Can God Find Me Anywhere? Even in a Restroom?

By Lori Freeland –

I ran down the hall desperate for a quiet place to meet God. Around the corner, through an old wooden door, an alcove hid a tiny restroom in the north end of the hospital. I pushed through the door and locked myself in the cold, grey refuge of the single stall. A knot formed in my chest, tight and suffocating.

“Lord, please. I need to be alone. Don’t let anyone need to use this restroom.”I stared at the chipped, stained tiles. Would God meet me here? In a worn, broken down, dirty restroom?

Footsteps echoed outside the door. I held my breath as they paused, then continued on.

Unexpected laughter bubbled up and I sagged down onto the worn toilet seat, balancing over the oval shaped hole. Even if this was an odd venue to beg for Kyle’s life—it painted an accurate picture of the day.

Was it better to leap right into the begging or make a bunch of lame promises first? God knew it all anyway. And my time alone was limited. Straight to the begging seemed the best option.

“First, I need you to forgive me. For getting too busy for You. Please don’t be too busy for me.” I flexed my foot, moved my ankle in a circle. Fixated on my dirty shoes.

The air conditioner kicked on and I slid forward on the seat.

Shaky laughter escaped, echoing through the bathroom. “Lord, please. I don’t want to do this. I’m not strong enough. The whole concept of You only give what I can handle? Well, I can’t handle it.”

I rubbed my palms along the rough fabric of my jeans. “I don’t want to handle it. So maybe we could do something else instead? Something easier? I could get sick.”

I stared at my wedding ring. Watched the diamond sparkle under the fluorescent light. “Or Pat? He could get sick. What about a fire? Tornado?” My bitten off nails dug into my legs. “Pat could lose his job. That would be character building.”

I squeezed my eyes together. “Pick something else. Please. I’m begging from a toilet seat.”

I paused to give God time think it over. But there was no great booming voice.

“You could wave the last few days away.”

The air conditioner chugged louder. Tears escaped and I turned my face to wipe them against my shoulder. “This isn’t supposed to be my life.”

The shape of the hard porcelain indented the bottom of my thighs so I stood. “You’re not letting me out of this, are You?” I sagged against the smooth metal wall. Slid down to the floor.

“I guess we’re going with cancer then.” Goosebumps formed on my back where my tank top scooped down.

“I can’t do this alone. And I can’t waste time and energy wondering if You caused this, or allowed this, or could have stopped this. I need to feel Your love, Your goodness. Every day. You are my rock.”

Tears rolled down my face—no point in trying to stop them. As the tears flowed, the hard knot inside my chest stretched and softened.

Still no booming voice.

But for the first time in days, my shoulders relaxed. A verse filled my head. “If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” (Psalm 139:8 NIV). God could find me anywhere. He could fill me anywhere.

That day, six years ago, God found me in the restroom of the Children’s Hospital. He heard my plea and answered. No, He didn’t take it away or swap it out for something else. But He met me where I was, in that dirty old broken down restroom, lifted me up and reminded me why He was my rock. Throughout the entire four-year journey, I walked alongside my son with God as the glue that held us together. And not for one minute did I question His love.

The Uninvited

By Lori Freeland –

Dinner begins—I look at my watch—now.

Cars have pulled in and out of my neighbor’s driveways for the last half-hour. Babysitters arrive. Smartly dressed couples depart. From my perch on the window ledge, I admire Melissa’s sapphire holiday dress and envy Dawn’s red high heels. Even though I can’t see up close, I’m sure Jen sports glittery earrings to accent her new haircut.

A swift glance down at my black sweat pants and stained white T-shirt is enough to remind me that I’m not going to this holiday dinner.

My husband peeks around the corner. “Let’s go eat sushi at Geisha.”

“Not in the mood.”

He comes to stand behind me. “Fajitas at Cristina’s?”

George and Cathye are last to drive away and I yank the curtains closed with a sigh and shake my head. “I have a stomach ache.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” His footsteps fade behind me.

We’re good neighbors. We mow our lawn, water our grass, pull our weeds. We drive down the street slowly, constantly vigilant of small children. We pet sit and mail collect. Rescue the occasional dog. We throw an annual barbeque. But tonight, we’re The Uninvited.

I’ve never been The Uninvited.

We must’ve done something wrong. I’m tired of trying to figure out what. Which drives me crazier? That we are the only people on the street not going? Or knowing that The Inviter made up her mind to dislike me, and nothing I do will change that? Maybe I’d feel better if I knew why, even if I can’t fix it.

I drop onto the chaise lounge in the living room and rest my head against the burgundy throw. No matter how many friends my husband reminds me that I have, it doesn’t help tonight. People are mean. I would never treat anyone that way.

The Lord whispers in my ear. “Are you sure?”

I grip the arms of the chair. “I would never be so callous with someone’s feelings.”

The whisper grows louder. “Remember when Caroline struggled with friendships and you told her to adjust?”

Hmmm.

“Remember when Ann mourned a broken relationship and you told her she was obsessed? You said walk away and let it go?”

Uh-oh.

“Remember when Julie shared her feelings of alienation in your old neighborhood and you brushed her feelings off as paranoid?”

I am callous. And mean. I offer my friends paltry words, blow off their feelings when I should encourage and validate them instead.

A tear slips down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Lord. I didn’t know.”

Until now, rejection has lived outside my world. Or maybe, until now, I’ve been obliviously unaware.

“Be a blessing with your words.” The Lord encourage sme. “A generous man will prosper; he who refreshes others will himself be refreshed” (Proverbs 11:25 NIV).

I long to be refreshed. I want Him to heal the awful ache eating through my heart.

“You be the refresher.”

“Yes, Lord. I will.” I close my eyes and make a note to call my friends and ask their forgiveness—to let them know I finally get it.

My husband leans around the corner with a frown. “Crazy people talk to themselves. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” With a tiny smile, in the midst of tears, I wipe my eyes on the corner of my ratty shirt. “Let me change my clothes and let’s go out for sushi.”

And Always Be Thankful

By Lori Freeland –

With a sigh, I drop into my favorite overstuffed chair and rest my cheek against the green tweed fabric. Leftover turkey, green beans, and mashed potatoes, brown with gravy, litter white plates scattered across the counter. The spicy aroma of warm pumpkin pie floats into the family room.

My boys tear through the room, flashing silver foam swords, my husband on their trail. He scoops them up and plops them down on the couch next to my sister and my grandpa.

“Turn the game up, I can’t hear the score,” My mom yells from the kitchen.

The dishwasher clicks on and I tune out the soft hum and close my eyes. Full of warmth and family, the day seems perfect. Yet, something is missing—the picture incomplete.

Grandma’s absence fills the room.

The smooth scent of vanilla slides over me. A hand rests on my shoulder and I cover it with mine—trace the bumpy veins on loose, spongy skin. I open my eyes.

Grandma kneels beside my chair, dressed in her favorite outfit—blue sweater, matching pumps, and pearl clip-on earrings.

I bite my lip. She’s not supposed to be here.

A smile warms her face. “I just want you to know that I’m okay.”

“It’s not the same without you.” I squeeze her hand and lean my head against hers. “I miss your hugs.”

Her fingers comb through my hair. “I miss yours, too.”

“Mom made your pistachio salad. It was all wrong. She put in the nuts.”

With a laugh, she kisses my cheek.

A harsh buzz shatters the moment. Startled, I sit up in bed. My husband snores softly by my side. I hit snooze on the alarm and fall back against the pillow.

It had only been a dream.

And now it’s too late. Too late to tell her how much she meant to me. Too late to hug her and realize what I had.

My husband rolls over and rubs his eyes. When I take the time to think about it, there are so many things I’m grateful for—like when he takes out the garbage and scoops out the cat litter. He’s made dinner on my tired days more times than I can count.

I roll over and scoot down so I can face him. “I love you.”

With a sigh, he pulls me close. “I love you, too.”

My hand rests against the rough stubble of his cheek and I breathe him in. I want to live in this moment, be grateful for what I have right now.

“Thanks for putting away the laundry yesterday and coming home early to drive Maddy to church.”

Surprise lights his eyes and, after he stares at me for a moment, a huge smile lights his face. “You’re welcome.”

As he holds me, I think of my kids still asleep, under their covers. How many hugs have I pushed off, busy with the drive to finish this or that? How many times have I punished their bad choices and neglected to praise their good choices?

My devotional reading from early in the week drifts through my mind.

“And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts. For as members of one body you are called to live in peace. And always be thankful” (Colossians 3:15 NIV).

Thankfulness. Something I don’t spend much time pondering. It will take a conscious decision, some deliberate prioritizing, and major prayer to make a permanent attitude change. But it will be worth it. My grandma may be gone, but my husband and my kids are here.

After a soft kiss on my husband’s cheek, I climb out of bed to wake my kids up with a hug. I can’t wait to tell them how special I think they are!

September

By Lori Freeland –

I have a love/hate relationship with the month of September.

Strolling the Back to School aisles of Target, tossing twenty-five cent crayons, pencils and glue sticks into my cart, gets me giddy. Pretty folders decorated with kittens and flowers beckon to me, while the notebook aisle disperses that new paper smell and packages of dollar markers, with their untouched ink-filled tips, whisper of new beginnings.

Yet in the midst of my back-to-school euphoria, lurking just around the corner is heaviness, a foreshadowing of all the labor that is to come, and it slips down around my shoulders like a mantle, harnessing me until Spring.

For the last three years, since my homeschooling career began, I have wrestled with all that September offers.

September offers an end to chaos, re-instating organization, neatness, schedules, activities and goals. Skyrocketed bedtimes plummet back to earth. Family dinner hour resurfaces. My calendar, filled with weekly repetition, makes expectations clear.

September also offers an end to spontaneity, stifling my impulsive nature. No more sleeping in or late night TV. No more ordering out or yelling, “Get your own!” No more spur of the moment afternoon movies and days at the pool—there are too many things on the schedule for that!

It’s love/hate because it’s hard to pick a side. Chaotic “make up your own rules” days vs. “consistent know what to expect” days. I love order and structure—but not if I’m tied to them!

Does God understand my war?

He does! The Bible promises He is always the same, never changing, and dependable without fail. In Revelation 1:8 (NIV) God tells me that He is the “…Alpha and the Omega…who is, and who was, and who is to come…” And Hebrews 13:8 (NIV) assures me that, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”

Yet, God’s character is still filled with novelty and my relationship with Him never needs to be idle. There is always a fresh start. “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:18-20, NIV).

As I press on through September, going from one extreme to another, I know that I am not walking this path alone and I love that God understands me, even in all my strangeness and contradiction. He sprints beside me through my chaotic impulsiveness and marches evenly alongside me through my structured organization. And one day when my kids are grown and gone, we will make a brand new path together. Although, I think September may always lure me in with its nostalgic memories and my desire to reconcile the two sides of myself.

Lori Freeland is a freelance author from Dallas, TX, with a passion to share her experiences in hopes of connecting with other women tackling the same issues. She holds a bachelor’s degree in psychology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and is a full time homeschool mom. In addition to the articles she is writing for The Christian Pulse, she is currently working on her first novel, based on the journey her family has taken in the world of pediatric cancer.

Giving It Up

By Lori Freeland –

“Lord, please. I can’t.”

My anxiety is a vise, the more I struggle, the tighter it grips, wringing the air from my lungs. Read more

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