New again

Last year was a big marker year for our family, and entering the new in 2014 brought such joy.  It was in the major transitions of 2013 that I got to feeling dizzy with LOTS of frustration and at least some fear mixed in.  We weren't just entering a new chapter, it felt like starting all over again.  This, despite the evidence that the changes were actually leading to a wonderful culmination of the last ten years.

I confess I still have days, every week it seems, where I just cannot see that evidence!

But back to the story... I was spilling to my Hub this struggle with all the newness, when he acknowledged so simply,

"It's hard to be in a new place."  

That's all I needed: the permission to say it is hard.  It is normal/acceptable/human/forgivable to struggle to believe and stay in the moment.  I wrote down my circling thoughts as a poem, including the fantastical things that happen in my head when the Now becomes uncomfortable.  Months later, I reformed it into the villanelle below.  It reads very specific to me.  I hope some of you can relate enough to find permission, and then be freed to face the disbelief.

New again is still the place
where I smile for the hope
but then run a moment later

to where it’s long been cold.
For I’d rather be there, then.
Not new again, displaced.

What if today is just mistake 
I let our yesterdays take me
running only moments later

to where I'm dizzy, unrequited,
mistaken over you, wishing
new then was still my place.

Then back again, though not far
off, I still find hope is hard and
cannot run in moment’s laughter.

I do mistake what is today
to mean our dreams are now erased,
that being new in another place
bodes us run alone hereafter.

Until it is time

forty each

one of them says

greeting the passerby like

he's known her before

he

just

slows

goes

while i pull

weeds and wonder not

about dirt and indiscretion

but how it is i know

yet stay

sometimes

the ones behind

the lattice weaved i must leave 
till they've grown

so
go

slow

then 

each is known

before reaching to be pulled
out of dirt and in discretion

Gardening one day last year, I overheard an exchange maybe fifty yards away between a female pedestrian and a driver.  Quickly I was conscious of its nature: the young woman and her friend were marketing.  Selling themselves.  For as long as we've lived in this dubbed-destitute place, there are still moments that stun.  The real world of the desperate is right here.  (It's everywhere, mind you.) The cruelest acts are lauded for amusement and the most innocent or vulnerable are handled with contempt.  I am thankful in these moments that I'm still disturbed.

Interrupted.  Stirred up.  Dismayed.

On another day on our old property, I decided - once and for all - to get at a menacing vine.  I started digging to reach the roots, pulling it foot after foot and yard lengths, only to see that the further I dug the thicker and deeper it grew.  Still, I worked: heaving, chafing hands, bent in affront.  I never did rid the root.  Somewhere in the fight I had the picture of a powerful, unseen enemy.  It symbolized perfectly certain things that we'd discerned in our midst at that time, and it has since served me repeatedly.  Whether on individual or universal scales, it's the systems of earth and sky that we battle against here.  Not people. 

Jesus used metaphors for teaching the truths of how this all holds together.  One parable depicts the kinds of soil that determine whether seeds take root and thrive and finally bring a bounty.  In another, there's a story of an enemy who's sown bad seed and the workers have asked to pull the resulting weeds.  The landowner replies, "No; for while you are gathering up the tares, you may uproot the wheat with them.  Allow both to grow together until harvest."  Let them go.  Until it is time.

I think some weeds aren't weeds at all but life existing where it shouldn't be. 

Two weeks after the soliciting incident, I was tidying up the yard again and couldn't quite reach the saplings growing wildly under my porch.  Even though they're trees and I love trees, they're unsightly and destructive when they grow under there, behind the lattice.  I know now from experience that if I let them go, they'll grow long enough to be easily grasped and drawn out.  The metaphor returned to mind.  How often I wish I could just pluck others - neighbors, family, strangers - from the entangled messes they live in, in the dark.  I'd like to act quickly, forcefully, but my attempts to reach into those places in such a manner would and do prove futile.  (Not to mention the cuts and bruises that might ensue as when I try squeezing my arm through that lattice!)

I may feel disturbed.  I do get dismayed.  If I wait, though, wait on the Lord in supplication, I do get shaken up to hope.  I keep up with gardening, and I beckon with power in prayer for the day when seasons have proven to mature it all.  Many tomorrows may pass, but I pray that even these seeming weeds are found to be seeds that fell on good soil, longing in the end to be pulled from the dirt, from the dark.

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

And this is for
anyone feeling they're in the dark
wondering about the ground they're in.








 

Life as a fledgling

My four-year-old decided to mimic my journal writing (in my journal).  It was cute, until I told her she had to stop to get ready for school and she threw a fit.  Her desire to be grown up is sometimes so endearing but other times it's maddening.  I have lost count of the moments she's insisted she could do something without help and has hurt herself trying.  I'm glad I am there to pick her up again.

I've realized this is my story, even as an adult.  Now and then, I'll wander just far enough by myself and start to get this idea that I've gained enough insight, strength in the wings, that now I'm ready to fly.  Solo. To handle it all alone and suddenly soar.  Never to return?

I love the book, Are You My Mother?.  That baby bird is  pretty cute. He's determined to find his mother.  I will! he says. I WILL!  He jumps (and falls) out of the tree, wanders among strangers, gets a little confused, and doesn't find his mother.  Something scary swoops in and that scary thing takes him home.  His mother returns and the baby bird thinks he's the one who's found her.  How endearing.  She humors him.  Can beaks smirk? They do in children's stories because I can hear her thoughts, Mm hmm, you sure are smart, little one! You've figured it out all by yourself. Look how far you've come!

In actuality, the bird still hasn't learned to fly.  He's a fledgling.  He may be strong enough to try to fly, even leave the nest for a bit, but his mother's job is not done.

It usually takes something of the scary sort to help me find my way home again.  To remember, even if I know how to fly, that the soaring only comes in surrender.  I yield again to the reality that I can't do it alone, and flying with wings like the eagle only happens when I trust the Wind alone.

No matter how far I have come, I need to let the Wind carry me... and lift me again when I jump and fall. 

Spirit, teach me how to really fly.  Teach me long. 



*Second photo image taken from illustration by P. D. Eastman ©1960

A can of beans

Oh, summer... You and your beach days and swimming pools and bronzed skin and getaways.  You have barbecues and church camps and lightning bugs and late nights, lazy chillin' on a porch.  Nice is the break from the schooling pace and I welcome the shift that work takes.

But oh, summer... When your heat can mean a very dry land, why cast that same spell in our pocket each year?

Kenn's been our food shopper since summer came.  I take care of the menus and grocery lists and have been extra frugal and simple in planning, knowing our income is stretched very lean again. (Or is it "still"?) This week, I picked a recipe for an easy sweet and sour chicken that called for one can of green beans. I can do better than that, I thought. We've got 'em growing fresh in our backyard... but the plants have barely yielded two servings a week... maybe it'd be wise to put a can on the shopping list.  To run after it at last minute would be a bother, not to mention wasteful... 

I left it off the list anyway. It'll work out, I concluded. And I handed the post-it to Kenn. (I wonder, do you find that attitude a little too easygoing? I know we're talking beans, but maybe you think it's careless? Reckless, to leave things hanging so?)

Today, on the day that ends up being the best to make that sweet and sour chicken, guess what I found in our little garden:

 

Our biggest yield yet.
More than a can of beans. Or a hill, for that matter.

I'm worth
more than a can of beans.
Kenn and the kids are worth
more than a can of beans.
When God says he'll provide, he will.
And trusting him, I get so much more than my pocket can hold.

considering the birds

earlier this summer, our car appeared in the newspaper after it took two bullet wounds in front of our house. what a way to make the front page. then a couple weeks later, a woman made an illegal turn and smacked into our car, scuffing a rim and denting the same door the bullets hit. her insurance company covered the costs of the repairs plus the rental we needed while the car was in the shop. last week, the rim and the entire door were replaced and now the car looks like new again!

God provides in surprising and sometimes bizarre ways. remember manna, from the story of israel's exodus into the desert? they found this flaky kind of honey-wafer covering the ground like dew in the mornings. and when they needed a drink, moses whacked a rock with a rod and water flowed from it to quench their thirst. though God hasn't (yet) asked us to check the grass for food or hit inanimate objects to get what we need, his M.O. with us often resembles how he cared for these original wilderness people.

in 2000, God sent kenn and me on our own journey into the unknown. we moved from kentucky to california with no jobs, no place to live, and our first baby on the way. our financial status completely changed, and we've pretty much lived below the poverty line since. i can recall opening my front door more than once to see a gallon of milk left on my step. i'd take it to the frig only to realize our milk had just gone bad. there's the time when we didn't know what we'd eat for dinner and in popped our friends with two large bags full of food. sometimes a check would come in the mail from someone who'd been praying for us. the amount would be just what we needed to pay an outstanding bill.

we struggle more than ever these days, and last month was the worst in memory. we literally couldn't go grocery shopping for a month. (no complaints from me about that one! it's not my favorite chore.) it is amazing what a handful of coins can mean in such times. you're also reminded of the luxuries you've grown accustomed to, like dishwasher detergent, a personal washing machine (mine broke), fresh fruit, or variety in your diet. you're compelled to pray for every need and to reconsider what is your daily bread.

all the lessons and purposes in these trials are not yet evident, but God remains faithful. our bills were paid and our mouths were fed all month. my parents invited me to "shop" at their house more than once. a friend who visits a local food pantry started giving us any items he cannot eat. and we attended barbecues and birthday parties a number of times, enjoying our plenty despite the empty cabinets. this month, we have gained another financial supporter. one congregation plans to send a bonus gift and may increase its monthly support. and my in-laws just paid for our visit to their house this past weekend. and that's only the material provision. oh what other blessings God has been weaving all the while . . .

it isn't easy not knowing when or from where your income will appear. except when you concede: it's always and ultimately from your Father Creator, whether you're rich or poor. we are of more worth than the birds, who don't sow or reap or store away, yet eat and live. and life is so much more than food.

flying

our baby girl, who is about to turn two, was born with skew foot. it's not as common or severe as club foot, but as a tiny infant acacia wore full-leg casts and then moved to wearing a brace around the clock. at a year old the brace was only worn in daytime, then we were rid of it altogether this past winter. her skew foot was healed in both feet!

you'd never know acacia had any "abnormality" confining her to some artificial support. she was born sunny. and that sweet disposition has been God's gracious gift to me (and the world!) since her birth. she draws people to her no matter where she goes. i cannot tell you how many have whispered, "she's my favorite," as in secret. and physically? the girl lets nothing stop her. she thought she could just roll off my lap from a chair to the floor before she could even sit up! and how does she walk? running is her MO. her speedy pitter-patter is absolutely adorable to see.

knowing all of this about acacia, i was still concerned about getting her new shoe inserts. her specialist recently prescribed them after seeing how severe her ankles pronate and how flat her feet are. it's been so long since she had to wear a brace, i thought, what if they bother her, hurt her little feet? she might fight us to not wear them. what if it slows her down?

rhys, acacia and i picked them up last monday. the braces were tried on and a few adjustments were made, then we put an extra-big pair of crocs over them. our appointment was over, so we headed outside. there's a great playground right in front of the hospital. we always spend some time there before driving back home. as i walked the kids through that gate, their excitement was spilling out. don't you know, my little girl let go of me and RAN to the swings!? she galloped like a filly. she climbed steps like a big kid. she slid down slides over and over. one time, she did that little trick where you swing by your hands on the bar across the top of the slide before dropping yourself to slip away. she's never done that!

i kept shaking my head in awe, wondering momentarily how strange my grin might look to the other people there. i didn't care, joy was bubbling over. it was as if acacia had new strength in those shoes! and then, rhys began jumping off steps pretending he was superman, flying. guess who copied. acacia started FLYING. boy, did the tears come then and i recalled isaiah 40:31

"...they will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

those whose hope is in the Lord.

acacia was born with a resolve and it's only fitting. her name means guileless. that's a childlike innocence. it is trusting.

i really needed to taste the truth that morning. not only with regard to acacia's feet. i needed the truth about hoping in God alone. trusting him as his child, in a freedom that knows it'll all be taken care of by my Dad. playing my days away as he deals with the big stuff. and to think, when i do so he delights to watch me just like i watch her. when my hope takes me to flight, makes me daring, gets me giggling, he beams in his glory. which just so happens to be my baby's other name.

startled by peace

we are exhausted this week. last week brought these separate incidences to our block: a stabbing and shooting, a productive visit from the U.S. Marshals, a drug raid, and multiple, minor, unrelated arrests. all directly followed my post about the good gift of home i have here. interesting? that'd be a gross understatement.

do you know isaiah 43:1-2? it is part of a passage of scripture that i first remember reading at a time when fear had filled my being like i'd never imagined it could. these words of promise washed me then, and over the years i've looked back on that gift of peace through easy and difficult times alike. this week, after the occurrences mentioned above, two or three people mentioned these verses to me. through the bit of shock, i am realizing i have never felt so close to the kind of overwhelming danger described in isaiah, even as i recall other moments in the past where i truly have escaped peril. what may be the most risky place i have ever lived is likely among a thousand other places i have been where destruction or death was at my door but i was simply unaware.


But now, this is what the LORD says—
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
"Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.

When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.


oh, praise God, who has named me! i am his and he is ever my Savior! bullets were fired in front of my porch, more than grazing my car. neighbors witnessed me giving information to the police. a drug raid happened right outside my window. i 've seen many frightening events, yet my kids have missed them all. and through the course of these events, among other merry things, we as a family have played on our sidewalks, met new neighbors, put plants in our yard and welcomed more first-time visitors to our home.

i may be tired and a little disoriented, but the Hand of peace guards me. my sheltered heart can live with joy and find rest in the midst of this torrent.

sometimes God answers fast

i was struggling with something today, wrestling a little with God but mostly with my own mind. i reached the point of decision: tonight, after the kids are in bed, i must read my Bible and pray. i just need to be with my Father. i just need him. it gave me some peace to simply hope for that time.

immediately after o. was tucked in, i closed myself in another room, took out my journal and got out some thoughts. then i read and started to pray about one chapter in particular. while i conversed with Jesus about leaning on him like a brother (consider hebrews 2), i got a new picture of faith.

that wasn't the only new picture. i had answers to the very thing i'd been struggling over earlier in the day. i had barely broached the subject with God, and CLICK! on went a switch, and he answered my confusion. i found him and i found what i needed.

praise the Lord of life! he hears us when we call and is found when we search for him unreservedly. and even reservedly.

try him.

it's okay: a work in progress

i think i'm learning a little bit more about ambiguity and unanswered questions, about striving and settling.

like this weekend. i was six hours away from home and my babies, and my sweet 3-year-old ended up in the hospital. it was likely he'd be just fine, but i really did fear i might lose him. now i look back on it and think, was there more to take away from that experience? should my reaction to his healing have been as intense as my fear of his failing? did i miss something?

yes, i'm learning.
it's okay to not know how to respond.
it's okay to wonder what's going on and not come up with an answer.
it's okay to revel in the glimpse of something without jumping to seize the whole picture.
it's okay to speak what i sense is utterly true, even when it's depths i cannot grasp nor wholly express.
it's okay to stay put when divergence enters the room.
it's okay to feel less than inspired after a conversation.
it's okay to start something i may not finish today.
it's okay to try something, not knowing where it'll take me.

it's more than okay.

i am learning a little bit more about my compulsion to get everything just right. mind, matter, me, you.

i'll probably pursue more insight into the crazy weekend, but i think i'll be okay if i don't.