Winter 2014

Some days are just particularly off, and mine starts out that way.  It's been a long winter, and I hear that Billings has broken its all time record for snow.  Doesn't my skin know it?  Doesn't my heart?  I wake up needing to touch God's face in the face of all that is cold.  I grab my camera and head out to chase the living God.    I know I will find Him.  He tells me as much.

"You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."  Jeremiah 28:13

 
Even so, when I stop to take a snap shot of the broken ice on the road, I get a living response from Him that I wasn't expecting.  I see my life in the broken ice, and my heart bears witness; something beautiful here.  I look up and out into the unknown, knowing that Jesus sees me, and that He is making beauty out of the broken fragments of my life.  

I look to my left, and am speechless.  A broken widow.  A shattered, dirty window pane that is framed.  God frames me in Himself.  He holds all the torn, filthy pieces inside Himself, and I am secure in a Savior Who washes me whiter than all this snow.  He holds me.  Together.  Beautiful.

And when my life feels stretched thin, and I am pricked by inadequacy, insecurity and fear?  He makes all things beautiful.  He sees.  He knows.

"The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves.  He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing."  Zephania 3:17

A burden shared is a burden divided.  A few good friends can help you stand strong in the storm while you wait for spring.  For flowers.  For sun on your skin.  For the truth that the deepest of winters can't stop spring from coming.  It can't keep new life from springing up out of the dead.  And bless the Lord for my dear friends:  I am not the lone tree anymore.  I am not alone.  I stand with friends whose arms reach out to worship this Jesus even in the depths of killing cold.  We stand together in joyful hope, waiting for something bigger to come.  And He is, friends: Jesus is coming again soon.

"He who testifies to these things says, 'Yes, I am coming soon.'  Amen.  Come, Lord Jesus."  Revelation 22:20

Winter loses her icy grip on my heart, and I am warmed by Him.  The God of the elements is the God of me.

Amen.  Come Lord Jesus,

Bernadette

Christmas 2013

Here.

I need You here.

And I thank You, Jesus.

For some precious quiet.

Alone with You.

In this room strewn with ribbons.

Blood Red.

New Life Green.

My heart spilling over You.

My mind focused on love poured out in a manger.

Wrapped in swaddling cloths.

Holding me here.

Here.

I love You,

Bernadette

encourageMEnt

Water.

I am under water.

Jesus says, "I am Living Water."

I say, "It feels a lot like drowning."

He smiles.

I think Jesus smiles when I say that to Him.

Making water leak out my eyes and nose while I tumble under the wave weight,

Trying to get to the surface so I can breathe while my heart pounds in my ears.

I fight panic wrestling with Living Water while trying to rest in Him at once.

My wits have gone and all that's left is this desperate desire to get my feet on solid Rock.

I am under Water.

Living Water.

He says, "Drink of Me..."

Drown.

And live,

Bernadette

COME HOME

When this upside down world shakes your heart stone cold,
And you lie shivering 'neath blankets of loss.

COME HOME.

When life cuts ribbons out of your heart,
And ties cruel knots in every good thing.

COME HOME.

When you don't know how to face tomorrow,
Because today spits in your face.

COME HOME.

When your feet have slipped away from the line,
While the world kicks you in the back of the knees.

COME HOME.



COME HOME.

When you long for a safe place to rest your head,
And the warm shelter of true love.

COME HOME.

When you remember Him, and all that is good in Him,
And that He is the only good thing about you.

COME HOME.

When you want to wear His yoke,
Because there is rest in His burden light.

COME HOME.

When you want your wounds to heal,
So you surrender to His.

COME HOME.

When you are through with this life,
But you want to live again.

COME HOME.

When you're on your face at the foot of the cross,
And you can't stop calling His Name.

COME HOME.

COME HOME, MY FRIEND, COME HOME.

When you fall in His arms,
And surrender your life, you'll know...

That He holds all that you are, loves all that you are
And that you are home...

HOME.

Sweet home, 

Bernadette

Leaf Me

Trembling leaf clinging to the wire fence.
I see my name etched in your gold veins.
The way your precarious perch has made you heart-shaped.
Your translucence can't but let the light shine through.
You are stretched from tip to stem-end.
Clinging for life, holding on by a bare curl.
And yet... 
The CROSS bars hold you, and you lie quivering in this bare trust.
Silly leaf.
Don't you know that the wind will come and blow you away from your wired perch?
Crazy leaf.
Don't you know that you're already dead?
Brave leaf,
     Wise leaf, 
          Wonderful leaf.
I think you must know that to die is to live.
And I see purpose in all that is desperate.
I understand now why you tremble at each blast of the wind.
He Who cut you heart-shaped is near.
And His breath will take you home. 


Bernadette

When Shoulders Need Strength

Dear Michael,

When judgement rains hard, I want you to know that I see you.  In all that is conflict and confusion, my husband, you are light, and you are salt.  I will go where you go, and you will find my hand, always, in yours.  Whether the King directs us to walk through the valley or He takes us to the top of the hill, my friend, I go with you.  I will endeavor, in every step, to trust Him more alongside you, and Michael, let our lives be all for Jesus and not at all of this world.

Amen, and praise the Lord for such a man in the Kingdom.

I love...

Your life entwined in mine.
Your hand to hold.
The sound of your voice as you read His Words to us.
The smile wrinkles around your warm eyes.
The strength of your character.
Your life motto: "Do the right thing."
Your love for this Jesus.
The way I see Him etched all through your life...the book of Romans carved across your Shoulders.
In the ways that you lay yourself right down for all of us here.
That you have never, EVER, raised your voice at me.
That you are the straightest arrow I've ever known.
That you walked through the valley with me, and lived to give God the glory.
Your work ethic.
Your life ethic.
That you love all children...especially ours.
That you open our home again and again and again.
That your whole life shouts "SERVANT!"
For not being one of those guys whose swords hang limp and useless in the Body.
For being a great defender of all that is holy.
For standing on the front lines.  Always in the front.
The way you come to the table to work things out.
For being gentle with me, and for being my friend.
For forgiving me seven times seventy times.
For growing in compassion and mercy.
For standing in the gap for our sons and...
For holding the hearts of our daughters.
For your righteousness.
For your purpose.
For your love.

"The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing."  Ps. 34:10

Thank you for all that you are to me.  I am proud to call you my husband, and I am blessed to call you my friend.

Still yours,

Bernadette

On The Removal of Tonsils Etc.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if you know what it's like to pay a
"skilled professional" thousands of dollars to slit the back of your throat.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if, after this special procedure, you remember barfing until thought you were going to pass out.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if you endured so much pain that you actually did pass out.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if you know that you were lied to about the ice-cream and the popsicles... and you tasted that bitter reminder every time you swallowed your own spit.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if your poor husband couldn't sleep with you for a month because your breath smelled that bad.  

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if, at age 30, you had to call your sister at midnight to come and take care of you.  And even though she actually called the doctor in the middle of the night to inquire why your breath was giving her a perm, she still slept with you.   And rubbed your back.  And listened to your crazy talk while you hallucinated about food that you would never eat... because you wouldn't be able to swallow for the rest of your life.  And whispered to you that that terrible stench was the smell of a healing post surgical tonsillectomy wound, and that it was normal.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if you lost twenty pounds in two weeks, which is why I always suggest having this procedure before a class reunion.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if the great lion, Aslan, visited your bedside after you passed out and made you so sure that you woke up smelling milk and honey.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if you remember feeling like you were never going to normal again.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if your remember feeling normal again... after  a thousand years.  Or at least one.

You might be a tonsillectomy survivor if, when you hear that someone is having their tonsils removed, you scoot your chair away from the table and scoot for the door.

Don't be a tonsillectomy survivor or you'll end up like me...writing about it at three AM after fifteen years have passed.



I was sitting at table with the Soul Sisters a few weeks ago when I blurted out awkwardly (always awkward) that I felt like a gaping wound.  Open.  Oozing.  Stinky...  Like the hole left in my throat where my tonsils used to be after the surgery all those years ago.  I felt embarrassed by this metaphorical smell, and ashamed that they were all trying to eat their dinner with me at the table.

The Lord is like that sometimes.

He is a skilled surgeon Who will slit your throat if it means giving you your voice again.

He is The Good Shepherd, and He will discipline you with His rod if it means that you will be kept from harm.  From the Wolf.  From the pit.  From the confusing brambles of the world.  He likes to keep his sheep close to Him.

He is the Potter, and though you may wish it otherwise at times, He will throw you and smash you until you are conformed to His image.  Putty in His hands.  Willing to become the vessel of His choice, not yours.

He is the Master Carpenter, and He intends to plane the selfish desires of your flesh...OFF, to sand your sin away, and to carve His Name on the works of His hands... and that would be your life, friend.  Jesus wants to carve His Name into your life.  No.  I mean, Jesus wants to CARVE His Name into your life.  Are you getting this?

There are no short cuts with Jesus.  He will bend you, but He'll never break you.

I can just barely touch my toes, but the Lord has bent me so often the last two years that I'm actually finding joy in becoming flexible and moldable in His hands.  I'm learning that everyone sitting at the table has great gaping wounds, and that we are all stinking it up.  I'm learning that's when we need to call our sisters in the middle of the night... to have them come and crawl in next to our decomposing wounds.  To have them rub our backs and listen to our crazy talk in the midst of suffering and pain.  To whisper that the stench of rotting flesh is normal and that...

It's the smell of healing,

Bernadette