Wrapping up my quiet time one morning, I glanced ahead to the next day’s date…August 8. For a moment I couldn’t remember what was significant about it. I just knew there was something familiar about August 8.

And then it hit me…

It was that day thirty years ago that I married my husband. The first one.

You think you’ll never forget certain dates in your life. The date of a birth, or a death, or some sort of trauma, an anniversary, a wedding, or the date the divorce was final. It surprised me that it actually took a minute to jog my memory.

Weirdly, just a few weeks prior, a passage from my ‘Springs in the Valley’ devotional made its way onto the pages of my journal. The writer spoke of that person who was “the juggernaut car to crush my soul into the very dust” who became “a glorious chariot to carry me to the heights of heavenly patience and long suffering…”

Intense, I know. The language is strong. I had to look up the word ‘juggernaut’ to gain the implied meaning…something (such as a force, campaign, or movement) that is extremely large and powerful and cannot be stopped; a very large, heavy truck.

Now, please don’t mistake this as husband bashing. That is not at all my intent. Nor do I recommend the practice. I loved that man for more than half my life. He’s the father of my children and had many good qualities that we as a family both celebrated and benefited from.

My point is to reveal the hidden treasure God showed me that day. A new way to frame my story. My ex is not just this painful thing or that painful thing. He is, in fact, that ‘glorious chariot’ in my life. That tool that God used to mold me into someone quite different than before. To mold me…into something more. And for that I am thankful.

Coincidentally, or perhaps not so, the Psalms reading for that date included Chapter 30, verses 11-12. And on August 8, I posted it on Facebook punctuated with several exclamation points…“You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.” 

And God certainly has. He’s turned my mourning into dancing and clothed me with joy. But, not entirely for the reason you might expect.

It’s not simply because I moved onto Husband #2 and now I can finally be happy (although we are quite happy!). It’s not because I’m naive enough to think that the second half of life will be all kittens and rainbows. Nothing against kittens. It’s just that I prefer a certain Shihtzu.

No. What’s significant is that I had actually underlined these verses in my Bible many years ago. Even in the midst of the struggle. It was a verse that had become evident in my life in spite of the crazy it had become. Because God had taught me how to dance, and keep on dancing. He taught me how to choose joy, and keep on choosing it. He even taught me something miraculous about gratitude: it is entirely possible to have it in spite of the not-so-fun and in spite of the not-so-happy.

As I belabored whether or not to write yet another post about that time in my life, I resolved to do it anyway. If it helps someone have a more redemptive perspective on those juggernaut vehicles in his/her own life, so be it. I have done a good thing.

Or rather, God has.

At the time of this writing my daily reading from the Psalms began in Chapter 31, verse 19…“How great is your goodness which you have stored up for those who fear you, which you bestow in the sight of men on those who take refuge in you.” 

For His many blessings (husbands included!), and the tools which take me further up and further in, I say thank you. For, oh, the treasure I’ve found in Jesus Christ! Of much greater worth than gold.

Two songs come to mind as I close. Lyrics from American singer/songwriter Bobby Darin (written by Tim Hardin)…
If I were a carpenter
And you were a lady
Would you marry me anyway? (Yes!)
Would you have my baby? (At this age? Are you kidding me?!)

Ha! And the ‘ole negro spiritual by Wallace Willis…
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home

As we think on life’s significant dates and times, let us frame them or re-frame them if necessary, to propel us toward greater heights in Jesus. To put it another way, strap yourself in and enjoy the ride! He’ll be waiting on the other side…

Love and prayers from a carpenter’s wife (and a Carpenter’s bride!)…

Cheri

I was blessed also to minister at New Life Baptist Church in New Wilmington, PA, a return visit from their Mother’s Day luncheon back in 2011. I came home with a bunch of goodies from the trip…two Pittsburgh Pirates cups from my driver with the station along with two pamphlets on tongues and the Holy Spirit (we got into a conversation about the “gifts” and he prayed for me to receive my prayer language; I’ll let you know when/if it happens). I received hand made Citrus Delight soap and Lavender Dream lotion, some pretty note cards and paper clips (thanks, Sandy!), handwritten notes from my hosts, the gum and wintergreen mints, the homemade cherry hazelnut oat bars (thanks Mary!), the Real Life coffee mug, an inspirational tissue box cover, and a Clark bar.

Silly to post it here, I know. But, I thought it a fun sampling from my dear brothers and sisters in Christ. What a joy it is to share in fellowship, to pray for one another, and unite in purpose to see lives changed by the gospel. I may just have the best job in the world.

One thing was especially meaningful this trip. I got to thank the pastor who ministered to me back in 2011 when I was barely getting used to uttering, “I never thought divorce would be my story” from the platform. I had sung my set that Sunday morning and as I turned to head back to my seat in the front row, the pastor stopped me half way up the steps. There he gently grabbed my arm and said something my tender heart would never forget…

He said, “Divorce isn’t your story. It’s just a chapter in a glorious life.”

I’ve shared his comforting words many times since then and was grateful for the opportunity to be able to tell Pastor John, in person, how much it meant to me. Singing my new song, “You Go Before”, on the platform this past Sunday was poignant indeed. Because He did. And He still does.

You have the answer before the question
You know the ending before it’s begun
You set the rain and the clouds in motion
Knowing full well You would bring back the sun
Ready and waiting with kind provision
Like a lighthouse that shines through the storm
A vision of land for the homesick sailor
You go before

It rained while I was in Pennsylvania this weekend, but it was all sunshine in my heart. Thank you, PA friends. Keep doing what you do. You never know who might need your kindness.

Blessings…

Cheri

I laugh now at my recent post on Facebook and decide to expound a bit here…

Yes!!! There is new music coming! Hallelujah, He is worthy! By God’s grace and tender mercies, working together with Uncle Phil Keaggy and many others, we have successfully finished the new album. Much love and gratitude to all who have believed in this project through your prayers and financial support.

By way of an update, I’m currently seeking guidance for various aspects of releasing WHAT I KNOW TO BE TRUE. While I’m determined to furnish physical CDs to supporters before Christmas, the general consensus may be to officially release in January 2022. If you’d like to be in that “pre-release” number, there’s still time. A gift of any amount to the GoFundMe will put a signed CD in your mailbox, and great joy in my heart.

By way of confession, I’ve been overwhelmed at tackling the nuts and bolts of getting the album “out there” now that it’s finished. I’ve been processing and questioning the whens and hows, and asking the Lord to provide connections and help with things in that regard. This is hard for recovering perfectionists and deep feelers like me. Not to mention the typical Resistance that often accompanies creatives, and the challenges of being an independent artist without in-house promoters and marketeers.

And, yet, there is a calling and the Lord keeps nudging me forward.

Reading a seemingly unrelated passage from 2 Timothy the other day, I felt first burdened for others, and then personally convicted. “For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.” (italics mine – 2 Tim. 4:3-5)

And there it is. I may not know all the whens and hows in this moment. But, by golly, I do believe God is going to make a way for me, and whomever may come alongside, to “discharge all the duties” of getting this music out into the world where God can use it for His glory.

So, I took a coffee with someone who might be able to connect me to someone else, who might be able to help execute a plan. And I called the manufacturer to get a

few questions answered. And I cried and complained and prayed, as is often part of all the processing, and I asked the Lord to provide and empower in spite of all my deficits. And I told Him how I long for His return. And that’s really the main thing, isn’t it? And then, I sat down to process a little more with you, by writing this here. And I got a little further down the road.

Thank you for your patience waiting on this music. As I typed in the liner notes forthcoming (after I figure out if we squeeze fifteen song lyrics into an eight panel booklet insert, or if we’ll need the twelve panel one, or if we should just make them all available online), I typed…

We believe in the weight of these songs and the power of God to minister through them.

I believe, Lord, help me in my unbelief, and in spite of all my shortcomings. You are God. You are able. It will happen.

Let it be, for Your glory…

Cheri

Looking on at Lucas Oil Stadium.

*Masks required, social distancing, sitting in family groups with rows of empty chairs in between.

Engaged with food and fellowship, I didn’t catch all the emails that were coming through on the prayer chain. Some battling pneumonia or COVID-19. One in critical care fighting for his very life. Another in a serious biking accident facing possible paralysis.

Burdened by the suffering of others, some via physical sickness, and others sick of heart, I guess it all sort of caught up with me. As tears began to well up behind my sunglasses, I reached for some paper napkins out of the glove compartment. I couldn’t seem to shake the following thought…

I’m jealous of Dad. Not for what he did in taking his own life. That was tragic and extremely painful, with lasting ramifications. No, I am not jealous of what he did–but, for where he is.

With COVID-19 and its insidious effects, loss of life, loss of livelihoods, loss of normalcy…I’m jealous of Dad.

With freedoms threatened, economic uncertainties, and pastors leaving their pulpits…I’m jealous of Dad.

With worry for children, adult children, grandchildren, and aging parents…I’m jealous of Dad.

With abject poverty, moral depravity, racial tensions, increased suicides, and civil unrest…I’m jealous of Dad.

With political dissension, corruption, and deceptive narratives – whether exaggerated or false…I’m jealous.

With Dad in Heaven, and long settled in by now, he is free from pain, free from sickness, free from death. He no longer has to battle life’s burdens or concern himself with all that is wrong in our world. He rests in the All Made Right and the All Things New.

Sometimes it makes me sad to think of all we may have to face before we get there. Not in a fearful way. Not in an ‘I’m not going to be able to survive this’ way. But, acknowledging there’s much suffering in the world. Evil, too. And sometimes it presses in hard.

Philippians 4:4-6 (NIV). The non-anxious life.

With Mom’s house on the market in Southern California, I suggested what if we started thanking God in advance for bringing the buyer. She said, “Sounds like a good plan!”

When burdened with anxiety, Philippians 4:6 admonishes us to present our requests to God, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving (italics mine). You might call it the ‘ole ‘please and thank you’ approach. 

This is not demanding of God a particular result, but simply following His path for living. As we cast our worldly cares under His protective provision, we are promised the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, the kind that guards our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (verse 7). That’s a pretty fair trade, I’d say.

For all the above aforementioned concerns, let us put Paul’s words into practice. Continuing in Philippians…
“Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable–if anything is excellent or praiseworthy–think about such things. Whatever you have learned, received, heard from me, or seen in me–put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” (verse 8&9)

Day by day. Moment by moment.
On behalf of all standing in need…
Hear our prayers and petitions, oh Lord.
Have mercy on us as we learn to thank You in advance for whatever answers You bring.
You are faithful.
You are with us.
Please and thank You.

In Your Name we pray, amen.

Grace and peace…
Cheri

My sister and I spent a week in Southern California helping Mom de-clutter and pack to get her house ready for market. After forty-seven years in one place, and two years since Dad passed, she has slowly wrapped her mind and heart around the idea of moving to be closer to family in her latter years. How gracious God is to gently allow us to loosen our grip when change is on the horizon. Scary, yes. But, as one dear friend said, “It’s a new adventure!”

Now, Mom is one of those incredibly creative types with an impressive collection of projects underneath her bedazzled belt. She has cabinets, drawers, bins, baskets, tins, tables, and counter tops full of projects and possibilities. A plethora of art supplies and materials are never in short supply. Not to mention shelves of inspirational instruction books from crocheting and embroidery, to beading and toll painting. She’s done it all. Though she didn’t write the book, she very well could have.

With the help of a few good friends, I was amazed at how swiftly she sorted through the lot, repeating the words “keep” and “give-away” as we worked. The living room became a donation station. Setting up a few portable tables, we kept bringing stuff out. When the tables were full, we covered the floor beneath them. Kitchenware, books, art supplies, knick-knacks, and the like. Always a giving person, Mom invited friends to help themselves giving the rest to charity.

Chocolate milk always tastes better in a Nestle Nesquik bunny cup!

Some things I had never even seen before. Others, a flashback to my childhood. Like the plastic Nesquik bunny cup I drank from, that my children drank from, that our present and future grandchildren will drink from.

One of our big projects was to carefully pack Mom’s hand-painted porcelain dolls, aka her “babies”…some of them award-winning, all of them precious. With plenty of extra batting, paper, and bubble wrap, we painstakingly protected their delicate hands and feet wrapping them up like little burritos. Including some glass domes and a couple lamps handcrafted by Aunt Madeline, we filled no less than eight heavy-duty plastic bins. Pray they all survive. *Handy packing tip: use balls of yarn to fill holes and add cushion.

Thankfully, my Uncle Mike, Mom’s brother, did most of the heavy lifting, schlepping box after box out to the garage as we sealed them. Trying to be spatially conscious, I never used the word “jenga” so many times in my life. Did you know it works as a verb? Yes, it does. One can jenga this or jenga that. Uncle Mike jenga’d the heck out of those boxes, stacking them into a massive cardboard tower like a boss.

Somewhere in the middle of the hair-in-a-bun-no-make-up week, I pulled Mom aside to ask how she wanted to handle her jewelry. She has made many beautiful beaded necklaces, bracelets, and pins through the years. I wanted her to pull whatever pieces out she might like to wear over the next few weeks before packing them up. But, in all the upheaval and mix of emotions that go with such a big transition, my question quickly overwhelmed her.

“Oh, I can’t”, she said, with tears welling up in her eyes. “All I need is my cross and my hoop earrings.” After a tender embrace, we parted and went back to work. But, somehow her words lingered with me, bringing the weight of all things eternal to the forefront.

Mom’s gold cross necklace and hoop earrings set aside so they wouldn’t accidentally get packed!

When it’s all said and done, what do we need, really? Faith, family, and a little bit of fun…the cross and “hoop earrings” of life.

You shall have all three, my dear mother. You shall have all three. And the promise of heaven to boot!

Back home in Tennessee, after some much needed rest, I treated myself to a pedicure and wore my gold cross necklace the next day in the studio. I’m finally getting to some new music, singing songs about life with Jesus, in the now and the not yet. Excited to share more about that soon.

Because of Him,

Cheri

PS  Mom is in good health and we hope to have several more years with her. On this trip, however, she made it known that when that time comes, she’d like “The Old Rugged Cross”…

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
And I’ll cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

She also has requested a plain wooden coffin so all her creative friends can gather around to decorate it, glue guns and sequins in hand. She’ll go up and out in style! And Jesus will be there to meet her. The Greatest Adventure of all.

Dad appeared in a dream again. He was up first thing watering the grass. I could tell he had already been out for an early morning run. Not sure why I dreamed it, because he wasn’t even much of a runner. But, well into his 70’s, he had established a routine of hitting the gym every day. “To dust off the cobwebs,” he’d say. Until eventually he stopped, because, “What’s the point?”

There wasn’t much else to the dream. Except waking up grateful for another “interaction” with him. This, followed by tears spilling from the outer corners of my eyes, down into my ears, as I lie there head back on my pillow.

I’ve tried to share this grief journey as vulnerably as I can, though I admit I haven’t been entirely honest. Because I wasn’t ready.

The last picture I have of Dad.

With much greater courage than I, posting on the one year anniversary of his death, Mom led the way…“Our family hasn’t shared this openly, but part of our grieving is because my husband Mike, Cheri and Lisa’s father, committed suicide Sunday, Sept. 2nd at 5:30pm in the afternoon in our backyard. That’s the short story. There is a volume of words that don’t even begin to explain for us what that means. Maybe it’s time to talk about it now. I know our family is not alone.”

Sadly, this is true. The part about Dad taking his own life, and the part about not being alone in this.

One statistic reveals that every seventeen minutes, someone, somewhere chooses death. And yet God’s Word says, “I have set before you life and death…therefore choose life.” (Deuteronomy 30:19)

I can’t emphasize enough the pain this has caused. While Dad may have ended his own pain, he multiplied it exponentially onto all who loved him. While it’s not as gut-wrenching raw, and there are mercifully fewer grief swells over time, it is a pain that lingers still.

Last month was Suicide Awareness Month. As a year has passed, it would seem that would have been an appropriate time to share. But, I was stuck. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not wanting in any way to dishonor Dad, because he was a good one. The whole of his life isn’t defined by this one horrific, permanent choice. Besides despairing of his ailing health, when he’d been so physically capable and active throughout his life, I couldn’t begin to conjecture all the reasons behind his decision. As I’ve struggled to put it to words, I’ve continued to allow myself time to process…to pray, to journal, to talk with friends and family, and to read…

I believe it was C.S. Lewis who once said, “We read to know we’re not alone.”

Here are a few books that have proved helpful…

Aftershock – Help, Hope, and Healing in the Wake of Suicide (David Cox and Candy Arrington)
Grieving a Suicide – A Loved One’s Search for Comfort, Answers, and Hope (Albert Y Hsu)
Have Heart: Bridging the Gulf Between Heaven and Earth (Sarah and Steve Berger) – With some wiggle room for what one pastor calls a sanctified imagination!
The Bow in the Cloud or Words of Comfort for Hours of Sorrow (1880 – John Ross McDuff)
GriefShare classes and workbook
Healing After Loss – Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief (Martha W. Hickman) – Not all entries are from a Biblical worldview, but most are good.
Heaven (Randy Alcorn) – 500+ pages which I haven’t finished, because I started it early in the process and it was simply too big and overwhelming for me at the time. I remember feeling frustrated with myself. “Why can’t I finish this book?” Grief is like that.

Add to that my daily Scripture readings and familiar devotionals such as Streams in the Desert, Springs in the Valley, My Utmost for His Highest, and others. For me, reading and sitting quietly with the Lord has been crucial. While this list is in no way comprehensive, I do hope something might be of use to other families touched by suicide or the passing of a loved one. Perhaps you’ll add your recommendations in the comment section below.

Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy – Discovering the Grace of Lament by Mark Vroegop

Most recently, I’ve been reading Mark Vroegop’s book, Dark Clouds, Deep Mercy – Discovering the Grace of Lament. He identifies four elements of Biblical lament, as modeled in the scriptures: turning, complaining, asking, trusting. Written by the prophet Jeremiah, the Book of Lamentations is essentially five chapters of lament following the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonian army.

Last night before bed, I read Lamentations 5:21…”Restore us to yourself, O Lord, that we may be restored.” Immediately, I thought of the bridge lyric in “Restored (The Grindstone Song)” from my 2007 release, BECAUSE HE FIRST LOVED US…

Restore me, Lord, and make me new again
I want nothing more than to soar

Vroegop points out that “there are no ‘and they lived happily ever after’ moments in Lamentations. The historic lament concludes without resolution and with questions lingering.” Still, he continues, “lament affirms God’s sovereignty when dark clouds linger.” And as William Cowper wrote, “the clouds ye so much dread are big with mercy…”

One thing I learned from Aftershock is that “every suicide survivor is looking for a way to feel normal again following a life event that is so abnormal.”

Reflecting on this and the lyric made me realize while I have made much progress, there is still room for more. More healing. More perspective. More freedom.

God’s Word amazes me. Experiencing healing from divorce and other losses, I often talk about how God turns our mourning into dancing, citing Psalm 30:11-12. “You turned my mourning into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to You…” etc. In this season, I’ve been struck how utterly inadequate and unable I feel to go full force in ministry as usual. Yes, I’ve had a gig here and there, sang at a friend’s wedding, and written songs. But, nothing like the load of work and travel I’m accustomed to. I’ve kept things running on the home front, with meals, laundry, and such to support my husband. And I’ve helped a lot with the grandson. These are all good things, and my joy to do them.

Still, as of yet, there is no new album. Is this disobedience? Neglect of calling? Or perhaps God’s grace, time, and space for deeper roots and healthier branches. Before the harvest comes.

Lamentations 5:14b-15 gripped my heart, as I so identified with the sentiment. “…The young men have stopped their music. Joy is gone from our hearts; our dancing has turned to mourning.” In His great mercy, here’s what God showed me…

In some ways, the bright joy of a new husband, a new house, and a new grandson has been partly overcast by the tragic loss of my Dad. But, look at the contrast between Psalm 30 and Lamentations 5. One speaks of ‘mourning into dancing’. The other, of ‘dancing into mourning’. I appreciate how God gives voice to both, don’t you? Not that we who are grieving need justification, but it helps that God’s Word validates these seasons when they come.

In his book on Grieving a Suicide, Albert Y. Hsu writes, “Grief that has done its work in us will help us experience God’s grace more fully.”

I believe this grief is part of God’s grace to me. “Though He brings grief, He will show compassion, so great is His unfailing love.” (Lamentations 3:32)

Not surprisingly, it has been therapeutic to write songs and words expressing what I would say to Dad. I’ve done that in spades. You’ll hear some of it on the next project. But, more recently, I was prompted to write what I felt Dad would say to me…

     I’m sorry
     I love you
     I didn’t mean to hurt you
     I’m proud of you
     I hope you’ll keep singing
     I delight in you
     Take care of your mother
     Live to the full
     Heaven is unbelievable
     We’ll be together soon
     And you’ll see everything will be all right
     I’m all right, too

This was so helpful.

A couple weeks ago, when we sang “How Can I Keep from Singing” in church, I felt that knowing in my gut; that’s exactly what I should be doing. It is not just a calling, but also an obedience. Every day, through dark clouds and deep mercy, I get a little closer to God’s green light. In fact, the other day, I caught a glimpse of what He may have in store, with a sudden quickening in my heart. It was the album title! So, as a step of white-knuckle-faith and trembling-trusting-belief, I reveal it here…

Album #10: Cheri Keaggy – what I know to be true.

There, I typed it. That’s progress!

Ecclesiastes 7:4 reads, “The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning.” Lord, give me wisdom in this house! For Your glory. For Your Kingdom. And bring Your grace to all who need Gospel Hope, which gives us the ability to lament well.

For as Vroegop wrote, “Lament is the song you sing believing that one day God will answer and restore.”

This morning, upon waking from my dream, God gave a gift. I realized while I am not yet fully restored, my father is. Whatever the reasons he took his own life…depression, pain, exhaustion, fear, despair, hopelessness, his final cry for mercy did not fall on deaf ears. He knew where he was going. For he believed on the Name of Jesus. Because of Christ’s death and resurrection, he would soon be absent from the body, present with the Lord.

As Mom said, there’s a volume of words that don’t even begin to explain what this means. I thank you for reading this much. Feel free to share as our hearts would be to see God bring beauty from Dad’s ashes, literally. Like only He can.

To those for whom suicide has hit close to home, God’s tender mercies to you and your family.

Grace and peace,

Cheri

The mystery of Psalm 116:15 cut through my desperation…Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. I kept repeating those words. Could it be that Dad’s departure is actually a blessing to God? The thought comforted me.

Posthaste, I was on a plane to Mom. First time flying to California where Dad wouldn’t be there on the other end. No point in wearing make up. Too many tears. I turn toward the plane window to try not to disturb the person sitting next to me and journal a note to Dad in Heaven. I tell him it’s O.K. He can be at peace now and relish this time with Jesus. I pinch the silver anchor charm around my neck. A symbol of Hope. Something one would share later that Dad no longer has need of.

Perhaps as a coping mechanism, I begin to brainstorm ideas for a memorial service. It’s a long list. Not sure I want to play at my own Dad’s funeral. I wonder if Cameron would play his accordion? Dad would be so pleased and proud.

My sister and I begin going through some of Dad’s things in the garage. He was very organized. Almost OCD organized, though never officially diagnosed.  We set out to purge and rearrange things, just enough so Mom can pull her car in for safety.

Dad was an accomplished rock climber having climbed both Half Dome and El Capitan as well as forging some first ascents in Joshua Tree, a popular climbing destination in Yucca Valley. Dad was known to have frequently climbed with guys half his age. He was such a rock star.

In addition to years of belaying, repelling, gnarly overhangs, and scabbed up hands, Dad was an avid backpacker. From his first hike at age thirty-nine spanning easily thirty years, he logged more than 14,000 miles. Among his gear were some old plastic bottles and such we decided to set aside for recycling. A yellow bowl caught my eye. Scratched and well worn, it clearly had seen a lot of miles. I placed it in the recycle pile but immediately felt a deep sense of sadness. I told my sister and we agreed we could hold that one back for the time being.

Later, as we began going through Dad’s photo albums I saw why that bowl had tugged at my heart. Photo after photo of Dad’s camp sites showed that little, yellow bowl propped up on a log or a makeshift bench. We even found a shot of him eating from it. You can see where I got my long legs. Such a handsome fellow.

It might sound silly, but I thanked God for the nourishment that yellow bowl provided for Dad all those years. He loved the outdoors. Absorbing the beauty of creation, I think he always felt closest to God on a lonely trail somewhere. On longer trips that required shipping food ahead, we’d send postcards with the words “Hold for thru hiker Mike Anderson” etched along the bottom.

Preparing for a conference this past weekend I sat at the piano to run through some songs. “It Is Well” proved especially difficult. The floodgates burst wide open. Attempting to sing through heavy sobs I refuted, it’s not at all well with my soul, God. Confessing my fragile state to the audience, I explained my reason for choosing “‘Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus”…at times when things aren’t so well and our feelings get tossed about by life’s most crashing waves, one must take Him at His word. Just to rest upon His promise, just to know thus saith the Lord.

Mom used to tell a story of when Dad was a young boy. Things weren’t always great at home, but there was a Norman Rockwell sort of family down the street. Dad would sometimes escape his own household turmoil to peer through the window during this family’s dinner hour. Sometimes they would invite him in. He wondered what it would be like to be a part of a family like that.

I believe our family helped him realize that dream. While far from perfect, we were blessed indeed with a level of stability, love, respect, and mutual support for one another. As I wrote in my journal to Dad in Heaven (partial excerpt)…You have it all. He has not abandoned you or left you on the outside looking in. You can feast at the table. It’s all yours. And you will get to fully enjoy it, because He will enable you to. You have total fullness. Total joy. In His presence is fullness of joy. When we get time alone with God we will know His nearness, and in so doing, we will be close to you, too. Sweet communion just got sweeter. We all come to the table. We all feast with Jesus. We all take the bread and the cup. This is living. This is everything. Jesus is everything. He is ours and He is yours. We are family. And we are really O.K. Rest in peace, Daddy. It’s finally O.K.

One of the greatest sorrows in all this is Dad never got to hold his great grandson. A pencil doodle of Ollie discovered in his pocket calendar celebrated his birth – “Day 1”. He was so looking forward to finally holding Ollie in person this Thanksgiving. And now we will be holding his memorial service instead. Still, God in His kindness gave us a merciful gift, before we even knew we would need it…

Just five days before Dad passed, at the surprise party for my fiftieth, a friend suggested we FaceTime my parents in California. There I was surrounded by people who love me, holding Ollie close to the screen so Mom and Dad could get a good look at him. After a brief hello to Mom, Dad got most of the camera time – – great grandson and great Grandpa, eye to eye, taking one another in. I’ll never forget Dad’s smile. As bright and wide as this characterization of him my daughter created in tribute. With a sweet, double meaning, she calls it – A Great Grandpa.                                                                                                    

And he was.

They say the depth of one’s grief speaks to the significance of the relationship. I won’t ever need to guess at how much I loved Dad, for this is a significant grief. But, it is a grief held safely in the loving arms of Jesus…the Hope that embraces, the Hope that does not disappoint, the Hope that we know in part, but Dad now knows completely and in full.

Another journal entry from my Springs in the Valley devotional states, “There is no safer place in all the universe in which to leave our loved ones than in the hands of God.” So be it. Like it or not, I must accept this hard thing and cling to Jesus in trust. It helps to know that not only was Dad in Christ, but now he is right there with Him in glory.

And he has finally traded those dusty trails for streets of gold.

Thanks for all the love, Daddy. Happy trails to you…until we meet again.

Your baby girl,

Cheri

I’ve had other dreams like that through the years. Maybe it’s that deep down panic that I won’t be prepared for an engagement. Or worse yet, I’ll miss it altogether letting everyone down. I can recall several dreams where they’ve already introduced me onto the stage and I’m nowhere near where I need to be to get to the platform on time. Psychoanalyze that.

Anyway, in the dream, I’m frantically checking my phone to see if anyone has tried to contact me, all while calling out for my Mom who was slated to take me to the event, about a forty-five minute drive away. I’m thinking there’s no way I’ll be able to get myself dressed and ready, hair and make-up, and set list. Still, I’m scrambling. Where’s the blow dryer?! I’ll have to do my make up in the car. Where’s my red blouse?! In the dream, it’s a post-Thanksgiving, Christmas event. Why we’re swimming late November, I don’t know. Dreams are weird that way.

Still calling out for Mom, there’s no response. I begin searching throughout the house, but she’s nowhere to be found. Finally, I enter her bedroom and find her near comatose in the bathroom. Eyes closed, white as a ghost, and seemingly incoherent, I thought she was dead. But, as she began to fall sideways I lunged to catch her and her eyes suddenly opened.

And just as a feeling of great relief washed over me I woke up.

Understandably, I was physically shaken by such a nightmarish dream. And try as I might to drift back to sleep, my thoughts were all over the place. Just earlier that day I had told my hubby over lunch that I hoped to have many more years with my parents and how I wished we lived closer. And, strangely, just that morning in church I had pressed down the corner of the bulletin where the fourth verse of “Crown Him With Many Crowns” struck me afresh. Particularly these words…

Crown Him the Lord of years, the Potentate of time…

Maybe it’s because I’m getting older. I’m literally just days away from the big 5-0 (got my first piece of mail from the AARP to prove it!). Maybe it’s because I’ve been praying for a grieving family and their son whose years were cut short. Maybe it’s because Dad, not Mom, recently had a week long hospital stay, a bad bout with pneumonia, and subsequent visits to correct his atrial fibrillation (and I made the mistake of googling the life threatening risks of cardiac ablations). Maybe it’s because another friend is now caring for her aging parents; a mother who broke several ribs during a recent fall and a father whose tumble left him battered and bruised simply trying to fetch the mail. Or maybe it’s transitioning into a new role as Grandma (read my previous blog!) and focusing my energies a little closer to home. Perhaps all of these things culminated into a dream that got me thinking about life, the sovereignty of God, and how we spend the brief time we’re given.

For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night (about 3 hrs., Psalm 90:4). Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom (verse 12). My son, do not forget my teaching, but keep my commands in your heart, for they will prolong your life many years…(Proverbs 3:1).

And this one, a new favorite…Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants…the fiftieth year shall be a jubilee for you…(Leviticus 25:10 & 11).

Carpenter Husband keeps asking me what I want to do for my fiftieth. I tell him nothing elaborate or expensive. Maybe an intimate gathering with friends and family? A special dinner date, just the two of us? Oh, and I need to remember to ask for chocolate cake. Because chocolate.

All kidding aside, today I’m asking a more important question. How will I spend this fiftieth year of jubilee? O Heavenly Father, Lord of my years, let the lighting of all those candles be a symbol of consecration to You.

And with that, I’ll leave you with your own thoughts and the last part of verse four…

All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou has died for me;
Thy praise and glory shall not fail throughout eternity.

Thankful to be born…and born again to live in Christ forevermore. And you can bet I’ll be giving my folks a call.

Ever resting in His Sovereign Care…

Cheri