The Lone Tree That Would Not Falter

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,

but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13:12

I did it--I got through the darkest days of winter, I think to myself, as I peek through the textured blue curtains into the vast darkness outside. The light from my room casts a bright spotlight onto our snow-covered yard and immediately, my eyes lock onto the glittery white flakes streaming from the sky. It's beautiful out there. I'm so glad I'm up early to see this, I muse, as the rest of our family sleeps peacefully on. It's December 22nd, just one day after the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, and I'm grateful that some of the darkest days of winter have passed. My mind and my heart recognize the approaching light of spring and the hope that God brings with each new season.

And here in Alaska, Ken and I are to stay for however long God pleases. It's quite remarkable what the Lord has done in our lives over the course of the past six weeks. On November 13th, my husband received two back-to-back job offers for exciting engineering positions, and then the next day, I received a phone call for a job offer myself, with a well-respected logistics firm. That Friday, Nov. 15th, we both signed job offers and started our new positions. We were beyond excited by these unexpected work opportunities! It was as if God hand-picked these positions for us. And so many wonderful surprises came with our jobs--for example, we work the same weekday hours and commute the 30-minute drive together each way. Likewise, our offices are both downtown, only a five-minute's walk apart from each other. We can meet for lunch or coffee or even just a quick hug and word of affirmation throughout the week. It's so encouraging getting to spend quality time together in the midst of working full-time hours.

Along with the huge praise of securing jobs, Ken and I are now able to move forward in buying our own home. We've budgeted and saved over the past three and a half years of marriage in the hope of having a house someday and our dream is becoming more tangible each day. Looking back, I'm so thankful that we studied Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University together when we were first married. It inspired us to live within our means, save and give generously, and also to remember that "Discipline is remembering what you really want," in the words of Dave Ramsey.

As Ken and I walked through starter homes with our family's Realtor yesterday, I thought back to the first apartment that we shared as a couple. It was a studio--meaning no designated bedroom, about 495 square feet total, and basically, what you saw was what you got. Except of course, for the fact that our queen size bed was hidden in the large closet--it fit perfectly, so that we were able to jump in bed, close the closet doors for privacy, and curl up underneath all of our hanging clothes. How cozy that was! I'm laughing, because I do miss being able to pick out my daily outfit from the comfort of my bed.

Yet in family planning, Ken and I recognize that having a home with actual bedrooms would be much more comfortable for everyone. It's with this desire and many others that we continue to pursue buying our own place. Many of the things that are most important to us in a new home are fairly simple--a good neighborhood that's close to our workplaces and parks (for walking dogs and playing with children), open spaces with great lighting from outside, ideally three bedrooms, a yard outside with a few trees and space for a garden, and room for a dog! In actuality, yesterday, Ken and I may have found the place we want to purchase. It fits all those desires and has a lot of room for "improvement". It was also the most economical option we've come across with those qualifications. I'm a little nervous about the work we'll put in to make it our own but as Ken encourages me, it's also very exciting to make a wise decision financially by fixing it up as funds become available from us working. Rather than buying a house that is 'turn-key' (and much more pricey), we get to use our creative gifts to really make the house our own. That is exciting!

My thoughts circle back to the soft snowfall ushering in the start of increasing daylight. As a child, I was fascinated with the Summer and Winter Solstice. My Grandma would try to remind me of those landmarks each year since it meant so much to me. When she passed away a little more than five years ago, I felt a new-found sense of longing whenever these days neared as I no longer had my Grandma to remind me of them. Now, I mainly think of her and how I look forward to seeing her again one day. And yet this year, there is something at work that I can sense awakening in me with the advent of longer days. It is hope. God has given Ken and me hope that He will navigate us through any and every season--even the darkest. I'm reminded of the towering tree, with its gorgeous gold and yellow leaves, that I'd stare at through the dining room window over much of the fall months. While all the other trees surrounding it, were slowly or quickly stripped of their glorious leaves, this one particular tree would not falter and shed its foliage to the encroaching cold.

One afternoon, while on the phone with my older sister, I shared with her about the one tree that stood alone among the wide open forest of leaf-less trees. To me that tree embodies my resolve to not give up--to not stop trying to make living in Alaska work for us, I told my sister, seemingly on the verge of tears. I believe that God gave me a vision to be here and I think I just need to hold on and be strong, I continued, Just like that tree. 

My sister paused and then painted a picture for me that was quite different. She lovingly pointed out that perhaps instead of that tree 'needing to be strong and holding onto its leaves,' it needed to let go. The lone tree that would not falter was maybe a quite different picture of how God wanted me to surrender my desires, my hopes, my dreams, and my expectations--to let my leaves die and fall to the ground. It is only in dying that we can truly give our desires to God and let Him have his way, she pointed out. My immediate response was a sense of anger and frustration at a God who would want me to experience such pain.

Months later, I am still mulling over those words. The grand tree did finally give up its leaves. Now, as I look out across the horizon, I can't make out exactly which tree it was since it's leafless and covered in snow. Perhaps though, I don't need to find that tree. And I don't need to feel ashamed of having wanted to hold onto my own "leaves" so badly these past few months. God needed to strip me of them, so that in their place, He could craft my story to be even more beautiful than I could have imagined. God sustained me through this season of pruning and I recognize that in these challenges, He was preparing me for whatever is next.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

My Sand Castles

Much like an infant swaddled in its mothers arms, I'm comfortably slouched on my in-laws' faux suede couch sandwiched between pillows piled over with a giant, cotton-fleece blanket. Pretty kitties and butterflies--I didn't realize that was the linen design until just now. "Hmm," I think to myself, as I take a sip from my too-hot cup of jasmine green tea. "Who knew?"

I'm enjoying the stillness of my Saturday morning. Ken and his dad just left on a work errand so I have the house all to myself. As I reflect on the beauty of the fall colors outside, unfolding in bursts, as the morning sun rises above the tree tops, one of my favorite Switchfoot songs starts to play on the radio. The chorus softly beckons me in:

I wish I had what I needed
To be on my own
'Cause I feel so defeated
And I'm feeling alone

And it all seems so helpless
And I have no plans
I'm a plane in the sunset
With nowhere to land

And all I see
It could never make me happy
And all my sand castles
Spend their time collapsing

Let me know that you hear me.
Let me know your touch.
Let me know that you love me.
Let that be enough.

It's a song about a boy learning to grow up. And it's a painful process. I can understand how the singer must feel. It's been a few years now since he wrote this song and I wonder if things have changed--does he understand life better now? Or perhaps he's still searching for something--maybe elusive--that this side of Heaven will not fully be revealed to him.

In the past week, I've noticed that like the words of this song, many of my 'sand castles' are collapsing. I'm in a season of tremendous transition, filled with moments of intense grief, and conversely joy, along with the growing knowledge that while life events and circumstances are uncertain, there is a God who is not, and He is with me. Always.

Last Sunday night, Ken and I got word that one of his grandmas had passed away. It was bittersweet, as Grandma Alice was a big part of our decision to move to Alaska. Months back, God gave me a vision to pursue relationships with family by living closer and it was an honor to share in Grandma's last few days here. In retrospect, I didn't realize our time together would be so short.

I guess that summarizes much of how I'm feeling in our current stage of life. Ken and I are faced with many uncertainties. Without a steady income and no job prospects on the horizon, we are at the beginning stages of considering what that means for us. Realistically, can we stay in Alaska? Likewise, did God bring us to this place just for a season? If so, when is that season over--how will we know? As we review our budget based entirely on savings, we know at some point our money will run out. Our relative financial security that we've enjoyed by living frugally the past few years is not enough to postpone the inevitable. And so, in a spirit of faith, we are pursuing job opportunities together and I am placing my business endeavors on hold, while we seek God for what's next.

In many ways, I see dreams of mine being placed on hold, seemingly collapsing. The hope of starting a family, of living near family, and my desire to feel secure and have a place of our own. Right now, I have to release those things to God. I have to believe that in faith what He gives us is better than what I can take for myself. My prayers in the past few days have become much simpler. Lord, help me to know that you're with us. No matter what.

Let me know that you hear me.
Let me know your touch.
Let me know that you love me.
Let that be enough.

Frannie and Friday

Bursts of light. That’s how I described the clouded winter canopy, as I scribbled my thoughts on paper Friday morning. I woke up early to the soft tapping of rain and cozily sat beside our balcony door, gazing at the dark clouds dancing in the wind, sweeping gracefully along the skyline. While most Seattle mornings consist of a thick grey mass overhead, these fluffy and airy puffs of white moved along swiftly, hurrying to and fro. Pockets of light glittered in the dawn sky, as the clouds flew along freely. This morning was different, I could tell. Change was taking place—there was movement in the sky, and it was fantastic and beautiful to watch. 

In the days leading up to Friday last week, I felt overwhelmed, trapped and scared. Each of the weeks prior had brought news of immense hardship from family and friends. In shouldering this pain, along with our sense of security breached from recent theft, I was emotionally and physically raw. Then came the news about Ken’s biggest scholarship. We lost it—the money wouldn’t be coming, and evidently, that loss started a chain reaction of withheld funding. I didn’t understand what happened and neither did Ken. We were scared of what that meant for us. In haste, I restructured our entire budget and went into “survival mode” for a few days. No extra expenses. No extra giving. We had to buckle down and do it quickly. Last Monday, being in a place of fear and helplessness, I decided to start praying. Ken and I both did. Together. Separate. With others. I also started fasting. I gave up my need for comfort and security. Tangibly, I decided that I would fast desserts and sweets for the next month, until Christmas, so that every time I reached for physical comfort and satisfaction in dessert I would be reminded that instead, I needed to go to God in fulfilling my deeper longings. If you’re wondering what fasting has been like, it’s hard. Especially so, if you give up something that constantly vies for first place in your life. Food is like that for me. I go there first for comfort, and find immense pleasure in its constant companionship. That’s how I know it’s dangerous, and worth swapping out for more directed prayer time.

Besides our own attempts to meet with school advisers, counselors and administration officers, we asked our families, close friends and community group to pray for us. It was awesome. I felt genuinely supported and loved by the ladies in my Stephen Ministry group. They came alongside me, cried with me, and prayed for us. That God would give us hope, when it seemed so very distant.

We received our first ‘burst of light’ on Wednesday afternoon, when we met the sweetest, 60-year-old African-American lady, who works at the school office. She reminds me of my grandma—witty, sweet and fiercely persistent. I’ll call her “Frannie.” Frannie listened attentively to our story and how we were shocked that we didn't receive Ken’s engineering scholarship, especially when it was promised to us. She nodded often and focused on every word we shared. Frannie wanted to help us, it was obvious, and she told us that. She directed us to the next person we would need to talk to, a lady in the finance department who wouldn't be back in the office until the next day. We thanked her and said that we’d be back. Thursday, around 10 a.m., we returned to the finance department and were met with a big smile from Frannie. She welcomed us in and walked us to the financial lady who she thought would be able to help us. After 20 minutes, it was clear that the lady we were meeting with couldn't do anything. Something about how her hands were tied until the scholarship’s coding was changed. Without that electronic revision, no one could help us. She seemed quick to hurry us out of her office and directed us to yet another person.

At this point, Ken and I were disappointed and frustrated. Our time felt wasted. We started to wonder what the next person would say, and the next…How many times would we get the “run-around”, we wondered. But Frannie wouldn't let us despair. She saw our frowns, as we walked toward the door. She grabbed our attention by saying, “You don’t give up, you hear? You need to march into that department and believe that you are going to get that scholarship. You have to be optimistic.” And that was our ray of our hope. Frannie believed that change was possible and she was willing to rally for us. Ken and I turned to each other, encouraged, and ready for the next obstacle.

That Thursday afternoon, Ken knocked on doors and waited to meet with the department facilitators who would be able to help us. He made phone calls and was persistent in sharing his story. The next person he met with had to call another person, and then that person helped the first person change the computer coding. It’s a long, drawn-out process and I’ll spare you any more details. The praise is that Friday morning, the change was finalized. We would get our money. In just a few days, everything changed—for the better.

In reflecting over last week’s challenges, I am reminded of a story I’ve heard many times. It’s a story about a widow and a judge. The widow was a woman who by society’s views was quite helpless and perhaps fearful. She had an adversary and wanted justice for their wrongdoings. So she sought the help of the judge. The judge didn’t care about the widow and refused to help her day after day. But the widow, in persistence, would not give up. She kept seeking justice, with fierce determination. Finally, the judge granted her justice because he did not want her continual plea to wear him out. This story intrigues me. It speaks of a world that I am not entirely familiar with. A realm where persistence in prayer and bringing our requests before the Lord is honored. Faith, despite all odds, is commanded. On these words, I stand completely convicted and humbled. I want the faith and persistence of this widow. At the same time, I feel incredibly blessed with the series of events I’ve been privy to enter into lately. It is through these experiences, where I cannot make things happen on my own, that God is able to work. I’m giving him the space that’s rightfully His.

I treasure Frannie’s words to us last week. She reminded Ken and me of our call to be people of hope and faith. To never give up. Thank you, Frannie. This blog is dedicated to you, and the spark of hope that ignited our faith that God was working in our situation, even it when felt most bleak.


Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” John 11:40