Dear oldest child – It’s true. Motherhood is a tumultuous journey. I am learning how to navigate these waters of motherhood just as you are learning to navigate life’s storms and struggles. First steps don’t come without first falls so please, be patient with me. Remember that even though I sailed these same seas as a child, this is my first time as a parent and it’s a big ship to sail. I make mistakes and I get off course. You likely feel the frustration of my inexperience, and envy your younger siblings who will navigate these same waters in your wake. They will benefit from the mistakes I make on this first voyage, but you and I will always have these firsts, as mother and daughter. But don’t think their trips will be any smoother – I seem to be a slow learner!

So here I am, here we all are, in the midst of a pandemic. These are unusual times. I feel it. As I go about my day, doing the mundane tasks of laundry and lunches, I feel it. It feels different, everything feels different. And it isn’t just that the kids are home when they would normally be in school, or that I grocery shop for 2 weeks rather than 2 days, or that we don’t leave the house for gatherings with friends, or that the wide world of sports has come to a screeching halt. Yes, all of these things feel different, but there is something more. There is an unsettling, an uneasiness, that seeps into my very soul. Sometimes I feel it more strongly than others, but it’s always lingering there. I think it is the uncertainty. There is just so much unknown. Like I said, these are unusual times. But, when I really look at the beast of uncertainty, I recognize it. Because even though it seems so large and ominous right now, it has been there all along. I have faced it before and I’m not the only one.

On any given day, of any given week, there are husbands that kiss wives good bye for the last time, there are mothers who send children off to school for the last time. We have faced it in unforeseen illness and accidents. So yes, I have faced uncertainty before, we all have, and it’s always there, so why does it feel so large, so strong, in these times? It seems to me that our current circumstances have pulled off the blanket of false security with which I am usually covered. You know the one, the perception of control. And now, in the midst of this pandemic, I recognize it. I recognize it fully. I see it completely, no blanket hiding it or hiding me. I am now completely exposed to the full force of uncertainty with numbers and news changing daily. I have no idea how many people will be infected and how fast. I have no idea what the consequences will be personally, locally or globally. Experts keep trying to predict, but there are too many moving parts, too many variables. The simple truth is that only time will tell and we just have to wait.

I am not very good at waiting. I am used to fast service and next day delivery, instant messaging and Netflix. This is the society in which we live. It’s fast and it’s convenient, but now I have to wait. I waited for the news of first cases in our country, then our state, then our community. I waited for closures, cancellations and new mandates. The waiting has just begun. I will keep waiting until we get the first signs that we have seen the peak and then the fall (I hope), but I just don’t know when that news will come. So as I find myself face to face with this beast of uncertainty, no longer shielded by my blanket of false security (you know the one, the perception of control), I am picking up pennies. I am not picking up pennies for any financial purpose or gain, but as a reminder. Inscribed on every penny, are four little words, “In God We Trust.” These are words I can cling to, because in these uncertain times (and all the times before), God is in control. So, in the midst of all this uncertainty, I’m picking up pennies.

There are couples in love, 
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are singles feeling unloved,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are married people, here together,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are married people, here alone,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people who laughed on the drive,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people who cried on the drive,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people who feel connected,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people who feel isolated,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are parents of pastors,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are parents of prodigals,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people feeling strong in the faith, 
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people full of doubt,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people full of hope,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

There are people who have lost hope,
Sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

So remember, when you're sitting in this church, on this Sunday,
you never know who else is sitting in this church, on this Sunday.

I recently began my annual read of Six Hours One Friday, by Max Lucado. For the last few years, it has served as a reminder for me, a reminder of the sacrifice made by Christ, a reminder of those hours spent on the cross, one Friday, on a hill in Calvary. This year, this Palm Sunday, I am reflecting on the week before the crucifixion. Jesus entered Jerusalem as a KING! “Hosanna to the Son of David!” the crowds shouted, laying down their cloaks to provide a Red Carpet welcome to the KING! But, Jesus knew what was coming and He knew it was coming soon. I can’t help but wonder how He felt at that moment, knowing those same voices that were shouting “Hosanna” today, would be shouting, “Crucify,” tomorrow?

I am a runner, since the age of 12, a runner.  
First, it was for sport and competition,
but soon it became something more, so much more.
And 3 decades later, it is still so much more.
There is a peace that comes from running.
While running, it is just me.
Only my feet pounding, my legs pumping, my lungs breathing,
my heart beating.
I am the machine, the means by which I travel.
I am these legs that carry me for miles.
I am these lungs that heave the heavy breaths.
I am this heart that beats, beats, beats...

He is the whisper in the wind.

He is THUNDER.

He is the cool breeze before the storm.

He is the rainbow after the rain.

He is pure joy, bringing giddiness and glee.

He is quiet comfort, bringing contentment and peace.

He is both infinitely big and infinitely small.

He is above all things and in all things.

He is awe and wonder to the brink of fear.

He is love and grace to the brink of heaven.

He is simultaneously the most powerful and the gentlest of spirits.

He is the alpha and the omega.

He is the beginning and the end.

He is GOD.

There is a Monster in this House!

It’s scary, but it’s true, and when she’ll come, you have no clue.

But when she rears her ugly head, you’ll run and hide beneath your bed.

You’ll be as quiet as a mouse, you’ll whisper, “There’s a Monster in This House!”

But hiding does not keep you safe, she knows your every hiding place!

You see her when you comb your hair, she’s even sitting in your chair!

She glares at you and bares her teeth, all you hope for is relief.

You raise your voice, you stomp your feet, sometimes you just refuse to eat!

You bike, you run, you exercise, but monsters don’t care about your size.

You bang your head against the wall, but that just doesn’t help at all.

She follows you from here to there, that PESKY MONSTER’S EVERYWHERE!

You close your eyes and say a prayer, but when you’re done, she’s standing there!

Where do you go? What do you do? There’s NO ESCAPE! The Monster’s YOU!

Anybody else feel like the Monster in the House?

I will kiss you good night and kiss you good bye, while I still can.  I know the day will come when you ask me not to, especially in front of the school or in front of your friends. I will still sneak into your room to kiss your cheek while you sleep.

I will tuck you in tight and say bedtimes prayers, while I still can.  I know the day will come when you will turn off your own light and say your own prayers. I will still pray to be the mother you need me to be.

I will give piggy back rides and carry you off to bed, while I still can.  I know the day will come when you have grown too big or I have grown too weak. I will still want to then.

I will sit through sports practices and play catch in the back yard, while I still can. I know the day will come when you drive yourself to practice and no longer want to play ball with your mom. I will still be your biggest fan.

I will put candles in pancakes, cupcakes and donuts, while I still can. I know the day will come when you will think you are too old for birthday parties and birthday breakfasts. I will still celebrate the gift of being your mom.

I will tell you and show you, I love you, again and again and again, while I still can. I know the day will come when you will make a mistake you are reluctant to tell me about, but don’t worry, son. I will still…no matter what…I will still.