What Dad Would Tell the World - One of the last conversations between a father and his daughter.

Dad and Mom the first day He checked into Stanford on July 17th

 Most who read this blog know that my father has been fighting leukemia for the past seven months.  On Jan 25^th that fight ended and Dad found himself at home in God’s love embraced by Jesus …for real and forever. Yesterday we paid tribute to his life.  Some have asked if I would share what I shared at his memorial service.  The following is what was shared.

On January 9, I sat down with my dad and asked if he could tell the world anything, what would it be?  He said three things…

“Following Jesus doesn’t always lead us to a place where we want to be.”

In fact, I noticed a Lenten devotional from last spring in His bible that said as much.  It seemed God was preparing him before he ever knew he’d be taking this journey. 

It’s easy to assume if we follow Jesus and do what’s “right” that it will lead to a “blessing” we expect.  The truth is my dad was angry about cancer at first, and the way it was stealing his life.  He felt cheated and so did a lot of us. There were many dark days.  Yet, through a disease that was taking my dad’s life far sooner than he wanted, he was learning the “blessing of following Jesus was actually Jesus… not necessarily good circumstances. And the gift of following Christ was not his presenTS wrapped up in neat little bows set pristinely upon a shelf. Rather, it was his presenCE that comes near when everything else goes dark and life begins to unravel those pretty bows and burst out of our tidy boxes. I suppose that’s why he also said to me during the same visit,

“Michellie, Don’t fall too in love with the world. Wear it loosely.”

Dad was beginning to understand how his despair (and ours) is often rooted in our commitment to the very temporal and unpredictable things of this place called earth.   We strain after our dreams and demand our rights.  We spend time climbing the corporate ladder, and dusting off old trophies.

But loosening his grip on those things allowed my dad to surrender himself to the story God was writing. He encountered God in that surrender even when the journey did not lead to a place he “wanted” to be.  In the struggle, he found the blessings and goodness of God.  It showed up in the presence of friends who stayed by him as he weathered these last few months?  It sometimes appeared in the night as God brought a company of heavenly hosts to hover and attend him in his fear.  It showed up in care-givers who gently came along side to comfort his pain.  It showed up in strained relationships now made whole. And that was a big deal to him.  My dad said one more thing that day…

He said, “I wouldn’t let lousy relationships go unattended.”

"I wouldn’t put off conflict.  I would have been less angry.

I would pick relationships over everything else and I would do it more."

I asked what everything else was and he said, “My rights, my expectations, my ideals, my pride.  There is never a conflict so big that it should eclipse the relationship or our ability to love in it.  Never.” 

My dad didn’t say this because he always got it right.  He said it because he did the heart work when he got it wrong.

Lastly, as I consider the eternal home my dad now enjoys, perhaps if he could say anything to us now, he’d tell us how complete and beautiful it is – that what seems incomplete to us now here on earth, is  already made whole in eternity; and God’s promises are all true - every one of them.  He’d tell us God is gloriously good, and how he is at home in His love - a love that is every bit what we’ve imagined, even more!  He’d invite us to taste it, to trust the journey and know that even when it takes us down paths we’d rather not travel, chances are it’s in those dark places where we will find God in the way we’ve always longed to know him. 

Staying - When we stay in the valley and become honest with God something remarkable happens

The last SATURDAYS post talked about God redeeming even the darkest parts of our story.  I love that idea...God turning despair into hope, Night into day, dark into light. But often the idea is a lot easier than the execution.  How do these dark-wait-days become redeemed?  How can we practically find God in them?  Have you asked these questions?  I know I have!  
    

Perhaps it begins when we stop trying to turn on the light ourselves.  Of course it's only natural to look for light in dark places.  When my dad got sick I wanted to find ways to alleviate the pain and shock of it all.  No one with any appetite for life initially enters a difficult season by saying, "Oh yeah baby!  Bring it on...the more desolate the better!"  Nope...  We initially want out!  But skipping across the top of pain does not allow us to be present with it; and only as we become present with it that we will find healing.


While I believe that to be true, often I need to learn how to do it.  In the case with my dad, the only thing I really knew was that I didn’t like it.  I wanted things to go back to the way they were.  I dreaded the journey ahead for him, my mom, for everybody.  So, secretly in my heart, I tried to find a light switch to turn on.  I wanted to illuminate this path and find something better, but there was no light switch.  (Now, before anyone corrects me, don’t worry, I already know Jesus is the light of life...I don't need a reminder) Since I could not find a way to illuminate that path, I groped for a door and looked for a way out, but every door opened to the same reality.  I was so frustrated and overwhelmed.  But God had a plan, He still does.  And one of the gifts of such sacred darkness is that there is no escape.  

To find the light of Christ we must be willing to journey the dark, solemn places of our soul that rise up and question the goodness of God.  Job did that and he wasn't scolded, he was actually reminded of God.  Perhaps some would say, we shouldn’t question God’s goodness, or that we should trust him more.  Well, that’s a good idea and when you meet someone who has that figured out, let me know.   I have tried bringing my “should” or “shouldn’t” self to God.  It doesn’t work very well, because it isn’t my real-self.  I don’t need God to love the person I should be, I need him to love the person I AM.  Nothing discloses the real-me more than moments of desolation.  

I suppose that’s why raw honesty works best...at least it does for me.  In that hotel room near Stanford sometime around 3 am I could cry out, “God, I don’t like this!  I’m overwhelmed with sadness and disappointment.   I don’t trust you to be good right now because the pain and shock I feel eclipses much of what I’ve learned about you....or at least what I've come to believe. If you are who you say you are, please come and meet me here.” …And he did, and he brought his goodness with him.  Like Job, I wasn't scolded in his presence, I was reminded.
So I asked God to open my eyes to what was real and to see His goodness in it.  As I came across a garden at Stanford I was reminded there is a Gardener that grows beautiful things from dirt that holds seeds; and the soil bed of our hearts are being prepared, all the time, for sacred work and beauty.  Walking through the many waiting areas God gave me eyes to see past the medicine and notice the sleepy sojourners in waiting rooms, unforgotten by the One who is high above it all.  He's the one who remembers our waiting condition and keeps us present before the Father even when  we can't do so ourselves (Rom 8, Isa 55:8-9).  He collects our tears and carries our sorrows (Ph 56:8).  He does it while we work out our disappointments with Him, with our story and with ourselves.  

It takes time to make room for such soul-space.  Silence and solitude are key.  In them, the many screams from this crazy roller-coaster can be silenced. His still small voice finds an echo that carries its way to the canyons of our dismay.  And while we wait in the basin of darkness, we learn to die.  We loosen our grip on what we must have, who we must be, the things we must accomplish, and we simply begin to rest in who we are and what we’ve been given.  We become present with ourselves and, if we invite him, Jesus shows up too.  The sinner dines with Holiness and in the power of God’s loving presence, we are changed. 

I am slowly learning to let the Light of Life love me in honest visitations.  This, after all, is our inheritance.  Let us receive it with…joy.

Become silent for a moment. Stay quiet long enough to notice what's rumbling in your heart and mind?   
What honest plea might you have for God? 
Practice trusting Him by voicing that plea before him.  Set your 'should' and 'shouldn't' aside and  dare to speak what rises up.
Let the Light of Life love you in the darkness and hold you present before Himself. 

Hear Him say, "Oh beloved, show me your face, let me hear your voice.  For your voice is sweet and your face is lovely.  There's nothing in your story that I have not seen and remembered."   

More later….

Favored, Not Forgotten - A look at how even in our darkest places, God redeems our story.

"Long lay the world, in sin and error pining; till he appeared and the soul felt it's worth. A thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices! For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn!"

I live in the California Central Valley where much of the ground is dry and barren as we’ve weathered a long drought.  There was an earnest hope for rain as fall approached, and from this December 24^th viewpoint, we can see the drought finally breaking! Its finally raining!  I was wondering if the ground could recover from such a long dry spell, but there are tender little green things, long forgotten beneath the soil, finding their way through the top.  Little sprigs of hope serve as reminders how from the dark, quiet places….even when on the surface things look bleak and barren, life will emerge.

It reminded me of the SATURDAYS post, “Arise” from last Christmas - the one that talks about taking off our grave clothes to let the resurrected Jesus live through us.   But that's the good part of the story, kind of like when those fall rains finally came this year.  The before part of the story happens as Jesus showed up days after Lazarus died.  It didn't look so promising from that point.  Mary waited, and Martha scorned...By all accounts it was too late. Their brother was good and dead and the one person who could have done something about it passively wandered his way there.  Why did Jesus wait so long? Did He forget the urgency of the situation, or just choose to ignore it?  It seems so dismissive.

I’ve felt that way - forgotten by God.  Haven’t you?  There are times I want God to show up and make the situation better….NOW, but my prayers only seem to go as far as the ceiling then fall right back down and hit the floor.  I get weary in the wait and wonder if anything will ever change. (as mentioned in the previous post).  God's favor seems a far way off in the distance. It’s often in such vulnerable space that evil shows up, mingles with my story, dances with, doubt, shame and regret, and tries to convince me there is no way out - that things will never change, that I am (or the situation is) too broken to be made whole. But just like with Lazarus, God’s timing is different than ours, and he has something in mind far beyond what we can imagine.  

In the quiet, dark places where nothing seems to happen and our lives appear deeply submerged under the soil away from light…away from living, we can believe there is something better.  Our soul- soil, made by God, holds the seeds of long forgotten life. Lazarus comes forth.  Droughts receive the rains.  Night gives way to dawn.

For anyone out there who doesn’t know where you’re going, anyone groping in the dark, trust in God... lean on your God! – Isaiah 50:10

God isn't passive in the dark, he does some of his best work there!  Light dawned on the night a humble, betrothed Jewish woman, living under Roman occupation was visited by an angel who said, “Greetings… you who are highly favored”. Such words dispelled Mary’s terror.  Yet, her favored position didn’t look very favored at first.  It meant, misunderstanding, confusion, a change-up on her marriage plans, a marginalized reputation, a donkey ride for who knows how long …in labor!... only to be turned away during her most significant hour of need.

Then, from the darkness of the womb, the light of life comes.  Life always emerges from dark places – the soil, the tomb, the womb.  When darkness finds it deepest strength, Light shows up and breaks its hold.  Jesus waited on Lazarus because he wanted to tell the world he is coming for the places that are good and dead!  Fragile flesh showed up in a stable to change the story breath by breath.  Love is born!  And if we let it in, Living Water will break the drought and shatter the dark places of shame, disappointment, regret and resignation.  No longer must we live under their oppressive occupation! God has every intention of redeeming the stories we’ve given up on – the ones where we believe there is no way out and resign to the idea that things are what they are.  Those are places best suited for birth!  

Through the heartfelt mercies of our God, God’s Sunrise (Jesus) will break upon us. Shining on those in the darkness, those sitting in the shadow of death, then showing us the way, one foot at a time, down the path of peace – Luke 1:79

The question is will you and I take the journey?  Am I, are you, willing to "lay to rest" our life for His?  Are we willing to change our espoused plans with this world, risk our treasured things and trust that in it all, somewhere deep beneath the barren surface, God has something altogether better in mind?  If we do, we will find we were never forgotten...We were instead highly favored.

Where do you feel the need for urgent change? 
Where might God have you in waiting?
Practice sitting still before him for a few minutes, quieting your heart.  Ask God to show you his great love for you 
See if he desires to give you a vision for his purpose and ask him how you can join him in it.

Christmas, Advent....Keeping Watch - Finding a purpose in the wait...

Here it is the middle of December and I’ve put nothing about Advent or Christmas on this blog yet!  It’s been a strange season so far.  A large part of me longs for the days when my kids were little and the biggest question of the season was, “When can we open our presents?” Although I hated that question when they were younger because I never wanted Christmas to be about that.  So much feels in flux this year, and holds ambiguous waiting within it. I guess that’s exactly what ADVENT is all about. - Waiting, unsure of the how, if or when?

To appease our kids while they waited for Christmas we used things like an advent calendar which held little surprises – usually a sweet chocolate - for each day, or maybe a routine, like reading a Christmas book every night before bed.  Whatever it was, it kept the fire of anticipation stoked, refocused their gaze and reminded them that although Christmas is not here yet, it will be soon!  They were too young to really know why it was such a big deal that God showed up on the scene as a baby.  They just knew Christmas was special - goodness and love showed up for the day, and who doesn’t anticipate that?

To be honest, I don’t have much anticipation this year.  I feel caught somewhere between “Come thou long expected Jesus” and “Deck these stupid Halls with stinking Boughs of Holly” ….fa-la-la-la-la-la is about all I can come up with. 

Perhaps in the chaotic suspense I've become numb and cynical.  Its wearisome waiting for life to somehow make its grand appearance and certain things to be made right…Waiting for direction, waiting for relationships to be healed - ones that despite my best efforts remain as is. Waiting to know if my dad’s stem cell transplant will work.  Many of you, like me are waiting for things too sacred to share.  Humorously, even our car is in flux as we wait to find out if we can drive it come January, and if Volkswagen will correct their rather blatant “oops” in their diesel vehicles. 

In some form or another we all wait.  It is the human condition.   We “second-advent” wait for God to bring our stories to completion in His.  Stories that when we look too far ahead lack direction…stories that are rendered incomplete and less than perfect for the time-being, with chapters we would like changed.  These are the stories Jesus entered in first Advent when he took his first breath in a mucky trough.  They were "waiting stories" that long searched for deliverance.  Yet God purposed the wait.  He was preparing a people for himself - a people who did not know the when, if or how.  As Jesus came ‘in the fullness of time’, many could not discern his arrival.  Only a few recognized the events as sacred….they were the ones who kept watch and stayed patient in the long pause.  They were the ones whose eyes may have been weary yet they found a way to steady their gaze, open the windows of advent and taste for a moment the sweet goodness to come.   How do you and I, in the midst of sacred anticipation and chaotic distractions, wait well?

Isaiah 40:3-4 says to prepare a way for the Lord, make a straight path, every valley be raised up and every mountain made low.  There is a purpose in our waiting.  This 'already - but not yet' life is preparing a way for Jesus if we let it.  Mountains, valleys, crooked paths…these are the things that inhibit our ability to receive the arrival of God.  Pride shows up (as it did for the Pharisee) in the high places causing us to look down upon fragile flesh.  Shame finds secret refuge in the valley, mocking our sacred self of all that needs redeeming and tells us we could never be worthy.  In our waiting, we become bored and distractions turn up to divert our path. We shift our gaze and try rewriting a chapters we don't like.  But what if we stay…what if we stay long enough through the boredom and the muck to let God enter our shame and love-level our pride?  What if we let Holiness companion with us through the crooked wait and discover the long awaited gift, the present, is actually his presence…. sight comes.  A star high above appears and journeys us further up and further in to the heart of God.  Our story, swallowed up into His, is redeemed. 

So let us wait…let's crack open the door of our shame and let love in. It won't be pretty but through it God will birth beauty.  Let's listen to our heart and own its arrogance that says, "I am better", and let;s fast from entitlement…lets look for windows of goodness and love happening in the mucky ordinary…and let us ask the Lifter of our head to set our eyes to the sky to keep watch for the star... and we will journey – one step at a time – to Him.

"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along the way.  If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter.  He does our praying got us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans.  He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God.  That's why we can be so sure that every detail of our lives of love for God is worked into something good."  Rom 8:26-28

This Is the Way - Encountering hope in the storm.

This post is part of an ongoing series of journal entries beginning with "Coming Back"

July 19, 2015


As I awoke this morning it took a few minutes for the pit in my stomach to return and remind me of where I was (a Palo Alto hotel room reserved for families with cancer).  “Oh God, I don’t want to do this day.  I don’t want to do any of them.”   Never the less, up we went, getting ready for the morning.  Scott (my brother) and I sat outside on the sunny patio catching up over coffee and a pastry.  It's been a while since we've seen each other...a long while!  It was nice to be sharing sibling space on a beautiful California summer morning, but it felt like a storm was brewing inside my heart.

As we left our comfortable patio space and re-entered the building, the rigid and reflective walls of the elevator felt rather apropos.  There we stood, suspended between levels of living, waiting for the doors to open so we may carry on.  I felt so conflicted about what I saw in those reflections.  We were an incomplete portrait, missing family members and framed with shock.  I saw myself furrowed in the face.  I wish I didn't look so grouchy. There are few pictures of my Brother and I together, but there we were captured on those tiny doors - doors that were about to open into...something.  I wanted to close the doors and try a new floor.  But at every stop resided stories like ours.  Someone working hard to stay alive, while their loved-ones worked hard to find a path and keep breathing.  Everybody is nice here.  They open doors before you've reached for the handle, but the empty IV towers and lined up wheel chairs are visual reminders of why this special treatment at the hotel desk is so easy to come by. 

Walking through the entrance of Stanford is like walking into an alternate universe.  It's the Stanford Universe.  Where hepa filters greet the weary traveler and blue scrubs with diplomas walk by in teams of five.  Sleeping family members line the couches of the waiting areas much like an airport gate at 3 am.  This is where they sleep when guest houses are full and overnight stays are beyond the budget, but no one opens the door for them here…at least not really.  Down the long corridor we walked, passing doctors, radiology labs, nursing stations until we reach the atrium, which opens up like a sanctuary amid medical chaos.  Colorful flowers and little wooden benches with plaques can go rather unappreciated until they become the only respite.  How this beauty enters the eyes and soothes the soul.  I am grateful for this garden, and that God thought to make reminders of his goodness from soil and dirt.  This "wall canvas"  doesn't cost a dime.  It doesn't matter your means; this display of attentive care is for everyone.  Feast your eyes, dear husband with three small children, or wife of 60 years, or gangster-gone-jaundice.  Let the delicate blossoms remind you there is a Gardener who attends us all.  You, we, they, matter to Him.  There isn't a tear shed that He does not notice and collect.   

I wonder how my kids are doing back home.  Are you attending to them, Lord? They will probably sleep until noon, largely insulated from this tempest, packing for their long-awaited trip.  OH God!  The trip!...We are set to leave in five short days for Slovenia.  I don’t know what to do.  This mission with the kids seemed so clear when we decided to go.  How could we have known what would come up?  How could your voice have seemed so clear when we said yes? You knew about my dad then, right?  Do I – do we – stay or do we go?  I'm not sure if knowing you had this planned from the beginning brings assurance or a deeper mistrust right now.  I want to be mad at you, but somewhere deep in the recesses of me lives a secret atrium – a “holy of hollies” – where, in your mercy, you are staying present and I am not capsized.  Albeit ever so slight and quiet, it holds as a beacon in the night.

This is no detour.  This is the path.  These are the deeper, richer things of God.

"Although the Lord has given you bread of privation and water of oppression, He, your Teacher will no longer hide himself, but your eyes will behold your Teacher. Your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, "this is the way; walk in it."  Isaiah 30:21

Abba Father! - An honest confession in the midst of the storm

It’s hard to determine how to engage this recent season of the soul.  Maybe it's best if I begin by going backwards from the last post...back to where it all started to unravel.  So bear with me as I share a few journal entries written over the summer. Hopefully it will unfold as we go along. Brackets ([... ]) will be used for clarification when needed, otherwise, these are just plain old journal entries - My hope is others will find voice in their own story through it.

July 17, 2015

The view from my "thinking spot" at Lee Abbey

“ 'Over the past two years I have participated in a study of  the life of Jesus where we seek to live in on-going awareness of him as his apprentice (I say “apprentice” because ‘disciple” seems a bit rhetoric in our current Christian culture) and participate in God's good and beautiful kingdom.  We find it by arranging our daily activity in such a way to allow for continual prayerful companionship with him on behalf of ourselves and others.  We find true freedom as we encounter him in our honest human condition and learn to "take up our mat" and walk with him, through prayer, community and scripture.  And as we do, we flounder and flourish in a grace-rhythmed dance with God.  We learn how to live lovingly with others and discover our unique role in the world for the sake of God’s greater Kingdom. Living as an apprentice of Jesus seems a formidable but lovely task.' 

[I typed those words in June, having just returned from staying at the beautiful Lee Abbey in Devon, England. They were the introduction of a larger paper that discussed in further detail the beauty of discipleship to Christ.  I was coming off a very hectic, spiritually dry season and was thankful for the respite, so the words flowed rather easily.  It seemed God was calling me into new places and I was excited!   It's funny when the soul makes space for God how the Father - Abba - finds a way to dine with the ragamuffin and make her cup full.   I was full.  Satisfied.  Ready to move into the deeper, richer things of God.]

Living with Jesus sounds so nice,  'Living in in-going awareness of him.', in 'continual prayerful companionship' Oh the words greet me like a warm blanket! I suppose it’s easy to pontificate the goodness of God when our circumstances support it.  

Photo Credit: Dru Norris

But today, here in this care-house for families with cancer? Those words seem a distant aspiration.  This has been an unusual summer and, among other things, my normally healthy dad has been diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia.  Clouds have come to cover the sunny coast-line of England that was so recently in view. Rain falls, and I don't know if I can trust these waters.  As I sit in this hospital waiting room, a different set of words are pouring forth:  

"I want to wake up from the dream.  Run away.  Escape. This is not the road I want.  Its not the way anyone planned it. Go away!

Please, Life!  Go back to normal!...It's strange how the day before everything changes feels just like any other day,with the same routines, same annoyances, same joys, same, same same.  But Same is different now.

How did we get here?  How did the bottom fall out so ruthlessly?  Where did Normal go?

Normal just introduced itself as doctors and nurses; as sterile rooms and beds with machines.  Normal takes blood counts and measures fevers and fatigue.

Normal is long text updates and tears held back by swallows.  It's says just enough,  never more."  

God I know you're here ...but where?  Where is your voice in the storm?  Where are the 'unforced rhythms of grace' that Matthew 11:28-30 talk about?  Where is the joy promised in the midst of sorrow? Or the peace that passes understanding?  Life with you is my investment, my bedrock, my hope! Now when it seems most vital I’m at a loss to engage it.  Rather than a 'grace-rhythmed dance with you', I’m, angry, sad, disappointed, resistant to the circumstances, and full of tantrums!  It’s been ugly…my soul-feet weren't expecting this journey and I am left breathless.

This doesn't feel like a 'Saturday', where we are simply held inside of life's pause awaiting Sunday's dawn.  This feels like Friday, where situations turn cruel.  Friday says, 'Father, if it's your will let this cup pass.'  Friday includes a garden in the night where the soul wrestles with God and sweat-blood falls into the dirt while vigilant prayers fall asleep at the tree.  Friday is a hike up a dusty hill with burdens laden and strength dwindling.  Friday bleeds at sunset.  

Oh find me in this honest human condition, find us all!  Because sometimes we weep. Sometimes we cry out  'Abba Father!  Why have you forsaken me,' ... and that's OK with you." 

Coming Back - This summer's journey of finding God in the storms. Part 1

 I’m writing this while sitting in Starbucks.  Not just any Starbucks, it’s the Starbucks – the one where I’ve gone for years.  I sit in one corner meeting with women talking about life circumstances and how God might be shaping us through them.  My dad often sits less than 20 feet away in the opposite corner having similar conversations with his coffee buddies.  The workers nicknamed their table “the office” as they occupy it every morning for hours.  Stories have been told at that table – stories about the market and economy, a spouse struggling with cancer, a home trying to be sold, and retired dreams still held close in conversation.  Every now and then, I hear their familiar belly laughs making their way to my corner.  There’s just one difference, my dad isn’t sitting there.

Today is the first day I’ve returned since July when my dad was diagnosed with leukemia.  which explains why there hasn't been much on this blog lately...but this won't be a sad post, because my dad is recovering.  It is, however, going to be an honest one.  In fact, a few of them will be.

How does it feel to walk into this sacred space?  Weird.  I forgot the doors open out and tried pushing them 3 or 4 times.  I’m sure I looked a little foolish before remembering how the doors work and how the fan announces every entrance.  At first glance I see the guys.  Do I say Hi?  Or do I just get in line and avoid the cordial hellos that may beg a report -  a report now recitable in my sleep...  Maybe I’ll just get in line.  I don’t really recognize anyone else, which surprises me.  Someone in here has the same name as my dad and I keep resisting the reflex to look over and greet the man with a "daughter's greeting". The barista asked for my name for the first time in years.   But several weeks have passed and things change, I suppose.  

It always feels strange to see how life has moved on while yours (including the ones close to you) has been blown over by a freight train and parts of your life are still laying all over the track.  I’m trying to pick up the pieces and find a focus, but feel so disconnected – so numb.  Is this normal?

Maybe I should feel happier...By all accounts, dad should not be with us today… he’s not out of the woods yet, but he is here.  He is probably wondering if that’s a good thing.  So much to adjust. So much to build back.  So many doctors – so many bills, so many private, life-altering moments that can never be explained.

As I watch the last of his buddies leave for the day, I am still sitting here in my corner, where a bitter sip can be sweetened with a shot of vanilla....where I finished a devotional on Ps 23, and remembered how God blesses us with a  cup that overflows of his love and goodness....where the barista's promise on the back of the cup is to "always make it right" If I don't love this drink.  ....but I know better than I did last June, the promise found in a bitter sip.

So, I have settled back into my corner, drinking my tea. What started out sweet in June and turned bitter by August is changing. Autumn is just days away.

...Maybe tomorrow I’ll see if dad can come.