I love Max Lucado’s books, and he is an engaging speaker, as well. He spoke on campus at Chapel last year, and we watched his video presentation as part of a staff retreat on Tuesday.

He shared some thoughts about his book, “You Are Special,” which was written as a children’s tale but has been embraced by the business community, as well. He mentioned the “trickle-down effect” of how special we feel when we know someone who knows someone special.

I remember how special I felt when I met John Grisham at an elevator during a literacy event in Dallas a few years ago. He – a best-selling author! – shook my hand, exchanged a few pleasantries and seemed genuinely interested in what I thought of his writing. I certainly felt special!

Mr. Lucado’s message, though, was that we are special simply by the fact that we are here on earth, created in the image of God. “You can do something no one else can do in a fashion no one else can do it,” he said, “and you have a unique assignment in the world.”

I’ve been mulling over some thoughts for a new post the past several days, and Mr. Lucado’s message helped to solidify some of my musings. It was ironic that he mentioned the “trickle-down effect,” because that is precisely the phrase that has been on my mind lately. I’ve been thinking of it in terms of how certain events in our lives affect so many other people. I talked in an earlier post about the ripple effect of Nathan’s life on those around him, and I continue to grapple with the ongoing impact of his death.

In my own life, it feels like things haven’t trickled down on me so much as a deluge has been dumped over my head. I’ve been struggling lately with the fact that I am the back-up plan. Nathan died; I’m his sister; I’m the boys’ guardian now. But what if I died? There’s not a Plan C. I worry about things that are a) out of my control and b) haven’t happened. I serve a God who is SO big, SO mighty, SO good … yet I fail to trust him with the unknown.

Sometimes I have a sort of invincible feeling, as if God wouldn’t let anything happen to me because the boys need me. That sounds so stupid, and don’t worry – I’m not going skydiving or developing any dangerous habits – but my human nature can’t wrap my finite mind around God’s much higher thoughts. Who am I to think that just because I’ve suffered greatly means that I’m exempt from future suffering? The world is full of hurting people, many of whom lack the hope that I have in Christ.  I want to be like Job; he lost everything, and he wrestled with God, but he didn’t lose faith.

I do have a unique assignment in the world, but it doesn’t really matter what my Plan B or Plan C are – or any of my fears or aspirations, for that matter – because our time here on earth is only a fraction of God’s plan for us. As Mr. Lucado put it: “Right now, it’s just a warm-up – a temporary assignment.” Take a step forward today, Angela, and trust your Creator.

It’s like a walk in the park …

… in July, with triple-digit temps, high humidity, flying insects, gravel in your tennis shoes, a cramp in your calf, other peoples’ screaming children running in your path, dog poo on the sidewalk, and bicycles in the pedestrian lane.

Other than that, things are great!

Tongue-in-cheek, yes, I know.

Things are fine; it’s just that sometimes I have to remember to look beyond all those things and notice the birds’ nest, the wildflowers, the children who are playing sweetly together, the elderly couple walking hand-in-hand, the smell of the grass and the beauty of the sunlight against the pond. It doesn’t help to dwell on the disturbances when there is joy to be found all around.

Lately I’ve been wading through the humbling realization that it’s not about me. I still have dreams, desires, goals and ambitions, but it seems that the “I wants” are on the back burner. My life is not my own. Everything hinges on what the kids need, what their schedules are, where they go, what they eat, how they behave.

It’s funny that this no-brainer revelation has dawned on me in recent days, because it’s not like I’ve been free-wheeling for the past nine and a half years since I became a mom. It’s always been about the boys; I’ve just been along for the ride and trying to pedal fast enough to stay ahead of them by a thin margin so that I can lead them in the right direction. I guess it’s the new group dynamic that has me feeling so introspective.

It’s a lot to grasp. I have to rethink how I shop for groceries, my morning and afternoon commute, bath and bedtime routines – the whole kit and kaboodle. Dinner time has me feeling like a short order cook; no sooner do I have a chance to sit down, then someone is asking for seconds. Bedtime has been challenging, mainly because the arrangement is still new to everyone. It’s going ok; it’s just not “routine” yet.

I keep trying to convince myself that I’ll appreciate the quiet, alone time if I will get up earlier in the morning to exercise, read my Bible or just be. I have some quiet time in the evenings, but I’m still winding down my brain from the day, and it’s hard to really relax and reflect.

The apostle Paul’s letter to the Galatians is full of references about being crucified, figuratively speaking. He talks at length about dying to our old selves and living for Christ, because we have a new focus – a new purpose – in our daily relationship with God. I used to think I understood what that means, but now I’m not entirely certain. I think part of it means coming to terms with God’s plan for your life, even if (especially if?!) it seems to deviate from your own plan … or so you thought. I want to come to the point where I can better appreciate God’s detours.

When someone dies, I suppose it’s natural to think back on conversations you had – or wish you’d had – with that person. I remember vaguely some of the stories that my Granddaddy told me about his life, American history, etc. How I would love to sit on his knee and listen more intently now! I remember my Aunt Clydie’s interest in my time in China and how supportive she was of me. I wish we could talk today about life and faith.

I’ve recalled many a conversation with Nathan since he died – especially from our childhood/teen years, but one came to mind today that made me chuckle. When we would argue (which was often), he liked to snap: “I wish I was an only child or you were a brother!” and I would respond with something like: “I wish I had a sister and not a bratty brother!” and we’d go back and forth in similar fashion. One of my fall-back retorts was: “I hope you grow up and have three bratty little boys JUST LIKE YOU!”

This conversation replayed in my head earlier today, and I couldn’t help but chuckle aloud. Oh, the poetic justice … the irony of it all! Sometimes you just have to laugh at how life zig-zags in ways you never could have imagined. To think: God isn’t surprised by any of it. That gives me comfort. It may feel like chaos on my end, but I’m not the One in control, am I?  😉

Today felt a little less like having company over at the house and a little more like “home” with all five boys. It’s a good feeling. Someone told me today that Nathan would be proud. I hope so, and I trust he knows that I was kidding about him having bratty little boys … ok, ok, maybe partly kidding!  :p

I forgot to mention this on my Father’s Day post. We were in the car on our way to Houston that morning, and my oldest remarked, “I said a prayer for God to tell Uncle Nathan, ‘Happy Father’s Day.’ Then I told God, ‘Happy Father’s Day,’ too, since he’s a father.” Such unsolicited moments make my heart sing!

Nathan's marker

We dedicated the James Pool Memorial Playground this morning at Northside Christian Church in Spring. The lil kids’ classes were there, and my nephews each got a helium balloon to release and send a Happy Father’s Day message to Daddy. It was really beautiful, and such a fitting tribute by so many generous people.

We also went to the cemetery to see Nathan’s marker; it is even more beautiful than the pictures.

Happy Father’s Day, lil brother! I’m proud of you and love you so much.

We did an activity called “cardboard testimonies” at church on Sunday. When Pastor Cyndi first asked me to do it, I agreed right away. It sounded like a great way to share what God has done through tragedy in my life. Yet, when I stood in line waiting my turn to walk up on stage, a flood of emotions hit me all at once, and I wasn’t sure what I had gotten myself into, after all.

There are a lot of examples of cardboard testimonies online, but the gist is simple. On one side of a piece of cardboard, you write in bold marker print a brief phrase or a few words that describe your past – a tragedy, your life before Christ, a struggle, etc. On the other side, you write the outcome – new life in Christ, how God has changed you, blessings that came from that situation, etc.

There are several things I could have written about, but I needed to narrow it down to one, so I thought about Nathan’s death and how it has affected me. My cardboard read:
“BURIED
MY LIL’
BROTHER”
on the front side. On the back side, I wrote: “MOM5” in gigantic letters (the 5 was superscript, like mom-squared, only with the number 5). At this point in my journey, having the privilege of raising my two nephews is the greatest testimony of how God has overcome (and continues to overcome) the inexplicable tragedy of losing my baby brother.

I hope that someone who saw my cardboard that morning was touched by how God has moved in the lives of our family, and that Nathan’s death was not the end. Jan. 23, 2009, will always be a placeholder in time, but I would argue that Nathan’s death marked the beginning of a new book in this epic saga we call Life. Just imagine what God can do.