I’m pretty sure I’m in the midst of a major life transition. Call it a mid-life crisis if you wish. I prefer to call it a mid-life awakening.

Questions accompany awakenings. Big questions. Deep questions. Important questions. Hard questions.

If we want to change course, if we want to turn our back to old ways and pursue new ways, if we want to trust that what’s ahead of us is better than what’s behind us, we must ask the big, deep, important and hard questions of life.

I’m not an advocate of excessive complaining, lamenting and questioning, but I do believe that no matter how optimistic we are, no matter how upbeat we are, no matter how faith-filled we are, no matter how great our life may be, real life still happens. It’s undeniable, right?

We wonder. We ask. We want to know.

Why? What? Where?

When? How? Who?

So I’m asking the hard questions today. Because I want to. Because I need to. Because maybe you’re asking them too. Because maybe we need sit in the questions, be humbled, and realize we’re not God. We don’t know everything. We can’t fix everything. We don’t understand everything. We’re human, after all.

So let’s get to it.

I’m asking all the hard questions.

I’m just asking…

What is the point, God?

Why is there winter?

Why is it so cold sometimes I can barely breathe?

Why do people starve to death?

Why is there such disparity between the poor and the wealthy?

Why are children the victims of sexual assault?

Why do people have to suffer with autism, dementia, Alzheimers, severe cerebral palsy, deafness, blindness, severe mental illness and the like?

Why do people lie lifeless in comas?

Why do people live lifeless lives of oblivion?

Why do young men and women pass away long before their time?

Why do babies get life-threatening diseases? Why should a baby ever suffer to the point of death? What is the point, God?

Why do we love money so much?

Why don’t we want to help each other more?

Why are we so self-centered?

Why do we fight so much?

Why do we worry about stupid, pointless things?

Why do women think so little of themselves that they prostitute themselves?

Why in the world do people think it’s okay to expose themselves repeatedly to pornography?

Why in the world do they think that is sexy?

Why are near-naked women on magazine covers so often, but not nearly as many near-naked men?

Why are marriages going down the tubes?

Why do kids say mean things to each other?

Why don’t we have more friends?

Why do we live so isolated?

Why do we think bigger is better?

Why do we clutter our homes with stuff, stuff and more stuff?

Why do elderly have to revert to wearing Depends at the end of a good, long life?

Why don’t we value the elderly more in our culture?

Why are innocent people being beheaded?

Why do people talk behind each others’ backs?

Why don’t we love each other more?

Why are we scared of other people?

Why are we scared of being intimate with others?

Why do we so desperately long for more of everything and anything?

Why is there a void?

Why?

Why are we hurting?

Why are we totally disconnected from reality?

Why do we continue to think we’ll magically discover healing and transforming words, photographs, and videos on Facebook?

Why do people overanalyze what others say on Facebook all the time?

Why do we only want to hear the good stuff, the fun stuff, the light-hearted stuff?

Why don’t we talk about hard stuff more?

Why do we blame one another for stupid stuff?

Why can’t we all just get along?

Why are we arguing about the definition of marriage?

Why has it been nearly four months since I’ve gone on a date with my husband?

Why does work have to be so stressful?

Why does unpaid work NOT count for anything in our culture?

Why do I have 10 awesome dresses in my closet and nowhere to wear them?

Why did I get coerced into buying a belt that I’ve never worn?

Why can’t we seem to dig out of our messes?

Why did my neighbors have to get divorced and move?

Why have I seemed to have lost complete touch with an old friend?

Why aren’t woman supporting each other more?

Why does helping have to hurt?

Why are there smiling faces of children living in extreme poverty on my cupboard door?

Why does life have to be so hard that a senior’s daddy can’t attend her high school graduation party?

Why do people lie in bed all day?

Why do people hide away in their houses?

Why are people afraid of everything?

Why is extroversion so highly valued in our culture?

Why can’t our kids go outside and play without us being worried all the time?

Why do the experts make us feel guilty, as if we’re doing something wrong as parents all the time?

Why are stay at home moms undervalued?

Why did the mommy wars start in the first place?

Why do we have to “do it all?”

Why do I own several table books and never look at any of them?

Why do our kids need so many toys?

Why do our kids need toys at all?

Why do some kids go without any toys at all?

Why?

Why do we fight about stupid stuff?

Why do some people get pregnant like that, while others can’t get pregnant at all?

Why are there orphans?

Why do children have to live through trauma?

Why do we meet and love people, and then never see them again?

Why do people play games with our minds?

Why don’t people believe in God?

Why does church have to be so political sometimes?

Why do we allow kids sporting tournaments to run on Sundays?

Why do kids have to specialize in a sport by 4th, 5th or 6th grade?

Why do we have to label people?

Why can’t we all just recognize that we have different personalities?

Why wasn’t I there the day a friend had an abortion?

Why wasn’t I there when friends were going through divorces?

Why do people have affairs?

Why do people look for happiness in complete strangers?

Why don’t people just commit and get married after 10 years of dating?

Why don’t we see extended family more often?

Why don’t we take care of ourselves?

Why does life have to be so fast-paced?

Why are we jealous of one another?

Why don’t we support each other more in our passions and pursuits?

Why do we keep our dreams to ourselves?

Why don’t I have lunch with you more often?

Why did we fall away from one another?

Why does it cost so much for competitive kids’ dance?

Why do I have a huge house and others don’t have one at all?

Why do I feel guilty when I buy regular eggs, milk, meat and produce instead of organic?

Why does everything have to be evil?

Why does everything seem to require money?

Why is life so complicated?

Why do we live so isolated?

Why are we confused?

Why are we lonely?

Why are we stressed?

Why does life feel like it’s always in some sort of disarray?

Why?

Why don’t we have more peace?

Why don’t we have more faith?

Why don’t we share more love?

Why don’t we care more deeply?

Why don’t we invite each other in?

Why don’t we connect?

Why compare?

Why don’t we just ask for help?

Why don’t we just ask for what we need?

Why don’t we just ask for a minute to breathe, for a minute to catch up to this crazy life?

Why don’t we just gather?

Why don’t we just sit in community and ponder all the questions?

Why?

 

 

“And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever — the Spirit of truth. The world cannot accept him, because it neither sees him nor knows him. But you know him, for he lives with you and will be in you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you. Before long, the world will not see me anymore, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.”  John 14:16-20

“All this I have spoken while still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”  John 14:25-27

Let’s just say I was convicted. Right there in Walmart. First in the Easter aisle, then later in the toy aisle.

It was Saturday, March 7th. Our two oldest were busy with out-of-the-house activities. Our youngest had just gone down for nap. My husband decided to nap as well. He was exhausted from his first full week back at work. That left me with a rare opportunity to get out of the house by myself.

I thought a trip to Walmart might be a good idea. (Okay, Walmart’s never a great idea. But I remember thinking at some point in the past that they had the most options for Easter candy, so I figured I’d give it a whirl.)

There I was. In Walmart. Shopping nearly a month early for Easter basket stuffers. Yes, these are the fun and crazy things I do when I get out of the house by myself.

I went down the Easter candy aisle first. I picked up three York peppermint bunnies, three Hershey’s chocolate crosses, and jelly beans for our kids. For the most part, it was a benign experience.

As I crossed the store to check out the rest of the Easter merchandise, I received a Facebook message. I’d conversed with two people on Facebook messages earlier that afternoon, but wouldn’t have guessed the conversation would resume so soon.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. The conversation was important. God was in the middle of performing a miracle, and for some reason, He was letting me in on it, as it was unfolding. I had a sneaking suspicion awesome things were going to happen that day, and I assumed all of it was going to happen without my direct involvement. But as I responded to the messages, I realized God created space for me, a quiet role for me. My job? To use my words, at that very specific moment in time, to encourage one person to do what they needed to do. One person revealed their basic, but significant need to me. One person revealed their doubt that the need could be met. All I needed to do was provide encouragement to GO, and assurance that YES, God would provide. (God did meet the need, by the way, and a whole lot more.) 

The gravity of the moment washed over me.

The Spirit of truth moved in my soul – right there in the Walmart Easter aisle.

I was paralyzed.

Literally paralyzed.

In another world.

The rest of Walmart was moving faster than me.

In-between the sending and receiving of Facebook messages, I stood still, leaned carefully against my nearly empty cart, and stared blankly at stuffed chicks, bunny plates and big bottles of bubbles.

In those moments of paralysis, I had a revelation as clear as day.

Easter has nothing to do with chicks, bunnies and bubbles. Absolutely nothing. Sure, they’re cute and fun and lovely for the kids and Easter baskets. But they have nothing to do with the true meaning of Easter.

Easter is about a great big God who loves us much and knows us so intimately that He sent His Son, Jesus, to earth. As a babe. So He could step in skin and live a human existence. So He could know our pain, our burdens, our every need. So He could share His wisdom, demonstrate His power, and reveal pure hope found only through Him. Then this fully-God fully-man, Jesus, died. His death was brutal. On the cross. For us. With us. Because of us. He promised, “It is finished.” In three days, He rose. So we might be saved. So we might live. So our ugly sins would be forgiven. So His power could be revealed through us. And then, yes then, He sent this Advocate, this Holy Spirit, this Spirit of truth. Because He wanted a way to teach us all the things, a way to remind us of all the things. God wanted a way to work through us, in us, and for us. As we live, work and breathe here…on earth.

It sounds crazy, I know. It really does sound crazy.

But here’s what I want you to know…

Over the course of the past 10-15 years, event after event has taught me to believe that this God story, this Jesus story, this Holy Spirit story? It has to be true. It must be true. I believe it’s true.

I’m not good at history. I’m not great at theology. I’m not good at “proving” anything beyond a doubt. But I am good at telling real-life experiences. I can tell you, without a doubt, that I’ve had enough real-life experiences to convince me that this Christianity MUST be true. It makes complete sense within the context of so many things that have happened in my life. It has proved itself time and time again.

So what about that miraculous, paralyzing event that happened in the Walmart Easter aisle one month ago? I know you don’t know the details of that story, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s more proof of God’s existence. Proof He wants to work for us, in us, and through us. Proof He’ll go to any lengths He chooses to demonstrate His power and love for us. But in order to experience the fullness of life He desires for us, we must be receptive to His prompting, His calling, His leading. Every. single. day.

I could have turned off my phone that afternoon.

I could have ignored the ding when the Facebook message came in.

I could have thought “Forget it. I’m busy. I’m shopping right now. I really need this time alone to focus and get this job done.” And left it at that.

I could have responded with a quick “Hey, I’m busy right now. Can we chat later?”

I could have shut down the conversation days prior. Then there wouldn’t have been any of that crazy talk in the first place.

I could have attributed any part of the conversation to random circumstance.

I could have responded any which way. And it would have been just fine, had I not believed.

But I wouldn’t have experienced God’s power. I wouldn’t have experienced the strong presence of His Spirit working in me and through me. I wouldn’t have understood what a miracle looks like and sounds like – on the ground – in real time. I wouldn’t have been there to provide encouragement when it was needed. I wouldn’t have recognized the great lengths to which God is willing to pursue us, love us, and develop intimacy with us. So we’ll believe, trust, love and hope. In Him.

 

 

I stood alone, staring at a display of brightly-painted clay women in that Dominican Republic market. Who knew I’d find myself here? Now. For such a time as this.

Moments earlier, I’d been giddy over a painted canvas I’d purchased from the upper level of hidden gems nobody seemed to have found. But joy eventually subsided, and I found myself drawn to the front of the store, to a dusty row of clay women.

I picked up the figurines, one by one, analyzing for beauty, for message, for heart and soul. Each was unique. Their colors, postures, heights and weights told stories of who the artist thought they might be. Some held flowers, some held clutches, some held bellies, and some stood pristine. Some were royal. Some were plain. All were dusty. And I wondered. When did someone last ponder the purposes of these beauties?

Our minutes in the store were numbered. I was bound and determined to find a figure that matched the state of my soul. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I just knew I’d know her when I found her.

After a while of looking, my heart panicked a bit. They were all so beautiful and many would suffice. But the one was yet to be found.

My fingers were dusty, dirty in fact. The figures weren’t in pristine pretty rows anymore. Dusty glass marked the places they once stood. I kept my favorites to the front, but kept reaching back, further back.

There she was.

Golden. With white and red accents. And long brown hair.

She was clutching her belly just like the figurine I purchased in Haiti and adore on my dresser every morning before I wake. There was something contemplative, ready to be birthed in her.

She was the one.

From the moment I picked her up, I noticed her imperfections. Her dress was chipped at the bottom. Her long brown hair revealed hard clay beneath.

I decided I’d take her anyway. After all, if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that perfection wasn’t getting me anywhere. I might as well take her, imperfections and all. She was beautiful, even so.

$8. A bargain, I thought, for such beauty.

They wrapped her up and our group parted the market within moments. I carried her around the rest of the day, then back to the hotel by my suitcase for our last night in the Dominican.

In the morning, I began packing. I’d carefully set aside miss beauty until the end. I wanted to reserve a specially-padded place for her in my suitcase, or maybe in my carry-on. She was wrapped quite well, but still.

I’d packed nearly everything. She was last to go except a few strays for my purse.

I stepped back, and crunch. I’d broken miss beauty in two.

Apparently, she was too fragile to withstand the blow. I lifted her up, opened the bag and unwrapped her goodness from layers of tissue paper. When I stepped back, I’d literally broken off her head. She’d lost her head. On my account.

I laughed. Yes, I was a little heart broken. But I laughed anyway.

What else could I do?

This beauty I spent 20 minutes selecting the afternoon prior had lost her head already!

Was it a complete waste, or maybe meant to be?

I told my roommate about the accident, and packed that clay beauty right back up in her tissue. I’m quite sure others would have tossed her straight into the trash. After all, she was only worth $8 with her head on! But something told me she was meant to go home just like that. Broken. With her head off once and for all.

You see, I’d been broken that week. I’d completely lost it on that trip. The dream I’d had for four, nearly five years – to write on behalf of children living in extreme poverty, FOR Compassion International – had come true. But my husband had just been diagnosed with eye cancer. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, life was going to be impacted. The trip was going to be impacted. Yes, I’d lost it. I’d lost my head. All the plans, all the purposes I’d ever envisioned, all the ways I’d write every day and everything would flow perfectly just like it had in Haiti? Well, it didn’t happen quite like I envisioned. God, in fact, had a better way in mind. He emptied me, broke me, then filled me with a new kind of grace. It was a humbling place.

Today, miss beauty stands in all her grandeur on my table. She looks perfect just the way she is – with no head.

I know it’s a little weird. (Maybe a lot weird?) I get it. Some of you think I’m a freak for overanalyzing this random figurine with no head. But hear me out for a minute. This is how I think, this is the way I process life. I’m a firm believer that there’s purpose in everything. Every. Thing.

For me? I needed that trip to the Dominican to bring me to a place of surrender. I needed to lose my head. I needed to stop overanalyzing, to stop planning and purposing my life my way. Kris was right, my “five point plan [wasn’t] going to work anymore.” I needed to surrender my life so God could take it and do immeasurably more than I imagined.

So here I am. 2 1/2 months later with a beautiful statue sitting on the table in front of me. Her head is broken off. But she’s still oh so beautiful.

The day I left for my Compassion trip, I told you I was empty. Completely empty. And several days after that, I told you I was broken. Wholly broken.

I’ve never been the same.

I thought Haiti changed me forever. Now I know Dominican changed me forever in a whole new way.

I’m still empty. I’m still broken.

But I’m more sure of God’s Spirit, God’s sovereignty, God’s ability to work it all out than I’ve ever been.

 

 

 

It’s 11:49 p.m.

March 27th.

Four days of March 2015 remain.

I published nine blog posts in March prior to this one.

I drafted five additional blog posts in March. All unpublished, including a 1,600 word post from this afternoon.

She told me my blog was brave. She knows these intimate details of my life. She knows I’m pretty introverted, that she probably wouldn’t find out nearly as much about me and my life if we sat down together for coffee.

That may be true. That may not be true at all.

This blog. It’s transparent. It’s real. It’s authentic. I’ve given it my full heart. But it’s not all of me.

Perhaps I’m a hard nut to crack. Perhaps not at all.

I know what I need to be cracked. That’s time. The kind of time we don’t have in America. The kind of time we don’t create in America.

Few have truly cracked me.

Yes, the brave who have gone there have seen glimpses of the real me. Maybe even the real me.

Thank you.

This you must know. This blog is my heart. But it’s not all of me.

 

 

 

Well, friends! I thought I was on sabbatical from eye cancer posts until late May, but no surprise, the story continues to unfold.

Two nights ago, my husband had his first visit with the optometrist since his surgeries and radiation for choroidal melanoma. The primary purpose of the appointment was a thorough post-op vision exam, but it was also a perfect time to look for new glasses. Seth’s prescription was changing, he needed special polycarbonate lenses, and he hadn’t bought a new pair of glasses for more than five years. If there’s ever a reason to buy new glasses, it’s now.

This whole wearing glasses full-time thing has been quite an adjustment for Seth. He loves contacts and hasn’t worn glasses full-time since junior high. He’s walked through a whole host of emotions, and has finally arrived at a place where he seems to have accepted the fact (for the most part) that he’ll be wearing glasses from here on out. If he has to wear glasses, he’s determined to wear them boldly and make a statement!

With that in mind, Seth really wanted to make sure I was along for the optometrist appointment. He wanted my input and opinion on new glasses. So we decided to bring the whole family. Crazy, I know. Three kids in a quiet optometry waiting room for TWO hours with hundreds of expensive glasses at reach? Yep. Crazy.

But honestly, it worked pretty well. We spent the first hour looking exhaustively at glasses. Seth tried on at least 30 pair, narrowed those to 10, and ultimately narrowed again to six. The kids read, played apps on our phones, and took the opportunity to try on glasses for the first time!

Once Seth had the field narrowed to six, he quickly, but thoroughly evaluated each pair for look and fit. Within minutes, he was down to two pair, a black Jack Spade frame and a tortoise Gucci frame. The technician and I agreed, the Gucci frame was the one. But Seth was clearly drawn to the black Jack Spade frame. After a while of analyzing, overanalyzing, and taking photos to see how he looked in each frame, he finally decided to go up front to ask the office staff for their opinion. Hmmm…surprise! They all agreed the tortoise Gucci frame was “the one!” Our technician asked another technician for her opinion. Tortoise Gucci it was! Out came Seth’s optometrist to get him for the appointment. And her preference? The tortoise Gucci frame as well! At that point, everyone was laughing up a storm. Everyone (except Seth) had independently agreed that the tortoise Gucci frame looked best. Still, Seth wasn’t so sure.

He put both frames on the table for later debate, and went in for his appointment.

To our pleasant surprise, the doctor changed the prescription for his glasses “a bit, but not much.” There was reportedly “even a little improvement in his left eye” (the non-cancerous eye). The doctor indicated that the left eye was likely compensating for the cancerous right eye. When corrected with his new glasses, he’ll see 20/20, even in the right eye.

When Seth returned from the optometry appointment, he was fairly sure he’d had a change of heart. He decided on the tortoise Gucci frame. But he tried both pair a few more times for size and style, and we analyzed more pictures. Because you know, we all want to look good in pictures!

There we were. The decision had been made. Tortoise Gucci it was!

But wait…

Seth just purchased high-end sunglasses last summer, but now that he can’t wear contacts anymore and we need to do everything we can to protect his eyes, we realized we were also going to need to buy a pair of prescription sunglasses. Fortunately, he’d tried on a few sunglasses early in the visit and had his sights on a pair that looked awesome right off the bat. He tried those on again and there wasn’t much to debate. We’d found the sunglasses!

It was 7:00 p.m. We’d been there since 5:00 p.m. and the kids were getting a little antsy. The technician offered to send us a quote via email so we could move forward with the glasses and sunglasses purchases at our leisure.

We thanked everyone for their help and they wished Seth well. Off we went to Dairy Queen to pick up the dilly bars and cones we’d promised the kids for being patient for two hours in the waiting room.

Another day, another dollar, and two new pair of glasses.

Yes, we’re grateful for sight.

The journey continues.

Until next time, friends. Signing off ’til May.