12.23.16

It comes back to me slow.
I remember first the long cold and the black dark, glowing city street lamps lighting the way. Bells must have tinkled when we pushed open the heavy glass doors- it was that sort of store. A Christmas place... sweet smelling, with crates and bins full of tiny ornaments, and tree after tree, brightly lit and shining. My aunt took me there, one of my mother's younger sisters, dark-haired and vivacious and her nails were always done. She had winter gloves with fur on them, and her apartment was peach-pink, apricot and rose, full of femininity and  loveliness.  I loved looking at her things, and caring for them. Somehow when you care for something, you love it. She took me through the dark cold night into that beautiful place, and I'll spend a little of every Christmas trying to re-create some of that magic for my own children. A little brightness, a little warmth, it's cold outside and here, we're warm. God is in his heaven, and in his earth- one day all will be right with this world.

Merry Christmas.

Late September 2016

                                           Late September, 2016 

         Mist every morning, clouds of thick mist wafting over the lakes, and then the sun coming out, turning everything pink and gold and blue. The lake gets calm and still, like a mirror, reflecting a soft blue autumn sky. 

      Elysia asks me for the extra bread dough from dinner, and all the kids make miniature bread- Anthony a French-shaped oblong, Eleanor a bobbly mound,  Chloe a braided wreath with little dollops of dough in the middle, and Elysia-- a nest. A beautiful bird's nest, and she runs back into the pantry to get a bird-shaped cookie cutter to make a tiny mother bird, for the three small eggs in the center.  I see the artistry pouring out of all of them and I immediately feel so guilty- I was annoyed at them, I rushed them, and what if all they ever remember is me, rushing them, rushing myself, while the golden days, the dull days, the dark days, each translucent moment is slipping by unrelentingly?  

 "He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?"

           Chloe and I are memorizing Micah 6.8 and how I wish I could blazon it across my soul; sear my heart with its truth, the utter simplicity, the utter difficulty of it.                        Humility does not come naturally to me; insecurity perhaps, but pride and insecurity are flip sides of the same coin, and are the exact opposites of humility. Humility means finding your security in something greater than yourself- in Someone greater.                       Mercy doesn't come naturally either;  I want to do things right, and I want everyone else to do things right. In me I find no mercy.      
       And justice? Justice goes hand in hand with holiness and peace. Justice doesn't gasp with frustration as I flare up in anger while dealing with childish altercations on a Friday afternoon at the end of a long week, feeling like if I could  have one moment, only one moment alone, I would be okay. Justice is always just. Justice doesn't make excuses. 

      I know that truly, truly, love is all there is; love is all that matters.  A  mother has the unique task to show the love of God to her children- to mirror the compassion and comfort, and to echo the discipline. How continually I fail! How hopeless I am when I forget where my hope comes from!        

    Without Jesus Christ breathing into my
deadness I will never walk a victorious path. With Him,  anything is possible, and miracles and mountain tops a beautiful reality.

  Thus saith the LORD, Stand ye in

        the ways, and see, and ask for the old
       paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest for your souls.       

- Jeremiah 6 

August 12 2016

      

                                                             08.12.16

     Rain drops slide down the windows, all the earth crying, sad with sin. A storm of emotions compete for mastery; fear, sorrow, anger, embarrassment.   

I thought I was his. I was his!  I belonged to him.   

                     

You belong to Me.          

 Sunlight shafts through a rent in the clouds, warm on my face, a brilliant warm from a bright, grey sky. Peace feels warm and alive, peace says, I'm sorry- forgive me. Peace explains. Peace, like a river, even if only for a moment, even if only long enough for a fresh beginning.            

Two lakes, blue like blueberries under that same, grey sky.  Naomi's hazel eyes, round with wonder, her cheeks dimpling deliciously and her pure, bubbling laughter. Tony's love, in its proper sphere. If only I could wash in this sea of gratitude every moment of every day. If only I could feel things, clear and warm and new, moment by moment. 

 Christ lived his life full, completely abandoned to the pursuit of holiness, a moment by moment, realistic, mystical, self-sacrificing life. 

Only He will make me unafraid of the storms of life- unafraid of my own and other people's success or failure, unafraid of death; unafraid of life itself. Maran atha.

And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.

 In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month: and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.

Revelations 22 1-2

                                                      July 16, 2016

     The evening blue of the sky sifts down into yellow,  then deepens into a hazy peach at the horizon. A few whispers of cloud hover over Mount Susitna, our Sleeping Lady, and there are clouds heaped up in billows over the far ranges, golden light spilling out behind them, every shade of peach and gold and lavender lovelier than the one before it. 

     Naomi falls asleep on my chest and Eleanor is still buzzing around the room, busy as a bee, full of energy from her too-late nap. I do a rough sketch of the mountain and lakes with a purple watercolour pencil,  Eleanor bumping in and out to watch and exclaim, and I realize how much as a child I used to enjoy drawing; and then I remember the day my enjoyment in it died. Perhaps as I learn to forgive one person, I'll learn how to forgive everyone that has ever hurt me; perhaps I can also see more clearly how much I myself have been Forgiven. 

     It's eleven o'clock, and as I dip a tiny paintbrush into a silver cup of water and brush it over the sketch, there is an elation and happiness in my soul, and a hope both wistful and sure. 

And seek the peace of the city whither I have caused you to be carried away captives, and

pray unto the LORD for it: for in the 

        peace thereof shall ye have peace.                 

Jerimiah 29.7

H E W N

Find the Weaver, Weaving
Find the Poet in his Poem
Seek to meet your Maker
As he carves you out of stone  

Foolish heart was darkened,
Foolish mind was dull,
Til the Son of God, arisen,            
Spoke, and speaking still

Clasps me round with gentle hands
With kindest words he says
My name, and with that whisper-  
All my life is His.

Early June 2016

                                         Early June, 2016

A small yellow bird in a small blue cage, dancing along his perch, backwards,
forward, two steps forward; one step back.  All his young life he has been in cages, pressed close with other tiny birds, hopping and fluttering around his whole world in the space of two seconds. He sees his chance for escape and takes it, grasps it, nipping gently the sweet brown hand, the restraining hand that sought to keep him safe.

A golden glowing flame flashes through the trees- a little bird like a tongue of fire licks up towards heaven, the bluest of blue skies for a roof and the tall and ancient birches limitless places of rest.
He circles round and round the house, exulting, triumphant, beautiful - he was born for flight, his strong young wings flying swifter and swifter.

 Is this how it will be for me, when I'm set free from this often beautiful but so limited world? Will the colors burn more brightly with God alone as sun? Sometimes I long to taste that freedom, to adventure without fear and to return home with no regret.  
                                                     
Go softly- go softly, my love.

J u n e 2016

                                                                  June 2016

       The wind was warm and the sand was hot, the silty inlet deliciously cool after our long walk down to the beach. Chloe and I go alone together to the end of the strand, where a small creek flows through the salt marsh to meet the ocean beyond.

    The delicate legs of a sandpiper are skittering along the shore as the little mother bird tries desperately to lead us away from her nest, "Oh, come away Mother, come away! We're scaring her," Chloe says.

   We count nine sandhill cranes with their strange calls and wheeling formations outlined against a cloudless blue sky, and a pod of beluga whales, the first I've seen since my childhood, are rounding through the gray water.

    A beautiful place, a quiet place, but there is little peace in my soul, the argument Tony and I had on the way here still echoing in my ears. Perhaps we will be whole one day, perhaps we won't; but it won't be today. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. Hope stirs in my heart, blazes up. Dies. Blazes up again. 

     A hawk or perhaps an eagle floats high in the sky, drifting half a mile above us, slowly circling. Naomi in blue with her golden head and soft petal cheeks- what a gift she is, every day of her life. A gift to me. God, make me worthy.

     I've been storming my way through several authors this summer, cresting wave after wave of new thoughts and dipping into the wisdom and insight garnered from the lives they lived, walking close with their God. 

     There is a similarity between these men and women, standing tall in their generations and speaking  truth in their varied voices; all different, but all with this same vein of Truth linking them together, this same Person speaking through them. The exact way you can get an inkling of the beauty and grandeur of God by seeing the beauty and intricacy of creation, you can also see the humility, compassion and loving wisdom of Christ by the way he shines out of these people who love him. 

To eat, to breathe
to beget
Is this all there is
Chance configuration of atom against atom
of god against god
I cannot believe it.
Come, Christian Triune God who lives,
Here am I
Shake the world again.

• 
  

Francis Schaeffer 

May 19 2016

                                                     May 19 2016

       Thinking of the immense evil that is at back of women and girls viewing themselves as objects, their worth and value being dictated by their particular level of attractiveness, of their "usableness",  makes my stomach churn and tears come  to my eyes.

      The devil has no use for truth except to twist and pervert it.         
     Women beg and beg, "Am I enough? Am I enough?" And the devil and the world use this plea for their own purposes: buying and selling, selling and buying, twisting and perverting this cry of the soul into slavery, into pornography and anorexia, women throwing up in bathrooms, King's daughters made in the image of God trying desperately to be told they are finally enough;  and the Father watches his precious daughters crumble into the earth like so many sparrows.   
     The world has nothing for us; nothing. The movies are full of it, the fantasy and desperation of nothingness; magazines with their big, glossy lies and full-page ads of beautiful airbrushed women that still get lied to, still get cheated on, choking in the clutches of relentless, inescapable death. 

     There is no hope for us,  there is no hope for me as a woman except in the life, death and resurrection of Christ.                                                                     He is the only one that can fill our deepest longings, and answer our question with this: You are enough. I am enough. We were chosen by the Creator to reveal his glory, and he lived and died for us: for you and for me.

Adonai. My Lord.

A P R I L 2 5 2 0 1 6

                                                    April 25 2016

    All day long we've watched the ice as it slowly sinks into the pond.  The darkling water, rippled by the wind is beautiful to see after months of still, quiet ice.
                                       
     The lake beyond it is covered in motionless white snow, but the patches of open water grow bigger day by day. The green of spring, both bright and pale, hovers like a green mist over the hills as the baby leaves burst forth, fresh as blossoms.
                                                   
    Tony cuts down our tallest pine tree- Owl Pine, we called it, since soon after our arrival to this magical place we saw a massive owl, the biggest I've ever seen perched at the very tip. We are sad to see it go, but it was rotten at the core, with a twelve foot gash from the base to the first branches, and it was too dangerous to leave standing. The old birch that had grown up with it,   their branches entwined for so many years, looks lovely and clean now, its dappled white bark shining through the new leaves.

     What a glorious time to draw each new breath, our very breath spelling out His name.



    Thank you Lord for leading me all my life- you are all that has held back evil from me, you alone have stayed my hands. Nothing in this world is like you, but your voice echoes throughout your creation- give me a listening heart, Lord, and eyes that see your glory. 

Friday April 22 2016

 
                                     Friday April 22 2016

 
            This plunging into the past, this prodding and probing of old wounds hurts so badly, and the healing and progress feels so terribly slow.   There is no end in sight except a new beginning.    There is no resurrection without death. I know that after this battle I will walk with a limp, and the choice between humility and humiliation seems at times too much to bear.

             Like a shaft of lightning the Sword of the Healer flickers through the gloom;  the piercing truth and beauty of his words captivate me, providing just enough
rays of light to keep stumbling forward in the dark, trusting that one day every uncertain step will have brought me safely home.                

Sow to yourselves in righteousness, 
reap in mercy; break up your fallow ground: 
for it is time to seek the LORD, till he come and rain righteousness upon you.

        Hosea 10.12 

3.27.16

                                      Sunday March 27 2016


You precious girl...
I love this family of yours.         
Your brilliant children... 
And Tony--  I love him from the bottom of my heart. He has come a long way since you married him.


 

      This pale blue dot is a little bit colder without my grandfather in it; his softly beating heart and the kind words of his last months warmed my world more than I knew. I'm older since he left- quite a bit older, and he's only been gone two weeks.

      The afternoon sun turns Naomi ' s hair to gold while it warms this light-drenched corner of our living room. She is warm, resting against me, her small breath soft in the stillness.

      I miss him. There's an odd, puzzled ache in my soul when I forget his absence and then remember it afresh. His blood flows in my veins, but more than that, we are a part of the same ancient Family; his Father is my Father, his Brother, my Brother.
 
   We will all be together one day, in that clear, sparkling Dawn. Soli Deo Gloria. To God be the Glory.
     

            But go thou thy way till the end be:                              for thou shalt rest, and stand 
             in thy lot at the end of the days.

                        D A N I E L  12.13

March 4 2016

                                                       March 4 2016

                     A thousand times pierced  

And yet once again

 Every last and final thrust

Hurts more than the first

       Always it feels like the last time- the last drop of sorrow in an over - flowing cup. And yet, is it not darkest just before the dawn?            Crying out in the dimness, a small brown-eyed girl in a brown dress comes to me; sits beside me; lies beside me. Just a baby- how is it that she can acknowledge grief as it should be acknowledged? Blessed are the meek,  for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Promise heaped on promise in this precious Book, all true, all tried, century upon century. 

         Like Christ, Adam chose to die rather than forsake his own. Was the fruit bitter, like death, in his mouth? He chose Eve over Truth- undeceived he took the fruit, undeceived he ate of it. How hard it must have been to walk the Earth in darkness, in questioning and uncertainty after Eden's firm clarity of life and purpose. How many times he must have wondered what it would have been like if he had chosen differently, if he had sought and
trusted his Friend and Father instead of taking his life into his own hands.
   Only Immanuel, God With Us, could die to blot out what we have done. Only Immanuel can offer the grace to say no to sin.

     I've always thought of good and evil as opposite ends of the same spectrum- that if you chose good, your path would lead you farther and farther down the road from  evil. I see now that good and evil are parallel roads, and that each individual person is always only one step away from either good or bad, cleanness or filth, and they must walk this road to the bitter end, fighting and overcoming until we take our last breath. The Son of Man, the last Adam, went before us. 

         I will not leave you comfortless:
                     I will come to you.

                          John 14.18

February 2 2016

                                            February 2 2016

                  A pale blue-green wall with a golden mirror behind an old hospital bed, clad in blue-striped seersucker sheets and with my grandfather resting on it. Resting is too loose of a word- he is restless, this man, and twitches in discomfort, even while making wry jokes about himself.
   What to say to someone about to head out on a long journey? Everything has been said before, and the echoes seem sad and empty.
      "Do you want to pray with him?"   My beautiful grandmother seems restless too- I don't think she thought death would look like this... like this frail old man, his white hair sticking straight up and his chest, thin through his t-shirt. I didn't either. I've always  been insulated from death; this is the first time it has loomed into my life and I don't know what to do with it. Some things are so vague to me, and others startling in their clarity- This man is going on a long journey, and he's never coming back.
    Everything I wish I had said to him, and everything I wish he had said to me, will have to wait until I too wake to a new Day, a place where time is no longer an enemy, where nothing is false or hurtful or static.
         It seems like his world is getting smaller, so small- the length and breadth of a hospital bed. I know that actually his world is expanding- it is just about to explode outward into Eternity, where everything he got wrong or thought wrong or did wrong will be made right. He will be made whole, and new, with new thoughts and pleasures, no distractions from the One who Answers; the One who Calls.
         There is something a little exciting about it, and I taste it only for a moment as I pray with him. I don't know how aware he is, but I can tell he is being gracious to me. I know he is trying to speak truth at last, trying to bless his children and his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.              Thank you God for these last days- may he have a sweet and peaceful end, surrounded by those he loves and those who love him.                                        

             A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.  By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. 
                         John 13: 34-35

January 2016

           
                                             January 2016

      Naomi. It means Pleasantness, and from the first she has lived up to her name. She is   springtime to me, and light after darkness, her small silken heels rose petals cupped in my hand.  
            She nurses contentedly, singing her Nursing Song- a tiny humming sound, but music to my ears.  Her middle name means  My God Has Answered, because I know who she is; a gift from the One who answers even unspoken prayers.
                                                                                                                 
                                             
         " ....For from the first day that thou didst set thine heart to understand, and to chasten thyself before thy God, thy words were heard, and I am come for thy words."

                            Daniel 10.12

And they that shall be of thee shall build the old waste places: thou shalt raise up the foundations of many generations; and thou shalt be called, The repairer of the breach, The restorer of paths to dwell in.

                             Isaiah 58.12