Lent: Day 2

I love stories.  One of the things I miss most about my Granny is that she was the storyteller of the family, always remembering bits and pieces of her life in the form of a story.  In college, I had a friend who was an enormous storyteller.  The guy could go out to run a few errands and come home with a story that sounded like he had been out having the greatest day ever.  I can hear him in his California-drawl saying, “Dude!  You’ll never believe what happened…” and then he would launch into his story, recounting some silly thing or other that had happened in the post office line. 

I am not an innate storyteller, mostly because I don’t like to be the center of attention in a conversation.  I would much rather listen to others talk, responding and asking them questions.  Having my story or point of view driving the conversation stresses me out.  If I am one on one with someone, that is different.  But even then, knowing where to approach a story and what details to share or not share is not something that comes easily to me.

This morningI noticed this verse in Psalm 102: 

“These will be written for a generation to come,

That a people yet to be created may praise the LORD.”  Psalm 102:18

The words “that a people yet to be created may praise the LORD” stopped me short and made me think of my kids and the stories I have told them and the many I have not.  It is not just my children who need to hear my stories, but my grandchildren and for their children and on and on. 

When I think about my life and the stories I have been given to tell, I see God’s mercy, grace, and kindness all over them.  So while I may not always be able to spin a trip to the grocery store into a funny yarn, I know I can tell of how God drew me to Him, how He has taught me tenderly and patiently, year after year, how He has held me up in the midst of loss and how His purposes and His love make daily life, no matter what the circumstances, always worth living. 

Lent: Day 1

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, a time of preparation for Easter set aside by the church.  I am choosing to observe Lent this year by giving up a couple of things that I enjoy daily and by making time in my schedule to write.  Though I know I will miss the things I am giving up, and I know daily writing time will be a challenge to find (hello the sixth sense toddlers have about Mom waking up early!!), I am feeling something today that I didn’t anticipate at all: freedom.

I have been hoping to make some changes in my daily life for a while now, but with life steam rolling along at top speed it can seem impossible to stop and change direction.  It is easy for me to look at my life and see all the ways I don’t have freedom to choose how to spend my time. This Lenten season has offered me something I have needed: a reason outside of myself to act on my desire for change within my life.

Our church has been going through a series lately called: Less is More.  The main point is that we need less of ourselves and more of God in our lives.  It is my prayer and sincere hope that the structure of Lent will help me to live more for God and less for myself, and that in doing so I will grow in love and joy in my relationship with Jesus and as I serve those around me.

It is good to be writing again.  I hope to write a more personal family update here at some point, but today the main goal was simply to begin.

And so I have.

Five Minute Fridays: Mercy...and an introduction

I am so happy to be writing today!  And to be linking up with the Five-Minute Friday crew again.  Click over to Lisa-Jo's site to find out what Five-Minute Fridays are all about.  You are welcome to join in!! 

The prompt for today is Mercy...

The fingers of the sun reach through the trees behind our home, light filters green and fresh, falling onto the wood floor of our family room.  I see the light and I remember and am grateful for this: his mercies are new every morning.

A quick search for the meaning of mercy: kind or forgiving treatment of someone who could be treated harshly; compassion or forbearance shown especially to an offender or to one subject to one's power.

At the tail end of a day it can seem like I have used up my whole share and a lot more of the mercy of God. 

Upon awakening to the morning light, I find God’s mercy isn’t packaged up, like leftovers in his fridge of good things, saved up so that nothing is wasted and set on the shelf so the dregs can be passed out another day.

Instead, God sets a brand new, unopened package of his mercy carefully on the threshold of each new day. 

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There is something else that is new in my house, a sweet new person whose very presence in our family speaks of the mercy of God.

Meet Samuel Theodore Corley, born on August 24, 2013

Oh, mercy…

I hope to write more soon about the miracle of Sam’s story, how God wrote his coming right into the story of our cross-country move so that for many weeks I lived on a separate coast from the rest of my family as I waited for Sam’s arrival.  This space has been so quiet because truly, rather than sit down to write about life, it was all I could do to live the wildness and strangeness of each day.

May you soak in the new, every morning new, mercy of God, my friends!

the hunt for beauty: a desert morning

I’m in the desert right now.  Not in the metaphorical sense, but the actual desert: hot, sandy, and creosote-bush-covered, where road runners and families of quail skitter across the road and where you better get up early if you want to enjoy being outside.  Otherwise, its just too darn hot.

I woke today feeling the weight of what I am waiting for bearing down on me.  I have felt this way the past couple of days, with time crawling by like so much old honey being poured out of a crock.  But instead of trudging through another day, I made a decision.  I chose to go on the offense, to go hunting. 

Hunting for beauty on a desert morning.

Still in my pj’s, I slipped on flip-flops, grabbed my iphone, walked out the back door and into the cool morning, my lungs filling up with air sharp with the peppery tang of the desert in the morning.

First stop on the hunt: my father-in-law's garden.  He built this greenhouse using old sliding glass doors salvaged from construction projects.  He's cool like that.  

inside the greenhouse you can find surprises like
avocado trees, a citrus tree, and lots of happy tomato plants

 

sunlight on a happy squash plant

grape vines in the sand

 Next stop: front yard.  The sun shone on the rosemary, filling the air with its woodsy scent.

rosemary spilling over a retaining wall

they do live in a desert after all!

harnessing the power of the sun

morning sun on the woodpile

The desert is harsh, stark, relentless.  Waiting for something completely out of your control has a lot in common with the desert landscape, I am finding.  But the desert is also full of texture and light, and the startling beauty of objects in stark relief.

Back inside the cool of the house, I felt a bit lighter inside, freer.  Beauty will do that to you.  Especially the beauty you find right where you are.

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Where are you finding beauty today?  It would be a delight to hear from you in the comments!

Five Minute Friday: Broken

Found a spot of quiet this morning, so joining in with Lisa-Jo and the other Five Minute Friday folks over here.  Come on over to read some beautiful pieces on the prompt: Broken.

Here is my offering:

In just two days, three men packed everything we own into boxes.  The speed at which they worked impressed me.  I would go run an errand and when I returned, the kitchen would be completely boxed up, which is a task that could have taken me weeks to accomplish.

“Could you show me your high value items?” the lead guy asked us as we walked through the house together.  My eyes scanned bookshelves, glanced into drawers, mentally ticking through our belongings. 

What do we own that is of value?

We do have a gorgeous set of Noritake china that my husband’s grandfather brought back from Japan after WWII.  And I suppose I have a few pieces of jewelry that you could say are “high value”. 

Walking through the rooms of our home, I thought how the high value items in my life were not going to be boxed up by these jovial gentlemen, but were, instead, sitting right there at the table, with bed heads and wearing jammies, eating their last breakfast in our little blue house. 

My husband, my children, the relationships we have been celebrating with good-bye dinners and see-you-later lunches: they can’t be wrapped in bubble wrap and placed just so in a box.  I won’t unwrap them on an afternoon in Maryland.  But I do hold them in my heart as tenderly as I hope those packers placed our china in a box.   

And if the china gets broken?  Or the pearls misplaced?

I’m OK with that. 

broken bread, poured-out wine

Nearly 20 years ago on my 21^st birthday, my dear friend gave me a gift I treasure to this day, a book in which she wrote these words:

Dearest Amy, May this book help you grow closer to your Heavenly Father as you learn to be “carefully careless” about everything but your relationship with Him.” 

The book, My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers (or OC as I like to call him) is my favorite devotional companion (not counting the Bible, of course).  I am spending time with OC again this summer, finding gems on a daily basis.  Here is one from today:

“…I am free only that I may be an absolute bondservant of His.’ That is the characteristic of a Christian’s life once this level of spiritual honor and duty becomes real. Quit praying about yourself and spend your life for the sake of others as the bondservant of Jesus. That is the true meaning of being broken bread and poured-out wine in real life.”

I love the phrase, “broken bread and poured-out wine”, how it connects the elements of communion with living a life of service and sacrifice.  In the physical act of communion, we remember the sacrifice of Jesus as we chew and swallow the bread, as the liquid slips down our throats.  Chambers urges us to live our lives as committed-for-life servants of Jesus.  Jesus showed us the way to do this, not just in His ultimate sacrifice, but in the others-focused life of service He lived.

Personally, I like to keep my loaves whole and intact, my wine bottle neatly corked and stored on the shelf.  But living as broken bread and poured-out wine means, instead, being willing to be broken, divided, chewed, consumed; being poured out as rich liquid for the nourishment and sustenance of others.

This pouring out, this breaking looks different in our individual lives.  It can be asking a calm question instead of retaliating with a sharp word; responding graciously to an ungracious child; waiting patiently for someone who is serving us, at an appointment or a business, recognizing that they are people, valuing them over our schedules; signing up for the not-so-glamorous job at church; or forgoing sleep because a friend needs to talk late into the night.

I am reminded of Paul’s words in Romans 12:1, NIV:   

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.

We are facing some crazy things in our lives right now, even over and above the cross-country move.  I long for communion, for the peace of abiding with Christ.  Living as broken bread and poured-out wine means that in the sacrifice, right there in the breaking and the pouring, is the communion I am desperate for.  Here in the sorting and parenting and the towering pile of unknowns, in the daily sacrifice of serving and interruptions and plans gone awry, there is Christ.  

a little more clear

I remember the day had been long.  It was July 3^rd, two and a half months after first learning my husband was selected to teach at the Naval Academy.  We lay in bed, quiet words passing back and forth between us.  We were still waiting for Naval orders making the move official, allowing us to schedule movers and plan a move date.  Since April, we had come up with enough scenarios and what ifs to fill a book.  That night it felt like we stood at the dark end of a long road, with no knowledge of what would happen next or which way to go.

When you are completely at the end of yourself, in that dark place of not seeing, not knowing, what then?

Fingers intertwined, we prayed together, acknowledging that no matter what happened, we loved God and wanted His best, wanted His glory and His good in our lives.  Our sleep that night was more peaceful than it had been in a long time.

The next day dawned sunny and bright, our favorite holiday, July 4^th.  I was in the kitchen peeling peaches to add to the homemade ice cream.  My husband is the ice cream maker around here, so when I finished, I went to find him to tell him all was ready.  He met my eyes over his laptop, saying, “Just got my orders!  Ice cream is going to have to wait a bit.”

I literally fell to my knees in gratitude.  “Yes!” I exclaimed.  “Thank you, oh, thank you, God!

So, a week from tomorrow movers will come, pack our things, load them up and ship them off to the East Coast.  We have been preparing in literally a million different ways, but today after church things are going to get serious.  I am going to tackle the kids rooms’…and my closet.  Though we don’t have to do the actual packing, we want to make sure that the things that are packed are worth moving. 

It feels as though the things we are going through right now are searing something into the marrow of my bones, deep and precious things about God and His character, a clearer understanding of living by faith, trusting God moment by moment, not putting my faith and hope in scenarios I construct about my future, but like a trusting child, slipping my hand into God’s strong one, being content right there.

light through a prism

It was my hope that sometime during our recent family vacation at the beach we would receive information from the Navy that would tell us when exactly we would move.  Instead, while standing in the hot sun in the ticket line at Sea World, we got a phone call letting us know the orders are coming, yes they are, they are just delayed.  We do know a few general things about our move: we are moving to Annapolis; we will move in July; and we have a long drive ahead of us.  We can’t schedule movers without the information we are waiting for.  So we wait.  And we are hourly aware of how much we are not in control.

We returned from a glorious, warm, sunshiney week at the beach to a broiling heat wave.  It was 93 degrees as we drove to church this morning.  I miss the beach.

The prism of knowing we are going to move throws colorful lights and winking shadows on the walls of my daily life.  Driving around town, memories from the past thirteen years flash through my mind, the light of joy, the shadow of sorrow.  At church, I linger longer than usual, noticing the shine and flash of the faces of my friends at church, wanting to remember his contagious laugh, her kind eyes, the way she always asks the right questions, his genuine smile. 

I’ve been wondering why this long wait, why this strange place of knowing something is going to happen, but not knowing when.  Today at church a friend and I comforted one another with the knowledge that, though we often aren’t told the reason, we can be confidant there is a reason.  

And so in this time of waiting we have found amazing renters for our home here; we have located what looks to be the ideal house for us in Annapolis, with a wonderful owner who has been more than kind to us already.  Good, loving homes have been found for three pets we have to leave behind, and we have had time to crate train our big dog that is accompanying us on our move.  We are hosting sleepovers, sending our oldest to youth camp, fixing sprinklers and going through closets.

There is no wasted time.  Everyday is a gift, shot through with His light.  Even these dog days of summer when the not knowing feels a weighty load to bear.      

Five Minute Fridays: Rhythm

Grateful this morning for time to sit and write, and for the opportunity to link up with Lisa-Jo and the rockin' community of writers that gather at her place every Friday.  The rules are simple: write for 5 minutes flat - no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking; link back here and invite others to join in; and then absolutely, no ifs ands or buts about it, you need to visit the person who linked up before you and encourage them in their comments. 

So here we go, five minutes on the prompt Rhythm:

My life’s music sounds discordant these days, like two different songs being played at the same time.  I hear the familiar musical melody of family life in summer, the hours and days tapping out the steady notes of swimming and BBQ’s, croquet after dinner in the evening light, later bedtimes for everyone.  As I dance to the familiar summer-days music, I am also hearing and responding to a completely different sound, the throbbing bass line of anxiety made up of all the unknowns about our up-coming cross country move.  The deep, driving notes pound relentlessly, the thrumming push of urgent tasks, endless phone calls, decisions to be made, closets to be cleaned out, and over all the constant wail of not knowing.

Daily the discord builds, the longing for the blessed relief when the chords of unknowing will resolve, finally, into knowing.

I am waiting, dancing through these days, keeping my eyes on the One conducting this orchestra, the Maestro whose original music is playing, who knows where all these crazy notes lead.

God-sized Dreams: what I have learned, and an update

The first post I wrote as part of the God-sized dream team was on November 14^th, 2012.  I had no clear vision back then of what being on the team would be like or how it would affect my life.  I did know from reading Holley’s blog that I appreciated her perspective, and that something in the description of what the team would be had called to me and drawn me out of my shell where I found the courage to push send on my application.

Simply being chosen was awesome, and if things had stopped there, I would have been pleased.  Being chosen gave me a boost of confidence and renewed hope for what God could do through me.  And yet, there was more.

Here are just three of the many things I have learned over the past six months:

Facebook can be a force for community and encouragement and friendship!  I am eager to meet these dream-sisters in real life at Allume because of the connection we have formed in our group.

Generosity is contagious.  This team was formed with the larger goal of helping Holley promote her new book, which was officially released in March.  To reach that goal, Holley gave us words of encouragement, the weekly  writing prompts for our Tuesday link-ups, advance copies of her ebook and book, and a kind of arms-wide-open, “let me gather you up into this good thing God is doing” mentality that rubbed off on our group in big ways.  With Holley’s leadership our group became a safe place for us, a place where generosity flourished.  Within our group there have been guest post opportunities, giveaways, prayers requested and prayed, and a general spirit of lifting one another up as we all pursue the dreams God has put in our hearts.  This team has been a place of generous love and encouragement, a place characterized by the Spirit of Christ.

Words are powerful.  I read blogs regularly because I love stories and people and glimpses into lives often so different from my own.  The God-sized dream team has reminded me of the value of encouraging words.  When I know that Mel or Kayse or Elizabeth has visited my site and left their sweet fragrance behind in their words of encouragement, it is like a friend stopping by my house for a bit, coming in, accepting my offer of something homemade, and sitting down for a quick chat.  We may not be face to face, but threads of friendship and community ARE being woven together comment by comment, encouraging word by encouraging word.  I have loved this part of our group.

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Way back in November, I wrote this: I have a specific dream to submit my writing to (in)courage or another Christian website (I need to do some more research...suggestions gladly welcomed!).

I am happy to say that I have done this very thing!  And this is true: without this team, I cannot imagine that I would have drummed up the confidence in myself to submit my writing to another venue.  But not only have I submitted to (in)courage, I have also guest posted (thank you,Laurie!), signed up to go to a blogging conference (Allume!  Woohoo!), and gained enough clarity and vision for my writing that I can talk about it with others who don't automatically “get it” like my dream-team sisters do.

To Holley and all my dream-team sisters, thank you!!  Though things may “officially” be wrapping up, I look forward to remaining connected and encouraging one another in the pursuit of our God-sized dreams.

  

Five Minute Friday: View

Love this community of writers!  Fridays are my favorite...

Joining Lisa-Jo and the Five Minute Friday community today.  When I saw the prompt for today, View, this story from years ago popped into my mind.

Here are my five minutes (OK, it took me a bit longer than five minutes today):

In the Spring, she breezed through our offices, buckets of daffodils in hand, leaving vases crammed full of cheerfulness on our desks.  She was old enough to be my Mom, but had the energy and verve of a woman half her age.  Sitting on her screened in porch and listening to the summer rain, she taught me to knit.  Her dogs were her babies, and in my friendship with her, I glimpsed a life lived to the full.  She was a master gardener, a skilled knitter, with a contagious laugh and a generous spirit.

The daffodils were gathered from the thousands she planted on her property in the outskirts of Madison, WI.  One day we drove out there together so she could give me a tour.  Her gardens were breathtaking, looking both cultivated and perfectly natural alongside the wooded setting of her tri-level home.   At the back of the house, she showed me one of her favorite things: the outdoor shower.  It was a new concept for me.  I stood there on the wooded deck, looking at the shower head coming out of the house wall, the loofah hanging from a hook, the shampoo bottle in the caddy…and I felt a kind of shock and awe, realizing that the woods surrounding the house were the only shower curtains to be had.

I pictured that special, secluded place again months later when my friend told me that her neighbors decided to cut down the stand of trees shielding her yard from theirs.  She joked that she was going to continue her habit of outdoor showering so they would wish they had never cut down those trees.  At least, I think she was joking.

  

Perhaps her neighbors were like me,  desperate for a clearer view. I want to see what is on the other side of the obstacles in my path.  I imagine it will be so lovely, the view beyond what I can see. 

Then in my mind I see one of my friends’ neighbors waking early one morning, opening the curtain to survey his lovely view, and getting more of a view than he bargained for.  I laugh.  And I decide that I am just fine here with my obstructed view, waiting for things to clear up at the right time. 

feeling the pressure

Things aren’t going as planned around here, and it makes me feel a bit tense, makes my jaw ache, makes me feel wound up tight, a string pulled taut and ready to snap.

Details of life collect and push against us, like water behind a dam, and yet we do not hold the lever that will release the pressure and let everything flow.  We need to make preparations for our move, because packing up the lives of five people and carting them, their pets, and their stuff across the country is complicated.  Yet we are still waiting for the “official word” to move the cogs of the Navy wheels that will move the lever, open the dam and whisk us across this land of ours in an efficient and timely manner.

So yesterday we sat, my husband and I, in the middle of the afternoon, trying to work it all out.  We started down the “what if” road: what if this happens?  What about that?  Or that?  Oh no, did you think of that?

And then we remembered.  There is Someone who sees clear down this road, whose vision goes far beyond the twists and turns and ups and downs…because He is the one making them. 

Our conversation began to take a different shape.  Isn’t it true, we said, that the “worst case scenario” is still held in His hands, and should we find ourselves there, won’t that really be the “best case scenario”?  

Right here in the pile of details and the closets to go through and the tears that keep filling my eyes, I am choosing to trust this:

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.  Romans 8:28

The pressure is still heavy against me, but my shoulders are relaxing, my jaw is unclenching, and my heart is feeling lighter.

Now to tackle the hall closet…

on risk and standing in the assembly

“Wait on the Lord.  Be of good courage and He will strengthen your heart.  Wait I say on the Lord.” Psalm 27: 14

I had just taken my seat, my heart still galloping away in my chest when she leaned over to me, slip of paper clenched in her hand.  This is from her, she said, indicating a woman one row back who looked at me with kind, brown eyes.  I took the paper, reading the words from Psalm 27, and found those eyes again with mine.  Thank you, I mouthed, my eyes filling, spilling with gratitude.

This morning I did a risky thing.  I stood in the assembly, giving my testimony, desiring to give praise and honor to God.  

From early September until now, I have met weekly with a group of women to study the book of Genesis with Bible Study Fellowship.  Our last meeting of the year was today.  It is always a time of testimony, an opportunity to stand, take the mic, and talk about what you have learned during the study.  It is by far my favorite meeting of the year.  I am a story person, and I soak up the stories as they pour forth.  I love the tears, the laughter, the heads nodding around the room in understanding and kindness and love.

Before going into the sanctuary this morning, I gave thought to what I would say if I stood.  I reviewed this past year of studying Genesis and the myriad of ways God has met me, taught me, comforted me.  And a vision came, of me walking with a strong, comforting, and guiding arm around my shoulders.  I saw that from Genesis 1 through Genesis 50, from the wide expanse of the starlit heavens to the darkness of the womb of a woman, I have felt the close companionship of Christ this year.

So I stood this morning on shaky legs this morning and spoke about that companionship, and about the way that week after week, from Abraham to Jacob to Joseph, the theme of waiting came through to me clear and strong.

When the study began in September, our family was coming up on a year of waiting for an adoption placement, waiting for the child God has prepared for our family.  A whole academic year later, a whole bible study later, and we are still waiting. 

I shared this with the ladies this morning, told how grateful I was that week after week that God saw fit to encourage my weary waiting heart.  And to remind me, through the stories in Genesis, that trusting in God and in His timing is the way to go.

But the best part came after I sat down.  The sweet woman two rows up shared the verse from Psalm 27 with me, wrote it down in her spidery hand, ripped it from her notebook, passed it back like we were in junior high and had secrets to tell.   And then, as we all stood, hearts full to overflowing from hearing and giving our praise to God, two women found me in the back.  You don’t know us, Amy, they said, but after you told your story, we had to find you, to encourage you.  We’ll be praying for you, Amy.  And one shared, I have my own Isaac I prayed for, for four years I prayed, and he came at the exact right time.  And the other said, Amy, I have 12 children, 9 of whom are adopted.  And I prayed and waited for each one. 

We know your pain.  We know and we will pray for you and hold you up, sister.

Walking to my car with the slow and steady gait of one in awe, I wondered, what if I hadn’t stood up?  I wouldn’t have my note, those words of truth tucked safely into the pocket of my skirt.  And I wouldn’t have the memory of the hugs, the testimonies and prayers and love from those women at the end.

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Where my dream is concerned, the riskiest thing for me is believing I have a story to tell, and then standing to my feet to tell it.

It is my hope and prayer, that my writing be a testimony like the one I gave today, of the companionship of Christ.  Not just in salvation and in fellowship, and in provision and goodness, but in waiting and in trial and in grief and loss and death.

I stood in the assembly this morning, and I gave testimony, and even as I sought to give Him glory, He met me there, and gave me good gifts, and grace.

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What feels risky about the dream God has put in your heart?

Connecting with this community of storytellers here

Linking up with Holley and my God-sized Dream Team sisters!

Five Minute Fridays: Song

My heart is singing this morning!  There was time, and there was quiet, and there was Five Minute Fridays, and I wrote.  Thank you, Lisa-Jo, for the prompt that helped me focus down, for giving my detail-crazy brain this joyous break to write freely.

On Fridays, we write, for five minutes, and we don't worry if it is right or not.  Such fun!  Join us?   

Today's prompt: Song.  Here goes...

I clearly remember standing in front of the table at the end of the hall, barely as tall as the table itself, gripping an 8-track tape of Captain and Tennille in my little hands and shoving it into the player, waiting for the first strains of Muskrat Love to come out of the speakers.

During the years when my stepfather lived with us, in the little house on Oxford St, the soundtrack of life then was country music, not the new pop-Country stuff, the old-fashioned down on your luck, whiskey-drinking, broken-hearted stuff. 

Recently, while my feet pedaled furiously on the spin bike at the gym, an AC/DC song came on.  Instantly I was transported right back to the dark high school gymnasium, the smoke from the fog machine whirling around, the dancing bodies of my classmates around me, the screechy voice of the lead singer ringing in my head.

I hear the song Breath of Heaven by Amy Grant and it always reminds me of the year our church put on the Living Christmas Tree, and I stood in my place as part of the choir high up in the huge tree, hearing the soloist’s pure, breathy voice sing about Mary and her journey to Bethlehem and the birth of Jesus.

I wonder what songs I will hear, years from now, that will bring me back to this time?  Maybe the Elton John songs my son downloaded to iTunes?  The Josh Garrells music we all love so much?  Mumford and Sons?  Will I remember rocking out to You Can Call Me Al by Paul Simon during a wicked game of Sorry with the kids?  Or the first time I played Farther Along for my husband, eyes full of tears at the beautiful truths contained there?

What songs are you listening to today?  What memories do they stir for you? 

Five Minute Friday: Brave

Fridays, I look forward to joining in with the community over at Lisa-Jo's place, where "a brave and beautiful bunch gather every week to find out what comes out when we all spend five minutes writing on the same topic and then sharing 'em over here."

Join us?  You are invited to add your words to the mix!

When I saw the prompt for today my mind went immediately to our camping trip last summer where my children showed me, one day on the river, what brave looks like.

Here goes my five minutes on: Brave.

the beautiful Kern River near our campsite
 

The water froze our ankles as we made our way up the slippery riverbed, toes gripping mossy rocks.  Up ahead, the water widened out, formed a pool ringed round by large boulders.  With the kids trailing, making their own way along the rivers edge, I explored the pool, finding that yes, the kids could safely jump from the biggest boulder into the breath stealing cold of the river.  Should they be so inclined.  So brave.

The oldest clambering up the boulder first and with encouraging shouts from his sisters, launched himself into the pool.  He rose with a shout, victorious, exhilarated, mouth full of encouragement to his sisters, “You have to try it!  Come on, you can do it!”

The youngest made her way up the boulder, brother waiting strong and steady in the water, arms spread wide.  With her jump, she flew as though diving, splashed loud and happy into the water. 

The second born, finding courage from watching siblings’ bravery, made her own way up the boulder.  Hesitating, waiting, she finally left the firm surface of the boulder, flinging herself toward river and brother and sister.

Brave, sure and strong now, having conquered the fear of that first time, they became an assembly line of jumpers, laughing, splashing, winging their way from boulder to cold river again and again.

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These pictures encouraged me this morning.  As our family prepares for this new adventure, I see all of us on the boulder, encouraging one another: we can do this, we are brave, we are together.  Soon, very soon, we will gather our courage like a woman gathering her skirts, and we will jump.  

I know that look

It had been only three months since we purchased our first home when my husband met me in the kitchen with a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.  He grabbed my hands, looked into my questioning eyes, and told me about an email he had received.  The Navy was sending him to Afghanistan.  He would leave in a month.

I know my knees buckled and  I clung to my husband, shocked. 

My next clear memory is of us sitting at our kitchen table, sighing big sighs, trying to pry our minds and hearts open wide enough to take in our new, monumental reality.

Two weeks ago, on a Monday morning I barreled into our bedroom where my husband was busy working, asking where I could find our extra checks so I could pay the piano tuner.  I was stopped in my tracks by the slow turning of his head from the computer screen.  On his face I saw an eerily familiar look, tender, shocked, excited, one I remembered from that day in our kitchen years ago.  The Navy was calling once again, asking him this time to teach, sending him this time to a place where we could all go.

Our family will be packing up this summer and moving all the way across this great land of ours, from our home here in Southern California to the state of my birth, Maryland. 

Understandably it has been hard for me to write lately, hard to find a way through the whirl in my head and put words down.  Inside the whirl are military acronyms like PCS and DITY and  I have spent way too much time online trying to understand the layout of the city of Annapolis, which is hard for a girl who doesn’t carry a map in her head.  Remember that quote from Prince Caspian, anyone?

There are so many layers to this, so many things I am pondering, ways that this could go, reasons I think God may be moving us there, moving us now.

I am sure we are not the only couple who stays up late at night talking out our dreams.  Or whose conversations on date nights revolve often around the what-ifs of the future.  I love dreaming with my husband.  The possibility of Annapolis has been a part of those dreamy conversations and I am giddy to know that a door to a dream we have dreamt together is opening.

We have told our kids, our families, and the word is trickling out to our community here.  And you know what?  Maybe I am seeing something that is not really there, but it feels like something has already shifted in our family, like we are turned toward one another in a subtle but powerful and different way.  Perhaps it is because we know that soon it will be just the five of us.  I have noticed more deliberate talking and sharing of feelings and thoughts.  More laughter and inside jokes.  More tears and tender conversations.

My dear husband, professor that he is, asked each of our kids to write down their thoughts about moving.  They willingly complied, and I will close with the conclusion written by my 12-year old:

“In conclusion, moving gives me mixed thoughts.  One side of me is excited for a new experience, while the other mourns its fate.  I can only hope the two will balance out.”

Exactly how I feel, son.

visit Holley's blog to read other posts by my God-sized Dream Team sisters!

for Boston, with gratitude and love

one of my favorite places in the world...

I have been heart-heavy this week, praying and thinking of the people of Boston, the tragedy they have endured.  These words were written months ago after a trip my husband and son and I took to Boston in January.  I share them now with gratitude and love for the experiences I have had in that glorious city.

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He is navigating the subway like a pro, this son of mine, checking the map and making sure we are heading the right direction.  We are riding the “T” through Boston, clanking down the tracks side by side.  The sights and sounds of riding the subway have my southern California suburban boy enraptured.  We emerge onto the cold, bustling sidewalk at the Park Street station, and head through the Boston Commons.  I am guiding us, making a beeline toward the statues of Mr. and Mrs. Mallard who I remember are on one of the Charles St. corners of the Public Garden. 

We find them all dressed up for the holidays, and a kind stranger snaps photos of us together, us with the ducks. 

Stephen and I with the Mallard Family

And my heart fairly bursts with a kind of healing joy.

Oh, Jesus, how do you do it?  How do you line up these moments that go off like a flashbulb in our hearts?  My heart beats out a steady rhythmic thank you, thank you, thank you.  Every step we take through the Public Garden reminds me of the healing journey I have been on for the past six years.

When I look at photos of the first trip my husband and I took to Boston in the Spring of 2007, I am always struck by my eyes.  They look so sad.  And I was.  So very sad.  Five months earlier we had buried our fourth child.  We had planned the trip to Boston when I was pregnant, planned to bring our then unborn son, William, along.  I had imagined pushing a stroller through the garden while my husband attended his academic conference. Instead I sat by myself near the Swan Boat pond, watching families push their own strollers, journaling down my grief.

me and my husband along the Freedom Trail

A lot of life happens in six years.  Sitting on the bench where another stranger kindly offered to take our photo, I watched my son, Stephen, walk out near the Swan Boat pond, now covered in ice, and I felt Spring blooming sure right smack dab in the middle of an icy winter.

in front of the Swan Boat pond

This boy of mine is growing up.  Sharing the time with him in Boston was partly like spending time with a friend and also definitely like spending time with my son, and I loved it.  Stephen is appreciative and observant and funny.  He is smart and inquisitive and willing.  We walked a mile or so through the city in the cold evening air, and he mused about how alike we are.   We laughed and sang and quietly enjoyed one another’s company.

I know as I sat on that bench, six years ago, I didn’t sit there alone.  Jesus walks with us through our valleys of grief.  And I know that way back then, He saw ahead to the winter day when I would walk here with my delightful twelve-year old companion, and that inside my heart I would be holding a dream and hope of a child we would adopt into our family.  And so He sat with me, holding me in His love and grace.  And He walked with Stephen and me down that sidewalk in the wintry Public Garden.  And we rejoiced.