Tiredness came slowly, sneaking up behind me like a shadow on my heels.

I tried to outrun it. Move faster. Work harder. Accomplish more. It’s the way I’d always approached life.

I have two autoimmune illnesses–Celiac Disease and Sjogren’s Syndrome, which plays a huge part in my fatigue, I’m sure.

Finally, at 51, I’m learning to rest. Slow down. Be still and quiet. Wait on His Strength.

Taking care of Julie is new for me.

And what I’m experiencing ties in beautifully with my word theme for the year…Surrender.

Last week, my sweet stepfather Gene read me this scripture. If you’re tired, worn out, burned out , I pray this scripture will bring a slow but steady healing.

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to Me. Get away with Me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me–watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with Me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” Matthew 11:28-30 The Message.

‘Til next time,

Love,

Julie

Oh, no. This was a golden grapefruit suspended at the edge of the horizon.

Like no moon I’d ever seen.

I called my daughter Katie and told her to look at it. She loves sunsets and sunrises. I knew she’d love this gorgeous moon.

She ran outside. “I can’t find it!”

“What do you mean? It has to be there. Keep looking.”

She circled her house. “There’s no moon. Just a blank sky.” She sounded a little sad.

I was driving home from the Y. “Well, it’s to my left and I’m on highway–”

“That doesn’t help me, Mom. I guess we don’t have a moon where I live.”

We laughed and decided maybe the moon was hiding from her.

After we hung up, I couldn’t forget what she said…

We don’t have a moon where I live.

Her words worked their way into my heart.

Surely God has a message here for me.

At times, I’ve felt like maybe He was hiding. Or maybe He just wasn’t listening.

The next day Katie sent me an email. “I never found the moon, but look at the sunrise this morning. Right over our house!”

Thank you Lord. Just what she needed today.

Trust Me, Julie, God seemed to say. I know my children’s needs.  I haven’t forgotten.

I created the sun, the moon, the stars, the heavens, and the very air you breathe.

I’m closer than you ever dreamed.

(title is from a line from “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allen Poe, one of my favorite poems)

Love,

Julie

My sister Jennifer, Mom’s husband Gene, and I joined her inside the curtained cubicle in pre-op. “Oh, good. Y’all are here.”

Pretty soon she asked for her big white sunglasses.

“You’re going to wear them in the hospital?” I said.

“The overhead light’s bright and I don’t have on any under-eye concealer.”

Jennifer fished through Mother’s huge Ziploc baggie and handed her the glasses.

“This is too funny–you in these glasses. Can I take a picture for my blog?”

“By all means.”

I handed Gene the camera and we crowded around her bed.

“That picture’s terrible. Looks like I’m lyin’ a corpse. Take a another one and I’ll hold my head up better.”

Only my mother.

“You and Jen look like nerd sisters from the sixties wearing your glasses. Ya’ll take a picture looking like that. It’s only fair.”

“Listen to all the chatter in the other cubicles,” Mother said. “Sounds like a party. Wish I could meet everybody and work the room.”

“You could in those glasses.” Jennifer said.

Who knew you could have this much fun in pre-op? We got tickled–started laughing hysterically, and then the anesthesiologist pulled the curtain back. Ahhhhhhh! He caught us snapping pictures. I’m not sure he understood our humor, but Mother’s doctor sure did.

“I should have known your mother would have a party going on in here.” He flopped down on the end of the tiny bed and laughed with us.  Mother laughed so hard she cried.

After surgery, Mom ate some of Jen’s homemade fudge. She said she had so much fun, she wants to come back next week and do it again!

When you aren’t afraid, sometimes life just gets downright funny.

“A merry heart does good like medicine…” Proverbs 17:22 (KJ)

P.S. Tuesday, 5:38 p.m. Mom just called. Great report! Benign papilloma!

Love,

Julie

Piddling is Southern slang for doing nearly nothing…slowly.  I want to learn to piddle. My husband and our yellow Lab Clyde know how.

Sunday morning I walked in the kitchen and found my husband drinking orange juice and chopping potatoes and onions for breakfast. He wasn’t hurrying or watching the clock to figure out when to start the bacon. Maybe he was piddling.

There’s something here, God seemed to say. Slow down. Don’t miss the joy in little things.

You mean this? Cooking breakfast?

Everything. Stay in the moment.

I glanced out the window at the predawn light and considered throwing in a load of wash before I cracked the eggs.

 Be still.  Don’t rush.

I looked out the window again. Really looked.

I see it now. Thank You. The first light of dawn. It’s gorgeous.

After we ate, we left the dirty dishes and took Clyde on a walk through the woods–not the cardiac workout-type pace I usually do…

But a walk to notice beauty.

The way the sun plays off the trees.

The crunch of January leaves.

The red flash of a cardinal.

A walk of praise.

After our walk, I started soaking beans for supper. You can’t hurry beans. They know how to piddle.

We went to church.

Worship Me well.

As we began to sing, I  slipped my cold fingers into Rick’s warm hand.

Thank You. For someone to sit with in church. For today. This very day.

Sunday was so utterly simple.

But absolutely nothing about it was ordinary.

Slowing down, learning to rest, brings me to Praise.

“I will bless the Lord at all times…” Psalms 68:19 (KJ)

Love,

Julie

Jennifer my sister, me, and Mother

Her mammogram and ultrasound were clear, but an MRI showed a possible abnormality. She’s scheduled for a surgical breast biopsy February 3rd. My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer at my mother’s age. She had mastectomies.

Mother sounded like she was covered in cold clammy fear. She wasn’t eating. Didn’t want to walk the dog–afraid she’d miss her doctor’s call.

Fear is an emotion I understand. I’ve been there plenty of times. Fear can take me under.

We talked about a book she’s written, The Nevertheless Principle. It’s the story of how she rose above fear during the last few weeks of my father’s life. He died from a brain tumor.

I reminded her of “The Island of Trust”  she describes in her book–a warm, wide, safe place where she finally let go and trusted God with everything.

She didn’t want to hear about the Island of Trust.

I told her I’d pray for her.

For a few minutes during the middle of the night, between sleep and wake, I prayed.

I’d never prayed like this before.

I imagined the Island of Trust and visited it in my mind.

Sat beside a palm tree.

Squinted at the bright white sand.

Put my toes in the clear-blue waters.

Felt the sun on my back.

Inhaled the scent of suntan oil.

Help her get to the Island of Trust, Lord.

Saturday morning she called. “You’ll never believe it. I woke up between two-thirty and three during the night. The giant fear monster was gone! I made it to the Island of Trust. Why would I ever go back into the shark-infested waters of fear?”

I have no idea how or why this prayer worked, but I know there’s an escape from fear.

If you’re afraid, I understand. Let me know, and I’ll pray for you.

(lower photo courtesy of Christianphotos.net)

Love,

Julie

“I have not given you a spirit of fear, but of love, and of power, and of a sound mind.” 2 Timothy 1:7 (KJ)

Friday morning Rick said, “Where do you want to eat tonight?”

“How about gluten-free pizza at Your Pie? Then maybe I’ll get a piece of gluten-free cake.” (I was diagnosed with Celiac disease disease four years ago.)

“Whatever you want.”

True love.

I thought about my carrot cake all day long. Could hardly wait to taste it. I’d found a spot that sells homemade baked goods not too far from the pizza place. After dinner we zipped over to get my cake. Yay!

There it sat. My very own piece of cake full of nuts and iced with cream cheese frosting. (This is not the exact cake, but you get the idea.)

I placed my order.

The guy behind the counter said, “You don’t have Celiac, do you?”

“Umm, yes. Please don’t take my cake away…”

“You shouldn’t eat this. We can’t guarantee it’s not cross-contaminated with wheat.”

“Noooooooooo!”

“Do you think it would hurt you?” Rick said.

“It might. Probably.”

I handed my cake back and found a box of Ugi’s Snickerdoodles. Guaranted to be gluten-free.

Yuck. They probably taste like cardboard.

Back at home, I zapped a few of them in the microwave. I took a bite. Totally amazing! They were delish–soft, warm, cinnamon-y–even better than carrot cake! I poured us both a glass of milk.

I sensed there was a message for me buried in my snickerdoodles. After picking the word Surrender for 2012, there’s been a message for me in almost everything.

What is it, God?

Saying no to carrot cake means taking care of your body.

Surrender means taking care of your soul.

When you’re tempted go back to your old ways, remember these sweet cookies were from Me.

You have a new way to live–really live.

“…for Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.” Matthew 6:8 (NIV)

Love,

Julie

One of my hobbies is asking questions.

Last week, our son’s girlfriend found a box of  abandoned baby chicks on the side of the road. She trains dogs and takes care of horses and cows, but she doesn’t know much about raising chickens. She gave them to Rick.

 Some of his chickens….

I peeked inside the box. Four baby chicks.  “What kind are they?”

“White Leghorns,” Rick said.

The flip side is…sometimes I push too hard. I don’t always trust God. I worry. Think I know what’s best. Try too hard to figure out the future.

Last week, I shared my one word for 2012. Surrender.

Here’s more of the story. I didn’t go down without a fight. It wasn’t pretty. When I got really honest with God and myself, I knelt by my chair and filled pages in my prayer journal. Using a red pen I scrawled in messy handwriting, not caring that I wrote outside the lines.

Snippets from my journal…

Okay.

I let go.

I surrender.

Forgive me for not putting You first.

For worrying.

For not trusting You.

Will You help me?

What’s happened so far…

1. Rest. The cement boulder of worry lifted from my shoulders. A nap on Sunday. Lots of mental energy and fresh creativity.

2. Gratitude. I drove up the driveway Saturday and noticed my husband and son splitting wood. Before December 28th, I would have zoomed past them and missed the moment. But I had to stop and take a picture! Our yellow Lab Clyde is helping them.

Thank You, God. A strong husband and son. Wood for the winter.

Later that day I washed my sheets. Hung them out to dry. I remembered watching my grandmother do the same thing so many years ago.

Thank You. The smell of sunshine-y sheets. April in December.

3. Anticipation replaces fear ~  I can’t worry and anticipate good things at the same time.

Life’s too good to miss–especially the little things.

“Be anxious for nothing…” Philippians 4:6 (NIV)

Can anybody relate?

If you picked a word for 2012, how’s it going?

Love,

Julie

“Lots of people pick a word for the new year,” I said. “You know, this year my word was courage.”

“Um-hmm. That’s a good one.”

“What word would you pick for 2012?”

It didn’t take him two seconds to decide. “Relax. Have more time to rest.”

“I like that. My word is surrender. Want to switch with me?” I said halfway kidding. Halfway not.

I’d found it the day before.

My Utmost for His Highest, by Oswald Chambers. December 22.

Here’s what Oswald says… “There must be a SURRENDER of the will…I must SURRENDER myself completely to God.”

The word jumped out at me. The letters seemed ten feet tall. I put Oswald down and read from my other devotional books.

SURRENDER. SURRENDER. SURRENDER. I found it three times. Three arrows to the heart.

I hear You, God, but I don’t want that word, I scribbled in my journal.

It’s up to you, the gentle voice inside said.

I know all about surrendering. I’ve done it. What else do I need to surrender to You?

Everything, He seemed to say.

Your will.

Your future.

Your writing.

Your fears…

Surrender is a big word.  I can’t see what’s behind it.

But I can. I’m the Light of the world. Open your hands. Let go.  

I can’t do this without you.

Of course you can’t.

I’m probably going to have to surrender some things over and over.

That’s right. Moment by moment.

Maybe Rick’s word and mine aren’t so different after all.

Surrender.

Relax.

Not my will, but Yours be done…” Luke 22:42 (NAS)

From my BFF’s blog. Her word for 2011.

Bestselling author Debbie Macomber’s word for 2012.

Has anyone else picked out your word for 2012? We can share mine if you want to.

Love,

Julie

(lower photo courtesy of www.christianphotos.net )

“I’m not putting up a tree this year,” Mother said emphatically. “It’s too much trouble.”

I’m not ready for this. Not yet. “If Jeremy (my brother) will put it up, I’ll help you decorate it.”

“What’s a tree anyway?” she said.

“Remember Christmas of ’82? You said the same thing.”

It was my father’s last Christmas. He died the following July from a brain tumor. Jeremy surprised us and put up the tree by himself.

“I remember the year my mother stopped putting up a tree,” she said softly. “I begged her to get one.”

So you know how I feel.

“Gene said it’s fine with him if we don’t put it up,” she said.

“Is it fine with you not to have one?” Please say no. Say you want a tree.

“Pretty much. I guess.”

My heart was sad for them. For me. But I reminded myself that they’re getting older. Things change.

She called two days later.

“You’ll never believe it! Our tree’s up. A friend said if I didn’t do it this year, I’d never do it again.”

Hallelujah!

“I took my time decorating it,” she said. “Rested when I needed to.”

I’m so proud of you. “Can’t wait to see it!”

“You coming over for oyster stew like last year?”

 “Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.”

Last Thursday, oyster stew night, I studied her ornaments as though I’d never seen them.

I found my brother Jon’s childhood thumbprint, the jeweled ball I made when I was seven, my sister Jennifer’s two-inch tattered Little Drummer Boy, Jeremy’s popsicle stick star, and Mother’s angels.

After dinner, we sat on her sofa. Still. Quiet. Just looking at her tree.

It’s more than a tree, you know,” Mother said.

I nodded. Some things are too deep for words.

Thank you, Lord. Another Christmas.

Love,

Julie

I’m praying for readers as I post this blog. Christmas can be a difficult time–especially when we’ve lost loved ones.