“It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it.”
I first read these words several months ago. I don’t remember where, exactly. I think it may have been on Instagram, possibly on a motivational sign or some such.
The week before my mom died, my sister and I met with the medical staff at her nursing home for what they call an “Advance Care Plan Meeting.”
I don’t know all the jargon associated with long-term care, but based on my limited experience, this is a nice way of saying “things don’t look good; we need to plan ahead.”
Over the last few months, swallowing had become increasingly more difficult for my mom. She had stopped eating, was barely drinking anything and was sleeping much of the time. The end was near, they told us, and it was time to seriously consider hospice care.
I knew countless people have been down this road with their loved ones. I understood that the purpose was to make my mom’s last days as comfortable as possible. But I personally had never signed hospice paperwork before, nor had I ever imagined that I would be in a position to do so.
As I lay awake one night, not knowing what to do and struggling to wrap my head around the fact that my mother was dying, a verse came to mind that I first heard long ago while listening to a children’s radio program in the kitchen of my childhood home.
“Thou wilt show me the path of life; in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.” (Psalm 16:11)
At that moment, peace flooded my heart. I realized that for my mom, the path of life led straight into God’s presence. As odd as it may sound, the path of life—for her—was death. On God’s timetable, not mine.
By the time I actually signed the hospice paperwork, my mom was already unresponsive. She slipped into eternity a few days later.
That was almost five months ago. For some reason, I’ve been thinking about Psalm 16:11 a lot lately, along with another familiar scripture that talks about the paths God lays out for us:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)
I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been one to think “straight paths” means “no problems.” God isn’t some kind of heavenly vending machine; we can’t expect to insert five months of trust and get back a year of blessing. John 16:33 makes it painfully clear—“In this world, you will have trouble.”
Beyond that, I won’t even begin to suggest that I know what it means to trust the Lord with all my heart. Most of us, if we’re honest, would probably agree we don’t even come close. And submitting to Him in all our ways? Not by a long shot.
We do try, though. We try and we fail and we ask for forgiveness and we try again.
And somehow, through it all, God sees our frail, finite, imperfect efforts and makes our paths straight anyway.
I experienced this many times during the last year. I’d come up against a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, and then an unexpected answer would unfold. I would have no idea what to do, and then the way would somehow become clear.
God is trustworthy. He was trustworthy before I had an opportunity to encounter it in such urgent ways, and He remains trustworthy now.
He will direct our paths, His Word says so.
And when His divine map for our loved ones leads US down paths we’d rather not explore, His sovereignty is our anchor. His joy is our strength. And His presence is our peace.
♥ Lois
Somehow, God sees our frail, finite, imperfect efforts and makes our paths straight anyway. Share on XCloudburst photo by Randy Flowers. Railroad tracks photo by Ruth Keehner.
When my dad died in late May, planning the funeral proved to be quite a logistical challenge. Given the time of year, it was a bit tricky to find a date when both the church and the pastors who would lead the service were available at the same time. Beyond that, several family members were overseas and not able to return immediately.
As a result, we had to wait more than two weeks for the service to take place. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked out OK. And in the end, the timing was such that the funeral was held on what would have been my parents’ 61st wedding anniversary.
I don’t know about you, but I’d never intentionally drop a blender jar full of smoothie ingredients on the kitchen floor or purposefully let a glass baking dish slip out of my hands and shatter all over the place.
At my house, we call these messy scenarios accidents. There’s no other way to describe them.
My girls have been back to school for almost two weeks now, and I’ve spent much of that time getting caught up, organized and settled—mentally as well as physically.
The work is ongoing—when you’ve been shoving stuff in cabinets and running off to the next thing for months, it takes a while to find a new rhythm. Not to mention a new purpose, although right now, I’m comfortable with taking life one day at a time and praying for God to direct my steps (as He’s done so faithfully more times than I can count).
When my dad died in late May, any halfhearted plans I may have had to post a 2019 edition of “What I Learned This Spring” fell by the wayside. And now suddenly it’s already the end of August—the end of another season. This time, though, I’ve actually been looking forward to sharing a few lessons from the summer.
I’ve been jotting down thoughts as they come to me and currently have about a dozen new blog posts just waiting to be fleshed out more fully in the coming weeks. But today is not the day for processing—not much, anyway.
Today we talk about shoes. And mashed potatoes. And Uno. Without further ado, here’s what I learned this summer.
• How to play Spicy Uno.
When the relatives came to town for my mom’s funeral in April, one set of cousins taught the rest how to play Spicy Uno—a version of the popular card game that bends and adds rules to make the competition much more exciting, especially when there are eight teenagers playing on the round table in the breakfast nook.
When we were on vacation in Alaska last month, the girls taught me and Randy how to play Spicy Uno too. And I have to say—it’s far more interesting than the original game, even when you are the unfortunate beneficiary of six Draw Two cards played one on top of the other.
• Buying running shoes from a running-shoe store is a good investment.
Although I’m pretty frugal, I’ve learned over the years that my body thanks me when I invest money in good shoes. Still, I’ve resisted the urge to follow the advice I’ve seen online that says you should always buy running shoes at stores that specialize in running shoes. Why spend all that money when you can get the same brand at Kohl’s for half as much?
Turns out, you really do get what you pay for. I don’t run marathons; I run on a 20-year-old treadmill in my basement laundry room. But the New Balance shoes I finally decided to purchase from the specialty shop are not like the ones from the big-box store. They have been worth every additional dollar; I just wish I had bought them sooner.
• Speaking of footwear, if you like blingy shoes, you should buy blingy shoes.
I’m not super flashy, but I’m a sucker for a nice patch of rhinestones. That said, while I like a little bling on eyeglasses, rings and even slip-on sneakers, I’ve never been spontaneous (or maybe brave) enough to actually buy shoes caked with rhinestones.
Until recently, that is. I was at a consignment shop a couple of weeks ago when I saw a pair of glittery silver Sketchers that looked like they had never been worn. Instead of passing them up like I usually do, I happily plunked down $19 and took them home.
You only live once, I told myself. You might as well do it with some sparkle on your feet.
• Some methods of making mashed potatoes are better than others.
I’m always looking for ways to keep from making a mess on my stovetop, so a few weeks ago, I decided to try preparing mashed potatoes in the microwave. I found directions online that seemed pretty reasonable and gave it a go. I don’t know what I did wrong, but the heavy, gluey result was so bad I don’t have the heart to try again. I’ll stick to the stovetop, despite the mess that always ensues when the pot boils over.
On a happier note (at least for my self-esteem as a cook), the next time I made mashed potatoes, I ran out of milk and decided make up the difference using buttermilk. And all I can say about this little experiment is, “Why did I not think of this sooner?”
• You can grow avocados at home (theoretically, at least).
My daughter Molly is never one to shy away from trying projects she finds on Pinterest. That’s why right now, our dining-room table is home to two avocado seeds in cups that she hopes will germinate and turn into plants.
Will it work, or will it not? I guess we’ll find out—in a few weeks if the seeds sprout, and then maybe in three years when such plants are supposed to start producing fruit.
• • •
How about you? Feel free to share what you learned this summer or—if you prefer—your thoughts about Spicy Uno, rhinestones, expensive running shoes, microwaved mashed potatoes or growing avocados at home when buying them at the grocery store is much faster.
♥ Lois
You only live once. You might as well do it with some sparkle on your feet. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Emily Freeman, Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, Let’s Have Coffee, Faith ‘n Friends and Grace & Truth.
Photos of blingy shoes by Lilly Flowers.
Until a few months ago, I had never applied to be on a book launch team before.
For one thing, I don’t especially like writing book reviews (though I do love reading them). And then there’s always the uncomfortable (though probably remote) possibility that I might not want to endorse a book wholeheartedly after reading it, no matter how much I’ve enjoyed the author’s work in the past. (As one who prefers not to hurt other people’s feelings, I’d just rather avoid that situation entirely.)
But when the opportunity came to be on the launch team for Tricia Lott Williford’s fourth book, Just. You. Wait.: Patience, Contentment, and Hope for the Everyday, I had no such reservations. I’ve loved Tricia’s writing since I read her first book, And Life Comes Back. While I normally get books from the library, I buy hers without hesitation. She’s funny, genuine and—perhaps most importantly—able to impart solid biblical truth in way that is gentle yet unwavering.
I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I’m terribly behind schedule when it comes to fulfilling my launch team obligations for Just. You. Wait. I received the review copy right around the time my dad died in late May (five weeks after my mom died on Good Friday). I got the published version of the book (which I had preordered in February and completely forgotten about) after it released on July 9.
I read both copies—rushing through the review copy during the numb-yet-extremely busy days leading up to my dad’s funeral in mid-June, and slowly working my way through the final version after we returned from our family vacation to Alaska in July.
Now here it is, the third full week of August, and I’m finally getting around to finishing this book review. It’s been on my to-do list for weeks, obviously, but I just haven’t had the energy to tackle it.
I have a feeling Tricia would understand, though. She knows a thing or two about the aftereffects of loss, about what happens when life catapults you in directions you weren’t expecting and often have no idea how to handle.
More than anything else, Tricia’s other books taught me to empathize. Her transparent recounting of her own experiences showed me what it’s like to lose a spouse suddenly and navigate life as a single, widowed mom of two young boys. Her earlier works were inspiring, engaging and often encouraging, for sure, but mostly from a distance.
On the other hand, Just. You. Wait. met me precisely right where I am right now. It’s not a book about grief or loss, per se, but the author’s story—together with vulnerable glimpses into her new husband’s past struggles—permeate the pages.
Along the way, she bravely tackles topics such as the “Great Waiters of the Bible,” what God is up to while we’re waiting, what to do in the meantime, and how to respond when it seems as if the wait is never going to end (or when it ends differently than we had hoped it would).
Her message is as applicable to people who are waiting for a new chapter in their lives to unfold or a difficult season of life to be over as it is for those who are longing for the pain of loss to subside or for God to answer fervent prayers for a loved one. I usually dog ear pages rather than mark them up, but I nearly bled my green highlighter dry on the chapter titled “Where is the Sunshine? Waiting to Heal.”
Sometimes, I get done reading a new book and I’m left wanting more—more depth, more empathy, more structure, more editing, more solid theology. With Just. You. Wait., I was sad when it was over because I wanted to read more.
I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation, even when it made me cry, and I didn’t want it to end.
For me, that’s the mark of a wonderful book. And Just. You. Wait. truly is a wonderful book.
♥ Lois
I nearly bled my green highlighter dry on the chapter titled “Where is the Sunshine? Waiting to Heal.” #JustYouWaitBook by @TriciaWilliford Share on X Just. You. Wait. by @TriciaWilliford met me precisely right where I am right now. Share on XNote: I received an advance copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.