Facets of Faith

Conversations about life, faith, and friendship.

What Helps you Sing in April’s Showers?

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Welcome to Facets of Faith!  We invite you to linger and let God’s love and leading speak to your heart. This month we talk about, What Helps you Sing in April’s Showers?  What would God have us do in the midst of a storm? Stay awhile and read what He put on my (Tracy’s) heart and check back over the coming weeks to see what Jennifer & Kim have to say on this topic.

Let’s be singers in the rain as we explore God’s heart for us.

What helps you sing in April showers? (Tracy Stella)I’m sitting in a coffee shop on a rainy day listening to a conversation I’m trying not to hear. Damp. Grey. Language as angry as the clouds outside threatening storms.

Have you ever been there?

You intend to do your thing, but as you sit, minding your own business, the words, vocabulary, circumstances connect to your story. No longer just white noise to create atmosphere, you can’t help but tune in. The words too close to your story. Maybe one you wouldn’t write, but we don’t always get to choose the words written and the way our life will go.

Some things we have control of.  Others we do not. Mostly we do not.

The conversation consists of things you are curious to learn more about. You silently listen, absorb, and process from a safe distance.  They are not close to you, even as you are connected as human beings. But they are not your people, so you can listen from life’s sidelines. Listen and learn. (And weep a little inside.)

Your heart breaks for them and their struggle even as it breaks for yourself and those you love, who are in the midst of a similar storm of struggle and emotion.

This person’s story connects to mine. Indirectly. But still. I hear when I want to write. I guess that’s God’s plan.  To write about this. I’ve never visited this coffee shop. Felt led to come this way, rather than that, so I know God’s intention was for me to hear it. Even when sometimes I just want to stop up my ears, to not hear.

When it hurts, and we know it, don’t we all want to turn the channel and listen to something else? A little more up tempo please. Change the channel from the angry metal or the melancholy blues. Something more like, Don’t Worry Be Happy.  (Sorry if you whistle the tune for the rest of the day.)

I can’t unhear. I can’t disconnect. I can process my emotions. I can seek to understand. I can always love. Always. Because that’s what Jesus would do, and I want to be like Him, to love as He does.

The hardest times for me to love others well is when loving them seats itself right next to my own woundedness. A nerve touched, still at the surface. Maybe it should be gone. But it’s not.  Some things take time. In my opinion too much, but God says, “Take the time you need.” Because He is good like that. So good to give us the time we need.

Some things fade but may never disappear. Fully.

Do you have those things too? Those subterranean wounds you’d rather leave well enough alone. You’ve dealt with them, mostly.

Honestly, I’m not sure my inner struggle will ever disappear. It’s there. Like Paul’s thorn that wounds, but also serves as a reminder he needs God’s grace and strength to see him through.  I need those too. Strength and grace. Because sometimes when you bump into the thorn it penetrates. It reminds you the wound is still there, in need of God’s strength and grace. His mercy. His love. Desperate for it. We all are, whether we know it or not.

Avoiding pain is something we all do at times. Me? Sometimes, it’s my defense. I am not deaf to pain or fear or the noise our broken nature makes inside each of us. It makes a ruckus sometimes, reminding us we are alive, reminding us we need Jesus. Every day.

I just don’t always want to stare it down. I can’t even always bring myself to pray about and through it. Sometimes, I grow weary in the rainy season.  It can get muddy and messy (and ruin all my favorite shoes)!  I need to remember to grab my galoshes and splash through life’s seasons.

What helps me sing in April’s showers?

What, indeed?

What helps me sing in April’s showers?

Sometimes, I need to remind myself.  Life can be hard sometimes. There can be seasons that feel harsh and dry, like a desert. Parched. Cracked. Almost dead. I’ve experienced those where it felt like I was on the brink and God brought me back. To Him. To Life. To the possibility of love and hope and joy.

Jubilant!  The stuff that cause you to sing in the rain. Splash in the puddles. Have joy in spite of circumstances.

Christ’s death on the cross helps us to do just that.

I really think we have a choice. We get to make a conscious choice to sing even during April’s showers.

One effective strategy to help us sing in April’s showers is to choose joy.

When thunderous clouds threaten to overtake our world, we can let them.  Or we can choose otherwise.  We can choose to lament, or we can choose joy.  We can break open fresh gifts of grace that give us access to God’s joy.

Joy is a weapon that helps me sing.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la….

Joy sitting in the midst of a storm? We all can do it, in Christ’s power.  In our own strength joy is sometimes downright impossible. Let’s face it. Life can be overwhelming.

We can choose to sit in the overwhelm or we can choose joy.

Joy is the best choice. It’s the choice that lets us live life instead of succumbing to what the enemy would want for us─languishing.  The enemy would rather we lay like the person in need of healing for 38 years, when all we need to do is crawl to the healing pond of Christ’s love and joy.

Choosing joy takes energy. We have to move toward it.

You want to know what’s pretty amazing?

Even if we only have enough energy to lean a little toward it, God’s grace pulls us closer into His joy. Just lean, sweet ones. Lean in.

Another effective strategy to help us sing in April’s showers is to choose prayer in the middle of an anxious, angry storm.

It’s not about Don’t Worry Be Happy, it’s about be anxious about nothing and through prayer and petition let God’s peace consume us. God’s peace as a guard for our hearts and minds.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.─Philippians 4:6-7 NKJV

Let your requests be made known to God.

Even as I sit here (still listening) I seek God. I could let the circumstances of this scene overwhelm me with anxiety or I can pray. I can pray some more. And pray some more.

Any “normal” person would feel anxiety at an overwhelming circumstance that hits a little too close to home.  I wonder, “Why am I here? What does God have for me in this? What does God have for the ones He has me in the midst of hearing right now?”

This isn’t just about me. It never is just about us.  We’re included, for sure.  But especially if we are His children, this is always about others as well.   The light within us He wants to reach out to others, even if it makes us a little anxious.

I felt the anxiety as I got up to go to the bathroom.  Quietly, in my head, “God, how do You want me to respond in this?”

In effect, what do you want me to do with this? There IS a reason I am here. Right now. Listening. Lamenting. Choosing joy. Trying to focus on the written word as I hash this out.

I can feel my adrenaline kick in. What to do? What to do?

Choosing love. But what does that look like in this situation?

I have NO IDEA!

Guess what? I pray some more to let my adrenaline slow so I can hear God. Anxiety clouds our thinking more than just about anything else. And we definitely need clear heads to make wise decisions, especially in an emotional storm.

Another effective strategy to help us sing in April’s showers is to choose courage in the middle of a tsunami.

I reflect on Pastor Scott’s sermon about adventure as a believer and whom Jesus dined with. He didn’t sit with all the prim and proper. He sat with those who needed Him most and were most receptive to Him and His love, because the depths of their need for Him was great.

Let’s face it. None of us is really all that prim and proper. We are works in progress each and every one of us.  We all need His love. None of us has it fully together. Aren’t we all just figuring it out as we go?

I know I am!

So I mustered up the courage to approach their table, the wounded broken ones who were courageous enough to speak of these things aloud.  (Tears now, because once you push through the anxiety and pray, relief floods.)

I walked up to these two who need Jesus’ love just like I do. I briefly shared how I connect with their story, handed my business card (the only thing I had handy), with handwritten scribbles “The Chapel, Grayslake”. An invitation to come and see.

Someone gave me that once, an invitation. And look at how my life has changed for the good. So grateful! So blessed! Even as my life isn’t perfect, I recognize it as good.

Sometimes we have to face down our own personal fear and anxiety so someone else can know God’s goodness. Today, I’m feeling brave.   And my prayer is that someone else will grow to know God’s goodness because God drew me here.

As Pastor Scott reminded us in his sermon, we ARE God’s plan. I’m grateful for his reminder. It gave me the gumption to step into my own personal scary place, to push past my personal fear, and to invite them into God’s peace and love.

And now I can exhale.

THEY are why I came here. He sent me. He had me search my reservoir of emotions. He knew I would be sensitive to their story because it bumped up against mine.  It was hard, a spiritual hurdle, because their brokenness brushes up against mine.

The enemy would want shame and fear, but Christ’s plan for us is courage and life. Every ounce of good we give to the world helps evil shrink. Darkness recedes because it cannot coexist with light and love.

I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.─Philippians 1:20-21 NIV

I eagerly expect. Isn’t that great?

We can eagerly expect Christ to show up with courage and bring life to us and others.  I was dying a bit inside with the angst of this situation, of what I was hearing. Of what their story was stirring up in mine. But God. But God gave me an eager expectation and hope that He has a plan. For me. For those precious two He sent me to hear, for them to feel seen and heard (literally), and receive an invitation and hug from God through my arms.

This was for me too. I know that full well. Another level of freedom. No shame. Only love. And waves of grace.

Maybe not fully free, but a little freer today for having faced down fear. Courage sufficient for this day to help me sing in the rain.

Another effective strategy to help us sing in April’s showers is to remember facing our storms with strength and joy reveal God’s glory.

This life is not our own. We are God’s children left here for a reason. People see and know God, in part, when they see and know God through us, through our story, through the way we receive them, through the way we love. We are so flawed and imperfect, yet God dwells within us as believers.  He guides our steps.  He uses us to impact others.

He shows Himself real, manifesting ever-so-powerfully when we walk through a storm well. Never alone. Like Peter when He calls us out of the boat, God helps us walk on water.  We may freak out and start to sink, but all we need to do is look up and let Him lift us as He speaks to the storm and calms it.

When you find yourself holding your breath, as I often do when I feel stressed, breathe Christ in. Breathe deeply. Slowly. Let Him calm your nerves and guide your steps.

He tells us the way to go. And we are never alone in the going.

For all the gods of the nations are idols,

   but the LORD made the heavens.

Splendor and majesty are before him;

   strength and joy are in his dwelling place.

Ascribe to the LORD, all you families of nations,

   ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.

─1 Chronicles 16:26-28 NIV

When we do the brave thing and take courage? God’s glory is revealed.

And in that a rainbow of promise, because color emerges bright and vibrant after a grey storm recedes.

How is God speaking to you in this? What song does He wish for you to sing?

Sing to the LORD a new song;

   sing to the LORD, all the earth.

Sing to the LORD, praise his name;

   proclaim his salvation day after day.

Declare his glory among the nations,

   his marvelous deeds among the peoples.

─Psalm 96:1-3 NIV

Join the conversation here or on our Facebook page.

Signature Image: Tracy Stella

Have You Found Your Family?

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Welcome to February and our topic this month at FACETS: Have you found your family?  Our hope and prayer is we all grow in our ability to connect and relate with others.  May our writing this month encourage you to step forward boldly in your own relationships.  Stop by each week this month to see what Jen, Kim, and our guest contributor have to say on the topic of finding family. Let this February be full of LOVE.  We’re excited to see and hear what God does in your relationships, so let us know.

Have You Found Your Family? (T. Stella)

Out of the blue, but not beyond God’s sovereign timing, I received an email that has the potential to change my life.

Early last winter, I took a DNA test.  My initial thought was, it would be great to understand what nationality I am. Being adopted, I didn’t know.

I’m 50. Why bother exploring my ancestry? Does it really matter where we come from?

My answer to that question is, “yes”.  Understanding our history helps us fulfill our destiny.  When we don’t know who we are, it wreaks havoc on who we can become.

Before I became a believer in Christ, the not knowing really messed with me.  I wouldn’t have been able to articulate this in words, but I had major attachment issues.  If my own father didn’t want me, who would?  It’s a hard thing when a little girl doesn’t think her daddy loves her.  The thing she fears most is rejection, of not being loved.

With God’s help, I’ve grown to learn my daddy’s absence had nothing to do with me.

One of the sweetest gifts I received as a result of accepting Jesus in my heart is the knowledge of His acceptance.  He acknowledges me as His daughter. He comforts me. He holds me. He wipes away every tear. He celebrates every joy. He is sweet, loving, kind, and generous. Trustworthy─and I need that! He fills the deep well of my heart and soul with the knowledge I am dearly loved by my Father in heaven.  He abides in my heart. His love changed me. His love healed me. His love helped me see my biological father through eyes of compassion.

God helped (and helps) me navigate abandonment and attachment issues.  He reminds me He is Immanuel, God with us–God with me. Always. To the end of the age.

Perhaps because of the confidence I have in knowing I am a daughter of the Most High, cherished and dearly loved, I had the courage to listen to God’s prompting.  Apparently, God thought the timing was “now” to understand more of my history.  So I purchased the DNA kit. Nervous and excited to learn my family history, I did the unglamorous bit of surrendering my saliva to the scientists who would help me understand more about who I am, where I come from.  History to help connect the dots.

The ancestry email came back with surprising results.  I always thought I had a lot more Irish in my DNA, what with my dark hair and freckles (without the rather cool Irish accent).  Come to find out, I am only a wee bit Irish; 8% to be exact.  I’m also 14% German with the bulk of my bloodline descending from England, Wales and Northwestern Europe.  Who knew?  I might be more British than my friend who came from Great Britain (and has the cool accent to go along with the ancestry).  I had a scone the last time I was at Starbucks if that counts for anything.

Have you ever thought something your whole life only to find out it wasn’t true?

I wasn’t Irish (or not that much). I wasn’t abandoned. I was dearly loved. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know who her family was.

Right about the same time I sent my DNA for analysis, my cousin had done the same.  She too didn’t grow up in the Bennett clan, but shared the same genetic makeup.  Karen was adopted as well. Small world. Very small world.  She lives not too far from me. She also sells real estate (weird, right?). She seems adventurous, so we have that in common too.

I’m grateful to Karen, because she reached out delicately suggesting we might be related.  Cautiously, thoughtfully, she couched her first connection with a lot of maybe and might language. “We might be related.”  She mentioned names I recognized.  I knew a hint of family history. She spoke about those things carefully.

We have a coffee date planned. I look forward to connecting face-to-face.

My cousin already gave me a gift, and it’s not even Christmas!  You see, I have a sister. I knew about her. I met her once, after our father’s funeral when I was in high school. It’s a long story for another time, perhaps. The short story is I met my biological father once, and then he passed away not long thereafter.

I met his entire family at his funeral. He is one of 11 children with a sea of relatives. Between the roil of emotion inside me and the sheer volume of Bennetts, that day will forever go down in my mind as one of overwhelm (even as I was happy to finally meet the family I’d been so curious about).

It almost felt like I was watching a play: lots of unfamiliar characters and more than a little drama.

That day became one I set on a shelf, safely away from having to process through all those emotions.

My sister and I are six years apart, but our lives have been miles apart. Literally. She lives in France. I knew that. My grandmother on my mom’s side had shared the news with me a number of years ago.  When I found out, I tried to reach out to her, but I didn’t have any luck connecting.  I thought she didn’t want to, and I wanted to respect her wishes and not encroach upon her life if she wasn’t in that place – able to risk a relationship with a sister who also happened to be a stranger.

I had shared with my cousin that I’d tried to reach out to my sister to no avail. Perhaps, because my cousin knows what it feels like to have siblings you don’t know, she gave me the gift of my sister.  She shared with my sister what I had conveyed via email and my sister reached out via Facebook.  This is one of those times when social media serves a good cause, it’s original cause, to connect people.

My sister’s name is Laura. She never knew I tried to reach out. She never got the message.

You know what I think about that?

I think it just wasn’t time.  Perhaps, she wouldn’t have been prepared for it. Perhaps, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.  But now? Now is the time.

Now is the time to get to know this person you have a strong desire to get to know, because you share something, even if there are no shared memories.  There’s a sibling bond in spite of it all.  The desire to connect pulls you into places of courage and vulnerability.

Laura and I arranged for a time to talk via video chat. I was nervous. After all, the last time she and I spoke she was in 4th grade. Now, she is 44.  An entire life lived by her and by me.

My biggest fear was our time together would be awkward and uncomfortable.  Again, God was helping me with my fear of rejection and abandonment by bringing me my sister and having me risk those very things.  What if she didn’t like me? What if we couldn’t connect? What if the whole thing was just too weird?

What if? What if? What if?

Have you ever had those “what if” moments, but “went for it” anyway?  If not, I encourage you to do so. You might receive a blessing when you do.

I decided I was going to go for broke and put myself out there, really me, really out there. No pretending. No posturing. No saying what I thought someone wanted me to say. Speaking from my heart. Speaking of hopes and dreams. Sharing. Authentically sharing.

It was no coincidence I was reading Dare to Lead by Brene’ Brown. Her book Daring Greatly had started me on this journey of vulnerability, overcoming shame, and being loved well like the Velveteen Rabbit whose fur was completely rubbed off.  He looked a little scruffy, but he was so loved.  That is me – emotionally scruffy, but so well loved.

I could be vulnerable and let my sister see my emotionally scruffy, yet well-loved side.

The day before our conversation was scheduled, I prayed. A lot.

I prayed God would help us connect with one another in spite of only one shared memory: the day we met, eating chicken under a white gazebo near the lake.  Our brave moms orchestrated that meeting for us.  Two different moms, same dad. Laura and I shared the fiery, feisty Bennett DNA.  In the nature versus nurture scenario, I can attest to the nature part being true.  From everything I’ve ever heard, there’s a whole lot of spunk coursing through our veins.

I prayed our video chat wouldn’t be weird and uncomfortable. It wasn’t.  Because we were both brave and showed our real selves.

At one point Laura did the sweetest thing, she was extremely sensitive to how I would receive her sharing memories about our father with me.  You see, she got the daddy I wanted and she knew that.  She didn’t want to hurt me by sharing too much.  She was daddy’s little girl until he passed.   And, of course, I would have wanted that too. Of course, that is true.  However, by the time Laura came along our father had six more years to mature from the time I was born.  He was in a different place, and I’m very glad my sister has these sweet memories of him.

I’m glad my sister was brave enough to share them with me, because she gave me a gift: glimpses of him. He was sweet to her. He read with her. (I love to read too.) She shared his military picture with me, and for some reason, seeing him in uniform made me cry. Perhaps, it’s because he looked brave too.

God’s timing is everything.  Perhaps, if I weren’t so grounded in the deep, immeasurable love for me I wouldn’t have been able to handle hearing those memories. But I am different today from that young girl who met her father’s family at his funeral.  I am strong, emotionally strong, because God has strengthened me.  His love filled (and fills) my need for love and acceptance.

Because of that, I could handle hearing Laura’s heart, her memories.  Her courage to share them with me, coupled with her sensitivity in how she shared them, served to endear her to my heart.

God connected my heart to hers because she was so compassionate (among other things).

I was grateful Laura shared her true self.  I explained to her I didn’t want her to have to sensor what she said. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be getting to know the real her.  If I wanted to get to know my real sister, then I needed to give her “permission” to be her real self.

I want to know my sister. I want to hear about her life. I want to share with her about mine.  That takes vulnerability. That takes risk. But love says, it’s worth it!

I could write for a long time about that first, lengthy video chat.  There was so much joy in our conversation, I think for us both, even as we talked about difficult things at times.  My heart felt rich and full to overflowing. Connection will do that.

God answered my prayer. He connected my heart to my sisters’, and it wasn’t weird one bit.  There was a bond, not quite explainable, but evidenced during our engagement.

I wish she lived closer, but perhaps this feisty, fiery, 50 year old adventurous “Bennett girl” will have the perfect excuse to fly half way around the world and meet another feisty, fiery, 44 year old adventurous “Bennett girl”.  If and when she does, this big sis will fling her arms around little sis and say, “It’s so good to see you!”

Because that’s what you do when you find your family.

Whether you grew up knowing your family your whole life, or you were adopted like me, how can you grow to learn more about who you are by understanding your family history?

Understanding our history helps us fulfill our destiny. There are lessons to learn, mistakes to avoid, and hopefully familial wisdom to draw upon that will help us become the best version of ourselves.  I pray God helps you understand when the time is right.  I pray He reveals what He wants you to learn about Him, yourself, and others. I pray you know as a child of God, you ARE a part of family─His! And He loves you beyond measure!!

Join the conversation here or on our Facebook page.

Signature Image: Tracy Stella [Read more…]

Life Lessons: The Presence of God in Turmoil

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Friends, I (Jennifer) have the privilege of introducing you to one of our precious friends, Terry. Our team is honored she accepted our invitation to share with you. Take time to lean in and mine the life lessons woven into her story. They are bedrock faith truths we all need—now or in the future—as we face the most difficult trials. I just want to get out of the way and let you meet her. Terry has so much to share. Honestly, life is hard, and some of us hope to move through it with God’s strength.

IMAGE: Life Lessons, Guest, yellow.

“Peace is not the absence of turmoil, it’s the Presence of God” – unknown

One night while I was praying, I had the sense that the Holy Spirit was telling me to specifically pray that my husband, Scott, and I would praise Him until our last breath. I was taken aback for a moment because I knew that was a loaded prayer. But I also know faith is an act of the will, so I obediently prayed even though it was scary. And I prayed it the next night, and the next…

I never mentioned it to Scott because, honestly, it didn’t occur to me during the day. It was at night, when all was quiet, that I’d hear Him whispering to me to pray that we would praise Him until our last breath. Oh, how I would need His strength to face the upcoming chapters of our lives.

In 2 ½ years I lost my daughter (June 2015: died in her sleep), husband (February 2017: cancer), and mother (January 2018: an extremely rare case of Cystic Fibrosis). Praying, “Lord, let us praise You until our last breath” is a “dangerous” prayer…

Jessica:  February 28, 1987 – June 18, 2015
Jessica (our only child) died in her sleep at 28 years old of complications from her auto-immune illnesses. Her passing took us by total surprise. We did not realize the impact her illnesses had taken on her heart.

Jess contracted a severe case of mono when she was 16. The mono wiped out her immune system and was the trigger for several autoimmune illnesses (Raynaud’s Phenomenon, Sjorgren’s Syndrome), plus Narcolepsy, high blood pressure, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. We pursued medical, holistic, and chiropractic treatments for 12 years with only minor improvements. She was only able to leave the house for short periods of time because of exhaustion and unrelenting pain.

Besides the Lord, her greatest joy was when she was with her nieces and nephews. (Technically they’re second cousins, but it would have been dangerous to your health if you pointed that out. Seriously.) She also loved playing sports, and it grieved her that she could no longer participate. Jessica was bitter that she “didn’t have a life.” She was homebound most of the time. And when she did have plans, she usually had to cancel at the last minute. She was very lonely, although we were very close. I also have multiple autoimmune illness and was often home as well. We did everything together, including seeing the same doctors. Our rheumatologist called us “The Twins.” We had the same odd sense of humor and made each other laugh hysterically.

At 2:30am on the morning of June 18, 2015, Jess woke me because of a severe headache (she had chronic migraines) and terrible nausea. She complained she was cold and asked for the down comforter. Jess and I were rarely cold, even in Chicago winters, so this was odd. I found the comforter and gave her nausea and pain meds.

I prayed over her for healing that night while she slept. And she was healed, but not how I had expected.

Later that morning (11:45am) I went to wake Jess. It was obvious she had passed away. No words can describe the feeling of seeing your child in rigor and being cold to the touch. I called 911 and explained the situation. I was as calm as you can be in the situation. The operator insisted I might be mistaken about her being dead, though I reiterated she was deathly pale and in rigor. He repeated that I should immediately get her on the floor and begin CPR. Suddenly, I thought he might be right! Maybe I was wrong! Then I lost it, as they say. I straddled her and began CPR, which was difficult because she was on her side. I began shaking her and screaming her name.

The police, ambulance, and coroner arrived. I was immediately escorted out of her room by the police. The coroner went in her room and closed the door.

My husband was teaching summer school, and the switchboard shut down at noon. I called his cell phone over and over, but he didn’t pick up his silenced phone. He called back ten minutes later, but the officer would not let me speak to him. He told Scott that he needed to get home right away. (Scott said later that driving home from school every day after was traumatic. He didn’t know which one of us was in trouble, and he relived the feelings every day coming home from school.)

Image: Jess a week before she died.
Picture taken at the rheumatologist’s office a week before Jess died.

“Until Jesus is enough, nothing or no one will ever be enough…”

I wrote this on a post-it note on Jessica’s door…then I was called to live it.

The next few weeks are a blur, but we had a sense of peace that was—and still is—hard to understand. I am not saying it was easy. When someone asked how I was doing, I quoted Psalm 119:92, “If Your law had not been my delight, I would have perished in my sorrow.” And that is the truth.

We didn’t have a service right away. Our family, friends, church family, lavished us with love and did everything possible to make the situation a little less painful. We held a Celebration of Life a few weeks after Jess passed. It was a joyous and beautiful service. ONLY GOD can give you the strength and peace to praise Him when what’s most precious to you is taken.

IMAGE: Shelter of His Wings, Birds
In the shelter of His wings, we found rest.

 

“God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good.”

 

Scott:  April 18,1959 – February 7, 2017
Nine months after Jessica’s passing, we learned Scott had Metastatic Soft Tissue Sarcoma. What a dermatologist diagnosed as a “pimple” turned out to be a cancerous tumor that had spread to his lungs.

The cancer was aggressive and continued to spread despite treatment. Each doctor’s appointment brought news of what organs the cancer had spread to next. Despite the chemo treatments, Scott continued to push himself to work. He didn’t want to let his students down and didn’t want them to know he was fighting cancer, lest they worry and not focus on their work. Scott soldiered on, not complaining nor wanting special treatment. He trusted the Lord, no matter the outcome.

I, however, was very overwhelmed. Whenever I would express my fear of losing him, Scott would remind me that, “God is good.” And it really grated my nerves. I agreed that God is good, but cancer is not. Scott never wavered that his precious Lord and Savior was good…all the time.

My beloved husband of almost 32 years died 11 months after the diagnosis. He praised the Lord until his final breath.

Once again, our friends, family, and church family rallied around me. Scott’s Celebration of Life was a true celebration of his life and love for the Lord, family, friends, and students.

And, once again, I have total peace but my heart is forever broken.

And, once again, I can say that the only way to survive the losses is with the comfort of the Holy Spirit.

Mom:  March 10,1939 – January 28, 2018
My mother, Laverne May, was a cross between Dolly Parton and Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies. Quite a character. She was truly one of the most generous people I have ever met. I don’t think she ever met a critter, save snakes, that she didn’t love. Mom was not without her flaws—as all of us are not—but she was wise. My little brother died in 1977 at the age of 11 years old, of Cystic Fibrosis. It was because of John’s illness that my parents came to know the Lord.

When Jessica passed, my mom gently reminded me that Jess “was never yours to begin with.” Had anyone else said that to me, it would not have been pretty. But having buried a child and two grandchildren, she had earned the right to speak that truth to me.

My mother had been healthy until the last ten years of her life. She contracted pneumonia over and over and this once-entertaining and spirited woman became increasingly somber. We thought the doctor had lost his mind when he suggested Mom had CF. Cystic Fibrosis is a cruel disease and takes away life early. She didn’t fit the typical description, but DNA tests confirmed she had a very rare case. The doctors theorized that the disease lay dormant until the stress of a number of significant losses (her brother, father, husband, grandson in six years) set the illness in motion.

We were blessed her suffering was not prolonged. She went to bed in early December and couldn’t get back up. She passed less than two months later. The world is a little less kind with her passing. I miss her greatly.

What shall I return to the Lord for all His goodness to me? Psalm 116:12

My brother-in-law, a very godly man, passed years ago in his forties, leaving behind a wife and three daughters. Someone expressed to my sister-in-law, Jamie, that “she didn’t deserve” to have her husband taken from her and her daughters. She replied that she didn’t “deserve” to have such a kind and godly man as a husband and father to her girls. Her statement impacted me greatly.

It’s tempting to focus on the losses and not on the blessings of having a daughter, husband, and mother that adored me, and I them. It’s a rare gift, indeed. And, like Jamie, I can never repay the Lord for His goodness to me.

My prayer continues to be that “I would praise Him until my final breath.”

Signature: Terry Bliler