Any Given Tuesday

We’ve all heard the term “Any Given Sunday”, which is derived from a quote in a book that bears the same title. The meaning behind it, is that on any random Sunday, any team has the potential to beat another team. It emphasizes the NFL’s unpredictability and competitive balance. 

While I don’t know much about the sport of football, my experiences in life have taught me the same…that it’s just as unpredictable. 

We often wait until the next Sunday, to go back to church. Monday, to start a new work out. Wednesday is a halfway point to get through the week. Thursday is for looking forward to the weekend. Friday and Saturday are when we plan to experience all we can of life, on our off days.

What about Tuesdays?

On any given Tuesday, we can have a major health crisis.

On any given Tuesday, we can lose a loved one.

On any given Tuesday, we can get in an accident that alters our lives forever.

On any given Tuesday, we can receive test results, that we have cancer.

On any given Tuesday, our house can catch fire.

On any given Tuesday, we can lose our job.

But on any given Tuesday.

God can perform a miracle in our bodies.

A new life makes its way into this world (I’ve had two babies born on a Tuesday).

We can obtain the keys to our very first home or the one our dreams were made of (both have happened to me). 

We can start a new job.

We can be cancer free.

As unpredictable as Tuesday, or any other day of the week can be, in this life, there is one thing that is constant. God is still God, regardless of our circumstance. His mercy, grace, and miraculous power aren’t confined to a specific day or time. He is faithful always.

My Champion

This week my daughter had a track meet, in less than desirable conditions. She was soaked and cold from the pouring rain. The long jump event she was trying to participate it, was a mess from the clumping, wet, sand. Volunteers were working endlessly, trying to move the puddles, before every race, without much progress.

By the time we made it to her she was covered in sand, tears, and raindrops. Her hunger and fatigue, were causing her emotions to be in control. She just wanted to get away from there and be someplace dry and warm, without any adverse elements.

But the rain still came, and the race still had to be ran.

We weren’t really enjoying it as parents either. Then again, that’s what being an intentional parent is. Showing up in all moments, whether it’s pleasurable or not. Being present is what’s most important. 

After she ran her race, and her team won, she said the only voice she could hear was mine. It made me tear up, just thinking about the fact, that come rain or shine my kids will never know what it’s like to not hear their parents voice, cheering them on.

This last year, has been a season of adverse conditions in my life. As most of us have those years. I have been so incredibly defeated. Each day seems like it brings a new challenge, that I haven’t prepared for. The words of encouragement I’m used to offering others, are now silenced by the fact that I’m barely able to open my mouth to pray for myself. I’m just holding on. Waiting for the storm to stop and for the sun to shine again.

As I meditated on my daughter’s confidence in my voice in the midst of the downpour, I started to realize how much more confidence I should have in the Lord. He isn’t a God of circumstance. He’s always there calling out to us and encouraging us, wherever we are…

He is my champion.

Giants fall when He stands (and speaks).

Undefeated.

Every battle He has won (regardless of our adversities).

I am who He says I am.

He crowns me with confidence.

I am seated, in a Heavenly place.

Undefeated.

With the one who has conquered it all.

He is a present father. He has never left us to face the challenges of life alone. May this remind you, as it did me, that we have that confidence in Him and that fact that He’s already conquered it all.

Our Guy

I can’t share my grandpa’s life with you, without telling you the impact that he had on mine. 

He took me to church every chance he could, encouraged me to pursue singing and acting in our church plays. He was best friends with a southern gospel group, that he always invited me to spend time with. He let me help with church deposits, when he was the treasurer, because he knew my love for numbers. He taught me how to fly and kite, and how to drive…although he didn’t have much luck with the stick shift (one of his favorite stories he liked to share about me). He let us help plant, and experience the blessing of the harvest. He brought us to Kings Island with him, whenever he was working, and allowed us make that amusement park our own personal playground. He educated me about business, by giving me access to his. He demonstrated how to serve others, by continually showing up to move my things, when I found myself in a mess . He gave love unconditionally, and forgiveness just as easy. He showed me who Christ was, by being His greatest example.

He was the hardest worker, I’ve ever witnessed. My aunt shared a story with me, of how during a blizzard and a few feet of snow, he drove from house to house working on peoples furnaces. He did this not just because he loved to work, he knew they were counting on him to stay warm. 

He once tried to donate his own eyes, to one of our cousins who was blind. And I know he would have done so, if he could.

He patiently restored a 57 Chevy, piece by piece. Exposing us to the beautiful result of patience.

He loved to play music. He loved to laugh. He even loved to cry. But most of all, he loved to love. 

He was my number one guy. And anyone who had the privilege of calling him family, would tell you the same. He was our guy. The guy, husband, dad, grandpa, and friend that God gave each and everyone of us.

He Will Again

There is no greater agony in this world than watching someone you love suffer. Knowing that you would willing take on just one ounce of their pain, to relieve them for a moment, but in reality understanding that isn’t possible. We do what we can that’s in our power. We pray, we hope, we trust….and we wait. We wait for God to do what He once did, again.

The waiting itself, can sometimes seem torturous for us. We’re stuck in a place of what was, what is, and the fear of what’s to come. Trying to remember if we cherished the moments that brought us completely joy, enough to get through the darkest days. Wanting so desperately to return to them. Holding tight to our faith, when it seems like our hearts are continually breaking. And believing for better days ahead.

The truth is, we all understand how impossibly it is to predict the future. We also know, that we serve a God, who has performed miracles before…and He will again.

~Cause if He told the sun when to rise
And it did, He will again
And if He told the storm to be still
And it did, He will again
And if He told the sea where to split
And it did, He will again
And if He told the walls when to fall
And they did, He will again
And if He told the chains when to break
And they did, He will again

And if He told the bones, come alive
And they did, He, come on, what else
And if He told the stone, roll away
And it did, He will again
And if He told the grave, let Him go
And it did, He will again

No matter what miracle it is we’re waiting on…

Our loved ones to be healed

Job opportunities 

Bringing a new life into this world

Financial freedom

Direction for our families

We can rest in the fact, even when it seems impossible, that He did perform them, and He will again.

I Will Give You Rest

One thing I’ve learned about being the person who loves another battling addiction, is how isolating it can be. Very seldom can anyone relate to the chaotic days and nights you’ve survived. Most of the time you keep them hidden. Maybe out of shame, but mainly because you feel nobody really quite understands your suffering. 

It seems so unfair to live trapped in a life you’ve never chosen for yourself. Yet here you are just trying to make it through each day….alone.

Many of my friends growing up said they had no idea about my dads battle with addiction. Honestly, I don’t think most of our family even knew. We all were masters at keeping things hidden. We didn’t have a home phone because that was the first thing to go. So we would use our neighbors or walk to the pay phone. When we didn’t have water, we would stay the night with friends to take showers. Same with food and electric. When the gas was out and there wasn’t any heat, we would keep people away and snuggle together, with heavy quilts my grandma had made us. I washed all of our clothes by hand and hung them up to dry. Trying to not wear dirty clothes or the same things continually. I learned to use what we had, to make it appear, like we were all doing okay. And nothing much had changed.

The knocks on the door from the police, the car accidents, the drug dealers, and the bill collectors were all met with the same response. They were ignored to the point that I somehow didn’t believe they were reality.

Watching my brothers fall one after the other into the same lifestyle, but more lethal drugs, was dealt with most of the same way. Up all night trying to find them, and putting on my best smile to face each day the next morning. Living with grief, fear, terror, anxiety, and insomnia for most of my waking hours, and trying to find joy in between. 

Countless middle of the night phone calls…

Your brother is missing.

Your brother is on my porch and it’s midnight. You need to come get him. I’m pointing my gun at him until you get her.

I’m laying in a field, I’ve been beat by my friends and left here.

I’m in the er, I’ve been beaten by a baseball bat.

Your brother was caught living in my shed.

Your brother is sleep in a car and it’s freezing.

Your brothers heart stopped beating.

Your brothers heart stopped beating.

Your brother broke in my house.

Your brother stole from me.

Your brother needs you to come get him.

Your brother overdosed.

Your brother overdosed.

I’m in jail.

I’m in jail.

I’m in jail.

I’m in jail.

I’m in jail.

I’m in rehab.

I’m in jail.

I’m in rehab. 

I’m in prison.

I’m in prison.

I’m in prison.

I’m in rehab.

Your brother overdosed.

Your brother overdosed.

Your brother overdosed.

Your brother overdosed.

I need you to come get me. I’m in the middle of the woods. My car went off the road and hit a tree.

Your brothers face is all over social media.

He’s overdosed again.

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m coming to church.

I’m coming to church. I’ll be there this time.

This is a very small glimpse, but you get the picture. The calls. The scares. They were/are endless. I cannot remember a day when I had ever felt complete peace. Even in days meant for celebrations, were overshadowed by the unseen grief.

Witnessing my eldest brother be set free from addiction, and so many of the lifestyle choices that came with it, has been life sustaining for not just him...but me too. I no longer have to worry where he is and if he is alive. I can rest in the fact that he is safe. 

While, I still do not have that peace about my little brother, I am believing for it. God loves him more than I possibly could, and freedom is for him too. I have to admit there have been many recent days where I've felt discouraged, but I'm never going to stop praying for him.

Rest is for him.

It's for me.

God promises it.

And I am standing on that promise.

One of These Days, I’m Gonna Love Me.

In my late teens Tim McGraw sang the song “One of These Days”. I used to belt out the lyrics, imagining what it would be like, someday when I was actually able to love myself. Back then, loving myself meant, letting go of all of the derogatory words I had heard from my mom that were embedded deep into my soul. It meant defying the odds to become a mom, that surely nobody thought I could. It meant being able to succeed on my own. It meant becoming everything my parents were not. If I could do all of those things, I would arrive at being able to love me for me.

In my early twenties self love, meant striving to be perfect in every area of life. To have the perfect marriage, the perfect home, to be the perfect friend or employee, and be part of the perfect family. To obtain a degree that I thought would increase my self worth. It looked like dressing a certain way, handling myself a specific way, and dealing with every situation as perfect as I possibly could. It meant, doing all things for all people trying to earn their love and acceptance. If others could love me, or the idea who I was trying to be, surely I could love myself then.

In my thirties, I thought I would love myself, if I could overcome all adversity. If my marriage and family had less problems and more victories, and if I could make that happen for each one of them. If I could stop and solve every problem, sometimes before they ever occurred. If I could heal them one by one, and lessen their pain a little. If I could be a master scheduler and be present in every area of my kids lives. If I could physically and mentally do all things, I would finally be able to love who I am.

Barely into my forties, I’ve discovered what I thought loving myself meant for decades, wasn’t true in the slightest. It isn’t based on merit, reciprocated love, having a degree, perfectionism, defying stereotypes, or breaking out of bondage.

It’s continually pursing peace.

Finding the joy in the midst of the struggle.

Searching for the beauty, despite the trauma.

Allowing God to define love in my life, not my idea of what I thought it was.

Helping my family through their struggles, and knowing to go to God when I’ve discovered my limitations.

It’s carrying with me the parts of my past that God wants me to hold onto, and letting go of what he doesn’t.

And giving God the glory for every single blessing.

To love myself, means I must first love Him….and the me that He created. Every broken, imperfect, part of me.

Consider the Lilies

 I was going through an old prayer journal this morning and came across this entry:

July 2018

Recently lost my Grandma Saunders, March of this year. Oh, how I miss her presence in my life. The talks, the visits, everything. Last night I had a dream that I was at her house, planting lilies (her favorite). We were all gathered there to celebrate her birthday after her passing. When I looked up into the sky, I saw humongous seashells. I’m not really sure of their significance, but I felt they were there for her to put her ear up to and hear from Heaven what was going on down here. And vise versa. A way of communicating. All of the sudden I looked up and saw her walking toward us, up her driveway. She was coming back to celebrate with us. I just cried. All I could manage to say was “I planted these lilies, thinking you would never see them”!

Some dreams may never make sense to anyone, and maybe they aren’t a gift from God. But this one that I took the time to write down all the years ago, made my heart rejoice today. All of the seeds I’ve (we both have) sewn in prayer and watered in tears, we are now seeing come to fruition. She can see, she can hear, and she is celebrating with us from where she is💗