Please Don't End

I am sitting here in the glow of my Christmas tree, I am thinking back on the many many many memories this particular Christmas has given us. I found myself thinking--almost hourly--since the day after Thanksgiving, "Please slow down. This is going so fast and I want to remember it all." There has never been a more joy filled Christmas than this one. Each day carried new joy, especially as I watched my three year old enjoy the delights of the advent house, Christmas advent calendar, the searching shepherd, walks to see Christmas lights, buying presents for family and friends and watching Christmas movies. I wish it didn't have to end. I wish I had taken even more time to savor the season and take even more pictures than I did. It wasn't about how many present he got (he got way too many)....each one (whether it came from the dollar tree or the Disney store) was treasured and cheered about by my darling little man. Watching him experience Christmas from December 1st to today was all the gift I ever needed or wanted. Thank you Lord for the gift of joy. Thank you that because of the gift of Your Son, we can fully experience joy! Merry Christmas, dear readers!!! Soak of the joy of the season

Joining the Ranks

Today I was on my lunch break (Monday and Tuesday are the two days I actually get lunch alone...every other day usually has a commitment). So, after I had heated my lunch and got back to my desk, I opened my phone for a minute to catch up on the news of the day while I ate. The old adage, "No news is good news" was really true today. I stumbled across the page of an old school friend from long, long ago. I had recently started following her again to get a flavor for what was happening "back home." Unfortunately, "back home" suffers from the same tumults and tempests as "right here." Today, I read a testimony of an old friend, another mom who lost her child. Having written about that myself, I knew exactly why she was writing it. She needed to write it, she HAD to write it. Those words she wrote through her absolute gut-wrenching, heart-rending pain HAD to come out. We all needed to hear them and she needed to say them. It pierced me to my core to read it. The pain and agony I felt nearly four full years ago, came back with such an intensity that I wondered how I would teach my last two classes of the day. I found myself in that place all over again...fresh and raw as though it had just happened. Why is grief like that? Why can't it come, do what it needs to, and leave forever! I hate that at the most random of times, it comes back. Then, with grief comes the guilt. "Amy, why are YOU thinking about YOUR pain. Your friend is the one suffering right now. You are so selfish. When will you get over yourself? When will you get over THIS?" Then, not only do you feel that dark cloud of grief settle in, but now you feel guilty in combination with it--adding another layer of misery. I wondered how my friend was sleeping at night? I wondered how many times she had cried today when she thought no one was watching? I wondered if anyone was helping her with the funeral so she didn't have to visit that place of death for a moment longer than she had to? I wished, more than anything, that the peace she described having in her Facebook post would get her through the most painful days ahead and that in those days ahead she would not doubt that God was still good. I know a lot of people think that I should not still grieve over the loss of my children. After all, I have Joel now. He is healthy and strong and adorable and loving. Still, in the back of my mind, I remember them....all of them. Sure, several of my babies never got names and I never met them face to face. The grief of those losses is painful, but it is a very brief visitor. The grief for Hannah Grace, however, comes and settles in and is hard to shake. I met Hannah...I held her. I am still angry at myself for not holding her longer. It was such a strange thing because I knew she was already in Heaven, so maybe that's why I felt like I needed to let the nurses take her away. The days after, however, when my arms ached to hold her....I cried and hated myself for not holding her more, memorizing her face, committing her to my heart. I knew after reading that Facebook post, this mom had not reached that point yet. I also knew, that moment was coming for her at some point. Maybe not today or tomorrow...but sometime. I ached anew for her. So, today, as I cried over another mom joining the ranks of loss and grief, I wished in my heart of hearts I could be there to help... To wash those dishes that had probably piled up since the loss, like someone did for me. I wanted to make sure someone was taking care of the condolence meals and organizing the funeral needs, like someone helped us to do. But, I know she is loved and has people around her that are helping her, caring for her, and praying for her, like someone did for me. You have to wonder, as I do...what is the purpose to these little lives? Why did we get to have Hannah for those few short months only to give her right back to God? I don't know. If I had a nickel for every time I wrote a post about her and why she lived and died and how I still don't know why, I would probably be a very rich person. I can say one thing, her short life taught me a lot about what is actually important and what isn't. Her life also taught me to be thankful. I just had another day with my son. In fact, as I write, I can watch from my vantage point on the couch as his little self sleeps in his room. I am thankful because he got to turn three. I am thankful because he can identify numbers 1-5 by sight, tell you all the colors (except brown, for some reason) and knows his ABC's. He is a living, breathing miracle that I would have taken for granted if it wasn't for Hannah. Sometimes, we have to drive by the place where her grave is. Even now, four years after the fact (this coming May), I cry. It is so crazy. I know she (her actual person) is not there. But, I guess the human side of you overcomes the logical, "I know where she actually is" side. Not sure this post helps you at all, and the friend of long ago that is now dealing with this pain in a new, fresh way...she won't ever read this...we aren't that close any more and I doubt my experience is exactly what she is dealing with. But this post helped me. That little dark cloud of grief trailed me all day and I couldn't shake it. I needed to write this. I needed to put this on paper. I don't know if anyone will care or even read past the first paragraph--"Oh here goes Amy again with another sad post. I am over this."---close web page, walk away. That's ok. I didn't write it for anyone except me and the new member of this group. I wrote it for us. This is my way of dealing with grief. I hope she finds hers. Until then, I am going to pray her through it...just like someone did for me.

Because it is fleeting

When Thanksgiving ended, I decided that THIS year, I was going to make the moments of Christmas count. I am sure every parent says this every single Christmas, but I knew that this year (Joel is three) would be special. He really is "getting" Christmas...the excitement, the purpose of it, of course, the thrill of presents. He also takes so much joy in seeing his own Christmas tree brightly beaming with colorful lights and ornaments haphazardly placed (and then replaced) all over it. So, this year I decided to say "no" to extras so I could have time to treasure Christmas before it whipped past me in a frenzy of work, parties, events, mandatory and obligatory attendance, and so on. Here is where we are December 1st---Tree was up and we started the advent house and the advent calendar my mom made for him. By December 2nd, he knew what both of those things were and looked forward to doing both every day. December 2nd--We put up the Star of Christmas on the advent calendar and opened a "chokate" from the advent house. December 3rd--Busy, busy day today. We woke up early and Joel went to his first Weight Watchers meeting with Mommy and Daddy. He was a hit of the gathering, to say the least. We then took Ryan to work and saw one of Joel's favorite people (Mr. John) and met up with Santa Cow. This year, Joel has been mentioning Santa. This was a real concern of ours...how to handle Santa. I didn't want him to be that kid who shattered the illusion for other kids, but we had always committed to just skip Santa (I know, cue the hate mail) and focus on Jesus and family and the reason of Christmas. So, the main question Joel has been asking lately is "Mommy, is Santa 'weal' (real) or 'be-tend' (pretend)". So in spite of Santa being "be-tend", Joel was very, very excited to meet Santa Cow. After that, we raced home to prepare for our good friends to come into town for a party the next day. We had a very full day. Today we got a special new mini train engine in the advent house and were (at first) a little disappointed that is wasn't candy. December 4th---Birthday party for our sweet friend, Levi. We partied and opened presents and ate cupcakes (well, one of us did...the grown ups didn't really share in the purple and red frosting festivities). It was really a great time together. December 5th--Back to school....but only for a few more days and then the blissful break full of PJ's all day, Christmas movies at night, and lots of Christmas memories. We added a few trees to the advent calendar on the wall and discovered another little mini train engine hiding in the advent house. Side note: I bought the advent house after Christmas last year. I bought it because my mom had something kind of like it as I grew up. Every day there would be something in there. It might say, "play a game as a family", "go look at Christmas lights together", "make Christmas cookies", or "pick your favorite Christmas movie to watch." Sometimes, mom would slip a quarter or dollar in there for us. Some days it might have a chocolate kiss or maybe even a little trinket or toy. As a kid, it helped Christmas and the excitement last a little longer. It helped us find time to spend together. I knew, if God ever allowed us to raise a child of our own...the advent house was a must. I think I love doing it even more than he does. Until next time, XOXOXO AMY P.S. There is no real guarantee that I will find the time or energy to sit down and record all the "magic" of Christmas this year, but that is one thing I will have after the tree is boxed and in the attic once more---the memory. So, if I don't sit down and write again till New Years...well, its because I was so busy making memories, I didn't have time to record them.

So You Could Have a Life

We had just finished a nice dinner at our favorite local "let's-grab-a-quick-dinner-before-church" restaurant on a normal, rushed Wednesday night. Joel was still munching his last few pancakes and Ryan and I were discussing the affairs of the day. The election results were fresh and there was a tangible sense of who had voted for whom in the restaurant. Some were discussing (rather loudly) how so and so was going to "turn everything right again" while others were just trying to escape the "noise" of this last election by having a peaceful, quiet dinner. When the last scrap of pancakes had been eaten, we got up to pay the bill and at the same moment, the elderly gentleman at the table ahead of us also rose to pay his bill. On his head was proudly perched his veterans hat, the emblem of the 4th Infantry division stitched in gold lettering across the top. Ryan stopped Joel and said, "Do you know what we say to someone who wears a hat like that?" "No," said Joel, eager to get his hands on the after dinner cookie that this little eatery provides to its tiniest patrons. "We always tell them, 'Thank you for your service'," Ryan replied. "Oh, 'Tank' you for your service." said my little munchkin boy. The older gentleman stood a little closer to my baby and said, "I did it so you could have a good life." I don't know how, but the older man had with those few words and his simple kindness of listening to my little boy chatter about going to Disney soon and that he was three years old, brought tears to my eyes. This man, whoever he was, gets what it is about. He was part of that "greatest generation." He was part of the group that didn't need a "safe place" to voice their opinions and didn't need a trophy for "trying hard." No, on those dark days, he and the rest of his detachment looked the enemy square in the face and did what needed to be done. They did it so we could have a life. They did it so we could go to church freely, speak our minds (albeit sometimes we do speak it rather ignorantly...but we can save that for another post), raise families, and enjoy countless other freedoms. I can imagine that some of them did not see eye to eye with the political beliefs of their Commander in Chief at the time and I am sure some of them "didn't vote for him" (especially since they couldn't vote at 18 till we were WELL into Vietnam--but I digress), but they got dressed, wrote those "if I don't come home" letters, and geared up for the longest day of their life. I googled the 4th Infantry Division, just because I wanted to know, and found some of their engagements. Not knowing exactly which war our dinner companion had been in (judging from his "age" I was thinking he was a WWII guy or perhaps Korea), I googled that division, hoping to narrow down where he had been or what he had done for us. Google informed me that the 4th had seen action in WWI and lost 2,611 men, WWII (including being involved in the Normandy landing) and lost 4,000 men in action, and Vietnam, losing 2,500 men in action. All I can assume is that whatever war he was in, he had tasted the bitterness of the death of a combat buddy. He had faced the agony of pulling the trigger and doing what needed to get done. This was the real deal. This was not a sunshine soldier or the summer patriot...he had done the hard things. I think as a history teacher, perhaps I am more prone to nostalgia or sentimentality on days like veterans day because I know the stories. I know the stories of those guys who hit the beaches at Normandy. So many of them were just boys in reality. Sure they were 18, sure they had completed "training"--but they had never seen carnage like they were about to see. I wept right along with Kurt Klein as he liberated the camp at Ravensbrook in the biography All But My Life. I felt the desperation of Louis Zamperini as he endured the horrors of POW life. I think of my own grandfathers on days like this. I think of my Grandpa Sherm. My grandpa could tell a good story. As a younger girl, I did not love history the way I do now. I did that subject just to get through it. Then, one year, I had the best teacher I have ever had and I discovered that here in the pages of my history book was an endless source of "great stories"--and I could get into that. It was at that time that I realized my own grandparents were a treasure trove of untold stories. So, I remember listening to my grandpa talk...but he never talked about the war (he was a WWII vet). ONE TIME, just once, I got him to tell me what he did in the war. He told me only enough to peak my interest and then he moved on. I can only imagine it was hard for him. But now as a teacher, on the bulletin board in my classroom, is a treasured photo of my grandfather in those days. I keep it there to remind my why I have to keep teaching. It reminds me that no matter what the current trends in education, no matter the changes to the text, I owe it to those vets, to brave men (and women) like my grandparents to tell their story. History is not just about the collective...it is about those individuals (and I would argue that the individuals ARE the story). Without those individual men who jumped into the water to storm the beaches of Normandy, who parachuted behind enemy lines, who trudged through the swamps and marshes in Vietnam--I wouldn't have the beautiful classroom I have today with a Bible happily opened on my desk and an American flag displayed above my white board. I don't know what kind of legacy my generation (according to google I am part of the millennials---not sure how I feel about that--but that is perhaps fodder for another post that I have tried to write five times now but the right words aren't coming out) is leaving behind us, but I am pretty confident we aren't doing anything close to what the "greatest generation" did. Until we "get over" ourselves and start thinking a little more sacrificially, we won't do anything of note either. We can keep sitting around, obsessing about someone's latest status update on Facebook and lament the "state of the nation" or we can attempt to make something of this life we have been given and that someone fought to preserve. I don't think those guys in WWII envisioned a generation of people who struggle to have an intelligent conversation in person but can eviscerate one another over social media without even batting an eye. One thing I can tell you that I plan to do and you should too--the next time you see one of those veterans walking around--stop and thank them. I can promise you, they won't be annoyed that you stopped them. In fact, they will probably be shocked that you stopped them...but do it anyway. Dust off that old history book on the shelf and put yourself back there with the 4th Infantry Division--it might just change your perspective. Thank a veteran today--America is still here, in part because of what they have sacrificed.

Oh Thou That Changest Not

It is fall in Florida. As "fall" goes that does not mean much. It is no longer 80 degrees all day and occasionally you can wear a light jacket...but other than that, it is identical to any other season in Florida. I was driving down the road, sipping a "fall" flavored latte and listening to a new CD I had bought a few weeks ago. The song, "Abide with Me" came on and I took the time to actually listen to the lyrics of the song. If you ever went to church in your life, you probably heard the song, but maybe my church never sang the second verse...but boy it struck me in this season of life. Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see— O Thou who changest not, abide with me That idea..."Thou who changest not" made me want to cry and gave me so much comfort! Lots of things in my life are in a constant state of flux. I took on the weight watchers lifestyle in July and so my whole lifestyle has taken a drastic overhaul. I don't look like I used to (and that is a good thing) and a normal day of eating and functioning has altered. My little boy has changed. Gone are the little snuggles and cuddles. He is constantly running, laughing, getting into mischief that I never could have imagined (he used an entire bottle of lotion up the other day on his legs...he came out of my room and said, "Wook, I have lotion."). I find myself looking at Facebook and realize how much people around me have changed. The opinions and viewpoints of a lot of people I thought saw things the same way I did suddenly don't anymore. It is tempting to say, "Man, everything is changing and I don't love it." However, as the song reminded me...there is ONE who never changes. God never, ever changes. HIS WORD never ever changes. While the world around me appears to change its mind by the minute and hour, I have a reliable, unchanging God. In the middle of the chaos, the uncertainty--there is that one sure anchor for the soul.

Do not grow weary

Dear Faithful Laborer, This morning, my son was walking toward his classroom and he spotted you. On a busy Monday morning, you stopped, you smiled, you showed him love. You didn't have to stop, but you did! He is not one of your "charges" Monday through Friday from 7 am till 5 pm, but you still stopped. Why did you stop and wave to him and make his whole day? Because you heard him say, "Mommy, das my Puggas lady." Translation: Mom, that is the lady who greets me with a big smile EVERY. SINGLE. WEDNESDAY night at Puggles at Church! Thank you, Puggles Lady (yes, I know your name but I think Joel's name for you means so much more) for pouring into my little pint sized church-goer. He has yet to learn all the big doctrines that you and I hold so dear, but because of your efforts every week, he is starting to learn little lessons about the BIG God who loves him dearly. It was in your class that he learned that God made the moon. Doubtless he will not remember the impact you left on his life...but his mom will never, ever forget. Thank you, faithful nursery worker. Every Sunday, morning and evening, you give up your time and energy to be locked in a room with 10 two year olds (more than half of them are boys). You don't complain. In fact, you love on them, feed them too many cookies (because how can you say no to those cute faces), take them outside to play, and cuddle them when they are tired and sad. All the while, their moms and dads are in the service, child-free and able to listen and soak in every amazing word from the pulpit. They get refueled for the week while you pour yourself out for them. You are a blessing and you are never told enough how much we thank the Lord for you. I know there are Sundays where every kid poops, sometimes twice, the room feels too small, three kids have wiped their noses on your pants, and you just think you cannot do it any more. Keep on doing it!!! You are serving an absolutely vital role and each mom and dad can go into service knowing their little munchkin is going to be loved. Thank you, patient Sunday School teacher and children's church worker. Every Sunday you do your best to lasso those two year old boys and attempt to teach a lesson to them in the two-three minute window that a toddler attention span warrants you. Somehow, you have managed to teach them "Jesus loves me" and the nativity story and who knows what else (because often the story gets some toddler re-writes when we ask him what he learned at Church). At the end of the day, if he is already learning that Jesus loves him...well, does it get any better than knowing that? At two years old? All the while, you take time to help us reinforce manners and potty training, and manage to clean up the "accidents" when they don't make it in time. Thank you, faithful PK2 teachers. Goodness, some days you actually spend more hours pouring into my child's awake hours than I do. You are not only teaching A,B,C's and 1,2,3's, but life lessons, Bible truths, and manners. You have taught him his first "before we eat" prayer, most of his toddler songs like Old MacDonald (although his version almost always includes Old MacDonald's farm having a dolphin...but hey, we live in Florida...it fits), and even some science and art. He is always so proud to show us his art and we are still laughing at his performance at the Christmas program (and blushing over his unplanned dance recital at Grandparents Day). We are thankful for you, for being there while we aren't and knowing we can trust you with our precious treasure. Dear workers, whatever ministry God has placed you in, do NOT grow weary. All those diapers you change, noses you wipe, boo-boos you kiss, and tears you dry...they matter! The children you serve may forget you, but the impact you make on their parents does not go away. You are so important to us and we love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the energy and effort you put into caring for them. God sees your sacrifice and labor of love...and this mommy is seeing it too! Until next time Amy

A Beautiful Mess

The first thing I hear in the morning is, "Mommy, I get up". Since he has not mastered the fine art of crawling out of his crib yet, he still cannot get himself up in the morning (and I am in no rush for him to figure that out). We scamper into the living room for a quick episode of Daniel Tiger (but only the episode where he goes to the potty or where he tastes veggies because little man knows what he likes and does not like). Yesterday, he was willing to eat the yogurt that comes in the little monkey cup, but today he won't be willing to eat that, it will have to be the yogurt that comes in the pouch. We get dressed and go to the car. He asks for his favorite songs on the radio, which I deny because my only chance to hear anything going on in the world is on the radio going to work (because I cannot stand the talk show host on the radio on my way HOME from work). He fusses at me for 1.5 seconds and then begins the battery of daily questions. "Mommy, I go shoot (school)?". Yes, baby, we are going to school. "Mommy, I see friends?" Yes, baby, we see friends. "Mommy, I see (and then we name each friend)?" Yes, baby, you will see (and I name all the friends). We talk about the "bus shoot" (school bus) as it passes our car window. He talks about his beloved teachers (who's names he still cannot say right so he calls by his own specially created (and totally adorable) nicknames). He asks for a bite of my breakfast (which is, somehow, always more interesting to him than his own). This little ritual is how he got introduced to coffee cake, coffee (black or with cream, he drinks it both ways), cutie oranges, granola bars, and cold cut sandwiches (I know, I have wonderful breakfast eating habits--- come on, people, the title of the post of "beautiful mess"-- you had to see this real world confession coming). I go through my day teaching about World War I during first hour, Cold War during second hour, Sectionalism and Antebellum period third hour. By fourth hour I get a little break and I have time to run my errands around campus and I usually have time to see him on his little playground with all the friends we so dutifully named on our way to school. I can see him running and screaming and jumping and being 10000% boy while he plays (bless his teacher... she deserves a metal). I hurry back to my room to cover my study hall, lunch duty and a final government class before my day ends. After all the students have been taught, my room cleaned (because there is always, always, always 500 little shreds of paper on my carpets by the end of the day), and some grading done, I get to pick him up. Most days, he is busy doing his favorite thing, playing outside, when I come for pick up. I love getting to be the one to pick up because I get the biggest smile from that little man and a screaming "Hi mommy!!" when he sees me. I usually brush the wood chips from his hair (he likes to throw them up in the air in true LeBron James style and for which he also tends to have to sit in the "Finking chair" as he calls it (timeout chair/thinking chair). One day after we got home, I found woodchips IN his pull-up--not sure what he was saving them for... but there they were. Then we are home and the nighttime race begins. In a frenzy of activity (dinner, bath, pajamas, and bed) the evening hours slip by far too quickly. Soon, the house is quiet and I have a moment to reflect. Our life is busy, there is a lot of rushing around on any given day. However, our life is beautiful. I am not talking about our physical life. The house needs painting, the lawn needs trimming, the car is dirty and my bedroom is still the terrible purple color it was when it moved in (6 years ago). The important parts of our life are beautiful. We love each other and we have the most wonderful son anyone could ask for. He is high energy with a splash of naughty... but he is a token of the goodness of God in our lives and to me, that makes him one of the most beautiful children I have even seen. Sure, he has a penchant for mischief (in one week alone he colored on my bedroom door, poured juice on the floor on purpose, and filled Buzz Lightyear's helmet with yogurt which I then had to clean out with q-tips because Buzz is a treasured friend) but he also can be incredibly sweet and loving. However you look at it, our life has a lot of color and a lot of flavor. When I look at it, though, all I can see is something beautiful... and messy. It's just our beautiful mess. Until next time --Amy

Unless I had seen

I find that from time to time, I get stuck on an idea or a concept and I just keep thinking on it, pondering over it and generally chewing on it until I have it all figured out. For the last couple of weeks now, I have been stuck on the goodness of God. In the world we live in, there sometimes isn't a lot of "good" to talk about. Scroll through Facebook sometime and really look at the posts objectively. Yes, there are the "we just got engaged" posts and the cute pregnancy announcements; but more often it is posts pleading for prayer because of loss or a really serious medical prognosis and you just want to close Facebook down and never open that door again. On the other hand, every so often, there is a little glimmer, a little ray in the dark clouds and you remember, HE is good. When all the THINGS in life seems grim...HE is good. Sometimes I think people miss just HOW good He really is. Hang with me here. We get saved and we start to really dig into faith. Then, wham, out of the blue, life gets hard. Not just a little bit... it gets soul crushing, agonizingly, depressingly hard. We run to the Bible, we look for that promise of hope. What do we find, though. We find that God never said, "Just trust in me and all of your problems will vanish and nothing will ever be hard and nothing bad will ever happen to you." If you have found that verse, let me know. Here is what I have seen. Jesus told his followers, "In this world ye shall have tribulation; BUT be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.". Furthermore, we are told that Paul had a "thorn in the flesh"... something that gave him (I am sure) pain and trouble. He asked God to take it away, but God didn't... because HIS grace is sufficient. Now is when the skeptics say, "well, that doesn't sound very good to me". Dear reader, let me say to you that it IS good. Without that thorn, Paul even said, the tendency to be puffed up in ourselves would be incredible. Here is where it gets so good. The writer in Psalms said "I had fainted, UNLESS I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine heart." I can't tell you how many times in my own personal walk where I have come close to "fainting". Another trial, another hurt, another hard time... and yet, there is that verse staring me in the face and I think about the goodness of God. I can't escape it. It is all around me. I wake up in the morning and my eyelids flutter open and I can see the comfortable four walls of my bedroom all around me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. A little voice from the other room starts to yell (each time little louder until I respond)" Mommy, I get up".... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I roll over in my bed and there is the one person out of the 7 billion that was made for me... the goodness of the Lord. I walk past the memory box we made for our precious babies already in heaven and I rejoice that I have the hope of a resurrection... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I walk past my fridge and see the faces of the children of friends that I prayed for, begged the Lord to give to those friends, and there those little cherub faces smile back at me... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. I see the save the date cards for former students ready to get married, who are choosing to live for God and love God... the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Ok, Amy, that's all well and good, but what about me today? I have suffered loss, tragedy, family struggles, financial woes. I don't feel that goodness. Friend, I totally understand how that feels. I have been there. Some days I am still there. Grief and trials and disappointments don't just go away. Grief, particularly, kind of moves in and never really moves out. It becomes less noticeable, but it is always there. But, grief, no matter how overwhelming, can't erase the goodness of God. Goodness is part of who He is. Even in those times where your heart feels ripped in two, He is still good. He does not promise that all things are good...some things in life, thanks to the curse of sin, will never be good things. BUT HE WORKS ALL THINGS TOGETHER FOR GOOD. That promise... it just gets sweeter the more I read it and think about it. I used to think, before I really knew Jesus as my own Savior, that that particular verse (Rm. 8:28) meant that "for them who love God" things somehow would be easier or less painful or good all the time. Now, I see it. Those things that aren't good in and of themselves like grief and tragedy, they work to make us more conformed to the image of Jesus. More than anything, they cause us to see how good He really is. I don't know what difficulty lies in front of you tonight, my dear reader (all 23 of you), but I do know this. The Word promises that in the Last Times, things will get harder and more difficult. Friends may fail you, even desert you. Being a true follower will probably even involve sacrifice, maybe even persecution. Cling to the truth, in those times, that He is good and His mercy endureth forever. And cheer up, my friend. As much as it may depress you to watch the news and the grim conditions we may see in our own nation and around the rest of the world, God is still on the throne and still looking to save souls. Even in the midst of the evil that we see all around, the goodness of the Lord is there on display. I see His goodness in the truths my son is learning (already) in AWANA and school about God. When he sings, "Jesus loves me..." Well I pretty much turn to mush. Jesus died for that little boy and I cannot wait for him to understand that truth. I see His goodness in the students who got saved this school year and are wanting to learn more. I see His goodness in the couples who are choosing to follow Jesus even if that means saying goodbye to the comfy American life for a third world village. He is good... always, only good. Look for the evidence of His goodness this week.

You have Memories

So this year I decided to download the app on Facebook that notifies you every day about something that happened in years past in your Facebook life on that day in your "history." (I am sure at this point, my personal computer geek, aka my dad, will call me and tell me that somehow this is a way for hackers to track me...oh well, they won't get much out of me anyway). This app is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, the year 2012 is getting increasingly harder and harder to read. There have been a few times already that Ryan has texted me and said, "Don't look at today's memories" and I know to just let that day's memories pass me by. For example, January 2012 was when we started really letting people know that baby Hannah was on her way. Every day, I open my "you have memories" notification box thinking to myself, "How painful is today going to be." BUT, even as that date of May 3rd looms closer and closer, I can't bear to uninstall the app because even in that pain, there is a reminder that it was in that year that I grappled with some truths that I now know beyond all doubt. I learned in that year that it was in that valley of the shadow that I would understand so much more about God and His character and unchanging goodness, even in a world with pain and suffering in it. He remains faithful, good, ONLY good, and ever gracious. Even in the moments where I really wasn't sure how I would be able to push aside the pain and "get through" another day, acting like everything was ok when it really wasn't, somehow, we made it through. Sure there are scars and sure there is still some raw emotion there from time to time, but we walked through that valley and stand on the other side of it now. It was through that loss that my eyes were opened to the fact that I had never really placed my faith in HIS finished work and relying on the prayer I prayed or "doing" the salvation moment correctly. Had we never had that moment in time that left us forever changed, I might have remained forever lost. However, after scrolling through the 2012 posts, there, in 2013 and 2014 are posts about our miracle. Either happy doctor reports that all is well and he is going to be born (we actually broke the news to the world at large over the long MLK weekend...so those good memories are coming) or a smiling baby face eating baby food for the first time, or rolling over, or eating peas or just being the perfectly adorable baby that he is. I am reminded again that joy does come in the morning and weeping only lasts for the night. Now, for us, our "night of weeping" was more like two long years, waiting for our miracle, but joy did come. Joy didn't only come and hang out for a day or two, it made itself a permanent member of the family. Each post from the last two years (with a few complaints about home repairs or traffic in Florida) are bursting with joy. Even my college years posts are preserved on Facebook. Even those, believe it or not, have been interesting to encounter. I either find myself a little embarrassed that I thought people would actually care about what I ate in the dining hall that day or I find myself smiling over posts like "Hey Linny, I accidentally took your printer cable to my house, but I will return it after break. See ya soon." Or I see posts with private jokes (that I actually have long forgotten the real meaning of, because, after all, college was some *cough cough I am old* years ago now) that make me smile, not because I remember the meaning but because of the friendships they represent. There are posts from after I was married but my friends were still seniors, where we set up "dinner at Amy's place (because I had the TV and the cable that they didn't have) tradition." In those college memories I can walk the dorms again, stay up all night to study (don't actually miss that), eat junk food, shop for trinkets, and eat the Chick-fil-A college special for $3.09. While the app has served to make me smile, laugh, remember and reflect, it has also made me thankful. I have been blessed. I have a wonderful life. I have a husband that I have known, in good times and out-and-out bad times, for nearly 10 years. I have a beautiful little boy who delights and, at times, challenges me and all I know about mothering. I have babies I have yet to meet and some I have held, only for a few moments, but who are awaiting my arrival (soon, I hope) in our forever home. There are friendships, preserved for all time on the walls of that app (yes, for all the world to see). The good, the bad, the joys, the sorrows...they are all there. I click "See your memories for today" and suddenly I am 20 year old Amy once again, making college friends, taking too many classes at once, and dating my first real and only love. With a quick click of the mouse (or in my case, tap on the i-phone), I am in my first teaching job and complaining about four new preps while my chili simmers in the crock pot (oh the days when I was first married and I had a crock pot dinner ready almost every day...I am imagining my hubby misses those days too....ha ha). One more swipe and there is a picture of an oh so tiny baby Joel wearing his "My first Thanksgiving" bib and grinning like he still does with eyes twinkling that hints at a pinch of naughty and pounds of sweetness. More than anything, I am grateful that the app does not have (not like it could anyway) a "see your memories of tomorrow" feature. I know that must be why the Lord told us "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself." Imagine if 2012 Amy knew what May of 2012 held for us. I do not know how she would have carried that burden. Even this Amy, the 2016 version, couldn't carry that weight. I was listening to our Awana director speaking tonight in our club at church to our 3rd-5th grade girls. She was telling a student-aged version of Corrie ten Boom's story (which if you have not read the book on her life...you MUST...go get it tomorrow!!). Tonight's segment was about Corrie's early years as a child and that her greatest struggle was being afraid...for her, it seemed, mostly of death or tragedy befalling her family. Near the end of the story, Corrie's father used a train ride as a teachable moment. "Corrie," he said, "When we ride the train somewhere, when do I give you the ticket to hold?" Corrie's answer was that is was right before the ticket taker on the train would ask for it. That's how it is in life also. God does not heap upon us ALL that life has for us to cope with or enjoy or manage all at once...we could not take it. He gives us the ticket RIGHT when we need it. Oh the truth in that story. Now, ask 2012 Amy if she even wanted to be on train we were on and I am not sure what answer she would give you...but, when it came time to live that day in May in 2012, somehow, we had the ticket and we made it through. Dearest readers (all 23 of you), I do not know what 2016 is going to bring your way or mine. 2016, even though is is a mere 15 days old, has already held joys and tragedy for all of us, I am confident of that. I know there are still those dear friends (and I do pray for you, please know that) who are still awaiting your own miracle baby. Take heart...perhaps 2016 is your miracle baby year! There are others who have no idea which job path to take next, how you are going to pay for college, or how you will ever get your toddler potty trained! Maybe this is the year that will be made plain to you. Wherever you find yourself in this year, remember, we don't need to worry about tomorrow, the ONE who feeds the sparrows and clothes the lilies in the field...HE can manage this year and make it into something beautiful in HIS time. Trust Him to hold the ticket until HE is ready for you to take it. He is a good, good Father. It is Who He is...He is ALWAYS ONLY GOOD. Until next time, AMY