Videos & Podcasts

By Ann Farabee

Addiction is vicious.

My father and brother died from it.

My adult children struggled with it.

It separates you from those you love.

It feels like a private journey because it is difficult to share.

With drug addiction, heartache comes.

As does pain.

Some overcome.

Many do not.

Some overcome and relapse.

Then they overcome — and relapse again.

It is a cycle that for many never ends.

But sometimes it does.

Even if a relapse comes, they still overcame — for a while.

Hopefully, they will overcome again.

The road can be long. It usually is.

For some — once the problem begins — it lasts a lifetime.

If only the pain was just for the user of the drug — that would seem a little more fair.

But the pain also belongs to those of us who love them.

We wait for the call that no one wants to get — but fully expect.

The actively using addict tends to be self-centered.

They focus on their need for drugs — and on nothing else.

It controls their thoughts.

Priorities are re-prioritized — and the normalcy of their lives slips away.

It is so sad to watch — and to experience.

Does this mean we do not love them? No. We love them immensely. We love them enough to keep them in the corner of our mind 24 hours a day every day of every week of every month of every year — even if we rarely see them.

For approximately 2.7 million grandparents in the United States, that love is shown to their adult children who are addicts, when they take over the parenting of their addicted children’s children — their grandchildren.

Our boys came to be ours when I looked through the window of their home and saw one of them, who should have been playing and enjoying the joys of being a four year old, rubbing his mother’s head and trying to comfort her as she lay on the couch, lethargic and oblivious to his presence in the room.

That was when we knew. The children had to be safe. So we took them with us. We began to send them back less and less frequently, until one day, we all realized that our home had become the place our grandchildren would call their home.

We did not do that to their parents — we did it for their parents.

Proverbs 31:8 says, “Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves.”

The children were too young to speak for themselves.

They deserved better.

We would give it to them.

Our journey as grandparents raising grandchildren had begun.

Thirteen years later, we are still on that journey.

Lord, be with the addict. Be with their children. Be with those who love an addict. Amen

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at  annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.

By Ann Farabee

I don’t remember when. I don’t remember where. I don’t remember how.

But I do remember that I had no idea what to do.

It was — the roundabout.

I hate that my parents did not live to enjoy roundabouts. My dad would have gone all the way around one several times, just for fun. My mother, on the other hand, would definitely slow traffic down. Driving 5 mph would not have been fast enough.

What good are roundabouts?

Experts say:

• They slow us down.

• There is one way travel.

• They are safer.

• They improve traffic flow.

• They require yielding to others.

• We won’t be tempted to beat the stoplight, because there aren’t any.

I just about had roundabouts tackled until I came across three in a row.

Three roundabouts and my equilibrium do not go well together.

But, obviously there is a purpose for them. I mean — they are in the Bible, right?

You know — where Psalm 34:7 says that the angel of the Lord encamps roundabout his people forever.

As for camping, it has never been my favorite thing to do.

The daytime is fabulous — but the nights — not so much.

My last time in a tent overnight was on a trip to the mountains with around 100 members of our church. At dark, we would gather around the campfire to sing, testify, talk and roast marshmallows.

Then tent time came.

Sleep did not.

It was too dark to sleep.

My eyes opened. My eyes closed.

It looked the same — dark.

What were those noises? Everyone was asleep — I could hear them snoring.

What is that? Have you ever heard an owl? The screeching was horrendous.

Why is everyone still snoring?

What is that? Something brushed by our tent — on my side, of course.

Not only did I hear it — I felt movement against the side of the tent.

No doubt. It had to be a bear.

I then chose to stay awake all night to listen for bear noises, so I could scream to alert everyone, if needed.

If only I had remembered this important information about camping:

The angel of the Lord was encamping roundabout me.

To encamp means to settle in and establish. Roundabout means you go in one direction around the center.

The angel of the Lord encamps round about us, settles in, and establishes himself in our life situations, as we head in one direction toward our heavenly home — to be with Jesus forever.

Some times — some days — some long dark nights — we may not feel that the protection he gives us while he is encamping roundabout us will be enough.

But, when we doubt, we may just need to read on to the end of Psalm 34:7.

The end of the verse says that God delivers us!

God’s promise from God’s word brings victory — every time.

By Ann Farabee

I understand, Habakkuk.

I really do.

Life sure can be a mystery.

Sometimes, there are things we need to know.

Sometimes, there are questions we need to ask.

Knowing that you — a minor prophet — took your questions to God, helps me know that God will answer my questions, too.

When reading your questions from Habakkuk 1:2, I felt your pain. I felt you crying out.

I sure have been there.

You asked, “Oh Lord, how long must I cry out and You will not hear me? How long must I cry out and You will not save me?”

I sure am glad you asked God those questions, because I really wanted to know the answer, as well. We may not often admit it, but sometimes it seems as if it is taking forever for the answer to come.

Yes, Habakkuk. God answered you.

God who created the world — and created us — is willing to answer our questions.

That knowledge takes my breath away.

As does the response Habakkuk received.

God’s response? In Habakkuk 1:5, God said, “Be utterly astounded! I will work a work in your days, that you would not believe, even if I told you.”

God was going to do an unbelievable work in Habakkuk’s days. “Will work a work”’ meant that he would begin, continue and finish. “In your days” meant it will not be deferred, put off or postponed. The unbelievable would happen in his lifetime.

We need to believe God will do the unbelievable. Really believe — not just for the past or for the future, but for the here and now. God is here. His presence is real. He will work a work in our days.

Mark 11:24 tells us that whatever we ask in prayer, believe that we have received it, and it will be ours.

Jeremiah 33:3 says that we are to call on him and he will answer us, and show us great and mighty things, that we did not know.

• Lord — your plans are bigger than we could ever imagine.

Help us to imagine the unimaginable.

• Lord — you still do the unbelievable.

Help us to believe the unbelievable.

• Lord — you still can — and you still will — astound us.

Help us to be utterly astounded.

Lord, may we expect to be astounded by the unimaginable and the unbelievable. Amen.

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at  annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.

By Ann Farabee

Letting go.

It is personal.

No one can do it for you.

Telling someone to let go can be helpful — but only if they let go.

As a 10-year-old, I attended swim classes at the YMCA. The instructor was nice. The water was not too cold. I would sit on the steps of the pool. I would then walk down the steps while holding on to the side of the pool.

The next step would be to let go of the side of the pool. I refused. Not one time during those lessons did I let go. I regret that my parents had to pay for me to hold on to the side of the pool.

As a 20-year-old, I was required to pass a swim test in college in order to pass PE. My teacher very calmly told me that I would need to let go of the side of the pool in order to swim.

I promised I would try. He waited. Nothing.

Finally he counted expressively, “One, two, three. Let go!”

After a few countdowns, he gently spoke these words, “In order to let go, you will have to open your hands.”

Trust me — the side of the pool was not easy to let go of, but I finally did. Instruction became possible. I learned to swim that semester and earned my A in PE. My teacher was proud.

Until I opened my hands, let go and chose to trust, there would have been little chance of overcoming my lifelong fear of the water. I could have held on with hands tightly clenched to the side of the pool for the entire semester — and admit defeat. But I chose to trust my teacher and then began to trust the water that surrounded me.

Trust changed everything.

Trust. It is a small but beautiful word that brings out our emotions and resonates as a firm belief in the reliability, truth, ability, or strength of someone or some thing.

When most of us were growing up, we may remember standing on some stairs yelling out, “Catch me, Daddy!” Then, with reckless abandon we would let go and fly through the air because we had complete trust that our father would catch us. He always would.

Or maybe we remember our children jumping into their father’s arms from the stairs, as they yelled out, “Catch me, Daddy!” and went diving through the air with complete trust that he would catch them. He always would.

The trust a child can have in his father — it is an amazing thing.

The trust we can have in our heavenly father — it is an amazing thing.

Which would feel sweeter?

How we feel when we know we can trust God?

Or how God must feel knowing that we trust him?

I think both make him smile.

Ecclesiastes 3:6 tells us that there is a time to let go.

Trust God! Do not fear. He will catch us!

Every. Time.

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker. Contact her at  annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com.