Monday, April 25, 2011

Windows and resurrection

i asked for his help--i could tell he was waiting up for me, and task-oriented, i was trying to hurry through just the next few steps to a "good" quitting point. we laughed at my non-spatially wired brain and the fact that my method had prolonged my measuring and cutting the fabric. i asked if he'd help cut the last few strips with me; two pairs of scissors staring at me ready, and only at the end of the night had i thought to ask for his help. giving instructions to cut on this line, leave that fabric there, we snipped side by side and wordless, til hesitantly i asked, "i hope you don't mind this menial domestic work?" in all his hazel seriousness he replied, "why would i? it gives me a window into your world." it's been almost seven years since we first met, and he still takes my breath away with how profoundly he loves me. when do i take the time to so casually and intensely whisk away the curtains of our everyday to see him so present in his world, too?

on a post-Easter monday, it's so clear to see the Groom analogy for He lived and died so thoroughly in our world so that we might yet live in His. my breath forces exhale in unspent worship at the magnitude of grace, the curtains rent so that we may Live.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

When nesting is more than a list

i love lists. i love checking things off those lists. i love post-its and sharpies (colored! fine line! oh my!). i love the rustle of my legal pad with all my to-dos and shopping lists and half-written journal entries. for those like me, there is a sense of wonder and security in being tightly wrapped up in the crossed-off sections of need want do, and in a season of end-of-pregnancy urgency, it could get easy to stay there, between the lines and check marks.
but there is more to a nest than provision.
there is beauty in tangled twigs, each one positioned just-so by a loving parent.
there is moss and down to provide just enough softness for those entering the world from jagged shards.
there is a landing to fly from eventually, and there is shelter in the now.
first-time mamas know the frantic energy to wash baseboards and iron crib sheets, to shop for every little thing the baby might need, and mamas with a little more experience know that preparation is helpful and hard to come by. we may still wash windows, but we also chase older siblings and pine for easy rest.
i know i have been absent here, and i miss it, and all you lovely reader-friends, dearly. my mind is muddy and my energy is non-existent. we've got about three weeks til this little boy comes, and i treasure the time of being his womb-home as it will be last, but i'm also eager to meet him and be in the next season. i've had my moments of cleaning at midnight, and naturally, that's when blog post ideas or thoughts pop in, but then just as quickly, the energy and poetry is gone. but i'm still poet-mama while list-making and diaper changing and fast-food meal-providing. i'm here, and still as much in love with grace as ever. i'm still a broken mama who yells a little too often in this tired, tiring stage, and i'm still bowed low with love from a God who provides just what i need when i need it.
there is joy here in the waiting, i'm just not writing about it that much. i'm eager to share news of his birth with you, if it takes that long to write again, and otherwise i take shelter in this period of interim/enter-Him.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011


yesterday we had severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings and had a power outage. this is the blog post i wanted to have up yesterday for counting blessings.
also linking with suzannah today
lt;center>so much shouting, so much  laughter
more grizzly bear than mama bear these last few days (weeks?!) and i tire of grouching all day. there seem a million viable excuses, but i tire of them as well. am i angry? tired? is there a difference in the sight of little boys?

today we have severe storming; our power goes out so we do, too--let someone else prepare our food, fast, and we drive down streets with trees broken and houses splintered. all i could see were people coming home to such damage. my heart wanted to break for lives unknown to me, their stories in books i'll probably never read.

our own street untouched by the wind's rage, though two streets over trees lie on power lines keeping us in dark. not even an upset trash can--this the only evidence today is any different for trash would normally be picked up by now. and inside this house we call it "disaster zone" but no branches gape in my walls...we call those three boys "tornadoes," yet all in one piece and mostly with stormy heart now calmed to see real storm, real damage, wishing to be a peaceful mist in my own home.

grateful for: (283-290)
husband who loves through the grouchy woman invading me; 3 boys who grace me with smiles and gripping hugs; power out-quiet! and respite from tv's noise, also, the invitation to play, be creative in getting along; him home to help and not out driving weathered roads; money enough to buy lunch and getting a break from darkening living room; the One who calms the storm and allows it to rage to calm my internal storm.
prayers for:
those in our neighborhood facing financial and emotional hardship in the days to come; safety for city workers dealing with felled trees and power lines; grace for those continuing without power.