I’m a day late! I meant to post this yesterday, along with my replies to the first half of the discussion. I’ll catch up asap!

Continuing with the questions:

5. Andy listed five ingredients to developing BIG faith. Which ones do you remember? Of these five, which one has made the biggest difference in your confidence in God? Why?

6. Has there ever been a time in your life when your confidence in God—your faith—hit a really low point? Would you be willing to share that story with your group? If so, describe the events surrounding your loss of faith, as well as what happened that helped you regain it.

7. Based on this discussion, what advice would you give a friend who had lost faith or who would describe his or her faith as weak?

8. Based on your personal experience, if a close friend were to share with you that he was at one time a person with great faith in God, but had lost his faith, what questions would you ask? What advice would you give?

Hi All! I hope you enjoyed the message this first week. I watched it again to refresh my memory and even heard some new facets of the message that I missed the first time through. If you haven’t had a chance to watch yet, don’t panic. Just jump in whenever you get the chance.

I thought it would be easiest to break up the questions into a couple of different posts, so we wouldn’t get too confused on the topics. I’m going to list them here, numbered. I’ll post the second batch a bit later. When you reply, just reference which question number you are addressing. Answer any or all. Feel free to continue with your comments in a dialogue with the other visitors. I’m looking forward to seeing where our conversations lead!

Thank you again for joining me on this journey. I’m so happy you are here!

Please begin by reading Matthew 8:5-10, the story of the Centurion with the sick servant.

1. Do you know people whose faith in God is so strong that at times you would describe it as amazing? What is it about them that makes you think their confidence in God is so strong?

2. How would you describe the relationship between obedience and trust?

3. As you think back on your childhood, how was the obedience/trust relationship manifested in
your home? Did you trust your parents? How did that impact your response to their authority?

4. What is more important in a relationship: trust or obedience? Answer this question within the
context of several types of relationships. If you are a parent, how would you answer this question
as it relates to your children? What about within the context of marriage?

It’s been months since I posted here. The blog was broken for a while … faulty code that I finally fixed … and then it was just me letting my Life run me, instead of me running my life. Funny how often that shift in power occurs. Work, kids, kids’ school, kids’ camps and sports practices, social time with friends, going to the gym (not often enough), colds and flu, broken toes, more work, hubby’s work, hubby’s work travel … it’s so easy to let all these things dictate our time expenditures. And so easy to just let God wait patiently in the background. Though we all know, he decides when he waits patiently and when he doesn’t. He gets that choice. He’s God.

Well, he’s been pushing me lately. For about 6 weeks, actually. He’s been reminding me that I let this blog go, and I think he’s had something he wanted me to do here.

Our church, North Point Community Church in Alpharetta, recently began a series called Five Things God Uses to Grow Your Faith. The idea behind the series is that everyone’s story of faith is always based on one of 5 principles. This is not a list from the Bible. It’s not the 5 missing Commandments. It’s simply 5 basic tenets, life circumstances and habits, through which God strengthens our relationship with him. Some of us experience one or two, some experience all 5 over the course of a lifetime. One unique thing about this series is that the church is encouraging all small groups in the congregation to go through the series, and some provided discussion questions, together.

When I heard about it, the thought immediately popped into my head to open up this blog for discussion of the series along the way. NPCC created a website where people, NPCC attenders and others, local and long-distance, Christian and non-Christian, can watch the messages each week and download a few questions to discuss in a group.

Then Life showed up, hogging most of my mental capacity as it loves to do. And Doubt showed up with it. They adore hanging out together. Life kept me nice and busy, and distracted me from the thought of following this series on the blog. Yet every few days, God brought it back to my mind, and prodded me to get going on it. That’s when Doubt stepped in … would anyone even participate? What if I did this and didn’t get one single comment? I’m not qualified to lead something like this anyway. I have no spiritual leadership skills. I don’t even know the Bible that well. And I’m so busy! It’s the holiday portrait season, after all. When would I ever have the time to do this? What if people laughed at me? Or got offended when I shared my beliefs? What if? But this … But that …. Doubt. Doubt. Doubt.

God answered all those questions in today’s sermon. Why am I listening to Doubt? Why am I giving it any authority over me, or over God’s request of me? We’ll talk about that in a few weeks.

Today I was reminded that God is so much bigger than Doubt. So here I am, extending the invitation, and hoping, truly hoping, you will join me for the next five weeks in following this series. I’ve seen the sermons up to this week live in church on Sundays, and I can tell you that I have really had my eyes opened, my spiritual mind expanded, by them. I hope you, too, will find them challenging, hopeful, convicting, and thought provoking. If you aren’t a NPCC attender, I think you’ll find pastor Andy Stanley to be an amazing communicator. I’m always in awe of the work God does through him. He is wise, funny, likeable, and warm.

So please join me … let’s see what God has in store for all of us in the coming weeks! I know he will use your insight to teach me something new. I hope he’ll lend me with some insight that might help you.

Here’s the plan:
Each week, beginning on Sunday, we can watch the week’s message at www.fivethingsgoduses.org. They are about 40 minutes long, I think. You can watch from the web or download. You can also subscribe to the podcast via iTunes to listen on the go. (Email me if you want me to point you in the right podcast direction.)

Beginning early in the week, I’ll post a couple of questions from the discussion list here. Then jump right in! Post your thoughts, questions, experiences, praises, prayers, hopes, fears, whatever. You can even post anonymously if you want (though I’d love to know with whom I’m chatting if you feel up for it). Please just keep it on topic and respectful, that’s all I ask. I will moderate comments only to keep out the spam and really inconsiderate offenders, which hopefully won’t be an issue anyway.

We’ll start this week with the Overview, which has its own fascinating points of consideration.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. And thank you, God, for pushing me outside my comfort zone. I trust you.

http://www.fivethingsgoduses.com/overview

If you have ever been in a personal conversation with me, and have asked me about my church, you have probably found yourself 10, 20, or 30 minutes later wondering when I’m going to shut up. I’m the same way when I start talking about my children’s school (right, Ashley?), but I’ll save that for another post. I am so incredibly proud to be a member of Northpoint Community Church, so thankful to have been led there 8 years ago, and so excited to talk about the work God is doing there.

What is different about Northpoint Church? Well, if you asked me that 7.5 years ago, I would say “Everything.” I was one of those “unchurch” people for most of my life. At times, I was simply uninterested in church. At other times, I was dead set against it. I found it uncomfortable, inconvenient, and irrelevant to my life. And I can honestly say today that I have no idea why I said “yes” when my cousin invited me to visit Northpoint with her. I really wasn’t seeking answers at that point in my life, or questioning why I existed or the afterlife or the meaning of it all. I was pregnant with my first child, and had told my husband not too long before that I would not be going back to church with him because I found it so incredibly uncomfortable. Yet, for some really strange reason, when Kim asked me to come with her one Sunday morning, I said “yes.”

I am not sure if I blinked during that entire first visit. I was blown away by it all. First of all, this church was HUGE! I’d never been to any church like it. It was modern, with an entrance and hallways like a stylish office building. There wasn’t any stained glass or a steeple on top. There weren’t any pews or songbooks tucked in pockets behind them. There wasn’t a pulpit or candles. And their weren’t whispers as people watched me pass through the front door, wondering who the new gal was. Instead, they just smiled warmly, and let me enter with anonymity. And though I was wearing what I thought was appropriate church attire, I saw people in a variety of dress, some skirts and slacks, some jeans and sweatshirts. I blended right into the crowd, and no one watched my eyes or my face with some pressuring expectations.

Then the music began … loud, contemporary, bold. No organ, no choir. There was a band with electric guitars, drums, highlighted in spinning spotlights like a rock concert. Wow. And the singer reached the chorus of the song, which said, “Open my eyes to your heart, Lord. Open my eyes to your heart. I want to see you.”

That was the beginning. I continued to eagerly meet Kim at church every Sunday, while my husband continued to attend his small community church in Canton, Georgia with his parents. For about six months, Chris heard me talk nonstop on Sunday afternoons about the sermon Andy Stanley gave that day. Every single week, I found something meaningful, something that offered clarity or insight on some issue in my life. I really hadn’t bought into the God thing yet, but I was excited to hear the ideas each week that I could take home and apply to my life. And during these months, I had learned the words to the worship songs, and I even sang along with “Open my eyes to your heart, Lord.”

Chris finally came with me one Sunday. He was hesitant, I think, but curious about this place that had brought out so much enthusiasm in me. And I know his earnest wish for me was to find my own relationship with God. How grateful I am for his space and patience as I did that. To say he was overwhelmed by Northpoint is an understatement. He had grown up in a very small, Southern Baptist church, where a crowded Sunday meant 50 people. They would sometimes have a piano to accompany their songs, but often not, and the congregation sang together the traditional hymns. The crowds, the rock music, (the parking lot!), the video screens and microphones - this was all so foreign to him. On Chris’ first visit, Louie Giglio spoke. Anyone who has seen or met Louie knows that he does everything with an abundance of energy and passion. This being Chris’ first visit, Louie’s sermon was one more piece of a somewhat overwhelming puzzle for Chris. But hey, Louie and the church gave out Krispy Kreme donuts at the end, so that was a plus! (Northpoint attenders - remember the Krispy Kreme donut sermon?!)

Our son was born, and life was crazy and busy and wonderful, and we both stopped going to church for a while. But it wasn’t long until I felt a pull to come back. I now had a child and I wanted him to grow up knowing God, and to feel a comfort in church that I never had. And I wanted that insight, now that I was a mom, that would help me navigate these unfamiliar roads as a parent. Chris agreed with me on all these desires. And so we gave Northpoint another try. This time we were hooked. Now we are members, excited to get up on Sunday mornings, to greet friends in the hallways and auditorium. My kids practically skip through the front doors holding hands. My daughter greets her Sunday caregivers with a hug and a smile. My boys head first for the “Starburst Guy” for their candy, and then to their classrooms for their own kid-centric Bible learning and worship. They love Sunday mornings as much or more than we do.

All of this is leading up to just a simple link I wanted to share. Northpoint has recently established its own presence on YouTube. Now you can see some of their amazing Sunday productions online. The sermons have been available for quite some time at www.northpoint.org/messages. These are offered in reverse chronological order, going back quite a ways. But these are only the sermons themselves. One thing that Northpoint does so amazingly well is to create intros to their Sunday topics that bring your heart just to the right spot, to get that much more out of the message you are about to hear. And that is why I’m so excited about this YouTube link, because it will give you a chance to see those intros along with the sermons. I really hope you will check them out.

The web address is http://www.youtube.com/northpointministries

In particular, the recent series called “It’s Personal” was amazing! This was a series that had my brain buzzing with dozens of names and faces with whom I wish I could share it. It had so much relevance for my life, and I came away with a sense of understanding I had not had before. In particular, please take 5 minutes to watch this intro to the third part of that series. You might want a tissue handy.

Ok, that’s all. I hope you enjoy the videos. I hope you find God speaking to you in a helpful, hopeful way through them. And you know I would always love to hear from you if you have any comments to share!

Sometimes life lands us in a situation which hides God from our view. Or perhaps we aren’t looking in the right place. Either way, when we find ourselves asking Why, there is a part of us that is really asking Where. Where are you, God?

I have a few friends who are going through such painful journeys right now, it is hard to comprehend. Michelle will take her son into surgery tomorrow morning, where he will have his eye removed because of a tumor growing behind it. And then we will pray together that the tumor does not grow back or spread to his other eye. Laura lost her home and everything in it to a fire, burned all the way to the ground, and this week even lost her car to another fire. She and her family are struggling to rebuild their lives, only to meet one obstacle after another. And Angela and Brent wait for news of Brent’s neice who has presumably run away from home. She has been missing for days, with no contact to let her family know if she is safe.

God, where are you? How I pray that my friends can know with a certain heart the answer to that question!

I asked that question so many times in my own life. If God loves us so much, why do these things have to happen to good people, and why are we left to face them alone? Sometimes I have felt very angry, punished, or abandoned through tragedy. We find comfort when we find the truth - that we never are alone. His hand always rests on our shoulder. His heart is always near our own when we struggle, when we cry, when we doubt.

I experienced one of those enlightening moments we sometimes have about three years ago. How I love those moments of new understanding when they arrive! My son was four years old and it was time for his annual check-up. The appointment went just fine for the most part. He really likes his doctor and feels safe with her. He paid careful attention and passed the hearing and vision exams. He was excited to hear how much he’d grown in height and weight. He didn’t even whimper at the finger prick to check his blood counts. Our doctor said goodbye and left, and Matthew was fine. But I knew why we were still waiting in that room. I knew the immunizations were coming next, when the nurse returned. Thinking that it was most fair to prepare him, I told him he would be getting three shots.

Instantly, he became nearly hysterical. The fear in his eyes broke my heart even more than the sobs. This was the first check-up in which he was old enough to remember the pain of earlier shots, yet still young enough to let the anticipation and anxiety overwhelm him. He begged me not to make him get a shot. He even dropped to his knees on the ground, hugging my legs, and sobbing through his pleas to leave. Dramatic, yes. But that is how he is. He feels his emotions very intensely, especially fear.

I could not hold back the tears. Everything in me cried with my son, seeing him so terrified and so upset. I wrapped my arms around him and cried with him, and tried to reassure him. I knew he would be okay, and that he’d get through this … but he didn’t know that. All he knew in that moment was that he was about to hurt badly and he was terrified. And I’m sure part of him was angry with me for making him endure this, or felt as if I was punishing him for something. Or he wondered if I was turning my back on him because I wasn’t do anything to change this experience.

And this was my epiphany in that moment … I had the power to spare my son that pain. I would be within my rights as a parent to decide against the vaccinations, and to leave with my child right then and there. I could shield him, take him out of that office and down the street for ice cream, to dry the tears and all but erase them from his memory. A hot fudge sundae and smiles would return. But I didn’t spare him that pain, because I knew two things - I knew that these vaccines were (hopefully) going to strengthen him against a more dangerous threat later in his life; And I knew that the fear and pain he would feel in that office, in that one afternoon, would pass.

God, our Father, is surely there crying with us when we go through such trials as these. We are His children. He doesn’t want to see us afraid, devastated, or sorrowful. But He also knows what is to come. He understands in a way that exceeds our childlike comprehension how this event will fit into the journey of our lives, what the outcome will be, and how our character will be shaped by it. He doesn’t stand idly by as we endure heartache. He wraps His arms around us, offers His love and strength, and waits patiently and reassuringly next to us until the pain has passed, even if it takes a lifetime.

Lord, thank you for holding my hand when I needed You. Thank you for sticking close by, even when I wasn’t paying attention, or when I’d talked myself into believing that you didn’t care about me and my problems. Thank you for helping me understand that you weren’t punishing me with my sorrows, but you were guiding me through difficult circumstances that would help me become the person you created me to be. Thank you for the opportunity you have given me to comfort my child when he is afraid, to be with him when he might otherwise feel alone, and to share a smile with him again after the pain has passed, just as you have smiled with me. Lord, please continue to be with Michelle, Laura, Angela and Brent, and their families through the weeks and months ahead. Please reassure them of your presence, your power, and your love. You are holy and so good. Thank you for being our Father, wise and eternal. Amen.

This will be a long post. Consider yourself warned.

I promised several people that I would share the details and images from my baptism last September. Our church was kind enough to send me a video on DVD. So, a couple of weeks ago, I sat down at my computer to finally figure out how to upload the video to the web, so that I might share it here. And …. I can’t find the DVD anywhere!!! I am so depressed about that. I will contact my church and see if it is possible to get another copy, but in the meantime I’d like to at least share some pictures.

My dear friend, Jeannine Miner, captured these images for me. Her family attends Northpoint as we do, and she is a fellow photographer in Alpharetta. Even with sick kids at home, and a photo session scheduled that afternoon, and working on very little sleep, she was there for me the morning of my baptism, camera in hand, and a caring smile on her face. Jeannine, thank you for your friendship and for the incredible gift of these photos.

If you’ve read my other posts here, you know my story, my journey to new life in Christ. And if you are good at math, you know there is a big gap between my acceptance of Christ as my savior and my baptism. I’m sure I’m not alone. At our church, baptism can induce some stage fright. Part of the process includes creating a video of one’s testimony. I’d watched so many of those videos over the years. It seemed like almost every one had something relevant to my life. But the thought of ME on that huge screen, in front of a few thousand of my closest friends, was so intimidating. These other people did it so well. They were calm. They told their story with eloquence, reverence, and sometimes a little humor. I didn’t think I could do that. What if I stumbled over my words? What if I cried? (I cry ALL the time when I talk about these things.) Then I was pregnant with our daughter. That gave me the ultimate excuse, I thought … I was afraid I would be too big and round and the pastor would drop me in the water. I let my pregnancy postpone my baptism indefinitely. And of course, I never acknowledged to myself that these reasons were just excuses - I was afraid of taking that next step. I didn’t want to surrender completely. Little did I know that life was about to get pretty hard, and I needed a savior more than ever.

I have three kids. As we awaited the birth of our third child, I thought I had this motherhood thing all figured out. I was a veteran. I knew juggling the schedules of two active boys and a newborn would not be easy, but I was confident and optimistic.

But things didn’t turn out like I had anticipated. My kids were healthy. Our bills were paid. We had wonderful friends, loving family, a church home, and everything else we needed. But I was struggling with an internal turmoil that nearly tore me apart. I was miserable, angry, and lost.

Finally, in the summer of 2007, my emotional struggle reached the point of crisis. I will spare you the details, but summarize in saying that for the first time I had fleeting thoughts of “escape”. And when you are driving in a car sobbing, “escape” can be a dangerous thing to contemplate. By the grace of God, I parked my car in a parking lot and sat there crying for what seemed like hours. By the time I returned home, I was no longer crying, but I was numb and I was desperate.

At 1:00 that morning, I was wide awake, and decided to reach out for help before things got worse. I emailed a group of friends and admitted what had been going on. And at 1:32 a.m., a dear friend and angel by the name of Kristin was reading her email. Times like these, I am amazed at how God is there for us when we need Him most, by placing an earthly angel right there before us. Here is Kristin’s email to me that night …

Shannon, in the morning. you call your doctor and you go in. You have postpartum depression. It is NORMAL after a baby, but you don’t have to be like this. There is medication that will help you get through the hormones of post baby and nursing. THIS IS NOT A FOREVER feeling. I PROMISE!

YOU ARE A GREAT MOM AND WIFE! BUT please take care of Shannon. Depression is REAL and medical.
I LOVE YOU. And I am certain God made me get up from my bed one hour ago because I couldn’t sleep to come in here so I could see your message. YOU ARE PERFECT and YOU ARE WONDERFUL! But you need to see your doctor just as soon as you can. For you and for your family…….. now. Read any verse from your Bible and go lay down by your husband. And pray for him. And I will go pray specifically for you, my friend.

And with that one loving message, the branches parted, the light filtered through, and I found myself in the middle of a forest I had not been able to see because of all the smothering trees. It had honestly never crossed my mind that I had postpartum depression. But that was just the beginning, the awakening. Next came the journey, finding a path out of the forest.

So I prayed for hours and began searching for help. It took weeks and three doctors to even find someone who would help me. That’s another post for another blog. But one doctor did help, and while the depression was not yet 100% cured, I was back to a point where the good days greatly outnumbered the bad. I could enjoy my life, play with my children, hug my husband, and look forward to the next day. One afternoon, I sat on the floor playing with my kids, and I found myself laughing. I realized that I had not laughed spontaneously like that in months. How glorious it is to laugh!!

I realized that God was with me through that forest, just as he’d been with me through my mother’s death and all the other pains my life had brought. When I prayed for help, he placed the right people in my life at the right time. But this realization was not enough. What I had been resisting all this time was surrender. I allowed myself to be blocked and barricaded by the anticipated opinions of society in general. I was worried about what people would think about my baptism video, instead of concerning myself with the significance of my baptism itself, and the incredible step it would be in my walk with God. And even in battling my depression, I was seeking earthly solutions to help me feel better, instead of surrendering to God’s care and healing. So I pushed through and submitted my application for baptism.

The date was set for September 23. I made my video the week before. I’d rehearsed my testimony so many times. It’s hard to compress a story like that to 90 seconds! To my pleasant surprise, making the video was a breeze. The church staff members were all so encouraging and supportive. I had no need for the anxiety I’d felt all those months.

On Wednesday of the week before, I was talking with our boys’ school principal, whose husband Mike is a pastor at Northpoint. We had met him before through some friends at church. I told her about my baptism coming up, and she asked who would be baptizing me. I didn’t know and just assumed I’d find out on Sunday. At that exact moment, her cell phone rang - it was her husband calling to tell her that he’d been asked to do the baptisms on Sunday. I was thrilled that God offered me that little personal connection for my baptism. It was one more way He was relieving some of my anxiety.

One thing that always struck me in watching the baptisms before mine was the relevance of the testimonies to the sermon. It happened so often that a person’s story seemed perfectly matched with that Sunday’s topic. For example, our good friend Richie, born and raised in a Jewish family, was baptized during a series on the history of Judaism and Islam in relation to Christianity. The visiting speaker that day was a woman sharing her story of growing up Jewish and later accepting Christ as her savior. I thought, “Wow, it is amazing how well the church coordinates these baptisms with the sermons.”

My own testimony is mostly about my mother’s death, and how God offered me peace at that darkest most devastating time in my life. The sermon the day of my baptism was given by Louie Giglio, and was called “The Megaphone of Hope.” It was the second of a two-part series all about how the personal tragedies we face can be such an inspiring magnification of God’s glory as He sees us through. I was astonished to learn that the church has nothing to do with the relevance between testimony and sermon. They didn’t even know my testimony when my baptism was scheduled, and the sermon schedule is certainly planned months in advance. The relevance was all God’s doing. How incredible!

I waited backstage as the congregation worshipped, which was loud and glorious. Then Mike helped me step into the water, and I saw myself on that enormous video screen, but I was relaxed. As my story played, Mike whispered “That is awesome, Shannon.” That was the last thing I heard. Here I was, in a room of hundreds and hundreds of people, my family and friends watching from the audience, with lights and amplifiers and speakers. And it was so …. quiet. In that singular moment, everything else disappeared as if behind a veil. I only heard silence. I was inside a peaceful, serene space, alone with God. I felt the warm water wash over me, and I opened my eyes as the veil lifted, the silence parted, and I was new.

As I wrote last September: The only words I have aren’t even my own … I once was lost, and now I’m found. I spent a large part of my life either ignoring God or running from Him, and questioning if He existed at all. I made so many bad choices, so many blatant mistakes. And one day, when I least expected it, I opened my heart and realized He was there. He was right there all along, in everything … in my friendships, in my marriage, in the music that lifted my moods, in the trees that whispered with the breeze, in the scent of my baby’s hair, in my heartaches, in my celebrations. I had run, but He didn’t. He never gave up on me. His unconditional love for me never wavered. So one day, finally, I stopped running. And my life has not been and never will be the same. Thank God.

It’s not that I won’t make mistakes or bad choices anymore. I will. And He will forgive me and help me learn from them.

It’s not that I won’t have doubts or questions or fears anymore. I will. And He will send me reassurance.

It’s not that I will be stronger to face my life’s challenges and sorrows. I won’t. But His strength will support me.

It’s not that I will be perfect. I won’t. He will love me anyway.

If you would like to watch the sermon that Louie gave that day, you can see it online at http://www.northpoint.org/messages. Look mid-way down the page (they are in date order) for “The Megaphone of Hope.” The first half of the series is “The Anchor of Hope” from the week before. Both are amazing messages.

Blessings.

My son, who will turn 7 in a matter of weeks, amazes me. Of course he does. He’s my son. But it’s more than that. He has such a heart for God. Truly I can say that his faith, his insight, has been such an enlightening source of inspiration in my own walk. So often, I find him resting quietly in his room reading his Bible. Or we are driving home from school, and he begins talking about an idea he’s had in relation to Jesus and eternity, and I hardly even feel adequate to respond. I’m just in awe. On a recent drive, we were listening to We Three Kings, the Christmas carol, on the radio. He said with excitement, “Mommy, did you ever think about how cool it is that there were THREE kings, THREE wise men who visited Jesus?” Then he elaborated, “Just like there are THREE persons of God with God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.” Maybe I’m just a proud mommy, but I thought his revelation was brilliant.

Last night, at the end of a wonderful Christmas Day, full of all the usual colorful wrapping, delectable sweets, and occasional chaos, my son ran past us and up to his room. As he passed by, he announced, “I’m going to go spend some time alone with God.” Moments like these, witnessing my child’s pure faith, stirs the Holy Spirit within me like nothing else.

That moment inspired these images. I wish I had something wise and insightful to write along side them, but I don’t. I’ve prayed for the right words all day. In the end, the answer I received was to allow the images and scripture to do most of the talking. My words can’t measure up to the faith of a child.

“People were also bringing babies to Jesus to have him touch them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”" Luke 18:15-17 (NIV)

I know I’m not very unique when I say this is my favorite time of year. I’ve always been moved by the magic of Christmas. The childhood memories of twinkling lights, baking cookies with my mom, finding the perfect tree at the cut-your-own farm, the infusion of pine and cinnamon through our home. And of course, as a child, the presents are exhilarating. Now even as a parent, shopping for my kids and anticipating their smiles on Christmas morning is just as exhilarating.

I don’t recall how old I was this particular year, maybe twelve or thirteen, when I got curious about the story behind Christmas. We didn’t attend church very often. I knew the basics - the baby in a manger, because there was no room at the inn; the shepherds and the angel and the star. I wanted to know more. I found my mother’s Bible, a King James in a white leather cover with her maiden name in gold lettering on the front. I searched and found bits and pieces of the story there. (Naturally, it can be hard for a twelve year old to read the Bible, even one book, in entirety.) I read about the stable, and the message of Christ’s birth. But I still really didn’t understand the magnitude of it all. It was very early on Christmas morning when I read this, and my mother came downstairs to find me. I recall the expression on her face, but even today I can’t interpret it. Was it pride? Was it love? Was it sadness or regret? I will never know.

Decades would pass before I sought, or found, the deeper meaning of Christmas again. Three years ago, in the midst of the holiday chaos, I found myself moved by something entirely different at Christmas. The magic was different, for perhaps the first time in my life. I enjoyed all the traditional celebrations as I always had, but I was feeling myself stirred by something more powerful … the birth, the life, the sacrifice of Jesus. Perhaps it was that I saw the story now through a mother’s eyes. I saw Mary, though the lens of my own experience of the miracle of childbirth. I was surrounded by family I loved, doctors I trusted, lights and clean linens and modern technology. Mary, in many ways still a child herself by today’s parameters, was no doubt frightened and uncertain as she labored. She had Joseph beside her, but they were alone, in a dark, cold stable, on a bed of hay above a dirt floor. They might have had a single oil lamp, but probably not clean water. They didn’t have medical assistance or guidance. And when I held my son for the first time, and looked into his eyes, I felt awe at the responsibility of mothering just this one tiny human soul. When Mary held her child for the first time, she knew she cradled a child that would save the world.

During that holiday season, our pastor, Andy Stanley, gave a sermon about the Gift of Christmas. A gift freely given, with nothing expected in return, with no strings attached. God gave the world the gift of His Son, the gift of salvation and eternal life. All we had to do was accept it. Nothing else. At the end of the sermon, Andy asked if anyone in the auditorium wanted to celebrate this Christmas differently than perhaps they had before, with Jesus in their heart. If so, he invited us to stand, so that everyone around us could pray for our new life beginning. I heard every word, every sound that morning, yet the memory today is like remembering a dream. The sensation in my heart was confusing, enlightening, exhilarating. With a handful of others in the crowd, I found myself standing. I think I even surprised my husband next to me. And then Andy prayed for all of us, as the people around us joined the prayer. As I left church that day, complete strangers hugged me and congratulated me. They knew the magnitude of the gift.

That Christmas, I received a gift that I’d wanted my entire life, even though I’d rarely ever defined it. The gift of acceptance without judgment. The gift of unconditional love without the obligation of reciprocation. The gift of certainty. The gift of eternity.

Yesterday, a beautiful little girl named Gabrielle joined her Father in Heaven. She was a 6th grade student at my son’s school. Only four days ago, she woke up for school with numbness and weakness in her left side. At Children’s Hospital, her parents learned that she had a massive brain bleed, cause undetermined. And in far too little time, she was gone. I have never met Gabby or her family. But as the prayer chains encircled the school, I found myself consumed with thoughts of her, with heartache for her family, and yet with inspiration by their faith. I hear that Gabby found the purpose in her young life to share the love of Jesus with everyone she could. How I wish I could tell her now just how far her message reached, how well she fulfilled her purpose. And while I know her mother and father must be feeling such devastation as no parent can imagine, I am in awe of the glory of God shining through their daughter’s story, and the peace and faith they have shared. They know with all certainty that their daughter is with Jesus, and they know that they will join her there in God’s time. Forever. Until then, I can only pray that God encircles them with his love and strength, that he sends the healing that can only come from Him.

My mother used to say that none of us have the promise of tomorrow. But what an incredible gift we have in the promise of forever.

Early in my Christian walk, I found I had to learn how to pray. Praying for the big stuff came easy … cancer, world peace, natural disaster victims. It was natural and uncomplicated to pray for those things. Learning to turn to God for the small things is more difficult. Why should I bother Him with my little troubles? A phone call I was nervous to make, a photo session I wanted to go well, hope for a good day at school for my son … those things just seemed insignificant and even selfish in light of the big things, like cancer, world peace, and natural disaster victims. But I began to learn that God cared about my small things and wanted me to turn to Him for those things, too.

Tonight, I rocked my daughter to sleep. Believe it or not, this is a big deal. She is a very busy little toddler, now 14 months old. She has never been one to cuddle for very long. Even reading a book before bed requires more stillness than she prefers. After her bath and pj’s, she wants a quick hug and then she reaches for her crib. We certainly don’t complain! It’s one of the very few low-maintenance areas of her life! She is our first and still only child who will go to sleep willingly and stay asleep consistently. So while I’d love to cuddle more often, I am thankful for her independent sleep habits.

Tonight she wasn’t in such a hurry. After she played in the bath, I got her pj’s on, combed her hair, and gave her a little hug as I carried her over to the crib. She had her pink satin blankie clutched in one hand, and her thumb in her mouth as always. I whispered our nightly prayer …

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
The angels watch me through the night,
Until I wake in the morning light.
Amen.

But she didn’t reach for the crib. She put the pink blanket up on my shoulder, and then she tucked her head into my neck and just stayed there. I paused a moment and rubbed her back, and almost laid her down in the crib. Then I realized that I didn’t want this moment to be over yet. So I turned off the light and sat with her in the rocking chair, for the first time in weeks if not months. She didn’t squirm for freedom as she normally would. She only shifted a little to settle deeper into my arms. She was so warm in her turquoise fleece pajamas, and her hair smelled of the sweet lavender baby shampoo. I inhaled deeply and committed the scent to memory, to file away for a day when I’m old and gray. As my eyes adjusted to the dark room, with the soft glow of her night light, I could see her big blue eyes looking up at me. I could hear her suckling on her thumb. With her free hand, she rubbed my arm and then played with my hair. I rocked her, and watched her eyelids grow heavier with each blink. I kissed her forehead and brushed her hair with my hand. Soon, her breathing became very steady and deep, her eyes closed, and her body relaxed. Her thumb fell from her mouth. A tiny, petite snore was the only sound. And this moment became memory. Quietness. Tenderness. Innocence. Smallness. Love.

And I learned something. Truly, God wants to hear our prayers, great and small. Certainly He deserves His glory for cancer cured, progress toward peace, relief from tragedy. But just as much as these great prayers answered, equal glory shines in these small moments. I must remember to pause and thank Him for these miraculous breaks in the day, weeks and months, for the memories created in small moments.

And I also realized, just as I cherished this quiet, small moment with my daughter, God must also cherish those moments with us. I know He loves to hear our worship on Sunday mornings, and delights in our prayers and praise sent for great things. But these kinds of moments must also be so dear to Him, when we let our wordly cares float away, when we rest quietly and peacefully in silence with Him, settling into the warmth and security of His love.

Thank you, Lord, for my daughter. Thank you for a moment of clarity in my hectic schedule and busy life, a moment in which I can listen to her gentle breathing, smell her soft hair, and see my smile reflected in her innocent blue eyes. Thank you for a moment that will stay with me for a lifetime. When trouble comes, Lord, as I know it will because none of us are immune, please let this moment echo in my heart, to give me hope, strength, and peace when I need it. Let it remind me not only of my daughter in her babyhood, but also of your love for me as your child. Thank you for being there with me in this moment, for the glimpse it offered me of your heart, for the understanding of the significance of these small moments.

Yes, it has been weeks since I began this blog! My timing was wonderful … starting a new project in the middle of my busiest time of the year. I’ve been meaning to get back and write a new post for the past two weeks, and my days just fly by.

And I’ve been wondering if this is really something I should be doing. I don’t know if people will come read this. I don’t know if I will say the right things. I don’t know if I can even think of enough interesting topics to keep this blog going on a frequent basis. Doubts, fears, insecurities. They always manage to creep in.

And God is so faithful! On Sunday, I ran into a client at church. She told me had read my first post here and was looking forward to reading more. (Thank you, T!) I’m sure she didn’t realize it, but her comment was a little whisper from God, I think. "Get going, Shannon." So I’ve been thinking of what to write, jotting down notes while I sat in my sons’ school carpool line or while I was editing at my computer for such long hours lately.

And tonight, a friend emailed me an awesome story, from another Christian blog. The story in the email was simply about a troubled teenager who had read this person’s blog and reached out for help. The message was profound for me … just one person reading just one post on a blog, and finding within it some hope. Just one. So in the coming weeks, months, or years, if God decides to bring just one person to my blog who might find something hopeful within … that’s enough. That’s enough reason for me to write whatever He puts on my heart. That was my second little whisper from God this week. "Shannon, I said get going!"

My story …

I had a wonderful childhood. I had a fantastic family, parents who loved me dearly and gave me everything they could, friends, a warm house, a dog or two. No complaints. We attended church occasionally, an Easter sunrise service here, a candlelight Christmas Eve service there. I went with my grandmother sometimes. But I never found myself comfortable with religion or church. In high school and college, I had friends with a profound faith. The idea was so foreign to me that it was uncomfortable, so I started constructing the walls and crafting my logical arguments against the whole concept.

In my twenties, I went through my real cynical phase. I don’t know that I ever completely disbelieved in God. I certainly didn’t see much need for Him in my life. I definitely had my doubts about His existence, much less his power and benevolence. And in this same decade, I was desperately lost. I battled depression off and on through college and my early single life. I was searching for something to make me feel like a whole person, and I had no idea what the solution would ultimately be. So I made a lot of horrible choices, including unhealthy relationships and drugs.

During this time, I went to lunch at Wendy’s one day with a co-worker. Across the restaurant, we saw another co-worker named Tom. Tom was probably in his forties, and I thought of him as a very friendly, kind-hearted person. He smiled at us and waved, and turned back to his lunch. He was sitting alone. I watched as he bowed his head, with his hands in his lap, and spoke silently with closed eyes. He was praying. I then saw his lips form the word "Amen" and he looked up, and took a bite of his Single with Cheese.

What kind of person prays at Wendy’s?! My cynical side was baffled. But a tiny part of me was also mesmerized. He prayed at Wendy’s. What must it feel like to have that kind of faith? I was certain I would never know. I told myself I never cared to know.

With the help of a counselor (ironically, Jewish by heritage and then a practicing minister with the Unitarian Church), I pulled my life together before it really fell apart. And when I was 27, I met Chris, who would become my husband. We fell in love almost overnight, and we were engaged about 4 months after our first date. After our engagement, Chris told me that he was a licensed minister in a small Baptist church in Canton, Georgia. Warning flags! My walls of resistance began to raise up in an overwhelming way, and I wondered what this meant for our relationship. I wondered if I should marry him, and why on earth he’d want to marry someone like me. Loving him as much as I did, I knew I couldn’t walk away, so I went to church with him a few times. In my mind, though, I just didn’t fit.

When we were pregnant with our first son, I lost my job one sudden Friday morning. I was a person who had defined myself by my career. I was in a Director role with a software company, earning a very healthy salary, and not even sure I’d quit working after our son was born. Losing my job was mind-blowing to say the least. I’d never failed at anything like this. What did this say about me? And what on earth would we do now, with me 7 months pregnant and essentially unemployable for at least a few more months? Chris and I panicked most of the weekend. Life was turned upside down, or so we thought. But just wait …

On Monday morning, since I was now out of work and had the time available, I went with my mother to a doctor’s visit. At 10:30 a.m. that morning, we heard the words "it’s breast cancer." We learned that in just two weeks, she would have a mastectomy, followed by a heavy course of chemotherapy. The diagnosis sent us spinning. And thus, I became a stay-at-home mom. I would spend my time taking care of our new baby and helping my mother through her treatments.

Over the next two years, Mom and I spent several days each week together. We talked on the phone once or twice a day. Her grandchild was the best medicine we could hope for. Her fight was difficult at times, though. The cancer had spread to her bones, and she had terrible pain. The chemo was brutal. Meanwhile, we had started attending Northpoint Community Church, and I often shared invigorating conversations with my mom about Andy’s sermon that week, and the message that I found for my life. I started to realize how blessed I felt - yes, blessed - I had never used that word before - to have this time with her. I started to think that maybe, just maybe, there was a God afterall. Maybe He took my job away from me to put me where I needed to be in life. Chris and I would never have made that choice on our own. I was too afraid to give up that definition of myself career-wise, and we were both much too afraid to give up the money. So perhaps God took it away. Hmmmm. Could there actually be a plan for my life, controlled by some higher power?? Hmmmm.

On April 24, 2003, when I was 7 months pregnant with our second son, we took my mom to the ER for unbearable pain in her legs and back. She was also vomiting and was starting to show some confusion in her thoughts. All too soon, she had slipped into a coma, and we got the confirmation we feared. The cancer had spread to her brain. She had something called carcinomatous meningitis - cancer in her spinal fluid and the fluid surrounding her brain. The life expectancy with treatment was 6 weeks. Mom died 5 days later on April 30.

My mother, my best friend, was gone. I can’t express my devastation. At times, I think the only things that kept me breathing, gave me a reason to even open my eyes in the morning, were my two year old son and the baby growing inside of me. I knew I had to keep going for them. And so, having nowhere else to turn, nothing else to do, I prayed. I prayed to a God I had never really believed in, and certainly never talked to, and begged for comfort.

One day, to my astonishment, God sent me something I considered miraculous. In the darkest time in my life, God sent me … peace. I was enveloped in it, with the comforting epiphany that He was in control, and had been all along. My mother’s journey had simply come to an end on this earth. Though we were apart and my heart ached so desperately, she wasn’t in pain anymore, and God assured me that He was there with me, His arms around me when I cried. He’d already done so much for me. He’d given me my husband and our children, to love and support me once my mother was gone. He’d given me two years, without the distraction of a career, to spend with my child and my mom, years in which our bond and friendship grew deeper than it ever had, and in which we had had the time and the reason to express how much we loved each other. And now He was giving me what I needed most. In the sudden absence of the security of my mother’s love, He was giving me His unconditional love, filling the painful void in my heart with it. All I had to do was accept it. Miraculous.

I still miss my mother so much. I have tears streaming down my face as I type tonight, remembering her smile, the way she would call me "My Darling", and the way she would look at her grandson. I still feel overwhelming sadness when I think that she never got to meet her second grandson and her granddaughter, who is named after her. Oh how she’d love them! I’d give anything for just one more day with her. But what I don’t feel anymore is anger and bitterness that she’s gone. I am at peace in my faith that God’s plan is good, and I am at peace that I will see her again.

I mentioned Tom and his Wendy’s prayer earlier. I now consider that moment one of the initial footsteps on my path. One tiny, seemingly insignificant moment. I don’t know where Tom is these days. I can’t even remember his last name. But I would so love to tell him about the seed he planted that day, just by praying at Wendy’s.