the undoing

Some days I wake up and feel slammed with one web of emotion stacked upon another. I trudge forward knowing that there is a day ahead with boys to polish and feed; mind, body and spirit.

i can't find my spirit.

That day, just this week, I had to stop and think on what was so troubling. About the loss and grief I'm feeling over losing my grandpa slowly, his life is ebbing.

As major emotions do, the ground beneath me shifts in my grief and I see another loss.

Lost years. Years, I have been listening to this voice that says that I'm not enough. I can't do enough. I can't be enough. I will always be lacking.

And in a strange way I know this is true. True enough. In my friends' and family's eyes I will always come up lacking. But I remember, my name is Redeemed. I was a lost cause, broken soul of a girl. But God saw me. He remembered how His hands knit me together (Jeremiah). He delighted in me (Zephaniah) and so he did what it took and used His own life to buy me, to purchase my soul. Ransomed.

So sitting on the bed, looking at the leaves against the sky He whispers to remind me that it's not true. "You are doing what I have called you to do." ...and that I am worthy, I am paid for.

My value is not in what I do. I was ransomed. My value is in the eyes of Abba. My creator.

For years God has been peeling away at this belief of mine, that I am not enough.

So I pick up this thought for the moment, tuck it in my pocket to go; ransomed. Enough, I am enough for Him. I head down the stairs to face my day and boys, sticks, math and all.

But I think of this woman I read of, Ann, who prays in and out of the day. I sneak up to my room at 11 and clear a spot on the floor to pray. I read, I look at those leaves against the sky and thank God for all those things and remember that I am ransomed.

I can do a few more hours. He is my manna. And so near. He is Abba, I am ransomed.

and I will drink, if longingly

Here I sit, in the quiet night of my home in pieces all over the place.

It's a tumble me round, pieces everywhere season for me- that's the truth. Don't get me wrong. I love it here.

I love our new ancient home and how it felt like home as soon as I stepped in the door that first day. The beauty of the river every morning hasn't escaped me yet, nor the concept that that beauty so abundantly fills a hole that the mountains left. Only this time, the river, it's a 2 minute walk from here. Our new school has been all that I'd hoped for and arms around me as a new friend, arms around us all. My life is full, my hands are full, my belly is full and my heart is....

My heart. It's, um, what's the right word? It's missing something. Not lacking something. Missing, in the sense of longing.

And I know that while I spin through my days of teaching, and putting old things in new places. Of planning and errands and laughing. I know it's there and sometimes I feel I'll break and sometimes I do.

What to do with a longing heart?

There is a familiarity to this longing. It's not about people. It's mostly about God, and about myself too.

Breaking into a new life is hard. Moving sucks. I do not like hanging my old things on new walls again. I would rather be walking by the river with my wiggle boys, finding the best stick and wondering about the feathery nuts of the Sycamore trees. I do not like wondering where to put these things. I want to pull up a fat book and pile on a blanket, sit in the Autumn sun to waste the afternoon away. But even more so I want to be settled. I want my home to be tucked in so I can go and play.

I work hard to do both. Work here, play here, then rest. This morning I finally answered the call of the sunrise. I ran downstairs in a hurry to scoop up the boys to go, go, hurry before the sun rises. We found our way to our own little patch of the river front and I photographed the little wonderful things and the big astonishing things. I listened to the boys discover and giggle and step through the sticks and leaves to find the perfect stick. I came home and made a fat fire in our stove, somehow sitting there puffing life into that stove calms me. I needed calm. You see I've been hard at work all week. I've really not been resting or playing.

But the longing stayed.

I wonder at what to do with this unresolve. I read some ponderings from a sweet friend this morning, who has gone through all this change and so much more in the last year. At last her heart is settled, full and the questions seem to have answers, if only for now.

And her advice (you'll have to read more to really understand) is simply to drink. Drink from the cup we've been handed.

From this i hear that I should fully embrace the cup I've been handed. The beauty of our new home and the lovely mornings. Embrace the work that is ahead in my day, the family I've been given, the unsettled parts of my life.

A man plans this path but the Lord directs His steps. I will sink fully into those steps, I will look around and see the others that walk along me. I will drink, working and loving and resting and playing. And I will long.

Quiet as a Mouse

These days have been quiet, hard working days. It's a crossroads in life when you move. A season to stop and "Selah" breathe, reflect, think.

And I feel a bit like it's an opportunity to reinvent myself. Not to others, so much. No name changes or historical inaccuracies, but more so for myself. Reinventing who I am, how I spend my time. Or maybe it's just that I just celebrated my 36th birthday and I'm getting older and quieter.

1 Thessalonians 4:11& 12 says:

Make it your ambition

to lead a quiet life,

to mind your own business

and to work with your hands.

My life hasn't usually been an attempt to lead a quiet life. I wanted a full, busy, people life. However these days I'm enjoying the quiet. I'm enjoying my family. Coming home, so to speak. My heart is falling home over and over. Throwing myself into my home, cooking, school, dates with my husband, reading to my kids, taking them for walks and doing fun projects.

But I flounder in it a little. Still learning how to be quiet. How to be content in fewer things, deeper. But I'm making quiet my ambition. I'm glad to be small and quiet, rather than biggish and noisy. Quiet as a mouse...

Loneliness

Moving has a strange way of getting me all caught up, a giant twister of a storm catches me up with my home-family and all and then drops us in a new unfamiliar land leaving me to pick up the pieces, reorient myself, and then find a good local dr & grocery store to boot.

Today I feel like I got the drop part.

In truth, we've been in this new town for 7 or 8 weeks. But I think I just woke up from the blur of house hunting and settling that I've needed to do. In a moment of quiet today I had the strange realization that I'm without friends here.

I've made a friend. I call her pool Jen because I met her at the pool. She and I were kindred's,I both in move-mode with summer days to spend and kiddos to entertain. Now our kiddos have hit the busy road, school, sports and life and I barely see her. I think our paths won't cross accidentally so I should certainly phone her soon so I can stop whining about the no friend thing.

When you leave a town you leave behind people who don't always keep in touch..they're lives keep going and sometimes I think they protect themselves by being quiet. I miss my old friends, I want a new friend. I'm praying to that end. Loneliness doesn't look good on me.

So there you have it. No fancy post with a "cheer up" ending or spiritual content. It's just where I am today.

How?

It's all a big accident.

Or maybe there are no accidents. But I discovered Ann's blog about a month ago and have been enjoying it all along. I was not intending to have my heart all broken up this week.

Ann went with Compassion this week to Guatemala to visit the child that she's been sponsoring. She pushed through and photographed the homes she visited, the families she shared her heart with, the testimonies of the men whose lives have been changed by people. Little people here in the more affluent parts of the world who have offered a monthly gift to help out.

And all I can say is that I wasn't ready for this, to have my heart broken again with the reality of poverty, violence and hungry children in my eyes and mind. That somehow Ann made me a fly on the wall of her trip, all by mistake I'm sure. Or the providence of God, wanting to move my heart. How can it be that Ann's words have become mine? "How do I do this?"

How do I live so comfortably in a world so impoverished? How do I go about my own business? What can I do to make a difference in lives and souls impoverished? I am praying about what, what's to be done. How I can be used, just a mom teaching her boys at home?

And this week, how do I not let this get all twisted around, and take the joy out of this blessing God has given us, this new lovely home we'll move into Friday? How?

Sometimes all I know is this: God; He's not safe, but He's good. And He adores each of us.

Grandparents Day is for Remembering

The holes in her coat gaped open to the cold air. It troubled me, immediately. Why did my Grandma putter around town in a coat full of holes? Her home was never fancy. Cozy, yes. But nothing to speak of. Comfortable enough for the two of them and their guests, but they lived simply. A retired farmer and his wife, they had never known much, but they were cozy.

We left the house that day & I think I remember some adult discussion about the shame it was that my Grandma sent so much money off to help others in need. I remember thinking about it. Money in the mail, and holes in her coat.

And I thought about how my Grandma was a rough woman. She loved her Jesus so much but she wasn't always a tender, sweet woman. She was hurtful, and a bit harsh. I held myself at a distance from her...or perhaps my folks held me at a distance. At any rate, I didn't know her too well. I knew what I heard. And I knew this: she loved Jesus.

This was clear each time I was with her. She always had her Bible open, always mumbling things about God. When we would leave her house she always wondered aloud when Jesus would return.

Maybe it was good my hours with her were short, because my memories are few...and what I remember is her outstanding love for Christ.

I got a phone call the week she was dying. She was in the hospital, weak and failing. Should I go? Something in me didn't feel I had the right. She has five daughters, many grandchildren, all who had the right to be with her more than I. They knew her, served her and cared for her in a way I never had.

But I got in the car and drove. I walked into her hospital room and saw her sweet smile.

She was glad to see me.

I stayed on, unable to leave her. Each time someone would leave the room her eyes would follow. When you walked away from her side, her hand would reach up: "please, stay, stay with me here." She was so sweet and simple in those days.

And I stayed on. Comfort Care in the hospital gave her a bed and medication treatment, but it was up to the family to keep her comfortable and know what she needed when she needed it. She couldn't eat, couldn't drink. Her lips needed to be swabbed, she needed help to be comfortable. I could do some of the hard things in caring for her and I didn't want to leave.

Her days were spent in a sunny room full of family, daughters, granddaughters, grandsons and greats. We made posters to hang on the walls filled with favorite memories, pictures and a family tree. We sang songs, we prayed, we read her favorite scriptures again and again. We celebrated a life that raised five women who love God and raised children of their own.

The night vigil was mine or my mom's. The nights were quiet, the hum of machines and the soft sounds of her fighting breath. Until she finally quit fighting, she slipped away into the arms of her beloved, the one she'd known would come back for her. She was gone.

It was a gift. A gift that I was able to have, to spend those days with my grandmother. I look forward to seeing her one day again in Heaven, full of life, void of the criticism and pain.

Thank you Grandma, I love you.

bittersweet

I will never regret, I have never ever regretted biting my tongue long enough to think about what I'm going to say before I say it.

When words are many, sin is not absent, but he who holds his tongue is wise. -Prov. 10:19

I've been praying lately that God would help me to be humble. Not so much to chop off my feet so that I would see my true height, but that in all things He would teach me humility.

Reckless words pierce like a sword, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. Prov. 12:18

I think I'm seeing my first challenge. To bite my tongue. To think about what I am going to say before I say it. This is incredibly hard for me. You see I have so much that needs to be said and y'all just need to hear it!!

But all that being said, I'm going to go to bed now and read. It's a quiet thing. I'll check in and let you know how my new week goes...working to think before I speak.

He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity. Prov 21:23

What kind of a God is this?

...For the Lamb Who is in the midst of the throne will be their Shepherd, and He will guide them to the springs of the waters of life; and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Revelations 7:17

What kind of a God is this, the God that made me? A God that will wipe away every tear from our eyes? He sees us. He sees our tears. Not just some tears, every tear. He sees the tears, he's heard our hearts, every tear.

He'll lead us to the springs of waters of life. Oh, and I'm just so thirsty. I try and try to fill my thirst with so many things. But my shepherd, the God that made me and wants to lead me, he'll take me to the springs of waters.

This begins my sharing journey, going back a little to learn just Who God is. Honestly, sometimes I feel so steeped in religion and all there's been to do, I never got to know Him as I'd like to. I want to get to know Him more. Some days I want to pour over His Word all day long.