hope is fading

Dear hope,

I am holding you in my hand, but I’m afraid I’m going to lose you. I’ve tried so hard to hang on to you, to believe even when the odds were stacked high against you! There was a time I believed you were invincible and unbreakable. Now you appear so fragile. It seems as if you could break at any moment, shatter into millions of little pieces. Oh if you were to break, I don’t know if I could put you back together again. Please don’t leave me, hope. Without you, I am nothing. I need you! You keep my eyes open, my heart open, my hands and feet moving—you are air and without you I will surely die. Hang on to me, hope. Hang on tight… please don’t let me go!  ~Melissa

hope: hoped, hop•ing, hopes
1. To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment.
2. Archaic To have confidence; trust.
v.tr.
1. To look forward to with confidence or expectation: 2. To expect and desire.
n.
1. A wish or desire accompanied by confident expectation of its fulfillment.
2. Something that is hoped for or desired: Success is our hope.
3. One that is a source of or reason for hope: the team's only hope for victory.
4. often Hope Christianity The theological virtue defined as the desire and search for a future good, difficult but not impossible to attain with God's help.
5. Archaic Trust; confidence.
Idiom:
hope against hope
To hope with little reason or justification.

Peter 1:6-8
So be truly glad! There is wonderful joy ahead, even though the going is rough for a while down here… You love God even though you have never seen him; though not seeing him, you trust him; and even now you are happy with the inexpressible joy that comes from heaven itself. 1 Peter 1:6, 8 [TLB]
6-7I know how great this makes you feel, even though you have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime. Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine. When Jesus wraps this all up, it's your faith, not your gold, that God will have on display as evidence of his victory.
8-9You never saw him, yet you love him. You still don't see him, yet you trust him—with laughter and singing. Because you kept on believing, you'll get what you're looking forward to: total salvation. [The Message]

A Kiss Makes Everything All Better

I recently spent some time with a dear friend and her daughter. It is always enlightening to watch other parents interact with their children. I really learn a lot just by watching and listening.

On this particular evening, it was late and my little friend was being a normal two-year old. She was off in her own little world playing in her own adventure, paying little attention to her mother and me. Of course, she’d come over intermittently to ask a question or give an update, but for the most part, she was in her own little world. Thankfully, we practically had the little café all to ourselves, which is nice when you’re balancing coffee time and mommy time.

Inevitably, as it happens when a child grows weary and no longer wishes to do as you ask them to do, my little friend started “arguing” in two year old fashion with her mother. I watched as my mommy friend practiced lovely patience and kindness. I watched as my two-year old friend practiced independence and defiance. My mommy friend tried, but to no avail, her little girl was just not listening. So, a firm swat to the rear end was handed down from mommy to daughter.

Heartbroken, my little friend faked a pitiful cry. She looked up at her mommy, eyes wide with the sweetest countenance on her face.

“Kiss it,” she said.

“I don’t kiss spankings,” said my mommy friend.

I could see the wheels of thought turning in her head.

“Can you kiss I’m sorry’s?” asked my little friend.

My mommy friend looked over to me, hiding a huge smile from her precious daughter. Of course, my littlest friend received a kiss on the head and a hug and with that-- she was off to continue playing. Our evening was over shortly after that, as our coffee time and mommy time would have ended badly had we tried to make my little friend stay out much later.

Ever since then, I’ve been thinking about the question.

“Can you kiss I’m sorry’s?”

I don’t know. Can you?

Thank You, Daddy

Veteran’s Day 2009

Dear Daddy,

I’m guessing today may be a difficult day for you.  Your mind is probably flooded with memories—faces, names, places—people that I’ll never meet, names I’ll never know and places I’ll never see…

Standing in the darkness of evening, I approached The Three Soldiers.  Naturally, my eyes fell on the wall. The sight their eyes are forever fixed upon.  My heart sank and I was overwhelmed with deep sadness.  It was quiet and calm there—somber.  I sat down for a moment, crying and trying to catch my breath.  It was as if I was overcome by memories that were not my own. 

Eventually, I made my way towards the wall.  It was beautiful, but I felt horrible thinking that.  How could a memorial with names of thousands of dead soldiers be beautiful?  I imagined these soldiers all around me and the spirits of the memories.  So many lives represented there- directly and indirectly.  I wondered what names you would recognize and how many you knew.  How that must pain your heart to remember.  I hesitated to touch the wall, but I reached out for one brush against the cool, black granite.  In that moment, I felt connected to you in a way I had never felt before.  I leaned in close to the wall and breathed an almost inaudible whisper into the ears of the soldiers, “you have not been forgotten- thank you.” 

Daddy, you served your country well and I'll be forever proud.  You did what your country asked of you and there is great honor in that.   I don’t know how you feel or what you think, I simply have a vivid imagination.  But I know there is great sadness in your eyes when you talk about Vietnam.  I don’t know much about your experience there.  You’ve told me to ask, but I hesitate for I don’t want to unhinge memories that are better left quiet and still. 

I remember wanting so desperately to enlist in the Army or even the Marines—anything to make you proud and follow in your footsteps of service to our country.  But you sternly refused and gently encouraged me in other directions.  I remember you telling me through laughter, “you’ll mouth off to the wrong person and get in a lot of trouble!”  (The same reasons you encouraged me NOT to pursue a career as a server at a restaurant.  You had visions of me pouring drinks in laps of incredibly rude customers!)  You were definitely right.  I didn’t have it in me to be a soldier—or a waitress.

Daddy, I love you and I’m proud of you.   When you think that no one remembers, know that I do.  And while my memories are very different from yours, I’m so grateful that you and so many men and women have sacrificed much for my freedom.  

I Love You,

Melissa Gail

In the Eye of the Beholder

I have a vile repulsion to the act of staring. Anyone who knows me well can attest to the fact that staring is on the top of my "Do Not Like" list.  I have never had an ounce of patience for staring!  Maybe its because I heard my mom tell me over and over "Don't stare, dear".   Watching my children, I know they are almost mesmerized by some people.  Whether we're in line at the grocery store or seated at a restaurant table, the little eyes always seem to wander.  You know, they find the lady with purple hair or the man dressed like a lady... or the tattoos or piercings.  Kid's stare.  Adults stare-- this is what I have no patience for.

Sometimes she just stares at me. She watches me doing the most mundane to the magnificent.  I mean, she stares without blinking sometimes!  When I do the mundane chores like dishes or folding laundry... okay, well, she spends less time staring in those moments and more time getting into whatever it is I don't want her to get into.  Then, when I attempt the magnificent chores like putting on make-up or brushing my hair. You know, I take the scary and make it a little more presentable.  She is fascinated with these chores!

I remember the very first time I caught her staring. It's amazing really, as she was only a few hours old. There she lay, in the hospital bassinet...  My eyes were closed and I was trying to sleep in the semi-quiet hospital room so tired from the events that took place just hours before. With my eyes closed and sleep so close I could taste it... I sensed she was looking at me. I opened my eyes to find her little blue eyes fixed right on me. Our eyes locked. My baby girl was staring right at me! It was a moment I'll never forget.  It was startling, actually.  I just laid there, afraid to move.  And she just stared.  Naturally, I had to pick her up and hold her.  Her eyes drew me in like I was under a spell. I just had to hold her!

I felt it again yesterday. I could sense her eyes on me. When I turned around, there those baby blues were just looking at me so intently. It's  less like a staring and more like watching.  A smile crept across her face and then a little giggle came out! I smiled to as we shared our moment.

It's a feeling like nothing else. There aren't words to describe what it does to me when our eyes meet like that. And no, I don't get angry. It's quite the opposite, really. I'm overwhelmed and almost forget to breathe when our eyes lock.  There is a mixture of emotions.  I feel the pressure, slightly panicked.  I mean, what if I mess up while she's watching?

Mostly, I wonder what she's thinking. And what does she think of me? Thankfully, she's unaware of the internal list of "dislikes" I see when I look at myself. She doesn't know that my hair is in need of a trim and I need to decide which color it is going to be. She can't see that my eyebrows are uneven because I decided to wax them myself or that I hide behind poorly blended make-up. She can't see that I'm 50 pounds over weight or that my teeth are crooked or that I have permanent dark circles under my eyes. Thankfully, she can't see these things.

Looking in her eyes, in that moment, I feel beautiful and strong.  In her eyes, I see happiness, love, and kindness.  When we share these moments, I am comfortable in my skin and confident in my role as "momma".   It's almost as if her faith and love literally gives me a sense of real confidence, void of insecurities-- pure and lovely.

Oh my darling little girl, in these moments... It is important that you know how much you are loved. You are lacking nothing.  Your hair, your nose, your legs, feet, hands, arms... ALL of you is perfect just the way you are and always will be. I'm proud of who you are and I don't want you to change one single thing.

I pray I can be the mother and friend that you need in your life.  I pray I can show you beauty and grace;  Love and kindness.  I pray that I can show you quiet confidence and just how valuable you are.  I pray that God completes the sentences that I am unable to complete. 

Abigail, may your love change the world. May you laugh endlessly! When the tears fall, and I know they will, I pray those tears journey to your heart, as if watering a blooming flower, giving your beautiful heart strength as it grows in love. Oh my darling daughter, when your reflection you see, I pray you will smile and know that you are wonderfully made-- crafted by an amazing God. Be fearless, my daughter, humble, patient, kind, gentle, loving... and never be afraid to be the girl God created you to be.

Blue Eyed Boy

Oh my darling Sam with the sweet, sweet smile! (You know I couldn’t share about Jamie without sharing about Sam. Naturally, Abby notes will follow.) When I look at Sam, I see pieces of me. He is quiet and reflective—always thinking. He takes everything in and just mulls it over. He is shy, but not painfully -as I was at his age. He cries when he’s upset, just like me. He laughs, but you really have to work for his laughter some times. He is sensitive and his feeling get hurt easily, just like me. Oh, yes, I’m very sensitive and get hurt easily—I’ve learned ways to hide that, but I guess I just gave a secret away. (Nah, not really. If you know me, you know how false that statement was. I don’t hide my feelings well!) He writes songs and plays the guitar. He keeps a journal sometimes and can be very private. I DO know where he gets that from.


Sam is always striving to prove himself especially when it comes to his little brother. If we show too much attention to Jamie, Sam pipes up from the back making sure we know that he can run faster, read more difficult books, ride his bike better, do tricks on his skateboard, and spell words that Jamie could never dream of spelling. My darling Sam is very competitive. I don’t know where he gets that from. *wink*wink*

What I’ve learned from Sam is that I need to encourage him that he doesn’t have to prove himself to me, he doesn’t have to earn my love. I love him just because. Just because he’s my son--he’s Sam. That’s reason enough for me! When he hugs me, he lays his head on my shoulder and wraps both arms around my neck. He twists my hair between his fingers and he often gives me a secretive angel kiss so tender and sweet. Many times, I can feel him exhale and relax—and he even smiles with eyes closed. I feel so important in those moments. As I bury my face in his hair (which is kind of moppy right now), I inhale. Why? Because he’s my boy. I love the smell of his hair and love the way it feels when I tussle it in my hand.

I’m terrified of losing those moments. I dread the day that he no longer wants hugs and kisses from mom or he no longer wants to just sit with me and chat. I dread the day when he may hate me because I’m “not cool” or I’m so “lame and out of it”. What if he decides he doesn’t like God or our family or anything that I love simply because I love it? I get so scared sometimes that I’ll lose him forever. I often make him promise that he’ll still hug me and tell me he loves me even when he’s an old married man. (Of course, 30 is just ancient in his book!)

I want for Sam (and my other two) a life full of adventure. I want him to be courageous and bold. I want him to live his dreams and never be afraid to chase those dreams. Oh how I want him to be confident of who he is and who he was created to be. I lived so much of my life afraid to be me and afraid of my own shadow at times. I don’t want that for him!

Sam is always so forgiving. Being the oldest, he’s seen many of my mistakes in the motherhood experience. After all, we were both newbie’s when we met. But he shows me mercy and grace and loves with a big heart… I want to be like him.

Second Chances

Jamie is a funny little boy! He is like sunbeams dancing on the water. He is laughter and joy. He is love and mercy. My son, Jamie, is literally my sunshine. He is a gift from God to remind me to smile and laugh and enjoy every ounce of the day fully. Jamie scoops up every hour of the day he can. He soaks in the sunshine and it radiates from him. His smile rips holes in the clouds and makes the sunshine pour out over me! The laughter, his sweet, sweet laughter wipes all the sadness away.

I had the privilege to pray with my son this morning. With tears welling up in my eyes, I listened as he prayed that God would heal is brother so they could play outside together. How preciously simple yet words my Father listens to. The faith of a child. The pure innocence of his heart and mind.

When I asked him to tell me something he knew about God, he told me that God heals people. One of those annoying little frogs jumped into my throat and I had to quickly compose myself. “Yes, dear, sometime He does heal people.” I didn’t have it in me to tell him what I was thinking. He doesn’t always heal people. Like clockwork, my mind was flooded with memories of my grandfather, Sam. I saw him as if he were in photographs, videos, moments captured in my mind. I was painfully reminded of a time when God didn’t heal the way I thought He would. As Jamie and I prayed together, I held his hand and kissed him gently. He climbed out of the car and off into the school he went. So precious and innocent. I breathed a prayer that God would keep him safe in His hands today.  I prayed that Jamie (and my other two) would come to understand God better than I.

I kept the tears back almost as if I swallowed them in one huge and slightly painful frog-filled gulp. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. It’s just easier not to cry. I still feel the pain, but I can keep it to myself.  As I contemplated all that Jamie had said and all that I had felt in that moment with him, I was at peace.  I looked at healing in a different light.  

You are probably annoyed with hearing about needtobreathe, but I tell you the truth: their song came on as I was quiet before God this morning. “Second Chances” was playing softly… a divine appointment if you will.

All my past is color
Placed inside my hands
Empty is the canvas
Patiently I plan
Stars are bright above me
That’s not where I am
Greens will be behind me
Blues will make the man

I can’t help but fear I’ve done this wrong
Cause seldom second chances come along
Greys are all around me
Fading into black
Stars were bright above me
Won’t you bring them back

I can’t help but fear I’ve done this wrong
Cause seldom second chances come along
If time can break us, will it make us strong
Cause seldom second chances come along

No, God doesn’t heal all those who are sick. Not the way we think He should anyway. But God does heal. Gently and calmly, He heals. More than physically healing someone who is ill or a disease or other affliction, God heals the broken hearts. God heals the wounds- the self inflicted wounds, the self defensive wounds. God heals the brokenness, the sadness, the disappointment. The most beautiful thing to me is that in the healing is that God gives us a second chance. When we mess things up, when our pride and selfishness get in the way- God can remove all that. He lets us start over. He gives us a blank canvas.  And when He heals our hurt or disappointment,  He leads us towards forgiving and forgetting.  Again, a blank canvas-- a new start.


I don’t understand God. I don’t get the whole God thing some days. Sometimes, I wonder if He’s really there. But then I have these moments of certainty and clarity. Moments where I feel like I’ve experienced something Divine. I literally feel warmth stir within me and know that He is with me, even when I’m alone. Lately, it has been difficult for me to pray and my faith is rather microscopic, as if it were a fledgling faith. Yet I still hear Him. He speaks to me through my children and my husband. He speaks to me through songs and through friends. He is changing me-- slowly and sometimes painfully, but I am growing.

There are days when my existence feels meaningless and my failures overwhelming.  My internal list of “successes” and “failures” isn’t looking to good. Final Score: Successes’ 4 Failures 294  No, I won’t ever get everything just right. I’m human and nothing remotely close to perfect. I will fail a lot more, but I will succeed a lot more, too. I believe that failures produce strength- somehow.  

I carry both the self inflicted and defensive wounds.  But I'm confident that the wounds will heal.  And as a wound heals, there will be a scar--a faint reminder of what used to be. But with healing comes a second chance.

My blank canvas is waiting...

Looking for the Rainbow

There is a song I remember from my childhood. Okay, there are several songs, but this one in particular always comes to mind on rainy days. No, it’s not “Tomorrow” belted out at the top of lungs in the stairwell with fantastic reverb—it’s a little ditty that goes something like this: “When it rains, look for the rainbow…” so I don’t remember all the words and had to look them up.

When It Rains Look for the Rainbow
You can watch clouds go by and be glad
When it Rains Look for the Rainbow
It will show up so, no need to be sad, feel bad

© 1982 Sparrow Song/Cherry River Music Co

That got me thinking about rain and sunshine and more rainbows. Turns out, there are several songs out there about rainbows.

Rainbow by Jack Johnson
I woke up this morning A rainbow filled the sky Yes I woke up this morning A rainbow filled the sky Well that was God telling me Everything is gonna be alright


Rainbow as sung by Colbie Caillet
I'm still feelin the rain fall And bouncin off my skin How long do I have to wait for The sun to shine again Come on paint me the rainbows I can follow it I don't know where it'll take me But I like wonderin
Somewhere Over the Rainbow
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high. There's a land that I heard of Once in a lullaby. Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream Really do come true. Someday I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far Behind me. Where troubles melt like lemon drops, Away above the chimney tops. That's where you'll find me. Somewhere, over the rainbow, bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow, Why then - oh, why can't I? If happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow, Why, oh, why can't I?

And let us not forget the famous and handsome, Kermit the Frog singing

Rainbow Connection
Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what's on the other side? Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide. So we've been told and some choose to believe it. I know they're wrong, wait and see. Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me. Who said that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on the morning star? Somebody thought of that and someone believed it. Look what it's done so far. What's so amazing that keeps us star gazing and what do we think we might see? Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection. The lovers, the dreamers and me.

When it rains, I do look for the rainbow-- literally and figuratively. There just is no other choice. Sometimes I spend so much energy and time looking down and trying to avoid the puddles from the rain. But what if I looked up? What if I allowed myself to step in the puddles? Sometimes you just cannot avoid them and your shoes get soaked and your pant legs get wet. You’ll be uncomfortable for a little while but you'll dry out, eventually. But rainbows are so unique and rare—if I’m looking down, I might miss one! I might miss something beautiful. The rainbow is my promise that even on the darkest day, there is beauty to be seen.
“Even when the rain falls and the floods start rising.”
Even when my shoes get all slushy and my pants are soaked.
Even when I forget the blasted umbrella and I’m completely soaked to the core.
Even then, there is something beautiful coming, something beautiful to see.

So I hold on to the hope planted in my heart. I tightly grip the promises I’ve been given and I don’t let go. I can’t let go. I can’t keep looking down. (Yeah, I might run into something, but I do that anyway- I’m clumsy like that.) I just don’t want to miss the chance to see my rainbow! These rainy, cloudy days get me down. But the promise of rainbows is life changing.

When it rains, look for rainbows, my friend, and don't give up, even when the rain falls.



www.needtobreathe.net

Garden

I run through the darkness to the garden. I must find him.

Ahead in the distance, I hear someone weeping. Cautiously, I approach. I can see him through the shadows of the night. He lay on the ground, sobbing. I’m afraid to go any closer. My stomach turns and I can’t stand to look. His pain is palpable. His body is overcome by uncontrollable trembling. I watch. I listen. Covering my ears only muffles the resonance of his cries. The sorrow is excruciating.

He is speaking now and I recognize that it must be with the Father. He pleads. For a moment, I think he is unsure. “Father, take this cup from me,” I hear him plead. With calm finality, his head bows, I sense that his choice is made. Quietly he stands to his feet. He turns and looks my way and I see in his eyes that he has determined to do this. He will do this for me.

I run to him and fall at his feet—begging him, pleading with him as I grab a hold of him.

“Please no, don’t go! I cannot let you go- I will not let you do this for me. You cannot go!” His look is solemn and decided.   “Please don’t go!” I plead again.

My grip loosens and he takes a step back. I stand and we are face to face. But I cannot look in his eyes. As he stands before me, he places his hands on my arms. Through my tears, I try to look into his eyes. I see pain, I see fear, I see hurt…“Melissa, my love will give you life and freedom,” he says. “You would not fully understand it all if I do not go.”

He leans forward and tenderly kisses my forehead. I fall to my knees overcome with sorrow. As he turns to walk away, he glances back over his shoulder; I see tears in his eyes.

“Because I love you,” he said.

Oh how I want to learn about pure, unconditional sacrifice. How I want to be like Jesus… He knew Judas would betray him, he knew Peter would deny him, not once but three times. He knew people hated him simply because he was not what they wanted him to be. Yet he still made the decision to give his life so that we may live. Why? Because he loved them.

Dear God, I’m sorry I’m so afraid. If today or tomorrow means my death, please let this suffering not be in vain. I’m so sorry that I’ve let fear steal from me. Teach me to be like Jesus. Teach me how to sing songs from my heart that will bring joy to you. Teach me your favorite song, plant it in my heart—Father let my heart be after you. Only you.


Copyright © 2009 Melissa Meador Wilson





Garden by needtobreathe

Won't you take this cup from me?
because fear has stolen all my sleep.

If tomorrow means my death
pray you'll save their souls with it.

Chorus: "Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.
Let the words I say confess my love.
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune.

Father let my heart be after you."

In this hour of doubt I see
who I am is not just me
so give me strength to die myself
so love can live to tell the tale.

Chorus: "Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.
Let the words I say confess my love.
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune.

Father let my heart be after you."

Father let my heart be for you
For you
For you
For you

Chorus: "Let the songs I sing bring joy to you.
Let the words I say confess my love.
Let the notes I choose be your favorite tune.

Father let my heart be after you.

Seriously?

Last night, I caught a glimpse of this video. The video shows students on a bus. Average, we can all relate to riding the bus. When a male student sits down in what appears to be the only empty seat, the student he sits with apparently doesn't want him sitting there. A few seconds go by and then all of the sudden, there's an angry student punching the other kid. Punching and punching and punching... the kid getting punched doesn't appear to even try to defend himself. Once that attack ends, another student comes along and starts punching this kid-AGAIN. So this young man is attacked not once but twice.

All the while, on a bus full of students, they just sit and watch. A couple "good intentioned" students attempt (barely) to restrain the boys doing the punching. But most of the students watch- laughing, or scared- their faces show different things. Finally, a young man rises from the back and steps to the defense of the young man being punched.

While the video really left me unsettled, it resonated in me. I guess there have been times in my life where I can really relate to the guy getting punched.

Minding his own business, the guy next to him punches him. REPEATEDLY.
NO ONE HELPS!
Instead, the crowd cheers, laughs, gasps in awe... NO ONE HELPS!
Then, when hitter #1 is done pounding on the kid... enter hitter #2.
NO ON HELPS!
Oh wait, here comes a guys and seems to "care".
Finally, someone gets these guys to stop punching.

WOWSER! I have felt like punches have flown out of no where and landed square on my jaw. I've felt they come unprovoked and randomly. And they come, one after the other- I'm defenseless. The punches keep coming and the crowd on the bus does nothing. Oh but wait, they send along another angry hitter to throw a few more blows. Heartbreaking!

I feel for this kid. I feel for all those kids on that bus, in fact.

1.) No one deserves to be attacked.
2.) No one has the right to attack.
3.) Why didn't more students step up when they knew what was going on was wrong?
4.) Did they even recognize this as wrong?

In life, this happens all the time. You may not be physically punching someone, but your words hit hard and your actions leave a mark. You may not be doing the hitting, but are you watching? Are you allowing the hitting to continue? And is it really okay to just watch- even if you justify it as "I don't want to get involved"?

My heart goes out to the boy. I'm guessing he's not "Mr. Popular". But that's not the point. NO ONE DESERVES TO BE TREATED LIKE THAT.

NO ONE. Period.

I hear the boys got suspended. I'm thinking they many need a little more punishment than that.

I know that in this life, I am not defenseless. It feels like it some days, but I'm not alone. When the punches fly with ferocity and fists pound on my cheeks and blows take my breath away and knock me down, I figure there's a way to land on my feet again.

It just takes time.


Zephaniah 3:16-18 God Is Present Among You

"Don't be afraid.
Dear Melissa, The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.
God's Promise."

Just one of THOSE days

Jamie landed in an red ant nest and picked up 23 red ant bites... Sam had the insane assignment to create 13 impossible tongue twisters using words like wasn't and aren't... Precious Abby, who was in bed, but awoke with a serious case of hiccups, found a pencil and stabbed herself in the leg... oh and and Jeff is at a one of "those" church board meetings...

I'm in one of those places where I think my head could quite possibly explode. Trying to trust the plan, trying to trust there is a plan, and trying not to shut my eyes for fear that I'll miss the plan. Does that make sense?

I just found out last week that my boss of 4 years is leaving. While I'm happy for him as he moves on to his greener pastures, my pasture looks pretty brown if you know what I mean. I know I shouldn't worry, but hey, I'm only human.

Jeff's job... well, I won't go into that here. I'm still trying to understand and trust the Master's plan.

I'm typing here in the living room watching my precous baby play with a baby doll and soccer ball. She's beautiful, she's happy- even though she has a small red spot where she recently stabbed herself with that pencil- she's happy.

I want her happiness. I want her obliviousness. (If that's a word?) I want to find pleasure in the simplest of things. I want to smile and really be happy despite the hiccups and the wound.

Thank You for the moments where I am happy. Thank You for the little things that do bring me joy. While the big bad things in life will always exist and while troubles will come and go, thank You for the pure joy that does exist in my life.

While Jamie sat with frozen peas on his ant bites, I apologized to my big blue eyed boy because in my weakness, I yelled at him for getting into the ants. Sam and I create absurd tongue twisters like "Aren't you going to the mart to buy tart art?" and "Fuzzy wasn't fuzzy was he?" Abby did sleep briefly and all was peaceful momentarily. Thank You for the peace in the raging storm.

I think there is some neapolitan ice cream calling my name in the freezer. Maybe I'll go see what it wants... Don't judge me, just whisper a little prayer for sanity... and that all will soon be quiet on the Wilson front.

Published... well kinda sorta

I wrote this back in July following a difficult life experience. I submitted it last month to an online magazine and they posted it. Thought I'd share it if you'd like to read it:

Curled Up With Jesus

I spent the day curled up in the lap of Jesus. As I listened to the steady cadence of his heartbeat, and the soothing rhythm of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took- I found the comfort I was desperate for. I’ve never been so close to him before and for that I am very ashamed. Of course, the reason that led me to the lap of Jesus leaves me ashamed as well. I ran there. I ran away from a problem that was so huge, there was nowhere else to go and I found myself wishing that I’d run there every day in either my happiness or my sadness.

I’m sitting at the feet of Jesus now. I’m listening to him speak—I seem so small here, yet significant. His left hand rests lightly on my head and I can feel his electricity full of love and compassion. He’s smiling at me, tears in his eyes. I am mesmerized by his face. The sound of his voice is as calming as the aroma cookies baking in the oven. The sound of his voice drifts in and out of my head, steadying my heart. His tears sparkle in the corner of his eyes and occasionally one runs down his cheek. He is happy that I’m here. He’s been waiting a long time for me.

I sense that there is so much he wants to say to me. His words, however, are not rushed and they are gentle. He stops speaking audibly and there is a beautiful silence that I recognize from my youth. When I close my eyes, I am standing outside in the woods behind my childhood home and there isn’t a soul around. The wind is gliding through the leaves, rustling them slightly. The sun has peaked through the tallest trees, hitting every other leaf on its way down to me. I’m overwhelmed as it seems as if the trees and rocks and the wind, the stream even… they all speak in their own way. I breathe deeply, inhaling the life that surrounds. Aware of my dream, I open my eyes again and I look at him curiously. I know what he’s saying, yet his mouth isn’t moving and no sound is coming from him. As I look into his eyes, I know what he wants me to know. Pleasant and frightening at the same time. He has always been with me, he has always spoken to me—somehow I lost my way.

We’re audibly talking again. As he speaks, he moves his hands. I talk with my hands, too, but this is different. My eyes fall on the wounds—I can see them and all of the sudden I am overcome with guilt and shame as I’m fully aware that those are my wounds. What have I done? Why am I here? I don’t deserve to be this close. The pain that led me here pales horribly in comparison to his pain. I begin to weep. Sobbing. Deep, guttural sounds that frighten me even though I know they are coming from within me. I am so unworthy.

But something really beautiful is happening now. He’s picking me up. He lifts me to his chest like a father lifts his injured child. Yet he does it with such ease and strength. His left arm is behind my back and his right arm under my legs as my limbs fall heavily over his arm. My head falls against his chest and I’m still sobbing. I can’t hold my head up. He cradles me and I feel like a small child. The electricity is palpable and then I hear it…

He begins to sing to me. It’s the most beautiful song I have ever heard. I am completely broken in the arms of Jesus and he’s singing over me. His warm tears have rolled from his beautiful face, landed on my face, and mingled with my tears. They fall one by one. With each note he sings and with each tear that falls, peace slowly begins to surround my brokenness. There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. I’m safe here. I’m loved here. I’m forgiven here. I don’t want to leave.

Copyright ©  2009 Melissa Meador Wilson

When you listen to what they are saying...

I "heard" this song months ago. I thought it was catchy and I liked it as I've liked most Needtobreathe stuff. Then I really listened to it. It has taken on a new meaning in my life... words cannot even express how this song speaks to me. There is nothing I can say. Here I am again, God. Alone with you... the only place I know to go.

Daddy was a preacher
She was his wife
Just tryin to make the world a little better
You know, shine a light
People started talking
Just to hear their own voice
Those people tried to accuse my father
Said he made the wrong choice
Though it might be painful
You know that time will always tell
Those people have long since gone
My father never failed

Chorus
Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water


Even when the Earth crumbles under my feet
Even when the ones I love turn around and crucify me
I won’t never ever let you down
I won’t fall
I won’t fall
I won’t fall as long as you’re around me


Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water

Calm Down

So I’ve been thinking about this song…

Calm down, deep breaths
And get yourself dressed
Instead of running around
And pulling on your threads
And breaking yourself up

If it's a broken part, replace it
If it's a broken arm, then brace it
If it's a broken heart, then face it

And hold your own, know your name
And go your own way.
Hold your own, know your name
And go your own way.
And everything will be fine.

Hang on, help is on the way
And stay strong, I'm doing everything…

A remarkable phenomenon has transpired in me over the past several months. Perhaps it’s not really remarkable or phenomenal, but something has changed within me. It’s as if someone pushed a button in my head that has caused me to filter music differently. As of late, songs that aren’t about my friend Jesus have been making me think about Jesus. I don’t know if Jesus sings, I never read about it in the bible—but I do know that God created music. Music can transcend all time and space and well, everything. Just like God. Music has the ability to transform a mood, a heart, a soul... just like God.

I have always loved music: I love to listen to music. I love to dance to music. I love to sing to music. Music speaks to the depths of my soul unlike anything else.

So back to the singing Jesus idea.

When I listen to the melody and understand the lyrics of many songs, I begin to think of Jesus saying those things to me. Maybe he sings, maybe he doesn’t—but I feel like he’s saying something to me. And yes, maybe his message is coming from Jason Mraz singing “Details In the Fabric”! More than who is singing or what they look like or what the image they portray is… what matters the most, is that at the moment, that song penetrated my heart and my soul—I just heard from my friend, Jesus.

Jesus is reassuring me. I can hear him saying “Calm down, Melissa. Take a deep breath… it’s going to be okay.” This I imagine much like days of my youth when my Dad would remove me from an overwhelming and upsetting situation and attempt to calm me down. He would always remind me to take deep breaths and he would count out loud with me. “But Daddy, you don’t understand!” I would cry, all while taking huge gulps of air in between each word. He would make me look him in the eyes; he’d place his hands on my arms and say “Look at me, Melissa. Take a deep breath. Calm down… 1..2..3…4…5…6… it’s going to be okay.”

Jesus is still reassuring me. He’s helping me focus on him. He’s assuring me that I can go the way his father has asked me to go. He is reminding me that I know my name-- because sometimes I forget. He’s gently reminding me that there is healing for the broken stuff. He’s reminding me that I am loved more than I can even imagine.

And you know what? You are loved more than you can even imagine.

“Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising which tempt you to believe that your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires courage.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Defeated

Some days it feels as if no matter what I do, I cannot do anything right for there is ALWAYS that critic in the crowd making sure I know what they think.

Deflated

Unfortunately, most days, I believe the critics -- whether the shout or whisper.

Dejected

And when I believe those voices, the hope is sucked right out of me as if someone attached a vacuum cleaner to my heart, flipped the switch, and let her rip; let the vacuum pull all the hope completely out of my core.

… but I’m not letting go that easy…

This hope within me must endure despite the storms raging around me, despite the battle being fought over me, and just when it seems like all hope could quite possibly disappear…

Enter the muster seed bit of faith.

Enter courage.

Enter Jesus.

Jesus answered them, "Do you finally believe? In fact, you're about to make a run for it—saving your own skins and abandoning me. But I'm not abandoned. The Father is with me. I've told you all this so that trusting me, you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I've conquered the world." John 16:32-33

"His left arm is under my head, and His right arm embraces me." Song of Solomon 2:6

I Get Knocked Down But I Get Up Again

"It's not whether you get knocked down; it's whether you get up." ~ Vince Lombardi

So basically, what I hear you saying, Mr. Lombardi, is that it’s inevitable; I’m going to get knocked down.

hook…jab… parry… combo… hook… jab… parry…

…rabbit punch…

…I’m so totally down for the count.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!”

So deceptive. Why I thought that was a pretty butterfly flitting over to say hello. Little did I know, that was no butterfly AND it stung me!

Why do some folks seem to possess very little self control, temperateness, or love? Ever fascinating fact of life.

But you know what? Despite it all, I’m okay with these folks who are seemingly incapable of living self-less, mild mannered, love-exuding lives.

There is always hope.

No need to throw in the towel… I could quite possibly be saved by the bell.

I may just stand to fight another round.

My coach is outstanding and the referee fair.

Word Love

Mother Teresa was once quoted as saying, "If you judge people, you have no time to love them."

As many of you know, I am a quote fanatic.

I find them in all sorts of places! Billboards, internet, books I've read, book I want to read, and sometimes even in spray paint on sides of buildings.

What makes specific word formations notable? I guess the answer is different for everyone. The words may jump off the page and slap you in the face; a message of conscience, perhaps. Or say you’re driving along and see a giant billboard with a quote that nearly causes you to wreck the car because the message spoke directly to your heart. Careful!

For me, I suppose I often think of those moments with messages as something divine.
I was to be at the point, at the moment to read those words. Perhaps it’s the Creator communicating with me in a written language. (Many would really disagree, and I’m okay with that.)

From my perspective, I choose to believe that our Creator is always trying to communicate with us. Look at creation itself.
You see nature and all its inhabitants.
You see the colors of the Seasons and you've studied the science of it all.
You recognize that even ants and mosquitoes have purpose! Crazy, I KNOW!
But to me, it is undeniable that everything, absolutely everything, was created with a purpose-- a mission for life.

I believe that words have a mission for life. Once they are spoken or written down, they can serve to encourage, motivate, thought provoke, and even change history. Words, once spoken or written down, can also have a negative power of influence. Words can tear down, humiliate, demean, anger, and suck the life right out of a human soul.

Words possess great power!

Words of love have the ability to give life.

One single life filled with loving words can change lives.

I think I’m really going to try to listen to my words. I desire to speak words of love.

Speak words of love to family, to friends, and even to adversaries.

What a challenge!

Yes...No...Maybe so...

Somewhere in between happiness and sadness lies neutrality. At the risk of stating the obvious, that means one is neither happy nor sad. Perhaps ambivalent would be at the middle of the scale… the neutral zone. Although, to say that one living at the 5 on a scale of 1-10 has no feeling one way or the other, may not be entirely true. For me to say that I’m neither happy nor sad doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t feel both. It means that I don’t know if I’m cheerful or depressed. Bottom line: I’m mentally conflicted.

We’re returning from our family vacation and to say that I’m sad would lead someone to believe that I may not have had a good time. However, to say that I am happy wouldn’t be entirely true, though. I must state that we have had a good vacation. The children had a fantastic time. I’m exhausted and feel like I’ve been hit by a bus and run over by many, many, many vehicles following the bus attack. The reason for my exhaustion is of course my 7 week old daughter who really doesn’t “sleep” through the night. Although she never really completely wakes up, she just lies there and fusses until someone picks her up and feeds her. Again, the really sleep through the feeding thus leaving whomever is feeding her to be the one that isn’t asleep. Typically, it is me who is feeding the little pink bundle of joy. But let’s be honest: at 3am, there isn’t much that thrills my soul as sleep does. At 3am, as much as I love my daughter, I’d honestly really like to be asleep.

“Oh the horror of it all!” Hey now, I’m not a terrible mother, I’m just extremely tired and feeling honest! So I’m not in love with the 3am feedings… I don’t hate them and I’m quite sure I will survive.

Isn’t it odd when the sun is shining and the sky is slightly blue, yet rain is falling? That has always fascinated me. It’s as if the sky is conflicted… it neither wants to rain nor does it want to keep all it’s tears in. Poor sky, it’s in that neutral zone.

To rain or not to rain…
To be happy or not to be happy…
These are the questions.

Boiling Bottles at the Beach

So, we arrived to Mrytle Beach for our vacation last night. Today, it rained! We've survived and I'm sure the sun will come out tomorrow. Right??? I spent the evening cleaning bottles and decided to make sure they are REALLY clean. So, I boiled them. What's a vacation if you can't boil a bottle at the beach??

Hold on

Babies need to be held and held often. I had forgotten about how important that is. After welcoming our daughter into the world, I’ve been trying to remember all the baby stuff I had learned from years ago. Folks have commented along the way that I’m a pro and know what to do. It’s funny how much of the baby business you forget! Of course, I’m a forgetful kind of girl… so maybe it’s just me.

When I picked up my baby girl today, the thought came to mind “babies need to be held and held often”. Oh to feel that kind of comfort that she seems to feel when I pick her up and hold her. All that may trouble her seems to slip away when I wrap my arms around her and whisper gentle hushes in her ear. Her eyes become heavy and she trails off to sleep again with not a care in the world.

I can remember how safe I used to feel in my father’s arms. A bad day, not feeling well, or just needing to be comforted for every reason under the sun, my dad was always there to hold me. Somewhere along the line, I’ve let those memories slip back to the archives. I tend to ignore the fact that I still need to be held every now and again—and it’s okay to need to be held. It occurred to me that I am so childlike and at times almost like a baby. I need to be held and held often. Perhaps it’s more difficult to admit as an adult, but true nonetheless.

Each time I hold my children, I’m overwhelmed with love. I’m reminded that their cherished lives are so carefree and they are so trusting. I can still hold each of them in their time of need and what ever troubles their tender hearts is wiped away. My children need to be held and held often… so they never forget that they are loved.

You Need Not Climb Mountaintops

I feel like writing... I want to write... but as soon as I begin, nothing good comes to mind. Actually, my stream of thought is so wild and thoughts fly in thousands of random directions. My brain is much and I am distracted.

Still no baby and no signs. What's a few more days? Right? Ha... wrong!

Annoying.

Done.