Going Home

Angela and I approached the door of my childhood home.

We weren't sure what to expect. We were just on a bike ride and saw the lovely mailbox labeled: 

The Clarks.

Curiosity had overtaken us, and we road down the driveway. 

I hadn't ridden my bike on that driveway for years, and this time it was paved. There was still a garden, but a camper resided near it. The campfire pit had changed, but the shed remained. 

We hesitated. Should we really knock? 

I told her all the things that I remembered in that front yard. The apple tree, the cherry tree, the clothes line...

The front porch. And even the knocker was the same. 

I lifted it, and proceeded to make our presence known.

Moments passed, and we heard the door handle jingle.

And we were greeted by a warm, gentle face. A man with a white beard and glasses.

I greeted him, and proceeded to explain how Angela and I had come to be upon his doorstep. 

"Each happiness of yesterday, is a memory for tomorrow."

                                                      -George W. Douglas

My family had moved away from Portage Lake when I was five years old. We had always referred to this dear blue-gray home as "the old house". Angela and I had been friends since the first day of kindergarten. She had lived on that same road for most of her life. We were around 11 or 12 at that time. Enjoying our summer, like always, chasing dragonflies and frogs and salamanders, jumping on the trampoline, and going on bike rides. 

Every time I had passed my old home, throughout those years, I would point it out as we drove past. I would remember the evening walks with my mom and sister. The times swimming and the pedal boat and canoe. Fishing with my grandparents and riding a bike with training wheels for the first time. Playing in the snow, ice skating, time with cousins, birthday parties, watching Saturday morning cartoons.

The time I swore the reed I had been 'fishing' with, got a bite. Our green kiddie pool in the front yard...tea parties with Pepsi and Apples and giggling at burps and playing Barbies and Polly Pockets. Receiving my favorite toy, my pony, Blue, who came with me to Grad School.

We had moved to a bigger lake, just a mile away, in 1996. Just before my 6th birthday. And the memories of our first home lived on in home videos and nostalgic musings of the past. 

Dear to me, always.

And that warm, gentle man welcomed us in, to see my old home again. He called his wife, and introduced us. Their names were Patti and Roger. Patti and Roger Clark. 

They gave us a full tour. He showed me all that was new. They were the 4th or 5th family to reside in our home since we had moved. Still, much was the same. 

I showed them where I had gotten my head stuck in the stairs when I was three. We laughed and laughed. 

I looked for where my sister had carved her name in the bathroom just before we had moved.

I told them of riding my trike to the record player downstairs, as they showed me where their great-nieces and nephews played in the porch. Just as my sister and I had.

Roger showed us where he made his own wine in the old furnace room. They had turned the old wall bed into a cupboard space. The front yard had a tiered garden added to it. And our old dock and boat lift remained. The yard was as green and beautiful as ever. The trees were taller, the forest thicker. 

Roger and Patti were so sweet and kind. They told us we were welcome to visit, any time. 

And as the years passed, I came by on my bike. Once a summer, I would come. We would visit and share stories and memories. They both had the neatest hobbies. Gardening and painting, playing Cribbage, fishing, canning, and spending time with their grandchildren and great-grandson. Patti showed me a picture she had painted of Roger, a duplicate of Minnesota's State Portrait: 

The perfect depiction of the dear, gentle man who greeted us that day. 

They were both filled with wisdom and understanding. They shared a love for Jesus Christ, and an appreciation for His Word. They were seasoned by the hardships of life, and marked by the sweetness of age and fortitude. 

My last visit with the Clarks was in the summer of 2010. Patti had grown ill with cancer, and on that day, had just had another chemo treatment. She was weak and weary. Their daughter was visiting, and they had just returned from picking strawberries from Keske's farm. I sat with them at the counter and helped hull their fresh haul. We talked and shared, like always. 

The way Roger cared for her was so sweet. His gentleness and tenderness moved me deeply. Their love for one another so precious to witness. They invited me to stay for dinner. It was wonderful, with strawberry shortcake for dessert. 

Soon after their daughter bade them good night, the three of us sat in their bedroom, the two of them upon their bed, holding hands, and I in the recliner. We talked and shared some more...reflecting upon how their bedroom was the same one my parents had shared when I was young. The pink carpet the same. The wallpaper, just as I remembered. 

As the sun began to set, I knew it was time for me to depart on my bike once more. I gave them each a hug, and said farewell. 

Roger sent me home with his newest batch of wine to share with my family. Chokecherry. He wrapped it in newspaper for me. And sent strawberries too. 

I don't know how to describe what these people have meant to me. They have been an anchor to a sacred part of my life. They have been friends to me. They have been treasured friends.

Roger departed to his heavenly Home one year ago. They were apart for a painful time. This past Sunday, Patti followed him into Eternity. They are with Jesus Christ now. I look forward with Joy for the day in which I may share unbroken fellowship with them again.

This song above will be sung this Saturday as Patti's life is celebrated. How sweet are the words to this lovely hymn. What longings they invoke in my heart.

I am deeply blessed to have known such dear, precious loved ones. 

I am deeply blessed to have such a Savior.


"Shadows gone. Break of Day. Real Life just begun."

Lessons Learned and Learning Still

I wrote the following three months ago. This past year, as it comes to its close, has been a year of much change and heartache, for many.  


God is faithful beyond anything...and He so delicately, tenderly and mightily orchestrates each precious moment of our lives...

I feel like sometimes when I write or speak of the beauty He has interwoven into my life and my story...that I can't possibly describe it all...my words are inadequate and in addition, His workings are so individual and personal and precious to me...

Sometimes they are things that only He and I can fully share.

And I am not special. I have done absolutely nothing to earn or deserve such a romancing of the depths of my heart and soul.

How profound and beautiful to know that He loves and knows each of us in such a way, that the unknown depths...the aches, the joys, the wounds, the sorrow...

Are KNOWN by Him.

There is much I have learned in these past few years. There is much that I am still learning. 

Firstly...brokenness does not disable us from being used by the Lord...in fact, it equips us. Suffering is beautiful, and it is what we are called to when we call ourselves Christians and claim Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. 

And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

                              -2 Corinthians 12:9 King James

[the Prosperity Gospel as well as Dominion Theology has come to make me feel sick in the pit of my stomach...it breaks my heart, and it leads so many sincere Christians astray, particularly our generation, who are longing for something 'real' and passionate...We desperately need the Word of God, and we need it in context.

More on this: http://dominion-theology.blogspot.com/]

Secondly, and related to all of this...I once realized that I didn't fully understand the Love of God. But I wanted to understand, I earnestly wanted to. But what I chased after, ultimately left me empty handed still...

Because the LOVE of my Lord is not determined by some experience, or some amazing time of prayer or worship session. It is not defined by constantly trying to maintain a spiritual high or to feel a certain way or to encounter Him in a special way...all these may be the result, but they are not the focal point...and they most certainly can become idols and distractions and lead us down a very broad but dangerous road...

Jesus Christ once said that we should be take care lest the light that is in us is darkness. (Luke 11:35)

But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.

                          -2 Corinthians 11:3

As I began to walk away from emotionalism and experience-driven Christianity, I began to understand the subtlety and falsehood I was immersed in, and I found myself deeply grieved. 

No, the Love of my Lord is defined by what Jesus Christ did for me on that Cross.

And that is PROFOUND. That is what brings me to tears. That is what brings me to repentance. That is what took me so long to understand. 

That is the simplicity of the Gospel. That is the Joy of my Salvation.

Upon My Desk

Upon my desk, lies a bulletin board full of pictures. Pictures of childhood and laughter, pictures of warmth and joy and safety.

A picture of my daddy helping me with my new ballerina Barbie doll, a campfire surrounded by dear loved ones, of cousins playing in the warm waters of our summer lake.

Grandparents. Family. Love. Love. Love. Joy.

Upon my desk, a mug, that once held my grandmother's daily green tea. Still bearing the stains of its diurnal teabags, and the worn efforts of their removal. The warmth it has held through many years lives on. 

She was my best friend. Truly. 

Upon my desk, a golden Cross. Which once laid upon my grandpa's casket on a mournful day in May 2003. A reminder of loss...A reminder of Promise. 

A reminder of Hope in the Resurrection. In Jesus Christ, the Savior of the World. 

Upon my desk, pictures made for me by my favorite pre-schoolers. A deeply treasured time of life stored in colors and shapes and names. 

So much love. So much joy. A precious, precious time.

Upon my desk, rocks and books about rocks.

Passion, interest, and fascination.

Upon my desk, a book called Heaven. By Randy Alcorn. Filling 492 pages.

Hope. The Word of God. In Christ Jesus.

Upon my heart, a favorite hymn. I find myself contrite and broken, and redeemed.

Reverence. Awe. Thankfulness. Joy. Hope. Life.

Graduate School

I love graduate school. 

I love that I get to think about rocks all the time, and that I am in a place surrounded by rocks 

of all kinds.

Yeager Rock glacial erratic (it is massive)

Swaukane Gneiss (cute little garnets in there!)

Columbia River Basalt

Exploring a Lava Tube and representing CWU

Mt. St. Helens

I love that half the time I am so intimidated and challenged...that when I accomplish what I need to get done, I feel so refreshed and excited for what's next. 

Mt. St. Helens and Spirit Lake from Mt. Margeret

I love that even when I feel like I hate it and that I'm not smart enough, I still love it and want to keep going.

I love that I get to be surrounded by people that are passionate about what they are studying. People who I know will be life-long friends.

I love that I get to study volcanoes, and magma chamber processes...

...and that there probably isn't a person in the world who doesn't think volcanoes are cool,

because even when they erupt and cause great destruction

...so much life springs from them. 

I love Mt. St. Helens...and my experience and time there deserves a blog entry of its own.

I am so thankful for this opportunity...thankful for friends and family who support me in this grand adventure. 

Thankful for the Lord who led me here. Thankful for His Kindness, Faithfulness, and Enduring Love in the midst of my fear and trepidation...thankful that He is always near. 

I am deeply blessed.

Me, my new friend Joe the astronomer, and Mt. St. Helens as a backdrop. He showed me different nebulas, galaxies, star systems, and we even got to see Jupiter and its moons as it came over the horizon. My favorite constellation he showed me was "The Northern Cross". We talked about science, astronomy, geology, life, loss, and faith. It was a blessing to meet him.

All Photos: (Mattinson, 2012)

A Reflection

This is a weekend of anniversaries. And I don't want to forget. I want to remember. They are painful reminders, but at the same time: beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

This morning marks 10 months. It is amazing how deeply I have healed despite the pain that is ever-present...lingering in the background or panging at the forefront...an ache that is a reminder of how deeply I have loved and been loved, how blessed I have been to know such a precious woman, such wonderful grandparents, and how strange it is that I now have to traverse this long road without her... That it has been 10 long months since her absence left the world a much colder and scarier place...and sometimes it seems like a dream. I think sometimes I wonder if she'll be there when I go back home. I think it feels almost as if it's just been a long time since I've seen her, sat with her, laughed with her, and hugged her good night. But then, I am reminded that what happened last Christmas, was real...

Christmases have been very hard for the past few years...holidays in general, but for some reason the losses that have occurred have been concentrated around this time. It has become quite an emotionally volatile season, even the very mention of it brings up an emotional torrent, at times. I'm not sure how I will respond to being home again for it. We are attempting to make new traditions, as well as honor the old ones as best we can. I think I will be very thankful to simply be with loved ones. Honestly, sometimes everything that has happened seems like a dream. That said, Christmas has never meant more to me...

I don't want to always speak of the sadness...I used to think that I have failed because it has been so present within me for the past few years. Mostly that I failed as a Christian to always be joyful. I'm not sure where the idea came that: Christian = constant happiness. I don't think any of us really believe that, but the idea has somehow perpetuated. Perhaps it is, in part, our very human longing for control...

Walking through all this has taught me a lot about the importance of being authentic, transparent, and honest about grief, sorrow, and hardships. The world doesn't need another plasticized smile, it does not need fabricated joy, but it does need the kind of Joy that is truly in Christ. I guess that's led me to a search for an understanding of what that Joy really is, and what it really means to shine the light of Jesus Christ in this dark world...I really don't think He is as present in the 'show', as He is in the simple, humble word of encouragement...or the simple presence of a friend who is willing to love and listen, to care and cry with you.

Tomorrow morning will mark three years since a dear friend departed to his heavenly home. It was that day, three years ago, which marked the beginning of a long season of loss and heartache. The shock of losing him caught me so off guard. The circumstances which surrounded it made it all the more painful.

The private college I attended in that season of life held a late-night communion service each Wednesday, and my dear friend Nicole and I would go together each week. This particular night was in celebration of the coming All Saints Day.

And the verses that were shared that night, the night of losing such a precious friend, loved one, neighbor, so tenderly spoke to my heart. I remember, sitting there, trying to take it all in. Absolute shock and turmoil had assailed me, and my whole insides seemed to be twisted. The first reading was the story of Lazarus, from John 11.

(At this point in my life and in my faith journey, I am very sensitive to any misuse of scripture, or any twisting from its original context...so I wish to include it in its entirety) http://www.esvbible.org/John+11/

I will not elaborate at this time...but I will simply say that the sentence "Jesus wept." was a deep comfort and a blessing to hear...at a time in which my whole world seemed shattered, to know that the Savior of the world and my God cares...that He is moved by our sorrows...to the point of expressing it in such a simple, humble form...

And the second, was a reading from Revelation 21...a precious Promise which I have carried in my heart since that night. http://www.esvbible.org/search/Revelation+21/

One day, He will wipe away every tear. How personal and intimate is that? It is not just that sorrows, death, mourning and pain will be gone, but:

"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
(Revelation 21:4 ESV, emphasis mine)

Death does not have the last word. Christ had the last word when He spoke 'It is finished' on the sacred, wondrous cross and in this chapter in which He speaks:

And he who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.”

“It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment. The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.” (Revelation 21:6-8 ESV)

I include the entire context because it is both an immense comfort and joy, but also a poignant reminder of the great cost and consequence of sin. It is of utmost importance that we do not ignore this portion of scripture, or this facet of our God. He is not only perfectly Kind and perfectly filled with Grace and Comfort, but also perfectly Just.

Is that context of a fallen, broken world articulated any better than in the sorrows which surround? Can we believe in both the sovereignty and the goodness of God in the midst of such pain and heartache? Is our God big enough, and yet personal enough to handle our doubts, our anger, our frustrations, our questions, our fears, our expounding cries of "How long, oh Lord?"

But even more, that context is best articulated by the Cross...the cost...the precious blood of Jesus Christ. Who bore our sins, who bore our burdens. Who stepped down and walked through every heartache, burden and sorrow that this world has ever known...lived a sinless life, and paid the price for our sins. To demonstrate God's Love for us.
http://www.esvbible.org/Romans+5/


"but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation."
(Romans 5:8-11 ESV)

And so, not only is the consequence of sin articulated in the Cross of Jesus Christ, but also the immensity of the Love, the Grace, and the Justice of our God. Can therefore joy and sorrow be considered mutually exclusive? Perhaps they dwell together, illustrating not only the pang of living in this world, but displaying the Hope that is only found in Christ and ultimately the Glory of God.

As I reflect upon my heartaches and my losses...I am reminded of all this. These aren't easy questions

and these are not easy answers. They are gut-wrenching. God is not about the surface or the superficial, but He dives into the depths with us. 

He does not ignore our very human needs and our shortcomings. He is present in the messy, the ugly, the emotionally torrential, in the storm...He knows our hearts better than we know our own...and His Love is greater than we can comprehend...both sovereign and great, personal and intimate...we look to the Cross, and we look to our Hope in the resurrection and truly "the life of the world to come"...

He wept, and He weeps with us. And He will wipe every tear from our eyes.

Here are a few links that have been of great comfort and perspective:

http://hopesjourneyblog.blogspot.com/2012/03/unabashed-honesty.html
http://www.spurgeon.org/sermons/0236.htm
http://www.mikeleake.net/2012/07/why-thorn-removal-is-not-goal-part-2.html
http://www.mikeleake.net/2012/07/the-effect-of-prosperity-gospel-on-pain.html
http://hopesjourneyblog.blogspot.com/2012/09/does-grief-encapsulate-me.html

Never Once

The grief of loss is such that we will all know it in the span of our lives. It will disturb everything we've once known, and shake us to the core. Pain will assail our hearts, and we will find ourselves helpless and empty-handed. That is the nature of grief. It takes no shortcuts. It has no straight path, but crossroads and corridors and forks and valleys and mountains are plenty.

There is One who bore our sins and our sorrows, who walks with us in the heartache, who leads us in the darkness and the storm.

He will never leave us, never forsake us, never abandon us.

And in the pit of deepest despair...true Hope is found. He brings purpose through the pain. And joy and sorrow dwell together. And our faith is authenticated through this process.

It's not as easy to swallow as the Gospel of Prosperity, for it seems more bitter than sweet at first taste,

but it is far more nourishing and far more valuable. More precious than gold or silver:

In suffering and pain, Christ is ever-present, and often, therein, the exceeding preciousness of the Savior of the World is found and known.

"Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed." (1 Peter 4:12-13)

Untitled Post

It makes sense, I suppose, in light of everything that has happened.

That at the first sign of school-related stress, a massive surge of grief would be triggered.

The last time I felt the way I did today, was the night before the last final of my undergraduate career. Trying to write a paper, trying to study for a comprehensive exam, worrying about her. Only wanting to be near her. Knowing that everything I have ever known, was falling apart, again.

I called home...I found out...they couldn't even do Chemo. They couldn't do surgery. They couldn't do anything. She was just going to die. She was going to have to die that painful death, and we were just supposed to accept it.

The helplessness. The pain. The way I cried out, tears staining the floor as they drenched my face in a meeting room of our student union.

I so wish I could be okay by now. But it hasn't even been a year. And here, I am stepping into the anniversary time of so much loss and heartache. Sick of this dialogue. Sick of having to express it time after time after time after time. Sick of the fact that not one person knows how to properly relate [and for that, I lay no blame]. Sick of feeling as if I have no control over these emotions. Sick. SICK. sick.

But now that that is expressed, I'm going to go back to summarizing that scientific paper about seismic coupling in subduction zones.

So here displays the importance of expressing the pain and properly walking through it. It's really, really hard to be honest and transparent. It requires great vulnerability.

He knows. He understands. He cares. He promises to wipe away every tear. That's all I do know.

Cheers to Graduate School.

This song is comforting and beautiful.

The End.