"Sarah, this is Debbie." It had been a long time since I had seen my friend and I was so happy to hear her voice. She asked about my family and how I was doing. And then she said, "Sarah, the doctors have told me that my cancer is terminal. I want to come see you and say goodbye."
I hung up the phone and sat in stunned silence while memories of my friend flooded my mind. I had only been married a month when we first met. However, she had only been married two week, so I shared with her all my wisdom. Thinking back over that memory I couldn't help but blush. Debbie had suffered for years with infertility when she decided to adopt. She named her daughter Sarah in my honor. She then gave me the privilege of being at the airport when Sarah arrived from Korea. I was there when she held her daughter in her arms for the first time. Debbie called me when she had received the impossible news that she was pregnant. She told me that she called me because it wasn't until she heard my reaction that she could dare to believe that it could be true. I didn't disappoint her. I reacted!
Debbie came. Our visit was bitter sweet. We had lived in different states and had each been busy raising our children so it had been several years since we'd seen each other. We spent the first day catching up, sharing stories. It was as if we were each opening a window to our souls to let someone else come in. We shared our joys and our sorrows.
At one point Debbie asked why the pain of one of my memories seemed so fresh. I told her it was because I had found an old journal in the attic and had read through it recently. She looked at me for a long time and then said, "Sarah, burn it. Life is to short to hold onto sorrow."
Before Debbie left I promised her that I would walk her home. I called her every day for the few months that she had left. I had no answers to the questions my dying friend asked. I couldn't understand the pain. Often my response was simply to weep with her. I was reminded of the children of Israel in the wilderness on their way to the Promised Land. I walked with Debbie in the wilderness; we shared our faith we spoke daily about the hope that is an anchor for our soul. However, the time came when it was time for Debbie to cross the Jordan into the Promised Land. I could go with her no farther. It was here that I was aware that Joshua (Jesus) had come to part the flooded muddy waters of the Jordan and take my friend the rest of the way home.
https://youtu.be/5BSLQnXcLPM
Saturday, February 18, 2017
Wednesday, February 1, 2017
The Safe House
The grass had not yet begun to grow on my granddaughter's grave and the memory of my daughter crushing the rose and letting the petals gently fall onto the tiny coffin was fresh on my mind when I got the call. "Mom, will you go with me to the courthouse?" There was a baby that needed to be placed in a Safe House and she wanted to volunteer her home. My first reaction was that I wanted to protect my child from any more heartache than she had already experienced.
We were sitting together in the courthouse corridor when the baby arrived. I will never forget the look of love and joy on my daughter's face when she saw him. When we went before the the judge he asked if anyone had come on behalf of the child. There was no one there except for the two of us. The judge accepted my daughter's offer of her home as a Safe House.
I raised my children in a designated Safe House with the Georgia Department of Family and Children Services that wasn't always safe. My maternal instincts were always to protect my children and to create a happy home for them, but I also had the desire to open my doors to a hurting world and share with others the love of Jesus. I found early on that hurting people will often hurt people, so I tried to teach my children how to live in a broken world with broken people. The truth that I wanted my children to understand was that we never reach down to others, because we are all broken. Instead, we reach across as equals to share the love of the only one who can truly save us, Jesus.
I have a confession to make. Opening my doors was hard. As a mother, I wanted to put a wing of protection around my children and to keep them safe from the hurtful things I saw around me. I also found that only way I could help anyone was to cry out to the God whose ear is not deaf, and reach out to the God whose arm is not short so that He cannot save. I discovered that I could not protect my children from harm, but that I could teach them to seek shelter beneath the wing of a faithful God.
I was often plagued with the thought that I might have hurt my own children in my desire to share my home with others. This was the theme of many of my prayers as my children were growing up. Now my children have grown. I see now how God answered my prayer when I observe the compassion my children have for the hurting world around them. The decision my husband and I made to open our doors was like a stone cast into the water. I am watching now as ripples of mercy flow from the choices my children make to open their hearts and make a safe place for others.
We were sitting together in the courthouse corridor when the baby arrived. I will never forget the look of love and joy on my daughter's face when she saw him. When we went before the the judge he asked if anyone had come on behalf of the child. There was no one there except for the two of us. The judge accepted my daughter's offer of her home as a Safe House.
I raised my children in a designated Safe House with the Georgia Department of Family and Children Services that wasn't always safe. My maternal instincts were always to protect my children and to create a happy home for them, but I also had the desire to open my doors to a hurting world and share with others the love of Jesus. I found early on that hurting people will often hurt people, so I tried to teach my children how to live in a broken world with broken people. The truth that I wanted my children to understand was that we never reach down to others, because we are all broken. Instead, we reach across as equals to share the love of the only one who can truly save us, Jesus.
I have a confession to make. Opening my doors was hard. As a mother, I wanted to put a wing of protection around my children and to keep them safe from the hurtful things I saw around me. I also found that only way I could help anyone was to cry out to the God whose ear is not deaf, and reach out to the God whose arm is not short so that He cannot save. I discovered that I could not protect my children from harm, but that I could teach them to seek shelter beneath the wing of a faithful God.
I was often plagued with the thought that I might have hurt my own children in my desire to share my home with others. This was the theme of many of my prayers as my children were growing up. Now my children have grown. I see now how God answered my prayer when I observe the compassion my children have for the hurting world around them. The decision my husband and I made to open our doors was like a stone cast into the water. I am watching now as ripples of mercy flow from the choices my children make to open their hearts and make a safe place for others.
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