seven letters.

It has been awhile since I've written. Not that there hasn't been anything to say, but in actuality... where does one truly start?

In the past four years this forum has served as a space for me to ramble about how much I love my friends, how much I love my God, what I'm learning, and to vent through what I've been hurting about and through.

Some posts I can look back to read and I am instantly brought to the same place- minus the version of me articulated. It's amazing to have a collection of pieces written that stamp a time on an experience and moment. It helps me to see without a shadow of doubt that God is working in my midst.

What I'd like to say this morning. Is that I have known great. True. Real. Unwavering Love. It has come in forms and mysteries that I can only attribute to God's Grace and masterful hand.

Last Thursday after tripping outside my house on the 3rd floor I walked inside paralyzed by anxiety that I severely injured my not yet healed feet, and sat on the couch. Krystal told me that there was a surprise in the kitchen. I went over to it.

Stretched out on the counter were letters, and a few pictures. The notes ranged in of themselves with scripture, encouragement, greetings and salutations. And oozed. With love. So much you couldn't miss it. Each one was written by a friend I have at church that I've been hanging out with since I started going to Salem Chapel. They touched on things that they appreciate about me, who I am, and how thankful that I am here.

I think the most impressing part of this act of love and friendship is that it was solely conceived and executed by Justin. Upon reading all of them, and talking to some friends that had contributed I was so touched by the thought, time, enthusiasm, and care he put into this idea, and why. What was the purpose the letters were to serve? Encouragement. Affirmation. For Kari.

Jeff's made me laugh out loud when describing my lotion expertise being unparalleled.

Carolyn's handwriting reminded me of a friend I've had for decades, and it spoke true to what Barb would have said.

KP's was to the point, and I love that.

Kim Shu expressed a desire for more friendship. More fun. I'm totally in for that idea.

Sarah was thoughtful and expressed her gratitude for 'the breath of fresh air' that I have been.

Justin was funny in his pictures, but his note responded to my honesty, albeit brutal or awkward at times but still working at life together.

Each one could have been written by someone I have known my entire life. They were that personal, and poignant.

Letters are my most favorite thing. Perhaps because it was the sole form of communication between a parent I did not know outside of that format my entire life. It could also be in part because the world will throw in your face an untrue importance on earthly possessions, but the only thing that truly matters is the nature and condition of your heart.

How are you loving people in your lives well?

How are you reaching out into what you may believe will be difficult conversations, to show that the way you feel matters more then the fear of the unknown?

God has His love for us written in the Scriptures.

It is one big message of love. Sacrifice. How to live. What to say. Who to be.

Love is everywhere.

And I will be the first to admit that in failure, hurt, or tears that its sometimes impossible to see and acknowledge. I consider it a true sense of maturity and growth that in the midst of a hurtful conversation with Mandy yesterday, that I was still able to see and know the truth of what love is, supposed to do and be, and how my life has ben centered around that with transparency, hope and optimism, but also because of which has left me sensitive to the lack of love and friendship by others.

This morning I woke up and stared outside from the comfort of layers of sheets and bedding.

Gracie perched on the edge of my bed gazing out at the same spance of trees.

I just thought about versions of people I have known, and versions of me I have been.

I thought about things I wanted to yell, scream, and say.

I thought about how deeply thankful that I am living the life God intended for me, which only came at the release of everything I thought it was supposed to look like. A daily submission of control, a hourly reminder I am not ever able to understand God's total picture and plan.

I thought about how love is a choice.

I thought about how some people change and you never see them again.

I thought about how much love is there, everywhere. In our midst. In our souls.

I thought about a stack of letters that no longer have a home here, and I thought about the new additional 7 that do.

I thought about God a lot. "I will get glory" ex. 14:17, and how because of hardship and celebrations He can and does.

I thought mostly of gratitude that Mandy fought for me when it mattered most, and chased down the window to make sure I knew that I was loved, known and cared for in a single phone call yesterday.

And then the letters. That came days ago but still have such a wonderful glow to them as they have affirmed in me over and over again.

Thank you Jesus.

For all the boxes packed that never went anywhere else.

But came here.

When it was time.

I love you.

(25 seconds)

Since I last wrote I have celebrated Christmas.

Taken 150+ ornaments down from the ceiling at work.

I prepared to surprise the girls in Roanoke by attending a party that Kait was throwing.

I was also getting things together for Matt and Seth to arrive in Winston later that same weekend.

The Lord. However, had some tricks up his sleeves.

When I got into my car on the way home to Roanoke, I saw two voicemail messages. The first, Matty. The second, Seth. How strange two years later can feel like. I listened to Matt explain that he was being admitted to UVA. I calmly noted his lack of panic, and put myself in line with his tone. Then I listened to Seth. Which in hindsight sort of makes me laugh now, but at the time, all I could think of was how thankful I was that I heard Matt's message first.

I called them both back, and had good conversations. Obviously with Matt being admitted into the hospital, that meant he wasn't coming. Seth and I talked through viable options for our reunion- and settled in the end to leave things as they were. I was going to see Matty the next day, and had to return home to work- before his scheduled visit to me.

I sat quietly in the car for awhile. I called my brother and told him. I called Mandy to make sure she had heard from Matt. I texted a couple of people. I felt settled that I had done what I should, knowing that we didn't know much. I debated and thought about another phone call or two. Not quite sure.

Memories began to flood of a 25 second phone call I received a very hot August day from Tex, while I was hanging out in Roanoke. I remember everything about it. I remember I was standing outside Barnes and Noble. That I didn't cry. Not a tear. I remember I called my mother immediately after, and asked her to communicate with the family what was happening. I remember sitting in the backseat of Tex's car, as he picked me up to drive to the Hospital together with the Lexington crew. I remember the phone call coming in saying that Matt had made it to Roanoke on the helicopter. I remember the pause before I knew he had arrived safely that I thought he had died. It was a heavy. Long. Tormented pause.

I also remember all of the things I thought about in the car. I thought about meeting Matt in 2003 and how much of my life in Virginia was changed when we became friends. I scanned through thousands of images and memories with this friend, and I held onto one thing in my conversation with Christ, "I'm not ready."

A pained and traumatic moment came when his beloved parents arrived from Harrisonburg. Tex and I followed Fetzer downstairs so that he could park their car. Carol approached me weeping and asked if he was alive. Was Matthew alive? I crumbled. I said yes, and she collapsed into my arms. I have never in my life experienced something like that. Never. The day brought light and hope that Matt was going to recover, he was going to be ok. The trauma then would take an emotional and mental toll. The physical was being healed. Monitored.

That first night I sat quietly in a corner of the hospital. Deep and dark in thought. Finally able to begin the process of peeling back the layers of the day. I remember sitting there. I remember having fixated on a light coming from a building down below on the street.

One way that Chad loved Tex and I incredibly well was that, he drove all of our friends home. Tex and I left that night and drove to Sonic- neither of us having eaten anything in hours. We sat and we talked. And cried. And stared out into the night.

Nothing in my life was quiet the same after that night. It was the beginning of a really, truly, dark and tormented year. Two months later Tex moved to Oregon. And despite the visits I took to him there, I wasn't yet strong enough to handle all that those visits would entail. My family life fell apart, and I consequently found- the bottom. A dark, twisted, difficult and hard place. Yet somehow, in the midst of orphans in China, I was able to come back up. I came back up for air.

Life since then has been a wonderfully poignant and profound journey forward. At times I admit I fought it, and battled against what would come, what needed to happen, or what I felt should- because I deemed it more uncertain and terrifying then that which I was already entrenched. However, the Lord kept His promises- as always. And I was continue to be tenderly healed from a broken heart in light of so many difficult circumstances.

Walking into UVA last week. I was thankful that a)there had been no trauma that discovered the infection for Matt. and b) he was not in Roanoke, but in a new and different hospital. I led with humor and lightness walking into Matty's hospital room, after having a tough moment alone in the elevator with my thoughts. "Seriously?" we laughed. I spent a few hours there, and then when he went in for testing, Carol walked me downstairs.

We stood and shared. Hindsight. Concerns. Memories. She noted how hard things had been after the cardiac arrest- in my life. She spoke of it with tenderness. I responded with transparency- "I didn't realize that, was when- it started to spiral out of control." We talked about how different we all are now. Different parts of the country. Her grand babies. Perspective and caution. And sometimes fear. One thing I noted was just how much more accepting I was of the path. The journey. I was thankful I could spend the short time with Carol in a hospital hallway able to acknowledge the differences between now and then.

The biggest and most tenderhearted thing I realized in the car on my way to Roanoke Thursday night was, and well on my way to UVA the next morning was never, never, thought or spoke, "I'm not ready." I think I could hear the angels in Heaven when I noticed that statement had never been considered.

I'm never going to be ready. But that is not the source of that statement.

The source and meaning behind it, is that: I love Jesus. Totally and entirely with every part that my sinful self will allow. I trust Him. I trust that He loves Matt, has a whole plan and purpose for Matt. I believe and know that Matt loves Jesus. We are all covered in more Grace then we could possibly every comprehend. I don't need to ready myself to lose Matt, or lose anyone. I have to continue to prepare and assert my heart to Christ the Father to do His thing- and I will trust it.

I love Matt more then I could ever explain to another human being. It's pure. It's familial.

We have been friends a long. long. time. Our friendship has survived where others have not.

He is in my future. Forever.

I know that I love my siblings that same way.

There's nothing I wouldn't do for Matty. Nothing. Even if it meant giving him my own heart.

The blessing is that, when you love someone that much, and that way- and you know Jesus.

You know.

It's all going to work out according to His plan and purpose.

So I have somehow learned in the 2 1/2 years between hospital stays that I am invited into this friendship with Matt here on earth, but that the real party is in Heaven. I can't control if, how, or when. I can only trust in Jesus to ease my concerns, my anxieties, to be my source of strength. And Love Jesus enough to accept whatever hurt may come to walk confidently in the direction of the unknown- to be vulnerable with in my hurts. Because. Life. Just hurts sometimes- and to celebrate the gifts of friendship he has given to me here. in the now.

There is joy.

Wonderful. Bright. Joy.

Thankful to know that more today then I did yesterday- but mostly for being able to walk into a hospital on my own.

Strong enough. Prepared. Able.

Not needing a single hand on my back to lead the way.

I can.

We can.

I am.

We are.

Living with joy and hope in Jesus.

Life is good. Better. Then I thought possible even in the beginning of a very hard year, that began: two and a half years ago with a single 25 second phone call.