Ode to Dorothy

So today at lunch, I asked Owen if he wanted to pray.

"Sure, Mom. Let's sing a song."

Fine.  This is fairly typical for our family...not much out of the ordinary.

"I want to sing the Dorothy song."

I'm a bit confused.  Dorothy?  I don't know a song about Dorothy.
Heck, I don't even know a Dorothy...
unless you count Elmo's goldfish.

"Yes you do!  You sing it...'cross and has and Dorothy...!'"
He gets more and more agitated.

Okay, I'm stumped.
Buddy, I have no idea what you are talking about.
Is this a preschool song?

"NO! WE SING IT!  YOU SING IT...(insert inaudible melody)...
"cross and has and Dor-or-thy!"
He is quite upset at this point and I am still completely shaking my head in utter confusion and bewilderment.

Dude, what. are. you. talking about?

Then it hits me.
Of course, our good friend, Dorothy!

This revelation was no less than a gift of grace,
because people,
I. had. no. stinking. idea.
what this little dude was talking about,
although he was completely certain I did.

"Christ, we do all adore thee! That's what you want to sing, right?"
(Get it?  Do it Mad Gab style..."Christ we do all a 'dorothy.'")

He shakes his head like,
"Duh, Mom.  What was your problem? That's what I've been saying all along."

Sure thing, Owen.
Sure thing.
Why didn't I think of it sooner?

I'm not sure I'll be able to sing this song again without chuckling.
Heart smile.

I'm sure Christ adores Dorothy, too.

Life as miracle

I was struck tonight as I read my littlest pumpkin
Richard Scarry's Best Word Book Ever,
how life is miracle.

Here was my babe-toddler, naming things that I hadn't the slightest clue he knew.

Porcupine?
Sea gull?
Panda bear?
(As distinguished from the also present and named
grizzly,
polar,
and black bear.)

How time moves on--how fast things change.

Soon he will be explaining concepts of inertia,
and the laws of physics before I blink.
Just ask The Professor--my precocious eldest,
who did just that during my latest batch of folding clothes.

What?!
Transferring the concepts...and naming them correctly?
At four?
Who are you?!

In both cases, I sit back...
and smile.
I am beholding a miracle.
Miracle of life,
simply being lived.
Learning,
growing,
loving,
being.

I breathe in.
Miracle.
I awake another day.
Miracle.
I am surrounded by  love.
Miracle.
I have a roof over my head, and food on my table.
Miracle.

As I sit, and reflect...
I give thanks for all these...and more.
Because for too long, the lies won.

The discontent,
the anxiety,
the control.

But in the quiet...
as I breathe,
as the miracle of life sustains me,
for one more hour,
one more minute,
I realize that gratitude, silences.

Silences the lies.
And fears.

For there is no place I can go where God is not.
Looking around, I finally notice.
God is here.
Sustaining life.

And so with my miracle breath,
I breathe in grace,
and exhale gratitude.
God. is. good.

Maybe this is how we really live life?
Moment by moment.
Taking notice of the miracle each truly is.
And give thanks.

Look for the pillar

Being a new year gives me pause to think and reconsider the past and where I want to go in the future.  But what it doesn't address is the moment. 

The here and now. 

The question of who am I? 

What are my gifts?

How am I using them? 

Utilizing them?

Offering them?

Coming from a conference where I reconnected with some of my cohorts from graduate school days, seeing the amazing ways they are working and offering themselves, and me...?

It fees like desert wandering.

I understand why the Israelites were fearful. 

Coming from Egypt, going to the Promised Land...but the journey. 

It was taking so long.

It was hot,

cold,

dry,

empty.

What was the meaning of living in-between?

Was there a gift there?

If I really get honest, my current season of life often feels like desert wandering. I know where I've come from, but often the days as a stay-at-home parent feels endless, as the horizon shows sand upon sand. I know, "I am shaping lives, doing a wonderful thing, this is something I will never regret..." and yet the routine and monotony can often get to me...

I feel the heat of the desert sun--ranging with envy of those who seem to be doing more, offering more.

I feel the cold of the desert night--wondering if the light of my gifts are dimming. Will anything be left?

Don't be afraid, whispers across the sand.

There is purpose--

for you are not wandering aimlessly.

You are being formed,

shaped,

grown.

And you are not alone.

Your teachers in this wilderness are two:

a furnace colored corker and a 

toe-headed sprite.

They will offer you surprising gifts.

Sustaining laughter,

and joy on the journey.

Do not be afraid.

I AM here,

leading the way,

preparing the path ahead

sheltering the glow of ego

and warming with endless love, compassion and patience.

Look ahead.

The path ahead might looked blocked,

because you can't see beyond me.

Because I am all you need.

Look for the pillar.

"The LORD went ahead of them...

in a cloud by day and in a pillar of fire by night...

and neither left its place in front of the people."

Exodus 13:21-2

Soul's playlist

He had been sick for 3 days.

For 3 days my oldest who is full of jokes, imagination, and "curiosity" (which let's be completely honest, often leads to time-outs) had been a shell of himself.  Eyes sunken in, barely enough energy to look around for more than a few minutes before cocooning himself again with sleep, to allow his immunity to continue its long-battle.

On the third night, I tucked this sick one back in bed for the night, and while I quietly began singing to him, a song that I hadn't sung in awhile came to voice.

I lift my eyes up,
up to the mountains,
where does my help come from?


My help comes from you,
Maker of Heaven,
Creator of the earth.


Oh how I need you, Lord,
you are my only hope,
you are my only prayer,
and so I wait for you,
to come and answer me,
to come and give me life.


As I sung, he, who could barely even lift up his head, took out his hands from the warm covers, and motioned the song.  He lifted his hands to the heavens and sang from his soul.

Not even 5 yet, and he gets it.
Where true help comes, where true hope is found, where true life is born.

His soul sang out, without a word even crossing his lips.

May my 32 year-old soul, who has been around along enough to forget from time to time--
compromised and lured by the glitz and glamour,
the to-do lists,
and hyper-viligance thinking I am really in control---
become again like this babe,
fresh from the heart of God,
who knows,
who truly knows,
who holds all things together.

But you know, the more I think about it...
my soul,
deep down,
deep, deep down,
also knows.

Because it remembered the song.
Without me even being conscious of it.
It came just at the right time.
Thank God for our soul's playlist.