Moments in Grace

He said he tried to take his own life. He is only 11. 11. And the kids on the bus, they said, "Good, I wish you would." He gets beat up there on that bus. He has pain that is plain to see. Some use it to try to destroy him.  He lives down the street from me. From me. And the girl down the street tells us the story of how is was that day on the bus. And I ask, "What did you do?  What did anyone do?" Where was the rescue? And she tells us, "Nothing.  I was afraid.  Afraid of what they would do to me." I know.  This world is a dangerous place. And I say to my home schooled kids, "What if you had been there?  What would you have done?" They don't know. Because sometimes darkness takes you by surprise.  When you're feeling safe and comfortable, it slinks, and pounces, overtaking you in an instant. And how do you fight what you're unprepared for? But me, I remember what it is like to want to die.  To wa

"Why would anyone do that?" That was the question I had been asked. "I mean really, why would you have six kids,...why? Now this is a question of perplexity, to shape these words, to mold them into sense, to somehow show the Glory of the One. It's hard sometimes, to tell the story of grace. To tell how a life can be changed. Changed, transformed, made into something altogether new. Where do I start? Do I start with the brokenness?  With me, the girl who said she'd never have children? With me, the girl who wanted career success, to make a mark on the world, to be known. With me the girl who was told at 16 that this endometriosis may cause me to never be able to birth babies of my own? With me, the one who championed the cause of abortion rights, because I wanted to be free to choose. How do you tell the story of a life, transformed? How do you tell about the day He came and brought rescue for a life slipping away? Darkness covering, su

I have scars.  Ugly stretch mark scars that criss- cross my belly like burrowing worms. An uglier, lower line where a baby was ripped from my abdomen. A scar above my left eye where I hit a chair with my face. A wrinkled patch on my knee from a scooter accident as a kid. But it's the internal scars that I have obtained with the most pain. I never liked scars, I wanted flawless. I never wanted pain, I wanted poise. I wanted it to be easy. That's it really.  My biggest problem in life is that I want it to be easy. Not just easy, comfortable.   And not just comfortable but fulfilling my greatest dreams. I want to have my best life now. I want it now. Isn't that what my tots say every day?  They want it now.  They want the stuff that will satisfy for the moment.  Fill the belly that will hunger again and again.  Drink the water that will quench only for the moment. But the thirsting never ends, and the hunger never subsides and they need more

The crazy hour was at hand. You know.  The hour just before dinner when chaos is running rampant and life is fraying at the edges, loud and messy. Dropping one off at soccer practice, the van loaded full, we headed home to frantically press into dinner.  The doorbell never stops ringing. Running feet, door slamming, shouts of frenzied play in those last few minutes before we needed to be all piled back in the car to pick up Caleb from soccer.  The baby wakes up  and crying, and ground beef burning, and back into the car again... Just as we are all spilling into the car, pushed and flustered, it happens. A little spill off the scooter on concrete rips two tiny holes in the five year old 's toe.  I survey the damage.  Nothing too serious, just two dots of red on the bitty fourth toe.  It's not even bleeding. I give him a hug and send him on to his seat in the back. Pulling out of the driveway I hear it, "Mom, I need a band aid.  I can't make it withou

"My purpose in writing is to encourage you and assure you that what you are experiencing is truly God's grace for you.  Stand firm in this grace." 1 Peter 5:12 NLT We've had our share of funerals over the last year and a half.  We lost three grandparents, an uncle, an aunt, a friend and then there was me. We almost lost me.  Or maybe I was almost found in heaven. When you come closer to death than you've ever come, it changes you.  It makes you realize a few things.  My hope is not in this world and it hasn't been since I was 18 years old, the day I died to me and came alive to Christ.  Sometimes it's only when you taste death, that you know life, the assurance of it. This weekend we celebrated life. The life of our sixth child, his first birthday.  We threw a big party and rejoiced that God has once again blessed our lives with a precious life to steward and love.  It is in bringing forth this life that I almost lost mine one year ago