Mary Graham

Trusty Chucks Blog

Every good and perfect gift

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Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. –James 1:17

Hot coffee on a quiet morning before the house wakes up.

The sun.

Food from the garden filling our bellies for dinner.

The sounds of Harper playing school with her stuffed animals when she’s supposed to be asleep.

The smell of a new book.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

The hard, uncomfortable conversations that lead to understanding.

A Shopkins bandaid on a fresh blister.

Sharing a loaf of banana bread with visitors.

Correction, gentle correction, in the form of an overdrawn bank account.

Lunches with my grandma.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Rest.

A new month on the calendar.

Those fifty minutes in counseling each week.

Clean bedding after a shower.

The end of an unhealthy friendship.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

A dog who doesn’t understand personal space when you’re trying to isolate yourself too much.

More coffee.

Being forgiven.

Forgiving.

When someone says, “I know it’s hard; I’m praying for you.”

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Lightening bugs over a cornfield.

Getting out of bed.

A green chip celebrating sixty days.

Trusting Him when you’re too broken to trust yourself.

Three orange Popsicles after the girls are in bed.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Friends who just sit with you, no need to talk.

Some more coffee.

Right now, in this moment, being okay.

A rug with fresh sweeper marks.

Water: by the glass, in a pool, from the clouds.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Learning there is no such thing as a coincidence.

Laughing. Crying. Then laughing again.

The ability to eat the raw cookie dough and not get sick.

Those three minutes my girls play nicely with each other.

Beginning again.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

Hope, even if you can’t find words to explain why.

Every good and perfect gift is from above…

His good and perfect gift—His eyes, His heart, His glory. Not mine. Not this world’s. Not for my understanding.

…coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights…

God who created the oceans and the mountains and the stars—He’s in control. He knows what’s happening. He loves.

…who does not change like shifting shadows.

The constant Creator in a world that doesn’t stop moving, is never quiet, doesn’t understand consistency.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. –James 1:17

weekend read: The Spider and the Fly

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This is, for now, the end. I’ve felt it for a minute, but couldn’t figure out how to actually do it. The end of the weekend read book reviews. For a while, I’ve felt it was a chore to write the reviews. I would stack finished books on my desk but never get around to writing about them. I’d forget to take a book picture before returning a borrowed book to the library. I’d start to write a review and then never come back to it. I dreaded having to write a post about a book I read. It took me longer than I’d like to admit to realize I don’t have to write them. This is my blog! I can do whatever I want! I don’t have to write book reviews! No one is the boss of me here! *leprechaun kick* For now, I’ll still be sharing books I read on my book Instagram account. What I imagine happening is maybe a monthly rundown of what I’ve read with just a short blurb about a book as opposed to a whole dedicated Saturday post. Who knows if that will actually happen or not. But for now, it’s goodbye weekend reads. Will they be back later? Will this go to the remember when? section like outfits posts and how-tos? No. One. Knows. 

Gulp. This book is super creepy.

The Spider and the Fly by Claudia Rowe is a true-crime story of a serial killer and the reporter who tries to figure him out. I need to start with saying, I’ve been listening to the My Favorite Murder podcast and apparently I have a morbid curiosity with murders. Do with that what you will.

So when I came across The Spider and the Fly at my local library, I added it to my stack without hesitation. The night I started reading it, I woke up at 3 AM absolutely terrified, sure someone was in my house getting ready to kill me.

Now I remember why I don’t read scary stories.

But still, this book memorized me. Rowe explores serial killer Kendall Francios’ life, reasons, and history to try and figure out what leads a man to become a serial killer. But Rowe doesn’t keep her distance from the story, she makes it personal, crossing lines reporters are told not to, and the story becomes about her redemption as well as Francios’ unraveling.

I couldn’t stop reading this book. It’s creepy and chilling and horrible. The Spider and the Fly by Claudia Rowe asks whether serial killers are truly human and relateable to all of us and the answers she finds will scare you. Read this one, but only with the lights on in the middle of the day. Okay, thanks.

Purchase a copy of The Spider and the Fly by Claudia Rowe here.

LOVE TALKING ABOUT BOOKS? ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ? WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING? FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS BOOK-RELATED: @THEMARYGRAHAMREADS.

pretty pictures and rotten air

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As we explored Yellowstone National Park last summer, I was struck with how nature-y it is.

Let’s pause and let that deep, well-written sentence sink in:

Yellowstone National Park is very nature-y.

Man, I’m good.

Here’s what I mean: so much of Yellowstone is overgrown, dead, and unattractive. Sure, you have the well-maintained, easily accessible, and beautiful popular, touristy parts, but off the beaten path things are less picturesque. There are dirty parts, parts you don’t want to take pictures of. There are fallen trees no one is interested in clearing away. There are dead animals rotting under bushes. There are obstructed views and burned out sections.

It isn’t all pretty and breathtaking. Some of it is gross.

Yellowstone National Park is overwhelmingly huge. We were there four days and felt we didn’t even see ten percent of it. When I pictured going to Yellowstone, I only imagined the parts I’ve seen on TV, the parts covered in magazines and online. The pretty parts.

I was kinda shocked at how much death, destruction, and decay we found in the park.

I see a lot of myself in Yellowstone: the contradiction between beautiful and ugly, life and death. The picturesque parts where things look magical and the underbelly of gross decay and death.

In the Old Testament, because the Israelites were that contradiction too, they couldn’t come before God. They were dirty and unclean–everyone knew it–so they had to have others go to God on their behalf. They had to bathe correctly, be ritually clean, not have had their periods for so many days beforehand. They had to clean themselves up before going to God. They had people, the Levite priests, who could do their bidding for them, making it easier to bring their sacrifices, their offerings, their praises.

The good news is we don’t have to do that now. I get to come to Jesus dirty, broken, and full of decay. I don’t have to pretend it’s all perfect and happy. I can come to him hurting, dull, and dead. I don’t have to clean up the outside while I’m dying on the inside. I get to allow my outsides and insides to match. I get to say I can’t do this on my own, I need help, and He’ll jump at the chance to bring life to me.

He isn’t shocked by the mess. He isn’t confused by the decay I have under the surface. He’s been in it the whole time. He’s been waiting for me to cry out.

Yellowstone has these huge hot springs. They are beautiful to see, the way nature has created out-of-this-world colors in the middle of the wilderness. But the pictures we see don’t share the whole story. What you also get when you visit the hot springs is stench. The heat, the water, the sulfur–it’s a little overwhelming and overpowering. This visually beautiful piece of earth is actually really, really stinky. Imagine boiled rotten eggs.

So you’re walking along these wooden paths build above the hot spring, taking breathtaking pictures to show off on social media and to print for the scrapbooks while trying not to breathe too deeply. There’s beauty and there’s stench. There’s picturesque and there’s rotten death.

That’s me.

For so long, I tried to clean up the mess on my own. I can handle my business. I know answers. I have solutions. I have a plan. I have a list. I have a savings account.

But then things started to happen that were completely out of my control.

Things I couldn’t handle.

Other people’s messes I couldn’t contain.

Questions I didn’t have answers to.

Things not on the plan or the list.

Problems my bank account couldn’t help.

Suddenly I couldn’t keep all the pieces together, I couldn’t keep the pretty-picture facade going. There was too much death and destruction and mess seeping through. Things were starting to get stinky. People were starting to notice.

And so I stopped trying.

Surrender sounded like defeat, but now it feels like freedom.

I don’t know the answers.

I can’t contain these messes.

I don’t know how to handle this situation, my broken heart, my messy, messy life. I can’t fix the broken people around me.

I think we need to be more honest about Yellowstone. The guidebooks need to mention the horrible traffic you’ll encounter in the summer, the hours you’ll spend looking for parking, sitting in traffic jams, and trying to get into the park. They need to advise you to watch out for dead animals and tell you about all the animal poop you’ll walk through. They need to tell you about the crowds, the road construction, and the burned out sections from forest fires.

Yellowstone isn’t always pretty.

I think we need to be more honest about our lives. We need to be more vocal about the disappointments, the middle-of-the-night fears we can’t quiet. The death and destruction we’re encountering, the shit in our way. We need to talk about the detours, the blocked paths, the broken people. The ways we don’t have it all together. We need to discuss the fires raging that feel overwhelming and encompassing.

Our lives aren’t always pretty.

In the Old Testament, time and time again we read stories of destruction and rebirth. God allowing something to be destroyed, something that was causing pain and sin and distracting His people from Him. He destroyed cities, families, people groups. He took away safety and security, vineyards and armies, to show His people who He was, who they should put their trust in, why His way was better.

But He never left the destruction forever. He always allowed rebirth. He allowed new growth. He allowed better cities, stronger families, wiser people groups to spring up where only rot and ruin had been. He let fires roar and destroy, but then He made beauty from ashes.

The hard part for me (not for God, but for me) is the waiting. The waiting for the rebirth. The start of hope again. I’m sitting in the destruction, in the ash. I’m sitting in the underbrush filled with rotten leaves, animal carcasses, and lots of poop wondering where we go from here. How do you make good from this mess? What does Your good look like? How do I recalibrate again and again and again?

Yellowstone is very nature-y. Life is very messy. Both are dirty and beautiful and not what I expected.

weekend read: My Husband’s Wife

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Oh my goodness, this book is so twisted and dark.

Sometimes when I go to find audio books on our public library’s site, I get frustrated because all the books I want have a waitlist, and I don’t like to wait for things. It annoys me that all the books I want to read are also wanted by other people. LAME. So I put my name on a million lists and then just start clicking other titles they recommend out of fear of never getting an audio book checked out…and that’s how I ended up with My Husband’s Wife by Jane Corry. (Side note: without fail 3-5 books I’ve been waiting for FOREVER will all show up within a few days of each other and then I have to hold marathon listening sessions not from joy of reading, but fear of losing the book and going to the bottom of the list again.)

ANYWAY. Back to My Husband’s Wife. Gah, this book is dark, dark, dark. If you like psychological thrillers with twisted endings, this book is for you. (And the audio book is read by a woman with a British accent which makes the story that much better, truthfully.)

The story centers on Lily, a self-conscious, unhappy woman who meets and marries a man within a few months. There are problems from the beginning, but you think they’re her issues and not his. As the story switches from present-day (someone is covered in blood and dying–we don’t know who) and the past (Lily’s life as a criminal lawyer), the reader begins to understand the choices that have led Lily to unknowingly make moral choices that will affect her life and those around her forever. By the end of the story, one person is dead and two are in jail. Goodness, this book is messed up.

I loved it and it was highly engaging. This would make a great vacation read, you’ll be hooked and won’t want to do anything else until you get to the end so leave room for lots of reading when you start this one. My Husband’s Wife by Jane Corry is enjoyable and chilling.

Buy a copy of My Husband’s Wife by Jane Corry here.

LOVE TALKING ABOUT BOOKS? ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ? WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING? FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS BOOK-RELATED: @THEMARYGRAHAMREADS.

let’s demand Jesus

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There’s a rhythm to a church service.

Each church is a little different, but overall, there is a schedule for singing, a time for the message, an intentional break for communion and meditation. Each component has its time and its place. People like consistency and church is one of the places that obliges.

In the majority of churches, you don’t interrupt the sermon to demand to be baptized. It’s not the appointed time. It’s not on the schedule. It’s unexpected.

But that’s exactly what my grandpa did.

I wasn’t there. It wasn’t at my church. I didn’t even know this story existed until after my grandpa had passed away. My aunt told me.

My paternal grandparents weren’t church people. They didn’t go to church on Sundays, didn’t make an effort to show up for Easter and Christmas to get their obligatory church in. They weren’t interested. They didn’t put much stock in God or Jesus or Christians. It seemed unnecessary, too fussy, too many rules.

But in their seventies they bought Bibles, put on some fancy clothes, and started going to church with my aunt. I don’t know if it was fear of death and the unknown, resignation after a life of quietly protesting Jesus, or a butt-kicking from the Holy Spirit (I’d be willing to guess it was a good mix of all three), but they wanted Jesus in their old age. I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t a little shocked when I heard they were going to church, that they owned Bibles, that they were reading them.

It seemed out of character.

One of my favorite things about Jesus is the absolutely crazy, over-the-top ways He shows Himself. The way He surprises those who think they can’t be surprised, those who think they have things figured out. I love that my God is creative, loving, and writes the best stories. He is the Author of All and loves the unexpected thrill of a plot twist better than anyone.

My grandparents loving Jesus was a major plot twist.

When I was younger, my grandma made Easter dresses and Christmas dresses for me, my sister, and all my cousins. She helped us get ready for Christian holidays with ruffles and lace, poofy dresses and matching hats. But she never joined us at church. She never celebrated with us. My grandparents never (to me, at least…) said church and God was wrong, but they were not interested.

But seventy-something years in, they decided they were.

They had been going to church for a while one Sunday when my grandpa, in the middle of listening to the sermon, decided he needed to be baptized. I don’t know what the message was about or what he heard that made him react so strongly, but my grandpa realized suddenly he needed Jesus and he wanted to be baptized.

So he stood up in the middle of the minister’s message, interrupted the lesson, and demanded to be baptized right then.

Demanded is the absolute best word for the above sentence. He demanded to be baptized. He didn’t ask. He didn’t quietly talk to the minister after service. He didn’t go home to consult friends and family. He didn’t wait for the appropriate time in the schedule. He didn’t fill out a comment card asking for someone to call him. He didn’t wait for the invitation hymn at the end of the service. He needed Jesus right at that moment.

He could not wait to be baptized.

After seventy-odd years, his need was urgent and immediate.

I want Jesus like that. I want to hear His stories, see His grace, and understand His mercy in such an overwhelming way there is not even time to think what would be socially acceptable. I want to react before I worry who might see or what someone might think. I want eyes on Jesus and no one else in my periphery.

I demand Jesus.

I am desperate for Jesus.

Sorry if that seems pushy, but I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

I need Jesus. I need Him to interrupt my schedule, get in the middle of my plan, and prompt movement and reaction to His love in inappropriate times, when it’s not on the agenda, when it seems like bad timing, when it’s not convenient.

My grandpa was sinful and flawed. He hurt people, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not intentionally. He was selfish and mean. He was not always honest. He was sad and angry and hurting. He was demanding in lots of areas of his life.

He was exactly like me.

He was exactly like you.

But the difference–where things changed for him–was when he realized he needed help. Help from the Ultimate Helper, the Redeemer of Broken Things, the Healer of All Wounds. My grandpa realized doing it alone wasn’t working for him anymore, and he demanded help. Immediate, live-giving help.

And so they baptized him.

My grandpa became a Christ follower, a son of the Living God in a small brick church on a Sunday morning when it wasn’t convenient, planned, or appropriately-timed.

I bet God wishes we were more like my grandpa in that way. More Holy Spirit spontaneous. More Jesus-reactionary. More God-led than schedule-led.

Can you imagine what church and life and our world would look like if we stopped paying so much attention to what’s next on the plan and started being more Spirit-prompted?

I think there would be more dancing in the streets like David.

I think there would be more feasts and celebrations like the Israelites had when they finally made it to the Promise Land.

I think there would be more people in our homes and less loneliness.

I think there would be more Rahabs taking in strangers not even sure why other than because God told us to.

I think there would be more Isaiahs speaking out against destructive living.

I think there would be more honest conversations and better understanding.

I guarantee there would be more Jesus followers.

///////////////////////////////

Today is the third anniversary of my grandfather’s passing. It seems the older I get, the more I want to know family members who were always around but I never paid much attention to. Because I was young and dumb and distracted. Because time doesn’t mean much when you think you’ve got plenty. But now–and especially as I’m reading through the Old Testament and I see how inter-related we all are even generations removed–I want to know my grandparents. What made them who they were, who they are. I want to understand their choices, their lives, what lead them to their places. I see more similarities between us as I get older: as a parent, as a child, as a friend, as a human, and the realization grounds me. Who I am is because of them. Not just in a biological, you-had-my-parents-thanks-for-that way, but in a way that explains my struggles, my characteristics, my joys. We are more alike than different. I just wish I had realized that sooner.

How Long?

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How long?

So Ahab sent word through all Israel and assembled the prophets on Mount Carmel. Elijah went before the people and said, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.” But the people said nothing.

We worship at the altar of Instagram.

We scroll through pictures and videos, finding inspiration to make our houses prettier, our lives better, and our bodies healthier.

We look for answers on an app.

Sometimes we win but, more often, we lose.

How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow Him.

We worship at the altar of Target.

We comb the aisles looking for cute clothes, accessories for our living rooms, and the next delicious health food to stock our shelves.

We spend money looking for answers.

Sometimes it works, but never for long.

How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.

We worship at the altar of food and drink.

We eat to fill loneliness, celebrate victories. We drink to silence the defeat, to rejoice in the good fortune.

In the moment, it fills but again we’re hungry and thirsty.

How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.

We worship at the altar of our screens.

Emails to answer, followers to accumulate, likes to rack up. This is how we show our worth, our value to others. This is how we make it okay—others need us.

It’s never quite enough though.

When Israel had lost its way yet again, God raised up Elijah to minister to His wayward people. The current leaders hated Elijah for the truth he spoke and the way he called out their false gods. To prove the Lord is God, Elijah invited four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal onto a mountain for a test. He instructed Baal’s prophets to slaughter a bull and then call to their god, Baal, to set it on fire. After they were done, Elijah would do the same with his God.

Baal’s prophets killed their bull and placed it on their altar. They called to their god and asked him to burn it up. They called to Baal all morning, screaming and dancing as they tried to show their god’s power.

Nothing happened.

By noon, Elijah started taunting them, asking where their god was. “Shout louder!” he said. “Surely he is a god! Perhaps he is deep in thought, or busy, or traveling. Maybe he is sleeping and must be awakened.”

So they shouted louder and slashed themselves with swords and spears, as was their custom, until their blood flowed. Midday passed, and they continued their frantic prophesying until the time for the evening sacrifice. But there was no response, no one answered, no one paid attention.

We don’t worship Baal today, but we have replaced Baal with just as damaging false gods. We bleed our heart and soul on social media but have no real-life relationships. We have pretty houses but no one to fill them and no use for those extra bedrooms we demand in our house searches. We can make pretty meals from beautiful cookbooks but we’re not actually feeding people who are hungry. We answer emails efficiently, but don’t spend time with those who are hurting, people who are starved for our attention, who need our conversations.

We bleed ourselves dry for our false gods just as the Baal worshippers did.

We do it differently with a carefully chosen filter and the ugly parts cropped out, but we bleed just the same. We cut ourselves like they did to please fake gods and fake friends.

Once Baal’s prophets were through calling to their god who never answered, it was Elijah’s turn. He repaired the Lord’s altar that had been torn down. He instructed those around him to douse the altar in water. “Fill four large jars with water and pour it on the offering and on the wood.”

Do it again, he said.

And they did it again.

Again, he said.

They did it again.

Again.

And they did it again.

The bull, the altar, the trench around the altar—all of it was soaking wet surrounded by standing water.

And then Elijah called to his god, the Lord: “Answer me, Lord, answer me, so these people will know that you, Lord, are God, and that you are turning their hearts back again.”

Then the fire of the Lord fell and burned up the sacrifice, the wood, the stones, and the soil, and also licked up the water in the trench.

How long?

How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.

How long will we keep spending our free time on our phones, getting to the end of the day and making excuses that we just didn’t have time to read our Bibles or spend time in prayer today?

How long will we keep spending our money on things we don’t need without first giving to God what is God’s?

How long will we proclaim to be your followers while our words and actions never match up?

How long will we pretend to live in community to impress others when we’re actually dying of loneliness?

How long will we curate a pretty exterior life while our interior life screams and shouts for attention?

How long will we have hundreds of friends but no one who really knows us?

How long?

God, set fire to our lives. Let your cleansing fire rage and roar. Get our attention. Speak loud. And use that same fire to destroy the false gods we worship. Ravage what is taking our attention from you. Cover our wounds. Make the bleeding stop. Make us healthy and whole in a way only you can.

Lord, use your holy fire to get our attention.

(Hey, random side note: when I talk about a Bible story, I’d love for you to go check it out and make sure my words ring true before you take them as truth. You know, compare my truth to The Truth. So if you’re interested, the story I’m referencing today is found in 1 Kings 17-19. Get in there and discover some stuff for yourself, yo.)

weekend read: You Can’t Touch My Hair

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I came across You Can’t Touch My Hair by Phoebe Robinson while we were in New York City last fall. I love visiting independent bookstores in places we visit and try to buy at least one book every place we visit. Since I’m on a budget, I often can’t buy every book I find so I end up taking pictures of them with my phone and then adding them to my to-read list when I have a minute.

I ended up getting You Can’t Touch My Hair for Christmas. I love Robinson’s no-nonsense style of writing and truth-telling. She’s funny, smart, and thoughtful. Her recall of pop culture events from her childhood is shockingly accurate. I seriously can’t understand how she remembers that much about her youth.

Beside the humor, You Can’t Touch My Hair is also thought-provoking and socially conscious. Robinson makes good points about living as a black woman in America, women’s issues, and struggles to still have the same rights as other sexes and races. I enjoyed reading this book even if some of her views differ from my own. But hearing from someone whose life experiences are different than mine is always helpful and important so I’m going to keep reading books that push me and make me think. I highly recommend you do the same thing and You Can’t Touch My Hair by Phoebe Robinson is a great place to start.

Buy a copy of You Can’t Touch My Hair by Phoebe Robinson here.

LOVE TALKING ABOUT BOOKS? ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ? WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING? FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS BOOK-RELATED: @THEMARYGRAHAMREADS.

weekend read: Stretch

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I’m not actually sure how I ended up downloading this audio book from the library. I think all the books I was looking for were wait-listed and this title was suggested. I was desperate. I clicked download.

Stretch by Scott Sonenshein is all about people and companies that do more with less and the idea that most of the time, the more resources, money, time, etc. we have means we accomplish less. When our resources are limited, we’re more likely to think outside the box and be more creative.

I like those claims because I always feel like I don’t have enough time, resources, money, or anything else. I always wish I had more: more hours in the day, more time to sleep, more weekend, more patience, more margin.

Stretch is all about how constraints and challenges actually work in our benefit. It’s chock full of stories of people and companies who were able to stretch when they came up against challenges and how stretching actually led to their success.

If business, growth, creativity, or doing more with less is your thing, I highly recommend you check out Stretch by Scott Sonenshein. It’s an inspiring, interesting read.

Buy a copy of Stretch by Scott Sonenshein here.

LOVE TALKING ABOUT BOOKS? ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ? WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING? FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS BOOK-RELATED: @THEMARYGRAHAMREADS.

weekend read: We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves

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Um, what?

I learned about We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler when someone shared it on Instagram. It is an interesting book. It’s hard to give a good summary without giving away part of the story the reader isn’t told until about halfway through, but I’ll try…

The main character, Rosemary, is missing a sibling. The circumstances are iffy and the narrator’s memory from when she was a small girl is unreliable, but from her point of view, it’s definitely Rosemary’s fault. Her older brother blames her. Her mom’s depression and downward spiral are all her fault.

But no one is talking about what happened. As a reader, you’re often left with questions and stories that don’t seem complete. And then. And then you learn the rest of the story.

It’s definitely a unique book. At times I felt lost as I read the story, but as the missing bits start to come out, you’re left with a family trying to do the right thing even though it hurts and destroys so much. We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler would be a good book club read because you’ll need to ask questions and share your thoughts with someone.

Buy a copy of We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler here.

LOVE TALKING ABOUT BOOKS? ALWAYS LOOKING FOR A GOOD BOOK TO READ? WANT TO KNOW WHAT I’M CURRENTLY READING? FOLLOW MY INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT DEDICATED TO ALL THINGS BOOK-RELATED: @THEMARYGRAHAMREADS.

my beginning and theirs

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I can hear her little feet padding down the stairs, normally followed by the tippy-tap of a dog’s paws.

Wordlessly, she slides onto my lap, warm from sleep with glazed eyes and messy hair. She’s still small enough to be held, and this is the one time of day she’ll let me lean her back, cradling her in my arms like I did years ago before she didn’t know to fight me.

I’m an earlier riser and at our old house, I’d stay in bed, playing on my phone and killing time until the rest of the house woke up. But now, at our new house with more space, I can rise without alerting everyone and make my way somewhat-silently to the kitchen. I scoop the coffee grounds, fill the pot, and wait for the first few glorious smells to hit my nose.

I fill my cup, sit down at the dining room table, and open my Bible.

It’s quiet. I’m alone with my God. I’ve got hot coffee.

This is my starting place. My grounding. My safe return. My hopeful beginning.

I’m still trucking along on my year of reading the Bible from beginning to end. I’m about a week behind, the daily readings still signifying May when it’s now June. May was hard and defeating. May was ground-shifting and eye-opening. It’s not lost on me–the irony–that I’m still reading May’s stories even though it’s June. I’m still replaying conversations, heartbreak, and shock from May too. May probably won’t leave anytime soon even if I’ll soon move on from its pages.

On the wall in my dining room, a sign reads: “In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus.”

Yes, please. One million times.

I’m not sure how I got through May without Jesus.

At some point during my quiet time, a daughter of mine will wake up and wander down the stairs. She’ll climb into my lap, I’ll whisper “Good morning” and “I love you so much” into her ear. She won’t respond, but snuggle in tighter. I’ll rub her back, kiss her cheeks, positioning her so I can continue reading scripture as she slowly wakes up while being held by her mom.

She starts with me. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, when my daughters wake up, they find me. They rest in my arms, snuggle into my side as I’m sleeping, sit on my lap as I’m drinking coffee.

I am their grounding, their safe return, their beginning.

Since we moved, I’ve thought often of getting back into the routine of mornings spent at the gym. About rising at 5:30 and making the longer-than-before drive to the Planet Fitness in the neighboring town where I can work up a sweat while lifting weights and running on the treadmill.

But then I think about our mornings together. Jesus and I. The girls and I.

How I start my day with Him. How He steadies me for whatever will come and how I, in turn, steady my daughters.

Eventually, I’ll take a backseat to the mornings. They’ll grow and look for me less. They’ll (hopefully) begin to look for Jesus in their beginnings, in their waking, instead of their mother. This is bittersweet to acknowledge, even though it’s more sweet than anything.

I remember all the mornings I didn’t start with Jesus, and I feel sad for all I missed out on. All the encouragement. All the peace. All the wisdom. All the quiet. All the safety.

I have lost count of the times I’ve come with worry, brokenness, weariness, stress, confusion, or anger, and He’s answered me with exactly what I needed. If I show up, He will too.

Every single time.

I don’t know what people do without Jesus. That thought has come to my mind more times than I can count the past month. There were days in May I couldn’t get out of bed. There were days in May I couldn’t recognize my own reflection because my eyes were too swollen, my skin too lifeless and gray.

I have no doubt I’d still be there without Jesus.

I don’t know what people do without Jesus.

Here’s what is currently steadying me in the mornings:

Relent, Lord! How long will it be?
    Have compassion on your servants.
Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love,
    that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us,
    for as many years as we have seen trouble.
May your deeds be shown to your servants,
    your splendor to their children.
May the favor of the Lord our God rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us—
yes, establish the work of our hands.
-Psalm 90:13-17, NIV translation

I cried out to him with my mouth;
    his praise was on my tongue.
If I had cherished sin in my heart,
    the Lord would not have listened;
but God has surely listened
    and has heard my prayer.
Praise be to God,
    who has not rejected my prayer
    or withheld his love from me!
-Psalm 66: 17-20, NIV translation

Shout for joy to the Lord, all the earth.
Worship the Lord with gladness;
    come before him with joyful songs.
Know that the Lord is God.
    It is he who made us, and we are his;
    we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
    and his courts with praise;
    give thanks to him and praise his name.
For the Lord is good and his love endures forever;
    his faithfulness continues through all generations.
-Psalm 100, NIV translation

 “Praise be to the Lord, who has given rest to his people Israel just as he promised. Not one word has failed of all the good promises he gave through his servant Moses. May the Lord our God be with us as he was with our ancestors; may he never leave us nor forsake us. May he turn our hearts to him, to walk in obedience to him and keep the commands, decrees and laws he gave our ancestors. And may these words of mine, which I have prayed before the Lord, be near to the Lord our God day and night, that he may uphold the cause of his servant and the cause of his people Israel according to each day’s need, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the Lord is God and that there is no other. And may your hearts be fully committed to the Lord our God, to live by his decrees and obey his commands, as at this time.”
-1 Kings 8:56-61, NIV translation

In the midst of chaos and confusion, He’s telling me to worship Him. It feels fragile and weak. It feels hard and painful. But He’s in the mess and He’s in the healing. When I start my day weary and already tired, He shouts joy and grace over me. When I start my day angry and numb, He showers me with peace and love.

Then I can do that for my daughters.

Just like my Father does for His.

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