…but God…

Spring is coming!

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“Streets of Gold” by Carolyn Walker

November 17, 2019, I woke to an incredible painting posted on Facebook: “Streets of Gold”. When I first saw “Streets of Gold”, God told me to buy the painting. It was to “represent the blessings” He’d given me “and the blessings I would be walking through.” Two days later I was picking the painting up from the artist.

When I woke the next morning, God gave me a picture of a man walking through a grove of trees in Autumn. Then He whispered in my soul, “Grief is like Fall.” My world exploded. I’d been struggling with the book’s introduction. I also knew the ending wasn’t quite right either. But the revelation about grief CHANGED everything… including the cover.

I contacted Carolyn and asked to meet with her the next evening. Exactly a week after picking up “Streets of Gold”, we were engaged.

It’s not the typical pattern we’ve all come to expect in dating. That pattern usually takes a lot longer. But God… There’s that phrase again (I wrote a post about it a year ago.) But God… in His infinite wisdom, overwhelming love, and endless fatherly gift giving… made it clear He was pushing the time table, not us.

Many have wondered how God took me from overwhelming loneliness and grief and turned my world around in literally the blink of an eye. One minute I was standing in a Starbucks, meeting the artist who painted “Streets of Gold”, and in the next… while still standing in that same Starbucks during that same meeting… I was talking with the woman God intended for me… and I knew it in that moment. (She didn’t, but I did.)

As we began sharing our whirlwind love story with our inner circle of mentors, family, and friends, the questions and worry presented to us melted away. Each time we met over coffee, tea, or a meal, we had confirmation – God was directing this love story and that was clear to all. One of my closest friends remarked, “Thom, look at that painting. Many blessings are on the ground, but look at the trees!” I got lightheaded. I’ve never known this level of blessing and favor.

On top of the confirmations, God has made it abundantly clear, many times, that March 20th is to be the wedding date. It’s been overwhelming at times and peaceful at others as we plan this wedding. Learning to “do life” together while living in two different zip codes, evaluating stuff (what do we keep, donate, or sell?), and finding time to date each other has made our schedule a bit of a whirlwind in and of itself. But God… Just acknowledging His divine hand changes it all.

Which brings us to the present. Last night while driving home, my son asked, “Dad, when does Spring begin? ” I was sure the equinox was in April, but just to make sure, Carolyn opened her phone to check.

“The first day of Spring is March 20th,” Carolyn whispered.

“What?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly.

“It’s March 20th,” she repeated, a little louder. Her revelation stunned me. “There’s your next book,” she added.  I found myself completely flabergasted.

There’s another part to God’s revelation from last night though. Twenty-seven years ago God told me to “Be a child” in a moment He burned into the fabric of ME. A wise man told me, “Thom, don’t grow up. People who grow up on the inside tend to get in God’s way. Be childlike in your faith and devotion. God will always be able to use you.”

I have attempted to be childlike for the last 27 years. Sometimes I’ve grown up and succumbed to stress and worry, especially since March 2013 when Amy was first diagnosed with kidney failure. Sometimes God has reminded me to play and the years of worry began to melt away.

Last night, Carolyn told me she refers to me as her “playmate.” Her mom has even counseled couples in the past two weeks, encouraging them with the concept of playmate – to play as a couple, to remember the joy of play, to be childlike, and to laugh.

We’d been talking about a realization God gave me in the car after learning when Spring started. I simply said, “I have forever felt less than… that people have settled for me.” From friendships to romance, I’ve thought people could have done better, including Amy. “I have often felt I could have been a better husband, father, and friend.” (I don’t need the sermons or the accolades, and I’m not fishing for compliments. God blew my mind last night.)  As I listened to Carolyn tell me about how her mother was using our story, I no longer felt less than. Last night was the first time I truly believed I was someone’s perfect match. I truly understood my worth in the eyes of others and in the eyes of God. And for once, I didn’t feel like I needed to apologize for wanting to play.

This morning my heart was overwhelmed to realize once again that God has been at work to bring this family into a time of unrestrained favor and blessing. The metaphor of Fall became the introduction… or rather… the beginning of the book. Since many people don’t read the Introduction, I named it “The Beginning.” Carolyn finished painting the picture of Autum God had given me. He’d given her the same picture.

“Fall of Grief” by Carolyn Walker
To be the cover of my book Good Grief?!?

The last addition to the book was to add a final chapter to complete the metaphor. It explains how the Autumn of Grief turns into the cold, often lonely, dark Winter of the Soul. But it doesn’t stop there; it briefly talks of meeting Carolyn and leaning toward the future. Spring is coming. Truly. On March 20th, the day God picked for me to marry Carolyn is the first day of Spring literally and figuratively. This family is being ushered into New Life.

I’ve already started outlining the next book, titled Good God?!? It will further look at the metaphor of the Seasons in life. I will continue to update this blog as Good Grief?!? gets closer to store shelves. Thank you for continuing to support me and this book.

I’m a parent! My job is to take care of you, not me!

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Retrieved from: https://www.reddit.com/r/QuotesPorn/comments/2tu02v/i_used_to_say_if_you_will_take_care_of_me_i_will/

The last 4 months have been a whirlwind. Learning to balance single parenting, a full-time teaching career, volunteering at church, and taking care of me has been a steep learning curve. At the end of September, I hit a wall. There wasn’t any margin in my life. I was skimping on sleep. I was skimping on taking the time to prepare healthy food for myself. I was skimping on the things I knew I needed to be doing.

“God!?! How do I fix this mess,” I think was my actual prayer. The answer wasn’t an easy one to swallow.

“Take a break.”

“I don’t need to take a break!” I retorted. “I’m doing just fine. Besides, I’m doing all this stuff…this good stuff…and…what are they going to do without me?”

I see the folly of my thinking now, but at the time, I was sure I had to convince God I was doing so much for the Kingdom, for His Kingdom, and “Who would do it if I weren’t doing it?” What a shot to the ego, right? How dare God ask me to step down from things I loved doing?!? How dare He tell me to stop doing things for Him?!?

If you’ve never argued with God, you should try it – just to say that you’ve experienced it and can then understand those of us with thicker skulls.

God began to show me where my over-commitment was hurting more than helping. I was Sleepy. I was Grumpy. And it didn’t look like I’d ever be Happy. My students were driving me nuts. Why? Because they were acting like typical 6th graders. I mean, how dare they?!? My friends were asking, “What’s wrong?” more often than I thought was normal. And my kids, the sweet ones God gave Amy and me to raise, were wondering if I actually lived at home anymore. They never saw me. And when they did, I was mimicking one of the 7 Dwarves, and not the fun ones. When I realized just how impactful my absence at home had been, I made an appointment for the very next day to take a break. It was hard to look into the eyes of a very close friend and tell him I had to stop volunteering under his ministry for a time. It was excruciating to look my youngest in the face and ask for his forgiveness.

“I haven’t been taking care of me,” I said one night. He was a bit surprised, having expected a rant to come out of me. “I used to get on your mom a lot to take care of herself. She was so good with her diabetes while she was pregnant. Then after each pregnancy, things would slip and she’d get busy and she’d forget to take care of herself.”

After she was diagnosed with kidney failure, Amy said to me, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that taking care of you and the kids meant taking care of me.” Sitting in front of my 14-year-old, choking on that realization was humbling.

I spent 2 1/2 months in hiatus from my volunteer positions at church (both of them). I resigned a tutoring job I’d taken “to help make ends meet” – a tutoring job for a student who really needed the help. And I signed up for a Bible study focused on being healthy in a non-healthy world. Each decision was extremely difficult. However, I’ve spent more time with my kids. I’ve been there for my kids when they needed me. I’ve even been there for my kids when they wanted me to be there.

I was reminded this week, in the midst of a very dark set of circumstances (none of my doing, but none that confidentiality will let me explain), that it is very important I continue to take care of me. Why? Because I can’t take care of my 3 boys if I don’t have the energy, time, and space to take care of them. And to get that energy, time, and space…I have to say “No” sometimes, even to “good things”. A wise Couples Bible Study leader once taught me that. I’d forgotten. Here’s to getting sleep, eating well, and laughing much!

Daddy: A Reckoning part 2

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Amy was hospitalized at twenty-five weeks and one day in her second pregnancy. I was out of my league on the parenting front without a partner. My hope lay in two things: I serve an awesome, big, and powerful God and the pregnancy had already surpassed the necessary point for a baby to possibly live outside the womb: 24 1/2 weeks. Amy could give birth and God could perform miracles, with or without the doctors’ help. The goal was to deliver after thirty weeks. Alas, she only carried the baby to twenty-seven weeks and two days.

In order to survive as a quasi-single dad, adhered to a crushing schedule. I woke at 4:30 each morning; made and packed two lunches and dinner; and then headed for the shower. I woke my son at 5:30 for his bath. We ate breakfast and were out the door by 6:15. I dropped Micah off with a friend or family member for the day, complete with a diaper bag ready for Armageddon, and had to arrive at school for morning staff meetings by 7:15. After school, I picked him up and we went – along with the dinner I’d stashed in the staff lounge – to the hospital to see Mommy. Traffic prevented us from arriving before 5:30 p.m. We’d eat dinner while Micah babbled about the fun things he’d done that day with Grammy, Lisee, Miss Ali, or whichever family friend he’d been stashed with for the day. At 7:15 each night, we would hug Amy and head home. By 8:30 my son was fast asleep and I still had dishes, laundry, and grading to complete. By 11:00, I had usually passed out asleep on the table or in the recliner where I’d been grading papers, usually having just consumed three or four scoops of Rocky Road for comfort. Wash, rinse, repeat four days a week. Fridays we didn’t go to the hospital because I was utterly exhausted. To make it up to Micah, we spent four and six hours at the hospital on Saturdays and Sundays respectively. The rest of the weekend was spent going to church, mopping and vacuuming the floors, and more grading. Grocery shopping happened when I could squeeze it into the schedule. The local Safeway had just been remodeled, and, for a blessed week, half-gallon bricks of ice cream were only one dollar, limit two per customer. I gave my little giant (who was eye to eye with the check counter) two dollars and sent him down the line next to mine each night on the way home from the hospital for a week. I consumed 9 1/2 gallons of ice cream myself while Amy was in the hospital.

One week into the regimen, I realized I could not keep up with an energetic 3 1/2 year-old boy who loved life and lived it hard all while juggling a home, a job, and a wife in the hospital; I just couldn’t. I begged God for a miracle without specifics since I didn’t really know what I needed. He answered my plea by providing prayer warriors and working hands – many unseen to me at the time, and a few very visible – to help me cope. My first Thursday night without Amy happened to be “Back to School Night”. I was mobbed by parents who wanted to bring meals, mow my yard, or clean my house. Amongst the fray of bills piling up and a tight checkbook, we were given fuel cards by two different families in order to keep our family physically together as much as possible. Amy took all the grading from me she could possibly take and I rearranged my lesson plans to avoid long essays until later in the year. Daily I woke feeling an encouraging hand pushing me through my day; I thanked God for the prayer warriors I knew and the ones I didn’t. And on the days when I felt I would break completely, God showed up in an encouraging note, delivered groceries from an anonymous source, or some other creative way.

After a week, I bought paper plates and plastic silverware and stopped folding clothes out of necessity. These two decisions bought me another hour of Z’s a night. I still had a few dishes to wash – pots and pans and the like; and I still completed one to two loads of laundry a day. I just upended the basket onto the couch. It became Micah and my dresser/closet for the month. Amy named the pile “Mt. Washington” when she arrived home to witness the carnage of her once beautiful, neat, organized home.

On Friday nights Micah and I ate dinner on TV trays while watching a movie. We sat together on the couch but I usually fell asleep within fifteen minutes, sometimes before I’d even eaten my dinner. Micah would always wake me up at his favorite parts: “Daddy, ya hafta watch! Dis is da bess part.” By that time, we’d amassed a cache of videos complete with singing vegetables, a skidoo-ing blue puppy, and singing animals who danced with princesses “Once upon a dream”. With such a variety, what did Micah always choose to watch?!? Disney’s Cinderella or

Cinderella

Roger’s and Hammerstein’s…Cinderella starring Brandi, Whoopie, and Whitney! Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday we watched those movies – or at least they were on while we played on the floor, unloaded and/or reloaded the dishwasher, and performed a sundry of other tasks. By the end of that month, my dreams were replete with mice singing while they helped me clean the house

Gus2

(“Cinderelly, Cinderelly…”). Sometimes my students, family, and friends joined into the nocturnal foray, hounding me of many different tasks I couldn’t complete in the day, or sometimes I found myself arguing with a wand toting, diva fairy-godmother trying to convince me that Impossible was Impossible. Today, Micah’s favorite films include both these movies. He even nicknamed his newly minted brother “Gus-Gus” when they first met!

When Amy came home, I began joking with her: “You cannot die until our kids have all graduated from high school! I can’t do this alone.” There was a bit of truth veiled in that joke. I barely made it through that month and I didn’t want to become the “barely made it” dad my children would weep to their therapists about during their 30’s. Silently, I lived with the fear of losing my wife while my kids were still kids. It became an overwhelming terror multiplying inside of me. When Amy was diagnosed with kidney failure, I choked on that joke once, never again. In that moment I realized I would most likely become a single parent soon, and I wasn’t the daddy I wanted to be.

…to be continued in pt. 3…

Single Parenting

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active-listening
Photo Credit: https://perfectsmalloffice.com/listen-up/

It’s been a few days longer than usual between posts. I’m sorry. I’ve had one of those weeks where I truly miss the wisdom, insight, and direction my wife brought to this marriage. Especially in the area of parenting. Parenting is hard. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I took Amy’s contribution to our parenting for granted. For a while, I’ve felt less than as a dad, like I couldn’t quite get it all done – and not just the physical stuff, I’m talking the relational, the comforting, the directing, and the correcting stuff! I’ve felt very inadequate of late. So I prayed: “God, I don’t think I can do this?” He sent me wisdom, insight, and direction, from a few friends reminding me that I’m enough and that He’s in control.

Single parenting is more difficult than having a spouse to help carry the load, but God…(there’s that phrase again)…but God makes it all work. Here’s a snippet of the book from when Amy and I began learning to truly listen and trust God as a couple. We’d been married for just about a month. Things between us were great. My work situation was not. In the month that followed, we began fighting over the most trivial of things and even came up with a STUPID solution (that I’m glad we never tried).

When God led me to this section of the book while I was contemplating this post, I knew I needed to remind someone that “You’re enough. God’s in control. You just need to listen.” I’m trying to remember that message quicker myself.

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In less than a month, Wonderland would be shattered. My boss at the time was very difficult to work for, especially after getting married. Amy and I didn’t see much of each other since she had a good job in Beaverton, Oregon, while my two part-time jobs were up the Columbia River on the Washington side, some seventy miles apart. Amy left for work at 5:00 every morning, and arrived back at home around 7:00 p.m.

Little things like squeezing the tube of toothpaste in the middle of the tube created large blow-out arguments. The dinner I prepared for her on our first evening home after the Honeymoon was Eggplant Parmesan, ala L’Originale Alfredo di Roma Ristorante in Epcot’s Italy. It was the first meal we had eaten together in Epcot Center. What I made didn’t taste anything like the meal we’d loved so much. It tasted like Failure.

One night, while trying to figure out why we felt like we were butting heads all the time, why things didn’t seem to work out in our favor at all, and why it seemed like God had gone silent, I blurted, “I knew I should have resigned this youth pastorate before we got married.”

“Wha…” Amy’s response wasn’t even a complete word, but a complete thought none the less.

I inhaled as much courage as my lungs could find.

“I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to be here. Three different people told me they thought I should resign the church so we could spend our first year building a strong marriage before I begin working on the path to becoming a teacher. I started praying about it and thought that I heard the same message from God, but I was really nervous to tell you since you had said you ‘felt called to marry a pastor.’” At the last word, my lungs let go and I deflated, standing in front of a new bride who just found out that she might have married a fraud. It had all come out rapid-fire. No breaks. No stopping for breath. No pausing for punctuation. It was just staccato bullets driving their way through our concept of Wonderland.

After an uncomfortable pause, Amy quietly said, “I’ve known you were supposed to resign for a couple of months, but I kept thinking, ‘Who am I to ask him to give up his calling?’”

I was the one now standing in stunned silence. I would have never guessed those words would come out of Amy’s mouth, not even if $20 million were riding on it.

“Thom?… Are you…going…to say…anything?”

I got the giggles.

“What’s so funny?!?” This question was not inquisitive as the previous one had been. This question was shrouded in pain. Amy thought I was laughing at her.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the fit of giggles doubled, then tripled. I fell to the floor, turning deep reddish-purple, squeaking for lack of oxygen intake.

Many minutes later, I looked up from my seat on the floor while gasping for oxygen.

“Honey,” I managed, lifting my arm to encourage her to sit next to me, “We both knew, but were afraid to tell each other! Don’t you see the irony in that?”

“Not really,” she supplied as she sat, both our backs against the narrow hallway wall.

“You thought I would break off the engagement if you told me, and I thought you’d tell me I wasn’t worth it if I told you, so instead, we both sat in silence, letting what may come… come. When in reality, we both, who love the Lord God with all our hearts; we both, who love each other and want what’s best for each other to come to fruition; we both kept quiet. It’s a bit comical to me that we’re standing here, or rather sitting,” which brought a short giggle out of Amy, “wondering what’s wrong? Why isn’t anything seeming to work out around us? Heck, it’s just a week past Christmas and we’ve been talking about attending two different churches – you, in Beaverton, and me up here – Why?!? In order to try and ‘get along’!?! Or better yet, so that I can keep my two part-time jobs that pay less than one-third of your salary so that I can feel fulfilled and obedient to God when He’s the one who told me to leave in the first place!?!”

Amy looked at me sheepishly, “No. I was afraid you’d marry me and be unhappy for the rest of our lives because I asked you to resign from your job at the church.” I smiled, a weak, wan smile, but still a smile.

“Amy, we both know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God moved Heaven and Earth to cross our paths, from two completely different worlds. We both knew that night on the phone, three weeks before our first date that ‘this was the one.’ Promise me we’ll never keep what God is telling us a secret from each other ever again.”

“I promise.”

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Sadly, we didn’t completely learn that valuable lesson on that late December evening in 1997. It wouldn’t be until many years later before we truly learned what God had been trying to teach us: He is ultimately in control. Now He’s working on, “You’re enough.”

A First Date?!?

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“You have a hot date tomorrow with Amy Standley!” Rob announced entering my office.

Date?!? I began freaking out in my head. It’s just coffee.

“Y…e…s…,” I tried to cover, hoping Rob didn’t notice. Dating and I never got along. Most of my first dates landed around 9.0 on the Rhictor scale. I spent much time leading up to first dates worshipping the porcelain throne, heaving everything I’d eaten for the past few weeks. Then I struggled to hold conversation with the girl with whom I had no trouble talking before and when I asked her out. The cold sweats began.

“It’s not a big deal,” I continued after a beat. “Just coffee.” My voice cracked like a pre-pubescent boy.

“You can’t do just coffee on a first date with Amy.” Rob said it like I should have known that rule. In college, Amy lived with Temple, about a mile off campus. Temple’s boyfriend (now husband), Jason, introduced Amy to his best friend, Rob. The four spent much time together. Amy and Temple’s house was a second home to Rob. After graduation, I just happened to be hired as the youth pastor of Rob’s home church. So, that’s how we ended up staring at each other on that Friday afternoon.

“Amy said coffee when I called, so coffee it is.” But Rob’s “encouragement” changed my mind. On the way into town – I lived 72 miles from Amy at the time – I stopped and picked up a floral bouquet and a copy of The Oregonian newspaper to get some destination ideas (it was well before SMART phones and Google Assistant).

Apparently, after leaving my office, Rob called Amy with a similar proclamation. She’d been just as confused as I had been. When I arrived for our “date”, Amy was on a long-distance call to her sister Lisa in full freak-out mode.

“It’s just supposed to be coffee!” she’d told Lisa.

“If he’s got flowers, then it’s a date,” was the bit of wisdom Lisa gave her before hanging up the phone. (Amy filled me in on our third date.)

I was so nervous after talking with Rob that I spent the evening futzing over outfits and plans. In the morning, before the date, I changed clothes four times! I settled on stone-washed denim jeans and a mustard yellow button-down shirt. Amy would confide in me years later that she hated that shirt. I’m glad I showed up with the flowers, or it may have just been coffee.

Eight months had passed since I declared to my college roommate I would marry Amy Standley. In that time, many things happened to ensure we would never meet again, but God had a bigger plan. I believe God gives us choice in whom we choose to love and marry. The romantic in me still believes that sometimes God moves Heaven and Earth in order for two specific people to meet. When I take into account all of the things working against us becoming a couple, my head swims. Good grief!?! All the head-swimming ceases, though, when I remember two incredible words: but God.

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Graphic Credit: WaveChurch https://wavechurch.com/store/but-god/

Those two words are so powerful. Amy and I wouldn’t have met, but God convinced Amy to go to Eugene Bible College for a one-year Bible certificate. Amy and I wouldn’t have had a first date, but God prompted Rob to drop a few hints. Amy and I were both separately told we couldn’t have children, but God decided to confound the doctors…thrice! There are many more instances in my life where those two small words change the direction of the narrative.

As I sat pondering these two words, God took me on a trip through Scripture. I found forty-one chapters in the Bible containing this powerful phrase. One story stood out from the rest. One man – who happens to be one of my favorite characters in the Bible – stood out from the rest. In speaking about this man, Stephen said, “Because the patriarchs were jealous of Joseph, they sold him as a slave into Egypt. But God was with him” (Acts 7:9). At the end of his life, when his brothers came to him in fear for their very lives, Joseph said, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done” (Genesis 50:20). I pray I will see “…but God…” strung through the narrative of my story and will be able to speak blessing and not curses when all is said and done.