Light the night

...and he was screaming. 

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night?

Thank you over-stimulation and sugar.  

As I opened his door, he came running, 

babe arms open wide.

Reassurance needed

in the dark night. 

I rocked him back and forth,

back and forth,

drowning out his moans and gasps

with steady, calm whispers

of peace and presence.

Only the night-light pierced the darkness.

Such an ample picture of me. 

Such an ample picture of the true Christmas story.

Cries in the night,

swallowing darkness,

overwhelming loneliness,

pressures,

expectations.

And yet, in the midst of chaos,

in the midst of fear,

The Word comes.

"Do not be afraid," He says.

The light bursts forth,

piercing the darkness,

offering hope,

comfort,

peace.

Not only for me and my microcosm.

But hope, 

comfort, 

peace,

offered for the world. 

To a world who is crying out,

writhing with over-stimulation and glut,

like a babe

needing his mama

on a Christmas night.

The Light has come.

The Light shines.

Forever and forever.

Happy birthday, Jesus.

Merry Christmas to you and yours.  May the Light of Christ fill you with all light and hope; so that you might deeply know again... 

where there is light, 

there can never be darkness.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 

He was with God in the beginning. 

Through him all things were made; 

without him nothing was made that has been made. 

In him was life, 

and that life was the 

light of all people. 

The light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness has not overcome it. 

The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. 

~John 1:1-5, 9

Love in a cup

I met God this morning.

But again, I didn't see.  I didn't notice.  

What is it with me?

Even with glasses, I am so blind.  

Did Mary ever forget? 

A book? 

Now? 

Right now?

It's 7:30am.

My coffee sits here hot. 

I'd really like to drink it...hot.

A book would make it lukewarm at best. 

It's 7:30am.  

The hour for stillness to prepare and pray for the day--with my hot coffee.

Sesame Street plays in the background, but does not tempt today.

Did Mary ever forget?

"Lap. Up on lap," he says.

He crawls up with book in tow.

As I reluctantly make space, pushing the dark morning drug away, 

he snuggles in close.  

The warmth of fleece sheets radiate.

The smell of sweet baby lingers.

I breathe.

The Spirit fills me.

Looking into his eyes,

He smiles.

His big toothy grin

comes close and kisses me.

The morning sleep shakes loose and

I remember. 

This was meant for my devotions this morning.

Holding the very face of God close,

seeing God's relentless love for me,

in that toothy grin,

and slobbery kiss,

that comes to me with no expectation. 

Love that crawls up on this blind mess, 

with hair frazzled,

who thinks a cup of hot darkness will truly awaken.

This is a Love who still comes.

A Love who longs to be with.

To curl up close and whisper again to me what my soul longs to hear.

You. Are. Loved.

Making a list, checking it twice

Owen's never been a fan of costumed caricatures.  Santa Claus at the mall is no exception.

As the lights twinkled, holiday music played, and sweet smells of roasted cinnamon almonds wafted, Connor was pretty excited to see the man with the big red belly.  Either that, or he was just holding out for the complementary candy cane.

When I asked Owen if he wanted to go tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas he said,

"No thank you.  I will just write him a letter and send it."

Encountering the Holy

  

The Lord is coming, always coming. 

Coming to me in surprising ways,
asking me to trust and join.
Wanting to form new life within. 

But, in a world of control where saying yes before analyzing the costs is ridiculous, foolish, unheard of.

Why would I ever do such a thing?

But in the silence…

while I wait…

I too, hear,

“Do not be afraid.”

How do I respond--

to this incredulous request to co-labor with God?

How do I respond to this encounter with the Holy?

I hold this question deep within my spirit today...

as I wait for the one who comes to me.

For the One who always comes to me,

And asks me to join in the mystery.

Yet in this waiting and wondering, I take heart,

For I do this not alone. 

Never alone. 

Because like Mary and Joseph,

I, too, am told that the one I'm invited to carry is named

Emmanuel,

“God with us.”

Thanks be to God.

"'For nothing is impossible with God.' 

Then Mary replied, 

'I am the Lord's servant, may it be to me as you have said.' 

Then the angel left her."

Luke 1:37-8

Birthing miracles

Waiting.









It is what the season of Advent is all about.


Waiting for the Light to come into the world.

Waiting, in this world of rush seems so impractical.  So, wasteful.

Yet, waiting, is anything but passive.  For it is in the waiting that transformation happens.  Happens, because we are ready.  Ready to see, ready to experience, ready to welcome.

While we wait, new life gestates within.  Like Mary growing the Holy Child, we join with her in the waiting, trusting that that which was declared to her was true, and in time, will come to be.

So too are we, mysteriously, gestating with transformation, as we open ourselves up to the possibilities of that which is impossible.

Waiting can be uncomfortable-with swollen ankles and aching backs--we wonder when it will come forth.  Yet the Mystery that we each hold, grow in its own time.  Coming when ready.  We know not the day or hour...but it will come forth.  A mother's mantra resounds, "I will not be pregnant forever."

Waiting...watching...for the miracles to appear.  For they will appear to those who prepare.  For transformation happens to those who say yes.  Who are willing to carry the Holy Child within, and in their waiting...watching for the birth.

This is Advent.

The Light of the world coming forth again and again...both in our world--and in our hearts.

He came as a baby

I see.
Jeeeshus.
There.

There.

Each and every morning, it is the same thing.
As we enter the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning, he spots him.


I see.
Jeeshus.
There.

There.

Our nativity is set on the window-sill that is between our kitchen and living room.  As I pull it off the shelf for the little hands to carefully explore, he moves me.

He points out his toes, his fingers, his eyes, his hat.  He touches his nose, his mouth, his knees, while gently and lovingly naming each part.  He had a body.  This is something I often forget.

Our Creator of the Universe, came to us, in a body.  But not a body of a mighty gladiator, strong in might to force a revolution.  Rather, as a teeny baby---innocent and vulnerable--with 10 fingers and 10 toes, whose earthly mother and father surely counted on a regular basis, like enamored parents do.  A baby who relied on the care and love from his family, and who, as he grew into a man, continued to invite a voluntary relationship of love.

Connor strains, and wiggles, and writhes to get a glimpse of this Holy Mystery each and every morning, not out of duty or obligation or guilt, but simply out of curious love.  May I too, like this toddler who understands, really understands...ask to see.  I want to see, touch, and understand.

Filling the plate

I hate to admit it, but I gained 3.2 lbs. over Thanksgiving.
Yes, I know,
that.is.a.lot.

But, it was worth it.

The celebration feast and weekend following was delectible.  Sitting at the table surrounded by family and friends, hearts full of gratitude for all that's been given, I'd say those 3 lbs. were well worth the Jillian Michaels hell I'm going through now.

I've heard it said that our spiritual walk, in different seasons of life can take on various menus.  Once in awhile there is feasting--with extended times for retreats, spaces of silence, and reflection.

Other days is like everyday fare--mac & cheese, tacos, Tuesday nights at Chik-Fil-A.  We have moments to offer prayers and read, to integrate our faith with actions.

Yet sometimes, the best we can do is grab a snack.  It's throwing the banana, cheese stick, or granola bar in the purse while driving to soccer practice.  Catching God on the run, where breathing becomes prayer.

I appreciate these menus so much, because I often attach guilt to my spiritual life in this busy season of life thinking I need to do more.  But life right now with active, demanding boys, can't be all about feasting.  I can try, and need to, carve out time and spaces for these "holy holiday meals," but realistically speaking, it just isn't going to happen on a regular basis now.
And that is okay.  Because God is not something that needs to be "found," as much as noticed.  And this can happen no matter what my day looks like.

Life is full of various menus--and I guess it doesn't really matter,
...as long as I'm eating (and gaining weight).

What a mother won't do

Quandary of the day:  "Mommy, I have to go!...NOW!"

A new experience:  Peeing in a van via a Mc Donalds water cup as to not wake toddler who fell asleep between errands.  

 

A new prayer of thanksgiving:  Thankful for pee, and not poop.

Seeing Beauty

Down here south of the Mason-Dixon line, generally speaking, we are still in fall.  Even as late as last week in the 60 degrees, glowing-red trees and blazing yellow shimmers could still be spotted.  As I was zooming down the road, eager to go around a slow-moving Ford, Owen reflectively states as he looks out, 

"Mom...isn't that just...beautiful?" 

Opening my eyes, I too, see. 

"Wow. It sure is, baby, it sure is." 

But even more so than the trees flanked by the crisp blue background, the true beauty lies in the one that was able to see the Beauty.  For this is no small thing.  In a world that is always looking ahead to see what's next, missing the here and now becomes commonplace.  To see, to really see, is a gift.

 Nurturing the noticing...

Living in Bethel

I'm a slow learner.  But, learning, I am.  After a near Three Mile Island red alert last week that nearly put  me into nuclear exploding (or imploding) mode, I knew something had.to.change.  And so I did. 

I sat down. 

And played. 

I mean really played. I played like I had nothing else to do. I played like it was1999.  No dishes, laundry, errands, emails, raking, dusting, ironing, bed-making. Nope. Nothing. Ignore the mess. I heard it said once that, "Trying to keep your house clean with little kids is like brushing your teeth while eating an Oreo."  So true. 

So, I just sat down and played and tried to breathe in the moment.  Even if it was only for a moment.

The curl of his eyelashes.  The plopping in my lap.  The sweet smell of baby shampoo.  The crashing and banging.  The cries for kisses and justice.  

It was as if time paused. Just for a moment. Air thick with holiness. Even in the ordinary. 

The gift of presence. 

Given to them.

But really, a gift to me.

For as we built these blocks into hospitals and skyscrapers, roads and houses, I realized that this was not child's play at all. 

This was my pillar.  

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the LORD is in this place--and I did not know it!"  And he was afraid and said, 'How awesome is this place. This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.' 

So Jacob took a stone and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it and called the place, 'Bethel'--the House of God.   

Genesis 28:16-18

Layer upon layer

In the dark we rocked back and forth.

Silent love pouring from my heart to his.

"I love you, I love, you, I love you," my heart sang.  

"Know my love for you, may you always know my love for you."  

The only thing separating our hearts was my skin to his:

T-shirt, 

sweatshirt, 

Colts' jersey, 

and soccer jersey.  

Yes, four layers.  To go to bed.  It is our version of the toddler sleep sack. Connor is into a stage now where he just likes putting on clothes and doesn't like taking them off.  Whatever works.  He sleeps better warmer than colder anyways.  

But as I rocked him with my love outpouring for him, heart penetrating through a blanket of clothing, it gave me pause to consider my own "layers."  What do I "wear" or "put on" that shields me from receiving Holy love?  Out of fear?  Out of control?  Out of pride?  

What mutes me from hearing God's own heartbeat?

Relentless and pure. 

Constant and deep.  

As a mother's love for her chid. 

The more layers I place trying to keep myself warm, the more distant the Heartbeat sounds, the more frozen my own heart becomes.

But ironically, the best way to fight hypothermia is not to put layer upon layer, 

but to go skin to skin. 

Gratitude Manifesto

Oh my.  It was one of those.  Another one of those days.  But it started off so, so good.  It really did.  The intentions were good.  So good.  After reading the 10 Point Manifesto of Joyful Parenting I was inspired.  So inspired.  Today would be the day.  I will succeed.

I will be more patient, 

I will be more understanding, 

I will fill my home with laughter,

I will,

I will,

I will...

So what happened?  

The grocery store. 

(Which could use a name makeover from Giant to...
Giant Pain In the Derriere.) 

It gets me every time.  Every single time.  

We start off amazing--hopes are high, spirits are up, giggles and smiles abound.  I even went above and beyond by making sure the kids were well watered and snacked and we spent some time together making our grocery list, each boy with pen and marker in hand scribbling down what was needed.  I was ready, prepared, focused.  

And we made it.  

Almost.  

But then, there was a line.  

In the checkout isle.  

Of course.  

The lull gave just enough time for the monkeys to climb out of the germ-filled car's window to reach the forbidden fruit lining the isle.  M&M's?  Tic-Tacs?  Gum?  Oprah? (Just kidding, the last one was for me...)

I think it is a conspiracy.  It is the only plausible explanation.  It is a conspiracy against a mother's last frayed nerve.  But we made it through, despite many a stern look and word about expectations and appropriate behavior.  

But,  I was spent.  Completely and thoroughly.  Couple that with a toddler that refused to nap, a stack of laundry and dishes to do, clogged toilet, a constant request nagging for candy every other nanosecond...slightly put me over the edge.  

"Manifesto, oh Manifesto...where for art thou Manifesto?"

From the highest highs to the lowest lows.  That really is the parenting journey.  Attitude altitude that can change by the day, hour, minute, or second.   Snuggling with books (to fighting over who gets to sit on my lap), full-body giggles (to full-body wrestles), bear hugs and sloppy kisses (to runaways and snot), all in an amazingly short amount of time.  

This is the parenting journey.  A journey of the deepest love.  Full of the difficult and the joy.  

Joy. 

A good reminder.  

Joy is one of those amazing gifts that lies subtly constant throughout the ebbs and flows of life.  It is an attitude that despite the circumstance has the power to transcend and transform one's own attitude and perspective.  

God, grant me more joy.  

But you know what? 

I think at the heart of joy, is gratitude.  

Gratitude for what is.  For what's been given, despite the circumstance.  

I have two healthy boys who have kind hearts, smart minds, loving spirits, boundless creativity, self-confidence, a sensational sense of humor, and pure zest for life. 

I have much to be thankful for. 

I am one lucky Mama to be blessed with these treasures.  

So maybe, God, grant me more gratitude.  

You have given me so much.

Come rain or shine, sickness or health, manners or whines, hungry or full, may I radiate joy for truly, 

I.am.blessed.

I have people to love. 

Giving thanks

In this season of giving thanks, my heart just about melted all over the floor tonight at supper.

We sat down together and Shawn led us off on our blessing--a song that we frequently sing, "Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow."  The boys are usually very good about joining in, but from the first note, Connor piped up, "I do, I do!"  And it continued with increasing intensity through the entire song.

"I do!  I do!"
"I do! I do!"
"I do! I do!"

After we sang the final, "AMEN," we asked Connor what he wanted.  He folded his hands, closed his eyes and said,

"Dank yu, God."

So innocent, real, and present.  A true prayer from the heart.  Because sometimes, really, that's all that needs to be said.

"Thank you, God."

There are no other words needed. No fluffy verbose, nor long-winded eloquence.  For words cannot express all that God has been, is, and will continue to be.  Giving thanks seems to be the only adequate response.

Connor, you reminded me of a very important lesson today.

...and a little child will lead them.

Bread for the Journey

What in the world am I doing?


Have you ever asked yourself that question, as a parent?  I'm not talking the superficial question of running around and walking into the same room a gazillion times having no more clue to what you are looking for than the last time.  (Baby brain, is what I call it.)


I mean in the deep, raw, keeping-you-up at night way.  What in the world am I doing?  Parenting is such.hard.work. It makes me feel as though my head is being twisted and turned in a million directions and all of the competencies that I have (or thought I had) are shattered. Talk about a reality check.  What in the world am I doing?  How in the world did I ever think I could raise a human being?

And sometimes, if I am honest, really really honest, I answer, "I...don't...know..."  Thinking like this makes it nearly impossible to get out of bed.  To think of all the things that are waiting to fill the day. The dishes.  The laundry. The wrangling.  The feeding.  The modeling.  The teaching. The cleaning.  The diapers.  The diapers.  The diapers.  Do I really have what it takes to do this? Again? And again?  And again?  What in the world am I doing?  "I...don't...know..."


But then I hear it.


"Mama."


I arise at this sound and go to the One calling my name.  And as I reach down to pick him up from his crib, nuzzling him close whispering, "I love you," I understand.


Jesus asked Peter, the disciple who was lost, disheartened, overwhelmed, in a crisis of faith, four simple words (John 21):


Do you love me?
Do you love me?
Do you love me?


And each time Peter responded, "Yes, you know I love you."
And each time Jesus replied, "Feed my sheep."


As I held this One in my arms, whispering "I love you" in his ear, deep down (way, way down) I knew that I was really answering Him.  


His response?  
"Feed my sheep."  


For the care and love and energy I put forth into nurturing my boys is ultimately, not really even about them.  It is about the One that created them...the One that shines in their eyes. Calling out to me, that in the mundane, in the fatigue, in the tedious work of being a parent, this is not the end.  But rather the means.  The means of loving and serving the Holy.  


It is then, to this ends that I receive strength and bread for the journey.  That I can get up and put one foot in front of another and digest my breakfast of Manna--given as a gift, even in days of desert wandering.  



 

Sounding the alarm

My little alarm clock went off this morning at 4:45 a.m.  Yes, you read that correctly, 4:45 A.M. With a pounce and a hug this alarm rang his bell soundly, until it was silenced by a glass of juice.  No snooze button here.

Do you know what is on TV at 4:45 a.m.?  I really hope you don't.  Let me tell you, just in case you are curious.  Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero, unless you want to order "The Best of Soul Train" DVD Collection from TimeLife. (Which actually mesmorized the alarm clock for quite awhile...)

Do you know why nothing is on TV?
Because people should.not.be.getting.up.at 4:45am.

The day was pretty rough...let's be real. There was too little patience and too much laundry.  Too little coffee and too much human excrement clean-up and carpet scrubbing.  Too little focus and too much complaining.

Yet such are some days.  May God's grace still abound, and abound, and abound.  Yet, as much as I'd love to get a jump start on grace, God, as it is written,"...your mercies are new every morning...,"

am I asking too much to start the morning a little later tomorrow?

Soul rest

All I wanted to do was take a nap.  Really, is that too much to ask?  Ok, not even a nap...like I could restfully close my eyes and drift off into lala-land knowing my 4 year old was roaming the earth like a free man. Not a chance.  I just wanted to sit.  For 5 minutes. 5 minutes--by myself. In the quiet. Peace and quiet.  

"Mom, will you play animals with me?" 

This question is heard no less than a million times on any given week.  I am not joking.  A million times. Maybe more.  

"Mom!  Come outside and play animals with me. I want to show you something. Will you, will you?" His eyes twinkled.  

I breathe in.  I breathe out.  Although a relatively insignificant query, this question loomed so large. Why me? Why now?  I just. want. a. nap.

My needs?  

His needs?  

Weighing the cost of each...knowing that each one is valid and necessary...

His brown beauties looked at me again with hopeful anticipation, would I come?  

Would I?  

I breathe in.  I breathe out.  As I looked again at this gorgeous one asking for nothing but time, what moved me from stillness to action was that I saw the true invitation.  My invitation to meet the Creator--the One whose creative personality breathed life into this budding zoologist in front of me.  For this invitation was not merely about role-playing with my son, but interacting and affirming and encouraging those gifts that this One placed within.  

A huge task?

Or an honor given?

"Sure, I'll come out.  How do you want to play today?"  

What I saw floored me. Owen had hidden his animals all over the yard in different "habitats." As we lurked and creeped, he told me of their eating habits and mechanisms for survival.  He is one smart dude.  Either that, or he watches way. too. much. television. 

After my tour, I suggested that it would be fun to invite Shawn and Connor around on a "safari."  So we spent the rest of the hour or so getting ready by making tickets, brochures/maps, signs, etc...

Welcome to Owen's Safari

Tiger spotting!

Roar!!!

Tour guide explaining how pandas live in trees eating eucalyptus leaves

Giant Panda

Guide explaining camouflage and how chameleons use it to their advantage 

Beaver building his dam

Guide allowing petting 

It was announced that the zebra just had a baby

Snakes in the dirt (and kangaroo if you look carefully)

Moose in the woods eating grass and berries

Longhorn on the plains

Komodo dragon on the beach

An afternoon encounter with the Creative Divine.  

At the end, even though my body was still tired, my soul found rest.

A Cinderella moment

It's just a little gold band.  Well, three to be exact.  Placed on my finger by my first love...and removed by my love-to-be.  Meaning...(don't start jumping to wild conclusions here)...when I was pregnant, my whole body swelled.  We are not talking just the belly bump.  I never really had that. Ok, let's be serious.  There is no need to even state the word, "really." I never had that.  I so envy those beautiful women with the gorgeous baby-goddess look. You know what I mean.  

Me?  I had the whale look. Enormous, huge, larger-than-life.  I was very good at growing babies.  Yes, I grew them everywhere.  On the belly, chin, thighs, fingers.  Needless to say, from a claustrophobic perspective, the ring had. to. go.  Or, at least put away in a safe place until I shrunk back to a somewhat recognizable me. 

It's been five years.  Five whole years.  That's a lot of time getting to know my size 9 Target ring that stood in for my golden-boy.  When I came across the ring over the weekend and tried it on again, to my surprise, it slipped over my knuckle with ease.  My golden-boy is back, safe and sound where he belongs.  A symbol of love and commitment  forever and for always.

I do find it a bit ironic the circle this ring traveled.  Or I traveled through the ring.  Like I stated above, it was first put on by Shawn, taken off for my boys, and then placed back on by me.  I've had to work really hard in order to get the baby weight and lose my whale-esque shape.  In essence, I've had to fall back in love with me again.  To love me enough to take care of me.  To lose weight, to get in shape, to get healthy again.  It wasn't about the number on the scale anymore, it was so much larger, fuller, deeper than that.  Honestly, I could care less about the number.  Rather, I realized, that if I didn't love me wholly, than I wouldn't be living life at the fullest of who I was and was created to be (the Holy one that created me as His temple).  Living less than I was created, in turn means that I was also withholding love to Shawn and my boys (and the rest of the world) with all that I am.  

And so, I place this ring on my finger as symbol of love and commitment, not only to the love of my life and the fruit that our relationship produced, but also for me, living fully into the one God created me to be.  

Now let's celebrate...on to the reception (for some cake)!  Just kidding...a run is in my future tonight.

Happy Halloween

May sugar abound...

Mind spa day

Transition takes a lot of mental and emotional energy. Meeting new people, establishing relationships, and continuing budding friendships takes a lot of brain power.  I love it, but even for this self-declared extrovert, it can feel tiring at points.  That's why Shawn and I were so excited when Chet and Mary were close by! We met our lovely North Carolina friends in Staunton, at a favorite grad school restaurant of choice.  

It was so refreshing to have someone from our 'past' to connect with.  Conversation flowed freely, ribs dominated the meal, and Shawn and I didn't have to worry about spilled milk, dropped silverware, or cutting plates of bite-sized pieces.  

A mental spa day, for sure.

I feel cleansed and rejuvenated...

Love, love, love you guys!

Apple of my eye

Carter's Mountain Orchard is literally a hop, skip, and jump from our house.  It is so beautiful there.  Set on top of the mountain, there are panoramic views of Charlottesville.  We spent the morning, a few weekends ago, doing the traditional apple-picking, cider-drinking, donut-wolfing day.  The boys loved it.  They were so excited about finding the apples on the tree.  I think they each ate no less than 2 whole apples.  Go fiber!

This day made my heart glad.

Just sayin'

I think the people that make door knob covers should lose their jobs.

They don't work, people. They don't work.

And how do I know that?

Babes are tucked into their beds, lights off, door shut. No less than 30 seconds later, door opens, little feet pitter-patter downstairs, and scurry around like mice. Take back to bed.

Repeat, with inclusion of stern words.
Repeat, with inclusion of further threats.
Repeat...repeat, repeat.
(And why does this happen when the husband is gone for the evening?)

The last time, I let them go downstairs a bit longer partially out of frustration, and partially out of surrender. When I finally take them up, they are no longer resentful, but proud.

"Come see, Mommy, come see."
Uh oh.

Upon entering their room, to my surprise there was a picnic. Complete with the 9x13 egg casserole for tomorrow's breakfast, yogurt, hot dogs, leftovers from supper.

Seriously, these children are fed throughout the day.
Quite well, in fact.

Tomorrow, installation of refrigerator lock will commence. Hopefully this product will work.

Don't let me down, people. Please, don't let me down.

Be still my heart

What could be better than 1 incredibly, good-looking guy?

All three of mine together!

Tears tonight

This evening, I opened my email and saw a message from First Mennonite Church of Denver regarding the tragic death of Chloe Weaver, daughter of Herm and Cindy of Boulder, CO.  She was struck riding her bike on Sunday.

I am just so, so sad.  This is the second sudden death I've heard of this week (last week, a friend of a friend passed away a week after having her second child due to a pulmonary embolism).  Hearing things like this remind me again of the fragility of life.  My blog is titled, "Everything Belongs," and at the deepest part of my core, I do trust that God truly, deeply, and completely holds all things together.

But tonight it is harder to believe.


Yet, believe I must.

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. ~Romans 8:38-9

To the Weaver family:  the Spirit groans on your behalf tonight, for I cannot find the words.  You are held in a deep place.

Fleece diapers?

Self-sufficiency.  It's our culture's most admired trait.
It's my faith's worst nightmare.

While running on the treadmill on Tuesday, I was feeling so distant.  Distant from peace, from joy, from love, from God...as I thought about why this was, the word "self-sufficiency" kept coming to the surface. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became.  My desire to be self-sufficient, to handle it all, to hold it all together on my own accord, was distancing me from relationship.  Because I refuse to allow spaces of need in my life, was this preventing grace to enter?  To see God at work?

I'm not sure why I tend to revert into this mode time and time again.  Do I feel a need to earn/prove my worth?  That who I am, and what I offer is somehow not enough?

So as I'm running, feeling convicted of these things, I confess to God that I desire a closer, more reliant relationship.

And then I threw it out there.

Now, normally, I'm not a fleece thrower or anything (i.e. "God if you are really there, make it stop raining."), but I guess I wanted to test my own ability to trust God's provision, so I said,

"I really need some diapers today. Now, I"m not expecting you to throw a box out of the sky or anything, but, even if you could open the space in my incredibly busy day for me to get to Target, along with the mental/emotional capacity to cart the boys with me, that would be great."

There.  I said it.  And I finished my run.

Tuesdays are busy days.  I have to drop off Owen at preschool at 9:00am and then come half-way back to town by 9:20am to be at a bible study that I signed up for at a local congregation.  I bring Connor to the study, as childcare is provided.

As I unbuckled Connor out of his car seat in the church parking lot, it hit me.  In the rush of leaving the house, I had forgotten to pick up the diaper bag.  I scoured the car, because often we leave one in the car, or at least a lone diaper somewhere.

Not this time.
Nada.
Nothing.

Then it hit me again.  God will provide the diapers, right?  I had to giggle.

Sure enough, as I dropped off Con at his class and told his teacher that I had no diaper bag with me she said, "That's fine, we can provide diapers for you."


Not exactly how I was expecting God to answer, but answer God did.

Fleece or no fleece, my prayer is that I might allow spaces of openness in my life.  For by living permeable, I recognize God all around me, in those I meet, in the situations I encounter.  For God is here, already acting and working, providing what I need, recognized or not.

God help me to see.

Men and Meat

Shawn's favorite restaurant in the whole, entire world is Rodizio Grill.  Hunks of skewered meat are brought to your table until your gut splits.  I like meat, don't get me wrong, but with my family history of high cholesterol, I try to limit the animal protein.

Coming home tonight from a local Mexican restaurant, we are stopped behind a specialty meat truck.  A fillet as big as a horse stares back at Shawn, who is practically drooling. Here's our conversation:

"What is it with men and meat?  I could probably go vegetarian, if I had to."
    "It's men's primal instinct to hunt and eat meat.  It would kill me to give up meat."
"Well, it can kill me if I eat too much meat."
    "If I am going to die either way, I want to die with meat in my gut. Bury me with a T-Bone, baby."

Lament to a hotdog

Hot dogs, you never saw it coming.

It was the middle of the night when the bright light awakened you from your slumber, fingers rummaging, looking for a drink. You never had a chance.  Hot dogs are his favorite.  I'm sorry he didn't just take one.  Or two.  But three of you...gone.  Well, okay, really two and a half.  I found the disfigured third, half-way gnawed off under his bed.  The bed he should have been sleeping in.  All night.  But no, new-found freedom of a bed without rails could not contain his midnight excitement from you.

I'm just so sorry.

Budding theologian

Shawn took Owen to preschool today.  On the way over there the song, "Jesus loves the little children," played on the CD.

Owen:  "Grandma Springer sings me that song."
Shawn:  "That's nice. It is a good song. Your grandmas love you so much.
Do you remember Grandma Gerber?"
Owen:  "Yes I do."
Shawn:  "You know Owen, I really miss her."
Owen:  "Yeah, but Dad, we will see her again."
Shawn: "Oh, how is that?
Owen: "One day God is going to give us a new body then we will all be together in heaven."

You have a good heart, Owen. You are already giving pastoral care!  May your faith continue to grow and deepen and inspire you and others.

Jesus said to them, "Let the children come to me.  Don't stop them!  For the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.  I assure you, anyone who doesn't have their kind of faith will never get into the kingdom of God. " Then he took the children into his arms and placed his hands on their heads and blessed them."

Mark 10:14-16

The almost unnoticed laugh

We needed to be out the door this morning no later than 9am to go to Owen's preschool field-trip to the apple orchard.  (I think it must be a requirement for preschool curriculum to include at least one of these per fall!)  Connor did NOT want to put on his socks and shoes.  As I was flying around gathering up the things we needed, I caught Connor on my lap and started the wrestling battle (MMA worthy). I didn't even realize it, until I actually turned to look him in the face, exasperated about what was going on, that I saw this:

I cracked up laughing!  Not 1, but 2 pacifiers. (I mean, really, he is pretty addicted, but this is verging on a 12-step program!)  We all had a really great laugh about it. Then he sat down, let me put his socks and shoes on without fault.  

It got me thinking...how often do I go about my day without really looking into my children's face?  That I run around and around, balancing 50,000 duties and tasks, and not really see what they are trying to show me.  This just gave me pause to stop and consider...

1.  What am I missing when I don't slow down to notice who they are     (being/changing) and what they want (from me/show me)?

2. How can laughter and a sense of humor help diffuse even the most difficult situation? 

Oh Connor--you are my jokester.  

I love you so much.
Forgive me when I don't notice you and what you are trying to show me. 

Help me to not get so caught up in the day to day details
that I miss out on the fun of life. 

Your eyes truly twinkle.

Go on, say it!

This weekend was one of those.  At the store, I was the mother wrangling her screaming children who wanted M&Ms.  At church, I had the wiggly child who did not seem to understand the meaning of "whisper."  At the park, I had the kids that cut in the slide line, ran away when called, and pouted when it was time to go home.

Yes, it was one of those.

Last night, on the way home from the park, I started lamenting to Shawn that people probably think our kids are out of control.  Wisely, Shawn said, "I don't really care."

That phrase instantly re-oriented me.

Yes, I do sometimes have squirmy kids who know what they want, when they want it and are not afraid to show it.  Sometimes I have kids who have difficulty listening to directions and following instructions.  But really, who doesn't?

Rather than going down the self-loathing road, I instead turned and told myself that still, despite my children's "sometimes" (and "sometimes more") behavior, I am still a really great mom. And person.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of this.

If you are a mom (or whatever role you are in...worker, dad, grandparent, pastor, etc...) I invite you to say it too, SNL Stuart Smiley style!

For Kent and Miriam--on this dedication Sunday

My lovely in-laws and sweet niece and nephew Hannah at St. Thomas "Therefore I have lent him to the Lord..." 1 Samuel 1:28 In this madonna season I sit surrounded by plain and not so plainsong, searching for the one bright note attuned to my sound. Like Hannah, I brave the eyebrowed skepticism of presiding priests who rightly suspect my presence is less pious, more maternal. No matter. I know what I've laid on the altar. Bone of bone. Flesh of flesh. A gift no usher could collect in plates of silvered velvet. In this madonna season I am reminded that birth is just the first separation. And though each sock is named, each letter numbered, there's a loss which is never reclaimed. For each procession moves through time as well as space, and every turn reveals less child, more power in his face. Neither maestro nor messiah, he simply lives and moves and sings. And in place of angel visits, I only ask that in his dark of night he'll hear all that is holy call him by name.

© 1990 Heather Murray Elkins