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.
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
when you need to let go...
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
it was on that same front step last night that he spoke to me honestly.
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looked into my eyes and said that he felt one of the biggest traps i'm falling into is keeping both feet in two separate spaces.
i need to make a choice.
and over and over and over again over these last two months or so, it keeps coming up:
what is Jesus asking you to let go of?
it hurts. deep down-in-my-gut hurts. because to let go, to open my hands fully is an act of surrender.
and am i ready?
october seems to be the month for 31 days of... and last year i opted for the month of november instead. made november my month of here.
i wasn't sure if i would do another. it's suddenly trendy, and i'm anything but.
but
in the face of startling clarity last night, when that one last thing broke my non-existent camel's back, and when i finally opened up to the possibility that in order for the new to be possible i may have to give up the old, an idea began to take shape.
so, i'll run with it...or write with it...i read somewhere once that pencils have eyes - and i'm pretty sure that keyboards do too. and in order to see where He is leading me, the haze on the other side of that door needs to clear a bit. and that involves some action on my part...
november 1st will begin my 30 days of letting go...
november 1st will begin my 30 days of letting go...
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maybe you'd care to join me?
we could all be one...
Sunday, October 28, 2012
at my last appointment, she told me i had 10 weeks and 4 days left.
my heart stopped a little.
this little one, this one already named will be here before i'm ready ~
.
i find myself wondering what she looks like.
and this baby, this unexpected little one,
she already opens doors.
i am learning, always learning, that being a mama does that.
some women feel that they have lost themselves when they are buried under mounds of dishes and laundry and clutter and chaos,
and yes.
yes
i find myself fading into the monotony at times.
as though the dreams i had dreamed and the hopes i had hoped have somehow gone the way of that second sock somewhere deep in the belly of the dryer.
but
He has drawn me out in this season as well.
becoming a mother, in many ways, has made me less afraid. as though who i always was, who He created me to be, was waiting to be birthed out of my dark and has emerged in ways i never expected or dreamed.
and a mother?
she recognizes another and there is a connecting - even past language barriers and my inability to pronounce a name correctly...even past the busyness swirling around us,
every mother's heart needs to be spoken into.
every woman has the potential to be a mother.
each one.
and every woman needs a mother.
because it's not just a filled and emptied womb that gives this status,
i have seen with my eyes and heard with my ears the words and the love poured out from one woman onto the ears of children not her own. her love has helped them grow.
why do we shy away from each other?
why do we overlook that sometimes the children He gives are ones not woven from our own DNA? that families are made larger, healthier, whole when we allow Jesus to form our sisters and brothers and mothers and daddies from the very core of Who He Is?
i think of the legacy that we all could leave.
us who are seemingly small,
seemingly insignificant,
the ones who have failed and should be given up on.
us.
He uses the weak to showcase His Glory and wouldn't a ragamuffin lot of us reflect His very face?
maybe.
maybe i'm just rambling in the quiet of the night while my cup of coffee steams and my older two still giggle and this baby girl dances in the dark.
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but i can't help but wonder what He could do through hearts completely surrendered and open to Him and to each other...
i want to know what that looks like...
my heart stopped a little.
this little one, this one already named will be here before i'm ready ~
.
i find myself wondering what she looks like.
and this baby, this unexpected little one,
she already opens doors.
i am learning, always learning, that being a mama does that.
some women feel that they have lost themselves when they are buried under mounds of dishes and laundry and clutter and chaos,
and yes.
yes
i find myself fading into the monotony at times.
as though the dreams i had dreamed and the hopes i had hoped have somehow gone the way of that second sock somewhere deep in the belly of the dryer.
but
He has drawn me out in this season as well.
becoming a mother, in many ways, has made me less afraid. as though who i always was, who He created me to be, was waiting to be birthed out of my dark and has emerged in ways i never expected or dreamed.
and a mother?
she recognizes another and there is a connecting - even past language barriers and my inability to pronounce a name correctly...even past the busyness swirling around us,
every mother's heart needs to be spoken into.
every woman has the potential to be a mother.
each one.
and every woman needs a mother.
because it's not just a filled and emptied womb that gives this status,
i have seen with my eyes and heard with my ears the words and the love poured out from one woman onto the ears of children not her own. her love has helped them grow.
why do we shy away from each other?
why do we overlook that sometimes the children He gives are ones not woven from our own DNA? that families are made larger, healthier, whole when we allow Jesus to form our sisters and brothers and mothers and daddies from the very core of Who He Is?
i think of the legacy that we all could leave.
us who are seemingly small,
seemingly insignificant,
the ones who have failed and should be given up on.
us.
He uses the weak to showcase His Glory and wouldn't a ragamuffin lot of us reflect His very face?
maybe.
maybe i'm just rambling in the quiet of the night while my cup of coffee steams and my older two still giggle and this baby girl dances in the dark.
.JPG)
but i can't help but wonder what He could do through hearts completely surrendered and open to Him and to each other...
i want to know what that looks like...
from their yard...
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
i hear them before i see them, that brother and sister with their hands intertwined and something clutched between all twenty fingers.
i hear their laughter before i see their smiles and as they come around that corner, their bright faces light up my own.
it takes me a moment to realize that what's held so tightly is for me.
we picked this for you. it's from our yard...
and suddenly my hands are full of bright pink petals and they are gone before i can say thank you.
i sit across from another mama and her sweet friend this afternoon - cups of hot coffee between all of us and i watch their faces soften as they share...
and this mama, she was up all night with her sick little boy and i hear her heart, see the tiredness in her eyes...
i was eighteen when she was born.
she was fourteen when her arms were filled with her small son and i look at both girls and i want to cup their faces and tell them how beautiful they are, how strong they are...
and how much Jesus loves them.
i want a cup of coffee to be strong enough to fix everything broken and wrong.
i want it to be strong enough to heal broken families and keep kids out of gangs and bring back runaway mothers and keep daddies out of jail.
an hour of time doesn't seem long enough...
and it never will be.
it never will be long enough until He is invited into each moment and i choose to be emptied...
i think of that little boy, the one with the five loaves and two fish who allowed his hands to be emptied of what would fill him, placed it all in the Hands of the Creator and watched Jesus feed over five thousand hungry bellies.
aren't our hearts more ravenous than our stomachs that need to be continually filled? aren't they starved for Him?
it's as I'm sitting outside while the playground is swirling in chaos around me, as my three get lost in the bedlam and my fourth nestles in close under my heart, it's there that i open up my hand and catch the full picture of the gift i've been given ~
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broken and imperfect and lovely and achingly beautiful, it's a picture of each one of us. we can choose to remain hidden away, clutched close because of what we lack and what's missing, but i am learning that those places that are gaping and wounded deep in us are the ones He tenderly offers to those who walk gaping and wounded around us.
each petal missing, each loaf of bread that seems to be lacking, that fish that seems to be too small, those sixty minutes that fly by too quickly - He uses it all.
He uses us ~
miracle in and of itself...
and in the middle of it all, when i find myself up in the dark of the early morning because my heart is heavy with the knowing. when what i have carried on my thirty three year old shoulders feels like it will break me and how do fifteen year old shoulders bear up under it all? when He hears and makes sense of what i can't even voice and holds each tear that falls over children that have filled my heart with love straight from His Own - i can sense it, how in the unfurling of my fingers over wounds clenched tight to protect, He intertwines the pain and beauty and cups it all together with joy...
i hear their laughter before i see their smiles and as they come around that corner, their bright faces light up my own.
it takes me a moment to realize that what's held so tightly is for me.
we picked this for you. it's from our yard...
and suddenly my hands are full of bright pink petals and they are gone before i can say thank you.
i sit across from another mama and her sweet friend this afternoon - cups of hot coffee between all of us and i watch their faces soften as they share...
and this mama, she was up all night with her sick little boy and i hear her heart, see the tiredness in her eyes...
i was eighteen when she was born.
she was fourteen when her arms were filled with her small son and i look at both girls and i want to cup their faces and tell them how beautiful they are, how strong they are...
and how much Jesus loves them.
i want a cup of coffee to be strong enough to fix everything broken and wrong.
i want it to be strong enough to heal broken families and keep kids out of gangs and bring back runaway mothers and keep daddies out of jail.
an hour of time doesn't seem long enough...
and it never will be.
it never will be long enough until He is invited into each moment and i choose to be emptied...
i think of that little boy, the one with the five loaves and two fish who allowed his hands to be emptied of what would fill him, placed it all in the Hands of the Creator and watched Jesus feed over five thousand hungry bellies.
aren't our hearts more ravenous than our stomachs that need to be continually filled? aren't they starved for Him?
it's as I'm sitting outside while the playground is swirling in chaos around me, as my three get lost in the bedlam and my fourth nestles in close under my heart, it's there that i open up my hand and catch the full picture of the gift i've been given ~
.JPG)
broken and imperfect and lovely and achingly beautiful, it's a picture of each one of us. we can choose to remain hidden away, clutched close because of what we lack and what's missing, but i am learning that those places that are gaping and wounded deep in us are the ones He tenderly offers to those who walk gaping and wounded around us.
each petal missing, each loaf of bread that seems to be lacking, that fish that seems to be too small, those sixty minutes that fly by too quickly - He uses it all.
He uses us ~
miracle in and of itself...
and in the middle of it all, when i find myself up in the dark of the early morning because my heart is heavy with the knowing. when what i have carried on my thirty three year old shoulders feels like it will break me and how do fifteen year old shoulders bear up under it all? when He hears and makes sense of what i can't even voice and holds each tear that falls over children that have filled my heart with love straight from His Own - i can sense it, how in the unfurling of my fingers over wounds clenched tight to protect, He intertwines the pain and beauty and cups it all together with joy...
when eleven years pass by too quickly...
Saturday, October 6, 2012
it's up there on our bedroom wall - that moment captured eleven years ago after our i do's had been said and you had kissed me for the very first time...
i looked at those two faces for a while today and was caught up in memories...
and i wondered how time could move so quickly.
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your face was the only one i looked for at the top of that aisle, your smile was the one i longed for.
i'll never forget the way you looked as you waited for me...
i am caught by those two faces and while they look so very familiar, i find i don't really know them anymore...
you have white in your hair now, that rich black unmarred when i first saw you...
you walked into that classroom and pulled that toque down over your head, but i caught a glimpse of you and you captured me.
those four years between that moment and the moment you asked to pursue me were filled with so much pain and yet they were worth all of it because when His moment was right for us, i knew i would be safe with you.
.jpg)
your beard is becoming more salt than pepper and there are crows feet by your eyes and those lines carry the truth that you find Hope in every situation, you find something to laugh about no matter how dark the moment and i want to hold the snapshots i have of you now because someday, this day will be a distant memory and i don't want to take you for granted.
she looks so happy, but i know what the next few years would bring for her...for you. those first years weren't easy and you were so patient with her...with me. your love for her made her stronger...do you know that? can you even fathom the gift that you are? that girl in the picture - she wears the same skin as me, but i'm not her any longer and there are not enough words to tell you how grateful i am to Jesus and to you for your choice to stay faithful to the one so very timid.
.jpg)
i started praying for you when i was twelve. i remember the moment. i remember the coolness of the basement and which wall i was facing when it hit me, i needed to pray for my future husband now. i love that i have been praying for you for 21 years and i love that i have been your wife for 11 and that you are the answer to so much of what i prayed to Jesus for.
i remember the years that we fought with each other, how painful those years were. i was always trying to run, wild with fear that i was going to fail, trying to prove to you that i would. you fought for me long before i ever fought for us and your steadiness humbles me, because you could have walked away so very long ago and it makes me love you even more because your love is so very sure and where would i ever want to go but straight into your arms?
the longer we are married, the more i realize how short these days are...each day with you is one less with you and the more i gain the more i lose and time keeps moving us closer to that moment when we will see Jesus face to face and i want to love you well each moment we are given. i want to find the treasure that is hidden in the light and in the dark and i want to discover all that is priceless in you.
i want to love you well, tony baker.
each year that i write on our anniversary, i include a photo from our wedding day...but today, i am deciding not to. today, i want to capture who we are now...because He has brought us so very far from those vows said with trembling and with hope...
He has brought us here, to a love and a trust and a relationship deeper and truer than i ever dreamed was possible. He has brought us here in all our brokenness and humanity and allowed us to experience life and all of its ups and downs together...
.jpg)
the faces in our pictures from then and now may bear identical similarities, but the story that He has written on our hearts make us so very different.
so to you, i want to wish a very happy anniversary.
you have my heart and the rest of my days, always.
i love you, so very, very much.
all my love...
i looked at those two faces for a while today and was caught up in memories...
and i wondered how time could move so quickly.
.jpg)
your face was the only one i looked for at the top of that aisle, your smile was the one i longed for.
i'll never forget the way you looked as you waited for me...
i am caught by those two faces and while they look so very familiar, i find i don't really know them anymore...
you have white in your hair now, that rich black unmarred when i first saw you...
you walked into that classroom and pulled that toque down over your head, but i caught a glimpse of you and you captured me.
those four years between that moment and the moment you asked to pursue me were filled with so much pain and yet they were worth all of it because when His moment was right for us, i knew i would be safe with you.
.jpg)
your beard is becoming more salt than pepper and there are crows feet by your eyes and those lines carry the truth that you find Hope in every situation, you find something to laugh about no matter how dark the moment and i want to hold the snapshots i have of you now because someday, this day will be a distant memory and i don't want to take you for granted.
she looks so happy, but i know what the next few years would bring for her...for you. those first years weren't easy and you were so patient with her...with me. your love for her made her stronger...do you know that? can you even fathom the gift that you are? that girl in the picture - she wears the same skin as me, but i'm not her any longer and there are not enough words to tell you how grateful i am to Jesus and to you for your choice to stay faithful to the one so very timid.
.jpg)
i started praying for you when i was twelve. i remember the moment. i remember the coolness of the basement and which wall i was facing when it hit me, i needed to pray for my future husband now. i love that i have been praying for you for 21 years and i love that i have been your wife for 11 and that you are the answer to so much of what i prayed to Jesus for.
i remember the years that we fought with each other, how painful those years were. i was always trying to run, wild with fear that i was going to fail, trying to prove to you that i would. you fought for me long before i ever fought for us and your steadiness humbles me, because you could have walked away so very long ago and it makes me love you even more because your love is so very sure and where would i ever want to go but straight into your arms?
the longer we are married, the more i realize how short these days are...each day with you is one less with you and the more i gain the more i lose and time keeps moving us closer to that moment when we will see Jesus face to face and i want to love you well each moment we are given. i want to find the treasure that is hidden in the light and in the dark and i want to discover all that is priceless in you.
i want to love you well, tony baker.
each year that i write on our anniversary, i include a photo from our wedding day...but today, i am deciding not to. today, i want to capture who we are now...because He has brought us so very far from those vows said with trembling and with hope...
He has brought us here, to a love and a trust and a relationship deeper and truer than i ever dreamed was possible. He has brought us here in all our brokenness and humanity and allowed us to experience life and all of its ups and downs together...
.jpg)
the faces in our pictures from then and now may bear identical similarities, but the story that He has written on our hearts make us so very different.
so to you, i want to wish a very happy anniversary.
you have my heart and the rest of my days, always.
i love you, so very, very much.
all my love...
in everything...
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
it seems to come in the quiet of those late hours, those feelings that you've failed and you're too broken and all the things that you did that you wish you didn't come back to haunt and you feel broken.
wasted.
useless.
when it seems like what the future holds is too much and the resources you have are too little and how in the world are you going to make it?
he came in late and tired last night, sat down in the couch near me and rested his head on the back of that pillow.
with his eyes close, he said my name,
talk to me, kimberley.
and it comes pouring out, the pain, the fear, the shame and he listens all quiet and sure.
and he knows because he's carried his own pain, regrets, scars...
he's shouldered a lot of my own heavy as well.
he knows.
and we sit there, together, in the silence.
sometimes we need to be still so we can know He is there.
and his own burdens come out, story by story,
of the siblings whose mama walked away 3 years ago, of their daddy in prison and the oldest boy working a full time job plus taking on the responsibility of school and taking care of the younger ones...
of the children with no running water...
of the broken and shattered families who come to dinner each evening...
brokenness is everywhere.
everywhere.
and after we read through the first chapter of ezra together, he says quietly in the lamplight,
maybe everything we've been through, everything that has left a scar, has been placed there beautifully by the Hand of God so that we could be prepared for what He had been preparing for us here...
i can't get it out of my head...
that thought.
each scar, each pain-filled moment, has a purpose, a use.
a friend sat at my table this afternoon while i scooped up cookie dough onto those parchment-lined pans. she shared from her heart as my cookies failed, again - spread out and didn't hold together.
she made a comment,
maybe my scars don't heal over completely so that He can use that pain...
can our pain be a balm for another hurting heart?
His scars, that He will carry throughout all of eternity, continually point out the life and healing He offers - should i really be surprised that my scars never, really, completely go away either?
the last few days have been filled with the reminder that the secret to joy is found in seeing Him in everything.
most especially in the pain-filled-everything.
it was in the pain-filled words of eli the priest, after the Lord came to the child named samuel and called him by name - when the message from God was anything but good...
but it's there, straight from the mouth of the man who received such horrible news,
wasted.
useless.
when it seems like what the future holds is too much and the resources you have are too little and how in the world are you going to make it?
he came in late and tired last night, sat down in the couch near me and rested his head on the back of that pillow.
with his eyes close, he said my name,
talk to me, kimberley.
and it comes pouring out, the pain, the fear, the shame and he listens all quiet and sure.
and he knows because he's carried his own pain, regrets, scars...
he's shouldered a lot of my own heavy as well.
he knows.
and we sit there, together, in the silence.
sometimes we need to be still so we can know He is there.
(photo credit: becky frame)
and his own burdens come out, story by story,
of the siblings whose mama walked away 3 years ago, of their daddy in prison and the oldest boy working a full time job plus taking on the responsibility of school and taking care of the younger ones...
of the children with no running water...
of the broken and shattered families who come to dinner each evening...
brokenness is everywhere.
everywhere.
and after we read through the first chapter of ezra together, he says quietly in the lamplight,
maybe everything we've been through, everything that has left a scar, has been placed there beautifully by the Hand of God so that we could be prepared for what He had been preparing for us here...
i can't get it out of my head...
that thought.
each scar, each pain-filled moment, has a purpose, a use.
a friend sat at my table this afternoon while i scooped up cookie dough onto those parchment-lined pans. she shared from her heart as my cookies failed, again - spread out and didn't hold together.
she made a comment,
maybe my scars don't heal over completely so that He can use that pain...
can our pain be a balm for another hurting heart?
His scars, that He will carry throughout all of eternity, continually point out the life and healing He offers - should i really be surprised that my scars never, really, completely go away either?
the last few days have been filled with the reminder that the secret to joy is found in seeing Him in everything.
most especially in the pain-filled-everything.
it was in the pain-filled words of eli the priest, after the Lord came to the child named samuel and called him by name - when the message from God was anything but good...
but it's there, straight from the mouth of the man who received such horrible news,
He is the Lord; let Him do what is good in His eyes.
1 samuel 3:18
i can come before Jesus and ask for painful situations to change, i can beg for a different outcome, i can hope for a better tomorrow, but sometimes, sometimes what He asks is for us to embrace what hurts and receive it as straight from His Hands.
He is good.
we can trust that.
and while we may not be able to understand why He allows what He allows, we can be open vessels, willing and waiting for Him to use you and me.
because He takes our broken, what should be thrown away and discarded and amazingly and for reasons i can't even comprehend, He uses it - all of it for His glory.
how can i not praise Him?
because He takes our broken, what should be thrown away and discarded and amazingly and for reasons i can't even comprehend, He uses it - all of it for His glory.
how can i not praise Him?
if i see God in everything, He will calm and colour everything i see! perhaps
the circumstances causing my sorrows will not be removed and my situation will remain the same,
but if Christ is brought into my grief and gloom as my Lord and Master, He will "surround me with songs of deliverance" (ps 32:7) To see Him and to be sure that His wisdom and power never fail and His love never changes, to know that even His most distressing dealings with me
are for my deepest spiritual gain, is to be able to say in the midst of bereavement, sorrow, pain and loss, "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord
be praised" (job 1:21).
...nothing but seeing God will completely put an end to all complaining and thoughts of
rebellion.
~hannah whitall smith
in the wrapping around...
Monday, September 17, 2012
the sun is setting earlier and the air is turning crisper...
i leave the windows open to let fall sneak in.
and it was on an evening that was already dark this past weekend that i heard the laughter out front of our house, filling our bedroom, filling the living room, filling every nook and cranny it seemed...
curiosity got the better of me and i peeked out from behind the curtains to see the cause when i saw it.
nothing funny or absurd - something rather plain actually, but a family wrapping coloured lights round and round a post and just enjoying being together.
i caught that glimpse of them as they finished up and stepped back to admire their handiwork - backs were slapped and hugs were shared and some went one way and others went inside,
but i kept standing there.
it's amazing to me, how in the dark of the night a light can draw one's gaze and hold it captive.
he chased our van last week - that little boy who wants a new identity. the one who told me what he wished his name was and then asked to come home with us. i knelt down in front of him, looked into those old eyes in that young, sweet face and had to tell him no.
but he kept pleading and i had to close the door on brokenness.
he chased me as far as his little legs would carry him and i wanted to stop that van and make everything better. i wanted to make what was shattered in his world, whole.
i wanted to fight the pain inside.
i had to leave early on a different day, and the one whose name is full of promise asked me why we had to go...couldn't we just stay 5 more minutes? i wrapped my arm around her shoulders and told her i couldn't, that we were already late, but i would be back the next day and she could come and sit with me then. i heard her go up to tony as i buckled my little boy in...
she asked if she could go home with us too.
she didn't chase the van,
but she watched us with her eyes and why does there have to be so much pain and so much hurt?
he whispers in the dark to me of that young man who carries school and work on his shoulders, the young man who finally grew strong enough to fight back and stop the beatings of his mother, his siblings...
himself.
the one who has a wicked sense of humor and a quiet steadiness and is now the sole provider for the family he is a part of.
and it can easily overwhelm.
i didn't expect to love the children who come there as much as i do - i thought i would care, yes, but heart-expanding, aching love?
no...
smiling faces can hide so much, but it's always the eyes that give the pain away.
and He asks us to go into the dark places, the places void of Him. He asks us to trust Him and to do the hard thing and to believe that He will carry us each step of the way.
it's the only way i can go back everyday, to stand beside tony and bring our Father's Love.
the only way...
and my twinkly lights may still be packed away, but He doesn't need them anyways...
because the True Light is His Son and the current to bring His Glory, the Holy into the forgotten and despised areas is your heart and mine.
so we stand in faith, and we surround the children He brings to us with the Light of His Love...
choosing to see Him in all of this dark...
1511. wide awake at 4:30am
1512. quiet hours before the day starts
1513. moments alone with Jesus
1514. that this small one inside is a girl
1515. watching her wiggle
1516. tony's grace
1517. tears in the park
1518. that he's home for the day
1519. that staff we miss
1520. a long awaited cup of coffee
1521. canadian geese flying overhead
1522. their song of home
1523. longing for the ocean
1524. mornings that are crisp and cool
1525. this amazing dog at my feet
1526. that He gives strength to a weary mama
1527. a kitchen mess easily cleaned up
1528. little girls who still need a mama's help
1529. the quiet of a sunday afternoon
1530. flower-glory
1531. the family He makes
1532. baby kicks
1533. the way elias absentmindedly plays with my hair
1534. kisses before work
1535 mornings and their early quiet
1536. watching my girls learn to read
i leave the windows open to let fall sneak in.
and it was on an evening that was already dark this past weekend that i heard the laughter out front of our house, filling our bedroom, filling the living room, filling every nook and cranny it seemed...
curiosity got the better of me and i peeked out from behind the curtains to see the cause when i saw it.
nothing funny or absurd - something rather plain actually, but a family wrapping coloured lights round and round a post and just enjoying being together.
i caught that glimpse of them as they finished up and stepped back to admire their handiwork - backs were slapped and hugs were shared and some went one way and others went inside,
but i kept standing there.
it's amazing to me, how in the dark of the night a light can draw one's gaze and hold it captive.
he chased our van last week - that little boy who wants a new identity. the one who told me what he wished his name was and then asked to come home with us. i knelt down in front of him, looked into those old eyes in that young, sweet face and had to tell him no.
but he kept pleading and i had to close the door on brokenness.
he chased me as far as his little legs would carry him and i wanted to stop that van and make everything better. i wanted to make what was shattered in his world, whole.
i wanted to fight the pain inside.
i had to leave early on a different day, and the one whose name is full of promise asked me why we had to go...couldn't we just stay 5 more minutes? i wrapped my arm around her shoulders and told her i couldn't, that we were already late, but i would be back the next day and she could come and sit with me then. i heard her go up to tony as i buckled my little boy in...
she asked if she could go home with us too.
she didn't chase the van,
but she watched us with her eyes and why does there have to be so much pain and so much hurt?
he whispers in the dark to me of that young man who carries school and work on his shoulders, the young man who finally grew strong enough to fight back and stop the beatings of his mother, his siblings...
himself.
the one who has a wicked sense of humor and a quiet steadiness and is now the sole provider for the family he is a part of.
and it can easily overwhelm.
i didn't expect to love the children who come there as much as i do - i thought i would care, yes, but heart-expanding, aching love?
no...
smiling faces can hide so much, but it's always the eyes that give the pain away.
and He asks us to go into the dark places, the places void of Him. He asks us to trust Him and to do the hard thing and to believe that He will carry us each step of the way.
it's the only way i can go back everyday, to stand beside tony and bring our Father's Love.
the only way...
and my twinkly lights may still be packed away, but He doesn't need them anyways...
because the True Light is His Son and the current to bring His Glory, the Holy into the forgotten and despised areas is your heart and mine.
so we stand in faith, and we surround the children He brings to us with the Light of His Love...
choosing to see Him in all of this dark...
1511. wide awake at 4:30am
1512. quiet hours before the day starts
1513. moments alone with Jesus
1514. that this small one inside is a girl
1515. watching her wiggle
1516. tony's grace
1517. tears in the park
1518. that he's home for the day
1519. that staff we miss
1520. a long awaited cup of coffee
1521. canadian geese flying overhead
1522. their song of home
1523. longing for the ocean
1524. mornings that are crisp and cool
1525. this amazing dog at my feet
1526. that He gives strength to a weary mama
1527. a kitchen mess easily cleaned up
1528. little girls who still need a mama's help
1529. the quiet of a sunday afternoon
1530. flower-glory
1531. the family He makes
1532. baby kicks
1533. the way elias absentmindedly plays with my hair
1534. kisses before work
1535 mornings and their early quiet
1536. watching my girls learn to read
endings and beginnings and hope...
Monday, August 20, 2012
ending moments are always the hardest, the most difficult.
especially when they are drawn out and still need to be lived through.
Jesus used the familiar and the known to bring us here during a season of huge upheaval and change and so very many unknowns. a job that had been his for almost 20 years now, off and on, was his again and in the middle of trying to find our way that was entrenched deep in His, we had this.
we had coffee.
we had almost instant community.
and one can gripe and complain about corporate america and the "big, bad" coffee chains that charge too much and support what we don't support and how they probably add an addictive chemical or two that keep you coming back (i heard the same rumour...), but for us, in those months where i stood under a moon and hardly knew a soul outside those 4 that shared a roof with me,
it was familiar when i had lost almost everything.
we had always wondered, when we first moved here, if coffee was the reason or a way to get us into this city, because His Hand in moving us here was so very evident.
and honestly? i had read the statistics on crime and had lived gripped in fear for the first few months of living here, quietly housed on the safe part of town. everything in my head told me that moving here was a risk...but we had no other options.
no other options but to trust the One Who was doing the moving.
trusting that when we found a home out in the country, where it was quiet and peaceful with a small bit of land,
that just before we took that last deep breath and agreed to sign,
we both felt it...
that urging to look closer.
closer to the noise and the pressing in of neighbours and people and traffic.
closer to what didn't feel safe.
closer to a desperate need.
i'm learning, however slowly, that comfort isn't a zone that is found in Christ. that when He asks us to take up our cross, to deny ourselves, to lose our lives,
He's serious.
and that sometimes our sacrifices are bathed in tears.
we give up peace for sirens and chaos and some questionable neighbours just down the street.
we give up coffee and the amazing community that we have found in a group of people who we have learned to love deeply...
and we give it up for the wrong side of the tracks and for those that need Him.
we have dipped our toes in ministry in the past, and we have walked through deep pain and brokenness as a result.
and it's funny, one would think that facing the prospect of watching ones husband drive down into that part of town, where drive-by shootings are a reality, where gangs are a reality, where drugs and who-knows-what-else is a reality would be enough to make me want to whisper out no.
the truth?
it's the fear of trusting other believers in a ministry setting again. because pain in christian community is so very real, so very possible, and we are still healing from it all.
but it's the story, the one that he came home with after that afternoon spent with those children playing wiffle ball and seeing what all the job would entail; it's the one of the little girl, eight years old, found wandering the streets after midnight because she didn't know where her parents were.
it's because of that young boy i can't seem to forget, the one who tried to act so tough, but whose eyes pleaded with me to notice,
it's all the stories i don't yet know,
the children who haven't yet heard His Hope,
a dark place that so desperately needs His Light,
it's all of these and even more that i can't even comprehend that has me saying a yes that seems to drown out my fear.
He used coffee to bring us to where He wanted us,
but it was only the start.
the endings are always the hardest,
especially when the are drawn out and long and still need to be lived through.
but that beginning ahead of us?
it's rich with hope. hope to hear the laughter of children discovering His Love for them and their worth in Him that is drawing me outside a comfort i crave and closer to Him...
especially when they are drawn out and still need to be lived through.
Jesus used the familiar and the known to bring us here during a season of huge upheaval and change and so very many unknowns. a job that had been his for almost 20 years now, off and on, was his again and in the middle of trying to find our way that was entrenched deep in His, we had this.
we had coffee.
we had almost instant community.
and one can gripe and complain about corporate america and the "big, bad" coffee chains that charge too much and support what we don't support and how they probably add an addictive chemical or two that keep you coming back (i heard the same rumour...), but for us, in those months where i stood under a moon and hardly knew a soul outside those 4 that shared a roof with me,
it was familiar when i had lost almost everything.
we had always wondered, when we first moved here, if coffee was the reason or a way to get us into this city, because His Hand in moving us here was so very evident.
and honestly? i had read the statistics on crime and had lived gripped in fear for the first few months of living here, quietly housed on the safe part of town. everything in my head told me that moving here was a risk...but we had no other options.
no other options but to trust the One Who was doing the moving.
trusting that when we found a home out in the country, where it was quiet and peaceful with a small bit of land,
that just before we took that last deep breath and agreed to sign,
we both felt it...
that urging to look closer.
closer to the noise and the pressing in of neighbours and people and traffic.
closer to what didn't feel safe.
closer to a desperate need.
i'm learning, however slowly, that comfort isn't a zone that is found in Christ. that when He asks us to take up our cross, to deny ourselves, to lose our lives,
He's serious.
and that sometimes our sacrifices are bathed in tears.
we give up peace for sirens and chaos and some questionable neighbours just down the street.
we give up coffee and the amazing community that we have found in a group of people who we have learned to love deeply...
and we give it up for the wrong side of the tracks and for those that need Him.
we have dipped our toes in ministry in the past, and we have walked through deep pain and brokenness as a result.
and it's funny, one would think that facing the prospect of watching ones husband drive down into that part of town, where drive-by shootings are a reality, where gangs are a reality, where drugs and who-knows-what-else is a reality would be enough to make me want to whisper out no.
the truth?
it's the fear of trusting other believers in a ministry setting again. because pain in christian community is so very real, so very possible, and we are still healing from it all.
but it's the story, the one that he came home with after that afternoon spent with those children playing wiffle ball and seeing what all the job would entail; it's the one of the little girl, eight years old, found wandering the streets after midnight because she didn't know where her parents were.
it's because of that young boy i can't seem to forget, the one who tried to act so tough, but whose eyes pleaded with me to notice,
it's all the stories i don't yet know,
the children who haven't yet heard His Hope,
a dark place that so desperately needs His Light,
it's all of these and even more that i can't even comprehend that has me saying a yes that seems to drown out my fear.
He used coffee to bring us to where He wanted us,
but it was only the start.
the endings are always the hardest,
especially when the are drawn out and long and still need to be lived through.
but that beginning ahead of us?
it's rich with hope. hope to hear the laughter of children discovering His Love for them and their worth in Him that is drawing me outside a comfort i crave and closer to Him...
the making of a home, a family...
Monday, April 23, 2012
they came back this spring, as slowly as this season appeared.
one by one they began buzzing circles around small bodies and little ones would cry and i watched those wasps to see where they would go...
and they returned.
they returned to that crack in the eave of the garage...just below the peak i watched them hover around that opening.
the one that opens up into a nest so large it cracked the beams of the joists in the framing of the roof.
the exterminator had been called last fall,
he had sprayed them all dead,
and now it's all buzzing with life again.
they are a nuisance.
they are aggressive.
but they are making a home.
and maybe it's because we are waiting for that closing date, waiting to unfold boxes and fill them up full. pack up that moving van one last time, put down roots, claim our space and make a home.
maybe it's for a million reasons that i feel slightly lost in the middle.
for all those months before we left what was, i begged Him to let us put down roots there. begged Him to change the course that seemed to be heading in only one direction and when i finally surrendered, submitted to His will, i began to ask if He would allow us to put down roots somewhere else...
and i find myself trying to reconcile the loss of one dream and the realization of another while at the same time trying to figure out where home for us is...
it hits me, as i drive in the heat of summer that has decided to arrive in april - hits me that his home and mine are no longer ours to go to...home is where we will make it, where we will choose to dig deep and grow them all up...and it ached, that thought; as families travel towards each other, plans realized and memories made and lyla sobs before bedtime prayers and i feel helpless because it all fell apart before she turned 5 and i am her mother and aren't mamas supposed to fix everything and make it all better?
where are those wounds that can be eased with a kiss?
but it's in the middle of all that chaos that has graced our home for the last 3 days, chaos of 7 children 6 years old and under. as we open that door and welcome them in - the friend that stood beside him at our wedding 10 years ago, the friend who was his best friend before me and willingly gave up that place. his amazing wife who has become more than his wife, but a sister to me and an aunty to my three...
and when the air here becomes a little too noisy and we all pile in and drive across town and spill out into a yard of the house that has become a home all because of the one who cares for us like a father would,
this home that has become a place to land...
it's there, when i can barely hear myself think that i hear it,
i hear the sound of family.
it doesn't look like the landscape of what we left behind at all,
barely recognizable, i can understand why i would feel lost at times...
because this? it isn't what i had planned out for my life.
could that be the point?
my life isn't my own - it's His, fully. completely.
and it's His journey i'm following,
what i see as detours, He sees as part of His perfect plan for my life He established since before the foundation of the world was set in place.
and this journey is just that - a moving forward towards where my real Home will be.
it's a moving towards Jesus.
that house with the closing dates and the mortgage payments and the lawn to mow? it's a place to rest until i'm done here...i can't lose sight of that, because that is what will keep a restless heart settled. we are always moving towards something - so let me be moving towards Him.
11 years ago today, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. me - the canadian girl used to the wide and open of the prairies, and there, with him, surrounded by the mountains of idaho with snow still on the ground and us all still intact ~
i looked into his eyes and said yes.
i didn't know what He had mapped out,
i didn't know how how deeply entwined joy and pain would become.
but i did know that i would love him until i drew my last breath and follow him anywhere
and He led us both to here.
here where the air is hot in april,
here where i feel lost and found,
here where He provides the family,
and here where we are finally home.
one by one they began buzzing circles around small bodies and little ones would cry and i watched those wasps to see where they would go...
and they returned.
they returned to that crack in the eave of the garage...just below the peak i watched them hover around that opening.
the one that opens up into a nest so large it cracked the beams of the joists in the framing of the roof.
the exterminator had been called last fall,
he had sprayed them all dead,
and now it's all buzzing with life again.
they are a nuisance.
they are aggressive.
but they are making a home.
and maybe it's because we are waiting for that closing date, waiting to unfold boxes and fill them up full. pack up that moving van one last time, put down roots, claim our space and make a home.
maybe it's for a million reasons that i feel slightly lost in the middle.
for all those months before we left what was, i begged Him to let us put down roots there. begged Him to change the course that seemed to be heading in only one direction and when i finally surrendered, submitted to His will, i began to ask if He would allow us to put down roots somewhere else...
and i find myself trying to reconcile the loss of one dream and the realization of another while at the same time trying to figure out where home for us is...
it hits me, as i drive in the heat of summer that has decided to arrive in april - hits me that his home and mine are no longer ours to go to...home is where we will make it, where we will choose to dig deep and grow them all up...and it ached, that thought; as families travel towards each other, plans realized and memories made and lyla sobs before bedtime prayers and i feel helpless because it all fell apart before she turned 5 and i am her mother and aren't mamas supposed to fix everything and make it all better?
where are those wounds that can be eased with a kiss?
but it's in the middle of all that chaos that has graced our home for the last 3 days, chaos of 7 children 6 years old and under. as we open that door and welcome them in - the friend that stood beside him at our wedding 10 years ago, the friend who was his best friend before me and willingly gave up that place. his amazing wife who has become more than his wife, but a sister to me and an aunty to my three...
and when the air here becomes a little too noisy and we all pile in and drive across town and spill out into a yard of the house that has become a home all because of the one who cares for us like a father would,
this home that has become a place to land...
it's there, when i can barely hear myself think that i hear it,
i hear the sound of family.
it doesn't look like the landscape of what we left behind at all,
barely recognizable, i can understand why i would feel lost at times...
because this? it isn't what i had planned out for my life.
could that be the point?
my life isn't my own - it's His, fully. completely.
and it's His journey i'm following,
what i see as detours, He sees as part of His perfect plan for my life He established since before the foundation of the world was set in place.
and this journey is just that - a moving forward towards where my real Home will be.
it's a moving towards Jesus.
that house with the closing dates and the mortgage payments and the lawn to mow? it's a place to rest until i'm done here...i can't lose sight of that, because that is what will keep a restless heart settled. we are always moving towards something - so let me be moving towards Him.
11 years ago today, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. me - the canadian girl used to the wide and open of the prairies, and there, with him, surrounded by the mountains of idaho with snow still on the ground and us all still intact ~
i looked into his eyes and said yes.
i didn't know what He had mapped out,
i didn't know how how deeply entwined joy and pain would become.
but i did know that i would love him until i drew my last breath and follow him anywhere
and He led us both to here.
here where the air is hot in april,
here where i feel lost and found,
here where He provides the family,
and here where we are finally home.
hurricane season...
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
my amphibian friend is quiet this evening and so i sit in the dark and listen instead to the steady whir of that dryer spinning around and around.
music can take many forms.
and He can speak in many ways.
i sit and listen to all that material tumbling in that hot metal and my mind...it longs to spin out of control as well.
and He can speak in many ways.
i sit and listen to all that material tumbling in that hot metal and my mind...it longs to spin out of control as well.
and it has during these last few days, wandered down roads and paths and questions and imagined outcomes.
i try and figure out what i can't and i find myself lost in a tangle of emotions that weigh heavy and keep me entrapped.
i stand in the middle of the agonizing wait and i long to fight against it.
i stand in the middle of the agonizing wait and i long to fight against it.
it's a storm brewing on that horizon and i can feel the pressure build.
landlocked and happy, i've never experienced the power or force of a hurricane, my eyes have only seen the aftermath, the devastation that attests to the smallness of humanity. but it's a picture that flashes across every screen whenever that wind over water begins to pick up. it's of those trees, bent low and at the mercy of an angry force that has whipped into a frenzy what is relentless and i nod my head in recognition.
standing in defiance of His Will will only break me, splinter this heart that has only begun to heal. or i can be pliable and bow low before Him and surrender to whatever it is He has planned.
it's not easy. it's scary; to lower my posture, to lower my face means i can't see what is surrounding me, what is coming upon me, what is happening all around me. my eyes are placed on the ground, trained on the dust, reminding me of what i have come from.
landlocked and happy, i've never experienced the power or force of a hurricane, my eyes have only seen the aftermath, the devastation that attests to the smallness of humanity. but it's a picture that flashes across every screen whenever that wind over water begins to pick up. it's of those trees, bent low and at the mercy of an angry force that has whipped into a frenzy what is relentless and i nod my head in recognition.
standing in defiance of His Will will only break me, splinter this heart that has only begun to heal. or i can be pliable and bow low before Him and surrender to whatever it is He has planned.
it's not easy. it's scary; to lower my posture, to lower my face means i can't see what is surrounding me, what is coming upon me, what is happening all around me. my eyes are placed on the ground, trained on the dust, reminding me of what i have come from.
dust kneeling on dust before The One Who formed the one out of the other and the force of His Will keeps this back bent.
and it keeps me safe.
and it makes me stronger.
the more i allow the pressures of what rage around to me bring me to my knees before Him, the deeper my roots in to Him grow. and when each season comes, with each new storm, i am able to handle a little bit more...
because my body grows used to the bending,
and it makes me stronger.
the more i allow the pressures of what rage around to me bring me to my knees before Him, the deeper my roots in to Him grow. and when each season comes, with each new storm, i am able to handle a little bit more...
because my body grows used to the bending,
my shoulders become a cradle for the cross He asks me to bear.
uncertainty becomes the catalyst for adventure and that adventure is found in the wildness of my God.
i can see those clouds brewing, the ones dark and foreboding.
they are coming closer and the outcome is uncertain...
uncertainty becomes the catalyst for adventure and that adventure is found in the wildness of my God.
i can see those clouds brewing, the ones dark and foreboding.
they are coming closer and the outcome is uncertain...
but if it it wasn't uncertain,what all my tomorrows hold,
how would i know, beyond any shadow of doubt,
beyond any question and fear,
that He is the Only One that is certain.
the Only One that will hold fast in any storm.
i read it tonight, in a little article that gave all those steps on hurricane-proofing one's yard and there, near the end, the author wrote this,
the Only One that will hold fast in any storm.
i read it tonight, in a little article that gave all those steps on hurricane-proofing one's yard and there, near the end, the author wrote this,
...we simply tie our patio furniture and barbecue to some of the sturdy trees in our yard.
and sometimes, in the bigness of all the what-if's and all those scenerios that haven't yet come to be, it's the most simple action that can calm the unstoppable. reign in all those emotions and secure them to that Tree. remind yourself of the promise of His Salvation - He allowed Himself to be secured to that tree so that regardless of whatever you or i may face, we are His. always.
always.
so bowing low, i take my eyes off of all those what-ifs and i thank Him for all that He has done...
always.
so bowing low, i take my eyes off of all those what-ifs and i thank Him for all that He has done...
3 gifts opened up
1439. that ground for those seeds
1440. those tulips
1441. the last of the easter lilies
3 gifts budding/blooming
1442. the plethora of pink buds everywhere
1443. yellow forsythia
1444. first glimpse of new leaves
3 gifts worn
1445. those rings of gold on my hand
1446. those calluses on his hands
1447. that bedspread over us
3 gifts bright
1448. their smiles
1449. spring air
1450. that sun climbing high
3 gifts found looking up
1451. his smile
1452. those hands forming crowns for their heads
1453. that home and the ones who lived in it and the one who lives by it
a gift in a bag, a box, a book
1454. good food
1455. that chirp-chirp ornament
1456. all those notations and advice in that recipe book they gave
3 hard eucharisteos
1457. surrender
1458. surrender
1459. trusting Him when i still can't see
when he sings...
Saturday, April 14, 2012
i sit in the dark and listen to his song, the one sung out in the night.
it's the same song, the same longing, the same tune that fills the quiet and has been for the last month or so.
we tried to find him the other morning, the five of us knelt around that rose bush out in front of our house.
we lifted rocks and winter debris and as pajama clad legs got all tangled in and around each other, he became quiet...
i worried that he had hidden himself beneath a rock and an errant footstep had maybe ended his song in a rather permanent way, but when we all became still, barely breathing, he croaked out a few tentative notes one by one until his song began to echo out into the space around us again.
when i first heard him, i didn't quite understand - surely the frost and the chill should keep his song silent. but it didn't. he sang strong and loud, night after night after night, under a moon full and under the blackest sky.
he sings me to sleep.
we still can't find him.
oh, we sit still on that step with only the smallest of toes wiggling in anticipation. we wait to see if maybe he'll make an appearance so we can clap and cheer and call for an encore.
but that isn't why he sings.
he doesn't sing for praise or recognition,
i'm sure he doesn't even realize that he has been heard by these human ears that can't comprehend.
he sings because he was made to sing.
and his song gives glory to his Creator.
do you find yourself in a season where the moon has hidden her face?
where even the stars appear to have been extinguished and the sky is void of light and heavy with dread?
it's easy to quiet in those moments.
to become still and silent
and hide away.
but that beautiful soul that He placed inside,
the one that He redeemed and made new,
the place where His Spirit dwells and is now His very own...
it was made to sing.
the blackest of nights catches each note and holds fast to that melody and it lifts each trembling song, the one broken with tears and it catches the ear of God.
and even i may never understand the song He has placed deep inside, the one that He longs for me to sing out to Him.
but it is a song meant to give Him praise and to bring Him glory in the middle of a dark world that doesn't know Him.
there is a little amphibian huddled beneath my front step, lost somewhere in the rocks and winter debris.
he sings each night and early in the morning a song with no purpose that i can see.
but he sings.
and his song that croaks loud and steady and calls out in the night,
it winds around this heart and lifts my eyes to Jesus.
it's the same song, the same longing, the same tune that fills the quiet and has been for the last month or so.
we tried to find him the other morning, the five of us knelt around that rose bush out in front of our house.
we lifted rocks and winter debris and as pajama clad legs got all tangled in and around each other, he became quiet...
i worried that he had hidden himself beneath a rock and an errant footstep had maybe ended his song in a rather permanent way, but when we all became still, barely breathing, he croaked out a few tentative notes one by one until his song began to echo out into the space around us again.
when i first heard him, i didn't quite understand - surely the frost and the chill should keep his song silent. but it didn't. he sang strong and loud, night after night after night, under a moon full and under the blackest sky.
he sings me to sleep.
we still can't find him.
oh, we sit still on that step with only the smallest of toes wiggling in anticipation. we wait to see if maybe he'll make an appearance so we can clap and cheer and call for an encore.
but that isn't why he sings.
he doesn't sing for praise or recognition,
i'm sure he doesn't even realize that he has been heard by these human ears that can't comprehend.
he sings because he was made to sing.
and his song gives glory to his Creator.
do you find yourself in a season where the moon has hidden her face?
where even the stars appear to have been extinguished and the sky is void of light and heavy with dread?
it's easy to quiet in those moments.
to become still and silent
and hide away.
but that beautiful soul that He placed inside,
the one that He redeemed and made new,
the place where His Spirit dwells and is now His very own...
it was made to sing.
the blackest of nights catches each note and holds fast to that melody and it lifts each trembling song, the one broken with tears and it catches the ear of God.
and even i may never understand the song He has placed deep inside, the one that He longs for me to sing out to Him.
but it is a song meant to give Him praise and to bring Him glory in the middle of a dark world that doesn't know Him.
there is a little amphibian huddled beneath my front step, lost somewhere in the rocks and winter debris.
he sings each night and early in the morning a song with no purpose that i can see.
but he sings.
and his song that croaks loud and steady and calls out in the night,
it winds around this heart and lifts my eyes to Jesus.
when it tilts...
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
it's when everything shifts and the world tilts in a dizzingly familiar way that all those old fears come back.
when the new slides back to old and you wonder what on earth He could possibly be doing.
and really, even if you did know, you might not understand because His ways are always higher, just like His thoughts are always His and all He is asking is that you trust.
because even when everything changes,
He doesn't.
He doesn't change.
why is it always so very hard for this heart to grasp that simple truth?
they get it, those three little ones of mine all tucked in their beds,
as we sit in a circle come morning time and sing our song that goes through the days of the week;
as we sing about this day that He has made,
just like we sang yesterday that He made that one too.
He's unchangeable,
even as life whirls around us and leaves us wide eyed.
He's an anchor that can hold us steady.
anything else that i cling to,
anything else i claim as security and strength crumbles in my hands as the temporal gives way to the mirage that it all really is.
nothing is sure but Him.
can i trust that?
can i really trust that?
can i trust that to say yes to a Wild and Unpredictable and Loving God means the very best for me, for us?
can i trust that when i step onto the path He has laid out before me, full of questions and fears, that He truly does hem us in behind and before and every step i take,
is taken with Him.
Very God walks with crumbly dust and He won't leave me, won't forsake us because we are engraved into His Hands.
yes, the earth may tremble beneath these feet of mine,
walls may give way,
but i wonder,
when everything crumbles around us,
is it all making way for the new things He is doing?
could that be the moment we are surrounded by those streams rushing through all the dry places deep inside?
so, let Him move what is underneath you,
let it tremble and break open into all the new ways He longs to love and lead you...
and trust Him,
because He Who Is, is true and sure and nothing can move One So Strong.
when the new slides back to old and you wonder what on earth He could possibly be doing.
and really, even if you did know, you might not understand because His ways are always higher, just like His thoughts are always His and all He is asking is that you trust.
because even when everything changes,
He doesn't.
He doesn't change.
why is it always so very hard for this heart to grasp that simple truth?
they get it, those three little ones of mine all tucked in their beds,
as we sit in a circle come morning time and sing our song that goes through the days of the week;
as we sing about this day that He has made,
just like we sang yesterday that He made that one too.
He's unchangeable,
even as life whirls around us and leaves us wide eyed.
He's an anchor that can hold us steady.
anything else that i cling to,
anything else i claim as security and strength crumbles in my hands as the temporal gives way to the mirage that it all really is.
nothing is sure but Him.
can i trust that?
can i really trust that?
can i trust that to say yes to a Wild and Unpredictable and Loving God means the very best for me, for us?
can i trust that when i step onto the path He has laid out before me, full of questions and fears, that He truly does hem us in behind and before and every step i take,
is taken with Him.
Very God walks with crumbly dust and He won't leave me, won't forsake us because we are engraved into His Hands.
yes, the earth may tremble beneath these feet of mine,
walls may give way,
but i wonder,
when everything crumbles around us,
is it all making way for the new things He is doing?
could that be the moment we are surrounded by those streams rushing through all the dry places deep inside?
so, let Him move what is underneath you,
let it tremble and break open into all the new ways He longs to love and lead you...
and trust Him,
because He Who Is, is true and sure and nothing can move One So Strong.
in the dark and quiet...
Sunday, March 18, 2012
regardless of who he turned out to be,
he began his life, hidden in the dark and quiet of his mother.
his tiny heartbeat fluttered beneath translucent skin
and before his mama even knew he was there,
he already had a name.
she was on the run,
with a small one in her womb when she met Him,
when she named Him,
called Him The God Who Sees Me,
because He did.
and He in turn,
names him inside her.
she knows Him as the God Who sees,
but he would always know Him as
God Hears...
he would be reminded every single time his name is spoken.
ishmael...
God Hears.
lost with his mama in the wilderness,
hidden beneath a bush while she turns away,
can't bear to see her son die in the heat.
she cries out, because sometimes that is all one can do in deep pain.
does she forget that He has His Eyes on her? did she forget His Voice that found her in that first wilderness she wandered in?
but it's his cry He hears.
He hears Ishmael's cry,
because He responds to His promises
and He opens her eyes to the water that He provides.
and i think of the dreams that He places within,
hidden in the dark and in the quiet...
unknown to anyone but Him.
and He has named them.
could we all be pregnant with an ishmael?
those dreams that surge with a heartbeat that only God Hears?
and when i feel unseen
unheard
and i place those hopes under wraps,
hide them away and choose to forget all He has done...
what if what i fear most is that i will remain in the wilderness?
what if?
can i still choose to,
will i still choose to live in a way, no matter how quiet,
how simple,
that glorifies Him - that brings honour to His Name?
this life,
this purpose,
what He has placed deep within and named...
i am filled and expectant with what He alone hears.
and when i find myself in my wilderness -
when what i dream seems to be dying,
let me remember that He hears what is deep within...
and He sees.
He sees me.
and He knows exactly where i am...
he began his life, hidden in the dark and quiet of his mother.
his tiny heartbeat fluttered beneath translucent skin
and before his mama even knew he was there,
he already had a name.
she was on the run,
with a small one in her womb when she met Him,
when she named Him,
called Him The God Who Sees Me,
because He did.
and He in turn,
names him inside her.
she knows Him as the God Who sees,
but he would always know Him as
God Hears...
he would be reminded every single time his name is spoken.
ishmael...
God Hears.
lost with his mama in the wilderness,
hidden beneath a bush while she turns away,
can't bear to see her son die in the heat.
she cries out, because sometimes that is all one can do in deep pain.
does she forget that He has His Eyes on her? did she forget His Voice that found her in that first wilderness she wandered in?
but it's his cry He hears.
He hears Ishmael's cry,
because He responds to His promises
and He opens her eyes to the water that He provides.
and i think of the dreams that He places within,
hidden in the dark and in the quiet...
unknown to anyone but Him.
and He has named them.
could we all be pregnant with an ishmael?
those dreams that surge with a heartbeat that only God Hears?
and when i feel unseen
unheard
and i place those hopes under wraps,
hide them away and choose to forget all He has done...
what if what i fear most is that i will remain in the wilderness?
what if?
can i still choose to,
will i still choose to live in a way, no matter how quiet,
how simple,
that glorifies Him - that brings honour to His Name?
this life,
this purpose,
what He has placed deep within and named...
i am filled and expectant with what He alone hears.
and when i find myself in my wilderness -
when what i dream seems to be dying,
let me remember that He hears what is deep within...
and He sees.
and He knows exactly where i am...
when the temperature drops...
Thursday, March 1, 2012
they stand tall and graceful on our kitchen table,
lost in sun and shadow, this gift unexpected calls for little hands to reach out and touch them.
she gives, because that is who she is.
even in the cold of a winter wind,
she gives.
and i pull the bundle of pussy willow sticks close,
arrange them in a mason jar and we sit in a circle around them.
have they never really ever seen them before?
i mean, they must have,
but they look at them with a wonder that amazes me
and they each ask if they can hold a branch.
and i watch tiny hands pet those grey, tiny buds
and i watch what is dead being cradled in the hands of the living.
and it happens, as we sit all gilded and golden in the sun,
that moment that helps me see those other moments just a tad bit clearer...
it can all seem so dead;
that hope, that desire, that wish for a different outcome.
it can all have been packed up and moved away and find you sitting there wondering where in the world your life went.
it can all change so very quickly.
and the snow flies again
and the temperature drops
and you stand at the window watching it all be buried again.
but could what seems like an ending,
be only a beginning?
doesn't new life always comes from a dead seed buried deep in the dirt?
sometimes you just have to lay it down for Him to raise up new life in you.
and in those in between moments ~
the ones that leave you feeling lost and forgotten and maybe slightly disoriented;
maybe they are ones meant to strengthen and remind that He is there - always, always there,
and in the dark, you find He lets you hold the hope of spring in your hands...
she gives, because that is who she is.
even in the cold of a winter wind,
she gives.
and i pull the bundle of pussy willow sticks close,
arrange them in a mason jar and we sit in a circle around them.
have they never really ever seen them before?
i mean, they must have,
but they look at them with a wonder that amazes me
and they each ask if they can hold a branch.
and i watch tiny hands pet those grey, tiny buds
and i watch what is dead being cradled in the hands of the living.
and it happens, as we sit all gilded and golden in the sun,
that moment that helps me see those other moments just a tad bit clearer...
it can all seem so dead;
that hope, that desire, that wish for a different outcome.
it can all have been packed up and moved away and find you sitting there wondering where in the world your life went.
it can all change so very quickly.
and the snow flies again
and the temperature drops
and you stand at the window watching it all be buried again.
but could what seems like an ending,
be only a beginning?
doesn't new life always comes from a dead seed buried deep in the dirt?
sometimes you just have to lay it down for Him to raise up new life in you.
and in those in between moments ~
the ones that leave you feeling lost and forgotten and maybe slightly disoriented;
maybe they are ones meant to strengthen and remind that He is there - always, always there,
and in the dark, you find He lets you hold the hope of spring in your hands...
~ But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you...Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.~
2 corinthians 4:7-12, 16-18
when one is lost...and found.
Monday, February 27, 2012
he is a little boy lost in the middle of a river of people pushing past him with their full carts and distracted faces.
he is a little boy scared, eyes wide open and tears streaming down a face held taut in panic.
he is a little boy frozen, only able to utter the one word buried deep in his heart.
he is a little boy calling for his mama.
and it registers in the moments that find me stopped still to gather my three around me. us part of this flow of humanity being herded towards the exit.
it's as the call for the maternal is wailed out into the space around us and my eyes automatically search out it's source.
and that man, the one who stands stoically every time i pass by his counter, the one whose humour was dry and sarcastic and threw me off guard all of those months ago when it was my turn to have my face plastered on that plastic, the one who i had assumed had no warm or caring bone in his body...
he rushes around that counter and reaches out his hand,
leads the trembling, tiny boy to a corner quiet and calm.
he bends low and asks for the mama's name and calls it out to the ones who have gathered to search.
and then?
he gathers the little one up in his arms and begins to rock with a rhythm meant to soothe.
have you been one lost in a rushing tide of people, decisions, changes or things?
have you been one scared - heart constricted with that terror of what you don't understand?
have you been one frozen - too shocked to even find the strength to move?
and you have seen Him, Jesus.
He's been in your background,
on the outskirts of your life.
you feel that He has let you down,
or He is too busy,
or too distant,
or maybe, just maybe, you think Him too unapproachable because of all that you have done.
so you let one encounter colour your perception
and you carry on
because everything moves so fast.
but then
you find yourself lost.
and all you can do is cry out that One Name...
and He is there,
rushing in to gather you close,
to pull you into His Peace in the midst of all that chaos
and to remind you of His tender Love that He gave up all to show.
and the one lost
becomes found,
cherished,
accepted,
dearly loved,
adopted,
holy,
pure,
made right,
His.
and when one is found by Him,
one cannot help but give thanks...
1273. breakfast with all 6 of us
1274. watching them run and watch His amazing creation
1275. the way Jesus shows His Love through this father here
1276. the way He stripped it all away
1277. our life to live here
1278. the way He forms a new family to surround
1279. those books at the bottom of the shelf
1280. a lost toy found
1281. their faces in sleep
1282. making dinner and giving it away
1283. making cookies and giving them away
1284. filling my arms up with their hugs
1285. directions written out so i can find my way
1286. homemade valentines
1287. a money gift slipped in with the rest
1288. getting up early
1289. resting and recovering instead of going out
1290. that trip to the park with friends
1291. extra help
1292. the way they join hands and pray
1293. that he always points out "mama's chair"
1294. cold glass of milk
1295. pages printed with black ink
1296. a clean toilet
1297. the friend who comes and takes my three because i had been sick all night
1298. that he loves like a father and sits with my three so i can keep sleeping until tony gets home
1299. that tony takes all three to class so i can keep resting
1300. the ladybug box that reminds us of nana
1301. the windows that let in the sun
1302. this table we eat and draw and rest on for the last 10 + years
1303. that phonecall
1304. eye drops for infected eyes
1305. being squished between liv and lyla before we all wake up
1306. that favorite cookbook
1307. that new read
1308. those knitting needles
1309. seeing my quirkiness passed on in my kids
1310. watching them talk to themselves in the mirror
1311. my smile reflected in the joy of his own
1312. that amyrillis bulb breaking open
1313. crumbs on the floor - we have food to eat!
1314. hope in conviction
1315. leaving "home"
1316. waiting on Him to show us where to go
1317. He places thanks in our mouths when it seems there is nothing to give thanks for
he is a little boy scared, eyes wide open and tears streaming down a face held taut in panic.
he is a little boy frozen, only able to utter the one word buried deep in his heart.
he is a little boy calling for his mama.
it's as the call for the maternal is wailed out into the space around us and my eyes automatically search out it's source.
and that man, the one who stands stoically every time i pass by his counter, the one whose humour was dry and sarcastic and threw me off guard all of those months ago when it was my turn to have my face plastered on that plastic, the one who i had assumed had no warm or caring bone in his body...
he rushes around that counter and reaches out his hand,
leads the trembling, tiny boy to a corner quiet and calm.
he bends low and asks for the mama's name and calls it out to the ones who have gathered to search.
and then?
he gathers the little one up in his arms and begins to rock with a rhythm meant to soothe.
have you been one lost in a rushing tide of people, decisions, changes or things?
have you been one scared - heart constricted with that terror of what you don't understand?
have you been one frozen - too shocked to even find the strength to move?
and you have seen Him, Jesus.
He's been in your background,
on the outskirts of your life.
you feel that He has let you down,
or He is too busy,
or too distant,
or maybe, just maybe, you think Him too unapproachable because of all that you have done.
so you let one encounter colour your perception
and you carry on
because everything moves so fast.
but then
you find yourself lost.
and all you can do is cry out that One Name...
and He is there,
rushing in to gather you close,
to pull you into His Peace in the midst of all that chaos
and to remind you of His tender Love that He gave up all to show.
and the one lost
becomes found,
cherished,
accepted,
dearly loved,
adopted,
holy,
pure,
made right,
His.
and when one is found by Him,
one cannot help but give thanks...
1273. breakfast with all 6 of us
1274. watching them run and watch His amazing creation
1275. the way Jesus shows His Love through this father here
1276. the way He stripped it all away
1277. our life to live here
1278. the way He forms a new family to surround
1279. those books at the bottom of the shelf
1280. a lost toy found
1281. their faces in sleep
1282. making dinner and giving it away
1283. making cookies and giving them away
1284. filling my arms up with their hugs
1285. directions written out so i can find my way
1286. homemade valentines
1287. a money gift slipped in with the rest
1288. getting up early
1289. resting and recovering instead of going out
1290. that trip to the park with friends
1291. extra help
1292. the way they join hands and pray
1293. that he always points out "mama's chair"
1294. cold glass of milk
1295. pages printed with black ink
1296. a clean toilet
1297. the friend who comes and takes my three because i had been sick all night
1298. that he loves like a father and sits with my three so i can keep sleeping until tony gets home
1299. that tony takes all three to class so i can keep resting
1300. the ladybug box that reminds us of nana
1301. the windows that let in the sun
1302. this table we eat and draw and rest on for the last 10 + years
1303. that phonecall
1304. eye drops for infected eyes
1305. being squished between liv and lyla before we all wake up
1306. that favorite cookbook
1307. that new read
1308. those knitting needles
1309. seeing my quirkiness passed on in my kids
1310. watching them talk to themselves in the mirror
1311. my smile reflected in the joy of his own
1312. that amyrillis bulb breaking open
1313. crumbs on the floor - we have food to eat!
1314. hope in conviction
1315. leaving "home"
1316. waiting on Him to show us where to go
1317. He places thanks in our mouths when it seems there is nothing to give thanks for
when the wind howls...
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
it's as the wind is howling on the eve of the first day of lent that i find myself bent over in the posture of prayer
the very God Who took on flesh,
and i feel Jesus near.
and vomit dripping from my hair.
barely able to catch my breath as my body gives in to what my stomach tries to lose
barely able to catch my breath as my body gives in to what my stomach tries to lose
and i can't see through the tears.
he has the blanket pulled back as i stumble into bed.
pulls me in close against him to calm the tremors that i can't seem to shake.
and it's in the brief respite that i catch a glimpse into what the season means.
we are sick with sin.
he has the blanket pulled back as i stumble into bed.
pulls me in close against him to calm the tremors that i can't seem to shake.
and it's in the brief respite that i catch a glimpse into what the season means.
we are sick with sin.
sin that consumes, sours our souls.
and the purging of that which makes us sick is ugly,
leaves us feeling raw and vulnerable
and barely able to lift one's head.
and all i want is a glass of water.
and all i want is a glass of water.
all my soul really needs is the Person Who calls Himself the Living Water -
when i bring my sin-sickness to Him and ask Him to clean my heart all out,
to heal me...
and when He does
He fills me up with Himself.
He fills me up with Himself.
the very God Who took on flesh,
experienced hunger and pain and sorrow and death,
gives of Himself to quench the parched places left over from the ravages of sin.
so i take it in,
so i take it in,
even as my body rebels through the early hours of the morning,
as i feel my humanness - the truth that i am dust - as the dark of the night becomes the dawn of ash wednesday...
i let the words penned by paul that i am trying to plant deep wash over me as i press the cool, wet cloth against my face,
i let the words penned by paul that i am trying to plant deep wash over me as i press the cool, wet cloth against my face,
...being strengthened with all power according to His glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father Who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of His holy people in the kingdom of light. for He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves, in Whom there is redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
colossians 1:11-14
and i feel Jesus near.
lessons in the messy...
Friday, February 17, 2012
he comes home to find me a mess.
packages of chicken thighs that normally hold a set amount all wrapped up in prepackaged plastic are each missing one and they need to be in the oven five minutes ago.
the floor that i had vacuumed at 10 was a disaster again by 4
the children that had been shouting all morning were now full on fighting
and my last nerve
was
being
stretched
very
thin.
he walks in the door to find his wife barely holding it together.
or maybe,
if i'm to be honest,
not holding it together at all.
he walks into the kitchen and stands in my way.
on purpose.
won't budge from that spot as i try and force my way around him,
exhaling loudly
and sighing impatiently
and biting my lip so i don't cry.
he knows this.
because he knows me.
and he keeps standing there.
he knows why i'm about to fall apart.
the microwave beeps
and the third package of chicken is laid down and pulled apart.
i oil and stuff and salt and pepper and place them on that rack
and set them all into the oven.
and that's when he says something,
they put their pants on this morning one leg at a time,
just like us.
and i want to laugh and cry and i did a little bit,
because it's true.
in this year hollowed out and named new
i was trying to stuff it up full with the hurt from the old...
i forgot that what He spoke in the dark of the first month
can still apply in the chaos of the second.
that when He asks us to abide, we can trust that He knows
and those new roads He leads us on have been traveled by His feet first.
it's safe to trust Him...
even when you are scared to.
even when you have been hurt before.
even when the landscape around you leaves you feeling disorientated at the oddest of times.
He is trustworthy.
and even if you have lost it all
but you still have Him...
you have Everything.
and those new roads through those new places?
they lead closer to Him...
packages of chicken thighs that normally hold a set amount all wrapped up in prepackaged plastic are each missing one and they need to be in the oven five minutes ago.
the floor that i had vacuumed at 10 was a disaster again by 4
the children that had been shouting all morning were now full on fighting
and my last nerve
was
being
stretched
very
thin.
he walks in the door to find his wife barely holding it together.
or maybe,
if i'm to be honest,
not holding it together at all.
he walks into the kitchen and stands in my way.
on purpose.
won't budge from that spot as i try and force my way around him,
exhaling loudly
and sighing impatiently
and biting my lip so i don't cry.
he knows this.
because he knows me.
and he keeps standing there.
he knows why i'm about to fall apart.
the microwave beeps
and the third package of chicken is laid down and pulled apart.
i oil and stuff and salt and pepper and place them on that rack
and set them all into the oven.
and that's when he says something,
they put their pants on this morning one leg at a time,
just like us.
and i want to laugh and cry and i did a little bit,
because it's true.
in this year hollowed out and named new
i was trying to stuff it up full with the hurt from the old...
i forgot that what He spoke in the dark of the first month
can still apply in the chaos of the second.
that when He asks us to abide, we can trust that He knows
and those new roads He leads us on have been traveled by His feet first.
it's safe to trust Him...
even when you are scared to.
even when you have been hurt before.
even when the landscape around you leaves you feeling disorientated at the oddest of times.
He is trustworthy.
and even if you have lost it all
but you still have Him...
you have Everything.
and those new roads through those new places?
they lead closer to Him...
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...
philippians 3:8-9a
when He woos a heart already His own...
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
He woos me on valentines day.
He doesn't have to.
He has already won my heart.
this heart that has a tendency to burn so hot and freeze ice cold.
maybe that is a reason He keeps drawing me to Himself,
closer to the heat of His Love,
so that i'll burn with the wonder of Him again.
it happens after i repeat the words from memory that i have been planting deep.
speak them out loud to the one who calls me daughter while my 3 little ones listen close.
six weeks in and twelve verses rolling with a rhythm off of this tongue,
i turn that page to the thirteenth one as the house settles and quiets
and i look at the words held in these hands.
i can't help but stare at this valentine He has given.
because no matter how one looks at it, it is exactly what it is.
it's no i choo-choo-choose you written on red and placed on a school-girl's desk.
no.
it's been written in red and offered up to anyone who will receive.
for He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness
and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves,
in Whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.
colossions 1:13-14
i lay my head next to tony's in the quiet.
look into his eyes and see him for who he really is.
i reach out my fingers and trace his lips.
this man who gave up everything for me, for our family.
this man who gave up job, reputation, income, home...
gave it all up so that we could live out from under the shadow of death and brokenness.
he gave it all up for the love of the ones under this roof over our heads.
and He woos me,
through the love of my husband that reflects His Own so powerfully;
through His Words printed on paper and planted deep in my heart.
and it was those fairy tales and stories that i stopped believing in so long ago,
but it is the truth and beauty of His Love that quickens my heart and catches my breath now.
and it's through both:
the shadow of dreams and tales juxtaposed next to
the Truth of His Love,
that i have learned...
a heart caught in the stranglehold of distress need never fear.
can your spirit hear it?
The One named Faithful and True is fighting for you...
when it's not very loud...
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
i have stood on a frozen field with my face lifted up to a night sky alive and dancing with the blues and greens and purples of the northern lights.
and i have felt the awe of Him.
i have stood on the edge of the land beneath my feet and felt the crash of the waves of an ocean pounding deep.
and i have been shaken with the proof of His power.
i have listened to the wind whip itself into a frenzy, watched the black clouds above me swirl and green and form into the beginnings of a funnel that has one seeking safety.
and i have wondered for His mercy.
i have laid my body down 3 times and listened as another's heartbeat deep within me has filled the air that surrounds me.
and i have known Him as Creator.
but.
it's when harsh words have been loudly spoken,
when one of us is firmly planted in the hall,
the other braced in against the kitchen sink,
and pain flying in all that space between...
when i find myself on the floor of our closet,
tears pouring down and i hear that door open...
when he lowers himself
and brings us both to the same level;
when he says those words that break through the ice,
reaches out his hands,
asks me to look into his eyes,
and we forgive each other...
it's in those moments,
the ones void of lights and noise and movement...
the simple ones
that i come to know Him as
Healer,
Redeemer,
Friend.
and He is there
and so intimately close
in the hush of a gentle whisper...
and i have felt the awe of Him.
i have stood on the edge of the land beneath my feet and felt the crash of the waves of an ocean pounding deep.
and i have been shaken with the proof of His power.
i have listened to the wind whip itself into a frenzy, watched the black clouds above me swirl and green and form into the beginnings of a funnel that has one seeking safety.
and i have wondered for His mercy.
i have laid my body down 3 times and listened as another's heartbeat deep within me has filled the air that surrounds me.
and i have known Him as Creator.
but.
it's when harsh words have been loudly spoken,
when one of us is firmly planted in the hall,
the other braced in against the kitchen sink,
and pain flying in all that space between...
when i find myself on the floor of our closet,
tears pouring down and i hear that door open...
when he lowers himself
and brings us both to the same level;
when he says those words that break through the ice,
reaches out his hands,
asks me to look into his eyes,
and we forgive each other...
it's in those moments,
the ones void of lights and noise and movement...
the simple ones
that i come to know Him as
Healer,
Redeemer,
Friend.
and He is there
and so intimately close
in the hush of a gentle whisper...
when the reminder needs to be revisited...
Monday, February 6, 2012
and it's been a whole year since we left our yellow house,
and our life
behind.
packed it all up and stepped out into the complete and open unknown.
it's been a whole year and a little bit more and still, in a sunny room in the early hours of this morning, she grieves.
and it takes me back to that night, the one 12 months and 9 days ago and as i hold her close, i remind her of where her tears are kept until He can wipe them all away...
all three had been tucked in and prayed over. lights had been turned out and night-lights had been switched on. lullabies had been sung and kisses pressed against sleepy-sweet skin.
i walked out of the last room and headed up the stairs.
an hour later, she was still whimpering, still trying not to cry...
tony came near and asked me to go in and talk with her..
.she needed me.
i climbed onto her bed, the one cocooned under another and brought my face close to hers.
mama, what's wrong with me?
i looked down at my girl, the one who would be one whole hand in 3 short days and i felt it, the bracing against the question...
mama, what is wrong with my heart? why is it hurting?
olivia climbed up too, curled herself into my lap, reached out her hand to stroke lyla's face like i was. unsure of the why but knowing that comfort was needed.
oh baby...you heart is hurting because you miss home. your heart misses your friends and your pink and orange and brown room and everything that felt familiar.
the wail that followed the explanation was unexpected, but needed. she needed to get the feelings out.
so we held her, olivia and i. we held her and wiped her tears and let her cry and cry and cry...
she looked into my eyes, several long moments later...like she did the first time i held her in my arms. when she blinked up at me, unfazed by the bright hospital lights that greeted her entrance. that first moment when she experienced her first separation...
and i knew, He wanted me to speak words of life into her.
and so i grasped at the only ones my mind held ready,
You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears
in Your bottle. are they not in Your book?
psalm 56:7
and her eyes, the ones i have loved since the moment i first gazed into them, grew big and full of wonder,
is it a big bottle?
she placed her ear over my heart, relaxing to the cadence of a steady beat that whispers out a rhythm of love for her as i spoke the words over her sleepy head...words that every hurting heart desperately needs to hear,
the Lord is close to the brokenhearted
and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
psalm 34:18
and her eyelids grew heavy and olivia sagged in my arms and i brought blankets up around chins and kissed noses and rested my hands on curled backs and prayed.
thankful that childish tears and pain are so easily soothed by a tender word, a soft kiss and gentle back-rub. thankful that we still have each other, that comfort is still sought and so easily given. thankful for hearts that love strong and deep.
and i wonder why and when does pain become too big and too much to be soothed by the tender word from a loving God. when did i lose that child-like trust that i can take all of my hurts to the Creator of the world He placed me in and believe and know that He would take care of it...of me?
so, i turn my ear to find His heartbeat. the Heart that loved me enough to stop beating for three days so that mine could beat full for Him...
(edited repost)
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