I remember being around nine years old when I had my first experience with uncontrolled fear.  We were in the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit.  Our parents always took us down to Hudson’s and the riverfront at Christmas time.  On this trip, my dad took us up as high as you could go in the building so that we could see Christmas from above.  As I walked out of the elevator that we were on, there–on either side of me–were glass rails that looked open to many floors far below.  All that seemed to be holding us was a narrow platform that led to the center of the building.  Without even thinking, I dropped to my knees and gingerly crawled over to where there was solid flooring horrified at what I had just endured. 

As much as I love my dad, he stood there laughing.  I mean with the gripping-your-belly, almost-falling-over kind of laughter.  I am sure I looked hysterically funny.  I had never done that before, and I am not sure I had ever been up so high.  It was quite a shock to my system and a bang of an introduction to my fear of heights that has been with me ever since…

A year ago we were blessed to have a chance to go to the top of the Seattle Space Needle for lunch.  My gut reaction was frustration.  I have been battling my fear for a long time.  I have been to the top of the Empire State building, the Hancock Tower in Chicago, the Grand Canyon, and had ridden ferris wheels.  But honestly, I had grown tired of battling it.  

So, at first I said, “No.”  As time grew closer, I realized I had a choice to make:  either let my fear control this and stay on the ground, or go up with my family, do my best and enjoy the incredible opportunity I was being given.  (Just so you know, God had to walk me through my frustration in order to get me to see the true opportunity…)

With some trepidation, I entered the outside glass elevator and said a little prayer for resolve and strength.  I stood towards the back and forced my eyes open refusing to miss anything.  If I was going to have to do this, then I wasn’t going to miss out by shutting my eyes.  As it opened into the revolving restaurant, I felt my heart flutter as I watched the tables slowly move past.  We had to wait a little bit while they prepared our table, but within short order, the butterflies were gone and we were seated. 

You know what?  The view was amazing as we overlooked Seattle and the Puget Sound.  The water, the boats, the downtown, the houses, the color, all of it was incredible!  All angles were wonderful and so was the company and the food!  I quickly found myself, to my amazement, unconcerned by the height.

The best part of the entire time was watching my son take in the view with little fear.  Had I allowed my fear to have its way, I would have still been on the ground wondering…wondering what I was missing out on. 

Instead I was able to walk over to the edge and actually look out without my knees being overcome with the sensation to buckle. To my surprise, I was able to take pictures where normally I would be looking for something to hold onto. There was no crawling, no racing heart, or no overwhelming desire to flee.  As we descended to the ground in the glass elevator, I left there very happy with my experience!

And so we fast forward to this year.  While tackling the Space Needle felt right, I really did not do it voluntarily.  I was left with no choice.  Either I went or was left out.  It was that simple.  This year, God decided to move me out of my comfort zone by helping me to choose all on my own to go higher.

I learned something from a plant this spring.  I have a terrible invasive, yet beautiful weed, which has overtaken one of my gardens.  Knowing it needed to be brought under control, I gave it my best this spring in trying to rid it from my garden.  I dug up all of my plants but two and turned over all the dirt, carefully picking out any of the potential broken roots of this plant.  I knew it could grow back easily.  Eventually I returned my perennials to their spots in the garden and waited.  Sure enough, up popped the weed!  Here, there and then, everywhere… 

What I learned is that this weed’s roots can burrow up to 9 feet down into the ground, way past where I had dug or ever care to dig.  It re-grows from the tiniest remnants.  It is nearly impossible to destroy without potentially destroying the rest of your plants.  It loves to climb and spreads easily.  Most disturbingly, it will likely be with my garden and me for the remainder of my life in this house. 

How does this relate to my fear of heights?

While I was weeding for the umpteenth time, I realized that maybe it is a lesson on the fears or sins that I deal with; that maybe I need to continually monitor and prune them.  Is it really fair or realistic of me to think those things will just disappear after some hard work, never to reappear again?  Or is it more honest and fair to myself to understand and accept that it might be a lifetime of pruning or re-gaining control when a fear, sin, or even, sometimes something I am really passionate about, rears its ugly head and seeks to take over the moment?

So we headed north to our vacation this year.  Unfolding in front of me was the opportunity to go para-sailing.  This time, there wasn’t a lot of pressure.  I wouldn’t have been left behind with no one; several in my family were not going.  All of my siblings totally understood my fear, and I totally respected their choice to go.  This time, the choice was truly mine and at first, I said no.

Somehow though, I began to think about all that God had been showing me in my life about my fears.  In our Bible study, we had spent the last few months being amazed at how often we let our fears get the best of us. 

So I began to ponder whether I should go.  I knew going para-sailing would push me with my fear of heights into a realm that I had never considered or been before.  I mean, come on, 500 feet in the air on a 1,000 feet of steel cable with a parachute behind you, the window blowing all around you, and only a harness between you and a considerable fall.  Add to it, two other people on the bar and there was pretty good logical reason to pause at the idea.

Reflecting on what I had learned in years past, I mulled over the opportunity I might be missing along with the unlikelihood that my fears would come true.  It was there that I caught a glimpse what my fear was tied to and how unrealistic it was.  As I examined it, forcing myself to go deeper in trying to understand what I was really afraid of, I saw that most of it stemmed from the idea of not wanting to die in such a horrific fashion.  To me the horror seemed to come from not being able to stop myself from falling.  I would have no way to escape, no way to change my course.  It was there that I realized I really didn’t want to die.  Somehow with my feet planted firmly on the ground, I felt like I had a running chance to avoid it.  I had some chance of taking control.  But most forms of dying don’t involve a grace-filled choice to avoid it.  It occurred to me that dying of cancer, or being in a car accident (just naming a couple out of the infinite possibilities), were no less horrific or controllable.

After that epiphany, I understood more about my fear and myself. It wasn’t all about heights.  It was more about being out of control.  However, staying on the ground being managed more by my fear meant I was giving up control of that part of my life.  God has designed our world to contain magnificent views from on high; whether it is on planes, from mountain tops, or up in a para-sail.  These opportunities involve a perspective that we cannot see from anywhere else. 

Letting that fear ground me meant I was giving up the chance to live my life to the fullest in that area.  In essence, I was handing my life over to my fear in a no-win bargain, especially with the odds favoring me that I would not plunge to my death.  Echoing in the back of my mind was the truth I had learned a long while ago, my fears never resolve or diminish with staying put; instead, they only seem to grow to consume even smaller heights.

So with this new understanding, a better sense of control over my fears, and a stronger sense of peace that my life is truly in God’s hands, I went para-sailing. My fears were not gone; just ask my niece who wanted to swing the parachute bar and had to listen to me persistently tell her “no”!  They were mostly in check.  As they arose inside of me, I found new ways to prune them back and eventually, the beauty of what we was below us took over.  I allowed myself to feel my fear, accepting that it was a part of me, but I did not let it consume me to the point that it was all I could see. Much like learning to accept that the weed in my garden will be with me for a long time and will need my diligent management, I found a new way to embrace and control my fear while not missing out on the chance to go higher.

And though I was grateful to land back on the boat (I truly wanted to kiss the boat decking!), I was also grateful that my fear no longer owned me…I owned it.  I had done something I had never have thought possible; I chosen to fly like a kite suspended from a rope dangling 500 feet up in the air!  Even though my fear never completely left my side, it had not been able persuade to me stay on the ground and it did not obscure my view.  That, my friends, made the trip up worth its weight in gold!

 “Break up your unplowed ground and do not sow among the thorns.  Circumcise yourselves to the Lord, circumcise your hearts…”  ~Jeremiah 4:3-4

My mother-in-law can attest that I was never a big fan of having my picture taken.  While I’ve always taken pictures, in part, to document our life, it wasn’t until two years ago that I really began to appreciate the power of a photograph.  Thanks, in large part, to my love for creativity, my dad’s terminal diagnosis, and two bloggers committed to the power of pictures to tell a story…Ali Edwards and Becky Higgins.  Their blogs and projects inspired me, and a few on-line photo classes, after the gift of a new camera, led me out of my shutter fear.

For a long time, I looked at photography with a certain level of formality.  They were preserving a piece of the past.  Yet, when I looked at really old, old pictures…you know…the black and whites from days gone long by…I was enthralled.  Who were they?  What were their lives like?  What did their relationships hold?  As pictures were expensive, many of those photos contain people dressed in their best, stiff and proper.

Looking back at pictures of my youth, I find an even stronger sense of connection.  Seeing pictures of me, that I can barely remember, standing with our Great Dane, Alex, or hanging on to a stuffed animal dressed in my favorite pajamas tug not only at my memories but also at my heart.  Those pictures I truly treasure and always have, because they help me to remember what I too easily have forgotten.

But it was not until this moment…this simple picture that I realized the power of a camera.  That it can do more than document a stage of life, it can capture a powerful emotion.  Looking at this, there is nothing special to it.  It is a picture of “weeds” by many people’s’ standards, but here…it is the moment when I gained a new perspective.

Here I was standing at the gate of my dad’s garden distraught at the idea of having to let go of him all too soon.  Nothing was making me feel better.  Not the tears.  Not the song.  Not the sunshine.  Not the warm gate.  Not being away from the metal bed that spoke of his looming departure.  Not a thing.  I just couldn’t see a way out of the pain.  In facing death’s hold, I could find nothing pleasant.

But as the tears slowed and my eyes began to clear, it was there that I spied one of those little white daisy flowers with the yellow centers.  At that moment, I realized that life goes on.  While I don’t mean that easily or contritely, it was one of my “ah-ha” moments.  I looked at that flower and its simple beauty, and contemplated that life has its stages.  No matter how we try or how much I wanted to argue with it, we can’t get away from it.  However, if we focus on the beauty, then maybe–just maybe–the pain can gain a new perspective even if it doesn’t go away.  That maybe there was beauty right here, right at the same time as this pain.

At that moment, I longed to document that thought as reminder for the days to come.  But I was standing at the gate with no pen, no paper, and little to no energy to go find some.  It was then that I realized I had my I-phone in my hand, and in essence, a camera.  I pulled it out and snapped a picture.  I knew that when I would later come back to the photo, I would understand why I took it.  As I looked through the camera to steady the picture, I felt this calming presence sweep over me.  A peace that I wanted to remember.  And what I found was that as I took more pictures, I found more peace.

And that principle guided me through the rest of my dad’s life.  It brought me courage to bring out my camera or my phone, and take the shot even though I was a little afraid or tired or emotionally spent.

Taking pictures brought me peace when all I could see was pain and turmoil.  Looking through the lens often helped me to regain balance and find fresh perspective.  And so, I found this new passion helping me to record as many moments as I could.

Not just for austerity’s sake but for the emotion that I was feeling…that we were feeling.  Knowing that in the rush of days ahead, we would not remember many of those moments if a picture hadn’t encapsulated and frozen them in time.  That life is filled with all sorts of moments, and it would be a shame–a misrepresentation–if we only left behind for others, the cock-eyed view that life is easy, pleasant, and always good.  That death can only be remembered in an obituary or a memorial card.

What I found with much excitement and hope is that pictures do not have to be perfectly posed to carry their weight and earn their value.  They just need to be about life.  I don’t have to only see smiles to capture the beauty of the day, even when that day is filled with great sadness and a feeling of being lost in a sea of unchartered emotion.

I want my son to look back at those pictures seeing how we lived life both in good times and bad.  That sometimes tears and sadness are the best measure for the situation.  I want our pictures to be about life, real life.

You see, some day, someone will look back and want to know more.  Being that we  have the power and ability, I want show them what our lives were made of.  To feel and read about how we lived life.  I want them to know that our moments had details.  That life is much like a river, it has to be navigated.  So this is my story today, and the motivation behind why I share my photos and my words.  My prayer is that you will realize how important your story is in this journey that we share and call life.

“Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their generation to the next.”  Joel 1:3

It started one morning back this winter.  I was walking by myself and looking at the sunrise.  Off in the distance was a big billowing cloud with gentle brushing of pink rising on it as the sun broke over the horizon and climbed in the sky.

I had been out walking the morning of our first Easter assembly.  For some reason as I rounded the bend to head towards home, I found myself missing my dad so much that my lip began to tremble.  In a fond memory, I thought of how he had come to my rescue one of the assembly weekends the year before.  He just appeared at my door a little before 8:00am on a Saturday morning to help wrap Easter baskets.  Mark had been called out-of-town and my niece (my sister Robin and her husband Leo–they were my helpers) had come down with the flu.  Though they had planned on staying the night, they ended up going home in the wee hours of the morning.  My dad heard them arrive.  He told me that he knew then that he needed to come so he got up early, despite feeling awful, and drove down.  There he stood on my doorstep…an answer to a literal prayer for help…without me even asking…yes, that was my dad. 

As I walked down the road reflecting on that moment, I suddenly felt as if he was very near.  For some reason, I looked around and then up.  I felt so very close to him as I looked at this beautiful cloud…it was turning pink, looking so soft and majestic.  The thought brought me much peace and comfort, so wanting to document this process of grief, I took out my phone and snapped a picture of it.  Really, just for me….or so I thought.  To remember that cloud.  To remember that moment that seemed so comforting.  To remember that maybe he really isn’t that far away…

So I filed the picture away.  Don’t you love those digital storage devices?  Actually I am quite grateful for them.  In June, I began trying to catch up on printing off those pictures and putting them into my 2012 album.  As I came to that week, I printed that picture and journalled my thoughts, not wanting to forget it.

Fast forward.  For the last 9 years, we have gone camping in Traverse City with my siblings and parents.  This was our first year without my dad.  We all started out strongly committed to carrying on this tradition, but as it drew closer, it became harder.  I thought I was doing well until we pulled out of my driveway.  The thought of going north without my dad was almost more than I could bear.  You see, he was always the most excited…giddy like a school child!  Big smiles, everything was great, and enthusiasm that could ignite a fire in the coldest of souls.  That was him, and boy, how I missed the build up of excitement in him.  But by the time, we reached our destination, I was excited to arrive…knowing he wouldn’t want me to be sad or cry too long…that just wasn’t my dad.  And…how can you not love Traverse City?

My parents had a boat when we were young.  I actually remember riding in it and I couldn’t have been much more than 4 years old.  When I was in my teens, they bought another and summers were spent tubing on the reservoir near their house.  Lots of fond memories of water and boats.  As life has it, last year, Mark and I took the plunge and bought a used one.  My dad came down to take a look at it and tell us what he thought.  He loved it and told me, “That’s the one!”  Later, he quietly shared how glad he was that we had bought that one…he felt strongly that it was perfect for us.  And he was right.  We love it!

This year was our second year out on the bay with it.  We took it up last year, and I was blessed to be able to spend some time with my dad on it.  The picture below is his last catch…a big small mouth bass…he loved fishing!  That trip was the beginning of when the cancer returned.  He spent much of it not feeling good…he told us that he wished his back felt better (the doctors thought he had pulled a back muscle) so that he could get up on water skiis again.  As with life, sometimes, things are just not meant to be…

This year, as we floated on the bay watching the sunset, I again spotted a cloud that made me feel closer to him.  Please know that not every cloud makes me feel that way…just some and this was the first time since back in February.  I was puzzled at my feelings, and left wondering why did looking at that cloud trigger such a feeling of closeness to my father?  I pondered it for a while but to no avail, and then decided to just let the comfort flow over me despite the lack of logic to it.  I didn’t fight trying to understand, but rested in the beauty of the clouds and sunset.

The next morning I decided to spend some time in God’s Word before my guys got up.  I opened my Bible to Daniel 7.  For some reason, verse 13 caught my attention: “In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was the one like a son of man, coming with the clouds of heaven.”  I continued reading on, but kept coming back to the end of that verse, specifically to the clouds of heaven.  At that point, I wasn’t thinking of the previous night, nor of clouds, nor of my dad.  I was just following the nudging (the pull) to explore it more.  As I read the note, I was surprised to learn that “the clouds of heaven portray the Son of Man as divine; throughout the Bible CLOUDS REPRESENT the His majesty and awesome PRESENCE…Revelation also records Christ coming with the clouds.”  (capitalization emphasis, mine).  Life Application Study Bible, note to Daniel 7:13, 14.

I was a little shocked.  Was that why I feel the majesty of God when I look at His sky? And then it hit me…often my greatest comfort in the most painful moments of this grief is in knowing and trusting that my dad is now with God.  Remembering that he is in heaven catches me from wishing too hard for him to be here.  My mind shifted to that photograph in February, then to the sunset the night before.  Was there something more in this?  Something very personal to truly help me understand the reason and depth of this feeling?

Yes, it seems.  Clouds…they are everywhere in the Bible…much like the sky!  In Revelation 1:7, it states that “‘Look, He is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see Him, even those who pierced Him…‘”  There is so much Scripture correlating God with clouds that I was (and still am) astonished.  “The cloud filled the temple, and the court was full of the radiance of the glory of the Lord.”  Ezekiel 10:4God guided Israel by a cloud during the day. Exodus 13:21.  “When the priests withdrew from the Holy Place, the cloud filled the temple of the Lord.  And the priests could not perform their service because of the cloud, for the glory of the Lord filled His temple.”  1 Kings 8:10-11.  “When He was speaking, a cloud appeared and enveloped them, and they were afraid as they entered the cloud.  A voice came from the cloud, saying, ‘This is My Son, whom I have chosen; listen to Him.’  When the voice had spoken, they found that Jesus was alone.” Luke 9:34-36

It slowly started to sink in that God, through His Word, was answering the question of my heart the night before as I floated on the lake…I find closeness to my dad in the clouds because God is there.  Where He is, my dad is also.  Funny, days earlier, I found myself fascinated by these two clouds hovering so close together in a virtual cloudless sky.  Again I wasn’t sure why they caught my attention, but they did…If clouds represent His majesty and His Presence, then those who are with Him must be ever so near to us.  Might that be why we are drawn to lay on the ground and look up at the clouds, or why couples watch the sunset together?  Is that why people love to take pictures of them?  Or the foundation of why we “owe and ah” over them?  It is when you find people gathering together along a shoreline…as if we are all drawn to the majesty of the setting sun and its dazzling clouds and colors.  I sat humbled and in awe…

The neat thing is that I often look at the clouds closest to sunset.  Mark and I have loved sunsets since as long as I can remember.  And my dad loved sunrises and sunsets too.  As a young adult, I have fond memories of praising the beauty of a sunset with my dad.  Either looking out the kitchen window or standing in the backyard, but it really didn’t matter where we were.  In fact, one of the hardest memories for my family (or maybe just myself) during this camping trip was the memory of a sunset that we watched when we were afraid it would be his last up north.  The future seemed so unknown, and yet God granted us this magnificent display in the sky that night.  His wish that evening was to see the sunset.  As the color exploded in deep shades of pink, orange and purple, he sat in the car with tears streaming down his face.  It was one of the most glorious sunsets we had seen in a place that is near divine…a place we all love, he loved.

Since my dad has passed away, I have been watching the sunsets with even more passion and zeal.  It has been in this process of watching that I’ve noticed little nuances.  As I have paid more attention in these passing months, clouds can make all the difference in taking a sunset from beautiful to breathtaking.  They reflect and pick up the Son (oops, I mean sun) in a way that is remarkable, adding and reflecting colors…sometimes pinks, deep oranges, reds, purples, mixtures of grays and blues.  Both Mark and I noticed that sometimes you don’t even realize there are clouds in the sky until all of a sudden they are bursting with color.  The picture below was right after the sun dipped down below the horizon.  There wasn’t much color and there appeared to be little to the cloud that hung on the edge of the sky.  It was nice, but not stunning.

Twenty minutes later…stunning was a mild way to put it!

A few days after this revelation, I was again sitting on our boat watching the sun set hoping to catch its play on the clouds.  While the whole sky didn’t break out into what I had hoped for, there was this little patch that was incredible.  The brightness and yellow were hard to capture, but captivating nonetheless.  These little wisps at the top of the glowing cloud began to curl up and slowly change shape as if separate from themain gray cloud that hung below blocking the sun from illuminating the rest of the sky.  Still the rays of setting sun broke through making them seem almost surreal.  As I sat there and watched, I had a new perspective on why I was again feeling comfort sweep over me.  This time, though, there were no questions.  My eyes brimmed with tears filled with joy and gratefulness for God’s kindness in granting my heart the understanding of how close He and my dad really are!

“But God made the earth by His power; He founded the world by His wisdom and stretched out the heavens by His understanding.  When He thunders, the waters in heaven roar; He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth.”  ~Jeremiah 10:12-13

Our March and April got a little more hectic than I was expecting!  As many of you know, we spent much of March assembling Easter baskets.  It seemed like we delivered them right up to Easter, but really we finished by midweek.

Altogether we assembled over 1,700 kid baskets and close to 500 adult baskets.  While exciting, it is also humbling for we know that those numbers did not come by our strength.  Our house went from looking like this…

and this…

to this…(well, the basement…I won’t show it just yet as we are still cleaning up Easter!).  And by the way, the answer is “yes”!  I definitely love pulling these rooms back together!!  But it is just that…our house.  Our Easter outreach definitely helps us to appreciate the space we have and renews in us a grateful heart for our home.

Right before Easter, we lost our aunt unexpectedly…my dad’s sister.  It broke our hearts for two reasons:  one from losing her and the other, from watching my uncle and cousins’ pain knowing it all too well.  As best as we could, we finished up Easter and collapsed. 

But since then, as we have moved into late April and May there has been more time for reflection and relaxation…

time to catch frogs and turtles…

time to try something new…

time to dip our toes in a lake…

time to watch admire the storms (of life) instead of immediately running for cover when the sky turns dark and ominous…

time to sit by a fire…

time to think about love and how to share and live it…

time to watch movies and eat popcorn…

time for check-ups, tests and waiting…

time to simplify and enjoy…

time to get away together, just the two of us…

time to explore…

time to read…

time to take in the sunsets…

time to study the art of patient waiting, steadfastness, devotion and contentment in the examples God gives us in life…

time to be on the water…

time to gather, remember and grieve…

time to see beauty in these moments…

time to renew and refocus…

It was while shopping this last Friday that God helped me to sum up these days…many of the days have been hard tempered with days of sunshine.  As I stood admiring the blueness of this picture and the yellow sunflowers, I realized what the words were saying.“Rain is good for growth. Shine is good for blossoming.”  Well, isn’t that simply and beautifully true?  We really do need both to grow and blossom–to become all we are meant to be.  Rain and sunshine.  Good times and hard times.  Too much of either, while pleasant for the moment in some circumstances, throws us out of balance and can lead to our demise.  Not enough of either and we cannot grow or blossom.  Any gardener knows this to be true.

And so those are the days around here lately…rain and sunshine…some days have been more rain (in the form of grief, pain, fear, doubt, procrastination, and frustration), and some days have held more shine (beauty, joy, peace, hope, laughter and love) than we can bear.  These are our days…and I am grateful for God’s reminder that we truly need both kinds.

“He will also send you rain for the seed you sow in the ground, and the food that comes from the land will be rich and plentiful.”  ~Isaiah 30:23