catch it if you can

Lightning bugs arise like steam out of the tall grass. The setting sun is draping gold silk over the trees. It's serene for a split second. Summer has been kind so far. Merciful.

The clothesline is stretched naked but for the pins drooping below. No breeze to blow dry. I don't mind; I am too moody for laundry, anyhow.

Little eyes with rings of gold and lashes long, smile at me. Bright white frames them like matted fine art.

Masterpiece.

Priceless.

I'm tired, but I've just enough muscle to wrangle in a moment. I catch it like a lightning bug in the palm of my hand. They're similar: both flash for a wink and then you lose sight in between.

My moment lit up and glowed verdant with life. Now it's peering into the dusk until it comes again.

I'll keep watch.

help-meet

Help-meet.

It is still so foreign a concept to me. Still eludes me after nearly two decades as my job description.

I break it down: this compound word, this complex role, this verb on verb that creates a noun.

I am those verbs.

I am that noun.

I look at the beginning, when God created man and woman.

'God said it was not good for man to be alone."

It's hinting at me through the Bible story narrator, playing on the TV. There’s a little girl watching, wide-eyed. I have to smirk. I feel God winking at me.

Keep reminding me of your perfect plan. Tell me what you intended in the beginning, in the beauty of the Garden.

He takes me back to another beginning.

18 years ago come July, I sat my hippy self on a stone bench parked in the shade of the heart of town. I tucked my ankles under my thighs and began to write…and wait.

I was thinking about a young man who had eyes like mine. They looked familiar, like home, but a home yet to be built. My head lifted and scanned the distance all around, looking. I was waiting for him to come. Like a silly, giddy girl, I was waiting to meet him.

I knew his name, his dusty red truck, and his eyes. That was all, really. But I wanted to know more. So I positioned myself to where I could be easily seen - easily found.

I figured that's all I could do. I didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or where he was going. But I went the furthest distance I could go to find him, which was to let him easily find me, waiting for him.

I began to write in my journal, fighting to keep my attention on the pen and page. I eventually got lost in the words and wonder of what came spilling out. And just about that time, I took a breath and lifted my head to find him sauntering towards me. His hands were deep in his baggy shorts pockets; his hair was curled up around the edge of his hat.

He had found me. I blushed, a little embarrassed at being discovered.

He played it so cool, came and sat down right next to me, not saying a word. I looked him in the eye and immediately confessed, "...I knew you were coming."

We both smiled and stared into eyes, stunned. Warmth filled my belly. Who was this I was longing to meet?

What did I really know? I just knew he would find me there. Wondered if he had been looking for me, like I had been looking for him. Wondered why I was looking for him?

He had been all over town over the course of a couple days. He had circled around in his little red truck, hoping to find a putrid green Audie Fox wagon with a pixie-haired red head.

He was my stop sign, red.

I was his green light, go.

We met in the middle of stalling and seeking; intersected at a four way stop in the heart of town, the prime of our lives.

And now it's many journals and seasons later. Summers have simmered us and the winters have shown us the barrenness of our souls. I'm still learning how to meet him, help him, and love him. Learning how to keep showing up, searching out; how to be ready to welcome him - invite him into this home that I was built by God to be.

I've come at it from a dozen different angles, at different speeds. But only when my knees are burrowed into the earth, and my head is nearly resting on my back in reverence, am I able to even to do it remotely close to well.

Yet I am called his help-meet.

I'm to meet him well beyond myself, past comfort zones and into the most vulnerable voids. I'm to go as far as he will allow me, stretching myself, reaching, barely brushing with my fingertips at times - spanning a near impossible breadth. I am to meet him where our God-given free wills kiss and consummate.

I'm to meet him even if a no is given, when nothing is given, when indifference and elusiveness try to keep me at bay. I'm meant to meet him when busyness and offense try to choke out love. Even then, I keep trying to find him, connect with him, and meet with him. I keep coming, even in my own seeking, crucifying my pride, and making myself of service.

And this is how I help.

Help to take the distance out of the equation; to span the space in between simple and sacred. Help to take the miles we've tarried and make them work for us, not against us.

And I must not be God or attempt to venture into the intricate knitting of His hands. But I can desire to be like God, and search out my husband with His inexhaustible grace. I can get in front of him, stand vulnerable before him, bow low and wash his feet with prayer. I can pull him into my chest and bring him home. Give comfort, safety, rest.

I was created by Him, for him, because God said it was not good for him to be without me. I have called this into question more times than I can recall. I've scratched my head and clenched my jaw over it. I have agreed and disagreed, agreed to disagree. I've been stumped and bewildered, content and convinced. I've choked this truth down, chased it with some prayer, only to vomit it back up with my own pain. I've indicted God and His wisdom. And yet His wisdom proves true:

I am for him. I was made for him.

I have cried tears of resentment, spit rebellion, at His decree that my desire would be for my husband. Oh, the divine weakness of longing for something for a lifetime! Surely it was a curse, a cruel joke that assured me that I would never be fulfilled, that my ache would always throb. I have grappled in angst with this imposed posture upon my heart.

But, my desire IS for my Husband - my Husband in heaven. And my longings all lie open in safety before Him. I can trust Him, despite being setup for submission; in light of this command to stay on my back, to stay open, ready to receive.

Is He not the servant of all? Arms opened wide, He dangled on a cross, choosing to remain there, to receive it all and submit it all.

I can trust Him.

Stay put, heart.

Stay open, soul.

But who will meet me? Help me?  My insecurity begs.

He has met me. He has helped me. He has made Himself easily found by me. He's done for me what I must do for my husband. He's been for me what my husband must be for me.

He is for us. We are for Him. And it is good.

Very, very good.

today is a story

We've got stories to tell...
          ...testimonies to shout out over the seeking and sinking.

We've got a world of words...
          ...a universe of unspoken, longing to materialize in our mouths.

We've got chapters and books and volumes...
          ...pages and paragraphs; characters and spaces.

We've got hurts and heroes...
          ...victories and villains.

We've got mysteries that bewilder...
          ...romance to awaken and bloom brave, beautiful.

We've got pain and process...
          ...lessons, loss, and gain on a loop called life.

We've got pleasures that curl the toes...
          ...joy that flows; hope that soars; faith that defies all.

We've got real and we've got raw...
          ...words never uttered aloud; words held captive.

We've got right now - today - in this present place...
          ...to gather and savor...
                    ...to give and partake...
                              ...to live and disclose...

We've got stories to tell...

just do it

That thing... 

You know what it is. 

The one you've been putting off, tossing excuses at? 

Do it. 

And do it with naked confidence.

Yesterday

Not long into the morning and it begins, and I think crowded. I feel tethered to meager means. The map in my mind rolls up like a scroll and I start with the shallow breaths. I feel entirely too obtuse between this rock and hard place, and my perspective is lost on that magnificent mountain obscuring my view of the wide-open space.

And then it comes, this crisp swell of spacious grace – a greater grace and reality. There it is. Right on time, like manna from heaven. It fills my lungs, floods my soul, sweeps me off my feet and places me right back in the moment I was in. 

Heaven is here. Heaven is now. 

I make crazy circles, from little to large, and back again. But right now I'm small, and He can be big as He is. 

So, that’s it.  I decide, I’m not waiting for ‘real’ life to begin… to get easier… to be kind. What is that, anyway? I have waited and have found that life does not wait for me. It happens, is happening, will carry on with no regard for my position or petitions.

By noon I hang rung-out clothes on the line. I spend my energy to save a little. I stack folded towels high, where sticky paws cannot reach to topple. I catch a glimpse of my frizzy hair, bangs swept along a perspiring brow. I’m not polished, or even showered. But I’m happy. Heaven has washed up onto my shore. I feel it. It’s a wave of contentment. It’s gratitude. It’s a modest minute gone regal: a careless head of hair, a sink full of grimy dishes, a storm door adorned with fingerprints and a back porch laundered with stinky diapers. 

Heaven - right here and now.

I dodge 4 cats underfoot, find budding tomatoes on the vine and rub basil leaves between my fingers while I take long, deep breaths. No more shallow breathing when the air is full of truth and your mind is clear. 

My green eyes glitter over purple berries kissed with sunshine, well on their way to becoming black and sweet. I look up to see if the birds are aware. They see from on high, perceive the ripe hour. Heaven knows all about time. 

Everything is alive and now heaven feels like goose bumps on my skin from the sun poured out over me. The Son, poured out for me. 

He’s alive now I'm alive.

The husband lingers over lunch, his name on the pocket of his work shirt; three letters, simple and stitched on his chest in blue. His hands and neck are dark with work. When he walks by, my heart still stirs. Still. I just don't always show it. His white t-shirt glows next to his skin. My busy hands look porcelain to his. 

I’m distracted with his hands. I daydream of holding them, kissing them. I do hold them, kiss them - seems just as vulnerable and intimate as the mouth. Strength and tenderness both held there. 

He is stronger than I know, has borne the brunt of many storms. More steady than I, only shaky while speaking words from the heart.

I secretly recycle a holy moment in my mind, right there, midday, over a sink of messy with my back turned. Love grows there. Respect grows there.

I've been a foolish woman at times; torn down a man who stood taller than me. Thought I could wrestle him and win. He beats me by endurance, wins me with faithfulness. I have a little strength, but I have not always wielded it wisely. I have spent it on perishing things, like worry and fear. 

He prays that I would trust more, that I would feel love, more. It’s just a few words but perfectly discerned. 

Trust more. 

Feel loved more.

I grab the last basket of laundry as the day slips between the hanging towels. It blows right through with a whisper of a breeze. I let my arms fall limp, grip the earth with my dusty feet, and allow the south wind to blow my tired hair however it pleases. 

I just go with it, in the standstill. 

I’m not moving but I feel the flight of life. And it is faithful to do what it does. It just keeps taking place.

It’s in the unassuming moments that I discover how extraordinary it all really is. The finite, it waves me onward to eternity. 

This is real life, and I’m not missing it.

Roaring God

“Courage, dear heart.” - Aslan

(C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader)

 

The man of God gave the call for prayer. My 12 year old made her way to the front, no prodding required. I watched her get up and go. Her eyes never hesitated, never looked for permission. She just went. She was the youngest, standing at the back, waiting for her turn for prayer.

I eventually joined her, as the wait was long, doing the mommy thing. I put my arm around her. Her eyes were glossy with moisture; she seemed sheepish. I leaned over and hugged her, kissed her head. She was shaking. I inquired. She filled me in through tears and with fumbling words.

On the wall to the left of her was a large red banner with an embroidered gold lion. She pointed to it. Told me that the Lion's eyes were glowing, catching her eye. She would glance back and forth. Then finally, the Lion roared at her. She heard it, on the inside. And when she heard it, it shook her to the core.

"I'm so small and weak, mom. He's so big!"

Oh, the revelation of a BIG GOD and a small man...

She began to weep. Told me her knees were weak. Said her legs wouldn't stop shaking, almost like she had to dance. Does His roar demand our worship? When He roars, what is our response?

My baby girl's response was humility. She was humbled in the presence of a Great God. Her response was to worship, to move before the One who moved upon her.

The man of God spoke of Daniel. Spoke of his devotion and consecration to the Lord. Probably age 13 or 14, refusing to defile himself with Babylon. She was wide-eyed through the charge. She knew. This was her portion. What grace...

He placed his hand on her head, began to impart the charge in prayer. Saw her, as Lucy, holding the mane of Aslan. Aslan, (Jesus) leading her, giving her courage. He asked her if she could have one thing from God, what would it be? She said, "Courage." She cried as she told him that she wanted to be a bolder witness for Jesus. To tell the voices in her head that say she is too young, she is just a kid, to hush up. I stood to the side, taking it all in. May I always stand to the side, Jesus. She said she saw herself, riding the Lion, in a green meadow, playing the flute (she does play the flute) and going wherever He goes. When prayer was over, she sat down, taking it all in. Me too, with heart overflowing.

Then the shoes came off. The socks came off. Then she danced. Not in a showy fashion, but tucked away in the back. She danced so beautifully, just for Jesus. She gave what His roar demands - worship.
 

"Do not be afraid." - Jesus

 

 

your mother's pearls

There is so much I want to give, so much I want to impart, instill. Like a hammer striking a stake into the earth, I long to secure some foundational truths in my girls.

Four little women and a plethora of shoes, hair ties and nail polish, and all the female trappings strewn haphazardly through my life, my home.

What lessons do they learn?

What message do they receive?

What value do they place on their lives, their destinies, their relationship with their Maker?

A mama can only hope and pray, in the wee hours of the night, during the early morning feedings, in the exhaustion of the hustle and bustle. Feels like I swing from limb to limb at times, stretching far, reaching high, hoping we make it, hoping they all make it to wherever it is that God is taking them.

I know this much, it is greater and higher than here. It is more than what I can give, more than what I've ever had, more than any of us can even fathom or imagine. Their portion is greater, their inheritance to be more than I have ever touched or tasted. God is a God of 'more than' and for that, we are eternally receiving more.

So I teach.

As I learn, I teach.

And they teach me.

Oh, how they teach me! Life is the test and the Word of God is the answer key.

Every day scenarios, jotting out left and right, "Use me! Use me!" Life is chock-full of lessons and tests. Life is the curriculum. I bring it before the children and I say, "What do you see here?" And they astonish me. They amaze me. Out of the mouths of babes...

Then I say, "You see rightly." And other times I say, "You are not seeing this." And then I teach, instruct, train up, drive them nutty with my teacher-y tone. And I do it so weak. I do it so messy. I do it with whatever grace He has allotted me. I know there is much more for me.

God, pray I do not forfeit the very muscle you've given me to be who you've called me to be, to do what you've called me to do. I am raising little women who will one day be wives and mothers, leaders and teachers, missionaries and servants. I'm to raise heaven up and pull hell down. Lord, help and do in spite of me.

Boys. Men. Four times over we will do this. Who will you give your heart to? Who will you give your body to? Who will you give your life to?

This is the subject matter. God, first and foremost. God, above and ahead of. God, perfect and without disappointment.

He will keep you, girls. He is 'more than' able to keep you, all of you. Yes, even the most vulnerable parts of you. You are a garden locked, a spring enclosed, a fountain sealed.

You are worth the waiting for. Do not awaken love before it is time. Who you enter into marital covenant with is the biggest decision you will make in your life, outside of following Christ. And so here are a few pearls, girls. Kiss them, draw them together as a treasure, wear them, hold onto them. You are adorned with truth.

Marry a man who can tell you no, who does not fear you more than God.

Marry a man who is what he does, and not what he says he is. The words of men are fleeting. They do not stand. A man's deeds will speak for him.

What is potential if not sanctified by and set into action by God himself? It is nothing worth hoping for as it will be only hoping you will do the rest of your life.

Marry a man who fears the Lord, whose hands and heart have been dipped in the Blood, washed in the Word.

Marry a man who honors and blesses his mother, his grandmothers, his sisters.

Marry a man whose reputation speaks of his integrity, who works with diligence, whose hands and work are established by the beauty of the Lord.

Marry a man who cares for the poor, as his household will never go without.

Cleave to the man who fights for your honor, who would never compromise your name, who brings good to you, always.

Give yourself to a man who has kept himself pure, for you, as you have for him. A man who has made a covenant with his eyes, before the Lord.

Hold tight to the man who calls you higher up in the things of God, who calls you out in tenderness, who draws you low with him in acts of humility and service.

Say yes to the man who defends the innocent, the weak, the alien.

Hold fast to the man who when he speaks, men listen.

Hold out for the man who has been hand-crafted by the Lord to lead you, guide, you, speak truth to you, protect you, provide for you.

You are worth it and he is worth waiting for. God is not holding out on you, He is holding you up so that you can see all the greatness and goodness He has laid up for you.

Your worth is far beyond rubies.

You are cherished and a delight in the Lord's heart.

Believe it.

Receive it.

Live it.

real

for the hard places

a moment

I found myself taking deep breaths this morning, wanting to suck up all the atmosphere, every  single moment, to hold them in my chest, force them through my veins, keep them with me where they can't be taken. This is holy. Life is holy.

I hear my grandparents' wind chime singing to me outside from the front porch.

"Re.mem.ber...re.mem.ber..." That's what the chimes beckon. I hear my grandma's voice like an angel's. I agree that I will. I will remember.

Found myself confessing to a daughter that I am quite ridiculous at times; yes, forgetful and ungrateful. I'm sorry. I don't deserve this good but He says otherwise. I must always agree, especially when it doesn't add up. Easy to do when it falls in my favor.

I've kissed cheeks extra long and hard today. I looked a bit longer at eyebrows and teeth and freckles. Subtle changes, I don't want to go unaware. I've cried at least three times now. Mother's Day. A day to be. A day to see. A day to remember.

I was given a compliment so generous it made me blush. When God says this is who I am, in all of my weakness and inability...blatant deficiencies...in all of my begging to not do what is known, to be something that I've not yet known...just agree. Just agree with grace, in faith, that you will be just what he says. That you already are, in the greater reality.

My hands, heart, home, all full. I look longer the shorter my days become. It's such a whirlwind but there are altars that will not be moved. There are moments that are consecrated in my heart, unto the Lord. And in between the few of these are many, many wasted moments that I cannot recoup, that I cannot even recall. What I gather, in all the fullness, is really just a handful. I simply cannot take it all in, in the span of this one life. I am blessed. Unashamedly I say, I am blessed.

The Tale of the Traveling Teal Maternity Top

Once upon a time there was the perfectly teal maternity top. This wasn't just any top, let me tell you. She {yes, she} was fairy-tale ideal in texture, length, color and especially fit. She covered the bulging belly modestly when none other could. She seemed to be the top that went the distance. In Jesus speak, this top went the second mile - you know, the ninth 'inning' stretch, through the end times of pregnancy when all the bowls (take your pick: ice cream, salad, noodle...) are being poured out. Yet, this maternity shirt was clearly sealed by God himself, having no stain or residue to speak of. {A moment of silence for all the maternity tops lost to oil and vinegar salad dressing. *pause*...and a Shout stain remover 'Spray Salute' in remembrance.}

If memory serves me right, (it most often forgets to serve me at all) this bargain beauty has humble roots, being a yard sale find, rescued by Mom Karum - or something of that nature. Despite this rocky start and clearly being underestimated by the yard sale SELLER, this shirt has held her weight (and ours, too!) with the perfect blend of polyester and cotton, having both give and comfort. It's kind of like heaven and earth kissing but minus the sloppy wet kiss part. (or unforeseen kiss, per the radio version) Now, there was a somewhat outdated crocheted, scalloped collar, {don't we all have a little something we'd like to change about ourselves?} but given all of her pros, it didn't deter us from proudly sporting her at our longest hour. Oh, no. This girl has got some miles on her! She has journeyed through nearly every child (roughly 11), has been to Thailand and back, has endured leaks and snot and tugs and crushing weight, without even so much as a whimper. She's been an old, faithful friend that has grown right along with us, through thick and thin. {but mostly thick}

And so, this old gal has done a tremendous job of covering our backs (pun intended) and surely deserves some sort of glorified preservation ceremony in not only our hearts but also our childbearing stories. She has been a part of every season of the pregnant (and nursing) soul. Been vollied back and forth and shall finally be laid to rest with the best of 'em. {In good fashion, I might add, which is fitting. Oh, another clever pun!}

And so we pay tribute to the Traveling Teal Maternity Top that has loved us so well, held onto us as we held out for nine months. We honor the Honors brand and say, THANK YOU, from the bottom of our bellies, for always covering ours, no matter the season or fit! Rest in peace, treasured pal and tale.

With mucho respeto,

Tab and Amy

the cross

It is my heart's meditation...

buy the truth, sell it not

A few truths I have been taking consolation in...

Jesus is a beautiful intercessor and he put himself between me and the accuser, on purpose.

Jesus bore every emotional/physical/spiritual whipping for every man who has ever lived and will ever live. He EVER LIVES to make intercession for me.

Jesus did not open his mouth to defend himself when accused. His extreme display of humility...I have no way to comprehend this. Awakens more love in my heart for Him.

Jesus was not afraid of what man could do to him. He knew not self-preservation.

Self-preservation will actually kill you; a silent, lonely death.

Anger is only as powerful as I allow it to be. I don't have to feed it, fuel it or respond to it.

It is not OK to spiritualize dysfunction. I must agree with the cross over its deadly wages and the provision for the healing of it.

Unsanctified mercy will not bring a pardon on the day we stand before the One whose eyes are like fire. Do not give it, do not receive it.

Relational codependency is not the same as unconditional love. One enables, the other empowers.

Often times emotional manipulators guilt, marginalize, dismiss, or discredit so as to maintain the upper hand, to gain control.

I never have to be emotionally manipulated when Christ has made a better way.

Sowing and reaping is such a painful/glorious process.

Before something can experience resurrection power, there must be a death.

What is in my heart will always come out of my mouth. No man can tame the tongue.

Change always equals conflict.

The right choice is always the hard choice; the one that requires more time, energy, resource, faith than I have on tap. But there is grace...

The Father will never play the victim. Even when I have torn his heart in two, He maintains His posture, His promise to be steadfast in love.

The LORD suffers so long. It is endearing to me. So patient. So kind.

If I am a son, I endure discipline. If my life is unruly, I must examine my heart.

Jesus has a jealous jealousy over my life. Others may, I cannot. My life is not my own.

Pruning is so severe at times but those who produce fruit are the ones who get the pruning. It is a double-edged sword resulting in life and death.

There is a peace that passes understanding, that touches untouchable depths.

It is good to get real with God.

There is real grace that gives real power to live in real victory.

I must not have more excuses than truth.

I must not take consolation in a lie.

I labor to rest in Him.

I labor to lay hold of the joy set before me; Christ crucified.

I am rich, rich, rich in friendship.

I have communion deep with my Father.
Guilt is an awful motivator and it whips its slaves.

I have asked my children to forgive me for the times I've tried to emotionally manipulate them with anger, fear or great big emotions.

I have asked my Father to forgive me for my doubt of what He is able to do, of what He is able to cure.

I have found that letting go and falling into grace is the scariest but safest place.

There is a supernatural grace and freedom that come when you entrust God with your relationships. Even the one you have with Him.

Sometimes to save a thing, you must be willing to let it die entirely. This takes great faith and prayerful watching and waiting.

Saying no to fear and control require a setting of my will, a conscience/cerebral decision that eventually work their way through my heart and spirit and penetrate the way I live my daily life.

Forgiveness is blessed. To give it, to receive it.

Never give up hope. Ever.

I will stand before God one day, accountable for every idle word and deed. Holy terror and comfort.

God cares most about how I treat those that He has entrusted to me; my children.

My Father is not angry with me. I am a son and will never suffer the Father's wrath.

Wisdom is learning from the mistakes/prudence of others.

Mercy triumphs over judgement.

My God is gracious, slow to anger and rich in love.

The Lord will never do my part and He will not require me to do His. I must cooperate with grace.

Trust is established in truth. You cannot build on a lie.

Jesus didn't endure what He did so that I could live a defeated, deflated, dysfunctional life. He came that I would have life and life abundant!

Repentance is a requirement for true peace and pardon. It is conditional.

The road is narrow...very, very narrow.

His promise to me is greater than.

Christ's body is beautiful because it was broken for my sanctification. I don't have to live as a bond servant to sin but rather, a bond servant to Love.

Obedience is costly but disobedience is more costly.

Jesus had not one who could rightly discern Him...and He was the son of God, perfect in every way.

The measure we use to weigh a man is the measure we will be weighed.
Turning the other cheek, going the second mile...

Bless those who curse you. Always.

He makes everything beautiful. He makes all things new.

Hurting people hurt people. Jesus died for both.

God is able and willing to turn my world upside down, in order to have every part. I am OWNED!

Truth is a refuge.

Nothing...NOTHING...is impossible with God. Does my life echo this?

Every motive of the heart is laid bare before Him.

We may fool ourselves but we can never fool God.

There is nothing more cleansing than a good heart to heart with my Father.

My Father is healthy. Healing.

My Father loves when I love Him with my choices, honor Him with my words, obey Him with my life.

My Father is a good, good Father and His leadership over my life is perfect. I can trust Him. He is able to keep me. Always and forever!

perspective

Lord, have mercy. I'm so forgetful. I'm so unable to keep perspective, and not just in trials but in the mundane. Ann Voskamp calls it soul amnesia, the inability to remember all the good, the God. Perhaps there is a pill that can cure me; a corrective soul surgery that forever corrects all that's skewed? Help, I need a doctor! I need the Healer.

Are any irritations ever truly valid? I mean, really? Any demand made on my time, does that not mean I posses time? Any demand on my body, does that not mean I have health and lungs full of air? Any demands for grace/forgiveness/mercy, am I not positioned to receive more than I deserve, anyhow?

1000 Gifts has been calling me again. No, actually, whispering to me because gratitude, thankfulness, thoughtfulness...they don't make a scene. They simply make a statement. Beautiful, humble, simple statements that require a settled heart, a cleared mind, a heavenly perspective. And quite frankly, most of the time I would rather just hurry this thing along. Does my day have a place setting for thanks? For Eucharisteo? For the making, taking and breaking of eternal bread? Some days my soul goes hungry and when I'm hungry, I'm grouchy!

I was looking for an email address this past week and in my search, some unopened emails from my recently deceased grandmother came up. Unopened. She sent me a lot of forwards, with videos and glittery graphics and silly jokes. Most of the time I felt I didn't have to time to indulge in them. But a memory came to mind of years ago when my inbox was being flooded by 'junk' mail and I actually turned on a filter that caught and tucked away all of the fwds to multiple recipients, sent out by my beloved grandma. I opened that unopened email the other night and it was indeed a silly joke. Found another one, read it as well. Wanted to find more, just to see her name, just to enjoy her personality, even if it was sent to dozens of her friends and not just to me. It's different now because she's not here but her emails remain in my inbox. Every junk mail now precious, pieces of her that she forwarded to me. I wept. How ridiculous am I? It was email. Just lots and lots of them and what would it have hurt anyone to have my inbox fill up, only to empty it out? My chest hurt I cried so hard. Why must I learn on THIS side of the lesson? Why can't I see this when it's before me, not just behind me? Kudos to the one who coined, 'hindsight is 20/20.'

The demands of life whip me, drive me like a race horse. Go faster, push harder, do more. In fact, what was once simple has become complex; more factors, more players, more twists and turns. But the Spirit within me says no such things. It says stop, pause, rest, wait...trust me.

'The fast have spiritually slow hearts.' - 1000 Gifts

I'm really getting nowhere then, aren't I, at this rapid pace? And my haste makes so much waste in that I forfeit the grace that could be mine; grace that could turn irritation into celebration, into enrichment, into Christ likeness. God, I thought I knew this! I thought I had an angle on this! Darn you soul amnesia! How quickly these lessons leave me.

'Without God's Word as a lens, the world warps.' - 1000 Gifts

My heart confession/petition to God:

When my children seem determined to cause a blood vessel to explode in my brain, Lord grant me perspective. I would rather have them nipping at me than not. I would rather a million irritated moments with them than none. I would rather a million tears with them than a life of dry eyes. They are SO MUCH WORK but they are the best work that's ever been entrusted to me, the greatest gift You have given me. And when I lose perspective and forget all that your hand has provided, HELP ME LORD, to remember, to choose to pause and recall your goodness, your faithfulness, even while I have been unfaithful. Help me to recount your tender mercies to me, your endless graces given to me, that I would choose thanks over irritation, that I might choose bread over a stone. Because no matter what, no matter how bad it may get, no matter how maddening it may be, no matter how 'valid' the trial, pain, loss YOU SAID I can choose joy, thanks, praise, and quiet trust.

Most of us will never know the level of betrayal you experienced, the rejection, despising, scourging, beatings and duh, death! And you gave thanks. You saw and see perfectly. I want to see better than I see right now. I am skewed, my perspective jaded by pain, disappointment, irritation, entitlements and so forth. How can one whose eyes have been touched by the Healer, still see so poorly at times? Oh, I am a mere vapor, God, like the grass in the field, how I fade and with me, heaven's perspective.

I have felt that I have been lost and found many times in my journey. I guess I was never really lost to the One who has kept me but I have felt lost in the frenzy of life, felt lost in that I've been grasping for heaven's truth. And then I find it, yet again, because He is faithful to come to me in the small, foolish things like unopened email, and then I'm ashamed at myself and thankful all at once. And I'm so happy to be found, to have found yet again, this beautiful thing/One called Truth. It's always a warm welcome, hot tears and all, fully embracing me when my mind and heart have gone wretched. Perhaps that is part of the beauty of it all, losing and finding over and over again. I am forever reintroduced to redemption, no matter where I am or what I'm dealing with. And it's sweet every time. It's peace every time. It's joy, every single time.

True saints know that the place where all the joy comes from is far deeper than that of feelings; joy comes from the place of the very presence of God. Joy is God and God is joy and joy doesn't negate all other emotions - joy transcends all other emotions. though my marriage tree may not bud and though my crop of children may fail and my work produce little yield, though there is no money in the bank and no dream left in the heart, thought others may chose different ways to live their one life, till my last heaving breath, I will fight to the death for this: "I will take joy" (Habakkuk 3:18) - 1000 Gifts

go on and grow slow

I love her bedhead hair in the morning. It curls up over her ears, makes a fuzzy nest on the top of her head. Her skin is like the sweetest peach. I think I could eat her up, bit by bit. It would have to be nibbles since she is so busy. We have run-ins all the day long.

She is getting big. She has always been big. My baby, never so much a baby. I marvel at how almost 2 years could have whisked right by me. Surely I was in the room when this all happened. She's so long...so tall. Over 100% on the charts. I watch her sisters struggle to carry her on their hips. She is two-thirds the size of her brother who has 5 years on her. But yet she is just a babe, full of babble and chatter and nonsense that she takes quite seriously.

She reads her books like a proclamation! Most of the time, it's a thick chapter book, upside down, turned open to the middle. And her little face will come up every once in a while, to see whom she might be entertaining. And if an audience is near, she will give a quick smirk and plunge back into the black and white pages.

She loves to move. She loves to be free. She loves to do what she wants to do; go where she wants to go. She was meant for wide open spaces and pleasant boundary lines. She was made for momentum and play and for work that keeps the hands and body busy. And she will find rest just as she does now, in the moments in between; in the moments you blink; in the moments you sit a spell only to be back about it all before too long. She was born for great things...for God things.

How she has already tasted and seen that He is good. Her appetite is good, and for good things. She craves real food and is brave and eats anything and everything. She takes great delight in her meal times. If she is walking about with a snack she really enjoys, she will dance as she eats it. She lives life to the fullest!

She is a little mama, if I ever did see one. Her babies are most precious to her. She holds them close, thumb in her mouth. A baby with a baby. She finds comfort, she gives comfort. And kisses. So many kisses she gives freely to her babies. But, mama has to beg for one of those. She likes to tease me, holding out her affections, making me work hard, barter with her. And she knows exactly what she is doing, sneaky grin on the side of her face, her eyes all slanted and twinkling. When she is ready to give it up, only then will I get a sacred kiss. She is not easily moved unless she WANTS to move. A strong will, indeed.

And shoes...she's an honest girl with her shoe fascination. Any size, any type, just as long as they make a loud clunky sound as she steps. She loves to announce her coming in and going out.  Makeup is a wide-eyed temptation for her and if she gets hold of my blush brush or facial sponges, it's just a matter of time before I feel my toes getting a makeover. So silly.

Peek-a-boo, is simply, "BEE!" and requires little hiding but LOTS of vocal projecting. "Wuuun, doooooo..." will never be followed by three because that's our job. Her cup is a 'bobby' and mom is, 'mommy' and now sisters have become, 'didthy' and it all makes my heart melt, every single time.

Pouty lips and cheeks and she looks like her daddy. Mouth wide open, eyes glistening, she is her mother made over. I see flashes of us and yet she is her very own person with her very own faces and mannerism. She shuffles and swings her one arm just like her Mimi. She makes you work hard for giggles and affections, just like Teniel. She will get louder than you, if need be, just like Tess and she will wander around endlessly like her fellow dreamer, Taryn. She'll wrestle Teague down in a heartbeat and only let him up for more. She is quite a precious package, already. She if full, full, full. And we get to enjoy the overflow.

I don't want to forget...so grow slow my great big little one. Grow slow so I can remember and capture it all.

Fathers

 

No matter who you are...where you are...you have a Father.

 

 

 

 

Listen, my heart...

 

My Father in heaven is perfect. He leads me perfectly. He loves me perfectly. He sees me perfectly. He knows me perfectly.
Listen, my children...

Your Father in heaven in perfect. He leads you perfectly. He loves you perfectly. He sees you perfectly. He knows you perfectly.

 

Listen, fatherless generation...

 

You have a perfect Father in heaven.  He leads you perfectly. He loves you perfectly. He sees you perfectly. He knows you perfectly.

 

 

"Even the best of them...are just brothers in the end.

 

I'm the only Father.

 

Man can't be God and God's not like man."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

pause

Thank you, God. Just thank you. Again and again.

fix you

I use to think it was my job to fix people, things. By nature, I am a 'fixer-type' personality, also known as peacekeeper, mediator, bridge-builder, caretaker, etc. Any one of those fits the bill. But through the last few years I have learned a hard lesson, that I cannot fix anything or anybody. I can't even fix myself. Only Jesus is the true fixer-upper and for me to assume this role is simply prideful, exhausting, and even enabling at times to the one who is broken. It is not my job to fix. It's my job to introduce the Fixer to the one who needs fixing. He does the fixing and sometimes he uses my hands, feet, life to aid in the process.

I believe the Lord has made me to be a responder. If I see a need and I can help meet it, I try to do that. If I see a hurting soul and I have a free hand or ear to offer, I will do this as well. But many times in the past, I have thought I was the only one who could meet needs, even taking on a false responsibility and guilt in meeting specific needs for specific ones. It has required more faith on my part to not rush in and try to fix a situation but rather wait on the Lord to do something deeper, something eternal. Who am I to interfere with His processes, to constantly 'fix' in a surface way a deeper hemorrhage that only the Surgeon can attend to? Again, my pride. Hard lesson to learn and ultimately harm for the already hurting.

I know that as a parent, my fix instinct is STRONG. I don't want my children to make painful mistakes, obviously. But to rush to the place of every injury and slap on a band aid is not really fixing anything. And it's not really love, either. It's fear. It's me, as a parent, fearing my children actually having to deal with pain and perhaps, not dealing well with pain. I don't want my children to suffer. Who does? But, this is not the Lord's heart posture over us, as His children. While He does not delight in seeing us hurting, squirming, wrestling, He does not always automatically rush to the scene of the crime and make it instantly better. Many times He lingers in the background, giving us just enough space to invite Him into the trauma, into the pain. Sometimes He tarries long in His response, even as hard as it is for us to fathom. Sometimes He allows things to get worse, well before He makes them better. That's because He is the True Fixer, and he fixes perfectly, not superficially. He does deep work that takes a lifetime to perfect. He is not a genie in a bottle, He is God. He is not afraid of pain, has taken it on in the fullest form. Therefore, He knows that pain, struggle, need, brokenness and the like, is not too much for His children, either. He said to not fear, He has overcome the world. Knowing that Jesus took on every hardship known to man and overcame it, should instill a perfect peace inside of me, that I can do the same; that my children can do the same. He faced great need (didn't even have one friend who really 'got him' or who could stay awake and pray with him), great opposition and insurmountable persecution. And the Father spared Him none of it. In fact, the scriptures say that Jesus was taught obedience through these things. What kind of parent allows this?!!! A perfect one.

While Jesus healed all who came to Him and performed signs and wonders, He was not rescued when it seemed He should have been. As the old song goes, "He could have called 10,000 angels..." But there is always something bigger, greater, deeper going on. He was securing our eternal healing in the midst of all that pain. God is indeed the perfect Fixer-Upper. He knows just what He's doing and I would do well to trust and follow His way.

letting go

It's been a perpetual season of letting go...

A season of letting things die...myself included.

I don't always die so well. Really, don't know many who do but for Jesus; one man, perfect in life and death. He died well.

The grieving of letting things go, letting things die is bittersweet.

Speaking of Lazarus...Then Thomas said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” John 11:16

...that we may die with him...a friend, a loved one, a family member...the Christ.

So many journeys I don't want to take. So many roads I'd rather avoid all together. Many cups I want to pass.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” John 11:21 & 22

Bitter is the sting of loss. Sweet is the promise of hope.

And then the offense of death, of stripping away what is precious, of four days in bewilderment at how the One who could turn this all around, stayed away. Even saying, "and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe."

Why so much dying in the midst of the Resurrection and the Life? Why so many salty tears mingled with sweet wine?

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die;  and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25 & 26

Do I believe this? Not simply physical death, bodies buried in tombs but, death to intangible things, undefined things, unseen things? Things that take faith to even see? Things that seem to die before they are even yet alive, seemingly? Things that are precious, invaluable?

Jesus wept.

Two words that fill thousands of pages in my heart. He cries with me. He cries for me. He understands loss, though nothing was ever truly taken from Him. He gave it all away freely, and all his loss is my gain. He wept and He weeps, still.

"But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” John 11:37

Oh, how I've asked the question but comforted myself like Martha...“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” There will be a resurrection. There will be life anew. What was once dead will be made alive again.

But Jesus meant it for greater glory. For glory that traveled to the grave and back. Glory that eyes could hardly perceive. For no eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind can perceive...

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. John 11:43 & 44

He calls forth life out of death. He calls forth light out of darkness. He requires that which has been stolen to be returned. He commands that all things crooked be made straight, that every low place be raised up and every high place be leveled. He calls forth truth out of deception, the prisoner from his prison, the lame from their sickbed. He is entirely contrary to what we see, to what we know, to who we are.

It will always be, die to live...lose to gain...let go to get God. Let go, and trust Him as your most precious 'things' die. Let the contradiction take place. Let the bewilderment run its course as you cling to the HOPE of resurrection and life. Nothing is really useful unless it first dies.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." John 12:24

All That is Hidden
Bernadette Farrell

If you would follow me,
follow where life will lead:
Do not look for me among the dead,
For I am hidden in pain, risen in love;
There is no harvest without sowing of grain.

All that is hidden will be made clear.
All that is dark now will be revealed.
What you have heard in the dark
proclaim in the light;
What you hear in whispers
proclaim from the housetops.

If you would honor me,
Honor the least of these:
You will not find me dressed in finery.
My Word cries out to be heard;
breaks through the world:
My Word is on your lips and lives in your heart.

If you would speak of me,
live all your life in me.
my ways are not the ways that you would choose;
my thoughts are far beyond yours,
as heaven from earth:
If you believe in me my voice will be heard.

If you would rise with me,
rise through your destiny:
do not refuse the death which brings you life,
for as the grain in the earth
must die for rebirth,
So I have planted your life deep within mine.

trust

I can feel how narrow His ways are. I can see how fine the line drawn is. And then I am forced to pick a side, to pick a 'truth' and then stand for it with all of my might, build my very life upon it. The questions comes, every situation, every scenario...who/what are you going to believe? Who/what are you going to trust? Who/what are you going to place your faith upon? God or man? There are so many things to believe, trust, hope in but only One will prove true in the end. Only One is left standing once the fire of testing has had its way. If I don't believe what He says is true, I call Him a liar. If I don't trust His goodness, I call Him bad. If I don't cast my hope upon Him, I trust in idols that are unable to truly save me. Even the kings of the earth hope falsely when they trust in their riches, favor, and power. There is only one name that will truly save and that is the name of Jesus.

Psalms 20:7 "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God."

Psalms 40:4 "Blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD, who does not look to the proud, to those who turn aside to false gods."

Psalms 84:12 "LORD Almighty, blessed is the one who trusts in you."

Psalms 118:8 "It is better to take refuge in the LORD than to trust in humans."

Psalms 125:5 "Those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion, which cannot be shaken but endures forever."
Proverbs 3:5 "Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding..."

Proverbs 11:18 "Those who trust in their riches will fall, but the righteous will thrive like a green leaf."

Proverbs 29:25 "Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe."

rich

I do not covet another's life. I don't want anybody else's life but the one I have in Christ. I am so entirely rich with the one that I've been given. My portion, my boundary lines, they have indeed fallen in pleasant places. Does that mean I possess every worldly pleasure known to man? Hardly. I many times make due with what I have but I'm thankful. So thankful. My cup runneth over, and over and over. Little is much when God is in it. He makes all things abound to me because He is abounding in love.

Proverbs 15:16 "Better a little with the fear of the LORD than great wealth with turmoil."

My children are phenomenal. Each one of them is a gift from heaven, no matter the difficulties, sacrifices, the tensions at times. I would lay down my life for each one of them. They are the fruit of my womb, a reward from the Lord; a reward I do not deserve, mind you. I could have never imagined that God would have given me this much life, blessing, goodness. Surely there is nothing I could have done to deserve the kindness He has shown me, in blessing my life so richly. I am eternally indebted to his greatness. I am so thankful for my children, for this new life that is growing on the inside. I'm growing richer every day in God's grace and glory and that's the only kind of rich I really ever want to be. My life, my heart, my arms are full and that is the mark of the blessing of the Lord. He is more than enough.