Whispers


My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous. He is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.
...you have been anointed by the Holy One, and you all have knowledge. 
But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie — just as it has taught you, abide in him. And now, little children, abide in him, so that when he appears we may have confidence and not shrink from him in shame at his coming.
~ I John 20: 1-2, 20, 27-28 ~


I hear the whispers in the quiet communion between these two amidst the rustling of the leaves in the park on a dewy morning.  Cousin-twins, two giants, born 10 days apart and joyfully expected for 9 months together, leaping side by side in my belly and my sister's while we talked over coffee about their lives together, just up the road from each other.  This, too, is what I lost...what we lost...when Theodore grew in the wrong place and died in my body last October.  This is communion, fellowship, love like little children. Kisses, cuddles, wrestling each other down on the leaves in laughter; learning obedience side by side, making mistakes, and making up; forgiveness and blessing through forgiveness.

The events of life can be so confusing, so muddled, the chaos of the days so clanging it drowns out the little whispers of the Holy One who never speaks aloud.  When I don't force my day into rhythm and read His Word in the morning...when I don't take time for a prayer before I correct a child...when I hustle through dinner prep...when I cram work into every corner of the day...those days life becomes a cacophony of error as the little mistakes add up to big ones.  And when life is filled with pain, the noise is deafening.  The pain of this world like a Niagara Falls of tears overwhelming the little trickle of the Holy Spirit speaking truth from within.  How important, in these times, to first remember that we have an "unction" (annointing) from the Holy Spirit, that He is in us, we believers; and second, to bend our ears to hear, to still our lives to listen, to slow our days to study.

We do not need to be afraid of the Big Bad World...He who conquered death has promised us - has given us - an internal link to God Himself (John 16:13).  No mediator or priest required.  We can pray directly to God and through the Holy Spirit, who interprets even our wildest and most unintelligable prayers and carries them personally to the Throne of God (Luke 12:12; Romans 8:26; ).

I repeat it, when I am confused and sad and scared and worried and anxious...I have an unction; He says He'll guide me in all truth; He is groaning for me.  And if He's there, inside you...if you've accepted the free gift of salvation...you have an unction; He is guiding you in all truth; He is groaning for you.



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For a thorough exegesis of the I John 2 passage, click here (note: this is pretty deep stuff!).  For an excellent, short piece on the power of the Holy Spirit in the believer's life, click here.

What time I am afraid


The seasons of change speak deep into the souls of all people in this northland: autumn is always a last fervor of activity, for people and the animals, as we prepare for winter.  We dance in the yellow leaves, and rakes together God's gold into piles of glory, and harvest, can, preserve, bake crisps and pies and eat stew and soup again for the first time in 6 months.  And, because of the unique way God unfolded my cancer in my lap - surgery in summer, treatment changes in September, radiation in November - I am forever on a schedule that means I spend summer free from cancer and autumn turning back toward it.

Yesterday was my big fall appointment with my thyroidologist-slash-oncologist.  The planning appointment, when he tells me when to come back for the electric blue pill, when my wondering will begin, when I will leave home for a week.  This time, I begged for a year off from the scan.  Thought maybe we were to that point (I rarely wax optimistic, but cancer does seem to bring it out in me).  I am nursing Amy, and I must wean her again, now a second time and a time when she desperately needs the nourishment, a week before I get the dose of radioactive iodine.

The doctor shook his head obstinately, set in stone, when I mentioned it.  My TSH has been not adequately suppressed now for 4-6 weeks (this is discouraging, because I called the office to warn them, 4 weeks ago, but was told to wait for my appointment).  My tumor marker remains mildly elevated, and has climbed just a few fractions of a decimal point again (from 0.4 in June to 0.9 now).  He somberly intoned that there are two things that make him worry in terms of tumor marker values: stimulated values over 5 (my last was 2.5, up from 0), and numbers of any positive value that are trending upward (which mine definitely are).  He said that tells him that, based on his experience, I have more treatment in my future.  Because I chose the radioactive iodine avenue back in 2008, that means a larger dose (150 mci) of radioactive iodine, and a long, 4-6 week separation from small children and infants (of whom I happen to possess a few in my very own home).

He did capitulate on timing of the scan.  He felt it would be tolerable to do another check of my tumor markers in December and then, assuming they are about the same, wait on my scan until January, after the holidays.  Two extra months to nurse Amelia.

And I prayed, deep and hard and long last night.

Lord, fill the cracks where Satan splits my life.
Let those cracks run red with Your blood.
Forgive me, for all the times I fall short,
for all the times my lips spill unholiness,
forgive me for the known and the unknown.
Make our paths straight.
Lead us in the ways of righteousness.
Redeem these broken lives we offer You.
We love you, Lord.
It is such a comfort to have the Words you gave...
What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee...
I will never leave thee,  nor forsake thee...

Help me wean my baby again.
I am so lonely already...and January is 3 months off.

You're missing

A year ago, I started to wonder.  The missed period, the fatigue, the nausea every morning...I knew the signs.  Didn't really believe them, because I had a tubal, and who gets pregnant after a tubal?  It took me almost 4 weeks to take a pregnancy test...and then only by Aaron's urging.  Now, a year has passed.  A year you've spent in heaven, my little second son.  For almost a year now, we've mourned you.  Missed your nursing, and your night wakings, and the diapers, and unpacking the baby clothes...missed getting to know your personality, your own little quirks.  We've wondered if you'd have loved trains like Caleb.  We've thought about how different our lives would be with you in them.


Today your Papa rolled a big stone up into Echo Woods onto your grave.  His legs still hurt tonight from the effort.  It is a big granite stone, about a cubic foot of rock.  Heavy.  I am going to try to chisel your name into the rock without chipping it.  Theodore Thul.  We'll see how that goes...it's my first attempt.  Two weeks from now, we'll celebrate another anniversary: the last day Amelia was completely healthy.

This time of year, it's a time of sorrow.  The falling leaves, the death of the living plants - it seems appropriate.  A visual reminder of laying to rest, in the damp earth, a son we never held.  Of burying dreams for a daughter's future.  Of laying down expectations of what our life on this earth will be like.

We mourn it.

We celebrate it.

We thank God for you, dancing in heaven.

We thank God for Amelia still dancing on earth.

We wait for the day we all dance together on the streets of gold.

Your house is waiting
For you to walk in
But you're missing, when I shut out the lights
You're missing, when I close my eyes
You're missing, when I see the sun rise
You're missing
~ Bruce Springsteen ~

On leaving home

Break my heart, take my dreams, they’re only in the way
Of what’s better than I ask or imagine
You’re my home, You’re my place, each and every word You say


It is a yellow house on a windy hill.  It is the faces of my children.  It is the gray carpet and pewter walls of my church sanctuary.  It is Wisconsin.  It is the country.  It is my bed at night, with my husband's arms wrapped around.


All of that, come October and November, is what I think about giving up.  And as the years pass, and I do it again and again, I am more and more sure that God is telling me to give it up.  Not to walk away from it, not to abandon missions here for missions elsewhere, or to forsake the responsibility of feeding and clothing my own for the compunction to feed and clothe orphans or the needy.  I think sometimes that's how we read John 12:25-26: Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.  And Matthew 19:29: And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfoldc and will inherit eternal life.  I think we read that as though we are supposed to walk away from our houses, our families, our lives, our possessions.  But what if it also applies to the value which we give these things?  How important is home to you?, God has asked me, again and again.  Can you serve me without one?  The answer, every year - through His grace - is YES.  I hold all that is dear to me loosely in these tired hands.  And when it is gone from that loose grasp, when I lay it down, and lie, stretched out on my face...and find that I am safe here, even when I am alone, under the shadow of Your wings.

The comfort washed down through the music at church this morning.  Everything about home.  In this moment, it is so sweet to remember that this world is not my home, not the yellow house on the hill, not my church, not my community, my state. The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. (Romans 8:15-16)

Home is heaven
One day Lord, I will live
In Your courts, You'll find me
In worship at Your feet
Hide me now
In the shadow of Your wings
Where I will be
Home
~ Home, Hillsong ~

I will remember
You are the reason for my song
Blessed Redeemer
You love me as Your own
All I am
will I lay down
All I have
before Your cross Lord
~ Deep of Your Grace, Hillsong ~