Can we talk about prayer for a minute? I don’t know about you, but it’s one of those fundamentals of faith that has always been a work in progress for me. How do I talk to God properly? Do I kneel? Hands: folded or steepled?

I can’t recall ever in my life not talking to God. From a very young age I remember talking to God about the things that mattered to me and asking Him what mattered to Him. Though I was talking to God, I always wanted to know about praying to God.

I would hear talk about “effective prayer” and wonder just what that meant. Effective implies that there is an end goal. What am I praying for and am I doing it right? ‘Cause right now, all I’m doing is talking.

My latest and longest prayer problem came in the area of prayers of petition. I have to be honest and tell you that I used to cringe when asked to pray for someone. Prayer requests that went like this, “Please pray that I get the job I applied for and that my cat doesn’t need surgery” made my underarms get damp and a bead of sweat to appear on my upper lip.

How am I supposed to go to God and ask Him to make sure you get the job you want? What if God doesn’t want you to have that job? What if your life is actually supposed to stink a bit longer and God has a different plan altogether? What if your cat secretly doesn’t like you and it’s in your best interest to let it go? You don’t know. And neither do I. So I ask you, how am I supposed to go to God with a list of prayer requests and tell Him how I’d like to see things work when I’m already pretty sure He has a plan that is completely different than anything we could come up with because He usually does?

I felt a certain sense of spiritual small mindedness in making my long list, like I was going to Santa or making wishes with a coin tossed in the fountain at the mall. But I also couldn’t very well say, “No. I certainly will not pray that you get your dream job and that your cat passes that fur ball. The idea. Ha-rumph”

See what I mean? I had me a prayer problem.

Some months ago, Ian and Mackenzie were learning the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew 6. What struck me like an absolute ton of bricks to the forehead were the words Jesus spoke just before He said the prayer.

“In this manner, therefore, pray.”

My ears were pricked by that. In this manner… I got real excited to actually learn this prayer all over again like new with the notion that this was indeed the manner in which to pray.

Our Father in heaven,
Hallowed be Your name.
10 Your kingdom come.
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us this day our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors.
13 And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.^[a]

Can I tell you what I saw there?

Our Father who lives in Heaven, your Name is holy, you are set apart from your creation. You are God, you are Father, you are Creator. (Notice that the prayer starts out talking right away about how great God is. I wince to think of how often my prayers begin, “God! Why? Why is it so hard? Why?” and go on for a good bit before I remember to tell God how great I think He is.)

In Heaven, your will is done the instant you speak it. I long for the day your Son returns and this is once more the case on Earth. May your Son’s return bring us back to a place where your will is that of all people and nature. Come quickly, and give me a heart that wants to see you come quickly. (I’m no scholar, but this is my interpretation of this scripture. I have heard enough unrealized prayers of petition to know that God’s will is not done on earth currently. It is not God’s will that any of us should die, or any of our children get sick beyond help. This world is not His end game plan for us. Phew.)

Just for today, Lord, only today, give me my physical need. I have no worry about tomorrow, my only concern is today and its work. Give me today what I need to carry out my tasks. (It’s scary, but this bit of the prayer makes no provisions for retirement or my kid’s college fund. Just today.)

Lord God, I challenge you to forgive me in the same manner that I forgive others. Give me a heart of forgiveness. There is freedom in forgiveness and I ask that you grant it to me as I grant it to others in the same manner. (This is also scary.)

Don’t lead me to places where I will be tempted to stray: poverty so deep I’d steal, anger so raw I’d destroy, envy so strong I’d rot. Deliver me from evil, and give me the wisdom to recognize I’ve been delivered instead of complaining about the method.

Right here is where I interject my petition. And it is usually only one word long. Truth.

I pray for truth in my life, and the life of whomever I may be praying for. If I have ever said to you that I’ve been praying for you, that is my prayer: Truth.

Truth makes clear what is necessary. What is important. What is going to further the Kingdom. Truth is the Gospel. Truth is the one way to Salvation. Truth is what allows for faith.

And then of course, there’s that awesome close. I leave that one unchanged. Say it with me and own the truth:

For Yours is The Kingdom, and The Power, and The Glory
Forever.

Amen.

I’m a 30 year old believer who has been sitting on church pews since the second Sunday of my life, and I think I just got schooled on how to pray.

Did you see that You Tube video of that little girl saying Psalm 23? I did. And we started working on it the very next day. Turns out, little kids’ brains are able to hold on to a whole lot more than I gave ‘em credit for. I have no clue how it is that so many things seem to float aimlessly in and out of their heads, but with only an apparent smidge of effort, they can memorize all of Job.

That’s right. My kids memorized all of Job. Take that, Psalm 23 girl!

Okay. Not really.

Though, we did recently finish learning the Lord’s Prayer.

I must say that if you find yourself unable to pray properly, you should teach Matthew 6:9-13 to a child. I am certain I gained a lot more from re-memorizing that verse than my kids did.

And lest you think me overly pious, here is a fine example of what happened during a recent prayer spoken by Mackenzie, and “aided” by Ian.

Mackenzie: Dear God, thank you so, so, so much for today.

suddenly, her eyes open wide and she hisses at her brother

Mackenzie: Ian, if you don’t stop that, I am going to have to tell God.

Ian stops doing whatever he was doing and she continues

Mackenzie: Please help us today to be good and kind. Help us to listen to Mom and do all our schoolwork. Also, make Ian behave better than he is right now.

Ian’s had enough of this and breaks our hand holding circle to protest.

Ian: I am behaving, God. I am. Kenzie is the one who won’t stop squeezing my hand!

Mackenzie: Ian, you are supposed to squeeze hands. It’s how Dad does it.

God bless us, every one.

My whole take on having MS can be wrapped up in my dear Grandmother’s first and last statements regarding it. I’ll tell you a bit about her first so you can understand just how profound her statements were and why they capture so well my thoughts.

When she was 12 years old she was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. She grew to get married and raise three children, my mother being her youngest. No person who ever met her left not knowing the greatness of God’s grace. She embodied for me the scripture, “My grace is sufficient for you, My power is made perfect in weakness.”

My Grandmother was my very own personal Rock Star. I adored her and I never felt anything less than adored when I was with her.

She happened to be in town when I was first placed in the hospital. She had watched my decline and had suggested to my parents, four months before the professionals, that I might have MS. Mom and Dad got me settled in my hospital room and then Grandma (I always called her Grandma, but I think she preferred Grandmother) stayed with me while they went to take care of my brothers, who had no clue I wasn’t at school.

Grandma sat and joked with me and helped make light of things. I didn’t know then what she knew about the road ahead of me. A nurse came in to give me an IV, my first in a lifetime. I was terrified of needles and certain that there was some mistake. I was told I was only there for an overnight visit and told the nurse as much.

Grandma gave me her hand – her gnarled, crooked – hand and told me I could squeeze as hard as I needed to, but that, “Things are likely to get a lot worse from here on, no sense throwing a fit.”

I don’t think I will ever in my life forget what it felt like to sit there and hold her hand while I got that first of hundreds of IVs. It was an instant where her lifetime of living in a handicapped, warped body was met by my youthful form just beginning to start my own journey. She knew well what was in store, and though it frightened her, she gave me strength.

I have often thought that God gave me that moment. That starting of the race with my Rock Star at my side. She lived hours away and was just there for a random visit. My parents could have stayed for the IV. Instead, the stage was set for just her and I to sit there and quietly share what was to be her legacy and my charge.

It was less than one year later that she lay dying. Her mind was riddled with Morphine to ease the depth of her body’s pain and she was in and out of conscious thought. My mother was at her side and listened to every breath as she slipped further away. A few days before she was finally freed from her body, she opened her eyes and said to my mother with great clarity and certainty, “Amy’s going to be just fine.”

She taught me many things. She taught me to always match my underwear to my outfit. She showed me how to close Tupperware with my elbow. She impressed on me that it is never too late to learn something new.

More than anything in the world my Grandma taught me, she taught me that this body, this life, this everything, is nothing without the grace of my Savior.

Her words to me at the start told me that there is no sense shrinking back. I must always be prepared to stand against whatever falls in my path.

Her final words about me confirmed the end game God has planned for me all along, “Amy’s going to be just fine.”

If you have known me for long, you have likely heard me say that I am not certain I would like myself too much without MS. This disease has taught me humility, it has forced on me endurance, it has robbed me of any thought but that of Heaven and my Savior risen.

Having children and a husband to look after has changed my tune a bit. As much as I appreciate the many benefits to bearing this daily cross, it saddens me to see that my children must bear it as well.

To be honest, I have declared to the LORD that I am just about lessoned out and am ready to be all that my family needs me to be. As much as I think I am fed up with my circumstance, I remember what my Grandma told me in the very beginning and pick my chin up. No sense throwing a fit with so much to be done.

In the end, I know beyond any doubt that I will be just fine. And know that I have a Rock Star saving my seat.

I spent one last night with Grandma in the hospital before she passed. She gave me her last bits of advice, and I told Mom the next day that everything Grandma told me could be repeated in this song. Mom reminded me of this last night and I couldn’t post this without including the song. Even if you’ve heard this song before, and especially if you knew Grandma, give it a listen and hear what she told me.

There are many positive things that can be said about eternity with Christ. I am looking forward to no more sickness, no more death, no more mean people. There is one thing I most look forward to shedding: Me. I am SO tired of me. I am tired of thinking about me and what I think about me.
To better explain, I’ll give you a tiny peek at The Crazy that resides in my head and what it was doing during a perfectly nice worship service this morning.

Me: Oh wow. I love this song.

The Crazy: Of course you do. You’re so spiritual. Aren’t you just a fabulous example of what spirituality is? You are just what God was talking about when He said…

Me: Stop it! Stop it! The last thing I want to think about right now is me. I’m trying to pay attention.

The Crazy: Unlike the fella three rows down. Did you notice him nodding off? He is such a slacker. You would never fall asleep during…

Me: Maybe he works third shift and he is doing good just to be here.

The Crazy: See? There you go. You are so forgiving of others’ faults. That’s very charitable of you. Practically a saint, you are.

Me: I am a very forgiving pers… Hey! Would you please shut up! I am trying to participate.

The Crazy: Just how much do you plan to participate? Are you going to raise your hands? You know if you do people will notice.

Me: Maybe I will raise my hands. But then, maybe you’re right. Maybe someone will notice and they’ll think I’m just putting on a show.

The Crazy: Just my point. Of course, maybe they will notice and think you are just as fabulous as I am always telling you that you are.

Me: Well then, maybe I’ll just raise them part way, so no one will notice, but I can at least feel like I raised them.

The Crazy: But then, don’t you worry that people will think that you are anti-hand raising? You don’t want them thinking you are judging them and their acts of worship.

Me: That’s true. I don’t want people to feel like I’m judging them.

The Crazy: Even though you do.

Me: Yes, I do. No! I don’t! Will you stop it!? You are making me crazy!

The Crazy: Am I? It’s very Christ-like of you to fight with me. You should be very proud of yourself for disliking me like you do.

Me: I am proud of myself, thank you.

The Crazy: But then, maybe you should be angry with yourself for being proud of yourself for fighting with yourself. Have you ever thought of that?

Me: Every day. Every. Day.

I am so ready to get to worship God and completely shed all of me. Won’t that just be wonderful?

February has long been my favorite month of the year. I was baptized on February 17, 1988. My on again off again smoking addiction ended February 22, 2007 when I stopped and vowed to never pick it up again (and I haven’t had a lick of nicotine since thanks to www.whyquit.com!). Eric and I got engaged on February 14, 2000 (the fact that it was Valentine’s day only occurred to us afterwards). I was diagnosed with MS in February 1995 (doesn’t sound positive, but it is in its own weird way). I learned about “the wall” in February 2004.

My baptism is the most significant event that I have experienced in a February. I like to take advantage of the anniversary and spend much of February reflecting on concepts I have learned (or discarded) over the year since my last anniversary. This year Mom encouraged me to actually write a list. I have a nasty habit of picking up random spiral notebooks and making notes on the first page that opens to me. This means that there are countless (okay, maybe ten) notebooks with undated thoughts scribbled throughout in no particular order.

In order to keep things tidy and because I think this blog will someday be a gift to my kids to help them know their ol’ Mom better, I now present my lessons learned in 2007-2008. Mom asked for a list. I made one, but it appears to boil down to one topic: Morality.

Morals cannot be based on human experience. If I wrote a book about this one, I would call it, “I’m Okay, God’s Okay”. We, as the body of Christ, all too often determine our morals based on human experience instead of God’s final word. This is not a new concept. Eve “saw that the fruit was pleasing to the eye” and so she ate it.
This year I found myself re-evaluating my stands on certain areas. Was my stand based on God’s law, or my opinions of what God meant when He said certain things? How often do we as a people give God a voice that is not His because we want what we want to be what God wants?
Divorce is an excellent example. “God wants me to be happy.” Does He? Show me where He wants your happiness more than your obedience.
So much of everything we do is based on what we think God means. We also pick and choose which verses He meant to be forever and which ones were meant for those people in that time. Evidently, homosexuality, abortion, and divorce were only wrong for a certain time and we have evolved so much in wisdom that we can now condone and even celebrate our freedom to indulge.
I just listed the obvious areas above. It’s easy to point fingers when I myself do not struggle with homosexuality, or notions of divorce. But, what about harboring hatred? What about stewing for weeks, months, years even about something someone has done or said? (I could say more about this exact thought, and perhaps I will one day.)

There is such a thing as moral absolutes. This one stings a little to type out. There are certain moral absolutes that we accept easily, and others that we try to dress up as something different than they are.
We know that murder is wrong, but what about murderous thoughts?
Adultery is wrong, but what about simple escapism fantasy?
Gossip is wrong, but what about a very detailed prayer request for a friend (made public because we really want a lot of people to be praying for said friend)?
Our culture of tolerance has led many to assume that “I have my own moral absolutes, but they don’t apply to everyone”. I don’t think that’s true. You either believe all of the Bible, or none of it. We can’t keep lowering the standard God has given us to allow for the standards of others.

My final thought really sums up how I intend to apply morality to my own life. If I can’t be called a hypocrite, my moral standards are too low. By this I mean that I know I will be rightfully accused of hypocrisy because the morality I own is a very high standard. My Father has a high standard and it is to that standard that I strive to live. If I aspire to never be accused of hypocrisy I would be either a Pharisee or a liar.

So, there you have it. Sometimes I think that if I could go back, I would have been baptized in June because it is much easier to spell June over and over again without spell check. But then, I would still have to tango with hypocrite and hypocrisy – both of which I found quite tricky.

How do you talk to your kids about God? This was a question that plagued and grieved me early on in my journey as a Mom. I want so desperately for my kids to fully understand the depth of love their Father has for them, and I want them to also fully grasp their role in His Kingdom.

But how do I do that? Perhaps if I just go to church, take them with me, and lead a life generally free from debauchery I can hope that they will somehow eventually assume ownership of the faith through some sort of unspoken transfer of thought.

But then, how do I get past Psalm 78, often quoted by my Great-Grandpa, my Grandma, and my Mom:

Psalm 78

^{(emphasis mine)}

1 O my people, hear my teaching;
listen to the words of my mouth.

2 I will open my mouth in parables,
I will utter hidden things, things from of old-

3 what we have heard and known,
what our fathers have told us.

4 We will not hide them from their children;
we will tell the next generation
the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD,
his power, and the wonders he has done.

5 He decreed statutes for Jacob
and established the law in Israel,
which he commanded our forefathers
to teach their children,

6 so the next generation would know them,
even the children yet to be born,
and they in turn would tell their children.

7 Then they would put their trust in God
and would not forget his deeds
but would keep his commands.

This verse being so precious to so many generations before me stands, I think, as a testament to how important actually talking to your kids about God is. My Mom recalls a childhood filled with God talk, and I can honestly say that I don’t remember ever not talking about God in my home as a child. In fact, I remember being five years old and chatting with God about how much I liked Dr.Pepper and how I hoped to be able to have a lot of it when I got older. Even the small things merited a chat with God.

When Mackenzie was an infant, I would sing over her with scripture. Ian was my “Hymnal Baby”. He would lay in my arms for hours while I thumbed through an old Church of Christ hymnal and sang songs about God’s mercy, grace, salvation, and sovereignty.

I was happy to have songs to use as a tool, but I always wondered just how to introduce God into our daily discussion. I was nervous that I would totally bomb and end up only bringing God into the arena for discipline (i.e. “God doesn’t like lying, cheating, stealing, putting gum in Mommy’s hair…”etc.)

Sitting at my Grandma’s bedside prior to her death and my own failing health gave me the best gift I think any parent can ever hope to receive (I know, sounds crazy, but hang in there). The gift was that I have no (okay, not much) desire for anything this world offers. I am so hopped up with excitement about Heaven that I can hardly contain myself. When Kenzie tells me that it is too cold outside, my natural response is, “I bet it’s not cold in Heaven. How cool is that?” Ian tells me that he has a hole in his shirt and I tell him that I bet he won’t get a hole in his shirt in Heaven, unless of course he actually wants a hole in his shirt, and in that case I bet he winds up with a shirt filled with holes.

Talk like that has led to all kinds of conversations with my kids that I will treasure in my heart forever. A natural extension of talking about Heaven is talking about Jesus and how He made Heaven our reality. We talk about the cross and how it is all at once a story of tragedy and victory. We talk about how important it is to tell our friends about Jesus. (This led one of my neighbors to my door to complain that Kenzie had asked her if she loved Jesus. The neighbor was offended. I have never been more proud.)

So, in a nutshell, what I have learned about teaching the next generation is simply this: Your kids are going to be excited about whatever you are excited about. If you are excited about recycling, your kids will be too. If you are excited about Heaven, your kids will be too. Get excited. Get real excited. And then join me, while we stand and we sing. All this talk has me jonesin’ for some old school Church of Christ singing.

Special thanks to Edmond Church of Christ in Edmond Oklahoma for the lovely congregational singing.

When I was pregnant with Mackenzie I heard a woman talking about how she thought babies were special because they have so recently been in the presence of God. She went on to theorize that as we age we lose memory of our time prior to birth and start to settle for a kingdom here.
I tucked her words away and have often sifted things my kids say through that notion. I suppose that my kids aren’t unusual in the things they sometimes say; those things which force a parent to stop and wonder just where did this kid come from. I’m going to list a sample of some of the things I have heard around here and I would love to hear anything that some of you may have heard from your kids.

Ian: Mom, did you know that a long, long time ago God was my friend and we used to play together? I miss my friend.

Mackenzie: Before I was a baby in your tummy, God told me that you were a very nice lady.

Ian: God wants everybody to live with Him. He told me. Also, He will forgive you. (This message was randomly delivered this morning, which prompted this post.)

Mackenzie: Mom, did you know that in Heaven I was a little old lady? I was. (Talk like this always makes me wonder about days like this.)

There are more that I wish I could recall the exact wording of. When they talk like this, it always reminds me just who the real spiritual giants are in this house.

My Dad and I had quite the engaging visit a few nights ago over coffee and cheesecake. He read my post “Reality Check” and wanted to further discuss the concept of Christ’s reality versus the assumed reality of this fallen world. In my post I spoke about how my understanding of Christ’s reality helped put into perspective the negatives around me.
What I did not write then, but discussed further with Dad, is how sometimes great things become our wall. It is not always the sudden shocking death of a loved one that we allow to become our reality, or failing health, or failing funds. Sometimes it is the fabulous, the glitzy, and the cozy that makes us assume the wall to be real.
My Mom calls these things “glitter”. All that glitters is not gold, and in eternal terms, nothing we can purchase on this earth is real gold, just glitter.
I would have to say that I think the most dangerous wall a person can encounter is glitter. I doubt seriously that a sudden windfall of millions of dollars would have sent me on a desperate search to find Christ. In fact, I likely would have been able to button a hefty bank account up as a simple blessing, or worse, something I earned by being a good person.
Most people may not see glitter as a stumbling block to righteousness, but I think that it is possibly the only one I question my ability to withstand. My life and circumstances have left me completely dependent on God. I wonder just how quickly I would turn to Him if the wall was not only not ugly, but appealing?

My Mom likes to check in on where I am in my walk with God from time to time. Lately, I have had a hard time answering her because I feel like I know less than ever before and I feel less certain of most any stand I have taken beyond my need for Christ Jesus and His salvation. This morning I found a scripture that spoke so keenly as to where I am right now that I figured I would share it here- for my Mom and anyone else who might care to know. I have chosen to use The Message translation only because I feel like it is a pretty good blogging language.

Philippians 3

To Know Him Personally

1 And that’s about it, friends. Be glad in God! I don’t mind repeating what I have written in earlier letters, and I hope you don’t mind hearing it again. Better safe than sorry—so here goes.

2-6Steer clear of the barking dogs, those religious busybodies, all bark and no bite. All they’re interested in is appearances—knife-happy circumcisers, I call them. The real believers are the ones the Spirit of God leads to work away at this ministry, filling the air with Christ’s praise as we do it. We couldn’t carry this off by our own efforts, and we know it—even though we can list what many might think are impressive credentials. You know my pedigree: a legitimate birth, circumcised on the eighth day; an Israelite from the elite tribe of Benjamin; a strict and devout adherent to God’s law; a fiery defender of the purity of my religion, even to the point of persecuting the church; a meticulous observer of everything set down in God’s law Book.

7-9The very credentials these people are waving around as something special, I’m tearing up and throwing out with the trash—along with everything else I used to take credit for. And why? Because of Christ. Yes, all the things I once thought were so important are gone from my life. Compared to the high privilege of knowing Christ Jesus as my Master, firsthand, everything I once thought I had going for me is insignificant—dog dung. I’ve dumped it all in the trash so that I could embrace Christ and be embraced by him. I didn’t want some petty, inferior brand of righteousness that comes from keeping a list of rules when I could get the robust kind that comes from trusting Christ—God’s righteousness.

10-11I gave up all that inferior stuff so I could know Christ personally, experience his resurrection power, be a partner in his suffering, and go all the way with him to death itself. If there was any way to get in on the resurrection from the dead, I wanted to do it.

Focused on the Goal

12-14I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.

15-16So let’s keep focused on that goal, those of us who want everything God has for us. If any of you have something else in mind, something less than total commitment, God will clear your blurred vision—you’ll see it yet! Now that we’re on the right track, let’s stay on it.

My dear Grandma made the comment to me over the Christmas holiday that she felt as though blogs were too much like the saccharine newsletters so many send at Christmas time and that she couldn’t get on board because she didn’t feel as though she was getting the whole picture. I understood where she was coming from, to a degree. I spent my junior year of high school as a functional quadriplegic and remember well the letter we received from a distant cousin telling us about her biggest drama of the year: her new yacht was too large to fit at her boat dock and they had to build a new one. Mom and I still chuckle about that letter. Mostly because it seemed so out of touch with whatever might be going on in the homes of the receivers of her year-end wrap up and report.

I think that blogs like mine can have the same effect. I make it a point to only touch on the fabulous, funny, cute, or warm fuzzy inducing moments and I generally leave the heavier topics out of this public forum altogether. I am deliberate about that decision, and I feel like it is worth it to me to explain just why that is. To do so, I will have to bare just a little of the heavy, so try to hang on just in case my heavy looks like my distant cousin’s boat dock next to yours.

After my younger brother died suddenly in 2003, I spent about two months in a cocoon like seclusion. Eric kept the coffee pot going and took care of the kids while I huddled over a space heater in our garage and watched religious television on a tiny black and white set. I spent hours hollowly watching preacher after preacher, and I realize now that I was searching and waiting for someone to make sense of why I had been so gutted. Why was my brother dead while other jerks were walking around with their jerk brothers? At the same time, my body began to slip a little deeper into M.S. deterioration and I was feeling like the chains of this fallen land’s darkness were tightening around my wrists and ankles by the second. I was completely bound by the reality of living here and the depression of that fact was more than I could withstand.

It was during this time of desperate searching for relief that I read John’s account of Jesus’ return from the dead.
¹⁹On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” ²⁰After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.

Did you see what I saw? The door was locked and suddenly Jesus was among them. He was real flesh – they touched him – and yet he was able to appear through the wall. Why would he do that? Why appear through the wall? Why not knock on the door? Why be so deliberate about suddenly appearing among them? As I read those words way back in my cocoon, I heard Jesus tell me, “The wall is not real. I am real.”

“Your brother’s death is not reality. I am reality.”

“Your failing health is not reality. I am reality.”

THIS WALL IS NOT REAL.

It was almost deafening; this voice telling me what reality is. It was a notion that gave me such peace that I stood from my spot, and slowly began to live and breathe again. I was firmly rooted in reality for the first time in my nearly 27 years of life.

This past year has found Eric and I facing all kinds of walls that tempted me to shudder at their reality, but I was always reminded of the simple truth I learned in my little garage cocoon: The wall is not real. I am real. I know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that Jesus lives. I know that He is preparing my eternity with Him. I am so confident of my reality, that it makes whatever happens around me seem almost silly to take too seriously. I still grieve, and I still wince at the sting of certain blows, but I know the truth. And the truth has set me free.

So, while you are wrapping up your thoughts on all the high points of this past year and maybe wincing at some of the low points, take a moment to thank God for the heavier, less than blog worthy points. Thank Him for exposing the truth of His reality.

And now, with all due apologies to my Grandma, we will move on to our regularly scheduled saccharine.