to the one who's missing out

I said good-bye to my husband and son as they headed out to a birthday party. One that I was planning on going to, but ended up waving good-bye from the driveway while wiping my tears instead.

Since my health adventure began, my husband has been the designated (and delighted) parent to accompany our son to friends’ birthday parties because although I have been blessed with tremendous healing, the amount of energy required to pack up {my special diet} food “to go” almost always far surpasses my limited stamina supply. But this was the first time in the past two years when I felt up to the task!

As a bonus, it was at a local kids’ museum that our son loves, and there was going to be designated free play time to wander and explore, so it was a double win: Not only would we get to celebrate with a sweet classmate, we’d get to have a little family fun, too! Even simple outings are a rare occasion for our family (again, just because my food prep is so daunting), so the fact that I felt up to it was a huge deal, and we were all really looking forward to the special afternoon.

I started the day feeling fine, and started to pack up the “to go” bag around lunchtime. And about ¾ of the way through, I started to run out of steam. My husband arrived home around that time and began to help out, as always. And so I willingly passed the baton so that I could sit, catch my breath, and hope for a second wind. A quick one!

As departure time came close at hand, reality started to set in. And I didn’t like it. We started to explain to our son that I might not be able to join them. (The “might” part still holding out hope for some stamina to kick in.) He was gently pleading with me to go, sweetly explaining that it wouldn't be as loud as some of the other party venues, that it's okay if I just sit the whole time, etc. He just wanted me to be there . . . . and so did I.

I seriously contemplated going and just being a bump on a log per se. I know that would have been okay. But I started to realize that simply the going and the being would be too draining for me with how I was feeling. Which is hard to reconcile when I’ve HAD that stamina recently – so recently I could reach out and touch it. And hard to know how to explain all that to our son.

As he and my husband grabbed the birthday gift off the kitchen counter and settled into the car, I followed them out to say good-bye. And with his window down, my son again tenderly expressed how deeply he wanted me to be a part of the experience. I told him that I whole-heartedly shared in his disappointment, and waved good-bye while wiping tears as they drove off.

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That wasn’t the first time I’ve felt like I was watching life from the sidelines. A bystander uninvolved, disconnected from life’s current. And as I was crafting this post in my head, I was struggling to know what truth to share with you that would help calm your aching heart. Because I know many of you have been there. You know how painful it is to not be able to DO, and that it’s an altogether deeper level of pain to not even be able to BE, especially with the ones you love most. So I wanted to encourage you to draw your eyes toward Jesus in the middle of the missing out, but I was struggling to find the one thing to share with you, a truth that you could hang onto.

And then, I saw this.

A masterpiece of beauty that God had painted outside my window after evening rain.

After sharing it with our Facebook community, I sent it to Lily. And as she took in the beauty of His canvas in the sky, she asked me:

“What do you hear Him saying as you gaze?”

I knew immediately that the timing of her question was orchestrated by God because just earlier that day, I’d read a post that challenged me toward that very thinking. Holly Gerth was sharing that she’s such a word person {as am I}, and that she tends to think that messages always need words {as do I}, but that she's wanting to hear God’s messages in His beauty around her:

“I’ve realized it’s not so much about what I’m seeing but about what it’s saying . . .”

After Lily posed the question, I started to think out loud with her. I said that come to think of it, the timing was God's . . . (Isn't it always?) . . . He had blessed me with a delightfully-encouraging moment just a little while prior, and so it was as if those colors amidst the dark shadows – those colors that broke through – were God reminding me that all is not dark.It was as if He were saying:
I am here.
I am in it.
And here's a gulp of refreshment to remind you.

And just to make sure I received His Hand-delivered care package for my soul, the Lord gave the same message to Lily for me. When she initially asked what I heard Him saying as I gazed, she also pondered what He might be saying to me. And before I started to think aloud with her, she sensed that He was wanting to tell me:

I am HERE.
I am PRESENT – with YOU.
And that He was wrapping Himself around me with those beautiful colors of accepting, comforting warmth.

Once again, tears streamed down my cheeks. But this time, they were tears of worship, not of loss.

And so, my friend, this is the comfort He offers you in those moments when you feel like life has left you behind:

He offers you Himself.

Every day, God surrounds you and I with stunning reminders that He is with us. Wordless gentleness to calm your aching soul.

Lift your head, my friend, and look for His vibrant colors of comfort in the dark shadows of the storm.
Tune your ears to listen for His still, small voice amidst the thunder that shakes your foundation.
Be still.
And know that He is God.
"For those who fear him lack nothing."
(Ps. 34:9)

Martin Luther once said,
“God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone, but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars.”

Our Father is perpetually expressing the reality of His nearness to you, my friend. He pours out His beauty to draw your soul even closer to Him, to remind you that He is near.

Look around you.
What do you hear Him saying as you gaze? . . .

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