Emily Cook's Blog, page 4

Hurricane Relief

Lorraine (age 14) just returned from a trip to Florida with her grandparents and Samaritan’s Purse to help with Hurricane relief efforts. She was gone for almost two weeks (counting travel time) and was able to do her high school work on the road. She returned full of stories, thankfulness, and mementos from the beach.  Recently, I sat down with her for an interview.

I know you didn’t really know what to expect when you went, but was there anything that  surprised you?How friendly everyone was (the volunteers and the leaders.)  I will never forget the people on my team!

Did it seem weird being the youngest there?Most people were retirement age. There were three 17-yr-olds and one 14-yr-old. It wasn’t weird though. People don’t talk to me like I’m a kid (probably because I don’t talk like a kid.)

What was it like? Tell me about some of your experiences.At one house we thought it was going to be a simple mud-out (throwing everything away that got water damage/mold) but when we got there we also had to take the whole kitchen out- we had to gut the whole thing. Even the cabinets were moldy. They had thought it would be a half hour job but it took us all day.In one of the rooms an entire wall had blown out and they put blue tarp over it. We took everything out of that room (TV set, everything in the closet, etc) When we took the tarp down to help take down the wall we discovered it was ALL termites. I couldn’t believe the wall was still standing because it was paper thin. In another room we had to take down all the walls and insulation and even the ceiling!  Sometimes they had to let the insulation just hang form the ceiling for a while so that all the water would pour out onto the floor!  We also had to fix the roof- there were tons of holes and it just kept leaking into the house.They were so thankful they ordered us pizza. They had to drag us away from the work to make us sit and eat with them. Another house we went to was like a hoarder’s house. They had a bunch of pieces of metal just laying around their yard, and you could barely walk through the house. The girls cleaned up a patio.  Bump (grandpa) had to put on tyvek suit (it made him look like a sausage!) and wear a mask to deal with all the moldy insulation.
What was the hardest thing for you?
The work wasn’t bad because we were with everyone else while we worked and having fun kind of. It was hard to leave the people’s house when we could have talked a lot more.  Also, another team went out to work one day and discovered a suicide. I’m glad that wasn’t us.
How did you see God at work? 

Sometimes people were quite rude at first but they usually softened up after we worked for awhile. I think it helped them to see us work hard but still be laughing and having fun too.  At the end of every job we would pray with the people and give them a  Bible at the end (that everyone in the group signed).Some people started crying when we prayed for them or when we gave them a Bible.

Well Lorraine, your family prayed for you the whole time you were gone. It is a lovely thing to see you going off into the world and using the gifts God has given you to bless others. What a joy it is to see you growing into a young woman with a heart for God and His people!  May He keep up his good work in you!  

What other questions do you have for Lorraine?

Come in, for He has gone out for you

It is hard to find safe places in these troubled times. Our enemy isolates us, and these days it is easy to curl up in distraction, in entertainment, or behind our own self-made walls.  How awful it is to bear burdens in secret, to sink quietly and alone when they become too much.  

“Do not neglect meeting together,” God tells His people.  Where two or three are gathered, there He is in the midst of us. Jesus invites us into community because we need community. It is not good for us to be alone- so Jesus goes out.

See Jesus’ heart for the outcast, for the one broken by sin! The sin that breaks the outcast- is it her own or just a result of the evil in this world? Does it matter?  Jesus does not wait for us to untangle these things. Simply, Jesus goes out.

Jesus goes out to speak life and grace and forgiveness.  Jesus goes out, He comes down, He enters into the lives of each broken person.  He lived and he died and He rose for this one and that one and each one, for you and for me. He goes out to speak life and grace and forgiveness.  He goes out to bring health, life, and community.

Jesus goes out with His Word, and His Word is life!Without it, we suffocate and die and so do our relationships.

But with it-- with His Word, His grace-- our relationships take on new life!  We gather to receive from His hand, and we see that we have enough, truly enough to last for eternity.  We become eager to share, eager to pass the cup that is filled with the living water.  What a blessing, to be part of a community formed by God, fueled by His grace; when people gather together to be seen and to see one another, to love and forgive, to extend grace and encourage each other in the Lord.

Because Jesus goes out, the outcast is taken in, and the beggars are given daily bread.

Sometimes, this Jesus, He scares me.  His giant compassion is terrifying when I see it applied to others, even as I want that compassion for myself.  It scares me because, if I am to walk as He walks, where are my healthy boundaries? How do I know when I can say no? Where CAN I put up the fences and the keep out signs? What if I get too tired and my feet hurt and the people keep coming? How can I assure I will get some rest, have some space, reserve some part of me that is truly MINE, that doesn’t get poured out and remade by this God with this crazy love?

And Jesus doesn’t answer. He doesn’t draw the boundary lines.  He calls us into wide-open spaces, into the vast expanse that is His work in the world.  

But who is this God who calls us?

When the widow used up the flour each day, each day He restored it. When the storm was too much for the disciples, He spoke, and it was still. When Moses lost the strength to pray, He sent Aaron to hold up his hands. When our sin was too much for us, He took it upon Himself and bore it to the grave, burying it forever, that we may be free.

He calls us out, with no guarantees: only the gift of His presence.Only! As if the provision of this Jesus who goes out and pours His very blood for us were not enough!  

He calls us out, not to BE Jesus, but to be WITH Jesus, to be filled up with and to pass on the grace that He gives.

It is not good for us to be alone, so Jesus gives us Himself, and then He plants us in church families where we can give and receive His gifts together. Do not neglect gathering together with His people!  Yes, those who join you are broken too, and dysfunctional at times. Life in any family is complicated.  Praise God that complicated messy sinners like you and I have a place here, where we are welcomed in, forgiven and fed.

Come in, sit alongside other sinners, and be fed.  Be brought in close by the One who goes out for you.

For thus says the Lord God: Behold, I, I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As a shepherd seeks out his flock when he is among his sheep that have been scattered, so will I seek out my sheep, and I will rescue them from all places where they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. And I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land. And I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the ravines, and in all the inhabited places of the country. I will feed them with good pasture, and on the mountain heights of Israel shall be their grazing land. There they shall lie down in good grazing land, and on rich pasture they shall feed on the mountains of Israel. I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I myself will make them lie down, declares the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice. Ezekiel 34:11-16

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near. Hebrews 10:19-25


Worship times at St. Peter's EastpointeWednesdays at 7pmSundays at 8am and 10:30pm

meeting with grandma (creative writing exercise)

We’re at a kitchen table, but it’s not the one she always used. It could never seat all of them- grandpa, and their eight children. It’s the small table, in the condo, from the days when her life shrank down to smallness and the children were grown, after the neighborhood went bad and they moved where things were safer and someone else mowed the lawn.  It’s probably not her favorite table. How could it be?

Why did grandma choose to meet me here, of all places?  If I got to come back from heaven for a moment to visit a granddaughter, I imagine I’d meet her someplace wonderful, somewhere I’d made a great memory.  But here were are, meeting at the little kitchen table in the condo from the days when her life got small.

She has hair again, but it is gray, and her skin is a little wrinkled. Her smile is radiant, and I have the sense that she is merely wearing something like old age, but not quite; as if she is toning down her beauty for my sake.

Grandma has something for me inside a bag.  It’s just what I need, she says with a small smile. I cannot imagine what it could be. Can you put a nap inside a bag? Or patience, or courage?  She sets the bag on the table. It is so good to see her again.  

“I can’t carry anything from eternity to you, dear. If I could, I would give you the fruit that tastes like a sunrise, and the words to the songs that we sing around the throne, and you would eat and we would sing, and He would pour out so much healing and life that you would never grow old, never grieve, never ache in your soul ever again.  But the time for that is not yet.”

Her radiant face becomes serious, and something like sadness, but not quite, fills her eyes. “No, not yet. You have darkness to travel through yet, dear. And days of smallness.  And you will fight it and grieve the changes, but that is as it should be.  God will do His work in you and for you, and that is what matters.”

She opens the bag, and inside I see it: a flower.

“Do you remember when you were small and we would go for walks in the woods by the cottage? I loved the way you held my hand and chatted about every little thing. I remember teaching you to watch for this special flower: trillium. It was a rare flower, illegal to pick, but it grew in our little corner of the woods. I always liked to look for it, and to teach you little ones to appreciate it and respect it.”

I took the flower from her hand. That’s it? I thought.  A flower for a vase for a week, then the smell of rotting plant, then garbage and another dish to clean?

She read my thoughts. “Yes, the flower will die, it is not from the New World. But you will have the memory, and with it, the promise from our Lord: He is making all things new.  Trillium is rare in this life, and special... like those moments with your children as they grow, they bloom for a moment and then they are gone forever. I know you feel this way.” Tears came quickly to my eyes. “But it only seems to be this way, dear. He is making ALL things new!  I wish I could describe to you the trillium in the new place: our Father makes even this flower more beautiful, and somehow more unique and precious and abundant, all at once!”

She traced her fingers along the table. “It is ok to let go, dear, and to move on to the next season. No, it is not ‘safe,’ not in the way you think of it- there will be trials and dangers and real suffering.  The things that pass away are really gone… for a time. But Jesus!  He is there with your family around your noisy table, right in the thick of the the homework battles and the ‘do I really have to eat this?’  And daughter, when life changes again, when your table is small, He will be there with you and the quiet cup of coffee.”

“Don’t you see?  He gives all of this- it was all His idea! Each baby-bump, each first-day-of-school, each springtime and every trillium that blooms in this dying world: these are His good gifts, given for a time, given so that you could learn to love and trust the hands that give.  Trust the hands that give, the hands that bled for you. He knows what you need, and He is making all things new.”

And suddenly the moment was gone, and I was back in my kitchen, where the floors are crunchy and the counters are sticky and the table is huge.  

Wait! Grandma!? There are so many other things I wanted to ask! What did you do about tantrums and curfews and bad grades and sports?  Will the kids be ok? How did you survive the teen years? What would you have done differently? Does it all work out in the end? Will you hug grandpa for me?  

But the moment was gone.  And I was alone with the memory of a flower.
And Jesus.
(a writing exercise inspired by Voice and Vessel)originally published 9/16

-------------------All saints day, a time for the church to remember those who have gone before, and to look forward to the day when God gathers all of His people together for eternity.  For a text file of my favorite Scriptures, quotes and articles related to this holiday,  click here.
Who are you remembering this week?Share a photo and (if you like) some words with me (via facebook or email or in the comments) Then, I'll randomly choose one of you to win a free copy of my book, Between Seasons: Devotions for those who wait for Spring.  It is also available for purchase on Amazon, along with my other books: Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers, and Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story.

Acorns: A last time

Children, there wil be a last time.

As we wait here in between chapters,
and you cry the first of your real tears...
I hate to spoil the ending, but,
there will be a last time for this.

There will be a final graveside service. 
One last tolling of the bell, 
and the very last sleepless, grieving night.

There will be a last goodbye,
then one more hello,
a reunion,
and a family of God that will be unbroken for eternity.

We will have our last fight,
and we will be reconciled,
and the peace between us will never again be broken.

Temptations will make a final attack,
and you will confess your last sin,
and repent, for the last time,
and then be forever, finally, fully turned to God in perfect love and holiness.

You will doubt your last doubt;
you will pray your last tearful prayer,

There will be a final world-weary sigh,
and an end to the aching prayer, "Come, Lord Jesus."

For He will come,
and we will behold his hands and his side,
and he will wipe every tear from our eyes.

Not yet, dear children, not yet,
but soon,
and at last.

Come Lord Jesus.

In My Father's house are many mansions...I go to prepare a place for you.  
John 14:2

But according to His promise we are looking for new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells. 2 Peter 3:13
They desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God; for He has prepared a city for them. Revelation 14:13


See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.I John 3:1-3

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.“Therefore they are before the throne of God,and serve him day and night in his temple;and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;the sun shall not strike them,nor any scorching heat.For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,and he will guide them to springs of living water,and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”Revelation 7:9-17





This week I am sharing pieces of my All Saints Scrapbook.
Why not make your own?
It can be as simple as this:


Need help getting started?
For a text file of my favorite Scriptures, quotes and articles click here.
-----------------------------------------


Who are you remembering this week?Share a photo and (if you like) some words with me (via facebook or email) 
and I'll publish them all on Saturday. 
Then, I'll randomly choose one of you to win a free copy of my newest book, Between Seasons.

-------------------------
It is available for purchase on Amazon, along with my other books: Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers, and Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story.

Gathering Acorns: Remembering and Looking Forward

Here comes an opportunity to talk to kids about death!
All saints day, coming soon! Are you ready?

I'm not. I'd rather just make a costume, and I am not a fan of sewing, so that's saying something. But the church year has brought this holiday along again already, as it does every year, and I find that it is actually good for me.

It is a time to think of those who have already finished the race, those who are done with sadness and trials and now live a life of joy in presence of God.

It is the time of year for remembering, and for looking-forward. 

I have an "All Saints" scrapbook, and I make sure that the children and I look through it together at least once a year.  Of course, life being what it is, we tend to look at it a bit more often... every time we add a beloved family member or church member to the book.  

Don't assume that this is something I am actually comfortable with.  It is definitely not, but I do it anyway.


Why a scrapbook?I started it for myself, actually.  At first, I did not want to share it with the kids.  Yet, I was sure I would have to, and I thought I would have to do it soon, which is why I started the scrapbook in the first place.

I was pretty sure that my dear Aggie was going to die.  And I knew that if her eyes closed one last time, I would have four other sets of  little eyes, staring at me with questions.

And what if Aggie knew?  What if there came time for Hospice and preparing and Aggie's own questions?  What would I say to her?  How in the world would I be able to say anything, or do anything at all, other than try to merely function under the weight of my own grief?

I did not trust myself.  I had to prepare. I had to organize the Truth and have it at hand, sitting there in black and white, ready to strengthen weak faith and heavy hearts...  just in case.

So I started a scrapbook.  Like a squirrel gathering acorns, I gathered promises.  I stored away Words of hope and truth.


I read those Words, I cut them out, and I clung to them.  I put them in a scrapbook right next to pictures of those who have gone before, and I imagined those promises fulfilled.
I am a terrible scrapbooker. I do not own a pair of those scissors with fancy edges, nor do I know how to mat and place things so they look pretty. I can't even cut a straight edge (seriously, it drives my husband and one son crazy.)  For this reason, you will see few photos of my book. It is definitely not pinterest worthy!
Dearest Christian friends, I encourage you to take time this fall to gather promises.  Grab an old photobook, or even a three ring binder, and make for yourself a place to store those precious words and promises of God that encourage you in the valley of the shadow of death.
Remember, rejoice, and look forward with me.

baby me, and grandma, and grandpa

---------------
This week I am sharing pieces of my All Saints Scrapbook.
Why not make your own?
It can be as simple as this:


Need help getting started?
For a text file of my favorite Scriptures, quotes and articles click here.
-----------------------------------------




Who are you remembering this week?Share a photo and (if you like) some words with me (via facebook or email or in the comments) .Then, I'll randomly choose one of you to win a free copy of my book, Between Seasons: Devotions for those who wait for Spring.  
-------------------------
It is also available for purchase on Amazon, along with my other books: Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers, and Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story.

Beautiful Rot (A guest post)

A warm welcome to a new friend, Naomi Marks, mother of six and seminarian wife at Ft. Wayne Theological Seminary.

I have a vision. This vision is of my husband and myself ministering together with our whole slew of children – praying together, worshipping together, and meeting the needs of the saints together. 

Where am I right now? Nursing a two-month-old, our first baby. 

So, the question is – how do we get from where we are to where we want to be? 

As I took a walk this evening and watched all the vibrant leaves fall to the ground and get trampled on and dry out, I was thinking that the one thing I know for sure it will take to get where we want to be is death. Yes, death – that nasty, evil, brutish enemy of ours, who has a way of snatching away life. Usually this is a bad thing, but there are some things that the Bible says are better off dying and the one I was specifically thinking about is self.

Self. The old man. The nature of Adam. The flesh. This is the thing we must set out to kill if we want to live a life that bears fruit. Why? Because “unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (John 12:24). I kind of feel like my husband and I are acting like the leaves this year, as they slowly detach from the tree and bury themselves into the ground.

What’s getting buried? Our pride. Our desire to not be embarrassed. Our time. Our energy. Our self-absorbed prayer life. Our quiet. Our solitude as a couple. “Ha!” you might yell, “good-bye leaves.” Yes, this is true; good-bye for now. Down they go, into the ground, covered with snow, seemingly never to be heard from. But we know that come springtime, they have fertilized the ground so much that new things grow out of them. Those grains of wheat – they were just planting themselves in order that lovely stalks might grow again.

We might no longer have candlelight dinners. We might not be able to sleep as many hours. We might not have extra time to play games and do what we like. We might not have the luxury of feeling like we know what we’re doing. We might have to spend hours and hours training and teaching and demonstrating again and again what it means to be a servant of God. We will probably feel overwhelmed at times, and frustrated, and exhausted. That’s because we’re dying. Our selves are planting themselves in the ground as we attempt to birth and raise other selves – the ones that are lovely, made in the image of Christ.

And what will grow? I hope it’s another generation. I hope it’s kids who will learn to add 1+1 and read Dr. Seuss and Shakespeare and write letters to the editor and vote against abortion and fill up churches and run for president and eventually have kids of their own, another round of sippy cups and Cheerios and math books. I hope it’s kids who will carry on the vision of their father and their grandfather of opening their hearts and homes and hands to people in need, giving freely of what they have to help others. Generation after generation who will study God’s Word, preach the law and the gospel, receive forgiveness of their sins, baptize THEIR babies, and give food and water to the poor and hungry of the world.

Sometimes as I sit and hold Jonah, I think about what he might turn into. As I sing to him, I pray “Lord, make this child strong and faithful.” As I bring him with me to take muffins to our older friend from church, I think to myself “see, Son, this is what we do. This is how we BE the gospel to the world.” I hope he catches on. I hope he sees through the Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed to know that the Hope of the World is living in our hearts. I hope the smiley faced pancakes show him the face of Jesus and his homemade overalls show him the covering Christ offers for his sins. I hope as I rock him and sing to him, he feels the hands and voice of Jesus. I hope my whispers of love are the echoes of the Holy Spirit's.

I will gladly trade my year-old title of “bride” for that of Mom, because I trust that sooner or later this death will bring forth a new title – “mother of the bride” and then “grandmother of the bride”. It’s that death that brings life.

So, goodbye old self. Bury yourself in leaves and dirt and yesterday’s Frito bag in the yard. I can’t wait to see what you’re going to turn into. 



When you come by my house, you might hear Skinnamarink and the state capitals and maybe occasional disciplining and the hum of the dishwasher. But I hope what you smell is rot – compost. And I hope, if you check back in 20 years you will hear Skinnamarink in my daughter’s house next door. 

another test flight...

A toddler screams, begs mom not to go, but she has to leave, to work, for the sake of the little one who cannot understand.  She prys him from her leg and makes a mad dash for the door, apologizing to everyone she sees on the way out.

“It’s ok,” I remind her, “he will be fine in about sixty seconds.” And he was. “It’s good for him to learn that he can do things even without mom around.” And it is.

My teenager-in-bloom smiles and says, “I get it, kid! Don’t let go of your mommy until you absolutely have to!”  I smile and sigh.  We are close, she and I, and thanks to our unconventional high school choice we have become even closer.  Yet, these are days of preparation for the next stage, and I want her to be able to let go, to learn and to grow without mommy around.

She’s in Florida this week with her grandparents helping out with Hurricane relief efforts.  She left before I got home from Outdoor Ed (a field trip with 5th and 6th graders.) It will be almost two full weeks of not seeing her before, Lord willing, she is home safe once again.

It’s a little letting-go, a practice for the bigger ones coming.

I remember when the girls were tiny, when our stay-at-home days opened wide before us.  They were my shadows as I learned the art of motherhood. We took many of our first steps together.  I remember huge brown eyes full of questions and wonder at the wide world around them. I remember how Lorraine would fall, and before she even cried she’d look to me to see how I reacted, to interpret her experience for her. I learned to hold in my own fear and my gasps, and to smile encouragement at her- even when I was afraid she actually hurt her sweet little knee.

I remember the courage it took me to let her sleep in the top bunk, and how we sang our bedtime prayers together. I remember her sweet little-girl voice and tiny hands imitating me as we sang goodnight to God:
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy GhostAs it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.

How far she has come from those little-girl days, from needing me to fill her sippy cup!  How far she has come since that uncertain squawky mommy voice that led her in that song!  

Now, she is the girl whose mom still can’t even read music, and yet she can play piano and handbells and clarinet.  I remember when she played handbells, last spring, with her peers: she was just one blooming flower among many, playing her part to the glory of God, but my, how she shone.  And the complicated piece lifted my soul to heaven and spoke to me about the love and work of God.  As it ended with the familiar “Glory be to the Father,” I saw her in footy pjs singing with me, then growing so quickly into her womanly glory, and I marveled at the works of God.

God took that awkward song we sang together when she was little and he has made it richer and deeper for her; He has connected her with His church and His people, and given her a place to shine to His glory within it, and she does it with such joy!  How amazing is this God who multiplies the blessings He gives!

She is not mine, and the more beautiful she becomes the more I realize how little I have had to do with any of this. And yet, by the grace of God I have played a part. I have been given sweet days of nurturing and tending the garden where she and her siblings grow.  What better use can there be for this brain and this body, but to be poured out for their sakes?  

And so, I will continue to smile encouragement in her direction, despite my fears, and I will ask God to remove the selfish clinging and ugly sense of ownership from my mommy heart.   I pray that God will take care of her, without mommy around, and I can’t wait until she tells me exactly how He did just that.

And with the help of God I will let go, and I will celebrate with her, even when she is transplanted out of my home and my garden…
but not until I absolutely have to.
God, grow me up as you grow them up!

Fall (ing)

I’m not used to the tiny cars any more.  I feel vulnerable as we drive on the expressway.  There is a boy, barely 16, jammin’ on his steering wheel, going 80 on our left; an old man drives his truck slowly to our right.  So many variables, cruising down the expressway; if just one gets out of order it’s twisted metal and mangled bodies. I pray, as I often do at high speeds, for angels to guard our way, for protection that I don’t deserve, that He hasn’t promised.

He hasn’t promised protection, not in the way I’d like Him to. He hasn’t promised to navigate us through this broken place and not let it touch us; we will break, too.  

My eyes are drawn to the fire-red trees against the October blue sky, bursting bright with glory for a moment.   Then, brake lights flash red and we slow quickly.  Black smoke billows up ahead.  It does not look good.  Folks heading to the football game to tailgate, happy campers, semi drivers just doing their job: we are now in line for a funeral, it seems.  Traffic slows to a stop; it seems fitting, if a life has stopped.  But we didn’t sign up for this in our travels today, and each one copes in his own way. Some turn up the music, check their phones, hide their faces. One girl fingers the rosary beads that swing from her rearview mirror.  One taps the steering wheel impatiently; one gets out of his car repeatedly, too restless to sit and wait, perhaps trying to avoid the reality in which he sits.

45 minutes later we pass the skeleton of a burned out car- wait, no, it’s a minivan, black and gray and completely torched. Oh God, no. Were there babies in there? I will not think of burnt children; I look at the trees instead.  We are back to high speeds. He giveth and He taketh away, but still today for us He giveth. And I receiveth, with fear and trembling.  We will break too, but not right now, and when we will do we will break only to be put back aright by His hands.

Well He knows what best to grant me;
All the longing hopes that haunt me,
Joy and sorrow, have their day.
I shall doubt His wisdom never,--
As God wills, so be it ever,--
I to Him commit my way.

TLH 425

This ground.

I am learning to know and to love this ground.

This summer, I ate the first Eastpointe zucchini ever grown in my garden; with butter and pepper, and it was delicious. Grown from the rich soil in a bed put there by Skurda Landscaping with care and good humor; under the cherry tree that bore much fruit last year, the tree we climbed and picked with Sunny.  We shook the branches and caught the bounty on sheets while Peter ate himself sick.  This year it is diseased and everything that grows is rotten or fuzzy.  Sunny, she says,  “In my country we paint white I don’t know name-- white something-- up and down the orange trees every year and we not have problem; my family every year all lotsa lotsa trees and I need find english word I don’t know what they call name but I be find and you be see.”  But the tomatoes grow, and the squash spills out over the garden beds, and the cucumbers.  The raspberry patch is taking root, and this is multi-layered grace to me: a gift from church friends, and the fruit itself full of childhood memories.

There was a stump by our gate that the trustees were going to take out someday. I wasn’t here long before I realized the workload of the trustees and the low priority a stump would have on the list so instead of waiting to plant in that area, I embraced the stump and we painted it “The Cooks” and made it pretty.  Then I surrounded the “art” with God’s flower art and some bean vines. This year, I let Lorraine paint it, and she and a friend wrote a lovely quote about friendship over distance. The flowers grow there again, and this year, sweet peas, and they taste just like the ones I grew in Indiana.

A sidewalk passes our house, and those who walk on it are manifold: high school kids, the homeless man with the Aldi bags, the woman and her dog, the friendly guys from the car lot next door, a man in a suit on a bike, the man without a shirt, the mom and her toddler waiting for the bus, and us, of course, on our way to work, or taking our dogs on a walk.

We have memories in this house now: That time when we got locked out; when we had that big party; where we lost our bird and gained a puppy; when the bike got stolen; when the kids came to play on the trampoline; the nerf party; the bleary-eyed morning devotions; where we come and collapse after traveling to faraway sporting events. It is the place where we have danced and fought and yelled and cried and sang and grown together.  It will be our third winter with a fireplace; we hope for more snow this year, and I can’t wait to get out the box of Christmas books.


Once again, we live next door to the place where the saints are laid to rest.  The children walk through this garden on their way to school, past those who have worked to give them their heritage, through the pine trees that have grown tall and strong. I do not know all the names on the stones in the cemetery, nor their histories.  Those roots grow rich and deep, and while my family enjoys the fruit of their labors daily in the church and school buildings, we have not yet learned to trace exactly the path God used to give them through the saints gone before.
But I know one saint buried there would have turned sixteen this year.  I imagine she would have been friends with my teenage daughter as I am friends now with her mother.  Her father and mother walk this property often, in work and pain and grief and hope, remembering her each in their own way.  She is sorely missed.

I have come to love more than one dear gray-haired saint whose spouse is buried here.  “I wish you could have known her,” one says to me with a sad smile, and I wish it, too. Someday, Lord, will there be time for knowing all these saints and all their stories?  I do hope so; I hope we will be able to see and trace the work of Your hands in each life, and in my own life, too.  But right now, there is not enough time- new shoots are growing here, and new families are being gathered in like we have been- it is time for watering and nurturing and praying to God for growth.  It is time to “take and eat,” to receive from God in this place, and to come alongside those who have grown here for decades and now pray with trembling hands.

It is fall now, and the breeze of October stirs up wet leaves and pine needles and layers of Michigan memories.  We gather beauty from the grounds and make them into oil candles so the inside of our house smells more like outside (and less like boy shoes).
The six lane road that passes our house has been freshly paved. The flowers that hang from the lights along the street are almost done blooming, but soon the posts will be wrapped in lights and ready for Season’s Greetings. I love how the trees and lights look covered in snow.


We greet the next season with gratitude for daily gifts and daily strength.  As the days get darker, we pray for God’s light and warmth to sustain us.  Apart from Him, all is winter (and never Christmas,) but in Him, we welcome the next season with hope and expectation of his provision. We pray on this ground, that the work of God will continue to be done in this place; that He would sustain His shepherds and His servants, that His Word would ring out like the daily church bells and lift eyes and hearts upward and into faith in Christ.  

The Lord looks down from heaven;
   he sees all the children of man;
from where he sits enthroned he looks out
   on all the inhabitants of the earth,
he who fashions the hearts of them all
   and observes all their deeds.
Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear him,    on those who hope in his steadfast love,
that he may deliver their soul from death
   and keep them alive in famine.
Our soul waits for the Lord;
   he is our help and our shield.
For our heart is glad in him,
   because we trust in his holy name.
Let your steadfast love, O Lord, be upon us,
   even as we hope in you.From Psalm 34

How a sweater moved me to prayer (from the archives)

We hug goodbye in the dark, on the front porch before school. My bare arms around them feel a chill, and I make them wait while I find their fall jackets. “We’re fine,” they insist, but I make them wear them, because I am cold, and because I said so.


The house is open today, and cool fall breeze blows away the musty smells of children and sweat and work. It is time to dig out the fall clothes.
Sometimes I wonder if God does the loaves-and-fishes miracle in my basement each season. Again this year, my shopping list is short. Again they will be clothed like the lilies of the field, and we have more than we need.
The too-short pants make a large pile.  The long sleeves fit snugly in the drawers. I anticipate soft-sweatered hugs.
They try things on for me, and I hear their opinions."Oh I love this sweater! Look, Seth!"  It is soft, navy blue, with light blue stripes across the chest. It will compliment his blue eyes, and I can’t wait to take a picture of him in it.He looks at it suspiciously."Hmmm,” he says. He holds it up and wrinkles his nose. Then he looks in my hopeful eyes.  “Well, we can keep it and I can wear it on Saturdays.”  I smile, and he clarifies, “Only on Saturdays when nobody's coming over."And I resign. He is old enough to have opinions now, and I give him freedom. I will give the sweater away, but I will also enjoy his blue eyes. He doesn't have to know.
I open the baby’s drawer. He’s not a baby, I remind myself. He is two. I see cute PJs with feet that will not fit him this year. He is bigger now, too big for that.
And then, I take out the sweater, the one with the stripes, and I realize it is too small for him. There are many sweaters, but this particular sweater makes me pause.


This sweater was a hand-me-down. And even so, it has been worn by all six of my children. Six kids grew into it and then out of it again. And now the smallest has grown out of it.

My first baby. Aggie, my second baby. and then there were three.
Three, and then four, five, six. 
In and out of boxes, on and off bodies it's been, time and again. I imagine the stains, the yogurt blobs and the slobber and the pumpkin guts. Again and again it was washed, dried,and put on little bodies, my favorite bodies in the world.

And it kept them warm.
But they've outgrown it now. They still need warmth, but not from you, sweater.
And I try not to identify with the sweater, try not to think of the day they will grow out of me, the day when they will need warmth and love, but they will be too big to be satisfied with only mine.
The fall wind blows and the leaves rustle as I fold the sweater, slowly.I gaze past the bunk beds, through the window, and I watch the bright colors fall.
Again I pray, Father, grow me up as you grow them up.Teach me to rejoice in the changing of seasons.
-----------Do you reminisce when you get out the fall clothes?How do you feel about the changing of seasons?