Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith. Show all posts
Monday, June 25, 2012
Trickle
i have a 13 month old taking his nightly nap on my lap, his arms folded ann geddes-style under his chin, his eyelashes are black feathers on a pink cheek, and his feet are almost as long as my hands. he's growing too quickly.
my connor has become an artist almost overnight, and i don't even know how to tell you what this does to my soul. it has made me fall a little more deeply in love with his blues (i wonder if his all blue see the world differently than mine, all brown?) and his imp-dimple, and his limber little legs. there is a story for every drawing (mostly bombs and fish, lately), and a smile for every time i ask him, "tell me about it?"
shea, so close to six he can't stand it, squints his eyes a lot, and we think he might need glasses, but he's already shocked me by his right vision, how he already knows that jesus died for him because He loves him, and he knows that we need to be perfect again one day. that we will be. he trusts this so fully i'm humbled. i want to ask him how he came to trust so well.
little-yet-not mr avery, how he makes my heart swell with his golden spirit. his curls wooed me like his bobbing bottom when he was a baby, but now i wonder my love at him because of how he loves: with every fiber of his being. he apologizes for being sad, he wants the whole world to know he exists, and he wants most of all to laugh with you, and hug you, and make the world okay.
these boys of mine, they are pieces of me, aren't they? the story-boy, the literalist, the people lover, even the baby who knows his securities.
slowly, i am emerging from this hollow place i've been. i feel words trying to trickle back inside of me, outside of me.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
how worship is the hardest thing we do
we talked of the commandment, how he tells us how to love him, worship him, return to him the glory that is always his, and that little part of me always chafes at the being told what to do, and i wonder if we aren't just puppets after all.
and then one of the ladies suggests that worship is not for us and i think if it's austere, then there is more room for him to fill, less for my useless attempts at purity and law to clutter the space, and i breathe low. think, that worship is sometimes painful, and it is, i know, because i have sung praises on a tongue that wanted curses, have prayed selfishly because i didn't know how to say i love you and mean it, and because all i really want to worship is my own self, my own strengths, my own time and needs.
and it's only the heart for him. pure form means nothing if a heart is defiled, and he knows the heart, knows my thoughts,
and if knowing me, how can he love me?
this is worship.
and then one of the ladies suggests that worship is not for us and i think if it's austere, then there is more room for him to fill, less for my useless attempts at purity and law to clutter the space, and i breathe low. think, that worship is sometimes painful, and it is, i know, because i have sung praises on a tongue that wanted curses, have prayed selfishly because i didn't know how to say i love you and mean it, and because all i really want to worship is my own self, my own strengths, my own time and needs.
and it's only the heart for him. pure form means nothing if a heart is defiled, and he knows the heart, knows my thoughts,
and if knowing me, how can he love me?
this is worship.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Shattered
there is a place where the sacred is unsafe
the holy burns,
and unsinged we dare to ask if we are secure
we think we purify ourselves
by removing our shoes
never thinking we stand a world apart
paperthin
between this world and the next
where our clay-frail bodies one day will shatter
like the stars
the dead sloughed off
shines nova-bright, now--
how unsafe it is to be burned down
only to be consumed again by holy fire
we shatter
the holy burns,
and unsinged we dare to ask if we are secure
we think we purify ourselves
by removing our shoes
never thinking we stand a world apart
paperthin
between this world and the next
where our clay-frail bodies one day will shatter
like the stars
the dead sloughed off
shines nova-bright, now--
how unsafe it is to be burned down
only to be consumed again by holy fire
we shatter
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
A Girl Named Fragile, A Parable
this is my first bit of fiction. i'm afraid to share it, yet knowing it is imperfect, i feel emily's is where it belongs for a spell.
once there was a girl who lived in a Dark Wood, only she didn't know it was dark because she'd never seen the light. She came of age and chose to travel--she wanted to know what went beyond the trees. she came upon a forked path, and having never left her little yard, was forced to choose one way. she chose blindly, as one must always do in the Dark. little did she know that one path led further into the wood and the deep dark, and the one she chose led towards Beyond. as she walked and walked, little golden beams sometimes showed through the canopy of branches, and she felt a prickling sensation when she stepped into the little puddles of brightness. she was being introduced to Light, and she felt she loved him. by the time the last tree was behind her, and she walked openly in the well-lit Beyond, Fragile felt she'd known Light all along. in fact, she thought she'd seen glimpses of him even in her Dark Wood; had he not been in the fire where she cooked her meal and warmed herself? had he not been in the stars where she imagined her friends? yes, he'd been quiet and unnamed, but he'd been there. yes, she loved this golden Sun.
But one day, it felt too immense, too surreal--perhaps she was dreaming and it was still Dark. thus, she was introduced to Fear, and he wooed her for some time. Fear introduced her to his friend Anger, and he was so seductive, so beguiling. he made her feel safe and made her forget Fear's cold hands. she also forgot the warmth of the Light she'd loved once. Fragile and Anger journeyed for years together. he taught her the meaning of her name and how to abuse it. little by little, cracks were appearing all over, though Fragile wasn't aware of her changed appearance. what she did know was that she was getting weary, often having no strength for more than a day or two at a time on her journey. Anger became impatient with her, and so she became impatient with herself. the fissures were getting bigger, and now that Fragile saw them, she wondered what was wrong with her-why was she breaking? Anger didn't notice the cracks; in fact, he didn't notice Fragile at all anymore. Depression met them then, and she took Fragile's hands in hers, hugged her tight and whispered lies. "you were happier in the Dark, weren't you? the Light is making you ugly because if you were in the Dark you wouldn't even be able to see them. you deserve the pain you feel and inflict on others-wasn't it you who kept Anger all these years?" Depression's sister Loneliness visited often, and Anger kept his distance but followed still.
Fragile was more tired than ever, and the cracks began to hurt. she wished for Peace. she didn't know who he was, only that she'd dreamt of him long ago when dancing in the sunbeams in the forest. she wondered if Peace could ever find her. she went to sleep that night flanked by Anger, Depression, and Loneliness. She wished she'd never wake up; maybe that way she'd find Peace. In her sleep she dreamed a child named Hope cried. When Fragile asked why she was crying, she merely cried some more. waking up and confused by the dream, it took a moment for Fragile to realize someone was watching her. it was the child Hope. "you! i dreamed you were crying! why would such a beautiful child cry?" the child answered quietly, "i was waiting for you." Hope then introduced Fragile to her companion who came forward, Peace. Fragile looked around for Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, but to her surprise they were gone.
Fragile walked with Hope and Peace and asked what more they could possibly see in the Beyond. they arrived then at a castle ruins, and she was told it was the most precious thing in all the land. "but it's just an old broken castle," Fragile muttered, disappointed. "not, 'just.' it is also the house of the sun, and you are welcome." indeed, the castle was aglow, and from it shined the Light she'd once known so intimately. a tear trickled down her cheek as she whispered, "im sorry i forgot you on the way." upon entering the hall, the castle righted itself and transformed into its glory, and she was asked to bathe in the fountain of life. she did so, half-thinking her cracks would disappear, but when she emerged she was no different. Light took her hand and led her to his great mirror. "what do you see?" he asked. in it, she saw her travels with Fear, Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, and her short time with Peace and Hope, and she said, "i see Fragile." "no, my child, that is not who i see. look again. i see Treasure." she asked Light "why did i have to break, then?" "look again." this time when Fragile looked in the mirror she saw what Peace had seen and called Beauty and what Hope saw and called Worth waiting for. looking into the Sun's mirror, all she could see was the Light shining. she realized if she'd never been broken, she'd never have seen the Light inside her.
once there was a girl who lived in a Dark Wood, only she didn't know it was dark because she'd never seen the light. She came of age and chose to travel--she wanted to know what went beyond the trees. she came upon a forked path, and having never left her little yard, was forced to choose one way. she chose blindly, as one must always do in the Dark. little did she know that one path led further into the wood and the deep dark, and the one she chose led towards Beyond. as she walked and walked, little golden beams sometimes showed through the canopy of branches, and she felt a prickling sensation when she stepped into the little puddles of brightness. she was being introduced to Light, and she felt she loved him. by the time the last tree was behind her, and she walked openly in the well-lit Beyond, Fragile felt she'd known Light all along. in fact, she thought she'd seen glimpses of him even in her Dark Wood; had he not been in the fire where she cooked her meal and warmed herself? had he not been in the stars where she imagined her friends? yes, he'd been quiet and unnamed, but he'd been there. yes, she loved this golden Sun.
But one day, it felt too immense, too surreal--perhaps she was dreaming and it was still Dark. thus, she was introduced to Fear, and he wooed her for some time. Fear introduced her to his friend Anger, and he was so seductive, so beguiling. he made her feel safe and made her forget Fear's cold hands. she also forgot the warmth of the Light she'd loved once. Fragile and Anger journeyed for years together. he taught her the meaning of her name and how to abuse it. little by little, cracks were appearing all over, though Fragile wasn't aware of her changed appearance. what she did know was that she was getting weary, often having no strength for more than a day or two at a time on her journey. Anger became impatient with her, and so she became impatient with herself. the fissures were getting bigger, and now that Fragile saw them, she wondered what was wrong with her-why was she breaking? Anger didn't notice the cracks; in fact, he didn't notice Fragile at all anymore. Depression met them then, and she took Fragile's hands in hers, hugged her tight and whispered lies. "you were happier in the Dark, weren't you? the Light is making you ugly because if you were in the Dark you wouldn't even be able to see them. you deserve the pain you feel and inflict on others-wasn't it you who kept Anger all these years?" Depression's sister Loneliness visited often, and Anger kept his distance but followed still.
Fragile was more tired than ever, and the cracks began to hurt. she wished for Peace. she didn't know who he was, only that she'd dreamt of him long ago when dancing in the sunbeams in the forest. she wondered if Peace could ever find her. she went to sleep that night flanked by Anger, Depression, and Loneliness. She wished she'd never wake up; maybe that way she'd find Peace. In her sleep she dreamed a child named Hope cried. When Fragile asked why she was crying, she merely cried some more. waking up and confused by the dream, it took a moment for Fragile to realize someone was watching her. it was the child Hope. "you! i dreamed you were crying! why would such a beautiful child cry?" the child answered quietly, "i was waiting for you." Hope then introduced Fragile to her companion who came forward, Peace. Fragile looked around for Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, but to her surprise they were gone.
Fragile walked with Hope and Peace and asked what more they could possibly see in the Beyond. they arrived then at a castle ruins, and she was told it was the most precious thing in all the land. "but it's just an old broken castle," Fragile muttered, disappointed. "not, 'just.' it is also the house of the sun, and you are welcome." indeed, the castle was aglow, and from it shined the Light she'd once known so intimately. a tear trickled down her cheek as she whispered, "im sorry i forgot you on the way." upon entering the hall, the castle righted itself and transformed into its glory, and she was asked to bathe in the fountain of life. she did so, half-thinking her cracks would disappear, but when she emerged she was no different. Light took her hand and led her to his great mirror. "what do you see?" he asked. in it, she saw her travels with Fear, Anger, Depression, and Loneliness, and her short time with Peace and Hope, and she said, "i see Fragile." "no, my child, that is not who i see. look again. i see Treasure." she asked Light "why did i have to break, then?" "look again." this time when Fragile looked in the mirror she saw what Peace had seen and called Beauty and what Hope saw and called Worth waiting for. looking into the Sun's mirror, all she could see was the Light shining. she realized if she'd never been broken, she'd never have seen the Light inside her.
Monday, November 7, 2011
On limping and rubies
a date, of sorts. a cafe where we learned of food proclivities and evolving tastes. a car with no carseats and for a limited time, time to do anything. so, the mall for people-viewing and window-shopping. the irony? we both limped. her, because of surgery and a too-long year of not healing properly, and me because of my fall last week. yet the limping seemed physical only: we've limped long and hard on a road to recovery, but a banal trip to the mall was the most normal we've felt in a long time--truly a mother and a daughter grown and time just to enjoy each other's company.
as we meandered haphazardly (i inherited her aptitude for getting lost!), at some point, she lost her necklace. a faux ruby denoting not her birth month but rather an anniversary gift, its importance not in dollar worth but in sentimental value. we retraced some steps, but it was gone. i felt crushed for her, and yet she glanced upwards and said "thank you" in prayer, and shared. we could spend all our time retracing and bemoaning, or we could enjoy our present time and anticipation of tomorrows. she chose joy in losing a prized possession, able to see part of the bigger story.
joining in witness to the Good Father and giver of Good gifts
326. my torta de pollo and the.best.tortilla.chips.ever
327. authenticity not just in mexican food but in conversation and relationship
328. for the long journey, to treasure the stops along the way, the growth
329. for a saturday afternoon spent with my mom
330. for getting to be a daughter
331. for her losing her necklace, a teaching opportunity
332. and for the enjoying the gift of the present
and unrelated to this weekend, i also want to share an amazing working of the father in my family:
333. choosing to see, like she did, the opportunity to see with eternal eyes: our car got repossessed
334. but just a few days later, a friend of ours GAVE us her suburban.
335. we went from a car that didn't fit our whole family to a car without a car note that has a seat to spare
336. for my beautiful husband, and the chances to pray for him, and the heart i see in him and Him
337. did i mention we can now go to corporate church together again? :)
338. for a visit from a friend a few weeks ago. she was such an encouragement
339. and always, the GRACE that blows me away, that has brought me thus far
as we meandered haphazardly (i inherited her aptitude for getting lost!), at some point, she lost her necklace. a faux ruby denoting not her birth month but rather an anniversary gift, its importance not in dollar worth but in sentimental value. we retraced some steps, but it was gone. i felt crushed for her, and yet she glanced upwards and said "thank you" in prayer, and shared. we could spend all our time retracing and bemoaning, or we could enjoy our present time and anticipation of tomorrows. she chose joy in losing a prized possession, able to see part of the bigger story.
joining in witness to the Good Father and giver of Good gifts
326. my torta de pollo and the.best.tortilla.chips.ever
327. authenticity not just in mexican food but in conversation and relationship
328. for the long journey, to treasure the stops along the way, the growth
329. for a saturday afternoon spent with my mom
330. for getting to be a daughter
331. for her losing her necklace, a teaching opportunity
332. and for the enjoying the gift of the present
and unrelated to this weekend, i also want to share an amazing working of the father in my family:
333. choosing to see, like she did, the opportunity to see with eternal eyes: our car got repossessed
334. but just a few days later, a friend of ours GAVE us her suburban.
335. we went from a car that didn't fit our whole family to a car without a car note that has a seat to spare
336. for my beautiful husband, and the chances to pray for him, and the heart i see in him and Him
337. did i mention we can now go to corporate church together again? :)
338. for a visit from a friend a few weeks ago. she was such an encouragement
339. and always, the GRACE that blows me away, that has brought me thus far
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
How roses encore
i don't know if it's because of the breed (is that the right word?)or because of zone 7/8, but my long-neglected rosebush is blooming again, the brilliant fuchsia oxymoron to the first of november. i'm sure the last petals will fall with the first frost, yet i, too, thought august had drained the final blossoms of my tired bush.
i guess it still burns.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when we met, he told me he'd been wandering the desert for a while, doing anything to shake the lushness of the gospel, choosing to sunburn under atheism, agnosticism, pragmatism, humanism, and logic's prickly harshness. but even then, when vultures watched with hawking cries, he couldn't run away from the Whisperer, the gospel written deeply in his heart even as he ran from familiar doorposts.
i guess it still burned.
~~~~~~~~~~~
do you know how mysteries unravel and solve themselves about 20 pages til the end and you finally see the pattern, begin to know whodunnit? this, an analogy that breaks down in the face of true mystery, the One with mysterious ways, whose thoughts are not our thoughts. Shea's memory verse (chosen oh-so-"randomly" for him; i thought it would be a good lesson for him when really it was a lesson for us): and we know he has worked all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose (romans 8:28).
i watched his faith unravel for a season. held my fear so closely i couldn't even share it here. i was too afraid that giving voice would give fervent reality (as if i could create with my voice!!!). then, a warming, a spark, and i was afraid to breathe, afraid to blow it out (as if i could puff out the breath that breathed us out!!!). and then life shattered a bit, and all those worries seemed realized: the bitterness, the fist clenched towards God, the too-easy fall into frustration and despair. i was blessed with eyes to see, but no way to help his vision.
today his knuckles are loosened. his eyes have adjusted (from the mirror, darkly), and he senses the Bigger-than-he-is quotient. i breathe out murmured praise and choose to believe out loud this time, and hold fast. my lover has been woo'd again to the Beloved, and while there will certainly be ravines in the mud, i'm so happy to pray with my husband again, to hear his heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
it doesn't seem so odd anymore, the blazing pink in the chilly air.
He burns.
i guess it still burns.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
when we met, he told me he'd been wandering the desert for a while, doing anything to shake the lushness of the gospel, choosing to sunburn under atheism, agnosticism, pragmatism, humanism, and logic's prickly harshness. but even then, when vultures watched with hawking cries, he couldn't run away from the Whisperer, the gospel written deeply in his heart even as he ran from familiar doorposts.
i guess it still burned.
~~~~~~~~~~~
do you know how mysteries unravel and solve themselves about 20 pages til the end and you finally see the pattern, begin to know whodunnit? this, an analogy that breaks down in the face of true mystery, the One with mysterious ways, whose thoughts are not our thoughts. Shea's memory verse (chosen oh-so-"randomly" for him; i thought it would be a good lesson for him when really it was a lesson for us): and we know he has worked all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose (romans 8:28).
i watched his faith unravel for a season. held my fear so closely i couldn't even share it here. i was too afraid that giving voice would give fervent reality (as if i could create with my voice!!!). then, a warming, a spark, and i was afraid to breathe, afraid to blow it out (as if i could puff out the breath that breathed us out!!!). and then life shattered a bit, and all those worries seemed realized: the bitterness, the fist clenched towards God, the too-easy fall into frustration and despair. i was blessed with eyes to see, but no way to help his vision.
today his knuckles are loosened. his eyes have adjusted (from the mirror, darkly), and he senses the Bigger-than-he-is quotient. i breathe out murmured praise and choose to believe out loud this time, and hold fast. my lover has been woo'd again to the Beloved, and while there will certainly be ravines in the mud, i'm so happy to pray with my husband again, to hear his heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
it doesn't seem so odd anymore, the blazing pink in the chilly air.
He burns.
Monday, September 26, 2011
(hard)
hard.
i can't even begin to express here the storm of uncertainty in my heart. but i need to get it out somehow.
how do you share words that hurt, even when your aim is to protect? how do you write real when you can't forget last night's dreams (the bad kind)? how do you mama-give when you curl fetal?
hard.
i know i can't make sense to you. (ambiguous you) i wish you knew i loved you and hurt for you, but i hurt for me, too.
how can there be seasons of certainty and others of mere fragility? days when i'm strong for me and others where i ache for you?
silence lingers these days, and i know neither of us knows what to say. i'm sorry. i'm praying for us. even if you don't know it.
311. breathing out this prayer for all of us involved: when you can't trace His hand, trust His heart.
312. for broken hearts so he can heal
313. for bravery where he allows
314. for the wind that whispers his name and the rocks that cry out, and the faith it takes to believe
315. for grace, daily
316. for the little things that help deflect these cloudy thoughts:
317. such as this gorgeous fall-like weather
318. and owen now 4 months already
319. and homeschooling freedoms to play-learn
320. and little boy haircuts
321. and husband's strongest arms to rock wee babe and tender-wrap me
323. for chocolate chip cookies
324. and coffee shared with friends
325. "for God so loved the world"
linking with the gratitude community as a discipline to share humble thanks even in a hard season right now. thank you for sharing without sharing some of my heart's cries today.
i can't even begin to express here the storm of uncertainty in my heart. but i need to get it out somehow.
how do you share words that hurt, even when your aim is to protect? how do you write real when you can't forget last night's dreams (the bad kind)? how do you mama-give when you curl fetal?
hard.
i know i can't make sense to you. (ambiguous you) i wish you knew i loved you and hurt for you, but i hurt for me, too.
how can there be seasons of certainty and others of mere fragility? days when i'm strong for me and others where i ache for you?
silence lingers these days, and i know neither of us knows what to say. i'm sorry. i'm praying for us. even if you don't know it.
311. breathing out this prayer for all of us involved: when you can't trace His hand, trust His heart.
312. for broken hearts so he can heal
313. for bravery where he allows
314. for the wind that whispers his name and the rocks that cry out, and the faith it takes to believe
315. for grace, daily
316. for the little things that help deflect these cloudy thoughts:
317. such as this gorgeous fall-like weather
318. and owen now 4 months already
319. and homeschooling freedoms to play-learn
320. and little boy haircuts
321. and husband's strongest arms to rock wee babe and tender-wrap me
323. for chocolate chip cookies
324. and coffee shared with friends
325. "for God so loved the world"
linking with the gratitude community as a discipline to share humble thanks even in a hard season right now. thank you for sharing without sharing some of my heart's cries today.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The richness of belonging
he scared my 3rd grade self, and he pointed right at me, black fingers waving me over. he said nothing, just started walking, and my heart began thumping out of my ears. i racked brain to see what i'd done; we were standing outside the cafeteria waiting on ms. heitz to take us back to our classroom. "what did i do?" i repeated several times on the verge of tears when i realized we were headed to The Principal's Office, his domain. he must have seen the near-panic in my eyes, and finally knelt down, "you didn't do anything. you were the quietest one in line, and i needed a helper i could trust."
i still don't remember what the task was, but can remember the fear of his huge authority calling me out of line like it was yesterday.
where does this kind of fear come from?
why am i still afraid?
of the police (ok, ok, my tags are expired)
of the cool moms on the playground with hair coiffed and sons in plaid
of God?
i received a summons 3 months ago for an appearance in court, a suit for a debt i knew nothing about.
i felt all the same fear standing so exposed beneath the judge's gaze. husband said i did well, but heart thudded all the same.
i always see myself as rule's exceptions: that God loves others but not me, my sins are the ones unpardonable, that i'm the one grace won't quite cover.
i pray one day i feel the weight of grace from the judge who loves, who has not only summoned, but redeemed. i pray i live today, not in fear, but in the richness of belonging.
i still don't remember what the task was, but can remember the fear of his huge authority calling me out of line like it was yesterday.
where does this kind of fear come from?
why am i still afraid?
of the police (ok, ok, my tags are expired)
of the cool moms on the playground with hair coiffed and sons in plaid
of God?
i received a summons 3 months ago for an appearance in court, a suit for a debt i knew nothing about.
i felt all the same fear standing so exposed beneath the judge's gaze. husband said i did well, but heart thudded all the same.
i always see myself as rule's exceptions: that God loves others but not me, my sins are the ones unpardonable, that i'm the one grace won't quite cover.
i pray one day i feel the weight of grace from the judge who loves, who has not only summoned, but redeemed. i pray i live today, not in fear, but in the richness of belonging.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
How patience is sexy
he told me once how he used to hunker down, ashamed by height and breadth--til the day he held his firstborn and knew his shoulders were meant for this all along.
~~~~~~~~~
today he held connor, the one i'd pushed away several times because of the boy whirl-wind and impish antics. the one who trampled nerves already frayed and mamamamamama'd the ears overstimulated.
~~~~~~~~
connor says, "i love you," and i say, "i love you, too, baby," but does he hear without hands?
and daddy just picks him up, full of patience. patience despite all the traits, antics, touch, noise that undoes me.
i fall in love with my green-eyed man holding my blue-eyed boy. this man is patient with me, too, filling in the gaps where i am short, hunkered down in selfish "i can't do this anymore!"
so that when house is quiet (ok, it's not all that quiet, connor's wheezy breathing snoring through walls and pele's collar clanking with itching dream twitches and the muted honking din of city streets)
we collide in grace, parents holding our babies' hearts, lovers holding each others' hands.
~~~~~~~~~
today he held connor, the one i'd pushed away several times because of the boy whirl-wind and impish antics. the one who trampled nerves already frayed and mamamamamama'd the ears overstimulated.
~~~~~~~~
connor says, "i love you," and i say, "i love you, too, baby," but does he hear without hands?
and daddy just picks him up, full of patience. patience despite all the traits, antics, touch, noise that undoes me.
i fall in love with my green-eyed man holding my blue-eyed boy. this man is patient with me, too, filling in the gaps where i am short, hunkered down in selfish "i can't do this anymore!"
so that when house is quiet (ok, it's not all that quiet, connor's wheezy breathing snoring through walls and pele's collar clanking with itching dream twitches and the muted honking din of city streets)
we collide in grace, parents holding our babies' hearts, lovers holding each others' hands.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
How to learn at home
it's been one full week, this new addition to our life, us just trying to find a rhythm. shea and i had our first week of kindergarten, him not sent off with backpack in tow and bright yellow schoolbuses...just another pop-tart on the couch while i nursed owen and the tv was left on a little too long. i always thought i wanted to homeschool, but i was filled with fear and worry that i'd do it badly. i kept saying to myself, "if i'd just get started...."
mama, teach me!
his words, unprompted.
me: fears beginning to quell, heart humbled.
Yes, LORD, teach me, too!
mama, what will we learn about today?
shea is so eager to work every day (he even wanted to work on saturday; i put my foot down on sunday to prepare for the new week!). this is where i must fall to my knees to remember that teaching everything is teaching nothing if not about the Lord. we see skies, we breathe air, we wear our provisions in tummies full and bodies warm, and these are the things i must learn anew, teach fresh: to see rightly the world (fallen) through the lens of Creator-Savior.
teach me, Abba!
too long since i've voiced my gratitude. resuming with the gratitude community:
301. for living in a country that allows me to teach my children at home
302. for the comrade-in-arms i have with brownie, also homeschooling this year
303. for husband willing to support this new adventure
304. for four children, truly a blessing from God
305. for the occasional naps that owen has taken not in my lap so i could get things done
306. for all the naps that owen takes on my lap because this time is so fleeting and i could hold him forever
307. for shea's willing and eagerness to learn with mama
308. that we had a successful first week (and can judge success on our own standards)
309. for learning to let go the things i have less control of (ongoing!)
310. our memory verse: and what does the lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your god? micah 6:8
mama, teach me!
his words, unprompted.
me: fears beginning to quell, heart humbled.
Yes, LORD, teach me, too!
mama, what will we learn about today?
shea is so eager to work every day (he even wanted to work on saturday; i put my foot down on sunday to prepare for the new week!). this is where i must fall to my knees to remember that teaching everything is teaching nothing if not about the Lord. we see skies, we breathe air, we wear our provisions in tummies full and bodies warm, and these are the things i must learn anew, teach fresh: to see rightly the world (fallen) through the lens of Creator-Savior.
teach me, Abba!
too long since i've voiced my gratitude. resuming with the gratitude community:
301. for living in a country that allows me to teach my children at home
302. for the comrade-in-arms i have with brownie, also homeschooling this year
303. for husband willing to support this new adventure
304. for four children, truly a blessing from God
305. for the occasional naps that owen has taken not in my lap so i could get things done
306. for all the naps that owen takes on my lap because this time is so fleeting and i could hold him forever
307. for shea's willing and eagerness to learn with mama
308. that we had a successful first week (and can judge success on our own standards)
309. for learning to let go the things i have less control of (ongoing!)
310. our memory verse: and what does the lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your god? micah 6:8
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The miracle of "just"
i knew she had a lump, and neither of us was worried.
after all, mama had cystic breasts, and we figured that would be our normal someday, too.
she scheduled her long-delayed well-woman, expecting to be... well.
and then there was a scare.
the gravity in a doctor's voice and the change in his shoulder stance speaks in undertones heard louder than thunder.
cancer, they think.
this is where i try to remember to breathe. i cry instead, as does she, we crying fear together but across a too-long-distance phone call.
testing done, more images taken, the lump becomes carcinoma in-situ and needs biopsies. these, words we grew up with, surrounded by cancer because our mom worked at a prominent childhood cancer hospital, and now they are language applied not overheard.
she saw the pathologist, and a miracle broke: just a ruptured cyst, they said.
this is where i tried to remember to breathe. i cried instead. we still cling in gratitude for health and prayers heard.
this is obviously the shortened version of a very real scare that my identical sister went through in august (can it just have been 4 weeks ago?). i share it here both to chronicle but also to invite you, always, to share in praise for His hand on her, on us, as we bowed low under fear of breast cancer and even scarier potentials. He is good no matter how He answered us, and i'm eternally grateful that in this instance my sister is cancer-free.
after all, mama had cystic breasts, and we figured that would be our normal someday, too.
she scheduled her long-delayed well-woman, expecting to be... well.
and then there was a scare.
the gravity in a doctor's voice and the change in his shoulder stance speaks in undertones heard louder than thunder.
cancer, they think.
this is where i try to remember to breathe. i cry instead, as does she, we crying fear together but across a too-long-distance phone call.
testing done, more images taken, the lump becomes carcinoma in-situ and needs biopsies. these, words we grew up with, surrounded by cancer because our mom worked at a prominent childhood cancer hospital, and now they are language applied not overheard.
she saw the pathologist, and a miracle broke: just a ruptured cyst, they said.
this is where i tried to remember to breathe. i cried instead. we still cling in gratitude for health and prayers heard.
this is obviously the shortened version of a very real scare that my identical sister went through in august (can it just have been 4 weeks ago?). i share it here both to chronicle but also to invite you, always, to share in praise for His hand on her, on us, as we bowed low under fear of breast cancer and even scarier potentials. He is good no matter how He answered us, and i'm eternally grateful that in this instance my sister is cancer-free.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Sabbath calling
i just wanted today to look differently than yesterday, i said as we argued through those leaps and bounds from the original 'complaint.' i wanted lunch to be with four hands, owen held and diapers changed and to feel teamwork once again. tears trickle out their frustration, and i secretly beg him to understand. can a saturday feel like a break for a mama at home all week? she whose job sleeps in her arms at night, suckling through the waning darkness, whose little bosses require multi-tasking and imagination all at the same time? and i know he knows, for he works Out There and comes home to wife all rumpled, cross-legged on couch in pj's, and he swoops in to hold babies and be jungle gym and freely offers bottle and ordered pizza. but our saturdays have rolled in like mondays, just a day older for baby and another one with split shifts and 4 boys all-at-once.
we hug tightly, kiss deeply, our fears and frustrations all mixing with oxygen and apologies, and somehow we know to just keep trying, know that things will even out, and we're going to be okay.
later, scrubbing dishes, white bubbles serving tenure to swish, swish, rinse, i hear His voice: will tomorrow look differently than today?
all my sundays have looked like mondays and wednesdays, and how would anyone ever know there was a sabbath if only watching me? i have not worshipped in a house, have not put down my work to rest, have hardly let prayers leave my lips nor raised hands in silent desperation. oh, i'm saved, a wrecked soul redeemed, but how could sabbath be different for this child?
i still didn't go to church today. there are a million excuses, always. and yes, i know my work of love and home-tending do much to honor Him, yet, i have been alone for a long time. i am reminded of the need for sisters and brothers with fellowship-skin, touch that heals and gives, space to worship out loud and to hear truth. this is a hard season of all kinds of limbos, the will-he-need-to-nurse, the war of anxious child in nursery, the task of getting out-of-doors in one piece let alone with matching socks.....
dishes are done. day is almost done. owen is bouncing. shea and connor are not-sleeping. avery is dreaming by now. and i... i am praying in repentence for forsaking the body so long and grateful that there will be Sabbath.
we hug tightly, kiss deeply, our fears and frustrations all mixing with oxygen and apologies, and somehow we know to just keep trying, know that things will even out, and we're going to be okay.
later, scrubbing dishes, white bubbles serving tenure to swish, swish, rinse, i hear His voice: will tomorrow look differently than today?
all my sundays have looked like mondays and wednesdays, and how would anyone ever know there was a sabbath if only watching me? i have not worshipped in a house, have not put down my work to rest, have hardly let prayers leave my lips nor raised hands in silent desperation. oh, i'm saved, a wrecked soul redeemed, but how could sabbath be different for this child?
i still didn't go to church today. there are a million excuses, always. and yes, i know my work of love and home-tending do much to honor Him, yet, i have been alone for a long time. i am reminded of the need for sisters and brothers with fellowship-skin, touch that heals and gives, space to worship out loud and to hear truth. this is a hard season of all kinds of limbos, the will-he-need-to-nurse, the war of anxious child in nursery, the task of getting out-of-doors in one piece let alone with matching socks.....
dishes are done. day is almost done. owen is bouncing. shea and connor are not-sleeping. avery is dreaming by now. and i... i am praying in repentence for forsaking the body so long and grateful that there will be Sabbath.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Breaking
the sound of glass shattering has my boys' feet scrambling even as the tears and sorrys drip fast. this is because i'm afraid of the broken things. fragility has long been associated with value, and i've known breaking:
a pottery jar i saved money to buy. the emu egg she gave me. that sweet picture of him when we met.
these have all met a shattered fate, and i cried at each shard thrown away, rebelled against the permanence of broken.
those little eyes knew my displeasure, and i wonder if their hearts didn't break, too, just a bit. should they be careful in the house, our home filled with plenty of fragile things? my worldly self says, "of course!" but i wonder what He would think of that, He who is yet an untamed Lion, and this not the season for lying with lambs.
i've learned that His word says he does not willingly afflict his children and that his compassion is renewed every morning. i think this is precisely because he knows how hard the refining is; He who was broken and rejected breaks us so that He may spill forth.
oh, we are fragile and precious both, for are we not earthen vessels filled with treasure?
my sister is in a time of breaking, and i've prayed hard for her this week. some of what is at stake affects me, too, and i am a little afraid it's my "turn" to face this kind of refining. i know His hand is on both of us. i also know that unlike me with my little trinkets, when i break, he does not get angry and lash... he restores and heals the broken-hearted.
a perfect place to meet imperfect people all somewhere on the journey in being broken--linking with emily and others
a pottery jar i saved money to buy. the emu egg she gave me. that sweet picture of him when we met.
these have all met a shattered fate, and i cried at each shard thrown away, rebelled against the permanence of broken.
those little eyes knew my displeasure, and i wonder if their hearts didn't break, too, just a bit. should they be careful in the house, our home filled with plenty of fragile things? my worldly self says, "of course!" but i wonder what He would think of that, He who is yet an untamed Lion, and this not the season for lying with lambs.
i've learned that His word says he does not willingly afflict his children and that his compassion is renewed every morning. i think this is precisely because he knows how hard the refining is; He who was broken and rejected breaks us so that He may spill forth.
oh, we are fragile and precious both, for are we not earthen vessels filled with treasure?
my sister is in a time of breaking, and i've prayed hard for her this week. some of what is at stake affects me, too, and i am a little afraid it's my "turn" to face this kind of refining. i know His hand is on both of us. i also know that unlike me with my little trinkets, when i break, he does not get angry and lash... he restores and heals the broken-hearted.
a perfect place to meet imperfect people all somewhere on the journey in being broken--linking with emily and others
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
432(1)
today is a day-
the last day-
i have four,
all stepped down
one from the other
by a single year.
this is the day so little
separates
them
but the year in which
they were loved alive.
shea is oldest, still 4
his daddy-broad shoulders
carrying the weight of the world
of little brothers
and wearing his mama-freckles
brightly asking of the world
all whys.
and
connor is middlest, still 3
with blonde ragamuffin
(i love that grace the best)
and eyes blue as a promise
that impish will and
push back against the grain
the strain of nots.
and avery is today's child, 2
finally out of ones,
and he is all brawn and laughs
and head full of cherub curls
intensity's child, he.
and lastbutnotleast owen is still just one
month (ok, and a half)
and he is quieting extension
of mama, still breast-close in all wonder.
thank you, Father,
for sons a heritage and ours a full house.
happy birthday, beautiful avery!
linking for the first time in ages with emily and others
the last day-
i have four,
all stepped down
one from the other
by a single year.
this is the day so little
separates
them
but the year in which
they were loved alive.
shea is oldest, still 4
his daddy-broad shoulders
carrying the weight of the world
of little brothers
and wearing his mama-freckles
brightly asking of the world
all whys.
and
connor is middlest, still 3
with blonde ragamuffin
(i love that grace the best)
and eyes blue as a promise
that impish will and
push back against the grain
the strain of nots.
and avery is today's child, 2
finally out of ones,
and he is all brawn and laughs
and head full of cherub curls
intensity's child, he.
and lastbutnotleast owen is still just one
month (ok, and a half)
and he is quieting extension
of mama, still breast-close in all wonder.
thank you, Father,
for sons a heritage and ours a full house.
happy birthday, beautiful avery!
linking for the first time in ages with emily and others
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Gradual grace
i haven't been to my ladies' bible study group in ages. i miss the connection, the Word, and the fellowship of my sisters. i aimed to go this evening, if for no other selfish reason than to see walls other than my own living room, and so today for the first time in many moons, i picked up both Bible and study guide on Acts. i didn't end up going, but i think He knew what He was doing by kick-starting my cabin fever and nudging me in the direction of this group of women, just so i would pick up his word. He surprises me when it's evident He wants to meet me. what love is this, when i'd just as soon ignore him for seasons at a time?! and there, the words that jumped off the page: sovereign grace is gradual grace and gentle grace....divine grace does not trample...but rather it enables.
john stott is discussing the mercy of saul's damascus road conversion, and yet i see these words as testament in my own journey. from the day freshman year of college i tentatively asked my first bible study leader, "i know i should know the answer, but what IS grace?" to becoming a mom 10 years later, i've seen the gradual work of grace on Self, the kind that leaves me intact but invites His holy hand into my life. gradually and gently indeed.
i wear a sterling band as an outward sign of the inner work of wife-dom: when words are sharp and loosely held, grace reigns. when exhaustion embitters and grumbles, grace swells. when love is stretched 7 years long, sighing for the ease of earlier years, mercy is new every morning.
my belly is stretched and marked and my hair grey showing all my mother-work, and grace renews. there is no wrinkle cream to erase the toll of labor, but there is a wisening that rewards: i no longer have to try to be perfect. i can accept that i mess up (all the time!) and pray for sovereignty to win, and He will.
thanking Him today for His gentle prodding, for His love that is without fail, for His compassion for his children, and for good gifts he willingly bestows. Amazing Grace!
john stott is discussing the mercy of saul's damascus road conversion, and yet i see these words as testament in my own journey. from the day freshman year of college i tentatively asked my first bible study leader, "i know i should know the answer, but what IS grace?" to becoming a mom 10 years later, i've seen the gradual work of grace on Self, the kind that leaves me intact but invites His holy hand into my life. gradually and gently indeed.
i wear a sterling band as an outward sign of the inner work of wife-dom: when words are sharp and loosely held, grace reigns. when exhaustion embitters and grumbles, grace swells. when love is stretched 7 years long, sighing for the ease of earlier years, mercy is new every morning.
my belly is stretched and marked and my hair grey showing all my mother-work, and grace renews. there is no wrinkle cream to erase the toll of labor, but there is a wisening that rewards: i no longer have to try to be perfect. i can accept that i mess up (all the time!) and pray for sovereignty to win, and He will.
thanking Him today for His gentle prodding, for His love that is without fail, for His compassion for his children, and for good gifts he willingly bestows. Amazing Grace!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Iron men
super heroes
equipped with webs
and guns,
(yes, even guns)
and strength hard to believe
yes, these men are in our house
and those little boys' brains
and it makes me smile
that he prefers the ones that
are real,
still human,
just more, somehow
not the ones that are
all hero
or even all villain
(is it natural for all
boys to love a good villan?)
and i think how
his daddy heart is
iron will
and sharpens iron willfulness
times three
and well, four, when i let him sharpen me.
we watch these cartoons
and even i catch my own interest
by surprise
and wonder
at the power of hero worship
and how, some crazy how,
oldest started praying more
out loud
and he believes it
and i humble on the whispers,
cry when he prays for this tired mama
that [baby's name] comes soon
and i think
today i will be iron-strong for them, too
~~~
unbelievably i'm still baking this fourth little boy with an iron will to stay inside. i'm in all new territory as i've never gone a day past 38 weeks, and yet here i am past 40 and miserable besides. if i may draw on you to pray: if we make it to my monday OB appointment, i will be induced, and i'm terrified of a repeat c-section. i'm also afraid of a NICU stay for the baby; we will be paying for this birth as we are uninsured, and really, we just need a nice, normal birth if at all possible. could you lift these with us and take our fears to the Father? i'm ready to have him out on the outside, and i'm in denial at how hard it's going to be, that initial stage of newborn!
i am eager, though, to meet him, to be in our next phase, and i can't wait to share him with you. thanks for hanging in there with me, especially as i've been so reticent in this space and yours. i treasure all my friends here.
equipped with webs
and guns,
(yes, even guns)
and strength hard to believe
yes, these men are in our house
and those little boys' brains
and it makes me smile
that he prefers the ones that
are real,
still human,
just more, somehow
not the ones that are
all hero
or even all villain
(is it natural for all
boys to love a good villan?)
and i think how
his daddy heart is
iron will
and sharpens iron willfulness
times three
and well, four, when i let him sharpen me.
we watch these cartoons
and even i catch my own interest
by surprise
and wonder
at the power of hero worship
and how, some crazy how,
oldest started praying more
out loud
and he believes it
and i humble on the whispers,
cry when he prays for this tired mama
that [baby's name] comes soon
and i think
today i will be iron-strong for them, too
~~~
unbelievably i'm still baking this fourth little boy with an iron will to stay inside. i'm in all new territory as i've never gone a day past 38 weeks, and yet here i am past 40 and miserable besides. if i may draw on you to pray: if we make it to my monday OB appointment, i will be induced, and i'm terrified of a repeat c-section. i'm also afraid of a NICU stay for the baby; we will be paying for this birth as we are uninsured, and really, we just need a nice, normal birth if at all possible. could you lift these with us and take our fears to the Father? i'm ready to have him out on the outside, and i'm in denial at how hard it's going to be, that initial stage of newborn!
i am eager, though, to meet him, to be in our next phase, and i can't wait to share him with you. thanks for hanging in there with me, especially as i've been so reticent in this space and yours. i treasure all my friends here.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
The scribbling
it's all in the scribbles, isn't it, this mother-love?
it's waking up, wishing to have newest here, him having planned nothing because we have hinged all hope on meeting tiny one; he's so afraid i'm disappointed, and i am, but only because wee one isn't here. he helped the boys scribble mother's day notes, and i couldn't be happier, couldn't be more excited about the little hands i've helped co-create, those little hands wrapped around sharpie markers, the scribbles of their little lives telling my story of grace to all who have eyes to see.
we scribble in this day-to-day. we scratch our puny efforts, all this mothering with eyes cried dry and arms stretched world-wide-love around these little ones. it's not the majestic hands of adam and God in michelangelo's painting; it's the chubby, dimpled hands of fat crayons making sense of a world perceived in young faith. yes, the lines go 'round and 'round most times, and maybe it's all the same color instead of utilizing vast palette. we can get bored with the monochromatic nonsense, or we can find grace in the intricate shapes that emerge.
and they always do, those shapes... i see the shape of lover's body imprinted into mine, even swollen as i am. i see the shape of my mother's hands who began me years ago. i see the shape of other women in this one-village, the knit-together of souls and geese, the lifting of prayers and laying on of christ-hands. motherhood is nothing but shapes and scribbles, our breathing out the honesty of failure and fruitless effort that imbibed with his grace turns to miracle of Testimony.
i am so thankful to be scribbling these 3-point-nine (!!) baby boys. i pray internal one emerges soon, and pray for my three little outside loves to know the weight of grace.
it's waking up, wishing to have newest here, him having planned nothing because we have hinged all hope on meeting tiny one; he's so afraid i'm disappointed, and i am, but only because wee one isn't here. he helped the boys scribble mother's day notes, and i couldn't be happier, couldn't be more excited about the little hands i've helped co-create, those little hands wrapped around sharpie markers, the scribbles of their little lives telling my story of grace to all who have eyes to see.
we scribble in this day-to-day. we scratch our puny efforts, all this mothering with eyes cried dry and arms stretched world-wide-love around these little ones. it's not the majestic hands of adam and God in michelangelo's painting; it's the chubby, dimpled hands of fat crayons making sense of a world perceived in young faith. yes, the lines go 'round and 'round most times, and maybe it's all the same color instead of utilizing vast palette. we can get bored with the monochromatic nonsense, or we can find grace in the intricate shapes that emerge.
and they always do, those shapes... i see the shape of lover's body imprinted into mine, even swollen as i am. i see the shape of my mother's hands who began me years ago. i see the shape of other women in this one-village, the knit-together of souls and geese, the lifting of prayers and laying on of christ-hands. motherhood is nothing but shapes and scribbles, our breathing out the honesty of failure and fruitless effort that imbibed with his grace turns to miracle of Testimony.
i am so thankful to be scribbling these 3-point-nine (!!) baby boys. i pray internal one emerges soon, and pray for my three little outside loves to know the weight of grace.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Grace in the grey
i am angry. i don't like angry words in this space, and still my heart struggles to see all His goodness, not because i don't see it, but because i'd rather dwell in flesh-folds of hurt and bitterness. i crunch on ice, and the metal taste of sin doesn't melt away.
nine months is a session of waiting, this i know, take some comfort, even. enjoy the internal flutters and the growing intimacy with this tiny babe in womb and the transformation to kicks that thump against my lover's side at night, a different intimacy to be sure.
i am not mad at the waiting or the discomfort or the fatigue i can't shake.
i'm angry because i can't stop insisting i'm right, and since when do my rights-as-liberties owe themselves to not-wrongs?
birth is natural. it HAS to be--weren't we created for life eternal? then why such a struggle to make normal what is normal? i've been labeled high-risk, the baby might just be large, and i was even asked if i could handle the work of labor because i'm overweight, and all i wanted to do yesterday post-appointment was cry. i carry this gestational diabetes teh fourth time, and this time i've done it well: limited weight gain and perfect post-meal glucose readings. but it's not enough for medical professionals. yes, this baby is large; so, too, my others and well-handled, birthed just fine. and yes, i'm overweight but my body can't stop the war of birth even if i wanted to. i know that primal urge and no "professional" can stop what has to happen.
discouragement is a hard garment to wear. i'm constricted, and it seems a veil covers my eyes, forcing me to see shadows instead of the play of light against dark.
His hand reaches out:
she rang our doorbell last week when i was so tired i couldn't think past the lying on bed, and he comes back to say she'd brought chicken noodle soup and strawberry pie. she rang the doorbell again yesterday after the almost four-hour appointment full of "no's" and "can'ts" and she offered yes and can with His hands cased in wrinkled fingers, meatloaf foil-wrapped and cold by now with apologies because we weren't home when it was hot yet. she didn't know how bare the fridge looked to these angry eyes. or how the giving of bread and nourishment un-worked-for by me was edible grace. she doesn't even know my name, but she asks husband every morning they're off at the same time how i am and if the baby is here yet.
anger begins to dissolve into humility. He is still in control. He has to be: weren't we meant for eternal life?
i watch these three play together this morning on a rain-prison day, and i'm still tired and still waiting and still sad that i have hurdles to jump. but Grace holds me close even in all the grey. there will be encouraging phone calls from precious friends, and fried meatloaf sandwiches for lunch, and this little one is Known. it is enough to stop angry words.
nine months is a session of waiting, this i know, take some comfort, even. enjoy the internal flutters and the growing intimacy with this tiny babe in womb and the transformation to kicks that thump against my lover's side at night, a different intimacy to be sure.
i am not mad at the waiting or the discomfort or the fatigue i can't shake.
i'm angry because i can't stop insisting i'm right, and since when do my rights-as-liberties owe themselves to not-wrongs?
birth is natural. it HAS to be--weren't we created for life eternal? then why such a struggle to make normal what is normal? i've been labeled high-risk, the baby might just be large, and i was even asked if i could handle the work of labor because i'm overweight, and all i wanted to do yesterday post-appointment was cry. i carry this gestational diabetes teh fourth time, and this time i've done it well: limited weight gain and perfect post-meal glucose readings. but it's not enough for medical professionals. yes, this baby is large; so, too, my others and well-handled, birthed just fine. and yes, i'm overweight but my body can't stop the war of birth even if i wanted to. i know that primal urge and no "professional" can stop what has to happen.
discouragement is a hard garment to wear. i'm constricted, and it seems a veil covers my eyes, forcing me to see shadows instead of the play of light against dark.
His hand reaches out:
she rang our doorbell last week when i was so tired i couldn't think past the lying on bed, and he comes back to say she'd brought chicken noodle soup and strawberry pie. she rang the doorbell again yesterday after the almost four-hour appointment full of "no's" and "can'ts" and she offered yes and can with His hands cased in wrinkled fingers, meatloaf foil-wrapped and cold by now with apologies because we weren't home when it was hot yet. she didn't know how bare the fridge looked to these angry eyes. or how the giving of bread and nourishment un-worked-for by me was edible grace. she doesn't even know my name, but she asks husband every morning they're off at the same time how i am and if the baby is here yet.
anger begins to dissolve into humility. He is still in control. He has to be: weren't we meant for eternal life?
i watch these three play together this morning on a rain-prison day, and i'm still tired and still waiting and still sad that i have hurdles to jump. but Grace holds me close even in all the grey. there will be encouraging phone calls from precious friends, and fried meatloaf sandwiches for lunch, and this little one is Known. it is enough to stop angry words.
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.
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.
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.
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