I had a heart to heart with God. I asked Him about protection. The first part of Psalm 121:7 promises protection from all evil. I stopped reading.

Protect me? You protected me? From all evil? What about the affairs?

Silence. Waiting. Listening.

I want to trust Him. I want to believe that He has and will protect me from all evil.

Still silent. Still waiting. Still listening.

If you protected me from all evil, then why did I have to walk alone through the spikes that pierced my feelings of worth? Why did I have to feel hopeless and incompetent to raise 4 children alone? Why did I have to carry their pain and be their strength all these years?

I looked back at the verse, trying to comprehend “protection from all evil.”

I read it over and over.

“The Lord will protect you from all evil; He will keep your soul.”

In that moment, reading those last five words, I realized that “protect you from all evil” did not mean that nothing bad would happen to me.

The deepest love is not controlling.

My mind cannot comprehend it. This idea that God loves us so much that He does not control us. He did not stop the affairs.

God protected me from all evil… by keeping my soul. Protecting my soul. Even when I ran, He never left me. He waited. He kept my soul.

In the moments of silence, waiting, and listening, I saw, and felt protection.

In the midst of the evil that abounds in this world, there is Beauty that has defeated it.

Our souls are kept from evil, even when our bodies go through it.

I used to sing a song with the kids in Sunday School about the rain. I was teaching them something I didn’t quite understand… the song tells a story of a man who built his house on the sand. When it rained, and rained, and flooded, his house went “splat!” We liked the song because we could all get loud and silly with our “SPLAT!”

I learned, what I taught, when my “rains” came. My trials flooded my land. My faith was sand. I was sinking.

The God I knew back then was supposed to save me from bad things. When the rains came, and He didn’t save me, I didn’t cry out to Him. I relied on myself.

In the sand, I struggled. I latched onto things that were floating by. I thought they’d save me. I put my hope and faith in people. I continued to sink.

My house was swept away, along with my happiness, love, patience, peace, and eventually, my sanity.

One day, I felt something under my feet. It was solid, and it started lifting me up.

It was building a house as it lifted me.

The walls had writing on them.

“LOVE,” “WISDOM,” “PEACE,” “FORGIVEN.”

The sand fell away. The house stood tall.

The rains came. The floods followed. The house stood firm.

I cried out to God. He heard me.

The God I know now doesn’t save me from bad things. He protects me. He comforts me. He provides for me.

He loves me.

Even when bad things happen, and life feels like a huge “SPLAT!,” I feel safe.

I’ve learned what I used to teach.

I’ll remain on that solid rock that my house is built on, even when bad things happen.

Otherwise, life is meaningless. Sinking sand.

Remembering the first time I heard your heartbeat. Your movement in my belly. Your cry.

Instantly, you were calm, when I held you for the first time. We just stared at each other, finally meeting.

I wanted the world to stop so we wouldn’t have to move.

You cried when they took you. They washed you, weighed you, measured you… wrapped you up and brought you back. It felt like hours had gone by in those moments.

My love for you poured out of my heart like a broken faucet. I cherished your sweet face, your smile, your laugh, and your curiosity.

Years flew by.

I couldn’t keep up with the milestones you achieved. I recorded them with photos, journals, and videos, but I still feel like I missed so much because it went by so fast.

You’ve taught me great things along the way.

The hardest moment is right in front of us.

Letting go.

I know you’ll fly. You’ll soar.

I know you’ll come back changed.

I hope I’ve given you everything you’ll need. Wings. Wisdom. Love.

The rest, you will sharpen. Ambition. Drive. Focus.

I’m ready to let you fly.

I’ll be here, always, watching.

I listened to a song yesterday that broke me.

The words I heard settled on my heart, but my heart couldn’t handle their intensity.

“I am not against you.”

My immediate thought, revelation, was that I wasn’t familiar with this feeling. It was unknown to me.

I’ve fought back tears created by the pain of people being against me. People close to me. The ones who were supposed to be for me.

The chorus played again… “I’m not against you.”

Images of clenched teeth yelling in my face, fingers pointed at my nose. Red, angry, fury-filled faces screaming at me. A phone thrown across the room in my direction. The cord that was the perfect length to hit the ground next to my feet. I just stared at it. For hours. The tears burned.

Against me. This person is against me. I’m not good enough. I don’t deserve to be loved.

Unanswered calls. Strange phone numbers in the car. Unknown numbers calling me, women laughing on the other end. Words appeared on the steamed up mirror. I didn’t write them.

Forsaken. Unworthy.

The lyrics continued. “I will not forsake you.”

I’m being called to trust. Trust the unknown.

Rest. Forgive. Let go.

I feel an embrace.

The pain, the anger, the fear… fall away. They’re not mine.

“I chose you. I am for you. You are worthy.”

The words took me back, to take me forward.

I accept who I am. Loved.

First day of school. 6th grade. Recess.

The swings were my solace.

I was lost in my thoughts when she walked up and asked if she could swing next to me. I’d never seen her before. She was unique. Especially because she saw me.

We talked about where we grew up so far, siblings, parents, pets, and what we liked to do.

We were both new to the school. She moved here from Germany! I transferred due to district boundary changes. Her reason was so much cooler! Germany!?!

We became instant best friends.

The bell rang. Back in to class.

We exchanged numbers, glances, giggles, and folded up triangle notes about the cutest boys we liked.

She eventually sat next to me, between me and the cute boy I liked.

One day, she convinced me to write a “do you like me, check yes or no… if yes, will you go out with me?” note to him. *gasp*

He said yes to both!

My bff and I spent every recess together, every day, that whole year. We were champions at tetherball and four square. Our made up “dance/flip” routines on the parallel bars drew some attention sometimes. I’ll spare you the lyrics. You’re welcome.

I walked home with her, almost every day after school, to her big house with her two parents and an older sister. Her parents invited me to join them for dinner, almost daily. Their meals were delicious because of the conversation, and the love they shared around that table.

I rode my bike to her house on the weekends. I cut through the gap in the brick wall behind Meadowbrook Mall, took Walton, past Brewster, to Old Perch. Left on the side street across from the middle school, follow the curves, all downhill, coasting with my legs straight out, pretending to fly, left on Brittany Court.

We watched old movies I’d never heard of, and made bagel pizzas with string cheese in the toaster oven, which I’d also never heard of.

We set up a gymnastics arena in her room where we had to run, flip, and compete for the perfect landing – on our butt – on her bed. It was hilarious. I always lost, because she was an actual gymnast, but our laughter was better than winning.

We sought adventure. We wrote stories. We ice skated past dark and I got grounded for not telling my mom where I was. We cried on each other’s shoulders when the cute boys broke up with us. Or we broke up with them? I can’t remember the details.

I called her from my grandma’s house when we moved there. I told her I couldn’t ride my bike over anymore because now I lived too far away. She promised it wouldn’t change anything. I had to go to a different middle school temporarily. She promised it wouldn’t change anything.

I called her from my new house! It was even closer to her house than the last one! I told her I’d be going to West Middle School with her! She promised to show me around!

She sat down next to me when I couldn’t stop crying at my locker in 7th grade. The world walked by, staring at the spectacle I made, but she shielded me from their stares. I don’t even remember why I was crying, but I couldn’t stop.

We played with my new kittens. Dressed them up like babies and took pictures of them.

She adored my new baby sister. We brought my new baby sister into my room and just held her for hours.

9th grade. She moved out of state.

I felt lost without her.

I decided to move to my Dad’s house in Armada…

Remember when you told me I had to find that place inside myself where I was ok with just being with me?

When I hit panic mode every time I was alone?

Ha!

Found it!

Today, I didn’t feel incomplete when I was walking alone in the airport, on the plane, or soaring over the mountains.

I was smiling to myself.

I’m enjoying every minute of this being alone thing. (Ok, well, most minutes).

I’m realizing that it’s not just liking or being ok with me… it’s being in a strong, real, reciprocal relationship with God!

Where I speak to Him in my mind and I know He’s listening, and ask, and listen.

I hear him whisper “you’re beautiful my sweet child. I love you.” Those are the moments that I truly enjoy. I feel alive.

I

Am

Complete.

I’m excited for what’s next even if it’s not something great, because our life here on earth is temporary.

Our pain & struggles will be forgotten.

Heaven will be louder than the whispers that keep me smiling.

Thank you for encouraging me to find peace. Peace with myself that led to peace with my God!

Sincerely,

Your best friend

I wore a big, yellow, puffy winter coat in kindergarten. Since I was the tallest kid in class, my nickname was Big Bird. I liked Big Bird, so I didn’t mind.

Kids were running alongside the bus waving, smiling, crying, yelling “goodbye Big Bird!” as our bus drove to our stop one last time.

The kids made my sister and I feel famous!

We were leaving New Baltimore. Moving to Clawson.

We left our favorite friends, our favorite babysitter, and our memories.

The new house was big. Nice yard. We shared a room, even though we didn’t have to. Just because we were used to being together, and we liked it.

We made new friends, but they weren’t the same. They didn’t know the New Baltimore us. They only knew who they thought we were now.

We carried our old selves inside, hoping to meet people who would want to meet them.

The more people we met, including the new babysitter, the more we realized that we’d never be able to introduce our old selves to them.

So, we pulled them out when it was just the two of us. We created our New Baltimore world with the dolls, barbies, matchbox cars, and imaginary friends. We held onto it, so it wouldn’t fade away.

Mom bought us a dog.

He was great! Golden fur, happy, full of energy!

He loved us so much he’d dig holes and escape his fence just to be with us at the bus stop. It was so hard to get on that bus not knowing if he’d go back home. We waved to him and yelled to him, “We love you, now GO HOME!” as the bus drove away. He was back in the yard when we got home.

He must’ve loved that place because he tried to find his way back there when we moved to our new house in Rochester two years later. He wiggled right out of his collar and bolted. Never to be seen again.

Boomer went back to Clawson, I think, just like we went back to New Baltimore, in our minds.

The Clawson house changed us. We grew up faster than we wanted to.

There were some great memories there, and some not-so-great memories too.

The ones I cherish are: picking raspberries from Phylis Harding’s house. Making fudge and Christmas cookies. Playing on our new wooden swing set. Building forts on our new wooden swing set, and attempting to sleep in them, outside. Racing home on my pink Huffy bike so I could get money for the ice cream truck. Skidding across the pavement on my bare belly when I hit the curb with my bike tire. (I don’t cherish this memory, but it won’t leave me!) Learning that fresh hot tar under your feet causes pain! Blisters. Excruciating pain. (I do cherish this memory because it taught me to trust the warning signs!)

As I mentioned, we left Clawson two years later, and moved to Rochester.

We didn’t develop Clawson selves, so we didn’t struggle the same way.

Unfortunately, the New Baltimore world in our minds faded. We were in a new place, new people, new challenges.

Mom bought us a dog.

He was also golden, fluffy, and full of energy. He was our companion. One of us.

We made new friends again. Created cherished memories, grew up some more, and then said goodbye. To more than we knew at the time…

The circus rings are placed exactly where they’ll be conquered.

She swings to them, holding on with all of her being.

She anticipates their placement.

As soon as she reaches her goal, the ring is no longer there.

She fumbles. Descends. Grasps. Fails. Plummets.

Her fate is spared by the nets below.

Ironically, her failures mimic her relationship.

No matter what, she will never meet the expectations. They’ll never be where the calculated anticipation places them.

As her body braces itself to slam against the net below, she is taunted to give up and walk away. Her endless efforts have exhausted her. She has lost the drive to achieve the goal.

Facing defeat, she decides to remain in the shadows.

The shadows seem safe. They allow her to be who she is, not who she is becoming.

The shadows hold her past, and they applaud how far she’s come.

The light forces her to become greater.

When she’s ready, she will step out. She’ll attempt to reach her goals again. She will silence the failures that are a faint echo.

The rings will be immovable.

Hatred is ugly.  It has the power to destroy. It lurks around our hearts, and turns them into stone.

Sometimes, we are able to love others unconditionally, even though the hatred has crept in.

Sometimes, we store up hatred for one person, without immediately knowing why.

Sometimes, we’d rather let the hatred settle in, because its easier than evicting it.  We know its there, and we just ignore it.  It is happy, as long as it has a place to stay.  We make excuses, we call it self protection, and we let it get comfy.

I have done this recently. Regretfully, and ashamed to admit, I have allowed hatred to take residency in my heart.  Just in one small corner.

There were unforgiven moments in my life that opened the door to, and welcomed hatred into my heart. I didn’t recognize the moments as unforgiven, until today.  God nudged me, and lovingly showed me what to do with it.

When I was married, my life was full of hatred. It overtook me. It became me. I remember my pregnant belly being so tense, due to my hatred of the situation I was in, that it felt like a rock.  In those moments, I released the hatred for the sake of the baby.

Hatred is deceitful though, the way it finds other ways back in… It doesn’t even knock! Just returns to where it can stir up the stone.

It used moments that I had forgotten about to keep that door to that corner room open. It stirred softly.  It masked itself.

God would often show me that the door was open, and I would pretend I didn’t hear him.  I would rebel, make hatred comfortable, feed it, and let it stay… so that I wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Until today.

The door flung open.  Hatred confronted me.  I stood tall… brave… strong. I called it by its name, and told it to leave my heart!  I yelled that it was not welcome anymore.  I slammed the door, released my unforgiveness, and welcomed healing (again!).

In that moment, I felt like I was standing in the ocean, with waves rolling over me.  The waves were not fierce, they were not in a fit of rage.  They were peaceful, and refreshing.

God brought me peace in my restored heart.

As the waves rolled back out, they took the hatred away.

Do you ever wish you could take people with you?

To your past. Especially to the lessons that are landmarked on your heart.

I do.

We’d skim across sad lessons like a pelican on the ocean waves. Just enough to feel it.

We’d pause at the hard lessons.

Maybe sip a few in, like delicious hot coffee. Delicious now because of how strong it made me.

The lessons I’d want us to bathe in are the ones I’ve learned empathy from…

The young girls I bought handmade roped bracelets from in Tijuana, Mexico, whose hardships were tattooed on their faces. Their sadness was more genuine than any I’d ever seen before. Their eyes strongly affected my perspective.

To the hammock where I heard the most vibrant giggle. A girl my age who was born with cerebral palsy, enjoying life to the fullest extent swinging high, in the hammock, as a cocoon. Protected from the harsh stares she was used to.

Past the boarded up houses in Detroit. Past the homeless, famished people in Chicago, and Toronto. Bruises. The memories that taught me to have empathy toward people who are normally judged. I imagined their stories as I walked by. The circumstances that led them to lose hope.

If we were walking along this road, passing by the lessons of empathy, we’d peer down the alley and see a 19 year old girl who made many bad choices, in moments of youthful ignorance. She was given a second chance to jump on the right path. This is why she’s able to see past the circumstances of girls in the same alley, on the brink or even aftermath of, the same choices.

We’d also peek into a home and watch a young mom cry. Full of regret. Wishing she’d listened instead of racing past the red flags that were slapping her in the face trying to stop her. She was learning empathy toward those who want something so badly they ignore the blaring warning sirens.

“To a famished man, every bitter thing is sweet.” Proverbs 27:7

As our walk comes to the end of its purpose, we embrace the lessons we’ve shared.

Our eyes are renewed.

We look forward to the droughts ahead, where we will learn to appreciate the feast.