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.