Coveted Legacy

I live in a land where light and darkness clash and collide like the flashes and rumbling of a mighty thunderstorm. 

Where both the bitter and the free, the hurting and the happy, live together under the sun’s intense heat and sky’s dark clouds. 

Magnificent magnolias sprawl over grass yards that often grow course and yellow in the intensely humid summer, and then brown again when winter sends bone-chilling breezes.  

Old plantation houses and extensive fields of cotton are only mild reminders of a time when enslavement was prominent. For some, racial prejudice and bitterness - even hate  - wedge a constant divider between brothers. Now, we have chains of addiction, depression, and sinful habits. I have seen many from every walk and background, struggling at the surface of their enclosing darkness, gasping for a breath of freedom.

I awake each morning with the mission to live light - cutting through the darkness, hacking against chains of superstition and fear that leave many helpless. (I have my own battles to face, but I find that they are most successfully won when I am actively fighting for my friends too.)

Since I first called this land my own less than a year ago, a war has been waged on my soul like I have never experienced in my life. I have felt both the cold, chilling presence of evil and the peaceful, comforting presence of the Almighty's angels. But in the face of fear and trouble, all the while a holy angel seemed to whisper, “Have courage. You will sing in the face of danger, for your Savior lives.”

And one day, I found that defiant to my surroundings, there could be a constant peace inside. I realized that faith is put to the true test when we stand on promises alone. And I sang - because I believed that light is stronger than darkness, and darkness cannot dispel the light.

Standing in a darkened hospital room in front of me, the meth addict - barely skin and bones - stammers out her anxiety and fears. Her two choices after medical detoxification are rehab or jail. 

Irrational and nervous, she wipes away salty tears and covers her face with both hands. “I am so alone,” she chokes, “there’s no one who cares about me and I have no friends.”

Compassion moves me to her side, placing an arm around her shoulders. “You are not alone. I am your friend.” 

I can feel her face melting into my shoulder as we embrace.

I pause. “Even if you are alone in the world, remember that God has been waiting for you all along. He will always care for you and you are very special to Him.”

“It’s true,” she sobs. “It’s true.”

Hot tears fall on my scrubs, and the frail woman stammers a broken apology for them - but something makes me wish the cotton would stay stained that way forever.

This is the legacy I covet to claim: 

That my life was a light in the darkness of this land, and I trusted enough in the promises that I could sing through any fear.

That my shoulder soothed the tears of those who cried, and that my heart had love enough to call each person friend. 

Written in October 2014

A black holster attached to his belt, hidden in the folds of a checkered button-up shirt creaks as the firm thud of a long stride in thick heavy boots crosses the sweltering hot pavement under the sun. His shock of golden hair moves slightly as he turns his head to the side, smoothly surveying surrounding people under tinted sunglasses with the air of one who fears nothing.

I look up at his expressionless face. I would guess him to be impassive, stubborn, emotionless if I didn’t know him better. But I do. There is more than what meets the eye - and that is an understatement.

He comes from “good stock,” as my great-grandmother Amy would have said. His grandfather’s life was one marked with incredible faith and courage, receiving a medal of honor for his bravery in saving 75 of his comrades in a World War II battle. Although passed for years now, his grandson was left with a strong impression of his love and belonging. A picture of an old couple is proudly displayed on his dresser, framed book cover of the aging yet patriotic Desmond resting against the wall above his bed, and various curiosities from the war scattered throughout the nooks and corners of a completely apparent man’s room. A well-used rag lies crumpled on the bed stand, nearly touching two framed photos of a girl holding a bouquet of wildflowers who was living a thousand miles away yet close in heart. Behind the swinging bedroom door rests bathroom piping, several tools, and a hefty brown boot to cleanse the room of spiders.

His parents are godly as well. Together they have taken a small, forlorn Adventist church in the city and brought life, light, and song again to fading brick walls. They live humbly, yet beautifully because God is their fortress and delight. Many generous, unselfish acts on their part for the sake of others go unnoticed and will never be widely known, but I know the Lord marks every one of them.

Together with this family, I join in leading song service at church, accompanying on the keys for prayer meeting, standing by the bed of the dying, offering supporting comfort to those who grieve, visiting church members in their homes, knocking on doors I am almost scared to see open, and connecting with the people of the south. And every time, the tall eldest son is there, quietly standing with his family and committed to taking up a torch carried by the generations before him.

Quickly and quietly he responds to counsel. My heart sank on the last morning of one of my visits to the south as I heard his dad speak to him down the hallway.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea Chris to take the day off and allow another point to be added to your work account. I know you want to see her, but you already have a good number of points stacked against you for not working on the Sabbath.”

“Yeah,” I hear him say. “You’re right.”

I see him for fifteen minutes during his lunch break, and wish with all of my tearful heart that he could only drive me to the airport and we could talk along the way. Instead he disappears out of my sight into an enclosed factory building and I know it will be good-bye for months.

After a long day working in a new area of profession - the electrical field - a lady from church might call and ask him to stop by the church and record Sabbath school songs for the upcoming week.

“Doesn’t she know you have a life and work?” he would be asked. “It was a long day!”

But he doesn’t stop to ask himself if he will go or not. He goes because he lives a life of willingness to help others. To him, there is no other option.

To balance with his serious consciousness is a keen sense of humor with a frequent development of corny jokes, leaving friends and family alike shaking their heads with indulgent grins. Somehow he manages to voice what everyone else may secretly think - but is too timid or proper to say - and gets away with what others never could.

When I fuss at misleading 50% off price signs at Hobby Lobby, he puts his warm hand on my shoulder assuringly, “It’s okay - don’t worry.”

Like an unshakeable pillar, his confidence prompts me to explore new adventures.

Standing ten feet in the air and about to balance on two trembling ropes, I know that the hook and cord above me will prevent a fall, but the only reason I venture is because of him.

He smiles and beckons. “You can do it.”

_______

“Mutts,” I hear the title pronounced loudly across the hallway.

Turning a corner in the house, I see long legs stretching across the living room floor and tanned, calloused hands circled around the little bodies of two brown Chihuahuas, voice now turning higher-pitched and soft. “Yes, you are so cute, sooo cute,” he ruffles their short hair and tilts his head down to kiss their tiny faces over and over again.

Peeling back the crusty shell of his sometimes potentially intimidating outward portrayal, there is a heart of gold. One that will give without gain. One that lives unsefishness, and feels the sting of sorrow yet trusts in a better tomorrow. One that surrounds me in his arms and fills my heart with comfort. I marvel to have found such a treasure.

“You’re a good man,” I look up into the handsome face and lightly touch his tanned arm.

He turns to me briefly with a quiet laugh, eyes shifting from the road to my mine. His look of love says more than words possibly could.

As the miles pass, and the surrounding country-side marked with picked cotton-fields and spreading magnolia trees speed by, I settle comfortably into the passenger’s side and breath a sigh of contentment.

With each passing day, I fall more in love with this young man who sought and won my heart. I marvel to realize that he was the one I prayed for growing up, petitioning God that He would make him strong and noble and true. And He did.

The North Meets the South (part 1)

Although I'm sure many of read this story on another website, I've thought to include it written among my journey recorded here.  It has been a long road of lessons learned - both of wisdom and trust. But I thank God for every milestone passed, every step of faith made, and every blessing He has granted me both through sorrow and joy.

He is the Author of dreams come true.

------


It began before they met.

An adventurous southern boy with a thatch of of sun-lightened hair urged his granddaddy Desmond for another story of World War II, while a thousand miles north, a little figure in a pink dress sang with the birds, weaving among waving poplars and tall pines. Curious and tender of heart, Abigail spent hours observing beetles, catching pollywogs, and stalking frogs, frantically scrubbing her face when her grandmother applied make-up for the first time, and finding great satisfaction in dressing up each Sabbath, playing piano for primary class. As the years passed, no one could deny that Christopher had a mind entirely of his own, determination to match the broad blue southern sky, and a gift with his hands as he worked with car parts, stood alongside the men as they built their church, and responded to the next door neighbor when she called due to a weekly mechanical or plumbing crisis.

A story was being written with their choices, marked with both challenges and triumphs, paved by tests of faith to encourage more faithfulness and trust. And while many busy humans on the small globe called earth worry that the Lord may neglect them, or secretly cherish their plans in place of His, some still believe that He has a treasure chest of dreams in store for those who are willing to trust that His are more beautiful than their own.

A Mother's Mistake


Christopher lived in rural Alabama where he met many people and had a close support group of friends in his life, but decided to expand his horizons through the internet and signed up on Adventist Singles. It was quickly seen how few girls were actually living by Adventist standards and sharing his same perspective in life. He had remained on the site for one and half years when far north in Vermont, one could observe a peaceful but soon-to-be-disturbed scene.

Reclining on her quilted bedspread with feet dangling in mid air, Abigail leafed through the pages of her notebook, recalling past memories. Tucking wisps of brown hair behind her ear, her mind began to wander from thoughts on the white page before her eyes to the unknown plans the Lord had for her life. My 19th year so far has been a quiet one, she thought to herself, picking up her pen to write on a fresh new page. But I feel a contentment not only born of trust, but also acceptance - knowing that He has my best interest in mind.

"Abigail!" a call from up a flight of stairs followed by muffled words

Sprinting across cold tile flooring to her doorway, she rested a hand on frame. "What?"

"Abigail..." her mother paused at the top of the stairs as a shaft of light streamed downwards, illuminating a path to where her 19 year old daughter stood. She looked sheepish. "I signed you up on a single's site by mistake."

Abigail was seated at the family's computer at the kitchen counter in seconds, choking down amazement, amusement, and bursts of horrified surprise. A girl's profile on Adventist Singles was on the screen - and it was hers.

Suzanne Cosgrove had recently caught up with a childhood friend to be married to someone met on Adventist Singles. Curious to see profiles on this site, she entered her eldest daughter's information, thinking it was for statistical purposes or determining which people to pull up in her search. "I honestly didn't know it would create a profile for you!" she assured her daughter. "You may delete it if you want."

"I certainly will," Abigail folded her arms with an astonished laugh. Meeting her match on an online single's site would have been one of her last choices. Would her friends think she was desperate to find someone? And what were the chances of actually finding one who shared her perspectives and convictions? This was difficult enough to do in person, much less over the internet where so many factors about a person could be missed.

True to her guess, there were few single young men who shared her convictions and life values. Seeing that eliminating matches would prove to be great entertainment for the rest of her family while she was at work, Abigail consented to leaving her profile on for a few days. Maybe she would even meet some friends, her mom suggested. "Just look at it like a single's retreat."

"I'll try," she looked still less than thrilled.

First Sight On a Site




“We have a few people that you could look at and decided if it’s a yes or not,” Suzanne mentioned as her daughter walked by the kitchen counter in scrubs.
Willingly she dropped into a stool by the kitchen counter and scrolled through a list of small pictures and usernames, noting with amusement how many her sister and mother had ruled out while she had been at work.

Pausing at one profile with the username of cowboycd and peering at the same picture by it, she stopped. “What about this person?” She could find nothing about him listed that would give her reason to rule him out, and he appeared very wholesome, kind, and quality. Slowly she read through his written introduction. Satisfied, she clicked "yes" to him being an interest, little realizing how far a simple click of the mouse would take her.



Not long after, a 22-year-old with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes sat at the kitchen table of his Alabama home, and logged onto Adventist Singles after a long day of work. He only checked the website periodically, and although he had been hoping to find a young woman to get to know and spend the rest of his life with, sometimes he wondered if he would. Stopping at one profile in particular with the username of abbysue, he clicked to see more. He liked the way she described herself, noted their similar interests, and thought she was pretty.

The following morning, each received an email stating, "You Both Said Yes!" Abigail was astounded, Christopher was pleased. Both paid for a month's subscription to the website to enable communication and he messaged her later that evening, beginning a habit of both parties frequently checking for message notifications.

What is this person like, and why have I never seen or heard of him before? Abigail mused. Rummaging through storage, she emerged with a brown clipboard which became the stabilizer of multiple papers listed under the title, "The Analysis of Christopher Duman."

“This is crazy,” Abigail murmured aloud, placing her cell phone away and pacing the bedroom floor after an evening of texting questions and answers. I wasn’t expecting this, I wasn’t looking for this, I wasn’t asking for this. Lord, is this just another distraction? Is this actually something ordained by Your hand? I’m confused now that I’ve met someone who has the potential to be an interest, because I didn’t expect to meet someone for years in the future. My heart feels a spark while there are still so many unanswered questions and things I don’t know about this young man. But if you’re leading for us to get to know each other, please make it crystal clear. I don’t want to hurt either of us.

Christopher had been hoping to find a young woman who loved God and shared his same interests, but sometimes he wondered if he ever would. As communication progressed with Abigail, he liked both her and what he saw, but did not jump to conclusions or assume a false certainty of God's leading. We will see how things work out by and by, he thought to himself.

On Thanksgiving Day as Abigail and the women folk of her family prepared for the big meal, Christopher texted her, continuing to ask questions about her life. When evening finally came and Abigail settled into a lonely chair at the end of her family's dining room table, an unusual text came in.
"So what are you looking for?" it simply stated. Chris was purposeful in his question.
She immediately understood what he meant, but decided to flip the question back. "What are you looking for?"
"Someone that loves the Lord to spend the rest of my life with. And you?"
Abigail leaned forward, amazed at his clarity and forthrightness. "That is what I am looking for too," she replied slowly. "Someone who loves God and can work together with me for Him."
Eagerly she awaited his reply. Christopher texted back. "Well it sounds like we might be a good match."
Abigail clung to this thought, fascinated by it's possibilities. Could it be?

That evening they had their first conversation on the phone. Abigail's mind raced with a thousand questions as she bit her lip through 5-second silences over the phone, marveling at his southern way of talking and straightforward answers, while Chris asked her every question that came to mind in the space of one hour, from what her favorite hobbies were to whether she enjoyed "crawdad fishing."
"Why yes, I do," she replied slowly with a peculiar expression, looking up at her mother and sister sitting anxiously on her bed nearby. "Just so long as they don't pinch me."

From the days onward, Christopher called nightly. Both asked every question they could think of, and then sometimes waited in silence as seconds ticked past and neither could think of what to say. Abigail was pleased to learn that Chris loved kids, and enjoyed being involved at his local church. They shared the same convictions on issues including music, dancing, women's ordination, abortion, and diet. She appreciated his sense of humor. Chris liked it that Abigail was a feminine girl but also caught frogs and hiked mountains.
I think we will have a pretty good idea after we meet, Christopher thought to himself, sinking into the couch after a long day of work. Though I already think we will make a good match.

As the days passed and the two talked each evening while on the phone, Abigail would scamper upstairs and Christopher would wander into the kitchen, both to update their parents on how each conversation went and what topics were discussed. Both were very close to their families, and would only proceed with the blessing of their godly parents if this friendship was meant to blossom into something more.

The North Meets the South




The Generation of Youth For Christ conference held in Orlando, Florida, proved to be an unforgettable one for the Cosgrove family, barely arriving in their hotel room when Christopher texted Abigail to let her know that he was on his way to the lobby to meet her.

Abigail frantically ran between her suitcase and the wall mirror, holding back both nervous and excitement. "Mamma, what is this person like?"
"We don't have long to find out," she commented.
"Eat a granola bar Abby," her dad urged. "You haven't had supper."
"I can't eat anything!" she exclaimed. "I'm too excited." Choking down a quarter of the bar nevertheless, she finally hustled her family out of the door and down to the lobby.
Everything seemed to be in a blur when her mother verbally exclaimed, "that's him," followed by a murmur from Amy who felt the statement was spoken too loud. Christopher leaned his broad shoulders against a lobby pillar, a grin slowly forming around the corners of his mouth. He immediately spied Abigail out of the little group, noticing her 5'2 stature and thinking that she was pretty. Although quiet at first, she was very polite and kind. He liked her.

Together the group made their way to the registration booth and ambled through the crowds of people. Christopher led the procession with long strides while Abigail's mother silently urged her to keep pace with him and think of something to say.
Shyly glancing to the young man walking nearby, she marveled that this was the person she had been talking to long distance, now in real life.

Along the way, the Duman parents recognized their tall son making his way through the crowd and stopped the little group, full of smiles as they in turn met the Cosgrove parents. After spending an evening strolling around the exhibit hall and through the conference center, Abigail reluctantly waved good-bye to Christopher as she and her sister Amy closed the hotel room door behind them. It was difficult to explain the growing excitement within her each night at GYC as she would give a report to her parents of the day's events. Observing and spending time with each other in person, a mutual respect and care was beginning to form between the two young people as parents supported and most importantly, God blessed.

They soon learned many things about each other. Chris was a tease. Abigail loved floating through crowds of strangers. His calm, steady, and confidant bearing gave her assurance with several challenges that arose during the conference. Her happy laughter seemed to make every day sunshiny.

They went on outreach together, spent time with each other's families, and continued to observe each other in person, but Abigail began to feel suspense. She appreciated it that Chris respected that they were friends getting to know each other for the specific purpose of deciding whether a relationship would begin, and had refrained from giving any verbal indications of affection. But now as each day passed, she wondered what he was thinking and tried to wait patiently for him to say something about their friendship.

One evening, Chris did ask the question.
"So what do you think of me so far?”
Abigail stood still, unsure of where to begin. “What do you think of me?”
He gave a little nod and a smile. “I like what I see.”
She replied shyly. “I can say the same."

Boyfriend and Girlfriend

Ensuring that neither parents had concerns and sure of his choice, Christopher asked Abigail to be his girlfriend. "I found what I was looking for," he told her gently.
She said yes. It was difficult to contain her excitement that evening - shocked at the change of events since November, amazed at the sweetness of being dear to one who had become so special to her, and praising God for leading in ways that she never could have imagined or dreamed.
“You know, it was a mistake that I ended up on the single’s site," she told him with a twinkle, "but it was the best mistake ever.”

Continuing their relationship long distance, they braced themselves for time when communication would be limited to the cell phone.

"I know that I have much more to learn about Chris," Abigail wrote in her journal as moonlight sparkled over millions of pure white snowflakes resting outside of her snug log cabin. "In the months ahead, our friendship will grow and mature, and become fruitful for God’s glory – I have no doubt. But for now I remain here in awe that the Lord made a simple mistake of my mother’s into a supposedly chance meeting and beginning of a friendship that would lead to a relationship that would change my life forever."

Healer of The Heart

The two story farmhouse with faded paint breathes of memories and history from the old New England days, situated at the top of a winding driveway where cell phone service is nonexistent. Beyond stands a barn no longer standing and a weary lawn beginning to flair with green.

“There are a lot of people here,” my friend approached our car window in surprise at the number of cars parked on the gravel driveway. “She might not be doing very well.”

Cautiously we entered the house, slipping off shoes at the entry and walking single file down a near-silent hallway into the living room where a small child sat with his mother, shuffling matchbox cars across the dark wood floor.

The woman looks up after placing a finger to her lips and glancing down at the tousled mop of hair. “She’s in her bedroom.”

We have permission to enter. It is strange to be so near to a personal space of a stranger, etched with memories from decades, warm with the heartbeat of a still small figure dressed in a nightgown, and bathed with the tears of those who love her.

I can remember her face so clearly - resting on a white pillow, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and breathing mildly labored.

Beginning to realize that in my 20^th year of life I have barely touched on what it means to know pain and loss, I stand by the bed of the dying for the first time in my life and my voice blends with the others in my group to sing words that become deeper and richer with every moment: 

Healer of my heart, Lover of my soul

Keeper of the stars, the earth, the sky – come and make me whole

Savior of this world, my voice praises You alone

Healer of my heart, Lover of my soul

I see the young boy propped against a window sill, staring into thin air and wiping his blurring eyes. I see the daughter of the dying sitting nearby, eyes never far from the still figure in the bed. And I cry with them.

“I will see you on the other side, Helen,” one leans over the bed, a catch in her voice. Eyelids flutter as she opens her eyes. She knows we are there.

I am crying for a stranger. And I love her though today was the first and would be the last I saw her.

……………

Tracing back the years, I leaf through the pages of my Bible to the beginning of time for our planet.

Lofty trees, branches bending with the weight of scented fruit shade the gentle form of a deer as she softly treads winding paths. Flowers dot a golden field nearby, and tall grass sways with the breath of the cool wind. Sturdy, but graceful vines grow upright, their trainable branches drooping with foliage and varied colors of fruit as the setting sun floods surrounding hills with orange glory.

I can see Him kneeling on a soft bed of moss, letting sweet water fresh from the river wash through His fingers and moisten the rich earth below.

This garden – it is for them. 

It is yet another token of His love, and meant to be their home for always. His thoughtful and purposeful heart made no mistake, and missed no opportunity to write beauty over the Eden landscape.

This home was made beautiful by the hand of God Himself. Holding unspoken dreams for the destiny of humanity in His heart, He welcomes man to the loveliness of this new earth.

And then a simple act of blatant disobedience blots over this beautiful dream in the heart of God. In humility and sadness the young couple take the last steps out of their garden home of innocence and joy. Adam turns to look back one last time as his eyes flood with blinding tears, shocked at the enormity of sin, the utter grief of death, and deep sorrow to leave his garden home.  

We can identify with Adam and Eve. We know what the ugliness of sin looks like. We have shed bitter tears, and experienced both pain and loss at some point in our lives. We beg of the Lord, “how long?” and urge Him to rescue us from the sorrow below.

But sometimes I believe we get so caught up in our grief that we neglect to consider the feelings of _His_ heart. What of this Creator Who tenderly formed mankind from the dust of the ground with His bare hands, and breathed into man's nostrils His very own breath?

He did not create us to know sin or the consequences of separation from Himself. Could His loss have been any less than that of His creation? What sort of sorrow did He feel in His heart when the time of the day came when He customarily walked and talked in the garden with Adam and Eve? Did He walk along its silent pathways still, grieving for a lost world? I wonder.

He created us to know only love, joy, and peace. He wanted our children to play in safety, love enduringly, and never know the pain of falling or thorns. He desired youth to find satisfaction through service and unselfishness, recognizing their worth in His eyes without ever watching them try to pick up the leftover pieces of their broken hearts. He designed the family to be united in love, unshakable in conviction, and never tears of parting or sharp words of anger. The ceaseless ages of eternity would roll past, and every day would reveal continual wonder and increased knowledge to children of the Heavenly Father.

We weren’t created to die. The Creator never wanted to see sad tears fall. (Yet I’m sure He cried before man ever did.) He did not purpose for us to feel one ounce of pain. (Though He felt every particle of it for us.) He didn’t breathe life into our systems for it to be snuffed out. (Yet He suffered death that we can live so that the grave can hold hope, not just bones.)

He may see fit to allow pain and sorrow. At times it may seem that He overlooks many a tearful moment marked with loss. We were never assured that we wouldn't have questions, but I can promise you this - He may not heal the body until resurrection day dawns, but He continues to be a healer of hearts.

And someday He will wipe away our tears forever.

With Thankfulness

We travel across the interstate at 63 miles per hour through the darkest of nights. Siblings slumber in the backseat, and parents talk quietly in the front as the miles slip by. The moon is shaded by swiftly moving clouds, but I can still see the smiles and hear laughter from a day blessed by what I believe was the very touch of heaven.

Thanksgiving wells up from 19 years full of blessings.

I. Life

Driving 50 miles per hour and only a few minutes from home, the impact of another vehicle slammed into their car just before the driver cried out, “Help us, Jesus!” 

A friend of mine was driving back from a similar day full of blessings and smiles when she found on a backboard en route to the emergency room after a head-on collision. She and the two family members with her could have easily lost their lives that night.

 And meanwhile I sit on my bed’s quilt at home, grappling with the fragility of life. How can one moment be all smiles, laughter, and lightheartedness – while the next is broken glass, shattered dreams, and cold death staring at you in the face?

 “....and suddenly I began to appreciate the moments of my life so much more then I had before,” my friend writes a few days later.

So often I take my heartbeat for granted. I assume that tomorrow will always come, that my loved ones will always be with me, and we will always be safe from the harm others face daily. I take for granted the safe haven of my home, the apparent security of quiet life in New England.

My friend in the accident had closed head injuries, a whiplash, multiple bruises, and a nasty cut from the impact of slamming against her own seat belt. “But the pain just reminds me that I am alive,” she says. “God chose me!”

 Her words of faith stopped me in my tracks. Could it be that the breath He has given to each of us today, is testament to the fact that He has chosen us to live on? Could sometimes the pain we struggle with in life, be there to remind us that we feel? When life brings disappointment or hurt and in brokenness we cry out to God, could the pain be there to remind us that we are still alive?

II. My friends

Thank you for reminding me that I do not walk alone - that there are others who want to love God before anything else, striving to put Him first in ever thought and action, and committed to lifetimes of service. Thank you for each time that you have cheered and challenged me to live life more fully, faithfully and courageously. This has left an imprint on my life never to be forgotten.

      III. Music

God gave us something beautiful - something that still rings throughout the courts of heaven today. And for those on earth, music is an inroad into the hearts of people who would never otherwise show up for a scheduled sermon. Song is a precious way to praise God, and I pray that God will keep singing in our hearts.

IV. The Little Things

The snowy wonderland I wake up to brightens up both the house and my heart. My 4-year-old brother Johnny tugs at my sleeve, looking up at me with wide eyes, “Tell me a story about Jesus and Satan.” He cuddles in my lap on the couch as I recount the story of the great controversy all over again. 

My sisters Amy and Bethany make melody ring throughout the house as their voices soar. 

Mamma reads 9-year-old Joseph a favorite story, as Daddy pulls into the driveway after a day at work. 

An inspiring blog post is just published by a friend. 

My three little adopted mice send a spin wheel turning in their tank home not far from my bed. 

And all of the little things remind me of how much God loves to give.

V. Fellow Families

New England is a beautiful place, but like-minded families with the same values are not plenteous. Whether living close by, or across the world – thank you. By you we are encouraged that there are other households striving for godliness of life and heart.

If I may mention a few names…

The Nebbletts inspire me every time. I will never forget a chilly night in Massachusetts when God’s presence drew very near during a heartfelt message, and it became my prayer to spend and be spent until I could give no more. Thank you for your example of faithfulness and unstirring uncompromise.

The Suekerts are a dear family. New England would be a lonely place if not for you. We are so incredibly blessed to call you our friends, and privileged to work together with you in ministry.

And the many others – living testaments to the fact that there are like-minded families striving to uphold the standards of God’s Word in daily life.

VI.  Mission New England

Because of you, I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. Nothing is more invigorating than ministry, and I can no longer imagine a Sabbath without it. Being involved in Mission New England has given me many opportunities to see the Lord’s spirit working in the hearts of people. It is humbling, encouraging, inspiring.

 But even if our endeavors to set New England on fire with the gospel make no difference at all – God does not call us to be successful, but rather to be faithful. If it accomplishes nothing else, stepping forward to serve God continues to touch my heart and change my life.

VII.  My family

Again and again I ask myself, “Why me?” There are so many emerging from broken homes, with scarred pasts, and hurting hearts. Why was I placed in such a wonderful home? 

I have met many families, but have rarely seen parents so real, devoted, and loving as mine. Instead of pushing us into the world unprepared and unsteady of faith, they nurtured us and spent countless hours of time to instill values and discipline through home education. I feel no control from them – only love as I know that they sincerely care about my choices. The multitude of wisdom and life experience they offer as I make life decisions is a treasure. 

Their sacrifices, constant labor, and devotion to God will not go unrewarded nor be unfruitful.

VIII. Opportunity to Love

I haven’t always realized what a privilege it is to love. More than once I have gone to the Source, begging for more. Will You give me love enough to feel it in my heart for those who are even repulsive to me?

Friends, His love is deep and broad enough. I realize now that there is no such thing as an unlovable soul, because love is granted without fail every time I ask.

When I interact with the 300 lb homosexual, I still naturally shrink from her coarseness and insensitivity, but I feel a genuine love for her that I know comes from God Himself. 

That is a miracle. I marvel every time…

IX. Success is Faithfulness

I’m thankful that my life is not measured according to the world’s theory of success. Rather, success equals faithfulness for the true Christian. 

That goes for when I knock on doors and not a person answers, much less wants a Bible study. For when I speak and it seems as if my words bounce off of the people back to me. For when I feel discouraged that I'm not making enough of a difference.

God does not call us to be "successful" - He calls us to be faithful.

 X. My Lord

There is none so beautiful, so sweet, so precious. 

Thank you for the breath You give, and the death You died that I might live. I marvel at Your mercy, consistency, and attention to the details of my life. 

May this new year of life be marked with more faithfulness, devotion, and love to Thee – much, much more. Place the beauty of heaven in my heart, that when You take me there, it will already be home. 

To Know His Heart

As the seconds tick and the hours fly, another day of my life comes to a close and night settles over my Vermont hills. The crisp winds of a fall night whistle and strike chimes just outside of my door. As I recline on my bed the ticking of my clock and typing sounds from my computer keyboard hardly break the silence. I yearn to share a heart that is both an eternity away, and right at hand.

Through two recent and specific experiences, I was led to a place where I could identify with a fraction of this heart, when mine was touched and pierced too.

When small but eternally significant thoughts and ideas come to mind, they are often whispered by a heavenly messenger. The memory of a particular man who had been missing from church attendance for 2 ½ years became a burden on my heart, and with growing excitement I searched for his mailing address, petitioned church members to sign an expression of how much he was still missed and loved, and sent the card with a prayer.

Maybe Dennis would never respond, but maybe it would at least touch his heart. I might never see him again, but at least I could be assured that I reached out to the older man. The joy received from taking part in God’s work fully repays all effort, even if we see no results from this side of heaven.

On the following Sabbath from the piano bench, I saw him slip into a far corner of the sanctuary. His head turned, gazing at the people who had written to him in that single card, and as his eyes locked with theirs, he flashed a smile.

Oh joy, pure joy. After being away so long, he came back again. It would be impossible to hold back my smiles. Lord, is this mixture of excitement, anticipation, and happiness what You experience each day when one of Your children takes the road home? Heaven must be made of pure joy.”

My joy was overflowing.

 I savored the kinship I felt with His heart right then. We shared the same happiness, we loved the same soul. And it was difficult to imagine that while I was bursting with happiness, this was only a fraction of His when the created trusts the Creator.

More than two weeks ago on a beautiful Sabbath day, a precious little Siamese cat slipped by the front door and scampered across the thick grass of our lawn. The mysterious adventure of the outdoors drew her from the confinement of the house, and she played with the brisk and playful breeze.

 My family rushed off to church, and the womenfolk lingered long after potluck to fellowship with friends and share music together. Meanwhile, my dad and the boys enjoyed a quiet afternoon at home. Joseph was outdoors when he heard the sounds of a struggle in the woods, a cry – and then silence.

Our Precious was defenseless. She knew little of the hidden danger lurking among the shadows of her friendly world. Because she had wandered from safety, she became the prey.

 But even though we were sure she was gone, we still hoped and searched, calling her name in the silence. Tramping through briers and weeds in the darkness of the night, I called for a kitty that had a piece of my heart. The calls of my friends and family echoed across the cleared portion of our property as they tramped in tennis shoes and darted the flashlight beams through the forest.

Our group returned to the house, flooding with warmth and light, love and happiness, but I linger on the front porch. There is an emptiness now that nothing else can quite fill.

 It’s such a cold night out there, I shiver and wrap my arms around my shoulders as I stand alone, gazing at twinkling stars in light of the moon. The faint cry of the woodcock hovering over her nest in the woods, and low drone of weary grasshoppers, clinging to tall blades of grass blend with the whisper of the cool wind brushing my face.

 Why did it have to be Precious? Why did she ever slip out of our house and into the cool shadows of too often unforgiving nature? Couldn’t the fox have taken something less sweet and precious to me?

 Seemingly on the whisper of the wind, I hear, Sorrow with me. Feel my loss. And this is not even a fraction of the pain that hurts my heart when mankind that I love lets go of safety and breaks away from My strength to wander alone. So painfully often, they become prey to the enemy who drains them of breath and life. I feel loss because that wanderer – so sweet and precious to my heart - leaves a void that cannot be replaced. Although there is great joy in heaven’s courts, I still shed tears. Tears for those who made themselves lost to me by fleeing from safety to trust the enemy.

 We sorrow together, and His tears comfort me.

.........

Heaven’s courts are illuminated with brightness too intense for human eye. Mansions have been prepared, unsurpassed and unblemished in pure beauty for us. The song of angels perfumes the air with sweetness and joy as the repentant child, the wandering creation, returns to claim the presence of his Lord.

Heaven is made of pure joy, I exclaim in wonder.

 But then a strange silence covers the scores of heavenly beings hovering over the throne room. In a place where there should be only singing and laughter, there is breathed a sigh of deep and heavy sadness.

“Oh why, why did he let Me go?” I hear the tender cry from the Savior, as He traces the way of a wandering child. “My love is holding on, but it won’t keep him from danger when he walks in its path.”

 And then another mournful word. “She had no time for me this morning. Some of her actions today will ultimately effect ten other souls for eternity. If she only realized how thin of a thread she holds in connection to the divine…”

 Tears fall. “Oh Father, they are so sweet and precious to me. I sacrificed eternity for their sakes, but they refuse to give up the husks of a dark world for the riches of another.”

 I stand unmoved, shocked by the realization that my Savior sorrows still. Heaven is made of pure joy, but tears and grief are there - a constant reminder of what sin and separation cost.

I expected only rapture would be here, but what is this grief I see? And as I search my heart…could it be over me?

In the quietness of my bedroom, I look back and savor feeling His closeness through both joy and pain. Challenges and hardships have a new meaning now, for I am challenged to the core when I behold His loveliness, and find strength as I surrender my weakness. Through each test of faith, I am drawn deeper into a heart that has been touched by every sorrow, and hurt by every pain, but still loves to no end.

Borrowed Time

July 29, 2013

More than 6,000 in my country die each day –

But one out of these precious six-thousand today strikes closer to home.

Just a few months ago, a chest x-ray revealed a relentless cancer, spreading through his lungs; eating away at his body; and leaving him shocked, frustrated, and desperately fighting for life.

Clinical staff spoke of him in quiet tones, aware that the dying man was not emotionally prepared to breathe his last.

He arrived at the clinic – confined to a wheelchair pushed by a family member. Only his hollow coughs and the pumping of his oxygen tank broke the silence. He waited, face expressionless.

What can you say to a dying man?

“How are you doing, Fred?”

He looked up from his wheelchair with sad eyes as I led the way for the mournful procession into an exam room.

“Okay,” he paused. “I have no appetite. I can hardly taste anything anymore.”

As I took his vital signs, I glanced at his three relatives sitting by the side of the room. They shared quiet whispers as I worked.

What can you say to a dying loved one’s family?

“Have you been enjoying the summer weather?” As the words spilled from my mouth, I wondered why I even asked.

They shrugged, and glanced at each other. “I guess,” one replied.

Of course. Who would be enjoying the weather today when they knew a loved one would not be enjoying it with them tomorrow?

Wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his right arm, and placing the chest piece of a stethoscope, I listened to his heart’s steady rhythm.  In maybe a matter of days, this heartbeat will cease.

I paused before I left him, wishing that I could speak with him further, assure him of God’s faithfulness, and pray with him.

Before turning to leave, I softly placed my hand on his denim sleeve. “It was nice to see you again, Fred. I hope you have a good day.”

He nodded, looking up at me. “Thank you – and you too.”

I paused in the clinic hallway, closing the door behind me and trying to hold back a flood of emotions.

------------

It was the last look, the last interaction I would have with him in this world. I wonder what I could have done more to help him, and if the little that I did do made any difference to poor Fred.

My heart sank at the news of his death, and I wondered if he was prepared to die.

But oh friends…

Sin is a malignant poison, eating away at the souls of every creature. Humanity fights for life, desperate for love and peace, but so often turning away from its only Source.

The Lord never promised that our trail would not be marked with pain and tears as well as peace and joy. He never said that our hearts wouldn’t break and be broken again. But in this reality we find the beauty of His tender mercy – He does not promise to remove hardship and sorrow, but instead plants Himself by our side, to stand as our shield and support through every storm of life.

No pain is too great to overpower “the love that will not let me go.”

How do I dare to relax and enjoy the prospective “peace and safety” of today, when I know that precious souls lying in my pathway could spiritually (or physically) die tomorrow?

Waiting for a touch of love and compassion, yearning to know the peace that passes all understanding.

What is my life saying to this dying world of ours?

We’re living on borrowed time. More importantly, on God’s time. Are we living like it?

No Conditions

Her attitude was not unapproachable, but neither was it friendly and inviting. The elderly woman slowly rose from the wooden pew, straightening her back and gazing straight ahead. I noticed her short grey hair and gold rings dangling her ears, but more prominent was her aloof and crusty demeanor.
Rising from the piano bench with sheet music nestled under my arm, I approached the pew where the stranger stood. I could see that a visiting non-denominational family friend was eager to introduce us. It had been by her invitation that this new visitor made an appearance at my quaint country church.
"Are you coming to potluck?" I pressed an invitation.
The older lady tugged at the handle of her pocketbook. "Oh, I don't know."
"Are you sure? The food is really good," Mrs. Fontaine, my friend added.
"I really hope you can come," I urged with a smile.
The older woman consented. "Alright."
Church members had slowly wandered downstairs to the fellowship hall where busy cooks had been setting out quinoa salad and heating plates of roasted vegetables, baked beans, and casseroles.
I led the way and stood next to my new "friend" in line. I sensed her lingering aloofness as I urged her to join the potluck line, making efforts to draw her into conversation. If I could only reach through this crustiness and show her that I care,” I thought to myself. To help her to see that this warmness in my heart is real, and no pretense.
I led her to a chair and sat next to her at the long table. To my delight, she slowly softened and the conversation grew pleasant as she asked me questions about homeschooling, my family, and my life.
I was blessed by inviting a stranger to potluck and in getting to know her. She lingered after the meal, interacting with church members and smiling.
I gave her hug before she left. "Please come and visit us again - we would love to have you back."
"Thank you," she nodded. "It was very nice meeting you."
Mrs. Fontaine left to drop the visitor off at her home a mile from the church, and returned to share a story with us.

---------

"Why don't you?"
"I will not step foot in a Seventh-Day Adventist church."
She hung up the phone, adamant in spite of the petition. Although her brother wasn't a member, he worshiped with an Adventist congregation and found true fellowship and biblical preaching there. Faithfully he prayed that she would step out in faith and attend an Adventist church, even though he knew her answer was firm.
Mrs. Fontaine was a relative, and she invited her to attend a local church. "A thirteen-year-old is preaching, and the Cosgrove girls will have special music. You should come! I will pick you up at your house."
On Saturday morning as Mrs. Fontaine's car pulled into the church parking lot, the visitor with her could not hide her astonishment. She hesitated, half laughed, and spoke in one breath, "I can't believe this." How did you know? Why did you bring me here? What are we doing here?
"We're here, so let's go inside."
Thus, the two ladies stepped into our small Seventh-Day Adventist church - and for one of them, it was the first time.

---------

Months later, my visitor friend has stepped across the threshold of an Adventist Church for the third time. gives when the offering plate is passed to her pew….
She listens as a benefit concert for my sister’s Youth For Jesus trip, and she gives...

---------

And now as I sit here, I wonder….

How many times am I content to leave friend, a stranger?

How often do I rob others of the blessing of sharing fellowship, and giving to further God’s work, by my lack of open-armed welcome?

How many blessings have I missed by neglecting to love enough, neglecting to embrace the unlovely?

I think I can understand now why His mission is accomplished when we love the world as He did.

This is the love that seeks out the lost child who was found by “another master.” Breaks the chains of bitterness, and melts the hearts of stone.

It is so easy to love the lovable. I think that I’m a loving person when I love those who love me. But what if our love for God is only measured by how much we love those we love the least? What if God’s estimation of our love for Him is only so much as we love the most naturally repulsive to us?

"Love to man is the earthward manifestation of the love of God. It was to implant this love, to make us children of one family, that the King of glory, became one with us. And when His parting words are fulfilled, “Love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12); when we love the world as He has loved it, then for us His mission is accomplished. We are fitted for heaven; for we have heaven in our hearts." DA, pg. 641

He made the greatest sacrifice that love could make. He loved the world with His life, with His death, and ultimately – eternity.

Love has no conditions in the heart of God. It only gives and lives that it may continue to be shared and lived through the lives of others. If every single soul on this planet rejected His voice, He would still love.

If we can embrace the world – every stranger, every lonely heart, every soul thirsting for a touch, for the opportunity to give….

Only then, we have begun to know this love.