“Clear away the clutter and calamity:” “Meet us Here” Song Story

It started at a bowling alley.

I had been invited to a late Christmas gathering at the local bowling alley.  I was excited to see family and friends on that January day, but if I’m being honest, the chaos all around me was overwhelming.  There were people everywhere, eating and drinking, yelling so they could be heard over the music and falling bowling pins.  Due to my limited vision, I couldn’t really see what was happening around me, but the sounds told the story.  It was all in stark contrast to what I had experienced early that morning.  I had been leading worship at church, and it had been a sweet and beautiful time of intimate connection with the Lord.  I had gone from one extreme to another: the space that was made for contemplative worship and the contrast in frenzied social interaction. 

I didn’t stay long at the bowling alley that day.  I couldn’t ignore the song that was coming together in my head.  So I said goodbye to everyone and made my way home.  Within an hour after sitting down to write, the lyrics of the song were complete.  As I read through the verses and chorus, Simon Peter’s words from John 6:68 came to mind, and I was able to add in the bridge. “… Lord, to whom would we go?  You have the words that give eternal life.”  As I continued to process the lyrics, reciting them repeatedly to memorize them, a melody began to become consistent, particularly for the verses. 

I knew right away that this song would be different from anything I had ever written.  So many of my earlier songs held to a strict, poetic format.  Sometimes the verses and choruses had the same number of syllables, and it made my songs very lyrically dense.  In “Meet us Here,” the verses had space, and I was actually able to take a breath in between the lines.  From the first lyric: “Take a breath… breathe out,” it was clear that I had broken my typical songwriting pattern. 

I considered that the song would begin with a busy intro— maybe trills or notes moving in a rapid rhythm.  But as soon as the intro moved into the first verse, I envisioned that the accompaniment would fade immediately to leave space for the vocal.  It would be as if the song was saying: “Rush, rush, hurry— wait, slow down, stop.”  I wanted the song to be reminiscent of my experience at the bowling alley— the craziness falling away and helping me return to that beautiful time of intimate worship. 

Initially, I was pretty insecure about the song’s format.  As I was arranging the piano part, my household assistant came to work at the house, and she witnessed my creative process.  She gave valuable feedback, telling me that she really liked the introduction and how it made space for the first verse vocal.  I didn’t question the format of the song after that.  I crafted the demo and posted it to the forum for the songwriting class. 

Over the next few months, I continued to work on the demo.  I was frustrated with the onboard microphone on the Spire because it was having a difficult time capturing the varied volume on my vocals.  The verses were quiet and intimate, but the bridge featured a full sound that often peaked or distorted when recorded.  I deleted the vocal and re-recorded it numerous times, finally shifting my focus to working on the track itself.  I requested Nate and Jenny’s help with percussion and strings.  We were making steady progress toward building the track, but I continued to feel like something was missing.  The song simply wasn’t coming together in the way I envisioned it, so instead of getting frustrated, I stepped back and shifted to working on a different song, “Again and Again.” 

Fast forward to July, 2023.  I finally discerned what was missing from the track for “Meet us Here.”  I was determined to seek out a drummer or percussionist, so I decided to start the search on the forum for the songwriting class I took back in 2020.  I was prepared to make a post and ask if anyone could direct me to a percussionist or drummer who might be willing to collaborate on my song.  I was willing to pay the right person for their contribution, and I wasn’t going to settle for just anyone. 

In a matter of days, God led me to a percussionist and producer based in Tennessee.  After exchanging numerous emails and texts and connecting over the phone, we began to work on “Meet us Here.”  Brennan crafted a rough draft of sorts that he later sent to me so I could give my feedback.  Upon first listening to Brennan’s production on my song, I teared up but also experienced chills at the same time.  It was as if Brennan could read my mind— the strings, drums, percussion, arrangement in general— all of it was everything I’d hoped for but also more than I dreamed possible for my song.  It was then that I knew I needed to continue working with Brennan, and that “Meet us Here” was only the beginning of the music we would create together. 

Thank You: From a Heart Overwhelmed

Just over a year ago, I woke up one morning to see pictures on Facebook of the Northern Lights display over my hometown. According to my Facebook friends, the light and colors were visible, even in the center of town with light pollution. I was excited for my friends who had seen this display, but I was disappointed that I hadn’t seen it myself or knew to be looking for it.

I was talking with family when someone said: “I bet you would have seen it if you had looked out the window during that time.”

I disagreed, saying that I wasn’t sure I would have been able to see the sky like that with my limited vision. I’ve been legally blind since birth, and now as an adult I have a limited field of vision in my left eye with complete blindness in my right eye. The only way I can see anything at a distance is with my telescope or the zoom lens on my camera or smart phone. I figured if I was ever going to see the Northern Lights, I would need to be up north during a significant solar storm because the displays are often more vivid there.

Over the next few months, I did my research, downloading an Aurora app on my phone so I could track the KP index. I wanted to be alerted if there was a high probability of witnessing the Northern Lights. There were times I took note that the KP was high, but I didn’t bother to go to the window and look. I just knew deep down that I wouldn’t be able to see anything.

Maybe some would say I had a defeatist attitude, but I’ll choose to say that I was being realistic. After years of living in a world that isn’t always accessible for the visually impaired, I’ve come to realize that there are certain things I’m just not going to be able to see or experience. This reality has contributed to my decision-making process. I have limited my vacation and sightseeing experiences because sometimes the expense of travel isn’t worth it when I consider what I’ll actually be able to see in that sight-seeing. If it’s going to be dark before an event concludes and I don’t have a ride, I usually decide not to attend because I won’t be able to stay the whole time before needing to trike or walk home. I wait until a movie releases to DVD or streaming instead of spending the money to see it in the theater because I’m able to see more of the screen on my tablet or TV since the movie theater screen is far too large for my narrow field of vision.

But it goes deeper than vision-related decisions. I have always been guarded, most likely because of my bent toward anxiety. If I know there is a high probability that I will be disappointed or I will encounter almost certain opposition, I’m not as likely to agree to move forward with something. If I perceive that fear or nervousness is taking root, I ask myself one important question: is the fear and anxiety a warning to keep me safe, or is the challenge ahead worth it because of something amazing I will experience on the other side?

Examples of this include: learning how to drive the scooter, collaborating with Brennan, and engaging in speech therapy. I knew there were risks with all three; I could crash the scooter (and I have!), I could be disappointed with the music (Brennan did not disappoint!), and I might need more serious treatment for my voice (I have been able to graduate voice therapy for at-home methods I can do on my own). All of these circumstances were fears and anxieties that actually led to good outcomes, but this isn’t always the case.

Back in 2017, I faced the reality that I might lose all of my vision due to a retina detachment. There was no guarantee that the surgery would be successful, but if I didn’t allow the doctors to at least try to restore my vision, I would most certainly lose all of my sight. When I woke up from the surgery, I couldn’t see anything, and my anxiety was heightened at the thought that my independence would be limited. But as the weeks and months moved forward, my eyesight grew stronger; now more than six years later, my vision is weaker than it was prior to my surgery, but it is a gift that I can see anything at all. The surgery was a risk I was willing to take, and I’m glad I took it! Friday night, May 10, 2024 would not have been possible without that emergency surgery. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

I was making dinner on Friday evening, May 10, when I first started hearing the projections for the Northern Lights display. I considered calling a friend and making arrangements to head out of town, away from the city lights. I knew if I asked, someone would accommodate me and would do their best to help me position my phone or telescope. But in the end, I refrained from calling anyone because I didn’t want to face the disappointment in front of someone else. I envisioned standing next to my friend as they witnessed the dancing light and color in the night sky. And then I envisioned the moment I realized I couldn’t see it at all. If I was going to miss out on the Northern Lights because of my limited vision, I wanted to experience the fall-out alone in the event my emotions became a factor. I had heard the hype before and had not been able to see the lights, so I wasn’t getting excited about the prospect.

Even so, I found I couldn’t stop checking my Aurora app. I gasped out loud when I saw the KP index was sitting at 9 in the hours before sunset. The app told me there was a 95% chance the Aurora could be seen from my location. “For sighted people, maybe,” I mumbled out loud as I went to make tea and started rehearsing for our Sunday morning service.

Around 9 p.m. (about thirty minutes after sunset), my mom texted me to ask if I was seeing the Northern Lights. I told her there was nothing yet, but then again, I was blind, so I wasn’t entirely sure what was out there. I finished practicing and then opened my sliding patio door ever so slightly to let in the evening breeze. The patio door faced north, so I reasoned that if I left the door open, it would be easy access if I wanted to step outside to see the skies.

Having the door open proved to be a helpful strategy because around 9:45, I heard children’s voices outside. One yelled something about getting their iPhone, and that’s when I wondered if maybe they were seeing something. “That’s awesome!” I heard a few seconds later.

I grabbed my phone and pulled up the camera. I often photograph the moon through the zoom lens so I can see it better, so I quickly navigated to my saved settings for capturing the moon. I stepped outside and scanned the sky. I only saw the streetlights and the glow from the municipal center about a quarter mile away. The quarter moon was also in the sky, and for a second, I thought maybe I had glimpsed the moon reflecting off low clouds. It was like there were white streaks in the sky. Something about it looked atypical, so I followed my intuition and held my camera up to capture those white streaks. I snapped one shot and then pulled the screen close to me so I could see the detailed image.

I started shaking. If you think I’m being over-dramatic, that’s fine. But I couldn’t believe what I was seeing through the camera! I was pretty sure the green and purple streaks in the sky were the Aurora, but there was a part of me that didn’t trust my limited vision. I almost dropped my phone twice as I attempted to send the photo to my mom via text. But just as the text went through, I decided a phone call was necessary.

“Did I get it?” I asked. “Is it the Northern Lights?” My voice was probably shaking just as much as my hands.

“Yes,” she told me. “It looks like it; its faint, but I can see the pink and green. You can see it! That’s great!”

I was wiping away tears at this point, marveling that I had caught a glimpse of the Aurora. I could hear the neighbors marveling at the display as well, and the trembling in my arms and legs wasn’t stopping. My mom and I wrapped up our phone call rather suddenly because she and my dad decided to go for a drive to see if they could see anything from Iowa.

Alone on the patio, I began to snap pictures, quietly crying and still shaking. If I said anything at all, it was “Thank You, God. Thank You for the blessing of seeing this.”
After a while, I could no longer pick up any light or color on my camera, so I went inside to save and upload the images. I couldn’t warm up, whether it was due to the chilly evening or the influx of adrenaline, so I huddled in a blanket while I went through the photos. I created a post on Facebook and then took the time to scroll so I could see others’ photos of the display.

I found it difficult to sleep that night. I was still freezing cold and shaking with adrenaline, so I curled up in bed and just prayed. My heart overflowed with gratitude and wonder. If I had not heard the voices of those children, I might have missed the display altogether. If not for my high-powered camera lens, I wouldn’t have seen the light and color. God had blessed me with an incredible gift, and I was humbled and overwhelmed at His goodness. “Thank You for letting me see that,” I choked out with tears streaming down my face. “Just… thank You.”

In awe and wonder, love, and praise, I give God the glory for this moment in time. I will never forget May 10, 2024 because I was able to see something that shouldn’t have been possible. But with God, anything is possible for a blind girl in Wisconsin, gazing up in wonder at the night sky.

Top Songs of 2023

At the close of 2022, I offered up a list of the songs that had impacted me throughout the year. I would like to do the same at the close of this year. The following songs have played a significant role in my life over the course of the past year. Some were used for corporate worship, while others ministered to me on a personal level. Where they are available, I have included YouTube links for the songs so you might be able to listen to them. Please consider supporting these artists by purchasing their albums or downloading/streaming their songs.

“After the Longest Night” Lex Buckley
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_YB_iGmQBg

“All of our Tomorrows” Sovereign Grace Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnlllwGdcQM

“Keeper of my Heart” Kendrian and Lauren Dueck
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nk_LJ-2HiPc

“Maker of Heaven” KingsPorch
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DK3RF85CKg

“Quiet (Acoustic)” Hillside Recording
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_C5Vch_qTg

“Relate” for KING & COUNTRY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIHUYeFez00

“Wait on You” Hineni Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suZSh1HqdcE

“What if” Blanca
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbVYIZ4nkX8

Splashes of Color and Glittering Light

This Advent season was nothing like I had expected.

I had been prepared to share meaningful Advent songs at church, and I couldn’t wait for Christmas Eve. “O Holy Night” is my favorite Christmas song, and singing it with my worship team girls in harmony is something that brings me incredible joy. I was also rehearsing for a choir cantata and getting ready to be an angel in a live nativity. Usually, my Saturdays are spent practicing and preparing for Sunday morning worship, but throughout October and November, cantata and nativity rehearsals were added to my already busy Saturdays. I welcomed the crazy schedule because it kept me busy. The past few years post-pandemic lockdown were really quiet, so having purpose and something to do was really gratifying.

But then a week before the nativity performances, I felt like I was coming down with something. I was congested and developed a cough. I wore a mask to rehearsals and didn’t sing much because I knew that my cough was starting to weaken my voice.

I woke up on Sunday, the 10th, ready to head to church for sound check. I tried to sing, but no sound came from my vocal cords. I drank some tea and then called one of our church musicians to ask for help. Fortunately, I had already spoken to her a few days prior to tell her that I was under the weather. I told her I was worried I might lose my voice, and I asked if she could be prepared to play some Christmas carols in the event I would have a weak voice. I was so glad I had given her a heads-up!

For the next six days, I couldn’t speak, and I definitely couldn’t sing. My dad and many of my friends would call almost every day, and every day, I would try to get enough sound out to at least say hello. During that time, I went to urgent care and learned that I had laryngitis and bronchitis. With medication, sleep, and lots of fluids, I slowly came back to better health.

But my voice was slow to return. I was getting worried that I wouldn’t be able to carry the vocal load on Christmas Eve. I had already been out of commission for two Sundays in a row and I knew I needed to get back to work. A kind congregation member sent me a generous gift, and I was overwhelmed by their kindness. Instead of writing a thank-you note, I called to wish them a merry Christmas and express my gratitude. As the conversation neared an end, I asked about Christmas plans for this church member, and I learned that both daughters would be home for Christmas. Both of them are beautiful singers. Immediately, I felt a glimmer of hope spring up inside me. I had a harmony singer willing to join me on Christmas Eve, but until then, I didn’t have anyone committed to help me lead. I wasted no time in calling one of the daughters, and graciously she said yes to helping me sing at the Christmas Eve services.

I had to be honest. I had been ill physically, but I was also not well emotionally. I had been really discouraged. Not being able to sing at a time of year when you rely most on your voice was beyond frustrating. I had to forfeit my participation in both the nativity and cantata. I watched from the audience as both events took place and I wanted to sing along so badly!

But I had awesome friends who supported me through each day of my recovery. Each encounter provided another glimmer of light that added to the eventual addition of singers on Christmas Eve. A neighbor drove me to urgent care; a sweet friend helped me get essentials at the dollar store and helped me get groceries. My household assistant helped me get a new Christmas tree because the lights had gone out on my pre-lit four-footer.

Even though it was a challenge, another friend led me through the live nativity and kept me from tripping or falling in the dark. I am grateful for all of the friends I reconnected with or met for the first time at the cantata and live nativity rehearsals. I wasn’t able to participate musically like I would have hoped, but I was so encouraged by the support of others and the kindness extended toward me.

After both Christmas Eve services and the gift that my friends’ voices added to the mix, I came home to a quiet house for one last night. Christmas morning, I was scheduled to leave for my parents’ house in Iowa. I wasn’t sure I was really looking forward to leaving home. I was just barely feeling well enough to get back to normalcy, and I was still really tired. I was also a little nervous about catching something else. I have an important venture lined up in the next few weeks, and I need to be healthy.

Our family Christmas gathering turned out to be a bit smaller than planned because one of my sisters and some of her kids came down with a stomach bug. I was sad not being able to see them, but it was nice to have a less crowded gathering.

Since I was staying with my parents, I was at the house when my sisters and their families started to arrive for our sort-of-Christmas. One of my nieces immediately came to me and asked if I would color with her. She showed me these magnets that she had started to color with these fancy, glittery pens. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I can’t see very well, remember? These designs are really tiny and I might mess it up. I don’t want to make a mistake on your pretty magnets.”

“That’s okay,” she said. My five-year-old niece proceeded to set out her fancy pens and magnets, and we sat side-by-side at the kitchen island to color. I was right; the magnets had really small and intricate designs. But we came up with a plan. My niece would fill In one portion in each section of the magnet with the color she wanted it to be, and then I would look at where she had colored and filled in the rest. I made one mistake, but she colored over it so it is hard to tell where the error occurred. All the while, she was so patient with me. I told her mom later that she will probably make a good teacher some day. She was determined to make sure I finished the magnet and that it looked pretty in the end. She sent me home with it, and now it is front and center on my refrigerator.

The simplicity of that coloring project, the beauty of a new Christmas tree and its twinkling lights, the harmonies swelling around me as my voice was silenced, the gift of kindness of my friends and family— all of it was light, color, and hope amid some very dark days.

As I was driving home on my scooter from Christmas Eve morning worship, I marveled at the fact that I was out and about independently the day before Christmas. I live in Wisconsin and we quite often have snow, ice, slush, and salt on the roads by early December. I’m always asking for rides at Christmas time, and for the first time ever, I was able to get myself back and forth from church in late December. I was also so grateful that I was starting to feel better. As the low-angled sun bathed me in golden light, I lifted tearful eyes up to the sky and whispered a prayer of gratitude.

This Advent and Christmas was not what I had expected, but it was still a gift, even though it was wrapped in adversity. It made me appreciate the simple and yet beautiful moments that now overwhelm me when I consider it all.

As we enter into 2024, I have hope that incredible and amazing things are on the horizon. I can’t wait to share what’s next!

Top Songs of 2022

At the close of 2021, I offered up a list of the songs that had impacted me throughout the year. I would like to do the same at the close of this year. The following songs have played a significant role in my life over the course of the past year. Some were used for corporate worship, while others ministered to me on a personal level. Where they are available, I have included YouTube links for the songs so you might be able to listen to them. Please consider supporting these artists by purchasing their albums or downloading/streaming their songs.

“After the Longest Night” Lex Buckley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_YB_iGmQBg

“Always” Chris Tomlin https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOhm4Px_xdY

“Count me in” Switch https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0d-remVn3k

“Flourish” Mike Donehey https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6Ab6HQvWaU

“Happy now” Pentatonix https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OSIoHSXhy8o

“Keeper of my Heart” Kendrian and Lauren Dueck https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y31Yq58Fb9E

“Maker of Miracles” Austin & Lindsey Adamec https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RA5naxYhj90

“Never once” Matt Redman https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2CpU39tM0c

“Over and Over” Vertical Worship https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GefPVxycO4E

“Press on” Selah https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKJ6dmKV0Gc

“Remind me You’re here” Jason Gray https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eaja6maPoDk

“Relate” for KING & COUNTRY https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7CnoV6P6zc

“The Sun will Rise Again” Becca Bradley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65RCZHeWldU

An Open Door

It was an ordinary week-day at the church, midway through December. Christmas preparations were reaching their final stages. I had just finished rehearsal and was making my way down the hall toward my office. I searched my pocket for my keys, and once I had them in hand, I glanced up.

There, across the hall from my closed office door, was something I hadn’t seen in months. The door to the senior pastor’s office was wide open and the lights were on. The unexpected sight caused me to stop in my tracks and stare for a second. Obviously, preparations were being made for our new pastor, so the open door shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did; as I sat down in my own office seconds later, I considered my response. Why did I feel tears at the back of my eyes and yet also a flutter of excitement all at the same time? It was just an open door. Did it really mean anything?

Yes, I decided, it definitely meant something. It symbolized a new beginning— a welcome to hope. Even though our pastor hadn’t arrived yet, there was the promise that our time of waiting would soon be complete. It was as if to say: “We are ready for you; please come in.”
I’ve expressed it so many times over the past eighteen months, but I’ll share from my heart again. Almost from the moment our senior pastor had departed our church in May 2021, I was eager for the new beginning. I knew it might be a long wait before we would call our new pastor, but I was so hopeful. I had just walked through the pandemic with my congregation in worship and music, all while enduring the loss of a dear loved one and battling a health diagnosis. Often, the new beginning seemed so far off in the distance, but just like you can smell rain before the storm or hear a train whistle from a mile or two away, I could feel the changes taking place. The new beginning was on the horizon.

Advent has been a journey for me this year, and I have engaged with the season more powerfully than ever. I was submitting photos for a photo montage that would be included in our church’s Christmas program when I thought of a song I had sung for years at my annual Christmas concert. The photo that had jogged my memory was of me and a fellow singer, and we were posed before one of our performances. As if my memory was replaying scenes from a movie, I began to recall many of the songs we had sang and played together and the beauty of our harmonies. In particular, I thought of “Just a Girl,” originally written and performed by Brandon Heath.

From the first time I played the song, I fell in love with its piano progression and storyline. It chronicles the perspective of the innkeeper that first Christmas— the innkeeper who turned away Mary and Joseph before the birth of Jesus. Now, the Scriptures don’t say anything about the innkeeper, and His name is never mentioned. The Bible also doesn’t detail the innkeeper’s thought process or emotions during this critical time, but the lyrics of “Just a Girl” imagine what he must have been thinking and feeling.

It made me ponder the door the innkeeper must have opened that night to the travel-weary Mary and Joseph. “Just a Girl” tells the listener that they didn’t “have room for anymore” and that the innkeeper closed the door and went back to bed. He didn’t know who was standing on the other side of the door, beyond that they were a couple, seeking a place to stay. The song goes on to describe the innkeeper’s guilt as he realizes that the Son of God has just been born in the humble stable. He asks, “What have I done?”

Now, I’ve never been faced with the innkeeper’s reality, but I do know what it feels like to be faced with a decision of the heart. I’m a pretty guarded person, and after the past eighteen months, it feels like the walls around my heart have risen even higher. I struggled to lead worship during the pandemic, only to experience significant loss. The eighteen months of pastoral vacancy were an uphill battle at times, and there were moments I had to temper my expectations so I wouldn’t be crushed by disappointment. Relationships were tested and some suffered greatly; to this day, I am still awaiting healing for two personal connections and my heart aches for restoration. I will admit that I have hidden my emotions and limited my interactions with others this year because I didn’t want to feel the pain of loss and rejection any longer. I know one has to open their heart in order to welcome in something new, but like I expressed earlier, I am guarded. I want to hope, but at what cost? Will the new beginning arrive and be everything I thought it would be, or will there be broken promises along the way?

Yes, it’s been a difficult few years, but it’s nothing in comparison to what the Israelites experienced as they waited for the Messiah. I was reflecting on this recently as I got ready to release my latest track, “New Song.” I gave a testimony at my home church on the morning of the release, and I shared my personal journey with our congregation and a charge to keep the faith as we completed our time of waiting for our new pastor. As I was preparing my message, I told one of my co-workers that this testimony was resonating pretty strongly with me, even though I had written it and lived through it. My time of preparation brought to light one striking reality: I do not wait patiently. In fact, if the past few years have revealed anything, it has been my lack of calm endurance. When things got difficult, I shut down. I didn’t try. I sought out the shortcuts. I didn’t have the energy to go one more step. I wanted to see resolution and restoration immediately, and it was slow in its arrival.

So as Christmas approaches, I wonder: am I prepared to celebrate this year? And by asking this I mean to say: am I truly ready to celebrate Christ’s birth? For so many years, Christmas has been a flurry of memorized songs and service planning. Yes, I remember the real reason we come together in worship, but often, its easy to get caught up in the preparations without truly opening my heart and mind to the wonder of the season.

This Christmas, I want my heart to be an open door— open to more than just the music on the stage, the hope of welcoming in a new pastor, or simply working through the hustle and bustle. I want to be open to witnessing the hope of Christmas, recognizing that a babe born to “just a girl” would have the power to change the world. There is no better “new beginning” to witness than the fulfillment of the greatest prophecy. God, keep my eyes and ears, heart, mind and soul open to receive the gift of Your precious Son this Christmas. Amen.

From Five Minutes Frozen to Seeking the Light

Since I am visually impaired and can’t drive, I quite often find myself walking or riding my tricycle to work or the grocery store.  Due to the fact that I am out in the open, its important that I know the weather forecast.  Quite often, I look at the weather on my phone; I use an app from a local television station that shows the current radar and gives an hour-by-hour forecast.  So for example, if there will be a seventy-percent chance of rain at 3 p.m., I probably won’t be going out unless I have a ride. 

A few weeks ago, my domestic assistant was scheduled to work at my house, and her schedule for the day changed.  At first, I was concerned that this would throw off my day, but in the end, the schedule change was a good thing.  Severe weather was possible for our region later that day, and since she was now coming earlier to work, I knew I could run errands as soon as she left my house and then get back in time to hunker down if the weather deteriorated. 

As soon as the schedule allowed, I packed up my trike basket.  I needed to drop off a gift for someone, so along with my purse, prompter tablet, and lunch cooler, I made sure I had the gift bag and greeting card.  My basket was full, but I had a lot to get accomplished, and I knew I would feel relieved when everything was done and I could return home with a lighter load. 

Two hours later, I was tired but feeling fulfilled as I pulled into my garage and began to unload everything.  The gift bag was gone and the lunch cooler was empty; all that remained in the insolated bag was a few thawing ice packs.  I went into my home office with my tablet and purse, and immediately got to work on my computer.  I had been putting off upgrading my operating system, and I had a few hours carved out in case the downloads would take awhile.  Once I got the download process started, I went to YouTube and Facebook, seeking out some of the weather-related content I typically follow.  I’m a bit of a weather nerd.  Tornadoes and severe weather make me nervous when they’re happening, but I love learning about how storms come together and even seeing pictures and video of the clouds and sky.  It didn’t take me long to find a Facebook live that was going with local coverage; storms had already started to move into my area, and that was kind of surprising since it didn’t look overly threatening outside other than some light rain.  Occasionally, the live stream would cut out, so I filled the silence with music playing from my video display.  All the while, my computer continued to download the operating system. 

At one point, everything got quiet… so quiet I could hear the storm siren sounding outside.  My video display and Facebook live had both frozen up on their respective screens, and my computer had halted in its download at 85 percent.  I tried to bring up the radar on my phone, but since everything was frozen, I didn’t get very far.  Thanks to the storm siren, I knew there was a warning of some kind for my county, so I went to the living room to turn on the TV.  I had just hit the power button when everything in my office unfroze and I heard the Facebook livestream call out my home town and county specifically by name.  “If you live here, golf ball-sized hail is on the way for you.  This storm has already caused broken windows and other damage in surrounding communities, so take cover now.”

Much like my devices had frozen up, no doubt due to the impending storm, I found my body freezing and tensing up at the weatherman’s words.  Golf ball-sized hail?  How big was that again?  Over an inch, right?  Now I knew why the sirens had gone off; this seemed pretty serious. 

Last Spring, we had gotten a hail storm in my home town, and many plants were heavily damaged.  That hail hadn’t been that large, but even so, it had made a big statement.  This coming storm had the potential to be even bigger, and I was instantly nervous.  Since my TV was now blaring from the living room, I took a few moments to assess the coverage; according to the projected arrow coming out from the radar, the storm would be over my house in two minutes.  As if to confirm its approach, I heard a distant rumble of thunder and heavy raindrops or maybe even pea-sized hail began to clatter against the windows. 

Since I don’t have a basement, I didn’t want to chance anything; I closed myself in my interior master bedroom and clenched my phone tightly in my hand.  I was good and scared now, and I knew I needed a distraction.  Thankfully, a good friend answered when I called a few seconds later.  I asked her to tell me a story to hold my attention because all I could think about was the threat outside. 

My friend was amazing, speaking to me in a calm voice, launching into a silly little story.  But even though she was doing exactly as I had asked her to do, I couldn’t focus.  I heard the first hailstones hit the roof, and the sound was deafening.  I put my friend on speaker phone, because my fingers had begun to cramp around my phone because of my tight grip.  “Its okay,” my friend said, stopping in her story.  “I hear it now.  Yeah, its loud, but you’re going to be okay; I promise.”

I think something like a whimper or a squeal came from me when I heard a hailstone hit the side of the house, maybe even a window.  Why wasn’t the storm letting up?  I was no expert, but I didn’t think hailstorms were suppose to last this long. 

Finally, blessedly, the clatter on the roof lessened, and I drew in my first deep breath in several minutes.  I told my friend that I thought it was over, and I left the bedroom.  I went around the house, checking the windows, making sure nothing was leaking or broken.  Once the clouds began to clear a bit, I cautiously ventured outside, bending down to gather a few of the ice chunks that now dotted the lawn.  The hail was huge!  It was confirmation that everything I had heard while it was coming down had not been a figment of my imagination.  It had sounded like thousands of hammers, forcefully driving in nails or large rocks being slung at the roof and windows.  My Dutch friends might get this analogy when I compare the sound to a multitude of a thousand-pound klompen dancers in their wooden shoes, making my roof their stage.

As I gathered up enough hail to put in the freezer, I thought about the potential damage outside.  I had no way of knowing if the roof was okay or if there were dents in the siding, but I knew time would reveal the outcome.  Hail like that would leave an impact, and there would be no doubt as to the cause. 

It got me thinking about the past two years of my life.  Circumstances have certainly left me feeling a bit dented and trampled, much like being under that hailstorm.  But unlike the hailstorm when the weatherman’s voice had cut in to warn me, I had no preparation for the catastrophes that would slam into my personal life. 

I know I have not posted here very much over the past few years, but if you know me personally, you might have an inclination of what I have been through: losing a dear loved one, health concerns, significant changes at work and ministry, and fractures within long-term relationships.  I don’t have physical marks that show the damage, but I do feel like I’ve been tossed around by a storm or two, trampled and clobbered by the hailstones of life.  My hair has thinned, probably due to stress.  I am tired and weak.  My health has improved, but sometimes stress and anxiety bring symptoms to the forefront.  Sometimes, if I’m being honest, I just want to give up because I don’t feel like I have the strength to continue. 

It has been two long years since Covid-19 changed everything and my world started spinning chaotically.  I know many of you can relate to this because almost everyone I’ve talked to has had a story to recount of some struggle they have endured over the past few years. It’s similar to the aftermath of the hailstorm; almost everyone I’ve talked to in my local area can tell me where they were and what they were doing when the storm hit and the damage that came from it. We are weary of the struggle, and much like enduring the hailstorm in my bedroom, we wonder how much longer the pain will rage over us. 

When I looked at my video display after the hailstorm, I took note of the storm’s duration; the camera recorded the hail for just over five minutes.  I couldn’t believe it!  Usually, five minutes doesn’t feel like an eternity.  It’s the length of a commercial break, listening to a song, reading a few pages in a book, or the time it takes to get across town when I have a ride.

I have wondered what those five minutes felt like for my friend on the phone that day.  It always seems like the wait is longer when you’re the one directly enduring it.  To her, it probably felt like five minutes, but for me, it felt like an hour or perhaps even longer.  Hope seemed so far away, and the wait seemed endless.  In those five minutes, I was frozen; I couldn’t think or even pray.  The comparison to the last two years is so similar that I found myself desperate for relief.  There’s nothing quite like golf ball-sized hail to rattle you enough to break through the numbing chill, even as shards of ice rain down from the sky. 

I have known for some time now that new beginnings are right on the horizon.  I have already caught a few glimpses of this hope on the way, and I long to reach toward the light instead of dwelling in the storm.  The weight has been too much to carry on my own, and I need to relinquish a great deal of my hard-headed and hard-hearted independence in order to let God in.  He has the strength and endurance to carry me through any storms that might be looming on the horizon.  And although I’ve been through a lot the past few years, I know He has faithfully carried me and my load as I have tried to forge ahead on my own.

Its kind of like my packed trike basket earlier that day of the hailstorm.  Even though my lunch bag had been emptied, it still took up space behind me.  So many times I have run errands and wondered if I can trust that anything I leave in my trike basket will stay there.  The only way I can be sure my things will stay secure is if I take everything out of the basket and carry it with me into each store and business along the way.  I realized then that I needed a new backpack, and when I saw an insulated cooler backpack online, I knew it was just the thing I needed. 

But this isn’t just any old cooler backpack; it is bedazzled with sunflowers!  I love the reminder of the sunflowers, knowing that these blooms are created to seek out the light of the sun as they grow each day.  The sunflowers are always looking toward the light until they grow heavy enough to be harvested and they can no longer turn to face the sun. 

As I left for work this week, I had to smile as I strapped the sunflower cooler to my back.  I could feel the little burst of energy that came over me as I started up the first hill on my trike.  I didn’t have to burden my trike basket with excess baggage any longer when I could simply carry my light-weight lunch on my back.  And the sunflowers were there to remind me to look to the light and the blooming and flourishing that will one day come if I do not lose hope.  For as the scriptures say, His burden is light, and I’m living in that promise.     

Top Songs of 2021

At the close of 2020, I offered up a list of the songs that had impacted me throughout the year. I would like to do the same at the close of this year. The following songs have played a significant role in my life over the course of the past year. Some were used for corporate worship, while others ministered to me on a personal level. Where they are available, I have included YouTube links for the songs so you might be able to listen to them. Please consider supporting these artists by purchasing their albums or downloading/streaming their songs.

“Amadeo (Still my God)” Ryan Stevenson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9B-Jd_qGVBA

“Anchor” Skillet https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TzB4FaPODc

“Be Still and Know” Hannah Herr https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UN36N367xOY

“Control (Somehow You want me)” Tenth Avenue North https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFfztu8-bBQ

“Count me in” Switch https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0d-remVn3k

“Do it Again” originally be Elevation Worship, PCBC Great Hall Worship https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5woXqPpry0

“Fighting for me” Riley Clemmons https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rR3DsGJ5QVQ

“For a Moment” Elevation Worship https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_JBRECGhtM

“Healer” Meredith James https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPA3cZRPf4w

“I have this Hope” Tenth Avenue North https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjetZn5lrBc

“Into the Sea (It’s Gonna be Ok)” Tasha Layton https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HznXBBCdBE

“Keeper of my Heart” Kendrian Dueck, Lauren Alexandra Dueck https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y31Yq58Fb9E

“My Arms” Ledger https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZbBig1FH5Q

“Need You Now (How Many Times)” Plumb https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9ylnx0NA9X4

“Never let you Down” Hawk Nelson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ba39etnDzwk

“Never will” Life.Church Worship https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPifg6WG8zk

“Over and Over” Vertical Worship https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GefPVxycO4E

“Peace be Still” Hope Darst https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lsIpGiz3SfQ

“Provider” Cade Thompson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tikTlQSPjHs

“Run to the Father” Cody Carnes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcpeLDp0Foo

“Safe and Secure” Matt Crosson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpMCXNkYVTc

“Shattered” Blanca https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2Z0HA39lZU

“The Sun will Rise Again” Becca Bradley https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=65RCZHeWldU

“Truth I’m Standing on” Leanna Crawford https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vrWdkziEuyA

“Up Again” Dan Bremnes https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBmk45iNkxY

“Warrior” Hannah Kerr https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQpKSpgrwQE

“What if” Blanca https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbVYIZ4nkX8

“While I Wait” Lincoln Brewster https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NswPPVgMaPE

“Yet not I but through Christ in me” CityAlight https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zundjUFazfg

“You make me Brave” The Bright Ones https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEzHLaJSQVw

Where two or three gather together

“For where two or three gather together as my followers, I am there among them.” (Matthew 18:20)

I have to be honest.  I dragged myself to the office that day.  I wasn’t stressed, and there wasn’t a lot to do at my desk, but I needed to finish my weekly tasks.  However, I was low on energy.  I thought about putting off my office time and going in the next day, but even though I was less than enthused, I talked myself into just pushing through and getting things done. 

I was nearing the end of my tasks for the day when a visitor came into the office— a woman had an unexpected request.  “My mom is in the car,” she told us.  “I asked her where she wanted to go, and we thought we could stop here at church.”  She explained that her elderly mother had not been in church much since the Covid-19 pandemic began, and they just wanted to sit in the sanctuary, read devotions and maybe sing a little.  Somehow, I found myself offering to play a few songs for them, so together, we made our way to the sanctuary. 

The piano had been pushed to the back of the stage to make room for the band that had rehearsed the night before.  So I stepped up to the keyboard that was plugged in and ready to go, and I began to fumble my way through “Trust and Obey,” “I Love to Tell the Story,” and “How Great Thou Art.”  I didn’t always know all the words (sadly, I had left my prompter at home), and I was a bit rusty on the piano, but it was a beautiful little impromptu worship service.  It was just me, the mother and her daughter, and our church administrative assistant. 

It immediately brought me back to our pre-recorded services during the Covid-19 lockdown.  During the pre-recorded services it had been me, our pastor, our videographer, and audio/visual tech, so our small number in the sanctuary that day was very similar in nature to those sweet little worship times earlier in 2020. 

I belted out “How Great Thou Art,” and even put in the dramatic key change that I have grown to love.  It’s a marvel how quickly that musical muscle memory comes back, because it had been a long time since I had played that hymn all the way through.  It was a priceless, God-ordained, tender moment.  We listened as the daughter read devotions to her mother and then we prayed.  We also cried; I think all four of us cried.  I needed this mini Thursday afternoon worship service more than I can even put into words.  The last eighteen months have been extremely challenging, and I couldn’t believe the spark of energy, rejuvenation, and renewal that worked through me just from having those twenty minutes together.  This had not been just for the elderly mother and daughter; it had been just as meaningful for me and our administrative assistant. 

I realized that God had truly brought all of us into that sanctuary that day.  And to think, I had almost delayed my trip to the office by one day.  This mother and daughter had not even planned to come to the church that day; it had been a last-minute decision. But clearly God knew what all four of us needed that day.  The Holy Spirit had clearly prompted each one of us and drawn us together for just that pre-ordained time.  Do you believe in divine appointments?  I certainly do, because I just experienced one. 

Let me Tell you a Story

I love a good story.

I’m a bit of a talker when you get me one-on-one, and if you’re willing to listen, I can go into detail.

I love to read a good story— a blog, Facebook post, memoir, or fictional tale.  My idea of a good Friday night is me, a cup of tea, and a good book.

I also like to write a good story.  Not too long ago, I stumbled upon a file on my computer that I hadn’t accessed in a while.  It was my completed novel from 2012, an unpublished sequel to my 2011 release, The Promise.  I started to click through the pages, thinking about everything I would change if I could rewrite it or reveling in the portions that I thought were really strong.  In reading through my earlier work, a spark reawakened inside me.  I knew I didn’t have the time or energy, but there was still a longing to get back to writing again. 

I considered my current list of priorities, and quickly shot down the possibility of returning to writing.  Besides, who needed to write a novel when it felt like I was living through quite the page-turner already.  It was all I could do to keep moving as the story of my life spread out before me with all of its twists and turns.  If I could tell you the story of the past eighteen months, it might go something like this:

March, 2020

I was exhausted.  I felt a sharp pain in my ear, and when I reached up my hand to investigate, I found my ear canal was wet with discharge and painful to the touch.  To my knowledge, I had never had an ear infection before, but I knew that this couldn’t be good. 

I went into the office that next morning to hear my pastor say something strange: “So there’s this virus out there.  Schools are shutting down, and I’m thinking the church will need to close too.  You are going to need to be flexible because we might need to record our services.  I’ll keep you posted on what to do next.”

I had heard about Covid-19 and even the reality of a toilet paper shortage, but this caught me by surprise.  Trust me; I even considered that because of my probable ear infection, I may have heard him wrong.  But the reality soon became crystal clear.  We entered into nearly three months of lockdown with pre-recorded services and quite a bit of working from home.  I led worship mainly by myself during that time, only adding in one other vocalist on Easter Sunday.  It was a lonely yet also extremely busy time.  I had just come through an intensive songwriting mentorship, so the creativity was still flowing, which was a huge blessing because it kept me motivated. 

There was sadness during this time as well, because I said goodbye to a dear loved one whom held the role of best friend in my life.  If this were a chapter in my story, it would be marked with adversity, longing, fear, doubt, and most of all, grief.  The chapter concluded with a farewell and the end to a life-long connection. 

July, 2020

A new chapter begins.  Services are live and in-person, but the crowds are small.  I am fatigued from leading worship almost every week, and my pastor gives me a one-week respite for bereavement.  I come back to work, rested but still missing my loved one.  There is a bit of hope on the horizon, however, as we start to have outdoor services.  After a great ordeal, I manage to get my new piano in place, essentially saying goodbye to the instrument I had played for twenty years.  It was sad to let go of the piano where I had written many of my first songs, but I was excited for something new so I could record and create new melodies.  If this were a chapter in my book, it would be marked by letting go and new beginnings. 

December, 2020

The overwhelm, the stress, the fatigue, the extended lockdown…. November, 2020 brought another lockdown to our church.  I began leading worship alone again, and we recorded almost all of the services between November 15 and the end of the year.  I truly struggled in my worship leading.  I had always memorized the music I played, but I never realized how much I had relied on my fellow worship team members to get me back on track if I lapsed on a lyric.  When I was on stage all by myself and I couldn’t hear anyone singing with me, I began to doubt I knew the lyrics to the songs I had been singing for such a long time. 

One late afternoon in early December, I completely fell apart.  The despair was so acute that I couldn’t catch a breath in the midst of my tears.  I was at a crossroads.  Either I needed help or I simply couldn’t sustain the workload.  I prayed with an intensity that exhausted me nearly as much as my constant tears.  I asked God to help me, but I couldn’t imagine the answer to my prayers. 

When my exhaustion was complete, I had no choice but to stop my crying and simply listen to what God had to say.  It was then I felt the prompting to check out prompting technologies.  Prompting had been something I had considered before but I never thought it would work for me and my limited vision.  But in about two hours, I had my answer.  Thanks to a free app from the Google Play Store, I was on my way.  Two weeks later, I had an adjustable stand that would place my prompter (an Android tablet) right at eye level.  For the first time in my nine years as a worship leader, I had an adaptive tool that could help me with lyrics and arranging my music.

I reveled in the victory that came from this adaptation, but the celebration only lasted twenty-four hours.  The very next day, I got up from the table after eating lunch, and my heart started racing.  I had felt this rapid heart rate before, but only occasionally over the years since I was a teenager.  Typically, the feeling would pass in a few minutes or last as long as maybe an hour.  I had always equated my rapid heart rate to be evidence of a panic attack.  I have struggled with anxiety for a long time, so this self-diagnosis always seemed probable.  But there was a small part of me that wondered if it could be something more serious.  Heart-related concerns exist in my family, so it wasn’t completely impossible that something could be wrong. 

My heart kept racing that day, and two hours later, I still didn’t have relief.  I realized this couldn’t be a panic attack.  I had just found a way to deal with a lot of my stress, and I was relieved to have the prompter to assist me.  So the rapid heart rate didn’t make much sense, and I was starting to get worried. 

A dear friend called me in the midst of all of this, and immediately, she knew something was wrong.  I told her to distract me.  I thought that by talking to her I could somehow calm down.  But nothing changed, and my friend encouraged me to call 911.  I wasn’t sure taking that step was necessary, considering I wasn’t feeling like my symptoms were life-threatening, but I agreed that I would get someone to drive me to urgent care. 

I left the house after unplugging the Christmas lights and making sure everything was in order.  My friend stayed on the phone with me as I walked a few houses down to knock on the neighbor’s door.  Fortunately, he was home and quickly sprang into action.  He couldn’t enter the hospital because of Covid restrictions, and I felt the separation keenly as I faced the hours ahead alone.   

I was not prepared for my two-day hospital stay.  My blood pressure had spiked and could not be controlled.  A protein level was elevated in my blood as well due to my prolonged episode of supraventricular tachycardia.  Yes, I had a diagnosis.  Yes, I had panic and anxiety, but my Friday afternoon heart rate spike had not been panic after all.  I now had a name for the uncomfortable pounding heart rate that had plagued me on and off for years. 

January-April, 2021

The next few months were marked with doctor appointments, medication adjustments, and a great deal to consider.  Surprisingly, I handled the ever-changing circumstances fairly well.  I was stressed, but I knew it was important to get well, so I focused on following the doctors’ instructions and taking care of myself. 

The prompter was working out great at church, and we had returned to live and in-person services in the middle of January. 

Easter was approaching, and we began to consider the possibility of an outdoor service.  It was looking like it was going to be in the mid-seventies for the temperature that day, and since Easter in Wisconsin can often be quite chilly, this warm day was a gift.  I was able to play my new piano at the outdoor service, even working in the sound of a pipe organ so we could sing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” at the top of our voices.  It was a beautiful morning when it felt like we could truly be together without boundaries.  The pandemic was still all around us, but for the first time in a year, it felt almost normal… or better than normal because the day was crystal clear and felt like Summer in April.  This chapter in my story concluded with hope and promise.

April 13, 2021

I was rehearsing at the piano when the phone rang.  It was cloudy outside and rain was threatening; little did I know the dreary weather was a pre-cursor to the long night ahead.  The conversation that resulted from that phone call changed everything.  I got up from the piano to pace the floor while I heard words like: “It’s time for me to go.”  “You’ll have to move forward without me.”  In a matter of moments, a relationship that had spanned the course of several years came to an abrupt end.  This was goodbye and nothing I could say or do could change it. 

The night ahead was fraught with tossing and turning.  If this were a chapter in my story, I would say this is where I got stuck in the middle— re-reading passages, losing my train of thought, and having to read everything again.  I cried, I prayed, I asked why.  I felt betrayed, abandoned, overwhelmed, even angry at times.  I replayed scenarios in my mind— all of the what-ifs and could-have-beens.  Why didn’t I see this coming?

With basically little to no sleep, I went into the office for an 11:00 meeting the next morning.  I was a wreck, walking in a fog, thinking all of this had to be a bad dream.  How do you move forward when nothing makes sense?  In terms of my story, I set the book aside and left it behind.  This was no happily ever after; I wanted no part of it. 

April 16, 2021

On May 14, I planned to release my song “Quiet Place” on all digital platforms.  In fact, that day I was so low on sleep, I actually approved the cover art and was thinking about submitting everything for digital distribution.  But I stopped myself from completing anything official because I was running on empty and definitely not thinking clearly.  Two days later, I got the finalized track, and hearing the completed song managed to penetrate through my numb haze.  With exactly a month to go until release, I announced the good news on my Facebook page, and for the first time in three days, I felt like I could look forward to something.  Music did its work in reviving me. 

June, 2021

I have one month to go before my ablation procedure; I am nervous but optimistic that I might soon embrace better health.  The church is transitioning.  Our pastor departed late in the Spring, and we entered the summer by welcoming in an interim.  Everything has changed, and there are days when it’s all I can do to keep everything straight.  The heat is intense, and I’m not sure if it’s my meds or something else, but I’m miserable.  I stay home in the air conditioning most of the time and fumble through songs at the piano.  I’m still stuck in the middle of that chapter from April, reluctant to move forward but yet knowing that I’ll have to turn the page soon because I can’t stay here. 

July 12, 2021

My ablation is complete, and although it appears to have promising results, I am discouraged about some of the findings.  As August begins, I am informed that I will have to wear a heart monitor.  I am weary of it all at this point. 

August 31, 2021

There is a glimmer of hope.  In just a few hours, I can take off the heart monitor and send it back to the clinic.  I check my email, and see a message from someone I’ll call “Miranda.”  That’s actually not her name, but since the season ahead is so deeply personal, I’m choosing not to go into detail.  But getting that message is like a new beginning, and I’m looking forward to the door that has opened to me.  In my story, this might be seen as the cliff-hanger with the sequel available sometime soon. 

So that’s my story… deeply personal and yet a snap-shot— a novella or short story of the last eighteen months.  I know I am not the only one to walk through significant challenges over these past few months, so if you’re reading this, I want you to know that you’re not alone.  The story is still unfolding, so even though it might seem hopeless at times, we have to remember that God is still at work within us. There is hope for a sequel of promise, a redeeming and outpouring of love and mercy.  I can’t wait to dive into the first chapter!