“I thank my God every time I remember you.” Phillipians 1:3

Today marks one year since my mama stepped into Eternity. Time is a funny thing. It’s a constraint inside this world, but outside of these boundaries, it’s nothing really. Though mama has been absent from our lives physically, her memory is so alive with us – so present! – that she is a part of our every day. Still. And I am thankful!

Leading up to today, I’ve been trying to feel all the things that this world tells us we should feel when we lose someone so dear to us. I’ve considered sadness, a suppressed joy, even…I’ve considered what might be outwardly perceived as a respectful, mournful state…and I’ve even considered that silence might be an appropriate display for this time.  But what the world tells me I should feel today, and what I should have been feeling all year, does not match up with the promises of My Savior – and oh, how I can’t deny that its by nothing less than God’s grace and mercy – His complete and faithful promises – that I am not feeling exactly the way the world teaches us to feel. Instead, leading up to today, the Lord has showered me with some amazing memories that are like a cool-whipped topping on the peace He has graciously given me. Memories of YOU!

You have gifted me, kind strangers, my friends and my family, with a love brought to flesh directly from The One who set this world in motion. I DO thank my God for every time I remember you!

YOU, short red-haired lady who always greeted my mama with that beautiful smile, as you escorted her behind the scene at Dr. Pavy’s office. YOU, soft-spoken manager at the hotel where mama and I stayed in Charleston, waiting to see the doctors at MUSC. YOU, young working mother at the bank who took time to hold onto my mama’s hand in the parking lot, where you so graciously handled her business while she stayed in the comfort of our car. YOU, four gentlemen, who gave my mama the ride of her life in the heart-reach ambulance (she really did love your humor, that wasn’t just the pain medication talking!). YOU, all of you, with McLeod Hospice, treating my mama with such dignity and calm – and loving on our whole family. So many, many kind strangers that Jesus shined through. I remember you, and I am thankful.

And my friends. You know who you are. You brought my mama an ever-flowing supply of donuts from Krispy Kreme. You went with mama for her first pedicure. You saved my mama from a spider, and she really did believe you were a superhero for that! You tracked me down at MUSC to share a Starbucks and tears. You showered my mama with the most beautiful flowers. You sent mama the sweetest letter, telling her of the goodness of life through trials and the abundant love of Jesus (she kept that letter inside her pillowcase, did you know that?) You baked us a yummy chocolate chip cake…fed our souls with so much delicious foods and company.  You stayed by mama’s bedside with me, through her very last breath. You called. You emailed. You sent cards. You prayed. You came and sang hymns to her. You held mama’s right hand, while I held her left, and encouraged her to go into the arms of Jesus. You, ALL OF YOU,  loved with the hands and feet AND heart of Jesus.  I remember you, and I am thankful.

And to my family. I love you. My mama loved you – every single one of you – ferociously. From shelling butterbeans with her just a couple of weeks before she left this earth…to the fingernail polishes you delivered bedside…The flounder you special delivered to our house so mama could enjoy her favorite…the calls, the visits…the hugs and squeezes…the tears and the laughter…The Lord gifted my mama’s life – my life – when He made us family.  I remember you, and I am thankful.

And to my husband and sons – words cannot describe what we have journeyed through together.  Nana  loved her boys, ALL OF YOU, so much.  What a blessing to have her in our lives as we did.  As we do.  I draw on so much strength from who you are in Him.  I remember you, and I am thankful.

Today my mama’s been celebrating in heaven for a year our time – but for an eternity in eternity!  That brings me endless joy – almost giddy, even – to know where my mama is and in Whose presence she walks, literally, always.  I’m not sad, world, and I’m not depressed or off-centered today, as you would want me to be.  My mama lives today!  More so than any of us here on earth.  She lives, and I WILL see her again.  All because I know that Jesus’s promises are true, today I’m celebrating what is to come.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

-Lamentations 3:22-23

My mama had pancreatic cancer. She chose hospice care, instead of trying to battle this particular intruder. I know that there are many (too many) who are and will face this beast called cancer, pa…

Source: Room 15

Expected: regard (something) as likely to happen
Unexpected:  unforeseen; surprising

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Jesus knocked on our door today.  His name was Mr. Johnson.*

He rang the doorbell, actually, 2 or 3 times before he knocked.  It was 8:30am – a Sunday morning!  The dogs were barking.  Our quiet sleep-in was breached.

The youngest had already clambered out of bed and peeked through the curtains to bring me this full report:  “It’s a tax man or business man or something.”

“On a Sunday morning?”, I quietly asked myself, rhetorical, of course.  So then, with much less effort required to clamber, I got out of bed and went to the door.  I held onto the collar of our eldest furry matriarch as I opened the door just a smidgen enough to look this unannounced visitor in the eyes.

What happened next was a blur.  A sudden, wonderful rush of glad tidings.  I okayed it with our guest that he was good with dogs, and invited this stranger-no-more inside.

“Reed, put a shirt on and come out here please”, I called to our recent high school graduate.

Mr. Johnson stepped inside, offering his hand for the sniff-test and subsequent, almost obligatory, pet patting of both of our dogs, before Reed rounded the corner.

“Hello Reed!  I’m with Haddum Corporation.*  Some time ago, you applied to our scholarship program, and I don’t know how it happened, but your name was overlooked at the award ceremony at your school last month.  So I’m here this morning to congratulate you, young man, and award you our highest scholarship.  We are so proud of you for continuing your education and following your dreams.”

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Reed had applied to a handful of scholarships this year, but hadn’t received a single one outside of the merit-based state scholarship and a small scholarship at the college where he had applied.  He had received rejection letters (hate calling them that, but they do leave you feeling rejected, none-the-less) from all of the places he applied except for Haddum.

When Reed was invited to attend the awards ceremony at his high school in May, we all were hopeful that he would then receive a scholarship award from Haddum.  Instead, he came home with an unexpected recognition certificate for Theatre Arts – which totally surprised us! – but no Haddum scholarship.  9 other students received one, but not Reed.  It was disheartening.

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In this life,
You shake off disappointments.
You rid yourself of that feeling of rejection.
And you move forward.
You don’t condemn Haddum.
You congratulate your fellow students who received the scholarship.
And you trust that God has worked everything out for you.

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And when you least expect it, God shows up, sometimes in person, to confirm that He has worked things out and that He is still in control.  He knocks on your door at 8:30am on a Sunday morning, unexpected, to bring you news of good tidings and joy.  He blows your mind.  He loves you.  And He reminds you that all you have to do is Trust Him.

God’s plans are always better than anything we can hope for.

This morning, in our little house, we were given a gift – more than the scholarship.  We were given a tangible reminder of God With Us.  All the time.  Not just when we feel He “shows up in person”.  God has been here the whole time, waiting on His perfect timing, so that He would be Glorified through this generous gifting.

Had Reed received the scholarship from Haddum at the awards ceremony, it would have been expected, sort of, and honestly, it would have been easy to give Reed the glory for obtaining it.  BUT, even when (even though) we work hard to achieve things, God is The One to receive all the Glory, for it is only by His Hands that we are able to do great things.

This morning I am praising Him, and thanking Him…

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!  

Great things He hath done.
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*The names of the business and scholarship presenter have been changed.

Fall puts an interesting spin on summertime gardens.  As the lush greens begin to fade, and the flowers become spindly trying to eek out one more perfect bloom, the continuity, or as some like to call it, the “flow and ebb” of the garden is visibly interrupted and turned into something lacking in uniformity and peace-filling symmetry.  Usually this time of year finds me trimming and cutting and pulling and such, trying to maintain some sort of control over an ultimately failing Southern Living cover dream, but not this year.  This year, I let it go.  I decided to watch and see what would naturally happen without my hands interrupting.  And oh, the beauty!  And the bounty!  And the splendor found when looking purposefully beyond the apparent.

Isn’t that how God sees us?  Up close and personal, beyond the apparent mess?  He looks past all the scraggly stuff, the fading things and the heap of tangled limbs and twigs, and sees the beautiful, intimate parts of who we are.  That’s what Jesus Christ does for us.  Because of Him, God is able to see the most amazing, beautiful pieces of us.  He doesn’t see the chaos.  He doesn’t see the askew.  He sees us, His perfect creation, in all the splendor He created us with.  Without Jesus, God couldn’t look upon us and see us as unblemished and blameless.  But because of Jesus, God sees us up close.  He sees our most intimate selves, our true selves, and finds that in our season of change, we are more beautiful than ever.  We’ve sprung forth from the ashes, grown under the Son, set seed in fertile ground and are fading…but only for a moment.  Thank you, Jesus! 

This scraggly looking bush…

houses these delicate little flowers within.

This carpet of weedy stuff (amaranth)…

looks like this, up close.

The furmosa lily is way beyond the beautiful show of pure white flowers, but it’s seed pods hold the promise of new life in the next season.

At too early o’clock, the alarm sounds.
The day is here.
Today we might have an answer to an unknown.
Is it cancer?
Is it fixable?
Whatever it is, we are ready.
Maybe.
“No surprises” has become our catch phrase.
Something mom and I share, but have never really even discussed.
We just know what it means to us, and what we face.
Together.
This day I wake with the mechanics of our schedule ordering my steps.
My Bible is on the round, “I think I look expensive but I’m not” desk in the corner of the room.
It remains unopened, as I am tied to the long hand of the clock.
Shouldn’t I feel guilty about that?
Because I don’t.
Shouldn’t I feel anxious about what the day holds?
About what the doctors will find?
Because I don’t.
I actually am feeling a little anxious over not feeling anxious.
Over not feeling bothered by leaving the Bible unopened this early morning.
I slip on my jacket, certain that Charleston’s early May weather will hand me a chill as I exit the hotel.
I leave momma in the room while I load her breath-giving silver tanks onto a luggage dolly and head downstairs.
The sun is bright.
Markedly so.
Almost as if it’s illuminated by all it touches, in reflection.
It casts interesting dancers across the hotel lobby floor, which is all shiny and newly polished.
As I step beyond the grand entrance into the world, it hits me.
And God says to my heart, “Child, do not be anxious. Your peace comes from Me. This is what it feels like to be enveloped in the loving arms of your Savior, and the prayers lifted on your momma’s behalf and for you? Breathe in the sweet aroma. This is the smell of prayers.”
The air is warm, and laden with a familiar, briny fragrance rolling in from the waters.
Momma’s always loved the coasts of the Carolinas.
There’s just something healing in the sands, the sounds, the smells of the shore.
I need no jacket this day, for I am wrapped in the warmth and comfort of Christ.
And a bunch of  wonderfully fragrant prayers.