I hadn’t known grace. I hadn’t known surrender. I hadn’t known what it looks like and feels like to be okay with God’s approval and God’s approval only. That is, until the Dominican Republic.

The most important day of the trip found me highly emotionally unstable. I was about to spend several hours with our Compassion sponsored sweetie, Meranyelis, and it just so happened that every perfectly planned thing went wrong for me that morning. To make things worse, I brought my camera, but forgot the charged battery back in the room. That left me without a functioning camera, the ONE physical possession I really thought I needed that day besides a swimsuit. Knowing how much I love and treasure pictures, God, in His infinite wisdom, provided Lairs, a photographer, to capture beautiful moments during my visit with Meranyelis.

It was awesome to have Lairs as my one-and-only photographer, but 40 other child-sponsor memories were waiting to be memorialized too, so there were plenty of times when it was just me, our sponsored sweetie, her tutor and the translator. No photographer. No camera of my own. Nobody else capturing moments from the sidelines.

Those moments were quiet, intimate, precious.

I vividly remember the moment when God’s still small voice stirred in my soul, the moment He asked me to work quietly behind the scenes, for Him and Him alone. It happened somewhere between our first swim in the big pool and our Dorito-stained fingertips in the treehouse. Meranyelis and I were off the beaten track, walking down a dusty, dirty, rocky hill towards a swimming pool with a waterslide.

As we walked down that hill, just the two of us with the translator and tutor following behind, I knew there was a good chance Meranyelis would be going on a waterslide for the first time. I was desperate for Lairs, my cameraman, to be there to capture the moment! I didn’t want to miss this! I wanted to be able to send Meranyelis a photograph of the first time she went down a waterslide! I wanted her to be able to show her friends and remember how fun it was for months and years to come!

But I had no camera. I had no cameraman. Lairs was nowhere to be found, and I wasn’t about to waste precious time chasing him down.

There was, in fact, nobody in sight with a camera.

This moment of grandiosity was NOT going to be captured.

And that’s when I heard God’s still small voice. As I held Meranyelis’ hand, as my bare feet walked the uncomfortably rocky, dirty, dusty soil, I heard it in my soul. Just be with my child. Will you love her? Will you serve her? Will you forget about everything else, just be with Meranyelis and enjoy the moment, even if the only evidence is in the recesses of your mind? 

There was no other choice. God put me in this position for a reason. I needed to surrender. I needed to know what it looked like and felt like to REALLY serve with my whole heart, for no other reason than to faithfully love the person in front of me. I needed to love this girl, to serve this girl, to be with this girl because she’s God’s beautiful creation, on loan to me for such a time as this.

I whole-heartedly accepted God’s invitation to work behind the scenes.

Extravagant cameras were nowhere to be found. Cell phone cameras were nowhere to be found. NOBODY was to be found. It was just me, Meranyelis, the tutor, and the translator. On a hill. Together in the Dominican Republic.

As we continued further down the hill, Meranyelis decided she didn’t want to go down that waterslide. We stopped to ponder the reality of climbing those stairs. I showed her the slides and explained we’d ride down on a tube, that I’d be with her every step of the way. But she was hesitant. She didn’t want to do it. She couldn’t bring herself to go that high. She was, in fact, afraid of heights.

It’s interesting, really, how God chose to speak to me in that particular moment, how He asked me to work quietly behind the scenes without cameras, without spectators, without physical evidence of it ever happening.

It wasn’t a picture-perfect moment. It was just me and my sponsored child. In what turned out to be a very vulnerable moment. Meranyelis came face to face with her fear of heights. I was there to let her know it was okay. She didn’t have to conquer that fear today. She didn’t have to do it. I wasn’t forcing her to do anything. We were just there, together, as we were – faults, fears and all.

Nothing needed to be documented. God seared the moment in my memory. It will never fade, it will never wear, it will never tear. That moment He first asked me to work behind the scenes? That moment He asked me go, do and love just because? It was holy.

So it came as no surprise when God called me to work behind the scenes again.

On February 23rd, 2015, just 5 1/2 weeks after I returned from the Dominican Republic, God cracked open another chapter in the book He’d begun writing in me long ago. The chapter was unfolding like mad. It was literally writing itself. It was beyond me. I was simply along for the ride of my life. And I was determined to let God lead. He was clearly in control and had a plan. I knew it from day one.

By April 2nd, just three days before Easter, I was convinced and had proof on multiple fronts that this was actually happening. I was convinced of my role in this thing. I was convinced I was 100% in for the long haul. There was no turning back.

Everything had unfolded in private. It was incredible, miraculous, and delightful. Nobody knew what was going on except me, my husband and the few key parties involved. But things had progressed to the point where I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep this inside anymore. I needed people to know. We were going to need help. And I knew that if this story kept going down the road it was on, that I’d have to make it public sooner rather than later. So I started sharing the story with a select handful of people – my parents, my mother-in-law, my God-size prayer and support team, a friend, three individuals from my writing group, and one other person who just really needed to know what was going on. Heck, I even shared a vague prayer request on my blog’s Facebook page the week leading up to Easter.

But the story took a turn.

I’d been belly deep in this thing since February 23rd. I’d experienced the fullness of God’s provision and love for His children. I’d witnessed a multitude of miracles. I’d been brought into a story that was ridiculously rich, fulfilling, challenging, rewarding and completely in line with who God created me to be. But by April 10th, I very clearly sensed God asking me to step aside, to begin working behind the scenes instead of on the front lines.

It wasn’t an easy decision by any means.

It means I won’t be sharing the story on my blog the way I planned.

It means I’ll have to break my promise to you, a promise I made the Tuesday before Easter that I’d share this whole story with you someday, that I’d invite you into all the details from the very start.

It means my role will change.

It means, at least for now, that I’ll be working and loving behind the scenes without anyone else knowing details except my husband and one family from afar.

It means, at least for now, that this story will continue to unfold largely between me and God.

It means I’ll have to trust that God folded me into this story and is now sending me behind the scenes for a reason. It means I’ll have to trust that He’ll work it all out, that He’ll carry it out to completion, that He’ll draw me back into the front lines if and when He sees fit.

I’ve been working behind the scenes for 9 days now. I’ve experienced moments of sadness, uncertainty, wonder and even a little doubt that there’s a bigger purpose in all of this. But I’ve also experienced peace. And joy. God’s shown me other ways to love, other ways to serve, other ways to give that are perfectly tailored to the deepest desires of my heart.

This is where I’m supposed to be. For now. For such a time as this.

So I’m wondering about you.

Are you on the front lines, or are you behind the scenes?

What are you doing in the quiet, to love, serve, and give, that nobody knows about besides you and God?

Maybe you’re caring for a disabled child.

Maybe you’re letting an elderly parent live in your home.

Maybe you’re loving a friend when they’ve fallen off the wagon yet again.

Maybe you’re donating to the crisis nursery, the homeless shelter, or the United Way.

Maybe you’re forgiving the person you abused you, betrayed you.

Maybe you’re setting aside time to mentor someone in need.

Maybe you’re giving your spouse a weekend away.

Maybe you’re serving at the soup kitchen.

Maybe you’re watching children in the nursery.

Maybe you’re bringing a meal to someone going through cancer treatment.

Maybe you’re sending a note of encouragement to someone who’s doing awesome things with their life.

Maybe you’re sending a note of encouragement to someone who’s down in the dumps.

Maybe you’re housesitting, dog watching, or cat watching.

Maybe you’re making big decisions on a nonprofit board of directors.

Maybe you’re wiping butts and cleaning toilets day after day after day.

Maybe you’re caring for kiddos all on your own.

Maybe you’re loving, honoring and conversing with elderly in a nursing home.

Maybe you’re making warm chocolate chip cookies for kids in the neighborhood.

Maybe you’re singing, writing, painting, photographing, creating…because you must.

Maybe you’re running marathons for a cause.

Maybe you’re running marathons because you can.

What is it? 

What do you do behind the scenes? What do you do when nobody’s watching?

How does it fill you? How does it encourage and speak life to others? How does it make the world a more beautiful place?

“…do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” Matthew 6:3-4

 

 

 

Inch by inch, he grew in your womb.

You nested and prepared days, weeks, months ahead.

You knew he was coming. You knew it was time.

Tiny and precious, he rested in your arms.

Your mama heart was overjoyed. This tiny bundle was yours, a gift bestowed upon you by God himself.

Time passed – minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years.

But his time to pass came far too soon.

Your baby boy was sick, his remaining days on earth, few.

Your heart filled with sorrow. The pain was consuming, overwhelming.

You pleaded with God in desperation. Take me, not him.

And why God, why?

In all that fear, in all that pain, a wave of peace miraculously surrounded your heart.

You surrendered.

You prayed.

“Okay, Lord, you can have him. But if he must die, I want it to be for something big. I want someone’s life to be changed forever.”

After all the pain, after all the sorrow, after all the last moments together, your baby went home. Up in the clouds he went, up a little higher.

You sat in the silence.

Your mama heart ached.

Your mama heart wept.

Your baby was gone. Your baby. was gone.

You gathered up all the pieces of your grieving mama heart, brought them to the only One who knows the true meaning of life, and asked…

How can a mama bear bare to live when her baby passed before her? How does a mama move on? Now what, God, now what?

He answers your prayers in the gentlest of ways. Take his life, mama bear, bring forth life from death. Enter in to others’ pain. Enter in to others’ joy. Speak of your son. Speak of his life. Speak. life.

That blanket of grief and pain’s been wrapped tightly around you, but you do what you’re called to do when you want your baby’s life to count for something big. You begin, oh so slowly, unraveling the threads until you find hope, until you find possibility, until you find the place where your son’s life, your son’s light, begins to shine through, again.

Because you’ve learned – that place where hope shines is holy, precious, sacred space.

So you bring forth life from death. You bring forth purpose from pain.

You honor your son’s life by sharing his story.

You honor your son’s life by letting everyone know – hope is within grasp, even in the midst of pain.

You honor the hope that sprung forth from his life by ensuring everyone understands – the purpose of your life will be revealed, even in your last days, even after your days on earth have passed.

You honor the brevity of his life by encouraging everyone to live more fully –  as if this minute, this hour, this day is your last.

After a while, truth becomes impossible to deny. Your baby boy made a mark. His life wasn’t for naught. His life was short, but your prayer had been answered. Your baby’s life counted for something, something big.

Perhaps your baby was an angel, sent for such a time as this.

And slowly, little by little, you begin to believe with all your mamma bear heart, that joy comes in the morning, even in the mourning.

Amy

*This post was written for mamas whose babies have gone before them, and is in honor of Laura Sobiech, who lost her 18-year-old son, Zach, one year ago in May 2013, after a four-year battle with osteosarcoma, a rare form of bone cancer. When Zach found out he only had a short time to live, his mom suggested he write letters to loved ones he’d leave behind. But instead, Zach chose to use his love of music to write a farewell song, titled “Clouds.” As a result, Zach’s story spread worldwide. His song went viral, with more than 10 million hits on YouTube. In her memoir, Fly A Little Higher, due to release tomorrow, Zach’s mom, Laura Sobiech, shares her and her family’s journey with Zach, through cancer. Laura’s hope is to build awareness, help fight cancer, and to provide hope for people facing similar battles. The Zach Sobiech Osteosarcoma Fund has raised $746,917.14 to date, and “supports leading-edge research to find out why children get this rare cancer, and to discover life-saving treatments.” To read more about Zach’s story and purchase Laura’s book, visit the website www.flyalittlehigher.com. It’s a true honor and privilege to be a part of the Fly A Little Higher Blog Tour.

*This post is also part of a month-long series titled Motherhood Unraveled. To read more from this series, click here and read to the bottom where all the posts are listed and linked!

It was the second week of August 2013. The sun was shining and the sky was blue. For some reason, I had more time than normal before my last speech-language therapy home visit that day, so I took the opportunity to stop at the grocery store where I planned to do business banking and pick up an ice cream treat.

But I never did make it into the store that day.

This thing that happened? It was a little crazy.

So I got out of my car at this grocery store I’d never been to before, and all I could hear was somebody whistling in the parking lot. It was the kind of whistling that was hard to ignore, although everybody but me seemed to be going about their grocery shopping business as usual.

I looked around and looked around some more. There were NO signs of a whistling person anywhere. But then I looked a couple rows down and saw an older man with a line of grocery carts. He was pushing the carts towards the store, and I noticed he was the one, HE was the one whistling!

So I crossed the two lines of cars separating me and that man in the parking lot because, hey, I had a little time and I really wanted to know what compelled this man to whistle so intently while he was working! I approached, told him how lovely his whistling was, how it captured my attention across the parking lot, and asked if I could tell his story on my blog.

When the man responded, I discovered a MAJOR problem…

He didn’t speak a lick of English. In fact, he responded to my inquiry in Spanish.

Hmm….

What was I to do?

I’d only been blogging for 13 months at that point, and I’d never run into a situation like this!

If I was any other sane person, I would’ve let it go at that. But no. I had to do something!

So I went back to my car and pulled up a translation website on my iPhone while keeping a close eye on the whistling grocery cart pusher. One of the first sites that came up was www.webtranslation.paralink.com, so I clicked on the link, found Spanish translation, and crafted something to say to the man. (And ya, I knew that whatever I said had to be simple and to the point, because I hadn’t taken a Spanish class since high school, so even with translation, I wasn’t going to be blowing the dude away with my Spanish proficiency.)

This is what I had translated on my little iPhone…

I love your whistling. Can I write an article about your lovely whistling for the internet?

OK. OK! So 8 1/2 months later, I realize this is craziness, utter stupidity! The fact that I went back to this whistling, Spanish-speaking grocery cart pushing man just to say that seems ridiculous. I admit it. But for some reason, in that moment, I was compelled to return to him and know more about his story, and those were unfortunately, the best words I could muster in those moments of rush in the parking lot.

So I got out of my car, took my handy dandy phone with those words translated to Spanish, and sought out the whistling grocery cart pusher once again.

Utter craziness, I know.

When I approached the man, he recognized me from before and stopped immediately. I pulled out my phone and read the words, in my feeble attempt at Spanish.

Amo su silbido. ¿Puedo escribir un artículo sobre su silbido encantador para el Internet?

(I love your whistling. Can I write an article about your lovely whistling for the internet?)

The man must have understood at least some of what I said, and must have thought I was fluent in Spanish, because he then proceeded to tell me what sounded like his life story – IN SPANISH! 

As he proceeded, sentence after sentence, I debated in my mind – was this rude, demeaning and inappropriate to let this man go on and on in Spanish, when I don’t understand much of anything he’s saying? Or is it OK? I let my heart and my gut rule, and I decided I’d stay. Although I have to admit, it made me feel a little uncomfortable and desperate for a translator because I knew he was revealing to me, right there in the grocery store parking lot, a story that was heart-wrenching and incredible.

So there I stood, in the middle of a grocery store parking lot, listening to this man tell me his life story, in Spanish. And I didn’t understand a thing. Or did I?

My “translation” and understanding of bits and pieces of the man’s story compelled me to stay when logic told me it’d be better to flee.

This is what I understood of the whistling, Spanish-speaking grocery cart pusher’s story, despite our language differences. Words paired with gestures, paired with my strong intuition and skill interpreting others’ communication from 14 years of experience as a speech-language pathologist, led me to understand this.

The man had been whistling since he was born. There were no tears when he was born, just whistling, right from the start. He was most definitely sure of that.

He had no schooling. He could write only a few words.

He’d experienced and observed many devastating and horrific things over the course of his life. His wife died. He gestured having an arm cut off from the elbow down three times. He gestured getting his head cut off another time. He took my pen and wrote “WICKED” on his hand, and had many names for Satan in Spanish.

But even in all his pain, the whistling, Spanish-speaking man had a deep faith. In our short time together, he pointed to the ground and then back up to the sky several times. There were many references to “Biblia.” And he even brought out his lighter and lifted it high to the sky to demonstrate the power of God in all the pain.

After about twenty minutes of chatting, it was time for me to go. I didn’t want the man to be fired, so I found an opportunity to politely wrap up the conversation and bid the man a warm farewell as best as I could.

I returned to my car and scribbled notes about my encounter with the man.

I went home that night and told the story to my husband. It all seemed a little crazy, but there was another part of it that felt holy, like it was a divine appointment between me and this whistling stranger.

My notes and the grocery store flyer sat on my night stand for weeks. I finally decided to tuck them away in a special spot in case I wanted to refer back to that story someday.

Six months later, I took that trip to Haiti. And it wasn’t until I returned from Haiti and sought wise counsel about next steps for my life, that I realized – my encounter with that man was profound. I finally got it. I finally understood.

That whistling, Spanish-speaking grocery cart pusher taught me the only thing I need to know about LIFE. Though life’s handed us the worst, the most devastating and horrific of circumstances, we can CHOOSE to be joyful, we can CHOOSE to whistle and make the most of each and every day. We can CHOOSE to let faith rule our lives rather than fear.

It’s true for me, and it’s true for you. Will you choose to be brought down by your circumstances? Will you choose to let life get you down? Or will you whistle your way through life with faith, finding joy and opportunity in every moment?

That whistling, Spanish-speaking grocery cart pusher taught me the only thing I need to know about the PURPOSE of my LIFE, too.

The purpose of my life is to be a translator-of-sorts.

To translate stories of fire and ashes – into beauty.

To translate stories nobody understands – into stories everyone can understand.

To translate stories untold – into stories told.

To translate stories of lifelessness – into stories of true life.

To translate stories of pain – into stories of purpose.

To translate stories hidden – into stories brought to light.

To translate stories of misunderstanding – into understanding.

To translate stories of doing what you love, and loving whatever it is that you have to do.

Yes, it’s mysterious work. And I’m still trying to figure it all out.

Before, I believed there was no purpose in me sharing this story – because I didn’t know all the details, because I didn’t understand all of the man’s words, because I didn’t really know his story after all – so I stuffed it away in a hiding spot to keep to myself. There was simply too much mystery in it to believe it had value.

But now, I rest in peace, knowing the mystery is what’s profound. The mystery is where I’m meant to reside. This gift of translating mystery into some sort of beautiful reality? It’s what I’m meant to do.

So whistle on, whistle on people.

Whether you’re winning or losing or somewhere in-between, whistle on, whistle on.

Amy

My sister sent the text at 5:06 p.m. I read it just as I was pulling in the driveway from work.

“The ambulance is getting dad from the golf course.”

Dad had a heart attack on the golf course. He’d just finished the 4th hole and wanted to finish a 5th, but things had been going downhill fast, so he knew he had to get back to the clubhouse as quickly as possible. He made his way back to safety and the owner of the golf course called the ambulance immediately.

Dad was transported via ambulance to a nearby hospital, and then transferred to a bigger hospital where he’d receive more specialized cardiac care.

My husband and I kept the news to ourselves for a while, but then decided to tell the kids, “Grandpa’s in the hospital.” We gently reminded them that grandpa’s lungs have been sick for a while, noted the oxygen tanks they might’ve seen around grandma and grandpa’s house, and indicated special concern because grandpa had a heart attack tonight.

After some debate and a couple phone calls from mom, we decided the situation didn’t require urgent action on my part. I’d wait until morning to travel and visit dad in the hospital.

I wasn’t sure if I should bring our toddler with me to the hospital. Annother great unknown in this realm of parenting. I debated all the way up until leaving the house. Should I send her to daycare for the day? Or should I bring her with me?

I’m glad I decided to bring Maisie with me.

She was a light from the start.

When we arrived at the hospital and began down the long hallway to grandma who’d been waiting at the cardiac unit, Maisie ran all the way to grandma. She ran what was probably a block, with arms open wide until she landed safely in grandma’s loving embrace.

She was a light from the start.

When we were brought to the consultation room and told by a doctor dad had not one, but TWO arteries in his heart that were 90% blocked, and would need stents placed immediately, Maisie was there. She found a sticker and put it just about everywhere – on the door, on the table, on a landline phone, on my hand, and even on my nose. She brought joy and laughter where there would’ve been none.

She was a light from the start.

After we waited an hour and a half for the stents to be placed, after the cardiologist came in to give us the thumbs up that the procedure was successful, we proceeded to dad’s room on the cardiac unit. When Maisie saw grandpa for the first time, she greeted him without fear “Hi grandpa!” And when grandpa was parched and in desperate need of water or just about anything to quench his thirst, Maisie got a cup of ice chips just like grandpa. With help, she fed grandpa not one, but two ice chips from her cup. Best yet? It was all her idea.

She was a light from the start.

After a cafeteria lunch, we headed back up to dad’s room. Maisie reached out for grandma’s hand. “Hold hand,” she said. So grandma and Maisie held hands, all the way to the elevator that brought us back to floor 2.

She was a light from the start.

After the cardiac technician got dad resettled, flat on his back for another hour or two, I decided it was time to go. Maisie was getting louder. She was getting tired, and she’d missed her regular nap. But she was still up for a great big hug good-bye for grandpa. She leaned in to give him a kiss, and then that great big hug, with her arms wide open the same way she’d opened them wide for grandma down that long hallway five hours prior.

She was a light, even to the end.

I left content, knowing my decision to bring our two-year-old was right. She was light in a place filled with dark and heavy burdens. The innocence and love that radiated from her tiny toddler body was felt and appreciated by all.

For grandpa, for grandma, and others unnamed – may your burdens be lifted, may your steps be lighter, may your hearts feel a bit brighter – because of her tiny, bright light.

Amy

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked full-time until the birth of our first child in 2002. It was then that I realized, for the first time in my life, that I might not want to be a full-time work outside of the home mama. My mom worked full-time her entire life, so I assumed I’d do the same. My husband and I had purchased a home, and hadn’t planned our finances around me staying home in any capacity. But I knew right away, as soon as our son was born – I didn’t want to work full-time anymore. I wanted to stay home more. I worked full-time for a year and a half after that first maternity leave. And then my husband got a raise, just enough for me to stay home one day a week, so I reduced my work to four days per week.

It felt just right. And I was grateful for more time with my baby boy.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I worked four days a week until the birth of our second child in 2005. After a 12-week maternity leave at home with our daughter, I returned to my four days a week position. I remained solid in that position for one more full year. My husband was deep in the trenches with his work, and just weeks before I’d found out I was pregnant with our daughter, our entire family began managing what would become six years of the worst of my sister’s mental health and addiction issues. Add my four day a week workload, and it felt like way too much. I knew something had to change. So I made a dramatic move. I took a formal leave of absence, and cut all the way back to one day per week of work. Working one day a week worked really well for two whole years. But then my leave came to an end and I was informed, given the shortage of professionals in my field, my employer needed me back, full-time. There were no part-time options, so I opted to resign and open my own private practice.

The time was right. And I was grateful as I’d always envisioned myself in private practice somewhere along the way anyway.

With the birth of each of our children, came a rebirth of me.

I started and maintained my private practice, working 2-3 days per week, until the birth of our third child, another baby girl in 2011. At this point, we’d been through a lot. I’d been through a lot. We’d spent years managing unbelievable trauma and drama with my sister, she’d had a baby, and things had finally stabilized to the point they were manageable. For years, it seemed there was no way we could add another baby to the picture, but I didn’t feel “done” having kids and our biological clocks were ticking. So we thought hard and prayed hard. The answer was yes. It was indeed time for another baby. After I returned from maternity leave in March 2012, I continued seeing patients two days a week, and did everything else that needed to be done for the private practice when I could fit it in. (And for the most part, that remains true today.)

But things were different this third time around.

You see, after all those years of trauma and drama, after all those years of waiting, I realized what a gift we had in our baby girl. I knew and had a strong sense, for the first time in my life, that if God blessed me so richly with this baby girl, maybe He had other beautiful plans for me, maybe there were other things I was supposed to do that would fulfill me as richly and as deeply as this baby girl? Maybe He’d planned beauty from all this pain?

So I picked up the bits and pieces of a dream that had been building since the birth of our baby boy in 2002.

I’d just returned from maternity leave, and baby girl was only three-months-old. I knew it was kind of crazy, this starting something new and big when I’d just had a baby and was trying to adjust to work, again, as mama of three. Baby was still a baby, I had two other little ones, and my husband had begun a big corporate job. But God called anyway, it’s time.

So in April 2012, after seeking wise counsel, I decided, it was time to launch this blog. In-between work and dance class and baseball and changing diapers and everything else, I worked my butt off getting ready to launch this thing.

In July 2012, I launched the blog. It was no small thing as far as I was concerned. The blog was important to me, and I valued it immeasurably. It was part of a dream I’d been visioning, at that time, for nine years already.

So that brings me to today, to this post.

I’ve decided to take a three week break from blogging.

Because I know, with the birth of each of our children, comes a rebirth of me.

And while I’ve without a doubt been working towards that rebirth of me, it hasn’t happened yet.

I’ve known, for 19 months, that it’s time for rebirth. But my rebirth is different this time. It’s not just a matter of making a few adjustments and I’ll be good to go.

It’s a matter of handing my life over to God and saying – what would you have me do next?

It’s a matter of deciding – am I going to continue thinking I’m all in, or am I actually going to live all in?

It’s a matter of believing and trusting, truly following this Jesus I say I believe in.

So I’m sitting in this boat. Jesus is smiling so slightly with his gentle, gracious and patient spirit. He’s looking at me. He’s waiting. He says “give me an hour, and I’ll change your life.”

And I’m here, still deciding if I’m going to give him “this hour.” Am I ready to give it to Him, or not?

And you, my readers? You’ve found me here, in this in-between place, in this moment of deciding what’s next.

In this in-between place, in this moment of deciding, I’ll be doing practical things, logistical things, and hard things.

What are the practical things? I’ll be attending my nephew’s baptism, celebrating my daughter’s golden birthday, and spending a week with my kids during their spring break. Just as important, I’m desperate to keep my promise and call my friend, Denise, with whom I haven’t chatted for way too long.

What are the logistical things? If time allows, I’ll be updating my Meet Amy and Blog Vision pages on the blog. I’ll also be working on finalizing plans for my second annual Special Mamas series in May.

What are the hard things? I’ll be spending time in reflection and praying, hard. I’ll be reading scripture and books, reviewing old diaries, journals, and blog posts. I’d like to spend some time journaling, without editing, without an audience, to better discern what’s next. And I’m seeking wise counsel, because I can’t do this alone.

Oh ya, I might open that bottle of champagne that’s been sitting in the fridge since December 6th, and enjoy it with my husband some night. 🙂

Thank you for understanding, thank you for reading today and any other day you’ve read in the past, and know I’ll be back.

As of now, I plan to return to the blog on Wednesday, April 9th, but if I need more time, I’ll take it.

If you’re new to the site, or haven’t had a chance to read as many of my posts as you’d like, I recommend reading the two series that reflect my writing and heart best to-date, Letters to the Unthanked and Journey to Haiti. If you’d like to contact me for any reason while I’m gone, please don’t hesitate! All of my contact information can be found on the Connect page on my blog.

Blessings to you all.

Amy

“I’m thinking a mid-life crisis is not so much a crisis as it is an awakening. Either you’re upset where you’ve landed and you perceive you’re stuck there for the rest of your life, or you’re wide awake and ready to use your wisdom to launch you into an even better second half. I strive to be the latter.”

Post from my personal Facebook page – May 25, 2013