Dust To Dust

 

https://youtu.be/1XzSDSyFpfs

 

Death. 

 

It's been a week of goodbyes. We said our final goodbyes to my dear friend Terri Ruyle this past weekend.  A beautiful young soul who I loved deeply and dearly. She ministered to me....she placed her Wonder Woman bracelet from her wrist to mine at my lowest point several years ago to remind me to be Strong and Courageous through the struggles. That I was stronger than I thought I was.....and I returned it back to her wrist a year later during her own struggles. I will miss her every day till I see her again.

And today, I leave for Colorado...a road trip with two girlfriends, to take Chuck's ashes to be spread by the winds of Pikes Peak.

"All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust, all return." 

Ecclesiastes 3:20.

I fully believe that Chuck's soul is celebrating with God right now, but that broken down body of his that provided his means of transportation through this life on earth, I will return it to the earth it came from that maybe, in some small way, will help the earth by its return to it. It feels right to be doing this....as it never belonged to us. It always belonged to God. He formed man from the dirt of this earth and breathed life into it...He created Chuck. So its only fitting that once He removed breath from Chuck, that we would return his ashes back to the earth in which it came.

I am grateful that God entrusted ME with managing this return. So I will call this road trip, "The Return".

I am blessed to have had the gift of Terri and Chuck on my journey through this life....and have the assurance I will one day see them again.

Without Thorns, There Would Be No Roses

"The enemy would have us be so blind by the pain of the thorn that we can't see the beauty of the rose garden.  Look past the thorn - His grace is enough for the thorn He chooses not to remove."

 

 

Every Wednesday evening, several neighbor women grab their lawn chairs and sit out in the cul-de-sac, 6 feet apart of course, and chat about what's happening on the block.  Usually, we're trying to figure out how to lower the population of rabbits in our neighborhood or the cost of artificial grass, but this past Wednesday, I happened to glance to my left and saw this crazy amazing sunset happening right next to us.  Living in the city now, it's not always easy to see sunrises and sunsets and boy do I miss that part of living at the lake!  But that day, it was like God handed me a beautifully wrapped gift straight-up from Him!

I jumped up, ran to the center of the cul-de-sac to see it better (barefooted) and immediately felt my big toe bend backwards as I stumped it on the concrete.  Goodness.  As bad as it hurt, I limped my way to the house to grab my cell phone and not miss capturing this quickly dissolving sunset.....in a great deal of pain I might add. 

I tell you my stumped-toe-story because sometimes pain is required to see the beauty in this journey we all are on.  And much like the thorn on a rose bush, without it, there would be no roses.  

Truth is, none of us know what the words on the next page of our life story is yet.....we have no idea what stands just ahead of us....around that corner we can't see around....but we always know that God does.  He may not reroute us around the mess ahead, but He will definitely walk through it with us.  That's a promise. And where there's God, there's always beauty...and yes, some painful stumped toes as well.

It's scary...I won't lie.  Life is so very real.....real in a way its never been real before, and although I don't fear the future, I want to slow down and approach it cautiously.  I want to be sure I've stuck my hand out for Him to grab and walk this journey with me.  He's the only One who knows the danger around the next corner.

You'll never see the roses and only feel the thorns if you walk your road without Him.  Put your hand in His and travel it together.  And check out those amazing sunsets as He places a band-aid on your stumped toe.

 

Words Can Kill

"Just because you've drawn the drapes, doesn't mean the sun isn't still out there." 

 

I lost a best friend last night.  She had drawn the drapes because she could no longer see the sun.  She no longer felt the warmth of it hitting her face and infusing her with Hope and Peace...and she felt the weight of this world crushing her....no longer able to breathe.  

 

 

It doesn't make sense.  And the only comfort I have is that I know....without an ounce of doubt....that she is finally able to breathe again.  She is no longer carrying the rocks of despair up the mountain she had been struggling to climb.  She is Home.  She is Healed.  And I will see her again soon.  This I'm positive of.  I pray for her family as they desperately try to put the pieces of their lives back together without her.  I pray for myself as I continue to ask "Did I do enough?"

 

 

I will never forget Terri Ruyle.  She was the one who texted me in the middle of the stormy nights after we flooded saying, "I know you're awake and I know you're scared of the storms, Liz.  I'm here.....praying for you."  This happened more times than I can count.  But did I pray enough for her when she was in the middle of her storm?

 

And that's a question we all must ask of ourselves.  

"Earth Has No Sorrow

That Heaven Can't Heal"

 

 

The Mystery of Grace

 THE MYSTERY OF GRACE

liz etheridge

 

A few years ago, my brother, sister and I made a trip to our grandparent's old home place in a tiny town in the center of Alabama. It had been years since any of us had been back to this place we used to visit every summer....and in all honesty, it was never a place I loved going. The crickets were huge, there was no running water, baths were taken in the river and an outhouse was not a place you wanted to visit in the middle of the night.

My grandparents owned 200 acres of pine trees.....oh ya....and a creek that ran right through the middle. For as long as I can remember, my grandfather in his striped overalls and his train engineer cap, along with my grandmother in her long dress with an apron....yes...always with an apron....would drive the old pickup truck down to Blue Creek and pan for gold with their grandchildren hanging out the bed of the truck. For my siblings and cousins, this was like going to Disneyland. For Liz, it was pure torture. 

 

 

But along the orange-clay dirt road to the creek, we would always pass an old Methodist church with a cemetery next to it. My grandparents would eventually be buried in that very cemetery and the memory of a bee flying up my niece's skirt during my grandmother's graveside service will always be with me. But the thing about that old Methodist church I will remember the most is driving by it on Sundays and hearing the black people singing from the top of their lungs. Not a shy or embarrassed bone in their bodies......they loved the Lord and they wanted everyone to know it.

And as we drove up that old orange-clay dirt road a few years ago, I SWEAR..I could still hear them singing. The church has long been abandoned, the windows broken out, the grass is taller than the tombstones and a mild wind could blow the walls down. But as I walked into this room full of memories, I found this old Methodist hymnal laying open on the floor, partially eaten by rats and among piles of old bulletins from 1979....opened to Page 285, "The Mystery of Grace". 

 

 

I smile as I think about that person who, so many years ago, set that hymnal down on the wood plank floor, just for me to find.

Aww....the Mystery of Grace.