MOPS – Page 2

Unexpected Love Story

02.24.2017 by Nicole Kristin Twedt //

Originally from February 2011

At a MOPS Christmas meeting I shared an experience my family had in the midst of cancer. For Valentine’s Day I’m sensing the need to push past all of the sadness and heartache and bring on a good old fashioned, life-is-good, mushy love story. Who doesn’t enjoy a good love story? It just so happens that I have the perfect one to share.

David came into my life very early on, before I was born actually. His wife Diana even threw mom a baby shower when she was pregnant with me. Diana was mom’s best friend and David, a fellow fire fighter like dad, was the most cherished and trusted of dad’s friends.

Sadly, Diana died the same year dad’s cancer returned. David was widowed and left with 2 young adult sons.

It came to pass that in March of 1996, dad, after battling cancer 6 separate times in 6 years, was really going to die. Family and close friends were called to his bedside to say good-bye for the last time. Dad hadn’t spoken much in days. He had so much morphine pumping through his broken body that when he did talk he spoke mostly as a child, speaking of flying airplanes, something he’d never in his life attempted. But the afternoon dad spoke to mom for the last time he was fully conscious and very intent on giving her a specific message. It went something like this:

“We’ve enjoyed over 20 years of married life together and I’ve cherished every moment of them. It grieves me to think of leaving you behind. Nothing would make me happier than to know that you are taken care of, that you are happy and that you will love again.” He went on, “I really can’t think of anyone who I trust my family with more than David Andrews. When I die I want you to marry Dave.”

Dad’s proclamation was enough to really knock the wind, the socks and just about everything else off and out of my poor mother. But the good sport that she is, mom didn’t say much. She gently assured dad of her love for him and that she would be okay. In the back of her mind she was probably thinking, David Andrews! He’s Diana’s husband, Ew! Then again, maybe mom didn’t take what he said seriously.

After all, dad had a lot, and I mean a lot, of morphine pumping through his body.

Shortly after midnight on March 6, 1996 Dad began a new life free of pain as he slipped into the presence of our Savior. I can only imagine his joy. Mom, Scott, David, grandma and I witnessed the event. It was the most precious moment of my life, next to my wedding day and the birth of my children, it was also the most tragic.

When you are grieving life seems to stand still, but as much as you’d like to hide under your covers, hold your breath and wait for things to get better or just give up all together, God shows up and reveals a new season. Winter turned into spring rather quickly the year of dad’s death. And those spring days found mom and Dave spending a lot of time together, taking long walks strictly as friends, both knowing the tragedy of loosing a spouse.

On one such walk, mom, trying to be funny, gently joked about dad’s last words to her, saying something along the line of “You’ll never guess what Steve said to me when he was on all of the morphine…” She proceeded to tell Dave of dad’s shot as a matchmaker. Dave didn’t laugh. Looking into her eyes Dave told mom that at the end of Diana’s life she whispered to her mother-in-law that if anything ever happened to my dad, if the cancer returned and his life ended, she knew that David was to marry my mom. I don’t know how long it took mom to recover from that one. What I do know is that something changed that afternoon between mom and Dave, something completely unexpected, something new and very beautiful.

You see, the great love story is that God brings beauty in times of despair. Just when life seems to end as we know it, he brings something fresh and completely unexpected. The enemy will try his hardest to tear us apart, hoping that we will be ruined by the trials we face. But the Bible tells us that God is in control. “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them” Romans 8:28. Not only is he in control, but the Bible tells us in Psalm 56 that God is so near to the broken-hearted that he keeps track of all of their sorrows and actually collects their tears in his bottle. God was with my family as we said good-bye to dad. I know this without a doubt. And although it was completely unexpected and honestly difficult at the time, God was with us when mom said that she loved David and would marry him. None of this took God by surprise. He knows the plans He has for us, and they are good plans, safe plans, plans we can trust him with (Jeremiah 29:11).

I promised you a love story. And what I delivered was probably not the kind of love story you expected, but it was a love story all the same. I don’t know what your life experiences are. I don’t know what your walk with God is like or what this Valentine’s Day holds for you. But I do know God, I know him well. He knows you well. And he wants you to know him well. Since before time began, he has written a beautiful love story on each of our hearts. Right now he is speaking to your heart. If you haven’t already, he longs to help you discover how much he loves you and cares for you even when life isn’t going the way you thought it would go. I challenge you to open your heart to him. I promise that you will encounter the greatest adventure of your life and the greatest love story ever experienced.

Christmas Angel

02.23.2017 by Nicole Kristin Twedt //

Originally from December 2010

My dad was first diagnosed with cancer in the early nineties. Although dad was in remission at the time, in the fall of 1994 the board of firefighters recommended an early retirement from his career as a firefighter. He had survived the deadly battle of cancer, but his body was no longer able to fight fires. Early retirement presented a huge financial burden for my parents. Mom was a stay-at-home mom and dad was now retired with a pension half his normal salary. Money would be tight and Christmas was just around the corner.

But money was not my parents only concern that weekday afternoon. Dad’s cancer was back. My parents were crushed. Dread filled their hearts as they neared our family home in Shoreline. They would have to tell my brother and me that cancer had returned. And this time the prognosis wasn’t positive. To make matters worse, mom and dad didn’t have the money to provide for Christmas the way our family was used to celebrating. Not that Christmas was about the presents, but mom’s heart broke with the thought of the financial pressure they faced at this time of the year. The Lord’s birth was always the central focus of Christmas in our family, but how could she ignore the festivities of this special holiday when this could very well be dad’s last Christmas?

Like many family homes, ours had two main entrances, the front door for visitors and a side door adjoining the driveway for close friends, neighbors and family. Earlier that afternoon, my brother Scott and I returned home from school to find an envelope taped behind the screen of our side door. Certain this was a note from my youth group’s Secret Santa, I ripped the envelope open. What I found inside was a typed note attached to a bundle of bills. Knowing this was clearly not for me, but a blessing for my family, Scott and I shoved the money back in the little envelope and anxiously awaited the return of our parents.

Knowing nothing of this financial blessing, dread seeped into my parents’ hearts as they neared our home. But something caught the corner of their eyes as they slowly turned down our steep driveway to the little house in Shoreline. We had a large picture window in the front of our home. And to their surprise, my parents could plainly see Scott and me jumping and dancing around the living room like wild hooligans. Teenagers at the time, Scott and I were not prone to such displays of emotion or excitement. Mom and dad knew something was up.

As soon as we saw their little Geo pull up, Scott and I dashed to meet them. We threw our arms around our parents, laughing and crying, oblivious to the news we would ultimately hear. When we finally let go of them, with tears streaming down our bright eyes, we presented our findings. Slowly, mom and dad opened the envelope to discover ten crisp one hundred dollar bills with a typed letter explaining that we were not supposed to know who the money was from but that we had a friend who knew that we needed a little extra help this Christmas. As a family we praised God, rejoicing that an anonymous friend, a Christmas Angel, had it on their heart to bless us with a generous gift when our family needed it most.

Then came the hard part. Once inside, mom and dad sat us down and explained all that they had learned from the doctor. With more tears, Scott and I learned that dad’s cancer was back and that his future didn’t look promising. Ironically, it started to rain at this point. But when all of our questions were asked and answered around our dining room table, mom and I looked up through the sliding glass door and noticed that it had stopped raining. There, to our surprise, was a glorious rainbow, bright in color and promise. Immediately I was reminded about God’s covenant with Noah. The Lord would protect and bless our family, even in the deadly realm of cancer.

Over 15 years has passed since we were visited by the Christmas Angel. Still, the verse from Jeremiah is clearly impressed upon my heart when I think back to that late fall afternoon: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).

I once thought that God sent the rainbow and the Christmas Angel as a promise that nothing was going to happen to my dad, that cancer would never take his life; and that we would always have plenty of money for Christmas presents. Now I understand that the promise extends past the physical world and into the eternal, spiritual world. There is no promise against cancer. There are no promises that we will always have the funds needed to celebrate Christmas elaborately. That’s not the point, is it? However, God promises something better. He loves His children so much. He has something better planned for us than what we understand from our given circumstances. We will go through trials, believe me we will, but He is always there. And what He kindly offers is a love relationship with him that stands against even death.

Merry Christmas.

Hygge

02.23.2017 by Nicole Kristin Twedt //

Originally a MOPS Mentor Moment, January 2017

I love words. And I have a new favorite word to share with you. I’m going to geek out a bit and introduce you to the Oxford Dictionaries’ 2016 word of the year: Hygge. Hygge is a Danish practice that’s all about creating a warm atmosphere and enjoying the simple things in life with your people. Instead of fighting against the colder months of the year, Hygge embraces them. It’s the art of getting cozy in a difficult season.

Hygge is how I view motherhood. The days are hard but filled with moments worth embracing. The baby might be teething and the preschooler is having an epic meltdown, but we get to hold them in our arms and comfort them. We won’t get to do this for long. Just ask my now 10, 8 and 5-year-old. They don’t want me to hold them.

Hygge reminds me of the verse “…Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise (Philippians 4:8b).” Paul wasn’t talking about winter or motherhood when he wrote to the Philippians, I know. But his letter reminds me to cling to the hidden gems throughout my days and hold onto them during challenging moments. I urge you to gather your friends, perhaps a few from MOPS, and embrace this season of life instead of fight against it.

Originally, I was going to end this little hygge/motherhood analogy with the “whatever is lovely” verse, give a few examples of how you can get cozy with your kids, and call it a day. But I need to add something. It’s okay not to feel the love all the time and cherish every moment of the season. There’s nothing pretty about projectile vomit. Potty training is messy. Tantrums in the middle of Costco are terrible, I know, I’ve been there. And sometimes, we need to seek professional help or find a safe person to talk to before we can truly embrace the season. And that’s okay, too. Because this season you are in, the season of raising little ones, it’s hard work.

You also need to know that God is there. He is there in the Costco aisle when your kid is screaming from the cart and you want to scream along with him. True story. He is there in the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. when your baby has her days and nights mixed up and you haven’t slept since you can’t remember when. He’s close enough to hear a whisper. He hears your battle cry, and the wail of your broken heart. He sees your silent tear before it falls. He collects it in his bottle. That’s actually a verse. Psalm 56:8 says, “You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”

I love the idea of Hygge, of getting cozy and embracing the season, especially the season of motherhood. I loved having tiny ones in our home. But if I’m honest, I have to say I’m a little shell-shocked from it all. My husband and I have battle wounds from raising children, mostly from strong-willed toddlers and preschoolers. I’m giving you permission to look for the lovely in mothering but also acknowledge the ugly because life with littles is filled with tender moments but it’s also very hard. And it’s okay to say it out loud.

Lord, help us rise to the task of doing what you called us to do. Help each mama here take notice of the glories along the way. Help us know we are not alone and remind us to cry out to you for help. Restore us so we can go from here, free to love and care for the little people and the big people you’ve given us. In Jesus’s name, Amen.