The Sacred Song Of Spring

The fragrance of Spring.  It comes rushing in, with a healing hope.  On the wings of renewal, life is springing forth all around us.  Song, is in the air.  And, I think many of us, after a lingering longing for winter, to finally exit its bitter, blustering winds, we find our heart ready to be wrapped in the serenity of spring.  

Until that spring brings with it, a bludgeoning -

of a Mother’s life.  

Each year, it’s the doorway of Spring, that ushers in, the sacred reminder,

she’s gone.

And with that loss, much of herself is obliterated, as well.    And so it is, with great longing, we yearn- to remember.  We yearn to remember, the sacred.  And with each passing year, we realize just how much harder it becomes, to hear.  To see.  To feel.  

But-

the sacred
refuses
to be bludgeoned.

It’s a bit of that sacred, I would like to share with you.

Eyes.  Her eyes.  They were of the summer’s blue sky.  They held all of what the sky can hold...forever.  A sense of the eternal, shone forth, in her.  And her eyes, gave that gift, of the eternal, with every gentle word spoken, from her lips.  

Hands.  Her hands.  They held our little life within them, as she turned the pages of her life, within the reading of the Bible, so many days of our lives.  Her hands held our tiny little fingers as she guided us through the crossing of many perils, found within, those deeply treasured stories.

Her hands filled our home, with the comforting, and soothing smells of freshly kneaded caramel rolls, Mexican dinner, spaghetti, freshly canned vegetables, freshly picked blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries.  Her hands, forged a tapestry of needlework, that would find itself to be one of the sacred places where her little girls stories, would be heard.  And, those tapestries would become, sacred threads of time, holding a timelessness to them, like nothing else could.

It was through her hands, we learned how to pray, learned how to treasure the scriptures so specifically selected, leading anyone who she might have talked with into the very knowledge of knowing Jesus Christ, personally.  And it would be her hands, that tucked us in every night.

Perhaps, the most sacred of moment, come in a note that she penned to us, on Valentine’s Day, 2 months before her being bludgeoned, where she confessed her wrong to us, as a parent, her sadness of expecting too much of us, and her longing to pray so much more together as a family, than we were at the time.  

Ears.  Her ears became the very place, from which her prayers each night, ascended into the very throne room of heaven.  Listening each day, for the sacred to fall, from our four year old lips, our five year old tears, and our forever longing to strive for more.  She heard as well, the unspoken words.  The unspoken tears.  Those things that only little girls body language could communicate...  Somehow, she heard it all.  And somehow, she knew exactly what to do, with it all.  She not only listened to our voices, and all sorts of mannerisms, but she heard the voice of God.  And, she not only heard, but she listened.  
She responded, with courageous and confident character.  A quiet love, that seemed to move mountains, on our behalf.  Mountains, that she somehow knew, would not be moved for years later.  With those ears, she heard... the sacred silence where prayers for their children, solicit the realm of the Heavenlies, doing warfare beyond what she could see, in the here and now.

Voice.  Her voice. Took all she heard, into that place once again, where only the sacred things live.  It was her voice that taught me, how to know, Jesus.  How to receive His love, for me.  How to have, not just as a child, but for the rest of my life, “Little Visits With God”.  And not just on Easter, but everyday.  Through her words, I understood and learned what not only “doing to others” looked like, but what “saying to others” looked like.  How to use my words, in season and out, like salt, to bring the most of what I have to offer, to others.

Nurturing.  She had a gift in this.  And somehow, that gift was transferred on to us so much so, that now that we have children, people are amazed by all we have endured, that such a gift at all, remains.  She cared for our souls, like that of warm autumn rains, that come and water the earth, just before the death of winter.  She cared for our hearts like that of the scent of spring lilacs, moving to and fro, blessing every recipient it touches with the joy of memory, and the hope of tomorrow, and the kiss of the moment that everything will be, alright.  Even when the storms of spring, come.  

And, I have had the treasured privilege to know, that some of her last words, were this:  

“Do not worry for me.  For the Father has been doing amazing things, in me.  I know who I am, and I am His.”

And her life,...

was gone.

I must confess, that as I have written all I have, giving you a chance to peer into the sacred, her life was bludgeoned at the most pivotal time of our life, as daughters.  As women.  With the perils of moving from little girls, into beautiful young women, and the perils this bring, we became adult women, much too soon.  And, because of that, we have lived with a gaping hole- 


of feeling orphaned.

On every level.  

There is nothing that can ever replace the grave depth of loss, we endure.  We feel as though in great part, we are standing behind the movie camera of life, sharing that which we see and remember from afar.  However, we see and remember closely, her leading us, holding us, and bringing us, to our Savior, Jesus Christ.  And even though, we have endured a bludgeoning of much, within us, that this writing is not the place for...  and even though we have, lived knowing more, than many do, about the fuller story,  we have lived it in such a way...  that her legacy, has not been bludgeoned.  

It is from this place her legacy, the fragrant hope of Spring, rushes in.  It is from this place, healing has been flowing.  It is from this place, that life has sprung forth.  And, it is from this place, where when the bitter winters and the blustering winds, blow through,  we find the real story.  It is where the miraculous of who we have become, is sacredly mingled with who she was.  Where the realm of the not yet, breaks- into the here and now.  

And it is from this place, that the serenity of spring, sings, it’s sacred song.  

A Boy, His Weapons, and His Battle

“Mommy, please may I watch Bible Stories, please, please, please Mommy!!!“ he asks with deep yearning.  “Ok Seth. Which story would you like to watch?“  I ask, knowing the echo of his words to come.  “David and Goliath, Mommy!“ he replies jumping up and down.

I set the video to play.  Eagerly, he hops himself onto our plum colored loveseat.  His precious little hands, hold themselves anxiously beneath his thighs.   His gaze, is fixed on the T.V. screen.  His entire being, has been transported to a lush green pasture full with sheep.


Where a young boy is worshiping God.


He is about to face the biggest battle of his life.  


All within the walls and windows of our living room.    


Soon though, I hear him say, “Pause it Mommy, pause it please”, while the pattering of his feet scurry quickly down the hallway.  “Where is it Mommy, where is it, I can’t find it Mommy”, he begins to ask in urgency even a four year old shouldn’t be able to yet ask in.  ‘What honey, where is what?“  I reply knowing full well what he is looking for.  “My David costume, Mommy, my David costume silly girl!“  he reply’s with the kind of disbelief that only a grown up should have.  “Oh, sure honey, let me come and get that for you,“  I reply, walking down to his bedroom.  


Finding the box his costume is in, he begins to pull out the oversized, pale brown T-shirt, which hangs down well past his knees, asking for help as he try’s to put in on himself.  “Let me do it!” he states earnestly, trying to learn how to tie his satin green belt around his waist.  As he dances in rhythmic back and forth motions, he practices his twirling of his sling.  “Did you know that Goliath is really tall and strong, Mommy?” he asks, as I’m draping the Indian brown frayed strap that crosses diagonal down his shoulder to his waist.  “Yes, he is very strong isn’t he, I reply while hanging his bag of rocks at his side.  While excitedly pulling away from me towards the door, I say,  “Don’t forget your headband and sandals, honey!”  “Oh, yah, that‘s right, Mommy!“  He replies in a gingerly giggle.  


As we prepare for battle, I sense the urgency for his role in this story.   


After strapping the straps of his sandals, urgently he takes off running, getting but half way down the hall, when he then comes racing back to the room.  Reaching over his spy basket  which sets on the closet floor,  he reaches to get his duct tape covered cardboard sword, shield, and spear, along with his “real” play sword he got for Christmas.    


We are now, ready for battle.


As my little David runs back down the hall, I follow and take the VCR off of pause.  He stands in front of the T.V. as the story continues.  


And he stands, prepared.


Prepared  for that moment, to protect the lambs.


Prepared for that moment, to protect his people.


Prepared for that moment, where the battle belongs to the Lord.   


Soon I hear him moving about, swinging and slinging his swords.  The scene where the lion attacks David’s lamb reveals his first victory.  And then, we learn about his victory over the bear.  
Soon after that, we learn of the battle looming high upon the horizon.  A battle of which he will not be allowed to fight in.


But, David does not let what others say, keep him from the courage and call that courses through his heart.  


He believes, that God, is with him.


Though just a slingshot and some rocks in hand, from where I am sitting, the music reveals the story‘s increasing stakes where a small young boy is about to face a Giant even the best of men, the most experienced of men, would not dare to fight.  A fight anyone David’s age, could not win.  


But, David, saw this battle differently.


He saw it, as already won.
  
“Ha ha ha…who will fight me?!” I hear Seth say, in the meanest four year old voice he can muster. 


“I will” he transitions into David and his tiny 4 yr. old  voice.  


“You; you are just a boy!  Do you think I’m a dog, that you come to me, with sticks and stones.” I hear him gravel and grovel, imitating Goliath. 


 I ever so slightly turn my head so as to see him…but I catch his watching glance as he says, “M-O-M” in a slow and frustrated please stop watching me kind of way.  And so I go back to typing on the computer, pretending to be fully engaged in my very important don’t interrupt me kind of business.


“You come to me with a spear and a shield, but I come to you in the name of the Lord”.  he says with the kind of  conviction, even I hope to have, while facing my battles.


He moves to the left.  Then he ducks his head down moving to the right, throwing his spear.  Legs apart, face held fast with determined fervor, he twirls his slingshot with precision and skill.   


Then, the rock soars through the air-


‘THUD”!


He falls down, like Goliath. 


Then, he gets up, picks up his sword, and says, “I will cut your head off”.  


The climactic drama has come to an end, and it’s on with "Act Three", where he sits out the rest of the story on our plum sofa, asking, “Snack please, Mommy?”


Seth loves to pretend he is in a battle, right now.  And he likes to dress up in his armor.  He loves his shield, swords, spear’s and knives.  All of which Mommy and Daddy made for him out of duct tape and cardboard.  He loves the feeling of swinging them back and forth, grunting with loud noises as to say, “Look how strong I am!“.   He sees every stick, as a potential sword, for the next big battle.  He loves to play with his spy robots, bugs, and dinosaurs all within a battle, duke-ing it out between the herbivores and the carnivore’s, the insects and the arachnids. To be David one moment, and Goliath the next. He loves acting out the bible story’s.  


I have been feeling a bit of ‘Mommy worry’ as he continues to enjoy these battles, wondering why it has to always be a ‘fighting” game.  He’s loved story and acting since he was young enough to use sign language for the word, “story”, at 6 months old.  And of course, he is forever wanting to tell a new story, about everything and anything.    


As I have been musing upon his passion for ‘fighting’ with all his “weapons”,  I’m reminded of my own fight, daily.  It doesn’t look the same in the natural realm, but isn’t’ it, really?


Don’t we have many different ways we fight, using weapons such as our words.  Our looks.  Our tones.  Our attitudes.  Our silence.  Our anger.  Our body language.  Isn’t there a quote, “your body says a thousand words?”  


Or maybe it’s what we don’t do, and do instead.  Maybe it’s what we don’t say and say, instead.  Maybe it’s what we don't pray, and pray instead.  What we don't give, and do instead.  


But, do we recognize these things, as weapons?


The kind that, are fighting against and apart, from God?  


What did David say;


“you come to me with a sword, with a shield, and with a spear,  but I come to you in the name of the Lord.  For the battle belongs to the Lord.” (1 Samuel 17:45)


How do we battle?  Do we battle, in the name of the Lord?


Or do we battle in the name, of “what about me?”  


And in doing so, loose a part of ourselves, and take a part of others, in the process, never meant to be lost or taken?


I was considering what David took, with him into his battle, when it occurred to me, to consider- what David was doing before he entered, the battle.  


He was worshipping.


He was playing his harp, for a king.


It pleased the king.


He was protecting, his lambs.


And when it came time for a battle to be fought, he hurried to the frontlines with fervor.


He fought, with faith in a God, that won battles for him in the past.  Battles that no one believed, he’d really fought.  


Seth…believes he will win.  Every time.  Seth, believes in a King, who wins battles.  He believes in a God who is with him, everywhere he goes.  Seth worships, God.  The same God, David worshiped.  Seth loves to battle.  He loves to fight.  He loves to swing his sword, stick, spear, all in the name of, fun play.  


And, in the name of our Lord.  But, mostly in the name of lots of fun.  


I remind him all the time, asking, “who’s side are we on, sweetheart?“  “God’s Mommy!“  “That’s right, honey, God’s side!“, I reply with confident conviction.  But, one day… 


he will have to wield those weapons, in ways that may not be, so fun. 


And, when it matters more than ever, he will have to choose a side to be on.  


He will have to decide, what weapons he'll use.


What battles he will fight.


Will he take fun?  


Or, will he carry with him, what Paul tells us, in Ephesians 6:10-18.


“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devils schemes…..Therefore, put on the full armor of God so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand…..


With the belt of truth buckled around your waist.


The breastplate of righteousness in place.


Your feet fitted with the readiness that comes with the gospel of peace.


The shield of faith-  of which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.


The helmet of salvation.


The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.




This is the armor, I can only pray he will wear, all the days- of his life.   


 This is the armor that won, David’s battles.  


This is the armor, that will win ours.


This is a choice, I cannot make for Seth.  But, I can pray he will. And, I pray that I will help him learn, how to put it on.


So, that one day, when ultimately he learns the battle is for his very life, he will reach inside the truth of God's word, and have hidden within his heart, five smooth stones, like David did.




Knowing for certain, the battle truly does, belong to the Lord.




Dear King and Warrior,


There are many young boys and girls, who have battles before them.  Some, are in fun.  Others, are for their very life.  And those battles are right within, the very walls and windows of their own living room.  Many of these battles, are urgently awaiting rescue.  Thank you dear King and Warrior, for fighting their battles for them, even if unseen.  Lead them, in their loneliness.  Let them not be forgotten.  Let them not, get away from, Your ever enveloping hand.


Others, are urgently longing for role to play.  They are ready for battle.  They are on, the frontlines of a very dark, dark war.  Shed Your light, upon that path of which they trod the territory of the evil one.  Hide them from their foe, and lead them into the everlasting paths of Your redemptive plan.  


Keep them Father, prepared for the battle that will most definitely ensue, sooner than they know.  Help them …as they protect the little lambs surrounding them.  Help them, see those lambs, who need them.  


Others, Lord, are struggling to believe You are with them.  Courage does not course through their heart, but they long for it to.  Help them to see You, where you seem, unseen.   Help them to see it, as already won.


And Father, please, help our son, Seth, not to listen to what other's say, but rather continue on with even greater courage, and more certain a call upon his life while he's young, coursing through his heart, that he might when he's old, still believe, the battle belongs to You.


Father, I too, have been midst many battles.  I’m facing one right now.  I don’t always face them, with the courage, faith and heart that David did.  I don’t always, worship, as quickly as David did, either.  


But, I know, that I cannot face any battle, without worship.  Without, You.  


And even in my quivering, and my tremendously quenched, with pain, heart…help me to somehow believe, … know,


 it pleases You.  


My worship, pleases You!


For it is in this place, that I will be putting my armor on.   


It is in this place, the unseen  battle that hovers all around, is fought with it’s mightiest of victory’s. 


It is in this place, I must learn to fight, live out the fight, and love through the fight…


For it is ever before me.


Teach me Lord and King, how to battle, …


on my knees. 


On my face.  


So, that,….when I come face to face with the lies, of the enemy…


he will see my sling of prayer, and tire…

He will see my five stones, and tremble. 


He will see once again, that the battle


Belongs not to him, 


But to a King…


Who has already won.

The Sixth Word

Some dear friends did a most beautiful tapestry of an ancient Good Friday service called the, Tenebrae.  If you would like to see more of what they did for this Holy Week, please visit; Soulbreather.com and click on "The Meeting Place".

Below is what I wrote, after viewing this gripping video.  I hope you are blessed.






Through the passage of time, one will have the sacred- 

stare him in the face. 

One will have the sense that something profoundly powerful, 

is being offered. 

One will have, a choice. 

This moment, today...left me with my heart and spirit, 

quenched- 

by the sacredness of his sorrow, suffering, and surrender. 

A stillness- 

before my most Holy King.

Witnessing the Sacred...

"Come on Seth, we're running late, it's time to get going". I told him as I began heading out the door with my coffee cup in hand.  "Ok Mommy" he echoed back to me.


It was a mildly melancholy day for our mid-morning drive to our friends home.  Gentle sprinkles of rain fell lightly upon our windows.  Seth chose to listen to worship on the radio today. The gray overcast subtlety invited us to relax a bit, as we patiently drove with anticipation to a time of play with our friend.  Though not too long of a drive there, it was enough time to hear a few songs on the radio and catch our breath from a hurried moment getting out the door.  


"Mommy, are these angels singing?" Seth inquisitively asks as his voice ever so slightly raises in tone.  "No honey. Does it sound like angels?" I ask in return.  "Ya, it does Mommy" he replies with a drawn out childlike conviction.  

The song playing has a very melancholy melody.  Like a slow dance of rain, dripping down delicately on the windows of our heart, the piano begins to play.  


Here are some of the Lyrics to the song, "Blessings" By Laura Story; the song that begins to play.


"We pray for blessings.
We pray for peace.  
Comfort for family, protection while we sleep. 
We pray for healing...


What if your blessings come through raindrops. 
What if your healing comes through tears.
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know your near.
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise."


As this song played, I looked back at Seth.  This is what I saw:  


His hands held to his chest, folded. His eyes gently closed.
His lips moving, in silence.


As I watched him, I was immediately enveloped by the presence of Heaven around me.  I knew that there was something sacred, surrounding us both.  Sifting the soil of my heart where worry and fear, hide...the Holy Spirit opened up to me a picture of what He is doing in our son.  Watering His heart with more of Himself, in a moment where the very rains of Heaven flowed down.  Laced around those tiny little lips was a prayer only he will know- this side of heaven. Perhaps that prayer was moving mountains, I had no idea he even knew how to ask-
    be moved.  

Perhaps he was unwrapping in the spiritual realm, things only unwrapped- through the mouth of babes.  To even ask what he was praying, felt invasive.  The gift of that moment, was enough. One to be kept between him and his Heavenly Father.  


There is a sweetness and innocence in children, however when they have their eyes closed, in prayer...it's indescribable the feeling it brings a parent.  A gift that is priceless.  Especially when you sense something profoundly intimate in such a sacred moment, has invited you in to witness.  

I saw something in his face in this moment of prayer that he had...


Pure peace...pure faith...pure abandon. The kind that only the  Spirit of Jesus, can give a child.  


As the lids of his eyes were closed, I couldn't help but ask, do I look like that when I pray?  Do I go with the same depth of conviction and transparency, such as that of a child?


It was shortly after his little lips stopped, he then lifted his hands in worship. I immediately was taken into the realm of the presence of the Heavenly's where the angels; really do sing.  And suddenly, just as the raindrops were falling on our window, this mild melancholy morning, they began to fall from my eyes. 


Falling from places within where- longings lye patiently for healing.  

Where tears of joy rise- in the privilege of seeing your son, respond so resoundingly to the revelation of His presence.  


This was a blessing through raindrops.


A bit of healing, through the tears.


I am sure, I will silently see more sleepless nights yet to come.
I am sure, it will take such nights for me to know once again...
He is near.


And, I am sure it will take many trials more- for me to know that these trials truly are


some of your most tenderest of mercies...


in disguise.






Dear Savior,


Thank you for the many voices You've gifted, that sound like...angels to our ears.  


Thank you for the way you find us, a midst many melancholy mornings- so as to bring us into the healing rains- of Your presence.


Thank you that our son, knows the voice of angels in his heart...


the voice of Your Spirit enough...
to raise his hands in prayer. 
In praise.
In worship.  
Even at four years old.


Thank you that you allowed this window in our morning...to open in such a way...that it became a window- into the days of our lives, yet to come.


Help me Father-


 to remember...


there really are blessings in the raindrops.


Your healing can, will and does, 
come through the tears.


That in the sleepless nights, still yet to come...
you have not changed.  That you are the same yesterday, today and forever.  


That you are...


always near.


And though the trials of life...tragically travail upon the terrain of our hearts, 


help me remember that your mercy trod's upon them trials more powerfully than the trials themselves. 


And that in those truths...your mercy will come-
 even if disguised...in the rains of such pain.

Lament for hope to an orphan

 Silence


steady's my sad face.


Sorrow's rest my gaze
merely to sit still 
long enough ...have I






looked on; past many
moving motionless
faces I muse 
over, 
the cold chill.

Do they know, winter...
-will kill...the surface






of time; where all looks 
lost, yet who can say 
when spring will come forth?








After such lonely 
nights leave- the desert
 


















rose up, desolate 
dry lands- alive once 
more,
 I asked silently
in a whispered prayer.

I'm glad you're with me....

In the movie, "The Fellowship Of The Ring" we see Frodo determined to sojourn the quest to Mordor to destroy the Ring alone.  He is at the edge of the shore as he pushes a boat into the river, jumping in.  Just then, Sam running from out of the woods, sees Frodo paddling away while running towards him.  Listen to what happens:

Sam: Frodo, no!  Mr. Frodo!

Frodo (quietly): No, Sam (and continues to paddle away)
Sam runs into the river after Frodo.  Frodo, hearing the splashing, looks back at Sam.

Frodo:  Go back, Sam!  I'm going to Mordor alone.

Sam: Of course you are, and I'm coming with you!

Frodo: You can't swim! Sam!

Sam struggles to swim then sinks down into the water.

Frodo: Sam!!!

Sam continues sinking deeper.  He sees the sun shimmering at the surface while his arm floats descending into the water.  Suddenly Frodo reaches his hand down to grab Sam's wrist.  Tightening his grip, Sam holds on to Frodo.  Frodo pulls him up out of the water as Sam plunges into the boat.

Sam (dripping wet): I made a promise, Mr. Frodo.  A promise!  "Don't you leave him Samwise Gamgee."  And I don't mean to!  I don't mean to.

Frodo: Oh, Sam! (they hug) Come on.

Frodo and Sam paddle towards the eastern shore.

Frodo and Sam are standing on a high hill beside a reflecting pool of water.  The dark sky in the horizon is before them, while light illuminates beneath it.

Frodo: Mordor.  I hope the others find a safer route.

Sam: Strider will look after them.

Frodo: I don't suppose we'll ever see them again.

Sam:  We may yet, Mr. Frodo.  We may.

Frodo (turns, smiling) : Sam, I'm glad you're with me.

Frodo walks onward.  Sam stands for a moment, and then follows.  And they head down into the rocky plates of mist beneath the illuminated mountains ahead, in hopes to fulfill their call.  

It was a brutally cold night.  -22 in the Shire of the Northwoods of Wisconsin.  I was handed a ring of power that I had never expected to hold.  I was handed a truth, I never dreamed I would see.  In a very real way, it held me.  For 22 yrs. it held me.  But, not the same way it did now.  Now, there were different questions.  Different choices.  And with them choices, different outcomes to consider.  Each of us in this life, if lived long enough, will be given such a ring to hold.  And, we will be given a choice of how it is we will carry it.  To where we will carry and how we will carry, such a weight for which it will surely be.  


I stood, as Frodo did, asking myself, why?  Why did such a ring come to me?  Wishing none of it had ever happened.  But, as I was learning it was not for me to decide what happened to me, I was learning it was up to me to decide what to do with that time, given me.  And like Frodo, I needed to decide whether I would get into the deep, on a boat that felt not nearly strong or big enough to carry the weight of this ring.  But, a boat that would have to carry me to the next shoreline of decision.  Facing that shoreline itself...carried a weight I had not expected to lift.  But, in that -22 degree night, a brutal truth was cracked open for me, just as the snow cold sound of each step in that moment crunched beneath my feet, as I entered the room from which this ring presented itself.


The news came to me, on Christmas.  Not in a manger.  But in a coffin of information, that death attempted to conceal for 22years; and could not.  My sister carried the ring of this truth for a couple months, before revealing it to me that brutally cold night.  She, was like Sam to me.  At times, I would be like Sam, to her. But I had to choose that, just as Sam had to choose to be with Frodo.  For we were both like Frodo and Sam, at the same time, at one time or another.  We both carried the weight of the ring we were given.  In some ways, the same.  Yet in other ways, tragically different.  We however, had to decide...what to do with this time given to us.


We both at times felt...we were going it alone.  While at the same time, we were both saying, 'You can't swim'.  See, 22 yrs. ago, we learned to swim through currents that well, cast us into the deep of defense.  The defense for innocence.  We learned how to stay close, in the deep end of life and death.  We learned how to hold each other up, in the currents of crashing circumstances.  We learned how to survive what otherwise was meant to sever. We learned how to conceal, all the while believing we were transparently telling the truth.  We learned how to keep our stories concise, while creating alibis, we had no idea we were creating.  We learned much, well.  We had no idea until now, what we learned.


But neither of us had ever swam such unwieldy waters. Currents cascading us into chasms and crevices, created by an evil, that walked in our very home itself.  We were not given that, before.  OR were we? 


For the first time, the truth of what we didn't know, revealed itself in a ring so big...we were no longer able to just travail tragedy with the defense of the innocent.  For we would now have to betray the very man for which we fought for, as innocent.  For his guilt was now, the very ring in which we carried.  And it was that ring, that truth, we needed to bring to Mordor.  We needed to decide, were we going to allow, the Middle Earth of our home, family and life, continue on in a shire where life was allowed to continue on, after one life was bludgeoned and brutally shattered?  All the while appearing nestled in the noble guise of a mans innocence?


In our heads, the answer was a resounding, NO!  We could not allow this noble guise of innocence go, unanswered.  At the same time, our hearts felt the weight of the ring.  It was getting heavier, as Sam poignantly asks Frodo throughout the movie.  Could we walk; scale the precipice of which we were facing?  The Everest of decision before us?   Emphatically we knew...our choice could be nothing less than embarking fully upon the truth, so that the truth would indeed then, set us free.


And so we did...


There were times, that night, I sunk.  My sister would lovingly, courageously, reach down her hand into the abyss of my reflecting horror, and shine a beam of illuminating truth surrounded by the light of her intense love and loyalty to me.  She was my bullet proof shield, of which I would no longer be for ...him.  She pulled me into the boat that night...as I flangled into it with fear and trembling.  I like Sam, can't swim.  Growing up in the Shire like I did, I should be able.  But, she can.  And that night, she was my Frodo.  There would be nights to come, when I would be hers.  

Then there were them words, "I'm glad you're with me, Sam".  Peering into such perilous portraits of the past that night, holding them up to the darkroom of portraits yet to be developed, we sat.  We sat without sleep.  We sat without answers.  We sat with new answers.  Pictures of the past, present and looming and uncertain future, presented themselves  more clearly than ever.  Yet with more darkness than ever, as well.  We both knew...we were going to a Mordor, we never thought- we'd have to go.  But, it was our choice.  No one else could do it for us.  And as we sat, frigid in our findings...we said to each other,...
"I'm glad you're with me, sis."


Dear Savior whose gone to Mordor,


It was the darkest of nights.  And you, 
were with us.  Thank you!  


Some, my Lord, do not have you 
with them.  They do not know 
who you are even. 
 I pray now for ___________ 
that they might simply say, 
Come in to my life, Jesus.  I'm in need 
of knowing you are with me.  Other's, 
know You, but don't know where 
You are.  You simply are not
 seen 
along the road to their Mordor. 
 Show Yourself to them now.  


Lord...sometimes, I still
 feel, like I'm
    drowning.  
Help me remember to
 keep my hands raised, even 
if 
just 
    floating
      as 
        Sam
         did...


that you might grab hold, 
and pull me up. 


Help me see, when I'm being
 pulled up, 
that it is you pulling 
me.  Help me to see 
the illumination of
 Your love, shining forth upon
 what otherwise seems, 
all said and done.  


I don't always 
understand Lord, why 
some have to go
 to Mordor, and others
 seem to            escape it all together. 


 But, Lord Jesus, 
give me courage to 
choose,
 to carry the ring, 
however heavy
 it may be or become... to that place from whence it must be destroyed. 

 Help me carry it
 to the cross of-
 truth 


-justice


 and redemptive healing. 

 Help me in that
 perilous path, to look 
to my side, and see those
 who you have given me-
 to go the road with me.  
And most of all, 
help me to see
 and know, 
and ultimately be able to say,


"I'm glad you're with me."








(I have traveled far, for only 43yrs. old.  And I want to dedicate this writing, to my sister; Christy.  She has been my companion through many wars.  I want to also dedicate this writing to a few who, had it not been for them, i would not have known, Jesus was with me.  Many times, Jesus shows Himself with me, through those who have traveled with me.  There are a few however I want to mention by name: Steve, Ed, Diana, Brad & Lynette, Mark, Ken, Linda, and all my family.  They...are the sacred souls, of whom God used to sustain me...when I otherwise would have drowned.  Thank you, eternally for your gift.)