Like play-doh

It's said that the sense of smell is one of our greatest memory triggers. I remember Nanny when I smell her laundry detergent on a vintage sheet that has been tucked away for years. Lavender hand soap reminds me of the first time I visited Brad's parents' home as his brand-new girlfriend. I hear the laughs of my dorm-mates when I encounter the same scent that lingered in those halls. Crackling wood fires bring to mind memories of childhood campfires in the woods behind my parents' home, and cookouts at the church in the fall. Even the smell of dead flies (ha!) reminds me of the fly-strewn practice room that houses my favorite piano at college.

Touch and texture remind me of things, too. Play-doh, that smooth to crumbly feeling that smells just like...play-doh? You know! And the plastic tub. The dough that's molded over and over and shaped and stretched and cut and extruded and smooshed back into the container with three different colors mixed in for another day. (Happy run-on sentence to you. You're welcome.)

Lately, I feel like play-doh. Familiar, soft, playful. Sometimes a little crumbly. Not perfect. Molded again and again and definitely not what I used to be. Still good, but not what I used to be. And my heart is so much softer than the first day I let God use me, the first time I let him have control of my life.

Life is full of beautiful blessings. Days that turn out perfectly, a loving family, a comfortable home, a beautiful, boisterous baby boy. But there is so much pain, too. I can't share all my pain here, yet, maybe never, but know that if you're hurting, I will cry with you.

There is a family in Buffalo, NY whose preschooler, Ben, has been diagnosed with a tumor, a cancer that has given him mere weeks to live. Ben is a twin. And the middle child in a perfect little family. They love God. They believe, they trust. But the end of Ben's life appears to be imminent. I know that God can redeem this situation somehow, but it seems that there will be tears. And mourning. And grief. And many whys with no answers that satisfy. His mother keeps saying "but God." But God could intervene.

He has, and He will. God is sovereign. He gives generously, and takes away. We may never know why on this side of eternity, but we can trust Him because He loves us.

Even so, I'm crying for little Ben and his family tonight. I'm crying because my heart resonates with the pain of loss, and of aching for ones I've loved. Because I know the peace that passes understanding, and his name is Jesus. He is the only hope for our hurting souls, and the only answer to the death, destruction, and pain in this world. He is the only one, who by his own strength overcame the grave, and who gives us a future and a hope in heaven. He has made the way for us to become children of God, and to live with Him through eternity.

I'm taking comfort in that tonight. Even though I feel like I'm crumbling. Bits of me smashed up with other bits that I didn't think belonged. But I'll be rolled out and shaped and formed each day of my life and one day, become exactly what my Father planned for me all along. The pain, the sorrow, the joys, the blessings, the longings, the dreams fulfilled - they will all be worth it. They will come together as part of His glorious plan and I will be perfectly content, rejoicing in Him.

Come, Lord Jesus, come!

Joshua's baby dedication

Joshua was dedicated in our church today! That means that we, as his parents, promised to live our lives in a way that helps him to see the difference that Jesus makes to us, and that we'll consistently teach him about Jesus. It also means that our church family promised to help us as we walk this journey as parents, and as Joshua grows up.

Here is the letter I wrote for Joshua to read someday, when he's old enough to understand:

5/19/13, 5 months and two weeks

Dear Joshua,

This morning was your dedication to the Lord! We are so thankful for you, our son. We brought you to the 9:00am service at Grace Road Church in Rochester, where we’ve been attending for the past year. You always seem to love the music and the many faces we see each time. Your Grandma and Grandpa Burr and your Nana and Grandpa Landin were able to be there, and they were so excited to see you! 

You snuggled with Grandma Burr for much of the service, and you enjoyed hanging out with Grandpa Landin and Nana when you woke up. Pastor Kevin preached from Mark 12:35-44, and reminded us that following Jesus means to lay down our whole lives and to trust his leadership. You wore an adorable outfit that Nana Landin made for you, complete with a cute little hat. 

 

You were so well behaved, smiling and cooing as we arrived, falling asleep during the sermon (in Grandma Burr’s arms), and waking up happily, just in time for your dedication and the final songs. 

 

We sang “How Great Thou Art,” “All the Poor and Powerless,” “Oh, Our Lord,” (both by the group All Sons and Daughters) and “In Christ Alone.” (Getty & Townend) We had delicious cake after church, too! Your Daddy read this in church this morning as we dedicated you:

"Since we found out about you, we've prayed that God would make you a strong leader for his kingdom, like your biblical namesake. We pray that you'll always follow God's leading and trust Him completely. We love your frequent smiles and your boundless energy; may you use both to encourage and strengthen those in need. 

We hope that you'll see in us not just how much we love you, but that we love Jesus. We pray that as we teach and guide you that we will give you grace, just as we have been given boundless grace through Christ Jesus. May our words and actions clearly show you how to live for Him. 

We hope that our marriage displays love, faithfulness, forgiveness and integrity as we seek to honor God with our commitment to each other and to our family. "

We love you, baby Joshua!