In my cup

In My Cup

Earl Grey and later ginger breakfast

but neither was first choice

I only think I have to drink my habit
because it's habit to think it

So I told myself: you'll have the tea

and poured it in a cup of no import

Except my breaking from a norm might be
important as making coffee essential to my morn

Then I let myself think on more
than drink: on death and life because of death

and when it will touch me closer with time
or even too close regardless of time 

How death does not come and go

it's all around and through and
how we might never choose to free
death if it was ours to choose

So I think to myself: I'll make the choosing
into habit when the cup is mine to fill
and I'll choose to drink what's in the cup
when the filling can't be mine

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

I wrote this poem a week ago, when our local community had seen two tragic car accidents in a matter of days.  Dying was on my mind, as well as what we do with our freedom, even in the mundane.  My uncle had also been admitted to the hospital two days before and then lost his fight with cancer the following day.  Three others have died in accidents since.

Noah, me and 40

Reaching this age used to be embarrassing.  At least that's how adults seemed to celebrate turning forty.  I'd like to think I witnessed in them some kind of maturing into humility.  It felt more like fatalism.  Be sure, I've got the wrinkles and grays and "such" but those changes chisel away at pride in a different way.  They don't usually leave one grateful or in wonder.

One way I've celebrated reaching forty is recognizing it's come at this other juncture in my life - during a sabbatical and transition in work.  I get to enjoy all the changes, all together.  No sarcasm.  In this time of rest, I get to remember how truly abundant my life has been, and becoming forty becomes an honor.  I'm also left deeply grateful when I remember I cannot give this life nor take it away. . . .

Which brings me to Noah.  And wonder.  God decides he'll do away with an overwhelming majority of his own creation.  And Noah?  He gets to ride out the catastrophe in a boat.  Why? He walked with God. Go back about 500 years, when Noah is given his name, which means he will comfort.  Sure enough, he was found to be a comfort: to the grieving heart of God.

Can we imagine it? The One who can and did release all the waters of existence to destroy mankind: could he have found rest in one man? The waters recede, life starts new.  God finds pleasure in Noah once more and decides to make a covenant with all people, for all time, declaring:

“As long as the earth endures,
seedtime and harvest,
cold and heat,
summer and winter,
day and night
will never cease.”

 

It's as though God himself found a new reverence for life.

This poem could be about life, about the ark and flood, or any time, any man.  It's also about me and my forty.

forty days 

forty nights
forty years 

forty gifts

one today
for every day
forever rain pouring down

pouring out pouring in 

from the depths bursting forth opened gates 

flooding up to the heights lifted high

on we walk with our God

favor found above the ground

Firestarters

There's fire in us all.  How and when do we let it burn?

I began to write about my daughter's own in my last post. It's more often hers that stirs up the strongest response in me.  Perhaps it's the depth to which I relate to it, being myself a daughter, a sister... a female.

Naturally, we parents are quick to extinguish fires.  It feels safer.  We seem to have control by the looks of it, but our fear-filled force may very well leave a barren land after the flame's stamped out. Or it turns the fire into fury. Be it a slow, steady burn, one day it just blows and consumes anything in its path.  By forcing our way we only damage what God intended for beautiful purpose. 

I have a picture of backburning. It's a calculated method and likely implemented this week to help rescue Australia from dozens of bushfires burning there. Using any natural or man-made gaps in vegetation such as a river or road, fires ignited purposefully at such "firebreaks" will run back toward the wildfire and consume any potential fuel threatening to increase that fire's power. A positive force is applied.

What if we parents start little fires?  Clearly,  not the kind that would mean "exasperating" our children.  What about starting fires along the pure and good bounds of God's ways?  Our kids' passions that are specifically turning toward the dangerous might stay confined and find no more to consume. Instead, we direct their steps in order to usher in God's holy design for them by accompanying the work he's already begun. We're fanning the flames he ignited in the first.  As servants chosen for this purpose, we act in humility. And we must pray.

I have friends who began an online community centered around a short-term, concentrated prayer effort for their own kids.  It has stirred up my desire to pray more consistently to this end: to keep discovering and subsequently celebrating the passions in my kids in ways that won't bring hindrance but will fuel what our Father intended for Glory. And as I write, I am reminded that prayer brings the Fire that consumes the offering and fills the place with Glory! (See 2 Chronicles! I may have to pick that up in another post....)

I'll share a sort of backburning I've seen bring good things to my home. Kids desire boundaries. In fact, when they act out of control, it may be their way of crying out to understand the boundaries we've created or why we've neglected to set others. When my firstborn was an older infant, he'd fight diaper changes because it interrupted his play.  That was expected.  He'd get quite mad, though, and that seemed out of character to me.  He was so determined and strong that I'd physically struggle to hold him in place. The more force I used, mainly to avoid a nasty mess, the more power he seemed to gain. I guess it became a battle I was willing to fight, because it kept on until one day I smacked his thigh in the middle of an episode. Did he cry and submit and look longingly for an embrace of reassurance? Oh, no, he hit me back - with the fire burning hot.

That was that. It all came back to me - but not all at once - how gentleness covers mistakes and turns away wrath. A firebreak. I started to practice lowering my voice and upping the patience when my son raised his voice along with his temper. The response was amazing.  In the months to follow and years since, we've learned that our boy is full of his own fire - for what is just.  He's particularly sensitive to aggression, such as pushiness in people or unrest in his surroundings.  My choice to show him kindness in the midst of his own resistance toward me would snuff out the flames of hostility nine times out of ten.  It still does, and he's twelve.

Yesterday, I approached our daughter the same. Her older brothers and I have been lying around the house with the flu this week. Not a party, but she seems to think it so. She woke, insisting she wasn't going to school because she was too tired.  I'll use some force at times to get her going, usually coupled with silliness that eventually turns her mood around.  I didn't have strength for that yesterday, so I picked her up and held her in my lap.  I simply acknowledged her cry.  After five minutes of cuddles, she was chatting and pleased to get on with her day, that wildfire of innocent delight flickering inside and out!

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.

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

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 

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"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

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