Blessings, Weeds and Goldfinches

Lately, I've been seeing all these wonderful bright yellow birds flying around by my kitchen window.  Every time one flies by, it takes my breath away.  I gasp, and I say thank you to Jesus, and I write it down in my gratitude journal.  Sometimes I even try to get a picture.  They've even been sitting outside my window on the power lines.  Two little yellow birds, as cute as can be, sitting there right at eye level looking at me while I'm doing the dishes.  It's a gift straight from God.  Some people will say it's a coincidence, but I will tell you straight up.  They're wrong.

While I'm doing the most menial of tasks, Jesus meets me there.  He reminds me of His love for me, and I worship Him.  He makes me smile.

When the bright yellow birds first started showing up, I had no idea what they were.  So, I did some research.  They are American Goldfinches.  Here's couple interesting facts: they generally are monogamous and mate for life, the males go through rigorous flight patterns to impress the females, and they change color throughout the year - they're only bright yellow in the summer.  I had no idea.

Reading about the flight patterns reminded me of college when Matt saw me in the student center and was jumping up and down behind a wall with his head popping up over the top.  Every time his head came up, he'd say something like, "Hey Kathryn.." next jump, "How ya doing?"  Yes, I fell for it.  Nobody ever made themselves look like such a fool for me.  Except that one guy who walked into a pole while turning around to say hi to me.  That was also in the student center, but he didn't mean to do that, and I'm pretty sure he was humiliated, and I'm pretty sure it hurt!  Poor guy.

Matt and I have lived out a pretty incredible love story.  I am beyond blessed to call him my husband.  We fell in love so hard and so fast.  Now, 20 years later, we are still very much in love.  Even though at times we've had to really fight to stay there, he is my best friend and the love of my life.

Even in the midst of a beautiful love story there are betrayals, hurts, disappointments and discouragements.  We're human and we wound each other.  Oh how I long for the statement to be untrue.  But it is true.  All too true.  Marriage can be so painful, it can tear you up inside.  It can also be incredibly healing. God can use your spouse in amazing ways to bring up and heal deep wounds.  If you're married, I pray you have more healing in your marriage than wounding.

One of the minor disappointments in our marriage has been our differences in interests.  I love to be outside.  I grew up in Traverse City.  It's what you do.  You spend your summer days at the beach.  You spend your fall days going on color tours watching the leaves change amazing colors.  I love the sound of the rain, and walking in the rain is one of my favorite things to do.  I even love snow and how it washes the whole city white.  I spent most of my childhood outside.  Matt is different.  He has painful memories of sunburns.  He doesn't hate being outside, but he does hate being in the sun.  He would rather be inside watching Star Trek.  Did I mention that I hate that show?!!!  He loves movies and video games.  I refuse to play video games and I've grown bored with movies.

Because of his sun phobia, one of the things Matt hates to do is mow the lawn.  It bothers me.  A lot.  The lawn gets out of control.  It moves past shaggy and goes to unkempt, rough and rugged!  It can be embarrassing.  Don't get me wrong, my husband is a hard worker.  He just really hates outdoor work.  And in all honesty, our lawn is a really hard one to mow!  I'm sure he could list plenty of things that bug him about me!!  But this is my blog, not his!

Guess what.  Those sweet little goldfinches that visit me when I'm doing the dishes, the ones that lift my spirits and make my heart sing, the ones that cause me to worship our great Creator, those little birds are attracted to the weeds that grow in my lawn outside my window.  I have spent a lot of time pondering that thought.  The weeds that I lament against, the weeds that I wish my husband would mow more frequently, would I get to see those birds without them?

There are voids in our hearts that people can't fill.  There are empty spaces.  They can be little annoyances or extremely painful deserts.  People will disappoint, it's what we do, we're human.  God shows up in those deserted, barren places.  He can fill those empty places in beautiful, life giving, heart singing ways.  There are amazing blessings in those empty places, blessings that might not have come any other way.  That is what truly causes me to worship.  When I am crying rivers of tears on Jesus's alter during a worship service at church, it's always about my emptiness and Jesus's fullness.  Those tears are really all I have of value to offer Him, and he thinks they're so precious that he collects them in a bottle.

I heard Beth Moore say the other day, "Maybe the whole point of the beatitudes is that those who are in need of Jesus are blessed."  I think she's right.  It reminds me of one of my favorite passages in Isaiah.

Isaiah 41:17-20  "When the poor and needy search for water and there is none, and their tongues are parched from thirst, then I, the LORD, will answer them.  I, the God of Israel, will never abandon them.  I will open up rivers for them on the high plateaus.  I will give them fountains of water in the valleys.  I will fill the desert with pools of water.  Rivers fed by springs will flow across the parched ground.  I will plant trees in the barren desert - cedar, acacia, myrtle, olive, cypress, fir and pine.  I am doing this so all who see this miracle will understand what it means - that it is the LORD who has done this, the Holy One of Israel who created it."

Notice, it's the poor and needy who search, who are blessed.  It's the ones who's tongues are parched from thirst who's prayers are answered.  Being needy is a wonderful thing where Jesus is concerned.  And isn't it incredible that God doesn't just say, those who are thirsty will be given something to drink?  Just a cup of water is not enough for him.  He gives rivers, he gives fountains, so much water that there are even pools in the desert.  Not just one tree, he gives 7 different kinds of trees. He is so good and so very generous.

Dear friend, God will fill your empty spaces.  He won't just fill them to the top, He'll keep filling until they spill over.  Before you know it, you'll be splashing everyone you walk by.  So let's try to give people grace when they don't fill us up the way we long for them too.  It's another opportunity for God to step in and bless us in the void.
  

Jonathan Daniel Forrester

November 27, 1980, I became an aunt for the very first time.  I was only 8 years old.  I don't have any memories of my sister Rachel being born just 2 and a half years earlier.  But between 6 and 8 years old my memory kicks in and I have vivid memories of that day.  It was Thanksgiving and my sister Amanda, gave birth to twins.  Our whole family felt blessed because of the birth of these precious blessings.  Twins, really?  And they were beautiful.  I was head over heals in love with my nieces from that day on.  Not too long after that, my sister had a boy, Ben.  Again, crazy in love.  Then came Jonathan.  He was the youngest and boy was he a character.

I loved them all so much.  Each one of those nieces and nephews were so dear to me.  Since we were close in age, it felt more like they were my younger sisters and brothers, but we didn't live together, so we didn't fight like siblings.  I clearly remember the thought, "I think I'd go crazy if anyone tried to hurt them."

My nephew Jonathan was small when he was born and had trouble gaining weight and I remember night after night praying for him with my dad and Rachel before bed.  I was worried and he was precious.  Jon-Jon, his nick name when he was young, ended up growing just fine and was a healthy and adorable little guy. We spent nearly every Sunday together, because my sister Amanda, her husband Steve and family would come for Sunday dinner and stay until night church.  I loved that.  I remember so many Sundays that little Jon-Jon would still be sitting in his highchair way after every one else was done eating.  He was too busy playing to eat.  He would be sitting there as happy as can be making his spoon talk to his fork.  I loved that about him.

As he grew older, he was still easy going, fun loving and funny.  He made the whole family laugh.  He was 7 when I left for college, so I didn't get to see him as regularly after that, but my love for him never faded.  I married, he became a teenager.  I had a baby, he graduated from high school.  Somewhere in there, he learned to do an amazing impression of my Aunt Jan and her wooden dummy Janny Joy.  He had us all rolling with laughter.  I remember so many good times.  I didn't know how sad he was.

Somewhere after that, addiction set in.  I know he struggled greatly with his health and crohn's disease, but I don't know exactly what led him to alcohol and drugs, maybe he was searching for relief, maybe he felt inadequate, maybe, maybe, maybe.  I just don't know the answer.  I only know that we still loved him.  We wanted what was best for him.  We prayed for him, we begged God for him.

He did recover for a while.  He was doing great in rehab, in recovery.  We were happy for him.  So very happy.  Although he worked hard, it didn't last and before we knew it old habits were returning.

Yesterday, I watched a documentary on Chris Herren, a very talented basketball player for the Boston Celtics.  He was also an addict.  He was addicted to alcohol, heroin, oxycontin...you name it, he did it.  It was a very inspirational story.  He finally overcame his addiction.  He is making amends.  Talking to kids about alcohol and drugs.  Busy being a loving husband and father.  He got so many second chances.   And I'm left wondering, why him?

Don't hear me wrong.  I'm not angry.  And not for one second do I wish this man any harm.  I'm so glad his story didn't end like my nephew's.  But still, it's such a mystery.  So many things could have been different about my nephew's story.  But God let him die.  Why?  I don't have the answer and I'm okay with that.  I trust that my nephew is with Jesus and not struggling anymore.  And I have no theology to back this up, and it really is just my opinion, don't take it for anything more than that, but I believe that if there would have been any healing here on this earth for Jon, God wouldn't have taken him home so soon.  God is not surprised by his tragic death.  His days were numbered before Jon took one single breath, as are mine and yours.

But here we are.  We're left with broken hearts.  We have to keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other.  If I had known Christmas would be the last time I saw him, I'm sure I would have done some things differently.

I don't even know where I'm going with this blog post.  It feels like a bunch of mashed up thoughts, but today marks 6 months since I received that terrible call telling me he was dead.  I guess I just want to say that he mattered.  He mattered to me, and to so many other people.  We loved him.  We still love him.  Tears still fall.  We remember him.  I remember him.

Life cannot always be rolled up into a neat little thought.  Life is messy and it hurts.  My nephew is gone and he's not coming back.

I would so appreciate your prayers for my sister Amanda, her husband, Steve, my nieces Tiffany and Tabitha and my nephew Ben.  How do you recover from something like this?  Well, there's only one answer and His name is Jesus.  There is no other way.  Jesus, we need you.  Minister to us here and now.  We love you and we know you love us.

Thankful

If you read my last blog post, you already know that I am reading this book by Ann Voskamp called One Thousand Gifts.  It is messing with me.  I mean seriously messing with me.  Getting under my skin, deep under my skin.  It is changing the way I think and breathe and live.  I have read it through twice and I'm on my third time now.  I cannot recommend it highly enough.  I am also keeping a gratitude journal.  Not one of those thankful to the universe ones that Oprah made popular years ago, but a thankful to God for every last breath kind of one.  To God.  The Great I Am.  And yes, for every last breath.

A couple Sundays ago I was having my quiet time in the bathtub early in the morning, like I usually do.  My devotional had me in Psalm 139 and I read:

Oh yes, you shaped me first inside, then out;
      you formed me in my mother's womb.
   I thank you, High God—you're breathtaking!
      Body and soul, I am marvelously made!
      I worship in adoration—what a creation!
   You know me inside and out,
      you know every bone in my body;
   You know exactly how I was made, bit by bit,
      how I was sculpted from nothing into something.
   Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;
      all the stages of my life were spread out before you,
   The days of my life all prepared
      before I'd even lived one day.

This passage was dear to me when I was pregnant with my little ones, but my youngest is almost five and unless God steps in and does a miracle, there's no more babies for the Joneses.  My immediate response was negative.  I thought, "Whoop-tee do.  I've read this a hundred times and it means nothing to me.  David certainly thought a lot of himself."

Did you hear the ingratitude?  It runs deep.  Deep.  Immediately, I felt conviction.  God didn't even have to say what I knew He was thinking.  I have never, not once, been grateful that He made me.  Most of my life I have lamented the fact that I was on this earth.  I have cursed the day I was born and wanted to die too many times to count, and although those instances are happening less and less, I was just there again last week.     

The thing that I find fascinating about God is that he's never done.  One of the interpretations of "I Am" is "The Ever Is-ing One" meaning always at work.  Always working out something good.  Always bringing about redemption.  In my humanness, I think that it's enough that I just don't hate myself.  But in God's God-ness, that's not enough.  He wants me to celebrate the day I was born, to rejoice, to be grateful for every last breath. 

On my own, I simply cannot do it.  I need God to do it.  On my own, I beg God to change me.  I ask Him why I am the way I am.  It's never enough for me.  I always want something else, something better, something different.  With God, I can simply enjoy the life He's given and stop begging for something I'm not. 

So today, I'm asking God for something else.  I'm asking Him to help me to be thankful for me, for life.  This body that I believe is so terribly flawed has carried and birthed three amazing human beings, has been a comfort to my husband through deep sorrow and times of joy.   My arthritic hands have prepared many loving notes, handmade cards, sewed many a project, cooked too many meals and treats to count, washed tons of dishes, have been folded in prayer and raised in worship.  My arms have comforted many.  I've been told I give a darn good hug.  My lap has held and comforted many precious children, most importantly my own dear ones.  My eyes have cried many tears of hurt, sorrow, shame, remorse, repentance, compassion, worship and love.  I've spent many hours on my knees in prayer for family, friends, loved ones, and believe it or not, even a couple enemies.  Although my lips have spoken too many things they shouldn't have, they've also spoken words of encouragement and love and wisdom.  My back has helped to carry many of my friend's and loved one's burdens.  My feet have paced back and forth with fussy babies.  My mind has prepared many lessons to teach a Sunday School class that I love.  And my heart has loved way too many people to even count. 

Maybe, just maybe God does know better than I do.  Maybe He created me on purpose.  Maybe He knew what He was doing.  And maybe I can be thankful for the day I was born.