…and we’ll go.

Today it has been one year…

One year since I woke up from a Sunday slumber and realized I’d left my phone in the car…one year since my heart sunk seeing on the screen that I had a dozen missed calls and texts…one year since I heard my Melody tell me “Janet died.”…one year since I ran up the cement steps and collapsed on the floor in shock and sobs…one year since I packed in a flurry, made phone calls with undecipherable words, and sped home to Indiana without being able to see the highway through my tears…one year since I held Rachel in my arms and literally could not find words that would soothe or comfort…one year since too-high stalks that hid a stop sign sent our girl home.

Janet was an unexpected surprise of a friend…

Rachel had asked to bring her along to a party I was hosting, and I said no.
I think my exact words were something along the lines of “She’s too pretty. I won’t like her.”
To which Rachel responded… “Oh yes you will, she has a lisp.”

And from the moment that stunning woman hugged me and said “It’s so nithe to meet you.” I was hooked.

For months she drove to Indy on the weekends to stay with Rachel before she eventually made the move after graduation, and with every Saturday night we spent or Sundays we worshipped together I loved her more and more.  By the time she officially unpacked her boxes, we were all more-than-happy that she was becoming a permanent part of our lives.

There are so many memories that have Janet wrapped up in them, house church and concerts and sleepovers and prayers and parties… and yet certain moments stand out more than others, her wrapping her arm around me or slipping her hand in mine as I cried before our Lord on Sunday mornings, rubbing her back while she confessed to falling in love while in Jordan, snagging a hot cup of coffee and Godiva bar just to surprise her at Apple, us girls squished in the backseat of Dave’s car enjoying our usual routine of giggling and dancing while we rode to a night of Colts training camp, sneakily planning Rachel’s 23rd birthday party, and the night she officially stitched herself into my heart…

It was a warm late-summer day that led me to the State Fair with my friend Kris and his parents, and after funnel cake and lemon shake-ups Kris and I headed to meet Janet and some of their coworkers at a local bar.  Never one to be underdressed, I hadn’t forseen the night leading to an upscale club when I donned my jeans and gray v-neck.  Janet convinced me to come along, and we said goodbye to the boys and headed out for the night.  Once in Broad Ripple I bemoaned for the millionth time how gross I felt in my simple outfit that smelled of the fair.  Janet grabbed my hand as we walked up the stairs to the club where the pulsating music was pouring out of… she looked right at me and said “I think you look great, but the minute you want to go home, you just tell me and we’ll go.”

She got it.  She knew that for all of my brash brassiness, I too-often squirm in my own skin, and she knew that it would be hard for me to meet a lot of new people feeling less than my best.

So we walked upstairs, men instantly drawn to her perfect face and smile, she laughed with friends new and old and proudly introduced me to everyone.  Eyes cast down at my flip-flops in a sea of stilletos, I squeezed her hand.  She looked at me, and without a single question or request to stay just a “little bit longer” she said goodbye to the men fawning all over her and out we walked.  I felt embarrassed and awkwardly apologized.  “What for?”  she queried… “I just want to spend time with you…I don’t care where we are.”  I remember my eyes got hot, but not wanting to cry, I just hugged her as we drove home.

Rachel was gone that night, but we snuggled in her bed and for hour after hour Janet poured out her life to me… she told me of all her loves and heartbreaks in complete detail… somewhere toward morning we fell asleep.  Right before our eyes closed she told me she felt bad for keeping me up talking all night and she apologized… “What for?” I asked.

Weeks later, I was home from Ohio to celebrate my birthday with my beloveds.  After another wonderful morning at Common Ground we went for brunch at Patachou… It was slightly raining, Jeremy and Rochelle with a teeny-tiny Maryn, Val & Melody with pregnant bellies, other friends standing around as we waited for a table laughing and chatting… it was normal, it was wonderful, it felt whole.  After breakfast, I knew I needed to head back to Ohio, but so badly didn’t want to leave my loves… without a care in the world Janet hugged me for the fifth or so time and shouted “WE LOVE YOU!” as her and Rachel bounced to their car.
That was the last time I would see her alive.

The next time I saw her was in a casket in Pennsylvania with a face that looked nothing like hers.

After the service we drove to the grave site, we stood and prayed as I leaned on Walter to simply stand.  The sight of Julie sobbing locked itself deep inside of me and I walked with dozens of others who were laying roses atop our Janet Rose, I slipped a magnetized quote against her steel resting place…

After that, we all hugged, dozens of us friends that couldn’t quite, and still can’t quite, wrap our minds around Janet’s death.

As I waited for Zach and Kris and Sean in the car with my muddy shoes hanging outside of the open door, I snapped this photo of the trees above me… as a reminder that there was beauty in the day… Janet, ever the artist, would have had it no other way.

As we drove away, listening to Phil Wickham’s “Divine Romance” the tears I thought were spent continued to pour.  One of the boys reached his arm across the backseat to comfort me as the sobs that seemed to wrench out from my insides had me barely breathing.

Days before as we had packed some of her room, in a hazy grief-swallowed fog we sat to take a break.  We picked up a Bible sitting next to the couch… asking who it belonged to;  it was Janet’s, and we flipped to where it was bookmarked.

Our sovereign God had the pages open to Psalm 103, and the following verses were underlined: “Like as a Father pitieth His children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him, for He knoweth our frame, He remembereth we are dust. As for man, His days are as grass, as a flower of the field, so He flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more.”

And off to the side, Janet had written “Our lives are short here…live for eternity.”

She did.  She had.  And now she was there… in eternity, with her Jesus…our Jesus.  Phil Wickham’s voice resonated through each of us as he sang … “For You I sing and I dance,  rejoice in this divine romance, lift my heart and my hands to show my love…”

That’s all I can envision her doing and a year later, that’s still how I picture her… head tilted back with laughter, bubbling up with joy and light in the very presence of her Savior.  So many times I’ve ached to be there too, to skip ahead whatever years God has left for me and join her in His presence… oh that she could just grab my hand, look me in the eye and say…

“The minute you want to go home, you just tell me, and we’ll go.”

I love you so much my Gypsy, I miss you more than these words can express… we can’t wait to meet you at home.

Grace Money.

Yesterday I was robbed.

In the middle of a beautiful day, at the laundromat 2 blocks from my home… I walked in with 5 loads of laundry and did a silent cheer that I had the place all to myself.

After sorting my colors and delicates and squishing the entirity of my comforter into a washer much to small, I hid my purse under a laundry basket and watched two questionable and slightly dirty middle aged men walk in with their clothes baskets.

I immediately bristled, and not simply because one of them attempted the poorest of all pick up lines, but because something just didn’t feel right.

About a half an hour into my clothes sudsing & spinning, and my eyes constantly watching, another pair of men walked in.  They were younger, thinner, African-American and missing something…
laundry.

They sat silently and watched me.  They never spoke to each other or the other men in the laundromat, occasionally they would shift in their seat or creep closer, always watching.  Being the somewhat brassy chick I can be, I thought of going over to them and asking why they would be hanging out in a laundromat with no laundry, but then a scene from the movie “Crash” came to mind… where Ludacris and his cohort hear a white woman lock her doors as they walk by, and comment on racism…

I didn’t want that to be me.  Truth be told, of the four men around me, I didn’t know who I was more skeptical of… so I said nothing but a quick prayer, and just kept watching my purse while sliding quarters in the SpeedQueens.

Out of nowhere, the spunkiest of all red-heads since Lucy herself came parading through the front door with her sweet hubby…my good friends Bobbi and Mike who I hadn’t seen in months!  I had sent a quick shot of the laundromat to Bobbi awhile back thinking she might want to use the vintage washers as a photo backdrop for one of her & Mike’s amazing engagement sessions.

In what I considered perfect timing, they stopped to check it out as I was tossing lavender softener sheets into the last loads.  We chatted and giggled for no more than ten minutes, and as they walked, well…as Mike walked and Bobbi danced out the door, I turned to go back in with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

The teenagers were gone, and so was my purse.  I shakily dumped out the contents of my baskets, looked under every countertop and then called 911 in a panic. After hanging up, I dialed Bobbi and Mike right away and told them to come back and drive around to see if they could help.  Four patrol cars and their SUV sped in every direction around the laundromat as I, panicked and tearful, gave a description to the officer who came my way.

Immediately the two older men came to my rescue, they talked to the officer, offered me sweet support and encouragement, and then things got even crazier…

I immediately called my beloved friend Rochelle and told her to fill my house church in so they could get to prayin’ real quick.  As the chain of prayer heated up, I calmed down.  Losing my purse wasn’t the end of the world, but it sure was upsetting… my keys, my wallet, complete with cash, checks, debit card, credit card, etc.  all were in the hands of three someones I’d like to call something worse than “hooligans.”

Bobbi called.  They found them.
We both called 911 and the officers sped to the location as Bobbi & Mike stayed close and kept me updated.

The officer tried to comfort me, saying that many times the suspects take the cash and discard the rest of someone’s belongings in an alley as they run, and many times those belongings are recovered.  She gave me a card with my case number, her name, and some advice as to how to cancel my debit card before joining her other IPD officers in an arrest of these men.

I shakily called my mom, the bank, Capitol One… and then I noticed a homeless man outside the door watching me with kind eyes.  Dirty, unshaven, with about six teeth and a greasy gray ponytail hanging past his shoulders.  He had listened intently to every word I exchanged with the officer, and with stumbling speech he looked right at me, and promised to do his best to help.  I somewhat shrugged it off as he sped away on his bicycle.

The crime-fighting duo of Sheridan & Belschner called to tell me they were watching two of the men get arrested, but the third gentleman, who I had only seen for  quick second, and was most likely the one who snatched my purse, was getting away.  I called the dispatcher again to fill her in, while Officer Temple came back to pick me up so she could drive me a few blocks away to ID the men they’d arrested.

Right as Officer Temple’s patrol car parked in front of the laundromat, the homeless man screeched his bike to a halt right in front of me.  Those six dirty teeth were stretched into an ear to ear smile, as he handed me my purse!

He had ridden up and down every single street and alleyway until he found what was left of my stuff dumped in a heap.  He gathered everything together and tucked it back inside the purse, riding back in a fury to return it to me… and return feeling like a hero.

I nearly toppled him over with a hug so strong, the only thing stronger was the speed of my tears.  I turned to see the other gentleman, Sean and Gary, trying to hide their tears as well.  Officer Temple got out of her vehicle and thanked him, letting him know that he had done a “great thing” that day.

I fumbled through the contents, noting that the only thing missing was my checks and cash, my keys and wallet and everything else was intact!  Officer Temple took off, and I heaved a huge sigh of relief and turned around.

Sean and Gary stood as my protectors, asking me if I was okay and if I had enough money to finish my laundry since my cash had been stolen.  I assured them that I would be alright, but they didn’t take my word for it.

Fishing through the pockets of their worn-out pants, they each handed me a crumpled ten dollars.
I refused to accept it.
I told them that they had done enough by being my guardian angels that day.  Gary tucked the money into my closed fist while Sean said to me “It’s not about being a guardian angel, it’s about being a human, a human being who wants to do the right thing.”

While a foaming wave of humility washed over me, my eyes again welled up as I thanked them, and with that Gary carried all of my laundry baskets out to my car and gently placed them in the backseat.  They told me to be more careful, that it was okay if I went home and cried, and that mostly they were glad that I was okay and sorry they didn’t do anything to prevent what had happened.  My meager offering of another “Thank You” was again eeked out, and with that I drove home.

As a full-time waitress with a second job, I work hard for every dollar I earn, and having someone greedily steal it and use my money as their own infuriated me, but I think that I would have paid more than what was in my wallet for the lesson that I learned yesterday.

A man with no more to his name than an old bike and a dingy t-shirt full of holes was able to swell with pride, receive a warm hug and an honorable handshake, and two down -n- outs sacrificed to take care of a stranger.

I hope I never forget that I should be more careful and aware, but more importantly, I now have a wallet stuffed with twenty crumpled, dirty dollars to remind me that sometimes God uses the most humble to humble us.

Dear ol’ Dad…

Well, as you might be aware, tomorrow is Father’s Day…

I want to say a heartfelt “Thank You” to some men who do the job better than anyone I know…

Dr. Jeff Cook, mentor and hero…a man whose every word I hang on, a man who loves his wife and loves his kids in a way that reflects Christ and honors Him.  Dr. Cook adores his granddaughter, daughters, and loves his eldest in a way that made the story of the prodigal son jump off the pages of Scripture and become heartbreakingly real.  A man who has prayed with me and for me, someone who has shown genuine concern for my faith and well-being, and made me feel like a part of his beloved brood.

Pastor Chip Thompson…man oh man has this tender-hearted surfer dad of my best friend Katie blown me away with the way he loves his family.  Here is a man who flew all the way from Boston to Cedarville, OH in order to help his daughter study for her toughest exam, a man who dined with her friends and asked them some tough questions, a man who prays with power and loves everyone in his life in an obvious way.  A man who walked the darkest valley with his baby girl, all while holding her hand.

Dr. Tim Gombis…wow.  A man who is crazy-in-love with his spunky beautiful wife and his crazy kids.  The way Tim has chosen to interact with his daughter and sons has convicted me and given me a dozen directions on how I’ll want to raise my own family.  He loves in a way that is humble, in a way that is willing to get eye-to-eye to ask forgiveness, in a way that claims responsibility for the reality he is shaping for them.  He intentionally chooses to wash them in words of truth and life and love on an every day basis.

And now, for the star of the show…

Dr. Robert W. Martin III
My dad.

My heart sincerely swells when I think about him, pray for him, or talk about him.
I don’t know that there is anyone I’ve ever been prouder of.

From small-town boy who was told he’d never amount to anything, to one of the best physicians in the country.  A man who has completed three residencies, a fellowship at Johns Hopkins, and has more degrees and accolades on the wall than I have fingers & toes…

Yet ask him what accomplishment he’s proudest of, and you know what he’ll say?
His family.

Most days I can’t begin to imagine living up to the standard of determination and dedication he’s set.  Chair of his department, running his own dermatopathology lab, seeing thousands upon thousands of patients who absolutely adore him, finding the time to complete a Masters of Religion from Southern Evangelical Seminary, coaching his amazing sons and their soccer teams, teaching Apologetics and World Religion classes at his church, writing for countless medical journals and textbooks, teaching at Purdue and Indiana University, reading everything he can get his hands on, wringing his heart and hands in hours of prayer, making family meal-time a top priority, and watching a classic black and white movie every night with his family… my head spins just thinking of his schedule.

People always make more sense when you meet where they came from, and that’s never truer than here…with me.

Beyond our matching faces (though mine is stubble-free) there is so very much of my patchwork, so very much of the good, that can only be attributed to my dad…and not just his DNA…but his intentional conversation, advice, admonition, encouragement and example.

When I swallow chapters whole, enjoying every delicious word of a novel…that’s my dad in me.
When I comment aloud on the moments as they happen and pause to enjoy them with a tear in my eye…that’s my dad in me.
When I revel in the success of my brothers and love them with every.fiber.of.my.being. recognizing that family is sometimes all you can be sure of…that’s my dad in me.
When I speak with intent, washing brokenness with words, wanting to be heard…that’s my dad in me.
When I smile at a waitress and ask her name, so she feels like a friend by the end of a meal…that’s my dad in me.
When I catch myself saying “ma’am” and “sir” a dozen times a day, holding the door, and saying “Thank You”…that’s my dad in me.
When I laugh from my toes watching old stand-up comedy…that’s my dad in me.
When I seek God’s heart with a fury that burns, when I take up my sword to battle for what feels like the thousandth time, when I believe in what’s unseen…that’s my dad in me.
When I enjoy to the fullest a fancy meal, detecting every spice used in the dish, and lift my wine glass to toast the company I’m blessed to be with…that’s my dad in me.
When I finally just decide to do something, when all excuses cease, when I want to make a difference…only Jesus and my dad can take the credit.

At 25 I’ve found a firmer foothold in my independence this year, had my insides cracked open with grief, disappointments, and fear, finally found that God is a God worth trusting, and through all the darkness and all the light, the call I’ll tend to make first…the solace I’ll seek the fastest…the one I’ll want to affirm my personhood and pursuits is none other than guess who?

My Dad.

I’m so proud that he’s a doctor, a teacher, a writer and a warrior… but mostly I’m just proud he’s mine.

I love you Daddy-o.
Happy Father’s Day.

Please?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My bare feet rustled through softly strewn cream rose petals and a dozen paper lanterns gently swung in the dusky darkness. 
Tapered and tea light candles glowed as the sun slipped away and tart lemon cake was generously sliced.
My bubblegum-tinted toes tapped to the music and a fellow maid danced sweetly with her groom-to-be off the brick path under green leaves & bright stars.

The night was almost tangible in it’s heaviness.  One full heart draped in bridal lace, one broken heart beneath teal chiffon, and one fearful heart nestled under my skin.

 

 

Soaking in the details of my 39th sparkling wedding affair, might I ask…
when?

 

Sit here.

My pen couldn’t keep up with Pastor Jeff this morning.  I know we’ve all had those “Dear __(insert your name)__” quiet times or sermon sessions, and today seemed to be very “Dear Kate.”

I want to share some of the messy, furiously scribbled scratches from my notes; whether Jeff knows it or not, he was greatly used of our God this morning.

“God has created us for far more than we settle for. 
As far as Truth is concerened, we can know it, teach it, preach it, sword-drill it, but there can be a disconnect from our head to our hearts. 

Is it possible to imagine a life that’s free from the bondage of worry?

Could I embrace difficulty with the kind of JOY that comes from somewhere else?

I don’t need to try harder, read more books, I don’t need more advice…

THE WELL OF MY HEART NEEDS TO CHANGE!  Something supernatural needs to happen! 

God needs to act on my behalf.

There is a thief who is lying and destroying, but Jesus is here to offer another voice!”

We can catch ourselves believing that this is it…as good as it gets…as exhausted and broken and tired and sad and lonely and worn-out and doubtful and anxiety-ridden and tearful as I am…is this really it? Am I just “white-knuckling it” till the end of this ride called life? Is that a life that reflects the God we claim to know? No.

God has called us for far more than we settle for.

God does not want me writing “Dear Future Husband” letters more than I read His letter to me.
God does not want me crying alone in my empty bed more than He wants me knelt by the side of it crying out to Him.
God does not want me hoarding the pennies I earn more than He wants me to freely give, freely trust, freely experience His provision.
God does not want me limping to house church every week to look for refreshment when He and I haven’t dialogued in days.

I am ravaged with an unsatisfied thirst standing at an out-of-order rusted water fountain when the rush of a living, quenching stream is swirling around me.

How have you settled?
He doesn’t want you there.

He wants you in truth, in life, in joy, in love. 
Now soak it in.  Absorb it.
Sit here.

Sweet Sunday.

Back to the homestead today to celebrate Easter.

I donned pastels, floral prints and pretty pink painted fingers and toes to church this morning, almost willing spring to warm up.

In the church I grew up in, snuggled in a row full of family…(which included CrazyJon and Zach)…worshipping with hands raised and again thinking on the HOPE that permeated the sermon, the morning, and my heart… I smiled to myself.

I thought on the Lord with intent this week, and I can’t say that is always the case.

There are many, many days and moments where my thoughts of Him and on Him are effortless, and sometimes careless.

But this week, I read through the gospels, spent some serious time in prayer, uncomfortably squirmed and sobbed during a viewing of “The Passion” with my beloveds on Wednesday night, sang along to Miss Nordeman, Miss Groves, and Mr. Norman in the mornings and tried to prepare my heart for the sacrifice and celebration that is Easter.

This year Easter seemed to mean more.  Having lost Janet and Katelynn, there is so much more meaning in salvation. The cross. The empty tomb.

That hope isn’t for “someday” anymore, it means everything for today.

After the morning service, arm in arm with my brother Bob and his best buddy Jon, we laughed on our way to Faith’s community center to listen to my father teach his college-age-focused class on World Religions.  As I sat in the second row looking at the fresh faces totally enthralled with my dad’s powerful presence and challenging subject matter, one sweet little face wasn’t looking forward at the teacher, and it caught my eye.

In the front row, two little lovebirds sat close together, two little lovebirds that in fact just got engaged last night!
Teachers pets and smart as a whip, they are two of my Dad’s favorites, I can just tell.  But for a moment, just a quick moment… the bride-to-be stole a glance at the hand that was resting on her betrothed’s back, or more importantly on the ring that was on the hand on her betrothed’s back, and smiled to herself.

Oh the hope that was wrapped up in that smile.
It was even brighter than the sparkling brilliant-cut solitaire that rested on her ring finger.

In one smile you could see the hope of her future…what that diamond symbolized was a husband, a family, and the next 50 years sweetly taken care of.

I hope I smile like that at Easter.
I hope the hope of an empty tomb makes me look as safe and loved and joyful as that fresh fiancee.

After a meal full of sweet potatoes, champagne, and the particular fast-paced whirring of a Martin dialogue, we retired to the parlor to focus our attentions on our “other brother” Jon…
He started a conversation on love… eros, philos and agape…do they ever overlap? Does love ever give up? Does love ever fail?

In the midst of his deep-soul diving Jon explained that he pursues all relationships- romantic, family, and friends with a desire to obtain- a “fighter’s love” he called it.

That same smile I’d seen earlier stretched across my sleepy, champagne-tickled face…
Sweeter than the Cadbury Creme Eggs, the green-sugared Peeps and the Reese’s rabbits… the Truth we celebrate today, on Easter, couldn’t be more aptly explained than that…
Jesus Christ displayed the grandest expression of a fighter’s love that there ever was or ever will be.

You were fought for.
You are loved…
and I hope that makes you smile…I hope that makes you hopeful…

Happy Easter my loves.

Beloved.

“My beloveds”
I address e-mails, letters, even text messages this way.

I want to wash over my dearest friends and family with the only word that can sum up their threading in the patchwork of my heart. They are my insides, my joy, my beloveds.

I will never casually throw that word out, or attach it to someone that doesn’t hold a piece of me. I hope that if I call you my beloved you can truly feel the love I have for you from your toes up to your eyelashes. I hope you warm at the knowledge that someone cherishes you.

I have so long and so oft struggled to believe God loves me.
Died for me? Yes. Concerned for me? Sure. Frustrated with me? Absolutely.

But loves me? ….errr, I don’t know.

As much as I go around flinging out the “L” word, and meaning it… I mostly shudder to accept it.

This last week locked doors opened and darkened hallways filled with the light of the truth of His character.
An invisible neon sign seemed to point to 4 glaring letters,
“L … O… V… E”

I could no more ignore the love of God than you can ignore a train wreck.
As a prayerful, answer-filled, frightening-in-a-good-way week wrapped up, my frenzied and frantic spirit shouted at Him. The history of provision didn’t seem enough for me to trust He would provide. The journal of resolutions didn’t seem to apply to new fears. I threw prayer after fastball prayer at the sky as I drove to work on Saturday night.
My veins themselves seemed to shake.
If only “trust” was a one-time decision that didn’t need made a hundred times a day.

The sunset-hued walls, the friendly faces, the pulsating Spanish guitar streaming through our restaurant didn’t do much to settle me on the inside, but as my weakness was replaced with His strength, I brightened.

Like a hug that lasts longer than you intended, even when your strongest squirming won’t make the other let go, God kept embracing my war-torn heart.

One of my best & dearest surprised me by driving an hour to dine and not only brought a thoughtful gift, but also lightened my soul with laughter and love.
Every table was fun and sweet and happy to be there. Boilermakers came in celebrating, champagne flutes were toasting, tips were abounding, and I was astonished.
My thoughts tripped along … wow… God really does hear the groans of our spirit when we can’t form the words…
I decided to stay on longer instead of accepting the offer to go home early.
I turned to see an empty table filled with four.
3 glammed out gigglers were curled, glossed, and accessorized to perfection and the gentleman with them seemed lucky indeed.

I connected instantly with this fun and fabulous crew, and somewhere in our conversing felt directed to somehow let them know I was a believer.
And what do you know?
So were they.

Drink in tattooed hand, they beamed to tell me of the love they had for their God and how they served Him. They weren’t surprised that God had used them at that moment to buoy my broken spirit, a seemingly knowing smile spread on the face of one of those darling girls as she simply stated that God knew what He was doing and brought us together with intent.

She directed her brother to display one of his tattoos, and he pulled his sweater up to reveal one word etched across the skin of his back…

“Beloved”

As much as I want to be noted for the unseen stamp on my personhood that says “This girl loves” what if I longed to share a different message…?
“This girl is loved.”

Even though she doesn’t deserve it, most days doesn’t know what to do with it and sometimes fails to even believe it, the King of the universe, omniscient, omnipresent, omnibenevolent God of all loves her.

In an instant how desirous I was of this man’s acceptance that he was loved.
I need to get out of my own way, still the whirring that masks the doubt, chalk all the random happenstances up to more than just coincidence, and be warmed, be washed over…be loved.

 

 

 

 

 

***

“Beloved these are dangerous times…
because you are weightless like a leaf from the vine…
and the wind has blown you all over town…
because there is nothing holding you to the ground.

So now you would rather be…
a slave again than free from the law.

(chorus)
Beloved listen to me…
don’t believe all that you see…
and don’t you ever let anyone tell you …
that there’s anything that you need…
but Me.

Beloved these are perilous days…
when your culture is so set in it’s ways…
that you will listen to salesmen and thieves…
preaching other than the truth you’ve received.

Because they are telling lies…
for they cannot circumcise your hearts.

Beloved there is nothing more…
no more blessings and no more rewards…
than the treasure of my body and blood
given freely to all daughters and sons.”

~Derek Webb

 

***

“May the beloved of the LORD dwell in security by Him, Who shields him all the day, And he dwells between His shoulders.” ~Deuteronomy 33:12

Maybe…

“Relax.  Life will happen and God is good and it will be okay.”

-Tim Gombis

“I can tell by your eyes that you’re not getting any sleep…
And you try to rise above it, but feel you’re sinking in too deep.
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that…

It’s going to be alright.
It’s going to be alright.

I believe you’ll outlive this pain in you heart.
And you’ll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart.
Oh, oh I believe I believe that…

It’s going to be alright.
It’s going to be alright.

When some time has past us, and the story is retold…
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul…
Oh, oh, I believe I believe…

I did not come here to offer you cliches…
I will not pretend to know of all your pain…
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you…

It’s going to be alright.
It’s going to be alright.” -Sara Groves

“And the God of ALL GRACE who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while will himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast.” -II Peter 5:10

“I’m trying to work things out.
I’m trying to comprehend.
Am I the chance result…
Of some great accident?
I hear a rhythm call me…
The echo of a grand design.
I spend each night in the backyard…
Staring up at the stars in the sky.

I have another meeting today…
With my new counselor.
My mom will cry and say…
I don’t know what to do with her.
She’s so unresponsive…
I just cannot break through…
She spends all night in the backyard…
Staring up at the stars and the moon.

They have a chart and a graph…
Of my despondency…
They want to chart a path…
For self-recovery.
And want to know what I’m thinking…
What motivates my mood…
To spend all night in the backyard…
Staring up at the stars and the moon.

Maybe this was made for me…
For lying on my back in the middle of a field…
Maybe that’s a selfish thought…
Or maybe there’s a loving God…

Maybe I was made this way…
To think and to reason and to question and to pray…
And I have never prayed a lot…
But maybe there’s a loving God.” -Sara Groves

“One day a man arrived from Baal Shalishah. He brought the man of God twenty loaves of fresh-baked bread from the early harvest, along with a few apples from the orchard. 
Elisha said, “Pass it around to the people to eat.”
His servant said, “For a hundred men? There’s not nearly enough!”
Elisha said, “Just go ahead and do it. God says there’s plenty.”
And sure enough, there was. He passed around what he had—they not only ate, but had leftovers.” II Kings 4:42-44 

Community. Selflessness. Love. Listening. Answering. Hugging. Thankfulness. The Word. The Stephenson, Gandy, Clark, Sheridan-Belschner, Tigulis, Cook, & Gombis families.  Dr. Fagan.  4711 Rookwood. Bentlies. Renewed purpose.  Enough oil in the jar for today…

Maybe it is…

Going to be okay.

Your Tomorrow Wife.

I haven’t been able to write in months, oh how I’ve missed it.

What with not owning a personal computer and the library keeping such odd hours, my face in the screen time is usually associated with classwork.  But now, as my bright tangerine Science folder lays off to the side waiting to have work completed, my very heavy heart needs an outlet.

This weekend started off so brightly.

My darling Abigail Esther Cook married the man I believe was designed to be her husband.  Though this was my 38th wedding extravaganza, I remain ever-sensitive to the romance, the answered prayers, the detail…I love it.

There were new wedding-related tasks I had never performed such as leading a 20lb cheese cubing effort, and also familiar ones such as bouquet-making, hair-curling, curl-pinning, makeup-applying, ribbon-wrapping, and emceeing.

Abi regaled the ladies-in-waiting with the story of how our very first encounter with one another included me praying (quite loudly) that God would  ”find Abi a MAN!”

After a long and somewhat battered road to her heart’s home- she stood in a beautiful beaded gown early Saturday afternoon and said “I Do” to Mr. Justin Eugene Tubbs.  A man whose patience, godliness, and character where not only evidenced at that moment, but also the night before. 

At the rehersal dinner, we all gathered to share lasagna and laughter as the guests were invited to share stories about the bride and groom to be.  Justin’s old roommates had the crowd roaring and Dr. Cook and Stan’s tender hearts toward “Applejack” had tears pouring down my cheeks at a mascara-melting speed.

Lastly, Phil Wing, beloved music pastor at Apex, stood to speak.

I listened intently, because this man still can lay claim to having spoken one of my most beloved phrases in regards to worship… on a cold Saturday morning a few years ago, while leading a small worship-workshop, Phil simply stated that his idea of worship was “opening my mouth and allowing the Spirit to speak back to the Father.”

So, I set my fork down, stilled my napkin-twisting fingers and perked my ears.

Phil shared kind words about his dear friend Abi and elicited many a chuckle with his story of fooling her before she let on that she and Justin were dating, but somewhere in his soliloquy, I hung on to this…

While directing his words to Justin, he referred to Abi as ”your tomorrow wife.”

For whatever reason, that sent a thrill through my heart, and as I snuck a peek across my table at the glittering blue-grey eyes of my darling Abi, the idea of being a BRIDE suddenly seemed so exciting again!  To have someone long for you, love you, want you as his own… I smiled quietly to myself and pondered the thought.

After too few hours of sleep, a wonderful morning with my favorite Cook girls and a lovely ceremony, I was preparing to give yet another announcement about the garter toss, when I snuck out of the reception hall and got a message that made me sick. 

My best friend’s sister was in an accident- no details- start praying.

I ran to grab a bridesmaid who also knew my best friend Aftan and we shakily prayed at that moment to the only One who knew the details.  With slight confidence that everything would be okay, we went back to being wedding guests.

I snuck in and out of the sanctuary, checking my text messages and making phone calls, until the most horrible words flashed across the screen… “Kate died.”

I ran out of the church, stood in the parking lot and curled over in my cocktail dress till I could wrap my arms around my knees.  I made more phone calls, in complete disbelief, as my heart sank and my stomach twisted itself inside-out.

Trying to regain some semblance of composure, I went back into the church to let Dr. Cook know I was leaving, as Abi passed by me with a grin stretched ear to ear, the starkest of contrasts shocked my soul.

At the very same moment that my precious, beloved Abi was happier than ever before… at that very same moment my precious, beloved Aftan and her precious, beloved family were experiencing true horror.

Two almost strangers and my friend Julie stopped me, sat me down, and took a minute to pray with me for the Hunts, and then I all but ran to my Jeep.  I sat in the front seat and called Katie and Jamie and Emily with sobs ripping through my throat.  As soon as I could get on the road, I raced home to Indianapolis.

As the last few days have unfolded, there have been thousands of tears, anger, silence, sleeplessness, hurt, confusion and sadness beyond comprehension for so many people that I love so much.

And yet, as I talked to Aftan that night, trying to decipher her blurried words, she reminded me that her sister was with her God. That no matter what, there was utter peace in where Kate was.

And right then, Phil’s words rang again in my head…

 ”Your tomorrow wife”…
The significance and weight pressing in upon me. 

Although she wasn’t wearing a gauzy white veil or carrying a dozen roses, on Saturday February 7th, 2009… Katelynn Melissa Hunt ran into the arms of the One who loves her most of all.  The One who vowed to cherish her, the One who treasured her for every stitch of her patchwork, the One who truly loved her more than Himself, enough to die, enough to sacrifice, enough to save.

Kate, you are loved. You are missed.  You leave behind a family and friends that will forever have a you-shaped hole inside, but I thank our God that there is comfort in the fact that last Saturday, you had a wedding of your own … where your freed and sanctified soul flew to the One who called you home.

“The bride belongs to the bridegroom…That joy is mine, and it is now complete.” John 3:29

just five.

It’s not just recognizing the grand answers to the years-long cries…

and it’s not just stopping to smell the roses…

it’s both.

Because as Dr. Estes is always reminding me…when it comes to God…there is great AND there is good.

In every day there are distinct replies to prayers or echoes & after-effects of replies, and there are quiet and small but lovely moments that just need to be held…

Today was one of those days.

Ushering the morning in with Phil Wickham…Apex…worship…prayer…Truth…spending time with my beloved roomie Janie…running into old friends…lunch at The Greene…a thrill of cold air and Holiday spirit…hands curled around a perfectly frothed hot soy peppermint chai…glitter and sweet scents at Sephora…singing Christmas songs…a warm and needed nap…a romantic movie…Rosie Thomas’s music online to listen to instead of simply my clicking at these keys.

Let’s answer some things together.
No…really…

In the last five years, can you think of just five ways God has distincly answered you?
For me… hmmm…

1. It’s always come down to the wire, yet God has always provided me with a place to live…and through that I have made some of the best friends a girl could ask for …at The Bentley…at The Lodge…on Soule Drive…and here on South Monroe, and I look so forward to moving to Indianapolois in a few weeks… (even though we don’t have a house yet.)

2.  I have prayed for a church home and I have been exceedingly blessed- with two! Apex Community in Kettering, OH and Common Ground Christian Church in Indy… there isn’t enough breath to say how much those families…those brothers and sisters… what they mean… how they love like Jesus… oh I love you.

3.  A prayer I never even wrapped words around was my longing for a best friend after losing mine… Andrea Beth, you are the best friend I’ve ever known.  You have blessed my life in an exponential way that was beautiful because of Bob and Angelala and Mirn and Zach and Sissy and other family and friends, but is now even more so.

4.  For purpose.  It ain’t been extraordinary, but it has been evident. There were specific moments and prayers and conversations where I felt so valuable because of the God who was revealing the eternal in the everyday…at O’Charley’s…at Curves…at Rosewalk…at Arnett… and the women and men I met there gave my life a mission…a meaning… and they most likely don’t even know it.

5.  And most important…to know Him.
Still getting there… but thank you my Jesus for revealing yourself in my church, my house church and through my beloveds…my prayer will continue to know You for just You.

What are just five smile-causing, heart-cheering, soul-breathing-a-sigh-of-relief moments you’ve had just this last week?

1. Praying with Lauren & Janie till almost 5am.

2. Gifting the Gombis family.

3. Coloring my hair strawberry.

4. The thrill of Christmas shopping for my family… my absolute favorite.

5. A good fifteen minutes of just stretching and breathing after a really hard workout.

Bonus: Eating the world’s most delicious sandwich today at The Cheesecake Factory… the Monte Cristo… all you need to know is that it involved French toast, ham and jam.  I was in heaven.

What are just five utterly ridiculous things that just make you happy?

1. Be-bopping to my iPhone on the walk to my 8am class.

2. When people laugh heartily at my jokes.

3. Facebook photo comments.

4. Scarves.

5. www.bobbiandmike.com/blog

Watching Extreme Home Makeover tonight…and crying as usual… the response of one of the Haitian boys whose family had just had their lives transformed caught my attention.  He said “If we could find a word that meant more than Thank You, that’s what we would use….”

We hardly take the time or make the effort to be simply aware…simply thankful…simply satisfied…

Why not be extravagantly appreciative?
Take the time…just for you…just for Him…just for five.