Winter 2015

                                                     Winter 2015

                My mind stuck in a tiny circle of despair, I felt alone, rejected, the betrayal like acid on my lips. Then it came- that beam of Starlight in the great dark.
       Just to taste a little of that anger, a small sip of the Holy wrath of a righteous God, crying out as He saw their sin made me stagger back, shocked; but something broke inside me.
       I didn't have to be angry, to be bitter, to justify; He saw the sin and wept and roared on my behalf, He knew each wave and ripple, every repurcussion of those nights, every lie and twist and half truth. And His anger was pure and clean, not marred as mine is by revenge and hatred and fear.

        The weight of the world, the weight of that cliff in the dark fell from my shoulders and I could cry again, washed white as snow with His blood, His human, divine, necessary blood.      The Lamb a Lion, roaring in rage. A humble man on a humble tree, saving the world one moment at a time.

        The sun shall be no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee: but the LORD shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God thy glory.

      Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the LORD shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended.

Isaiah 60:19-20

December 2015

                                                   December 2015

Eleanor, screaming, her little body stiff with anger and confusion. 

Why am I having another child, when I can't even do a good job taking care of the ones I have?               

Eleanor, lying beside me in the floor for hours, sweetly playing with the nativity characters. "Baby... Mommy... Daddy..." she says, pointing. Small white sheep clasped in dimpled fingers, tiny goats, a tortoise, and cream colored horses with stiffly flowing manes. The light is reflected off her face, her beloved, contented face.                                  

                                                 

Because they aren't yours.  They are  Mine.               

I know one of the first things my children will have to do is forgive me for all the mistakes I've made and will make. It seems sometimes like having a Christian parent has been a stumbling block in my own walk with God; how could someone claiming to know and love Christ have been so flawed, made so many hurtful choices? They will have to ask this question, just as I have had to ask it, and may He answer it with his swift and gentle kindness. 

November 2015

                                       November 2015

         A black and white bird wings his way down our hillside, the perfection of his wing tips as he spreads them and  the brilliant white of his little cloak making me stop and stare. So much beauty lavished on this one small, fearless bird; considered a beggar, but clothed as a king.          
         He lights on the bare branch of a    quaking aspen, the contrast of his dark and light feathers perfectly suiting this crisp, frosted morning. He pauses for a moment and then plunges straight down, wings close to his body, then spreading them wide flashes down the hill through the trees.
      How can  something so magnificent  be so common? The abundance of beauty on this good earth fills me with awe for the One who crafted it with such care.    

                               

      When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

 What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour.

Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet.

Psalm 8:3-6

               

July 26 2015

             
                                   
                                        Sunday, July 26 2015

      I'm looking out at the storm clouds massed over the lake, breaking in wave upon silvery wave, the golden light of the sun waiting to break through while it gilds the edges and lightens the shadows.  The lake is touched by magic, light and shade dappling it like a mirror. Wild and peaceful at the same time, just like my soul.                                                                                                        
"I don't think I'll ever feel safe again,"  
  
"Why should you? This is enemy territory. This isn't Home."        

  Things are coming clear to me, but the more I see the less I know, and the more I believe the more I feel, while these growing pains ache with abandon. Eleanor falls asleep in my arms, her lips slightly parted and her breathing heavy and sweet.

   Light and dark together, and the Light has already fought for me, and won. Lord,  I thank you, you kind, gentle, strong and fierce lover of my soul.

                                                 

  He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.      

John 12:25

   
    There was a silver gate too thin and ridged to be comfortable to sit on, and a  red road, redder with rain, like a dividing line between the lush pastureland above and the dull fields of old cane grass below.   

     
    Two black and white dogs to take on walks up that road; Heidi and Misty, we called them- Heidi after the little girl in the Alps, and Misty because we liked the name.   They pulled on their leashes, straining to escape and be off, running free after the cows in the fields- they were born for such joy, but untrained as they were their longings went unfulfilled unless one of them could slip her leash and escape. I don't think I enjoyed those walks like I could have, but the memories of those times are sharper and more vivid than many of the things I've done since for amusement's sake alone.

     A horse named Copper, large boned but sweet,  consented to being climbed on and
played with, saddle or no saddle, but riding him was a slow affair and you would have to stir him up soundly to convince him to achieve even a mild canter. 

      There are pictures in photo albums and in my mind of little brothers, wearing mismatched slippers at least four sizes too big for them and carrying chickens around like kittens or lap dogs. The grass grew long in the back yard, and so we would fence it in with electric fences and let the sheep graze it low. Victoria would feed them oats and molasses from a silver bowl, her big blue eyes under her straight blonde bangs as beautiful then as they are now.   


     What gracious beauty in the midst of chaos. What beautiful precious faces and unstained minds,  what moments of delight, high in the ironwood pines as they tossed like waves in the sea.

 The glory of this latter house shall be greater than of the former, saith the Lord of hosts: and in this place will I give peace, saith the Lord of hosts.

    Haggai 2:9

June 7, 2015

                                                      June 7, 2015

           My grandfather is a story-teller. I've  listened to his stories many times without even hearing them. In my mind, he's always been old; a grandfather long before I was born.  Sitting in his living room, quiet and awkward, I've waited for him to stop talking. Let me get a word in edgewise, I've thought to myself. Let me speak. I've resented his voice; his precedence.

       The last time I saw him, he told a new story; new to me perhaps, and maybe it felt old to him but he told it as concisely and clearly as if it had happened to him yesterday. He spoke of his graduation from officer's training, and the sky-blue car he drove through a small town, down a long curving stretch of road. "Sky-blue", he called it several times. My favorite color. I love to see it everywhere, in the things I touch every day; the things I wear; the things my children wear. I look into his eyes, and it's like I've seen them for the first time.  Sky blue.

     A picture forms in my mind, and I see him as a young man, in the dark blue of his new lieutenant ' s uniform, his four hundred percent increase in pay resting luxuriously in his mind; young and powerful behind the wheel of his brand- new blue car, his eyes on the road ahead. His same eyes, his same mind- this same man that I've never seen before, and never known. His blood in my veins; his same desire to be heard. How have I not noticed we have the same eyes?

     He sits in a tall chair, straight-backed, and he could still be wearing a uniform, the way every button is precisely buttoned. When I feel miserable I lounge in my pajamas all day, my consideration for others far outweighed by my own desire for comfort. I respect his nicely-buttoned shirt. I respect his resolution in the face of pain.

       I've never tried to imagine his house without him; he seemed

permanent, immovable; as firmly planted as the soaring spruce tree in the back yard. "I think we may be going to lose that tree," my grandmother tells me. It shakes me.   It's been there my whole life, just like they have.   I grasp at something to hold on to, and all I have is what I know and believe to be true: This world, no matter how beautiful, no matter how painful, isn't all we have.  It can't be.

    "You know what, Mother? Today is actually night. When we die; that's when we will really be awake."    Chloe's eyes looking into mine are dark, but she has inherited her great-grandfather's passion for books and for stories, and in her eyes is ageless wisdom. "You must become like a child",  the Master said. I know I must.

 Grandfather; I'll see you in the Morning.

May 2015

                            

                                                     
                                                         5.16.15

      I feel as fragile and translucent as a  shell, with this new life inside me. It is as small as a pearl, delicate,  precious- and I'm like a  shell, holding it. Two lives together,  and my  whole year, my whole life, is changing shape to fit this new little one.      

       Sickness comes in waves, ebbing and flowing throughout the days and weeks. I want to hold this child with grace and patience,  like my Father has held me.    I've known the sensation of being held gently and firmly in His hand;  suspended,         transient as the breath of life. Precious to Him, amid this dim and perilous world.

 If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;

   Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

   If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.

   Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.
 Psalm 139: 9-12

May 22, 2015

                                              May 22, 2015

       I always felt indifferent to the person of Christ. I felt that he wouldn't like me very much. I identified with the Pharisees,  whom he was harsh with, but I knew that even they would have shunned me for not fulfilling their requirements. I didn't feel dirty enough to be grouped with the harlots and tax collectors that flocked to him. My sins seemed too small to truly bother about.

         Why did his death matter to me? As the Son of God, didn't he know everything, and by dying for everyone in one fell swoop, wasn't it sort of a package deal, my small bundle of sins just one drop in an enormous bucket of others?        

                                                           

      The pride and hypocrisy  of my own immature thinking makes me reel; professing myself wise,  I was as foolish as everyone I looked down on, and more. Pride insulated me;  it was like a thick, comfortable blanket

between me and everything good and beautiful like humility, compassion, mercy, and righteous judgment. As long as I felt a little bit better than someone else, I thought I was doing okay. And I could always,  always,  find someone to look down on. Someone to despise as a little bit less. 

        It wasn't until some carefully constructed and I thought well-tended walls in my own life fell down that I started to see my own need for redemption. I remember lying in bed, trembling, knowing that what I had on my own wasn't good enough anymore.     God as my Father become real to me, and Jesus as my brother, a man who never sinned against me or anyone,  an innocent, kind man who died to save me.  

      Feeling alone, I tried to picture Christ standing next to me in the memories and flashbacks that pulsated through my mind. I couldn't see Him, and I remember panicking,

my chest heaving with desperate, empty moans. "Where were you? Where were you when this happened?"

Truth came to me, quiet and still;  "I was dying."                        

     This man, who loved sinners, who forgave their sins and selflessly spent himself for others, died in the midst of every sin I've ever committed, and every sin someone else has ever committed against me. His own Father turned His face from his Son, as he died on a cross for me. Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthanei?  My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

                                                              

          He felt every fear and waking nightmare of shame, and He alone has walked uprightly.     I know that now I  must learn to live the way he died; surrendered to the will of our Father.

Arise, shine;

For your light has come!

And the glory of the Lord is risen upon you.

For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth,

And deep darkness the people;

But the Lord will arise over you,

And His glory will be seen upon you.

Isaiah 60 1-2 

May 2015

"Children are the wishing people," Elysia says. I pause, thinking how true this is. I want that.  I want to be one of the Wishing People. 

May 15, 2015

                                           

       Anthony wakes up from his nap, his face flushed with sleep and his gold-brown hair tousled.  He  climbs into our rocking chair next to the window. It is windy today, the tree tops bending low and the lake ruffled with waves.

     He glances out the window-  Look! A sailboat!  A sailboat! !   We watch it float and skim across the sunlit water... it's the first we've seen this season, and it's beautiful;  the fresh white sails against the deep blue water and the clear blue sky.

      For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;

  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come...

          Song of Songs 2: 11-12 

     

May 14 2015

                                                              May 14
    
     Chloe and Elysia are riding round and round on their bicycles, singing madly at the top of their lungs:  

Hark the herald angels sing, 

Glory to the newborn King!     

Peace on earth and mercy mild, 

God and sinners

Reconciled.

It sounds glorious and natural, their innocent singing with the background noise of their wheels on the deck and the summer wind in the tree tops.

They are His children, the same as I am.      I want to live every day with this truth on my lips and in my heart and mind.



      For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.
                            P s a l m    86:5
     

May 12 2015

                                                              May 12

      Drip. Drip. Drip. The thoughts circle in, one by one at first, but then in dank, dark clouds. They drip with fear, harsh voices chanting pain.

 You aren't enough.  Everything you do is wrong. Everything you've ever done is wrong.
You've failed. You'll fail again. 


I feel waves of anger, self - righteousness exploding outwards, making excuses; excusing myself. Self-soothing words come next.


 You haven't done too badly, considering where you came from. You could be worse. You're actually not too bad. Look around.  Look for someone a little bit more selfish than you are; see? You are going to be okay. Just keep one step ahead and you'll be alright. 


                  A part of me pulls back and watches; the attack, the counter-attack. Studies the tactics. Makes notes. Calculates. This part knows what I really need.    


Surrender. 

To who? 

To the One you're hiding from, in the thin - walled boxes of your mind. 

Surrender? I'm scared... these walls are all I have. 

               All thy strong holds shall be like fig trees with the firstripe figs: if they be shaken, they shall even fall into the mouth of the eater.               N a h u m   3:12

                 It's a promise. Can I live this moment,  surrendered to my Father? I need Him. I know it with my mind and my body and my soul. Can I live this? 

O my Father- let me live like the One you sent to die for me.

May 3 2015

                                                          May 3
            This spring the small, thin leaves on all the birch trees are so beautiful that they look like a thousand thousand new-green blossoms.  The pond has melted at last, and the ice on the lake is almost gone. Grebes call, with their harsh voices, and seagulls wheel high overhead.

             Lie on the dock, lie quiet and still, see the blue of the sky reaching on, blending with the distant mountains.

        Eleanor,  busiest of all, trips hither and yon,  touching, seeing, wondering- her dark eyes more beautiful than anything in the whole world and her sweet round cheeks still made for kissing.      Soft butter dripping down mussels on the barbecue, and two girls learning to ride bicycles together.

        I want to seize the joy, snatch it, wrest it from the moment and save it forever but I can't. Savour this moment. Christ the Lord is Risen today- Today!

    And because of Him I have hope of heaven.

 

April 2015

           

                                                      April 2015
                Victoria, golden in the sunshine, standing on a hilltop; beauty amid beauty.       Birch trees, slanting spring sunlight,  children laughing on a mighty swing. 
   
        And to crown it all, Victoria, my sister; sweet and womanly, with the tang of spruce in her blood;  King's-Daughter, crafted for love and for war. I thank God for you, and see His glory in your face.


          For the Lord God is a sun and shield: the Lord will give grace and glory: no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.              
                       P s a l m   84:11