Carrying My Burdens

Finally, after overstaying its welcome, winter seems to be moving out! Our days have been filled with sunshine, clear skies, and warm weather, and my boys want nothing more than to be outside. For my two-year-old, that means daily walks to the creek down the road from our house, where he likes to throw in big rocks and see how big a splash he can make.

Yesterday, he got the idea to ride his tricycle down to the creek. He just learned to pedal over the last couple months, and he loves any opportunity to ride.

I knew when he suggested it, he wouldn’t make it down there and back on the tricycle. There’s a big hill to climb on the way back, and his little legs would never hold out. But I didn’t discourage him. I walked beside him, smiling as he put his heart and soul into pushing those pedals and bending down to give him a gentle shove now and then to help him out. We both laughed as he sailed down the hill, his white-blond hair standing straight up in the wind.

Parking his tricycle in triumph next to the creek, his grin stretched from ear to ear. “I did it, Momma!”

“You sure did,” I said, holding my hand out to receive a very enthusiastic high five.

He threw the pile of rocks he’d brought in the tricycle’s pouch into the water, letting them splash one by one. When he finished, he mounted his trike again, ready to go back home.

But just as I expected, his now-tired legs didn’t have the strength. He only made it a few feet before he stopped. “I can’t make it go.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. Let’s just walk. We can carry it home.”

He got off the tricycle and watched me as I hoisted it onto my hip, holding one of the handlebars. He grabbed the other one. “I’ll help you, Momma.”

“Thank you,” I replied. Together, we climbed the hill heading home. He strutted as he clutched the handle. He was Momma’s big helper. I carried the weight of the tricycle and let him believe he was really doing some work next to me.

As we neared the top of the hill, he stopped again. “Momma, can you carry me?”

Again, I smiled. “I sure can.” I lifted him onto my other hip and finished the short walk back to our house.

It was such a small thing, but as I carried him home and looked down at him, his sweet little cheek resting on my shoulder, I saw myself in him. God spoke to me in that moment.

How many times have I set out to do something on my own, counting on my own strength to get it done? How many times has God given me those gentle pushes on my path, pushes I didn’t give him credit for because I only saw the work I was doing “on my own”?

And when I’ve failed…and I have, so, so many times…how many times has He carried the weight of my burden for me? Even when I didn’t see His hand because I didn’t know Him and all He did for me?

And when I was so weak, so exhausted I couldn’t go on, how many times has He picked me up and carried me the rest of the way?

I am so, so thankful for His love and forgiveness. But today, I am thankful for His quiet strength. I wasted so much of my life knowing who He was but not really knowing Him. For years, I failed to give him the credit where it was due, not realizing that without Him, I could do nothing. But He never demanded the glory – it was up to me to humble myself and see Him for who He was and what He was doing in my life and give that glory to Him.

We are so lucky to have a God who knows us inside and out – our thoughts, our flaws, our mistakes – and still loves us more than we will ever understand. A God who wants to walk with us and strengthen us, even carry us through life’s trials.

Jesus offers to carry our burdens for us. “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). We can give Him our troubles, our worries, our stress, and He will carry that load for us and provide the rest we all so desperately seek.

I am thanking Him today for the many times He’s held me through life’s storms. I pray that I will never again fail to give Him the glory and praise for all He does in my life. He is still working in me, and He knows (even when I forget) how much I need Him. I am so thankful for all the times I can see His hand at work in my life. But I’m especially thankful for the times He is there next to me, carrying my troubles or even carrying ME, even when I fail to see Him. He is faithful, and He is good. Even when I don’t deserve it.

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The Thief Next to Jesus

Good Friday. The day we remember our Savior and His cruel death on the cross. The day He TOOK MY PLACE in the death that I deserve, because He loved me. He knew when He came here the fate that awaited Him. Betrayal. Mockery. Torture. A slow, excruciating death. But He came anyway. Just to give us forgiveness that we don’t deserve. I can never thank Him enough. I can never repay Him for what He did for me.

But tonight, the one who is on my mind is the criminal who hung beside Him. A man who, unlike Jesus, had lived a life of sin. A man who society had deemed worthy of death on the cross, because of the crimes he committed. And as he hung there, nearing death, he confessed Jesus as Lord. “Lord, remember me when You come into Your kingdom,” he said. And what did Jesus say? Did he tell him he was unworthy? Did he tell him his sins were too great, that he was condemned to die and go to hell because that was the punishment he deserved? No. “Assuredly, I say to you,” He told the criminal beside Him, “today you will be with Me in Paradise.”

I feel like sometimes, Christians, we’re missing the point. And when I say Christians, I’m including myself, too. It didn’t matter what sins that man had committed. It didn’t matter if he spent his entire life on the earth going against everything God ever said. The minute he confessed Jesus as His Lord and Savior – and that minute just happened to be one of the final moments of his life – He was forgiven. Heaven-bound. Did he deserve it? Of course not! But do I? Do you? Does anyone?

I have a past – one that does NOT include Jesus. I try to forget about it, because I know God has, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still have nightmares about some of the things I’ve said and done. And guess what? I’m still far from perfect, despite all the work He’s already done in me. It doesn’t matter how “good” I try to be now. It doesn’t matter how many hours I spend in church, how much I give to those in need, or how many times a day I pray or read my Bible. That’s all good stuff, of course, but it’s not what saved me. Jesus saved me when He died and rose again, and the only thing I did to receive that gift is BELIEVE in Him and ACCEPT Him into my heart. That’s it.

We’ve never been more divided than we are today. And with that division comes such powerful hatred and cruelty. But Christians, are we helping the problem? Or are we stirring it up even more? It’s not wrong to stand up for what we believe in – in fact, we’re commanded to do so. But look at the way we’re doing it! Sharing hateful Facebook posts and memes, shaming the other side because they sin differently than we do. We’re no better than the Pharisees who were so blinded by their religious rules that they didn’t see Jesus for who He was – the Messiah! They put Him to death because He didn’t fit their idea of what a “religious” person should be. You guys, the Pharisees were some of the most “holy” people out there. They MEMORIZED the first five books of the Bible BEFORE THE AGE OF 12. They took the laws of Moses very seriously and when they condemned Jesus to death, they truly believed they were doing it in God’s name. They let their own religious rules blind them to Jesus’s message. They judged everyone around them.

Are we becoming modern-day Pharisees? Are we so high and mighty because of all the “good” things we do that we think we’re good enough to judge the world, when we’re missing Jesus right in front of our faces? The reality is, God loves EVERY SINGLE PERSON on this earth. He wants everyone to receive the gift of His Son and will give us to the very last moment of our lives to do so, if that’s what it takes. As Christians, we’re called to share His message with the world, so they will receive Jesus and eternal salvation. Are we doing that? Are we really sharing His message when we share hatred and judgmental social media posts? Or are we turning people away from the Truth with our religious rules and hateful speech? Life with Jesus is about freedom. It’s about relationship with Him. It’s about love. It’s not about rules and being “better” than anyone else. It doesn’t matter how “wrong” or lost someone may be – Jesus died for him, too. And we’re called to love, not sit on our throne in judgment and bully someone into thinking like we do. It doesn’t work like that. It’s not how Jesus reached people, and we sure won’t reach anyone that way, either.

I’m thankful tonight for His sacrifice and His forgiveness. I pray that I will never be a hindrance to His love and His message. I want everyone to know that there’s nothing you can do to make Him not love you. He will forgive any sin, any mistake you’ve ever made. Don’t wait until you think you’re “worthy” to come to Him. You’ll never get there. Accept Him today, and let Him come into your life just as you are right now – flaws and all. He loves you despite your past or even your present. All you have to do is choose to believe, to accept Him. He wants to do big things in your life. All you have to do is let Him in.

Thoughts from a Teacher in Today’s Schools

I have so many thoughts running through my head and my heart – a jumbled collection of ideas clouded by fear, devastation, frustration, and anger with no real organization or solutions in mind. As a result, I’m afraid this blog post will probably reflect the chaos in my heart, and that’s okay: I think it’s safe to say at this point, it probably reflects the way most of us feel right now. I will do my best to make it as cohesive as possible…bear with me.

First, I want to be clear that this post is not political, nor is it designed to point fingers at anyone. It is not intended to start a debate; I want no part in arguing. I don’t even identify myself as a Democrat or a Republican. The only label I am comfortable wearing is Christian. I hate politics and the divisive hatred it brings with it. While I do follow the news and the words and actions of our elected leaders and cast my vote in each election, I refuse to get into pointless heated discussions with people who don’t agree with my beliefs.

With that said, I think the one thing both sides will agree with is this: we, as a nation, are in trouble. The tragedy in Florida is only the latest in a series of violent acts – acts that are carried out against our children. Our CHILDREN. And instead of coming together, instead of mourning with those parents and families who sent their babies off to school, not knowing it would be the last time they’d ever see them, we’re fighting. Fighting over what needs to be done, over who is to blame, over what should happen next. And while I understand and appreciate the passion from which those arguments come, I also know that it’s not going to bring those babies back and it sure isn’t going to prevent it from happening again in the near future.

The truth is, somewhere along the way – okay, multiple times along the way – the shooter in Florida was failed. I don’t know his whole story or what it would have taken to get through to him, to help him realize his own worth and get the help he needed to get his life on the right track, but whatever it was, he didn’t have it. We can blame the fact that he was allowed to purchase a gun in the first place…we can blame the FBI and anyone else involved who didn’t respond appropriately to reports…but none of that gets to the heart of the matter.

I hear your cries for gun control. Trust me, as a teacher, I get it. I’ve gone through active shooter training. I’ve planned escape routes and imagined how to best protect and hide my students. I’ve long accepted the fact that if it came to it – and I pray to the good Lord that it never does – I would die protecting my students because I love them. I love every single one of them and would give my life without hesitation if it meant saving theirs. And I can say with confidence that every single teacher I know would do the same. It is a job we chose because we love kids and want to be around them, want to impact them, in the best possible way we can. We live in a society where as a whole, teachers aren’t valued. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t scroll my Facebook feed and then shut off my phone in disgust as I see yet another parent ranting about a teacher, followed by dozens of comments from other parents raging about individual teachers and the school system as a whole. I had a student tell me flat out, just this past week, that his parents didn’t like a particular teacher so they told him he could make her life as miserable as he wanted to. But you know what? That teacher would still take a bullet for that child.

Herein lies a piece of the puzzle of What is wrong with this world: Respect. And no, I’m not blaming our kids here. Our kids are merely a product of the environment – home, school, and media combined. They are what they see and hear and watch on a daily basis. How can we expect more out of our kids in this insane world we’ve brought them into? How can we expect them to respect their teachers and each other when they don’t see it out of us? Again, I’m not here to point fingers at anyone. I’m far from the perfect parent and make mistakes daily with my boys. My kids see me scrolling through my phone far too often, and then I get frustrated when they get too wrapped up in technology. Our kids will hear our words, but it’s our actions that will leave the greatest impact. When a kid sees hatred and violence at home, he becomes desensitized to the damage that comes with it. There isn’t a week that goes by that I don’t lie awake at night, crying and praying for some particular kid who told me about something disturbing he or she heard/saw/experienced at home. My ten-year-old fifth graders have seen Rated R movies that I won’t even watch. They play video games that glorify killing and beating people. It simply isn’t possible for a young, impressionable mind to take in that kind of violence and behavior and not be affected in some way. “Eh, I watched that kind of stuff as a kid and I didn’t grow up shooting people.” Maybe so, but the world we live in today is not the same world you grew up in years ago. The Internet and social media have changed the whole ballgame. These kids today – they face challenges that we as adults never even dreamed of during childhood. Let’s give them a break. Instead of putting all the blame on them, let’s root for them. Let’s try to change the world for them. Let’s let them see us coming together for each other instead of bashing each other and filling our minds and our newsfeeds with hatred. We can’t control the choices that every parent makes regarding their children, and so many of our kids don’t speak up about the abuse, neglect, and illegal behavior that occurs at home. We, as adults, have to step up for those kids. Become their voice. Offer them a mentor, a safe haven, whenever and however we can.

Back to the gun control issue: I get it. After Sandy Hook, especially, I was the first one to cry out that citizens shouldn’t own those military-style guns that can kill multiple people in under a minute. And you know what? I still believe that. It is an unpopular opinion in my little town in southern Illinois, and I have several male relatives who own them who are, if they’re reading this, sounding their war cry against me as we speak. “You can’t take away my Constitutional rights! You can’t take my guns!” But when it comes to the safety of my kids – both my own and the ones who are mine every day between 8:00 and 3:00 – I would do whatever I can to ensure we save as many lives as we can. Do I think there should be strict background checks on anyone buying a gun? Absolutely! Do I think our nation needs to look at our existing laws concerning guns and think about making some changes? Of course. But with that being said, I’m also not naïve enough to think that creating new gun laws will solve the whole problem. We all know that making something illegal does not make it obsolete. Look at the statistics of illegal drug usage. Of alcohol use by minors. If a criminal is determined to get their hands on a gun of some kind, he or she will find a way to do it. No, that doesn’t mean we should make it easy for them, but creating these laws will only create a black market for guns. People will still find a way to get their hands on them.

And so, I’m back to square one.

Parents, I hear your frustrations. I hear your cries that children are reporting bullying and other incidents, only to have “nothing done about it.” The truth is, there’s always something done about it. Schools have a protocol in place as to what happens when bullying or inappropriate behavior occurs. Those students who report it may not see it, as most action is handled in private as per privacy protocol demands, but something happens. The thing is, as teachers and even administrators, our hands are often tied. There are hoops to jump through for any serious consequences to occur. The sad reality is, if a student says something that makes another student uncomfortable but doesn’t actually DO anything, like commit a crime, there’s only so much that can be done. Instead of getting angry with our teachers and administrators, who are simply following the legal protocol, we need to call for a change in policy, nationwide, as to getting students effective help as soon as any alarm bells begin to sound.

I don’t have the answer. I do know one thing, though, and this is the part that won’t be so popular with a lot of people: you can’t really hope for any kind of change unless you bring God into this equation. We can’t continue to demand that He is left out of things and then get angry when He doesn’t seem to be here anymore. The thing is, He’s STILL HERE. Our Bible assures us that He will never leave us or forsake us. He didn’t cause this violence to happen, and for those who are shaking their fists at Him and blaming Him, I can assure you that He is weeping right along with us. But He does not, and never has, forced Himself on anyone. And as a result, sin runs rampant. When people don’t know Him and choose to reject His love, it allows Satan to get a foothold in those people and in turn, on the situation. Let me be clear about one thing: Satan is behind each and every one of these school shootings. He is a master manipulator. For those who are reading this, rolling their eyes…well, he’s manipulating you at this moment. I know because he used to have a hold in me, too. I know what he’s capable of. He is the one who convinces these poor, lost kids that violence is some sort of glorified revenge. But you know what else he’s behind? He’s behind all this hatred in our country. He comes to steal, kill, and destroy, and that’s why he loves division. As long as we’re all fighting, he stays in control and NOTHING CHANGES.

It’s time for us, as Christians, to step up. Maybe we can’t change the whole world, but we can start in our own little areas. It’s time to spread the message of God’s love, even if it makes people uncomfortable. It’s time to show our kids that they are created for a purpose, that they are fearfully and wonderfully made, and that there is more to this life than what they’re seeing in their schools and even at home. It’s time to help them see the joy and peace that God can give them, even in the midst of the worst circumstances. It’s time for us, as adults, to take responsibility for these kids. All of them, not just our own. It’s time to pray fervently – for our kids, for our parents, for our teachers, for our schools – because we know that prayers are not just empty words but powerful pleas that can move mountains.

I believe with all my heart, Christians, that if we want to see a change in this world, it has to start with us. So let’s come together. Let’s rise above the hate and stop getting caught up in all the arguing and blaming and pointing fingers. Jesus called us to spread His message to all the world, and we need it now more than ever.

We believe because we’ve seen what Jesus can do in our own lives. We’ve seen what prayer can do, what choosing love can do. We’ve experienced His power. Let’s help the world experience it, too.

His Perfect Plan

I started praying to God about a week ago, asking Him what message He wanted me to share this Christmas. It’s been about three months since I last posted on my blog – I’ve been working on the first draft of a new novel and I’ve let it consume most of my writing time. But a week ago, with the first draft under my belt, I prayed. God, give me the words You want me to say.

But the words wouldn’t come.

I sat down at my computer more than once throughout this past week, sure that once my fingers touched the keys, the words would flow through them. But they didn’t. I was blank. Come on, God, there must be something You want me to say.

The more I thought about this mental block, I realized it wasn’t only affecting my writing. It was affecting my daily life as well. And that especially included my prayer life. This thing, this burden in my mind, consumed my thoughts daily.

I believe in transparency, and I try to be as open as I can when it comes to sharing my life – including those parts that are far from perfect. But this issue isn’t one I can share so freely, as it involves another person, and I also believe in protecting the privacy of those I love. And so, I will leave it at this: there’s an issue that impacts my life in a big way, and I can’t do much to control it. It’s something I’ve been praying about for over a year, but for whatever reason, I haven’t received the answer I seek. I go to God about it often – daily – and ask Him to fix it. That’s what the Bible says to do, right? “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you” (Matthew 7:7). I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that what I’m asking for is in line with God’s will. I know it’s what He wants for the person I’m praying for and for everyone else involved. Yet…it still hasn’t changed.

I’m not angry with God for not answering my prayer yet. But I can’t help but become frustrated. Why hasn’t anything changed yet? Why can’t I hear Him this time?

This morning at church, our youth group put on a fantastic Christmas play. I laughed out loud over and over again, along with the rest of our little church, which was packed with people. But at one point, the play took a serious turn and one of the kids read from Luke chapter 2, the story of Jesus’s birth. And as I listened to that story, I couldn’t help but picture Mary and Joseph, who must have been so overwhelmed by what was happening. I imagined what Mary must have been thinking the night Jesus was born. God, I trust You. I’m willing to give birth to Your Son. But the inn is full, and I’m in pain. Your Son can’t be born out here in this manger, in the midst of animals. She was so young, so innocent. This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen, she must have told Him. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.

But Jesus was born that silent night, exactly how He was supposed to come into this world – a humble birth, unfit for a King, yet absolutely perfect. Exactly the way God said it would happen over and over again in the Old Testament. I’m sure Mary couldn’t see that at the time, but when the shepherds came and shared their amazing story of the angels who had appeared and led them to Jesus, the Bible tells us that she “treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). She saw that His plan had been perfect all along, and all her worries had been for nothing.

Jesus came here to be with us. God loves us so much that He couldn’t stand the idea of our separation from Him, so He became one of us to be the sacrifice for our sins. He didn’t have to come down that night, didn’t have to enter this world in that little stable. He chose to. Because He loves us. No matter who we are, no matter what we’ve done, He loves us. At my very worst, most unlovable moments, He still loved me. And because I accept Him as my savior, He doesn’t even remember those moments. When I mess up – and I do, every single day – He still loves me. And He forgives me.

And one of the most beautiful parts of having Him living inside my heart is this: this burden that has plagued me for so long can be given to Him. I believe in the power that comes from dropping to my knees and laying it all at His feet. I’ve done that, over and over again. But I realized this morning that I’ve been praying about it, laying it at His feet, and then as soon as I say “Amen,” I pick that burden right back up and carry it around with me. I think about it, obsess about it, wonder what I can do to fix it. And the truth is, only He can fix it. I had to lay it down once and for all today, to truly let go and just trust that He has it under control. And when He finally answers this prayer, it will be in His perfect timing, and I will be in awe of his plan and realize that my worries have been useless.

I’m so thankful for a savior who loves me and wants to carry my burdens for me. All I have to do is seek Him and turn it over to Him. “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). That doesn’t mean He’s going to fix my problems right away; it means He will give me peace in spite of those problems. And for that, I am overwhelmingly grateful.

He chose to come here, to be with us. Even if He never does another single thing for me, that will be more than enough. But His gift goes even further than eternal life. No matter our histories, no matter our darkest secrets, He still looks at us with love. He sees us not for who we are, but for who He created us to be. And all we have to do is invite Him into our hearts! I didn’t do anything to deserve His love or His forgiveness, but because I choose to accept Him, He gives it to me freely.

If you don’t know Him and the peace and love that only He can give, please, accept the gift of Jesus this Christmas. Give Him a chance to work in your heart, to make your life better than you ever imagined it could be. Experience His perfect love and all that comes with it. Let Him carry your burdens.

He’s waiting with love.

Is This The Last Week???

There’s been a lot of talk this month about the apocalypse. I’ve seen multiple articles in my Facebook newsfeed about this Saturday, September 23, being the day of the Rapture. If you haven’t read about this, I encourage you to do so. I’ll admit, the case being built for that day is interesting, based on Revelation 12 and an alignment of Jupiter, the sun, and the moon and the fact that it falls during the time of the Jewish holiday, Rosh Hashana and the Fast of Gedaliah. Research it and decide what you think about it for yourself.

But I’m not here today to tell you the world is going to end this week, especially not specifically on September 23. The Bible tells us clearly that “about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:36). I don’t believe we can pinpoint a specific moment this will occur.

But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. Jesus promised us in John 14:2-3 that He would return. “In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also.” And he also told us to look for signs. “Look at the fig tree, and all the trees. When they are already budding, you see and know for yourselves that summer is now near. So you also, when you see these things happening, know that the kingdom of God is near” (Luke 21:29-31). So maybe we can’t predict the exact day or time, but that doesn’t mean He wants us to be blindsided by the end.

Will the rapture happen on September 23? I don’t know. But here’s what I do know: the Bible promises that He will return and it gives us signs to look for so that we are not surprised by it. Sure, a lot of people are laughing at Christians who are looking for those signs. Guess what? The Bible promised that would happen. “First, I want to remind you that in the last days there will come scoffers who will do every wrong they can think of, and laugh at the truth. This will be their line of argument: ‘So Jesus promised to come back, did He? Then where is He? He’ll never come! Why, as far as back as anyone can remember everything has remained exactly as it was since the first day of creation” (II Peter 3:3-4). This, like many other prophecies in the Bible, is coming true right before our eyes.

So what does the Bible tell us to look for?

“There will be signs in the sun, moon, and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for heavenly bodies will be shaken” (Luke 21:25-26).

“For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places” (Matthew 24:7-8).

“You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come” (Matthew 24:6).

“But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power” (II Timothy 3:1-5).

 

You guys, this stuff is unfolding right under our noses. Pretending it’s not happening or that it’s ridiculous or crazy is FOOLISH. You can deny the predictions for specific days, but you can’t deny the condition of our world and the things that have happened this past month alone.

I know that like so many others, my words will be dismissed by many. But I can’t live with myself if I don’t share this with everyone I can – especially the people I love. I’m NOT telling you to prepare for September 23…I’m telling you to prepare for TODAY. Because the reality is, if we don’t know the day or the hour, it could be today. If you were to find yourself, mere minutes from now, facing God and the Final Judgment, would you go to Heaven? If you hesitated, if you weren’t sure about your answer, I’m begging you to fix that right now.

Here’s the truth: I spent way too many years of my life claiming to know God and that Jesus was my Savior, but the reality was, I lived a life that did not include Him. The Bible speaks specifically to people like I was: “Whoever says, ‘I know Him,’ but does not do what He commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person” (1 John 2:4). Believing in Jesus is the first step, an IMPORTANT step, but even Satan believes in Him. If you believe in Him but don’t do anything about it, do you really believe that He is who He says He is?

I tried for so long to do things my own way. I knew who Jesus was, but I didn’t surrender to Him. I’d let him in on Sundays and occasionally through the week (usually if I was struggling with something and needed some help), but when it came time to live my life, I didn’t want Him getting in the way of my “fun.” I found myself constantly dissatisfied. “If only I had ______, I would be happy.” (You can fill in the blank with whatever you want. A new job? A different house? A marriage? A divorce?) I would set goals and get what I wanted, but still find myself unhappy.

Then someone said something to me that stuck in my mind: We are designed to desire a relationship with our Creator. We long for Him, even though so many of us don’t realize it. We look for things in this world to fill that gap, but until we allow Him to come in – to TRULY come in, not just when it’s convenient – we will never feel true contentment.

I finally reached the point that I knew I couldn’t continue to do things my way. I had to surrender, even the parts I didn’t want to surrender. I was scared. Why would He want me? By that time, I was one of the worst sinners. I’d done things that kept me awake at night. I was selfish. Hateful. Spiteful. So undeserving of Him. Why would He even listen to me? Why would He care? Why would He let me come back?

But the Bible tell us that God is willing to forgive all that stuff from our past. God promises that He will be “merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more” (Hebrews 8:12). He will forgive and forget! And all we have to do is ask and surrender. “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14).

When I finally surrendered, a weight I’d been carrying for years was lifted from me. For the first time in my entire life, I found true contentment. Does that mean everything is perfect? Of course not. I still experience heartache and stress. My classroom doesn’t always run the way I want it to. My kids mess up. My marriage has its struggles. But the difference is, now I’m not doing it all alone. I’m studying my Bible and talking to God and asking Him for His guidance, and He provides it. He gives me exactly what I need in each trial I face. When I don’t know what to do, I can give my anxiety to Him, and He takes the burden from me. And in the face of it all, I STILL FEEL CONTENTMENT. I have a peace that doesn’t make sense most of the time.

I WANT THIS FOR ALL OF YOU. I want you to experience His love in a real way and see how He can transform you and your life. And when the end comes, I want Him to take you into His arms and welcome you to Heaven. And you can have it! All you have to do is ask. Surrender.

Someone recently told me, “I can’t go to that church. The walls would fall in.” I’m here to tell you, those walls are strong. And they’re built for people just like you and me. If God could work in my life and forgive me, He can do so for anyone. So give Him the chance to do what He promised He would do. Let Him work in your heart so that you can have the life and plan He created especially for you. I promise it will be better than anything you could have imagined for yourself.

He’s waiting with open arms.

A Prayer for our Schools

Tomorrow marks the beginning of another school year – my tenth year in the classroom. In this house, an odd mix of excitement and nervous dread fills the rooms as my soon-to-be first-grader prepares himself for something new (“Why did the summer go so fast, Mom? I thought we had almost eighty days off! What if I don’t have friends in my class? What if I miss you too much? What if I just want to play outside but I’m stuck at my desk for hours?”).

Tonight, as I make plans and get ready for my junior high students, I am overcome by an overwhelming urge to pray. Again I am reminded of Jesus’ words: “Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves.” Our schools, and our kids, are facing a world we’ve never known before – a world filled with hatred and pain on a scale we’ve never seen. And tonight, I’m turning to God and asking Him to be with us, to protect us and bless us as we navigate this new year.

Lord, be with our kids as they come back to us. You have created each one in Your image, each one with a specific purpose. You know their potential and see them for both who they are and who they can become.

Be with the super students, the overachievers, the ones who excel in school. Help them continue to do big things in the classroom so that they will go on to do even bigger things in this world.

Be with the ones who struggle, the ones who want to succeed but don’t have the same abilities as those straight A students. Help them to see that You have blessed them with talents and abilities and that Your plan for them will be amazing. Help them to find the path You have created for them, and let them know that they, too, will go on to do big things in this world.

Be with the students who don’t want to be there, the ones who don’t enjoy the classroom and feel stifled by the school routine. Help them to find their passion, their creative outlet.

Be with the ones who want to be there – not because they enjoy class, but because for those seven hours each day, they feel safe. They know they are free from whatever plagues them at home – abuse, neglect, hunger. They know they are guaranteed meals.

Be with the students who hate school – not because they don’t enjoy the classwork, but can’t even concentrate on learning because they feel like an outcast. Help them know they are loved and accepted when other students don’t make them feel that way. Help them see their worth in Your eyes.

Soften those students who are angry at the world. Help them to find their place in the middle of the chaos and give them a heart to know You and Your love.

Be with the parents and guardians – the involved PTA moms and dads who volunteer in the classroom, the ones who don’t know or care how their kids are doing in school, and every parent in between. Help them find ways to love and support their kids and set them up for success in school and in their lives.

And finally, be with our teachers and staff. Fill us with patience and wisdom. Help us to connect with each of our students, both in our content areas and in their lives. Help us to love them fiercely, as our own kids, even when it’s not easy. Help us to show them that in us, they have an ally, a confidant, a mentor, and a friend. Help us to be who they need us to be so that each and every student can experience success and most importantly, love and inclusion. Help us to be Your hands and feet each and every day. Help us to see each student through Your eyes, to love them as you do – for who they are now and who we know they can be.

Mighty God, please bless our schools. Help those students and teachers who know You to be Your light in this dark world. Keep all of our students safe, both in and out of the classroom. Help us all to have a successful year and to feel Your joy and peace, no matter our circumstances.

Thank You for hearing our prayers and loving us so completely. I ask these things in Jesus’ Holy name. Amen.

Casting My Net

prayer

I wasn’t in the mood for church this morning.
I lay wide awake at five-thirty this morning, contemplating “calling in sick” to church to let my Sunday school kids know I wouldn’t make it. After a sleepless night spent worrying about something beyond my control, my head spun.
I yawned. I need some sleep. Both my boys slept soundly on either side of me. One phone call, and you can sleep, too. It’s only one week. What will it hurt?
But something kept me from making that call. I lay there debating, but kept remembering things I needed to do there. Bible School is next week. I need to meet with the workers and find some materials. Plus, my boys look forward to “playing” their guitars with the kids’ praise and worship.
When I couldn’t lie there any longer, I got up. Fine, I’ll go. I got myself and my kids ready, grumbling in my head the whole time, still stressing about the same burden that kept me up all night.
I got to Sunday school and found I had extra students because another teacher was on vacation. The big, lively group of kids and the lesson we had on Jesus’ prayer to His Father just before going to the cross was enough to pull me from my slump a little. I left Sunday school feeling happier, more alive.
But it was the preacher’s message that wrecked me. He read from Luke chapter five, when Jesus got in the boat with Simon and told him to drop his net into the water. Simon told Him they’d been fishing all night with no luck, but that he’d try again. When he did, his net filled with fish until it broke.
How many times have I told God I’ve done all I can do? How many times have I given up when things didn’t go my way the first time? Jesus never promised an easy ride. Even when He blessed Simon with an abundance of fish, the net broke, making them work to get the fish into the boat.
God loves to bless us, but we can’t expect Him to just rain those blessings down upon us. We have to trust – we have to keep going when we can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel – we have to work. When we listen to Him and take that leap of faith, no matter how difficult that leap may be, that’s when we’ll see true blessings.
I was able to lay my burden at the altar of prayer. Instead of spending the whole night in my head, worrying and what-if-ing and replaying conversations, I should have given it to Him in the first place. I should have laid it at His feet and immersed myself in the rest and peace that only He provides.
But I’m grateful that He pulled me to church, even if my heart was in the wrong place when I got there. I leave there every single Sunday feeling blessed by His presence…today was no different in that respect.  But today, I also left feeling lighter. At peace. Rested. I’m grateful that He’s still working in me, that He doesn’t give up on me. I’m grateful that He not only listens to me when I’m hurt or confused, but that He cares. That he guides me and speaks to me in so many ways – often through others, like He did this morning.
And I’m grateful for the chance to cast my net in one more time. And if it still doesn’t work, one more time after that. I will keep working, keep trusting, and know that He is in control.

Filling the Void

The message I have tonight is a simple one. But it’s something God put on my heart days ago, something I feel He wants me to share. In fact, He actually gave me the opportunity to talk about this with two different people – two totally different situations – in the past four days. If that doesn’t tell me He wants me to share this, I don’t know what will.

I want to share a small part of my testimony that comes from my time in college. I enjoyed my time there – loved my classes, my professors, and most of all, my friends. The girls in my sorority were my family away from home. But I would suspect that many of those girls who knew me then wouldn’t even recognize me now.

During that time, I was searching for something – trying to fill a void in my life I didn’t even realize existed. In the freedom that came with living away from home for the first time, I made my own choices.

One of those choices was to leave church.

It wasn’t like I woke up one day and thought to myself, I’m not going to church anymore. It happened gradually. Late Saturday nights out with my friends led to sleeping in on Sunday mornings and laughing over late breakfasts.

When guilt pangs arose, I justified it. This is college. It’s normal. 

I remember a few specific moments, wandering out of the club at two a.m., thinking, You should go to church tomorrow. Get up early – drive home. And I actually did it several times. But when I walked into the church and looked around at all the “good” people, my bar stamp still faintly present on my hand, Satan whispered in my ear. You’re a hypocrite. Who are you kidding? You don’t belong here. God can’t love you when you’re living like this.

I let his voice keep me away until eventually, those guilt pangs stilled. After all, you don’t need to go to church to be a Christian, right?

But my hectic lifestyle left me “too busy” to read my Bible. I don’t think I even had one in my room in the sorority house – all my study Bibles from high school still rested on my nightstand back home.  More than once I eyed them while visiting my parents, but I never took one back to school with me. The idea of opening it, of trying to connect with God, seemed daunting. Days passed without prayer. Those days turned into weeks, into months.

I was too far gone, too far away from Him. I couldn’t come back to Him when I knew I was living a life He never intended for me. I would come back to Him someday – when college was over. When I could get my life together. Then I would get back in church…start praying again…read my Bible.

If you talked to anyone who knew me in college, they would describe a very different person. I don’t think most of my friends knew the emptiness I felt inside. I filled it with so many other things – school, work, friends, parties. I fooled a lot of people. Especially myself. When that emptiness rose from my stomach into my throat, threatening to choke me, I rationalized it. When _____ finally happens, you won’t feel like this anymore. Until it happened, and I still felt incomplete. When you get _____, things will be right. Until I got it, and I was still lost.

That magical day when my life would “come together” never came. College came and went, but I only continued to distance myself. My life spiraled out of my control, and one bad decision led to another until I hit a point so low I had no choice but to cry out to God. Finally, I surrendered. And in the midst of the chaos, He restored my peace.

It wasn’t until then that I realized how messed up my old logic was. God didn’t want me to wait, to get my life together and THEN seek Him. He wanted me just as I was – broken, searching, living a life that didn’t include Him. The Bible tells us that His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). If I had come to Him, just as I was, He could have filled that void so much sooner. He would have opened His arms and taken me in…flaws, sin, and all. He could have begun a work in me way before I finally allowed Him to. He could have saved me from a lot of bumps and bruises along my path.

I’m sharing this message tonight in case there’s anyone out there – even one person – who’s going through what I went through. Who knows there’s something missing inside of them, but isn’t sure what it is or how to fix it. I can tell you from years and years of mistakes and false glimpses of happiness that He is the only answer out there. His love is the only thing that will truly fill that void.

And above all, don’t wait to come to Him. Don’t wait for the day when you are “worthy” to come to Him – when you are a “better person” – because the truth is, that day will never come. We aren’t allowed to come to Him because of anything we’ve done…it’s His unchanging, unfailing love that gives us that opportunity. It’s because of His grace alone, grace that is offered to anyone who accepts it, regardless of who we are or what we’ve done. As someone once put it, you don’t wait until you’re healthy to see a doctor; you go when you’re sick. Come to Him when you’re broken. Let his power be made perfect in your weakness. Jesus didn’t come here for perfect people. He came for the damaged, the wrecked. The ones who needed a Savior.

I am one of the lucky ones: I found Him before it was too late. But the reality is, many won’t get that same luxury. We don’t know what tomorrow holds. Seek Him now, just as you are. He’s waiting with arms wide open.

A Mother’s Nightmare

It started out like any normal Saturday.

After feeding the boys some toast with jelly for breakfast, we went into the living room to play. My husband still slept in our bedroom next door, so we chose quiet activities to do. My oldest son, five years old, and I sat down on the couch with his new twist-up crayons and a coloring page. My youngest – only nine months old – sat on the floor at my feet with his teething ring and his toy remote control, banging them against each other.

When my oldest asked what our plans were for the day, I told him that we were going to go grocery shopping and then we would spend the rest of the day at home. He was telling me that he had a “dunk competition” out on our driveway when my youngest looked up at me with a big smile on his face.

That’s when I saw the object in his mouth. It was brown, thin, and flimsy, and I was sure that it was a little twig off of the bush in front of our house – probably carried in on one of our dogs. I quickly shoved my finger in his mouth and swiped along his cheek, where I had seen the object, but he jerked his head away from me.

I have to stop the story here to say that my youngest already has a daredevil personality. The day he started crawling, he went straight for the stairs. He regularly tries to climb tables and entertainment centers. And while all babies put things in their mouths, he probably holds a record for finding things he shouldn’t and trying to eat them. My husband has joked that there could be fifty toys on the floor with one hand grenade, and he would skip over all the toys to find the grenade and put it straight in his mouth. He finds lint or carpet fibers daily, pinching them so carefully between his thumb and pointer finger and putting them in his mouth. He once found a ladybug and cried his little eyes out when I took it away from him just before it went in his mouth. He gave us a scare once with a tiny piece of plastic wrapper off of some cleaning supplies I had opened that he had found in the bathtub; my husband had to reach his finger down his throat and pull it out with his finger. He definitely keeps us on our toes, and we can’t turn our backs on him for a second. I push the Swiffer dry mop over our hardwood floors almost daily to pick up dog hair and small objects that he may try to eat; I had just done so on Friday evening, in fact.

So when he managed to evade my attempt to get the twig from his mouth, I pulled him up onto my lap to try again. He cried as I pushed my finger in toward his cheek again, and that’s when he started coughing. I reached in his mouth a third time, but felt nothing, and he continued to cough harder until his face began to turn red and then a scary shade of purple. I flipped him over and hit his back a few times until he stopped coughing and started to cry. Sitting him in my lap, I watched him carefully as his color returned to normal and the tears continued to stream down his face. After just a moment, he began to cough again. This cough wasn’t the scary, purple-faced cough from before, but I still felt like something was not quite right.

I flew into the bedroom and woke my husband. “I think Brayson swallowed something off the floor and he started choking,” I told him, and he was out of the bed immediately. He had stopped coughing, crying loudly instead. We both watched him closely; he seemed to be breathing just fine, but he continued to cough off and on. However, my husband and both of the boys had been fighting a cold for the last three days, so his coughing had become fairly normal during that time.

Was it just his crying that triggered his cough? We debated on what we should do. Because he was still inconsolable, I decided to try to nurse him, as that’s usually the best way to calm him. He ate for less than a minute before he began to cough again. I knew something was wrong.

We discussed our options. Should we call an ambulance? Take him to the ER? Wait a bit and see how he acts? I decided to call my sister-in-law, a nurse, for advice, and she recommended we go to the ER.

By the time we got there, his crying and coughing had both calmed. The doctor who saw him said that his oxygen levels were good and when he shined a flashlight down his throat, he didn’t see anything obstructing his breathing. I described the twig that I believed he swallowed, expressed my concern with the way he turned purple and coughed when he tried to nurse, so we decided to have him X-rayed just to be sure there was nothing serious going on.

The X-ray tech unsnapped the front of his sleeper and left the back of it up over his shoulders. After taking the X-ray, he came out and said, “Does he have a safety pin in the back of his sleeper by chance?” I examined it even though I already knew the answer before I said, “No.” The X-ray tech walked away and I thought, what a strange question. We didn’t even have any safety pins in our house; it never occurred to me that my son could have swallowed one.

But a few minutes later, when we were back in our original room, the same doctor from before breezed into the room and said, “We’re sending him straight to St. Louis. He swallowed a safety pin and it’s in his lung.” And then he turned around and walked back out.

The only response I could manage was, “What?” Tears rolled down my cheeks while I sat in shock, clutching my son and absorbing his words.

A nurse in the hallway saw my bewildered expression and came in. “The pin is closed. That’s a good thing,” he offered.

His attempt to comfort me didn’t help. My hands shook uncontrollably. “I forgot my phone. My husband and oldest son are in the waiting room. I can’t even text him and tell him what’s going on,” I said.

“I’ll go get him,” he said, rushing from the room. A few minutes later, he returned with Chad and my oldest son. Then he and another nurse came in to start an IV in his chubby, sweet little arm. After tying off the top of his arm, they still couldn’t find a vein. He warned me that hitting a vein in a baby was difficult and that it may take more than one attempt, and then he, I’m pretty certain, just guessed as to where to place the needle. It was a good guess; he got it in on the first attempt.

By this time, arrangements were being made. Air Evac would come to get us, they told me. My son and I would both be strapped to the gurney and fly together. I used my husband’s phone and called my mom to come pick up my oldest son so that he wouldn’t have to go with my husband when he drove to St. Louis to meet us there; I didn’t want him to have to face the insanity that the day was sure to bring. She arrived within twenty minutes, and as soon as she came in, I asked her to call my preacher and start our church prayer chain. Chad’s parents and one of his sisters were already on their way to meet us in St. Louis, and his other sister stayed behind to ride with Chad so that he didn’t have to drive alone in the emotional state that he was in. Things seemed to be moving along.

But then Air Evac arrived. When they started to place my son on the gurney, I stopped them. “I thought I was going to be hooked to this with him.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” the Air Evac RN said. “Company policy states that we don’t take anyone on the helicopter other than the patient. It’s a liability issue.”

I burst into tears. “What? You can’t take a nine-month-old by himself on a helicopter!” I said. “He’s not going without me! They told me that I was going with him!”

“They were mistaken,” he said calmly. “We never take a parent along with the patient.”

I can’t even describe the feeling in my stomach that I had at that moment. “You can’t take him alone!” I blubbered over and over.

Another nurse was by my side at this point. “He won’t remember this,” she said.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “I can’t put him on a helicopter up in the air all by himself, without a single familiar face! And then he’ll be in a strange hospital, with nurses and doctors doing things to him and no one around him that he knows! He’s not getting on that helicopter without me!” I started to feel dizzy at this point and had to bend over and rest my hands on my knees.

When they saw how adamant I was, they started looking into other options. As it turned out, Life Flight would allow me to travel with them, at the pilot’s discretion. “They said if the mother was calm, she could fly,” one RN told me. My tears stopped instantly and I stood up, calmer than I’d ever been in my whole life. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

At that point, my husband left so that he could stop at our house and get our things and start the two and half hour drive to the hospital. My mom and oldest son remained so that they could see us off. My youngest seemed to be doing well, considering the situation; his oxygen levels remained good and he napped peacefully.

That’s when the original doctor entered the room once again. His face was stern as he looked at me and said, “If for some reason they don’t let you on that flight, you are still putting that baby on that helicopter.”

“Okay,” I agreed.

“No, I don’t think you understand the situation,” he said, pointing one finger at me. “If he cries or coughs or does something to move that safety pin even a fraction, it’ll block his airway and there won’t be a damn thing that we can do about it. Do you hear me? Not a damn thing.”

“I hear you, sir,” I said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to cry once again and telling myself over and over to remain calm so that I could still get on that flight. I couldn’t believe how inappropriately the doctor was talking to me, but I couldn’t let it upset me; my job was to remain calm.

“This is about that baby,” he continued. “Not you or anyone else; just that baby.”

My mom interrupted him on my behalf. “It’s always been about that baby,” she said. “That’s why she wanted to be with him on that flight in the first place.”

The male RN saw the exchange taking place and rushed into the room. “Life Flight will be landing in minutes,” he said, and the doctor hurried out of the room.

I just nodded, unable to even speak as the doctor’s words swirled around in my head. What had I done, refusing to let my child on the first flight? Holding up the whole process? What if something happened; what if that safety pin moved and blocked his airway and…

The Life Flight crew came into the room. Two RNs, Michelle and Steve, and the pilot, Jim, helped him onto the little stretcher and let me help them buckle him in. Michelle calmly explained where I would be sitting and what I would be doing during the flight. Steve warned me that the flight would be a little rocky (not what someone who suffers from motion sickness wants to hear) and Jim joked that I shouldn’t worry; it would be like a fifty-minute roller coaster ride (definitely not what someone who suffers from motion sickness wants to hear). But my fear of flying and getting sick were the least of my worries at that point; I just wanted my baby taken care of. I felt so helpless.

I laid my hands on my son and began to pray, asking God to be with him and keep that safety pin from moving until the surgeon could operate. I asked Him to be with the pilot on our flight and with the nurses, that they would know what to do if anything went wrong. I asked Him to be with my son and keep him calm during the flight so that he wouldn’t cry and risk moving the safety pin.

Just before we made our way up to the roof, my mom said, “We will watch you take off. Please be sure to keep me updated.”

“I will,” I promised. “Although it might be a little while before I can call you. I don’t have my phone, my wallet, anything.” With such limited space in the helicopter, we weren’t even allowed to take the diaper bag with us.

A nurse was standing nearby and she overheard what I said. “Do you have any cash on you at all?” When I shook my head, she slipped a ten-dollar bill into my hand. I looked at it in confusion, but she closed my hand around it and said, “You may need something from the vending machine or something. Just take it. Just in case.” I tried to refuse it and give it back to her, but she insisted that I keep it.

In mere minutes, we were taking off from the roof of the hospital. The nurses weren’t kidding about the jerkiness of the flight, but not once did I feel sick or nervous; I just held my baby’s hand and kept my eyes on him. Michelle sat across from me, offering smiles and a thumbs-up whenever I looked in her direction, and Steve sat behind my son, gently stroking his hair until he lulled him to sleep. He didn’t cry one time on that flight.

When he was asleep, I closed my eyes and attempted to pray again, the words of the doctor still playing on repeat in my mind. But in my emotional state, my prayers felt broken and chaotic. They went something like this: “God, please be with this little boy. Be with the surgeon who removes this safety pin from his lung, and forgive me for not putting him on that first flight so that he could get there as soon as possible. We haven’t even celebrated his first birthday yet. There’s so much he hasn’t gotten to see or do; please don’t take him from us, God.” I tried to make my pleas focused, positive and direct, but my mind was moving in a million different directions.

Suddenly, as I sat there holding his sweet little hands with my eyes squeezed shut, I was overwhelmed by a new presence in the helicopter and I knew before I even opened my eyes that it was God. My eyes popped open immediately and the first thing I noticed was that the sun’s rays were shining in on my son, illuminating his face. And in that moment, though he didn’t move and nothing around him changed – he was still strapped on the same little stretcher, his little chest still covered in pads and wires that monitored his breathing – I had a vision of big, almost transparent hands holding him, cradling him while he slept on that gurney. A calm like I’d never experienced swept over me, and I knew without a doubt that God was holding my son and that he was going to be just fine. Tears poured down my face once again, but this time, they were tears of relief and gratitude.

I was still a little shaky when we landed at the Children’s Hospital, still emotional and anxious about the surgery, even though I knew it was going to turn out okay. But from the moment I got off that helicopter, everything fell into place. The doctor was waiting for us there and we were led straight to a room, where I found Chad’s mom, dad, and sister already inside. After a nurse came inside and got some information from us, the doctor told me that they would be starting the surgery immediately, following another X-ray. When a couple minutes went by and no one came to get him, the doctor went down to the radiology lab himself to get someone, telling us, “They’re not moving as fast as I would like them to be.” Immediately, we were taken back for another X-ray, and when the doctor came in to discuss the results, he said, “The safety pin is in his trachea. We will put him to sleep and then go down his throat with a camera and a hook and simply pull it out.” The fact that the safety pin was in his trachea and not his lung made things less complicated.

In minutes, we were being wheeled to anesthesia, where they explained the upcoming process in simple terms. I met the ENT specialist who would perform the procedure, and she greeted me with a handshake and a calming smile. She was soft-spoken but had a confident air about her, and I felt at ease from the moment I met her. I put my hands on my son and prayed protection over him one last time before I gave him a kiss and left him in their competent hands. He went left, and I went right.

My family and I were escorted to the waiting room. Before we even sat down, my husband and his sister entered from the other side of the room. He had made it just in time; we could wait together as they worked inside his tiny body.

Around ten minutes after the surgery began, the ENT specialist came out and handed me a little container that held the safety pin. She showed us the rust that was already beginning to form on it and said that they were able to get it out without any problems. She promised us that we would be able to see him soon, and after a few more minutes went by, they called Chad and me back to where he was.

His little cry was raspy and he was hungry. They allowed me to nurse him right there, warning me that he may have difficulty swallowing. But he didn’t; he nursed twice as long as he usually does, putting himself to sleep but waking up to grab me every time I tried to pull away from him.

They moved us into another room, where they told us that they would be monitoring his eating patterns and diapers. He was awake by that point, and other than the fact that he was a little fussy and clingy to me, he was his normal self. I was under the impression that we would have to be there a little while longer, but after they came in to check on him, they decided he was well enough to release us. Soon, we were on our way home. When we stopped to eat something, he sat on my lap and ate tiny bites of green beans, chicken and dumplings, macaroni and cheese, and fried apples without any problem.

When I stood up the next morning and thanked my church family for their prayers, telling them a little bit about our experience, he sat on my mom’s lap and flapped his little arms, making noise and grinning with no idea that he had given us the biggest scare any of us had ever experienced. He was still a little fussy and clingy that day, but by Monday, he was back to his normal, happy, playful self.

When I mopped my living room floor on Monday morning, in the exact spot where he had been sitting that horrifying day, I found a little twig. I know without a shadow of a doubt that it was the same twig I saw in his mouth. Luckily, he didn’t swallow it along with the safety pin. But if I hadn’t seen that twig in his mouth, I may have decided his coughing was merely from his cold, the phlegm being the choking agent. We may not have taken him to the ER, and even if the safety pin didn’t move to cut off his airway, it would have rusted further in there until it caused an infection. So many IFs, so many things that could have gone wrong. But they didn’t.

I have to share my experience that day, because without my faith in God, I don’t know where my son would be right now. My son had so many people united in prayer for him that day, and God heard all of those prayers – our family, our church, churches of family members, people on Facebook who responded to my sister-in-law’s request for prayers for him. People who don’t even know my son but who know God and know what He can do. People who know that when believers come together in prayer, THINGS HAPPEN.

He was with my son that day, and He was with me, too. He allowed me to feel His presence in that helicopter, allowed me to see that vision so that I knew that His hands were protecting my son the whole time. I saw Him in so many places that day – He was in the nurses who tried to calm me and help me however they could, in the nurse who put that IV in my screaming son on the first try even when he couldn’t find a vein, in the nurse who insisted I take money in case I needed something, in the Life Flight nurses who were so gentle and loving with my son, in the doctor who dropped everything to go down to radiology and make things move quickly, in the ENT specialist whose smile and confidence put us all at ease. He was even in the doctor whose bedside manner I didn’t approve of, who cared enough about getting my son the quickest possible help to intervene in my fears of sending him alone. He was in each person who took a moment out of their day to say a prayer for our son and send us a text or message of encouragement.

I’ve been a Christian since I was eight years old. My walk with God hasn’t been perfect through the years, but even when I wavered, He never did. He never left me or gave up on me. And because of what happened on Saturday, my faith in Him has reached a whole new level.

Miracles still happen today, and He is behind them. My son is living proof of that.