Birth Pains

I don't know quite how to explain what I've been feeling lately.  There is an ache inside of me that just plain hurts.  It is so strong it is almost a physical sensation. 

I have felt it before.

There was a season in my life when God called me to intercession, in a labor of love so personal, so raw, that my very being ached every time the Holy Spirit called me to pray.  I remember it felt like I was the instrument of the Holy Spirit praying, and I could feel in my flesh and bones the groans of God's Heart weeping over and with my friend.  Those kinds of prayers one doesn't forget.

But this ache that I now feel is so keenly personal.

It is my own. 

It is the ache of commencement, one journey over, the new one yet to begin.  I feel I am caught in the threshold of having left one life, waiting for a new one.  There is pain in what is left behind.  In a perfect world, that life would be over and done.  Yet there are constant reminders of what I used to be.  And people who knew me then seem to look at me with questions in their eyes:  "who are you now?"

What is hard is that the seeds of who I will be were planted firmly in the soil of my being way back then.  I carry them with me now as planted hopes, as yet, unrealized. But the questions people ask, and the only answers I can give right now, leave no room to even see her, that woman God created me to be. 

In the last few weeks a song I haven't thought of for a long time has come to mind.  It was my favorite song when my last child was born.  We were so thankful for his birth, because it seemed to go well for him.  After all, when the first baby wouldn't eat, and the second baby wouldn't breathe, we didn't know what to expect with baby number three.  He just seemed to arrive on the scene happy.  But my experience was difficult, for all kinds of reasons.  I would lay in the bathtub at night and listen to the words of that song over and over--

All who are thirsty
All who are weak
Come to the fountain
Dip your heart in the stream of life
Let the pain and the sorrow
Be washed away
In the waves of His mercy
As deep cries out to deep (we sing)
Come Lord Jesus Come
Come Lord Jesus Come

Today that song was in my heart, all over me.  My thirsty weakness washing through me in waves. 

Desperate for  answers and encouragement, I was so happy a few moments ago when I saw my favorite blog's title for today:  "What God Really Promises in Pain."  I click over, ready to drink in words of comfort and wisdom.  I'm astonished when I get there and see there are only 12 words on the page.  Twelve.  But here is what they say:  "God doesn't allow pain unless He's allowing something new to be born."  In smaller print, down the page is the scripture reference Isaiah 66:9 NCV.  How could I not look it up?  Here is what I found:

In the same way I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born," says the lord.  "if I cause you the pain, I will not stop you from giving birth to your new nation," says your God.  "Jerusalem, rejoice.  All you people who love Jerusalem, be happy.  Those of you who felt sad for Jerusalem should now feel happy with her.  You will take comfort from her and be satisfied, as a child is nursed by its mother.  You will receive her good things and enjoy her wealth."  This is what the Lord says:  "I will give her peace that will flow to her like a river.  The wealth of the nations will come to her like a river overflowing its banks.  Like babies you will be nursed and held in my arms and bounced on my knees.  (Isaiah 66:9-12)
 

 The ache eases.  I read those words of scripture and they feel so personal, like the Holy Spirit has woven this story together in such a way that I know where the pain is coming from.  It's not about mourning a death  as much as it is the pains of something new being born.

 

 

Buried Treasure

It's not exactly how I mapped out my life when I was a young woman.  I thought for sure I would follow in my mother's footsteps, work full-time, be a professional, wear power suits and panty hose.  I had a plan.

And then God implemented His.

Again and again.

Because each time God changed the direction of my life I adjusted my plan to give His plan a well thought out trajectory.  I got real good at living into those.  But what I found is that each time I got comfortable, the Plan would change.  And now I am at a place I would not have recognized as mine twenty years ago.

I am 40.

I have three young sons.

I work part-time as a pre-school teacher, teaching 4 year old's about Jesus and their alphabet.

I come home and I am the domestic diva of my household.

In my pedigree wife and mother come first.  Holy cow!  When did that happen?  The headstrong young woman I was would have balked at that.  And now those titles are more dear to me than any I have ever had, any I could imagine having.  I still have dreams for myself, but being home and making home a place worth being is immensely important to me.

I'm the kind of girl that is riddled with self-doubts.  It was true when I was an associate pastor in a large South Florida church.  It was true when I was a campus minister.  And now as a mom who is home with her kids more than I ever imagined I woud be, I still have them.

I wonder if I'm a blessing to my kids.  I wonder if the good parts of my heart and character are rubbing off on them.  I wonder if the good parts wear too thin when we are together, and they are picking up my impatience and weariness instead.  I wonder if I am seeding their lives with enough of God's Goodness for them to grow into mighty oaks of righteousness, the kind that display His Glory every where they go.

There is something powerful in the wondering.  Because I know that I didn't get here, in this season, in this place, on purpose.  I got here by God's design.  If it had been my design, it would have looked so much different.  Yet here I am, and my heart is so wrapped up in the Work my Sweet Jesus has entrusted to my care. 

He led me here, knowing that this is a place where my questions outweigh my answers and my learning curves outweigh my aptitudes.  He positioned me in this time and place, for this moment, when my sons are young, when they are running full throttle with the delight of being a boy fresh in their veins, unharnessed energy and boundless enthusiasm loud in their ears and hearts and bodies.  And God positioned me here, to greet them and run with them and feed them and tend to them and wash them and teach them and train them and discipline them and play with them and rest with them.  These days are the most important ones.  God offers the opportunity to participate in laying the foundation of character and trust for their lives.  The one they will build everything else on, and eventually return to again and again.

I wonder about my role in the chaos.  It's the little things that I hope leave their mark, marking my love for them in ways they probably don't see.  Packing lunches, remembering snacks, making and baking, painting and biking.  Little "I Love You"'s floating gently, landing lightly, unnoticed in their lives.

Oh God I hope it is enough.

And I wouldn't want another doing this.

Thank You for the opportunity.  It is the buried treasure I found, when my plans turned upside down.

Re-Membering

What is it that makes you remember? 

Much of my life is spent as a pre-school teacher where each moment is an exercise in remembering:  where do we put our backpacks, how do we start the day, what are the letters in our name, what are the months in the year, what are the days of the week, how do I use scissors, how do I hold a pencil, what should I do in the hallway? 

To help our little ones remember, we get our whole bodies involved.  We sing, we dance, we move, we cheer.  Every part of our brains and bodies is activated in this remembering process.   Someday these processes will produces writers, readers, artists, singers, movers, shakers.  It is always a joy to see the child whose very being is illuminated by the process, to see her light up when a simple step melts into the wonder of accomplishment and the joy of being alive.  Oh sweet one, you've found it!  That thing that makes you feel alive!

It's so much easier I think to feel alive when your four.  There are no hindrances to singing the song that helps you remember.  And life is so much more fun when it is set to music.  Why is it when we grow up we forget to sing?  Or to play?  Or to dream?  Or to imagine?
 
We must ask ourselves that question:  where do I feel most alive?  Where do I melt into the wonder of accomplishment and the joy of living?  Why is that feeling so elusive? 

Last week I was with a small gathering of ladies and a couple of them shared about when they get that feeling.  For one it was riding horses.  For another it was being in her garden.  My first thought was about writing, that this is where it comes together for me.  And this is certainly true.  I love to play with words, or when the Word invites me to play, and something amazing comes forth that touches the truest part of me.  I love that.  And I would not be the same person if I didn't write.

But then something else stirs.

Okay, let's be real.  I was doing the stirring.  Literally.  Ten years ago if you told me I would find Sabbath in my kitchen, I would have laughed in your face.  However, it's true.  Last year when my life changed so radically, and dreams I thought I would have forever died overnight, I found solace in the simple process of chopping vegetables.  Today my favorite kind of Sabbath is stirring up something new in the kitchen.  Today I made an apple pie.  First time ever!  Yay!  Tim said it was really good.  Then he said I couldn't start making desserts all the time.  Our waistlines wouldn't be the same.

There is something so healing to me in making a black and white recipe come to life.  First I clean up my working space, washing down counters, putting clutter away.  Then I gather the ingredients, putting them out where I can see them easily, where they are readily accessible.  And then I begin to combine each one until it's ready for the oven.  I even enjoy cleaning up the mess.  Somehow it fills the time of anticipation, as I wait for the yumminess to emerge complete.  Following the steps from start to finish slows me down.  It builds expectation.  It helps me connect with a sense of accomplishment.  And the crowning moment is when one of my boys takes a bite and likes it. 

I don't mind that it takes time.  I believe it is time well-spent.  It is time that helps me to remember who I am and what matters most in my life.  It helps me think.  It's like the order of it orders me too.  I need it so much.  And the sweetest part is that it becomes a language of love as I feed my family.  I love it when the cranky boy sees me in kitchen and puts in a special request.  I don't really consider myself a cook.  But it lights up my whole world when that little man says something like, "Mom, you make the best __________!"  My heart does flip-flops.

I think of that scripture, "O taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8).  And I think of God's presence in my life.  Just like I'm tasting this creation, Lord, I taste the goodness of this life You've given me.  Oh sweet Father, You are so faithful!  You are goodness.  In the middle of my difficult moments You have given me a sweet passion that fills me up, even as I pour my own love out.  Only You can do that!

And so I find myself re-membered.  I come back to myself.  To remember who I am and Whose I am.  To remember that I don't really belong to myself, but that I must have some moments that belong only to me so that I can give myself away again.   In the middle of a loud, rambunctious house, I pull out the ingredients and get to stirring.  I can't help but think this is how God did it when He created the recipe for me.  For you.  For everyone of us.

How do you re-member?

Little Miracles

Miracles.  We all need reminders that they happen.  It's hard because life gets difficult in so many ways and creates in us a longing for miracles to happen, to lift us out of the heartache and misery.  God always finds a way for working through our circumstances, but it often takes us time to see that God was there in our difficulty helping and holding, just differently than what we imagined it would look like.  But miracles do happen.  I say it knowing full well there are those who are standing in grief, who are trying to reconcile the goodness of God with loss that defies description and cannot be contained.

So here is the story of mine.  I share it because there is a part of me that needs to be reminded too.  I need to remember because it changes how I live today.  I get so caught up in the ordinary hustle and bustle of my family's life that I forget how getting to our ordinary was extraordinary.

Those who remember my younger days would probably say that the desire to start a family was the original miracle.  I was totally focused on my career, very much steeped in the identity of the young professional.  But I remember the moment my heart changed.  It was as if a light came on in my soul, and I discovered a mother-love within that I had not recognized before.  The irony is that my greatest fear seemed to come true:  that I would put off having children so long until one day when I wanted them, I would be unable to have them.

Tim and I tried for three years.

During that time God moved me from being an Associate Pastor at a large church in South Florida to being a campus minister at a state university in a small Kentucky town.  As time passed, I began to believe God gave me the desire to be a mother so that I could be a better minister. But it still hurt so much every time I saw a baby baptism at church.  The desire never diminished; it never went away.

Then one day in September I went for a run.  I was also praying, remembering someone's words that God would do great things at the campus ministry I was serving.  In a Bible study I was involved in at the time, we were studying King Ahaz.  God offered King Ahaz the opportunity to name any sign he wanted to prove God's faithfulness.  Ahaz refused, so God gave the sign of "the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and name him Emmanuel."  I told God that if He offered me the opportunity to choose a sign of His faithfulness to the campus ministry I was serving, that's the one I would choose:  for my husband and I to have a baby.

These thoughts came towards the end of my run.  Soon I reached my stopping point, turned around, and began walking home.  I ran in a popular park where families often gathered, so I didn't think it unusual when I fell into step with a woman pushing a baby carriage.  I recognized her as one of the regulars.  Pretty soon she began a conversation with me. 

She asked me about running, commenting on how fast I was.  I told her I really wasn't that fast, but my husband was.  She asked me how long I had been married.  I said seven years.  She asked me if I had children.  I said no.  She asked me if we had been trying.  I hesitated.

No one knew we were trying.

We had been trying for three years.  Our hearts were raw with the hoping and the hurting, the monthly disappointment.  And our families just thought we didn't want children.  We had been struggling for so long, so alone.  This was a burden of the heart I just didn't share.

Except on this day there was this little nudge.

When I tell her we had been trying, the lady with the stroller asks me how long.  When I told her three years, she stops mid-stride, looks me in the eye, and says, "God sent me to you today." 

Really?  Is this really happening? 

She told me that I would be able to have a baby.  That the delay had to do with God's timing.  That the time had come to tell our family.  That God had sent her to me to give me hope. 

And then in the middle of that park she prayed for me.

That was in September.  On December 31st I found out I was pregnant with our first child, Noah Joseph.  He was born August 20, 2004.  And then on November 10, 2006, we had baby number two, Isaiah Wesley.  And we were a complete happy family.  I gave away all the baby furniture, baby clothes, baby paraphenalia.  And on December 1, 2009 we welcomed baby number three, Jeremiah Allen. 

God's sense of humor is that we now have a boy for each year of trying.  Three years of famine.  A lifetime of harvest.

Miracles each one.

Signs and wonders, and oh I need to remember how much God loves and listens and lavishes all His Goodness onto our barren lives.  I so needed to be reminded that this mothering busyness is Holy Work.  I am so thankful for the Invitation, and oh so needeful of Grace to help me fulfill it.

Miracles do still happen.

The Courage to See It Through

The degree that hangs in Tim's new "Assistant Principal" office.

Sometimes it would be so great to be able to see into the future.  To be able to glance into our crystal ball to discern what is coming our way so we could plan accordingly.  Alas, we don't have that ability.  But our God is, and was, and will be.  He is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.  And while tomorrow remains a mystery to us, the Almighty has already been there and done that.  Nothing is going to happen to us that will surprise Him.  And whatever comes our way tomorrow, God is already putting help in place today to help us face it.   He has a plan, and He is working it.  I love that about Him.

Beth Moore speaks brilliantly about this concept when she delves into the book of Jeremiah.  She mentions that God has thought it through, every detail of our lives, God has thought about it and is working in it to bring us to a place of hope.  How familiar are the words to Jeremiah 29:11:

For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope. (NRSV)
 

But I love the way the King James Version translates this passage, because it illuminates the very thing Beth Moore is getting at, the thing that the original language is saying:

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.  (KJV)
 

God has already accounted for all the mishaps, mistakes, and mis-steps.  He has already figured out how to guide us to a good and peaceful destination.  No matter how we start out, God has worked out a way to bring our hearts Home.

Yet while God has already thought it through, how often do we have the courage to see it through?  You know what "it" is.  It's that thing that has broken our heart, broken our dreams, broken our spirit.  That thing that laughs at us while we rummage around in what is left of our lives wondering what to do next.

I've had some time now to process Tim getting a new job.  He had been unsatisfied, feeling that he was meant for more challenge, for more purpose and meaning than he was experiencing where he was.  After a principalship certification,  two years of waiting and countless interviews, he finally was offered a position as an assistant principal at an elementary school.  We have settled into this new life, this answered prayer.

Tim saw it through.  He never gave up, he never gave in.  It hurt like hell, wondering if God had forgotten him, struggling with the awful paradox of having a burning passion inside with no opportunity to let it ignite.  Faith told us the fire inside was a God thing.  But it was blind faith because each interview that didn't land a job seemed to be another message saying this was the wrong road.  Only our insides told us it was right.  We hung on to that tender thread.  Then one day God answered our prayers. 

God knew all along.

God had already been preparing a place for Tim.  A perfect place where his gifts and heart and passion would be met by challenge needing his strength.  A place where others would recognize the good stuff in him and send forth gratitude at his presence.  Tim no longer has to wonder what difference he makes.  He just has to look at the six hundred elementary school students in his care.

Tim saw it through. 

Oh he inspires me.  His story encourages me.  When I think of the open-ended-ness of my own story I love thinking of his.  Because it's then that I am able to translate this bit of Good News to my own life.  God has already thought through my own scenario.  And I want to also show the same courage my sweet husband has shown as I live into the Divine Conclusion God has already prepared.  God has expectations for my future I haven't even imagined. 

Goodness me, that rattles my cage!  So much talk of expectations:  mine, yours, the world's, the church's.  But whoever considers God's?  God has expectations for my future!  That thought washes over me like sweet Grace.  Oh sweet Jesus!  Whatever do You expect to come from Your tender work in my life?  In my heart?  In my head?

It is worth it hold out.

To give "it" time.

To allow this story some breathing room.

Courage is a small price to pay for the expected ending God has in Mind.

 

Making and Baking a Marriage

In a few hours I will be doing the wedding of Erynn and Tom.  I am filled with joy and anticipation.  I'm sure it is nothing compared to what they are feeling about this special moment in their lives.  As I have pondered over the last few months what words to express the love and hope I feel, the Lord reminded me of bread making.

So often our culture approaches marriage as if it is not worth one's time, or even worse, like it's a piece of cake.  It equates marriage to the party of the year, a beautiful, shining moment that looks glorious and tastes great.  One thing I've learned through my own sixteen years of walking this path:   this ain't no cake walk.

Because making a marriage is like making bread.

I love the process of making bread.  It is time consuming; it takes me all day.  But it is so satisfying, every part of it.  That's how marriage is.  It takes time.  It has seasons and reasons that are beyond our comprehension when we've only just begun.  But as they unfold and we walk together through them, hand in hand, heart to heart, something so sweet and satisfying starts to emerge.

Marriage, like a good loaf of bread, begins with quality ingredients. 

When I bake bread I use both white and whole wheat flour.  Both are so different.  One carries the flavor, the other carries the texture.  But once they are in the bowl, they become something different, better for being together.  The same is true for marriage.  It takes two unique individuals, who are complete in themselves yet come together for a purpose beyond themselves.  It's like God takes the stuff of who you are and combines it with some other good stuff, coming up with something amazing.  I love that.

We don't arrive at this time and place in a vacuum.  We are brought to this moment by a whole world of experiences that have shaped us into the people we are.  More importantly, we are brought to this moment by a whole village of important people who have shaped us into who we are.  In the recipe I use, it's called the starter, or sour dough.  This in a sense is the bread that has gone before us.  Our families and friends have written all over our life stories, giving us our character, our values, being the birthplace of our hopes and dreams.  We wouldn't have anything to bring to the table if it weren't for them.

The best bread has a hint of sweetness.  The best marriages are filled with it.  I like to add a little extra to my bread.  While the recipe only calls for a quarter cup white sugar, I also add a quarter cup of brown.  We need the sweetness of joy in our lives, but especially in our marriages.  It would seem odd to have to remind ourselves of this.  But let's be honest.  Sometimes the demands and struggles of life begin to encroach on our ability to simply enjoy ourselves and one another.  We can lose sight of the importance of just having fun together.  We say to ourselve, "Oh, if it's fun and enjoyable, it's not as important as the other big stuff that matters."  And all too often couples forget what it's like to laugh together and to play.  And they begin to go through the motions.  And they forget what it feels like to smile in the other person's presence.  So be liberal with the sugar.  It makes bread and marriage so much better.

In the mix of making bread, it is important to remember balance.  This is why salt is so important, it adds balance to the flavors that are mingling together.  We always produce salt in our tears.  And there are sure to be tears as we walk through life in marriage.  The challenge is to embrace those things that are difficult and challenging, to see them through, to live them well.  This is what adds character and flavor to our marriages.  When we walk through pain together, we are bonded in a way that makes intimacy deeper, our love for one another closer.  Even when we cause those tears, if we can have the courage to work out those differences we find that we come out stronger on the other side.  And we also become a sign of hope and grace to others who are struggling.

There are two more ingredients in this bread making adventure.  In fact, in making bread they begin the whole process of combing ingredients.  I'm speaking of water and yeast.  Before any other ingredient goes in, yeast is added to a warm bowl filled with warm water to dissolve.  Traditionally water has been used as a symbol of the Holy Spirit.  The Holy Spirit is the Great Helper, the Companion, the Wisdom of God guiding and directing and leading us in the journey of life.  Water gives us refreshment.  It is a reminder that we need something beyond ourselves to make it.  There will be days when we are not enough, when we need more than we have to give to make marriage work.  And that is when the Holy Spirit steps in.

Yeast is like that too.  It is the power of breadmaking.  The yeast causes the bread to expand, to rise, to taste just right.  Without it we are left with a dry cracker.  The Power and Presence of God is like that in our marriages.  We need God's Power and Presence to help us rise to the occasions that demand everything from us.  We need God's Power and Presence to make us more than we are.  We need God's Power and Presence to transform us from simple ingredients to something that can feed and nourish.

Of course it's never enough to just dump ingredients in a bowl and stir.  There is a Baker and there is a Process.  God is the one who leads us through this journey.  In bread making there is a lot of waiting.  I remember someone once saying, "Thank God for the grace of unanswered prayer."  I had just poured out my heart with prayers I was praying for my husband.  I was done with waiting.  I thought she was crazy.  But what I've learned is that it is in the waiting that my strength and faith have the opportunity to rise, to be developed.  And in our marriage I have found that the waiting times allow me to see the beauty and strength of the man I married.  Bread just wouldn't be the same without allowing time for the dough and loaf to rise.  We wouldn't be either.

And yes, there is the kneading.  Nobody wants to be stretched and pounded.  Let's face it.  Marriage is hard work.  It stretches us in ways we never anticipated; it demands more of us that we ever thought we would give.  In the kneading God is making us one.  God is taking two separate and distinct individuals and melding their lives together into something greater.  That never happens without having to reach beyond what we already are.

And yes, there is the heat.  There is no way around it.  Marriage is life shared together.  And life always includes those seasons of intense heat when we think we cannot stand it anymore.  If we can just have the courage to trust the One who is leading us through the fire, we can rest assured there is something amazing on the other side.  It is the fire that brings everything together, that forms us  for the purpose we were made for.

Isn't this what we came here for? 

Marriage like bread, has an ultimate purpose.  Bread is meant to feed and nourish.  So too our lives are not our own.  We are given to each other and to the journey to become more than we could be on alone.  And as our lives are shared, and formed, and kneaded, and heated together we become people who can feed others with the love, the joy, the peace, and hope that have come forth from this marriage journey.  Our living is meant for more than just ourselves and each other.  We are meant to make a difference in the world.

So my sweet Erynn, dear Tom, this is my prayer for you:  That God, Who is the best Maker of marriages, will help you to become one; that God, Who is the ultimate Baker, will form and shape you into a family that brings hope and grace to a hurting world. 

For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.  Isaiah 55:10-11

I love you both.

Prayer in a Bottle

There have been those days, boys running like crazy through the yard, on a grand adventure.  A neighbor comes by and says "Wish we could bottle that."  I laugh, because I know how hard they crash.  But I must admit, there are all kinds of things I wish could be bottled. And then today I am amazed to discover that one of my favorite things in the world can be!

Would you believe prayer fits inside old plastic water bottles?

In my classroom of 4 year old's sometimes there are tears.  When it happens I often feel awkward and ill-equipped, sorely out of my element.  As I have pondered how to help, I remembered a suggestion given at the Early Childhood Summer Institute I attended this summer.  One of the presenters demonstrated how an empty water bottle literally becomes a "sanity saver."

The instructions are simple.  Fill the bottle with sand and all kinds of interesting little things that are fun to look at.  Finally add a penny, cap it, and tape it up tight.  When the child is having a difficult time have them take some deep breaths.  Then give them the bottle, and ask them to find the penny.  "Sanity Saver Bottle" to the rescue!

I made one today.

Here's the crazy thing:  I thought I was making this for little kids who needed distraction, but something wonderful happened as I held it in my hands.  I began looking at the beads tumbling in the sand and my heart was strangely soothed.  I began to search for the silver heart, the butterfly charm, the shell.  I found the bead that had once been on my favorite bracelet, the one with subtle streaks of blue and gold, the one that reminds me of harvest and Psalm 126.  And I began to realize that the random things I put in this simple bottle were not so random.  And the bottle itself is not so simple.  Each little bead, and charm, and shell fragment, and sequin come from meaningful parts of my life. Watching them tumble around in the sand, playing hide and seek as they appeared and disappeared, made my heart pause and remember--the Holy One with us always.

Psalm 139 says it this way:

How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God!  How vast is the sum of them!  I try to count them--they are more than the sand; I come to the end--I am still with you  (Psalm 139:17-18).

Even if we could count every particle of sand in this bottle, we would never be able to come to the end of God's presence with us.  And if God's thoughts are more infinite than the sand we cannot count, then how much does He think of us?   His thoughts toward us have weight to them.  They are not passing, random thoughts.  They mean something.  They mean something not just to us but for us.  Our sweet Lord has thought every thing through.  Nothing has escaped His attention.  And more than we are waiting for Him, He has been waiting for us to realize we are with Him still.

There is no detail that escapes His notice. 

I don't always know how to calm the 4 year old heart.  But I'm so thankful the Holy Spirit knows how to calm mine.  And I am grateful that the Holy One waits for me to realize that in my sandy life, He is the treasure that I seek.

The Hope in My Hands

Tomorrow I am helping in Kidzone.  I am the host for children's Sunday morning worship time; my husband is the storyteller.  The theme is contentment.  The story is the two loaves and five fish.  And oh how Jesus multiplied them!

Life is still not perfect.  And there is this part of me that says I should be stressing more.  Worried more.  Scraping together more pennies.  Counting.  Scrounging.  Scrapping. 

But instead . . . .

I just feel peace.  Peaceful.  Content.  It's like I'm holding my fish and bread in my hands.  And I know there is not enough to go round.  There is not enough me to go round.  But I am so confident in the hands of my Savior.  I know He can take what I got and make it enough.

There have been several times this summer He has done it, when the Provision just appeared.  There is that still nagging part of me that whispers "what if?".  And I tell it the Provision came when I wasn't looking for it.  Won't it also come when I need it so much and my eyes are weary with searching for it so much?

Kind of like today.

I was putting away our packages from trips to the store, arranging provisions around the house.  And my hand felt funny all of a sudden.  I looked down and one of my rings was gone.  How odd that one would be there on one hand, but the most important one, the wedding band, a sweet anniversary gift from my husband, with precious stones in a delicate setting, was gone.  Panic.  I could not find it.  Not in my pocket.  I did not take it off.  Not on the floor.  Not on the counter.  Oh God how could it be gone?!  And my Tim saying, "just breathe," and "when was the last time you remembered having it on?"

I knew it had just been on my hand.  I had just washed my hands in the sink.  I had just put away the few groceries.  I had just put some plastic bags in the trash.  My prayers were fast and furious.  "Oh God please help me find this ring!"  And Tim picks up the dish towel to dry his own hands and out it falls.  We catch it before it goes down the drain.

Provision.

Help.

Answered prayer.

I know that we are in a season of having to trust.  But my Savior is so close.  And even in the tumult of crazy days when my words come fast and furious in rounding up boys for the next part of our adventure together, I know He is nearby.  Ever so Big and Able and Willing to help.  And how can I worry?  I believe this is a time of hope.  I'm so thankful for the difficulty that demands all our trust because it means I have been delivered from another difficulty that was secure, but was sucking the life out of me.  And here I am free, breathing easy, and filled with peace.

And holding my two loaves and five fish.

Crossing the Distance

Last Sunday I spent the day traveling to TN for a funeral.  Vicki's mother had died.  I didn't know her mom so well, but Vicki was one of my best friends in Junior High and High School.  Her mom had just been diagnosed with cancer.  The prognosis was not good, and doctors had only given her mom a year to live.  Before the month was over, her mother was gone.

It's hard to explain why I had to go.  It's harder still to explain why I need to write about it.  Vicki and I haven't seen each other in 16 years.  Our lives have taken us down different roads:  I live in Kentucky, and her home is in Los Vegas.  Yet she returned when her mom got sick.  And too soon she was saying goodbye to the most precious person in her life.  How do you bury your mom?  Especially when it comes way too soon, way too unexpected.  When I heard where and when the service would be, I just knew--I had to go.   Call it the draw of the Holy Spirit or that intuition that my friend needed me.  I couldn't not go.

Two hour drives are good for thinking.  And I spent the drive there recalling the depth of the friendship I felt, the whole reason behind this magnet pulling me away from my domestic life of chasing boys and shopping for groceries and cooking dinner and giving baths and preparing for another busy week.

When I was in seventh grade we moved to Small Town, Tennessee.  Such a rural place.  Most everyone had been there since before birth.  Even after graduating from High School there, I always felt like an outsider looking in.  That first year was tough.  At the little school I attended I met Vicki.  Both of us rode the bus together.  She and I became fast friends.  But the thing that cemented our friendship could have been the thing that shattered it.  I remember that everyone had to participate in music class, but both of us loved to sing.  As it happened there was a small solo we both wanted.   One morning as we sat on the bleachers waiting to be dismissed to our homerooms several of us were joking and cutting up and talking about music.  I joined in by teasing that I thought I would get the part over her, that I thought I sang better.  What was I thinking, twelve year old me?  Why would I say something like that?  Who says stuff like that?  Well, what I remember thinking was this is how people joke around with each other.  But the group listening didn't take it that way.  They considered me a braggart and decided that someone who brags so much about themselves and puts others down is not someone they wanted to associate with.  And they didn't.  Ever.  For months on end.

But Vicki did.

She kept being my friend.  In fact she became my best friend at that school.  We rode the bus together.  We ate lunch together.  We spent recess together.  We spent our summer together.  We became inseparable.  And what I remember most is that she forgave me, and made that unbearable season of my life, bearable.

Big deal, right?

But it was a big deal.  I already had all kinds of abandonment issues crawling all over me.  All kinds of heartache weaving its way all through my sense of self.  There wasn't a moment my heart didn't hurt.  And in all that pain here was a friend who forgave me and loved me and accepted me just the way I came.

Two hours on the road from my Old Kentucky Home to an out of the way place in Tennessee, I am remembering all this.  "Oh God, show me why I am here, show me why I am making this journey."

When I arrived, it was just in time.  I walked up the front steps, in through the door.  The service was moments from starting, but someone says, Vicki is in there.  And in I went and here she came to greet me, arms open wide, just like old times.  She draws me to her and seats me beside her and we hold hands and I gently rub her shoulder and back during this oh so hard time.  For sixteen years she had been waiting and saving a seat.  I am awestruck.

After the service we were able to draw close for a bit and share our hearts.  In sixteen years so much of her was still the same:  her voice, her smile, her eyes, the warmth radiating in all of them.  I just felt enveloped in that same love that had held me together so long ago, welcoming me into a friendship that wouldn't let go.

Two hour drives are good for thinking.  As I made my way back home, I replayed the memories of years gone by.   It is hard going back to those days, remembering times I've spent so much effort forgetting.  The truth is, I never felt like I belonged somewhere until I went to college.  And I never truly felt at home until I got involved in campus ministry my sophomore year.  That's the year the whole trajectory of my life changed.  I found my calling.  I met my husband.  I discovered my own heart, and for the first time loved it.  I haven't wanted to revisit those before times that felt so awkward, and painful, and lonely.  When I left my hometown at graduation, I truly left. 

But going back last week was redemptive.  It showed me that even in those years of  heartache, God had provided Light, and Love, and Hope.  And it was enough to help me get through to the other side.  And couldn't I give of myself to someone so dear so that she could make it to her other side?  Couldn't I let the Love of Jesus be present for her through me, just like she had done on my behalf so many years ago?  Don't we all just need that Love that crosses the distance to get us to the other side of hurt and heartache so we can touch Hope?

I've pondered that--that Love that crosses the distance.  Jesus crossed the distance in my life and redeemed every part of it that made me ashamed to be me.  He showed me that I am a person worth loving and holding and helping.  He showed me that He could do things in me and through me and for me that I could not even imagine!  And I am staring down this road of who I am amazed at what He has done with such a girl as I am.  Oh when He found me, oh what a mess He found.  But that Jesus is so fond of messes.  And I love Him.  And I am so thankful for all He has done to bring me to this time and place.  And I am oh so grateful for the call to go and be with a friend who needed a hand to hold while she helped her mother make the journey Home.

 

Holy Paper Towels and Soapy Water!

My life is so full of ordinary.  I am a mother and a wife and I work as a pre-school teacher and no one would ever guess by looking that during college God called me to ministry, or that I answered that call and am answering it still.  God led me here.  To this time and place, this season of life where I am more likely to be covered with sweaty hugs from my three sons or the remnants of pre-schooler lunches that I helped open than the formal stole and robe that I wear as an ordained minister. Yet in the middle of my ordinary, the Holy Spirit reminded me that ordinary is often the deepest well one encounters.

It's so easy to slip into assumptions that only the big things count in life, those things that leave us wonder struck, amazed, and impressed.  Ever notice how difficult  it is these days to leave an impression?  We are so hungry for gargantuan achievement that anything less is rendered obsolete, as if it is not worthy of notice. 

But God notices everything.

It happened so quickly that if I had not had that grace-filled moment of clarity I would have missed it.   I was getting ready to paint handprints for our sweet 4 year olds to take home to their mommies.  I had carried an old tub to the bathroom to fill with soapy water so that our children could easily clean their hands.  I guess it was the way that I tossed the collection of unrolled paper towels over my shoulder that did it.  Another scene flashed in my mind's eye.  It was if I was witness to that upper room that Jesus filled with His Presence on the night that he was betrayed, claiming a few precious moments with His disciples before He was taken away.  I could see Him swinging a towel over His shoulder just before picking up a basin.  He was preparing to wash the grimy feet of His dearest friends.  I was preparing a place for my little students to wash away the paint from their little hands.

That picture of Jesus is so precious to me.   I am a Deacon in the United Methodist Church.  The towel and basin are the symbol of the servant ministry Deacons are called to.  While we don't often serve the Church in the traditional sense, we have the special task of connecting the world to the Church, and the Church to the world in roles that serve others.  But Deacons are not alone in that Call.  Anyone who follows Jesus is Called.   And although it can be shaped in so many different ways, at the heart of our Calling, we are still continuing that intimate ministry of service, demonstrated by the Savior who takes a special moment with each disciple simply to wash dirty feet.

It's ordinary.

It ain't glamorous.

But Jesus honors it as ministry close to His heart.  So everytime one of us as His disciples serves someone He loves, He honors it.  And He multiplies it. 

I think the message in the moment is that everytime we pick up the towel to serve, He is there.  In our love poured out, in the face of the ones we are waiting upon.

The work of mommies and daddies counts.  All those tasks that seem so insignificant in the grand scheme of things (getting little teeth brushed, dressing wiggly bodies, washing sweaty heads, fixing fast dinners, getting those wide-eyed wonders in bed)  is love being poured out on another life He loves.  The work of loving a husband or wife counts. All those small encouragements are not insignificant, given to this one who walks each day beside us, prayers prayed in hard circumstances, the unseen ways we prop that precious one up when gravity keeps pulling them down. The work of teaching counts.  All those passing minutes that require delicate patience and creative communication so that little ones learn to love learning are not wasted.   The work of plumbing, , and banking, and principal-ing, and writing, and computer science-ing, and farming, and . . . and . . . and . . . it goes on and on into every nook and cranny of ordinary we occupy.  Each day that we go into the unglamorous world of making a living, yet do it with hearts willing to serve, not for the recognition but because others need it, we are Counted by the One who was initially dis-counted and hung on a cross.  Hanging out on the low end of the totem pole counts, because that is where Jesus counts Himself, and that is where we have opportunity to serve Him the most.  When no one is looking.  When the world would not count it as impressive at all.

Jesus counts it as Holy.