it’s becoming “then.”

the air is changing.

it flows through my chest more harshly, less the hotness of summer.

the leaves sound angrier underfoot and the dew has gone into slumber.

and all the sounds and smells and pumpkins that end up on peoples kitchen tables remind me of what fall took from me.

what left me on september 30 in a ford station wagon

what left us on october 8 while sleeping in bed.

some of us know that “then” hurts, and it always will. the way it smelled when he left. the temperature the day you miscarried. the way the grass felt in the cemetery. there’s no use pretending it doesn’t hurt. because the triggers to “then” are real. because the smells take us bac to “then” faster than we want to go.

and it’s ok to be feeling the “thens.”

there was someone who knew, “where God tears great gaps we dare not fill with mere human words.”

there was One who was sorrowful unto death.

because hurting and wanting to hide and flooding with memories means we love.

and deep love makes us bleed.

love

L

  Filed under: "God Himself", "the dross"
  Comments: 5

my wifey Larissa asked me what someone needs to know about Christ who comes to our site and what I want them to leave with.

i want them to know Christ, and His love for them. i would be doing a disservice if i didn’t share that. His love means He has eternity waiting for us, if we pray to Him and believe that Jesus died on the cross.

knowing this makes a daily impact on me and my brain injury. Christ died and experienced the greatest pain. my pain pales in comparison to the pain He experienced on the cross. He knows my pain. And the greatest pain, and the pain of rejection from the people that He loved, was felt by Him. i know that my pain is already taken up in the cross  and someday i’ll be with Him. and see Steve Murphy again, my dad.

Jesus paid it all. my sin is forgotten. thank you, Jesus.

-ian

  Filed under: "God Himself"
  Comments: 9

i’ve been waiting for her book, since she mentioned the thesis in a philadelphia restaurant last spring.

she wanted to share the biblical perspective on women’s work, that it’s not defined by location or geography. it’s not defined by diapers or conference calls.

thank you, friend, for writing this.

“as Christians, we are to be grounded in this identity (…a follower of Christ…) even as we add other roles and ways to express that identity in relationship to others. we might have an interesting job for a season. we might be married for a season. we might have children at home for a season.  

but those things can be taken away from us or never given to us at all. they are gifts for this life only.

Jesus has promised that if we choose to sit at his feet, we have made the best choice of all. we will inherit the better portion, that which will never be taken away; a relationship with God, his word and the promise of eternal rewards and life with him in heaven. in one simple sentence, Jesus shifts our earthbound perspective and takes us high above our daily lives to see the importance of being His disciple.”

-larissa

  Filed under: "God Himself", "work/life"
  Comments: None

“if i were him, i’d just want someone to hold me,” steve said, one day, years ago, when ian was still really sick and steve was still alive.

i knew what he meant because in the desperation of ian’s condition those first few weeks, months after the accident, there was nothing we could do for ian. except to show him we loved him.

but there was always a bed in the way. and i wasn’t strong enough to lift his stiff torso toward me.

or there was always a wheelchair in the way, and he couldn’t lean forward so i could get a good wrap in.

so at night, when steve and the care giver would help ian sit up on the exercise mat steve built, i would wait. and sit and wait. and cancel plans because i didn’t want to miss that moment. that moment when steve would open the bedroom door and let me know that i could come in and hug him.

i could put my arms all the way around him. because he was sitting on the edge of his exercise mat, nothing behind him.

my torso was holding his up, but i was around him.

and he tried to lift his arm to be around me, too.

and i forget those times, when a hug was all it took to get me through another day. how ungrateful i’ve allowed myself to become, forgetting that one of the greatest gifts, holding and being held, is right next to me every day.

it’s  there and it’s so sweet. and he now always  wants to be with his wifey. and when someone starts to pray, he reaches for my hand. and when i sit next to him, his arm wraps my waist. and sometimes he squeezes the extra skin that wasn’t there a few years ago and we laugh because he’s not supposed to notice but we have changed in these nine years.

God gives us joys in the littles.

He gives us joy when we look for it in the most over-looked movements.

and even though i forget, what a great God there is surrounding me.

tonight, i’m thankful for arms that wrap me into him tight.

  Filed under: "God Himself", "marriage", gratefulness
  Comments: 20

we were talking about the acronym the pastor gave us, reminding us about the ways of love, how they look and feel and act.

we were sitting in a small room, circled together, thinking on how we distribute love and who we know that does it so well.

“ian, how are we to love our spouses?”, our group leader asked.

“thinking of them before yourself.”

we kept reflecting on love and what it looks like and then what i always fear happened, as i saw the effect of a catheter that decided to stop working. i saw on the floor what is always on my mind in public; i saw my own example of what joni eareckson tada has spoken of many times before, the fears that remain into adulthood when disability lives in your body.

i left the room quickly, discreetly, to find what i needed to hide it, remove it, fix it.

when i came back into the room, she stood up and moved closely to us, gently reminding us that we were family. gently reminding us that we need not be embarrassed, that they loved and would help us.

and there it happened, the love that we were speaking of, the acting out of Jesus death and what it did for us. they helped us to the car. they cleaned up after us when we left. they joyfully loved.

in the safety of our car,

“ian, i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry that those embarrassing things happen.”

then tears because it was a hard week and because lies were making a home in my heart.

“ian, i don’t understand this. i hate this.”

“joy is closer than you think.”

“how can you handle this? i’m so sick of this brain injury.”

“God gives me joy in the stupid things, like caths breaking.”

i asked him how, because i didn’t get how he could be laughing, while he sat in wet sweat pants, and while i cried.

“because this is all so fleeting.”

then quietly, in our little white car, his truth knocked out the lies in my head. his Psalm 73 truth cut through the lies that i was believing.

and there, in the midst of the week that was holding anything other than hope, i experienced the little miracles that i had read about earlier that morning. the little miracles of hope.

in the midst of a week of crying and longing and heaviness, the miracle of Jesus, living out in my husband, living out in our small group, who entered into our lives and put on Jesus love instead of selfishness or judgement.

and deep inside, a little spark grew, just a fraction, but enough to remind us.

“God is in this.”

  Filed under: "a disabled life", "God Himself", "marriage"
  Comments: 23

“i just wish i could skip the holidays,” she told me, as she dreaded the days that meant more memories flooding to mind. memories of the little red-head life that left too soon. 

i get it. ian gets it. 

because the holidays don’t always look like we want them to. or like we think they should.

because some of us are in a house alone thanksgiving morning. some of us don’t have a home. some of us have closed wombs and kids with wandering souls and gaping heart wounds and some of us, some millions of us, weren’t even given the chance to breathe this year.

some of our holidays don’t fit into pinterest-shaped boxes.

some of us, when we get back to work, will be asked how our holiday was and we’ll fake a smile and say “great.” but it didn’t really feel great.

sometimes, holidays hurt. because the pressure of expectations builds and the reality of our lives doesn’t change on  a thursday in november or on december 25.

yet, there’s that blood. that blood that was wrought to fill us every day. the mercy blood that doesn’t skip holidays but is there, available, when we dig in and let it cover us. 

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us. As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame;he remembers that we are dust.
psalm 103:11-14

that blood is there, and when we allow ourselves to enter in to it and know that all of this, before and behind, is grace, we can put one foot in front of the other.

we can fight to have hope. and fight to give thanks. and fight to love. because Jesus did it for us.
  

  Filed under: "God Himself", gratefulness
  Comments: 13

we tucked ourselves underneath the feathers of our big fluffy spread, our goose bumps giving in to their warmth. i sat with our bible opened on my knees, a hot cup of tea within my reach for us to share.

“what do you want to do for our quiet time,” he had asked, a question that spurs smiles because it means he’s feeling well.

we’ve been reading proverbs, and so made our way there again.

All the ways of a man are pure in his own eyes, but the Lord weighs the spirit.

we were sharing our hearts, how differently we see ourselves than how God sees us.

Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord; be assured, he will not go unpunished. 

our patterns, so similar, mine not as refined as his. the habit of anger and pride, that lead to destruction but are so hard to overcome.

“ian, i know i’ve been given a new heart. but sometimes my old self, that still wants to sin, feels so nearby.”  

“it is. that’s why we need Jesus.”

in seven words he takes me to the heart of it, to the heart of my human-ness. in those words he takes me to the heart of our marriage – a relationship that helps me to love and fear God more.

these moments, they are beautiful.

love
L  

  Filed under: "God Himself", "marriage", gratefulness
  Comments: None

 it’s easy to recite the verse, the one that we hear at weddings and memorize in sing-song tones as children.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.


it’s easy to hear it, and know it, but to really sink into our bones is different. patience is still sinking in to mine, and nothing has pressed patience into me more than our marriage. because life with a brain injury is slow. and it’s  unknown. and it’s not clearcut.

which creates a greater void that needs to be filled with patience. which is exactly where i need to be stripped. which is why God gave me to ian.


i needed him to help me learn patience.

like when he doesn’t answer me as quickly as i want him to. 


or when i just really want him to be able to walk on his own. (because even in the midst of the excitement of his progress, my heart still sins).


or when we don’t yet have what we think we need.


i. i. i. that’s what i make it about. the root of my inpatience is my selfishness.


and if someone had been watching, filming, observing my heart and outward acts for the last two days toward my husband, they would not see love that was kind, or un-resentful or patient.


i don’t see that in myself.


but i do see my god, hanging on a tree for me, that my impatience might not separate me from him. i see his blood traveling down his body and onto his toes and drip on the ground so that i not be lost in my sin. 


i see his head slumped down by death so that i my face may be lifted up to gaze in His face on the ressurrection day.


this was done for me. and for our marriage.

  Filed under: "God Himself", "marriage", "the dross"
  Comments: None

“i start to get upset about the small things in life and then i think of you guys and i’m filled with gratefulness for all that i have.”

i know what they’re trying to say. but what they’re trying to say is not what i hear.

“sometimes i think my life is hard but then i think about you and realize that you have it much worse than me. then that makes me grateful for all of the prosperity i have in my own life because at least my life isn’t as bad as yours.”

that’s what i hear.

i try not to hear that, try not to have thoughts that twist someone’s intended encouragement.

but it’s hard to respond to my husband’s suffering when we’re told we’re a source of someone’s gratefulness. because then I walk around thinking that people are looking at us and thanking God, or their version of a god, that they’re not as messed up as we are. that inherently makes us a victim.

we want to be driven to thankfulness. but we don’t want people to be thankful because they don’t have trials “as bad as ours,” because some day they might and then that crutch that was built will be gone. that comparison, that “at least its not this,” sets our heart on a best case scenario instead of on God, with whom there are no best case scenarios – only sovereignty.

i want to be thankful that we have a god so big even the winds and the waves obey Him. when people see us, i want them to be thankful because they see a god that redeems and upholds and a god that sits on His throne. to derive gratefulness from comparison, to maintain the “there are starving kids in Africa” mentality makes the children a victim or object of pity and sets us up for failure when the starvation comes to our families because of adultery, or car accidents, or heartbreak.

to build our thankfulness on comparison and anything other than God himself will only deprive us of the joy that is to be found in deeply-rooted thanksgiving.

i’m praying that i get to that root myself, because the comparisons i make are a costly habit.

thank you, always
L

  Filed under: "a disabled life", "God Himself", gratefulness
  Comments: 51

this is for myself, a reminder for when the next day comes that was like the last. a reminder on the next day that i don’t know how to enjoy with a brain injury and the day that the things he used to do are all that i see. this is a reminder for the next time my mind has my bags packed and i wonder how i will keep loving.

there is someone who has already swallowed up my marriage and someone who has already swallowed up my loss. it has been finished and so i can wait with my husband, tearfully, and know that my way has already been made for me. i can wake in the morning with mercies that don’t seem new and know that this has already been done for me.

it was done before i was born. done before i knew him. before mrs. murphy.

i can keep making my way in hope because He has made me His own.

i can know that this has nothing to do with me. but instead, Him.

  Filed under: "God Himself", gratefulness
  Comments: 26