Author: Jessica Ronne

As the early morning sun peeked through the curtains, I poured 5 gallons of sap into a large cast iron pot, turned the igniter to high, and eagerly anticipated the maple syrup I’d enjoy later that afternoon. Ryan and I recently discovered that we have about 15 maple trees on our property at Hope Farm, Luke’s future home, and our friends taught us how to tap them.  We had heard that making syrup was a long, tedious process and while “long” is an appropriate description, I haven’t found it tedious at all! Most days, I’m giddy about “checking my trees” and leaving with 10+ gallons of sap to cook down into syrup the following day. 

I finished my kitchen duties, poured myself a steaming cup of coffee & sat down to read my devotions. I opened the Bible and settled in before the house came alive with chaos & noise from 6 children who needed to get ready for school. I was reading through Daniel, Daniel 3 to be exact, a familiar story and one I’ve heard numerous times throughout my childhood in a Sunday school classroom or around the dinner table.  A story of three brave men: Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego. 

Then Nebuchadnezzar was furious with Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, and his attitude toward them changed. He ordered the furnace heated seven times hotter than usual  and commanded some of the strongest soldiers in his army to tie up Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego and throw them into the blazing furnace. So these men, wearing their robes, trousers, turbans and other clothes, were bound and thrown into the blazing furnace. The king’s command was so urgent and the furnace so hot that the flames of the fire killed the soldiers who took up Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego,  and these three men, firmly tied, fell into the blazing furnace. Then King Nebuchadnezzar leaped to his feet in amazement and asked his advisers, “Weren’t there three men that we tied up and threw into the fire?” They replied, “Certainly, Your Majesty.” He said, “Look! I see four men walking around in the fire, unbound and unharmed, and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.” Nebuchadnezzar then approached the opening of the blazing furnace and shouted, “Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out! Come here!” So Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego came out of the fire, 27 and the satraps, prefects, governors and royal advisers crowded around them. They saw that the fire had not harmed their bodies, nor was a hair of their heads singed; their robes were not scorched, and there was no smell of fire on them.

I paused and underlined seven times. 

How often had I felt the heat increase at least 7 times before there was a breakthrough? When my son was diagnosed with a stroke in utero or my husband battled brain cancer for three years. Or when I found myself unexpectedly pregnant in the middle of chemo and radiation, or my current husband admitted a struggle with a lifelong addiction or as Lucas went through years of aggression due to puberty. 

I’ve learned that the number 7 has an immense amount of significance in the Bible and in my life. In Biblical history, the number is drenched in meaning and represented completion, rest, and victory. There are numerous accounts related to these themes including: the completion of the seven major divisions of the Bible, the completion of creation which culminated in rest on the 7th day; every 7th year was set aside for God’s chosen people as a year of rest and jubilee, Joshua’s march around Jericho which resulted in victory on the 7th day, and, of course, King Neb increasing the heat seven times before deliverance arrived for his boys Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

My peaceful contemplation was interrupted as my children began to emerge from their rooms, looking for nourishment before their day began. I set my Bible aside, handed each a breakfast burrito, and hurried them out the door for school. Before I sat down at my desk to begin the day, I grabbed the thermometer and set the alarm to sound when the sap reached 212 degrees. 

It would take about 6 hours to reach this number, and then, during the 7th hour, once it hit 212 it quickly began to increase – 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 – seven degrees to 219; the magic number of completion for maple syrup.  It would reach 219 within a matter of moments, and if I wasn’t watching the progress very closely, the sap would burn, and I wouldn’t be able to pour the deliciously warm syrup into jars. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the fruit of my labor. 

Sometimes the heat must increase 7 times before something reaches completion.  

Or before our rescue arrives.

And we must be patient because the fruit of our labor is enjoyed after completion.  

It’s 2023.

 2+2+3 = 7. 

The heat has increased significantly since Lucas reached the age of 12, and it’s become difficult to be his primary caregiver now at 18 years old. His needs have, at times, surpassed my capacity, but the Lord has been faithful. He’s provided manna for the moment. Lucas will turn 19 this August, and I do believe that deliverance has arrived via the gift of Hope Farm which we are creating as his forever home, Lord willing 

If you’re going through something unbelievably difficult and life-draining, hear me with this truth. Hold on with every ounce of your being, hold on to Him who is greater than he who is in the world, hold on to that last shred of faith in your soul no matter how unraveled or mangled or beat to crap it may seem, HOLD ON for goodness sake and for every other sake for you have absolutely no idea what’s around the bend.  You have no idea what happens after the heat increases seven times and when you finally reach completion. You have no idea how the Lord will bless your life when the rescue arrives. 

Just keep livin. 

If you enjoyed this and want to read more, check out my books, Sunlight Burning at Midnight, Blended with Grit & Grace, and  Lovin with Grit & Grace

               

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Excerpt from Blended with Grit & Grace. 

The measure of obstacles we overcome is often a sign of the greatness waiting for us on the other side. When I reach my breaking point, I think of you and the obstacles you have overcome in your life, and it gives me strength. —Ryan, 2012

When Ryan and I met in 2010, we were in a season of death, with the passing of our spouses Jason and Kaci, and this loss included a burial of lifelong dreams. Dreams of a nuclear, intact family. Expectations that we would grow old with our spouse. A dream of biological parents raising the children they chose to bring into this world, and the assumption that the biological father would walk his daughter down the aisle one day. Buckets of grief and despair and unmet opportunities filled our hearts.

The next few years, we enjoyed a resurrection as our lives merged and birthed new realities: our marriage and blended family; a simple life in rural Tennessee, where we learned to work the hard clay earth with our bare hands, where the sun wrinkled our brows, and we slept deeply at night after a day’s labor tending to children, chickens, housework, and gardens. A good life. A difficult life. A life where every moment was a teacher in some capacity. A life where I birthed a book, a teaching career, a nonprofit dream, and another child. Buckets of hope and growth and beauty.

As I grapple with these words, I once again find myself in a season of decay and confusion, with our family enduring broken bodies over the past year: Ryan’s shoulder surgery; my fractured foot, which continues to hinder my participation in favorite activities like walking, tennis, and yoga; and Lucas’s brain surgeries, which resulted in his month-long admission in PICU in December 2019. As I write these words, my children have just reentered the craziest school year of their life after a five-month hiatus, where every part of me was broken as a pandemic swept across the world: my control, my plans, and my pride—nothing working out like I thought it would. And I still grapple with numerous unanswered questions and concerns about how the future is going to play out. Will they stay in school? Is school good for them? Will they get sick? Broken ideals and realities surround our family as we restructure and determine how we’ll proceed from here. And through these trials, we’ve buried systems that used to work when the world was one way, and now they no longer serve us emotionally or spiritually, and we wait because we know.

I know because I’ve been here before. I remember August of 2010, the most difficult month of my life, as a tumultuous month full of overwhelming obligations and demands—work, Lucas’s birthday, family pictures, doctor’s appointments, four children farmed out on a daily basis to anyone, and everyone, the arrival of hospice equipment, nursing staff in and out, important phone calls determining life-or-death decisions, and ultimately good-byes whispered and a funeral prepared for a young husband and father. I wait and I remember. I recall that this is familiar soil, deep and dark and rich soil where perhaps I’ve not been buried but have instead been planted, and now I await my reemergence into the light.

I wait for a resurrection.

And I am confident that growth will occur in due time because that’s how the gig works. It’s how our lives are rigged.

Everything remains in motion: a continuous movement of death and resurrection, waves upon waves washing away the brokenness and grief and moving what remains to the shore— natural disasters and despair and divorce and special needs and bereavement not excluded, a blending of grit and grace. It’s all involved, collectively and individually; ashes to beauty and back to ashes again; circular movements until the maestro sweeps his baton for the last time and bows his head in holy reverence; that moment when his beloved creation leans into the finality and releases a labored breath—bursting through the birth canal into an everlasting resurrection.

And until then?

We rise up out of the boat and walk toward the land; we walk toward the Rock of Ages from whence there is no shifting sand. We move toward a purpose higher than ourselves. We pursue life and do our darndest to live in the present and practice thankfulness. Loss has a way of bringing a newfound appreciation and respect for the present. There are lessons in despair that are incredibly painful, but these lessons are also remarkably life-giving as we navigate forward into a new reality where pain bequeaths joy.

Gratefulness has the ability to carry a family forward as they navigate the numerous roadblocks encountered to get to a healthy place of peace and fulfillment. I should preface— there’s no set arrival date to this place of peace. The process will be ongoing until the day we die. Ryan would love it if I could just give him a future time when we will no longer struggle with anything and instead live in peace and harmony until the end of our days, but that’s not how life works—not in a traditional family nor in a blended one. But we keep lifting ourselves up out of despair. Keep willing ourselves to rise out of the muck and put one foot in front of the other. We keep moving forward, one step at a time with determination, grit, and grace.

We Just keep livin.

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Ryan and I spent last week traveling to Oklahoma for a handful of speaking engagements, and while it was a wonderful period of respite, with no meals to prepare, laundry to fold, housecleaning, or children’s schedules to maintain, it was also exhausting because of all of the previously mentioned + work was put on hold for a week.  There’s always a price to pay when mama takes a break 😉

I’m finding that the older I become, the less I enjoy the process of travel.

I love landing in a unique place and exploring new possibilities, but the process of getting from point A to point B, I’m not really into that experience anymore; particularly when the process involves airfare.  Our travel plans went off without a hitch – no delays or surprises, but there’s something about airports and checkpoints and ears painfully popping and the complete loss of control while in the air that leaves me plumb worn out.

I’m also discovering that the older I get, the less interested I am in hotels or homes that are not my own.

Our first two nights at the Hampton Inn were uneventful, and then a slew of young high school students and their coaches checked in for the weekend.  They were in town for a state wrestling championship meet.  All 50+ high schoolers, and they practiced for their matches right above our room.

ALL NIGHT LONG. 

We called the front desk three times begging for the noise to stop, but it never did.  Finally, at around 3:00 am we drifted off to sleep for a few hours before rising the next morning to prep for our first event.

NOT FUN. 

We opted out of the couple’s skill-building exercise in the afternoon (weight lifting) and opted into a nap, but before our nap, we asked the front desk to move us to the top floor which they graciously agreed to do.

I did sleep much better the following few nights but decided that I would rather travel via truck and trailer for any future events we might schedule. And so, in pure Jessica fashion, (jump in and do it), I convinced Ryan to send a text to a friend who had been toying with the idea of selling his travel trailer to see if he was still leaning in that direction.  He was, and we set up a time to see it.

They say as you age, the neural pathways in your brain become deeply entrenched in whatever routines or rhythms you’ve adopted throughout your life and this makes it difficult to learn a new language as you get older or change a habit.  And then tack on a firstborn, black-and-white personality and that’s simply a recipe for massive amounts of OCD all day long. I am definitely stuck in my ways at 45 years old.

My nightly rhythms are so entrenched in my psyche and the key to being able to successfully manage my life!  (Magnesium, CBD, and stretch at 8:00, magnesium and CBD at 9:00, lavender cream and wild yam at 9:30, the Office from 9:30-10 and sound asleep until 6:00 am) at least that’s how it goes when everything is “normal”: my bed (softer), my special pillow (harder), my room darkening shades that cut every ounce of light, and my thermostat turned down low.  My husband is also becoming very adept at his/our rhythms, but he’s not as crabby if something goes a bit off-kilter.  In other words, he handles sleep deprivation much better than I do.

We saw the travel trailer this past weekend, and it is perfect.  We will make this purchase in the near future, and then I will always be able to take my comfortable little space and routines with me wherever I go. And I will sleep peacefully as the little old lady that I am becoming and everyone will benefit. It’s the simple things in life, right?

Just keep livin.

If you enjoyed this and want to read more, I have a new book that was recently released  Lovin with Grit & Grace and it’s ON SALE TODAY!