When you read this . . .
It’s 102 degrees in the empty parking lot. The mouse shoots past me, silent, alone, nosing pavement that almost sizzles. Lurch right, veer left, double back. Poor thing. My toes bunch in commiseration.
I can’t unsee this.
It’s the outsize proportions, the cruel exposure daunting a creature at home with small spaces, shadows, the familiar path along a wall.
I see you, little one. Displaced. Afraid. No clear way forward.
Insight arrives on an intake of breath: God is here. Now. Companioning me in harsh circumstances.
Several months ago, we moved out of our home. Mold issues. Dreamer’s declining health. Turns out remediation as well as restoration professionals advise widely varying options for treatment. Inspection results may disagree. Wildly. Feeling dwarfed by potential repercussions if we choose the wrong path, it’s hard to read the terrain. Whom to believe? Which data is true?
Am I a project manager now? Hand me a fetching sunhat, a slouch beanie. Not a hard hat.
Dreamer and I have yet to sign a contract. Possibly this weekend . . .
And for this we thank you, dear friends. You have prayed, called, sent emails and meals, cards, affirmations, puzzles, new books to read, mail-order fruit, gift cards, and texts. You have shared resources, research, counsel. Shelter. You’ve shared your faith with gentle empathy. And how we have needed your care!
On the morning the Waste Management truck was scheduled to pick up Darlene the Dumpster (holding 2/3 of our worldly goods), I made a final trip bearing a long narrow sculpture I’d made to honor my mother. Created from paper I’d made in a blender, then shaped, using clay molds, the fragile elements were suspended within a vintage shutter, louvers removed. I loved it. But the risk of spore contamination outweighed sentiment.
Heeding a nudge, I paused to scan fragments of Mom’s letters, collaged around the frame.
“When you read this, I will be thinking of you.”
Friends, I don’t know your hard places, can only imagine the heat you may be enduring amid fears, decisions, relentless questions.
But I know the One who sees you.
And I know, in part, this community. Share in the comments, if you wish, ways we might pray alongside you?
Mouse Photo by Anton Lammert on Unsplash
Dear Laurie,
Because God is who He is, He brings you to my heart and mind almost daily. And in return, I think about you, I ponder your journey, and I pray for you and your Dreamer. I pray He will carry you and comfort you on this journey.
“Give my words wings Lord. May they fly high enough to touch the Mighty. May they fly low enough to breath the breath of sweet encouragement on the downcast soul. May they fly swift and fast, winning the race to the hearts of men. Give my words wings Lord.” Jill Briscoe
May the prayers of those who love you be a sweet sound to your heart.
Lovingly, Roberta
I love you Laurie.
The comfort your words bring me tonight — so many years after we first met! — is extraordinary. I have such a strong image of you, wearing a tapestry vest and creamy blouse and, maybe? a blazer, radiating love and affirmation. I hope you can sense love radiating back through these words.
Thank you thank you <3
Aw, little mouse, my heart goes out to you. This widely varying advice on how to move forward… what a tough decision making on top of strenuous circumstances. And decision take such a load of energy. I’m continuing to pray for you two. And I’m heartened to see, “When you read this, I will be thinking of you.” He does see us, doesn’t he? <3 (And you did make me smile when I read, "Darlene the Dumpster." A little humor is one of the colors of hope.)
I am so grateful for your prayers, friend. And for your gentle understanding.
As to “Darlene”: The name helped. I had to somehow offset the daunting proportions of the whole enterprise, tossing so many treasures into that seemingly vast dumpster. Plus, our grandkids were helping. (Our oldest had a fine time with a sledge hammer and goggles.) We thought it wouldn’t feel so sad if we called it our Heave-ho party and ate ice cream bars afterward.
Love your closing line: “A little humor is one of the colors of hope,”
What an exquisite perspective: ‘I see you little one!” How incredibly much it sums up. Bless you, dearest sister, through this and every transition. He is overseeing and overshading you in love.
He will not fail you. And you will not fail to watch and pray, to love and to serve.
Dear Robert the Wise, thank you for these words of blessing and faith! Such a beautiful reminder at the end of a very long day. What a blessing you are and ever have been to me! Sending up prayers for you two even as I sign off . . .
It saddens me, Laurie, that you’ve had to deal with so much responsibility, so many decisions. But, I’m also thanking God for the kind, helpful family and friends surrounding you and your strong faith supporting you. And I’m praying that God bless you richly–even through this–as only he can.
Thank you, friend. <3
I was reminded today of the word eucatastrophe: "a sudden and favorable resolution of events, a happy ending." What a difference those two vowels make!! Feels like things might be leaning in that direction . . .
So so grateful for your prayers!
Oh my goodness, I may have missed previous posts, so I just learned of your nightmare experience. I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this. I know our God loves you and Dreamer more than I can begin to imagine–and I know you know this, too. But, man, life sure can feel like a crushing avalanche, right?
I will be praying for you and your sweet husband–for the physical, emotional, financial, and logistical aspects. All of it.
“Lord, we do wonder why? But we trust You. Please, please care for Laurie and Dreamer in each of these moments. Please care for them with Your Great Shepherd heart, wisdom, and provision. In Jesus’ Name. Amen.”
Several years ago, Chris Fabry was the keynote at a Cascade Christian Writers Conference. He shared his nightmare story of being affected by mold; of how it affected his family in a myriad of physical ways, and of having to move out and leave belongings behind. I realize you may already know about his story, but here are a few links about it.
https://youtu.be/Nj2Bo3C7M1E?si=WhAQtMQ_SWdUNNQl
https://momsaware.org/aware-mold-mycotoxins.html
https://invisibledisabilities.org/environmental-illness/fabry-toxic-mold-story/
Dear Carol, I am feeling transfused by your caring words and the faith that empowers them. I know of Chris Fabry and have listened to his radio program. I’ve just started reading some of the articles you’ve sent. What a shocking, appalling journey back to health the Fabry family has undertaken. The ways they are using their nightmare experience and public influence to help and encourage others is inspiring. I will read everything you’ve sent. So grateful for these links, and, even more, for you and your compassionate heart.
I read, and hear a song.
Maybe I’ve shared with you before… worth a reshare.
For me.
And I hope, you.
https://youtu.be/xABxqLfHA-I?si=ONrPwhAVQyhsPAUK
Oh, Perfect! Thank you!
The uncertainty of life—it comes to some in a rush of poverty, unexpected. To others it comes in the midst of moving into a palatial new home, material blessings more than they ever hoped for. I love that God constantly reminds me, us, this earth is not our home. I have found God to be the perfect gentleman, simply holding out an invitation to grab his invisible hand and finding, amid the strain, enough, just enough, more than enough.
Susan, I am holding your words and your closing image close, close, praying to absorb this truth as I can at present, trusting for enlarged capacity in coming days to embrace it all the more fully!
The old saying holds true. “If it’s not one thing it’s another” This life can be so difficult. Thank you for your example on keeping our Hope not in the things of this world.
Dear Mike, though I only know bits of your story, I hear in your words a lived out faith. And I think of Peter saying, “To whom else would we go?” — but the One who continually offers words of life . . .