Tag Archives: mess

Being still

Photo courtesy of Lil' Sprout Memories

Photo courtesy of Lil’ Sprout Memories

A while back, I posted a blog http://kandynolesstevens.com/2013/09/09/i-cry/.  The blog wasn’t difficult to write, but it was agonizingly hard to post.  The shed tears were real.  More salinated drops fell for some points, especially the ones for my children, than others.  In the end, it was cathartic to write, because in doing so, the “monsters” don’t seem so threatening anymore.  It is as if with each keystroke God allowed me to replace my sadness.  Well, actually it isn’t replacement so much as relinquishment to the foot of his throne.

Why is the writing of such posts a beautiful process while the sharing of them such a challenge?  At times, I feel like a modern-day Jacob wrestling with God.  There are plenty of things that I write that are not published, but this time I had an overwhelming sense God wanted me to share my tears publicly.

I know I cannot circumvent the reality that losing a child is horrifyingly painful.  Add to that raising injured and grieving children, and my pain at times feels like pulling back layers of an onion.  Every time, I shed one layer, there is just another eye-stinging layer below.  I get tired of removing layers. So much so the sharing of them with others becomes less and less interesting to me.   I just don’t feel that broadcasting my pain is valuable other than to show my pain and weakness, not mention my doubts and failures.  What good comes from that?  Where is my purpose?  Is this really God’s plan?

It is a good thing my ways are most definitely NOT God’s ways, because He continues to remind me I couldn’t be more wrong.  As I was writing, “I Cry” I received a call from my sweet friends down in Kentucky.  They went out to dinner and felt something was missing in the gathering.  That something was their “Angel Girl” whom God brought into their lives this summer.  I could “join” them as they passed the phone around the table.  When the phone made it to Miss E, she shared that she didn’t understand why but felt that God wanted me to know that He would be replacing my clothes of despair with a garment of praise.  She had no idea what I was writing at the exact moment my phone rang.  I could barely choke out an audible syllable as her words bathed my soul in God’s love. She (through God’s prompting) gave me the exact words to share in my post.  A message of hope, when in truth, I needed a good reminder.

And if I needed more proof, which I didn’t, God provided it.  Within ten minutes of the blog posting, I received three messages (e-mail, text, and phone call) from dear, dear friends who said through their tears how thankful they were for someone to put into writing what their hearts were holding back.  In only God’s intervention, my words became an anthem for others to be rocked gently by the continued message of hope.  My heart’s desire is to honor God with everything I do.  Slowly He is teaching me that the road to achieving that goal may be filled with bumps and bruises AND the sharing of them with others.

I don’t have to be the poster child for grief.  Yet,  in my most vulnerable moments, He has used my writing to reach out to the souls of others; thereby reclaiming my mess and making it a message.  I never intended for my faith to be on display during our darkest moments, but that very faith that has sustained us.  A life blood filtering from the one who shed his blood.

There has been a long lull between posts.  The silence was not wasted.  In the quiet time since my last post, I have used this time to literally be still, finding peace and rest in the arms of my Savior knowing that He does have a plan for all of this. I pray each and every day that He helps me to see it.

As I have shared in many previous posts, sometimes that message of love and hope for my life comes to me in a song.  This time it came in the melodies of one of my favorite groups:  Sidewalk Prophets.  Their lyrics, like the words from my long-distance friends, touch me like God himself had them written just for me. Awed and humbled, I know if God can use the darkest moment of my life,  He can for you too.  Simply trust – He already has a plan in place.

A new beginning

christmas angel

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:

. . .  a time to plant Ecc 3: 1, 3a (NIV)

 These verses in Ecclesiastes have been some of my favorites for years.  Today they couldn’t be more fitting.  I am happy to announce that I am following a dream that God planted, watered, and tended in my life.  But just like any great garden, I am starting out small and building from there.  Starting today, Kandy Noles Stevens Ministries and “got grace? events” begins.

This dream began about this time a year ago, and more details on how it came to fruition can be found in my newsletter released today on Facebook.  This is an exciting time in our lives, and it also one that we want to be very careful that we cling close to the hem of Jesus’ garments to know that we truly are following where He leads us.

What does this change for my family?  Right now, not much other than I will be taking some weekends away to spend writing the books that have been slowly coming together.  It will also mean some travel as several churches have called asking for me to come and share my stories.  My blog will continue to be my thoughts and family’s experiences. The reality is none of this would be possible without friends speaking God’s truth in my life and praying that I would be smart enough and bold enough to take the first step.

I’m still me – the girl next door who loves her kids and husband, who laughs at herself, and who loves wearing floppy hats in the garden.  I love watching a good football game, snuggling puppies, and donning jeans and baseball hats, but I can pull off pearls while sipping iced tea on a porch with Southern charm.  But above all of that, I am just a girl who LOVES Jesus and who appreciates all He and His dad have done for me.

So even though this is not at all how I pictured my life, clearly they have a much better plan than I ever did.  With each day, my excitement builds as I learn slowly to let go and see what blessing is around the corner.

Since right now, this is a very small operation consisting of myself and a dear friend working as my assistant, ministry partner, and sister in Christ, we just ask for prayers.  Please pray that we are earnestly seeking God’s direction and that we are obedient to his plans.

It took us at least 5 months to settle on a name, and I want to share how much of a family operation this is.  When he was in the 4th grade, Sawyer was working on his God & Country supplemental badge for Cub Scouts.  There are a series of faith activities that the Scout and his family complete together.  One of those activities involved dissecting the verses from the second chapter of Luke.  We worked on this side-by-side, talking through each one.  When we got to Luke 2:52,

And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men. (NIV)

I asked him how did Jesus grow?  You could almost see the wheels turning in his head.  (Remember he was smaller than me back then.)  His answers went something like this:

“Mom, he got smarter! And, he got bigger. And . . . and . . . (now with a perplexed look on his face) he got grace?”

That moment took place over six years ago, and I still haven’t forgotten it.  That same favor extended to His one and only Son is available to everyone.  Even in the deepest, darkest, moments, He is there simply waiting to be asked in.  The comforter, healer, and friend is a big part of my story.   Yet, that is the amazing thing about my story. It is only through the  abundant, lavish,  grace of Jesus Christ that I have been able to take my mess and make it a message. 

Thank you for being a part of the journey.

Kandy

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The long road home . . . Part 3

photo courtesy www.ohkarolle.com

photo courtesy www.ohkarolle.com

So far on my travel log, I have waxed poetically about rail transportation.  From my perspective, there is only one drawback: train stations in larger cities. This isn’t a judgment, but just an “it is what it is” assessment.  Many of the larger train stations have a disproportionate number of panhandlers and others that have not seen many of life’s blessings.  So when I disembarked in New Orleans, I knew what lay ahead of me in the station.

Normally, I would not be fazed by this, but this time I had packed 2 large suitcases (filled with Christmas presents) along with a purse and knitting bag.  I was loaded down.  Upon arrival in the station I discovered that the rental car office was not adjacent (as advertised) but rather two blocks away in the hub of the down and out.  I chose not to pick up my checked bag and started out on foot (wearing snow boots and winter coat).  I probably looked like I normally lived right outside the station carrying everything I own on my person or in one of my bags.

I left in 20 something degrees and arrived in upper 70’s.  I was the definition of a hot mess while I tried to navigate my way to the rental car mecca. To complicate matters there was major road construction outside the station, and based on the way I looked, not a single car helped by allowing me to cross the street.  While I was waiting and sweating, a man came up really, really close to me. I knew what was about to happen next, except for at this point, I was just plain ticked. So I turned around and gave him the “Don’t mess with this Momma” stare coupled with a “Don’t even think about it” verbalization because I “just might come unglued right here” on Loyola Street.  Amazingly it worked and I arrived at my destination possibly 5 pounds lighter in my own personal sweat sauna.

All was well . . . until. Until the rental car agent asked, “Do you have another driver’s license?” This was my first inkling that more trouble than almost getting mugged was brewing. Seriously, lady, what the heck? No I don’t have another driver’s license. What was she thinking?  Well, it turns out that my license expired on my birthday 13 days prior.  There was nothing that could be done except call my parents for help.

The first thing out of my dad’s mouth was, “How did this happen?”  Dad, that isn’t important right now, and what I really needed to hear was, “Okay, let me grab my Daddy super cape, and I am on my way. It will take me 3 hours, but I am on my way.” Thankfully after explaining my near mugging, the rental car folks drove me to the train station.

Back at Amtrak, I found a seat and made a few phone calls, but here I was stuck in a not- so-lovely place.  While I was making my calls, I was approached once again.  “No I didn’t have any extra money for food. Currently, I am in my own mess and I cannot fix yours.  God bless you anyways.” At this point, I noticed two sweet little ladies who also seemed to be waiting with their barrage of suitcases.

I hated to do it, but I went over and politely asked if I could sit next to them – they radiated peace and comfort. I asked if they could watch my bags so I could retrieve my checked bag.  Once back in my seat, I was approached for a third time.  “Listen sir, I am about one blink away from having a meltdown, and I am sorry I cannot help you. I can barely help myself.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but the whole story came burbling out to my now “train station” friends.  The two sweet ladies asked where I was trying to get to.  I explained Pensacola.  They asked a few questions about what highways would you take to get there.  The next thing I knew they were calling their husbands and trying to figure out how to fix a situation – me!

Eventually, I learned that they had travelled on a riverboat from New Orleans to Memphis and then rode the train back.  They were all friends from a Sunday School class, and they then were driving home to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.  Miss Jane and Miss Sandy just made me feel better. At this point, my stress level had gone down simply because they were there.  Finally, they got through to their husbands with a message of “Please come into the train station when you arrive, because we have a proposition for you.”

Rescuing me was the proposition.  As their husbands approached, I leaned over and said, “Is this the point where I make puppy dog eyes for them to feel sorry for me?”  We had some good chuckles. Once the Misters Marvin (both husbands share the same name) heard this story, their Southern damsel-in-distress meter kicked in and they said, “Grab your bags! We will at least meet your parents in the middle.”

One call to my dad provided another dad-ism. “Are you satisfied with this arrangement?” was followed swiftly by “Are you sure you can trust these people?”  I assured him this was a gift from God – these were Sunday School people! Somehow he must have trusted my judgment at that point.

I later learned that one Marvin is retired Air Force and the other Marvin is retired Highway Patrol.  And in all of their words, “There was no way we were leaving you there.”

And so here we were on our way to somewhere in Mississippi to drop off the newly adopted daughter with her biological parent.  Along the way, we shared our stories and, more importantly, our faith – the whole time I was praising Jesus in the storm for sending me the best guardian angels this side of heaven.

The best part was what my dad saw when we met at our drop-off location.  Here was his wayward daughter (who NEVER got a notice to renew her license) flanked by one couple on each side.  Earlier, I suggested they just leave me at a Cracker Barrel, where I could rock on the porch, but they wouldn’t dream of it.

Instead they waited to deliver me straight into my Daddy’s hands.  It was the best picture image I will ever have.  It reminded me of all the people of faith that have helped mold and shape me (including the one that was the reason for my travels) who have helped usher me -one day – into my Heavenly Daddy’s hands. For that I am incredibly blessed!