A spontaneous drive to the island of Chincoteague became a time of wonder on an unplanned boat ride at sunset. Thousands of birds flew past the boat for a night of rest and refuge on a small out-island. As full as the island got, there was still room for another flock to land. Like the birds, my soul seeks refuge some days. Refuge is a safe place—a haven for the soul where God prepares us to keep investing in the difficult chapters of our stories. It’s more than a passive place. Refuge is also a place of opportunity to trust, hope, pray, and (sometimes) mourn. We take refuge so that what happens to us does not become our identity, blinding us to treasure that is born out of trouble.
The Treasure: Refuge is a sanctuary that becomes a launchpad. It transforms us to transcend stuck places, and to walk through thresholds with God into new seasons. (From Rediscover the Dance, page 108)
As time approaches the four-year mark of my husband Steve’s last day on earth, my heart has entered the quiet place. Being loved by this man during our twenty-two year marriage is one of my highest honors. I will connect with you again in a couple of weeks.
The Treasure:
The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delights in his way. (Psalm 37:23)
My friend stunned me the day she offered to make a memory quilt out of Steve’s shirts. Her kindness opened up a friendship between the quilter and the “widow on the hill.” Over three years later Marlene gave me another gift as you’ll see in the video below. The source of a person’s compassion is never an easy story because compassion is born in hearts who have needed kindness themselves.
The Treasure: Praise be to God … the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
No fire in the fireplace today! Temperatures reach 104 degrees. That’s too hot for this New England girl. But I want to tell you about – remembering my friend Marlene who called to say her husband Tom would be driving me to all of my PT sessions until I could drive myself. Physical therapy – there was going to be a lot of it. Post-surgery inflammation and pre-session narcotics made driving dangerous for me. So three days a week Tom would walk from their home to mine, scale my steep driveway with his bi-lingual book on democracy, and off we’d go.
Tom thought his driving me to PT was no big deal because, after all, I had so many friends. He was sure someone would volunteer. He thought he was doing what anyone could do. But in reality, Tom took something that to me was actually lonely, painful, and scary … and he made it steady. No phone calls or juggling of schedules. All I had to do was get in the car. He was to me the visible comfort of God. I came to realize that each ten-minute ride to physical therapy was more than a ride; it was a gift of safe presence and thoughtful conversation. I did not expect such treasure on a 2.7-mile drive. And although many of our talks were interrupted upon arrival, we picked up where we left off on the 2.7-mile return trip home.
I did the math today. Tom drove me to and from forty appointments! That equals eighty ten-minute talks … or eight hundred minutes, which totals over thirteen hours.
At a recent dinner party I wistfully told some widow friends that my ten-minute talks with Tom were about to end since I no longer needed pain pills. One leaned in with a simple solution: “Don’t tell him!” Laughter reminded me that friendships don’t need to end. Sometimes they just need to take on new dimensions.
So, next week I get to have Tom and Marlene at my table for a meal and we’ll get to have more than a ten-minute talk.
I ponder the power of seasons, months, or even the rustic smell of outdoors to spark strong memories. My husband Steve has increasingly entered my thoughts in recent days. It’s no wonder. Four years ago this week we drove to Vermont to pick up our teardrop camper for retirement adventures. It was a “bull’s-eye plan” formed during high elevation moments like when we looked out from the Rockies onto a future we thought was certain. Today the plan looks much different than we thought. Steve is in heaven and I’m traveling in the camper—without him.
Actually, remembering Steve breathes life into me today. He’s still the “bull’s-eye” soulmate whose influence I carry in my heart—a gift of having been loved well. I remember the day Steve told me that this life is the only opportunity we have to trust God. As I continue to fight doubt and fear with hope and confidence, I can count on this: life will shake me to the core, but I can trust that God’s plan is a good plan with a future full of hope. Many of you have been the evidence of that hope to me.
I believe living a “bull’s-eye” life is one with Jesus at the center of my being and all other facets of life finding their place within the surrounding rings. I’d love to hear your definition. In the three-second video below Steve and I had a “bulls-eye” moment that surprised both of us!
The Treasure: “I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
I didn’t expect to feel the downward spiral of sorrow in the days following Christmas this year. Even knowing the reason for my downcast soul didn’t help. I couldn’t fix it, and I just couldn’t shake it. I knew if Steve were still alive that his compassion and wisdom would lift much of my burden. If you relate, let me tell you what I did to stop the downward spiral.
I did everything I didn’t want to do. I slogged through bike rides, joined friends for a walk or a meal, and connected (sort of) with God through reading Scripture. I said “yes” (with a dull spirit) to every invitation. I prayed … and waited. The result? More loss of sleep and lethargy. Until … those strategies began to put a spring in my step. I first noticed my sorrow had lifted as I filled my gas tank at Wawa yesterday. Mundane? Not so much! My perspective is still shifting upward with gratitude and with intentionality to keep my hand God’s. (See video and meet me on the Rimrocks in Montana.)
The Treasure: I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand, and says to you, “Do not fear; I will help you.” (Isaiah 41:13 NIV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Well hey there! Hello again from Montana. Today I’m up on the Rimrocks; it’s a beautiful spot overlooking the city of Billings. I just want to pipe in because I’m going home tomorrow and I want to share one last thought with you: Sometimes when we need to muster up courage to move beyond fear and loss in order to find a new sweet spot, it means that we need to do familiar things in a different way. So there are trails all around up here. Sometimes they’re hard to see, but the difference is sometimes we’ve walked a trail with our hand in someone hand that we love. And finding a new sweet spot beyond the fence can mean, instead of holding our friend’s hand, or our companion’s hand or our lover’s hand that we take the hand of God (we talked about that last time) and walk with Him. And I have experienced that in beautiful ways these two weeks. I’ve been to beautiful places, but instead of being with the person I love, I’ve been with God who loves me, and unexpected surprises of beauty and relationships and conversations with family. So I encourage you to take risk and do familiar things in different ways so that you don’t get stuck. I’m with you; I don’t want to get stuck either, so we can do this together. So long for now.
I didn’t expect the empty feeling that came over me as Christmas approached two years ago. It was my second Christmas without Steve. I knew I wanted to stay in town in order to participate in holiday festivities with my family, friends, and faith community, but the “gray” feel of home inspired me to plan something different. So I reserved a campsite seven miles away to experience a “Pilgrim’s Christmas” in a primo spot on the river. Sorrow came with me, but the waterfront view combined with cozy warmth in my teardrop camper added a dimension of color that helped me breathe into the beauty of what Christmas means.
Holidays can be both delightful and difficult. If you’re experiencing the pain of loss or the loneliness of unfulfilled dreams, perhaps a small change for the holidays can be helpful. In the two-year-old video (below) I changed my location and invited my heartier friends and family for hot chocolate and fireside chats. I ordered a box of books to give each one a gift. It wasn’t easy … until I got there. Then my new surroundings took my eyes off of myself and gave my heart a boost of joy, even though you’ll notice my “Merry Christmas” at the end sounds a bit dull.
Whether your teardrop represents the image of a fun camper or the reality of sadness, I pray that God will be your comfort, make you aware of His presence, and bring unexpected blessing to you this holiday season.
The Treasure: “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Quite a beautiful spot for camping this Christmas. I found this branch down on a trail by the beach. My friend Cheryl and I decorated it. It’s looking pretty nice around here; I’m doing familiar things in different ways. Pilgrim’s quite a girl. Beautiful! There was a cold wind last night and I was as warm as could be. Yeah. It’s a beautiful spot on the river with a fire, a flag that says, “my happy place,” and a centerpiece my friend Marlene made. She’s the one who made the memory quilt with Steve’s shirts. This is a great place; I have friends coming down and bringing pizza for supper. I’m enjoying a nice spot. Last night I was not quite settled. But tonight I feel like my heart is settling into this kind of new experience. Looking forward to six more days. Merry Christmas everyone.
You may remember from the video on my blog home page, that three years ago, Pilgrim and I had never ventured outside of the fence. The video you’re about to watch (below) took place during those early days when grief threatened to fill me with despair. My pastor, Travis Simone, came to give a blessing to me and the camper to help set our momentum. I admit the idea of blessing a camper sounded a bit strange at first, but I love what he said so much that I want to pass the blessing on to you. It’s for all of us. We all have a key of promise that frees us from giants that seek to imprison us in Doubting Castle. I felt as hot and haggard as I looked on that steamy summer day, but Travis’s words continue to give me courage when fear tempts me to despair. Please watch the five minute video and receive this powerful blessing as your own.
The Treasure: “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” (Deuteronomy 33:27)
When my husband Steve died, I looked out toward a vast, empty horizon. It was neither dark nor light—just empty and wide. I would come to realize that Steve’s death gave me the kind of freedom that I never wanted … but freedom nonetheless. And so, this summer I went to Montana for a whole month to be with my fast-growing Montana grands and their parents. I stayed half the time in a VRBO. It was a really great plan, except for the hard parts. If you are living in the aftermath of loss, you know that you can feel full of joy one moment, and hollowed out from loneliness the next. In Traveling Light, Eugene Peterson normalizes the “pain of being human” and those “moments of emptiness and waiting.” His words reassure me. He also inspires his readers to never “abandon the awesome silence of worship.” Alone in a Montana mountain town, I captured a moment of balance between the emptiness of solitude and the silent worship of God under His vast blue sky (see video).
The Treasure: “Since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made.” (Romans 1:20 NIV)
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
It’s a great way to start the day here at Red Lodge, Montana at Wild Bill’s Cabin in a hot tub on a 57degree crisp, cool morning. Beautiful blue sky. I’m remembering the introduction to my blog series, where Pilgrim and I are inside the fence and we haven’t gone anywhere because I’m afraid to go anywhere because everything’s changed in my life. And Pilgrim, the camper, represents courage to go beyond fear and loss so that we don’t shrink our lives. Well, when I was getting ready to come up here to Red Lodge, one hour and a half from my family’s home here in Montana, I felt really empty, saying to myself, “What the heck are you doing?” It was hard to come away. It was a little … not scary, but a little unsure. But oh my gosh, I have been on a hike, I’ve seen beautiful sights. When we do familiar things in different ways, there are treasures along the way. So, as you go along your way, maybe life has made a big change for you too … you may not be in a hot tub at Wild Bill’s Cabin, but there will be other things that you do where you take risk, so you don’t shrink your life either.
I met a woman who lost everything. The tree took down an electrical line that set fire to her log home on a mountain lane. Only she and her pets escaped. I had the privilege of meeting this seventy-nine-year-old widow in a motel lobby where she works to rebuild her life.
The resilience in her voice and her gratitude for the outpouring of comfort and support in her community made me take pause for the next hour and listen. Then she locked her eyes with mine and said, “Maybe starting all over ain’t so bad after all.”
My new friend is choosing to find the riches within her suffering. Dr. Robert Grant writes:
“All [victims] must come to accept that life involves a series of losses that have the potential to hollow them out [missing their inherent] riches … [becoming] detached critics rather than vital participants in life.”1
We might not be able to say, “Maybe starting over ain’t so bad after all.” But God’s promise to watch over us and to never sleep (Psalm 121) can inspire us to participate fully in life (see video).
1 Robert Grant PhD, The Way of the Wound, (Oakland: copyright by Robert Grant 1996),
The Treasure: Our help comes from the Maker of heaven and earth who never slumbers.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
The day is settling down; you can hear the birds, and I’m looking out to the mountains. I’m in Orange, Virginia and I’ll be picking up Pilgrim in the morning and taking her back home with her new air conditioner. It’s so beautiful here! I love the sky; I love what it means…such a great Creator that we have. And I love that He’s awake all the time. The sun may sleep and hopefully we sleep but I love that He never sleeps. Psalm 121 says, “I lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip. Indeed, he who watches over you will not slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you.” It says, “He will watch over your life. He will watch over your coming and going both now and forever. That’s what I think of when I see the mountains … well, that’s not all I think of. Sometimes I think about how I want to be in them and walk trails in them. but for tonight I’m at this very economical hotel called Round Hill Inn, in Orange—$120.00 total for the night. It’s really a sweet spot. It’s time for a few laps in the pool. Wish you could be here with me, but there’s no one in the pool right now.
Pilgrims with courage to go beyond the fence open opportunity for adventure with God. On our faith pilgrimage in Ireland, we each picked up and carried two stones. One stone represented a burden we carry where we may need deeper trust, surrender, faith, or hope. We would throw this stone off the Cliffs of Moher.
The other stone represented something we wish to receive from Jesus, like healing, grace, love, or forgiveness. We would lay this stone at the foot of the cross of Saint Brendan in Glendalough.
St Brendan is remembered for his courage, his sense of adventure, and deep faith. His ability to trust and venture forth with God was grounded in prayer.
A Prayer of St Brendan
Help me to journey beyond the familiar and into the unknown.
Give me the faith to leave old ways and break fresh ground with You.
Christ of the mysteries, I trust You to be stronger than each storm within me.
I will trust in the darkness and know that my times, even now, are in Your hand.
Tune my spirit to the music of heaven, and somehow, make my obedience count for You.
Amen
Wouldn’t it be nice if our burden of fear to break fresh ground with God could just get lost? Check out my blooper video that became too profound to delete and continue on with the cleaned-up version of throwing my burden off the Cliffs of Moher. I hope the sound of footsteps will bring you more fully into the moment.
The Treasure: Discern which burdens to put down and travel light to break fresh ground with God.
If you’d rather read than watch the video, here’s the full video transcript:
Blooper portion: Whenever we cross a threshold, there’s probably some burdens to be put down. And I actually have … (laughter) … I can’t find my burden!
Well, whenever we cross thresholds into new seasons, sometimes we bring burdens from what’s before. I know that’s true of me. And as I’m coming into a new season across my threshold, I have a rock that represents a burden I’m going to put down. I’m going to throw this rock over the Cliffs of Moher in just a moment. My burden that I’m going to lay down is the exhausting need, perceived need, to know what’s ahead—to know what the plan and the script is going to be. So, by throwing this burden out I’m going to be opening myself up to have an expectancy of what God is going to do next and to celebrate that with Him and lean fully into Him. So, I’m going to throw my burden out now … I’m imagining that I hear the sploosh way down there into the ocean.
