Author Archives: Eileen

Dawn Dreaming

“Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.”― Rabindranath Tagore

Read that quote recently and I could actually picture a person walking over to a kitchen table and extinguishing a burning lantern. I could see the sun rising through the open shuttered windows and natural light beginning to creep into the room.

What a beautiful picture of death. The dawning of a new day.

Dawn is my favorite time of day. I love how in this quote, death is described as a never- ending break of day. The artificial or temporary is no longer necessary because something eternal has emerged onto the scene.

This quote actually made me think about the hours after my mom’s death. We had been at the hospital all day. My mom passed on a summer evening in July. As we left the hospital, the sun setting, my dad insisted we go and get something to eat. We hadn’t eaten all day. We ended up at Pizza Hut, not too far from the hospital.

As we waited for our pizza, I will never forget the thought that crossed my mind. In a strange way, I remember it filling me with a sense of peace.

“Dad, do you ever get this sense that when we die, that’s when we finally wake up? Like… this life here on earth is more like a dream and the moment we die, we are fully awake.”

I don’t recall my dad having an answer for me. I don’t think I was really expecting one.

The dawn is my favorite time of day because it symbolizes hope. The coming light is inevitable. Regardless of what darkness surrounds us…we have this deep assurance we can cling to and wait for.

“There’s a sun coming over the horizon. I want to know where it’s coming from, doesn’t everyone?”

“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!” 1 Corinthians 13:12 Message

I’m sorry for the things I’ve made it

I had a strange thought cross my mind earlier this week. “Lord, will I be able to drink and enjoy wine in heaven?” (For anyone who might not know, I’ve been sober since 2001.)

I know I’m trying to ponder what heaven will be like from merely my limited human understanding. I also know that there’s a high probability that, once my faith becomes complete sight, then I won’t even give a hoot about wine, but I wonder.

I wonder about all those things in life that were created to be good and to be beautiful but we’ve managed to abuse them. I wonder what it will be like to experience these things in their uncorrupted forms when our thinking is no longer warped, when our desires aren’t easily misplaced, when we aren’t always looking for temporary quick fixes to satisfy that part in us that only He can fully heal. I wonder what it will be like to simply enjoy that which our Creator… created. I can’t even comprehend this kind of untainted joy and freedom that we will be able to find and fully appreciate  in all that is good and beautiful!

I thought about the lyrics to the song Heart of Worship. “I’m coming back to the heart of worship…where it’s all about you, all about you, Jesus. I’m sorry Lord for things I’ve made it…when it’s all about you, all about you, Jesus.” This is what I think drinking wine in heaven will be like. I will be able to drink it simply as an act of worship, with joy-filled praise and humble gratitude!

I thought about 1 Corinthians 10:31 “So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.” In heaven, we will forever be experiencing all the beautiful things in life the way they were intended to be experienced.

Can you imagine?

Until then, Lord…I’m sorry for things I’ve made it…when it’s all about You…all about You.

This older song came to mind as I was writing this post

“Savior, please…keep saving me”


Take up your cross and follow Me.

I’ve been thinking about those words this week.

What is your cross?

The image of Jesus lugging the actual cross on His back, bent over in exhaustion, came to mind. Then the image of the cross being a source of excruciating pain, suffering, and rejection.

What is your cross?

Yet, when Jesus overcomes the cross we are able to see, with new eyes, a different side of the cross. It was the painful path filled with sacrifice and surrender that ultimately led to freedom and life.

What is your cross?

I think this came to mind for a few reasons.

I was thinking about testimonies shared at creek baptism over the weekend. This last sentence of one man’s journey with addiction resonated with me: “I am grateful for both my family and also my addiction because it helped me to discover life in Christ.”

This is the surprising and redeeming beauty we can discover from the crosses we carry.

Addiction brought pain and agony to this man’s life but it was also the road that led to sweet freedom and renewed hope. Oh, how I can relate to this!

The cross(es) we carry will be those things in life that threaten to crush or derail our lives and our own souls.

Yet, as we follow Jesus and surrender to His desires for our lives, these things become humble reminders that apart from HIM we can do nothing.

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it. What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?” Matt 16:24-26

Yesterday was the anniversary of my dad’s life changing stroke back in 2012. A fiercely independent man was brought to a place of complete dependence. He was bedridden for over 4 years before passing away in 2016, his body and spirit, giving up.

A few times in the last week, I’ve happened to glance at the time on my cell phone at precisely 7:14. Those numbers are forever ingrained into my heart. It’s the date of my mom’s death and the first thought that comes to mind whenever I happen to see these numbers together. And, tomorrow was my mom’s birthday. Another date etched into my heart.

I share these things because, I think in many ways, the grief we experience in life can be a cross we must carry. Heartache will bring us to a crossroads with our Savior. Where do we place our “I don’t understand” questions, our anger, or our broken hearts?

Do the painful seasons in life pull us away or draw us closer?  Do we drop the cross and walk away or do we grip onto it even tighter and keep walking home?  

There are times in life I feel like Jesus asks me the same question He asked his disciples after sharing hard to swallow truth.

“You do not want to leave too, do you?”
Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” John 6: 68-69

Take up your cross and follow Me.

Jesus and His Mom



“What has this concern of yours to do with Me, woman” Jesus asked. “My hour has not yet come.”
“Do whatever He tells you,” His mother told the servants. John 2:4-5

Whenever I read this particular exchange between Jesus and his mom, I’m always struck by two things.

First, I’m amused by just how “human” it is. The son, even the Son of God, listens and takes direction from his mom. He essentially gives her the typical child “but, Mom, why?” response and she goes into complete “mom mode”, ignoring the “but why” in order to find a solution to the problem.

Second, I love how Jesus’ mom knows what the answer to their dilemma will be. She knows He holds the solution. She has no idea how he is going to fix the situation she just has complete trust in the fact that He can. “Do whatever He tells you.”

I think that needs to be our reaction more often.

Got a problem that needs solving? Do whatever He tells you.

Not sure if you should forgive or hold a grudge? Do whatever He tells you.

Not sure if that person should be included or excluded? Do whatever He tells you.

Following His lead will result in water to wine moments.

He can take the ordinary and make it extraordinary. He can take what appears to be endings and turn them into new beginnings. And, sometimes, they’re even sweeter than you could possibly imagine.

Do whatever He tells you. That’s always a good starting point.

Morning Jolts

“Oh, we’re free, free
Forever we’re free
Come join the song
Of all the redeemed
Yes, we’re free free
Forever amen
When death was arrested and my life began”

Those were the words playing on repeat all through the night. I heard them each time I stirred and rolled over. I heard them as I got up to use the restroom. I heard them as I drifted back to sleep and then as I got up in the morning and started my day.

Songs play like a beautiful broken record in my head sometimes. Sometimes, they shake me awake in the middle of the night. They serenade my soul. It’s the beauty in the background that is always playing but, sometimes, the noise on the surface (especially during the daytime) is so loud that its beauty is muffled or drowned out completely.

As I started my morning routine, the noise became louder and I quickly forgot about the music that had played through the night. That is, until I read these words.

“I never knew Jesus until I failed horribly. It gives the worst part of me a whole new bent. What should have destroyed me became what woke me up. That’s grace.” Serena Woods

Today, these words were the defibrillator…shocking me heart back to life. The shock I needed as I began another day. Another day when I have a choice to either go through the motions, to grope around with eyes closed, to live on auto pilot OR to wake up to the reality that all of it is GRACE.

“What should have destroyed me became what woke me up. That’s grace.” It’s also redemption. It’s also when “YOU called my name and I ran out of that grave” (Yes, more lyrical breadcrumbs scattered along the path that lead home.)

Lord, thank you for the tiny defibrillator moments through the day, those moments that jolt us back to life, those moments that remind us again of who You are and what You have done.

as numerous as stars

“God give me an opportunity to DO love.”

I jotted these words down from Sunday’s message. Our pastor shared that if we woke up every morning with this being our request then imagine what a difference it would make.

I woke up yesterday morning and said those words and reminded my son of those words as we headed out the front door for school and work.

But as soon as I said them, I heard these words in response…

The opportunities to DO love are all around you at every single turn.

The opportunities to DO love are as numerous as the stars.

What we lack is not so much the opportunity, what we lack are the eyes to see and the hearts willing to respond.

Lord, give me eyes to see.
Lord, give me a heart that responds.

Pulling Up the Blind

I’ve noticed a lot of reminders over the past few days of the preciousness of life and time.

  • A neighbor who I couldn’t reach and for the briefest of moments I thought that maybe she was in need of medical attention. (Yes, my mind tends to jump immediately to worse case scenarios.) When I discovered she was fine, my racing heart rejoiced. I held back tears and breathed a sigh of relief.
  • A family member with a health diagnosis filled with so much pain and uncertainty.
  • Words from Eugene Peterson about a lady he knew when he was 10 years old who never “pulled the blinds” up on her life but rather spent her days tucked away in a dark house waiting for the end times. Eugene dreamed of a do-over with the lady…taking her by the hand and showing her the extraordinary, breathtaking beauty just beyond her blinds.
  • A coworker and his family who have decided to downsize, to sell all their possessions, buy an RV, and live on the road.
  • The death of author, Rachel Held Evans, who took others along on her faith journey, wrestled openly with her doubts, and received lots of backlash from other Christians who disagreed with her. She was a wife and a 37 year old mother of two young kids. She died after a bad reaction to an antibiotic. Her last public words expressed lighthearted disappointment that she would have to miss a tv show while in the hospital receiving treatment.
  • It’s also the month of May, which personally holds so many reminders for me of the preciousness of life and time. Mother’s Day, my mom’s birthday (gone now nearly 28 years), the anniversary of my dad’s life-changing stroke (gone now nearly 3 years).

As I’ve been reflecting on these things, I can’t help but get the sense that they all add up to a bigger lesson than just the one I can see on the surface. It’s as if there’s this blind over my own heart and I’m trying to lift it up so His light can reveal what to do with all the lessons.

Recognizing that life is short and time is precious is only the first step. I can recognize it all day long…but it’s what I do with this realization that matters most.

I think of the words of a Mumford & Sons song “where you invest your love, you invest your life.”

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6:21

Old Pans and New Life

“Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”  John 21:12a

“While you’re at Costco, pick out some new pots and pans.”

This was my husband’s reminder as I left this morning to pick up a few items we needed. We’ve been needing a new set of pots and pans for YEARS now, but I keep putting off the actual purchase.

I hate spending money on household appliances, just ask my friend Michelle. She once gifted me with an $8 potato peeler because I didn’t have one and didn’t care to or see the need of buying one when I had a perfectly good sharp knife in my kitchen drawer.  (On a side note, I still have that potato peeler, it’s probably 18 years old.)

As far as I’m concerned, as long as an item still “works”, I’m usually content with what I have. And, despite my pots and pans being 20 years old, I’ve used the same logic with them. Yet lately, (and by lately I mean the last couple of years) my non stick pans have become full stick pans.

It was time for new ones…I think. 

I walked into Costco and made my way over to the kitchen item aisle. I looked at the prices of the three different options displayed and zoomed in on the cheapest option. I stood there, contemplating.  Did I mention I hate spending money on kitchen things?

I walked away and began hunting for the other items on my list.

Maybe we can get by a little longer without new ones?  I rationalized.

As I shopped, I found myself going down memory lane aisle. Those pans are nearly 20 years old, Lord. They’ve been on quite a journey with me.

19 years ago this summer, I made one of the hardest and scariest decisions of my life. You could say that, just like my old pots and pans, my life was in full-stuck (stick) mode. Yet, it wasn’t until that summer when I made the hard decision to leave the familiar (as abusive and dysfunctional as it was) and step into the scary unknown.

When I left, I took with me the only things I could fit in the backseat and trunk of my car…my two dogs, a few garbage bags full of clothes, and a box of recently purchased pots and pans. Those old pans have traveled all over the country with me… from Northern Virginia to Arizona, from Arizona to North Carolina, from North Carolina to North Georgia…”outliving” even the two four-legged friends that began this unstuck journey with me nearly two decades ago.

As I stood in Costco thinking about that crazy chapter again, I was suddenly reminded of how appropriate it was to be thinking about it all on the Saturday before Easter.

It was Saturday when death seemed to have won. It was Saturday, when all of humanity appeared to be hopelessly stuck in “full-stick” mode.

Yet, today, we know the rest of the story.

We know that death and darkness didn’t get the final word.

The scary unknown is not the last chapter.

The One who promises to redeem our lives from the pit…LIVES.

I made my way back to the kitchen aisle, it was time for a new set of pots and pans.

The Blurry Background

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how crazy this faith journey can look and feel during those moments in life when you are peering through the wrong lens. It happens sometimes. It happened just the other day on the drive to work. I suddenly had this thought: “what if this is all in vain? Am I absolutely nuts?” (Don’t answer that last question 😉 )

I love how Paul explains this partial sight of faith in 1 Corinthians “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I am fully known”

It reminds of when a photographer takes a photo where the image upfront is clear and sharp but all background images have been blurred out to some degree. Life is happening behind the scenes in all the blurriness yet we just have a hard time seeing, defining, or understanding it all. Our eyes are focused on the stuff right in front of us. But then, there are those moments when the eyes of our hearts catch a glimpse of what lies beyond in all the blurriness.

I catch glimpses of His glory there… and I hold on to those image for as long as possible. Oh! to see all clearly…to understand fully!

Yesterday I texted with a volunteer to see how she was was doing, her mother-in-law had passed away a couple of days ago. Her reply took me there and my heart could see the blurry images with clarity again. She said, “We got to be there with her when she passed, she had tears in her eyes (we think sadness for leaving us yet joyful tears for seeing Jesus and family)…she had a smile on her face!….She kept reaching up for awhile…the light of Jesus. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this moment for anything!”

And, of course, I couldn’t help but think of that Sunday afternoon so many years ago when I watched my own mom pass. I thought about those eyes again and how they contained more joy and hope than I ever knew eyes could possibly hold. I thought about the smile on her face, her reassuring words to me, and her reciting Psalm 23.

There was a time in my life when I allowed this image and this moment to fall back into the blurry background and I lost my way.  Today, I hold this moment close to my heart, where it belongs. It has guided me through uncertain days filled with unanswered questions. It has reminded me to hold on to HOPE time and time again.

This morning, on the drive to work I thought again of a post I wrote several years back “But Mary faced the tomb…” from John 20. But the words that hit my heart this morning were a little further along in the text. “Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Thinking he was the gardener. I love that. Mary had mistaken Jesus as something her mind could just brush to the blurry background. At that moment, she was looking through the wrong lens. All she saw was the picture clearly in front of her…her Savior, her Hope was missing. But then, the blurry background, called out to her by name…Mary!

Lord, would you call out to us by name today? When we are tempted to leave all that is blurry or hard to understand or describe in the background, would You help us to hear Your voice calling our names and see Your hand guiding us home.

Sharing the Wrong Story

For 27 years I’ve had it in my head that my mom was 54 years old when she died. Yesterday, I found out I’ve remembered it wrong all these years; she was really 55. (She turned 55 just 7 weeks prior to her death.) I can’t figure out how I managed to remember this incorrectly from the beginning. I’ve always known she was born in 1936 yet, never once since her passing, did I ever do the math and realize my mistake.

Since discovering this error yesterday afternoon, I keep thinking how odd it is to be believing and sharing the wrong “story” all these years. I know it’s a “small” shift from the other narrative I’ve been sharing… but it still feels strange to me.

For 27 years, whenever I’ve spoken or written about my mom’s passing, I’ve always shared the “My mom was 54 years old when she died…” part of the story. That number has been etched into my heart and into my head. My lips have formed that number and my fingers have typed that number for nearly three decades. Now, at 46 (and yes, I just had to stop and do the how old am I? math to make sure 😉 ) I will be telling a different story.

I guess this just has me thinking about other subtle ways we may be remembering or believing less than accurate narratives. Our minds and hearts are so finite and so prone to error. The truth was always right there for me to know. It was hiding in plain sight; I simply hadn’t take the time to uncover it.

Truth: My mom was 55 years old when she died…

That’s going to take awhile to get used to saying, writing, and believing.