My Heroes

Heroes are a big deal these days. Everyone wants to be one, or to have one at least. We ask our children who their heroes are, who they want to be like when they grow up.

I have thought, in the past, who is a hero to me? I admit that there have been times when a person of fame or position has caught my attention.

The problem I see is that we have lost the true meaning of what it is to be a hero. And with that we have set our sites, and our children's, on things that just don't matter, on qualities that are more like passing fancies than character building.

he·ro

   [heer-oh]

noun, plural -roes; for 5 also -ros.

1.

a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.

I have new heroes lately. Men of courage, brave mighty men.

They face uncertain futures, suffering, grief, loss, injustice, pain and disappointment with an attitude of thanksgiving, acceptance.

One more surgery, one more chemo. One more day of nausea and one more sleepless night. One more missed game, more laughter and stares from other children.

They have no understanding of why they suffer and they no know secret to the mysteries of life. They are the very young, and the very wise.

Somehow, I see that they walk a little closer to God than I do though. Maybe because they have too, or maybe they just know that is the best place to be.

They keep moving, keep believing, keep breathing. He is just learning about life and not letting the pain color his opinions. He is choosing to really live, even while slowly dying. They are submitting to a plan, not of their own choosing, but of faith in their Father.

Maybe that is a real hero; someone who submits to the plan of their Father. A heavenly Father who is more certain, more just, more glorious, more courageous and more noble than any of us.

"How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is." 1 John 3:1-2

How Beautiful

Feet are not usually considered a beautiful thing in any culture. However, following in the footsteps of someone wise and wonderful is always a good thing. As my children get to know their grandparents more, I pray they would follow in their footsteps. That they would learn from them to love the Lord, to be generous, to laugh, to be loyal, to pray hard and work hard. To love family more than self, to share the gospel in actions and words wherever they go.

"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, 'Our God reigns!'" Isaiah 52:7

Time

"When will I be 9 Mama?" Hannah asks. "I can't wait any longer!"

Life is fast these days. We talk about how fast the months and years go by, how fast the kids grow. We like life fast; fast food, fast Internet, fast service-no waiting. We want everything now.

I can be a lot like that. I want tomorrow so I can do this or that, I want the kids to go through one phase or another. I fly through my days not even realizing what I did, what I ate, what I thought, how I lived.

Little faces of my beloved children ask how much longer-to the restaurant, to the park, to their next birthday. Heavy sighs come, to long, can't wait any longer!

Looking back, some things came slowly. A little longer nap, a little less food, a few shallow breaths. Why so slow that we didn't notice?

Why are we so caught in the rush of life that we don't see the creeping of death?

Time goes to fast, and it needs to slow down. We don't know how much time we have left with him, a month, a year, a day? It won't be enough time. I am trying to stop ticking off the days in an endless blur of movement. How do I stop the moments to make them lasting memories? I focus on making the pictures of real life stay in my head.

Life has seasons, times, changes.

There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.


How do I learn to laugh and dance in a season of mourning? If I slow down, will I see the moments, the miracles in the flying of time? I need to catch the real living in the time of dying, the gradual decline. To really see the last things, the first times, the sweetness of love and laughter.

To savor the sacred moments of life.

God fills every day with holy, sacred moments. These are the real living, the things that will last through the declining.

Take My Hand

When I was a little girl, I would hold my Dad's hand for a lot of reasons. I would hold it when I was scared, when I was happy, so I wouldn't get lost and wander away. Sometimes Dad took my hand when he was mad at me to pull me in line and sometimes he would take it to show me something of great wonder. He would hold it to comfort me when I was sick or very sad. When Dad took my hand, I could relax, I could trust. There was power in his hand and a reassurance of love.

I like to watch my children hold my Dad's hand. I love to watch as he teaches them and leads them. I love to see the way they look up to him, most likely in the same way I looked at him when I was a child; complete trust. I love to see them hold their father's hand. They know who will protect and love them.

As I have grown, the reason I hold my Dad's hand has changed. Mostly I hold it when we are looking in wonder at his grandchildren. We hold hands when we pray and lately, we have held hands to comfort each other.

It amazes me how the life cycle seems to go. How parents become children again and children become the parents. How we comfort those who once comforted us, how we sit at bedsides praying through an illness much like my parents knelt at my bedside and prayed for me. Now my Dad looks to me for comfort and reassurance, now I feel the need to protect him.

As my hands become stronger, his hands are growing weaker.

The blessing in all of this is that long ago, both my Dad and I placed our hands into someone's hands that are far stronger and far more loving. We placed them in our Father God's hands. He is the ultimate father, the ultimate lover and protector. His word tells of this:

When my heart was grieved
and my spirit embittered...
you hold me by my right hand.

You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.

-Psalm 73:21, 23b-26

As we grow weaker, He grows ever stronger.

Learning to Breath Again

I stopped breathing today. At least it stopped being easy. Each breath feels like a rendering of my chest in two. My world stopped today. In one instant everything collapsed in my head. I would not have been surprised if I had walked outside and no one was moving about. Stores should have been closed, events cancelled, talking ceased.

And yet, everyone else seemed to keep moving, keep breathing. My kids kept talking and asking and wanting. The dishes were still dirty, the laundry still piled, the phone still ringing. Didn't anyone realize that it was over, that I couldn't breath, that I was drowning?

It is horribly and astonishingly clear that ones own person tragedy is just that, ones own. Life for everyone goes on, even my life is moving. In my mind it has all ceased, everything looks, feels, sounds, tastes different. Yet everyone else is still moving, breathing....

I cry out to God. His world stopped once. When his Son suffered on that tree, spilled his blood for me. God even stopped the sun from shining when his tragedy occurred. Why couldn't I stop something for even a breath, a breath I couldn't even draw. Even the tears won't stop.

Teach me Lord God to breath, in and out. Fill me with your breath, I can't do it, can't find it, no strength...in and out...

1,000 Gifts

My sister, literally a world away, sent me a wonderful book at Christmas. It is called One Thousand Gifts, by A. Voskamp. I picked it up a few days ago when I was feeling as if God hadn't given me any gifts lately. Within the first few pages I realized how truly wrong I was, and just how much ingratitude was affecting my outlook on life.

It has been a difficult season for us. God has filled us with an overwhelming desire to raise more children, to save them from a worse fate. But door after door has closed in our desire to do this. We are now walking down a different path, still to this desire and we need a big miracle. Just now, when in doubt of any miracles, this book became a beacon for me. One statement...

"thanksgiving precedes the miracle"

Think of the life of Jesus, his greatest works and miracles. Read the stories. Thanksgiving precedes the miracle. Before calling Lazarus from the dead, Jesus thanks his Father. Before feeding the multitudes, He thanks his Father. Before his last supper, his darkest hour, He thanks his Father.

How many miracles have I missed in my life because I am ungrateful? How have I miss living my life to the fullest of God's presence in me, because I am ungrateful? I truly have over a thousand things to be grateful for. During this time, this season of sacrifice and hope, I need to be thankful so I do not miss the miracle.

Giving Thanks