He is slumped in the chair opposite me-exhausted. I, too, am slumped and tired, feeding the child our love made. Our love made. Our love sits in the room between us, thin and dry as the air that surrounds. We have just stated that we are tired of being thin with each other, thin with the world. There is so much fullness around us, and we have moments of shared laughter that remind us of when our love was full and fat and happy...but this is not one of those moments.
I look at his face, this man I love. This man I chose, and I choose each day. Lately our love has been made up of boxes and bills and laundry and "Can you fix this?," and "Can you remember to do this?". Errands and dust and distance. It blurs the edges of romantic love.
It feels hot, stretched and tight. It has been a while, but we used to enjoy hiking together. I think of this as he sits so far away on the opposite side of the room. It feels like we are hiking now. And I am tired. The hike may have been more than we can handle, but we have no choice but to keep going because we KNOW we have a destination worth getting to. We have sat down to rest. The sun is too hot, making my lips parch and I am sweaty and I HATE being sweaty! We are both covered in dust and I see that his lips are parched, too. Then, only as a man in love can, he offers me a sip from his canteen. Hope. When one of us runs low, the other reaches into the pack and finds more hope in the canteen. And when one tires, the other offers sip after sip from our own canteen until the other can find the drive to continue. I have long romanticized this process calling it a dance, but in reality there are no soft dresses and beautiful music and men in tuxedos and candlelight. There is just me and him and our love-dusty and tired-but still sparkling underneath it all. And if we can just offer each other a taste of it, we can make it until the sun sets and the earth cools and we reach a place of rest.
This week marriage has come up in many conversations. I think on these as I look at my man. I ask a lot of him. He is my hero, out slaying dragons and bringing home the bacon. Killing spiders and doing the heavy lifting. Tender kisses for our daughter, and silly voices and affectionate hugs for me. He is quiet and deep, and fun and ridiculous, and strong and weak and MINE. He loves me and I love him. He's worth a little hike in the desert.
"It (love) always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perserveres. Love never fails."
(1 Corinthians 13:7-8a)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Like a Child
"In my weakness I find that Your strength knows no bounds
and in my loneliness I find that the everlasting arms surround me.
And even with this fragile heart I find a place to rest here, safe where You are...
And I am falling into grace again and I am running where mercy never ends;
Lord, I'm learning that Your love can cover me,
You are teaching me what a child is meant to be."
(Kathryn Scott)
"Faith like a child..." This week has been emotional, to say the least. I have been tired, which always adds fuel to the abundance of emotions that always runs in my heart and in my head. I am in Yakima ironing out the final details of our house sale, prepping for the move, etc. and I am emotional. Just when I feel that my legs are finding a steady place to stand, one more thing comes and knocks me down again. One thing after another. Surprise after surprise- and these aren't the fun, wrapped-in-pretty-pink-paper-make-you-smile kind of surprise. These are the-world-is-tumbling-down-around-me-yet-again!!! kind of surprise. "Just a season," I remind myself. "You can endure anything for a season." Maybe not. Just kidding. :-)
I am learning, every day, what this "faith like a child" business is all about. Learning that everything I need is found in Him. So, Child, run to Him. Run like your life depended on it because it does. He is my oxygen, my steady ground, my hiding place.
"O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You;
my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You,
in a dry and weary land where there is no water....
My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods;
with singing lips my mouth will praise You....
Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings.
My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me." (Psalm 63: 1, 5, 7-8)
It is a season to wave goodbye. To shake off what is known and embrace the unknown. Summer, in it's cutoff jeans and straw hat, is slowly waving goodbye to me. The smell of wheatfields and cut grass, the lemonade and iced tea, the purple haze that colors each evening, the warmth that falls on me like a heavy blanket straight from the dryer...it's coming to an end. How appropriate that this is the time I am waving goodbye to the city of my youth. The place I thought would hold Annie's youth. I love every season, really I do. But I'm always a little sad to see one end. Goodbye fresh peaches and cherries; goodbye sweet friends and dear church; goodbye flip-flops and barefeet and freckles; goodbye family I love and family I wrestle with. Goodbye.
Hello, fall. Hello Spokane with your beautiful parks and tall pine trees; hello new friends or the possibility of new friends; hello turtlenecks and falling leaves and the smell of apples and spice and pumpkin bread and school starting; hello new begining. Hello new season. "With singing lips my mouth will praise You..."
Whatever the season.
and in my loneliness I find that the everlasting arms surround me.
And even with this fragile heart I find a place to rest here, safe where You are...
And I am falling into grace again and I am running where mercy never ends;
Lord, I'm learning that Your love can cover me,
You are teaching me what a child is meant to be."
(Kathryn Scott)
"Faith like a child..." This week has been emotional, to say the least. I have been tired, which always adds fuel to the abundance of emotions that always runs in my heart and in my head. I am in Yakima ironing out the final details of our house sale, prepping for the move, etc. and I am emotional. Just when I feel that my legs are finding a steady place to stand, one more thing comes and knocks me down again. One thing after another. Surprise after surprise- and these aren't the fun, wrapped-in-pretty-pink-paper-make-you-smile kind of surprise. These are the-world-is-tumbling-down-around-me-yet-again!!! kind of surprise. "Just a season," I remind myself. "You can endure anything for a season." Maybe not. Just kidding. :-)
I am learning, every day, what this "faith like a child" business is all about. Learning that everything I need is found in Him. So, Child, run to Him. Run like your life depended on it because it does. He is my oxygen, my steady ground, my hiding place.
"O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You;
my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You,
in a dry and weary land where there is no water....
My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods;
with singing lips my mouth will praise You....
Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings.
My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me." (Psalm 63: 1, 5, 7-8)
It is a season to wave goodbye. To shake off what is known and embrace the unknown. Summer, in it's cutoff jeans and straw hat, is slowly waving goodbye to me. The smell of wheatfields and cut grass, the lemonade and iced tea, the purple haze that colors each evening, the warmth that falls on me like a heavy blanket straight from the dryer...it's coming to an end. How appropriate that this is the time I am waving goodbye to the city of my youth. The place I thought would hold Annie's youth. I love every season, really I do. But I'm always a little sad to see one end. Goodbye fresh peaches and cherries; goodbye sweet friends and dear church; goodbye flip-flops and barefeet and freckles; goodbye family I love and family I wrestle with. Goodbye.
Hello, fall. Hello Spokane with your beautiful parks and tall pine trees; hello new friends or the possibility of new friends; hello turtlenecks and falling leaves and the smell of apples and spice and pumpkin bread and school starting; hello new begining. Hello new season. "With singing lips my mouth will praise You..."
Whatever the season.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Our house has sold and we have to move everything out by the end of the month. (This is so surreal, even typing it.) We are looking for a place of semi-permanence and I am really looking forward to being surrounded by my own things soon. There has been chaos and stress and one dizzying thing after another. And in the midst of all this, my child sleeps. Total peace. She sleeps best when held in my arms, or the arms of my husband. We represent home to her. The rest doesn't matter. Here I am, longing for peace, praying for it and I honestly don't even know what I'm chasing after or complaining about when I see her. Today was an "aha" moment (thank you, Oprah for that terminology). Looking at these pictures I felt the deep, even breathing of God. His breath took mine away. And in that moment, as His heart beat with mine, I realized what home really is. It's being held in His arms, close to His chest and breathing. Surrendering to the pull of the quiet.
I want to dive down, deep into His mercy and rest there; I want to play, exuberantly and free as a child, in the shadow of His wings; I want to "act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with my God" (Micah 6:8). This does not mean I won't cry anymore, or hurt or question. It does mean surrender. And home. And a little something called trust.
"I will lie down and sleep in peace, for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety." (Psalm 4:8)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Embrace the Magic
She pauses while eating to look up at me and smile. Her shoulders go up, her eyes crinkle and her lips part in a pure joy. She smiles with her whole body, this daughter of mine. And my heart stops, undone by wonder. She is magic.
And she hasn't even really done anything! She is magic simply because she exists. The very breath of God resides in her body...and in mine. I pause when this hits me. I have struggled, like everyone else I'm sure, with my value, my worth as a person. Struggled with owning the gifts God put in me, afraid to come across as arrogant or proud. Afraid to fail. Afraid, just afraid.
I went through counseling eight years ago. There I shared how I always felt too big, like I took up more space than I was allotted. I felt huge and bumbling and awkward when all I wanted was to blend in. This feeling was physical and emotional and very strange because I'm not really a big person. God and I have been working on bringing me to my appropriate size. I giggle as I write that because it has been a trip! I learned that somewhere along the way, humbleness was defined incorrectly. God wants us to own what we are and what we are not. And to walk confidently in Him. There is magic in us. There is value in us. Simply because we exist. He looks at us and says, "Beautiful." Hmmm...He looks at me and says, "Beautiful."
When my husband says this to me, I blush and turn away, never sure how to respond. But I speak that word consistently over my child. "Beautiful." Proclaimed in the morning, sung during the day, whispered at night. She is beautiful because she is mine. And, oh, we are His. If I want my child, this girl who one day will be a woman, to embrace the magic God put in her, to embrace her beauty, I need to example this for her. I don't want her to think that to be woman means to constantly put herself down. To deflect compliments, to turn away from love. To find something about herself to criticize. To never be happy with the size of her thighs. I need to redefine this for her- for me. God has freed me from so much fear that it seems a pity not to dance in the beauty He sees; to not teach my daughter to dance freely in the beauty He has placed in her.
"Dance, dance, dear Shulammite, Angel-Princess!
Dance and we'll feast our eyes on your grace! Everyone wants to see the Shulammite dance
her victory dances of love and peace." (Song of Songs 6:13)
And she hasn't even really done anything! She is magic simply because she exists. The very breath of God resides in her body...and in mine. I pause when this hits me. I have struggled, like everyone else I'm sure, with my value, my worth as a person. Struggled with owning the gifts God put in me, afraid to come across as arrogant or proud. Afraid to fail. Afraid, just afraid.
I went through counseling eight years ago. There I shared how I always felt too big, like I took up more space than I was allotted. I felt huge and bumbling and awkward when all I wanted was to blend in. This feeling was physical and emotional and very strange because I'm not really a big person. God and I have been working on bringing me to my appropriate size. I giggle as I write that because it has been a trip! I learned that somewhere along the way, humbleness was defined incorrectly. God wants us to own what we are and what we are not. And to walk confidently in Him. There is magic in us. There is value in us. Simply because we exist. He looks at us and says, "Beautiful." Hmmm...He looks at me and says, "Beautiful."
When my husband says this to me, I blush and turn away, never sure how to respond. But I speak that word consistently over my child. "Beautiful." Proclaimed in the morning, sung during the day, whispered at night. She is beautiful because she is mine. And, oh, we are His. If I want my child, this girl who one day will be a woman, to embrace the magic God put in her, to embrace her beauty, I need to example this for her. I don't want her to think that to be woman means to constantly put herself down. To deflect compliments, to turn away from love. To find something about herself to criticize. To never be happy with the size of her thighs. I need to redefine this for her- for me. God has freed me from so much fear that it seems a pity not to dance in the beauty He sees; to not teach my daughter to dance freely in the beauty He has placed in her.
"Dance, dance, dear Shulammite, Angel-Princess!
Dance and we'll feast our eyes on your grace! Everyone wants to see the Shulammite dance
her victory dances of love and peace." (Song of Songs 6:13)
Sunday, August 8, 2010
New City, New Church?
So, today was my first experience with a church in my new city. I really liked the people, the atmosphere and how warm and friendly everyone was. This was surprising because I have been wary about trying a new church. I LOVED my last church. (I could repeat this statement over and over and over...) There was so much warmth and freedom and authenticity in the people and I didn't think God could top that. The people in my last church watched me grow from terrified little girl to a woman trying to walk in whatever gifts God placed in her. This was quite a journey, and these precious people provided a safe environment for me to spread my little wings and just try. The encouragement and love and support they provided nurtured these gifts and gave me confidence to keep trying!
So, now I'm in a new place. Having become a mommy three months ago, newness seems to be the name of the game. I used to have long, girly hair that could be curly or straight and really made me feel quite vogue at times. :-) I have cut said hair as it was being pulled and spit up in, etc. Also, used to drive a Mini Cooper- quite fun, but impractical. My husband just bought me a Volvo station wagon. Am embracing the mommy thing....but not holding my arms wide open to the change of a new city and a new church. Slowly, streets in this new city are becoming familiar and I am frequenting more places. This all makes me feel a bit more comfortable and not so much like a tourist. I HATE feeling like a tourist. But the church-thing...
As I said, everyone at this new church was super friendly and I liked it. But I didn't like not being known. At home, oh-savor that word home!- everybody knew me. They had an idea of what was in my heart and in my history and they KNEW me. We had lived and loved and learned together. We had cried and laughed and stressed over minute details together. Thrown parties and been on our knees in prayer and worship and made beautiful harmonies and surprising friendships and I miss that!!! Here, nobody knows me. I am a blank slate, a first impression, a "visitor." Oh, my soul...but the God I came to celebrate this morning knows me. Better than anyone else. He has written my days down, even the ones yet to come. He created my inmost being, the parts I'm afraid to admit even to myself. He is my Constant Companion, day in and day out. As I try to fit in a shower, change poopy diapers, put on makeup so my husband recognizes me, make dinner, deal with dogs...He is ever there. Watching it all. Singing over me as I sing over my daughter. Lullabies abound and my soul is soothed. Maybe the sweet people in my last church who gave me the courage to try will ring in my memory and my heart and new courage will rise in a new town. Maybe new gifts will be discovered as this new role as mommy emerges. God is doing a new thing...but He is ever constant.
So, now I'm in a new place. Having become a mommy three months ago, newness seems to be the name of the game. I used to have long, girly hair that could be curly or straight and really made me feel quite vogue at times. :-) I have cut said hair as it was being pulled and spit up in, etc. Also, used to drive a Mini Cooper- quite fun, but impractical. My husband just bought me a Volvo station wagon. Am embracing the mommy thing....but not holding my arms wide open to the change of a new city and a new church. Slowly, streets in this new city are becoming familiar and I am frequenting more places. This all makes me feel a bit more comfortable and not so much like a tourist. I HATE feeling like a tourist. But the church-thing...
As I said, everyone at this new church was super friendly and I liked it. But I didn't like not being known. At home, oh-savor that word home!- everybody knew me. They had an idea of what was in my heart and in my history and they KNEW me. We had lived and loved and learned together. We had cried and laughed and stressed over minute details together. Thrown parties and been on our knees in prayer and worship and made beautiful harmonies and surprising friendships and I miss that!!! Here, nobody knows me. I am a blank slate, a first impression, a "visitor." Oh, my soul...but the God I came to celebrate this morning knows me. Better than anyone else. He has written my days down, even the ones yet to come. He created my inmost being, the parts I'm afraid to admit even to myself. He is my Constant Companion, day in and day out. As I try to fit in a shower, change poopy diapers, put on makeup so my husband recognizes me, make dinner, deal with dogs...He is ever there. Watching it all. Singing over me as I sing over my daughter. Lullabies abound and my soul is soothed. Maybe the sweet people in my last church who gave me the courage to try will ring in my memory and my heart and new courage will rise in a new town. Maybe new gifts will be discovered as this new role as mommy emerges. God is doing a new thing...but He is ever constant.
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