I’ve been writing since I was a young child, usually when my thoughts needed to find their way outside of me because there just wasn’t enough room on the inside to contain them. I guess that’s still the case, yet I no longer consign them to the bottom of a waste basket torn in small pieces never to be seen again. No longer do I feel the need to dispose of or hide the things that give me pause, pain, and struggle. I realize now that I don’t struggle alone. I live in a world filled with others much like myself just living out their journey a little differently, enough alike though to possibly gain clarity or comfort from reading through these spiraling thoughts…


I had one of those brief moments of panic this morning on the drive home from Noah’s school when I remembered again for the millionth or so time in the past year that someone I’ve known and still do is bound. How grievously sad and painfully borne is this knowledge to me, yet I lived the days that led to this outcome and still live with the results carried on the small shoulders of one I love deeply. Oh, to turn back the hands of time and rewrite the story…would he if given the chance or would it be even worse? My thoughts unravel at this question and I’m left with grief.


I remember the prayers that I lived on in years of this unfolding. I come across copies of letters and notes I wrote again and again, evidence of my earnest pleas for peace and joy. I lay them aside with a knowing that prayers were answered and grace was plenty; choices were made just as scripture confirms all the way back in the old testament when life and death was set before people and they were told to choose. In this, too, clear choices were made and not apart from knowledge of a better way.


I wonder about it all. I gain hope and resolve to be courageous when I look into God’s Unchanging Word and find how The Lord uses all at His disposal to make clear the choices we have. I consider the strength it takes for Him to allow us to choose given His boundless love for all. There is something incredibly important to The Lord about the freedom of choice.


I can’t imagine a heart as big as God’s, yet He gives me a tiny glimpse by what He has placed in mine…


See, even the biggest hurts I’ve suffered at the hands of others, for those same hands I long for peace. For cold, hard hearts that lashed out at those I love leaving wounds too deep to measure, I still ask for softening, changing, cleansing, and new life. There is no joy in wishing others sorrow; not for me.


I remember the hateful words spoken into my ears, “now you are getting what you want.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. My heart always and only longed for peace and safety for all involved. And it is hard, so hard, to live with an outcome so ugly, so hurtful, and so unnecessary. The hardest part is still the lack of honesty and lack of responsibility by those who contributed so heavily over the course of time to the making of this mess we’ve encountered. So many lessons offered and refused, even still, it’s horrendous. I’ve had to learn to give thanks for the day, each day; to appreciate the healing that is taking place one positive encounter at a time; for each person that is a living example of Christ’s love in the life of a watching, listening child; for moments of shared joy and freedom; for every peaceful night’s sleep and for hope of seeing “all things work together for good…”(Romans 8:28)


I often pray that my children will hate what is evil and love what is good, to have pure hearts and righteous minds, for the fruit of the Holy Spirit to be evident in their countenances, their relationships, and their behavior. Only The Lord knows how to bring this to pass. Maybe all that has occurred was to shape and mold young boys into men of honor, lovers of truth, and keepers of peace.



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