in the blooming - the end of chapter 2...{the grace series}

the irises bloomed while we were gone -

tall and violet and graceful.


the girls caterpillars bloomed too - they busted out of their cocoons in the middle of the night, while it was quiet and dark and no one to witness it and their orange painted wings stretched strong in the early morning light.

they were going to release them - after the charlotte's web fair was done and after they had popcorn and snow cones and their skin turned rosy-red in the hot may sun.

they would open up that clear plastic lid and just let them flutter away...


there's one painted lady who seems to be more robust then the rest. the girls have named this one hoppy. she beats her wings and flies against the netting, bouncing off of it and landing on her back.

but she flutters and beats those wings until she is literally hopping, until she gets enough air under her so that she can flip over and once again fly.

it makes them all laugh,

but hoppy?  she makes me want to cheer.


she doesn't do it gracefully, this learning to fly and strengthening her wings. she's clumsy and seems to always been running into another butterfly or two on her way,

but she doesn't give up, and maybe that's why i watch her.


we've been away, been loved on and taken care of and hidden away in a cabin in the mountains and green.

i've held lyla's hand as she whispers it quietly,

mama, it's so quiet here - my ears really like it.


we've been away and i've watched as my older three wrestle with the slowing down, with getting used to bugs and being outside for 14 hours a day and sleeping in the unfamiliar and new.


and as i walked through that garden gate everyday for almost a week, as i stood underneath stars so bright in the blackest sky,

as i woke up to a mountain rain pounding on the roof above me,

i've realized i need to rethink grace.


it's kind of hoppy-ish, if you will.


but here's the thing, sometimes we need to keep bouncing off of what has hemmed us in before we can become strong enough to fly.

grace is something to wrestle with - simple in concept, yes, but hard to grasp in the actual living out.

tony and i, we've talked a lot in this past week - of Jesus and christianity and living radically and completely surrendered lives to Him.

we've talked of what that means to live contrary to the pull of the culture around us - to walk instead under the pull of Christ's Lordship over our lives.


and to be honest, there is that small voice that whispers...

we are going to be odd.

and that's when i find it, near the end of chapter 2 that i read these words,

character refers to who you are. reputation refers to who people think

you are. i generally care more about who people think i am than who i really am.

but Jesus was not a person trying to keep a good reputation in tact. during His life

on earth, he never tried to explain Himself for the sake of His reputation.

He breaks all social etiquette in relation to people. He

acknowledges no barriers or human divisions. there is no

category of sinners He isolates Himself from.

simply stated, Jesus is a miserable failure at

meeting religious people's expectations of Him...

...though He was without sin, there were still those who questioned His

reputation. knowing there were people who disagreed, even hated Him, didn't 

cause Him to change one thing He did. He wasn't working to maintain a good

reputation. he was walking in dependence on His Father. Jesus didn't value what people

thought; He valued people, period.

grace for the good girl (pg. 47-48)

our pastor, he spoke on the assurance of salvation this morning - how it's all curled up in 1 john; we can know that we are His through the way we love each other...

and i have failed.

deeply and horribly and in soul-shattering ways.


but i heard it as i stood folding laundry while the washing machine hummed, as elyse fitzpatrick spoke about justification and everything that it means;

it's not only as if i had never sinned...

but being justified is living as if i had always obeyed.


Christ's grace is shocking and soothing and it covers over all the places that i fail...


He valued people, not what they thought about Him or His ministry or the decisions He made. and Jesus calls me and you to live like that too.

reputation can be a carefully crafted place that keeps you safe, that makes you look good - but it keeps you unknown.

we can't love well when we are hiding, when we don't live authentically, with vulnerability - really, when we are placing the idol of self in front of those around us.

it's only when we place Jesus first, when we choose Him over a mask that keeps us safe, it's then that we find grace,

that we learn to love,

and that being good dulls in comparison of being like Christ...

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith—that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death,that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. philippians 3:7-11

when it's hard to be still...

"be still, and know that I Am God,

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!"

psalm 46:10

in light of tragedies and loss and and bombs and fear and all those unknowns...


sometimes it's okay to quiet.

to slow.

i don't think you have to know the answers,

though we would like them.

sometimes restlessness rages in because there must be *something* you can do...

and there are times for that.

but sometimes,

maybe the better thing

is just to sit in His presence.

to allow Him to quiet your heart from all those fears and from all the unknowns.


and maybe it's naive -

that mama and i talked in that playground last week,

we talked of those "what ifs",

what if, as we sat there on that green, a bullet flew and one of us died,

if one our children were struck,

what then?

and she said it quiet,

i would still trust Him.  i would. because i know where we are going and i know Who is in control.  but maybe that's foolish.  a lot of my friends think so...

and i looked at her and i shared what we've lost. i shared of that horrid new year's eve and the life we lost in the softly falling snow.  i looked at her and i told her that it's faith. it's trusting in a good God when everything else falls apart.

because when it all seems good, when everything seems to be going our way, that is precisely when we need to plant those seeds of faith...

so that when it all falls apart, when everything around us explodes in chaos and all those unknowns fly in the air around us, we can rest in His presence,

maybe not knowing the whys, but knowing, so very deep down, that He is good. 

3 gifts round
2058. mug of coffee
2059. crispy apple
2060. that dimple under her lip

3 gifts white
2061. clean teeth
2062. lazy, hazy clouds
2063. apple blossoms in those orchards

3 gifts surprisingly found
2064. kindred spirits
2065. matching socks
2066. common ground

3 gifts in His Word
2067. luke 10:22 - my name is in heaven
2068. romans 1:12 It is a gift to be encouraged by another's faith
2069. acts 2:28 - He shows us the path to life - being with Him is joy

3 gifts @ 11AM, 2PM, 6PM
2070. school chaos
2071. nap snuggles with zeruiah
2072. laughter at MH

3 gifts nailed together
2073. this house
2074. the fence the  neighbour fixed
2075. my desk

3 gifts waited for
2076. that abused dog we adopted - her tail finally wagged when she saw us!
2077. vacation plans finalized
2078. those cherry trees to bloom

3 gifts raising up
2079. 8 hours of sleep uninterrupted
2080. seeing beauty in our ashes
2081. watching the sun come up in the early nursing hours

a gift hiding, held, heard
2082. elias under his blanket
2083. zeruiah snuggled up in that ergo
2084. lyla singing

3 gifts opened up
2085. yellow tulips
2086. jar of salsa
2087. a book avoided too long

3 gifts budding/blooming
2088. our japenese weeping willow
2089. hyacinths
2090. those flowers hanging over our fence

3 gifts worn
2091. that circle of gold and diamonds on my finger
2092. skin stretched, changed
2093. zeruiah's tears

3 gifts bright
2094. date night
2095. all their smiles
2096. 6 AM morning light

3 gifts found looking up
2097. dark rain clouds
2098. the cross that points to hope
2099. tony's hope beyond circumstances

and it's in the little ways,

the small thanks that keep me quiet before Him.

He is here - even when it's chaos,

even when it's scary and we don't understand.

Jesus is here and i quiet my heart before Him...

(and huge thank you to Gravrock Photography for including our little family in the pictures at Madison House...a gift treasured.)

she was once someone's little girl...

i heard the yelling before i fully comprehended the words.

i think i was more focused on all those eyes focused on the same spot across the street.


there is a row of brick houses, walls and foundations all joined together, and there are some who sit out on their front stops each day, no matter the weather.

it was there the yelling was coming from.


i turned and listened as the red faced woman faced us and screamed,

i am the lord thy god!!!!

over and over these words poured from her lips, 

over and over she screamed to the group of kids across the street.

it didn't take long for her to collapse.

this woman all weighted down with what warred inside of her,

she fell to her knees and began barking like a dog...

and one girl,

one young girl with sad eyes stood transfixed.

so i stood in front of her,

i said her name and she looked up at me with this look i can't forget and she whispered,

do you think she's got the devil in her?

and i told her i didn't know. i didn't know why she was acting the way she was - that there could be a hundred different reasons for a mind to break from reality.

but it was my first thought.

that morning i had read in the book of luke in chapter nine of a father who begged Jesus to heal his son. this boy who was at the mercy of the demonic and the ESV, it puts it this way,

'...and behold, a spirit seizes him, and he suddenly cries out. it convulses him so that he

foams at the mouth, and shatters him, and will hardly leave him...' (vs. 39)

it was those three words that caught my attention in the early hours and it was those three words that came back to me as i looked at this wild woman rolling around in the grass and the mud...

she was shattered.

broken.

evil wreaks havoc on humanity and Jesus is the only One Who can heal.

i thought of her as i drove home,

thought of her late into the evening not even knowing her name,

but instead of being scared, 

instead of thinking of her as crazy,

all i could picture as i thought of her shattered-ness laid bare before everyone around...

she's someones daughter.

somewhere, at sometime, she was someone's little girl who spun in sunshine and laughed at the ridiculous and had hopes and dreams that along the way became shattered and broken and any hope she had was replaced with a mind howling through the dark.

the broken are all around us - and as Easter Sunday passes and gives way to Everyday Monday, i wonder can the broken make their way to Him through me?

it's that story in luke that keeps bringing me back - how the disciples failed the father, but through their failings, they led him to Jesus - to the only One who could heal that someone's son.

He takes the twisted and the shattered - you and me - the ones who lie splayed out on our brokenness and He binds up those wounds, because it was for those wounds, for the brokenhearted ones that He came. 

He gives us freedom.

He rebuilds what has been shattered.

He takes the sons and daughters of all those someones and makes them His very own...

3 gifts red

2016. Lyla's love of ketchup

2017. bowl-full of peppers

2018. my kiss on my little boy's cheek

3 gifts eaten

2019. canadian smarties

2020. canadian chocolate

2021. melted mozzarella 

3 gifts that made you laugh

2022. my daughters

2023. my son

2024. my husband

3 gift salty, sweet, just right

2025. homemade spaghetti sauce

2026. a caramel latte

2027. banana peppers

3 gifts found in His Word

2028. He heals the shattered

2029. He uses our little

2030. death is conquered

3 gifts found in women today

2031. gane - planting that tree

2032. gina - loving my littles

2033. deaunna - speaking encouragement 

3 gifts spoken

2034. forgiveness

2035. "this place is FLOODED with cows!!" (says olivia on a drive through the country)

2036. "why come?" (says lyla who never asks "how"? :) )

a gift sung, written, painted

2037. elias - "10,000 reasons" with his little head thrown back singing loudly in praise behind me as i drive

2038. livie writing "mom"

2039. lyla's "rock dog" by our front door

3 gifts almost gone

2040. zeruiah's second month

2041. that last tea bag

2042. lyla's little years

3 gifts redeemed

2043. my mama-ing - every. single. day.

2044. broken relationships turned around in the next generation

2045. our silly new dog

3 gifts entwined

2046. his heart and mine

2047. our dreams for the future

2048. our arms while we sleep

3 gifts of His promises

2049. death is defeated

2050. He is coming back

2051. in Him, i'm new

3 gifts uncovered

2052. the unlovely is loved by Him

2053. He doesn't allow you to look away from the hard things

2054. sometimes what is revealed causes you to cling tighter

a gift heard, held, hoped for

2055. lyla singing, "o happy day" at the top of her lungs in the Easter Service

2056. Livie dancing behind me

2057. that grass to grow in

when the snow starts falling again...

the snow is falling and my heart is breaking for a friend on the other side of the world.

i wake up through the night because my youngest is hungry and i lift up this friend to the One Who never sleeps.

i grieve for the children who lose their mama and i cry for the friend who feels the distance from home.

and i read of His hard call and i pray the hard prayers  and i feel so very small.

the mornings find me in the pages of Luke, walking the first eight chapters over the last eight weeks. it's His Words in verse 15 that lift my eyes towards hope,

as for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in 

an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience.

i don't remember where i read it, but i remember what francis chan said on those pages - he said, don't assume you are the good soil. just because i belong to a north american church, just because i darken its doors on monday and wednesday and sunday, that my heart is the soil that is soft.

how often is it hard?  when news is sad and it hurts to feel, when my day is interrupted or my plans fall through or i just plain don't want to do the right thing?  how often do i let thorns and weeds creep up - those stones to rise to the surface and what has been planted dies and withers before it even has a chance?  

don't assume.

instead, be attentive, tend to the soil...see what is keeping me from holding fast to Him with an honest and good heart so that fruit can be produced.

those verses in colossians keep coming back - that bearing fruit is tied so strongly to giving joyful thanks - even when it is hard.  even through a voice choked with tears. 

the psalmist knew it too - felt it deep down when he penned the words,

may those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.

psalm 126:5

and the snow keeps falling, my heart keeps breaking for the friend so far away...

but i till the soil of my heart with the deep furrows of thanksgiving, trusting that what He plants will grow strong and give Him glory in time.

3 gifts found when bent down

1890. zeruiah's dimple

1891. working on legos with lyla

1892. those hugs they all give

a gift stitched, hammered, woven

1893. the blanket from my aunt

1894. the hope chest my grampa made

1895. that bird feeder lyla put together

3 gifts found outside

1896. hanging blankets on the railing - captured smell of sun!

1897.early morning frost

1898. warm enough to play

a gift at 11:30am, 2:30pm, 6:30pm

1899. his little-boy i love you

1900. a nap with my baby

1901. quiet reading with the older 3

a gift broken, fixed, thrifted

1902. spilled crayons

1903. saying, i'm sorry

1904. his "new" shoes

3 surprise gifts - unexpected grace!

1905. seeing a face i've missed

1906. a morning to sleep in

1907. a hidden piece of chocolate

3 times you heard laughter today

1908. both girls in the early morning

1909. elias' deep belly laugh

1910. making tony laugh

3 gifts in working

1911. math problems that cause tears - conquered!

1912. seeing his joy

1913. going to bed exhausted

3 hard eucharisteos

1914. all those squabbles

1915. misunderstandings

1916. admitting i'm wrong

3 gifts behind a door

1917. dust bunnies cleaned up

1918. all those faces we love

1919. her smile when i walk in the door

3 ways you feel the love of God

1920. a sunlit-filled kitchen

1921. the love of my husband

1922. the happy face of a daisy

a gift in losing, finding and making something

1923. getting to try again

1924. words i had forgotten

1925.sharing bread

3 gifts in shadows

1926. his face in early morning

1927. an evening away

1928. candlelight on his face

3 gifts found giving/serving

1929. full tummies

1930. friendships deepened

1931. more love for my family poured in

3 gifts on paper

1932. an unexpected parcel

1933. love letter to zeruiah from cousins

1934. a journal filling

3 gifts that were "plan b's"

1935. here

1936. school in afternoon

1937. letting elias' hair keep growing

a gift at breakfast, lunch, dinner

1938. farm fresh eggs

1939. apple quesidillas 

1940. baked pancakes

3 gifts white

1941. all that paper for her to draw on

1942. that tiny sleeper

1943. the softest blanket

3 gifts that changed today

1944. a drive in the country

1945. that book on prayer

1946. the hug of a friend

a gift of tin, glass, wood

1947. those peaches

1948. my morning mug of coffee

1949. him cutting down that tree

3 gifts before 11am

1950. the quiet nursing moments

1951. listening to him breathe in sleep

1952. all ready for church on time!

a gift worn out, new, made-do

1953. lyla's sneakers

1954. all those hand-me-downs

1955. that thrown together dinner (turned out pretty good!)

3 gifts seen as reflections

1956. smudges on windows

1957. them all in the rear-view mirror

1958. watching him play

3 ugly-beautiful gifts

1959. messy living room floor - kids live here!

1960. sick baby - extra snuggles

1961. hard stories - trust

3 gifts from the past - that help you trust the future

1962. our marriage vows

1963. each stage of a child - just a season that passes too quickly

1964. the road to here

3 gifts at 3pm

1965. tony taking a sad lyla on a quiet date

1966. a handful of tulip bulbs from a sweet neighbour

1967. a promise of a housefull of potential friends moving in next door this summer

3 gifts green

1968. the green in elias' eyes

1969. fresh cucumbers

1970. fun green pasta noodles

3 gifts wore

1971. sunshine on my head

1972. dirt from the flower beds on my knees

1973. tears for a friend halfway around the world

for when i just need to write it down...

it was two weeks ago on thursday that i went to watch him play.

loaded up my one week old girl and while she slept, i watched her daddy guard that net.


and our home, we opened it up for the boys on the team - a place to be warm and safe before the shoes were slipped on and the match was to start and there was an extra little boy that joined them...

he throws his arms around my neck when he first comes charging up our stairs - hangs on tight and whispers an excited "hi!" in my ear...

within minutes i hear the happy yelling from down below and i know he's found them - my older three and there won't be much calming down for a while now...


i know he'll be at the game too and while i pack up snacks, i throw an extra one in for him and i see him watch the handful of other people there, i watch his eyes as he watches them hand out food to each other.  i see the longing.

so i call his name.

i motion him over.

i have something for you too.

and i don't know what he needs more of - a little baggie of trail mix, or the nearness of my arm. so i hold still and let him sit close. i encourage his choice of picking out all the m&m's and leave the rest of the good stuff behind.

and it's not long before he's up and running, playing hide-and-go-seek with one of his friends...

but soon, the clock ticks later and not even the excitement of the game can hold him rapt.  he climbs up the bleachers to sit near my legs,

and soon, he's leaning into me - and i recognize the signs. sleep isn't far off.

and soon, he's turned so that he can place his small head on my knees and i know how bony they are, so i reach for a blanket pink and lean forward and ask him to lift his head,

i place the pink flannel beneath his cheek and as i lean close i hear him whisper,

i wish i could live with you.


sometimes it hurts.

seeing all of that hurt, hearing of all the hurt, watching young lives self-destruct...

sometimes, there's no words that can be used.


you just lay down at night and pull up the blankets close under chin and reach for each others hands and wonder what more you can do?


sometimes the nightmares come, the ones that jolt you awake as you call out the name of Jesus, and you can't catch your breath because it was all too real and as the inky sky begins to grey, your eyes are still open, your prayers just as broken,

but you are so very sure He is there.


and i don't know why i write all this down...maybe because i don't want to become jaded or calloused.  maybe because the need is so very real - the brokenness more shattered than i ever imagined. maybe because one day this young boy will grow up and with all the evil in the streets around us, i worry over him.  worry over so many who walk through the mission doors.

and Jesus asks us not to worry, but to trust.  trust that He is the same today, yesterday and forever; that tomorrow has enough worries of its own - but because The One Who is timeless and who has planned out all these days is in control, i can let go of my anxiety.

i can lean close against Him and know that someday, everything that is wrong and broken and imperfect will be fixed...

that it won't be just a longing anymore,

someday i will live in His presence completely whole...

fifteen days...

do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation,

by prayer and petition,

with thanksgiving,

make your requests known to God.

philippians 4:6

this big old world has spun through fifteen days and i hold her close with one hand.

monday found me in tears at 4 in the morning as the last piece that connected us fell off sometime during the dark of the night...

and this small one, this baby girl who squeaks throughout the moments i should be sleeping,

she holds me captivated.


i was so scared of all the changes she would bring, what it meant for each one of us, the late nights.  i know the darkness of depression that seemed to settle after each little one entered our family and the more i tried to prepare myself, the more afraid i became...


a balm can be described as a soothing, healing or comforting agent. and this is what she has been.  i whisper her name over her soft, downy head and i call her for what she is, our balm from God.


there have been moments that have dipped low, tears come easily, messes can overwhelm, 2 am can echo loud, but i am learning, finally, after the fourth newborn has been placed in my arms that moving slow isn't the worst that can happen.

she fusses with a tummy sore and i can feel my heart rate speed up, the older three press in close as she fights against my arms and i want to flail my hands in any direction that can lead us all to peace, that can make it all right again, but the agitation in all of us becomes worse...


until i breathe deep and close my eyes so that my heart can find Jesus and when i slow, they settle and the pressing in no longer pushes me away; instead, it finds me grounded.


she finds my heartbeat to fall asleep - presses her dark head against my chest.  her skin is no longer wrapped up within my own, our bodies no longer connected with that pulsating cord...but she settles when i whisper her name.  she recognizes me.

and in the moments i slow, i try and whisper thanksgivings - a lifeline that keeps me attached to Jesus...

what if in stead of discounting the current moment, the uncontrollable, the simply given - what if i counted it - and on the God who controls it all?

what if all our running around is only our trying to run away from God - the great I AM, present in the present moment?

what if i woke to now and refused to hurry because i didn't want to refuse God?

what if i didn't discount this moment but counted it for what it is - God here?

it is only the present moment alone that holds the possibility  of coming into the presence of God. look around, breathe deep, enter into this one moment.

now could be an altar. this time could be a tabernacle.

in God, there is no time, only eternity - or more simply, only now. His name is I AM. here - wherever my feet are - is where i can love Him.

ann voskamp

3 gifts heard

1788. olivia's bless you me when she sneezes

1789. lyla's need for reassurance

1790. elias' belly laugh

a gift outside, inside, on a plate

1791. my newborn baby girl - straight from the womb

1792. the prayer my midwife said

1793. a long awaited lunch!

3 graces you overheard

1794. my older three meeting my younger one

1795. the way he tells me he loves me

1796. listening to her breathe in the dark stillness of night

a gift old, new, blue

1797. to be a mama again

1798. zeruiah

1799. a new journal and nest placed in my hands

something you're reading, making, seeing

1800. your God is too safe

1801. our family of six!  SIX!

1802. his mama and sister and our nephews - a full, full home.

one thing in your bag, your fridge, your heart

1803. the Bible he gave me

1804. the meal graciously given

1805. the peace only He can give

3 graces from people you love

1806. miles traveled

1807. a sister, a niece, a nephew

1808. knowing and loving for 17 years

dusky light, surprising reflection, lovely shadow

1809. my youngest nestled close in the early morning

1810. my body, no longer filled

1811. days slowly getting longer

a gift held, passed by, sat with

1812. her head, just over my heart

1813. a heap of cousins playing

1814. elias, curled up on my lap

a gift sour, sweet, just right

1815. tiny upset tummies

1816. the way he unconditionally love sme

1817. a house full and bursting

3 yellow gifts of fresh mercy

1818. unexpected flashes of sun

1819. the many diapers of a newborn

1820. patch of sun on elias' face

something above, below, beside 

1821. that blue, blue sky above us

1822. zeruiah's silky hair beneath my chin

1823. a visit with tabitha

3 things about yourself you are grateful for

1824. my body that cradles and nourishes

1825. that i was made just for tony

1826. my arms that can hold all four of my babies close

before...

before the husband and the vows and our two lives becoming one and all of the trails that our one life has taken us on,

before i knew what it meant to become a mama and all that breaking and the changing and the transforming that this name change has brought,

there was her.


born in the full bloom of august i remember taking her in my unpracticed arms and trying to hold her so that she would stop crying

and maybe like me

if even a little.


she is the one who changed me from who i was and made me something more.


she is now the only one who i willingly let call me by the name i detest, because when it comes from her, aunty kimmy doesn't sound so bad.


her mama, she's known me since i was 16 - she's known me in my crazy days and in my rebellious days and in my broken days and in the joy-filled ones too. sometimes sisterhood doesn't need blood to bond.  sometimes all it needs is two hearts that fit - because He formed them to.

she comes with my niece and nephew after his mama and sister and our two nephews leave.  a mama and sister who sacrificed many days because i thought zeruiah's day was near and they wait and they clean and they encourage and they stay even though my older three are so sick. they come during the hard days of grief and we get through them together...

and i find myself surrounded by women whose dna doesn't match mine, but whose hearts love beyond scientific things like that.


but now, they have all left.


there is a bit more room in these walls, but the extra space is loud and empty...

and if i'm honest, i may have cried in the shower this morning.


there is something so needed in the life of a mama -

and there are so many voices willing to share -

willing to pull in so many different directions.


where are those voices that pull a mama's heart straight to the Heart of God?


before zeruiah's coming and before my home became a bit more full, before the laundry was caught up and my kitchen was scrubbed, i received a book in my inbox and i loaded it onto my kindle.

i settled down to read in the quiet spaces and i found two voices that ushered me straight into the throne room of God.


circumstances can shift and change and lead you away from everyone you know. you can find yourself making a space not only for yourself, but for your family, for your little ones and it can all become overwhelming and maybe a little bit tiring.


but like the ones that come and love and then need to leave, or like the ones who He gives as friends in the unknown places - the ones who become as loved as family, or even those found in the pages of a book, the ones who have walked this road and who have gasped for air in the hard mama-moments and survived and turn around to point you back to the Source of all Strength, they trace the face of Jesus for you when you can barely lift your hands, He provides His Hope everywhere, can i just be willing to look?



she sits on my couch, the one who 11 years ago filled my arms and now the one, the last one, who filled my belly lies curled up on her lap.

time flies and i can't even imagine where all those years have gone.

and the question resonates loud, the one that seems to be whispered all around me, where are the older women? where are the older women to gently guide the young mamas to the feet of Jesus? 

she is going to need one, someday.

walking this road, this sometimes desperate road is in a sense more than walking it for myself...

it means walking it for my daughters, for my nieces, for the younger women He may bring along the way.

because it's not about turning out well-mannered, well-behaved, well-adjusted children. that could happen, and it could not...

it's about Him - about taking the joy-filled and the hard-fought and the completely shattered moments and letting Him use it all for His glory.


so, let's not do this alone, let's fight in the trenches together - let's speak words to each other that are full of grace and life and point us always and pull us in all ways straight in to the very heart of Jesus.

when we call for Him...

it always starts with a call for Him,

a crying out for Emmanuel to come and save, to draw near...

and as i stood in the back row in a crowded sanctuary this evening, i couldn't hold back the tears.  my own cry for His presence to come close.


o come, o come Emmanuel...


and He has, but do i always see it?  do i always recognize it?


my feet pass over a rectangular mat in the early hours this morning, the timing and pain seemed such that it was time to head to the hospital.  my bag was packed, his was too, the friends tag-teaming so that my 3 would be taken care of until they could see the face of their littlest sister...
i passed over it and i forgot.

i forgot what it said...

right outside my front door is the reminder that i hold in my life the Good News and it is filled with Great Joy...for all who take it in...

i forgot because i was scared of what lay ahead.


and i think of those moments when i forget that He has already made a way to draw near to Him, to allow my life to live out His Good News and it's right there, plain as day, right in front of my nose.  change my posture, change my view and i see it...I see Him.


they send us home after a couple of hours - everything slowing down and nothing progressing. and yes, i still have a week or so before she's due, but this carrying, this stretching and growing...it has been different...harder...and i wonder when i will finally see her face.

this was the year i wanted to start traditions, to grab hold of Him in the middle of the craziness of this season...i want to not just give Him lip service, but to actually see Jesus and so we begin to enter into the practice of advent...

i need His Light in my dark...


week after week we light each candle,

day after day we turn each page,

and we see Him a bit clearer,

we know Him a bit deeper,

and Who He is becomes so much dearer...

and it's right there, on december 22...before that last advent candle is lit, the reminder that He chose us...in the middle of all our sin and all our dark, we are chosen, appointed...His.

and i can do this,

you can do this,

whatever He has asked you and i to do...we can, because we are His.


and this evening, in the back of a crowded sanctuary, the Christ Candle was lit.

the center one,

the pure white one,

and one by one, the dark space around me became aflame because of that one solitary flicker.


i held in my hand a burning wick and all i could think of was Him...


and that ancient call, the one that sings out a plea for His presence,  He answered it.

Very God, Creator of the vast universe and the minute cell...He entered into the dark...

and when we draw near, when we bow in wonder at His Holiness and mercy, our own hearts ignite within us.

and it spreads...

sets those around us on fire...

i was given the beautiful door mat and table top devotional from Dayspring for the purpose of this review...

and as my pregnant brain and clumsy fingers would have it, i've accidently pushed some button that isn't allowing me to embed links to these products...so, please click on these links below to see these and other decorations that celebrate the beauty of Jesus this season...

table top devotional:

http://www.dayspring.com/themed_collections/redeemed/redeemed_christmas/redeemed_christmas_the_heart_of_jesus_advent_tabletop_devotional/?F_All=Y

Good News door mat:

http://www.dayspring.com/themed_collections/redeemed/redeemed_christmas/redeemed_christmas_good_news_doormat/

in the quiet...

i've been told this little one could come any day...

i feel like she could come any day.


and my older three, the ones who sense that change is coming, the ones who try to snuggle as close as they can, the ones who struggle with fears of being displaced, they hover close.


and i feel quiet.

even in spaces loud and crowded, i feel quiet.

today, the doors were opened and so many children and families walked through those doors of that old school.  i awoke tired, i walked tired, i moved tired and i was worried that all that tiredness would follow me in...

i walked into a blanket of peace.

oh, i was still tired, still quiet, but the calls of merry christmas and feliz navidad and hands reaching out to rest on my belly, it was a cacophony of peace...

women with skin lovely and darker than mine, voices accented with beauty, they reach out and i see it in their eyes - the knowing.  the knowing of what it is to be a mama, to have walked tired in those long, last days, and i find myself wrapping my hands around their own and in those moments...


all those moments that have been so empty,

all those moments that silently scream with a mocking to all that this season means,

all those moments that point to empty chairs and broken hearts and shattered lives and estranged families...


He fills them.

quietly and simply.


tony, he was up at 4 and left at 6 and lyla crawled into bed with me at 6:15...

i listened to her breathe quiet and soft as elias banged around his room - a morning person - just like his daddy.


and as i left this evening, he said it to me quietly - i'm going to bring a few of them home with me tonight before the night game, and they all laughed at me as i worried over my messy home and it was in that moment that i realized -

it's okay that it's messy.

life is messy and love is messy and God Himself entered into the mess of a barn.


only two came home with him...

at first.

only two and i watched as elias, he crawled up beside these big, tough, intimidating guys - and all those walls, they come tumbling down in the face of an innocent child and as the door bell rang again and again and those shoes kept piling up at our door and bodies kept pouring in and finding room and once the living room was filled, the basement was used and soon there wasn't anymore room there either...

and i found him, with his sweet smile i've loved for over a decade and i found a spot beside him on the floor.


i know some of the stories that filled our walls this evening,

i know some of the brokenness that accompanies each one.

we are all broken to some extent.


and i sat with a home filled to bursting,

laughter and teasing happening all around us,

my children throwing themselves with abandon into the pure joy that a filled home brings...


i sat beside him with my hand on my belly and my family doesn't look the way i ever thought it would, i never imagined that i would find myself on this path that He has placed us on...


and how do i put into words what these last six months have done?  my heart that was so broken that week after christmas 3 years ago, that felt so fragile just 12 months ago, has stretched and grown and wrapped around these kids that seemed so very different from me, but really, truly aren't.


i wrote last year of christmas being shellacked and veneered with impossible expectations, and i still believe it to be true.  when Jesus is no longer the focus, we try and fill in that void with all things pretty and festive but which leave us emptier then before that tree began to twinkle.


the radio plays songs of silver bells and families gathering and if i can't be home for christmas, i'll be there in my dreams, but tonight? tonight, i was home.  and i was surrounded by a ragamuffin group of kids who are just as broken, if not more, and when our DNA is drenched through with the Blood of the Lamb, it doesn't matter the differences in our skin tone - we are family.

and we love.

and we tease.

and we laugh.

and we cry.

and we stand at the door to wave everyone away because no one wants to see a time with loved ones end...

my belly tightens with each contraction.

i don't know what day she'll come...


but He uses what has been knit and formed in the dark of impossible situations, in the dark of humanity, and He causes life to be born.


i'm seeing this a bit clearer these days, in the quiet and the noise.

or maybe, more accurately, it's Jesus i'm seeing a bit clearer in the mess of it all...

in the last days...

i had wanted to document these days better. they are the last ones and i don't want to forget...

i don't want to forget how different this act of carrying has been,

how much more emotional and pain-full and how so very aware i have become of each movement, each flutter...

the heaviness that has begun.


and lyla, the first one i carried through the dark of advent days, she stands in front of me in the late of this evening and asks me to come and sit with her before she sleeps.


i lay my head on the pillow next to hers and we talk.

about nothing and about everything and i remember, and maybe it's because my dark is filled again with the movements of a sweet baby girl, but i remember so strongly that first christmas where i began to understand
the agony of waiting...

 the beauty of waiting...

the desperate wanting for the waiting to end...


she says it with a wonder in her eyes,  this will be my sixth christmas! and as it sinks in, she fingers the edging on the sweater i'm wearing.

mama, why are you wearing this sweater?

~ because i was cold, baby girl.

where did you get your sweater?

~ it was a christmas gift from your daddy...3 years ago now.

i was three, wasn't i?


and it all comes flooding back, that christmas morning where we all sat together - before everything shattered and he was still here...


and this sweater i pulled from my closet in the chill of this morning, it comes from a time when so much was still whole.


and his son, the one who has captured my heart so completely, he pulls me close in the quiet of this evening and we don't have to say anything...he just sits and he holds me as he listens to the song i can't seem to let go of....


and maybe that is why i've been holding on so tightly to the tradition of advent this season, why as it comes closer to the coming of my own baby girl, i so desperately look to the fulfillment of His.

because He came. entered into our messy and the mixed up and the this-isn't-how-it-was-supposed-to turn-out world.  He wrapped Himself up in the womb of a woman and put on this skin that kept Him bound and tied to us...

and there is so much beauty wrapped around the ache...

He came. and even if everyone and everything else all falls apart and walks away...He is here. here and so very present with us.


this is my thirty-third christmas, my fourth little one nestled in my deep...this life of mine that has been planned out before i even existed, His Hand has been on me throughout all of my days.

yes, He is here.


and there is so much joy wrapped around all that i've been given and all that's been taken away...

and tonight, i can rest in that.

letting go...{day 29}

we had tried for those ten months because we had that nagging feeling that our family wasn't complete yet.  we made the decision to place it in God's Hands but after almost a year with no second pink line, we figured that we were mistaken and rested in that thought and were happily content with our family of five...

only, by the time i was fully content with that decision, she was and the agenda i had already begun to craft and feel comfortable with, excited about, was suddenly out of my hands and i was stunned.


He has made a habit of doing that in my life...

maybe yours too?


i think back to that last winter there, where everything was falling apart and i had no choice but to open up clenched fists and whisper yes to what He had planned.


i remember screaming into my pillow at the God Who i thought had let me down, Who surely must be mocking my wants and wishes and dreams...

i remember driving away from what i had so desperately wanted and heading towards the big and vast empty space of Unknown.


i had never been more terrified.

i had never felt Him so near.



this past week, i feel as though every emotion i possess has been ravaged - i wrote to my sister, my friend, that all i want to do is claw out of this skin that i find myself in, to somehow escape what i have seen and what i know and how, how can all of this brokenness be possible?


the hair that hangs long over a face punched purple and green - the pain in those beautiful eyes and the smile she still manages to share.  and while i ate thanksgiving dinner surrounded by warmth and beauty, she was being beaten.

the sobs i hear as i enter the restroom, a broken girl crumpled on a cold tile floor because she just found out a loved one is dying...a loved one who walked away all those years ago.

of the dark alley i found myself in, trying to open up shut gates while danger is heading right towards us - and why can't there be more light? more light for the dark places so children don't have to be scared to walk home alone?

of that young boy, bullied and mocked and made to feel less-than - of the tears he tries to brush away and hide.


and i am angry because i get to drive away. at the end of the day, i drive away to my home safe and locked with every window secure and in place.  in place.  and i know of children who sleep in rooms lacking this simple luxury - there is nothing between them and the cold air that has settled in for this season and as i fall asleep, there are young eyes plastered open because who knows what can slip in during the dark of the night?


it's all. so. dark.


and my agenda...

my silly agenda.


so often i think i know what's best, and i beg for what i think is best, and i fight for it and i pout over it and more often than not, i sadly get my own way...


until He allows it all to be shaken - for my heart to be shaken - for my life to be uprooted and replanted and for my eyes to be opened to what i need to let go of so that He can make use of what little i have to offer.


and i wrestle with feeling like i'm drowning in a sea of what-if's - fearing that i won't be able to manage it all with a newborn and homeschooling and going down to the mission everyday like before.  and how do i maintain friendships and parenting and keeping our home a haven - let alone clean?

how do i manage the big emotions that still rise up over broken relationships?  and how do my girls always seem to manage to ask the really hard questions while i make the drive from our house to the mission - questions like, why did papa die and how did papa die and do you ever think you'll see your family again, mama?

i don't know how to do it all...

and maybe that's the point.


it's that verse in the book of james that's been dancing around my head all afternoon, the one that seems to caution against agendas and that very human tendency to think that we may know best after all,

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.”

(James 4:13-15 ESV)

and it's the simple and so very complicated act of letting it all go, opening up clenched fists and giving our plans, our pain, our questions, the reality of our very uncertain tomorrows over to the One Who knows what our next breath holds ~

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will get up and make breakfast and i will get through as many subjects as i can with my children.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will love my husband well and pray for him as he faces the realities that this job holds.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will laugh with my children and pray with them and prepare our hearts to love the ones who are so very unloved.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i will drive down and i will listen and i will wipe tears and i will be His Arms to whomever He brings my way.

if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i'll trust that He is holding all my future tomorrows and He'll lead me and show me how to be a mama to 4, a wife to one, a friend to my friends and a keeper of this home He's given to us...

because my haven and rest isn't found in these four walls...

my refuge is in Christ and Him alone.

and so, if Jesus wills, tomorrow, i'll keep letting it go...

when they walk away...

i don't think it matters.

i think i'm becoming bold enough to say those words.

i don't think it matters...

you came home this evening and fell onto the bed beside me, as though the day after turning 38 had felt the need to add some extra weight onto your shoulders.

you began saying their names quietly, one after the other. i felt overwhelmed by the number...i hadn't realized they were all related.

and then you said it,

their dad decided that he was done this weekend.  he left. up and walked away...

i don't think it matters...

whether you are six years old or edging closer to forty,

when a parent up and decides you are no longer worth being there for,

nothing compares to that ache.

i didn't hear the gunshots this evening, i only heard the sirens...i saw them all crowding on the front steps and huddled close together.

i was trying to find our three because it was time to go home and i still had one more stop to make.

i got to the door and it was repeated to me, gunshots had been fired, i needed to stay inside.

i knew you were inside,

but the last i had heard, our three were out in that playground.

my kids!! are my kids in the playground??

even i heard the desperation in my voice.


and i felt them all press in close, those children who deal with situations like these on a regular basis i'm sure, as though pressing in close presses in comfort and i was moved back into safety while another went out to search for my own...


they were inside, near you. at least, they knew where you were and they felt safe.  we got out to our van while the police lights were still flashing, while streets were blocked off and i drove away and you stayed behind.

you stayed behind and learned of one more family who has been rejected by a parent and you carry it home.

you stayed behind and listened to the brokenness and filled hands with food to get them through the next few days.

you stayed behind...

 and where can it go but at Jesus' feet?

because it can't go anywhere else. it can't. 

we can't make the parents around us fight for their children,

we can't make dead daddies come back to life,

we can't make mamas stop wandering to circle around and come back home.

you lay beside me in the bed we share and we aren't immune,

our children have experienced their own deep losses,

we wrestle with our own questions and bewilderment.

and in the silence you turn towards me and you say with an intensity i know is stamped with your integrity,

i'm not going anywhere.  do you know that?  i. am. not. going. anywhere.

and i know.  i know, tony.


because you could have walked away at any point. you asked if you could pursue me 2 weeks before you turned 26 and i know what you have faced choosing to stay with me. 

walking away would have been the easy and understandable thing to do.

you turned 38 yesterday and gunshots were fired today and i know that nothing short of death would ever cause you to leave.

and yet there is loss all around us and this is what your life is teaching me every day:  death can be walking alive among us because bitterness eats the living whole and when i begin to turn inward to what hurts, you cup my face and you turn my eyes back to Jesus and remind me that they only way i can walk as one living is to walk with my eyes focused on Him. 

 to lay what hurts down at His feet.

to press in close ~ to each other, to Jesus ~ because to press in close presses in comfort and pushes out what will kill our souls.


i could have celebrated you yesterday and lost you today and yet He gives us one more day together. one more day to walk through and work through and learn to press into.  

and so, even with the heaviness that this day has brought, with the hurt and pain that we walk into everyday, i want to say how thankful i am for the chances that He gives everyday to celebrate you.  

happy birthday, my tony.

i love you.