Beauty and Peace

I went for a jog early this morning. It was a really gorgeous morning in the country. There was a light mist that barely touched my skin as I moved through it but, which left the world in a beautiful silence that I was in just the right state of mind to appreciate. Still, I guided my headphone into one of my ears and pushed play. There was something about being surrounded by the silence of creation that enhanced the music. At once I could hear the beauty of the music and the stillness of the world and it was powerful. The song that popped up on my ipod is one that has held special meaning for me before, but this morning it was new again and spoke so sweetly to my heart.

FIELDS OF PLENTY/ BE STILL MY SOUL - Amy Grant

Be still my soul the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide.
In every change He faithful will remain.
Be still my soul. Thy best, thy heavenly Friend.
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.
Be still my soul thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake.
All now mysterious will be bright at last.


Spoken:
(Delight yourselves in the Lord,
Yes, and find your joy in Him.
Be known for your gentleness
And never forget the nearness of our God.
And don’t worry,
Whatever’s gonna come.
Just tell God every detail.
And the peace of God that no one understands
Will come to you.
No, don’t worry,
Just tell Him every detail
And His peace will come to you.)


I began my jog with some heavy thoughts on my mind. Thoughts that come into my mind that I really don’t like to share with anyone else. Thoughts that are born of things I know I can’t expect or try to make anyone else understand. I find myself in that place every once in a while. I often end up frustrated by it and trying so hard to push that frustration away. But this song came on and I found myself before the throne of God, knowing that He was, as always, big enough to handle “every detail.” I spoke to Him there and told Him that I didn’t know if I really had the energy to tell it all today. I’m pretty sure that was okay with Him. After all He knew the details even before I did. I laid it at His feet and I left it there, for Him to “order and provide”. And then I really did experience a measure of His promised peace. It wasn’t an assurance that the markets won’t continue to plummet or that my teenagers won’t make bad choices or even an assurance that faith shaking situations won’t come into my life again. It wasn’t a feeling of wellbeing, or even a sense that I could get through anything with God by my side (though I do know that’s true). It was simply a moment in which I knew beauty. And knowing beauty, for me, is knowing the Creator of beauty. And knowing the Creator of a world like the one I jogged in this morning was for that moment at least, just enough peace to pass my understanding.

Beuaty Will Rise

Warning...long and gratutitouse post follows. Come back another time if you're not up for it. I'll understand. Really!


My personal devotion time today was extremely personal and beautifully intimate. I always hesitate to try to share those kinds of things because God is so specific with us as His children when He draws near and pulls us close. He’s often so specific that I wonder if we can really ever fully understand the things He teaches someone else. Having said that though, my time with Him this morning was profound for me and I can’t help but try to share something of what it meant.

Okay, so I’m a mildly obsessed Steven Curtis Chapman (and family) fan. You really can’t blame me if you know my story. His music has literally been playing in the background and often even the foreground of most of my adult life’s biggest moments. God has used his music to minister to my heart in ways only God and I will ever really understand. But will you bear with me if I try to share just some of what He’s done?
I didn’t realize at my wedding what the words “I will be here when the laughter turns to crying through the winning, losing and trying” would mean to me now that “the mirror tells us we’re (17 years) older ” instead of just 17 years old. But I loved the song and it was powerful even before it was understood.

Later when my cousin and lifelong friend passed away leaving behind a beautifully fragile wife and two incredible children I questioned God at length. I couldn’t begin to understand how this could possibly be meant for anyone’s good. He quieted my heart with the title track of Steven’s Speechless cd. Words like “ I say so many things. Trying to figure you out. But as mercy opens my eyes… my words are stolen away by this breath taking view of your grace.” And “His strength is perfect when our strength is gone” assured me that Maria and the kids would be given what they needed in their sorrow.

Just a year later we lost our precious son, Tristan and the words of With Hope reminded us of the theme God was weaving through our lives and making so real to us that day. “And never have I known anything so hard to understand. Never have I questioned more the wisdom of God’s plan. But through the veil of tears I hear the Father smile and say “Well done.” We know our goodbye is not the end. We can grieve with Hope ‘cuz we believe with Hope. There’s a place where we’ll see your face again.” Just a few months later Declaration came out and every single song on that album seemed as though God had written the words just for me and imprinted their meaning deep within my heart. Those songs and I journeyed for years together and still do today as I process still what it meant to lose my son.

A few years passed and we found ourselves in the throws of adoption. We were looking forward to baptizing our daughters when Steven sang in person, what seemed like a concert made just for them at Life Light that year. When he introduced “When Love Takes you In”, the very song I’d wanted sung at their baptism later that month the tears began to fall so quickly. “When Love takes you in and says you belong here. The loneliness ends and a new life begins. And this love. It will not let you go. Cuz there’s nothing that could ever cause this love to lose it’s hold.” My daughters were in my arms and whatever we were struggling through in that moment slipped away as I was reminded of the way God’s adoptive love was circling us all.

I went through a major surgery not long after that. As I sat through tests and procedures I often had them play my Declaration cd for me. “God is God” became my anthem during the surgery and lengthy recovery time that followed. “I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting.” What a wonderful reminder on those days when my little part was looking pretty dark.

My dad died a few years ago and there was just a lot of personal processing that needed to take place. I was starting to feel a little picked on by a God I knew held only love for me. I was little bit edgy in how I approached Him but Bring it On helped me find my voice. “Bring it on. Let the trouble come. Let the Hard Rain fall. Bring it on. Cuz I’m not gonna run from the very thing that will drive me closer to you.”

Our newest trial is in dealing with the plummets of the livestock markets. Financial strain seems to threaten more than just our pocket books, but this new cd reminds me that “Jesus Will Meet me There.”

See.. I have a reason to be mildly obsessed. I told you so.

Anyway all of this background to bring you to my moment alone with God this morning. I had purchased the new SCC cd and decided to spend my time with God reading the words and the lengthy explanations Steven gave as background to the music on the cd jacket. My heart broke for the Chapman family when they lost they’re precious Maria last year. I wasn’t prepared for how powerfully God would work through this latest cd, even though I knew the newest work would be deeply moving. Songs like “Just Have to Wait” and “Spring is Coming” not to mention “Heaven is the Face” and “I will Trust You” brought me back to my own loss and laid me open before the throne of heaven today. I was reminded in the rawness of this mornings encounter with Christ of the depth of grief. But this music was so INCREDIBLY laced with Hope that it brought me to a new level of healing. To identify with such loss and such Hope all at once was almost too much to bear. The kind of emotion a new realization of God’s truth brings with it can be overwhelming. There’s a line that haunts me still as even now I listen to the music play softly in the background, “ Well I can’t wait to hear your mama laugh the way that only you can make her laugh when you get silly. And I can’t wait to SEE you in her arms and know the wound so deep inside her heart is healed for good.” And “I can’t wait to watch your brother’s face when he can finally SEE with his own eyes that everything’s okay”... Loss and guilt…and Hope.

I sat in the stillness this morning realizing again and anew how powerfully personal and specific God has been in His dealings with me. I’m thankful for the beautiful Biblically based music SCC churns out with each new album. It’s no wonder those words bring such depth and healing. They come straight from the heart of God. Only He could offer those kinds of promises.

I’m so sorry that the Chapman’s have had so much to suffer, but I’m praying it reaches many hearts the way it has mine. I think God wants little Maria to have lots of company up there in her “Big, big house with lots and lots of rooms.” And I’m hoping she’s met a little boy named Tristan. It seems they might have a connection only heaven would understand.

Okay, I warned you. Thanks for letting me spill on and on today. I appreciate your being here.

Now, I'd love to hear about how God's been highly specific for you.

The Silent Breakfast of the Empty Handed Hunter

Yesterday afternoon my oldest son, the passionate hunter, set out to spend some time in his deer stand. Armed with a bow and a fistful of arrows contentment seemed to beam from his face. This is a kid who loves to be outdoors, at peace whenever he’s surrounded by nature.







The call came an hour or so later. “Mom, I need to talk to Dad right now.” I recognized the shaky but controlled calm in his voice. It was something I could easily recall from all these years as a hunter’s wife. It was the exact voice his father used when a deer had been hit.

Steve and Taylor exchanged a few excited words. Plans were made to retrieve the deer. The testosterone driven inhabitants of our home were giddy with excitement. Taylor told and retold the story of how in his shock of having his first real shot at a buck he had been unable to even pull back his string. Miraculously the buck had turned and given him another chance. All four manboys quickly donned camouflage gear, flashlights and one more round of arrows. Even uncle Shawn came out to join the crew. They searched late into the night. They rose early and searched all morning. The blood trail had run thin. Hope of finding the deer has now run out. A weary hunter and his son sit at the breakfast table even now exchanging only looks of dismay and disappointment as the morning sun spills across their sad faces.





I offer words like; “There will be other deer.” And “ You still have more time left before the shot gun season starts.” I fill their plates with bacon, eggs and pancakes hoping it will nourish more than their growling stomachs. But my efforts fall on deaf ears. This is a place only men are allowed. My son tells me by the look on his face to please find somewhere else to be right now.



It’s hard to be a mom of a man child. I know how little he wants to need me. I understand that this is a necessary process. But it’s hard. It’s hard to love him so much and have my efforts to be a part of his life go more than unnoticed, also unwanted.

I know it will all turn around again one day. I know he’ll get older and realize I’m not holding on anymore and he’ll be happy to spend time with me again. But for now I miss the kid who would so casually say “I love you” and call me “Mamma.” It was just last year that his arms would circle around me in a quick hug most mornings before he left for school as I stood at the sink washing away the remains of his breakfast. “Have a good day Mom.” Trailing behind him as he shoved one more piece of toast in his mouth and hoisted his backpack over his shoulder.

He’ll be seventeen in a few weeks and at 6 foot 3 he is every inch the man he so desperately wants to be. I’m not trying to hold on. Really, I’m not. It’s just that this morning as he walked up to the house, an empty handed hunter, shoulders slouched, head hung low, he was once again a little boy.

He doesn’t like the thought of that deer suffering. He can’t stand knowing it’s still out there. Somehow in the silence the men have this conversation. I can’t hear it. It’s not meant for my ears. And words… words are like shattering a glass with a rock this morning. So I slink away. I sit at my computer and I fill a blinking cursor with words they can’t hear. There’s still that sound of something shattering though. I think it’s just my mom heart…breaking. Phew… parenting can be tough!

Affected

I’ve been home sick for the last 3 days. It’s the kind of sick that leaves me too tired to do much more than cross the room but it’s not like I’m puking or sweating out a fever either. This has left me with a lot of time to, well, ponder. THAT can be a very scary thing. TRUST me. I’ve also had a lot of time to observe. I’ve observed what the stress of a late harvest does to my husband’s demeanor. (Try as he may to remain unaffected). I’ve observed what the thrill of the spotlight has done for my daughter. She loves play practice and whatever took place during that time seems to come spilling out of her the moment she walks in the door. I’ve noticed what really fitting in has done for my middle son who has settled well into the social climate of the sophomore class. SO much less angst than there was last year. My youngest daughter revels in the attention she readily receives from her zany comments and silliness. It’s clear to see that being in the seventh grade has rendered her a bit self conscious and unsure of how to act. Thus the crazy Hannah Montana mimicking that, frankly, gets a bit tired. After all if you’re not sure of your identity yet, why not steal someone else’s right? My youngest son has finally broken into a time of life when we all go to watch HIM do things. Football, basketball, speech, band and choir have us pursuing his schedule now and after following along with the four who’ve gone before him, he finally feels he’s arrived. And my oldest son. Wow. He’s almost a man. He’ll be 17 in a month and I can hardly believe the confident and mature individual he’s become. He’s receiving all kinds of praise at work for his efforts and hunting season is upon him. In his world nothing could be more “right”.

All of this observing left me wondering, are we all so reactionary? I would think if it holds true in my home, it probably does in yours as well right? What I’m trying to articulate is that as I look over what I just wrote I realize that we are all SO affected by outside forces. The season of our lives, the input from the people who surround us, our age, our social circle, the activities we’re involved in, the pressures of our work. These things affect us. Of course they do. That’s normal. I guess.

But, it leads me to wonder…if we weren’t surrounded by so much outside stimuli what would our personalities be? Of course, I don’t want to be a hermit. I realize that the lack of stimuli has basically the same affect in that it HAS an affect, but I’m trying to get at something deeper.

We’ve all had those days where we start out feeling good. We have breakfast and get ready for whatever might be going on. We look in the mirror and perhaps for this day aren’t terribly unhappy with the reflection. We make time for devotions and feel empowered and refreshed. All seems right with the world and then BAMM… something happens. A co-worker makes a rude comment. A sibling calls with a family issue. Someone rear ends us in the parking lot. Our mood changes. Our whole outlook changes. And the people around us have to deal with it. Sometimes these things last for a day and other times we find ourselves in a season of affect.

I started to look over my life. I thought about all the components that affect me. I wondered why I gave these things so much power over me. I pondered whether it was within my grasp to remain unaffected. And, I came to the unsettling conclusion that it is not.

There is a girl I’m not sure I want my middle son to date. It looks very possible that it will happen. I know that will affect me. I really want my oldest son to achieve great grades and ACT scores this year as he prepares for school. What he chooses will affect me either way. My youngest daughter lives for volleyball. How tryouts go this January will affect her so much… and via her.. me.

And that’s just a sampling of my family, one aspect, (albeit the largest) of my life.

So as I observe this week from my sickly perch on the sunlit couch I wonder this; “Who is it God intends for me to be each day? Does He intend for the reactionary Cherie, who is so very affected by her circumstance? Or does He intend for something other? I wonder who Cherie really is… if she isn’t who everything else affects her to be?” Hmmmm…it’s interesting.

Scared Speechless

I’ve been asked to tell “my story” to a group of women for a Christmas Luncheon. Over the past couple of years I felt like I had been led to pray about speaking engagements. I was challenged to accept whatever came my way. BUT…. I wasn’t really sure I wanted God to open that door. I suppose that was why it was so challenging. I didn’t exactly make it public knowledge, this leading. I guess I figured I was pretty safe accepting that challenge because I didn’t tell anyone I what I was being led to consider. But it now appears that God… did. And now that He went and opened that door I’m wondering if it would be okay to just close it up again. I wouldn’t just slam it in His face or anything. I would just very gently sneak around the backside and slowly creak the door back closed.

The thing is, I don’t like to speak. I’m a rambler. I tend to really get going once I open my mouth. Give me a mike ( oh my word, I shudder to remember the one time someone gave me a mike) and I will ramble at will incoherently ‘till the guy with the hook comes out.

I do like to write. I suppose that’s partly because when you write and you realize that you’re workin’ up a good ramble, you have only to highlight and cut and phew… saved face.

I know what you’re thinking. Write your talk out … then read it. Yep. That’s a great idea. In theory. But I’ve tried that. I panic and I NEVER look up from that paper. It’s not very engaging.

And then there’s the whole problem of what to say. I mean really!! Sure I have a story. I get that. We all do. But is mine interesting or important enough to hold a captive audience? I fear I’m doomed to stare into a sea of disinterested feminine faces who are all making mental to do lists while I ramble. Who could blame them?

Yes, I hear you thinking. “Wow, Cherie, this is probably supposed to be about God isn’t it? Why are you making it all about yourself?”

I know. You’re right.

Will you pray please that I’m able to do just that?

He didn’t ask me to write. He asked me to speak.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

(eeek…)

Seasons

“In those days, though, spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed.” Ernest Hemmingway A Moveable Feast

We all go through seasons. Right now my children are going through seasons of excitement, of learning, a time when everything they experience is new and thrilling. I have some friends at retirement age who experience a time of contentment and ease right now; a time when life offers just enough leisure to allow a person to enjoy the moments. I know others who are in times that feel unsettled. Great longings seem to go unnoticed; at the very least unanswered by a God who seems, if not removed, uninterested in the desires of their hearts.
I also know those who endure pain in the moment to moment way of persons who know great loss. These are souls in suffering. Hearts in turmoil. They wait in desperation for a spring that seems to “nearly fail”.
I guess we’ve all experienced seasons like that haven’t we? We wait and we hope for things to get better. Do we believe it will? Yes, I suppose as those who’ve become a new creation we do.

And yet.

I was reading A Moveable Feast tonight and became engulfed in Hemmingway’s description of Paris in the last depths of a long, hard, winter ; when there settled over the city a near panic that the desolation of the season wouldn’t end. He describes that time as a time when “it would seem you were losing a season of your life”. As I slid my bookmark into place I began to wonder… “ Is it possible that there are times when the sorrow, or the fear; the pain or the great loneliness is not merely the passage of a season but also the loss of one?
Can a person lose out on the experience of one season because they cannot see outside of the experience of another?
During the time that followed the tragic death of my son I most certainly seem to have lost a season. So many things went on. The world kept spinning in a way that seemed almost to mock me as it said “Surely daytime and night… summer and winter will never cease.” Yet I ceased to experience them. For me I suppose there was a very real sense of missing a season of my life…in favor of… or at least in deference to another one.

And yet.

Tonight, with Hemmingway’s thoughts on Paris still fresh in my mind, I read through the caring bridge sites of loved ones and a new light began to dawn. What if the season we miss out on becomes the defining season in the lives of those we love? What if Friend A’s son’s difficult diagnosis becomes her other son’s defining season in that he learns compassion and understanding first hand? What if friend B’s son’s limited life expectancy and profound disabilities become her other children’s defining seasons in which they learn to lean hard on Hope? What if Friend C’s husbands struggle with sudden and terminal cancer becomes her daughter’s defining season? The one in which they come to know a God who truly is a Father in every practical sense of the word?
Do we all miss out on seasons? Yes. Depression, loss, financial ruin, crisis’ of faith, anger, resentment, pain, sorrow, even unfounded bliss do cause some of us at one time or another to be removed from life.
God seems to have intended a purpose for these times when we cannot connect; when we’re so busy with the work of making new pathways of connection. It would appear that He intends for our absence to be a defining moment for someone else. Most often for someone we love. A season they need to experience. A time that will build in them an essential aspect of their character; an aspect that they will share with the world… and that is needed.
It was a moment of clarity to realize that as I read the journal updates. So easy to see when you’re not encumbered with mommy guilt. When you can just see things as they stand in someone else’s life.

And yet.

If I can see this amazing and beautiful truth in their lives… surely… it stands to reason… that it would be true in mine…. and yours.
Spring did come for me after Tristan died, but not without the sense that I had lost a season. And my kids, my family and my friends may have missed me for a bit but they were being tended to by a God who held all our seasons in the palm of His hand. A God who was intent and purposeful about those moments with them.
There were so many times I wanted to cry out and ask God to just stop the world for a while so that I could go about the business of grieving and not miss out or feel pulled back toward life being lived. But the seasons just kept coming. And somewhere between the falling of the leaves and the piling of the snow there came a peace in knowing that spring too would eventually dawn … and that I would be there to experience it.

For a Moment

There are moments in life when you get a chance to do something really extraordinary. You get to benefit someone somehow. You are involved in something important. You witness healing and are able to add something to it. These are moments you expect to be remarkable.

And then there are moments in life when you reach out somehow, with some infinitesimal measure of concern or kindness. You do or say or give something you know can barely matter and yet you do it because it’s yours to do. You feel powerless to offer anything in the face of pain or sorrow. These are moments you expect to be unremarkable.

But sometimes… sometimes the smallest of things become the most meaningful.

And the grandest of gestures seem to pale in insignificance.

The ways I intended this day were not the ways God used. Of course it stands to reason and, in this case is true then, that the things I knew were too small to matter seemed to be used in the most beautiful sense. It’s humbling. It’s so humbling to sit once again in the quietest part of the day and look back in marvel at how little any of it ever had to do with me.

There was “pain in the offering tonight”. But I also got in on “something beautiful”! It was just as I had expected it to be…. only, in reverse.

I guess I sort of get that. If it ever began to depend on me, I suppose I would cave under the pressure. But God will bless what He blesses and withhold from what He withholds. The outcome isn’t necessarily the point. At least it can’t be as far as it concerns me. The point is the obedience. And even though it hurts when all the hard work doesn’t pay off I would risk it all over again. Because sometimes…sometimes the almost effortless thing makes an impact so beautiful, so meaningful that everything else fades away.

For a moment.