To the Powers that Be:

As we sat around the Christmas tree that evening, grandma asked if we would each share something we were grateful for in 2012 and something we were looking forward to in 2013.

When it came time for my son to share his gratitude for the past and hope for the future, I couldn’t believe my ears. This 10-year-old son of mine? What was he grateful for? What hope did he have for the new year?

He shared with all sincerity, all seriousness…he was glad he was alive in 2012, and hopes he stays alive in 2013.

This certainly wasn’t the response grandma planned when she dreamed up this hope-filled family activity around the tree.

Mama to this 10-year-old boy, I calmly reassured him “You don’t need to worry about that,” as if he shouldn’t be worried about such a thing. But he responded again with all seriousness, “Well, it could happen.” There was something real in his voice, something that told me he wasn’t kidding, that he knows full well the realities of this world.

I had nothing else to say, no other words seemed fitting in that moment. What is a mama to say when her 10-year-old says around the Christmas tree that he’s glad to be alive and that he hopes he’s going to be alive next year? For there is always a possibility any one of us might pass to a better place this year.

It had been just 9 days since the Sandy Hook incident in Connecticut. He had heard, but we hadn’t dwelled. The pictures and stories were pouring in, and I’m sure there was discussion among children at school. We had even gotten a call from the school principal indicating our daughter had been sent down because she was feeling anxious about being safe in school. But him? This boy who rarely shares detail and emotes very little from the depths of his soul? Prior to the incident around the tree, he gave us no indication he was scared for his life.

This has haunted my soul for more than a month. To think my 10-year-old lives in a world where he has to fear for his life! To think he is so worried, so concerned for the existence of his life that it’s the first thing that comes to his mind in an innocent moment of gratitude and hope around the Christmas tree! To think a 7-year-old has to be sent to the principal’s office because she’s anxious about being at school because a gunman might enter at any moment and start shooting it up! To think this same girl has expressed fear about sitting in a movie theater because she’s scared somebody might sneak in “like they did at Batman” and start shooting everybody?!

May I ask, what has gone wrong with our society?

May I ask, do we really want 7-year-olds and 10-year-olds to be scared for their lives? In the United States of America?!

May I ask, where are our priorities?

May I ask, do we really realize the severity, the depth of this problem?

May I ask, who do we blame?

May I ask, what do we blame?

May I ask, where does all of this evil originate anyway?

May I ask, how am I supposed to combat my son’s fear of life and death when he’s still trying to solve math problems and spell and write a story that makes sense?

May I ask, why in the world should my children have to worry about the possibility of being shot to death when they go to school or a movie?

May I suggest that this is a battle between good and evil?

May I suggest we must take a much harder stance than we ever have to fight this battle in our homes, in our neighborhoods, in our schools, in our cities and states and in our nation? For that matter, around the globe?

May I suggest that we need to stop politicizing issues of life and death and get down to business of determining a better course of action? A more noble course of action?

May I suggest that we need to gather around moms and dads as they raise little ones?

May I suggest that we need to get out of our little bubbles of isolation and be in community so we’re raising a generation that values life?

May I suggest that our hearts are sick?

May I suggest we develop more empathy, more heart towards one another?

May I suggest that we start addressing and treating mental illness for what it is rather than shunning or ignoring or writing them off as so called “cray cray?” for someone else to handle?

May I suggest that seriously evil individuals will continue to be ruthless in achieving their objectives?

May I suggest that this nation has experienced so much fortune that some of us have become blind to reality?

May I suggest that the solutions do not lie solely in gun control legislation and mental health reform, but in getting on our knees in prayer for this nation, for our government, for our states and cities and neighborhoods, for families and children?

People, we are in a battle.

And as a mama, the only answer that seems clear is that I need to be bold and courageous about my work as a mama. I need to love. I need to support. I need to encourage. I need to pray and pray and pray for my children. I need to give them a firm foundation. I need to use words that will build up instead of tear down. I need to surround my children with people that will make them feel worthy. I need to do the hard work it takes to raise a citizen of character, of integrity, of goodness. A citizen that will not lose hope, a citizen that will not grow weary. A citizen that respects life and doesn’t take it for granted. A citizen that knows we are in battle, and it’s time to stand up and fight.

Fear not little boy, for I will do my best to provide these things for you. Fear not little boy, for if you let me show you and if you open your heart, you will see there is a God who is much greater than all our fears. A God who heals, a God who redeems, a God who restores, a God better and bigger than all this. For you can put your fear in His hands, and let it rest there, son.

And as a speech-language pathologist, I have to say that perhaps Gabby Giffords, with a most emphatic voice, said it best this morning…

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mysteryof the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.  Ephesians 6:10-20

Amy

Today, I am so excited to introduce you to my childhood friend’s mom, Barb, who has stolen my heart with her homemade pickles since I was a little child!

Again and again and again. I could eat those pickles all day long, every day, all year round.

Those pickles, there when I was a child. On the island when we would come in from swimming in our kiddie pool. Pickles with tuna salad sandwiches. Pickles in the basement after a birthday party game of pin the tail on the donkey, all cut up in a little bowl with sloppy joes. Pickles at graduation parties and Christmas parties and family nights all gathered around on couches in innocence. Pickles after swimming in the sun, pickles after we stuffed our mouths full of Skittles, pickles all around.

Those pickles, there in the early years of our adulthood. That night we came to visit, childhood friends all gathered, now me with baby in hand. Pickles were there, yes indeed.

Those pickles, there at the wedding table. Sunflowers and tents and faces from the past. Childhood friends now women all grown up, at a distance. Girlish memories undeniably strong at that childhood home, yet faint in the presence of husbands and fiancees and teachers all retired. We’re adults now. Lives have moved forward, but the pickles? They remain the same. On the wedding table, ever present, ever drawing me in to take more and more, just as delicious as always.

Those pickles, on the table at an unforgettable baby shower. The guest of honor not present, my heart torn and conflicted and unsure and worn down, and desperate for answers and understanding. The familiarity of that pickle, the familiarity of that house and those faces, all at odd ease to embrace a little hope child in the midst of much uncertainty.

Those pickles, often on my mind. A basket of pickles at a silent auction reminds me of Barb. I wish I knew how to make pickles like that, like Barb. Thoughts of my ideal self surface. The mom that cans pickles, the mom that brings her children and her childrens’ friends delight in such simple goodness.

Those pickles, a surprise. At Christmas, an unexpected gift. To: Amy. From: Barb. Barb gave mom a can and sent a can for me. A smile, a real smile. What more could I ask for but a can of the best pickles ever?

Those pickles, I finished the last one last week. Treasured each bite again and again. Stood still in my kitchen and soaked it in. The awesomeness of that last pickle.

In all the change, the pickle remains the same. It has always remained the same. Always predictable, always delectable, always just right, always satisfying, always a delight.

Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. Proverbs 31:31

Amy

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is AGAIN. (OK, I admit, I went more like 10 minutes today instead of 5! Forgive me, I had a lot to say about those pickles!)

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is CHERISHED.

I dreamed of sponsoring children since I was a child myself.

Years passed, and that dream never faded.

Last August, we sponsored little Bethchaida from Haiti. Knit in her mother’s womb, handpicked by our family to love from a distance.

Last week, we received a packet for little Djino, our sweet correspondent child from Haiti. He has a sponsor, but we have the privilege of encouraging him through handwritten letters sent miles through the mail.

I want to love on these little ones, let them know they are precious, worthy, cherished.

In 2013, I have a goal to clean out my life (literally and figuratively) and start saving creatively for a Compassion International sponsor trip to Haiti so I can visit one or both of these precious children. We landed in Haiti just one day, and I feel a strong call to return. It is time to let these little ones know they are cherished and worth any and every sacrifice.

But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first. Matthew 19:30

Amy

Today it is my pleasure to introduce you to Shannon O’Donnell, a writer I recently connected with online! This week, Shannon launches her book Love’s Memory: The Scotts of Mountain Ridge Book One, which she describes as “a story of one woman’s journey to wholeness.” I’ve had the pleasure of reading Shannon’s book this week. Half way through the book, I realized this work of fiction very closely resembles the real life stories I like to tell on this blog – seeing through God’s eyes, listening to His promptings, inspiring, sharing hope and encouragement, believing our lives can be redeemed at any moment. In Love’s Memory, Valerie finds herself in a set of circumstances less than ideal. Valerie meets an older woman named Bessie who follows God’s promptings and takes Valerie under her wings. Bessie, as Shannon shares, is “a praying warrior…strategically placed in the path of [Valerie], and eventually her husband. Once again, God’s love and power is demonstrated in an undeniable and glorious way.”

Please welcome Shannon O’Donnell as she guest posts about a woman who encouraged her to write. And make sure to check out her website for more information on her book, links to purchase Love’s Memory through Amazon, and an opportunity to receive some amazing gifts! 

One of the most gratifying things to a writer is having a great story to tell. The thrill of penning thoughts, emotions and imagination into a tale, I suspect, is similar to a runner winning a race—that moment when a splash of endorphins hits his nerves, sending the signal surge forward. When writing, I call this experience the “writer’s high.” It’s that moment when everything falls into place, when your fingers can’t type fast enough, when the juices are in full swing and a good story is birthed.

I loved writing my story Love’s Memory: The Scotts of Mountain Ridge Book One. I loved my characters. The Scott family is fictional but their story is not uncommon to many today. Broken hearts, broken dreams, broken relationships are common to all of us. Who hasn’t felt the sting of rejection, of disappointment, of betrayal from ones we love? That’s life…and the lessons we learn through it are what make our life worthwhile or unbearable. The theme of my story is forgiveness. How well we learn to forgive will determine the degree of happiness that we experience in day to day living.

My favorite character in Love’s Memory is Bessie. I think everyone who reads my book either has a Bessie in their life or wishes they did. In fact, the world needs more Bessies. The world, especially the Christian world, lacks mature Godly mentors. I dedicated my book to one such Bessie in my life: Mrs. Mitchell.

I was fourteen years old and still quite a stranger to my new Nebraska home when I met Mrs. Mitchell. I had been an air force brat and lived in six different homes by the time I was thirteen. My father retired and at age thirty-nine moved his family to a small but beautiful town in Northeast Nebraska. My English and history teacher was a lovely woman that I called Mrs. Mitchell. Not only was Mrs. Mitchell an incredible teacher who was able to keep this restless teenager enthralled in her lessons, she was a lover of God.

A revival had broken out in a small Methodist church that year. Mrs. Mitchell was a member of it. I remember her wearing a cross necklace of nails to school during that time. I was intrigued by this ardent display of  faith. I wasn’t a religious person. My family attended church but God was never spoken of at home. But I remember hanging around Mrs. Mitchell’s classroom with other students after school and asking her questions about God. She listened with a smile on her face, and always referred us to the Bible for answers.

It was also at this time, at a parents-teachers conference, that I overheard her tell my parents that I would write books ones day. She then turned to me and nodded, “You will.” I remember the feeling of wonder that filled me at those words. Me? Write a book?

The next year I found myself in a different building. I was in high school now. Mrs. Mitchell was busy with a new group of students down the road in the Middle School. The revival had simmered to a slow burn. Life was status quo, you might say.  But seeds had been planted in me and over the years, other Bessies entered my life; watering those seeds, fertilizing them here and there, until they blossomed into a passion for God and for the written word.

I haven’t seen Mrs. Mitchell for years. But one of my greatest joys will be when I am able to present her with a copy of my book Love’s Memory, autographed by me, but dedicated to her. I am grateful to Mrs. Mitchell and pray that I may become a Mrs. Mitchell to many before God calls me home.

Shannon O’Donnell

 

It’s Friday, which means it’s time for another Meet Me At This Moment for Five Minute Friday post! I spend the last hour of Thursday chatting it up with a group of authentic and inspiring Five Minute Friday bloggers on Twitter (#FiveMinuteFriday #fmfparty). One minute past midnight EST Friday, Lisa-Jo Baker gives us a single word prompt and we all write a blog post centered around that word. We write for five minutes, and five minutes only! In the wjords of Lisa, this is “unscripted. unedited. real.” You meet me at this moment in time…my thoughts and opinions, my joys and sorrows, my dilemmas and dreams. And I receive one of the greatest gifts ever…a regular outlet for processing and expressing my thoughts without constantly editing myself. This is my life, my perspective, unfiltered.

The word of the week is DIVE.

There were at least three Meet Me At This Moment posts I could have written this week, but didn’t.

In which my daughter so innocently told me that her friend’s mom “never makes food like that…she makes all homemade food,” as I was making mac and cheese and hot dogs and I just needed to get something on the table.

In which I spent at least two hours searching and scouring a mall for the right dress to wear to my husband’s work party next week. And never found a thing that would satisfy.

In which I heard an outright lie in that dark place that’s been making me feel overwhelmed…you aren’t doing any of it well.

I wrote only one and didn’t post any. I’ve decided I won’t give those moments any glory. I’m tired of the muck, the mud, the ugliness of all that.

For I know I am called to be someone much better, to do something much greater. I want to DIVE into who I am. Oh no, I no longer wish to just dive into anything and everything. I’m ready to dive into God’s unique plan, just for me. And if that means changing things, taking new paths, diving deeper than ever before? I will.

Two years ago this month, my husband and I had just spent a long time praying whether we were going to have a third child. Our answer was YES. A month after that decision had been made, I watched the Grammy Awards and saw this band, Mumford and Sons, for the first time. There was something about their diving into the music, their diving into their craft, that captured my attention. I think of this performance often and admire these men for their courage to stand tall in their identity. Today, I challenge you to watch. Watch them literally dive into the music, into who they are as individuals. That guy on the keyboard? That guy with the bobbing yellow hat? They’re not so worried about making mistakes or doing it wrong or anything like that. And there’s no way you can convince me they care what people think. They’re just there to be who they are, to share their wonderful selves, their wonderful gifts with the world.

And if you’re actually going to watch? Be patient. It might take a few seconds for you to really see those heads moving, diving deep, deep into the music.

Mumford & Sons, The Avett Brothers and Bob Dylan Live at 2011 Grammys from Yaroslav Kunitsyn on Vimeo.

For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7

Amy