But God: An Intentional Love Story.

I stepped into the hospital chapel, alone. 

But God? A burden pushed from every side. It weighed so heavily within my spirit, yet my body barely functioned in its numb state. A thousand pounds might fall into my lap and I wouldn't have felt it. Only one exception, my lungs ached trying to breathe.

What language did I speak? 

I couldn't put words together in my mind, yet...I knew God interpreted my confusion, my desperate pleas, the anguish in every teardrop. My head hung in a sacred place where many had come before me in this same state, some knowing hope, some...maybe not. There remained nothing I could do, and everything I could do as I inhaled in pain and exhaled in promise.

I learn of my son, Tim's death.  He was so tired. 

Tears of surrender and anguish moved with the fluid prayers, both conscious and underlying. Time. Stop. Rewind, so I won't forget anything. Outside, his father and others paced, did their own petitioning. He heard the words first. I did not. My husband's eyes conveyed a sudden truth no one wanted to recognize.

Let this tsunami pull back, disintegrate, evaporate as if nothing broke the dam of reality. 

In that moment, no utterances surfaced, held under by the pieces of many shattered hearts. God, in all His glorious love and grace, never felt so real and so worthy of all my worship until that very moment.


Full Sail

Twelve years have passed and I am different. Different from that very second and transformed over time. All these collective moments both anchor me and set me free. Learning to find peace in both places,  the Lord God sets the course and I must trust Him.

Like the tides, faithful and true, covering up and pulling back to reveal treasures, the tide pools of tears and memory shells provide discovery and a deeper devotion...in both the wading...(the waiting) and the deep, my story.

I want to, I need to, I must voyage through Your perfect Will, Lord. 

You, Lord, in Your great love for me, For Timmy, are so intentional. As I write these thoughts, pour out my praise and prayers, I press in, buckle tight the grace gift life vest. It wraps around me in perfection and comfort and I see the generous deck hands You have provided to sail along with me. They, as well, are intentional, devoted, my own miracles.

I might have stayed under the heavy tarp of despair and grief..., the grommets of regret and isolation held fast to the what ifs, the should haves, BUT GOD...

I allowed, directed my self to feel His Spirit as all the deck hands prayed, continue to pray and honor our Creator and Giver of life. I billowed up, caught by the Wind and I began to sail through the waters only You charted for me, a personal, intentional course.

I dock in beautiful Ports of Calling and walk along shores where grace ripples so gently and so amazingly. Hope unpacks the grief and restores this vessel for myself, for others.  A certain horizon awaits me, the full sail Glory of the Lord in my own return Home but until then, I will speak of, serve and worship The Lord of Promise whose Love is intentional for every one of us.

Psalm 27: 13-14 
I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; yes, wait on the Lord. 


Let go, Let God
He is Lord
Grace is Amazing
Heaven is Real

Considerably Yours,
Coleene

Six-Year Rose

Six-Year Rose

Always a sigh

With an eye to the sky.

A heart and a glance;

Holy circumstance.

Comfort I seek

That day, in a week.

Six-year rose

Not one to oppose.

One single stem,

Purposed resplend

Porch light on

Moonspun dawn.

Descend the stair

I see you there.

Illuminated

Divinely stated.

White and pure,

You found your cure.

Heaven, reachable

Peace, teachable.

Slow to unfold,

A sight to behold.

Shimmering through

A window view.

See me still

In God’s will.

Though others fade,

One bloom made 

Winter’s midflight,

But spring’s delight

A promise late hour

In a white rose flower.

Bloom eternal

Memory fertile

Six years more?

I wait on the Lord.

Coleene VanTilburg

Feb. 19, 2013 

~ 

I arose late one night last week, after Ted left the house in the wee hours. Wee hour?  Sixty minutes fills each one, twenty-four brings the sun full circle. Tick Tick, time passes, almost 6 years since my son journeyed to Heaven.  A disturbance rouses my slumber. The TV, on for no one; no one any more. The screen goes black; silent night returns.  

Stepping down the staircase, illuminated by a porch light left to shatter the darkness, the rose stem with one single bud beginning to burst,  reached up. I stopped mid stair to gaze at the flower, showing off its bloom through the slats of the blinds of my front window. Funny how every other rose bush in the garden received their yearly pruning--all 10 of them 'cept this one. No reason for me; God's timely purpose.

A Holy encounter with the God of peace.  A pure rose still at bloom despite circumstances, despite the world, despite even me.  A white rose to see in the wee hours of  dawn, each petal whispering love, opening to beauty in forever and ever. Tears slide in gratitude, for God is good and white roses are good and heaven is good and Tim...yes, he is good.