Going to check the mail was extraordinarily fun last week. Not because our new mailbox stands up straight and has a door on it, but because I found a wonderful gift from my friend Lysa waiting for me…
Kevin and I met Lysa while we were at CBN in Virginia Beach. Lysa was on The 700 Club the same day we were and I’ve enjoyed reading her blog and getting to know her through email ever since. I couldn’t wait to open the package she sent, so I tore into it right there in the driveway. I started reading her book immediately. Acknowledgments, Introduction, Part One, Chapter One…I read them all out loud, to Kevin. Her words immediately resonated with me, and I look forward to blogging more about the book when I’m done reading it.
Today, we are so excited to have Lysa here as our special guest poster. So grab a cup of something warm, make yourself comfortable, and be prepared to be moved by her touching story…
by Lysa TerKeurst
Last year my husband and I traveled to Vermont where I woke up one morning to stare at what an overnight snow storm brought us. I had never seen such snow in all my live long day. But what really caught my attention were gigantic icicles hanging from the roof line. They were perfect. As I stared out at them, suddenly a memory flashed across the screen of my mind. It was about my Dad. My biological Dad. The one who abandoned me a long time ago and who knows nothing about my life now. I don’t have very many memories of him. And the ones I do have aren’t that great. If I let my mind dwell on the gaping hole he left in my heart, I get sad even to this day. God has been so good to help me see that I am not the child of a broken parent any longer- that I am a child of God. I am loved. I am treasured. I am wanted. But sometimes, this nagging thought sneaks into the crevices of my heart and I start wondering, why didn’t my Daddy love me? That’s why this icicle memory brought such joy to my heart. It is a good memory of my Dad. It rushed into my mind that morning in a way that brought a fresh, gleaming perspective.
I grew up in Florida which meant no snow- ever. But I remember praying for snow. Praying like a revival preacher at a tent meeting I tell ya. If ever there could be snow in Florida, surely a passionate little girl’s prayers could open up those heavenly snowflake storehouses.
One night, the temperatures dropped surprisingly low, and the weather man called for a freeze. This was a rare thing in our area. How tragic there was no precipitation on this particular cold night. It was the one night that snow might have been possible. It broke my little snow bunny heart, but the next morning I awoke to icicles everywhere. Gleaming, dripping, hanging, light reflecting, glorious icicles were all over the trees in our back yard. It was magical.
We were the only house on the block with this grand winter display because I was the only girl whose Daddy thought to put out sprinklers on the one night it froze. I don’t know where this memory has been hiding for too many years. But what a gift. Somewhere in the deep, mysterious, broken places of my Dad’s heart, there was an inkling of love. I pray wherever he is today, he too remembers the night of the icicle wonder land. For it is a common thread of hope that ties too very distant hearts together…and that makes me smile.