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Mother: Protector of the Home

Posted in WONDER, tagged Fatigue, Mother, mother protector of the home, mothers of preschoolers, oikorouros keeper of the home, Purpose on August 8, 2013| Leave a Comment »

graphic-1-150x215 I have said in the past that I so respect the job of at home mom (The Most Important Job In The World).

The guest post I am offering today comes from a writer who I have just started to follow. Her ‘about’ page says of herself:

“Australian. In America. Sister. Friend. Daughter. Wife. Mother. Writer. Teacher. Pastor. Artist. Traveler. Coffee-lover. GF DF SF Foodie. Inept but happy homemaker.”

Today, in her post Oikouros: Keeper Of The Home, the author touched my heart, and brought back the memories of being that tired mom of preschoolers..

If you are reading today, and you are feeling that fatigue, that sense of being under appreciated in today’s society, please accept this as my verbal encouragement and support.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful. It’s not that I want anything to change. It’s just that this is a different life than I expected.

It’s noon and so far I have sorted two loads of clean laundry, tidied rooms, done dishes, changed a pee diaper, changed a poop diaper, vacuumed, made breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, put in more laundry, tended to a crying pox-covered child, disciplined the non-poxed one, hovered over the poxed one to get her to pick up her toys, processed medical paperwork, worked on our August budget, angrily picked up my husband’s socks and assorted other abandoned clothes of his, turned a blind eye to the bathrooms that have needed cleaning for far too long, worked out a meal plan for the week using only what we have on hand because this month’s budget is $500 short, researched MRSA because the doctor’s office called with positive culture results from the pox (“We are running additional tests”), and felt frustrated at every turn. Mad, even. Except I’m too tired to maintain being mad.

Today I feel like a tattered remnant of myself. This is the weirdest job I’ve ever had. And it’s not a job. It’s what I am: mother of small children.

Mothers of small children are a people group unto themselves. This season of motherhood shapes a female human in very specific ways. And regardless of occupational circumstances, whether she be full-time at-home or full-time work-and-home, mothers of small children are stretched thin.

Oh so thin.

A few years ago my friend, who at the time was pregnant with their first-born, said she was worried that she’d feel stuck at home after baby was born. My response, as a mother of one toddler, had been so confident: “The answer is easy. If you feel that way, let’s get in the car and go somewhere fun!”

Nothing wrong with positive thinking. Right? But today I’m feeling so deeply what my friend had feared. It’s as she described: stuck. Stuck at home. Stuck in my heart. Stuck in a rut. Stuck in the hamster wheel of day after day sameness. Like I’m living in my own version of the movie “Groundhog Day.” I’m desperate to find a way out of this loop. Today the thinly stretched me is asking: Am I living in the fullness of God’s creation of me?

Today I felt led to Titus 2. And by “led” I mean… it came to mind and it made me angry. And I see His familiar presence in the stirring of my heart. The Holy Spirit is taking me to a passage to mentor me. He whispered, “keeper of the home” to my heart to get my attention. And, as He knew I would, my reaction was to rise up and revolt. Those words, “keeper of the home,” feel like a cage. Like a punishment. Like I’ve been benched from real life. And put in a place of bland resignation. Yes, Holy Spirit, you have my attention.

Ok friends, please… hear me. Of course I know the call of our Faith is to sacrifice. Yes, there is a beautiful blessing in laying down our gifts, skills, education, passions, and dreams before the cross of Jesus. There is a much-needed dying to self in our walk with Yahweh. Yes. And amen.

But I have a hiccup in my heart. And, thank God, it’s not my job to sanctify myself. It’s the work of the Holy Spirit to transform me. And today He’s exposing a fear and a feeling of rebellion in my heart: I feel pressed into a cookie-cutter that demands I become a laundry-loving, seasonal-décor-using, smiling-always, sweet as sugar, house-cleaning aficionado. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I have a friend who fits that description. She’s great. But what brings her joy, brings me depression. Sure, I hear you. It could be that she simply has a better attitude and heart than I do. And that I just need to fix my attitude. Yes, I agree. But I can’t do that on my own. Or rather, I refuse to do that on my own. Because a few weeks ago I taught about the temptation to be the source of our own solutions (Luke 4:1-4.) And I do not want to make my own bread. And so, I’m glad the Holy Spirit is drawing me to Titus today. As we work through this together, He will change me and I will be changed.

Older women likewise are to live in a way that is appropriate for someone serving the Lord, not malicious gossips nor drunkards (enslaved to much wine) but models of goodness. They are to give good counsel and be teachers of what is right and noble. By looking at them, the younger women will know to be sane and sober of mind (temperate, disciplined), to love their husbands, to love their children, to be virtuous (sensible, self-controlled), pure, keepers of the home, good-natured (kindhearted), being subject (adapting and subordinating themselves) to their own husbands, so that the word of God may not be exposed to reproach (blasphemed, discredited, dishonored). Likewise urge the young men to… (Titus 2:3-6a NAS, AMP, NLT, ESV, MSG)

There is a LOT of amazing stuff in this passage. So many good and wise words. We could sit in this passage for weeks… or possibly our whole lives. This is a good path: walking out these things with the power of the Holy Spirit.

But today I’m solely captivated by the words that are irritating my heart: “Keepers of the home.” These words seem so different from the others in the list. A seemingly highly practical item in a list of quests of ministry and heart. Or is it?

Oikouros is the Greek word translated to the phrase “keeper of the home.” The definition given by the NAS New Testament Greek Lexicon are:
1. caring for the house, working at home
2. the (watch or) keeper of the house
3. keeping at home and taking care of household affairs
4. a domestic

Yes, as I expected. “At home.” “A domestic.” “Household affairs.” But there is something else in that list. “The (watch or) keeper of the house.” The watch? What?

The root words that form Oikouros are “Oikos” and “Ouros.” And in these root words my heart has felt the whisper reminder of God’s vision for my season as a mother of little ones.

Ouros: A guard, Be “ware”
– Guard: to protect, to shield, to watch over, to maintain control over, to determine and supervise entry and exit to.
– Be “ware”: to watch, be wary, be aware, be wise.

Oikos: a house, home, a palace, the house of God, the tabernacle, a dwelling place, a human body, one’s settled abode, a household, all the persons forming one family, the family of God, the Christian Church.

As I read these words today, I felt my vision adjust. Like a chiropractor for my heart. And things clicked back to a good and right place. Stepping back from my tree, and now able to see the forest again.

My call as keeper of our home as very little to do with laundry and housework and all the required mundane details. Yet, I have allowed them to become a tyrant in my life. I have let them consume my energy. I have let them become a god. Because there is always so much of that stuff to do! But “keeping my home” is NOT keeping my home clean, or keeping my home tidy, or keeping my home orderly, or keeping my kids orderly, or keeping my family clean and “appropriate.” Or whatever oppressive ideal I inflict on myself. Or the enemy tricks me with.

My call as keeper of our home is about being a watcher. A guard. A defender of these people of this household. A defender of the entryway to our family. A shield. A wise overseer. For all of these things I would be utterly dependent on the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. I would have to empty myself and be full of His Truth. Sacrifice my fears and weaknesses and self-sufficiency. And throw myself on Him for direction, strength, and wisdom.

Regardless of a mother of small children’s unique circumstances, God has invited her to be the spiritual, emotional, and relational Keeper of the home. This role isn’t affected by her passions or abilities for housework. Or her occupation. Or culinary skills. Or time for Pinterest. This role isn’t defined by culture, or generation, or clever marketing. This role is given to us from Yahweh. It’s an invitation from Him to be part of something so much bigger than ourselves. To become more like Him, our King and Guard.

Keeper of the home is an invitation to rise above the concerns of our days and to step into a role that transcends all the culturally defined gender-roles of a woman. Getting to be a Keeper of the home is a position of high honor and deep service. It’s a place of prayer, of wisdom, of life with Him.

How could we ever have made it about clean carpets, meal planning, and having our households in order? Oh God. What a ditch we have fallen in. Restore to me Your beautiful design for womanhood. Lift my eyes up from the temporal and keep me fixed on the eternal.

Today I am a Keeper of the home for my man and our two small children. But I am sensing a much wider concept that stretches into my lifelong womanhood. The word Oikos also means the family of God, the Christian Church. I feel the Holy Spirit rekindling my heart for my role as a woman in His Kingdom: a Keeper of His household. A watcher, a guard, a shield, a defender, a minister to, a servant of His household: the Church. For His family: the Body of Christ. To stand for her. To cover her. To shield her.

As a mother of young children, I’ve been struggling to find my place to serve and invest in our church. I’ve felt frustrated about my lack of time, and lack of energy. I’ve felt torn between my passions for ministry and my passions for my family. Today I feel like my heart has been stitched back together. Of course I have some more praying and meditating on the Word to do, but I can see a beautiful hope growing in my heart. Just as a mother’s role as Keeper is unaltered by her unique circumstances, a woman’s role as Keeper in God’s family is unaltered by her unique circumstances… like time and energy constraints when you’re a mother of small children.

Keeper of the home is a role that happens amidst life. It’s a role that unfolds in each moment of life. It is like the others in that list in Titus 2. A quest of ministry and heart.”

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“I Can So I Will”

Posted in WONDER, tagged 60 minutes, Alzheimers, Bill and Gladys, Committment, Marriage on August 7, 2013| Leave a Comment »

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This is a most beautiful video … a real life couple, dealing with the changes and challenges of Alzheimer’s disease. In a sense, they have their own version of the beautiful movie, “The Notebook.”

http://sixtyminutes.ninemsn.com/article/8623153/for-better-or-worse

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Counting Fish

Posted in WONDER, tagged a holy experience, Ann Voskamp, counting fish, David Crowder, How he Loves, John 21, simon peter, the fish principle on August 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

I have shared from the wisdom and experiences and pondering of Ann Voskamp frequently. Her blog, A Holy Experience, is exactly that for me.

Although I do not live on a farm, do not have six children, do no homeschool, and do not have a New York Times bestseller, I do read what she writes with an ability to relate on a kindred spirit level (hum, maybe this is why she has a New York Times bestseller).

Today, I am going to share, once again, words and wisdom from Ann, that so touched my heart and soul as I read them (and a video of a song, the words of which are a fitting response to her words).

You can also check out this same post, but on her site at A Holy Experience.

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“When I get to her door, it’s after 6:30 and dawn’s breaking rays down rows of the cornfields and I’m already late.

Mama’s got a note on her front door that reads in a black scrawl, “Welcome! Come on round. We’re out on the back deck!”

Every other Saturday we meet when dawn breaks the day open. We bring Bibles.

We are four, one Linda, who is my mama and her name means beautiful and she really is.

And one Annette, one Anne, one Ann, three with one name meaning grace and the Trinity really is and I am the deep dirty Ann who has to bathe her stains long in His Grace.

Mama’s got plates of sliced oranges laid out, strawberries, raisin bread toasted.

Her tea pot there in its cozy. Their Bibles are all laid open. The air is cool this early, the sky quiet clear. A cardinal heralds the sun from the tip of the spruce tree at the fence. I nod embarrassed, always the last, and mama pours my tea and the steam wraps itself up and around the cool, warming fresh morning.

“John 21,” Annette winks her welcome, points to her page and I find the passage.

Ah, yes, this passage — the Scriptures about Jesus at dawn and the disciples at sea with their nets and He’s already got the fire kindled and He beckons, “Come and have breakfast.” I smile. Mama’s got breakfast out at dawn! Our own feast! Mama clasps her hands, laughs.

We read the passage four times. Once lingering. Once listening. Once lifting voice to pray the words. Last time: to live it.

Annette says she wants the passionate abandon for Jesus that jumps out of the boat like Peter, plunges straight into water as soon as he sees Him, and did he do it because he thought he might walk on water again?

Mama keeps returning to the three times Jesus asks “Do you truly love me?” and she says that all week she’s been working through feelings of rejection and it’s been hard and it hurts and yes, betrayal, and what does it really mean to feed Christ’s sheep today and she has to figure that if that’s the way we show we really do love Him.

Anne, the other one with the fanciful “e” and curling hair, she’s thinking about Peter with a battered faith who says I’m outta here, I’m going fishing, and a Jesus who won’t let Him go, who wants him to build His church even when he’s betrayed Him three times and that’s a kind of love she needs right now.

Then Mama turns to me, “And for you, Ann? How is He shaping you through this passage?”

The sun’s warmer now on our faces, higher over the corn behind Mama’s house. A robin’s singing with the cardinal.

“Well, there’s the fact He asks us to trust him when it feels like we’ve been in a long night and caught nothing and will we trust Him, do what He says, when He asks the unconventional of us: “Throw your net on the right side of the boat”….

And there’s this: … the wild love waiting for us at the end of dark, empty nights of the soul — the kind of love that has breakfast waiting for us on the beach, the fish and bread all ready for us… but really… and this is what I keep coming back to,” I glance around anxious at their faces and I run on excited, “I keep coming back to this:

Simon Peter climbed aboard and dragged the net ashore.

It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn.

Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”

None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?”

They knew it was the Lord.

I look up. They look blank.

I try again. “It was full of large fish — 153!”

Mama nods slowly… waiting for the epiphany to strike. Annette’s smiling politely. Anne’s fingering the corner of her page, re-reading the text.

I just blurt it out: “Someone had counted the fish!”

Peter, the failure, the reject, the broken, he had counted fish.

Now they all smile, nod politely. My cheeks are hot. I distract with reaching for my cup of tea, swig back a long gulp, and sputter out something about it getting that time and maybe it’s time to close in prayer?

We go around the circle and the sun’s sure now, strong, and we each pray passionate for the woman to the right of us, for her bruises and for her dark night and for her longings and that she might be fed, her nets full to overflowing in the morning and that we would each really love Jesus.

We squeeze hands with the final Amen.

And for a moment, we all sit still and silent in the sun. I close my eyes, listen to the world waking. The light feels healing. The robin keeps singing. A back door closes down the street. I can hear a car start.

“Well, you’d all better get back to families!” Mama’s gathering plates off the deck table. We carry in teacups from the back deck, wander in through her house for our shoes.

And there it is on Mama’s kitchen table. Stacks of photographs, pictures scattered, laying there in open books.

Us three Anns pause on our way through.

Mama sets the teapot on the counter. “Yes, forgive the piles. All week, I’ve been sorting out the years. Filing them into albums.”

I scan my history — my Mama’s. I hurt inside.

A child abused. A wife replaced. A mother broken.

Annette leans over, points to a black and white image of a little girl holding a doll, her mother’s hand.

“Who is this?”

“That’s me — ” Mama smiles. Annette’s eyes grow big, picks it up for a closer look at time.

There are photos of Mama a toddler, her sitting on her father’s lap, a color-tinted photograph of her mother, Mama’s first Christmas with my father, his gold-band hand resting on her shoulder.

Photos of me sleeping on Dad’s chest, my first steps, my Dad holding me brand new in the heat of an August dusk. Mama looks so young. Her whole life is laid out across the table on kodak paper.

Anne points to one a white-blonde girl with sky blue eyes playing in a cardboard box. “And this?”

“Aimee.”

Mama says her name quiet and holy, name of my younger sister who was killed before Mama’s eyes.

I want to find the door, run away home. I want to pick up the photo of Aimee and me and Mama sitting on the orange flowered couch with my brother, my Dad and I want to go back and make it right, make it all hold. My parent’s marriage. My sister’s life. Us.

Mama picks up the picture for me, of us all. Holds it so I can see. Dad’s smiling.

I remember when Mama had long hair like that, dark and thick and wavy, under a kerchief. When they were married and we were all together and I remember Aimee’s giggle and her alive.

“Yes… “ she traces faces… says the words more to another time than to us right here. “Now you can see why I’ve been working through rejection.”

I swallow hard. When we can’t say it and we just want to run away, Jesus asks our question for us, again and again, “Do you truly love me?”

Anne nods understanding towards Mama and Mama looks across the table, asks in this wounded whisper, “What do you do with all this?” It’s her life.

We are silent.

And then it comes, and I murmur it quiet:

“You count fish?”

Mama turns to me and I reach for snapshot of John and Aimee and I playing in the sandbox and I say it slow.

“You pull in your life and you see that though you felt ripped open —- the net actually didn’t tear.

That there’s grace in your net.

And you actually count them.

You make sure you count the fish. So you don’t have to ask who it is – You know it is the Lord.” I feel the lump in my throat ebbing.

“You count every single grace that He gave through the long dark night, and you see that there are more than 153. Far more than 153. It’s a feast!” I look up. Mama’s looking at me.

“You count fish….” she nods.

And clasps her hands and laughs lovely and soft and long and she is beautiful. The epiphany strikes: “You just keep always counting the fish!”

It’s when you count blessings — you see Who can be counted on.

It’s when you count the ways He loves, that your life multiplies joy.

It’s a life that counts blessings — that discovers it’s yielding more than it seems.

“The secret to joy — is to keep seeking God where you doubt He is.” {excerpted from One Thousand Gifts }

Us four stand around a table picking up photos and the pain from the past.

And we’ve lingered over Scripture so long that now we’ll live it and we are disciples counting the blessings hauled in by a life.

I hold one picture long.

And I count it twice.

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Fear Not … Again

Posted in WONDER, tagged fear not, fear not ... again, Isaiah 41:10, message, psalm 27:1 on August 5, 2013| Leave a Comment »

A couple of weeks ago I wrote in the post, Fear Not, that I would continue what I was sharing on Monday … I just never indicated ‘which’ Monday 😉 .

Well the sense that I am being ‘stalked’ by the message to fear not has continued, and even increased. Just this morning, as I was checking my emails, came another reminder as I opened the ‘Sunday Scripture’ from http://www.incourage.me:

“The Lord is my light and my salvation-
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life-
of whom shall I be afraid?”
Psalm 27:1

Whom shall I fear?

I do not feel as though I am fearing anyone.

Of whom shall I be afraid?

Good question!

In my previous post on the subject of fear, I ended by saying I would share the verse that has been most prevalent in my thoughts through this season of being stalked. It is the following one that has seemed to ‘stick’ like Crazy Glue to my soul:

“Fear not,
for I am with you;
be not dismayed,
for I am your God;
I will strengthen you,
I will help you,
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
Isaiah 41:10

Comfort would seem to be the consequence of following this directive … maybe by following this constant advise, I will receive what I do not know that I need … comfort.

Really, though, I still do not know the reason that the message to fear not has been so constant in my consciousness, but I do believe that there is a reason for it … even if it is simply what my heavenly teacher wants me to most concentrate on and study about during this season.

I do know that it is His message to me, His direction for my life, and He is the One who holds myself, and my days in His strong and trustworthy hand.

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What is the message that He is stalking YOU with?

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This Little Light

Posted in WONDER, tagged addison road, harry dixon loes, luke 11:33, matthew 5:14-15, matthew 5:16, sunday school song, This Little Light of Mine on August 4, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Sunday morning …

I remember, as a child, being excited to dress in my Sunday best, and be driven to Sunday School.

I never wanted to be late, because the morning started with singing, and I loved to sing (loving to sing does not necessarily have any connection to being gifted in voice … just ask my children). My favorite songs of Sunday School were Jesus Loves Me (still my favorite) and This Little Light of Mine. I loved the actions too.

Written in about 1920 by Harry Dixon Loes, this song has stood the test of time, though it’s simple, solid message.

According to Wikipedia, the song originated from one of a number of Biblical references:

“Let your light shine before men, that they may see your fine works and give glory to your Father who is in the heaven.”
Matthew 5:16

“No one lights a lamp and puts it in a place where it will be hidden or under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, so that those who come in may see the light.”
Luke 11:33

“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.”
Matthew 5:14–15

Addison Road has done a fabulous job with this favorite of mine. The words of the old Sunday School standard, mixed with the truth of the challenges in our lives, to keep our flame burning.

Let it shine!

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So Heavenly Minded … No Earthly Good

Posted in WONDER, tagged Focus, holier than thou, in the midst, Light, luke 17:20-22, shine, the kingdom of god, the kingdom of heaven, too heavenly minded to be any earthly good on August 2, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Warning … I might start off sounding rather … heretical in my attitude, but don’t worry, the light will shine in the darkness I am about to create 😉 .

A number of months ago I opened up a certain social networking site to see a status update, by one of my ‘friends’, that made me want to stick a finger down my throat to indicate gagging. The status of this ‘friend’ was similar to others posted by this individual … very … spiritual, kind of … holier-than-thou …

My first thought was (and this is where you might start to doubt my walk with God) that this person is simply too heavenly minded to be any Earthly good.

Every time I would read a new status update by this individual, it was so … god-talk, and it drove me rather buggy. I wondered if this person had any non-Christian friends, or if they had all be scared off by the churchy-talk.

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Now, don’t get me wrong, I did not disagree with what was being shared in this person’s status’, it’s just that … well, if they scared me off, and I share their beliefs, what does that do to those around them who do not?

Let me give you a comparison …

I love eagles! I am in awe of the ease with which they soar through the air, despite their size, despite the wingspan they have. When I see an eagle in the sky, it is like when my dog sees a squirrel!

Well, the other day, I was driving along the road when my eye caught an enormous eagle in the sky. I do not think that I have ever seen one with such a large wingspan. Although all alone in my car, I was audibly declaring my ‘ooohs and awes.’ All of a sudden I remembered that I was indeed driving a car, and was glad that I did, since the traffic ahead of me was coming to a halt (and I came to an even more abrupt halt).

Once safely stopped, I glanced skyward to see the flying beast, but it was gone from my sight.

My eagle story reminded me of my holier than thou friend.

There is something so right in acknowledging and enjoying that flying eagle. Really it would be a shame to not appreciate such an amazing beast. But, when I am driving a car, driving safely needs to be my number one priority … I cannot take my attention from what I am doing in the present moment.

In a similar way, focusing on heaven is so right, because it is my destination. It would be a great shame to not appreciate such an amazing eternal future that those of us, who believe in Christ, have awaiting for us in heaven. But, when we are living our Earthly life, our focus needs to be on living this life of kingdom living … of sharing the joy, and love, and good news of life with Christ here and now … not just the life after death. It is in the driving with focus on this life, that we arrive better prepared for our final destination. After all we are living the kingdom life her … now, and not just after we die from our Earthly existence.

This Earthly existence is the kingdom existence, we do not have to dream of heaven, of walking the streets of gold with our Savior. He walks with us NOW, He is present NOW. His kingdom is not up in the clouds, and our thoughts need not be there either. The kingdom of God is at hand … lets keep our hands on the wheel, and our eyes on what is immediately in front of us.

“Being asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, he answered them, “The kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There!’ for behold, the kingdom of God is in the midst of you.” Luke 17:20-22

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Planting, Sowing, Reaping

Posted in WONDER, tagged 1 corinthians 3:7, dr. Seuss, Garden, gardener, let it grow, planting, reaping, sowing, the lorax, watering on August 1, 2013| Leave a Comment »

PlantingSeeds

I was listening to a few people whose it was to plant some bedding flowers. They are all nice and generous people, but it was obvious from over-hearing their conversation, that they were not unified in the details of the planting.

Which plants went where?

How far apart?

How deeply should they be planted?

The two women were expressing their interpretations of the instructions given to them by the gardener of the property.

The gardener has probably been looking after the grounds for years, maybe even studied botany, and he knows the environment he is working in.

The ladies, on the other hand, are fulfilling his wishes, attempting to honor his plan for the plants to go into the ground. They are only here for a short time, they are only placing the plants into the soil … they will never see these plants grow and thrive, and go to seed. The only task they have is to plant.

But, the gardener, he lives on the property, and his reason for being is to see the plants planted, the seeds scattered, watered, then to enjoy the harvest of that which has been placed into the ground.

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Those who plant do not always get to participate in the sowing, the watering, or the reaping …

1 Corinthians 3:7-8 tells us that :

“It’s not important who does the planting,

or who does the watering.

What’s important

is that God makes the seed grow.

The one who plants

and the one who waters

work together

with the same purpose.

And both will be rewarded for their own hard work.”

All that is important is that we listen, and follow the instructions of the gardener, for it is His garden we are living in, and it is His garden that we are tending.

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“Let it grow
Let it grow
You can’t reap what you don’t sow”

Fletcher Sheridan “Let it Grow”
(from the Dr. Seuss soundtrack “The Lorax”)

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Artistic Genes From Within

Posted in WONDER, tagged 2 timothy 1:5-7, aesthetics, artistic genes from within, bonnie gray, Creation, faith barista on July 31, 2013| 2 Comments »

A couple of years ago at the school I worked, the theme of the year had to do with aesthetics … things to do with artistic beauty, or things that are pleasing to the senses. I have to say that my original thoughts on this theme were rather … ‘artsy-fartsy’ with little weighty depth. Upon further explanation, my perspective changed.

This theme came out of Creation, the amazing, ordered, pleasing world that our God has created. How could I argue with the beauty and order we experience every day?

Throughout the school year the word ‘aesthetic’ surfaced a number of times in a number of ways, each time drawing me closer with the realization that being made in the image of the Creator, meant that I was handed down a creative gene by my creative father.

When I read the following words, by Bonnie Gray, at her blog site, Faith Barista (which serves up a “double shot of faith”), I experienced that unplanned response of “ahhhh.”

I read the words,

I knew the words,

I had lived the words and knew them to be true in my own experience.

“When you get closer to what truly moves your heart, you will touch the places that are still tender.

Because that creative place where you feel most safe is often where you’ve gone — when you’ve been most wounded.

Where do you go – to find safety, to express pain and beauty, in your world?

It’s there — in those private places of freedom — where you meet with God and your creative self speaks.”

… where you meet with God … and your creative self speaks …

Um, that speaks to me!

And now is the rest of the article, by Bonnie Gray:

“I sat there, at one spot on a table that stretched long, parked adjacent to other tables, wrapping us into a square donut of seats.

Faces blinked back at me from across the room on the other side. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

I was at an artists meeting that night.

And I was the keynote speaker.

I walked into this room with two legs, I began.

But, if you could really look deep inside me tonight…

I took a big, shaky breath.

You would see that the legs to my soul… are broken.

My lips start to tremble and my hands start to cool and shake, even though it is a warm summer eve.

I gulp and continue.

The reason is — because you see — I’ve spent a lot of the hours of my days this year in my bed. In my home.

Afraid.

Not because I don’t love to be with people.

But, because of panic attacks.

They were triggered by memories that have come alive — doing something I’ve always loved.

Something I’ve always dreamed of doing.

Writing a book.

This is how I introduced myself to a group of painters, designers, illustrators, poets, musicians… writers.

It sure didn’t sound inspiring to me at all.

At one point, I even had to stop and collect myself.

I was overwhelmed by the surreal experience of recounting my story out in the open.

Even as I shared my story, I questioned whether there was any value in exposing pain that has been endured so privately.

I felt for sure I was making everyone feel uncomfortable and awkward.

Until I saw one woman’s eyes start to tear. Then, another man’s head dip, in a knowing nod.

There is beauty behind the pain.

These are the words I found myself speaking into the room with my new friends.

When you get closer to what truly moves your heart, you will touch the places that are still tender.

Because that creative place where you feel most safe is often where you’ve gone — when you’ve been most wounded.

Where do you go – to find safety, to express pain and beauty, in your world?

It’s there — in those private places of freedom — where you meet with God and your creative self speaks.

When I finished speaking, I ended by asking if any parts of my story resonated?

The first question broke the silence.

“Have you always known you were a writer?” Someone asked.

I pause for a moment, to consider my answer. And the response I chose to give sparked a beautiful response — stories flowing from everyone’s childhood around the table.

I’ve always been a writer, before I called myself one.

Writing has always been that one thing in my life — since I was a little girl — that no one could ever take away from me.

I didn’t have to be good at it.

I didn’t have to think about it.

Writing is just what I did.

It’s the most natural thing I can do.

The artist in me is a little girl.

“How about you?” I scan the gazes of new friends who suddenly feel closer than the space between us. ”When you do your thing — play music, paint, design, blog about fashion, take cooking videos, build models, write, take photos — when you create — are you doing what came most naturally to you, as a child?”

Energy suddenly stirs the room, reminding me of the wind of the Holy Spirit that once blew through a room full of disciples gathering together. They began speaking in a way that was different — that drew people from the outside closer in.

That’s what art does. It connects us to each other, in those places we are most vulnerable, opening what is private, finding language for what’s unspoken. For what’s important and real.

Everyone started telling their stories — of themselves — as little girls and little boys.

What they’ve always loved to do. Before they knew what it was called. Before it became a struggle to claim artistic enjoyment as God’s legitimate imprint of Himself in us.

The artistic you. I discovered this is everyone’s continuing journey of faith. To touch the artistic life we all hide deep inside. It’s the artist’s way. The child in you.

Is there an ember of God’s creative voice flickering in you?

What is the one thing you’ve always enjoyed doing as a little girl, that felt most natural to you?

Take a moment to see yourself as that little girl right now. Where is she and what does she like to do?

As you picture her, let your heart find its way back to where it longs to return.

Because that artist in you is God’s little girl.”

“For I am mindful of the sincere faith within you…
For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God which is in you…
For God has not given us a spirit of timidity,
but of power and love and discipline.“
2 Timothy 1:5-7

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Beauty in the Brokenness … By Design

Posted in WONDER, tagged beauty in the brokenness, difficulties, family tree, it is well, lisa leonard designs, Special Needs on July 30, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Today I’m going to introduce you to an artistic blogger I was introduced to by my eldest daughter.

(the above picture is a ‘branch’ of our family tree … a gift from our three kids, and a product of Lisa Leonard Designs … I bought a three dollar shadow box at the dollar store, painted it black, and pinned by beautiful family tree inside).

Lisa Leonard is:
A child of God (and she knows it)
A woman
A wife (a … pastor’s wife …)
A mom
A mom of TWO boys
A mom of one boy with special needs
A business owner/operator (Lisa Leonard Designs)
And has a reality program that is just waiting for a network to grab it up …

In the blog post below, Lisa speaks of her son, David.

Lisa wrote the following of what she remembers of his diagnosis, given soon after his birth,

“cornelia de lange syndrome.
severe retardation.
he won’t be able to eat.
he won’t speak, he won’t walk.
he’ll need life long care.”

And the following is from her blog post … check her out online at www.lisaleonardonline.com/blog/jewelry/finding-beauty-in-brokenness.

“When David was born eleven years ago, I had no idea what the future held. I thought I knew. I thought I had it all planned out. But everything I planned was broken to pieces as our son emerged into the world with only two fingers on his left hand, a serious heart defect and a genetic disorder that would change the way his life would look.

evening-walk-in-morro-bay-07

At first I couldn’t stop crying. Nothing made sense. Then I was determined and overly optimistic. I would be the best mom ever. No matter what it took, I would make everything okay. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t be good enough. If I wasn’t physically exhausted then I was emotionally exhausted. It wasn’t just David who was broken, it was me too. I couldn’t be good enough to make up for his lack. We were both imperfect; flawed and needy. And as I started to accept the brokenness, I began to see bits of beauty emerge. Small things, like a sunflower in bloom, caught my eye. And I could feel my heart begin to heal. When David started to smile, it was like the sun shined brighter. As I let go of trying to make everything perfect, I started to see beauty in the brokenness.”

Well-with-my-Soul-652x400

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Have I Told You Lately …

Posted in WONDER, tagged have i told you lately, karen kingsbury, Miracles, rod stewart, special song on July 28, 2013| 2 Comments »

I love books that are written in such a way that I feel as though I have a personal relationship with the characters within.

When I read a book by Karen Kingsbury, that is what happens. She is a delightful story-teller, who makes me mourn when the book is read and I need to get on with real life without the relatable characters she works into her stories.

The following is a real-life story, lived though and told by Karen herself (from a Guideposts magazine article … http://www.guideposts.org/inspiration/fiction/karen-kingsburys-inspiring-encounter-on-the-high-line?page=full).

I ‘tried’ to read it, in a mature, story-telling manner, but blubbering ensued … and that’s okay, because tears are Cleansing 😉

I’ve been writing novels for more than 15 years, and I’ll admit it: My imagination can run pretty wild sometimes! I see the stories come to life in my mind way before I ever get them on paper—envisioning the characters and the twists and turns they’ll take on their personal and spiritual journeys.

Then last year something unexpected happened in my own life, something so incredible that even I couldn’t have imagined it.

I’d gone to New York City to meet with my publisher. My daughter, Kelsey, and her husband, Kyle, came with me because they wanted to see the city.

It was a glorious autumn afternoon. Kelsey, Kyle and I were walking on the High Line—a park built on a historic elevated railroad line above the streets on Manhattan’s West Side.

That morning I’d had a dream-come-true meeting with my publisher. My novel The Bridge had become an overnight best seller and they’d signed me to a 10-book deal! I felt so blessed, especially to be able to celebrate with Kelsey and Kyle.

Yet, standing there on the High Line, looking up at the bright blue sky, all I could think was, I wish I could tell Dad about all this.

My father had passed away six years earlier. He was my rock. My very first and biggest fan.

“Have I told you lately that I love you, Dad?” I whispered. That was Dad’s favorite song—the Rod Stewart version of “Have I Told You Lately.” He’d called me the first time he’d ever heard it.

“This song is how I feel about you, Mom, our whole family,” he said. “Whenever you hear it I want you to know that I love you.” I was surprised. Dad wasn’t usually into pop music. But the more I listened to Rod’s distinctive raspy voice belting it out, the more I understood what Dad meant.

“Have I told you there’s no one else above you? You fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness, ease my troubles, that’s what you do.” When one of us heard the song, we’d call the other. Sometimes we’d hear it when we were together and Dad would give me a wink.

I can’t say it any better than Rod,” he’d say. The song was that powerful for us. It connected us. So much so that my family had the title engraved on Dad’s headstone.

Not long after Dad died, I began to hear our song at odd but significant moments. Like when my husband, Don, and I were driving home from watching Kelsey and our oldest son, Tyler, in the opening-night performance of the school play—the kind of occasion Dad wouldn’t have missed for the world—and the second we turned on the car radio, there it was.

Or when we took our first family vacation to the Bahamas without Dad. I stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the sparkling sea. “Oh, Dad, you would’ve loved this!” I said. Then I heard a familiar melody.

I looked down onto the deck below and the Bahamian band had switched from playing island music to—yes, you guessed it—“Have I Told You Lately.”

Now here I was, at one of those moments when I knew Dad would have been so proud of me, and I couldn’t share it with him. I missed him more than ever. Lord, I prayed, please tell Dad that I love him.

“How ’bout we take some pictures?” I said to Kelsey and Kyle, hoping to distract myself from missing Dad. “We’ve got this amazing view of the Hudson from up here.”

I pulled out my camera and took some shots of Kelsey, then of her and Kyle together. I wanted to get one of the three of us. I was stretching my arm out, trying to hold the camera far enough away so we were all in the frame, when a man and a woman walked up.

“I can help take your picture,” the man said to us. He was older than me, dressed stylishly in a sweater and jeans. He had a slight accent. Australian? English? He was a tourist like me, probably. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes!” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“Just show me how to use the camera,” he said.

Kelsey walked over and showed him which button to press, then we got into place again.

He snapped the photo. “That’s lovely!” he said, brushing a wayward strand of blond hair from his eye. He handed me the camera. “God bless you,” he said, then he and the woman went on their way.

When they were almost out of sight, Kelsey turned to me. “Mom, did you hear what that man said when I was showing him how to use the camera?”

“No, honey, I didn’t.”

“He said, ‘I’m usually on the other side of this thing. But this is fun too.’”

“Why would he say that?” I wondered aloud.

Then it dawned on me: the spiky blond hair, the fashionable clothes, the lilt in his voice…. Could it be?

I followed the couple, walking as fast as I could.

“Sir, sir! Excuse me, sir!” I called. The man stopped and turned around. We were face-to-face.

“You just took our picture back there,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. By now Kelsey and Kyle had caught up to me.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Are you Rod Stewart?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“No, really, I have to know,” I insisted. “Are you Rod Stewart?”

He must have seen something in my eyes because he said quietly, “Yes, I am.” My knees went weak. If only my dad could have seen this!

“Can I tell you a story?” I asked.

Rod nodded.

I told him that “Have I Told You Lately” was my father’s favorite song and that just an hour earlier I’d been wondering if Dad knew how much I missed him.

Rod gently put his hand on my arm. I rested my hand on top of his. “And now I’m meeting you,” I said. “It’s crazy. Your song’s title is even on my dad’s gravestone.”

Tears came to Rod’s eyes. “Can I give you a hug?” he asked. He pulled me in tightly. “Thank you for sharing that. You made my day.”

When we let go, Rod clasped his hands together and pointed them heavenward. Then he and his companion walked away.

Kelsey, Kyle and I looked at each other and sat down on a bench. We all felt stunned. Just at the moment when I was missing my dad so badly, the rock star who sang our song crosses my path? Really? You could never plan or even imagine something like that!

But Someone had. Someone who orchestrates unforgettable encounters and writes amazing moments into the stories of our lives. I looked up into the bright blue sky. There really is no one else above him.

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