Chasing Sunsets

You cannot really chase a sunrise. As you move toward it, it responds in kind, and the two of you become like long-separated loved ones, hurrying toward each other until you meet in the bright embrace of a new dawn. No, if you find yourself chasing the sun… you are likely chasing a sunset.

Lately, I find myself chasing sunsets. Often. I think it began when my momma passed. I remember getting the call on my way up the mountain. I was headed to a leadership retreat when my sister phoned. “She’s going downhill fast. You decide.” I remember crying out to God on that narrow two-lane road.

“Jesus, if You want me to turn around, You have to provide a place.” I was pressed between a steep incline to my right and a raging river to my left. Rounding the next bend, I glimpsed an alcove just large enough to turn the car around. The Spirit confirmed His direction, and I raced down the hill... chasing the sun.

I think my idealistic mind assumed His leading meant we would arrive just at the right time to whisper our sweet affections and have our beautiful, cinematic moment of farewell. But the sun descended as we hit the highway, and just two hours into our frantic journey, we got the message, “Mom passed away at 9:10 pm… so drive careful…no rush.” 

I stood incredulous, staring at the words. It was surreal. I did not truly believe it. For the remainder of the 10-hour drive, I wrestled between sleeplessness and the skittering hope that she wasn’t really gone.

In truth, I am not sure what I had hoped for. We had said our goodbyes each time we had spoken over the last six months. No “I love you” or “I’m so proud of you” was left unuttered. I had been present with her as much as I was able, with the life God has called me to. I had laid in bed with her, held her hands, kissed her forehead, and reminded her what an amazing mother she had been when she expressed fear that she hadn’t done well. There were no regrets. No questions. Yet, it simply was not enough. Like the ache of reaching the horizon only to watch helplessly as the light sinks anyway, the whisper of her spirit disappeared behind the veil - out of my grasp.

I heard a pastor say once that death hurts so much because we were created for life. I believed him. I hold to that truth still. “I am the Way, the truth, and the Life,” Jesus said, “No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). He is the life. And so I know my mother’s sun has not truly set, for she is present in eternity with THE SON! 

There are days when it feels as though someone has reached in and stripped out a strand of my emotional DNA - like there is a part of me, not gone, but inaccessible for a time. It is a pang that veterans of loss tell me never goes away; we simply learn to live altered. The beauty in my faith, however, and the metaphor God gave us in the science He created is that the sun rises again! Now living with a piece of my heart in eternity or “one foot in heaven” as my sweet friend Sara says it, I so much more appreciate the symbols of the heavens. 

The moon is an effulgent reflection of the true light we long for. The stars are a glittering indication of and drawing to all that awaits beyond. This life is the night, but the Son will dawn again. “And there will no longer be any night; and they will not have need of the light of a lamp nor the light of the sun, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever” (Revelation 22:5 NASB).

As I have taken to chasing sunsets, God has brought back to me a sweet memory of my mom. I was about three or four years old, and we were at the family camp we attended each year. The buildings of the camp are constructed all throughout the elevations of the land which is nestled in the Black Hills. My mom had dropped me off at the children’s class to be occupied while she and dad attended the evening service. I recall I watched as she walked the path of the red-clay hill toward the tabernacle, and I began to panic. With resolute silence, I tried to follow her. I would have succeeded too, had not a pesky, responsible, teenage helper snatched me up and returned me to the children’s building. I remember the image of my mother’s back as she ascended - unaware of my heartache - totally focused on her necessary destination.

Nearly forty years later, I can return so easily to the emotion of that tiny heart. I find myself behind the wheel of my car, often driving south and west in pursuit of the fading light, and it feels like I am seeking to follow her up the path. As I sit on whichever distant hill I can reach, my precious Savior meets me in that space - the only one who can see both her soul and mine. As we tarry there, watching the dimming light - He whispers to me of bloodlines and generations, both spiritual and physical, the tapestry of an eternal Kingdom I can neither see nor grasp… barely glimpse. Before I turn the car around and head back toward the emerging of the stars and the moon, I consider this. Just as I grew to meet her in places of womanhood and motherhood, and even climbed that very red-clay path as a mom myself, I will one day grow to ascend the hill on which she has preceded me. I think back upon missing her “sunset” and realize with assurance that we did not arrive too late. She did not need me there. She saw where she was going. She knew into Whose arms she ran. She had finished her good work on this side of eternity, and she ascended with confidence toward her eternal sunrise. And in that thought is a great joy. There is a time coming when our hearts will no longer be inaccessible to each other. And on that day, I will have no more need for chasing sunsets.

Overwhelming...2014 in Review

Greetings Friends and Family!

Wow! It has been quite a year. We bid 2013 farewell with the happy news that we were expecting baby number 4! Then 2014 came in like a flood...

In January, we found out our little would be a girl, but that she had a condition called polydactyly - which could mean as little as extra digits and as much as only surviving hours outside the womb. For months we prayed, wrestled and waited surrendering to the sovereign heart of God again and again. It was, in a word, overwhelming.

In May, as we waited for our daughter’s arrival, my (Tammi’s) mom landed in the hospital with stomach pain. Exploratory surgery discovered stage 3, peritoneal mesothelioma. Originally, they gave her 4 to 6 months to live. It was devastating, overwhelming. 

During that same time, a pastor and friend of ours approached Dusty about merging our two church plants. He and his wife had been called to the mission field and did not want to leave their grace-filled community in the hands of just “any normal pastor” (I believe that’s how he put it. Ha ha!) Combining churches, visions, people...? Overwhelming.

How often do so many of us find ourselves - as we walk this life - in similar situations with circumstances and questions so daunting we scarcely know how to step, let alone survive? We pursue happiness praying it will bring with it the joy that staves off despair only to discover that trial always seems to find us. How grateful I am, when I consider the life of Jesus, that He was no stranger to the overwhelming nature of this life. 

Think of the circumstances surrounding his arrival: A mother with a highly suspect explanation for how she could be a virgin and “with child” simultaneously. A betrothed with an equally implausible argument as to why he was standing by his girl. An unlikely audience of shepherds composing terror at the sight of heavenly messengers (Oh to be thus terrified!). And a delivery, surrounded by livestock and hay! We sing “Silent Night,” but I dare say...overwhelming.

Then consider the state of his departure: Falsely accused. Wrongly convicted in unlawful trials. Abandoned by those who swore devotion. Cursed on a tree even in His innocence. Broken for those whose sin demanded his life as ransom for their redemption. OVERWHELMING.

And when we sit with him in the quiet of our desperation and become, as He was, acquainted with sorrows, our hearts are suddenly permitted to draw further in to His heart. We taste sweeter the peace of His presence. We are filled more deeply from the well of His love. And His strength is made perfect in our weakness. 

Life can feel and be overwhelming. Sometimes we are struck by and must stop in the enormity of its moments. And yet life does not stop moving, and God does not stop sustaining, amazing and, yes, overwhelming - by his goodness, his comfort, his assurance, his grace and his love. 

Our little Taelyn entered this life on May 15th, healthier than we had dared hope. She had extra digits on three appendages, but no other complications. She is growing, learning and lighting all of our lives. OVERWHELMING!

My mom got a second opinion at MD Anderson in Houston and qualified for radical surgery. On July 23rd, she underwent a ten-hour procedure which extended her prognosis from a few months to 8 to 15 YEARS! Her journey has opened a new door for her to minister to others with cancer. She has introduced several hopeless people to MD Anderson where they, too, have found greater victory over the disease. OVERWHELMING!

In August, two little church plants started holding services together. In September, Revive Church launched anew: two stories, two backgrounds, two hearts becoming one just as the Lord our God is ONE! I have been amazed and healed as I watch this group of people extend such grace and hope toward one another. God continues to say, “Keep watching! I’m going to do things you have never seen and could scarcely imagine!” OVERWHELMING!

In the midst of all that, Dax turned 11 this year. He is in 5th grade, almost as tall as I and growing into such a young man. He has been a life-saver with Miss Taelyn. During all the crazy and transition, he has stepped up to help both his dad and I carry the load. He is such a great big brother (I call him my “manny”), and his sister adores him. It has been fun watching his heart for the Lord grow. He reads his Bible independently and applies the stories he’s read to situations we face. That’s been cool!

Draes turned 7 in June and is in 2nd grade. He continues to blow our minds with his compassionate servant’s heart. We were overjoyed when he chose to be baptized this year in Revive’s first baptism service! His passion for justice and truth is a bright spot in the world. Once recently, as we were discussing whether it was the best choice to give money to people panhandling, he quickly decided we should build them a house and give them his bed instead. It’s pretty humbling to raise such a kid.

Dezdin turned 6 in November and couldn’t be more proud. He is all humor and logic, so when I get little stick figure drawings with hearts, the “I love you” sign or he asks for a snuggle, I soak it up. He is thriving in Kindergarten and seems to have found his niche in school. His greatest goal, currently, is to get to first grade so he can eat lunch at school like his brothers. “Mom, how many days ‘til I’m in first grade?” is a weekly question. He constantly causes me to shift my perspective and see the world from a new angle.

Taelyn is 7 months old as I write this. She is beginning to push up on her knees, but not sitting or crawling yet. I have a sneaking suspicion once she starts moving, I won’t ever get to stop. She loves people and the din that surrounds them. It’s a beautiful thing to watch her place her fully-extended, six-fingered hand against someone’s cheek and bury her head into their neck. As her name intended, she seems to bring beauty and light wherever she goes. We are humbled and grateful to know her.

Dusty... ha ha, well, I say it every year, but he continues to spin circles around us! He remained rock solid through all the questions surrounding Tae, my mom’s cancer, and - with the great help of the Holy Spirit, our friend Dennis and the amazing people of Revive - navigated a merger this year! I’m always amazed at the sheer amount of what he can shoulder.

Alas, I (Tam) cannot measure my accomplishments by completions (unless you count mounds of diapers changed, meals consumed, dishes done, loads of clothing laundered or tender, loving moments shared. :) But the Lord never lets me far from His assurance that this is an important job, and that he handpicked me to be heart and hand for this not-so-little family. My prayer is that you can embrace the same assurance for your current season of life.

So as another year closes - a blip on the radar of our loving Father’s eternity - I feel compelled to rejoice and give glory to our OVERWHELMING GOD! Because His “overwhelming” overpowers all the circumstances of this life. 

I leave you with HIS indelible words: “I have told you these things so that you will have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

Between Faith and Fear

Tears gushed, relentlessly, carving red, saline paths down my cheeks, splashing salt across my tongue and smudged wet and sticky across the back of my hands as I flailed to wipe them away. "Idiot! You're in a supermarket parking lot! Turn it off!"

I was waiting for my mom. They had come into town after Christmas to celebrate the holidays. She was buying the necessary items to fondue at my sister's house that evening. It was also the week we had found out we would be having a baby girl and that she had genetic complications which could mean as little as a few extra digits or as much as a non-viable trisomy - ending her life moments or days after she left the womb.

I had traversed all the stages of grief in a short time. The last couple days had been spent threatening God - that if He were to take my baby from me I would walk away from ministry, from His call. I had informed Him that I had endured enough for ministry, and this would be the last straw.

But as I sat in the car that afternoon, the song "Oceans" by Hillsong United came over the radio. It was the line, "I am Yours, and You are mine," that opened the floodgates. So many times over the years as I have faced trials or fears He has whispered, "You are mine." And in that moment His heart said, "Wouldn't I be enough? Even if she were taken from you, am I not enough? Are you mine?" And I broke under the truth that He would still be my God - even if I had to go through the worst pain I could imagine. I would still serve Him and He would be ENOUGH. Big enough. Strong enough. Present enough. Patient enough. Loving enough. Healing Enough. Lord enough to take me through. "I am Yours. You are mine." And so there, in that supermarket parking lot, waiting for my mother, I surrendered my baby girl to the will of my loving, sovereign Abba Father.

Little did I know that just months later my heart would walk a similar path, this time with my mother.  Stage 3 mesothelioma. Rare - incurable. Months they gave her at first, but the specialists knew more and were performing cutting-edge surgeries. They could offer her years. YHWH has opened doors and gone before us. He has given us hope and assured us of His hand. And yet, the flames of fear lick the bottom of my heart, searing my psyche. Ten hours of surgery is a long time for any healthy person. Tomorrow will feel like forever. But today I heard it again - the song. "I will call upon Your Name, and keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise my soul will rest in Your embrace. I am Yours and You are mine."

This time the words that stood out were, "You've never failed, and You won't start now."

Tonight thunder shook the world outside my tiny window and lightning traced lines across the sky so bright I wondered if one might not enter the room and leave an angel standing at the foot of my bed. I felt the heart of God reminding me of what He has done, who He is and whose I am. So, holding my healthy baby girl in my arms, I surrendered my Mommy to the hands of my Savior.

For, just as I, she is His. He has never failed. He has never abandoned. He has never betrayed. And He is enough. Holy. Worthy. The final step in the dance between faith and fear is surrender. We take it many times in this life - but the first breath after that seeming defeat is sweet, sweet peace. And He is still on His throne.