Signs of Spring – Marcia Gaddis
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Weep through the night and rise anew in the morning

Weep through the night and rise anew in the morning

Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5

The coldest days of winter come just before spring. I felt it this morning as I walked, layered in warm clothes to fight off the biting wind. Still, the bitter chill stung my nose and forced me to quicken my steps and speed my thinking. I wanted to come home and write and I walked for new inspiration. I had a few fleeting thoughts, but the cold snatched them before I could file them in my mind.

Fleeting thoughts come to us on a walk and we think “Wow!” capturing what we feel to be a brilliant idea only to return to our desk and discover we left our brilliance somewhere on the other side of the street. We backtrack and try to hunt them down. I have resorted to a pen and paper stuck in my pocket—or even geekier, I record a few buzzwords on my iPhone. Bodey, my dog, looks at me like, Have you lost your mind? Could we just walk and enjoy this day?

When you are a writer, you are constantly trying to say it better. When I finished my book, When God Comes Near, I thought I had an organized story, using much of my journaling through the time of my daughter, Megan’s, illness and death. But as I would proof and reread, I knew the story had to be told differently. So I did what I read about good writers doing—I started over. I reorganized the book, keeping the story intact, and handed it over to an editor.

The day I finished the final chapter and delivered the book was like the final day of my daughter’s life. Those special years as a mom were now over and life would take on a different look. This book was like my child in many ways. I had fed it, nurtured it, and tended to its needs. I could be with it all day, return to a chapter at any time, and remember and relive those special and mysterious days. I could cry freely as I rewrote a paragraph, or laugh over a sweet memory. As I handed the book over, I felt that, for a moment, I was letting go of Megan all over again.

The loss of my daughter was devastating. Yet God, in His glory and majesty, allows me a time of weeping … a time of mourning. He provides opportunity to fall into His arms and be comforted, then to have my eyes open into a new day. A new morning. Fresh. Restored.

Without a book to “care for” each day, my hands are empty, but there is still much to say. I wonder if God will continue to allow me to use his voice through my writing. I know good writers must find their own voice. How like God to freely give us what we cannot find on our own. Pure grace. I wonder if he will trust me with my own voice in time.

And so I sit at my desk, working to find my voice, letting God heal my loss, and trying to remember what it was I wanted to say. Ah, yes, it’s coming back:

“The coldest days are just before spring,
night before day,
death before life,
the darkest night is just before dawn
weeping lasts for the night, but joy will surely come.”

Let God guide you from the weeping into joy.

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Marcia Gaddis is a speaker and author of the award-winning book When God Comes Near, published in 2010. She writes a weekly column for her two blogs, The Olive Branch and Marcia Gaddis…On The Grief Journey. She began writing an online journal when her twenty-six-year-old daughter was diagnosed with the rare and fatal Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. The journal became a book of hope and healing to those who experience tragedy. At the 2011 Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference in Asheville, North Carolina, her book was awarded three distinguished awards: First Place for Inspiration, The Selah Book of the Year Award, and the Director’s Choice Award for 2011. She is a graduate of the Christian Communicators Conference and a member of the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

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Acquainted with Grief – Linda Rondeau
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He knew…

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

Every Christmas, Helen tries to hide at home and wish the season away, or the painful past still pierces her heart each time the mistletoe is hung. Her friends make Herculean efforts to draw her out of this seasonal agoraphobia. She acquiesces out of loyalty, but secretly aches for the occasion to end.

Helen’s fiancé was killed during the Christmas holiday just days before their wedding. Christmas, to her, only serves to remind her of the happiness so cruelly yanked away. Helen gives much to her community and is one who would never be characterized as embittered. Yet every year at Christmas, unwanted memories are revisited.

There are many like Helen, shunning the season, fearful they will be inflicted with recollection. Though we try to be compassionate, few truly understand the depth of sorrow the season emotes for those who grieve.

Yet, our Savior was the first to be acquainted with grief. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Because Christ suffered, we too are healed. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.

God knew that first Christmas what the future held for his own son. Angels trumpeted the long awaited arrival of the Messiah, and shepherds knelt before a holy infant as a virgin mother cradled her first-born. While the world rejoiced, perhaps the Father mourned. For the birth of his only Son would culminate in sacrifice.

When the Father viewed the rustic cradle, did He see the Cross? When Mary wrapped Jesus in the swaddling clothes, God saw the crown of thorns. When shepherds worshipped, He saw His one and only Son ridiculed, scorned, stripped of dignity, beaten and scourged. When Mary twirled the babe’s fingers within her own, the Father saw the nails that would pierce them. Though He saw it all, He loved enough to send His son anyway.

That first Christmas night, only the Father knew the events that someday would unfold. The world celebrated the promise of salvation not knowing the price that would yet be paid, yet planned from the beginning of time. Only God knew of Heaven’s loss. And I wonder if His grief is renewed each yuletide as men continue to scorn the gift He gave.

This Christmas, give thanks. Worship the King who gave it all for us. It’s a gift that cannot be repaid.

Winner of the 2012 Selah Award for best first novel (The Other Side of Darkness), Linda Wood Rondeau writes stories of redemption and God’s mercies. After a long career in human services, mother of three, and wife of one very patient man, Linda resides in Florida where she is active in her church and community. Readers may visit her website at www.lindarondeau.com. Her second book, America II: The Reformation, is now available in ebook on Amazon.com and Kobo. Her serial story, Rains of Terror, can be found on Amazon.Com., Barnes and Noble, and Kobo or wherever ebooks are sold. Linda’s Christmas Adirondack romance , It Really IS a Wonderful Life, is available through Amazon.com. Her first devotional book, I Prayed for Patience/God Gave Me Children, is due for release soon.
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The Fragrance of Christ – Marcia Gaddis
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The Scent of Pine

Our lives are a Christ-like fragrance rising up to God. 2 Corinthians 2:15 NLT

Someone said I became a writer the year my mother died. When I wrote my annual Christmas letter, I described the blue lights she hung high up on a snowy hill on our farm in Kentucky. They would twinkle their blueness to the world around and create a spell of longing in my heart.

Ah, the longing of Christmas.

That was a hard year. My mother was gone and I was missing her Christmas traditions—traditions that I would keep going in my own home. I was sad and nostalgic, letting my heart travel to unfamiliar, grief-stricken places. A new depth of Christmas longing entered my soul. I discovered through the gift of the Christ child himself, I could embrace my pain, trusting that in embracing it, something transformational happened. Through the advent of Christ, the sting of death was removed. Hope replaced my sorrow.

When I penned my sadness and loneliness with others, it became like a pine fragrance through the snowy woods for others to take in and breathe breaths of hope. Through my sorrow, I had been given the gift of writing.

Gifts come in mysterious ways.

I ask you this Christmas: How are you being transformed? How I love reading the Christmas letters of others, hearing about births, weddings, and accomplishments. But I long to hear the deeper things of how lives are being changed. Tell me what it was like when you lost your job and your neighbors rallied around you. Tell me what it was like when you were told there were no more treatment options. Tell me how you long for your son or daughter to return from war or estrangement.

You see, what happens to most of us is this: When the hard days come, we shut down, retreat, and refuse to share our hurts. Especially at Christmas, our pain is intensified and pride closes the door to transformation. But others are waiting to hear your story, waiting to breathe breaths of hope. There is always someone who needs to smell the fragrance of human life by simply sharing a memory, talking over a concern, or just being silent together.

May these days of Advent explode in wonder and grace as you ponder the transformational gift we receive at Christmas. May you find hope when you think there is none, peace when you feel unsettled, and the sweet smell of Jesus in your heart every day.

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Marcia Gaddis is a speaker and author of the award-winning book When God Comes Near, published in 2010. She writes a weekly column for her two blogs, The Olive Branch and Marcia Gaddis…On The Grief Journey. She began writing an online journal when her twenty-six-year-old daughter was diagnosed with the rare and fatal Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. The journal became a book of hope and healing to those who experience tragedy. At the 2011 Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference in Asheville, North Carolina, her book was awarded three distinguished awards: First Place for Inspiration, The Selah Book of the Year Award, and the Director’s Choice Award for 2011. She is a graduate of the Christian Communicators Conference and a member of the Advanced Writers and Speakers Association. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

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Fearing for a Life – Heather Spiva
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Believe it is in His Control

Don’t be afraid; just believe… Mark 5:36, NIV

If words could devastate, then the words the doctor gave me concerning my unborn child were the worst. There wasn’t going to be a child in seven months. It had died in-utero, and that was the end of it.

Death is kind of like someone pulling a bag over your head. Suddenly, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t see, and my concentration disappeared. My thoughts were solely upon my circumstances. I had prepared for months for that child — mentally and physically adjusted everything around me. Life would change big time when that baby arrived. It was what we wanted and planned for… it was all part of the joy.

That bag was on my head for a week.

This news slipped us a fast one — that we wouldn’t hold this child in our arms…that this child didn’t fit into my life. How could I pick up where I left off? I couldn’t. That part had left, never to return. And when the days passed and I finally figured out how to move on, I believe God cared and actually had his hand on my life when the fear crept in, taking the place of shame, grief, and loss.

When Jesus was about to raise a little girl from the dead, He told Jairus, her father, not to be afraid but to believe. It was as simple as that. Everyone relates to death because it is a part of our life. Friends or family, someone we hold dear, born or unborn, will eventually die. What we don’t expect is early death. The surprise of it creates fear and sadness. Jairus despaired because he had lost hope. Here he had Jesus, the Son of God, right in front of Him and Jairus still feared; it paralyzed him.

Jairus had a bag over his head too.

This is why Jesus calmly laid a hand on his shoulder and told him to relax, not to fear, and just believe that He had everything under control.

This fear, even though Jesus decided not to resurrect my little one, is what I felt. What if I couldn’t get pregnant again? What if I lost that one too? Satan worked his way into my helplessness because he saw the weakness; he saw the propensity for me to go there; feeling like God didn’t care enough to save that child. But that isn’t like God. God’s timing is perfect and He is full of love. That’s what Jesus’ words reminded me of too.

So I trusted and believed. And today, my second son is a reminder that God is faithful to us all, especially when we believe Him.

When fear overwhelms you…believe.

Heather Spiva is a freelance writer who lives in Sacramento, CA with her children and firefighter husband. When she isn’t writing, she is reading and when she’s not reading, she’s enjoying (or trying to, anyway) the crazy and joyous atmosphere with her two rambunctious boys. Read Heather’s devotions.
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