Jerri Phillips

How do you tell friends and family that a seemingly bedrock piece of their reality has crumbled? How do you lead them through the collapsed remains when in their wide eyes filled with shock, you can see the reflection of an emptiness, where what once was isn't any longer? How do you take the conviction that God is still able to build something amazing--whatever that may look like--from your heart and place it in theirs? How do you assure them life is still present and despite what looks like decimation? How do you help them breathe?

I don't know.

I feel I have not done it well, although I do not know how I could have or should have done it better. Perhaps a blog entry wasn't the best solution, but I really did not have the mental or emotional energy to write literally hundreds of personal notes and the inevitable replies that would have needed to be addressed. No, sometimes it is easier to drop one massive bomb than to lob hundreds of grenades.

In either case, there is the reaction, and that requires far more tact and gentleness.

When the aftershock of telling people that Rob and I had been separated a few weeks hit, so did the emails, texts, phone calls, and messages. The number of wonderful, loving friends and family who offered support in every way was a healing balm. There is no blanket like the one created by loving people.

It was also overwhelming.

I cannot imagine the shock people around us must have felt when they heard the news. I can only liken it to hearing news of a sudden death. All is fine...and in an instant, in the most unimaginable way possible, it isn't. It is human nature to react to that instant.

However, for us, it wasn't an instant.

I realize every situation is different. We have a friend whose world exploded when her husband walked in one day, told her he was divorcing her (papers in hand), packed his clothes, and walked out...no contact information given. THAT is a whole different situation. I cannot fathom the pain that comes from that.

Sometimes, though, pain is spread out over time and events...healing along with it...and by the time the bomb hits, there have been enough smaller things that did so much damage that the difference is so minute. Sometimes there is simply peace in no longer being shelled. And in that peace, one finds that despite the debris, it really is okay. Life didn't stop. Breathing didn't stop. Dreams are not dead. Hope continues.

There are hard days...when my gaze drifts backward at what was...what I thought was...and what isn't. Tears fall. Questions are asked. I am amazed at how few answers come, but even in the not understanding, God grants peace.

Then my ears hear the Whisper...the one hard to hear in the thundering of war...and I look...forward...and I see...

Promises that have not been discarded. A God who knew then...and is not shocked now. Life still present. Hope all encompassing.

And I wish I could open the eyes of those who are in shock, who are trying to find footing in the aftermath, who only see what isn't anymore. I wish I could open their eyes to see that God is still present...still has His great plans for hope and a future steady in His hands...and is still wholly Sovereign.

I wish I could help them see it isn't the perfect choice, but God is the perfect God, and it really is...and really will be...okay.

I used to think if I did everything right--went to church, read my Bible, prayed fervently, was truly repentant for my sins--life would progress from point A to point B in a generally straight fashion. Oh, I figured there would be a few bumps and a few slight deviations in there, but for the most part, it would continue on a straight and simple path.


I obviously lived in a delusion that that Old Testament did not apply to me.


Joseph had dreams of his family bowing down to him. Sounded great...until he found out that meant sibling rivalry that landed him in a pit, slavery, and prison.


Abraham was called the Father of Many Nations and then asked to put his only son on a pile of wood and sacrifice him.


David was anointed king, but he had to face his own family's jealousy, an angry monarch, and a giant before he could sit on a throne.


Really, what made me think I got to be the exception?


My dreams for life were simple. I've wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I've always loved speaking and teaching, and once I was married, I wanted to be a great wife and mom. I dreamed of a great marriage that served as an example for others, and I dreamed of having the perfect family.


Over the years, I have had dreams (like Joseph), and people have said or prayed things (like David), and I believed God promised things (like Abraham). I truly believed all of those things said my desires were God's desires, and as such, life would progress in a linear fashion, dreams would become reality, and all would be good.


While I do still believe my heart's desires are God's desires, too, my dreams slammed into the reality that life isn't linear, and sometimes the road to the promises makes no sense. Sometimes it doesn't just hit a few bumps. Sometimes it goes right off the cliff.


Like when my husband moved out.


For the last two weeks my blog has been quiet as I have tried to figure out what to say when I have said repeatedly that God can heal, restore, and redeem anything, and yet, my marriage that I have fought for so hard has come apart at the seams. In light of such obvious evidence that God is not in absolute control and that people can make painful choices, what can be said?


I didn't know, except I do, and I say...




It is one thing to make that proclamation when life is running along its linear path, but when the world comes down, it is a whole different thing. The first comes from a place of comfort. The second, from a place of faith.


The truth is a lot of damage has been done in my marriage, and I will tell you honestly that it will take a miracle for it to be put back together. However, I have come to realize that God's promises are not void simply because they do not look as I thought they would. God makes promises of the end, not the journey.


He promises prosperity but gives no clarity on the hard work required to get there.
He offers eternal life but does not detail the daily deaths required of it.
He gives love but gives no specific number of people who will hate you.
He extends mercy but does not mention the pain of humbling oneself to receive it.


The plans are for our good. The journey is for our stretching...dying...believing...


If only faith came easier. If only promises came with magic wands.


But there are no magic wands. Only a wondrous God who heals, restores, and redeems...no matter how hard, impossible, or painful the circumstances might be.


This isn't the road I would have chosen. It looks nothing like what I planned, but God's plans have not changed. They are still good. He is still God, and I know...


He can still heal, restore, and redeem anything...


even this.

All creation starts with You.

It's a crazy thing to wrap my brain around. Nothing, and You show up, and You're everything.

You are not a mere observer as some would like to suggest. On the contrary, You are the conductor with music mad in Your mind but coming forth symphonies through Your hands. You are the sculptor incapable of reproducing what You have already done because You are wild with the new. Passion and power collide into explosions of life calling breaths.

What looks like chaos is creation in the hands of the ultimate Creator--One uncaring about creating order if order defies Your plans for redemption. And what is man's idea order in the vastness of such powerful vision anyway? Who who am I to tell You how it should look or how it should feel?

I beg for new, cry out for extraordinary, plead for anything but here. You answer in resounding thunder, and I am blinded by the lightning screaming through my darkness. I am terrified and amazed and torn between hiding my face and staring in awe at the God who answers such pithy prayers with wonders beyond all I ever imagined.

I am terrified and fascinated, and my breath escapes me.

This is not what I meant. This was not what I had planned. I didn't mean for the very ground I stand on to be jerked out from under me, and You answer, "The only safe place to stand is in Me."

My feet scramble...trying to find something solid...trying to get a footing in the only Constant. I hit my knees, tears burning hot, and I find You. Not the safe You I expected...have believed in...but the wild You...the One unafraid to radically tear down to gloriously build up.

Do I have the faith for You? Do I have the trust for...this?

Can I trust You for the new when my heart grieves so deeply the old?

Can I truly believe You are everything when all around me looks like...nothing...I ever would have chosen?

Oh, God...help my unbelief, and in Your act of creative redemption, stop at nothing until I see You're everything.

For all of you lovely people that I have no words for...

The carnage of a life well-intended lies around me. Dead hopes. Dead relationships. Dead dreams. It looks like a wasteland as far as I can see. I am battle weary, tired of trying to defend what is already gone. Why fight on for what isn't...what won't be? Time to accept the loss. Time to let the dead rest in peace...to let me rest in peace...

My swagger is gone. My heart and spirit sag. I am ready to call time of death on these carcasses, but before the words tumble from my tongue, my comrade in arms slaps her hand over my mouth and says, "NO! I still see it breathing...I still see God breathing into it."

She is not looking at the bones littering the landscape. She is looking at me. She sees God still breathing into ME.

The dry bones in the desert are not the issue. How they look is not the issue. It isn’t how old or breathless they are. They are just bones, lifeless bones. Their condition doesn’t matter. It is the breath in the one speaking that matters. The willingness to be breathed into so breath can go forth is what matters.
God still has something for me to breath into. It may not be what I used to breath into, but He always puts in breath so I can breath it into something else.

The question is not the lifelessness of the bones but whether I am still breathing?

Lori Freeland is a wonderful writer with a gift for putting God's healing power into words. This week she shares how God took her broken relationship with her dad and healed not only their relationship, but their broken hearts. It is powerful and beautiful.

I encourage you to stop by, read the two-part piece, and take hope for yourself or pass it on to someone you know who is praying for their own miracle.

Father's Day, Part 1

Father's Day, Part 2

I make myself small, try to blend in, become one of the shadows. I am drowning in loneliness and hoping to be found…afraid to be found. Knowing too well what people will truly find.

Being naked is hard.

It is easier to hide.

In hiding, I can pick and choose what is seen. Camouflage the unbeautiful spots.

The ugliness of my stretch marks made when my skin grew thin from conceiving and growing life don’t show. I can point to the fruit, and no one sees the pain or the imperfections exposed during the process of life bringing.

A well placed cover hides where my skin does not fit me well. The too tight places where I over extend and perform perfectly take the focus from the sagging parts where I don’t fit into my skin quite right.

Scrapes, bruises, and wounds fade into shadows of the appearance of light and depth.

Perhaps in the hiding, glimpses of truth come forth, but if I keep moving, they quickly return to the shadows and anyone who has seen is unsure of exactly what they saw.

Yes, being naked is hard.

It is easier to hide.

But I hear Him--calling me, seeking me, desiring me.

I stand statue still. What if He sees me? But He has seen me.

Yesterday.

Before I saw me.

Before I knew my imperfections, my ugly spots. Before I became ashamed of what there is to see.

Yesterday, He saw everything, and He did not turn away. He did not snicker. He did not offer suggestions to make that trouble area better. He simply walked with me, spoke with me, shared His heart and let me share mine…

Yesterday. When I was naked.

And unashamed.

Because I did not know what I had to be ashamed of, only that He enjoyed me…that He wanted me.

Yesterday He walked with me, openly. Today I am hiding…But He calls…

I answer. “I am ashamed.”

He replies. “I never told you to be.”

I swallow hard. My heart races. Do I have the courage to be found?

I step from the camouflage where I have tried to be lost, where I have tried to blend in and not be seen.

He is waiting.

I am naked. More naked than I’ve ever been.

His love is unchanged. He has seen me naked all along, and He covers me.

Genesis 2:25, “The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.”

My aching muscles drag me from my sleep. The aftermath of yesterday's long walk around the neighborhood drive me from my bed and out to the street again.

The too moist air settles on me as I check the time on my cell phone, slip my headphones over my ears, and head down the street.

In truth, I had hoped to rest a bit longer. A long night of warring with thoughts, memories, and heart wounds still throbbing left me with little sleep. When I finally closed my eyes and felt sleep slipping over me, I longed to stay in the quiet, to let the headache subside, and let my tight muscles relax. A few hours later, I was on the road again, moving toward a better level of fitness, working off excess pounds, and making strides to the physical life I want.

My muscles stretch with the strides, and the ache loosens. The music in my ear is lost in the songs of the birds around me. They are joyous.

I don't remember joyous. Right now, all I remember are the things I want to escape, and yet, instead of allowing me to lie quiet in my bed, the Lord has chosen to bring me right into the middle of the onslaught. It is just He and I here...in the quiet...amid the screaming voices, and I am silent, except for the screams at Him.

How long? Forever? Does this last forever? What must I do? How can I convince you? When will you hear me? When will You stop this...or am I as alone as I feel I am right now?

And the screaming voices continue their cacaphony, but mine goes quiet.

Is it faith or resignation that quiets me? I am sure I don't want to know.

And in the mind-darkness, a Voice speaks. "Pentecost."

Pentecost.

When the Spirit came. When shaken men received unshakable faith. When uneducated men knew they had not believed in vain. No longer merely followers, they became Fire carriers. The questions about Jesus' dying became the declaration of His resurrection. Hearts that had known their failures now knew the limitless power of Almighty God...in them...through them.

The promised Counselor had come, and nothing would be the same again. Not for those men...not for the world...

My feet turn the last corner toward home. The voices still scream. My heart still aches, but hope has again revealed itself. In the aftermath of all that has happened and all I still hope to see, there remains the promise. Pentecost.

I feel like it's been a long time since I actually sat down to write. It is partly caused by the busyness of life, and partly due to blankness of mind. I have found that blankness of mind has two main causes: too busy and too concerned.

Sometimes my brain is so full of abbreviated to do lists that putting together a full sentence--little less a reasonable paragraph--feels overwhelming. Lately, I've been drowning in abbreviated to do lists. While I am concerned with getting those things done, it is more. I am concerned about saying something worth my readers' time, and I'm concerned about saying it with excellence.

Then I start to think.

I work through first lines, structure, a real meaning, style of presentation, and a memorable ending. It doesn't take very long for everything to get muddled in my brain, and then I start to try to unravel it like a bad knot only to find that the more I work on it, the more it tangles. Finally, having developed an ugly headache and feeling more lost than ever, I walk away.

Today, though, I'm hoping to unravel the knot a bit at a time...and maybe, somehow, it'll help someone else with their knots, too.

When I crocheted a lot, my yarn would sometimes get into knots, and some were worth trying to figure out. Sometimes it was just a matter of figuring out some caught loops, identifying a snag here or there, and straightening the string out. Then I was back on track with my project.

Life isn't so different.

Sometimes I end up going around in loops due to a snag. My priorities are sometimes wrong. I'm not always as disciplined as I need to be. Sometimes I am reluctant to try something new because the old way is too comfortable. In cases like that, I need to identify the loops where I am stuck, undo the snags, and move on to the way things work.

Sometimes the knots simply became too tangled to fix. There was simply too much to figure out and sort through. Sometimes I simply had to cut the knot out, tie the ends, and move on. Yes, there was a bump sometimes, but in the end, I created what I wanted and was happy with the result.

Life works that way, too.

Sometimes some thing happens that I can't work out. There have been things that hurt more than I could sort through. Events happened that couldn't be undone. Relationships went in directions that still make no sense. Untangling the knot was impossible. I couldn't undo a person's actions, words said, or unwanted events. And frankly, no matter how much I rolled them over, talked about them, or put them in writing, they were still crazy and "making it better" was impossible.

While I do not believe denial is an answer, I also do not believe the knotted areas of life have to be salvaged and become a significant part of the larger project. For instance, the young man who crushed my feelings by telling me he had started dating someone else because "I forgot I was dating you" never apologized. He never had an explanation. He just shrugged and walked away.

That was a pretty big knot, and no matter what I did I couldn't undo it. Ultimately, I had two choices. I could either live in the pain and the idea that I am so insignificant that I could be forgotten despite wearing some one's expensive ring, or I could simply acknowledge broken people do broken things, and the situation was more about his heart than my identity. I am not insignificant. I am not easily forgotten. I am not a throw-away person. And, there are people who think that young man was totally wrong. There are people who believe I am a gift, an answer to prayer, and an amazing person. I choose to keep them. They are part of my bigger picture, the bigger project that is me.

Yes, there is a bump--an imperfection--where that young man's hurtful actions messed up my thinking. It's a bump that reminds me others have been told they are invaluable and dispensable, and I can be the one to help undo their knot. I can be the one who tells them they are a gift, an answer to prayer, and an amazing person. I can be part of the bigger picture of who they truly are.

Maybe in talking about my knots--the ones that did not determine the outcome of who I am or what I do--I enable others to work through their knots, unravel what needs to be unravelled, and cut out what doesn't need to be there. Maybe by dealing with my knots people can get untangled and become the person God wants them to be, not the person someone else says they are or the victim circumstances try to make them. And maybe--hopefully--they can look at the big picture--the big project God is doing in and with their lives--and see something beautiful and amazing.

Friday night I had the honor of giving the welcome and invocation for the Survivor Dinner for the Wylie Relay for Life. I don't know anyone whose life has not been touched by cancer. Whether you are battling this enemy, fighting for someone who is battling, celebrating victory, or grieving a loss, I want to share this as encouragement. Wherever you are on your journey, I pray this blesses you.

May your hope be strengthened, and may you keep on walking.

God bless you,
Jerri



Wylie Relay for Life Survivor Dinner 2010

Last year when my daughter joined a Relay for Life team, we didn’t know much about Relay for Life. We understood the logistics of it. We understood raising money. We thought we understood all night.

However, there was so much we didn’t understand. We didn’t understand that Relay for Life isn’t a once a year event. We didn’t understand that once we were done, you weren’t really done. We didn’t understand that when we went home…we would take it with us.

We joined a Relay for Life team last year because my eleven-year old daughter had realized the world was a big place with big problems, and she didn’t feel a little person could make a difference. When I found out Stacey was a team captain, I asked if she had room for two others. No, but she had room for one, and Anna would fit perfectly.

The first day we set up her webpage and set her fundraising goal. Later that day, she exceeded it, and we upped her goal. Over the next few weeks, we upped her goal three or four times. When the day came for Relay for Life, she was very proud of the money she had raised, and because of the nice graphic on her webpage and the team’s page, she could see that her efforts were making a difference.

Then we got here, and the nifty little graphic on the computer suddenly became people…with names…faces…and families.

Each luminary that encircled the field told a story of merciless attacks on innocent victims. Some of the stories ended in victory, and some ended in tears. We have been part of those stories.

Each survivor that walked through this tent and slipped on a “Survivor” ribbon was a face we knew…the face of someone precious, someone loved, someone with a purpose, someone of promise. We have touched those faces, too.

Each caregiver that humbly wore their ribbons…the little girl who wore it for her mom, the parents who wore it for their pre-school son, the husbands, wives, sisters, and brothers…We know them. We’ve walked with them. We’ve prayed for them.

We were here to walk for people, and they weren’t the strangers we thought they would be. They were people we sit down with at family dinners, the people at our school functions, our neighbors next door. The people who walk the hard road, who become exhausted, who wonder if the mountain is too big…but still keep walking.

And people kept walking…all night long.

Some walked for those they had lost, and some walked for those in the middle of the battle. Some walked for those who had overcome. Everyone walked for a cure.

See, it’s not relay for raising money.
It’s not relay for a better treatment.
It’s not relay for endurance.
It’s not relay for 5-year expectancy rate.
It’s Relay for Life.
… for a full Life.
… for a long Life.
And every step gets us closer to our destination.
Every step gets us closer to the cure.
And one day, we will get there.
We just have to keep walking.

Copyright Jerri Phillips 2010

A season of learning begins. New books. New packages of empty paper filled with possibility.

I find a quiet place and seek wisdom, guidance, a word for the year, something beyond my wisdom or my finite thoughts of importance. I seek His heart because He knows what lies ahead and what understanding, knowlegde, and soul tools we'll need for the trip. He takes my heart and leads me to Psalm 25, a Psalm of hope. Verses 14 and 15 magnify in my spirit.

14 The LORD confides in those who fear him;
he makes his covenant known to them.

15 My eyes are ever on the LORD,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.

I take the soul food to our morning gathering. The breakfast table is ready for feeding, bodies and souls.

Cereal feeds the body. Conversation feeds the bonds of family. Plans for the day. Changes in educational method according to changes in age and ability. A new year holding new things, but some things do not change.

The beginning is always with Him.

Cereal bowls are pushed aside, and the Bible is laid open.

I read the whole chapter of hope and then speak again the verses magnified in my heart. "These are the promises of the Lord for our year. The confiding our His heart, the revelation of His covenant, the revealing of Himself as we look to Him, and freedom from snares. This is what the Lord desires to do in us this year."

Children's hearts do not comprehend the extravagance of such a gift. I do...and I pray to comprehend more, to reach beyond my finite knowledge to the infinite grace that desires to reveal itself. Beyond my wildest dreams and greatest imagination...

The adventure of eternity...

I begin to ask questions, offer possibilities, dream for myself...for the children before me...for the descendants to come...

What greater thing is there to know than the heart of God? What greater freedom can be found than that of His covenant? Freedom to be oneself in His authentic plan. Freedom to fly like eagles. Freedom to rejoice in all He is and all we are in Him.

What snares hold us captive? How does He wish to set us free? How do we walk in the freedom He gives? In what idols do we place our hope for freedom? Lord, show us. Deliver us...from the idols...from ourselves.

We ponder. Our heads dip with the weight of snares. Our eyes sparkle with the thought of freedom. Smiles grow as possibilities become hopes...

The adventure of this learning has begun...

Copyright Jerri Phillips 2009

A name is not merely a word to reference things. A name is an identity, and as much as some would like to believe it "is only a name", it is a definition, a blessing, or a curse. Something to live with or live in spite of. A name can alter one's life drastically.

Change Miss to Mrs, and see the hope in a woman's eyes.
Change Mrs to Miss, and see tears pool as loss and grief spill from the heart.
Change Stranger to Son, and you have the story of salvation. If that doesn't change a life, nothing will.
See a child named Stupid, Ugly, or Unwanted and witness the impact of such names. Change those names to Creative, Beautiful, and Beloved and watch a miracle grow before your very eyes.

A name can be everything.

About a month ago, our family had to deal with the imposing of a name.

My husband and I have been married 17+ years. He is a wonderful man. Most women I know would love to have a husband like him, and I understand why. He is a fabulous dad. He is generous, kind, has a servant's heart. He doesn't go to bars, doesn't drink, doesn't gamble, doesn't do drugs. He is faithful and trustworthy. He truly is wonderful.

He's also confusing.

Despite the wonderfulness of my husband, he has an odd inconsistency about him, and over the years I have sought counsel from multiple church leaders, women's mentors, all kinds of Christian sources. For the most part, I was told it was my fault. I was too demanding. I was too negatively focused. I just refused to see the good thing I have. I just didn't want to follow. I needed to repent of being too headstrong. You get the idea.

My general thought has always been that it is hard to follow someone who walks sort of a messed up drunkard's path. I always felt I was standing on sand that could change at a moment's notice. Not Rob's character, but his thinking, what had his interest, and what was important.

He would assure me he supported something I wanted to do and then seemingly sabotage it by putting in so many other things it became impossible for me to whatever it was. I could go and on, and as most of you read it, you would see each puzzle piece and give it an explanation and dismiss it. I know because it has happened to me for 17 years. However, my friend Debra listened as I explained all the puzzle pieces that had finally grown to the size of Mt. Everest, and she new the real name of the mountain. The real name is Asperger's.

Asperger's is a form of autism. It isn't like most of us think of when we think "autism". Most of us think of children locked in their minds unable to talk, respond, or function alone. Asperger's doesn't fit the classic picture at all, which often makes it hard to identify.

Asperger's is often found in geniuses. It has nothing at all to do with intellectual ability. It does affect emotional and social ability. Imagine someone with an IQ in the genius level who gets "stuck" with the social and emotional maturity of a teenager. Imagine the things that characterize teenagers: the impulsivity, being driven by gratification, the emotional maturity, the short-sighted thinking, only see the details without seeing the big picture--like the consequences (the trees but never seeing the forest), inability to see others' point of view, inability to empathize. Now, imagine adults capable of doing adult things, having adult lives, but still think and respond as teenagers. Now, think about being married to one of them.

While it is true that having a name for our insanity is helpful. It says that under the circumstances, we are normal. It also means we are doing really well. 80% of Aspie marriages end in divorce (thus, we are thankful for the 20%). It means nothing I could have done in the last 17+ years would have helped Rob respond differently. It took a lot of guilt and responsibility off me and hopefully him.

It also means Rob isn't simply being insensitive and will one day get a clue. It means all the things he has done for 17 years that has broken my heart he will most likely continue to do because he still won't know better. Try that realization on from the side of a man who wants to be a great husband and from the side of a woman who simply hoped for another adult to help carry the load and be her support. There are no words for the sense of grief that washes over you at that moment.

It's just a name. Nothing has changed. And yet, everything is different.

There is no cure, and if you read most articles about Asperger's, it'll leave you horribly depressed and hopeless because it points out that there is nothing you can do. Thankfully, we are not ones to care about what we can and cannot do. Instead, we care about what God can do and what He wants to do in and through us.

We believe He can accomplish His plans for us, plans to give us hope and a future, plans to do us good and not harm.
We believe He can be glorified in our hearts and our marriage.
We believe He can give us strategies to not just survive but to flourish.
We believe Asperger's was defeated on the cross, and we are more than conquerors in Christ Jesus.
We believe He can use us to show others that Asperger's is not a death sentence but just another mountain that offers a great view from the top.

Yes, a name changes things. Sometimes the changes seem bigger than us, but no matter what name gets thrown at us, we are sure that the name of Jesus never changes, and that is what changes everything.