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.

Beauty.

Gnashing.

Gnawing.

Love.

Truth.

Justice.

Know.

Know justice.

No justice.

The story is mine, He declares. The story is mine.

She’s yearning to break free. Yearning to break loose.

Justice is on her side. Justice.

Weep no more, I declare. Weep no more.

For the day is coming.

I will prevail.

Fear not, dear ones. Fear not.

Come to me all who are weary. Come.

My burden is light.

My yoke is easy.

Fear not.

I am tried and true.

True.

Truth.

It will set you free. Indeed.

The light, the truth, the way. I am.

Seek justice. Justice.

On earth as it is in heaven.

Surrender your lives.

For the sake of others.

Your yearning is hers.

Her pain is yours.

Her breath is yours.

Her pain. Your pain.

Hear her.

Hide no more.

Hide no more.

Friends, I’m so excited to share some awesome news with you today! Let’s just say I’ve had a hard time keeping it to myself. I can barely contain the joy, so let’s get right to it!

When I went on the sponsor trip to Haiti with Compassion International last February, I met a 2-year-old boy named Charles. I wrote a blog post about my time with Charles and his mama. If you never read it the first time around, or need your memory jogged, now would be a great time to check it out (click here and the post will open in a separate window.)

I know some of you don’t have time to read the original post, so let me refresh your memory! I met two-year-old Charles and his mama at one of the Compassion projects we visited in Haiti. Charles’ mama shared her painful story with our group, and revealed that Charles had one leg. She was beyond grateful for Compassion’s Child Survival Program, as they have been a tremendous source of hope and support. Needless to say, I was deeply moved by Charles’ story. Later that morning, I had the opportunity to interact at length with Charles, his mama, a translator, and Compassion staff. By God’s pure grace, I was offered the opportunity to be Charles’ sponsor once he’s old enough to officially enroll in Compassion’s Child Development Sponsorship Program. I was, of course, delighted to say yes, and gathered all the necessary information to make the connection back home.

When I returned from Haiti, I spent nearly nine months trying to track down Charles. I wanted to do my part to keep the promise. So between February and October 2014, I called Compassion International’s hotline three times to see if there was a way to link Charles’ name with mine in the system. While Charles and his mama have been participating in Compassion’s Child Survival Program, Charles is not quite old enough to enroll in the Child Development Sponsorship Program, therefore, there has been no easy way to officially link our names.

Let me just say, after the first two phone calls to Compassion, I was beginning to realize it was going to take an act of God for this to happen. But I was determined to do my part and follow it through to an end.

During my third call to Compassion in October, I was advised to send an email detailing all the information I had so they could investigate the matter further.

I sent that email to Compassion on October 30.

Within a week, I received a personal phone call from a staff member at Compassion. She notified me that she was going to contact Compassion’s country office in Haiti, and would get someone on the ground to investigate the matter. The goal, to ensure Charles’ continued participation in the program and officially link his name to mine for sponsorship.

I was excited and hopeful, y’all. This was actually going to happen!

(So here’s where the story starts to get really cool.)

On November 18, 2014, a man named Antonio (aka Tony) posted a note on my blog’s Facebook page: “I would love to share my experience with your sponsored child Charles with you. Please contact me when you can.” That same night, I also found comments on my blog from Tony, one comment on the post I’d written about Charles, and another on a post I’d written about my love for Haiti.

Within four hours of the post to my wall, I was Facebook messaging Tony, this “random stranger” from Texas. Tony had just returned from a sponsor trip to Haiti with Compassion International on November 10-15. While he was there, he met and engaged extensively with Charles!

Within four days of the post to my wall, Tony and I agreed it would be awesome and much easier to chat on the phone about our sweet Charles. So we exchanged numbers and talked at length about our experiences. It was amazing. Simply amazing.

But friends, this isn’t the end of the good news! I saved the best news for last. Because it’s the biggest, most awesome and amazing of all!

Did you ever wonder how Tony tracked me down? How in the world did he know I had anything to do with Charles? I won’t bore you with the lengthy sequence of events Tony and I unpacked that ultimately connected us, but let me just say THIS WAS A PURE ACT OF GOD! There’s no way I would’ve ever connected with Tony and discovered these updates about Charles had it not been for God’s miraculous orchestration of events. Many hands were involved, friends. Many hands were involved. People followed the Spirit’s promptings, one after another, which ultimately led to me discovering and sharing the most AWESOME NEWS OF ALL with y’all today…

Our sweet Charles has a prosthetic leg! He’s well and joyful, and is moving about with relative ease! And his mama has a smile on her face that’s filled and overflowing with joy. I’m as tickled pink as I could be! For THIS is a miracle. This. is a miracle. Believe it, friends. Believe it when you see it.

This is an act of God, all the way around. He has worked. He has shown His glory. He has shown His great power and delight in bringing joy and healing to His children.

Today, a boy walks and dances.

Today, a mama beams joy.

Today, this mama sponsor beams joy, too, for she understands God’s sovereignty and goodness, even in our pain, even out of our darkest moments.

Today, a man in Texas understands the power of the Holy Spirit. Because he listened to the promptings in his heart and stopped to engage with a little boy in Haiti, we can begin to fathom the lengths to which God pursues us. Even when we aren’t aware, even when we don’t believe, He’s working. He’s sovereign. He’s in control. He’s got this.

It’s a miracle. Pure awesomeness.

 

 

 

Yesterday was #GivingTuesday. Perhaps you gave to the nonprofit of your choice. Perhaps you didn’t, but are moved by Charles’ story. Compassion International is funding a Child Survival Program for mamas and babies in India! Yesterday, Brianne McKoy wrote a lovely post about the opportunity to help fund this project. Check out her blog post and maybe, just maybe you’ll feel led to give. Because who wouldn’t want to be a part of this joy?! Or maybe you’ve always wanted to sponsor a child. Head right on over to Compassion’s website where hundreds of children are waiting for a sponsor.

The earliest of autumn’s crispness set into the evening air. Most likely, this was a one-night phenomenon, with many long, hot days to come in-between here and the shorter, colder days of fall.

Still, mama knew.

Change was coming. Change had already come.

And uncertainty was most certainly all around.

Mama just heard of a great actor and comedian’s passing. Suicide they suspected. And she couldn’t get over it. She couldn’t let it go. Because this great artist, this human being of a different kind made mama laugh, made mama cry. His portrayal of a great physician in Awakenings awakened her to life not once, but many times over. It was one of her favorites, a gentle-spirited movie about waking up to your life, capturing moments while they’re still in your grasp.

She was a little distraught about this passing. But she bathed her babe anyway.

The days since babe’s last bath had passed in a flash. After one glance at babe’s dirt-filled fingernails and brown-stained feet, mama knew it was time for that bath.

“My got my diaper off! My ready!” shouted babe as she waited for mama to fill the tub.

Mama turned on the water. Not too cold, not too hot. She threw in the bath toys – puppy dogs and fish-catching nets, wobbly-weebly people made for miniature yellow boats.

She watched as babe lathered up soap on a washcloth and scrubbed her body, her baby doll, her wobbly-weebly people, and even the bath ledge clean again.

Don’t we all walk ledges – longing for better days, opportunities to start over, desperate for someone to see us for who we are instead of the mask we’ve been? Don’t we all sit on ledges – waiting to feel clean, whole, restored to brand-new condition, free again?

Mama thought hard as babe scrubbed the bath ledge. She wondered how it could be that a celebrity, a comedian, a great artist of our time could be so desperate, so filled with pain, so wanting to leave this world.

The pain fell like a curtain. She felt all the pain of the world in that moment. And she wondered why moms and dads take their lives, why babes suffer beheading, why kids cross borders alone, why Ebola strikes ebony and threatens to spread like a deadly wildfire.

Babe continued to wash the bath ledge new.

Dad and son watched the Matrix in the other room.

And mama thought of Jesus. Jesus on the cross. His pain. His suffering. His crossing every border because of us. His name that spread. Like wildfire.

So mama decided. She couldn’t push away the joy because of the pain. And she couldn’t push away the pain because of the joy.

Babes take baths. And babes are beheaded. Children frolic in sprinklers. And children watch parents fall ill and pass in a matter of hours. Children are safe and sound in the comforts of home, and children are sent afar, alone, to cross borders in search of freedom. Children experience lifetimes with mommies and daddies, and children live orphaned because mommy and daddy couldn’t bear the weight of this world anymore. All under the same sky. All under the great canopy provided by God himself.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t grasp the purpose of this pain. She couldn’t fathom the point of it all, couldn’t reconcile this good and evil under the same blue sky.

So she asked, yet again, one of the greatest questions she’s ever asked God. Why must babes, innocent children suffer? And why is it that some humans sneak by with mere inconveniences, while others are bathed in blood, pain, trauma, poverty and the like?

Mama had to let it go. She had to release it to Jesus who suffered the greatest pain of all, to God who created it all. For us. For all of us.

So mama washed babe’s hair and smiled at her big. Because babes need encouragement if they’re to live upright in a culture that can feel completely hopeless. If we’re going to fight this fight, we musn’t give up. We must prepare our generation, the next generation, as armies of brave warriors. Warriors armed with belts of truth, breastplates of righteousness, and swords of the Spirit. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

She bundled her babe in a plush pink towel, and pulled out those pink pajamas with the frog on front. She read babe a book about the animals of the world. And she brought babe a glass of water before turning on the white noise.

Downstairs she went. She felt directionless, like her cares were nothing compared to the weight of this heavy, heavy globe called Earth.

Mama got out the vacuum. The floor was a disaster. Then she got out the mop. Because the vacuum hadn’t cut the grime. This mopping wasn’t as easy as it looked. She pushed hard, and while the floor was still dirty, she couldn’t bring herself to finish. Because it still seemed pointless compared to the world’s greater state of disaster.

It was then that she really heard, really noticed the girls out on the front porch. There were six of them, to be exact. Binders and bows, brushes and blow dryers laid on the table. A big bucket of clean water served as their source for making all things new in regards to their hair. They’d created a hair salon and were busy bees prepping and primping one another.

Mama addressed the first thing any mama would think of when it comes to homemade hair salons. Don’t share brushes. The girls already had that taken care of. They’d already gone home to get their own.

As mama lingered with the girls for a few quiet moments, she continued to have a hard time reconciling all this innocence with all the world’s tragedy.

She asked the hard questions. Again.

Why do these beauties have the privilege of creating a hair salon on a porch, while others equally as beautiful sit on a mountain top afraid for their lives?

Why do these beauties get to primp and play, while others equally as beautiful walk miles to cross borders into the unknown?

Why do these beauties have a clean bill of health, while others equally as beautiful suffer death?

Why do these beauties wonder whether their daddies will arrive back home at 5:00 or 6:00 tonight, while others equally as beautiful discover their daddy’s decided it’s the last night he can hack this world?

It’s hard to understand why God would allow all of this.

Hard questions don’t have easy answers.

But by the supernatural grace of God, powerful words came to mama’s mind.

For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.  1 Corinthians 14:33

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.  Romans 12:21 

 You are of God, little children, and have overcome them, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.  1 John 4:4

Then, mama decided she simply had to trust. That He’d take care of it all. That the world’s weight wasn’t hers to bear, but His.

So she let it go. As much as she could. She gave it up. To the One and only One who knows the purpose of all our pain, who knows the story He’s writing.

Two girls danced in the driveway with caps on their heads to protect the beauty they’d made. And one little girl came to mama needing help with her headband. Mama helped the little girl put on hope in the form of a butterfly, and sent the six beautiful warriors on their way.

The bikes swished and swooshed down the street.

Mama stood alone with the bowl of clean water.

Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.  Mark 9:41

Mama couldn’t help the world, but she could help those she was called to help. For tonight, the gift had been water. The washing of water over a warrior babe in a bathtub. A glass of water before bedtime. A bowl full of water for warrior girls who know that it’s glimpses of beauty, glimpses of gratitude, glimpses of the Divine in the daily that make the world go round.

The fact that my dad’s lifelong career as band director was never celebrated properly bothered me for eight years straight. So one week ago, I took a leap of faith and wrote a post I hoped would rectify that wrong. When I hit publish, I had no idea what the outcome would be, but I did it anyway.

Today, I’m happy to announce that my hopes and dreams for that post came true. The response was greater than I imagined. The outpouring of support? Tremendous, amazing, absolutely incredible.

As of this afternoon…

7,200 people saw the post in their Facebook feed

615 people read the post on the blog

41 people “liked” the post on Facebook

38 people left a personal message for my dad on the blog

27 people shared the post on their personal Facebook page

and…

1 person (my dad, aka Mr. Femling) left a note of thanks for all who made the week so special for him:

“Your comments have raised my spirits immeasurably! It’s easy to get down when you have pulmonary fibrosis and can’t play the trumpet like you used to. I wear oxygen tanks all of the time now so I can still get around and play golf. I always wanted to die directing the band when everything was clicking, as it did many times with you guys, or playing golf. I almost got my wish when I had a heart attack on hole #3 at the [golf course] about 6 weeks ago. As depression started to set in your comments lifted me up and made me want to fight on! The “wall of sound” you created gave me the “chills” many times as do the memories of those times do now. Thanks to my daughter Amy for this great retirement party and to all of my fantastic band students. [Mr. Femling]  JUNE 18, 2014 – 8:07 PM”

I have to admit, I’ve learned some lessons this week. Publishing that post and seeing the positive outcomes was eye opening for sure.

So what have I learned?

1) Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. Sometimes there’s just no getting around it. When I published that post, I had NO idea what the response would be. I had no idea how it would “perform.” I had no proof, no evidence to suggest the post would be a success. For all I knew, the post could’ve died flat on its face. But something told me that wasn’t going to happen. I just had a feeling, a suspicion that it had the potential to produce the outcomes I desired for my dad. So I took a leap of faith. And it worked. Sometimes, in order to get the outcomes we desire, in order for God to produce the outcomes in our lives that He desires for us, we need to take leaps of faith.

2) People really can be amazing. And once in a while? They’ll not only meet, but greatly exceed all of your expectations. If you’ve been around this blog for a while, you’ve heard me talk about expectations. About four years ago, I became very aware of a fault I’ve carried for a lifetime. The expectations I have for myself and the expectations I have of others are simply way too high. Well, let me just say that all of my expectations were met and exceeded with this blog post for my dad! People showed up. They spent time leaving messages that were detailed, heartfelt, and kind. They acted when they could’ve sat idle. They cared when they could’ve chosen to care less. It was a true honor for me, my dad, and my entire family to read the messages people left on the blog. The outpouring of love and support was amazing, each and every perspective unique, and all together an honoring, perfect picture of my dad’s character and career as band director.

3) Words are powerful. I love words. And I take them seriously, probably more seriously than most. In fact, I’d say that when it boils down to it, words might just be the point of my life. Words can lift up, and words can tear down. We choose our words. Yes, we choose our words. We choose how and when to use them, and with whom to share them. If you go in to that blog post for my dad, dig deep in the comments, read each word, and ponder the true meaning of it all, you’ll be astounded, overwhelmed by the content that was communicated in that space. Words have immense power. Why are we careless with words, throwing them around as if they don’t mean anything, joking as if it won’t hurt anyone, blaming when maybe it’s nobody’s fault at all. Why do we withhold words when they have the power to heal, bring peace, joy, encouragement? Why don’t we love, lift each other up, tend to one another with words more often? Why don’t we consider the holy weight of words, every one important, every one filled with possibility?

Yes, these are just a few of the things I learned from the post I published in honor of my dad’s career as a band director. So today, I rest in peace, acknowledging publicly that the post was a success.

Together, we provided a little joy, a little hope, a little reassurance and blessing for my dad, Mr. Femling, in the midst of times that have been tough.

Words of gratitude are extended generously to those of you who read, responded, and replied to the post. You recognized and restored dignity to a man who deserved it.

Amy

**If you haven’t read the post I wrote in honor of my dad’s career as band director, I strongly encourage you to do so! You’ll find it here, at In Which I’m Throwing a Retirement Party for My Dad, Mr. Femling!