Yesterday evening, I drove a friend to her house to collect some things so she could spend the night at her husband’s bedside in the nursing home. Randy and Doris are part of our church family and we’ve been friends for many years. As we drove and visited, my daughter pointed out the beautiful sunset. The warm light that provided a gorgeous backdrop to the horses in the field just moments before had exploded into a vibrant pink with shades of purple, orange, and yellow scattered around – a beautiful reminder of God’s creativity and handiwork.

We’ve driven that same road often, and particularly this summer as Doris and Randy have been walking through hard times with his terminal illness and rapidly declining health. It was on that well-beaten path that he joked and teased when he could, and it was also on that road that we spoke (just a few weeks ago) of his assurance of heaven and his eagerness to “just get this over with.” Last night there was a weight to the drive…an awareness that it was no longer a path he would take, and even as the beautiful sunset glowed behind us and the moon rose ahead, we drove on towards certain heartache.

How is it that seventy-six years of life and decades of marriage will come to an end in the small nursing home room where Randy currently lies? It seems so cold, this sunset of life…such a stark contrast to the awesome celebration of warmth and color that accompanies the end of day. Even as this harsh reality hits my mind, though, the Lord begins to show me in his everpresent, tender-loving way that if all I feel is the darkness of night, I’ve forgotten the beautiful work He’s been doing. I’ve been watching it – up close and personal with a front-row seat to His handiwork.

Scripture describes the church as the body of Christ: hands and feet, loving and serving together, our own imperfections made complete by His perfect work in us. We know that our lives are but a vapor and that we have no promise of tomorrow, but we also lay up treasures in heaven where our hope truly lies and live joyfully with every moment He allows us on this earth.

For Randy, the sunset of his life has been painted by service: men, women, and children…the body of Christ…coming together to provide transportation, home maintenance, meals, companionship, and other gifts of time. Service to and for a man who has given so much of himself to faithfully serve the Lord, this country, and his church. The colors of love have looked like song, conversation, scripture, hugs, laughter, prayer, and playfulness. The evening sky of his life has consistently included laughter behind his warm brown eyes, and a joyful smile even when the weight of this world tries to pull it down. The sunset of his life looks like his favorite lyrics: “Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives.” It looks like hope and grace and peace.

If only the sunset of life could seem so warm and peaceful, I thought just a moment ago as I recalled the gorgeous sky and his dark room. But then I remember a faithful wife sitting beside him giving the gift of presence. I remember just a few days back when he asked her for the millionth time if he could go home (knowing full well that he had agreed to remain in the nursing home) while he winked at me and grinned- showing his intentionality to try to ruffle her feathers. I recall his eye-roll worthy “dad jokes” including his favorite response to “How are you feeling?”…

“With my fingers.”

Sigh. I remember his playful banter with my kids, the motor noises he made as we pushed his wheelchair back inside after an outdoor adventure just days ago, his constant efforts to bring a smile to the faces of those around him. His hugs. His smiles. His trust in the Lord. His eagerness to meet Him.

James says “² Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, ³ for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. ⁴ And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” What a beautiful gift to watch Randy count it all joy…to see it produce steadfastness in him, and to know that ultimately, when the sunset of his life is complete, he too will be lacking nothing and what will remain is a clear and beautiful picture of God’s handiwork.

For years, I have failed to get an Easter family picture. Then I scroll my social media feed seeing the evidence of all the more “with it” moms who captured beautiful pictures of their families together, cute clothes and smiling faces. I shake my head in disappointment, though I’m not surprised at how consistent I have grown at “failing” in this area. For a couple of years, the idea of taking a “family” picture without all of our kids home has been a point of sadness, but that’s not the only reason I miss the mark on Easter pictures. I just forget, and by the time I remember, someone has changed out of their church clothes, or someone has left, or…the list of excuses goes on. This year, I planned to do better. I was NOT going to forget. We wouldn’t have all of our family together, but 6 of us would be, and I wanted to get a picture. By the time I realized I failed again, one kid had changed clothes and my husband was in the driveway working on our daughter’s car. Nevertheless, I smiled as I reflected on the reason for this year’s forgetfulness: the stranger and the way the Lord used him to remind us of the resurrection power at work within us.

When the man entered our church auditorium Easter Sunday, the praise team had just finished practicing, and most of our members had not yet arrived. Our small groups were still 20 minutes from starting and the main service was over an hour away. My never-met-a-stranger husband spotted him first and immediately greeted him and began to visit. He had walked from where he was staying to find a place to worship and said he would come back later. It was clear he felt out of place.

Later on, as the music began and our worship service progressed, I spotted the visitor in the back row. He had returned, and I smiled to see him worshiping with our congregation. Glorious Day, Come Behold The Wondrous Mystery, beautiful reminders of the work of Christ on the cross: “Come, behold the wondrous mystery/ Christ, the Lord upon the tree/ In the stead of ruined sinners/ Hangs the lamb in victory/ See the price of our redemption/ See the Father’s plan unfold/ Bringing many sons to glory/ Grace unmeasured, love untold…”

At the conclusion of the service, as Pastor closed in prayer, my thoughts jumped to lunch. We had a ham in the oven and potatoes peeled and ready to fix, but I wasn’t thinking of how hungry I was. All of the sudden, I had the thought, We should invite him to join us. Now in that split second, I was fully aware that this man is a stranger we don’t know, and we would be inviting him into our home. There are inherent risks with that. Those were not lost on me, but I have no doubt the thoughts were the prompting of the Holy Spirit. As our praise team returned to the stage for the final song, I whispered to my husband that we should invite the visitor to lunch. There was a sense of urgency because every guest who sits at the back feeling uncomfortable leaves quickly. Once the service ended and my kind husband realized what I was suggesting, he immediately began scanning the crowd to spot the man. We parted ways as I headed to supervise our youngest kids partaking in the annual egg hunt and he set off to extend the invitation.

I didn’t know in that moment, but by the time my husband made it to the parking lot, the stranger had already set off on foot back to the place he had come from. Now, some people would decide at that point that the opportunity had been missed. Not my husband. That generous man hopped in our vehicle and drove down the road to find the man and invite him to lunch. After a brief hesitation, the man agreed, with much gratitude.

When the kids’ fun ended and we headed to the car, I saw the front passenger seat was occupied. I climbed in the back with our daughter and welcomed our guest with a handshake and quick introduction. We headed home without a single thought of a family photo.

As we drove and the man shared honestly of his struggle and determination to maintain his clean streak (5 months, 3 days clean), he said, “I just know I can’t do it without the help of Christ.” Thank you, Jesus. For over a decade, his parents have been deceased – no support system, no family, no hope. Our Resurrected Savior had given this man the courage to walk to and attend not one, but two churches that morning, full of unfamiliar faces. He had pressed him onward when the man hesitated to enter a second time at the door of our building. He used the concluding prayer to prompt me to invite a stranger to our home, and He used the stubborn persistence of my husband to chase the man down. How many times does Jesus chase us down, pursuing us, to bring us to Himself?

Our kids were beautifully hospitable as each of them took the unexpected visit in stride and joined us in making our guest feel at home. They introduced themselves with handshakes or smiles and the boys took the stranger to the backyard to play catch and help him feel more at ease while we finished prepping the meal. He offered to help many times, and I definitely heard “yes ma’am” more than I typically do in any given day. He apologized for his awkwardness and admitted that it’s been many years since he’s been in a home with a family. Thank you, Jesus. We shared food and fellowship, and then packed up some leftovers for our friend to have at supper time. My husband gave him a ride back to his hotel and showed him some additional resources along the way because hopefully he’ll get into a treatment program he’s pursuing in our town and have the chance to attend Celebrate Recovery, offered by another church in our community.

Before dropping him off, my husband shared with this visitor how awesome it is that the Power that raised Christ from the grave is still at work within us. He is more than capable of leading this man to Victory in Him. (Ephesians 3: ²⁰ Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen.) I am so grateful to share life with a man who loves others so sincerely and beautifully, and practically and consistently. Thank you, Jesus.

I picked up my phone later that day to begin the annual social media scroll of shame. My kids were beautiful and dressed cute for church, like so many others. We attended together and nearly filled a pew, and I didn’t have a single picture to show for it. But this year, the Lord brought to mind something that matters more than a picture on social media: Hebrews 13: 1Let brotherly love continue. 2Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

Thank you, Jesus, for letting us see more of You today. Thank you for ham, and green beans, and sweet children, and football, and smiles, and the chance to show Your love to someone who’s lonely. Thank you that Your resurrection power is still at work and that You won the victory “in the stead of ruined sinners” like us. Please bring this “son” we met to Glory through Your Grace, unmeasured, Love untold. Oh – and thank you for giving me a sweeter picture of your goodness than I ever could have captured with a camera. 💝

Fifty years slipped by on Friday without any fanfare; no pomp and circumstance. It slipped by the rest of the world, that is, but for the ones who smiled at each other across a quiet Red Lobster table, nothing was lost. It didn’t slip by them…they didn’t slip.

Now, granted, they might have fallen (for each other) in those early 1970s high school years, but falling didn’t bring them to this day that slipped by the rest of the world, unnoticed. Building is what got them here.

Young love: that handsome boy with sparkling eyes, a bashful smile, and a swoop of soft hair falling across his brow – the sweet and shy new girl with tan skin and pretty, long hair falling across her shoulders. Falling…falling…like so many do…but that didn’t get them here.

Their 1970s love story, complete with bell-bottoms and drive-in movies, may have looked ordinary or expected from the outside, but something different lay beneath: a Solid Rock, a Firm Foundation.

They didn’t come from easy times and silver platters. They were made from survival and grit, hard work and army ethics, but more importantly than that, they were rescued by Amazing Grace, and the Love of Christ began to shape their lives.

Shaping, molding, refining, growing, stretching, learning. He worked; they played, and miracles began to take shape. Young love is exciting and fun, but life-love is strong and binding, and they have the sweet privilege of sharing both.

Like forging metal – hammer, sweat, and fire, that handsome boy was built into a man. With loyalty, honor, and a never-quit courage, the girl was shaped into a woman. And brick by brick, they began to build their lives together – masonry apprentices learning from the Master Builder as He laid the mortar of love and commitment and scraped away what need not last.

This. This is what got them here. They didn’t fall into fifty years – they built it. They worked and planned, quietly persevering side-by-side: a team marked by faithfulness, diligence, purpose, and joy. They didn’t quit when things were hard, and they didn’t turn their backs on each other. They built each other up, celebrated the good times, laughed a lot, and poured themselves into loving their Savior, each other, and the people around them. Love God; love people. These are the pillars of the life they’ve built, and what a beautiful sight it is to see!

Bodies that have been married half a century may feel some extra aches and pains, and they may wonder where the agility of youth has gone. Their feet may feel unsteady and their balance may falter, but one thing is for sure, their footing…the true and real staying power of life…is firm and strong, like hinds feet. They have chosen life and love and all of the stability that comes with that Firm Foundation.

Grit and grime, bricks and metal, sweat and pain…it sounds hard and unappealing, but that’s where the miracle comes in. With the honor of living in the life they built, we’ve gotten to feel first-hand how soft and warm, gentle and kind the love is that’s built by calloused hands. It’s a sweet and indescribable gift they’ve given us.

We invested in some fun for them to celebrate this milestone, but we didn’t plan pomp and circumstance. That’s not their style. No reception or party for the people who love them to show up in masses, though we know you would have loved to. We are grateful for those who honored them virtually with encouragement and congratulations because though they don’t want to take the stage, there IS something to see here. Let us be the first to start the standing ovation. We applaud our amazing parents, and we thank the Master Builder who gave them the tools and the fortitude to build fifty beautiful years. We pray there are many more to come!

Tomorrow, we’ll go to the chapel and begin to decorate. A week from today, we’ll watch our son marry the love of his life in that chapel where they each celebrated kindergarten graduation and 8th grade graduation just a moment ago. I’m sure it was just a moment ago.

Bo was our little orange haired bull dozer who used to plow through any obstacle in his way, falling and bouncing back up, time and time again. He sported scars and bruises like badges of honor for living life with gusto. We thought that meant we would be frequent flyers in the E.R. as he grew older, but praise the Lord that did not end up being the case. He was exciting, and fun, and challenging…just a moment ago.

Just a moment ago, he carried tiny imaginary monkeys in his three-year-old hands for several hours after playing with friends. He was so committed to caring for them that he even refused to catch himself with his hands when he fell down. His arms took the brunt of the fall while the monkeys remained safely in his upturned palms. We thought they might disappear once he fell asleep that night, but to our surprise, he woke up the next morning with the monkeys still safely in his hands. His imagination was powerful and wild  – just a moment ago.

He proclaimed his love for play and his disdain for work, assuring us that he would NEVER grow up…never get married…ew! Yuck! He wanted to stay a kid forever – wise elementary boy that he was. He KNEW he had the good life and he had no interest in rushing through the freedom of  it to get to some awful thing called adulthood.  Our “Peter Pan” we called him…just a moment ago. He promised to not grow up.

Just a moment ago, a church member approached me, holding back giggles, to ask if I knew what Bo had been doing during church. She proceeded to describe him repeatedly running his tongue along the back of the church pew and down the arm of it while we listened to the sermon, blissfully unaware. Just a moment ago, he gnawed the edge of his top bunk so badly that he lost the privilege of sleeping up there…and he demonstrated for me the process of shredding his school pencils by merely ripping the metal casing beneath the eraser with his teeth and chewing on the blunt end until it frayed. Just a moment ago, our sensory seeking boy asked to put cool mud in his armpits after a family walk along a trail. Just a moment ago, he laid – prone – on the concrete after disembarking from an amusement park ride – oblivious to the crowds around him – just because he wanted to see what it felt like. Just a moment ago, I attempted to hold him still while he was telling me a story so I wouldn’t get motion sick watching him spin in circles. He silently stood still for as long as he could handle it and then, bug-eyed, broke free proclaiming – I CAN’T THINK THAT WAY! I laughed at the funny way God made him – like a wind-up toy…and shared a knowing wink with my husband as we grinned at our animated storyteller – just a moment ago.

Just a moment ago, he found a new kind of freedom exploring the world (our small town) on bikes with his best friends. On the brink of the teen years, their old dreams of building a box with wheels to drive themselves to Arkansas had morphed into something more mature…more noble…riding all over this town looking for adventures like the ones his friend’s dad had as a teen.  He was still a long way from growing up and couldn’t imagine feeling the need to drive a car. Where could he POSSIBLY go in a car that he couldn’t go on a bike? Dreams of adulthood were still far away, yet these childhood buddies rode on – seeking stories to tell their own future children.

He drove away for the first time in a car…all by himself – just a moment ago. He later shared that in the isolation of the vehicle, he let out a celebratory scream as he rolled down the road. It turned out that he DID have a desire to drive on more than two wheels  -a new step in his lifelong pursuit of freedom.

Just a moment ago, he sat in my empty classroom sharing about his friends and their fun adventures. Their recent addition of girls to their friend group was proving to be cooler than he expected and before the conversation ended, he had begrudgingly admitted his crush to me and pleaded with me not to embarrass him. I didn’t even know he had the ability to feel embarrassment. 🙂

Where has the time gone?? Our lives are not measured by time…they are measured by moments, and just a moment ago, it seemed like we had a lot of time. 

If you’re in the moment right now where you feel like you have time, HOLD ON. (Don’t hold on to the child in motion – the law of inertia is STRONG in a free spirited boy – but hold on to the MOMENT.) Hold on to the imaginary monkeys and the funny stories, hold on to childhood and the thrill of freedom, hold on to the firsts and the lasts, the weeping and the laughter, heartfelt confessions and apologies, hugs and high fives, the trials and joys, quiet conversations and loud laughter. Hold on to your child’s heart and God’s hand  – knowing that someday he’ll give his heart to that girl you’ve been praying for…and the moments that follow will far exceed his Peter Pan dreams.

A week from today, we’re goin’ to the chapel and they’re gonna get married. I’ll miss my orange-haired bull dozer spinning around the kitchen telling me animated stories daily. I’ll miss his humor, his hugs, and his friendship. I’ll miss our long conversations and short disagreements and all of the moments that have come and gone, and I’m sure I’ll cry as much as I’ll smile as the memories play through my mind. But as much as I’ll miss him, I’m also incredibly grateful for the sweet girl he’s chosen to spend his life with and thrilled for them to experience the gift of a loving marriage. 

A week from today, they’ll say I do…and then just a moment after that, they’ll tell the story of that day to their grandkids.

Yesterday was one of those headache-from-crying, puffy-eyes when we wake kind of days as we had to say goodbye to our beloved boxer, Laila. She was the sweetest four-legged member of our family, but a recent health set-back brought her to the point that she was not eating and was struggling to breathe, her lungs and chest filled with fluid. In spite of obviously feeling awful, she persisted in gentleness and sweetness while showing us she needed some extra TLC.

Before we knew for sure, I attempted to prepare the kids for the possibliity of what we might learn at the vet, and their responses matched their personalities. My tender-hearted girl immediately teared up at the thought of Laila not being okay. She hugged and petted her, offering words of comfort and seeking to be comforted too. My sweet little man accepted the information matter-of-factly and took an optimistic approach, restating my reminders that “we don’t know for sure” and “maybe she can be treated with medicine”. He is a lover and a fighter, and I could see the two strengths at battle within him. I emphasized to each of them the importance of us saying a proper goodbye “just in case” and we discussed our desire to take care of her and ensure she isn’t suffering. All of the kids took pictures with her and said what each of us hoped were unnecessary goodbyes. Sadly, the clear-answers we prayed for were very clear, but not as we hoped.

A short time later, as our grieving family processed the news of Laila’s passing, my little man again stood strong as a fighter. I reminded him that it’s okay to cry – even when you’re a man, and I couldn’t help but think of his big brother at that age – determined to keep dry eyes at all costs. A warm hug was all it took to break through his tough exterior, and he soon melted into my arms, allowing his sadness to temporarily replace his sweet optimism.

With an aching heart and tear-stained pillow, I drifted to sleep later that night only to awake to this seven-year-old at my bedside a couple of hours later. I could not fully understand him, but I could tell he was crying and I heard him speak Laila’s name. I pulled him into my arms and held him until he fell back asleep. A time or two, he stirred, and I asked if he wanted to go back to bed. “I wanna stay here,” he answered as he drifted back to sleep. Eventually, I transferred him from my arms into a little nest between his Daddy and I. I can’t say that the sleep I had at that point was restful. I was wedged on my side on a section of our queen-sized bed that seemed to be about half the width of my body. Still, in God’s goodness, He allowed me to see more clearly. This little strip of mattress I’m resigned to could be called uncomfortable or inconvenient. I could even call it backache, but I choose to call it HONOR. Honor – because I’m sharing my space to help my precious son through his grief, to teach him that it’s okay to cry and that we are a safe place for him to come when he’s sad or scared.What a privilege to fill this role – to be his momma, his safe-place even if it costs me some sleep.

I prayed for the Lord to strengthen our hurting hearts and I prayed for rest. I probably asked that little man ten times or more to stop scratching, or to stop wiggling, and whenever I could, I offered for him to return to his own bed if he would like. Time after time, he answered “I wanna stay here,” and I knew it was a gift. So with his sweaty little arm flung across my neck, I held his hand and snuggled back into my tiny piece of mattress-realestate called HONOR and drifted back to sleep, thanking the Lord, and asking Him to heal my little man’s heart.