Her Children Rise Up...

“…do not forsake your mother’s teaching.” Proverbs 1:8b

Psalm 147

selected verses

“Praise the Lord.”

“How good it is to sing praises to our God, how pleasant and fitting to praise him!”

Time at my Granny’s house included good food, laughter and singing. She always made fudge just for me. It would be on a plate, with plastic wrap covering it on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Delightful!

My Granny Money suffered through strokes and their effects in the final years of her life. She lost the use of many things, including her recollection of words.

But she could always sing every word of her favorite song. I can still hear her voice and see her pat her left hand in time to the music.

The song was "Amazing Grace."

We sang it often together with her as a family.

We live it together still. 

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

My Mom has lived this verse. She spent her career in Child Protective Services, working long, arduous hours to right some wrongs for the brokenhearted. She served among heroes. She, herself, was a hero to many. She showed me where and how to follow Jesus. Among the suffering, with dedicated persistence.

My Mom also carries this verse in herself. My calling has become her sacrifice too, leaving her brokenhearted in tender places. She has journeyed far in our service here. I deeply appreciate her love for me in the midst of the surrender this work requires of us both.

“He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name.”

One consistent memory Jeff recalls of his Mom is her singing over him as a young boy. 

“Can You Count the Stars of Evening”

Jeff grew up fully confident of God’s awareness of Him. Of God’s love. He knew that because he belonged to the One who numbers the stars, he could confidently shoot for them…with bold courage.

He does. Every day. And his mom’s song still sings over him and the children he is raising to live with courage too.

Every single time we sit outside and watch the African night sky, Jeff speaks of the song and of his Mom. Her faith and deep love for African missions (all missions really) is a vibrant part of where we serve and raise our family today.

“the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.”

I spent more time with Mam-ma than any of my other grandparents. Her influence in my life remains deep and strong. She pursued God with passionate dedication. She obeyed and deeply respected His commands. Her Bible was always at her right hand. On the end table. The bookmark moved daily. She read His words as if her life depended on it. Her life did depend on it. I knew that full well. I delight in considering her entrance into her eternal home. What joy for her when she realized, face to face, the depth and breadth of Christ’s unfailing love for her. I can’t wait to be with them both.

“He covers the sky with clouds; he supplies the earth with rain and makes grass grow on the hills. He provides…”

Grandma Rose loved flowers. She always had a beautiful garden. One of the gifts we honor in our home is a picture of flowers that she painted. It reminds us of her and her knowledge of the blooms she adored.  She knew the names of them all. And she knew Who provided them for her enjoyment.

As Grandma Rose served alongside her husband, AJ, in ministry, money was pretty tight. She was well practiced at making the most of what she was given. Conversations with her always included stories of the ways God provided for her in her life. And time with her consistently yielded arms full of blessings and gifts that she loved to provide for us.

The beautiful wedding ring I treasure speaks daily to me of God’s provision to her and God’s provision to me. The testimony of Grandma Rose’s life echoes in our home every day.

“He strengthens the bars of your gates and blesses your people within you. He grants peace to your borders and satisfies you with the finest of wheat.”

Nona Cash is one woman I long to know! She went to be with Jesus before I joined her clan, but never have I heard a woman spoken of with such adoration and esteem as this one. She is very well remembered.

If I could sit with her over coffee today, I would celebrate with her the beautiful ways God has strengthened the gates of her Cash family, how He has stayed with us in the places where we come and go.  We could number the ways He has blessed us within those walls of belonging. We would rejoice over how large the family has grown—delighting in each new, beautiful life. We could look at our borders and see that even in our most vulnerable places God is kneading peace.

We could discuss long how faithfully He has remained among us, satisfying us with the finest of wheat—the Bread of Life where we need Him most.

I would thank her for her endurance and her witness of Christ’s love.

Her beautiful heritage is mine now too.

“One generation commends your works to another;

they tell of your mighty acts.

They speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty---

and I will meditate on your wonderful works.

They tell of the power of your awesome works---

and I will proclaim your great deeds.

They celebrate your abundant goodness

and joyfully sing of your righteousness.”

Psalm 145:4-7

On this Mother’s Day 2014, I will proclaim and joyfully sing of His goodness as I meditate on the heritage of faith in these beautiful, Godly women.

They commend God’s works to us, speaking and telling of His splendor and of His power and of His abundant goodness.

We rise up and call them, “Blessed!”

Praise the Lord!

The Wedding Ring

A post from the archives. It is good to remember...

I love my wedding ring.

It is just what I wanted.

Jeff and I were not making very much money when we began wedding plans. We were students and set on living our life in Africa once our programs of study were completed.

I decided that a plain, simple wedding band would suit me just fine. I love diamonds but financially and practically it didn’t seem the time for diamonds. We could save and invest in some gems later.

Jeff decided differently.

One time he asked me what kind of ring I would want if I could choose. Shape of diamond? Yellow gold or white gold? Solitaire or in a larger setting?

Honestly, I answered, “Heirloom.”

I had developed a fondness for antique/old jewelry. Especially, if said jewelry came with a story. A happy one, preferably.

But, I quickly brushed this discussion aside. Plain bands. We had decided.

About a week before my birthday, Jeff began to verbally stress out over my empty ring finger. He said that every girl deserved an engagement story. An engagement ring.

He said that he felt like a bum.

I prayed for him.  I asked God to help him be content.

I assured him that I was satisfied with waiting for a diamond ring.

My birthday rolled around with big plans for a whole day together. Jeff asked me to dress up and said that we would have a nice lunch at a restaurant of my choosing. He was to meet me after chapel. (I was still in college).

The singing group I was in was singing that day in chapel and towards the end of our presentation, I noticed Jeff walk in the back of the auditorium. He was dressed in a suit.

This made me very happy. It was going to be a nice date!

During announcements, I tried to leave out of a side door, anxious to meet up with my knight and begin our day of romance. Just as I reached the door, my roommate grabbed my arm and pulled me into the chair beside her. I complained and she said, oddly, “Don’t you want to hear them wish you happy birthday?!” (birthdays were announced in chapel daily)

No. I did not care to waste my romantic day waiting to hear my name said over a microphone. And then, I noticed Jeff. He and his roommate were walking down the aisles of chapel. They were both wearing suits, dark sunglasses and had earpieces, like the Secret Service.

I began to feel very nervous. And if my roommate hadn’t had such superhuman strength at that moment, I would have successfully escaped out the side door.

I was scared all of a sudden.

Jeff went up on stage and called me to the front. Things began to go fuzzy. My face felt on fire. What in the world was he doing?! I was handcuffed and escorted outside for questioning.

I don’t remember specifics of the next bit of time. Humiliation blocks memory apparently.

I was blindfolded, driven all over Lubbock, switched from car to car and finally told to remove my blindfold to discover I was in the middle of nowhere West Texas being driven by Jeff’s roommate, also named Jeff. We were turning into a private airfield and there was a helicopter waiting.

A helicopter? We were quickly informed that the helicopter couldn’t fly. Too windy. (In Lubbock? Wind? Shocking.)

Roommate Jeff shifted to Plan B and drove me to Boyfriend Jeff who was waiting on a dock near a pond in a park with a table, chairs and birthday cake.

I chastised my love. He had shared many elaborate date stories from his own college experiences. But our dating life had, up until this moment, remained pretty low key. I accepted the events of the morning as they were meant. A birthday surprise and a lot of hoopla to cement a memory and have some fun.  My embarrassment was just icing on the cake.

Cake. Jeff had made a strawberry cake and we sat down to enjoy it.  I assumed all the excitement was over. Jeff served my piece and it looked a little odd.

It looked a little odd because it was not a piece of cake at all, but a ring box, iced into the strawberry cake.

I was shocked.

And my mind raced. Where did he get the money for this? How did he do this? What did it look like?!?!

He ceremoniously got down on one knee, opened the ring box, took out the ring and began to speak.

“Will you….”

The world seemed to stop for a minute. THE moment was before me. The words and event romanticized and play acted by little girls for generations.

The Proposal. It was happening. I was trying to take it all in.

I was wrapped up in the exhilaration of surprise and expectantly held my breath.

In that flash of an instant…my dear suitor… dropped the ring.

Dropped. The. Ring.

In slow motion I watched the ring bounce off the deck and into the water. With a tiny little plunk that seemed to echo for several minutes.

Jeff tore off his coat and tie and jumped into the pond. I stared in disbelief.

Who does this? Who drops the ring? Who loses THE moment?

Was it a sign?

I felt sick.

The water of the man-made pond was as thick as the silence around me.

We were supposed to be celebrating by now, tears of joy pouring down our love struck faces. But instead…

Jeff came out of the water overwhelmed with apology. He said we needed to go get his scuba gear. I didn’t have the heart to speak the obvious truth. The ring was gone.

Why did I feel such loss when I didn’t even have my heart set on it in the first place?

We began to load the uneaten cake and the small table and chairs into the car. There were two other presents under the table, wrapped with beautiful bows. He had asked my shirt size the day before and so I assumed he had bought me clothes. 

He asked me to open those presents, at least. He continued to apologize and lament.

I unwrapped the first box, pulled back the tissue paper to see…

A ring box.

A. Ring. Box.

I looked up to the twinkling eyes of my very mischievous boyfriend who innocently said, “What’s this?!”

While I stared at him, incredulous, he took the box, opened it and got down on one knee again.

He spoke eloquent words that swirled around me as I tried to regain control of my breathing. I truly can't recall his speech, but I did hear him say that I would never lose his love and then “Will you marry me?”

He finished all those words. And the ring was still in his hand. And he was waiting hopefully with laughter in his eyes. 

I paused longer than he expected.

But then I decided it was safer to get the ring on MY finger before he dropped it again.

I said, “Yes”, which was a decision I had already made through a series of long talks, heart sharing and prayers. Good thing for him. This proposal was turning me every which way but loose.

He gently placed a beautiful, old fashioned, heirloom ring on my finger and then I punched him in the arm. Repeatedly.

Jeff confessed that the first ring was a set up. A Walmart $3 ring he purposefully tossed in the water.

Why?

Well. That’s just how he rolls.

The writing was on the wall for me.

This man was a mess. A MESS. He would always surprise me, never be boring and never outgrow his propensity for losing things.  (sigh)

But he wouldn’t lose me. True to his word, he would hold on and persevere and beautifully treasure me through the life we would build together.

The ring was gorgeous. Perfect.

His grandmother’s. She was one of our first phone calls after my heart started beating again and I had stopped punching him.

She was thrilled to share the story of the ring. As I remember, she said the ring was given to her and AJ (Jeff’s grandfather) by a friend. AJ served as a minister and they never had a lot of money. Her original wedding band was simple and inexpensive. When their friend presented them with this ring, she and AJ were so thankful and thrilled. Grandma Rose wore it for many years.

Jeff’s Mom shared with me once about her Mom and Dad (Rose and AJ) enjoying a cup of coffee together every day when AJ came in from work. Phyllis remembered that as their time. The kids were not allowed to interrupt. Phyllis saw their friendship and their adoration for each other in those coffee moments. And in many other moments too.

When AJ passed away, Rose, grieved so much. Their relationship had been faithful, deep and precious. Losing him was devastating to her.

Some years later, Rose met Francis and he asked her to be his wife. At that time, she passed on this wedding ring to Phyllis. Phyllis had in mind for the ring to go to her daughter Kristi.

When Jeff decided to marry me he asked his Mom if she knew of any heirloom jewelry in the family. Phyllis asked Kristi, who said she would be happy for Jeff to have the ring, and sent the ring to Jeff.

And that is how I came to have Grandma Rose’s wedding ring.

It represents love, faithfulness and the generosity of loved ones. It also represents many sweet moments over coffee.

Jeff and I have been incredibly blessed by the heritage we have in our grandparents. All four sets, loving each other “til death do us part.” Their marital faithfulness and devotion has encouraged and spurred us on as we continue to learn and grow together. We don’t take this heritage for granted.

All of our grandparents have now moved on to be with Jesus. They are Home, but we still miss them here. We know we will see them again.

Until then, we have many wonderful things to hold on to as we journey.

Grandma’s ring and what it represents is one of those things for me.

A heritage, that we will never lose. An heirloom ring with a story.

A happy one.

  

Drenched

Blood washes.

“…they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”

Rev 7:14

Blood cleanses.

“In fact, the law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.”

Hebrews 9:22

Blood frees.

“…To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood…” Rev 1:5

Blood pours.

“This is the blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

Matthew 26:28

It is an age-old image of the cross of Jesus Christ.

The pouring of blood that saves.

Maybe I saw it painted. Or heard it depicted in a sermon.

The image of stepping up to the cross of Christ and letting his blood coat and cleanse me from sin.

It is a powerful (paradoxical) impression that goes back to my childhood.

I still believe it is true.

I believe I am welcomed to that cross. To be cleansed and freed.

But.

Blood wasn’t the only thing that poured on that remarkable day.

And it isn’t the only thing meant to wash over me as His Follower.

There was a total experience. A devastating and delivering one.

Derision.

“Those who passed by hurled insults at him, shaking their heads and saying, ‘So! You who are going to destroy the temple and build it in three days, come down from the cross and save yourself!’ In the same way the chief priests and the teachers of the law mocked him among themselves, ‘He saved others,’ they said, ‘but he can’t save himself! Let this Christ, this King of Israel, come down now from the cross, that we may see and believe.’ Those crucified with him also heaped insults on him.”

Mark 15:29-32

The anguished, sorrowing cry of rejection.

“About the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ which means, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46

Goodbye and sacrificial release.

“When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Dear woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ From that time on, this disciple took her into his home.”

John 19:26-27

Physical need.

“…Jesus said, ‘I am thirsty.”

John 19:28b

Forgiveness.

“When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. Jesus said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing…”

Luke 23:33-34

Forgiveness?

Hanging naked before the world. Spit on, scarred and dying.

“Father forgive them…”

As the anguish poured.

As the rejection resounded.

As the accusations were spoken and believed.

While everyone was still sinning.

Forgiveness poured. Right along with His blood. The two cannot and will not be separated.

This message, this truth, which I have heard and believed always, is coming alive in me in a whole new way. Exuding life where I have forgotten to breath.

Christ’s Mercy, spoken from the cross, has been a thing I attain to; a heart I aspire to train into.

Something I keep trying to do myself.

Inevitably, painful heartbreak trips me up. 

That insult. That injustice. Those people.

Where there is injury. Where I am wronged. Where I hurt.

There, my eyes can examine the wound so closely and feel the pain so acutely that forgiveness can feel very far beyond my own hard, shattered heart.

It makes no difference where I seek solace. In church. In service. In anger. In tears. Surrounded by friends. All alone.

I find Him in each of those places. Waiting and receiving.

Knowing.

He has my cup already poured.

I receive His forgiveness for me readily. I guzzle the grace right down. I understand that His Love, His Mercy, His Sacrifice does all the doing where my own forgiveness is concerned.

And then, refreshed and thirst quenched I turn to give to the world.

I turn.

My gaze turns.

My heart turns.

(pause)

The motive is fine.

To give what I have been given.

Only.

It doesn’t always work.

No matter how holy my words sound or how generous my actions may appear. My heart can still hold on to things it should not.

I am hearing…

In the very hardest places.

Where there is destruction. Where there is pervasive grief.

He continually calls my gaze back.

Locks it in.

To his eyes that eternally reflect the cross. And the cup.

All that was poured.

I so badly need that communion, because the forgiveness is going to kill me.

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me…”

That I might have life…

“…The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

Galatians 2:20

He knows that connection to Him, the One who speaks on my behalf, is the only way.

“…Christ Jesus who died---more than that, who was raised to life---is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us…”

Romans 8:34

“My dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin. But if anybody does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ, the Righteous One. He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world.”

I John 2: 1-2

He shed the blood. And spoke the forgiveness.

Together.

In my place. He bled and forgave. In my place.

He was forgiving me for all.

And he was forgiving all with me.

It was a complete work. A total work.

A giving that would wrap all of me up.

His presence. His Love is the imperative. There is no Healing outside of Him.

So.

In the face of the most painful injustices. The most searing accusations. The most costly loss.

From every shattered place.

I am invited.

To step right back under that cross I love.

To be coated and covered; filled and set free by…

His forgiveness for All.

I just have to get up underneath it. And let it with all it’s mighty grace, continue to do it’s work in me.

Covered.

Immersed.

Guzzling.

Drenched.

He forever attached forgiveness to anguish.

He made the impossible, Possible.

Eyes fixed on His, I hear Him declare:

“It is finished.”

 John 19:30

Let it be, dear Savior.

Let. It. Be. 

Equipped

“As for God, his way is perfect; the word of the LORD is flawless….”

2 Samuel 22:31

We don’t choose who our parents will be.

Or where our parents will live.

Or what our parents will do for a job.

“It is God who arms me with strength and makes my way perfect.”

2 Samuel 22:33

Our Girl arrived to us in East Africa sixteen years ago.

To grow up. Where we chose to be.

I prayed many, many times for her to be supplied with all she would need to thrive in this place.

Her situation would be unique in experience and in opportunity. It would also be rich with challenge.

God has been so very faithful.

“…but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place….”

2Samuel 22:19-20

Months ago, Our Girl came to me and said she had some wishes for her sixteenth birthday celebration.

She wanted special dates with all of her dearest friends.

My mind raced as to how we could pull that off…

She smiled.

And caught me up.

“Isaac likes to swim and play pool—I can go with him on a lunch date and do both of those things.”

Isaac.

She continued…

“Silas loves camping out—so I can camp out with him one night and play cards in the tent outside.”

We were both smiling then.

“Alex and I have a list of movies and TV shows we want to watch, so we could have a marathon movie night with fun snacks and lots of laughs.”

Her best friend, Alex.

“We could go to breakfast together, Mom…”

Our favorite get-away-from-it-all treat.

“And Dad. I’d love to go on a fancy date with Dad.”

I knew he would be honored.

We schemed for how to locate a new, fun dress for her special date. And we made arrangements with these, all of her dearest friends, for celebrating her big week.

Our whole family plus Derrick would cap off the festivities with High Tea on her actual birthday.

I watched her roll through her week of dates, treasuring each in my heart.

This life we live requires making do and flexibility.

How amazing to realize she was doing neither throughout this week.

She really was celebrating with her dearest friends.

How very often my Cashlings teach me.

“Then this city will bring me renown, joy, praise and honor before all nations on earth that hear of all the good things I do for it; and they will be in awe and will tremble at the abundant prosperity and peace I provide for it.”

Jeremiah 33:9

God promised, through Jeremiah, that his restoration of and provision for Jerusalem would proclaim Him “before all nations on earth.”

This. Exactly this, is what I hear in the lives of my family.

Our Father Provides. And supplies. And gives.

Not ‘sort of.’

All the way.

I, the Mama, stand in trembling awe to see Yahweh Jireh pour good things into the lives of my beloved ones.

“The LORD lives! Praise be to my Rock! Exalted be God, the Rock, my Savior!”

2 Samuel 22:47

“…he shows unfailing kindness to his anointed…”

2 Samuel 22:51

God’s blessings on you, my Beautiful Girl, as you continue to walk out this perfectly designed trail.

Your faithfulness and joy in your journey inspire me every day.

I am breathless to witness God’s incredible provision in you.

His way is perfect.

And He never fails.

So grateful to learn with you.

Happy birthday!

Always, Mama

“May the God of peace…equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

Hebrews 13:20-21

"Keep writing"

Words matter. They can so deeply effect. I have my favorites. Words that reach into my most sacred, treasured spaces and bless.

The words, ‘keep writing’ are ones I remember. Each beautiful soul that speaks affirmation into this, my dream, becomes a part of the experience of laying words on a page. My heart is full today as I grieve the passing of one of my dear encouragers. The weaving of his family into my story is a beautiful memory. Worthy of honor and retelling. It has been sweet to recall…

My heart pulled to foreign missionary service from my childhood. Key conversations and stories of God’s work in Thailand from the beautiful hearts of Art and Judy Lynch opened the door for me. From elementary school on, the high points of my growing up years were the mission trips and ministry training.

With eyes keenly trained on news from Thailand, I set my heart to quietly glean the experience of mission life.

My experience as a youth minister’s daughter, afforded me short-term mission opportunities every summer for most of my life.

I was the pip-squeak, tag-along helper but I embraced every opportunity to learn about service and teaching, draining those experiences of every ounce of knowledge.

I served koolaid, stocked supplies, joined in with classes and chased the more difficult children when the teenagers needed help.

I set up puppet stages and followed my Dad around paying close attention to how ministry worked.

Sheridan, Wyoming. Enid, Texas. Taos, New Mexico.

Churches that welcomed my Dad’s youth groups to lead Vacation Bible Schools and go door knocking.

I have dear memories from each of these places, but it is Taos that would influence me the most.

It was in the tiny foyer of the Taos church of Christ building that I first met Harold & Sally Paden.

I learned quickly that Harold and Sally had been missionaries in Italy. So I found the quiet corners near them and listened.

I loved Sally. She had a warm smile and eyes that really paid attention when you talked. I can’t remember what I said to her, but I know she took a shine to me and I hovered in her presence as often as I could.

Sally loved people, genuinely. And I learned from her.

At the end of my first week in Taos, Sally pulled me aside, wrapped me in a tight hug and said, “Cheryl, you are special to me.  I am drawn to our conversations and to your heart. I see Jesus in you. Fan that flame, girl. Fan that flame! He has big plans for you.”

It was a long, long time ago (I was in the 6^th grade) and I might not remember the words with accuracy, but my goodness, I remember that feeling.

Sally spoke affirmation to my deepest hearts desire. I told her that I wanted to be a missionary some day and that I had no idea how to make that happen.

She told me that I was making that happen every day by loving Jesus and seeking his face.

Sally taught me. She quickly became one of my heroes.

I was blessed by time with Harold and Sally. I learned that life is bumpy and can be uncomfortable and that mission work is hard.

But Jesus is worth it. Worth it all.

I didn’t know it then, but Sally and I would always be linked. In beautiful ways.

Sally’s dear friend from college was named Phyllis Small. Sally and Phyllis had many conversations about foreign missions and found a strong bond in their mutual dreams of serving God in that venue.

Sally, who Phyllis describes as a ‘very bright star’, would serve in missions—foreign and domestic for most of her adult life. Phyllis, too, would live her life in service. She married and together with her husband Glenn invested years of work and influence into Christian Education and the growth of the church in their beloved Northwest.

Phyllis and Glenn would also have four children, one of whom would become my husband, Jeff. 

Sally and Phyllis’ dreams for missions linked further than they imagined. They would both deeply influence two kids, who would ultimately meet and serve together in Uganda for many years.

Funny how God weaves us all together.

Sally and I lost contact for a long while after my Taos years. We would meet again some time later in Tyler, Texas.

Sally’s parents were named Edwin and Kathleen. They lived and served in Tyler, as did Sally’s brother John and his wife Jerri. 

Edwin was an elder at Glenwood church of Christ and the dearest of men. He and Kathleen and John and Jerri were like family to my own family.

My uncle and aunt, who worked at the Glenwood congregation, told many loving (and funny!) stories of the Rasco family, so I knew them to be dear and strong.

It would be some time before I connected Sally to the Tyler Rascos but when I did it fit perfectly.

I loved them all.

In 2002, God joined the Cash family with the Glenwood congregation. They became our overseeing church.

Edwin’s respected voice was instrumental in our acceptance at Glenwood all those years ago. He spoke affirmation and assurance into our life and calling. Affirmation I had heard many years before in the voice of his daughter. Edwin and Kathleen wrapped us up in love and warmth. They supported us in our broken places and reminded us that God’s plans prevail.

Edwin and Kathleen were physically frail in the years I knew them, but their hearts were so strong in Christ. I loved being with them.

Sally came to visit her family during our initial stay in Tyler. We were thrilled to reconnect. She smiled knowingly into my eyes, realizing with me that God had given me the desires of my heart.

And that it was all harder than I had imagined it would be. She squeezed my hand and spoke in love and reminded me to Whom I belonged.

In the foyer of Glenwood, Sally pulled me aside to tearfully tell me of her Alzheimer’s diagnosis.

We both cried. But she quickly brushed away my tears.

“Cheryl, this diagnosis is forcing me to say all the important things. While I can still remember them. And to you, I say ‘I love you!’ You are special and God’s plans for you are glorious to see and witness. I believe in you and I know you can endure and serve with grace and beauty. Eyes fixed on Jesus, girl. Eyes fixed on Jesus.”

Sally’s voice and those precious words stay with me still. Her memory would fade in the following years as her sickness progressed and she along with her parents would, one by one, move on to be with Jesus. Healed and free.

Just where they always wanted to be.

Thankfully, my Rasco connections would continue.

In our years of partnership with the Glenwood congregation, John and Jerri Rasco became some of my favorite people to have around.

They were quiet. But present.

And their voice of support meant the absolute world to me.

Jerri was my Aunt Pat’s dearest friend, which made her tops in my book too. Jerri’s gentle presence comforted (comforts) me. Always makes me feel like family is near.

And John.

John Rasco.

He and I spoke of his family often. People we both loved so dearly. He had witnessed my tearful exchange with Sally that day at Glenwood and loved me as she did. I don’t know how I came to deserve that.

Every single furlough. Every single Tyler visit. In the crowds and the reporting and all the busy-ness that surrounds our Tyler time…John would pull me aside for one reason only.

“Your blog, Cheryl. Your writing. I must tell you. I am compelled to exhort you: Keep writing. You must keep writing.”

He would cry when he said it. And he would hug me tight.

He said this every time we spoke. He said this in crucial moments, that he could not have even been aware of. Moments when I needed to be reminded of purpose and value.

How in the world those Rascos would be called to say exactly what I needed to hear; words that would echo and inspire me in obedience and joy.

That mercy is Christ. Him, our First Love, at work among us. It is real. And whole.

It is unique.

A fellowship I depend on for many lonely months on the field.

This week, John reunited with his parents and his sister, Sally.

Such emotion to think of them all sitting with Jesus, sharing face to face.

John went suddenly, unexpectedly to a glorious home. I know he found his room ready.

My heart breaks for all who will miss him here.

I am one of those.

I don’t know why God joins our story with certain people. But I just know that He does.

Thank you, John, for believing in me. And for saying it.

For listening to Jesus and acting as He led you.

With your confidence and encouragement multiplying strength in me, I will keep writing. You have become a part of all of my stories.

Blessing does that. It holds and influences.

In Christ, blessing expands.

We’ll see you soon, dear Rascos.

Until then we’ll strive to pay your blessings forward.

You’ve left a beautiful heritage in every one of us you have loved.

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

How Can We Know?

“The Lord had said to Abram, ‘Leave your country, your people and your father’s household and go to the land I will show you.’

 ‘I will make you into a great nation and I will bless you…and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you.’

So Abram left, as the Lord had told him;”

Genesis 12: 1-4

“But Abram said, ‘O Sovereign Lord, what can you give me since I remain childless… You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir.”

“Then the word of the Lord came to him… ‘Look up at the heavens and count the stars---if indeed you can count them… So shall your offspring be.”

“Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness.”

“But Abram said, ‘O Sovereign Lord, how can I know…”

Genesis 15:2-6;8

I was sitting in an empty space when these words trumpeted, echoing into my fears.

My expectations were not being met and in the vacancy of disappointment I heard Abram’s cry in my own:

“O Sovereign Lord, how can I know…”

Abram received a calling buoyed by big promises. He followed with obedience and belief.

The results were years of hollow silence and endless waiting.

In the stillness of my own unanswered hopes, I hear Abram and Sarai chuckle into my ear…

“Obedience can look and feel barren.”

Called away from their home community and promised God’s faithfulness, with absolutely nothing to show for it for many, many bloody months, Sarai and Abram walked to the consistent cadence of “no,” and “not yet.”  They lived with a barrenness that was regular and routine. A barrenness that constantly whispered the threat of ‘never’, leaving residue of abandonment and loss.

Obedience and grief so often go hand in hand.

Reading this truth in the hallowed story of Abraham relieves me (I'm not weird!).

And it frustrates me (I want obedience and ABUNDANCE to walk right beside each other!).

“Oh Sovereign Lord, how can I know…”

It is easy to celebrate success and accumulation. Accumulation of material goods, or esteem or degrees or dollars…this we can feel blessing in and see with our eyes.

The picture of what we have can be posted into the world around us as proof of our value. As proof that God is involved.

Abraham and Sarah’s story teaches that God is involved in other scenarios too.

Scenarios that hurt.

In scenarios that appear empty.

When desolate circumstances linger, it can be tempting to meddle and stew toward my own solutions.

To look for a Hagar to solve the problem.

“Now Sarai, Abram’s wife had borne him no children. But she had an Egyptian maidservant named Hagar; so she said to Abram, ‘The Lord has kept me from having children. Go, sleep with my maidservant; perhaps I can build a family through her.”

Genesis 16:1-2

Sarai (with Abram’s willing participation) jumps ahead of God's perfectly designed plan. They usher Hagar into an equation where she wasn't supposed to be. Consequence does follow, much of it negative and hurtful, but God stayed in all of it.

And He revealed Himself (The God Who Sees) in a whole new way.

There is a VERY wide zone in the story of Abraham and his family. There is trust and belief, yes, (especially on the part of Abraham). But there is also disbelief, and mockery, and doubt and lack of patience. Good decisions, bad decisions. Good behavior, bad behavior. God saw it all. He stayed with it all. He promised. He purposed. He blessed. And He never strayed from the plan He had chosen already.

Into the messy entanglements they brought on themselves, God continued to love.

Into the pounding ache of prolonged frustration, God continued to love.

He made himself known.

“Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed…”

Romans 4:18a

In betrayals and heartbreaks. In the waiting seasons we writhe underneath, I can hear our very consistent God say:

I am not surprised or confused by your current circumstance.

“He is before all things and in him all things hold together.”

Colossians 1:17

And the barren days you endure, are not what they seem.

“…the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.”

Romans 4:17b

They are Me alongside you, in such a way that nobody can miss it.

Presence is my Promise.

I have always and I will continue to be With.

“…be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

Hebrews 13:5

Know me. Acknowledge me by Name.

“Because he loves me,’ says the Lord, ‘I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.”

Psalm 91:14

El Roi.

“She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: ‘You are the God who sees me…”

Genesis 16:13

Yahweh Shammah.

‘The Lord is There.’

“In all their distress he too was distressed, and the angel of his presence saved them…”

Isaiah 63:9a

Immanuel.

“...which means, ‘God with us.”

Matt 1:23b

When silence echoes around me and my eyes grow tired of the strain of watchful waiting; when my heart feels burdened with the weight of emptiness, the laughter of an aging and wrinkled mother fills my soul.

“Now the Lord was gracious to Sarah as he had said and the Lord did for Sarah what he had promised.”

Genesis 21:1

“In his love and mercy he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them…”

Isaiah 63:9b