the breathing out

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earlyoct08 014He was out on the old tractor at our family Farm.
Rolling on black tires tall,
Meandering through the high grass
Mowing it away
harvesting his refreshment
Happy to find time alone, although he didn’t say.
A breezy afternoon, red Farmall plaid shirt and jeans with a fleece kind of day.
A little late for mowing this year,
Golden rod bowing their heads in the field by now, swaying in the How Majestic is Your Name chorus,
As my love exercises an Eden- gift of dominion over the land, back and forth, to the edge and return,
Back and forth :::
across the once-pasture
Entering into the praise-song of the Earth,
back and forth::
Praising the Creator on this day, blessed to breathe in,
                                   :: back and forth
And I
busying myself about the farmhouse,
sorting the silver and throwing the gingham dishtowel about my shoulder
hearing the slam-click of the screen door while the kids wildly scream in freedom and laughter
Wondrously realizing satisfaction to the once-eluded primal pull of house and home::
soaking in::
giggling in the moment of sheer peace
                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Gramma arrives early for Pinochle
While crockpot chicken-dill stew bubbles
And I forget to make the brownies
So I greet Gramma in her pearls and ice-blue cardigan that matches her eyes
And to find my own Mama, still outside
hurting in the deep- broken- breaking of this world
and wrap my arms about her too and look in those inherited- blue eyes
Saying::
Let’s go, let’s play a game ::
Can I get you a drink::
Let us sit,
Glad you came,
Today is the day the Lord has made,
A gorgeous day,
The weather you love, right, Mama? Remember?
Breathe it in, Mama, that chorus, do you hear it?
Out in the field, the hallelujah chorus?
The whirr of the tractor cannot out-do it, Mama::
I promise.
The Earth pours it out to Him and you just need listen::
It’s all praise,
Mama, you just breathe, because He cares for the sparrow, you know that,
                                                 ~smile
I know you do.
Praise Him, even when all is hard, Mama.
I inhale deeply, quietly
too
eyes closed with
thanks, wonderment
                                   :: weariness
as I linger to the screen porch.
The sparrow,
The lilies,
Yes, Lord.
Yes, Lord.
My brownie bowl cradled in my arm,
wooden spoon circling,
I call through the screen to my love who has rested a moment
outside
on the tractor looking at the sky:
::::Gramma wants to watch you mow, I say
I whisper in my heart to him:
{She wants to! To really stare out to the trees and the sky of brilliance and the Son that warms and join the chorus and fill that deep longing to praise she can not quite satisfy!}
Wait, Love, to say hello to her before you go
And my Mom is here too and she’s broken in pieces, Love…
{She says she can’t, Love, she says she cannot find Him now in the midst of this pain. Can I say to her with truth and faith in the middle of this:: praise Him? Can we reflect Him by our doing? Can she watch you refresh yourself in Him as you busy yourself in His Creation? Can I serve her here in this place where I am and where she is and let Grace fill in our brittle cracks?}
He smiles his smile
That God-gifted smile
the one that belongs only to him
and to me:: us, together
The smile that makes me breath
quietly reassured
The smile full of God-given wisdom in the middle of this open, baring field
The smile that knows where I have been
and knows where we are going::
                             {with Him}
             :::: joining the hallelujah::::
the smile of my love whispers to me as he sits atop a farmer’s seat in the sun
and
I stand in the shade waiting:
{Yes, he smiles, yes, THIS is where we are and who we are in Him and this is where He has us and this our walk in His will today. We are strong in Him. I’m going to mow now. Have fun playing Pinochle! Go…}
And all he needs to say aloud as I watch his smile…
He waves and yells out, loud enough for her to hear,
HI GRAMMA!
I set the timer for the brownies,
gather the well-worn Pinochle cards,
while I pour my mama a glass, right full,
peering through the window at the giggles and quarrels in the sandbox,
I settle in a chair on the porch where I can face the field,
so when I look up from my cards, I can see him,
praising God with his hands,
as he joyfully toils,
with the ravens flying
and the pines whispering
and the apples ripening
and the clouds moving
joining in the Everything-That-Hath-Breath-Praise-The-Lord Chorus
And I have no choice,
no desire,
to do anything else, but be right here, in this place
in this place,
Where God has called me to
for this moment,
Where Earth and sky and obedience and brokenness and submission and gentleness and thanksgiving and uncertainty and peace all meet:::
::: in the wide open field of PRAISE.
“Oh, come let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the Rock of our salvation! Let us come into His presence with thanksgiving; let us make a joyful noise to him with songs of praise! For the Lord is a great God… In His hands are the depth of the Earth; the heights of the mountains are His also.  The sea is His, for He made it, and His hands formed the dry land… 
We are the people of His pasture, and the sheep of His hand…”
Psalm 95

Fear and Victory

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(from May 2012)KingsLanding 062

You know,

When that little fear that you swallow in uncertainty rises in your throat and forms a faith-less lump in the pit of your stomach?

When your priorities are askew

and the pride settles itself in a cozy corner of your pocket and you decide that you can take care of the world,

your world,

and you forget where your praying knees are

and you think you know something,

and it’s all figured out
because you figured it out…
Alone

and those bible verses you diligently rehearsed are glimmering somewhere in your mind,

Whatever is true, whatever is honorable,
whatever is just, whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable,
if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise,
think about these things.
Phillipians 4

But
they become a faint whisper on some days when the willy-nilly wind is blowing just right

And needless fear roots itself in the absence of your seeking Him,

and the words fade away
in the whirlwind of decision-making, doubt and dread.

Dusty.

And you end up beaten-down and searching, low and discontented…

Where?
…are those words that prompt the steady beat of my heart?
Where?
…is the Voice that calms the dissonance and straightens me when my path becomes tired and winding?

With me.
All that time.

All that time I was walking on my own strength,
All that time I feared,
All that time I questioned,
All that time I felt alone,
All that time I was isolated in that deep crook where the enemy and the flesh kept me…

Until, we, with that one weak, yet strong
upward glance,

when you stretch out your arms into His perfect love

Where

He plucks you out of fear’s craggy hand and

Settles you
deep in the comfortable blanket of His Word,

His words,

written on your heart,
in the folds of the pages,
in the encouraging voice of a friend,

dusted off

and spoken right out loud
Yes, right out loud:

The Lord is on my side; I will not fear.
Psalm 118

out of darkness and into the light

until the fear goes running

and the loneliness flees

and He cradles you and keeps you

and His perfect timing comes knocking to rescue you
Again and always

and you have that moment when you wonder why the worry wallowed so long
and why you allowed your heart to harbor it
and you let yourself languish in a moment of fear when you know the mighty hand that keeps you—-
and you say

and why didn’t I run to you first, Lord?
and He grabs your hand as a loving Father does and quiets you in His blessed assurance…

That He has you.
That He keeps you.
That He knows us.
That He promises us.
That He carries us…

In our heartache, in our celebration, in our laying down and rising up

Forever and always.
We are His.

Be strong and courageous. Fear not; do not be dismayed.
1 Chronicles 22

Home

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bgceremonyA little poem on thoughts of establishing a home: during my matron of honor toast at my sister’s wedding. (This poem, of course, followed our rendition of the Princess Bride’s “Ma-widge” speech.

Home: builds love, strong on Him: for His glory.

Home: exhales joy: for family.

Home: bears rest: for refreshment.

Home: inhales prayer: for peace.

Home: sparkles laughter: for happiness.

Home: swells patience: for growing thankfulness.

Home: spills gratitude: for one another.

Home: builds love, firm on the Word: for His glory.

I Will Magnify

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june11 086Morning rose rouged- pink and clear with a frigid sunrise today,

restfully, blessedly,

wrapped so warmly,

hesitantly,

slapping the snooze singing joy- comes- in- the- morning hymns

waking up 38 minutes later than usual after a long day before,

and a week before that

of fevers too high

and less sleeping

and the grace of being home here with my little one

to quietly

{and not so quietly}

try to make all the tattered ends of twine meet and tie the ribbons I have left hanging into my pretty bows

~ because pretty bows are what is best, right? No matter what? Getting it all done and wrapping things up in sparkles and bows?

And I have felt tired and right- weary this two- month past,

Death came calling and breaking us open with grief spilled staining us for a good long time

Two days til Thanksgiving

raising our hands in blessed gratefulness

for all we could see through the tears of this life

and we chose joy in the pain,

because He calls us to that,

and we must choose His joy

when our flesh tells us to break,

disjointed and suffering and everything upside down and overturned,

and I have not forgotten it even yet,

when sadness slips slowly its gripping fingers around my heart and I remember him,

and I remember him

with smiling eyes and over-told stupid jokes that made

me shake my head and go-jelly with belly-holding laughing

when he picked me up and took me to lunch when life was confusing

and I was rigid

and sometimes

we just sat and watched cartoons while he told me silly stories

and made me better

And I wish I kept his voicemails.

And when he told me, the last time,

You are doing the right thing. This choice you guys made.You stay with those babies. There’s nothing like it. You don’t get it back. I’m so happy for you.

And I sobbed on my deck looking at the stars wondering about the suffering to my Lord,

Almighty

Sovereign,

and yet I asked Him,

Because He tells me I can,

and I thought it could be the last time he talked on and on and on to me about

all the good things in his life,

yes, the good.

and I listened to him, laughing

{did he know I was weeping with my smiling?}

And so it was.

The last time.

And I wish I kept his voicemails.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

And November turns bleakly to December and the

Holiday-perfect-getting-it-all-right-quarrels

People-pleasing-not-Jesus-pleasing days

Adjusting-new-life-decisions

Little-sicknesses-slow-us-down-huffing-puffing

And I end up

World- weary

Tying my pretty bows all in a row, tattered at the very tips of living,

and I remember my thanks.

And I seek out the thankfulness breathing right through me,

Because I was made for Him

To please Him,

To glorify Him,

To thank Him,

even when life heaves hard,

Hard

How can I ignore it? The thanks that I must have for Him?

Give to Him?

He gave me life.

He gives me life.

Over and over and over again.

The grace that pours down on every moment I am here for Jesus-talking and Jesus-sharing,

And Jesus-shining,

When I think of Travis,

Suffering of ten years of cancer and chemo and shingles and experimental drugs and hospitals and quarantine

and three kids who lit up his twinkling eyes, despite it all,

And how I hear people

me

tied up and tied down and frozen up and bound tight by big- little things in the stuff of life

This world hands out irritations and distractions like no one’s downright business.

Throwing me off the narrow way

He with timber on His shoulders tread for me

Already.

Thank You.

breathing out thank You.

Little colds,

and not getting paid on time,

Gifts never received at Christmas,

and the Fiscal Cliff,

Rude waitresses,

and the traffic too thick,

Did you hear what she said?

and I-can’t-wait-for-summer-I-hate-this-snow

on and on and on.

And I think of Travis,

Labored breath, labored living

And searching, still, for Him, in the tiny things that make a life really lived:

To remember the taste of oreos,

To recall a walk on a Florida beach,

To feel his baby’s skin born into his cancer,

To be thankful he woke up,

forgiving the pain,

to walk one more day down the steps to kiss Laurie,

I will heave out those thanks when I am weary.

I will whisper it out weak in my weakness.

I pray I will ~ always.no.matter.what.

Thankfulness is what carries me through this shattered world and leads me straight to Him,

He who gives me strength when I rise up on a dawning, freezing,

frozen

morning

flesh-weary,

world-weary,

heart-weary,

When I cannot seem to tie another pretty bow all by myself and am tempted to let the edges lay torn and gray and ripped hanging,

When He shines perfectly, gloriously in my weakness.

He calls me to thankfulness anyway.

Anyway.

I will choose thankfulness.

God help me, I will choose thankfulness in all things.

I will praise the name of God with a song; I will magnify Him with thanksgiving.

Psalm 69:30