Dandelion in the Fall

I went for a walk today. I needed a major attitude adjustment. Too much stuff to do, not enough time, too many people needing a piece of me--too many balls to juggle. You know--the standard fare. As I walked, the blue sky opened up before me. The sunlight glistened off the brilliant fall leaves, moist from the dew and the rains from the previous day. It was stunning, but my heart and head were burdened. The to do list grew heavy on my shoulders and it seemed to swallow me up--even as all around me the crisp autumn breeze beckoned to allow my cares free flight. I thought about Jesus' promises. "Come to me all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, for my burden is easy and my load is light. Learn from me for I am kind and humble of heart." I repeated it over and over. How? If I take my yoke off, will He catch it? How can I lift my yoke to give it to Him--couldn't He just take it? Do I have to take His yoke before He takes mine? These questions swirled in my head.

I had been so involved in helping my oldest son with his homework this week, that I had completely forgotten about something I was supposed to help my youngest son with. The guilt was heavy on me. It was going to be just fine--but that didn't change the fact--not enough of me to go around.

I kept walking. Surely, if I repeated this verse often enough I would begin to believe it, to feel it, to really experience it. I just had to say it with faith. Walking. Walking. Through tears, reciting. Then, there it was--on the side of the road, in the shade of a mailbox on October 29--a brand new dandelion just opening up. I stopped and wondered what kind of crazy flower would begin blooming now when the temperatures at night were teasing the freezing mark? What kind of foolish bloom would flourish when the days are at their shortest, the wind cooler each day, and the sun growing dimmer with each passing hour? I marveled. I knew why it was there. I needed to take a lesson from this flower.

Despite a flurry of dead and fallen leaves around it--this flower bloomed. Though, the seed fell in the barren soil right beside the road--where the salt and the sand from the winter plow trucks made the growing conditions oppressive--this flower bloomed. Though June brought flooding and constant rains that could have rotted the seed away, it remained steadfast, clung to the sand and in the right time--it bloomed. Though winter ominously hovered, and autumn light was slipping away, this flower had done what it was supposed to do. Though cold fall rains had pelted the soil and brisk winds had whipped across the ridge, this dandelion remained stalwart and accomplished it's purpose.

It's strength was in its weakness. It was not strong enough, nor placed in conditions ideal enough to bloom, when it was "supposed" to. But, because it had to struggle and withstand so much during a difficult summer, it was blooming now--resolute against the crisp October winds. It stood alone, an early spring flower blooming even when the hydrangeas and the mums were starting to wither. I marveled.

I need to bloom where I am planted. I need to be there for my son struggling with school, the one who is excelling in school, and the son who spends his whole days inventing Lego models in his mind. I need to bloom for my husband who counts on me to hold it all together, for my patients who count on me to be compassionate, and knowledgeable and present. I need to bloom for my friends who count on me when they need to talk to a someone who cares. I need to bloom for my parents and family who depend on me in countless ways. I need to do what I am purposed to do and not wither and wilt under the harsh autumn winds. God is responsible for where I am and how I got there. I am responsible for staying and doing the work before me. He will be responsible for the results, I just need to remain. Thank you God for a dandelion in October, just when I needed it.

Beauty for Ashes

In 1 month Peter and I will be celebrating our 10th anniversary. Many women my age are celebrating almost double that--but for me it is an important milestone. It is the 10th anniversary of when the Lord made beauty out of the ashes of my life. I had been married for nearly 8 years and was 4 months pregnant with Isaac when my husband at the time announced he no longer wanted to be married and he didn't want to be a father. It was devastating. I will not delve into all the details because they are not important now--except to say at some point in our lives God will give each of us a chance to show us His provision. We can choose to allow Him to control the outcome, and make beauty from the ashes of our life, or we can struggle and strive like a fish out of water clamoring for the next breath--instead of looking up to the very Giver of Life who allowed this trial in our life.

Out of pure emotional and physical exhaustion God sovreignly put me in a place where I had no ability or means to fix what had transpired. There were no choices in my hand, only the choice to walk forward in faith and know that if I was going to raise Isaac and be a single Mom unexpectedly, that God would provide and take care of me and my child. I decided that since I wasn't capable of working out the details, and was powerless to change almost everything-- I had to let go and let God.

He came through abundantly as He always does. Answered prayers and provision rained down on me. No, my marriage wasn't saved--but God had other plans. Through it all He taught me to trust Him for everything---even for unanswered prayer. I learned a "No" from a loving Father is as much a provision as a "yes". I learned that being still and waiting is an excercise in faith, and that even when you don't see God's hand moving--He is working behind the scenes, in hearts, never resting, never ceasing to love and care for those who trust in Him.

I learned that sometimes God gets your attention by knocking you on your butt and taking all your stuff away. And, while not a pleasant lesson--it certainly makes a lasting, lifetime impression.

I learned that God works through people--moves in them and in circumstances to show himself--not in blinking neon signs that point the way.

I learned personally how God can take the biggest tragedy I have experienced and turn it to good--in such a profound way that I can look back and rejoice that I went through it. How is that possible? How does He take something so dark, so tragic, so heartbreaking and turn it into the best thing? I don't understand it.

I understand this. God redeems that which the locusts consume. He gave me Peter. He brought me a tender, loving, wonderful man. God constructed our family from ashes. I don't know how He does that--but I'm grateful He does. In one month we will celebrate that milestone--the 10th anniversary of God's miraculous work. Amazing love....how can it be?

Freeze Time

Many things get put aside in a move. We moved into this home two years ago and in the midst of boxes and renovations 3 pictures of my kids were put aside when one of the frames was damaged. As I hung the pictures that represented my children four years ago, I stared into the faces of a 7 year old Isaac, 5 year old Caleb, and a 3 year old Logan.

Logan had a boo boo on his chin that didn't heal for months because he wouldn't leave it alone. I even made him little gloves to wear in his sleep so he wouldn't pick in his sleep. There he was with a wide eyed grin, arms crossed in a standing pose--with a big boo boo on his chin.

Caleb posed for his picture with his usual impish smile lighting up the room. He had just entered kindergarten and he was loving every minute of Mrs. Holmes class and all the new friends he had made.

Isaac was losing teeth. His mischievous grin revealed the Tooth Fairy had been very busy at our house. As I looked at my eldest son I was overcome with a feeling of sentiment--they were growing up too fast. Wasn't it just yesterday I had held my baby boy and became a Mom?

I sat staring at the pictures I had just hung on the wall. I felt as though I was at the precipice of the hill of a big roller coaster ride--just ready to go over the edge--rounding the corner to the big drop as time unrelentingly presses forward and the unyielding cogs of days and years slip away.

They had changed so much. In the picture Logan still had his infant-like chubby cheeks. Now he is a long and lean boy of nearly seven. Caleb can read, is a math whiz, and dazzles us with his balloon animal creations and the science facts he knows. Isaac is our soccer star, so quick on his feet and intense in his art and everything he puts his mind to. Little men with their own personalities and interests, friends and schedules. They grew up before my eyes.

I am surrounded by empty nesters. In my work almost all the women have either raised their kids, or this fall had driven their last child off to college. I saw the mixed emotion of excitement and longing in these friends as they wrestled with that feeling of wanting to keep their kids little--but also wanting them to be successful and independent adults.

Here it was. Blink. In the midst of a busy move and a busy life. Blink. Three little boys. Blink. Grew up so fast. They're still here. Blink. They're still little. Blink. I'm going to enjoy every minute of this rainy day with them. Blink. Because we never know about tomorrow. And when I blink--they will really be big, and they will have their own life and my job will be much different. For now they still need me and I will enjoy this minute.

Giggling Dreams

Logan just giggled in his sleep. As I sat in the quiet wee hours of this chilly morning, ushering in October--I wondered what fanciful thought would make an almost seven year old boy giggle in his sleep. Most assuredly there were Legos involved. Had one of his Lego "guys" parachuted into a marshmallow field? Had they hunkered down to spy their enemies amid clouds of chocolate mist? Were they doing flips in Lego moon buggies he'd created, over mounds of macaroni and cheese? Had he finally worked out a problem in his head--as he spends hours manipulating all the Legos in his creations, always the perfectionist, never quite satisfied. I guess I will never know.

I'm sure when I have to wake him for school, and I ask him about his dreams he will long since have forgotten all the wonderful things that were floating around his beautiful head of tousled curls. He will stare wistfully at me with those big pools of brown eyes not knowing what I'm talking about. He'll utter something about the evils of structured education and how he just wants to be a Lego Designer and he doesn't need to go to school because he already knows how to do that. Then I'll
tell him that I know he's a good Lego designer, but he needs to know how to read and write well so he can write the directions to his models, and he needs to know math so he can keep track of the money he'll make from his models. It satisfies his seven year old ambitions just long enough so my sleepy babe can stagger down to his awaiting bowl of Cheerios.

I may never know why my youngest son just giggled in his sleep, but I will relish it. I have lived nearly half my life now and have seen and gone through many things. I have had wonderful dreams and smiled in my sleep, and I have lived through nightmares and awakened to my pillow wet with tears. I'm so grateful that Logan's life is safe and carefree enough right now that he can giggle in his sleep. Sleep Well and God Bless my Baby.