The pressure cooker of life wears me down some days, no doubt it wears on others too.

Pressure cooker, defined by Merriam-Webster:

1. an airtight utensil for quick cooking or preserving of foods by means of high-temperature steam under pressure

2. a situation or environment that is fraught with emotional or social pressures

Pressure so great that a prominent pastor’s son ended his life.

Pressure so great that wee ones were and are ripped from wombs.

Pressure so great that innocent spectators and participants were terrorized with pressure cooker bombs at a marathon.

And there’s a baby named Charlotte who has Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA) Type I. She’s dying. Charlotte’s mama dances with her in the living room to “Blessed Be Your Name” as she holds dear to precious moments that remain.

The grief feels unbearable for Aden’s mama. Her sweet boy passed just weeks ago to cancer, and she and the rest of the family are on a cruise to help relieve the pain, but tears stream in quiet on the ship deck. The pain from loss overwhelms Caribbean beauty, and she sits paralyzed, just her and God in this place of sorrow.

And down your street, men and women fight. Husbands and wives sleeping in different rooms, and they can’t figure out how to fix this. They don’t remember the love, the promise that brought them to the alter years ago. The pressure is building and it needs to be released. Somehow. Now.

On top of all this comes the rain, the sleet, and the snow. We’re hearty here in Minnesota, but when it’s April 18th and it’s been cloudy for weeks and the temperature hasn’t risen above 40-something except for maybe a day, everyone feels the pressure. So when the 1-4 inch snow predicted turned to a major snowstorm in the middle of my work day yesterday, I just about lost it. It had been raining and sleeting all morning as I made my way from house to house for therapy. The sleet turned to snow before my 12:30 visit, so when I returned to my car an hour later, it was covered with a thick layer of snow. And the scraper was nowhere to be found, so my wipers sufficed. Cold snow fell in on the driver’s side arm rest and onto my pants as I pushed the automatic window button, the bare minimum necessary to remove snow from the side windows just enough so I could see. As if denying the snow’s presence was going to make it go away.

The roads were snow packed, the only thing filling baseball fields was snow, and I felt like I was trapped in a snow globe with no hope of ever getting out.

Even the snow packed trees were hard to see as beautiful because I kept thinking it’s April 18th, and we’re supposed to be wearing flip flops and shorts and playing outside on the playground today. For when life’s served you too much pressure, and there’s never an opening for release, finding beauty, finding something to be grateful for is like finding a needle in a haystack.

And when I got home, the task of clearing the driveway from inches of snow loomed.

The school had called notifying us of a school delay and my husband stayed late to avoid the traffic, so after the girls went to bed, my son volunteered to help me shovel.

I shoveled one strip all the way down the driveway, and to be honest, I wasn’t up to the task. But my son, he was pressing on, and I didn’t have to beg or plea, so I thought it best for me to be an example.

After a while, I told him “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too long, it’s too cold.” “Who cares,” he said, and kept shoveling. After that, I was determined to finish that driveway, to be an example whether I liked it or not.

The cold pressed in even greater. The snow was heavy, and it felt like each shovel-full was 20 pounds. And in my grumbling, my complaining to myself, I thought of Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts, how her book and her blog and through nearly three years of reading, her message of gratitude, of eucharisteo, has been pressing in on me. So I gave thanks for my son who was still shoveling and not complaining one bit, for a flurry of snowflakes illuminated by the street light.

But in all honesty, those moments of gratitude turned to anger because I was still shoveling heavy loads of snow, and there was still half of the driveway to shovel, and it was still. April 18th. In the allowing myself to experience that anger, I thought of messages on anger I heard earlier that day on faith radio, how when we’re angry our “personhood,” our sense of security is threatened. And another message I heard last week about turning our anger not towards others but FOR others, so justice can be served for all the right reasons.

And I realized, I am angry. My sense of security has been threatened, my “personhood” has been threatened. So I started throwing snow in the name of justice. I threw snow for the tiny souls that never got to breathe a breath. I threw snow for little Charlotte who’s going to pass to heaven while still an infant, for Charlotte’s mom who will grieve the death of her precious daughter before she knows it. I threw snow for the little boy whose beautiful life was cut short because evil prevailed through a bomb. And I asked God why? WHY?

In those moments of anger and throwing snow for justice and asking God why, these verses came to mind…

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world. John 16:33

But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from Godand not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body.  2 Corinthians 4:7-11

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.  Matthew 11:28-30

So I stopped and I stood still near the end of the driveway. The wind picked up, the snow blew cold on my cheeks, and I heard His still small voice “Feel my presence, even in the cold. Even in the cold.”

Amy

This girl, this woman in the making? Her name is Haylee. Half my years, I could have a daughter her age if I’d been a teen mom. But this young woman? She inspires me more than most twice my age.

We met three years ago. I didn’t expect to meet such a girl, but we clicked like that. Like we’d known each other forever, like we planned on knowing each other forever.

I passed barns and horses roaming free. I passed that house on the hill, admiring the open fields and tranquility. And then I discovered Haylee. She was part of it all, and it was as if I was meant to meet this girl.

Sometimes quiet, unassuming, not quite sure of her next step.

But bold and free is what I see.

Horses and riding she adores without shame.

Loves her friends and family with abandon.

Exudes energy I barely remember having.

Her faith years beyond mine at that age. A Rock she can call steady. She clings to that, and it’s clear.

No longer afraid to be the woman He called her to be.

Takes chances, follows His call wherever it may lead.

You see, she once said to me “You’re such an incredible woman. I look up to you and hope someday to become a great mom like you are.”

But I say in return, “You’re such an incredible woman. I look up to you and hope someday to become a great woman of character and wild abandon for life, like you.”

Two women. A generation apart. I, a role model for her. She, a role model for me. Just the way it was meant to be.

But whenever anyone turns to the Lord, the veil is taken away. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.  2 Corinthians 3:16-18

Amy

His name is Shawn. Big heart, full of joy, filling tanks one by one.

The thermometer in the car read -12 degrees. My tank was near empty, approximately 30 miles displayed on my dashboard, and I never know how fully I should trust that man made gauge anyway. Groceries filled the car, and baby too, and I had questioned my decision to go out in the weather long before I realized my tank was empty.

I debated. Risk stalling in subzero weather with a baby in tow, or stop and get some gas, even though I detest this cold and don’t feel like pumping gas in it? I decided to stop. Just a bit of gas, I thought. Enough to get me home safely, without worry.

Decidedly brave enough to face the cold for a couple minutes, I stepped out, slipped my credit card in, and opened the tank. With near urgency, this stranger, Shawn, approached my vehicle. He put his gloves on like this was of most importance, like he really wanted to help. Asked if he could pump, said it’s full service. “Really,” I said?! Without reservation, but still in shock, I handed him the pump and got back in the car with the door open just a crack open to carry on conversation.

“Just a little is fine,” I said, then with a change of heart “No, why don’t you go ahead and fill it up!”

“I’m here 7:00 to 3:10, Monday through Friday,” Shawn explained about this full service, standing seemingly in comfort, pumping my gas, bundled up in layers, a hat fit for a true Minnesota man. “Even when it’s -30 below, I’m here!”

In his confident assurance and my quiet disbelief, he used that magic cleaning wand to wet and wipe my front windshield, then again in the back. The last time I did that myself, I don’t recall. A small, but true blessing to be able to see so clearly.

Our time together came to an end, and I thanked Shawn with all sincerity. I promised I’d be back and that I’d tell everyone about Shawn and this special place that offers full service in a do-it-yourself kind of world.

The funny thing was that I had been feeling a little discouraged. I set out to blog about people that inspire me, people that make a difference, people that demonstrate excellence and go above and beyond, people that aren’t afraid to shine their light in a dark world. But near seven months into this blogging journey, I had without a doubt missed opportunities because I was not courageous enough to approach, I had not seen the extravagant greatness and excellence and beauty in people I had set out to see. Unrealistically high expectations collided with my luke-warm bravery. Between the missed opportunities and the not seeing, I was ready to move beyond all this earthly nonsense and start seeing, start risking, start the way down this narrow path  already envisioned.

So as I drove away, I just knew I had to turn around. I pulled around the block and in behind Shawn where I found him filling up a beat up car. He gently tapped the side of that beat up car and sent them on their way.

Out popped my head, and I explained I just had to come back, he was such an inspiration out here in this -12 degree weather pumping gas, filling up tanks with joy. He’s an employee, and he’s been pumping gas, providing full service here for four years, he explained. I wanted to know if he really likes this job as much as it seems? “Yes,” he said, “because I get to meet all kinds of wonderful people like you!”

After a click of the camera phone and another thank you, I was on my way. The subzero temperature still read on my dashboard, but my tank was full, and I was a little more courageous than the time before. And there was Shawn, with his warm smile, light radiating, joy overflowing, in the lot of that gas station, waiting to fill another tank.