Ann Goering's Blog

The sun was high, the air hot and humid.

It was our last trip out on the boat for the summer. The deck of the pontoon boat was filled with family, and he didn’t feel like going swimming. But with his daughters begging him to swim them over to the rope swing tied to a cliff, he strapped on his life jacket, double checked theirs, and jumped into the lake.

They made the swim to the rope swing, and he helped them climb up onto the narrow rock ledge where they waited in line for their turn.

A dozen or more boats sat in the little cove as people swam, jumped off cliffs, and rode the rope swing. Finally, it was my little troop’s turn on the swing. Chris lifted our four year old up, waited for her to get her grip, and gave her a push. My heart jumped a little as she reached the end of her swing. Thankfully, she let go and dropped into the warm water. Next, came her big sister. She, too, let go at the right time and they began the swim back to the rocks to ride the rope swing again.

This time, things didn’t go as planned. As Chris lifted our seven year old up to grab the swing, she shifted abruptly to grab the rope, causing him to sidestep. As he did, he slipped on the wet, slick rocks, and his feet went out from under him. In that split second, he could have dropped Ali and been able to brace his fall. Instead, he held her tighter and took the full brunt of the fall – for both of them – on his right elbow. Jagged rocks scraped his back, and the back of his head was less than an inch from hitting as he landed on the rocks and then fell into the lake, still holding our daughter in his arms. Everyone on our boat who saw their fall, jumped up. Ali came quickly to the surface of the water and looked frantically for her daddy. He took longer to surface. When he did, he helped her swim out of the way, but he wasn’t moving his right arm.

My mom, who is an EMT and a nurse, had already strapped on her life jacket and jumped into the water. She quickly made the swim over to them and started checking them both out. As they made the slow swim back to the boat, Chris still didn’t move his arm. Ali boarded the boat in tears, claiming she wasn’t hurt, but that she was really worried about her Daddy.

When we finally got Chris into the boat, it quickly became clear that his elbow had broken. His work in construction, his daily habit of lifting weights, even writing his name, had been disrupted in that one moment when he had decided to hold onto his daughter and take the fall for them both.

He could have dropped her. No one would have blamed him. It would have been an instinctive reaction. But he didn’t. He held on. He kept her safe. He took the fall.



The next morning, sitting beside him in church, I realized yet again, how my husband reveals more of the heart of Jesus to me.

In a similar way, but to a heavenly extent, during “the fall,” Jesus could have let go. He could have left us to our own demise. He could have let us fall when the choices we make, don’t work out. He could have let go to save Himself from pain and discomfort. Instead, He hung on. Instead of leaving us to fend for ourselves, He went to the cross. Instead of abandoning us for our sin (and who could blame Him?), He held us tighter, and took the punishment for me – for you.

Sometimes, I think there’s a tendency to believe that when we mess up the worst, when we fall yet again, we’re distanced from God. Instead, I believe that’s when He holds us the closest. He already took the brunt of our sin so that there would be no distance between us. It was on the cross that what separated us from God, was atoned for – so that we, who were far off, could be brought near. So, why, when we fall, do we imagine it separates us from His love?

Like Chris pulled Ali in, even knowing what it meant for him, I can imagine that when we slip, Jesus pulls us in, holding us close, cushioning us from the full judgment, consequence and pain that should be ours. As Chris demonstrated that he loved his daughter more than he loved himself, on the cross, Jesus (to a heavenly extent), demonstrated that He loved you more than His own life.

If Jesus took our fall to bring us near, if He sacrificed Himself to keep us safe, why do we still wrestle with whether or not He loves us? Why do we insist that He must feel disappointed in, angry with, and disgusted by us? Why do we still buy into the lie that He’s thinking angry thoughts toward us?

I pray today, you – we – would trust Him enough to believe what He says He thinks about us. I pray that we would believe Him, when He showed us how much He loves us. I pray that we would see ourselves as we are – held tight, and that we would feel the arms of our Savior around us, whether today has been our worst day or our best day. Because Jesus already intimately knew about both and He still held on tighter and took the fall.

“The Lord your God in your midst, the Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.” Zephaniah 3:17

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11

“He came and preached peace to you who were far away and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.” Eph. 2:17-18

“ For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16

I was feeling overwhelmed. Again.

I looked longingly at my Bible on the coffee table, but knew the clock said I didn’t have time to read it.

I’d been up since 5 a.m. to have a Skype call with ministry partners in Hungary, and had a full day ahead of me, full of mommy tasks, working frantically during naptime, running my daughter to her competitive gymnastics practice, then rushing to make it in time for Wednesday night church. After church we would rush back home to get the kids in bed by 9:30. I might get to give my husband a kiss good night in passing, and then he would head to bed and I would stay up working until 3 a.m. with manufacturers in Asia. In the wee hours of the morning, I’d drop into bed for a couple of hours of sleep, before starting it all over again.

My day was full of really good things – ministry, family, motherhood, activities, church, purpose-filled work – and I loved it all. Truly. There was nothing I wanted to give up. But I was tired. Exhausted actually. And I was grouchy. I was stressed. I was irritable. And honestly, friends, I was running on empty. I was so busy doing work for the LORD, that I had long since had time for being with Him.

Maybe you can relate. In fact, I’m guessing you can.

Life is so busy. So, so busy.

There are activities to be part of, ministry, work, family, friends, and volunteer opportunities. Then there are the daily tasks like making and cleaning up meals, laundry, keeping a house, taking a shower, getting exercise – things that are mundane but necessary – and where do you fit them in? If you have kids in your life, you likely have dance practices, little league games, Friday night football, or volleyball games. You might have library story time, award dinners, and choir concerts. If you attend church there are likely weekend services, mid-week Bible studies, Wednesday night services, special conferences, committees, teams, and needs to fill. If you have friends and family, there are likely umpteen social events you should/want to attend every month. If you have a career, it’s likely that you have your normal work hours, plus covering for others, work emails 24/7 and pressing deadlines. I could go on and on, but I won’t, because we all get it, right? Life is busy.

We have become a culture so set on productivity and busyness, that I think sometimes, we’ve forgotten that it is OK to take time to breathe, to rest. And not only OK, but also oh, so valuable.

Why are we running from morning until night, packing so much into our days that we literally feel like we’re running ourselves into the ground? What are we trying to prove? Does God measure our worth by our productivity? Does He value us by how busy we are?

In Luke 10:38-42 we see the story of Mary and Martha. We’ve all heard it, right? You likely know it well. I’m paraphrasing here, but there are two sisters. One was busy serving and one sat at Jesus’ feet and listened to Him. The first asked Jesus to tell her sister to help her with all the work. Instead, Jesus says Mary – the one sitting at His feet and listening – had chosen the only thing that was needed and it would not be taken from her.

We take ourselves and our work (whatever that work might be) so seriously. We measure ourselves by our productivity, by the contribution we’re making. We measure others by theirs, too. But while we are called to do good works and they should absolutely be the evidence/outflowing of our love for Jesus, they will never be the one thing that He wants most.

So what is? Looking at Luke 10, simply put, it’s us. Our attention. Our willingness to listen. Our proximity to Him.

Serving is good and necessary, but service never equals relationship.

I can do a whole lot of things for my family (and I do), but that’s not what makes me deeply connected and in close relationship with them. A maid, a chef, and a taxi driver could do my work (and honestly, they could probably do it better!). Work doesn’t equal connection.

In a similar way, simply serving God does not equal an authentic, life-giving, personal relationship with Him. Service is an appropriate outflowing of love, but it is not the love itself.

After being convicted that I was seeking to prove my worth, rather than seek His face, I started the painful process of trimming back my life and my schedule to make some space. I cut out activities, closed one of our businesses, and uncommitted from a few ministry opportunities. It was hard. It was painful. But it made space. Space to breathe. Space to think. Space to feel. Space to sit at His feet. Space to pray. Space in the chaos of my thoughts, to hear His words. Space to ask what He was calling me to, and finding the space to do that.

There are so many things vying for our devotion. There are so many things crowding up our days and our thoughts, but only one thing is needed, and if we go after that, it will never be taken from us.

“But the Lord said to her, “My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:41-42 (NLT)

“When You said, "Seek My face," my heart said to You, "Your face, O LORD, I shall seek." Psalms 27:8 (NASB)Ann Goering

Today a lady came into my store, and as 99 percent of my customers do, she remarked about my tiny Willow, who was riding around strapped to the front of me in her soft and cozy wrap. The lady, Kay, asked how old she was, then remarked about her being so tiny. I explained that she had come 10 weeks early, and that really, she’s just barely past her due date. I could see Kay was listening with heightened interest as soon as I said Willow had been premature, and she quickly proceeded to (ask and then--) take Willow’s picture, get my name and phone number, and ask if I would keep “Natalie” in my prayers.

Natalie is currently in the hospital on full bed rest. She’s 26 weeks pregnant with her first child, and doing everything she can to keep her little one inside for at least a little longer. Kay asked if I would be willing to share with Natalie how we got through my time on bedrest and our months in the NICU. I, of course, readily agreed.
The rest of the afternoon, I thought back through those long hours, days, weeks and months. Now, barely a month out from our NICU experience, I think I’m finally starting to process our time there. And here’s my confessions of being a NICU mom:

1. There’s a lot of heartache. The single-hardest thing, for me, was having three children – in different places – and knowing how to be a good mommy to all of them. Some people were telling me my older girls would be fine, that I needed to be with the baby, that she was the one who needed me. Others told me the baby was fine (after all, she would never remember this anyways), and that it was my older girls who needed me to be available to them, to reassure their senses of security and normalcy. The reality was, I needed to be with all three of my girls – I needed to be mommy to them all.

Most days that looked like hanging out with my big girls during the day, and then after I got them to bed at night, kissing my husband goodnight, and making the hour drive up to the hospital to stay with Willow through the night. Two months of (mostly) sleeping in the NICU with machines beeping and alarms sounding, plus getting up every two hours to pump, and every three hours to diaper and do skin-to-skin while Willow got her feeding through a tube, was exhausting, but you just can’t think about sleep. When you’re a mom, you just have to do what you have to do…I’m sure most of you can relate! ;)

It felt like my heart was being ripped out every time I left my sweet, tiny baby to go spend time with her sisters, and it felt like it again every time I had to kiss them goodbye and leave them at the door crying when I left for the hospital. There was a lot of heart ripping going on during those two months, but it was just a season, and it (thankfully!) passed.
 
2.) It’s lonely. While I was so thankful to spend hours with my little love, the loneliness of being on bedrest and then in the NICU, caught me by surprise. Despite the fact that I was stuck away in a hospital room, real life went on for everyone else. My husband had to work and figure out childcare for the girls, my sister was still home schooling and caring for her four children, my mom had a full-time job and three kids still at home, my grandparents were working, my in-laws live in a different state, friends were busy with their own lives – and that hour drive to the hospital made it even more difficult for friends and family to come visit. Being in the hospital and then having to be so careful about germs and not exposing Willow to anything, really made for a couple of lonely months. It felt like I was in a whole new, sometimes scary world, and all by myself. The loneliness was very real, and very intense.
 
3.) It hurt. It had never once occurred to me that I would go to the hospital pregnant and come home without a baby. That ache was almost physically painful for the entire time Willow was in the NICU. My womb was empty, but yet, so were my arms. That hurt. Every time I set my alarm and got up to pump for a baby I couldn’t hold, every time my girls would forget and refer to the baby in my tummy, every time I saw a new mom out with her infant, my heart hurt. And yet, I had a baby in the hospital, and I made it through by reminding myself that one day soon, I would have my baby home with me. Others weren’t that lucky, and it’s for them that my heart still aches.
 
 4.) It’s a rollercoaster. Being in the NICU is a rollercoaster ride. Your baby comes off oxygen; you celebrate. Your baby’s SATS drop and they put her back on oxygen; you feel disappointed. Her bilirubin levels are too high; you worry. They put her under the lights, her levels come down, you rejoice. Then they test again the next morning and ten minutes later, she’s sun tanning under the lights. They tell you ultrasound is coming to do an ultrasound on her head as babies this premature often have bleeds in their brain, horrible clamps pull back her eyelids as they check for blindness, she gets shots for RSV because getting a virus could be detrimental for her…the scary possibilities seem endless. Test results come back normal, and you feel huge relief. Then, you’re told more tests are needed, because things don’t always show up right away. Hours, days, and weeks stretch out long and daunting, then right when you think she’s getting close to going home, they tell you the final step she needs to take before getting released, could take weeks to accomplish…weeks when you had just dared to begin to dream of days. Up, down, forward, backward – back and forth your emotions go, rolling with the ever changing rollercoaster that is life in the NICU.
 
And then, in between the back and forth is just a lot of waiting. …waiting to see what will happen next, waiting for test results, waiting for her to grow, to learn to eat, to be able to stabilize her own heart rate, to maintain her own temperature, to breath on her own. Hours and hours of waiting….mostly just you and the baby, waiting to the sound of the same quiet lullabies playing on speakers, nurses walking by in the halls, alarms piercing the air when a heart rate or SAT level drops too low, and machines abruptly splitting the silence as they signal that a feeding has been completed.
 
5.) It’s a gift. Being a NICU mom is a gift – a wonderful, blessed gift. Being a NICU mom is a privilege – something to be oh so thankful for. My very first day at home after being released from the hospital after giving birth, I was a complete mess. My husband had to go back to work, and just six days out from my extensive emergency surgeries, I was caring for my 2 & 4 year olds, on pain meds, pumping every two hours, my baby was lying in a hospital bed alone more than an hour away, and I had absolutely NO IDEA how I was going to survive the next two to three months. I hurt and was scared and empty and tired, and I could barely face the day, much less the knowledge that this was our new reality for, potentially, the next 10 weeks. Then, my sister told me the story of a woman who gave birth the same time I did.
 
While my family waited in the waiting room while I gave birth to my tiny but healthy baby girl, a church family waited while a member of their congregation birthed her full-term stillborn child. They all knew the baby had passed before the woman ever went into labor, and the woman’s church family stood in the halls singing worship songs to bring her peace while she endured the excruciating pain (both physical and emotional) of birthing her lifeless child. This child had been healthy and perfect just days earlier at a routine visit, but had somehow gotten her cord wrapped around her neck and was gone before the doctors could do anything to help her.

I cried as my sister told me the other woman’s story. I may have had difficult months ahead of me, but it was nothing compared to this woman. I realized how fortunate I was to have my baby in the NICU. It was a gift to have Willow alive and fighting. It was a gift to have her in a great hospital receiving wonderful care and all the help she needed to grow and be healthy. Not every mother has that luxury. From that moment on, I refused to take the bait of self-pity. My baby was alive! We had much to be thankful for. We kept an attitude of thankfulness, and minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, we made it through our time in the NICU.

Sometimes we go through seasons and we just have to give our best and hope it’s good enough. This time it wasn’t. My best wasn’t enough to keep my baby inside of me for the recommended 40 weeks. It wasn’t enough to keep my family or my business OK. But my God was enough! It was His grace that got us through. His grace kept me thankful. His grace kept my husband and I on the same page and supporting one another when stresses could have pulled us apart. His grace sustained my older girls as they somehow made it through those months of being constantly left. His grace helped steady me and kept me emotionally stable, despite the crazy postpartum hormones, NICU rollercoaster, and sleep deprivation. His grace surrounded Willow and brought her out of the NICU nearly a month earlier than doctors had predicted. His grace strengthened my husband to take on the extra load, and to support me and our girls with such selflessness and love.

So my biggest confession as a NICU mom, is that I am thankful. I’m so thankful for our time in the NICU – for the great medical care, but also for the things we learned and the people we met. And I’m thankful that it was just a season, a chapter in our story, and that it has passed. ;) I’m thankful for my sweet Willow, who is healthy and growing, and an absolute joy to our family! She is absolutely my miracle baby. Most of all, I’m thankful for my God, who carried me through, who was there in the long hours that I felt alone – who always carries me through, who is always there when I feel alone. Who is absolutely enough, even – especially – when I am not.
Ann Goering

Ann Goering is a four-time award-winning journalist who has worked as a senior editor/writer of magazines, newspapers and online publications since 2005. She works for an International Christian ministry that specializes in relationships and evangelism to children, youth and families around the world. Her involvement in that has given her a heart for the broken, hurting and lost and a desire to see individuals and families operate in healthy relationships. She has her degree in communications and enjoys writing Christian fiction and speaking to groups of women about the love of Jesus. She resides in the Ozark Mountains with her husband, whom she’s terribly in love with, and their three beautiful daughters.

Food. Clean water. A safe place to live. Religious freedom. An amazing husband. Three beautiful, healthy daughters. A career I love. Good health. Amazing extended family. A good, good Heavenly Father. Grace. Salvation. A comfortable bed. A dependable car. A comfortable home. Good friends.

The list of things I have to be thankful for could go on and on. From big to small, I have so many reasons to be thankful. And I am. So very, very thankful. I think, for the most part, I live my life in a place of thankfulness. And yet, I saw this quote the other day – ‘What if you only woke up tomorrow with the things you thanked God for today?’ and a twinge of conviction pierced my heart. I am thankful. I live thankful, but if I only had what I consciously thanked God for on a daily basis, my life – my blessings – would be sparse.

Today is Thanksgiving. It’s a day that all across the nation, people are pausing to be thankful…at least that’s the idea, right? Amidst the cooking, the overeating, the football, the family, the shopping – pushing, shoving, beating other people to get the best deal.

The pilgrims started this holiday to celebrate having enough. Now, we celebrate having more than enough.

Somewhere, amidst our national day of thanksgiving, we have forsaken a spirit of thankfulness for a spirit of gluttony. Nevermind the dozens of toys that fill our children’s rooms – we’ll fight the crowds to get yet another. Nevermind the warm blankets that fill the linen closet, we’ll jump into a bin of bedding to make sure we get a Frozen bedspread, rip plastic off wrapped displays to be the first to get a Tupperware set, or trample over an old lady just to be the first to get a laptop.

Not that Black Friday (which has creeped over onto Thursday…) shopping is bad – I don’t mean to say that. I just hope that before we race to get more, we spend a few intentional moments being thankful for what we already have, and not just today, but every day.

Even when life isn’t perfect, even when there’s room for improvement, there are people who would give everything to have what we have. There are people who are begging God for the very things we forget to thank Him for.

Tonight, I’m taking time to be thankful. I hope you will too. And tomorrow – or later tonight – when the stores open and sales are revealed, remember to be kind – we are already truly blessed, whether or not we get the best deals.

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Psalm 139:13 (NIV)

I’m not one to talk politics. At home with my husband we talk about issues, candidates and elections, but publically, socially, it’s not something I talk or post about much. We all have our opinions and we’re all entitled to our own, but on one issue, I cannot, will not keep quiet. Especially now. Especially with an election less than 24 hours away. And most importantly, especially since I met Willow.

On September 27, 2016 I was 30 weeks pregnant. With two little girls already, we were ecstatic about welcoming another to our family in early December. We had a busy fall planned, and the last 10 weeks leading up to our third daughter’s birth were going to be packed full. I would catch glimpses of articles suggesting to start preparing your baby’s nursery in your second trimester, and I was hoping that I would at least be started on hers by Thanksgiving.

On September 27, I spent the day working, then did a quick photoshoot in the evening, and finished the night off by going to my little brothers’ homecoming football game. I was feeling great, had enjoyed the day, and loved spending the evening with my husband, girls and my mom as we watched the Pirates play one of their best games of the season. We decided to leave at halftime to get the girls to bed, and on the way to the car, my mom commented on my slow pregnant waddle. I just laughed - it was as fast as I could go. A few steps later, my water broke.

I was in disbelief. It had been my easiest pregnancy yet, and I had been feeling great. I was the girl the doctors joked would never go into labor naturally – with both of my other girls, I had been induced, never having even started to dilate. I had no warning signs of preterm labor. There were no contractions or cramping. Yet, there I was in the high school parking lot with soaking jeans. When we realized it was not just amniotic fluid, but blood, too – and a lot of it – my super chill husband started to panic (in my previous two birth, I had hemorrhaged both times and was already anemic this time). Thankfully, we were only 10 minutes from the hospital.

After multiple ultrasounds, an ambulance transport, steroids, antibiotics, and too many needles to count, five days later bed rest ended as we were rushed in for an emergency c-section when our little princess took a turn for the worst and needed to come out right away.

Not long later, Willow Emersyn came into the world, 30 weeks and four days gestation. She was a teensy 3 pounds 12 ounces, but she was beautiful and perfectly formed. Because of complications in surgery, other than a quick glance, I didn’t get to see my beautiful girl until late the following night. Weak, in pain, and so dizzy I could barely sit up in my wheel chair, I remember holding her tiny form, marveling over how beautiful she was…and how perfectly formed she was, even so early. She was small, she was scrawny, but she was a baby in every way. She cried when they put the feeding tube in. She felt discomfort. She cried when they poked her tiny heel to draw blood for labs. She felt pain. She relaxed against my skin and gave a tiny precious sigh when they laid her against my chest. She felt comfort. She had 10 perfect little toes, and 10 long little fingers.

I remember in the stillness of those midnight moments, as I held my baby girl for the first time, as her monitors beeped and her oxygen tubes pumped air into her small, immature lungs, as the NICU nurse sat a few feet away, watching over us in a motherly way (Even after three blood transfusions, I think they were a little worried about me holding my fragile baby! And rightfully so. It was all I could do to stay upright in the wheelchair!), I remember having the stunning realization that my baby was not a baby in the eyes of millions of people in this country. To them, my loved, precious little girl would be seen as nothing more than tissue. They believed she couldn’t feel pain, and should be kept or discarded as the mother saw fit.

Over our next several days and weeks in the NICU, I met mothers and nurses who had given birth to or taken care of babies that had been born as early as 23 or 24 weeks gestation. Brave, resilient little babies who had fought hard to live and are now functioning as beautiful, healthy children. Everyone we met, even back home, seemed to have a story about themselves, a friend, or a family member who had a preemie – tiny babies who grew into thriving adults. One sweet woman told my husband about her 24 week preemie who is now 6 feet tall and doing great in college. And each and every mother, each and every nurse was talking about a baby…a baby, not tissue. Living, breathing babies who fought so hard each and every single day to live – they wanted to live!

I believe that as humans, we have certain God-given rights. I believe that as Americans, the government serves to protect and uphold those rights. For every American. I believe women have the right to choose what happens to and with their own bodies. Absolutely. I support that right. However, I also believe that life begins at conception, and that after conception, that life too has rights. God-given rights – a right to live, a right to be safe. I believe in a woman’s right to choose, right up until the time that her choices endanger the safety or life of another living being. She can chose to abstain from sexual activity. She can chose to take preventative measures if she is sexually active. ** She can chose adoption. But choosing to end someone else’s life is not a choice I believe should be left up to a woman, or any other person. That is called murder. And choices like that, are choices the government exists to protect against.

I don’t vote based on party. I vote based on principles, on conscience, and on similar beliefs on important issues. Looking in the face of my sweet daughter, I cannot vote for anyone who believes that she, and millions of other babies like her, are tissue, incapable of feeling pain, undeserving of the basic, God-given right of life. I cannot vote for anyone who would find it acceptable to tear her limbs from her body one at a time or crush her skull. Her or any other baby. To see a child that many in this country would consider tissue, and see how absolutely human they are, I cannot comprehend the atrocity and horror of the current death toll of babies in the US – literally ripped from their mother’s wombs, without thought to the pain inflicted on them, or the basic human rights being stolen from them.

If you cannot support a candidate this year, if you feel like there are only bad choices, I beseech you to vote anyway. Vote for something that you can believe in – vote for life! Vote for those who will champion the cause of the unborn, the innocent, the unprotected.

So many lives have been lost so that we can vote – they were lost keeping this country a democracy, giving us the right to vote in our representatives in government, a right to have people representing us that believe the same way we do. Voting is our responsibility as Americans. There is certainly not a candidate in this election that is without sin (or any past election, for that matter!). There won’t ever be a candidate that we will agree with on every matter, both personal and social. But there are literally millions of babies who have been aborted, and millions more who will be if we do nothing. Surely, life is something worth voting for. Surely, murder is something worth stopping.

So, if you can’t get behind either candidate this election, get behind issues. Get behind someone who thinks the same way about things that are most important to you on a social scale. Get behind the innocent, and cast a vote for life!
Tomorrow I will be casting my vote for Willow, and for all the other “tissue” out there who fight so hard and want so badly to live. Please, please, please, join me.
 
 
**(I do understand that pregnancy sometimes results from rape. And to those women who have dealt with that, I’m so sorry. I cannot imagine what it must be like to live through an attack of that nature, much less have a pregnancy that is a result of it. However, I do know that two wrongs don’t make a right. At the point that a pregnancy is discovered, there is a beautiful choice that emerges - you can choose to keep the victim count at one, instead of making it two. You can choose light instead of darkness, life instead of death!)

Ann Goering

Ann Goering is a four-time award-winning journalist who has worked as a senior editor/writer of magazines, newspapers and online publications since 2005. She works for an International Christian ministry that specializes in relationships and evangelism to children, youth and families around the world. Her involvement in that has given her a heart for the broken, hurting and lost and a desire to see individuals and families operate in healthy relationships. She has her degree in communications and enjoys writing Christian fiction and speaking to groups of women about the love of Jesus. She resides in the Ozark Mountains with her husband, whom she’s terribly in love with, and their three beautiful daughters.

Yesterday morning, I took my Bible out to our back porch to spend time with the LORD in the fresh air. During those precious moments with Him, the phrase ‘Created for a purpose, bought at a price’ whispered across my heart. 

Last Sunday was a bake sale fundraiser for our church youth group. We had signed up to take something, but after a super busy Friday and Saturday, we found ourselves without any baked goods at 10 p.m. Saturday night. Being the amazing husband that he is, Chris offered to bake his favorite dessert (which also happens to be his specialty!) – cookie brownies – for the bake sale. I thankfully agreed. He sent me on to bed and stayed up late, making the chocolate treat (yes, my husband is amazing!!). The next morning, he packaged them up and we took them to church to donate to the bake sale.

After the service, I went to the nursery to get Ali, while he pulled out his wallet and perused the table of sweets. As Ali and I came out into the foyer, I saw him dropping his money in the donation basket and I knew he must have found something too good to pass up. I laughed when I looked down at his hands and saw his plate of cookie brownies. Though it was for a good cause and we didn’t mind at all, it felt ironic that we had bought the ingredients, made the brownies, and then paid money to buy them back. However, Chris had made them, he knew they were good, and he wanted them back. Therefore, he was willing to pay the price to make them his again.

 I thought of that as this phrase from the LORD played through my mind. ‘Created for a purpose, bought at a price.’ 

He created us with a purpose in mind. He saw who we would be, the calling on our lives, the part we played in the intricate story of history, before the foundation of the earth. He formed us with His own hands, He knit us together in our mothers’ wombs, He saw that we were fearfully and wonderfully made. 

And then sin happened. In that one act, we were separated from Him. But mystery upon mystery, He looked at us in our weak and compromised state and said, “I want her back.” He was willing to pay the price. And it was no casual price He had to pay. It was the ultimate price, the most painful price. It cost Him everything. And He paid it. For you. For me.  He had made us and He wanted us back.

Knowing that, knowing He personally formed us with His own hands for a specific purpose, and then was so committed to us, so determined to redeem us, that He then bought us back at a price, impacted my heart in a powerful way. If He would create us, then pay the price to get us back, how can we not lay down our will to His in those moments when we want to respond out of our flesh? How can we not obey His commands? How can we not trust Him? How can we doubt how loved we are? How can we believe the lies of the enemy that we are worthless? Or that we don’t have a reason to exist? Or that no one loves us?

My heart is stirred. Both personally, and for those around me. Whoever needs to be reminded of this today, please hear this – Sweet friend, you were created for a purpose and bought at a price. Not only were you worth creating, you were worth laying down His life to get back! That is love. That is purpose. That is value. Let Him whisper His truth into your heart today and rest in the awareness that you are loved beyond comprehension and without measure.

In early April, after a crazy year, when an opportunity arose for my husband and me to get away by ourselves for a week, we eagerly seized the moment. Leaving stress, home, and work behind, we drove to Kansas where we dropped Ali off with her Grammy and Grampy, and pressed on to our destination. My husband’s one request was that I turn off my cell phone. 

I don’t really think of myself as someone who’s addicted to my phone or social media, yet the thought of turning it off for an entire week was startling. I argued that I needed to have it on, especially since Ali wasn’t with us. He countered that his parents had our emergency contact numbers (aside from our cell phones) and we could call to check in a few times during the week. If we were going away, he said, he wanted us to actually ‘get away’ – which meant no facebook, twitter, text messages, emails or phone calls.

 I finally agreed. After all, he was taking me away for a week. How could I refuse?

 The first few days, I found myself constantly reaching for my phone out of habit, thinking I should check to see what had come in. Anticipating this, Chris had locked it in the safe in our room. (I knew how to get into the safe, it was just a deterrent that gave me time to think.)

 I want to say that I’m not someone who spends an hour or even half an hour at a time, answering emails or texts or browsing social media. Usually it’s only a quick look here and there, a fast answer, or a two minute post. However, with my phone turned off and put away, the days seemed so long (not in a bad way!). We shared uninterrupted meals, laid in the sun, played miniature golf, went down water slides, watched movies on an outdoor movie screen, took naps in lawn chairs in the afternoon shade, read books, made new friends (the kind you actually meet and talk to face to face, not the random friend request that pops up on your home screen), played some of our favorite card games, and got dressed up and went out for fancy dinners. We reflected on the past, and dreamt about the future. Throughout the entire week, we never ran out of things to talk about or do together.

 In addition to the priceless time I spent with my husband, I had sweet moments with Jesus sprinkled throughout my week, and honestly found myself praying and abiding with Him more. In the quiet moments, my mind turned to Him frequently. Chris and I spent a lot of time reminiscing and reflecting on the history we have with God – ways and times that we’ve seen Him move, things He’s taught us, seasons He’s brought us through. My faith was stirred just remembering His faithfulness and proximity in the past, knowing He’s the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.

 By the end of the week, I found myself reflecting on how many priceless moments I had been able to share with my husband. I remembered the times of prayer and relished the feeling of being so connected to Jesus. And I began to wonder why I didn’t have more moments like that in my daily life. Sure, we were away from home, away from work, responsibilities, and the daily things that come up, but more than that, I began to realize that for that one week, I had been 100% present.

 With my cell phone (and computer) tucked away safely in our safe, I was available when my husband took my hand and pulled me into the sunshine to dance to a country love song. I had moments of quiet when my thoughts could turn freely to God. I was present and undistracted, my mind uncluttered and free, so that when I thought of something, I could turn to Chris and start a conversation. Likewise, when he thought of something he wanted to talk about, he never turned to me and found me focused on and withdrawn into a screen.

 I had forgotten what it was like to be 100% present.

 Usually, it’s the quiet moments I use as a chance to send a tweet, answer a text message or write an email. If the silence stretches momentarily in the car, I remember it’s been awhile since I checked my newsfeed, and pull it up to scroll through it to see what my friends are up to. 

In that moment of reflection, I realized it isn’t the hours I spend writing or performing my other necessary tasks that is stealing precious moments with my husband, daughter, friends, family, or God from me, it’s the fact that I choose to fill the quiet, empty moments that I do have, with technology – with glowing screens and the happenings of other people’s lives.

 Is there a place for emails, texts, and social media? Absolutely! I still love keeping up on my friends’ lives. I love connecting with readers! I love seeing what people are doing and gleaning ideas for my own home and family! But I learned a valuable lesson on this trip – there is also a time to put all of it away and be 100% present where I am.

Coming home, my phone is back on. I’ve checked facebook a few times a day. I’ve sent off lengthy text messages and happily answered emails. I’ve checked Pinterest and Zulily and sent off a few tweets. But I’ve decided that I’m going to be intentional and aware about treasuring my quiet moments, giving my thoughts time to turn to prayer, spontaneous conversations to occur, and family time to truly be family time.

I don’t want my husband, daughter, family or friends to remember me being intent on my phone, but instead, intent on them. I don’t want to be remembered for my technological prowess, but instead, for being a woman who loves God, loves my family, and is always ready for those moments that can quickly become treasured memories if we are but willing and available to seize them.

For months our kitchen has been under siege. Completely defenseless, it is continually plundered by two little hands that seem to live to explore every drawer, pull items from the back of every cupboard, and then thoroughly distribute her spoils throughout the entire house. Well, after months of reorganizing, repacking and collecting our kitchen items from the farthest reaches of our home every day, we had an epiphany.

We put up a gate.

Now our one-year-old explorer has her run of the large living room and dining room, but a gate separates her from the vast wonders of the kitchen.

This morning Chris and I were making breakfast when she toddled in and realized that we were in the kitchen...and she was not. First, the gate rattling began. She shook and shook, but the gate didn't open. Within seconds, she changed tactics. Standing on the far side of the gate, she began to cry, which soon escalated to a full-blown fit. Within 30 seconds, she was sitting on the floor, wailing and screaming, throwing herself down until her forehead was on the tiles every time she thought we were looking her way (only to pop back up and get poised to do it all over again the next time we looked in her direction). Ali has mastered the art of throwing fits, and oh can she do it well!

Hoping to turn it into a learning opportunity, I explained to her that if she could stop crying and ask nicely, she could come join us in the kitchen for a little while before breakfast. She couldn't. In fact, she didn't even attempt it.  In response to my offer, a new shrill wail left her small body as she pitifully threw herself face down on the floor. Chris and I hid our smiles and laughter, finding her exaggerated protest absolutely adorable and charming, yet knowing it wouldn't always be so, and thus needed correcting (not encouraging!) now. Watching her lay crumpled over on the floor, I suddenly turned to Chris and said, "The funny thing is, she's so focused on where she isn't, that she doesn't even realize where she is."

Motorized trikes, singing toys, dolls, stuffed animals, pop-up penguins, and her beloved gator xylophone were all sitting just feet away and totally accessible. There was an intertwined mess of cords behind the table (which is one of her favorite no-no's), just waiting to be pulled. And yet, she could not appreciate it, did not even acknowledge it, as she was focused on one thing and one thing only: she was not in the kitchen.

A disturbing whisper filled my mind: How often are we the same way? I live in a beautiful home that is peaceful and more than enough for our needs, and yet I look at it and see the bathrooms that haven't been remodeled, the pictures that haven't been hung, the interior doors that haven't been replaced. We have food on our table and plenty of clothes in our closet, and yet it's tempting to look at others and long for their fashion, their vehicles, their vacations, their bank accounts. I have a husband who loves me and thinks I'm beautiful, but I look in the mirror and see someone who doesn't look like the women in the magazines and on television, and I feel dissatisfied with my appearance. I am working daily on becoming the woman God has called me to be, and while I'm thankfully not where I started, I get overwhelmed and paralyzed sometimes by seeing how far I still have to go. I have written six books that I know have touched hearts, and yet, I sit in church and I wish I was one of the girls on the worship team, or perhaps a dynamic speaker who could take a Biblical principle shrouded in mystery and unveil it so others could encounter a living God through it and apply it to their own lives, while being entertaining to boot! Oh how often I focus so much on where I'm not, that I don't even realize where I am -- the wonderful, beautiful mess of my today that screams of the blessing and favor of the LORD! And I know I'm not alone!

Where I am right now, today, is not perfect. But in the ruckus of my daughter's fit and the quiet moments in my soul after identifying her ironic situation to my husband, I felt the quiet peace of this knowing fill me: Where I am may not be perfect, but it's where I am, and there is purpose in being here. And purpose in me not being on the other side of my gate. And in this place that He has me in for now, I have so much to enjoy, so much to be thankful for, so many wonderful things around me. I'm done focusing on where I'm not. Because when I stop and look around, where I am is actually pretty great!

Finally, Ali's tears subsided. She picked herself up off the ground, looked around and toddled off to play. When she came back into the room a few minutes later, bright-eyed and with a smile, Chris went over and opened the gate, letting her walk in before lifting her up in his arms. Perfectly content, she put her hand on his shoulder and watched as the final preparations for breakfast were made.

Isn't it funny how, when we stop throwing our fit, oftentimes the gate is opened, and we're allowed to come in? We have a good Father who is always teaching us, always enjoying us, always looking ahead doing in us and for us what we need today to allow us to become who He has for us to be tomorrow.

How is it that one so little, who can’t even talk, can paint such beautiful pictures of the Christian life? I sat wondering that after getting off the phone with my mom yesterday. Perhaps it’s that she’s not that far removed from eternity yet. Or because, through our children, we get a glimpse of the Father’s heart. Or perhaps it’s because there is a God who is kind enough to speak to humankind and creative and caring enough to speak to our individual hearts in whatever way we’ll hear, through whatever is in our sphere of attention. I’m inclined to think it’s a combination of all three.

 This morning I find myself contemplating Matthew 18:3 when Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” I think back over the past six months with my sweet daughter and think of some of the moments that stand out – moments where I got a glimpse of something sweetly supernatural, something beautifully innocent and yet acutely impactful – for me and other family members. Let me share a few—

 My daughter seems to think she has one purpose in life – to stare at her daddy until he looks her way and she can smile at him. For months she has spent literally hours doing this. She finds him in a room and stares at him, unblinkingly, without looking away, until he looks at her and she catches his eye. Then her beautiful face unfolds into a blindingly bright smile that melts his heart everytime. It’s always met with a reaction from him, a response to her unwavering gaze and happy sign of affection. One morning we were sitting in church and Chris was holding Alija on his lap. She was lying in his arms, her eyes intent on his face. He was listening to the sermon, watching the pastor. Feeling her gaze, he glanced down. The second his eyes met hers, she smiled. A beautiful, charming, joyful smile that not only expressed her pleasure in being noticed by her dad, but also her confidence in how he felt about her and the place she held in his heart. It was obvious that she had no doubt how he would respond; and he didn’t let her down. He smiled and made a face at her, drawing a sweet baby chuckle. Throughout the rest of the sermon, he glanced at her often, his mind as much on her as the words coming forth from the pulpit, and everytime he did, Ali smiled. With her steady gaze and shameless display of affection, she had captured his heart and his attention yet again.

 I sat there beside them, having watched the moment unfold and felt a small whisper of something significant cross the quiet places of my heart. It was as if the Father God was saying, “Look at me like that.” In that instant I understood the meaning of Song of Songs 4:9 when it says, “You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride, you have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes.” Other versions say ‘captured’ or ‘captivated’ instead of stolen. Ali had captivated her dad with simply her eyes and her smile. Watching them, I thought, wow, do I stare at my Father with such an unending gaze, watching His face so diligently that I smile the moment He looks at me so He knows how much I love Him? Can He see my love in how diligently I look to Him? Am I always looking for opportunities to lavish my affection on Him? I’ve been struck by the same revelation several times since, watching Ali watch her daddy.

 A month or so after that, we took my brother to our church youth group (there’s a nine year gap between us). I held Ali during the service and I think Chris and I enjoyed the worship and message as much as the youth! (So thankful to belong to a church with a rockin’ youth group and a great youth pastor!) When we got back out to the car, I asked Brandon what he thought of the service and he said he liked it and it was exactly what he needed to hear; not what he wanted to hear, he assured me, but what he needed to hear. As we got in, he went on to say that he had learned a valuable lesson. I was glad to hear that he had been paying attention… but was surprised when he said he had learned it by watching Ali. When I asked what he meant, he said he had been watching her during the service and could tell she was starting to get hungry. Instead of crying, she started looking at me. Knowing she was hungry, I prepared her bottle and fed her. She watched me while she drank her milk. He said he realized that we should be like that – always looking to our Father to give us what we need, to feed us on His Word and to give us His living water. When we look to Him when hungry and thirsty, He gives us food and drink.  Despite the great sermon and beautiful worship, that was the lesson Brandon took away from youth group that night.

 Just yesterday I got a phone call from my mom, who is experiencing some rocky circumstances. The day before we had stopped by her house while we were out running errands and she had given Ali a bottle while we visited. While Ali was drinking her bottle, pausing now and then to look around the room, bat at the dog, or pull her grandma’s curly hair, I had made the observation that she has plenty to eat, yet she doesn’t spend a moment worrying where her next meal will come from. We discussed how she doesn’t worry about how she will get everything done that she needs to do, if we have enough formula and baby food to meet her needs, if she’ll be warm enough or if she’ll have a place to sleep when she gets tired. She doesn’t begin to worrying that if she doesn’t figure out a way to get formula, that she’ll go hungry. She trusts us. She knows that we love her and will take care of her. She knows her needs will be met. It was quick bunny trail in our conversation, there and gone in a matter of moments. 
 
While on the phone yesterday, I asked my mom how she was doing. (Anyone who has ever been in circumstances which make hope feel distant knows it can be a moment by moment, day by day thing.) She said that she had done her devotions the evening before and again yesterday morning and felt so encouraged. Ever since she had been holding Ali and realized that she didn’t worry about what she would eat or how to get everything done or where she would sleep, she had felt so much peace. It was a moment, she said. A moment in which she knew she was being reminded of something significant, something true. She (my mom) is cared for. She has someone to trust – someone who knows her needs and is prepared and able to meet them.

 Three such seemingly insignificant moments, three very simple, very elementary lessons. And yet, sometimes in the midst of everyday life that gets busy and sometimes overwhelming, sometimes God, in His goodness, reaches down from heaven to remind us of truth. 

Our God is a good Father. Whatever you need, He can supply. You are His favored one. He is captivated, captured, stolen, by one glance from you. Are you watching Him? Are you smiling at Him? Is your affection for Him written all over your face everytime He glances your way? Are you looking to Him when you are hungry and thirsty? Are you trusting that He is a good Father who knows what you need? Is your heart at rest, knowing He anticipates your needs and already has a plan to meet them?

These are three things I needed to be reminded of, as did members of my family, and the reminders came through a sweet little baby with big eyes that change colors and a toothless smile – a baby who has not yet uttered the name of Jesus or read one verse out of His Word. She is simply a child, who, in her childlikeness, demonstrates the Kingdom. 

God speaks to us through creation. This January I encourage you to look around you to see what God is using to demonstrate Kingdom principles to you. He is speaking hope, encouragement, wisdom, grace, love and identity; will you hear Him?

Luke 11:9-12, Matthew 6:25-33

This past weekend we attended the wedding of very dear friends in Kansas. Their love story was beautiful. The journey they have been on together is probably one of the deepest, rawest and sweetest that I've ever had the privilege to watch unfold. Knowing their history together and the significance of what the day meant as they finally united their lives under the banner of love and marriage, I was looking forward to their wedding day more than I've looked forward to a wedding in a very long time. 

One thing I wasn't looking forward to, though, was the heat. As I'm sure many guests were, I was thinking that a wedding taking place in a Kansas pasture in the first week of August was going to be best described (physically) by one word -- miserable!

For the past couple of months Kansas has been experiencing 100+ degree temperatures that have parched crops and elicited almost daily heat advisories. And that was just in June and July -- August was still to come. 

Just a few days before the wedding, thermometers were showing 111 degrees Fahrenheit. My own sweet and mild-mannered husband laid down an ultimatum -- either he got to wear khaki shorts to the wedding or he wasn't doing. I think he was simply making a point, but I can't be sure... After all, I chose dresses for Ali and I that were formal enough for a wedding while still containing the least amount of layers and fabric possible. I couldn't imagine wearing a suit.

As the wedding day approached I heard different wedding guests expressing concern about being in the sun and heat for that many hours, several of whom would be attending with small children or babies. Many thought the bride and groom's choice of location in conjunction with the date was less than ideal, but it was what they wanted and everyone wanted them to have the wedding they'd always dreamed of -- pasture in August or not. We would endure the heat if it meant having the privilege of watching them commit their lives to one another.

Saturday morning dawned bright and sunny, just like the days and weeks before. Walking outside confirmed that it was going to be a heater. 

Over in the pasture, preparations were being made. The sun beat down, just as hot as it had been, scorching everything in its reach. And then, miraculously, as the hour of the wedding approached, clouds began to roll in. 

The hour of the wedding came. When we stepped out of the car once arriving at the pasture, tears pricked my eyes -- it was absolutely beautiful! It's true that I'm definitely the kind of girl that loves a good love story and finds myself tearing up on occasion at weddings, touched by the beauty of it all, but this was different. We couldn't see the wedding site as it was some distance away, the bride was still hidden away inside her dressing room, and no music could be heard. The thing of great beauty that brought tears to my eyes and overwhelmed my heart was the kindness of the LORD -- a gift from Him that all the guests could not only see but also feel.

The weather was absolutely perfect.

When we had left my in-laws house, the sun had been shining and the short walk from the house to the car had us cranking the air conditioner to full blast. But after making the 15 minute drive to the pasture, when we stepped out of the car, a cool breeze was blowing, light gray clouds had centrally gathered and the temperature had dropped a good 20-30 degrees. With that kind of temperature drop, one would expect that it had rained, but it hadn't. Everything -- the sound equipment, the decorations, the seats, the ground -- was dry. As we found our seats, a handful of sprinkles fell, but it wasn't even enough to make our hair damp. 

As the wedding started and the bride walked down the aisle to a song written just for her, the sun broke from behind the clouds for just a moment, flooding the gathering in glorious light, before slipping behind a cloud once again. By the time the reception was wrapping up, several hours later, I was wishing I had brought a blanket for Alija and a sweater for myself. It was reportedly in the 70s. For the first time in months, I stood outside and felt chilly. I had forgotten what that was like.

The interesting thing is that the bride and groom were not surprised. Grateful, yes; surprised, no. See, the groom had asked his Father for great weather for their wedding -- no rain and temperatures in the 70s or low 80s, and was confident that his Father had heard him and had promised that He would make it happen. He'd asked for that kind of weather...in Kansas...in August.

 He'd asked for the impossible. And God had answered.

Both Chris and I were struck by the simple faith that was on display. Between the humidity and the temperatures, Kansans simply know that the month of August is going to be uncomfortably hot. Many people wouldn't even think to ask for something so outrageous as a 70 degree day without any rain when thermometers had been reading over 100 degrees for weeks. Others wouldn't think to ask the LORD for such a small detail -- a detail that was centered around comfort rather than necessity, a few people rather than a people group. After all, in the span of eternity, when you have the perspective of the nations, what is one wedding? When there are over 6 billion people on this earth, what does the mere comfort of a couple hundred matter? How is it that the King of Kings would even take notice of one small event taking place on a little patch of grass? 

Regardless of the weather, our friends would still have gotten married that day -- rain or shine, that fact wouldn't have changed. And, regardless of the weather, they would have praised the LORD for His goodness to them and invited Him into their marriage and the new life they were building together. There was no reason that he had to intervene, it was no life or death matter. 

But the groom knows who he is and who his Father is.

 See, he knows that his Father loves him with a fierce love that causes the Father to care about what he cares about. He knows that if the weather at his wedding mattered to him, it mattered to the Father, too. He also knows that the Father loves to give him the desires of his heart. God doesn't give good gifts out of duty or obligation but because He enjoys giving them. And the groom knows that his Father can do the impossible. He was confident that God could reach down out of heaven and change the natural way of things to accomplish something that seemed impossible.

He knows those truths, and so he'd asked.

And his Father answered. He reached into the physical world, had rolled out a canopy of clouds to give shade from the scorching sun, had blown a cool breeze across the plains of Kansas, and had held back the rain. All because the groom had asked Him to and he loves to delight His own. It was not out of necessity but out of pleasure that He gave them the perfect weather for their wedding day. Nor was it out of convenience or coincidence, but by design.

If the groom wouldn't have asked, could the Father still have known that it was important to him and done it anyway? Absolutely. Would he have? Maybe, because kindness is His nature. But over and over in scripture it says "ask and it will be given to you." Asking is such an important part of the process -- it displays confidence in the love and character of God -- confidence that I believe moves His heart to want to answer.

Please don't hear my wrongly. God is not a genie in a bottle that must do as we wish. (Quite the opposite really. If it weren't for His respect for freewill, we could arguably be referred to as puppets on a string.) But He is a good Father who enjoys giving us good things when we ask. In His holiness and wisdom, sometimes He doesn't give us what we ask for because He sees the big picture and wants better for us than we want for ourselves. But when the opportunity arises and our dreams don't detract from the best that He has planned for us, and we ask Him for what it is that we desire, I believe that He will move heaven and earth...or even just some clouds..to meet those desires. Why? Because He enjoys it. He enjoys filling us with joy and happiness. He enjoys watching our hearts sing. He enjoys seeing us fill with awe when things happen exactly like we hoped they would. And I believe He enjoys the confidence we have in who He is and how He feels about us that leads us to approach Him with our requests.

Do bad things happen? Yes. Do disappointments come? Undoubtedly. Do things always work out exactly like we hope? Obviously not. But does His Word say that He gives those who love Him the desires of their hearts? It sure does. How that happens is so beautifully situational. Sometimes it's obvious like it was at my friends' wedding. Sometimes it takes enduring a storm and only once you're on the other side do you get to see the rainbow. Either way, His Word promises that He turns even "bad" things into good for those who love Him. And He enjoys doing it.

 As I stood in that Kansas pasture with a cool breeze ruffling the skirt of my dress and I looked over at my friend, who looked stunning in her bridal gown with her dark hair hanging in perfect loose curls that neither rain nor humidity had damaged, with make-up that had not melted or run, who was talking and laughing with wedding guests and stealing an occasional sweet kiss from her groom, I felt excitement build. In that moment I knew that the world is truly at our fingertips, because this is truth -- no matter the situation, no matter how unlikely the request, nothing is too hard for our Father. Nothing is impossible for Him. Especially when we ask.