A lesson learned walking in the shadows of post-crisis

Although I've been heard saying 2012 was one of -- if not the -- hardest year of my life, now that I have endured 2013, I change my answer. 2013 was harder. It was a year of living in the gray shadows of the drama of 2012.

In 2012, I felt pulled and tugged in many different directions. The two major events were four bonus kids for nine weeks and Kip's dad being in the hospital for 5 months. During these times, I have never felt more exhausted in my life. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Responsibility-wise.

Yet during this time, people surrounded us. People noticed us. Hauling eight children around is quite noticeable. Having four children in hospital waiting rooms is also quite noticeable. In addition, the family of God surrounded us with prayers, cards, gifts, and hands-on-support. It was beautiful.

Many memorable moments of deliverance were woven into our lives.

Then in 2013, things quieted down. Quite thankfully! I no longer wrote daily on the Caring Bridge website. I no longer texted desperate pleas for immediate prayer. I had time to sleep. I had time to cry. 

Yet, it felt harder than it had before. 

That was so strange to me.

Was it because I like being center stage? Was it that people prayed more during that time? Was I more spiritual then? Did I have my focus in a better place?

Or perhaps it was something else.

Not that I had sinned. Not that I had fallen from grace. Not that I needed attention.  

Instead I am re-learning to walk by faith after a long season of flying on eagle's wings.

Isaiah 40:31 says, "Yet those who wait for the LORD will gain new strength. They will mount up with wings like eagles. They will run and not get tired. They will walk and not become weary."

It feels strange. As though I am walking on land after riding on a boat or a roller coaster for a long time. Familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. I have walked on land most of my life. As most of my life has also been non-crisis.

But what is truly different is that I haven't walked in daily life after crisis before.  I am walking in the land of shadows, both in the shadow of the drama of 2012 and in the shadow of the valley of death.

It has felt strange this walking in the strange, gray shadows. He is still sustaining. Still giving grace. Still making me aware of how much I need him.

But now I am learning to walk in this new place. Not a place of grieving from far away, as it was with my brother-in-law's death. But this time a place of grieving from nearby and up-close and personal. And from a responsible human being perspective.

He is still sustaining. But I don't need wings anymore so I'm relearning the walk of faith from here on this side of the strange, gray shadow lands. A needed walk, step-by-step.

Walking in the land of gray shadows. Learning what it means to walk by faith after having been mounted on eagle's wings.

What lessons have you learned walking in the shadows of difficult seasons?

 

Also linking with Jen at SDG. 

A year ago

Our Christmas 2012 photo: the six of us on vacation this summer. 

A year ago--almost to the day--I slipped on a step, twisted my knee, and needed rehab. No surgery needed, no exciting story to tell, just four months of physical therapy. That was December 27th, 2011.

Then, on the first Sunday of 2012, way back in January but just a few days after my injury, my pastor's wife felt compelled to read a devotional to the congregation. It was about how the Shepherd breaks the leg of  a sheep that wanders so that it learns to stay close to the Shepherd instead of wandering off all of the time.

It struck a chord with me even though I didn't feel like I had been wandering. Yet, my leg was wounded. I had a knee brace, crutches, and was arranging to have an MRI taken. Though I didn't know what it was, I had that sense it was a word from the Lord for me and so I trusted that in time it would be revealed how I had been wandering off.

Now, as I reflect on the year of 2012, I see that the Lord needed to draw me close to His heart for those  months. It wasn't due to sin & rebellion but rather it was preparation for future paths. I would desperately need easy recognition of His voice in the days ahead.

Without any official training, we would become foster parents for nine weeks. For a little over three weeks, we had eight children, for an additional five or so weeks we had five kids. It was an education on many levels. The most important lesson being about the provision of God. He sustains and works through me even when there is nothing left. Truly, that is when His best work usually occurs: when there is nothing left of me. At the very least I recognize it better because I know it definitely isn't me.

In the summertime, we had a small reprieve from unusual circumstances in which we crammed in as much fun as possible. Then, we returned to another crisis -- my father-in-law in the hospital trying to breathe after brain surgery to remove a non-cancerous tumor. It has been 15 weeks, over three months. There has been healing and hope in the midst of many setbacks.

What I didn't know in January is how much I would need the Lord and how drained and empty I would feel by the time October rolled around. That was only six weeks into a still on-going trial. How hard it has been to remain daily in the Word. How hard it has been to remember to pray before meals This is from childhood, folks! I grew up giving thanks before every meal. It's what we do. It's kind of like forgetting to brush your teeth. (Now that I say that I have forgotten that a time or two, as well, but not nearly as often as giving thanks.) How could it be that I have forgotten my way in this?

The Lord is kind, gracious, and forgiving. I'm glad that I have been reminded of where I was in December of last year and all that He has brought my family and I through. He goes before us and behind us. I am so thankful. He gives friends and family to support and some really great memories mixed in with the hard stuff. He loves us. He heals us. He takes us through trials. He grows us.

May I stay close to the Shepherd always, no matter the circumstance.

* * *

How about you? Have you gotten caught up in end-of-year reflections? 

Any insight you want to share?

On tears

The pages are wrinkled
In that spot

In that spot where
The tears that have fallen
So many times

Were they the tears during the hardest nine months?
Were they the tears for the one we lost?
Were they the tears from the lonely nights?
Tears from the times I'd blown it again?
Were they the tears from the years we ached for children?
Were they  the tears of sadness for my sister, her husband, and daughter
Who lost him to a battle of cancer

Are they for the child who wishes he knew
Where his mother was when he woke up

I opened the book
My eyes saw it again
The wrinkled spot on the page

In that wrinkled spot
It is...written

He hears my cry
He counts my tears
And captures them in a bottle
Mourning may last for the night
But a shout of joy comes in the morning

And so I wait for the morning

With my tears
And the pages
Written by my God

Who will rescue us from here.
One day.
And wipe away those tears
One
Last
Time
* * *
Linking with Jen and with Emily.

When red becomes your blue

Who knew that  a pot of flowers could be so persuasive?

Usually my favorite color is blue. Me, the one who hails from the land of 10,000 lakes, am in love with the many nuances of water. Therefore, my favorite color is blue. 

But not this summer.

This summer, my favorite color is red. 

It's not that I don't like red. I just love blue, yellow, and purple so much more. Usually.  But not right now. 

Red petunias chosen and planted by Grandma and the kids while I was away tending to the needs of other children are half the reason red is my favorite color this season.

I wouldn't have picked them. And, truth be told, I later went and picked purple and white petunias. To add to the red flowers. 

The Chosen By Others Flowers (or the red petunias) are growing abundantly on the front porch, back porch, and at the side of our house. They have continued to flourish in spite of 100 degree days. (We did water in healthy amounts!)

Not so the purple and white petunias I picked. We watered them the same, so perhaps it was the squirrels that destroyed them with their nut plantings. Either way, only the red survive.

 

Flowers I didn't choose have made me happy and thankful. I am also happy and thankful for the two new lawn chairs in the backyard. I did pick those. But not the color. Because, they are, you guessed it -- red.

Remember, I love blue, not red. You see, I was waiting for the blue chairs to go on sale. While I waited, all the black ones sold out except one. But I wanted two. The blue chairs were not yet on sale with only a few red ones left. I had to buy the red ones or perhaps forgo getting any this season. 

So I did. 

I bought two red lawn chairs. 

Yep. Red. A color I wouldn't normally pick. Yet, they look perfect on our back porch. See: 

 .

Not only did I have two new lawn chairs. I had a new favorite color of the season -- red

Who knew? Who knew that this season red would be my favorite color? I had no idea and this just falls in line with my year so far, except in a much more delightful way. 

This year has been filled with surprises that I did not expect, much less plan. First, a twisted knee that required crutches, help, and physical therapy for several months. Next, there were the children God sent to live with us for three weeks and nine weeks, even though we weren't registered foster parents or relatives.

 

Proverbs 16:9 says 

(as my friend Steph reminded me)

 "A man's heart plans his ways, But the Lord directs His steps."

I have made plans. God has directed my steps. This year I have been able to see it more clearly than usual.  

And sometimes, God even directs your steps and your favorite color choice. 

* * *

How about you? 

Have you been delighted by any twists and turns in your life lately?

 Linking with Jen and Rachel.

Empty room. Empty heart.

There is an empty place on the floor of my bedroom. A week ago it had the sum of the world's possessions for a young boy, minus the bed and the bike at his grandma's house. Three boxes. Two held his clothes, socks, underwear, shirts, pants and shorts. Some were given to me by his mom. Some had belonged to his cousin. Some had belonged to my sons. One box had his pictures from the airshow, the drawings, the AWANA store.

But there are no boxes on the floor of my room anymore. There is no boy, saying, "Mrs. Jaeger." in his 5-year-old slur that could not pronounce Rs or Ls. No one has awakened me in the night with a bad dream this past week. No one has enticed my youngest into pouring soap all over the counter of the  pink bathroom. My 6 year old has not enticed anyone to throw wet chalk at the back door this week. There's been no biting or wrestling or sandbox playing.

It is cleaner in my room. And in the boys room where the sleeping bag has been put away. My house is cleaner. More convenient. Easier. This week.

I can clean the floor of my room and the boys room. But what do I do with this place in my heart? Do I clean that, too? But how? Because having him here was cleaning my heart: revealing my selfishness, requiring me to think beyond my own inconvenience.

What do you do when you don't want to go back? But you weren't sure how you would keep going forward? What do you do when life has changed and it wasn't your decision for him to come or to go?

I didn't like having nothing left of me. It felt terribly uncomfortable to only be able to rely on the grace of God. But yet I don't really want to go back to relying on me and my strength.

How do I live like I need Jesus all the time when it doesn't feel like it quite so much?

Nine weeks he came to live with us. One day we did not know him. The next he was here sharing our lives whether we liked it or not. He shared our airshow, our cousins, our clothes, our food, our grandparents, our bathroom, our tree house, our sandbox, our swimming excursions, our excitement of riding in the new 'swagger-wagon'.

Sometimes we didn't mind.

Sometimes we did.

Now, there is no one sleeping in the bag in the middle of the boy's room. There are no boxes in my room.

And there's a big gaping hole in my heart left by a five year old boy who doesn't live here anymore.

Oh fill me, Lord, with You and not with me. Fill me afresh today with You. Fill Yourself in the places that you pushed away in my heart, revealing my deep selfishness. Fill it still with your wonderful, matchless grace. 

Keep me in the palm of Your hand as you did when  I could only rely on the grace of God and the prayers of the saints to get me through each step of every day. Amen.

  * * *
Linking up with Jen and Emily.

Feeling number-ish today

I'm feeling a bit number-ish today. Perhaps sometime soon, I'll expound and reflect on the milestones that these numbers of time represent. In the meantime, you can click on the phrases that are different colors and they will lead you to a related post of mine. Years, days, moments -- they go by quickly, don't they?

24 years in Minnesota
1 year in Michigan
20 years in Tennessee
19 years married
13 1/2 years as mom
11 years in this house
8 years of homeschooling completed

25 days with 8 kids
25 days with 5 kids
9 days with 9 kids

Do you suppose that this is what is meant by " Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain a heart of wisdom" means? Psalm 90:12

How about you? How are you feeling today?