One year ago this week.

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I taught at a beautiful school next to a lake, the native word for lake: kuspem… where on most days I watched the latter part of the sun rise over the water. 
 
In the Fall, as school was just beginning, I could peer down at the blue of the water and up at the blue of the sky and see the trees dotted with reds and oranges as the rays broke over a new morning. 
 
In the Winter, it would be common to see a moose or a deer walking on the ice as a yellow glow sparkled over the snow rising from behind the hill and filling the day with His beauty.
 
In the Spring, as the Winter broke its hold on the Point, the mist would rise dramatically and forcefully off the water and ice like a prism and the shining pink and orange of the sun would bounce and reflect and take my breath away.
 
As Spring turned to Summer-like weather, the loons would sing a Morning Has Broken song and I would drive by the fisherman on the lake– all the while anticipating the end of the school year thinking of my babies at home and ice cream and flip flops and swimming… things I knew were just around the corner, until I ventured back to this place on the lake and the bright eyes of my students…
 
And then there was yesterday.
 
Yesterday. When I drove my last day down the school lane and I, for a moment felt broken and weak in myself as I stopped next to the glory of the sun as it peeked over the water– sprinkled with glittery light on a calm day that felt tumultuous in me.
 
As the Lord gave me another sunrise to enjoy on my last day of thirteen years at Motahkmiqewi Skulhawossol…
 
 …and on my first day of new beginnings.
 
I wept.
 
Not uncommon for me these days as I grieve closing this chapter and stepping into the unknown as I turn the page on what He has for me.
 
I said to them,
as they served me cake,
gave me a beautiful sweetgrass basket,
hugged me,
served me lobster in the evening,
 
sang “You Are My Sunshine” to me, so silly and loving,
 
but so wonderfully blessed I felt…
 
I said to them,
through my tears, as I told them thank you for this moment of many years:
 
“This. 
This is who I was, you all know.
I was this,
Before I was a wife to my Love,
Before I was a mother to my Little Loves,
 
I was this.
A teacher to your children.
I have been blessed.”
 
And I sat down and they hugged and spoke friend-love words in my ear.
 
And I was by myself at the end of it, carrying my last box and closing the trunk and He who carries me spoke His soft, powerful, voice in my ear, too.
 
Because I yearn, I pray, I desire to listen to that Voice:
 
He said::
 
“Listen to Me.  Before all of this.
 
You were a child of MINE.”
 
:::::::::::smile.
Thank You, Father.
:::::::::I am Yours. Lead on.

Frantic.

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july12 081I have set the Lord always before me; because He is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken. +Psalm 16

Do you ever think He feels frantic about us?

Like in the way that I, hanging clothes,

Nathanael Fisher up the hill with his fishing pole casting on the lawn,

The dog running back and forth between us,

catchy Sunday School tunes in the morning air because Nathanael likes

::::::God is so good, God is so good, God is so good, He’s so good to me. He cares for me, He cares for me…

Picking up the basket and telling Him how beautiful this day is::::

no bugs to swat::: yet,

birds tweeting and flittering,

warm Spring all around us,

Gathering the pins and thinking about what to do next and

hoping it was something to keep me outside soaking in the sun and telling Him again how beautiful the sky blue is and I cannot wait to plant purple flowers and I hope I don’t see any ticks and I think I should make something with blueberries for dessert tonight and there is not even a wind and so that keeps the day so warm and should I just leave the basket down by the clothesline instead and maybe I will rake over there, so that…

:::::::::::::::::::::: STOPPPPPP…..

Where’s his singing and talking to himself?

Why isn’t he yelling to me to fix the bobber on his fishing line?

I was just talking to him.

just a second ago.

Where is he?

NATHANAEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Primal screaming from my gut.

Eight million more things on a hot, one-track pulse through my mind and none of them have to do with blueberries and flowers and clothespins……

Frantic like that.

Racing.feet.

Racing.heart.

Racing.mind.

Where is he??????????

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: I right here, Mama.

Why didn’t you answer me?

Where did you go?

I couldn’t hear you singing.

I couldn’t see you over there.

I love you. Come here.

now.please.

And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. +Luke 15

I love you…….

Frantic where are you.

Frantic pulling you close.

Frantic let me look at your face.

Frantic answer me when I call you.

Frantic you are mine and I love you.

When my mind is reeling.

When I settle deep in the muddy waters of self.

::::self.

:::::::::::::::::::::self.

When I cast my thoughts somewhere far enough away to teeter on the rocky bank just long enough to catch myself or fall right into the mucky murk that gets sticky on the way out…

When we are absent like that?

Does He say that to us?

Where are you?

I was just talking to you.

I can’t see you.

You are mine, but I can’t find you right now.

But is He father-frantic, like that?

And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day… “Where are you?”  +Genesis 3

Or does He always know?

Right where we are.

For the Lord sees not as man sees… +1Samuel 16

Or is He always with us?

Right where we are.

And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. +Matthew 28

Or is He never frantic, but full of love- passion?

For us? To meander back?

Even if just a moment has lapsed?

To run back?

Even if just a moment has lapsed?

… son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours… +Luke 15

Waiting for us, each day, each moment, each second, so that WE are

ourselves…

never frantic?

What is His frantic?

passion.

His calling us?

love.

His drawing us in?

peace.

You keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is set on You… +Isaiah 26

He is always, always right where we are.

Frantically searches for us?

He passionately waits for us.

But

our frantic seeking Him–

when the water gets too deep and we are casting our line lonely into this world-sea of unknown?                                             ::::: faith:::::

Answered by Him.

Peace to you! … Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Touch Me and see… +Luke 24

Spring-ing.

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Spring is my un::favorite.

The least of the favorites.

Although there is always something I favor in each season God gives: flowers anew, mud puddles, cool lake on a hot day, ice shining on the trees, pumpkins rolling down the hill after Thanksgiving is over.

{Thanksgiving::: never over}

But I with the voice of thanksgiving… +Jonah 2:9

But Spring: it’s the un:favorite of the favorites, despite the creeping green seeping across the renaissanced Earth.

I do not know why::: really.

I never hasten Winter to leave me.

The cold is when I feel alive in my skin with snowflakes on eyelashes and bundled close in my scarf and I feel the wind on my cheeks and see the world washed white and the sleeping earth rests and I breath in fresh and crisp and listen to the silence loud in the trees and soak in the woodfire crackling and adore cozy nights in pajamas after a long day chilled outside…

I like the blanket swaddled warm on our babies and the lights dimmed settled on the couch for movies and popcorn and me and tea and books while the branches sway and creak outside in frigid air and snowy darkness and I imagine everything quiet in woods and animals nestled and how stars are crazy- visible: bright and burning on nights like these: everything sharp and arctic, raw- beautiful and invigorating…

I am comfortable in Winter. When things are hibernating a bit.

Kind of not moving and not hurrying.

Torpid like the turtle with its head in the mud at the bottom of a pond.

Sleepy like the bear who fattened himself up and dozed off in a dark den somewhere.

In the North where I live, Winter is comfort to me. I prefer it.

My boreal blanket wrapped soundlessly about me in my tiny no-green-light- town in the woods to keep me warm and comfortable.

Spring.

Spring::: Well, Spring expects something.

Spring wants water running and thirst quenched and rays beating down hard on fallow ground:::

Spring says Wake Up and Get Up and bloom and grow and ripen and rise and thrive and build and flourish and burst and stretch and…

Abound.

Whoa. Spring. Hold up.

I like some slumbersome Winter.

Nothin’ too radical like that, Spring.

Like breaking ground and shooting up leaves from a seed carcass laying on dry ground.

That.

That is hard. Takes energy. Lots of it.

{by your endurance, you will gain your lives. +luke 21:19}

Strength. Lots of it.

{…be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. +eph 6:10}

Trust, too. Like that there will be enough water and the Son will shine bright enough and the growing will be painful but for the good anyway. To break out like that.

Bold, buoyant and believing.

{blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord… +Jer 7:17}

Spring::: you are a new adventure that I can have faith in, aren’t you?

Winter::: you were nice and quite snug, thanks for the rest, for the refresh.

I have to go, though. This is a new beginning.

Because that is what He says.

{The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge… +proverbs 1:7}

Abound.

Abound in good works.

Abound in love.

Abound in faith.

Abound in belief.

Abound in grace.

Abound in mercy.

Abound in forgiveness.004

Abound in Him.

{and maybe a little rebound, too? He is right there waiting…

…For the Lord will not forsake His people; He will not abandon His heritage… +psalm 94:14}

Let’s abound in Him.

Growing and flourishing and rooting ourselves deeply in all of His promises.

Oh, the gift of that.

And while we enjoy His gift of growth, we can keep looking forward…

to the season of His

Harvest, too.

Until then,

Let’s rejoice together.

In our Springtime.

“Look, I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see the fields are white for harvest. Already the one who reaps is receiving wages and gathering fruit for eternal life, so that the sower and reaper may rejoice together…”

+Jesus

The barrens

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Yes, I have been barren.
In many senses of that word.
                depleted…parched…unbearing…fallow…wasted and….empty.
Have we all somehow, somewhere, endured some reaching, grasping, please-let-it-stop-God-just-let-me-see-You barren moment of time?
Barren.
                                                                                        (He gives the barren woman a home… Ps113)
of time.
of hope.
of children.
of salvation.
of happiness.
                         of Joy.
of peace.
of safety.
of meaning.
                        of Faith.
of guidance.
of direction.
of calling.
of rest.
of believing.
……………………………….. of Love?
                                                 (The Lord is gracious and merciful… abounding in steadfast love…. Ps145)
Barren moments that stole my fragile breath, my living air.
leaving,
heaving for absent light.
swirling.
Close,
Creeping threads of night that shear a heart and soul stretched thin and wide and unveiled.
naked to every worldly, fleshly thing that can steal life and
whittle away
a minute
a day
a week
…a life.
Barren.
…. the things that fill lungs and mind and heart with loss and disappointment and abandonment and betrayal and
::::: everything that the Lord does not and will not author unless He weaves it together for our good and His glory…
                                       (He has sent Me to bind up the brokenhearted… Is 61)
                                 The moments that can take you somewhere you do not want to be:
                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you are nine.
You wanna take a walk down to the park?
Leave your bed.
We just had lunch.
Thanks for our favorite ice cream bon-bons.
I don’t want to watch tennis with you… I think we should pick some peonies.
Thank you for the hug. I love you, too.
      Leave your glass right there. Please. Please?
Raise the shade.
It’s sunny.
Please?
Barren.                                     Yet He saw me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you are ten.
Door closed.
again.
In a yellow and blue flowered room, surveying a ten year old self in the mirror,
alone, fingers-in-ears singing,
trying not to internalize,
eternalize
the sounds, the shrill, the banging of the family tree being sawed off at the rotting trunk,
bleeding the sap of broken lives.
Barren.                                        Yet He did not abandon me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Same room.
Same mirror.
Different girl.
17.
I know I left that house.
For good.
I just don’t remember it.
That moment.
That day.
Even now.
That moment without a memory.
Barren.                                               Yet He held my hand.
                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Walking down the crooked path,
Leaving the Lord behind me… oh, but I knew He was there…
college,
boyfriend… that was not my husband…
21,
bible tucked in my flowered bag cinched up tight on the dusty dorm shelf,
no worship,
bed before marriage,
those idols.
                                      (The Lord preserves the simple; when I was brought low, He saved me… Ps116)
Barren.
                                                       Yet He kept calling to me.
26.
After the first bliss of sheer joy,
On the floor, writhing,
screaming,
with the glimpse of knowing
that my womb would continue its swell without the thrumming of life,
Barren.                                                         Yet He healed me.
                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scalpels and “we’ll take good care of you, I’m so sorry” under glaring white lights.
Blinding.
Medical mumbo-jumbo in stark paper piles of reports that say words “fetal tissue” and “cutterage”
                while I howl the only word “baby” deep inside
until the word rips through my lips
Why……………………….
and l lay lost in my husband’s arms devoided
of the life I loved already.                                                      (My hope is in You… Ps38)
Poking.
Prodding.
Infertile.
Can’t see.
Broken.
This month.
No.
Barren.                                                         Yet He gave us children.
                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
33 and 8 years married.
Yoked unevenly, bound to him, he to me
with all of our family suitcases,
baggage stuffed full,
busting open with nowhere to hide the unbelief,
the ill-preparedness,
the blackness,
the pushing away of the Truth,
in some secret corner, out of the way,
where we won’t look,
where we won’t see what is happening when we only trust ourselves…
binding us,
spilling out into our marriage bed,
with Temptation and Distrust and Hurt and Accusation and Guilt…
all of them.
nestled comfortably between us.
sleeping contentedly.
(Your adversary… prowls like a roaring lion… resist… firm in your faith… 1Pet5)
The gut-wrenching wailing of sin
unmasked
when I say it is all over
when he says it is all over
and I leave him there in our mess and go back
600 miles away
running to a place I cannot remember anyway.
Barren.                                                           Yet He redeemed my marriage.
                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When those early morning calls come from your family in a span of only one year
and you start to dread the ring before 6am
and you look at one another searching each other’s eyes without searching for the phone
and the voice says:
:he drowned last night; your brother was there,too; his lungs are full of water too and he can’t talk to you right now;
:he has cancer, there’s a tumor, they are running more tests; I’ll call when I have more to tell you;
:there was an accident and they couldn’t do anything; he was just running to the store and the other person ran the light;
:his house just burnt down after he just lost his son, can you come?
broken.for.words.to.feel.anything.
Barren.                                                             Yet He used us for others, as He comforted us.
                                                ============================================
Driving in the early morning, it struck me as I passed many of the Blueberry Barrens on my way…. acres and acres of plants and rocks and hills boasting some of the finest blueberry harvesting in the country.
Barrens?
Barren?
There is nothing barren here.
My car slows to pause on the tallest hill, barrens on one side, barrens on the other.
The fog is rising in shadowy, misty white columns from the earth revealing the lay of the land beneath:
Gorgeous. It overtakes me.
Lord, I need to stop and watch.
Your earth is glorious when it is praising You…
These barrens:
The leaves heavy on the blueberry bushes: they are crimson red in the late Autumn sunrise,
More beautiful to me now then when they are blue with fruit in August…
stretching across miles of rolling soil, made perfect for bountiful crops to spring forth.
The sun pours down on the tiny leaves,
Rain soaks the sandy soil to strengthen the roots.
Shoots emerge bearing clean, white flowers,
clean, washed and white…
there they are after an arduous Winter…
dripping off the branch…
the Branch…
The flowers, nurtured, pollinated, fed,
Surrender themselves to the fruit…
The fruit,
That can only come,
After the Winter,
After the nurture,
After the thirst for the Water,
After
The growing.
If that is what happens in the barrens….
If this is what happens in the barrens…
washed.
white.
clean.
bounteous.
fruit.
beauty.
thirst.
surrender.
growing…
glory…
then…
I… am humbled.
I am nothing…
Nothing but
Blessed
…as I’ve walked the barrens.
But for you, who fear my name, the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall.  ~Malachi 4:2
Praying for you, for me, today, that we all bring Him glory with our fruit. 
That we continue to seek His strength and not our own, that we praise Him in every storm, that we ask Him when we don’t understand….
that we know, that we KNOW in the deepest parts of ourselves that He loves us, He does not accuse us, but rescues us and weaves our stories of life together to bring Him glory. That’s what it’s all about… bringing Him glory. Praise God.

on fire

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I asked him for fresh forgiveness this morning.

I asked Him for fresh forgiveness this morning.

It was the one thing I had to do.

The only thing I had to do.

I was this::::

Sharp glances and sharper words from a spiny tongue,

Splintering and stinging fire-ant fierce

How great is a forest set ablaze by such a small fire!  +James 3

peppered hot.

Prideful and self-righteous,

Indignant and contrary,

Assumptive and insolent.

Graceless.

Grace-less.

without.

Grace.

And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. +James 3

Who am I to not give grace?

Who am I to not spill it out over and over and over again like He spills it out to me?

Over and over and over again?

Who am I to spit salt into fresh water?

I breathed it out

kindled it007

fanned it

til it flamed

with sighs and eyes

and pouting and ultimate-ing

self-glorification:::

the tongue… staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life… +James 3

Singing praises minutes before,

with the same mouth,

With it, we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God… +James 3

celebrating my Lord and Savior,

On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand… all other ground is sinking sand…

Seconds before he walks in the door and says the one thing,

a little thing,

that sparks,

and sinks me,

the thing I could have doused with the clean waters of grace and mercy and love,

the thing he did not intend for tinder,

instead it smoked,

flared orange and red,

soaked in the gasoline of puffed-up self-love.

Til He intervened

and convicted

and extinguished

And my day would not begin without the joy of being His

burning in my bones.

Is not My word like fire, declares the Lord… +Jeremiah 23:29

Hi, I say, I’m so, so sorry.

And he says, Me too.

And that was that.

Like that.

Like that forgiveness flowing freely from the cross where His love bore our sin.

Like He tells us when He washes us clean and white with life-giving Spirit-filled fountains of living- breathing- water.

Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water… +John 7:38

You are forgiven.

You.

Are.

Forgiven.

Now go fill your heart with pure and lovely and true.

Now go.

Now go be on fire for Me.

the aroma

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089
She came to Him, quietly, with her alabaster jar.
Her face, sweet, like the oil held.
She came to Him, reverently, with her sin breaking in His heart.
Her hair, flowing, like His mercy.
She came to Him, helplessly, with her one gift.
Her repentance, spilling, like His forgiveness.
She came to Him, simply, with her offering.
Her humility, pouring, like His grace.
He said,
Let her come to Me.
  Oh, she did.
She emptied her heart and her flask to Him,
The sin ::
so expensive to her soul,
Tumbling out with the oil unto His feet,
Giving it all
All::
All of it::
To Him, to take with Him:
To take with Him:
Please, take it from me, she yearns.
“She has done a beautiful thing…”
She wipes the King’s feet, dusty, worn, travelled, tired::
With her crown of locks::
He wipes her offenses away::
With His crown of righteousness.
This King::
Come to this world::
“…what she has done will also be told in memory of her…”
We?
Remembered?
Yes.
Oh, that gift of grace.
Our sins?
Oh,no…
Remembered?
No, my friend.
They are wiped away.
Wiped away with Him.
Oh, that gift of grace.
                                               ::::::::::::::::::::
And the aroma of her oil-gift filled the room.
And the aroma of His blood-gift imminent filled the room.
And the aroma bursting breaking into the night,
as it followed Him,
stayed with Him,
                                                                         :: I think::
Through the breaking bread,
           “Take, eat…for the forgiveness of sins…”
Through the blood-sweating prayer to His Abba,
           “My soul is very sorrowful… Father… let this cup pass…”
Through the fleeing of his friends,
            “Friend… do what you came to do…”
The scent of the 
NEED of the world 
continued with Him,
remained with Him,
stayed with Him,
Through the binding and the shouting and the mocking and the striking and the pulling and carrying and the mother:
watching, shattering::
and the crying, and the pushing, and the parading, and the jeering and the hurting and the scarring and the nailing and the bleeding and the
breathing:::
 
The final breath of
sacrifice…………….
when the aroma of LOVE broke free:::
:::unbound, uncensored, unkept,
Unleashed:::
and the fragrance of grace poured like oil over the world…
                                                                                                             

The End of Things…

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october11 079Pondering… lately… the gifts of peace and hope I’ve unwrapped during a few months of transitioning with home, family and job…
                                                                         ********************************************
When it comes to the end of something:: A  restful vacation: A  quiet nap: A  loved job: A  rare moment: A  treasured friendship: A  passionate love: A  long life: A  bounteous garden: A  snowy winter: A  fleeting childhood: A  luscious dessert: A  first date: A  glorious sunrise:

When it comes to the end of A  beginning:
When I actually realize:

Yes, This is the end of this hidden moment in time,
prearranged for His purpose,

And there will be none other quite like this:

The moment the baby enters the light, The moment the crickets stop singing and the frost hits, The moment I say, “I will”… forever, The moment the sky clears the gray and paints itself pink and purple, The moment the last bleeding heart falls from the vine, The moment the little girl doesn’t want her stuffed sheep anymore, The moment the resignation has been accepted, The moment I forgive and move… and keep moving,
These moments…  

…given to me.

To DO with…

To act with…

Did I do with it what I wanted to? Before it ended?

What He wanted to? Was His purpose completed in that moment of grace and love and opportunity He showered on me?

Slowing… Reflecting… Seeking…
Living purposefully in my moments…

Shining in His purpose for me:
In all of my beginnings::

“The Lord possessed me at the beginning of his work,
the first of his acts of old.
     Ages ago I was set up,
at the first, before the beginning of the earth.” Proverbs 8

In all of my ends::
“But You will remain…
… But You are the same, and Your years have no end.” Psalm 102

And, I pray, in all of the times in between…

Praying, my friends for all of your new beginnings… praying that as you see something end, that you see it shine with the possibilities of Him… and as you embrace a new beginning, that you seek Him, trust Him and thank Him for all that He has for you!

My son, the Warrior

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july12 081Nathanael climbs up on the couch, grabbing his blanket and asks me to sit down, Mama.
I look at him, big brown beautiful eyes like his daddy, hair sticking this way and that, amiss and crazy, just like we all like it and giggle about::: because that hair is sooo him.
Our little bull in the china closet, hugging fiercely, dog-chasing, grumble-growling, mischievous-toy-hiding, squinty-happy-eyes-at-saying-grace, sing-me-twinkle-twinkle, sweet-toothed, cuddles-with-metal-trucks-and-baseball-bats-when-he-goes-to-bed little boy who we pray each night will grow
Courageous
Faithful
Brave
Mighty
Protected
::: for his wife, his children, his great-greats that will follow in the trail he is starting to blaze with his Tonka excavators and singing dump trucks moving all kinds of boulders:
All these things:::
we pray:
for his
GOD.
And he stomps around in his diaper falling-off-yanking-it-up:::: and his sword-weilding and cat running away, curls bouncing, yelling his warrior chant of “Ho-Hoooooooo!”
And right now he asks me come sit down Mama, pouting, perfect little grin, tapping the couch, right here, Mama
And I stare at him, back at the dishes, the toys underfoot, back at him, and I say just a minute and I choose the laundry instead…
And He stops me half-way down the hall and He says
Go back there with him.
Go back there with him.
And I go.
And he nestles into my sweater without saying anything, and he closes those dark brown eyes and falls deep into my breathing and I look at him and I do not look back
at the laundry
at the sweeping
at the end of that book I am reading
at the piece of play-doh stuck to the floor
at the list only half-crossed off on the counter:::
Because I must not.
I dream at my little boy-man
growing
right there, while he lays quietly, so content in the crook of my arm,
growing
and I know this day will never come ’round again
and it is not about being sappy and syrupy and oh-they-grow-so-fast-love-them-they-will-be-gone-so-soon.
No.
This is about my
SON,
who I have been given to raise in the Lord,
Trusting Him Who gives with grace and love,
This little man of God who is my gift from my Father
who He has SHARED with me… me.
to
Love
Nurture
Discipline
Cuddle
Feed
Clothe
Grow
Teach
and that pile of clothes must wait.
and that phone call must go unanswered.
and that computer must stay off.
I must be strong in He who gave me this task and be choosy and wise and pray for endurance…
because there is….
…. that adversarial voice telling me to work and be busy and do it all and do it now and be distracted and miss-out-on-what’s-important and flail with anxiety and breath shallow breath and finish up and do that chore and fester with exhaustion and be frustrated with demands and never be still and do not listen to Him and instead keep in step with the world because that’s where it’s at and make that money and fill up your head with junk and eat more and… and…
NO.
This.
This is my high, high calling.
This little warrior-boy of ours with the curly brown hair.
This little warrior-boy of ours who we pray to raise to be a warrior for Jesus, swinging his sword.
For Truth.
For Love.
For his God.
I pray to be the mommy he needs me to be.
I pray to be the mommy He needs me to be.
“O God from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and gray hairs O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come…” Psalm 71

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