Prayer, peace, and a pile of laundry

It started with a basket of laundry. My seven-year-old had been given the arduous task (in her mind) of folding a basket of towels. I was working nearby when I glanced over at my girl. Mid-fold, she had dropped her head and silent tears were coursing down her cheeks.

This sweet girl of mine is known for her spontaneous tear displays. Their size, velocity and volume rival any Hollywood actress. She sometimes grabs a bowl to catch them so she can make tear soup (I'm not joking). She possesses a tender heart and a dramatic spirit. Although we are not hardened to her tears, we are usually not overly concerned either.

However, at this moment I sensed something deeper in her heart than a dislike of chores or superficial concerns. I knelt beside her and pulled her into my arms. When I asked why she was crying, she sobbed as the words poured out.

“I miss Abby! I miss her so much. I haven't seen her forever. I want her to be safe. I wish things could go back to the way they used to be. I want her to be okay. Mom, I want her to be safe!”

Abby. One of her favorite people in the world. She has grown up with Abby. Abby has loved on her since we brought her home. Abby was one of the first names she learned outside of our family.

As I continued to hold her and rub her back, I longed to make it better, but I knew I couldn't. I wish I could, I wish I knew everything was going to be okay. I can only entrust Abby to Jesus and point my kids to do the same.

Her torrent of tears subsided and she returned to folding her pile of towels. I stayed nearby, working at the kitchen table with my back to her. Moments later, my tender-hearted girl was sobbing again in earnest. She was lying face down on a large floor pillow, hugging our dog like a stuffed animal. I began to rise from my chair, but stopped when I picked out the words coming from her mouth.

“Please God, please! Please, God! Please! Please God!”

She was pleading for Abby. Now I was crying. Tears rolled steadily down my cheeks. I sat transfixed, silently watching the scene before me.

In what was probably less than a minute, she sat up, released the dog (we have a very tolerant dog), and let out a deep breath. She looked toward me and asked, “Mom, can I listen to Colin [Buchanan]?”

“Um, yes, that's fine.”

I knew I had witnessed a profound moment. We pray for Abby and her whole family often, but it doesn't always seem like she's engaged. On this occasion, I had not told her to pray. It was her and her God. I watched her grieve, I grieved with her. And then I saw her grief push her to plead and petition the One who is trustworthy to receive and be a balm for the deepest cries of her heart. What struck me most was the peace I watched her receive. I could visibly see the shift in her demeanor and spirit. Her heart was at rest.

I had witnessed the truth and power of these words: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6,7

I love these verses. I might even name them as my favorite. How often do I experience this peace? I pour out my requests, fears, heartaches with abandon but often forfeit my peace, forfeit my rest in God. My habit seems to be pray, cry, plead, then worry, fret, worry.

I'm not implying a sort of magic formula. Follow these steps and never struggle again—a method in which it is possible to release cares and not be bothered again. It's continual, this giving over of our anxiety and fears. Life if tough—a battle to the core.

This day, watching my girl, a young believer in age and faith release her heartbreak and receive undeniable peace, I was amazed, humbled, and convicted. I wondered if I had lost that child-like faith. Raw. Genuine. Full of trust.

“And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.” Colossians 3:15 ESV

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Matthew 11:28-29 ESV

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” John 14:27 ESV

These words should be more than cheery proverbial mash, carry more weight than an inane fortune cookie. Today, as I wrestle through much that burdens my mind and heart, I can't shake the scene set in my living room amid unfolded towels and an unsuspecting dog. What my daughter experienced, peace surpassing understanding, is for me too. Every day. Every moment. And I want it.

300 days of beauty, day 37 [the holidays]

We've had a rough couple of weeks. We said goodbye to someone very beloved, especially by our kids. A teacher and friend and lovely lovely woman who deeply impacted their lives over the last five years went home to be with the Lord. We are heartbroken. I hate so much how this feels. I know how this journey goes. It can neither be erased nor sped up. 

I have lost many people I have loved dearly. My kids were younger then, they could not grasp the grief. Now, they are older. Harder than dealing with my own sadness is walking alongside D, Cece, and Belle as they cope with the sickness and death of someone they love so much. We've had many tears and conversations, each one difficult, but good.

I feel worn. I long for heaven. I get so tired of goodbyes.

When I knew her last days on this earth were near, I grabbed The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis and read the last chapter. For whatever reason, I had never finished The Chonicles of Narnia, but while in Tennessee this last fall we listened to the Reader's Theatre version of all seven books. I don't know what I expected from The Last Battle, but it was different than I thought. I was sobbing at the end. Reading it again, this last chapter penned by C.S. Lewis comforted my hurting heart even amidst the tears I could not corral.

[spoiler alert: Many of the beloved Narnia characters stand before Aslan, wondering if they must return to their world]

"The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning."

The holidays. I love the wording, the feeling of hope and expectation. Some day.

I hate the loss we experience here. I'm angry. Sometimes it feels as if I can bear no more. But my term isn't over. And that's okay. Separation is temporary for those who hope in Christ. The longing and ache for those we've lost serves us well--to remind us that we are not created for this world. We live in the "Shadow-lands" and some day we will live out the "Great Story... in which every chapter is better than the one before."

"For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come."  

~Hebrews 13:14

the view as we traveled home from the celebration of life service

[The beautiful, soul encouraging artwork pictured at the top of this post was created by my lovely friend, Jenn, through her business Cobblestone Road Hand Lettering.]