How to get from A to Z

Today I've been going through boxes that had long been tucked away in the attic. We will be ready to move to our new town home before too long and I am in the process of minimizing.

It's amazing how much can cling to you, I think things grow when I'm not looking.

And there I found them, sitting quietly in notebooks in the bottom of clear storage boxes. Some may call them poems. They were my screams. My nightmares. My loneliness from my highschool years. It hurts in places I didn't even know I still had.

Why do those memories still hurt after all this time? They hurt for different reasons now. I hurt for hurting Him. My family. For having such a bad memory and so little empathy for those who are in a similar place now.

Not being close to Christ is hell.

I have to take every thought captive to Christ, and leave them at His feet.

I read on and am amazed at what I thought about, wrote about... my immaturity. And my recognition of it, and my admitted unwillingness to change.

I turn page after page, a train wreck I can't look away from. Some things are worth remembering and keeping as a gentle reminder of things past, some hold no eternal value, would not benefit anyone in any way. I recycle a lot of it.

I definitely don't think the same way any more. He has transformed me by renewing my mind. Hallelujah, thank you Jesus.

It's like reading about a completely different person. But yet, this pain confirms that once upon a time that person was me.

How did I get from A to Z?

I read from 8 years ago. I was 17. I wonder...Was this from before or after the date rape situation?... The month and day aren't dated. I don't know. I don't know that it would make a difference... I was lost and messed up completely by my own doing, long before that night ever happened.

I had given it the title: Still Here.

Still Here

My sin blinds me of Your presence.

My heart turns from You.

You kneel with outstretched arms,

And I back away.

My spirit cries for our hearts to be one again,

But my flesh resists Your touch.

My pride breaks for an instant,

I weakly raise a hand

That so often dishonors

In an attempt to honor You.

Before I can withdraw my hand

You reach down

and entwine

Your fingers with mine.

Your essence showers kisses on my face.

Holding my hand you whisper

"I am still here."

I didn't turn back at that time. I didn't surrender myself to Him for another 3 years. I was afraid to get to know Him. I knew that meant real changes for me, and I didn't like His rules. I did not trust Who I did not know.

So how did I get from A to Z?

When all my other attempts failed, all doors slammed in my face, all paths proved to be dead ends... I trusted Him with B.

I let Him lead me for one step in the direction He said I needed to go.

That thing that He kept bringing to my mind, holding out His hand an asking me to give to Him... I finally did. I finally unclenched my fist.

With my hand open, He gently took mine, and lead me one more step to C.

One issue at a time. Always the question: would I trust that He knew best? That He wanted the best for me?

It was not a quick process. And it was painful. He is the God of true comfort, not of comfortable.

After tears, and prayers, and years, with His word etched into my mind, hidden in my heart and on the tip of my tongue I finally realized it. We were there. Z.

All of me belonged to all of Him.

Not in a perfect, pretty package with a bow all neatly tied. But given from a child to a Father who delighted in the best gift the child could give.

He knows I am not perfect. "Z" doesn't mean I have it all together.

"Z" means all of me willingly, gratefully belongs to Him.

A lot has changed. I pray and have great joy in the knowledge that He faithfully continues to change me. But something has remained consistent through all these years. He whispers it even now...

"I am still here."

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases.

I remember my affliction and my wandering,

the bitterness and the gall.

I well remember them,

and my soul is downcast within me.

Yet this I call to mind

and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,

for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

~Lamentations 3:19-23

My Jesus Story Box

She clutches it close, grins wide and bright eyed.

"And then what happens??" She is riveted, giggling in anticipation.

I tell her these tales again and again, she never tires of these stories. But she wants to know, needs to know, to double-check just one more time: " did this happen in real life?"

Yes, my sweet darling, these stories are true. 

These are my Jesus stories. These are my stones of remembrance. I keep them in a simple photo box, with His words reminding me what stones are and are not meant for, reminding me to remember.

I can forget so easily.

I don't want to.

So often I have heard and read of stories of amazing things God has done... but I rarely personally know the individual who actually had the experience of God's direction, protection, intervention, vision, or miracle in their life. I have privately asked the question "did this happen in real life?"

Last spring I co-led a women's small group at my church through Believing God by Beth Moore. In one section Beth encourages the reader to write down a timeline of notable things God has done in your life, personal stones of remembrance. This was very helpful to me in many ways. It helped me recall and recognize God's beautiful orchestration in my life. But because I am (at least) as forgetful as the Old-Testament Israelites, I wanted some 3-D reminders of God glorious works in my life. Something I would see to draw me to His feet in praise "Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by Thy help I'm come..."

I actually considered stacking up huge stones. Well, having someone with muscles stack them for me, I'm not exactly known for upper body strength.

But that idea didn't seem very Baby friendly. My 11 month old is nicknamed "baby godzilla" by her adoring and ever-so-patient older sister. The description is quite accurate. I wanted to avoid a miniature Samson episode, so other options had to be explored.

In my experience all children share a certain trait, regardless of personality. Curiosity. When God commanded the Israelites to set up stones as a reminder of the awesome miracle He had just done by cutting off the flow of the river Jordan so they could cross over on dry land, I think God intended the stones to spark the natural curiosity of the Israelite children. I have chosen items in My Jesus Story Box specifically to inspire my children to ask "what do these stones mean?".

True, some things that are exposed about me in these stories are not glamorous. In fact, they are down right hideous. But He is the Main Character of these stories, I am not. And He is beautiful all the time. He is the only reason why all the stories have happy endings. I want my children to know Him more that I want to hide my weaknesses. I want them to know He is alive and active and involved in every person's life. Even mine. Even theirs. He is the same miraculous God of old, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

Right now I tell Selah the 5 year-old appropriate versions of these stories, the depth of the stories will grow as she does. But I pray the Truth about God will be the common thread she holds onto from now into adulthood.

Selah also has her own story box with a couple of stones of remembrance. She loves it so much, she is actively looking for Jesus' work in her life so she can add to her box. "He loves us so much, mom! " she says. "He must have done that so we could have this story in our box!...".

I believe we are hard-wired to love stories. We are part of one, and each one of us has a part that the One and Only considered worth His very life.

What would happen if we all shared our stories, His stories, with one another? Might you consider starting your own Jesus Story Box? A place for tangible pieces of evidence of God's hand in your life? We can each witness to what we know of Him, and pass on and recall His faithfulness to our oh-so-forgetful hearts.

God spoke this to me back in April, and it has been on my heart ever since: "Stones, are also for building."

What if? What if we all built up a wall together instead of stoning each other? What if we as believers all lined up our stones of remembrance that God has given us? What God has done for us should be shouted from the mountaintops! His mercy, goodness, and work in our lives is the proper lens to view ourselves, and others, and God through. With such a massive wall of God's faithfulness surrounding us how could we struggle with faithlessness? With our forgiven sins and evidence of our redemption reaching up to the sky how could we struggle with judgement? Would not the love that completely surrounds us force our lips open in praise to Him?

"I tell you," he replied," if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out."

Luke 19:40

Let us build together!

"The God of heaven will give us success. We his servants will start rebuilding"

~Nehemiah 2:20

I look forward to sharing my stories with you in the upcoming days and weeks... and I hope to hear some of yours!

Glorify the LORD with me! Let us exalt His name together!

When You Don't Know What You Were Made For: Love Letters (Part 1)

Nothing could have prepared me for what she said. It was so unexpected.

Mom could barely choke out the words.

"Mr. Davenport died this morning..."

Silence only broken by her soft, deep sobbing. I sat still, dazed by this sharp blow. My throat ached, tears burned, welled, dropped and poured out. He was one of my Dad's dearest friends, a well loved family friend, my dear friend...

It was early morning, and my mind was swimming, thrashing, trying to tread water in high, crashing waves. "What? How... what?...".

We are deeply affected by those who love us well, we trust them with a part of ourselves, and now that part was suddenly, inexplicably gone.

He had joked with me, smiled at me, talked with me, listened to me and made judgements but never judged me my whole lost-little-girl-trying-to-be-a-woman life.

And when this scared, scarred, lonely girl admitted to unwed pregnancy at nineteen he did not break me with his words but broke down my fears with Truth and Love. He immediately made a self-proclamation to be the child's godfather.

My daughter was barely making her presence seen, only a tiny bump that was changing my world... now he was gone.

She would never hear how his voice smiled. She would never hear the jokes, the laughing at his own jokes, or the velvet-tipped arrow questions followed by treats and movies and time together.

She would never get to hug him.

He loved to hug people, break through those barriers we set up so well. He hugged with his arms and with his words. He rightly called fellow Christ followers "brother" and "sister", and treated them as such. He loved Jesus and walked with Him and talked with Him and shared their conversations with anyone who would listen.

I remember the last time I saw him, I got a call from my Dad that he was in the hospital. I had visited him in the hospital often, many times over many years. He was in for something different this time, not as serious as others. I've never liked hospitals, but he had a way of making them seem less scary. I was sure he would have new stories to tell, especially if he had a new nurse that didn't know him. He loved to yell "ouch!" when they would try to give him an IV or shot then he would laugh and try to joke away the panic he had caused. Needless to say he was popular and well know by the staff.

I almost didn't go because I had really goofy hair from a photoshoot I had just done. It was my last pre-baby shoot, and I was self-conscience and worn from having worked all day in white clothes(that emphasized my shameful secret) and tired from not having eaten well. But I knew he wouldn't care what I looked like, though I was sure he would tease me about it. He sincerely complemented my hair almost immediately after we greeted each other, disarming my insecurity and leaving us open for real, undistracted conversation.

He had an infection so he wouldn't let me hug him. Especially since I was pregnant. So he hugged me with his words the whole time, me the injured and him the whole, laying in the hospital bed happy, hopeful, and just beautifully himself. When the time came for our normal goodbye he smiled warmly and waved saying "I'll hug you next time I see you!...". He promised.

I know he'll keep that promise.

It was surreal, but had to be true. I had rarely seen my mother cry. I hugged my swelling belly and grieved beyond words for this man who had loved me so well. I gave my daughter his name in the center of hers and promised to tell her of his love for her though they would never meet face to face on this earth.

James.

I wondered if he knew how much I loved him. Had I told him enough? Had I told him why?

Life's brevity struck me to the core and inspired the Love Letters I write to my family each year...

To Remember the Value of THIS 24 Hours

She is already losing her baby-ness.

She toddles now, arms outstretched, expression of knowing her own accomplishment bringing joy to all who watch her teetering, balancing, grinning movements.

Yesterday in the store, step by step, she walked away from me. She saw something she wanted more than to hold onto my hand.

It won't be long until I blink and she is 5, and more interested in playing and going than being held by me. It is right that they grow up. It is wrong if I should miss it.

Her expressions and discoveries are a once-in-a lifetime joy each day. Never the same. The bittersweet beauty of mortality.

I see it in my Sisters faces(well, Sisters-in-law for the sake of not being confusing). I love the new mom questions(to anyone around their baby) of "did you see it??" and "look, you're missing it!!...". Each expression is precious and not to be lost. Moms don't let even one drop away unappreciated.

Slowing down to catch all the baby-ness...

My Beloved Nephew: Ezra Joel Duncan

My Precious Niece, "Little Match" as Husband calls her: Eva Grace Duncan

"My days are swifter

than a runner... They skim past

like boats of papyrus."

~Job 9:25-26

The Main Character

Invigorated from her bath and cozy in fresh pajamas Little Girl runs to her bed creating a sound track of excited giggles along the way. Scaling the mountain of covers and pillows and unfolded laundry she sacrifices some to the floor as she hurriedly settles into her side of the bed, leaving enough room for me on the outside edge. She smiles up at me a grin that her face can barley contain and wiggles her four year old legs in excitement. She never tires of this story.

She knows what is coming, she's heard it many times before, and yet every time we near the end of a chapter that alludes to this long-awaited Rescuer she can't help but cry out "I know who it is! It's Jesus!"

We peer into the dim mirror of a life and search for the reflection of Life.

He is the One we are looking for. He is the only reason we know about these other people. The only reason their lives, and the choices they made, affect our lives and the choices we will make.

He is the Main Character. Always. Only.

As soon as I lay the cover closed she fervently begs, as she always does, "what's next??". I read the title of the next chapter before returning the book to the windowsill beside her piggy bank.

Kisses, prayer, one last "I love you" and this day is over. It flew by as so many do. Eternity rushes forward.

It's been a long day. I collapse in a comfy chair. It turns over and over in my mind... He is the Main Character.

How much frustration would I avoid every day if I remembered that this is His story? How would I view that unexpected phone call? That change in plans?How differently would I view each eternal being I come in contact with?

I have been in His story for 25 years. In a story, each person is ultimately seen through the eyes of the main character. How close they are to that being is how much relevance they have in the story. If my 25 years were written down... what would that look like?

... a child, constantly cared for, completely unaware of the protection and provision...

... a teenager, ungrateful, deceitful, rebellious, hateful. Distracting others away from Him. Spitting in His face. An antagonist. I don't recognize this King in paupers clothes. He calls me Home everyday. I refuse to answer ...

... lost in the labyrinth of a self made web. Broken and unable to find the way home. Crying in the lonely darkness. Sought for and found by Him. Lifted from the thorns, though they scar His hands, and carried patiently in strong, loving arms all the long road back to safety.

... He tirelessly nurses His loved one back to Health...

... when I come to my senses I find myself in a palace, loved and cared for by the Prince of Peace Himself...

... a young woman, wooed and won over, forgiven and healed. My blindness falls away as I draw closer to the Light. Now I see Him dimly. I am grateful for this soft focus, His beauty is painfully breath-taking. He is more than mortal eyes can bear, tears drop hot and fast...

... He wipes away every tear...

... I fall for Him hard...

... He asks for my hand in marriage. I accept!...

... He takes me everywhere. He has been waiting, excited to show me as much as I can bear...

... honeymoon over, the daily grind sets in, and true love is challenged, grows, goes deeper...

... He opens my eyes wider. I see Him everywhere, in everyone. I must share Him like I must breathe. I shout to others " I see Him in you! Do you see? Look here, and here, and here! He loves you so..."

... now happily married best friends. How can my heart even bear the honor of being His bride? I want to serve Him, and those He loves, all my life. Like so many others I pledge " I will follow wherever You lead. "...

For now, eternity is crammed into 24 hour days. How do I use them wisely? Where do I see The Main Character? I will try to follow Him.

Hold my hand Lord Jesus, take me with You! I want to work wherever You work, I want to play when You say "enough work!", I want to listen when You speak. And when the day is done, let me not try to find rest anywhere else. I want to sleep in Your arms. May my story whisper Your name...

"Thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing."~ 2 Cor. 2:14-15

Stones

I once was cold and naked and blind. So completely alone and lonely. So desperately dark and empty.

I now have warmth from the inside out, and from the outside in. I am now clothed and covered by an impenetrable Shelter. My Refuge. Light that opens blinded eyes. Filled full by Fullness.

I once was hungry, starving for Bread. Dying of thirst for Living Water. No drop could quench my thirst. I was surrounded by enemies dangling fruit that only lead to further starvation and death.

I now drink from an overflowing cup. An endless ocean deep. And a table is prepared for me, even in the presence of my enemies. I am crowned and satisfied.

I once was filth. A dirt that could not be scrubbed off in the most scorching water, with the harshest sponge. My mouth was full of gravel. Bitterness and unforgiveness an ever present stain.

I now bear the brightest whitest light that shines from my Beloveds face. Embraced by Purity. I am a long sought after, delighted in bride.

I bend in wedding dress and pick up a stone. I want to throw it. To crush what is so obviously unholy.

Now I see. I see evil and call it such. I hear the mocking of His holy law and am enraged. I see the freedom He gives taken advantage of. I want justice! I want righteousness! I want the spitting in His face to stop!

Heat rises in my face as I take my aim.

My Beloved asks "will you be the one to cast the first stone?" The gentleness in His voice stills my arm, my breath is caught by this painful recognition.

He holds my gaze. I cannot bear His eyes that are filled with compassion, my passion pales in His love. My eyes drop and see His scarlet gift of my white bridal gown. Vision is lost in a blur of hot dropping shame.

I stare at the stone in my hand. Has it been so long? Have I forgotten what I was? I am a new creation with a terrible memory.

But He knows that.

"Stones" He says, "Are for remembering."

I kneel and place this stone of remembrance to the ever-growing pile of evidence of His faithfulness.

Lord, I forget how warmed I am until I am brushed by another's fierce coldness. I forget how satisfied I am until I see someone starving to death. I forget what a gift sight is until I recognize someone struggling through daily life in blindness. I forget how protected I am until I see someone without Shelter. I forget how loved I am until I encounter loneliness. May this stone be a reminder to turn my passion into compassion like Yours! You are the Righteous Judge who does not show favoritism and Who loves me, the worst of sinners. May this stone remind me that You stepped in front of me, and bore the crushing beating on your back when others screamed of my guilt.

Then my Husband, my Leader, my Lion of Judah, the Lamb who was slain and takes away the sin of the world, my Wonderful Counselor said to me as He lay His hand on mine "Stones, are also for building."

What if? What if we all built up a wall together instead of stoning each other? What if we as believers all lined up our stones of remembrances that God has given us? What God has done for us should be shouted from the mountaintops! It is the proper lens to view ourselves, and others, and God through. With such a massive wall of God's faithfulness surrounding us how could we struggle with faithlessness? With our forgiven sins and evidence of our redemption reaching up to the sky how could we struggle with judgement? Would not the love that completely surrounds us force our lips open in praise to Him?

"I tell you," he replied," if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out."

Luke 19:40

Let us build together!

"The God of heaven will give us success. We his servants will start rebuilding"

~Nehemiah 2:20

*Scripture References:

• Proverbs 18:10
• Psalm 42:2,7
• John 4:1-39
• Psalm 37:39-40
• Luke 16:19-31
• Psalm 23
• Psalm 103:4-5
• Proverbs 20:17
• Numbers 6:24-26
• John 8:1-11
• Joshua 4:1-24
• Nehemiah 1-6:15

Selah Sayings and Stories

She's a joy. She's in trouble. I'm embarrassed. How wonder-full. She's so smart. She has such a good memory. I really need to watch what I say. Oh-Boy. Oh-well. Laughter.

It is possible for me to have all of these responses to a single sentence that comes out of my Daughter's mouth.

I know that she is, and each of us are, a piece of Him... the wonderful Father. If she were the only piece of Him that I ever had the privilege to experience, how could I ever think He is boring? She is living proof that His character, and His sense of humor, are more complex than I could ever imagine!

It would be impossible to record everything interesting that comes out of her mouth, since it is in incessant motion except for when she is sleeping. But I have decided to start sharing some things as they happen, or as I remember them.

For those of you who don't know her, she is a curious little four year old that speaks in very clear, to the point, adult language. She has had an excellent grasp of language since she was 18 months old. I will write like she speaks, though it is unfortunate you cannot also see her feisty body stances, hands motions, and facial expressions.

For those of you who do know her, I bet you are already smiling.


Story #1)
Her sense of justice( a memory from June 2008, she was almost 3 yrs old):

We had been in a hit-and-run accident where the other driver totaled my car. We were all unhurt, but Little Girl, who had been in the backseat, was very upset. Husband and I tried to comfort her and explain that we were all okay because God had protected us, and that was all that mattered. She had been listening closely though, as her Daddy had explained to the police officer that he was unable to get the other drivers license plate number. She also had heard the police officer say it was not unusual for the guilty party to flee the scene, and that honestly, they usually were not found or held accountable. Little Girl understood that Daddy and Mommy were not happy the man had left them with a very broken car, and she did not like this. She said so. She would not be comforted.

So, Husband and I told her to pray, to talk to God about what the man did, and ask for God's help in the situation. We suggested she pray that the police officers would find him. We told her we were just wanting him to do what was right so he could help fix Mommy's car.

So with angry, teary eyes she prayed:

"Lord Jesus, please help the police officers to find the man who hit us..."
(Husband and I nod our heads in agreement)

"... and when they do, please throw him to the alligators!"

Whoa! Hold it!

We tried to explain that we did not want the man to be hurt at all, we just wanted him to do what was right. No matter what we said, this was the prayer she prayed for the next several days.

After hearing her pray this with such sincerity and conviction one time, my Dad said " Poor guy, he doesn't stand a chance. He should have just come back and paid for the damages. Now he's got Little Girl praying alligators on him! I hope he doesn't go near a zoo or anything... "

More stories/sayings coming soon...

The Perfect Parent

Baby Girl is perfect. Pure. Beautiful. A flawless masterpiece of the Great Artist.

I know it won't last long. Maybe that is why it is so precious now.

Sin will show itself very early in her life. Big Sister already displays her broken nature in such obvious, undeniable ways. It often is a mirror of the ugliness in me. I am more aware than ever of my sinfulness.

I want it burned out of me. I want to help them stay pure as long as possible. I go again to the Refiner.

"REMEMBER." He says to me over and over. "REMEMBER."

He has already answered me about this cry in my heart. This plea to be a good parent.

I remember when 4 Year Old Girl was only a few months old...I was a 19 year old girl... I remember...


Darkness. Deep drowning darkness that chokes tears from my eyes. On my knees in weakness, begging for Strength, forehead to the floor.

"God Pleeeeeeeease! Please don't let her turn out like me! Please don't let my sin affect her! Please don't let her suffer because of my mistakes!"

The Enemy of my soul is close. Past actions assault my mind, leaving me defenseless of my guilt. Giving myself away, welcoming drugs, and alcohol, and pain into my body. Sacrificing my unborn child and fostering a relationship with death. Possible futures crush my spirit with images of my precious daughter repeating my same actions and sneering at me that I can say nothing to her because of what I've done. In this hellish future she cries broken-hearted, uncomforted, because I have made the word "father" a complicated, painful word for her.

In anguish I scream to Him "And won't it certainly be that way? My parents were as close to perfection as I have seen on this earth, and look at the choices I still made! Oh God PLEASE, please, please, oh God PLEASE don't let her turn out like me..."

Enemy smiles and whispers, as he did in that hungry desert long ago, tempting me to utter despair by twisting words of Truth. " But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea..." (Matt 18:6) He wraps the rope around my throat and the crushing weight drags me down and I can only sob a broken, whispered "help!"

Choking out sobs I flail in the suffocating darkness. I feel Father's strong hands gently unwrap the rope and tenderly cradle my face.

"You are not blind. Now you see. Open your eyes and look at Me."
I ache. "I can't! I can't do this! Please don't let her suffer because of me!...."

Even more tenderly "Open your eyes and look at Me."

My head feels so heavy. I slowly lift up my face while drawing in ragged breaths. I painfully raise my swollen lids to the Light.

"You are forgiven!"

I collapse against Him and sob. He still loves me. I am forgiven. The weight begins to drop with my tears. The oxygen returns to the air. His lights absorbs my darkness. His peace consumes my fear.

" I don't understand it, Father, how You can love me."

"You do. You know how you love her."

I think about my Little One. Had I ever really loved before her? I had always been too selfish for what I experienced to be called love for another. It was just a twisted kind of self-love. But this-this love that Love had given me when I accepted His breath of life into my spirit--this was the kind of love where I could lay down my life for another. More than that, I could live my life for someone other than me. I was finally willing to serve.

I plead with Him who didn't shy away from washing feet "please teach me how to be a good parent."

"I am your husband, and your friend, I will never leave you. Do not be discouraged. Do not be dismayed. "

The tears still well up in my eyes, I voice the fear He already knows " but what if..."

"Her sin will not be about you." He understands so well. Too well.

He draws my thoughts to a beautiful garden, where even He, the Perfect Parent, had to ask His beloved child "what is this you have done?" (Gen 3:13)

He has had to ask that many times since. The sin is a choice. The children of the Perfect Parent still choose to sin....

I place my forehead back on the ground in prayer. "then help me to respond perfectly as You do. Help me to discipline in love like You do. Help me to remember that Your kindness leads to redemption, and that You love her more fiercely than I ever could. Help me to remember Your promises..."


...Now I remember.



He promises to take care of my children:

He who fears the Lord has a secure fortress, and for his children it will be a refuge. (Proverbs 14:26)


My grandchildren:
But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children" (Psalm 103:17)


And many more generations:
...Showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments. (Exodus 20:6)



I love to read Psalm 118 out loud! And to give thanks to the LORD for he is good; his love endures forever!

Metal Memories

***Dear reader: PLEASE NOTE THAT TODAY'S BLOG HAS SOME GRAPHIC LANGUAGE, IT MAY PAINT SOME UNWANTED IMAGES IN YOUR HEAD, AND I DO NOT WISH ANYONE TO READ ON UNPREPARED. I AM WRITING THIS BECAUSE I THINK IT IS IMPORTANT TO BE RAW AND REAL ABOUT THE LONG TERM EFFECTS OF AN ABORTION, EVEN FOR SOMEONE WHO KNOWS THEY ARE FORGIVEN.***

Maybe it hurt so much because it was unexpected. Not a physical hurt, it went much deeper than that.

As soon as the metal touched me, my face must have shown how raw my heart felt because my Midwife immediately noticed. In an attempt to distract me she asked: "your last pap smear came back normal, didn't it?"

I smiled weakly at her "yes, it did." I felt the dizziness setting in. Stay here, don't go back there.

How could I explain that my sudden change of expression had nothing to do with what I was currently feeling? It had been four years since my other daughter's birth, and I had forgotten that a pap smear was routine for the six week check up. The metal had surprised me, and in a moment I was back to that place.




...Six years younger, flat on my back staring at the ceiling, deadness creeping into my eyes, not blinking.
The nurse holding my hand, patting me as she noticed this change taking place in me. " it's going to be over soon..." she said.

My jaw tightened. I thought "I hope it hurts. It should." ...





It amazed me how quickly I went back to that place. Stomach turned inside out.

"All done. Everything looks great, you should only have a little spotting for a couple of days." Midwife's Assistant is so kind in tone and expression. Even though she meant to be encouraging, the language is painfully similar. They are both searching my face to see if I'm okay.

I shove it all inside. I sit up and smile towards my sleeping infant resting peacefully in her swing. "She's sleeping so well. I had hoped she'd wake up so you could see her beautiful eyes. They're just like her sister's..."



Finish appointment. Drive home. Take care of girls, husband, chores, grocery shopping, Thanksgiving planning, visit with family.

Rush, rush, rush. Finally, shower time. It hits me when I am alone, vulnerable. Many times salty and fresh water have mixed. The memory is ready to crush me, to overwhelm, to take on the form of a Sinister Being that can pour lies into my soul. It is a raging storm rolling in from the horizon. Dark clouds surround me.

Memory. Memory. Remember...



REMEMBER I am not alone, He is here. My soul sings quietly at first, but ever strengthens, until my lips can not remain still and sing in joy...

"Rejoice my heart!
Rejoice my soul....
My Savior God has come to thee;

Rejoice my heart,
You've been made whole,
By a Love that will not let me go!
By a Love that will not let me go..."