Emily Cook's Blog, page 11

the time is short

I’ve been spending much time lately just tracing over the memories of our life in Indiana. I know the sadness of this season’s end will eventually be replaced by the gratefulness to have had at all. But I also know how to sit heavy with the weight of never-agains, how to linger in the rocking chair (and on the volleyball court, and in the sanctuary, and in my garden, and everywhere else these days!)Tears that mourn the never-agains will turn to tears of gratitude. Eventually."Nothing in this life lasts forever." How this sentence seems to be shouted in my ears all day, every day! How many lasts have gone by and I didn’t even notice? Who came to our last campfire? What sprouts broke the ground first last spring? When was my last field trip with the kids? The last time one of them used the nursery?Sometimes the seasons change imperceptibly; sometimes suddenly. This change seems so sudden it is almost violent. There is not enough time left for lingering and remembering and all the just-one-more-times I want to do things.It reminds me of the time I said goodbye to my husband went he left for Iraq. There wasn’t enough time then, either, and even the time he did have had to be shared with others who loved him. I remember trying to enjoy every moment, trying almost to stock up on him, as if I could just fill myself up with enough of him so as to make the parting less painful. Just one more kiss, just one more quiet moment, and then I’ll be satisfied, and I’ll willingly let him go.That didn’t happen, and it won’t happen this time, either. It will not be my feelings that determine when it’s time to move on. It will be the date on the calendar. It will come too quickly, before I can get every one-more-time in. I won’t be ready, and I won’t have enough of Indiana to satisfy me for a lifetime, to make me let go cheerfully.The seasons change, and I cannot stop it. And so, I linger. I try not to demand more than I’ve been given; I try to take each day for the gift that it is, and I try to trust God with the future. But it’s hard. I’m sad. Because all seasons come to an end, and this season of life in Indiana has been truly wonderful.



Give me the strength to doWith ready heart and willingWhatever you command,My calling here fulfilling.Help me do what I shouldWith all my might, and blessThe outcome for my good,For you must give success.
(O God my faithful God, verse 2)

If you are reading this, he said yes to the call.

If you are reading this, then my husband announced that he has officially accepted his new call. 
Our world has changed, irrevocably, and forever.
If you are reading this, you probably have questions for me, and I probably cannot give a satisfactory answer to many of them. God has called. We have answered.  The hard thing is, we think, the right thing. His faithfulness is our comfort. It is enough. It will have to be.
Words cannot convey the sadness I feel as I consider actually leaving this place. It was truly the perfect gift for our family during this season in our lives. My babies got to be preschool kids in the country, saying goodmorning to cows, riding on tractors, and hunting for frogs in the pond. They entered school under the gentle care of the best teachers I have ever known. The parsonage by the cornfield has been a place of celebration and study and learning to be community, even with a bazillion children underfoot. During the hardest time in our lives the church was truly CHURCH to us and helped and upheld us in every way in the love of Christ. Pastor has Baptized, married, and buried so many people here, people that we will never forget. Deep bonds with friends have grown over the years, and I can no longer imagine life without these dear friends that we have known in Indiana.
And yet, we must go.
Dear friends, please do not let it diminish what you know of our love for you when we say that we go in peace, confident in the Lord’s provision both for us and for you who must stay behind.
We must go, and we go with mixed emotions: sadness and excitement, grief and hope— but underlying all these emotions is a peace that passes understanding, His peace, the peace given to us in Baptism; the peace with God given in Jesus; the peace of the sinner reconciled to God; the peace that is free to trust that in all things God is FOR us, and works even the most painful things for the good of those who love Him and whom He loves.
And of all things we could wish for those who love us, especially for those who grieve, we wish you God’s peace.
If you are reading this, and you love us, you are probably trying hard to say and do the “right” thing, even as you grieve, question, worry, or even feel angry. When you don’t know what to say, or when you say what you don’t mean, or when emotions get in the way of saying anything at all, remember that we are together in this. We grieve together, and grief often means flailing. I’m flailing, too. Praise God: we flail under grace.
The best “right” thing you can do for us now is to pray: Pray for us in transition, pray for our new church, pray for the church here, and pray with eyes on Jesus. Pray with us, alongside us, as we have been and will continue to be- joined together in Christ, joined in peace under His grace, joined eternally as heirs of His grace. Though we must endure a temporary parting, geography cannot sever such a union as we have in Him.
The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. Andthe peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.(Phil 4:6-9)

He himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed inordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. 

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets,Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit. (Eph 2:14-22)

anxiety (a quote)

A demon explains how to bother a Christian in times of trial and anxiety:

Your patient will, of course, have picked up the notion that he must submit with patience to the Enemy's will.  What the Enemy means by this is primarily that he should accept with patience the tribulation which has actually been dealt out to him---the present anxiety and suspense.  It is about this that he is to say "Thy will be done," and for the daily task of bearing this that the daily bread will be provided.  It is your business to see that the patient never thinks of the present fear as his appointed cross, but only of the things he is afraid of.  Let him regard them as his crosses: let him forget that, since they are incompatible, they cannot all happen to him, and let him try to practice fortitude and patience to them all in advance.  For real resignation, at the same moment, to a dozen different and hypothetical fates, is almost impossible, and the Enemy does not greatly assist those who are trying to attain it: resignation to present and actual suffering, even where that suffering consists of fear, is far easier, and is usually helped by this direct action.

(CS Lewis, Screwtape Letters.)

steadily unsteady

Steadily unsteady we remain.

The gifts God freely gives continue to pour in and over us, and yet so many things remain unsteady.

Does God give gifts and let us love them and then request them back?  Which ones can we keep, and for how long? If He wants them back, will He replace them with others?  Will he accept my half-commending of myself and all things?  Will He care for the children? Will He equip us for the work He sends? Will my ankle heal? Will disappointed people say hard things? Will I fall apart in public?  Will He make it crystal clear? For us only, or for others?  Will we see snow this Christmas?
Will we stay or will we go?

Will He be faithful?

Were I to look within or around, there would be no reason for hope, nothing solid to grab. Yet, steady is His Word, steadfast is His love for us, even as He makes all other things sway unsteadily.

The heavy question: Update on the call process

Last week, we announced that pastor-daddy had a new call to consider. As we were traveling to visit that congregation, we got ANOTHER new call. The second church was able to arrange a last-minute visit for us, too. So this weekend, we gathered the family together, and we hopped on the call roller-coaster. 
We're still riding. And because I cope with life by writing, I'll tell you how it's going so far.  I was going to make a list of the good things and the bad things, but as I reflect, I see it is not so easy to separate them neatly. Here's a snapshot of the Big Feelings during the past few days.
A blessed flatteningYou shall have no other gods before me. Not friends, not comfort, not roots, not place, not “security,” whatever that means.  Again, I see how small my love for God is, and how my heart seeks its happiness in the things that are passing away.  A little insecurity, a little reminder of the plain fact that in this life we control NOTHING that matters, is a hard and yet gracious invitation into the Father's arms, the only place true security is ever found.
A wider viewThere are so many great ways to live as a child of God, to do this Christian life well!  We got to see His work in a tiny town in the middle of the Michigan thumb, and in the huge city of Detroit.  It looked so different in each place, and yet, the body of Christ was doing what it does, serving others in love.  The mulit-colored beauty of God is incredible!
A smaller viewSeeing the work of God all over the place reminded me of my own place. I am not the glue that holds the world together- nor is pastor-daddy.  It's easy to forget this, in our own family, even in our own community.  This is pride, and pride took a good hit during our travels. God is doing His Works all over the place through all kinds of people. He plants, and grows, and sustains. And we are tiny.  Oh, how we need Him to continue to guide, plant, and grow us as He wills!
Receiving hospitalityWe had no choice but to receive hospitality from strangers. And we can never repay the debt, particularly to the church(es?) we will disappoint. Yet, they chose to give, to serve us as they could, knowing this. These small acts of love were grace to us: The thoughtfully chosen hotel rooms, the care for the wiggly kids during meetings, the well-tended parsonages, the kids that were kind to my kids, the questions answered honestly, the tours, the prayers, the patience in the decision making process- grace, all grace.
Receiving patience and loveFrom those who hurt. The support of the friend who, through tears, says "You know I'll always be there for you even if you do have to leave. And if I'm crying it's just because I love you guys so much." Loving people that could move, or could get sick, or could die, it hurts. And when suffering comes, it's easy to want to close a heart and kill the love for one's own protection. And yet, some keep on loving through the tears. This too, is grace.
Nighttime wrestling matchesI've heard Dr. Kleinig mention “the spiritual gift of insomnia,” and I thought, “Ugh, what's that? I don't want it.” Well, I got it anyway: nighttime wrestling matches with God, or nighttime coping with the physical effects of stress on the body (like arthritis flares for me, bronchitis for him).  I'm still not quite able to see this as a gift, but I have come to appreciate the nights of blessed, peaceful sleep all that much more!
The learning processThis is a new experience for us and many others. It's hard to know that some people just do not understand the position we are in. It is a strange one! For example, my husband did not ask to be on any call list, but that this is possible of anyone who commits to being a pastor, at any time. Second, though we can say no, he is a called servant of the Church (the big one!) and is absolutely obligated to give any call serious consideration.  I always took comfort in the idea that “we could always say no,” and that's true from one angle, but if God's got other ideas, well, to whom else shall we go? 
Then, add in the kids...All aboard!  If dad and I are going on a stomach-lurching priority-changing life-rearranging roller coaster ride, we figure we might as well bring the kids along and let God change them too... and watch together how he takes care of us, rearranges us, and provides for us.
Fast FriendsMeeting new people is usually awkward, and this cannot be helped. And yet, God can quickly connect his children in friendship. Even my kids got to experience this, and it was wonderful.
Parenting in the spotlightSix kids, after driving in a van for a million hours, now asked to behave in a new place while adults talk to strangers. They will fail. What will you do then, mom and dad? Because the strangers are watching!  But the strangers were kind and understanding, so it wasn't as bad as it sounds, though of course there were plenty of arm squeezes and whispered lectures!  They are so tired of hearing “Just be quiet and stop touching each other while daddy finishes his meeting!”
Kid griefMy heart aches just thinking about this morning's conversation with my son. “Mom, I just want to stay home and stay in bed until daddy makes a decision.” He's worried about crying in front of his friends. “I just don't feel like I'll ever be happy, again.” “I try to give the question mark to God but it just keeps running back and finding me again.”  I truly wish I could join him in that bed.  God uphold us!
Big DiscussionsWe have had so many Big discussions about the Biggest things in life with our kids lately. We've talked about priorities, decision making, praying, trusting God, the hard things about waiting, the freedom we have to just BE sad when we need to (or worried or whatever,) the blessing of seeing God's gifts even within a trial.  There is much good, solid food to share mixed in with this bitter meal.
The roots matterThe day before we told the kids, I sent them off to school knowing it was their last day of “normal” before we unsettled their worlds. I said to my husband, “this experience makes me so grateful for your insistence on regular family devotions. There's no last-minute preparation for this kind of thing. Either the roots are there, or they aren't.”  in the crazy mix of tears and excitement of the past few days, the roots have held, and all of us have come to appreciate them more. The Words we say all the time, they are true, and it matters.Our help is in the name of the Lord, Maker of heaven and earthIn the waters of your Baptism, Jesus has called you by name and promises to be with you always.Into You hands I commend myself, body and soul and all things...those words become real in a hard but good way when you have to go to bed and that big heavy question mark is still on your heart.  
We're trying to function today with the big question mark heavy on our hearts, and it will be there for some time. But, God is faithful. We appreciate the support and prayers of our friends and family and church family!
And now, some actual snapshots from the journey...
The long, long journey!
PORT HOPE, MI


Eastpointe, MI








And finally, back to the home we've made home for the last seven years. 


Our help is in the name of the Lord, Maker of heaven and earthIn the waters of your Baptism, Jesus has called you by name and promises to be with you always.Into You hands I commend myself, body and soul and all things...

Big news, Big feelings

Big feelings happening in this place right now...

That feeling when you realize it's all gift, and sometimes He takes gifts back, or exchanges them for others;
That feeling when you realize (again) that you have control over nothing, nothing that truly matters;
That feeling when your heart bursts withboth grief and excitement, and they both just keep getting stronger;

That feeling when you have talked for ten hours and you still have to go to bed with a big decision unmade;
That feeling when you unsettle the world of the children, and some shoot off fireworks of questions with excitement, while others curl up on the ground in a ball of sadness and fear;

That feeling when you realize someone else might eat your future raspberries, and your future strawberries;

That feeling when you trust and pray and commend yourself to God and you still just can't fall asleep;
That feeling when you realize your future is only as steadfast as the love of the Father for His children;
That feeling when your husband gets a call. 
My husband has received a call to serve at another church. Please pray for us and with us as we deliberate and seek God's will; pray for this church and that church and all churches; that God Himself would be our anchor. 

A book to savor, from Anthony Esolen

Reflections on the Christian Life: How Our Story Is God's Story by Anthony Esolen
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

A book to savor. Highly recommended.

"The danger is that the things will stuff us full, and we will not be hungry for what really satisfies. The danger is that the things will be heaped so high that we will not see the vast homeland beyond. The danger is that the things will so distract us with their racket that we will not hear the still small voice that fairly broke the heart of the prophet Elijah."

"We are too ready to think that Jesus, being God in the flesh, would be protected from suffering, at least until the onset of His Passion and death. The exact reverse is true. Precisely because Jesus was God, He would feel with a keenness we cannot imagine all the wretchedness of sin, the stupidities that wreck our lives, the tearing of the heart at the moment of a loved one’s death, and even the ordinary demands of the feeble body and soul. He was a lone innocent man in a world of sinners, as if He were the only man who could see color in a world of black and white, or the only man who could still hear music beneath a world of shouting, blasphemy, sniggering laughter, idle gossip, sharp-eyed wheedling, and groans. His suffering with us and for us and on account of us began the day He was born."

"He was doing the will of His Father, and opening Himself out in the wound of love."

"Where is the pearl to be found? This is the moment that contains all moments. This is the day that the Lord has made. Look down at your feet, and see what God has placed in your path. Look to your neighbor, and see whom He has sent. Look up at the sky, and see the gleam of His glory."





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Unbuckled. (when the littlest one leaves for school.)

The lake spreads wide, and we ride along in our tiny fishing boat.
We are tiny, on the big lake.

My tiniest one is afraid. His life jacket does not comfort him like it comforts me. He climbs in my lap, and places my arms around his waist. “Mama, you be my seatbelt,” he says. He settles back into me, and watches the glory of the summer day pass by, in safety and confidence now; now that he is tucked in my arms, now that mama is his seatbelt.
Yes, dear, I will be your seatbelt, gladly, while I still can. I nuzzle into his hair, breathing in the summer, lake, life, and little boy. I hold the moment close to me while I can, while my arms still reach around his little waist; while he still fits here, on my lap.
My tiniest one is outgrowing his seatbelt.

The waves come from the front, and more waves from the side. The boat suddenly jerks, and I fly off my seat, tiny one smashes into the side of the boat. He shows me his bruise, angry with me. Mama's seatbelt didn't hold. I glare at my husband, angry with him. Where's my seatbelt?
The tiniest one climbs back on my lap, and we continue on, though not without prayers from my mother-heart. We speed along the miracle of the giant lake, upheld in our little boat. Where can we go, but forward? To Whom shall we cling as we fly along? Our Creator and Father shines the sun down upon us, as we consider His ways, meditate on His works. We ride on his works; we swim in them and float on them and watch them fly overhead and make them into castles and watch them destroy our castles.
-----Tomorrow, it will be time to unbuckle the last seatbelt. Tomorrow, my youngest goes to kindergarten.
Mothers are not made to be seat belts forever. And so, we go forward, the children to school, and me, into the next season of life. We go forward, but not without many prayers from my mother-heart.
Father,Take my children and all children into your loving hands as they begin a new school year.  Guard them from danger, bless them with good friends and kind teachers; grant them bodies full of health, and minds full of wonder and joy in learning.  As they outgrow their motherly seatbelts, grow them up in You, that your grace may be the air they breathe and the cool water in which they swim each day.  
Father, take this mother, and all mothers, into Your loving hands, too.  Grant us the grace to flex with the needs of our families, and the eyes to see your grace and blessings in each season of our lives.  Refresh us, Lord, and quench our thirst as we drink deeply from Your Word each day.  Be our anchor in the days of change, and fix our hearts where true joys are to be found: In Jesus, Your Son, our Lord. Amen.


Tiny.  Loved. Unbuckled.

a sunset song (in loving memory of Uncle Tom)

Before we went to Lake Michigan for vacation this year, we spent a few days on the cliff, at edge of eternity.

In hospital waiting rooms, crying openly, embracing frequently, we journeyed to the end of life in this life with my uncle. He was taken from us with such speed, it seems; given only three days to three weeks to live from the moment they said “cancer.”

Family came, fresh from the beach, with burned skin and red eyes. The air was thick with their warmth, their love, like summer humidity. As that harsh light on the cliff of eternity burned away so much that doesn't matter, we talked more freely about the things that do.

His wife would not leave his side. Those who love them both kept vigil with her. My dad stood with his arms crossed at the end of the bed, wet eyes. I went up next to him and leaned in heavy, and my sister did the same on the other side. We watched the horrible sunset of a life, together.

His wife wet his lips with a sponge; she held his hand; she moved the tubes and climbed into bed and held him close while she still could. Whether he had the strength to return the embrace or not, it didn't matter; she was breaking, too, but she gave what she had to her broken husband. He loved her, and she loved him, and they loved until the end.

During the last evening of the last day of his life on this dying earth, when goodbyes had been spoken, and there was nothing to do but wait, my sister sat at his bedside and did something ridiculous: s
he sang. She sang a cheerful song, a song of victory, and it didn't match the oppressive sadness in that dark room, it didn't line up with the suffering there. It was not a song inspired by the grim scene unfolding there... it was a song from beyond the cliff.



O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath the cleansing flood.

Oh, the emotions I felt as I stood and watched the ridiculous concert, the nearly insane words of light spoken in one of the darkest rooms possible! “Victory in Jesus,” sung over one who was losing the battle to cancer! Victory? Really? If anything in this world is defeat, is it not this, a man taken in his strength down to nothing, cancer in every cell of his bone marrow? Even as she sang, he groaned, then fell into deep morphine snores, only to be woken again by more pain. How can this, even this, be made into victory? And yet my sister, there singing, declared by her presence itself exactly how. That sister, who for years sought her own death in the dark rooms of addiction and rebellion, is now made alive in Christ, and here, on a deathbed, declaring his works of light in the darkness. Here is a girl who knows the works of the Lord, and knows there is no hopeless situation if His hand is at work.

When she finished, he gave a faint smile and a weary “yaaaaay!” Not many hours later, he was finished, too; finished with all work on this earth, finished with the days he'd been given here. He is now finished with breath, finished with cancer, finished with his motorcycle and projects and mowing his own lawn.

But is God finished? Or is there reason for hope, even now, even when he is gone over the cliff and we see him no more? We will keep singing, in hope, as we live out our own days until our final sunset. We will sing of this God who makes dry bones live, whose Jesus died for us and rose for us, and who promises to raise us, too. And it will sound ridiculous, and our feelings will sometimes be unable to join the song, but what does it matter? Our feeble flesh and our fickle feelings will not stop His hand in its gracious work.

I heard about a mansion
He has built for me in glory.
And I heard about the streets of gold
Beyond the crystal sea;
About the angels singing,
And the old redemption story,
And some sweet day I'll sing up there
The song of victory.

O victory in Jesus,
My Savior, forever.
He sought me and bought me
With His redeeming blood;
He loved me ere I knew Him
And all my love is due Him,
He plunged me to victory,
Beneath the cleansing flood.

Father,
Victory seems so far off, and it is hard to wait, hard to believe while we wait and do not see. Gently turn our eyes to Jesus as we grieve. Gently comfort us in Your Words of promise. Let the harsh light we feel at the edge of the cliff burn away all that does not please you, and those things that do not matter. Fill us with faith towards you, and fervent love for each other, as we wait in hope for your coming in victory.


Especially uphold my dear uncle's family as they continue life in this broken place, now with the hole where he once was. Gently, Lord, help and comfort them and all who grieve.

In Jesus' Name, Amen.
view from the edge of eternity
(hospital window)

running commentary

So, you’re a silent prayer. I was too, before kids. I was a silent hair-brusher and laundry-starter and weed-puller, too. But now, I am a Narrator.
Read about it at Katie Luther Sisters, and keep talking!