i have always liked roller coasters

we held a third day of prayer at our community college last month.  like the previous spring and fall, we set up a tent in the middle of campus and invited anyone who desired to join in the 12 hours of nonstop prayer.  to see our communities turned upside down by the love of Jesus, we know it'll start with our praying.  so we gather people to seek the Father's heart.

this journey in prayer has been surprising, like our fourth child coming.  at first it seemed the sound rhythm of bed rest had continued after his arrival, especially since my recovery took longer than expected.  however, the demands of a newborn (in an already full house) drained away any sense of rest.  most days i felt over-stretched, incapable.  i had hoped for a steady, straightforward climb toward wholeness and "normalcy" but a roller coaster ride describes it better.  he's four months old now and it's still up, down, and all around.

like me and prayer.

weeks back, God showed me how i forget prayer in the times when desperation nags and haunts and leeches.  somehow i forget why i pray and to Whom i call.  when i reach helpless or hopeless, i have quit prayer because there's a crooked belief that if i'm not "enough" my petitions won't be received.  i think i should be stronger.  i'm ashamed when i get ugly.  i compare myself to other moms or the mom i was before.  i believe i must first brush myself off, correct my attitude or remember the bright side, and i miss my Father's heart.  i believe my composure will grant me acceptance in his presence and he just might answer, even rescue.  

then i read Spurgeon's words, depicting a different posture and making me remember:

"oftentimes a poor broken-hearted one bends his knee, but can only utter his wailing in the language of sighs and tears; yet that groan has made all the harps of heaven thrill with music; that tear has been caught by God and treasured... think not that your prayer, however weak or trembling, will be unregarded."

that day, the day i read how "God not only hears prayer but also loves to hear it," i began again to practice this kind.  a fever came on me, for no known reason.  for several hours in the evening i was home alone with all four kids and physically feeble.  emotionally so frail, i simply said, "i cannot do it." and he carried me through.  climbing into bed later on, i dreaded facing the overnight.  i only asked, "heal me," and before dawn my fever broke.

yet i have forgotten again.  i've struggled a lot before and through the holidays and i am back to dismissing this simple prayer.  another lesson i have failed to learn.  i recall sitting in our first prayer tent a year ago.  distracted and disappointed, my hopes for a stretch of quiet had been dashed.  not as i planned, i had my toddler with me and she needed my attention and had her own plans.  i remember tasting the irony.  even then, God was showing me my ignorance, how i limit prayer and limit him and me.  he had started me on a new journey of rest.  it's one that i'm still on, a ride that hasn't halted, where he's teaching me to just and always be with him and to know how much he longs for me.

i don't know whether yours is like a roller coaster, but this is one ride i pray won't stop.  even if it's up, down, or all around.  i want to let him gather me toward his heart and my prayers are where it starts.  would you ask with me, that i'd begin again and not forget so quickly?

will Grace suffice?

Hazaiah Kenneth

arrived on Thursday evening

August 18, 2011

weighing a surprising nine pounds and an ounce

measuring twenty-one inches long

God decided.  our family would grow this year.  God decided.  my pregnancy would bring new challenges, new blessings.  God decided.  i would carry this baby full term and he'd be healthy, the biggest yet.

God decided...

ultimately, Only God decides.  and that's the meaning of Hazaiah's name:  the Lord has seen and he decides.  also this: seeing the Lord and believing his decisions.  Hazaiah means to see what Sovereign God has done, to see what he is doing, and to trust it all.  the Good of it all.

this is what God keeps teaching and deeper and deeper goes our trust.  it's not because we're becoming greater and greater, only that he's decided to take us deeper.  into his Grace.  and by his Grace alone we are learning.  with every year we live, every child we're given, every endeavor he leads us into, we find there's more and more we've got to learn.  that's where Grace deepens, as deeper goes the awareness of our need for it.

grace, in fact, is not the first word i'd use to describe our recent days.  more of the waiting combines with postpartum challenges.  recovery is taking longer and the house is getting messier.  even though i can do little homemaking, school's in and kenn is working more outside our home.  too often, sleep deprivation means short tempers and exaggerated emotions.  most often, i am wishing i could get up and get to work: clean the dirt, implement order, corral the kids (and us adults) back to peaceful...

but God decides i am still here 

still needing to say no

  still needing to let go

  still needing Strength 

that from me will never come

  and still needing Grace 

to pardon

i like to read C. H. Spurgeon's Morning and Evening.  today's reflection is taken from Leviticus 13:13, where the law states that a man is declared clean only when his body is found entirely covered with leprosy, head to toe.  here's part of Spurgeon's thoughts on the verse:

"we, too, are lepers, and may read the law of leper as applicable to ourselves.  when a man sees himself to be altogether lost and ruined, covered all over with the defilement of sin, and no part free from pollution, when he disclaims all righteousness of his own, and pleads guilty before the Lord, then he is clean through the blood of Jesus, and the grace of God." 

i needed Jesus to save my life and now i need him in order to live it.  you may have read in previous blogs about God calling me to rest long before my time on bed rest.  it's been close to a year that this particular season of slow has been upon me.  and i've been questioning the Good.  defeat overcomes in this time of feeling hands are tied and of crying, "how long?". but it's the feeling of defeat that ties my hands and it's admitting i really am helpless that sets me free. it frees me to trust in God's decisions and to trust the Good in it all.  only then am i free to act, even when (perhaps especially when) such acting feels like inaction.

"...he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me."  (2 Corinthians 12:9,10)

so be it.

ch-ch-changes

now we are six, no longer five. 

we're a different family than we were last month.  

all of a sudden, 

kenn and i became parents to 

a newborn

a kindergartner

a three-year old

&

a fifth-grader

this newest change of seasons explains some things, 

like the exhaustion kenn feels or how affected i am with my continued need to be still and heal.  

yet it's just a season, 

and these are days that will practically fly away from us.  

these are the days, the moments i could miss 

and one day 

i probably will. 

before school began this week, we took some time to list 

the good memories we have from our summer together.  

these times change us.  

what a great way 

to welcome the change 

while celebrating what's been.  

today i'd like to celebrate what is, 

before another change begs a welcome.

mercy, mercy!

we're waiting!

Baby Boy was due last week.  and there have been plenty of signs that he's on his way.  but when? we ask.  everyone asks.  though the number of weeks to wait has been the same as any other pregnancy, having spent one third of this one on bed rest has made the waiting seem much longer.  after reaching full term, i felt i had reached the goal. time for the prize, right?

instead, Baby is still cozy where he is.  and i get acting like i'm playing the game of mercy.  you know it, it's that kids game. grabbing your opponent's hand, you interlock fingers and push back as he is pushing on yours to try to inflict discomfort, even pain, on one another.  you both push until one of you gives up, crying, "mercy!"

i'm not playing a game with God, who does ultimately decide when this baby will arrive.  he isn't keeping me hanging on to see how much i can handle, trying to torture me and win.  and pleading with him for my way (or whining and pouting to others or even trying all the natural inducers i can) will not push him to answer, "okay, okay, i give in! you'll deliver today."

instead, here's the hand of mercy that has held me.  Mercy has...


preserved this pregnancy
sustained my health and our baby's
allowed a season of beautiful rest 
forgiven my ugly moments and days
provided strength when we were weak
brought help from those around us
produced fruit from our faithfulness
bestowed an excellent family summer
given kenn & the kids lots of quality time
grown kenn as a dad and husband
grown me as a mom and wife
poured rain on the earth and relief from heat
encouraged through the cheers of facebook friends
supplied our need with surprise donations
granted me another day

i've been answered with this kind of mercy over and again.  so i am striving to believe - and striving does involve struggle - that Mercy will carry me through the next hours (or days!) of waiting for our Boy...

i confess

 

i am not a morning person. my mom says she learned it was best to just leave me alone when i'd wake. my kids might reveal how often i shush and glower at them if the hour is early.  my husband knows to hesitate, for he'll get the brunt of my grumpiness on any given a.m.

i have tried waking at dawn to slowly breathe in the day, soak in the quiet in order to quiet what's within.  then when the creatures begin to stir, i am prepared for any squawks, spats, tramping and door-slamming, even their whistling and silly amusements.

the plan has failed.  there are still days when i get annoyed.  a child wakes extra early.  two bicker over a specific spoon.  someone complains about the breakfast options.  kenn and i miscommunicate over the day's schedule.  i quickly go to frustrated, edgy, defeated.  like yesterday, when i woke at 6.  i'd had a better night's sleep and actually felt rested.  no one else had risen.  and by 7?  once more i was put out by the clamor beginning to swell through the house.

i'm not a morning person, and i'm a slow learner.  it's taken a long time to admit to myself: the problem is really my own expectation, my demand. i want quiet, so... BE QUIET!

my firstborn was born loud.  it may be hereditary, for there are other family members (whom i won't mention) who've got an equal disregard for the still of the morning.  or maybe it's personality.  he's an entertainer, brimming with energy.  yet i've nearly tried to enforce another persona on him, simply because i like quiet at certain times.

God's funny, right? how he lets certain things into our lives that exacerbate our weaknesses? what's not funny is how he gives us good things that we somehow turn bad.

          Do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God's kindness leads you toward repentance? 

yesterday, i started to voice my vexation and my husband answered in gentleness, "you can't have absolute quiet when you have kids."  Grace came to me through the love of my partner.  i couldn't argue and my own unreasonableness slapped me in the face.  i dreamed of kids.  i love kids.  i chose kids.  i have kids.  so what is this ridiculous insistence?

         Love is patient, love is kind... not self-seeking... always perseveres.

i need to relinquish this petty wish.  i want to welcome the presence of my family, not just on good days, in good moments.  can i receive the tensions like i receive the joys?  i want to stay here with this struggle and figure out how to really love. here.

           Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation 

and leaves no regret.

i confess. i'm not a morning person.
but i actually love the morning.
now to let my Maker make me more lovely, loving.
even in the morning.

* * * * *

though i'm posting on a thursday, this was written on wednesday
for the community now celebrating the Practice of Love:

make room

something i'm most thankful for this week - besides central A/C - is my renovated bedroom in this old house.  it took more than half a year to complete it, but it is now THE most beautiful spot in our home.  and the spot i'm obviously (yet happily) confined to for some hours during this hot spell.

we still wait for Baby.  and i've begun reading another book, one about the writing life.  the first pages inspired me to pull out a memory and mark it with a poem.

rooms

this week i have
spent in my new room
newly remade
my oasis for days
and these, scorching
outside
the first i have 
ever designed altogether
in adulthood
though many
i drafted in 
early years -
did you have
barbies who lived 
on armchairs 
with hankies for blankets
and tissue box
beds?

it was wooded 
outside that was
drawing board
life-size
where trunks of tree 
were corner posts
for walls marked 
off by roots
exposed
stumps and logs
made sitting places
brier and branches
divided spaces
each with carpets
lush moss or
dried leaves


sister and cousins
or kid-down-the-street
would be well into
role-play
as i'd stay
in visions
adding new touches
to newly made rooms
just as inside
i stay
and envision
new touches to make
to this painted room
a luscious color:
dry leaf


- c. l. atkinson

* * * * *

sharing this post with 

in the meantime

i'm sure i'm not the first person to think of it. how befitting is the phrase, in the meantime. i laugh.
i also tremble.

in the meantime? it's what we do when we are waiting. hoping. looking forward to something else. something more. sometimes it is something longed for, for such a long time. or other times, it is an answer we may not want to come, an event that we fear. this stretch, this span, these moments for us become mean when we feel them as cruel, miserly, unmerited. mean time.

we are a stubborn, persistent, demanding humanity who forgets this world is not ours. not forever. we forget Whom it is Who made time and lives wholly (holy) outside of time. we are a people who forget the promise:

"I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." (Jeremiah 29:11)

in actuality, it is only our capacity to wait that is mean - poor, limited, low - while Scripture teaches unapologetically that all of this life is a waiting. Read all of Romans 8!  Here's just a portion.

"All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it's not only around us; it's within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We're also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don't see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy. Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good." 

will we allow the waiting to make us mean?
and by that i mean humble enough to receive our future.

[not] just another picnic

last monday's holiday meant time for my uncle's cookout with extended family.  shade and bloom and vegetable gardens make an oasis of a yard.  fish ponds, a tree-hung hammock, and a big tire to twirl upon.  familiar faces of every age reunite and dip into the eats upon eats stretched out on tables.  how about a game of horseshoes or a swim? 

it can be tempting to half-heartedly join the ritual, though.  to think it's just another year, another family picnic, believing nothing has changed.  to sit with one another neglecting the new is to deny that life is always birthing.  maybe it takes some effort of forethought (or self-denial) to willingly engage others but it is no easier to play absent.

it takes work to choose stuck.  the labor of grumbling is grueling.  i choose participation instead.

one thing to herald this year is new kin within!  there's the little one nearly bursting from me and there's my sister and cousin carrying their first children.  we savor these precious beginnings.  four of us, sister-cousins, sit on pool's edge.  we dangle feet as we consider the wonders and absurdities of parenthood.  we watch our relatives at play.  we welcome whatever else conversation may bring.  i even learn things i did not know i didn't know about these beloveds.

it is thankfulness to recall how far and deep our family ties do stretch, to know that time cannot break them.  yet being sure to keep on sharing the steps and stumbles of today invites these dear ones into one's now.  that's how the bond lengthens.  strengthens.

and more of the timeless is born on a Fourth of July.

* * * * * * *

linking this post to:

practice thanks & wash the glass

i finished reading my eighth or ninth book of this bed rest season: one thousand gifts.  (i do recommend.)  ann voskamp writes of the surprising and profound soul change that happened as she set out to record thanks, numbering one thousand.  somewhere in the middle of reading it, i began my own list, wanting to practice gratitude with a slightly different intentionality.  and to see what God may do.

when i realized bed rest would continue long past the first two weeks, one thing i moped over internally was missing out on gardening.  no planting of new perennials to fill out my flower beds.  no weeding to beautify.  no cheering up the front "yard" that practically sits on the sidewalk and greets every passerby.  even buying a few hanging plants for the porch seemed one thing too many for us to handle.

after two months on rest, i now have a better idea of my limitations.  i can use the stairs, a handful of times per day.  i can make a quick meal or bake an easy treat.  if i don't stand for the duration.  i can go on an errand, if there's an automatic cart to ride.  i can attend a social event, if there's guarantee of relaxation and shelter from the heat.  each of these requires a degree of help from someone else, and no one day can be filled with them.

if i am in a chair, i can even water my plants outside! though i had to let go of my first hopes for the yard, it's not hard to find other ways to enjoy it. and be thankful. this is the key to living fully, at all times, as voskamp teaches through personal story and poetic flare.  here's one picture she paints of this verbalizing of thanks:

      "i speak the unseen into seeing . . .  all the world is window. no material is opaque. if we are willing to see - people, circumstances, situations, relationships - all is transparent.  all of this globe is but glass to God." (emphasis mine)

      
and thanksgiving washes the glass, she says. thanksgiving washes the glass.

so i join countless others who have kept or are keeping gratitude journals and lists of blessings. moment to moment, they choose to set their eyes on the Giver and find more life.

i end with a few of the thanks from my yard:

126. newly molted cicada

 128. morning glories appearing

129. sun on my back

132. smile of girl on bike

181. low humidity

184. low, long reach of the elm over me
 218. a sandbox

219. imagination at work in the Littles

221. how play can be work and work can be play

what IS in a name?

a name nerd. that's what i've been called.

studying names, making lists of them, respelling them, and writing them across a page was a favorite pastime.  i was little more than a babe myself when i conceived my first list.  and when my child-bearing years were literally upon me, the lists had grown to be dozens-long.  i chose names unpopular, ones that seemed to carry more distinctiveness.  the sound or appearance or movement all had meaning.  and its story - the actual meaning - could never be dismissed.

name nerd!  why such an obsession? why did i long to name even when i had no baby coming? was it fantasy?  maybe just a part of my great affection for words?  or perhaps, it was a sign of something much deeper.  i am a creature made to create.  you and i both: we experience the joy of our purpose when creating, bearing the image of the master Artist.  mysteriously, i can participate in Adam's first Garden gift when i name my children - or when i simply dream of it.  alexander schmemann writes,

      "in the Bible a name is infinitely more than a means to distinguish one thing from another.  it reveals the very essence of a thing, or rather its essence as God's gift.  to name a thing is to manifest the meaning and value God gave it, to know it as coming from God and to know its place and function within the cosmos created by God . . . to bless God for it and in it."

the way i name has changed.  our third child was named with two that popped up at seemingly random times, not from my collection.  when i investigated their meanings, finding they matched the promises and truths God was giving in that season, i knew they'd been chosen for her.  my supply has also dwindled over the years - names being used by others we know or just losing their pizazz for me.  as baby four came on the scene, i had only five or six to choose from.  and even those felt bound to be rejected.  makes sense.  i have changed, too.

this baby is coming soon and a name has been given.  i found it when going through a name book that i've had for years.  yet i don't remember ever seeing this particular name.  every time it comes to mind, i am astonished.  how precisely it captures the place where God has led Kenn and me, what he has been teaching us and giving of himself in this season.

name nerd or not, in my finite way i am celebrating the essence of the blessing in this new life.  i'm so excited to introduce him to the world, to speak his name like the people of old.  baby and i have reached 33 weeks!  won't be long 'til we're announcing more of the goodness of our loving Father, the matchless Creator.

unwonted rest

our family has lived as missionaries for 8 years, and last year kenn and i were about to break.  we've had too few vacations or regular respites from a work that is weighty and really doesn't end.  kenn is only employed part-time (with a salary that we are fully responsible for raising), but the actual hours and energy he gives far exceed that part-time status to equal a full-time job. and then some.

meager finances were the reason (or excuse) for often skipping vacations and neglecting to take longer personal retreats.  we're quite aware of how essential it is to live well in order to serve others well.  so despite facing the greatest financial strain we'd yet known, we pledged to add substantial rest into our yearly calendar.  God knows every need and we'd trust each one would be met.  after making that decision, we were overwhelmed with gifts!  suddenly we had an abundance of food, all our bills were paid without compromising other areas of our budget, and we actually had the chance to get away over the holidays! 

then we declared january a mini-sabbatical.  the Spirit quickly sealed in me the need to enter a season of rest, a deeper rest than i'd ever sought.  not knowing what was in store, i sensed it would continue even after our sabbatical ended.  (though i certainly didn't anticipate being ordered on bed rest a couple of months later!)  this journey for me has come to represent a metamorphosis that began years ago and, by God's sweet mercy, will carry on my whole life long.

another commitment that kenn and i made was to take a family vacation before baby number four arrives in august.  it was scheduled for this month after school gets out.  arranged by a dear friend, we'd be enjoying a week at a lake house in the mountains - for FREE.  we've had to cancel since my activity remains restricted, and i have been holding in my disappointment with a bit of angst flashing in and out of my mind.  don't we need this get-away? what can we do instead? will the kids feel gypped? i do. 

still, my thoughts are more occupied with realities like all the help we've been receiving.  we're brought a couple meals a week that usually amount to double that.  friends and acquaintances are visiting who typically don't, and others phone or email to check in.  though shut in most days, i don't feel isolated or lonely.  though exhausted most days, kenn perseveres with a heart that's content.  we (mostly kenn) have extra space for neighbors.  a few have stopped by more regularly and we've had opportunity to meet unexpected needs and to pass on what's been given to us.  a couple of kids from our block have shared in our family times of prayer and Bible reading.  our four-year-old gets to have daddy go on field trips and our youngest has a growing list of regular play dates at others' homes.  kenn takes the kids on excursions without feeling pulled in other directions or overwhelmed with work that's piling up. . .

are you getting the picture?  i just saw it this afternoon.  since kenn's position is part-time and the summer brings a lull in campus activity, he was permitted and encouraged by his supervisor to cut out whatever is needed to take care of us at home.  so he has done so.  this glitch in our plans - my limitations and kenn's total switch in roles - has literally created a break for us.  with more time to have fun together and to breathe in all of these gifts, we're already experiencing a sort of recess before summer's even begun!

momentarily, i had forgotten that all of this life of following Jesus is unconventional, right on down to vacations.

today i recognized God providing yet another alternate way.  he always does, when we are ready to see and to receive!

where to find rest

since last fall, my journey's gone increasingly deeper into the realm of rest.  seems this season of physical stillness (bed rest) merely perfects the process!  i have wanted to speak specifically to certain graces given me, but sometimes you have no words of your own to tell of the fathomless truths you've found.  this is a song that has helped me lift up praise to the One whose showers are drenching my soul with Light and Love.

In You
 
I sing for joy
In my remorse
A well within prosperity’s curse
That drowns the mighty oak of pride
But feeds the root of God inside.

In You
I find my rest
In You
I find my death
In You
I find my all and my emptiness
Somehow it all makes sense

In You I’m rich
When I’ve been made poor
Comfort found when I mourn
The prideful one You see from afar
Drawing near to low, broken hearts.

In You
I find my rest
In You
I find my death
In You
I find my all and my emptiness
But it all makes sense

"This is what the Sovereign Lord, The Holy One of Israel, says:

In repentance and rest is your salvation,

in quietness and trust is your strength..."

Isaiah 30:15 

-----------------------

"In You" by Shane and Shane.  Released on Waiting Room Records 2007.

perspectives

after completing the required two weeks on bed rest, my symptoms returned.  as i have told people repeatedly, such trouble comes any time i pick up the pace, even slightly.  i remain on moderate bed rest and kenn and i are preparing for me to spend the remainder of the pregnancy this way.  i am very happy to be at 28 weeks already, but it still leaves a lot of time left in these challenging circumstances.  so much of the "usual" has to be adjusted.  we need new kinds of strength for these days.  and there's a lot that we have to give up.

it is helpful to not only know that others have gone through this but to hear their own stories.  i found a couple of books online where i have only read a few pages, and i have read a bit of online journals telling individuals' experiences with bed rest in pregnancy, and all of these have brought comfort.  what has also been valuable is taking inventory of all that i can celebrate now.  thanksgiving.

today i cried when i read from one blogger's notes how happy she was that her major complications in pregnancy happened during her third and not her first pregnancy.  if circumstances were reversed, she believes she may not have braved having more children.  it was a perspective that i hadn't considered for myself.  i had certainly considered how much harder it is this time around, being eleven years older with a body "altered" by two other pregnancies and having three children to care for.  what would my stance on four babies have been if my first pregnancy wasn't so completely serene? ah, perspective!  i cannot know the full measure of purpose for this season we're in nor the perfection of the timing of it all, but gratitude enables me to imagine.

here are a few things i've been thankful for today:

another baby who's life is already a blessing
water
a husband who listens well and selflessly serves
a husband who deeply engages his children
the ability to write
a laptop
surprise rainshowers
revelation
healthy sugar levels
a new neighbor
a mom who is lightening the housework load
clean clothes
grace
a comfortable chair and a cozy bed
the power of story
three pregnancies without bed rest
three phenomenal children
God's plans to use me to bless others
green leaves that fill the view from my window
the care of friends
an assuring conversation
a prayer answered
the Psalms
good food in the cabinets and fridge

let my heart sing, my soul dance!

while i listened to Third Circle yesterday, one song hit me right where i am.  i must have left the song on repeat eight times. and though the lyrics ring out promise and the music is jubilant and light, i wept. and wept. every time it played, i wept.

there is plenty to mourn in this earthen existence, and a few of my past and present sorrows surfaced while the song washed through me. but it was the Answer to those sadnesses that made me cry so profusely. consider the verse: 

Lord, I cried out, I cried out to You

You answered me in Your mercy

Your anger was fleeting

And now I will dance in your favor all my life

my heart has been nurtured in the fold of God's people for more than three decades, yet it took a long time before i began to understand this standing that i have, this favor.  it's an unending favor before God only because of the sacrificial love of Jesus.  only Jesus.  when we are faced with pain or grief and our crying out becomes our (sometimes last) attempt at relief, he answers.  in mercy, he answers.  the circumstances may not change, he may not remove the pain, but his presence becomes unmistakable. 

the longer i live, choosing to believe in God's delight over me, the more times i find i'm able to dance through troubles and to sing despite my affliction.  hear me.  i do not pretend all is hunky-dory, put on a mask of happiness and stuff my truest feelings away in a cold corner of my soul.  no, no, please no. i am learning to cry out.  i am learning to accept that my brokenness, my failures, my hurts and my questions are no less important to my Father as my devotion, my triumphs and my personal growth.

this is how God turns our weeping into dancing - not by literally sweeping away the "bad" and promising nothing of sin or destruction will ever infect our lives again.  instead, he declares with promises never-ending, that all that he is is ours.  all of him.  we are chosen sons and daughters, from whom he will withhold no good thing! what better position for experiencing joy than in sad times?  what better way to find life but in the face of death? what better chance does light have to shine than in the darkest of all places? what other way can healing be possible than when there is a wound?

the flood of tears from my eyes was at once both a declaration of hurt, frustration and regret and a song of utter gratitude.  what joy it is to be free to release all of it to the skies!  i live every moment, in the fair and in the unfavorable, under a shower of Mercy and Love.

Let my heart sing for you

And not remain silent

Let my heart sing for you

Turn my weeping into a dance


So dance, dance my soul

There's no reason for you to weep

So dance, dance my soul, 

Make music to your King

------------------

"Dance, Dance" by Kate Hurley, Michelle Patterson.  Registered with CCLI.

harmony in day nine

monday, a sweet friend brought dinner and dessert to us. help for this bed rest stretch. not only were we fed, but the prepared meal freed kenn to play with our kids before we ate.  he had them outside, riding bikes on the sidewalk, shooting hoops by the window where i sat watching.  before long, a bunch of children of all ages gathered, mingling in game and chatter. 

when my friend arrived, one of her first comments was something like, "i see you've got my peoples up in these parts!" we agreed that we do but didn't really express how deeply we enjoy that fact.  i've been thinking about it since, about a certain balance "her people" bring as one minority among others on our street.  it's a privilege to be living where it's so colorful (in more ways than one), and it's in "mixed" company that i've always been more at home.

there's harmony in the motley.  the Creator delights in it.  he alone fashioned it.  and this life is so rich because of the diversity of beauty in him and all he has made.  i wish we'd all purpose to hold firmly to these glimpses of Paradise restored, and confess: our differences reflect the perfection of heaven.

day five

 

piety's strain

trying

to sift out

disappointments

You waited till i found

letdown wasn't put out

and put down striving
till i found You waiting

this day was one peppered with frustration over my bed rest orders, despite the fact that i had the privilege of being so "confined" in a beach town at a lovely b&b. with the frustration came guilt, then the foolishness of trying to right myself for the (hidden) fear that God was shaking his head at me and my whining. he is not so, mortal with ploys. the truth about him looks more like this (Isaiah 30:18):

     the LORD longs to be gracious to you;
          he rises to show you compassion.
     for the LORD is a God of justice.
          blessed are all who wait for him!

* * *

poem written by c. l. atkinson

bonnie beams

i see 

who she is -

though you may

mistake

deeming fake

the heartlight

perpetually shown -

 maybe because as her child

i relate

for the cynics

in us

are not left 

overgrown

this little poem is part of an early Mother's Day exercise. written about my beautiful, childlike mom, it relates other things, too - like, how i'll rock the boat of others' perceptions, pointing out who or what they may have misunderstood.  this quality often tops my list of Jesus' best.  (don't get me started on how missed he is.) to his credit alone, i have even learned to jump in more, to let my own vessel be tossed about.

* * *

poem written by c. l. atkinson

day two greets me

before eyes open

my ears recognize

sweet dawn is greeting

with winged chorus outside

night's heat is exchanged

by the drapes being blown

in a dance with soft breezes

at windows wide thrown

my body now wakes

in new strength from true rest

as my heart remembers

this hour as best

morning offers

something of Glory

 * * *

another post to join L. L. Barkat and this week's On, In and Around Mondays 

poem written by c. l. atkinson

day one

At 24 weeks pregnant with my fourth child, I've been put on bed rest.  Yesterday was Easter and the first day on such orders.  I enjoyed a quiet day at home while Kenn and the kids spent the holiday at the grandparents'.  Kenn did make a trip back to deliver to me a portion of the turkey dinner they'd all shared.

As I sat alone eating that meal, sadness began to creep in - mostly in the shape of self-pity.  Barely noticeable at first, I caught it and then looked it in its face. What are you pouting over? This is a loss imagined, not a fit place for grief.  I was holding man's traditions, a holiday, against the meaning of life preserved. And the life beginning inside of me.  This baby missed, now that would be a loss!

Gratitude returned just as fast as those woes had appeared and the food was consumed, reminding me that Resurrection is not a one-day hoopla and Rest is a longed-for gift.

(Written for On, In and Around Mondays.)