When the Generation Gap isn't so Big

She sits in the glider rocker by the Christmas tree. I sit across from her, firmly holding down my spot of floor. Around us sit three generations, some mine growing older, most younger growing up. Voices chatter around us despite the laps filled with plates laden with food.

But I hear nothing...only the words she doesn't speak.

The matriarch of the family for years now, she has buried three younger brothers. The middle one is my dad. The oldest and youngest a year apart, not enough years ago, and I see it. I feel it. Despite the full house, it is painfully empty.

"Aunt Bobbie," I call through the hubbub, "thank you for letting us invade your house again."

Her eyes twinkle with a sincere smile. "Oh, Sis, I'm glad to. We like having everybody here."

"But the ones who aren't here are hard."

The voices go instantly quiet, and somehow the room disappears, and it is the two of us...a generation apart...in the same place.

I know all too well the ones who are here are a joy. The ones who aren't here...are hard.

She nods. "Yes. I was just thinking about..."

And she talks, and I listen.

And the silence lets us.

She tells me about things she misses and plans they had. Her voice trails, and I fight the mist blurring her and say simply, "And it wasn't supposed to be like this."

She looks at me. Found. And I force a smile.

"No, Sis, it wasn't supposed to be like this."

"And some moments are just really hard." I say for us both.

"Yes, some moments are really hard."

"I had a day this week when I felt like I cried all day." I invite her in...into my day...to share her day...to let our days and tears merge...to take her hand from across the room...from across the generation gap.

We really are not that far apart in this same place together.

She nods, and her eyes wander thoughtfully. "Yeah, I had a day like that this week. I don't remember what day it was, but I cried a lot, too."

"Some days are like that."

She breathes in deep and looks down and away, memories tender. "Yeah, some days are."

"I understand," I say softer so the crack in my voice isn't obvious.

Her eyes look into mine again...into me again..."I know you do, Sis. I know you do."

And there is no gap...just two women in this place of being thankful for what is...missing what is not...emotionally fumbling in the tension between the two...comforted to be here...together.

Gift of Presence

The holidays are coming, and this year, they are not being greeted with the usual excitement. This year the anticipation has been replaced by dread.

When holidays are about family get-togethers, seeing others open the gifts you gave and watching their faces beam with joy, laughing together, and enjoying everybody, when those people are gone, it is hard. Traditions are hard when the traditional people aren't there to enjoy them with you. It could be parents, spouse, children, or friends.

When lives change big, big holes are created where the treasures used to be.

In our home, we are very traditional. We have a huge tree, five-foot diameter at the base, and eight feet tall. We bought it a few years ago to hold all our ornaments. Our ornaments are ones we've been collecting since 1988. The first Christmas Rob and I dated, we bought an ornament and had it personalized with both our names. Every Christmas after that we either bought an ornament with our names or we each bought an ornament. Then we had our four-legged children because we weren't planning to have two-legged ones, and they each got an ornament. Then Anna got her ornament. Then Robert got his ornament. It took time, but we eventually removed all ornaments that were not personal either in name of memory. All we have are named ornaments or ornaments with stories. It is pretty neat actually. Every year we put up the ornaments and tell the stories and laugh all over again.

Except this year the stories are a bit more painful than funny, and the personal ornaments that brought such great joy only magnify the empty place of the person not here to put up his ornament...either here with us or at his house with the kids.

My parents are gone. There is no family get together.

All the things we loved--the PEOPLE--we loved aren't here, and the hole is huge.

So, we held a meeting.

The very real option of ditching the holidays and going on a trip was put on the table. The option to not up a tree was laid out there, too. The option to scratch what we had always done and start all over was dropped into the mix.

"Like what?"

"Like what what?"

"Like what like we've never done?"

"Like anything we want to do."

Quiet.

"I like the tree," I ventured. "I like to turn on the lights, listen to quiet music, and just be."

Two heads nod.

"But I can't put up the personal ornaments this year." My voice cracks without permission.

Two heads nod.

"We can get new ornaments," I suggest.

Two bodies come to attention.

"Really? We can do that?"

"Really. We can do that."

Today we did.

We went tropical with lime green, Caribbean blue, and hot pink. Streamers and viney looking straight ornaments in all colors, fancy pink butterflies, lime dragon flies, and blue flowers. It is our Christmas Carnival tree. A million miles from the stoic somber trees we usually see. None of the Christmas decorum for us. No, sirree. We are all about celebration...in the brightest sense of the word.

We shopped for our unit in Afghanistan while we were at it. Tomorrow we bake cookies and put a box of homemade, "You rock. Thank you for all you do!" in the mail.

And then...

I don't know.

But I have a feeling it will include laughter, a lot of cookies, some Kleenex, and Latin rhythms.

I wish I knew a way to make it better. I wish I knew a way to take away the ache. I wish...

But this is what I know. We won't always ache. We won't always feel like there is a hole...unless we choose to. We won't always...wish.

One day we will enjoy the new treasures, be comfortable in the new traditions, laugh to new jokes. One day the room won't be lit by the stings on the trees but the faces around us. One day we will see through the veil to rejoice in the lives that have filled our lives.

I already see them.

I don't know how God is incorporating them yet, but I see faces...all around me. I feel the new lives, the warmth of the knitting. It is good. It is very good.

And I choose to focus on THOSE gifts, the gifts of the present, the gifts of presence.

Do they "fix" things? No. They don't replace the loved ones we lost. But if we are going to be here, I sure am thankful for the gift of their presence.

I've Been Blessed Deep

I have been blessed with some amazing...AMAZING...friends, family, and friends who look like family. Steven Sauke is one of my little brothers by a different mother. He has blessed me immensely with words of encouragement, the most creative hugs I've ever seen, and his deep, faithful love. Today he blessed me with a blog. Please drop by his place to read the blog and see the blessing.

"Have You Considered my Servant Jerri?"

Holy Laundry, Batman!

So many of us want to do great things,

but sometimes the greatest thing we can do is what needs to be done.

My beautiful friend Amelia sometimes struggles with feeling like enough, wanting to be holy, wanting to do something important...but is stuck doing laundry. But as she shares in her blog "Laundry for Life", sometimes doing laundry is holy enough.

A Focused Mission

Per my fabulous time with the Lord this morning: As usual, I asked who He wanted to talk about. That was a good time.

Then I asked Him what He wanted to speak forth and create in our lives. I loved His answer. He said, "It's time to focus on the children," and then true to His nature, He gave me the directions. They do not include blog/FB/computer time.

So...

I will be disappearing for a time. I'm thinking a few weeks, but only He knows. If I do well, maybe faster. If I'm a slacker, it'll be longer. In either case, He has a plan for my children, and He doesn't have patience for parents who are negligent to their duties, and I don't want to be.

So, my beloved ones, be blessed! God is for you, and His heart's desire is to give you more than you can imagine, even the peace and place of belonging you seek. Don't lose heart. Know He has a plan, and His love is ever for you.

Until...

Resurrection, part 2

(Resurrection, part 1)

For years my goal had been to see my marriage healed and made whole. Now, I seemed to be adrift with no clear direction. I had no idea what I was supposed to do or what I was working toward.

I do.

“Lord, what is the desire of my heart?”

That is when I saw it.

Hanging down, snagged in the fork of a limb, a result of last night’s storms. The broken end close to the children’s swing set. A rather long limb big enough to do a lot of harm to any body, most certainly a child’s body.

Broken limbs. I sighed deep. A common occurrence in Texas in the spring. Not one I enjoyed, especially not now when I had to figure out how to get them to the ground.

Were there more?

I stood and turned to see the top of the house. Sure enough. Lying on the garage roof just hanging onto the electric wire a nice size one, too large to push off with the rake like I had last week’s sacrifice.

God, I don’t want to have to call anyone for help. Really? Was this necessary?

I studied the limb and remembered one of my favorite things: PVC pipe. I went to my extensive collection of pipe, found a long piece, attached a T-joint to the end, and put two short pieces on either side. I put the “T” end of the pipe against the limb and pushed.

The limb leaned, resisted, and suddenly flopped backward off the line. At least I wasn’t going to be a crispy critter today. How to get it down though?

Again, I studied the limb. What if I could…?

I shimmied the T into a fork of the limb, twisted it slightly, pulled gently…

Snagged.

Excellent. Just what I wanted.

Then I walked far from the wire, pulled the limb toward me, and ran when it fell off the house. One limb down. One to go.

Feeling proud of myself, I took my ingenious T pipe, put it against the bottom of the hanging limb, and pushed. The limb obviously had not been well advised because instead of popping up and falling out of the fork, it sort of grunted at me and didn’t budge.

Maybe I hadn’t pushed it far enough. I added to my length of pipe and pushed again. The limb still did not budge.

I stepped back and studied. I saw where a broken limb created a fork. Aha! I’ll snag that just like I did the other one, give a pull, and run when the limb tumbles down.

The snag was easy. The tug was easy. The top section of the pipe left hanging attached to the limb was unexpected.

I tried different angles, different pipe sizes, different everything I could think of. The limb did not budge.

Finally, I sat down.

I had spent who knows how long working on those limbs, and I hadn’t even had a chance to hear God, which is why I was out there anyway. And now, I had to cut up the limb from the house and still had to figure out how to get the limb out of the tree, and I didn’t want to call anyone because although I know God says He blesses people who take care of widows and orphans, I don’t want people getting blessed on my account.

Actually, that isn’t true. I don’t want to bother people or be a burden, and it’s only a limb for crying out loud.

A limb I couldn’t get down.

The rocker creak. I stared at the limb.

“God, really? Was this necessary today? What are You doing anyway?”

“Giving you the desires of your heart.”

I looked at the limb on the ground, and in an instant, I was over three decades away in a wooded area, my hands on the handle of a crosscut saw, my dad’s on the other handle. We were sawing up a tree for winter firewood. I wasn’t even in school yet, but Dad patiently taught me how to pull the saw, not push it, and when he carried big pieces of wood, I carried small ones. We spent many Saturday afternoons in the early fall felling trees, cutting them into woodstove size chunks, and splitting those with an axe.

It was one of my favorite things as a child. Dad and I spent time together, talked…as much as a preschooler and adult can, and were just there…together. I learned about teamwork and found out I could move big trees if they were cut into small enough pieces, and sometimes pieces were just too big for me, and Dad took care of those.

In another instant, I was back at the limb on the ground, the smell of cut wood floated around me, and the shwhoosh of a bow saw grinding its way through the flesh of the limb followed by the thwip of the back-pull kept my attention. Only this time, I wasn’t looking at my dad. I was looking at my daughter. A young lady in the becoming whose hands have never known a blister, much less a callous, with gloves on her hands and her hair pulled back into a ponytail, pushed and pulled  the saw in her grip, buckled the blade, and tried again. This time the coaching voice was mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw my son, tying another bundle tight, spool of twine and scissors at his feet.

I smile with pride.

They are learning…

…That hard work won’t kill, how to work as a team, that big things cut into small parts are manageable.

And we talk. We blurt out our frustrations. Buckled saw blades really can jerk the body hard. Limbs are not the most cooperative things ever. It’s not as hard as we thought it might be. By the way, did you know…? And, I was thinking…

In that instant I saw them.

The desires of my heart.

A family that understands the value of a team, embraces doing what needs to be done…even when it is hard or new, is prepared to face life whatever comes, and is sure they can move any obstacle as long as they get it into the right size pieces. My preparing them for when I’m no longer here and it is their turn to be the coaches. Life skills not discussed on a comfy couch but learned in life ways so they really mean something.

What was I to trust God to resurrect?

Our family.

Our sense of wholeness.

Our knowing we are a team.

Our ability to see obstacles and know there is a solution.

Our joy in being there…together.

My vision for how to get us where I want us to be and the wisdom to see prayers answered…even in the form of broken limbs.

Speaking of broken limbs, what about the one still hanging there?

I looked up, and I saw the answer: A rope with a loop on the end threaded through a long pipe. Use the pipe to place the loop around the broken part of the fork, give a hard tug, and run.

Yep, that should be fairly easy to do. In fact, we’d get it done later that afternoon…as a family…living the life I really wanted.

Thankful Despite the Empty Places

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. This may be the first time I actually dread Thanksgiving. Honestly, I'd eat Fuddrucker's, watch football, and never get out of my pajamas. I would make it as UN-Thanksgiving-ish as possible because if it isn't Thanksgiving then it isn't a day when my folks should be here...but aren't.

And, yes, I've been told at some point I need to face their being gone, and I've heard the theory that I need to include them by setting places for them at the table, talking about memories, and all that. I have tried to respond with a smile, but sometimes I've been really honest and said, "Believe me, I know they are gone, and an empty chair at the table does nothing for me but make it hard to breathe because it only magnifies who ISN'T there."

This is the first year both of them are gone, and even though Dad passed on 7 1/2 years ago, Mom's passing makes it feel like they've both just gone, and once again I can smell Dad's pipe and Mom's perfume and feel Dad's stiff hug and Mom's tight one, and the hole is huge. And honestly, the idea of a family dinner makes my heart ache and my stomach churn.

However, my children want something that resembles "traditional" so they can feel like their whole world has not collapsed around them, so we are having a dinner and giving thanks...because despite the empty chairs, we have much for which to be thankful. In fact, it is the things for which I give thanks that make the empty chairs so hard.

For instance, I give thanks for:
1. My mom's amazing food. She was a great cook. I loved her fried chicken and her pea salad, and her salmon patties are still one of my favorite comfort foods.
2. The matching outfits she made at Easter. My poor dad and brother wearing the pink shirts with tiny roses buds that matched the dresses Mom and I wore. Dad never griped. I admire him for that. :-)
3. Mom's hugs. If you ever had one, you know.
4. Dad taking me hunting with him. One of my favorite memories.
5. Dad taking us to church on Sundays.
6. Dad putting up a basketball goal where I could practice.
7. Hot coffee on cool morings with Dad on the steps, just talking.
8. Mom choosing to camp with us.
9. The smell of a good pipe tobacco.
10. Long talks about the Bible.
11. A sewing machine of my own.
12. 55 YARDS of ruffles on my wedding gown.
13. Four bridesmaids dresses...even when one of the bridesmaids was "difficult"
14. Some of the wildest games of 42 I've ever played
15. Fishing
16. Riding in the back of a pickup
17. Trips to pick me up at school after UIL or sports...especially when money was tight
18. For an 15 extra years...
19. For a merciful 2 months...
20. For parents that lived in a way that leave us with laughter and tears...wishing for one more cup of coffee...one more game of 42...the sound of their laughter...the feel of their hugs...gratitude for what they did right...and the desire to do better than they did...

Dear God, for the time that I had...for the memories you've allowed...thank you.

The Wonder of A Small Thing

They seem like a small thing, these children books that we keep on a toddler-high shelf. Worn covers, crumpled pages, pencil marks. How many times have they survived when other books were sacrificed in the name of space. Some things, though, are not to be sacrificed.



"Mom, can I read in the Big Bed? It's the best place in the house for reading." Favorite Boy gazes at me, hands filled with books.

Nearly a decade of books read in the Big Bed. Cold afternoons spent under warm blankets with a cozy story. A rough day smoothed with some snuggling and a book or two or ten. Upset tummies and stuffy heads made better with a favorite story read...just one more time.

There is no better place in the house to curl up with a book.

He disappears, and I put away another dish.

"Honey, I'm going to the bedroom to read." The larger version of Wonder Boy with thick book in hand, a classic we picked up over the weekend. He is plodding through.

I smile and nod. He disappears to the best place in the house to read.

When the dishes are done, I follow.

From the bedroom, floats familiar words in the voice of a boy. I peek around through the door to see a Daddy listening intently, his eyes and face reacting appropriately, encouraging the boy to read more.



"Can I come in?" A Wonder Girl whispers from beside me.

I nod and watch the girl becoming woman crawl to the head of the bed now become the end.

Favorite Boy reads the last page and lays the book aside. It is Daddy's turn to read.



"Daddy, read this one." Favorite Boy excitedly shoves a book at him.


Daddy looks and laughs. "Are you sure you want this one again?"

Children's heads nod.

Oh, yes, again...while there is still time...It is slipping by faster than I want to know.

He begins to read, and the family snuggles up close.




When he is done, Favorite Boy holds a book to me.

"I like how you read this one."

It is then that I realize Favorite Boy did not come to the Big Bed because it is most comfortable for his body but because it is most comfortable for his heart.

I look at the book and laugh. There is a reason the cover is worn, and it will be worn more tomorrow because tonight, I read it...again, adding personal comments. The family laughs.

My heart memorizes the sound.

When I am done, Wonder Girl chooses not to read but instead hands Daddy a book about heroes. "Read to us about them."

And the hero of our home reads...just a little more.




We listen, our bodies resting, our minds slowing, His hands knitting our hearts together.

The Big Bed is turned topsy turvy, heads where feet belonged and feet anywhere they'll fit.



The world is just right, though, and the family is right where it needs to be...in the most comfortable place for reading there is...together.

Lovely Gifts

This morning I walked through my home in the early morning light and found myself wrapped in the joy of loving my life.

The fact is, I love my life.

I love the race car track spread out in the sunroom floor.
I love Anna's "I'm reading that" books liking here and there. Four in all right now.
I love the sleeping bags rolled up nicely and sitting misplaced in my bedroom floor, knowing on any given night, for reasons I may never know, my youngest will wander in, unroll one, and find peaceful rest sleeping on it on my side of the bed.
I love Robert's stained and wrinkled memory verse paper lying crinkled on the table beside the recliner where we learn the scriptures together.
I love pens, pencils, and crayons waiting for their next creative adventure. I wonder if they ever considered waiting in the tubs with the rest of the pens, pencils, and crayons. But then, what is the fun in being like everyone else, right?
I love Robert's waking up really early to see Rob off to work and then falling asleep in my lap in the recliner, where I leave him while I type in a few words of thought or sit a bit at Jesus' feet. Sometimes I just stay in the reclner, peaceful nine-year old spread across me, in wonder of how much his act of love reveals God's love for me.
I love the sound of our Millie-Mix snoring on the couch close to us. An abandoned dog tagged for destruction, rescued, loved, restored. In so many ways, I can identify.
I love the unmade bed where Rob and I spent a few moments this morning whispering in the dark, warm and content--and then the alarm went off....again.
I love the smile of remembering...
I love Bibles stacked in different parts of the house. Different versions. Different study notes. All used at different times.
I love the huge Christmas tree standing in the living room with its decades of ornaments...each one a piece of our history, a symbol of what has made our present...and the stories...the smiles...the sneaky tears that come with memories of those rejoicing in the wonder of Christmas every day...at Home.
I love the sun spilling through the windows, the creative remodel design bringing sunlight where darkness used to be.
I love coats waiting to keep us warm, mittens to protect precious hands, and scarves...a gift from Gran.
This morning I even love the two piles of laundry sitting in the living room waiting to be folded...and now ironed.
I love the Kleenex boxes, not put in away in tidy cubbies, but sitting out ready to render aid during this season of sniffly noses and too common sneezes.

Funny how things on a driven day--the day when I'm drowning in my to do list or the day when I'm concerned not so much about the people who live in this house but about what those outside think of it--funny how on those days, a book on a table instead of a shelf, a toy in the floor and not in a bedroom, or a child who is more concerned with how to love than how things look can be such nerve fraying burdens. However, there are times when wisdom whispers louder than the cacophony of life's uninterested demands, and I stop and ask, "Lord, what do you love?" When I listen closely, I find He loves the same things I do.

In that moment, I love my life all over again.


Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009

Why I Unplug

Thursday night I turned off the computer and started screening phone calls. It was time to unplug...unwind...and really connect.

On Friday, Rob joined us for Fun Day at diving lessons. The last day of each session is a show off day where children show their parents all they've learned, and parents take a kazillion pictures. (Yes, we took our share.) When the skills have been demonstrated, the slides, diving boards, and splash zones are opened up for simple fun. It's a good day.


After that, we headed out to McCalister's for lunch and talk time. We talked about the various dives, the differences with all four divers, and goals for next session.



With tummies full, we headed back home where Robert took a bath and Rob finished up some work. Anna and I headed out to grab a back for my trip this week and some clip-on earrings for girls who don't like the idea of pierced ears. We ended up wandering several miles out of the way to a new shopping center with a luggage place and accessory store. Then we threw in several unplanned stops to check out books, clothes, and jewelry. I ended up with one book to take on the plane with me. Otherwise, we didn't get anything--except incredible time together that was spent sharing hearts, getting to know each other (important to do as ages change), and creating bonds.

That evening Rob and I made a quick trip to a computer store to pick up a laptop back, and we ended up getting a laptop, padfolio, and business card holder. We also got time to be still, talk about the coming week, where we feel life is going right now, how we want to handle some business opportunities, and how we can keep our family close in a world that can so easily keep us going in a dozen different directions.

That night, Rob and I played Rummikube while the children camped out in the sunroom. When it was lights out time, all was peaceful. And it felt good.

Yesterday (Saturday) came with a slow start to the day, a quick trip to pick up milk, and a hearty breakfast. Then came puppet time.



The children made puppets while Rob and I painted birdhouses. We talked, worked through puppet problems, laughed, and discussed the children's entrepenural ideas. Rob isn't one for arts and crafts. He isn't comofortable with mess or mayhem, and when the paint, rubber bands, styrofoam balls, scissors, and hot glue gun all come out at once, mess and mayhem are certain to ensue. Despite his aversion to chaos--even the controlled kind--he perservered because he loves his family, and for those priceless few hours, we were joined around a table of creativity that opened all possible worlds, all possible stories, all the safety and security of being loved and accepted that a family can offer. And people say utopia does not exist. Silly people.

Leaving the paint to dry, we headed to the kitchen where games and pizza made up another island, and no one gets kicked off. Instead, we all huddle together--cheering when things go well, encouraging when they don't, understanding that "just a game" can still be discouraging when being in last place is a consistent place to sit...

And then finding other games where winners and losers are shuffled, and the joy of first after being last too often brings smiles to one player and elicits shouts of triumpant as the others rejoice in the sweet victory, too, knowing it is sometimes more than a game. Sometimes it is the offering of hope that other "games" are not too big to win either.




When the fun winds down and we prepare for the night's events, laughter still echos off the walls. Shouts of remembered snippets of day's activities boom down the hall, and laughter erupts again. Responses bounce back as an echo...joy, security, love being heard again and again.

My mind thinks of two choirs rejoicing as the wall of Jerusalem is dedicated. One shouts praise. The other responds. Waves of worship washing over the people, crashing into each other, come back with power, washing away the "stuff", refreshing, calling to heaven, reaching a throne, moving the heart of a King.

Rejoicing with such exuberance that the sound of worship could be heard far away...into the relationship around them...into the daily decisions they made...into the destined descendants to come...

Amazing how much eternal sound can come from choosing to unplug and purposefully connect.

Eventful Investing

Activities and events fill the squares of the calendar. Somewhere to go, and something to do...everyday. Often the motion only stops for brief stints at home to grab sustenance to keep us moving. Three weeks continue that way. Up early. Going hard. Asleep late.

Tomorrow promises to be a "blank" day, but my body wants to succumb to its fatigue...today. Now. Unfortunately, two things stand between me and my coveted bed: church and fireworks.

Church...necessary. Fireworks...negotiable...except they aren't.

Our family makes it a yearly jaunt to gather with hundreds or thousands of people, sit in lawn chairs, eat snacks, and stare upward into an inky black sky that explodes with the wonder of color and light. The children who used to find this terrifying now find it amazing, and we believe in feeding amazement.

But does it have to be fed this way...this year? One look at those faces answers me...yes. This year. Tonight. Now.

So after church we load up the van with lawn chairs, snacks, and family and head to a watching spot...and we watch. The children watch the fireworks. I watch the children. The smiles on their lips. The twinkle in their eyes. The contentment in their faces and body language.

Fireworks scribbled on the calendar as an event, but I know it is more. It is an investment. An investment into the lives of the young people God is growing in our home...into the lives of the children they will grow in theirs. It is not something we do, but something we speak. "You are worth the effort. You are valuable. You are my priority. I love you. I love to be with you. I may get tired, but not of you."

We return home, minds filled with fireworks, hearts filled with words unspoken, value deposited deeply...in silece...in actions that could have been dimissed as just another event. Instead, growing children chatter. Excitement flows into our living room with us. Faces glow, not with fireworks but with the warmth of being treasured.

Such is the return of purposed eventful investing.

Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009

United We Stand--Prayer for our Families

Our family is in a time of change, as many of you are. The purpose of change is growth. The Bible tells us many times that we should rejoice in the changes, both easy and difficult, because the Lord is using them to mature us. God brings about change for our good.

Satan, on the other hand, wants to use change to divide us. Many people in the process of divorce say simply, "We've grown apart." I've now been married over 17 years, and what I have come to realize is that statement is truly saying, "We lacked the vision, the desire, the wisdom, or the selflessness required to change together." And Satan capitalized on it.

I have a few strategies and simple truths to remember for going through changes that I have found keep us pretty solid.
1. My vision is for us to come out the other side closer to each other and to the Lord than we were when we started.
2. Grace, grace, and more grace. Ask for it and give it. Moods, tones, and patience will waiver. Don't take it personally. Offer grace.
3. Ask forgiveness. No one else is responsible for the waivering of my moods, tones, and patience. I am responsible for those things, and I am responsible for repair work when they are damaging.
4. Remember I won't get everything I think I want.
5. I don't know the purpose or the destiny, so I better stay really close to the One who does.
6. I cannot pray for my family enough, not that they will do what I think they should, but that we will serve God as a unit embracing the work God does in us as individuals.

This morning I am praying scripture from Philippians 2 over us. Since I know so many who are fighting for their families or simply desiring to walk through change with wisdom and power, I am sharing my prayer with you.

Father, thank you for the gift of salvation that unites us with Christ. Thank you for all the promises that are yes and amen in Him. Thank you that you have promised godly change in our lives as a result of being united with your Son through the blood shed for us on the cross, through His death and resurrection. Thank you for the encouragement you've given us. Thank you for the comfort from His love and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit that leads us into all truth and works in us according to your will and purpose to bring about your glory and life eternal within us. Thank you for the tenderness and compassion you pour out on us. You are the perfect Father, and you pour out only good things. The circumstances and changes in our lives are for our good, to give us hope and a future, and we know this because all good and perfect gifts come from you. You cannot do evil, but rather you make ways for us to escape the evil one and the temptation he lays before us. Thank you, Lord God.

Father, complete our joy by making us like-minded. Show us your vision that we can be in agreement with you. Give us your heart for each other and for your world. Show Rob, Anna, Robert, and me how we can love and minister to each other and to those around us. Increase in us your love. Work in us that we would become one in Spirit and purpose. If we are acting out of selfishness or vain conceit, show us. Lead us to repentance. Do not let the enemy have a foothold in our lives, but show us how we can love with abandon as you do. Gives us hearts that serve humbly. Show us how to love others as you do. Love others through us. Help us to consider others better than ourselves, and when our flesh rises up and wants the easy road, the cushy road, or the convenient road, convict us and nag us until we turn from the ways of the world and flesh and turn to your ways. In your ways is life, and we want to be life givers.

Father, forgive us for being concerned about self, what we will get out of things, and whether things are "fair" or "equal". Forgive us for being so short-sighted and small-minded that we don't realize or we refuse to see that when others excel and are blessed, so are we. Show us how to bless others and encourage them to do great things for you. Show us how we can be part of the equipping that enables them to accomplish all you have declared over you. There is no greater joy than to see your children being all you desire them to be. Remind us of that because we easily forget.

Give us your heart, and help us to remember Jesus' joy came in serving you with abandon and making a difference in the lives of others, not in living the convenient or easy life. Put into us the desire to be like Him in every way, to give without expecting anything back. Father God, help us to remember all we have is really yours. Our time, our money, our mouths, our hands, our bodies, our very lives. Show us how to use YOUR resources for YOUR glory. Help us to remember investing in others takes time--time TVs, computers, various escapisms steal. Convict us where we waste time, money, gifts. Show us how to be the best stewards of your resources we can. Show us how to invest in the peopl in our families and to those around us.

Thank you for being the One who goes before us and behind us. Thank you for leading us through the changes and leading us back to your way when we wander off into our selfishness and small-sighted ambition. Forgive us for the ways we've sinned against you and each other. Lead us in the ways everlasting for your name's sake, and to you be all glory, power, and honor forever.

Amen.