Shannon

In a former life, I was a therapist to one of my forever heroes. If you've ever worked one-on-one intentionally with a child, you understand that cell phones don't really mix in with therapy time. As in, you don't ever have a good moment to take a call or check a voicemail.

One night as I was cleaning up and writing notes after a late session, I picked my phone up off the counter to check for any important messages, and saw a text from my husband that accompanied several missed calls: "Call me now." Not good.

When I called, I had one of those "Top Five Conversations You Never Want to Have" moments, as I learned that he had been in a very serious car wreck and was on the way to the hospital - feeling physically okay considering the circumstances, but emotionally wrecked. As I talked with him, I rushed to put the last few things in place and left, trying to time my trip by the house to let the very-new puppy out just right so that I could meet him at the ER.

When I got to the ER, I learned several things. 1) My man WAS going to be okay (I needed to hold him to be able to know it). 2) Shannon - the girl who was driving the car and who pulled out in front of him, did not make it. Though the others (her friend and her two siblings) were all going to be physically okay, they had lost their sister and mom that day. She was quite young, and nobody was ready to let go of her. For the next few weeks, we struggled with a lot of emotions that we had never faced before. Sometimes L would break down and cry during the middle of doing things that he knew Shannon would never be able to do again or never be able to experience. Satan tried to attack his mind a lot, and I watched vigilantly for signs of depression. Sometimes I felt closer to him than I'd ever felt before, and sometimes there were miles of nothingness between us. It was a defining moment for us, to be sure.

Because the accident happened on a road that we travel fairly frequently, we always notice the little white cross that stands in memory of her at that intersection. When we pass it, I pray and wonder where her family and that friend are right then. I wonder if they are doing okay. I wonder how they remember that day. I wonder about the path that God has them on and why that moment was necessary and purposeful for Him to be able to carry out His Will in their lives and in our lives.

And so, on this day this year and for every year, we remember Shannon. We pray for her loved ones and for their continued comfort and God's continued faithfulness and nearness to them. We trust His Sovereignty. We acknowledge His power over life and death. We believe that He means all things for our good and His glory. We are thankful for His protection over our earthly lives and hopeful for a glorious revelation of His perfect mind one day - a moment where the veil is lifted and we finally "get it." And we wait with anticipation for the day when we embrace Shannon and celebrate Jesus together.

There will be a day with no more tears,

No more pain, and no more fears

There will be a day when the burdens of this place

Will be no more, we'll see Jesus face to face

-Jeremy Camp

The First Year

Whenever my husband or I tell our story to another couple, we always reminisce about the first year - so far, the hardest year of our marriage.

There wasn't much of a "honeymoon phase" to our marriage. From day one, I had a load of expectations that I dumped on my husband, things that either my dad or other "great men" in my life had done for their wives. When he did the things that I expected him to do, I rarely thanked him (much less threw him a party), because those were the things that he was "supposed" to be doing, right? I remember several conversations that went to the tune of this:

L: "Hey babe, did you notice that I loaded the dishwasher for you?"

Me: "Um, yeah. Did you notice that I loaded it every day for the past eight days?"

I had really poor communication skills, and he wanted to talk about EVERYTHING. I was working full-time, playing more or less the role of the "breadwinner" while he finished his senior year of college. I came from a traditional family; he had stepfamilies and half-brothers. In a group setting, he wants to make sure everybody's having a good time; in a group setting, I want to make sure everybody's doing what they are supposed to be doing.

We spent the three years building up to marriage finding out how similar we were, and the whole first year and a half of marriage finding out how different we were. It was quite a ride.

I wouldn't trade that year for anything. It was the worst year of our marriage, and yet prepared us for everything we've faced since that time. I love that our God knew what we needed, even when it felt like he was against us on all sides.

Time Flies By

I was thinking the other day that it just seems impossible how fast time has flown by this past year. Every time that E and I meet someone new, they always leave me with the same parting words: "Don't blink, because before you know it, she'll be headed off to college."

If the warp speed continues, I can easily see why they all say it.

I pull my video camera out every chance I get. I shoot pictures at every turn. I've even started blogging every little detail that I can manage to remember. And then I stumble across something like this, and I think...WAIT!!! That can't possibly be almost two years ago, can it?

Like Mother, Like Daughter

When I was a kid, if I saw something I liked, I would just take it. My unregenerate heart simply had no regard for other people's stuff. I brought home several books from preschool. I would take pencils that I liked off of people's desks at school. I remember having to go back into a department store and return a magnet that I had stolen in the check-out line, per my dad's disapproving instruction. I took things from my sister all the time (maybe one of the reasons she's such an awesome person is that I cultivated a huge heart of grace in her...hahaha).

Today E and I had a little playdate, and when I went to clean out her bag tonight, I found this:

Three little pieces of fruit from her little friends' play kitchen. (To further demonstrate that this wasn't "an accident," she asked for them by name when I was emptying her bag. I didn't know what she was talking about until I stumbled upon them.) Sorry, J & E!! We'll return them ASAP. :)

It's a little bit funny, but it's also quite serious too. I don't want to overlook the fact that this could be a potential foothold in her life one day if not addressed early and talked about frequently; it certainly is an issue I have always dealt with. She has such a sweet, joyful heart even now in the midst of being a little thief - I can't wait to see what it's going to look like one day when it has been reclaimed by our Holy God and used for His incredible purposes!!

Play date kiddos:

(E, E, & E!)

I always think about my friend G when I clean out the refrigerator.

When I was interning at a church during college, I lived with G. She was, hands down, one of the best roommates I've ever had. On the first day I moved in, she gave me a list of "Things to Know About Living Here," which included how to park in the driveway (no lie) and how to avoid the wrath of her devil-cat (wish I were joking). I have so many fond memories of that brief moment in my life, like...

-Buying ice cream from the grocery store, ordering pizza from Dominoes, and sitting on the couch stuffing our faces while watching the "Biggest Loser."

-Coming home to find my sister, who was visiting me for the week, squatting on top of the kitchen counter, wearing oven mitts and holding a broom, terrified of the "devil-cat" who was hissing and spitting at her from the middle of the kitchen floor.

-Constant conversations about how I used to leave kitchen cabinet doors open and accidentally burn the burner covers on the stove.

-Sideways glances from her when L and I would sit too close together on the couch.

-Her laugh. It's one of my top five most favorite laughs in the whole wide world.

-Unashamed jealousy over the fact that her mom's favorite thing to do was show up unannounced and take her on a shopping spree.

But my all-time favorite memory of G has to be the realization that there was a leftover covered casserole dish in her refrigerator from the Thanksgiving the year before. Mind you, I moved into the house during the summer. We threw that whole $15-dish away, we never even opened the lid. I think we sat in the middle of the kitchen floor and laughed for a half hour. So, every time I clean out my refrigerator and stumble upon a tupperware container that was shoved into the back and forgotten about, I think of my friend G. And I smile.

Fall 2003

In early September of 2003, my dad and I filled my little Nissan Altima to the breaking point, climbed in, and tag-teamed the drive all the way to Colorado Springs, CO (with a little pit stop on the way to visit my grandparents who were motorhoming across the country). We got there, moved my stuff into the 2BR apartment that I would be living in with three strangers for the next 4 months, and I drove him to the airport to catch a plane back home.

I had been accepted to attend a one-semester academic journey into the how's and why's of the Christian life. It absolutely revolutionized the way I view the world, which impacted every sphere of life from family to politics to science to psychology. I was challenged to give an answer for what I believed, why I believed it to be true, and what believing those things meant in day-to-day life.

I never could have possibly imagined the importance of the foundation those few months laid in my life, or the impact that the Institute would have on the way I parent, the movie choices that I make, and the friendships that I have.

If you are/are going to someday be 20-26 years old, if you know someone who is 20-26 years old, if you have a child that will be 20-26 years old at some point (I'm thinking this should cover everybody), you really should check out the Focus Leadership Institute. It's one of those moments in life in which I would have pressed the "pause" button indefinitely just to never stop experiencing the richness and depth of education, community and truth that is totally inescapable at that place.

Moose Tracks

I was making a dessert today which involved Mayfield Moose Tracks ice cream, and had a momentary flashback to a time in my life where things weren't quite so "illuminated" in regards to my future. My then-boyfriend (now-husband) and I were in the aftermath of a really tough break-up, and I was having a tough time getting a handle on what exactly God was doing in my life.

It was late at night, and I was sleepless and in a somber mood, thinking about all that had transpired in the relationship and wondering what in the world was going to happen between us. I went hunting in the dorm for something sweet and stumbled upon a carton of Mayfield Moose Tracks ice cream in the kitchen.

It wasn't mine, but it was perfect. I took it back to the Commons area, sat in the middle of the couch, turned on a really sappy movie, ate all the peanut butter cups out of the ice cream and cried until I had no more tears left. Then I put the leftover ice cream (with no peanut butter cups left) back into the freezer. It was a totally heathen thing to do, and I never confessed to the true owner of the ice cream. In fact, it's been my secret until now...

I look back on it and wonder just exactly how amused God was at my ridiculously young and immature self. I hope he was laughing at me, sitting in my puddle of tears stuffing my face with Moose Tracks peanut butter cups, wondering if "life would ever be okay again." It's amazing how quickly we humans lose sight of the bigger picture, forgetting that every single piece of broken glass fits into the huge stained-glass window that he is making from our shattered hopes and dreams.

To this day, a carton of Moose Tracks makes me laugh, and reminds me how incredibly BIG our God is. To my friend to once owned a carton of Moose Tracks ice cream with no peanut butter cups...I am truly sorry!!

The Proposal

My guy proposed to me on Grandfather Mountain in August of 2004, only six days after he flew home a from a two-month mission trip to Kenya.

He bought my ring from a jeweler in Africa. From the way he tells it, he wasn't really quite sure the whole deal was going to go down until the moment he actually had the ring in his hand (scary!). The stone he chose for the ring, Tanzanite, comes from Tanzania, Africa, and has some rare qualities to it that he felt truly symbolized God's workings in our relationship, the foremost of which was the process by which Tanzanite becomes beautiful. In its raw state, Tanzanite is typically a reddish brownish, unattractive ore. The skilled artisan, though, can take this ore and pass it through red-hot flames to burn away the impurities, revealing the blue violet gem that is considered so rare and pure.

So on August 5th, 2004, my guy took me high up on a mountain, served me a meal, washed my feet, told me many things that he had been storing up in his heart for two months while in Kenya, pulled out this perfectly-symbolic ring, and waited. And waited. And waited.

And I waited. And waited. And waited.

And it occurred to one of us somewhere along the way, that I was actually waiting for the real, live question, you know, "Will...you...marry...me?"

He had really gotten so nervous that he forgot to actually "pop the question!" I, being equally as anxious about it all, didn't know how to prompt him to do so without risking messing the whole thing up. It was incredibly awkward and hilarious all at the same time, but somewhere in the midst of all of that I did manage to say yes. :)

-----------

I sent him a quick text to remind him today of this moment five years ago, and asked him if marriage has been the "hardest thing he's ever loved" - a question I sometimes ask people when they've devoted their love to something or someone that is incredibly challenging, such as foster parenting or a prodigal child. Without skipping a beat, he texted right back, "Not hard to love, but loved harder than anything I ever have." What a man! (And, oh how true...)

Toe to Toe

During the first year of marriage, I cried...a lot. I was young (22), fresh out of college, new in my career, and ready to have somebody to curl up next to every night and scare away the boogie man. I was not ready for smelly laundry, three times the grocery bill, and not being able to leave our pint-sized loft apartment every time I got mad.

Really bad communication skills (me) + unbearably high expectations of what a husband should do and shouldn't do (me again) = lots of crying (once again, me).

Tonight I was reminded tonight of how very far God has redeemed us from that pit. With the guidance of some really incredible married folks, lots of prayer, time, the iMarriage series by Andy Stanley, and the supernatural patience of my husband, we have come a really long way. He still has really smelly socks, and I still am uncovering hidden, self-serving expectations in my heart. But in the midst of all that, God drops nights like tonight in our laps - nights where we sit toe to toe on top of the washer and dryer, and we talk until we're so tired that neither one of us can see straight. Then we laugh until it hurts because it's only 9pm. I love that my husband carries so many incredible qualities, but tonight I just love that he's my greatest and dearest earthly friend.

A Shark's Tooth

When I was in the third grade, my class at school took a field trip to Cumberland Island. For some reason, I have random memories of this trip that have stuck with me over the last 18 years. Like the giant banzai-looking trees that twisted and curled over each other because of the forceful island winds, or the ride we took on the ferry to get to the island, with the wild horses that we spotted right as we landed. The Cumberland Island tshirt that I spent nearly all of my money buying two of - so that my best friend Misty Ford and I could match; then sitting on the back of the bus with her on the way home singing, "99 bottles of coke on the wall" with 30 other 3rd graders (all the way down to 1)...then nearly not making it to the bathroom in time when the bus FINALLY stopped on the way home. I don't typically remember these types of childhood details, so the fact that these have stuck with me so vividly is warmingly strange.

On one particular shore on the island, it was rumored that you could find sharks' teeth mixed in among the rocks and sand, and I eventually found one. I decided that this would be the PERFECT gift for my younger brother. I could hardly wait to give it to him, and he didn't disappoint with his excitement about the really cool gift. I felt like the winning sister, and enjoyed the fact that I had brought him something so meaningful. Later that week, when we were playing with it on some bleachers at a softball game, I accidentally dropped it through the seats, and even after searching for it for the next hour, we never found it.

I was so devastated that I remember feeling sick to my stomach. This awesome, wonderful, most-appreciated gift that could never be replaced was lost. Even to this day, that memory is painfully poignant. It is my first memory of a moment in my life of disappointing someone without being able to do anything about it, and its one of those things that stings a little, even to this day.

Brother of mine, we've traveled a long road to get to where we are today - one where we've both had our share in disappointing the other and also our share in loving on and being there for each other. I'm thankful for the past 25 years of your life that I've gotten to experience, and thankful that God is unfolding His perfect plan for your life. I can't wait to see what blessings this next year brings (namely S!!), and I love the glimpses that I get of the man you are becoming. Happy (late) Birthday, I love you!

Beloved

At the beginning of my second year of college, God began to strip away my cover by removing other idols in my life that were taking his place. It was a really tough time in my life, and I fought him hard for control. He stripped away my boyfriend of 4 years, he stripped away some pretty solid friendships and guided me into new ones, and then also began to uncover some of the really deep-seated flesh patterns that had governed me up to that point. I remember one night in my dorm room, after soaking my pillow with tears, crawling out of bed and curling up on the floor, face down. I told God right then and right there that if there was anything good left in me, he could have it. If there was anything he thought he could use for his glory, it was his. If he could pick up my pieces and form them into something usable, to take me. It wasn't necessarily that I trusted him to do any of those things - I just really felt he was the only option I had left.

To say he taught me a lot that year doesn't even scratch the surface. I think that year he just loved on me a lot. I liked the idea that the Old Testament sets forth about gathering "stones" as a way to honor and remember God's covenants. Following that example, I set out in search of a ring that would serve as a reminder to me of his deep love.

I found what I was looking for - a silver band, with the verse from Song of Solomon 6:3, in Hebrew, inscribed on it. It was perfect...almost. I wanted to wear it on my ring finger, as a symbol of my relationship with Christ, but it seemed a little heretical to think that one day my husband would one day "replace" this band with one he was giving to me. To me, the symbolism of that just didn't make sense; my relationship with Christ would never be replaced by my husband, it would be magnified.

I settled on a (gasp!) tattoo. One I didn't tell my parents about for nearly six months. I took the Hebrew words from that ring and had them inscribed on my ring finger, in a place that would one day fall directly beneath my wedding rings. To this day, I still love it. I love that it serves as a "remembering stone" for the time when God pulled me out of the pit. I love that what it says is eternally true: "I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine." I love that I serve a God who doesn't just teach, but sometimes just loves. And even when I fight his love during a moment of rebellion, that tattoo remains, serving as an ever-present example of his steadfast love for me.

(Disclaimer to my children: This is by no means your future justification for getting a tattoo or piercing or whatever else might be intriguing to your teenage mind.)

And That's What (Some) Little Girls Are Made Of...

I remember, as a young girl, receiving an invitation in the mail one day to "Junior Cotillion." After asking my mom what it was, I promptly ripped it to shreds and threw it in the trash, claiming that I would not be learning how to sip tea, set a dinner table and ballroom dance. It was a value statement then, for sure (apologies to all those Cotillioners out there!), but as a pretty literal 11-yr-old, I just couldn't foresee in my future a need to be educated in the social graces of this world (to this day, I still don't have a clue what went on in those classes, but I could use a little help in the social graces arena!).

I often wonder about E, what kind of a girl she is becoming, not only in a spiritual sense, but also if she'll like Barbies and play house, if she will scale rocks or climb mountains like her daddy. If I'll have to hide my amusement in the same way my mom probably did when she rips up an invitation to learn ballroom dancing.

Not that I have a real preference for one skill set over another...I'm really just quite curious to see what specific gifts and traits God gives my cheerful, light-hearted, easy-going little baby. One thing's for sure: if this video is any indication, we're going to need a whole lot more lessons in social graces!