Sunday, April 14, 2013
Alisha Hope
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Yet to Come
A few weeks ago Caleb said to me with a gasp, "Mom guess what we forgot to do at Christmas?" I expected him to say something like, "We didn't make homemade sugar cookies" or "Go see Santa". Really I knew it wasn't Santa (Caleb thinks Santa is too intrusive, making naughty/nice lists) but I couldn't imagine what childhood treasured memory I had left out. I stiffened, waiting..."The EGGS!" he said emphatically.
He was referring to our Resurrection Eggs. Each egg has a symbol of the Easter Story with a bible verse to read with the kids a couple weeks before Easter. I told him not to worry, it was yet to come!
Easter, a time to stop pensively at the cross. I see the invitation of one with His arms outstretched and His body writhing to give me a second chance to be free from my own desolation and begin again with God. It is only part of the story.
After I see my great need for this sacrifice of incredible love, I can not stop there. The arms are still open wide while the debris in my thought life, the hurtful deeds and words of my past, and my future are transferred to the Son. The Son who removes my guilt forever from the Father's check list. And still the story is not over.
I see the arms still open. I crawl to be nearer. The closer I get to the open arms the safer I feel from myself. From the world. I sense the new life in store for me. The mystery of it awakens me and I know the arms have wrapped snug around me.
Secure. Nothing can snatch me from these hands. It is in this moment I ask to be let go. The arms gently let me down. Without the constant nearness, doubts try to sneak in and troubles try to shake me.
It is always there though. The Cross. The open arms. I creep back to them. To Him. There I am reassurred of the hope now and the yet to come.
Looking forward to Resurrection Eggs and the yet to come!
He was referring to our Resurrection Eggs. Each egg has a symbol of the Easter Story with a bible verse to read with the kids a couple weeks before Easter. I told him not to worry, it was yet to come!
Easter, a time to stop pensively at the cross. I see the invitation of one with His arms outstretched and His body writhing to give me a second chance to be free from my own desolation and begin again with God. It is only part of the story.
After I see my great need for this sacrifice of incredible love, I can not stop there. The arms are still open wide while the debris in my thought life, the hurtful deeds and words of my past, and my future are transferred to the Son. The Son who removes my guilt forever from the Father's check list. And still the story is not over.
I see the arms still open. I crawl to be nearer. The closer I get to the open arms the safer I feel from myself. From the world. I sense the new life in store for me. The mystery of it awakens me and I know the arms have wrapped snug around me.
Secure. Nothing can snatch me from these hands. It is in this moment I ask to be let go. The arms gently let me down. Without the constant nearness, doubts try to sneak in and troubles try to shake me.
It is always there though. The Cross. The open arms. I creep back to them. To Him. There I am reassurred of the hope now and the yet to come.
Looking forward to Resurrection Eggs and the yet to come!
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Freeing
This past summer I read a book called, "She's Got Issues" by Nicole Unice with some
"mommy" friends in the neighborhood. We all agreed the book took us to a new level of awareness of our personal barriers to living a more free life with Jesus as the center. This book did something no self-help book had ever done, change me. I guess it's a little different when Jesus is the one actually helping us rather than ourselves.
A new assignment had begun in my heart, which I must admit was not completely welcome. Who wants to admit they have anger issues, fear issues, control issues... Acknowledging these uncomfortable and disturbing parts of myself seemed a little freeing. I wondered where else I could go.
Later in the summer I was reading Caleb a story about the famous biblical character Joseph. I love Joseph's story of God's preservation and redemption in his life. Oddly though the story took a twist for me when I got to the part where Joseph's brothers, desperate to find food during a famine, make a journey to Egypt. Joseph, who unbeknowest to them was now in charge of Pharoah's land, tells them they will be given what they need after they bring their youngest brother, Ben, back to him. They return to their father Jacob, requesting that Jacob allow them to take his beloved son back to Egypt to prove their identity and credibility. The brothers were left in the dark that Joseph was their long, presumed dead brother they sold into slavery many years before. They had hated Joseph but God used their plan for evil for good. Such good was now going to save their sorry lives.
The twisty part happened when I started to feel deep in my gut the pain of Jacob, the aged father of all these boys. Jacob was paralyzed at the prospect of letting Ben go. The emotions of fear and control over-took him in such a way it was as though it had just been the week prior that he lost Joseph forever. Joseph's brothers act of selling Joseph into slavery had remained an evil secret from Jacob. He had been told his son was viciously attacked and killed by wild animals. So when asked to release his baby boy out into the scary unknown, he acted out of un-resolved anger. And his failure to re-new trust in God from an incident thirty years ago was out in the open. Here he was now confronted with all of the "stuff" he stuffed for thirty years. I wonder how everyone in Jacob's life treated his tendency toward mistrust. Did they grant him permission to be like this because after all his son Joseph died? Did his other sons accept this in their father due to their own issues of guilt and lies? Once Jacob released his grip on Ben, he experienced the redeeming power of a gracious God by being reunited with his presumed dead son Joseph. Freeing.
So at this point I almost froze. There it was. My choice. Years of anger, fear, control and lack of trust issues or life free to be in the moment, to offer my trust even if it's wobbly, and to embrace God. I know I do not want to live an entire life of these issues! It is all too easy to give permission when circumstances have shaken our world. When externals, out of our control move us from a place of cozy to a place of vulnerability and even assault us, it is easy to give ourselves permission to stay guarded. Controlling. Safe. Angry.
Eventually life has a way of causing us to come back to the unaddressed, open wounds in our hearts. It might take thirty years but all the fear, all the pain, all the misery re-surface to reveal the thing we've tried too hard on our own to control, to conceal. The trust issue. And when it all comes up and out, the whispers are not "I give you permission to remain fearful, in false control, anxiety-ridden". No, the whisper is "This is not good for you. You are not well. I know how you got here but you can have a better life. Please let me."
The first step was awareness which I visited many years ago, "I know it makes sense that I have anxiety when my kids get sick, but it is not good for me." The next step I took years later was, "God I believe, help my unbelief." And the place I am in now is "Everyday I take what comes and then hand it over to let Him". Little bits of my heart at a time.
Perfection is not the result. Sometimes I squeeze extra long and extra tight before I let Him. Other times I stay with my back to Him while I configure the outcome before I turn and let Him. Moving toward trust is still the desire because I want to experience the next thirty years tasting what He offers not what I offer.
Holding back our trust from Him says we are still angry. We still live in false-control. We are still not well. Straining. Gripping. Restless.Tireless work. When I willingly "let Him" my yoke becomes easy, my burden light. Release. Rest. Ready. It is not work at all to trust. Freeing.
"mommy" friends in the neighborhood. We all agreed the book took us to a new level of awareness of our personal barriers to living a more free life with Jesus as the center. This book did something no self-help book had ever done, change me. I guess it's a little different when Jesus is the one actually helping us rather than ourselves.
A new assignment had begun in my heart, which I must admit was not completely welcome. Who wants to admit they have anger issues, fear issues, control issues... Acknowledging these uncomfortable and disturbing parts of myself seemed a little freeing. I wondered where else I could go.
Later in the summer I was reading Caleb a story about the famous biblical character Joseph. I love Joseph's story of God's preservation and redemption in his life. Oddly though the story took a twist for me when I got to the part where Joseph's brothers, desperate to find food during a famine, make a journey to Egypt. Joseph, who unbeknowest to them was now in charge of Pharoah's land, tells them they will be given what they need after they bring their youngest brother, Ben, back to him. They return to their father Jacob, requesting that Jacob allow them to take his beloved son back to Egypt to prove their identity and credibility. The brothers were left in the dark that Joseph was their long, presumed dead brother they sold into slavery many years before. They had hated Joseph but God used their plan for evil for good. Such good was now going to save their sorry lives.
The twisty part happened when I started to feel deep in my gut the pain of Jacob, the aged father of all these boys. Jacob was paralyzed at the prospect of letting Ben go. The emotions of fear and control over-took him in such a way it was as though it had just been the week prior that he lost Joseph forever. Joseph's brothers act of selling Joseph into slavery had remained an evil secret from Jacob. He had been told his son was viciously attacked and killed by wild animals. So when asked to release his baby boy out into the scary unknown, he acted out of un-resolved anger. And his failure to re-new trust in God from an incident thirty years ago was out in the open. Here he was now confronted with all of the "stuff" he stuffed for thirty years. I wonder how everyone in Jacob's life treated his tendency toward mistrust. Did they grant him permission to be like this because after all his son Joseph died? Did his other sons accept this in their father due to their own issues of guilt and lies? Once Jacob released his grip on Ben, he experienced the redeeming power of a gracious God by being reunited with his presumed dead son Joseph. Freeing.
So at this point I almost froze. There it was. My choice. Years of anger, fear, control and lack of trust issues or life free to be in the moment, to offer my trust even if it's wobbly, and to embrace God. I know I do not want to live an entire life of these issues! It is all too easy to give permission when circumstances have shaken our world. When externals, out of our control move us from a place of cozy to a place of vulnerability and even assault us, it is easy to give ourselves permission to stay guarded. Controlling. Safe. Angry.
Eventually life has a way of causing us to come back to the unaddressed, open wounds in our hearts. It might take thirty years but all the fear, all the pain, all the misery re-surface to reveal the thing we've tried too hard on our own to control, to conceal. The trust issue. And when it all comes up and out, the whispers are not "I give you permission to remain fearful, in false control, anxiety-ridden". No, the whisper is "This is not good for you. You are not well. I know how you got here but you can have a better life. Please let me."
The first step was awareness which I visited many years ago, "I know it makes sense that I have anxiety when my kids get sick, but it is not good for me." The next step I took years later was, "God I believe, help my unbelief." And the place I am in now is "Everyday I take what comes and then hand it over to let Him". Little bits of my heart at a time.
Perfection is not the result. Sometimes I squeeze extra long and extra tight before I let Him. Other times I stay with my back to Him while I configure the outcome before I turn and let Him. Moving toward trust is still the desire because I want to experience the next thirty years tasting what He offers not what I offer.
Holding back our trust from Him says we are still angry. We still live in false-control. We are still not well. Straining. Gripping. Restless.Tireless work. When I willingly "let Him" my yoke becomes easy, my burden light. Release. Rest. Ready. It is not work at all to trust. Freeing.
Friday, February 1, 2013
From My Heart
Many of you know one of the things that I have a heart for is grieving people. I am drawn to their pain and great need for hope. But just as fervently I am drawn to opportunity to teach others about that pain. The former passion comes from my own deep waters and the latter from a place of frustration.
Today my frustration mounted stirring me to share some important thoughts. I hope what I am doing is using my frustration to give birth to creativity. Enlightenment. Perspective. Writing for me is how I create. So I'll share...
A friend told me this morning how disturbed she was to hear another church-goer talking the most ugly words one can hear about a young person they both knew. The words would be ugly enough if this young person was living, able to be the receiver of such cruelty. But they are not. They are dead.
The grotesque words implied the parents had not done enough to ensure their child developed healthy. They implied the worst accusation a person can make, this family lost their child by their own actions or lack thereof.
Anger bubbled up in me when I heard this. How does someone say they follow Christ, the most compassionate being who ever lived, and miss His glaring example of love and compassion?
I think I partly know. For one, people think they're more in control then they are. If we think for a second that we can arrange our lives to be insulated from bad things than we live as fools. Jesus did not blame the blind man or his parents for his blindness. What He did instead was explain all suffering can have purpose. Suffering, imperfections, crisis, are permitted to give us an invitation to lean on and in and sometimes under the grace of God.
Secondly, people deflect pain away from themselves because it takes risk, becoming vulnerable and doing some self-examination. When we refuse to meet a broken-up human being in their nakedness it is because we are the problem not them and their brokenness. Being still in the presence of pain is very difficult for us prideful, self-reliant humans. We would rather work at fixing, disappearing or in this extreme case deflecting hate-filled lies.
People who dig their heels in to resist such a sacred place do not see Jesus as I do. Jesus showed up at the grave of Lazarus and simply wept. He made space to meet Mary and Martha in their pain and He, who would actually restore their brother did not rush them past the pain to the place of healing. That my friends says that meeting people in their pain matters. Something of great worth happens in that place. We would be wise to stop and take notice.
Today my frustration mounted stirring me to share some important thoughts. I hope what I am doing is using my frustration to give birth to creativity. Enlightenment. Perspective. Writing for me is how I create. So I'll share...
A friend told me this morning how disturbed she was to hear another church-goer talking the most ugly words one can hear about a young person they both knew. The words would be ugly enough if this young person was living, able to be the receiver of such cruelty. But they are not. They are dead.
The grotesque words implied the parents had not done enough to ensure their child developed healthy. They implied the worst accusation a person can make, this family lost their child by their own actions or lack thereof.
Anger bubbled up in me when I heard this. How does someone say they follow Christ, the most compassionate being who ever lived, and miss His glaring example of love and compassion?
I think I partly know. For one, people think they're more in control then they are. If we think for a second that we can arrange our lives to be insulated from bad things than we live as fools. Jesus did not blame the blind man or his parents for his blindness. What He did instead was explain all suffering can have purpose. Suffering, imperfections, crisis, are permitted to give us an invitation to lean on and in and sometimes under the grace of God.
Secondly, people deflect pain away from themselves because it takes risk, becoming vulnerable and doing some self-examination. When we refuse to meet a broken-up human being in their nakedness it is because we are the problem not them and their brokenness. Being still in the presence of pain is very difficult for us prideful, self-reliant humans. We would rather work at fixing, disappearing or in this extreme case deflecting hate-filled lies.
People who dig their heels in to resist such a sacred place do not see Jesus as I do. Jesus showed up at the grave of Lazarus and simply wept. He made space to meet Mary and Martha in their pain and He, who would actually restore their brother did not rush them past the pain to the place of healing. That my friends says that meeting people in their pain matters. Something of great worth happens in that place. We would be wise to stop and take notice.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Hockey Blues
My family is suffering the blues. Hockey blues. Almost my entire married life has had a huge element of hockey in it. Not always to my liking. My husband has played. My kids have played, minus Alisha but put a hockey game on for her to watch and her legs begin to kick wildly while she bubbles up with smiles and bursts of laughter. I often wonder what's wrong with them or for a different perspective, what's wrong with me.
A little bit of hockey would have been one thing. I have been energized more then once rooting for the Red Wings or Whalers. If it was my kids playing, the intensity escalated and I felt their triumphs and their disappointment because I love them fiercely. Hockey edged it's way into our lives more than a little. From homemade ice rinks in the back yard to hockey tape as the most used adhesive in the house, hockey became our landscape. The chill of rinks, the late night games or early morning practices, the sacrifice of gobs of money, and precious family time have not always led me to a song of rejoicing. I lament that.
Why? Because now it is all gone. There is no more hockey in this family. Yes, we will watch it on t.v. but it is not the landscape anymore. Caleb chose to not play this year and Hannah had some severe injuries this fall that removed her completely from the game. In the beginning I rejoiced that our family would have more time together, be able to do other things.
It has not quite worked out like I thought it would. The empty place where hockey was has not been filled for them. They are sad. At first, honestly, I wanted to fill the empty space so we could close this chapter of our lives. I tried.
It may seem, as did to me at first, that in the economy of loss, this is minor. It's not for them. When I've been the recipient of forced healing, it hasn't worked. I needed to process my loss. Someone else can not do this vital work for another.
As I sat with my sobbing daughter one night, I said, "If I could make this outcome different I would. If it were up to me you would be back on that ice doing what you love." I meant it because I love her and I miss watching her do what she loved. I would have never wanted to say "goodbye" to hockey like this.
It is not in my power though. It is in His. If it were up to me my children would never suffer a day. They would never be sick. They would never be sad or angry for that matter. They would never have to endure the cruel words of another or the disappointment of losing anything. Anything.
This is why it is not up to me, I told Hannah. My love is not perfect. His is. Suffering makes me depend. It molds my thoughts and my heart-strings to long for something more. Without the brokenness I would believe in myself more than I should. No, perfect love allows for brokenness.
It's not just about coming out the other side. It will be better than that. It will be transformative. I know that because the deepest of pains have never been wasted. Only a Perfect Father could take the worst, ache with us, and then work through us. Rejoice.
A little bit of hockey would have been one thing. I have been energized more then once rooting for the Red Wings or Whalers. If it was my kids playing, the intensity escalated and I felt their triumphs and their disappointment because I love them fiercely. Hockey edged it's way into our lives more than a little. From homemade ice rinks in the back yard to hockey tape as the most used adhesive in the house, hockey became our landscape. The chill of rinks, the late night games or early morning practices, the sacrifice of gobs of money, and precious family time have not always led me to a song of rejoicing. I lament that.
Why? Because now it is all gone. There is no more hockey in this family. Yes, we will watch it on t.v. but it is not the landscape anymore. Caleb chose to not play this year and Hannah had some severe injuries this fall that removed her completely from the game. In the beginning I rejoiced that our family would have more time together, be able to do other things.
It has not quite worked out like I thought it would. The empty place where hockey was has not been filled for them. They are sad. At first, honestly, I wanted to fill the empty space so we could close this chapter of our lives. I tried.
It may seem, as did to me at first, that in the economy of loss, this is minor. It's not for them. When I've been the recipient of forced healing, it hasn't worked. I needed to process my loss. Someone else can not do this vital work for another.
As I sat with my sobbing daughter one night, I said, "If I could make this outcome different I would. If it were up to me you would be back on that ice doing what you love." I meant it because I love her and I miss watching her do what she loved. I would have never wanted to say "goodbye" to hockey like this.
It is not in my power though. It is in His. If it were up to me my children would never suffer a day. They would never be sick. They would never be sad or angry for that matter. They would never have to endure the cruel words of another or the disappointment of losing anything. Anything.
This is why it is not up to me, I told Hannah. My love is not perfect. His is. Suffering makes me depend. It molds my thoughts and my heart-strings to long for something more. Without the brokenness I would believe in myself more than I should. No, perfect love allows for brokenness.
It's not just about coming out the other side. It will be better than that. It will be transformative. I know that because the deepest of pains have never been wasted. Only a Perfect Father could take the worst, ache with us, and then work through us. Rejoice.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Mystery
Walking the halls at University of Michigan Hospital yesterday for
Alisha's doctor appointment gave cause for some reflection. It was almost a
year ago we were residence there for almost three weeks, in the
i.c.u.
There is much mystery surrounding the events that took place during those weeks. We never did get resolve as to why Alisha became as sick as she did as fast as she did. Her blood pressure tanked and she went into cardiac arrest. I can still see my husband's tears running down his cheeks as he clearly understood we were loosing our daughter. I did not understand. It all happened so fast.
Being whisked away to a waiting room I did understand. I had done that several times before. We sat in that room in the middle of the night praying, pleading it was not her time. And it wasn't. God is so good.
By the time we received news of her condition it came with little answers and a lot of wait-and-see prognosis. Going back to see her attached to life support confirmed their slicing words of worry. Our daughter looked like she had met the enemy.
As I glided down those halls yesterday, I asked myself what I had processed from now the "balcony" view. I know when I was on the "dance floor" it was hard to see something bigger at work. I wrestled with my lack of trust in God's plans. I sought stability of my spirit in the moments of watching erratic machines and hanging on the oscillating coat tails of doctors' input and theories. There was a lot of wrestling going on.
When Alisha recovered it was about as quick as her descent. Within in a few days of coming home one would have never known the battle she had just won. My battle didn't end as quick. Months to follow I was fatigued both physically as well as emotionally. I spent a lot of time seeking answers to what "that" had been all about. Nothing became clear. I left the answers alone. I surrendered the wrestle.
None of this should surprise me. So much of Alisha's life has involved dangling questions...mystery. My relationship with her revolves around it. She always give me just enough to make me keep wanting more. The "wanting" is more like an irresistible invitation to enter into relationship where I find out more about myself and the desire to be complete to another person. It is this desire... love...that draws me deeper and deeper to seek, to find, to knock.
If there is one word I would use to describe the great journey I have been on with Alisha it would be "mystery". Recieved answers only seem to give way to more questions. The unanswered humble me, spurring me to lean on other...God... more than myself.
God is mystery to me too. I know Him. A little. The longer I know Him I find myself needing, desiring, loving to know more. His ways are not always my ways. Perhaps, not knowing... mystery... is the remarkable blessing I truly seek.
There is much mystery surrounding the events that took place during those weeks. We never did get resolve as to why Alisha became as sick as she did as fast as she did. Her blood pressure tanked and she went into cardiac arrest. I can still see my husband's tears running down his cheeks as he clearly understood we were loosing our daughter. I did not understand. It all happened so fast.
Being whisked away to a waiting room I did understand. I had done that several times before. We sat in that room in the middle of the night praying, pleading it was not her time. And it wasn't. God is so good.
By the time we received news of her condition it came with little answers and a lot of wait-and-see prognosis. Going back to see her attached to life support confirmed their slicing words of worry. Our daughter looked like she had met the enemy.
As I glided down those halls yesterday, I asked myself what I had processed from now the "balcony" view. I know when I was on the "dance floor" it was hard to see something bigger at work. I wrestled with my lack of trust in God's plans. I sought stability of my spirit in the moments of watching erratic machines and hanging on the oscillating coat tails of doctors' input and theories. There was a lot of wrestling going on.
When Alisha recovered it was about as quick as her descent. Within in a few days of coming home one would have never known the battle she had just won. My battle didn't end as quick. Months to follow I was fatigued both physically as well as emotionally. I spent a lot of time seeking answers to what "that" had been all about. Nothing became clear. I left the answers alone. I surrendered the wrestle.
None of this should surprise me. So much of Alisha's life has involved dangling questions...mystery. My relationship with her revolves around it. She always give me just enough to make me keep wanting more. The "wanting" is more like an irresistible invitation to enter into relationship where I find out more about myself and the desire to be complete to another person. It is this desire... love...that draws me deeper and deeper to seek, to find, to knock.
If there is one word I would use to describe the great journey I have been on with Alisha it would be "mystery". Recieved answers only seem to give way to more questions. The unanswered humble me, spurring me to lean on other...God... more than myself.
God is mystery to me too. I know Him. A little. The longer I know Him I find myself needing, desiring, loving to know more. His ways are not always my ways. Perhaps, not knowing... mystery... is the remarkable blessing I truly seek.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Laho Christmas Traditions
Thought I would share some Laho Christmas-time...
Caleb and I begin to decorate the annual Laho Gingerbread House. Where are the two family members good at geometry? No where to be found. Note all the small confused pieces.
We concur to sneak a peek at our McCartney Friends Gingerbread House. After all they were the ones so kind to curse gift us with this project so we could make family memories. Did I mention there are only two of us (dimensionally, geometrically, weak) working on a gingerbread house that has no directions. So glad Devaree posted her house on FB!
After some cheating diligence and a lot of crying patience, the tradition was complete! Note to future builders- do not eat glue frosting or corrugated cardboard gingerbread house.
Alisha sporting antlers for the annual Cooke Musical. Oh, and wearing my sweater that when Hannah saw said, "Wow Alisha! Is it ugly sweater day at school?" Nice!
Our decorations went up. Inviting isn't it? I really should have superimposed caught Santa on film!
Courtesy of Aunt Linda we camped out in our family room to watch Polar Express and eat popcorn. Watching a Christmas movie is definitely a Laho tradition. Now it looks like planting a tent in the family room is too. Hey, I will take this set up any day over the real deal. And Jeff's fire-building talents can be enjoyed anywhere! Should I mention this was Caleb's first viewing of Polar Express? Sometimes you fall behind with your fourth child. Don't judge me!
Of course the annual photo- in -front- of- the -tree tradition! Surprised it only took one! I didn't capture all the Laho traditions on film, i.e. the hot chocolate-spilling-ride through the Wayne County Lightfest, seeing Santa or just talking about him, parties, Advent wreaths, baking, hand-made gifts, Jeff & Stacey shop til Jeff drops , going door-to door singing Christmas carols (this one is only in my dreams)...
Not sure if I'm ready for a New Year. Sometimes I like to stay where I'm at. I know that's why I like tradition. I get to go to what I know. A new year? Risky. But tonight I will be snuggled in with the best of friends, an army of teenagers, and two small boys to invite in the New Year. I can't think of a better way to welcome some risk in the coming year.
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