Beauty in the Ashes

     Over the past couple weeks, I've been asking myself what Christmas really means to me.  It's my favorite holiday for lots of good reasons, but what does that babe wrapped in swaddling clothes in a smelly manger really mean?      Through the Word, new challenges, wise counsel, and the mighty prayers of righteous people, the Lord has given me freedom I had never known in my entire life.  It started with one weekend at a campground in the fall of last year.  That weekend ended up being the most spiritually demanding event of my life.  God took the sum of all my hurts, fears, failures, and grief, and He gave it purpose.  he also happened to turn my world upside down in the best way.  My mind was beginning to learn how it felt to really know peace.  I wish I could describe what it's like, after almost three decades, to have a still mind for the first time.  To pray and worship and hear birds sing without racing, nev...

Upon re-entering physical therapy, I am always asked to fill out a form.  One of the questions I answered last week: In the last year, have you lost a loved one, had a major job change, or become pregnant? Why yes!  It's like they know me.  Honestly, with as much time as I've spent in physical therapy, they should know me.  I digress. That standard question on the standard form has me thinking tonight as those events seem inextricably bound together in my mind.  Matt and I have had four major losses in three years.  We carry that grief right alongside the joy of this new life. Tonight, as I find myself face to face once again with my shortcomings, clinging desperately to Romans 8:1, there are other voices I'm trying to hear.  What would my Grammy say?  Would she be telling me not to give this another thought?  To focus on this sweet baby?  Would Papaw be here saying not to worry because he'd worry enough for the both of us?  Jus...

There is a reason I love this picture.  It was taken in  New Smyrna Beach, Florida in 1991. I was all of four years old. My father was teaching me a lesson tht has echoed throughout the rest of my life. I remember vividly the way he coaxed me out into the Atlantic, not content to let my worries keep me by the shore. There were forward steps I took myself; there were steps I was carried. Every time a wave came, my daddy would grab me by the hands and lift me straight up and over it, with my legs kicking the entire time, terrified he wouldn't lift me quite high enough to clear the water. Already plagued by a mind perpetually asking, What if? Every wave, every time...me flailing, my daddy saying, Lauren, I won't let you go under.   When I got too scared, he would have to pick me up and just hold me while the waves broke at his knees.  I don't think the story of Jesus calling Peter to walk on water was yet etched into my mind, but this memory will stay foreve...

I am overwhelmed, grieving, anxious, forgetful, exhausted, and feeling like I'm coming down with something.  I am facing a loss I can't begin to understand.  I'm walking through it, but I'm not getting anywhere.  It is on my mind every minute of every day, yet it still doesn't seem to ring true.  It can't really be true.  She can't really be gone, not like that.  Not in this tragic, ugly way with no warning.  Not when she was vivacious and healthy.  Not when she was the glue that held our family together.  Not before I had a child for her to hold.  Not before she knitted the most exquisite baby blanket ever made.  Not before our next Broadway date. Not before our next double date.  Not before the next hand of cards.  Black words on a white screen usually have a very powerful effect on me.  Writing something down makes it real to me.  But I have lost one of my best friends, and it still doesn't always feel real. ...

     You told me time really would heal.  Less than six months before you were gone.  The words were for Matt, but I hear them in my mind all the time.  You knew grief...the ins and outs of it...how to minister to people in the midst of it.  It's been a year and a half since I kissed you goodbye for the last time this side of Heaven.  Sometimes the grief is just the dull ache Matt taught me about that night on the balcony.  Sometimes it's easy to tell stories about you and share memories and laugh.  And sometimes, the smell of McDonald's coffee makes me weep because I miss you so much.  I can close my eyes, and see you in the driver's seat, picking up coffee for you and cinnamon rolls for me.  Sometimes my pots and pans bring me to tears, because they are the pots and pans you decided I needed to have.  When I remember not to turn the heat too high because they are so classy they work well at lower temperatures, I think ab...