Life – Page 7 – Joyful Domesticity

April 6, 2015April 5, 2015

Easter Lessons

This year, we went out of our way to do a few more hands-on lessons and Easter preparations with the children. The older they get, of course the more they grasp ~ and it is delightful to hear their own 6, 3, and 2 year old sized insights into why we do the things we do.

On Good Friday, rather than doing our normal homeschooling routine, while the little ones had individual room time (learning to play on their own for a solid hour is a good skill to learn), Gabriel helped me clean the house. We washed windows, cleaned bathrooms, swept floors, mopped floors, did laundry, washed dishes, wiped down cupboards. And while we worked together, we talked about why we were working so hard, and why is this what we chose to do on Good Friday. When I asked Gabriel what he thought, he paused in thought, then profoundly said, “Well, today is the day we remember the whole reason why Jesus came. He came to clean our hearts. So I guess that’s why we should clean our home.” I wanted to just stop the conversation right there, and leave it at that ~ because my kid gets SO much of the Gospel story, and I love hearing his perspective on it. It’s beautiful. But we went on to talk about how Jesus served others, even though He was King of all. We talked about “our people” ~ and who are our neighbors. Gabriel even asked if he could wash my feet when we were done cleaning, because he wanted to bless me and serve me like Jesus.

But I hate to admit, I forgot about the feet-washing, because by the time we were done cleaning the house, the little ones were ready to be done with solitary playtime, and we needed to move on to the phase of dirtying things back up again. Funny how we do that in my line of work: we clean things up so we can make them dirty again!

So after a little lunch, Evangeline was ready for a nap, and the boys & I got out supplies for some crafts that would hold more lessons.

We had already dyed Easter eggs with Grandmama, Auntie, and cousins, complete with super sweet and thoughtful conversations about the metaphors, symbolism, and just plain fun of the tradition. My children and I have talked numerous times this week about the symbolism we can see in the eggs… how they symbolize the rock which closed the tomb, but new life can spring forth from it… how we can take plain eggs and give them new clothing, as we do when we take on new life in Christ… how the yolk in a cracked egg can symbolize the glorious light of Jesus’ resurrection from the dark tomb when He burst forth in glorious array…
Click here to read about Easter Egg traditions throughout the life of the Church, following the Lenten season. Even plain old Wikipedia had some great thought-provoking things about Easter Eggs, or Paschal Eggs. And for some fun nuances on Easter Egg traditions, click here and have some fun with the kids in your life.

Romans 6:4
We were buried therefore with Him by baptism into death,
in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead
by the glory of the Father,
we too might walk in newness of life.

Thanks to Ann Voskamp’s diligent sharing each and every year, I finally felt like my boys were old enough this year to really grasp & enjoy a couple more unique & detailed hands-on projects.

First we had a snack of nuts and figs, while we made a crown of thorns (using a small grapevine wreath and a few dozen coffee-stained toothpicks) and talked a lot about the events of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. Three year old Asher was nearly in tears (I love how his forehead crinkles and his chin quivers when he feels genuine sorrow), talking about Jesus being tortured, bleeding, and dying. He finally smiled again when I reminded Him that this was why Jesus came, and this is how He worked to save US from OUR sins. And in his sweet little voice, Asher proclaimed, “I sure love Jesus, Mommy.”

Matthew 27:29
…twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on His head…

Mark 15:17
…twisting together a crown of thorns, they put it on Him.

John 19:2, 5
And the soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on His head and arrayed Him in a purple robe. So Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe.

Next we went out on to the back porch and put together our own little Gethsemane. Using a small moss planter (I used this, and don’t let the word “large” fool you!), we filled it with soil. Then we set our tomb carved in the rock in the corner of the garden (I found that aquarium accessories could offer some neat options, like this cichlid stone), before filling the rest of the garden with plants. We used some little succulents we got at a local store along with some pretty decorative moss, and then Gabriel used small smooth stones to make a little pathway through the garden to the tomb. Last of all, the boys went on a stone hunt outside to find something that would serve as a tomb cover.

John 19:41
Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid.

Luke 23:55-56
The women who had come with Him from Galilee followed and saw the tomb and how His body was laid.Then they returned and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

On Good Friday, we used last week’s palm branches and our homemade crown of thorns to decorate our dinner table, when we ate lamb and roasted vegetables and matzo ball soup, along with the Seder plate with all its elements and plenty of wine.

Our kitchen island was cleared of all other decorations, and that is where we laid our own little Gethsemane. On Friday evening we closed up the tomb. On Saturday morning we found a little soldier to keep guard outside the tomb. And the children looked forward to seeing what would come of it on Sunday morning.

Matthew 27:59-60, 66
And Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen shroud and laid it in his own new tomb, which he had cut in the rock. And he rolled a great stone to the entrance of the tomb and went away. … So they went and made the tomb secure by sealing the stone and setting a guard.

Come Sunday morning, the children came downstairs to find the guard fallen down, the stone moved away, and a piece of linen folded inside the tomb.

Matthew 28:2-8
And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men.But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.He is not here, for He has risen, as He said. Come, see the place where He lay.Then go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead, and behold, He is going before you to Galilee; there you will see Him. See, I have told you.”So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell His disciples.

Luke 24:1-12
…On the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb,but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.While they were perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel.And as they were frightened and bowed their faces to the ground, the men said to them, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?He is not here, but has risen. Remember how He told you, while He was still in Galilee,that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise.”And they remembered His words,and returning from the tomb they told all these things to the eleven and to all the rest.Now it was Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James and the other women with them who told these things to the apostles,but these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.But Peter rose and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; and he went home marveling at what had happened.

They found a table set for a beautiful little breakfast. Fruit salad, hard boiled eggs with sea salt, mimosas, Easter story cookies, and Easter tomb rolls (the kids had helped me make those all on Saturday, which was really wonderful). Candles and music and the excited rush of gathering and eating and praising God together, singing Christ The Lord Is Risen Today. Gifts for each one at their place ~ books and chocolates.

Once the morning feasting was done, it came time to don our Easter clothing (clothing is hugely metaphorical and meaningful in Scripture and the history of the Church) ~ even the Easter sermon mentioned this, because we had three baptisms during the service and these Scriptures were emphasized.

Ephesians 4:17-24
Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer walk as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds.They are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart.They have become callous and have given themselves up to sensuality, greedy to practice every kind of impurity. But that is not the way you learned Christ!—assuming that you have heard about Him and were taught in Him, as the truth is in Jesus,to put off your old self,which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds,and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.

Colossians 3:12-17
Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience,bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.

Galatians 3:27
For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.

And so we got dressed in new matchy-matchy clothes (and my heart ached in all the heaviest and bestest of ways, because I have been given a family to clothe, and children who can wear sickeningly matchy outfits!), and talked about putting on Christ, putting off our old selves, putting on the new self in newness of life and the beauty of holiness, putting on love above all other things.

And then? Then the party really started. Gabriel pointed out, “there sure is a lot of joy around church and everywhere today!” and I couldn’t help but laugh. Because isn’t that just exactly, precisely the way it should be?! May the joy of the gospel, and of the Resurrected Christ, and of the hope He has given His people, shed forth from your homes, your families, your churches, and your wanderings until He comes again and everything is made new and all is set right.

To the glory of the Father, amen. Allelulia!

April 1, 2015April 1, 2015

Break Bread

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The poor man may envy the rich their houses, their lands, and their cars; but given a good wife, he rarely envies them their table,
~Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb: a Culinary Reflection, p25~

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To be sure, food keeps us alive, but that is only its smallest and most temporary work. Its eternal purpose is to furnish our sensibilities against the day when we shall sit down at the heavenly banquet and see how gracious the Lord is. Nourishment is necessary only for a while; what we shall need forever is taste.
~Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb: a Culinary Reflection, p40~

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I do want you to love what you eat, and to share food with people you love, and to gather people together, for frozen pizza or filet mignon, because I think the gathering is of great significance.
~Shauna Niequist, Bread & Wine, p17~

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God never meant man to be a purely spiritual creature. That is why He uses material things like bread and wine to put the new life into us. We may think this rather crude and unspiritual. God does not: He invented eating. He likes matter. He invented it.
~C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity~

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March 23, 2015March 23, 2015

Harping Anew

Why do we marry,
why take friends and lovers,
why give ourselves to music, painting, chemistry, or cooking?
Out of simple delight in the resident goodness of creation, of course;
but out of more than that, too.
Half of earth’s gorgeousness lies hidden
in the glimpsed city it longs to become.
For all its rooted loveliness, the world has no continuing city here;
it is an outlandish place, a foreign home, a session in via to a better version of itself—
and it is our glory to see it so and thirst until Jerusalem comes home at last.
We were given appetites,
not to consume the world and forget it,
but to taste its goodness and hunger to make it great.
~Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb: a Culinary Reflection, p189~

I love giving myself to music (among many things). Partly because music gives such joy and delight in temporal beauties, things that are here & now. Also partly because it serves a dimension that goes so far beyond that though, into the heavenly, the eternal, the glorious things that can not be touched. The way God created earth and matter and tangible things is so amazing ~ when it really comes down to it, isn’t it obvious that God did not create a veil of separation between the material and the spiritual, the temporal and the eternal? He has woven time and space, the seen and the unseen, the physical and the heavenly, in such a way that we can not grasp its dimension, we can not see its edges, we can only begin to imagine its overlaps.

When I was playing harp over the weekend, I was continually struck by this thought, and repeatedly returned to the thought that Robert Farrar Capon gives in the above quote: half of earth’s gorgeousness lies hidden in the glimpsed city it longs to become. The city that it WILL become. Music, and even particularly harp music at the moment, is one way I get to taste the goodness of the heavenly Jerusalem, glimpse the new heavens & new earth (where all my tears will be wiped away, by the way!), to taste goodness & hunger to make it great. Wonderful.

And of course this is not limited to music at all, but to other delights that the Lord gives. In what ways does God encourage YOU to thirst for heaven, and give you tastes to feed that appetite here on earth in the meanwhile?

Psalm 57:7-8
My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast!
I will sing and make melody!
Awake, my glory!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn!

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If you read my post about harping a few days ago, perhaps you wonder what ended up playing out. (Pun intended.)
I continued to pray about it the last few days, and eagerly looked forward to going to the home of Miss S to meet her and see her little lever harp. What’s funny is that this harp belonged to my own friend a couple years ago. My friend was the second owner of the harp, and sold it to Miss S, but has often told me over the last few months how she wished she still had it because it was such a sweet little harp with a pretty sound. And now, ironically, the harp is mine. 🙂 I am the fourth owner of this Allegro. My dad smilingly called it Ally yesterday. (As an aside, did you know that a lot of musicians name their instruments? And apparently it is an especially big thing in the harp world, from what I’ve heard. I am boring though, I call my instruments by their given names, their make! Athena and Allegro, then. But I thought my father was awfully cute for using a nickname, as though it were a pet or a child.)

After church, and after a quick lunch, we headed off to meet Miss S. Steven graciously stayed in the car with Asher and Evangeline, because I didn’t quite know what to expect in her home, even though she had told me on the phone that my children would be very welcome. Gabriel came in with me, and we were greeted by a lady of tall but slight stature. She oozed the essence of musician. Her home included a large area that was obviously crafted carefully into a studio. There was a place for shoes by a bench, right near a powder room, where we asked to wash our hands (I was teaching Gabriel that it is polite musicianship to wash hands prior to touching anyone’s instrument). There was a corner of the room that was filled with windows where the sunlight was streaming brightly in, with sofas. It was a lovely little sitting area, where I could easily imagine music students lining up, waiting their turn, nervously folding & unfolding hands like I used to do before my lessons. This waiting area was set apart by vertical screens of sorts that felt very Victorian in some sense. Beyond that were three baby grand pianos. Each had cushions stacked up to various heights on the benches, and little footstools to short legs to rest restless feet. There were a couple electric keyboards to one side, and more than one filing cabinet filled with music books. Oh! the organization was delightful! It made my tummy flip, it was so great. 🙂 I could see some plastic drawers that were filled with other various music teacher supplies: perhaps flash cards, theory helps, maybe even some metronomes, I don’t know. But even at first glance around when Miss S let us in, it was one of those moments where you feel like you have walked into an old fashioned music studio. I could sense Gabriel felt it too. He in his sweater vest, tie, and Irish cap ~ me in my pantyhose and high heels. It felt very… well… elegant.

As Miss S repeatedly encouraged her large black poodle to stay off to the side on a designated rug, Gabriel and I enjoyed fingering the harp. Two strings had snapped, so I pulled those out. Gabriel and I each took turns sitting, leaning the harp against our shoulder, running our fingers along the strings. I lifted each lever in turn. I felt around the column and the neck and the base for dings and dents and scratches ~ it was mostly very smooth. My friend who had previously owned this harp assured me that it had spent years being babied. 🙂 While I am not precisely sure what one does or doesn’t do in the babying of a harp, I could tell that it had not been thrown around or wildly abandoned. We played it with its four legs on (better for me), and without the legs as well (better for Gabriel). We figured out how to take it in and out of the padded carrying case ~ and, wonder of wonders, how wonderfully strange it felt to be able to pack up a harp and sling it across my shoulder! I don’t know if I have a picture anywhere from my various times carting my Athena around, but it is something of an ordeal. As tall as Steven, more than half my weight, fragile and delicate yet strong and unweildy… my father crafted and constructed a metal frame with casters, some padding and velcro straps, so that I (even when I was only 17 years old) could haul my big harp around by myself… as long as I had his Suburban, with all the rear seats out, to drive. I don’t think I have taken my harp anywhere since I played in a friend’s wedding two years ago. So the novelty of carrying a harp around, in a padded carrier, simply slung over my shoulder? It was kind of invigorating.

Gabriel handed Miss S an envelope with cash in it, and our contact information on the outside. She asked if he would come back to visit her, and bring the harp, to play her something once he has learned a song or two.
She gave us extra strings, the tuning key, and a small stack of harp music books to zip into the outer pocket of the harp carrier. It was shockingly easy to fit the harp in the back of the car: I simply set it in the back! And it fit with much room to spare, even with a large cooler, a basket full of Bibles & water bottles, and a small pile of other things that always live in the back of the vehicle (like a miniature potty, jumper cables, and a small plastic bin of emergency kid care like clothes, snacks, acetaminophen, and plenty of wipes). I couldn’t help but laugh. “Harp” and “portability” have never been simultaneous in my vocabulary or experience before, so this is a new delight.

Psalm 92:1-4
It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
to sing praises to Your name, O Most High;
to declare Your steadfast love in the morning,
and Your faithfulness by night,
to the music of the lute and the harp,
to the melody of the lyre.
For You, O Lord, have made me glad by Your work;
at the works of Your hands I sing for joy.

I made sure to ask more than once, if Miss S was certain she was ready to part with her little harp. She sounds very busy with teaching piano and developing a new instructional method for playing by ear, and said that something like playing harp with any diligence or frequency is a few years out for her, and in the meantime, a wide car + narrow garage has left her with a new purpose for the money we would give her.
And then she said that she just really felt a peace about our home being the right home for this Allegro.
She remarked numerous times how it matched us, our coloring and our hair. How perfectly it suited my Gabriel.
How it just seemed “like a God thing” for the timing to happen how it did.

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And I could not agree more.
I told her about how I took a little step of faith by saying no to a harp just like this one about forty-five minutes before she called me last week. How it might be a very small thing in the big scheme of life and holiness, but it was still waiting on the Lord for His direction and His provision. I told her what an encouragement it is in times like these, to have pictures and experiences of the Lord reminding us that He knows all our desires, He cares about our wants & needs, He holds even the smallest of details in His sovereign hands.

And whether He says yes or no (in big things as well as in little things), He is good and wise and altogether wonderful.

Psalm 71:22
I will also praise You with the harp
for Your faithfulness, O my God;
I will sing praises to You with the lyre,
O Holy One of Israel.

So the corner of our family room has a new little lever harp tucked into the corner with my piano and my faithful pedal harp. The children enjoyed playing it yesterday. And Gabriel and I played our first duets.

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The goodness of the Lord in the land of the living, as we look ahead through these little glimpses into the glories He has prepared for us in the heavenly kingdom, is sweet and lovely. And He is good.

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March 19, 2015March 19, 2015

Harping

Psalm 98:5

Sing praises to the Lord with the lyre,
with the lyre and the sound of melody!

While you read this, you should listen to this music because it’s just the perfect soundtrack.

When I was a teenager, after having been a pianist since I was four years old, I became intrigued with the harp. I think it was in 2000 that I began taking harp lessons, and my father shortly thereafter surprised me by buying me my very own gorgeous pedal harp. A Camac Athena with an extended soundboard (for anyone who cares :lol: ), a honey color, matching my hair and my complexion. I love this thing. It’s gorgeous and healing and splendid. Once I played well enough, I joined a local youth symphony as their principal harpist (although I quickly became too old to remain in it), and did hired gigs every now & then to make a little bit of money. I continued taking lessons until college kept me too busy (ironic, considering I was a music major), and my poor beautiful harp gathered dust under her maroon dust cover. She still stood gallantly in the corner of my family room, and she went unplayed, untuned, some could even say unloved. For years.

I finally started getting back into it after I was married, playing occasionally for church, and even for a friend’s wedding.
This last year, I decided I wanted to make a concerted effort to get back into playing music more diligently. I started with piano. Every evening. For a minimum of thirty minutes. I have slowly started incorporating harp back into my routine, at least a few days a week. My fingers are getting good callouses again, and I am learning to keep my fingernails trimmed appropriately. At our new church (we’ve been there for nearly a year now!), there are two other harpists, and they have gladly inspired me to get back into harping. They are at two ends of the spectrum: one plays only lever harps, is self-taught, and prefers non-Classical music; the other plays any and all harps, has been professionally taught since she was six years old, has studied under some of the best harpists in this generation all over the world, makes a living as a professional harpist, and plays anything under the sun. They both encourage me by their music and their examples, and whether they are trying to or not, they have watered the seed of desire in my soul to increase my skill on the harp as well as broaden my sights ~ what kind of harp, what kind of music, whether I am professionally instructed or self-exhorted…

It has been gloriously fun to fall in love with harp again.

But then came a dilemma: I can not take my harp anywhere. I don’t have a vehicle anymore that it fits in. Sure, I could still borrow my dad’s old (I’m tempted to call it “beat up” but I don’t want to be crude! :lol: ) Suburban, take the seats out of it, and haul my 6’2″ tall and 71lb instrument places to share music with others. But it’s not all that realistic, at least not with any kind of frequency.

So about two months ago (it was actually right before Christmas that I started with the desire, but only in mid-January to early-February that I started legitimately looking), I began the search for another instrument. A new harp.

I almost wanted to just buy anything that I could get the soonest. Wasn’t sure I wanted to be discerning about maker or model. Figured since I am no professional, it doesn’t matter if I compare harps a lot or play something before I buy it, because to my amateur ears & fingers, a harp is a harp is a harp. Right?

Well, my harpist friends didn’t really agree.

After some fun discussions and more than my fair share of online searches, I became convinced that I was looking primarily for a certain make (Dusty Strings) and model (Allegro 26). I came up with a budget (and harps are not cheap, let me tell you), that I figured was reasonable… and while my professional harpist friend lead me to think I might have to wait quite a while to find something within my budget that was not a total beater, I knew that if I were supposed to have this harp and keep this budget, the Lord would provide.

And honestly, I figured I would be waiting many months. In my head, I was kind of hoping I could find one by Christmas.

Then yesterday happened.

I found a listing online (through a magazine called Harp Column, which is snazzy) for the exact harp I was looking for. But I am in Washington state, and this harp was in Florida. But I contacted the seller, we emailed back & forth, we spoke on the phone for a while. And she was asking one hundred dollars less than I was hoping to pay, and said if I gave her $100 for shipping, we would call it even, regardless of what shipping would end up costing (and it seemed, from preliminary glances, that shipping would be anywhere from $75 to $300). I told her that I would pray about it, talk to my husband about it, and get back to her. She said she had two other interested buyers, but that she would put them both off for another day, and wait for my decision.

I spent a while yesterday praying about it, and dreaming about it, and getting excited about the opportunity to have a harp that I could actually fit in the back of my SUV, could take places to share with people, could play at church, could use for a blessing for others and not just myself. And I forwarded all the information, including pictures, to my local professional harpist friend. She was excited for me! So excited, in fact, that she called someone locally here who owns an Allegro harp (the type that I was hoping to buy from Florida), to ask if I could stop by and play hers before I committed to having one shipped to me from the farthest corner of the country. And then a funny thing happened: the lady said, “funny you should call about it, because I was just thinking how I haven’t had time to play my harp in so long, and maybe I should just sell it. Maybe your friend would just like to buy mine.” So I got the woman’s phone number and gave her a call. But she didn’t answer. I left a message. I didn’t know if she was really serious, and half expected her never to call back.

My husband eventually got home, and we talked about harps. We talked about using our money wisely, and what I would do with having two harps (in addition to my baby grand piano, a set of handbells, and an Irish hand drum – not to mention a couple of penny whistles my parents brought from Ireland, and two different sized guitars in the house) to make it not ridiculous to spend the time and money and space on a new little harp. Suddenly, it was time to let the woman in Florida know my decision. I so much wanted to say yes, and just have her ship it on out to me so that I knew there was a guarantee of something in my budget coming my way that I could use to encourage my own soul and to bless the souls of others around me!

And yet, we decided to say no.

It felt almost counterintuitive to decline the harp from Florida, when it was the exact harp I was looking for, and exactly in the budget I had come up with.

We got in the car to head to church for a Lenten dinner and service.
On the 50 minute drive last evening, I was feeling a sense of sadness. Peaceful though. I knew that if God wanted me to have another harp, He would make it excessively clear. So saying no thank you to that harp made me sad, but the Lord gave me peace. When (if ever) it was the right harp and the right time, we would know. And my husband, honestly, did not feel all that comfortable with buying something three thousand miles away, and having a perilous journey for the delicate instrument outside our control, never having been able to play it or hear it before spending the money and making the commitment.

So was said no, but were very grateful for the woman’s time spent with me. And I told her that I hoped one of the other two interested people would pan out quickly for her.

And then, just before we pulled into our church’s parking lot, my phone rang.

It was the local woman with the same little harp!

While my husband gathered our things and went in to the church building, I talked to her. A sweet, older sounding lady who was very chatty. And she invited me to come to her home, which is only about thirty minutes from mine, to meet her and play her harp.

So after church this coming Sunday, I have a date with this woman and her Allegro… and if I fall in love with her harp, as she said she is sure I will, I might come home with it that very day. :happytears: I told her that since this all came up so suddenly, and it’s not like she was actively looking for a buyer and trying to sell her harp, that if she wanted me not to bring my checkbook but just to come visit and talk together, I was happy to move more slowly. And she assured me that either way, she was comfortable. She said I sounded lovely, and that any friend of my professional harpist friend would make a good home for her beloved little Allegro, and she felt at peace with saying that she could say goodbye to it even as soon as this Sunday.

So I don’t know what will happen for sure. But I do know that this wee saga encouraged me, once again, that God knows all the desires of my heart, and He does not let any detail past His control. Right down to the timing of me needing to say no to a harp on the East Coast just forty-five minutes before the phone rang with a possible yes to a harp practically right here in my own backyard. And how much would the harp locally cost? My budgeted amount exactly, right down to the dollar.

Once Sunday comes and goes, I will share the ending to this story. Or maybe it will simply be the beginning of another story.

Maybe my beautiful Athena is about to get a sweet little sister called Allegro. And if so, I will share pictures of my harps with you.

Psalm 33:2

Give thanks to the Lord with the lyre;
make melody to him with the harp of ten strings!

March 17, 2015March 19, 2015

St. Patrick’s Day

Someone is trying to wake me. It’s so hard to shake myself out of a dream. Dreams can be so thick. It holds me, even though two minutes later once my eyes blink into the light and see a familiar face, I have completely forgotten what gripped me so strongly. Long cold drinks of water to say goodbye to sleepiness, and long warm kisses to say goodbye to my husband. He leaves with two baking pans full of fresh cinnamon rolls. One topped with Irish coffee icing, the other drizzled with bright green liquid sugar. I think I deserve a pot of gold for sending in goodies on a Tuesday. Right? Or at least a rainbow maybe?

Rainbow.
I open the blinds. It is raining, the grass suddenly looks so green and the hills so misty. It is a very Irish day.
No rainbow though. Not yet. Keep looking.

CHRIST BE WITH ME

Clothes on. Whoops ~ blue and pink do not make green. And nobody will believe me if I tell them my underthings are green. And I won’t prove it. So green earrings and green scarf. There. Head to the kitchen singing St. Patrick’s Breastplate. Twice.

Coffee made, vitamins swallowed, crockpot turned on (sighing thankful that I put this together last night), recipe for colcannon queued up for the afternoon.
Time to rustle the children. Why is it that the days when they need to be up early are the days their little bodies rest like rag dolls under their blankets? Moist heads with heavy eyelids. I kiss fuzzy cheeks. I snuggle warm bodies. Then I turn on the light and rip back the covers. Oooooh, morning feels so harsh sometimes.

But then they remember. Donuts!!
They hurry to put on clothes. I remember to make them put on something green. Since we will be out in public, and I don’t know if kids are mean these days or not, but when I was little, you got pinched if you didn’t have green on. Whether someone knew you or not, suddenly they thought they had the right to squeeze your flesh between their fingernails if you were not wearing a proper color. Strange tradition. My mommy bear instinct kicks in, and I make sure the boys wear their brightest green sweaters of all. Top their coppertops with Irish hats straight from the island herself, and there we go. We are channeling all our Irish heritage we can at the moment.

Take a sip of coffee, shuffle the boys off to the bathroom, head down to dress the girl. She has a splendid green dress with orange flowers and butterflies. The orange accents please her father, as he annually reminds me that green is for Catholics and orange is for Protestants. I don’t know if I have ever taken the time to even so much as google the truth or tradition behind that… but I believe him, and I take a moment of delight in the fact that my daughter can wear both green & orange with much success. Little bow on her head, little shoes on her feet. Don’t forget blankie and baby doll! The day would be ever so rough without them.

Pop these little people in the car. Oh bother: where are my keys? These things really should come with radar tracking systems built in. Why are there so many purses and diaper bags to search through? Jacket pockets? Nooks & crannies? Hmm. Good thing there are travel cups of milk to pass out to the kids along with granola bars and apple slices, to keep them blissfully unaware in their carseats while I frantically search through the house for the fob. Honestly. A second car key might be nice (hint, hint, darling: Mother’s Day is coming!).

Finally, it emerges from the bottom of a third diaper bag. Of course. I can never remember which bag I took last. On my to do list: improve my memory. One of these days. Perhaps my large cup of morning vitamins needs some additional zinc or ginko biloba or some such magic.

CHRIST WITHIN ME

Here we go! Ten minutes late, but nobody the wiser.
Driving in a misty morning with coffee in hand is delightful. It is St. Patrick’s Day though, so perhaps I should have thought better and splashed in a dash of whiskey to make it Irish coffee. Oh wait, no, better that I didn’t ~ I am driving, after all.
Rain. Potholes. Puddles. Ponds! Windshield wipers. No umbrellas though. I might not have channeled enough Irish in me to remember that far.

I am able to take some back roads to make up time, and we get to the donut shop only three minutes late. The homeschool tour hasn’t quite started yet. About twenty children dolled up in all kinds of bright green shirts and shoes and headbands are lined up, waiting. We walk in just as a Krispy Kreme employee says good morning, leprechauns. My boys tug at my shirt, wanting to know what in the world is a leprechaun and why were they called such a strange word? They are an obvious combination of offended and concerned. A man stands here with a big blob of stretchy dough that looks like it has green sprinkles in it and asks if everyone would like to touch it. Evangeline takes one look at it & declares, rather loudly, messy. The boys suddenly revert to shy copies of themselves, and hide behind my blue jeans.

Watching through glass walls. Mixers, dough, ovens, bakers, bowls of green icing, conveyer belts covered in donuts like bugs processing on my sidewalk, a lustrous white waterfall that glazes them while the children press noses against the windows & make impressed oooooohing sounds. Children all around me, my own three little copper tops buzzing around from window to window, trying to figure out the best viewing point for the baking process.

CHRIST BEHIND ME

An employee scrubs and squeegies the walls of windows. Goodbye fingerprints. Goodbye breath ghosts. Goodbye residual sneezes. Goodbye splatters of icing and melted cooking oil. Children are enthralled with the scrubbing and the squeegie. Especially the squeegie.
Gabriel asks, if I buy him a squeegie, will I pay him to wash all our windows?
Dollar signs and overflowing piggy banks fill his brain.
Clean windows without the aching arms and streak-free countryside views fill mine.
How big of an investment is a squeegie, I wonder?

The window washing is done. Another employee emerges from the kitchen with two boxes of perfectly shaped, perfectly golden, perfectly warm, perfectly glossy donuts. We are given free glazed donuts, and the children squirm their bums onto a green faux-leather booth with delight. They grab at sugary rounds. Fingers and faces suddenly glazed with the familiar white sheen. Wiggles and giggles ensue. They return to the glass walls to peer once again at the baking process. Windows are no longer clean. Hello fingerprints. Hello breath ghosts. Hello sneezes.

CHRIST BEFORE ME

People eventually leave. We are the last to file out of the donut shop, complete with two dozen donuts in hand. Why not? St. Patrick brought the Gospel to people, why shouldn’t we bring donuts to people?
A phone call to one friend who lives nearby – they are in Seattle. Hm, no donuts for them I guess.
Another phone call to another nearby friend – unfortunately the day is just not going to work out for a visit there either. Bah humbug.
Sticky-fingered children buckled in their seats. Mommy, who remembers her love for the gooey deliciousness of Krispy Kremes but is not allowed to indulge in such a sugary glutinous delicacy, still smelling the twenty-four donuts on the seat beside me, making one more phone call.

This friend knows we are coming. They are ready for playtime and chats and donuts. Ten minutes of driving and chatting with little ones about donuts and baking and legends of leprechauns, and we pull into the driveway of dear friends. It feels familiar and wonderful to see faces of loved ones, exchange hugs, tell stories of recent life, play ball, build a fort out of cardboard & couch cushions. Children play loudly. Mommies try to converse over the din. We take turns taking a child out for discipline or potty trips. My friend scales their staircase three separate times to retrieve more superhero costume pieces for super boys. Conversation helps us share life ~ conversing in the same physical space not parted by computers or cell phone towers makes the sharing extra tangible.

CHRIST BESIDE ME

Then the crying begins. My daughter is screaming almost inconsolably. This is a mind-boggling moment, where the little girl clings to me, clings to her blankie, clings to her baby doll ~ but cannot tell me why she is crying, if she is sad or hurting or scared. We take this as our exit, pack up our things, take turns at the potty, leave two (only two of twenty-four!) donuts behind us with our friends, I shuffle two happy boy and one unhappy girl out to the car. It is still sprinkling, the clouds still rest in wispy tufts around the tall pine trees, and I stumble in a little puddle. After I buckle the carseats once again, and my sad girl continues in her weeping punctuated by little gaspy sobs every couple of breaths, I shut the door for a moment. I put my hands on my hips superman-style and take a deep breath. It is a beautiful day, and my car is filled with life. Life strapped into protective seats simply because these lives are particularly precious and life itself is so volatile in its unpredictability. Before strapping myself into a seat where the noisy chaos of playful boys, crying girl, and cranked up Jamie Soles on the speakers would pound in my head, I breathe in the fresh air of March. I think of how cooling and life-giving the raindrops are. Even the mist. I quickly glance around for a rainbow. Still no rainbow in sight.

I climb in the car, take one of a few remaining sips of my morning coffee, and accelerate down the road. I tell myself to smile, tell the boys to be cheerful, even though our joy girl remains inconsolable. The very present picture of unrest, of joy trying to take over sadness, of comfort banging heads with discomfort, of pain having victory over peace… it busied my brain while I drove. I just kept driving. And driving.

CHRIST TO WIN ME

Unfortunately, I had a couple of errands to run. Oh Lord, be with me, as these tired little souls and their weary wee bodies in the backseat want nothing more than more donuts, and a cozy movie on the couch while the rain splatters down on the green fields by our country home. But here we remain, zooming along big roads and a busy highway, in the city.

Suddenly it hits me: call my hubby.
Darling, I’m coming! Please come sit with the children so I can run my important, time-sensitive errand!

And he does. Oh! Isn’t it just like a husband to put his things aside, and come to the wife’s rescue? To humbly sit in a car where his daughter is screaming, another son has begun to cry because nasty molars are slicing caverns into the gums in the back of his jaw, and the remaining son begs simply for another green donut.

CHRIST TO COMFORT AND RESTORE ME

I go inside a tall, boring beige building. But I don’t particularly find this building boring. I have spent blood and tears in this building many times, let me tell you. I run my errand. It takes twenty-five minutes. And during this time, I have quiet around me. I know that my husband is gently leading our children, even if that just means letting them cry the tears that need to be shed and filling mouths & bellies with another round of donuts.

And while I quietly go about my errand, and my thoughts wander to each one of my children and their various current wellbeings, my mind goes to my Savior. And how many times He has saved me before, saved my children, saved my family. In so many varied, both complicated and simple, scenarios. Knowing that this omnipresent Savior is both with me in this quiet moment and in the car with the rest of my family in their discordant moments is comforting, sweet. He is holding us up, and gives us the strength to stand, to endure, the continue on. Even with this day’s tasks and joys and struggles and hiccups. Sometimes He gives us psalms, sometimes He gives us outstretched arms of His people, sometimes He gives us green sugary donuts. Sometimes all three.

CHRIST BENEATH ME

Upon my return to the car, it seems that everyone is about in the same shape that I had left them. None the worse is sometimes all that we can ask for, right? And it’s still a gift. One entire donut box is empty now, so there’s that at least.

With a kiss and a knowing smile, my husband heads back to work, and I head back to the fray of the car, facing another 25 mile drive with crying children. I feel so hungry, dizzy, faint. I can’t reach my water bottle, my coffee cup is empty. The only snacks left in the car are literally oozing with gluten. Why did I let the kids eat all the grapes, oranges, and apples without leaving any for myself? My ears start to ring, my tummy growls, my palms get clammy. In the distance on the right I see, no, not a rainbow, but it might as well have been: golden arches! Yessss. Just what we need to drive out the hissing snakes of tears and fears and dizzy hunger pangs. I swerve into the turn lane, and immediately find myself in the McDonald’s drive thru. Some solutions are greasy and salty, and perfectly scrumptious with every bite. I pass the french fries around and find my water bottle. Ah! Christ’s banishing of evil things are sometimes such little gifts, but you know what they say: good things come in small packages. Red paper cups filled with hot shoe-string potatoes definitely qualify.

We keep driving. The crying won’t stop once the french fries run out. So I call our friendly neighborhood pediatrician and tell him, without explanation, that we are on our way. I divert our course and we head a different direction, off to see Dr. Grandpapa. Stethoscope, thermometer, otoscope. Rather than driving the children to further tears, they bring calmness and peace. Funny how familiarity is so comforting, even when it invades our personal bubble in strange ways.

Another ear infection for the daughter. Aha. Now it begins to make sense. A molar pushing its way through a gum for a son, its iceberg nature causing more trauma beneath the surface than we can even understand. So we head out for antibiotics and acetaminophen. And movies. We simply have to make a quick run to the library while we’re at it, and see what kind of videos I can grab to keep these little guys happy. Such a gift from the digital era!

CHRIST ABOVE ME

Finally. Home. Windshield wipers are tired. The clouds still hang. I tuck boys in beds with blankets and set up a laptop so they can begin cycling through library dvds. It begins with Mickey Mouse. It ends with superheroes. Of course.

I unload the car while she cries, and then my arms are finally free. Open and ready for her. Desperate to cling to her and snuggle her, to put my chin on top of her head, to whisper in her aching ear that everything is going to be okay. She seems to believe me. Oh wait: her eyes have caught sight of Sofia The First. Well. If that’s all it takes right now to make her world a beautiful place of sunshine and rainbows, even while the clouds continue to drop their rains outside, that’s good enough for me. She lift her onto my bed with me. Push play. Snuggle deep into pillows. She climbs onto my lap, and rests a weary head against my breast. Chest still heaves with occasional leftover sobs. Little dimpled hand holds onto my finger. I kiss her moist head. Rest my cheek on her ruffled locks. She watches princesses on the television. I watch her, my princess, and cry because of the beauty of moments like this.

CHRIST IN QUIET

Eventually she is ready to lie down on her own in her bed. Medications are such a gift to the hurting, the sick, the suffering. Blankies and babies and nightlights, likewise. God gives us tangible things to take with us for the slaying of dragons, whether the dragons are owies or infections, bullies or nightmares. It is so easy to give way in our spirits to dread or doubt or fear or anxiety, or all combined together. While my daughter takes blankie and baby doll to the comfort of her bed with the nightlight shedding some peace in the room, I turn to books and blogs for my own armor. I have felt evil prowling about even today. If I wanted to deliver donuts in the place of gospel this morning, I guess now I fight inward serpents who threaten to bite and constrict rather than Irish snakes. But regardless of the littleness of my battles in my world, they are still battles. And I am still thankful for the strong together to whom I run, and for the armor He provides. I drink it in through my eyes, my fingers, my brain, my heart, my soul. I am fortified. Because He is my Fortress.

And I’m ready to face what’s next. And that’s when my husband walks in, and causes me to remember that’s what’s next is dinner. And while the crockpot has done its wonderful magic all day, corned beef is only one part of the sustenance I’ve got planned. Time to go weild knives and light fires, people: it’s time to cook dinner. Fight for victory!

CHRIST IN DANGER

We spend the evening sharing food with one another, and even my daddy joins us around our table. The house smells of beef and spices, onions and cabbage. I mash potatoes with leeks and cabbage, smothering it all with milk and butter and salt. Humble things, yes, but delicious, and it has a really fun name, colcannon. Undeniably Irish sounding, isn’t it? Asher, at one point, thought I said Uncle Colin rather than colcannon, but I assured him that they are two distinctively different delights. There is Guinness on the table, and a hard apple cider, and even the children delight in the tasting. Cool water is guzzled as though we have had salt and sugar in abundance today… oh, I guess, perhaps that is because we have. The child on my right asks for thirds on corned beef. The child on my left asks only for colcannon… four times, I fill her plate with large dollops of colcannon. The child across the table from me pretty much just wants another green donut… I rack my brain to do the math to figure out how many donuts that child has eaten today already… it might be half a dozen, give or take.

When the middle child goes potty and calls out for someone to clean his bum, we are all called in for a serious look at what has happened. We get a very visual education on the idea that “what goes in must come out,” and we realize that Krispy Kreme must use a very lively green food coloring for their donuts. What Asher produces, and is rather proud of, looks nearly radioactive. I don’t think I will ever eat a green donut again, even if I were to find a low-sugar gluten-free version. Asher has taken the surprise out of green donuts for me forever.

Dinner is a jovial hour of eating, drinking, chatting, laughing around the table. The grandfather tells jokes with us. He does math problems with the 3 year old, using green grapes for manipulatives. I didn’t know my young boy already knew 2+2 and 3+1, for instance. Grapes make math delicious and graspable. Then the 6 year old takes the grandfather aside to have some kind of deep conversations for ten minutes in private, as he so loves to do. Sometimes they discuss medical cases, sometimes theological questions, sometimes science experiments, sometimes knock knock jokes. On this particular night, I am not given a hint, I am left in the dark. Eventually, the 2 year old gets a turn with her grandfather, and once she is in jammies, he rocks her in the dimly light nursery. He sings at her request: Holy Holy, Glory Be, Blessed The Man, Lord’s Prayer. He sings things, thirty years in the making, that he used to sing to her mother in a like rocking fashion. Her pain seems gone, her heart seems encouraged, her thumb wet and wrinkly, her blankie clutched at her cheek, her eyes droopy. Grandpapa eventually lays her down in the comforting solace of her crib.

CHRIST IN HEARTS OF ALL THAT LOVE ME

With children in bed, my father gone home, my husband getting ready to call it a night, I go to my instruments. I play St. Patrick’s Breastplate on both piano and harp. I sing. I tinker. I try to find pieces of music with titles that are Irish, Scottish, Welsh, British. Definitely time to go on Amazon and order another songbook or two of things labeled Celtic, because I just don’t seem to have quite what I’m looking for.

Music played for half an hour of invigorating solitude, children lulled into their dreams, husband waiting.
I quickly shower and crawl beneath the duvet. We hold hands while we watch a little television and enjoy some random distraction from the day’s duties & delights. Then it’s lights-out finally, and I can almost feel the nightly rest grab me and pull me down into my pillow.

He says goodnight, we kiss & kiss again, we spoon, we draw the covers close around our chins and scootch our heads into the best positions on our pillows. The rain still falls lightly outside, but I know the stars are out there. The children are sleeping, their cries are silenced and their pains are numbed, their dreams have begun and their little bodies are snuggled like as many cocoons in their own beds under their own comforters. And what Comforter is here holding us all, in our own rooms and our own beds?

Our Father, the Christ, the true Comforter. He is here with us. We know His gospel, we have felt His peace, we have experienced His sustaining grace not only before but today. In the moments that He gave us on this day. In the donuts and the corned beef. In the friends and the store clerks. In the children, the parents, the siblings, the strangers. And even now with our eyes closed and our breaths slowing into rhythms we don’t even know how to replicate, He continues to give us His grace. And He is our rainbow, our promise of peace and life, the sign and seal that God is always good in all things. That no matter what happens when we rise tomorrow, He will again be here with us. And we can not escape Him. Like St. Patrick before us who went hither and thither, we too know that our Lord is always with us, and His gospel is always the foundation, the beginning and the end, the first and the last, and priceless to carry with us to all we meet.

With this in mind, I quietly praise the Lord for my husband, my children, my home, my Christ.
And I fall asleep, ready and hoping to meet Him under rainbows in my dreams.

CHRIST IN MOUTH OF FRIEND AND STRANGER

March 15, 2015March 16, 2015

Resting in His Image on His Day

…Above all you shall keep My Sabbaths, for this is a sign between me and you throughout your generations, that you may know that I, the Lord, sanctify you. You shall keep the Sabbath, because it is holy for you… a Sabbath of solemn rest, holy to the Lord…It is a sign forever between Me and the people of Israel that in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day He rested and was refreshed.
Exodus 31:13-17

Around here, we love Sundays. We love the routines it carries, the rest it brings. It is an anchor for our week, the most predictable day of all.

A Sunday here is typically quite simple in structure yet profound in what it represents. Rest is indisputably delightful, in its various manifestations and representations! All five of us cling to the joy of resting on the Lord’s Day. We go to bed earlier than normal on Saturdays so we are well rested—in order to be prepared for the day of rest! (What could be more wonderful preparation than that?!) We have some of our best & favorite foods and wear some of our best & favorite clothes. We go to church to worship the King and be with His people. One of my favorite things about Sundays, personally, is how we covenantally ascend into heaven (just read Hebrews 12 for yourself) during corporate worship, because it makes me feel so intimately close with my nine babies in heaven. We commune through bread and wine with the Lord and with one another. We sing and pray, pass the peace of Christ to one another and find ways to shower grace upon each other, share conversation and fellowship and food and handshakes or hugs. While sometimes Sundays include hospitality, family parties and meals at the grandparents’ house, or spending hours with friends, we do sincerely love Sunday afternoons that offer us quiet hours at home—not to fret over schoolwork and house projects and cleaning nooks & crannies, but to play together and rest together. We love enjoying God’s creation on His day, from many vantage points and in varied ways. We have a special family tradition on Sunday evenings of eating goodies and doing something fun—for this current season of our little family’s life, it usually looks like eating popcorn & ice cream while snuggling & watching movies. After kids are tucked in their beds, it also means date night for my husband & me—with wine, chocolate, cheese, and sometimes a movie just for us.

Sundays—the Lord’s Day—our Sabbath—is a foretaste of heavenly rest, and a recurrent (utterly joyful and blessed!) reminder that our hardworking life should be predictably punctuated by worship and delight. And it isn’t just because in our human frailty we need a break from the six other days where we run around working hard, being as productive as we can manage, and having an undercurrent of diligent & dedicated labors. It is, after all, a good reminder that God did not rest on the seventh day of creation because He was exhausted. He rested to delight in His work.

God did not rest because He was tired.
He rested so that those made in His image
would share in His rest through worship.
He rested so that He could turn Adam and Eve’s attention
from the creation to the Creator.
In a sense, God was saying to Adam and Eve and all humanity,
“Come and rest in who I am and what I have accomplished.
Enjoy with me the goodness of all I have made.”
This was to establish a rhythm of
engagement with the world through work
and then thankful enjoyment of the world through worship.
~Nancy Guthrie, The Promised One, p45~

Some Sundays are more placid than others. Sometimes our resting is kind of… well… flat out energetic and lively and noisy or busy enough to even border on chaotic.

In fact, at this very moment—while I might be reclining on a comfy bed with a cozy comforter snuggled on top of me and a cup of tea within reach—I have an excessively wiggly and noisy two year old girl going up and down, up and down, up and down… screaming and giggling and babbling, trying to grab at the computer keys or spill my tea cup… while a video booms with bright images and loud soundtrack in a corner of the room and children carry on with continual commentary, occasionally interspersing requests for a water bottle, popcorn or ice cream refill, or simply expressing utter delight in sharing goodies with one another on this special day of the week.

And this is after lots of lively fellowship & projects at Sunday school, loud singing during worship (although I must confess that the entire corporate worship service is beautifully rich and peaceful even in our busy pew), a boisterous lunch at a crowded Red Robin restaurant (mac & cheese, ketchup, and juicy orange segments seemed to get absolutely everywhere!), and a long chatterbox-filled 26-mile drive home.

But these in fact are some of the best ways that we see Christ, His goodness, His rest, His future hope—in the people He put around us, and especially those in our own home under our own discipleship. We turn our hearts to Him and tune our souls to His praise, resting in who He is, what He has done, and delightfully embracing these living temples where He lives right here among us—but sometimes the resting is clamorous and rollicking rather than quiet and what you might describe as serene.

But whichever way our Sabbath rest takes us on a given day, we delight in the gift of the Lord’s Day (Mark 2:27), knowing that the Lord accepts our worship, covers us with grace, and fills us up on this day that He has set aside for us (and in return, we set it aside for Him) so that we can once again go forth to labor for another six days in His creation before being called again to this sanctified day—this day where we enjoy all that God has made, and where we delight in six days of productivity and rest in enjoyment of His sweet grace in so many of its innumerable manifestations.

Serenity, silence, and solitude are good things.
God uses quietness to tune our heart to listen to Him through His Word.
Silence can help us pray without added distractions.
In the peacefulness of our surroundings,
the Lord can still our busy heart.
“Truly alone” time with the Lord is a gift.
But so are the times when you’re ringmastering your family circus.
The Lord is just as near to you when you’re
using a bulb sucker on a tiny, congested nose
and as you’re summoning the wisdom of Solomon
to settle a spat over a disputed toy.
~Gloria Furman, Treasuring Christ When Your Hands are Full, p72~

And now it’s clear that I need to move on to ringmastering my family circus down for the night… the three rings are busy and the tents are bouncing. I have a little girl here who can’t seem to decide whether she is a dancing poodle, a trapeze artist, or toy juggler—and it’s always fun to wrangle acrobats into their beds. So excuse me please while I go tuck these little God-images into their beds, and watch them drift into the rest of sleep as the rest from His day prepares them (and me!) for another six days of working the ground the Lord has put into our hands.

March 13, 2015

Timelessness

Sometimes a timeless moment in the midst of an ordinarily epic life story looks blurry from the speed and excitement… and it’s extra timeless when my son is wearing a flannel shirt my mother sewed for my brother 30 years ago, and my daughter is wearing the Osh Kosh overalls my brother and I both wore in the early eighties. This was an explosion of an evening in the most mundane little ways, because the sunset was gorgeous, the evening was mild, and the children were so giggly.

P1200634

Your life, right now, today, is exploding
with energy and power and detail and dimension,
better than the best movie you have ever seen.

You and your family and your friends
and your house and your dinner table
and your garage have all the makings
of a life of epic proportions,
a story for the ages.

Because they all are.
Every life is.

~Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines, p18~

March 12, 2015March 12, 2015

Morning {Motherhood} Glory

The glory of motherhood comes camouflaged in so much chaos.
~Lisa-Jo Baker, Surprised By Motherhood, p198~

This morning, after waking my soul by praying in the dark under the warmth of a duvet, I managed to pull myself out of bed before the kids were even stirring. Kissing my husband goodbye is always bittersweet—sending him off to tame his portion of the wild, to tend the domain put into his hands—getting kisses for the kids, and extra for myself to carry me through until our lips meet again. A new day, new mercies. Even old things feel new sometimes, like these soft morning kisses that spark my soul.

I shuffle out of the bedroom, turn on music and set lavender candles ablaze in the hushed morning. Sunshine not yet streaming over the foggy hills in the east, I start the fire, put away dishes, put in a load of laundry, proof yeast & set the mixer kneading, make a dark cup of coffee. I set out little bowls of raisins & Cheerios, with cups of milk alongside, and vitamins resting in the spoons. Chairs lined up on one side of our table—one, two, three. I pause for a moment over the mercy that that number is. Three.

I dress in my workout clothes and put a heating pad on my back, then sit at my desk with coffee and books and blogs and Scriptures. I empty myself in spirit and ask the Lord to fill me up with Himself. I find Him in friends and pastors and authors. I find Him in a couple short email conversations.

Then I find Him in one of my favorite places, wrapped in the softest skin, whispers and muted footsteps coming down the stairs. The gate at the bottom of the steps creaks. I see two little red heads and four bright blue eyes peering secretly around the corner at me. They begin to sneak on tiptoes around the kitchen island, coming up behind me to surprise their mommy. I pretend not to know, to play their game, to give them joy—which then gives me joy right back. Boo!

Giggles ensue. With many kisses, a dozen tight hugs.

They run to their little sister’s room, eager to have her join their antics. They know we are incomplete without her. Soon a little caramel topped girl, dolls tucked under each arm, joins the tiptoeing, the giggling. I can no longer hear my own thoughts, the psalms that are playing on the stereo are drowned out, the beeping washing machine and oven timer might be going off but I wouldn’t know it.

Eventually, three sets of tummies begin to growl, I put my books back in a stack in the far corner of my desk, then help three little bums to their chairs. Three sets of hands fold, three copper topped heads bow.

It’s quiet, I hear lungs breathing and noses sniffling. I hear the fire crackle, outside raindrops, the spin cycle on the washing machine. Three little miracles, quiet here knowing they are about to give thanks to their Creator, preaching to one another their faith even as it comes out their folded fingertips in routines. This is a holy moment, holy ground, even with mundane Cheerios before us and an empty coffee cup in my hand—because we are quiet in the presence of God, Who is always with us, and this is one of those moments where my children talk with Him together, and where we praise Him for His provision of both big & little things. In one breath, with the pandemonium suddenly subdued, this moment and this place feel purely consecrated.

Who wants to pray? I whisper, almost afraid to ruin the sacred moment.

I do it, the littlest one whispers right back. And she does—in a hushed tone, with entwined fingers and bowed head, and eyes rapidly blinking because she doesn’t yet know how to keep them closed tight. Unprompted, she prays: God. Thank You. Food. Milk. Vitamins. Daddy. Mommy. Gabriel. Asher. God. Thank You. Food. Bless us. God. Thank You. JesusnameAMEN.

Hands unfold to grab for spoons, heads start to bob with chatter and laughter. Chaos returns with giggles and spilled milk and Cheerios on the floor and asking for orange juice and shouting when someone notices it’s raining or there is a robin on the fence or half a dozen deer right outside the window.

I stand back and revel in the noise, trying to hear my own thoughts. The way these things are so simple and so profound at the same moment. I lay out schoolbooks and coloring books, wonder if I will find time to exercise, put the cereal bowls in the dishwasher, stop a squabble, add another log to the fire, let the dog out, help the children exchange cozy jammies for clean clothes. Coffee is gone and breakfast eaten, the music plays on, the fire roars, the candles flicker. Deep breaths: the day has begun.

This is a good life. The repetition, the routine, the mundane, the small, the quiet, the noise. They are big to me—huge, in fact. And they are beautiful—glorious.

The Lord is here, present, with us—Immanuel. In the quiet moments and in the loud chaotic ones. I expect today, like every day, will hold many of both.

Only miracle is plain; it is the ordinary that groans with the unutterable weight of glory.
~Robert Farrar Capon, The Supper of the Lamb: a Culinary Reflection, p99~

March 8, 2015March 7, 2015

fortification for the every day

When my husband got home, the kids were watching a video and I was sitting at my desk, with eyes trying to focus on some reading while my head rested in the palm of a hand and a weighted heating pad balanced on the aching muscles of my neck and shoulders. Lunch bag and stack of mail were set on the kitchen island as usual, and my hardworking handsome man came over to give me a hug & long-awaited kiss. Those big hugs and warm kisses at the start of the evening are marvelous, aren’t they?

But then came the inevitable question.
“How was your afternoon?” he asked. “What did you do?”

On this particular day, I bit my lip for a moment before just closing my eyes and chuckling. He seemed to wonder what was so suddenly comical in such a simple question.

I lifted my right index finger to indicate wait just a second, and I grabbed for a little book that I had just finished reading that afternoon. I paged through a couple chapters trying to figure out where the pertinent paragraph was.

Aha! I found it. And I read it to my husband:

If there’s one thing that can defeat a mother, it’s the monotony. Get up, feed the baby, wash the laundry, change the diapers, do the dishes, make the car pool run, wrestle the math homework, figure out a new way to make chicken, change the sheets—times 365 days in a row. It’s hard to see the significance when you’re so weighed down by the mundane. And it can feel like everyone else around you is busy doing big, important things while you have worn the same spit-up-stained sweatpants three days in a row. You dread the “So what did you do today?” question as you rack your brain to come up with more than, “Cleaned up after the kids.”
~Lisa-Jo Baker, Surprised By Motherhood, p113~

At that, my husband laughed. Then he kissed my forehead, made a comment about how he was glad that I “had an afternoon” and went about his business for the rest of the evening.

The normal chaos of family life ensued with playtime, dinnertime, cleanup, bedtime routines, and calming the chaos into rest while an almost full moon poured lunar glory through the windows and the screams of nearby coyotes filtered in around the panes. I played piano while the children rested in bed, and while my husband reclined for some Scripture reading. Then it was showers and time to recline myself in bed beside my husband. The best way to end the day. Any day. Every day.

As I ooched myself comfortably onto pillows and under duvet, my husband seemed to pause thoughtfully, and then turned to grab my attention with some subdued cue. “Thank you,” he said, “for doing all the mundane and monotonous things.” I felt my eyes begin to burn, and this time it wasn’t an eyelash poking around in places it ought not. “Thank you for making a delicious dinner. Thank you for taking care of the kids. Thank you for doing all the laundry. I love you.”

And oh ~ I felt my heart go all melty mooshy & my toes start to twitch nervously as I bashfully muttered, “you’re welcome,” and “I love you too.”

There is no part of our everyday, wash-and-repeat routine of kids and laundry and life and fights and worries and playdates and aching budgets and preschool orientations and work and marriage and love and new life and bedtime marathons that Jesus doesn’t look deep into and say, “That is Mine.” In Him all things hold together.
~Lisa-Jo Baker, Surprised By Motherhood, p116~

Then I gave him a kiss… soft kisses are such a gift… and I turned onto my side so that I could scootch my thighs and my knees and my back and my toes into all the most comfortable places, that rest right in the warm nooks of my husband. This man who notices the wash-and-repeat routine that I perform every day even when I don’t realize it, and who helps me to remember that all these things are glorious because all these things are for The King and His Kingdom.

And I slept all night in his arms, content and cozy, so I could face the next day with strengthened arms and fortified soul.

February 23, 2015February 23, 2015

To Pray

…Lord, teach us to pray…
Luke 11:1 (ESV)

I went jogging in the peaceful coolness of the early morning. The sun was shining through the trees, the breeze was hitting my face, my ears were filled with sounds of morning songbirds, crowing roosters, bawling cows, and crunching gravel beneath my feet. I don’t like exercising, but I do like being fit—and I like having solitary time to focus my thoughts and tune my heart to God, His creation, His Word. Sometimes I sing psalms while I exercise, sometimes I pray, sometimes I simply weep and trust that the Spirit intercedes for me even when I am speechless.

I love to pray, to commune with my Father—and I’ve been doing it for my entire life. Conversing with Him is as natural as conversing with my earthly father, for I have known both of them that long. But there are times when I don’t really know what to say to my dad, or don’t need to say anything to be heard. Sometimes we just catch each other’s eyes and know the meaning behind it, deep in the other’s heart. Sometimes it is sob-filled, teary phone calls where I’m certain my words are somewhat incoherent, but I need to say them, and he is the one I want to hear them. Sometimes we have long conversations, giving and taking in the banter equally. And sometimes I am so at a loss for words, for whatever reason, that I just don’t even want to begin the conversation.

And I find that my conversations with God parallel these things.

Just a month ago, my morning prayers were filled with almost senseless begging, pleading to God with repetitive requests and endless questions, desperately wondering what He was doing, why I had to suffer this way, practically asking to wrestle blessings from His hands. If you had been listening in, the refrain would have sounded a lot like, “please God! Oh please God! Please, God, just… oh please!” My heart filled in the rest and my tears were the chorus. I could almost sense the robins, the deer, and the squirrels hushing—I imagined it was because the Lord knew the sacredness of this conversation with Him where I was so helpless, and even His woodland creatures hushed their breath and stilled their actions as I jogged by so I could cry and He could listen. This morning, as my feet carried me forward, my heart cried to my Father again. Today was one of the more eloquent days, with fully formed sentences and coherent requests, littered with lists of thanks for His graces, and I honestly sought Him on behalf of others rather than on behalf of myself.

The Lord is with me in all of these things. He hears me in each of these situations, and every one in between. He hears me when I plead with Him on the ultrasound table, He sees me rip out my hair while I wail in grief in an exam room, He bottles my tears in the bathroom over negative pregnancy tests, He embraces my body and soul as I grieve over death and as I expectantly long for reunions in heaven. He hears me on behalf of my suffering friends and my grieving family members.

As I continue to grow in my relationship with my Heavenly Father, I want to deepen my understanding of prayer, enrich my conversations with Him, and learn how to glorify Him with my praise, my requests, my stutters, my tears, my shouts of joy, my cries of anguish. I often sing the Lord’s Prayer, and then take each of the six petitions therein, expounding upon one at a time in spoken prayer, filling out the shape of what Jesus exemplified for us. I often also use the book of psalms to help shape my prayers. I want to embrace asking for God’s will to be done with my whole heart and entire mind. In Matthew 26, Jesus Himself cried out to God as He anticipated His own crucifixion, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will” (ESV). It is perfectly honorable to follow the example of Christ, and ask the Lord to take this bitter cup of suffering from me—and, trust me, I do that regularly! I’m nigh well sick of the recurrent pregnancy loss journey, and He hears about it from my lips often enough. But even when I ask Him to take away miscarriage from me, when I beg Him to grant us living children, when I come to Him asking for wisdom in pursuing medical avenues and uncovering health complication—even in the midst of those requests—I want to prefer His will over mine. Sometimes I just plain ask Him, “give me the desire to prefer Your will, because honestly, I don’t understand how this plan is better than what I asked of You!” I ask Him to grow me up into His will, into loving His will, into desiring His will, into embracing His will.

So as I continue seeking God’s face in the mornings—as I quiet my soul before Him while the body He gave me exercises in the midst of the nature He placed around me, presenting not only my words but also my body before Him—may He teach me how to speak with Him, glorify Him, make requests of Him, and live fully in communion with Him—not because I want to get things from Him, but because I want Him—and I desire to learn from Him how to pray so that I can get more of Him.

Written originally for Mommies With Hope, Melissa Joy seeks to grow in grace and wisdom alongside her husband Steven, while pursuing joyful domesticity by nurturing her home and family. The blessing of motherhood and the blessing of growth in Christ have intersected in a beautiful and challenging way for her, as she embraces being Mommy to twelve beloved children: 3 in her arms, 9 in the heavenly choir. The joy she finds in her family, homemaking, music, writing, ministering to those in grief, and seeking to be a pillar of loving strength in her home can be seen unveiled at Joyful Domesticity.