I can't believe I'm doing this!

I think I may have addressed this thought briefly in another post, but I just gotta say it again. I cannot believe I am actually doing this...I cannot believe I am a blogger! Whatsupwiththat?! I am not totally sure why I started it...well, I am...I started it because I could no longer contain the stuff swimming in my brain day in and day out, and I feared I would explode if I did not start writing it down. But now, when I say the word "blogger" out loud, I feel as if I must fit into a dime-a-dozen category. While to me, the concept is fresh and brand new and exciting, I suspect that to many others, this concept is already old and worn out. At any given time of any given day, there are people blogging about weather, people blogging about news, people blogging about diaper changes, people blogging about blogging...and on and on and on. What makes any blog any different than the rest? What makes any particular blog stand out as a shiny penny amidst a pile of dimes??

No idea.

I am realizing, however, that I do want my blog to stand out. I mean, why stay up extra late a few nights a week espousing on all my thoughts, if it were all to amount to nothing? I do, in fact, want a reader or two. Or ten! Yeah, twenty, I'll take twenty. Make that 50. No, 100. OK, I'll take....I'll take whomever God leads this way long enough to catch their attention.

And therein lies the crazy part. And the key. I want whatever and whomever God wants and chooses to use in and through this blog. Sound vague?? No, not really. It is God's blank check. And it has me a little freaked out. "OK, Lord, do whatever you want." Did I really just say that?? Am I giving Him free choice to do whatever He feels like with me?? Am I nuts?? Oh, wait, yes, I am a nut. (Says so in my title.) And a dork. (I have known that for years. I embrace it without fear.) So I might as well put myself out there for the world wide web, and leave the rest to God, right? Right.

I realize, however, that every time a dear friend tells her friends about the blog and to add me as Facebook friend...or when a senior lady friend actually quotes me in a mass e-mail to everyone she cares about...or when a respected elder at church asks me when I have time to blog, thereby giving proof to the fact that he actually reads it...or when a gentleman 15 years my senior quotes me back to myself, commenting that I am "so right".........I realize that no only am I loving this more than I had dared to hope, but that suddenly the pressure is on.

gulp.

Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. I honestly cannot tell you how many times I have prayed that prayer. Too many to count. So many times that I wonder if I even notice any more when He uses me in some "small" way, as if the only way He should use me is in some big way...
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, smile at that frazzled new Mom over there." {I smile. Too easy.}
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, hold your son and sway him in your embrace until he looks up and says, I love you Mommy." {I rock my child and enjoy his embrace. I get just as much out of it as he does.}
Lord, just use me. I want to be used by You. "Shelly, ignore the messy house and bake banana bread with all those old frozen bananas you have so that you can give it away." {I bake bread, give it away, and grumble about the toys all over the floor. Whine, complain. That is so like me.}

I have done all those things. Recently. In fact, they come naturally to me. They are so natural to me--as I am sure they are to all of you--that I frequently fail to notice that in and through simple acts of kindness, I am being used by God. And perhaps you feel the same way. You see, when you get used to being a nice person, a good Christian, and a kind soul, simple acts of kindness just trickle out of you like a leaky faucet, without a lot of effort or planning. Sure, God is guiding and directing, but it is so simple to be nice that the simplicity somehow removes the perception of Heavenly power. There is no "ah-ha" moment. No cheering crowd, no life changed, no awards bestowed, or even an afternoon nap as a reward. It's as if God is not really using you much at all, and you yearn for the big gushes of inspiration and usefulness. Or at least I do.

That last section sounded braggy, but I was not trying to. Not at all. It, in fact, is my own personal reminder to allow God to freely use me in the smallest of ways, knowing that there is not such thing as a "small" way in the Kingdom of God. And, I suspect that if you are actually taking the time in your day to read this blog, you, too, are a nice person who takes for granted that you are nice. Hats off to you! Here is your reminder that NO MATTER HOW SMALL, ANYTHING DONE IN LOVE FOR ANOTHER, IS YOU BEING USED BY GOD.

All that said, I do pray frequently that God will use this blog in whatever way He sees fit. To those of you forwarding it on, I am grateful. To those of you receiving encouragement, I am both humbled and honored. Give God the glory.

I had thought when I began tonight that I might tell you a bit about myself and the craziness that is my life, but God led me in a different direction. It's His blog, written by His Nut, so why shouldn't it swerve all over the place?? Instead, I will close with the lyrics of an Amy Grant song that years ago shaped part of who I am today.

When the weight of all my dreams
is resting heavy on my head,
and the thoughtful words of help and hope
have all been nicely said,
but I'm still hurting,
wondering if I'll ever be the one I think I am.
I think I am.
Then You gently re-remind me
that you've made me from the first,
and the more I try to be the best,
the more I get the worst.
And I realize the good in me
is only there because of who You are.
Who You are.
And all I ever have to be is what You made me.
Any more or less would be a step out of Your plan.
As You daily re-create me help me always keep in mind,
That I only have to do what I can find.
And all I ever have to be...all I have to be...all I ever have to be...
is what You made in me.

Thanks for this honor. Good night, Lord. I love you so much.

From rags to riches

I love this quote..."The pessimist says his cup is half empty, the optimist says his cup is half full, and the child of God says his cup runneth over." It makes me smile every time I hear it, to picture a beautiful cup just overflowing with the fullness of God, like one of those old mall fountains with the bubbler right in the center. Remember those? Today many folks have something similar on a much smaller scale in their homes to create the soothing sound of a babbling brook (or to make a lady who has had four c-sections need to pee. Not sure which.) Anyway, as a kid I used to love to stare at those big mall fountains, wondering where is all that water coming from?? I found them very magical until, one day, I was old enough to see the clear plastic tube in the center of the spout, and it was then that I realized that the unending magical flow of water was just an illusion. While I still found them neat to watch, the magic was gone. I was merely looking at man's creativity. Cool, but anticlimactic.

I'm a lot like that kid still today, however as a grown up, one thing I marvel at is wealth. I admire it from afar, wondering just how some people seem to have an unending, magical flow of luxury, accomplishment, privilege, and convenience. While I admit that I don't actually know anyone who fits that description, if I even turn on the TV or walk down a check-out lane, I am bombarded with wealth. I wouldn't say I am really envious of it, but I do marvel at it. Anyone else ever feel that way?? Or am I the only one who wonders what extreme wealth would be like? Like, is the flow really unending? Do they bathe in their money? When a bill gets old and soft, do they just let the servants shine the floors with it? Or is it all an illusion? Is it merely man's creativity; an anticlimactic facade behind which to hide? No matter the answer, it is intoxicating, alluring, and utterly amazing that some--an elite few, but nevertheless, some--people live like royalty.

I'll never live like royalty...or will I?

I was thinking about this very thing today in the shower. (Anyone else do some of their best thinking in the shower?) I was thinking about how a mere year ago we were drowning in debt until the Lord, and only the Lord, orchestrated a complete turn-around of our finances through two big--HUGE--completely unexpected and unearned blessings. Huge. Unearned. Undeserved. So totally from God. I was giving Him glory and praise, wondering what He would do next to surprise us, since He has already proven that He is in the business of surprises, and it occured to me:

I am already royalty.

I know I already knew that. I've read in Romans and other places that I am adopted by God as His daughter through my faith in Christ. I know that as a daughter I am also an heiress. I know it says in 1st Peter that we are a royal priesthood. I know. But, today in the shower, I knew. It hit me afresh like a ton of bricks. I am His. I am an heiress.

No matter what He does or does not do with me, my life, or our finances down here on this earth, I am royalty. My cup is overflowing! I am privileged and accomplished. Not by my own merit, since I don't want to boast, but by His merit. He has this huge banquet table already set, and my seat has a placecard bearing my name! My name. Me. The dork. Me!

"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." 1st Peter 2:9-10

"He who was seated on the throne said, 'I am making everything new!' Then he said, 'Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.' He said to me: 'It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To him who is thirsty I will give to drink without cost from the spring of the water of life. He who overcomes will inherit all this, and I will be his God and he will be my son.'" Revelation 21:5-7

I knew there was a reason I always loved those mall fountains! I am royalty, bathing in my riches, drinking from the spring of the water of life. I may have said it before, but God stuns me.

ramblings of a night owl

I should be in bed. Not only because the clock says so, but because this night owl is actually tired. I was nearly on the couch asleep an hour ago........wait--did I just type nearly on the couch?? Sheesh. Let me clarify..........I was on the couch nearly asleep an hour ago (aah, much better), but since Dan has to leave for work at 11pm, there is no actual dozing off for me before then. No way. None. When your man has to stand on a concrete floor all night long while you sleep in a soft warm bed all night long, if anyone gets the privilege of dozing in front of a TV in the evenings, I guarantee it is gonna be him. Which brings me back to my original point. I am sleepy tonight. I should go to bed. You'd think, by this stage in my life, I would have learned that fatigue should equal bed. But for me, notsomuch. For me, fatigue has come to mean "forge ahead". I'm not saying it is necessarily healthy. Just, quite often, necessary. So here I sit, at 11:39pm on a dark and rainy night, typing instead of sleeping. Truth be told, I have missed the blog these past few days, and even without a clear pre-planned thought to express, I feel like typing.


I thought I might share with you some random nothings from my life. After all, a pile of nothings still might add up to something! (I hope.)


.....I was hugging Emma (5 years) the other day when she says, "Mom, if you had some of that oil that takes away spots and bumps, your face would look better." Great. Now I have a fat belly and a bumpy face. I am going to duct tape both of my daughters' mouths shut. (And please don't look real close the next time you see me, just to see if she is right!)


.....I looked out the kitchen window last week to see my 6-year-old (Cole) standing in a, shall we say, strange position. When I asked him about it, he replied, "Oh, I was just peeing in a bottle." Of course he was. Why wouldn't he pee in a bottle when there are 5 acres of grass in every direction??


.....Speaking of kitchen windows, even though living where I live it seems to me like the wind never stops blowing, it is muddy way to often for my taste, and the flies exist just to make me crazy, the view out my front door when the flies are at their peak is exquisite. And so, on many an early morning in summer and fall, it is not uncommon to see me running barefoot to the lane in my jammies to try to capture the beauty of God's artistry. Enjoy just a sample...

No matter how many mornings I look, I am continually in awe of God's creation. The vastness of His sky. The colors of His palette. The quietness of the mist. The stillness of the morning. The gentleness of His sunrise. It is intoxicating! And yet all of it exists on this broken earth. This earth that will someday pass away. This earth that cannot for one second compare with the beauty of Heaven.

God stuns me.

I'm not sure if I amounted to anything tonight, but with the thought of sunrises on my mind, I am crawling into bed. Nitey-nite.

The smell of cut wood

Aaah, spring is here! The birds are singing, the grass is green, and the trees are in bloom. We've got calves dropping, a crop to prepare, fence to fix, and even a pregnant cat. Yep, spring is here! Praise. the. Lord.

Naturally, as is the season, it is time for yard work, and on Sunday, we did some as a family. I know, I know...day of rest. The thing is, though, that on a farm with a guy who has two full-time careers, doing yard work is actually "restful". It is unnecessary to the health of the farm. It is frivolous, if you will. And for me, who holds down the fort around here by myself much (ahem, most) of the time, having adult companionship in the yard is a true treat. And so it is that we found ourselves outside in the yard as a family on Sunday to do some spring sprucing. It was a lovely day, complete with warm sunshine and nice breezes. Dan went over to the other farm place to retrieve the riding garden tiller, whilst the children and I began the mowing and tree trimming here. It was at this moment that I happened upon a bush that was crowding the garden spot, making it impossible to get the mower through, so, naturally, I wanted it trimmed. Proving itself much greater that the boy-powered "loppers" in the hands of my skinny 12-year-old, I went for the chainsaw. With flashbacks of woodcutting days in Colorado racing through my brain, I thought, "oh, yea, I can do this."

Um, notsomuch. I couldn't even start the dumb thing.

And so, how did I handle it? As any self-respecting woman married to a manly-man such as mine, I set the bright orange chainsaw down in the yard, right at the base of the offending bush, where Dan would be sure to notice it when he returned. (Subtle, eh?) Well, notice he did, and pretty soon the chainsaw was humming, the woodchips were flying, the smell of wood was thick in the air, and I was instantly 13 again and in the Colorado mountains. Growing up in Denver, we had a wood-burning stove in our fireplace, and it was my father's sheer delight to heat the house with it as much as he could. It would roar for much of the mild Denver winters, creating a home with the most welcoming and toasty family room around, and bedrooms of blankets to combat the cool, crisp upstairs air.

The best part of having a wood stove...the fire. The worst part...the wood cutting.

What seemed like every single Saturday of every single summer for years, was spent loading up into a pickup truck and winding our way up into the backroads of the front range for the "perfect" woodcutting area. Mind you, there were five of us kids in the family, and we used one topper pickup for the job. My youngest sister would have the privilege of sitting in the cab, while the other four of us would bounce around in the back of the pickup. Not being able to really see out of the tiny windows in the topper, one of us was usually carsick. The gravel (dirt) roads were washboard roads with sheer drop-offs a frequent occurance. I can still hear my Mom gasping for breath when she though Dad got too close to the edge, and I am surprised she never put her foot through the floorboard trying to use her brake. The pickup rides were, to say the least, an arduous affair.

Once we had arrived at the "perfect" woodcutting spot, greeted only by the whisper of pine trees in the breeze and the whine of a chainsaw in the distance, we commenced the cutting. Dad would man the chainsaw, us kids would yell "TIMBER!!", and tree after tree would fall. After Dad had removed all the branches and created logs out of what was once a pole, Mom would assemble us into a "chain gang". She would assign one of us to attend to my youngest sister while the other three of us hauled logs. And so it would go, log after log transported from Dad, to Stacy, to Greg, to me, to Mom, who would stack them in the truck. On the next tree, Stacy would babysit and Nikki would jump into the chain gang. And the next tree, and the next tree, and the next tree...so it went for an entire day, until the truck was filled to the brim leaving only enough room in the back for four little bodies.

Yep, that is right, we were slave labor who had to ride on the wood on the winding way home, back down the washboard gravel (dirt) roads, all the way to Denver, each of us exhausted and irritated with the other, as our butts fell fully and completely asleep. Torture. Sheer torture. My friends were at the pool, or reading Nancy Drew, or recording songs off the radio with a hand-held cassette recorder, while poor moi was cutting wood. I found it utterly disgusting at the time.

Praise the Lord, however, that hindsight is 20/20, and what was once the shame of my pubescent life, is now one of my sweetest memories.
Know what I love most about woodcutting?...
the smell of cut wood
the smell of a chainsaw
the roar of a chainsaw, especially from far away
the total silence of the mountain forests
the sound of a tree crashing to the ground
the kid-made "forts" at the base of a pine tree
the hole in the ground for a toilet
the cheers and chants kids make up when having a chain gang
the feel of a washboard road
the roar of a campfire

God has, in His infinitely amazing and wonderous grace, taken what I once deemed an arduous task, and weaved it into a beautiful memory. It is fully laced into who I am, and my favorite pasttime of all is to sit by a campfire. I absolutely adore the smell of cut wood and smoke. Crazy, huh? No, it's just God.

And what, I wonder, is He going to do with some of what I consider are today's most arduous tasks?...
doing the dishes for a family of eight twice a day
cleaning up after yet another potty accident
picking up the trail of cookie crumbs on the carpet
tripping over stuffed animals and toy trains
driving to practices and games
leading an elementary youth group
planning a VBS for 100 children
bottle-feeding an orphaned calf
house-training a puppy
training up a child in the way he should go
washing 13 loads a week
nursing hurts
bandaging cuts
combing out tangles
and on
and on
and on.

Arduous? yes. Exhausting? yes. Humbling? yes. Useful? yes. Wasted? not one second. So totally worth it? yes. A thousand times, yes. Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

I can't wait for the next campfire.

laundry for the soul

Ever thought you were doing pretty good in an area of your life? Ever thought others could even look to your example? Ever been proven totally wrong? Yep. Me again. The dork who thought she was doing good at something. Notsomuch.

Sometimes the Lord sharpens me through the example of others, and this happened to me in my not-so-distant past. I was participating in a group Bible study, and one of the women, a gal close to my age, came with her personal Bible, as we all were doing. My Bible was still relativley new, shiny, and engraved with my name. I kept it in a cover, so, you know, it would stay new, shiny, and nice. I was quite proud of it, in fact! Quite proud. For like 7.2 seconds. Then this other gal sets her Bible down on the table…and my eyes were instantly fixated on it. It was worn. It was tattered. It was literally swollen from hours of use and re-use. And this is a gal MY age! What I saw is that her Bible was alive and breathing, just like the Word inside it. That Bible was beautiful, and it made my pristine, protected, “pretty” Bible look perfectly pathetic!

I went home that night and took my perfectly pathetic Bible out if its case. I stared at it and wondered just why I had thought it needed to stay perfect. I opened it and I read it. (That is not the uncommon part.) And then I read some more the next day. (A little less common.) And the next. (Three days in a row--now we're talkin'!) I got my pen out and started underlining, marking, drawing exclamation points, and circling that which the Holy Spirit revealed to me. That day, I began the process of bringing my Bible to life, by giving the Word birth in me, and my highest aspiration is to wear it out!

And then I thought...Bible study is a lot like laundry. Bear with me here. For me, as the Mom of six kids and the wife of one farmer, I do a lot of laundry. Like 12 to 14 loads a week, not counting the sheets. (Anyone looking for a part-time job can call me later.) Needless to say, laundry takes a lot of my time. As any decent and self-respecting housewife, I mean Domestic Goddess, I have to commit to our laundry, and I must do it again and again. And again. And again. I have to make a plan. I have to sort, divide, wash, dry, fold, and put away every single piece of clothing. Every. single. piece. (makes me dizzy just thinking about it sometimes) And many weeks, I have to further challenge myself to do even more laundry by stripping the beds and freshening the place where my loved ones rest.

If I did none of these things, my house would be soon overrun by big, nasty piles of smelly, musty clothes. (Mmmmm...great mental image, huh?) My children would be unkempt and unclean. (OK, so that actually happens already. But not very often. Really.) My lack of planning and commitment would be obvious to myself and others within days.

Likewise, as a daughter of Christ, striving to serve Him and live a life worthy of Him, I must do a lot of Bible study. (However, this is a job that no one can do for me. Dang it!) I have to commit my time, and I have to do it again and again and again. I have to make a plan. My plan must be systematic in that a plan will even exist in the first place. Since I have dirt that needs washed out of my soul, I need that systematic plan to sort and divide my weaknesses, through the sharpening of the Word. My plan must be progressive in that I can measure where I am going by where I have been. Am I coming clean? Are the piles diminishing? Can others see me shine, or do I still stink a little bit in my unkempt soul? And lastly, my plan must be challenging in that I must continually add to the learning and dig deeper, adding some new element that challenges me spiritually and intellectually, and that will strip my layed-in grime and give my Savior a fresh place to rest.

Aaaah, Tide fresh!

Everyone reading this knows that I cannot do my laundry without water. I have to open the faucet and let its purity and cleansing power come in, or else my efforts would be futile. There is as much a reason that God made life-giving water for our physical lives, as there is a reason that He gave us the life-giving Holy Spirit for our spiritual lives. I've thought of just a few reasons, and for your reading pleasure, I'll kindly list them here:

The Holy Spirit opens our eyes to see the world through God’s eyes.

The Holy Spirit enables us to recognize when God is speaking.

The Holy Spirit helps us to change as we come to know ourselves better through the study of God’s word.

The Holy Spirit instructs us to become more like Christ.

The Holy Spirit works to reshape us, moving us to respond by saying “yes” to God’s love, and yes to loving others.

The Holy Spirit convicts us when our oh-so-very-human arrogance rears its ugly head. Not that that has ever happened to me.

Bottom line? The Holy Spirit must be invited to inform our Bible study. He’s as vital as turning on the faucet.

So, why a post on Bible study? I'm behind and the piles are getting kinda deep. I needed a good reminder. :)

what does he see in me?

17 years ago, I was falling in love. A mere 29 days earlier than this very day in 2003, I had enjoyed my last "first meet", not knowing, of course, that it was indeed the last. I had thought it was very nice, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that this guy would be the guy.

We had met in a bar (no shock there, to anyone who knew me then) through a mutual acquaintance, and even that very first night, we had enjoyed a really nice conversation. He shuffled his feet a lot, I tossed my hair a lot, and we both giggled nervously. A lot. He broke the mold of the typical "college guy" (probably because he was already out of college), and was not actually dripping in cologne, thereby leaving a trail of hormones and lust wherever he went. He was tall, which I liked, but kept scrunching down a little bit, as if self-conscious of the way he was built, which I did not like. He wore worn out cowboy boots rather than the latest, trendiest, and most cool shoes that money could buy. He was nice, and was cute enough, but honestly, he was so not the man of my dreams. Or so I thought.

God had other things in mind.

As time unfolded, I began to see in this tall, humble, intelligent, funny, ruggedly handsome, non-conformist, an allure that was magnetic to my soul, and fight it though I may, I fell in love with him. And he with me. And as we fell in love, the same question kept coming to my mind...what does he see in me?? Is he nuts? How can he possibly love me? (Am I the only person who has ever wondered that??)

For example, I had rarely met a Coors Lite or an Amigo's soft taco that I did not like, and my middle showed it. I still had acne. I was still in college and had spent too much time wondering what to do with my life, and even though I was close to graduation, I still was not sure what I was going to be when I grew up. I had no money. I lacked impulse control and had sought out physical comfort from too many men who had not earned it. (Think promiscuity) I claimed to be a Christian, but most everything about me screamed the exact opposite. And even though it was the style at the time, my hair was way, way, waaaay too big. (Think of the early 90's, a perm, really long thick hair with tall bangs, and you might be close.)

What does he see in me?? How can I be worthy of his love??

But, my worth in my sight did not matter. To Dan, I was perfect. I was all he had ever wanted. He did not see the freshman (or sophomore-junior-senior-5th year senior) 30 + pound fat roll around my middle. He he loved my big hair. He was blind to zits. He was still trying to figure out what to do with his life, too. He had made his own share of "mistakes of affection", and was leaving a past behind, too. He was broke, too. And he knew Christ even less than I did. To Dan, I was not a list of wrongs, but of rights. Because he is the right man for me, he overlooked all my flaws and saw only the best in me. It still amazes me.

But more important than this miraculous gift given to me 17 years ago, is the gift of acceptance and forgiveness I daily receive from God. Really, the question should have a capital H in it.

What does He see in me?

What does the Lord see in my soul when He really looks close? Does He see every shortcoming, every failure, every fault, every mistake, every blemish, every...every? Does He see all my fears, my doubts, my insecurities, my worries, my hurts? Of course He does. Does He notice? Absolutely. Does He care? You bet. But does it matter? No.

The God who so intricately knit me together in my mother's womb, the God who can number the hairs on my head, the God who knows my thoughts even before I do...yea, He notices. Nothing is outside of His watchful eye. But nothing can separate me from His love. There is nothing I can do, say, or think that will take one ounce away from His magnificant love for me.

Nothing.

As I daily walk this journey with Him, I am more and more aware of this truth. I still don't fully grasp it, and I hope I never do. I hope that I am forever striving to fully understand Him and His greatness, and the incredible depth of His love for me. What does He see in me?? How can He love me so much?? I just screamed at my kids...surely He is disgusted with me. I just slammed down the phone in anger at the harsh words of a friend...surely He made a mark on my tally. I just ate that whole bag of gummy worms myself without even sharing...surely He cannot trust me. I was just impatient with the man who loves me so well...surely I am unworthy. I just complained about the mud for the 427th time this week...surely I am ungrateful. I just....
I just...
I just...

I just got forgiven. I just found more love. I just drew one step closer to His grace. And to Him be all the glory.

Who sinned?

Once upon a time, a young couple, perhaps newly married and full of hopes and dreams, received the joyous news that they were expecting a baby. “It will be son,” boasted the proud father-to-be, praying that if he said it out loud, he could somehow will it into truth. “Let him be healthy”, said the mother as she stroked her belly and hummed lullabies.

In due time, the day came for their child to be born, and through tears of joy they learned that they did indeed have a son. A son! Praise the Lord! He was perfect and beautiful, and was the embodiment of all their prayers and dreams. Perfect, that is, until they realized that their son had been born blind. The young couple, utterly shocked and dismayed, no doubt wrestled with God on this sudden change of plans. I envision tears and pain…tirades and anger…fear and hurt. I can almost hear them asking, “But, Lord, what have we done wrong?!” The agony of such a realization surely ripped them to the core, living as they did in a time when physical defect was a thing of shame, and knowing instantly that their precious son would be reduced to the status of a mere beggar.

I know the story of another couple, also newly married and full of hopes and dreams, who, after praying for a child and surviving the struggle of infertility treatments, received the joyous news that they too were expecting a baby. At their first ultrasound appointment, that joy was magnified triple-fold when three tiny heartbeats appeared on the screen. “Just let them be healthy,” was the unison prayer lifted that day.

But life took a turn for this couple as well, when just 6 months into the pregnancy, an emergency c-section was performed, and three tiny, underdeveloped baby boys were lifted from the safety of their mother’s womb. Then, just six days later, the monitor above one bed was turned off, and a still, tiny bundle was handed to over his grieving parents to hold for the first and only time. “He fought hard” was the best comfort that could be offered that day.

This young couple also began to wrestle with God. “Why, Lord, why? Why give us three to just take one away? What did we do wrong?!”

As Jesus was walking along, He saw a man who had been blind from birth. "Teacher," his disciples asked him, "why was this man born blind? Was it the result of his own sin or that of his parents?" "It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,’ Jesus answered. He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him.” John 9:1-3

Instantly, a curse had been turned to honor. Grief to privilege. Sorrow to joy! Imagine the realization for that couple, of suddenly knowing that before he was even born, their son had been chosen by God to reveal Christ’s glory and power. That his years of heartache and rejection had only been for God’s good. That they had never done anything so wrong, so ugly, so undeserving, to warrant that fate, but that they had actually been chosen for that struggle, for that purpose, and for God’s beautiful plan.

I’d love to tell you that Christ personally came to me and revealed why my son had to die at only six days of age, but He has not. That is OK. I don’t need to know. All I have to do is trust that nothing in my life is outside of His watchful eye. Everything can be used for His glory.

My friends, I have no doubt that everyone reading this either has, or is, wrestling with God over something. It may be as major as a health crisis, or as small as a bad week at the office. But what we can all celebrate and take comfort in is this: no matter what we are going through, it is not out of God’s control. Nothing in your life is going unnoticed. God has not--nor will he ever--turn His back on you. Everything in your life is a part of God’s beautiful plan.

If we allow God to work His will in our lives, like the blind beggar at the side of Christ, He will reveal His power in us.