Red Bird Devotions #19

Dangerous Amnesia 
(repost from 3/22/10)

“Sometimes we forget love”.

When I saw this posted as my son’s Facebook status, it made contemplate my life. I don’t ever forget love, do I?

I do.

Sometimes, when I am rushed and burdened and trying to complete the last lines of a well-thought out essay, and my precious daughter comes to talk to me, to give me a kiss good-night, I kiss her hurriedly—really wishing her already to bed—really only caring about completing my agenda; Then, I forget love.

When my teenage son is grumpy because he is over-homeworked, over-exerted and under-slept, and all I can do is criticize him because of his forgetfulness or his lack of joy; Then, I forget love.

When my husband isn’t like me and I judge him for the way he thinks or acts or perceives life in general, and not only do I think it, but I tell him I think it; Then, I forget love.

When I so desire someone to know Christ, and I give them a Bible and I talk to them about God and I tell them about Grace, but I don’t invite them to be a part of my life, nor do I get involved in their life; Then, I forget love.

When I pray to God for me and my family and my stuff, but I never ask God about Himself or about His purposes or about His Joy, and I never see beyond myself to His Majesty; Then, I forget love.

When I forget that it was Jesus who died to take my place—on a cross, with nails and blood and pain and with all the horrors of my sin heaped upon his broken body; Then, I forget love.

O Father God, keep reminding, keep reminding. I don’t want to forget. To Love.

“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.”

Colossians 3:12-14

Red Bird Devotions #11

We Like What We're Used To

(Repost from 3/18/11)

One of the penalties of sin is our acceptance of it. It is not only God who punishes for sin, but sin establishes itself in the sinner and takes its toll. No struggling or praying will enable you to stop doing certain things, and the penalty of sin is that you gradually get used to it, until you finally come to the place where you no longer even realize that it is sin.

Oswald Chambers -- My Utmost for His Highest

We like what we’re used to.

This week, because Luke and friends took my Suburban to Florida, I have been driving Brent’s car.  And I have a bad attitude about it; it doesn’t have an arm rest, there’s no alert chime when gas is low, the seat feels wrong.  I’m just generally unhappy operating it.  You know why?  Because I like what I’m used to, and I’m used to my Suburban.

The other day, I had Shay drive Brent’s car as we came home from a track meet together.  And she complained; the brakes were touchy, the gear shift was on the console—not the steering wheel, the seat was too far back.  She didn’t like it either.  Is it because Shay’s normal wheels are so fantastic?  No, she drives Luke’s old green Buick Century in which the windows don’t roll down, the shifting symbols (P,R,N,D) are missing (you just have to kind guess where you are by feel and hope you don’t drive off the retaining wall) and only one wiper blade works. Brent’s car is actually fairly new and smooth and (though I hate to admit it) kind of cool.  So why didn’t she like it either?  Because she likes what she’s used to, and she’s used to the Buick.

As Christians, this concept should motivate us towards righteousness and away from sin.  If we like what we’re used to, shouldn’t we make sure that we are “used to” righteousness? If pursuing righteousness is our daily routine, we will become accustomed to the thought patterns and activities that accompany it. And we will like it.  But…if our daily choices are not reflecting the renewed mind that God promises us, and if sinful tendencies have become the norm, then we become “used to” sin and it fails to shock us anymore.  In fact, it feels downright comfortable. 

We like what we’re used to. What are you used to?

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Romans 12:2

10 Easy Steps to Personally Prepare for Your Daughter’s Upcoming Wedding

Since our youngest daughter gets married in two days (!) I thought y’all might benefit from a quick checklist on what needs to be accomplished when YOUR daughter gets married. Please keep in mind that it has been an incredibly busy semester here at the Haverkamp home place, so most of these suggestions have just been completed in the two weeks prior to the ceremony.

1.    Purchase Dress.

I pretty much deplore shopping and do lots of clothes shopping online.  A few months ago, I saw a dress that seemed appropriate, ordered it (with the sandals the model was wearing) and received it in the mail within a week.  Surprisingly, the very sparkly, sequined, and glittery dress fit relatively well, and I decided to keep it (and the sandals) for the upcoming event even though I normally am not very fancy.  

2.  Make Sure Dress Fits.

Even though the dress fit well when it arrived, I became increasingly paranoid that it soon would not fit if I kept putting large amounts of heavy whipping cream (left over from making the frosting for my granddaughter’s birthday cupcakes--which I also ate) in my coffee every morning, so on Sunday (three days before writing this), I stopped eating food and didn’t start again until Tuesday afternoon.  I was so hungry by Tuesday night that I ate one of the aforementioned cupcakes--with ice cream.  For some reason, the dress is not much looser.

3.  Research Spanx Online.

Since the whole fasting thing backfired, I seriously looked at all of my “fat-holding-in” options on Amazon instead of just going to my local department store lingerie section to ascertain the advantages of these very tight undergarments.  I was too embarrassed to order them (since the confirmation email goes to my husband who would text me a screenshot of the order with a “Did you order this?”) so I took the more acceptable road of control top panty hose that made big promises: “Built-in Shaper Short tones and flattens the tummy.”

4.  Try out Shaper Shorts with Glitter Dress While Home Alone.

I was determined to make the dress look fantastic even if it meant I had to suck in my gut while wearing the Shaper Shorts, so I carefully pulled them up to my waist and stepped into the full-length glitter dress.  The dress has a zipper from the derriere to the neck, and normally, I could probably finagle this process even though it would require some nimble gymnastic maneuvers.  However, presently, I have a condition called “frozen shoulder” on my left side and my arm does not extend all the way up, nor does it stretch behind my back. Temporarily forgetting my disability, I used my right arm to zip up the dress behind my back as far as I could then I reached over my shoulder with the same arm and pulled on the zipper from the top.  It was not a graceful or easy process, but I was successful in closing the entire zipper.  And I had to admit, the Shaper Shorts were doing their job and I looked darn good in that fancy garment. 

5.  Take Off Glitter Dress Without Passing Out.

After putting my sandals on with the glitter dress and admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror, I decided I needed to switch out the bra I was wearing so the straps wouldn’t show on either side.  So, I reached back with my one good arm and attempted to pull the zipper down as far as possible which ended up not being very far at all.  I slithered around trying to make the dress ride a little higher on my waist so the zipper would be accessible, but the Shaper Shorts were being held in place by little rubber strips around my thighs and they were keeping my muffin top AND the dress firmly in place.  I bent over forward--as if the motion might enable the zipper to unzip--and then I did a little hula hoop movement to see if I could get the zipper to go to the side. Nothing worked.  Since Brent was gone out of town for the night, I envisioned myself preparing for bed and climbing in between the sheets--all while wearing the form-fitting glitter dress--and trying to sleep.  I’m serious, folks, I couldn’t get the dress off!  I thought about calling 911 but then decided that would be bad judgment, so I chose to pray and ask God to release me from my bondage.  God, probably laughing in his own God-like way, soon smiled upon my predicament, and I was able to scoot the dress up ever so slightly on my waist so that my good arm could grasp the end of the zipper pull from the bottom and tug.  Viola!  The zipper was loosed!  As I stepped out of it, and over the massive pile of glitter on the floor below, (Really!  I had to get a broom and dustpan to clean it up!) I sat down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor in my Shaper Shorts and caught my breath. When I was fully oxygenated, I did try the dress on with another bra, but I only clasped the top loop of the dress and did not zip it all the way up.

6.  Get Spray Tan So that Dress is Not the Same Color as Your Skin.

Okay all of you professional spray tanners out there, I had never had a spray tan before and I was a little anxious that I might exit looking like Donald Trump striped and orange-y. However, now it is six hours post-spray and I am looking like I sat at a track meet on a sunny afternoon even though it has rained here for the last 110 days.  When I first entered the tanning place, I interrogated the girl at the front desk and told her in no uncertain manner that I would hold her responsible if I came out freakishly streaky.  She assured me that I would look fantastic and that I should choose the medium blend (or maybe that was coffee) and then “seal” it with the clear coat (or maybe that was the car wash) so it would continually darken for the next several hours.  I dumbly agreed to this experiment and assured her I was over 13 and signed away my rights with my fingerprint and a credit card.  She gave me a teeny tiny package of “toner” (sounds like something for my printer) that she said would make my skin’s Ph be completely balanced--whatever that means--and that I should smear it all over my face and body before I entered “the chamber.”  Then, she led me into room 13 (isn’t that an unlucky number?) and showed me how to put on the little cap so my hair wouldn’t turn colors, how to spread the “neutralizer” on my hands after smearing the “toner” all over so my palms wouldn’t turn orange, and how to contort my body into four different poses so that I could “tan evenly”.  When she walked out and I had disrobed, smeared the lotion on, then taken it off my hands, and put the little cap on my head, I took a deep breath, tried to still my beating heart, and stepped into “the chamber”.  While some unknown voice in the speaker told me to stand in position “1”, I closed my eyes and held my breath until I felt a little shower of moisture hit my freezing cold self.  Then the voice told me to turn around, and I felt the cold little shower again.  When she told me to take position “2”, I got nervous because I couldn’t open my eyes to look at the picture on the side of the chamber for fear I would tan my eyeballs, so I just made myself look like I was impersonating king Tut by standing in a type of Egyptian pose--first to the right--and then after the little shower thing stopped--again to the left.  When the unknown voice loudly announced through the speaker that the tanning portion was done, I breathed in a long inhale of relief because I had survived and was now in the drying portion of the protocol--kind of like when you drive through the dryer vents very slowly at the end of your carwash--except just with your skin and no car.   I have yet to try on the glitter dress again--even though Brent is home to assist with zippering--to see if my skin is now darker than my dress.

7.  Use Crest White Strips to Make Your Coffee-Stained Teeth Whiter and Your Spray Tan Look Darker.

Okay, y’all, I know I am supposed to start the whole white-strip routine about two weeks or so before the event, but I have been incredibly busy and neglected that prep.  So, I started the teeth-whitening process yesterday (4 days before the wedding day) and have been wearing those puppies every chance I get.  If I seem to be slurring my words a bit when you talk to me on the phone, I am either wearing them or I am drinking coffee (between white strip rounds) that seems super hot now because my teeth are so sensitive.  But, my oh my, those pearly whites are going to make my fake tan look even tanner!

8.  Buy Press-On Nails So You Don’t Have to Waste Money On A Real Manicure.

Unlike much of the female population in the US, I do not enjoy getting a manicure.  First of all, I have pretty decent nails and they seem to get brittle and broken when I get them painted at a salon.  Secondly, when I do get my nails done for a special occasion such as a wedding, it lasts only about a day or so before it starts chipping away and I start crying because I spent so much money on the manicure.  So, to solve this unsatisfying conundrum, I checked out the fake nail options at Target and found a package of 35 self-adhesive nails for $4.99! I peeled off the clear backing on each little plastic piece and pressed those shiny french-tipped nails on my actual real-life fingernails!  They looked great and I thought I was a clever genius until I tried to open some Tupperware and found three of them laying on the kitchen counter.  I tried to re-attach them-- to no avail-- and then decided that I felt like a counterfeit wearing plastic fingernails and ripped the rest of them off of my hand disgustedly.  The once-ingenious manicure replacement items are now in the garbage. And I need to make an appointment with a real-life cosmetologist.

9.  Make Hair Appointment at a Place Called Groovy Katz.

Listen, y’all, I have difficult hair and I don’t trust myself to make it look good so I decided to find a salon in the Iowa City area--where the wedding is taking place--so I could have a good hair day when my daughter gets married.  First, I called the salons with names like Finesse, or Buzz, or Zen--all cool and chic-sounding--but found no one with openings on the day I needed them.  Then I called a place called Groovy Katz and they told me that I could get an appointment with them on Saturday morning.  I am hoping that the stylists there are NOT wearing little headbands with cat ears and that I will exit their doors looking purr-fectly stunning.

10. Enjoy the Very Special Day!

Now that I have all the important things done, I can focus on other things, like how to display 45 dozen donuts attractively on a table.  I can also think about how to decorate the very dark and industrial-looking auditorium with lights, eucalyptus and lots of imagination.  And I can think about how bittersweet I will feel as I see my sweet daughter walking down the aisle with her father to marry a wonderful man and begin an exciting new chapter of her life.  I can ruminate on all of these things as my heart anticipates the overwhelming joy that will bubble up as I praise God for all the lavish blessings in my wonderful life!

A Very Long Walk in May, Chapter 10

A chilly supper with one of the two trip crashers

Trip Crashers

After the first full day with Brent and Cole, Tess and I felt like they had commandeered our trip.  We had created our own cadence of existence in the last two weeks, just the two of us; when the guys came on the scene, they decided to run the show--choosing how far to hike, when to stop for meals, and what time to break camp in the mornings--NOT cool. When we arrived at our campsite that day, we found a fire pit surrounded with benches; and on the benches were a package of dried apricots, a can of roasted almonds, a bag of trail mix, and a portion of salami--all unopened! Apparently someone was trying to lighten their pack and decided to leave us some goodies!  We were thrilled and hoped that they weren’t bait left by a crazy person who wanted to poison us (Gino, anyone?).  Because we were hungry, we assumed that the majority of hikers are not murderers, and we tore open a few of the packages.  (We all woke up in the morning, so our assumption was luckily accurate.)  After the snack surprise, we had to climb a little incline to set up our tents for the night.  You would have thought that small hill was Everest by the way the guys complained.  When they finally made it and clumsily set up their tent, and after Jet had tripped (multiple times) over the staking ropes, making it crash down on them, they both climbed in--full of mud--and told us that they couldn’t move. Tess and I choose to ignore their groanings, but we did bring hot drinks to their tent--after we had gone up and down the hill several times--to show that we weren’t completely without compassion. We then proceeded to cook our supper, and the guys eventually joined us on the benches until it was time to go back to our tents to sleep.

Tess and I still shared our tiny vinyl home each night (where we could commiserate about our “guests”), which was good since the guys kept rehearsing how sore they were, how much they stunk, and how much Cole’s very voluminous snack bag weighed.  Every night previous, Tess and I would talk about the day, tick check one another * (the ticks were thick), and drift off to sleep in our cozy sleeping bags--it was the same this night, except that we made a pact to voice our frustrations to the guys; the next day at lunch, we decided to broach the topic of trip-crashing.

We found this shallower, calmer portion of the river after our traumatic traversing

A River Runs Through It

We rose with the sun the following morning--Memorial Day-- because the “guys said” we needed to be on the trail by 7 am.  And by 7:01 pm, I had been passed three times--even by my ally--because everyone wanted to “hike alone.”  This hiking alone thing was not good for me, especially now when I was feeling patronized by the rest of the group.  But hike alone I did, shedding some “no one likes me” tears along the way.  I knew this mantra really wasn’t true, but my feelings were being very loud and convincing, and I was having trouble coming to terms with my inability to hike fast.  The others all seemed driven to cover lots of miles, and I was afraid of losing my partner to “the dark side.” The lunch hour finally arrived, and I knew it would be at least another 30 minutes until I found our agreed upon meeting spot. This meant the guys and Tess would have to wait on the “slow one.”  It didn’t help that the signage for the trail was unclear and that I spent at least 15 minutes hiking in the wrong direction before I figured out my mistake. When I finally caught up with them, they said, “We thought you got lost” in seemingly concerned voices, but they couldn’t have been so concerned because no one thought to check on me before that.  (End of rant)

When we sat down to a lunch of homemade hummus and Triscuits, I wondered if Tess was still my buddy and if she would stick to our agreement.  She did, and we told the guys that we felt like they had hijacked our trip by arriving and taking over. They saw how we could feel that way, and said they hadn’t meant to interfere; from now on, they promised, they would try harder not to be so “in charge.” Sensing that I had a captive audience at this point, I spoke up, trying to keep my voice steady, and said, “And please, please, don’t make me hike all alone.”  They agreed that someone would stay with me, and that when we hiked as a group they would put me in front.  All of this was considerate, but I still felt degraded because I couldn’t keep up even when I gave my best effort.  I was the proverbial “fat kid” on the track team, whom everyone cheers for but no one wants to be.  I decided that this was my lot in life because when one is tired and cold and has been hiking for 15 days in the wilderness, one sometimes makes things bigger than they actually are.

As I led the group along the trail, I noticed a sign that said, “Bridge ahead: washed out. Redirect your route.”  When I showed this to Brent, he said, “I think that’s an old sign. They probably have fixed it by now.” Apparently he had forgotten that it was May in Northern Minnesota and no fixing had been happening in the dead of winter (which lasts until May as Tess and I discovered).  So, we went on, expecting either to find a new bridge, or to be able to cross the river on foot.  When we came to the point where the bridge should have been, there was a platform on either side of the river, but no middle; the bridge had most definitely washed away.  As I stood looking at the frigid thigh-high river raging past me, I said in my scariest voice, “I AM NOT crossing that river!  We have to find another way!”  But, just as on other backpacking trips where I have refused to go any further, I ended up being convinced to persevere through my panicked hyperventilation, because it would take “too much extra time” to go around.  This argument never is very convincing for me since we are hiking and have nothing else on our agenda.  So, there I was, timidly stepping into the freezing river from one slippery rock to another, as the rapids raced past me.  Brent had stationed himself in the middle, where the water was up to his knees, so I knew it would be higher on me. He said, “it’s not that bad, just go slowly and I will help you across.” Again, the kids both passed me like it was no big deal to cross a running river with a 30 pound pack, and they stood on the other shore cheering for the fat kid.  Since I had the dog, I held his leash tightly and encouraged him to join me in the water.  Being a smart dog, he thought it a very bad idea and firmly stationed himself in the dry brush alongside the riverbed. I gave Brent the leash and he tugged Jet into the river, but having no footing, the dog slipped and started being pulled down the rapids.  I screamed, the dog cried out, and I was sure he was a goner.  Brent lunged over and grabbed him by the collar and gingerly walked him to the other shore where the kids were watching and waiting. I was still standing just a few feet from the near shore and I had one of those “I will have to stand here forever because I can’t move” moments. So, willing myself onward, I thought of Hugh Glass in the movie “The Revenant” who pulled himself miles across the ice after being partially eaten by a bear, and I slowly made it to the far shore where my family was waiting for me.  The river crossing experience didn’t really improve my mood much, nor did it make me very happy with our new hiking partners.  

We still hiked as a group after this, but I was feeling pretty spent as we trudged, completely soaked, through the now-very-familiar soul-sucking mud.  Since our next stop was to be Gooseberry Falls State Park, I tried to convince the other family members that it would be a good time to rent a tent site and call it a (traumatic) day. They told me I would feel better about everything when we stopped there for a rest and a snack.  I was pretty sure they were wrong.

Gooseberry Falls Fallout

Gooseberry Falls is apparently very popular on Memorial Day and the huge visitors center was teaming with people.  Some of these people brought their dogs, and Jet was very happy to see them.  Other people brought their cats on leashes. I am not kidding.  And Jet was even happier to see them.  

After we snacked and shivered and watched the interesting assortment of people that had commenced upon that site, I went to the information desk to see if they had any tent spots open for the night--just in case.  They did.

When I mentioned this “stopping for the day” idea to the others, it was not well received.  It was still fairly early in the day, they said, and if we hiked a little longer--maybe only 2 or 3 more hours!--we might have a chance of making up some mileage so we could actually hike into Duluth as planned.  I really didn’t care about making it into Duluth, knowing that our friend, Harriet, would gladly rescue us.  Obviously, at this point, I was thinking only of myself, and I pulled the “You guys don’t care about me” card. They glumly relented, and we paid the fee for a tent pad.  While walking to the camping spot, however, we all got in a big argument because we had taken the wrong path and traveled the opposite way, and “with all that walking, we could have been a long ways down the trail.”  So much for peace.  After our tents were staked, though, and the promise of a hot shower loomed, spirits lifted and we decided to be nice to each other.  We ate our supper, found a site with a little wifi available and got a message from Shay who was in China on a mission trip.  She said she could talk to us on Skype if we could find adequate Internet.  We walked to a sort of clubhouse and were able to see her on the screen of one of our phones!  What a gift that was to us after such a hard and divisive day!  It was the first time I had spoken to her since she left the states over two weeks earlier.  Seeing her, and hearing my family laugh together, was balm to my tired and worn spirit.  

Monday, May 29th, 2018  Day 15.  We are staying in a campsite at Gooseberry Falls State Park tonight. Everyone else wanted to go farther, but I was exhausted so we stopped here. A hot shower is always a welcome treat. Lots of mud and a scary river crossing today. I am continually amazed that I can't keep pace with all of them and it is so frustrating to me that I am so slow. I like it when they hike with me, but hate it when they put me in front because I know I am slowing them down. They are all so driven to cover lots of miles. Why? I am giving it my full effort but still, they outpace me.I am praying for your help with a good attitude, God. Clear my head.

* One morning, before we got out of our tent, I pulled out a tiny mirror that I used occasionally to get a bug out of my eye or to see how I had aged on our trip thus far.  Normally, we would go days without seeing ourselves--which made us discuss how differently people thought of themselves--and how much less self-focused they most probably were--when mirrors weren’t yet common.  This time, when viewing my face in the mirror, I noticed a large tick on my right lower cheek.  I pulled it off and threw it outside.  I asked Tess why she hadn’t removed it during our many tick check appointments, and she said, “ I just thought you had a big mole that I had never noticed before.”   

'Member that Time?

'Member that time when Tess decided that she and her siblings, her cousin, and her friend should play “Pioneers” on the hottest day of the summer?  And remember how they had to stay outside all day because air conditioning wasn’t a thing in the olden days and how they had to sit in the shade on quilts and do things like knit or watch clouds because the swing set had plastic swings and plastic hadn’t been invented in pioneer times?  And how they wore heavy old dresses and overalls to look authentic?

And member how they made gingerbread cookies the night before because that was something that real olden days people ate and how they tried to cook biscuits on a stone slab over the open fire in the 90 degree morning air?  And how the neighbor’s dog ate all the cookies and the biscuits just stayed soupy even though the fire was as hot as Hades?  Member that? 

And then remember how they all got sick from the humidity and the sun and the fire and all the hotness and how they finally came inside and sat on cold leather couches and ate fruit snacks and watched “Land Before Time” and fell asleep? 

Yeah, well that was the last time they played Pioneer Days and they decided that living like Laura Ingalls Wilder really wasn’t very fun and that being an olden days person was very boring.  And hot.

Rest Time

I have not been resting lately.

I have been sleeping well at night, don’t get me wrong, in fact, I sleep more when I am stressed; I just haven’t been resting during my waking hours. 

And by resting, I don’t mean napping.

I mean resting in God’s Providence. Which is why I have been on my knees several times over the last few weeks, begging God to help me to be confident in His plans.  His perfect plans.

You see, my daughters, ages 19 and 21, have been hiking the Appalachian Trail ALL SUMMER LONG by themselves.  Did you get that?  BY THEMSELVES—meaning that they are on the trail ALONE.  Without a real adult who has a history of making good and wise choices.  And oh, has it been LONG (for me, and probably for them, but in a more physical way, I would guess).  If you aren’t familiar with the Appalachian Trail, it is a hiking trail along the eastern US that extends from Georgia to Maine, spanning 2,200 miles.  Because of time limitations, my girls are only completing the northern half of the trail (1,100 miles!). They started in Pennsylvania.

And I haven’t seen them since the third week in May.

And they are backpacking everyday.

And sleeping in a tent or AT trail shelters every night. In the wilderness.

With people they don’t know.  And more disturbingly, people I don’t know.

They have climbed mountains and traversed streams and walked around rattlesnakes, of which they said, “We think it was dead”.  They know me too well.

And I have been concerned about them on the mountains and in the streams and freaking out nervous when they don’t have cell service for three days straight, and not at all excited when they finally do get service and they call and happily tell me they just saw a black bear and two bear cubs, “But the bears just ran into the forest” they said.  “And they were really cute.”  And this of course calmed me. Because everyone knows that cute bears are not dangerous.

I am so worried that they might get sick or get kidnapped (they told me they hitchhiked but that it was only a few times and they were very careful to only get in the car with people who looked nice.  They said if the driver looked creepy, they were just going to act like they needed to answer their phone and wave them on.  “Don’t worry” they said, “We’ll be fine”) or attacked or lost.

I have made myself sick with worst-case scenarios that I have played and replayed in my head.  I have written news articles in my imagination about “those two poor girls from Iowa”.  I have watched them fall from sheer cliffs and into rapids in my unnerving daydreams.  I have imagined them scared and lonely and homesick.

But you know what?  None of these things has happened.  Not that it couldn’t still.  But it hasn’t, and I have spent precious time stewing when they have been having the adventure of a lifetime.

And you know what else?  They aren’t scared.  They are joyful. And they aren’t lonely.  They are building life-long friendships with other hikers they have met.  And they aren’t homesick because the trail has become their home after 11 weeks.  They are simply hiking and enjoying God’s beautiful creation and the simplicity of their present situation.  And they have learning about God’s character and His provision.

Why haven’t I been doing that in these last 11 weeks?  Why have I doubted that God is in control?  And even if I have been aware of His control, why have I doubted His goodness?  Why do I see myself as a better judge, a better guardian, a better story-writer of my daughter’s lives?  Why do I put more confidence in a cell phone call or a satellite tracker or a photo of my smiling girls on Facebook?  Why is it so very hard for me to trust that “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him” even as I continually repeat that verse to myself?

I am not resting because I am putting my hope in everything BUT God.  I tell God I want to trust Him, that I don’t want to feel fearful, that I want to freak out less, and I do trust…for a minute.  Then, I am back on my knees again, with tears in my eyes, wracked with fear.  I am so scared that something is going to happen to my babies.  So scared. So scared, that I don’t know what to do with the feelings.  I SO want to be in control.

But I’m not.

And that’s good.  Because God really is in control.  And His plans really are good.  And He really does love my daughters.  Even more than I do, if that is possible.  And He is watching out for them.  He has protected them from harm thus far.  But the truth is, if they were to be hurt or lost or worse, God would still be in control and I need to remember eternity; I know my daughters are eternally secure.  I know they trust in a loving Savior.  I know that nothing can remove them from God’s hands.  I must repeat these truths to myself.  I must value eternity more than I value my present comfort. "For I consider the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that will be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18)

 All of my my present and future hope needs to be in God, who created the universe with His voice; who formed these precious children within my womb.  I must trust in God’s undeniable faithfulness and his promises to all of his children.  I must choose to believe that His way is the right way… even if it feels really uncomfortable to me.

So, today during my sunrise walk, I got down on my knees in the dewy grass and I told God the day was His and that He could keep writing the story of my daughter’s lives. I’m sure He appreciated my permission. 

And guess what? I felt peace. I felt trust. I felt free.

As a backpacker myself, I know how good it feels when the hike is done and the heavy pack is finally removed—you feel almost as if you could fly. 

So, with y’all as my witnesses, I am removing my burden of fear today and laying it at the feet of Jesus.  

And it feels so good to lay it down—almost as if I could fly. 

There is freedom in surrender.

There is joy in trust.

There is rest in dependence on Jesus.

But I will still be very glad when they're home.  I'm just like that.  And God is just like He is: always faithful; always good; always teaching; always so patient with my unbelief.

“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” Psalm 91:1

“The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers him”

Psalm 34:7