Hope at Christmas

*Me and Sophia, Christmas 2015 in Keystone, Colorado.

Hope seems to eludes me. Hope for restoration, hope for healing, hope for answers. 

For three and a half really long years there have been changes in our family members, daily physical pain, and surgeries - three to be exact. And while the surgeries were supposed to put together my ankle, it continues to deteriorate. Seven screws, upwards of 20 incisions, a hundred or so stitches, and there still is no good answer to my ankle problems.   

The last surgery which was a total ankle replacement surely was the key. Cut some of the dying bone out, lego pieces of implant up the tibia and voila, I should be able to walk pain free and without a limp. But it didn’t work. And not only do I not walk with a limp, but I also currently cannot walk unassisted at all. The scooter I “borrowed” three years ago has again become my main form of transportation.

Eight months after the last surgery, I knew things were not improving. I was at a lost. I didn’t know where to go or who to turn to for help. My current doctor wanted to do another surgery that would “probably” work….no thank you; not interested. I honestly can’t go through more surgeries annually as they try and put back together something that quite honestly might not be able to mend.  

I began my own personal medical search for other great ankle doctors. There must be someone else out there with some wisdom and options that don’t include surgery. I searched on the web, read websites, and critiqued medical schools. There are many doctors that appear good, but how do I really know? Maybe they had a good webmaster that makes them appear better than their skills.

While I searched, I continued to get worse. And while the world moves on, as it must, I’m still left depending on others. I am back to crawling up the stairs, calling on friends to take the garbage can to the road, and asking for assistance in changing lightbulbs in the ceiling. It’s exhausting. Not just physically, but I’m tired of leaning on others for what should be the simple tasks of life. 

Through a friend at work, I was finally able to locate another ankle specialist, and I immediately began to have hope. Hope that this doctor had the answers. Hope his skill level and experience were what I needed. I began months of trying to get in to see him, but while the pain continued, the sheer anticipation of knowing there was someone out there that could help me, made me feel better. I still couldn’t walk, I was still in pain, but I had hope there were answers to my many questions. Hope just knowing there is one whose knowledge I can lean on for my health.

Our hearts at Christmas should hold tightly to hope. Hope there is that One who knows the answers to our questions; One who has our best interests at heart; One who is sovereign through it all.

The anticipation of knowing we can have eternity with Christ should give us hope. A child, born in the lowest of circumstances, brought hope to the world. Hope that our sins are forgiven and have been cast as far as the east is from the west. Hope in His expected return when we will meet Him face to face.

Isaiah 40:31 says, “But they that hope upon the Lord, will renew their strength.” The Hebrew word in this text for hope, or wait as it is many times translated, means to hopefully watch for God to act. I’m going to hopefully watch and wait for God to act and renew my strength!

I have placed my hope in a new doctor, and while I only understand a small portion of the attempts to heal my body properly, my doctor lays out a plan.

My earthly mind can only partially understand the vastness and goodness of God. But I have placed my hope in God, knowing that He lays out my life that works into His sovereign plan. Though this life has brought much brokenness and pain, I trust and have hope in the future as I continue to walk – well, let’s say ride my scooter - with Christ in this journey.

Merry Christmas, and may you experience the hope of Christ this season.

Memorial Day

Tears filled my eyes as time passed quickly and the line moved slowly. The year was 2016. Graduation was scheduled at 9:30am, and while I have been in line for over an hour and a half, I seemed to get nowhere. Since President Obama was the commencement speaker, his secret service had to wand every single person who entered Falcon Stadium.

Rewind to four years earlier when I dropped off my first-born child to a place he had never been and where wildfires were burning out of control – Colorado Springs. His in-processing venue even had to be changed since part of the Academy was also on fire. James had worked diligently since 8th grade to reach his goal of being accepted into the United States Air Force Academy, and I was seeing his dream become a reality.

This child I held, chastised, coached, studied with, read to, tucked in bed, and prayed with was now being dropped off at an unfamiliar place not knowing a single person. I delivered him into the hands of the mighty Air Force a thin, 6-foot tall, cute teenager, and now as I approached his graduation, I saw he had transformed into a muscular, handsome, and more intelligent man.

 After the agent checked my camera bag and underneath my hat, I made it in. I had missed the faculty getting to their places, but I found my seat just in time to see the cadets’ synchronized march onto the field for the last time. After years of being yelled at, studying more than they ever had before, and pushing their bodies beyond their limits, over 800 cadets accepted their diplomas, saluted, and then shook the Commander in Chief’s hand.

The thousands of spectators cheered as the last name was called. Back in their seats, the now 2nd Lieutenants grabbed their hats and threw them into the sky as the Thunderbirds flew over with a mighty roar. The exhilaration of the event rippled throughout the audience as I wiped more tears from my eyes. My child was now trained and ready to serve our nation.

This Memorial Day, there are many who have heard the call of our nation, responded, and paid the ultimate sacrifice. I do not know the pain of losing a child in that way, but I have lost one before what seemed like her prime. The way we parents grieve for our children is differently than when we lose our parents or grandparents.

With mourning those older than we are, we grieve over the memories we shared. We reminisce of the quirks they had or poke fun at our siblings over which child was the favorite.

But for those who have lost a child, we mourn the future – the things we will never get to do with our child, the special events such as weddings for which he or she will not get to be a part. We run through the “what ifs,” the “if onlys” and “why not” that leave us with sleepless nights and tear-stained pillows.

For those Gold Star families, thank you for your loved ones’ sacrifice. We live in the greatest country in the world, and their loss was not in vain. May we all live our lives in a manner that honors the sacrifice of those men and women who gave it all.

*Photo of Sophia and James at USAFA 2016 graduation

Pruning with a Purpose

The flower beds beckon my name in the spring when the air is crisp and the birds chirp with delight. Neglect for the inside of my home is at an all time high when the weather is beautiful enough to spend an entire day working in the yard.

I recently planted six additional trees around my home and property and expanded the flowers beds for more flourishing bushes to bloom throughout the year. Large planters now adore the newly added patio with annuals to showcase the color of summer. 

While on my daily routine of walking the half-mile loop around the property, I thought more about what needed pruning around the house and farm. There are flower bushes that need to be cut back, over 100- year-old trees that need some huge branches to be cut away, and the new trees need their lower trunks trimmed.

The process of pruning makes the plants or trees look uglier for a season until the new growth begins to flourish. The place where the cut happened leaves a mark, and the vegetation has to work to scab over the wound in order to protect the remainder of itself. Looking closely, a mark can always been seen where the pruning has taken place. For my newer trees, those lower branches need to be cut to allow the tree to puts its energy in reaching its full height. All the cutting of dead or overgrown branches is to increase growth and beauty.

We humans experience seasons of pruning in our lives, although we are not fond of the process. We want to hold on to all those things that have been an off shoot of our lives, even though collectively they get too large to handle. They may have had a purpose at one season of our lives, but in the next season, it is not something we should be holding onto.

There are times when we need to cut back on those activities – soccer teams, private pitching lessons, volunteering – which in themselves may be good, but when looking at the total health of the person, we realize something has to go. During this pandemic, we saw many things that changed in our personal lives and in our loved one’s lives. Jobs were lost, activities were shut down, church doors were closed, relationships waned, and we were cut back to simply the basics of what really mattered.

But it was hard. It was hard not to go to church, go out to eat, attend ballgames and concerts, and travel long distances to see our loved ones. However, maybe it is what we needed to realize those extra limbs and branches – and even those with pretty flowers on them – needed to go in order for a healthier person to blossom in the next season. Sometimes the extra activities in our lives need to be pruned to grow toward the heavens to reach our potential.

For me, I do not like that my children are all out of the house (although much of their stuff remains), and I do not like that it’s my two pups and a cat that keep me company around the farm when I was used to a much more beautifully chaotic lifestyle. But I do know there is a season for everything, and during this season I am learning to be alone, learning to rest and allow my body and heart to continue to heal, and spending time seeking what next steps I will take on this journey called life.

The pruning season is not fun, in fact, it is quite painful. There are scars from where things have been cut away in my life, literally and figuratively. I can count the scars on my left ankle from the incisions of three surgeries, but no one can see the scars on my heart which many times ache more painfully than my physical ones.

He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit, He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.  John 15:2

As Jesus had to die on the cross so we can live eternally with Him, God will allow things to be cut away in our lives so we have a more beautiful life that points upward to Him.

Photo: Easter morning 2011, hiking in the Cohutta Wilderness

I Survived 2020

The year 2020 was a tough one for most everyone. To put it in words that I never let my children say around me, it sucked. But I made it. In fact, it wasn’t the pandemic at all that had me out of sorts. I actually welcomed another year to stay close to my house and interact with a smaller circle of friends.

After the accident 2½ years ago, I withdrew from many of my social activities. Much of it was my physical limitations, but my feelings and emotions also played a huge role. My emotions lie so closely to the surface that I never know if a situation or seeing a friend might have them erupting with no warning. I never thought it would take this long to control my tears, but I have found that grief has no expiration period.

Since I cannot seem to control them, the best thing to do is hide. Withdraw. Only go out when it’s absolutely necessary, which is counterintuitive to my personality. It may be obvious now why a pandemic suited my lifestyle this past year.

But I am a survivor, and I survived another year.

I endured another year of daily physical pain.
I suffered through a complete ankle replacement surgery.   
I managed with tears to sign an 10-page document that ended my 30-year marriage.
I faced and addressed in court the young man that struck Sophia and me.

Yes, this year sucked. But I did survive. I spent way too many hours reading legal documents, spent more months in physical therapy, but I also prepared my farm for my son’s wedding. We ended 2020 with the rehearsal and began 2021 with a beautiful wedding. It was a glorious transition to a new year!

So, bring it on 2021. I’m ready for a brighter year. I’m ready to walk without a cane, limp, or using a scooter. I’m ready to climb stairs like a normal person. I’m ready to have a day without pain. I’m ready to hike some trails, travel and see more of America.

Maybe this year I can answer more phone calls instead of letting them go to voice mail. Maybe I can have dinner at someone’s house without asking for the guest list so I can emotionally prepare myself. Maybe I can return to my days of volunteering in the community. Maybe this year will be the year I figure out what God wants me to do with my story.

I do not question God’s sovereignty, but amid this mess, I would like to have a glimpse of what He is doing. How is he using it or how will He use it? What more does He want from me? I kept thinking I would know that answer by now, that I would somehow see His hand in it all. I see Him all around me and His continued provisions for my life, but I want to know He is working on some magnificent plan because I desire to do more than just survive. I would love to thrive in 2021.

Romans 12: 1-2: “Therefore…present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God…so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect.”