A little history...

I have thought more about death, life and loss more in these past 7 months then in all of my life.

I remember when I was younger, probably high school age, thinking that dying has to be the most scary feeling in the world and could never comprehend living forever and ever and ever. I believed in God, but I didn't understand His truths and I was too busy living in the here and now to worry myself with it. I always thought that if I was a good person, kind and loving, then He would smile down favorably on me. Those years I felt almost always in a constant turmoil, though. I always had a nagging feeling that how I was living was not how I should be living. I was pretty stubborn, strong willed and selfish with my time then.

In college, I "dabbled" in going to church and attending Campus Crusade for Christ on occasion. I tried to make myself better, but I never wanted to fully give up control over my life. And that was how I saw God and church and His "rules"; it was all control over how I was supposed to live and how I wanted to live. So, instead, I made my own decisions and thought I was doing an ok job at carving out my life. I still felt a nagging sensation when I really thought about my life, though.

Then I got married and had Daniel and all of a sudden, it wasn't about my life anymore. It wasn't all about me, but about a very special little boy who I was now in charge of raising. A little boy who came as such a surprise to me and Ryan. A little boy who would shake my very foundation. I started reconsidering my life. I made the decision to attend a local church that I had always passed by but never really considered until then. It felt as if all of my answers to all of my doubts were found there. I felt new. I gave my life to the Lord shortly after and thought it was all going to be better. Then I missed a few Sundays, and missed a few more. I don't really know why anymore; I'm sure "life" got in the way. Then I was ashamed to go back after having been absent for so long. I started to look for another church; one where I could make a fresh start and hide from my embarrassment. I looked and attended and searched again and then got pregnant with Andrew. (It really took me that long) I was frustrated and mad at myself. Here I was lost and confused and a mother to 3 and I couldn't give them the security I know we needed. All the while, I passed by Dorsett Village everyday.

Eventually, after months of pushing down the feelings I got looking at DVC; feelings of knowing I should be there and not anywhere else, I finally listened and made an appointment to speak to the Pastor. I wasn't about to just walk back in again; I thought I needed to explain. What I didn't know until that day was I needed no explanation at all. It hadn't mattered where I was or what I was doing, but that I was somewhere where I knew I was supposed to be.

I was gently reevaluating myself during those Sundays and the days in-between and found myself walking to the front alter again. To say it was smooth sailing from there on out would be a mistruth. I still had difficulties committing to coming every Sunday. I was tired, pregnant, working nights. I missed days. But, in my home, I could feel a changing heart. I was allowing more of a relationship with God to settle in; more than I had ever before. I was sharing God with my children and Daniel was picking up on it so fast. He enjoyed our nightly prayers and was always in wonderment that God created all things. I knew the truths that were being taught during Sunday School were making their way into my daily life; but I still had some resistance; it was like I just couldn't let go of the little piece of me that thought I could handle it all.

And then Daniel died...

Farmers who wait for perfect weather never plant, if they watch every cloud, they never harvest

Ecclesiastes 11:4