New posts

Hello readers!

Just a reminder that this blog has moved locations!  Please switch your browser over to: www.everything-belongs.com, to find the latest from me!

I have noticed on some of the blogs that I follow that you are still linked up to this Blogger page.  I'm trying to keep everything at the other site, so please make note.

You can also follow me on Facebook--search for Everything Belongs and *like* it.  It will send the newest posts to your newsfeed so you can read from there.  I'm so humbled and blessed that there are over 100 readers!

As always, thanks so much for reading!

Love,
Rachel

The Annunciation

Being a mother of two boys is well...

always interesting.

I say this with a huge smile on my face and...

heartburn.

It is always a balancing act--how to have fun letting boys be boys without it getting too out of hand  (because boys simply can. not. keep. their. hands. off. of. one. another.),

teaching compassion

and manners (seriously, this is close to the very top of my list of "I Will Die A Happy Mother," right after loving Jesus).

As I was playing soccer with Owen yesterday, followed by a quick round of indoor hockey

(did I mention again how happy I am that we are renting this house?),

it struck me again how active boys are.

I mean really.

Wow.

Arts and crafts, please?

Not a chance--well maybe for a few moments until they turn their paper into a sword, bow and arrow or gun.

What is it with boys and firearms, by the way?  (That is another post all to itself!)

I digress...what struck me so soundly the other afternoon was the passion.

The gusto.

The life.

And this is good.

Very good.

It is so wonderful to see strong, active, boys being passionate about life,

about their desires,

and about one another.

It makes me think about how lukewarm I often am.

About life,

about decisions,

about God.

What makes one person head-over-heals passionate, and another ho-hum at best?

Personality?

Life experience?

Perhaps...but maybe it is also perspective.

Intuitively, my guys grasp each moment for the gift that it is--new, undiscovered, full of possibility and potential.

They are just kids, you say.  Of course they are like this. The entire world is new to them.

So where did I lose it?

Where did the luster of living go? Where did the pure excitement of getting up each day, bounding out of bed, simply because it is a new day of life?

Bills?

Responsibility?

Cynicism?

As the sunlight barely breaks forth on the horizon in the wee hours of the morning, which also seems to through some cosmic timer cause my littlest one to pop his eyes open, the pitter-patter of his feet race to my bed,

(Running, always running!)

he gently places his sweet lips close to my ears and whispers,

"Mom, mom...I did it!  I woke up!"

And even though my first reaction wants to be, "Well, la-de-da!  Now I am too, much before I really wanted to be,"

(Am I sounding like a completely horrid mother?)

I say, "Yes you did, love!  I am so glad!"

Because Connor has it.

What a gift--he woke up.

We woke up.

What's not to be passionate about this?

From this perspective, we have been given another day of life.

To learn.

To grow.

To be together.

Breathing is miracle.

When I think of life in these terms, I can't help but be passionate.

I can't help but be deeply grateful.

I can't help but run.

For all of these things...

are miracles.

Ordinary miracles.

But miracles nevertheless.

I cannot say enough at how much my boys have changed me,

are changing me.

Each day is an annunciation--an encounter with God, proclaiming new life that has been given.

So let's live.

Owen and Connor, not only do you make me a better mom,

you are making me a better person.

The depth of my love for you both can never be described fully.

I only pray that each day you will know and feel it.

Thank you.

Thank you.

**Please switch over to www.everything-belongs.com, the new hosted site of this blog.**

Step By Step

Life has been happening.

And that is a good thing.

So, pardon me for not being a better blogger this summer.

On our recent travels together as a family, I realized again just how important play is.

To break away, to rest, to just be.

..together...

Because let's be real, how often does that really happen?

All together--with no agenda, nothing to do, nowhere to go.

No prodding, hustling, (and well, threatening).

It just is.

And it is good.

We climbed dunes--crystal sand high as mountains (and as hot as the Sahara),

with cheers of encouragement coming from the youngest of the group that gave strength and chuckles to the older ones.

"We can do it--together--we can do anything!  Just one step at a time...that's all it takes!"

Just one step.

Just one step at a time.

Owen, you are so wise.

So why do I feel the compulsion to run, to sprint--only to burn out?

Or become completely overwhelmed at the task before, seeing the mountain ahead--and paralysis sets in.

But really, life is only needing to take one step at a time.

And I'm not alone.

Never alone.

Big hands and little ones grasp together, pulling and steadying.  The mountain is steep, but we are together.

High fives and sky high emotions as we tower over Lake Michigan proud of the feat we accomplished--and Mama prouder still of her babe that did it with such grace, insight, and determination.

He is a special kid.

As we sat in the shade catching our breath just to lose it again at the expanse of the view, I caught glimpse of Shawn's shirt--"Life is Good."

Yes, life is good.

Even in the struggle of the mountains that we face each day--and for some, each hour, minute or second--we struggle forward together, sweaty hands grasped tight.

For it is on the mountain that we encounter the Creator--the one who gave us all things, who reminds us that even still,

life. is. good.

No wonder mountains are holy places.

For it is from this place, we are given a new perspective.

God, thank you for this life.

Thank you for not only meeting me on the mountain, but even in the journey of struggle to the peak. For you walk with me all along--just as you always do.  Sometimes I am just so blinded by the sun and heat and wind, I fail to notice those blessings you place within my hands, both big and small helping me forward,

step by step.

*****If you are reading this in Blogger, please change over to: www.everything-belongs.com.*****

Time Out

The other morning as the boys jumped into and promptly began tossing and turning, kicking and wiggling in our bed,

--no need for an alarm clock here, good morning 6am--

Connor sat straight up, looked at me in the eyes and said (I kid you not): 

"Jesus wants you to have a time out."

 Perhaps this came from wanting to exert his own power in control in discipline, or out of his amazingly sly and dry sense of humor, but it took me off guard.

And I saw that he was absolutely right.  Jesus does want me to have a time out.  Because life just gets too busy, too complicated, too dark, too confusing sometimes.  Just within the last month my life and the lives of those I care about have been full of cancer reports, child custody hearings, moving dilemmas, job losses, theology debates, pregnancy disappointments.  As the cares and concerns compound, I find myself feeling swept over by the inability to take away hurt, pain, disappointment.  My heart bleeds.  Overtime, what do you do with it all this?  

Take a time out.

Of course.  Thanks, Connor.

Being still, instead of trying to rationalize, overanalyze. Releasing the need to fix situations, or feeling guilty for not knowing what to say.

Because sometimes...there just aren't any words to say.

The only thing, the best thing, that I can do is to be still and release these hurts and pains to the One who loves and cares for these even more that I.

Far greater.

My job is not to fix. It is to help where I can, offer support and continued love...and to release them into the greater Light that shines forth peace beyond understanding and comfort beyond measure.

For this is the greatest gift I can offer.

Exciting News...

Hello readers!

I am so excited to share with you all that I will be one of the guest bloggers at(In)courage, a website that is geared towards encouraging the hearts of women. I will let you know when to expect my post, entitled, "Hide & Seek."

As always, I love it that you continue to follow and read this blog. As you can see, it has been going through some changes, with some more to come over the next several weeks. (**If you are still reading this blog on Blogger, try to switch your RSS feed over to www.everything-belongs.com/ and see if it will redirect you to my new site. We are still working out the kinks.**)  I'd love it if you would leave a comment/thought when it comes out on the (in)courage blog.

Thanks for the support--I'm deeply humbled and in awe of how God continues to work...

When you can't find the words

What does a day filled with sun, swimming, and hungry bellies waiting for dinner add up to? 

Lots of tears. Screams.  Fits. Gnashing of teeth. 

Don't you wish you could have been a guest at the Gerber's tonight?
Consider yourself lucky.

As we sat down at the spread table with my wailing babe, and hands were extended towards one another to grasp for grace (quite literally, from my perspective), we sang.

"I can't sing!" cried the droning bass. "I can't sing."

As I held his little hand in mine, through his sputtering and gasping, I whispered,
"It's okay.  You don't have to.  We will sing for you."

I didn't really even give these words much thought as they escaped my lips, until after they touched the wind. Everyday sacred.  Here it is.  Even in the mess. Especially in the mess.

In the dark, in the hopelessness, in the fear...
when God seems to be nowhere in sight, or exhaustion runs so deep--where even breathing seems labored...

Let us sing for you.

The power of God's people.  Holding for you--for me, when things seem to be too much.  Keeping faith, when it is hard to find, as long as needed. 

I continue to think back on this dinner interchange time and time again tonight. And find myself moved at the depth of these words. This truth.

I've experienced the singing community. As has my family.  And I have had the honor of singing for others.

So wherever your find yourself today, well-fed and nourished; or pit-empty and aching, know there is a place for you at the table.

There is always a place at the table--after all, isn't that what family is all about? 
You bring the good, bad, and ugly.

And it is at this Table, that we hold hands and say grace.

 Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought,

but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.

~Romans 8:26

A Sabbath Prayer

A fitting prayer for me, this morning.  I hope it meets you in your places of longing...



The risen, living Christ
Calls me by my name;
Comes to the loneliness within me;
Heals that which is wounded in me;
Comforts that which grieves in me;
Seeks for that which is lost within me;
Releases me from that which has dominion over me;
Cleanses me of that which does not belong to me;
Renews that which feels drained within me;
Awakens that which is asleep in me;
Names that which is formless within me;
Empowers that which is newborn within me;
Consecrates and guides that which is strong within me;
Restores me to this world which needs me;
Reaches out in endless love to others through me.

~Flora Slosson Wuellner
from Prayer, Fear, and our Powers, Upper Room Books, 1989.

With all that I am, all that I shall be, and all that I cannot yet even imagine,

I offer to you today.

In your loving embrace, fill me with your goodness and mercy and light,

so that wherever I tread,

You are seen.

Go with me, and those who read these words, now and always.

In this Sabbath day, meet us along the road.

Encountering Grace

There were his shoes. Sitting by the door.  Just as he left them. Day after day they sat there, reminders of the gap of his presence.

Daddy?  Hospital? the little voices rang.

Yes, dear ones, Daddy is in the hospital.  He loves you so much and can't wait to come home.

Long days, longer nights.  Exhaustion strickens.

But Grace upholds.

Midnight calls, pleas for help, Grace comes.  Without excuse, without complaint, Grace shows up and sits.

Phone calls, visits, texts, prayers, food.

Grace extended.

As I sat on the hospital bed, with beeps and tubes and needles, holding the hand of my love, we speak of this Grace that comes and keeps on coming.  Freely and unencumbered.

We weep.

Grace sustains.

What is this? This miracle of sustenance--showers of manna, everyday covering our ground.  Funny at how the word, "manna," in Hebrew means, "What is this?"  What is this that comes and feeds and allows us to live, even as we encounter the desert of life?

Grace is gift.

And all we can do is to go out and gather this "what is it?" every morning, unable to repay what has been given. But to accept what has been offered and gather enough for the day, knowing that tomorrow more will be there.

We live.

Thanks be to the Great Physician...                                                                                            and to the people of God.  

Through you, we have seen God.

ps. I will continue to copy and paste here, until I can get the kinks worked out with Wordpress (about updating everything-belongs.com to your readers).  

Re link me

Hi friends!

As I was cruising around on the web, getting caught up on blogs, etc...,I noticed that my "update feed" wasn't coming up on a few of your blogs. I think it is because I switched to Wordpress (even though my address is the same).

If you want to get the latest update from me, try relinking my address again.  Hopefully it will redirect you there.

www.everything-belongs.com

Thanks for reading!

Run D.M.C.

Give two little boys a set of headphones,
attached to nothing,
and see what they come up with.

Where do they get this from?

Must be from the rapper, G-mommy.

I'm moving

I am attempting to move to my blog to a new host: Wordpress.  I like the features and look better.  Hopefully, it will all work out smoothly and I won't lose everything!!

I am not anticipating that it will change anything for you, dear readers.  My domain name should be the same...www.everything-belongs.com

But incase it does, I'm currently using, rachelsgerber.wordpress.com, as an initial way to activate my account there, in hopes to switch over my domain name soon, if it doesn't do it automatically.

We shall see...
We shall see.

Transforming the funk

So, I've been in a funk lately.  


Running, running, running....
yet seemingly going nowhere.
And nothing gets done. 
The clothes are still not put away,
the dishes impregnate, 
and dirt.
Oh my.
Where does it come from?


Two words.
Little boys.


It is just how it is. 
And how it will be.
And maybe even,
how it should be.


And yet, some days it is just so exhausting.
The attitude,
the mess,
the monotony of the hamster wheel that seems to never. stop. never. stop. never. stop....


As I turn out of the drive to catch a few hours of mama-brain time,
here run two pint-sized beauties,
reflections of their (F)ather,
waving hog-wild after me...


"Mom! Mooooooom! I love you! 
Happy Mother's Day! 
(Thanks, albeit a few weeks late)
Merry Christmas!  
(The little one trying to keep up with the holiday cheer) 
L've you!"


I smile. 
Smile because I am going out...alone? 
Of course,
but my heart beams. 


Two boys.


Chaos. 
Of course...
because I have
two boys.


Why do I forget?
How can I forget the blessings?


They fall fresh upon,
dusting off the tiredness,
the monotony.
I have be given
two
boys.


Two messy,
crazy,
syrupy-sweet,
boys. 

I realize that in the remembering of these blessings,
and giving thanks, 
transformation takes hold.
Of everything.


In the moment of this epiphany my soul hearkens to the one I cannot shake in this Easter season, when the cloaked Jesus appears.

As they came near the village to which they were going, 

he walked ahead as if he were going on. 

But they urged him strongly, saying, 

‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ 

So he went in to stay with them. 

When he was at the table with them, 

he took bread, 

blessed and broke it, 

and gave it to them. 

Then their eyes were opened, 

and they recognized him; 

and he vanished from their sight. 

~Luke 24:28-32

For the eyes of these weary travelers were opened, 

not only as they offered hospitality--

as they opened their home,

a place to stay, play, eat, be to this one passing through-- 

But it was in the very act of giving thanks for "their daily bread,"

that they saw the Christ.

They saw the One who was with them the entire time.

For in the act of giving thanks

for the daily blessings of life,

it transforms,

awakens

my dull heart

to see the true gifts in my life.

And the One that is always present...

even in the pint-sized packages.

Especially in the pint-sized packages.

Holy work.

(Which is also, holy work, Batman!)

Though I do this never alone,

always with the Christ that journeys with.

Offering strength and sustenance.

May I not forget.

And if when I do...

Christ, meet me 

again

on this laundry-stained road.

How to be happy in life

Happiness. 

Want to know how to get it?  

The secret is right there, if you read between the lines.  

Which is right where I got stuck today in reading Psalm 146.

Happy are those whose help is the God of Jacob, whose hope is in the Lord their God..

Whose help is in God. 

Help.

This is what struck me, 

the ever-independent...

I need to be willing to be helped.

Tough to swallow considering I tend to identify with the Enneagram Type 2,

which is aptly named,

HELPER.

To offer help is one thing, but to be willing to be helped is another.

It takes vulnerability,

trust,

release.

Plunging into my soul I must ask myself the query that looms, 

down-deep,

at the center of the core,

do I really believe that it is God who holds everything together

or is this the mask that covers the true lie--

it's me? 

Me, the helper, 

the one who is always trying to be good,

to earn love,

and acceptance...

bearing the martyr burdens,

thinking in exchange happiness will ensue?

But this is a dead end road.

And ultimately...life.

Because I. am. not. God.

In this resurrection season,

as death digs deep in the earth

only to release the hope and joy of new life,

so do I stretch my hands upward.

Turning my face heavenward,

I realize that happiness is found

in who comes to me.

The true Help--

the one who is always first reaching out

to this mama who tries so hard,

(or am I just distracted, afraid of seeing the Light?)

but continually falls short.

Yet breathes grace.

Upon grace.

It's not up to me.

It's not all up to me.

Release brings peace.

If so, then could this be where true joy is found?

For there is nothing that can separate me from this Love.

Hand and help outstretched.

For always and forever.

True life released to live.

Dare I trust in this grace 

that accepts the whole of me,

just as I am?

As the soul-tired mama whose guilt rises with each PBS show,

whose mind clammers with shouts of should's and could's?

The weight buries. 

Am I willing to accept this sweetness?

Because maybe in this case,

receiving really is better than giving. 

Can I receive this gift given so freely?

With no thank-you note expected in return?

Yet, might my life,

lived well,

full of love,

grace,

and overflowing joy

be enough.

A picture says a thousand words

Wrestle-Mania

Have you ever second guessed a decision as a parent?
Here's mine today:

They couldn't wait to put on their new summer pajamas...they tore it out of the bag the moment we got home.  

And started wrestling.  

Of course.  

Was I thinking they were just going to prance around looking cute? 

Not a chance.  

Will there be sleep tonight?  

Odds are slim to none. 

Yet they do make me laugh. 

Especially when Owen told me, after putting on his "uniform,"  

"I don't have underwear on, because wrestlers don't wear them.  

Oh, and I need water.  Lots of water. Wrestlers need water." 

...as he body slams off the couch. 

It's going to be a fun afternoon around here!

This Present Moment

As a parent, especially to little ones,
especially to curious boys,
I find that I need to supervise them under a fairly watchful eye.
Or something like this might happen:

Just saying.  

Yet, I am realizing that even when I am there, I might not really be all there.

No, not in the "I'm losing my marbles" way, 

but in the emotionally present way. 

In the way that takes in the wonder of the moment,

that truly hears and shares in the laughter,

that sees beyond the tears and squabbles,

that enters in to the gift of life. 

Because life flashes by.

And where will I be when I finally wake up?

50?

70?

Will my boys have receding hair-lines and bifocals? 

And how I will long for these days of managed chaos back... 

running feet,

muddy worms,

blueberry shampoo.

Millions of details swallow my presence on a fairly regular basis:

phone calls to return,

dry cleaning to pick up,

play dates to make,

meetings to attend,

food to prepare,

toys to pick up,

laundry to fold,

bills to pay,

plants to water.

But that is just what they are...

details.  

Is my life going to be ruined if I don't get to all these details?

Absolutely not.

But, if I allow these details to take over my life, 

my presence,

the only gift I really have to offer another,

my beloveds,

it just might.

Perhaps the devil really is in the details.

And so today, I intentionally walk slower with two small hands in mine 

for there is no need to rush,

no need to drag,

no need to clip along.

For the moment is here.

And it is a gift.

As I am present, to this moment...

and God help me, the next too...

life almost comes to a stand-still. 

I'm here.

They are here.

I am watching,

experiencing,

shaping,

life.

What an honor. 

Calm in the storm

The wind started blowing. And blowing.  And blowing.  The sky began to turn orange-grey and thunder rumbled.  Lightning flashed. Hail pounded.

Oh yeah--a thunderstorm.
And a good one at that.

I had one boy open all the blinds, oohhh'ing and ahhhh'ing completely fascinated by this natural feat.

The other?
You can probably guess...

Wild-eyed and terrified.

As I held him close, all twisted in his monkey-limbs,
explaining the booms and cracks,
uncovering the mystery of his displaced anxiety,
I understood.

For he and I are not too far apart. 

I worry and fret and wonder and obsess.  From mud stains to life goals. 

And here as I held my wee one, wrought with fear, my heart was at near-explosion limits of love and compassion on the scale of Fukushima, for my shaking leaf.

I. get. it.

I only see part.
God sees full.

I only see the wind...the thunder...the lightning...the hail. In my babe-sense of understanding, somedays the world seems to be falling apart.  The windows shake, the ground shifts, it feels as though it will be like this forever.

But I only see in part.

I don't understand how storms work, how fronts come through, how thunder and lightning echo.  In my fear and anxiety I am blinded from seeing the beauty of its majesty and how the rain nourishes the earth (and gives me a break from watering the garden!).

But He sees the whole.

As my wild-eyes look up, tossed in the storm, I see that I do not need to feel ashamed. For still, still, I am held in a loving and compassionate gaze. In tender arms that soothe and caress.

It's all going to be okay. 
It's all going to be okay. 

For I only see in part.
But God knows the whole.
I only see the storm.
But God sees the life cycle.
And there is no chiding, no "buck-up," no dismissing.
Only deep love.

If you only knew.  
If you could only see the whole. 


Parenting is such a gift.
I'm learning so much from being their mama.
Widening and expanding my own concept of God.
Beginning to really...see.

And give thanks in the storm.

Disappointments

And it rained blood.
Again.
We thought this month would be different.
I felt so sure.
So secure.
The disappointment overwhelms.
Again.
Where did we go wrong?

As I looked in the bathroom mirror wiping the sleep from my eyes,
I saw the reflection of the disciples who were also so sure
they knew the ending.
This time.
This time would be different.
They were sure of it.
And yet,
it rained blood.
Disappointment overwhelms.
Where did they go wrong?

Pain stings.
It pierces.
Blood runs red.

Today I sit in the darkness,
in solidarity with confusion,
unfulfilled dreams,
crushing sorrow.

Yet, I do not lose hope.

For I know the end of the story.
Darkness does not win.
The night does not last forever.
For Sunday is coming.
And the dawn will rise,
blazing like the noonday,
crushing fear,
defeat
and death.

And even if the stick never reads positive again,
my Resurrection sight awakens my inner eye
to see the life that I've been given.

Owen
and
Connor.

Such grace.
Such grace.

Going green

Tonight we decided to go out for a picnic at the park behind our house.
It was lovely.
In many ways.

The boys ate,
played,
explored;
Shawn and I lounged leisurely
watching,
smiling,
full of gratitude for such amazing boys.

It was what I needed.
Actually, it was what everyone needed.
Fresh air,
beauty upon beauty,
getting dirty and not caring.

After we finished up, we explored a nature trail through the woods.
As we slowly meandered on the path
through mustard,
mushrooms,
wild onions,
purple trumpet
and white star flowers,
while keeping our distance from any skinks that might be lurking,

(Sidenote of vileness:  We were terrorized by one Sunday evening that lurked under our couch.  It did not end pretty.) 

we breathed.

We became alive again.

There is just something about being in nature,
in beauty,
in creation,
that re-creates.
That builds the soul,
that centers,
and reconnects.

To myself,
to others,
to the Creator.

I wonder if this mystery of re-creation happens
because I am surrounded by the elements in how it all began.
That I'm going back to the organic connection of what was,
and what still really is,
apart from cell towers,
PBS kids,
cables and wires,
desks and air conditioning.

For in that longing to be reconnected,
truly connected,
in that desire to breathe deeply again,
I am really yearning to behold the One whom holds all these things together.
Oh how I forget.

For my life and all that fills it,
the synthetic stuff and perpherial junk,
after time,
creates stagnant air,
and my soul longs for freshness.
It screams out, "Open the windows!"

That is what re-creation is all about.
That is, at the core, what I long for.
To reconnect with the Beauty that created me.
And all this.
And no amount of primetime TV,
sleep,
and unfortunately, chocolate
will truly satiate.

As we were walking back,
laughing with abandon,
Connor stopped us dead in his tracks.
Listen.
Listen, he said.
Then he pointed up.
Up to the heavens.
There a cardinal sang out to us.

Yes, the heavens.

Of course, it all comes from up there.

A flame in the midst of budding growth.
Passionate beauty,
Spirit gift,
the song of God.

Go for a walk.
By yourself.
With your family.
Recreate together.
Re-create your spirit.