Sweet river Roll

I listen to this song sometimes when I'm in the right melancholy mood. It's in my head tonight. I listened to it on repeat when I lost Grace. It's sort of depressing, but when I hear "Sweet River Roll" it's just like Jesus is there, and I know He rolls all over over. FYI, I am NOT a big waterdeep fan, but sometimes they pull off a good tune.


"Sweet River Roll" by Waterdeep
Homebound Henry's got a tumor in his head
He wakes up every morning after dreaming he was dead
He used to think that life was boring, but now that's not the case
He turns to his wife in the evening, he says "Honey I'm afraid I'm gonna lose this race."

Sweet River, roll all over me
Sweet River, roll all over me

Soaking wet Juliet- she lives in a well full of tears
Her husband left her for some bimbo after twenty-two years
Now she's got to start all over, but she's just so terrified
She thinks it woulda been so much easier if he woulda just died

And I'm lookin out my car window sittin' in the pouring rain
Although your house is fifteen miles away, I can still feel your pain
I've thought and prayed and worked it through about a hundred times or more
How your soul just cries to everyone to help you get up off the floor
Right now it's morning, you're probably totally unaware
of the flood of kisses you hold back by the way that you despair
It ain't me I'm talking about here, or anybody else you can touch
That's all I want to say right now, I don't want to say too much

except Sweet Jesus, roll all over me
Sweet Jesus, roll all over me...
You gotta come down and just set me free

Old Friends

When I was a new person in youth group, my brother and I decided to go on the welcome new freshmen canoe trip at the beginning of my sophomore year. While I stood in the lobby with other kids, amongst sleeping bags and tents and backpacks, waiting awkwardly for someone--anyone---to come talk to me, my brother disappeared with his friends.
Then came Rachel. She just walked over and said, "hi." I was relieved anyone was talking to me or standing with me. she was never great at making conversation, but we found enough to talk about. Her friends had all graduated so she told me she needed to meet new people. Perfect. She was a year older than I and went to a different school. But she became the friend I needed to be part of the youth group. We got along really well, and always sat together and sang on worship team and roomed together on trips. For the next two years, she was my real youth group friend. The other kids talked to me and we all got along, but Rachel was my mainstay. I always felt comfortable with her, even when neither of us had anything to say.
We had great times. And we lost touch as we went our seperate ways.
Tonight we met up again because she was in town (her folks still lvie here). We sat at chili's for two hours just talking and catching up. It was great. Because, when so many of the people I knew back in those days have changed and become completely different people, she hasn't. It was just like that first camping trip (where, insodently I got sick and threw up and had to go home early, but the thing with Rachel stuck nonetheless).
As I drove home, I wondered about what makes some friendships stick and be able to pick up even after yaers apart. And why some just go away. I think it's partly personality. And it's partly just true fellowship that comes from Christ. Rachel and I shared developing years together, and because our relationship with Christ was what we had in common at first, we could still connect these years later. Of course, a lot is personality too. I'm always open to meeting back up with old friends and catching up, and in fact I really like doing it. Not everyone does, and that's fine too. That's what we have facebook for, right?

The Way

A kid from our church died today. He had an asthma attack on Sunday and went into cardiac arrest. They put him on life support at the hospital, and we all prayed and prayed for three days. He was 16, and like I've said before, death is such a hard thing to grapple with. It's part of life, but it's still hard. Especially someone who had so much to still give to the world. So I wrote this, because that's how I process things like this.

The Way

and we prayed all night that you would change what events had set in motion
that you would stop the train
turn it around
because we knew you could.
But instead you chose your way, with thoughts that dwell in clouds beyond our understanding
the way of Wisdom that reaches beyond man's mind
the healing of hearts that hurts, the fatal cut
And it felt like you left us there
our requests laid bare before your throne, but you stayed far away
listening and waiting, with some kind of impeccable timing only you could explain
and you chose not to explain anyway.
We wondered if you were there, but you were all along
with your eyes that watch each sparrow fall
and count the hairs on our heads.
With a heart big enough to encompass all pain and questions and doubt
and a Way that brings life and healing
even in death.

To My Dad

A lot of girls grow up wondering if they're loved, if they're beautiful, if anyone cares about them. Wanting to be cherished and treasured, hoping to find someone who will treat them like a princess.
Well, I didn't. those were not questions that went through my mind. Because my dad was there for me. It wasn't that he told me all of the things I wanted to hear. I just knew. He didn't grow up in a relational family who talked about feelings, and I'm not the sort who spills life out on any blank canvas, so I guess Dad and I didn't always have a lot to talk about. But he was there. He was home for every supper. He played baseball and soccer with us and went on bike rides. He prayed with us at night and read us stories before bed. He came to concerts and ceremonies and took us on vacation.
He was there at night when I had bad dreams, after work and supper when we'd play in the yard, and every morning, when I got up, I found him downstairs, reading his Bible or finishing off breakfast.
He set an example of hard work and diligence and discipline.
And he loved me. He didn't always have time for me. I'm a typical overlooked middle child. But I never wondered if he loved me or even if he liked me. He just did.
I'm thankful that I inherited so much of his personality. I strive to live in wisdom and discernment, to dedicate my life to God and to work hard. I'm thankful that he is who he is now, a grandfather with time for his grand kids. A dad who serves his family still, even when they should all be grown ups.
In a world with so many hurts and battles, I'm glad I had a dad to walk with me through them. Because a lot of girls don't. And, even though he isn't perfect, he's perfect for me. And I love him with all my heart.

Bomb Shells

You know how it is when you're going about normal life and things seem really good, and then out of nowhere, a bomb hits? Like your dad calls you to tell you your grandma's in the hospital and it's not looking really great?
Then all of a sudden, life goes into slow motion and you have a hard time really focusing on anything else? The bomb just consumes your thoughts and energy?

So it's finally happening. I've known for years that my grandparents didn't have much time left, but... but I don't want that to be true. So I've been juggling worries and thoughts and anxiety and memories, wishing that life were easier to live, and death weren't part of it.

On Sunday our pastor preached from Daniel 10. After he had a vision, an angel came to explain it to him and he said, "I am overcome with anguish because of the vision, my lord, and I am helpless. ¹⁷ How can I, your servant, talk with you, my lord? My strength is gone and I can hardly breathe."
The pastor talked about how in our lives we experience things that put us in that position, and of course, GOd is present there. He gives us a way out. The angel's response to Daniel was that he strengthened him and said, "Do not be afraid O man, highly esteemed. Peace! Be strong now! Be very strong."

So there I am. I"m sure there will be more to say about this in the coming weeks. I'd appreciate prayer if you're the praying sort.

June 6, 1944

So few of us actually have a chance to be part of history. Witness it, sure. I'll always remember where I was when OJ's verdict came out, when Oklahoma City was bombed, and when the towers got attacked, when presidents were elected, etc. But to have been a part of it is something different.

Today is the anniversary of D-Day. It seems to be a forgotten day 66 years later. I remember the 50th anniversary. It was a big deal then. What happened on D-Day turned the war around and became the beginning of the end. When the troops invaded at Normandy, there was such a slim chance they would succeed. But they literally bit the bullet and tried anyway. I think God was on their side. I know God was on the side of so many soldiers.

You probably know I like to brag about my Grandfather, who got to be part of history that day. For years, he never talked about it with us grand kids. Lately he's started sharing details, and it's amazing. He shouldn't have made it. His friends on each side were shot to death. He was hit as well, close to his stomach, and he ran around on the beach for quite a while before he lost consciousness.

The thing about being part of history is that it usually involves something traumatic. Something that changes your life forever. For the folks sitting at home in the states, D-Day meant a well of hope. Hope that the long days and nights would soon end. Hope of seeing their loved ones again. They can tell you what they wore that day and what they did when the news came. As generations have come and gone since that day, it has become little more than a question on a history test. But the guys who were there, who witnessed death and evil and pain and terror, it was never a passing moment. They can close their eyes and relieve it. Their young lives were shaped by that single day, for better or for worse. I hope that I never become callused enough to believe those moments in history don't matter. Because the course of history changed, not only from a tactical standpoint, but from the heart of one soldier, who before the war had never seen outside of his Montana farm, who had a beautiful woman waiting at home for him, who went on to raise five kids and have 21 grand kids, some of whom followed his way in the army. The way his life changed that day could never be explained or spoken, but for whatever outcome we found, he became who he was. And he matters. It all matters to me.

Anniversary Countdown

We've been married nine years now, so I thought I'd put it in numbers:

9 times moving
8 Weddings we've been in
7 Trips to Montana and beyond
6 Years in our first house and living here.
5 Wonderful anniversary trips
4 Trips to the hospital, funerals
3 Babies, Guitars, Drives to California
2 Endless house projects, RV's, Times singing together at church
1 Faithful God, Wonderful life together.