Kiss Your Miracle

Ever since my father’s cancer and death in November 2009, I’ve wanted to move from Florida to Michigan to live near my family. Adam and I have been in Florida for almost seven years now and we’ve loved it, mainly because his family is all here and they are wonderful people. But we only get to see my family a few times a year, and especially now that my dad is gone, that doesn’t seem like enough.

We’ve talked about moving many times, but we own a home here and Adam has a good job working in his father’s business. Florida’s been hit especially hard by the recession and it’s a horrible time to put a house on the market. Michigan’s also one of the only states with higher unemployment than Florida. Logic says moving now would make no sense.

Then last week Adam came home from a small group meeting he’d had with several other businessmen-friends. He looked at me very seriously and said, “If you want to move to Michigan now, even though I don’t have a job lined up and we haven’t sold our house, I’m willing to go.” I sat there for a minute. I do want that. But whenever I’ve prayed about it, I only feel uneasy, like God is quietly telling us to stay put and wait for His timing.

When I expressed that to Adam he said, “Well then, we should plan a visit north for you and the kids. If you want to go every other month, you can.” When I mentioned our budget, which doesn’t have room for loads of travel expenses, he said, “I don’t want you to worry about that. You lost your dad this year and you’ve lived far from your family for a long time now. I don’t know what that feels like. I want you to have time with them, even if we don’t live there.” It was hard for me to talk through the tears rolling down my face. But I managed to say to thank you. And in that moment, a bit of the sadness that’s been pulling my head down the past few months lifted.

The next day an AC repair man visited our house and left us with a large bill – much higher than several round-trip tickets to Michigan would cost. Then the AC went out in my car. Air conditioning might be a luxury where you live, but in Florida it’s not. A house without it will have warped cabinets and woodwork from the humidity, not to mention sweaty, grumpy home owners.

What do those two unexpected bills mean for my plans to go north? Nothing. Adam and I believe in living debt-free when possible, so we wouldn’t be comfortable traveling on credit cards. We also want to be wise and keep an emergency fund in the bank. But there is a fine line between saving out of wisdom and saving out of fear. I know God wants us to be smart and use common sense when it comes to money. But there is also a time to make plans in faith, knowing God will provide the money for what He’s leading you to do.

The Bible tells us that everything in this world will pass away except faith, hope, and love. So like Pastor Colin Smith says, I want to focus my life on the things that will remain. I can’t imagine getting to heaven with regret over how much money we spent to be with family if love was our motive to go. I’m grateful my husband feels the same way and that he’s willing to sacrifice for it to happen.

“Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13

It’s one thing to talk about my problems once they’ve been resolved. Writing about my experience with infertility isn’t usually difficult because it’s over now. But sharing about something I’m still dealing with is a lot harder. After I wrote a bit last week about feeling down (Blue), I sat at my computer for a while, debating – do I really want to put this on my blog for anyone to read? Eventually I decided not to overthink it and posted it.

I’m not sorry I did. I’ve always known that God has blessed me with sweet, generous friends and family, and all the comments and messages were encouraging (I promise I didn’t start a blog just so you all could build me up when I’m feeling down, but thanks for doing it so much!). No one called me a complainer or told me to “just” do this or that and everything would be wonderful again. But even before I looked at the comments, immediately after I put up the post, my mood lifted. Things didn’t seem as overwhelming as they had an hour earlier.

It’s interesting how God specifically places power inside weakness. I don’t like being vulnerable, but when God is pressing on me, leading me to open up about something, it always works out best when I do it.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” – 2 Corinthians 12:9

There’s nothing like a visit from my mom and sisters to make everything seem better. My only complaint is that they left too soon…

Meeting up with my mom and sisters was definitely the highlight of my weekend. They stopped in Ocala for dinner on their way down to Sanibel Island for a week of sunshine with my aunt, uncle and cousins. They plan to stay at our house for a few days on their way home, but I was excited to see them now too, even though it was just for a quick hour at Panera.

I especially wanted to see my mom. Last Friday she took a horrible fall off her bike after her dog, Jack, got spooked by a squirrel and ran top speed into her front wheel (you can read the full story on her blog, Getting Through This). Though she managed to escape major damage, half of her face and her left eye are now an unnatural combination of red and purple. She’d told me over the phone she didn’t feel that bad, but I didn’t believe her since she rarely complains about anything.

When Sky first saw my mom yesterday she studied her carefully and then solemnly said, “Midgee owie,” several times before chattering away as usual. But I felt like crying. Why did this have to happen to my mom? Hasn’t she dealt with enough recently? My dad’s death was less than five months ago. It seems to me that my family doesn’t need another reminder that life is fragile.

But later that night when I said those very words to Adam, he responded, “You know, as hard as it is, I only benefit from being reminded of how fragile we are.” And as I thought about it, I realized he’s right. I would never welcome pain into my life or the lives of the people I love. But when I’m forced to acknowledge just how delicate we really are, it’s more difficult for me to take others for granted. I’m less casual with my words, more motivated to serve, and more willing to pay attention and listen carefully. Like Adam said, I benefit every time I’m reminded to be less self-centered.

I just wish I’d been reminded differently and that my mom didn’t have to suffer such an awful fall.

The other day I opened a package from my mom. In it I found my dad’s old cell phone. The service was cancelled several months ago after his death, but the SIM card and battery still work fine and my mom thought Sky would like to play with it. The first time I handed it to Sky she immediately turned it on and began chattering away, thrilled to have a “real” phone of her own.

For me, the phone stirred up a sudden rush of emotions. When Sky set it aside, I picked it up and held it for a long time, turning it over, looking at the scratches across the front. My dad used this phone to call me last year on September 22^nd. He and my mom were on their way home from the hospital, where they’d just learned of his terminal cancer.

A month later, I was in the car with them, heading home from another trip to the hospital for treatment. I’m not sure if the cancer was in his brain at that point or if the heavy pain meds were clouding his thoughts, but he was very confused by then. He could no longer make calls by himself, but he still wanted to use his phone. “I need to call Nelson,” he told my mom, who was driving. “Okay,” said my mom, pushing my brother’s name on the contact list and handing the phone back. When my dad got Nelson’s voice mail, he left a long, rambling message and then paused at the end. He stumbled over his words and then instead of saying goodbye, wrapped up with, “In Jesus’ name, Amen.” My mom’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and we were suddenly both smiling. It was sweet to think that when dad was confused and couldn’t find the proper words, he defaulted to prayer.

Memories of the last two months of my dad’s life – both good and bad – and the reality that yes, he really is gone from this world forever crashed over me harder than they ever have and I started to cry. I cried so hard it seemed like the tears would never stop. Images of my father in the last days of his life are difficult to forget, and when I remember them I can’t help but wonder why he had to go through so much pain and then die. It’s still confusing to me.

The next morning I listened to a podcast by Francis Chan, who pointed out that we tend to think God owes us answers to the questions we have about life and pain and death. We like to imagine ourselves arriving in heaven and hearing God’s great explanation of suffering in the world. But Chan pointed out that God will not be the one on trial; it will be our judgment day. God is the Father and we are the children.

It made me think about Skylar. She fights me when I want to change her poopy diapers and it’s really annoying. I know she doesn’t understand right now that it’s better to be clean than dirty, and that being clean involves the process of being changed. I’ve explained it to her before, but her little brain isn’t able to understand just yet. I find myself saying to her, “Sky, just stop fighting and trust me on this one, okay? Hold still and let me change you.”

The day after my crying session this week, God reminded me that he is the Father and I am the child. There are things I will never understand during my life on earth. But instead of feeling frustrated at being put in my place, I actually felt relieved. My dad’s sudden and horrific death doesn’t make sense to me or probably to anyone in my family, and that’s okay. Living a life of faith means trusting God in the middle of our confusion, not intellectually working our way out of it. A child is under no pressure to have things all figured out and I’m grateful God doesn’t require that of me; He only asks me to come to Him.