I’m someone that normally likes change.   Sameness isn’t comforting in my world.  In fact,  I usually stir things up without even trying.  I don’t like rows, and order often seems stifling to my right brained tendencies.   Yet in the last couple of months the changes that have been thrust into my world have not been welcomed.  My step-father passed away in June.  It was truly a peaceful passing, of a celebrated life.  He was 85 years old and ready to be with His Lord.   But he’s still sorely missed.  Death isn’t something that our brains grab hold of easily.

Next.  Our friends in the Middle East have had too much change shoved on their doorsteps.  Violence in the streets.  Religious tensions turned to blood baths.  Power struggles with no peaceful end.  
I needed and wanted to be with them, but it was most assuredly dangerous.  I spent several days working this through with the Lord and with my family.  We all stood before God, knowing it would be an honor to die for the name of Christ.  Love was bigger.  I was going to go.  My heart was ready for anything.

Next.  Two weeks ago my husband received a phone call.  It was another job offer.  He gets many.  But this time we both felt the Holy Spirit stop him from turning it down (it’s a knee-jerk reaction).  We both looked at each other in stark fear as the realization slowly dawned that God was asking us to pilgrimage.   We’re very very…  oh so very rooted and grounded in Tulsa Oklahoma.  Church family has become the air we breath.  The ministry team we have is richly built on long-term, blood-soaked friendship.   Leave?  Wait!  Wait! LEAVE??   Yes.  He’s moving us to Indianapolis Indiana.  (For details, click here.)

Next.  Last Friday I received yet another phone call.  My mom was on the other end saying I should fly home (Detroit).  My 45 year old sister, who had been struggling with brain cancer and winning, had taken a turn for the worse.  I was on a plane that afternoon with thoughts of spending some good time standing and praying with my life-long friend.   Her turn for the worse plunged speedily downward, so quickly that we all stood there in such shock it felt like our skin was falling off.   She was gone by Saturday evening at 6:40pm.  I never saw the lights of her eyes.

Not all change is welcomed.

On this Friday morning I’m surveying the land around me, still shocked and deeply shaken.

I’m not going to the ME in November.

We’re preparing to uproot our whole life.

My father and sister are gone.


From start to finish these last few months have been all about surrender.  Surrender my hold on my own right to life.  Surrender my love clench on life as I know it in Tulsa.  Surrender to the hand of the Lord moving, choosing, Divinely orchestrating.

At the core of healthy grief is a surrendered will.   In the root system of peaceful suffering is clinging trust.

Every now and then life throws you overboard without a life preserver.

It’s then we realize that He is the water, and all we need to do is float.

Heaven is stable.  His Kingdom is unchanging, unwavering.  His atmosphere never alters.

In me, as it is in Heaven.