planting bulbs in the fall that will emerge, brilliant and breathtaking in the coming days of spring
celebrating birth. new cousins, birthday traditions at apple orchards. surprise 4th babies.
thrift store finds that make a home unique and fancy.
watching a big boy emerge from a baby frame: playing legos and sorting dry beans and getting covered in spontaneous morning kisses.
long awaited visits from my mommy.
reading scripture in slippers by open windows with warm home made lattes.
life, wild and precious.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
can't
So he posted this, with the caption "*sigh* God doesn't hate" and it has struck a nerve with me since. Who ARE these people, how did they come to a place of thinking that they were obeying and honoring God by behaving in this fashion? It makes me wonder if there is any hope for those of us who desperately seek Him, who desire to fill the world with the LOVE that we know comes only from Him. Will anyone ever believe us? Maybe some "fags hate God", but I bet it's only because of the sorry light in which we've painted Him. It's not God they hate, it's religion masquerading around like an annoying know-it-all.
The God I know is wrapping his mighty arms around these people, loving them and protecting even when they do wrong, and I'm talking about the people in the picture here. I don't claim to know the mind of God when it comes to homosexuality, I believe there is a reason he asks us not to indulge in it, but I think it's so much more out of a desire to protect us than a desire to hinder us and create boundaries and rules. I'm not even sure where I wanted to go in writing this, treading in such a deep and dangerous water, except to say, more for myself than for you, that for me, for my journey and for the children who will grow up in my care, this will be the law in which we abide:
"Let love and faithfulness never leave you;
bind them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
Then you will win favor and a good name
in the sight of God and man."
bind them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
Then you will win favor and a good name
in the sight of God and man."
Showing love. Living mercifully. Opening our arms, our homes, our hearts to the hurting, the confused, those who are fundamentally different from us...THAT is true Christianity. And that is what I hope to live. God! Help me to have the strength, show me how.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Mary Oliver
I heard about this poet here and can't get enough of her.
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
innerds
In the recesses of my heart I know that I am meant to be exactly who I am.
I know that I am not the most beautiful woman the world has seen, but I am beautiful to those that matter.
I know that I am not brilliant, I will never see my name published with prominent medical discoveries, no one will write books about me and my many accolades, but my son thinks I know all the world has to offer.
There are many other things I know about myself, things that I can, regrettably, hinge my self worth on. It gets so tiring, living up to a too high standard of beauty, intelligence, ability, perfection. I get this, I get it that I'm not supposed be perfect, I never will be, but I find myself silently measuring myself up. Mostly against my image of perfect self, but also against the pedestal I seem to put everyone else on.
I find myself feeling simple, not as interesting as so and so who knows all the obscure words that start with the letter Q and seems to be ever reading books with deep meanings I can't even fake my way through comprehending. There is always another mom at the gym who is skinnier, with fewer wrinkles and less inner thigh. Some one always seem to keep a cleaner house, have better behaved boys, love deeper, be more thoughtful, know more scripture, pray more fervently, etc., etc.
This is exhausting.
Even as I write this I wonder what people out there are thinking, I find myself catering my words to the eyes of others. When I started this blasted space for me, created in a state of not caring what anyone thought of what I put here, but just needing to pound it out from time to time.
I think so many of these thoughts stem from this one idea I have of myself that I am not truly gifted at anything. There are several things I am pretty good at, but no real, unabashed talent. I tend to think that if there was ONE thing in which I was really really amazing, then people would think I was so good at it that they would ask me to speak on it or something. I would be satisfied then.
But I wouldn't.
When will I be?
I think it's an enduring process, a divinely designed one, that will greet me when I'm old and wise in ways I can't fathom yet.
But GEEZ I wish I could be there now.
I know that I am not the most beautiful woman the world has seen, but I am beautiful to those that matter.
I know that I am not brilliant, I will never see my name published with prominent medical discoveries, no one will write books about me and my many accolades, but my son thinks I know all the world has to offer.
There are many other things I know about myself, things that I can, regrettably, hinge my self worth on. It gets so tiring, living up to a too high standard of beauty, intelligence, ability, perfection. I get this, I get it that I'm not supposed be perfect, I never will be, but I find myself silently measuring myself up. Mostly against my image of perfect self, but also against the pedestal I seem to put everyone else on.
I find myself feeling simple, not as interesting as so and so who knows all the obscure words that start with the letter Q and seems to be ever reading books with deep meanings I can't even fake my way through comprehending. There is always another mom at the gym who is skinnier, with fewer wrinkles and less inner thigh. Some one always seem to keep a cleaner house, have better behaved boys, love deeper, be more thoughtful, know more scripture, pray more fervently, etc., etc.
This is exhausting.
Even as I write this I wonder what people out there are thinking, I find myself catering my words to the eyes of others. When I started this blasted space for me, created in a state of not caring what anyone thought of what I put here, but just needing to pound it out from time to time.
I think so many of these thoughts stem from this one idea I have of myself that I am not truly gifted at anything. There are several things I am pretty good at, but no real, unabashed talent. I tend to think that if there was ONE thing in which I was really really amazing, then people would think I was so good at it that they would ask me to speak on it or something. I would be satisfied then.
But I wouldn't.
When will I be?
I think it's an enduring process, a divinely designed one, that will greet me when I'm old and wise in ways I can't fathom yet.
But GEEZ I wish I could be there now.
Monday, July 19, 2010
dishonesty
Truthfulness. This is not a trait that summed up even a portion of me in past years, much less the whole. For many years after being redeemed I continued to struggle, to sit, the marinate in deceit. As I dug deeper holes and basted one falsehood after another onto my resume, my vision got darker and darker. One day, I came clean. God finally poked and prodded and convicted my spirit enough that I confessed all of those skeletons, the light penetrated and I was filled with dark no more. I still struggle of course. White lies and exaggerations to puff up a story. The difference now is that I FIGHT to come clean, to reverse the untruth, to make right what my pride aches to make wrong.
And now this, to be caught in the run around of some one else's foul play.
We started engaging in paper work for our home in April of 2009. Forms were faxed and emailed. Amended and rewritten. The shuffle of moving from Texas to Illinois was not particularly chaotic, we purged most of our belongings in a hope to simplify our new life in a new home. Some how, however, in the hub bub of signing and waiting, we must have missed a very important piece of information on a very important document that we some how can't seem to locate in our own records despite having a copy of every other form. We, according to our agent, signed a disclosure form that stated the presence of foundation braces supporting the North wall of our basement. Neither Corey nor I remember this form, and we certainly don't recall anyone verbally highlighting this point to us. We would not have bought the house had this been brought to our attention.
Cleverly, these braces were covered by brand new dry wall and rendered invisible to the naked eye. We only recently discovered them when water leaking into the basement caused a mold scare that left us ripping out walls left and right. In that process the main source of the water was discovered, one third of the North wall, the section making up the garage, is in desperate NEED of a brace. The cinder blocks are cracked, allowing water and debris to flow freely.
Now we are left feeling duped. How did we miss this? Did we really over look it? Where is this form in OUR records. I am not playing with accusations of foul play, I just wish the pieces would come together here. Currently it's looking like we have to bite the bullet and fix this problem ourselves, but it is disheartening. How could some one knowingly cover such a major problem and then "hide" their confession on one line of one document that was slipped to us during the "sign heres?"
I know how.
The same way I once covered up a major sin against the person I loved most because I feared their rejection. The same way I could lie so easily about experiences and adventures and the prices I paid for things. Because my soul was empty. Because I didn't really see the greater purpose set out for me and that I was made for something so much better. That walking in the truth and the light makes for a far grander story than anything fabricated by a feeble imagination.
And because I can now see this, I am empowered to let go of any bitterness or anger. I can sit at peace, knowing that all the details of our situation, and hers, are taken care of. There is no reason to seek vengeance, for that is the Lord's. I am only asked to hear his call, trusting that He will lead us if action should be taken to bring about justice, but that if we are asked to simply accept this hand...that's ok too.
For ALL have sinned, and fall short of the glory.
And now this, to be caught in the run around of some one else's foul play.
We started engaging in paper work for our home in April of 2009. Forms were faxed and emailed. Amended and rewritten. The shuffle of moving from Texas to Illinois was not particularly chaotic, we purged most of our belongings in a hope to simplify our new life in a new home. Some how, however, in the hub bub of signing and waiting, we must have missed a very important piece of information on a very important document that we some how can't seem to locate in our own records despite having a copy of every other form. We, according to our agent, signed a disclosure form that stated the presence of foundation braces supporting the North wall of our basement. Neither Corey nor I remember this form, and we certainly don't recall anyone verbally highlighting this point to us. We would not have bought the house had this been brought to our attention.
Cleverly, these braces were covered by brand new dry wall and rendered invisible to the naked eye. We only recently discovered them when water leaking into the basement caused a mold scare that left us ripping out walls left and right. In that process the main source of the water was discovered, one third of the North wall, the section making up the garage, is in desperate NEED of a brace. The cinder blocks are cracked, allowing water and debris to flow freely.
Now we are left feeling duped. How did we miss this? Did we really over look it? Where is this form in OUR records. I am not playing with accusations of foul play, I just wish the pieces would come together here. Currently it's looking like we have to bite the bullet and fix this problem ourselves, but it is disheartening. How could some one knowingly cover such a major problem and then "hide" their confession on one line of one document that was slipped to us during the "sign heres?"
I know how.
The same way I once covered up a major sin against the person I loved most because I feared their rejection. The same way I could lie so easily about experiences and adventures and the prices I paid for things. Because my soul was empty. Because I didn't really see the greater purpose set out for me and that I was made for something so much better. That walking in the truth and the light makes for a far grander story than anything fabricated by a feeble imagination.
And because I can now see this, I am empowered to let go of any bitterness or anger. I can sit at peace, knowing that all the details of our situation, and hers, are taken care of. There is no reason to seek vengeance, for that is the Lord's. I am only asked to hear his call, trusting that He will lead us if action should be taken to bring about justice, but that if we are asked to simply accept this hand...that's ok too.
For ALL have sinned, and fall short of the glory.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
soil
Kneeling, the sun at my back and weeds being erected from the soil in fistfuls. I'm finding more and more that there is a connectedness between fragile and divine that happens in this posture. More than once I've found myself planting, watering, pulling the unwanted with my mind wandering on Him as an omniscient, omnipresent gardener, pulling with gentle urgency the weeds choking out the harvest of what is good and sincere in me. Lately I've been seeing the depth of my depravity, the truth in my downfalls and how they are affecting my sweet son. How, even though they aren't consistent, my interspersed fits of rage and frustration alter him. He is drinking in my example, and the bad seems to sink in, anchoring the folly in his heart while we try desperately to teach him to be good, compassionate, dare say, patient. I tell myself, "You have to stop this. No more yelling. No more harsh punishment." Then the defiance, the expression of two year old frustration yanks at the chain of my indifference and once again I find myself prey to the prowling. OH, to remember Yahweh in these moments, I feel like a lesser disciple that I can't seem to consider His power to change me in those moments.
I'm finding joy also, though, through dirty fingertips soiled through cheap garden gloves. Finding that I love making something plain become something beautiful, useful, extraordinary. Harvesting broccoli from our garden and watching little peppers form from tiny buds is strangely exhilarating. I don't mind that more often than not I'm found sweaty with dirt laden finger nails, because the reward is just so rich. To see what was plain and green blossom into dainty pink petals along our sidewalk, knowing that I chose their place and purposed them to make the simple so lovely. These simple things in life, I'm trying to remember them, revel in how good things are now. It is a season. While my heart struggles with wandering, I want to rest in this sweetness, knowing that there will be a different time when things will perhaps be harder, trials will shake us but that ultimately it is all good, for good and that right now I am just to soak it in deep, as water on roots.
So digging and yanking produce empty spaces, filled by the unwanted no more I'm seeing romance in the cracks. Working together with this man I love, the sand on his cheeks and the glisten of work on his brow and together we are creating memorable things. In the garden, in our hearts. I connect with him deeply through the process of eradicating ragweed pavers and creating spaces for color and vibrant growth. A space for coffee sipping, late night talk among the flowers, visions I have for the special plot beneath the kitchen window. We're learning with tiny strides the vital lessons of creating connection with hurried time cards. I want to connect as deep as the roots of the cottonwood grow, I want to know him as far as the seed is blown. Little moments will add up to meaningful forevers.
I'm finding joy also, though, through dirty fingertips soiled through cheap garden gloves. Finding that I love making something plain become something beautiful, useful, extraordinary. Harvesting broccoli from our garden and watching little peppers form from tiny buds is strangely exhilarating. I don't mind that more often than not I'm found sweaty with dirt laden finger nails, because the reward is just so rich. To see what was plain and green blossom into dainty pink petals along our sidewalk, knowing that I chose their place and purposed them to make the simple so lovely. These simple things in life, I'm trying to remember them, revel in how good things are now. It is a season. While my heart struggles with wandering, I want to rest in this sweetness, knowing that there will be a different time when things will perhaps be harder, trials will shake us but that ultimately it is all good, for good and that right now I am just to soak it in deep, as water on roots.
So digging and yanking produce empty spaces, filled by the unwanted no more I'm seeing romance in the cracks. Working together with this man I love, the sand on his cheeks and the glisten of work on his brow and together we are creating memorable things. In the garden, in our hearts. I connect with him deeply through the process of eradicating ragweed pavers and creating spaces for color and vibrant growth. A space for coffee sipping, late night talk among the flowers, visions I have for the special plot beneath the kitchen window. We're learning with tiny strides the vital lessons of creating connection with hurried time cards. I want to connect as deep as the roots of the cottonwood grow, I want to know him as far as the seed is blown. Little moments will add up to meaningful forevers.
Friday, June 18, 2010
I have strep and nonsense about lifestyle
I came down with strep throat on Wednesday night. It's now Friday and I still feel the cold fist of death clenching my throat glands, but a few more doses of amoxicillin should be the ticket. I hope.
I've been quarantined to a room for the most part, everything I touch is wiped with disinfectant urgency and I can't kiss my kids or my best friend. It has left me feeling a little out of touch and, honestly, depressed. I hadn't realized how much simple touches and gestures stir the peace in my heart, how snuggling all my loves has such an effect on my well being. I am grateful to still be nursing my sweet Shiloh, that closeness is the only thing keeping my sanity tied by a loose thread.
In all this time of separation under one roof I've been reading. A hundred pages in War and Peace, fifty in Wisdom Hunter twenty in Same Kind of Different As Me and snippets of scripture here and there. And mostly I've been thinking.
My thoughts keep falling on criticism, on how quick our generation is, in general, to assume the worst of one another, to put ill into the most innocent of motives, how simple comments about ones own life draw out rage and insecurity in others. And tongue lashings ensue. I love my life, I'm proud of my choices, I believe fully that God has walked us down these paths very meticulously and that I am being asked to live this way. I am being called to stay at home with my children, to have a large family, to home school and teach them virtue along with their algebra. I enjoy cooking from scratch, keeping an organized and tidy house, staying fit and healthy and encouraging my family to do the same. Do I do these things to shame those who don't? Absolutely by NO MEANS. Everyone is on a different path, a different journey, and while there are some things that I would not choose for my family, I am not in a position to chastise others for doing what works for them. Our society would not do well if we all grew up the same, that would be a bit boring, don't you think?
All this to say I think I've realized that unless asked, I need to keep my lifestyle to myself. These choices are not a pretense for judgment, of me or others. I live how I live because it's the best life I know how to make for me and my family, not because I think it's the life everyone should or even can be living. I choose and live and will not be a sounding board spouting off remarks that could potentially draw out hurts or insecurities in others. I will live being as much of an example of good stewardship of all of these gifts as He will give me strength to be.
I've been quarantined to a room for the most part, everything I touch is wiped with disinfectant urgency and I can't kiss my kids or my best friend. It has left me feeling a little out of touch and, honestly, depressed. I hadn't realized how much simple touches and gestures stir the peace in my heart, how snuggling all my loves has such an effect on my well being. I am grateful to still be nursing my sweet Shiloh, that closeness is the only thing keeping my sanity tied by a loose thread.
In all this time of separation under one roof I've been reading. A hundred pages in War and Peace, fifty in Wisdom Hunter twenty in Same Kind of Different As Me and snippets of scripture here and there. And mostly I've been thinking.
My thoughts keep falling on criticism, on how quick our generation is, in general, to assume the worst of one another, to put ill into the most innocent of motives, how simple comments about ones own life draw out rage and insecurity in others. And tongue lashings ensue. I love my life, I'm proud of my choices, I believe fully that God has walked us down these paths very meticulously and that I am being asked to live this way. I am being called to stay at home with my children, to have a large family, to home school and teach them virtue along with their algebra. I enjoy cooking from scratch, keeping an organized and tidy house, staying fit and healthy and encouraging my family to do the same. Do I do these things to shame those who don't? Absolutely by NO MEANS. Everyone is on a different path, a different journey, and while there are some things that I would not choose for my family, I am not in a position to chastise others for doing what works for them. Our society would not do well if we all grew up the same, that would be a bit boring, don't you think?
All this to say I think I've realized that unless asked, I need to keep my lifestyle to myself. These choices are not a pretense for judgment, of me or others. I live how I live because it's the best life I know how to make for me and my family, not because I think it's the life everyone should or even can be living. I choose and live and will not be a sounding board spouting off remarks that could potentially draw out hurts or insecurities in others. I will live being as much of an example of good stewardship of all of these gifts as He will give me strength to be.
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