I can only give you my word that every bit of this story is true.
I woke up early on Saturday morning. I was planning to make the two hour drive north to my family's farm to spend time with my parents, grandparents, and observe part of the harvest. I had a telephone call from my mom that morning while I was still in bed. Our dog,
Charley the wonderhound, had died suddenly and unexpectedly in the night. He was only six years old and apparently his heart just gave out. I can't explain this or reconcile this. I have talked about Charley
here before: if you missed his story, it is worth going back to read. He was an important member of our family and will be sorely missed.
Now I understand that Charley was "only a dog" and that there is grief bigger and wider and deeper in the spectrum of the human experience. My problem on Saturday morning was that the loss of Charley just reached deep down and pulled to the surface a greater loss. That is the thing with grief, I suppose. It doesn't just come and go, it leaves a trail of a lingering presence that is always there under the surface.
It has been a hard year, to be sure. Saturday morning, all I could do was look heavenward and call out loud, "really God? The dog too!!????"
Then I put both feet on the floor, got out of bed, into the car, and set out on my drive north through rural Indiana. I absolutely love a car ride by myself. There are certain situations where a long drive and blaring radio and a few hours worth of thoughts are the only medicine to begin to bandage the wound.
I listened to one of
my favorite songs on the radio as I was driving. The lyrics say, in part:
There’s a raging sea
Right in front of me
Wants to pull me in
Bring me to my knees
So let the waters rise
If You want them to
I will follow You
This was the perfect analogy for me on Saturday morning. Something can happen, your dog can die without reason, and suddenly the waters you thought you had learned to tread begin to rise suddenly, swiftly, without warning. Then you aren't just treading, but gasping for air and fighting the strong current.
I couldn't help but wonder-how high would the waters rise?
To distract myself from the thought of metaphorical drowning, I decided I would keep my eyes on the lookout for red barns along the side of the road. For some reason I just love red barns. I wanted to look for something happy during that drive, so I drove and I drove and I looked and I looked for red barns.
The first red barn I came across, I had to stop the car and take a picture.
I felt like God had met me there.
That I was looking across a barren field in the cool November wind to see God staring back at me.
Sometimes God sends an angel. I believe on Saturday He sent a red barn.
That is what I choose to believe.Turns out, God exceeded my expectations on Saturday. I counted
17 red barns on my 2 hour drive.
Every red barn I drove by, I couldn't help but feel chosen.
“You are my witness,” declares the Lord,
“and my servant whom I have chosen,
so that you may know and believe me
and understand that I am he."
Isaiah 43:10
I am glad I have the picture to prove the next part of this story. I arrived at my grandparents' house and saw this: the only framed piece of art in their entire living room.
And so again I heard him whisper . . .
"I am here."
Later that afternoon I was walking with my mom across ground that has been in our family for generations. My great grandfather lived on and farmed that piece of land and the only physical remnant of his life there is a barn that was built about the time of the Civil War.
And yes, it is red.
Or, it was red at one time. It is weathered and worn, but there is still a hint of red. If you look for it.
I did.
And then, in the midst of decades of rubble around that old barn, I literally stumbled on this abandoned sign laying flat on the ground.
My gosh, God can weave a good story.
And so I knew, then and there, as I took out my camera to bear witness to this story, I knew the following to be true: we may be in the midst of high water, but fear not.
For our savior WALKS ON WATER.
He has overcome the world.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
Isaiah 43:2
(felt banner says "Sail Away," I apologize for the horrendous quality of these photos!) 
So hopefully our fireplace will be similar to the one pictured above, although perhaps painted white. We are in the final stages of narrowing it down. I cannot wait to show you the finished project!
But until then, mentally, I'll be here:
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