Found

We can argue about the tangible parts of Christianity, of the Gospel: logistics, facts, figures, and underlying philosophy. The untouchable part, however, is how the gospel changes a person.

I was very resistant to the Judeo-Christian idea of "god" for most of my childhood and adolescence, even though I was raised under the basics: god made you, he loves, you; he sent Jesus for you. I knew that I believed in "god", because a creator, to me, was a given. I just didn't like how he was defined (and in contradicting definitions made by differing people groups). To me, god is more like this. I didn't know about Jews or Pagans, Buddhists and Hindus seemed cool, and Muslims were foreign and radical to me. Above all, though, I thought Christians were lame. Fakers. (Who is that happy all the time? They're just so nice. Ugh.) Definitely hypocrites. My antagonistic perception of Christians arose from witnessing God's goodness radiating from them, and the heat was too much. I felt ashamed around Christians, even though, from my perspective, I had done nothing wrong.

Religion, in my mind (with Christianity leading the brigade), was a crutch for people who were too dumb and weak to just be able to figure it out on their own: that life was about gaining as many experiences as possible, feeling fulfilled, and pursuing happiness all in the presence of good company. We live and we die, and if you are good and honest enough, you get to finish it out by going to heaven to be with "god". Love and happiness were the goals; god was just a convenient vehicle for getting to them. I only prayed when I needed something. I said, wrote, sang, and dreamt, whole-heartedly, without abandon, and with childish fervor: "Love is all I need!"

Before God, I wandered aimlessly. I was fragile, sensitive, easily impressed-upon. I fell in love over and over and over again. People, ideas, knowledge, emotion, and experience were my pillars. I was a theistic humanist with a bent in my heart against Christianity, if you like labels. I was never openly aggressive towards Christians; I just tried not to be around them. I believed in god, but I believed more in the mystery and awesomeness of his people. I believed that people were inherently good, that there was an endless capacity for goodness, love, and creativity. I wanted to witness something amazing, to be a part of something huge. I believed that we all were destined for greatness, as unstable rocks waiting for the earthquake, trembling. I was hopelessly lost, even though I didn't know it, waiting for anything or anyone to take my hand. Love is all I need!

Eventually, my pillars began to rust and crumble. You can ignore it, suppress it, numb yourself to it, or beg for it in death, but eventually the 'hard questions' of life (the meaning of existence type questions) will arise and demand heavy answers. Only one ideology can bear up under the weight of this. The Gospel elicits a response; you can't sleep through this. You may not wake up.

If "god" exists, if he revealed himself to man, if the way he revealed himself to man can be narrowed down as absolute truth measured against a pool of subjective man-made truths, and if that account is trustworthy, you can know God. 

The Gospel: God exists, He made you; He knows you, and He loves you. So much so, in fact, that He simply could not and would not exist to sit back and watch us slowly kill ourselves devouring the gunk of this world; that kills Him. So He sent a Game Changer to do for us what we could not do for ourselves, namely, pull us out of the mess we've created here, the mess that separates us from God. The Gospel is reconciliation with God through Christ (or I also love: God Our Sins Paying Everyone Life, not my acronym, for emphasis). Christ abolished the old law that said we have to be good enough, the one that demanded unending sacrifices to cover our shortcomings, by becoming the ultimate sacrifice, sealing the new law of grace on anyone who believes it. The Game Changer gives us something we don't deserve. 

I can see now. It's like looking through a clear pane when all you've ever known was shrouded, frosted glass. Stable rocks after the earthquake. Someone holding my hand. Being found. Being defined.

My life has purpose. I am noticeably different. Reading the Bible makes sense, there is purpose in praying, I am free to love Christians now; they are my brothers. I extend the law of grace that is marked on me like a tattoo. It starts with a lot less of me and a lot more of Him. It's the greatest redemption story ever told. It's the taking of an imperfect mess and making it purposefully profitable for the truly greater good {Him}. It's the greatest love story ever told. It's belonging to someone; it's being truly admired and loved. It's the object of my true affection given to the only One I love. Of course it's a process! I'm not perfect! But it looks like a little less road rage, a little less yelling at the kids, a little less wanting someone else to be taken down a few pegs. It's the opposite of getting what's coming to you; it's grace. A way out from anxiety, someone on the other end of the line when I need help who won't fail. It's not keeping a record of wrongs against anyone because none are held up against me.  I have direction; I still wander, but it's not aimless, and it's always back into His arms.

It's wild, endless. It's freedom!

Attractive

It's everywhere, isn't it?! It's. In. Everything. Whether something is 'attractive' or not may as well be the new high fructose corn syrup.

(Alright. That's my one bad joke. I promise.)

Here's a good example though: on one of our routine 'stay at home - no plans' days a couple of weeks ago, I caught Elliott singing and dancing, which is common, but the difference came when she stopped suddenly, looked at me and said, "I sure don't feel pretty. Can I be pretty again?"

I can't describe the response that went through my head, because it was simultaneous and overwhelming, and I'm sure I'm not alone in this, parents. I wanted to grab her and shield her from even having that thought, irrational, but fierce. It ranged from confusion, a clench to the gut, then expletives forming a news ribbon running across my face, and finally the thoughts: Who said you weren't pretty? Why don't you feel pretty? You are beautiful! HOW do you know what pretty even is? You're THREE. I'll find out who told you this... a quick throat punch is in order.

Thankfully, she had just been quoting the Sweet Pea Beauty Veggie Tale, which in retrospect, should have been the first conclusion drawn. But whoa. If that wasn't a taste of what 11 or 13 (or earlier? Scared face!) is going to look like... I may need to book myself a coincidentally timed 6-7 year cruise, if you know what I mean... ;) I commend anyone who has raised/is currently raising/will ever raise a teenager (and it's not just girls... aren't we all self-conscious?).

Also coincidentally in all of this, Nathan and I just got back from our trip to Los Angeles this week - an amazing trip, rounding out a lot of these ideas that sync up in my mind. L.A.:  land of the sunny, rich, and beautiful, yeah?

Yeah.

I saw a lot of, what I assume the majority could agree upon calling, "physical 'beauty'" in CA; it makes sense. It's just... beauty is subjective. Especially physical beauty. And I'm quickly becoming convinced it's not all that important. And maybe I define physical "beauty" the way that I do, fishing from a stereotype bag, because that's the definition we've all been fed. While the people we saw were 'all' envy-inducing beautiful on the outside, I'm assuming (and really, when is assuming ever good...just saying...)... some of their insides were probably hollow (I won't say 'ugly' because only God knows the heart - and it's super harsh, especially operating off of an assumption). We're talking Beverly Hills, Hollywood, downtown L.A., where there are bright lights, Italian convertibles and billboards for Prada and Gucci everywhere, and you get the sneaking suspicion, no, you know, that these are not pipe dreams or luxuries, but afforded expectations.

Yeah, I was amazed. And jealous. And homesick for a place I didn't belong.

You can shine a diamond in front of an infant, and she'll clap her hands.

But.

Money is dirty; it cannot buy beauty. It can't ensure esteem or worth. Veneers do not cover true ugly; a tan won't make you fundamentally desirable. There is not enough money in the world or a creatively fabricated enough mask you can buy to hide or to change your insides.

The lies I tell myself are dirty; the idols I build in my mind are dirty. Believing "I" am the music "I" listen to, the hilarious shows "I" watch, the witty words "I" say, "my" friends, "my" family, "my" weight, "my" pants size... If "we" just make the gospel attractive enough, if slides, images, and flyers look like this and not like this, making this dang blog 'look cool', if "I" use this filter for my pictures, if "we" use this font instead of this, if "I" am just influential enough, If "I" am intelligent and pretty enough, they'll notice me... Guilty!

(More good, painful growth right here):

"I" am is the idol, while I AM is God, the creator of beauty. His Spirit watches from our insides, waiting patiently to actually identify us. To actually change us. To actually make us beautiful.

The Holy Spirit inside of me, inside of you, is attractive. The gospel being lived out through me, through you, is beautiful. Extenuating what flows unnaturally from me, from you, to me, to you, caught like unaware vessels, is attractive. Serving selflessly, is attractive. Dads who love their kids, who still date their wives. Loving sacrificially, living sacrificially. That's desire! That is passion! I can't help being attracted to and admiring and loving people who genuinely love God and His people, because that is the Spirit recognizing Himself in another filled shell, like 'Friend! I know you. Reach out to me!'

'How is it that you find beauty in everything?' 
'I don’t. It’s God who sees beauty in everything. I just choose to agree with Him.'

- Sweet Pea Beauty

Change

I'm really ready for summer to be over.

I can look back on this blog, and pinpoint where I wrote at this exact time last year that 'I didn't want summer to end; it's bittersweet' yada yada yada... but this year; oh. I'm ready.

I love that we even get to experience seasons; God knew, He knew before time began, before He had Jesus create everything from scraps of nothingness, that we in our limited ant-likeness, would get bored, easily, so quickly, and that we would crave this vital change in environment. Like clockwork. Hence, a love for seasons, and another notch of worship for the Creator.

I anticipate and soak up seasonal change, in its familiarity, consistency and comfort, but I equally and vehemently detest and will resist the unknown kind of change, the kind that makes my stomach flip over, the kind that brings us all to our knees. You know the kind... facing a potential job loss (or the job loss itself), a shock to your system, to your relationship, grieving the death of a loved one, a move, standing at the edge of a huge life milestone, or when your 'friend' record skips and it ruins the whole song. This summer, and now beginning of fall, I'm learning to trust God, even during times of detestable change, to let Him help me choke out the fear, to crucify it.

I want to 'be ready', eager, to embrace the next step, whatever and wherever it leads (in a variety of circumstances). And it's seriously liberating, because I am the runner in pain who sees the finish line, because my days are becoming less fearful, more hopeful. And it didn't come from one huge single pious prayer; it's coming from daily reliance, daily baby prayers, the daily cry for more strength. Literally, like an unashamed kid begging unabashedly for help.

This summer I learned a lot. About myself. About God. About our relationship. About friends and 'friends'. Esperanza. Trials. Perseverance. And aside from wishing I could Men-In-Black-Flashy-Thing a few things away, like 'Psych! That didn't happen!', I can look over my shoulder into a setting summer sun and see the good kind of change sprouting in my life, the honest, stable kind that masks fear with hope, the inner growth given life by Someone else, that soothes, the kind only the best Gardener can cultivate ... and then maintain.

Curious Dancing Lights

In an unnamed galaxy far from man's reach, both in geography and imagination, there is a singular similarly-formed system to ours, full of brilliant stars and planets, suns, and moons. It stands seemingly aloof, and in its untouched state, there is beauty and perfection to be beheld in its creation, a mirrored reflection, a peaceful loneliness.

Like ours, in this galaxy, the planets and suns and moons radiate around each other, coordinating as radical giants, tracing the same patterns, performing the same celestial movements, which is custom of what we know to be true of these things.

Except in one respect.

The stars are out both day and night; and while they are content to rest in their designated spots during long nights, they simply can't sit, during the day. The peculiar things, they... orbit the sun! Days are marked by the consistency of the cycling sun, but also of these brilliant orbs surrounding it, beckoning it to stay out, to stay up! To play, to dance with them! Oh, the brightness! Reader, I have never seen such a thing as these curious dancing lights.

As for the sun, it is constant; warm and beautiful, yet relentless in following the circle set out for it. Eventually high noon exchanges itself for afternoon, and then afternoon for late afternoon, and then finally, late afternoon for sunset. All of the stars slow in following the sun over the horizon, and eventually stop, peacefully settling in for the night, waving good-bye to their beloved friend, twinkling brightly, as they were designed to do, creating a road map of constellations in the now dark sky. All, except for one.

Yes, one star remains in its orbit, moving in her circle, refusing to follow, refusing to stop, as if searching for her sun. She is also dimmer than the rest. And now, as if sensing her sadness, the other stars dim just a bit also, joining and comforting her in her melancholy. She slows. There is an evasive quietness now, washing over the entire night sky. The dimmed stars glow like embers; they know he is coming back for them, as if saying, 'Morning will come!' And the one star ignites just a tiny bit brighter. Hope.

How curious, how strange.

You see, for somewhere out there, there is a galaxy where the stars actually miss the sun when it goes away.

Perseverance

Sometimes it hits me powerfully, with a tingle or in goosebumps on my arms, how God, in His infinite wisdom and awesomeness, meticulously orchestrates the events of our lives, with people and interactions, conversations to show us something. I get shivers, you know? Like it's eerie. And exciting. To me it's even more proof that He does, in fact, exist and that He is definitely intricately, intentionally involved (or wanting to be involved) in our lives.

So I'm still very much so what I'd call an immature Christian; I have a lot of 'walk' left to walk, even though my 'talk' can sound pretty good sometimes (solely God); I'm slowly learning it's all useless without a real relationship with Jesus (not just lip-service to the words) and without giving grace constantly. Like, 'live-like-you're-under-the-LAW-of-grace;-gonna-get-a-ticket-go-to-jail-if-you-don't', kind of grace giving. That's how much; that's how often.

With this being said, there are so many things happening to me right now spiritually that are simply new territory. Some of these things are uplifting and good and easy, while others are the opposite (disguised as flaming arrows? Hmm). This may be a little embarrassing, but I've had a lot of thoughts this week that looked a lot like 'Why is this happening to me?' 'When will it be over?' 'Am I going to pass this test? Is it a test?' 'God, why? I don't get it!' 'I hate feeling like this.' 'I want to do what You want me to do but You're not making it easy!' 'Will you take this away? 'Cause it hurts and I hate it. Thanks.' 'I know logically what You want for me; I know it's best for me, but emotionally I'm not there. Wait, yes I am. I can do this. Aaauuuuh, nope. Nope.'

Childish, eh?

Lesson #1: Even though you have the Holy Spirit in you, even though you belong to God... you're still going to deal with a whole bunch of crap. Arrows, trials, temptations. (Expletive!)

We're not exempt, in fact, we should expect it. It's double duty - we belong to God; God wants to grow and change us to become more Christ-like, so He allows crud to happen to us - AND - we tick off the, errm, 'other side', just by existing, so he's on us too. It feels like a losing battle, my friends, until you remember - Jesus.

Lesson #2: Let go, woman! Stop trying to control everything and realize you have no control, that the universe is utterly out of control. The only person who has control? Jesus. {Can I get a SELAH?}

I apologize if my transparency is ... too transparent. See, I'm dealing with this thing right now. This horrible, annoying, thing, that needs to just go. It's an illusion, right, like it's not real. It's not from or of God, therefore, it doubly needs to go. It's like a pest or a tick... just irksome. And I can't shake it.

Furthermore, God's not shaking it for me. Yet.

So, I'm waiting. Persevering, really. (It's like waiting when the thing you're waiting on/the feeling the 'thing' causes, especially stinks.) But all of the good guys persevered - Peter, Paul, Batman; so I'm in good company. It's interesting, the painful growth, this has all caused. Initially, I reasoned, logically, that my best route would be to escape. Got a problem? For $9.99 you can flee! Seemed sound. But then that cataclysmic Godly way of God doing things interfered. I'm not exaggerating; three entirely separate events/conversations took place this week that told me, deafeningly, that escape isn't an option, like during the sermon this Sunday, when our pastor told us that under pressure, the saints didn't 'get out from under it', they endured it. Waited to see what God was doing in it. Or how a conversation with a friend revealed we all have irrational fears we need to face. Or hearing something semi-shocking that let me know I may not be alone in how I feel right now. Man, there's a lot of grace in my life right now. {It's palpable; I want to hug it!}

So I'm not going to back out, or flee, or try any of the things I've come up with, because people way smarter than me have already come up with the sufficient solution, and that's to stand up under it (in His strength) and endure. Wait. Persevere. Ugh.

If you're also having killer growing pains - I feel ya. And just for laughs, Pat does too:

Esperanza

June 20-30th, 2013

Oh, Mexico. There are so many emotions tied to you now. I will do my best to explain, with failing words, the depth of what God did in us {and through us} in Ensenada. I have our bond, experiences, memories, journal excerpts, ongoing earnest prayers, and the reminder of hope (1 Peter 3:15) to help.

First off, it should be said that this trip was book-ended for me with tears. I cried the night before we left, and again the night we came home, but for widely different reasons. The first, because I was afraid, and the last because I knew I had heard God in His desert hills, and I was ultimately laid low in seeing Him move. With water and symbolism, tears aim to flush out the gunk, and that's exactly what He did, and not just in me. Through a series of interactions and circumstances, and a revived awareness of His sovereignty and intentional involvement in our lives, God captivated us, gently demanding our attention, carefully scraping away the distractions, our apathy, the disease, leaving pure empty vessels in the wake.

We had to fight for that sense of openness and readiness to do God's work, though. Just as much as He put each of us there, equipped and ready to work, I know, Satan was working just as hard to keep us from being effective in that work. There was car-sickness, the mysterious Mexican fever that took down three of our team members, temptation, pride... any foothold. I spent a good chunk of the trip focusing on the wrong things, with a clouded mind, in some sort of weird spiritually-oppressed state. I could be sad over the time I willingly gave over to him (Satan), but I won't, because what's cool about retrospect is that even in that hazy part I know God was working, even if I don't understand; it's all orchestrated for His glory and my good (Romans 8:28). This all ties in to a beautiful truth He wanted me to know: that real love is sacrificial love (Ensenada was like a crash-course in lessons from God), that if I really love something (a time, a place, a person, my kids, the kids in Ensenada), my love gives itself up (or dies to itself) as a greater act of love, acting in that other person's best interest. It sounds so obvious when I type it out. I can't hoard a feeling up for myself; it has to die to itself to prove itself authentic... and I can't think of a better example than Jesus giving Himself up for His church {sacrificial love!}

He also taught me to pray more often. That hearts can change. That there's no better way to worship Him than under the stars He made. To admire beauty. That there's more to people than your first impressions. That young hearts will be saved. To be content with less. To love. To be brave, even when it blurs and runs over the line into foolishness. To not be afraid! {If I perish, I perish.} To see His people the way He sees them, as dearly loved.

I was so excited and humbled to be able serve God by helping others, in the seen and the unseen. We played with kiddos at a local orphanage, spent a morning at an elderly care facility (I really just want to say old folk's home, c'mon; I played Bingo in SPANISH!) and we also organized a vacation bible school for a small church, in what I assume was, an especially impoverished part of Ensenada. We were told by the pastor (Nickolas) that the community there 'needs Jesus' and that it is heavily burdened by alcohol and drug-use. We were aware immediately, the first Sunday we joined them for church, that the kids were coming from rough backgrounds and that they didn't care if we were there (luckily, this first encounter was not foreshadowing for how the rest of the week would go. By the last day, everyone was excited and then crying when we had to leave).

One of the most painful-in-a-good-way moments of the trip was when, during the sermon that first Sunday, Nickolas looked around his small congregation and said, "Look at us. God has blessed us. He has mercy on us." In a small, half-finished, one-room church, where people sit in folding chairs and roosters crow right outside the window, and they just have...nothing. This killed me, again, in a good way. It reminded me, as did a lot of things that week, that we really all are the same: the one people (His), the one church, the one hope {esperanza} on Earth. This was one of those overwhelming monumental realizations.

 In America, Satan wars for the mind. We struggle with pride, greed, and discontentment, but by the grace of God, we are well-fed and have clean running water. In Mexico, the overall impression I was left with, is that the battle is for them in their entirety. Despite this, their happiness and general contentment was not only noteworthy and admirable, but infectious. I came back to a home flooded with more than I'll ever need, and the only appropriate response... gratefulness.

This week home, following our trip, has felt dream-like, emotional, and unsteady. It's like sitting on a blanket, pulled tight, that God Himself is shaking and straightening, smoothing and patting down as He pleases, while you flail from the movement, and reach for Him to steady you. But since the work's not done, you're forced to wait out the wild ride. I'm still praying and waiting for resolution (on a variety of things I experienced). I am so happy, content, motivated, charged. It's like a re-kindled fire in my heart and mind.

It is good and right and necessary to be home, but truthfully this trip has shifted my center of gravity, my perspective, in that, I wonder, if our great return is really the greater departure, like a part of me got left behind. My genuine hope is that we would be able to make the church, where we went the most, like an oasis for that community, with more room, grass, trees, flowers, and playground equipment for the kiddos. As Jesus is an oasis for us, their church could be an oasis for the community.

"There is one body and one spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all."

Ephesians 4:4-6

"Your love never fails, it never gives up, it never runs out on me. It overwhelms and satisfies my soul. And I never ever have to be afraid 'cause this one thing remains."

Chalk-painted Bench Project

So this is my attempt at a fancy-pants tutorial entry:

The Chalk-painted Bench of Awesomeness

This winter has made me more than a little stir-crazy, so one morning a few weeks ago I decided our makeshift kitchen 'bench' (side table) needed a color facelift...stat! Now, I'm not super-crafty-I-have-ample-time-on-my-hands Mom, so this should tell you how fun and easy this project was.

I love the look of distressed, chalk-painted furniture (different from chalk-board paint, for the record); my inspiration came from a old, worn, distressed-looking green dresser (the image was removed by Google - go figure!).

Chalk paint is awesome. You don't have to prime before you paint with it (I was sold right there), it goes on matte, really lending itself to that 'shabby chic' look, you can slap it on however you want, scrape it off, start over, sand it down, slather on more...and it just looks better and better. It's like magical, fool-proof paint (another selling point in my book). So Annie Sloan owns the market on chalk paint, but her stuff is extremely limited (in versatility, color variety, and availability). It's also expensive; one quart costs about $50. (So I started thinking...we can do bettah than that! Yeah?)

I've listed out what I did below, if you're interested. I probably did this 'wrong', but I was just messing around, and it was super fun.

Ingredients:

Acrylic or Latex Paint

Baking Soda

Water

Step 1: 

Mix a tiny bit of water into some baking soda, forming a smooth consistent paste.

Step 2: Combine

Remember, 2 parts paint to 1 part baking soda mixture. So however much baking soda mixture you use, double your paint (i.e. 1/2 cup baking soda mixture, 1 cup paint). Some people opt for putting the baking soda directly into the paint; you'll just have to experiment and see which recipe you like.

Steps 3-5: Paint, Distress, Wax

I painted two coats, thinner in some areas because I wanted it to look worn.

I distressed it with a scoring sponge thing I found at Target, and finished it up with two coats of Howard's Citrus Shield Premium Paste Wax.

So yeah. Like I said, there's probably waaaaaaaaaaay better tutorials out there for doing stuff like this, but it was a lot of fun and I love how the Bench of Awesomeness turned out!

Being Brave

It's been a year, this month, since cancer hit our extended family. It hit without warning, leaving us all blindsided.

Our then 13 year-old niece, Katie, had been experiencing intense abdominal pain. One by one we were all notified of this, and we prayerfully hoped, against the symptoms, that it wasn't appendicitis.

If only it had been.

Katie's pain was diagnosed as an extremely rare form of kidney cancer.

I don't know about you, but hearing 'cancer' is like instant paralysis. Knowing a loved one has it is like having your insides removed and pulsed through a blender.

Needless to say, shock ripped through our family. I couldn't have imagined this happening to any of our older family members, ones who had lived long, full lives, let alone our beautiful, vibrant, talented, young niece, Katie. I started to question God's goodness.

I have prayed hard before, mostly for stupid stuff, but I've never prayed as fiercely as I prayed for Katie to be healed. Arrogance clouded my discernment; I didn't care what God's plan was, I wanted her to be better. In my eyes, it wasn't right for her to be sick - therefore - she didn't need to be sick anymore.

 I was angry with God, and I was afraid.

God remained faithful, though. Looking back, I am continuously surprised and amazed by how quickly that initial shock gave way to prayer - down on your knees, strong, persistent prayer. Our prayers were varying and numerous, sometimes choked out through tears, other times cool and collected, full of trust in God and in His will for Katie's life. Most were optimistic. I admired these kinds of prayers, the kind I didn't have in me. They radiated God's presence in the situation, despite our cracked, feeble attempts at words. The absence of anxiety, at times, was unnerving, but powerful.

Times of crises really do make or break a person. For me, I broke a little. My faith was intact, but parts were chipping off when I sat and thought about it for too long. For Katie, cancer did not break her. It proved more like fire refining gold. Her faith came alive, and it was infectious. I remember while visiting her in the hospital, keeping my eyes focused on this one spot on the floor (like somehow it held me in place), while Katie was totally herself, smiling, joking and laughing with everyone, even referring to her newly nick-named tumor. (Just typing that makes me smile.) She eventually went in for surgery, and we waited for her.

And waited... and waited.

Then, news. Followed by different news, more waiting. Then, new news delivered by faces I don't remember in urgent tones. They had removed the tumor, and found something interesting.

The outer part of Katie's tumor was benign, enveloping a smaller malignant tumor, like a super tumor physically keeping the bad cancer cells from spreading throughout her kidney.

Her scans have been clear for a year now, and I'm learning to have hope in God's sovereignty, not in our earthly circumstances.

Katie's bravery is incredible; so bright that I have to smile and look away. She stood up under the weight of a diagnosis that would make grown men weep, and she did it gracefully, telling us not to worry, because 'God was in control'. I can't help thinking, that the benign tumor holding in the malignant tumor is the perfect metaphor, allowed by God (as much as that scares me), because God wrapped Himself around Katie in that same way, shielding and protecting her from the darkness. He reaps the glory, in all situations, making His name known through her story.

"The LORD Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged." - - - Deuteronomy 31:8

(This was the verse I posted for Katie last February. I didn't know then that God had meant it for me too.)