Psalm 127:3

Psalm 127:3

She is sitting down, on a potty, right in front of me, when all the thoughts start swirling in my head again. Seven months, quickly closing in on eight, her eyes are bright, filled with wonder and interest, and I am simply lifting the tow hook of a little lego truck and letting it fall for her to see.

Gravity is not in her vocabulary, but wonder, oh how wonder is.

Gift. Gift I think — what I could have named her, and her brothers. Gifts. For the days that are long and hard, for the losses that grab a hold of your heart and squeeze so tight it’s hard to take each breath. They are gift, gift, and reward.

And the thoughts that swirl? How strange it is to see this as other than gift.

Sure, there are days. Laundry piles high. Dishes stack up. Tempers flare: He hitted me with that ball! Let go of your brother, you are not his Mommy or Daddy! How many times do I have to call your name before you will look at me? I strain my voice too often.

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But stand still. Be still just a moment. Mimic the wonder you see in front of you — take it all in. Flesh of flesh, bone of bone, this child that sits here with half my DNA — absolutely desired before she arrived, though fear met me once or twice: This is quick. They will be less than two years apart. Two kids in diapers… 

Still, and I see it: she cannot be seen as other-than gift.

And what of the other-thans?

They are the words of strangers: Boy, you’ve got your hands full! You know where they come from right? Aren’t you finished yet

And the stories they tell: I could only put two through college. We just wanted one and we would be done. How can you handle more than two or three at the most? Kids are bad for the environment.

The world’s sending mixed messages, one grocery store checkout line at a time.

Post-potty bath time, she is splashing and full of wonder — water swirling with a few white suds from a little baby wash in the duck tub sitting on the island in our kitchen. She beams. Glee. HH hurries for his camera — and I tell the truth, he calls her name and she looks and poses as if she understands, with a huge grin, mouth open nearly as wide as it will go, eyes, too. She pauses the splashing to pose and lets us capture the moment.

I beam with Mama-pride at this simple moment. Thankfulness has been swelling my heart these days — I am taking it seriously. A thankful heart prepares the way for the Lord. I am taking seriously the business of being still, giving thanks.

I have wept with friends, struggling to become pregnant. Wept with friends who have experienced loss. And with research, intervention and no small amounts of effort together as a society we endeavor to put children in the arms of the childless. Through the marvels of modern medicine and the awe-inspiring beauty of adoption.

None is sad. One is great. But too many? A burden — and some might even say downright wrong — bringing too many children into the world.

A gentleman sitting next to me on a plane once genuinely questioned the sanity of a married couple who does not want to use birth control if they already have more than a couple of children. What is the difference between birth control and clipping your fingernails? he mused.

I disengaged from the conversation as quickly as possible.

You’ve got your hands full. Maybe so.

But these moments of God-wonder have not slowed. For the four-year-old who understands so much, thinks deeply, cares and cares. With the two-year-old’s milky white smile, peeking from perfect, parted pink lips, eyelashes to rival any mascara commercial — and eyes to charm any man or woman in town.

And this little one, who sat in front of me, warmest smile, toothless, yet so full — wild after-nap wispy waves encircling her head. Able to take my mind off the greatest problems, able to unfurl every knot that threatens to tighten me up to that struggling-to-breathe-state that occasionally finds me.

Who is right? What is true?

A friend and I talked about it the other day, the comments from the older ladies in the grocery store. How it is nice to hear “treasure this time” and “it goes by fast” — these reminders to slow down and take off your shoes. It is hard to hear “how many do you actually want” and “Boy, you’ve got your hands full” — which with certain tones and inflections sometimes sounds more like “Have you heard of birth control, you idiot?”

He has held her, for me to type now, and brings her in pink polka-dot pajamas, perfect hand-me-downs from her older cousin. With privilege I kiss her cheek before he takes her to bed.

God’s hand has provided riches beyond measure. I see it. I could take off my shoes if I were wearing any.

The Bible puts it this way:

Behold, children are a gift of the Lord;
The fruit of the womb is a reward. {Psalm 127:3}

With the busyness that has me doing the things I must and sometimes keeping me from things I love to do, these three little gifts are constant reminders: He is so, so good. And my answer these days to the world of other-thans, to the “Boy, you’ve got your hands full {—you dummy—}” folks?

“My heart is even more full.”

xCC

Messy Grief

For the first time last night, I had a dream with my Dad in it, and I understood, in the dream, that he was no longer alive. But then the strangest thing happened. Somehow, in the hodgepodge blur I remember, he wasn’t alive, but I could still see him, as if he was, and we were dancing.

And strangely enough, we weren’t dancing, like I might remember as a little girl, with my feet on his, or like I might remember from my wedding day, when my fluffy dress made me feel like I was floating on a cloud, and I paused a few times in our dance to get my steps together again, with a little side to side arm action and a twist thrown in, with hopes that it didn’t look like I was a mess.

It wasn’t a classy snapshot memory at all. Instead, we were on a tennis court, but I think indoors, and I think at a party, and he was at least ten or fifteen feet away from me, and we were doing the electric slide. But that line down the middle of the tennis court was between us, and neither of us could cross it. But it was still somehow good, us both dancing.

I have absolutely no memory of my Dad doing the electric slide, ever. But I have to admit, in my dream last night, he was throwing some sweet shapes on the dance floor. And he looked younger and he had more hair, and, it’s honestly hard to believe, he did not have an ECU baseball cap on.

I suppose it’s safe to say this little snippet of my life, this snippet of a dream where I felt confused but I think happy at the same time, is a bit like grief itself.

Strange, and messy.

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I’ve cried more tears than I thought I was capable of crying. I’ve laughed harder, fuller and deeper than I thought I would for a while. And somewhere in between trying to figure out the work of settling an estate and supporting my talented hubs (you need family pictures soon, right?) and loving and nurturing and raising three kiddiddles, I am walking the road of this really messy thing called grief.

‘Messy’ is as best a term as I can muster – for when you will erupt in tears at a simple question for no particular reason, when you will avoid things you know need to get done {ahem, thank you notes} because you just know they’re going to be less cathartic than you hope, and really just downright hard. For when you find yourself simultaneously wanting to cheer and to cry when you realize your two-year-old still sometimes pretends to call G-pa on his “cell-phone” {calculator} or he cheers when he sees G-pa’s picture on your Facebook profile.

Grief is just plain messy.

At this stage in it, I’m running more errands than I want to and writing a lot less than I want to. (And probably need to.) But I’m focusing on staying focused, {ironic, hey?} and trying to make sure the tasks on the estate-settling list get crossed off, and I still get wholesome meals on the table. But sometimes it’s Dominos.

The busy is probably good, even though it’s hard. And the memories I’m making with my kids, cherishing them and creating opportunities for love and laughs and learning, this is where the best stuff, the most-healing stuff is happening.

God whispers gently: there is so much good still to come. He is also whispering hope and life and faith, through the voices of Sunday sermons, blog posts, His amazing Word and strong and solid teachings, like this gem by A.W. Tozer.

The most beautiful reminder of all, in my Dad’s absence, is the constant reminder of the Lord’s presence. I’m aiming to fix the gaze of my soul on God. {Thanks, Tozer.}

Perhaps it’s a valley I’m walking through, that somehow still has some beautiful hills to climb — it’s messy to describe, but it is a place where I know there is a God who makes every path smooth by His grace.

Next Sunday I’ll be sharing about my Dad’s faith journey at the church he called home for a good while. Appropriately, it’s Father’s Day. My heart is certain there are some stories to tell, my hope is that the Lord will give me the grace to tell those stories — and communicate the greater truth behind them — well. {I’d appreciate your prayers, and if you’re local, you are welcome.}

Right now the truth I’m aiming to cling to that I offer to you as well is this: He loves us. Oh, how He loves us.

That night, in the hospital, when the end was beginning and everything was a messy blur, this was the Word, when I opened the Bible on my phone:

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He was there for me, an abiding Presence, through the toughest week of my life.

Friends, He loves us. Amen.

xCC

Jesus Says Come

It was in church two weeks ago when it hit home. (Again.) No matter what the wakeup time, something (or some little person) occasionally seems to hinder us starting the half-hour journey early enough. We’d hurried in a few minutes late, plonked down on an empty row, and I was busy trying to simultaneously sing and worship and make sure the Tank was still with us and not wandering off.

At the end of a time of worship where I felt mostly distracted, and guilty for being distracted, the Pastor reminded us that Jesus simply says, “Come.”

Now if you’re anything like me, which I hope for your sake, you’re not, you sometimes feel like you’re just not good enough to just come. I think about all the things I haven’t done — all the places where I’ve fallen short, and they form a collective whisper in the back of my mind. The more haven’ts there are, the louder it gets, until there’s a resounding shout:

You’ve got to get it together before you can get to Jesus!

I’ve been tired — especially being pregnant — I haven’t been getting up early in the morning to read the Word. I haven’t been spending the time I think I should be spending in prayer. I didn’t take the opportunity to show love in this or that situation. I was worn out after a week of hospitality and didn’t accomplish these things on the list which I think are important and make me good enough to stand before God.

And those words from a Pastor with a microphone were the tip of an iceberg of truth that a gentle God-voice kept whispering to my heart, sure and steady, for perhaps another week or so — long enough for me to believe it:

You’ll never really get it all together! Just get to Jesus!

Jesus said Come. Come to Me, all you weary and heavy-laden. Come to Me, let Me give you rest. And none of those verses about coming were followed by a list of haven’t’s and didn’t’s which would disqualify a person from being allowed to just come.

And for that matter — I can approach the throne of God, however and whenever, but never because of what I have done or what I did do. This, friends, is why Grace is so Amazing. I can approach the throne of God because when He looks at me, He sees Jesus. The things I’ve done and the things I’ve left undone, my should’ve’s and my shouldn’t’of’s… they are all covered by the One who gave His life for me. I wear His righteousness to approach the throne. Like the beautiful words of an old hymn, this truth sings to my soul:

Because the sinless Savior died,
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.*

Can I get a hallelujah? Is that not an absolutely glorious piece of good news to start your day, your week, or even the rest of your life with?

You don’t have to have it all together to meet with Jesus! Even if you’ve been feeling far away, if you’ve been struggling to walk out what you believe, even if for a season you’ve been questioning His truth — Jesus says ComeCome, come, come.

He loves you. He wants to meet with you. He has a plan for you.

Today, tomorrow, the day after — the invitation still stands.

Come.

Will you?

xCC

 

*Before the Throne of God Above, words by Charitie L. Bancroft, 1863.

Long Pauses and Goodbyes

The first time I ever used the word nephew, in the context of me being the aunt, was in reference to a creature with four legs and a tail. His name was Logan, and he was a big-headed, beautiful labrador, who had a white mama and a yellow daddy, if I remember correctly. Named after the winningest coach {yup, that’s a word} in the history of East Carolina University’s football program, he peed in my car, nearly got me kicked out of my apartment and stole my heart, all in the course of the first weekend I ‘puppy-sat’ him twelve years ago.

{When The Bear met Logan – Love at First Lick, 2009}

My brother said good-bye to Logan on Monday night, and though he lived a good and long and generally happy life, right now that doesn’t seem to make the end of it much easier, I don’t think.

I am heart-sore thinking of how quiet my brother’s house probably seems, the dog bed I found for him at Pet Smart last Christmas lying vacant by the window.

I thought again about Spurgeon saying “It must be an awful thing to live an unafflicted life on Earth.” I remember him talking about the power of God to turn bitter waters sweet — the power of God to redeem the things that really, really hurt.

U2 has been one of my favorite bands for a long time because of my brother, and I think all this through and hear Bono in my mind, crooning out these beauty-packed lyrics:

Yahweh, Yahweh
always pain before the child is born.
Yahweh, Yahweh
still I’m waiting for the dawn.
{“Yahweh”, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, 2004}

{Christmas and Patience, 2010}

Somehow all of our lives are lived in that sort of in-between waiting space. Since the only time sorrow will ever truly cease is when all of this is finished. When God folds up time like a tablecloth we’ve all finished eating off of. And while I don’t have the eschatology pinned down regarding what the end of time is going to look like exactly, I’m confident of this: The best is yet to come. Jesus has restoration in mind. And that process started when He said It is finished.

So here and now we dwell in between, in a layer of time where we know there will be a re-creation, a re-birth, the completion of Jesus saying Look! I make all things new. But we are not yet there.

We live in a very pregnant pause. And the Bible actually describes it that way — We know that the whole creation has been groaning, as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves[…] wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. {Romans 8:22,23} This passage goes on to declare those familiar words:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. {Rom. 8:28}

{Thanksgiving 2011}

But we don’t always get to see all of that just yet. We don’t always get to see the redemption right now. We don’t always get to draw a complete circle around the pain, cross through the item that hurts off the list in our souls, and put a little ‘redeemed’ checkmark beside it. Now we see in a mirror, dimly…but then, face to face. Now we know in part, then we shall know fully, even as we are fully known. {1 Cor. 13:12}

So we wait with the hope of glory in mind. We know that pain is temporary, and in a way, our earthly joys are temporary, too. We’re going to laugh again. We’re going to cry again. We’re going to mourn again. We’re going to dance again. God saw it fit for it to be this way. Perhaps because if it was always only ever happy, we’d never look for Him, never realize that the best really is yet to come.

Could it be that this is why contentment is probably one of the healthiest goals we could set our sights on? Not the kind of contentment that says “I can’t do any better, I can’t expect any better, this’ll do for now…” but the kind of contentment that says, “This is where I am at the moment — the past and the future are likely to be different, but I am going to choose to live my right now well, and thankful.”

While trusting for redemption, here’s to living this moment well, and to Logan.

xCC

 

The Cost of Serving the Urgent

Last week I took a deep breath at the end of a busy day. The Hubs had headed out to the gallery to get some more work done. The Tiger was already in bed, and I was hoping he would fall asleep quickly, and then the Bear would follow suit. {They are kind of getting up to mischief when we put them down at the same time at night so we’re figuring out how to work that out best, and sometimes it involves letting the Bear stay up until the baby’s asleep.}

We’d been scrambling all day, and probably the day before. And the day before. Thanking heaven for ‘summer camp’ keeping the Bear busy at the church where he goes to preschool during the year, thanking the Lord for my Mom and Dad, helping with the boys so that the Hubs and I could be at the gallery working lots and often. There was a general sense of urgency about life — this deadline looming ahead of us. So many tasks that needed completing before that deadline.

But I’d decided that evening, at bedtime when Work, Round 2 often starts, that it was time to play the board game the Bear was asking me to play. He looked so sweet, sitting on the floor in Dinosaur pajamas, over-the-moon-excited that we were going to play a board game, that I stopped to snap a picture with my phone, eager to savour the moment again, even after he’d gone to bed.

I took the picture with Instagram, and wanting to share it, I paused for a moment to give it a caption. These words immediately came to mind: Probably the most important thing I’ve done today. And remembering this old post of mine, I added #SpellingloveT-I-M-E.

When I enter into the space where ‘the urgent’ becomes the tyrant dictating my life, a couple of friends often come to join me on the journey. I sometimes start getting ulcers in my mouth, or strange aches and pains in different places. I sometimes get headaches, and I struggle to put one foot in front of the other to get everyday things done. It’s like my body is saying, “Hey Idiot! Stop stressing and running around! I’m not supposed to run on all six cylinders for this amount of time. You’re gonna burn me out!”  My time with the Lord gets pushed aside because of all the other things that need to get done, and THAT is when things really start heading south.

Ya’d think I’d learn my lesson by now, wouldn’t ya? 

After the Bear and I had played our game (he beat me twice without me even trying to let him win!) and read a story and he’d settled off to sleep I thought more about those words I’d given that photo — and the truth in them. More than I want the Hubs to have a successful photography business, more than I want to create breathing space in our budget so that we can perhaps look for our own home, more than I want to live with a house that is even reasonably tidy, I want to raise these boys we’ve been given to steward well. I want them to be well-adjusted. I want them to serve God with passion. I want them to know we love them.

I don’t want them to grow up saying they felt disconnected from their parents. And I want to know about their lives, and not because they are posting about themselves on Facebook and I’m reading it.

I was reminded of some simple truths about living under the Tyranny of the Urgent — lessons that I often need to be reminded of — as I thought through where we were and how things were going.

First, if you live your life trying to please people OR please your own unrealistic expectations, you are inevitably going to fall short and be frustrated with yourself.  If you focus on trying to please God every day, you’ll find that pacing yourself, making wise choices, and even getting GOOD rest pleases Him. No one else is going to guard your time and rest. People will take as much as you’ll give them, and encourage you to keep giving out more.

There will always be something that feels urgent, but doesn’t have to be treated that way.

If you can rest in the knowledge that the only one you need to please is your heavenly Father, and focus on following His leading, you will do well. With His leading I can love my husband and my children well. Listening to His whispers I can recognize when urgency is dictating my schedule while important is slipping through the cracks. If that’s the case I’m probably overcommitted or not managing my time well. I need to start asking questions. What needs to get axed? How should I re-prioritize?

Second, the Lord tells us to rest for a reason. Each day has sufficient trouble of its own. We aren’t supposed to worry about tomorrow. We can rest in the knowledge that God is in control. When we begin stressing that we have to get everything sorted out, voila, we have sore throats, headaches, sickness…and even worse health conditions, many that would have been completely prevented had we been willing to change our pace and make rest and concern for our health a priority. {Remember, don’t kill your horse!}

There will always be something urgent on the agenda. If you keep running after the urgent, you’ll neglect the important, and suffer the consequences.

Third, remember the story of Lazarus. (See John 11:1-44) Jesus heard that Lazarus was sick, but He stayed where He was for two more days before heading over to Judea. Lazarus was the brother of Martha and Mary. This family was very dear to Him. When He (finally) arrived on the scene, Lazarus was already dead, and people were mourning him. The question obviously came from both women — “Ugh, Jesus, where ya been? Cuz if you showed up, om…seeing as how you have healing powers and all…well…it seems pretty apparent if you hadn’t taken your time about getting here, our brother wouldn’t be in a tomb right now.”

It isn’t readily apparent why Jesus decided to take His time about getting there, but He does say in response to the news of Lazarus’ illness, “This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” So for God’s glory, and in God’s timing (we can be sure it was God’s timing since Jesus never stepped out of God’s will) Jesus traveled to Judea without a big rush, and by the time He arrived, Lazarus had been dead four days.

You may or may not know the rest of the story: after conversations with Martha and Mary, and seeing the weeping, Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. In doing so, He demonstrated His power, not just over sickness, but also over death, and many Jews began to believe in Him because of this amazing miracle. (So much so that the Pharisees began plotting to kill Him.)

Jesus could have rushed over to Martha and Mary’s place and healed Lazarus before He passed away. The urgency of the situation could have forced Him to drop everything and ‘put foot’ as HH puts it. But He waited for God’s timing, and in doing so, God was glorified, and His will was done. Many believed, and the stage was set for even greater works yet to come.

There will always be something urgent you need to attend to. But rushing after the urgent might very well cause us to run right ahead of the will of God.

Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you. {Psalm 32:9} Stay in step with God’s leading instead!

The thing is, if you let it, the urgent will always distract you from the important. And sometimes, a series of short-term decisions will change your course for you, and you won’t be headed toward your long-term goals. Are you taking on too many projects for someone else without allowing time for you to attend to your own work? Is your schedule somewhat determined by whatever it is that seems to need to happen the fastest?

When you look back on the season you’re in the middle of right now, do you think you’ll celebrate the choices you’re making with your time … or regret them?

Truly, along with our daily bread, we can trust God for the daily guidance to know what to put our hands to — and when.

xCC