Not Just a Hallmark Holiday

Tears were stinging my eyes and the sheets of music on the stand in front of the keyboard were starting to blur. I felt that horrible lump in my throat, the one that means your emotions are getting the better of you. In a split second I decided to leave the service as quickly as possible--it was over anyway and I didn't want to have to explain my inexplicable teary eyes and lumpy throat to anyone. 

But my husband knew, and my best friend already knew, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. It was Mother's Day. And I was a childless mother. A childless mother? What an oxymoron...but for those of us that have been there, you know exactly what I mean. And you know just how unbearable Mother's Day can be. And you feel like such a jerk for feeling sorry for yourself on a day when you should be thankful for your own mother and happy for all the mothers around you. But you just can't. At least I couldn't. 

At this point, it'd already been 2 years of trying to get pregnant and nothing but heartache. Tests and more tests, pills that didn't work, bloodwork that didn't give hope, ultrasounds that showed an empty womb. Data. Data that added up to one thing--I was not a mother on Mother's Day. 

But this proved to be a turning point. After 2 years and some months of pouring my heart out to God and lamenting my worst fears and trying to bolster up hope, I finally felt as if I had reached a decisive moment. God made it clear in the following days and weeks that it was time for me to share my story, my struggle with people. It started with our pastor and then his wife. I was anointed at the old altar in the church we were then attending. It was a private moment, didn't take very long, but it was profound and significant, and in my opinion, it made all the difference. 

I came home from that anointing and asked 10 people to pray, a mixture of old friends and new, a few family members on both my side and his. It was a cross-section of people who knew how to pray and always held out the highest hopes for us. 

And then I started writing. I wrote here and I shared it. And then people started sharing their stories with me. Stories of infertility, of miscarriages, of hopes and fears and prayers and triumphs. A community sprung up around me. After years of feeling alone and ashamed with my childless womb. 

Last year was my very first Mother's Day. My son was exactly a week old. He was recovering from jaundice and we thought he seemed more yellow than he should be so we took him to the hospital to be checked. The photoraphs aren't very good--he's a squishy little newborn and I was still all puffy and big from pregnancy...but they're precious all the same. My very first Mother's Day with my little miracle of faith. 

But this year...this day... is one of great significance to me. My second Mother's Day is one for the record books...or the blogosphere , as the case may be. For today Dayton was dedicated. Along with two other babies, the April and June babies, Adalaynn and Jaxon who bookend my miaracle, miracles themselves.

We stood on the stage before our congregation, our church family, our extra grandparents and aunts and uncles and role models, and we pledged to give Dayton back to God and to raise him in faith. He was conceived in faith, how else could be raise him? And our friends, some of which were the very same people that prayed for his conception, pledged to help us raise him to know God and live the faith. The same pastor that anointed me led us through the dedication. It all came full circle. 

Hannah, the mother of Samuel and one of the best mothers on record in all of history, has been my hero since this journey through infertility began. Hers is a story of intensely honest emotions and intensely profound faith. Shortly after I found out I was pregnant, I began to fear losing him during pregnancy. So it was at the same altar I knelt to be anointed that I gave my son back to God...before I even knew he was a boy...before I'd ever heard his heartbeat...before I'd ever held him in my arms...I gave him back to God. And today I did it publicly. That looks different for me in this century, in this culture, than it did for Hannah...but I'm familiar with her promise, her heart. 

So while some people disregard this as just a Hallmark holiday, a way for businesses to sell cards, flowers, and brunches, I will never see it as such. It's so much more and it'll never be about the gifts and cards. It's about my heart, my faith, and my miracle. My little noisy rambunctious precious miracle that I waited so long to conceive, meet, and give back to God. 

A bit antsy during the Dedication Ceremony

Standing up so big and tall!

Myself, Pastor Mike, Dayton, and Curtis after the Dedication Ceremony

Happy Mother's Day!!

When the Body of Christ Works Together...

 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, 

but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ.

 For we were all baptized by one Spirit 

so as to form one body

— whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—

and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.

 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

I Corinthians 12:12-14

Several months ago, while perusing Pinterest, I had a crazy idea. It's pure lunacy, really. So much room for error and/or failure. But, and this is unlike me, I decided to do it anyway.

I felt led to do a service project with the youth but something that would really require work of them. I know that 30 Hour Famines are popular, and the old raking the leaves thing is good, and canned food drives are always useful but in my personal experience, not much is really required of the kids. They don't do that much. And in a society where we're doing less and less, I wanted something that required work, effort, thought, and maybe even getting coaxed out of a comfort zone.

So I came up with a Santa Shop idea where we would make the gifts and sell them. Then, in a flash of divine intervention I changed it to Three Kings Gift Shop. After all, Santa's great but he wasn't at the manger (well, neither were the wisemen really but that's a whole other issue...). I suppose we could've gone St. Nicholas but I'm just now realizing that so oh, well! Anyway, I digress...

I spent hours combing Pinterest, reading directions, and carefully selecting gift ideas that fit a couple important criteria.
1) It had to be something people would actually want.
2) It had to be something we could make at minimal cost so I could keep our prices low.
3) It had to be something simple enough for even non-crafty people to make.

I found ten things which met those criteria. I put together a little catalogue and order forms. I ordered some literature from Samaritan's Purse and talked to the teens about raising money to purchase items that would go to people in third world countries. Items like goats, donkeys, honeybees, and fishing boats. Items that would profoundly change their lives, not just their day or week. Their lives. 

Then, I prayed. I prayed for moderate success because I was afraid of failure. Oh, ye of little faith. What if Peter or Paul had prayed for moderate success just in case they couldn't really lead all those people? What if Moses had only wanted moderate success? What if Abraham? Joshua? Gideon? Deborah?

And I think the teens only expected moderate success. They set a low goal for themselves of only $200. And for a minute there, it looked like that was going to be it. But then....

God didn't answer my prayer. He had His own agenda He was pushing and my potential for failure was not a deciding factor for Him. It never is.

The project exploded. We had over-whelming success. We raised $870, more than quadrupling our goal. I was humbled, the teens surprised, and the church family energized. God is good.

Then, I had to figure out how to make over 350 items. Egads. But this wasn't really my job. God had a plan. He'd had it worked out from the very beginning. All the way back to when He first planted this crazy idea in my brain and in my heart.

He planned on using this project to bring our church family together. You see, we've been hurting. It's a long story and quite ugly and this post is about celebration so I won't elaborate. It suffices to say, we've been hurting. We've been in need of something to make all of us feel connected and alive again. But I never imagined it would be this and that I would be part of it.

Last night 28 people, 14 adults and 14 kids (an all time high for youth attendance, actually) came together at house to make crafts. And it was busier than Santa's workshop. After several runs to houses for extra olive oil, after re-making several items because my measurements were off, after figuring out the best way to roll a square piece of paper into a cone, after deciding the perfect way to make a scarf for a snowman and turn a book into a tree...we had completed 5 projects and made well over 250 items. In just three hours. With no complaining and with lots of laughter.

And I noticed something. Everyone naturally found their place. Leaders took charge. Crafters used their experience and artistry to help others in this new area. People tried new things. Everyone pitched in. This is the Body of Christ in motion. Working as one. Glorifying God with our actions. So this is what Paul meant, this is what James wrote about. Faith in action, the Body together.

One boy collected a fistful of money to buy pizzas and breadsticks. A teenage girl prayed, one of my teens that always steps up to pray when everyone else feels tongue tied. She prayed for us, for our gifts, for the people we've loved and missed being able to come back and join us. She forgot to pray for the food, but ti didn't matter. God was there, He knew our thankfulness for His blessings. And this was the true breaking of bread...true communion, even if it was pizza and not a holy wafer.

I had set out to find a project that would bless other people, show the kids that they can make a difference, and help teach our youth how to work together with joyful spirits. But God had other plans. These things still happened but His plan was greater than mine, loftier than mine. He will bless the money we raised and the people whose lives it will help. But He blessed my life through this project and He blessed our humble, faithful church. He is truly the God who sees us, and He's been watching over us the whole time. And last night, He reached out and healed us. He was with us in the mess of olive oil on the counters, hot cocoa on the floor, and hot glue stuck on fingers. And that's what happens when the Body of Christ works together.

As the body without the spirit is dead, 

so faith without deeds is dead.

James 2:26

Chasing Joy

Psalm 100

A psalm. For giving grateful praise.

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.

Worship the Lord with gladness;

    come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the Lord is God.

    It is he who made us, and we are his;

    we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

    and his courts with praise;

    give thanks to him and praise his name.

For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;

    his faithfulness continues through all generations.

My son thinks our dog is hilarious. Dayton's first true giggle was at Bode jumping around the yard and barking. And this Indian summer when we would walk around and around the pond, just to escape the claustrophobia of our house, we would watch Bode chase butterflies. I'd never actually seen a dog chase butterflies before but leave it to our dog to do it. And then Dayton wasn't the only one giggling. It was hilarious. Our enthusiastic border collie would bound and leap after the butterflies leading him on an erratic chase around the pond. But eventually Bode would lose sight of the butterfly...or interest. Something else interesting would catch his attention or it just wasn't that much fun anymore to chase something so elusive as a butterfly.

I chase joy in the same way. Around and around in circles, bounding and leaping with no methodology to straighten my course, no plan to ensure success. And always, inevitably, I lose interest. Something more interesting and easier to catch steals my attention. Or I just give up all together. It's too hard, this joy thing. It's a nice idea but it's just not me. I wasn't made that way. Some people just can't be joyous...or joyful...whichever.

But that just isn't so. It can't be so. 

First, because the Bible says otherwise. And second, because if that's true then I'm doomed. I'm stuck in my Eeyore to Tigger to Eeyore cycle of my own nature. 

A drama queen since birth, I see the world through a dramatic lens. Gloom! Doom! Stress! Worry! Anxiety!!

EVERYBODY PANIC!!!

But I'm the only one squawking. My mother once said my brother is a duck, the rain waters just roll off his feathers, it doesn't rattle him. I, however, am a trumpeter swan...graceful and peaceful when the weather's just right, but when the rain starts to fall it's time to panic. A swan having a cow. A lovely sight.

And while Christmas is supposed to be all peace on Earth, good will to men, and joy to the world...I'm over here wringing my hands and biting my fingernails. I'm a Scrooge in Nephew Fred's clothing. I seem to embrace Christmas but underneath I'm really fretting and fussing and bah-humbugging about plans and people and people who get in the way of my plans. My plans, my plans, my precious plans. Like Scrooge and his gold, no one better interfere with my plans. Or else the squawking begins. This is not joy. This is not Christmas.

I could list you a thousand reasons excuses for this irritating behavior. I could get all Dr.Phil on you and explain from a psychological point of view why Christmas is now wrapped up with anxiety, why my tinsel is perpetually in a tangle. But there's no real point in it. Talking about what's wrong, doesn't do one blessed thing to move toward what is right. Or perhaps more importantly...righteous. 

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, 

by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, 

present your requests to God.

Philippians 4:6

So recently convicted of this ridiculous, self-centered behavior I've started chasing joy again.. But not in an erratic chase of circles where I'll eventually just get bored or tired or both and give up. This time I have a plan. And I have some tools.

1) I'm reading Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts. It's a book I've been avoiding for almost two years because I knew it would blast me from my comfort zone. And while I hate my comfort zone because it's stinks...I'm comfortable there. But I'm embracing the uncomfortable to move toward God and His joy.

2) I'm starting my own list of one thousand gifts. One thousand blessings from God, one thousand things I'm thankful for, one thousand things to celebrate. And the thing is...now that I've started counting, I see them everywhere. I would like to share this list on here because it may inspire somebody else, but I just can't commit to that. I don't have time to log into this blog as often as I'd like and I'm afraid that I will use that ask an excuse. Can't write in the blog, not worth writing down at all! (I know, because I did that before two years ago...)

3) Instead of asking God for things, even the right/rightoues things, I am choosing to only thank Him instead for the next two weeks. A friend of mine did this and she said it changed her life. I believe her. Because it's been a mere 24 hours and I already feel a change. I think this must be what detoxing feels like.

4) In a similar vein, when my instinct is to complain, grumble, nag, or otherwise squawk, I'm choosing to thank God for that very circumstance instead. This is hard but it is the very re-training and re-shaping that I need. It is taking every thought captive and making it submit. It is choosing to be thankful in all situations. Because the fact of the matter is, I am one of those people who will cry (ah-hem, flip my lid) over spilled milk. And that doesn't honor God, draw me nearer to God, or bringing me any closer to catching that butterfly.

5) Last, I have community and this means some accountability. I've always shied away from accountability because I like to hide. But I won't succeed and I'll never change unless I bare my soul and all my ugly and ask for some help. We are communal creatures, especially women, especially me. So here I am, ready to accept some love and help and prayers from my own community. And my community is pieced together through Facebook and emails and blogs and text and face-to-face friendships. This is community for a postmodern mom chasing joy.

And this time I'm not just chasing joy, but choosing joy. It goes hand in hand. When we choose joy, we catch it and then we give it away. I must choose to be thankful, to celebrate, to wear joy on my lips and harbor it in my heart. And then I will have caught it. It will be mine, no longer an elusive butterfly.

This blog started out being my journey towards a merry heart. And if you've followed me from the beginning, despite my long periods of silence, you know that I've wrestled with this. One minute I'm chasing the butterfly and the next I've seemingly given up and moved on with life. And I have no delusions of conquering this once and for all, I will always struggle. But this feels more like a real change. The real re-wiring of my heart that I have craved for so, so long. And what better time than Christmas?

I imagine that the shepherds, feeling a bit foolish, were chasing joy when they went from stable to stable in search of a babe in swaddling clothes. The wise men were chasing joy as they followed that mysterious star toward the child savior. Mary and Joseph must've been chasing joy as her belly grew swollen with the life of the King inside her. They couldn't have been the type to fuss and fret and squawk so they must've been chasing joy. Anna and Simeon caught their joy at the temple when Jesus came to be dedicated to God. Elizabeth and Zechaeriah caught their joy with the birth of their son, the prelude of the Messiah. These people didn't only chase joy but they chose it in their obedience. Joy is everywhere in the Christmas story, from the lips of Mary in her magnificat, to the returning of Zechariah's voice, to the alleulia of angels. Joy abounds at Christmas time.

And this Christmas, I am choosing joy.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, 

and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: 

and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, 

Fear not: for, behold, I bring you 

good tidings of great joy, 

which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day 

in the city of David a Saviour, 

which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; 

Ye shall find the babe 

wrapped in swaddling clothes, 

lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel 

a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, 

and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Luke 2:9-13

Snips & Snails & Puppy Dog Tails

We found out what we're having, despite many people who I am sure were well-intentioned telling us not to. I wanted to know. There was part of me that needed to know. And I think Curtis is the same way. We want to be able to prepare for our child. I realize that practically speaking you can prepare without knowing--a crib is a crib, a changing table is a changing table, diapers are diapers. But we want to do more than that.

So yesterday at my 20 week ultrasound we found out that we're having a boy. A son. I've written before about the song 'All of Me' by Matt Hammitt. The ultrasound technician always plays K-LOVE, which I find comforting. There were many times during the infertility when I'd be so nervous to look at the screen and see only tiny eggs, ones that would never release, and the comforting words of God would be surrounding me in music. Yesterday when I laid back on the table and she started the ultrasound 'All of Me' came on. It was playing as she told us we are right--we were in fact having a boy. And the profundity of the moment was so over-whelming. A boy, this long hoped for child is a son to carry on my husband's name and his legacy. And it was the perfect song to be playing as the soundtrack for this moment. This child does have all of me, I promised him that months ago. I promised him that I wouldn't hold back my heart, even in moments of fear when I am tempted to. And this little boy, still growing and getting strong, already has me in his grips. His daddy, too. He's such a miracle.

Our doctor's office has the 4D technology which gave us a real life view of what he's up to in there. With the new imagery we could see our son not only in flat black & white but in 3D moving around and waving his arms. He already has his father's nose and as he stubbornly refused to turn his head for a profile shot we know he has the Berry stubborness (his father's words, not mine, I promise you...although Halseys have been known to be stubborn, too.).  He has sturdy limbs and big feet, again like his daddy. His heartbeats perfectly. It's too early to tell if he will have HCM like his dad, but right now his heart is brand new and perfect. And if it turns out he does have HCM, I think that stubborness will become tenacity to deal with it like his dad. I don't know yet what he has from me...maybe my eyes. Curtis wants our children to have green eyes like me and not brown like him. I hope that he will love music and books like me.

But more than anything, I want him to be himself. I know we'll be able to pick out the bits and pieces from each of us. But a child isn't just a composite of his parents. A child is his own being, created by God to be his own self. I pray I give him the space to find out who that is, even with all the dreams I have for him already forming in my heart. I hope that we teach him to be kind, honorable, and generous. I hope that we teach him to be ambitious and competitive, but in healthy measures. A boy will be a boy, and I hope I'm prepared to deal with that. I know what to do with sugar and spice and everything nice but snips and snails and puppy dog tails are a mystery to me. I want to help instruct my little boy in becoming a man of God--a man the way God designed him to be, not a man the way the world wants him to be.

But for now he's still growing inside of me, getting bigger and stronger and ready for life outside. I think he's amazing. He takes my breath away before he's had his first breath. How can people see such miracles and not believe in a divine creator? I don't understand. All I can see when I look at my son, when I feel my belly expanding to give him room to grow, is God's fingerprints all over us. All over me, all over Curtis, and all over this son we share. He's a miracle and I love him so much already.

A Secret Message Decoded

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

 it feels like chaos but somehow there's peace.

You're up to something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly. (Chorus)

This is a Sanctus Real song, and for me, its the one that really put them on the map in my life. At the time I first heard this song things were going well, but I made a mental note of it. I knew it would be one of those songs I would cling to in the middle of the night someday. And it has been. It's the anthem of reassurance. Pain is a necessary part of life, especially life as a Christian. Pain can signify when somethings not right, and it can allow growth. Nobody likes it, but there can be a peace that passes understanding when we understand that whatever 'it' is, it's bigger than us.

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

it feels like chaos but I believe,

You're up to something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly (Chorus 2)

They played this song at the inaugural concert at the Stroh Center at BGSU. I've heard it dozens of times, even recently, but I found a new message tucked inside of it, like a secret note just for me. In the same way that 'Beautiful Things' by the band Gungor symbolizes more to me than being remade--its about making new life, making beautiful things out of dust, out of us. Tonight the words 'inside of me' grabbed my attention and gripped my heart. Perhaps it's my training as an English major that makes me find meaning where there isn't intentionally one, but I couldn't help but feel that I was supposed to pick up on that tonight. The song is supposed to be about emotional turmoil during difficult times and I get that, big time. But for me the meaning is more literal. I have no idea what God is doing inside of me in terms of allowing me to become a mother. And it feels like chaos sometimes. All the tests and data collecting and stress and baby drama definitely can create internal emotional chaos. And sometimes it feels like physical chaos when my body reacts to the medications. But when I remember that God does have a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11) and that plan is bigger than only me there is a peace that can override the chaos. I believe that God has a plan and all of this is intentional and purposeful, and I believe that with all my heart.

Whatever you're doing inside of me,

it feels like chaos but now I can see,

This is something bigger than me,

Larger than life, something heavenly (Chorus 3)

I consider this last variation of the chorus to be a promise. I've been able to get to the top of a mountain after trudging through a valley and see how the struggle was part of a larger plan. And those past experiences reassure me that nothing is without purpose, and someday I will see. Even if that day comes on the other side of Eternity, someday I will see how this struggle and journey has been bigger than me. And at any rate, what God is doing inside of me is larger than life. It's about so much more than creating life. It's strengthening me, drawing me to Him, requiring me to share my heart, and expanding my faith. That is most certainly something heavenly.

But I'm still a dreamer, a believerOh, I've lost my faith in so many things, but I still believe in You
'Cause You can make anything new

 This is the chorus to a different Sanctus Real song but it seems like the best way to end this post. Sometimes I do lose my faith in the process. I stop believing that all this struggling and hoping and praying and dreaming will work. But even when I've lost faith in everything, even myself, I still have my faith in God. And God is still faithful to me. He can make anything new, even a body that doesn't work properly. My favorite word in the entire English language is 'believe'. That word is in every room of our house, one way or another. I'm not always good at showing my belief, but I believe deeply and I dream even deeper. And it's okay for me to dream and believe even while facing difficult realities, because God is a redeemer. No matter what I may lose or never gain, I have Him. What else is there really?

The Only Legacy Worth Leaving

The first time I heard this song I was twenty years old, sorting out the facts of my life, and trying to figure out how to really walk with God, rather than just believe in Him. It was one song on a compilation album I bought at a used CD place in town. That cd set became the soundtrack for my early twenties along with a couple of others. But this song found a special place in my heart, it resonated with me. It will be one I will carry with me for the rest of my life not only because it inspires me but because it reminds me of people I love. Or better yet, people that have loved me.

I want to leave a legacy. How will they remember me?

Did I choose to love?
Did I point to you enough to make a mark on things?

I want to leave an offering.

Child of mercy and grace who blessed your name unapologetically.

 I want to leave a legacy.

My grandparents will leave a legacy when their time on this old Earth is over. They have chosen to live for Christ so much so that they have come to embody and symbolize love itself. If God is love, and we are being made into Christ everyday through the power of the Spirit, then we are becoming love. I believe this to be true not because its a pretty idea but because I see two old souls becoming more and more like love everyday.

I've been irregularly blessed. I not only have my grandparents legacy to look to and draw from, but the legacies of others just like them. Today we laid to rest our dear friend and neighbor, Lester Pierce, a man who in just two short years became a source of inspiration and wisdom for Curtis and I. At the funeral I listened to person after person stand up and tell about the impact he had on their lives and I realized that somewhere I'd heard this before. And I realized it was everything I've said about my grandparents. And as I looked around the church I saw others that have lived in and will leave a similar legacy. These are the folks you don't necessarily notice as they teach Sunday school, organize funeral dinners, work with the youth, clean the church, drive the bus, plan activities for VBS, or get down on their knees everyday to do their best work in prayer. These people blend into the background sometimes with humility, meekness, and love being their defining characteristics. My grandmother gets down right flustered when people make a fuss over her contributions. She, like Lester, didn't do the work for the recognition--they did the work for the Lord. They did it out of love, first for Christ then for others because He loves them.

I've come to the conclusion that the best legacy that can be left is one of love. True love. Not The Princess Bride or The Notebook kind of true love.  We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters.--1 John 3:16 This is true love. Love that sacrifices sleep, me-time, and self to serve the Lord, to help one another, to lend a hand, to say a prayer. When we give up our lives to help and serve with love in our hearts that is true love. And that is something sorely needed in the world today.

One by one these saints travel to heaven and we who have been so blessed to know them are left with their legacy in our care. I want to do right by them, and what I've learned is that the only way to do that is to do right by God. By keeping my eyes on the Cross and my feeted pointed toward Calvary and my heart broken for Him, I may just be counted among those who loved truly.

Never My Love/Believe

"How can you think love will end,

when I've asked you to spend

your whole life with me?

Never my love"

('Never My Love' by The Association)

Three years ago I married my best friend. I realize this is a rather common occurrence for people and as such has become a cliche thing to say. But it is true. As most cliches tend to be. My husband is my best friend.

It was a warm spring day three years ago. Nothing like the cold dreary day we had today. It was windy, all my relatives from the mountains of Pennsylvania had no idea how to handle the wind. Bu the sun was shining and the temperature was pretty warm for mid-May in northern Ohio.

We were married in an old-fashioned country church by Curtis' childhood minister. Curtis prepared the aisle for me, paving the way for his bride, by unrolling the aisle runner. Softly playing in the background was the love theme from Baz Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet, a song called 'Kissing You'. Within the song Romeo whispers, "did my heart love til now? For swear it sight, I never saw true beauty til this night."

Left to Right: Alisha in blue, Rachel in green (our favorite color)
Melanie in pink (the color for her wedding the yr. before), and
Pam in purple. And of course, me in white.   :)

My bridesmaids, each in a different color of the same dress, followed after. Pam and Alisha scattered flowers in place of a flower girl;  Rachel carried the rings on a hand-made cross-stitched pillow my mom had made;  and Melanie carried a vintage tussey-mussey bouquet. The song chosen for my bridesmaids was 'Anne's Theme' from the movie Anne of Green Gables, one of my very most favorite movies from childhood.

I wore my mom's veil, and the lace from her dress was used on my ballet shoes. I had my grandmother's first engagement ring from 1939 made into a necklace for the occasion. My bouquet was fashioned after some photos my great-aunt had taken at a wedding she went to in the 1950s.  I debated between several different songs for coming down the aisle, everything from 'Moon River' to the love theme from 'Shakespeare in Love', but the clear choice soon became a gorgeous version of 'Amazing Grace' that I'd fallen in love with as a kid.

Our recessional after the wedding was 'I Do Believe in Fairies' from the live-action version of Peter Pan. It's such an exuberant and joyful song, and hello, I do believe in fairies. It was followed by Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood' which set the tone for the vintage reception our guests were about to enjoy.

We rented an antique Excalibur limousine to get from the church to our reception at Snook's Dream Cars, an antique car museum in Bowling Green. There we switched to a 1936 Auburn to make our entrance. It was really fun being driven into our reception and taking everyone by surprise. I remember sitting out in the car with Curtis and just giggling together in anticipation for our big entrance.

One of my favorite moments from the entire day came when we had to cut our cake. I'd arranged to have 'So This Is Love' from Disney's Cinderella play while we cut the cake. Our cake topper fit our vintage theme perfectly--a vintage bride and groom in an open-top limo. Actually cutting cake proved to be an adventure. We realized that we had no idea how to cut a cake that large together. For whatever reason, instead of melting down,  I dissolved into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. The pictures of us holding this giant knife and just laughing our heads off really capture that moment. It turns out that those unplanned moments are sometimes the best.

Our first dance was to Josh Groban's song 'Believe' from the movie Polar Express. Several songs were in the running, songs by Mercy Me, Delirious, a couple oldies tunes, a Big Daddy Weave song. I just happened to mention this song once to Curtis in one of the many conversations I forced him to have about this topic (I tend to talk things to death and he tends to like to make quick decisions), and he was adamant that was the song he wanted. We both like Josh Groban, trains, and Christmas...but it was the chorus of the song that won me over---"believe in what your heart is saying, feel the melody that's playing. there's no time to waste, there's so much to celebrate. Believe in what you feel inside and give your dreams the wings to fly. You have everything you need, if you just believe."



It somehow seems appropriate that there is
a giant Ford sign over our heads in this
shot of one of my favorite moments.



The other song I remember dancing to (clearly the music was a huge element to me) was The Association's 'Never My Love'. This is one of my favorite songs for so many reason. First, I'm a big oldies fan in general so I love the actual sound of this song. And second, the lyrics are amazing. I won't share all of them, but the first verse pretty much sums up the entire song, "you ask me if there'll come a time when I grow tired of you, never my love, never my love." For many reasons,  none of them really related to Curtis, I felt insecure in our relationship for a long time. I'd always ask him if he loved me, sometimes multiple times a day. I always knew he would say yes, but I liked getting the reassurance. This song speaks to that very idea. I remember dancing with him, and several other couples being out on the floor as well....my brother and his wife, my brother-in-law and his wife, my mom and her boyfriend, my brother's in-laws, my dad and my step-mom. I remember thinking that it was cool to share this song and this dance with people that I love.

For me, the wedding was really made in the details. We personalized as much as we possibly could. I had friends read poems that I absolutely love, one by Lucy Maud Montgomery and the other by Christopher Marlowe. We had family members read selections from the Bible. Every song choice was full of meaning, even the ones just for dancing and having fun, like 'Hang on Sloopy'. Our guests tossed that special wedding rice that isn't really rice mixed with lavender, which was actually an old wedding tradition. And while many things didn't go according to 'plan', my biggest regret was not training Shiloh to be the ring bearer, or at least arranging for some pictures to be taken with him that day. After all, he is our 'first born ruff'.

I've written about my wedding before, but always in the context of my being a compulsive planner and a bit of a control freak. I've always presented the glass half-empty version of our wedding, even if it was intending to show some self-criticism/realizations. But the fact of the matter is, we had a beautiful wedding. And the even bigger fact of the matter is, it wouldn't really matter if we'd had an absolutely awful wedding or an absolutely perfect one. It's our marriage that counts. The last three years have been filled with good things. We've grown as a couple, we've bought our first house, got a family car, and another dog. We're trying for kids and learning so much about ourselves and our relationship through that process. In just three years it feels like we've grown up and changed so much. But one thing is the same as it was three years ago, and the same as it was five years ago when we met...Curtis is my best friend.

"We'll always be friends forever."--Tod the Fox

"Yead, Tod."--Copper the Hound Dog

(The Fox & The Hound...the movie we watched on our first date)

Empty Arms But A Full Heart

A note from my heart: I wrote this post over a week ago. It's honest, it's personal, it's sincere...all things I believe this blog needs to be in order to be worth writing and worth reading. And I felt that I needed to write this, not only for myself, but because there may be someone who needs to know they're not alone. I am so thankful for the brave women who write, women I will never meet this side of heaven, because their honesty lets me know that I am okay and I am not alone. I would be remiss to not pass it on and share my story so someone else can know that they are okay and they are not alone.

There was a certain man... whose name was Elkanah... He had two wives; one was called Hannah and the other Peninnah. Peninnah had children, but Hannah had none.
... Because the LORD had closed Hannah’s womb, her rival kept provoking her...till she wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah would say to her, “Hannah, why are you weeping? Why don’t you eat? Why are you downhearted? Don’t I mean more to you than ten sons?”
 Once when they had finished eating and drinking in Shiloh, Hannah stood up. Now Eli the priest was sitting on his chair by the doorpost of the LORD’s house. In her deep anguish Hannah prayed to the LORD, weeping bitterly. And she made a vow, saying, “LORD Almighty, if you will only look on your servant’s misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the LORD for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.”
As she kept on praying to the LORD, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying in her heart, and her lips were moving but her voice was not heard. Eli thought she was drunk and said to her, “How long are you going to stay drunk? Put away your wine.”
 “Not so, my lord,” Hannah replied, “I am a woman who is deeply troubled. I have not been drinking wine or beer; I was pouring out my soul to the LORD. Do not take your servant for a wicked woman; I have been praying here out of my great anguish and grief.”
Eli answered, “Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you what you have asked of him.”
She said, “May your servant find favor in your eyes.” Then she went her way and ate something, and her face was no longer downcast.
Early the next morning they arose and worshiped before the LORD and then went back to their home at Ramah. Elkanah made love to his wife Hannah, and the LORD remembered her. So in the course of time Hannah became pregnant and gave birth to a son. She named him Samuel,saying, “Because I asked the LORD for him.” (1 Samuel 1: 1-20)

I love this story because, you see, I am Hannah. I've been tested, blood drawn, womb checked, one test left me crippled in pain and throwing up for hours. The tests have yielded some answers but no results. Month after month I force a smile and say to my dear husband, vacant! As if it is a room for rent. Which maybe it is. A temporary home for someone--someone who may never come to hang the 'occupied' sign on the door.

My husband is Elkanah. He loves me. He sees the pain, the agony in my face. He knows he can't fix it. He tries to say the right thing, never knowing for sure what the right thing is. The poor man never knows if this month I'll shrug it off and really be okay with it, or if I'm going to sit quietly in the bathroom and cry. Why do women always hide in the bathroom to cry?

I can only imagine how much deeper Hannah's grief was at having to share a husband and know that his other wife could do what she could not. How much more broken did she feel? Because that is exactly how I feel. All broken. What good is a vase that can't hold water? Like the Island of Misfit Toys--a caboose with square wheels. Broken. Useless. There is a reason the text uses words like 'anguish', 'deeply troubled', 'grief'.

These are the words we associate with mourning, with loss. Isn't that what Hannah is doing? Mourning her loss? Mourning the closed womb that cannot bear life? Mourning the reality that she may never feel the kick in her belly, the pain of contractions, behold the cry at birth? She has every reason to mourn. Every month is an egg unfertilized, an egg dying, an egg that might've been a child.

I wonder if women talked about it in those days. Kind women, not just 'her rival'. I wonder if Hannah had a mother, a sister, a friend who tried to comfort her. With good intentions they tell her that she still has time, they give her remedies and tell her what worked for another friend. They tell her to pray to God. They tell her to stay strong. Oh, isn't that what Hannah wants more than anything? The strength to bear the anguish of a barren womb. It's so hard to be strong sometimes.

We see what desperate women will do for a child in Sarai, before she became Abraham's princess and the mother of Israel. So desperate for a child to raise, she pushes another woman into her husband's bed. Never thinking of what her feelings afterward would be, she can only picture the perfect ten fingers and ten toes, the cooing and crying, diapers hanging on the line with her husband's cloaks. The things women do in despair.

Her granddaughter-in-law, Rachel, would follow suit. Trying to compete with her homely sister who bore their shared husband child after child, Rachel pushed her servant into Jacob's bed. She claimed her servant's child as a victory for her, and yet, still felt empty, broken, anguish. This is how we got the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Rivalry between sisters, one loved but infertile, one unloved but fertile, and two servant girls dragged into the baby drama. Rachel died birthing Benjamin as Joseph proved to not be enough for this desperate mother, and the poor child is saddled with the name 'son of my trouble' until daddy renamed him 'son of my right hand'.

The Bible doesn't tell us much about Elizabeth's infertility journey. We see more of Zecheriah's unbelief at what Gabriel is trying to tell him. There is doubt because perhaps they've finally come to terms with the vacant womb. Maybe they've found a way to laugh like I try to do. Maybe they've embraced other people's little ones, doing for other people's children what they would've done for their own. Maybe they've just finally come to grips with it all and then this angel appears and throws it all into chaos again. I can hardly blame Zecheriah's doubts anymore than I blame Sarai's laughter in Genesis. It's hard to keep believing when hope seems to dwindle away every month. Hard to believe even when God Himself is telling you to hang on.

“The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.” --Luke 1:25

We want this verse to be outdated. We want to believe that in the 21st century with the women's lib movement and our enlightened minds that a woman is not disgraced when she can't have children. Let me tell you...that's not so. Every time someone looks at you and wonders just what you're waiting for when the reality is you've been trying for a long time. Every time someone asks you when you're going to have kids, and you hesitate before answering. Sometimes I smile and say, when the good Lord wills it. And sometimes I just smile and shrug, and hope that my eyes don't betray the pain.

I vacillate between peace and agony. Sometimes I can hold on tightly to God and His ways and find peace there. We've been trying for a little over two years, I know people who tried for over ten before getting pregnant. I think about adoption, I have a cousin who adopted a son. There are so many little ones already who need to have a family, to be loved. Sometimes I can even find peace in knowing that I may not be a mother, but I am already an aunt and a friend. There are plenty of small ones in my life that I can love on and teach them what I know. Other times I pour out my sadness. It aches, it's awful, it's heartbreaking to wonder if I'll ever have that joy that I've always, always expected.

But I don't want to become a woman desperate for a child. First, what kind of life is that for me? I am more than a womb, vacant or full. I am more than a would-be mother. I am a child of God, an intentionally designed creation, a much loved princess of the Most High King. Second, what kind of life will that make for a child, should I have one? If I've become desperate for a little one, I won't be able to let him go, to raise him as I should. My life will revolve around the little one, neglecting myself, my husband, my God. This isn't healthy for a child. Parents that give up their own lives, figuratively speaking, for their children are really doing them a disservice.

I love this story of Hannah. She is in agony, but not despair. Her husband is sensitive to her breaking heart and does what he can to alleviate her pain.  Eli comforts her but doesn't try to give her a bunch of answers. He simply prays over her, blesses her. And when Hannah receives this blessing she gets the elusive peace she's been seeking. She worships God, she eats food. She takes care of herself, and then, she gets pregnant. And she gives the child to God. This child who will become the anointer and advisor of kings.

I've written about Hannah before, but I didn't tell you why. I've wrestled with this for a long time. Wondering if I should be honest about my journey, if I could be. But I've been feeling God leading me from the darkness and into the light. There isn't shame in my journey as I am sometimes tricked into feeling. And God has been whispering into my heart that my husband and I don't need to shoulder this pain alone. Until now we've kept this 'news' in close family circles. In fact, many members of our families don't know. I don't want to be smothered by pitying looks and cliches. I just want to be loved and valued for what I already am. And, more than anything, I want people to come alongside in prayer. Praying that we will have wisdom to know what God wants, that we will hear His voice prompting us in this journey, that we will have strength to take the steps required. Praying for a miracle. And praying that if that miracle never comes that we'll see the blessing hidden in that.

That Even I Could Receive A Miracle

"Have mercy on us and help us, if you can.”
“What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.”
The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:23-24)

This passage resonates deeply within me. Like a tuning fork being tapped I twinge and reverberate and long to have my strings tightened to be in tune with the Truth.

The man in this story is asking for a miracle healing. His son is possessed with a demon. He's desperate and in his despair he cries out to Jesus, 'Have mercy and help us, if you can.' It's that last bit which gets Jesus' attention. I can picture His eyebrow raising along with the pitch of His voice. 'If I can?' He repeats. Picture the celestial arms being bared as Jesus pushes up His sleeves. 'Anything is possible if a person believes', He informs not only the man but the surrounding crowd. And the man immediately exclaims, 'I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!"

I believe in you, Jesus, but there is still part of me that can't believe in the impossible. Too many disappointments stand in the way. I am this man. How many times have I approached Jesus not with the plea, 'if you are willing' but instead, 'if you can'? And how I desperately need Him to help me overcome that unbelief which paralyzes my faith and cripples my prayers.

“Lord,” he said, “if you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean.”
 Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!” (Luke 5:12-13)

Over and over Jesus was approached by people asking for a miracle, knowing that if He was willing, He would do it. That He could do it. Over and over Jesus was moved by their faith and healed them. Because Jesus is compassionate, He could feel the ache and longing of these people. Often the cast outs of society, He was healing them not only of their physical ailments but their emotional and spiritual ones as well. He forgave their sins, healing their souls, and then He healed their bodies. But He wanted very much to give good blessings to these people He loved so tenderly. He was and still is willing.

“You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him." (Matthew 7:9-11)

To those who ask Him. I wonder how many people stood on the edges of the crowd, wanting to approach the Rabbi, needing to be healed, but too timid to ask for His blessings. I'll just hang back here and watch, they thought, their needs are more important than mine, He's too busy for me. I won't bother Him. They watched and they wished, but they never dared to ask.

I know about this wishing. I wish for that which I long for, that which my heart aches for. I wish and I hope and I want it so badly...but sometimes I find that I haven't truly asked in the midst of all my wishing. I don't believe that Jesus honors our 'I wish' statements. I believe those would fall under the 'If you can' category. I wish you could do this, Jesus. That doesn't acknowledge His power or His desire to give good things. It's a statement riddled with unbelief. I wish. Not I believe.

Another pattern I find in the Gospels is that of Jesus inviting people to ask Him for their miracles. As they draw near, Jesus asks what it is they want Him to do. And I don't imagine that His tone is laced with weariness or exasperation. It's not as if He's bothered by having to perform yet another miracle or grant yet another request. Rather the Scriptures reveal that He feels sorry for people, compassion, tenderness. I get the feeling that His heart surged every time one of His lost people came near needing to ask for healing. And that's why He wanted them to feel that they could ask--because He knew how desperately they needed to.

When Jesus heard them, he stopped and called, “What do you want me to do for you?”
“Lord,” they said, “we want to see!”
Jesus felt sorry for them and touched their eyes. Instantly they could see! Then they followed him. (Matthew 20:32-34)


As the man came near, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” 
 “Lord,” he said, “I want to see!”
And Jesus said, “All right, receive your sight! Your faith has healed you.” (Luke 18:40-42)

Believe and ask. Two steps on our part. We must believe and then we must ask. Completely unlike asking for a miracle in order to believe. Instead, the believing must come first in order for the miracle to follow. He's not in the business of performing miracles so people will believe His claims. Rather, Jesus is in the business of rewarding those who already believe and have been saved with His blessings of goodness.

Help me to overcome my unbelief. Perhaps that is the first healing. Heal this unbelief which poisons me. Banish the doubts of your ready willingness to lavish good gifts. Silence the whispering that I am unworthy of receiving your blessings. Help me to believe that even I could receive a miracle. As messy and broken and going-in-circles as I am...that you would reach out in compassion and touch even me. Because the fact is, I need a miracle and only you can help me.

Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!”

Oh, the Irishness of me!

The view from any given road in Ireland. Simple. Beautiful. Simply Beautiful.

   Until recently we believed that my great-great-grandmother immigrated here from Ireland. Thanks to my mother and ancestry.com we now know that's not true. Mary McCartney was most certainly Irish but not not 'off the boat' Irish. Her parents, or grandparents, or somebody (I'm not sure...my mom may be able to comment and clear this up) were from Ireland. Or she married a guy from Ireland. Or something--somewhere there is an Irish connection. Because of Mary McCartney I used to claim to be 1/16th Irish, which I know doesn't sound like much but back in the day if a person was 1/16th African-American it was enough to be enslaved. Soooo...clearly, 1/16th is a lot! However, now that the Irishness of Mary is somewhat in question, I'm not sure the math is correct anymore. At any rate, I've got enough Irish blood to get extremely excited about Saint Patrick's Day, Ireland, and Irishness in general.



In a very, very old garden at Huntingdon Castle in Ireland.



So of course today I had to wear green--and orange because I'm a protestant. I've even got my green St.Patty's day socks on! And I'm frustrated that I didn't have time to bake my traditional Irish soda bread. Now, plain soda bread is like 'blech! disgusting!'....but this is the most yummy, delicious, mouth-watering receipe for soda bread ever in the history of the Irish soda bread universe. Seriously. I usually make it for Thanksgiving, too, because it's just so yummy. I'll share the recipe at the end of the post with a couple hints and tips I've learned making it the last couple years.

So tomorrow I plan on making my soda bread and watching 'The Quiet Man'. I watched it for first time two years ago and couldn't believe I'd survived 24 years without this amazing movie. It's not exactly like 'Gone With the Wind' or 'It's a Wonderful Life' amazing but for Irish enthusiasts it absolutely must be included in the collection. And at our next Ladies' Craft Night at church I want to fix my scrapbook of my trip to Ireland. When I graduated high school my uncle took my great-aunt and me to London and Ireland. It was such an amzing experience and I loved every second of it. I made a scrapbook with all my photos and brochures and ticket stubs but there's a few pages that turned out all smudgy and lame. I really want to fix it up and make it all beautiful.



At one of the many places in Ireland said to be
where St.Patrick baptized people.



Today I'm brought in some Irish music, my scrapbook (smudgy pages and all), some books about Ireland, and a book of Irish fairytales to share with my students. So you can see, my Saint Patrick's Day celebration isn't patricularly exciting but it is still enthusiastic. I don't think its possible to be Irish (even just a smidge) and not be enthusiastic about it.

Irish Spiced Soda Bread 

Cook Time: 40 minutes

Ingredients:

·        3 cups raisins

·        2 cups water

·        3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

·        2 teaspoons baking soda

·        2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

·        1 teaspoon ground nutmeg (I usually do a 1/2 tsp because nutmeg is strong)

·        1 teaspoon salt

·        1/2 teaspoon allspice (I usually do a full tsp allspice because I really like it)

·        1/2 cup butter

·        1 1/2 cups sugar

·        3 eggs, beaten

·        1 cup liquid from soaking raisins

Preparation:

In a saucepan, combine raisins and water; bring to a boil. Cover and simmer over low heat for 15 minutes; drain and reserve 1 cup of liquid (if not enough liquid left, add a little water to make 1 cup). Set raisins and reserved liquid aside.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and allspice. In a mixing bowl, cream butter and sugar; add eggs and the raisin liquid and mix until well blended. Stir in dry ingredients until blended; add raisins. Pour batter into 2 greased and floured 9x5x3-inch loaf pans. Bake at 350° for 35 to 40 minutes. Cool soda bread in pan for 5 minutes, then turn out onto a rack to cool completely.

I don't have 2 bread pans so I've used a round cake pan and a muffin tin. The muffin tin works beautifully although it bakes through faster so you have to keep an eye on them. But a muffin is the perfect serving size for this bread and it makes it so easy to just grab one and enjoy. And, my husband is not a big fan of raisins, so you can make one loaf with raisins and one loaf without (still using the raisin liquid but not the raisins themselves).

So in closing for this St. Patrick's Day post...I leave you with my favorite Irish blessing.

May the road rise to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

The sun shine warm upon your face,

The rain fall soft upon your fields,

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the hollow

Of His hand. 



The rolling hillside atop the Cliffs of Moher

(PS...I will give anyone 5 bonus points for knowing which book the title of this blog is derived from. Googling won't help as it's not a direct quote, I changed one word....comment with your guesses!!)

In The Midst of Counting...

Have you heard Francesca Battistelli's really fun new song --'This is the Stuff'? The lyrics for the chorus are: "In the middle of my little mess, I forget how big I'm blessed." And the bridge has a great closing line of, "It's not the end of the world!" So I was singing along the other day in my truck when I had to stop mid-lyric for one of my famous 'ah-ha' moments. I've been having a lot of those lately. It's good to be coming awake from spiritual sleepiness. Anyway, I rabbit trail....'how big I'm blessed.' That's what hit me.

I've been counting gifts. Check out my newly added page by clicking the tab at the top to find out more about what that means. I'm counting all the little blessings from God. Sunsets. Laughter. Random little boys with swords (I'm not kidding...he was jumping around my office with a plastic sword). Story-telling. A puppy-kisses alarm clock. The thousand ways God shows me He loves me.

But somewhere in the midst of counting I lost sight of the BIG blessing. The one that takes all, the trump card. The one that goes beyond just little me. The one that saved little me. Christ's gift of death for my rebellion. Jesus' triumph over death so I don't have to be forever and ever separated from Goodness and Love.

How often I forget the biggest moment in all history. How shameful. I walk around with His name on my lips but forgetting what He's done. James, whom most scholars believe was Jesus' brother, writes about this very problem. He says it's like looking at yourself in the mirror and then forgetting what you look like as soon as you walk away. To say that you know Jesus but forget His sacrifice. Impossible if you really love Him, with true love, with extravagant love.

So counting all the blessings, that's a good thing. But I can't ever let that get in the way of seeing the blessing of all blessings. Relationship with my Creator, fellowship with the King. (Rabbit Trail: I have some thoughts about God's kingship, especially since watching Showtime's series on Henry the VIII. I know, who woulda thought God could use Showtime to teach anyone anything spiritual? But don't ever put limitations on Him...nothing is outside the realm of His possibilities. I'll be posting those thoughts soon...) I can tell you it is a blessing, an honor, a gift to be able to approach the King freely. Especially the King of Kings. The one with all the power.

On my way to work I heard the first verse of 'Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing'. This is a beautiful old hymn. Jars of Clay has a great version, David Crowder Band has an amazing one. But I think the lyrics speak to this very idea. Acknowledging that God is the source of every blessing....and first counted is always Jesus' blood. And incidentally, I have a feeling these lyrics might become inspiration for many more posts. Read them slowly, let their truth sink in.

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.