So, Lord, do you remember how I always planned to be done having babies by the time I was thirty? I’m not sure why, except that my mother had her last one while in her mid-twenties so it seemed like a good plan.
I had no idea that one day I would be facing my thirtieth birthday without a pregnancy lasting longer than 6-8 weeks.
Tonight, as I was struggling through chores with a frozen water hose and a nosy heifer and a hissing cat, I felt a little like crying. Sometimes I feel like screaming but tonight it was just tears that bit at my eyes. Continue reading
I’ve never seen an angel (that I’m aware of, though I’ve often wondered about a few people who moved in and out of my life very swiftly—and left huge blessings in their wake). To be honest, I’m not sure what I would do if I saw one.
From Scripture it seems that perhaps they are more terrifying than we tend to think. The pretty gal with the glowing hair and fluttering wings? Not so much.
Since one of the names we are given in Scripture of the Creator is “God of Angel Armies” I would guess that an angel might look a bit more like an army general.
In the book of Luke (Luke 2:8-21) we hear about the angels who announce the Messiah’s birth to a group of shepherds. Apparently this was a surprising turn of events as the shepherds were the unlearned of the Jewish society. Continue reading
I remember the day of our seventh anniversary. I woke up, looked around and found my husband watching me. He smiled. “Has it really been seven years?”
It had. Years that flutter away with the spinning of time. Years I pray are simply the beginning of a lifetime.
Anna, daughter of Phanuel of the tribe of Asher (a Jewish woman in the New Testament) was married for seven short years before laying her husband to rest. During a time-period when the average marrying age was fifteen, she would have become a widow about the age when I began my married life.
Only seven years. I know how short that time really is.
Translators are a bit undecided if Scripture says that she was then a widow until 84 years old or a widow for the next 84 years. (Luke 2:37 text and footnotes) Either way, she was a widow a very long time. Continue reading
It was a lemon bar. Nothing of great importance. The only thing that mattered was that it was taken without permission. We have a pretty common saying in our house, “If it’s not yours, don’t touch it.” She forgot.
It’s crazy how the things I think are a big deal, often fly right over my child’s head. Then along comes this little thing, and for some reason it catches her right and she ends up heartbroken over her decisions. “I just wasn’t thinking, Mommy,” she cried into my shirt. “I just wanted it so I ate it and now Daddy won’t have one.”
I’m patting her head, trying to catch up with a simple reprimand turning into a huge ordeal, when she says the words.
“I just feel so dirty.”
I pause. My first reaction is to correct her. “That’s silly,” I want to say. “You’re not dirty, you’re beautiful and we love you more than any old lemon bar.” But something stops me. Maybe this is a whole lot deeper than the lemon bar. Maybe God is doing something. Continue reading
I was sitting on the sofa, tears streaming down my face. My words came out stuttered and halting. “I just feel like now it’s final. I’ll never have a child.”
It sounded harsh, even to my own ears. My husband’s hand tightened around mine.
And then the man seated across the room from me sighed heavy. “Actually, Tasha,” he said, “I’ve been sensing something from the Lord for awhile about this, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong. Truthfully, it was just fear because I don’t want anything to be harder for you. But I’m going to say it. You’re going to have a child, soon.”
I was too tired to laugh, as Sarah did. And too desperate for hope to refute him, as the Shunammite woman did to Elisha in 2 Kings 4. Continue reading
I don’t know how many times I’ve prayed for healing. Begged. Pleaded. God, if You see me, take these broken pieces and fix them. Please!
One of the things I’ve never understood has been the way God allows things to fester over time. To build up pressure until I’m sure I cannot handle one more thing.
Except, maybe– maybe I do get it a little.
At least, this morning I did as I read through the story of the bitter waters at Marah. Continue reading
There we were, sitting around her kitchen table. Her whole house is warmth and comfort and gentleness. She asks the questions everyone should ask– looks right at me and digs right into the deepest-truest part. “And how are you doing, really? Are you struggling with fear?”
Many people have mentioned it, but in statements. “I’m sure you’re nervous, but it’ll all be okay.”
But she doesn’t. She asks the question and lets it dangle there in the air between us, waiting.
Am I struggling with fear? Yes. Yes, of course. Continue reading