In that moment, I felt broken, like there was something wrong with me. I wanted to be in a “relationship”. To have someone who pursued me. Who looked for me in a crowd. Who would hold my hand in the cafeteria, hang out with me on Friday night & send me a red carnation through our school Valentines day fundraiser. I wanted to be part of something and to not feel so alone. Crying in the bathroom stall, my teenage angst took over & I convinced myself that I wasn’t worth it. That no one would want to be with me.

Even though years have passed, I still have moments of similar angst where I feel like I’m the only one who is missing out. At church a few weeks ago, I was taking pictures during worship for a project we’re working on. Through my lens, I noticed people worshipping in a different way that I usually do. I saw how absorbed they were. How connected they seemed to be. So many people were engaged in a level of worship that I’ve never experienced. Maybe it’s because I usually have three children hanging on me, needing to go to the bathroom, wanting a flag, asking for a snack, for another marker and so on. Maybe it’s because I’m constantly distracted but that day, I felt like I was the only person not getting it. I left church that morning with all too familiar feelings of brokenness and a sense that there was something wrong with me. I want to connect with God. To feel his love in a real way. To experience intimacy and not feel so alone in the middle of a crowd. I want it but I don’t know how to get there. That frustrates me and saddens me. I wonder what is it going to take for me to get it?

Is there anyone else out there who feels the same way or am I the only wallflower, wishing I was part of the dance?

His name is Tim. He said I could tell you that.

When I was a teenager, lying on the floor of my friend’s bedrooms, starting wistfully at NKOTB posters, dreaming of my future husband, he is not the man I imagined. He has the dark hair, piercing eyes and flirty way that always charmed me but in most other respects, he is different than I expected.

All of those midnight’s spent conjuring up a fictional future were dreams of a white dress, of grand gestures and perfect moments. I imagined poems & songs written for me, a life of ease and near constant bliss. In my youth, I couldn’t conceive of what 15 years of life together would look like. I had no idea how beautiful and sometimes, how desperately ugly our life would be. There was a white dress, a few grand gestures and many perfect moments. But even those moments, most cherished in my heart look differently than I imagined. I treasure my mental images of our heads thrown back, laughing until we cried (or I peed my pants!), tender words whispered in the dark & dreams, long imagined coming to be. But they also include tears, slippery babies still wet from my womb (and then nights, long nights holding those babies), laughter at things only we could understand, raw, vulnerable moments when I bared my soul and he looked into my eyes and kept right on loving me. Moments where we raged and ranted until we were bleary eyed and hoarse but chose to keep on. Days we didn’t know how we were going to do tomorrow but still said yes to our future and to the promises of the past. Those are the moments I hold most closely in my heart and the times I am most proud of us. Those are the things I could not image when I was fifteen.

I had no idea how he would become my rock. How the flirty guy with the bluest eyes would become a man of great strength and character. How leaning into him, breathing in the scent of him and listening to his heart beat would steady me. How I would long for his presence. How completely entwined the threads of our lives would become as years passed and babies were born, homes bought and sold, jobs lost and businesses started. How he would love me and hurt me and change me and more than anything, make me proud to be his wife and share his name.

Not every day is perfect. In fact, very few are. He’s never written me a song and our life is more chaotic than blissful but I am thankful for it. Grateful to the core of my being. I have a love that has become a rarity.

I love you Tim- then, now, always.

I love this amazing little guy. Serious or silly, I’m thankful that he’s mine.

My little man was pretty cranky this week- sick, whiny & overtired. It was hard to catch any smiles. Some weeks are like that.

Feeling a little sick. I think it was a man cold!

Crackers & cucumber riding in style.

Talkin’ a Oma.

Today my heart is heavy. My spirit feels like lead within me. The last few weeks have brought news of so much sorrow and anguish. Too many people that I love are hurting. I feel overwhelmed by the fragility of life and can not wrap my head around how quickly things can change. In the blink of an eye it can shatter.

The television brings news of a crazed leader bombing his own people. Of an earthquake that swallowed the lives of many. Exploitation, starvation, death. It seems to abound.

My phone rings and I hear the teary voice of one I love. She tells me of a baby, so hoped for and already loved whom she will never get to hold. I feel her pain and I cry silently with her. There are no words that I can offer. All I can give is some soup and a loaf of bread.

Another day, a friend spills tears as she tells me of her fractured marriage. Of dreams shattered. Of pain so deep she can think of nothing else. Again, what can I say? I offer my hand, my shoulder & we lean into one another and let the tears flow.

I open my computer and read the news of a tragic death. A senseless accident that claimed the life of a great man living out a dream with his family in Africa. I did not know him well but I have heard countless stories from those who loved him & know that given the opportunity, we would have called him friend. Today, I listened to my friends weep, shocked and stricken by the news of his death, rocked to the core. I think of his wife. Of his children. And I can’t help but add my own tears. Why, God? It all seems so senseless. And what do I have to offer those who mourn but a cup of tea and a spot on my couch?

In days like these it is easy to fall into the “what if’s”. Seeing someone else’s pain makes the possibility real & it horrifies me. What if? Last night as I watched my family walk out the door, I studied their faces, engraining them on my heart. I hugged them a little tighter, looked into each of their eyes and whispered, “Come home to me” to the man I love. What if?

Some days I do not know how to make sense of tragedy. I feel stuck in the what if’s and my unspoken fears. I know that is not where I need or even want to live but somedays Lord, I don’t know where else to be. I know that you are in the midst of our pain but sometimes I wonder, where exactly? I confess that I have trouble finding you in those moments. I like to live in the sunny places like a cat who seeks out pools of light. I long for the high spots with glorious views. I desire, even expect days full of joy- the ones that come with ease and laughter and wonder. I don’t want pain or sorrow or mourning and yet, that is part of what it means to be human. To be fully alive. There is no joy without sorrow. I know these things but I struggle with how to live them out. How to be in the narrow places and still trust that you are there & shout (or whisper within me) that you are good, even when things just don’t make sense.

Help me, Sovereign God to find you in the darkness, when I can’t see your face. To trust in your goodness & to sing of your faithfulness. Help me to find you in the now and not just in hindsight. I want to embrace this life you have given me, to live with intention & to not be crippled by the days of what if’s and dark fears. Help me to live grateful and fully alive. Oh, God, engrain your image on my heart and teach me to know your voice.

Amen.