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A Miracle on May 26th

A Miracle on May 26th

by Kaitlyn Bouchillon | May 26, 2015 | Broken and Raw, Community, Faithful, friendship

Hey Jesus, You know I whispered and shouted and repeated these words one thousand times and still they’re much too small, much too insignificant, completely unworthy of what You deserve. But thank you. Thank you one million times over. For the way grass feels in...

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MY BOOK // Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between

Even If Not: Living, Loving and Learning in the in Between

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Even the most overwhelming and seemingly impossibl Even the most overwhelming and seemingly impossible of circumstances is no match for the One who holds it all and says “this isn’t too much for Me.”⁣ ⁣ Our circumstances don’t change His character and although our Right Now might be a lot, His hands are not too full.⁣ ⁣ We have a God who doesn’t tease, who sees the end from the beginning, and has promised to bring us all the way Home. No matter what tomorrow brings, He will carry us through.⁣ —⁣ I filmed this video to go alongside an article for @incourage. “I’ll Hold It With You” went live in January, but the moment in the video happened in early fall after many months of waiting for appointments and a diagnosis. Cancer keeps weaving its way back into our family story, climbing into another chapter, leaving its fingerprints year after year. But here, in between another surgery & waiting for results and next steps, I found myself going back to this now-old video of a still-true promise. “Thank you” is small, but thank you for praying for my dad on Friday. Recovery is going well and after how the last surgery went, we have so much relief and gratitude. If you’re in an in between, in a season of everything, or holding both hope and heartache today—my prayer is that this meets you right in that middle place and gently reminds you: you yourself are held. #evenifnotbook
Would you pray for my dad?⁣ ⁣ We’re just shy Would you pray for my dad?⁣ ⁣ We’re just shy of one year since this round of cancer started. Out of respect and privacy, I held the storyline close. When surgery didn’t go as planned Christmas week, with his blessing I shared words from the still-waiting room. You can’t know how impactful it was to read your comments and prayers. There were hundreds, and after months of keeping quiet, it was a gift to know others were coming alongside to intercede on his/our family’s behalf.⁣ ⁣ A few hours into surgery in December, the phone rang and the surgeon said “Unfortunately we need to stop. The path isn’t clear. We’ll set up a meeting to discuss next steps.” When I asked dad about publicly sharing this next step, he said “Yes, please ask them to pray. I truly believe that prayers have cleared our way so far.”⁣ ⁣ A path that isn’t clear -> prayers that cleared the way.⁣ ⁣ Surgery begins at 12 tomorrow. We would be really grateful for your prayers—for a clear path that leads to clear margins and for peace as we wait. Tonight I’m re-reading December’s words and remembering we don’t know what tomorrow holds, but we can rest in knowing who holds tomorrow. It sounds like a cliché. Turns out, it’s an anchor in the waves. ⁣ ⁣ “At the end of a year with wave after wave and wait after wait, here’s what I’ve found to hold true:⁣ ⁣ 💛Hope often grows in the dark.⁣ 💛Our circumstances don’t change God’s character. He isn’t flimsy and He doesn’t tease.⁣ 💛My understanding of time is outrageously limited. He sees it all—literally everything for everyone for all time. Every single step is known to Him and He cannot be taken by surprise.⁣ 💛If I trust His heart, then I can also trust His hand. God will not be rushed, but neither will He be late.⁣ 💛Our waiting will not be wasted; He’s with us in this room too. Drawing closer even now, coming to walk us all Home.⁣ ⁣ However 2023 goes, Hope will hold. Even the most overwhelming and seemingly impossible of circumstances is no match for the One who holds it all and says “this isn’t too much for me.” Goodness is coming after us (Psalm 23:6), sitting with us in every waiting room. He really is going to carry us through.”⁣ ⁣ (Thank you!! 🫶🏻)
For now, there’s mercy like manna in a muddy pla For now, there’s mercy like manna in a muddy place. But it won’t be long until heartache is swallowed up by hope. The valley is never the end, for the valley itself is a door. We’re passing through.⁣ ⁣ We may not know the how or the when or why the valley seems to be stretching on so long, but we can trust the One who will carry us through, can settle into His arms instead of setting up camp.⁣ ⁣ We have a God who fills the valleys to overflowing, who takes places of deep heartache and makes them doorways of hope.⁣ ⁣ We have a God who can turn things around, who swallowed death and then spoke resurrection.⁣ ⁣ We have a God who stays with us in the storm and says “this won’t be the end of the story.”⁣ ⁣ The trail tells a story of destruction today, but the sky sings another song. The branches above are bare, but between them stretches an expanse of bright blue. The storm had something to say, but the sun arrived and a place of loss is coming back to life.⁣ ⁣ He’s a God of resurrection, not resignation.⁣ ⁣ Already, all is being made new.
Sometimes we fill out all the paperwork, knowing i Sometimes we fill out all the paperwork, knowing it’s the first of multiple visits to the waiting room with the fake flowers and the seats arranged like we’re about to play musical chairs. Sometimes the hoped for, prayed for, longed for and long-awaited answer arrives. Sometimes what is dead stays in the grave.⁣ ⁣ I just keep re-reading John 11. The sisters reach out to Jesus, He intentionally waits, and Lazarus dies. Tears run, time ticks, and Jesus arrives. We know what’s coming, the shortest verse that means the world: Jesus wept. But between the coming and the weeping, there’s a conversation. Martha hears that He’s here and she hurries with her questions, her grief, her confusion, and her audacious faith. She’s completely confident He could have changed the outcome—scratch that, could still change the outcome.⁣ ⁣ It’s in THIS moment, with a body decaying and a God who is seemingly late, that Jesus first declares “I am the resurrection and the life.” I'm over here doing a double-take but Martha replies “I believe.”⁣ ⁣ I’m left sitting with this: If we have Him, we have both. Even in confusion, grief and loss. Even as we wait for answers and wonder what story this page will tell. Even, somehow, in death. Resurrection and life are ours, already and always written onto the pages, because Jesus comes and He’s enough.⁣ ⁣ Here's what I know: Resurrection doesn’t look just like the “before,” doesn’t rewind time. But it’s worth every minute waiting, every refusal to give up hope, because it’s a miracle—a right-on-time, abundantly-more miracle. God might intentionally wait, but He won’t be late. The One who is the resurrection and the life doesn’t waste our hurt or our hope.⁣ ⁣ We stand in the ashes. We wipe the tears. We sit in waiting rooms. We bring our questions and our hopes. We turn to the next chapter and He comes close, flips the page back. “Look again, love,” He seems to say. “I am who I always am.”⁣ ⁣ He is who He is who He is. And so “as for me, I will always have hope.” (Psalm 71:14)⁣ ⁣ 💛 Resurrection might be on the way, walking toward us right this very minute.
Honestly, I often want a guarantee on what I’m h Honestly, I often want a guarantee on what I’m hoping for. More often than not, Hope just holds out a hand and joins me in the waves.⁣ ⁣ One day we’ll look back on whatever story this chapter is going to tell, our eyes skimming the underlined and tear-stained and highlighted pages of the days currently yet to be. They probably won’t go how we think they will. Things will shift and change and splinter, storms will rage and waters rise or maybe, may it be, the sea will still for a moment. Who knows what we’ll see when we look back, but we could still look forward with hope, let the armor rust and end up ending the year a little softer. I guess what I’m saying is that if I’m going to shift, I want it to be in the direction of hope. Not the cheesy, flimsy, rainbows and unicorns kind but the hard-fought, not giving up, through thick or thin, anchor in the waves kind. Because it has yet to go how I think it will, but through every change this has stayed the same: I haven’t walked alone.⁣ ⁣ So... here’s to here. May we be surprised by joy and steadied by peace. May we trust in the dark what we know to be true in the Light, and may we never stop watching for, begging for, believing for redemption. May we dare to laugh, long and loud. May we rest without prerequisites. May we love well, tend to the tender places, forgive and try again. May we learn to build altars in the ruins and may we always find a hand reaching out when all falls apart. May we become fluent in the language of hope.⁣ —⁣ I wrote this at the start of 2022, but I need it in a new way today. Need to declare it all over again. So, a few edits to add in words for now and a repeat of the rest because yes, still, always—hopeward.
I’m writing today to say that sometimes when we I’m writing today to say that sometimes when we think we’ve been buried, we’ve been planted. I’m writing today to remind you that roots come before branches.⁣ ⁣ There are seasons when we’re blooming, when life is evident here and there and seemingly everywhere. The sun shines, the buds break, the birds sing. Life, beauty, goodness. Also: There are seasons when we’re stripped bare, barely hanging on but refusing to let go of hope, determined not to give up as we wait with anticipation. And I guess I’d just like to remind us today that that’s beautiful, too. There’s life and goodness there, too.⁣ ⁣ Like the rings of a tree, season by season, we grow and change and become. But long before flowers bloom or birds perch on branches reaching out, roots must take hold. It’s only as they sink deeper that the tree grows taller. Before there are branches, before there’s much of anything to see above ground, a miracle must happen in the depths.⁣ ⁣ We’re coming up on Easter, on a story with a burial that was actually a planting. A story that reminds us Hope is familiar with the dark, the dirt, the deep. From Eden to Gethsemane to a resurrection morning when He was ‘mistaken’ as a Gardener (she wasn’t wrong), we see a God who creates life from the dirt, who brings beauty from the depths, who makes even the darkest of days good.⁣ ⁣ I don’t know what season you’re in. Maybe it’s one of visible growth. Maybe you’re planting your feet and waiting, watering, watching. Or maybe the rain won’t let up and you’re trying to hang on as the storm strengthens the roots that are growing deeper still. What I do know is that He knows about seasons, and the promise is that He’s with us in every one, growing good things while preparing what’s to come.⁣ ⁣ In the hidden spaces and the defiant hope, a miracle.⁣ In the deep darkness and the flower blooming, life.⁣ In the quiet seasons and the birds chirping, beauty.⁣ In the long wait and the persistent joy, goodness.⁣ ⁣ If you’re praying for, watching for, waiting for a miracle in the depths? Leave a 🌱 below. It would be my honor to pray for you today. I'm there too, but oh friend, we have a good Gardener. We can keep watch together.
“It’s going to be okay. We know how the story “It’s going to be okay. We know how the story ends.”⁣ ⁣ The night is deep, yes. Sometimes it’s so very, very deep. But always, light runs deeper.⁣ ⁣ Even in the seasons that feel like one long Good Friday, the story beneath the story is one of hope.⁣ ⁣ Even when the darkness is surrounding and suffocating, God hasn’t gone anywhere.⁣ ⁣ Even when we cannot see a way, God will not turn away.⁣ ⁣ He is trustworthy and true, and the One who is the end knows exactly how the story ends.⁣ ⁣ The Word gets the final word, and it’s guaranteed to be good.⁣ ⁣ Our hope is secure. The promise is sure. Dawn is already on the way. ✨
My favorite made-up holiday, inspired by the groce My favorite made-up holiday, inspired by the grocery clerk who made fun of me for "having to buy my own Valentine's Day flowers”, came and went last week. There were 217 things to do before my baby brother’s wedding on Sunday, but you better believe I continued the tradition when I got back to Birmingham.⁣ ⁣ I don’t know his name, but all these years later, I’d like to thank him. Not for his words (Sir, no. Not okay in any way.) but for the reminder of redemption that appears like clockwork. I can still remember how the blood rushed to my cheeks, still remember the confusion, the surprise, the shame.⁣ His cutting remark left a mark. But exactly 365 days later, I declared it to be Buy The Flowers Day, drove to the store and bought a bouquet of my favorites: tulips.⁣ ⁣ It’s tradition now. I legitimately look forward to it, this stubborn declaration, this on-purpose celebration, this picture of a hard-fought and wrestled-out truth: There is joy and there is grief, often at the very same time, but God does not waste our hurt or our hope.⁣ ⁣ Another year has passed and He has remained faithful. The calendar pages have turned, but He has not turned away. The truth is, many dreams have died. This isn’t what I pictured, the life I thought I wanted. Also true, at the very same time? God has been abundantly more. And this right here, this life full of ordinary days and mundane moments and unexpected heartaches? It’s actually spectacular in one million regular ways.⁣ ⁣ Here’s what I know: We can be sad and grateful at the same time. We can smile as tears fill our eyes. We can say “this isn’t what I would have written” while trusting that God doesn’t make mistakes and He sees the entire storyline.⁣ ⁣ We haven’t been forgotten or overlooked. We aren’t falling behind. We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be today, and this chapter is not a mistake. So friend? Don’t pause your life for Some Day. Go ahead and buy the flowers, literal or metaphorical. There really is good right here, right now, and today is worth celebrating. #beautifulordinarynow⁣ #buytheflowers #evenifnotbook #whatifitswonderful
Yesterday, I sat on crinkly doctor’s office pape Yesterday, I sat on crinkly doctor’s office paper & filled a prescription on the way home from the Ash Wednesday service. Today I’ll swallow a tiny pill & get my hopes up that it breaks the 5:30am pattern, brings relief from 12-year-long streak & helps me finally get some sleep.⁣ ⁣ “It kinda feels like one really long Lent, God.” I whispered, ashes on my head and prescription in my hand.⁣ ⁣ It’s a temporary thing—a month-long experiment that happens (the irony) to fall during Lent. It’s another middle place, another hope-full risk, another invitation to say it all over again: “I know You could come through how I’m asking, I know You could heal, but I’ll love & trust You even if You don’t.⁣⁣ No matter what, I’ll choose to believe You’re good.”⁣ ⁣ 7 years ago today, #EvenIfNotBook released into the world. 7 years later, I could write a book titled Even If Not, Again. Trust me, I would have Big Time hesitated if I knew you just keep being invited to live out what you already lived and wrote out. Hear me, though: what was true then is still true now—He is good on every single page.⁣ ⁣ I truly believe it’s a kind companion all year-round, but there’s something about the “and” (&) of Lent—the in between & the waiting, the longing & anticipation, the undercurrent of joy in deep grief, the holding of both disappointment & delight, the heartache & the hope in the messy middle of it all—that makes me want to pass out copies to everyone. Money is real so I can’t exactly do that, but I keep an extra on hand and I’d love to gift it away!⁣ ⁣ No need to tag someone or follow me here. Just raise your hand below if you or someone you love would appreciate a copy—and you're entered. I'll randomly select one comment on Friday & drop a signed book by the post office Saturday, in hopes that it arrives quickly and is a kind companion this season.⁣ ⁣ I don't know the "and" or long-lasting Lent you're living, but I can promise you this: you are not alone, you are loved, & Easter is coming.⁣ ⁣ (Not sure if EIN is a good fit for you or a friend? Swipe on the slides above for the book description.) (Not sponsored. Paid for by yours truly. The end.)
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