A Thousand Miles Away

     I absolutely love the ocean. Maybe it is because as a child, we visited the ocean. Maybe it's because almost ten years of our boys' lives have included a yearly trip to the ocean. Maybe it's both or neither of those reasons. Whatever the source of my deep love, the ocean is a sanctuary for me.

     We just returned from Myrtle Beach and while it is our vacation ritual, we had not been there for a period of four years. There were days I yearned to see the cloud-white foam of the breaking waves, smell the summer air sprinkled with saltwater, feel the warm, welcoming breeze, sink my toes in the sand, and bask in the overall beauty where the water meets the land, the beach. There were other days when it never entered my mind or memory, because it had been so long, and I was nearly a thousand miles away.

     When we arrived this, I felt like I was reacquainting with a long-lost friend. Of course I saw the cloud-white foam, smelled the summer air sprinkled with saltwater, felt the warm breeze, sunk my toes in the sand, and marveled at the overall beauty where the water meets the land. As I took all of that in, though, a new sense came over me. I was awestruck at how identical the scene was, as compared to four years earlier. I was comforted by the familiarity and amazed at the same time. I thought about the fact that every single second of the time we were away, the ocean continued churning and churning and churning. Every day, every night, every season, every month, every year...it churned exactly as it was at that moment, even as I was nearly a thousand miles away.

     In that moment, I vividly saw the metaphorical connection to God's love. God's love is constant and continual. Whether we are feeling His warm embrace because we are standing right in front of Him, or we are nearly a thousand miles away because of a difficult season, a distraction, a wrong turn, an unbelief, or an endless list of other possibilities, His love for us keeps churning and churning and churning. 

     I noticed throughout the week we spent ocean side, we couldn't wait each day to reacquaint with it. We spent the evenings taking in the moonlit waves and relishing the lullaby of breaking waves. Daybreak was greeted by a warm cup of coffee while savoring the same setting as the night and day before. We walked, exercised, played, rested, lived... alongside our long-lost friend. The more of the ocean we experienced, the more of it we wanted to experience.

    The same is true for our yearning for God's love. When we are a thousand miles away, we may give Him a fleeting thought. When we are in His presence, we will desire His presence more and more. James 4:8 says, "Draw near to me and I will draw near to you." I hope anyone reading this who may need to be re(acquainted) with their "long-lost friend" will feel that desire. Whether in His presence or a thousand miles away, His love for us will continue to churn and churn and....

I pray you feel it...

Palm of His Hand

     Two years ago this weekend, we found a tick burrowed into Eric's scalp and removed it as we have in the past. As you will read in this story, we later discovered the tick was infected with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. An infected tick, in Holland, Ohio, at the baseball field where we attended a game, just happened to land on my son and stay there for approximately 20 hours, the time it takes for Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever to be transmitted. It was the most random of occurrences that began the story of the most deliberate interventions by God, as he held Eric in the palm of His hand.. 

The Dream :

     The night before my last day of work for the school year, I had a terrible dream. There had been a death in my dream. I felt the ache in my insides; the sadness in the dream was palpable, yet I didn't know who died. Right before I woke up, it was revealed in my dream that the person who died was a child. At the very last second of the dream, I discovered that the child was Noah. I woke and was extremely rattled. It was the type of dream that stays with you, and coupled with the lingering sadness, there was joy and relief that it was just a dream. Today, I believe with all of my heart, mind, and soul that God was saying, " Something is about to happen, Audrey, and I need you to be vigilant." Palm of His Hand, only I didn't see it so clearly at the time.

The Phone Call:

     I arrived at work, still rattled by my dream, so I shared it with my friend. We had the usual "thankful it was just a dream" discussion, and I began the work of the day: packing up the classroom for the summer. I was excited, and the heaviness of my dream was dissipating. My cell phone rang, and upon answering it I heard, "Mom, Eric has a fever." Noah, who was the subject of my rattling dream, was now calling to tell me his youngest brother was sick. My first thought was, "Seriously, one of my kids is sick after a dream like that?!" It felt like a twisted piece of irony. In my mind, there was the logical reasoning that it was just a coincidence and just a typical virus. In my heart, however, there was an increased desire to watch him closely. Palm of His Hand, only I didn't see it so clearly at the time.

The Symptoms:

     Eric is my 3rd child, so I had seen many viruses come and go in our home. This felt different. There was no obvious source of sickness. No sore throat, no stomach ache, no ear pain, just a fever. When the fever would get very high, Eric would act strangely. His body would jerk, especially while sleeping, and a couple of times he acted like he was confused. By the second day, he developed a rash and we thought he was one of the 'lucky' ones to get chicken pox, even though he'd been vaccinated. We watched for blisters to form, but none did. At this point, Eric had a very high fever, a rash, and late in the night of the second day, he began to limp and cry when he walked, from pain in his legs. Something was very wrong; I could feel it. Palm of His Hand, only I didn't see it so clearly at the time.

The Parental Intuition:

     On the 3rd day, I woke to find Eric with a temperature of nearly 105. I called the doctor's office and said I was bringing him in. As I drove Eric there, I tried to figure out what he could possibly have! This was so different: fever, headache, leg pain, body jerking, normal appetite, no congestion, no sign of a reason. What the heck was wrong with my child?! I remember exactly where I was during the drive when I thought, " Oh, my God..the tick!"  I remembered that we'd removed a tick from Eric's head about 12 days prior, and I attempted to piece things together in my mind. Maybe it takes that long to show symptoms, maybe that is why this illness seems so strange, etc. In the waiting room, I sent Chris a text message to ask him what he thought, and he immediately sent: YES! Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever!!!! I didn't even have time to process that thought, because Eric's name was called and into the office we went.

     The doctor examined him and agreed that there didn't seem to be an obvious source of illness. It must be a virus but because the tick incident was recent, he was started on an antibiotic for Lyme's Disease, as a precaution. I was relieved, until later that night.

     We put him to bed, after his 3rd antibiotic treatment, and he was not one ounce better. He cried when he walked, he cried because his head hurt, his fever was high, and he didn't look like Eric. Sitting in the family room, I 'went there'. I went to the place that moms sometimes go, the place that imagines the worst happening to her child. The only problem, the 'place' I went to didn't seem that far away. I actually said these words to Chris: "I know you are going to think I am crazy, but I really feel like something is wrong. Like really wrong. Like I fear "you-know-what." Two years later, I honestly believe that somehow I was feeling the presence of real danger. It was a heavy, sinking feeling that wouldn't go away. I thought Chris would respond in a way that confirmed I was being ridiculous. I tried to tell myself I was just paranoid. Chris responded, "Audrey, something is wrong. I know he doesn't have Lyme's Disease. I know he has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Chris randomly remembered his parents talking about it when he was a kid. That's all Chris had to go on! We had parental intuition and a previous experience. Palm of His Hand, only I didn't see it so clearly at the time.

The Diagnosis and Treatment:

     Chris got Eric out of bed and took him to the emergency room with the specific purpose of pleading his case that it was RMSF. The emergency room doctor's sister had Lyme's Disease when they were kids and she too thought that this wasn't it! Further research of Chris' theory led to the diagnosis of RMSF.  Eric began a different antibiotic, and at about 3 am, the ER was preparing to send Eric home. Simultaneously, I was researching RMSF. I was reading about the 5-day window to treat it, the fact that hospitalization was necessary, and I read of 6 cases that resulted in the death of children. Each case I read had the exact same leg pain, headache, fever, rash, and each child died within 6-9 days after the presence of the first symptom. Chris called to tell me Eric was coming home at the same time I was preparing to tell him that he can't come home! To assuage my fears, the ER called our pediatrician and we were given instructions to take Eric to Toledo Children's Hospital. Upon arrival, his liver was tender and enlarged, his kidneys were barely putting out urine, his enzymes were elevated, and his platelets were low. Our pediatrician told us that he was a very sick little boy and that he would be admitted. It was explained to us that the antibiotic would stop the progression of RMSF, but it was up to Eric's body to fight what was already there. Basically, his body had to catch up to the antibiotic. Eric had a tough few days, and one night in particular, I look back on in a way that makes me grateful *every* day that he is here with us. Palm of His Hand, only I didn't see it so clearly at the time.

Why I Share:

     Eric's story has a happy ending and the gratitude I have for that will never fade, but that is not the only reason I share this story. 

     Some may wonder why I would post this two years later. It's because of the conviction I have that God was with us from my dream to Eric's diagnosis, and I believe he wants me to share this story. Did he make this happen? No, God doesn't cause illness, but He did know it was going to happen, and He held Eric all the way through it. When I feel strongly that God whispered, shouted, led, carried, and guided us through something in our life, I have to share it, joyfully and unapologetically. To Him belongs the glory.

     When I sat down to write the original account of this story, two years ago, I searched my heart for the perfect title. I think I even prayed about it. After deciding on the title, Palm of His Hand, I wrote the account and marveled at the perfection of the title. The *next* day, I remembered something I had completely forgotten. The rash on Eric's body had one distinguishing feature that set it apart from all other rashes and pointed to Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever...It was on the palms of Eric's hands.

 I will forever see it so clearly.

Stay the Course

Over the course of training for a 5K, the reality that running is mental has become abundantly clear to me. I began with 60-second intervals, the longest time I could run without stopping, and evolved to the 3 miles I completed, yesterday (36 minutes without stopping!). I learned that no matter what the training schedule required of me, I was somehow able to do it. I also realized that I was able to do it, *only* because my mind was set on whatever each day’s task required. Looking ahead in the training schedule, the ‘next task’ always seemed daunting and impossible, *until* the day it was required. For example, on a Monday, 10 minutes was my *absolute* limit. I could not imagine running any longer. When Wednesday came, though, I was able to complete *twelve* minutes. Did my physical stamina really change in 48 hours? I don’t think so. My *mental* stamina was what made all the difference.

Mental stamina is an absolute must for endurance, and I learned that each of the three miles carries its own unique challenges related to endurance:

Mile 1: Physically, the first mile is the easiest because you’re the most rested. Mentally, it’s tough because you have the entire three miles ahead of you, nothing major is yet accomplished, and you’re fighting to establish your rhythm and pace. Isn't that true of so many things? For a teacher, it’s the beginning of the school year. For a mom, it’s the beginning of the week’s worth of laundry; for a student, it’s the start of a lengthy report. Regardless of the challenge ahead, we all begin with the first mile. It’s the ‘mile’ when we are physically strong, mentally daunted, and we face the whole entire task ahead. If we stay the course, we make it to mile two! J

Mile 2: Physically, you are a little more taxed. The heart is pumping and the sweat has increased. Mentally, you are a *little* less taxed. The rhythm and pace are established, and some progress has been made. This second mile is the test of endurance. At this point you’ve been at it long enough to be tired, but not long enough to really see the end in sight. It is mile two that brings with it a choice. The body is still moving, and the mind has to choose between surrendering to the fatigue, or building on the time already invested. From mile one to two, it is all about discipline. Is what you've done enough for you? Can you live without finishing? Which do you see, the mile ahead or the one you've already finished? The same may be true for the teacher, the mom, the student, etc. It’s the ‘mile’ when you are physically weaker, but how you react to that feeling, mentally, will make all the difference in the final outcome. If we stay the course, we make it to mile 3! J

Mile 3: The body is ready to give out, but the mind can see the end…the *successful* end!! Every step is a step toward completion. Self-talk transitions from plea bargaining to celebration. You've accomplished more than what lies ahead. The mind is beginning to take over and it compensates for the tired body. It is the mile that serves as the tunnel between you and the finish line. Perhaps for the teacher it is the period between spring break and June. For the student, it’s completing the conclusion section of the paper. For a mom, it’s two disgusting bathrooms between her and a completely clean house! The task is still difficult, but all you have to do is push through; you’re almost there!

If you stay the course, you have completed the race. J

What’s your race, today? Have you started it? On which mile are you? Are you tired? Is your mind telling you that it’s okay to quit? Is it a difficult season of parenting? Are you in a plateau in your marriage?  Do you have a goal that seems unreachable at best? Whatever it may be….

 Stay the course; you’ll finish the ‘race’.

 You’ll be so glad you did! :)

Jiggle the Switch

Chris and I often joke about what would happen if someone were to suddenly (and without any explanation) be required to live at our house. There are some quirks about our house that we’ve just learned to adjust and adapt to. They are just little annoyances that went to the back burner for so long, we hardly notice them anymore. For example, if you tried to turn on the porch light, you would think it was broken. We know, though, that you have to jiggle the switch just slightly, and it comes right on. While washing your hands, you have a high probability of scalding yourself! The hot water that comes from our kitchen sink is crazy hot! We know, though, that for the kitchen sink, you have to set the faucet slightly more toward cold than you would in any other sink of our house. The back screen door is broken, so we slam it a little harder. The lights above the fireplace just recently went out, and, well, we don’t have time to deal with the electrical issue at this time, so we use the lamps instead.

When I look past the quirks, though, what I see is my welcoming, cozy home. I love the sunflowers in my kitchen, the beautiful wood floor Chris installed in the dining room, the quietness in the morning when all you can hear are the birds chirping outside. Oddly enough, inside, I love the sound of the dryer’s soft hum on a productive day, the smell of the boys’ rooms (most of the time) as the aroma of youth permeates our home. I love the trees and bushes that are blooming right now, as they create the nostalgia of last spring and the many springs before that. The surrounding nature and its perfection say to me that *this* place is exactly where I was meant to be. The yard has captured the boys’ play, the walls hold their belly laughs, the carpet padded their first-step falls, the wear and tear of the paint, on a sturdy wall, symbolizes the trials of a family who sometimes stumbles but will not fall.

All of what I just described would be lost if we focused on the quirks and flaws, because when I think of all that is wrong, I yearn to buy a new house. When I think of all that is right, I never want to leave.

Thinking of this made me reflect on how true this is for the qualities we choose to focus on with the people in our lives. I am so grateful for all of the ways my family and friends don’t define me by my flaws, but instead choose to ‘jiggle the light switch’ to bring out the best in me. It’s a nice reminder that when looked upon in the right way, every person is a masterpiece.

I challenge myself to give more patience, extend more grace, encourage, praise, and love.

I know from my porch light and my personal flaws, that when jiggled in just the right manner, what appears to be "broken" works perfectly.

Perspective.

In the Middle of the Road

     Driving between work locations today, I got stuck under a bridge, on a one-lane road, and there was no obvious reason for why the truck in front of me wan't moving! I was so frustrated, in a hurry, and up ahead I saw nothing but the clear road I wanted to be driving on! A moment later, the truck nudged forward (and to the right) and I was able to merge into the left lane, to drive around the source of the traffic stop. As I looked to my right, I saw a woman trying desperately to get her car started, and I instantly felt guilt for my earlier frustration. She was frantic and I felt terrible for her. I wondered if she had a phone and tried to think of a way to get back to offer her mine. I looked in my rear view and saw the truck that was once in front of me. It was now behind me because as I noted earlier, he nudged forward and to the right. He veered to the right to help her.

     My first thought was relief that he stopped. My next thought was a warmth in knowing that people really do step in to help others. That warmth was quickly replaced by the cold hard reality that I need to do a better job of being one of those people. It made me ponder the following questions: How many 'cars in the middle of the road' have I gone 'left' and 'driven by'? How many times do I turn left because I am really busy, or I assume there will be another car behind me to help, or I wait too long and the opportunity (or urge) passes? I imagine getting to Heaven one day and although God will share some times my turning right pleased Him, I also imagine Him saying to me: "Audrey, remember when you had the idea to take a dinner to a grieving family, or the impulse to donate to the family who suffered a house fire, or the strong desire to send a card, or the sting of tears you felt that made you want to reach out to your hurting neighbor? That was me asking you to do that. *ouch*

     I don't believe today was one of the times I was supposed to turn right, because I wasn't equipped to help the woman in the middle of *that* road. He sent someone better suited for her particular need. Today, I didn't miss an *opportunity* to help; I gained a powerful *reminder* to help. There *will* be more cars in the middle of the road, whose needs match perfectly with my resources, talents, time, and opportunity. I know for those cars, God will be the one looking in the rear view mirror, and it will be me He will look toward, to be the one who turns right.

     The woman I saw today will never know how her terrible, frantic moment prompted another woman to open her eyes... to the cars in the middle of the road.

     

One More..

     As I approached the end of my morning jog, today, I was acutely aware of the self-talk I was silently screaming. The words I pummeled at myself were "one more". Before I knew it, I was thinking very intently about those two words, and how often they define my perspective. 

     I really think "one more" were two of the very earliest words my boys learned. They effectively spoke them to plead for one more cookie, one more tummy-dropping spin, one more movie, one more minute at Grandma's house, or one more book before bedtime. As an adult, I do the same thing. I desire one more minute after the alarm goes off, one more commercial break before I get up to clear the dinner dishes, or one more splurge before we buckle down. "One more" illustrates our desire to acquire.

     As was true this morning, sometimes those same two words serve a completely different purpose; they help us hold on for dear life when we want to throw in the proverbial towel. One more minute on the treadmill, one more paper for school, one more load of laundry, one more day until the weekend, or one more second of patience.  "One more" illustrates our will to endure.

     The most profound "one more" for which we'll yearn, is the "one more" we know we'll never be granted. One more hug from a departed loved one, one more cuddle with our babies after their grown, one more chance to handle something differently, one more wonderfully ordinary day after an event/ circumstance  steals ordinary away. " One more" illustrates our need to savor.

I love how thinking about perspective brings about a stronger sense of perspective. If you think about the things we sometimes seek to acquire, they can come at a cost.  Conversely, a cost can create a gain. Finally, the knowledge of tomorrow's sorrow can multiply today's joy. Perspective. It's awesome.

Let the things we ask for "one more" of, be the things that are good for us. Let us persevere through the "one more" task that will make all the difference, and let us savor everything today, that could be the "one more" time we wish we could have tomorrow.

"One more" thought: thanks for stopping by! :)


     

     

When Life Goes On

     The term "life goes on" is one that can take on many tones. I've heard it said in humor, sarcasm, irritation and often, in hope. The phrase is common and at times feels trite. The concept behind the words can be truly puzzling. It's comforting at times, disappointing at others, and in some situations, it feels like a complete phenomenon!

     The image that comes to mind when I think about "life goes on", is the image of a carnival/amusement park ride. It's the ride where you sit in an apple-shaped 'car' or a pumpkin 'car', or whatever themed 'car' the park features. For my purposes, I'll reference the tilt-a-whirl. The whole platform circles around like a merry-go-round. Sometimes, your car is on the downward part of the slope, just as it seems to happen in life, sometimes. Maybe you're in a rut, unhappy in a job, going through a difficult phase of parenting, or the worst-your heart is broken due to the loss of a loved one. For me, I wondered how in the world December 6, 1982, or January 12, 1993, or May 17, 1994, or March 20, 2011 could be normal days for anyone! How could people go to work, when I was saying goodbye to my grandparents? I was weeping, hurting, and beginning the rest of my life without them.  How were people in the 'cars'on the upward part of the platform laughing? Didn't they know?? The answer? No. They didn't. The platform continues to move because "life goes on".

     The upward part of the slope is a place where, sometimes, it's just as hard to imagine that life is still moving. My wedding day was a magnificent day! The energy, anticipation, the dressing like a princess, the beginning of my new life...how did people cut their grass, or watch a youth soccer game, or say goodbye to a grandparent? I was getting *married*! How could February 15, 1999 or January 28, 2001, or October 15, 2003 be anything short of a miracle for people? I was meeting my babies! Didn't they know? No. They didn't. The platform continues to move because "life goes on".

     And sometimes, no matter where you are on the platform: down low because you're struggling badly, or up high because life is smooth, or in the spinning car because you're experiencing pure elation...all of a sudden, the platform seems to stop- for all of us. In the wake of a paralyzed platform, we all look to see what caused it. In my lifetime, it's been stopped by the loss of a daycare full of children in Oklahoma, a dark, gut-wrenching day in September, a classroom full of innocent first-grade babies, and most recently, a sabotaged finish line at a marathon. Today, as most victims were realizing the full scope of their nightmare, we went to work, the grocery store, watched the local news, laughed, cried, and perhaps even felt a tinge of boredom. I'm quite certain the city of Boston was asking, "How can April 16, 2013 be a normal day for anyone!?  Don't they know? "The answer? Yes. We do. We are so sorry.

Keeping all in prayer as the platform resumes moving, even as we ask the question, "How can life just go on?"

     

I'm 40!!

      
     I recently celebrated my 40th birthday and for some reason turning 40 has struck a chord with me. The feeling of reaching a milestone most definitely accompanied this birthday celebration, but not a traditional "over the hill" type of feeling that is often associated with this age.

     I have heard over and over, and I have said it myself many times, " I still feel like I'm (fill in any age you want). Is it 20? Is it 30? Something tells me that the age you'd choose to fill in is somewhat insignificant. I believe that inside we can never believe how old we are because our souls are eternal. They are not aging at the same progression as our bodies. If I stop and think about my 'signs of aging', they are body-related. I need more hours of sleep than I did 20 years ago. I need more highlights to accentuate the 'age color' that is appearing more rapidly by the day. I might not bounce back from an illness or an injury as quickly, but inside, I am basically the same.

     Although our souls are not aging at the same progression as our bodies, they *are* progressing. Our body shows age by the quality of how it functions. I believe the same is true for our soul. God is preparing us for our eternal home and all of the lessons, trials, growing pains and character shaping are all part of the 'aging' process. Well, mine must have hit an age increment, and it has affectionately been communicated with the phrase, "I'm 40!!"

     All of my life I have been a person who thrives on pleasing those around me. I want to do well in life to make my dad proud, I want to be a good wife and mother to make my mom proud. I want to be a person easy to work with, a person who helps others with their problems, etc. All good things, right? Yes, but there comes a point where people-pleasing becomes a flaw. It's the tangled web of  "what would/do people think?" that entraps me sometimes. The web spins self-doubt, obsessive worry, holds me back from things I really want to do, coerces me into obligations I never should have said yes to, and causes me to over analyze  situations to the point of ridiculousness. . Over the course of our nearly 20- year relationship, Chris has told me a million times that he can just see the wheels churning in my head and wishes he could make my brain stop.

     Well, turning 40 has to some degree stopped the churning!! I had an awakening that has been quite liberating. I finally believe I'm a grown-up now! It's silly and it's been a source of comical fun. If you've spent any time with me at all you've already heard, "I'm 40!!" I have given some thought (shocking, I know) to figuring out why I finally *believe* I'm older. As I stated earlier, I don't *feel* older. I should have felt this matured state years ago! I'm a wife, a mother of adolescents, a teacher! I make a house payment!! All the indicators have been in place to send the signal to my brain...look, you're older for quite some time! 

     Going back to my soul vs. body aging, I can come up with only one theory: my soul has made progress  and it has aged in a way that has brought some freedom. You see, this "I'm 40!!" that I scream from my insides (and sometimes audibly) is not one of despair, but one of delight! I have given myself permission to be me, to make decisions without explaining them to everyone, to express my feelings or opinions (with love and respect)  in situations I might otherwise have felt I didn't have the right to. I feel the freedom to walk in the confidence of the Lord and to know He loves me unconditionally. As crazy as this may sound, I have actually given myself permission to* be* loved by God. Have you ever thought about how many times we block that unconditional love through our own self-condemnation? We put the conditions in there for Him when He doesn't have any!

     This 'birthday for my soul' has helped me! My self-talk has become much less defeating and much more encouraging. Before I enter an unknown or uncomfortable situation, I say to myself, "You walk into that room (situation) with your head held high. Girl, you're 40!" or "You do not have to do that, or sign up for that, or add that to your already-full plate. Girl, you're 40!" I could go on and on, but you get the point. Am I cured from people pleasing? Not a chance!! I will always strive for progress knowing I will never reach perfection, but "Audrey, you don't have to be perfect. You're 40!!". :)

     So, what age will it be for you? When will you give yourself permission to be you? If not people pleasing, what is your stronghold that could be liberated by a 'birthday for the soul'? Make it, today! Declare to yourself, Look, I'm ____!! and hold that head up high!

Happy Birthday, friend! :)