juniors and seniors spoke
and the earth could have stood still
(he told me his heart did, for a minute):
a dad long-forgotten out of neglect and
rejection
and a son who name-embraced through
salvation,
they spoke of minutia, the things that fill the universe
like tears and laughter
birth and decay
you
and
i
twin name-bearers, how do they seem now?
like a weed overgrowing the beautiful things
or like the lone dandelion offering sunny hope?
they don't know yet
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Thursday, July 19, 2012
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.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
For Mama
she starts the water running, warm, begins to fill the sink with suds.
i scold, no, no let's enjoy this time, let's just visit, but she fusses back that she just wants to help, to be here, and well, why not get some work done, too?
this is the time-honored rite of a mother and daughter washing dishes together: the hands ruddy and wrinkle, and the hearts bond over trivialities. we, for whom this is still new, remember the silent time soberly, for there is nothing more solemn than a mother who doesn't know her daughter or a daughter who mothers alone.
she washes; she doesn't know where my dishes go (a subtle nod to the gaps we're trying to erase), so i rinse and dry, and we continue the growing. we reverse-learn our quirks and tell each other our stories.
she tells of me-as-babe, the sarge who bossed everyone around. i tell her of shea's funny logic or avery's scaredy-cat ways. i ask her for advice on potty training (will he ever learn--yes, she insists), and we commiserate in this mutual motherhood.
despite no dishwasher (and months of my moaning otherwise), the dishes end too quickly.
water drains, gurgling.
the last dish is put away.
we no longer stand side-by-side at a sink, but the heartbeat of women working still beats.
i can't believe how big grace is, how far we've come in a year.
i scold, no, no let's enjoy this time, let's just visit, but she fusses back that she just wants to help, to be here, and well, why not get some work done, too?
this is the time-honored rite of a mother and daughter washing dishes together: the hands ruddy and wrinkle, and the hearts bond over trivialities. we, for whom this is still new, remember the silent time soberly, for there is nothing more solemn than a mother who doesn't know her daughter or a daughter who mothers alone.
she washes; she doesn't know where my dishes go (a subtle nod to the gaps we're trying to erase), so i rinse and dry, and we continue the growing. we reverse-learn our quirks and tell each other our stories.
she tells of me-as-babe, the sarge who bossed everyone around. i tell her of shea's funny logic or avery's scaredy-cat ways. i ask her for advice on potty training (will he ever learn--yes, she insists), and we commiserate in this mutual motherhood.
despite no dishwasher (and months of my moaning otherwise), the dishes end too quickly.
water drains, gurgling.
the last dish is put away.
we no longer stand side-by-side at a sink, but the heartbeat of women working still beats.
i can't believe how big grace is, how far we've come in a year.
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.
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
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!
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.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Towards a spring theology
she played hooky from work yesterday and we talked long and fast, our nature. she wanted to call just to say the bluebonnets are there. i've written of them before, how they helped this lonely soul see Him again. spring always refreshes, and i adore memphis in spring (which is why i missed it so hard!). bradford pears have changed lacy shawl to summer-green and japanese magnolias have dropped their magenta petals. in their wake, the remaining cherries, the dogwoods of easter promises, redbuds, and wisteria so haunting to make me weep. these are gifts i unwrap every errand, every excuse to drive, and i feel that winter thaw again.
~~~
we played hooky from bible study this morning, she needing work done, and i just eager to go over later and play. lunches packed and chocolate delivered, and we talk and love each other with skin on, and i think, "home: friends. true spring. my boys singing walkin' to memphis [sic]."
~~~
i received excellent news yesterday that has assuaged so many fears and relieved some pressure; good medical reports often do. this wee one inside--so heavy and low!--seems protected from the diabetic complications i had with my last pregnancy. i am still on the diabetic side, but so close as to be borderline. unfortunately, my current OB is still pushing for many extra measures, but i feel confident to deny them safely. it is yet another blessing, this prayer being answered so mightily.
i hate that it's so easy to trust and enjoy when the winds are calm instead of storming. spring is both, though, eh? all this new green and pale palette and then the rains that chase the petals from stems. all this creation sprung from the same hand: my sister and i tightly joined in womb to love across all this distance just to share a flower; the beauty that revives me every spring; the visible answer to prayer to mark His hand this day, and even the storm that raged internal last week and that rained out his soccer game on sunday.
Thank You, Lord, for this hands-on love, this spring of rains and the Eternal water of life.
linking with my lovely friend, suzannah, for her ShoutLaughLove. come along?
lt;center>
~~~
we played hooky from bible study this morning, she needing work done, and i just eager to go over later and play. lunches packed and chocolate delivered, and we talk and love each other with skin on, and i think, "home: friends. true spring. my boys singing walkin' to memphis [sic]."
~~~
i received excellent news yesterday that has assuaged so many fears and relieved some pressure; good medical reports often do. this wee one inside--so heavy and low!--seems protected from the diabetic complications i had with my last pregnancy. i am still on the diabetic side, but so close as to be borderline. unfortunately, my current OB is still pushing for many extra measures, but i feel confident to deny them safely. it is yet another blessing, this prayer being answered so mightily.
i hate that it's so easy to trust and enjoy when the winds are calm instead of storming. spring is both, though, eh? all this new green and pale palette and then the rains that chase the petals from stems. all this creation sprung from the same hand: my sister and i tightly joined in womb to love across all this distance just to share a flower; the beauty that revives me every spring; the visible answer to prayer to mark His hand this day, and even the storm that raged internal last week and that rained out his soccer game on sunday.
Thank You, Lord, for this hands-on love, this spring of rains and the Eternal water of life.
linking with my lovely friend, suzannah, for her ShoutLaughLove. come along?
lt;center>
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Ponderings
i love the way distressed hardwood floors look, as if they tell a story of a hundred feet in every sinuous grain. in my mind, they are footie-pajama'd children squealing with glee on christmas morning and sliding, back when there was veneer and shine. or, perhaps the swishing of granny slippers and house robe pulled too tight, the wood peeking from beneath the rugs to help keep her warm. yes, weathered wood that has taken a beating, and finally no more splinters to spill.
i sip on coffee hot and au lait colored, and muse over floors. i think i swept our living room three times yesterday. the hardwoods collect dust like i collect memories, and my own children run and leap and slip-slide on these worn wooden planks. one likes to throw especially loud tantrums, arms all flailing til my heart wants to join in, and one is monkey-boy, all blue eyed rambunctiousness, and one is bossy and demanding the others follow the leader. no splinters have wounded their country boy bare feet (bear feet; they all have large feet, like their daddy.)
coffee cools. the cup says, "Her children arise and call her blessed." i wonder if my boys will weather gently like old wood, if they will emerge all grace-worn edges and battered varnish, but smooth as an old proverb.
i sip on coffee hot and au lait colored, and muse over floors. i think i swept our living room three times yesterday. the hardwoods collect dust like i collect memories, and my own children run and leap and slip-slide on these worn wooden planks. one likes to throw especially loud tantrums, arms all flailing til my heart wants to join in, and one is monkey-boy, all blue eyed rambunctiousness, and one is bossy and demanding the others follow the leader. no splinters have wounded their country boy bare feet (bear feet; they all have large feet, like their daddy.)
coffee cools. the cup says, "Her children arise and call her blessed." i wonder if my boys will weather gently like old wood, if they will emerge all grace-worn edges and battered varnish, but smooth as an old proverb.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Dancing gospel
i used to think the wanting was hard: the love that shone carat-colored on fingers, or the full-tight abdomen denied possible by doctor; the pottery barn home (tona's tastes were impeccable), or the desire for beige to stay beige, not mapping toddler discoveries. i still struggle with that wanting--it's all a game of mirrors, isn't it?--but i'm realizing that need is harder. and yet, it's also just the beginning.
to need is to proclaim, "i'm not enough," which begs for a Savior. saving becomes a love that shines through generations, crimson red, and the blessing of life because otherwise i'd never have survived motherhood at all. He is the eternal home which makes me feel this tension, trapped inside mud-skin and dirt-walls; He is the one writing on my own heart and mapping my struggles across redemption's journey. to want is to wait. to need is to Live grace in the already-not yet.
grace has about eaten me alive these last weeks (i don't mean that in the pesky mosquitoes of the south sense; i mean: in the same way i want to devour avery's chubby thighs and ringlets, i've been consuming grace and been completely undone in the process). moving is always hard, even when it's an adventure, and we've been on grace's hinge...waiting for paychecks, waiting for resolutions amidst hard circumstances, waiting for it to "just come together, dammit."
here. boxes are all unpacked. dinner's been managed (like mischief, even) every night. he has been home every night-oh, my love!- and kids have begun to call this home. my friends have danced the gospel fully for my family since we've arrived. mercy-notes wafting in casseroles delivered, in diapers purchased, and laughs-in-person. He weaves in and through us, and the needing has never been stronger. i have needed this love with skin on, this reliance on grace and others. my vision is righted, and i can't help but sing the lovely words:
O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.
today i join with Ann and the community again for the first time in a long time.
221. pantry stocked with staples upon our arrival
221. pot pie
222. poppy seed chicken
223. chicken chili
224. pizza
225. vegetable soup
226. potato soup
227. all these meals were delivered by loved ones to help our transition into our new home while we unpacked and had no kitchen, also for when he was away for training for a week. i don't think any of these ladies realized we had no money to even buy groceries, so to have these meals provided and hot and ready for us was beyond a blessing.
228. borrowed washing machines and the hours-long fellowship that followed. laundering has never been so fun or worthwhile, and i might be sad when we get our own again (!)
229. she is right.around.the.corner!!!
230. and our children will grow up for a while together. we're very excited to share this journey step by step
231. once a month prayer group
232. his job is going well so far, ropes being learned
233. my "job" seems easier than it has in a long while.
234. our huge backyard
235. and the balmy days we enjoyed last week to spend in it!
236. sleep routines returned to and an easy transition for the oldest two to sleep in their own room now
237. for the $40 here and the kroger gift card there.... they've gotten us through
238. for the humility to accept that he knows exactly where we are, and has provided JUST ENOUGH
239. that He is always enough
240. and His goodness binds my heart back to Him
to need is to proclaim, "i'm not enough," which begs for a Savior. saving becomes a love that shines through generations, crimson red, and the blessing of life because otherwise i'd never have survived motherhood at all. He is the eternal home which makes me feel this tension, trapped inside mud-skin and dirt-walls; He is the one writing on my own heart and mapping my struggles across redemption's journey. to want is to wait. to need is to Live grace in the already-not yet.
grace has about eaten me alive these last weeks (i don't mean that in the pesky mosquitoes of the south sense; i mean: in the same way i want to devour avery's chubby thighs and ringlets, i've been consuming grace and been completely undone in the process). moving is always hard, even when it's an adventure, and we've been on grace's hinge...waiting for paychecks, waiting for resolutions amidst hard circumstances, waiting for it to "just come together, dammit."
here. boxes are all unpacked. dinner's been managed (like mischief, even) every night. he has been home every night-oh, my love!- and kids have begun to call this home. my friends have danced the gospel fully for my family since we've arrived. mercy-notes wafting in casseroles delivered, in diapers purchased, and laughs-in-person. He weaves in and through us, and the needing has never been stronger. i have needed this love with skin on, this reliance on grace and others. my vision is righted, and i can't help but sing the lovely words:
O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.
today i join with Ann and the community again for the first time in a long time.
221. pantry stocked with staples upon our arrival
221. pot pie
222. poppy seed chicken
223. chicken chili
224. pizza
225. vegetable soup
226. potato soup
227. all these meals were delivered by loved ones to help our transition into our new home while we unpacked and had no kitchen, also for when he was away for training for a week. i don't think any of these ladies realized we had no money to even buy groceries, so to have these meals provided and hot and ready for us was beyond a blessing.
228. borrowed washing machines and the hours-long fellowship that followed. laundering has never been so fun or worthwhile, and i might be sad when we get our own again (!)
229. she is right.around.the.corner!!!
230. and our children will grow up for a while together. we're very excited to share this journey step by step
231. once a month prayer group
232. his job is going well so far, ropes being learned
233. my "job" seems easier than it has in a long while.
234. our huge backyard
235. and the balmy days we enjoyed last week to spend in it!
236. sleep routines returned to and an easy transition for the oldest two to sleep in their own room now
237. for the $40 here and the kroger gift card there.... they've gotten us through
238. for the humility to accept that he knows exactly where we are, and has provided JUST ENOUGH
239. that He is always enough
240. and His goodness binds my heart back to Him
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Buried in the dust
22 Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
24 I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.”
25 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
26 it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.
27 It is good for a man to bear the yoke
while he is young.
28 Let him sit alone in silence,
for the LORD has laid it on him.
29 Let him bury his face in the dust—
there may yet be hope.
30 Let him offer his cheek to one who would strike him,
and let him be filled with disgrace.
31 For no one is cast off
by the Lord forever.
32 Though he brings grief, he will show compassion,
so great is his unfailing love.
33 For he does not willingly bring affliction
or grief to anyone.
this passage in lamentations 3 used to be my "life verse," as it gave me hope i needed to continue reaching out to God when i was hurt and distraught. i thought i'd moved on, found other verses to sustain me, but as i read through an old journal entry and re-read these verses, i realized they are still "mine." i was so full of despair then, and again recently, but i don't think i understood til now the glory in the dust.
yes, i'd lie prone in the dark, tear-stained and heart-heavy.
yes, i'd reach for the heavens and feel nothing but ceiling.
yes, i'd run over and over in my mind what could have been.
but i never knew there would yet be hope. i hoped there would be. but hoping felt empty in a silent bedchamber. little did i know that from dust i was breathed, and from dust would i return some day, and dust, if i could just find Him and bury my face in his dirt, would redeem the hope inside.
i think i am like poor eustace crying as aslan tears his dragon-flesh, replacing gold with grace. i am mud, all washed with Tears and unraveled into pure linen, for there has always been Hope, so great is His unfailing love.
rejoice with me, my beautiful, broken friends. i stand today with fresh eyes and so grateful to be able to look back and see His hand, to see that He stirred in me through dark hours and that indeed, compassion is renewed every single day.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Seeing
i had a professor in college chide me once, "misty, what are you waiting on? inspiration?" i was. a senior year english major taking 4 upper level lit/writing classes and a "directed inquiry" in the same field left me void of things to say. it was my job, but i constantly felt i had nothing.
sometimes blogging is the same way, which is why it's so important this time to stay true to myself and not set post requirements or feel always obligated to visit my favorite haunts (and i love visiting, it just eats time!). and yet, tonight i sat, wondering if i had anything to say. i mused that when things were so dark i often shared plenty, even if it was just a whispered "pray for me," and in just the looking, inspiration is everywhere.
it is the grace to be warm on this too-cold-for-texas night, the full belly and wonderingly normal blood-sugar readings. it is avery, all tucked in and quiet, and the tip-toes in to check on him before i go to sleep, or the breathing of shea or connor in my room when they finally succumb to their days' adventures turned into dreams. it is my beloved away for work, but the bond that stretches all that long way. the hollow in my bed, waiting for his return, the phone calls late into the night just to hear the other without kid-noises all around. it is last little one unknown yet Known fully, growing hair by hair, making presence known with secret kicks. grace is in the anticipation and hope for tomorrow, whether we have frozen waffles or the last of the Cheerios for breakfast.
there is tenderness in Creation, in the miracle of friend's 28-week delivery of twins, and the miracles being seen day in, night out for these two sweet girls. it is the announcement of a friend's engagement, and all the glowing love. it is the timing of a friend's phone call or the music that makes me close my eyes, the worship in car rides, and the breathy miracle of art. it is modern medicine and my long-waited for bravery to ask for help in tiny yellow pills, and the grace in four bodies holding me up all that time before, holding hands in thankfullness now.
to be uninspired is an extravagant snobbery, i think. there is today, and it is preciously full.
so i'm here, linking with emily, at first afraid i had nothing, and realizing i have everything.
sometimes blogging is the same way, which is why it's so important this time to stay true to myself and not set post requirements or feel always obligated to visit my favorite haunts (and i love visiting, it just eats time!). and yet, tonight i sat, wondering if i had anything to say. i mused that when things were so dark i often shared plenty, even if it was just a whispered "pray for me," and in just the looking, inspiration is everywhere.
it is the grace to be warm on this too-cold-for-texas night, the full belly and wonderingly normal blood-sugar readings. it is avery, all tucked in and quiet, and the tip-toes in to check on him before i go to sleep, or the breathing of shea or connor in my room when they finally succumb to their days' adventures turned into dreams. it is my beloved away for work, but the bond that stretches all that long way. the hollow in my bed, waiting for his return, the phone calls late into the night just to hear the other without kid-noises all around. it is last little one unknown yet Known fully, growing hair by hair, making presence known with secret kicks. grace is in the anticipation and hope for tomorrow, whether we have frozen waffles or the last of the Cheerios for breakfast.
there is tenderness in Creation, in the miracle of friend's 28-week delivery of twins, and the miracles being seen day in, night out for these two sweet girls. it is the announcement of a friend's engagement, and all the glowing love. it is the timing of a friend's phone call or the music that makes me close my eyes, the worship in car rides, and the breathy miracle of art. it is modern medicine and my long-waited for bravery to ask for help in tiny yellow pills, and the grace in four bodies holding me up all that time before, holding hands in thankfullness now.
to be uninspired is an extravagant snobbery, i think. there is today, and it is preciously full.
so i'm here, linking with emily, at first afraid i had nothing, and realizing i have everything.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Remember
when i lived with her i loved a pole she kept in her living room. rainbow ribbons hanging down on rugged stem, i wondered what it was. yes, she had made it, and it was her Bannerpole of Remembrance. it was a way to mark His hand in her life, through church milestones, family blessings, and answered prayers. she asked if i'd like to make one, too. oh, yes. that was almost seven years ago, and i forget all too soon. i give voice to His existence but don't live as if He reigns.
so today i write a story, another ribbon on my pole. my faith has been bolstered, and He knew--he provided this grace and abundance for sister but also for me, so that in the telling i can cry and remember His love in my own life.
bad day. some days are you know. those wee ones with ear infections and the five of them all cooped in a too-cold home. they needed medicine, her mother in law wanted to come but wasn't allowed. a fight. the resignation, they need the medicine, so they leave without her, feeling the dull gloom of bitterness at his obstinance.
it's one of those days. you know the kind: waiting in line dealing with insurance issues, and one of the twins has an explosive diaper. she, patient mama, goes to change the little one, passing a crowd of policemen on the way. small town curiosity gets the better of her; oh, it's just a program of cops paired with low-income kids to shop for Christmas. neat-o. husband and other girls reunite and they're off to leave, just outside the door, when a call to WAIT! can you wait? we want to put you in the program, but you have to wait. looks are exchanged, agreed. (they couldn't have stayed if she'd come after all, they figure this out after the 2 hours they linger)
policeman returns to say we have $130 for each of the girls, yes even those 8 week old darlings, of course! blown away: no diapers at home. nothing left for this year, no more work, no tidy packages. loaded up with diapers for three, she passes by infant swings, notes the cost, never mind it's over limit. "hey, you need one of these don't you?" no, i can't. he puts two in the cart anyway. oldest daughter gets so many toys she can't even imagine. they check out. $900 worth of stuff, and at home no presents under the tree. so many tears fall down cheeks, mama, daddy, why are you crying?
another woman hands her bags of little girl clothing--i hope they fit. where all this generosity?
the gifts are delivered that night instead of in two weeks as the program works. he shakes the cop's hand too hard; he hangs on because he can't let go. inside living room with no room just like an inn of long ago, he reaches hands in pockets, more money stuffed in coat, enough for a bill waiting.
exasperated christians argue that Christmas isn't about giving, but this night they understand that it is about the only Gift that ever mattered. the one whose very birth was Abundance, by whom other graces are given. life is breathed anew in swings and dolls and diapers for three.
shed tears of thanksgiving and rejoicing on sister's behalf?
so today i write a story, another ribbon on my pole. my faith has been bolstered, and He knew--he provided this grace and abundance for sister but also for me, so that in the telling i can cry and remember His love in my own life.
bad day. some days are you know. those wee ones with ear infections and the five of them all cooped in a too-cold home. they needed medicine, her mother in law wanted to come but wasn't allowed. a fight. the resignation, they need the medicine, so they leave without her, feeling the dull gloom of bitterness at his obstinance.
it's one of those days. you know the kind: waiting in line dealing with insurance issues, and one of the twins has an explosive diaper. she, patient mama, goes to change the little one, passing a crowd of policemen on the way. small town curiosity gets the better of her; oh, it's just a program of cops paired with low-income kids to shop for Christmas. neat-o. husband and other girls reunite and they're off to leave, just outside the door, when a call to WAIT! can you wait? we want to put you in the program, but you have to wait. looks are exchanged, agreed. (they couldn't have stayed if she'd come after all, they figure this out after the 2 hours they linger)
policeman returns to say we have $130 for each of the girls, yes even those 8 week old darlings, of course! blown away: no diapers at home. nothing left for this year, no more work, no tidy packages. loaded up with diapers for three, she passes by infant swings, notes the cost, never mind it's over limit. "hey, you need one of these don't you?" no, i can't. he puts two in the cart anyway. oldest daughter gets so many toys she can't even imagine. they check out. $900 worth of stuff, and at home no presents under the tree. so many tears fall down cheeks, mama, daddy, why are you crying?
another woman hands her bags of little girl clothing--i hope they fit. where all this generosity?
the gifts are delivered that night instead of in two weeks as the program works. he shakes the cop's hand too hard; he hangs on because he can't let go. inside living room with no room just like an inn of long ago, he reaches hands in pockets, more money stuffed in coat, enough for a bill waiting.
exasperated christians argue that Christmas isn't about giving, but this night they understand that it is about the only Gift that ever mattered. the one whose very birth was Abundance, by whom other graces are given. life is breathed anew in swings and dolls and diapers for three.
shed tears of thanksgiving and rejoicing on sister's behalf?
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Waiting to exhale
head leaning on cool glass pane, window frosting breath-puffs. here, the glass is cool in early morning light, but, too, the A/C's been on all night.
and he, so high and breathless in mountain snow and glory, exhales shivery clouds.
(the photo he took to share with us, gold-capped beauty for waking's taking.)
the coming and going marks us.
we wait for homecoming.
today he will walk on some site, crunching through snow and sales-speak.
today we will probably bake boredom away, perhaps make those traced-hand turkeys, find some way to curb all our tired grappling.
waiting is interim. sometimes interminable.
but hope waits, expectant smiles upon return. the little ones and i wait for him: give and take. it marks us raw, but it is our brand; we are his, and he is ours.
my head pounds. this is the reason i lean on glass. new medicine is still fighting its way through my body, foreign agent, muddling. i'm eager for the promised relief and expectant that new eyes can see rightly with fog lifted high.
i pray for homecoming. a return to the One i love, a turning toward instead of away. i know i've been lifted in prayer by friends. the blessing is a fresh breath, making it easier to breathe my own halting prayers.
and of course, you will notice my new look here. many thanks to my beautiful friend Sonny for transforming this space to match my vision. i think we're still tweaking it, so let me know if there is a problem!!
and he, so high and breathless in mountain snow and glory, exhales shivery clouds.
(the photo he took to share with us, gold-capped beauty for waking's taking.)we wait for homecoming.
today he will walk on some site, crunching through snow and sales-speak.
today we will probably bake boredom away, perhaps make those traced-hand turkeys, find some way to curb all our tired grappling.
waiting is interim. sometimes interminable.
but hope waits, expectant smiles upon return. the little ones and i wait for him: give and take. it marks us raw, but it is our brand; we are his, and he is ours.
my head pounds. this is the reason i lean on glass. new medicine is still fighting its way through my body, foreign agent, muddling. i'm eager for the promised relief and expectant that new eyes can see rightly with fog lifted high.
i pray for homecoming. a return to the One i love, a turning toward instead of away. i know i've been lifted in prayer by friends. the blessing is a fresh breath, making it easier to breathe my own halting prayers.
and of course, you will notice my new look here. many thanks to my beautiful friend Sonny for transforming this space to match my vision. i think we're still tweaking it, so let me know if there is a problem!!
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