Vignettes from Jordan

Warm desert sunshine is streaming through the kitchen window as I sit in the kitchen of our friends who have ever so graciously allowed us to inhabit their home with them for the twelve days we are here in Jordan. I know that some of you very much would like to get some peeks into our time here, so I picked seven moments to share with you.

✨

Chicken sandwich rolls scented the dry cabin air as the plane sped 500 miles per hour towards a very special place. The warm breathing and snoozing wiggles of Baby Joy on my lap felt cuddly and close. As I tried to sleep, my mind drifted behind my eyelids to the last time I flew to Jordan. There had been warm wiggles of a baby who was “in my lap”, so to speak, on that other flight. He had been snoozing and wiggling, but not on the outside. 

My eyelids fluttered open, to gaze out the oval portal into the wide, free blue heavens streaked with a few misty clouds far below. “Somehow this journey, even the first few hours of it, is bringing so much remembering to me,” I mused. And although not audible I heard my Heavenly Daddy say, “I remember, too.” 

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The dawn still struggled with the night sky as my daughter tumbled around on the bed, hot with a fever. My mind took me helplessly back to that night with my other baby, when I realized something was wrong and the next day I laid him in a shallow desert tomb. “This will always be the outcome of bringing your children to this place,” the tempter whispered slyly. “Lord, not again! Lord, how should I feel?” My prayers breathed out while her stuffy little nose breathed in. Then, the realization: He remembers, too. He remembers the pain, the shock, the trauma, the grief. He was here with me. He knows my weakness for fear. And He is The Overcomer. He is our Shield. In Him I have put my trust. He is All Powerful. He is able to heal and to cast out the wicked one. He is excited when I lean the weight of my faith completely into Him around the hairpin switchbacks of life when I can’t see ahead, and want to close my eyes to avoid looking at the chasm to the right. He remembers the past with me, and He also holds the keys to the future. A good future, with Him.

✨

The gate swung open to reveal a girl I recognized - barely. Two years had blossomed her from a young teen to a young woman leaving in a week for Germany to finish high school. With a flourish of her arm as her loose three-quarter-length sleeve swished in the breeze, we were welcomed in to her family’s courtyard and house. The very place where we had lived our lives in   two and a half intensely formative months, learning language and learning life with loss and grief and Jesus in a new culture.

As I lifted my foot to cross the memorable, odd metal threshold of the doorway where so much of our life had passed through, I remembered. As I looked around the redecorated living space, I remembered. As I walked in shock out to the kitchen where magnets still held up papers displaying cherished verses in my handwriting, I remembered.

The grace. The grief. The weeping. The wondering. The struggling with Arabic phrases and culture with a tired brain and weary body. The quarts of bright purple fresh grape juice we pressed ourselves from the vines outside. The tea and coffee made in the kitchen. That one very unsightly cracked tile in the floor by the stove. The bathroom, where it seemed I spent so much time after the day when I realized within its walls that my baby and I were in for some trauma. The bedroom, where I lay weak and exhausted after birth, then with an intense intestinal infection, and where I came to collapse after language classes. And I felt a Presence with me. “Hannah, my daughter, I remember too.”

✨

Thoughtfully, I fingered a scarf in preparation for tying it over my hair. Without asking for permission, my mind took me right back to the weeks where I deliberated over which scarf to buy in remembrance of Seth. The day of his birth and burial, I had longed to be able to clothe him with something boyish, babyish and delicate. My dreams were ended in the reality that all I had was a scarf of bright, garish teal, bought generously by a woman I barely knew. True, at least I had something. But to try to ease my longing to have been able to wrap his body with my motherly caress in a gentle cloth of baby blue, Jonathan said I could buy myself a headscarf of that color. So this scarf had become the much-deliberated-over, chosen memento. Bought from the land where he was carried and born and buried. How I treasured this tangible item that I could wear, something I could touch every day and remember how proudly grateful I am for my little son. Fondly, I gazed at the worn fabric, then looped and tied it around my brown hair. Remembering.

✨

Through the glass sliding doors I could see into the sanctuary, where people were gathered to pray and share stories. The rise and fall of South-African-accented-English and the Arabic translation filled the tile room, as I rocked my little girl to sleep. Like a dream, I realized that now I am holding a big, healthy child of my own. How many Sundays, and Tuesdays, and any days we met in that sanctuary two years ago, I had found my helpless gaze stuck by the glue of curiosity to those glass sliding doors. Behind them, a hubbub of mommies caring for little ones played like a fascinating drama to my aching soul. Pregnant moms putting their feet up on the brown couches; tired moms chasing toddlers across the tile, giving out snacks, wiping tears and messy faces. Moms doing what my very being welled with love and longing to do for my precious little boy. Moms with their tired bodies and sleepy eyes, moms whom I felt like I should belong amongst. Moms whose club I had joined, but now was a drop-out, for my baby had dropped out from this life and into the next. 

I remembered how the tears would well, and I would wonder what I could do for my aching heart. If only one of those moms would let me hold their baby, perhaps a little of the longing would be satisfied. But I was afraid they wouldn’t want my misery to get that close to their healthy happiness. Maybe they wouldn’t want my tragedy reach out and be in the vicinity of their precious babies. Sometimes I was brave enough to go into the nursery and soak in the camaraderie of mommyhood, brave enough to get close and share their joy and be willing to share my pain if they inquired.

My big, healthy girl snuggled deeper into my arms, and I stopped my reverie. “God has been so tenderly good to me,” I mused. “To bring me back to this place and remember. To remember my fears that I would ever have a living little one with me on this earth. To remember my longings and heartaches, and to miss my Seth and enjoy my Joy.” 

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The cemetery looked exactly the same as it did years before; a pale desert of graves. It struck me afresh that this area reminds me of a woman who heard some horrible news and all the color drained from her face. Nearly everything seems to fall under the category of a pasty cream color; from the earth to the rooftops of the boxy houses. Even the fig trees are covered in grey dust right now, and their leaves take on the color à la mode. As in a dream, I followed my husband as we made a pathway through marble and cement box-like tombs of various shapes and sizes, back to the little spot that marked the life of someone in our family. And there it was. Cement block marking with gravel inside, and a small piece of marble on which I had written Seth Malakai, son of Jonathan and Hannah Rudolph. The best I'd had was a “permanent” marker, now perfectly cleaned off by weather and sand. 

The pastor and the tomb-maker followed behind me, ready to make plans for building a cement box topped by an engraved piece of rock for the name and details of our son. Somewhat numbed by their presence, we gathered around and confirmed the details. Then, very kindly, they retreated a short distance away for a few minutes so we could be alone. Our daughter sat on the edge of a concrete block, swinging her chubby little legs and clapping her hands. 

I noticed her feet, and remembered the little baby feet I had tucked for the last and only time in a piece of cloth and left here under the sandy soil. Earth and heaven both felt closer here, as we stopped to pause and reflect.

✨

Up in the night, for the sixth or twelfth time, I caressed my little daughter, gently stroking her feverish forehead as she gulped my healthy milk. Far from resenting the interruption to a precious sleep, my mind was filled with remembering the last time I spent wakeful nights in this very city. In that season, however, the hours were haunted with longings for the baby who felt so close yet so unmistakably far away. Or was it unmistakably far away and yet so close? I wasn’t sure. Full of milk, I had longed to feed. Full of love, I had longed to give. Now I am here again, fully able to do both. I barely dared to dream about this day, back then when I would have given just about anything to have been able to stay up in the night, or awake in the hospital, with the son of my longings. Love hurts. And now, pouring out my sacrificial mother love on a little girly human, I think I started to believe what my Heavenly Parent was whispering then to my aching, refusing heart: “I ache with you. I really understand how much it hurts. I dare to love, too.”

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Yay! A Time To Learn

As a celebration of a new school year starting for many of you (home-schoolers in particular!) I'm sharing this little Resolve that I wrote a number of years ago during a year of teaching in a "one-room-school-house". (Can I get any winks and grins from my former students?)

If I Were A Student…

1. I would pray for my teacher.
2. I would pay close attention when my teacher talked, so I wouldn’t miss what she had to say.
3. I would try to help my teacher laugh when something ridiculous happened so she wouldn’t get too stressed out!
4. I would study as hard as I could, so I wouldn’t waste my time or the teacher’s.
5. I would throw myself into learning all I could.
6. I would do a little extra than told to.
7. I would try to always have a good attitude and at least TRY to do what the teacher asked of me.
8. I would write the teacher little encouraging notes.
9. I would have a great time and think school was the best thing.
10. I would get to class on time or early.
11. I would ask good questions so I could learn more.
12. I would squeeze every minute like I was juicing a good orange and lick up every last drop, determined not to waste the moments God has entrusted me with.

 But Right Now I’m a Teacher. So —

1. I will pray for the teacher!
2. I will pay close attention when the students talk, so I can understand how to help them best;
3. I will try to make my students laugh when something ridiculous happens so they won’t get too stressed out!
4. I will study hard, so I can be the best possible teacher, so I don’t waste my class’ time or mine.
5. I will throw myself into teaching as wholeheartedly as I can.
6. I will teach a little extra than I need to. ッ
7. I will try to always have a good attitude and at least TRY to help my students learn and have a great day.
8. I will write my students encouraging notes.
9. I will have a great time and think that school is the best thing.
10. I will get to class on time or early.
11. I will ask good questions so I can learn more and teach better.
12. I will squeeze every minute like I was juicing a good orange and lick up every last drop, determined not to waste the moments God has entrusted me with.

I don't know if you've thought of it before; but despite how it sometimes feels, the Teacher and the Student have a lot in common. We are working towards the same sort of things: 

            learning; 

            growing; 

            deepening our understanding of life, people, and the world around us; 

            having a great attitude every day; 

            squeezing each minute of all the good it holds.

When I was a student, I need to confess that the 12 ideals described above were definitely not always personified in Yours Truly! I must also reveal that my ideal teacher was not always "me" either. However, the room got brighter the day I realized that the problems I sometimes faced in my classroom were not all my students' faults! The same things I was desiring of them were reasonable to require of myself first and foremost. Whether my reader may be feeling ambitious or overwhelmed, a third-grader or a teacher, I hope these lists can make you smile. Why not join in my resolve to give the noble sport of Learning all the energy and devotion that you've got in this new season devoted to that cause?

Trash At First Sight

What do empty Kleenex boxes, used fruit labels, postage stamps and pebbles have in common?

In my life, they all share one thing: at some point they were precious treasures to me and I found great delight in collecting them. (Somewhat to my current chagrin!)

As a tiny girl, I collected tissue boxes by the dozens under my bed (they were so pretty, didn't cost me anything, and eventually I used them to make a nice house!). I also kept a sticker album for years where I would collect the stickers off of fruit and vegetables. It was of utmost fascination to me to find a new kind of sticker on a banana, apple or avocado and carefully peel it off to store in my exotic little book. I loved counting up how many different countries were represented in the album, and delighting in the interesting colors and pictures featured. Later on in life, I collected stamps for a while. It was so exciting to get mail, and if it was from another country what a bonus! I would store the stamps away like rare treasure. (Because, after all, they were!) When I look back at my life so far I can see a theme hobby of mine: finding treasures in what other people saw as commonplace or even worthless.

Eventually I got rid of pretty much all of my collections. As I grew up, I started desiring to have as few things as possible (call me a minimalist if that makes you happy). I grew a desire to not accumulate too many things, with the prospective future of moving around a lot and living overseas. However, to say I don't collect treasures anymore would be somewhat false. I can’t stop being a treasure-hunter; however, my collections tend to feature ideas that fascinate me, quotes that stir me up, lists of ways I see God in my life, and...pebbles. Ever since I did a few projects where I created pictures using little pebbles, I can no longer walk past an area filled with little rocks without seeing all their creative potential. I must confess that I have several small pebble stashes here and there for future projects.

I drew faces on 30 or so bottle caps to make a new set of toys for Joy

I realized I'm really a huntress at heart, however, when I found myself digging through piles of negative circumstances on the hunt for treasures. I found it to be such a delightful pastime, I thought I would share about it with you all in case there are any other collectors in our midst. The finds below are by no means exhaustive; I'm simply giving you a peek into my latest dig.

Trash Pile:

| an angry man ruining a nice picnic our refugee staff invited us to | no place to hang our portable hammock so I had to put Joy to sleep and spend her nap time with her in the hot van | I got sick with a miserable head cold | Joy got sick with a miserable head cold too | we were "forced" to move into a new apartment when we actually were enjoying the place we had been living in, and weren't wanting to move | the restaurant we decided to join teammates at was terribly expensive, and we spent far more for our meal than we would've if I had made it at home, plus it wasn't all that amazing, and we had to wait until around 8:30pm for it. | a bumbling experience of trying to share Good News with somebody. |

Treasure Pile:

...If we hadn’t been chased away from “our” mountainside grilling site by an angry man, we wouldn’t have been able to come to the sea and enjoy the ocean breeze and splashing in the water. ...If there had been a place by the sea to hang our portable hammock, I wouldn’t have had an excuse for some alone time away from the hubbub of constant cross-cultural ministry that hot Saturday. I wouldn't have slowed down enough to notice the mounds of wild-blueberry-type-bushes giggling all around me as some sort of creatures filled them with ticking chirps.

...If I hadn’t gotten sick with a miserable head cold I wouldn’t have been pressed to ask the Lord if there’s anything He’s trying to say. If I hadn’t asked? He wouldn’t have been able (as easily at least) to show me some ugly pride and get it out of the way. If Joy hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t have been able as easily to take time off from Oasis work to stay at home and settle in after moving to a new apartment. I wouldn’t have had the  time to find places for everything and make the new apartment feel like home within the first week here. If the apartment didn’t really feel like home for several weeks, that would doubtless have affected the rest of our time here.

...If we hadn’t been “forced” to move into a different apartment halfway through our stay here, we wouldn’t have gotten to have a balcony that overlooks the beauty of the rippling sea. We wouldn't have gotten a chance to live beside a seaside restaurant and where octopus legs hang in the sun to dry outside our window.

...If we hadn't decided to go to the restaurant with the team here, we would have missed the moments of hilarity as we enjoyed the reaction of one of the guys when he realized he had mistakenly ordered raw fish. (In case you're wondering, the merriment continued as he did in fact eat it, defying the rude suggestions that it was still squirming and not yet completely deceased. I tried some too, and it was good.)

...If I wouldn't try to share the Good News, I would never get better at it. And the person I shared with when I verbally stumbled around so much actually continued to be interested and went home with living Bread in her bag!

In parting, may we all have the faith today to believe that there are treasures hiding in the circumstances of our lives, no matter how ordinary or how trashy they may seem.

The Wonder of You

To: God

An hour ago I was standing in between the rocks and pines on a mountaintop, overlooking the wideness of the bay. Something magical happened to me there...I was swept off my feet by the wonder of You. It's not that it never happened before; but I'm so enthralled that it happened again. You've captured my heart, my eyes, my emotions, my mind. I'm filled with wonder, because You are Wonderful. I really think You are! I wanted to tell You that I'm slowing down, to enjoy the wonder of You.

Photo: thanks to Pixabay

You keep surprising me; like a boyfriend pulling roses from behind a tree, chocolates from beneath the table, bending down on one knee. You’ve been wooing me, and my eyes are open. You’ve been sending me packages, and - I’m chiding myself for the sad times I forget to even wonder where they came from, forget to look for the sender’s address and treasure the exotic stamp. But You've got my attention now.

Now...now I’m slowing, I’m pausing. I’m stopping to wonder. I’m letting my heart go. I’m releasing my soul to be curious and childlike, to fill with awe. Releasing my soul to enthrall...in You.

Oh, that I may never leave Your gifts out in the rain to go limp and pass away silently from my neglect.

I’m stopping to treasure You. 

I’m slowing and I just want to say “Thank You”. 

And tonight this wonder that fills my soul, it's all about You. You fascinate me. For so many reasons, but how can I keep from mentioning how utterly enchanting of Your idea to create the nose? From Your imagination, I can smell...

The scent of pine trees, pulsing in the air, like someone wanted to have a party and decked out the venue with extravagant perfume - I can't help but gasp. That was You...

The scent of the ocean, caught up and delivered to the threshold of my senses, exploding in free delight on the nerves of my nose. Salty, wild and fishy, yet delightful all the same. My lungs fill with this luxurious air, deeply. And that breath, too, was from You.

And the scent of sweat and cologne, nearness and intimacy; I can't get over how You dreamed up the personality of a man like Jonathan who fits me so perfectly. The man I get to love and get to live my days with. This too is a gift from You - one that I dreamed of and imagined and made guesses about - and now every day I unwrap the gift a little bit more.

If my olfactory nerves were all I had for enjoying Your gifts, I would be rich indeed. But it doesn't stop here! Not only can I can smell the the popping corn, fragrant on the fire; I can hear it! Oh, the musical sound of kernels in a kettle over fire, magically blithesome. I chuckle at the very idea of it! Shiny, tiny, and impossibly hard; suddenly transforming into delicious puffs of flavor. Who but You would’ve ever thought of this delight! I can't get over these subtle, enthralling glimpses into Who You Are. The more I get to know You, the more I want to get to know You more. You are fascinating in Your power, the quiet wisdom of Your mind, the thunder of Your majesty. You are fascinating in Your love.

Photo: Thanks To Pixabay

Your imagination is so entrancingly above my own, and although I've known You for years I want You to know that once again I am falling...in love. 

You cupped my face in Your hands tonight, and You enticed my eyes upwards, away from the dirt. I followed Your wooing just in time, and the jaw of my heart hung low as I saw You toss a star across the blackness. Just for me? I saw it, God, I caught Your gift.

I wonder, will You tell me someday? How did You make the stars? Different colors; different places in the universe. And the moon! She's not a star; Your creativity made a nightlight so we could sleep in the dark, yet feel cozy and safe in the glow. The moon: never boring, yet steady and predictable; the perfect balance of wild and safe. That’s just like You! I see You in the moon.

Speaking of you, You brought me here, and I looked around, and there were gifts everywhere. I’ve come back to thank You. 

No, You are not the gifts; I love You for oh, so much more than what You give to me. But tonight You used Your gifts to woo my heart. Sometimes You woo me by Your presence in my pain. Sometimes You woo me with an umbrella in the rain. Other times we get wet together. And today, You opened my eyes and there were gifts everywhere.

Thank You for who You are. Thank You for showing me when You tossed that star. Thank You for the gift of the wild scented air. For kettles of popcorn and wind in my hair. The way light floats on the sea, the way You take time...for me.

I’m treasuring your gifts. Clasping them to my heart. Receiving with awe. 

I wonder...and I never want to stop wondering...over You. 

I Bought a Book with a Hiccup

The tiny two-and-a-half-burner stove is spitting and puffing as I attempt to cajole it into boiling a pot of eggs for breakfast. Sunshine is breezing in through the balcony door, openly declaring that it's past our normal breakfast time. I don't mind, because it's Saturday.

On the narrow street outside, a truck passes slowly by with a large horn positioned strategically on the front, declaring some sort of advertisement in Greek rather loudly.

I have sat down to write to you because my husband thought I should definitely, most assuredly, tell you about the time that I became part of a most hilarious phenomenon and managed to buy a book with a hiccup.

I can just about see your eyebrow curling to the North like a curious boy running up a hill. A hiccup?! Seriously now. Who ever heard of such a thing.

Nope, I’d never heard of it either. Not until I met Jonathan.

Which leads me to the question: What Do You Do With a Hiccup?

Photo from Pixabay.com

When my husband gets hiccups, normally his case never advances to the plural, jerking to a stop at hiccup. Thus, it was with intense consternation that he discovered his darling sweetie getting swept away by a hiccup stampede, run over and barely able to calmly catch her breath. “Did you ever try sucking in your breath after the first hiccup, and holding it in place for one minute?” He wondered. So I tried it. Alas, no success. For some unfortunate reason, the methods which he found to be quite foolproof left me hiccuping helplessly as ever. So, one day several years into our marriage, he decided in spite of my doubts to try one last method for dispelling hiccups which he had found to be quite inevitably prone to success.

Based on the theory that if you want to hiccup you can’t, it goes as follows: “If you do another hiccup in the next ten minutes, I will give you ten dollars!” - or whatever lure you know will be enticing to the hiccuper.

The first time he tried it on me several months ago, I didn’t even try to hiccup. I figured this is a splendid way to get myself a little treat! I will pretend the splendid offer didn’t exist, wait a minute or two, and hiccup my way into success. I waited, and waited; but no hiccup would venture to even get close. I meditated on whether or not I should do a fake one and see what Hubby would do, but when ten minutes rolled around, I had not a hiccup to declare.

In the last several months, the Hiccup Dare has been proved to work right charmingly.

Until this week. I don’t know if it has to do with the breezy Greek air, or the fact that my husband offered to buy me an eBook that I had lost my initial craze of interest in. I was in the throes of involuntary throat spasms accompanied by the most ungracious noises when Jonathan offered the aforementioned prize. Imagine our mutual surprise when HICCUP! And the promised book was mine.

After my man calmed down his fit of laughter he set about to analyze the situation and publish a new and improved theory on The Best Way to Stop Hiccups.

In case you're wondering, we found it incredibly unfortunate that Amazon hasn’t yet legalized hiccups as a viable currency, so my poor hubby had to dip into his pocket for the book.

The intended moral of this short tale is easy. First, when making theories about hiccups, always leave a line at the end for an addendum or two. Secondly, make theories about hiccups. It’s good for your marriage. It works like a medicine (unless you refuse to end failed attempts with a tickling match).

Have a good week everyone, and may life’s hiccups be few and far between.

Goodbyes, an Irritable Clerk, & Me

I could feel the slowing motion as our little car rolled to a stop. My eyelids peeled open to see that we had arrived at AAA. Sitting up, I managed to get my hair into presentable condition. My mini nap while waiting for Jonathan to get out of Home Depot had barely taken me several feet out of my pit of tiredness, no matter how grateful I was for it.

The cumulative pile of tasks of the day trailed along  behind me in my thoughts as we walked into AAA. The last (last...last...last...last...) visit to our apartment of four years had gone well, although I had dreaded it so much. We had the final meeting with the landlord, and with a jingle all our copies of the house keys were in his hands. Hurrying up the stairs before he could have a chance to get there first, we stood in the bedroom which was once our beautiful nest, remembering so many happy times. "Goodbye, bedroom." We whispered softly. With a sigh, I felt a sense of completion in that "good" goodbye. Although I really don't like goodbyes.

After we finished up at the house, we also said goodbye to some of our dear neighbors whom we hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye to on the moving day. That, too, I had been dreading. I will miss being neighbors. Oh, so many good memories. Goodbye, neighborhood.

Now this trip to AAA (where we aren't members, they like to remind us) was the 10th stop of the day. I was tired. 

Pulling open the heavy glass doors to AAA, we stepped in and went to the front desk. "We are here to get my wife's International Drivers Permit." Jonathan set Joy's heavy car seat down in front of the lady at the front desk. Blinking my bleary, sleepy eyes, I pulled out my drivers license to verify my identity, then sat down to wait.

Minutes later my name was called. After innocently starting to follow the lady who came for me into the administrative office area, I lugged Joy and her car seat to the correct cubicle. "Show me what you've got." The lady's tone was flat and intimidating, and I tried to keep my eyes open as I pulled out my license and two passport photos for her inspection.

“These don’t look like the same person.” Her eyes darted from photo to photo as I stifled a snort and peered over to join her inspection. "They don't look like the same person," She insisted. "Well, they are. They're both me." It was my turn to put a flat tone into my voice. What nonsense. They both look like me to me! True, both photos were taken on different days, and one looked a little more beautiful. I had to snicker to imagine her comparing the beautiful picture to the sleepy, half-grouchy me standing in front of her. I could just hear her thinking, "Where did that smile go?" 

After another thirty seconds or so of deliberation she had made up her mind. "We can get you two pictures that look alike for you for $14.99," she said. Thankfully, I didn't snort or even roll my bleary eyes. "Ah, I think I will take care of that myself and come back." I decided. <<For $0.25 at Walmart, too!>>

On the way back out to the car, I am ashamed to say that I wanted to fume furiously to myself about the cranky lady who wouldn't accept my precious two mostly-identical photos and who made my already complicated life one step more complicated yet. However, I became contemplative instead.

Transition can do funny things to you. To me, anyway. The more I thought about the two photos, the  more I thought that yes, the one photo looked more youthful and happy and the other one looked more tired and mediocre. And me, today? A look into the visor window was less than flattering.

I had to ask myself: what kind of person do I want to be right now?

If I were my daughter, what would I like my mom to be like? 

tender; spunky; interested in me; full of life
OR
cranky; irritable; selfish.

If I were my husband, what would I like my wife to be like right now?

caring for my needs; humble; willing to do anything with me
OR
grumpy; proud; full of self; draggy.

Yes, it can be easy to use the excuse: "I'm in a time of deep transition. Don't expect too much from me." However, as I look at myself in the mirror, I sense that God is enticing me to receive MORE of Him. More of His grace. More of His life and sustaining power.

Sometimes you need to stop and realize that what's coming out of you is the wrong kind of fruit. Sometimes you realize your need for the Holy Spirit extra much. Sometimes you find yourself being grateful for an inconveniently difficult stranger who helped you get back on track.

 Sometimes you find Grace in unexpected places.

This post is a linkup with velvetashes.com “The Grove” with this week’s topic of "leaving".

By Being You

I'm sitting here with my baby asleep on my lap as I type. Flowers sit on the counter as a reminder of yesterday, the day mothers are celebrated and honored. How does Mother's Day make you feel?

I wonder if you find yourself feeling, like me, that you don't feel your efforts as a mother and woman are all that amazing. In fact, it's all too easy to look at all the things that I didn't get done (dirty laundry piled in the basement), the good things that other women do and I don't (make my own yogurt and cheese - from only the best raw Jersey milk), and the things I wish I am doing (freeze ahead homemade baby food for my baby). As I put one foot ahead of the other today, just doing what's in front of me and (hopefully) letting the supernatural life of Christ come out, am I fulfilling my God-given role as a mother? 

What if I am playing a part in a drama that extends far beyond the walls of my little home? What if today I can be joining in with thousands of other women and mothers like you who are also embracing their womanhood and displaying the glory of God.

Take a deep breath. Take a look at yourself, my friend. What if today, this very day, you are playing a part in the big picture of God's glory? What if an aspect of His glory shines, not in the things you're doing so much as by your reveling in who He has made you to be, and walking in faithfulness to that calling?

I believe that there are ways we women reveal God's nature by simply being who God made us to be.

I am seeing with fresh perspective the way that in my female tendencies and weaknesses, beauty shyly shines; I fit into a picture that is bigger than just me. Whether in my relationship with my husband, children, or the Lord, I can glory in the way I am made to be.

For example, my husband needs me to need him. Deep in his psyche he has the God-given desire to protect, be strong, be a hero. We are a perfect fit. My weakness accentuates his strength. His strength, channeled in an honoring and caring way, meets me in my weakness and shows me love in a way that without weakness could not be.

If this wasn’t me, that couldn’t be him. If I wasn’t lost sometimes, his bravery couldn’t shine while grabbing a lifeboat and wading out into the rolling ocean of emotion to my rescue. If I wasn’t weaker than him, his strength wouldn’t have a stage to perform upon.

If this sometimes fragile, emotional person wasn’t me, that strong, stable hero couldn’t be there for me.

I take it as an honor to get to represent the church while my husband represents the hero, Jesus.

The nights when I can’t fall asleep and he stays awake to listen to my heart, we are a picture of Jesus and His Bride.

The times when, weary and overwhelmed, I am met by the strength and love of my husband, we glow with the beauty of Jesus caring for His Church.

I find fulfillment in who God made me to be, as I see the part I have to play in the big picture of God's glory.

By simply being myself, I represent part of an eternal picture God is painting. Just me. Wonderfully emotional, exquisitely fragile, preciously weak me.

As a mother I also am a picture of God’s heart for His children. When I get up in the middle of the night (again...and then again, stuck on repeat night after night) to feed and comfort my child, I am a picture although flawed of the unconditional love and tenderness of God to His children in the night hours of our lives. When I wipe little teary eyes and care about what feels big to a seven-month-old, I am a picture of the way God does just the same with His people. He tenderly cares about what overwhelms us, perfect and different though His perspective may be from ours.

The days when I give of myself over and over and over for our child with a heart naturally filled with love, I am reflecting a bigger Love from a perfect Parent...One Who loves us from before we ever were.

There are times when the picture of who I am is nothing like who God is. That’s because I am just a fuzzy photo taken with a shaky hand, a dim little snapshot trying to capture just a bit of His beauty and perfection. I am delighted to be who I am.

I am a woman.

I am a tiny little part in a picture much bigger than me. I feel so secure here.

My Sister...next time you think you didn’t do anything today, or feel bad about what you didn’t get done, maybe you can remember this: perhaps you have played a part in a drama much bigger than yourself by just being you. Perhaps your simple faithfulness has been playing an amazing part in God's Story that we will only fully see in the future.

Continue on, my dear friends, in loving those around you and being faithful in the little things. By being you, you are beautiful.

Photo from Pexels.com

And I Come

An enchanting Spring breeze waves at us through the bobbing window blind strings as we enjoy the evening city noises in our living room. Joy is sitting in the corner midst a pile of toys she's managed to tumble from the toy basket in all her babyish curiosity. “It never ceases to amaze me how she can sit there enjoying her toys for so long!” The thinker-me says to the writer-me, as my aqua blue pen scrawls line after welcoming line in my beloved diary.

“Aaaa!” I glance up. Clearly, the attention of my daughter has suddenly turned fully upon me and the distance between her and I. “Aaaaaaa!” The communication is more insistent this time. Like mommas specialize in doing, I interpret “Aaaaaa” as a perfectly eloquent way of saying, “Mama, I’m done with my toys, and I’m longing for you and you alone, please, Mama!” 

Laying aside my notebook and pen, I stretch my mama arms in her direction. “Come to Mama!” Her eyes light up with eager expectation, her body rocking her forwards onto her hands and knees. But she can go no farther. Stuck between the sitting and crawling stage, she has the will to go and part of the ability, but so far the best of her efforts always end with a collapse onto the softness of her belly. Heaving a gigantic baby sigh, she pleads longingly once again, “Aaaah! Ggaaaa!” Her large blue eyes fill with all the depths of emotion which a seven month old can contain, and stick their gaze to me like superglue. “Come to Mama!” I beckon, giving her an opportunity to exercise her crawling skills. 

Suddenly however, my mother-heart explodes with longing to cuddle my child. Jumping up, I descend to where she sits, her arms outstretched towards me. “Come to Mama!” 

Now close enough that it's actually possible for her baby-leg-surges to propel her into my lap, she comes to me with all the love she can possibly contain.

Rocking her gently in my arms, a beautiful picture develops in my mind, like a Polaroid instant print, except that it's a motion picture. Full of color, feeling, and life.

I am that tiny girl sitting in the corner, longing for the presence of my Abba. Feeling lonely and sad, I am missing Him. I am tired, oh so tired; such as only life knows how to make a human being. I am longing for closeness, for comfort, for Him. When I turn my face towards Him, I hear Him calling gently: “Come! Come to Abba!” Calling with anticipation: “You, sweetie, who are so weary and burdened; I will give you rest! Come sit in my lap!” 

My legs feel like they are stuck to the floor like cheese sticks to pizza. I feel unsure. The distance seems insurmountable. I want to come, but feel somehow that I can’t. Suddenly, my Father descends, bounding down to meet me right where I am. And I can come. I do come. Just as I am. The distance between us which befuddled me, He takes right in stride. He gives me the desire to come, He calls me to come, and He makes it possible to come. He delights to see me leap forwards to Him with the biggest little leap I can do. He is delighted with all of my love.

Rocking my daughter in my lap, her soft head buried into my chest, the beautiful picture comes alive in my being. 

And He comes...and I come.

Little One

Little One, Little One?
I see your tears.
I feel your fears,
with you

Look in My eyes;
I will surprise
You with My love,
My Love.

Little One, Little One
Life is too big,
Too big and hard
it's true
Put now your hand,
Your little hand,
in Mine...
I'm Here.

Little One, Little One,
Look Up to Me
I AM so BIG
I AM so Here,
for you
Let go of self,
Let pride deflate
And dance a jig
with Me

Little One, Little One
I'll set you free,
I'll give you grace
As you look long
Into My face,
so calm.

Little One, Little One,
You're loved.






I like when God calls me "Little One". : )

This was written in 2015.

In Which We Flip A Switch

Do you remember when you learned what happens when you flip a light switch on and off?

Joy has experienced complete wonderment lately as I have been teaching her the great mystery of optical revolution which a little flick of the switch can do. I will take her little finger and touch the cool plastic switch on the wall, then help her give it a downwards ride. Instantly the room in plunged into darkness. I can't see the look on her face, and I wonder what she might be thinking. I imagine her baby thoughts..."Where am I now? What is that dark shape over there? Oh, good, I still feel Mama's arm here. So what is this tiny little switch that makes everything change?"

To be honest, sometimes I wish I could discover a tiny little switch that could make everything change in my life for the better.

Sometimes I think I have found one.

A little choice that transforms my life from undesirable to a gift.

Perhaps I can illustrate my thoughts the best through a little story:

<< The alarm rings in the morning. Woman rolls over, gets out of bed. >> 

"Oh dear, I have to get up now. That night was so short! It seems they all are these days. Baby just isn't sleeping well right now. <<pulls at bed covers with a sigh>> I have to make the bed by myself because my husband is busy with his morning. Like always. And now I have to decide what to make for breakfast. It seems like I have to do that every last day of the week, every last week of the month, every last month of the year! Day without end! Sigh. I'm sick and tired of eggs but I have to have protein. I guess that's what we have to eat today because I didn't get a meal list made this week..." (The story continues but this is where I will stop polluting the screen.)

If you ask me, that sounds like a nasty day. A nasty person to spend a day with, in fact. Could somebody turn on the light?

<< The alarm rings. Roll over, give the world a grin, get out of bed. >> 

"Wow, it's a new day! I've been looking forward to a new day ever since I went to bed last night! I'm alive! My husband and daughter are as well. What a wonderful day this will be. I'm so glad that I can take care of my daughter. How well I remember the days when I didn't have a baby to take care of; oh, how I longed for a little one to spend night hours with! What a precious season of life I am in. And it's so wonderful how God has such an endless supply of grace for these days of not sleeping very much. Wow. <<pulls the blankets up on the bed>> Husband is so funny with how his long legs un-tuck the sheets on his side every single night! I'm so glad to get to keep the house for such a sweet man. Let's see, what should we eat for breakfast? I'm tired of deciding. But I guess it's actually quite something to even have various options of what to eat for breakfast! I'm so glad we don't eat the same thing every single day. And wow, there are such options for protein in this country for people who need it in the morning like me. Thank You, God, for this luxury that I don't deserve..." et cetera, et cetera.

The situation is exactly the same. The person is the same. The day is the same.

What changed?

Somebody flipped the switch. It's the attitude. Have to? FLIP. Get to! 

Is it really that easy? You may wonder. Wouldn't it be so handy if there were a little attitude switch on the wall by the doorway in my house! Some people use another kind of "switch" for these purposes, but that is certainly another discussion for another day. I'm thinking, What if I would make a quick attitude check my habit whenever I flip a light switch? What if I would choose to turn the "Yay! Get-To" attitude on, and the "Sigh. Have-To" attitude off?

I'm not going to tackle all the ins and outs of attitudes and what causes them and the times when that "light switch" feels heavy as a watermelon on your fingertip.

But I will say, that there is something called Repentance, and there is something called your Will; and when activated in conjunction with the Holy Spirit there is a possibility of the inner switch getting flipped and the Negatives disappearing into Positives.

God IS ABLE to change your attitude towards life! He can do lots of wonderful things with your yielded heart.

I find myself somehow living in the dimness of my ratty attitude fairly often and suddenly awakened to the longing for some light in the situation. What will I choose? Have-To? Or Get-To? Negative? Or Positive? Flip, flip. Sometimes it's a simple choice. Sometimes I need to cry out to God to help me because the switch feels far too heavy for me to flip by myself.

Whining and Complaining?
Or Gratitude.

Perfectionism and Failure?
Or Grace.

Cynicism and Ingratitude?
Or Faith.

This rainy Monday, I wonder if there's anybody out there who God would like to take to the doorway and teach a lesson on perspective transformation. I actually know in fact there's one person.

Me.

Free light switch image sourced from Pexels.com

A New Perspective

It was as though the city was hushed by the quieting presence of cold whiteness. Tiny flakes of Winter were sailing through the sky and coming all the way down to touch our cheeks, as we trudged in the fallen heaps of its white glory, just for fun. I giggled, as I saw two large bushes that had turned into mushroom shapes overnight, with gigantic white tops rounding elegantly. They looked like the perfect place for the child-version of me to make a house and spend an afternoon of play.

Thoughts of life as a child led me down a lane of memory to the first snowstorm that I have a lot of memories of. I was just a week into being 5 years old when the skies astounded everyone by dumping 30" of snow on our world in one memorable day. 

This is the snowstorm as it appeared to my little five-year-old self:

I woke up one morning to the troubling fact that we couldn't open our front door. Snow was almost up to the top of the porch! Papa had to go out another way and shovel a pathway through the snow mountain so we could even get out of the house. I felt the excitement my parents exhibited, as they strapped on their skis and went cross-country skiing literally OVER fields and fences both. They missed the snows of Colorado, and this was a day to delight in! Eventually it was my turn to get to take a walk out in the white world. The white brightness of sun-on-snow hurt my eyes, as I clunked in my snow boots over the snowy path my Papa had shoveled out. Eagerness to experience this snowy wonderland filled my little heart. Traces of concern nudged at the eagerness, however, as I realized that my world had just dramatically changed. Nothing looked like it had before.

Wearing my little cozy Winter boots, I tried to keep up with the long steps of my parents. "Hurry!" I thought to myself. Just then a dramatic, terrible thing happened. My left leg sank down, down, down, past the top crust of the snow! Quickly, I jerked my leg upwards, but to my horror, it was bootless! My foot in its wet sock was helplessly dangling midair. In cold surprise, I ascertained that my precious boot was about as far down as I was tall! "Mama! Mama! My boot!" I screamed. I was sure it was gone, and I would need to be carried, which would be embarrassing and NOT fun. I figured I might never see that boot again. 

That's pretty much where the memory ends, although I'm positively sure my mom came to my rescue and pulled my boot out of its cold hole for me. As I trudged along yesterday, purposefully walking in snow over my boots, I wondered how much of my little five-year-old horror at losing a boot would've melted away if I had known the snow wasn't as permanent as it seemed. I think I actually didn't realize that the mountains of snow would eventually melt away! I don't think I comprehended that the white that covered my little world was only temporary and would disappear altogether. Neither did I think about it that my Papa could dig that boot right out for me. I only thought about the crisis in light of my limited capabilities and perspective.

As I purposefully kicked through the snow drifts yesterday I pulled a charming little lesson out of that dusty memory.

Sometimes when in a panic all seems lost, the biggest thing I need to find is a new perspective. 

The snow will disappear.
I can't get the boot, but I know someone who can.
Even if the snow could have claimed my boot, the snow will go when the sun comes out.
It won't hurt my foot to get snow on it.
Someday I won't even need these boots anymore because I will outgrow them.
The air is clean, the sky is bright blue, and the world is gorgeous.
Being carried could be fun...

The Perfect Home

If a word can get ahold of a human heart and flood it with a feeling, that’s the alluring wistfulness the word "home" is having for me.  

More than just enjoying the word, I enjoy having a home. A nest. A place that is a haven, a bit of heaven, a safe, cozy nook where I can relax and rest. I love the feeling I get when I’ve been gone for a long time, and walk again through the door into my home!

Speaking of returning home, recently one of my brothers came back from being in Africa for almost 2 years. What intensity of emotions the whole caboodle of us shared like static electricity between each other as we awaited the anticipated brother’s arrival from the airport. Given the fact that it was after 12a.m. amped it all up several notches! Then there he was. Happy shouts and hugs galore filled the cold night as banners were held high and sparklers lit, flashing and glittering in the darkness. What a spirit of joy abounded, as the beloved son and brother was welcomed home again!

But where is my home? That’s what I wonder when I wander around our apartment these days. In roughly two months the Lord willing we plan to leave the country for several months. When we do, we also plan to leave our apartment that has become “home” to us for close to four years (minus the 9 months we lived out of the country). Is it surprising then that I’m thinking a lot about home?

I’ve done a lot of wondering about what makes a place a home, since I’m surrendering my current home and preparing to transplant in other places. Is it the special, carefully-picked-out things in the house that make it feel like “home”? They certainly do make their contribution, but I’m convinced the nostalgia of “home” goes much deeper than that. Is it the memories made within a building’s four outer walls that finally pile up high enough to give the honorable title of “home” to a house? Memories certainly do have their part in the process. The people who share the home play another big part. When I think of going “home” to my family’s place, it wouldn’t be the same without the family!

I’ve been to Ghana three times and enjoyed watching the interesting progression of when the compound goes from feeling like a strange place in a strange country to “home” for the folks who come on the three months teams. Invariably it’s after they’ve been away from the compound, out experiencing life in the village for a few days. They come back and are intrigued to realize that THIS feels like home. This strange place that they have only been living in for a few weeks suddenly is no longer just some concrete square in the great big world out there; it’s the place to come back to and be relaxed. I love watching that happen.

There’s something about getting in touch with what isn’t home that makes you realize where home is.

I wonder what “home” will be like in the future for me. There’s a chance that the next few years will consist of living in a lot of different places for fleeting segments of time. I have known this prospect was imminent all of our married life as I follow my amazing, visionary man. This is what comes along with the life I always wanted to live!

But I do like home.

I like creating a space that is cozy and beautiful, a haven from the outside world, a nook where we can feel at home. When I think about that pleasure in creating a “homey” place for my family, I feel a sense of wonder. A sense that I’m walking on holy ground. That what I’m doing is like a child who is “playing house” while her mother is doing the real thing.

Jesus is working on preparing a place for me in Heaven! Given my understanding that this place will be mine for ever and ever and ever, my own little corner, that’s oh! So exciting! Gives me goosebumps. With how much He knows about and loves me, I am very sure that my room (or mansion, or whatever kind of dwelling it will be!) is being prepared in just the perfect way to make me feel at home. (John 14:2) With the doleful feeling of knowing that my own little home on Laurel Street will be reduced to boxes and many things dispersed to family or friends, my thoughts are daily entangled in the fact that maybe why I don’t feel home here is because I’m actually not home yet!

When my brother arrived back from Africa, everyone in the family got together to welcome him back. Talk about the joy of homecoming! My heart certainly throbbed with the joy of it amidst the laughter, sibling-banter, and chatter.  Yet amidst the happiness was an inescapable ache, as I felt deeply that someone special was missing. My sister beside me gave a knowing look and whispered, “Everyone’s here except Seth.”

Grief told me that fact is purely sad. A little boy who would’ve loved the joy of that night wasn’t with us. Hope quietly waited her turn to whisper that the truth is, Seth is the only one of us who has been welcomed home for real.

I wonder what Seth is doing today, alive and well in the place my faith declares is my Home but where I’ve never been. I’m so excited about going Home! I don’t even need to pack my bags; I’m already sending provisions and treasures for my life there on ahead and I will feel so lightweight and free to fly when the time comes! I wonder what it will feel like to wrap my son in my arms at some point after I arrive and to actually see him again…

Oh, how my heart longs for home. Home. I long to be in the Place where all of us, every one of us with our individual histories and stories, will be 100% free to thrive. A place where there is no more curse, a place where there is no more death, where there is absolutely nothing to make anyone afraid. A place where we always, every moment, can see our Heavenly Papa’s smile of delight in and over us. Where our older Brother Jesus is the Light. Really. He is such a Light that we won't even need sunshine! That sounds so spectacular to me!

I long for Home. The place where we can hear, with our own ears (our resurrected ears which will be capable of capturing all the awesome nuances of the music) our Daddy-God singing over us! The place where we can remember together the beautiful stories of God involved in our lives on earth. The place where we will be safe. Nothing and no one to terrorize us. We will feel safe, in part because we will see God like He really is. We will feel safe too, because just imagine. What would life without the curse be like? Mankind has not known that freedom for thousands of years! I want to go home, where there will be perfect humility, everywhere. I can hardly wait to experience relationships free from the gooey, stinky tentacles of pride. And we will be so changed because we will actually see Him like He is! I can hardly wait to be in the great celebration as all of us who have been living by faith in the shadows here finally arrive Home.

If you don’t feel at home here, maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Our unfulfilled longings for a perfect home are likely something our Heavenly Daddy wants to use to draw us towards Heaven and towards Him!

I’m on my way Home, just a wondering wanderer here. There are a lot of things in life right now that are keeping me in touch with where home isn’t, and where it is.  

And that’s a good thing. I have a flawless home being prepared for me, which unlike the difficulties in this life will last forever.