Using the Little

Sometimes we feel useless.  Sometimes we feel like we have nothing to give.  We have this weird need in us that we have to have this grandiose gesture that will change the world in one swoop of our hand.  Maybe we want a gigantic ministry like Reinhard Bonnke and save millions in one night.  Or to feed thousands by breaking a cracker.  Or to sing a song, and like the Pied Piper have all that hear you sing, come to the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ.  While none of that is wrong, in fact, things my heart desires, there's nothing wrong with the small.

Remember, "God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things-and the things that are not-to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before Him." (1 Cor 1:27-30)

Which is good news, because that means that we're prime candidates for God to use us.  Check out God's word.  He used little to conquer the big.
-David had a pebble
-Moses had a staff
-Sampson had a jawbone
-Rahab had a string
-Mary had some ointment
-Aaron had a rod
-Dorcas had a needle

What do you have?  Much more than what you think.  He empowers the tiny deed.  The timely hug.  The sent note.  The baked bread.  The word of encouragement.  The mowed lawn or shoveled driveway.  The door opened.  The night of babysitting.  Carts put away at the department store.  Obedience.

Each tiny deed, the tiny gift that God has given to us, can conquer something big.  Whether it's in someone else's life or in the spiritual realm, we have no way of knowing what the outcome will be.

Kids Are Resilient

I hate the phrase "kids are resilient"  It's just a saying grown ups say to make themselves feel better when they have to make a tough decision.

I survived my childhood, you survived your childhood, but is that what we want for our children?  For them to just survive?

"Kids are resilient."  Tell that to a woman who was sexually abused and if that didn't affect her as an adult.  Say that phrase to someone who lost their mom when they were little.  Or to a man who was beaten or tortured by his father to the point of disfiguring.  Were they like you? Did they just bounce back?  Did they survive?  Were they resilient?  Or did they hurt?  Were their invisible scars carried into adulthood? Or perhaps they had some "issues."

How many of us can remember even the simplest of bullying in middle or high school.  I can.  How many of us cringe at the names we were called?  I do.  My freshman year was miserable. How many of us pray that our children have a better childhood than we had? Hope we are better parents...even if we had great parents... we hope we are better role models, make less mistakes?  I do.

Obviously sexual abuse, death and torture are extreme cases, but we all have baggage that we carry from our childhood and teenage years as we enter our adult years.  Nearly everyone I talk to has significant changes that they can remember that hurt them deeply.  Some had changed them.  Some for the better, some for the worst.

When I was on staff, I remember an old man that was still bitter by his father who had beat him as a child.  He refused to forgive him.  I still remember his scowl and demeaner. The man's father had passed away more than twenty years ago.

According to livestrong.com how you develop emotionally, intellectiually and socially in your early years can affect your entire life.  Good or bad.

My point is:  I hate that phrase.  My family is in the middle of a big change.  I worry about how it's going to affect the kids. Someone used that phrase and I said, "really what does that mean?" It's like a pat answer when someone dies and says, "they're in a better place"...well, we want them here.  "Kids are resilient," no, they're not.  They hurt, they scar, they resent.... and they always wind up on the couch someday blaming the mother. *grin*

I dedicated my children when they were babies and gave them to the Lord.  Symbolically like Hannah who gave Samuel to the priest....for the first 5 years of his life.  She gave him away.  I can't imagine.  Yet I symbolically did the same thing; giving my children to the Lord, for life.  However, I want to put them in a bubble and let nothing of this world harm them.  Nikki had a different upbringing in her beginning years.  Now, she's added to that bubble.  Now and again, I release them into man kind...then I snatch them back.  It's a constant letting go.  I don't want them hurt.  I don't want them to make the same mistakes I did or Rich did.  Or anyone did.

I refuse to use the phrase "kids are resilient" to make myself feel better over a tough decisions.

Perhaps I'll use it in the context that my kids are resilient because they choose the right path under the obedience of Christ.  They made the right choice because we  have...."trained up a child in the way they should go...."  Proverbs 22:6  And because we adore them.  Truly.  Take for instance, Jacob.  When he was asked who these people were, he said, "The children who God has graciously given his servant." (Gen 33:5) They are my pride.  My joy.  I don't want them to just survive.  Just be resilient. Tough.  Hard.  I want them to be gracious, kind, compassionate...Godlike.

Okay.  I'm stepping off soap box now.

God Doesn't Waste a Hurt

I hadn't thought about her in a long time.  She would be twelve today.  As the days pass and the years stretch, the wounds seem to close and heal.  But in the quiet of the night, my mind tumbles back to those dark days and lonely nights.

I was twenty-two when Micayla was born.  It still amazes me that God had allowed that little miracle to grow inside of me. A little over a year later, another miracle started to grow.  I was twenty-three when Dale burst into our lives.  Micayla, a little princess; Dale all boy.  I came from a big family and wanted my children to experience the joys, laughs, stories and love of the same thing.  Shortly after Dale turned one I found out I was pregnant again.  I was thrilled. My due date? September 3.

Micayla looked just like me: fair skinned, blonde tuffs, big blue eyes.  Dale looked like a miniature Rich; tanned skin, dark eyes, same cowlicks.  Crazy.  I dreamt how this one would look like.  Would it favor me or Rich?  Maybe this one would be a blend.

We had told the kids, told our parents and family, pretty much took out ads and billboards announcing that I was expecting again.  It seemed that I had told the last person, when I started to bleed.  My hands went to my throat, tears sprung to my eyes, and my heart sank to my stomach...maybe trying to protect my baby.

I went to the doctor's and sure enough, he confirmed my worst fears.  I was miscarrying.  I was only nine weeks along, but she was mine.  She was a part of me.

As he was talking, I was quietly crying.  He was saying that I could have a d&c or let the tissue pass on it's own.  I said, "tissue?"

He stuttered,"uh, uh, the baby."

I looked at him and said, "baby."

He told me, "Well, I think from this point on, it will be easier to look at this as just a piece of tissue and not a baby."

I lifted my chin, tears and snot all over the place, looked him right in the eyes and said, "baby."

He nervously looked at his chart and said, "So, Mrs. LaCount, what would you like to do?  Would you like to have a d&c procedure or would you like to pass the, uh, baby naturally."

I asked him how long it would take and he said that there was no way of knowing.

I went home and waited.  Cried a lot. And waited.  I waited for two weeks.  Oh it was so hard!  I was so happy when I was pregnant with Micayla and Dale! I planned the nursery, bought clothes, picked out names, plotted their future and prayed.  I prayed on this one... but it was more heart wrenching prayers.  "Why?  How did this happen?  Was it my fault?  Why would you do this to me?  Help me through this...."

It was two weeks after my initial visit with the Dr. when I called the nurse and complained about some symptoms I was having.  She said, "you need to come in right away!  I think you're hemorrhaging."  Awesome.

So I drove there.  With Micayla and Dale in tow.  Haha, I wasn't that smart.  I was delirious.  Rich was at work, I didn't know what to do.

I sat Micayla and Dale on a little bench while I laid on the table.  I tried talking to them and told them stories.  But I just frightened them more when I broke out in sobs.  So I just held out my hand for them to hold.

Having the baby die, carrying it around in me for two weeks and now losing so much blood was causing me to lose my mind.  Or so it felt.  The Dr. came in and performed a little procedure.  The placenta was caught in my cervix...that was what was causing me to hemorrhage.

I couldn't stop crying.  It seems like I had cried oceans of tears...just when I felt like I couldn't cry any more, another wave passed over me.  It was awful.  I sunk into a deep depression.

I know people meant well, but sometimes I really wanted to smack them.  I didn't want to hear, "well at least you didn't go until full term and lose the baby then." or "There must have been something wrong with the baby." or "This is just God's will." or "At least you have two others."  Well, yes I do, and I'm really thankful for them, but I wanted that one too!

Being sincere and saying "I'm so sorry" and giving a hug says a lot!  Chocolate says wonders too.  All the other stuff can be chucked.

The thing is, I know that God didn't do that to me.  And it's ok to get frustrated when I don't understand.  When I don't see His will in it all.  It's ok to ask God why.  He has big shoulders, He can take it.  It's ok for me to be sad... it gives God the opportunity to allow us to lean on his big shoulders and be comforted.  He likes it.  We're His babies after all.

We may never understand why we go through trials.  I don't understand miscarriages at all.  I don't know why a woman gets pregnant, gets excited, only to have it taken away.  A year after this miscarriage, I lost another baby.  However, in 2003, a shiny, bouncing, bubbling Abrieanna came into our lives.  If I had the other two babies, would I have had her?  One may never know.  I can't imagine my life without her.

All I know is:  God doesn't waste a hurt.  Genesis 50...what you meant for evil God meant for good.  God will take any situation and turn it into a positive.  And I'm so thankful that "...God, shield me on all sides: You ground my feet, you lift my head high." (Ps 3:3)

He has allowed me to minister to other women who have suffered through miscarriages.  Of all the things I've done, of all the things I am, I am the most proud of being a mom.  There is something about a baby that makes the whole world disappear.  There's something about the way a child tilts her head, flashes a smile that can capture your heart all over again.  It amazes me how a tiny baby can smile at your words, and your heart just beams back and it seems to that he is the brightest baby that God ever created.  There is something about a child and the way they look at you, the way they look at a flower or a dandelion puff...the innocence in their wonder...that makes you feel so close to the Lord.  So close to His presence, and so thankful for having been a part of His creation.

Even though I know the joy of motherhood, I also know the pain and disappointment of having that stripped away.   But God doesn't waste pain.  If we don't experience pain, we'd never know what healing feels like.  If we've never been imprisoned, we'd never know what it truly feels like to be free.  If we've never been abandoned, it's hard to know what it feels like to be reunited.  God doesn't waste a hurt.

He won't waste yours.  "What you meant for evil, God meant for good."  Gen. 50:20

(My little bundles of blessings)

Count by Numbers

19

number of years that I have been married to Rich

1

number of books I finished this week

3

number of guitars in this house

7

number of days until school starts

6

number of days the kids will sleep until noon

72

temperature in our house

14

number of brand new pencils I didn't have to buy

2

number of pencils without erasers

6

number of hours I work a day at Grainger

62

number of times I think about home while I’m at work

9

number of folders

9

number of folders that are girly

0

number of folders that are manly

1

trip to the store to buy manly folders

8

number of boxes of kleenex that my father-in-law bought

16

number of kids that were in my family

7

number where I fell in the birth order

7

number of brothers and sisters that passed away

7

number of graves I stood by today

2

number of cats

1

number of dogs

2

number of fish

0

number of pets in the future

4

the time of day all three of my children were born

63

number of minutes it took to register Micayla and Dale for school

487

amount of money I spent on school fees for three schools

17

number of deep breaths I had to take after I paid school fees

57

number of minutes it takes for our washer to complete a load

113

number of days since my dad died

383

number of ways I love my husband

13,986

number of days I have been alive

13,986

number of mercies that have been new to me every day

"Teach us to number our days that we may present to You a heart of wisdom." Psalm 90:2

Encourage

I was watching television the other day and a commercial came on that made me tear up.  I know, I know you're shocked.  It was so touching.

It made me reflect on all the times I have told my kids no when maybe I should have encouraged them more.  Or when I have shrunk in my seat in embarrassment when I should have stood up for a child.  Or when I have scowled at or judged another child or parent for being out of line instead of compassionate.

Here, take a look and see for yourself:



The message is obvious.  Encourage your children.  Or encourage children in general in the talents that God has given them.  Or to not want the floor to swallow you up when your child makes a mistake because you're worried about what people will think.  After all, aren't we an advocate for them?

But there was another thing that gnawed at me as I watched that video.  It was so easy for that little boy to trust the maestro.  He simply glanced up at the master, smiled and kept playing.  He didn't worry that his song was too simple, his playing too inadequate, his timing too slow, his level of playing too small... he just trusted that he was enough with him.

There's a reason that the Jesus says that we need to come to Him as little children.  They are so innocent and pure.  So confident in Him. As adults, we have all this junk in our lives.  All these insecurities, baggage, frustrations, mistrust, anxiety....

I found myself looking at that little boy and wishing that I had that blind faith.  Faith to sit at the piano and let the Father put his arms around me and sweep across the keys of my life and make a beautiful sonata out of it.  Not worrying that my pay check is too simple, my mothering inadequate, my timing with Him  off and my offering too small.  I just want to trust that I am enough... with Him.

"Jesus called over a child, whom he stood in the middle of the room, and said, 'I'm telling you, once and for all, that unless you return to square one and start over like children, you're not even going to get a look at the kingdom, let alone get in.  Whoever becomes simple and elemental again, like this child, will rank high in God's kingdom.  What's more, when you receive the childlike on my account, it's the same as receiving me.'" (Matthew 18:2-5)

Lord, let me be like that little boy and have faith to trust you completely. Grace over my marriage, my children, my work, my finances, my everything.  I'm yours.  Love, your kid.

Memories

Abrieanna has another migraine tonight.  Second one in a row.  It seems like our family is plagued with them.  All three of my children get them.  I’ve had a headache every day for nearly fifteen years, and migraines frequently all my life.  Many on my father’s side of the family have migraines as well; including my father.

I remember the pain gripping him so violently that the only relief he would find would be the utter darkness of his bedroom.  He’d come out the next day with broken blood vessels in his face from vomiting so forcefully.

Last night, then again tonight, I rubbed Abrieanna’s temples and head, brushed her hair back with my hand, then pressed an icepack to her forehead… all the while whispering to her, telling her not to cry… knowing that the tears will come, but knowing that it hurts even more when they do. 

As I sat there, I prayed for her; asking God to take the pain away; to break this family curse; to have him transfer that pain to me.  It’s a horrible feeling to see your little one writhe in pain, crying your name, telling you that it hurts… and there’s not one thing you can do about it.  It sucks.

I remember my dad telling me one time when I was a kid, after I had a seizure, “If I could take your pain, I would.”  Well, now I know how he felt.

It seems since he died, a million stories, quips, memories or lessons have popped into my head.  I know I’ve said it a million times, but he really was a great dad. 

I just miss him.  Even though we knew his death was imminent, we all knew it was coming and thought we were prepared, none of us really were. 

The strong man who swung me in the air and flung me to his shoulders when I was little, and the even stronger man who crumbled to his knees in prayer is no longer here.  I know it sounds silly, but if I could talk or write about him, then he was still alive.  I knew I could still go and visit him.  I could go and wrap my hand around his small, boney one and kiss his pale, freckled head.  He was still here.

So now all these memories flood up.  Like, a couple weeks ago I was putting on a pair of new strappy heels.  The buckle needed to be adjusted and as I was doing that a memory popped in. 

I was suddenly five and just came home with the family from shopping at Maxwell Street Days in Cambridge.  Darla and I got our new Buster Brown shoes for school.  I had these rust colored ones and the buckle needed adjustment.  The strap needed a new hole so Dad took an awl and made a new one for my awesome rust shoes.

Why that’s significant?  I don’t know.  But it made me cry.

Or when I was watching a commercial for a denture cream and it made me think of the time when my dad sneezed in the van while he was driving when I was a teenager and his upper plate flew out of his mouth, hit the steering wheel, ricocheted off the dash and into the well of the door.  It was seriously the funniest thing I had seen up to that point in my life.  I was doubled over in laughter and as he awkwardly fished his teeth out of the well AND PUT THEM BACK IN HIS MOUTH he gummed, “it’s really not that funny.” Um, yeah it was.

Or when I was coming home from work, I grabbed a tube of lipstick out of my purse and dragged it across my lips.  I heard my dad’s voice echo in my ear, “you’re beautiful the way you are.  Lipstick only cheapens a woman.”

Or him showing me the engine of the van and how dirty it was.  Then showing me the engine of Rich’s suburban and how clean it was.  “I can’t get over how clean he keeps his vehicle.  He’s a good man, Becka.”

I saw a pile of flip flops on the floor and it made me think of camp at Spencer Lake when I was a kid.  We had to wear them in the shower at camp.

Or when Fruit Roll-ups had just come out.  Dad took one out of the cabin and was heading out toward the tabernacle.  He kept chewing and chewing.  And chewing and chewing.  Here he had opened the package and put the whole thing in his mouth and didn’t take the cellophane off.  It had all his denture imprints on it though!

The kids are on a mission’s trip this week.  I was thinking back to when I was on tour; I was a little older than Micayla and was so very homesick.  I called home and Dad answered the phone.  After many tears on both sides he said, “when you hang up, go outside and look at the moon and know that I’ll be looking at the same moon with you.”  Makes me a little misty even now…

Dad has made me a better mother.  I think of the lessons that he taught us: to pray above all else.  To trust in the Lord….whatever His choice may bring… no matter what.  To remember that God is faithful.  God will provide. 

I remember mom and dad praying over the washing machine because they didn’t have the money to buy another one or fix it.  And it worked.  God provided.

And the music… oh the music.  We were watching a stupid tv show and this guy strummed an old steel guitar and BOOM, I was a little girl again.  I can so vividly see my dad strumming his electric guitar in the “good” living room at home.  You know… everyone had a room in their house that was reserved for pastors, out of town guests and social workers.  Wait.  Is everyone’s mom and dad foster parents? 

Oh the hugs!  He’d crush you in a bear hug. With the little ones, he’d shake them like a paint shaker at Home Depot.  You’d have to check to see if you had any teeth left after that.  It’s funny, because I guess I’ve been shaking up the little ones with my hugs.  I didn’t realize I was doing it as much until little Ellie said, “shake me, Aunt Becka, shake me.”  So I guess I’ll be passing that legacy on.

My father never graduated from high school, may not have had the highest education that we have today, but he was the smartest man I know. The wisest.

Throughout Dad’s sickness people have come up to me and asked about him.  They inevitably tilted their heads to the side, got a twinkle in their eye and said, “You know Ivan...”  and had a great story to tell.  Every time. 

There’s a song by Ray Boltz called Thank You. Part of the lyrics are:

One by one they came 


Far as the eye could see.

Each life somehow touched 


By your generosity. 


Little things that you had done,

Sacrifices made, 


Unnoticed on the earth 


In heaven, now proclaimed.

And I know up in heaven 


You're not supposed to cry 


But I am almost sure 


There were tears in your eyes.

As Jesus took your hand 


And you stood before the Lord.

He said, "My child, look around you.

Great is your reward."

I had the privilege of being there the moment my dad took his last breath.  My mom, one of my sisters, Sally, and I sang “I Will Enter His Gates With Thanksgiving In My Heart...” and “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus.”  It was a precious moment to see dad slip so peacefully into eternity.

After a few moments, with Sally on one side and I on another we started to think of what Dad was doing at that exact moment.  Sally said,  “I imagine him throwing his head back and laughing.  Running his hand over his hair.”  I said, “He can remember.  He remembers that He loves the Lord with all his heart.  Imagine what he sees.”

A couple of days before he died he looked me right in the eye.  I remember singing "It Is Well."  

Now picture this:  my dad hasn't spoken.  Can't talk.  Hasn't eaten or drank anything for days.  Just looks me in the eye with that bright blue eye of his... k.  Got it?  So I'm singing "It Is Well."  I get to the chorus:  "It is well..."  Then it has the little harmony part "it is well" And he mouths it!!  I come UNDONE!  But I keep going.  

Me: "with my soul."  

Dad: "with my soul."  

Together: "It is well, it is well, with my soul."  

Oh. my. goodness.  I sobbed and snotted all over the place.  There was no noise.  No sound.  He just mouthed it.  Meanwhile, the whole time during this chorus, my arms are going like pinwheels trying to get my mother's attention to see it.  It was such a miracle to me.

The Bible says the Lord will never leave us or forsake us.  To the outside world looking in, dad’s body and mind had died a long time ago... but the Holy Spirit was still holding on.  He never left him.

All of my life, dad was a man of integrity, a man of great honor and trust.  A man who put others first, who literally took the coat off his back and gave to others (literally happened), gave till his wallet was empty, (many times), taught me everything I know about the Lord... and continued to do so even after he was sick.  Yes, I think it’s safe to say that after the very long line of people that are waiting in heaven to greet dad and thank him for having an impact on his life, the Lord is going to come up to him, wrap him in a hug, shake him till his teeth shake too, then hold him back out, look Dad directly in the eye and say, “Well done, son.  You did good.”

Valentine's Day Expectations

Dating: A dozen roses and a shy card.

Engaged: A box of chocolates and a long love letter spewing sentiments of a long life together.

First year of marriage: A flower from a gas station and a card that had grandma scratched off and a sheepish grin that said, it’s the thought that counts, right?  

Five years later: It’s Valentines Day?

Nineteen years in: It’s a made up holiday anyway.

Expectations.  We can build something up so much in our mind that our loved one can not possibly achieve it.  We look for expressions of love that, even when our husbands or boyfriends try, they fall short.

There was a study of what makes married woman happy.  It found that the biggest factor was their husband’s emotional engagement.  When he is affectionate, empathetic, “tuned into his wife”, that was the most important factor in predicting his wife’s happiness.

But the study also found "if the wife had to choose between having a husband who is taking half the housework and having a husband who is really making a conscious, deliberate effort to focus emotionally on his wife, the emotional focus is much more likely to be a paramount concern."  

Interesting.  The crazy thing...the poor men in our life can’t win.  Our tastes change.  Our level of happiness changes.  Our needs change.

I’m reading a book right now and one of the main characters is a tired mom.  She says that five years ago she would have given anything for a dozen roses brought home by her husband.  But now, if he offered her the chance to take a ten minute nap she would fall to the ground in delight.  I think many of us can relate.

Men tend to be more action-orientated in their love giving.  Help with chores, repair the garage door, or bring home a paycheck.  However, that doesn’t show the affection we may desperately long for on Valentines Day, or any day.

But men aren’t mind readers, nor are they experts in romance.

So take them off the hook.  What if this year you focused not on your expectations or disappointments but on the One who wants to romance you.  He’s been trying to show you each and every day how cherished you are in His sight.  What if this you you looked to the Lord to meet your expectations first and the let the man in your life to do what he can.  

Remember what His word says says about you today and every day:

•  He calls you unforgettable: "Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! (Isaiah 49:15).

• He says He has always loved you and always will: "...I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness" (Jeremiah 31:3).

• He calls Himself your Husband: "For your Maker is your husband - the Lord Almighty is his name - the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer; he is called the God of all the earth. The Lord will call you back as if you were a wife deserted and distressed in spirit..."  (Isaiah 54:5-6a).

• He says His love for you is greater than anything you'll ever find on this earth:"Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13). And then Jesus did just that -- He laid down His life for you...one He calls "friend."  

• He promises He'll never leave you: "...Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5b).  

• He assures you in His Word that He has chosen you as His own: "For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight..." (Ephesians 1:4).

• He assures you in His Word that nothing will be able to separate you from His ever-pursuing love: "... neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 8:39).

This is your love letter this Valentine’s Day.  And if you’re husband or boyfriend makes an attempr that isn’t quite up to your expectations, thank God for him!  

P.S.  Rich and I are watching tv, eating lunch at home, running errands, picking up kids from school, going to Dale’s basket ball game, eating at home... enjoying our family.  After all, it’s a made up holiday.  =D  I love him.  

Something Beautiful

We’re stepping into a blizzard.  The wind slices through our scarves and coats, and finds the goose bumps on our skin.  It howls through the air and takes our breath away quicker than our first love.  The snow is tossed on the waves of the wind and smashes into our eye lashes.  And as we blink the ice furiously away, we wonder what the heck we’re doing living in Wisconsin?

Yet, there is such wonderment in a storm.  Such amazement in something as simple as a snowflake, for instance.

When I was a kid, my dad was bringing me home from my music lessons and it was snowing pretty heavily.  A couple of snowflakes glued themselves to the windowpane. I looked intently at them, trying to see if they looked anything like the paper ones I had made.  They didn’t.  They were so fragile...quickly dissipating when my finger touched the glass.  

I told my Dad, “God must have a big imagination.”

“Oh yeah?  Why’s that?”

“Because, if there are no two snowflakes alike, and there have been thousands of snowfalls this year, and millions and trillions bazillions of snowflakes that have fallen since the time Adam was created... well, God must have a big imagination to come up with no two snowflakes that look the same.”

Yeah, I know.  I was pretty profound for a kid.  =)

Snowflakes are fascinating.  They come in all different shapes and all kinds of sizes.  Some appear as delicate and dainty as my mother’s lace doilies and others shining as stars. Yet they are all similar.  

Here is what I’ve come to know... Each snowflake has six points, is made up of molecules of hydrogen and oxygen, and is symmetrical in shape.

Eating "dirt"  =)

But did you know that the ice that makes a snowflake collects around a particle of dust floating in the atmosphere? This tiny imperfection may be as small as 1/100,000 of a millimeter in size, but it has to exist for a snowflake to form.

In the same respect, the imperfections in our life has to exist in order for something wonderful and beautiful to happen.  Sometimes a “foreign invader” that crashes into our lives- like a terminal illness, an accident, a heartbreak- can actually turn into a source of blessing.

In Ecclesiastes 3:11 it says, "He has made everything beautiful in its time."  Only the Lord knows why we go through storms.  Only He knows your story from start to finish.  And He knows that you’re beautiful.

There’s an old Gaither song that goes:

“Something beautiful, something good
All my confusion, He understood
All I had to offer Him
Was brokenness and strife
But He made something
Beautiful, out of my life.”

When you encounter obstacles in your life, remember that they give you the chance to let God make something wonderful happen.  It will be beautiful.

Our backyard