest products at Home Depot and Menards. We occasionally drive out to our property and stand in the place where our future house will be. And just think about it.

Just the other day, as Eric and were talking about our visions for the future (which ALSO include growing our own grapes so we can make our own wine, own a brewery in town - which means Eric will also brew the beer for that, own a bed & breakfast, have a garden big enough to sustain ourselves for the year, and travel the world) we realized that we often spend so much time planning and thinking about the future, and we don't spend much time thinking about where we have come from. If you had asked me five years ago what my vision for my family was, I'd have said something like, "Be settled in an area near family, with close friends with whom we can raise our children, be a part of a church family that challenges and grows us, and both Eric and I would be using our gifts to serve the Lord." Well there you go. That dream came true.

Eric and I have been reminding ourselves to focus on the present, counting our blessings, and remembering to be thankful in the midst of ALL of our moments. Because all of our moments impact our dreams - and we have a God who is the business of blessing our socks off.

10. Married life is an adventure unparallel to any other.

For the past ten years, I have always had a companion to do life with. Though we have been through some rough seasons in our marriage, like an any adventure, the hard work is coupled with beautiful and exhilarating moments along the way. My spouse and I are tethered to a Big God who desires to reveal His beauty to us. I have determined that there is no such thing as "eternal wedded bliss" - God promises that with Himself only. In John 16:33, Jesus tells we will have trouble in this world. He never promises a perfect happy life. But he reminds us that he has overcome anything we will ever face, and as I look back over the past ten years, I see his fulfillment of his promises to us. The Lord has blessed Eric and I with an amazing story full of adventure, excitement, twists and turns, love and laughter, tears and joy. I wouldn't exchange a single moment. This is our story - and we are sticking to it.

Honeymooners! (Fiji, 2004)









Serving the village of Wa (Ghana, Africa, 2007) 

Last vaca before kids! (St. Lucia, 2007)

 

Living the dream (Gulf Shores, 2011)