House on the Rock

It's my mom's first birthday in Heaven....I think. Perhaps a more realistic truth is that this is her first time ever not having a birthday. After all, why celebrate the passing of another year in the place where there are no years? She is not bound by time -- she's tasting eternity in all its fullness, and it is a glorious celebration that will never end!  I can't get over this! In years past, we would celebrate Mom by groggily rolling out of bed (having stayed up too late the night before), rushing over to Nana and Papaw's, eating deli sandwiches together, awkwardly singing an off-tune Happy Birthday, and then sheepishly handing her some lame present that didn't make the cut on Christmas morning.  Every single second she's experiencing now is sweeter than our best efforts at celebrating her. There's no groggy oversleeping -- she's entered perfect rest. There's no rushing through a pitch-in meal -- abundant feasting is forever hers at the table ...

 28 Years // A letter to my dad --  Twenty-eight years ago, you stood at the altar as the most gorgeous bride -- Carrie Boswell -- strode down the aisle to stand by your side. You grasped her hands, looked into her eyes, and told her that you would love her for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. And for many years, you guys got to experience the "for better" and "in health." You did everything together. The life you shared was so fun. I remember being in college, looking at pictures you two would send of Jeep rides, ice cream dates, and your little escape to Disney World (leaving your helpless children at home)! I often thought, man, I hope I get to live out my vows like that. There was no trace of falling out of love -- you seemed to love each other more every single day.  And then August 8th hit, and all of the sudden, we were ravaged by the "in sickness" and "for worse." For the next three months to follow, you dropped everything ...

  December 1. December 1.  That was the date playing over and over in my head.  I'll take a pregnancy test on December 1.   My period was several weeks late, but I was no stranger to disappointment in the pregnancy test realm, so I really didn't want to rush the process. Joe and I had been trying off and on since early in the summer, sometimes hit-or-miss in months long before that. I was often convinced we were pregnant, only to wake up the next morning and have our hope halted by the punch of a period starting.  When my Mom was diagnosed with cancer, our urgency heightened. I desperately wanted to see my mom hold our child. To become a grandma. To be my first phone call in the middle of the night and the woman by my side throughout long hours of labor. Surely she had a couple years to live. Surely we could do this. And then the doctors gave her a week. We tried all the more frantically, hoping I could go through even the most preliminary stages of pregnan...

 I bring to you: 2023! This is my sixth annual recap blog, a yearly recollection of the faithfulness of God as we trace His nearness and goodness month by month. This year's nearness and goodness feels more hard-won and powerfully prevalent than ever before. 2023 -- let's go! January: If I remember correctly, the sun didn't shine for thirty days straight, except a brief five-minute window when the world broke open to blue and we stopped class to stare outside. Students sword fought through Romeo and Juliet by day, I studied theology with friends and played Scrabble with my husband by night. We celebrated the baby showers for two of my dearest friends who told me they were expecting just two weeks apart. February: My least favorite month was marked by the sweet wedding of Nate and Hanna, growing in community as a church family, wintry walks, attempted plant-raising, and celebrating my sister's senior season of gymnastics. Trimester two transitioned to trimester three and...

It's the first Christmas since my mom went home to be with Jesus after a lightning-fast battle with a cancer so aggressive it had spread to her brain before it was even detected. Many things about this season are challenging -- planning family dinners without her being there, putting up the tree (which we always did together), and picking through our stockings that she so thoughtfully stuffed the night before.  We've worked hard to maintain the joyfulness of many traditions in this season. We still decorated cookies, we still put up the tree, we'll still gather in the living room tonight to read The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey , and it will be sweet. In fact, the birth of Christ is even sweeter this year. I have come to treasure the incarnation -- God being flesh and dwelling among us -- more than ever before amidst a year filled with so much heartbreak.  I find, however, absolutely no solace in the empty lyrics of secular Christmas music. In fact, I can't stan...

We're now in the club no one ever wants to join -- the "lost a loved one club," the "dead parent club," the "club of people marked by deep and lasting grief." Call it what you will, we're different than we were back in August. And the passing of my mom is now several weeks behind us, but I'm learning that grief is not a river you cross and come up on the other side. It's a river you're thrown into and stay in -- forever. And sometimes the waters are shallower, calmer. Sometimes they rush with a torrent so strong it feels like we'll never come up for air. But regardless, the river has become our new normal. So sink or swim, we're in it for the long haul.  But we've learned a whole lot in this river, and there's a lot that I think can impact our life and ministry if we let it. It seems a bit inevitable that Joe and I will end up in ministry in some way. Perhaps Joe will pursue the path to pastoring, or perhaps we'll be...

 Thanksgiving Day // Three weeks ago this morning, my mom took her final breath and woke up in the arms of Jesus. The days since have been full of learning new rhythms, finding new people to call on my way home from school, and clinging to the faithful nearness of our Good Shepherd. I miss her so much it feels suffocating, and yet at the same time, I could not be more happy for her. Our family often reminds each other that Mom is having no bad days. Our Cracker-Barrel-catered Thanksgiving feast was scrumptious, but it doesn't even begin to compare to the feast she's been enjoying since she got there: the perfect amount of perfect flavors in the presence of a perfect God. How we long for the day when we all get to join them!  As much as we will mourn today and in the many days to come, we can't neglect giving thanks ---  1. We are so thankful for the family, friends, church family, co-workers, and community that surrounded us over the past several months. Your prayers, lo...

Another fall break has come and gone. While driving west on 32, I noticed the  most resplendent displays of golden-orange foliage that fell like confetti in the autumn breeze. It led me to reflect on last year's fall break, when Joe and I ventured south to Brown County, Indiana. Our trip was marked by bitter snowfall that halted our hikes, overpriced chili dogs, and closed restaurant after closed restaurant. I journaled this one morning: "Our early morning search for an open restaurant was fruitless, and biscuitless, and coffeeless, and literally-everything-else-less. Not only did the shops and restaurants close at 5, 3 of them didn't open until 11 and the rest were closed on Tuesdays. We slugged sleepily back to the Inn and settled for two granola bars which I had thrown into my duffel. I think we both feel a bit discouraged." And here we are one year later. I would do just about anything to have unopened restaurants be the primary trial of our lives. We spent the br...

 We're on month five of trying to conceive. Trapped in a vicious cycle: one negative pregnancy test after another. What seems to be symptoms of pregnancy are again interrupted by the punch of my period starting.  Every month of no baby seems to bring a heavier weight, the more grim and crushing reality that my amazing, deeply treasured mother will not be in the delivery room with me like I always imagined she'd be. I will not likely get to see her hold my baby. She will not be around to marvel at the milestones, to answer my desperate calls pleading "what do I do with this child?!" Barring a miracle, my children won't get to hug their maternal grandma.  This devastating truth can rob me of my joy and consume me, if I let it. And for a couple days lately, I have. I have been floored by the fact that life is not going how I planned it. Things are not like I hoped they would be. This valley is darker, harder, and lasting longer than I ever imagined. And there is a lo...

  You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;      you have loosed my sackcloth      and clothed me with gladness, that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.      O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!     - Psalm 31:11-12 I’ve always thought that this Psalm about God turning mourning to dancing meant that mourning and dancing cannot (or at least do not) coexist. I presumed that God basically strips away our mourning so that it is completely removed, and then the dancing comes in later, down the road, once every drop of mourning is gone. The past seven weeks have made me realize how deeply untrue that is. So much of our dancing is because we are mourning, and yet God’s promise and presence and peace intermingles with our sorrow, making the dancing even sweeter than it would be without mourning. It’s complex, but I think it’s right: we won’t truly know how to dance if we haven’t ...

Everyone always says you don't remember your wedding day, and many parts of that are true. It is an emotional blur of beautiful moments, anxious awaiting, standing behind wooden doors in preparation for the aisle walk that changes everything. Much of the day I don't remember, except for what I've relived through pictures. But there is one God-gifted, beautiful moment that I will never, ever forget: We were at the Bannon's barn. My soon-to-be husband was in a grassy knoll just over the hill, waiting with sweaty palms for the long-awaited first look. While weeds were plucked and our photographer got settled, I stood in the driveway. I took in a deep breath, recounting the near-perfection of that day. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw my mom beaming behind me. Her tan skin radiated a perfect olive glow against wavy light-blonde hair. Her eyes were bursting like diamonds - a gorgeous green laid upon a backdrop of crystal white. There is no other way to describe her -- s...

 I know that Scripture is laden with comfort for sufferers -- take the entire book of Job, over half the Psalms, Philippians, James, and Lamentations, to name a few. Such chapters of the Bible have been my go-to guides for mourning, hope, joy in trials, and peace in storms, and they don't even begin to crack the surface of all God's Word has to offer. During a tough season in college, I hunkered down in James. My brutal job search brought me heart-to-heart with Philippians. A troubling student situation had us holing up in 2 Corinthians 1.  Then Mom was diagnosed with cancer and my world was rocked. I thought, where in the world do I go for this? This feels like the hardest thing I could ever imagine. I know all Scripture is God-breathed and fully sufficient, but what passage will bring peace in a storm this size? Where do I turn? I know what you're thinking. Numbers. Surely, that's the place, right? Everyone's coffee-mug-calligraphied go-to for comfort in crisis? ...

 The plan was to drive to Crawfordsville to tell our grandparents. We wanted to do it in person; we needed to do it together. The drive was quiet, heavy, slow. We pulled into Nana and Papaw's and prepared to rock their world in the same way ours had been. Grammy met us in the driveway. I couldn't be more thankful for a family so close-knit. I couldn't be more thankful that the town of Crawfordsville is small.  That conversation was brutal. Nana and I gripped each other's hands, willing this to be a nightmare we would wake up from. We prayed, parted ways, and prepared to wake up the next day with this new reality. Shockingly, that morning was wonderful. Heartbreaking, certainly. But so peaceful. I woke up to breakfast, made of course, by Dad. Went on a walk by myself, praying and singing. I sat outside on the porch and read Leviticus -- not my first choice in times of trouble, but it's where my Bible plan had me. It's where I stayed. We sipped coffee together, re...

 I did exactly what I planned to do. Almost. I walked to the park. I basked in the sun. I read a book. I planned how I was going to surprise Joe with pizza. Mom was in the hospital, but surely not for long. Surely with nothing serious. That wouldn't happen to her.  We got a text from dad, delivered to me, Cam, and Christen: "Hey guys! Mom would love if you would come down here to hang. I'll buy dinner." Seemed harmless enough, but my gut turned to a rock. I began shaking. For a reason I'll never fully understand, I just knew we were heading toward bad news. I called Christen, who also wasn't planning on visiting that night. "I think we need to go," I said. "I think it's bad." At a traffic light on the way to meet Christen, I called Cam. I told him the same thing. "Really?" he asked. "I just talked to Dad and I didn't get that vibe."  Despite my siblings' best efforts of encouragement, I couldn't shake the...

 It seems quite unlikely that I'd forget the timeline of events which seemed to endlessly crescendo worse and worse throughout the past week. But I believe firmly in the power of journaling, so I'll make sure that timeline is secured here too. These are soul-shaping moments, it is certain. God-revealing. It's a bit like driving to work on humid August mornings, not realizing the windshield was foggy until the air conditioning kicks in and alas, we can see. We thought we knew who God was as a comforter. How clear we can finally see! It was Tuesday, August 8th. School started in two days. It had been a busy two days, so I sat in my room in the dark, racing scissors across college-themed pennants for my bulletin board. Freshmen on campus tours peered through my window while I tried to remain unseen, tried to ignore the text from my dad saying they were taking Mom to the ER. Peace triumphed over fear for much of that evening, mostly because I was oblivious to the gravity of the...

Early this summer, I was pretty gung ho about gardening. We live on the second story of our apartment complex, so that eliminated the prospect of a super fruitful harvest, but I thought I could most certainly try to keep some potted plants alive on our balcony. I evenly dispersed pots of spider plants, radiator plants, ivy, basil, and morning glories. I repotted when needed. I bought fertilizer. I looked forward to watering every morning. At one point, perhaps at the height of my plant-based enthusiasm, I started making a list: Things I've Learned about God Through the Plant-Raising Process.  Point 1 was the importance of being well-watered. God refers to Himself as the fountain of living waters, and if we stray from that source, we will not grow.  And that was pretty much where my list stopped. Because frankly, not a lot was going on. July hit and the plants were kind of growing, kind of not. Some still green, some turning yellowy-brown with a disappointing crunch. It became ...

During my senior year of college, I was taking a class called Contemporary Christian Belief. This class addressed five critical questions that might hold people back from believing in God. It prepared us for "street sweeping conversations," otherwise known as apologetics-driven answers to the roadblocks that keep people from faith.  My favorite question we addressed, by far, was number 3 of 5: How can a good God allow suffering? We looked at the story of Job, a man in Scripture who lost everything he owned in a matter of moments. Pretty much the only thing he gained was boils and a literal dung heap. We also read the stories of many people who have suffered tremendously for a multitude of reasons: a father whose entire family was killed in a car crash. A young girl in Indonesia raped and beaten for professing Christ. A woman diagnosed with cancer.  Suffering is an inevitable part of the fall. When Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, the perfect life as God ordained it came to...

When Christen was four or five, she would oftentimes perform elaborate acrobatic gymnastics from the ottoman to the floor to the rocking chair and back. If, for any reason, she would mess up her routine, she would exclaim in the cutest little pipsqueaky baby voice, "Das' not how I planned it!" We've coined this phrase in our family, using it as a default for rained-out picnics, lost tournaments, car troubles, and now, cancer. There seems to be no more accurate banner. After all, at this time of year, our family is usually gearing up for the return to school. Likely making a state fair run (or two), meeting at a nice restaurant to celebrate August birthdays, anticipating the return of football. This year, we're figuring out who will drive who to the hospital, when and how to prepare for potential chemo, and navigating a life entirely different than what we imagined even a week ago. In short, das' not how we planned it! Mom's diagnosis has brought us to our ...

I've always thought it's a beautiful thing, the way you can sense a storm on the horizon. The air has a mysterious chill against the backdrop of a yellow-grey sky and leaves turn their bellies heavenward in a display of silvery-green glory. It's a providential warning, time to batten down the hatches and prepare for the downpour.  It was late April when The Gates of Splendor was left on my doorstep by an Amazon delivery man. I was enamored by the story of five young missionaries and their wives who so desperately wanted people to hear the gospel that they were willing to die for its cause. I remember reading this quote by Elisabeth Elliot, reflecting on the week where her husband was murdered in the jungles of Ecuador:  " The other wives and I talked together one night about the possibility of becoming widows. What would we do? God gave us peace of heart, and confidence that whatever might happen, His Word would hold. We knew that 'when He Putteth forth His sheep, ...

 Probably once a month, I walk to the library. But in case you can already see right through my pretentious grandiosity, fine, you win. I don't actually walk all the way to the library. Too far. I find a place to park less than a mile away, lace up my shoes, and walk from that conveniently-placed parking lot to the library. Sue me! While it would be easy to fire up the iPad and download an eBook, I desperately crave the preservation of days of old - the good ol' days  - when technology was more of an idea than an idol and the thought of screen time was limited to a family movie around a box TV. A digital book absolutely cannot guarantee the following pleasures I have recently taken a liking to: The vintage smell of leather covers and wood pulp adhesives that bind books together The shuffle of strangers in search of a story The "have you read this?" conversations under dim fluorescent lighting The librarian, Jeanette, who seems to know me better than I know myself Of c...

 Sorry, I can't indulge this anxiety right now. I would, but today started with a sunrise that turned the whole earth orange, blanketing  the morning with a winsome warmness that drew me out of bed and toward the sky. Then, I stepped outside to see that my plants were in fact growing, and I remembered, so am I. The fear of tomorrow that might have crept in was interrupted by morning glories, both in sky and flower form, and I'm going to have to postpone that indulgence. And sorry, I can't give way to my self-pity right now. There is deep sadness that abounds, that is certain. Life is hard and grief is as sure as the passing of time, but there is also hope that lasts for the long haul. Errorless Scriptures about a risen savior. There is a comforting truth, deeper than the grief, that a good life was not promised but a great eternity will be. The deep pains of a fallen world might come back, and there will be time to wail, but the hope is talking louder today and I think I...