When a noise outside our front door sets all three boys on a barking spree, Oscar is the only one who runs to me, and with his paws on my knees, looks up and softly whimpers: “Mom, there’s a noise outside. Can’t you hear it? It’s scary! Mo-om!”

He takes every chance he can to sit next to me on the couch, and lays his head on my chest and looks up into my eyes.

When I’m out of town on business, Oscar is the most miserable. He sulks and stares at the door, hoping I’ll walk in.

He just can’t get enough of me. I am the end all, be all of his existence.

This is my one word for 2012.

It’s from one of my favorite Psalms, the 126th one. The verse that I love the most is the first:

When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dreamed.

I’ve been in such a dark and lonely valley for the most part of 2011, but I know that right beside me, my Savior stays and holds me by me right hand, and tells me constantly of His fierce, passionate love for me, even when I refuse to hear Him.

It’s been so dark that I’ve forgotten how to dream.

That’s what I’m looking forward to in 2012. Being restored.

How about you?

The plan was: Buy tall-ish live tree outside the Walmart on Nolensville, buy lights from inside Walmart, and head home to make an event out of tree decorating. We were even planning on getting more decorations since the ones we had were barely enough to cover our five-foot tall Kmart-bought plastic tree with built-in lights.

That was the plan.

So after Christmas 2010, our faithful little two-year old Chinese tree was returned to its box for good — taped up, and then brought to a drive-thru Goodwill Drop Off.

And then life happened this year. Hospital trips both emergency and elective came along with the loss of my part-time job, and we’ve been pinching pennies and making budget cuts since the end of August.

While I was at our organization’s Winter Conference, Kyera sent me a text message:

“Where’s our tree? I was going to put it up but it’s not in our storage.”
“Are you sure? Did we donate it? I can’t remember.”
“Oh right! LOL. We did!”

Up until yesterday, I kept thinking about getting a tree. Definitely not a live one because they’re expensive, but a Chinese one bought from The Man. A five-foot tall tree is $80 now, fifty percent off, at Target, but I just couldn’t bring myself to spend that much on a tree when that money could and should go to groceries. When your priorities are down to food, clothing, shelter, and medical bills, there’s absolutely no room for “Christmas Tree” in the budget. Or clothing for that matter. Food and shelter is far more important. And paying medical bills.

Kyera is such a trooper to not mind us not having a tree. It doesn’t bother me either. But I did put up our gorgeous Martha Stewart wreath so people driving by our house wouldn’t think we weren’t celebrating Christmas. (Albeit it’s not your traditional wreath…)

Don’t get me wrong. We’re not starving and we did splurge on each other’s Christmas gifts. Kyera got a Clarisonic and I got a Kindle Fire. We are grateful that we were able to do this for each other. Our lives since August may have been a rough ride, but it pales in comparison to the people of Mindanao who are now homeless and have lost so much. Or the homeless of Nashville. Or children who live in homes without heat, electricity, and running water. I simply cannot bring myself to complain or feel bad that we are celebrating Christmas without a tree.

I’m thankful for the roof over our heads, our three adorable boys (Fine, dogs.), our car, our friends, and our God who sent His Son to take on human flesh so that one day He could die for us.

Yes, I simply cannot bring myself to complain.

From us to you and yours, Merry Christmas. May yours be filled with as much love as ours.

Thank you, 2011, for your ups and downs, so far:

It only makes sense that I start my list with my hospital stay on my birthday! Kyera and I were in Orlando for Every Nation’s 2011 North American Conference, Dream, at Disney World when I landed in the ER with severe stomach pain. Our human resources director, Carolyn Foster, was my nurse/nanny/confidant/cheerleader for three days, giving up her time with her family, and missing out on almost all of the conference sessions because of me and my diverticulitis. Everyone needs a Carolyn in their life.

Carolyn Foster

And then of course, there’s Valerie Lancaster, our resident Woo, Missionary Care coordinator, and dear friend. She selflessly drove a rental car back and forth to the hospital so Kyera could see me, and so that I could eat Chikin when I was released. Val is one of a few that I consider a Tita to Kyera.

Valerie Lancaster

My work toys are definitely on this list. Because I work in communications, I need to communicate, so in order for me to be the most communicative at what I do, I get to use an iPad 32 GB 3G and a MacBook Air for work. I could never afford these on my own, so it’s a huge privilege that I’m entrusted with such cool tools to help me do my best. Tools that if one day I were to leave behind for another job, I confess I would sorely miss. (And the entire staff, of course!)

iPad 2

The iPad came just in time for me to bring it to my first Campus Harvest in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina in March. (My boss, Bill Lloyd, ordered it at 3am when Apple started selling them online. Thanks, Bill!) It reminded me of a Friday or Saturday night youth/college service in Manila! The music was loud and the students were passionate about God. The Saturday night worship reminded me how madly in love God is with me. I was refreshed as I sang along with 2,500 students at the top of our voices.

Our Bethel churches in Brentwood and Franklin. They’re my church family and a constant reminder of the importance of being part of a local church. There’s nothing like sharing lives and doing life together with others who also want to know Jesus more.

I’m so thankful for my job! I love doing what I do and who I get to do it with and for! This year, I was given opportunities to share my passion for the social spaces with church planters and with the Nashville office staff. The office allowed me to implement my crazy idea of hosting a Friday afternoon hangout cum town hall called The Social, where we get to eat treats and hear updates about our pastors and missionaries. I’m so blessed to be allowed to think outside the box and color outside the lines!

Don’t laugh but Facebook and Twitter have made it to this list. Facebook keeps me tethered to Manila, the city where I became a teenager, a famous morning show host, and an occasional actress. Twitter keeps me informed and connected to people who I share interests with. Even though I’ve been on Twitter since 2007, each year just keeps gets better and better.

@thelmabowlen @kyerabee I'm pretty impressed with it. I never thought about origami so mathematically before.—
Melissa Pierce (@melissapierce) November 21, 2011

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I'm thankful for the Minguses for adopting us today! Single mom families are so blessed to be thought of. —
Thelma Bowlen (@thelmabowlen) November 24, 2011

I can’t thank God enough for Kyera. As she continues to come into her own and get comfortable in her own womanhood, I admire the person she is becoming. Being the only child of a single mom, she is familiar with tough times, including being homeless for six months. She’s generously contributing to our household expenses sacrificially, something not every twenty-one year old would do easily or happily. She inspires me to be a better mom, person, Christian.

My Kyera

Of course, my utmost gratitude goes to God for allowing me to breathe and wake up every day. May I never take this life He’s given me for granted! My only hope as you read this blog is that you may get to know His Son, Jesus Christ, even a little through my faith. I’m not a theologian, nor do I have any answers to life’s thought-provoking questions, but what I do know is that my life was once a fear-filled mess until He found me. Since trusting Him and surrendering my life to him in August 1991, life’s been an adventure that I wouldn’t change anything about.

What are you thankful for in 2011?

There’s the 1 percent who stand with the 99 percent, America’s wealthiest who believe in wealth redistribution and higher taxes on the rich, and then there’s the 53%, the ones who work long hours and stay away from debt who say the issue on Wall Street is an issue of personal responsibility.

Yesterday on CBS News Sunday Morning, they did a report on America’s “new poor.” Their focus: an upscale county near Atlanta where jobs have been lost, savings are gone, and lavish homes are now in, or on their way, to foreclosure.

“The new poor could be you, me, your neighbor, your church member, somebody who has been affected by the economy,” said Sandy Beaver of The Place, a nonprofit for social services in Forsyth County. “Many of our people who have come for assistance used to be our donors. And they’ll say, ‘I never thought I’d have to do this, never in my wildest dreams.’”

The statistic that resonated with me the most in the report was the part about one in six Americans having trouble putting food on the table. One in six. That’s 49 million people. When you think about it, most Americans are closer to being one of those one in six if their households lost a paycheck.

Kyera and I are not there but our twelve medical bills and my credit card debt put us close to it. Since losing my second job in August — and as each medical bill started making its way to our front door — Kyera and I have had to make lifestyle adjustments: less trips to save on gas, no more shopping for anything other than groceries, cheaper dog food for our boys, no more coffee runs at Starbucks or McDonald’s, good-bye eating out. The list goes on. And they’re good changes. Don’t get me wrong.

I had a really dark day last week. You know the kind where no amount of Hillsongs or Beth Moore prayer books seem to work?

Am I being punished, God?

I feel like I’m at my rope’s end, Father.

We’re having noodles. Again.

I couldn’t seem to shake it. And then on the news (I watch a lot of news programs!): MF Global terminates 1,066 of its employees without severance. I teared up, thinking about all those people and their families and Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I felt ashamed of myself.

I repented and asked God to fully occupy every nook and cranny of my whiney, ungrateful heart. I asked God to occupy every space that’s not surrendered to Him so that He’d push out the self-centeredness, and replace this with gratitude. I asked God to remind me that He owes me nothing, that His ways are higher than mine, that His Grace is sufficient.

I asked God to make my life look like it’s supposed to: Occupied by His Mercy and overflowing with His Love.

“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” Psalm 27:13, New International Version

May I come out of this season wiser about money, stronger in my faith, and… maybe a couple of pounds lighter.

Don’t get me wrong. I actually enjoyed my brief time at the gas station. Minus the constant fear of robberies, that is, I loved engaging customers. I was lucky that I had that as a second job. In this economy, any single job is a huge blessing. What more two?

I have voicing projects and social media consultations on the fence so jumping back to the gas station is something I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t have to do again.

In ways that only God can, He reminded me this week that He hasn’t forgotten about me. First, I’ve been needing a new laptop bag for my office-issued MacBook Air and iPad. The thought of spending was just not an option so I filed away the idea in my heart.

Suddenly, in our office break room this week, someone left a cool jute bag from the Catalyst Conference for anyone to take home. I obliged.

Secondly, a long-wanted pair of scissor-shredders arrived in the mail from my card rewards points. As in other words, it was FREE.

And then there was the $90 I was given for volunteering during a Sunday service illustration on tithing. Our pastor needed a single mom to come up on stage along with a high school and a college student. The high school student got ten $1 bills, the college student ten $5 bills, and the single mom (me) ten $10 bills. All we had to do was give one bill back. After the service, I was going to hand back the money but was told to keep it. Keep. It.

These instances may not mean anything to anyone else. Some people might even think they’re just coincidences, or “thoughts I’ve put out to the universe,” but to me, they’re reminders that I’m loved and cared for.

Like love letters a significant other tucks away in an unexpected place, or an “I love you” written on a Post-It note on a computer monitor, or a surprise tight hug from an adult child, the laptop bag, the scissor-shredders, and the dollar bills, are little reminders that my tiny faith is all that my big God needs.

They remind me I’m not forgotten.

Are you going through a tough time? What helps pull you out of your slump?

Kyera waiting in the holding area before her outpatient surgery.

“I’m equal parts afraid and excited…” Kyera said to Rob the day before her scheduled surgery to remove her preauricular cyst. (She has me to thank for passing on my gene to her. You’re welcome, love.) “That’s what faith feels like,” he replied. “It’s like you’re standing on the edge and you know something is about to happen and you don’t know what other than that God is gonna be there.”

So true.

The surgery went well and I now have another medical bill that needs paying off. I guess you could say I’m back on the edge myself, equal parts afraid and excited, how God is going to come through this time. It’s not a first in the life of a single mom where money is tight.

Today was the official end of one of my part-time freelance contracts so the thought of applying for a part-time job somewhere that involves coffee, shoes, purses, or clothes, beckons. Wait. I don’t think I could work around shoes, purses, or clothes, or I would end up in a bigger hole.

I resist. For now at least. I know my body needs me to rest.

I fully expect that God is going to show up like He has countless times in the past. He’s pulled us through before:

1. The time my mother died and we ended up moving almost twelve times in a decade;
2. The time we were on the verge of being homeless and a friend offered to take us in for as long as we needed;
3. The time we were apart for eight weeks unsure of when we would see each other again.

Only His grace helped us grieve, His provision brought more than expected, His peace kept me sane.

I have wealthy friends whose lives I confess I’ve envied. One had rich parents who generously, constantly came to her rescue; another one married into a rich family; another is very successful in her career and makes six figures. As I bring each woman to mind, God is showing me what’s so desperately wrong with myself: my jealousy has nothing to do with them but everything to do with Him.

He is my Father and He owns everything and I need to trust Him.

I don’t deserve His kindness and mercy and yet there He is, waiting for me to run into His arms and sit still.

My life story is less about me and my struggles as a single mom and more about God, my Husband, my Maker, my Provider, my Healer, my Creator. And so much more.

The nightly news reminds me how little I have to complain about. In the aftermath of Hurricane Irene, countless families in Vermont have lost everything. Entire homes were destroyed leaving people asking, “How do we begin again?”

Kyera’s ear is healing. I’m on the mend. God is good. There really is no drama. Just healthy fear and joyful excitement on the edge.

Time to step over.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not about to wax poetic over my “wake-up call.” I will confess though that turning forty-two with a disease that’s common for people in their sixties did prove sobering. And it didn’t help that when I let myself wander over to Facebook, photos of my high school classmates looking better than they did when we were fourteen to sixteen year olds, added to my lucid, harsh realization that neglecting my body has taken its toll.

By neglect I mean, unhealthy food choices, working twelve to fourteen hour days juggling three jobs, sitting on my butt day in and day out. Every excess came crashing down in one micro-perforation in my large intestine.

I lay flat on my back—literally—for twelve hours on a twelve-inch wide cot in the ER and I let myself fall into God’s arms. I had no more excuses. “I have updates to post!”; “I have three audiobook summaries to record!”; “Emails need to be answered!” I was done, fully spent, and just grateful I didn’t need surgery.

What surprised me the most about my forty-eight hours in bed with two IV lines, one in each arm, was the absence of my old friends Rejection, Abandonment, and Self-Pity. This hospital stay was oddly calm. No temper tantrums with raised fist at God. No whining. Just a very grown-up: “I need to make changes, God, I know. Please help me.”

And then the Global Leadership Summit came barging in my almost return to normalcy at work, provoking me and challenging me to step up, rise, and do.

But how?

In stillness. In quiet. In silence. The kind that comes only when all the noise is shut out and you’re sitting at your Creator’s feet, empty.

So that’s where I am right now.

I’ve become a huge fan of psyllium. It’s my digestive tract’s new BFF. I finally started religiously using my Water app on my iPod Touch and just got my one week badge for downing 118 oz of water every day. I’ve stopped taking work home unless I absolutely need to. And I’m starting to slowly carve out boundaries and structure in my life. After all, when you’ve potentially lived almost half or, maybe even more than half your life, you don’t want time escaping.

Which brings me to Steven Furtick’s session at the summit. I’d never heard him preach before but I’d definitely heard of him. Many of our missionaries and younger pastors retweet him and share his content. He took the stage after Brenda Salter McNeil shook everyone with Acts 1:8 and the catalytic events we need to look for in our lives. Steven was funny and hard-hitting. He opened with, “I’m expert at being dumb enough to believe that God can do anything,” and I was hooked. He talked about Elisha and the ditches that were dug that God filled with water.

“If you will dig the ditches, God will send the rain.” Dig ditches, do the work, and God will do what only He can do.

What big dreams and visions do I have for my life that only God can make happen?

I honestly don’t know at this point. I’ve either given up on them or forgotten them. Maybe it’s time for new dreams. Or renewed ones.

But first, psyllium, water, and lots of sitting at God’s feet before the ditch digging.

Do you have any ditches you need to dig?

The conference was from Tuesday, July 26, to Friday, July 29, so I flew south on Monday morning to do what I do best: communicate to the world everything that was happening at all the sessions and seminars through our official social networking channels.

I had it all planned out in my head, you see. I used to do remote broadcasts when I worked in radio. These “remotes” involved a small crew of technicians at a long table set with a mixing board and a microphone and an announcer. (We didn’t have a fancy OB van!) Said announcer basically painted a picture with words to get people to come to said location for goodies and treats and possible celebrity sightings. (The very first remote I did was for a fashion show in 1989. Will never forget it.) Now that I don’t have a microphone, I primarily do the same thing, but through Twitter and Facebook: live electronic updates. That was my plan.

Armed with my iPad and a suitcase. I boarded Southwest with a bad stomachache on Monday morning after a restless night of tossing and turning with said abdominal discomfort. It felt like bad gas, the kind that usually exits your body in a really loud way. I prayed during the flight that the air in my belly would stay put until I landed and made a beeline for the nearest restroom.

We landed and nothing happened. We get to our resort and I’m in so much pain I can’t walk. Monday was primarily pre-conference day so I figured I’d rest and work on Tuesday. Rest translates to just lying down in bed doubled over on a pillow willing myself to fart. But nothing happened! And then a fever and chills.

Tuesday morning.

Carolyn, our HR director, via text: How are you?

Me: Had a fever and chills last night and still haven’t farted.

Carolyn: I don’t think you’re going to fart. You need to go to the hospital. I’m taking you.

Fast forward an hour or so later and I’m in an ambulance for the first time in my entire life! No sirens though. Just a calm, quiet, ten-minute ride to the hospital next to the happiest place on earth.

I arrive at the ER and get put on morphine and chalk-filled water for a CT scan. Six hours after arriving at the ER, a doctor comes over and tells me I have diverticulitis and a micro-perforation in my large intestine and might need emergency surgery. OhmyGod. But “we’re waiting on the surgeon first to confirm if you need to be opened up.” OhmyGod.

Two hours later: “No need for surgery but we’re keeping you overnight for now, possibly three to five days. We’ll see.” Gasp. I turn to Carolyn: “I keep thinking I just need to fart and I’ll feel better.”

At one o’clock in the morning, I finally get transferred to a tiny room in the ER because the hospital is at capacity. Sick tourists, I presumed. All the overpriced hot dogs and turkey legs I guess.

After twelve hours on a twelve-inch wide cot, I’m finally transferred to a “room.” The “room” was a curtained off area in a large suite called Rapid In & Out ,or RIO, to the staff. No quickly-served burgers, just hospital-gown clad patients in beds separated by curtains in a holding area until an actual room becomes available. Fun.

The “room” was my birthday gift because the bed was a real bed! And two Filipina nurses on two separate shifts took care of me! No birthday cake, just liquids and broth, and my iPad.

I never do get to see the inside of an actual room. The doctors, a surgeon and a gastroenterologist, let me go forty-eight hours later not without prescribing two kinds of antibiotics to last me a lifetime. Okay, two weeks.

I stay in my room at the resort on Friday and pathetically retweet the action from the conference. Thankfully, we fly back to Nashville as scheduled on Saturday. I felt like hugging the nearest cowboy or musician when we landed.

What a memorable way to turn a year older, eh.

Kyera surprised me by tracking down a pair of crocheted Toms. They were sold out at our Whole Foods so she called ahead and found the last pair available at their Green Hills store. And they were my size! Thanks, Kyera!

What have I learned from this experience? That God loves me so much, He needed to remind me that He wanted my undivided attention. What better way to get it than in a hospital in a city far from home, alone and unproductive. We’ve been talking a lot since then. What of, will come in the next posts.

It’s a season, I tell you. I call this my season of grace disruptions.

Do you have any memorable birthday tales from the hospital?

I lost a friend in early July to breast cancer. Mine was just one life that she had touched by her friendship and faith and her losing her battle made me appreciate life in an even more profound way. (More profound because as an orphan, death had already left its mark on my life at least twice over.) Her battle was swift. She was brave and because I believe in Eternal Life, I rejoice that Maileen has ultimately won. Freed of her earthly body, she is now cancer-free for all eternity.

Maileen Hern and I may not have been best friends, but throughout the years, we shared moments wherein we connected — as moms, as fellow outreach leaders, as longtime members of Victory.

I welcomed my 41st year uneventfully perhaps because on some level I was afraid to change the status quo of my existence — wake, work, sleep, repeat — and rock the proverbial boat. Two days after my birthday, something in me changed.

I turned on our neglected-after-its-first-week two-month old Wii and fired up the Wii Board and its Wii Fitness Plus. I did a six minute routine and felt like I had just run a marathon. I woke up the next day, and the next, and today, I’m a day away from hitting my three week mark and proud to say that on a recent Saturday, I did routines and played the games for more than an hour. An hour!

But thinking of Maileen leaving this earth at thirty-eight only helped me get on the Wii the first day. That same day, I learned of a college acquaintance who tragically died of pneumonia. Miguel Fabie was a campus heartthrob in my book in 1986 when I was a freshman. We didn’t run in the same circles and I don’t remember us being properly introduced but we did smile and say hi to each other on occasion — I probably did more of the smiling and hi-ing— on campus or out on the town on a Friday or Saturday night when I occasionally ventured over to the higher-end places where he hung out.

My friend and bassist from a band I sang for in college, Robbie Dinglasan, sent out this tweet about Miguel passing away on July 29. I was shocked. I wasn’t sure how old he was but I cried thinking he must’ve been in his early 40s. My age. Robbie and I tweet direct messages and I found out Miguel had a wife and a son and a successful career as a photographer. My heart went to Robbie, one of Miguel’s closest friends.

A couple of days ago as I inspected my Twitter follower list for new people to follow, I chanced upon Gerdie Francisco’s name. We had worked together several times on voiceovers when she was an audio engineer. I checked her Twitter profile. She had been battling cancer. I wandered over to her Facebook profile and found out she had passed away a few weeks after her last tweet. I was crushed. She was forty-three.

My body aches in a good way these days from taking on the Wii every morning for six to eighteen minutes depending on how crazy the morning is. I think about my friends, I think about how short life is, I think about my possibly being at the halfway mark — or beyond — of mine.

Since I turned forty-one:

1. I’ve stopped putting off tomorrow what I can do today: fix my filing cabinet, bite my tongue when I’m angry, walk past the cupcakes…
2. I’ve started ignoring the temptation to click on the dozens of links that swim by my Twitter stream because my InstaPaper, Twitter Favorites, and Evernote are full, full, full of articles I’ll never read.
3. I’ve started setting goals for my life for real.
4. I try every day to show up to life, live on purpose, and love it.
5. I realize that the God who found me as a lost, angry, fearful twenty-one year old, has never left my side — even when a husband did — and He finds me still even when I feel lost, angry, and fearful at forty-one.

(I sure hope that someday I’ll make it to a Smucker’s Jar, God. I have a daughter to see thrive and flourish in Your plans for her and I hope that grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are in the picture.)

But that’s entirely up to God.