Light Shines Through the Darkness

The last few weeks in Kooskia, Idaho, have been dreary. When winter rolls in, so does the darkness.

Living in the valley spurs Josh and I to cherish our quickly fading sunlight.

This morning, we woke up to phone calls, we dressed quickly, then headed out the door.

On the way up the mountain, I noticed today was not a dreary day. It was chilly, so fog was rolling through the hills, but as we continued to drive up, sun beams burst through the fog. The light was present, and the light was warm.

We have a couple in our church. He's 70ish, but you'd never know, and she's somewhere close in age, but even harder to guess.

They're fit- they're active. They travel everywhere. They love people and animals and even put on a church camp for disabled adults and kids. The community has embraced them for nearly thirty years, and our small church has embraced them, too, so the heart strings are rooted deep.

Josh and I are still reeling in shock.

Last night, Beth went to pick apples. The apple season is coming to an end, and Beth hates waste. She talks about the land as a blessing, and being good stewards of the land means using what is provided, not wasting.

Phil wasn't home yet, so Beth loaded up on the new four-wheeler Phil got her for her birthday, rallied up their nine adopted dogs, and made her way to the off-road apple orchard on their property.

It was nearly dark when Phil made his way home. Winter calls darkness in early. He said something just wasn't quite right- some of the dogs were home, but a few weren't, and neither was the four-wheeler.

With tears in his eyes this morning, Phil, still in yesterday's boots and chaps, said "I expected to find her stuck. Not dead."

Beth had gathered five bags of apples, and was on her way home, when somehow, the rig flipped on top of her. And that's how Phil finally found her. He'd searched all over their property, gone to every pond, when one of those three dogs came to him, and then led Phil back to his wife.

Phil said, "Some people are married for years and get tired of each other. We never did."

Saturday, Phil is asking for close friends to come up to the ranch to juice Beth's apples. He said, "If I let Beth's apples rot, she's gonna yell at me in the afterlife! She'll say, 'You wasted my apples!'" I can't think of a better way to hold memorial for this dear woman- it's so Beth.

Darkness may last for a while, and sometimes it seems as though it will never clear, but light bursts through the dreary fog, and brings warmth, and life, and hope.

Church will start in a few hours, and our small body of 25 will tearfully listen as Josh brings a message from the beatitudes.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

God knew even before we did.

Though the darkness may last for the night, joy comes in the morning, and that joy is Jesus, because separation is only momentary.

And Beth wins.

Some Titles Will Forever Be Inferior

The Casting Crowns song "Praise You in This Storm" has been on my heart all week. It has been a song that's been resonating, because for the first time, it's personal.

Josh and I were just to the point of telling family and friends that we were pregnant. We were both so excited. For a brief moment, life seemed so perfect.

But Tuesday morning, I woke up, and didn't feel well. I called in sick, and as the day progressed, thought it might me wise to go to the doctor.

We lost the baby.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

This has been a week of pain- mental, physical, and emotional pain.

If my heart forgets momentarily of the loss, my body reminds me.

I've been yelling at God.

We already lost one baby- I thought surely he was promising this one to us. We would have loved it fiercely. Why is it that women who mistreat their bodies and their babies seem to have child after child, unwanted and unloved? But we can't seem to have one.

One baby.

Just one.

"I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried,
You hold in Your hands
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn,
I'll praise you in this storm"

Northwest Women's Retreat was this last weekend, and our speaker talked about moments like these. She used the illustration of the harvest- the fields specifically. She said sometimes, our lives, the soil, are like clay. The soil is hard and dry, and God has to reach down and break us apart. It's painful. The soil resists, and it hurts. But then God plants seeds. When it is time to water, he takes our tears, and waters those seeds, and the harvest is plentiful. New life- new growth. Hope.

No tears go to waste. And right now, mine are plentiful.

In my moments of rational thought, I know this. But in the moments of my greatest hurt and inability to wrap my head around understanding, I just don't get it.

And then the song comes back to mind.

"I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say 'Amen', and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
'I'm with you'
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away."

God hurts, too. God cries, too. God sees. And he's still with Josh and I. I can't just praise God when life is good. He is worthy of my praise all the time.

God tills, and cultivates. He plants and tends. And then he reaps. And the harvest is plentiful.

I cry out, wondering why God didn't save the baby, but then I see that God did. Because the baby is with him.

My heart aches- and I know Josh's does, too.

But one day, there will be reunion, with our Maker, and two babies.

And that is something to look forward to.

Until then, our tears will be caught in the Maker's hands. The field may be dry now, but moisture is coming, and with that a healthy harvest.

Lord, I don't understand your plan, but I know that it is perfect. I know I do not weep alone, but also that I do not weep in vain. No pain is wasted, nor are my tears. Be the parent Josh and I cannot be. Love our baby.

I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker, of heaven and earth. I am in desperate need of your help to stand, Father.

You are the deliverer, the comforter, the healer, and the lover. Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning. And I cling to that promise, sweet Jesus.

Further Insight...

I love teaching...so very much...but some classes are more behaved than others. I think back to what my mentor teacher said during student teaching..."Find one thing to love in every student."

That can be so hard!

My last hour class this year is for language remediation. If you take the one or two kids from every class who are trouble makers, then throw them all into one class at the end of the day, what would you anticipate to be the outcome?

Now multiply that by 1,000.

I've been weary...I've been frustrated...I've even been angry.

Last Friday was quite possibly the worst day, classroom management wise, of my entire teaching experience. It was ugly.

This week, the class structure has been completely changed, and the students have been slightly beaten into submission.

But here's where my heart is in turmoil.

The students were asked to anonymously write three reasons they were misbehaving in the class, or three things about the class that frustrated them.

So many students wrote, "It's not the class that gets me going...it's what I'm thinking about. I'm either thinking about the fight I left to come to school this morning, or the fight that will happen when I get home."

These students have been the hardest to love, and yet they're the ones who need love the most.

Oh, Lord, how often do I fail at expressing the greatness of your face?

My students have been processing and thinking, but so have I. And I have much to change.

On a completely unrelated note, Josh and I have a puppy named Stella...who is a total glutton.

As a 7-week-old puppy, she would gorge her own food, then gorge Ivan's. Ivan has since learned to snarf just as fast as Stella. Stella even ate dogfood filled with ants...and consequently found herself the object of an ant attack. Her beard was loaded with the cranky black insects, and she earned herself a bath. She couldn't even walk correctly because her stomach was bulging and tight.

We knew Stella just couldn't help herself, but she's taken herself to an all-time low.

Stella ate through a zip-loc bag of chocolate cookies. Yes. She did.

And it's time for an intervention.

Suggestions?