“Doodoodoo dadadoodoo… under pressure.” Remember the song from David Bowie in the … 80”s? Yes, I’m dating myself. But it is true, “pushing down on me, pushing down on you.” Our lives these days are so crazy and we’re all under such pressure. Our health might not be in the best of shape. Our jobs are just that: jobs, not the fun, passion-filled, joyful place that you “get” to go to everyday, but the place you HAVE to go to so that you can pay your bills. Our children might be trying our last nerve, not doing well in school or on the field. Our marriages might be breaking down and friendships might be under stress. We’re in situations that are just plain scary.

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Every summer for the last fifteen years, my selfless husband chooses to leave his home and family for five weeks to go up north to work. His goal is to earn extra money to provide for his family; even still, hating to leave us and be away from those he loves and holds dear. A choice to serve his family while denying self proves his deep love for us. The example he sets inspires us to share this type of self-sacrificing love with others.

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But what I cherish most is my mother’s passion for caring for the poor of our community. For years, Mom made deliveries of food and basic supplies from the food pantry of our church, to indigent families nearby. I have often wondered if the bread, milk and meat she always included were purchased from her own pocket. The deliveries were often made well after dark, sometimes in the dead of winter, in crime-ridden neighborhoods, to families she did not know. But when she received a call from Social Services that a family was in crisis or a father had lost his job, my mom responded.

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This was physically the hardest thing I have ever done. I couldn’t stand up for more than a few minutes at a time, and had to use a shower chair. I used the walker for even the shortest trips in my house. I knew underneath it all that God was certainly at work, but the pain was so brutal that I couldn’t even try to see Him. I reached a breaking point many times, weeping into the night. God didn’t take away my pain. He didn’t fix it. I knew better than to ask why He was allowing this, as I knew there would be no ready answer.

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Six months after we moved, I remember having a really long talk with God. I was honest with Him, like Job was. My husband and I were scared we had made the wrong choice. It was a leap of faith after all, can’t those things go wrong? So my husband and I pleaded with God for many weeks. We pleaded with Him to show Himself faithful and true to His word. We asked Him to take care of us, to prove to us that we had made the right choice. After all, we had uprooted our entire life, everything we knew and everyone we loved, for this move.

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We’re very fortunate to live in a neighborhood which was once the site of a tree farm. Our property is inhabited by a variety of very old, very tall trees which cover everything in a blanket of shade. I’ve learned after 20+ years of living here, not to waste time trying to grow sun-loving plants. The only exception is the single corner of our house which gets the right amount of direct sun to keep a purple wisteria vine happy and flourishing. It has enthusiastically climbed all the way up the side of the house, sending its pendulous blossoms cascading elegantly over the roof.

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