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

...And Then I Hear Him

I watch, holding my breath

Feeling both pain and overcoming joy.

His tiny features and newborn skin bond to my soul,

As I hold him so close, forever mine.

I ponder motherhood, an honorary role,

Intentional blessedness

So much to learn…

            And then I hear his cry,

            Prayers begin to yearn.

I watch as an angel appears before me

In the garden’s morning walk.

His magnificence shines and I am amazed at the sight.

He speaks words of purpose, a Holy Plan to be

I bow in awe and wonder as He speaks of Coming Light.

How God…why me?

            And then I hear him call me Favored One,

            Mary, so shall it be.

I watch as he grows and discovers,

Curiosity catapults and words articulate.

Motherhood is fun and hard, many surprises and delights.

Settled into somewhat routine

Jotting down memories, maybe some highlights.

The reality of life sets in

Detours appear,  Grace guiding us down the hard road

            And then I hear Him whisper…

            I will help carry your load.

I watch Him grow in wisdom and stature,

In favor with God and man.

Already set to do His Will , teaching

At the Temple, he stayed too long

Asking questions, listening, preparing for preaching…

Soon He would gather

The twelve Fisher’s of Men,

            And then I hear Him announce,

            “I’m about to begin.”

I watch him lay so still

That machine breathing in, breathing out.

Motherhood is love and hope, faith and…trust.

Prayers now in desperation

Oh, how I know God is a stronghold, a must,

As his spirit leaves,

To meet God on that night.

            And then I hear Him comfort me,

            “I promise to make this right.”

I watched Him as they mocked,

Spat at Him and lashed,

He walked with that Cross,

To the hill called Golgotha,  

And one hung alongside to believe

And one paid the cost.

Spikes driven, upright stood.

             And then I hear Him tell me,

            “Behold, your Son, this too will be good.”

I watched Him, again in the garden and beyond

My heart seeking more and longing for the Deeper Things.

His generously guided grace surrounds

To heal , infuse, purpose me

With the supernatural in and around.

I miss him so, it is true,

But the promises are Eternal…

            And then I hear Him give me

            A purpose, for the time here, external.

I watched Him as He died, prepared Him for that tomb

But on that third day, God’s preparation completed the Plan.

All the wrongs in the world hung with Him that day

For He Is God’s Son you see, the final Sacrificial Lamb

Overcoming death and sin, in the blood-price He paid.

Confess your need

Give Him your heart

            And then you’ll hear Him tell you

            I love you My child, and I will never depart.

 Considerably Yours,

Merry Christmas

Coleene 

The Walk

Years of walking,
I've experienced humanity along this path
In gratitude and grief, longing and hoping,
knowing and obeying. 
I've never walked alone. Never.

The Father's plan all along, to do His Will

Today marked the start of a different trek,
One prepared from the very beginning
When the roads started to diverge.
Our efforts in place, the Hope for a cure,
A promise-- if one believes.

The Father's Plan all along, free will.

I knew this time, again, inevitable wounds.
Fear was not an option; it lies, deceives.
We met in the desert, those wilderness places.
It tried walking me to the edge.
I scoff at the ignorance for I see fear's fate.

My Father's Plan all along, forever to reign.

The weight held my feet
As if captured in an animal trap.
With each movement,
Especially the first open-eyed breath of morning light
I knew what must be done.

I'd walk with the burdens, all of them.
With the mocking--loud and the memory crown, piercing.
The silent ones hurt more, those who say but never do,
Who know, yet seek the temporary.
I walk for all. I love for all.

The Father's Plan all along, to give it all over to Him.

With bloodied feet numb
I shed grief's loss to gain righteousness.
Right thinking
Right doing
Right living under and through His Grace.

The Father's Plan all along, Resurrection.

The burden heavy in my human weakness
Yet there are those who help me carry
I arrive and Grace begins.
The promises of Hope plugs in to dance
To the music of victory, to the symphony of purpose.

The Father's plan all along, Merciful Redemption

The Campaign gathers the disciples,
The afflicted, the faithful,
Who walk with me. We grow together,
Learn and listen, pray, Oh, the prayers!
We remember the why and the who.

The Father's Plan all along, Greater Love.

Past, present and future converge.
Hope arises from the intersection,
Where arms stretch out, chests heave,
Legs strain to lift and open lungs
Until its done and history changes.

The Father's Plan all along, that He makes One Way.

Here, death is remembered
But life peers into Eternity
For all those who give of themselves,
Surrender their own will,
And I am redirected to Heaven.

The Father's Plan all along, Communion. 

Peace pours back down
And True Believers receive the gifts.
Hearts and feet walk side by side along the Way
Forever changed, forever comforted, forever loved,
Forever knowing,  His Plan all along...Glory

Considerably Yours,
Coleene VanTilburg

In Memorium, Sarah Hutson

In the very beginning Aspiring Writers’ Forum or A.W.F. as we like to call ourselves, formed a bond amongst the members who transformed the table on Wednesday nights, sharing our thoughts in written word, our days in anecdotal stories and our hopes in words and imagined dreams of the glory and grace surrounding us. Our friend, Sarah Hutson sat amongst us in those first couple of years.  With a genuine wit, she always made us laugh.

When I think of Sarah, I think of a spunky, young, single mom, with a huge heart for her family, her job, and especially her son, Gavin. She possessed many talents involving theater art, something she thought she might pursue as a career, but God led her down another path, one she also succeeded in, encompassing both her intellect, her loving spirit and “family.” Employed as a social worker, specifically, she walked children and hopeful couples through the foster and adoption process, a gift of patience, insight and long hours, she saw the fruition of many hopes and dreams. 

Sarah did all this fighting cancer, fighting for her own life, her own future but in that she trusted God wholeheartedly, as she herself proclaimed her adoption into God’s family.

In early summer, God gave me an impromptu way to serve Sarah, and I am so blessed to have had the opportunity to give her a ride home from church one warm Sunday afternoon. We talked a lot and it wasn’t idle chit-chat. I asked her a few questions I just wanted to know.  I felt comfortable enough around her to inquire and she shared in transparency, she shared humbly, she shared with her hopes and dreams still attached. My heart swelled in thankfulness for this dear, strong woman, my friend, who in her frail and painful state, encouraged me, made me laugh and believe even more that God’s plans are good and that light shines in and through the darkness.  As I pulled up to her house, I held her hand and we prayed together, one last time.

In those first few months of AWF, we did a crazy thing. (Somehow, I think Sarah helped move this idea forward). Putting together stories of unique perspectives from the Christmas Story, an Advent book came together. A collaborative effort, Sarah contributed three stories. I chose to share one of them here, “The Shepherdess.” I am reminded of my friend, a shepherdess in her own way, leading lost little lambs to forever families, telling cheerful and funny stories while waiting and watching in darkness over those things she loved so dearly. Thank you Sarah, for pointing out the glorious lights in heaven with your shining courageous Spirit and for inspiring us all with your faithful, unrelenting hope in a Greater Shepherd who comforts us now in our tears and our memories.

In love and gratitude,  Rest in Peace my friend,

Considerably yours, 

Coleene VanTilburg

Sarah and her son Gavin

The Shepherdess

By Sarah Hutson

Angels, that’s what she heard. That’s what awakened Deborah and her family. Even her unborn child seemed alert and moving. At first, she thought she was dreaming, but when she looked around she saw other shepherds waking from their huddled groups and staring at the sky. A sky alive with color and movement that swirled together to form heavenly figures. The sky filled with the messengers of heaven. The air itself crackled around Deborah and an unseen force drew her and her loved ones to their feet.

“Be not afraid,” the angels said. “Unto you a Savior is born, go and worship Him.”

“We are mere shepherds, the lowest of the village,” Deborah said to her husband. “Why would a Savior be born for us? What right do we have to worship at His feet?”

Her husband drew her close, “I too am afraid; but they have told us to go to the Child and bear witness of His birth. I do not understand why we have been chosen, but I will obey.”

The call of the angels overcame the fears of her mind, and they began to walk toward Bethlehem. Her hesitant, doubtful steps    began to hasten. Those around her seemed to be walking faster as well; some even began to run. She moved quickly through the streets, and her husband reached out to help steady her. When he took her hand, she was surprised to find him shaking. And when she looked into his eyes, she found them filled with love.

They were told to follow the star, but they were led by something deep in their souls. They filled the dark, silent streets, searching for the newborn King. She wondered why the whole town was not awake to see the Savior, and she realized that the first glimpse of this precious Gift was meant for them.

She expected to find the Child in a fine inn or a wealthy home, some place suitable for a king. Instead she found a young mother and proud father holding a Child wrapped in rough swaddling cloths. They huddled together in an old stable on the outskirts of town. Deborah knew they had found what they were looking for. The brightest star in the sky shone down on the stable, like a beacon in the night guiding a lost ship safely home. She felt her unborn child move and she rubbed her stomach lovingly. It was then that she realized this young girl’s Child was born to save her children. He was born to save the world, now and for all the generations to come. The weight of that realization brought her to her knees, and she wept with tears of joy.

In the dark of the night, the Light of the World was born and the most humble amongst them became this miracle’s witness.

Go Fund Me for Sarah Hutson and family

https://www.gofundme.com/sarah039s-memorial-amp-her-son039s-care

Every Knee

Every Knee

Christmas Poem, 2017

Behold! The Creation!

So perfectly made to move with us,

Bend for us,

Take us to amazing places to prove for us…

Yet we find frustration, gather in contemplation

To remove ourselves from Good.

Once done, the joints ache in the labor.

The walk is farther with no end in sight,

Always a fight

And a longing for something

That just might…change us.

So we run, run with the crowd, the masses,

Striving, winning and losing, living and dying.

Our muscles tense up, yet strong,

Full of opinions and commentary…

Painful sad songs in what wrongs.

Our head hangs lowered, eyes scrolling.

Time finds a way to become tangible

Marked now by scars, knee bumps and bruises.

We’ve let the world’s gravity keep us tethered

One disaster to the next.

What have we missed in all the texts?

Hearts so vexed

A plan all along,

We remember in the Season.

A cup of hydration in our weary run,

A sip of thirst-quenching water on our walk.

Was He the Giver? Am I the sinner? Can there be a winner?

The knee buckles.

We’ve carried our burdens far too long.

Dry bones ache and slow us down,

Temporary solutions, more contusions, retributions.

We’ve walked with this crutch, this open wound,

The world groans and longs for a healing,

Something redeeming.

Fall to your knees

And He hears our pleas

From the world’s deadly squeeze.

What does He give?

His Son for our soul’s very core,

Oh, Come Let Us Adore!

Immanuel, God with Us

In our critical condition

He heals the infection, bring us completion,

Transformation.

Heart replacement with Love’s precision,

Your decision, His Hope for our provision.

He disconnects, removes all our mess, gives us His best.

Spiritual therapy is guaranteed.

Peace begins with a bowed head and bent knees.

Every knee will bow

In rebellion or submission, in gratitude or omission

And every tongue will confess, He came to bless.

Find Him today and walk in His Light

Truth and grace came on Christmas night.

Merry Christmas & a Blessed New Year

Considerably yours, 

Coleene VanTilburg