Baby William (Wim) was born just two days ago on April 30 at 12:51 a.m. Apparently he was determined to wait until his exact due date to arrive—all 9 lbs. 7 oz. of him—making his mama labor for over 24 hours. Our daughter and son-in-law, Kelly and Cal are parents for the first time, and now we have our second grandson in our midst. Such GLORY and WONDER! On his first day I looked up the meaning of his name and discovered—resolute protector.  Oh, how that describes the heart of God over Kelly and Wim as mother and son bravely labored together to get him safely here! I think resolute is my new favorite word. It means admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering. Synonyms include resolved, decided, adamant, firm, fixed, single-minded, unswerving, undaunted, set, intent. All of those words make me think of God’s resolute love and protection over us. He is determined, unwavering, unswerving in His pursuit of our whole hearts. His love is purposeful, adamant, firm, and fixed. His guarding protection over us is resolute . . . undaunted . . . adamant. Our God is truly our Resolute Protector . . . . . . Over Wim’s new life. . . . Over the grieving heart of my beloved friend Sylvette, whose baby girl was stillborn. . . . Over dear Gail who is battling stage-3 breast cancer and Beth with stage-4 lung cancer. . . . Over my friend and author Kim as she bravely writes a book for grieving mothers. And, He was the Resolute Protector over this grandma’s anxious heart as I awaited the safe arrival of my new and glorious grandbaby. On Wim’s first day of life outside his mother’s womb, a full rainbow arched high above their home at dusk. What a sweet and not-so-subtle reminder of His guarding, resolute protection over all of us. He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. Isaiah 40:11 What about you? I’d love to hear how God has been your Resolute Protector. Or if you’re a grandma, feel free to just brag about your grandkids! And yes, I’m including just a few pictures of Wim . . .

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. Psalm 139:9–10 I’ve faced anxiety since I was itty bitty. One of my all-time favorite books about anxiety is Calm My Anxious Heart by my dear friend Linda Dillow. She shares a quote in the book by French philosopher Michel de Montaigne: “My life has been full of terrible misfortunes most of which never happened.”  That was especially true for me when it came to worrying about my babies. I remember holding my newborn baby girl for the first time and being overcome with such joy, awe, wonder  . . . and paralyzing fear. I silently prayed something like this, “God, thank You for this beautiful new life. Thank You that Christie Anna arrived safely and is healthy and strong. Don’t ever let anything happen to her because if you ever take her, I will die.” It was one of those white-knuckled, fist in the air prayers thrown at God, where I thought I had made a deal with Him that went something like this: “I’ll be willing to go through anything, God, just don’t let anything happen to my baby . . . ever!” I didn’t realize it at the time, but I kept that prayer locked in my heart until five years later when our family was living in Beijing, China. We moved there in 1995 for Rick’s job. Our second daughter, Kelly, was just three when we landed in Beijing, and Christie was five. We arrived in January, and all four of us were immediately hit with upper respiratory illnesses due to the bitter cold winter months and the pollution, fueled by burning coal. It was especially hard on Kelly, tiny for her age.  For a mama who struggles with anxiety, I was often gripped with fear about Kelly’s health. Toward the end of our first year in Beijing, she became extremely sick one week with a high fever and sore throat that was not going away. The doctor at the international clinic would not give her antibiotics because the rapid test for strep was negative. After two days, my mama bear instincts kicked in and I called my pediatrician back in the US, 3:00 a.m. my time, 3:00 p.m. his. He got on…

Last year I wrote a post about our Still Christmas where we chose a quiet, still Christmas because of my dad’s death just a month before. Our daughters were celebrating with their in-law families and the only decoration we put out was a treasured manger scene I bought in Warsaw over thirty years ago. It’s a Christmas I will always treasure for its simplicity and stillness. But this year will be different! Our Colorado home will be filled with our girls and their dear husbands. And, of course, our almost-two-year-old grandson, Liam, will be there. He will take center stage with his menagerie of stuffed animals, books, cars, and dinosaur toys—and most likely he’ll play with the Warsaw creche. Oh, the wonder of having a toddler BOY in our home for Christmas! We’ll journey to our Cheyenne Mountain Zoo—with its sparkling Christmas lights and a ski lift tucked against the mountain. Liam will feed the giraffes and roar with the lions. And on Christmas Eve, we’ll line a pew at our church for the candlelight service, where I’ll keep an eye on the candle that toddler Liam is holding. I’ve dreamed of a Toddler Christmas for years, often watching the awestruck grandmas holding new grandbabies while celebrating the arrival of the newborn King. This Christmas will take me back to Christmas of 1988 when we surprised our parents with the news we were expecting our first baby, now Liam’s mama. The room exploded with joy that Christmas Eve when we told them our first baby would arrive August 1989, now almost 30 years ago. That makes me think of the most spectacular baby announcement ever given in the Gospel of Luke, chapter 1, where Angel Gabriel announced to a teenager that she would give birth to Messiah Jesus. What WONDER AND AWE  . . . and FEAR that must have washed over dear Mary as she tried to comprehend what was spoken over her. I love how the angel took time to tell Mary that her old cousin, Elizabeth, was six-months pregnant with her own miracle baby. When you first read this account (vv. 36–37), it almost seems that it’s an afterthought, as though the angel just decided to tack on something like, “By the way, I thought you’d want to know that your old cousin is pregnant too.” But instead, I know the heart of our God and I think…

Photo by Nico Frey on Unsplash I WONDER . . . Is there a celebration in Heaven on the anniversary of the day you arrive, like we celebrate birthdays here—only much, much better? One year ago this morning my beloved father entered Glory. Early this morning I awoke to this text from our daughter Christie . . . “Love you Mama. Praying for you today as we remember and celebrate the life of our Grandpa Bubeck. Though we miss his presence daily, he gets to celebrate one year today in the throne room enveloped in the presence of his King, best friend, and Creator.” What a stunning way to look at the one-year anniversary of my father going Home. In the midst of my sorrow today, I’m choosing to celebrate that he’s had a whole year in the presence of his King Jesus! My dad would want it that way. A friend recently shared a quote from Victor Hugo with me that so resonates with my heart today: “When I go down to the grave I can say, like many others, ‘I have finished my day’s work!’ But I cannot say, ‘I have finished my life.’ My day’s work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare! It closes on the twilight, it opens on the dawn!” —Victor Hugo   In loving memory of my father Mark I. Bubeck February 20, 1928 — November 6, 2017  

My father, Mark I. Bubeck, was “promoted to Glory”—as he liked to say—on Monday, November 6, 2017. For the weeks leading up to his death, my husband and I were able to be near Dad in Phoenix, and we had the sacred privilege of being by his side when he was called Home. While watching my dad suffer greatly these past months, I often thought about a story he shared in one of his books about how he was rescued in a snowstorm in the mountains when he was a young man. It is such a beautiful metaphor of how God rescued him from his suffering when he took him Home on November 6th, just ten days ago . . . While on an elk hunting expedition, I once got lost for the better part of a day. As we left camp that morning, our guide pointed toward a basin several miles above timberline and explained that we would meet there sometime in the afternoon. If any of us got separated from his hunting partner, he was to head for that basin. He promised to meet us there and guide us back to camp. We were instructed to keep a couple hundred yards between us so that we might better stumble onto an elk. But that made it difficult to keep one’s hunting partner in view, and it was not long until my partner and I were separated. The forest was so vast I could no longer see that distant basin. On top of that, clouds covered the sun, and my sense of direction was gone. My only encouragement that I was going in the right direction was that I kept going uphill. After several hours of walking and climbing, I was not interested so much in hunting as in just hoping that someone would find me. I did not have a clue as to how I would ever find my way back to camp. Finally, I broke out above timberline, saw the basin, made my way there, and sat down on a large rock to wait. Several hours passed, but no hunters appeared. To add to my anxiety, the sky darkened and it began to snow lightly. I am sure that at that moment I would have panicked if it had not been for one fact. I had hope that my guide would come for me. He had promised. He had told…