Tag: Poetry

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Saturday March 13, 2010

The boy is napping and the hubby is working outside in the yard. I am supposed to be drinking tea and reading – but my tea (earl grey – my daily favorite) is already cold. So why not take another few minutes to say hello to the world? 🙂
We went out on a little family date today. My tires needed switched out (in fact, we never really needed my studded tires this year), so while they were being done, we went to Starbucks for a rare treat, and then to the grocery store to wander around and pick out a few special things for upcoming meals. Like delicious-looking olives for our Sabbath supper tomorrow night (after our niece & nephew’s birthday party!), paired with applewood smoked cheddar cheese & crackers & red wine.
Delicious food has been something I’ve enjoyed focusing on lately. Making dinners that are new to our palate, and coming up with some new kitchen skills along the way. I have even added some new ingredients to my fridge lately: like fresh ginger, green onions, and fresh parsley – apparently these are all much better fresh than dried, so I’ve been giving it a shot. 🙂
I have made a bunch of new recipes this week, including a crockpot version of Beef Burgundy, a Blackberry Buckle, a round loaf of sweet bread (I don’t generally use recipes for bread, but this one was worth trying), and Chicken Scampi over Lemon Noodles. Mmmm! Tonight we’re opting for quick and familiar: salad (with homemade dressing and croutons) and grilled burgers. I just hope it doesn’t rain on the grilling… it isn’t as fun to grill in a storm. 🙂
I am looking forward to giving my niece & nephew their birthday gifts tomorrow. They won’t probably love them as much as I do – especially because they will be dripping in oodles of birthday gifts from all the relatives… but hey, it’ll be fun anyway. 🙂 I can’t believe they will be one year old this week!
As much as I am excited they are turning one, it is also bringing up memories that I am not looking forward to delving into. A year ago I was pregnant with Glory Hesed. I never really imagined that I would still be newborn-less a year later. And, at the very least, I thought I would have a full womb now. But nope. Empty. And I hate that. I’m pretty sick of it, actually. I feel alone in my plight… and then God reminds me (as I will elaborate upon in a moment) that I’m not. Even though I may feel it.
One of the hidden blessings that comes with being a bereaved mommy is the perspective I can bring to others. So many women take pregnancy for granted. They take healthy babies for granted. They take motherhood for granted. And not that I am perfect either. I am a sinner, too! And my perspective isn’t always what I would like. For instance, last night I was exhausted – it had been a long day, and an even longer week. And I really just wanted Gabriel to go to bed so I could take a long hot shower & head to bed too. My normal bedtime routine with him is to read 3 books, sing 3 songs, pray together, put him in bed, give him his blessing, and leave the room. It takes a good 20 minutes. Last night I picked short books and short songs. And he desperately wanted one more book (which may have turned into four more books, if I had let it…). But I said no. Was that selfish? Or was it prudent? And how do I know the difference sometimes? I’m uncertain. I told him that we’d already read our three books, and it was time to sing. So he cried a little as I sang him three short liturgical hymns (they tend to be the shortest…), and then he was fine and ready to pray and ready to go to bed.
As I sang, I remembered my five little babies who I no longer get to read bedtime stories to. I no longer get to rock them and sing to them at night. And I wish I could. I sincerely, desperately wish I could read them “just one more book.”
One of the songs I sing to Gabriel (the one that I always end with, and the only one that I faithfully sing every single night) goes like this:
God that madest earth and heaven, darkness and light;
Who the day for toil hast given, for rest the night;
May Thine angels guard defend us,
Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us,
Holy dreams and hopes attend us
This live-long night.
Guard us waking, guard us sleeping, and when we die;
May we in Thy mighty keeping all peaceful lie;
When the last dread call shall wake us,
Do not Thou our God forsake us,
But to reign in Glory take us
With Thee on high.
I love this song. And yet it is so painful for me. I have sung this to all of my babies. All of them. And the hardest part for me is when I am pregnant, and I have to sing the line about guarding us when we die. Five of my babies have died, and I have prayed this song with them in my belly.
Yes, I am continuing to grapple with grief. It comes and it goes, against my will and even sometimes against my expectations. God continues to teach me, mold me, break me, grow me, forgive me, love me, and sustain me.
And -back to my original thought- I am beginning to be equipped with so much with which to help other bereaved mothers. I am part of a few online forums/groups of bereaved women, and I am constantly surprised by how often the Lord brings certain women to talk with me, ask for prayer, ask for wisdom, wanting to know my experiences. I feel so helpless and useless, and yet the Lord is using me. I get emails not infrequently (four in the last month) from women (some I know, others have simply stumbled upon me) who have lost babies. I feel blessed to pray for them, to weep with them (because you know I do), to grieve with them, and to offer any support that I can. Even though I feel so ill-equipped, I can tell that God is continuing to equip & use me.
I don’t know what He is going to do with me long-term. But I have no doubt that He is molding me for lifelong service. I am not in love yet with the idea of forever being surrounded by grief and sorrow – but I am called to serve Him and His people. And I will do whatever He asks of me. If I can help any hurting mother whose arms are aching & empty – it gives my babies’ lives & deaths even more beauty & purpose by the grace of God, and lengthens their legacies.
Please pray with me that God would use me in His kingdom, for His kingdom, by His power & strength.

I was reading more Amy Carmichael poetry this afternoon, and wanted to share this poem, which so aptly describes what I feel:

Thy servant, Lord, hath nothing in the house,
Not even one small pot of common oil;
For he who never cometh but to spoil
Hath raided my poor house again, again–
That ruthless strong man, armed, whom men call Pain.

I thought that I had courage in the house,
And patience to be quiet and endure,
And sometimes happy songs. Now I am sure
Thy servant truly hath not anything;
And see, my song-bird hath a broken wing.

~~

My servant, I have come into the house–
I who know Pain’s extremity so well
That there can never be the need to tell
His power to make the flesh and spirit quail:
Have I not felt the scourge, the thorn, the nail?

And I, his Conqueror, am in the house,
Let not your heart be troubled–do not fear:
Why shouldst thou, child of Mine, if I am here?
My touch will heal thy song-bird’s broken wing,
And he shall have a braver song to sing.

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Wednesday March 10, 2010


OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII.
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1849)

 

STRONG Son of God, immortal Love,

Whom we, that have not seen Thy face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;

Thou madest Life in man and brute;

Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot

Is on the skull which Thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

Thou madest man, he knows not why,

He thinks he was not made to die;

And Thou hast made him: Thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, Thou:

Our wills are ours, we know not how;

Our wills are ours, to make them Thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be:

They are but broken lights of Thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;

For knowledge is of things we see;

And yet we trust it comes from Thee,

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,

But more of reverence in us dwell;

That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;

We mock Thee when we do not fear:

But help Thy foolish ones to bear;

Help Thy vain worlds to bear Thy light.

Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;

What seem’d my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man,

And not from man, O Lord, to Thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.

I trust he lives in Thee, and there

I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,

Confusions of a wasted youth;

Forgive them where they fail in truth,

And in Thy wisdom make me wise.

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Monday March 8, 2010

Today I had another immunoglobulin blood infusion, to help my body with my autoimmune problem. It is longer and more complicated than most of you want to hear, so I won’t go into details. 🙂 I am thankful that today’s treatment is done, and that after tomorrow it will be another month until I need my next one. Once I got my headache (a common side effect) under control and rested for a while after the i.v. treatment was done, I did some baking and eventually a little reading (while Gabriel watched a dvd). God never fails to provide for me, not only physically but emotionally & spiritually – if I just open my eyes to see it. Steven sent me the most wonderful email this morning, reminding me to take everything to my Lord in prayer. I needed that. And a lady from church who used to get blood infusions (different from mine, yet similar in essence) emailed me today to say she’s praying for me & wanted to encourage me to fight this good fight – reminding me again that it is a good fight. How easily I forget that. And my mama spent hours here today watching Gabriel for me while I was tied to the i.v. as well as afterward when I wasn’t feeling well enough to look after him myself (I still have the hep-lock in my arm, so that makes things a little tricky with a youngin’). Even in my baking today (for our dinner with friends tonight), He provided: I had two eggs left and 2 teaspoons of baking powder left. Well, guess what? I needed one egg and 2 tsp of baking powder for the dessert, and I needed one egg for the bread. How good is our God! Even in the little details. Just another reminder to me of how I need to ask for daily grace, my daily bread, because He only ever promises to give us strength for the day, and bread for the day.
Daily.
I can’t stock up!
It’s like manna.
Gotta keep filling up each day. 🙂

“If your Lord call you to suffering, be not dismayed; there shall be a new allowance of the King for you when ye come to it. One of the softest pillows Christ hath is laid under His witnesses’ head, though often they must set down their bare feet among thorns.” ~Samuel Rutherford

“There is no sweeter fellowship with Christ than to bring our wounds and our sores to Him.” ~Samuel Rutherford

What room is there for troubled fear?
I know my Lord, and He is near;
And He will light my candle, so
That I may see the way to go.

There need be no bewilderment
To one who goes where he is sent;
The trackless plain by night and day
Is set with signs lest he should stray.

My path may cross a waste of sea,
But that need never frighten me;
Or rivers full to very brim,
But they are open ways to Him.

My path may lead through woods at night,
Where neither moon nor any light
Of guiding star or beacon shines;
He will not let me miss my signs.

Lord, grant to me a quiet mind,
That trusting Thee –for Thou art kind–
I may go on without a fear,
For Thou, my Lord, art always near.

~Amy Carmichael

Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow;
Thou art the Lord who soothed the furious sea;
What matter beating wind and tossing billow
If only we are in the boat with Thee?

Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute
While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill.
Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?
Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?

~Amy Carmichael

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Friday March 5, 2010

Jehovah-Rophi ~ I Am the Lord that Healeth Thee
(Exodus, xv.26)


Heal us, Emmanuel! here we are,
Waiting to feel Thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to Thee repair
And, Saviour, we are such.

Our faith is feeble, we confess,
We faintly trust Thy word;
But wilt Thou pity us the less?
Be that far from Thee, Lord!

Remember him who once applied,
With trembling, for relief;
“Lord, I believe,” with tears he cried,
“Oh, help my unbelief!”

She too, who touch’d Thee in the press,
And healing virtue stole,
Was answer’d, “Daughter, go in peace,
Thy faith hath made thee whole.”

Conceal’d amid the gathering throng,
She would have shunn’d Thy view;
And if her faith was firm and strong,
Had strong misgivings too.

Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch Thee, if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home.
Send none unheal’d away!

~William Cowper

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Wednesday March 3, 2010

“With Feathers”

“Hope” is the thing with feathers —
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard —
And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

I’ve heard it in the chillest land —
And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

~Emily Dickinson~

Today I cry with Job, “Oh that I might have my request, and that God would fulfill my hope” (Job 6:8), for I am clinging to a hope which is not seen; “hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees?” (Romans 8:24). But the Lord is my hope, and He is my strength & salvation. No matter what He does to me (and for me), His praise will remain in my mouth and hidden in my heart. With Job, may I proclaim with believing faith: “Though He slay me, I will hope in Him; yet I will argue my ways to His face” (Job 13:15).

“To Hope”

When by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my – mind’s eye – flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head.

Whene’er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon’s bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.

Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!

Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

Should e’er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o’er my head!

In the long vista of the years to roll,
Let me not see our country’s honour fade:
O let me see our land retain her soul,
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom’s shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed –
Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

Let me not see the patriot’s high bequest,
Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
With the base purple of a court oppress’d,
Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil’d face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o’er my head.

~John Keats, 1815~

Steven and I are seeking to “…rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:3-5). I am thankful, looking at this passage right now, for the confident knowledge I have that God’s love has been poured into my heart by the Holy Spirit — hope does not put me to shame! So often, I feel ashamed and humiliated by my physical/emotional difficulties borne from the burden of losing my babies — but I have hope in the Lord & [although somewhat flickering] hope for the future. And I will not be put to shame. Amen & hallelujah!

May we not grow weary in our prayers or in our efforts. May we have the faith of Abraham, of whom Paul said, “in hope he believed against hope” (Romans 4:18). May we, as Abraham, not lose our hope or weaken our faith when we consider our bodies (Romans 4:19) and the trials we face. Of course we have not been personally promised that our offspring would be as the stars in the sky — yet we feel called to produce children for the Kingdom, be it in Heaven or on the earth, and we can only move forward according to the call of God and the wisdom He gives us at any given time. Therefore, may we bold in seeking the face of our Father, bold in pursuing what means we must for physical fruitfulness, and bold in clinging to hope for more children in the Kingdom on earth. May we have no distrust to cause us to waver concerning God’s covenantal promises to us, and may we grow strong in faith as we give glory to God!! (Romans 4:20) May our faith be a witness to the world of God’s covenant-keeping love (His hesed), and to His power in our weakness. May it be accounted to us as righteousness (Romans 4:22-25).

“Safe In The Father’s Arms”

Far away from fear and death
Do my children play;
Never to know the sting of sin
On their spotless soul;
Never to know a single tear
Nor stab of searing pain.

In the Father’s arms are they,
His face do they behold.
In arms of tender comfort
They rest in loving cheer;
Salty taste of tears
Never to crease their face;
Not burnt by scorching sun
Nor chilled by thunderous storms.
Untouched by earthly shadows
And haunting pangs of night,
They giggle in golden warmth
And snuggle in contented glee.

Lifted higher than dreams can go,
They soar above
The failings of earth
And thrive in the love
Of the Father
Whose tender grace sparkles
And wondrous ways smile
With endless delight.

Yet my arms feel empty.
With painful chest
I long to hold them
To my breast;
To see their smiling faces
And ease my painful fears.
Yet this I know:
They are safe
In the Master’s care.
And I shall see them face to face
And hold them when I’m there.

They’ve breezed their way to Paradise.
How smooth their getting there;
So free from blame and shame.
More pain than them I’ve known,
Yet our destiny’s the same.
Their journey there was easy;
Long and hard is mine.
But whether quick or long,
We will meet again.

Till then, my loves, rest easy.
Behold his face and rejoice
Without a single fear.
I shall come to you some day
And you shall dry my tears,
As I weep in joy
To see your cheery face.
And even now at times
I think I hear your giggles,
But rest, my loves, in his arms,
Till I am with you there.

~unknown~

Romans 15:13
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing,
so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.
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Thursday February 25, 2010

My friend Jana gave me a copy of Amy Carmichael’s poetry in the book, “Toward Jerusalem” recently. I have been slowly reading my way through the pages; praying them to God, singing them to myself. I may continue to occasionally share particular excerpts with you. They are jewels.

My Quietness
O Thou who art my quietness, my deep repose,
My rest from strife of tongues, my holy hill,
Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.

Back let them fall from me, my clamorous foes,
Confusions multiplied;
From crowding things of sense I flee,
And in Thee hide.
Until this tyranny be overpast,
Thy hand will hold me fast.

What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grand to Thy servant strength, O Lord,
And bless with peace.

Today
O God, renew us in Thy love today;
For our tomorrow we have not a care;
Who blessed our yesterday
Will meet us there.

But our today is all athirst for Thee.
Come in the stillness, O Thou heavenly Dew;
Come Thou to us — to me —
Revive, renew.

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Sunday February 14, 2010

SONNET 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

	Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

	Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

	That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

	Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

	Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

	But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

	I never writ, nor no man ever loved.



			 William Shakespeare   

				(1564 - 1616)

EPHESIANS 5:2, 22-33

And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave Himself up
for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.
For the husband is the head of the wife even as Christ
is the head of the church, His body, and is Himself its
Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also
wives should submit in everything to their husbands.
Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church
and gave Himself up for her, that He might sanctify her,
heaving cleansed her by the washing of water with the word,
so that He might present the church to Himself in splendor,
without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might
be holy and without blemish.
In the same way husbands should love their wives as their
own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.
For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and
cherishes it, just as Christ does the church,
because we are members of His body.
"Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother
and hold fast to his wife, and the two shall become
one flesh." This mystery is profound, and I am saying
that it refers to Christ and the church.
However, let each one of you
love his wife as himself,
and let the wife see that
she respects her husband.

I can’t necessarily count on you to click, if I just include the link to Mrs. Wilson’s latest entry on marriage. And since it’s so appropriate right now for Valentine’s day… I am just going to copy the entirety of the text. And hope you take a couple minutes to read it. 🙂

A BANQUETING HOUSE, by Mrs. Nancy Wilson

Today was week four in a series I am teaching on women and marriage, updating an old tape series that Canon Press has been carrying for many years. The subject today was the marriage bed, and don’t expect me to dive into the whole topic here. But, I will mention one or two things. The first thing has to do with the bed itself. What kind of place is your bedroom? Is your bed inviting? Or is it buried under loads of laundry waiting to be folded? If we want our marriage bed to be comparable to what is described in the Song of Songs (a banqueting house with a banner of love), we might consider purchasing a small storage shed in which to keep the spare bicycles so we can get them out of the master bedroom!
The second thing I will mention here is the beautiful garden imagery. The bride is a locked garden, and the beloved is invited into the garden. It is a private place for them to enjoy alone. Do you view yourself as an inviting garden? Or is the garden a bit bedraggled, untended, full of weeds? Well then, time to start doing some tending, weeding, planting. Could be some little resentments have sprung up, crowding out the joy. What better time than now to start clearing away the debris?
Conjugal love is compared to feasting; it is described as celebratory; it is a time of rejoicing together. The wife says to her husband (Song of Songs 1:2), “Your love is better than wine.” Not grape juice. Not even sparkling grape juice. But wine. Rich, potent, intoxicating. But here’s a problem: What if we don’t drink wine, not even in the Lord’s Supper? If we only drink grape juice, how can we understand the potency of this passage? And if we never feast and celebrate around our tables, how will we understand the comparison made here between the marriage bed and a banqueting hall?
Marriage is to be honored and the marriage bed undefiled (Hebrews 13:4). The Bible is not prudish when it comes to the marriage bed. So we should not be prudish about it either.


~~And her follow-up about wine:

I made a comment a couple of posts ago about how wine should be something within our Christian experience, so we can understand a verse like “Your love is better than wine” in Song of Songs. And I got a question about this, so here is a little explanation. The Bible says not to be drunk, and that is as clear as can be (Eph. 5:18). In fact, that’s a simple one. But the Bible does not prohibit wine. If it did, there would not be much need for the admonishment against drunkenness.

Psalm 104:15 describes wine as gladdening the heart of man. At His mother’s urging, Jesus made quite a bit of the very best at the wedding at Cana (John 2:3). So it is safe to assume that wine is a given. At the same time, Scripture warns about misusing wine, and so we should be wise about wine. Older women are singled out in Titus 2:3 with a warning against too much wine. I have wondered what it is about the older women that creates a particular vulnerability for wine. I have a friend who suggested a good possibility: perhaps in the days before pain killers for the many aches and pains of old age, older women were tempted to rely a bit too heavily on the benefits of a glass of wine (or two). Wine is a mocker (Prov. 20:1) and “whoever is led astray by it is not wise.” Wine requires wisdom because it is potent.

Proverbs 5:19 addresses the husband and says to always be enraptured or intoxicated with his bride’s love. Married love should be intoxicating. Comparing the marriage bed to grape juice would be weak. You may as well compare it to lemonade. But wine is rich, potent, and intoxicating. Thus, for the Christian to be unacquainted with wine is not a sin, because the Bible does not require wine drinking. But non-drinkers simply have fewer biblical metaphors in their experience.

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Thursday February 11, 2010

Thou hidden source of calm repose,
Thou all sufficient love divine,
My help and refuge from my foes,
And joy and everlasting love;
To me with Thy dear Name are given
Pardon and holiness and Heaven.

Jesus, my all in all Thou art,
My rest in toil, my ease in pain,
The healing of my broken heart,
In war my peace, in loss my gain,
My smile beneath the tyrant’s frown,
In shame my glory and my crown.

In want my plentiful supply,
In weakness my almighty power,
In bonds my perfect liberty,
My light in Satan’s darkest hour,
In grief my joy unspeakable,
My life in death, my Heaven in hell.

~Charles Wesley, 1749

My thoughts:

  • He is a hidden source. Hidden. Unseen yet still there.
  • To me, my very own self; He is calmness, all-sufficiency, help, and refuge.
  • I am secure in Him. Today and for eternity. He will not -He can not– lose me, nor I Him.
  • When He bestowed upon me the name of Christian, He also bestowed upon me His gifts of pardon, holiness, and an eternity in Heaven.
  • Jesus is everything I need: rest, ease, healing, peace, gains, joys, glory, crown, full supply, power, liberty, light, life, and Heaven. He is everything, indeed.
  • He will heal my broken heart — I don’t need anything but Him for my band-aid.
  • I need no other glory and crown but Him to cover and reverse my shame.
  • In my grief, He is yet my joy — when no other joys present themselves (and even when they do), He is the ultimate joy that will not get rid of the grief but will make the grief survivable.
  • He is my life in death — in my own death, and in the deaths of my children. He is their life. And He keeps my life.
  • Through the hellishness of earth, He is Heaven to me. He will bring me there. To meet with Him there. And until then, He gives me the hope of Heaven to survive the here & now.
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Wednesday February 3, 2010

O my God

Thou Fairest, greatest, first of all objects,

my heart admires, adores, loves Thee,

for my little vessel is as full as it can be,

and I would pour out all that fullness before Thee

in ceaseless flow.

When I think upon and converse with Thee

Ten thousand delightful thoughts spring up,

ten thousand sources of pleasure are insealed,

ten thousand refreshing joys spread over my heart,

crowding into every moment of happiness.

I bless Thee for the soul thou hast  created,

for adoring it, sanctifying it,

though it is fixed in barren soil;

for the body Thou hast given me,

for preserving its strength and vigour,

for providing senses to enjoy delights,

for ease and freedom of my limbs,

for hands, eyes, ears that do Thy bidding;

for Thy royal bounty providing my daily support,

for a full table and overflowing cup,

for appetite, taste, sweetness,

for social joys of relatives and friends,

for ability to serve others,

for a heart that feels sorrows and necessities,

for a mind to care for my fellow men,

for opportunities of spreading happiness around,

for loved ones in the joys of heaven,

for my own expectation of seeing Thee clearly.

I love Thee above the powers of language to express,

for what Thou art to Thy creatures.

Increase my love, O my God, through time and eternity.


~From The Valley of Vision~

Posted on

Wednesday January 13, 2010

He is half part of a blessed man, left to be finished by such a she;
and she a fair divided excellence, whose fullness of perfection lies in him.
-Shakespeare


My true love’s name is Steven. He has red hair, thick and straight. His eyes are a great color – they change from blue to gray to green, depending on the day, the weather, and what he is wearing. His hands are the perfect size, not too big and not too tiny. They are rough & calloused just enough. His ears are slightly elfy, just almost kind of pointy. I love that. And his lips offer soft & gentle kisses (and occasionally sassy ones…), a quirky upturned corner when he’s just about to smile, and they always house wisdom & kindness. He loves jeans and sweaters. He loves hot cocoa and beer (but not together, please). He is a natural teacher, a sacrificial leader, a playful father.

I love this man.

I’ve been meaning to post about him for days. And I’m just now getting to it. My friend Erin posted about real life romance today, reminding me just how badly I wanted to post this. So here I am. 🙂
I love to brag about my wonderful husband.
The way he loves me even when I am unlovely totally melts me.
How he loves me right through my tears and ashes.
He cooks me dinner for Valentine’s Day, and on occasional other days when he knows I need it. Or want it.
Sometimes he surprises me with flowers for no particular reason at all.
He emails me from work and always says what I need to hear.

This man knows me. He knows my weaknesses and my strengths. He knows the good, the bad, and the ugly. But he’d never let on about the latter two things. (He likes to praise me.)
He loves it when I dress up, spritz on a little perfume, and buckle on my classy black heels.
But he also loves it when I am in raggy jeans, a sweater, and have my makeup-less face framed by a casual ponytail.
And yes, when he says I am beautiful, he means it.

He doesn’t like mascara, so I gave it up.
Have I ever mentioned that?
He loves my red eyelashes.
Even though he almost has to squint to see them. 🙂
He reads with me or to me, he holds me close, he lets me be alone, he rubs my shoulders, he washes the dishes, he changes the grossest diapers (and remember, we do cloth diapers so it’s a little more intense than simply tossing it in the trash)…
I don’t have to tell him what I need. Most of the time he already knows (sometimes before I even know myself). Not always. He isn’t perfect. And no, he can’t read my mind.

But he loves me.
With his words.
His actions.
His body.
His heart.

This man truly lives out his wedding vows to me.
He attempts & desires to love me as Christ loves the Church.

He works hard.
Daily.
Diligently.
Persistently.
On the days when his job is easy, and on the days when it is back-breaking and brain-bending.
He provides for us, by God’s grace.
Even when he was laid-off last year, he worked hard to find a new job (a better job), pounding down doors when he needed to, searching and knocking and seeking. And God rewarded him.
He continues to reward him.

My husband comes home for lunch now, almost every day. It is a rare treat. And sometimes, yes, I have to rearrange my schedule to be here with him during lunch hour. And sometimes he rearranges his lunch hour so I don’t have to rearrange mine. 🙂

He lets me sleep in, not only after his alarm goes off but after he leaves for work. He knows my frame.

He loves to take me out for occasional coffee dates, or sometimes out for dinner, or even on weekends away.
But most of the time, he loves me where we are.
In our home.
At the table.
On the couch.
Cuddled in bed.
It doesn’t matter where.
Or when.
He loves me when I am smiling, happy, playful, delighted.
He loves me when I am weeping, rending my garments, crying out to God, even despairing.

Most of our what-you-might-call-a-date “dates” involve Netflix dvds, our nice fluffy pillows, and a bedtime snack. Ice cream. Popcorn. Tea. Drinks. Whatever we’re craving.
And -oh yeah- a friend mentioned game dates. We do that a lot! Especially on weekends during nap time: we love Carcassone, Settlers of Catan, and Bananagrams. These make for times of super sweet fun.
Other dates are what I like to term “family dates” for we take along our sweet little son – we go on walks, we eat pastries at the local family owned bakery, we grab a fast food meal & enjoy the rare greasy goodness, we walk randomly through toy aisles at a local store… We love these dates. We love being a family.

We don’t need weekly movies, fancy break-your-wallet meals, or private serenades.
We love each other daily.
In the little things, in the big things.
Noisily or in silence.

To be honest, much of our newlywedded (yep, I’m calling that a word!) days have been filled with great sorrow and grief. I grew up thinking that my happily ever after would be much more Cinderella-esque. Naive and probably stupid, I didn’t expect my first 2 1/2 years of marriage to be filled with burying five children, and the unique challenges involved therein. Right from the get-go (since Covenant died a mere two months and three days after our wedding), we had to learn to live with and love each other through the good times and the bad. In sickness (of heart, in addition to body) and in health. If I’m honest with you, I would have to tell you that I didn’t think we would face “the bad” or “in sickness” until many years later. But God had other plans.
God has taught us, through taking us through many fires in our 2 1/2 years of newlywedded bliss, that true love isn’t just blatantly evident when you are wearing pearls, smiling, holding hands during a sunset, and you’ve just signed the bill for an $87 dinner.
Nope.

Our newlywedded bliss is blatantly evident (in fact, we’ve been told so many times) when we sit in the back pew at church, weeping through the hymns and trembling during the prayers – holding hands while wiping each other’s tears.
It is evident when his strong arms wrap around my shoulders after a bittersweet ultrasound, and we are weeping in the middle of the hospital.
Our love is also evident when we behold our tiny children, hold them in our hands, and view a very physical evidence of a very physical love – and we bless our God together, through personal waterfalls, for giving us these beautiful little children who bear our image as well as His.
This bliss is never more evident than in our most vulnerable moments – private or public.

I never knew that grief would be one of the earliest and strongest threads in the tapestry of our marriage, that would stitch us together and bind us so tightly in love.

This is, most decidedly, from the hand and by the grace of God.

Our bliss involves getting our fingernails dirty.
It means loving each other every day, no matter what grime is there.
It means lovingly getting through that grime together.
It does include dates in our backyard in the rain.
And wandering through the toy aisle at Wal-Mart.
And homemade-by-husby Valentine’s dinners with little handcut paper hearts strewn around the table amongst about a dozen candles.
And having my hair dried for me at night when I’ve gotten out of the shower and it’s just too cold to sleep with a wet head.

True love, our own newlywedded bliss (a whole 2 1/2 years into it), is all of that.
And so much more.

I love this man, my Steven.
And he loves me.
Truly.
Completely.
Unconditionally.
Sacrificially.
Christ-like-ly.

I’ll leave you with the beautiful words (that I could recite myself) of Anne Bradstreet, “To My Dear And Loving Husband”:

If ever two were one, then surely we. 
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee. 
If ever wife was happy in a man, 
Compare with me, ye women, if you can. 
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold 
Or all the riches that the East doth hold. 
My love is such that Rivers canneot quench, 
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense. 
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray. 
Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.