Finding God in Hardest Times? (Part One)

There is a moment.

That moment when the world feels like it is crashing down on your shoulders.

That moment when you are sure you are alone, no matter how many people are around you right then.

That moment when God feels so far away but you have nowhere to turn, nowhere else to go.

So you pray. But, deep in your heart are the doubts that this prayer (or any, really) is reaching God. That He even cares. The lies Satan is whispering have taken root and are spreading.

And, we hurt. Because that moment is pain. It is deep, unrelenting, excruciating pain. When all we can scream is WHY?! Why me? Why now?

This story is indirectly related to why we later homeschooled the boys, but that is not why I am starting here. Somewhere out there somebody needs to hear that God is there, even when we can’t feel Him. That our prayers are not going into thin air. That we can trust Him, even when His answer isn’t to turn back time and somehow make the bad news, in this case the diagnosis, go away.

The date was April 1, 1997. My husband was 27, I was 24. We only had two kids at the time: a 26-month-old easy-going, talkative son (Alex), and our 10.5-month-old daughter (Angela). Because Angela was our second child, her doctor,  Tim, and I noticed some red flags in her development. For example, she only weighed 14 lbs 9 oz, and was about 20 inches long (a nine-pound weight gain and only about two inches in length in 10 months). She was tiny and not growing well. She also couldn’t sit up, roll over, hold her head up, or interact with us; she choked on all solids, and she didn’t really play with toys. And, as a mom I knew, absolutely knew, there was something wrong. (Of course there were other things as well, but you get the idea.)

Angela with Grandma Lee – August 1996

So her doctor referred us to Children’s Hospital in Seattle. They sent us a schedule that had us in appointments from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. First on the list was aptitude testing, so they could get a baseline, as well as a variety of other tests throughout the day.

After being told Angela was 57% behind other kids her age, I was already feeling … lost. But, we had yet to see a doctor. So, the second appointment was with a geneticist. She walked into the room, introduced herself, and then asked us three questions. Just that. Three. Questions. She then left the room and came back less than 10 minutes later with a book. And a diagnosis.

It was that moment.

Because feeling something in your heart and being told something concrete, with proof, are two completely different things.

Now, I am not going to tell you that getting the diagnosis that your daughter has a permanent disability is the hardest news ever. Because it isn’t. After all, we could have been told so many other things. However, it was devastating and the loss of a dream.

By 3 p.m. that day, I had a raging headache and felt dazed. Too much information, too many tests, too much emotion. Honestly, it was just too much everything. And the emotional pain, I cannot describe the pain – or the guilt that seemed to come from it. Could I have done anything differently? Did I have caffeine, not get enough water, not eat enough? What did I do wrong? The moms out there know this guilt. It’s called Mom guilt, and I can tell you from years of experience, it’s a useless emotion that Satan uses to derail us.

Angela was diagnosed with Cornelia de Lange Syndrome (CdLS for short). This can be genetic; however, after blood testing it was concluded that hers was a mutation that occurred at conception. There was quite literally nothing we could have done differently. At the time of her diagnosis, there were 2,500 cases known worldwide (there are now more than 2,500 people in my Facebook group alone), and they didn’t yet know which gene or chromosomes were involved. There is a lot of information about those afflicted with this syndrome at www.cdls-usa.org since I could fill pages and pages with just details about it. I will also be sharing more about exactly how the syndrome has affected our lives and her medical, physical, and intellectual challenges in my next blog post.

Angela in 2014 – taken by her teacher at school one day.

And, that was just the beginning. She had more tests added to the schedule that day and over the next few days. Then, her first surgery was just 16 days after that. We went from thinking we had two healthy kids, to one healthy son and a daughter with needs we were only beginning to understand (and still struggle with, if you want the truth).

In that moment (and many others) I related to Job when he said, “I cry to you, O God, but you don’t answer. I stand before you, but you don’t even look,” Job 30:20. I felt so alone in my grief, anger, and pain. But, just like Job, I wasn’t going through it alone. God was there the whole time. Jeremiah reminds us in Lamentations 3:55-57, “But I called on your name, Lord from deep within the pit. You heard me when I cried ‘Listen to my pleading! Hear my cry for help!’ Yes, you came when I called; you told me, ‘Do not fear.’” Oh, thank YOU, Lord! You are there, even when we cannot feel You. You have not left us or forsaken us. There is a relief in that thought, isn’t there?

However, as you all know, prayer is hardest when your faith is weak. And, the devil strikes then! The deceiver wants us to feel alone in our pain. Have you ever felt that your prayer isn’t going past the ceiling? In a recent discussion about prayer, someone mentioned that David said in Psalm 23:4, “Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid; for you are close beside me. Your rod and staff protect and comfort me” (emphasis mine). What a comforting thought!! “God is right there with us,” my friend said, “listening to every word we say.” We don’t have to worry about the prayers not going past the ceiling, He is sitting with us in that moment!

I won’t lie to you and say that feeling of being alone went away quickly. It didn’t. I won’t tell you I felt God’s arms around me in that moment. I didn’t. I will tell you I did slowly start to feel less alone and could eventually feel Jesus holding me as I cried, raged, and screamed out my pain. And, I did keep my faith, even if I was hanging on with torn fingernails.

And, He is right beside you in that moment, and the next, and the one after that. Let me say that again: JESUS IS SITTING WITH YOU RIGHT NOW! The pain and anger may keep you from feeling Him, but turn to Him anyway. Our Lord is waiting with open arms, a big lap, and strong shoulders to cry on. Let Him comfort and heal you. No, it’s not an easy process, but it is worth it.

An excerpt from Footprints in the Sand, author unknown

There is so much more to tell you (and look how long this one was!) that I have to make this a two- or three-part series. So, watch for my next blog to hear more about Angela, her diagnosis, learning to cope, and learning to trust God with all of it. For now, I leave you with this thought:

Lamentations 3:20-24 (NLT)

20 I will never forget this awful time,
as I grieve over my loss.
21 Yet I still dare to hope
when I remember this:

22 The faithful love of the Lord never ends![a]
His mercies never cease.
23 Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
24 I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”

Lead Me Lord, Please!

Prayer: a starting and ending point for all we do as Christians. While this post talks more about where I feel God is leading for my 2018 posts, it really is about prayer, learning to trust the paths shown to us, and following where God leads. I hope you find this encouraging, if in no other way than to at least know what is coming later in the year.

Before I start writing a blog post (or anything really), I pray. A lot. I pray for guidance, for a subject, for the right words, and most importantly I pray for each of you and each word I type. While I don’t have the right words all the time or even the subject, God does. My trust is in Him; in where he wants a blog post, skit, play, sermon, blog post, Facebook comment or post, or anything I say to go — and who HE is trying to reach.

We come from a variety of backgrounds and cultures around the world. Some of us are married, some are not. Some of us are young, and some of us (cough, cough) are not. Some of us have littles, while some of us have only teens or adult kids. Some of us are new Christians, and some of us dedicated our lives years ago. We are moms, dads, grandparents, aunts, uncles, sisters, or brothers. All of us are just doing the best we can with what we have and what we know. All of us need Jesus in our lives to do it. So, while all our experiences are not the same, we do share some commonalities, and I keep feeling led to find ways to encourage you all as you journey down the various paths you take.

When LaDonna asked for volunteers to become blog writers, I jumped at the chance. I love to write (and talk – seriously just ask anyone). I love to share about how Jesus has worked in my life. LOVE IT! He has performed more miracles than I can share in one blog post (although I will be over the course of this year). And, I love homeschooling my kids. Right before she posted her request (and I mean minutes before), I had just finished asking God to expand my horizons and lead me to a path to share my story, or more appropriately, His story through my life, with others.

The Sabbath before she posted I had given a sermon at my church, which turned out to be more of a testimony than I expected to give (in case you want to see it https://youtu.be/JRf0cirwH8A). It was a very personal sermon. But, God is in control — where he leads I follow. Always. Even when it doesn’t feel like that is the right path. Even when the sacrifice seems bigger than I can bear. Even when it hurts. And honestly, it was one of the hardest things I have EVER done. The pain was worth the result, the people reached and impacted. The sacrifice seemed trivial in comparison to Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. And the path ALWAYS turns out to be the right one. ALWAYS! The sermon turned out to be the right choice. Or, more accurately, saying “Yes” to God was the right choice.

Where was I? Oh, blog writing. Asking God for a path and taking said path are two very different things. He didn’t just show me a path — he practically shoved it under my nose. And to be honest, I nearly turned tail and ran! I very quickly became overwhelmed with sharing those deepest parts of me with all of you. When I finally sat down to write that first blog post, I was nervous; ok, slight understatement there, I was terrified. So, like I did before and during the writing of that sermon, or any of the dramas or skits I write for church, I prayed. I prayed because, knowing what I know about myself, how was I going to get all these ideas about God, living, homeschooling, etc. onto paper (or laptop), without seeming preachy or condescending? I have not had an easy life (and I promise to share more about that as the year progresses). I wasn’t raised Adventist and I am far from the perfect Christian woman. I am not the best mother ever created. I have made and will continue to make more than my fair share of mistakes with my kids and in my marriage. Who am I to try and encourage each of you in your walks with Jesus and through homeschooling?

I put my heart and soul into my writing. It is a true expression of my innermost feelings. All my fears, regrets, pain, joy, love, and encouragement go into every word I write. Whether I am letting you know you are not alone in homeschooling, trying to get you off the worry path, or helping you find ways back into the Word, these are all things I have either experienced or am currently experiencing. Although, I did manage to not truly share myself in those posts.

I have been feeling convicted to go deeper. That what you really need and what I haven’t done yet, is share with you who I am and how God has worked in my life. I haven’t shared how or why we came to homeschool our boys. I have mentioned I have a child with a profound disability, but not how this has truly changed our lives. You don’t know I deal with chronic depression and PTSD from childhood abuse and how I cope with that. I haven’t explained how I survived, faith intact. How Jesus and getting into His Word literally saved my life. And more importantly, how I regained my trust in God afterwards. You don’t know how often I retreat into books rather than dealing with frustrations, anger, or worries. You don’t know that I struggle with parenting, marriage, homeschooling, my faith, or physical and emotional pain. You don’t know that I am or have been where many of you are now. Yet.

While telling all of you these things won’t be the easiest path I have ever taken, I do know that God is not only with me on this path, he guided me to it and is carrying me down it. While I don’t know or understand His reasons for me sharing these pieces of myself over the coming months, He does. I know that His ways are good and true and that He has not only my best interest in mind, but yours as well.

Credit: https://i2.wp.com/www.jeremybrummel.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/study-862994_1280.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1

So, whoever you are — the one(s) God is trying to reach — I pray for you as I write these words down. I will continue to pray for each of you as I share the good, bad, and ugly of my journey to this point. There will be tears and pain, but there will also be release, joy, and love. At church, we have a saying about our big productions. “If only one person’s life is changed by what we have put together, then all the time, effort, skill, and work that has gone into it was absolutely worth every drop of sweat and tear shed. We are merely the vessel for God’s word to touch those around us.” I am the vessel of God, so I will share these things with you and pray.

Ultimately, my prayer is that you are blessed and enriched by my words and thoughts. That Jesus should lead and guide each letter I type. That He will protect my heart and mind as I share and my story will somehow bless you in your journey. I ask that you join me in prayer, and that our faith and trust in God will grow through this shared experience.

Forgive and Forget

In the late fall of​ 2014, our family was ousted from our home in the most undignified manner.

We’d been living there for a little over a year, renting from a couple my family had known since I was a half-pint. It had seemed like a dream come true when we’d been approached about renting from them; they wanted someone they knew who would care for their home, and so the rent we paid was not what one would expect from that large of a home that backed to open space and a reservoir to boot! Paradise!

When we’d first moved in, I’d asked how long they were thinking to rent to us. The answer was five or six years or until they retired and moved back to Colorado. And so, we settled blissfully into our new home for an extended stay.

Until October 6 when I received an email. They were selling the house.

Initially he indicated that he wanted us to put a sign in the front yard to sell it himself. I vetoed that, indicating that there was no way we were going to allow people off the street to come in and see the house without an insured and bonded real estate agent. He relented.

Fast forward not quite two months (I’m leaving out 75% of the sordid details) and we were fleeing the house from the imminent sale that had initially seemed like an answer to prayer: a single man was buying and willing to continue to rent it to us. That man became erratic and threatening, and after a particularly bad encounter we’d found another house and signed a lease within 48 hours.

There are so many other things that happened. I could outline them all, but let me just summarize by saying that the friendship that had lasted almost four decades between our families is in rubbles. I was saddened by their decision to sell, but understood and wasn’t angry. But, over the course of that month, things came to light that cut me to my core. When I addressed them in an email, there was only justification and obfuscation.

Whatever.

Here’s what I’m grappling with right now, and that’s forgiveness.

In the early 1990s I grappled with this very same thing and thought that I’d really become quite accomplished at the whole maneuver!

I was dating a guy and his mother had pulled a really dastardly deed that had hurt my feelings beyond belief. I relished telling the story of what she’d done. Everyone I told empathized and agreed that I’d been done wrong. Every time I told the story, I’d feel that familiar rush of righteous anger, the unjustness of it all.

Of course, I would finish the story with, “…and of course I forgive her! I really do!”

Forgive and forget, right?

Until one day I was gob smacked (or perhaps God-smacked) by the thought that while I might not ever forget it, there was no way I could claim to forgive until I stopped telling the story. Reliving the details of the wrong and the dredging up the emotions of the hurt. Claiming to forgive, but airing her wrongs to a new audience time and again.

That day I had the heretofore unthought thought that forgiveness wasn’t just saying the words, it was no longer telling the story.

It revolutionized my life in the area of forgiveness! I got quite good at it! I just stopped myself from reliving, retelling wrongs!

Except my husband. That was a different blog post. {grins}

And now today. Three years after we were chased from our home. One Sabbath not so long ago I was standing in the children’s welcome area with a friend who I had just grabbed in a hug…

…and into my line of sight walked the wife of the couple who’d sold the house out from under us.

Sigh.

Forgiveness.

The last three years, we’d lived in a home that we ended up loving! If not the house itself, then definitely the neighborhood and neighbors made up for it in spades! We made friends, I got involved with a non-profit (running the finances) that gives us free eggs and access to riding horses whenever I want!

I told myself that I forgave this couple! I told family that I forgave them!

And then they showed up at church. They live almost 13 hours away from Colorado. There are only about a dozen churches in the Denver area to attend.

No, I had to come face to face with the fact that I hadn’t forgiven. I still have raw emotion about the whole thing.

I’ve stopped telling the story, by and large. Writing it out above was the first time I’ve thought of it in quite a while. I thought I’d forgiven.

I don’t know how long it will be before they visit again. I wonder to myself if they’re thinking about it. About us. About me. I wonder if they’re talking about it. I wonder if he’s composing an email to send. I wish he would. Forgiveness is so much easier if the other party, the wounding party, asks forgiveness. Acknowledges the wrong and opens that door. But that’s not likely.

And so here I sit. Mulling. Stewing. Wishing it were different. Not yet ready to do anything myself. Seems there’s much more for me to learn.

A Love of Reading

My children are finally discovering for themselves, at ages 14 and 11, the pleasure of losing themselves in a book. I still read a novel to them at bedtime, as it’s a great family bonding activity, and we still have audio books for the car, but along the way I have also invested in books that peak their interests. TLC has all the books and all the series of 39 Clues, and has recently started to read his own way through them (we’ve previously read through them and listened to them a number of times). It’s such a joy and privilege for me to watch him discover the joy of reading for himself. It’s a new experience for me to need to tell him to put the book away for sleeping, chores, conversation, etc., but I really like it.

I’m an avid reader. Since the earliest I can remember, I have always had my nose in a book. My mom was constantly trying to get me out of my books to participate in activities. To be perfectly honest, I don’t really understand how people cannot enjoy reading; it’s one of my greatest pleasures and passions. I love getting lost in someone else’s story. I used to despair that my children struggled to learn how to read — they both learned how to read late, ages 8 and 9 — yet both have developed a love of books and stories. It turned out they both have reading difficulties, likely dyslexia. In my concern, I shared my love of reading with them. Along the way, I’ve learned it’s not essential for our children to actually read for themselves, they can develop a love of reading and books through us. I am convinced that if I had pushed them to read for reading’s sake earlier, they would not now be discovering the joy of reading for themselves.

Since they were very young, I have read aloud to them, and not just childhood books like Dr. Seuss. (Though there were plenty of those!! They are very fun!) We read the Chronicles of Narnia when they were just 7 and ;, there are many other novels suitable to children. In addition to reading aloud to them, I also invested in audio books, often borrowing them from the library. We traveled the world and explored lives while driving around the city or on road trips to grandparents and/or friends. We have read classics, modern literature, novels, true stories, fictional recreations based on history/Biblical stories, and more. We’ve read and listened to books that were my interests, as well as books of their choosing. We’ve come across books none of us enjoyed, and we’ve been pleasantly surprised with books we came to love unexpectedly.

I want to encourage you if you have a late reader. Your children can still discover a love of reading; you can give it to them with patience, determination, and a little creativity. I’ve had my children tell me they don’t like books, and I can remind them they do, just maybe not reading for themselves yet. They love the stories books bring them! There is more than one way to enjoy books. I’m already seeing the fruits of that knowledge. They know they can listen to a book, they know they can read one. They’ve discovered a joy of books as a family activity, and, now, finally, are discovering the pleasure of reading for themselves.

Let it go, let it go, let it go … Let the worry go

We homeschool our kids; therefore, we worry about our kids. Right? Wait, shouldn’t that say we are parents; therefore, we worry about our kids? We also homeschool; therefore, we worry about our kids, their schooling, curriculum, nutrition, money, bills, food, clothes … in short EVERYTHING! Hmm, no, something is still wrong with that statement. After all, we don’t have the monopoly on worry, do we? I have friends who are working parents, and they worry about EVERYTHING. And, other friends who are stay-at-home parents and send their kids to a brick-and-mortar school, and they worry about EVERYTHING! So, it seems that first sentence should say, “We are human; therefore, we worry about EVERYTHING.”

As homeschoolers (Ok, parents/grandparents to young children), we get up running. There is food prep for the day, lessons to plan, and our own time with God, before they get up. Then the first thing we do is start worrying about getting the “proper” (whatever that means) breakfast into our kids. Then we start working on getting our worship time in, chores done, and school started for the day. But, little Suzy wakes up in a mood, and so it looks like it’s going to be “one of those days” for the whole house. So, now we worry about why Suzy is in a bad mood, whether we can afford to take the day off school, and whether her mood will affect Joey and Billy. And, all of this before lunch. Sigh. That day’s lunch becomes the pizza found in the back of the freezer. While they eat, we worry if we can get Suzy to do her math, Billy to work on penmanship, and Joey needs to work on his algebra. But the arguments start, and it seems the mood has indeed infected the rest of the kids. The stress mounts and so does our frustration. Our spouse gets home, only to find a dirty house, the kids fighting, and no dinner, which sometimes becomes a new set of stressors. The prediction rang true – It really was “one of those days”.

When we finally go to bed that night, after reading 18,000 bedtime stories to Suzy (so she will pretty please just go to sleep, already!), we are wiped out. But, of course, now we can’t sleep, no matter how tired we are! Our brain is spinning in circles. It has decided we need to relive every conversation we have ever had, go over the grocery list for tomorrow, next summer’s vacation, and curriculum for 2019. SIGH! So, we lay in bed staring at the ceiling, our spouse peacefully sleeping beside us (which, let’s face it, we resent) and worry. About EVERYTHING!

Credit: http://soulinmotiononline.blogspot.com/2010/12/good-worrying.html

Worry is exhausting! It becomes frustration, resentment, and stress. The stress often translates into yelling, lashing out, bad moods, and crankiness for everyone in the house. And, the longer it goes on, the harder it is to break the cycle.

Worry is a human trait and we carry it like a badge of honor. However, and this is important … that is NOT how God has asked us to live. In Matt 6:25-34, Jesus asks us to trust him and rely on him for those needs such as shelter, food, and clothes. God takes care of the birds in the air and Jesus even goes as far as to remind us that we mean so much more to God than the birds. Jesus said, “… I tell you not to worry about everyday life …” in verse 25. And, He goes on to remind us that our “heavenly father already knows all your needs” in verse 32. Now isn’t that a comforting thought! We serve a faithful and loving God, and He loves us so much that He will provide our every need!

Credit: https://achristianpilgrim.files.wordpress.com/2016/11/matthew-6-33-34.jpg

Of course, this isn’t going to stop us from worrying about all of this. It does, however help us to focus upwards when we have those bad days. God is ever-faithful and that was proven when He sent Christ to die for us on the cross.

Phil 4:6-7 says, “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”

We have been directed to turn our worries to God. To not only give Him the burdens, but trust Him completely with them. Which, of course, means not yanking the worry, fear, pain, or problem back to deal with on our own! I have used the analogy that I sent my prayers to God in a balloon, but I keep the string attached to my wrist, so if I don’t feel He is working fast enough for me, then I can yank it back and take care of it for myself! (Can you say control issues?) The problem with that method is two-fold. First off, it means I don’t have the trust in my Savior, Jesus Christ — trust I should have for someone who gave himself over in sacrifice for my sins! The second issue is that yanking it back causes more stress or worries to build up. I am not gaining anything, well, except wrinkles and weight, by not giving these issues to God. I am, however, losing sleep, peace, and joy.

I fully believe we were led by the Holy Spirit to homeschool our three boys. It was not an easy decision, and there was a lot of worry about curriculum, money, what people would think, and yes, even socialization. But we chose to take a leap of faith and all the worrying in the world wouldn’t make it any easier. I had to trust God in this.

I learned a lot about trusting God in the years we have been homeschooling. There were seasons of fear about food, clothes, bills, and shelter. But, even in the hardest times and darkest days, God provided the food, clothes, and shelter we needed. My worry was not welcome, not needed, and only served to make me sick.

Credit: https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSPSMVtHV_Kx_XtdHWV6MzvBu2QtOldtfzqdREwrrcKNOQ4pCbW

There is a simple joy in letting go. A definite peace in giving all of that to God. A freedom in knowing Jesus has me in His arms. That in His loving embrace I can rest and trust He will meet my family’s needs.