We were sure.

So sure.

We were certain God was writing a tailor-made story.

Each one of us had reasons – 2 1/2 months of reasons, a lifetime of reasons – as to why this made complete sense, why this particular opportunity HAD to be from God.

I can tell you with certainty that in the 22 years I’ve been with my husband, this was the first time I could see, could sense, could pinpoint a crystal-clear calling on his life. All the pieces leading up to this point made complete sense. Yes, I can say for sure, even in hindsight, that the calling on his life was clear in a way it had never been before.

What is a calling, you ask? How in the world do you define calling? It sounds so mysterious, doesn’t it? So religious. Something reserved for pastors and missionaries, perhaps. How do you know when God is calling you to do something, calling you to go somewhere, calling you to be the specific someone He intended you to be?

A few of us have 100% certainty as to what we’re supposed to do, where we’re supposed to go and who we’re supposed to be. But most of us guess, sense, study, pray and simply BELIEVE there HAS to be a greater reason, a greater purpose for our life, for our story.

That’s a calling, I guess. Going where God wants us to go. Following His lead. Listening for a still small voice. Taking chances when we don’t know the outcome. Being present in ordinary and difficult circumstances. Waiting for His whisper to tell us where and how we’ll have the most extraordinary impact in this world. Quieting ourselves until God tells us yes, or no. Trusting He’ll guide us towards what’s best. Becoming more like Him, day in and day out.

Calling.

It’s not the word I once thought it was. (At least for right now, that is.)

Perhaps I’m a bit confused.

Perhaps I’ve been a bit misguided.

Perhaps my definition of calling has been too dreamy, too wishful, too worldly.

Perhaps my definition of calling has been too specific, too narrow, too logical.

Perhaps I’ve overthought the concept of calling.

Perhaps I’ve had it all wrong.

I’m okay saying “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Only God.

Only God truly knows.

So 2 1/2 months. Yes, 2 1/2 months we invested in this thing we thought was a calling.

As I watch the leaves blow in the breeze, I’m still a bit jaded, a bit disappointed, thrown off and uncertain as to why 2 1/2 months of step by step, waiting and waiting some more, answers then more answers, action and even more action – all seemingly from God – ultimately led to NOTHING.

Could it be that an outcome we perceive as absolutely NOTHING is actually SOMETHING? That God works even in the midst of NOTHING?

I know the truth. Yet, I don’t know. You know what I mean?

Only God.

Only God truly knows.

My husband was prompt. The minute he learned of the opportunity, he did his part. He did everything right, staying on track ’till late that first night.

Days passed.

Nothing. Nada. Nope.

Finally, an answer. A ray of hope that the door hadn’t closed.

More days passed.

Nothing. Nada. Nope.

We’d all but given up.

Should we reach out, take action? Should we suggest we could do this, do that?

Nope. The answer was WAIT. Wait some more. So we waited.

When we were reaching our end in the patience department, in despair over the lack of results of any kind, I reached out to Hope*Writers friends for prayer. Nothing specific. Just a big, honest prayer request. Later that afternoon, the Hope*Writers hearty dose of prayers resulted in a delightful and surprising response.

YES! The answer was YES!

My husband was moving on to the next step.

How could this be? After weeks of waiting, we finally had an answer. The door hadn’t closed! God had answered our prayers.

Several days later, an awesome 1-hour 30-minute phone call was followed by more weeks of waiting.

Then there was a 1-hour 45-minute phone call.

Then a 1-hour phone call, perhaps the most important of all.

Everything was good. Everything was right. Everything was awesome.

Everything was proceeding. Everything was lining up. Everything was fitting together just so.

God was answering our prayers. He was directing the way. Yes, this all made perfect sense. Things were coming together just as we suspected God wanted for us, our family and our future.

Then there was waiting, waiting and more waiting.

I fasted. Two days.

I prayed like a mad woman, harder than I’d ever prayed before. My husband prayed like a mad man, harder than he’d ever prayed before.

We’ll go anywhere, we’ll do anything for you, God. If this is your will, please let this work for us, please open this door for us.

Yet again, we’d all but given up when my husband got the call. The call came in the middle of devotions, an answer from God Himself.

Come.

Come on out.

We want to see you. We want to meet you.

Elation, excitement and tears of joy ensued.

Within a few days, everything was arranged.

His ticket.

My ticket.

We’d fly, yes, we’d fly.

At this point, all the thoughts and plans were in full motion. I’m talking FULL. MOTION. All the what ifs, all the what thens? They’d all been considered. Everything had gone slow, slow, slow until that phone call, but for reasons left unsaid, this now needed to go not only fast on our end, but fast on their end. There was very good reason to believe this was actually going to happen. We had been patient. Slowly, but surely, everything was lining up perfectly. God had opened every door we’d walked through, including an invitation and flight to come out. This was most certainly nothing we could do on our own. It was absolutely, without a doubt, a faith journey. We were following, and God was leading.

I continued praying and began purging like a mad woman, just in case the answer was YES, which honestly at the time seemed like it was very possible. After 10, 15 trips to the thrift store in a desperate effort to purge STUFF as quickly as possible, I finally had to tell them lest I look like a weirdo, “It’s likely we’re going. It’s likely we’re leaving. We’re really close to moving.” I just kept dumping and dumping and dumping and it was all so incredibly freeing. It was becoming more and more clear. God was sending us. Finally, life was making perfect sense. We were GOING to do this as a couple. All I had to do was say YES to God, purge everything that had ever held me back, and just GO and follow Him. Yes, this made complete sense in my framework, my understanding of WHO God was and who God IS. Would I have ever imagined this for myself, that this could ACTUALLY happen? Nope, not in a million years. Would I have DREAMED this for myself, that I would ACTUALLY WANT this to happen? Yes, a million times, YES.

My calling merged with my husband’s calling? YES. 100% YES. Please God, take me there.

I’m ready to purge it all for the sake of your calling. Literally and figuratively. I’m willing to give it ALL.

So we flew.

We left the kids with proper care and we flew.

Two days.

Yes, for two full days, we dove FULL IN to God’s call.

FULL IN. Down to our bones. To the best of our ability. We were there. We were on it. We were surrendered. We were together. We were leaping and trusting that God was IN this, FOR us, ALL ABOUT this opportunity we would’ve never guessed could actually happen.

Only God. This was only God.

In that place of seeing where I was, having no idea how I got there, and being incredibly excited about where God might very well be bringing us, I felt peace. Deep peace. My whole life made perfect sense now. Every step added up to now.

I’m humbled to admit I went so far as to find us a home that first day. Well, maybe that’s dramatic and not quite true. I found us a couple of super solid neighborhoods we could actually afford and a whole lot of amazing neighbors who flagged me over as I drove by, chatted me up in their driveways, and offered sweet tea as they talked and rocked toddlers on their sides. I met girls my daughters’ ages and women I connected with instantly. I did Facetime with the kids, and with the most rare exuberance in my voice showed them the “amazing” neighborhoods we’d be able to live in. “Look, there are little kids riding scooters around by themselves!” “Look, there are two kids riding bikes!” “Look at how nice this neighborhood is! I seriously can’t believe this. You’ve gotta see this.”

We dined and laughed that night over hot buns with honey cinnamon butter, then returned to our not-so-humble home for the night, purposeful, beautiful noise filling the city streets around us.

The next morning, we woke early. It was time. Time to do our best. Time to step up and step out for God, for our future, for ourselves and for our children. 2 1/2 months ago, we’d started this journey. God brought us this far. Why in the world would we have journeyed this far, traveled this far, both literally and figuratively, for the door to close now? We had hope. A certain hope, for sure. But we weren’t arrogant idiots about it. This was NOT a sure thing. Never once did we believe this was a sure thing. We weren’t taking this opportunity for granted for one second. But things had most certainly been adding up. If things went well, there was only ONE MORE YES between us and this future. One more YES that was most definitely in the hands of God.

My husband got ready in the finest of wears. He was handsome, prepared, feeling his best. I dropped him off at the door. He told me to pray, so I prayed on and off all morning as I drove and explored the place we might call home before long.

I considered exploring new territory, but felt led to return to the place I found peace the night before. Great peace. Deep peace. Immeasurable peace. A place where country met city. A place where I was certain I could belong. A place that felt like home so quickly, so easily. A place that honestly, I might’ve been called to my whole life.

Yes, I know with all the logic of my brain that this is utter nonsense and crazy talk, but I haven’t found a place I want to be buried yet. This was most definitely a place I could see myself being buried, a place where the kids could come and know mama felt home here, mama felt complete peace here, mama felt right and good and was called to live and do life all the best of ways here.

So I drove back to that suburb and those neighborhoods to make sure. The opportunity to check things out was passing quickly. Our plane was set to depart in six hours, and if the answer to all of this was going to be a YES, my husband would be turning his life around quick and very quick. We’d need to make a lot of important decisions from a long distance. So I needed to know. I needed to have a sense that this could be right, that this was right. I had a sense. Yes, that morning, I had a deep sense that this could be right, that this WAS absolutely right.

I grabbed chicken, beans and coleslaw for lunch and drove back to the city. Drove around the loop 20, maybe 30 times, waiting for a “come and get me” text from my husband. It was taking a while. This thing was not wrapping up fast. More waiting. More driving the loop. More wondering what life would be like if all of this ended with a YES. After all, he’d sent me a message earlier saying everything was going “AWESOME” in caps.

Finally, after circling the loop way too many times, I parked and waited.

I opened my window, felt the gentle breeze, and noticed a bird perched on the branches above.

I sat for a good 20 minutes, just staring that bird down, waiting for the “come and get me” text.

More crazy talk, I know. But it never occurred to me until later that the bird wasn’t singing. He was just sitting there, letting the breeze blow him around as he waited to fly to his next destination.

Perhaps that’s been me.

Perhaps that’s been us.

Perhaps God’s wanted more from us.

Perhaps God’s wanted more FOR us.

Perhaps God wants us to sing.

Eight days later in the 11:00 am hour, we got an answer.

NO.

A resounding NO.

We were floored.

Astounded.

Taken aback.

Shocked.

Deeply saddened and disappointed.

There were tears. Then silence. Then more tears.

What could have gone wrong? How could we have come THIS far, prayed THAT much, waited THIS long, been so patient and hopeful and trusting and wholly surrendered, for the answer to be NO?

We had our story ALL WRONG.

We had it ALL WRONG.

All the ways we added it up over the course of 2 1/2 months for this one gigantic once-in-a-lifetime opportunity were flat out WRONG.

We thought God had called us. We thought it all made sense. We thought our callings were merging for the first time in nearly 19 years of marriage.

All we needed was for God to give us one more YES.

And instead, it was NO.

I grieved deeply.

Then anger emerged, which turned to crabbiness and lifelessness.

I didn’t know anything anymore.

I don’t know anything anymore.

One after another, questions poured out of my soul.

Can I trust my own gut?

Can I trust my own intuition?

Can I trust what I’ve PERCEIVED to be the Holy Spirit prompting me, leading me, working in and through me?

Have I heard God’s voice correctly?

Do I even know what God’s voice sounds like?

Maybe I thought I’ve been hearing God’s voice when in reality I haven’t been at all?

What if I thought I knew how to discern God’s voice from all the others, and really, I had no clue?

And what about prayer?

Perhaps I’ve gotten it ALL. WRONG.

Perhaps I’ve been ALL. WRONG.

Perhaps my spiritual side is lacking infinitely more than I thought it was.

Perhaps my perceptions have been WAY off.

Perhaps I don’t have the intimate relationship with God that I thought I did.

For CERTAIN, God is still good, even when things don’t go my way, even when things don’t turn out the way I thought He was planning. But perhaps, my definition of good, my definition of God was simply OFF, simply wrong, simply twisted into some saccharin, worldly version that simply isn’t true.

I thought I had it figured out at least a little bit. Now I’m not sure I have it figured out at all.

Then I asked the question of all questions, the question I’ve only asked one other time in my life. Can PEOPLE get in the way of GOD’S PLANS? I guess the answer is yes? But then again, no? Now I’m not certain at all. My philosophy, my theology is clearly lacking.

Needless to say, this experience led me into territory I’d never traveled before.

I don’t know anything. God knows everything. Anytime I think I have a grasp on life, a grasp of what might be happening, I should just surrender and say “Hey God, take the wheel, do what you want because honestly, I have no clue what’s best for me. Just let me live the story you want me to live.”

Trees blow in the wind. Flowers flourish in the summer sun. And my five-year-old daughter asks “How did all this stuff get in my fingers?” I tell her “God. God put it there. God made you.” I have no other words. Those are the things I know for sure. God made the wind. God made flowers. God made greens. God made my five year old and all the things inside her tiny little body. There’s a purpose for and behind it all.

God made me and He will not abandon me. God made my husband and He will not abandon my husband. God made my children and He will not abandon my children. When He leads us down long paths that seem righteous and right, He has the authority to turn us around and lead us straight back to where we came from.

God is mysterious. His ways are NOT our ways. He works in ways we cannot see, in ways we’re unable to perceive. He leads us down paths that don’t make sense. He gives us YES, YES, and YES, only to give us NO. We have no other choice but to trust Him, whether it’s a YES or a NO, whether it’s a YES and a NO. His purpose is to draw us closer, to make us more like Jesus.

Four weeks ago when we received the NO, I felt like I was standing in a room with no windows, no doors, no way out. I couldn’t believe the answer was NO after all that, and I didn’t have a clue as to what was next. Today, I feel like I’m standing still in an open field, just watching and waiting, saying “I don’t know anything anymore. I see you, God. I believe in Jesus. But I don’t understand where you’re going with this. Help me see. Help me trust you again. Help me trust myself again. Help me be who you want me to be. Help me die to myself. Help me see WHY we’re right back where we started. Help me see why you led us through all of that for a NO. Help me understand. Help me believe again. Help me wait for what’s next. Help me hope.”

And I think of a mama who lost her baby boy, a mother and writer who was killed in a house fire with her husband and two kids, an auntie whose 18-year-old nephew contracted the flu and ended up dead two weeks later, a friend whose long-awaited house deal fell through, the sweet baby girl who witnessed a shooting, the kids in Kenya who have gaping holes in their shoes, all the people standing in the middle of a field waiting for an answer, crying out to God, “We had our story all wrong. We acknowledge you. We see you blowing in the breeze, we see you in the flowers and the trees, we hear you singing your song, we know you’re here, but we’re waiting. We’re still waiting. Show us how to hope. Show us how to live. Show us how to be fully alive, even if, even still, even now.”

In all honesty, I don’t remember dying Easter eggs with grandma Ginny at the kitchen table that April 1984. After all, I was only 7 years old.

Here’s what I do remember. Two years and three months later, grandma passed away. I turned 10 two weeks prior to her passing.

Memories of grandma Ginny are few and far between. Grandma sitting in the corner chair by her music box curio. Grandma’s voice. Grandma’s laugh. Grandma sitting politely and patiently at the kitchen table. Grandma’s sister talking to soap opera characters on the television when we celebrated Christmas in California. Grandma at the piano. Grandma inviting me to play duets. Grandma looking through a JCPenney catalog with me at the kitchen table; ordering a baby blue sweater, pants and a striped blouse I swore I’d keep forever in her memory. Grandma rocking in the chair, watching me and my sister play piano before Christmas dinner. Grandma in head-to-toe pink velvet. Grandma’s house. Grandma’s snow white, tangerine orange and cherry red kitchen curtains. Grandma sick in bed while people rotated in and out of her room. Getting news of grandma’s passing when mom and dad picked us up from the Steffan’s house. “It’s okay to feel sad,” I recall hearing as I bent low in the back seat.

This summer will mark 31 years since grandma Ginny passed away.

It’s no surprise that of all four of my grandparents, I have the most longing, the most wishing that I would’ve had more time with grandma Ginny. She passed away when I was so young, years and years before my other grandparents. I never had that grandma when I was a junior higher, high schooler or college student. She never heard about my first job. She never met my boyfriends, nor did she witness me walk the aisle in white. She never knew I was pregnant, nor did she get to meet any of her great grandchildren.

Yeah…for a few years now, I wish I could just sit down and have cookies and tea with grandma. That’s what I long for most. That’s the grandma I wish for this Easter.

Can we just talk about the world, grandma? Can you tell me who you are, and tell me who I am? Can I do anything for you, grandma? Can you play me a song, grandma?

Who are you missing this Easter? Who won’t be there this weekend?

Maybe it’s grandma. Maybe it’s grandpa. Maybe it’s your husband or wife. Maybe it’s mom, dad, sister or brother. Maybe it’s baby you never birthed, baby you still birthed, baby whose grave you’ve visited every year since. Maybe it’s an auntie, uncle, mentor or friend. Maybe it’s a loved one who’s living at a distance. Maybe it’s someone dear who’s no longer in your life. Maybe it’s someone deployed or hospitalized. I don’t know who you’re missing, but everybody misses somebody.

It’s okay to remember. It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to long for days that happened and never happened.

It’s okay to look back with fondness at the days we were gifted. It’s okay to say their name out loud. It’s okay to reminisce when the ham and eggs pass.

It’s okay to acknowledge all the feelings, all the memories, both bad and good, brutal and beautiful, vague or filled with detail.

But then, yes then, let’s revel in the here and now.

Sit. Be present. Stand up and acknowledge someone’s significance. Give a hug, a high five. Serve. Receive. Delight. Dive in deep. Be overjoyed, surprised, amazed. Listen when people tell you their story. Listen when people show you who they are. Keep your eyes open for memories that mean the most. And be sure to take photos, lots of photos. For none of us know how long we’ll have with loved ones near and dear. Someday down the road, that photo might mean the world to someone, that photo might fill the gap between now and eternity for someone.

Who are you missing this Easter?

My name is Erica. I am a 38-year-old public school art teacher. I have been teaching for over 10 years and love my job. Unlike many mothers with children with disabilities, I have managed to maintain my career. I feel very blessed to work with over 500 students in our town in Minnesota.

I have been married since 2006. My husband, Scott, is an outside sales person for a title company. He is the most amazing father. He has stepped up, when he could have run away. I admire his strength for completely doing this with me day-to-day.

Our only son, Grant, was about 6 when his first serious round of self injury began. He has some level of intellectual disability, autism, and Avoidant Restrictive Feeding Intake Disorder (ArFID) which resulted in a g-tube getting surgically placed in August. Below is just a small piece of my life story. I am writing regularly at erica873.wixsite.com/grant and share updates on Facebook at www.facebook.com/deargrant if you would like to read more.

Amy is my friend and neighbor. She was kind enough to let me share my story here today. We are seeking donations for our medical trip. Grant is on a wait list for a hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, called Kennedy Krieger. Please watch the video at the end of this post, and check out my site for more details if you are in a position to help. Thank you.

I was cleaning up my art room, like I always do. Pandora was playing “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor. I know this song really well. I might be able to sing along without the lyrics without them in front of me. Can you hear it now?

” Won’t you look down upon me, Jesus …”

This song triggers a variety of emotions. I sing along. Just in my head. I don’t need someone to walk in my classroom and hear me.

Taylor sings …

“You’ve got to help me make a stand
You’ve just got to see me through another day
My body’s aching and my time is at hand
I won’t make it any other way”

I push the tears back. I want to let them flow at this moment, but I don’t and I won’t. I have let them flow before. I have had deep, ugly cries in the last six months. I have done this in front of my son. I have done it alone. But, I have never let myself cry like this in front of anyone else. This song is triggering this feeling, but I push it down.

I feel regret and anger when I have cried like this in front of Grant. It makes me cry more. My anger builds with every piece of this of this journey. The tears flow easily if he hurts me and I am not talking about emotional pain. I have never had a verbal argument with him. He is not considered “non-verbal,” but he is not functionally conversational either.

He has attacked my hair so many times I can’t count all of the incidences. Even in one day, he has come at me over 20 times. It’s like he is trying to remove chunks of my hair. I am trained in something called “CPI” so I know how to release his hands from head. I have to press on his knuckles. My scalp hurts after he comes after me. After a summer of hair pulls, I eventually sacrifice my long strands for a chin length “do.” I resent him in that moment at the hair salon. I tell myself it’s just hair. It is not me or who I am as a woman. It’s just hair. I eventually purchase hair turbans off of Amazon to protect my poor scalp. Cutting my hair doesn’t prove to be enough to keep him from hurting me.

He has tried to hurt my eyes. This is how it all started. He would push his fingers into my tear ducts. It happened so quickly. It’s hard to explain how anyone can get to your eyes so quickly.

Today he mostly kicks me. He hits me. He has bruised my eye area. He has scratched my skin and, more recently, he has learned how to head butt. This might be the worst new behavior. It comes out of nowhere. I can be putting on his diaper or he can be sitting on my lap. I might lean over to fix something and his head, with a helmet on, comes at my face so quickly. I can’t get out of the way. I bawl.

There was a day where he hit me so hard, I question if there is blood running down my face. I luck out, it’s only mucus. My nose feels broken regardless. It’s hard to hide my emotions. Tears flow easily. I want to hide. I can’t show him how upset I am in these moments.

This head butting issue really irritates me. On Halloween, his head hits my mouth. I thought he had loosened a tooth. I am not sure if he just caused me serious dental issues. I am hysterical. I grasp my face in horror. WHAT DID HE JUST DO!? How can a 9 year old be this violent? He stares at me as tears make my mascara drip black lines down my face. I am flushed. My lip is busted open this time. I have not overreacted. I might have my teeth still, but that was truly painful. I fall to the floor sobbing. He just stares at me. He might have said something like “mommy sad.” Yes, Grant. Sad is only the beginning of the emotions I feel in this moment.

Deep anger fills me. I don’t lash back. But, every cell in my body wants to fight. But, I can’t. There is no point. He doesn’t understand what he is doing. He just sees his mother crying. To him, this is interesting. So he will do it again. I have sealed that destiny with my outward emotions. But, I can’t stop in these times. I am getting hurt. I am hurt. I cry. I am so unbelievably tired of this.

Attacking me…this only a piece of what is happening in my home on a daily basis. Some days are worse. Some are better. I ask myself constantly “What is worse than this?”  I mean, I quite literally in my head run through a game called “What is worse than this situation?” We have to find answers. We have to move forward. I remind myself that we are lucky he is alive. We wait patiently for his turn at the hospital. I’ll do the best I can with each day as it comes. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe. I will hold on to the hope I must keep in my heart for the three of us for a better and easier life.

Erica

He called me first. I was on the phone with my husband, so I wasn’t able to answer. Then I received a text. Having received a phone call and text within seconds of each other, I knew the message was urgent and required a prompt and personal response on my part. My husband suggested I hang up and return the call immediately.

“Hi. I’m so sorry to hear about the loss of your mom this week. We all know it’s going to happen at some point, but it’s still never easy,” I said.

“Thank you very much,” he responded. “Actually, that’s why I called. I need to write up something about my mom for the back of the bulletin for her funeral, and I was wondering if you’d be able to do that for me.”

“Sure,” I said, without giving it much thought. After all, just six days prior a writing colleague suggested that I should consider writing peoples’ life stories. It should’ve been no surprise that I was presented with an opportunity so soon after the suggestion was made to me.

He told me he’d spoken with his siblings, that they’d gathered some information about their mom and her life story, and could I possibly put all of this together and write it in a nice format for the back of the bulletin?

Undoubtedly, YES I can.

Who would say no to such an honor?

Basically, I was being asked to write this woman’s obituary.

I took the son’s notes, spent time putting them into paragraphs and emailed the final draft of the obituary to him around 10:00 p.m. that night.

The next morning bright and early, he shared the draft with his siblings. They removed some information and added some information. He called and asked if I could rewrite and refine the obituary with the changes in mind.

Undoubtedly, YES I can.

I made the changes and emailed the obituary back to him within 30 minutes. He needed to get it to the pastor that morning.

She passed away on Monday. I sent the final draft of the obituary for the funeral bulletin at 9:50 a.m. on Wednesday. The funeral was Thursday. Today it’s Friday.

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. – James 4:14

All of this has me thinking…

What did I learn from writing this woman’s obituary?

It is with great honor and respect of this woman’s life and death, that I share just a few of my learnings. Perhaps one or all will guide your path, your life, the light you shine during your short time on earth.

1. In the end, your life will be reduced to a few short paragraphs in an obituary. What would you like those paragraphs to say? You are not victim to what happens in your life, nor are you victim to what shows up in your obituary. You have a chance to change the trajectory of your life NOW.
2. Whether you believe it or not, whether you believe you’re making a difference or not, you WILL be a part of someone’s obituary. Your name is important. Your contribution and service to others is important. Your presence and dedication to others is important. Whose obituary will you be on, and how are you contributing to their life today?
3. Isn’t it beautiful to have grandchildren, great-grandchildren, extended relatives and friends? Wouldn’t it be awesome to have a powerful influence in your grandchildren and great-grandchildrens’ lives? How will they remember you once you are gone? What legacy will you leave for future generations? How about extended relatives and friends? What relationships are you fostering now that will actually hold weight on your death bed? Who’s the friend you can’t imagine life without? Who’s the cousin or aunt or great uncle for whom you always had a special affection?
4. Your mistakes, your sins, your faults, your terrible mishaps, and the worst moments of your life will rarely show up on your obituary. People will remember the BEST of you. What do you want that BEST to look like?
5. LOVE is perhaps the one and only thing you want to show up most on your obituary. Love deeply, to the best of your ability.
6. Work hard, but definitely not too hard. Work with your heart. Work with the end in mind. Do you want to be remembered for earning $200,000.00 a year, or do you want to be remembered for being a great leader? Do you want to be remembered for never missing a single day of work, or do you want to be remembered for being committed and dedicated to whatever you did? Do you want to be remembered for being “over” hundreds of employees, or do you want to be remembered for being a faithful mentor and guide? Do you want to be remembered for all the awards you won, or do you want to be remembered as a servant heart? The list could go on and on. Be wise about your work, for the days are short in this one wild and crazy life.
7. What are you doing to stay busy in your down time? Watching TV? Watching your iPhone? Vacuuming? Dusting? Or would you rather be remembered for something cool and interesting like knitting, skydiving, woodworking, writing, traveling to all the continents, pottery, jewelry making, or something super cool like that? Find and develop your interests now and as you’re able. Who knows? Maybe someday your grandchild will find your box of antique rulers and bottle caps, and will think it’s the coolest collection in the world!
8. If your entire life had to be summarized in just ONE sentence, what would you want it to say? What do you want to be known for? How do you want to be remembered? What kind of legacy do you want to leave for future generations? What changes can you make that will begin to shape and mold the ONE sentence that describes your life? Hint: It’s not necessarily about WHAT you did, it’s more about WHO you were. “She was always such a graceful lady.” “He was such a funny guy.” “She was such a kind and generous soul.” “He was committed to his family.” “She was faithful to the end.” “He never gave up on his dreams.” “She sure went through a lot, but she was one tough cookie.”
9. What do you believe at the core of who you are? Believe me, your core beliefs will show up on your obituary. What do you believe, and how is that being expressed in your life? It’s worth pondering today and every day.
10. What would be devastating and terribly unfortunate if it never showed up in your obituary? What are your dreams, your plans for your life? Is there some goal, some life aspiration, some way of living and being that you need to commit to so that someday when your obituary is written, it will actually show up and be remembered? What is your one true calling? Are you short-changing yourself? Are you foregoing your dreams for daily pursuits that don’t have any long-lasting legacy power? Are you selling your soul for things that won’t really matter at the end of life? If you were to die today, what would be missing from your obituary tomorrow? Move towards the thing that’s missing.

That’s it. That’s all I learned from writing someone’s obituary.

Be blessed. Be a blessing. Live life as if it counts. Live today as if it’s your last.

I woke in my parents’ guest room to Monday morning thunderstorms.

Rain and thunder gave way to the weather channel app. Needless to say, the day’s forecast did NOT look good. Heavy rain until 1:00 p.m. A 20-40% chance of rain between 1:00 and 4:00 p.m. Then downhill from there.

The forecast gave way to a Facebook post that went something like this: “Please pray for today’s weather and I’m serious. The golf tournament in honor of my dad and his upcoming lung transplant is scheduled for today from 1-6 p.m. CST. Ideally, we need sunshine or overcast with NO RAIN between 1-8 p.m. Our family has been going through bad and very bad times for 14 years. If we could just have this one day of sunshine that would be awesome.”

My Facebook post gave way to tears and prayers. I prayed 100 times over the course of 10 minutes. I prayed all the ways you could pray for weather and then some. “Dear God, please make it stop raining between 1-8 p.m. today so we can have the golf tournament in honor of my dad. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear God, please make it stop raining. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear Heavenly Father, you are so good and we know you can do anything. Please make the sun come out at 1:00 and stay dry until 8:00 so we can have this tournament for my dad. In Jesus’ name, Amen. Dear God, please make it stop raining. In Jesus’ name, please make it stop raining. Please make it stop raining.”

Tears and prayers gave way to my mom yelling through the door between the bathroom and guest room. “The tournament is canceled because of thunderstorms, and has been RESCHEDULED for next Monday the 18th.”

I was SO angry.

I popped my head out the bathroom door, told my parents how mad I was, told them to go, and confirmed (BY YELLING VERY LOUDLY) that I WASN’T mad at them, I was mad at God.

Couldn’t we just have this one day after all we’ve been through?

More tears.

24 minutes after I published the Facebook post asking for prayers for good weather, I deleted it. My dad had been in contact with the owners of the golf course. The golf tournament was officially POSTPONED due to thunderstorms that were projected to last all day. No use bothering people with worry and negativity when I already knew that prayer wasn’t going to be answered.

Did I mention that I was SO angry?

Of all things, now weather’s going to get in the way?

I’m 95% confident I’ve NEVER been more angry at God. He knows the hell my family of origin has been through the past 14 years. If God is so good, why couldn’t he just grant us this ONE day of sunshine, this ONE ray of hope, this ONE day we’d be surrounded by friends and family and feel loved, supported and cared for without more roadblocks. Couldn’t He just give us this ONE day?

I was so angry that I’d driven all the way to my parents’ house and stayed overnight for nothing.

I was so angry that my husband and two big kids had driven 1 hour 30 minutes and were already 3/4 of the way to my parents’ house when I had to call and tell them to turn around.

I was so angry that my brother was there with his friend, that they both took the day off from work and came especially for the golf tournament. I was so angry that he seriously might NOT be able to come on the rescheduled date.

I was so angry that all the food and prizes had been prepared, tee times had been arranged, schedules had been rearranged for this…and now it’d have to be moved to a week later.

I was so angry thinking about the people who might fall through the cracks now that the tournament was rescheduled because we all know that this week’s schedule is RARELY the same as next week’s.

I was so angry that we’d have to go through this all over again in one week, that we’d have yet another chance to worry about rain.

I was so angry thinking about my dad on oxygen, about to go on a lung transplant list, and why does it seem like everyone else’s dads are healthy and playing golf without a second thought?

I was so angry thinking back on everything we’ve been through the past 14 years, and now God can’t grant this ONE day of sunny or simple overcast weather?

If you know me at all, you know I’m NOT an angry person.

But I was angry that morning.

The most angry I’ve ever been.

I see God in everything. I give Him credit where credit is due. I have no problem seeing His work and grace in good and VERY bad times. But this crossed MY line. If God can do all things and knows everything we’ve been through, why we couldn’t he make this one day of sunny? Why couldn’t we have this ONE day of goodness? Honestly, I still don’t know why it thunderstormed all the live long day.

No doubt about it, I was set on leaving my parent’s house as quickly as possible. I got up. Got ready for the day. Didn’t fix my hair because who really cares and it’s pouring rain anyway. Threw my dirty clothes in the suitcase and zipped it up. I made it clear to my mom, dad and my 4-year-old daughter that “We’re leaving soon, like 10 minutes from now, and we’re NOT eating muffins before we go.”

I didn’t want the muffins.

I wasn’t buying my parents’ seemingly calm and grace-filled reasoning that “We can’t control the weather. We’re not happy either, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

God could have done something about this, and chose NOT to for some reason beyond me.

I didn’t want the muffins.

I tried explaining to my four year old that we were leaving in as few words as possible, but she wanted the muffins.

She started crying.

I started crying.

She got the muffins because what’s the use of depriving a four year old of muffins in the midst of misery?

I lay in my parents’ guest bed staring out the rain-dropped window while my daughter ate muffins.

“I don’t know why my mom is so sad,” my daughter said to my parents.

“The clouds are mean,” said my 2 1/2-year-old nephew after a loud clap of thunder.

After what seemed like a 30-minute breakfast, the blueberry muffins were finally gone, the skim milk was finally ingested. I was ready to go home.

I walked right through the rain and loaded the bags in the trunk like it was an emergency.

My sister gave me a hug.

My parents told me to call them later.

And off we went back home.

Later that afternoon, I became numb. By early evening, I was exhausted.

My husband asked WHAT we could do to make me feel better? He was operating at an 8, and judged me to be a -3. Maybe a hot shower followed by a movie by myself in our bedroom?

I rented a crier about a woman who had breast cancer and then died from brain cancer because WHY NOT feel all the feels? I breathed deeply and let myself sink into the bed. After the movie, I had a huge knot that hurt on one side of my neck. I, of course, was imagining I had brain cancer because I’ve had so many headaches lately, and after today, I wouldn’t be surprised if something big happened to me, too.

Apparently, the shower and movie DID help! I felt better yesterday. Tuesday was MUCH better than Monday.

But Wednesday afternoon, anger came trickling back in when I least expected it.

Why is a small, but growing segment of the blogosphere freaking out about the “hidden dangers of Pokemon Go?” Why are we finding fault in a game that encourages kids to get out on their bikes, go to parks, check in at churches, and gets them actively engaged with friends and family? I’d forgotten how frustrated I can get with Christians who don’t seem tuned in to real life, who forget that that the world has more serious concerns than the “witchcraft origins” of a cartoon character. Can’t we all just get along? Don’t we have more important things to worry about? I’d been sensing a POSITIVE blog post rising up in me about this crazy Pokemon Go phenomenon, but after reading that Pokemon post this afternoon, I sensed the frustration within and couldn’t stop taking deep breaths over this stupidity. For the good of all parties, there will be NO blog post about Pokemon Go.

The BRAND NEW capris I bought 12 days ago and only wore once to a wet photo shoot were full of grass and mud stains that weren’t coming out. I left the capris in the laundry room, went outside to pick weeds in the garden, threw away trash from wherever I could find it, and deadheaded begonias in the window boxes while the children played water guns.

After all that, I went inside to make myself a bowl of bing cherries and purposely put ONE bright red cherry on top for goodwill.

A bowl of cherries, a minute of self care on our front porch, and a four-year-old neighbor girl later, MY ONE BRIGHT RED CHERRY WAS GONE! I’d saved that ONE bright red cherry for last for a reason, and she ate it right out of my bowl with no remorse whatsoever.

“You ate my last cherry!” I uttered in surprise like only a four (forty) year old could.

She ate my one, bright red cherry, the one I handpicked for myself.

A minute later, after cherry girl and the other kids left to play, I sat and stared at the white clouds drifting through the sky.

I needed to chill.

I needed to get a grip.

Our neighbors parked a parade float in their driveway and had music up loud as they were repairing the sound system. Honestly, the music resonated incredibly well with my soul as I was picking weeds. Now an hour or two later as I sat sat on the porch watching clouds – somehow NOT surprised that my one, bright red, self-care, all-things-bright-and-cheery cherry had been eaten by a four year old – a new song played.

A song like no other.

No beating.

No drums.

No partying or raging.

No anger or injustice.

Just a sweet, simple song.

Totally out of character. Totally unexpected. Totally out of nowhere.

Baby You’re Mine.

Baby You’re Mine.

I nestled into the comfy porch couch and let the sweet tune and simple lyrics settle into my soul as they may.

The sky was blue.

Clouds drifted, their movement barely perceivable.

Tears.

I was still angry. I still felt a fire within. A fire for justice and all things GOOD instead of evil. But in my heart I knew the truth. I could see and feel the truth. It’s okay to be mad at God. He can handle it. He’s bigger than anger, better and beyond human comprehension.

Grace is always around the corner.

Baby You’re Mine.