Thursday, February 23, 2012


Last night I started reading Pilgrim's Inn by Elizabeth Goudge, one of my very favorite authors. Why do I smile every time I think about this line,

"And she vastly preferred writing a letter and walking with it to the post to using the telephone and hearing with horrors her voice committing itself to things she would never have dreamed of doing if she'd had the time to think."

The story of my life (well, the last bit anyway). :)

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Amen, Amen

Taken in the Arizona desert, a nondescript shoot until viewed from above,

Just as a father has compassion on his children,
So the LORD has compassion on those who fear Him.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust."
Ps. 103: 13-14

"And Ezra blessed the LORD, the great God, and all the people answered, “Amen, Amen,” lifting up their hands. And they bowed their heads and worshiped the LORD with their faces to the ground." Nehemiah 8:6

Monday, February 20, 2012

Sunday tea

"Daddy! I have a pic-in-ic all ready for the two of us in my room." And she did -- dainties, doilies and all. A little mouse snuck in for this pic and about expired from the cuteness.

Sunday, February 19, 2012

looking back and forward...

An entry from Caleb's online progress journal dated Dec. 12, 2001 (from the hospital),

"Have you ever held a glass ornament so frail you thought just breathing on it might cause it to shatter? I put into words such feelings today while I pondered Caleb's life.

Isn't it interesting that we often feel a sense of security in the presence of health and vitality? The reality is that we really have no control over life at all! Caleb's life isn't any more uncertain than mine or that of our other children. They are all numbered according to His plan. Why does that scare me? And yet, it shouldn't. There is freedom there--"wide open spaces". And life is not a glass house about to crumble but, in Him, a firm and solid foundation. Pray that I would learn this heart lesson


(On the day I wrote this entry Caleb had had a "good" day. He felt some pain relief and was delighted about the Christmas season, at a visit with his toddling sisters and in his new red mittens, sweetly made by a favorite nurse.)

He met Jesus face to face, breathed celestial air, exactly four months later.

Eleven years and still, I feel his hands like imprints on my cheeks.

What I wrote then is as true today. I need not live in fear or guilt. I have wondered at times how I could mother our girls well in the midst of grief. Loss has instructed me in love but I don't always live out what I know. The comforting truth, however, is that real joy has never left us, friends. Joy and sorrow are nested together. Because our God Himself has never left us, we live. We more than survive because our daily lives, our relationships, our work, these are sacred gifts. What's more, we celebrate because our grief informs our hearts that we await the wedding feast. That the best, the superlative BEST (for all words fail here) is yet to come...