A Season of Hope

Last Sunday at church, we heard a pretty incredible sermon. My pastor talked about salvation and about the fact that we are never too broken to be redeemed, never too dirty to be worthy of Him. If I’m being honest, although it was a POWERFUL sermon, it wasn’t one that specifically felt like it was speaking to me directly at this point in my life the way some sermons feel. 

Then, just at the end, Lord spoke to that house and then my pastor said these words: “Heal us, help us, and fill us with hope.” 

And immediately after that, I got a clear sense of the season the Lord has brought me to.

From August to December, I was in a deep, dark place. I was angry and I was fearful and I was broken-hearted. Many of those factors through which I defined myself had been destroyed or aged out or been taken away. 

Here , in January, I wrote about the mending that He was showing me and providing, and while the post was about the parent-child relationships I knew of, more in me was being mended than relationships. He was healing ME.

In February, it became very clear that He was helping me. In order to come to a place where I could receive help, I had to first figure out where the wounds were for them to be healed. Once that was done, He sent the words of others and new perspectives to allow for the helping to come. I wrote about the help Here.

Sunday, at the end of church, I saw where I am now and hopefully where I am headed in 2022… to a place of hope. My 2022 word is “shivelight”, which I have translated into looking for the bright spots. That’s what hope is, it’s the bright spots. 

Angela hopes to get into the Air Force Academy and after being very optimistic for a while, I had come to a place in the last few months of, not just being doubtful that it would happen, but even feeling a lack of trust in the prayer I had prayed— that if it’s not meant to be, He will close the door in favor of opening those that need to be opened. Last week, she got her acceptance into the Summer Seminar at the US Naval Academy. This is huge on many levels but, as I told a close friend, it just gives me a new sense of HOPE that it IS a possibility for her big dreams to be fulfilled. 

I had prayed the same for Roman and college, that if he’s meant to be at one school the money will be provided and if he’s not, it won’t. It didn’t look like it was going to happen and so we had taken steps to prepare for the other school and suddenly this week, a letter came and the hope is back. 

I have renewed hope in the future of my job. I have renewed hope in a new side job. I have renewed hope in my children’s futures and in mine and Kraig’s upcoming years. 

He has moved me into a season of hope, and while I don’t know how long this season will be, I am grateful and hungry for it.

Stone Memorials

At the very end of service yesterday, the praise and worship team started to sing a song that I have not heard in YEARS but a song that I consider a stone memorial of sorts for me.

Back in February of 2017, it did not look like our adoption was going to happen because the paperwork did not look possible in the 4 week timeframe it had leading to the deadline. I stood in church the morning that I wrote this post and Travis Greene’s “Made a Way” was played. In that post, I detail how the Lord spoke directly to my soul (after having used that song only four months earlier) to reassure me that He was going to do it. And in that post from February 2017, I mention that one day in the future I will hear that song and the promise will be fulfilled. The way will have already been made and we will be living it.

Yesterday, during that ending of service, that song again became a promise and a fulfillment. We have had high hopes for each of our kids since they came here and there have been moments of grave doubt and moments of fear and moments of insane joy. This past week, we were in moments of insane joy as a huge dream of Angela’s is starting to look very possible and a hope we had actually kind of given up on for Roman suddenly became very possible. We WERE, literally, standing in that moment on March 6, 2022, holding onto an email and a college letter that happened only “because You made a way.” 

And yet in the midst of that, there is heartbreak and loss and grief for another. For that, we are…. 

“Standing here not knowing how we'll get through this test
But holding unto faith You know that
Nothing can catch You by surprise
You got this figured out and You're watching us now
But when it looks as if we can't win
You wrap us in Your arm and step in
And everything we need You supply
You got this in control
And now we know that

There is nothing that’s impossible.”

I had the family devotional last night, and I used Joshua 4 as my text. 

1 When all the nation had finished passing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua, 3 and command them, saying, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the midst of the Jordan, from the very place where the priests' feet stood firmly, and bring them over with you and lay them down in the place where you lodge tonight.’” 4 Then Joshua called the twelve men from the people of Israel, whom he had appointed, a man from each tribe. 5 And Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel, 6 that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ 7 then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.” 21 And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ 23 For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over, 24 so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.” - Joshua 4:1,3-7,21,23-24

I talked to them about those stone memorials. We all have those moments in life where God’s faithfulness was proven and we return to them, either through a song or a verse or a geographic location or a date in time where we are reminded, and we need to share that testimony with others. 

For me, that song will always be a stone memorial. And for me yesterday, it not only proved His faithfulness in where we have been, it gave me strength and faith in where we are going. I had no idea when I did that devotional last night with my family that today would bring about a new test, new fears and grief. But because my faith was strengthened last night and because I shared with them, I am better able to face today’s situation.

“He moves mountains. He causes walls to fall. With his power, He performs miracles. There is nothing that’s impossible. And we’re standing here only because He made a way.”

The Valleys and the Peaks

I watched a documentary this weekend called "14 Peaks". It's about a Nepali climber named Nims Purja who, along with his team, attempts to summit all of the 14 highest peaks (8,000 meters) in the world in seven months. Their dream was called "Project Possible" and it seemed impossible. They actually did 3 of the mountains (including Everest) in 48 hours. Insanity. For the last one, the Chinese government had blocked all access to it and the entire worldwide climbing community (and outside of it) got involved in petitioning the Chinese government to let him climb it. They finally got permission and the footage of the first part of that climb and the insane weather around made me think they were going to get that far only to have to give up. However... the subtitle of the movie is "Nothing is Impossible" and they certainly proved that.

Spoiler alert, they succeeded. And in just over six months time. 

I've always thought it was interesting how mountains are used as metaphors for two completely opposite things. They are used to describe the obstacles in our paths, the seemingly impossible, as they were in several of our praise and worship songs today, and they are also used to describe the peak experiences in life and the "valleys" are used to describe the hard times. 

I've watched a lot of climbing documentaries lately ("Free Solo", "The Alpinist", this one, "The Dawn Wall") and have started to follow some climbers on instagram. What I have realized is that most climbing deaths don't happen on the ascent or from the summit. They happen during the descent. I've read a little bit about why that might be, and I don't have a theory of my own because I'm not a climber (I just might be a little obsessed with it), but I think that the riskiest part of a climb being the descent fits in with those contradictory mountain metaphors mentioned above.

In all of the climbing documentaries I have watched, not a single climber being interviewed has ever one time said, "And that was my last mountain. I am officially finished." In fact, at the end of every interview and article, the journalist will ask, "So what's next?" and they always have an answer, even if they are evasive as to the details at that point in time. 

The descent of the mountains, the valleys between the mountains, they are all part of the process of moving toward the next mountain. 

If you want to see the metaphor of the mountain as the obstacle, that definitely works. When I watched Nims and his team approaching each of those 14 mountains and the camera panned up, I thought HOW ON THIS ENTIRE EARTH can they look up at that and think of reaching the top. 

You know how they did it every single time, usually while the camera was still panning? They started walking. Not even climbing at that point, just walking. And then the walking turned to climbing and the climbing turned to defying gravity and completing the impossible by summiting the peak.

Goal accomplished, right? They'll usually make some statement like that, take a pic of themselves giving a thumbs up, etc.. And I guess as far as the record books are concerned, they did it. But as far as the climber and his or her life is concerned, it's not finished until they are safely back down.

But then once they are down, all they want to think about and do is plan for the next trip up the next peak. The valley is the obstacle to get through in order to have another "peak experience". 

And on.

And on.

And on.

And I guess that's how this life rocks on too, huh? It's a series of valleys and peaks, and somehow the valleys and the peaks are both the obstacle and the high, the rest and the work, the grief and the joy. 

Still Enough

 There are about a thousand things I cannot publicly say about the 2021-2022 school year but I'll just give you the understatement of the year and say:

It's been a challenge.

And because I can't stand to see teachers make vague comments and then wonder if it's my kid they're talking about, let me also offer this clarification:

The kids in room 220 have been ZERO PERCENT of the cause of that challenge. I always tend to adore my students, but this year it has been above and beyond. The absolute most perfect little AP class, a group that makes me feel completely comfortable and loved every single minute, a group that is so dang mature and perceptive that I sometimes wonder how they are real... An awesomely fun senior English class last semester, a group that never gave me a dull moment and worked hard... A Holocaust Lit class that could not have been a better group of human beings, just a joy to teach and so focused and caring and smart and kind... a senior English class this semester that laughs at more of my pitiful jokes than any class ever has and that has a higher level of attention to Macbeth than I have ever seen, plus they are just sweet... an English II Honors class that came out of nowhere and fell into my lap and that I have decided was a singular gift from God meant to reward me for making it to May this year, they are so perfect. So the kids? The kids are fine. Better than fine, actually.

But this year has been hard and in some ways it's only getting harder and big changes have come and are coming on a lot of levels and I've had to work through a lot of things for myself over the past month and a half. It's not a secret to say that turnover in education is currently very high and only projected to climb higher, and that is true at the local level as well. And truthfully, it's tough to be the one "left there", in a sense. I don't judge those who have left and are leaving, not one bit. But I have realized through some pretty heartbreaking dreams I have had (one in which I woke sobbing) that I have some abandonment issues that this is awakening. I am also revisiting some really deeply buried insecurities that I haven't seen in about fifteen years or more that center on "settling" and "selling out". 

I remember in high school, hearing all of those around me talk about wanting to get out of Cleveland and feeling like there was something wrong with me because I wanted to stay. I remember in college, switching my major to English and knowing it was what I was meant to do, but also hearing it echo in my head, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach." I remember (and it still happens today) talking to others about their lives and their jobs and, when asked about "what's new with you", only having this to say: "Oh, same things as the past 21 years, just living in Cleveland and teaching and raising a family!" 

In my heart, I don't feel like any of those things are "just" things. I am doing exactly what I planned to do, what I longed to do, what I set out to do. And truthfully, most days I feel that I am doing all of it pretty dang well. 

But in this mad rush for the door that is happening nationwide, I don't have the option to go. Would I, if I did? I don't know. I think if several things in this state go the way I think they are going to go, I would very seriously consider it. I would miss the kids something fierce, but I might go. But the fact of the matter is that it doesn't matter because the option for me does not exist. I am here. Where I will stay until I turn out those lights in 11 years for the last time and take my $3/sick day or whatever it is and my stacks of novels bought from McKays with my money and my bulletin board of photographs and my yard sale purchased furniture and my 4.0 Banquet trophies and my bags of student letters and cards and drive away from 850 Raider Dr for the last time.

So because the option to go isn't there, I am in a situation where I have shape my perspective in whatever way I need to for me to be able to peacefully stay. I have to to find the good in the things I will be living with for 11 more years and see that as self-preservation, not selling out. This week I had to do some hard work inside my heart and brain and sort through these feelings and thoughts. There were tears and there was pressing down on the bruise and wounds, pressing that didn't feel good but was necessary in order to see where the hurts were that needed to heal. 

At the absolute height of rifling through my rolodex of emotions this week, literally out of the clear blue, I got a fb message from a former student who is probably pushing mid-30's now. And it shouldn't be surprising to know that God used this kid-turned-man to say exactly the words my heart needed to find the strength to face the inner demons and to find what I needed to move forward. The number of times this has happened in a 21 year career, when I have gotten a message in one of a hundred different formats and platforms that was precisely what I needed to hear (and often from a completely unexpected source, either a kid I didn't even get particularly those to or from a "kid" who is now a grown adult with a family of his or her own), is innumerable. God has always used the written word to encourage me and I love His timing.

So to every teacher out there who is feeling some of what I was feeling or all of what I was feeling or possibly even more and bigger of what I was feeling... 

Claim this message for yourself too today. No matter what has changed, and no matter what WILL change, you are "still enough". Now excuse me while I go cry again at the impeccable timing of this beautiful message.

Everything Flows Downstream

Image: New River Gorge NP, Endless Wall Trail

 Last night, on a rare kidless weekend, Kraig and I seized the opportunity to attend a film festival I had heard about that was happening in Chattanooga, the Lookout Wild Film Festival. It was absolutely an incredible night of films, both shorts and the feature length ("River Runner"). 

We saw these films:

• Our Theory of Human Motivation  (3)

• Homeland –  Undiscovered Trails Of The Kackar Mountains (4)

• Camp Yoshi (10) 

• Kyra: An Olympic Story  (8)

• The Wanderlust Women (8)

• Latitude (9)

• The Outlaw Sport (8)

• Spirit of the Peaks  (42)

• Katie (10) 

• The River Runner  (86)

I absolutely loved "Our Theory of Human Motivation", "Camp Yoshi", and "Katie". In one of them (possibly "Spirit of the Peaks"), the statement was made that "everything flows downstream". It was referencing water sources and pure water and the fact that the snowmelt is what provides water for those downstream and that we don't think about even the smallest ways that we pollute such as the wax from snowboards, and so on. But the minute it was said, it struck me.

Everything flows downstream.

Everything we do has repercussions "downstream". Everything we say, every action we take, every decision we make. It is all going to impact other people in some way, and it's also going to impact us in the future. We may not see the immediate consequence or benefit (because this doesn't have to just consider the negative side), but it will show up eventually.

What are we putting in the water today, in the world and in our lives, that's going to impact us in the future? Are we taking care of our business, are we making positive choices, are we considering the other people around us? Or are we dumping our trash, making rash choices without considering the future, polluting the lives of those around us? Do we make things better for our future selves and those who are impacted by us, or do we make them worse?

It's an image that is going to stay with me for a while, I feel certain. I plan to ask myself regularly if this is something I want to see later, if "downstream" for this situation or decision or action will look favorable or unfavorable.

Dream-Launch

 Today, I witnessed the launch of a dream. 

My pastor and my friend, my prayer warrior and fellow mama in the trenches, now published author, Dawn Lipsey launched her book. I had the privilege of reading it during the final editing stages, and it is absolutely a Word from the Lord. There are certain motifs in this book that have lived in my head since I read it in November. It is no doubt going to minister to people where they are, and move them to walk forward through and into what the Lord has for them.

Watching the culmination of this God-dream of hers got me thinking about my own dreams. 

Dreams realized, dreams deferred, dreams still germinating, dreams I am in the middle of living...

And with that, I also started to think about the periods of time when dreams are dead. When the soil of our hearts is dry and cracked, when there isn't a cherished seed that we take out from time to time to nurture, treasure, and then tuck back into fertile soil. 

I know people in the midst of each of these stages and phases of dream-growth right now. 

As I watched Dawn, teary-eyed and smiling, greet the long line of people who came by after church to congratulate her and purchase books and shirts and bags and caps, I thought of all of the hours she spent laboring over this work. I thought about the discouragement she mentioned in her sermon, the starts and stops, and the fear of failure. I thought about the call of the Lord on her to write and the ways she said she tried to adjust the call to fit what she knew to be her giftings, rather than push forward into the uncomfortable unknown outside of her comfort zone. 

And I vowed to remember what the launch looks like when I'm in the other periods of my own dream-growth. To keep the end in my heart, even when my head is bogged down in the muck of the process.

Thank you, Dawn, for leading us well in so many ways, but mostly for living what you preach.

More. And Enough.

On the last day of the year, I spent some time looking back and looking forward. In the past few years, as I think is the norm for progressing through your 40’s, I’ve either gotten to know myself better than I ever have or I have realized that I am different from who I once was. Either way, there has been an increased self-awareness, self-realization, and self-actualization that has taken place inside of me. 

So this year, in looking forward, I want two things that seem contradictory. I want more. And I want what I have to be enough.

I want More. More of what makes me feel like…. well…. ME.

More intentional time with the people I love. 

More books.

More making my house look like I want it to look instead of what home design people say it should look.

More trips.

More nature.

More gently guiding the kids in my classroom to fall in love with the words on a page.

More speaking up when someone needs to.

More staying quiet when my contribution can’t change anything.

More hikes.

More beautiful places, not just away but also right here at home.

More chasing the dreams I want to have shape my later years.

More thrilling rides with my kids through their decisive young adult years.

More lists.

More plans.

More running out with Kraig when what I really want is to stay at home.

More gray hair. 

More pictures.

More healthy work.

More attention to my mental health.

More saying no when it really isn’t something that makes me or someone else better.

More saying no when it might be something that makes me or someone else better but it isn’t the right time.

More saying no sometimes when I really just don’t want to.

More snow days.

More sunshine.

More shivelight.

More time with the friends who make me laugh and happy to be in this life.

More of Him. More time with Him. More about Him.

But at the same time, I want to come to know and rest in Enough.

I want to be content with exactly what I have.

I don’t want to hear people talking about this material thing or that material thing, even if it’s a material thing I have always, always, always wanted, and feel a sense of lack.

I don’t want to question the skills or abilities or giftings that I know I have, that I have proven over and over, because of someone else’s {uninformed} opinion or view. 

I don’t want to buy into the lie that if I was just a little more submissive, a little more fit, a little more social, a little more domestic, a little more whatever, that I would be better off.

I want to know, with the confidence that a 44 year old woman of God/wife and daughter and sister and friend/mother of 5/veteran teacher/side hustler has, that I am enough. I have enough to give and I have enough inside and I have enough around me and I have done enough and He makes me enough.

So I want More, but I also want to live in Enough.

 

Trying Not to Fall

On our last family hike, on New Year’s Eve, we went to New River Gorge National Park and hiked the Endless Wall Trail. It’s a very easy, almost all flat, hike. Most of the walking is on a path with very few obstacles (although the day we went, it was very muddy). There are a few areas of scrambling across tree roots and rocks, but not many. There is one footbridge to cross. 

As is the norm for our family hikes, no matter HOW hard or HOW easy, all 5 kids (even the one who hates hiking) were out of sight. We just yell ahead occasionally to check that they’re still ok (although woe be the person who would attempt to abduct the five of them) or to have them wait at the next trail sign. Kraig was, as is his norm, hanging back with me but out a little ahead. And I was, as is MY norm, plodding along. Sometimes it’s because I cannot breathe, sometimes it’s because I need to go to the bathroom, sometimes it’s because I just walk more slowly, sometimes it’s because I’m stopping to take pics, sometimes it’s because I’m looking around, all the time it’s because I’m trying not to fall.

I am, by my nature and since I was tiny, prone to falling. I have no idea why. I used to think it was because I didn’t get glasses till 4th grade and I am very close to legally blind. Then I thought it was because I wasn’t paying attention to my feet. Then I thought maybe it’s just the weak ankles that tall people have (giraffes have the same problem). Now I just don’t know but it has become a bit of an obsession/phobia of mine, trying not to fall. 

Kraig knows my propensity for falling and has, especially since a particularly unfortunate fall in a canyon in Utah where I then had to hike two more miles (apparently running on adrenaline since my knee didn’t seize up until we got to the car and then he had to help me move for a full day), always scouted out the more likely fall places and hangs back to help me across them. (When we finished that aforementioned hike in Utah, he said, “Hm. The place you fell wasn’t at all where I expected you to fall. I was sure it would be on the slippery rocks in one of the creek crossings.” 😂)

Sometimes he just steadies me, sometimes he is just there if I need him, sometimes it’s just a hand, and sometimes it’s a full dependence. 

On the New Year’s Eve hike, there was a small section of the path that was downhill (my nemesis), across exposed roots and rocks, in mud, and slick leaves. This had all the makings of a spectacular fall. Kraig waited on me, in front of me, I put both hands on his shoulders and I looked only at the ground. I looked at each place he stepped and I stepped in those exact places. I didn’t look around me, I didn’t look behind me, and not one time did I look at what was coming up. I stared at the ground, at each place my foot would fall as it stepped, and I held onto his shoulders. As we moved in unison, his right foot then mine, his left foot then mine, I got the most clear understanding of how the Lord has to lead us at times. I actually asked Kraig to pause so that I could take these pictures to illustrate this point. 

On this path of life, our Father takes a lot of different positions. He is ALWAYS there, but sometimes He is walking beside us, sometimes we need His steadying hand, sometimes He just calls out a warning. But SOMETIMES… sometimes not only do we need His complete assistance for each step, sometimes the only way through is to watch His feet and hang on to his strong shoulders. Those shoulders that bore that cross… they are surely strong enough to hold you. 

There are times in life that the going is so hard that we can only handle the very next step. We can’t contemplate the past, we can’t be distracted by what’s around, and we surely can’t look ahead to an uncertain future. We can only think about the very next step. In those parts of our journey, it’s important to do the only thing that can be done that will guarantee an arrival without a fall… hold onto Him and step exactly where He leads. I’ve always loved the verse in Isaiah (Isaiah 30:21) that says, “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”

But this isn’t that. This is when a voice from behind isn’t enough, we need to lean on Him and we are only strong enough for one step at a time. This isn’t a voice in our ear, but this is the action ahead of the words. This is the way, this footfall right here, walk in it. And He will be there. Just like Kraig is during these parts of our hikes, He will be there as your guide and for you to lean on. He wants to be all that we need, and it’s in these times that we can taste and see that He is as we valiantly, or even pitifully, try. We will see that He won’t let us fall.

2022: Shivelight.

 Shivelight. 

While I love to hike and that often takes place in the woods, my number preference is always to be in the wide open expanse under a brilliant blue sky with a giant ball of sun shining above me. I don’t mind a few wispy clouds, but I want that full sun hitting me. Extra points if I’m on or beside a body of water. 

My southeast Tennessee home is set in a valley, the Tennessee Valley. We live close to forests and mountains. Most hiking done around here is done through the woods and mountains. The hiking I’ve done in the western parks was often done in forests and mountains as well, or through orange hoodoos or towering red cliffs, through slot canyons. I can’t think of a single hike I’ve done through a wide open field without vegetation, other than a part of the Carver’s Gap hike on Round Bald and Wilburn Ridge in Grayson Highlands.

Since my taste for hiking has begun, I’ve spent a lot of time walking through forests, craning my neck for a peek at my best friend, the sun. I’ve come to fall in love with the rays of light that cut through the canopy, reminding me that my favorite thing is still in the sky, just waiting for me to emerge from the woods. 

As I pondered a word for 2022, I was looking at some nature blogs and came across a word that was coined by the British poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, “shivelight”. The word refers to the rays of light that lance through the trees. 

The second half of 2021 was one that found me, more often then not, sitting in the darkness rather than looking for the light. So as soon as I saw this word, thinking of what hopes I have for myself in 2022, I felt drawn to it. I had a short list of about 6 that I had prayed over and never could feel good about any of them, but as soon as I saw this one, I knew. 

I want my 2022 to be one of shivelight. I would prefer it to be a year I mentioned at the beginning of this writing, one of brilliant blue skies and a glowing ball of sunlight, but I’m realistic enough to know that just because a calendar turns the page into a new year, circumstances don’t immediately change. So I know the obstacles will still be there, between me and the sun. 

But I want to become a person whose first inclination is to look for the light. I want this to be a year of finding the light.

Broken and Mended

 I want to write about my 2022 word, and I really don’t necessarily want to write about this, but God said, “Do it” so I am. 

I collect Willow Tree figurines. This went well in a house of few people, no dogs, and when I did the house cleaning. But when we added more people (one of whom seemed to knock them off the shelf like it was his JOB when he cleaned) and a dog with a wagging tail, these guys didn’t fare well.

I’ve moved them around a couple of times (and the most reckless house cleaner has his own house to clean now) to safer locations and the breakage seems to have stopped. When I cleaned up Christmas last night, I decided to repair the broken ones and put them back out in the hopes that they last in one piece this time.

I fired up my hot glue gun and got the broken pieces out, at which point I realized all of the broken parts came from one figurine… the mother and child one. The child’s head was broken off, his arm was broken off, and the mother’s head was off. I started by glueing those pieces back. Then I noticed the spots where the two were meant to be melded together also needed fresh glue— the two spots where they connected.

As I dabbed the glue, God brought to my mind several parents and sons and daughters I know in my own personal life who are broken. They are broken apart, and therefore are broken individually in pieces. Or maybe they were first broken individually and then became broken apart. Either way, as I held those pieces together and waited for the glue to solidify, He had me praying for those parent-child relationships. He had my praying for my own relationships with my children. 

Once I finished, I looked at the figurine and noticed a couple of things. The cracks, they still show. The glue created gaps in the structure. Some parts didn’t line up perfectly. The hot glue strings needed to be cleaned off. And I felt God reminding me that no relationship is perfect. Even when we find a way to mend, to heal, there are often still visible scars. Not all personalities are completely compatible, but love is what can still hold us together. I distinctly felt like He wanted me to write about that, but I was busy in the house and I moved on.

This morning, as I walked by that shelf with the Willow Tree figurines, He told me again. Write it. So I stopped, took a picture of the mother and child that were put back together but still bore the markings of being broken so that I could use it with the blog post, and then I kept working. Just now, as I sat down in my comfy gray chair to rest before I packed one more Christmas bin, He told me again. Write it.

So here it is. And as I have written, He’s given me one more point to make. 

When I first started working on them last night, I had five parts. I had to fix each individual piece, the child’s arm and head and then the mom’s head, before I could work on the whole. I couldn’t have reconnected the child and the mom without first fixing each of them. Sometimes we jump ahead and work to mend relationships without first working on ourselves. The root causes of the breaking are almost never one-sided. And until we can reach deep within and see where the mending needs to be done inside of us, we can’t fix the whole.

So to anyone reading this who is walking through a broken parent-child relationship, know that He sees you. He sees you and He is interceding on your behalf at the throne of HIS Father. He will mend the broken places, He will reconnect what is separated, and He will heal your heart. But first, He will be there while you examine your heart to see where the work can begin.

Yet.

My feelin’ 22 post is coming on the 2nd day of 2022, which is fine. 

The last day of 2021 summed up that year perfectly. We got an early start on a hike to a beautiful overlook in New River Gorge National Park. I was excited to see the river view and the bridge from Diamond Point on the Endless Wall Trail. We reached the first overlook to see only fog. I chuckled to myself, thinking that about sums it up. We got to Diamond Point and there were just thick white clouds of fog hovering just below us. No bridge. No river. No view. Again, about right.

This year felt like that to me. 

Yet. 

As we were exploring the point, one of my kids cried, “I see the river!” Sure enough, a tiny window in the fog had formed and we could see a glimpse of the river. 

A few minutes later, another kid cried, “There’s more of the river!” Now a whole section of fog had lifted. As we watched, the view into the gorge below slowly came into view. And it was gorgeous. 

But you know what made it even more gorgeous? The swaths of fog still hanging on. The sunlight hit those patches and reflected beautifully, they dressed the mountains in layers of white tulle. We appreciated the view so much more because it seemed at first that we wouldn’t be able to see it. 

My 2021 word was “Yet”. I pray every year for the Lord to give me a word. Some years, the word’s meaning is revealed when the word is. Other years, I have to wait for the answer to the word’s meaning. My 2020 word was “Redeem”. The Lord most certainly gave me that word and I thought I had an idea of what its meaning was and where it would play out. Weeks into 2020, I realized I was sadly mistaken. 3 months into 2020, the entire world could laugh at the joke of a word like “redeem” in a time of global falling apart. 2020 didn’t redeem anything. It broke what was whole. 

However, in the last quarter of the year, the Lord revealed very clearly and almost audibly what my word for that year meant. He told me that my word was not a reflection of the present, but a promise for the future, that He would redeem the things that were broken that year. I was elated, and I wrote this post Redeem at the end of 2020 as I looked forward with great anticipation at a year that would see the redemption.

A few days into 2021, the word for that year crystallized into my spirit. “Yet.” For 12 months, I have waited and wondered how “yet” was going to play out in my life. I thought of the “already- not yet” philosophy, the optimism of a “yet” lifestyle, and on and on. Nothing I tried on felt right.

The year started with a kid wrecking a car and was followed by more kid/car incidents. Some things I had hoped for desperately for my kids have fallen through. The things I hoped to see improve greatly for my kids socially as they came out of a pandemic did not happen. Events were still canceled. Other events have still been affected and are even now in question. 

The vaccines brought hope, and I am still so grateful for them, but they didn’t end the pandemic. One year later, we are in a surge that we haven’t seen before. The safety I felt in my job last school year regarding the pandemic was all pulled away this year.

 In fact, the final five months of 2021 were, professionally, the toughest in 20 years. If I could find a way out, I would take it, and I hate to even say that aloud but it’s true. I love every minute of interaction with my students and I loved to PIECES every kid I taught this semester. My coworkers/friends are the high points of my day. But teaching has changed in every way possible and, as I watch colleague after colleague leave for something different, it pains me inside because I know that not only do I not have a choice but to continue, my usual “don’t desert, stay and work and bring about a change, a fix” belief is impossible in this current educational climate. 

2021 has come with health difficulties for my parents, with a hard diagnosis for Kraig. My Grandaddy still struggles physically and mentally. 

There have been personal disappointments, there have been family letdowns, there have been dying dreams. 

Yet. 

This year has brought a health journey for me that I never expected. April was my starting point for some lifestyle changes and, while weight loss wasn’t necessarily the goal, I’m down 24 lbs since April. On my birthday I started some additional lifestyle changes and I can see my energy level has increased since then and my body just feels stronger. I know that these things are working and I am not struggling to maintain them, and that means everything positive for my future. Kraig has done AMAZINGLY well with his new diet and exercise regimen to deal with his diabetes.

We have had so many big events and celebrations this year! Francisco is still living successfully alone and maintaining his job, even receiving a promotion this year. Emma graduated with honors as a Raider Scholar and was fortunate to be honored with one of the local scholarships, the Carrie Smith Lawson. She started school at UTC in August and is thriving. She loves her independence, her roommates, and has done well in her classes. We have learned to walk the tightrope of parenting and daughtering in college and I am grateful. The younger three have had incredibly successful endings to 10th and 11th grades and beginnings of 11th and 12th. They have had amazing sports seasons and their grades are INCREDIBLE. Kelsey and Roman are Raider Scholars and Angela continues to excel and be promoted in JROTC, in addition to adding honors classes. They have worked outreach with the church. Roman has two college acceptances under his belt and his hoping for the Lord to provide a way to go to Lee. This past year has been a pretty peaceful one in regard to parenting the four left under our roof and that’s been beautiful.

Travel! My favorite thing on earth has had such a great year. Emma and I went to Austin, TX, in May to see one of my favorite former students get married. We took a Silver women and kids beach trip in May as a graduation trip for the three senior cousins and it was a BLAST! Time with family can’t be topped. Royal Family happened again and this time we had three of our kids there with us, as we added Emma and Roman to the staff this year. Then we had Bear Paw and THEN… the 17 day trip out west with my parents that I have longed to do. It was absolute perfection, so much beautiful scenery and time together and animals and just the greatest experience. Kraig was even able to fly out and join us for the second half. We ended the year with our family fall break trip (minus France and Emma), which we shifted this year from the original plan so that Angela could visit the Air Force Academy. We did the 4 Colorado parks, 3 Utah parks we hadn’t done, some scenic drives, other beautiful stops, and ended with the tour of the USAFA and a football game there! We also got in several trips to WV (one for a gorgeous and sweet wedding!) and time with our Davis family.

As I look back on this year, to be honest, I see the fog first. When the majority of your waking hours are spent in a difficult situation at work, it tends to color your perspective. A really heartbreaking scenario with a wayward child sometimes fills up the your mind. A pandemic that freaking never ever ever seems like it’s going to end weighs heavily on you. The brokenness from 2020 that came with a promise of redemption that hasn’t happened…

Yet. 

It was about two weeks before the year ended and a friend of mine had posted in a group I’m in, asking people about their word for the year and how they select it. I commented, explaining that I pray for mine and sometimes the meaning is clear and other times it’s revealed later. I told her about “redeem”, and the promise, and the 2021 word of “yet” and that I still don’t have an answer on it so I’m waiting for it to be clarified before I pray for a 2022 word. 

Like a ton of bricks, AS I TYPED, it hit me. The 2021 word goes with my 2020 word. The promise of redemption from 2020 hasn’t been fulfilled… YET. That doesn’t mean it won’t. It just means it’s still in the future. 2021 was HARD… YET…. His promise still stands. 

The fog lifts. The fog WILL LIFT. And even when the fog is there, even in the midst of the hard that I wrote about at the beginning of this blog, the beauty I wrote about in the last half was there too. And maybe the fog makes part of the beauty.