Crying

It goes without saying, I've not blogged in some time.  I have written poems because they just come when they like, if I let them.  When today was proving quite difficult, I recalled a poem that I wrote last May when I was feeling hurt and vulnerable and cried floods. Confession: this day really looks no better from my present angle.  Nonetheless, I got a little gift again. In the rain.

bursting cloud

pouring out

what heart

would dare 

to spill if voices didn't

say the fault was mine

every drop of rain

tells truth from lies

wound seen

hole filled

showers ease

ache relieved

for finding ally

in the sky

~ c. l. atkinson

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.

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:

prayer and a life sentence

this week, a young man was sentenced to 68 years in prison. four years ago, he took another man's life. now he'll likely spend the rest of his locked up. he murdered a man from our town, one who's brother is an acquaintance of ours, a committed community leader and a pastor of a nearby church.

i read the story online, watched a video taken at the sentencing, and began to pray. first for his fianceé and the ones closest to him. for our pastor friend and all the "victims" of this crime. even for others involved in the proceedings. finally, i looked at the face of this convicted man (barely a man, really) and then was my spirit overwhelmed. i pondered what a life he faces, the life he ultimately chose, and i could not help but weep for him. within seconds, i was wishing i could stand beside him, a friend ready to walk with him, no matter his demeanor, conscience or plea.

the more common reactions from any one of us could likely be a shrugging off of such tragedy as all-too-common, a ranting of opinions on how the case was handled, or maybe a shaking of heads in prideful pity thinking we could never be so evil. perhaps we're burdened for the ones who lost their loved one in this dreadful way. or God forgive us, we may even vengefully delight in this young man's demise.

i believe what happened in me had much to do with prayer. i brought my thoughts and feelings into conversation with God and my mourning came, my deepest compassion flowed for the criminal. prayer can do this. not like magic. prayer isn't a game or trick or formula for getting our wishes. when we truly practice prayer, we let ourselves receive God's dreams and understand his passions, even while bringing ourselves before him. choosing to pray this way is yielding, it's placing ourselves at God's mercy. full of mercy that he is, we find that mercy flowing for us. and one day, it overflows to others.

if you're feeling the need for kindness or really want a different heart, try more prayer. give a little more time and grant the Spirit a little more space. into the most empty (emptied) places, the most mercy will flow.

have mercy on our souls.

a story about hospitality

it was dark, it must have been late, dinner had not yet been served. in fact, i was busy trying to prepare it when i heard a quiet tapping on the back door. our backyard is enclosed with a fence which  the neighborhood kids know to enter only after they've asked permission. it's a general rule when we aren't in the yard.

earlier, the knocking at the front door had begun to get out of hand - kids being kids and being silly but wearing on us hungry and tired adults. so when the knock at the back door was heard, i was irked. i left my cooking to peer out a window, to catch a little pest in action. sure enough, someone was standing on my fence. the darkness hid who it was, so i just banged on the window and motioned a command to get down. whoever it was tried to gesture their explanation to me, which i assumed was unwarranted. i turned to the back door to get down to the bottom of this interruption.

let me not forget, the tap i'd heard had turned to two or three knocks and then a call of my name - Miss Cheri?! - but i still refused to answer. my task of making dinner i had determined to complete.

to my surprise and near horror when i opened the door, sweet d. was standing there cowering with tears in his eyes, explaining how some kids were threatening him.

oh my God, what have i done? i love this dear boy, small of stature yet so tall of heart. he has come to my door to find refuge. literally. and i've refused him. to offer a place for any one to be at home and find what they need for the journey was the hope-filled intention of my heart, and it had been realized. in an instant, i locked that door.

thank God for his mercy and justice. over us all. d.'s tears broke me and i offered my deep regret in apology. he came inside and wiped away his tears with a bit of shame. not long after, his cousins and siblings came to walk him home and a piece of myself walked away with him. i think it won't return.

i am so broken. jesus still comes to my house. let me not miss him again.