Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Define the Days

I've felt a little dizzy lately, life dizzy. I like goals and things to strive for. I can say they define me, they give me an equilibrium. But, what to do when I've asked to be transformed, and he's said to transform I must set aside my goals. He asks me to Just Be. I respond in shocked tones, I can't just be because I have to BE in the process of  running at break neck speed toward a goal. I wander lost, feeling dizzy and I don't know quite what to do with  my moments.

So restless and I don't know how to rest.  I keep looking for purpose, things to define who I am, define what I do. I exhaust myself. I'm wiped out like at the beach when I wade deep and I try to run in thigh high water and it swirls resistance around my legs. I barely move, so I lift my knees higher and higher hoping to accelerate but a crawl would pass me. Fighting the resistance I get the blood pumping fast, the body likely to pass out. Results of going it all on my own. The body is exhausted, this woman, friend, wife, mother, daughter, sister, frail beating heart, they have been exhausted.

Sunday service and the topic, The Tower of Babel. Babel needed to repent. They had a goal, to make a name for  themselves. I am chief architect in the town. They all came together with the same language and united man is capable of great things. In their unity they decided to build a winding staircase to heaven. They're telling God where to descend.

God doesn't need a staircase.

But here in this little slice of domestic suburbia I am forever building towers. I jot out plans for this blog and that business and  there are so many ways I can BE successful. I like to create my fairy world and tell God where to show up. His response is to again ask  me...  girl, Just Be, in me. When he says it I shake my head, "Silly God, don't you know I can BE so much  more if I ...." and I know he chuckles at my childishness. I think sometimes he longs for me to have the rest of the sentence.

But first he asks that I learn this.

Learn to find my definition solely in him and in him let the definition define my days. And I love him and when I shelve my architectural drawings I am amazed at all he chooses to do with me. His plans are grand.

I long for a heart that embraces his resistance. A heart that follows Isaiah's lead and learns to Just Be so that all my writings, speaking, teaching and living....

Give praise to the LORD, proclaim his name;
make known among the nations what he has done,
and proclaim that his name is exalted,
~Isaiah 12:4

Check out Ann and her contest for a generous scholarship to attend She Speaks. She Speaks is a conference for women. A place  to come  together and connect to the heart of God. It aligns with my heart's desire, a desire to offer up my humble stumblings on this road we journey, offer up my meager thoughts, lessons learned that I  might be a directional sign pointing to him.
 

She Speaks Conference

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Broken Ballerina

Just a game of chase. We enjoyed the company of adults and kids swarmed around all the local yards. The Man commented on the game of tag being played barefoot. All the parents spoke of their frustration regarding their Florida kids and their forever absent shoes. We were just moving onto a new topic when she hobbled around the corner. She told us that while in full stride through the thick St. Augustine grass she heard a snap, she can't put any weight on it. With no swelling or bruising we gave it the night.


X-rays showed a clean break. Sitting in the Podiatrist's office, so poised in the chair, so grown up, but in my heart, in my eyes fragile and broken and I wanted her protected and safe. The mini ER we took her to over the week-end gave her a small shoe to wear. Every time she moved while wearing it my skin crawled. The damaged areas just weren't properly protected. The Doctor wanted to cast it. Cast today means a complicated piece of plastic and felt with air chambers and pumps like an old pair of Nike Airs. This cast had directions we should take home and learn. I loved it. My broken ballerina now had proper protection. Now, just take the rest of her and wrap it up in bubble wrap and then swaddle her in a big blanket and set her in a corner until she is whole again my heart will feel better. I don't like when my babies get broken.


Does God feel  like that? Does he long to reach  out and wrap us in protective coating? Is that why he sent his son, Jesus Christ? I think he did. He knew that while we were vulnerable, broken, damaged here on earth that his son being our savior equaled the ultimate wrap in protective bubble wrap, ultimate protection from harm, eternity without the damages, safe in the arms of our creator.

Broken but Counting:

841.
The Man up til 11pm with her Geometry because he wants to offer her grace, he wants her to join her friend at the beach and  he's willing to let it cost him so she can go.

843.
The strawberry that looked like a purse and she carried it around but then she popped it in her mouth before I could snap a picture.

844.
Thunder and Rain for an entire day.

845.
That the break  was clean and she has a 50/50 chance of being  in her recital and she really could be  whole to begin pointe this summer.

846.
The quartet  of neighborhood boys all at the front door to return The Boys treasures accidentally left outside.

847.
The M&M sisters at the door with a get well card for Girlie #1

849.
The beautiful collection of  seashell from her beach  excursion.

851.
My belated birthday gift. A hand made mini Fungi and  even better the story of the man with the shirt that said, Fun-gi (Fun Guy) and I'm thinking she was telling me that I'm a Fun Gal and that she enjoys our company is a treasure.

852.
Leopard Rain boots on a rainy day.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

One Thousand Gifts

One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are


One Thousand Gifts
By Ann Voskamp

I love this book. I love that I can't  skim through it and devour its contents in an afternoon. I love that as I read a new chapter I have to look up from the page. I have to periodically pause, glance skyward, take deep breaths, breaths to control the passionate beating of my heart, stretch my eyes wide so they can better hold the salty liquid pooling.  I love that when I put it down I feel thoughtful and warmed at her gentle thoughts,  her poetic passions. I love that this book draws me more intimately to my Bible.

One Thousand Gifts is a beautiful road sign that points straight to our Heavenly Father.

Monday, March 21, 2011

This Cycle

I'm here in this little corner of quiet, quiet in a broken wicker chair with faded, fraying cushions. Here in my bare faced, pajama clad self. A few moments of introspect, retrospect....time to inspect. Sit down with God and ask, "What did you thing of my behavior this last week?"


It was a tough week. I tried to stay true to our families 'standard operating procedures'. The struggles of one child say I didn't do a grand job.

They're always looking for the crack in the surface.
My daily uphill battle.
It is so hard. 

Hard to parent, hard to want to parent.
Hard to hold to the truth that the work I'm doing is molding, shaping.

My heart's longing? 
Children with souls hungry, thirsty for righteousness, forever panting for more of him, longing to serve and obey him all their lifelong days.

But those cracks, those chinks, that sin of mine.
How do I keep it from being a net they are forever tangled in?


Sometimes, so invisible and it wraps, twists and knots around their little ankles. And, like tangled jewelry they bring it to me to repair, make usable again, I must help them untangle and make visible what seems transparent and yet all the world can see, could see. I bend down to unwind, unknot and I find myself tripped with them in the same sordid sin.

I come back to my quiet little space, my broken chair and write, to search my soul. I read, to wash my mind. Pray, to receive his knowledge and wisdom.


I ask, beg, for his light to illuminate the invisible thread net that has brought me to my knees.
I find scarred hands assisting in the process.

I grow.

I ask how?
Now that I've shown, spoke, led in all the wrong ways,
How?
Lord, reveal to me how to bend down with them, with you, and untangle the mess.


I'm so diligent the first time and maybe even the second,  
but then I'm bored.
We've gone over this dozens of times and I don't want to go over it anymore. 
I'm a tangled mess....again.  

So, here I am in the cycle...
A hard fought week with only baby steps.
So small, but maybe, milestones?

I'm grateful for this moment working alongside him, holding his scarred hand.

Finding peace in the task of being. 


And I'll be better at heading into the busyness and life away from my quiet corner.

It's Amazing Love, his for me, mine for them, that whirls me through this cycle over and over again.



Peaceful Counting:

822.
Girlie #2's  photos of the Suzuki Samurai

823.
The Man happily tackling all the Tuesday Taxi Craziness so I can indulge.

826. 
A family on a field trip.

827.
New friends and attending their birthday parties with old  friends.

828.
Generations of Bride & Groom beauty gazing out from the picture frames in our house.

829.
Intimate talks with engaged  couples.

830.
The Dad calling to tell me tomorrow's moon will be closer than ever in 20 some odd years and  so we should be outside tomorrow eve to embrace it.

831.
The amazing beauty of The Small Blue Heron and having it cross the path right in front of me.

832.
A day spent in Florida Wetlands and so much room to breath.


Monday, March 14, 2011

Not Ingrained

It's a cluttered mess; my kitchen, my office, my email inbox, the thoughts in my head. This is what happens when spring launches it's flowery orbs and the sun shines brightly. Light shines in dark corners of the house, through window panes high up and I see the smeared, the dirt, the cobwebs hiding there.



Outside the spring rain has washed clean the pollen  from the leaves.  Our passion flowers are opening awaiting their caterpillar  friends to come and feast.



The Boy learns new basketball moves from the resident expert and Girlie #2 assists her Papa in the restoration of an old Suzuki Samurai. Gamaw and Girlie #1  travel together to ballet.

I wander. What to do when there is so much to do? I struggle to count. I learn to count when I want to throw myself screaming mad at the floor. Behind each item listed above I could give a rant, frustration or tears and it goes against the grain to choose gratitude. The human is so deeply ingrained. Today, I grasp hard at  the grateful. I bind my tongue and tell my emotions to take a back seat and I count.

Lord, today I am grateful for:

775.
Mr. Mockingbird starting his song around 11 p.m. and carrying on into the wee hours of the morning.

781.
A new zipper for an old pair of blue jeans and they are like new again.

791.
Boutique for a Week Sale
 
793.
Going to Bible Study and  leaving the kids at home.

804.
Family in town,  airport pick ups and quick trips to Tijuana  Flats because they don't have one  at home.

807.
Her glowing face when she tells me, "Daddy watched my class and  he said I am a beautiful dancer!"

810.
Sweet  hostess gift made by little hands.


812.
Girlie #2's ongoing one way conversation with The Beast for  over 10  minutes.

821.
That my house sits  firmly on its  foundation and you choose to move my heart off its sinful one.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Japan



On my knees for this Nation. Thankful for Operation World and their Definitive Prayer Guide to Every Nation in the world. Check out the page on Japan to effectively lift up in prayer the people of this devastated nation.

http://www.operationworld.org/japa

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Time to Grow

She writes, she speaks and it is halting with rough edges but it makes her blood run fast and her heart beat a new rhythm. The pains of this world are real and she's choked if they're not typed onto a screen. She suffocates if they're not shared. Where to go and grow with this raw gift and heart's desire?

She Speaks Conference


My first opportunity to speak, high school. Asked to give my testimony, I batted around ideas for weeks, it was the night before the event when I knew what I had to say. They were words spoken through me as I stood on the pitcher's mound squeaking into a microphone. Blood pumped loud in my ears and I spoke way too fast. I wondered when the crisp, fall day warmed so, as I dripped sweat in my blazer and boots, dressed to dash to work at the completion of my speech.


It would be as much as a week later when I would learn how God used sweaty, squeaky me to affect a life. She sat in bleachers on that sunny day. I don't know how she came to be there.  I never learned her name. It was a youth conference. I'm sure she expected youth related discussion, I doubt she expected to hear a voice from the Lord on her struggle whether to birth the life growing inside her. I never got to meet her. I only saw the face of one who loved her, I heard the joy, as tears streamed down, because she chose life. God met her there. I got to be a conduit.

Therein lies the passion. To be a conduit. A bent, warped wire that plugs into God. My God, the one who saved me and likes to use my broken, messy life to electrify folks around me. He can take my rough edges, sweaty palms and stuttering ums and act like a defibrillator to damaged, wounded and failing hearts. It's God's version of Economics in the sin world. All that is sinful of me shared to bring His glory. I'll do what He asks to be used for such eternal purposes.


The act of becoming 'She Speaks' or 'She Writes' seems simple, yet no passion worth pursuit happens without discipline, wisdom and knowledge. That's why I am applying for a 'She Speaks' Cecil Murphy Conference Scholarship. I have a rugged gift of writing and inspiration. With the help of others, like Lysa Terkeurst, who are further along I'd like to hone and polish, make the most of gifts granted.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Mardi Gras Parade


Today, Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday, we celebrated with a party and we learned all about the Lenten Season. We called  it a school day. I did a lot of research and found some wonderful resources that made our event a School Day Success. Everyone went home with daily activity sheets leading us to the Cross.
Arts and Crafts For Lent by Jeanne Heiberg,
What We Do in Lent by Anne E. Kitch

 
We decorated our abode. I still can't find the significance of Mardi Gras traditional Purple, Green and Gold but it makes for beautiful decorations.

Even The Beast got Tricked out for Fat Tuesday. He looked Gangsta with his big Crown Charm. He's really a beast, all 18 inches and 6 pounds of him.

We baked a King Cake. It created quite a creepy sight in my oven as our babies tried to escape.

 The Boy loved the King Cake Babies. He turned them into tops and had the babies wrestle each other.


Polish celebrate Fat Tuesday with a Paczki and how delighted was I when I found a big display of them at our grocery store. Then, of course, we ate our King Cake. YUM!

  

Alleluia Banners
Alleluia, from the Hebrew word Hal-e-lu-Yah, meaning 'Praise Yaweh'. Allelulia is  'The Song of Heaven'. We created Alleluia Banners and will bury them tomorrow, Ash Wednesday, where they will remain until Easter Sunday.


Each Family made their own banner. Burying the Alleluia for 40 Days is a symbolic way to remind us that without His sacrifice we would never participate in the 'Song of Heaven'. 
Each family will Resurrect the Alleluia on Easter Sunday. 
We will wake up and sing  the 'Song of Heaven' with our Alleluias.


Gamaw and Papa never miss a party.

A few more shots of our Mardi Gras decor.


Now on to 40 Days of Lent. I'm ready to draw near God, excited to prepare my heart for the overwhelming reality of His love given on that Beautiful, Scandalous Night.

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