Surely You Know

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A struggle  

Surfaced yet again,

With stronger impact than usual.

This particular struggle

Plagues me daily,

Yearly.

I felt the weight of it,

Trapped in its impossibility,

I cried and snapped at God:

“Surely You know!”

 

It was an accusation,

From a heart

That felt forgotten.

 

Surely God knows

What I’m going through.

Surely He has the power to

Change this.

Surely God knows

How unbearable it is

To keep going this way.

 

I moved on,

Did the next thing,

Washed some dishes.

Within the mundane,

This thought arose:

“Surely You know.”

 

This time,

It was a statement,

An affirmation,

Trust.

 

Surely God knows

How this began,

How it will end.

Surely God knows

My heart,

My inability to fix this

On my own.

Surely God knows

And doesn’t delight

In His kids’ suffering.

 

That night,

The moon was

Nearly full.

I stood, watching it,

Imagining myself

Holding God’s hands.

I said it softly,

“Surely, You know.”

 

I let my body

Absorb the truth,

The love,

Held in that awareness.

I watched the moon

And listened

To Him telling me back,

“Surely, I know.”

 

 

 

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The Volume of Joy

 

My mom passed away two months ago.  A word that she embodied was joy.  My aunt, my mom’s younger sister, told me that it came about on a girls’ trip.  The sisters (my mom was one of four girls in a family of six kids) each chose a fruit of the Spirit with which they connected closely.  My mom chose joy.

 

I’ve been putting together a slide show of photos from my mom’s life.  Younger to older, her bright, full-face smile is consistent throughout.  I know she didn’t always feel joyful, but even in dementia, her pictures show an irrepressible joy.  My mom used to decorate with words.  In my parents’ house, you can go into any major room or bathroom and find a sign that reads “Home”, “Hope”, “Family”, “Love”, and of course, lots and lots of “Joy”. 

 

Sometimes my mom’s joy made me feel like hiding away.  I remember being pregnant with my first baby and going to this wonderful baby shower at my childhood church.  My mom was bubbling over.  She wanted me to take my coat off so everyone could see my belly.  In the large room, people couldn’t hear what I said when I opened presents, so my mom somehow got a microphone set up.  I shied away from it, so she stepped in, giving commentary and stories. 

 

My mom’s joy was exuberant.  It was expressive.  Her joy was loud.  

 

Since she’s been gone, I’ve thought, ‘What if I were more intentionally joyful, as a way of honoring her?’  I’ve rarely expressed joy the way she did.  Could I turn up the volume?

 

Today, at church, I chatted with Pat, a church member who turned ninety last month.  She told me she celebrated by going horseback riding.  That was her desire for the day.  Pat had ridden horses up until her forties.  She missed it and her family made the adventure happen for her gift.  After she told me about it, Pat said something that resonated with what I’d been wrestling with, related to joy.

 

She said, “You know, joy can be quiet too.”

 

Pat explained that her heart felt filled to the top with joy while she was riding that horse.  She reveled in it.  But, on the outside, she said, she probably just looked calm and peaceful. 

 

“You don’t have to shout and jump and make a big fuss for it to be real joy.”

 

I love that, and it fits what feels like me.  I can carry on my mom’s joy in the world.  Maybe it will be loud and expressive sometimes.  More likely, it will continue to be that sweet, inner delight that comes from savoring each moment.  The kiss I plant on my sleeping daughter’s sweaty forehead.  The smell of somebody barbecuing nearby.  My feet sinking into sand as waves hug my ankles.  Joy is a good choice, whatever the volume.

 

 

Dear Mom

 

May 26, 2025

Dear Mom,

You died today.  Part of me wants today to last forever because I want to keep being inside a day in which you were breathing and here.

For you, maybe this day will last forever.  You entered forever.

As I sat beside your hospice bed, I sang worship songs.  The words were sharper somehow, with heaven so close.  In between songs, I whispered, “Jesus, open your arms.  Jesus, open your arms.”  I wanted Him to be ready to catch you.  To embrace you so fiercely.  The hairs on my arms tingled.

I wasn’t there when you finally let go.  Dad and Bryan and Nate were your loving witnesses.

Sometimes, God has been quiet in my life.  But this week, He was loud.

Rainbows, compassionate nurses, tight-knit family, friends so very supportive, a gluten-free cheeseburger at just the right time, the book I “coincidentally” got from the library, Jeff’s steadiness, songs, visitors, gardens, and a castle. 

Every corner, He shouted, “I am kind!!!!”

It’s hard to imagine life without you.

Who will commentate over the top of TV shows with Dad?  Who will get our “Br” names mixed up?  Who will share mildly inappropriate family stories with store clerks?  Who will eat all the black licorice?  Who will go for long walks with me? 

You always adored Julie Andrews and the “Sound of Music”.  I can see why.  You two are a little alike.

Beautiful voices, always singing.  Kind of kooky, open to oddball ideas.  Loves your kids.  Not afraid of a good hike.  Committed to God and His desires for your life.

Thank you, for leading me in knowing our Savior.

Thank you for being an example of servant-love.

Thank you for being the voice in my head: “Tell yourself the truth, Brooke.”

The truth is, I am really blessed to call you my Mom.  I will miss you terribly.  And, I hope it’s okay that I’m going to talk to you out loud sometimes. 

I’ll think of you when the lilacs bloom, when I snuggle my kids, and when I have a really good laugh.

The day is almost over, but you’re a part of me forever.

Love you so much,

Your daughter Brooke

More Best

 

 

When my friend Megan and I were roommates for a season of life, one of the phrases that came out of that time was “more best.”  I preface this by noting that both of us love words and grammar.  The wonky grammar is part of what makes it funny.  She and I were chatting in my room and I had a pile of clean sheets, fresh out of the dryer, ready to go back on my bed.  I hugged the warm sheets, took a big inhale, and said, “Isn’t this the best?”

Megan’s eyes lit up.  She broke into a huge smile and replied, “You know what would be even more best?”

She then wrapped the warm sheet around her body like a cocoon, closed her eyes, and grinned from ear to ear.  It was indeed, more best.

 

This is a picture of God.

Ephesians chapter 3 ends with Paul’s prayer that his readers would understand the vast dimensions of God’s love.  How wide and long, and high and deep, is the love of Christ.  Then he worships God for who He is: 

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever.  Amen!” -Ephesians 3: 20 & 21

The one and only God of the universe is a more best God.

In less than a month, I will celebrate how God was more best in Megan’s story.  I get to be a bridesmaid when she marries, Sam, a man who goes beyond what Megan asked or imagined.  She asked and she imagined for a long time before she met him.  It took patience, trust, and hope.  And now, celebration and exhaling into the beautiful answer.

I married a more best man; also beyond what I asked for or imagined.  When I’m worried and reviewing all the ways things could go wrong, he occasionally says, “But what if it’s really good?”

Of course, goodness is an outcome we can expect as deeply loved followers of God!  Even in the crappiest of situations, we have guidance and help and the power of the Holy Spirit for all who believe Him.  Romans 8:28 says God works everything for good for those who love Him and have been called according to His purpose.  There’s another level of goodness – of best – that’s possible because God is good beyond our imaginings.

I hope you can wrap yourself in that.

 

 

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